I'm not going to lie. I am struggling mightly right now with the holidays and my absence of family. This time of year is and should be focused on the birth of Christ. However, when every where you look there is focus on an adored baby, I have a tendency to feel kicked in the gut.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing myself in anyway at all to Jesus. I am saying, I was the unwanted child. Born to parents who never have and never will want or love me. Focused time on a baby, extended periods of time where family is the second most common focus...it all gets to me.
Unfortunately, I don't have my tried and true supports this year. Those people who remind me that I am so much better off without my parents than with them. Those loving souls who gently point me back to the love from the Heavenly Father being so much more than even the most loving earthly father ever could be.
I know many christians who put the death and resurrection above the birth of Christ. Yes, the death and resurrection of Christ are the fulfillment of so many of God's promises and certainly his biggest gift to us. However, I tend to feel just as enamored by the birth.
Until last Christmas, I had never had a nice or any real nativity set. The senior couple I love so dearly gave me a nativity for Christmas. It is an 18 inch set of Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus. I've left it on display the entire year. I know, most people put theirs away in January and drag them back out near Christmas. Not me!
It was absolutely one of the best gifts I have ever gotten from anyone. Without the birth, the death and resurrection could have never happened. I know that's simple, but it is. For me, the nativity is a constant reminder of Jesus' entire life and what his death means for me.
I have often not placed much value in the life of a baby. Don't get me wrong, I'm not devaluing any children. I have just often struggled with my warped idea of parents and the place of a child and importance.
Keeping the nativity in front of me all year, constantly reminds me that my earthly view is warped and was deeply damaged by evil. Just because my parents didn't want me, doesn't mean that nobody did. God did. As hard as that is to keep in my heart this time of year, it is true.
The nativity is a reminder for me that Christ was born, so that through Him I can know a Heavenly Father. So that I can experience what I never believed possible. So that I can know a love beyond what even a good father could have given. So that I can eventually be without the pain of not having loving parents brings.
I know all these things to be true. But my broken little heart has a hard time holding onto them through the pain of the season. There isn't a day that goes by this month that I don't long for a family and wish away the pain. During this season of feeling so unwanted, the truth is no match for my tears.
So for now, I'll cry my tears, soothe my broken heart and anxiously wait for the day when the love outweighs it all.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
I Tried...
Maybe I am learning a lesson lately in how the plans I have aren't always the way things will be. I would love to say that these are great lessons. But the truth is that they are painful and hard.
Last year, my holiday sadness led to a few months of being a hermit and severe depression. I had a plan this year to avoid it. I was proactive. I did everything right so that I could take a huge step in putting the holiday sadness behind me.
Nothing and I mean nothing has worked out. All the plans have simply gone down the toilet one by one.
Back in May, we made a plan to spend Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. We had a condo chosen and paid for months in advance and a plan. For the first time in over six years, I was going to get to spend a major holiday with some of my family. With tickets to shows and parks already purchased and only a few weeks to go, my brother's family backed out.
I had a fine and lovely holiday spending some much needed time with my husband. However, I was crushed. I spent plenty of time that weekend tucking myself away when the emotions hit and the tears couldn't be held back.
Even onto the Christmas holiday, I purposely filled my month with one activity after another. Again, not even to avoid but to survive in a healthier way.
The first week, I was scheduled to have lunch with a friend and a craft night with my favorite crafty gals. Both got cancelled.
Later that same week, I got a nice case of flu that put me to bed for several days. I had scheduled a bunco friends Christmas party at my house. The next night was our Christmas party with our new Sunday School class. I literally slept through all of it.
I'd like to take a moment to point out what a wonderful husband I have. He spent all last week stuck in Ohio. I mean really stuck. He had to stay an additional day because of bad weather. The poor guy finally made it home Saturday evening. He took care of me, cleaned up the house and a massive mountain of laundry. Awesome!
That Sunday, we had a full day of plans. Lunch with a friend and then a trip to see Handel's Messiah followed by a Christmas pagent. Well, we managed to not be able to sell our tickets to the Messiah. So we drug our drippy noses and handfuls of cough drops to the symphony. Yay! At least one thing on the long list of plans happened.
This weekend, some of us were supposed to have a girl's weekend. Good ole Mother Nature foiled our plans by giving us a full day of freezing rain and snow.
One disappointment after another and I can no longer hold off the holiday sadness. It's coming....it's here. I tried, I really did. Even I can accept that I at least put forth an effort.
When I put up my Christmas decorations the first week of November, I was ever the optomistic. I knew this year I'd be able to find a joy in life that had been missing for so long.
I know many of my Christian friends who would argue that celebrating the birth of our Savior is enough to infuse joy into even the most broken heart. Unfortunately, those same friends haven't been in my shoes.
We will have one and only one very short Christmas celebration with my husband's family. I know, I should it enjoy it but I don't. It will be uncomfortable for both of us. His mom no longer knows who he is and his sibling group is deconstructing with strong personalities. It has great potential to be more painful for my husband than any holiday past.
Don't even get me started on the gift part of Christmas. It's one of my love languages, both giving and receiving. Our big, beautiful tree won't have much under it for us or others. I'm sad to not have a long list of people to give gifts to and won't even be doing my usual week of baking goodies this year.
A couple months ago, I never thought it would be possible to slide into the holiday sadness two weeks before Christmas. But that is what happens when I make plans.
I have been so good lately in accepting that when things don't work out the way I want them to, then God must have a better plan. Ha! I have even been THAT person with other people lately. You know...the annoying one that reminds you that there must be a better, bigger plan and that we just need to be excited about it.
Maybe I'll get there again, but not right now. Every effort I have made to live healthier through this time of year has been for not. I'm frustrated and disappointed and mad.....but mostly just sad.
Last year, my holiday sadness led to a few months of being a hermit and severe depression. I had a plan this year to avoid it. I was proactive. I did everything right so that I could take a huge step in putting the holiday sadness behind me.
Nothing and I mean nothing has worked out. All the plans have simply gone down the toilet one by one.
Back in May, we made a plan to spend Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. We had a condo chosen and paid for months in advance and a plan. For the first time in over six years, I was going to get to spend a major holiday with some of my family. With tickets to shows and parks already purchased and only a few weeks to go, my brother's family backed out.
I had a fine and lovely holiday spending some much needed time with my husband. However, I was crushed. I spent plenty of time that weekend tucking myself away when the emotions hit and the tears couldn't be held back.
Even onto the Christmas holiday, I purposely filled my month with one activity after another. Again, not even to avoid but to survive in a healthier way.
The first week, I was scheduled to have lunch with a friend and a craft night with my favorite crafty gals. Both got cancelled.
Later that same week, I got a nice case of flu that put me to bed for several days. I had scheduled a bunco friends Christmas party at my house. The next night was our Christmas party with our new Sunday School class. I literally slept through all of it.
I'd like to take a moment to point out what a wonderful husband I have. He spent all last week stuck in Ohio. I mean really stuck. He had to stay an additional day because of bad weather. The poor guy finally made it home Saturday evening. He took care of me, cleaned up the house and a massive mountain of laundry. Awesome!
That Sunday, we had a full day of plans. Lunch with a friend and then a trip to see Handel's Messiah followed by a Christmas pagent. Well, we managed to not be able to sell our tickets to the Messiah. So we drug our drippy noses and handfuls of cough drops to the symphony. Yay! At least one thing on the long list of plans happened.
This weekend, some of us were supposed to have a girl's weekend. Good ole Mother Nature foiled our plans by giving us a full day of freezing rain and snow.
One disappointment after another and I can no longer hold off the holiday sadness. It's coming....it's here. I tried, I really did. Even I can accept that I at least put forth an effort.
When I put up my Christmas decorations the first week of November, I was ever the optomistic. I knew this year I'd be able to find a joy in life that had been missing for so long.
I know many of my Christian friends who would argue that celebrating the birth of our Savior is enough to infuse joy into even the most broken heart. Unfortunately, those same friends haven't been in my shoes.
We will have one and only one very short Christmas celebration with my husband's family. I know, I should it enjoy it but I don't. It will be uncomfortable for both of us. His mom no longer knows who he is and his sibling group is deconstructing with strong personalities. It has great potential to be more painful for my husband than any holiday past.
Don't even get me started on the gift part of Christmas. It's one of my love languages, both giving and receiving. Our big, beautiful tree won't have much under it for us or others. I'm sad to not have a long list of people to give gifts to and won't even be doing my usual week of baking goodies this year.
A couple months ago, I never thought it would be possible to slide into the holiday sadness two weeks before Christmas. But that is what happens when I make plans.
I have been so good lately in accepting that when things don't work out the way I want them to, then God must have a better plan. Ha! I have even been THAT person with other people lately. You know...the annoying one that reminds you that there must be a better, bigger plan and that we just need to be excited about it.
Maybe I'll get there again, but not right now. Every effort I have made to live healthier through this time of year has been for not. I'm frustrated and disappointed and mad.....but mostly just sad.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
A New Place
I have been dragging my feet to write this post. Not that it isn't good, it is. However, my husband received a phone call today that kicked me in the tail and made me realize it was time to make note of our continued journey.
We have both been sick. I had a nasty cold for about two weeks, which I kindly shared with my husband. At the tail end of the cold, I was hit with the flu. After being down for almost three weeks, I am finally among the living again. During that time, Kent has also been traveling and was snowbound an extra day across the country.
Needless to say, we have missed everything. Holiday parties, plans and church. When I say we've missed church, I mean we have deeply missed church.
Even though we walked into another church with hearts completely against staying, the good Lord had other plans for us.
We came in late and tried to sneak out early. People still greeted us and made us feel welcome. As we sat and listened to the preaching, we found ourselves refreshed and absolutely focused on the message. The message was the 2nd commandment. After it was over, the pastor made a point to speak to my husband.
The second week we attended this church was the same. Then the next and the next.
One of the things we both have long struggled with at our previous church was how we didn't fit socially. It took so long to make more than one or two relationships for each of us. We also struggled with how easy it was to be gone for long periods of time and not be missed. Maybe that was a product of so few relationships or it being a larger church.
We both know our biggest draw to a church is and should always be based on it being a place where we can worship God with other like-minded people. The social part of it is important but definitely comes after worship and spritiual growth.
It didn't take long to find ourselves drawn to the worship and preaching at this church and we found ourselves wanting to know more. We wanted to know if the "feel" of the church was consistent throughout bible studies and activities.
I tried two women's bible studies. Absolutely consistent. In fact, I have stayed in one faithfully for nearly three months. I love my bible study buddies. It is more than a bunch of women studying the bible.
Seriously, I have never found another large group of women who were so willing to be so real. The group is 12-18 women and they are so honest and vulnerable and loving. When they don't agree, they say so but stay open enough to allow their hearts to change. They are vulnerable with their personal lives, sharing joy and pain with each other. When someone shares their heart or their pain, they genuinely feel along side each other. I can't even do this group justice with words. I love these women and have found an organic connection within them.
We checked out their Sunday and Wednesday studies. Again, we both were floored by the openness and honesty. I had never seen a pastor pray over the entire church's prayer requests nor open the floor for church-wide discussion on his preaching.
Through people we had met, we were invited to a Sunday School class. Again, great content and fellowship for us. Through email or class, we always receive so much information.
Speaking of that....
I don't remember the last time I took notes on a sermon or class or anything. It had been months since I had done any bible study. My bible had dust on it. Why? Becuase I was discouraged spiritually. Most everything I had heard was over my head or spoken in a way that was difficult for me to assimilate on my own.
The past three months I happily head to church and bible study with bible and journal in hand. I have pages and pages of notes. The Word of God has never come alive for me the way it has the past few months. I understand it. It is spoken and presented in a way that I understand. When I say happily, I mean it.
I am beginning to think that it is easy to know where God is leading you when you look at the situation that is so good and say, "We didn't mean for it to happen, it just did."
That brings me back to the phone call. I have missed church for about 4 Sundays and my husband 2 Sundays. A gentleman we've talked to a couple times called my husband today. First of all, he had to go to the trouble to hunt down the phone number as we haven't shared that openly. Most importantly, we were missed. WE WERE MISSED!
Someone cared enough about us to call and check on us. (Again, not pointing a finger at our previous church...) This has never happened to us before coming to this church. This is so consistent throughout this entire congregation. I miss a bible study or church and I have emails from multiple women making sure I am ok, asking if I need anything.
I shared some of our holiday trials within my bible study group. On Thanksgiving, I had several ladies email me to say they were praying for me or thinking of me. Not only that, but we were invited to several homes for the holiday.
And now, one of the men is checking in on my husband. Thank you, Lord.
This congregation has welcomed us, reached out to us and truly made us a part of them. And, all of this while we have made it clear that we are looking for a church home and having made no committment to them whatsoever.
It warms my heart to be in a place where we enjoy worship, see spiritual growth within ourselves and seem to fit socially so well. I am so thankful that God's plan is so much better than my own. I'm thankful for these people who so easily show the love Christ has put in their hearts.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Choosing Grief Over Familiar
This is one of the posts that have been on my heart and in my mind for so long, but I dreaded the messyness of laying it all out. As much as we all want it to be, life isn't always a bowl full of cherries and sunshine. Sometimes it flat out sucks. Sometimes you find yourself in a position where you must make a choice that you know is going to hurt.
