Tiger Lilies

My favorite flower, even though I am incredibly allergic to them, is the Tiger Lily.  I have loved the flowers for as long as I can remember. 

About 8 years ago, I was searching for photos of the lilies online when I found a story.  I read it several times and now cannot find it.  I remember it very well.

A beautiful, young lady was beginning her dating years.  She enjoyed the company of her suitors and was happy to have a different one each night of the week.  Her habits were designed to allow her the privilege of dating, but protect her from getting close to any of them.  Her entire life, she had been told and shown that she was unlovable.  In her heart, she knew she could never allow herself to fall in love with any man because he too would find her unlovable and break her heart. 

When one of the suitors would become enchanted with her beauty and sweet charm, she would quickly leave them behind.  In the middle of the night, she would leave a tiger Lily and note on the young man's front porch.  The next morning, the young man would find in the note a simple explanation.  The flower will remain beautiful longer than you shall love me.

The story goes on to say the young lady died alone with the tiger Lily by her side.  Sad, isn't it?

If you know anything about me, you can probably guess that I identified with her symbol.  Tiger lilies, at best, will last one week.  At one time, I believed I was unlovable.  I believed the beautiful flower would outlast anyone who thought they loved me.

I was so convinced of this, even after being married for five years, I had them tattooed on my back.  No, it was not meant to be a "tramp stamp" as some people call them.  I wanted to be permanently marked with a symbol of truth...that nobody could ever love me. 

Several years later, I have a somewhat different outlook on that tattoo. 

I am not pretentious like many people I know.  I do not look at people with tattoos and think less of them.  I would never get a tattoo on my face, arms or really anywhere where anyone could see it.  But I certainly won't judge those who do as some kind of freak.  In fact, I often forget I have one.

Since 2007, I have taken the time to think about tattoos and what the bible says about them.  I think a lot of people use 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 out of context to say tattoos are wrong.  Leviticus 19:28 is very clear on them.  I have asked the "tattoo" question of several seasoned Christians and even some who work in ministry.  The only conclusion I came to was that there are different opinions on how to interpret what the bible says on them.  In blogosphere, there is debate on whether they are right or wrong biblically.  I did get mine before I was a Christian and I am not sure I would make the same decision today.

That being said, I am not regretful of having one nor ashamed. 

The truth is that the tattoo is significant even now.  It holds a couple of reminders for me.  In the human world, I can be unlovable.  People can decide they can't or won't love me for who I am.  It is probable that any human could hurt me by not loving me.  That is truth in the simplest form.

But now I know another truth.  The truth is that I could add a line above my tattoo that says, "Before August 3, 2007, I believed I was unlovable." With another line underneath that says, "But I was never unlovable in the eyes of God." 

To anyone who knows me, I may truly be unlovable (and I often believe that still).  But God always loves me.  Regardless of the tattoo.  Regardless of what I believe.

And so my story goes...The flower will wither and die long before the eternal love of God.

Rotten Crabs

If you have ever watched The Deadliest Catch, you might know a thing about rotten crabs.  A dead, diseased or rotten crab can permeate an entire tank, killing all the good crab and costing the fishermen a lot of money.

It only takes one bad crab to ruin thousands of good crab.  The fishermen are at the mercy of the crab.  They often do not know one bad crab has killed their haul until they are docked and anxiously awaiting all the money they will receive for the crab.  When they find all their dead crab, they are upset, disappointed and angry. 

While I have not spoken with any of those fishermen in person, I can only guess that most of them use those emotions to spur them into being more aggressive in their next venture.  But what would happen if each time they brought in a boat full of crab, all the crab were dead?  Do you think it would take 2, 5, 10, 20 times of having one rotten crab ruin all the good ones to make the fisherman give up?

The rotten crab is what I keep going back to when I think about some recent experiences.

It should be no surprise with my love of music that I love being in choir.  Last year, someone and something bigger than me stood in the way of me participating in the church choir.  It was heart wrenching to say the least, but I kept hope that a new year would bring a renewed opportunity.

