A Thanksgiving Full of Hurt

     I was excited to visit.  I have learned to love my parents where they are, and to be content.  But I didn’t remain so, last weekend.  God, You know what happened.  Daily, I cried.  Witnessing the complaining my mother did about my father was just the start.  The final stab was the old wound of watching TV.  Something that is a form of entertainment; it acts as the center of my family’s life.  I am hurt because though we are relatives, there is more relating with the plot lines on screen.  I have found my parents (and even my little brother) guilty of becoming more emotionally invested with fictional characters than with those sitting right next to them.  I am trying to be forgiving, and move on.  I am trying to heal and not continue to look back.

     When I explained my hurt, admittedly, I cussed.  But I didn’t blow up, or turn into Hulk.  That’s something to be thankful for.  That being said, I look at my family and I don’t want to be like this.  I don’t want my marriage to be full of complaining about my spouse.  I don’t want to be unaware of my kids because I focus my attention on lesser things.

     It is hard to forgive when I hold an expectation for a wrong to be righted.  And the wrong I have suffered is the feeling of neglect and rejection for something fake.  I no longer believe my parents don’t love me.  I know that they do.  But, I still am looked over.  Daddy, it hurts.  Families are supposed to spend time together, right?  Talk with one another, right?  Then why doesn’t my family.  We get so caught up in our entertainment that we fail to find enjoyment in the person of those we love.  

     God forbid that Mom misses her “Days”, but thank You, Jesus that she can catch episodes on the phone.  

     Mom wants to gift me with a Rocu.  I told Dad to make sure she doesn’t.  I have enough to watch on Youtube and Facebook.  I don’t need anymore distractions.  I hate that screen.  I hate it more, because when I am home alone and yearn for interaction with people, I myself, am drawn to that same screen.  Why not read, go for a walk?  Usually I do.  But being winter, and winds threaten a blizzard, it’s safer to stay home, and I feel caged.  

     Alone.  Unable to move much, and lacking intimacy.

     Because that is what I am yearning for...Intimacy.  Purpose.  A sense of being wanted.  And every time I visit “home” (which is no longer, since I moved to the Rez), I hope that things will be different.  My expectations lends to a painful fall, as I realize the same habits that I lived with my whole life - the same dysfunction that was my normal for growing up - continue to persist.  

     There are things I am thankful for this Thanksgiving.  The visit wasn’t all negative.  Meeting with a Missoula youth pastor allows my soul to breathe with all that I deal with in ministry.  Talking with someone who can see the positives of Natives helps break my fear that all whites may be racist.  However, even the blessings have been overshadowed by the hurt.

     I have been rejected once again.  My mother has no clue.  She told me that she already missed me when I was getting to go home.  (My actual home.)  How can she miss me when she hardly spent any time with me?  Sure, we watched TV together.  But what could be said in the moments where we learned more about one another’s thoughts, hopes, dreams...at the soul level?  Nevermind.  We don’t get to that level.  

     I do have a stronger relationship with my dad.  We can talk.  But Daddy, I have thoughts, hopes, concerns, ideas that are too much to bear or understand.  Even on my way to Missoula, “I am too much,” whispered into my mind.  I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to be too much.  Why wasn’t I more simpler?  Why am I so serious?  It makes me wonder if this is the reason why I have so few friends.
    Sure, I have many acquaintances.  But friends - knowing me beyond the mask I might wear on any given day - I can honestly say that I have one or two.  Am I too much for people?  Is there something odd or unusual about myself?  Why am I hardly invited?  Is there something wrong with me?  Do I drain people more than I pour out (opposed to how I personally feel (in that I feel like I pour out on others more so))?  God, I want to be carried, but I fear that no one can.  I realize that no one is You, but there are so few people that I trust to want me.  The full me.  

     So, I hold back.  Unbeknownst to myself, I have built walls, though I want to tear down bricks.  I decide to not give too much of myself, because I don’t want to have to need people, but I also put hard boundaries in which people cannot use me...or at least, I make sure to define the relationship for what it is, rather than what I wish it was.  I’ll share Christ, be Your light, be a friend.  But I won’t call them my friend.  

     There are chains tied around my heart, and they are heavy.  Their name is rejection. I thought I was over this, but I am not.  I want to be, but I don’t know how.  I know that forgiveness is key, but I need Your help.  This pain tempts me to keep my distance from this day forward.  Why willingly put myself through ongoing hurts when I know that it crushes my spirit?  It’s amazing how traveling to that city, the old fears and insecurities come to shroud my mind.  But as Elijah did in 1 Kings 19 (verses 41-44), he told his servant to “Go again,” when looking for the fulfillment of the promised Word.  Seven times that servant traveled before he saw a cloud.  And even that cloud was the size of a hand.  But that grey was enough to stir enough hope that You are indeed faithful.  You tell me to go again.  I will.  My emotions are still bare, but I want to walk in forgiveness, and right now, that looks like continuing to say “hello”.  But if nothing changes, can I be content?  At this point, I still feel the arrows.