Saturday, March 06, 2004

If you were anything like me when I was a kid, then this analogy will make sense. If not you'll probably just think I'm gross.

I got hurt a lot as a kid. I was pretty much a "tom boy" and was the queen of extreme sports before there was such a sporting genre. I lived on the coolest cul-de-sac, and much to my delight (and I'm sure my mothers chagrin) I was the only girl my age. My friends and I used to do the stupidest stuff, and looking back on it, it's a wonder any of us lived past the age of 11. We used to build ramps out of scraps of wood we'd find in peoples' back yards and put them in the middle of the cul-de-sac to jump. We'd go to one of the houses in the "bend" of the circle that had the steepest driveway and we'd bike, skate, roller blade, or skooter as fast as we could down it and seriously get air off these dodgy ramps. We'd have karate tournaments...none of us actually studied karate. We'd play football on the black top, and chicken on one neighbors trampoline (when his parents weren't looking of course). I have no idea why I've just done all this reminiscing, but it's been fun. And I'm sure drives home the point that I did get hurt a lot as a kid. The opportunity was definitely there.
Here's the gross part. I was fascinated by the scabs I would get when I scraped my knee, or other various body parts. And even though I KNEW I shouldn't pick them, I couldn't help it. It was like they were calling out to me. Yes, I was a scab picker. And, like my mother warned me, I have the scars to prove it.
Tonight I was watching my weekly episode of Hillsong TV, and had my weekly good hard cry. I've come to realize that watching that program is like ripping off emotional scars for me. The other day I was just staring at this poster I have of the Harbour...crying. I can't help but watch Hillsong, I can't help but stare at my posters and read the Sydney Morning Herald online. When I do though, it's like any healing that has taken place is completely negated, and I start over with a raw, wounded, and bleeding heart. And I know that for the sake of healing and moving on that I probably shouldn't dwell on those things like I do. But I can't help it. I can't help but wonder, "what if". What if I had worked harder to find ajob. Did I give up too easily? What if Bo-Ma had never closed? What if I had never gone in the first place. Surely that would have been easier than this. What if I never get back. What if I really actually missed a huge miracle, or a huge breakthrough.
IT's still so painful.
And on days like today when it's absolutely gorgeous and beautiful outside, when everyone is happy for a weekend with decent weather, it totally magnifies all of the hurt and unresolved issues that are so much easier to supress on other days.
On days like today, only these three remain:

Faith. Hope. Love.