Usually I am anxiously counting down to a terrible time. I stress, have anxiety and dread the day which is approaching, for whatever reason.
This is a bit of a different countdown. It has all the stress and anxiety, but all for a day I've waited on for so long now.
I have only three days until my niece and nephew get here for nearly a week. It's super exciting!
It has been a long time since I felt so anxious about anything though. Of course all the reasons I mentioned in a previous post cause me anxiety, but those mostly fall all on me. The things making me most anxious right now are the things I cannot control, the environmental, circumstantial things.
I almost feel as though I am being attacked on every side. I feel like there is some force bigger than I which is creating blows that will keep me from enjoying this time.
Last week was a real witch. I don't even care to go into but I had about 10 days of tough, tough times. It really side tracked me from focusing on the fun times ahead.
This weekend, our air conditioner stopped working correctly. After hundreds of dollars and three technicians, it is fixed. The unexpected financial burden paired with the stress of heat and multiple repairmen made me totally lose focus. I was so wrapped up in that, I forgot that I only have three short days left.
I got stressed over little things, such as the house being clean or paint chipping or the car being vacuumed or the dogs being bathed. So many times I was overwhelmed by things that won't matter to an 11 and 12 year old that I almost forgot to follow through with plans.
There are three days left, well....2 days and 15 hours. I'm sure I will stress about a whole lot more before then. But I hope the minute those two kids walk through the door, all of the stress and anxiety will fade away and I will be able to enjoy every single second of it.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Music Speaks
Not that I need an excuse to take a break from cleaning, but I had to shut the vacuum off and write this while my thoughts are fresh and my emotions are raw.
A couple months ago, I had a conversation with a dear friend which has stuck with me. We were talking about loving one another. Do we really do our best at loving each other the way God loves us? Do we even come close to loving each other the way God wants us to love each other?
My friend shared his personal perspective about how maybe he hadn't been loving his own brother like he should. I can't share his story because it's a very personal one that isn't mine to tell. However, the conviction he shared stuck with me. Not only that, but I've had the opportunity to witness his growth in this area and overtly show a love for his brother.
That conversation has stayed tucked away in my heart and wiggles its way to my head every time I think about my own brothers.
The past few weeks to months have shown me that I have made huge strides in my ability to love people. Unquestionably, I have developed a deep, deep love for a few of my friends. They had only been acquaintances for so long, that I'm not sure when it crossed over into this semi-unfamiliar area. I honestly can't explain it. It's not my nature to have this kind of love for people who really haven't first shown that kind of love for me. But it's there and it's real. I laugh, cry, hurt, rejoice with them without any notion that I am out of place. Even if they don't share that deep compassion for me, it is concrete for me. Completely not my nature!
That is exactly the same kind of love that I should have for my brothers.
I've spent a lot of time recently thinking through what keeps me from loving them like that. I realized that it was anger and hurt. What I didn't realize is that my hurt and anger was completely misplaced.
As I listened to the new song "Forgiveness" by Matthew West, it all came together for me.
I MUST consider who my brothers are. They are abuse survivors. They come from the same, twisted, evil that I did. They have become what they were taught to be. Their actions make sense given the depravity they come from.
WOW!
They both have done awful, mean, hurtful, damaging things to me, which would make a relationship impossible for us. The fact that they both have relationships with my parents is another hurdle and probably the one that will keep a physical distance between us.
After considering our common bond, surviving evil, I don't think I can hold onto any anger I have toward them. The hurt I feel should rightly be placed on my parents, not my brothers.
In West's song, he says "Show me how to love the unlovable. Show me how to reach the unreachable. Show me how to do the impossible."
I think the first thing I've had to do is realize my brothers, just like me, are NOT unlovable. Doing what seemed impossible, forgiving them, really wasn't in my reach. Not until I accepted that they weren't unlovable.
My brothers are lovable. In fact, I believe God had great compassion for them.
It is an act of God, an act far outside of my reach alone, that I can sit here and tell you today that I my heart is full of love for them. There is no anger or hurt toward them left in me. Sure, I'm angry and more hurt than ever over what my parents have done. But all that is left for my brothers is compassion, understanding and love for my brothers.
I may not like what they do and I may feel pain over the loss of relationship, but I love them anyway. I honestly believe they are living the best possible lives they can given their background.
My final thought is that I wonder what life would be like for them if they were believers. What if they knew how to have that deep love for people because they knew God had that kind of love for them?
A couple months ago, I had a conversation with a dear friend which has stuck with me. We were talking about loving one another. Do we really do our best at loving each other the way God loves us? Do we even come close to loving each other the way God wants us to love each other?
My friend shared his personal perspective about how maybe he hadn't been loving his own brother like he should. I can't share his story because it's a very personal one that isn't mine to tell. However, the conviction he shared stuck with me. Not only that, but I've had the opportunity to witness his growth in this area and overtly show a love for his brother.
That conversation has stayed tucked away in my heart and wiggles its way to my head every time I think about my own brothers.
The past few weeks to months have shown me that I have made huge strides in my ability to love people. Unquestionably, I have developed a deep, deep love for a few of my friends. They had only been acquaintances for so long, that I'm not sure when it crossed over into this semi-unfamiliar area. I honestly can't explain it. It's not my nature to have this kind of love for people who really haven't first shown that kind of love for me. But it's there and it's real. I laugh, cry, hurt, rejoice with them without any notion that I am out of place. Even if they don't share that deep compassion for me, it is concrete for me. Completely not my nature!
That is exactly the same kind of love that I should have for my brothers.
I've spent a lot of time recently thinking through what keeps me from loving them like that. I realized that it was anger and hurt. What I didn't realize is that my hurt and anger was completely misplaced.
As I listened to the new song "Forgiveness" by Matthew West, it all came together for me.
I MUST consider who my brothers are. They are abuse survivors. They come from the same, twisted, evil that I did. They have become what they were taught to be. Their actions make sense given the depravity they come from.
WOW!
They both have done awful, mean, hurtful, damaging things to me, which would make a relationship impossible for us. The fact that they both have relationships with my parents is another hurdle and probably the one that will keep a physical distance between us.
After considering our common bond, surviving evil, I don't think I can hold onto any anger I have toward them. The hurt I feel should rightly be placed on my parents, not my brothers.
In West's song, he says "Show me how to love the unlovable. Show me how to reach the unreachable. Show me how to do the impossible."
I think the first thing I've had to do is realize my brothers, just like me, are NOT unlovable. Doing what seemed impossible, forgiving them, really wasn't in my reach. Not until I accepted that they weren't unlovable.