This year came rolling in with a lot less standing in my way.  I would still have to overcome huge amounts of anxiety and rely on others to help me along the way. 

In August, I was able to start practicing with the choir.  Regardless of the hurdle, somebody was there to help me overcome.  Although my anxiety would keep me sidelined on Sunday mornings.  I would now begin to notice what I thought might be a rotten crab creeping into my tank, but I would ignore it and hope for the best outcome anyway.

With several people encouraging me, I was able to participate with the choir this past Sunday morning.  My knees were shaking, my voice was trembling, my throat was dry and I was sweating from the nervousness alone.  But...I made it through!

I made it with only a possibility that maybe a sickly crab had gotten in my tank and absolutely hopeful it would have no affect on the rest of the crab.

After the service was over, a precious member of our church came up to give me even more encouragement for singing with the choir.  And right there, without any warning or ability to stop it, the rotten crab was permeating my waters.

Without any thought or respect, another person insulted my anxiety-ridden effort to be a part of the choir.  That feeling of overcoming I had got to feel for an hour was ripped from me.  I was crushed.

There I was, standing with a tank full of dead crab...disappointed, hurt and angry. 

If this was my first tank of dead crab, I think I could return with a more aggressive desire to bring home my next tank of crab.  But the truth is...this isn't my 1st or 2nd or even my 10th.  I give up!  I guess I just don't have what it takes to stop the rotten crabs from permeating the waters and I certainly don't have the energy to haul home one more tank of dead crab.

All in a Song

Ok, so I had a moment this morning.  I could say an "ah ha" moment, but I won't.  I tend to have a very odd opinion of the "ah ha" moment.  I hear people say they have them and I find myself feeling sorry for them.  I have those moments everyday.  The moment when you learn something big that you previously hadn't known and possibly even big enough to be life altering.  My opinion is that if you aren't having those moments everyday, then your life has grown stagnant and you aren't learning something new each day.

Oh boy...let me not get sidetracked!

I believe I have said this before, but it deserves repeating.  Music is a powerful resource in my life.  That's the simplest way to say it.

On several occasions, friends have told me the song "Blessings" by Laura Story reminded them of me.  One friend was even so sweet as to email me the lyrics.  Maybe the lines in the chorus "What if a thousand sleepless nights, are what it takes to know you're near?" reminds them of me.  Maybe it is the lines "What if  trials of this life, are Your mercies in disguise?"  I suppose either could be possible since most people who know me could easily apply those lines to me.

The line least impactful was "What if your healing comes through tears?"  It would be a rarity for anyone to have seen me in tears.  From 1993 - 2007, I think I could count on one hand the number of times I had cried.  I certainly couldn't see anyway this line was true.

I love the song and listen to it often.  Today was a completely different experience.  It was as if the melody was playing, but the only line I heard was "What if your healing comes through tears?"  Long after the song was over, the line was dancing over every other thought I was having.  Why was this one line blaring through my internal megaphones?

My life was lived up until August 2007 as if my past did not exist.  On August 4th, I watched my mom humiliate my niece in front of me by showing me her tiny and severely bruised legs.  My niece cowered down in shame while my mom laughed hysterically.   The dam which safely held my past at bay abruptly broke. 

I began to watch, feel and hear a life playing in front of me that was horrific.  The stories were unreal and the little girl in them was me.  I knew the girl was me because this horror show felt real, as if I were living it just as it was happening.  I would much later learn what I was experiencing were flashbacks.   Flashbacks are a very real part of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD for short.

Not only did my dam break which contained my past, my dry as desert eyes became flowing rivers.  I cried for days.  Up to that point in my life, I don't think I had any memory of ever crying this much.  I would cry all day, all night, and wake up crying. 

Just three days after the dam broke, I headed to the church counselor believing she would get these tears to stop and I'd be on my way back to a blissfully ignorant life where the past didn't exist again.  That didn't happen!!!

"What if your healing comes through tears?" 

