Do you have that place where you can go to get away without getting away? That place where you can clear your mind, where you find rest for your body, mind and soul?
I have one of those places. If you know much about me, you might understand why a place like that might be hard for me to find. I don't have one at home. I don't really have one at my church, where I volunteer. I don't have a childhood place I can revisit.
Last Friday, I was able to spend several hours in my place. Well, it isn't exactly "my" place because I don't own it. But, it's my place of rest. It's like a comfy little corner of the world where I can spend time hidden away from the heaviness that sits on my shoulders.
On occasion, I get to spend several hours camped out on a little red couch at a friend's house. Yes, it's a comfy little couch. However, it's more than the couch that makes it a place of rest for me.
To start with, nothing awful has happened on, around or anywhere near that room. That creates a sense of safety which allows me to relax.
It is always quiet and calm, giving me all I need to catch a much needed nap. Just beyond the couch, I can get lost in a variety of mindless activity.
There is a little ground squirrel that comes to the door and peaks in, usually gnawing on a nut or berry as a snack. I like to think he's a little jealous of my comfy hiding place.
Depending on the season, there are a variety of plants or flowers to look at. Now, it is dried orange and gold leaves rustling across the roof or patio.
The experience doesn't just give me rest, it refills my emotional bank which tends to run on empty. There is something so rejuvenating about spending a few hours on that little red couch.
I'm not sure where your place is, but I encourage you to visit there soon and often. We all need to refill our banks, especially as we face the busyness and stress of holidays.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Senseless Dribble
My head is full of it today...senseless dribble. For many people I know, that would indicate a loss of focus and frustrate them as they robotically tried to move from task A to task B. For me, it's a vacation. It's that much needed break from the seriousness of life, fretting over the psychologist appointment or numerous other things.
What's running through my head is that endless stream of questions in life that don't quite make sense no matter how long or hard you look at them. I'm not talking about why people park on a driveway and drive on a parkway. I'm taking a step much deeper than that.
When was the last time you saw a young man walking around with his pants down past his butt? Oh goodness, where to even start with this one. First of all, I have to admit that I am not one of those judgemental people of this act even though I don't care for the look. I am simply amazed by it. How in the world do these kids keep their pants on and walk? They do it with what looks like complete ease. I've never seen any of them struggle to keep their pants on or walking with a limp. Another thing I find amazing is that the cold winds that whip past their hineys don't bother them. I would love to see the day they figure out that it just wasn't that "cool" after all and they have just shown the entire town their underwear.
While I'm on the topic of children's styles, another fad that has stuck around far too long is the emo. Where is the world did this one start? Was some kid living in black everything and decided, dude I think I'll stay like this? I understand the depressed world of teenagedom. But guys painting their nails black and wearing eyeliner is outside my realm of understanding. I wonder if someone actually manufactures studded dog collars for young girls or it there's a bunch of dogs missing their collars. I would wonder about them living in darkness with deep depression. But most of the time, I see them in large groups laughing and having a good time. Am I the only one who wonders when this fad will be over? Walking through Wal-Mart on a Saturday night often feels like I'm stuck on the film set of Night of the Living Dead.
Ok ladies, have you ever wondered who started the shaving trend that has never stopped? Thinking back to my grandmas, I don't think it was a hugely popular trend back in the 1930s to 1950s. It seems that era may have missed it. They didn't fret over hairy legs or armpits. Sadly, one of my grandmas could grow a fuller mustache than my grandpa. But who decided this wasn't ok? My mindless musings lead me to the idea that it might just be one of these big companies who makes billions of dollars each year on shaving gels, creams, and lotions or the myriad of special razors created just for women but look just like my husband's Gillette razor. Just a disclaimer, I am in no way advocating that women including myself stop shaving.
Oh if the insanity of it all had just stopped there...
The genius mindset of those who run our country make rumbles about charging more for insuring an overweight person. I understand that being overweight causes increased health risks which could cost the insurance company more money. I wonder how people would be able to afford the higher insurance cost and the higher cost of healthy food. I think everyone would agree that an apple and handful of grapes is going to be much healthier for you than a can of fruit in heavy syrup. But the canned fruit is half the price of the fresh. Where do they plan to break the circle here? I'm not a politician, surely they see the problem here, right?
While I'm on the topic of politicians, why is the public so hard on them for doing stupid things? I do stupid things everyday. I'm not in a position of authority any more, but when I was, I still did stupid things. Now I didn't text pictures of body parts to people I didn't know, but I still did stupid things. For the scale of my life, they were pretty big in size. But why do you think we condemn them more than we condemn one another or even ourselves? I wonder if we do that because we idolize them or place unrealistic expectations of perfection on them.
That brings me to my final senseless thought of the day....(well maybe, depends on how long I stay awake)
Since I do believe God created all living creatures and dogs are living creatures, then my summation is that God created dogs. I wonder what He was thinking when he created little dogs who are low to the ground with long, white hair. As much as I love my little Shih Tzu, he is a full-blooded grunge factory. He rolls around in the grass and leaves like it's some kind of mud bath, tracking every bit of it in the house. Did I somehow misunderstand his lineage and he's a descendant of pigs? And let's get back to the long, white hair for a minute. He loves running through rain puddles. He turns green after the grass has been mowed. His little paws are brown all the time after running through the dew. Yes, he loves the mess a whole lot more than the shower. Why couldn't all little dogs be made in black or dark brown?
I suppose it's time to get back to reality and leave the dribble behind, but it was a nice break while it lasted.
What's running through my head is that endless stream of questions in life that don't quite make sense no matter how long or hard you look at them. I'm not talking about why people park on a driveway and drive on a parkway. I'm taking a step much deeper than that.
When was the last time you saw a young man walking around with his pants down past his butt? Oh goodness, where to even start with this one. First of all, I have to admit that I am not one of those judgemental people of this act even though I don't care for the look. I am simply amazed by it. How in the world do these kids keep their pants on and walk? They do it with what looks like complete ease. I've never seen any of them struggle to keep their pants on or walking with a limp. Another thing I find amazing is that the cold winds that whip past their hineys don't bother them. I would love to see the day they figure out that it just wasn't that "cool" after all and they have just shown the entire town their underwear.
While I'm on the topic of children's styles, another fad that has stuck around far too long is the emo. Where is the world did this one start? Was some kid living in black everything and decided, dude I think I'll stay like this? I understand the depressed world of teenagedom. But guys painting their nails black and wearing eyeliner is outside my realm of understanding. I wonder if someone actually manufactures studded dog collars for young girls or it there's a bunch of dogs missing their collars. I would wonder about them living in darkness with deep depression. But most of the time, I see them in large groups laughing and having a good time. Am I the only one who wonders when this fad will be over? Walking through Wal-Mart on a Saturday night often feels like I'm stuck on the film set of Night of the Living Dead.
Ok ladies, have you ever wondered who started the shaving trend that has never stopped? Thinking back to my grandmas, I don't think it was a hugely popular trend back in the 1930s to 1950s. It seems that era may have missed it. They didn't fret over hairy legs or armpits. Sadly, one of my grandmas could grow a fuller mustache than my grandpa. But who decided this wasn't ok? My mindless musings lead me to the idea that it might just be one of these big companies who makes billions of dollars each year on shaving gels, creams, and lotions or the myriad of special razors created just for women but look just like my husband's Gillette razor. Just a disclaimer, I am in no way advocating that women including myself stop shaving.
Oh if the insanity of it all had just stopped there...
The genius mindset of those who run our country make rumbles about charging more for insuring an overweight person. I understand that being overweight causes increased health risks which could cost the insurance company more money. I wonder how people would be able to afford the higher insurance cost and the higher cost of healthy food. I think everyone would agree that an apple and handful of grapes is going to be much healthier for you than a can of fruit in heavy syrup. But the canned fruit is half the price of the fresh. Where do they plan to break the circle here? I'm not a politician, surely they see the problem here, right?
While I'm on the topic of politicians, why is the public so hard on them for doing stupid things? I do stupid things everyday. I'm not in a position of authority any more, but when I was, I still did stupid things. Now I didn't text pictures of body parts to people I didn't know, but I still did stupid things. For the scale of my life, they were pretty big in size. But why do you think we condemn them more than we condemn one another or even ourselves? I wonder if we do that because we idolize them or place unrealistic expectations of perfection on them.
