And where in your spirit have you found such unrest?
Spirit? What is that? Is it that place of pain, that horrible memory that so long ago died? I believe it must be, for I know not what you speak of.
And yet, I am getting a glimpse.
Something strange has been happening to me lately, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t God and I didn’t love it.
for years, I’ve been bound by brokenness. Brokenness on all levels of my being – emotional, spiritual, physical.
At the emotional level, severe abuse chipped away my core for so many years (and in some ways, still tries to do so) that I could look in the mirror and no longer see anything – no girl, no woman, no face. I didn’t even know myself, more than to know I was unloved, unwanted, a monster. It didn’t really hurt so bad, not back then. What really hurt was love, and there were many who loved me well. From teachers to ministers to everyone in between, it pained my heart (physically, most often) to see them smile, to watch them seek for me, to know their labors to save me. That is what hurt. Everything else, everything I knew and understood, was simple confirmation of the programming.
The physical level of brokenness has been somewhat obvious, but it also has been hidden. From years of injury, my body died. No longer could I feel anything – no pain, no sensation. I often burned myself in the shower, simply because I could not feel the heat and did not know any better. In my mind, I became somewhat of a puppet – I knew my legs existed, but it was as if some other entity moved them for me. I could not do it myself; they were detached.
And how do you love and serve a God who you cannot understand, who has never been real to you, and who has yet to prove Himself? How do you listen when you don’t know His voice? How do you follow when you can’t see His path? This was the blindness I lived in, a blindness I now recognize as being caused by abusers, by a fragile young mind, body, and soul in the hands of Evil.
Some know my story; others do not. Dad said he always wanted a little girl, someone to love and to cherish, someone special. But he did not know how to love a little girl; he only knew how to love the big ones. And so I found myself often sexually at his hands, violated in ways I cannot begin to describe for you. He was sadistic, at best, and very violent. And oh, what a temper both of my parents had! I could earn a beating just by breathing wrong. Late one night, dad even stripped the skin off my legs with his bare hands, and all mom could say was “You know better than to piss him off.” I did all of the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the care. If one speck of anything lay on the floor of my brother’s closet, that earned me reprimand, usually violent. There was no such thing as “going out to play” or “leaving the house.” No, they hovered over me like hawks. Dad even went to school with me everyday for awhile, in the fifth grade, when I got old enough to speak and he became afraid that I would. The phones were tapped, all calls recorded. My bedroom door locked from the outside, so I could be locked in but could keep no one out. And I have a photo still today as proof of the cameras that guarded me. This is only a glimpse.
Yet for so many years, I could not see my brokenness. I turned it all off, and I died. Never thought I could live again. Never thought I wanted to.
Today, my heart beats. It is alive! God has come into this sacred place of pain and has transformed it. Am I all the things little girls dream of? Nope. I never could have dreamed of this. I am finding passion simply in living, and it’s drawing me out to do more with myself.
I am searching for ways to give of myself, ways to reach out and help. And yet, I am also reaching in. There is the most beautiful, lovely young woman inside this shell that is going to do wonderful things in this world, more wonderful than even she knows. I’ve come to love the gifts that God has given me, and the ones He has cultivated through my experiences.
The best way to say it is this: my heart is melting. My core is becoming flexible as I step further into the love of God, into the roles He’s planned for me. I love to love. I seek out now to have relationships; honest, two-way relationships instead of the shallow “pay attention to me” attitude I once held. I love to live. I’m getting out of the house instead of shielding myself off. I am holding those I love close…then closer. And I am understanding the depth of the pain.
I still must grieve. There is so much here that is lost, so much that could have been but isn’t. But I am happy. Happier than I ever thought I would be. And I cannot get so lost in grief that I forget to celebrate what God is doing.
I guess you could sum it all up in just one word: I finally, after 24 years, finally feel FREE.
It is an unrest in the Spirit that drives us to grow, to learn, and to love. It is the unrest, the discontent with our situation, that sets us FREE.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Pecach
It is the celebration of the risen Christ. And the risen...Aidan?
I wish I could explain the wonderful work of God in my life these days, and though I will try, I am going to fail miserably.