My brothers are lovable. In fact, I believe God had great compassion for them.
It is an act of God, an act far outside of my reach alone, that I can sit here and tell you today that I my heart is full of love for them. There is no anger or hurt toward them left in me. Sure, I'm angry and more hurt than ever over what my parents have done. But all that is left for my brothers is compassion, understanding and love for my brothers.
I may not like what they do and I may feel pain over the loss of relationship, but I love them anyway. I honestly believe they are living the best possible lives they can given their background.
My final thought is that I wonder what life would be like for them if they were believers. What if they knew how to have that deep love for people because they knew God had that kind of love for them?
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Prepping
As I frantically go through the house cleaning and making a list of things that needs done before our impending house guests, I am figuring out that prepping is a lot work.
I have certainly had a full plate with making sure I have enough blankets, pillows, towels, etc. There are things I would love to have done, like tile in the bathroom, that I have resigned myself to accept just isn't going to happen in the next week. I have already made a trip to target for miscellaneous items that I wouldn't have otherwise purchased right now.
There's certainly been a lot of prepping for our impromptu mini-vacation and a variety of activities being planned for the kiddos.
All of those things are just motions. The lists are long, but hard work and time will persevere.
What I hadn't really thought through until the past two days is the emotional prepping that needs done.
After a few anxiety attacks which reduced me to a bawling mess in the fetal position on the floor, I was able to accept that maybe I might be a little fearful of the upcoming family visit.
Don't think for a second that I don't love my niece and nephew. I do. I love them beyond what I could possibly explain to anyone. They don't have to earn my love, they just get it. I have anxiously waited for over four long years to again show them just that. I would sacrifice for them. My heart has been warmed by catching a glimpse of a picture of them. My heart has been broken every birthday and holiday I have missed them.
I equally love my brothers in the same ways, but it's much harder to say.
But I've become overwhelmed with a very real fear of what my place is in their life and how they feel about me.
I am doing my best at holding my expectations of them very loosely. They are 11 and 12 years old. I'm not sure your average 11 or 12 year old is overly loving with anyone. I also know a bit about the environment they come from.
It is very possible that after all this time, we will be like strangers with each other. I know enough about kids to know they change a lot between 8 and 12. Good grief, I've changed so much in the past four years. Will they even remember me? Will they remember what I was like four years ago? Will I have changed so much that they feel I too am a stranger? Or even worse, will I have changed so much that they don't care to be around me?
The truth is that I don't know and that scares me.
Even though I am trying not to focus on it, I am incredibly sad over the time I've lost the past five years. I've lost so much time with them, my other niece and nephew and even my brothers. I know it had to be. In order to sort through the nasty rats nest of my life, I had to be away from my hometown and key family members. I don't regret that, but I do regret the distance it put between the kids and I.
Let's face it, I have made a lot of great changes in my life and have come so far in the past five years. But, what if I'm really not the aunt they know or even want? What if I am in fact not good enough for them any more? What if I really don't have a place in their life any more? What if they are angry or confused about why I don't visit them any more?
How do you explain to a 12 year old that their grandparents screwed their aunt up so bad that she had to go almost 5 years without seeing them?
I don't regret the decision to keep them at all. But I am scared beyond belief.
Not that I've voiced this concern to anyone yet, because I haven't. However, so much of what I have shared with my friends has been met with that common, "don't worry about it, God will work it all out."
How does that apply when one half the equation are not Christian?
I still have a week before they get here. A full week to stew over the emotional ups and downs which are sure to come.
Back to cleaning I go, tears and all....that seems to be the only part of this prepping process that I can control at this point.
I have certainly had a full plate with making sure I have enough blankets, pillows, towels, etc. There are things I would love to have done, like tile in the bathroom, that I have resigned myself to accept just isn't going to happen in the next week. I have already made a trip to target for miscellaneous items that I wouldn't have otherwise purchased right now.
There's certainly been a lot of prepping for our impromptu mini-vacation and a variety of activities being planned for the kiddos.
All of those things are just motions. The lists are long, but hard work and time will persevere.
What I hadn't really thought through until the past two days is the emotional prepping that needs done.
After a few anxiety attacks which reduced me to a bawling mess in the fetal position on the floor, I was able to accept that maybe I might be a little fearful of the upcoming family visit.
Don't think for a second that I don't love my niece and nephew. I do. I love them beyond what I could possibly explain to anyone. They don't have to earn my love, they just get it. I have anxiously waited for over four long years to again show them just that. I would sacrifice for them. My heart has been warmed by catching a glimpse of a picture of them. My heart has been broken every birthday and holiday I have missed them.
I equally love my brothers in the same ways, but it's much harder to say.
But I've become overwhelmed with a very real fear of what my place is in their life and how they feel about me.
I am doing my best at holding my expectations of them very loosely. They are 11 and 12 years old. I'm not sure your average 11 or 12 year old is overly loving with anyone. I also know a bit about the environment they come from.
It is very possible that after all this time, we will be like strangers with each other. I know enough about kids to know they change a lot between 8 and 12. Good grief, I've changed so much in the past four years. Will they even remember me? Will they remember what I was like four years ago? Will I have changed so much that they feel I too am a stranger? Or even worse, will I have changed so much that they don't care to be around me?
The truth is that I don't know and that scares me.
Even though I am trying not to focus on it, I am incredibly sad over the time I've lost the past five years. I've lost so much time with them, my other niece and nephew and even my brothers. I know it had to be. In order to sort through the nasty rats nest of my life, I had to be away from my hometown and key family members. I don't regret that, but I do regret the distance it put between the kids and I.
Let's face it, I have made a lot of great changes in my life and have come so far in the past five years. But, what if I'm really not the aunt they know or even want? What if I am in fact not good enough for them any more? What if I really don't have a place in their life any more? What if they are angry or confused about why I don't visit them any more?
How do you explain to a 12 year old that their grandparents screwed their aunt up so bad that she had to go almost 5 years without seeing them?
I don't regret the decision to keep them at all. But I am scared beyond belief.
Not that I've voiced this concern to anyone yet, because I haven't. However, so much of what I have shared with my friends has been met with that common, "don't worry about it, God will work it all out."
How does that apply when one half the equation are not Christian?
I still have a week before they get here. A full week to stew over the emotional ups and downs which are sure to come.
Back to cleaning I go, tears and all....that seems to be the only part of this prepping process that I can control at this point.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
I write for me...