That brings me to my final senseless thought of the day....(well maybe, depends on how long I stay awake)
Since I do believe God created all living creatures and dogs are living creatures, then my summation is that God created dogs. I wonder what He was thinking when he created little dogs who are low to the ground with long, white hair. As much as I love my little Shih Tzu, he is a full-blooded grunge factory. He rolls around in the grass and leaves like it's some kind of mud bath, tracking every bit of it in the house. Did I somehow misunderstand his lineage and he's a descendant of pigs? And let's get back to the long, white hair for a minute. He loves running through rain puddles. He turns green after the grass has been mowed. His little paws are brown all the time after running through the dew. Yes, he loves the mess a whole lot more than the shower. Why couldn't all little dogs be made in black or dark brown?
I suppose it's time to get back to reality and leave the dribble behind, but it was a nice break while it lasted.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A New Turkey
Yesterday, I went shopping for the first time in probably 10 months. It wasn't grocery or necessity shopping. It was the kind of shopping that you carefully drop sacks in different rooms as you go so that when you are finally in front of your husband the sacks are minimal. I don't do that kind of shopping often, as you can see. Not because I don't have a job and therefore have no money, but because I just don't like it.
When I was shopping yesterday, I spent a lot of time carefully choosing new fall decorations for my house. Maybe the overhaul of the house has driven me to want to be a little more festive. One of the things I bought was a cute little turkey made of pine cones and sticks. Cute, yes! Necessary, no!
While I was in the shower this morning, I started to think about how I very unnecessary that little turkey was. There are other things I could have spent the $6 on and things that could be used for more than a month each year. If it's possible to have buyer's remorse over a $6 stick turkey, I was definitely in the middle of it.
As my ADD mind often does, I began to wonder off in a different direction completely. Why do I do most of my thinking in the shower? Am I strange? Why is it that I can focus there better than any other place?
It's because the shower is a place I like to be. Aside from the obvious for this germophobe, it's a relaxing place and I can clear my mind.
I think even as a child, it was a place to clear my mind. I was not given soap or allowed to use my parent's soap or shampoo. Standing under the hot water allowed me to feel like all of the leftover ickyness from being molested and raped by family members and strange men was washed away. The water beating down on my head created a barrier between me and the chaos lurking outside the door.
For someone who never lived with neglect from their parents, you might not understand my thinking that hot water alone would cleanse your body. Soap was a luxury item in my house and used only by my parents. We weren't given shampoo or even washcloths. We weren't allowed to have toothpaste or a toothbrush. If we brought a toothbrush home from school, it was used to clean the bathroom. All this was "normal" for me. I was living on my own when I realized that it was not only ok for me to brush my teeth, but it was expected.
A shower was also a luxury in our house. Showers were only allowed about once a week for me. If I tried, I could get in, rinse off, get out and get dressed before my dad caught me. Sometimes the hot water provided such a break from the outside world, that I just didn't care what I would face if I got caught in the shower. My showers often ended with me laying in a beaten lump on the bathroom floor, cold and crying.
Looking back, that covers just a tiny, little bit of the deplorable living conditions I lived in and through. There were no cute or pretty things and there were no calm places to think clearly. There were no ways to avoid feeling filthy and no way to hide from the face of evil.
And there I found it. My little mind had brought me back full circle to my cute turkey. My $6 turkey had become a necessity to remind me of where I stood. I no longer live in those deplorable conditions. I no longer live in fear that my shower will end with a beating. I can have toothpaste and soap, lots of fruity smelling soap. I can have a $6 turkey to sit on my table for a month every year. Those little things remind me of the big thing. I am thankful for the things I do have and that I have a time in my life when I do not have to live without those things which are necessary to survive.
When I was shopping yesterday, I spent a lot of time carefully choosing new fall decorations for my house. Maybe the overhaul of the house has driven me to want to be a little more festive. One of the things I bought was a cute little turkey made of pine cones and sticks. Cute, yes! Necessary, no!
While I was in the shower this morning, I started to think about how I very unnecessary that little turkey was. There are other things I could have spent the $6 on and things that could be used for more than a month each year. If it's possible to have buyer's remorse over a $6 stick turkey, I was definitely in the middle of it.
As my ADD mind often does, I began to wonder off in a different direction completely. Why do I do most of my thinking in the shower? Am I strange? Why is it that I can focus there better than any other place?
It's because the shower is a place I like to be. Aside from the obvious for this germophobe, it's a relaxing place and I can clear my mind.
I think even as a child, it was a place to clear my mind. I was not given soap or allowed to use my parent's soap or shampoo. Standing under the hot water allowed me to feel like all of the leftover ickyness from being molested and raped by family members and strange men was washed away. The water beating down on my head created a barrier between me and the chaos lurking outside the door.
For someone who never lived with neglect from their parents, you might not understand my thinking that hot water alone would cleanse your body. Soap was a luxury item in my house and used only by my parents. We weren't given shampoo or even washcloths. We weren't allowed to have toothpaste or a toothbrush. If we brought a toothbrush home from school, it was used to clean the bathroom. All this was "normal" for me. I was living on my own when I realized that it was not only ok for me to brush my teeth, but it was expected.
A shower was also a luxury in our house. Showers were only allowed about once a week for me. If I tried, I could get in, rinse off, get out and get dressed before my dad caught me. Sometimes the hot water provided such a break from the outside world, that I just didn't care what I would face if I got caught in the shower. My showers often ended with me laying in a beaten lump on the bathroom floor, cold and crying.
Looking back, that covers just a tiny, little bit of the deplorable living conditions I lived in and through. There were no cute or pretty things and there were no calm places to think clearly. There were no ways to avoid feeling filthy and no way to hide from the face of evil.
And there I found it. My little mind had brought me back full circle to my cute turkey. My $6 turkey had become a necessity to remind me of where I stood. I no longer live in those deplorable conditions. I no longer live in fear that my shower will end with a beating. I can have toothpaste and soap, lots of fruity smelling soap. I can have a $6 turkey to sit on my table for a month every year. Those little things remind me of the big thing. I am thankful for the things I do have and that I have a time in my life when I do not have to live without those things which are necessary to survive.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Big Hands
The past two weeks have brought a whirlwind of traveling and stirred up a restlessness that has settled into the depths of me. I cannot shake the feeling that I need God to change something in my life or inside me so I can move forward. It is possible I need the big hands of God to reach down and open the door of the cage I'm sitting in.
Faith that will happen eludes me and I have to remind myself of another time God moved in big ways. Ways which were so noticeable that it was undeniably God who was responsible.
Maybe the most recent was through our accident. It wasn't until the case was closed in court and through insurance that I felt I could share more openly about it. Not that I had anything to hide, but I think I first needed to see if God would show up in the last hour or not. Hey, I'm not afraid to admit my sinning heart tests God.
On May 27, 2011, we set off fumigators in our house to kill off spiders that our remodel had irritated and attracted. Since we had to be out of the house for three hours, dropped off the cat at a friend's house, loaded up all three dogs and headed to Sedalia to our favorite home improvement store.
Headed down 50 Hwy, Kent was driving and I split my focus between the dogs and texting or facebook. I was completely oblivious to the road ahead of us. I wasn't worried about anything. Kent was driving and he always takes care of me.
I remember being on facebook and hearing Kent say, "Oh No!" I remember hearing that sound your brake pedal makes when you slam on it, followed by the loud crunch of metal hitting metal. The next few seconds were a blur, which quickly ended with me watching us headed for a ditch full of water. I had enough time to brace my hands on the dash as we landed in the ditch and water splashed over the truck.
Immediately, my head started to sting in a painful way and I wanted out! Kent had blood on his forehead and was frantically searching for phones and paperwork. My door wouldn't open and it is a good thing because I later saw that is where the water was coming in the truck. I checked on the dogs, who were all ok but scared.
After I crawled out of the truck, a man checked my eyes to make sure there was no obvious injury. The next 30 minutes would include being checked by EMTs, questioned by an officer and taking in all that happened.
An older man had stopped in the middle of the fast lane to turn. Kent had switched to that lane to avoid hitting another car who turned the opposite direction. He did not have time to slow down. Realistically, he was going to hit one or the other. It was a dangerous corner on a 65 mph highway with no turn lanes.
My husband has amazing driving skills, but I believe God worked through him that day. Kent only hit the corner of the car, but hard enough to flip the car over on it's top. We went across another lane of traffic without hitting other cars. We landed in the ditch with the drivers door opening just barely onto solid ground.
The man in the car was ok, shaken up, bruised and sore. Kent had a scratch on his head which we are almost certain happened when our cockapoo jumped from the front seat to the back. Kent was sore for a while, but said bracing the steering wheel had given him a little security. None of the dogs were injured.
