白天與夜晚的掙扎

我喜歡早起。像今天早上。五點半就醒了。遛狗回來、還有許多時間。忽然想吃raisin bran muffin。看看時間還早得很、乾脆來做給自己吃。二十分鐘之後、剛出爐的muffin 就已放在網架尚待涼。煎個蛋、煮杯咖啡、加上一個摻著新疆帶回來的葡萄乾的bran muffin、我看著報、從容地享受安靜的早上。開始靈修時、才七點半。我覺得好富有。

遛狗的時候、鄰居們都還在熟睡吧、附近靜悄悄的。天還黑著。富有的感覺來自於沒有人佔據我的空間和時間。我走在每天固定的路線上、思緒飄到這裡那裡、氣定神閑。狗做牠的事、我做我的事。這樣的搭檔已經超過十年、我甚至在想、這種固定的作息、舒適的心情、使我的心跳脈搏都慢下來了似的、對我、對我的狗、應該都是有益的、說不定還延年益壽呢。

晚上也好。也是安靜。拿本好書、泡杯好茶、窩在舒服的椅子裡、貓咪在膝上提供溫暖和親密的感覺。冷了、起來抓一床香香的毛毯撘在身上、繼續看書。看到好笑的地方就笑它兩聲、嚴肅的地方、就在看一次、好好的想想。我覺得太好了、遲遲不想去睡。睡意來時、已近午夜。

如此這般、兩頭都要。晚上不肯睡、早上又想想受早起的樂趣、付上的代價是睡眠不足、幾天之後就知道厲害。

什麼事情都有代價。到底要早起早睡、還是早起晚睡、還是晚起晚睡、還是晚起早睡、唉、這麼簡單的幾個選擇、都能叫我掌握不住、都能引起我的貪心。放縱之後就警惕自己要有紀律、有紀律一陣子後又想放縱、一鬆一緊、一放一收、要取得平衡、我看是一生的功課。人、真難搞。一生當中能把幾樣事學好呢？

To Love Me Is To Know Me

不曉得這句話是否這樣解釋、但是如果你愛我、我希望你認識我。

不知道為何想要被認識是如此不肯離開我的頑強的慾望。我要你認識我。不被認識是最會讓我傷心的事。我不在乎名利、不需住華宅穿名牌開名車、但是我好想被你認識。

當你問我“你是怎麼想的？“的時候、我覺得你想認識我。我的話匣子就打開、打開著打開、又開始擔心也許我的道白讓你認識更多的我、反而你就不喜歡我了。

當你問我“你的感受如何？“ “妳為甚麼哭了？“ 的時候、我也覺得你想認識我、我就會忍不住告訴你更多我的感受、但是你聽了、也許開始覺得我很奇怪、也許你對我說、“妳太敏感“ 好像我的感受是過頭了、是超出範圍、是不正常、是錯了、或者、起碼是、你不認同、但是、我的感受卻真真實實是我的感受、不是我故意要那樣覺得。如果你可以接受我的感受、容許我有這樣的感受、我纔會覺得你接受我。

我有時在想、是否自己真的錯了？也許我不要在意、也許我有感受也把它抹殺、也許我有想法也不要分享、因為有誰要知道呢？有誰在乎我呢？而且、最困難的是、我就是這樣、即使我不說、我也知道我就是對某些事有某些感受、因為那就是為什麼我是我。

有人說我想太多、但是、那就是我。接下來的問題就是、像這樣的我、有人愛嗎？我好像很麻煩。誰能handle我想這麼多？誰能跟得上我？誰能接納我？誰想認識我？誰會珍惜這樣的我？還是他們聽到我的道白之後、都想勸我不要做我？如果是這樣、難道我不該存在？難道那訊息是在告訴我：“Don't be you because I don't like the way you are. Be something else, someone else?"

