“I do not believe this darkness will endure.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien

“I sit beside the fire and think 

Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door”
                                        ― J.R.R. Tolkien

I have been neglecting my writing lately. The reason, I'll admit, is because of a small addiction to the TV show Greys Anatomy.

I know.

It has been a growing year. It was, perhaps, the hardest summer of my life. Both because of health reasons and because of hardships I journeyed through with dear friends. It felt void of joy in many ways. Very slate grey in color. And I felt very alone in it all. spiraling down at times, into an unknown depth.  I am not good at emotions. I never have been, which is why at a fairly young age I basically decided against them. They are not reliable, they create chaos and uncertainty and make life far more complicated then it needs to be.  I have always liked being in control of myself, and even when I would deal with hormanal changes while pregnant I was always ok, knowing that it would come to an end. That I would go back to being human as soon as the 9 months were over. But this summer it was a different feeling, not knowing where the emotions were coming from, where they would take me, when they would surface and whether or not I would survive - or at least whether I would scar my children and possibly have no husband and friends at the end of it.

Ok, perhaps I am being a tad dramatic here. But that was the depth to which I felt (real or no), and didn't know how to control.

I decided to watch G. Anatomy on a whim, it was on Netflix and I had reached the end of 'How I Met Your Mother' and needed a new laundry show.

I don't like chick-flick type movies/shows. Never have. I have often said the reason is because I get angry at what I know boils down to a room full of writers that are trying hard to manipulate their audience' emotions. So I rebel and talk about how stupid it is and how no one would ever really act like that.

However, I have always liked Holocaust movies. Ok, let me clarify, not like LIKE, but they move me. Way more then any fictional romance. Because that emotion, that pain was REAL. There is nothing that could be added theatrically that could make it more stirring, more gut wrenching. It is ok to cry about it, because it really happened.

I have a weird connection to the TV show M*A*S*H. I really really like it. I am not a fan of the war setting, I don't find the characters attractive, I even dislike lots of their personalities. But there is something about it that is real. I find, when watching a show like that, that I can funnel into it some of my frustration at humanity and the unfairness of life, death, pain and separation.

I discovered I could do the same with GA, and during a summer where I felt underwater and drowning a good amount of the time - it was therapeutic. I didn't like it for the characters or the love triangles or the meaningless misunderstandings.  Honestly, I loved the stories of the patients in the show and the dynamic it brought to the doctors caring for them. I loved the relationships and the spiritually behind dealing with life and death everyday. I would say it made me want to go into the medical field...but that is not how my brain works. No, it made me want to study the medical field and then play a character that is medically involved in some performance somewhere.

 It made me want to paint a picture, create art that portrays the fragility of life in a way that makes people breathless. You see, I am an artist wanna-be. I hate painting. I can't play music. At this point in my life I don't have the time to perform...writing is my only outlet. But I have to be careful - because, you see, when I watch a show like that my outlet goes there. And it is like a band-aid. When I watch other people's created drama, regardless of whether it is based on a true story...I feel the art slipping away. It is like a science experiment we would do as a child. Take a bowl of cold, clear water. Put into it a sealed bag of warm colored water, but poke a hole in the side of the bag. Then just sit and watch as the colored water ribbons out. Does that make sense?

I have always been very aware of what is good for my creative brain and what is not. Harry Potter was good for my brain, Hunger Games was not. Outside is good for my brain, screaming babies are not. Coffee is good for my brain, a bag full of Halloween candy is not. Disney Music is good, going to the pet store is not.  It doesn't always make sense logically what is good and what is not, but I always know.

I have always been influenced by the books I read. For instance, when I read Brian Jacques books I am hungry all the time because he is so good at describing feasts. I read LM Montgomery and want to wear dresses and run in grassy fields. I read David Eddings and become quick witted and sarcastic.

I have never really been influenced by the TV shows I watch (excepting MASH). Movies either, perhaps it is because I grew up in Los Angeles, or because I have been in to many plays. I know a little too much of what it takes to produce those shows. It isn't one or two people feeling compelled by their imaginary friends (for lack of a better term) to write them down and set them free. It is teams of writers, actors, lighting, sets, costumes...all too complicated and planned. I watch as a critic, I see a stumble and wonder if that was scripted or just left in because the editors were tired and ready to go home for the night. I disagree with comic timing or blocking or camera angels and get frustrated that it could have been done better. I see all of those things when I watch a movie or a show...whereas books are simply my friends.
 