Since this conversation is one-sided, I can admit I was not wearing my seat belt without fear of being shamed which people were quick to push on me afterward. During the first impact, my head hit the windshield. During the second impact, my head hit the sealing and my body was shook up.
It has taken me a while to feel like the effects of the concussion are going away. I think the mental effects will last a while longer. To hear a brake pedal being mashed to the floor has never been more traumatic.
Several doctors visits and days later, the problems were just beginning. The insurance company was a huge problem for us. They could not get the needed paperwork to process our claim and to date, they have never talked through the accident with Kent. The lack of follow through with Kent led to his ticket being deemed non-disputable.
The insurance company did contact us two months later to state that the medical bills for the other man were about to exceed our limits. Since he was still being cared for with nagging whiplash injuries, we were told that our out-of-pocket portion could be up to $50,000.
The ambulance ride for him was $34,000. Medical bills for his two hours of being checked out at the hospital were $27,000. Doctor bills for reading tests and dismissal were $31,000. The day of the accident medical care resulted in over $92,000, pushing our $100,000 accident limit. By the time he visited his primary care and received treatment at the VA, there was an excess of what our insurance would cover.
Because Kent's ticket was deemed non-disputable, he would have to appear for court in September. We had hired a lawyer, but he was unable to change this. Kent would have to go to court for improper use of a motor vehicle in inclement weather resulting in major loss. The possible outcome on that ticket for that particular county was up to $5,000 in fine and court cost, possible community service and loss of driver's license with mandatory driving school.
Here is how we saw the big hands of God do more than we thought possible and at times when we had almost given up.
1. The other gentleman walked out of the hospital and we all were alive. It was a miracle that we all survived.
2. Injured, I too was still alive. My body stayed in the truck and it landed in just the right spot that kept water from getting deep inside the truck.
3. The dogs were not injured.
4. Our insurance company settled under our limit with the man. He and his son are Christians, offering much compassion and mercy for us. They were the ones who negotiated with the hospital and doctors to lower the medical bills.
5. In court, Kent's ticket was changed to an improper registration of a motor vehicle which was not a moving violation. The ticket was a minimal fee.
6. Through all of this, we began to see our church as family as they cared for us through all of this.
Through every step of that accident, I can look back and see the ways God protected, intervened, softened hearts and made the impossible be ever so possible and real.
I hang onto that today as I sit here knowing God will need to show up again because I am sitting face to face with the impossible.
Faith that will happen eludes me and I have to remind myself of another time God moved in big ways. Ways which were so noticeable that it was undeniably God who was responsible.
Maybe the most recent was through our accident. It wasn't until the case was closed in court and through insurance that I felt I could share more openly about it. Not that I had anything to hide, but I think I first needed to see if God would show up in the last hour or not. Hey, I'm not afraid to admit my sinning heart tests God.
On May 27, 2011, we set off fumigators in our house to kill off spiders that our remodel had irritated and attracted. Since we had to be out of the house for three hours, dropped off the cat at a friend's house, loaded up all three dogs and headed to Sedalia to our favorite home improvement store.
Headed down 50 Hwy, Kent was driving and I split my focus between the dogs and texting or facebook. I was completely oblivious to the road ahead of us. I wasn't worried about anything. Kent was driving and he always takes care of me.
I remember being on facebook and hearing Kent say, "Oh No!" I remember hearing that sound your brake pedal makes when you slam on it, followed by the loud crunch of metal hitting metal. The next few seconds were a blur, which quickly ended with me watching us headed for a ditch full of water. I had enough time to brace my hands on the dash as we landed in the ditch and water splashed over the truck.
After I crawled out of the truck, a man checked my eyes to make sure there was no obvious injury. The next 30 minutes would include being checked by EMTs, questioned by an officer and taking in all that happened.
An older man had stopped in the middle of the fast lane to turn. Kent had switched to that lane to avoid hitting another car who turned the opposite direction. He did not have time to slow down. Realistically, he was going to hit one or the other. It was a dangerous corner on a 65 mph highway with no turn lanes.
My husband has amazing driving skills, but I believe God worked through him that day. Kent only hit the corner of the car, but hard enough to flip the car over on it's top. We went across another lane of traffic without hitting other cars. We landed in the ditch with the drivers door opening just barely onto solid ground.
Since this conversation is one-sided, I can admit I was not wearing my seat belt without fear of being shamed which people were quick to push on me afterward. During the first impact, my head hit the windshield. During the second impact, my head hit the sealing and my body was shook up.
Several doctors visits and days later, the problems were just beginning. The insurance company was a huge problem for us. They could not get the needed paperwork to process our claim and to date, they have never talked through the accident with Kent. The lack of follow through with Kent led to his ticket being deemed non-disputable.
The insurance company did contact us two months later to state that the medical bills for the other man were about to exceed our limits. Since he was still being cared for with nagging whiplash injuries, we were told that our out-of-pocket portion could be up to $50,000.
The ambulance ride for him was $34,000. Medical bills for his two hours of being checked out at the hospital were $27,000. Doctor bills for reading tests and dismissal were $31,000. The day of the accident medical care resulted in over $92,000, pushing our $100,000 accident limit. By the time he visited his primary care and received treatment at the VA, there was an excess of what our insurance would cover.
Because Kent's ticket was deemed non-disputable, he would have to appear for court in September. We had hired a lawyer, but he was unable to change this. Kent would have to go to court for improper use of a motor vehicle in inclement weather resulting in major loss. The possible outcome on that ticket for that particular county was up to $5,000 in fine and court cost, possible community service and loss of driver's license with mandatory driving school.
Here is how we saw the big hands of God do more than we thought possible and at times when we had almost given up.
1. The other gentleman walked out of the hospital and we all were alive. It was a miracle that we all survived.
2. Injured, I too was still alive. My body stayed in the truck and it landed in just the right spot that kept water from getting deep inside the truck.
3. The dogs were not injured.
4. Our insurance company settled under our limit with the man. He and his son are Christians, offering much compassion and mercy for us. They were the ones who negotiated with the hospital and doctors to lower the medical bills.
5. In court, Kent's ticket was changed to an improper registration of a motor vehicle which was not a moving violation. The ticket was a minimal fee.
6. Through all of this, we began to see our church as family as they cared for us through all of this.
Through every step of that accident, I can look back and see the ways God protected, intervened, softened hearts and made the impossible be ever so possible and real.
I hang onto that today as I sit here knowing God will need to show up again because I am sitting face to face with the impossible.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Too Afraid to Grow Up
My decision to become a Christian was followed by at least a year of complete frustration. When I decide to fully embrace something, I want to...no, I need to know everything about it. That knowledge is what makes me feel successful. If you know anything about the bible, then you know you know very little. You can read the bible over and over, but find that there is still more to learn.
Many times I heard new Christians referred to as "babies." I think about 2 Corinthians 5:17, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. A baby is a new creation. A baby knows nothing and depends on all the grown-ups to teach and model the correct ways to live. I think that is the same picture of a new Christian.
Even though it took a while, I finally accepted that I was just a baby in the big Christian world. It was ok to not know the bible stories people referred to and to be completely lost in bible studies. Over the past year, I have learned that the unique obstacles of my life have kept me in the "baby" phase of Christianity a while longer than other newer Christians.
Over the past month, I have started to notice things about myself. I think they are comparable to the moments when a baby realizes they can crawl around and are no longer dependent on their parents for mobility. Yes, I have been experiencing those moments when I see that I have some knowledge and am not fully dependent on those around me for everything. Yes, I have learned to crawl.
Maybe I knew this a while ago or maybe I had just thought about crawling and decided it was too scary.
That is right, I am afraid to admit I am growing up. All I have known in life is that once you grow up, you get abandoned. You get left to do and learn everything by yourself. That is a scary way to live. It is reasonable for me to think that if I admit that my faith is growing, then I will be abandoned to then wrestle through life alone.
It is exciting to figure out that I'm not stuck in that "baby" phase any longer. For me, it's one of those....man this is so exciting I feel like I need to celebrate another birthday this year....exciting kind of times. You won't find me doing that though because of my fear of being left high and dry to finish growing up all alone.
So, maybe for now I can just be a toddler for a while. That seems a lot less scary. Yes, for now I think I'll stay a toddler until I have that moment when I realize it's time to walk instead of crawl.
Many times I heard new Christians referred to as "babies." I think about 2 Corinthians 5:17, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. A baby is a new creation. A baby knows nothing and depends on all the grown-ups to teach and model the correct ways to live. I think that is the same picture of a new Christian.