The death process began several weeks ago as I grew increasingly frustrated with my current situation. How much rejection and failure can one young woman take? As we all know, when something stays stagnant for long enough (think pond water), mold and algae begin to grow. Not only is it icky and mucky, completely covering the former occupant of the space, but it actually kills the life that becomes trapped underneath. This is where I've been. But like the fish beneath the water, I couldn't tell what was killing me; all I knew was the environment continuously became less and less hospitable.
Slowly, clear eyes took over, and I began to see my life for what it truly was - a scummy mixture of pajamas, naps, pills, chat rooms, and half-hearted living. Everything I did was less than my best. Whether I was vacuuming or washing the dishes or writing or applying for a job, everything I did came out of me with a feeble sigh, an acknowledgment that really, I wanted nothing better for myself. Well, that's not entirely true. I WANTED something better, but I didn't believe it would ever happen.
As a youngster, I could have done (and did) anything. Whatever project I undertook succeeded, often beyond expectations. Those who met me held high hopes for my future, usually entertaining the idea of some sort of professional writing, among many, many other things. Those successes still make me smile, and I could rattle off dozens of awards and honors to go with them. But then, something changed.
I began to mourn.
With dad deceased and a newfound freedom of spirit that I've yet to pinpoint, memory began to overtake me. That's because, basically, there are two ways to deal with abuse such as I experienced. You can live in the moment, fight it, and hope for the best. Or you can shut off all emotions and make every day about survival. The former kills you then; the latter, later. And so as the realizations of all I'd been through came to haunt me, so did fear and inadequacy. What happened then will always happen, so why do I fight so hard to change that, I asked myself? It came to the point where all I could do was sit in my room and hide. She who hopes for nothing and expects nothing is never disappointed.
Ah, but she is! She IS disappointed! Because she knows her Daddy, the Lord, has so much more for her than this.
This was what I woke up to a few weeks ago, and found myself completely dissatisfied. I began to fervently pray for whatever the good things are that God has for me.
It's scary! I won't lie to you. Because asking God to change your life into His plan is like pitching your first advertising campaign in front of the board - there is about 2-3% of it that's good, but the rest must be scrapped and reworked. Everything I once knew, God wants to rid me of. My familiar surroundings...gone. Everything. So it's very scary.
But it's also WONDERFUL! God brings such peace amidst the fear that you can't help but take a few steps forward and realize, it's not so bad. In fact, it's better than you ever could have imagined! And then, you take a few more steps and a few more and before you know it, you look in the mirror and don't even recognize yourself.
Such is the case in my story. I'm still dealing with trauma. I am still dealing with sickness (99% allergies at this point, so if you know a good home remedy, I'm all ears!). And yet, my life is so different than I ever could have imagined it even a month or two ago.
My physical appearance has changed. My hair, cut short but GIRLISH (instead of shaved boyish), is cute and flippy. Cute and flippy enough to have guys turning their heads in public to look at me. I bought a PURSE, which means I no longer must live out of pants. This frees me up to buy some really awesome clothes that will look sharp! (Right now, I can't afford to do so, and I am a bit turned off by my former self when I look in my wardrobe, but Goodwill may help with that, when I get funds.) I wear light colors instead of dark colors, radiating life instead of death.
My habits have changed. Sitting on the internet 24/7, frequenting a chat room, all of that - it no longer holds any appeal for me. I'm more active. I get out and do more things, and I'm not afraid to get in my car and drive.
And my personal feelings and outlook have changed. I see those old successes coming back. I see happiness; I feel excitement. Yet, I stay centered, too. It's the kind of person I always dreamed about being some day, and I'm starting to see her become a reality. It's so cool!
So thank God for the resurrection of Aidan on this Easter. May she continue to grow and to become more like Him. May she continue to live in abundance and victory, as she's so enjoyed these past few weeks.
I guess the moral of the story is...when you find yourself covered in algae and mold, let God be your chlorine.
I wish I could explain the wonderful work of God in my life these days, and though I will try, I am going to fail miserably.
The death process began several weeks ago as I grew increasingly frustrated with my current situation. How much rejection and failure can one young woman take? As we all know, when something stays stagnant for long enough (think pond water), mold and algae begin to grow. Not only is it icky and mucky, completely covering the former occupant of the space, but it actually kills the life that becomes trapped underneath. This is where I've been. But like the fish beneath the water, I couldn't tell what was killing me; all I knew was the environment continuously became less and less hospitable.
