I sit here amazed at quickly our right now become what used to be. It all happens too fast. Maybe that's just life, but it's a part of life I haven't quite matured enough to accept.
As I began to wade through the mountain of laundry this morning, I went to the closet for hangers. There I found, as I always do, my husband's clothes spread from his side to mine. Sliding them back to his side, might seem like a simple task but today it was one that cracked me like a dropped egg.
You see, I'm convinced part of the reason our right now becomes what used to be so quickly is because we rarely take time to purposely slow down that process. I think we often let life tangle our time so we can't give attention to things that matter to us or others. I think the other half of that is how we tend to go from one thing to the next without consideration of how our actions will effect the lives of everyone around us.
It wasn't necessarily the clothes all over the closet that struck a nerve with me, but an idea. It was the idea that over the past two years, so many people have made promises, got involved in my life, etc. and yet here I am walking through life kind of alone...again.
And no matter how hard I have tried to hold onto the right now, it always seems to slip in the what used to be.
I used to have a friend who would go to the movies, shopping, out to dinner and have conversation.
I used to have a couple friends who did bible study with me in ways that I got to comprehend.
I used to have a friend who helped keep me accountable and talk through the tough things in life.
I used to have a friend that called once in a while to catch up or ask how I was doing.
I used to have a friend that would just let me spend an afternoon at their house, just being me.
I used to have a friend that stopped by once in a while just to catch up.
I used to have a friend who would go get a pedicure with me a couple times a year.
In each of those things, I loved the right now. I savored every moment and wanted to hold onto it forever. Even though I know it couldn't possibly last forever. Each of those things became what used to be too quickly.
Some of the friends have moved on, some have just become too busy. Some of them, it was just time for them to become what used to be. Some of them, I long to have that right now back again.
I think it's weighing on me so heavily because my right now doesn't have look so great and seems to be getting lonelier.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
From Father to Son
We made the quick dash back to see my father-in-law for Father's Day. While I have nothing to celebrate, my husband still does.
It is always emotional for my husband to make that trip, but today was especially so.
Upon arrival, my husband headed to the garage to get a mower part and I was left to visit with my mother-in-law.
I got to have some difficult conversations with her. I'm fairly certain she doesn't remember my name. She called me sweetie several times and referred to me as Audra, who is her daughter.
She shared with me that she doesn't think her memory is getting any better. Sure, she still blames obscure things. She thinks if she hadn't retired or had her varicose veins fixed, she'd still be able to remember everything. She says she has problems remembering everything and that mornings are just as bad as evenings. She doesn't think the medication works and is looking forward to seeing her doctor this week. Most of all, she says she has a hard time with names. Surprisingly, she admitted her frustration with not being able to remember things.
I have to be honest with her and couldn't sugar-coat anything (which I think people do sometimes). I told her that I was sorry she thought it was getting worse. I didn't agree with her ideas about what caused the memory loss and I certainly didn't give her false hope that it would get any better. Instead, I encouraged her to talk about meds with the doctor so that maybe it would slow the progression of this mental monster.
Little did I know that something very sad, yet special was happening in the garage between my husband and his dad.
His dad was handing down manly measuring instruments (sorry I don't know the technical names) to Kent. They are things he has had for probably 40+ years, things that are no longer manufactured. They are things that he used to do his job, things that he valued enough to keep for that long.
I watched the tears roll down my husbands cheeks as he talked about everything his dad had given him. Understandably, he was upset about what seemed to be his dad giving up on ever having a need for these things again.
What I hope he can eventually see is how this wasn't his dad giving up, but passing on valuable items. It was a proverbial rite of passage. His dad was, with actions alone, saying he was proud of the man he has become and he wants him to have these things.
Kent is the only one of the boys in the boys in the family who so closely got their dad's mechanical skills. I know that his dad sees that in him and is immensely proud of him. I see him get the proud, puffy chest over all the things his son has done and can do. Even with his boy in his 40's, he is still a proud papa that looks on his son and can so easily see the impact he has been in his life.
I think my husband has the typical, "I'll never be good enough" feelings that most kids do when they had a parent who was hard on them or maybe a bit absent because they were always working to provide for their family. I hope someday and soon, my husband can see the he is the apple of his dad's eye.
With my father-in-law in his 70s, I hope that my husband has many more opportunities like today. No, I don't mean where he leaves with a box full of stuff. I mean those rare times when his dad shows him that love that he desires. Those times when he can get a glimpse of the deep sense of pride his dad has in him. I hope there are more opportunities for my husband to see that he has indeed become the man his dad wanted him to be and so much more.
It is always emotional for my husband to make that trip, but today was especially so.
Upon arrival, my husband headed to the garage to get a mower part and I was left to visit with my mother-in-law.
I got to have some difficult conversations with her. I'm fairly certain she doesn't remember my name. She called me sweetie several times and referred to me as Audra, who is her daughter.
She shared with me that she doesn't think her memory is getting any better. Sure, she still blames obscure things. She thinks if she hadn't retired or had her varicose veins fixed, she'd still be able to remember everything. She says she has problems remembering everything and that mornings are just as bad as evenings. She doesn't think the medication works and is looking forward to seeing her doctor this week. Most of all, she says she has a hard time with names. Surprisingly, she admitted her frustration with not being able to remember things.
I have to be honest with her and couldn't sugar-coat anything (which I think people do sometimes). I told her that I was sorry she thought it was getting worse. I didn't agree with her ideas about what caused the memory loss and I certainly didn't give her false hope that it would get any better. Instead, I encouraged her to talk about meds with the doctor so that maybe it would slow the progression of this mental monster.
Little did I know that something very sad, yet special was happening in the garage between my husband and his dad.
His dad was handing down manly measuring instruments (sorry I don't know the technical names) to Kent. They are things he has had for probably 40+ years, things that are no longer manufactured. They are things that he used to do his job, things that he valued enough to keep for that long.
I watched the tears roll down my husbands cheeks as he talked about everything his dad had given him. Understandably, he was upset about what seemed to be his dad giving up on ever having a need for these things again.
What I hope he can eventually see is how this wasn't his dad giving up, but passing on valuable items. It was a proverbial rite of passage. His dad was, with actions alone, saying he was proud of the man he has become and he wants him to have these things.
Kent is the only one of the boys in the boys in the family who so closely got their dad's mechanical skills. I know that his dad sees that in him and is immensely proud of him. I see him get the proud, puffy chest over all the things his son has done and can do. Even with his boy in his 40's, he is still a proud papa that looks on his son and can so easily see the impact he has been in his life.
I think my husband has the typical, "I'll never be good enough" feelings that most kids do when they had a parent who was hard on them or maybe a bit absent because they were always working to provide for their family. I hope someday and soon, my husband can see the he is the apple of his dad's eye.
With my father-in-law in his 70s, I hope that my husband has many more opportunities like today. No, I don't mean where he leaves with a box full of stuff. I mean those rare times when his dad shows him that love that he desires. Those times when he can get a glimpse of the deep sense of pride his dad has in him. I hope there are more opportunities for my husband to see that he has indeed become the man his dad wanted him to be and so much more.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Bottom of the Shoe
Yep...this week has been like stepping in pile of dog poop. No joke, I really did that too.
My husband had to travel Monday through Wednesday. That's always a stressful time when everything gets displaced. He left Monday morning and that's when the the crap started hitting the fan.
As I started to open the door and let the dogs out on Monday morning, I heard a crack. A 1/3 of one of the trees broke apart and landed on my garden. A friend from church came and cut it up, so at least it didn't kill anything in the garden nor cause a problem for the dogs.
While I was doing dishes, the fridge started making terrible squealing noises when it kicked on. Thankfully, that stopped after about an hour and another crisis was averted.
On Monday, I had to also deal with home owners insurance. With a problem created by the agent, our home sat for two solid months without insurance. Thank God nothing happened during that time. However, I learned that my American Family agent has to be the worst agent ever.
A visit to the agent's office proved unfruitful. We've been dealing with this issue for three months, so I was less than pleased. Needless-to-say, as of tomorrow we will have a new agent for both auto and home insurance. I could dedicate an entire post just to the problems we've had with insurance companies the past year.
To add insult to injury, I found out on Monday that my hairstylist had quit his previous salon and I could not find him at another. Simply a mild irritation unless it's tacked onto a week like this one.
Tuesday morning not only did I have to wake up in a bed that wasn't mine, I was woke up by a dog throwing up all over me. For whatever reason, that dog has continued to throw up everyday at least a few times a day.
I've had to deal with some pretty big personal hurts throughout the week that I just can't go into right now. Two of my friends were diagnosed with cancer in the past week. One of my friends had a miscarriage.
I learned my niece and nephew will be spending time alone with my parents next month. That certainly doesn't make me happy.
Father's Day smacked me in the face and finished me off with a good butt-kicking.
In trying to get new insurance, I learned that once again my in-laws have caused problems for us. Their accidents have been put on my husband's driving record.
Last night, I came home to find one of the dogs had eaten two pounds of cherries, which are toxic. After not sleeping for several nights, I had to keep checking on this dog to make sure she was still breathing.
And yes, I literally did step in dog poop.
I think it was the emotional stuff that wore me down faster than anything. I still can't find a lot of purpose in my life, nothing to give me direction.
I've just had it with everything...it's weeks like this one that make me wish my life away and look so forward to heaven.
My husband had to travel Monday through Wednesday. That's always a stressful time when everything gets displaced. He left Monday morning and that's when the the crap started hitting the fan.
While I was doing dishes, the fridge started making terrible squealing noises when it kicked on. Thankfully, that stopped after about an hour and another crisis was averted.
On Monday, I had to also deal with home owners insurance. With a problem created by the agent, our home sat for two solid months without insurance. Thank God nothing happened during that time. However, I learned that my American Family agent has to be the worst agent ever.
A visit to the agent's office proved unfruitful. We've been dealing with this issue for three months, so I was less than pleased. Needless-to-say, as of tomorrow we will have a new agent for both auto and home insurance. I could dedicate an entire post just to the problems we've had with insurance companies the past year.
To add insult to injury, I found out on Monday that my hairstylist had quit his previous salon and I could not find him at another. Simply a mild irritation unless it's tacked onto a week like this one.
Tuesday morning not only did I have to wake up in a bed that wasn't mine, I was woke up by a dog throwing up all over me. For whatever reason, that dog has continued to throw up everyday at least a few times a day.