Even though it took a while, I finally accepted that I was just a baby in the big Christian world. It was ok to not know the bible stories people referred to and to be completely lost in bible studies. Over the past year, I have learned that the unique obstacles of my life have kept me in the "baby" phase of Christianity a while longer than other newer Christians.
Over the past month, I have started to notice things about myself. I think they are comparable to the moments when a baby realizes they can crawl around and are no longer dependent on their parents for mobility. Yes, I have been experiencing those moments when I see that I have some knowledge and am not fully dependent on those around me for everything. Yes, I have learned to crawl.
Maybe I knew this a while ago or maybe I had just thought about crawling and decided it was too scary.
That is right, I am afraid to admit I am growing up. All I have known in life is that once you grow up, you get abandoned. You get left to do and learn everything by yourself. That is a scary way to live. It is reasonable for me to think that if I admit that my faith is growing, then I will be abandoned to then wrestle through life alone.
It is exciting to figure out that I'm not stuck in that "baby" phase any longer. For me, it's one of those....man this is so exciting I feel like I need to celebrate another birthday this year....exciting kind of times. You won't find me doing that though because of my fear of being left high and dry to finish growing up all alone.
So, maybe for now I can just be a toddler for a while. That seems a lot less scary. Yes, for now I think I'll stay a toddler until I have that moment when I realize it's time to walk instead of crawl.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Should've Been a Cowboy
Not that I want to disappoint you, but this isn't going to be a tribute to country music. It's not an announcement that I will be trading in my flip flops for a pair of boots and learning to heard cattle or lasso a pig.
And, it's definitely not going to be an admission to a deep-seeded gender confusion issue...although it might seem like it. If you have heard my rant about this season of DWTS, then you would know where I stand on that subject. If you haven't, then I'd be happy crawl back on that soapbox another time for you.
The older I get, the more I notice a difference between myself and other women. It's as if my "girly" gene was left out, underdeveloped or possibly malfunctioned along the way. Sure, I have found a sprinkling of women throughout my lifetime who I could identify with on one or maybe two of my oddities, but never one who was a match on my non-girly checklist.
Most of the time, I am more comfortable sitting with couples or groups that tend to be a majority of men. It isn't because of an attraction to them, but they communicate on a level I identify with easily.
First of all, their communication tends to be short and to the point. My simple, ADD mind appreciates those style of communication. They don't tend to spend a lot of time discussing feelings or girly things, which is ok by me. Their conversations are often less people or gossip driven and more driven by the passion in their life. When the topic of conversation is their particular passion, then they spewing resource of detail on it.
Admittedly, I enjoy sports. I would rather watch a hockey or football game than go shopping. If you ask me about a sport, I'll tell you who my favorite team is which is probably one I've liked since I was a kid. Ask me about the playoffs and I'll probably know who is playing and have an opinion on who will win. Now don't ever expect me to talk about soccer cause that's one I can't get into.
I have found women who enjoy watching or playing sports. But I have never found one who enjoys it to the degree I do. I may seem timid, but not when it comes to bantering over my favorite teams. Many of the men I know enjoy a healthy season of fantasy football. Here is where I would like to point out that the good ole boys groups come into play, but I won't. Instead, I will say I am convinced that they do not allow women to compete because they couldn't handle being beaten by a woman. Enough said! Seriously though...my fantasy football team is 4-1 and leading the league by well over 100 points.
Men tend to have mechanical conversations. That isn't the type of conversation but the subject. When I was a kid, I would be more likely to pick up a hot wheel than a barbie doll. When my brothers really upset me, I would disassemble their toys until they would be nice to me and then I would reassemble them.
I am content listening to men talk about tearing something apart and rebuilding or fixing it. In fact, I find my husband's work with plane parts incredibly interesting. Since he rarely reads my blog, it's safe to admit that. I find it absolutely amazing that he tears into plane engines and refurbs fan blades and then those things fly overhead every single day. Now when he is talking, I must hide all interest so that he isn't prone to talking all the time about it.
Not only do I dislike shopping, I don't get all excited over a new purse or shoes. My closet is full of black, brown and blue with just a smattering of light girly colors. I don't care what I look like as long as I am comfortable. You could take my makeup and hairspray away from me and I would survive without a massive breakdown.
My favorite colors are blue and green but I tell everyone pink. I say pink not as a lie, but trying to convince even myself that there is a girly girl in somewhere inside me.
I don't cry much at all and certainly would never cry over a fluffy bunny or a baby. Baby's are precious little people to me, but I don't get all oogly over them. Seeing another person cry doesn't ignite tears of my own. Have you ever watched a group of women listening to a sad story or watching a sad movie? They cry in unison. That's ok, I'm not hating on them. That's just not in me.
All joking aside, I think I spent much of my childhood wanting to be a boy. In my life, boys weren't as abused. I also had this idea that if I had been a boy, I would be able to defend myself. Cause boys are tough, right? Maybe it was because I thought if I could be a boy and play a sport, then I would somehow be acceptable to my parents. That is probably what caused my refusal to carry a purse until I was in my 30s. Even now I'm not sure why I do.
Looking at all the evidence and I've only mentioned a few things, I would like to consider myself just a well-rounded person. But maybe the bigger picture is that I can be less "girly" and still be a girl. MAYBE it's more about accepting who you are and not making life altering decisions to make the physical appearance match part of what is inside. Just a thought!
And, it's definitely not going to be an admission to a deep-seeded gender confusion issue...although it might seem like it. If you have heard my rant about this season of DWTS, then you would know where I stand on that subject. If you haven't, then I'd be happy crawl back on that soapbox another time for you.
The older I get, the more I notice a difference between myself and other women. It's as if my "girly" gene was left out, underdeveloped or possibly malfunctioned along the way. Sure, I have found a sprinkling of women throughout my lifetime who I could identify with on one or maybe two of my oddities, but never one who was a match on my non-girly checklist.
Most of the time, I am more comfortable sitting with couples or groups that tend to be a majority of men. It isn't because of an attraction to them, but they communicate on a level I identify with easily.
First of all, their communication tends to be short and to the point. My simple, ADD mind appreciates those style of communication. They don't tend to spend a lot of time discussing feelings or girly things, which is ok by me. Their conversations are often less people or gossip driven and more driven by the passion in their life. When the topic of conversation is their particular passion, then they spewing resource of detail on it.
Admittedly, I enjoy sports. I would rather watch a hockey or football game than go shopping. If you ask me about a sport, I'll tell you who my favorite team is which is probably one I've liked since I was a kid. Ask me about the playoffs and I'll probably know who is playing and have an opinion on who will win. Now don't ever expect me to talk about soccer cause that's one I can't get into.
I have found women who enjoy watching or playing sports. But I have never found one who enjoys it to the degree I do. I may seem timid, but not when it comes to bantering over my favorite teams. Many of the men I know enjoy a healthy season of fantasy football. Here is where I would like to point out that the good ole boys groups come into play, but I won't. Instead, I will say I am convinced that they do not allow women to compete because they couldn't handle being beaten by a woman. Enough said! Seriously though...my fantasy football team is 4-1 and leading the league by well over 100 points.
Men tend to have mechanical conversations. That isn't the type of conversation but the subject. When I was a kid, I would be more likely to pick up a hot wheel than a barbie doll. When my brothers really upset me, I would disassemble their toys until they would be nice to me and then I would reassemble them.
I am content listening to men talk about tearing something apart and rebuilding or fixing it. In fact, I find my husband's work with plane parts incredibly interesting. Since he rarely reads my blog, it's safe to admit that. I find it absolutely amazing that he tears into plane engines and refurbs fan blades and then those things fly overhead every single day. Now when he is talking, I must hide all interest so that he isn't prone to talking all the time about it.
Not only do I dislike shopping, I don't get all excited over a new purse or shoes. My closet is full of black, brown and blue with just a smattering of light girly colors. I don't care what I look like as long as I am comfortable. You could take my makeup and hairspray away from me and I would survive without a massive breakdown.
My favorite colors are blue and green but I tell everyone pink. I say pink not as a lie, but trying to convince even myself that there is a girly girl in somewhere inside me.
I don't cry much at all and certainly would never cry over a fluffy bunny or a baby. Baby's are precious little people to me, but I don't get all oogly over them. Seeing another person cry doesn't ignite tears of my own. Have you ever watched a group of women listening to a sad story or watching a sad movie? They cry in unison. That's ok, I'm not hating on them. That's just not in me.