Slowly, clear eyes took over, and I began to see my life for what it truly was - a scummy mixture of pajamas, naps, pills, chat rooms, and half-hearted living. Everything I did was less than my best. Whether I was vacuuming or washing the dishes or writing or applying for a job, everything I did came out of me with a feeble sigh, an acknowledgment that really, I wanted nothing better for myself. Well, that's not entirely true. I WANTED something better, but I didn't believe it would ever happen.
As a youngster, I could have done (and did) anything. Whatever project I undertook succeeded, often beyond expectations. Those who met me held high hopes for my future, usually entertaining the idea of some sort of professional writing, among many, many other things. Those successes still make me smile, and I could rattle off dozens of awards and honors to go with them. But then, something changed.
I began to mourn.
With dad deceased and a newfound freedom of spirit that I've yet to pinpoint, memory began to overtake me. That's because, basically, there are two ways to deal with abuse such as I experienced. You can live in the moment, fight it, and hope for the best. Or you can shut off all emotions and make every day about survival. The former kills you then; the latter, later. And so as the realizations of all I'd been through came to haunt me, so did fear and inadequacy. What happened then will always happen, so why do I fight so hard to change that, I asked myself? It came to the point where all I could do was sit in my room and hide. She who hopes for nothing and expects nothing is never disappointed.
Ah, but she is! She IS disappointed! Because she knows her Daddy, the Lord, has so much more for her than this.
This was what I woke up to a few weeks ago, and found myself completely dissatisfied. I began to fervently pray for whatever the good things are that God has for me.
It's scary! I won't lie to you. Because asking God to change your life into His plan is like pitching your first advertising campaign in front of the board - there is about 2-3% of it that's good, but the rest must be scrapped and reworked. Everything I once knew, God wants to rid me of. My familiar surroundings...gone. Everything. So it's very scary.
But it's also WONDERFUL! God brings such peace amidst the fear that you can't help but take a few steps forward and realize, it's not so bad. In fact, it's better than you ever could have imagined! And then, you take a few more steps and a few more and before you know it, you look in the mirror and don't even recognize yourself.
Such is the case in my story. I'm still dealing with trauma. I am still dealing with sickness (99% allergies at this point, so if you know a good home remedy, I'm all ears!). And yet, my life is so different than I ever could have imagined it even a month or two ago.
My physical appearance has changed. My hair, cut short but GIRLISH (instead of shaved boyish), is cute and flippy. Cute and flippy enough to have guys turning their heads in public to look at me. I bought a PURSE, which means I no longer must live out of pants. This frees me up to buy some really awesome clothes that will look sharp! (Right now, I can't afford to do so, and I am a bit turned off by my former self when I look in my wardrobe, but Goodwill may help with that, when I get funds.) I wear light colors instead of dark colors, radiating life instead of death.
My habits have changed. Sitting on the internet 24/7, frequenting a chat room, all of that - it no longer holds any appeal for me. I'm more active. I get out and do more things, and I'm not afraid to get in my car and drive.
And my personal feelings and outlook have changed. I see those old successes coming back. I see happiness; I feel excitement. Yet, I stay centered, too. It's the kind of person I always dreamed about being some day, and I'm starting to see her become a reality. It's so cool!
So thank God for the resurrection of Aidan on this Easter. May she continue to grow and to become more like Him. May she continue to live in abundance and victory, as she's so enjoyed these past few weeks.
I guess the moral of the story is...when you find yourself covered in algae and mold, let God be your chlorine.
Friday, January 30, 2009
For What? (A Story of Redemption)
For what have I died? For what have I given over my spirit?
It makes me wonder about the tomb on Easter morning.
I've learned a lot about dying in the past 5 years. In fact, I've almost got it down to a science. It can almost become a very manipulative situation, as I've battled within myself to appease two opposing forces. It's not that part of me has wanted to live and part of me was ready to die; no, once death had overtaken me, it became a matter of community. Part of me wanted to do it as publicly as possible, for the only fate worse than death is loneliness, and yet, part of me wanted the dignity of a quiet process. So I searched for a way to drag others far enough into it that I could tell part of the story without telling the whole story. For those of you who feel manipulated by this whole process, let me offer my deepest apologies; it was never my intent to use people. And most of this has been unconscious.
