Healing And No Ammunition

One thing I've learned in life is that you can't stop a bullet without something getting destroyed.

I'm talking about emotional hurt, the kind of things that are symptomatic, those moments that prove beyond doubt that human beings are flawed in how they relate. When someone takes something you value and treats it with contempt or apathy, the pain is like a bullet, a small thing, that with the speed of a moment penetrates and damages. Words, too are tools, for destruction or for building. Sometimes what is left unsaid is a weapon, too.

Some of the smallest moments become that bullet. You can tell someone outside the bubble about that moment that wounded you, and they may laugh at you and tell you it's only a small thing. And that it is. Bullets don't crush you, they riddle you with holes that drain life. In some relationships the wounds heal and the scar disappears, and in some one wound lays open for a long time, and in others you lie bleeding for what seems like years, and sometimes it is: decades....

You have the choice to know and be known. If you never let anyone past the wall, the medic won't get in either. Somebody out there has the power to fix you, or at least to try. All hands can be healing hands or weapons, and words can heal or hurt. We have choices. And the biggest choice is not to be the violent one who causes the pain. We fail so often at such a simple thing, but it's a choice we have to keep making over and over again: to be one who brings healing and not ammunition.

It's your choice. The only way to stop a bullet without sustaining damage is leaving it in the box. You can't stop someone else's bullets, but at least you can stop your own.

[via You saved my life from a colorless one]

Overflowing

When I am empty, no one bothers me. No one clings to me. No one asks me to save them. When I am empty, I am alone. I am still. I can hear my own heart beating again.

I hear my heart beating, whether I want it to or not. It doesn’t beat just for me. There is a reason it beats on. There is purpose to my life. There is great hope in purpose. There is great joy in hope. The joy fills me. I get back at it. And so it goes.

[from a comment from this post at Benediction Blogs On]

Martin Luther King's Righteous Anger

[via Ponderings on a Faith Journey]

Forever Vulnerable

"Do you think I should have a baby?" "It will change your life," I say, carefully, keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on the weekend, no more spontaneous vacations..."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in child birth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking "What if that had been MY Child?" That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die....

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years -- not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs....

I wish my friend could sense the bond she'll feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally.

[via Mission: Kim Possible!]

I'm OK, You're OK?

When I think about this question of whether I'm happy or not, I simply note that I am not deeply depressed, therefore I am happy. Once you have experienced deep, harrowing depression, the presence of happiness becomes less important. The goal is mostly to feel okay....

Meaning, on the other hand...

This is what makes life worth living, I think, and I find a lot of meaning in life. Seeking after truth might initially make one unhappy with what one finds, but who needs to be happy if it costs you your soul?

Seeking after truth in time becomes kind of like putting together a puzzle, and at forty-one, it is satisfying to see some of the pieces fitting together in some pretty amazing ways!

I still haven't figured out how to reconcile the many blessings of my life with the extreme poverty of so many other's lives. This fact alone is enough to prevent me from being happy on even the brightest of days.

[via Been There...Still There]

Bitterness--- a Meditation

[via Ben Witherington]

Speaking of bitterness...

The Prayer of Jael

[via tallskinnykiwi, HT: From My Heart, Out of My Mind]

In an Orderly Fashion

[via Allan Tan's Blog]