That is certainly where my husband and I found ourselves this past September. Without going into all the details, I'll just say we found ourselves struggling with decisions being made in our church. At that time, we decided to visit another local church.
Our plan was to take a few weeks to reboot. We needed a time away, a time to refresh our minds and search our hearts. That first Sunday, we walked in with an attitude that this was temporary. Our plan was to put our hearts in a position to once again appreciate our church.
There is just no other way to say it. When you spend three years volunteering in a church office, you see a completely different side of church than what you find on Sunday mornings. There was no way for me to remove all that I had seen or experienced, but I wanted desparately to have that Sunday morning perspective of the church body.
Since I did not grow up in church, I certainly was not prepared for what happened during those first few weeks of visiting another church. It was ugly!!! The rumor mill ran rampant. Things were said that shouldn't have been said. Confrontations happened that were completly uncalled for. Assumptions were made. And through all of the ugliness and hurt, nobody was asking. Nobody asked why we had stepped away from the church.
Let me just say....that was a dagger to my heart. These people I had served and served with for over six years seemingly either didn't miss us or were content to accept rumor instead of come to us. I'm not pointing a finger, honestly I am not. I say all of that to remind myself of the magnitude of pain this has caused. The church I was baptized in and the family who once accepted us as part of them hasn't asked once said they missed us or bothered to ask where we've been or why. Put yourself in my shoes for just a minute. Wouldn't you be hurt too? Three months have passed and not one person has asked...
But, this isn't a post about pointing fingers and isn't even about comparing churches...I promise. It is fully about grief.
I didn't think there would ever be anything comparable to choosing to leave my immediate family. If you aren't familiar with my story, I had to chose between God and my family. In my family, you can't have both. Of course, I chose God.
Making a choice to leave the church I was baptized in was almost as painful and in some respects, even more so. It was by no means easy. I fought it for weeks. I went back and forth. I spent days and days stomping my feet and saying no way. Even while God was very clearly showing us that it was time, I fought it.
With the exception of one or two, every relationship I have in my life was developed in the church. Relationships meant very little to me before I was in church. Now, they mean everything to me. In fact, if I consider someone a friend now, it means I care about them very deeply. If I call you a friend, it means I genuinely care about your well-being and think of you often. It means that you are more to me than a hello/goodbye once a week. It means that I'm not afraid for you to see my weaknesses nor am I scared to see yours.
I have gone through weeks and weeks of not wanting to lose that. The past year has been a good year of developing relationships. It's been a year of living life with people and being vulnerable with people. I certainly could not stand the thought of losing ground or even starting over.
Several months ago, a friend told me that leaving a church is like a divorce. I suppose I have seen glimpses of that. I think the more accurate way to describe it is leaving high school or college. On graduation day, you always make these grand plans to stay in touch and get together throughout the year. Then, life happens and you lose touch. That is how I am feeling.
Don't get me wrong, I have some solid relationships that these changes won't affect. However, it's already started to happen with the majority and my heart aches over it. Of course it does. Three months of not seeing the people I thought I'd see raising children or I'd grow old with. Of course it hurts.
I also don't want you to think the grieving process is over. The wound is going to be open for some time to come. The holidays. The events. The dinners. The sweet times of fellowship. One by one, those things are going to come and go and I will feel alone and apart from the family I spent the past six years with for those things. There is still plenty of tears to be shed over this. There's still going to be awkward conversations. There is still growing pains to come and times of not understanding and difference.
God is clearly leading us in this decision. He has clearly closed a door for us, slammed it shut in our faces. Despite our denial, understanding, frustration, pain...He has a bigger plan for us. I am doing my best to always keep in mind that His plan is always better than mine. His plan is beautiful and wonderful. It is my desire to hang onto my plan that brings the pain and tears.
It is a difficult decision to choose grief over familiar, pain over comfort. But in the words of a very intellegent, godly woman...the right and good thing isn't always the easiest thing.
That is certainly where my husband and I found ourselves this past September. Without going into all the details, I'll just say we found ourselves struggling with decisions being made in our church. At that time, we decided to visit another local church.
Our plan was to take a few weeks to reboot. We needed a time away, a time to refresh our minds and search our hearts. That first Sunday, we walked in with an attitude that this was temporary. Our plan was to put our hearts in a position to once again appreciate our church.
There is just no other way to say it. When you spend three years volunteering in a church office, you see a completely different side of church than what you find on Sunday mornings. There was no way for me to remove all that I had seen or experienced, but I wanted desparately to have that Sunday morning perspective of the church body.
Since I did not grow up in church, I certainly was not prepared for what happened during those first few weeks of visiting another church. It was ugly!!! The rumor mill ran rampant. Things were said that shouldn't have been said. Confrontations happened that were completly uncalled for. Assumptions were made. And through all of the ugliness and hurt, nobody was asking. Nobody asked why we had stepped away from the church.
Let me just say....that was a dagger to my heart. These people I had served and served with for over six years seemingly either didn't miss us or were content to accept rumor instead of come to us. I'm not pointing a finger, honestly I am not. I say all of that to remind myself of the magnitude of pain this has caused. The church I was baptized in and the family who once accepted us as part of them hasn't asked once said they missed us or bothered to ask where we've been or why. Put yourself in my shoes for just a minute. Wouldn't you be hurt too? Three months have passed and not one person has asked...
But, this isn't a post about pointing fingers and isn't even about comparing churches...I promise. It is fully about grief.
I didn't think there would ever be anything comparable to choosing to leave my immediate family. If you aren't familiar with my story, I had to chose between God and my family. In my family, you can't have both. Of course, I chose God.
Making a choice to leave the church I was baptized in was almost as painful and in some respects, even more so. It was by no means easy. I fought it for weeks. I went back and forth. I spent days and days stomping my feet and saying no way. Even while God was very clearly showing us that it was time, I fought it.
With the exception of one or two, every relationship I have in my life was developed in the church. Relationships meant very little to me before I was in church. Now, they mean everything to me. In fact, if I consider someone a friend now, it means I care about them very deeply. If I call you a friend, it means I genuinely care about your well-being and think of you often. It means that you are more to me than a hello/goodbye once a week. It means that I'm not afraid for you to see my weaknesses nor am I scared to see yours.
I have gone through weeks and weeks of not wanting to lose that. The past year has been a good year of developing relationships. It's been a year of living life with people and being vulnerable with people. I certainly could not stand the thought of losing ground or even starting over.
Several months ago, a friend told me that leaving a church is like a divorce. I suppose I have seen glimpses of that. I think the more accurate way to describe it is leaving high school or college. On graduation day, you always make these grand plans to stay in touch and get together throughout the year. Then, life happens and you lose touch. That is how I am feeling.
Don't get me wrong, I have some solid relationships that these changes won't affect. However, it's already started to happen with the majority and my heart aches over it. Of course it does. Three months of not seeing the people I thought I'd see raising children or I'd grow old with. Of course it hurts.
I also don't want you to think the grieving process is over. The wound is going to be open for some time to come. The holidays. The events. The dinners. The sweet times of fellowship. One by one, those things are going to come and go and I will feel alone and apart from the family I spent the past six years with for those things. There is still plenty of tears to be shed over this. There's still going to be awkward conversations. There is still growing pains to come and times of not understanding and difference.
God is clearly leading us in this decision. He has clearly closed a door for us, slammed it shut in our faces. Despite our denial, understanding, frustration, pain...He has a bigger plan for us. I am doing my best to always keep in mind that His plan is always better than mine. His plan is beautiful and wonderful. It is my desire to hang onto my plan that brings the pain and tears.
It is a difficult decision to choose grief over familiar, pain over comfort. But in the words of a very intellegent, godly woman...the right and good thing isn't always the easiest thing.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Restlessness
I am no stranger to being restless. In my many years of sleep deprivation, the worst part of it was the long nights of being restless. Enduring hours and hours of tossing, turning and discomfort, I easily grew weary.
During that time, I would have quickly taken another path had it been available. I would have chosen to sleep. Sleep would have been a much welcomed end to the restlessness that had settled into my body and mind.
On my wall hangs a bible verse..."Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
This verse became my mantra. With complete depletion of sanity and self sustainability, I learned to rely on God for rest. Rest without sleep. I know, that seems impossible, but God provided. He gave me rest in unconventional ways when my restlessness threatened to destroy me physically and emotionally.
Recently, I have walked into another season of restlessness. It isn't the same as before. My heart and soul are restless.
For so long, I have survived within the church by just showing up. I went through quite a long stretch of being spiritually stagnant and struggling to mature. The idea of just showing up wasn't my own, but was encouraged by wonderful, godly friends who wanted to help me persevere through this season.
This new season I am moving into, fearfully and enthusiastically, can only be attributed to the work of God in my heart.
Honestly, I feel as though a switch was flipped in me. One day, one week, I'm not sure how or when...I woke up wanting more for myself. Suddenly, just showing up wasn't enough for me and I wanted more. I needed more.
As life does, there seemed to be a domino effect of unfortunate events and circumstances at the exact same time that I found myself wanting more spiritually. That led to several hard conversations with my husband and even more difficult decisions.
Thankfully, in very different ways, God was causing some restlessness in his heart too.
Isn't it funny how God chooses to speak to us in very personal ways? I really do believe the restlessness was brought God given and directed.
After much discussion, we agreed that we had to decide together what was important for us in a church. To clear our minds, we chose to head to a different local church for a short sermon series.
Our plan and hope was to clear our minds of the junk satan uses to confuse us. We also hoped to return to our home church with a renewed spirit and appreciation.
Again, life happens...rumors run rampant, feelings are hurt, truth is revealed and bitterness ensues. However, we quickly learned that God was right there with us. He was in the middle of our pain, comforting us and drawing us both to Him more than ever.
I can't wait to share more with you in the upcoming posts. God has done amazing things in my life the past few months and I cannot wait to share more about it.
During that time, I would have quickly taken another path had it been available. I would have chosen to sleep. Sleep would have been a much welcomed end to the restlessness that had settled into my body and mind.
On my wall hangs a bible verse..."Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
This verse became my mantra. With complete depletion of sanity and self sustainability, I learned to rely on God for rest. Rest without sleep. I know, that seems impossible, but God provided. He gave me rest in unconventional ways when my restlessness threatened to destroy me physically and emotionally.
Recently, I have walked into another season of restlessness. It isn't the same as before. My heart and soul are restless.
For so long, I have survived within the church by just showing up. I went through quite a long stretch of being spiritually stagnant and struggling to mature. The idea of just showing up wasn't my own, but was encouraged by wonderful, godly friends who wanted to help me persevere through this season.
This new season I am moving into, fearfully and enthusiastically, can only be attributed to the work of God in my heart.
Honestly, I feel as though a switch was flipped in me. One day, one week, I'm not sure how or when...I woke up wanting more for myself. Suddenly, just showing up wasn't enough for me and I wanted more. I needed more.
As life does, there seemed to be a domino effect of unfortunate events and circumstances at the exact same time that I found myself wanting more spiritually. That led to several hard conversations with my husband and even more difficult decisions.
Thankfully, in very different ways, God was causing some restlessness in his heart too.
Isn't it funny how God chooses to speak to us in very personal ways? I really do believe the restlessness was brought God given and directed.
After much discussion, we agreed that we had to decide together what was important for us in a church. To clear our minds, we chose to head to a different local church for a short sermon series.
Our plan and hope was to clear our minds of the junk satan uses to confuse us. We also hoped to return to our home church with a renewed spirit and appreciation.
Again, life happens...rumors run rampant, feelings are hurt, truth is revealed and bitterness ensues. However, we quickly learned that God was right there with us. He was in the middle of our pain, comforting us and drawing us both to Him more than ever.
I can't wait to share more with you in the upcoming posts. God has done amazing things in my life the past few months and I cannot wait to share more about it.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Inner City School Experience
Halloween usually passes by without much consequence for me. Not having kids and living in a primarily retired area of town makes it fairly seamless for us. Although, this year has turned out a bit different.
I was given the opportunity to bake cookies for and help in the delivery of goodies to an inner city charter school.
Let me tell you, I was a little nervous prior to arriving and in such self centered ways. Even though my friend teaches there, my white-girl-from-small-town-Kansas-totally-suburbanized self was admittedly hesitant about spending the day in an inner city school.
Granted, times have changed and school security is much tighter since I went to school, but I was still a little taken aback by the doors being locked at all times. Walking in the door, a mix of sweat, children, mold and dirt smacked me in the face. That isn't an insult to anyone or anything, but the first thing to really grab hold my senses and make me seriously open my eyes.
My husband and I have traveled to poverty stricken nations for vacation. Before you judge, those areas survive off farming and tourism. Since we go in fall or winter, we always see kids going to or leaving schools. We've seen the schools. They are old, dirty and usually small. Often, if they are lucky enough to have windows and doors, they are covered by bars. The kids all wear uniforms and all look very happy.
Statistically, in the poverty stricken areas, it is a privilege to go to school. In most areas, schools only go through 8th or 9th grade. Only the elite are able to go onto high school, especially women, and even less go to community colleges.