I've had to deal with some pretty big personal hurts throughout the week that I just can't go into right now. Two of my friends were diagnosed with cancer in the past week. One of my friends had a miscarriage.
I learned my niece and nephew will be spending time alone with my parents next month. That certainly doesn't make me happy.
Father's Day smacked me in the face and finished me off with a good butt-kicking.
In trying to get new insurance, I learned that once again my in-laws have caused problems for us. Their accidents have been put on my husband's driving record.
Last night, I came home to find one of the dogs had eaten two pounds of cherries, which are toxic. After not sleeping for several nights, I had to keep checking on this dog to make sure she was still breathing.
And yes, I literally did step in dog poop.
I think it was the emotional stuff that wore me down faster than anything. I still can't find a lot of purpose in my life, nothing to give me direction.
I've just had it with everything...it's weeks like this one that make me wish my life away and look so forward to heaven.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
A Stolen Title
Since my post last night, my heart has been just broken for my husband. I can't possibly know how it feels to be him. I can't empathize with him on what it's like to want to be a father and have that stolen from me. I can only share what it's like for me to have married a man who should have been given his heart's desire, but wasn't.
My husband loves kids, probably because he is a big kid. He's not above plucking a nerf ball off the store shelf and throwing it at me as I walk mindlessly in front of him. He has that innocent ability to laugh at himself first and often, a lot like kids do.
Since I grew up with nearly every interaction between an adult and child being inappropriate, it's been hard for me to engage with children. I tell people I'm afraid of them, but I'm not. I'm just not conditioned to be comfortable interacting with them. Oh and I am totally uncomfortable with the whole idea of playing, which seems to be what kids are all about.
My husband is the total opposite. When kids wave or talk to him in restaurants or stores, he happily engages with them, usually lighting up. He even volunteered in the children's ministry at church for a couple years.
There are four kids that my husband loves probably more than he can put words to.
His niece Kendra is in her 20's and getting married next year. I know she irritated him endlessly when he was a 20-something and she was a squarely little girl. Without doubt, she was the apple of his eye. His nephew Zack, also in his 20's, was all boy and definitely made Kent a proud uncle. We spent lots of weekends driving to watch this kid ride a motorcycle or 4-wheeler in races.
He has a nephew, Henry, who is 7 and a niece Hailey, who is 1. He doesn't get to see either of them very often but when he does, it's so special.
Maybe I haven't had the opportunity to watch him everyday with a child, but I think I've observed him get as close as our lives have allowed.
I know, dogs are not the same as children. But when you have no children, sometimes that love finds it's place with the pets who become your family. I've watched him hold our pups when they were sick. When we've had the frantic accidents that called for emergency vet visits, he's been the one to stay calm while I fell apart. He's the one who gets up in the middle of the night when one of them is sick, needs to go outside or is just thirsty. When one of them shreds a roll of toilet paper, he's the one who laughs and cleans up the mess while I get frustrated and think about punishment.
There is no question in my mind, he would have been that kind of dad.
Our newest pup (the black and white Shih Tzu, Winnie) is scared of people, men especially. She hasn't naturally warmed up to Kent at all, but he continues to patiently love her. In the mornings, he picks her up, holds her for a moment like a baby and tells her she's a good dog. As I lay in bed in the mornings, I can sometimes hear him singing to the dogs. He's done it for years. He carries on one-sided conversations while he feeds them and goes through his morning routine before work.
You might think all of that is weird. Not me! I am thankful to see that side of my husband. It's how I can confidently say I know he would have been an awesome dad. It's also how I know that the person I often get upset with or think doesn't love me has so much love in him.
I try not to focus on the anger I have that he cannot be a dad. That's hard! I love this man. I would naturally be angry if anyone stole anything from him. But this is a special, deep kind of anger over something being stolen from him that can never be replaced, never be given back. It's an anger that rages from the depths of my soul over a stolen piece of his life that he deserved to have. It's an anger that many times has driven me to various thoughts on how to set him free to find a wife who could give him a child.
Again, I can't share his thoughts on this nor understand them. He would likely be far more forgiving than I, holding less hatred toward those who caused the problem.
I wish Father's Day didn't exist or that it was a day when I could celebrate my husband. Unfortunately, it's one of those days he's just excluded from. If there was ever a man who deserved to be celebrated for the father he would have certainly been, it's my husband.
So, even though the title of father has been unfairly, unjustly stolen from him...Happy Father's Day to the man who would have made the best dad EVER!
My husband loves kids, probably because he is a big kid. He's not above plucking a nerf ball off the store shelf and throwing it at me as I walk mindlessly in front of him. He has that innocent ability to laugh at himself first and often, a lot like kids do.
Since I grew up with nearly every interaction between an adult and child being inappropriate, it's been hard for me to engage with children. I tell people I'm afraid of them, but I'm not. I'm just not conditioned to be comfortable interacting with them. Oh and I am totally uncomfortable with the whole idea of playing, which seems to be what kids are all about.
My husband is the total opposite. When kids wave or talk to him in restaurants or stores, he happily engages with them, usually lighting up. He even volunteered in the children's ministry at church for a couple years.
His niece Kendra is in her 20's and getting married next year. I know she irritated him endlessly when he was a 20-something and she was a squarely little girl. Without doubt, she was the apple of his eye. His nephew Zack, also in his 20's, was all boy and definitely made Kent a proud uncle. We spent lots of weekends driving to watch this kid ride a motorcycle or 4-wheeler in races.
He has a nephew, Henry, who is 7 and a niece Hailey, who is 1. He doesn't get to see either of them very often but when he does, it's so special.
I'm pretty sure it was Uncle Kent that was happier the last time we saw Hailey.
I know in my gut and in my heart, my husband would have made the best dad ever. He instinctively knows how to balance being firm and loving; caution and play. It sometimes takes another adult a lot of time and patience to dig through all the layers of my husband to find that caring, loving person. It's effortless with children. I know, I just know, he would have been a perfect father for a child.Maybe I haven't had the opportunity to watch him everyday with a child, but I think I've observed him get as close as our lives have allowed.
I know, dogs are not the same as children. But when you have no children, sometimes that love finds it's place with the pets who become your family. I've watched him hold our pups when they were sick. When we've had the frantic accidents that called for emergency vet visits, he's been the one to stay calm while I fell apart. He's the one who gets up in the middle of the night when one of them is sick, needs to go outside or is just thirsty. When one of them shreds a roll of toilet paper, he's the one who laughs and cleans up the mess while I get frustrated and think about punishment.
There is no question in my mind, he would have been that kind of dad.
You might think all of that is weird. Not me! I am thankful to see that side of my husband. It's how I can confidently say I know he would have been an awesome dad. It's also how I know that the person I often get upset with or think doesn't love me has so much love in him.
I try not to focus on the anger I have that he cannot be a dad. That's hard! I love this man. I would naturally be angry if anyone stole anything from him. But this is a special, deep kind of anger over something being stolen from him that can never be replaced, never be given back. It's an anger that rages from the depths of my soul over a stolen piece of his life that he deserved to have. It's an anger that many times has driven me to various thoughts on how to set him free to find a wife who could give him a child.
Again, I can't share his thoughts on this nor understand them. He would likely be far more forgiving than I, holding less hatred toward those who caused the problem.
I wish Father's Day didn't exist or that it was a day when I could celebrate my husband. Unfortunately, it's one of those days he's just excluded from. If there was ever a man who deserved to be celebrated for the father he would have certainly been, it's my husband.
So, even though the title of father has been unfairly, unjustly stolen from him...Happy Father's Day to the man who would have made the best dad EVER!
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Father's Day
It was almost like hearing something in slow motion when the man on the radio said, "and when you celebrate your father this Sunday..."
Wow!
I'm not completely oblivious, I know the day falls in June and it is in fact June now. But it really crept up on me a bit faster than it usually does. In years past, I've had email reminders a month in advance with advertisements on the latest and greatest gifts for dad. I didn't get those this year. Maybe it's because every company that sent one last year, I blocked.
Oh me...I could go through the list of missing Hallmark cards for my dad. There's the one that says thanks for ruining my life by repeatedly beating, raping, drugging, prostituting and nearly killing me. But honestly, a very simple one that has a fire breathing dragon or that little creepy doll Chuckie on the front cover would be sufficient with a greeting inside that states, "You are an evil bastard and I hope you rot in hell."
I can't forget the one that would be all too appropriate for my husband to send to him. Thanks for being the rotten son-of-a-bitch who left your daughter infertile and stole my chance at ever being celebrated as a father.
I'm not sure why, but this father's day is bothering more than most others have. There won't be anything to celebrate. We will spend another Sunday alone at home while everyone around us spends time celebrating their fathers.
He probably deserves an entire post just about him, but my husband would have made an awesome dad. In fact, I think he would have made the best dad ever! It breaks my heart that he doesn't have that opportunity.
He doesn't have a fertility problem, it's all me. Sadly, when I found that out, I encouraged him to leave me and find a wife who could give him his hearts desire. When we married, he was supposed to have every opportunity to have children and not be strapped with an infertile wife.
It makes me sad and angry all at the same time.
I talk big about what I'd like to say to my dad (aka sperm donor), but really I think there's only one thing that would be truly appropriate to say to him this Sunday.
DNA doesn't make you a father and you do NOT deserve to be celebrated.
Wow!
I'm not completely oblivious, I know the day falls in June and it is in fact June now. But it really crept up on me a bit faster than it usually does. In years past, I've had email reminders a month in advance with advertisements on the latest and greatest gifts for dad. I didn't get those this year. Maybe it's because every company that sent one last year, I blocked.
Oh me...I could go through the list of missing Hallmark cards for my dad. There's the one that says thanks for ruining my life by repeatedly beating, raping, drugging, prostituting and nearly killing me. But honestly, a very simple one that has a fire breathing dragon or that little creepy doll Chuckie on the front cover would be sufficient with a greeting inside that states, "You are an evil bastard and I hope you rot in hell."
I can't forget the one that would be all too appropriate for my husband to send to him. Thanks for being the rotten son-of-a-bitch who left your daughter infertile and stole my chance at ever being celebrated as a father.
I'm not sure why, but this father's day is bothering more than most others have. There won't be anything to celebrate. We will spend another Sunday alone at home while everyone around us spends time celebrating their fathers.
He probably deserves an entire post just about him, but my husband would have made an awesome dad. In fact, I think he would have made the best dad ever! It breaks my heart that he doesn't have that opportunity.
