You’re My Home

I had my iPod on shuffle and this came up. I’d not heard it in a very long time. I’ll be damned if it didn’t give me goosebumps. I thought I’d share it here for those who are, perhaps, too young to know it and for those old enough to revisit.

When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow

Well I never had a place
That I could call my very own
But that’s all right my love
‘Cause you’re my home.

When you touch my weary head
And you tell me everything will be all right
You say use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night

Well I’ll never be a stranger
And I’ll never be alone
Wherever we’re together
That’s my home.

Home could be the Pennsylvania turnpike
Indiana’s early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
But that’s all right my love ’cause you’re my home

If I travel all my life
And I never get stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There’s a roof above and good walls all around
You’re my castle, you’re my cabin
And my instant pleasure dome
I need you in my house
‘Cause you’re my home,
You’re my home.

Because they really mean as much as everyone says they do.

In the before time, she saw many posts about the power of “good girl”. Each viewpoint she read earned a scornful smirk. Oh come on now? Are there really this many grown women who need their hands held? Who need external validation? What a load of mass hysterical hooey this is. Though she never gave them voice, she had these thoughts in the before, when she could not begin to understand. The thoughts were born of ignorance. She is not proud of this.

In the before time, she could not know how impossibly difficult this life would be. She could not know that one person could become the focus of everything she is. She could not have known the crushing devastation of disappointing Him. She could not have known the brilliant internal illumination set aflame when being introduced as His girl. She knew none of this.

In the now, when she hears the incantation good girl she understands the power. There is a strength of emotion invoked that is belied by the simplicity of the words. For this reason she knows they are magical. They must be. There is no other explanation.

It is not always easy to hear. When she has failed, when she has disappointed, when she has been chastised, the words burn. When she needs to hear them most, they stab. They wound. They rend. She shakes her head in denial, at odds with them being spoken when she feels they cannot be true, while knowing He would not speak them if they were not accurate, authentic, sincere. She wants to be left alone to punish herself for whatever error she has made. Festering in failure, she wants to cover her ears, to tell Him to stop, to tell Him it hurts, to tell Him she is anything but good.

She has never been able to separate failure, the act, from failure, the person. She firmly believes if she fails in a behavior or task then she, the person, is proven once again to be a failure. As if the thing she could not, or did not, correctly do defines her. It is a brutal way to live, to go from one failure to the next, always knowing there will be a next. Each one a tick on the balance sheet of what a horrible person she is, knowing no matter how she tries, no matter how much good she does, it is not something she will ever, can ever, overcome.

And still, with all of this, given the countless times and the innumerable ways she has failed Him, He still says You are a good girl. He makes her say it, each word chipping away at the definition she has for herself, I’m a good girl, Sir.

You are my good girl.
Yes, Sir.
You are my good girl. Say it.
I am Your good girl, Sir.

And every once in a while she believes it.

.

 

Waiting

She spends her days waiting. Waiting for the washing machine. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for them to come home. Waiting for dinner to cook. Waiting for her brain to shut up. Waiting to fall asleep. Waiting for the anger. Waiting for the frustration. Waiting for the next train. Waiting for a passing grade. Waiting for praise. Waiting to be good enough. Waiting. Everything between serves only to pass the time.

She remembers when it was not this way. She remembers a time when people waited for her. She remembers going out and being and doing every day. Now she waits for those things, too.

Her days are bookended by ritual. Each a reminder of who she is, who she has become. A reminder to give thanks for, and to, the One who revealed who she is and taught her how to be this person.

He said to her that if something happened to Him, that she must promise, as best she could, to continue to be this girl. To continue to be happy, to live. He said this when she was mid-activity. He said this and she became still, shoulders hunched against the idea, a fist clutched to her chest, eyes closed in concentration, willing her heart to stay whole. The agony caused by the mere speculation of being without Him, paralyzed her, stole her breath. He continued speaking of this maybe-thing, on the other end of the phone, not able to see her pain, not realizing she had fallen silent.

What do I tell Him? she thought, This man who is my soul. How do I tell Him that He is the center of my universe? How do I tell Him if His gravitational pull disappears, that I will surely go spinning off into the darkness? How do I tell Him that if He no longer exists, neither do I? How do I tell Him that He is my purpose, my reason, the embodiment of my joy? How do I begin to explain any of that? How does anyone say these words to another human being and not have the person collapse under the weight of a love that intense, that spiritual, that all encompassing?

While she was lost in thought, the conversation moved on to other things, as it often does with them. She never had to answer, to promise that impossible thing, to do more than sit with the horrible imagining of it.

The request of the promise haunts her. She knows that if anything happens to Him, He will take her heart with Him. The waiting she does now will be child’s play. She will have to go on living for those who count on her. Her days will be empty, meaningless, hollow spaces to be moved through.

If anything happens to Him, she will spend the rest of her days waiting. Waiting to follow Him into the dark.