Love lessons

As I emerge from the pit of my grief and blink into the bright light of life, I find that I am continuously benefiting from the experience of having been loved by Storm, and the lessons I took in during that time.  I don’t think I’ve yet realized all of the things I learned from him, and his love, and I am always gratified to find another layer underneath the already rich soil for planting this new life.

Lately, I’ve been realizing what he taught me about “want.”  What I want.  The power of my own want.  What it means to want. What exactly do I want?  What others want, and how much weight I should give to that, and for whom.  

As a child, want was not a word we much used.  We were not destitute, but we were pretty poor, so each of us learned young that to need something was ok, but things we wanted we were probably not getting.   Asking might even get us in trouble, if it was a ridiculous enough item, or we asked too much.  Sometimes, maybe, for a birthday or another occasion, but wanting was useless.  Want was a luxury we could rarely afford.

As an adult, my experience wasn’t much different.  I didn’t want to work, yet work was where I was spending my time.  I wanted to homeschool my children, but I couldn’t work and teach them at the same time.  I didn’t want to get fat when I quit smoking, but there it is.  I began to learn in life that what I want doesn’t matter.   

This sort of thinking has been dangerous for me in the past.  Giving in to the idea that what I wanted didn’t matter caused me to make some of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made.  It was only when I began to grab on to the power of my own want that I began to understand the importance of that want in making my life successful. 

Storm was excellent for developing that in me.  If I said I wanted a garden, he would create a garden in our kitchen for me, and then in our outdoor space.  If I said I wanted a dark bedroom, our room was transformed into a cave. If I wanted enchiladas for dinner, he was going to learn how to make them right then and there.   I would tell him, “You don’t have to do all of that.”  He would say, “I don’t have to do a damn thing.  I do it because you want it, darlin, and that’s reason enough.”  If I said I didn’t want pork in my house, it was banned.  “I know what you think we should do.”  He would say. “Now what do you want?”  As if that’s what mattered.  You know what?  I found out it did.   

It worked the same with him.  He liked beer; we bought beer.  He liked snow peas; we grew lots of snow peas.  He despised guacamole, I never expected him to touch it.  I learned to ask him; “I know what you think…what do you want?”

Now he’s gone, but that lesson remains.  The what I want is important to me, and because of the loving bluntness of my husband, I was so blessed to be given the opportunity to learn how important it is to be able to articulate what I want.  

I don’t want to be in a relationship.  I want to be single.  I kinda like it.  I know that’s not the popular viewpoint . Most single women want to be married.  But I’m not like other women that way.  We are all walking our own path.  I’ve been in one relationship or the other my entire life, since I was 14.  I’ve never been single longer than six months until Storm died.  I don’t really remember not being someone’s girlfriend or shack-up or fiancé or wife or something.  It seems like one is always waiting behind the last one.  It is lovely to be so desired, but it is also lovely to be alone for a minute.  For the first time ever, I am just Rose.  I am Yah’s Rose, and that’s enough.  

I find single life liberating.  I WANT (there’s that word again) to be in control of my time and attention.  I WANT to choose who with and how I spend my time and give my attention.  I want to be able to say no, or yes, and have that be ok.  I want to be able to enjoy a diversity of people.  I WANT to go do fun things with people I like, and that should be ok.   I want to travel and see things, sometimes throwing my stuff into a bag and leaving with no notice.  I want to boss myself, and not always hide in the safety of indentured servitude.  I want to eat Fritos and Hershey bars in my bed with the grandkids while we watch E.T.  Being single means I can do all of those things, and it impacts no one but me.

I am familiar with people not liking me for it.  In the memorable words of Storm, “F**k the f**king f**kers.”  In politer words; who cares what people think?  Live like you gotta live and let them take care of themselves.  I’m not afraid to stand on what I want, until what I want changes, and then to stand on that.  I’m not afraid to stick up for it, and I’m not even afraid to take a few punches for it.  I’m broken in my heart and spirit, but I’m healing daily, and I’m becoming a lot more comfortable saying no and yes as I need to.  On the things I don’t know what I want, and there are plenty, then I err on the side of caution, and I will linger before making a decision, at least on the important matters.  On the less important things, too.  Most things don’t require an immediate response. 

There are benefits I am beginning to see from these love lessons.  They cause me to walk softly into the relationship world, carefully willing to withdraw.  They make me see things I can't forget.