But death was my closest friend. And I found myself quickly living a life that had no life left in it. My mind was warped to see only the bad. I lived pill-to-pill, nap-to-nap, and sometimes nap-to-pill and pill-to-nap. "Life" as I knew it was about sustaining it. Along with death came fear, which brought a facet of death all its own. What if I push my body too far, do too much? No, best not to do anything at all. It had laid in its bed so long that even the slightest activity seemed to much, seemed to push me past my physical limits. Or what if I were to go out somewhere and something were to happen? (My biggest fear has pretty much been throwing up in public.) No, best not to go anywhere at all. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks just THINKING about grocery shopping or church or anything like that.
What's weird is that when I died, people started treating me differently. They came to expect less of me, which made me, in turn, expect less of myself. When things popped up that scared me or that I didn't trust my body to handle, I backed down. "Sorry. I'm dead." And that was pretty much ok with people. Actually, it still is...with most people.
Somewhere in all of this, God's voice was lost. That is, if it ever existed to begin with. On that note, I have a bit of a spiritual confession to make.
God never really meant that much to me. As a pagan child, I think I had more faith than my first 8 years as a Christian. God was something I did because a cute boy with a rat tail led me to church one day, and what I found was that church filled a hole I had in my heart. Not with God, but with people. There were lots of people there! People who could, potentially, love me like I had always wanted to be loved, like my parents had failed to do. And in order to get these people, I had to get God. So I put on a show.
That's not to say I didn't have my divine moments. Lounging around the Bruce house or the Bruce office, talking about real stuff and feeling loved, not judged, I encountered God. Lying on the Cundiff couch, staring up at the cross in the ceiling and feeling safe, I encountered God. Hearing Ryan McCullough, standing on stage in a portrayal of Jesus and saying "I love you," I encountered God. Sitting in Ken's office, not crying, but feeling heard, I encountered God. But aside from this, most of my encounters with God were intellectual, not heart-led, and most of the things I said about Him were just repetitions of things I'd heard others say.
But these past several months, I have been on sabbatical. It's been a time "set apart," as the word indicates, just for me to wrestle with God and come to know Him. And boy, has He shown up! I read the Bible cover-to-cover, whereas before, I was only skimming to find verses for writing projects. God is more incredible than I ever could have imagined! Though I still struggle, I am learning to pray. I don't get much sleep these nights because God is usually talking most of the night, but that's ok because I am learning so much! I usually wake up with a song in my heart or just laughing uncontrollably, and I can't stop all day. There is so much joy, and I just can't explain it. Even in the bad times now, I just laugh, because it is so far beyond me, and I just can't help myself.
It moves beyond me, as well. A lot of what God lays on my heart these days is about my larger world, my bigger community. I am literally heartbroken over much of what I see and hear all around me. This is not the world God intended us to live in; we are far from Eden. And there is a pull inside me to look for a way to do something about it, even if only a little bit. In the meantime, I mourn. I literally mourn.
And so I find something deep inside of me now yearning to live. I want to let the sun hit me and rejuvenate my soul. I want to go outside and build a snowman. I want to hop in my car and drive, just pay a visit to someone who could use some company. I want to take a walk around the park. I just want to be out of this damned room, out of this damned bed.
Yet I still struggle between death (body) and life (spirit). The more I feel God pulling me to do things, the more my body comes under attack. If I just take off and go as the Spirit leads me, I find myself running frantically back home, usually searching for a pill. So I run back and forth between freedom and captivity, between life and death.
I find myself more on the "life" side as time passes by. Day after day, it gets a little bit easier to follow the Spirit and overcome death. But as I step into a new life, I can't help but ponder two ideas.
The first, I presented earlier. For what did I die? For what did I give up my spirit? The answer is not a pleasant one, but in honesty, it was for me. To give in proved easier than to fight. It was easier to lie around in death than to push forward and embrace what God has given me. After all, in death, there is no failure. No shortcomings. If I try my hardest and still fail, that is horrible. So I convinced myself it was best not to try at all.
And second, I find myself pondering the tomb on Easter morning. I wonder if Jesus found himself in the same boat I now find myself in - trying to learn to live again. A lot of people think Jesus always lived, but I doubt that. I think that for those three days, He lain dead, apart from God, apart from life. And when life returned to him that Easter morning, He had to learn to live again. You'll notice He didn't just go running out of the tomb, throwing off graveclothes and leaving a trail. He got up slowly, tidied His burial wrappings, maybe even pondered for awhile what death had meant, and then stepped back out into life.