GA was good for my emotional stability, but it was not good for my creative brain. It leeched out the confusion and frustration at life and death. But it left me rather empty. I got lost in it to easily. I connected to deeply. I cried more while watching that show then all other shows in my entire life of watching shows and movies put together. I didn't write. I tried. I failed. It didn't work, the words were no there. Even this is feeling rather forced. But it is good to get back on the horse.

My imaginary friends have been silent lately, sleeping. In a way it is kind of nice to have a break. But as the weather finally starts to get cold. My hard summer is gone and behind me, I am fully medicated and back under at least partial emotional control. I have worked to re-establish some of the relationships I neglected over the past few months...it is time to wake them up. It is time to plug the hole in the bag and open the top so that life can again become permeated with color.

It is time to laugh...it feels like a long time since I have laughed, REALLY laughed. It is time to find the joy, and not the sorrow. It is time to break free and run in the rain.

I have never really looked up Tolkien quotes before. Which surprises me. But I did today and I am over-joyed at what I have found. So to end today I will give you several words of wisdom and/or advice.

One feels very close to my creative heart.
 
We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.”
                                                  ― J.R.R. Tolkien

The second is just good advice!

 “Never laugh at live dragons.”
                                                   ― J.R.R. Tolkien

And the third? Well, take this as you may. But know for sure that I mean every word.
 
“I warn you, if you bore me, I shall take my revenge.”
                                                     ― J.R.R. Tolkien

      

To be in control...

 "Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong."      -Oscar Wilde

I like control. Alot.

I like to know what the outcome will be before I start the procedure. I like to have a plan, a schedule. I think, if I had been raised in an environment where things were systematic and rehearsed I could have developed a very type A personality, and probably would have gone on to become a nurse or teacher or something else that requires an organized mind, someone in control all the time, very career driven.

But I wasn't raised that way.  I was un-schooled for a good portion of my childhood, I had parents that valued creative content over neat handwriting, original ideas over spelling and beautiful autumn days over finished math tests. I did learn how to read and what 2+2 equaled. But I also had courses in "Reading Out Loud." and "Sight Reading Music Theory in 3 part harmony."  Pretty sure your average public school does not teach those classes....

Of course that couldn't last, through highschool I got down to learning algebra and my parents tried their best to instil basic grammar - the jury is still out on whether or not that was successful... And off to college I went.

I got good grades in college, when I chose to (and thanks to my amazingly brilliant roommate that proof-read every single one of my papers before I turned them in, she gave them back bleeding in red ink from all my spelling mistakes). There was that one class where I downright told the teacher I was going just for a passing grade and would be turning in only the projects that fit that criteria. She laughed and told me no student had ever told her that before. But that was my last semester senior year and I was all done. Aside from that (She gave me a C-), I got mostly A's and a few B's and LOTS of "You have a very 'unique' writing style" from professors written on my papers.
 
I like to be in control. And in my house with my kids? I am in control 100% of the time. But as I have gotten older, I have noticed that the more in control I try to be in my own life, all to often, the less control I actually have. As my kids get older I have had to let some things go. And it is physically painful for me. I have had to let go some of the control over their education and socialization by sending them to school. I have had to allow them freedom of expression, something that came so effortlessly to my parents, has been difficult for me. Let them choose their own clothes? What!?! What if they choose wrong? So I have had to, little by little, allow them to do things on their own, so that they can grow up. I have had to allow my husband to be dad. A parent, just as much as I am. It really doesn't matter what he feeds the kids for dinner, as long as they are fed. Or what time they go to bed, or whether xy and z are all in their own neat little packages. What matters is that kids are happy and taken care of, and with daddy kids are ALWAYS happy.

Daddy took all three kids to a work party all on his own recently. This was HARD for me. Not only would they be out of my sight, out of my control - but it would happen in a house I had never been to before. I didn't know the environment, the dangers, the people. But I swallowed my panic, and made sure kids had jackets as they paraded happily out the door.

Of course my fears became reality as Taylor smugly informed me the next day: "Daddy let us have soda last night!" I paused for a moment, then simply smiled, giving her the expected. "He did huh? It must have been a special day." All the while breathing through my loss of control. It is good for me.

