All the Poor and Powerless...

As the black leather glove pummels the side of my face, the slow motion camera catches my blood and spit and sweat as it flies through the air. The crowd goes wild.


I try to shake it off, but my vision is still blurry. I try to duck as the glove strikes my other cheek but now I'm down for the count...


And the scene plays out as I travel back through all the ugly and all the good...and I can hear the growing rumble of the crowd, "Tami...Tami...Tami..."


"It's not how hard you can hit...but how hard you can get hit...keep moving forward...Get up! Get Up! Get up!"


(Yes, I am now getting my guidance from Rocky Balboa.)


But the truth is, I've been in the ring for as long as I can remember. I always get up and I always move forward, but the troubling thing is that so much of me is still broken, still bleeding.


I guess I thought I'd be all healed up by now. Surely that's what I was told. I am a new creation after all.


But it's just not that simple.


And in so many of my circles, I am still cowering in the corner with Shame that I am not "choosing joy."


"Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances..."


"Jesus Wept."


Touché! 


And so we're back here again as the inner battle rages on, debating my state of mind, with the politicians, the lobbyists, and the spastic court jesters all chiming in. 


But something new is happening...standing in church yesterday, I heard that Faint Whisper...


All the poor and powerless
And all the lost and lonely
All the thieves will come confess
And know that You are holy
And know that You are holy

And all will sing out
Hallelujah
And we will cry out
Hallelujah
All the hearts who are content
And all who feel unworthy
And all who hurt with nothing left
Will know that You are holy

And all will sing out
Hallelujah
And we will cry out
Hallelujah

Shout it
Go on scream it from the mountains
Go on and tell it to the masses
That He is God
We will sing out
Hallelujah
And we will cry out
Hallelujah


And as the band played on...Shame started losing her grip.


Truth is, I so often feel poor and powerless and completely unworthy. I can be 9 years old again in a heartbeat. And time and time again, I feel lost and lonely.


Sometimes, I do have fantastically happy moments, joyful even. Those hilltop ah-ha's where the Son shines blindingly through. But even when those hilltop moments come, like when I was on an actual hilltop in the Andes with my lovely, healthy daughter, my heart was still heavy and overwhelmed by the poor and powerless circling around us, begging for our loose change.


So now I'm starting to think that this part of me that I've been trying to cure for so many moons, might just be here to stay. And maybe it's supposed to. Maybe having immediate access to all that raw pain is just who I am. Maybe it's even somewhat useful to the universe. Maybe Shame needs to be bitch-slapped so I can get on with my life, but maybe, when the dust settles, my authentic self will still be a bit gloomy, and maybe, just maybe, that's just how I am supposed to be.