Honor

From yesterday's reading. Acts 16:

When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open,
he drew his sword and was about to kill himself,
thinking that the prisoners had escaped.
But Paul shouted out in a loud voice,
“Do no harm to yourself; we are all here.”
He asked for a light and rushed in and,
trembling with fear, he fell down before Paul and Silas.
Then he brought them out and said,
“Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”

 

Last night, I was sick...been sick since Sunday.  Daughter's birthday left me in an emotional mess. If I could just find a way to "do right" by her, I might sleep better at night, but it seems that it is just one of those things that can never be reconciled...and I am wasting too much energy trying to think up some algorithm that might fix things. Whatever happens, it's not going to happen by my willing it or desiring it.

Some part of me connects it to that moment, when I was seven days old, and my mother left me for good...that is, she thought it was the best thing to do for me. I was pissed when I realized she was not there. Everyone else was "not the Momma" and I wanted nothing to do with these surrogates! 

I watch my little adopted granddaughter sleep...or rather, I noticed her. The other kids, they sleep like logs, never moving until it's time to get up.  My adopted granddaughter sleeps restlessly.  Every time I look in on her, she is in a different position.
I remember the mother who raised me telling me that she observed that about me, too. 

 

"Our hearts are restless until we rest in Thee." St Augusting writes.  We looks endlessly for that primal connection, to the one who created us, who carried us, who we knew before we were born.  And when we don't find that in this world, we are pissed.

 

People who have known unconditional love can't possibly understand this problem. People who have known their real mothers can't know what it is like to not know it. For one who is wired like me, the sense of loyalty and righteousness might be expressed to an extreme. Forgiveness is the greatest and hardest thing to do...as I have been wrestling with since the end of 2012, I find myself exhausted and physically sick. I have to get to know that really angry little girl who was searching for her mother...and I have to calm her down...and love her.  And each time I get close, and truly feel the wasteland that she knew...it makes me sick. No child should ever have to know this place. 

 

And yet, I am fully aware that many children have known it, can name it, and are still affected by it...as I am.  So I suppose I am here, to help the ones in this desert wasteland...but too often, when it is time to look at my own wasteland, I struggle to find any meaning at all in this kind of suffering.

 

Then, yesterday morning, the priest pointed out an insight in the Book of Acts, as presented in the passage above: the Roman soldier, knowing that he had failed at his task (the gates being thrown open and the possibility of the prisoners escaping) was ready to throw himself on his sword. 

 

There is a sense of honor and righteousness inside me that is harmful: if I fail at the one task that I am given, it is not unlikely that I will consider throwing myself on my sword, because I have dishonored myself and my children by not doing the one thing that I was asked to do.  I have decided that others may think this way on some level, so I have chosen to write about it here.

I have failed. I am dishonored. Death is required.  Suddenly I recall many images in Japanese movies:  failure means death. Dramatic, organized, ritual deaths...often romanticized in Japanese films.  And we cry..and are somewhat in awe, of the hero who dies for his shame.

 

In this story in Acts, the Roman soldier believes he has failed. Death is required. And Paul shouts out, "Do no harm to yourself.  We are all here."  And the Roman soldier, given an option to live, asks of Paul: "What must I do to be saved?" 

And in these words, and little story...we find the beginning...and the end...and the "all we need" of this strange religion.  If we are good people, we have an "instinct" to be honorable, righteous.  Ever since the Garden of Eden, we have known a little of good and evil...and that good is better. But when we have failed...to achieve the good, the honorable...and we think death is the only option...there is another option.

The option to forgive.  And it is harder to grasp than death. And easier.

 

You say you want me

But I don't know

I see myself

and wonder

Why would you want

this broken person

this half-life breed

failing at everything

Given work to do

Trying

and failing

the wound stays open

it will not heal

until I can say

"I'm sorry"

for letting you down

for letting me down

for moving to quickly

or too slowly

for not seeing

or seeing too much

"I'm sorry"

is hard. 

Harder yet, is giving it away. 

Saying

"You carry it.

I'm not strong enough."
When I know

in my heart

I'm supposed to be strong,

I'm supposed to be the hero.

 

This is my task

To become honorable

by letting it go.

 

Tired now.

Love, Cindy