My bedroom in the home I grew up in was small ... really, really small. My furniture fit in the room so tightly that my twin-size bed rested against the wall on one side, and I had to be careful when I got out of bed not to hit my head on the dresser. It's funny that I didn't think of my room as small when I was young, but looking back as an adult who now owns a home ... that room was just tiny.
With its mustard yellow walls, squeezed-in furniture and diminutive size, my room was "my place" ... it was where I did my homework, talked on the phone to my friends, read countless books, wrote a plethora of stories and spent hours dreaming of someday becoming a professional tennis player or a famous writer. It was my retreat, my shelter, my hiding place. And ... it was where one of the quirky components of my personality took root and began to grow ... one that exists even now well into my adult life.
For as far back as I can remember, and especially during my teenage and college years, when I was angry or hurt or depressed or wrestling a big life decision, I would lock myself away in my room often for extended periods of time. As I mentioned, my bed was against the wall, and I would pull the mattress away, leaving just enough space for me to get between the wall and the mattress and lie on the box springs. I would only emerge for the necessary essentials of life, and I would spend a great deal of my sequestered time snuggled into my little cubby next to the wall reading, writing and contemplating the meaning of life.
My bed no longer rests against a wall, and I don't have a box springs cubby to climb into. I do, however, still close myself off and hide away when life gets difficult ... emotionally, physically or spiritually. I pull away from family and friends; I don't want to see or talk to anyone; I cease electronic communication via email or Facebook; I even distance myself from the One who loves me most of all. I simply want to crawl into my cave and hibernate until the winter in my heart and mind passes. It is quite puzzling to me that at times when I should be snuggling in close to my Lord or allowing those who love me to minister to my wounded heart or soul, my gut inclination is to run, slam the door, turn off all the lights and lock the door.
Pull me from the box springs, Lord, turn on the lights, and force me to unlock the door. Carry me from this place of solitary confinement, this place of seclusion, this place of hiding ... put Your song back in my mind, my feet back on the path, my eyes back on You.
1 comment:
again, i think this is pretty mainstream :) for lack of a better word. :) maybe we have to nurse our grief a bit before we can think of being consoled? maybe we have to enjoy the pity party before its over? not an easy answer to this one either.
maybe its because when persons comfort us they expect those words to "fix it" or that once addressed the problem has magically mended itself. SO NOT TRUE!
i'll also say this. lots of times well intentioned phrases or words of comfort are just flat out stupid and very, very hurtful. (my fave there is its all in god's plan. yeah, tell that to someone whose heart is broken and is grieving a huge, irretrievable or irreversible loss. not a good answer!)
sometimes there are no words. sometimes there are no answers. we simply have to endure and find a way to manage. sometimes we just have to trudge on and continue to put one foot in front of the other (who knows what classic xmas stop motion film that's from?) until we arrive at tomorrow or another day.
and even though people try to tell us tomorrow will be better, sometimes its flat out, simply NOT better. sometimes life grinds on and situations don't change. even though we desperately wish or want them to.
when i feel like that, when that is my real life situation, IN THAT MOMENT i don't want sympathies, sentiments, stupid words or empty catch phrases thrown at me. why? because they don't solve anything.
sometimes we need something real, something tangible, something we can wrap our brains and hearts and arms around; even though sometimes the solution we want simply isn't an option (i.e. ever going to be real for us).
that's why we seek out our sanctuaries. our places of solitary confinement. to escape meaninglessness and in hopes of figuring out SOMETHING THAT IS REAL. we're desperately searching for a lifeline. anything to pull us back up above the surface. (cuz in those times we truly feel like we are drowning!)
god usually delivers, but certainly not always in the way or when we want him to. :) whew! how's that for a real (perhaps slightly psychotic) answer from a mom whose BEEN THERE!?!?!?!?! heck, i'm still there!!!!! ;)
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