Tenuousness

ten·u·ous[ten-yoo-uhs] adjective 1. thin or slender in form, as a thread. 2. lacking a sound basis, as reasoning; unsubstantiated; weak; 3. thin in consistency; rare or rarefied; 4. of slight importance or significance; unsubstantia; 5. lacking in clarity, vague.

Tenous us a word that I use quite frequently in my language -- in dialogue. I have always thought its meaning to be more about weakness -- uncertainty. These definitions make me re-evaluate. Lately, I have found that a whole lot of the information that is being communicated to me seems to be quite tenuous -- lacking a sound basis; unsubstantiated -- vague. That is disheartening. I hate vagueness.

dis·heart·en [dis-hahr-tn] verb (used with object) to depress the hope, courage, or spirits of; discourage.

That stinks.

My whole philosophy has evolved into a "no more BS" kind of way of life since David died. I mean ... I have no surplus of emotional or mental energy to waste on untruth -- disingenuousness -- crap. So when I find that it's landing on my doorstep unwelcomed, it makes me take stock.

Do I want to waste my time and energy on anything that lacks sound basis or is of slight importance? No, I don't think I do. This seems to be closely related to my impatience and hope. Who wants to hope for something that is vague? That vague stuff depresses hope, courage and spirit -- it discourages. But not everyone is so enlightened. (ha) How does one bring those who actually have something with basis -- consistency -- importance and clarity to offer -- around to a less tenuous manner of being? I have no idea.

Throughout the many years that I was the wife of a brain cancer survivor, I was blessed to witness courageousness and hopeful spirit of those fighting the freaking "good fight" that exhibited the soul-deep understanding that time is short. Life is preciouss. Love is the only important thing in this world -- and they lived that way -- with an urgency and intense sincerity. So many of us simply don't live in that spirit. So many of us live in fear -- fear of rejection, fear of shame, fear of failure, fear of death, fear of being alone. If only everyone could just let go of that fear and live every moment to its fullest without tenuousness...

Life in a church seems to have a lesser degree of this disheartening element, but when it rears its head, I balk and I balk hugely. My church is where I find sanctuary -- acceptance -- love -- belonging. When my church lets me down, I am discouraged. My spirit is depressed. I am saddened. And I wonder where I can seek loveliness -- clarity and basis. I experienced a good bit of tenuousness in my own church this week and I am discouraged. So I look to others in my life -- family, friends -- even new ones -- and tonight my spirits are low. I'm feeling that none of my global prayer warriors are lifting me up right now because all is silent. I feel very alone. My spirits are low. Church people or not, we are all human and sometimes these relationships are tenuous -- and those are the times when I most need to bounce things off of a partner -- a husband -- someone who will always take my side. Instead, I sit alone in my home and write about it. With whom can I debate these things? There is nobody who is all mine -- for whom I am the most important person in the world. I feel bereft and alone and angry.

Do those of you out there who have a spouse or someone who cares about everything that's going on in your life know what a treasure you have? Someone who showers you with attention and shows you affection? Who listens to your joys and worries and sees your weaknesses and loves you anyway? You are very blessed. Thank that person and do better if you're not doing very well on your side of things.

I'm existing in this transitional time of my life -- and I have no idea where the evolution will end up. Will I just be a more independent, somewhat happier single middle-aged person finding purpose in this life of mine? Will I be a surprisingly more emotionally dependent woman resting in the affection of someone -- trusting and enjoying? Will I be a spunky grandmother who somehow manages to stay healthy? Will I be a world traveller? Will I be a published writer? Will I find a vocation in the church? Who knows. I just pray that my path lacks tenuousness -- instead, that it be defined by the antithesis: importance; substance. I'm so impatient to discover what that's going to be!!

So, in the interim, I'm exploring a bunch of new music. One song that inspired my blog title is by Andrew Bird. I like a lot of his stuff, but this song is weird! See if you can make any sense of these lyrics!

