No one told me that CASA training would be a therapy session. The topic was Childhood Separation and Loss, leading into the stages of emotional development according to Eric Ericson/Freud and how children respond to abuse.
I should have known.
After how many years of dealing/healing and still my foot starts bouncing under the table and I have to concentrate on the trainer’s voice–I’m not lost in a flashback, just mighty uncomfortable. A few times I look away at the city lights just to retreat a bit from the subject matter.
I wonder if I’m ever going to be okay.
“If the foundation gets broken, the building is weak. The higher they try to rise, the more the building gets jacked up.”
That makes sense. Everything makes sense-I recognize too many traits of jacked-upness in my own life. Sigh….Foundation work is a mess and costs a fortune–but that’s God’s job, right? The truth is that my foundation was broken, but it’s being fixed, and I can help fix other people’s foundations now—right? That fragile thread is all that is keeping me from leaving that training room and admitting defeat.
Then someone asks the question: “Can they ever be fixed?”
What kind of question is that? Why are you here if you have to ask that question? Can they ever be fixed? Your face needs to be fixed!
The trainer was quick to answer that STUPID question–she couldn’t yell “HELL, YES! What are you doing here if you have to ask that question?”–she said “Of course!” and I really didn’t hear the rest because of the buzzing in my head.
I remember talking a little too much to the trainer afterward–seeking some validation/attention from the authority figure–and of course feeling embarrassed about it all the way home–stinging from knowing that they (all of them at CASA) are rolling their eyes behind my back, judging my neediness and being entertained at my expense–
And all of these ridiculous, irrational insecurities lead back to the question:
“Will I ever get fixed?”
I thought about taking care of that bottle of Merlot that's been getting lonely on the wine rack--
I thought about stopping and getting a half gallon of Extreme Moose Tracks to share with me, myself, and I.
I thought about getting the entire box of Ritz crackers and giving Mr. P the stink eye when he glanced at me...
I sang with Aretha all the way home.
It was late when I got there, and cold outside. I took my last vanilla cigar outside and stood in the back yard in the full moonlight, smoking and thinking. Mr. P came outside for a minute--it was COLD--but I wasn't ready to share with him. Always the same old same old.
Will I ever be fixed?
I thought about my last post and those powerful words--
"You're about to be given new grounds for believing."
"I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.""Didn't I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?"
I paced that backyard, trying to stay one step ahead of despair. "I'm not feeling it, God. I'm just not feeling the glory."
He led me to a spot and I looked up--and there, in the lit up dining room window, were my three lovelies, telling stories, reading, drawing--just being glorious.
Jesus looked me right in the eye and said (say it with me!):
Didn't I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?!"