Never believe what you see with your eyes,
For, more often than not, what you behold are lies.
Painted on smiles, with heads held high,
All of it is just a mask, a grand disguise -
In this pitiful, moment we call LIFE.
OK, I'm no poet. It just popped into my head as I was brushing my teeth. It rhymed, so it stuck. I saw myself tonight. No, I did not look at myself in the mirror and see my reflection. I looked in the mirror and I saw 'me'. The me I try to hide. The me that all of us try to hide. Within the past few days I've had the opportunity to catch up with a few old friends...chat with friends that are facing their own giants...and hold the hand of a scared friend. For those moments, their guard was down. The mask was removed and I was able to see THEM. It was a short amount of time, with each. Sometimes just enough to get out one sentance that said..."Im scared" "Im hurting" or "I messed up".
Sometimes I walk thru the grocery store or see people on the streets and I wonder about their "story". We all have one. Is yours fiction? I will not even try to lie, MINE IS! In this technology driven world, things like twitter and Facebook keep us all 'attached' and yet, I do not feel any closer to anyone. We are all connected, but the other night, in the middle of a FIT, I had no one to call. So, where is the connection?
Now, please don't stop posting pictures of your BLOOMIN' ONION from the OUBACK. Don't hold back on announcing your undying love for your spouse on account of me being snippy. I actually do have a point here. This is all foundational, I'm building on this concept. Stay with me.
Our eyes take in so much that we know better than to believe. Just think of the last three action movies you saw. Believe any of it? Of course not. Think of the last 'big name' magazine you looked at, do you really buy into what you see? We KNOW better! Models actually do have cellulite, they do have wrinkles that can be airbrushed...zits that can disappear instantly and dark circles vanish into thin air with the right graphics man at the mouse! But we see a friend with a smile and a nod and we say..."she's doing GREAT!" (after all, we SAW her smile).
The old saying goes, 'seeing is believing'. When was that quote coined? I looked it up. It was something that started almost 2,000 years ago. Yes, it was in reference to the resurrection. So, can we really use that phrase anymore? I seriously doubt the kind Jew that doubted the resurrection of The Christ had ever seen SPIDERMAN swing from webs that had shot out of his wrists through a city's downtown buildings? Yeah, I THINK the phrase is outdated. It really has no part in our society anymore. SEEING means we SAW a great preformance of graphics engineers, special effects guys, stunt doubles, film editors....oh the list goes on and on. But, SEEING is definately NOT BELIEVING anymore.
My grandfather, born in 1919 had a particularly difficult time with television. My grandmother on the other hand, was quite the cinematic efficianado. She worked at a theater in the 1940's and was abreast on all the ins and outs of HOLLYWOOD. After 10 *yes, TEN* children, and too many to mention grandchildren....grandpa was slowing down. Grandmother would occasionaly talk him into watching a movie with her. I recall sitting on the couch in their home and my grandmother instructing me to put a movie in the new Video Tape Machine. I did. The movie began much like any other from the 40's. And my grandfather looked at his wife and said..."I thought he died." She said..."who?"
~"That guy. Right there. He's the cowboy...don't you remember, he got shot."
~"That was a different movie honey"
~"What do you mean?"
~"I mean it was a different movie."
~"What does that matter, I saw him die!"
How serious he was, I don't know. My grandfather was notorious for teasing his bride. However, it makes my point.
Seeing is sometimes NOT at all what is actually going on.
Life, anymore, has become an optical illusion to many of us.
We are all so busy making sure that others DON'T see what is going on behind the scenes so that the illusion can be executed perfectly that we fail to SEE our audience.
Maybe the audience does not WANT a show. Maybe they are looking for the one person that will let them know, 'you are not alone in this.'
Quite possibly, they are wanting the opportunity to read a GRAND biography, not a work of fictious CRAP!
Would you believe me if I said, I would rather know the terribly hateful, angry, hurting, sad, complaining, full of sin person you REALLY are, rather than the mask you introduce me to.