Tenuousness
Andrew Bird

Love of hate acts as an axis
Love of hate acts as an axis
First it wanes and then it waxes
So procreate and pay your taxes

Tenuousness, less seven comes to three
Them, you, us plus eleven
Thank the heavens for their elasticity
And as for those who live and die for astronomy

When coprophagia was writ
Know when to stand or when to sit
Can't stand to stand, can't stand to sit
And who would want to know this?
Click, click, click

Who wants to look upon this?
Who wants to look upon this pray tell?
Who wants to look upon this?
Who wants to look upon this pray tell, pray tell?

Tenuousness, less seven comes to three
Them, you, us plus eleven comes just shy of infinity
And as for those who live and die from numerology

What????

Impatience ... HOPE

Though I can be an exceptionally leisurely person, I think I'm sort of impatient when it comes right down to it ... intrinsically impatient. According to my late husband, this was most often an undesirable trait. I'm not sure I agree -- or ever agreed, though in certain circumstances I am sure impatience can be a negative thing.

im·pa·tient [im-pey-shuhnt] adjective 1. not patient; not accepting delay, opposition, pain, etc., with calm or patience. 2. indicating lack of patience (um ... duh); 3. restless in desire or expectation; eagerly desirous.

Once I make my mind up about something, I'm ready to act. I suppose I want everyone else to get on-board, too. Yeh, that doesn't happen very often, so then I become frustrated. (That's a whole other topic, or is it?) Anyway, I was formerly a do-er. I think being a do-er again may be in my future, but I'm not there yet. I'm still in the recovery stage of looking around and noting what NEEDS to be done, agonizing over how I'm not doing it, then letting myself off of the hook. I still have paintings stowed being the sofa from maybe 2007 -- when we had the house re-piped. They had to knock holes into a couple walls and all over the kitchen ceiling. Those holes are patched, but were never primed and painted. David didn't do it. I didn't do it. Then he got sick again and then he died and I've just never handled it. Same with the deck. It has needed to be sealed -- stained -- whatever for a while now. The house and sidewalks need to be pressure-washed. One bathroom has the wallpaper partially removed and another has sagging towel racks that just need anchors for a couple screws. I can do these things. I'm a handyman ... but I have not done these things. Strangely, my impatience hasn't crept in enough to force my hand on these issues. I am beginning to be very embarrassed by them, however, so maybe soon ... 'ish.

Some things can be "done" without involving manual labor. I find that the polity in the church slows progress to a crawl sometimes. My pragmatism sees this as inefficiency and drives me crazy. Committee work is slow. That's where the frustration can come in. I also believe that people can love each other more efficiently. That sounds kind of strange, but what I mean is that when we feel something, we should express it. If we think something, we should share it. So much love and edifying stuff goes wasted because people are too afraid to put their emotions out there for people to see. Sad, but true. We all do it. We protect ourselves from taking risks, but so often rob others of our blessing.

frus·trat·ed [fruhs-trey-tid] adjective 1. disappointed; thwarted.

Uh huh. Impatience and frustration are very closely related, at least with me. I am disappointed rather easily. This is something that I dislike about my psyche and something I really wish I could change about myself. How does one go about doing that? How can I keep myself from being disappointed? I'm working on it -- intentionally deciding to have fewer expectations. It seems to work academically, but not practically. I truly respond emotionally and I can be very hurt when I am disappointed. That's the part I would like to discard -- the hurt. On the other hand, if I were successful in doing that, I would be a different woman. I would not love as deeply as I love. I would be less thoughtful, less mindful, less considerate of others in my life -- and I don't want that! So can I find some sort of balance?

I can't help it. I have expectations. Don't we all?

ex·pec·ta·tion [ek-spek-tey-shuhn] noun 1. the act or the state of expecting: to wait. 2. the act or state of looking forward or anticipating. 3. an expectant mental attitude; 4. something expected; a thing looked forward to. 5. a prospect of future good.

