Everybody needs a hobby. . .

it's been one of THOSE mornings already.

Lacking sufficient sleep to be even remotely alert thanks to a panic attack that threatened to kill me, I spent a miserable night hunkered down underneath a blanket praying for daylight.

I cannot speak for others who suffer the ill effects of panic attacks. Everyone is entitled to experience hell on earth in their own dimension. But for me, it is like a full on assault tidal wave of emotion that threatens to drown me in it's powerful undertow. When it happens, everything I have come to know suddenly becomes fodder for the mill and I wonder if I have done something bad or if I can ever be redeemed.

Sometimes, sleep comes after prayers and music but other times, like a surfer on a killer wave hoping to find the shoreline safely after the wild ride, I just have to hang ten on the monstrous waves on my little board of faith and ride it to the end.

Other metaphores are equally descriptive of the turmoil and danger: avalanche, suffocation, drowning, pulled under, and my personal favorite of all - overwhelmed.

It isn't that I honestly believe that I can just walk through life with no trials at all. Because I realized early on in my life that was simply not possible. No one who spends as much time as I did visiting doctors and hospitals can fantasize about life's perfection and bliss without truly understanding the falseness of the fantasy. But there are some days that I really do wish this was one particular 'hobby' that I didn't have.

People who knit seem to be serene sort of people. If I had paid more attention when I was a young woman, I could be the kind of woman who could sit quietly making something useful and warm from simple threads. Up to now, that has simply been a vehicle for profanity, that like sewing, I choose not to practice. . . some domestic decisions are made because whatever they represent is an issue that REMOVES peace instead of granting it. So, it becomes far better to leave some things for other people to succeed at, rather than painting the air blue with my frustration and angst.

I am quite sure that a lot of this particular 'blessing' of anxiety is tied to a bit of reality on this occassion. Sometimes panic attacks bring their savagery for no reason at all, but this time, I believe my own personal feelings fueled this particular raging fire one stick at a time.

What will my life be like when my oldest son leaves for his mission? When he can't call on his cell phone at lunchtime and when letters or email to him and from him are at both the mercy of what I hope will be an extremely busy schedule and the postal service's timetable? When I am left to an all too quiet house since my youngest really doesn't possess the capacity of speech at this time due to his handicaps and when my husband, though a wonderful man, who DOES possess the ability to speak, simply won't.

Never one to get into 'deep' conversations to begin with (at least not with me), I can tell at a moments notice when my husband is no longer interested in what I am trying to relate. His eyes glaze over and begin to flutter closed, until, in exasperation, I simply shut up.

To be fair to him, I realize that my need to talk has always been far greater than his need or interest in listening. I am by nature a gregarious person who has an opinion on everything. As I get older, I am finding that no one (including my longsuffering husband) truly wants to hear my opinions, thoughts, feelings or ideas. And that is okay a majority of the time.

But in those nights where the terror is palpable and the agony of being alone in a crowd becomes hard to bear, I reach out at times for a bit of assurance that I matter and that I am in the tiniest way important. That becomes another cross to carry since I don't always do that in the right way or with the right people. It has become, too many times for me to count, a double-edged sword with which I have wounded my husband, other people and myself.

I am currently practicing being 'a listener'.

It is hard. Like practicing the piano when you'd rather be playing ball, it takes real effort to stick to it and succeed.

After a lifetime of opening my mouth, frequently to no purpose, I am actively trying to keep it shut. I truly want to hear what is in someone's heart, unsaid, that gets covered up when I am in too big a rush to frame my reply. I want to feel the ripples of their needs from whatever emotional pool they are swimming or floundering in that I have missed all to often in thinking about my next move.

Maybe that is why the most important messages of our lives are repeated so many times. God knew that we would simply not be able to get it right on the first go 'round, and that like all hobbies, we would need to set aside time to practice in order to become better at it.

I konw that I am not noble or saintly, but I am trying to see how people who truly do possess those qualities got that way. If I watch them long enough, I may find how they did it or at least learn one or two of the steps I can take to become a bit better in my own 'hobby' of trying to become a complete person.

All I can say about any of this is that, truly, I am a work in progress.

There will be days where what others see and experience will be more pleasing than on others. But because the construction of a soul is sometimes a merciless process, laying bare the imperfections, the flaws and the items needing major overhauls and corrections, there will be days that will make for an uncomfortable view for everyone concerned. And unfortunately, this applies to those innocent bystanders who get 'construction debris' heaped upon them inadvertantly.

My hope is that the Master Carpenter, who framed both our lives and the creation of all we know, will find it in His infinite wisdom to help the rusty and bent nails in my soul become replaced, renewed or straightened and that those places where the lumber of my life that has warped and bent out of square over time can be brought back into plumb for use in His service.

That is one hobby that will be a constant in my life so long as I draw a breath. I suspect that it may be thus even after my time on earth is completed and I am brought to stand before my Maker. I am hoping for both mercy and justice, but mostly for mercy.

After all, even the black sheep wants the love of the Good Shepherd.