A Fist Full of Ashes

Healing is a process. I keep telling myself this - like a mantra that is followed with this positive affirmation "it is okay to be in process".  Nobody likes to be in process - preferring much more to have arrived at the destination of a whole mind and non-fractured spirit, at least insofar as healing is concerned.

A friend shared this scripture from Isaiah 61 with me at last night's group meeting - and though I'd heard it a million times before, this piece was illuminated to me:

".....to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair....."

How easily my spirit despairs.  I looked the word up in my concordance and it means to [smolder].  

smol·der  /ˈsmōldər/ verb: burn slowly with smoke but no flame

The despair is a slow burn - and unchecked it will eat.me.alive.  The smallest thing can trigger deep feelings of worthlessness, the tiniest injury can unearth catastrophic old wounds. It takes constant effort to remember that I am no longer trapped in an abusive marriage or childhood.  It takes intentional choices not to react with the same defensive behaviors - which can range anywhere from lashing out in fear to scurrying into the shadows like a skiddish animal.  It is taking time and conscious effort to trust myself, others and God.

This phrase

beauty for ashes, beauty for ashes, beauty for ashes

keeps rolling through my mind.  Some of the despair has been necessary - to allow this old life to burn away. These ashes are all that is left of my old life - and yet I often hold them in fists clenched tight.  The crown of beauty may be preferable to most - but to reach out for it means to let some of these ashes spill out of my hands.  

Awaiting the Beauty

The kids and I went 17 Again this afternoon. It was pretty good, lighthearted fare. The main storyline is a man who is losing his family because he has resented all that he had to give up when he married his pregnant high school girlfriend. In a "freaky Friday" moment, he is transported back to 17. Even though this is a story of redemption, how he finds his way back to what matters most, it made me so angry. All along the road of life we have choices, and we don't get to blame someone else for where those choices carry us. I know - I was married for a long time to a man who resented having to be a husband and a father, but all along the way we made choices together about the kind of life we wanted. It was me left holding the bag, trying to survive and make it all work without a partner. Although not everyone abuses their spouse in their frustration, many people neglect and abandon their spouse. It is infuriating.
I was talking to a friend last night and I decided that I still believe in love. It has become crystal clear to me that no person can fully know another person. Within each of us is the secret life of our thoughts, the private hopes and dreams. That is what makes it so beautiful when two people decide to open their hearts to one another, sharing those intimacies that lay embedded in the human soul and make it work somehow.
That was not the case for me. Maybe it never will be. I wouldn't have to go back to 17 again to know how to keep from mucking things up. I have been working faithfully all along, but found that my partner had abandoned me in a burning building. My life lay in ruins around me with my footprints in the ashes, awaiting the beauty.