I'm waiting
I'm waiting on You, Lord
And I am hopeful
I'm waiting on You, Lord
Though it is painful
But patiently, I will wait        ~John Waller

What would a world without expectations be like? I shudder to consider such a world. Nothing would ever get done with any care or keeping. There would be no kindnesses or surprises to be anticipated -- no future good realized. Okay, but people let each other down. They don't often behave they way we expect -- or the way we hope -- they will. They don't always do or say the things that would bless us or simply bring us joy. This can be very disappointing. I, for one, experience sorrow when I'm disappointed emotionally. Mindfulness -- thoughtfulness -- consideration for each other across the board could really be improved, I think.

So after contemplating expectation, it seems that it should be and ok thing. Why, then, am I so often disappointed that I wish to do away with all of my expectations? Have I been let-down that much in life? Hmph. On so many different levels ... yes, I have. Mostly in my relationships. David always thought my (primarily emotional) expectations of friends and family -- and of him -- were often too high. These expectations mainly involved communication. But I never expected more than I gave and that was the catch. If I did-away with my expectations, I would not offer as much of myself to those I care about. It's the metaphorical "double-edged sword."

Mercifully, though, David was a great communicator. I was talking to a friend about love languages the other night and had a sort of realization. Though David didn't speak my primary love language very well sometimes, he was somewhat fluent in it from a unique angle. He continuously reminded me that he loved me, that he missed me, that he had affection for me -- through various means of contact. He was a bit of a techie, so this meant a continous stream of texts, emails and phone calls -- not only when he was out of town, which was over a third of the time -- but even on days when he was home and one of us was "out." It used to be a joke at church how many texts I would get during Sunday School from David, misbehaving in church, waiting to sing his songs. Though it wasn't conventional "quality time," he never let me forget that he was thinking of me. THAT WAS HUGE. He wouldn't sit in the kitchen with me when I made dinner, or jump in to make the salad. He didn't like going for walks or gardening with me. But he was consistent with the "I love you's" and the "I miss you's" and "Wait 'til I tell you about this crazy lady in the airport's." I miss those texts the most.

But not to divinify the dead ... David knew that withholding that kind of love was a very effective kind of penalty. If we were fighting and phone calls were useless -- ending in angry stalemates -- we would resort to email. If he held-off on a reply, it was excruciating. I was so impatient to hear what his response was to what I had written -- you know, emotional stuff. It could be very painful -- and very frustrating when our communicating was fruitless. That was a very sad circumstance of frequent separations and sometimes emotions could run high -- run rampant -- and our marriage did suffer some from the cumulative postponement of important relationship stuff. Impatience. Frustration. Disappointment. Expectation.

Hope ... expecting good. David was all about hope. He wrote about hope. He talked about hope. He lived hope. He shared hope. But his hope was different from mine, in a way. It's hard to define. He knew he had a home waiting for him up above. But what was his "hope?" I think it was truly to survive; to survive the cancer. My hope was to grow old with him; to some day see the end of the travel and the separation -- to just be. Neither one of us saw those hopes realized.

So what now? I'm the one who's still here ... living. Will I discover my true vocation in the second half of my life? What might that be? Will I maybe love again -- differently -- but deeply? I know that I hope for a growing family to be near. I hope that there will be no more untimely loss. I hope for joy. I hope for the energy to fix the broken things in my home. I hope to return to some of the things that I used to love doing.

I feel impatience while waiting for all of these things to happen, but it's a more seasoned impatience ... one with less frustration and disappointment -- one with expectation of something good: Hope. I went for a run today (walked a lot ...) and was listening to daughter mix 2 on my ipod. Two songs nagged at me about this idea of living fully -- embracing expectation and hope. One was a Phish song and goes, "We want you to be happy, don't live inside the gloom. We want you to be happy, come step outside your room. We want you to be happy 'cause this is your song too." (Joy, Trey Anastasio, Tom Marshall) Wow. Yeh. The other song was by Switchfoot and I've always loved this song because it says the same thing I have always thought: Don't settle for mediocre. Sometimes we have to endure stuff for a time, but in the end:

When I'm up with the sunrise
I want more than just blue skies.
I want more than just ok, more than just ok.

