Spiritual Lessons

Silly Scribbles 

# 5

Or Life as Toni 

Not too long ago, I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

Unnecessary Deliverance

I'm crying in a world of discord. Life's music is a jarring mournful cry. It's a plaintive lonely sound that follows me, shadowing every step, every relationship. A constant melody.

And then I realize why I can't run away from it. The song comes from me. It's a heart cry. Beautiful, intricate, but morbid. It is so loud, I wonder why no one else notices it. In fact, others come to me, needing me to listen to their soul-song while completely ignoring mine. And why would I want to demand that others listen? I can't.

Deliverance becomes my war cry. It's my desperate hope. I beg. But my soul rings louder in my ears. Carefully I hold it out, I try to let someone else listen. They briefly listen as my song bleeds it's first notes, and then look at me with sympathy and say, “I'm sorry...I can't help you...I'm not going to even try”.

Quickly I retract it back and smother it deep down. Life rushes on – too needy to listen. So I give. And I give. And I give. I'm bleeding inside out. But the roar of humanity drowns my heart cry.

I've muffled my soul out of necessity, and yet suddenly in the middle of an ordinary moment, my heart will spill out into public, a noise unbearable. I look up ashamed and I'm told, “It's okay, it's part of life...you'll get over it.” I will?

I'm seen, but I am not heard. I want to hide my heart, with it's sensitive song. If no one care's to listen why would I chase them down like a sales man? If I am purposefully silent at least the world will have a legitimate excuse for not hearing my heart song. To be ignored while your heart screams it's sorrows is painfully insulting. At least there's dignity in silence.

What about God? I run to Him and shyly reveal my blaring heart. Take it, change it, heal it – deliver me! Those I love seem to be the most oblivious to it's howling melody. But surely God knows. He can hear it. He cares. He will deliver me.

But no, I wake up the next morning and listen. I strain to hear. There it is – the cry of a hurting heart. At work it sings. At home it sings. At church it sings.

I run to Him again. Oh God, why will you not deliver me? Send your peace and melody into my heart. Deliver me from the ranting cries. And this is what He says:

“Your deliverance is unnecessary.”

What? But it hurts. I'm lonely. No one cares. I'm abandoned. I'm used. Why won't He save me? Will He forsake me too?

And then, above the din of my heart I can hear a song. It's sorrowful and the strain of it hurts me. It's an anguishing thundering melody. It's His heart cry. And He didn't ask for deliverance. In fact, He deemed it necessary. His heart cry was for the world.

Slowly the song fades, and all I'm left with is the tremor of my own heart. It's cry sounds dim; like the whisper of the sea shell pressed to your ear, compared to the din of an entire ocean. What if my heart cry was necessary to save one person? What if my heart cry had a purpose? What if my song was God-given? What if it was a gift? What if I didn't need to be delivered because it was created for my own good? What if He wrote it'ssong?

Every note is precious if He orchestrated it. No-one needs to listen, because He already does. No one knows my heart like Jesus. I can courageously bare my heart and let Him play across it's strings if it's Him who strikes the chords. Who knows who will be benefited by it's music? Maybe this is a song that only He and I will share? It doesn't matter, there's a reason, and I've learned to be okay with the cacophony of my soul. He's the composer and He has lovingly titled the first measure – Unnecessary Deliverance.

“Often thou art crying that thou art living in a world of discords. Thou art living in a world of perfect music, only thou hearest but a small portion of the music. Often art thou saying that the coming melody shall atone for the jarring chords. Nay; say rather that the jarring chords themselves shall be revealed as parts of the harmony. The melody is not to come, it has come already...” ~ George Matheson, Moments on the Mount, p. 135   

Silly Scribbles/Starless

Spiritual Lessons

Silly Scribbles

 # 4

Or Life as Toni 

Just recently I started a little series of writings that I titled “Silly Scribbles” or “Life as Toni”.  I began posting them on a private writing club that I joined.  I received such positive feedback I decided to be be brave and share with my Maid Arise readers.  