The dam burst so the tears came.  The tears came so I began a journey.  The journey came so I could begin to heal.  Had the tears not come, I might have missed the journey to healing.   And there was my moment.  My tears hadn't brought the healing, but instead brought me to the starting point of healing.  That, my friends, is a moment of clarity and understand; learning and worth remembering.

Uh Cussin' N' Swearin' (it's not what you think)

Lately, I have been thinking about some of the stranger and least harmful people in my past.  When I think about them, I often wonder why they crossed my path as well as think about the impact they had on me.

When I worked with severely disabled adults, I had the priveledge of getting to know a man named Albert.  Albert was a client and a very unique one at that. 

Albert was incredibly intelligent and brutally honest.  He was about 25 years older than me, but was child-like in nearly every area of life.  It was never hard to pick Albert out of a crowd.  He was over 6 foot tall and always wore his pants hiked up about mid chest.  We tried to get him to wear pants at waist level, but that wasn't his comfort level.  It didn't look comfortable to me, but who am I to judge, right?

When Albert would talk, he curled his hands and held them close to his chest or about belt buckle high.  He spoke super fast, almost too fast for the average person to understand.  Albert had this wierd and funny way of adding to everyday words or mashing words together that usually included a made up word.  For instance, he would add the word "aukins" to many of his phrases. 

If you asked Albert what his name was (which was actually Albert Kimzey), he would say "Albert KrimeyZyem Aukins."  If you asked him what he did that day, he would say "Watched DavidZYem Uh Cussin' N' Swearin' an' actin' uh baden." If I asked him what he wanted for dinner he would say, "Sketti and cheese aukins Moca aukins."  It looks funny, but I always understood every word.

At this job, I worked with men who were blind, deaf, had severe behavior disorders and had HIV, Hepatitis and other communicable diseases.  Looking back, I can honestly say that Albert was a joy to work with at this job.  He was patient, rarely had behavioral problems and was the most compliant client.

It has taken many years, but I think I understand why Albert crossed my path.  With all the turmoil at that job, I believe working with Albert helped soften my heart toward people with disabilities. 

I had lots of reasons to dislike people with disabilities given what that job put me through.  I was pushed down a flight of stairs and broke my nose.  I was chased down by a naked man and stabbed in the leg with a butter knife.  I was bitten many times and exposed to lots of diseases...just to name a few.  But knowing Albert kept me from disliking them and even allowed me to embrace them as people, caring deeply about how they were treated in society.

Now I finally get the big picture!  My heart was prepared 17 years ago to accept myself.  Being diagnosed with a somewhat uncommon mental disorder, I tend to believe I am different and in a less than human way.  But when I remember Albert KrimeyZYem, I am reminded that a disability doesn't define me or somehow make me sub human.  And a mental disorder should never preclude me from receiving love or acceptance.

I have no idea where Albert is today, but what he unknowingly taught me will live with me forever.

Feet on the Floor, Song in My Head

There is only one thing I love more than waking up to snow on the ground...waking up with a song in my head.  I especially love it when the song is one I love to sing as opposed to one of my husband's Ozzy tunes.

The past few months, the song I wake up with the most is Glorious Day by Casting Crowns.  Keep in mind, I don't wake up to an alarm clock.  Soooo....I would like to think those songs are planted in my head as a way to start my day off great in hopes it might stay that way.

When I start picking apart the song, Glorious Day, it's so easy to understand why it is so uplifting. 

One day when Heaven was filled with His praises

One day when sin was as black as could be
Jesus came forth to be born of a Virgin
Dwelt among men, my example is He

What more could be said about these first lines?  It had to be a glorious day.  Another song writer once said how amazing it must have been, but it may have been so glorious that nobody could say a word.

Word became flesh and the light shined among us

His glory revealed

The idea of Jesus being fully man and people seeing God as man is so overwhelming.  Can you imagine having stood next to Jesus?  Even more overwhelming....can you imagine seeing those who ignored his glory or even shunned him and finally those who beat him?

