Remarkable Cows

Listening to Sandra Boynton's "Philadelphia Chickens" CD as I answer some email and catch my breath. My toes are tapping and I'm humming along to, "We're remarkable cows. . . ."
What would we do without music or humour?

I've just finished reading "Leaving the Saints" by Martha Beck, which I read almost non-stop from the minute it crossed my palms. It is my story, and thousands of other people's story, with variations. I find her humour and breathtaking honesty and compassion more than enough to get me through the difficult material. I had to stop reading to shake and shudder for awhile.
Our stories are so similar, except in my case, much more subtle, and I have no extant scars. Just symptoms, which are so much more deniable.

Despite my playing hookey to read a book on surviving religious oppression and sexual abuse, I made it through my oral New Testament "exam" yesterday with flying colours, which is a huge relief! HUGE.
Now I just have a few smaller hurdles, and my year of course work is done!
Yay!
(Only three years left....Sigh!)

I also, by chance, got to be a support for a sweet soul who is passing through a rough patch. I was the only other person in the room during an innocuous activity when this person was abruptly battling deep grief and tears. It was rather like being in an elevator with an admired and respected acquaintance when they go into serious labour.
There is such a strong social code that "said" this person shouldn't lean on me and I shouldn't really offer it. I did what I could, feeling tender. Feeling privileged. Feeling like I was on Holy ground. It felt sacred.
It was also terribly frustrating. I wanted to sweep away all the stupid social mores and hold this person and let them shake and cry and scream and grieve.... "The only way out is through."
But I don't think this person knows the healing modalities I believe in, and the elevator doors could have flown open at any moment, so to speak.
Ah, what would we do without euphemism and metaphor?
Well, the Lord is in charge of all of it. ALL of it. So I need to let it go.

When I shake and cry, I get what I call my "hamburger face." It's all red and lumpy.
Somehow that ties in with how we are all remarkable cows.
I give EVERYONE permission to shake and cry and scream at every opportunity.
Sometimes it is the only appropriate response to life.