He doesn't have a fertility problem, it's all me. Sadly, when I found that out, I encouraged him to leave me and find a wife who could give him his hearts desire. When we married, he was supposed to have every opportunity to have children and not be strapped with an infertile wife.
It makes me sad and angry all at the same time.
I talk big about what I'd like to say to my dad (aka sperm donor), but really I think there's only one thing that would be truly appropriate to say to him this Sunday.
DNA doesn't make you a father and you do NOT deserve to be celebrated.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Who's Fault?
On May 21, Dahrun Ravi was sentenced to 30 days in jail for spying on his roommate during a homosexual encounter. Ravi was a teenage college student when he used a web cam to watch his roommate. Days later, his roommate committed suicide.
After listening to so many reporters and news analysts talk about this case, I have reached a point of complete compassion for Ravi.
An immature Ravi was doing what so many kids do, not excusing his behavior. Kids, and at 18 he was still a kid, do all sorts of things to each other. They pick at each other and even harass one another. They do silly things like spy on each other with web cams.
Of course back before the invent of web cams, kids did just as awful things. At our school, the boys would gather on the lower steps of the school trying to get a peek under the girls skirts as they walked up the stairs and into school. I believe it's natural, human curiosity often entangled with raging hormones that lead kids to be peekers.
If one of the guys got a bit too frisky with a girl or too aggressive, the principal was alerted. Never was anyone upset enough to commit suicide.
Ravi did not publicly post videos of his roommate. There was no evidence that Ravi repeatedly harassed or was part of any sort of hate crime based on his roommate's sexual preference. There was no supporting evidence that the roommate sought any sort of protection from Ravi nor was there a previous report of any kind of harassment.
I do believe Ravi made a mistake in invading his roommate's privacy, but I think spying is quite a stretch.
Blaming Ravi for his roommate's death is an even bigger stretch. I understand that the family of this young man are upset for the role Ravi played in upsetting their obviously fragile relative. But, I don't believe he can be held responsible for the actions of his roommate.
As someone who battles depression and has on occasion contemplated suicide, I can tell you that I never consider it because of something someone else has done to cause an acute flair of emotion. In fact, as I think through that on occasion, I will walk through precise communication to those I care about. I would want them to know that it was a decision made because I felt it was best.
My point in sharing that is that suicide is a choice. It's a choice someone makes for personal reasons. It isn't something that someone else forces us to do. The roommate made a choice all on his own. He didn't work to resolve the problem which drove him to suicide, which I would contend may or may not have had anything to do with Ravi.
I think the judge in this case should have a cloud of shame hanging over him. The roommate could have made other choices and it is NOT right for someone to have to pay a price for his choice.
Since I tend to have compassion for victims of anything, it's taken me some time to think through this and understand why my compassion lies with the "perpetrator" in this case.
After listening to so many reporters and news analysts talk about this case, I have reached a point of complete compassion for Ravi.
An immature Ravi was doing what so many kids do, not excusing his behavior. Kids, and at 18 he was still a kid, do all sorts of things to each other. They pick at each other and even harass one another. They do silly things like spy on each other with web cams.
Of course back before the invent of web cams, kids did just as awful things. At our school, the boys would gather on the lower steps of the school trying to get a peek under the girls skirts as they walked up the stairs and into school. I believe it's natural, human curiosity often entangled with raging hormones that lead kids to be peekers.
If one of the guys got a bit too frisky with a girl or too aggressive, the principal was alerted. Never was anyone upset enough to commit suicide.
Ravi did not publicly post videos of his roommate. There was no evidence that Ravi repeatedly harassed or was part of any sort of hate crime based on his roommate's sexual preference. There was no supporting evidence that the roommate sought any sort of protection from Ravi nor was there a previous report of any kind of harassment.
I do believe Ravi made a mistake in invading his roommate's privacy, but I think spying is quite a stretch.
Blaming Ravi for his roommate's death is an even bigger stretch. I understand that the family of this young man are upset for the role Ravi played in upsetting their obviously fragile relative. But, I don't believe he can be held responsible for the actions of his roommate.
As someone who battles depression and has on occasion contemplated suicide, I can tell you that I never consider it because of something someone else has done to cause an acute flair of emotion. In fact, as I think through that on occasion, I will walk through precise communication to those I care about. I would want them to know that it was a decision made because I felt it was best.
My point in sharing that is that suicide is a choice. It's a choice someone makes for personal reasons. It isn't something that someone else forces us to do. The roommate made a choice all on his own. He didn't work to resolve the problem which drove him to suicide, which I would contend may or may not have had anything to do with Ravi.
I think the judge in this case should have a cloud of shame hanging over him. The roommate could have made other choices and it is NOT right for someone to have to pay a price for his choice.
Since I tend to have compassion for victims of anything, it's taken me some time to think through this and understand why my compassion lies with the "perpetrator" in this case.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Taco Burgers
That title probably has you wondering what craziness is rolling through my head today. I have so few good memories from living in my home town or with my family. When one creeps into my mind, I like to savor it for all that it's worth.
My grandma was no saint and certainly guilty of so much wrong in my life. But as far as my dysfunctional family goes, she was probably the best of the bunch. She wasn't physically abusive. She definitely isn't off the hook. It was her taking the soft-core pornographic photos of myself and other children in my family. As I wrote in a previous post, she was extremely mentally unstable.
Regardless of her shortcomings, she was probably the most overtly caring person in my family.
It was 14 years ago this month, that she was helping me plan a wedding. Little did I know, she was incredibly sick and her death was soon to follow.
She was the person who helped the most with wedding plans and even helped a little bit financially. I lived with her and my grandpa at the time, giving me an opportunity to have a few special moments as I prepared to move onto the next stage of my life.
I had finished my job at the school in May and was home a lot. One of the things we would do is make a 10 mile trek to the next town south of us to have lunch once a week. We even made the trip on Mondays that I had free from work.
We would drive through the same little fast food place every time. We would go to Taco Johns and get taco burgers. On Monday's, they were only 50 cents each. We'd head home with a bag full of taco burgers and arrive with an empty bag.
They weren't big, but were oh so good. Taco meat covered with cheese, lettuce and tomato on a bun...how could you go wrong with that? My 5'2" 130 lb grandma could eat far more than I could. The sicker she got, the less she would eat.
We didn't talk a lot and we didn't ever do anything else while on our trip. It was a break from the norm. A special time spent with her with no expectations.
I was super excited a few years ago to find a Taco Johns nearby. Walking in the door brings back so many memories of nothing more significant than just taking a deep breath and stepping away from reality for an hour.
The summer of 1998, I made 6 trips to Taco Johns with my grandma. At the beginning of summer, I knew my time with her would be coming to an end. In August, I would be moving two hours away and life would be dramatically changed.
When summer began, I never imagined that those would be the last 6 trips I made with her. They would be the last 6 trips I made anywhere with her.
It's a bit sad that some of my best memories of my grandma involve a car ride to get a bag of taco burgers. After remembering so much about my past in the last five years, now I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. They maybe few, but at least I have a couple memories that weren't terrible.
My grandma was no saint and certainly guilty of so much wrong in my life. But as far as my dysfunctional family goes, she was probably the best of the bunch. She wasn't physically abusive. She definitely isn't off the hook. It was her taking the soft-core pornographic photos of myself and other children in my family. As I wrote in a previous post, she was extremely mentally unstable.
Regardless of her shortcomings, she was probably the most overtly caring person in my family.
It was 14 years ago this month, that she was helping me plan a wedding. Little did I know, she was incredibly sick and her death was soon to follow.
She was the person who helped the most with wedding plans and even helped a little bit financially. I lived with her and my grandpa at the time, giving me an opportunity to have a few special moments as I prepared to move onto the next stage of my life.
I had finished my job at the school in May and was home a lot. One of the things we would do is make a 10 mile trek to the next town south of us to have lunch once a week. We even made the trip on Mondays that I had free from work.
 |
| This isn't from 1998, but 2012. It brought back a lot of good memories. |
They weren't big, but were oh so good. Taco meat covered with cheese, lettuce and tomato on a bun...how could you go wrong with that? My 5'2" 130 lb grandma could eat far more than I could. The sicker she got, the less she would eat.
We didn't talk a lot and we didn't ever do anything else while on our trip. It was a break from the norm. A special time spent with her with no expectations.
I was super excited a few years ago to find a Taco Johns nearby. Walking in the door brings back so many memories of nothing more significant than just taking a deep breath and stepping away from reality for an hour.
The summer of 1998, I made 6 trips to Taco Johns with my grandma. At the beginning of summer, I knew my time with her would be coming to an end. In August, I would be moving two hours away and life would be dramatically changed.
When summer began, I never imagined that those would be the last 6 trips I made with her. They would be the last 6 trips I made anywhere with her.
It's a bit sad that some of my best memories of my grandma involve a car ride to get a bag of taco burgers. After remembering so much about my past in the last five years, now I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. They maybe few, but at least I have a couple memories that weren't terrible.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
One More Day...
As I sit and listen to the grasshoppers chirp outside and one of the dogs snoring inside, I realize that another day has come and gone.
I did several things and had a fairly productive day, but I can't help but feel like it was yet another day wasted.
When I got out of bed this morning, I was determined to get a long list of things done. In my silly little head, I was convinced that if I accomplished everything on my list then I would somehow feel as though I had lived today fully.
Even though I did do a lot on the list, I can tell you that not even a solid effort made me feel more valuable.
I actually found myself sitting staring at the computer screen for several hours wondering what to do next, even though I had a list.
There has to be a correlation between being stuck in this house all day and feeling useless to the world.
I wish I could find something to do that would bring me satisfaction and be of some value for someone besides me. Why is it so difficult to find that?
I'm not really afraid of trying to do anything, but I am a little afraid of not finding anything to try.
I did several things and had a fairly productive day, but I can't help but feel like it was yet another day wasted.
When I got out of bed this morning, I was determined to get a long list of things done. In my silly little head, I was convinced that if I accomplished everything on my list then I would somehow feel as though I had lived today fully.
Even though I did do a lot on the list, I can tell you that not even a solid effort made me feel more valuable.
I actually found myself sitting staring at the computer screen for several hours wondering what to do next, even though I had a list.
There has to be a correlation between being stuck in this house all day and feeling useless to the world.
I wish I could find something to do that would bring me satisfaction and be of some value for someone besides me. Why is it so difficult to find that?