有誰認識我了之後、還想認識更多的我？還是、這樣就夠了。你煩不煩？

也許當我分享我的感受時、聽者以為我在怪他。那麼要陳明多少次、“我不是怪你“ 才能把好像有人受傷的氣氛拿掉？我想要一個“大大“的人、大到、可以聽我說他的言行對我造成的情緒反應、還可以聽得進去、不忙著為自己辯護、反而聽懂我的傾訴。好像一個裝髒衣服的簍子、知道我丟進來的、只是我的髒衣服、卻不表示他是個髒衣服簍子。也許覺得臭氣薰天、卻絕不會誤認自己是髒簍子。天下、有這種人嗎？也許因為我的職業、我每天做衣服簍子、覺得人人都可以做得來、只要願意學習。也許我忘了、我學做簍子也不是一天兩天的事、而且在學的時候、有人訓練我、提醒我、也許我什麼都不會、卻很會做個髒衣服簍子 所以選擇它做職業。堆滿了髒衣服是我天天的樣子、我不會討厭髒衣服、也不會搞不清楚髒衣服不是我。你懂我在說什麼嗎？

想你明白我、想你想認識我。這是可能的嗎？還是這是年輕人的特權？在我的年紀、有誰還在乎我是誰？也許生活折磨每個人、到一個程度、大家自顧不暇？

我的毛病到底在哪裡？

Godly Sorrow

"Godly sorrw brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death." (2 Corinthians 7:10)

I was reading Spurgeon's daily reading for today this morning and this is the verse for today. As always, I read this verse again in the Bible. Tears started streaming down my face after I read it a few times and I had no idea why I was crying. Something deep in me was touched by this verse. With my mind's eye, I saw myself as a convalescent patient, being wheeled by God, when He whispered this verse into my ears. Like a child, I did not understand fully what I was told, but emotionally, I got it. His love and forgiveness and acceptance of me enlarged me. I am still struggling to verbalize this understanding.

That was a feeling of warmth... of peace. I knew, emotionally, that I was at peace with Him and myself at that exact moment. I felt I was becoming whole. I felt I could rest. A spring of water wants to flow out of me. I felt I could love genuinely and deeply.

I don't remember what Spurgeon wrote about this verse as clearly now, but God's word I can hear still... "godly sorrow worketh repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret." It's almost like each time when I sin, it's a chance for me to see the true color of me. And this verse tells me, if I truly abhor the evil of sin, I will run to Him for salvation and then be given a new life, instead of kicking myself, because I arrogantly believe I am better than I really am, and believe that if only I would work harder, I could be better. The futile attempt to get out of that entrapment will eventually lead to death by exhaustion and disillusion.

I pray to enjoy this kind of continual repentance until I enter my eternal rest.

Morning Reflection

Just as I was thinking about Megan this morning, she called. She and I have been talking about the possibility that she will go through oral surgery to have her open bite corrected next year. Today she went for a second opinion. Coming out of the doctor's office and on her way to work, she told me the pros and cons that doctor had informed her. I caught myself paying attention only to the part that worried me as a mother.

Let's say someone tells me in one breath, ten things. Person A might pay attention more to thing number one, and person B might pay attention to thing number two and three... to which part of the information we pay the most attention has to do, I think, with who we are and how the world has been treating us in the past. I, as a mother, worry most about her safety. I don't really know how having an open bite jaw feels like each time you need to bite into something, or in her case, not being able to bite into certain things, but I know I am scared to think about all the possible complications. Different bits of the information arouses different emotions in different people and we would respond most readily to those, instead of looking at the information at its entirety and truthfully weighing the pros and cons. Our judgement is biased by our emotions. I told her I came to realize, after giving it more thought and having some time lapsed between our last conversation and now, the part that worries me the most was how she would survive the post op discomfort and inconvenience. And she laughed and we joked about how eating must be a very important thing for our family. (Lately we have been talking a lot about how we always talk about food and spend time in the kitchen.)

I realized she did not need my signature anymore, if she decides to go through with the surgery, because she is an adult now. This is her life, her body and her decision. I will not let my anxiety, fear and personal experiences interfere with how she wants to make decisions for herself. We have had more than a few conversations on this topic, and I know she is not treating this subject matter lightly. I can not be responsible for this decision no matter how she decides.

Listening to Amazing Grace by the Chanticleer one more time this morning and as I let tears roll down my cheeks, I asked myself what being amazed is like. Since when did I stop being amazed by His grace? Do I really know that I once was blind but now I see? Or am I still blind? I was bound, but now I am free, it says. Am I free? Free to love, free of fear, free of judgement, free of anxiety and free to serve his church and free of myself? What is it like to be free? It must be without fear.

I found Marble sleeping next to me with her face on my pillow last night. I like waking up in the middle of the night feeling that way. Loved, I guess.

Things That Make Me Happy (8)

Sunday afternoon. I was hot and tired.

I have had this red cabbage in the fridge for too long now, and have always wanted to use it up but don't really like the texture and the taste of it. Can't stir fry it because it will turn into the world's ugliest color -- so ugly there is no name for it. It's not brown, and it's not gray. Horrible color.