 Things like:  Good things are worth waiting for.  That I shouldn't have to rearrange my life unless I want to or need to for my own reasons.  That I'm not beholden to anyone but my boss and my family.  That no one can make me do something I don't want.  That my physical needs are important, and I should take care of them, even if it means other people gotta wait, including him.  I'm at my best when I feel like I'm comfortable enough to say what I want.  It's ok that I want to be heard, and that I want what I say to be believed.  Saying no or yes is ok.  It's safe to be wrong.  The truth is worth speaking, even when it's hard to say or hear.  It's all right if other people are butthurt.  I am not a house or car that needs fixing up before someone can buy her.  I deserve to be loved for who I am, not some image of who I am that someone else expects me to live up to.   When these things, and more, don't seem to be right, I have to turn away.

I also want people to turn away if they see things that are warning signs for them.  I don’t want to be what someone doesn’t want.  I’m sure there are things I do that cause others to not want to be in relationship or partnership with me.  I could list my many faults, and I know others who could add to that list.  If that happens, I want that person to turn away from me, because I don’t ever want to be the cause of anyone’s hurt.   Rejection is not personal.  It’s often as much about the person doing the rejecting as it is about the rejectee, in my experience. 

At one point, I wanted to reject Storm and all of his lessons.  The circumstances of his death were so powerful and so painful that I wanted to shove all of it, including him, far away.  It feels like he took a piece of my soul to the grave with him.  But what he left behind was a love that was so complete and so good that I learned lessons on life from the very fabric of that love surrounding me.  I learned how to be who I am from that love.  The legacy of his love is the strength of that fabric inside of me today. 

What we want matters.  We can’t always get what we want, in the immortal words of a legendary rocker, but being confident in what we want will help us to make sure we don’t end up with what we don’t want.  Thank you, YHVH for Storm, and thank you, Storm, for your love.

Shalom  

Identity, fear, and Torah.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this one, so let’s see where I end up, hmmm??

Just lately, I feel like I’ve been wrestling with a whole new set of thoughts and pains that are that are new to me, but shouldn’t be.  

Identity is one of them.  Who am I, exactly?  The first months after Storm’s death, I really just feel like I was surviving it.  The woman I had been was so wounded and injured, she was slowly fading.  Much of the time I was waiting for the next painful event to wound me some more, reopen my wounds, and drive me back to bed in tears.  As months became a year, and now two, the healing begins to set in, and that awful feeling of wondering what terrible thing is coming down the line has faded.  The pain still lives in me, and it only occasionally flares up, usually when I fail to keep up my guards.   

As the calendar moves me further away from the two year point, and I begin to actually feel the time of my active grieving is drawing to a close, I’m a little uncertain of the person in the mirror these days.  The thing is, I’m not sure I really know this person I’m turning into.  As a young woman, I could see who I wanted to be.  As Mrs. Storm Treasure, I was that person.  I had the job I thought I wanted, the husband I loved more than I ever thought possible, the garden that was a beautiful gift to me, and the wonderful free lifestyle of love and fun and good times.  I knew what my goals were and I thought I knew how to get to them.  There was a kind of confidence on me; an obvious mark of happiness and strength.

 

As just Rose…well…I just don’t know.  Really.  Most of the time I feel bereft.  A little lost, still.  Sometimes, I think I see this lady clearly.  When I’m with either of my congregations, and I feel that accepting love descend on me, a sort of confidence I never had infuses me.  When I am at work, at home among the files and copy machines and coffee cups, nestled in my little office looking at the beauty of creation, I am what I have always been; a professional.  Amongst my daughters and grandchildren, I know it doesn’t matter who I end up being; they still love me.  Deep in prayer, I know Abba sees me, and He loves me, and He hears my prayer.

In just about any place else; it’s a mixed bag.  I am lost within regular social gatherings.  I never know the right thing to say, who to talk to, or where to stand.  Even one-on-one I keep some small piece of myself back.  I am terrified of hurting others.  I don’t want to cause anything or anyone to hurt, and I can’t stand to see them hurt.  It hurts me.  It works better to keep my distance; keep the shields up.  I keep to the back of the room, the corner, where the chairs are the most comfortable, and try to remember to not be afraid as I hide my trembling hands and breathe deeply.  I try to turn invisible.  There’s no logical reason to feel fear.

