Tuesday, January 26, 2010
My Original Plans Long, Long Ago
A darling friend had reminded me yesterday, after having survived their own gut-leveling grief and inner devastation, that self-talk was, of course, important and necessary. This I do know, but in times of extreme stress, I forget. I am a mumbler, I do affirm each step, and I'm just as vocal other times in the opposite vein when I'm overcome with the messes.
So traumatized, so often fearful lately, Bible verses to counteract the inner stark terror, the massive and continuous assaults on my mind, my so called free time has been so squeezed and constricted by events, that the figurative and invisible holes in my brain, caused by severe stress, allow what's left of my good sense to trickle away.
Getting a grip, I noticed so many positive things happening yesterday, that I was really surprised.
I attribute it all to prayer and I'm very grateful to you all. I'd texted my pastor yesterday as well, something I do hardly once a year, reluctant, maybe too pridefully so, to ask for help, not wanting to appear needy, my fear always being that I'll be seen as having brought all this upon myself simply by my own choice to have a large family.
Doors did open in front of me though, a situation I cannot really verbally muddle through here, as it's still, and once again, a court case, even though a decision had been rendered without my knowledge on Friday, later blindsiding all the players.
Literally I repeat in my head thousands of times each day, "Thy will be done," because I'm presented with so many scenarios, so many dead-ends, or non viable choices, that decisions are difficult to make, and truly only do I wanna be led by God, as He's the only one with the big picture and all the knowledge.
I dearly want to concentrate on the good things, to dull the roaring in my head.
I'd planted onion seeds, rather than sets, at the end of last winter, trying to save some dollars, and losing the entire enterprise, as either I'd forgotten about them and planted over them, slammed on too much mulch, or whatever, I'd had a 100% failure rate.
The sets performed beautifully though, a 100% success, so I clearly needed to find a middle ground.
I planted my seeds indoors this year, mimicking the catalogs in that their sets would be ready by late January, so count backwards, right? Dang, it worked. I now have my own sets from seeds, at least a 75% success rate, and it's stuff like that that is thrilling to this ole bat.
But it will only be one harvest of maybe 200 onions, not enough for the family's needs for a year. I gotta work on my multiplication skills and figure this all out.
The old wives warning about thunder in January leading to snow within the next week is seemingly in our forecast. I'd listened contentedly the other night to rolls of thunder, all my outside dogs panicking like they're prone to do, Lily and I marveling at the sound of nature that we so love, and dadgum, there's now snow predicted by this weekend.
Lord have mercy, all of Georgia'll be in an uproar at the thought, me included, giddy and at the mercy of barometric changes.
A man had called last night, the new team leader of an IFI group for Paloma, reminding me we'd met years ago regarding another troubled child of mine. Good, then we can eliminate the small talk, was my hope, get down to business. This is so what I want for her, but I'm becoming kinda weary of the entire process, feeling it is of little use in the long run, ya can't cure mental illness.
I have to stop myself from such negativity, thinking about another child of mine, now grown, who'd literally left turds on the floor as smelly and inappropriate presents for me, indicating the sad, chaos level in her mind. Maybe because I'd never given up seeking help for her, even though I was often stymied and quite stressed-out during a particularly grievous eight year period, nowadays, we have a very decent relationship. Go figure.
Pepe'd also called, totally calm, doing well in his placement, acting like we were bestest friends, telling me about liking some white girl there, markedly not asking about another very close birth brother. He'd told me in the previous phone call that even he was shocked at what he'd recently seen when they were in juvie hall together, "Mom he's taking up with gangs, he's hard-hearted as _____(bad cuss word).
Well here's the deal guys, rebel against your church lady mom if you want, fight uphill against society's morals and values in your rages, but I gotta tell ya, after 36 1/2 years of parenting, add in my 25 years in the public school system, ponder what the many professionals have told you, or heck, just factor in the concept of pure logic...do you really think you know more than everyone else on earth? Really?
I don't think so, and I'll continue trying to find answers, alternatives, resources and solutions to troubling events and issues. Putting on my go-to-town outfit, dealing with legal issues, mental health professionals, CPS, and everyone else I can draw into our circle of troubled kids needing help, eventually barreling back home totally desiring the comfort and security I find there with my many good children and my gardens where logic prevails, where hard work results in a harvest and where my other children bring me home graded papers for me to admire, or sports events for me to attend...kinda my original plans here long, long ago.