Walking Wounded

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Neurological psychological testing

The spinning wheel goes round and round.
So many , many times I have spun on this wheel. I have become some what numb.

Today I was awed at the way God brought it about ,but a "mistake" of a secretary that I had canceled the other apt and gained an appointment at this place instead. I thought perhaps the Neurologist wanted me here instead and so just went with it. He told me later that he did not do it. It was an "error".

Amazingly it was the same specialist that saw me at Mayo , she even recognized me.
I need to look to see if my records are here somewhere in file.
My medical history is very complex due to the physical reconstructions and the mental/emotional restorations.
Sometimes I resent being kept alive.
It is such a hassle being this vessel of His service.
That's what we are.
For non of this life is really so much about us personally.
Once It was made very clear to me that I had a "ministry " to the Medical profession.
Jie thanks! I say sarcastically...yes respectfully for I am sure God knows what this feels like to be in my position.
It can not be unknown to him.

So if I must concure to agree with this calling than I guess I must.
Did I say it sucks though!
Had to add that in.
I do feel angry for this lot sometimes and rightfully so.
Yet is is like the clay being angrey with the potter for having the audasity to creat someting used for less that pleasurable purposes.
I am the clay. Fired into a greenware. Glazed over with the truth of humanity and the indignities that they so easily treat each other with.
Fired a second time too with the beauty of commpassion.

tasks and test...fire me again.
put me in the kiln...Now I need to cool again before the kiln is opened up and the clay witnessed by those looking in.
Now the white heat f the fire is clearing the dross some more and hardening the finery of all that is me.
who am I to think it better to dash this pot against a wall in my frustration!

Mary Margrett Mc Guire...
she and I did pottery togeather.
she owned her own kiln...
I have three very priceless items no four.
They are treasures of a life lost...
I also have a sweet beaded doll.Only 3 inches tall she sits in her querky way.
"a chair full of bowlies."

I spoke to her last Just after we returned from Russia with Dove.
She a juvinile hospice nurseWounded over her scars by that profession.
She played the piano beautifully. I have a cassett tape of "goodnight jamile" a lulliby she wrote/for her patient who died.
Mary Margrett died.
They found her dead.
A few years before they found her in her shower cut open from foot to thigh. they saved her. Her wounds scared deeply by her own hand. Her youth was in a hospital. There she was as a child violently raped by a male orderly. Then a child , no one ever found out her terrifying secrete.
It also like me was joined by the terrors that occure to choildren unattended or trusted to the wolves in sheeps clothing, in her jurney it was on a catholic ulter in the evening at a time set aside for the youth at services. Bastard! He the trusted preacher. He a santanist in a pretence of a priest. Yep
my dear friend. she did not think that she would ever have childern...she never had a husband...she saw me...
She was found dead two weeks after Dove came home...
She never saw dove. I didnot get to celibrate Dove with my best friend. I had the baby I waited 16 years for and my best friend killed herself. She became hopeless and my recieving a child just put all of it in her face.
She was found nicely in her bed Dead.
Mary Margrette and I were born on the same day. we were the exact same age.
we had the same sufferings and the servival...well I servived. she did not.
I owe this to her .
this tribute not to toss this clay aside.
I owe it to me.
she fell of and shattered broken to a million piesces.
I never got to go to her funeral.
they did not have one.
she was as if ...like my life...she was as if she never really existed.
but she did she was a thriving beautiful woman!
Her hair was black she looked like Mary Englbrite.
She tought me how to play.
When I was in the hospital after remembering the Murder she invited me to her hospital room...
she had made a tent of sheets on chairs and her bed. we sat undr it and it was beautiful. It was safe and dear and innocent and pure and beautiul...
I will never forget her.
One day I might try to go to New Mexico and find her , but I do not think they gave her a grave.
they burned her too. Like carolyn by cremation.
That really really upset me. When her dad said that it was tramatic...
but I was a new mom. I had to snap out of it fast...like it never really happend. So I could be there for my new daughter. It was such hard time becoming a new mom.
Not the joy of motherhood untouched.
dove was sick, My "dad" died a few weeks later...last thing he said was "did you know I love you?"...I had to say "no did I really did not know if you really did">Thats another story.
Within the first 6 months of doves homecoming Mary Margrett , my dad and my adopted dad all died.
It was too much to take.
Then just before Dash came home just three years later my mom died...

So how thick was this glaze fired onto me in this kiln suposed to get?
What is it I am supposed to be when the fires are over.
pure glaze? Then I suppose this vessel will simply disappear and only the glaze will be visible.
I do hope its pretty .
I do hope that I do not crack or crackle. Drip or my colors run

Yes we did ceramics togeather.
It is a lovely art form.
I stoped doing ceramics after she lost 9her battle) the darkness seams to have won. Mercy must be for her.

I did a tea pot with a friend.
just last year.
I did a honey pot with her and two others.
It hurts to do ceramics somehow. I miss her.
she was so beautiful, like a glow light on fourth of july.

Now she was a vessel, so many crackles and scares nad so much a shattered pot at the end. There must of been a bubble in the clay.
You would think that all that she went through that any air would of been wedged out of her.
I guess you would have to throw on a wheel to understand that.
Oh it spins and spins...
I'll just cool a while and let this last coat set.


Denise said...

There are no healing words or salve or pills of any sort to wipe away or cover over the scars of your past.. But there is Savior and in HIS hands HE carries the gift of life and love and healing. HE offers to you the power of forgiveness for those that broke you and broke you again. JESUS carries on HIS back the brutal reminder that man is evil and there is no good to be found in him. HE took the brunt of the hatred that the world spews out and then HE died.......... So that we can live....... The brutality that you have experienced is the very reason that HE came....... I am thankful for you and as you live and walk through this journey, scared OH YES...... but trusting that HE keeps every tear that you cry...... and HE sits quiet and lets you grieve for the loss of friendships so near your heart. You have a power within you...... the power to forgive and live again.. I am so glad you choose to live.....

Annette said...

WOW!!! POWERFUL!!! Like Denise, I am so thankful your hear, and God is too!! I truly don't know what to write except I admire you for writing your pain down and sharing, growing up my mom was a single mom until she married my step dad, who was my dad in my heart, my BEST friend, he died 18 years ago, but before that just me & mom, and some of the stuff I went through was pure mental hell, but she asked me to forgive her and I have..now shes my BEST friend, my whole life. I love you and I know for a fact God has brought me to your blog for a reason and I am so glad he did...Thank you Sweet Jesus for my friend!!

Songs of my heart