As I walked up the three flights of stairs, I felt as though I was walking through one of those schools we had seen in another country. Again, not judging!
Outside the classroom was a variety of buckets sitting to catch the water dripping from the leaky roof. Inside the classroom, another bucket was set up to catch water. The ceiling tiles had either already collapsed or were bowing every so close to falling to the floor. Electrical wires to the overhead projector were catching some of the leaky rain water while a light fixture held another giant puddle within it. Talking with the teacher and another person later in the day, I found out that these conditions were wonderful compared to the building they had been in last year.
I hate to overly stereotype anyone or anything, but on the surface the kids and school were much like you would see on television. Even the neighborhoods are a lot like you would think of inner city.
As you drive to the school, you see dilapidated houses with bars and boards covering the windows. They are tiny and old and many have junk or old cars or trash in the front yards. My simplistic, naïve heart wants to believe these are uninhabitable, yet I know that they are the most substantial thing most of these families own.
When I watch the news night after night, the murders and violence and gang activity all seem a world away. But this school sits amidst it all, 30 minutes from my front door.
Completely on the surface, the children seem explosive and very rough. In the yelling and fighting and attitude, it is difficult to the innocence at first.
These kids were all middle school age. I didn't think for a second that they would be excited about a pipe cleaner candy spider, pencils and cookies. Boy was I wrong! The minute I began to hand out the goodies, I was completely overwhelmed by the childish innocence that I never expected to find.
The kids were all so thankful and delighted by the goodies. They were excited over plain, yellow pencils. When was the last time that you were excited over a pencil or anything that small? It broke my heart to repeatedly hear from the kids how badly they needed pencils.
The teacher had to tell the kids that they couldn't do their homework assignment on the computer. She couldn't allow it because not every child has access to a computer. This is 2013 and I can't wrap my head around that. We live in a house full of electronics. We each have a laptop. We each have ipads, iphones, ipods, etc. So much we take for granted.
As we left, there were two older guys waiting for one of the kids I had seen that day. They yelled and talked about shooting someone as they walked down the block after school. I think that is when it really sunk in. These kids are still babies in this big mean world. They are so young and yet live in a time and place that causes them to grow up too fast.
My broken little heart wants to rescue them all. I want to whisk them away to a loving, safe home that is bright and clean and warm. I want to shield them from violence and gangs and the ways of the cold, unforgiving streets. I want to tuck them safely into bed at night and send them off to clean, updated schools every morning.
I applaud my friend for what she does and does well. I couldn't do it. I'm appalled that in this day and in this country, that we have living and school conditions like this. I cannot believe that our government; federal, state or local, is ok with this.
There is little that I can do outside of praying. The problem is too big for me. I will certainly be more committed to praying for the children, the school, the community and for my friend. I will be praying that she can be a positive influence and a light to these children who so badly need it.
I was given the opportunity to bake cookies for and help in the delivery of goodies to an inner city charter school.
Let me tell you, I was a little nervous prior to arriving and in such self centered ways. Even though my friend teaches there, my white-girl-from-small-town-Kansas-totally-suburbanized self was admittedly hesitant about spending the day in an inner city school.
Granted, times have changed and school security is much tighter since I went to school, but I was still a little taken aback by the doors being locked at all times. Walking in the door, a mix of sweat, children, mold and dirt smacked me in the face. That isn't an insult to anyone or anything, but the first thing to really grab hold my senses and make me seriously open my eyes.
My husband and I have traveled to poverty stricken nations for vacation. Before you judge, those areas survive off farming and tourism. Since we go in fall or winter, we always see kids going to or leaving schools. We've seen the schools. They are old, dirty and usually small. Often, if they are lucky enough to have windows and doors, they are covered by bars. The kids all wear uniforms and all look very happy.
Statistically, in the poverty stricken areas, it is a privilege to go to school. In most areas, schools only go through 8th or 9th grade. Only the elite are able to go onto high school, especially women, and even less go to community colleges.
As I walked up the three flights of stairs, I felt as though I was walking through one of those schools we had seen in another country. Again, not judging!
Outside the classroom was a variety of buckets sitting to catch the water dripping from the leaky roof. Inside the classroom, another bucket was set up to catch water. The ceiling tiles had either already collapsed or were bowing every so close to falling to the floor. Electrical wires to the overhead projector were catching some of the leaky rain water while a light fixture held another giant puddle within it. Talking with the teacher and another person later in the day, I found out that these conditions were wonderful compared to the building they had been in last year.
I hate to overly stereotype anyone or anything, but on the surface the kids and school were much like you would see on television. Even the neighborhoods are a lot like you would think of inner city.
As you drive to the school, you see dilapidated houses with bars and boards covering the windows. They are tiny and old and many have junk or old cars or trash in the front yards. My simplistic, naïve heart wants to believe these are uninhabitable, yet I know that they are the most substantial thing most of these families own.
When I watch the news night after night, the murders and violence and gang activity all seem a world away. But this school sits amidst it all, 30 minutes from my front door.
Completely on the surface, the children seem explosive and very rough. In the yelling and fighting and attitude, it is difficult to the innocence at first.
These kids were all middle school age. I didn't think for a second that they would be excited about a pipe cleaner candy spider, pencils and cookies. Boy was I wrong! The minute I began to hand out the goodies, I was completely overwhelmed by the childish innocence that I never expected to find.
The kids were all so thankful and delighted by the goodies. They were excited over plain, yellow pencils. When was the last time that you were excited over a pencil or anything that small? It broke my heart to repeatedly hear from the kids how badly they needed pencils.
The teacher had to tell the kids that they couldn't do their homework assignment on the computer. She couldn't allow it because not every child has access to a computer. This is 2013 and I can't wrap my head around that. We live in a house full of electronics. We each have a laptop. We each have ipads, iphones, ipods, etc. So much we take for granted.
As we left, there were two older guys waiting for one of the kids I had seen that day. They yelled and talked about shooting someone as they walked down the block after school. I think that is when it really sunk in. These kids are still babies in this big mean world. They are so young and yet live in a time and place that causes them to grow up too fast.
My broken little heart wants to rescue them all. I want to whisk them away to a loving, safe home that is bright and clean and warm. I want to shield them from violence and gangs and the ways of the cold, unforgiving streets. I want to tuck them safely into bed at night and send them off to clean, updated schools every morning.
I applaud my friend for what she does and does well. I couldn't do it. I'm appalled that in this day and in this country, that we have living and school conditions like this. I cannot believe that our government; federal, state or local, is ok with this.
There is little that I can do outside of praying. The problem is too big for me. I will certainly be more committed to praying for the children, the school, the community and for my friend. I will be praying that she can be a positive influence and a light to these children who so badly need it.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Hands and Feet
It is finally time to start transferring these posts I have been long drafting out of my head and onto here.
The first has been a long time coming, well over due.
Going back to August 2007, I was introduced to a woman as I walked through the church office to meet with the pastor. I tended to stay fairly closed off of all strangers at that time. I paid little attention to who she was and certainly had no idea of the significance she would very soon have in my life.
At the end of the meeting with the pastor, he handed me the card of the lady I had been introduced to and suggested I call her to set up a time to meet. She was the church counselor. I remember thinking, "No way!"
In my family, counseling was bad. Of course I understand now that it was another level of my family keeping their dysfunction as private as possible. I had tried to go to counseling many times before. Each time had been a miserable failure.
Less than a mile from the church, I pulled my car over and called the counselor. She answered and scheduled an appointment for me the following Tuesday. I had no reason within myself to do that. In fact, had my call gone to voicemail I am not sure I would have left a message. Looking back, I realize just how God orchestrated the details of all of it.
The very next day, my life fell apart. The dam broke. Everything I knew, believed, lived and loved had been completely changed forever. A flood of memories came rushing back to me. It would be the last time I willingly saw my parents and would become estranged from my entire family.
Just a few very long days later, I would walk into her office. I was unable to speak over the choked emotion that had settled in my throat and the tears that would not stop. My mind stood firm in holding the family secrets, but my heart found comfort in her words and actions. What I spewed out that day was minimal, but her message that day was clear. It was one of love and hope, two things I had experienced so little of at time and had such difficulty believing.
That was the first of many, many, many counseling sessions to come. It was also the beginning of what would eventually become one of my most trusted friendships.
It isn't an understatement to say that I cannot count the number of ways she has been there for me over the past 6 1/2 years.
There have been times she has been like a mother to me. And, I don't exactly mean as one of those matriarchal types who shows love and gives guidance through all things. Don't get me wrong, she does do that. What I am referring to is more of the stubborn mother of a teenager kind of motherly. Yes, it is true. Many times, sometimes for months at a time, I was that fit throwing-I don't need you screaming-I refuse to do anything you say teenager type. At the time I hated her motherly approach. I rebelled against her loving correction. I insisted she couldn't be the mother I never had.
Maybe in my heart, I knew then and I definitely know now that she was loving me through those times when I trusted nobody and refused to believe I could be loved...because that was usually the source of my rebellion.
She has been that loving, comforter through some of the most difficult times too. When I found myself lost and in the darkest valleys, her hand was never far away. She would set for hours with me when I was fairly certain I could not stand to live one more minute. During those seriously dark times, she held onto me so tight that I couldn't slip away and always went a step further to remind me that the darkness was only temporary.
Everything she has taught me is too numerous to name as well. I could start with this blog. She is the one who taught me that these things that when the darkness threatens to consume, it is not my forever. Regardless of how difficult it may seem, it will not be my forever because God has better for me.
She has taught me to love and love well. She has taught me to speak truth with love and respect. She has taught me to trust and when to be cautious. She has taught me that God is in the small things and He is far bigger than even my huge obstacles. She has taught me to know my worth without arrogance. The list goes on and on...
There have been times she has met very real, physical needs. For most of the time I wasn't driving, she was the one who made sure I got where I needed to go. Appointments, shopping, even getting my hair done, she made sure I got what I needed. When I went for days without sleeping and I had a fear of my own house, she gave me a quiet, safe place to sleep.
Outside of emotional and physical needs, she has been there to watch over my spiritual needs. As I struggled to find my place in the church, she was there to guide me. When I suffered the pains of being hurt in the church, she was there to direct me back to God. And when I just didn't think I could do the "church thing" ever again, she never let me leave.
Without a doubt, this woman is incredibly humble. I know she would tell you that she does what she feels led to do and gets a front row seat to see what God does. That is the kind of person she is. She never takes credit and is sure to give God the glory for everything.
Through everything, she has never left me. From beginning to now, she hasn't left my side. Through all the difficulty. When others have run in fear. When the hurt has been unthinkable. Through life altering times. She's been there.
I know I've said a lot and yet there is so much more. Thinking through it all, I understand and know that this would not be possible in any other setting outside the church. The trust, relationship and work in my life would not have happened in an average counseling setting. In no other type of counseling would have so clearly seen the hand of God in my life.
As I always do, I write this for myself. I know my journey is far from over. I know there are many times to come when I will be like an obstinate teen. So, I share this as a reminder for myself. A reminder that in the tough times to come, God will be in it all. And, when God uses this person or others to be His hands, I need to grab on and hold tight.
I also share this to encourage you. Don't be afraid to let God use you in big ways. When you find yourself in a position to be the hands and feet, don't let fear drive you away. Allow yourself to be used for the glory of God. Look past your fear and insecurity and know that God will give you what you need to be His mouthpiece, His hands. Don't hesitate. Don't run. Give freely the love and hope that has been given you by others who have allowed themselves to be used by God.
The first has been a long time coming, well over due.
Going back to August 2007, I was introduced to a woman as I walked through the church office to meet with the pastor. I tended to stay fairly closed off of all strangers at that time. I paid little attention to who she was and certainly had no idea of the significance she would very soon have in my life.
At the end of the meeting with the pastor, he handed me the card of the lady I had been introduced to and suggested I call her to set up a time to meet. She was the church counselor. I remember thinking, "No way!"
In my family, counseling was bad. Of course I understand now that it was another level of my family keeping their dysfunction as private as possible. I had tried to go to counseling many times before. Each time had been a miserable failure.
Less than a mile from the church, I pulled my car over and called the counselor. She answered and scheduled an appointment for me the following Tuesday. I had no reason within myself to do that. In fact, had my call gone to voicemail I am not sure I would have left a message. Looking back, I realize just how God orchestrated the details of all of it.
The very next day, my life fell apart. The dam broke. Everything I knew, believed, lived and loved had been completely changed forever. A flood of memories came rushing back to me. It would be the last time I willingly saw my parents and would become estranged from my entire family.
Just a few very long days later, I would walk into her office. I was unable to speak over the choked emotion that had settled in my throat and the tears that would not stop. My mind stood firm in holding the family secrets, but my heart found comfort in her words and actions. What I spewed out that day was minimal, but her message that day was clear. It was one of love and hope, two things I had experienced so little of at time and had such difficulty believing.
That was the first of many, many, many counseling sessions to come. It was also the beginning of what would eventually become one of my most trusted friendships.
It isn't an understatement to say that I cannot count the number of ways she has been there for me over the past 6 1/2 years.