I'm not really afraid of trying to do anything, but I am a little afraid of not finding anything to try.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Early Morning Escapee
I woke up this morning to a husband moving through the house frantically. As I pried my tired eyes open, I saw he was throwing on clothes instead of jumping in the shower as is his normal routine.
Even though he said a lot of words all I heard was, "...Giz got out and I have to find him." Seconds later my feet hit the floor and carried me out the back door.
A quick scan of the neighbor's yards and I saw nothing. A couple shouts for my little "Gizzy" and "Big Boy" still brought nothing.
I had no idea how long he had been out and was starting to get a little panicky. Mentally, I was reminding myself to not panic. Panic for me can turn into an attack which would render me useless in a search for Giz.
It was clear he had gone further than I had hoped. Kent went to grab his keys and I took off walking. I'm sure I looked like the walking dead with wild hair, in my mismatched pjs and socks with sandals.
I headed down the street looking every direction. Most of our neighbors have fences that are closed. Their dogs didn't stir and bark until I walked past. That seemed to be a sign that he hadn't gone my direction.
Kent headed around the block the opposite direction. My heart sank as I approached the busier main street through our neighborhood. I prayed I wouldn't find him on the street or hurt, but that I would find him. I passed a woman out for a walk, who said she would keep an eye out for him. She also said she hadn't seem him on her walk two blocks the opposite direction.
I made it around to the next block and jumped in the truck with Kent. I think it was the first time I started to tear up. As we turned onto the busier street, I saw a truck headed toward us. A little closer to us, I saw my little guy dart across the street a half block away.
He disappeared behind some bushes as we drove up the street. As we pulled in front of the house, I saw him heading up to the front door. I think he knew he was lost and was checking out front doors to see if someone would let him in or help him.
I jumped out of the truck, literally. I don't think Kent had come to a stop before my feet hit the ground. I yelled to the dog and he came running. I picked him up and took my first full breath in 20 minutes. He let out a grunt and danced around the truck.
I'm not sure who was happier, me or him. He ran through the house, got a drink, ate and then slept for the next four hours. Woohoo!
We thought the gusty wind had blown open our fence. When I went out with them at lunch time, the gate was open again. Not just blown open but opened far enough to be stuck on a lump of dirt and the wind wasn't gusty. It makes me wonder if someone hadn't opened the door on purpose, which has happened before.
Needless to say, I was elated to have all my pups back home and safe. I won't soon forget that frantic feeling and the great relief I felt when he ran straight into my arms.
As we pulled into the driveway, I had one thought...
I wonder if God is that happy when we run back to Him after being gone for so long. I wonder who is happier, us or Him. I wonder if He patiently waits for us while we search frantically for something to hang onto. Hmmm....
Even though he said a lot of words all I heard was, "...Giz got out and I have to find him." Seconds later my feet hit the floor and carried me out the back door.
A quick scan of the neighbor's yards and I saw nothing. A couple shouts for my little "Gizzy" and "Big Boy" still brought nothing.
I had no idea how long he had been out and was starting to get a little panicky. Mentally, I was reminding myself to not panic. Panic for me can turn into an attack which would render me useless in a search for Giz.
It was clear he had gone further than I had hoped. Kent went to grab his keys and I took off walking. I'm sure I looked like the walking dead with wild hair, in my mismatched pjs and socks with sandals.
I headed down the street looking every direction. Most of our neighbors have fences that are closed. Their dogs didn't stir and bark until I walked past. That seemed to be a sign that he hadn't gone my direction.
Kent headed around the block the opposite direction. My heart sank as I approached the busier main street through our neighborhood. I prayed I wouldn't find him on the street or hurt, but that I would find him. I passed a woman out for a walk, who said she would keep an eye out for him. She also said she hadn't seem him on her walk two blocks the opposite direction.
I made it around to the next block and jumped in the truck with Kent. I think it was the first time I started to tear up. As we turned onto the busier street, I saw a truck headed toward us. A little closer to us, I saw my little guy dart across the street a half block away.
He disappeared behind some bushes as we drove up the street. As we pulled in front of the house, I saw him heading up to the front door. I think he knew he was lost and was checking out front doors to see if someone would let him in or help him.
I jumped out of the truck, literally. I don't think Kent had come to a stop before my feet hit the ground. I yelled to the dog and he came running. I picked him up and took my first full breath in 20 minutes. He let out a grunt and danced around the truck.
I'm not sure who was happier, me or him. He ran through the house, got a drink, ate and then slept for the next four hours. Woohoo!
We thought the gusty wind had blown open our fence. When I went out with them at lunch time, the gate was open again. Not just blown open but opened far enough to be stuck on a lump of dirt and the wind wasn't gusty. It makes me wonder if someone hadn't opened the door on purpose, which has happened before.
Needless to say, I was elated to have all my pups back home and safe. I won't soon forget that frantic feeling and the great relief I felt when he ran straight into my arms.
As we pulled into the driveway, I had one thought...
I wonder if God is that happy when we run back to Him after being gone for so long. I wonder who is happier, us or Him. I wonder if He patiently waits for us while we search frantically for something to hang onto. Hmmm....
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Time for Change
It has been 2 1/2 years since I started seeing a psychologist weekly and nearly 5 years since I began counseling. Most people would keep that on the down low, but not me. I think it shows a significant effort to overcome what has happened to me.
After a short break, I walked into the doctor's office this week needing to hear a prognosis so that my husband and I can make some long term decisions. Since I haven't worked or had my driver's license in 2 1/2 years, I certainly didn't believe he would give me an indication those things would change immediately. However, I did believe there would be some encouraging news.
In January 2010, he said I was looking at probably three years before I would be able to consider driving and working regularly. Being on the cusp of three years, I did expect to hear that possibly within the year things might begin to change.
He truly skated around the question at hand and offered no significant encouragement at all. Indirectly, I learned that again, I am looking at an additional 3-5 years before I will be able to drive or work. I didn't get a courtesy, "You've made progress here and there, but I just don't think you are ready." Instead, he should have just kicked me.
The one thing he does say is that outside influences have slowed down progress. Isn't that what I am paying him for? To figure out how to work around and through even with life happening around me?
I believe that was probably the last time I will ever walk through the door of his office. My insurance has paid very little of the weekly visits. That means we have paid over $25,000 for me to get indirectly told...maybe another $25,000 later you'll be ready to drive and work again. For the extremely little progress I can see in all the time I've been going to see him, I think I've way over paid.
Let's face it, I don't need to share my woes with anyone to continue treading water. I can do that just fine on my own. And in all fairness, my counselor said a long time ago that she couldn't help me without the assistance of the psychologist. I had no choice but to let her off the hook too.
So, today I woke up with a new routine. No appointments. No calls or texts. No visits. Really nobody at all who has any idea what's going on with me from 6:30 am to whenever my husband gets home.
I've been home a lot lately, so I already feel like the walls are closing in on me. But today was a little different for me. The walls seem to be closing in on me and there's really nowhere to go and nobody to tell about it. I've not been able to do much but sit and watch them inching ever so close to me.
I know the decision to stop all counseling was the right thing to do for me. There is not much purpose in utilizing someone else's time when they could be helping other people. It's going to take some time to get used to though.
As I showered and got ready for the day, it hit me that I didn't really have anything to get ready for. Nobody was coming to take me anywhere. Nobody was coming to check on me. I'm not much of a pjs all day kind of person, but I feel like I should be getting ready for something.
But this is life for me now....I asked for it to be this way. I just don't know what to do now. I suppose after the fullness of the change sets in, maybe I'll figure it out.
After a short break, I walked into the doctor's office this week needing to hear a prognosis so that my husband and I can make some long term decisions. Since I haven't worked or had my driver's license in 2 1/2 years, I certainly didn't believe he would give me an indication those things would change immediately. However, I did believe there would be some encouraging news.
In January 2010, he said I was looking at probably three years before I would be able to consider driving and working regularly. Being on the cusp of three years, I did expect to hear that possibly within the year things might begin to change.
He truly skated around the question at hand and offered no significant encouragement at all. Indirectly, I learned that again, I am looking at an additional 3-5 years before I will be able to drive or work. I didn't get a courtesy, "You've made progress here and there, but I just don't think you are ready." Instead, he should have just kicked me.
The one thing he does say is that outside influences have slowed down progress. Isn't that what I am paying him for? To figure out how to work around and through even with life happening around me?
I believe that was probably the last time I will ever walk through the door of his office. My insurance has paid very little of the weekly visits. That means we have paid over $25,000 for me to get indirectly told...maybe another $25,000 later you'll be ready to drive and work again. For the extremely little progress I can see in all the time I've been going to see him, I think I've way over paid.
Let's face it, I don't need to share my woes with anyone to continue treading water. I can do that just fine on my own. And in all fairness, my counselor said a long time ago that she couldn't help me without the assistance of the psychologist. I had no choice but to let her off the hook too.
So, today I woke up with a new routine. No appointments. No calls or texts. No visits. Really nobody at all who has any idea what's going on with me from 6:30 am to whenever my husband gets home.
I've been home a lot lately, so I already feel like the walls are closing in on me. But today was a little different for me. The walls seem to be closing in on me and there's really nowhere to go and nobody to tell about it. I've not been able to do much but sit and watch them inching ever so close to me.
I know the decision to stop all counseling was the right thing to do for me. There is not much purpose in utilizing someone else's time when they could be helping other people. It's going to take some time to get used to though.
As I showered and got ready for the day, it hit me that I didn't really have anything to get ready for. Nobody was coming to take me anywhere. Nobody was coming to check on me. I'm not much of a pjs all day kind of person, but I feel like I should be getting ready for something.
But this is life for me now....I asked for it to be this way. I just don't know what to do now. I suppose after the fullness of the change sets in, maybe I'll figure it out.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Friday Fun
I spent today like I do many Fridays (and a lot of days too), mostly alone. I'm ok with being alone most of the time, but sometimes it lets my mind wander too far off course and I end up stuck on a thought that I can't shake.
As I took a break from cleaning, it hit me that I've been couped up in my house most of this week alone. A full week of looking at the same walls with just an occasional break in the silence by barking dogs.
Most everyone I know has an idea that I do not drive. No, it's not because I lost my license or got into legal trouble. Since I most weeks I get less than 12 hours of sleep, it's not safe for me or others if I am behind the wheel of a car. Once in a while when I have gotten a bit more rest, I'll get to drive during the day. That's pretty rare though.
