Once Upon a Time, I Lived in a Bubble

Once upon a time, I lived in a bubble. I faced whatever life handed me with confidence--due to a strong family support system and a bit of naivety. I thought my version of the world was everyone else's. Later in life, I discovered that friends and loved ones who I thought were as "secure" as I was had elephants in the living room, on the back steps, and out on their lawns--because shame is not shared. It's there; it exists; but, it is not shared.

As the years passed, I began to seek and understand the bigger pictures of relationship issues, abuse, financial stress, illness, and growing-older dilemmas. Friends and acquaintances, who hid things during their younger years, shared their stories. Was it because desperation set in? Were the repercussions of shame-based behaviors too much to handle alone? Was it because there was no where else to hide and no reason to do so anymore?

It has been said that everyone we meet in life, every experience we have, shape us into the person we become. This includes parents, siblings, spouse, friends, children, and those others we meet for short periods of our lives--some who we have connected with deeply and who leave forever imprints.

Maybe, what I didn't "get" before, I have a chance to get now. I mentioned to my fellow classmate, Lois, (reconnecting at a class reunion) that I felt a need to "make-new" --although I wasn't sure what I even meant. She replied, "I see your make-new as making better relationships from the incomplete scraps of the old ones. Maybe, polishing off the rust".

I like the phrases--incomplete scraps and polishing off the rust... Something incomplete can be completed, made new.

 Is not wisdom found among the aged?  Does not long life bring understanding? Job 12;12

Thank goodness, we have a Creator who understands all this and wants us to be connected. It's all a part of His great plan. It's all a part of being human.



In the same way, even though we are many individuals, Christ makes us one body and individuals who are connected to each other. Romans 12:5

The Word became flesh for the purpose of connecting....

               

Pillbox Hats and Nylon Stockings

When I was in 8th grade, I looked like a miniature of my mother. A flowered dress, scoop neck, hanging right below the kneecap. Black pumps, nylons with a seam up the back. A pillbox hat with net pulled over one half of my face, lips barely tinged with pink... both of us in the family station wagon on our way to church with a bunch of noisy boys.

Although feeling grownup, I also felt awkward. Wearing nylons meant wearing a girdle. I remember being concerned I would get a run in my hoes before getting to church and everyone, everyone would notice. A girl can only wear a girdle for so long, and then you get a belly ache. The net from the hat itched my nose and got caught in my eyelashes.

During the week, when at home, I wore what we called "chore clothes." .... patched jeans, worn-out shirts--everything had been washed until it was faded, soft, and comfortable. Our clothes were so worn, that I remember hiding when a neighbor or the Watkins man came to our door.

My mother, however, wore a house dress every day of the week. If a neighbor or the Watkins man happened at our door, she would take off her apron and be ready for company. She eventually bought a pair of pants to wear with her flowered shirts around the house and a couple of navy blue pant suits to wear to church.

It seems to me that there are no age-appropriate clothes anymore. Gals of every age wear leggings or tight jeans or flip flops. I remember my Grandmother Hulda wearing sensible, sturdy shoes. I don't believe she owned a pair of pants or slacks or anything with legs. Picturing either my mom or Grandma Hulda in leggings is laughable.



Life and what's in and what is out is ever changing, even, at times, wild and unpredictable. I don't think God really cares what we wear on the outside. It's what inside us that counts. He's looking for the kind of LOVE that God first gave us. Talk about comfort? It's all there, right there in his love.

Author John Rohn writes, "You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with."

I grew up with five brothers and my parents. I spent the most time with my mother and the littlest brother at the time--hanging out diapers on a clothes line, scooping baby food into an eager mouth, dusting, baking, weeding the garden, canning and freezing. Mom was almost always at my side or me at hers.

That was 60+ years ago.

During the last 45+ years I have lived with the same man and four of our children who survived various stages of life living under our roof as they evolved into purposeful, loving adults.

Because we were/ are each so different from one another, I can not begin to imagine how to determine the "averages".

As a freshman in college, I lived with a roommate who used expletives casually in her conversations. Within a month or so, these same words were slipping out of my mouth--

Huge segue here....

I was 18, then.
I'm 70+ now....
I know Who I need to spend more time with: Jesus.