If I call out to Yah, if I ask him to show me who I am, will he?  Do I want him to?  What difference would it make to understand myself any better? What if I didn’t really like myself much?  I think I will just leave it right there in His hands, and trust he will lead me around to where I should be.  I’ll try not to wrestle with it, but I may consider the matter more, down the road.

 Fear:

Since the subject of fear came up, I’ll juggle that one for a moment.  I have fear symptoms sometimes when I’m not certain I’m actively afeared.  My whole body trembles, and my hands and feet go cold.  I can barely draw a breath and I have to force myself to do the thing or things that I am doing.  This happens almost anytime I get to a new situation.  My first several months going to Cornerstone I had to force myself to go.  The stress of getting myself there on Shabbat nearly kept me from going.  By the time I pulled in the driveway, my palms were sweating, my stomach was nauseous, and my teeth were set in a determined clench.  Yet, week after week, if I would just get there, I would be fine.  This has happened going on dates, taking a trip to a new store, trying to find my way to an address, but mostly, when emotional matters are involved, and the potential for me to hurt someone is very real.

I find myself standing and facing another new thing, that is really an old thing, and I’m finding it a challenge to force my way through it.  You know what? It actually really annoys me that I have to “force my way through” this at all.  It should be a good thing! A matter of joy and anticipation.  Sometimes, I really piss myself off.  I want to embrace this, and instead, my heart trembles in my chest.  I won’t go into detail about what specifically I am talking about except to say; you know who you are. 

My heart doesn’t trust the happiness that wants to rise up in my chest.  It doesn’t want the anticipation and feeling of hope that keeps creeping in.  My poor wounded, half-healed heart keeps forcing it back down.  My heart hasn’t forgotten what happened.  It knows.  It brings up the potential for other’s hurts, and my own, and reminds me how very scattered and broken everything still is inside here.  My heart is probably right.  I should stay away from other people.

There’s more to it than that.  It probably ties back into my identity crisis, and the things I am not figuring out with that.  Not knowing who I am, how can I know what I want?  How can I make good decisions from that place?  How can I walk forward when my eyes can’t find the path in the murk?  Sometimes, I am literally nearly frozen with fear in an emotional situation.  It comes across as an uncaring wall but it is actually abject terror.  Move on folks…nothing to see here but a screaming lady.

Within that fear is the constant reminder of my many failures.  Let’s be clear: I know I’m the common denominator here.  Why should I be trusted again?  What good could possibly come from it?  I’m obviously not equipped for the job.  I should probably keep myself set apart…keep myself safe from the pain.  Keep others safe from me.  Right.

I seem to BE getting through it, though, and that is good.  I’m not doing it very gracefully but that’s not a requirement, I think.  There are many times when I want to turn, run, find a quiet hole and put my arms over my head and just rock back and forth for a while.  I haven’t given into my despair in a while.  Probably it’s not a good time.

Sometimes the ghost of the logical, practical lady I used to be pops up inside me, and she seems to be working for me for a change, instead of against me.  This time she’s pointing out with the facts and evidence that I have no real reason to be afraid.  She keeps tapping maps and charts inside my head, sounding all calm and accurate.  She keeps reminding me of good things, and happy things, and encourages me to embrace the joy because life is so fleeting and so short, and love is so very rare.  Her voice reminds me to obey Torah, and I’ll be fine.  Trust the signs, they are good.  She keeps telling me to relax, already, hippy lady, and just love.  It was good advice, once.  Could it be again?  It’s hard to say.  I wish I could see it.  I wish I could know.  Logic has failed me many, many times. 

I think neither the ghost or my heart are entirely wrong or entirely right.  Neither of them are really helping me much. 

I am left to turn to the only thing that ever made a lick of sense in my life: Torah.  His word lights my path and guides my feet.  Without it, I am a failed person, unable to make good decisions or choose light or life.  I will find the examples that support the right path, and I will walk that path unafraid, because confusion lies on either side of it.  I will hold that lamp out to ward off the darkness of fear and logic, and I will place my trust that what He has written, and the examples He has given, are true, and that we, the people who love His word, will be blessed by our obedience to him.  That *I* will be blessed by my obedience to him.  That is where we will all find love.  It is where we will all find confidence.  It is the one foundation of my own identity.  