All joking aside, I think I spent much of my childhood wanting to be a boy. In my life, boys weren't as abused. I also had this idea that if I had been a boy, I would be able to defend myself. Cause boys are tough, right? Maybe it was because I thought if I could be a boy and play a sport, then I would somehow be acceptable to my parents. That is probably what caused my refusal to carry a purse until I was in my 30s. Even now I'm not sure why I do.
Looking at all the evidence and I've only mentioned a few things, I would like to consider myself just a well-rounded person. But maybe the bigger picture is that I can be less "girly" and still be a girl. MAYBE it's more about accepting who you are and not making life altering decisions to make the physical appearance match part of what is inside. Just a thought!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Gifts Are So Much Better
Every once in a while, I need to remind myself of the gifts God has blessed given me. Wading through the mounds of destruction that I seem to always be doing, it is easy to lose sight of the good things in my life. When I say things, I mean people.
To say I have gotten myself into a higher than average number of dysfunctional relationships is an understatement. That is why it is easy to give God credit for all the relationships currently in my life which are good and healthy. And it is fair to say that I have had a difficult time embracing the church body as family.
I think I have made it very clear that I have no relationships within my family of origin. That's right, not any contact with them. What is worse is that only now, in my mid-30s, am I learning what healthy families and what normal parent and sibling relationships look like.
God gave me two brothers by blood. My relationships with them have never been anything close to what I have seen as healthy or normal. There has been abuse and strain because of growing up in an abusive home. It is fair to say that I have lived a long time without knowing what it was like to have a brother.
Growing in faith, I have learned the difference between God given and God gifted. And, yes...there is a difference. It reminds me of James 1:17, Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
I have been gifted with an amazing brother in Christ. Whenever I share my thoughts about this with anyone, it brings tears of joy and now is no exception. Tears of joy aren't yet that familiar to me, but I know them when they come.
There is so much I could say about this person. My husband and I both consider him to be one of the most genuine and caring people we have ever met.
He is encouraging and usually at times when we need it the most. He is an excellent teacher, who is patient and is always willing to answer questions. He has a sense of humor, but also gets my husband's dry humor which hardly anybody gets. His friendship is valued by my husband but he sets a Christian example for Kent which makes a noticeable difference in his life.
He has a wonderful wife who is caring and warm. Her smile is contagious and such a blessing to know. I have seen her go through some difficult times and is an inspiration to me when I see how deep her faith is during those times. She was the first person to ever point me to the body of Christ when I so desperately miss having a family. I am so thankful for her as well.
Without going into a lot of detail, I can say this person has walked along side Kent and I both through some incredibly painful times and circumstances. He has been there for us when we needed to talk or just needed someone to treat as if we were any other person, putting aside the oddities of our lives. He has helped us in so many way, too numerous to count.
It is possible that God knew I would need to see and live with real examples of brother or sister-like relationships for me to fully understand the depths of the dysfunction I stepped out of by leaving my family behind. Only in comparing an unhealthy relationship to a healthy one truly opens my eyes to what God intended for me or wants for me now.
I am so thankful for the gifts God has given me. It is a gift I pray I never take for granted and I always remember the profound effect it has had on my life. I hope I am always grateful for all he has done and how he has allowed God to use him in mine and my husband's life.
To say I have gotten myself into a higher than average number of dysfunctional relationships is an understatement. That is why it is easy to give God credit for all the relationships currently in my life which are good and healthy. And it is fair to say that I have had a difficult time embracing the church body as family.
I think I have made it very clear that I have no relationships within my family of origin. That's right, not any contact with them. What is worse is that only now, in my mid-30s, am I learning what healthy families and what normal parent and sibling relationships look like.
God gave me two brothers by blood. My relationships with them have never been anything close to what I have seen as healthy or normal. There has been abuse and strain because of growing up in an abusive home. It is fair to say that I have lived a long time without knowing what it was like to have a brother.
Growing in faith, I have learned the difference between God given and God gifted. And, yes...there is a difference. It reminds me of James 1:17, Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
I have been gifted with an amazing brother in Christ. Whenever I share my thoughts about this with anyone, it brings tears of joy and now is no exception. Tears of joy aren't yet that familiar to me, but I know them when they come.
There is so much I could say about this person. My husband and I both consider him to be one of the most genuine and caring people we have ever met.
He is encouraging and usually at times when we need it the most. He is an excellent teacher, who is patient and is always willing to answer questions. He has a sense of humor, but also gets my husband's dry humor which hardly anybody gets. His friendship is valued by my husband but he sets a Christian example for Kent which makes a noticeable difference in his life.
He has a wonderful wife who is caring and warm. Her smile is contagious and such a blessing to know. I have seen her go through some difficult times and is an inspiration to me when I see how deep her faith is during those times. She was the first person to ever point me to the body of Christ when I so desperately miss having a family. I am so thankful for her as well.
Without going into a lot of detail, I can say this person has walked along side Kent and I both through some incredibly painful times and circumstances. He has been there for us when we needed to talk or just needed someone to treat as if we were any other person, putting aside the oddities of our lives. He has helped us in so many way, too numerous to count.
It is possible that God knew I would need to see and live with real examples of brother or sister-like relationships for me to fully understand the depths of the dysfunction I stepped out of by leaving my family behind. Only in comparing an unhealthy relationship to a healthy one truly opens my eyes to what God intended for me or wants for me now.
I am so thankful for the gifts God has given me. It is a gift I pray I never take for granted and I always remember the profound effect it has had on my life. I hope I am always grateful for all he has done and how he has allowed God to use him in mine and my husband's life.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Holding Hands
You know that old saying, "Don't judge a book by it's cover."? I am guessing most people do. It seems to be one of those things that every person hears as a child.
I am sure it is meant to teach all of us to not judge others and leads to the lesson that what's on the inside isn't necessarily what's on the outside. This maybe just a random thought, but if we are all taught that then where did we learn to ignore it?
At some time or another, I am sure we all have looked at something or someone and made a quick determination about that subject/object which was based solely on what it looked like. I know I have and do often.
For years, I wouldn't eat mustard. Why? Because it had the consistency, smell and color of something I once saw in a baby diaper. After my husband finally broke my resistance and forced me to try mustard. I loved it, couldn't believe I'd waited so long to try it and now use it on everything.
It is easy to dismiss things or people when they don't look a certain way. I know some of it is done for self protection. I will be the first to admit that I often superficially categorize a certain type of person so that they are kept at a safe distance and I am set up to be hurt by them.
It is just as easy to make stereotypical assumptions about a person because of the way they dress, what they drive, what you have heard about them, what you don't know about them or a myriad of other things.
This past weekend, I found myself guilty of just that and reminded of how much I dislike having it done to me.
A large, burly older man crawled off his bike, walked in the diner sporting his riding chaps and leather gloves. He had a scraggly, gray beard and looked weathered and hard. In walked a women behind him, not much smaller but with a little less facial hair. They looked like the type who with a wrong look or implied insult would start a bar room brawl. They sat at the table beside us, as I prepared myself for the filthy language and insults which would surely fly from their mouths.
Not that I was eavesdropping, but we were close enough to hear them talk. Much to my surprise, they were soft spoken. They were discussing a ride they were considering which benefited children. After they had eaten, they shared a sweet moment together and a moment that I was privileged to see. The man grabbed his wife's hand, professed his love to her and nearly reduced me to tears.
It was a sweet moment, but I think the tears were more from my own guilt. I had judged them based on what they looked like. It was a reminder of how easily I can be proven wrong when I take just a brief second to put aside my own assumptions and observe the person.
The tears I cry today as I write this are over my own struggles with this. I obviously and admittedly struggle with judging a book by it's cover, but it hurts so deeply when others do that to me.
I think it is easy for people to make the assumption that I am lazy because I am a bigger person. I know that I have been labeled as crazy or incompetent because of the issues I deal with daily. People often assume that I am standoffish because I tend to be introverted or even scared in a group of people. It is probably easy to assume I am dumb because I don't read much or don't have some fancy degree.
I could tell you none of those things are true, but that wouldn't likely change the stereotype or assumption. It would take one of those moments of seeing the real me to change your mind.
I leave you with a challenge...set aside what you think is true about someone you don't know well or even one you do and look for that moment when they are offering to show you who they really are.
I am sure it is meant to teach all of us to not judge others and leads to the lesson that what's on the inside isn't necessarily what's on the outside. This maybe just a random thought, but if we are all taught that then where did we learn to ignore it?
At some time or another, I am sure we all have looked at something or someone and made a quick determination about that subject/object which was based solely on what it looked like. I know I have and do often.