Yes, kids like (and need) alone time with Daddy. There is a freedom there that mom can't manage.

I have been reflecting on being a kid a lot lately. I think it is because my kids are growing like weeds  and it is making me sentimental. They are hitting some real "growing up" milestones like learning to read, and talking about philosophy and religion and GETTING it.

It makes me want to take a step back, freeze time and just reflect. There are some key moments that stick out in my memory from when I was small, some of them are there for an obvious reason. An accomplishment was achieved, a tragedy occurred, but many are seemingly random. However, as I look back, I can draw something of a map between remembered moments. I realize, that I can remember specific moments growing up, where I was allowed control.  It has made me look at parenting a little differently. I realize, how much of my personality was allowed to blossom because I was allowed freedom of control. And then I also look back and realize just how much was regulated, and how important that was too.

Of course, in a sense I cheat. Maps between childhood and adulthood are easier to draw for me because I have something of a handbook - 4 handbooks actually. I think I have mentioned it before that my dad wrote letters to us kids as we were growing up. My kids LOVE hearing the conversations that were written down, that I had with my dad and other family members. Transcribed word for word from when I was 4 or 6 or whatever age they like. It is funny, some of the situations I can remember growing up, are mirrored in these books from the point of view of my parents. What a parenting gift when I have a mini-me living within my walls. Of course what parent doesn't? We are all doomed two types of children. And I will even argue that if a parent chooses to only have one kid, both personalities will be present at different times because it has been written in the stars that it must be so.

The first type of child every parent must learn to suffer through is the child that is just like them. The reason for this, is to teach us humility, and perhaps to answer the prayer of our parents ("I hope someday you have a child that puts you through all that you have put me through!") The second kind we must all learn to endure is the complete opposite of us, usually the perfect mirror of the sibling that pushed our buttons the most while growing up . My sister and I used to laugh and tell one another that someday we would each have a daughter, and hers would be exactly like me, and mine would be just like her.

We were deadly right.

The reason for this, is the same reason we had that sibling in the first place. To learn to laugh in the face of insanity. The insanity being of course the sibling that, according to you, is always wrong.
 
But my memory of growing up is so spotty, perhaps that is normal? Perhaps it is hereditary as certain members of my family have a reputation for being "forgetful." 

I can remember clearly the first time I asked my mom how many cookies I could have at a party. And she said "you are old enough to know what is ok, you choose." That memory is strong. But there are so many holes. Times I feel should have been remembered, that are not.

For instance, I have no memory of this:

"Hello Daddy."
"Oh, hi Sarah."
"Mama told me to call you at work."
"Oh yeah? What's up?"
"It's out."
"Out? What's out?"
"My tooth is out."
"Your tooth fell out?"
"No - I think I swallowed it."
"Oh no - Sarah!"
"I was eating toast."
"What are you going to do Sarah?"
"Nothing."
"Will you finish your toast?"
"I already did."
"Wow, your first tooth. I think I'll write that on the wall somewhere."
"No! You can't."
"But I want everyone to know."
"It's not allowed."
"No - well, I guess you're right."
"Goodbye Daddy."
"Goodbye Sarah."


See? Control issues as a 6 year old. But no real lasting memory. I wonder if my older sister, the one exactly like my now 6 year old (Who has already lost 5 teeth) can remember such a monumental occurrence as losing her first tooth.  And yet several pages later it is barely mentioned that I helped to lay new bathroom tile, and I can remember that vividly!

I remember once as a kid, asking my mom what we were going to do that day, and getting the response: "We will just play it by ear." and it caused panic. I can remember that panic. Because I needed a schedule.  I envied kids in school, and I can remember this - not because of the friends or the lack or parental presence, but because they got a schedule! The joy I felt in college, going to my first class, knowing EXACTLY what would happen next. I can remember it vividly and it still thrills me.

As a pre-teen and beyond I put together a schedule for myself and followed it religiously. I remember it started at 8:15 and went through until 7pm. Breaking the day into 15 minute increments, each with an assigned task/activity - some as simple as "Play cards and listen to music." Some mental professional out there is probably shaking their head at this, thinking "an 11 year old with every moment of everyday scheduled by choice? Must be early onset ocd!" But it really wasn't. I just liked to be in control, and honestly at that age I didn't get much. My mom had a baby and a toddler in the house to care for, so I was left mostly on my own to plan anything that needed doing. And so I did.

