A little hope here and there …

I started to write this blog entry like a short story in short form.  But I decided against that.  I think what I want  to convey matters too much, especially at this time, to embellish it and re-write it. 

I have made a lot of mistakes in my life.  I know that.  I have hurt a lot of people in my life, and I am keenly aware of that.  I can make up any number of excuses, and all of them will be valid in one way or another.  I can blame my mistakes on my angry, abusive alcoholic father, and the horror that much of my childhood was because of him.  I could blame it on the violence in my own home that I was forced to witness as a child.  I could point finger at my mother for the head jerk she did on us when she insisted in her revisionist history the day after good ol dad died, insisting on turning him into some kind of hero.  I could blame it on my abusive, narcissistic ex and the hell that marriage was.  If a person is given to self-pity, they might tend to think that some people have no chance in life.  I have pretty much given upon that pity deal, because as hard as some things have been, I have been blessed beyond any expectations I had.

About 10 years ago, my life came to a screeching halt and I lost everything.  No home, car, children angry with me, all sorts of issues in relationships, yada, yada, yada.  I had to let go of everything.  It was painful.  I seriously considered checking out for good.  But one morning I woke up and a little voice told me that I was looking at this in the wrong way – that what I had was a huge opportunity.  I could re-build my life – but this time I would let God lead.  This time it would be right.  So that is what I did.  I think that so often we are living our lives holding on to what we have without ever questioning if we want it or if its right for us.  Most of us are just hanging on – not building.  I had to open my hands and allow the dust that was my life to blow away.  How many times does a person get the opportunity to start all over?  Not many. 

If I told the specifics of my story, most people would focus on that.  I want people to focus on what real hope is and that is that even in the midst of the worst tragedy or loss or failure in your life, God can still rebuild.  He’s God.  He can do anything – really.  If my life is anything, it should be an example of how God works and changes human hearts, something psychiatrists still cannot figure out how to do.  Anyone makes mistakes and sometimes we just do things we know we should not.  Even if you’ve been a total jerk, God still forgives and rebuilds.  Its never about anyone being too bad for God to listen.  Never.  That is what real hope is.

a minor athlete

All the other girls had crushes on the big fish in the small pond athletes.  You know, the three major sports – football, basketball and baseball.  The stars were handsome, strong and used to the attention.  I was a skinny didn’t get my figure until I was 30 type, with too much hair and glasses and braces.  I wore jeans and Mexican blouses all the time, never wore makeup and  just generally had given up on any hope that anyone would ever ask me out.  I was immature and uncomfortable in dating situations.  I tried so hard to present myself as cool and collected but like the average adolescent I was drowning in adolescent angst and when you add in the horror that was my home life, its easy to understand why I had such a hard time relating to others.  Oh, I had a date or two – even went steady – once.  I had to face the fact early that I did not have my older sister’s good looks or confidence – or meaness.  But I did love one.  I loved a minor athlete.  Not a football player, no one too important.  No, I loved a swimmer, maybe he won a few awards, I do not remember.   He was not very good looking and in fact was often characterized as ugly.  But I loved him just as he was.  He had dark eyes, was wiry like a swimmer and black hair.  I really wanted him to ask me out but he never did.  That would probably be because he seemed to hate me.  After all, one does not throw rocks at a girl one likes.  Too bad, he hated me, forcing me to love him from afar until he moved away.  Maybe its my post adolescence narcissism peeking out from behind the curtain of my mind, but I always had the feeling that he really liked me.  Really.  In the intervening years, I have wondered why he hated me so much that no action other than throwing a rock at me or throwing firecrackers at my car would be sufficient to express his dislike.  Ignoring me did not seem to be enough, did not make a firm statement.  In time, I began to wonder about the young man’s intelligence.  I watched him chase girl after girl – some quite unattractive – while I stood by and wondered why he never asked me out.  Was he simply into rejection?  What was wrong with ME?  And then I realized that he was just plain crazy.  That must be it.  How many 17 year old boys are still into throwing rocks at girls?  Even though he did those things, I still held him on a pedestal.  I am nothing if not loyal and faithful – even to someone who would like to hit me with rocks.  I think that might qualify as obsession.  I blamed ME – there must be something wrong with me for him to behave like that.  I was terrified that he knew our ugly family secret and that is why he hated me.  I could never come forward to him because I was terrified of what he might say.  Neighbors talk and I was beyond ashamed of what my father did.  I know it was not my fault but knew that many “good” families were looking down on us for it.  And he was my father. 

               Fascinating subject though it is, once again my dreams are causing me to blog.  And wonder.  I dreamed about above referenced young man 3 times this week.  You have to understand, I have no idea where this person is in life, geographically or personally.  And since I really don’t like getting hit with his particular brand of shrapnel, I have no intention of finding out.  Its what the dream represents that makes it worthy of analysis.  When I have dreamed of him in the past, I am never able to speak to him.  I see him and am watching him as he does certain things, but know that I cannot speak to him.  In a couple of dreams we did speak, briefly.  This dream was different, though.  WE speak and are on quite friendly terms.  It feels comfortable.  Before last week, the last dream I had about him was to watch him walk into a big house and close the door.  I took that to mean that a certain part of my life was over – th closing of the door represented completeness. 

               Because of my nightmare of a childhood and daughterhood, I never really believed I was worthy of love or happiness.  Maybe that is why as a young girl I chose to waste my desire on someone who clearly rejected me.  I always hoped for the chance to change his mind.  The past 6 months have been quite hard.  There have been so many changes and now I am looking forward to making more changes in my life.  I have finally learned to allow love and happiness into my life and to stop courting unhappiness.  I can trust now because I know I can negotiate the loss that might come if I trust unwisely.  I have accepted my life for what it is.  I no longer have to keep the family secrets that are not mine.  I have walked away from that.  I won’t be controlled or damaged by them any longer.  And I have forgiven my father.  So I am posting this, looking behind me for rocks being hurled in my direction, but this time I won’t just slink away.  Did I forget to mention?  I take boxing lessons.