We finally made it! I did fair, given I only slept two hours. I don't want to go into it now but spending the nigh with my in laws proved harder than I remember.
The kids did a marvelous job. It was the longest they had ever traveled in a car together. By the time we got to the end of the 9 hours, they were ready for some room to move and were a bit slap happy.
We grabbed breakfast at McDonalds this morning. Let me tell you, I am glad all of our lodging comes with free breakfast. That was just genius on my part. Our breakfast cost $2 more than our KFC lunch and the kids didn't get full.
After a few drink/bathroom stops and one refueling, we finally arrived at our hotel. We got a lovely two bedroom suite super cheap and super awesome. We took a few minutes of down time before going to eat dinner.
We took the kids to Chop House burger that we found last time we were here. Giant burgers, onion rings and brownies the size of your foot and I think they finally got full.
I think my niece is in the early stages of a cold. Ugh!!! I'm a total germaphobe! So we now have meds, tissues, and hand sanitizer.
I took the kids for a swim so my husband could get lots of rest. It's still 97 degrees and humid out. So the water felt great.
Maybe I'm learning a new respect for parents who travel with their kids. It's a lot more work than just the two of us.
I should probably call for lights out because we now only have 9 hours before we all have to be up again. But I'm either wanting to savor every last drop out of the day or I'm crazy exhausted.
Tomorrow the real fun begins. We will have a four hour drive tomorrow night, hopefully that goes well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Perfect Church Moment
This is the third week in a row that I've comfortably sat in my old familiar place. Today was the hardest to walk in the door, but has been the best so far.
It was easier for me to connect to the music. To me, it was familiar and inviting. There is something so sincere in worship when you can visibly see a drummer, guitarist, or even people in the congregation worshipping with passion. Let me be painfully honest, I'd love it if it were always this way.
We had an adult baptism this morning. It is usually difficult for me to watch an adult be baptized. The whole thing is so reminiscent of my past experience of be pushed and held under water. It's so bittersweet for me. Through the painful memories I always find the one good one.
I always remember with fondness my own baptism.
I am sure I've mentioned this before but the weeks and days leading up to my baptism were hard. I couldn't wrap my head around willing allowing a man I barely knew push me under water.
You know the saying that it takes a village to raise a child? Well, in my case, it took a village to get this baby Christian baptized.
My village consisted of our church staff. They were so good to me during this process. None of us knew at the time why I was having such a difficult time. Despite the lack of understanding, they were all exhibited an immense amount of patience and kindness.
I can't even remember the number of times we did practice runs. There were times they just let me sit in the baptismal so that I could get more comfortable. They prayed and prayed with me and probably prayed in private for the craziness nobody understood.
With their help and a peace that is beyond understanding, I was baptized on September 9, 2007.
As I stood in church today thinking through that time, I looked over my shoulder. Across the church stood the pastor who was instrumental in my conversion and who baptized me. I looked to the left to see the counselor who stuck by me through that crazy time and many more. Ahead of me, leading the worship, was the music minister who was so good to me through encouragement during that time.
What a sweet, sweet moment. To look and see these three people made those memories even more special today. Lots and lots of other things have changed since that time. Many of the people are different. I've changed. Even those three people have changed. But that moment was absolutely perfect.
In all my terrible church experiences, I understandably struggle to remember the good. I am so glad I got that reminder today. I needed it. I needed to be reminded of the goodness inside the church.
It was easier for me to connect to the music. To me, it was familiar and inviting. There is something so sincere in worship when you can visibly see a drummer, guitarist, or even people in the congregation worshipping with passion. Let me be painfully honest, I'd love it if it were always this way.
We had an adult baptism this morning. It is usually difficult for me to watch an adult be baptized. The whole thing is so reminiscent of my past experience of be pushed and held under water. It's so bittersweet for me. Through the painful memories I always find the one good one.
I always remember with fondness my own baptism.
I am sure I've mentioned this before but the weeks and days leading up to my baptism were hard. I couldn't wrap my head around willing allowing a man I barely knew push me under water.
You know the saying that it takes a village to raise a child? Well, in my case, it took a village to get this baby Christian baptized.
My village consisted of our church staff. They were so good to me during this process. None of us knew at the time why I was having such a difficult time. Despite the lack of understanding, they were all exhibited an immense amount of patience and kindness.
I can't even remember the number of times we did practice runs. There were times they just let me sit in the baptismal so that I could get more comfortable. They prayed and prayed with me and probably prayed in private for the craziness nobody understood.
With their help and a peace that is beyond understanding, I was baptized on September 9, 2007.
As I stood in church today thinking through that time, I looked over my shoulder. Across the church stood the pastor who was instrumental in my conversion and who baptized me. I looked to the left to see the counselor who stuck by me through that crazy time and many more. Ahead of me, leading the worship, was the music minister who was so good to me through encouragement during that time.
What a sweet, sweet moment. To look and see these three people made those memories even more special today. Lots and lots of other things have changed since that time. Many of the people are different. I've changed. Even those three people have changed. But that moment was absolutely perfect.
