So. I just watched the latest Hoarders, the Carrie/James episode.
Oh dear. I realize Hoarders isn't for everyone (especially those with a weak stomach), but every week, I'm grateful for it.
Why? It s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s my compassion. Helps me more seriously consider "the why behind the what," chips away at my judgemental tendencies and builds a stronger sense of patience within me for people who express their pain in ugly ways. It reminds me that people will do just about anything to fill that God-shaped hole within their hearts--and also-- when hoarders were harmed in their childhoods (as Carrie was), I always recall this Bible verse:
"It would be more profitable for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were hurled into the sea than that he should cause to sin or be a snare to one of these little ones." ... Luke 17:2
Oh, with each story of abused children I almost hear the rolling thunder of God's anger--like earthquakes! Just below the surface of the ground, a rumbling, a simmering. And when the seriousness of it all shows up in a physical form as it did with Carrie, harming her own daughter's life also, well, it only reaffirms God's serious stance on this all, when He who condemns both murder and suicide, even, to encourage the millstone thing!
And then with James in this episode, well, he made me cry. The therapist asked James what was the likelihood of him actually using the punching bag, even if he did repair it, and he replied, "Don't take my hope away." Then he began to cry, for he is no longer a boxer or a policeman, but an elderly man who can barely walk and whose life became all about the rusted, broken junk in his yard. His stuff was his purpose for living, his reason to get out of bed, and now the team would haul it all away.
(The therapist--one of my favorites-- went on to say, "We all need hope," but I kept wishing she would apologize for the chiding way she addressed his inability to ever use the punching bag again. Oh our voice tone! How familiar I am with that--often I get busted about using the wrong one. Anyway, perhaps she apologized off-camera.)
As I said, I watch this show so it'll help me become a more compassionate person, for after all, God said without love we are nothing--just noise.
And how tragic to live upon this planet for 70 or 80 years, yet be remembered as only a lot of irritating, condemning, mind-numbing noise.
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"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing." ... 1 Corinthians 13:1-3
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick." ... Proverbs 13:12
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This weekend I glanced over at my blogroll list and saw Coffee, Tea and Me's blog post title, Come Saturday Morning.
I thought, oh! I remember that song from eons ago. So I zipped over to Youtube and listened to the song, one with some perfectly-chosen nature photos, also.
And wow. Suddenly it was 1975 and I stood behind the 16-year-old me gazing out the large window of my bedroom in the town of Morgan Hill, CA, feeling happy, hopeful and so, so young.
Magical, really, how those old songs can take you places, isn't it?
And you know? While the Sandpipers sang their pretty lyrics, I watched that teenage me and--at first-- I spied only the terrific stuff about that time. The church friends she loved with all her heart and the fun times at her high school and the instances her family was all on the same page. And the Saturday adventures of her own when she'd get up early, dress, make some toast then wrap it up, grab a sweater and take off for a walk in the Saturday morning silence.
But you realize, don't you, that you can fly backward like that and it can all appear way too good. Immensely out-of-balance, for no time in our lives was ever that perfect, not for long, extended years. Only, our minds can tell us it was sublime. Our memory can lie to us like that(whispering times were worse than they were, as well.)
So you know what I did? I played the song again and waited until Reality arrived in that bedroom with us. As in, I recalled the times my friends disappointed me and my feelings got hurt and the awkward, difficult times at school and the instances my family made me, well, downright so angry I considered running away.
And then I smiled.
As always, I remembered my present life actually is pretty darn great. I listened to the song some more, with the right perspective, as in, I'm grateful for the special memories I have from my childhood-- and just as thankful for the memories I'm making now. And for the wisdom and maturity gained--the stronger, more lasting peace and contentment than I ever had at 16. Or 26 or 30, even.
Then later, I switched-off the song and, still smiling, slipped into bed where I had dreams mixing the good and fun from yesteryear with the delights from today.
And later awoke with gratitude for it all--past, present and future.
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Come Saturday Morning... by The Sandpipers. Be forewarned--this recording just may whisk you away someplace, too. ッ
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As you may remember, each time we move I do a major, ruthless culling of my books. Of course, there are some which I (now, anyway) plan never, ever to give away.
One of those books is The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio (How My Mother Raised Ten Kids on 25 Words Or Less). I discovered it the week it came out (2001), ordered it and have read it maybe 15 times.
I own the movie, even.
Truly, Evelyn Ryan was inspirational and no other book can rocket me off the couch and into doing something useful faster than her daughter's book about her. After only a short perusal of pages I jump up, unfold my ironing board and catch-up on ironing or step over to the computer to print coupons, write in this blog or send emails. Or I may wash the (procrastinated) sink-full of dirty dishes. Just anything productive, doesn't even matter what.
If you've never read about this woman who supported her large family by entering slogan contests back in the 50's, please check it out here.
Evelyn's husband was, well, a flake,(a mean, alcoholic one) and this was the 50's so she was unable to go out and work--so she worked from home. I so admire Evelyn for not being a whiner nor a quitter, though if anyone had excuses for whining and quitting, she certainly did.
I've got it much easier than Evelyn ever did, but still, during this season of my life I need to do what I can money-wise lest I be forced to go out and get a job I'd rather not have. Evelyn's life inspires me to keep up with my couponing, refunding and little opportunities online (I have soo neglected surveys lately).
Also? Evelyn's communications with her co-contesting friends always reminds me of the value of friendships through emails and snail mail, also.
Well, stop me before I go on all day--I need to get back to reading this book about a woman who's example still lives strong for us all. Or perhaps I'll iron while watching the movie.
As I said, it's just so hard to sit still while reading the book.
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Would you like a free issue of the magazine, The Good Old Days? Go here. No credit card required.
Interested in more free magazines? Go here.
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Drats. I just now read that the author of this book, Terry Ryan, passed away back in 2007 of cancer. Read more about her here.
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