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.