Empty Nexter

I'm standing in the middle of my favorite grocery store and I've been shopping for quite some time now. My basket is, for all intents and purposes, more than full. I stand, looking over my selections, watching the other shoppers. They appear enraptured with their selections, their carts, their choices...just their being there. Yawn.

Some are genuinely happy and I envy them. In my heart there is a longing to feel that happiness, that sense of contentment they seem to get from just being there. I don't understand it anymore. I used to, but now I am so very bored with it all. I've seen everything, over and over. I've snacked on the samples. I've gone home with and gorged on probably every item available to me in hopes that I will finally feel that proverbial illusive happiness only to realize I'm not content at all. I am still so very, very empty.

I walk up and down each aisle looking for what it is I feel I am missing. There is a clue here somewhere. Something they have in their cart that I don't have. Surely.

Some offer a specific item they are sure will answer my dilemma. I used to toss those into my cart with hopeful eagerness. But at this point in my journey I no longer think another item in my cart will make a difference to the balance, one way or the other. My appetite waned, my interest unmotivated.

I feel like walking away. No, scratch that. I feel like running away. Screaming. The urge to flee is so very strong. I want to leave the basket there and never return. What's the use? What purpose does this or that item serve. I no longer care about the contents or what happens to me if I don't purchase them. I no longer care to be here. I am empty. My heart screams NEXT!!??!!??

This is how it's been for some time now. It's not the store; I've been to many different stores. And it's not the contents of the basket; it's all healthy choices, no Twinkies or chips - not that an occasional Twinkie or bag of chips is bad mind you - but I don't even crave those things. I am empty. And I want next.

This is my walk in the Christian life of late. I am bored. Bored with Christianity, bored with church, bored with the reasons I am bored and bored with the answers to my boredom.

I am empty and I am screaming NEXT!?!?!?!

Yes, I work at a church. Yes, I attend this church and love this church. I love the God I worship and serve. I have no question of who He is or if He is or where He is. I've no question of my faith, the validity of my religion or the truth of Christ. All that is very solid, very real.

I know His word. I've read His word over and over. I've sat at His feet and desperately clung to His cross pleading for more of Him. He knows all of this because I talk to Him in very real terms on a daily basis.

And yet, I am empty. Next?

I'm not sure where this post is going or what my point is other than to put it out there. I know others feel the same because I've had this conversation with quite a few people. Christians bored with Christianity.

There is no answer you can give me. I am not asking for a solution or even your solution. No need to invite me to visit your grocery store. No sense in me envying or borrowing what you have in your cart. No need to figure out what snack, ingredient or even recipe I should try now. Nope. Been there. Done that. Next?

The Good, the bad and the Downright Uuugly....

Oh my word! Has it already been 14 days? I've had my family home all week and it has gone by so fast...

What a freakin' crazy white water ride too. Emotionally, physically, everythingally.

The Good
Monday we journeyed out to Barnes & Noble. For me, this is as close to Heaven on Earth as there is without being sacrilegious. (For my husband Heaven on Earth would be Northern Tools, Home Depot or Lowe's) Not to mention this particular B&N sells Starbuck's right there. Not that I am a Starbuck's devotee, no, no, no mon ami's, just a coffee devotee. Coffee and books. Yesssss. I wonder, will there be books in Heaven? Hmmm...

I wandered through Heaven slowly in a literature induced euphoria literally salivating over the innumerable selections before me. I started with six, narrowed it down to three and only walked out with one, The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell. What a delightful choice at that. And truly, the fact that it was set in Ireland, had nothing to do with my decision.

Okay, maybe just a bit.

Speaking of Ireland...I found it rather humorous that every aisle that I walked down had an Irish book of some sort on display. I don't believe this was because of St. Patrick's day otherwise there would have been a whole display. Just a smidgen of irony I think...

I took pictures...well, what pass as pictures. Again, I don't have a decent camera and all I had with me was my phone:



I am quite certain I would have found many, many more, had I actually tried to find these. Or, with irony such as it is, perhaps not. No matter the case, it gave me a smile or a laugh each time and made me think of new found friends. Mayhap a nudge from the Lord's to pray for them...after reading about Ali's dreaded flight disease, and Pluto's furry visitor, I now understand.

The weather has been dutifully accommodating for our week together. There was the empty promise of some nasty storms on Tuesday. Sadly we didn't get as much as a spit of rain from the skies. No thunder, no lightening, not even one danged ominous black cloud.

And with the good weather we've begun work on our summer project for this year. The west side of the house. Or as Miss Nancy Mon would say, "A big shout out to the west si-eeede!" Sigh, I so miss her. And many others! I actually look forward to going back to work tomorrow! Crazy huh?

Back to the projects, er project. The side of the house is terribly overgrown. The couple that owned it before us apparently became ill and unable to take care of all the flowerage and vegetation. So we've been out pulling up plants that have become more like weeds. Cutting down bushes that have become more like trees. So far we've filled 12 of the super huge lawn bags and have lots to go. Yee. Haw.

The Bad
On Wednesday and Thursday my emotions got the best of me. My son left Thursday for Iraq and I have to tell you that right now is one of the most difficult times in my life. For one, he has decided to be angry with me for reasons I won't go into here. And in my mind this isn't the time for anger...this is the time for forgiveness and letting others know just how much you love them, no matter what.

Which I made sure he heard from me even if I didn't hear as much from him. For two, if he is mad at me okay, I am a big girl, but dang, he should have at least talked to his step-father and brother and sister. They are very hurt as well. For three, well I guess it is just a matter of this is the third one there which takes me to harder and harder places. And four, my emotions are on shaky ground to begin with considering all that has gone on before.