There are probably only a handful of people who really know what life is like for me. Those are the ones who have a better idea of what it's like for me when I am stuck in this house for five days straight.
Outside of my husband, there are only two people who really make sure I get to where I need to go or get errands done or even just get out of the house for my own mental health.
That means, if I want to go anywhere at all, I have EXACTLY three people to rely on. My husband works three jobs and is exhausted by the time he finally makes it home around 9 pm. One of those is a woman who goes above and beyond to make sure I'm taken care of, but has a job, family, etc. The last of the three, is a woman who takes me out one evening a week. We get dinner, do grocery shopping and might catch an occasional errand.
I found out this week that one of the women who help me will eventually be moving away, narrowing the field back down to two. Out of all the people I know, I will have to rely on two....ONLY 2...people to do everything I need to do.
Not that I don't count all three as a blessing, I do. I am very thankful for the time each of them spend with me. But even at three, it sucked. When you have to rely on others for everything, three just isn't enough. So, two is really going to suuuuuccckkkk! I'm really not whining either, just being honest.
So my moppy little head started to wander or maybe wonder today. With no end in sight with the sleep problems and being grounded to the house, what's the next thing? Will that base of resources ever grow with healthy people who have a desire to help? Will the rest of my life be like this?
Tangled up in that mess in my head are the many voices that have all said, "God is sufficient. God will supply. God knows and isn't tied down by the same boundaries that bind us." And, I know all of that is true. I just can't see that when the road ahead looks so empty.
Ahhh...back to cleaning I go...time for more fun and less thinking!
As I took a break from cleaning, it hit me that I've been couped up in my house most of this week alone. A full week of looking at the same walls with just an occasional break in the silence by barking dogs.
Most everyone I know has an idea that I do not drive. No, it's not because I lost my license or got into legal trouble. Since I most weeks I get less than 12 hours of sleep, it's not safe for me or others if I am behind the wheel of a car. Once in a while when I have gotten a bit more rest, I'll get to drive during the day. That's pretty rare though.
There are probably only a handful of people who really know what life is like for me. Those are the ones who have a better idea of what it's like for me when I am stuck in this house for five days straight.
Outside of my husband, there are only two people who really make sure I get to where I need to go or get errands done or even just get out of the house for my own mental health.
That means, if I want to go anywhere at all, I have EXACTLY three people to rely on. My husband works three jobs and is exhausted by the time he finally makes it home around 9 pm. One of those is a woman who goes above and beyond to make sure I'm taken care of, but has a job, family, etc. The last of the three, is a woman who takes me out one evening a week. We get dinner, do grocery shopping and might catch an occasional errand.
I found out this week that one of the women who help me will eventually be moving away, narrowing the field back down to two. Out of all the people I know, I will have to rely on two....ONLY 2...people to do everything I need to do.
Not that I don't count all three as a blessing, I do. I am very thankful for the time each of them spend with me. But even at three, it sucked. When you have to rely on others for everything, three just isn't enough. So, two is really going to suuuuuccckkkk! I'm really not whining either, just being honest.
So my moppy little head started to wander or maybe wonder today. With no end in sight with the sleep problems and being grounded to the house, what's the next thing? Will that base of resources ever grow with healthy people who have a desire to help? Will the rest of my life be like this?
Tangled up in that mess in my head are the many voices that have all said, "God is sufficient. God will supply. God knows and isn't tied down by the same boundaries that bind us." And, I know all of that is true. I just can't see that when the road ahead looks so empty.
Ahhh...back to cleaning I go...time for more fun and less thinking!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
They are our future?
I did something tonight that I never thought I would ever do…I sat
through a preschool graduation. Of
course not for any child that I know, but to help my husband do video and
sound.
One thing is very clear. If the
future leaders of our country will need a mastery of nose picking skills, then
we have nothing to worry about…these kids got that nailed!
Since I really didn’t do anything, I had plenty of time to observe the
few hundred people sitting around me.
Wow! That’s the simplest way to
put it. Wow!
I saw several smaller children misbehaving without much correction, but
one was particularly funny. A young man,
much younger than those graduating, pulled his pants down in the corner of the
room. It took me a minute to figure out
that he was working on pulling his diaper off.
Yes indeed, if dad hadn’t come to the rescue this fine young man would
have urinated in the corner.
Now since I don’t have kids and I didn’t graduate from anything before
high school, I don’t quite grasp the big to do with a preschool
graduation. It seems like it might be
more of an event designed for the adults.
First you have the teachers and administrators who have worked with the
kids throughout their time in preschool.
That’s maybe two or three years I am guessing that they have watched these
kids grow. But from what I saw of this
group of people, it seems like a big deep sigh of relief. They have done their time with these kids and
now they are somebody else’s problem.
Woohoo for them!
Then you have the parents. I’m
not sure it’s such a huge accomplishment that the kid has survived two or three
years of preschool. Do they not realize
that they now have another 13-17 years to continue pushing these kids through
school? I got the impression from some of
the parents that this might be the only graduation they ever get to attend for
the child.
I had to wonder exactly what the accomplishment was of some of the
kids. Goodness, not a one of them could
follow directions. What did they spend a
couple years teaching these kids, anyway?
Oh yea, the first sentence of the Gettysburg Address, how to say a bunch
of Spanish numbers followed by a quick wiggle and a loud “cha cha cha,” and all
of the states in alphabetical order. I
think it was about Minnesota before I deciphered that they were in fact
screaming the name of the states.
There were certainly a wide spread spectrum of parents. We had a couple stripper moms. I’m not hating on them, they make a nice
income. They were easy to spot with their shorty, shorts, their fake jumblies
hanging out and tattoos that didn’t make me want to whip out a $1.
There were a couple dads who could have been easily confused with their
kids, being loud and obnoxious. It was
equally as easy to pair up the children with Mohawks and mullets to the dads
with Mohawks and mullets.
Another thing I noticed was that nobody seemed overly happy to be
there. I think I heard the entire list
of complaints from those who walked by. “When
is this going to be over?” “I’m hungry
and tired.” “That kid is ugly.” “That kids mom is ugly.” And the list goes on…
As I watched the video collage of photos scrolling on the screen that
included baby photos too, one thing became very clear. Regardless of the reason that brought all
these people together, despite what anyone looked like or said, each one of
these children came into this world beautiful and perfect. Being at that graduation was a gift for each
one of them, even if they have long since taken it for granted.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Fleas and Scars
I know, you are probably wondering what in the world do fleas and scars have in common...well I'm going to tell you.
Our recent visit to my in-laws gifted our little ones with little ones of their own. For the life of me, I can't figure out how my in-laws aren't bothered by the constant flea infestation in their house. Despite our best attempts with preventative, those little boogers always latch on and make the trek home with us.
I spent the greater part of today shaving and shampooing two of the three dogs. What a mess!
Even though I had searched their little bodies over, I had only found one stinkin' flea. It was the constant itching that gave it away. Through all of the shaving and shampooing, I still didn't find more than a couple. I guess it only takes a couple mean ones to do the trick. Our Gizmo and Winnie are covered with tiny welts from the bites and broken skin from scratching.
Had I not shaved them, I would have never seen their poor, irritated skin. Without seeing that, I wouldn't have known to treat the irritation, which would have left them miserable for much longer. It took that extra little effort and getting underneath the surface to find the problem and help them the best I could.
While shaving Winnie, I made another discovery. The first day we got Winnie, she was timid and wouldn't let anyone touch her. The second day I gave her a bath and she literally became a different dog. Her hair was long and I couldn't see much skin. She's been groomed twice, but always professionally.
Shaving her today, I found two long, deep and relatively recent scars on both sides of her back. My best guess is that she was either hit extremely hard on both sides. My other guess is that she was tied so tight and for so long that whatever it was had lodged deep in her skin. Kent thinks maybe she got stuck in a fence for an extended amount of time.
We won't ever know exactly what happened, but what we do know is that whatever happened had to be very painful. I'm beside myself at how someone could have ever hurt or neglected this little sweetheart so badly.
Winnie has really become my dog. She will only listen to me and come to me. For a long time, my husband has taken it quite personally that this dog who he has tried valiantly to win over has only refused his every effort. Given the now visible signs of trauma to her little body, I think we both understand why she would be so afraid of people.
Again, I would have never have found the source of her reluctance had I not spent time shaving her and taking time to see what was going on with her little body. It all makes sense now and all I had to do was take time to see what was underneath all that hair.
Those things all hit me very personally, so identifiable. Going a step further to find the root of a problem; taking time to understand what's really underneath; accepting that the deeper the scars, the deeper the hurt, the longer it takes to heal. Sometimes it takes extra time, patience and care to really see what is going on under the surface. Sometimes it takes extra effort and energy to get really involved and go through life with someone who has deep hurt. Sometimes it takes an extra special person to accept those deep, deep scars for what they are and who proceeds with caution.
It's just another example of how my pets have impacted my life. They haven't changed anything for me, but they have changed me. They've taught me that it's ok to let those special people see those deep, deep scars, so they can understand and help where they can.
Our recent visit to my in-laws gifted our little ones with little ones of their own. For the life of me, I can't figure out how my in-laws aren't bothered by the constant flea infestation in their house. Despite our best attempts with preventative, those little boogers always latch on and make the trek home with us.
I spent the greater part of today shaving and shampooing two of the three dogs. What a mess!
Even though I had searched their little bodies over, I had only found one stinkin' flea. It was the constant itching that gave it away. Through all of the shaving and shampooing, I still didn't find more than a couple. I guess it only takes a couple mean ones to do the trick. Our Gizmo and Winnie are covered with tiny welts from the bites and broken skin from scratching.
Had I not shaved them, I would have never seen their poor, irritated skin. Without seeing that, I wouldn't have known to treat the irritation, which would have left them miserable for much longer. It took that extra little effort and getting underneath the surface to find the problem and help them the best I could.
While shaving Winnie, I made another discovery. The first day we got Winnie, she was timid and wouldn't let anyone touch her. The second day I gave her a bath and she literally became a different dog. Her hair was long and I couldn't see much skin. She's been groomed twice, but always professionally.
Shaving her today, I found two long, deep and relatively recent scars on both sides of her back. My best guess is that she was either hit extremely hard on both sides. My other guess is that she was tied so tight and for so long that whatever it was had lodged deep in her skin. Kent thinks maybe she got stuck in a fence for an extended amount of time.
We won't ever know exactly what happened, but what we do know is that whatever happened had to be very painful. I'm beside myself at how someone could have ever hurt or neglected this little sweetheart so badly.