For years, I wouldn't eat mustard. Why? Because it had the consistency, smell and color of something I once saw in a baby diaper. After my husband finally broke my resistance and forced me to try mustard. I loved it, couldn't believe I'd waited so long to try it and now use it on everything.
It is easy to dismiss things or people when they don't look a certain way. I know some of it is done for self protection. I will be the first to admit that I often superficially categorize a certain type of person so that they are kept at a safe distance and I am set up to be hurt by them.
It is just as easy to make stereotypical assumptions about a person because of the way they dress, what they drive, what you have heard about them, what you don't know about them or a myriad of other things.
This past weekend, I found myself guilty of just that and reminded of how much I dislike having it done to me.
A large, burly older man crawled off his bike, walked in the diner sporting his riding chaps and leather gloves. He had a scraggly, gray beard and looked weathered and hard. In walked a women behind him, not much smaller but with a little less facial hair. They looked like the type who with a wrong look or implied insult would start a bar room brawl. They sat at the table beside us, as I prepared myself for the filthy language and insults which would surely fly from their mouths.
Not that I was eavesdropping, but we were close enough to hear them talk. Much to my surprise, they were soft spoken. They were discussing a ride they were considering which benefited children. After they had eaten, they shared a sweet moment together and a moment that I was privileged to see. The man grabbed his wife's hand, professed his love to her and nearly reduced me to tears.
It was a sweet moment, but I think the tears were more from my own guilt. I had judged them based on what they looked like. It was a reminder of how easily I can be proven wrong when I take just a brief second to put aside my own assumptions and observe the person.
The tears I cry today as I write this are over my own struggles with this. I obviously and admittedly struggle with judging a book by it's cover, but it hurts so deeply when others do that to me.
I think it is easy for people to make the assumption that I am lazy because I am a bigger person. I know that I have been labeled as crazy or incompetent because of the issues I deal with daily. People often assume that I am standoffish because I tend to be introverted or even scared in a group of people. It is probably easy to assume I am dumb because I don't read much or don't have some fancy degree.
I could tell you none of those things are true, but that wouldn't likely change the stereotype or assumption. It would take one of those moments of seeing the real me to change your mind.
I leave you with a challenge...set aside what you think is true about someone you don't know well or even one you do and look for that moment when they are offering to show you who they really are.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Standing on the Other Side
Since blogosphere is, for the most part, a one way conversation I have no idea what your beliefs, morals or background might be. If you are a Christian, I have no idea what your story is or how you came to the decison to believe what you believe. The only story I know is my own.
When I became a Christian, I didn't instantly change all my beliefs. My heart was instantly changed and softened so that I could begin to change the things I believed which were not in line with the Bible.
There is one subject that my heart has always battled with and I have waivered on what is right and wrong. I also don't discuss my feelings about this with fellow Christians for fear of the scorn that even if not spoken would be seen on those sitting across from me.
With that said, I would like to say that I am not sure exactly where I stand on the topic of abortion.
I know what the bible says because I have sat through five sanctity of life Sundays at my church. I have heard the testimonies of those who have had abortions, survived abortions or survived because God softened the heart of the mother who was about to abort them.
I have several friends who either work or volunteer at pregnancy crisis centers. Their goal is to prevent abortions, giving the mother or parents another option.
What few people know about me is that late in high school and early in college, I gathered with other Right to Lifers on the steps of the Kansas state capital building and protested abortions. I did that many, many times. I protested outside the abortion clinic in Wichita. It was never violent, but a protest all the same.
When I got into college and considered what I would do if I got pregnant, I did begin to waiver and even change my thoughts on abortion. When I started watching friends getting pregnant from one night stands or using abortion as a form of birth control, it became just another "no big deal" thing.
It was not a subject that really had any affect on my life until I started hearing it being talked about at church. That's when I began to examine how I really felt on the subject.
What I found is that where I stand on this, even as a Christian, doesn't line up with those around me.
My two brothers and myself were products of a mom who didn't want kids and a dad who only wanted children to have someone to abuse. (this isn't an exageration either) If my mom had gone through with an abortion with each of us, there would have been three less messed up people in this world.
It is my background that makes me believe that if someone doesn't think they can be a good parent or they know they are so messed up that they will inevitably pass that on to a child, then I do believe they should have the option to abort. If that parent is so messed up on drugs or has an anger problem that is going to potentially be life threatening to the child, I believe abortion should be an option.
I know that people are quick to say, there is always adoption. Have you looked at the adoption process and laws in the US lately? It's messy!!!! I have also seen the ugly side of adoptions where the child is left with a long term sense of abandonment. That isn't to say that I haven't heard many beautiful stories of adoption where everyone is happy and the child lives a healthy life.
This is a difficult thing to admit. Like I said, nearly every person I know has a strong, opposing view on this subject. And...I won't say that I won't ever change where I stand on this subject. Remember, I did say that becoming a Christian softened my heart to begin changing what I believe.
When I became a Christian, I didn't instantly change all my beliefs. My heart was instantly changed and softened so that I could begin to change the things I believed which were not in line with the Bible.
There is one subject that my heart has always battled with and I have waivered on what is right and wrong. I also don't discuss my feelings about this with fellow Christians for fear of the scorn that even if not spoken would be seen on those sitting across from me.
With that said, I would like to say that I am not sure exactly where I stand on the topic of abortion.
I know what the bible says because I have sat through five sanctity of life Sundays at my church. I have heard the testimonies of those who have had abortions, survived abortions or survived because God softened the heart of the mother who was about to abort them.
I have several friends who either work or volunteer at pregnancy crisis centers. Their goal is to prevent abortions, giving the mother or parents another option.
What few people know about me is that late in high school and early in college, I gathered with other Right to Lifers on the steps of the Kansas state capital building and protested abortions. I did that many, many times. I protested outside the abortion clinic in Wichita. It was never violent, but a protest all the same.
When I got into college and considered what I would do if I got pregnant, I did begin to waiver and even change my thoughts on abortion. When I started watching friends getting pregnant from one night stands or using abortion as a form of birth control, it became just another "no big deal" thing.
It was not a subject that really had any affect on my life until I started hearing it being talked about at church. That's when I began to examine how I really felt on the subject.
What I found is that where I stand on this, even as a Christian, doesn't line up with those around me.
My two brothers and myself were products of a mom who didn't want kids and a dad who only wanted children to have someone to abuse. (this isn't an exageration either) If my mom had gone through with an abortion with each of us, there would have been three less messed up people in this world.
It is my background that makes me believe that if someone doesn't think they can be a good parent or they know they are so messed up that they will inevitably pass that on to a child, then I do believe they should have the option to abort. If that parent is so messed up on drugs or has an anger problem that is going to potentially be life threatening to the child, I believe abortion should be an option.
I know that people are quick to say, there is always adoption. Have you looked at the adoption process and laws in the US lately? It's messy!!!! I have also seen the ugly side of adoptions where the child is left with a long term sense of abandonment. That isn't to say that I haven't heard many beautiful stories of adoption where everyone is happy and the child lives a healthy life.
This is a difficult thing to admit. Like I said, nearly every person I know has a strong, opposing view on this subject. And...I won't say that I won't ever change where I stand on this subject. Remember, I did say that becoming a Christian softened my heart to begin changing what I believe.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Here I Am Again
If you have read more than one of my blog posts, you could make the assumption that I am bipolar or manic depressive but I'm not. Some people have accused me of being intently negative and I don't believe that to be true either. Maybe it is because I am no longer afraid to say what is true. That's an improvement over not being able to do that for over 30 years.
So here I sit again today, just me and my thoughts. I have to admit, it's not good either.
A couple days ago, a friend asked me a question that has stuck with me. Calling this person a friend might be a stretch. She has been through some tough times with a mentally ill family member, which I believe led to her putting me on the spot.
She asked me how I lived with myself knowing that I continuously hurt those around me. She followed that with asking how do accept that fact that someday I will likely snap and put everyone in danger. Her last and most damaging statement was that I am always responsible for my actions even if I have no control over them.
I could be angry, but I can't. I have to look at this for what it is. Someone being honest with me.
She is right. I do hurt those around me. In fact, I hurt those who care the most. It isn't on purpose, it just happens that way.
Even I have great compassion for my husband. I hurt him the most and he is my main caregiver. He sacrifices for me. He constantly forgives me. He gets tired and beat down from having the weight of his life and my life riding on his shoulders non-stop.
How do I live with that? Honestly, I don't think I can. I have tried to live with that, always excusing myself by saying it wasn't in my control.
I know I haven't been completely open in this blog with what my actual issue is and I'm probably not going to be now either. What I will say is that it is not a short-term problem and something that will never go away.
