Ogres are like onions

I’ve been silent since Good Friday. It’s not that I have nothing to say- but the flooding of emotions since my Mom’s death two days later has been shocking, overwhelming and a lot like getting caught outside during a typhoon. You know it’s coming, but the sheer force and chaos is astounding. When the eye of a storm passes over it is calm yet eerie. You hope that the peace will last- until the rain pours down sideways from three different directions and most of your yard is down the street. Most people who live on islands in the Pacific get used to this. We prepare, respond and move on. Having survived on a diet of consistent trauma most of my life, I thought I was prepared. You learn how to brace yourself, protect, respond and move on. Being confident about my mother’s afterlife, I was joyful. Being at ease because the physical and mental pain, and lifetime of struggle would end, I breathed a sigh of relief. But nothing—NOTHING-- can make you feel better about missing the physical presence of a person you love. Despite all of the heartache – despite all of the reverse parenting, despite all of the crap, my Mom loved me…and I miss her. This pain was so unexpected I tried to convince my husband that I didn’t need him to come home from his job half way around the world. It was so unexpected that I actually thought I would go right back to work and feel ok. I was so convinced that my rational, educated, God loving mind could “handle” it, that the 2 foot waves shock, frustrate and anger me, just as much as the 30 foot ones. Father forgive me, because I believe I have been prideful.

“Ogres are like onions.” And so is recovery. I spent a good 9 months or so in a Christ-centered recovery program that gave me some much needed tools to deal with all the junk that damaged me throughout my life. This process had a profound and life altering affect on me (and the people who put up with me on a regular basis). Notice I said tools and process - not a magic bullet. God being the tender Father and gentle counselor that He is- does not force you to deal with all of that junk at once. My head has always known that I dealt with a precious few; albeit very thick layers of junk on my heart, and that there was more work to be done. My heart however, did not expect how abruptly the next phase would hit, and the voracity in which the implications would consume me. I find myself reeling at the stink as these layers are peeled away- the anger, disappointment and ache for a childhood in a different reality where abuse, neglect and mental illness are part of some sad lifetime made-for-TV movie. The reality is that this was my reality. The reality is that my Mom’s death brought to life, in HD clarity, memories and emotions accompanied by pain- like a wound whose scars have yet to fully form being ripped open at the scab. I know it is for me good, and that deeper healing will provide greater freedom. I know that these lessons will serve me, and those I hope to serve later. But right now- peeling the onion sucks pretty hard.

You hear stories about people who face death either directly or indirectly. You hear about getting a new “lease on life”; a new perspective. When faced with death and realizing my own mortality I began to question every piece of my life, and wonder if any of it even matters. I began to ask questions like: Am I wasting time? Does what I do matter…in my home…work…etc? Am I making a difference in this world?...In the lives of my children, my spouse, my family and friends? How about my co-workers, my community, or other people who are hurting? Am I just going through the motions…just existing? I feel like I am at a crossroad and don’t know which direction is right…like I am frozen. In addition to my Mom’s death, there have been so many big and life altering events that I am really pretty bemused. The completion of my degree for example, poses a myriad of emotions and questions-but none so entertaining as what an IT Security professional with a well paid job and respectable career does with a Biblical counseling degree. The convicting words of trust, obedience and purpose flow through me even as I type, but boy is this tough. Before the comments come through- know I need to pause, pray, listen and not move on the basis of emotion alone. Of course my hyper-busy, goal oriented, list making mind doesn’t find a meal of calm patience super appetizing—and I am pretty hungry. On the island we used to have a “typhoon party” after the rain and winds had died down. We would cook all of the food in the freezer since the power would be out for an undetermined and often lengthy amount of time. We would share it with our neighbors- but more importantly we would share grief for the terror and losses, and joy for the lives we still had. Soon after, the clean-up would begin, we picked at the debris, and life would go back to normal…until the inevitable “next time”. I guess that’s where I am right now…somewhere between sharing my grief and sorting through debris.