Always a source of an uplifting message, always a breath of cooler air to coat my lungs, and always impossibly perky and optimistic despite the whimsical and annoying gravel that gets back-hoed in front of her path, there is one blog (among many, many others which I just haven’t stumbled across) that even when I’m not publishing for long periods of time, I visit even for just a moment.
By my going to her blog, I can only guess that a part of me still wants to believe, a part of me wants to see a positive example of someone who has been touched by divinity. On the other hand, it could also show the power of positive thinking – an ability to put ones self smack dab in the middle of the path where luck has no other alternative but to collide forcefully with you. And that’s what I’m more leaning towards.
A great message no matter which possibility you choose to interpret it as.
Unyielding in spirituality, always with a pronounced smile permeating across the prose and with accompanying pictures that are consistently happy without the baseless sweet and tacky syrup, I admit that I love the site.
Make a minute to get over to Jaclyn Rae’s Blog.
Oh, and Blessed be the Humbled.
Sure, it appears that I’ve lost faith. But, for far too long I dutifully prayed for this or that. As a kid I learned the lesson about not praying for superficial things such as a new bike, but I did pray for a family. Didn’t get it. As an adult I knew the lesson well enough to not pray for a lottery win, but I did pray for everlasting love. Didn’t get it.
I learned to not pray for silly things, but only for things that cause a greater good. I gave money away, I volunteered, went to church alone as an adult, made sure (over arguments) that my children received the sacraments, and I doted over children who were being ignored. When I prayed it was for something meaningful such as a marriage that lasted forever, someone who would be there ‘for better or for worse’, for extended time with my children, for a meaningful position, for a chance at better education, for a way to save the only home I’ve ever lived in and for an end to icy loneliness. Didn’t get it.
I carried a set of rosary beads in my pocket for months and prayed on the way to work. I had long conversations with the Man. I read the Bible. I watched religious shows.
And now, finally, I get it – I won’t get it.
As John Lennon said “There ain’t no Jesus gonna come from the sky, now that I found out I know I can cry“. For me that means that though I have experienced exquisite emotional pain and damaging, altering bitterness as a result, there’s no such thing as something divine that sees and acts on those in blistering trouble.
God, maybe only for me, has been relegated to the folklore of the ancients along with Juno, Ra, Zeus, Fu-Hsing, Airmid, Great Spirit, Givinda and Vishnu. The god I followed has helped me just as much as Thor has.
There is no God. Only me. Me and you.
During my quick gasp back into the blog world last week, I briefly mentioned my struggle with the whole faith vs. luck conundrum. Seems I’ve lost faith but believe in luck.
I mean, keep praying for what? That circumstances will change? That a hole in the knees from excessive kneeling will eventually produce desired results? And if and when something does change, no matter how small, that this was all due to prostrating myself? I should see this as proof of divine intervention?
Should I interpret the overwhelmingly pure and fragrant waft of lilac bushes as a ‘sign’ that things will be better? Or that it was just plain ol’ luck that on a day that I needed to uplifted that I happened to pass by that small forest of lilacs and smiled out of control just because the scent permeated my senses?
I’ve had enough of waiting for miracles that never happen. I’ve taken the belief that nothing is received through an unseen force, but instead, anything received is taken by force. By that I mean anything that I receive is as a result of my getting to it.
That said, we can exercise the courage to pull back when we need to, and the courage to put ourselves “out there” as well. One helps us heal; the other increases the statistical probability of being a recipient of a little good luck. Or maybe even, a lot.
I’m more believing that putting myself out there increases my chance at ‘luck’.
God knows that praying hasn’t helped.
Sometimes when the crash is too intense, one has the option of simply losing themselves. That’s what I chose to do. After my dream was over, it was easier for me to lose track of time, to ignore the event and place one foot in front of the other in some lackadaisical semblance of, and attempt at ‘this too shall pass’.
School is a fantastic way to simply plow through days and nights. Children laughing (or fighting) helped to grease the passage of time, and just plain old ignoring it saw the night/day axis blur for a few months. Determination to rebuild new dreams – if only for spite, bolstered defenses. The biggest casualty lost was my faith. I thought “is it faith or luck’? Turns out I now believe more in luck.
Whatever the method I chose day-to-day, brings me back here once again.
My Big 5? I am a workhorse where I am right now. School is where my heart is and I’ve an ‘A’ average and am trying, despite severe money woes, to stay pat. Dating … not so well. Faith has been released to the wind. Accomplishments come steadily, but so slowly.
Time has moved and taken me with it. Still here. Here again, moving up.
The sun has risen again.