There have been times she has been like a mother to me. And, I don't exactly mean as one of those matriarchal types who shows love and gives guidance through all things. Don't get me wrong, she does do that. What I am referring to is more of the stubborn mother of a teenager kind of motherly. Yes, it is true. Many times, sometimes for months at a time, I was that fit throwing-I don't need you screaming-I refuse to do anything you say teenager type. At the time I hated her motherly approach. I rebelled against her loving correction. I insisted she couldn't be the mother I never had.
Maybe in my heart, I knew then and I definitely know now that she was loving me through those times when I trusted nobody and refused to believe I could be loved...because that was usually the source of my rebellion.
She has been that loving, comforter through some of the most difficult times too. When I found myself lost and in the darkest valleys, her hand was never far away. She would set for hours with me when I was fairly certain I could not stand to live one more minute. During those seriously dark times, she held onto me so tight that I couldn't slip away and always went a step further to remind me that the darkness was only temporary.
Everything she has taught me is too numerous to name as well. I could start with this blog. She is the one who taught me that these things that when the darkness threatens to consume, it is not my forever. Regardless of how difficult it may seem, it will not be my forever because God has better for me.
She has taught me to love and love well. She has taught me to speak truth with love and respect. She has taught me to trust and when to be cautious. She has taught me that God is in the small things and He is far bigger than even my huge obstacles. She has taught me to know my worth without arrogance. The list goes on and on...
There have been times she has met very real, physical needs. For most of the time I wasn't driving, she was the one who made sure I got where I needed to go. Appointments, shopping, even getting my hair done, she made sure I got what I needed. When I went for days without sleeping and I had a fear of my own house, she gave me a quiet, safe place to sleep.
Outside of emotional and physical needs, she has been there to watch over my spiritual needs. As I struggled to find my place in the church, she was there to guide me. When I suffered the pains of being hurt in the church, she was there to direct me back to God. And when I just didn't think I could do the "church thing" ever again, she never let me leave.
Without a doubt, this woman is incredibly humble. I know she would tell you that she does what she feels led to do and gets a front row seat to see what God does. That is the kind of person she is. She never takes credit and is sure to give God the glory for everything.
Through everything, she has never left me. From beginning to now, she hasn't left my side. Through all the difficulty. When others have run in fear. When the hurt has been unthinkable. Through life altering times. She's been there.
I know I've said a lot and yet there is so much more. Thinking through it all, I understand and know that this would not be possible in any other setting outside the church. The trust, relationship and work in my life would not have happened in an average counseling setting. In no other type of counseling would have so clearly seen the hand of God in my life.
As I always do, I write this for myself. I know my journey is far from over. I know there are many times to come when I will be like an obstinate teen. So, I share this as a reminder for myself. A reminder that in the tough times to come, God will be in it all. And, when God uses this person or others to be His hands, I need to grab on and hold tight.
I also share this to encourage you. Don't be afraid to let God use you in big ways. When you find yourself in a position to be the hands and feet, don't let fear drive you away. Allow yourself to be used for the glory of God. Look past your fear and insecurity and know that God will give you what you need to be His mouthpiece, His hands. Don't hesitate. Don't run. Give freely the love and hope that has been given you by others who have allowed themselves to be used by God.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
One Way Road
The past few weeks have been full. Full of busyness, pain, joy, laughter, tears, exploration, accomplishment, goodbyes, hellos, shock, denial, anger, frustration, confusion, renewal, reunion and growth. Though I am not quite ready to share any of it today, I can say that God has been really good to me through it all.
In the many reunions and hellos of the past month, I have fought the internal battle of how much of my life to share and when. Keeping in mind, the range of people I have encountered lately have range from people who have been in my life for over 35 years to barely 30 seconds.
If the past six years have taught me anything, it is that much of my life has been kept hidden. For as much as I feel free to share, I still only share bits and pieces with those closest to me. It's fair. I want people to know, accept and love me for who I am before they know how I came to be who I am.
Although, I am learning that I am not ok with friends not knowing anything about me. In fact, I am really not ok with them not caring about my life. I think you know what I am talking about, those one way friendships.
Before I go further, let me clarify something. If we are friends and you read my blog, I am obviously not referring to you in this. In fact, it would be more directed at the people I am close to who have no clue I have a blog or even enjoy writing.
I know, my past experiences are expanse. Since the average person doesn't know my story, I tend to offer a lot of grace in their everyday conversations. However, if you talk to me very long at all you will know that I am estranged from my family and I do have a very difficult background.
Over the past year, I have renewed a relationship with a previous acquaintance. A text I received yesterday jumped off the screen and slapped me into reality. This has become a one way road. I have listened and helped this person at every turn, praying for their every request and given advice when asked.
Yesterday's text was one of many lately where I realized that this person knows nothing about me. She has never asked. She has never even asked how I am doing. She has never left room in any conversation for anything outside of herself. She has never been willing to listen to me. She has never offered to pray for me as she has never been open to listening to my needs. The list could go on...
It wasn't pride or ego that slapped me in the face; it was my own need for people and relationships. Frankly, I deserve better than that.
Believe me; I know sometimes God will push me into a relationship to be more than I thought or more than can be given in return. I know that because He has put many people in my life who were that for me. They were for me more than I could ever be in return. That's what I needed at the time. However, I also believe God can give you a huge, giant sign that it is time to extricate yourself from a relationship and I believe I got it.
Honestly, the one way road kind of relationships is just not for me anymore. I have grown up. I need more. I need deep relationships. I need surface relationships. And I MUST have reciprocal relationships, even if it is only miniscule.
I think the ways someone can easily hurt me in a relationship has evolved. The easiest way is to not care about who I am.
I was forced for so long to keep my past a secret, burying it. I'm not saying I want to dump that on each person I meet, but I am saying that I don't ever want to feel like my life doesn't matter. I never want to feel like I don't matter. I think that has to be a normal feeling, regardless of your background.
Maybe it is the growth spurt (spiritual and emotional) I have hit lately that makes me so confident in knowing what I need in relationship. Or, maybe it is just me embracing the God given desire to be cared for and loved and known. No more one way roads.
By the way, I am so thankful for those who have walked through seasons with me where they likely felt it was a one way road. To you, I am forever grateful. Please know your perseverance has contributed to my growth.
In the many reunions and hellos of the past month, I have fought the internal battle of how much of my life to share and when. Keeping in mind, the range of people I have encountered lately have range from people who have been in my life for over 35 years to barely 30 seconds.
If the past six years have taught me anything, it is that much of my life has been kept hidden. For as much as I feel free to share, I still only share bits and pieces with those closest to me. It's fair. I want people to know, accept and love me for who I am before they know how I came to be who I am.
Although, I am learning that I am not ok with friends not knowing anything about me. In fact, I am really not ok with them not caring about my life. I think you know what I am talking about, those one way friendships.
Before I go further, let me clarify something. If we are friends and you read my blog, I am obviously not referring to you in this. In fact, it would be more directed at the people I am close to who have no clue I have a blog or even enjoy writing.
I know, my past experiences are expanse. Since the average person doesn't know my story, I tend to offer a lot of grace in their everyday conversations. However, if you talk to me very long at all you will know that I am estranged from my family and I do have a very difficult background.
Over the past year, I have renewed a relationship with a previous acquaintance. A text I received yesterday jumped off the screen and slapped me into reality. This has become a one way road. I have listened and helped this person at every turn, praying for their every request and given advice when asked.
Yesterday's text was one of many lately where I realized that this person knows nothing about me. She has never asked. She has never even asked how I am doing. She has never left room in any conversation for anything outside of herself. She has never been willing to listen to me. She has never offered to pray for me as she has never been open to listening to my needs. The list could go on...
It wasn't pride or ego that slapped me in the face; it was my own need for people and relationships. Frankly, I deserve better than that.
Believe me; I know sometimes God will push me into a relationship to be more than I thought or more than can be given in return. I know that because He has put many people in my life who were that for me. They were for me more than I could ever be in return. That's what I needed at the time. However, I also believe God can give you a huge, giant sign that it is time to extricate yourself from a relationship and I believe I got it.
Honestly, the one way road kind of relationships is just not for me anymore. I have grown up. I need more. I need deep relationships. I need surface relationships. And I MUST have reciprocal relationships, even if it is only miniscule.
I think the ways someone can easily hurt me in a relationship has evolved. The easiest way is to not care about who I am.
I was forced for so long to keep my past a secret, burying it. I'm not saying I want to dump that on each person I meet, but I am saying that I don't ever want to feel like my life doesn't matter. I never want to feel like I don't matter. I think that has to be a normal feeling, regardless of your background.
Maybe it is the growth spurt (spiritual and emotional) I have hit lately that makes me so confident in knowing what I need in relationship. Or, maybe it is just me embracing the God given desire to be cared for and loved and known. No more one way roads.
By the way, I am so thankful for those who have walked through seasons with me where they likely felt it was a one way road. To you, I am forever grateful. Please know your perseverance has contributed to my growth.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
The First in 20 Years
And so it just is...my life is messy right now. Really, really messy. So many things around me, far out of my control, that are affecting me in deep ways. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. They have all settled deep in my heart and for things others have done, things I cannot manipulate or change or even accept with any sort of willingness.
My 20 year class reunion is less than two weeks away. I was not invited. I wasn't a complete outcast in school. Yes, I was quiet and didn't spend much time with my classmates outside of school. I wasn't super popular, but I wasn't hated either. I was super smart and the teachers probably had more fondness for me than my peers.
Aside from all that, I helped plan and paid for our 10 year reunion. Another story for another day. We have lived in the same house for over 15 years and I am on most every social media where anyone could have asked my address.
But I digress...that isn't what this post is about.
One of my classmates died Friday. He's our first. We had a former classmate commit suicide several years back, but I'm not sure anyone cared. Sad but true. The guy dropped out at 16, which was 8th grade for him and had a troubled life.
So, this is the first major loss in our class. We went over 20 years. I know, the older we get the more this will happen. Just like friends with major illnesses and all sorts of huge life issues that nobody ever thought they would see until they were their parent's ages.
The guy who passed away was amazingly talented. He and his parents moved across the street from us when were in junior high. I think this guy was born with a set of drumsticks. He was the most talented drummer I had ever seen. It was rare to not hear him pounding out a series of songs every night.
He was a great artist too. Although his art often came in the form of drawings that involved teachers doing I don't even know what to creatures that went straight from his head to the paper.
He was a nice guy. He helped me several times with car problems when my family wouldn't. He is also the only guy who ever stuck up for me when I was being picked on as a kid.
But he was also deeply troubled. Despite loving parents, a strong churched childhood and a wonderful extended family, he fell in with the wrong crowd during high school.
Through a few conversations with him late in high school and shortly after, I know he suffered from depression and possibly ADD or anxiety. His way of coping was drugs. Because of that, many people distanced themselves from him.
I know he had his demons. I had lost touch with him long ago, but his obituary reads as though he had turned his life around. I don't yet know his cause of death and I suppose it doesn't matter now that he is gone. His obit says he was a spiritual man, praying for friends often. I hope that is true. Regardless, my heart breaks for his family.
My anger, confusion, hurt and frustration is felt in my classmates. When I say we all grew up together, we did. My graduating class was all of 44 people. Of those 44, over 35 of us had been together since grade school and over 20 of us had started kindergarten together. It shouldn't take death for that many people to come together or communicate with each other. It shouldn't take a loss for people to be kind to each other. It shouldn't take considering mortality for people to show heart and compassion.
It would have been easier to understand if our class had been there for this guy during the hardest parts of life, instead of turing their backs. I'm not sure I hear much from anyone in my class unless it is under the pretense of gossip. How sad is that? We spent 13 years in school with each other and we reduced ourselves to communicating only when there is gossip or death? Why must it be like this? Maybe coming from a small town where that is common place, brings us to a place of being just the same.
I'm sad that years pass by and the people who were our first real community become such strangers to us. It is upsetting that what we know of each other becomes largely based on gossip or what we knew 10 or 20 years ago.
Maybe I am in a little bit of shock because he's the first. Maybe I am a little angry and hurt because some people are so uncaring. m
My 20 year class reunion is less than two weeks away. I was not invited. I wasn't a complete outcast in school. Yes, I was quiet and didn't spend much time with my classmates outside of school. I wasn't super popular, but I wasn't hated either. I was super smart and the teachers probably had more fondness for me than my peers.
Aside from all that, I helped plan and paid for our 10 year reunion. Another story for another day. We have lived in the same house for over 15 years and I am on most every social media where anyone could have asked my address.
But I digress...that isn't what this post is about.
One of my classmates died Friday. He's our first. We had a former classmate commit suicide several years back, but I'm not sure anyone cared. Sad but true. The guy dropped out at 16, which was 8th grade for him and had a troubled life.
So, this is the first major loss in our class. We went over 20 years. I know, the older we get the more this will happen. Just like friends with major illnesses and all sorts of huge life issues that nobody ever thought they would see until they were their parent's ages.
The guy who passed away was amazingly talented. He and his parents moved across the street from us when were in junior high. I think this guy was born with a set of drumsticks. He was the most talented drummer I had ever seen. It was rare to not hear him pounding out a series of songs every night.
