Monday, August 08, 2011
Fun In The Weirdest Way
I hope you take a day off each week. Or two, even, if you can swing it.
I hope you take time for fun. I know some people who almost never allow themselves to have fun and--oh dear--they are cranky.
So anyway, I took this weekend off. Tom and I planned all week to drive to the county fair and visit with all the adorable farm animals, but did we make it? Nah, not this time, for it was too hot and too humid. Mostly too humid.
And well, you'd never, ever guess what I did for fun this weekend, instead. Give up? I Netflixed nearly all the third season episodes of Hoarders.
Told you you'd never guess. :)
And yes, I had great fun doing so. And you know? After the past six stressful/ plain hard months of my life I found that my compassion for those hoarder folks had risen exponentially. More than ever now I understand being so overwhelmed that you can only sit upon your couch and helplessly wish it all away.
And when one young woman had a real-live panic attack, I felt her pain. Though I've not had one, myself, I recall thinking one day months ago, "Oh! So this is how it feels to be on the verge of a panic attack. I get it now (and I'd better calm myself down, like, uh, immediately.)"
And now that I'm in the process of giving away/selling one-third of our possessions, I surely get the "It's just so painful to let go of this goofy/chipped clay bowl Naomi made at age 7" thing. Majorly, I get that, too, even though I've never officially been a hoarder. No, really, I haven't. :)
And you know? I felt grateful for the deeper level of compassion I felt for all those hoarders. The Bible verse which instructs us to count it all joy and be thankful for our trials kept pecking at my brain--and I get that better now, too.
For a long time now I've seen that some of what I go through is just because I have this blog. Why? So that these trials will make me more real (kinda like the Velveteen Rabbit thing). So that I'll have deeper compassion and understanding for you, my readers and so I'll have something with which you can identify. So you can learn from my mistakes, maybe gleaning something which will keep you from a few mistakes of your own.
And maybe come away with some encouragement, too, that, "Hey! If God can help ol' Debra muddle her way through that problem, perhaps He can help me, also."
And so if any of those things are taking place as I begin my eighth year of writing here, then any and all trials I'm facing for your sakes are so very, very worth it.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
From The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams