Growing Old

Let's take a moment to talk about one of those semi-embarrassing things that happens to all of us. 

Yes, that's right.  Gray hair.

This morning, my husband shared with me that he was getting gray hair.  His disappointment permeated the room look a foul odor.  He is naturally bald on top.  Sorry, I mean naturally dirty blond.  A few gray hairs are going to be noticeable to NOBODY in the world, except him.

Sure, he probably thought that having a large bald spot on top of his head since he was in his 20 would somehow preclude him from ever turning gray.  I suppose we can't all be so lucky as to have only one hair debacle in our life time.

I'm so sorry. I remember how depressing it was to find my first gray hairs.  That was my loving, caring wife response.  Well...that would have been my response if I'd have dug into the sensitive, sympathetic pocket this morning.

Instead, I was overcome with a sense of giddiness and asked for proof!

As I stood looking at his beautiful, shiny gray hair, I smiled and giggled.  Even in bad lighting, I could find only 2.   Two gray hairs that blended so well into blond that I could barely see them.  Oh my, where was my empathy?

My husband is 47.  That's only 3 years shy of 50.  He's nearly 50 and finding his first gray hair.  He sees having to wear glasses and finding gray hair means he is inching ever closer to the grave.  Hasn't he heard that 50 is the new 20?  Oops, maybe that's what I'm supposed to be telling him instead of laughing at his gray hair.

I am 10 years younger than my husband.  I was in my 20's when I found my first gray hair.  Oh that day sits in my memory as one of those icky milestones you wished hadn't come so soon.  I was at a conference and was standing in front of a mirror.  There was a perfect combination of natural light and florescent light.  As I caught a sparkle in my hair, I brushed off the idea it was anything more than healthy, shiny hair. 

During the next restroom break, I stood in front of mirror with dread.  The terrible florescent lighting in those restrooms made the gray stand out like it was neon.  I quickly pulled two hairs, took a deep breath and returned to my conference with the two hairs in my hand. 

I'm not really sure what I was thinking keeping them.  Irrationally, I probably thought that if I held onto them, they would never find their way back and somehow reattach.

I was familiar with the old wives tale about pulling out gray would cause two to grow back in their place.  So a month later, I took a deep breath and took a long look.  Nope, it was just a myth.  Only the two I had previously pulled were there. Whew!

Something has obviously gone terribly wrong over the past 10 years.  They have multiplied.  Never two out of the same place, but randomly all over my head.

As my husband pointed out this morning, I color mine.  That's right!  The old wives tale about red heads having wiry, nasty gray hair is absolutely 100% true.  It also doesn't take color very well, which usually leads taking extreme measures when I get a hint of insecurity about it.

That's right, I will eventually break down and get some professional done blond highlights even though I hate them.  I have to.  My only other option is pulling them.

Oh my, pulling them is a daunting process.  Even though I grab the tweezers and stand at the mirror with what has to be my own version of super hero music playing in my head, I never get them all.  I don't even get a portion of them.  I usually only get the wiry, crazy ones right in front.

Thankfully, my naturally curly hair hides them well for now.  However, I have been working on a mental strategy to deal with them.  As I shared with my husband this morning, I try not to look at my gray hair as a sign of aging.  In fact, I am trying to look at them as a well-deserved sign of perfection. 

Once I am completely gray, there will be nothing left to achieve (in the hair world, that is).   Each gray hair puts me that much closer to achieving perfection.  Hey, I didn't say it was a good strategy!  But evidently, you think crazy things like that the younger you are when you find your first gray hair.

If genetics are at play for my husband, he probably doesn't have to worry about going completely gray.  Neither of his parents are completely gray at all.  His mom has two gray spots on the back of her head.  His dad is just now salt-n-pepper gray in his mid 70s. 

I think the best part of all of this is that even though I'm 10 years younger than my husband....I'm growing old with him.  Gray or not, we're growing old together.  That just makes me smile.

Sing like never before...

As I walked in the door tonight, I had a snip it of a song playing over and over in my head.

 

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul

 

I've made no secret in my blog that I've struggled greatly with faith and people this summer.  It's been a struggle so great that I've felt as though God has long left me and forgotten about me.  I continue to struggle with this.  For so many reasons, I've truly been in a crisis of faith and disbelief.

 

For that reason, I've not listened to Christian music in months.  I couldn't.  For anyone who doesn't know, music is a huge part of my life.  I love singing.  I love listening.  I love hearing the words.  Music is like a second language for me that often says what I can't and speaks to me in ways nobody does.

 

I've enjoyed listening to Oldies, but haven't even done that much lately.  When I've said it's been a dry summer, I mean it.  Life without music for me is empty.

 

It's been months since I've had a song pop in my head and even longer since that song has been a Christian song.  I knew this snip was from a Christian song/artist, but no clue what/who.

 

The past few months have been tough and good days have been scarce. 

 

I stood over the sink tonight, bathing the dog and thinking through my day.

 

A few things happened today, which have impacted me deeply.

 

I shared with a friend last night that I have a difficult time moving past hurts that happen in church.  I've had many.  One of the reasons I feel it is so difficult to move past is because of all of the hurts I've experienced, I've never had any of them lead to restoration of the relationship. 