He was a great artist too. Although his art often came in the form of drawings that involved teachers doing I don't even know what to creatures that went straight from his head to the paper.
He was a nice guy. He helped me several times with car problems when my family wouldn't. He is also the only guy who ever stuck up for me when I was being picked on as a kid.
But he was also deeply troubled. Despite loving parents, a strong churched childhood and a wonderful extended family, he fell in with the wrong crowd during high school.
Through a few conversations with him late in high school and shortly after, I know he suffered from depression and possibly ADD or anxiety. His way of coping was drugs. Because of that, many people distanced themselves from him.
I know he had his demons. I had lost touch with him long ago, but his obituary reads as though he had turned his life around. I don't yet know his cause of death and I suppose it doesn't matter now that he is gone. His obit says he was a spiritual man, praying for friends often. I hope that is true. Regardless, my heart breaks for his family.
My anger, confusion, hurt and frustration is felt in my classmates. When I say we all grew up together, we did. My graduating class was all of 44 people. Of those 44, over 35 of us had been together since grade school and over 20 of us had started kindergarten together. It shouldn't take death for that many people to come together or communicate with each other. It shouldn't take a loss for people to be kind to each other. It shouldn't take considering mortality for people to show heart and compassion.
It would have been easier to understand if our class had been there for this guy during the hardest parts of life, instead of turing their backs. I'm not sure I hear much from anyone in my class unless it is under the pretense of gossip. How sad is that? We spent 13 years in school with each other and we reduced ourselves to communicating only when there is gossip or death? Why must it be like this? Maybe coming from a small town where that is common place, brings us to a place of being just the same.
I'm sad that years pass by and the people who were our first real community become such strangers to us. It is upsetting that what we know of each other becomes largely based on gossip or what we knew 10 or 20 years ago.
Maybe I am in a little bit of shock because he's the first. Maybe I am a little angry and hurt because some people are so uncaring. m
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Picking Tomatoes in the Rain
Several weeks ago, I wrote out lots of blog posts and scheduled them. I have since figured out that I don't really like incorporating the recipes in this blog. They just don't belong here. So, I'll be transfering them back over to the cooking blog. I don't mind the crafts being on here because they are the balance in my life.
As I said in one of those posts, I never know how long these "good" times are going to last. Unfortunately, it didn't last much past me typing it.
Don't get me wrong, to the rest of the world, I usually look like things are good. I keep myself put together long enough to get through any and all interaction with people. When things get bad, that gets more difficult. It gets harder to hide the depression and anxiety. So, I tend to hide out at home or generally avoid human contact. Even the people who are safe to talk to, I avoid. I know silly. But, I do have to illusion that if I don't talk about it, "it" WILL go away.
I have been bobbing along all summer on the edge of breaking down, but managed to hold off. But when several things happen, one after another, I get overwhelmed and break. That's what happened the past few weeks.
We had an extremely difficult birthday dinner with my husband's family. That will get a post all of it's own, but it was painful. The passive-aggressive claws came out and the conversations were like watching two cats face off. I literally cried the whole hour long drive home from the personal hurt I felt and this isn't even my family.
I have several friends who have confided in me, relied on me, and come to me with a variety of issues. I have been extremely happy to listen to them, talk to them, encourage them and help them. But when you are fighting your own monster alone, it wears you down. I feel sorry for those who have come to me because I know I haven't always been able to give 100%.
Speaking of going at alone, I really have the past few weeks. I have become a master at surface relationships. While I still struggle to have deep relationships. I have one or two or three, maybe. But those are newish and I live with a very real fear that they aren't strong enough yet to survive the other person seeing me in a breakdown.
My husband's schedule continues to be very busy. He did have an interview this week that could potentially put an end to all the extra jobs. But until then, we pray and try to take advantage of the time we have together. It also looks like his travel schedule is going to pick back up as he travels this week for the first time since June.
Again, this will probably be a post all of its own, but I found out just yesterday that we won't be spending Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. I spent a day in shock and am now trying to sort through the various levels of heartache this brings.
I won't even go into the myriad of nightmares, flashbacks and memories that keep me awake all night or in a constant state of irritation and hypervigiliance.
Over the past couple months, I had made it to church several times. I still find myself struggling to connect to the church. It isn't just this church, I think I would feel that way anywhere. Last year, I at least had a couple ministries that kept my foot in the door. I had the church decorating and the kitchen.
The decorating is no more and for reasons I can't even explain in an intelligent way. The kitchen is there, but barely. I get contacted when there is a problem or supplies are needed. Last year, I was involved in and organized meals on Wednesday evenings. Because of a lack of volunteers, that ministry is no more. At first, I was happy about that. It was a lot of work. I didn't think it would bother me, but it certainly does. I kind of feel like I have nothing now. And I mean that. Outside of a couple things I do in the women's ministry, I have been shut out of just about anything and everything I would be interested in within this church. That's a tough reality.
So today when I woke up and heard the rain falling, I grabbed my shoes and headed to the garden. Still in my pjs, I picked tomatoes. The rain was a symbol of life for me today. The rain falls, grass and plants grow. The dry, brittle grass is revived after a soaking rain. As the rain drenched me, all I could think about was how I needed for something to feed me...revive me. I needed to feel alive again.
As I said in one of those posts, I never know how long these "good" times are going to last. Unfortunately, it didn't last much past me typing it.
Don't get me wrong, to the rest of the world, I usually look like things are good. I keep myself put together long enough to get through any and all interaction with people. When things get bad, that gets more difficult. It gets harder to hide the depression and anxiety. So, I tend to hide out at home or generally avoid human contact. Even the people who are safe to talk to, I avoid. I know silly. But, I do have to illusion that if I don't talk about it, "it" WILL go away.
I have been bobbing along all summer on the edge of breaking down, but managed to hold off. But when several things happen, one after another, I get overwhelmed and break. That's what happened the past few weeks.
We had an extremely difficult birthday dinner with my husband's family. That will get a post all of it's own, but it was painful. The passive-aggressive claws came out and the conversations were like watching two cats face off. I literally cried the whole hour long drive home from the personal hurt I felt and this isn't even my family.
I have several friends who have confided in me, relied on me, and come to me with a variety of issues. I have been extremely happy to listen to them, talk to them, encourage them and help them. But when you are fighting your own monster alone, it wears you down. I feel sorry for those who have come to me because I know I haven't always been able to give 100%.
Speaking of going at alone, I really have the past few weeks. I have become a master at surface relationships. While I still struggle to have deep relationships. I have one or two or three, maybe. But those are newish and I live with a very real fear that they aren't strong enough yet to survive the other person seeing me in a breakdown.
My husband's schedule continues to be very busy. He did have an interview this week that could potentially put an end to all the extra jobs. But until then, we pray and try to take advantage of the time we have together. It also looks like his travel schedule is going to pick back up as he travels this week for the first time since June.
Again, this will probably be a post all of its own, but I found out just yesterday that we won't be spending Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. I spent a day in shock and am now trying to sort through the various levels of heartache this brings.
I won't even go into the myriad of nightmares, flashbacks and memories that keep me awake all night or in a constant state of irritation and hypervigiliance.
Over the past couple months, I had made it to church several times. I still find myself struggling to connect to the church. It isn't just this church, I think I would feel that way anywhere. Last year, I at least had a couple ministries that kept my foot in the door. I had the church decorating and the kitchen.
The decorating is no more and for reasons I can't even explain in an intelligent way. The kitchen is there, but barely. I get contacted when there is a problem or supplies are needed. Last year, I was involved in and organized meals on Wednesday evenings. Because of a lack of volunteers, that ministry is no more. At first, I was happy about that. It was a lot of work. I didn't think it would bother me, but it certainly does. I kind of feel like I have nothing now. And I mean that. Outside of a couple things I do in the women's ministry, I have been shut out of just about anything and everything I would be interested in within this church. That's a tough reality.
So today when I woke up and heard the rain falling, I grabbed my shoes and headed to the garden. Still in my pjs, I picked tomatoes. The rain was a symbol of life for me today. The rain falls, grass and plants grow. The dry, brittle grass is revived after a soaking rain. As the rain drenched me, all I could think about was how I needed for something to feed me...revive me. I needed to feel alive again.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Sweet Pickles
Canning anything is something that has always intimidated me. As I started to get an abundance of cucumbers from the garden, I decided to dive in and learn some canning. My first venture was refrigerator sweet pickles. They are so easy and I love them!
The recipe can be doubled or tripled or whatever you need to make all the pickles you need. There is something even better about this recipe. The pickles are good in the fridge for three months and so is the juice. That means for three months you can continue to refill the jar with cucumber slices, if you eat them as fast as we do.
Here is what you will need for a small batch:
3 cups cucumber slices (I use a mandolin)
1/2 white or red onion, chopped or sliced
1 cup distilled vinegar
1 1/2 cup white sugar
2 tsp salt
1 tsp celery seed
1/2 tsp cracked black pepper
Whisk everything together except cucumbers and onions until the sugar has all dissolved. Put your cucumbers and onions in the jar and pour the liquid mix over them. Don't worry if the liquid doesn't fully cover the veggies. They will soften some, bend and you will find it all works out. Leave in the fridge for 24 hours and eat!
I love these on burgers, sandwiches and as a snack. I'll be trying some dill pickles next.
The recipe can be doubled or tripled or whatever you need to make all the pickles you need. There is something even better about this recipe. The pickles are good in the fridge for three months and so is the juice. That means for three months you can continue to refill the jar with cucumber slices, if you eat them as fast as we do.
Here is what you will need for a small batch:
3 cups cucumber slices (I use a mandolin)
1/2 white or red onion, chopped or sliced
1 cup distilled vinegar
1 1/2 cup white sugar
2 tsp salt
1 tsp celery seed
1/2 tsp cracked black pepper
Whisk everything together except cucumbers and onions until the sugar has all dissolved. Put your cucumbers and onions in the jar and pour the liquid mix over them. Don't worry if the liquid doesn't fully cover the veggies. They will soften some, bend and you will find it all works out. Leave in the fridge for 24 hours and eat!
I love these on burgers, sandwiches and as a snack. I'll be trying some dill pickles next.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Cinnamon Zucchini Bars
Yes, another zucchini recipe. As much as I like dark chocolate, I think this might be my favorite of the two. This makes a huge sheet cake pan full, so I would recommend making this if you have a crowd to please. With the subtle cinnamon flavor and not even a hint of zucchini, it is sure to please.
Most, if not all, of my cooking and baking is done with almond milk. Almond milk used in this frosting does not require refrigeration. It also makes it milk free, which is good for my lactose intolerant tummy. Sometimes almond milk is the tiniest bit thinner than 2% or whole milk and you may have to compensate by adding a touch less or more powdered sugar as in this case.
The original recipe says this should be more dense than it turns out. It really does turn out like cake, but still wonderful! Next time, I will add an extra egg to the batter and double the cinnamon in both the batter and frosting.
Here is the recipe I used:
Most, if not all, of my cooking and baking is done with almond milk. Almond milk used in this frosting does not require refrigeration. It also makes it milk free, which is good for my lactose intolerant tummy. Sometimes almond milk is the tiniest bit thinner than 2% or whole milk and you may have to compensate by adding a touch less or more powdered sugar as in this case.
Here is the recipe I used:
- 1 1/4 c. butter, softened
- 3/4 c. sugar
- 3/4 c. brown sugar, packed
- 3 eggs
- 2 tsp vanilla
- 2 1/2 c. flour
- 1 Tbsp baking powder
- 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
- 2 c. zucchini, grated
- 2 c. powdered sugar
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- 2 Tbsp butter, melted
- 1 tsp vanilla
- 2 Tbsp milk
Frosting
Instructions
- Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix in flour, cinnamon and baking powder. Blend in zucchini.
- Pour into greased jelly roll pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Cool.
- Prepare frosting. Add more milk if necessary to get right consistency. Spread over cooled bars.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Dark Chocolate Zucchini Bread
My garden has kept me incredibly busy this summer. It has been a mild summer, but a little dry. That means I've watered more than I'd like. It's all been worth it though.
I planted one zucchini plant, knowing I've only gotten those to produce once ever. It took forever, but I finally got some. I think I have picked 5 or 6 now. They have all been small, but so flavorful. Besides the goal of growing the veggies, fruit and herbs, I had a goal to not let anything go to waste. I am happy to say that if it made it out of the garden, it got eaten or used in a recipe.
Since neither of us like zucchini plain or by itself, I have used all of them in a recipes and we love them!
Here is one of our favorites.
Ok, so there isn't a zucchini here. In fact, I've failed to get any of the before shots of the zucchini. But this is a picture of my very first harvest of the year. I felt like a total green thumb when I hauled this in before Memorial Day.
Here's the goods! This has to be the most amazing dessert bread I have ever eaten. Dark Chocolate Zucchini Bread. Oh. My. Word.
I'll share the recipe, cause it is so good. I recommend making mini loaves or even muffins. I would also recommend baking for longer than suggested or until you can pull a toothpick out clean. I altered the recipe by using Hershey's Special Dark powder. Here you go:
1 1/2 cups shredded raw zucchini
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup granulated white sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup semi sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350°F with a rack in the center of the oven. Grease (spray some Pam on there) a 9x5x3 inch loaf pan.
