My poetry Magnets and the need to rest and play and create to restore my spirit.
|I've had them for over ten years, I'm sure. While I don't remember when I got them, I know I owned them two states and three houses ago. They weren't new when we moved from New Mexico to Arizona, either. They are my little book of poetry magnets, a gift from my husband who always believed I can write.
I never made much time to sit down and play with them. It wasn't that important, I thought, to make time to play with poetry. My children were younger and I apportioned my energy, when I had energy, to them and to my husband. Life was different then. The medications I took to control my seizures made me tired and I lacked the stamina to undertake activities other stay-at-home moms took for granted. More than ten consecutive minutes spent in sunlight meant a sunburn. Bike riding lessons were held after three in the afternoon, when the sun was waning and the shade was plentiful. I could only walk short distances and my seizures kept me from driving. I rested frequently, sitting, lying down, and stretching out on the couch. It seems I was always needing rest.
The rest never came the way I wanted it to. I felt less strain by not being active, but I never felt satisfied that I was rested. I needed restoration, refreshment, and rejuvenation. The constant sense of being inadequate as a mother, as a wife, and as a human being wore on me and dampened my willingness to do something solely for myself. I put enough gas in my tank to allow me to run a few miles until I required another stop to refuel. This became my pattern and the flaws inherent in it never occurred to me; I spent my time just trying to not lag too far behind.
My children are adults now and my life is changed, no, I am changed. The person I was then was weighed down by the guilt of not being good enough. I am never going to be the mom or wife the world expects, but I'm much happier with myself anyway. I'm not perfect, but I am loved. I am loved with an everlasting love by the creator of all life, God. I realize that the world's standard isn't standard at all. Each person interprets parenting differently, and I'll never please everyone because the rules keep changing. But even knowing God loves me doesn't satisfy the need to know how to do the "right" thing in the "right" way.
So I'm in a horrible mood and angry with it. I want to feel better and I don't know what to do with myself. I receive a message to play with my poetry Magnets. Really? So, I fetch them. Here I am in my new home, making time to do something I'd been waiting on--- breaking out the poetry Magnets. The previous year, I'd purchased two more packages of them and my husband presented me with a magnetic white board to arrange them on. I settle into my chair and extract a set from its metal box. I set them all on the white board and look them over. I string words together, first revealing my anger. Words like broken and poison wind up in that string. I look at my work. Yeah, that's definitely close to how I feel. I fish amongst the possibilities again and come up with something a little calmer and place it on the space underneath my first attempt. Now I've released some of the anger, I need to go somewhere else. I fiddle with the remaining words---I have hundreds available to me---and finally conclude with three: Trust in God. Looking at my composition, I realize I have just written my first psalm.