Winnie has really become my dog. She will only listen to me and come to me. For a long time, my husband has taken it quite personally that this dog who he has tried valiantly to win over has only refused his every effort. Given the now visible signs of trauma to her little body, I think we both understand why she would be so afraid of people.
Again, I would have never have found the source of her reluctance had I not spent time shaving her and taking time to see what was going on with her little body. It all makes sense now and all I had to do was take time to see what was underneath all that hair.
Those things all hit me very personally, so identifiable. Going a step further to find the root of a problem; taking time to understand what's really underneath; accepting that the deeper the scars, the deeper the hurt, the longer it takes to heal. Sometimes it takes extra time, patience and care to really see what is going on under the surface. Sometimes it takes extra effort and energy to get really involved and go through life with someone who has deep hurt. Sometimes it takes an extra special person to accept those deep, deep scars for what they are and who proceeds with caution.
It's just another example of how my pets have impacted my life. They haven't changed anything for me, but they have changed me. They've taught me that it's ok to let those special people see those deep, deep scars, so they can understand and help where they can.
Monday, May 14, 2012
My Pets, My heart
Before I ever crawled out of bed this morning, I was already locked in a struggle that would set the tone for my day. An acquaintance proclaimed boldly how dumb a person would be to spend money on a pet.
With friends and strangers alike, I make it very clear that my pets are like children to me. As you know, we can't have children. For reasons completely out of our control, we can never be considered for adoption or even foster care.
Also out of our control, the amount of love that we have the natural need to share. Without family around, that love gets poured into our pets.
As you can see, my pets are a big part of my life and have an enormous place in my heart. My 147 point IQ could potentially be used to refute the idea that I am dumb. So, I unequivocally disagree with my acquaintance.
I would and have spent a lot of money on my pets. Just a trip to the vet costs at least $100 and we average $75 a month on food. Our little Lucy just had leg surgery, which was a whopping $1600 process. Yes, that is money we desperately needed to finish our bathroom. But, I wasn't heartless enough to leave my pet in pain, no matter how badly I want to take a shower in a tub that doesn't leak or how much of a mold problem I have.
Unfortunately, my day got worse for several reasons I can't really go into. This evening, like I've only done a few times before, I fell to the floor in a weeping mess.
When I finally pulled my head from hands and wiped my eyes enough, I saw a half circle of animals sitting around me. All with varying looks of concern, they stared at me intently. Every time I can remember sitting on the floor crying, they've come to my side.
Dumb? I don't think so!
Crazy? Maybe!
When I fall to the floor in disbelief, sobbing over the friend who hurt me deeply or took advantage of me or turned their back on me, they are always there. They don't judge me for my faults. I never have to worry about them sharing my darkest secrets. They are easy to please. I never have to worry about their compassion or love being given on a contingency. They never disagree, but in an odd way their simplicity makes me want to do the right thing. I never have to pretend I'm happy or something I'm not around them. They never hurt me and they leave.
Sure, they live their natural life span and it is always far too short. But who could call that dumb?
I kind of wonder if maybe I'm not dumb at all and this was just the plan for me...
Maybe, it's just what's in my heart!
With friends and strangers alike, I make it very clear that my pets are like children to me. As you know, we can't have children. For reasons completely out of our control, we can never be considered for adoption or even foster care.
Also out of our control, the amount of love that we have the natural need to share. Without family around, that love gets poured into our pets.
 |
| This is Gizmo. He's our big boy. At almost 4 years old, he's our most anxious but probably our sweetest. He jumps up on our laps and demands attention after a long day of being kenneled. He's probably our funniest and predictable too. The only time he gets in a bad mood is when he's got a belly ache. He's also our smelliest and gets bathed about once a week. He definitely loves his toys and often carries them outside when we aren't paying attention. |
 |
| This is Lucy. Our oldest at just over 5 years old. She is our watch dog. We are certain she will bark if someone slams a door two blocks away. She is the only pet we've ever bought from a puppy mill and is the reason we will always adopt from a shelter. She's our least healthy pet. When she was spayed, the vet said some of her organs never fully developed. She also has very malformed back legs and recently had a leg surgery. She's our singer, howling on demand or as we walk in the door after being gone all day. |
 |
| This is Kirby. At almost 2 years old, he is the youngest and the only feline of the bunch. He is minus his claws because even as a kitten, it was clear he would use them as weapons. He is our biggest instigator. If nobody is paying attention to him, he will go on the hunt for the first person or pup willing to play. He loves to curl up in peculiar places. In this picture, he is trying to stow away in a bag as we prepared to leave for vacation. He has quite a personality and the longest legs I've ever seen on a house cat. |
 |
| This is Winnie. She is the newest member of our family and the most timid. She was a severely abused and neglected rescue dog. She's afraid of men, but is a serious momma's girl. All of 10 lbs, she's almost 4 years old and has amazingly given birth several times. She sleeps beside me or above my head on my pillow and rarely leaves my side. She's still a work in progress with Kent. Even though he pets her and sings to her, she's still hesitant to warm up to him. She's so little that her favorite toys are cat toys. She's also our fastest runner and the only one who isn't big enough for a fair fight with the cat. |
As you can see, my pets are a big part of my life and have an enormous place in my heart. My 147 point IQ could potentially be used to refute the idea that I am dumb. So, I unequivocally disagree with my acquaintance.
I would and have spent a lot of money on my pets. Just a trip to the vet costs at least $100 and we average $75 a month on food. Our little Lucy just had leg surgery, which was a whopping $1600 process. Yes, that is money we desperately needed to finish our bathroom. But, I wasn't heartless enough to leave my pet in pain, no matter how badly I want to take a shower in a tub that doesn't leak or how much of a mold problem I have.
Unfortunately, my day got worse for several reasons I can't really go into. This evening, like I've only done a few times before, I fell to the floor in a weeping mess.
When I finally pulled my head from hands and wiped my eyes enough, I saw a half circle of animals sitting around me. All with varying looks of concern, they stared at me intently. Every time I can remember sitting on the floor crying, they've come to my side.
Dumb? I don't think so!
Crazy? Maybe!
When I fall to the floor in disbelief, sobbing over the friend who hurt me deeply or took advantage of me or turned their back on me, they are always there. They don't judge me for my faults. I never have to worry about them sharing my darkest secrets. They are easy to please. I never have to worry about their compassion or love being given on a contingency. They never disagree, but in an odd way their simplicity makes me want to do the right thing. I never have to pretend I'm happy or something I'm not around them. They never hurt me and they leave.
Sure, they live their natural life span and it is always far too short. But who could call that dumb?
I kind of wonder if maybe I'm not dumb at all and this was just the plan for me...
Maybe, it's just what's in my heart!
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Innocent Ignorance
Everyone has really tried their best to either dance around the mother's day issue with me or get me to admit that it was a wretched day. Neither of those things have been overly helpful, nor have they swayed me one way or the other.
Maybe it's because I have been emotionally flat or maybe it's because I have just finally accepted the way life is for me. I am not a mother, nor do I have a mother who loves me. There's nothing anyone can say or do which can ever change either of those things. Any tear shed would be wasted.
Today as we headed back to see my husband's mom, I still clung to "this is just another day" feeling in my gut.
Don't get me wrong, anytime I head back to the area, it is like heading back into the belly of the beast. I did everything I could to get away from there and going back always sucks. About an hour away, I begin to have that tight feeling in my chest and am ready to head back home. My whole body and mind become consumed by fear.
I have to deal with the pressure of how my in-laws will act and react with me. I have to constantly be on guard, watching for family members that I don't care to see. I have to be weary of my husband's emotions as he deals with his family. All systems spend the entire time there on overload.
It's also just a different world there.
My mother-in-law was without a doubt quirkier than normal. It was awkward, yet brief visit and I was ok with that. I still felt not much emotion and certainly nothing that tied me to mother's day.
After a couple hour, we headed home. As a treat, we stopped at a BBQ place once we were closer to home. The restaurant was busy as normal and yet it still wasn't registering that there were tables full of families celebrating moms.
As I stood waiting for them to finish our order, the cashier said "Happy Mother's Day to you."
I can tell you exactly what went through my head and thankfully never found it's way to my lips. "What the hell! You stupid ass, why would you just assume I am celebrating Mother's day? Do I just look old enough to be a mom, so I must be? Are you kidding me? I want to crawl over counter and smack the piss out of you and cram the word mom back down your throat!"
Wow, yep! Innocent ignorance finally set me off. It didn't make me cry. It didn't make me sad. It didn't even make me angry. It made me wish people wouldn't make assumptions.
I had just about escaped the day without feeling much of anything. It didn't last long, whatever it was that I was feeling.
Whatever it was, I am glad it's over and hopefully I don't have to be reminded of it for another year.
Maybe it's because I have been emotionally flat or maybe it's because I have just finally accepted the way life is for me. I am not a mother, nor do I have a mother who loves me. There's nothing anyone can say or do which can ever change either of those things. Any tear shed would be wasted.
Today as we headed back to see my husband's mom, I still clung to "this is just another day" feeling in my gut.
Don't get me wrong, anytime I head back to the area, it is like heading back into the belly of the beast. I did everything I could to get away from there and going back always sucks. About an hour away, I begin to have that tight feeling in my chest and am ready to head back home. My whole body and mind become consumed by fear.
I have to deal with the pressure of how my in-laws will act and react with me. I have to constantly be on guard, watching for family members that I don't care to see. I have to be weary of my husband's emotions as he deals with his family. All systems spend the entire time there on overload.
It's also just a different world there.
My mother-in-law was without a doubt quirkier than normal. It was awkward, yet brief visit and I was ok with that. I still felt not much emotion and certainly nothing that tied me to mother's day.
After a couple hour, we headed home. As a treat, we stopped at a BBQ place once we were closer to home. The restaurant was busy as normal and yet it still wasn't registering that there were tables full of families celebrating moms.
As I stood waiting for them to finish our order, the cashier said "Happy Mother's Day to you."
I can tell you exactly what went through my head and thankfully never found it's way to my lips. "What the hell! You stupid ass, why would you just assume I am celebrating Mother's day? Do I just look old enough to be a mom, so I must be? Are you kidding me? I want to crawl over counter and smack the piss out of you and cram the word mom back down your throat!"
Wow, yep! Innocent ignorance finally set me off. It didn't make me cry. It didn't make me sad. It didn't even make me angry. It made me wish people wouldn't make assumptions.
