Truth and Triumph

"This isn't a happy story but it is a story of truth and triumph because she is still alive and sane." Patricia Caldwell Singleton, commenting on Finding Your Voice of Truth.

I couldn't help but think, I'm much happier when I hear stories of truth and triumph than I am when I hear of stories whose only claim is 'happy'.  Genuine stories of making it through the hurting, breaking through to healing. Triumph when the easy way would be to slide back into the despair, into the games and tricks. Truth when you look at you in the mirror and are okay with who you see, at least most days.  Getting more of those days is triumph too.

Practicing truth and triumph isn't easy, but it is worth it. You won't get that fluffy fuzzy fictional story 'happy story' feel but a deeper satisfaction.  The kind that comes from building a boundary, creating a life and healing from the wounds. The kind that comes from knowing the scars mean you survived. You made it through.

The third party message that says, "She cut off contact." and the knowing, that deep inside knowing, that you set a boundary and maintained it. Their response, their reaction belongs to them, not you. That triumph knowing that the little boy won't cry about their bad choices because they don't get to play with your life any more. The truth that you matter more than ego, agenda, motor homes, modular homes or dogs. More than golf even.

It doesn't mean that there won't be hurt. The kid stories, the family fun memories, that stuff we missed never comes back.  That doesn't mean we can't create our own now though! Making memories anytime we like is half the fun.

Truth and triumph means being able to walk away, when it is best for you and how it is best.  Truth and triumph means you can go back to places you left, if you should choose to. On your terms. Or not. As you choose.

It sucks sometimes, feeling alone in a crowd. Knowing you'll never quite get it, that the scars will always sort of be in the way. That's the truth. There is no way to accept the 'happy' when it has no depth, no soul. When it is a candy coating it always leaves a bitter taste.  It's not easy.  The real stuff hardly ever is.  But there is deep joy, powerful truth and knowing that we survived means we triumphed. We won.

Finding our way to the truth and the triumph is worthy of the effort and so worth it too.  You are worth it. I'm worth it.

My Darkness

Sometimes it is so hard to keep the darkness away.
It lurks at the edge of my vision, waiting, breathing.
I feel it under my skin, over my shoulder, in me.

Everyone sees the light in me, they see how it shines.
They don't see that it is brighter for the shadows.
Darkness makes light seem bright, and I feel fake.

My prayers and my faith hold me up, it pulls me.
Sideways and across, down and down again.
That darkness no one knows thirsts in me.

I thought if I rattled all the bones, burnt the wraps,
shredded the secrets and tossed the ashes to the sky
that it would leave me be, leave me alone, go away.

It doesn't.  I don't fear it. We've been together too long.
I fear for the day it gets away. I pray my angel stays stronger.
Some are sheep, and stay that way. Some grow wolfish.

Redeemed, saved, blessed, loved and yet the darkness
rolls under my skin, in my veins, through my brain.
I cannot look when I feel her rise or I'll see it all.

That ancient darkness that protected the young,
hunted and fought wars to save that sweet life
it lives in me, thrives in me, and I know her.

You can't know her, even if you know me.
She's too deep, too secret, too far down.
God hasn't taken her away, we are one.

Don't ask me to fight her, I can't win.
We have an uneasy bloodless truce.
I don't tempt her, she doesn't escape.

2011 Copyright, Shanyn Silinski

Burnt Up

Our son loves to go see the burnt farm truck.  It amazes him that something that was once shiny and functioning is now a rusting, burnt up shell.  He can see the transformation from running truck to burnt up wreck and it just amazes him.  Glass strong enough to be part of a protection system melted and draped like a frozen waterfall.  Tires, belted with steel, melted down to a tangle of wires.  They once made travel possible and now they rest on useless rims in a muddy part of the field.



That truck does something else for me.  I see it a bit differently.  I see what it was. I see what it is. I imagine what it will become.

In winter there will be animals sheltering there, out of the wind and storms.

In spring the waters will rise and plants will grow.  Things will cover and consume it.  It will sink down into the ground.  Eventually it will be more wild than man-made.  More animal shelter than not.

Summer's heat will make it a great place for things to grow.  Up through the frame and cab.  Plants and animals will create a home.  The roof will be invisible through the cat tails.

In fall seeds will be trapped, they will find new soil, and in spring will sprout and grow.

In time there won't be much left to see of that truck.  However it will still be there!  It will be able to snag a  harrow or seeder.  It will not totally disappear into the soil.

I find my healing journey is much like that old truck.  We ran, we burned up and now we are becoming something new.  The old frame is still there.  Shards of glass and metal, wounds and scars, remain. But they are hidden under new growth, new life.

That's how it should be.  We aren't meant to remain barren, bleeding and scarred forever!  Healing doesn't take anything away but it does transform it.  If we leave it alone, if we tend it and love it, then something amazing can come out of it.

I'm ready for amazing!  Are you?