No man is an island...

That's not what Simon and Garfunkle had me believe when I was 15 or so. Their song "I Am a Rock" was my theme song. It gave me permission to staunchly protect my vulnerability. And close out everyone else.

A winters day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Ive built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
Its laughter and its loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Dont talk of love,
But Ive heard the words before;
Its sleeping in my memory.
I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

But when I counted myself among the saved, I knew that there were many, many others who were included in this group, this group that belonged to Jesus. The numbers scared me, but as I began to know to Whom I belonged, the aforementioned wall began to be torn down. Maybe I could reach out and not feel pain. Maybe I could be safe outside my womb. Maybe my armor was futile against the penetrating love of Jesus. I felt like a rock sometimes, but that didn't mean I felt no pain -- I just felt burdened. I wanted to be an island, free from the relationships of others, but I was drowning in my own tears. At 15 or 16 years of age, there are no memories in slumber -- everything is new, is raw, is here, is now. To forget means to disregard oh-so-recent events. Time is relative.
I loved and I was hurt. I befriended but I was betrayed. But to really love is to risk the pain of rejection and betrayal. As a grown woman who hasn't seen 15 for several decades, I have learned the value of relationships, and indeed, am learning all the time. Some of my teachers are children, young adults, and of course, Jesus. God IS love. Perfect love casts out all fear. See, I didn't hate people -- I was just afraid of them.

I have come to a juncture in my life where I must share my hard-earned lessons. I am learning to love people, and it is quite revelating. God must grant me the words, the grace, and the motive to speak into the lives of others. If we are not here to help anyone, then what are we here for? To take up space?

Jesus penetrated my stony heart, my selfish heart. His love opened up the vault that I had closed for so long. No man is an island is a true proverb and that is how God made it. He is a relational God and He meant for it to stay that way.

Good intentions

What with electronic journaling and blogs, I'm not sure where I want to record my thoughts and feelings, stories and events. My fingers dash across the keyboard, and I can instantly edit the "dumb" stuff. It's fun. But I have beautifully bound thick books with endless empty pages calling me, coaxing me to write there. I have one that closely guards my most secret ramblings, shame, pride, resentment, lots of things like that are in there. Private. Not something I display. I have a cute little red leather one -- I got it because it was cute, it was little and it was red and it was leather. I put a laughing picture of myself -- a reminder to not take myself so seriously as we melancholies are wont to do, in the cover slot. I planned to record funny things I have heard, stories of my precious grandchildren.... alas, the book is empty. The collection of journals is a testament to my good intentions. I blog, as this page is proof of yet another attempt to add a sense of posterity to my life. But it might showcase stupidity, and a host of other adjectives that I might not want to advertise.

Well, as I learned about a hundred years ago -- writers write. So write. Doens't really matter where. Does it?