I noticed today that the readership of my blog has doubled over the past month. Yep, I am one of those who occasionally looks at the stats to see if anyone really reads my dribble. Evidently they do; you do.
At first, I had that split second thought that it was creepy other people were reading what I write. It isn't like when I wrote for the newspapers. Those were articles with facts and given for informational purposes. For me, blogosphere is just an open editorial section for life as I see it. Completely different!
When I write here, I write for me. Whether I use it to express an opinion, emotionally dump overflow or share past experiences, it is almost always written for me. It may come across as a cry for help sometimes and maybe it is, but that's never the intention.
I doubt anyone would come to my blog for encouragement, it's really not that kind of writing. I struggle with some common and a lot of unique problems. I don't hide that or sugar coat it all. I can't imagine anyone reading what I write and feeling uplifted.
There are rarely any comments on my posts. I also don't get much feedback from friends either. That leads me to believe the people reading my blog could possibly be strangers or people I have no relationship with at this time. It's even possible that you reading this are a complete stranger. I'm really ok with all of the above.
Maybe one day you'll leave me a comment to share with me why you read my blog. I'd love to know. Not that it would change what I have to say or have any influence over how honest I am.
I also had that brief thought about the content of my posts. There are some posts that are raw, unedited and even vulgar. Sure, I could go back and edit them. However, I think that would discredit me as being real and honest. And, honestly, those are the posts I need the most. I need those points of desperation to look back on later. I need those reference points to see my own progress.
There are a couple people I know read the blog to stay up-to-date with what I am thinking. I'm ok with that too. Some days my husband is so busy that I barely see him. At least here he can know what's on my mind. I love you honey!
Whatever your reason for being here, I hope you continue to visit. I hope at times you can find something useful here. If you're truly a creeper and shouldn't be here, well then I hope you'll eventually get bored with me. If you dislike me and follow just to find joy in my misery, then you're probably family or just as sick and twisted as they are.
At first, I had that split second thought that it was creepy other people were reading what I write. It isn't like when I wrote for the newspapers. Those were articles with facts and given for informational purposes. For me, blogosphere is just an open editorial section for life as I see it. Completely different!
When I write here, I write for me. Whether I use it to express an opinion, emotionally dump overflow or share past experiences, it is almost always written for me. It may come across as a cry for help sometimes and maybe it is, but that's never the intention.
I doubt anyone would come to my blog for encouragement, it's really not that kind of writing. I struggle with some common and a lot of unique problems. I don't hide that or sugar coat it all. I can't imagine anyone reading what I write and feeling uplifted.
There are rarely any comments on my posts. I also don't get much feedback from friends either. That leads me to believe the people reading my blog could possibly be strangers or people I have no relationship with at this time. It's even possible that you reading this are a complete stranger. I'm really ok with all of the above.
Maybe one day you'll leave me a comment to share with me why you read my blog. I'd love to know. Not that it would change what I have to say or have any influence over how honest I am.
I also had that brief thought about the content of my posts. There are some posts that are raw, unedited and even vulgar. Sure, I could go back and edit them. However, I think that would discredit me as being real and honest. And, honestly, those are the posts I need the most. I need those points of desperation to look back on later. I need those reference points to see my own progress.
There are a couple people I know read the blog to stay up-to-date with what I am thinking. I'm ok with that too. Some days my husband is so busy that I barely see him. At least here he can know what's on my mind. I love you honey!
Whatever your reason for being here, I hope you continue to visit. I hope at times you can find something useful here. If you're truly a creeper and shouldn't be here, well then I hope you'll eventually get bored with me. If you dislike me and follow just to find joy in my misery, then you're probably family or just as sick and twisted as they are.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Overloaded
It could be that I didn't hardly sleep last night or that this week a majority of my support system is unavailable or even that my entire routine is in complete disrupt, but I'm doing everything to maintain dry cheeks.
I am on total emotional overload and have had no real outlets for it this week. Sure, I've had a couple people talk with me. But I haven't had any of those deep, honest, vomit-it-all-up conversations yet. Usually by Monday, I've had at least two of those.
Nobody is around who really knows me well enough to know the signs that I am hiding a swirling nest of emotions inside me. Nobody knows how to push me gently but just firm enough so that I will lay it all out and be able to relax from the internal turmoil for just a little while.
I'm sure I've shared the analogy of the beach ball. When you focus all energy on keeping the ball under water, you will eventually become exhausted and the ball will go flying out of the water. I've exterted about the last bit of energy I have to keep it down and it's about to shoot back up.
Sadly, bad things tend to happen when I can no longer hold the ball down. I've had a couple people ask how this week is going. Sometimes I really believe when they ask, they just want to hear everything is fine and that's what I give them. Other times, I might project that they don't really have time to have a deep conversation or even that they really won't want to hear the truth.
It's times like this when I wish there were more people who were strong enough to sit me down and not let up until I crack. It's not some sadistic need in myself. I just know what I need to survive times like this.
I can't ask or demand or expect that of anyone. And, I think that ties back to my childhood and past experiences.
When I expected my parents to take care of me, they failed. When I asked grandparents and teachers to help me, they failed me. When I begged friends to help me through trials, they failed me. I don't ask because that starts the expectation that the person will reject my request and/or fail me. I've stopped even giving people an opportunity to fail and placed every expectation on failing myself.
Only another entire week before I get back into my normal routine. Another whole week. Seven full days. That's a lot of time for failure and a lot of opportunity for major damage.
I know the Christianized response to my dilema is to "just trust in the Lord" or "when everyone else fails you, the Lord is always there."
My oh so human response to that is this: Yes God is the only one I can fully place all my trust in and who will never fail me. However, He knows me best and knows that he designed me to rely heavily on the tools He provides. He knows my comfort comes most often through music and He knows human conversation and good Christian counsel are essential key ingredients in my daily living. He knows my "right now" depends on others to support and care for me.
Oh boy...only one week to go before I get some normalcy back and I can get rid of this overload.
I am on total emotional overload and have had no real outlets for it this week. Sure, I've had a couple people talk with me. But I haven't had any of those deep, honest, vomit-it-all-up conversations yet. Usually by Monday, I've had at least two of those.
Nobody is around who really knows me well enough to know the signs that I am hiding a swirling nest of emotions inside me. Nobody knows how to push me gently but just firm enough so that I will lay it all out and be able to relax from the internal turmoil for just a little while.