In all my terrible church experiences, I understandably struggle to remember the good. I am so glad I got that reminder today. I needed it. I needed to be reminded of the goodness inside the church.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
15 Years Ago Monday
Before we head out on this whirlwind vacation, I have (at least) one more hurdle to jump. It is a personal one and certainly one which seems to evolve a little every year.
Our quickly approaching 15th wedding anniversary is definitely a milestone. Hopefully, I will take the time to write more on that later. Very few anniversaries pass me by without thinking about the loss of my grandma. Monday will mark 15 years of living life without her.
It is only in the past couple years that I have started to mourn her passing. Long delayed for me, I know but understandable if you know how my brain works.
Last year at this time was very difficult for me, maybe more so than the previous years. I had lived for nearly 6 years without much family contact and I felt the loss more than ever.
My grandma was literally the best of the worst. She wasn't great, had her issues and was sub par at best as a person. However, she loved and cared for me in more overt ways than anyone else in my family. I sat at her bed side for 6 days before she passed away, delaying many of my wedding preparations.
Looking back at her life, I could say with bold confidence that she was not a Christian. She spent her last few days alive at a Catholic hospital. She had a very aggressive lung cancer, which only took 7 days to fill her body. All of that 7 days, she was on life support. Five of those days, she communicated with us by blinking her eyes, tapping our hands and writing somewhat decipherable notes.
I was not a Christian at the time. However, I found comfort in their courtyard and chapel. The courtyard had a large statue of Mary. It was beautiful and peaceful, a great place to breathe in life and breathe out the sterilization of the ICU. The chapel was a warm place, filled with candles. I would sit for what seemed like hours. I often found myself in a sobbing heap in the pew hoping for a miracle.
On one of my trips to the chapel, a kind priest gave me a tissue and patted my back. He proceeded on to a stool at the front of the chapel, lighting a candle and then bowing in silence. I realize now that this was very much the Catholic way of praying for someone specific.
I left the chapel, went to my grandma's room and asked her if she believed in God. She nodded yes and I found comfort in that. Not sure why, since I was still years and years from truly believing in God myself. Her affirmation of belief has confused me greatly over the years and I could probably write a book on that. That part of her passing probably gets more and more difficult to reconcile as the years go by.
This year, I find myself mourning her in a much different way. As the process of re-establishing a couple family relationships continues, I think I mourn my connection to my grandma less.
For the first time ever, I think there is a potential to have a stronger relationship and certainly a healthier relationship with others in my family. These relationships, which are really starting anew, could be so much better in the future than what I ever had with her. They won't replace what I had with her. But maybe, the best relationship I ever had with someone in my family is yet to come. Maybe, just maybe, the best I ever have won't be the best of the worst.
Tuesday morning before we leave for Texas, I will be visiting her grave site. Something I have not done is over 7 years. It will be the first time to visit with a true understanding of death. There won't be flowers. There won't be one-sided conversation. There will probably be tears, but they won't be wasted. Fifteen years later, I can finally mourn the good, put aside the bad and hope for the future.
Our quickly approaching 15th wedding anniversary is definitely a milestone. Hopefully, I will take the time to write more on that later. Very few anniversaries pass me by without thinking about the loss of my grandma. Monday will mark 15 years of living life without her.
It is only in the past couple years that I have started to mourn her passing. Long delayed for me, I know but understandable if you know how my brain works.
Last year at this time was very difficult for me, maybe more so than the previous years. I had lived for nearly 6 years without much family contact and I felt the loss more than ever.
My grandma was literally the best of the worst. She wasn't great, had her issues and was sub par at best as a person. However, she loved and cared for me in more overt ways than anyone else in my family. I sat at her bed side for 6 days before she passed away, delaying many of my wedding preparations.
Looking back at her life, I could say with bold confidence that she was not a Christian. She spent her last few days alive at a Catholic hospital. She had a very aggressive lung cancer, which only took 7 days to fill her body. All of that 7 days, she was on life support. Five of those days, she communicated with us by blinking her eyes, tapping our hands and writing somewhat decipherable notes.
I was not a Christian at the time. However, I found comfort in their courtyard and chapel. The courtyard had a large statue of Mary. It was beautiful and peaceful, a great place to breathe in life and breathe out the sterilization of the ICU. The chapel was a warm place, filled with candles. I would sit for what seemed like hours. I often found myself in a sobbing heap in the pew hoping for a miracle.
On one of my trips to the chapel, a kind priest gave me a tissue and patted my back. He proceeded on to a stool at the front of the chapel, lighting a candle and then bowing in silence. I realize now that this was very much the Catholic way of praying for someone specific.
I left the chapel, went to my grandma's room and asked her if she believed in God. She nodded yes and I found comfort in that. Not sure why, since I was still years and years from truly believing in God myself. Her affirmation of belief has confused me greatly over the years and I could probably write a book on that. That part of her passing probably gets more and more difficult to reconcile as the years go by.
This year, I find myself mourning her in a much different way. As the process of re-establishing a couple family relationships continues, I think I mourn my connection to my grandma less.