I had just about escaped the day without feeling much of anything. It didn't last long, whatever it was that I was feeling.
Whatever it was, I am glad it's over and hopefully I don't have to be reminded of it for another year.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
It's a Hallmark Moment
Have you shopped for your Mother's Day card yet? It's just a few short days away, so if you haven't then you should get yourself on out there. You don't want to miss out on finding that perfect card for your mother or wife or even daughter.
I, on the other hand, will not be shopping for or be the recipient of any card this Mother's Day. I'm just fine with that.
Hallmark seems to cover so many occasions, but it just doesn't ever seem to cover Mother's Day for me. Oh, it's a Hallmark moment for certain. They just don't have the right cards.
I used to buy a Mother's Day card, but not for my mom. It was always a time of year that I honored my mother-in-law. Not because she was so incredibly awesome towards me, but because she raised the man I love. She is one half of who my husband is and that makes her pretty special, regardless of how I feel about her at times. They just don't make cards that would really be appropriate this year. I would need a card that somehow reminded her of who I am and explained to her how thankful I am for a son who she's likely forgotten how she raised him.
They have lots of lovely cards for mothers. Some are funny, capturing the mothers with a sense of humor or from the child who has that kind of relationship with their mom. Some are sappy, sweet and share simple thoughts that a child wants to express to their mom. Some share gratitude for a job well done.
But they just don't make one that says what would be appropriate for my mom. It would need to start with a congratulatory, "Thanks for being the worst mother anyone could ever have." I envision the inside would be filled with a list of the attributes that keep her from being mother of the year. You turned your back on your daughter; allowed your daughter to be beaten and raped; encouraged your daughter to be used as a prostitute for extra cash...just to name a few. I think the conclusion would be a quaint, "I hope you choke on it." That was my mom's famous line any time we asked for food or drinks as children.
Oh and I certainly won't be receiving any cards this year. That's not a stretch, I've never gotten one and for good reason. I'm not a mom. I might care for, feed, bathe, comfort when sick and dress wounds, but it just doesn't count when the little ones walk on four legs.
They don't make cards for people like me. I have never seen a card that conveys a heartfelt message about what a good mom I would have been if it hadn't been for the untreated, massive infections caused by years of horrific abuse. Nobody has ever made a card that tells you that you would have made a great mom if your body hadn't decided to naturally abort them.
I may have found my next profession, greeting card writer. I would definitely cover the areas that you can't seem to find anywhere. Ok, maybe not.
I, on the other hand, will not be shopping for or be the recipient of any card this Mother's Day. I'm just fine with that.
Hallmark seems to cover so many occasions, but it just doesn't ever seem to cover Mother's Day for me. Oh, it's a Hallmark moment for certain. They just don't have the right cards.
I used to buy a Mother's Day card, but not for my mom. It was always a time of year that I honored my mother-in-law. Not because she was so incredibly awesome towards me, but because she raised the man I love. She is one half of who my husband is and that makes her pretty special, regardless of how I feel about her at times. They just don't make cards that would really be appropriate this year. I would need a card that somehow reminded her of who I am and explained to her how thankful I am for a son who she's likely forgotten how she raised him.
They have lots of lovely cards for mothers. Some are funny, capturing the mothers with a sense of humor or from the child who has that kind of relationship with their mom. Some are sappy, sweet and share simple thoughts that a child wants to express to their mom. Some share gratitude for a job well done.
But they just don't make one that says what would be appropriate for my mom. It would need to start with a congratulatory, "Thanks for being the worst mother anyone could ever have." I envision the inside would be filled with a list of the attributes that keep her from being mother of the year. You turned your back on your daughter; allowed your daughter to be beaten and raped; encouraged your daughter to be used as a prostitute for extra cash...just to name a few. I think the conclusion would be a quaint, "I hope you choke on it." That was my mom's famous line any time we asked for food or drinks as children.
Oh and I certainly won't be receiving any cards this year. That's not a stretch, I've never gotten one and for good reason. I'm not a mom. I might care for, feed, bathe, comfort when sick and dress wounds, but it just doesn't count when the little ones walk on four legs.
They don't make cards for people like me. I have never seen a card that conveys a heartfelt message about what a good mom I would have been if it hadn't been for the untreated, massive infections caused by years of horrific abuse. Nobody has ever made a card that tells you that you would have made a great mom if your body hadn't decided to naturally abort them.
I may have found my next profession, greeting card writer. I would definitely cover the areas that you can't seem to find anywhere. Ok, maybe not.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Bible Story Book
One of my first blog posts back in early 2009 was about a Bible story book I had been given by a neighbor for a birthday in early elementary school. I invite you to go back to that post for a bit of background on the book.
With Mother's day approaching, I was searching deep to find something about my mom to be thankful for. It was a huge stretch, but I found something. After being beaten for holding onto this Bible story book as a kid, I thought I had lost it for good. Years later as an adult, I bought it back from my mom at a garage sale for $2.00.
I'm thankful that it was never actually destroyed, even though it had been taken away from me years ago. I'm thankful in her craziness, she put it in a garage sale.
I want to share the pictures of this tattered book and a few stories behind it.
There's no doubt that I had a very warped idea of what the pictures meant and I certainly didn't understand the stories.
I guess I really didn't find a reason to be thankful for my mom. I really found a reason to be thankful for God. I found yet another reason to be thankful for what Jesus did on the cross. I am incredibly thankful for those people who have explained some of this to me and worked so hard to correct what my dad made wrong.
With Mother's day approaching, I was searching deep to find something about my mom to be thankful for. It was a huge stretch, but I found something. After being beaten for holding onto this Bible story book as a kid, I thought I had lost it for good. Years later as an adult, I bought it back from my mom at a garage sale for $2.00.
I'm thankful that it was never actually destroyed, even though it had been taken away from me years ago. I'm thankful in her craziness, she put it in a garage sale.
I want to share the pictures of this tattered book and a few stories behind it.
 |
| This is the book. When I got it, the cover was bright white. It is heavily stained from being thrown in the trash. I remember many times of digging it out and wiping coffee grounds off the cover. I'm sure my tears added to the stains as I held it tight while being beaten for not wanting it taken away from me. |
 |
| You can see the white spots where I ripped the dirt away as I pulled the $2.00 garage sale sticker off the edge. My only regret is not leaving it on so that it would be a reminder to me of the day I bought it back. |
 |
| As you can see here and in the first photo, the lower edge is tattered and ripped. I remember the day that happened. I opened my closet to make sure it was still safely hidden and found a mouse gnawing on the edge. I may not have really known why I so highly guarded this book, but I was certain it meant more to than to allow a mouse to make a nest of it. |
 |
| The book is certainly old. Published and printed in 1968 and landing in my hands in the early 1980's. I didn't know then, but I understand now that my kind neighbor was a Christian and this was one of her many attempts to share her love of Christ with myself and my family. |
 |
| I didn't have much of an imagination as a child, but most of what I remember came when looking at this book. I didn't know who Adam and Eve were and I certainly didn't understand the story of Noah. What I did know was that a big boat with a bunch of animals seemed like a lot better place to be than my house. |
 |
| This was the picture that I tried to recreate every year when our teachers made us draw our favorite bible story on a poster for our annual bible celebration. I don't know about favorite story, but it was the easiest thing for this little girl with no artistic ability. It also helped me get through those dreadful days of making posters without being made fun of. Since I was one of the very few unchurched children, it was humiliating having to ask the teacher what a bible story was. |
 |
| For a little unchurched girl who was already experiencing hell on earth at home, this picture wasn't about Abraham's obedience to God. It looked like some guy who was going to kill a bad man and I often wondered if some man would ever do that to my dad. |
 |
| This picture looked like nice angels coming to get a little kid while they were sleeping. It's sad to think that as early as second grade, I was wishing for nice angels to come rescue me while I slept. |
 |
| This was my absolute favorite of the bible story pictures. I knew my parents didn't want me. So, I always wished they had left me in a basket somewhere. That way a nice lady would have found me and I could have had a mom that really wanted me. |
 |
| Again, I had no idea what the story was really about. I saw a big man who looked like he could protect me and that's all I longed for most days. |
 |
| A little bit like the angels, I often wished somebody like this would come along and carry me away. |
 |
| I know now this depicts God talking to Jeremiah. Without having a clue that's what was happening, I created my own caption. It was a much bigger, meaner person than my dad pointing at him and telling him he was bad and needed to stop hurting me. Sad, but true. |
 |
| I had no idea that this was Jesus' birth. What I saw was a baby that was so loved that people couldn't wait to see it. I realize now that was true and should be true of every child. |
 |
| Again, a bunch of people oogling over a baby. I used to pretend that it was my baby picture and that's how much everyone loved me. Goodness, I never would have thought at that age how special that baby would really be. |
 |
| The way this mother held her child, it looked like she was shielding it from everything bad. That's what I wanted for myself. I desperately wanted a mom to hold me, protect me from the world and love me forever. |
 |
| This was one of the more confusing pictures for me. As I got a little older and could identify this person as Jesus, it led me to begin believing what my dad said. He said God was mean and hated people. He said God hated me because I was a bad girl. Since I didn't know the story at the time, then this highly resembled all the times my dad had come at me with his belt. |
 |
| But I found so many places where there were good things. I often wondered what was really true. Just pages apart, I saw the picture above and then I would see this one. A bad person wouldn't rescue a sheep, right? That was the perpetual confusion my dad created for me by using by curiosity about God against me. |
 |
| Another place where I saw someone do something bad, but another person do something good. I didn't understand what a good Samaritan was when I was little. I certainly never saw enough of them in my life. This was one of those pictures that didn't seem real to me. I never thought anyone would ever want to help me. |
 |
| This is one of the many pages that got stained inside. This particular stain came from me. In a fight to hold onto my book, my dad had hit my face hard enough that blood from my nose splattered everywhere. |
 |
| This is another picture of what I dreamed of for myself. A kind person who would come to my room during those couple hours while my dad was asleep and rescue me. |
 |
| Also a confusing picture, I really believed that my dad had to be right. This person was a bad person who was mean. That had to be why they killed him. That's how I thought as a kid. |
 |
| Another picture I couldn't reconcile as a child when I knew this was Jesus. I couldn't understand why if he was a bad man that was killed, then why would he be alive again. |
I guess I really didn't find a reason to be thankful for my mom. I really found a reason to be thankful for God. I found yet another reason to be thankful for what Jesus did on the cross. I am incredibly thankful for those people who have explained some of this to me and worked so hard to correct what my dad made wrong.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Fat and Ugly
For the past several years, the ring tone I have set on my phone for my husband has been the same. I invite you to listen to the full song as you read this post.
