Healing

Christmas Song of the Day: Little Drummer Boy

I played my drum for Him
I played my best for Him

I try to do my best. It’s never any good. It’s never enough. And when I hear this song, I cry.

Early in my divorce, I gathered my siblings and my cousins around me and created an email group so we could all keep up on each other’s lives. My ulterior plan was to get them to make me laugh. I needed distraction in the worst way back then. It was an early hot pot for creating this blog too.

We are an interesting bunch, my family; bringing all manner of talents to the table and seeing their creativity in action was a constant source of fun. Birthdays would include haikus, poems in free verse, embarrassing memories. Sometimes, out of nothing other than a need to smile, I would assign homework. One of our favorite serials was called: “The Adventures of Rosella and Tanji”. We wrote several stories on these two characters. I would assign two words or phrases to each individual on the list and they would have to incorporate those elements into the story.

Our heroines, Rosella and Tanji, were two fictitious white trash women. The three amorous and hungry Bob’s, Aunt Ruby, their ten children, road kill, and an unfortunate hospital intern comprised their social scene. It was wonderful, and I would laugh until I cried. At some point, those stories stopped. Part of it was that we are all busy adults, life got in the way. But I think it was also the fact that time heals. I was finding joy and happiness in my life again, I didn't need it manufactured.

The list still exists, we still email each other. We still keep in touch. I'm so lucky to have the family and friends that I have. Leaning on them helped me get past the the worst times.

Sometimes, even years later, we get a clear unequivocal sign that we’ve closed a door. A door to a fond room where we know happy memories are kept in with the not so happy ones. We can go back in and walk through the rooms if we want and smile. But then we walk out of the room again, close the door, caress the wood, turn around and move forward. And we’re good.

July 26, 2007; 7:30 am; Work. I received a phone call from a provider's office wanting to check on a claim. I needed to open up an application in my system to get the caller to the right place, which would take several minutes. So I decided to make small talk with the woman on the other end asking how the weather was where she lived. She was in Michigan - and we talked about rain and she asked me how the winters were where I lived. I said that they were much better than winters in upstate New York from where I hailed.

The caller asked why I moved and I was honest; that after my divorce, I felt like I needed a change, so I moved. She shared with me that she was newly divorced and having a very hard time with it; had been praying very hard for help from God to let go of the past, the anger, the hurt, the loss. She had been divorced a year and she was still having a hard time.

We both shared some things about our experiences and I was supportive, telling her it took me two solid years before I let go of the anger and the relationship and to be patient with herself. We talked about the kids and how they handled it; her 4 year old was struggling. She told me she would lift me up in prayer and I told her I would do the same.

I realized that my experience had just helped someone else. A seeming random phone call turned into an opportunity to reach out to a fellow sister who was in pain. A chance to show her that she might not be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel right now, but she would soon and she would be ok.

By this time, my application had finished and I was able to ascertain where I needed to transfer her call. I told her that she could call me on this number any time she needed to talk and that she would be ok.

It was at this point I realized that maybe the chat we had was as much for my benefit as it was for hers. It was like God touched me on the shoulder and said "See? You're ok." I gave the caller my name and asked her what her name was.

It was Tanji.