Living He loved me, dying He saved me

And buried He carried my sins far away
Rising He justified freely forever
One day He's coming, oh, glorious day, oh, glorious day

The chorus is where I usually get stuck and stay.  He loved me. He died to save me. Living He loved me, dying He saved me.  That seems so simple, but so deep. One day He's coming again...how amazing that day will be.

For me and given my past, the idea that God loves me that much is more than I can understand.  Yet, it's something I want hold onto and plant deep inside of me so that I never lose it. 

This picture of His sacrifice is almost unbelievable in a human sense.  Do you really know anyone who would honestly die to save you?  Do you know anyone who would not only die to save you, but also die to save that man sitting in prison who has raped and beaten and killed?  I don't!  I'm not sure I would either.  I like to think my husband would die to save me.  I don't think I know one person who would die for that man in prison or my dad or that gun-toting thug who's about to rob a bank.

To me, this shows a love for us that is bigger and more concrete than any we could ever experience on earth.

There's so much more I could say about this one song.  I'll save that for another day.  Off to bed I go...hoping tomorrow morning will bring a beautiful song.  Hoping that even if only for a moment, I will be be reminded that living He loves me and dying He saved me....oh glorious day!

When I Grow Up...

Growing up, I remember having two dreams of what I wanted to be.  I wanted to be the mayor of our little town or a writer.  I didn't have dreams about getting married and having lots of kids.  I didn't have dreams of being a princess.  I am sure that somehow made mayor or writer obvious choices for the non-a-typical kid.

The mayor thing obviously never worked out.  I was very interested in politics very early in life.  I watched Oliver North testify in hearings.  I watched every Presidential address I could .  I would privately critique the mayor of my small town on the decisions he made.  By the time I was 16, I was sure I could do a much better job.  This was probably the least rational thought I had at 16 and there are probably 2,500 people that are lucky this dream stayed a dream.

I did follow my writing dream for about eight years.  My experience began my junior year in high school newspaper class.  Without question, I excelled beyond what I thought capable.  My senior year, I was Editor-in-Chief of the high school newspaper, on the yearbook staff and a photographer.  That lead to the scholarship that would take me to community college.  There I would spend a year as a sports editor and photographer with occasional chances to write feature stories and opinion columns.  I was honored for a feature photograph during college.

During my senior year in high school and into my first year of college, I would work as a sport reporter for a local newspaper.  I would travel with local teams, taking photos and writing.  On Fridays, I would man the phones, taking stats, scores and quotes from local coaches during football and basketball seasons.

From 1993 to 1998, I would work as a sports reporter, photographer and typesetter for my hometown newspaper.  During that time, I would also do freelance photography and reporting for several newspapers in my region. 

During that stretch of time from 1993 to 1998, I worked a full time job at all times and usually a number of part time jobs in addition to the newspaper job.  I'm not sure I can remember them all, but here we go:
*  Caregiver in assisted living elderly home
*  Support assistant for disable adults
*  Dishwasher in nursing home kitchen
*  Gas station attendant
*  Teaching assistant for an autistic child and several other children 2nd to 5th grade

I don't think any of those jobs were quite as enjoyable as the newspaper jobs.  I'm not sure if I learned that writing didn't pay well or I strayed from that love, but I got far, far away from it.

After moving to Lee's Summit, I worked for a month at a pediatric dentist before I began a job at a marketing company.  I worked into management an independent telephone directory marketing company.  From there, I went to the eye clinic where I would work for the next 10 years and wearing a long list of hats.  Again...so far from the dreams I had as a child.

For the past year and a half, I have been volunteering in the church office.  I suppose I haven't lost my desire or dream to write, I just live it out in the form of blogging. 

I don't know what the future holds, but I know my resume holds a list of experiences that would qualify me for various jobs.  While I don't think I ever want to work as a reporter again, I don't know that I will ever find any job which gives me the same type of gratification as writing and living out the dream I had as a child.

From A Distance

Yes, a beautiful song which is way over used at funerals.  But...that's not where I am going this time.

