Tag Archives: Church

August 6th, 2003

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Day Three

As I’m lying in the dark last night, a couple of thoughts connected.

My Dad is ashamed of my Mom.  He has been for as long as I can remember. On the way to drop me off – I’m in the back seat, they’re in the front. (paging Dr. Freud…Dr. Freud please report to Dan’s Id…).

We stopped at the ferry toll booth and just before we pull away, my Mom leans waaaay over to tell the attendant with a smile and a great flourish that, “the prices sure have changed since the last time she was on a ferry – 35 years ago!” (we had just been talking about how long it had been since she was on a ferry and we guessed it had been 25 years – but 35 years sounds more impressive to Mom.)

Anyway – my Dad actually holds his hand up in front of her face and pushes her back (not physically… just with a gesture like brushing away a fly) impatiently nodding, saying, “o.k., o.k., o.k…” and pulling away from the booth.

I’m a lot like her. And he’s ashamed of her.

He treats her badly. She can be very annoying at times. But no one deserves that.

I’ve never really defended her. Never defended Claire, Tess or our baby. I used Tammy, Dana, and those who comprise the handful of other women I’ve “known”….

“handful”. How noble is that?

Jesus, I need you to sort this out; where is the broken part of my heart? Is it all that? I don’t know where to begin.

It seems to settle around shame and disappointment.

The broken part of my heart is ashamed of what it is and is convinced that it is a disappointment.

“Appoint” To give status to. To enlist one in an office or a role.

“Dis-appoint”. Duh.

Interesting. Who gets dis-appointed by whom?

Read chapters 2 and 3 of 1Peter – very interesting in the “Message” version. Doing things God’s way BECAUSE it hurts…hmm.

A couple of interesting things occurred to me on the trail today.

I found that as I walked, I began getting impatient again. It’s like life itself wanted to accelerate, and so, somehow – I managed to get my cadence off – from the normal easy waltz of, “Thank you, Lord” that I’d been singing in my head for the last two days (which has served me VERY well…Thank you, Lord) to the version that goes more like the “Beer  Barrel Polka”…and I didn’t notice it. In fact I very consciously reckoned I had slowed the song down for the first part of the day. Why did I think that? Cause I wasn’t getting where I wanted to go fast enough!

Without noticing it, for a couple of hours, I went from “just walking” to “trying to get somewhere” again.

Rushing. Wanting to succeed.

Of course during that time, I thought about work!  Was Satan trying to get at me?

Anyway,  I was really pushing to get to Chicago Camp and it seemed to take FOREVER, even though I realized I was probably moving faster. Then I slowed to my “Thank you” pace (which was SO HARD to do)…and BOOM – there I was: Chicago Camp.

The other thought was this:

Three days IN to the wilderness – three days into something. There is that reverent and mysterious length of time that God seems to favor for so many things.

Well – tomorrow is “after three days and nights.” What will God write next?

I hope He gives me a name.

Wow – a “memory” just hit me HARD – my Dad’s teaching was always Independence. Do-it-yourself. The whole move to Stanwood was about self-sufficiency. That’s not me. I don’t do stuff alone. Therefore, every loan, every help, the down-payment for our house, were failures in my broken heart.

I failed Dad in that way. Failed Mom each time I stepped outside the role of “Beaver Cleaver: The perfect middle-class child”.

Here comes another! Why is it hard for me to encourage?! Especially Brenda?

…Satan trying to get me to do his dirty work…but also me,  trying to hold on to approval, because I believe there is only so much of it  to go around…like fruit cakes. (there are only three fruit cakes, you know. But encouragement is a fruit cake that people WANT to keep)

What brought this to mind was how I imagined Allen praising John Eldredge…how Allen praises me. He gives it away so freely. I do not.

My true heart can see the good and encourageAble things in others…I see them all the time. But my BROKEN heart gags the true heart; keeps it quiet – or replaces the things I saw with cruel judgments.