 

Today I had someone take steps to restore a relationship with me.  I won't and don't need to give you any details for you to understand how huge that was for me.  I really had to process my thoughts and feelings about this.  Forgiveness was simple, effortless.  It's never been so easy for me to forgive a hurt.  It was a completely new experience for me. 

 

I had no expectation that this relationship would be restored.  However, I can honestly say that I'm happy it can be.  Believe me, it really goes a long way in the effort to renew my faith in people, kindness and love amongst Christians.

 

There has been another person who has been unknowingly helping settle my stirring heart.  I want to believe that at the core of everyone is a good person, especially Christians.  I haven't believed that for a while.  I've had a tough time believing people can be loving, caring, genuine, gracious or have any desire to be like Christ.

 

Sometimes I look to the older members of the church to be these examples to me, accepting that nobody is perfect.  Age does not always equate to maturity, especially in faith. 

 

A younger (younger than me) lady in the church has shown me all of those things.  While I don't know her well, my experiences with her have been learning and growing experiences for me.  Through crazy times, tough circumstances and stressful situations, the young woman has been a picture of the healthy way to deal with adversity and hurt feelings. 

 

She embodies what I have been looking for, needed to see.  What is more amazing is that she has no clue her part in this beginning stage of healing.

 

Another obscure thing happened today, something completely unexpected.  During a meeting completely irrelevant to anything already mentioned, the pastor made a comment which stuck with me.  As he discussed serving people and the reason for service, he put something in perspective for me.

 

I won't quote him verbatim, but he said he doesn't prepare sermons for himself.  His study, his effort, his prep and ultimately the sermon itself is done for the people of the church.  He does it all for us, the body of the church.  He does it for me, being a member of the body.

 

Let me say that again...my pastor studies, spends many hours preparing and delivers a sermon for me. 

 

Having that perspective does so much to renew my desire to want to understand and hear sermons.  If he's going to put forth effort me, I believe I owe him the same in return.

 

Before I began scrubbing the dog and getting lost in my thoughts about the day, I had turned on the ipod.  I'm not even sure what had been playing, I hadn't heard any of it.  A momentary break in my thoughts opened my head to hear the words playing.

 

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul

 

It was the song.  It was the first time I'd heard the words of a Christian song in months.  I mean heard them, really deep down in my soul heard them. 

 

I couldn't help myself.  I stood over my soapy dog and wept. 

 

Of course I am filled with fear that everything I mentioned above is a fluke and tomorrow will bring more challenges and again kick me.

 

The fight isn't over.  I'm still in crisis.  Today's showers weren't enough to end the drought.  But maybe, just maybe, it's at least the beginning. 

 

Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to reconnect with my old friend...music.

 



They are to teach...

Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled. Titus 2:3-5

Surprised to see scripture woven into this blog right now?  Me too!

But I'm having a difficult time with an aspect of the church that seems to knock me down over and over again.

*Let me just state that I do not believe what I am about to say is unique to me or my church.  I do however, believe it is unique to Christian women as it is them who have chosen to be followers of Christ and professed to believe the written word of God.   I do think it's important to point out that this isn't at all directed at a particular individual(s) or written in regard to any particular incident(s).

My social contact within my church has grown exponentially over the past year.   But sadly, so has my disappointment and hurt.

I don't feel it's wise or even necessary to go into the many examples of why.  What I can and should say is that much of it resonates write in the middle of the above scripture.  Very specifically:

"They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women"

Before going any further, let me clearly state that there is a small group of women in our church who have been putting a concerted effort into changing this.  I do believe others see the problem and are doing what they can to make a difference moving forward.

But what makes me sad...no, breaks my heart...are the many women who are very mature in age and faith who aren't even making an effort to do this.

It's right there.  Very clear.  They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women...

There's two facets of this grind at my core and contribute to my confusion about Christians, God and faith.

The first is this idea that nobody below the age of 40, 50, 60, 70, etc. have gifts that would make them of any value in particular ministries within the church.  There is an obvious mindset that if something is going to be done or done right, it needs to be done by the people "who have always done it." 

I may not know much about the bible, but my friend, I know that's an example of pride.  Nasty, ugly, sinful pride.

Not only is it sin, but it just plain hurtful.  I can speak from experience.  It is discouraging.  It hurts.  It closes you off to church.  It turns you away from church.  It makes you believe you really don't belong or that you are not good enough.  I believe it could even be a contributing factor in lack of participation by 20-40 year-old women in church.

The other part of this is the guts of the training.  Inevitably, I see what happens when any younger woman gets an opportunity to serve with these older women who aren't being good examples of Titus 2.

Also speaking from experience, I can tell you what happens.  The young woman is given very little or no guidance.  They do their best, but make mistakes.  They are not given grace.  They aren't given an opportunity or second chance to make changes or do a better job.  However, without guidance, would they ever do a better job?  No training, no guidance, nobody willing to teach them through a difficult time.  They essentially have been given nothing but an assured opportunity to fail.

When the younger woman fails, then the cycle begins.  Failure proves that first facet must be true in the mind of the prideful person.  It cycles back to that mindset that nobody but them can do anything.