I still get a certain level of anxiety facing a day with nothing planned.I tell people that I am a stay at home mom, but I don't stay at home. I go OUT of this prison of a house and explore. I wish so badly we had gardens, museums and zoo's close by, those were my freedom as a kid. And my kids would LOVE them.

I like control. But as I get older, I am learning that there is freedom in giving up the reigns. The joy I see in my kids eyes when I tell them they get to choose. The relief I feel when someone else plans dinner. These are good things! I'm tired. And I realize that it is ok to let someone else be boss for a time. God has been training me for something, I can tell. I have been put into situations where I get to stand by and watch a lot lately. And it has been good. Hard, but good!

So today I will be out of control. I will not go to the gym. I will have a second cup of coffee. I will only fold laundry if I want to. I may even let the kids have some soda! Perhaps we shall go outside and sing at the top of our lungs until the neighbors come out to join us. Perhaps we shall sit inside and watch movies way past our bedtimes. I think I'll let the kids decide. Perhaps I shall let Kaylee choose lunch and then the big kids can do the dishes. Then we shall built a pillow fort and leave it up all night and the next day. Today I shall be spontaneous and not scheduled. Today I shall get the answer wrong and be ok with it.

But first a fussy baby is up from her nap and I need that second cup of coffee....

There are lots and lots of people who are always asking things,
Like Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings,
And the answer's always Sixpence or a Hundred Inches Long.
And I know they'll think me silly if I get the answer wrong.
So Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright,
And says, "Well, I say sixpence, but I don't suppose I'm right."
And then it doesn't matter what the answer ought to be,
'Cos if he's right, I'm Right, and if he's wrong, it isn't Me.   - A.A. Milne

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb...

“There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. ― C.S. Lewis, The 
Voyage of the Dawn Treader


I have been watching people a lot lately. I am not entirely sure why. But I think that it is primarily because they have been very interesting to me.  Ok, ok, you are right. That was kind of obvious there. But it is true.

I have explained being young before, as similar to looking out of a window:
 

You are safe in your familiar environment, you can see the big bad world out there. But you can't touch it, it can't touch you. When you are small all you can see are beautiful colors out the window. Of course, when you are small whatever is outside does not really matter. As you get older, the window gets bigger, or perhaps you simply get closer to it. The colors start to form shapes, you are aware that there is a world out there, just waiting to be explored. But you still can only see what is directly in front of you. Just the trees, the rocks, perhaps a beautiful flower. You are safe inside.

As time goes on, you start to see more, life starts to make more sense. Now you can see beyond the trees. You can see the sky, the lake, the animals. You can see dangers before they arise, you can see the saplings just starting to grow. You can see fish jumping in the lake. Eventually, you step outside the safety of your room. For a while you can hop back in when things get scary, but eventually, you realize that the more time you spend inside, the less you can see. The more time you spend outside of your comfort zone, the easier it becomes. The better it becomes, the more exciting, the more beautiful. After a while, you don't want to go back inside anymore. The older you get, the more you can see. The more you understand. The more you realize just how small your vision was when you were young. Eventually, you laugh at yourself for jumping back inside, there are such wonderful things out here! True, there are dangers. Many many dangers, but oh they are worth it.

You are an expert at wandering now - perhaps even a bit cocky. You know your way, you can see all around, the path is clear. You know what you want, who you want to become.

You smile as a child tells you of the wonders of their flower, knowing the magnificent mountains they have yet to face, knowing there is no possible way you can explain, but being excited for them never-the-less and giving them a mysterious "You can be anything you want to be." Simply meaning, 'don't stop at the flower.  There is more to be discovered!' Knowing all the while that you cannot explain it, they HAVE to wait and find out for themselves. And so you celebrate with them their flower.

And you get older, you understand more. And as you see all the things that were once hidden, you realize just how much there is still yet to be found.  Again, you laugh at your former self, of course you don't know all there is to know. You don't want to, where would the magic be? As you have kids of your own you carefully construct safe-houses for them. Putting the most beautiful things you can find in front of their windows, all the while knowing that you are simply painting a picture. How much danger do you let them see? After all, eventually they too will walk through, whether we want them to or not. How can we best prepare them for something they are not old enough to understand? How can we prepare them when they don't yet have eyes to see?