I'm not giving up, giving up, not giving up now.
I'm not giving up, giving up, not backing down.

More than fine, more than bent on getting by.
More than fine, more than just ok. ~Jon Foreman

How many times have I replied "I'm ok." or "I'm FINE." to the question, "How are you, Leslie?" Ugh. I'm tired of just getting by!! And I've done that pretty well for a long time. So where is the joy? Where is the happiness? Where is the fun?

I'm still waiting. Impatiently. Sometimes frustrated. Sometimes expectant. Often disappointed. Yet, still hopeful. Sigh.

Share Hope
Everybody has a different burden
Could be a weight upon your shoulder or a storm inside your head
Everybody's lost a precious angel
Mother, Father, brother daughter, or someone else instead
Everybody's trying to find the reason
Thinking it will help them learn to cope
But the only way anyone gets stronger
Is when they learn to share, Share hope
Hope is not a fragile emotion
It's not a candle burning softly in the night
It's more like a blazing bonfire
Shattering the darkness with its light
Hope is not a sweet and subtle feeling
It's not a whisper trying to find a voice
It's more like a deep resounding chorus
Anyone can sing but you gotta make the choice
Sometimes it takes a little courage
It ain't easy climbing up that slippery slope
But when you finally do and discover it is true You wanna share, hope
It's not a magic pill or a superstitious spell
And it never ever ever stands alone
It's a kind of power that binds us all together
Goes into the jungle and brings you safely home
You can share your supper with the hungry
You can share your money with the poor
You can share your laughter with the lonely
You can share all of this and more
You can share your wisdom with the foolish
You can share your prayers with the Lord above
You can share your faith with the faithless
You can share your joy , yes and you can share your love
No matter who you are, no matter where you go
No matter how you get there, No matter what you know
I’m telling you the truth and it's more than just a dare
The way for us to love is to share, share hope        ~david m. bailey

Fear ... and the departure thereof

The infinite surge of the ocean is hypnotic. I love the Atlantic ocean. It's gray and cold and angry -- with an unexpected element of comfort ... that perpetual reliability. It will always send forth the next wave. When I can get to a place where I'm just sitting quietly, hypnotized by the waves that keep advancing like a faceless army, I find myself encouraging each swell. You can make it all the way up here to me -- you can go further than that last surge. I begin to personify the waves. Like I said, hypnotic: Mesmerizing ... rhythmic ... soothing.

It's quiet at the beach in February. Few flock to the shore in the winter time, though my family always has. I love it. I took a walk several nights ago -- in a stinging rain, near hurricane force gusts and a strange fog. It was energizing -- awakening. Just a few years ago, I would have been fearful of the power of the ocean in the dark. Really -- I was too afraid to walk down to the ocean in the dark! But now I feel like I am brought alongside of such a force of nature -- like an equal -- escorted down the sand. I am not afraid! It's cool. Tonight, I miss the ocean. But I do not miss fear.

I'm not quite sure how I came to be more fearless than before -- and I believe I was quite a fearful person. Maybe more like a scaredy-cat. I mean, you don't endure the experiences I have and come out the other side a coward. I'm no coward. But I have always been a scardey-cat ... though I've always fought it ... hard. Do scaredy-cats become the drum major of the marching band? Take one of the leading roles in the senior musical? Marry men like David? NO THEY DON'T. So what do I mean when I say I've always been a scardey-cat? Let me ponder this.