If you look at any committee, ministry, group within the church, do you see diversity? Do you see examples of teaching and training? If you don't, is that a totally healthy committee, ministry, group?

I know this sort of thing happens in every church.  But, isn't that a cop out?  If we excuse it by saying, "oh it happens everywhere," aren't we just perpetuating the problem? 

I'm not offering you these questions to in any way suggest that I don't have sin in my life. 

What I am offering is a perspective from someone who's been hurt by this.  A perspective from someone who believes this sort of thing is pushing me away from church.  A perspective from someone who desperately wants to learn from those around me and not become one of the examples I've experienced.

Aging with Humor and Love

I decided I'd stop numbering these and just call it a series.  I think I could write repeatedly about this and still not cover it all.

Today, I had the absolute privilege of walking the husband of this senior couple over to visit his wife who has finally gotten out of the hospital and is spending a little time in rehab before going back home. 

I say privilege because it was absolutely an honor to do it.

He was excited and waiting with his buggy parked in the middle of the living room when I walked in the apartment.  In jeans, suspenders, clean shirt, shades and a swagger, he got in the buggy and away we went. 

As we headed down the road, he was incredibly confident in his little buggy and had a bit of a puffed chest.  He was headed to see his bride and his mission was clearly written in his body language.

It reminded me of a time when my husband worked in another state for nine months.  Regardless of what obstacle popped up, he stayed determined to get home to me.

We talked and walked.  He cried with excitement and sadness. 

As we headed down the hall of the care center, a staff member let us know the wife was in the therapy room. 

I don't think I've ever seen two people lock eyes so fast before.  Not only that, but the light, the energy, the joy in that room seemed to get 10 times brighter. 

The entire trip could only be compared to a bride walking down the isle, then standing face-to-face with her husband to be. 

I always thought love was something that dissipated.  I thought young love was the strongest love you'd ever have in life.  I have honestly waited for my husband to eventually not love me any more or at least not as much.

I'm learning that it doesn't have to be that way.  In fact, love can grow and grow so far beyond that young love.  I don't want to wait around for my husband to stop loving me, I want to grow deeper in love with him each day.

I hope when we are old and gray, that we have a love that lights up a room.  I hope from our wheelchairs, people will see in us a love that never faded away.

Aging with Humor and Love, Part 4

So after my really crappy, crappy day, I ended it by spending a couple hours with one half of my favorite senior couple.  As I said to him, he was the highlight of my day and I had been looking forward to it.

I must say that while I am always completely happy to spend time with the husband, I'm missing the wife quite a bit.  She's still not quite well enough to be at home.  I'm seriously missing her sweet little voice and gentle spirit.  I can't wait to see her again.

We got to take another stroll with the motorized scooter or as we call it the "buggy."  No spin outs tonight and we went even further.  It's so exciting to see him getting more comfortable.  That buggy has potential to be his lifeline to everything outside his home.  That's exciting!!!

After our walk, we carried on a conversation while he ate dinner and I did some cleaning around the apartment.

He stopped me while I was vacuuming to tell me a joke. 

A 75 year-old man was stopped for going 80 mph in a 55 mph. When the cop asked him why he was going so fast, he said, "I have to hurry before I forget where I was going."

Do you know how long it's been since someone told me a joke?  I'd forgotten what it was like to laugh at something so silly.  I needed that!

I finally sat down and we swapped some war stories about working in schools and about dogs.  It was great just to have simple conversation.  No stress.  No complication.  Just simple chatting.  Oh, how my little heart needed that.

As the evening came to a close, the wife called on the telephone.  What he said to her melted my heart.  After he told her what he had done this evening, he said, "You can call any time.  You're always on my mind." 

My heart melted and it kicked me in the butt at the same time. 

I love my husband so very much, but I don't always act like I'm in love with him.  I don't remember the last time I was so thankful he took time to call me.  I want to.  I want him to always know I love him. 

It reminded me that something as simple as being thankful for a phone call are the little ways I can show my husband I love him. 

The truth is that I do think about my husband while he's away at work, but I never tell him that.  I am incredibly thankful that he works so hard to support us while I am unable to work, but I fail to tell him. 

As always, I'm so thankful for the things I take away from this couple. 

There's a Girl in there Somewhere

Yep, that's right. Contrary to popular belief, under this hard shell is a tenderhearted girl.

It's not uncommon for me to cry over personal loss or when I'm angry.  In fact, that's about the only time I do cry.

What's rare is for me to cry over having my feelings hurt.  I usually have quite a controlled way of dealing with people and statements that hurt my feelings.  I do it only to protect that girl inside of me.

Not today.  I'm sitting here with tears being shed over my cookies and cream mint Oreo blast bucket of ice cream.  This behavior isn't normal for me and has nothing to do with hormones either.

It's because today just isn't one of those days when I can protect that tenderhearted girl inside of me.  I don't the energy.  Believe me, I want to, but I just can't.  The shell is cracked and I'm too tired to hold it together.

It's just going to be a day when I cry over terrible things people say and being let down.

