We talked about my third point of interest in meeting my aunt for coffee, getting a foot in the door with my sister.
I’m having a hard time with the idea that there’s nothing I can do to turn the situation around with her. But what if she decides, okay, Blank has begged and groveled enough I’ll throw this dog a few crumbs and meet with it and attempt a short lived familial relationship… (I’m referring to myself as Blank because my sister historically can’t stand me and historically doesn’t use my name when speaking to me.) If she decides to have a relationship with me, what do I get? I get a flame thrower. Do I want a flame thrower?
Blank says to friend: I want a flame thrower.
Friend: You nearly scorched off your eyebrows last time.
Blank: I know but I’ll be more careful this time. I’ll take it slowly when starting it up and I’ll get a smaller one. I admit, I thought I knew how to manage things.Â I’ll do better with it this time. I want a flame thrower.
Friend: Your face is black with skin hanging off, I see your flame thrower is really leaving its mark.
Blank: Just give me a little more time, you’ll see. I know I can get this flame thrower to stop throwing flames and see me for me. I want thisÂ flame thrower.
Friend visits Blank in the hospital: You can’t walk, your face has so much damage that I can hardly recognize you. The doctor said there are real complications this time.
Blank: I know this is bad. I wish I could get a hold of the flame thrower one last time.
I could use a million analogies to describe how much trouble I bring on myself by seeking what I cannot have. Now, how do I make my heart stop wanting it?
As for a relationship with my aunt. We didn’t talk about that very much, just about the look my sister has always given me. The conversation turned back to my sister all the time. The look is one of disgust and disdain. When I would tell her to call me by my name not the birth name she just huffed and rolled her eyes like I had no reason to use a beautiful word and a spiritual word as my name. I changed my name to Faith for a reason. I changed it because the definition of it at Hebrews 11:1 is exactly what I need to hear every single day, several times a day.
Faith is the assured expectation of what is hoped forÂ the evident demonstration of realities that are not seen.
I need hope. I need assurance, evidence that I do not have false hope. Clearly, faith is not blind, not if it’s looking for evidence, not if it needs assurance that there is something to hope in.
Why is it so bad that I would change my name to a word that says I have hope and have a basis for that hope? Yes, I threw off that old name and tossed it in the trash. It never belonged to me. NamingÂ me after her mother is the perfect example of false hope. She hoped to gain her mother’s approval. That, of course, failed, as did her relationship with me. Every fault her mother had was placed in my lap because I bore her mother’s name. Every time I heard that name given to me at birth felt as though I was slapped in the face. After awhile it was like taking punches to the body but I wasn’t allowed to respond. A punching bag never tells you it’s tired of you hitting it, it just takes those punches and kicks without complaint. Well, I cut that bag down and gave myself a new name. When they (all the family) refused, I demanded they call me Faith. But my sister, ah, it was the name itself that angered her. How dare I take something spiritual, something clean and good and apply it to myself?
A flame thrower has the decency to kill you;Â verbal abuse leaves you alive with infection and scars that weave their way into every living cell.
It’s hard to accept that another person who is supposed to love you won’t. It’s hard to walk away completely. I’ve grieved her for a very long time. On my old blog The People Behind My Eyes (now closed) I talked a lot about grieving the living. But now she is so close to my fingertips, like a carrot dangling in front of me that I must ignore. The heart is desperate…….