That is what makes the big picture even darker for me. I don't have children. I have a spouse that I make miserable. I hurt those who get close to me. It's too hard to take repsonsibility for things I have no control over in my life. I can't live with the idea that someday I could snap and hurt those around me even more.
I can't live with it.
I can't live with myself.
I can't live with any of it anymore.
This is pure, unedited honesty. This is not a cry for help, I don't need it. Here I am alone, sitting on rock bottom again. This is where I will stay so that those around me will not be hurt by me ever again.
So here I sit again today, just me and my thoughts. I have to admit, it's not good either.
A couple days ago, a friend asked me a question that has stuck with me. Calling this person a friend might be a stretch. She has been through some tough times with a mentally ill family member, which I believe led to her putting me on the spot.
She asked me how I lived with myself knowing that I continuously hurt those around me. She followed that with asking how do accept that fact that someday I will likely snap and put everyone in danger. Her last and most damaging statement was that I am always responsible for my actions even if I have no control over them.
I could be angry, but I can't. I have to look at this for what it is. Someone being honest with me.
She is right. I do hurt those around me. In fact, I hurt those who care the most. It isn't on purpose, it just happens that way.
Even I have great compassion for my husband. I hurt him the most and he is my main caregiver. He sacrifices for me. He constantly forgives me. He gets tired and beat down from having the weight of his life and my life riding on his shoulders non-stop.
How do I live with that? Honestly, I don't think I can. I have tried to live with that, always excusing myself by saying it wasn't in my control.
I know I haven't been completely open in this blog with what my actual issue is and I'm probably not going to be now either. What I will say is that it is not a short-term problem and something that will never go away.
That is what makes the big picture even darker for me. I don't have children. I have a spouse that I make miserable. I hurt those who get close to me. It's too hard to take repsonsibility for things I have no control over in my life. I can't live with the idea that someday I could snap and hurt those around me even more.
I can't live with it.
I can't live with myself.
I can't live with any of it anymore.
This is pure, unedited honesty. This is not a cry for help, I don't need it. Here I am alone, sitting on rock bottom again. This is where I will stay so that those around me will not be hurt by me ever again.
Monday, October 3, 2011
A Morning in the Kitchen
Some people think in the bathroom, some people think while driving and some people think in the shower. Me? I think in the kitchen.
As I clean and cook this morning, three things keep rolling around my head and weighing heavy on my heart. The first is about a brother and probably not what you expect. I think I'll save that for a blog post all of it's own. The second is about when you are out of sight of people, they often forget about you. I often compare it with how people treat God and the Bible when they aren't in church. Again, another blog for another time.
The third is probably the hardest of the three to digest and that is my desire to have a mother.
Keep in mind, I have spent my entire life not wanting a mother figure in my life. Of course, that is because of what my mother represented to me. So, I do see this as positive growth in me. It is also important to point out here that while I believe I am healthier without contact with my family, I am not the one who stopped contact with my mom. The day I told her I was being the baptized with the last time I spoke to her. She hung up the phone, never called again and turned her back on me.
Since I didn't lead a Beaver Cleaver life, it's no surprise that my mom was no June. She represents everything a mother should not be. My mom was not only guilty of allowing my dad to hurt us, she was also an abuser in the sickest sense of the word and grossly neglectful. Although I have good reason to believe she grew up in abuse herself, I do not believe that excuses her for her actions or lack of with us.
The last four years have afforded me the opportunity to see what healthy mother and daughter relationships look like. Gradually, I have begun to long for that type of relationship and I think it has become a new normal for me. I believe that desire to have a mother figure is a normal, healthy longing of a woman's heart.
It isn't that I don't have confidence in Psalm 27:10. I do, however, lack faith that God has provided sufficient humanly replacements to help ease the pain.
Not having a mother in my life leaves me with a daily sense of loss and in many ways.
I find myself asking, "Who do I talk to about this?" or "Who do I share this with?" or "Who do I ask?" or "Who is going to encourage me?" And realize, there is nobody. At least not in a motherly way...
When I got married, I couldn't fix a can of soup. Now, I write my own recipes or alter those of famous chefs to make them better. I would love to be able to call up my mom and say hey guess what I did...but I can't. I would love to hear just once, "You've come a long way and I'm glad you are my daughter."
There are things that go on health wise that I wish I could call my mom and ask her if she had ever experienced anything similar. But I can't. I am left to manage my own anxiety and usually over things that resolve them self after a day. Just once, I'd like to hear, "It's ok, it will go away soon" or "Maybe you should get that checked out, how about I go with you to the doctor."
Kent and I don't argue a lot and when we do, the subject is usually gone long before the fight is over. I want to be able to call someone to be consoled, corrected or just to vent, knowing they will always direct me back to the love I have for him.
When good things happen, I would love to be able to call someone just to share. Whether I go through tough times or times of joy, I want to share that with a mom.
I see women who have absent mothers or mothers who have passed. Some of them feel the same way I do. Most of them have been given the gift of a surrogate mother. Some have fathers who have taken the role in their life that the mother can't fill.
I wonder sometimes why God has never chosen to cross my path with someone who could help heal the broken heart my mom has caused me. Am I not a worthy enough daughter? Am I some how flawed beyond what any motherly figure could love? My broken heart and crushed spirit believe no because the longing to be loved is so strong in me. But, my analytical, realistic mind believe yes because I have a track record of loneliness to prove it.
Right now, right this moment...I am living in one of those periods when I want to run to my mom crying, feel safe in her arms, hear her say, "It's ok, everything is going to be fine. We might not understand all that is going on, but I will never leave you."
Sadly, this has never happened and never will. This is just a void I have to accept. Acceptance of truth doesn't mean the pain is any less.
As I clean and cook this morning, three things keep rolling around my head and weighing heavy on my heart. The first is about a brother and probably not what you expect. I think I'll save that for a blog post all of it's own. The second is about when you are out of sight of people, they often forget about you. I often compare it with how people treat God and the Bible when they aren't in church. Again, another blog for another time.
The third is probably the hardest of the three to digest and that is my desire to have a mother.
Keep in mind, I have spent my entire life not wanting a mother figure in my life. Of course, that is because of what my mother represented to me. So, I do see this as positive growth in me. It is also important to point out here that while I believe I am healthier without contact with my family, I am not the one who stopped contact with my mom. The day I told her I was being the baptized with the last time I spoke to her. She hung up the phone, never called again and turned her back on me.
Since I didn't lead a Beaver Cleaver life, it's no surprise that my mom was no June. She represents everything a mother should not be. My mom was not only guilty of allowing my dad to hurt us, she was also an abuser in the sickest sense of the word and grossly neglectful. Although I have good reason to believe she grew up in abuse herself, I do not believe that excuses her for her actions or lack of with us.
The last four years have afforded me the opportunity to see what healthy mother and daughter relationships look like. Gradually, I have begun to long for that type of relationship and I think it has become a new normal for me. I believe that desire to have a mother figure is a normal, healthy longing of a woman's heart.
It isn't that I don't have confidence in Psalm 27:10. I do, however, lack faith that God has provided sufficient humanly replacements to help ease the pain.
Not having a mother in my life leaves me with a daily sense of loss and in many ways.
I find myself asking, "Who do I talk to about this?" or "Who do I share this with?" or "Who do I ask?" or "Who is going to encourage me?" And realize, there is nobody. At least not in a motherly way...
When I got married, I couldn't fix a can of soup. Now, I write my own recipes or alter those of famous chefs to make them better. I would love to be able to call up my mom and say hey guess what I did...but I can't. I would love to hear just once, "You've come a long way and I'm glad you are my daughter."
There are things that go on health wise that I wish I could call my mom and ask her if she had ever experienced anything similar. But I can't. I am left to manage my own anxiety and usually over things that resolve them self after a day. Just once, I'd like to hear, "It's ok, it will go away soon" or "Maybe you should get that checked out, how about I go with you to the doctor."
Kent and I don't argue a lot and when we do, the subject is usually gone long before the fight is over. I want to be able to call someone to be consoled, corrected or just to vent, knowing they will always direct me back to the love I have for him.
When good things happen, I would love to be able to call someone just to share. Whether I go through tough times or times of joy, I want to share that with a mom.
I see women who have absent mothers or mothers who have passed. Some of them feel the same way I do. Most of them have been given the gift of a surrogate mother. Some have fathers who have taken the role in their life that the mother can't fill.