Loving someone that is REAL, is easy. Being someone that is REAL is the challenge.
Don't believe what you see with your eyes.....
Try to really look beyond what we see.....
Try to BE more than what you've let us see.....I'm certain, fact is much better than fiction.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
RR ;)
I have had the wonderful privelege of spending a few growing up years in the country, Deep in the Heart of Texas. Fresh out of the Shenendoah Valley, my parents brought me to this dry land of brown grass, thorned trees, giant cactus, and no rain. It was a whole new world for my ten year old mind. I went from being an only child in a home located in a lovely cul-de-sac, to being one of 20 cousins that would run rampant through our grandmothers home on the old family farm.
Smells of chorizo sausage and fresh tortillas would capture my attention first thing in the mornings. Roosters crowing right outside my bedroom screen were my wake up calls those first few months in my new world. There was never a dull moment. Shooting BB guns, chasing cows, hanging out laundry on the line with grandma, chasing cows, feeding the chickens, chasing cows, catching bugs, chasing cows. (OK, we really liked to chase cows!) But, number one on the list of extreemly cool things about living at grandma's farm was: GRANDMA LIVED BY THE RAILROAD TRACKS.
A set of rails went right through her back yard. Oh sure, it was a small journey to get to them, but they were there!
1) Pass the garage, play King of the Mountain on that cool pile of wood Grandpa keeps (the one where my cousin and I found a scorpion)
2) Pretend to ride the old rusty tractor that is half-way stuck in the ground - get bored
3) Go pick cactus flowers - get pricked
4) See who can reach the old trash burnin' pile first - loose the race
5) Wrestle with my cousin - win the wresting match
6) Hold the barbed wire fence open for him to climb thru (resist the temptation to snag him with a barb)
7) Wait for him to hold the fence for me - get barbed!
And, there they were.
The RAILROAD TRACKS.
OH, we were terrible!
We always played the "tie you to the tracks/damsel in distress" game. We threw rocks, We ran down the center of the tracks screaming "Watch out IMA TRAIIIINNNN!!!" We looked for cool stuff that had been squashed by the train and then...we would hear a faint pinching sound. Immediatly, we would drop to our stomachs and our breathing would become shallow. Ears to the rail. (from there, I could smell the iron track) It is warm against my cheek. YES! It's coming! It's still far, (my hands are barely vibrating). Wait. See who stays the longest. Now my hands are getting warm, the screeching is getting louder and louder, (it hurts to have my ear on the track). "I see it!", I yell. I want to run, but I love to feel the tracks heat rising. The sting on my hands from the vibration becomes too intense and I stand, foot on each rail. The whistle is blaring, I know the engineer sees us. I stare at him heading my direction for just a second more and DIVE for the fenceline, cousin close behind. Now, we stand and wave frantically. The engineer knows us by now. The wind from the train pushes us to the ground silly with excitement. We count each car. The wind dies down. It's over for the day. Not another train will come until 10 pm.
We did not stay in the country. We eventually moved south. South, to "town". I now live across the street from those same rails. The same two o'clock train still passes. I still get a little giddy at the thought of being able to feel the wind pressing against me. Smelling the rails, feeling the coming danger and staring it in the eye. Feeling brave, invinceable, and in control.
Now you see it. Do you not? It's all there.
Life sometimes gives us NO warning signs. The faint rumbling of coming dangers sometimes cannot be detected with all the goings on of life. There we are, looking for cool things. Pretending to be something we are not, all the while yelling at the top of our lungs. Tying each other up in relationships, jobs, addictions....life. Then it comes. We don't expect it. There is just nothing to give the alarm that something terrible is headed our way. How do you feel brave in the middle of a storm. How can you feel invinceable when your pride is dashed, and you don't know how to face the next day? How can you be in control when life has knocked you down so hard that you cannot find your feet?