I'm sure I've shared the analogy of the beach ball. When you focus all energy on keeping the ball under water, you will eventually become exhausted and the ball will go flying out of the water. I've exterted about the last bit of energy I have to keep it down and it's about to shoot back up.
Sadly, bad things tend to happen when I can no longer hold the ball down. I've had a couple people ask how this week is going. Sometimes I really believe when they ask, they just want to hear everything is fine and that's what I give them. Other times, I might project that they don't really have time to have a deep conversation or even that they really won't want to hear the truth.
It's times like this when I wish there were more people who were strong enough to sit me down and not let up until I crack. It's not some sadistic need in myself. I just know what I need to survive times like this.
I can't ask or demand or expect that of anyone. And, I think that ties back to my childhood and past experiences.
When I expected my parents to take care of me, they failed. When I asked grandparents and teachers to help me, they failed me. When I begged friends to help me through trials, they failed me. I don't ask because that starts the expectation that the person will reject my request and/or fail me. I've stopped even giving people an opportunity to fail and placed every expectation on failing myself.
Only another entire week before I get back into my normal routine. Another whole week. Seven full days. That's a lot of time for failure and a lot of opportunity for major damage.
I know the Christianized response to my dilema is to "just trust in the Lord" or "when everyone else fails you, the Lord is always there."
My oh so human response to that is this: Yes God is the only one I can fully place all my trust in and who will never fail me. However, He knows me best and knows that he designed me to rely heavily on the tools He provides. He knows my comfort comes most often through music and He knows human conversation and good Christian counsel are essential key ingredients in my daily living. He knows my "right now" depends on others to support and care for me.
Oh boy...only one week to go before I get some normalcy back and I can get rid of this overload.
"Oceans Raging Wild..."
I am sitting here after having been to bed and gotten back up again. Comfort eludes me tonight, emotionally, spiritually and physically.
My mind and body are being tossed about in this violent swirling world full of uncertainty and questions.
In addition to my mother-in-law, I have several people around me wading through major health problems. Their stories aren't mine to tell and I probably couldn't do justice to what they are living through right now. I can only tell you what it's like to be on the sidelines.
I would also like to add that I am in no way minimizing what they are going through. I know how I feel and see their trial is of no comparison to what it must be like to be walking in their shoes right now.
Slowly, I am learning that prayer is just a fancy name for the conversation between me and God. To dumb it down even further, it's really just me talking to someone I can't see, hear, feel or touch. And honestly, lately, it feels exactly like me just talking to myself.
As my mother-in-law began the process of getting her dementia diagnosis and as my friends went through testing for cancer, I prayed and prayed and prayed for an outcome that would be the best possible for them. I prayed for no dementia, no cancer. In every case, my prayers (and those of many others) would not be answered. It definitely feels like I've been talking to myself a lot lately.
It has taken a small army of people working diligently to undo the damage my dad did in convincing that there was no God and if there was, then bad things would not happen. Even with the troops at hand, I feel like I barely hang onto what is true. I know what the bible says, but my heart just doesn't have a concrete belief that God is good all the time.
Even in my own life, I don't understand.
I know the Christian response is usually and probably should be accepting that each and every trial is no surprise to God. We should blindly and confidently accept that God will use each trial for His glory. We should live completely as if we never doubt that God never leaves us and will be our strength when the trial is too big for our minds to consume and too exhausting for our bodies to withstand.
Honestly, I've tried and I can't do any of that right now. I'm angry. I'm fist-shaking, foot-stomping angry. I'm shaking-my-head, hands-on-the-hips, toe-tapping angry that nothing seems fair when bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. The only confidence I have right now is that God knows I'm angry.
Each angry tear I cry is filled with fear. That's the driving force of the anger which has me so on edge tonight. I am so afraid of the unknown, it's what has me so restless.
For my mother-in-law, my friends and even myself, I'm afraid of what lays ahead. I don't know if there will be healing. I don't know if there will be a cure. I don't know if there will be a miracle. I don't know if there will be long, healthy lives ahead. I just don't know and that scares me.
What I want for everyone, even me, is to be whole, healthy and happy. Put back together and better than before. I'm scared that won't be the answer for everyone of them or me.
I'm scared that my doubt, my real struggle to find comfort in what I know is true will somehow disqualify me as a Christian. I'm not challenging God, but I question whether or not He loves me and listens to me.
The last time we left my mother-in-law, "I Will Lift My Eyes," by Bebo Norman was playing on the radio. It couldn't have played at a more perfect time.
Psalm 123:1 says, I will lift my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven. Psalm 6:9 says, the Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer.
I am trying my hardest to hold it all close right now. I may fail, but I will fail doing my best.
My mind and body are being tossed about in this violent swirling world full of uncertainty and questions.
In addition to my mother-in-law, I have several people around me wading through major health problems. Their stories aren't mine to tell and I probably couldn't do justice to what they are living through right now. I can only tell you what it's like to be on the sidelines.
I would also like to add that I am in no way minimizing what they are going through. I know how I feel and see their trial is of no comparison to what it must be like to be walking in their shoes right now.
Slowly, I am learning that prayer is just a fancy name for the conversation between me and God. To dumb it down even further, it's really just me talking to someone I can't see, hear, feel or touch. And honestly, lately, it feels exactly like me just talking to myself.
As my mother-in-law began the process of getting her dementia diagnosis and as my friends went through testing for cancer, I prayed and prayed and prayed for an outcome that would be the best possible for them. I prayed for no dementia, no cancer. In every case, my prayers (and those of many others) would not be answered. It definitely feels like I've been talking to myself a lot lately.
It has taken a small army of people working diligently to undo the damage my dad did in convincing that there was no God and if there was, then bad things would not happen. Even with the troops at hand, I feel like I barely hang onto what is true. I know what the bible says, but my heart just doesn't have a concrete belief that God is good all the time.
Even in my own life, I don't understand.
I know the Christian response is usually and probably should be accepting that each and every trial is no surprise to God. We should blindly and confidently accept that God will use each trial for His glory. We should live completely as if we never doubt that God never leaves us and will be our strength when the trial is too big for our minds to consume and too exhausting for our bodies to withstand.
Honestly, I've tried and I can't do any of that right now. I'm angry. I'm fist-shaking, foot-stomping angry. I'm shaking-my-head, hands-on-the-hips, toe-tapping angry that nothing seems fair when bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. The only confidence I have right now is that God knows I'm angry.
Each angry tear I cry is filled with fear. That's the driving force of the anger which has me so on edge tonight. I am so afraid of the unknown, it's what has me so restless.
