The Wildflowers in the Fields

When I was eighteen my brother in law told me that my childhood didn't have to define me. He said the things that happened to me were like stories, in books, on shelves. And that at different times I could take one of the books down to look over it, if I needed to. But that they were just books that I owned...and they didn't own me. Then he wrapped it up with a Jesus bow and threw in a few yadda yaddas about being a new creation.

Thank you Rob, this theory has carried me for over twenty years.

But recently, the fault line quivered and the ground shook and the books fell open on the floor. The words on the pages jumped out like a tiger thrashing at my throat for blood.

I knelt down beside the pile, the stories, the colored pictures...graphic and ugly.

Bit by bit I've been trying to shove them closed, slip them back into their Dewey decimal spot on the shelf.

But it seems that every time I just about get them back in place, a tremor rocks the shelf and flings them yet again back to the floor, each time earmarking open to more stories, more lost days trying to be found.

And there are no fairytales amongst them.

My counselor told me that it was time now because now I am safe and I am loved.

But I can still feel the tiger's claws tearing into my flesh.

Pete Scazzero chants out the importance of going back in order to go forward, I can't think of anything less I'd rather do.

But I'm tripping over the pile on the floor, and the wind is flipping through the pages at a pace I can't keep up with.

So I lean on Rosie...


lyrics to The Wildflowers

If I place my hope in all things that pass away
What have I shown for myself?
If love shows her face, and my life’s out of place
Will I be kind to myself?

Where, where will I go from here?

If it’s all about timing
Then I’m right where I should be,
And there’s no room for regrets
But often times I find
That my thoughts play in rewind
And won’t free me from the past

So, where will I go? Where will I go? Where will I go?

If my life had its way
Oh how simple it would sway
Like wildflowers in the fields
I wish I could learn from the flowers and the ferns
How to take things as they come

How, how will I grow?
Oh how, how will I grow?
Oh how, will I grow from here?

(please don't attempt to answer this question for me)