I have had more of those days than I care to count. The day I ran over my child. The day I lost that dear cousin to a senseless addiction. The day I found out about the other woman. The day the pink slip was handed over. The day she said, "your father is dead". Make no mistake, the ground DID NOT shake. Piercing sounds? -no. Not so much as a faint whistle in the distance to let me know what was about to occur. When I looked around, life was happening, and yet a train was slamming into my brain.
So what do you do when that occurs?
I am reminded of the Prophet Elijah. He was done, spent, completely expended and he sat down in the desert under a tree and said "take my life." Facing one more moment seemed like too much to ask. Soon, a terrible wind came, an earthquake, and even FIRE. He expected God to do something, to make some miracle occur. He wanted God to CHANGE things, as only He can. Yet, God was silent in all of it. God was quiet as NATURE roared around him only adding to his dismay. After the storms had passed, a gentle breeze was blowing. It was then, God spoke.
AFTER? WHY AFTER? WHY is God so silent when things go crazy?
Why not change the course of the storms? WHY does he speak after?
Why not just STOP THE TRAIN? WHY DOES HE wait to speak AFTER?
When the train has passed, and the pressing wind has stopped, the gentled breeze is the indicator that its over. The funeral home has locked its doors, divorce papers were signed weeks ago, new resumes sent out. And God is there. He whispers. Go back to the tracks. That is, after all what he told Elijah to do. He sent him BACK into the wilderness.
Why does he want us to visit the place that seemingly destroyed us?
Because those rails make us who we are. They define us.
You see, the tracks were more than just a wild distraction every day, those weathered rails were majestic to us. They connected us to everything. We would face south and say: "That's the way to town! The train is going to TOWN!!!" Then, I would face north. There, my heart would swell. Those tracks went north. NORTH! North, to the Shenendoah Valley, where trees have names like HICKORY, MAPLE, and most importantly DOGWOOD. North, where creeks are named after Indian tribes that my family hailed from. North where hills are impressive enough to be named, and the word "holler" is a noun and not a verb. Those tracks kept me connected. Connected to everything I had once known.
The trains of life pass us, sometimes knocking us to the ground, breathless and shaking. Sometimes stretching out in front of us, giving us a glimpse of who we are and who we can be.
Visit your tracks, feel brave, invinceable and in control. Know that those rails made you the amazing person you are today. Follow them to who you're going to be in your tomorrows.
Smells of chorizo sausage and fresh tortillas would capture my attention first thing in the mornings. Roosters crowing right outside my bedroom screen were my wake up calls those first few months in my new world. There was never a dull moment. Shooting BB guns, chasing cows, hanging out laundry on the line with grandma, chasing cows, feeding the chickens, chasing cows, catching bugs, chasing cows. (OK, we really liked to chase cows!) But, number one on the list of extreemly cool things about living at grandma's farm was: GRANDMA LIVED BY THE RAILROAD TRACKS.
A set of rails went right through her back yard. Oh sure, it was a small journey to get to them, but they were there!
1) Pass the garage, play King of the Mountain on that cool pile of wood Grandpa keeps (the one where my cousin and I found a scorpion)
2) Pretend to ride the old rusty tractor that is half-way stuck in the ground - get bored
3) Go pick cactus flowers - get pricked
4) See who can reach the old trash burnin' pile first - loose the race
5) Wrestle with my cousin - win the wresting match
6) Hold the barbed wire fence open for him to climb thru (resist the temptation to snag him with a barb)
7) Wait for him to hold the fence for me - get barbed!
And, there they were.
The RAILROAD TRACKS.
OH, we were terrible!
