healing – Page 2

July 31, 2018 By HallieZ Leave a Comment

To Say Goodbye

It was supposed to be

You and me

Grey hairs

Wrinkled fingers entwined

Foreign movie on the screen

Sundance festival image flickering

You and me

In this theatre

100 years old

and counting

Instead

Here I am

Your body laid out

Cold

The essence of you is gone

Has been gone

For some time

I don’t know when it was

I realized you weren’t there

I have my suspicion

But

I can’t be certain

They said it would come in waves

This grief

And

They were right

They said I would say goodbye in stages

They were right

I move over your body

I know you aren’t here

But I remember

When you were

Your shoulders

Broad

Tanned

Muscled

Angling down to a waist

Gaunt from fasting

Carharts hanging

I touch

The lines I know so well

Goodbye

Months pass

And here we are

In this room again

Your lips

I don’t remember the last time I kissed them

I remember the first

Goodbye

Another season comes and goes

I watch a movie alone

And like a surge in the ocean

Your hands

Can’t we just bury you and be done?

But no

I touch the lines

Run my fingers over the ragged nails

They knew me

And

they didn’t even scratch the surface

Good riddance

I want to scream

But it turns into a wail

13 years was a drop in the bucket

I scream it to God

She hears

It was supposed to be a hundred

Don’t you fucking care

How long

Does it take

To say goodbye?

July 25, 2018 By HallieZ 1 Comment

a scent that reminds me where i stand

My nephew took a nap on my bed today.

When I got home from work, I was still on a phone call, and half distracted, followed my children’s giggles to my bedroom. No sheets. No blankets. All was gone.

And a bottle of lotion that had been full only just this morning, was empty.

Indeed, the small princling had discovered Auntie Hallie’s lotion, and henceforth, had anointed all Auntie Hallie’s bedclothes with the lovely, creamy stuff.

It was pretty great.

His mama explained and showed me the sheets drying and headed off to her wild and crazy mom-of-a-toddler life.

I just now pulled them out of the dryer, and as I dragged the comforter cover off the line, it surrounded me, this particular scent.

See, it wasn’t just any old lotion the young gentleman had found, it was a special bottle of Nevea After Sun Lotion that you can only buy in some tropical locations.

When I was 21, wild, Holy, Passionate, Searching for a purpose in Brazil, I discovered this stuff on one of my random days off, on a visit to the beach with some friends.

This smell forever takes me to the time in my life when I learned:

That I could be happy

I was allowed to be happy

Jesus wasn’t mad when I was happy

Sweat made me happy

Sun made me happy.

I could wear a biking and God would still love me.

I could spend some money on something NOT essential and God would still smile on me.

Resting under a fan with this lotion rubbed all over my almost-burn was happy in the flesh.

I brought a bottle home to Oregon with me, and when it ran out, I didn’t find it anywhere again for 10 years. One day, on the island of Phuket, in Thailand, baby in arms, in a very different bikini body, I happened across a bottle in a shop.

(Don’t worry, mama to precious princling, I learned my lesson, and have a back up bottle stashed somewhere in my bedroom)

But tonight.

Tonight, in this heat wave, sweat, every curve damp, I stretch out on these sheets.

Its like a kiss from heaven, the smell that lingers on these clean sheets.

A kiss, and a reminder I didn’t know I needed so very badly tonight.

Beloved me

Precious Hallie

You WILL be happy again

You are allowed to be happy

I love your bikini body

The sun, and the sweat of your work make me happy

You’re still YOU

Here we are

You and me

Happy

June 20, 2018 By HallieZ 5 Comments

Father’s Day, huh?

So. It was Father’s day a few days ago.

I did what I have always done, helped my kids prep and wrap their gifts for their daddy.

I sent him a text message that said Happy Father’s Day, hope you all have a good day.

I cried, because this isn’t how I ever thought our Father’s Days would be.

Once I got my heart through all that sorrow/mess, it was time to think about MY father.

