So, I’m having coffee on the back porch this morning, thinking.
I wish I had a new pair of shoes for every time someone told me I think too much. But that’s part of who I am. A thinker; just like my dad was.
Anyway, I’m sitting there, observing my dogs and thinking about life; the way it was, the way I wish it had been, and the way it is.
It’s Heartland’s fault, the TV series that hubby, and I have been watching on Netflix for the past few weeks. It’s happy, it’s sad, it’s funny, it’s everything I wish my family life had been growing up. The way I wish I’d had a grandfather like Jack, a crusty old man with a soft heart, who loves and encourages and fights tooth and nail for his family.
How different my life may have been had my dad opened his arms and his heart to me and if mom had talked to me instead of yelling at me. If they both had made me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to them.
Maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time alone trying to figure things out. Maybe I would have made better grades in school, had more courage and self-confidence, and married the right man the first time around. Maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard being what I thought everyone wanted me to be and just learned to be me.
My brain keeps reminding me that I’m a free woman. But my longing heart tells me I’m still that scared little girl behind bars; locked up with the taunting ghosts of the past. I still get depressed. I still get angry. I still feel I have to perform perfectly. I still have those tear-jerking moments when I feel I just don’t belong.
Yet, I have come a long way from where I was decades ago. I realize that freedom is a painstakingly, ongoing, slow process. We don’t soar like an eagle out the cage door when it’s opened. Our wings are broken; crushed by the weight of the grimacing world, and it takes time to heal. It takes time to learn and rethink and trust even good things smiling in our faces.
I was reminded of that sitting there on the back porch, observing my four-legged babies. I realized that as dependent as they are on me to take care of them, is how dependent God wants me to be on Him to take care of me. That, no matter how hard the struggle, no matter how tremendous the doubt and fear and emptiness I feel at times, He is all I need.
I just have to keep reminding myself of that; keep moving forward and stop flying back into that rusty old cage of sadness, loneliness, and regrets, because I don’t live there anymore.