So I don't think I'm gonna hop out and live right away, but I am definitely pondering the graveclothes. I feel the tugging of the Spirit and the defiance of the body, the life of God and the death of the flesh. It's a battle; I won't lie. But life, God, will win. In the meantime, I sit with a sense of contentment, with a presence of joy, and a stillness in my spirit...and I can't help but sing:
'Agios, 'Agios, 'Agios
Kurios o theos
Pleres tes es doxes
'o oura nos kai ge.
Panter pantor krator
poi ton ton 'olon
Soi prepe einos
doxa kai time.
It makes me wonder about the tomb on Easter morning.
I've learned a lot about dying in the past 5 years. In fact, I've almost got it down to a science. It can almost become a very manipulative situation, as I've battled within myself to appease two opposing forces. It's not that part of me has wanted to live and part of me was ready to die; no, once death had overtaken me, it became a matter of community. Part of me wanted to do it as publicly as possible, for the only fate worse than death is loneliness, and yet, part of me wanted the dignity of a quiet process. So I searched for a way to drag others far enough into it that I could tell part of the story without telling the whole story. For those of you who feel manipulated by this whole process, let me offer my deepest apologies; it was never my intent to use people. And most of this has been unconscious.
But death was my closest friend. And I found myself quickly living a life that had no life left in it. My mind was warped to see only the bad. I lived pill-to-pill, nap-to-nap, and sometimes nap-to-pill and pill-to-nap. "Life" as I knew it was about sustaining it. Along with death came fear, which brought a facet of death all its own. What if I push my body too far, do too much? No, best not to do anything at all. It had laid in its bed so long that even the slightest activity seemed to much, seemed to push me past my physical limits. Or what if I were to go out somewhere and something were to happen? (My biggest fear has pretty much been throwing up in public.) No, best not to go anywhere at all. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks just THINKING about grocery shopping or church or anything like that.
What's weird is that when I died, people started treating me differently. They came to expect less of me, which made me, in turn, expect less of myself. When things popped up that scared me or that I didn't trust my body to handle, I backed down. "Sorry. I'm dead." And that was pretty much ok with people. Actually, it still is...with most people.
Somewhere in all of this, God's voice was lost. That is, if it ever existed to begin with. On that note, I have a bit of a spiritual confession to make.
God never really meant that much to me. As a pagan child, I think I had more faith than my first 8 years as a Christian. God was something I did because a cute boy with a rat tail led me to church one day, and what I found was that church filled a hole I had in my heart. Not with God, but with people. There were lots of people there! People who could, potentially, love me like I had always wanted to be loved, like my parents had failed to do. And in order to get these people, I had to get God. So I put on a show.
That's not to say I didn't have my divine moments. Lounging around the Bruce house or the Bruce office, talking about real stuff and feeling loved, not judged, I encountered God. Lying on the Cundiff couch, staring up at the cross in the ceiling and feeling safe, I encountered God. Hearing Ryan McCullough, standing on stage in a portrayal of Jesus and saying "I love you," I encountered God. Sitting in Ken's office, not crying, but feeling heard, I encountered God. But aside from this, most of my encounters with God were intellectual, not heart-led, and most of the things I said about Him were just repetitions of things I'd heard others say.
But these past several months, I have been on sabbatical. It's been a time "set apart," as the word indicates, just for me to wrestle with God and come to know Him. And boy, has He shown up! I read the Bible cover-to-cover, whereas before, I was only skimming to find verses for writing projects. God is more incredible than I ever could have imagined! Though I still struggle, I am learning to pray. I don't get much sleep these nights because God is usually talking most of the night, but that's ok because I am learning so much! I usually wake up with a song in my heart or just laughing uncontrollably, and I can't stop all day. There is so much joy, and I just can't explain it. Even in the bad times now, I just laugh, because it is so far beyond me, and I just can't help myself.
It moves beyond me, as well. A lot of what God lays on my heart these days is about my larger world, my bigger community. I am literally heartbroken over much of what I see and hear all around me. This is not the world God intended us to live in; we are far from Eden. And there is a pull inside me to look for a way to do something about it, even if only a little bit. In the meantime, I mourn. I literally mourn.