That sucked even worse. So I cried more.

My father sent me an email when I filed for divorce that said I wasn’t allowed at his home on special events or holidays.

I mean. I did stop by on mother’s day and give my mom flowers, I told myself, so maybe I OUGHT to stop by on Father’s day anyway. And give him, uh. I don’t know. Like. Jerky or something?

But I didn’t WANT to do anything. I didn’t want to call him. Or drop of jerky. Or anything.

Not just because he said I couldn’t, but because he broke my heart.

I had scheduled cleaning job that day, to help keep me busy, and I cried as I ran the vacuum, and raged as I scrubbed the toilet. I had flashbacks, all day, of things that had happened that were not ok.

I remembered conversations and I remembered the agony of finally realizing my dad was only going to empower and embolden my abuser, not protect me.

I asked the Spirit what the gift was.

I asked the Spirit what was being asked of me.

– HOLD THE PAIN WITH THE BEAUTY –

Pain with the beauty?

What the hell.

There is only pain.

Images started coming to mind.

Reveling, the first born.

The love, the bond.

How well I remember holding my first daughter for the first time.

Small. Warm.

Nothing I wouldn’t do for you, my daughter.

A diaper change.

A first bike ride.

All this and more, a world awaiting.

So thank you, Papa, for the gift of attachment.

Thank you for holding me against your skin and letting me know your scent.

Thank you for carrying me on your body.

Thank you for changing my diaper.

For letting me feel the grass against my skin.

Thank you for letting me explore the world and know the feeling of dirt.

Thank you for letting me witness the birth of my siblings.

Bringing me into a place of connection with them.

Thank you for telling me stories of the natural world.

A teacher by destiny.

Thank you for being gentle with animals.

For teaching me to hold the plants with respect.

Those first 5 years cemented a character that I give thanks for. Every. Single. Day.

I don’t know how to hold the beauty and the pain in the same place and not explode.

But I am trying.

It’s right here, beating in my chest.

April 15, 2018 By HallieZ 2 Comments

#Proverbs31IRL

A virtuous woman, who can find? She is far more precious than minimum wage.

She is worth $25 an hour (according to the judge, but her paycheck has yet to be informed).

The heart of her multitudinous children (who ARE a blessing from the Lord, dammit!) trust her, and will have no luck convincing her to buy them an iPad.

She does them good, and does not yell at them, all the days of her life

(well at least, like, 95% of the time, you know, when she remembers her meds).

She is like the ship of merchants, and overstocks her barns with food from Costco.

She rises while it is yet night and drives her children to school while simultaneously weaving, patching hand-me-downs and doing her magical work-from-home minimum wage job..

She considers buying a field, but realizes that her food stamps probably won’t transfer to real estate.

She perceives her merchandise is profitable, and puts it on her to-do list to start an Etsy shop in 2025 when she’s done doing the laundry.

She dyes her hair with pink, and is clothed with strength and dignity, and she sure as hell ain’t got time for stilettos.

Her lamp goes out at night, but there are charities who get her electricity back on.

SHE is not afraid of snow, but unfortunately her school district is, so FUGGETABOUTIT! You can sleep when you’re dead!

She looks well in her house in her track pants and her badass tiara, and does not eat the gluten of fatness (unless she just REALLY deserves a doughnut).

She opens her mouth and drops truth bombs like it’s nobody’s business, and she smashes ALL THE PATRIARCHY!

She laughs at the time to come… because she knows she’s gonna prove wrong everyone who told her she wasn’t enough.

She was taught she needed a husband to define her, but the voice of Wisdom was a woman crying out in the streets, and she chose to let Wisdom’s voice define her instead.

Her children rise up and call her blessed, and her Father in heaven EXPLODES with pride, praising her:

“Many women have done excellently, but YOU surpass them all.”

Charm is deceitful, and financial stability is over-rated, but but the virtuous woman who loves the Lord kicks ass.

