T’is not working.
Yesterday I shed tears. Tears of frustration ~ tears of sadness ~ tears of hurting ~ tears of rejection ~ tears of humiliation ~ tears of anger ~ tears of dignity ~ and tears of Love.
I am human.
When I was crying, too much salt bled into my mouth, and instantly I thought of Jesus.
‘You are salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, what can make it salty again? It is good for nothing, and can only be thrown out to be trampled under people’s feet’. ~ New Jerusalem
I thought of it and the tears came more profusely ~ flooding everything most of the way home down the A12. The traffic stopped ~ the tears never stopped ~ and then I got home.
‘You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot’. ~ NIV.
I thought about that long and hard.
If we stop feeling ~ if we loose our compassion ~ if we no longer feel pain ~ or empathy ~ or the touch of Love ~ if we loose the capacity to shed tears ~ tears which stabilise ~ then we truly are lost.
“Sodium chloride is one of the three or four most stable compounds in the world!! Virtually no natural reaction can cause salt to turn into any other compound.” ~ chemist.
I thought about that too. Funny that if we should cry we are considered ‘unstable’ and yet I believe it is the opposite ~ we are not unstable when we cry ~ but we cry only when we reach that absolute level of stability that knows entirely how oneself feels ~ and there is nowhere else for it to go ~ but an absolute feeling secured and made tangible through the stability of the compound of salt.
We are the salt of the earth. But if we lose our saltiness, how can we be made salty again? We are no longer good for anything.
It was a pants day all round. It was the first day of the new course ~ the course that was to be my saving grace for the next year at least ~ possibly three. It was the course that was going to take the spirituality of the Pope, and spiritually direct me forward ~ thus empowering me in service to others. It was the hope of a vocation where my faith could be central to the income that would one day afford me the roof over my head, an independent income ~ whilst being in service to others and my Lord. It was my freedom and my way forward beyond my restrictions. And now it is not.
Wicked how it worked out ~ from one day to the next it all seemed to come my way as if it were the work of the Holy Spirit. Heythrop finished ~ I had looked at other courses, and one which was recommended to me led me to this one, which seemingly presented itself to me from beyond the periphery of my research. This interview by default was the one that I got unexpectedly ~ I couldnt afford it but was told it didn’t matter ~ not having the money shouldn’t stop me from accepting the offer, as anyone that couldn’t afford the course would not be held back from doing it, had they been offered a place. It all seemed a little unreal.
After being encouraged to apply for a grant I attended the orientation day, and after being let down right up until the final hurdle by my referees, who in the end fulfilled the request asked of them, I was to be denied the funding. Then I was told to still come to day 1 of the course whilst a bursary was being investigated for me ~ only to purchase all the necessary books required (even though things are painfully tight) ~ I was keen to show my enthusiasm. Then on the first day after the orienteering day, the train lines were down because of signalling failure ~ so after paying for an £18.00 ticket ~ then having to put £25.00 of fuel in the car to be stuck in traffic for 2 hours ~ only to have to pay £6.00 parking ~ catch a train from a different destination and miss the first hour of lectures ~ I sat through the rest of the mornings class, only to be told at lunch time, that I was welcome to stay for the rest of the day, but that I could not get a bursary this year after all, so could not continue ~ but that I could re-apply for it and proceed with the first year of the course next year.
Very difficult. Not easy to go back into a classroom of 20+ people and sit head held high through an afternoon of emotional Ignatian videos, and a workshop about his feelings of failure, rejection and disappointment and of how God was right there in his suffering ~ and then have to explain to your fellow students that having emotionally invested in the first two revealing, exposing and ‘opening’ sessions that I would not be able to return.
But even still after hugs from people, who in just two days I had bonded somewhat with, I discreetly escaped and walked up the road tearful ~ feeling strong ~ empowered ~ a little more alive ~ awake ~ raw and dignified. It didn’t matter that any emotion was clearly visible ~ as if the bitterest wind had made my eyes water ~ even if there was no wind. I felt beautiful. It didn’t matter that I was in the city and the city gents and ladies were heading home. It didn’t matter that the eyes of humanity met mine ~ feelings exposed are ok. It didn’t matter that randomly my eyes glazed over on the train as I recalled the pants day.
Because God thank God blessed me.
You see there was a little foreign boy on the packed rush hour train home. He was wearing a grey school uniform blazer with bright yellow piping. He was sitting opposite me in a set of 6 seats. I noticed his hands ~ the skin was patchy ~ it was skin coloured with much white discolouration. I looked at his little hands, he was holding an old paperback book. He was very sweet ~ he must have been about 11 and was travelling alone. We accidentally knocked each others knees and smiled ~ and apologised ~ and then something wonderful happened.
The busy train pulled away and he began to read his very thick book out loud. His accent was not English, and he read with all his might ~ faltering here and there in a staccato manner ~ regardless of who was listening. Some people appeared irritated that he was reading aloud. I though he was courageous ~ trying so very hard to learn and understand the English as he read the words. I thought of the first time one of the saints (I can’t recall who) maybe Augustine? recalled seeing somebody reading aloud. The moment passes quickly.
Several times the little boy on the train couldn’t quite work out a word, and I knew what it was just from having heard the sentence ~ so I told him. On another occasion I wasn’t sure and he looked up at me and his eyes met mine ~ and so I leant forward and upside down read the word back to him ‘telescopic’ ~ and in concentration his eyes smiled ~ and so he read the sentence again focused out loud without stumbling upon the word ~ telescopic ~ and to see that little boy read, was worth living every moment of that blasted rotten day over and over and over again. I barely remember him leaving the train ~ only that we never acknowledged that we were parting ~ because the heart had done its work ~ and there was no parting.
An angel in the most human of places.
Today was a salty day too. My beloved beach-hut has to be sold ~ to pay off debt ~ debt that was never shared with me. My beach hut which I brought when I sold My own house, for me and the children and the wider family. It was the place that my Daddy said from his hospital bed, ‘I just want to get back to that beach-hut and do a spot of fishing’ ~ one of the last things he ever said to me before he died ~ other than ‘I just want to see an angel’. The day we scattered his ashes off the boat in the Colne River, we also threw some roses into the sea along side them ~ and a miracle happened. Of all the places, the roses washed up on the little handkerchief patch of beach right outside Our beach-hut, one yellow rose and one red rose. He made it back to me ~ here.
I pray that I know no parting here too, when and if My beloved beach hut gets sold off against My wishes.
God hold all the tension.
For the salt, it is stinging.