For my mother-in-law, my friends and even myself, I'm afraid of what lays ahead. I don't know if there will be healing. I don't know if there will be a cure. I don't know if there will be a miracle. I don't know if there will be long, healthy lives ahead. I just don't know and that scares me.
What I want for everyone, even me, is to be whole, healthy and happy. Put back together and better than before. I'm scared that won't be the answer for everyone of them or me.
I'm scared that my doubt, my real struggle to find comfort in what I know is true will somehow disqualify me as a Christian. I'm not challenging God, but I question whether or not He loves me and listens to me.
The last time we left my mother-in-law, "I Will Lift My Eyes," by Bebo Norman was playing on the radio. It couldn't have played at a more perfect time.
Psalm 123:1 says, I will lift my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven. Psalm 6:9 says, the Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer.
I am trying my hardest to hold it all close right now. I may fail, but I will fail doing my best.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Aunt Do
Searching my entire life, I doubt I could find anything so equally joyous and heart wrenching as being an aunt.
My first nephew was born in the fall of 1999. I had been married just 15 months and was already struggling with infertility. My marriage was a disaster and I was on the brink of destroying my life with a strong desire to turn to drugs.
At the time, my tiny sister-in-law-to-be was two weeks past her due date with a baby boy who was to be only 6 lbs. Early on the morning of Thanksgiving, she was finally in labor. She tried and tried to deliver the baby. Standing in the hall at the hospital, I could see her in pain and trying all different positions. After hours, the baby was on his way out. He would get stuck in the birth canal, causing his heart rate to drop dangerously low. The doctor would have no choice but to pull him out using forceps.
It was quite a roller coaster of emotion as we waited to hear that first cry. A good cry and an hour later, I'd find myself standing in the nursery holding my firstborn nephew. He was a whopping 9.2 lbs and had just a hint of a bruise above his eye from the forceps.
At that moment, I decided the most important thing in my life was being the best example of a human I could be to this baby and that I never wanted to be far away from him. It was life altering and one of the major reasons I stayed put in my marriage.
My nephew spent the first week of his life in the NICU of CMH because of swelling in his head. That wouldn't be his first trip by ambulance to the hospital either. He made several more during his first few years of life. He started life with an allergy to food dyes that would cause him to stop breathe and seize. Thankfully, he grew out of that.
In March 2000, September 2000 and October 2005, my brothers would make me a happy aunt again. A few of them could never pronounce my first name and even my middle name. So, I would become known to them all at one time or another as "Aunt Do." A name I gladly accepted and a title I wore proudly.
I could tell you hundreds of stories that would all end in my sincere gratitude for being able to be an aunt. I took my nephew to his first movie, Finding Nemo. I traveled several places with the three oldest ones. My niece liked to throw herself on the ground, kicking and screaming. I babysat multiple times. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, my nephew said, "I want to be a dad and live in KC." I have spent countless hours at Chuckie Cheeses with all of them. Good and bad, it's all been wonderful.
But it's been incredibly painful too.
Living 2 hours away from them has been difficult. The older of my brothers divorced when his son was very young. It became difficult to see his children when he barely had them once or twice a month. My oldest niece is in fact, not my brother's biological child. The divorce made that a point of contention for some of my family. Sadly, I know the biological father. He has inquired about paternity many times and been lied too. I have a difficult time accepting the decision to keep her from her biological father, who I am certain would love her. (Long story short, the biological father is a distant relative of my husband's and therefore shares his bloodline.)
When it became apparent that for my own well-being I needed to sever ties with my parents, it became a package deal. They lived in the same town and I couldn't get near my nieces and nephews without running into my parents. That was in 2007.
It has been a very long, extremely difficult five years. I was able to have one niece and nephew stay with me during Thanksgiving of 2007. In 2009, I saw all four of them at an event in their hometown. It was a brief visit and two of them did not know who I was. In early 2011, I met up with my sister-in-law, one niece and one nephew for lunch. That has been all of the contact I've had with them in five years.
Every birthday. Every holiday. First day of school. Snow days. In conversations. When I look at pictures. It's all so painful. I don't think I've ever missed anyone like I miss them. It is a hurt that digs deep into who I am and what motivates me.
I hope someday I will be able to explain to them why I was absent from their lives and I desperately pray that they will understand. I hope they will know I never stopped thinking about them or caring about them.
In 12 days (yes, there is a mental countdown), I will get two of them for 6 days. I feared this would never happen, at least not before they were grown adults anyway. I have days and days full of things to do. I know that in their pre-teen personalities, they will want to go and do and have fun. And fun is what we shall have!
There is nothing I would love more than to go back in time to that point where they were little and just wanted to cuddle with Aunt Do. But since I can't, I have only one wish, one desire for the entire time they are with me. I hope that I can savor every moment while being that person I knew I wanted to that first time I looked at my nephew's big blue eyes.
I want to be that person who loves them unconditionally. I want to show them respect for people, places and things. I want to be that role model of a person, a wife, an aunt. And the biggest thing, the one thing that never crossed my mind in 1999, I want them to see Jesus in my life.
My first nephew was born in the fall of 1999. I had been married just 15 months and was already struggling with infertility. My marriage was a disaster and I was on the brink of destroying my life with a strong desire to turn to drugs.
At the time, my tiny sister-in-law-to-be was two weeks past her due date with a baby boy who was to be only 6 lbs. Early on the morning of Thanksgiving, she was finally in labor. She tried and tried to deliver the baby. Standing in the hall at the hospital, I could see her in pain and trying all different positions. After hours, the baby was on his way out. He would get stuck in the birth canal, causing his heart rate to drop dangerously low. The doctor would have no choice but to pull him out using forceps.
It was quite a roller coaster of emotion as we waited to hear that first cry. A good cry and an hour later, I'd find myself standing in the nursery holding my firstborn nephew. He was a whopping 9.2 lbs and had just a hint of a bruise above his eye from the forceps.
At that moment, I decided the most important thing in my life was being the best example of a human I could be to this baby and that I never wanted to be far away from him. It was life altering and one of the major reasons I stayed put in my marriage.
My nephew spent the first week of his life in the NICU of CMH because of swelling in his head. That wouldn't be his first trip by ambulance to the hospital either. He made several more during his first few years of life. He started life with an allergy to food dyes that would cause him to stop breathe and seize. Thankfully, he grew out of that.