I don't understand why people are so mean.  I'm not talking about the obvious kind of mean.  You know like the mean kid on the playground that pushes everybody around or calls everybody names.  I'm talking about the kind of mean where hurtful things are said when you aren't around, but they always get back to you.

I also don't understand why it is so difficult for people to acknowledge an honest effort, even if it's a failure.  I am an all or nothing kind of person.  When I do something, I give it my everything.  It's so discouraging when people would rather complain than acknowledge the effort.

When I was younger, I was always told I was doing something wrong and beaten for it.  There was never an explanation of what I had done wrong and certainly no direction on how I could improve.  Maybe that's why I learned to protect the girl. 

Although there isn't anybody who physically beats me for my mistakes, I do feel beaten down emotionally.  People are so quick to point out my mistakes and usually to everybody but me.  People (and I say people as a generalization, there's more than one today), much older, wiser and mature than I, will complain about every effort I make to complete a task. 

But, nobody has ever approached me directly with a complaint or about something I've done wrong and offered to teach me the right way. 

Unfortunately, I don't even have enough ice cream left to go into being let down with you.  All I can say is that my dad might have been right when he told me, "There ain't nobody you can depend on but yourself."  He used it in a warped way, but it's still applicable. 

Since the ice cream is gone and today doesn't seem to be turning around, I think I'll take the tenderhearted girl and hide her under the covers so I can salvage what's left of the day.

Books, Books, Books, Blahhhh

As I sat this evening decompressing from today, I felt it coming on.  Tears.  My day wasn't particularly difficult.  It was relatively stress free.  I felt the first one trickle down my cheek as I thought through the possible connection between my heart and the tears.

It was a fairly innocuous trip to the Christian bookstore.  Although it seems like ages ago, I used to enjoy going to Christian bookstores.  It was one of the few stores where I could mill around and walk down every isle.  I'd enjoy picking up cards for friends and searching through every last clearance item.  A former friend and I used to spend hours upon hours in a weekend at various Christian bookstores.

Today, I walked through the store sticking tight to my friend's side.  I felt out of place, lost, tortured.  I couldn't muster up any desire to be in the store.  My heart was broken, tortured over the war that's raging inside of me over what I believe and what I can't believe.

While I sat crying my sad tears over not finding any joy inside someplace I used to love, I considered my part in this battle.

Am I open-minded enough to hear someone out if they care about me enough to take on my questions?  Am I willing to consider what others believe, know to be true if they are willing to share?  If I am given something solid to hold onto, will I?

To the best of my ability, I think so.

I used to be so hesitant to ask anyone in my church a question and maybe I still am.  For so long, it seemed like for every question I had, there was someone there to toss a book at me.  The general population of the church (at least those I had contact with) seemed far more comfortable tossing a book at a question than actually talking through one.  I'm not complaining, just stating a fact.  It wasn't that I had one or two people do it, I had MANY.

Sometimes, I would try to read whatever book was given me to find the answer to whatever the question.  Honestly, they were useless.  I had no background in church, the books were far over my head.  Handing someone who had never been churched a book to answer a question was like looking for a needle in a haystack.  Impossible!

I got so frustrated that I finally just started telling everyone that I don't read.  Which, if you read one of the previous posts, I don't read much because of my reading comprehension problem.  However, if I want to read something, I will.  If I have the desire, I will read a book.  I will read and reread each paragraph if I know there is something in the book I want.  Out of all of the books people threw at me, I read none. 

Now, I want a book.  I'd love for someone to give me a book.  Of course the book I need, probably doesn't exist.  I'm pretty sure that book is aptly named "Everything Monica Needs to Know About God That Will Make Her Stop Questioning Him and the Bible."  Since I know that ones never been put in print, there has to be another book. 

There is no way that I am the only person who's ever questioned the validity of the bible and the existence of God.  There has to be a book written for people struggling through this very thing.  Where are all of those people who wanted to throw books at me? 

Before the thought goes through your mind, I know the bible has every answer to every question. TOO BIG, TOO OVERWHELMING!

Of course, outside of the few people who consistently read this blog, there really isn't anyone who knows that I'm in the middle of my own little faith crisis.  So, there really isn't anybody to throw a book at me.

Hmmm, maybe that's why I'm so sad.  It's the whole no body's there to toss me the life preserver. 

I Can't Answer

I must say that there is a question I have gotten asked often over the past 45 days that makes me cringe.  It ignites anger, love, frustration, fear and hurt.  Yet, I understand the people asking do so because they care.

How are your niece and nephew doing?

After an awkward pause, I sheepishly share that I don't know because I haven't had contact with them.

I'm truly touched that my niece and nephew are remembered and thought of by the people around me.  I loved sharing them, even if for a short time, with the people around me.  I loved introducing them to friends.  More importantly, I love my niece and nephew touched some lives in some memorable ways.

Beyond one facebook post with my niece about when school started, I've had no other contact with her.  I've had no contact with my nephew.

The last day I spent with my nephew, he was angry with me.  There was no reconciliation.  He was angry and wanted away from me.  Sadly, that is how our time ended almost five years ago when I had them at Thanksgiving. 

