Tarzan. Zorro. Mario Andretti. Some of the people I admired and wanted to be like when I was a little kid. Someone adventurous. Someone fearless. Someone who didn’t take crap. Who would stick up for others.
My invisible horse and I would gallop all over my yard out in the country, leaping over the wide creek effortlessly on our hunt for treasure. I was a pirate, a princess, a ranch owner…I was stranded several times on an tropical island. I donned an old blue prom dress Grandma got me at a yard sale and proceeded to dance across the enchanted bridge to fairy land. I dreamed of being many things as I grew, but most of all, I wanted to grow up to be a mommy and a writer. Those adventures would be priceless; incomparable. And I was only 6 when I figured that out.
Little did I know that what seems like an adventure looking on feels like trouble when it’s happening. I mean, the story wouldn’t be a page-turner if there was nothing to overcome. Superman’s creator gave him a weakness for a reason: without a vulnerability, without a challenge, Superman would be boring and so would his life.
“Cindy was born. She did great in school and everyone liked her. She got the job of her dreams, made a lot of money, and had wonderful children who obeyed her without complaining. And they all lived happily ever after.”
They never learned. They never grew. They didn’t become broader, deeper, more compassionate… And no one was ever touched by their story. No one was encouraged by the way they handled their troubles and won.
I remember watching Indiana Jones one day and admiring the adventure he was living. Then thinking, “Yeah, a boulder is rolling towards him and could very well end his life. I wonder if this were real, if he would realize that it’s all just part of what makes his story exciting.” ‘Cause, I’ll tell you what, I’m going through it right now. I’ve gone from troubled to depressed to despairing and despondent.
I’ve been dukin’ it out with God, so angry that he hasn’t answered my prayers and changed the things that are breaking me. When I first met him I fell so in love. He was my hero, after all. I knew he was wise and omnipotent, so when I argued with him, I wanted HIM to win. I wanted him to show me the error of my ways and improve me.
But something happened. I got worn out. I endured and endured and endured till I just wanted to stop. Me, I mean. I wanted to stop ME. I prayed for sick people and they died. I begged God to fix my mentally ill daughter and he didn’t. I asked him to please take my illness and pain away and He refused. On and on. And I just got mad. Furious. I started yelling at God. Sobbing, pounding my fists, demanding an answer.
Where are you, anyhow? Are you really there? No, are you here? Why aren’t you answering me? Don’t you care at all? You let me down. You betrayed me. And I caught myself thinking that if I just withheld my affection or yelled loud and long enough, I’d shake him up a little and he’d get moving. I would win the argument.
When you write a story, you already have an idea of how you want that story to end. So I hesitate to write when things are unresolved. I want to tie it up in a pretty package and leave the reader with a good moral at least. A lesson. Encouragement. Satisfaction. (I can’t get no satisfaction?) Still arguing with God.
Part of me knows that if he loves me the way he says he does and he wins, I still win.
All of me knows that he’s the boss, so…
Part of me just wants what I want. NOW.
How I cope with the ongoing problems that are so many and so large: knowing that my troubles can make me better or bitter. Knowing that I have an opportunity to become someone far more than I am right now. Remembering to be heaven/eternal minded rather than Earth bound. Even if it looks like it’s too late, even if it we lose the battle, there’s more. It ain’t over yet. I’m not over yet. I really am a never-ending story.
I was made for a purpose. I was made for adventure. I was made to become a warrior.
This might not be the most well-written blog ever. I’ve been trying this all day. Type type type delete type type delete…
Hard, painful, chaotic day. It is GOOD to have this to run to. What a great coping tool. Thanks for keeping me company.