In March 2000, September 2000 and October 2005, my brothers would make me a happy aunt again. A few of them could never pronounce my first name and even my middle name. So, I would become known to them all at one time or another as "Aunt Do." A name I gladly accepted and a title I wore proudly.
I could tell you hundreds of stories that would all end in my sincere gratitude for being able to be an aunt. I took my nephew to his first movie, Finding Nemo. I traveled several places with the three oldest ones. My niece liked to throw herself on the ground, kicking and screaming. I babysat multiple times. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, my nephew said, "I want to be a dad and live in KC." I have spent countless hours at Chuckie Cheeses with all of them. Good and bad, it's all been wonderful.
But it's been incredibly painful too.
Living 2 hours away from them has been difficult. The older of my brothers divorced when his son was very young. It became difficult to see his children when he barely had them once or twice a month. My oldest niece is in fact, not my brother's biological child. The divorce made that a point of contention for some of my family. Sadly, I know the biological father. He has inquired about paternity many times and been lied too. I have a difficult time accepting the decision to keep her from her biological father, who I am certain would love her. (Long story short, the biological father is a distant relative of my husband's and therefore shares his bloodline.)
When it became apparent that for my own well-being I needed to sever ties with my parents, it became a package deal. They lived in the same town and I couldn't get near my nieces and nephews without running into my parents. That was in 2007.
It has been a very long, extremely difficult five years. I was able to have one niece and nephew stay with me during Thanksgiving of 2007. In 2009, I saw all four of them at an event in their hometown. It was a brief visit and two of them did not know who I was. In early 2011, I met up with my sister-in-law, one niece and one nephew for lunch. That has been all of the contact I've had with them in five years.
Every birthday. Every holiday. First day of school. Snow days. In conversations. When I look at pictures. It's all so painful. I don't think I've ever missed anyone like I miss them. It is a hurt that digs deep into who I am and what motivates me.
I hope someday I will be able to explain to them why I was absent from their lives and I desperately pray that they will understand. I hope they will know I never stopped thinking about them or caring about them.
In 12 days (yes, there is a mental countdown), I will get two of them for 6 days. I feared this would never happen, at least not before they were grown adults anyway. I have days and days full of things to do. I know that in their pre-teen personalities, they will want to go and do and have fun. And fun is what we shall have!
There is nothing I would love more than to go back in time to that point where they were little and just wanted to cuddle with Aunt Do. But since I can't, I have only one wish, one desire for the entire time they are with me. I hope that I can savor every moment while being that person I knew I wanted to that first time I looked at my nephew's big blue eyes.
I want to be that person who loves them unconditionally. I want to show them respect for people, places and things. I want to be that role model of a person, a wife, an aunt. And the biggest thing, the one thing that never crossed my mind in 1999, I want them to see Jesus in my life.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Freedom
Have you ever wanted something so bad, but when you got it you realized maybe it wasn't as great as you had thought?
For almost three years, my constant thought has been that my life would be so much better if I were able to do just two things: drive and spend as much time alone as I wanted.
I've had those things now for the greater part of a month. And ya know, it really isn't as great as I remember.
There are so many things in my life that have improved over the past few years. I think having so much freedom tends to accentuate the things that haven't improved much.
You would have to know more of my background to understand that I can go hours at a time without any idea where I am or what I am doing and then have no memory of it later. This usually happens when I am tired, bored or upset.
I thought when I got to drive again that I would stay incredibly busy. I mean goodness, it seemed like I always had things to do and nobody to take me to do them. What really happens is that I spend most of my time at home, doing nothing. I really don't drive that much.
In fact, I'm not sure I even really like driving. It seems to kick up some massive anxiety in me. Every other car on the road is a potential person to cause an accident.
I also didn't realize how much I had enjoyed having the company of someone to go most places with me. It is a little lonely going everywhere alone.
Which leads me to why the other half of what I wanted hasn't been that great.
Being home by myself all day, everyday....well...it's a whole bunch lonely.
My husband works so many hours, that I typically only get 2-3 hours of human interaction per day. Sad, huh?
I think it's more than just loneliness for me. I went from someone knowing where I was at all times and having someone nearby to having nothing.
From 6:30 am until 3:30 pm or much later, nobody really knows where I am at or what I am doing. That feels like someone kicked my legs out from under me. Without going into in a public forum, I can assure you that there are a long list of things that could, have or will go wrong during times when nobody has accounted for me. That's a scary thought!
I'm sure in a few weeks when I can't drive again (which I know will happen), I wonder if I will remember just how miserable I am now. I wonder if I will be able to think back just a few weeks to this time when I've just about decided that all I wanted wasn't really what I wanted at all.
For almost three years, my constant thought has been that my life would be so much better if I were able to do just two things: drive and spend as much time alone as I wanted.
I've had those things now for the greater part of a month. And ya know, it really isn't as great as I remember.
There are so many things in my life that have improved over the past few years. I think having so much freedom tends to accentuate the things that haven't improved much.
You would have to know more of my background to understand that I can go hours at a time without any idea where I am or what I am doing and then have no memory of it later. This usually happens when I am tired, bored or upset.
I thought when I got to drive again that I would stay incredibly busy. I mean goodness, it seemed like I always had things to do and nobody to take me to do them. What really happens is that I spend most of my time at home, doing nothing. I really don't drive that much.
In fact, I'm not sure I even really like driving. It seems to kick up some massive anxiety in me. Every other car on the road is a potential person to cause an accident.
I also didn't realize how much I had enjoyed having the company of someone to go most places with me. It is a little lonely going everywhere alone.
Which leads me to why the other half of what I wanted hasn't been that great.
Being home by myself all day, everyday....well...it's a whole bunch lonely.
My husband works so many hours, that I typically only get 2-3 hours of human interaction per day. Sad, huh?
I think it's more than just loneliness for me. I went from someone knowing where I was at all times and having someone nearby to having nothing.
From 6:30 am until 3:30 pm or much later, nobody really knows where I am at or what I am doing. That feels like someone kicked my legs out from under me. Without going into in a public forum, I can assure you that there are a long list of things that could, have or will go wrong during times when nobody has accounted for me. That's a scary thought!
I'm sure in a few weeks when I can't drive again (which I know will happen), I wonder if I will remember just how miserable I am now. I wonder if I will be able to think back just a few weeks to this time when I've just about decided that all I wanted wasn't really what I wanted at all.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Hot Summer Days
Maybe it is because I live a relatively clean life, I often forget the filth that filled my childhood. It's hard to predict just how obscure things can reduce me to intermittent ptsd trances where I the past feels so very real.