And so I find something deep inside of me now yearning to live. I want to let the sun hit me and rejuvenate my soul. I want to go outside and build a snowman. I want to hop in my car and drive, just pay a visit to someone who could use some company. I want to take a walk around the park. I just want to be out of this damned room, out of this damned bed.
Yet I still struggle between death (body) and life (spirit). The more I feel God pulling me to do things, the more my body comes under attack. If I just take off and go as the Spirit leads me, I find myself running frantically back home, usually searching for a pill. So I run back and forth between freedom and captivity, between life and death.
I find myself more on the "life" side as time passes by. Day after day, it gets a little bit easier to follow the Spirit and overcome death. But as I step into a new life, I can't help but ponder two ideas.
The first, I presented earlier. For what did I die? For what did I give up my spirit? The answer is not a pleasant one, but in honesty, it was for me. To give in proved easier than to fight. It was easier to lie around in death than to push forward and embrace what God has given me. After all, in death, there is no failure. No shortcomings. If I try my hardest and still fail, that is horrible. So I convinced myself it was best not to try at all.
And second, I find myself pondering the tomb on Easter morning. I wonder if Jesus found himself in the same boat I now find myself in - trying to learn to live again. A lot of people think Jesus always lived, but I doubt that. I think that for those three days, He lain dead, apart from God, apart from life. And when life returned to him that Easter morning, He had to learn to live again. You'll notice He didn't just go running out of the tomb, throwing off graveclothes and leaving a trail. He got up slowly, tidied His burial wrappings, maybe even pondered for awhile what death had meant, and then stepped back out into life.
So I don't think I'm gonna hop out and live right away, but I am definitely pondering the graveclothes. I feel the tugging of the Spirit and the defiance of the body, the life of God and the death of the flesh. It's a battle; I won't lie. But life, God, will win. In the meantime, I sit with a sense of contentment, with a presence of joy, and a stillness in my spirit...and I can't help but sing:
'Agios, 'Agios, 'Agios
Kurios o theos
Pleres tes es doxes
'o oura nos kai ge.
Panter pantor krator
poi ton ton 'olon
Soi prepe einos
doxa kai time.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
What are you doing this evening?
So today, I was going through some of my packed-up belongings in storage, trying to purge some stuff (a great feeling!), and I found something interesting. I'm not sure exactly what year this belongs to, but I know it was some time in middle school. So without further ado, here is my "Agenda" for a typical day in middle school: (even if you think this is gonna be boring, keep reading and you WILL laugh)
6:30 Get up, Total Workout
7:15 Shower & dress, Eat Breakfast.
7:40 Be in car, totally prepared
8:05-3:05 Behave in school
3:30-5:00 STudy time & homework
5:30 Eat Dinner
6:00 Relax
6:30 Kickball
7:30 Ninja Practice
8:00 be inside & do total workout
9:00 be in bed & be asleep by 9:30
Wait! Back up....NINJA PRACTICE?
Ugh, I was a DORK! Well, probably still am. But one thing's for sure, I never became a Ninja.
I also disposed of what I call "My Life in T-Shirts." I had a T-shirt from every place i'd ever been to - every town, restaurant, event, etc. So I am donating a lot of those to charity. I no longer feel the need to cling to the past in the same way I used to. I also got rid of a lot of stuff I kept just because it was dad's. He doesn't belong to his things; they are just clutter. So I kept some important stuff and ditched the rest.
6:30 Get up, Total Workout
7:15 Shower & dress, Eat Breakfast.
7:40 Be in car, totally prepared
8:05-3:05 Behave in school
3:30-5:00 STudy time & homework
5:30 Eat Dinner
6:00 Relax
6:30 Kickball
7:30 Ninja Practice
8:00 be inside & do total workout
9:00 be in bed & be asleep by 9:30
Wait! Back up....NINJA PRACTICE?
Ugh, I was a DORK! Well, probably still am. But one thing's for sure, I never became a Ninja.
I also disposed of what I call "My Life in T-Shirts." I had a T-shirt from every place i'd ever been to - every town, restaurant, event, etc. So I am donating a lot of those to charity. I no longer feel the need to cling to the past in the same way I used to. I also got rid of a lot of stuff I kept just because it was dad's. He doesn't belong to his things; they are just clutter. So I kept some important stuff and ditched the rest.
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