For the first time ever, I think there is a potential to have a stronger relationship and certainly a healthier relationship with others in my family. These relationships, which are really starting anew, could be so much better in the future than what I ever had with her. They won't replace what I had with her. But maybe, the best relationship I ever had with someone in my family is yet to come. Maybe, just maybe, the best I ever have won't be the best of the worst.
Tuesday morning before we leave for Texas, I will be visiting her grave site. Something I have not done is over 7 years. It will be the first time to visit with a true understanding of death. There won't be flowers. There won't be one-sided conversation. There will probably be tears, but they won't be wasted. Fifteen years later, I can finally mourn the good, put aside the bad and hope for the future.
Friday, July 26, 2013
3 Days and Counting
Much to my own surprise, we are eagerly preparing for an upcoming vacation. It isn't the timing or location or specifics I had planned, but it very well could be even better.
Our original plan was to take 7-10 days and make a trip east to South Carolina. We had delayed finalizing lodging while we waited on a potential change in my husband's employment (which did not happen).
A little over a week ago, we learned that we would be able to have my niece and nephew for a short period of time. It looked like it would be an extended weekend at the beginning of August. A furlough day for my husband, we agreed to give the kids a few options. We could make a quick road trip to Dallas, St. Louis, Omaha, Branson or they could hang out with us at home.
My niece had no real preference. My nephew immediately chose Dallas and gave his reason. He wanted to go to the ocean and beach. It's reasonable for a kid to think all of Texas is surrounded by beach, right? I can't imagine his disappointment as his mom explained that Texas is far from the beach.
After some discussion, we agreed that with a few additional days we could take them to the beach. The parents agreed and so we began to plan our 6 day vacation.
Our adventure will start next Tuesday. We have so much planned. Tours of Cowboy's Stadium, Johnson Space Center and the new George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum. We plan to wrap up our time in Texas with a few days on the beaches and piers in Galveston.
The hotels are booked. The tickets are purchased. The car is clean. Bags and bags of chips and crackers are bought and packed.
As excited as I am, I am holding a respectful amount of fear.
My niece and nephew are 12 and 13. They are sweet, quiet kids most of the time. However, I am positive that sitting in a car side by side for hours upon hours will wash away some of that sweetness and they will inevitably start to irritate each other. I can easily predict at least a half dozen of the "Don't make me pull this car over" moments. But I am praying that the flow of activities will wear them out and they will sleep.
I don't take the responsibility lightly. Even though I babysat these kids from birth on, I don't take for granted the precious gifts they are and how we will be responsible for their well-being during this vacation. I know we can handle it, but it is certainly on my mind as we prepare to travel 9 hours from their parents.
I would like to add that I don't take for granted how big this is for us. It wasn't that long ago when I never thought this kind of trip would be possible. I am extremely thankful for the time to spend with them and see it as an unexpected gift.
Of course I want them to have a great time. They don't get vacations like this every year. While I don't have unrealistic expectations of them, but I certainly don't want the trip to be a flop. So far, the kids seem so excited and that's all I can hope for right now.
It's hard to admit and I am sure no surprise, but I am worried about my own anxiety. Yes, I have anxiety about my anxiety. Since our accident two years ago, my travel/car anxiety is sometimes out of control. Honestly, it is usually the one thing on any of our trips that brings out the worst in both of us. I don't want my niece and nephew to see that and I certainly don't want to them to see us fight.
That leads to my last concern. Even though I don't think we need to give the kids this facade that life is always perfect for us, I do want to be good role models for them. I want us to be able to show them love and for them to have a fun trip.
I don't typically do this, but would you consider praying for this trip? Pray for safe travels, quieted hearts and minds, and that it would be a wonderful experience for all four of us.
I hope to be sitting here in a couple weeks, sharing pictures from our trip.
Our original plan was to take 7-10 days and make a trip east to South Carolina. We had delayed finalizing lodging while we waited on a potential change in my husband's employment (which did not happen).
A little over a week ago, we learned that we would be able to have my niece and nephew for a short period of time. It looked like it would be an extended weekend at the beginning of August. A furlough day for my husband, we agreed to give the kids a few options. We could make a quick road trip to Dallas, St. Louis, Omaha, Branson or they could hang out with us at home.
My niece had no real preference. My nephew immediately chose Dallas and gave his reason. He wanted to go to the ocean and beach. It's reasonable for a kid to think all of Texas is surrounded by beach, right? I can't imagine his disappointment as his mom explained that Texas is far from the beach.
After some discussion, we agreed that with a few additional days we could take them to the beach. The parents agreed and so we began to plan our 6 day vacation.
Our adventure will start next Tuesday. We have so much planned. Tours of Cowboy's Stadium, Johnson Space Center and the new George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum. We plan to wrap up our time in Texas with a few days on the beaches and piers in Galveston.
The hotels are booked. The tickets are purchased. The car is clean. Bags and bags of chips and crackers are bought and packed.
As excited as I am, I am holding a respectful amount of fear.
My niece and nephew are 12 and 13. They are sweet, quiet kids most of the time. However, I am positive that sitting in a car side by side for hours upon hours will wash away some of that sweetness and they will inevitably start to irritate each other. I can easily predict at least a half dozen of the "Don't make me pull this car over" moments. But I am praying that the flow of activities will wear them out and they will sleep.