Not that anyone particularly likes them, but I hate maggots. Let me be oh so clear on that...I HATE them.
Last week, my dog carried in a dead bird. Weeks of excessive heat, plus a dead bird, you see where this is going. Luckily, my husband took care of the bird before I had an opportunity to be completely freaked out. The next day, we saw trails of the nasty little boogers crawling in a parking lot and on a trash can.
That has been followed by almost a week of constant nightmares. Whether I sleep 1 hour or 6 hours, I wake up in a sweaty mess after dreaming of being eaten alive by them. I've also had flashbacks of childhood every day since.
You might not think something as silly as a maggot would illicit a response any stronger than just common disgust. I guess that comes directly from the way I grew up.
I grew up in absolute filth. We always had roaches, which my dad blamed on the wood he stored in the basement for the wood burning stove. We always had ants or spiders or other random bugs that he was convinced wouldn't be there without the wood. We had mice. I don't mean just a couple field mice in the fall either. We had entire families of huge mice and all over in the house. Of course my dad blamed those on having children. Silly enough, I believed him for so long. I believed that if you had kids, they brought mice.
The truth was we had all these things because we lived a dirty life. My mom nor dad ever picked up after themselves, thereby not teaching their children to be clean. All house cleaning fell on me starting at a very young age, 6 or 7 at the latest. I hadn't been taught, but just expected to know how to clean.
As a kid, I didn't really know there was much more than doing dishes, vacuuming, doing laundry, and taking trash out. Oh boy, there's so much more to keeping a house clean. It doesn't sound like much, but keep in mind I was a KID. My days were largely filled already with going to school and doing homework. Oh yea and trying to do as much as I could to avoid the inevitable abuse that would be waiting for me every night.
I still do not understand why my parents didn't give my brothers any responsibility. They weren't that much younger than me.
My parents didn't have a real air conditioner. We had a little window unit that my dad didn't allow us to run during the day. When the summer days got really hot, the unit was moved to their bedroom only. My mom covered all the windows with foil and we weren't allowed to open them. You can probably imagine just how hot our house got.
That was a bad combination with our trash. In our kitchen, we had a full size rolling cart size trash can. Living in a small town in the 1980s, we were only charged when we had trash to pick up. The trash can held a lot before it was ready to be taken outside. After it was full, I still had a hard time with it because of the weight. Needless-to-say, the trash sat for a long time before it got taken outside.
You can see where this is going, right? Hot house, lots and lots of trash in a filthy house...
I spent lots of time as a kid trying to clean up rivers of maggots crawling in our kitchen. We had a carpeted floor in our kitchen, making it impossible to smash them. Not a lot of things are safe to spray on carpet that will kill them either.
It was usually a process of scooping them up with a shovel, carrying them to the driveway and smashing them. This was my reality for week after week every summer of my childhood. If my dad found out we had maggots in the kithcen, I always got beat for it too.
That would probably be enough to cause anyone an adverse reaction to them for years and years. However, that just wasn't the worst of it.
After spending sometimes hours cleaning up, I would have my own mess to clean. There were so many, I couldn't keep them from crawling on my feet. I would have to sit down on the floor and pick the ones out that had burrowed into my feet.
I remember so many times that my dad would stand and laugh at me. He would tell me that if I missed any of them, they would crawl through my body, into my brain and kill me.
The flashbacks now are awful and I wish there was a way to stop them. I do my best just to avoid things like this so I don't have to deal with the flashbacks. It makes me so thankful that I no longer live in filth and that my husband would never allow that for us.
Not that anyone particularly likes them, but I hate maggots. Let me be oh so clear on that...I HATE them.
Last week, my dog carried in a dead bird. Weeks of excessive heat, plus a dead bird, you see where this is going. Luckily, my husband took care of the bird before I had an opportunity to be completely freaked out. The next day, we saw trails of the nasty little boogers crawling in a parking lot and on a trash can.
That has been followed by almost a week of constant nightmares. Whether I sleep 1 hour or 6 hours, I wake up in a sweaty mess after dreaming of being eaten alive by them. I've also had flashbacks of childhood every day since.
You might not think something as silly as a maggot would illicit a response any stronger than just common disgust. I guess that comes directly from the way I grew up.
I grew up in absolute filth. We always had roaches, which my dad blamed on the wood he stored in the basement for the wood burning stove. We always had ants or spiders or other random bugs that he was convinced wouldn't be there without the wood. We had mice. I don't mean just a couple field mice in the fall either. We had entire families of huge mice and all over in the house. Of course my dad blamed those on having children. Silly enough, I believed him for so long. I believed that if you had kids, they brought mice.
The truth was we had all these things because we lived a dirty life. My mom nor dad ever picked up after themselves, thereby not teaching their children to be clean. All house cleaning fell on me starting at a very young age, 6 or 7 at the latest. I hadn't been taught, but just expected to know how to clean.
As a kid, I didn't really know there was much more than doing dishes, vacuuming, doing laundry, and taking trash out. Oh boy, there's so much more to keeping a house clean. It doesn't sound like much, but keep in mind I was a KID. My days were largely filled already with going to school and doing homework. Oh yea and trying to do as much as I could to avoid the inevitable abuse that would be waiting for me every night.
I still do not understand why my parents didn't give my brothers any responsibility. They weren't that much younger than me.
My parents didn't have a real air conditioner. We had a little window unit that my dad didn't allow us to run during the day. When the summer days got really hot, the unit was moved to their bedroom only. My mom covered all the windows with foil and we weren't allowed to open them. You can probably imagine just how hot our house got.
That was a bad combination with our trash. In our kitchen, we had a full size rolling cart size trash can. Living in a small town in the 1980s, we were only charged when we had trash to pick up. The trash can held a lot before it was ready to be taken outside. After it was full, I still had a hard time with it because of the weight. Needless-to-say, the trash sat for a long time before it got taken outside.
You can see where this is going, right? Hot house, lots and lots of trash in a filthy house...
I spent lots of time as a kid trying to clean up rivers of maggots crawling in our kitchen. We had a carpeted floor in our kitchen, making it impossible to smash them. Not a lot of things are safe to spray on carpet that will kill them either.
It was usually a process of scooping them up with a shovel, carrying them to the driveway and smashing them. This was my reality for week after week every summer of my childhood. If my dad found out we had maggots in the kithcen, I always got beat for it too.
That would probably be enough to cause anyone an adverse reaction to them for years and years. However, that just wasn't the worst of it.