I remember the time I pulled the rear bumper off of my car thinking I had the perfect solution.
A neighbor from across the street at my old house had purchased new property and they were about to begin construction on it. Knowing how much I loved gardening she suggested that I get to her new property and take as many blueberry bushes as I wanted. All I had to do was dig them up. I was chilled, that’s how excited I was at the prospect of having mature blueberry bushes! I arrived at her property with a pick, shovel and well-worn work gloves.
Surveying the bushes, I appraised a few that looked well-rounded and plump and began digging around the roots. Trouble was I soon found out, wild blueberry bushes have deep and hearty roots. For a few hours I picked, shoveled and tugged at a few bushes but still couldn’t pull one bush fully out of the ground. So, I had an idea. I would wrap some rope I had in the trunk around the exposed roots, tie the other end to my car’s rear bumper and simply pull them out! Why didn’t I think of that before?
Sweating, but determined, I tied the knots as tightly as I could on both ends, took off my gloves (which revealed a few open blisters on my right hand), and started up the car. I gently pulled forward so I could see that the slack in the rope was gone and carefully pushed down on the accelerator. After a few tentative rocking motions nothing happened. I could see as I leaned out of the driver’s side door that the rope was taught and that the bush was slightly leaning toward the car, but no hint of uprooting showed itself. So I pressed heavier on the gas pedal. Still, no giving up the ground for that blueberry bush!
Bolder, I backed up maybe ten feet and decided that building some speed would pluck it out of the ground as easily as plucking one of the juicy berries would be. One foot on the gas, the other halfway out the door and my head cocked toward the rear, I bolted. The ten feet took only a slight moment to cover, but I remember the sharp buck of the car at the end of the ten feet and the slam of the brake at probably foot number fifteen.
I hurried out of my car and could see the damage I had done even before I strode to the passenger door. Fifteen feet away, the blueberry bush stood – still solidly rooted in its original spot. Tied to its exposed roots was the rope. On the other end of the rope was my car’s rear bumper, pulled much closer to the bush than to my car by the force of the pull.
Eventually, I decided that with all the investment of time and effort I had put in, not to mention my car’s rear bumper, that bush was going to be mine no matter how it happened. I left the site, drove back to my house, came back with an old saw and cut those roots one at a time until I could pull out the bush and hoist it into my trunk – dirt, stray leaves, bugs and anything else that was attached.
I planted that bush in a special spot in my beloved garden and tended it daily for most of the first few weeks in its new location. In the next few years it prospered, giving up wonderfully deep blue/purple berries that satisfied both the wild life that happened upon the free feast, local kids that regularly came to pick a mouthful (and stained their clothes) while playing in the neighborhood and enough left over for my own family to incorporate them into pancakes, muffins, ice trays and daily round the clock snacks.
I remember my little girl, who must have been about four or five at the time, in a billowy yellow sundress and a white, wide-brimmed sunhat jumping sideways, circling the bush singing “Here we go ’round the blueberry bush, the blueberry bush …” and laughing her little girl giggle as she sang and pulled berries into her mouth.
I remember both of my boys helping me dig a pit to plant the huge bush in. And after the initial deluge of water for the bush, how we swung into an impromptu water hose fight. We sat down in the wet soil, shared sips of iced tea and I remember hugging them both – one on either side of me.
I loved that blueberry bush. Read more…
A month of crunch at school, a new zeroed-in work schedule, a mild upheaval, a major trounce, new thoughts, refreshed views … that’s all it took to reintroduce me back into the world of blog.
I have a lot of back-reading to do on your blogs and I have swirling piles of ideas for my own. But for today, I need to feel the swing of a bat hitting dead center on a baseball and feel the sharp snap as it’s thrown back to me by my kids. Calzones for lunch and tilapia over rice tonight will bring some wholesome goodness and tang back into my mouth.
It lives and it is moving. And it is seizing the day!
What’s more puzzling; That you have enough time to read blogs everyday, or that you don’t have enough time to post?
I’ve been bobbing, eyes and nostrils above water, pockets loaded with the stones of school, work, a semi-symbiotic relationship and personal issues that must be dealt with. In the meantime, my apartment looks like the ‘before’ picture on HGTV, I need to do laundry, my car needs to be decluttered, I’m studying like it’s my full-time job and I’m running rapidly out of tea and honey.
Whatever happened to the simpler, halcyon days of sex and drugs and rock and roll? Apparently they’ve been replaced with curling up in bed watching a Nexflix movie, the occasional vitamin or aspirin and an .mp3 replaying highlights of a droning lecture.
One day I’ll look back and fondly remember that these are the good ol’ days?