Grate the zucchini, using a medium sized grater, and set aside. You do not need to squeeze the zucchini dry. In a large bowl whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and allspice. Set aside.
In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the oil, sugars, eggs, and vanilla extract until well blended (about 2 minutes). Fold in the grated zucchini. Add the flour mixture, beating just until combined. Then fold in the chocolate chips. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake a toothpick/cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean (about 55 to 65 minutes). Place on a wire rack to cool for about 10 minutes, then remove the bread from the pan and cool completely.
I planted one zucchini plant, knowing I've only gotten those to produce once ever. It took forever, but I finally got some. I think I have picked 5 or 6 now. They have all been small, but so flavorful. Besides the goal of growing the veggies, fruit and herbs, I had a goal to not let anything go to waste. I am happy to say that if it made it out of the garden, it got eaten or used in a recipe.
Since neither of us like zucchini plain or by itself, I have used all of them in a recipes and we love them!
Here is one of our favorites.
I'll share the recipe, cause it is so good. I recommend making mini loaves or even muffins. I would also recommend baking for longer than suggested or until you can pull a toothpick out clean. I altered the recipe by using Hershey's Special Dark powder. Here you go:
Grate the zucchini, using a medium sized grater, and set aside. You do not need to squeeze the zucchini dry. In a large bowl whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and allspice. Set aside.
In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the oil, sugars, eggs, and vanilla extract until well blended (about 2 minutes). Fold in the grated zucchini. Add the flour mixture, beating just until combined. Then fold in the chocolate chips. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake a toothpick/cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean (about 55 to 65 minutes). Place on a wire rack to cool for about 10 minutes, then remove the bread from the pan and cool completely.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Happy Birthday to You
Today is my husband's birthday. He is 48 years young today. Remember, I keep him young. As hard as it is for him to believe he is just a few years from 50, I think it is just as hard for me to believe in a few years I will be married to a 50 year-old.
This is probably one of my favorite days of the entire year. My husband works so hard, provides in abundance for us and loves me to a fault. So, it would make sense that I absolutely love the one day a year that he doesn't balk at me celebrating him.
He is so selfless and modest and humble. It is sometimes a chore to celebrate him, not that I am complaining at all! I love it regardless. He doesn't ask for things or really anything. For as long as I can remember, he has always jokingly said he wants a hot dog when I ask him what he wants for dinner.
I have lots of hits and misses trying to celebrate him without his cooperation. There was a year I bought him one gift for every year old he was. Another year I surprised him with gift cards from all his favorite restaurants or businesses. On his 40th, I had a surprise birthday party for him with his family. There were more, lots and lots more. Regardless of whether they were a success or failure, he was worth every bit of it and more.
Up until this past year when his mom started to not know who I was, I always sent her a card on his birthday. Over 15 years of sending her a simple thank you card on his birthday. Not only have I tried to celebrate him, but I have done my best to celebrate who he is and where he comes from. I would send a simple thank you card, letting her know how much I appreciated her. Regardless of how I felt or how I was treated by his family, I have always respected that they raised him to be the man he was when I met him.
I probably say this every year, but this year I am looking forward to celebrating his birthday more than any other year. It isn't a monumental birthday, I just love him more than ever.
This year I've paid attention to the few things he has talked about wanting. I have covertly gotten a birthday dessert request from him. I have been able to plan a special dinner with some of his family.
All that aside, I am just excited to be celebrating him. He's the man I love. I love how calm he stays under pressure. He is so fearless. He kills the spiders, even the ones that don't really scare me. He checks the doors when my imagination hears things that aren't real. He never gets super angry, even when I make not so super mistakes. He is mature and a voice of reason. He still laughs and acts like a teenager sometimes. He is loyal. He is a comforter and protector.
He isn't perfect, but he's perfectly mine. I love that he continues to grow and amaze me by the man he is. I am always amazed that I ended up with someone who possesses everything I've needed and never deserved.
Today I celebrate my husband, my loving husband. I celebrate the day he took his first breath and every precious moment of the past 48 years of his life.
This is probably one of my favorite days of the entire year. My husband works so hard, provides in abundance for us and loves me to a fault. So, it would make sense that I absolutely love the one day a year that he doesn't balk at me celebrating him.
He is so selfless and modest and humble. It is sometimes a chore to celebrate him, not that I am complaining at all! I love it regardless. He doesn't ask for things or really anything. For as long as I can remember, he has always jokingly said he wants a hot dog when I ask him what he wants for dinner.
I have lots of hits and misses trying to celebrate him without his cooperation. There was a year I bought him one gift for every year old he was. Another year I surprised him with gift cards from all his favorite restaurants or businesses. On his 40th, I had a surprise birthday party for him with his family. There were more, lots and lots more. Regardless of whether they were a success or failure, he was worth every bit of it and more.
Up until this past year when his mom started to not know who I was, I always sent her a card on his birthday. Over 15 years of sending her a simple thank you card on his birthday. Not only have I tried to celebrate him, but I have done my best to celebrate who he is and where he comes from. I would send a simple thank you card, letting her know how much I appreciated her. Regardless of how I felt or how I was treated by his family, I have always respected that they raised him to be the man he was when I met him.
I probably say this every year, but this year I am looking forward to celebrating his birthday more than any other year. It isn't a monumental birthday, I just love him more than ever.
This year I've paid attention to the few things he has talked about wanting. I have covertly gotten a birthday dessert request from him. I have been able to plan a special dinner with some of his family.
All that aside, I am just excited to be celebrating him. He's the man I love. I love how calm he stays under pressure. He is so fearless. He kills the spiders, even the ones that don't really scare me. He checks the doors when my imagination hears things that aren't real. He never gets super angry, even when I make not so super mistakes. He is mature and a voice of reason. He still laughs and acts like a teenager sometimes. He is loyal. He is a comforter and protector.
He isn't perfect, but he's perfectly mine. I love that he continues to grow and amaze me by the man he is. I am always amazed that I ended up with someone who possesses everything I've needed and never deserved.
Today I celebrate my husband, my loving husband. I celebrate the day he took his first breath and every precious moment of the past 48 years of his life.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Quilting
I have decided to simplify my life and convert all my miscellaneous blogs into one....
This spring, I started sewing blankets and have continued through the summer.
I started simple with kit and with a raggy quilt. I picked up the kit at Silver Dollar City this spring. It included all the fabric I needed and instructions. Just an FYI for anyone who purchases a kit with material included, they don't give you any extra for mistakes. Measure twice, cut once! My first was a success and I loved it.
The finished product is so cute, fresh and lovely.
So after that success, I decided I would make something I found online. My sister-in-law loves Americana stuff. My next project would be her Christmas present. Now keep in mind, at this point, I was going off my own design and measurements. Simple, yes. However, it probably isn't proportionally correct since I got my star fabric cut too narrow. Regardless, I made it work anyway.
While I was working on this for my sister-in-law, my husband decided he would like to have a flag shaped blanket too. The only catch was that he wanted his fully functional. I had to search my brain and whip out some good old-fashioned algebra. I designed a massive layout, but forgot to take into consideration the amount of material that would be ragged. It fails to be anatomically correct with two extra stripes and two few stars, but it turned out just fine.
By the time I finished with these three, I felt like somewhat of an expert. Seriously though, these are the simplest quilts ever! When I found out my friend had cancer, the only thing I could think to do was make her a blanket. She is probably the most cold-blooded person I know. She is that person who lives in long sleeves and pants year round. I whipped this up in an afternoon, no pattern or math needed.
They really are simple. If you want to make one, there are couple things you will need. For a good, adult size lap quilt, you will need about 2 yards of cotton or cotton blend fabric and 2 yards of flannel. The only other things you really must have besides a sewing machine are thread and scissors, really sharp ones are preferable.
You can use any stripe or square pattern you would like. For every piece of cotton fabric you cut, cut a matching flannel piece for the back. Once you've cut your pieces, you marry them together with the next pieces. You then sew a straight stitch down the edge with a 1/2 to 1 inch margin. You repeat that step until the entire blanket is sewn together. Every edge on the top should have a multi-ply seam sticking up and the back should be flat and smooth. You will sew around the outer edges with the same margin.
Once your sewing is done, you make cut down to but not crossing over your stitching on every edge and seam. This is ragging. Your ragging cuts can also be 1/4 or 1/2 or even 1 inch wide. I use 1/2 inch. After you have ragged the quilt, you will want to wash and dry the quilt a couple times. This will give you the raggy looking edges. Be sure to clean the dryer filter each time. As a finishing touch, I will also roll a lint brush over it when it is dry to pick up any left over fuzz.
There you have it. This has to be the simplest quilting ever! Off I go to whip up more of these for Christmas presents.
This spring, I started sewing blankets and have continued through the summer.
I started simple with kit and with a raggy quilt. I picked up the kit at Silver Dollar City this spring. It included all the fabric I needed and instructions. Just an FYI for anyone who purchases a kit with material included, they don't give you any extra for mistakes. Measure twice, cut once! My first was a success and I loved it.
So after that success, I decided I would make something I found online. My sister-in-law loves Americana stuff. My next project would be her Christmas present. Now keep in mind, at this point, I was going off my own design and measurements. Simple, yes. However, it probably isn't proportionally correct since I got my star fabric cut too narrow. Regardless, I made it work anyway.
You can use any stripe or square pattern you would like. For every piece of cotton fabric you cut, cut a matching flannel piece for the back. Once you've cut your pieces, you marry them together with the next pieces. You then sew a straight stitch down the edge with a 1/2 to 1 inch margin. You repeat that step until the entire blanket is sewn together. Every edge on the top should have a multi-ply seam sticking up and the back should be flat and smooth. You will sew around the outer edges with the same margin.
Once your sewing is done, you make cut down to but not crossing over your stitching on every edge and seam. This is ragging. Your ragging cuts can also be 1/4 or 1/2 or even 1 inch wide. I use 1/2 inch. After you have ragged the quilt, you will want to wash and dry the quilt a couple times. This will give you the raggy looking edges. Be sure to clean the dryer filter each time. As a finishing touch, I will also roll a lint brush over it when it is dry to pick up any left over fuzz.
There you have it. This has to be the simplest quilting ever! Off I go to whip up more of these for Christmas presents.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Thankful Thursday
Since I blog for myself and not the reader, I have largely stayed away from the blogging trends. I'm still not particularly drawn to them. However, I think some of them have benefit and validity.
There is no doubt that my life tends to be messier than the average bear. Because of that, I tend to go through seasons where I struggle to find the positive. There are days when my ever present blessings surround me, yet I cannot see them.
And so, Thankful Thursday has been birthed. Not an original idea, but a challenge I am willing to take on for myself. I won't force myself to find the things I am thankful for but intentionally create a running log of the many blessings in my life. When those seasons come, I will have a place to remind myself of what is already there.
I'm starting in an odd place. Today is my brother's birthday, so I felt it was appropriate to start within my family. I know, I know...not what anyone was thinking I am sure.
I haven't worked full time since December 2009. I can't. While I have been fairly stable all summer, that too has been a season. Just like any other season, there is no set time frame. It may be permanent or it could be over by the end of the day. Needless-to-say, working a full time job has been impossible for me and likely still is with my sleep patterns. And yes, the weight of the blame for this lies directly on my family.
Throughout the time I haven't worked, I have struggled with not having job. I tied my identity to it. Not only that, but I didn't know what to do with myself. I hadn't embraced anything to keep me busy. My days were long and pushed me deeper into depression and dysfunction.
The general population hasn't helped with that struggle either. Whether I was shopping or at the salon or in a group of people, I got such odd questions and looks when I said I didn't work. I mean I look capable, especially when you don't understand the background reasons.
In this hustle and bustle world we live in, the idea of being a stay at home housewife is a foreign concept. In fact, I think the term stay-at-home-momless-wife would probably garner less confusion for some.
Honestly, it has only been in the past 6-9 months that I have begun to embrace the idea of being a housewife. Although, I'm not sure why it took so long.
As I was thinking through that this morning, I realized that it was my mom's and my generations who made being a homemaker obsolete as a profession. Get this, before that happened, it was NORMAL for women to work in the home and not out of it.
Of all people, it was my grandma who taught me that. Yes, my cussing, love-to-be-naked, soap opera addicted, dirty magazine reading, porn watching grandma taught me that being a homemaker was the most important job you could have as a wife.
Despite her faults, she made her house a home. She was very routine. She got up early every morning and made my grandpa breakfast most days. When he was still working, she packed his lunch and made the bed before he walked out the door everyday. After breakfast, she washed dishes, cleaned the house, ran errands and did all before lunch.
After my grandpa retired, she made lunch everyday. Her afternoon was reserved for soap operas, but good grief she had nothing else left to do. She would often fall asleep between soaps and dinner. She would fix dinner and clean the kitchen again afterward. In the evenings, she would sit on the deck with my grandpa, go walking or visit neighbors or family.
I know, even I am having to pause for a moment with the shock that there could be something so normal within my family. Believe me, this is probably the best it gets.
