Journal

small sunrise

68.sunrise roses

Before anything else, Happy Veterans’ Day to all our brave men/women who have served our country. ❤

Now…I’ve been doing some thinking on what I wrote last night in regards to my confessor and my new friend, and came to some uplifting conclusions:

I had the thought that maybe my confessor has already given me all I need to help me in this new experience of “being in love” (I hate that phrase, “in love”; never thought I would use it, and yet here it is), namely in the two crumbs of wisdom he’s given me in the past: “Love gives, lust takes“, and “Fear…locks us up inside,” therefore preventing the giving/sharing love requires.

This encouraged me to actually listen to that other favorite advice of his, “Don’t worry“, and just go with the flow. Between his (my friend’s) and my experiences, I don’t see us doing something rash or rushed. Maybe I can even just enjoy the novelty of having such thoughts, feelings, and good wishes for someone, leaving it in God’s capable hands to guide however is best for the two of us.

This brings me to those fears I had about these feelings. I remembered today The Sound of Music, how Maria likewise ran back to the abbey and away from Captain von Trapp in fear of her growing feelings and affection for him. The Abbess has a talk with her, telling her how the love between a man and woman is holy, too. “These walls weren’t built to shut out problems,” she tells her. “You have to face them. You have to live the life you were born to live.”

I used to turn to this motherly advice often. I think I shared how I was drawn to becoming a consecrated single or a nun/sister. Every time I considered those legitimately beautiful futures, though, there was that fear, that drive to escape from the complications I’ll have in marrying someone with a past and a family like mine, for myself, and for him, too; after all, whomever I marry will be a secondary victim of my abuse. I don’t so much mind the thought of sharing in his burdens, but the thought of him sharing in mine frightens me, makes me sad. He seems very willing to do just that, but all the same…

I mentioned yesterday how St. Therese of Liseux, aka The Little Flower, answers prayers via roses. I didn’t mention that I actually did it. It was last year or the year before; I did the popular discernment prayer to her. I’ll admit my heart sank when that man handing out roses came my way smilingly, holding out a red rose for marriage from his bouquet.

I almost didn’t want to take it. I wanted to pretend I didn’t see, and keep walking. I even tried to lie myself out of it by thinking I said that prayer with that silly superstition my confessor warned me some people did. None of it took, and I accepted the red rose (though not without a wishful glance towards the white ones in his arm).

Prayers are funny things, and sometimes they’re answered in strange ways. That’s certainly one of the stranger ways I’ve been given an answer. It almost felt like St. Therese was trying to comfort me in my fears, to be the Abbess for me. That’s the thought and feeling that comes to mind when I remember that evening.

I learned yesterday (double-checking my rose facts) that while red roses mean “romantic love” and yellow ones mean “platonic love, friendship”, a bouquet of them both means “young love”, or “the warm beginnings of love”. Makes me think of a sunrise, those soft, warm colors. The yellow softens the red into that rosy pink before it gives way to blue.

That’s not so scary, is it? What’s happening between me and the my friend is closer to that than the fire I fear, the one that shows up in all the movies and books these days.

I guess it’s like…someone who spends most of her time indoors. I used to be that pale person, before I started working at this job that has me semi-outdoors. I remember being afraid of being sunburnt; I and my father often got sunburnt at the beach, leaving behind a painful memory. I also had that incident when I caught fire and my father’s mistrust resulting in a scar that would otherwise not be there; another painful memory. I hate being burnt, and I hate the heat, so much so that I hide under an umbrella from the sun more than the rain.

Maybe I will have to seek shelter in the shade at some point, if things progress as they have. That’s okay though; the sun heals more than it harms, right?

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