After spending sometimes hours cleaning up, I would have my own mess to clean. There were so many, I couldn't keep them from crawling on my feet. I would have to sit down on the floor and pick the ones out that had burrowed into my feet.
I remember so many times that my dad would stand and laugh at me. He would tell me that if I missed any of them, they would crawl through my body, into my brain and kill me.
The flashbacks now are awful and I wish there was a way to stop them. I do my best just to avoid things like this so I don't have to deal with the flashbacks. It makes me so thankful that I no longer live in filth and that my husband would never allow that for us.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Don't Forget the Journey
Since I'm a person with lots of issues, I'm also a person who gets multitudes of advice.
I won't say all the advice I've gotten is bad. Some of it has been really good. Some of it has been really, terribly bad. I will say that the majority of it has come at the wrong time in my life. And, most of that has come from someone who doesn't grasp what my life is truly like.
When offering advice or your opinion about what someone should or shouldn't be doing, there is so much to consider.
Past Experience: Everyone has their own past experiences. Without question, everyone can pinpoint some dysfunction from their past, but there are definitely varying degrees of dysfunction. Even if the level of dysfunction or circumstance seems to be parallel to your life, there is still much to consider. The method of survival, personality bent, current experiences, how open they are, length of experience, and so much more are all relevant factors to consider when you believe you understand the person.
Some questions to ask yourself about past experience before you consider offering advice:
Has this person truly trusted me with the entire scope of their past?
Do I fully understand who they are and how they have gotten to this point in their life?
Am I completely aware of what their circumstances are right now?
Emotional Stability: Depending on where the person is at in their journey, they may have times of emotional instability. When you go through counseling, therapy, down times, etc., there can be a varied swing of emotions. I speak from experience, each day of the week can be labeled with a different emotion. Someone just beginning this journey may often find themselves having more bad days than good. Even when the balance begins to shift and there are more good than bad, it is still a very delicate balance.
Some questions to ask yourself about emotional stability before you consider offering advice:
Do you have enough contact with this person to know what their emotional state is right now?
Will the advice you are about to offer risk interrupting that delicate emotional balance?
Is the advice something that would be better given during a time of more stability?
If it is difficult and cannot wait, does the person have proper support if the advice rocks their stability?
Spiritual Maturity: This is a tricky one. There are Christians who have been so since they were children, yet mature slowly. There are Christians who accept Christ as an adult and mature very quickly. It's not much different than the ages and maturity levels in a Freshman class. Everyone is different. When someone has emotional instability or severe past experiences, spiritual maturity can be easily effected and hampered. It seems so easy for Christians, especially seasoned or mature one, to expect spiritual maturity to come with number of years and disregard all other factors. That is a vital error. Another error is to expect someone to mature at the same rate which you have matured. Some people are going to be slower and some faster.
Some questions to ask yourself about spiritual maturity before you consider offering advice:
How spiritually mature were you before you believed, learned or experienced this truth?
Do you honestly know the level of spiritual maturity of this person?
Is this an opinion or advice which could cause this person to stumble or feel inferior because they are not spiritually as mature as you?
Will this advice be pertinent to the spiritual growth of this person?
If the advice is necessary and there is a lack of maturity, what will you do to aid in spiritual growth?
There are so many areas I could cover, but these are the ones on my heart right now.
If I could offer just one piece of advice for anyone wanting to offer advice, it would be this:
Before you give any advice to anyone, take a moment to consider not how much it changed your life but how long it took you in your own journey to learn that lesson. Don't ever forget your own journey; how hard, how long, how difficult it was for you to take advice from others.
I won't say all the advice I've gotten is bad. Some of it has been really good. Some of it has been really, terribly bad. I will say that the majority of it has come at the wrong time in my life. And, most of that has come from someone who doesn't grasp what my life is truly like.
When offering advice or your opinion about what someone should or shouldn't be doing, there is so much to consider.
Past Experience: Everyone has their own past experiences. Without question, everyone can pinpoint some dysfunction from their past, but there are definitely varying degrees of dysfunction. Even if the level of dysfunction or circumstance seems to be parallel to your life, there is still much to consider. The method of survival, personality bent, current experiences, how open they are, length of experience, and so much more are all relevant factors to consider when you believe you understand the person.
Some questions to ask yourself about past experience before you consider offering advice:
Has this person truly trusted me with the entire scope of their past?
Do I fully understand who they are and how they have gotten to this point in their life?
Am I completely aware of what their circumstances are right now?
Emotional Stability: Depending on where the person is at in their journey, they may have times of emotional instability. When you go through counseling, therapy, down times, etc., there can be a varied swing of emotions. I speak from experience, each day of the week can be labeled with a different emotion. Someone just beginning this journey may often find themselves having more bad days than good. Even when the balance begins to shift and there are more good than bad, it is still a very delicate balance.
Some questions to ask yourself about emotional stability before you consider offering advice:
Do you have enough contact with this person to know what their emotional state is right now?
Will the advice you are about to offer risk interrupting that delicate emotional balance?
Is the advice something that would be better given during a time of more stability?
If it is difficult and cannot wait, does the person have proper support if the advice rocks their stability?
Spiritual Maturity: This is a tricky one. There are Christians who have been so since they were children, yet mature slowly. There are Christians who accept Christ as an adult and mature very quickly. It's not much different than the ages and maturity levels in a Freshman class. Everyone is different. When someone has emotional instability or severe past experiences, spiritual maturity can be easily effected and hampered. It seems so easy for Christians, especially seasoned or mature one, to expect spiritual maturity to come with number of years and disregard all other factors. That is a vital error. Another error is to expect someone to mature at the same rate which you have matured. Some people are going to be slower and some faster.
Some questions to ask yourself about spiritual maturity before you consider offering advice:
How spiritually mature were you before you believed, learned or experienced this truth?
Do you honestly know the level of spiritual maturity of this person?
Is this an opinion or advice which could cause this person to stumble or feel inferior because they are not spiritually as mature as you?
Will this advice be pertinent to the spiritual growth of this person?
If the advice is necessary and there is a lack of maturity, what will you do to aid in spiritual growth?
There are so many areas I could cover, but these are the ones on my heart right now.
If I could offer just one piece of advice for anyone wanting to offer advice, it would be this:
Before you give any advice to anyone, take a moment to consider not how much it changed your life but how long it took you in your own journey to learn that lesson. Don't ever forget your own journey; how hard, how long, how difficult it was for you to take advice from others.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Right Now vs. Used to Be
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.
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.
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.
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