I stood in the kitchen, thinking...

A few minutes later, this beautiful drink not only drenched my thirst, it made me so happy! The beautiful color is the highlight of my day. Praise the Lord for colors!

1/4 of a solid red cabbage, 1/2 of an almost-want-to-throw-away dead ripe banana, 1/2 peach from yesterday, 16 red grapes, 1/2 jumbo cucumber, 1/2 cup of water, 2 cups of ice cubes.

Life is good.

Feeling Unhappy

Feeling unhappy is a strange thing.

For two days now, I have been feeling unhappy. I notice the mood change after I had the phone conversation with her. She told me how she ran into John and shared with me what they talked about.

The strange thing was, I started to feel unhappy but didn't know for what. I allowed myself sometime to experience what I thought was going to be sadness, and because I was just about to go to bed when she called, I thought I would cry a little and then fell asleep. That was not what happened. I didn't cry. But I was unhappy. So it must not be sadness I felt. When people are sad, they want to cry.

For two days now, I am still unhappy. Still don't know why. I am amazed at human's capacity for self deception. The reason(s) for my unhappiness remained hidden from me and as much as spend quiet time with myself, praying and reflecting and searching, I still was not clear. Some hints, but not clear.

Being the way I am, this has become a more interesting, than distressing phenomenon for me.

Then I was reminded of this verse : "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God." (Psalms 42: 5)

Wanting to know has been characteristic of me. Knowledge about why things are and why people are the way they are and why I am the way I am has always attracted me. I am curious; I want to know. I want to know so I can make good decisions, and I want to know so things make sense to me. The problem is, there are things I don't know, and most times knowing doesn't do much at all in terms of help me love better, which is the epitome of God's commands.

Putting my hope in God needs to be a constant effort. The opposite of unhappy is not happy. It is the ability to look upward to Him. It is the commitment to move forward with him and not stuck in the present, or the past. It is the will to go to work, take care of myself, stay connected with friends and family, trusting that feelings come and go, but He doesn't change and He is a good God.

New Found Voice

I have always believed people can change, but it was not until yesterday did I pay attention to an important link in the process of changing. Effort. The awareness of the need for change, and the willingness to change are all important before any changes can take place. But without effort to work it, change will remain a sweet dream at best.

Several of my girlfriends have told me, at different times, that I needed a voice of my own. After years of being mute, I didn't know I had a voice, and as I am beginning to hear my own inner voice, to make it audible takes effort. I need to know how to voice it.

The kitchen remodeling is nearing its end. It has been agony for me. It's about what I want for my kitchen and it's about making things happen for me, and it's about asking people (project manager and workers) and sometimes demanding them to work for me and me alone. All is new to me. The last thing, after one month working on the inside, is to finish the outside window trim. A new window was put in, but it still needs frame. I needed to tell the project manager I wanted the window "restored" to pre-installation condition, i.e., where there used to be wood trim, after the new window was put in, the wood trim should be put back. Legitimate request, I think.

It took me thirty minutes to rehearse my lines before I called the project manager this morning. I heard my voice inside of me, but I needed words to communicate it to him. I remember scrambling words in my head, strike them, re-phrase, strike them, re-phrase. To my surprise, my main concern was to not offend him, as if I was being unreasonable, almost like a whining child, and I was afraid that if I upset him, he would not give me what I wanted. For the most part of my life, I think that's how I have "operated."

After much rehearsing, I called. I was hoping he would not pick up, and I would just leave a message, reciting from memory what I had been rehearsing til that point of time. He answered. My heart thumped but I heard my own voice. He had no qualms about it at all and it was done. I did not upset him and I got what I wanted.

But maybe I was just lucky. What if he did get upset because to do it as I wanted meant more work, and therefore less profit, for him and his company. If he would have given me a hard time, would I have backed off? There is no way to know. I know I can be very easily harassed and intimidated and bullied. My voice sounds to me like a little beep. A disagreeable look, a hum and a hem could easily silence me.

I used to be my daddy's little girl. And a good girl I was. A good girl never disagrees. She needs not to have her own voice. Or so some daddies think. My dad loved me, but he didn't allow me to have my own voice.

My heavenly father gives me a voice and wants to hear me. He also gives me opportunities to practice using my voice so I can hear it too. He is giving me back my lost voice; He is giving me back the lost me. For that, I give thanks.