My true heart is more like my daughter’s…encouraging and brave.

August 5th, 2003

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Day Two

Really didn’t sleep well at all. Un-comfortable all night. No moon. A very thick darkness. Got up at 6:30 and had things ready to go in very short order. My back is threatening me, but not an issue yet. Gotta keep stretching.

I’m watching some species of duck that lands on the surface of the river, floats backwards, then dives, emerging a moment later, several yards upstream. Assuming they’re feeding on insects.

I can’t call it a sense of well-being, or even peace, but more than resignation that I’m feeling this morning. Maybe this is a feeling of purpose? My purpose today is to walk to Chateau Camp. That’s it. I don’t know for sure what this feeling is.

My question for today will be that of last night: “What am I scared of REALLY?” God, I’m listening (through the strains of “It’s Your Love” and “Do You Believe in Life After Love”…ARGHHH!)

This is what I’ve heard so far: I’m afraid of a lingering and painful death- but perhaps MORE is the fear of the shame of dying slowly and painfully because I’ve made a mistake, chosen wrong, didn’t think, did something stupid. To be a shame – to disappoint is scary. I’m also brought back to the thought of “going back” – back tracking – returning. The thought of going back seems to grow increasingly unthinkable, and this lines up with the way I do everyday life. I am afraid of going back – of having to anticipate what I know comes next. It feels like a waste – and waste is shameful.

I’m praying for my family today, too.

It would seem that I am afraid of being uncomfortable. But can you be AFRAID of that?

Arrived at the Hayes River Ranger Station at 2:30! What a beautiful river.

Continuing to read “Waking the Dead”. Finished the chapter on counseling and began the one on healing. He talks about something, some event, creating a broken heart. Everyone is broken hearted. It occurs to me that I keep coming back to my early childhood. It’s like I’m trying to remember. I know there were lots of fights – my brother and Dad. And I have this memory of my Mom wearing lipstick and wearing an apron – I brought this up in an intercessory prayer session once before. I think it was the day Mom caught me and Leslie C. playing “show me”. Did that happen AFTER Ben abused me?…Does it matter? She punished me harshly – nothing was done to Ben for what he did to me.

Maybe I’m angry at my Mom.

Just caught my breath as I read page 136. Eldredge lies in bed asking himself, finally, “what am I afraid of?” His fear is:  he’s blowing it…like when his girlfriend had an abortion – this f*cking book is about me.

I couldn’t disappoint – had to be good – Ben wasn’t – I got punished – he didn’t. He took drugs, he got girls pregnant and he went on.

I fooled around with Claire and wanted to cover my shame – I got Tess  pregnant – I asked/agreed to an abortion to cover my shame. So many things either lied about or never even attempted for fear of shame.

God, why aren’t you ashamed? You should be. I know it’s your nature not to be – I know that. But what about me is NOT shameful?

Another name comes to mind: Cameron. from “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”

O.K., God, now Eldredge is getting to the “healing part” and it happens on a 4-day solo back-packing trip in which he nearly dies. What are you doing to me!?

What is it that I keep “doing to” my broken little boy?

Jesus I have prayed – I give you permission to come into my heart fully and redeem the broken places. – give me a whole heart.

I remember getting the call from Tess, telling me she was pregnant. I was in my apartment in Riverton Heights. I cried. I panicked. My first thought was something like,  “My parents will be so ashamed.”

Actually my first thought was a picture of their faces.

I also remember the moment I realized I had a drug problem.

I chose NOT to go into treatment because my parents would be so hurt. So I did recovery “alone” and did it badly.

I have compromised over and over again because I’m afraid of disappointing them. I’m even afraid that Brenda and the girls are a disappointment.

My work doesn’t seem to be disappointing. I think this is the closest my Mom will ever come to being able to say, “My son, the Priest.”

I don’t entirely get it, Jesus. It’s not like they were ALWAYS disappointed…or even very often for that matter.

I know…I mean, I hear you. This is about me – not them.