I don't take the responsibility lightly. Even though I babysat these kids from birth on, I don't take for granted the precious gifts they are and how we will be responsible for their well-being during this vacation. I know we can handle it, but it is certainly on my mind as we prepare to travel 9 hours from their parents.
I would like to add that I don't take for granted how big this is for us. It wasn't that long ago when I never thought this kind of trip would be possible. I am extremely thankful for the time to spend with them and see it as an unexpected gift.
Of course I want them to have a great time. They don't get vacations like this every year. While I don't have unrealistic expectations of them, but I certainly don't want the trip to be a flop. So far, the kids seem so excited and that's all I can hope for right now.
It's hard to admit and I am sure no surprise, but I am worried about my own anxiety. Yes, I have anxiety about my anxiety. Since our accident two years ago, my travel/car anxiety is sometimes out of control. Honestly, it is usually the one thing on any of our trips that brings out the worst in both of us. I don't want my niece and nephew to see that and I certainly don't want to them to see us fight.
That leads to my last concern. Even though I don't think we need to give the kids this facade that life is always perfect for us, I do want to be good role models for them. I want us to be able to show them love and for them to have a fun trip.
I don't typically do this, but would you consider praying for this trip? Pray for safe travels, quieted hearts and minds, and that it would be a wonderful experience for all four of us.
I hope to be sitting here in a couple weeks, sharing pictures from our trip.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Scrapbooking
I am so thankful to get to take a few minutes out of my busy life to share about an awesome experience I had last night. I will have to share later why all the busyness, which is an awesome story all of it's own.
When a dear friend invited me to her house for a scrapbooking night, I was eager to go but definitely held some reservations in the back of my mind. NOT at all because of the ladies involved! I love all of them!
My skepticism comes from the myriad of mediocre and just down right bad experiences I've had when I am an outsider. By outsider, I mean the least known person to the group or the newest one in the group. That's a strength and weakness of a small church. People who grew up together or have been in the same social circles for so long often are very close knit and can have a difficult time bringing in new people.
Since I certainly needed some time around other people, I headed for my friend's house with my skepticism in check.
I was so pleasantly surprised. It was probably the best evening I've had and for so many reasons. We talked, openly and honestly. We shared serious stuff. We laughed. We laughed some more. We did it all without fear of judgment. We talked about things that scare us and future life plans. I'm pretty sure we did some scrapbooking, but it certainly wasn't the main topic.
Most of all, I was just one of them. I've never had an experience where I so naturally felt a part of a small group the way I did this one. It was one of the rare times I walked away sad it was over and anxiously awaiting the next time we could get together.
The other three ladies have known each other far longer than I have known any of them. And, I know it was a short break from the ins and outs of everyday life for them. For me, it was so much more.
I needed a night like this. I needed a renewed hope that I could naturally fit somewhere without it being difficult for me. I needed to know there was a place I could be myself and not fear being judged. I needed to hear that beyond the happy faces that grace the church doors on Sunday morning, there are people who have messy lives. I needed to know I wasn't going to forever be an outsider.
I share this solely for myself. There will be many more times when I struggle to find that natural fit and feeling, especially in the church body. I needed to be reminded that my place does exist and there are people who are caring, loving and not judgmental.
When a dear friend invited me to her house for a scrapbooking night, I was eager to go but definitely held some reservations in the back of my mind. NOT at all because of the ladies involved! I love all of them!
My skepticism comes from the myriad of mediocre and just down right bad experiences I've had when I am an outsider. By outsider, I mean the least known person to the group or the newest one in the group. That's a strength and weakness of a small church. People who grew up together or have been in the same social circles for so long often are very close knit and can have a difficult time bringing in new people.
Since I certainly needed some time around other people, I headed for my friend's house with my skepticism in check.
I was so pleasantly surprised. It was probably the best evening I've had and for so many reasons. We talked, openly and honestly. We shared serious stuff. We laughed. We laughed some more. We did it all without fear of judgment. We talked about things that scare us and future life plans. I'm pretty sure we did some scrapbooking, but it certainly wasn't the main topic.
Most of all, I was just one of them. I've never had an experience where I so naturally felt a part of a small group the way I did this one. It was one of the rare times I walked away sad it was over and anxiously awaiting the next time we could get together.
The other three ladies have known each other far longer than I have known any of them. And, I know it was a short break from the ins and outs of everyday life for them. For me, it was so much more.
I needed a night like this. I needed a renewed hope that I could naturally fit somewhere without it being difficult for me. I needed to know there was a place I could be myself and not fear being judged. I needed to hear that beyond the happy faces that grace the church doors on Sunday morning, there are people who have messy lives. I needed to know I wasn't going to forever be an outsider.
I share this solely for myself. There will be many more times when I struggle to find that natural fit and feeling, especially in the church body. I needed to be reminded that my place does exist and there are people who are caring, loving and not judgmental.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Conviction
This past week, I was having a conversation with an individual from church when I found myself feeling so convicted. That doesn't happen often. Not because I am above conviction, but because I rarely have deep enough conversations to lead to conviction.