The last day I spent with my niece, she made the decision to be a Christian.  It was an emotional day filled with amazing one-on-one time with her.  She was fearful and happy.  The time I spent with her this trip was unparalleled to any time I'd ever spent with her.

I've tried.  I have tried so hard.  I've emailed, texted, facebooked.  I have lost sleep at night.  I've worried myself sick, literally physically ill. 

I don't know how they are. 

I know they have started school and it's not going well.  Through an assortment of facebook posts by random people who know them, I know that they are both dealing with bullies. 

The bullies, the lack of contact, it all upsets me.  I can't do anything about it. 

At the beginning and end of the week I had them, I got to spend about 5 hours with my little brother.  I had no expectation going into that time that there would be any contact with him.  I expected nothing and got a lot.  My heart, for a fleeting moment, was happy.  I didn't have any expectations that I would be able to rekindle a relationship with him at the end of that week, but I did have hope.  That hope faded about as quickly as it was developed.

I waiver back and forth about whether I should have ever made the initial offer for them to come stay with us.  It's painful.  There were times while they were here that it was painful.  Honestly, I have the same giant void in me I felt almost five years ago when they left.  That was followed by almost five years of pain, tears and frustration.  I'm not sure adding dashed hope to that list made it all worth it.

The holidays are inching closer and the void definitely feels bigger this year than in the past.  I don't know how to describe it other than  it's like getting something you want, having it briefly, then having it taken from you....Then repeat.

Anger Confusion

When I try to listen to a sermon, people discussing the bible or just about anything to do with God, what I hear can only be described as being similar to Charlie Brown's teacher.  You know, that whah whah whaaahh whah. 

That happened tonight as the small group I meet with was discussing today's church sermon.  Honestly, I'm just at a point in my life that I don't want to hear and do everything I can to not hear it.  I've thought at times that it was just a phase, something I'd get over soon.  But the longer it lingers, the more inclined I am to think that it just me.  It's just a heart condition. 

There's so much I'm confused about.  There's seems to be so much hypocrisy.  The church is full of it.  The bible is full of inconsistency.  I struggle to make it all mesh in my head, so my heart shuts it out.

There's so much I don't understand and nobody who has the time or patience to explain it to me.  I spent several years wanting to soak it all up, understand it all.  I wanted to live with no gray areas, just black and white.  Now, I've drifted so far into the gray areas that I'm not sure I'll ever come back.

Don't get me wrong, along the way there has been several people who have agreed and tried to do bible and book studies with me.  I've enjoyed some and failed miserably with some and just plain given up on some. 

I'm starting to think if I ever want to experience any success or confidence, it will take a lot of discussing all the things that are confusing. People have described the bible as the living, breathing word of God. What the heck does that mean anyway? Oh, I digress...

Not an excuse but an explanation, my circumstances don't allow me to read a book and get much out of it.   Book studies don't work with me, especially if I'm expected to do any of it alone.  To complicate things, even with a genius IQ, I have a learning disability in reading comprehension.  It doesn't matter if I read something thoroughly one time or 15 times, I'm not going to comprehend what I just read. 

Wondering how I got through school with honors and tested out so high on my IQ and ACT tests?  I scan read and summarize extremely well and got by.  Want to know what the most difficult book is to comprehend with scan reading?  The bible!

Ergo...I get the most education from discussion. 

But even that's not working right now.  My selective hearing kicks in along with my ADD and I spend all of discussion time playing Words with Friends or surfing the net.

Tonight, I heard one thing...one theme.  Being angry is a sin.

I've spent the past five years with a Christian counselor and three years with a Christian psychologist.  They encourage me to be angry.  In fact, they tend to get a little bit giddy when I do get angry.

I'd like to say I was sitting with a group of peers tonight, but that wouldn't be fair to them.  There's really not anyone in the group who hasn't been a Christian pretty much their entire lives.  So, I know they know more than me. 

They all agreed.  It's a sin to be angry.  Angry about a situation.  Angry with another person.  It's all sin.  They were talking about Jesus.  He didn't get angry that he had to die for something he didn't do.  And, we are supposed to let that set the example for us.

I'm not Jesus!  I AM angry.  I just got comfortable being angry for all of the things which have happened to me. 

Now, this group didn't say that they didn't ever get angry.  I believe they were indirectly admitting to being sinners and they may have discussed this more.  However, they were pretty adamant that anger is a sin. 

What a hard, confusing thing to consider.  So, am I just more comfortable being a sinner than they are?  It took me a long time to learn how to be angry and I'm not sure I'm ready to not be.  Does that somehow make me a bigger sinner? 

But back up...why are people ok with me being angry?  It was stated fairly clearly tonight that there is nothing righteous about anger.  I'm so confused. 

Sadly, I'm right on the fence about it all right now.  I think that part of me wants desperately to know, to understand, to believe I have something to hold onto.  The other part and maybe the bigger part of me just doesn't care.

I could probably talk to my counselor or psychologist about any of this, but I don't want to.  I know what they would say.  Sometimes they are too close and I crave another perspective.