Shaky ground because even though I no longer feel physical hunger, I cannot sate my mental hunger. And the mental hunger is a far more difficult battle to wage war against. Like ghost pains for an amputee.

The Ugly
For the emotional eater, add these two together - the surgery and my oldest son leaving - and you have a cataclysmic situation on your hands. At one point I longed for the pots of meat in Egypt. I understood how the Israelites could even consider the choice. It seems far easier to go back to what required no struggle, no growth, no death of self, than to go forward in seemingly endless circumstances.

As I pause from typing this I look up at the tack board filled with pictures and notes and cards and such. But the one thing that sticks out is this, a note written to myself:

My Refuge is the eternal God. Deuteronomy 33:27

My Hope and my faith are in God. 1 Peter 1:21

My Security is in God. Philippians 4:19

My Acceptance is in God. Isaiah 62:5

Those words have been a reminder to me to stop looking to food, people and earthly things (yes, even books and coffee) for refuge and love. These are found only in God.

And no matter how much my heart hurts, how my stupid mind wanders back to those pots of meat and chains of slavery, He is the one who will meet my needs.

No matter what.

January Thy Name is Vulture

My bones are picked clean. Stark white and absent of anything to give. I am as dry and hollow as a long forgotten well.

The past weeks gathered around me taunting like school yard bullies threatening my spirit and taking away my strength. Leaving me as empty as a pocket void of lunch money.

I am even short on words. Notice the lack of posts? I do. I want to write, truly I do. I just have nothing in me. And if something happens that even so much as flirts with post possibility, by the time I sit before my computer I am either too tired to type it out or cannot remember - for the life of me - what I was going to write. Evil brain.

January has been unkind and harsh. Like a bitter old woman, cold and soulless. And because she would not have your warmth, she spreads over you like a disease. Tainted, your thoughts begin to chill and your heart starts to harden. I hope January is in no way portent of the next 11 months. And just why do we think of January that way?

My best friend Sharon used to call this month Suckuary. I say 'used to' because this year she set her mind to not being contaminated by the witch's viral hand - she was successful. I've read several other friend's blog posts on the topic of disdain for January and although I understand their aversion, I would not (normally) agree.

I myself, love January. I delight in the docile grayness of the sky. I savor the rainy days, holding on to them like fresh cup of coffee. All year I wait to feel the cold wind, the kind that races past your face taking your breath with it. The darkness that lingers long in the morning and waits till the last moment to leave in the evening. How the trees disrobed of their leaves seem to search hauntingly for their identity, which has been strewn across yards like so much laundry waiting to be washed. The deep hibernation of nature - life on hold, waiting for a new start.

So you would think with all that to enjoy, for me any way, this month would not have taken its toll. But it did. The tax man has exacted his fees and then some. I do not mean to whine so. Sorry, perhaps you've stopped reading by now because of the dreariness of it all. But it must be said, it must come out.

And so, it is with impatience that I wait for February 1. Yes, only 2 days away but as a friend of mine says, come on ice cream. She uses it in an entirely different context, but I think it's fitting.

Empty Boxes

Cardboard boxes sit on the floor stacked one inside another waiting to be filled with something other than each other. I keep meaning to begin the task of loading them up, but the energy required to do so is too much to conjure up at the moment. So I walk around them resenting their presence and their implications.

I know once they are packed, taped and stacked in the corner awaiting their departure, there will still be so much of you left behind. I don't think we will ever permanently erase the traces of your steps or untie the cords you wound around us. Your words will play in the background like the muzak at the grocery store, distant but ever present in our activity and no control over the volume.

I must simply take the first step and it will be done. Yet I know I cannot box up the guilt or the the anger. I cannot tape shut the resentment or the pain. I can't wrap up 3 years of a childish war in brown paper and tuck it neatly next to the control you held. There is no box that will hold the regrets that this is what it is.

Healing does not come in neat packages. Neat packages are no substitute for healing.

...it is too a word

I feel I need to explain the title, Ventage Inklings. I love to write - there is such a catharsis in the process of placing pen to paper. I started writing poems and short stories when I was around 10 years old. When I write, I go to a place where I am free to express what goes on in my head, heart & soul and then attempt to take the readers of my choice to that place. But to put your heart out there for anyone & everyone to see...that makes writing a totally different thing. All those little tucked away insecurities fly in your face and stick their tongue out at you...this causes me to backspace and edit far too much! :) The word ventage means literally a small opening...and this is my small opening. My little window for you to peek into my writing and rambling on. It's also my little play on words, because I am sure there will be a time or two when I will vent. About 20 years ago I wrote this poem called Inklings. It was for me a definition of the writing process.

Inklings

It always seems to come to me whenever I least expect it,

And no matter how hard I try, there's just no way to neglect it.

An inkling in the back of my mind that wiggles it's way round,

That suddenly yells out to me, "you HAVE to write this down!".

So, I stop and find a scrap or two of paper lying hidden,

And hunt a pen that works so I may get this darn thought written.

Then finally I sit me down and try a little self expression.

So that I may leave upon this world my very own impression.

Dana Moya 1989 Copyrighted

Inklings was also a literary group with members the likes of J.R.R. Tolkien & C.S. Lewis. I didn't know that little fact at the time I wrote the poem, but it gave it a little more meaning for me. The definition of inkling is a slight knowledge or vague notion...that's me, slight knowledge and vague notions! And there you have it. The deep and spiritual (not) meaning of the title. I hope you visit me from time to time, and share some of your own ventage inklings!