Honestly, this wasn't that deep of a conversation. It was with someone who has been a Christian longer than me, so I was a bit surprised.
In the conversation, the person said with firm belief that Christians who drink, smoke, cuss and watch questionable television are NOT Christians.
NOT Christians!
I tried to reason this out with the person that this was simply untrue. Everyone has their stuff. Everyone had their sin. Their crutches. The things God has not dealt with them on. This person was having none of it.
They said they don't do those things because Christians aren't supposed to to do them. By that time, I was doing my best to share in a loving way that this was holding a judgement over someone for their stuff. I tried.
I found myself just getting pissed. Yea, I said pissed. If you missed it, long ago I readily admitted that I have a problem with swearing. That surprises some people, because I know the absolute wrong times and places to do it. It's not something God has dealt with me on yet. I obviously have much bigger things in my life right now.
This person was standing in my home telling me I was not a Christian because I occasionally drop the F-bomb. Oh hell no!
I didn't have much to say the remainder of the time this person was visiting. I was insulted. Hurt. Angry.
After they left, I prayed. My goodness, I prayed for forgiveness. I know I have done the same thing. Not in the same way, but very similar.
You see, I have long thought that Christians were all loving and forgiving and understanding. I have expected it. The bible tells us to be that way and it was presented to me in many ways that the church as a whole was this way.
Through years of hurt, I learned the hard way that this isn't true. Do I believe the absence of these things are a weakness of the church as a whole...yes! But I've certainly learned that individually, those things are largely often an unmet expectation. To find an individual who loves, forgives and shows compassion regularly is a rarity. I have found it in a few select people, but it was a long process and not easy.
I know I spent a lot of time the past few years angry because these things were so hard to find even though its right there in the bible. Yes, I've given a lot of grace and second, third and eighth chances. But, I realized that I felt convicted for being so judgmental.
Hearing the judgement being spewed out at me in my own house changed me. I'm not sure I've yet forgiven this person for their ignorance as it was deeply personal. But, I certainly know I will reconsider my anger toward the Christians who don't quite have it right yet.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Honestly, this wasn't that deep of a conversation. It was with someone who has been a Christian longer than me, so I was a bit surprised.
In the conversation, the person said with firm belief that Christians who drink, smoke, cuss and watch questionable television are NOT Christians.
NOT Christians!
I tried to reason this out with the person that this was simply untrue. Everyone has their stuff. Everyone had their sin. Their crutches. The things God has not dealt with them on. This person was having none of it.
They said they don't do those things because Christians aren't supposed to to do them. By that time, I was doing my best to share in a loving way that this was holding a judgement over someone for their stuff. I tried.
I found myself just getting pissed. Yea, I said pissed. If you missed it, long ago I readily admitted that I have a problem with swearing. That surprises some people, because I know the absolute wrong times and places to do it. It's not something God has dealt with me on yet. I obviously have much bigger things in my life right now.
This person was standing in my home telling me I was not a Christian because I occasionally drop the F-bomb. Oh hell no!
I didn't have much to say the remainder of the time this person was visiting. I was insulted. Hurt. Angry.
After they left, I prayed. My goodness, I prayed for forgiveness. I know I have done the same thing. Not in the same way, but very similar.
You see, I have long thought that Christians were all loving and forgiving and understanding. I have expected it. The bible tells us to be that way and it was presented to me in many ways that the church as a whole was this way.
Through years of hurt, I learned the hard way that this isn't true. Do I believe the absence of these things are a weakness of the church as a whole...yes! But I've certainly learned that individually, those things are largely often an unmet expectation. To find an individual who loves, forgives and shows compassion regularly is a rarity. I have found it in a few select people, but it was a long process and not easy.
I know I spent a lot of time the past few years angry because these things were so hard to find even though its right there in the bible. Yes, I've given a lot of grace and second, third and eighth chances. But, I realized that I felt convicted for being so judgmental.
Hearing the judgement being spewed out at me in my own house changed me. I'm not sure I've yet forgiven this person for their ignorance as it was deeply personal. But, I certainly know I will reconsider my anger toward the Christians who don't quite have it right yet.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Foreign Movie
It is a notable accomplishment for me to be sitting in church for the second time in three weeks. I should be happy with that, but I'm just not. I'm not unhappy either. It really has little to do with emotion at all.
I want to be here or I wouldn't be. I didn't sleep last night so I certainly had a viable excuse to stay home, again. I have finally reached the point where I miss what little I used to get from church and have a desire to have it again.
Wouldn't it be easy for me if that would all fall into place after I overcome the other issues that have been roadblocks for me. I mean things have literally happened over the past few weeks that have paved a road clear to the front door and I've only had to walk through it. I couldn't have asked for it to be easier.
But as I sit here, I realize I have yet another hurdle in front of me. Another obstacle to get over before my time here can be meaningful. It's my own and its big. It's really two-fold.
This is one area where my disorder is painfully obvious. Most of the time, I get nothing from listening to preaching or corporate worship. There's a block that I don't want to go into right now, but its real and hard.