My grandma worked for only a brief time at a local ice cream/burger joint. That was it. No other job ever outside of the home. She fully embraced being a homemaker. She enjoyed it. It was her job. In fact, right before she passed she received her social security statement. She became eligible for it within days of her death. She was terribly mad that her benefits were so low. The reason, she had never held a job. She put nothing in, so the amount given to her was the bare minimum.
Looking back though, I am so thankful to have those memories. I am so thankful she embraced that part of her life. Putting all the other crap aside, all the bad stuff about her, I am thankful she set an example for me. I have something to strive for, I really do. I want to embrace my place as a wife in the home like she did. I want to develop that routine, keep my house clean daily, joyfully serve my husband the way she did. This is probably the only way I long to be like anyone in my family.
I am thankful for what she taught me and the example she set. I am thankful to know that even though she has long passed, she can give me confidence in my place in life and the home.
There is no doubt that my life tends to be messier than the average bear. Because of that, I tend to go through seasons where I struggle to find the positive. There are days when my ever present blessings surround me, yet I cannot see them.
And so, Thankful Thursday has been birthed. Not an original idea, but a challenge I am willing to take on for myself. I won't force myself to find the things I am thankful for but intentionally create a running log of the many blessings in my life. When those seasons come, I will have a place to remind myself of what is already there.
I'm starting in an odd place. Today is my brother's birthday, so I felt it was appropriate to start within my family. I know, I know...not what anyone was thinking I am sure.
I haven't worked full time since December 2009. I can't. While I have been fairly stable all summer, that too has been a season. Just like any other season, there is no set time frame. It may be permanent or it could be over by the end of the day. Needless-to-say, working a full time job has been impossible for me and likely still is with my sleep patterns. And yes, the weight of the blame for this lies directly on my family.
Throughout the time I haven't worked, I have struggled with not having job. I tied my identity to it. Not only that, but I didn't know what to do with myself. I hadn't embraced anything to keep me busy. My days were long and pushed me deeper into depression and dysfunction.
The general population hasn't helped with that struggle either. Whether I was shopping or at the salon or in a group of people, I got such odd questions and looks when I said I didn't work. I mean I look capable, especially when you don't understand the background reasons.
In this hustle and bustle world we live in, the idea of being a stay at home housewife is a foreign concept. In fact, I think the term stay-at-home-momless-wife would probably garner less confusion for some.
Honestly, it has only been in the past 6-9 months that I have begun to embrace the idea of being a housewife. Although, I'm not sure why it took so long.
As I was thinking through that this morning, I realized that it was my mom's and my generations who made being a homemaker obsolete as a profession. Get this, before that happened, it was NORMAL for women to work in the home and not out of it.
Of all people, it was my grandma who taught me that. Yes, my cussing, love-to-be-naked, soap opera addicted, dirty magazine reading, porn watching grandma taught me that being a homemaker was the most important job you could have as a wife.
Despite her faults, she made her house a home. She was very routine. She got up early every morning and made my grandpa breakfast most days. When he was still working, she packed his lunch and made the bed before he walked out the door everyday. After breakfast, she washed dishes, cleaned the house, ran errands and did all before lunch.
After my grandpa retired, she made lunch everyday. Her afternoon was reserved for soap operas, but good grief she had nothing else left to do. She would often fall asleep between soaps and dinner. She would fix dinner and clean the kitchen again afterward. In the evenings, she would sit on the deck with my grandpa, go walking or visit neighbors or family.
I know, even I am having to pause for a moment with the shock that there could be something so normal within my family. Believe me, this is probably the best it gets.
My grandma worked for only a brief time at a local ice cream/burger joint. That was it. No other job ever outside of the home. She fully embraced being a homemaker. She enjoyed it. It was her job. In fact, right before she passed she received her social security statement. She became eligible for it within days of her death. She was terribly mad that her benefits were so low. The reason, she had never held a job. She put nothing in, so the amount given to her was the bare minimum.
Looking back though, I am so thankful to have those memories. I am so thankful she embraced that part of her life. Putting all the other crap aside, all the bad stuff about her, I am thankful she set an example for me. I have something to strive for, I really do. I want to embrace my place as a wife in the home like she did. I want to develop that routine, keep my house clean daily, joyfully serve my husband the way she did. This is probably the only way I long to be like anyone in my family.
I am thankful for what she taught me and the example she set. I am thankful to know that even though she has long passed, she can give me confidence in my place in life and the home.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Split-Second Changes
My thoughts have been consumed these past few days with how quickly life can change. It is a current theme I am seeing and feeling all throughout life right now. Even though it seems like a somewhat unnatural theme, it truly shouldn't be.
We should expect the unexpected and know that we aren't promised consistency outside of God Himself. In fact, scripture prepares us for it. John 16:33 says, I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
Even though we should expect it, we never do. Our minds can't wrap around the idea that life can and will change without notice.
Sometimes it's good. Engagements. Births. Weddings. Job promotions. Just to name a few. Those things sometimes come as a surprise and always, always forever change our lives. We celebrate those milestones. Friends and family rejoice those life changing events with us.
Sometimes it's bad. Accidents. Illnesses. Job loss. Death. Those things sometimes come as a surprise too and forever change us. It is those things which probably have the more profound effect on us. Those things are probably the ones which make us take stock of what we have and drive us deeper into introspection.
Unfortunately it is the bad kind of life altering moments I have seen in the lives of my family and friends lately.
As you may have seen in the last post, my friend went into surgery for a potential appendix problem and was given a cancer diagnosis two days later. Completely unexpected. Her life, the life of her family and friends, has forever changed. In a matter of days, she went from healthy to having a massive life altering obstacle set before her.
This weekend, my husband's 21 year-old nephew was involved in an accident. He was driving a dump truck when he struck another truck from behind, pushing it into oncoming traffic. One driver died, another was flown to a KC hospital and his nephew was not physically hurt. I say that because he is likely suffering emotionally and mentally.
In a split second, our nephew's life, the lives of the drivers, the families of the drivers and our family was forever changed. When the days started for everyone involved, I know none of them expected how the day would end. I probably should keep my comments to a minimum since this is likely still under investigation. What I can say is that at this moment, none of us fully know or understand the depth of change this will bring to our nephew's life alone.
Trauma, adversity, change, none of it is foreign to me. Trauma has been common place in my life, but too much so. Seeing others go through it, changes me. It penetrates my heart in a different way. I feel these things so very deeply.
These things cause me to think through my life. I have been spending a lot of time prioritizing the things that really matter. My husband matters. The lady who was rude to me, not so much. I have thought about the things I need as opposed to what I have. I have far more than I need.
Probably the most important is being thankful for my faith. My goodness, I am not sure how I handled these traumatic things before becoming a Christian. In fact, I think my overall ability to think through all of these things in healthier ways in every way related to my growing understanding of who God is. Without that, I would be a mess today and not able to use these things to evaluate my own life.
I hope the next time I have one of those split-second, life-altering changes, good or bad, I will remember all of this. I hope I will be able to find peace in that moment knowing regardless of what has changed, God has not.
We should expect the unexpected and know that we aren't promised consistency outside of God Himself. In fact, scripture prepares us for it. John 16:33 says, I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
Even though we should expect it, we never do. Our minds can't wrap around the idea that life can and will change without notice.
Sometimes it's good. Engagements. Births. Weddings. Job promotions. Just to name a few. Those things sometimes come as a surprise and always, always forever change our lives. We celebrate those milestones. Friends and family rejoice those life changing events with us.
Sometimes it's bad. Accidents. Illnesses. Job loss. Death. Those things sometimes come as a surprise too and forever change us. It is those things which probably have the more profound effect on us. Those things are probably the ones which make us take stock of what we have and drive us deeper into introspection.
Unfortunately it is the bad kind of life altering moments I have seen in the lives of my family and friends lately.
As you may have seen in the last post, my friend went into surgery for a potential appendix problem and was given a cancer diagnosis two days later. Completely unexpected. Her life, the life of her family and friends, has forever changed. In a matter of days, she went from healthy to having a massive life altering obstacle set before her.
This weekend, my husband's 21 year-old nephew was involved in an accident. He was driving a dump truck when he struck another truck from behind, pushing it into oncoming traffic. One driver died, another was flown to a KC hospital and his nephew was not physically hurt. I say that because he is likely suffering emotionally and mentally.
In a split second, our nephew's life, the lives of the drivers, the families of the drivers and our family was forever changed. When the days started for everyone involved, I know none of them expected how the day would end. I probably should keep my comments to a minimum since this is likely still under investigation. What I can say is that at this moment, none of us fully know or understand the depth of change this will bring to our nephew's life alone.
Trauma, adversity, change, none of it is foreign to me. Trauma has been common place in my life, but too much so. Seeing others go through it, changes me. It penetrates my heart in a different way. I feel these things so very deeply.
These things cause me to think through my life. I have been spending a lot of time prioritizing the things that really matter. My husband matters. The lady who was rude to me, not so much. I have thought about the things I need as opposed to what I have. I have far more than I need.
Probably the most important is being thankful for my faith. My goodness, I am not sure how I handled these traumatic things before becoming a Christian. In fact, I think my overall ability to think through all of these things in healthier ways in every way related to my growing understanding of who God is. Without that, I would be a mess today and not able to use these things to evaluate my own life.
I hope the next time I have one of those split-second, life-altering changes, good or bad, I will remember all of this. I hope I will be able to find peace in that moment knowing regardless of what has changed, God has not.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
The Big C Strikes Again
It was just over a year ago that it seemed like cancer diagnosis were being handed out like candy to those around me. For about a 2 month period, I felt as though I was watching everyone waiting for the next announcement of bad news.
My father-in-law went through treatment for prostate cancer last winter after a scary diagnosis during the summer. We prayed through the fear of that the cancer had spread. It had not and he went through treatment and quick recovery. We rejoiced at his progress and rarely think about it now.
Another dear friend was given her second diagnosis of breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy, but struggled with the decision to put herself through another round of chemo. I'm not going to lie, I struggled with that. It was a blossoming new relationship and I had a tough time with the idea of no treatment.
Just this week, I shared with her how angry I had been during that time. I remember spending an entire night awake, wrestling with God about it. I was angry with God for allowing the cancer to come back and I was angry with her. That one long night, I cried, stomped my feet, got on my knees, cried some more and at the end of it all accepted God was in control. He was in control of the things I was angry about and that I couldn't understand.
She did have a change of heart and is now one treatment away from being finished with chemo. In a few weeks, we will rejoice with her. We will celebrate her strength and perserverance. We will thank God for the gift of her survival and her faithfulness through it all.
When I say we, I mean our group of bunco ladies. A core group of us have been together for two years now. I love these ladies. Once a month, we put aside our differences, problems, stress and play a silly dice game. I treasure those nights and they have given me a social group I wouldn't have developed otherwise.
My father-in-law went through treatment for prostate cancer last winter after a scary diagnosis during the summer. We prayed through the fear of that the cancer had spread. It had not and he went through treatment and quick recovery. We rejoiced at his progress and rarely think about it now.
Another dear friend was given her second diagnosis of breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy, but struggled with the decision to put herself through another round of chemo. I'm not going to lie, I struggled with that. It was a blossoming new relationship and I had a tough time with the idea of no treatment.
Just this week, I shared with her how angry I had been during that time. I remember spending an entire night awake, wrestling with God about it. I was angry with God for allowing the cancer to come back and I was angry with her. That one long night, I cried, stomped my feet, got on my knees, cried some more and at the end of it all accepted God was in control. He was in control of the things I was angry about and that I couldn't understand.
She did have a change of heart and is now one treatment away from being finished with chemo. In a few weeks, we will rejoice with her. We will celebrate her strength and perserverance. We will thank God for the gift of her survival and her faithfulness through it all.
When I say we, I mean our group of bunco ladies. A core group of us have been together for two years now. I love these ladies. Once a month, we put aside our differences, problems, stress and play a silly dice game. I treasure those nights and they have given me a social group I wouldn't have developed otherwise.
As we prepare to share in our one friend's victory, another one of our friend's has been given a cancer diagnosis.
It came completely unexpected. When I heard she was having emergency surgery for a possible appendix problem, the last thing I expected to hear two days later was that she had colon cancer.
This is the quiet one of the bunch. Always faithful to be there whether it is bunco or bible study or church. She's always the one who is silent in a conversation until there's a place to insert words of wisdom. She's the one with a dry sense of humor who says the funniest things when you least expect it.
She is also a busy mom of two wonderful children. A wife. A sister. An aunt.
It is heartbreaking. She just got her diagnosis late last week. I don't know what is ahead of her, none of us do yet. All we know is how much we love her. We all share the same struggle of getting our heads around what she is going through or will be faced with now.
I have been able to be matter of fact and have kept my emotions in check so far. But, I know it's coming. My fist-shaking, crying, angry, wrestling with God moment. I'll pray and ask why. I think those are all normal responses to any cancer diagnosis for a friend or family member. I know at the end of it all, I know the answer will be the same as last year. God is still in control, even over the things that make me angry and that I don't understand.