It's probably no surprise that I'm really not praying right now.  I can't.  As warped as it may sound, I'm not giving God anything right now so I don't expect him to give me anything.  But if I were, I'd probably be asking...no, begging...for him to provide someone who can help me through this.  Someone who cares about my spiritual well-being more than I do.  Someone who wouldn't be content to just watch me slip away.  Someone who isn't afraid of me.  Someone who isn't afraid of questions.  Someone who isn't moved by my doubt.  Someone who will trudge through my cynicism.   Someone who won't bail on me before I trust them enough to dig past the surface.  Someone who can accept that I have to hear things several times before I believe them.

I'm not impatient and I have no expectations of finding anyone like that.  That's why I continuously feel myself slipping away. 

God may be the life preserver, but what good is it if nobody is around to throw it to me?

Aging with Humor and Love Part 3

I'll probably continue to share my experiences with the senior couple from church because I want to record everything I learn from them.  I want to have a place to look back and be reminded of all they have taught me and all of the experiences that made me laugh, think and smile.

This post isn't necessarily about any experience with them, but it's something that they have indirectly caused me to learn about myself.

Without question, I am absolutely fearful that every person I meet will hurt me.  I know it may seem irrational for some of you.  When you think about a child going through the first 18 years of their life with no real experiences of being protected and nearly every adult in their life hurting them physically, emotionally and sexually, it's probably not a stretch to believe that they expect every person to hurt them in some way or another. 

That's exactly how I live my life.  Men and women, I expect everyone to hurt me.  Even the nice ones, even the ones I've known a long time....I just wait for them to hurt me. 

This couple, this feeble, elderly couple living in one of the most vulnerable times in their lives, they don't foster any fear in me of being hurt.  I don't have one thought, not one ounce of fear that they will do anything that could ever hurt me. 

How about that?!?!

There are two people in this big, nasty world who I don't have to be afraid of at all. 

The wife is so frail.  I just want to wrap her up and protect her.  It's funny to say, but when I'm around her I feel a bit motherly.  Me feeling a bit motherly to an 80 year-old woman...who would have thought!  She is so incredibly sweet and kind-hearted.  I find myself wanting to make sure I don't offend or hurt her feelings more than vice versa. 

If you know any of my background, you can probably understand that I have an even more difficult time believing a man would never hurt me.

I think I'm experiencing a first.  As I shared with a friend this week, I think the husband is maybe the first male I've EVER not been afraid of.  I don't even think about it.  I watch him having to rely on everybody around him and just instinctively understand that his is not a threat to me. 

It is a huge, HUGE thing for me recognize, understand and truly believe that there are people in this world who won't hurt me.  It's just a glimpse of how most people approach relationships.  Most people I know don't instinctively go into relationships expecting to be hurt. 

If I were to not learn another thing from this couple or given another moment to spend with them, this would be enough for them to have a permanent place in my heart.  They've changed me.  I can never again say that I've never met anyone I wasn't afraid of.  

I could never thank them enough for the things they have shared with me or the things they have taught me about myself. 

Ready for the Weekend

It's literally been a dog-took-a-dump on me kind of week.  No kidding!
Saturday - rubbed my elbow on hot pan
Sunday - Stubbed my toe, ripped toenail
Monday - dropped ketchup on my lavender shirt
Tuesday - the lid for my frap was cracked and coffee spilled down front of other lavender shirt
Wednesday - chopped off a chunk of my thumb
Thursday - had the dog next to me in the truck and she pooped on my leg

That's just a portion of it. I could throw in all of the other stuff that happened this week. It was a crap filled week dealing with people too.

I found out my niece and nephew are dealing with some significant bullying back home.  My heart breaks for them.  They both have some speech problems, learning disabilities and are chunky kids.  They are prime targets for bullying.  It makes me sick to think about these kids getting picked on.  I love them so much that when they hurt, I hurt for them.

I had a parent at church tell her child that I was mean.  That came a few days after another mother from church questioned my ability to babysit a child, since I don't have kids.  I found myself in a position where I felt I needed to tell the world that I do in fact like children and I am not mean.  I often tell people that I am afraid of children as a way to avoid the super painful discussion about why I don't have any children.  I think it's understandable that I don't like to talk about being pregnant so many times and never giving birth to a child who survived.  I guess I'll have to find a different way to avoid that conversation that can't be taken out of context.

I watched a dear friend work "the system" and take advantage of other people I care about.  Ouch!  It's not that I put all of my friends on a pedestal or expect perfection from them.  However, when I get to know someone well and hear them lay out what they believe is right and wrong and then I see them do all the things they say are wrong....well, let's just say I lose all respect for them.  It's not like I have a lot of close friends, so it stings when one looks like a keeper but I have to throw them back.

Speaking of disappointing human behavior, I've had my fill of it in another area that I just can't discuss right now.  All I can say is that it's extremely disappointing and a little bit crushing to see hypocritical, immature behavior from some of the most mature people you know.

Today, I had two teenage girls standing just a few feet away from me whispering about how weird I was.  They really don't know me and I've always done my best to be cordial and kind to them.  But, I heard every word they said.

I'd like to mention that I am not perfect!  I know I have a ton of faults.  However, I can tell you that a week like this one certainly does not help my already difficult time in believing people are good, kind, loving, genuine or even offer common consideration for other human beings.