That problem IS unique to me and my situation, but the outcome is not. Regardless of the number of people I've asked, I've never found anyone willing to take the time to summarize the sermon for me. That leaves me with a high level of frustration.
Lets face it, there are few people who will continue to willingly put forth an effort to do something when they continuously feel it is useless. I'm no different in this. If you don't get anything for your effort, you simply just give up after a while. I'm not talking about perseverance here. There is a possibility it will be this way the rest of my life. So, it's not just a test.
All that said, I have a serous disconnect from the church service itself. When the actions are always the same and you don't hear the content which does change from week to week, it's like sitting quietly and watching the same movie repeatedly.
We sing two songs. Someone preaches a mini sermon. An offering is taken. We sing two more songs. Someone reads scripture. The pastor preaches. We sing another song. Someone prays. Up. Down. It all happens in a scripted way. Everything is pre written. The guys speaking or praying talk in ways they wouldn't normally because they are reading what is written.
The songs don't make sense. I typically sing along only once or twice through the entire service because I'm not familiar. The words just don't connect for me and I'm usually good at dissecting music.
Rinse and repeat.
It's disheartening to hear people be able to connect and be enriched by their time at church. I'm happy for them. It's not my story though.
So I should be happy to be sitting here. I should be ecstatic to see the mountain I've climbed just to be sitting here. But I'm not. I want more. I don't want to sit in a foreign film without subtitles every week and walk out frustrated over the time lost. That's simply not satisfying.
If you search your heart, I'm sure you'd feel the same.
I want to be here or I wouldn't be. I didn't sleep last night so I certainly had a viable excuse to stay home, again. I have finally reached the point where I miss what little I used to get from church and have a desire to have it again.
Wouldn't it be easy for me if that would all fall into place after I overcome the other issues that have been roadblocks for me. I mean things have literally happened over the past few weeks that have paved a road clear to the front door and I've only had to walk through it. I couldn't have asked for it to be easier.
But as I sit here, I realize I have yet another hurdle in front of me. Another obstacle to get over before my time here can be meaningful. It's my own and its big. It's really two-fold.
This is one area where my disorder is painfully obvious. Most of the time, I get nothing from listening to preaching or corporate worship. There's a block that I don't want to go into right now, but its real and hard.
That problem IS unique to me and my situation, but the outcome is not. Regardless of the number of people I've asked, I've never found anyone willing to take the time to summarize the sermon for me. That leaves me with a high level of frustration.
Lets face it, there are few people who will continue to willingly put forth an effort to do something when they continuously feel it is useless. I'm no different in this. If you don't get anything for your effort, you simply just give up after a while. I'm not talking about perseverance here. There is a possibility it will be this way the rest of my life. So, it's not just a test.
All that said, I have a serous disconnect from the church service itself. When the actions are always the same and you don't hear the content which does change from week to week, it's like sitting quietly and watching the same movie repeatedly.
We sing two songs. Someone preaches a mini sermon. An offering is taken. We sing two more songs. Someone reads scripture. The pastor preaches. We sing another song. Someone prays. Up. Down. It all happens in a scripted way. Everything is pre written. The guys speaking or praying talk in ways they wouldn't normally because they are reading what is written.
The songs don't make sense. I typically sing along only once or twice through the entire service because I'm not familiar. The words just don't connect for me and I'm usually good at dissecting music.
Rinse and repeat.
It's disheartening to hear people be able to connect and be enriched by their time at church. I'm happy for them. It's not my story though.
So I should be happy to be sitting here. I should be ecstatic to see the mountain I've climbed just to be sitting here. But I'm not. I want more. I don't want to sit in a foreign film without subtitles every week and walk out frustrated over the time lost. That's simply not satisfying.
If you search your heart, I'm sure you'd feel the same.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Missed It By That Much...
To my delight alone, I have been driving all summer. Nobody is happier about that than me. In fact, I'm not sure anybody is happy about that except me. Although, there have really not been many problems.
I did have an incident this week which made me reconsider my desire to drive....briefly.
Our accident in 2011 certainly raised my level of anxiety while riding in a car. I have much less of it when I'm the one driving. After a couple months behind the wheel, I am cautious and yet very carefree while driving. That's definitely not the case while riding with someone else.
Isn't it funny how sometimes it only takes one little thing to remind us that we aren't invincible? To remind us just how small we are? To remind us that God is bigger than us? To remind us that all the little things work together for something bigger? To remind us just how vulnerable we really are?
While making the 10 minute trek between suburbs one evening this week, I had what I am positive was a little thing happen to me. I am sure it would have been deemed "cool" by my husband and a lot of guys. It might have rattled some of the ladies I know, but some of them probably would have thought it was exciting after the initial shock.
As I drove down the highway, I saw ahead that I had a green light to keep going. I usually am very attentive to all side roads even when I have the right of way. As I approached the intersection, I saw a large truck barreling down the side street but was certain it would stop at the red light. Wrong!
The truck fishtailed through traffic, smacking a car and light pole in it's path. By this time, I was already into the intersection and could see the truck wasn't stopping for anyone. I hit my brakes and veered to the side as the end of the truck swung just inches away from my bumper.
