It’s been two weeks since I went back to CrossFIt after nearly two months off. It started as an attempt to get a not quite right since it was sprained ankle back to normal. The sprain was around November.

One month off felt so good. Just sleeping in late with Luna. Feeling great. Reading in bed. Playing on the lap top. Relaxing. One month turned to two. Feeling good transitioned to feeling good with increasing flabbiness and an exponentially increasing dread of the pain and hard work it would be to walk back through the door and explain where I’d been.

Then the flabby sensation and muffin-toppiness got to be too much… so back on the CF wagon. They happened to be starting a Paleo challenge Monday so I hopped on that wagon too. Doing okay so far. Lost five pounds this week. (We’ll see if that sticks after some Father’s Day festivity binging today.)

Between working out and needing to get eight hours sleep for the challenge, writing has not been the priority… especially with requisite upper body soreness as a consequence of work and working out. And…just plain exhaustion.

There’s something else. I am on the reduce coffee intake wagon again too. Coffee is perhaps my all time favorite drug. Not so much for the caffeine as for the taste, smell and ritual of it all. Whether it’s warming cold hands with a hot mug sipped slowing, or sipping leisurely from a tall glass packed with crushed ice surrounded by extra dark liquid goodness, there’s nothing like it. Alcohol has never held a fascination for me. Coffee, on the other hand…. (sigh!)

Almost forgot the last wagon. Fasting almost completely, except for a 10 minute per day swallow, if needed, or an hour one weekend day of my audible addiction: KFI AM 640 talk radio. Long addicited. If only for the back ground noise. Some shows are definitely better than others. But, after spending well over a decade in a profession that required listening for a living, in some way it helps fill that now empty void.

And, amidst this exhaustion, and change and quiet, stuff has been coming up. Dark stuff. Stuff I am not sure I wanna write about right now. Stuff that might scare people. That might bring so many tears it would leave black vertical lines down either side of my face if I was the kind of girl that wore mascara. On the occasions I do- it’s waterproof.

I am so fortunate to have spent the evening with my family honoring my dad on this Father’s Day. A dad I am so grateful to have having come so close to losing him to cancer. He fought a hard battle against it from 1990-1992 and won. But the win came at great cost to his body. Conventional treatment can be so destructive. But, people do the best they can.

To be honest, I am surprised my dad is still alive. I thank God every time the thought crosses my mind. A man who has been through so much crap- in his young life and with the cancer and its fall out. Who is still kind, loving, generous, forgiving, and a lover of God and his family. A man who does his best, works hard, and doesn’t complain.

If the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I think I’ve got a little scooting closer to the trunk to do. Memories of and dark feelings from my own minor life shake up have been bubbling up like sludge to the surface this week. Perhaps in part from the silence. Perhaps in part from an incident working on a man who was a veteran this week.

I noted his veteran’s cap. He didn’t seem the military type. I asked him if he was indeed a veteran or someone had just given him the cap. He was indeed. Used to be a Marine. I advised I am a big fan of Marines and used to volunteer with them. Inquired where he had served. He advised he was in IT stuff but was sent into Afganistan early on. So, you had to see combat?

He advised he did see some. Mentioned he had seen a lot of blood on the walls. His tone changed after that. I knew that feeling, changed the subject to find something lighter that captured his attention. Have worked on him since without the heaviness for him, but whatever was stirred is still stirring.

Just when you thought you’d stirred and scooped it all out and there was none left. When does one get rid of it or rid of enough of it so it doesn’t affect anymore? Add to the mix some hormonal inconsistency and some Father’s Day drama not related to my own dad.

Recently in So Cal there have been some tragic child abuse deaths that were completely preventable had the social services systems been on top of it and effective. They brought up the foster children my own parents took in and wanted to adopt. But, the same system was hell bent on reuniting them with their abusers, which they did. And, which we later learned through “happenstance” lost them to the system. Said system adopted them out. They were returned to the system by the new parents because they were “too messed up.”

And the father of the girl next door. An adopted child. Also, the product of foster homes. He ended up molesting her. I was the one who figured it out when I was in junior high. But, the adults who knew the parents were so shocked he could do such a thing they were in a sort of state of denial along with the perpetrator. Asking if she was just making it up.

Two fathers very different from mine. As to the victims: the former, unknown. The latter has a wonderful life and is now even of facebook friend terms with him. My earthly father was so very very different- thank God! My heavenly Father, I know to be different too.

So here’s the rub: when will I be able to let go of what’s left of the sludge and just walk in the lavish love and joy that Jesus has made available to me; and – model it in a way it’s contagious and something others want me to share with them?

Have I finally gotten tired enough of dredging the sludge to build something really lasting and meaningful on the Rock?

Lord, please help me to get there sooner rather than later. Help me finish taking out the trash so You can build what you desire.


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