We had the opportunity to go to a meet and greet with the singer/songwriter of this song. He shared a sweet story about how his wife's self esteem led him to write this song.
Let me make something very clear, I know my husband loves me. He just doesn't have the kind of personality that is especially complimentary. The only time he makes a comment on my hair, clothes, personality or physical appearance, it is usually in a corrective or critical way. Maybe it's because I've lived with this for so long or maybe because I just want it to be so, I don't believe it bothers me much any more.
I am realistic. I am an overweight woman who is not attractive. I don't have a super sparkling personality. Knowing all of that, I know my husband isn't like that to me just to be hateful. And because I don't get those kind of compliments from anyone else, I'd probably not believe he was sincere even if he was to be complimentary.
Even though my head reminds me that I just don't care about this, my heart sometimes kicks me and tells me otherwise.
I think that's why I chose the song, More Beautiful You, as my husband's ring tone. If he won't say, then I at least get told that by a stranger every time he calls. How sad is that, right?
Why is it that even the most secure women need to overtly be told that they are attractive? Good grief! What was God thinking? Wasn't all of our girly problems enough to strap us with? Did He really have to throw in a good dose of insecurity for us all?
Last week, I saw several people on news programs talking very boldly about "ugly" or "fat" people. They weren't being kind either. They were being hateful and I couldn't believe how offensive they were.
I have several friends who struggle daily with self-esteem. Some of them have gone to great lengths to change their appearance. Not all, but most of them have done so because they didn't believe they were good enough in the eyes of another person. It breaks my heart to see it.
Even I struggle with that. I don't take it to extremes like yo-yo dieting fads. I think for me it goes really does go back to that unspoken desire I have to be attractive to my husband. Although, dieting would change my size, not my face.
Those of us who do dislike how we look or struggle with self-esteem really are harder on ourselves than anyone else ever could be. So, I wonder why people think they need to be hateful and hurtful to those who aren't size 6 and Barbie beautiful.
I am even saddened by the number of Christian friends I hear being overly critical of others' appearances. It makes me wonder how they reconcile that to how God sees that person or even themselves. Does God look down on us with those same eyes? Does he stand there, pointing and saying look at her, she's got a big, cottage cheese butt? Does he laugh as he sees the lady standing at the make-up counter and comment that she must have been smacked by the ugly stick?
Do people really not believe Psalm 139:14, I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.? I don't think that is meant solely for the person reading it, but for each and every person who believes in a creator who doesn't make mistakes.
I wish I knew how to exchange the hatred and judgement of the world on physical appearance for all of that verse. Believe me, I'm not there either. I'm not so much on the being hateful side of things as I am the receiving side of the hate.
Truly, I believe I would find great happiness in seeing each and every person I know treating everyone they know as if they really believe each person was fearfully and wonderfully made.
Let me make something very clear, I know my husband loves me. He just doesn't have the kind of personality that is especially complimentary. The only time he makes a comment on my hair, clothes, personality or physical appearance, it is usually in a corrective or critical way. Maybe it's because I've lived with this for so long or maybe because I just want it to be so, I don't believe it bothers me much any more.
I am realistic. I am an overweight woman who is not attractive. I don't have a super sparkling personality. Knowing all of that, I know my husband isn't like that to me just to be hateful. And because I don't get those kind of compliments from anyone else, I'd probably not believe he was sincere even if he was to be complimentary.
Even though my head reminds me that I just don't care about this, my heart sometimes kicks me and tells me otherwise.
I think that's why I chose the song, More Beautiful You, as my husband's ring tone. If he won't say, then I at least get told that by a stranger every time he calls. How sad is that, right?
Why is it that even the most secure women need to overtly be told that they are attractive? Good grief! What was God thinking? Wasn't all of our girly problems enough to strap us with? Did He really have to throw in a good dose of insecurity for us all?
Last week, I saw several people on news programs talking very boldly about "ugly" or "fat" people. They weren't being kind either. They were being hateful and I couldn't believe how offensive they were.
I have several friends who struggle daily with self-esteem. Some of them have gone to great lengths to change their appearance. Not all, but most of them have done so because they didn't believe they were good enough in the eyes of another person. It breaks my heart to see it.
Even I struggle with that. I don't take it to extremes like yo-yo dieting fads. I think for me it goes really does go back to that unspoken desire I have to be attractive to my husband. Although, dieting would change my size, not my face.
Those of us who do dislike how we look or struggle with self-esteem really are harder on ourselves than anyone else ever could be. So, I wonder why people think they need to be hateful and hurtful to those who aren't size 6 and Barbie beautiful.
I am even saddened by the number of Christian friends I hear being overly critical of others' appearances. It makes me wonder how they reconcile that to how God sees that person or even themselves. Does God look down on us with those same eyes? Does he stand there, pointing and saying look at her, she's got a big, cottage cheese butt? Does he laugh as he sees the lady standing at the make-up counter and comment that she must have been smacked by the ugly stick?
Do people really not believe Psalm 139:14, I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.? I don't think that is meant solely for the person reading it, but for each and every person who believes in a creator who doesn't make mistakes.
I wish I knew how to exchange the hatred and judgement of the world on physical appearance for all of that verse. Believe me, I'm not there either. I'm not so much on the being hateful side of things as I am the receiving side of the hate.
Truly, I believe I would find great happiness in seeing each and every person I know treating everyone they know as if they really believe each person was fearfully and wonderfully made.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
A Different View
It's a rare occasion for me to go to church and unheard of for me to go to church and sit in a different spot. But today, I did just that. It gave me an opportunity to make some insightful observations.
1. It's way harder to pay attention sitting on the back row. I've always had a problem with this, but it was way harder today. I think it's because people watching just got so darn interesting.
2. The iPad is a great tool for bible search and making notes during church. However, I am not the only one who thumbs through email, scans facebook or even places a competitive online game during a sermon. And here I felt guilty about doing that, like I was the only one. Who knew?
3. Speaking of not feeling guilty about something...my husband is NOT the only person who falls asleep during church. I really did see a guy nearly bang his head on a pew in front of him. That must have been a good nap! He wasn't the only one either. I'd say the average is at least one per row and that's just the ones who have yet to master the ability to sleep while looking wide awake.
4. Some of the younger ladies in our church need a serious lesson in modesty. With all the shirt skirts/dresses and low-cut tops, I saw far more than I wanted to of our congregation today. Good grief, dress like you would if Jesus were going to be sitting right next you!
5. The family atmosphere in our church is very sweet. Because I sit up front, this is an aspect of our church that I often miss. Seeing families sitting together is such a precious sight for me. What is really awesome is to see children, parents, grandparents and even aunts and uncles sitting together. It warms my heart to know that really happens.
6. My pastor and God are super tight! The past two weeks there has been thunder or lightening at particularly interesting moments during the service. They provided an exclamation to the point he was making and happened exactly on cue.
7. From my seat, I could see our drummer during the music. I must say, he is fun to watch. I go to a Baptist church, so you might not think the drummer would necessarily be kickin' it. But he was! It was so much fun to watch him really enjoying the music and enjoying his part of the worship team.
8. When you change seats, you maybe mistaken for a visitor. I've been at this church for over 5 years. In fact, I've volunteered in the church office for over two years and spoken at a women's conference. However, I was welcomed to the church by a member. I know it's my photographic memory, but I've met the person several times. I smiled and said thank you.
9. I got to see a completely different group of people. It isn't that the people I normally sit around are bad at all. I think it's funny how most people have their section of the church and never journey far from it. The awesome part of it was that I got a few hugs from people that I normally wouldn't ever see in church. A few of them were particularly meaningful to me.
And drum roll please.....
10. My biggest observation is that some people need to seriously update their facebook photos more often. I'm friends with a large number of people from our church. However, I barely recognized them because the photo that pops up every time they post something on facebook is a few (quite a few in some cases) years old.
Ahhh....the joys of a different view.
1. It's way harder to pay attention sitting on the back row. I've always had a problem with this, but it was way harder today. I think it's because people watching just got so darn interesting.
2. The iPad is a great tool for bible search and making notes during church. However, I am not the only one who thumbs through email, scans facebook or even places a competitive online game during a sermon. And here I felt guilty about doing that, like I was the only one. Who knew?
3. Speaking of not feeling guilty about something...my husband is NOT the only person who falls asleep during church. I really did see a guy nearly bang his head on a pew in front of him. That must have been a good nap! He wasn't the only one either. I'd say the average is at least one per row and that's just the ones who have yet to master the ability to sleep while looking wide awake.
4. Some of the younger ladies in our church need a serious lesson in modesty. With all the shirt skirts/dresses and low-cut tops, I saw far more than I wanted to of our congregation today. Good grief, dress like you would if Jesus were going to be sitting right next you!
5. The family atmosphere in our church is very sweet. Because I sit up front, this is an aspect of our church that I often miss. Seeing families sitting together is such a precious sight for me. What is really awesome is to see children, parents, grandparents and even aunts and uncles sitting together. It warms my heart to know that really happens.
6. My pastor and God are super tight! The past two weeks there has been thunder or lightening at particularly interesting moments during the service. They provided an exclamation to the point he was making and happened exactly on cue.
7. From my seat, I could see our drummer during the music. I must say, he is fun to watch. I go to a Baptist church, so you might not think the drummer would necessarily be kickin' it. But he was! It was so much fun to watch him really enjoying the music and enjoying his part of the worship team.
8. When you change seats, you maybe mistaken for a visitor. I've been at this church for over 5 years. In fact, I've volunteered in the church office for over two years and spoken at a women's conference. However, I was welcomed to the church by a member. I know it's my photographic memory, but I've met the person several times. I smiled and said thank you.
9. I got to see a completely different group of people. It isn't that the people I normally sit around are bad at all. I think it's funny how most people have their section of the church and never journey far from it. The awesome part of it was that I got a few hugs from people that I normally wouldn't ever see in church. A few of them were particularly meaningful to me.
And drum roll please.....
10. My biggest observation is that some people need to seriously update their facebook photos more often. I'm friends with a large number of people from our church. However, I barely recognized them because the photo that pops up every time they post something on facebook is a few (quite a few in some cases) years old.
Ahhh....the joys of a different view.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)