Happy October 31st! I had originally planned to take an ultra-cool
selfie with my mustached feline roommate, but unfortunately she did not
participate because she is very easily spooked, regardless of the holiday. (I
don’t think my toy plastic mustache freaked her out; I think my frustrated
grunt with the awkward way I was holding my phone is what made her scurry out
of the room during selfie time.)
Selfies are an interesting phenomenon in our culture. They’re
everywhere. I even saw the receptionist at the employment agency that I visited
today taking a selfie while I was there.
Yes, you read that correctly. In case you haven’t heard, my temp
assignment ended last week, and I’m looking for work yet again. It’s a good
thing I’ve been going through psychotherapy again; otherwise, I might be in
trouble mentally and emotionally.
Earlier this month, MeepMeep scratched the palm of my hand during
playtime. It mostly healed, but a few days later, she scratched it yet again,
in almost the same exact spot. The second time, it took a long time to stop
bleeding. In this photo, it’s the big wound on the lower right part of my palm. You can also see a couple of other tiny wounds in the photo on/near my
fingers. When I would wake up in the mornings, I would see them on my hand and
briefly wonder if perhaps I had heart problems or something... but come on. I
think we all know who put those tiny little wounds there. She’s hanging out
near my lap while I type this.
Not sure what it is about my hand being a target for minor flesh
wounds, but I accidentally wounded my thumb recently in nearly the same spot:
once with a fork, a second time with a fingernail from my other hand, both
while I was preparing lunch.
My hand is fine. The wounds have been in the process of healing. But I
had to keep the wounds covered with band-aids for a short while. Otherwise,
major owie.
Healing is interesting like that.
“The Lord builds up Jerusalem; He gathers together the outcasts of
Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:2-3)
My psychotherapist is awesome. She’s like a psychology genius, and she
operates in the prophetic, so our sessions have been pretty epic so far. I like
how she basically summed up how life happens: Trauma happens to you when you’re
a child, but you can’t really process it because you’re a child, or else
instead of doing practical things like learning how to tie your shoes, you’d
just be processing your trauma all the time; but when you’re in your 20s and
30s, all of that trauma bubbles up to the surface, and you have to deal with it
years after it happened. Yep.
There were a couple of random days in the past few weeks when I would
suddenly get hit with something emotionally. One day while I was having my lunch
break in my car, I was thinking about stuff and talking to God about my life,
and I started crying. A lot. I wailed like a toddler. I hadn’t wept like that
in a long time. My car windows are tinted, and it was raining outside, so I don’t
think anyone saw or heard. (I like how God can hide us like that.)
I told my psychotherapist about it, and she was like, Um, yeah, you
kinda have a lot of stuff to grieve about. Hmm. I hadn’t really thought about
it like that. But she’s right. From what I understand, grief happens when you
lose something or someone. In the past 14 months or so, I’ve lost two jobs,
friends, a cat, 30 pounds, a good credit rating, dignity, a beloved career, hopes
and dreams... and I’m sure the list goes on and on. As my psychotherapist
explained, the things that we grieve about tend to build up inside us, but we
cover them up with an internal dam; and sometimes when the dam lowers, the
grief just gushes out.
From what I understand, things like anger and depression can be part of
the grieving process. So, I think that’s why they’ve been gushing out during the past several months.
Another thing my psychotherapist showed me is that I still identify myself as
an abuse survivor; but all of us need to move past that victim mentality and
walk in victory instead. I thought I had already done that in previous years,
but I guess I’ve moved back into that victim-mentality way of thinking. Maybe it’s kind of
like being repeatedly wounded in the same place. It leaves a nasty-looking
scar.
But there’s always hope when you have Somebody to help you through your
process.