I don't say this with any kind of selfishness at all.  But I so need to see something good.  I need to have my faith renewed in people.  I feel like I'm on the verge of writing off people and becoming a lonely old hermit the rest of my life. 

What's sad is that I, like many others, equate the love of God with the people in my life.  It's too hard to believe that God is any better than what you see around you.  I think I need to see the good in people to again believe that God is good.

Aging with Humor and Love Part 2

As I mentioned before, I've gotten to spend some time with a senior couple from church over the past couple months.  Now that they have moved closer to me, I'm getting an opportunity to see them more often.  The more time I spend with them, the more I love them.  What's more important, the more time I spend with them, the more I hold onto a lost hope that at the core of people is a desire to be good and loving.

You'll probably see a few more posts on this couple as I continue to learn from them, even though they have no idea they are teaching me anything.  I continue to soak in their love and kindness, even though they have no idea how much that means to me.  I continue to have opportunities with them that I will never get within my own family, even though they don't realize it.

Last night, I spent an hour with the husband.  Unfortunately, the wife is again in the hospital.  This summer they've gotten into quite a pattern of swapping turns with short term stays in the local hospital.  Hopefully, fall will bring that to an end and we can get them both back home, healthier and happy.

The first thing on the agenda last night was getting the husband outside so he could get used to his motorized scooter.  For not having much experience on it, he did a great job!  Now let me tell you something...if you think an 80 year-old man can't get squirrelly, think again! 

We started out our walk with him asking me if I wanted to see him do a wheelie.  Jokingly, I said I'd give him $5.  I should have known I was in trouble when he said, "I'm only running this thing about a 1/4 of the speed it can go."  Followed by, "Want to see me run it wide open?"  I laughed it off and continue to enjoy the sound of the crunchy leaves.

As we were headed down the last transition from sidewalk to street, he turned his head and smiled.  I'm not sure what he did, but it ended in him nearly spinning out and him laughing hysterically.  I learned I better go in front of him on transitions from now on!

Back at the house, I helped with some little things that needed done and he sat down to eat dinner.  This was my favorite part of the evening.

I sat down to chat with him while he ate.  We were talking about how he could visit with neighbors if he got more comfortable on his scooter.  He said most of the people around were women, but he didn't mind.  He shared with me that he never had a lot of guy friends, but had made friends with lots of women.  Understandably, as he pointed out, he worked in a woman's world.  He worked in schools, which used to be predominately women. 

He said that his wife always kept a close eye on him around all of those women.  He shared that even though she had no reason to be, she could get a little jealous.  He said that he didn't think he could go visit with any of the women that lived around him because she could still get a "little jealous."  I saw the twinkle in his eyes.  It was that look you see in a young man who knows he's got a good young woman who loves him and he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

Now, I hope that when I've been married 50+ years that I still love my husband enough to get a tad bit jealous.  I know jealousy overall isn't a good thing, but in this case...it's just plain cute.  It's like they never lost those warm fuzzy feelings that you get when you are first dating someone and want them to be all yours.

I want to love my husband like that.  I want that desire for him to be all mine to never fade.  I hope when we are old, feeble, gray and falling apart that we still light up when we talk about each other. 

(Note to self:  ask this couple someday what the key is to never losing that spark for each other and how you get through those tough times when you don't know from day to day if you'll be able to stand 50+ years with your spouse.)

The twinkle in his eye and grin led to a full laugh as we continued to talk.  We both agreed that she probably had nothing to worry about with him talking to his neighbors.  As he said, "At my age, what am I gonna do?"  To which I responded, "Maybe share a multi-vitamin or a bowl of raisin bran?"   His make-you-laugh-till-you-cry response, "I'm NOT sharing my cereal with anybody!" 

It's all about the humor and love....truly.

Drought

It has been a long, long two weeks since my last post.  I decided I didn't have any energy left to bitch and complain.  I decided you didn't have the desire to read one more crazy post about how crappy life is right now.  I decided there wasn't anything worthy of reporting.

In fact, tonight I'm again writing for myself.  I'm writing with some demented hope that I'll be able to someday look back at this post and see it was only a short trip down into the pit of life and there was something wonderful waiting for me when I came back out.

I don't know if it is a pit I am in or a long, dry, dusty road or a considerable drought.  Whatever you want to call it, it's rough.  But my spiritual life is much like a tumbleweed blowing around on an old, dusty road. If you've ever seen a tumbleweed, you know they blow all around until the elements break them down or they get smashed by oncoming traffic. Big or little, they are fairly delicate.

Honestly, I've become one of "THEM."  By the them, I mean those people who go to church or serve their church but are so far from God.  I'm not even kidding about that.  I stay so busy helping here or serving there.  My Monday thru Thursday schedule is absolutely jam packed full right now.  I am checking the boxes because I've committed and am obligated, whether I feel like it or not.

I'm not sure there's much sense of commitment or obligation in my relationship with God.  Actually, there's none.  Regardless of what I'm taught, told or know, I'm pretty certain God has taken a hiatus from my life since May. 

