THE LIGHTHEARTED OR THE CYNIC

The war within...

• Proverbs 4:7 "Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore, get wisdom: and with all thy getting, get understanding. "

  Please note: I am again using the concept of being lighthearted, sometimes called "winsome", an older word usually described as charming in an open or happy way.

• To some degree, I know why people get old...

  Yes, the wheel of life, the span of physical life, the accumulation of years winds down.

  I also see the inner battles of the material realm and those are the ones that blast me, who will be 73 in November 2025.

• I'm in a battle of sides. One side is the the peacemaker, the compassionate one who deeply feels the sorrows of others and offers sincere encouragement. The other side is the one who still too-quickly hurls out my sharp-edged tongue, lashing out in cynical view. I still wince at myself. "Winsome" or lighthearted is the opposite of the cynic. Do I need to remind you how much cynicism I still have roaming about my psyche?? (dont ask...)

• From my own direct experience, the cynic can easily get hardened in persona, stomping towards the dark and narrowing the vision of good that might be hiding in plain sight.

• Several years ago, God and I were conversing in our nightly "confab," me with my pen and paper and He told me, "Wendy, you are a raving optimist!"

  I always remember being stunned by those words...not firmly understanding or believing it fully...but He saw the winsome in me from childhood, the viewing of the good in people instead of the instant bad. He had a vision for my blessing instead of my sorrow, which has been my too-constant companion since my youth. What a declaration from my Papa God from so long ago…

  It may take the rest of my days to manifest this... but what a good project to work on!

• For now, I have had my heart stomped so many times in my nearly 73 years...I retain a serious fence around it for almost all but God and His Son and Holy Spirit. I do not trust much and I can count on one hand, the people I allow near my heart. I do not "like" easily. I do not desire much except God! I have only a tiny handful of friends.

• Lighthearted is the better side of my psyche, one who sees beauty all over the place, quiet, unseen, hidden but for those who have eyes to see. I have the soul of a poet, even though I write in prose. My own Mom had elements of that...and yet she was also a Registered Nurse, a warrior profession if there ever was one...and from a day when women did not work as much in the world as they do now. She went through nursing training in Winnepeg, Manitoba, Canada in the mid-1930s. I saw as a child, the clashing temperaments of my parents, with Dad, the cynic and Mom the sensitive soul (not a good match, by the way...) I have shared before the story of my mother, after a family vacation visit to the Oregon coast, brought home a few lovely pieces of driftwood from the beach. I thought they were beautiful! Dad, however, just rudely scoffed at them and threw them in the garbage! He was rude and plain old mean. I never forgot it, it scarred my soul.

• For myself, the formidable armor of the cynic...drives the lightness away too much, as polar opposites indeed. How do I temper this rough ground without losing my blunt soul, which oddly enough, is part of me?? Much of the world can be tough and hard-driving and many of us sensitive souls feel stomped and pressured to "get with the program". My answer is to run the other direction, at top-speed and posthaste!

• I am not good at this. Papa God, I need You. I need mercy. Patience. Overwhelming love. Counsel and guidance. Admitting my flaws is not fun, with the spirit of "shame" still hovering over my soul. This seems to be a recurring theme in my writing...I wonder if this is a Holy Spirit plot?? (likely!)

• In my childhood, I used to have two scary visions. One was a nightmare of tiny me being stomped by a huge heavy boot, aiming down directly at my head, as I cowered. The other was a short recurring negative vision of a scolding old woman scowling at me, shaking her bony figure in my face, haranguing me for failures and who I am. I do not want to emulate her!

• I was smaller than other kids. My Dad was less than thrilled when Mom, who brought me to Christ and had prayed for a daughter after eleven years of two sons, got pregnant at age 38. He pressured her to abort the kid, me ( in 1952). I remember hearing my Dad speak of how they did abortions back in the day, quietly and with no fanfare, the physician would do a D and C (dilation and curettage) and no more baby. Obviously Dad did not want me...and likely cursed me in the womb. Mom graciously carried me to term and I was allowed life.

• How can I be the thunderbolt cynic and yet resist the chastening of my heart, when my Creator ( NO, not Dr. Frankenstein, you wags!!) tells me something else needs some loving attention to detail...? God is not mean in His admonitions, however and He works with each of us, His holy shaping to manifest. It is also the hardest thing I've ever endured, step by step. I am often in tears.

• See, God is the Father of all Fathers, the Provider, the Healer, the Protector, the Teacher, the holy Chastener, the Refiner. He knows us so well, with every attention to detail about each of us and tailors His training to each of our strengths and weaknesses. While His exhortations are not easy, they are not like "smash-mouth."

• In my younger days, when I lived in big cities, including Seattle and San Francisco, I survived by seeing immense beauty hiding in plain view. The natural realm always sustained me. In Seattle, from August 1975 to August 1979, I once lived for about year or two on Capital Hill in a big white house on a corner of 12th Ave. East, near Volunteer Park. It was made into a rooming house, with multiple small rooms rented out, a shared couple of bathrooms and a communnal kitchen. I was actually happy in that place, as I paid $75 a month for a simple furnished room. The park nearby was a beautiful green place. Puget Sound was always so magical and shimmering, with the ferry boats roaming by. Pike Place Market was a treasure trove. I met many interesting people in dear Seattle, many on the dance floor. Happy memories there!! San Francisco was also a maritime place, and also built on hills and with many fascinating places to help my soul...but SF was much darker than Seattle. I still managed to find a corner to survive and my winsome self retained her spot, from big open fields with a Century plant blooming my first year there, cats roaming across that bushy field, Red Rock a haven above, Twin Peaks and Sutro Tower rising above Market Street as it roared up the hill, the SF Bay and the Marina Green aside the choppy waters leading to the open Pacific ocean...Golden Gate Bridge, too many memories to share but my lighthearted was fed amidst the maelstrom. Then the AIDS plague hit and the party ended.

• Strange how the accumulating years can build up a negative ballast against myself. As the kids say, "stooopid" (and NO, I will not repeat the profane manner I used to speak in...not going there...)

• God's not stupid, not remotely. He knows each of us, where we soar and where we crumble. He is not a thug, He is a Father. Each passing year I listen deeply for the still and small voice of God via Holy Spirit, I am heartened and blessed to simply bring myself to the Throne of Grace and ask for help. This world is not an easy or fun place, especially for those of us who are not of a rapacious temperament, the smash and grab mentality of much of the West. We are the one who get flattened underneath the condemnation (there's that word again...)

• Just hold on...”hold fast”, as Papa tells me over and over again. He does not say "press ignore" to the demands of the world. He also does not say "WEW, I demand you become a Titan of Industry immediately and charge up the corporate mountain.”

  Well, no and nope and nyet.

• He does ask me to change things bit by bit and step by step. Getting older is primal, no way around it. It disassembles and disabuses us of any silly concepts...like I have all this time to meander around. Nope, time soars on and will pass you with ease if you stop paying attention.

• God is a blunt force Being and yet, His loving mercies are new every morning.

  Thank You, Papa, for this, as otherwise I would have fallen under the waves long ago. You know, others can also do this…

  Wendy Elizabeth Williams, Friday, September 5, 2025

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