Please help me, Yah, to fill the lamp with the love of Yeshua.  Help me to not fail at this one thing this one time.  Please, Abba, help me find favor in your sight.  Help me to be your child, and help me to maintain my focus on the only thing I can trust; your words.  Reveal to me the richness of your word so that I might understand it, and help me to apply it to my life so that I might shine in the light that is you. 

To anyone who read all the way through this, thank you.  It probably makes no sense whatsoever, but I’m glad to get it out of me.  As one of my favorite songs says,
"If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer
Inside of me threatening the life it belongs to"

May Yah bless you with shalom.  Amen.

A moment

I had a moment tonight.  I wanted to spit it out while it was fresh in my head.

I sat thinking of my husband, as of course I often do.  I was thinking how most of the unhappy things I talk about when talking about Storm are involved in how and why he died.  It hurts me still, two years later.  Sometimes I wish I could express this sort of pain, but I have never really found the words.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the great blessing that the father had heaped onto our lives.  Marriage is never perfect, and we were as human as the next humans. The last week or so of our lives together was particularly difficult. 

Yet, when I look back at those eight years, they are unquestioningly the most amazing years of my life.  Not just in my relationship with Storm, but my life overall became amazing.  Everything that Storm touched in my life increased.  He could tap into my innermost needs and dreams, and help me realize them.  He was not only determined to make sure we prioritized my time with my daughters, but he also worked to make the times we were together as special as he was able, in his own loud, blunt way.  We returned home to Oregon so that I could be with my daughters, and my family, especially my Mom.  I’m grateful for that, because I was able to be close to Mom until the end.  Storm’s great love for me translated into helping me help him make our lives everything that was good for us, which was good for every single area of my life.

The most amazing thing about this man to me was that he so strongly believed in so many things that were Biblical, while he was, in his own words, a deviant.  In polite company I use the word heathen, which would make him chuckle, I’m certain.  It astounded him that he would state a standard of being, one of his uncompromising principles, and I would quote the Bible echoing what he had said.  He didn’t lie, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t hold back good advice.  He didn’t make traps for people, he confronted them directly.  He wasn’t one person in public, and another in private.  And he loved his wife not as he loved himself, but in so many ways, more than he loved himself.  That love has shaped everything about me, almost entirely for the good.

He saw that Torah was important to me, that the Sabbath was sacred, and that I longed to properly keep the feasts of Yah, though I barely knew how.  Together we learned.  He cooked the lamb for our seder together in Illinois, and he gladly broke bread at the table with me and my daughter.  We turned our garden into an accidental sukka every year.  We had scored a free gazebo frame with no cover.  This metal skeleton made the perfect up spot for all of our tomatoes.  By the end of summer, tomatoes small and large dripped from the bars, making us reach up to pick them.  I remember beautiful cool days standing in the shade, picking the last few that made it all the way to ripe. He kept Shabbat with me, grateful for the selfish day to have me actually sitting down with him, and each one was a highly anticipated day.

During my life with Storm I learned to garden, earned a business degree, learned how to admit I was wrong, learned how to apologize, and became aware that I was a person of worth.   The fact that he loved me filled me with confidence every day.  I reasoned that if this amazing man loved me, then there must be something of worth in me.  Shining in his eyes, I saw that person that he saw looking back at me, and I couldn’t help but respond to his confidence and love.  

The truth is, the last week or so of his life was insignificant to the magnitude of that love.  It was so intense, I am scarred by it’s absence.  As time passes and the scars and pains begin to heal, what I’m remembering is the love, and the good moments, and the walks on the beach, and the many bottles of beer, Fourth of July baseball games, and barbecues at five in the morning, cause that’s when I got off work.  I remember Sabbath mornings nestled in each others arms, and I remember laying in bed all night awake talking because we didn’t want to be done talking yet.  I remember traveling 2400 miles over four days and turning on the radio exactly once.  I remember feeling welcome every time I walked into a room he was in, even if I hadn’t even seen him yet.

I will never not love this man.  I can only hope it stops hurting so much.  I have no choice but to move on, because we only have the moment we are in.  

Storm once looked at me and almost casually asked me what kind of wife I wanted to be for him.  I grabbed the Scriptures, and together we read Proverbs 31.  After I finished, he was quiet a moment, and thought about it carefully.  Then he said, in his sexy southern fried Aussie drawl, “My Rose, my love, don’t you know that you are already all of those things?”

Please, Abba, Father, Yahweh, help me every day to be the woman Storm saw in me.  Amen.