Mr. Clean

Sean discovered over this past weekend the joy of writing on the walls. When I took the stray crayon away from him, he proceeded to pick up a toy of some sort and pretend it was a crayon. Thus creating scuff marks all over the place. So, I picked up a magic eraser made by Mr. Clean. Thinking, yeah right. No way it's as easy as the back of the box advertises. But sure enough, some water and a few swipes later, the damage had been repaired.


What I really, really wish is that someone could invent a magic eraser for the heart. I've been trying to sort out why it is that letting go of things is the most difficult feat we must master. Is time the ultimate healer, really? When touched, those briars clinging to my emotions still sting just as much now as when they were first stumbled into. When it comes to the hurtful things said to us or done to us by the people we love the most, is there truly a time when it doesn't hurt anymore or is the healing rather the ability to endure those remembrances and keep moving forward? Because there are certain things that - no matter what - will always, always hurt me. Will they always be gut-wrenching?
What I need to know is how to not let those things hinder who I am and the relationship that I have now. What is God's role in this? To help us deal with the pain or to take it away completely? Is it my own static cling that stops him from making it disappear?

My little journey is making progress, I think. If only to let me see myself honestly.
I see that to get anywhere I must surrender all things. Not just the convienent things, but also those that I would probably like to keep. Those that I justify.

I want to want to be like Christ. Step one, right?

Late Fragment

by Raymond Carver

And did you get what

you wanted from this life even so?

I did.

And what did you want?

To call myself beloved, to feel myself

beloved on the earth.