Treasure Chest....

 As polyradiculitis has stolen so much from my life, I continue to mourn...

Too often, I then judge myself...

The judgement is disguised as, "But think of all the good in your life, Carol..." 

I think of the Homeless, the Bereaved, the Poor, the Orphan, the War-torn...

And I often think of Dad, who lived over 12 years as a quadriplegic. 

If he could appear in bodily form, I think he would agree that even though he couldn't move his body, he found ways to thrive through those years. 

And he couldn't have done it without Mom. 

Recently as I've thought about my current crippled-in-body-and-brain condition, I've thought-felt that I have not allowed sufficient grieving of the piled-up losses. 

And it's not just the losses from Poly Rad, but other losses, some decades old.

Instead of allowing myself to feel into the caverns left by the losses, I try to fill up those caverns with the next thing. 

Can I allow those losses a voice, to speak from the deepest caverns in my soul?

To sit with the losses...

Allow any images to arise...

Ask what is it I am grieving? 

What color is it? 

Where do I feel it in my body?

~*~

When Granddaughter came into the world this past May, I felt joy and some trepidation. Joy in that she is healthy and that her parents love her dearly. Trepidation in that, "What will the world be like as she grows up?" I imagine every grandparent thinks something along those lines. I counter this with the reminder that all known living beings have endured through incredible tragedies and sometimes horrendous atrocities; it's part of being alive on this planet. 

I thought I had prepared myself for her arrival - prepared myself emotionally for the fact that I am unable to help with her infant and baby care. Due to polyradiculitis, I am unable to pick her up or carry her or change a diaper. My arms and hands are too weak. The reality of that fact was one more item on my growing can't-do list. 

Some might say, "Don't confess that, that you can't do!" 

The advice is noted, but would they say to the blind, "Don't confess that you can't see!"? 

I guess there's no real way to prepare for many losses, until they arrive. 

And I grieved, for months after her birth, that I was unable to care for my granddaughter, to help out. 

As a response I would continually remind myself of the silver linings...

And then I'd grieve again...

A couple weeks ago, I took a trip to see Granddaughter. It's not an easy drive. I take the interstate and have to drive through Charlotte. Lord, I don't like that close traffic at the speeds one has to drive to keep from being run over. I most always drive the back roads home which takes over three hours, but at least I'm not wracked by the constant vigilance of zooming among giant tin cans on wheels. 

This last visit with Granddaughter was the most joyful I'd experienced. She can now sit up and crawl. And she loves music!!! I used to "teach" preschool music, singing and dancing with little people. So, this last visit, as she sat in front of me and me in front of her, our eyes and energies connected, as we bopped and clapped our thighs and laughed. 

Son said to me, "Mom, that was a real help. I was able to get some uninterrupted clean-up done in the kitchen. Thanks!" 

My heart sang...

I found my niche...

As Granddaughter gets older, I'll take my big bag of musical instruments...

It can be Memaw's Music Bag...

That is a rich life Carol...

Despite the losses, and maybe in part because of them, you have a huge treasure chest...

And there's still room in it for more...

~*~

One of the songs we shared...

Cypress Choral Music with All God's Critters...

"What is Truth?" (a repost)

Originally posted on July 4, 2016, here: "What is Truth?".

~*~*~*~

This morning, I read the question, "What is Truth?" The author posing the question then answers the question by quoting something that Jesus allegedly said, that God's Word is truth.

I thought about the question, leaving Jesus aside.
Carol, what is Truth?
Truth is the opposite of a lie. Lies are fables. 
Truth then must be reality, life as it is including events that really happen(ed), and not fables. 

Both fables and reality claim facts and circumstances and motives. The difference is that one story really happened or happens; the other didn't or doesn't. One is true; the other, false.

So, I was left pondering reality as truth.

~*~

The author continues, "Truth is not relative."

I agree. Truth [reality] is not relative. Nothing trumps reality. Reality is. In a sense, it is the ultimate power and judge.

I believe that nature must be the closest example we have of reality [truth]. She plays no favorites. Nature is. We see her raw power on display, though the forces themselves may be invisible to the naked eye.