Last week, the oldest of my brothers turned 35 years old.  As I  often do, I try not to think about the day because of the pain it brings.  That's how I tend to deal with all family birthdays, holidays or other significant events.  It's not always a successful way to deal with it, but the one I try the most.

The truth is that the pain gets harder and harder each year.  The truth is I miss my brothers, nieces, nephews and sister-in-law so much.  The youngest of my nephews does not know who I am and I do not know him. 

Over four years of distance from all of them has been necessary for my own health, but it's come with a huge price.  Nothing could possibly make this pain less, not anything that would be good for me.

As I reflected on my brother's birthday last week, I made two observations.  Without the past four years of growing, these observations would not have been possible.

The first is that the distance between us does not mean I cannot love them.  I can hurt when I hurt, provided I know when that happens.  I can rejoice when they do.  And, I can love them deeply.  Distance in miles and relationship does not dictate that I cannot love them still.  I can even love them regardless of how they feel about me.

The second and most important observation I made was the reality of what heaven has to offer with respect to those family members.  If each of them comes to a point in life where they choose to accept Christ, then the distance is only a wordly temporary. 

That distance which is so painful now is only temporary during our time on earth.  I began to grasp just how important their eternal life is to me.  This idea that I they too could have eternal life with Christ has given me a new passion to pray for their salvation. 

No birthday card, Christmas gift, or trinket I could send them in the mail could ever compare to the gift of salvation.  So, I will be praying for that for each of them. 

That doesn't take any of the pain away.  It only means I have accepted that my pain over this is only a wordly temporary.

10 Years Later

I have listened to others talk about where they were on September 11, 2001 with great emotion.  I don't know that I remember that day with great emotion. Even though I was 26 years old and an adult, I don't think the emotion was overwhelming for me.

At a relatively new job, I heard a blurb on our little radio that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center.  In a little bit of shock, I shared with my co-workers.  An older lady told me not to worry about it because that had happened before and it wasn't that big of a deal.  Not long after, I heard the music stop mid song and the announcer said another plane had hit the other building. 

Now, finally, I was able to get the attention of my co-workers.  I ran home, grabbed a small tv and came back to work.  Most of our patients would cancel that day and we would watch on antenae the news all day long. 

I suppose that most of the day was a blur.  It is possible that there was emotion mixed in the blur.  That night I went home to watch more tv.  And more tv reporting. And more tv reporting. It was on every station on tv and radio.  We were living and breathing to the beat of this surreal tragedy.

For a solid week, each night there was an overwhelming amount of information and even more speculation.  Each tv channel featured a different reporter in tears.  Late during the first night, a nearly voiceless Peter Jennings would finally strike a nerve in me.  He said that we, Americans, needed hug our kids, parents and spouses and to tell them how much we loved them.

Weeks and maybe even a couple months had passed before the emotion finally struck.  That emotion was fear.  As I listened to reporters talk about the damage which could be done by an attack on nuclear plants, a fear I had only felt once before came over me. 

There is a nuclear plant less than 50 miles from my hometown.  An estimated 200 mile radius of that nuclear plant could be in danger if attacked or compromised.  My fear, that someone was going to attack that nuclear plant putting my nieces and nephew in danger. 

This attack on our country, more so the hatred of our country, had now taken on a very personal meaning to me.  Only then did the impact of 9/11 hit me.  I sat quietly beside Kent while he slept.  That overwhelming fear finally took it's toll on me as well as my breath.  This is the first anxiety attack I remember having.

To date, there has not been an attack on nuclear plants in the US.  Could it happen? Absolutely!  Do I fear it like I used to? No!

It was during this time in life that I learned just how possible it was to love someone so deeply that I could live in fear for them.  I knew I loved my nieces and nephews, but I learned to love them even more.  Of course now I live a different reality.  God loves those children even more than I do.  The only fear I have to live with for them is that they will never come to know God.  But really....that is not a fear I have to live with either.  Just like with me, if God wants them to know Him then He will soften their hearts too.

I find myself with more emotion today over the events of 9/11/01, but that's another day's post.