So, on Sunday afternoon, I got a call from my temp agency telling me to
not report back to work. On Monday morning, I hit the job hunt pretty hard and
pretty cheerfully. I’ve noticed that the first day of unemployment is always the
most peaceful and hopeful. (Although technically -- at least legally in Texas
-- I’m not unemployed, because I’m registered with an employment agency.) But on
Monday afternoon, after I had applied for several jobs and got an idea of what’s
really available out there, I started to get discouraged. I’ve been applying
for jobs off and on for the past 14 months, and I just got tired of seeing the
same stuff over and over again. (And, not to mention, the same rejection over and over again.) Around 4:45 p.m. that afternoon, I collapsed on
my knees and told God, “I give up.” I hadn’t even made it through the first
day.
God replied, “You’re better than this.” So, I exhaustedly scraped
myself off the floor and finished my day.
The next morning, He showed me that I had made it through a previous
season: “You powered through it like a champ.” He told me to power through this
season like a champ as well.
I replied, “Chazaq!” (That’s Hebrew for “strong.” I believe that’s the
same word that God used in Joshua 1:9 when He told Joshua to be strong and
courageous.) And I felt a lot better.
Of course, anytime you’re going through something like this, it’s
important to let God lead you through it and to listen for any specific
instructions that He might give you. For this particular trial, instead of
getting desert imagery like I have in the past, I felt like I got some ocean
imagery: “You don’t have to swim in it; just ride the waves and see what washes
up on shore.”
So, this morning, the waves landed me at an employment agency that I
hadn’t visited before. The office wasn’t really the most professional
environment. While I was there filling out the necessary documentation, the
receptionist was Facebooking on her computer. When I was finished, she asked me
to wait in the lobby area. Then she proceeded to take a selfie on her phone.
It was at that moment that I felt a tiny little splash of grief crack
through my internal dam. What was I doing there? What happened to my life? I
have a college degree, I have years of job experience under my belt, and I’m
having to start over yet again. How much do I still need to be humbled?
Of course, I couldn’t just start wailing like a toddler right there in
the agency’s office. That would be unprofessional. (I really can’t fault the
receptionist for her behavior. I used to be a receptionist at a recruiting
office, so I understand firsthand how much freedom the office workers are given
there.)
But while I was wailing like a toddler during my lunch break in my car
awhile back, I told God I didn’t care where I ended up, as long as I was with
Him. And I meant it. I still do.
“I have been young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous
forsaken, nor his descendants begging bread.” (Psalm 37:25)
One of the options I’ve been thinking/praying through lately is the
possibility of going back to school. Wouldn’t it be interesting to earn a
second degree? Can you see 42-year-old me hanging around a bunch of college
kids who are less than half my age? I can. I would frickin’ love that. I think
it would be a healing thing, actually. I haven’t always had good experiences
with millennials, but maybe spending more time with them would help me have a
better opinion of this crazy new generation that I didn’t have a hand in
raising. I wonder if I would be like an opinionated old grandma: “When I was your
age, we didn’t have all your newfangled internet gadgets. [Hacks an
old-lady cough.] I had to walk to class in six feet of snow when I was in college. [Yeah, right, grandma. You went to college in Texas.]”
There’s something about being in your 40s
that makes you qualified to say some things. When you’re my age, you’ve seen
quite a bit of life; you’ve seen some beautiful things, and you’ve seen some
really ugly things, and you’ve hopefully learned from them all. Maybe it’s part
of my spiritual gifting (shepherding), but there’s something inside me that
screams to share what I’ve learned with other people (probably one reason why I
blog).
And I know I have plenty to learn from the younger generation, too.
Actually, I can hear that “Listen to me, youngsters; I’ll give you some wisdom” tone in Psalm 37:25. From what I understand, King David wrote Psalm 37 during his twilight years. When he says, “I have been young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his descendants begging bread,” I think he’s really saying, “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about, this is just the way it is: God hasn’t ever, EVER turned His back on His children or neglected to take care of them -- not once.”
OK, David, I’ll take your word for it. I know you wouldn’t have taken the trouble of writing that into a song, and I know God wouldn’t have made sure it made it into the Bible, if it weren’t true.
So, that’s one thing I can be certain of during this season of multiple uncertainties: God will take care of me.