In a complete state of shock, I know I took a deep breath and had some choice words flowing through my head about the truck load of young cowboys who were hanging out the windows and yelling. In that brief second, I couldn't believe they had just blown through a stop light causing so much damage and nearly hitting me.
It may have seemed like minutes but I know it was only seconds later, I realized that these fools weren't stopping. Why? Well, it might have had something to do with the police cars chasing them. One after another, police cars were in pursuit of these young men and I was sitting right in the middle of their chase.
As I watched the truck and cars get smaller and smaller as they headed further away, the tears in my eyes got bigger and bigger. I took a lot of deep breaths and headed back out on the highway. I didn't cry, but those giant tears set in my eyes all the way home. I'm not sure I even blinked.
My mind didn't slow down the rest of the way home. If I hadn't taken that extra 30 seconds to send a text message or if I had been on my phone and not paying attention or if I hadn't slowed down when I did.
Being in the driver's seat didn't make me any bigger or any more in control. I was a little tiny spec in a great big world and I was vulnerable. A few seconds in either direction and my evening would have ended a lot different.
I haven't given up driving yet (I know there are some people anxiously waiting for that moment), but I'm driving a little bit more alert the past few days. And, I'm certainly driving a lot more thankful when I arrive home safely.
I did have an incident this week which made me reconsider my desire to drive....briefly.
Our accident in 2011 certainly raised my level of anxiety while riding in a car. I have much less of it when I'm the one driving. After a couple months behind the wheel, I am cautious and yet very carefree while driving. That's definitely not the case while riding with someone else.
Isn't it funny how sometimes it only takes one little thing to remind us that we aren't invincible? To remind us just how small we are? To remind us that God is bigger than us? To remind us that all the little things work together for something bigger? To remind us just how vulnerable we really are?
While making the 10 minute trek between suburbs one evening this week, I had what I am positive was a little thing happen to me. I am sure it would have been deemed "cool" by my husband and a lot of guys. It might have rattled some of the ladies I know, but some of them probably would have thought it was exciting after the initial shock.
As I drove down the highway, I saw ahead that I had a green light to keep going. I usually am very attentive to all side roads even when I have the right of way. As I approached the intersection, I saw a large truck barreling down the side street but was certain it would stop at the red light. Wrong!
The truck fishtailed through traffic, smacking a car and light pole in it's path. By this time, I was already into the intersection and could see the truck wasn't stopping for anyone. I hit my brakes and veered to the side as the end of the truck swung just inches away from my bumper.
In a complete state of shock, I know I took a deep breath and had some choice words flowing through my head about the truck load of young cowboys who were hanging out the windows and yelling. In that brief second, I couldn't believe they had just blown through a stop light causing so much damage and nearly hitting me.
It may have seemed like minutes but I know it was only seconds later, I realized that these fools weren't stopping. Why? Well, it might have had something to do with the police cars chasing them. One after another, police cars were in pursuit of these young men and I was sitting right in the middle of their chase.
As I watched the truck and cars get smaller and smaller as they headed further away, the tears in my eyes got bigger and bigger. I took a lot of deep breaths and headed back out on the highway. I didn't cry, but those giant tears set in my eyes all the way home. I'm not sure I even blinked.
My mind didn't slow down the rest of the way home. If I hadn't taken that extra 30 seconds to send a text message or if I had been on my phone and not paying attention or if I hadn't slowed down when I did.
Being in the driver's seat didn't make me any bigger or any more in control. I was a little tiny spec in a great big world and I was vulnerable. A few seconds in either direction and my evening would have ended a lot different.
I haven't given up driving yet (I know there are some people anxiously waiting for that moment), but I'm driving a little bit more alert the past few days. And, I'm certainly driving a lot more thankful when I arrive home safely.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Marriage 2.0
We are less than a month away from celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary. I know that's a big deal to most people, but for us it's HUGE!
As is always the case, I'm going to be brutally honest. Two weeks ago, I packed a bag and left my husband a detailed letter about how I needed a few days away from him to decide if I still wanted to be married.
There were a couple issues plaguing me. He had been gone the week prior and I had gone days with only 1-2 hours of sleep. I needed rest and sleep desperately. My days had become filled with little more than laundry, cleaning, cooking, taking care of dogs and repeating. My exhaustion only exacerbated the feelings of being a single wife. My husband had gotten so focused and wrapped up in his job, that he had little interest in or focus on anything else. I have certainly done that and maybe you have too. It is easy to let the most stressful issue in our lives consume us and for the ones we love the most to suffer.
Regardless, I'd had enough and needed a respite from it all. I needed things to change or I needed the strength to accept it. Needless-to-say, I came back home the same night and we left the next day for a weekend away. No cleaning, no cooking, no working, no email, no time spent apart. It was just what we needed. I know, packing and leaving was extreme but it certainly led to our quick realignment.
As terrible as that all sounds, it is NOTHING in comparison to the months leading up to our 1st wedding anniversary.
OK, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. Our first entire year was pretty miserable. He had lived on his own for well over five years. He had his routine, his stuff, his ways and I was an intruder! I had no stability prior to moving and was a bit more free and loose with time and routine than he was. We clashed in big ways.