I used to think that a crisis like this weakened my faith. What I have learned is just the opposite. I find myself being incredibly thankful for my faith. I know that I don't have to understand anything besides, God is over it all. All I can do is pray. Pray for a miracle. Pray for comfort. Pray for understanding. Pray for healing. Pray that God would show himself in big and glorious ways in this.
My head and heart know all of this, but my earthly body will still shake my fist and wrestle with God over what I don't understand.
My head and heart know all of this, but my earthly body will still shake my fist and wrestle with God over what I don't understand.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Myth Buster
So it would appear that I have busted my own myth. That would be the one where I truly believed I must stay as far away from the children's hallway at church because I would not last five minutes.
Let me back up just a little bit though.
On Friday night, I sat amongst women I considered (notice this past tense...haha) my friends. The need for children's workers came up in our conversation. What happened next was kind of a blur for me.
You know those times when you chime in on a conversation because that is totally appropriate social etiquette. I think it was one of those moments. It was far past my bed time and I was in a daydreaming, comatose like state, talking in between yawns. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I may have completely and utterly been joking when I said that I might as well go help in the nursery since I am not really engaging in the church service these days. I should known by the perked ears and feeling as though I were suddenly fresh meat for a pack of ravenous dogs that I was in trouble. Although, through my foggy brain and blurry eyes I am positive that I repeated how bad of an idea it would be for me to be with a bunch of children.
I must admit that babies have been on my brain lately. I am 38 and my biological clock is ticking like a bomb. My reproductive woes have had little influence over my heart and brain lately. With friends having babies, trying to have babies, pregnant with babies, babies, babies, babies, everywhere babies...I swear my ovaries cry a little everyday.
As the music began playing today, I had a friend tap me on the shoulder from behind. I'm sure she said to me, "I heard you wanted to help in the nursery and we really need help today." That's not at all what I heard though.
What I saw was this giant, floating head off to the side talking in a cartoon-like voice. What I thought the cartoon-like voice was saying was, "B A B I E S...you want to go hold babies." That was the point my brain lost all ability to answer in any sort of appropriate way, like with a "Have you lost your mind? Those children can smell fear!"
But NO, my crying ovaries and baby, baby, baby, baby heart, jumped up and hauled the rest of me to the nursery.
Let me tell you, I was a fish out of water. I've watched babies before, it isn't a new thing for me. But there is something different about having a half dozen of them looking at me. It is a completely different animal when you walk into a church nursery for the first time. Not that anyone was mean or assuming or anything like that, but I'm not kidding when I say salivating pack of ravenous dogs. Fresh meat!!!!
So many babies, it was overwhelming. I was handed a fussy baby so my friend could tend to another fussy baby. Not overly fussy, but fussy enough.
As I sat and rocked the little guy, more help arrived. Oh good, my chance to hand off and split. But NO again. Said baby boy calmed down, cooed and my ovaries once again took over for my brain.
After 30 minutes, I got to set in a quiet little room and rock the little guy to sleep. Each time I laid him in the crib, he'd cry and we'd repeat. The last time I rocked him longer and listened to him breathe deep with a hint of a snore. I think in that moment, I finally got my brain back and decided it wasn't so bad.
But then I walked out with all the other babies and one by one they started to get fussy. It was like a chain reaction. What had I gotten myself into? The next hour was a juggling and jostling of babies from person to another, trying to finding the right combination of adult and baby to make the babies happy.
I had walked in the nursery before, but only to drop off Sunday school books and when it was completely empty. I would secretly laugh to myself when I would see the little instructions hanging on the cabinets. I learned today that those things are just as good as an instruction manual and every child needs to have one.
You know what else I learned, when you have multiple babies, parents really should somehow identify their baby bags. That would make the hunt for diapers and binkies and blankies so much easier.
When the parents began to trickle in, I realized that I had officially busted that myth. I had made it the entire time. I was sure to show a moderate amount of anxiousness to get out of the nursery. I wouldn't want anyone to think I had somehow become comfortable.
I left with drool running down my leg and spit up on my shirt and of course, that sweet baby smell all over me. I think that made it all worth it. But shhhhh...don't let that get out. Pack. of. Ravenous. Dogs.!!!!!!
Let me back up just a little bit though.
On Friday night, I sat amongst women I considered (notice this past tense...haha) my friends. The need for children's workers came up in our conversation. What happened next was kind of a blur for me.
You know those times when you chime in on a conversation because that is totally appropriate social etiquette. I think it was one of those moments. It was far past my bed time and I was in a daydreaming, comatose like state, talking in between yawns. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I may have completely and utterly been joking when I said that I might as well go help in the nursery since I am not really engaging in the church service these days. I should known by the perked ears and feeling as though I were suddenly fresh meat for a pack of ravenous dogs that I was in trouble. Although, through my foggy brain and blurry eyes I am positive that I repeated how bad of an idea it would be for me to be with a bunch of children.
I must admit that babies have been on my brain lately. I am 38 and my biological clock is ticking like a bomb. My reproductive woes have had little influence over my heart and brain lately. With friends having babies, trying to have babies, pregnant with babies, babies, babies, babies, everywhere babies...I swear my ovaries cry a little everyday.
As the music began playing today, I had a friend tap me on the shoulder from behind. I'm sure she said to me, "I heard you wanted to help in the nursery and we really need help today." That's not at all what I heard though.
What I saw was this giant, floating head off to the side talking in a cartoon-like voice. What I thought the cartoon-like voice was saying was, "B A B I E S...you want to go hold babies." That was the point my brain lost all ability to answer in any sort of appropriate way, like with a "Have you lost your mind? Those children can smell fear!"
But NO, my crying ovaries and baby, baby, baby, baby heart, jumped up and hauled the rest of me to the nursery.
Let me tell you, I was a fish out of water. I've watched babies before, it isn't a new thing for me. But there is something different about having a half dozen of them looking at me. It is a completely different animal when you walk into a church nursery for the first time. Not that anyone was mean or assuming or anything like that, but I'm not kidding when I say salivating pack of ravenous dogs. Fresh meat!!!!
So many babies, it was overwhelming. I was handed a fussy baby so my friend could tend to another fussy baby. Not overly fussy, but fussy enough.
As I sat and rocked the little guy, more help arrived. Oh good, my chance to hand off and split. But NO again. Said baby boy calmed down, cooed and my ovaries once again took over for my brain.
After 30 minutes, I got to set in a quiet little room and rock the little guy to sleep. Each time I laid him in the crib, he'd cry and we'd repeat. The last time I rocked him longer and listened to him breathe deep with a hint of a snore. I think in that moment, I finally got my brain back and decided it wasn't so bad.
But then I walked out with all the other babies and one by one they started to get fussy. It was like a chain reaction. What had I gotten myself into? The next hour was a juggling and jostling of babies from person to another, trying to finding the right combination of adult and baby to make the babies happy.
I had walked in the nursery before, but only to drop off Sunday school books and when it was completely empty. I would secretly laugh to myself when I would see the little instructions hanging on the cabinets. I learned today that those things are just as good as an instruction manual and every child needs to have one.
You know what else I learned, when you have multiple babies, parents really should somehow identify their baby bags. That would make the hunt for diapers and binkies and blankies so much easier.
When the parents began to trickle in, I realized that I had officially busted that myth. I had made it the entire time. I was sure to show a moderate amount of anxiousness to get out of the nursery. I wouldn't want anyone to think I had somehow become comfortable.
I left with drool running down my leg and spit up on my shirt and of course, that sweet baby smell all over me. I think that made it all worth it. But shhhhh...don't let that get out. Pack. of. Ravenous. Dogs.!!!!!!
Thursday, August 22, 2013
It's a Season
I realized that I have written a lot on focused topics lately but nothing much about how things are for me. I think that is indicative of this season I am in right now.
My head is so full that it feels like a swirling little hot mess that could explode. My emotions are comparable to that beach ball held under water for so long that the slightest move off of center and they will shoot about four feet above the surface and come flailing back down with a torrential splash.
But it is a season for me. A season when I must go it all alone.
The people closest to me are in various seasons in their lives as well. They are all going through times when they just aren't available. They are busy with family and health issues and work. Even my husband is in one of those seasons when he barely has time for a conversation.
I am not faulting anyone, but living in acceptance of how life goes.
So I tuck it all away. I hide it all inside, doing my best to not let a hint of it reach the surface especially in the presence of others.
Even though I have done my best to embrace the stay at home wife role, I still struggle each day finding value and purpose for my life. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. I cook and clean and do my best at keeping the laundry and dishes done. Those things don't seem to give me much value.
I know some of those people close to me are so quick to point out that seasons like this point me to God and teach me dependence on Him. Seasons like this are when you find your value in God alone.
Blah...blah...blah...blah. Yea, I know. That doesn't do anything to help me in my very earthly, fleshly struggles where a season like this breaks me down. It doesn't do anything to help me find very earthly reasons to keep chugging along. It does drive me toward wanting eternal life sooner than later.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
My head is so full that it feels like a swirling little hot mess that could explode. My emotions are comparable to that beach ball held under water for so long that the slightest move off of center and they will shoot about four feet above the surface and come flailing back down with a torrential splash.
But it is a season for me. A season when I must go it all alone.
The people closest to me are in various seasons in their lives as well. They are all going through times when they just aren't available. They are busy with family and health issues and work. Even my husband is in one of those seasons when he barely has time for a conversation.
I am not faulting anyone, but living in acceptance of how life goes.
So I tuck it all away. I hide it all inside, doing my best to not let a hint of it reach the surface especially in the presence of others.
Even though I have done my best to embrace the stay at home wife role, I still struggle each day finding value and purpose for my life. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. I cook and clean and do my best at keeping the laundry and dishes done. Those things don't seem to give me much value.
I know some of those people close to me are so quick to point out that seasons like this point me to God and teach me dependence on Him. Seasons like this are when you find your value in God alone.
Blah...blah...blah...blah. Yea, I know. That doesn't do anything to help me in my very earthly, fleshly struggles where a season like this breaks me down. It doesn't do anything to help me find very earthly reasons to keep chugging along. It does drive me toward wanting eternal life sooner than later.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Forgiving the Forgotten
Several unplanned and unexpected events have led to this strange rebuilding of a relationship with my little brother and his family.
If you would have told me a few years ago that this would be happening, I wouldn't have believed it. I would have laughed if you said I would spend two holidays in one year with his family.
As the relationship slowly begins to mend itself, we all have become more comfortable sharing pieces of life with each other. My feelings about our parents seep into the conversation in ways I never expected.
Likewise, my brother has started to share more about the family with me. Oddly enough, he shares in healthy ways. He doesn't over share either. Not because I have set any boundaries, but because in his own maturity has not pushed that information on me.
This weekend, he shared several things with me. He gently creaked open that door into the dark under belly of my dysfunctional family. That's a scary place. For the most part, I have been blocked off from all pertinent family information for over six years. Births, deaths, illnesses, good news, bad news...it's all been locked down like it were top secret government information.
He shared with me that my grandpa has a significant amount of brain atrophy and is suffering from Alzheimer's.
My grandpa has a secure place on the long list of my abusers. His part is only a small slice of what lies in my past, but is horrific all the same.
He recently turned 80, so this comes as a natural progression of life to me. Yet, I am finding peace in it.
While I didn't get a lot of information, I got enough. He gets easily confused when he leaves the house. His second wife and her children are currently considering putting him in a home. His life is winding down to the end. He is 80, it is expected. He's smoked since he was a kid and never taken care of himself. He has traveled and done all the things he wanted. He has 3 children, 10 grandchildren, 13 great-grandchildren, many step-children and step grandchildren. He still has living aunts who are in their 90s. He's had a full life. It's natural progression.
He did some horrific things when I was a kid. I have physical evidence of some of his abuse in the from of photos (long story). I had yet come to a point in life where I was ready to forgive him.
Learning about his current condition has left me in the unique place. There's nothing left but forgiveness.
He's a physical shell of the person I once knew. The horrible monster who used to do unspeakable things to me is now trapped inside this shell. He can no longer remember his wrongs and will never be able to make personal amends for them.
If I ever chose to confront him, he would never comprehend what I had to say and any remnants of genuine sorrow would never make it to the surface. That time has passed here on earth.
His wrongs, the weight of his sin against children...that has now become an issue between he and God. That is all that is left. It is no longer my issue.
It isn't that I am completely over all that he did. He did some really messed up things that still haunt me. But the over arching issue of forgiveness, that door is closed for me.
There is peace and healing in that for me. While he is still living, my earthly conflict with him is over. I don't have anger or hatred toward him. I don't feel as though he owes me anything, not even an apology. Door closed.
Honestly, I don't feel the same gut-wrenching heartache with him having this disease as I do with my mother-in-law. It will take some soul searching of my own to know if that is because I deep down believe it was somehow deserved. I will have to search my own heart to know if there is some twisted satisfaction in knowing he will die a miserable death with such a horrible affliction. I will have to consider my own fleshly lack of concern for his salvation.
This wasn't the path I would have chosen. I would have chosen to eventually confront him. That day has passed and the door is closed. He likely wouldn't even know who I am.
Regardless of the path or circumstance, there is always healing in forgiveness. I couldn't have chosen it any sooner. I couldn't have done it any other way.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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