Human actions do have an effect on nature and her forces, and thus on reality. But ultimately we have to surrender to reality, facing consequences or blessings.

~*~

The author continues, "God expresses His will to us with words so that we can understand Him."

That sentence stopped me in my reading tracks.
Really?! God relegates the vastness and multi-layered aspects of truth [reality] to mere words on a page? That is how I can understand a universal creator? By reading words on a page?

My past Way-brain instantaneously reminded me that's really not what I learned or believed as a Way believer.

God's Word involves more than words on a page; it includes oral words and the Word in the flesh, Jesus. And God first wrote His Word not on a page, but rather in the stars, telling the story of redemption in the zodiac and beyond. Much of the meaning though is contained within the names of those stars which were all passed along orally until God later had to have his certain chosen prophets pen that revelation to have a document, a standard, because as the earth became/becomes more and more filled with people and as the adversary (the devil) worked/works more and more to deceive, humans need a written standard that they can always go back to as a touchstone. 

To make things even more constraining and complicated, the author then states, "It [the Word] can be rightly-divided by studying to show ourselves approved unto God, or used to purport the adversary's ideas. It can be understood and believed because it interprets itself in the verse, its context, or how it has been spoken of previously! Truth does not contradict itself from Genesis 1:1 to Revelation 22:21."

So now in order to understand a universal creator, who is God my Father, I have this written standard that I have to figure out? But I have to be diligent because it can be distorted into whatever way the devil wants in order to purport his lies?

And the whole spiel about the Word interpreting itself in the verse, in the context, and used before sounds like gobblygook. On the other hand, if one thinks about it, that is how written language works, along with definitions and multiple aspects that grammarians and linguists and sociologists and other "ists" have studied.

Should I do the same with my kids? Give them my written standard and tell them to read it in order to know me and understand me, but be sure to interpret it properly because there's a devil who'll twist it? So my kids ask, "How do we know when he's twisting it?" I answer, "My motive is always love. So if it contradicts love, it's wrong. Just keep reading. And remember, it all has to fit with no contradictions."

All this feels like a straitjacket trying to squeeze the life right out of life.

~*~

As I continued to read the rest of the author's epistle on "What is Truth," I got to thinking (yet again) about myth and belief.
I guess from the time humans tried to start answering the question "Why?" they have surmised and calculated and invented "answers" to help cope through the hardships and turmoil and heartbreak and evil that life can pound. These answers form beliefs that, in addition to explaining the evil, give more meaning to the magic of life, the inexplicable happenstances, the beauty, the power of nature and the cosmos.

So it's about survival. Trying to cope with and explain life.
And we cling to that which resonates for us -- our beliefs.
That resonance is different for different people.
Beliefs can be good, as long as those beliefs aren't used to manipulate and harm, which is sadly too often the case.

~*~

I often wonder, What do I really believe?

I believe there are forces, unseen and still undiscovered, that can cause circumstances to appear as if they are supernatural. I do not believe these yet undiscovered forces or their resulting impacts are any more supernatural than the current discoverable forces of nature, which are beyond incredible. Humans have not yet even conceived of measuring tools to illuminate these yet undiscovered currents or forces. And once we invent those tools, there'll probably still be a multitude of yet undiscovered layers.

I wonder if we'll ever stop trying to peer beyond?

I wonder if we'll come up with a belief measuring tool?
That's a scary thought.

Do I believe there is a benevolent creator behind those discovered-and-undiscovered forces?
I want to, but I still can't say for sure.
But I want to believe there is "something" and that I'll be delightfully surprised in the hereafter. 

Perhaps, nature is my "god" now.
I certainly hold her in great awe.
And I've taken up praying to trees.
I swear they hear me.

God's Acre, Bethabara

Hiram, we love you... (Part 1)

I sit at one of my favorite picnic spots in the Blue Ridge at Doughton Park along the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

Again, I am solo. The only human in sight or sound. 

No human voices or machines. Only my breath and the crunching of my salad.

The quiet, despite my crunching, is so very sacred.

In my element, one that brings me peace and comfort and connection.  

I feel so at home in this place, in these beloved mountains with her rocks and trees, caves and mile-plus high peaks, rattlesnakes and bears, hawks and vultures, creeks and rivers, forests and high meadows...