I was always the new kid in school. Can you recall that feeling of walking into a room where everyone already knows each other -- but you don't. You don't know a soul. You don't know the routine. You don't know where the bathroom is. You don't know where to sit. You don't know anything. And you feel sick to your stomach -- nervous -- scared. I experienced that eight times, not including the first day of college -- and even then, I wasn't just like the others. I was a freaking commuter, so had skipped all the orientation crap. The new kid. Not the norm. Fear -- undergirded by an inexplicable self-awareness that made me fight. But I took a job in downtown Washington, DC. What? It took all the courage I could muster to do that. It wasn't exciting for me, it was HARD. I was afraid. I've always been afraid, but have done all sorts of risky kind of things ... I don't even understand myself.

The last couple years I have been pondering my life and I've pretty much determined that I've been a fearful person for much of it. That's rather deflating. I mean I thought I was living bravely! My mother died and yet I finished college without missing a beat. And I mean it -- it was no act of cowardice diving into a love affair with a guy who lived through a war, was captured and interrogated by I'm not even sure who -- almost dragged me into covert operations to Tripoli (key word is almost) -- and served as the undergirding for a 14 year career in the hope and survival vocation of a person marked by God and wanted by so many in so many ways. It wasn't just the brain cancer rollercoaster -- but the charisma and the idolatry. The aloneness and the living in the shadows ... and then there was the hardcore medical stuff -- no fun. No ride for the fearful ... and the aftermath -- the loss. The total destruction of my life as I knew it.

And yet here I am -- vertical. Getting up every day living my life -- to the degree to which I am able a day at a time -- raising two enormously amazing kids who continue to stun me with their own courageousness and brillance and independence ... Fearfully? I have wonderously discovered over the last 2 plus years that I have shed that stupid scardey-cat'ness. It really seems to be gone. Why and how?

I can not count the number of saints who have told me that they pray for me regularly. REGULARLY. First of all, that's entirely humbling. I'm amazed that people even think of me enough to pray for me ever -- but to pray for me regularly?! Wow. That's so wonderful and I thank them and instantaneously realize and acknowledge that it is because of their prayers that I stand! That I wake and rise and live my life at all! My gratitude is too great to measure. Do their prayers also push aside this fear that has been my lifemate and give me liberty therefrom? I think so! I don't feel like I have to fight to be me anymore. I feel like I can simply ... be me. And I am sad because it took 48 years to happen! That it took all this trauma and all this survivor stuff to get here. I want my kids to just be who they are with no fear! and I think they are. I think I've hidden my scaredey-cat'ness from them such that they haven't assumed that stupid, sad, wasteful cloak that I've worn most of my life. Thank you, God, that they are just them.

So why does it matter now? I really am not afraid. Sometimes I worry about money -- about my future. Of course I "worry" about my kids' safely -- their good health -- their decisions and choices -- but I'm not really afraid anymore. I find myself moving into new situations without that old friend cautioning me and chiding me -- I find I walk taller -- smile more fully -- question stupid stuff up front! Where did that come from? Age? Experience? Trauma? Survival? Independence? A combination, of course ... but I like it.

I don't know what's next. I hope I can pay the bills I have waiting for me here on the desk. Hmmm. I got new shoes -- platform sandals, encouraged by college girlies -- and they make me feel young(er) and pretty brave. I fearlessly walked into a bar a few weeks ago and actually talked to strangers -- gasp. Who is this and what have I done with myself? I'm living my life, possibly for the first time ever just for me -- and it's exciting and not as scary as I thought. Don't get me wrong -- I loved my life as a wife and mom -- and I'll always be a mom -- but right now, it's just me and my dog -- and God. I'm kinda having fun exploring this new world. Of course I'm still "me," so there will never be any over the top wild stuff, but still, I feel a little more bold in new ways -- less difficult ways. Bravery and courageousness that is required is way different. This is a liberating kind of bravery -- more self-ISH than self-LESS. I can dabble in that for a while, right? Bring it on.