We always played the "tie you to the tracks/damsel in distress" game. We threw rocks, We ran down the center of the tracks screaming "Watch out IMA TRAIIIINNNN!!!" We looked for cool stuff that had been squashed by the train and then...we would hear a faint pinching sound. Immediatly, we would drop to our stomachs and our breathing would become shallow. Ears to the rail. (from there, I could smell the iron track) It is warm against my cheek. YES! It's coming! It's still far, (my hands are barely vibrating). Wait. See who stays the longest. Now my hands are getting warm, the screeching is getting louder and louder, (it hurts to have my ear on the track). "I see it!", I yell. I want to run, but I love to feel the tracks heat rising. The sting on my hands from the vibration becomes too intense and I stand, foot on each rail. The whistle is blaring, I know the engineer sees us. I stare at him heading my direction for just a second more and DIVE for the fenceline, cousin close behind. Now, we stand and wave frantically. The engineer knows us by now. The wind from the train pushes us to the ground silly with excitement. We count each car. The wind dies down. It's over for the day. Not another train will come until 10 pm.
We did not stay in the country. We eventually moved south. South, to "town". I now live across the street from those same rails. The same two o'clock train still passes. I still get a little giddy at the thought of being able to feel the wind pressing against me. Smelling the rails, feeling the coming danger and staring it in the eye. Feeling brave, invinceable, and in control.
Now you see it. Do you not? It's all there.
Life sometimes gives us NO warning signs. The faint rumbling of coming dangers sometimes cannot be detected with all the goings on of life. There we are, looking for cool things. Pretending to be something we are not, all the while yelling at the top of our lungs. Tying each other up in relationships, jobs, addictions....life. Then it comes. We don't expect it. There is just nothing to give the alarm that something terrible is headed our way. How do you feel brave in the middle of a storm. How can you feel invinceable when your pride is dashed, and you don't know how to face the next day? How can you be in control when life has knocked you down so hard that you cannot find your feet?
I have had more of those days than I care to count. The day I ran over my child. The day I lost that dear cousin to a senseless addiction. The day I found out about the other woman. The day the pink slip was handed over. The day she said, "your father is dead". Make no mistake, the ground DID NOT shake. Piercing sounds? -no. Not so much as a faint whistle in the distance to let me know what was about to occur. When I looked around, life was happening, and yet a train was slamming into my brain.
So what do you do when that occurs?
I am reminded of the Prophet Elijah. He was done, spent, completely expended and he sat down in the desert under a tree and said "take my life." Facing one more moment seemed like too much to ask. Soon, a terrible wind came, an earthquake, and even FIRE. He expected God to do something, to make some miracle occur. He wanted God to CHANGE things, as only He can. Yet, God was silent in all of it. God was quiet as NATURE roared around him only adding to his dismay. After the storms had passed, a gentle breeze was blowing. It was then, God spoke.
AFTER? WHY AFTER? WHY is God so silent when things go crazy?
Why not change the course of the storms? WHY does he speak after?
Why not just STOP THE TRAIN? WHY DOES HE wait to speak AFTER?
When the train has passed, and the pressing wind has stopped, the gentled breeze is the indicator that its over. The funeral home has locked its doors, divorce papers were signed weeks ago, new resumes sent out. And God is there. He whispers. Go back to the tracks. That is, after all what he told Elijah to do. He sent him BACK into the wilderness.
Why does he want us to visit the place that seemingly destroyed us?
Because those rails make us who we are. They define us.
You see, the tracks were more than just a wild distraction every day, those weathered rails were majestic to us. They connected us to everything. We would face south and say: "That's the way to town! The train is going to TOWN!!!" Then, I would face north. There, my heart would swell. Those tracks went north. NORTH! North, to the Shenendoah Valley, where trees have names like HICKORY, MAPLE, and most importantly DOGWOOD. North, where creeks are named after Indian tribes that my family hailed from. North where hills are impressive enough to be named, and the word "holler" is a noun and not a verb. Those tracks kept me connected. Connected to everything I had once known.
The trains of life pass us, sometimes knocking us to the ground, breathless and shaking. Sometimes stretching out in front of us, giving us a glimpse of who we are and who we can be.
