My People

First of all may I say ‘Welcome’ to the new readers of this blog.  I average somewhere between 130-145 in readership within 24 hours of posting, climbing to 210 before the post falls off of my radar.  This last post got 254 readers the first day with an additional 100 or so in the following three days.  Whoever you are, welcome to my thoughts.  And a notice: You’ll rarely see actual names or read incredible details of a particular situation.  CA refers to four different people.  Boy is actually a girl. Original Pete no longer exists as such as he grew up but there are several replacement Petes.  I once referred to one friend as Sir but he vetoed that, and as he is a longstanding friend who has seen me through thick and thin I allowed said veto, and so he became Doc.  But then Doc 2 came into my life and it was more fitting so Original Doc was retired and Doc 2, henceforth known as merely Doc, exists now.  Nicknames are mine to give at any given moment and mine to change on a whim.  Papa is my Dad. He’s the #1 reader of this blog but I doubt if even he can match all nicknames to actual humans or distinguish which CA is being discussed on any given day.  This blog is, selfishly, my place in the universe where I discuss what I want to.  So, come and go as you please but understand that I do not write to be controversial nor to be known. Kismet of me is a journal of sorts, a place where I can put down my thoughts and sort through my feelings. 

Second of all, I am protective and possessive.  I received a text Saturday last at an hour that was acceptable.  CA had just poured his heart out and was rejected.  I wanted to hop on a plane in that instant, back pain be darned, fix him breakfast and then go punch Rejecter in the face or key Rejecter’s car or somehow inflict on Rejecter the pain that CA was feeling in that moment multiplied by 100.  I have my people.  The number of people included in this group is not ridiculous.  It is maintainable.  I invest myself in these people, their hopes and prayers intertwine with my own.  I mourn their misfortunes with them.  And although I do not feel as some of them would like me to or fully comprehend the depth of befuddlement they find themselves in,  I believe merging that gap of emotion and understanding with appropriate Hallmarks, chocolates, movies, beer bread, or even bottles of wine.

I believe in my people.  I believe they can conquer their demons, take on the world, and speak to the hearts of those important to them.  They are the best of all of the humans I have ever known.  They deserve to be loved by the best of the other humans, none of those D-bags or emotionless girls {ha!}.  They deserve to be told often and in sincere tones that they are kind and generous, needed and valuable, stunning and sexy.  When they are not treated properly, the properly that I desire for them, I get frustrated. When they make a decision to alter their life for change sake rather than for good, I get frustrated.  When they do harm to themselves, physically or emotionally, I get frustrated.  And my patience is thin.  So there are times when, within this group of people I have deemed as my own, I will be at odds with someone.  I want them to see things as I see them, change their course to the course I see best and most appropriate.  But my words are often jumbled or unclear, my direction often off the mark somehow.

Stick with me. I sat Wednesday last in an Institute class, a spiritual seminary of sorts.  The teacher was the son of a man whom I admire and miss spending Wednesday mornings with in that House on the Hill in Logan, Vaughn J. Featherstone.  He, the son, is very much his father, so much to wisdom to share and never enough time to do it in.  This particular class was discussing intimacy in relationships.  At one point he asked of people’s versions of romance, quickly the class turned to a spotlight on couples who have made it through time together.  With a back aching and my anxieties flowing willy-nilly at this point I was tempted to get up and take an Anxious Annie moment outside, ucky-love stuff and I handling life on my terms. Instead I sat and listened, spelling First Love’s name in sign behind my back while taking deep breaths.  Soon the anxiety subsided and I could appreciate the conversation and thoughts of others.  He then discussed how valuable it is to share your thoughts and emotions, citing his own relationship with his sweet wife.  The subsided anxiety heightened once again.  Several comments were made about how you will feel directed when the time is right to do that.  My hand popped up. “I disagree, I’m always going to have to take a step in the dark when divulging bits of myself and becoming vulnerable in a relationship.” President Featherstone took a moment to process what I had said and then replied in a tone of sincere love, “I don’t think it’s always going to be so frightening.” His wife, who was standing near, met my eyes and shook her head.  Boy, sitting beside me, agreed with me in my circumstance. I was at a bit of a loss.

After class Sister Featherstone came and sat with a small group of us.  It was a sort of lab post the lecture.  She shared with us her love and kindness.  She looked in each of our eyes and told us that we were fantastic and worthwhile individuals.  She brought of my statement of fear and indicated that a step into the darkness with a knowledge of His love is sometimes necessary but that quickly, after that step is taken, light will come. This was my second occasion spending time with this woman, the first was in the House on the Hill in the city.  On both occasions she shared an acceptance and kindness that I can only compare to Sherrie or Papa.  She spoke simple words, without lots of adjectives or superfluous flattery.  She reminded us, four not quite young single gals, that we were on a path the He is happy with.  I was, because of her kindness and lack of judgment, willing to speak more about my fears.  She heard me.  I felt as if, with these short two encounters, I had become one of her people, cared for and loved.  And although I’m certain that she can be feisty and fierce when the situation calls for it, her love seems to be a calming and reassuring influence.  A love to buoy up those that she brings into her group of people.  One that I hope to one day master and give to my people.

As I work to that end I ask for a favor, patience with me.  I love my people, far from perfectly, but I do love them.