I wonder sometimes why God has never chosen to cross my path with someone who could help heal the broken heart my mom has caused me. Am I not a worthy enough daughter? Am I some how flawed beyond what any motherly figure could love? My broken heart and crushed spirit believe no because the longing to be loved is so strong in me. But, my analytical, realistic mind believe yes because I have a track record of loneliness to prove it.
Right now, right this moment...I am living in one of those periods when I want to run to my mom crying, feel safe in her arms, hear her say, "It's ok, everything is going to be fine. We might not understand all that is going on, but I will never leave you."
Sadly, this has never happened and never will. This is just a void I have to accept. Acceptance of truth doesn't mean the pain is any less.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Ode to Garage Sale
I spent the last three days having a garage sale. There are a few things I learned or was reminded of throughout the sale.
1. A garage sale is NOT, I repeat NOT, a get rich scheme. That idea is a total scam. You didn't want the junk, why would anyone else?
2. Looking around at the items littered with orange, yellow, and pink tags all priced under a dollar, you may feel a sudden surge of depression come over you. Things you had to have at the very minute they were new and spent hundreds of dollars on are now sitting with dust on them waiting for some sucker to buy them for a $1.
3. You will never earn as much money as you feel necessary to make it "worth" the time.
4. Large groups of grannys are dangerous. They walk around huddled together and providing a block for all tables. This allows them to steal little items as they walk around.
5. NEVER put undergarments out for sale. This one is just a given.
6. If undergarments do get put out by accident, remove them immediately. Not removing them can lead to permanent mental scarring. Such trauma is caused when a little old lady in a sundress puts a bra on over her clothes dancing around, showing everyone, walking down the street to show the husband and then asking if there were undies to match. Maybe worse than the mental picture that shall remain with me for some time is having to throw away said undergarment after her failure to purchase because she "didn't have big enough cans."
7. Just because you put a price tag on it that clearly states $3, doesn't mean it is clear to everyone. I don't mean those who wheel and deal, I'll get to those in a minute. I mean people really do see $3 and read it as $1.50.
8. Even if you price things to sell, that price will never be low enough. I am all about getting the best deal possible. But how does anyone determine that a particular item is just $1 too high? To make this even less understandable is when the person pays. The item was priced $5, they only want to pay $4 but pay with $5. OCD maybe?
9. There is nothing more endearing than seeing someone pick up one of your shirts off the table and exclaim, "This is way too big for me. Whoever wore that is super fat." Be still my beating heart!
10. Regardless of what you look like at 8 am and without make-up, there will always be some skanky, semi-stoned/drunken man who wants to know if you too are for sale. Always a good time to grab the hubby and the best reason to never run a sale alone.
11. It is an opportunity to meet your neighbors. I use opportunity loosely. We did get to know one set of neighbors a lot better, while others weren't even friendly enough to introduce themselves. And...last time I checked, it wasn't their undergarments I was trying to sell.
12. At least one child will choose your house to decide they can no longer contain themselves, requiring you to allow a stranger in the house to use the restroom.
13. If the money wasn't already dirty enough, you can count on having more than one person sneeze on you or sneeze and then hand you money. Hand sanitizer is a must have!
14. There will be several old men who want to know if they can buy all the things your husband would never sell, like tools and fishing equipment.
15. More than one item is going to get picked up by the person who is super excited to buy it, then immediately dropped. The person then returns the item to it's place, deciding they don't want a broken item.
16. If you put a cute little dog out to be petted, your sales will increase.
17. Never start setting up before daylight. Some creepy man will sneak up behind you and want interrupt the set up. Nevermind the fact that he is a retired old man who could have come two hours later.
18. Always take down the signage immediately after the sale. Failure to do so will result in a creeper knocking on the door upset that they some how missed your sale when it was actually open.
19. Be prepared for complete rudeness. Garage sales seem to bring out the nastiest side of people. Seriously, we nearly had to call the police.
20. Play Christian music and see how many people respond.
21. You will have at least half a dozen instances where you are over run my Spanish only speaking Mexicans. You will recognize them when they pull up in a small, 4-door car which normally seats 5 people and 13 adults and 7 kids will crawl out. They will chatter about things you cannot understand and make the safe assumption that they are making fun of you or your junk.
22. At least one child each hour will be so upset that they cannot have the toy they just broke, that they will let out a blood curdling squeal causing neighbors to peak out windows.
I'm sure there was more, but goodness....I just couldn't write them all down.
The first day, we had excitement of fire trucks, ambulances and cop cars. A neighbors deck was on fire. That night while we were sleeping, we had a water line break in our front yard. Friday afternoon, we had a little domestic violence in our front yard. Saturday, I had a man yell at me when I told him he could not smoke in my garage.
Yep....I have seen the last of my garage saling days for some time to come.
1. A garage sale is NOT, I repeat NOT, a get rich scheme. That idea is a total scam. You didn't want the junk, why would anyone else?
2. Looking around at the items littered with orange, yellow, and pink tags all priced under a dollar, you may feel a sudden surge of depression come over you. Things you had to have at the very minute they were new and spent hundreds of dollars on are now sitting with dust on them waiting for some sucker to buy them for a $1.
3. You will never earn as much money as you feel necessary to make it "worth" the time.
4. Large groups of grannys are dangerous. They walk around huddled together and providing a block for all tables. This allows them to steal little items as they walk around.
5. NEVER put undergarments out for sale. This one is just a given.
6. If undergarments do get put out by accident, remove them immediately. Not removing them can lead to permanent mental scarring. Such trauma is caused when a little old lady in a sundress puts a bra on over her clothes dancing around, showing everyone, walking down the street to show the husband and then asking if there were undies to match. Maybe worse than the mental picture that shall remain with me for some time is having to throw away said undergarment after her failure to purchase because she "didn't have big enough cans."
7. Just because you put a price tag on it that clearly states $3, doesn't mean it is clear to everyone. I don't mean those who wheel and deal, I'll get to those in a minute. I mean people really do see $3 and read it as $1.50.
8. Even if you price things to sell, that price will never be low enough. I am all about getting the best deal possible. But how does anyone determine that a particular item is just $1 too high? To make this even less understandable is when the person pays. The item was priced $5, they only want to pay $4 but pay with $5. OCD maybe?
9. There is nothing more endearing than seeing someone pick up one of your shirts off the table and exclaim, "This is way too big for me. Whoever wore that is super fat." Be still my beating heart!
10. Regardless of what you look like at 8 am and without make-up, there will always be some skanky, semi-stoned/drunken man who wants to know if you too are for sale. Always a good time to grab the hubby and the best reason to never run a sale alone.
11. It is an opportunity to meet your neighbors. I use opportunity loosely. We did get to know one set of neighbors a lot better, while others weren't even friendly enough to introduce themselves. And...last time I checked, it wasn't their undergarments I was trying to sell.
12. At least one child will choose your house to decide they can no longer contain themselves, requiring you to allow a stranger in the house to use the restroom.
13. If the money wasn't already dirty enough, you can count on having more than one person sneeze on you or sneeze and then hand you money. Hand sanitizer is a must have!
14. There will be several old men who want to know if they can buy all the things your husband would never sell, like tools and fishing equipment.
15. More than one item is going to get picked up by the person who is super excited to buy it, then immediately dropped. The person then returns the item to it's place, deciding they don't want a broken item.
16. If you put a cute little dog out to be petted, your sales will increase.
17. Never start setting up before daylight. Some creepy man will sneak up behind you and want interrupt the set up. Nevermind the fact that he is a retired old man who could have come two hours later.
18. Always take down the signage immediately after the sale. Failure to do so will result in a creeper knocking on the door upset that they some how missed your sale when it was actually open.
19. Be prepared for complete rudeness. Garage sales seem to bring out the nastiest side of people. Seriously, we nearly had to call the police.
20. Play Christian music and see how many people respond.
21. You will have at least half a dozen instances where you are over run my Spanish only speaking Mexicans. You will recognize them when they pull up in a small, 4-door car which normally seats 5 people and 13 adults and 7 kids will crawl out. They will chatter about things you cannot understand and make the safe assumption that they are making fun of you or your junk.
22. At least one child each hour will be so upset that they cannot have the toy they just broke, that they will let out a blood curdling squeal causing neighbors to peak out windows.
I'm sure there was more, but goodness....I just couldn't write them all down.
The first day, we had excitement of fire trucks, ambulances and cop cars. A neighbors deck was on fire. That night while we were sleeping, we had a water line break in our front yard. Friday afternoon, we had a little domestic violence in our front yard. Saturday, I had a man yell at me when I told him he could not smoke in my garage.
Yep....I have seen the last of my garage saling days for some time to come.
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