Visit your tracks, feel brave, invinceable and in control. Know that those rails made you the amazing person you are today. Follow them to who you're going to be in your tomorrows.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
I am forcing myself to be uncomfortable. Putting my thoughts down so that others may be able to see them is daunting to say the least. If this were some sort of an assignment, where I had a topic and was being judged purely on the basis of my writing skills and/or research skills, I would be at ease. But it is more than that. It is a window into my thoughts. It allows you, the reader to know what I really think about. You might be able to see things through my eyes for a moment.
So, what DO I think about. I think about God. Often. Oh, does that sound vain? It is not ment to. But God, is part of my life. The question comes to mind: Who am I, that God, the creator of this universe, the One that spoke the stars into existance, is mindful of me? I am His child. Not by bloodline, but by adoption. By all standards that puts me in the catergory of being a "Christian".
"I would have become a Christian, had I never met one" - Ghandi
This quote haunts me. I'm THAT Christian sometimes.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I am quite the cynic. Ever the realist, I once responded to the question:
"What are you?" (in reference to my faith)
"oh me? I'm just a sinner." (accompanied by an eye roll and a snicker)
"No, but what do you believe?"
"Well, frankly, I believe I am a flawed person that is in desperate need of forgiveness over and over and over again - luckily I know the guy that can take care of that." (wink and a nod)
"Ohhh, so you're a Christian?!"
"Sure, we can go with that......" (knowing smile)
Now, why do I NOT care for the moniker Christian? Excuse me....have you MET ONE? I feel certain you have. Do I REALLY want to be thrown into that lot? Oh, but do I DESERVE to be thrown into that lot?
There is the dilema. Ages old. That which I HATE, I do. That which I want to do, I fail to do. THAT is Christianity in a nutshell. The human struggle with self, with sin, with life.
So, yes, I think about God. Why? Not because I am HOLY. Not because I am perfect. Not even because I am a GREAT WOMAN OF FAITH. I think about God because I desperately need Him. I am unholy and flawed, I am just a woman with faith in a GREAT GOD.
That was it, I just cracked the window open. As I prepare to press the PUBLISH button my heart races. I wonder will I be met with frigid winds or warm breezes? This is not easy, but it will let my soul breathe.
So, what DO I think about. I think about God. Often. Oh, does that sound vain? It is not ment to. But God, is part of my life. The question comes to mind: Who am I, that God, the creator of this universe, the One that spoke the stars into existance, is mindful of me? I am His child. Not by bloodline, but by adoption. By all standards that puts me in the catergory of being a "Christian".
"I would have become a Christian, had I never met one" - Ghandi
This quote haunts me. I'm THAT Christian sometimes.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I am quite the cynic. Ever the realist, I once responded to the question:
"What are you?" (in reference to my faith)
"oh me? I'm just a sinner." (accompanied by an eye roll and a snicker)
"No, but what do you believe?"
"Well, frankly, I believe I am a flawed person that is in desperate need of forgiveness over and over and over again - luckily I know the guy that can take care of that." (wink and a nod)
"Ohhh, so you're a Christian?!"
"Sure, we can go with that......" (knowing smile)
Now, why do I NOT care for the moniker Christian? Excuse me....have you MET ONE? I feel certain you have. Do I REALLY want to be thrown into that lot? Oh, but do I DESERVE to be thrown into that lot?
There is the dilema. Ages old. That which I HATE, I do. That which I want to do, I fail to do. THAT is Christianity in a nutshell. The human struggle with self, with sin, with life.
So, yes, I think about God. Why? Not because I am HOLY. Not because I am perfect. Not even because I am a GREAT WOMAN OF FAITH. I think about God because I desperately need Him. I am unholy and flawed, I am just a woman with faith in a GREAT GOD.
That was it, I just cracked the window open. As I prepare to press the PUBLISH button my heart races. I wonder will I be met with frigid winds or warm breezes? This is not easy, but it will let my soul breathe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)