My grandma had died three days before our wedding. I didn't have time to grieve and I certainly didn't know how. On top of that, I had moved two hours away from everyone I knew. My husband, who I didn't like much that first year, was literally the only person I knew. I left a town of 2,000 people with only 1 gas station and a Pizza Hut and moved to a huge suburb of KC. My entire life had been turned upside down.
Because my husband was so regimented in his routine, we made the trip back to his parents EVERY weekend. No kidding! We spent not one weekend at home that entire first year. We also made six trips back that first year for more funerals. Our families both suffered lots of loss that first 12-15 months of our marriage.
Heading into our first anniversary, I was fairly certain that I didn't like this guy enough to stick around. I had gotten a marketing job that I loved though. So, I decided to at least stick it out through our first anniversary.
If you know my husband, you know he is a kind, quiet guy who would do anything for anybody. He wasn't always that way. He went through some major thyroid issues prior to our wedding that didn't moderate until several years into marriage. That made him moody and easily annoyed. He was kind of arrogant and had the "I've got the world by the tail" mentality. I cringe even typing that because he is nowhere close to that today.
One month before our anniversary, his company downsized and he was let go. My $8/hour marketing job had become our only income. That job loss was the turning point for my husband. It had brought him to his knees. Crushed him in a way that forever changed him.
He was only out of work for about 45 days, but it took us months and maybe even years to overcome. The days, weeks and months following our first anniversary were a blur, but we obviously survived it.
This year certainly has nothing on that first year or many of the past 14. But here we are, still together and heading into our 15th anniversary.
With all that we've been through (and there's a whole bunch of ick that I haven't mentioned that's even worse), we are still together. We've beat the odds. With my background and all that we have endured, there was little hope we'd still be together today. We are about to prove the statistics wrong.
That feels good! It would be great if the next 15 were perfect, but I'll just be happy if I can look back and say "These past 15 were easier than the first 15."
As is always the case, I'm going to be brutally honest. Two weeks ago, I packed a bag and left my husband a detailed letter about how I needed a few days away from him to decide if I still wanted to be married.
There were a couple issues plaguing me. He had been gone the week prior and I had gone days with only 1-2 hours of sleep. I needed rest and sleep desperately. My days had become filled with little more than laundry, cleaning, cooking, taking care of dogs and repeating. My exhaustion only exacerbated the feelings of being a single wife. My husband had gotten so focused and wrapped up in his job, that he had little interest in or focus on anything else. I have certainly done that and maybe you have too. It is easy to let the most stressful issue in our lives consume us and for the ones we love the most to suffer.
Regardless, I'd had enough and needed a respite from it all. I needed things to change or I needed the strength to accept it. Needless-to-say, I came back home the same night and we left the next day for a weekend away. No cleaning, no cooking, no working, no email, no time spent apart. It was just what we needed. I know, packing and leaving was extreme but it certainly led to our quick realignment.
As terrible as that all sounds, it is NOTHING in comparison to the months leading up to our 1st wedding anniversary.
OK, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. Our first entire year was pretty miserable. He had lived on his own for well over five years. He had his routine, his stuff, his ways and I was an intruder! I had no stability prior to moving and was a bit more free and loose with time and routine than he was. We clashed in big ways.
My grandma had died three days before our wedding. I didn't have time to grieve and I certainly didn't know how. On top of that, I had moved two hours away from everyone I knew. My husband, who I didn't like much that first year, was literally the only person I knew. I left a town of 2,000 people with only 1 gas station and a Pizza Hut and moved to a huge suburb of KC. My entire life had been turned upside down.
Because my husband was so regimented in his routine, we made the trip back to his parents EVERY weekend. No kidding! We spent not one weekend at home that entire first year. We also made six trips back that first year for more funerals. Our families both suffered lots of loss that first 12-15 months of our marriage.
Heading into our first anniversary, I was fairly certain that I didn't like this guy enough to stick around. I had gotten a marketing job that I loved though. So, I decided to at least stick it out through our first anniversary.
If you know my husband, you know he is a kind, quiet guy who would do anything for anybody. He wasn't always that way. He went through some major thyroid issues prior to our wedding that didn't moderate until several years into marriage. That made him moody and easily annoyed. He was kind of arrogant and had the "I've got the world by the tail" mentality. I cringe even typing that because he is nowhere close to that today.
One month before our anniversary, his company downsized and he was let go. My $8/hour marketing job had become our only income. That job loss was the turning point for my husband. It had brought him to his knees. Crushed him in a way that forever changed him.
He was only out of work for about 45 days, but it took us months and maybe even years to overcome. The days, weeks and months following our first anniversary were a blur, but we obviously survived it.
This year certainly has nothing on that first year or many of the past 14. But here we are, still together and heading into our 15th anniversary.
With all that we've been through (and there's a whole bunch of ick that I haven't mentioned that's even worse), we are still together. We've beat the odds. With my background and all that we have endured, there was little hope we'd still be together today. We are about to prove the statistics wrong.
That feels good! It would be great if the next 15 were perfect, but I'll just be happy if I can look back and say "These past 15 were easier than the first 15."
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