Give her her child support, and let all the people stand in awe of her amazon strength.

By Deanna Fraser & Hallie Ziebart

I have had enough. Enough beating women over the head with this fictional woman. Enough telling us there’s only one way for us to be awesome. Enough skipping over Jael and Abigail and Deborah and… Enough making the single mamas feel like second class nothing. Enough.

Can you share your IN REAL LIFE Proverbs 31 moments with me?

#Proverbs31IRL

Or link up a blog or story in the comments!

Or tag a friend and brag on them!

I was ranting to my pal Deanna about this the other day, and she wrote this version of Proverbs 31 for me. It is with her kind permission I share. And say… go check out her album. Deanna was a lifeline for me when we both lived in China. And both made it out alive. Broken, but alive!!!

AND… Some links to some stuff that might help you out if hearing Proverbs 31 talked about like this makes you want to rip me apart. Or, if just hearing the phrase made you throw up in your mouth a little bit.

Things you might not know about Proverbs31

A Smart Dude on Wisdom

April 1, 2018 By HallieZ 3 Comments

Find Me Tomorrow?

You seem very far away, this weekend, up on that cross, Jesus.

Or in the tomb.

Or whatever.

I am unable to access the emotions that defined 37 years of Easter Weekends.

This was the holiday he chose to introduce me to his family.

This was the time of hope, life, all bursting out and up.

I feel numb.

I am shaking a fist at you, in my heart.

Why are you doing this? Is it for a perfect forever after? The eternal to come?

Because F*** that, I scream at you,

I want heaven HERE.

It is less depression this year, and more grief.

Do you know what it is LIKE?

ALL MY SIBLINGS… their spouses, my parents. 13, 14 people? Just gone from my life? My husband. The people who should have had my back NO MATTER WHAT. The people who had pledged to love and care for me… Gone.

Forsaken?

Maybe God forsook you, Jesus, but your mom was still there.

What if they had all died in a plane crash, I ask you. What if I was the only one who survived? The grief of that would be enough to kill the average girl. This feels worse. They are dead to me but alive and I don’t know how to grieve the living.

Jesus-on-that-cross. I don’t know how to connect with you. I feel the loss of the old ways, the steady in my tracks normal ways of doing these religious days. I believe you to be real, but all that gives me is a numb sort of peace, today.

I vomit the fear and the worry and the anger out at my friend. She served you too, overseas. We served you SO DAMN HARD. We loved you and it was all for you… and this being forsaken and left alone still happened to us.

What are we supposed to feel? We ask the question of each other, and don’t mind that the other doesn’t have an answer.

I shared a joke on my facebook wall today… about the women at the tomb.

It was funny, and ironic, and it started sinking into my grief-logged brain this afternoon.

I AM these women.

You’re dead and gone and I am lost, forsaken, alone.

Religion kept me from pouring out my love and grief in the days right after your death, so I have finally come today.

I have no hope for resurrection, but with every beat of my heart, I am screaming at God to give me something, anything, to hold on to.

Tonight I wash dishes. (notice how much deep thinking is happening over my sink?)

I imagine myself, walking with the women I love through the garden, toward your tomb. I imagine what I would be feeling, what I would be thinking. I imagine the weight of the grief may feel somewhat similar to the grief I have felt all day as I think of my family.

I want to be first to the tomb. I want to lay my head on your chest, and let the tears fall. I want to beat you with my fist and scream out my anger and fear. I don’t know where you went, but I want you to come back.

I want you to hold me, and tell me the pain was worth it.

I want you to wipe away the blood and the tears.

I want you to wash away the sweat and the exhaustion.

I want heaven HERE, dammit.

I want to the behold the resurrection and the life. I do not want to sit in the darkness of sorrow.

Jesus on-the-cross. Here I am, tonight.

The moon is rising, but it’s dark all around me, and I am numb.

Just me.

Jesus in-the-tomb.

Find me tomorrow?

What I’m Writing