So often the writer in me throbs and insists, but my current work in progress is strictly grammatical at this point and my creative juices feel cramped and unjustly squelched. So I have decided to allow these juices passage and wait to see what comes of it. I decided to share my experiences with you. Sometimes my life can be quite humorous to the point of disbelief which I have come to accept as normal.... or sometimes I learn new things about myself or little lessons God teaches through the inevitable we've fondly labeled “life”. I hope that these shared stories and bearings of the soul are somehow a blessing, or in the least, a few minutes of entertainment.

Starless

Coping is exhausting. It's a verge of breaking, but clinging desperately to a weak hopeless nothingness. It's survival with constant pain. Depression is a wound that haunts and hurts, but no one else sees it's blood. A sticky despair. I'm so tired and I look up into the darkness, trying to pray. It's clear and cold; not a star in the sky. That's how life feels right now....starless. Everyone is in the house. I can hear muffled laughter from inside, and it seems to mock me. I lean against the clothesline,'s wooden stake, staring up into that bleak stretch. No one answers me. I could never doubt His existence. Just as I could never doubt my mothers existence. I know Him too well. But the question that stares back at me is – Does He care? No one cares to know how I feel, because they too hurt. Or they are doing so well they forget that others mourn while they rejoice.

So, this is depression. I have read of it, witnessed it, talked about it....but now I meet it. It's not so much of a sinking feeling but as if I've sunk. It's dark. It's odd knowing I'm depressed....it's like holding it, trying to scrutinize it, turning it over in my hand. It's ugly. It hurts to hold it. But I don't know how to let it go. I feel so guilty for being dramatic and feel condemned thinking if others knew how I felt. But could I even convey what I felt to others? I'd just cry and they would wonder. They would feel uncomfortable. They would see me as just an emotional female. Or they would blame my “sickness”. I feel dangerous. I would never contemplate suicide...but death seems so welcome, so liberating. I want it.

Alone is a sad word. It's not that others don't carry heavy burdens or know what depression is like. But I have no-one who cares. That is lonely. Crying brings no relief. No washing. After I sob I'm left a little numb, but it's a gaping empty negative numbness. He says that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. If that's so, my life is one drawn out nightmare.

This has been my last couple weeks. Painful, sleepless, depressing days. It doesn't matter why. There are many variables. Some are physical. My health has been sorely stretched. Some of it is circumstances. Hurtful words. Wounds by friends. Shifting of stable pillars. Some of it is emotional. Stress, defense, a pulling back, disappointment and grief.

I finally faced it all. In it's abhorrence and pain and disturbance, I looked at it and realized it was not something to be ashamed of. I clung to something sturdier than a hope....I reached out for a promise. A promise that He would incline unto me and hear my cry. That he would bring me up out of the horrible pit and out of the miry clay and set my feet on a rock. That He would put a new song in my mouth and praise. (Psalm 40).

While reaching out for the promise I didn't try to escape the hurt. It had found me, whether I liked it or not and I wasn't going to try to cope anymore. I wasn't going to press it down. I was going to pray no matter how many stars shone. And it happened.

I finished work and stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed “home” (my friends house). It was 5:30 in the evening but it was still light out and people milled about the streets. Each of them complex individuals, only unified in humanity, but the rest an unknown mystery. A casual quiet mystery. Sunset, car lights....twilight's enchanting hues. Spring's fresh air. A man whistles as he walks up his drive, happy to be off work and home. It's a relaxed stirring of humanity. And I don't feel like a detached spectator. I'm part of it all and it excites me. Somehow depression has lost the stare contest. The only loneliness that tugs at the edge of my heart is not being able to share that moment with someone closer who would be able to see what I see and revel in it and take quiet notice with me. But I do have Someone. I smile. That same Someone makes life worth living. Makes sleep possible. Night is nothing to dread no matter how many stars show. And the morning will come – a day the Lord has made and planned in detail. Depression let me go. Or did I let go of it? I accepted it. I faced it. I decided. As I drew near the house, with the sun setting behind it, I knew there would be a morning. And when it comes I will look up at the sky and say, “Who has conquered my grief? Who has conquered my heartache? Who has conquered my pain?” And I will sing – “Jesus.”

Silly Scribble # 3