Now, what was I gonna write about? 

Oh yeah...

~*~

I sit at the concrete picnic table, eating my salad and food I'd brought along, overlooking an ocean of never-ending mountains. Like I said...in my element.

About halfway through my meal a motorcycle drives up, parks, and off gets its driver. The man was maybe eight years my junior. We talk of our love for this place. He shares memories, pointing to a spot in our view where he used to visit regularly -- his dad's former homeplace. 

As we share stories, I learn he works in construction and home repair. I ask if he services the area where Hubby and I live; we are in need of some major home repairs. (We'd been working with a company for over a decade trying to diagnose and resolve some issues. We were now questioning some of those diagnoses and proposed fixes, some of which we'd already done.) He doesn't service our area, but his friend does. He calls his friend to make sure he has his friend's correct business phone number and lets his friend know that I might be calling soon. Within a week I call his friend, Jody, and set an appointment for the end of September. 

~*~

Hurricane Helene hit western North Carolina on September 26th and 27th. I cry all day on the 27th and into the following weeks. A part of me hears Earth stating, "These are my mountains, not yours." "Yours" referring to us humans and our propensity to "develop" lands. Anymore, I think I mostly agree with John Denver's description: "...Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more; More people, more scars upon the land..."

We learn, thankfully, that our friends and family are safe, most with no damage at all. They were out of the "blast zone" as Hubby puts it, an apt description. 

~*~

Jody arrives at our home the end of September. The diagnosis? "You can save the house or save the tree, but we can't save both." 

My heart breaks and I wonder which is the thing to do, Save the house or save Hiram? Seriously, that is what I thought and felt. But obviously, the choice would be the house. 

It was hard blow... 

But at least we have a home, I thought knowing that so many had lost theirs to Helene. 

The tree is our beloved Hiram, a huge scarlet oak. He is beautifully handsome. His crown spreads out royally providing shade, bird and squirrel homes, nuts for food, beauty and comfort, nourishment and sustenance. He has come to my aid often in times of distress, turmoil, loss, grief. And he has accompanied me during times of joy, bliss, gratitude. 

That week I drew a picture of Hiram in my journal and asked if he could stop growing the roots that are affecting the foundation of our house. I wondered if there was a way to put something like a steel plate to stop the roots' growth on that side of the tree. In my journal, I drew a solid plate across one side of Hiram's roots figuring it was probably just wishful thinking and wondering, even if we could do such, would it harm Hiram. I let Hiram know I do not want to hurt him, but that we do need to save the house. 

~*~

After Hubby and I are settled on our decision to proceed with the proposed work I call our arborist, Drew, to schedule the huge task of felling Hiram. After Hiram is cut down, we'd need to hire someone else to have our beloved porch and deck demolished; both are in a state of disrepair, plus they need to be removed in order to get to the foundation. Then Jody would do his waterproofing, but he can go ahead with a new gutter system anytime. After the waterproofing we'd have to hire someone else to rebuild the deck and porch.

I call Drew and relay to him what all we are looking at...

"Well, I feel certain we can save Hiram," he responds. He knows Hiram well having saved him one time already some ten years ago. 

"Oh my god. Really?!?" I am in disbelief. 

He explains how it can be done. I learn that his crew also does demolition and waterproofing. And one of his crew's dads builds decks and porches. 

He and his business partner, Will, are at our house within a couple weeks...

Yes, they are both confident that both Hiram and the house can be saved...

We would know more after the demolition and a detailed foundation inspection...

But again, they feel sure they can build something to save Hiram and the foundation...

They'd done this same work on other homes...

Hubby and I think about it for a few weeks, weighing any pros and cons.

But there really weren't any cons to weigh.

We let Jody know we had decided to go with Drew but that we still wanted his company to install the new gutter system, which they did within a couple weeks. His company did not know how to build what Drew and Will had proposed which could possibly save both our home and Hiram.

Little did we know at the time what Drew and crew would find once they dug out around this 60-year-old home...

~*~

John Denver with Rocky Mountain High...
I've only been to the Rockies once(?)...

I've been to the Blue Ridge at least 10,000 times...

The same sentiments apply...