You shake your head at the young woman/man that boasts of jumping into the lake. They can't see the rocks beneath yet.  They are not ready. There is danger they cannot see, and they wont see it yet. No matter how well it is explained, they cannot understand. How can you warn them of the danger? We panic, "THERE ARE ROCKS!" We yell. But all they hear is gibberish, and they think we are the crazy ones. Yelling gibberish, they can see the lake, it looks fine to them! What are these "rocks?" It makes no sense. They can't see yet, they can't.



And you become more and more aware of all the rocks that you still cannot see.  Because you can remember, you remember at 6 years old you learning that the colors had shapes. At 10 you learned the shapes had names. At 13 you learned that outside looked fun. At 16 you discovered you could touch it if you really tried. At 18 you learned you could explore, but still come back into safety if you needed it.  At 21 you learned you could wander as far as you wanted to go. At 25 you discovered you couldn't go back, you didn't want to go back. At 30 you discovered that there was so so so much more you still hadn't seen...

What comes at 35? 40...50...75?

At 30 you see people. Or perhaps way before... perhaps after. Everyone's journey through the window is different.

At 30 you see people wandering. You see people confused, you see people laughing, hurt, upset, joyful, loving, hating, lost, anxious, peaceful, angry...broken.

You see people broken. Sometimes broken is a good thing. Sometimes not. But oh, there are so very many broken people.


Eustace Clarence Scrubb was a wretched boy. Through his window, no one existed but himself. Everything was there to please him. According to him, everyone else's windows saw the same thing as his, because he couldn't see beyond himself. And according to him, his window was better then everyone else's, and he bragged about the pretty colors. His window had become a mirror, reflecting only him. And until he could change his attitude, nothing else would change. No trees, no mountians, no beautiful lake. No Aslan.

But you see, just because we cannot see the rocks yet, does not mean they are not there. Oh they are there. And they can still cause damage. REAL damage.

Some people don't ever leave their rooms, no matter how old they get. And they get angry when someone moves something outside their window. They like it to stay the same, all the time. They don't want to explore, they don't want to grow. They also don't want anyone else to grow or explore, because they cannot see beyond themselves. Their window has become a mirror, reflecting only ME-ness. They don't want to see the rocks...and when they stub their toe they assume it must have been something YOU did, because in their mind. The rocks don't exist. They are blind, selfish, arrogant, and until they change their attitude, nothing will change. No trees, no mountains, no beautiful lake. No Aslan.

But we are not meant to live in a cave.
 

“He [Eustace] had turned into a dragon while he was asleep. Sleeping on a dragon's hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

When we stay inside, something changes in us. We become something ugly. When we pretend the rocks don't exist. When we arrange our world according to how WE think it SHOULD be instead of discovering what is. When we force others to leave everything exactly where they found it because we can't handle anything that is outside of our own control. When we start collecting pretty things, hoarding everything nice for ourselves and shoving the world aside. Because it is too HARD out there. And it is easy and comfortable and dark in here. We become what we have surrounded ourselves with.

Do you know how Eustace turned back into a boy? Do you know how he stepped outside of his window?

Aslan, the great lion, literally ripped the dragon scales off with His claws. Everything had to be brutally torn away. Once the dragon part of him had been entirely destroyed, then he could be human again. Then he could be used. Then he could see, then he could understand. The colors had become shapes, the shapes had names. He could see the rocks.

  “The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart.” - Eustace

 "Tearing"and "Ripping" are ugly words. People are broken. So very broken. But they can be fixed, by being ripped apart. I can be fixed, you can be fixed - we can be fixed!




“It would be nice and fairly nearly true, to say that 'from that time forth, Eustace was a different boy.' To be strictly accurate, he began to be a different boy. He had relapses. There were still many days when he could be very tiresome. But most of those I shall not notice. The cure had begun.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Ha! "The cure had begun." I like that. It sounds so full of hope.


I like watching people. People are very interesting to me. Because no matter what we have done in our lives, no matter what has been done to us. No matter how many rocks, no matter how blind we have been. Even if we have changed entirely into something that is completely outside of human, there is hope.

We are all broken. We all need a good ripping into every so often. But the cure has begun. I don't like watching people because we are broken.  I like seeing the cure, I like seeing the hope. I like seeing the joy. It is there, in all of us. Even the most dragonish of the lot, there is a cure, it has begun. We will not be broken forever.


But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader