Blunderview

I haven't spent as much time over here at Blunderview. Clearly because I've plumb run out of time; being a do-gooder and all over at the Darfur blogspot. But there's more to it than that, and in my typical unedited manner, I think I'm ready to explore some of those reasons today.

Today would be my brother's 45th birthday. It has been two years since that terrible day when the news came in that the pain in his back and legs was much, much more insidious than we had ever once imagined. And less than two months later, my handsome, brilliant, funny, brother was an ungodly shade of taut green skin when he breathed his last. Horrifying.

The pain came and comes in ways that I would have never expected. I have hurt. I have hurt others. Some of it is irreparable. I don't like to speak of it, but I feel it in my stomach if I allow my head to think of it at all. I wear scars on my body and my heart from the ways in which the pain tried to leach its way out. The weight of the pain dragged up with it many other pains that had been held at bay for years, and had been manageable or at least hide-able. And that, of course, had its own ripple effect and caused pain in others. There's no simple answer. Some regret, but the utter absence of "woulda, shoulda, coulda's". It was all real. It was (is)incredibly difficult.

Therefore, through three extreme Manitoba seasons, I made my way up three flights of stairs to go and bare my heart to a stranger. Baring my heart, or attempting to do so, to people I know and love was just too layered; too enmeshed. And my latent illness kept popping up the lid of the can I held it in. It frightened me. I knew that if I were to give advice to someone else in my position it would be to seek professional help, so I complied. The fear and dread of the chronic and progressive nature of my illness, and the telltale signs that were already upon me drove me onward.

And a year later, I can see that it was worth it. The inconvenience, the frustration at not always being understood, the agony of crying the tears, the forced oppurtunity to sit and be still, and allow those emotions to be fully recognized, felt, named, befriended.

Which brings me to Blunderview. It has been a great tool for me. The sitting down, exploring, expressing, and the subsequent spawning of authenticity in relationships. Every now and again I become frightened about the amount of vulnerability I have spilt here. But the truth is that I don't want it any other way. Life is short, and too much of our culture hinges on the way things appear. That's not a voice I am willing to adopt. I would rather provide an alternate voice. A voice that may be more raw than polished. A voice that asks questions. Can not provide the correct answers. A voice whose center resides in Jesus, the embodiment of God. Without apology.

It is an amazing thing when a person decides to stop looking for permission to live out loud. Some of it has resulted in very painful losses. Misunderstandings. Sadnesses. But the flip side is that now, at the age of forty, I am finally getting a clearer sense of what I want to be when I grow up. I've always been a late bloomer, but at least I have a shot at blooming at all.

A few years ago, I had a God-given word that planted itself firmly in my brain. It was "Rest". God knows I'm not much good at that. I prefer to be busy, busy, busy. But the kind of rest that I am learning is more internal, and less external. It sits somewhere near my core, and its a safe place to retreat to. It reminds me that I don't have to know everything. It reminds me about trust, and moving slowly when life swirls too fast. It reminds me that I can't please everybody, and that I've never been designed to do so. It helps me remember that the fears I have today about uncertainties in my life will not consume me. Life is not static, and the pain that consumes me today will continue to evolve, if I don't aggressively try to fight it away, or stuff it into a tidily labelled box.

Life just isn't tidy. But along the rows that we try so hard to plant in an orderly fashion that spring up weeds and canola and quack grass; there exists an exquisate beauty. Plunk yourself down in the very middle of all of it- the planned and the unexpected. Take it all in. Learn from the very thing that you desparately want to wish away.

And then tell someone else about it. We're not meant to go this alone.
So, to all my faithful lurkers and commenters, thanks for Blunderview. Its weeds and flowers have enriched my life in ways I could not have known.