In May, I was barely hanging on but I had a lot of things carrying me through.  I had a friend who continuously encouraged me in regards to church.  She discussed scripture with me.  She answered questions and asked just as many.  She challenged my decisions in loving ways as she lined them up with scripture.  It wasn't the amount of time she spent with me, but the quality.  Over summer, she moved and I've lost that type of relationship with no prospects on the horizon.

At the end of spring, beginning of summer, I was working through bible studies with a couple people.  It seems like life has just gotten too busy for everybody. 

Summer has been a repetitive story of pray for a good outcome about something serious, only to have the opposite thing happen.  Pray for no cancer for a friend, friend diagnosed with cancer (x3).  Pray for no chemo for friend, friend needs chemo.  Pray for ...., no, no no.  I can tell you that this has happened so much since May, that I finally just gave up.  Regardless of the thing that needs prayed over, I just don't.  Why bother!  God obviously doesn't listen to me, so I'm not going to talk to him.

I've had the unfortunately experience of seeing a wide-spectrum of behavior from church members too.  And let me tell you, some of it is ugly.  I'm not going to point fingers or name the long list of things I've found to be offensive or inappropriate.  I'm not even going to fault any of them.  I'm going to take all the fault on me.  Someone close to me recently pointed out to me that my expectations of Christians are too high.  Ouch!  Regardless, it's upsetting and my gut tells me to run...run far away because something doesn't feel right here. 

I think my final cold-heart indicator came this past weekend.  September 9th was the 5th anniversary of the day I was baptized.  Usually, I get excited in the days leading up to the 9th.  I change my facebook picture to my baptism photo.  I remind everyone who will listen how that time of my life changed me forever.  The day of, I take time to remember that day.  Not this year.  The day came and went and I didn't even think about it.  The day after I mentioned it to one person with no enthusiasm at all.

The thing is, I'm not sure how to change it.  I'm not sure I want it to change.  Maybe this is the beginning of the end for me.  Maybe I'm not and never was a Christian.  Maybe God doesn't want me.  Maybe nobody wants me.

Republican I Am

Despite liberal, free-love (sex) home I grew up in, I have and always will be a conservative.  In addition, I've always loved politics, especially debates.  I have loved my freedom to vote and done so since I was 18.  Since I was 18, I have voted Republican with only two exceptions where I knew the candidate and couldn't make myself vote at all for that particular position.

As the elections gets closer, you might see an occasional post about politics.  That's my forewarning to anyone who might read this and disagree with the conservative Republican view.

I think my political views made it easier to become a Christian.  My conservative views were echoed by those standing next to me in church and it was one less thing I had to change my thinking about.  The moral and social platforms of my church and the GOP were in-line with what I already believed.  There is really only issue where I disagree with both and I'll admit my heart is softening.  (That new blog post is coming soon.)

Now that the primaries and RNC are over, I have my top 10 thoughts going into this election season:

1.  There are far too many political ads on television.  I counted one night and in a one commercial run there were 6 ads.  It's time for them to find a different way to make themselves stand out.  They all start to look the same after one hour-long show. 

2.  Families in advertising do nothing for me.  I understand politicians wanting to connect with the people on a personal level.  I've seen husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, and children in these ads.  I know this is a bit mean, but shows the truth in advertising.  If the family member is unattractive, has a facial feature that stands out or is just flat ugly, the message gets lost.  I don't know about anyone else, but I can't hear what your momma is saying about you if the giant, hairy mole on her neck is staring at me.  I can't hear how loved you are if your husband's crooked nose and elephant ears are dead center in my big screen tv.

3.  Dogs in a commercial do get my attention.  Don't get me wrong, there are ugly dogs.  But, you just have to love an ugly dog.  I secretly watch closely to see if the dog and owner look alike.  Again though, the message kind of gets lost on me.  However, I do remember their name.  Even a dog loving Democrat won't get my vote.

4.  Todd Akin.  Wow, I could do an entire post on this one.  He spoke out of ignorance about rape.  Something that anyone who had been raped wouldn't have done.  I can be gracious about ignorance, as I want people to offer me grace when I am ignorant.  It was his apology that pushed my buttons.  To have some ignorant ass repeating the word rape in an awkward apology does little to help me forgive and a whole lot to trigger my own issues.  Someone should have thought that one through a bit better.  I won't be voting for him this fall, even though he's my only Republican choice.  However, I will have to vote against his opponent.

5.  Candidates appearances change.  The guys you see campaigning will look at minimum 15 years older after their 4 year term is over.  The GOP VP choice doesn't look much older than me.  If he heads to the white house, I'm guessing he'll look old enough to be my grandpa by the time the first term is over.

6.  Who in the world writes these speeches?  If the candidates aren't going to write their own speeches, then the speech writer should at least know them.  It's kind of like a pastor doing a funeral for someone they didn't know.  There is such a disconnect between who they are and what is coming out of their mouths.

7.  When candidates or candidates families answer questions, they should make sure their answers carry the same moral and social lead as the campaign.  Again, this could be a post all of it's own.  Ann Romney said this week that her favorite show is Modern Family.  This show openly celebrates homosexuality.  If you stand strong against gay marriage either ethically or biblically, how do you watch the show?  I suppose I could ask my many Christian friends the same thing.  Watching is supporting, so it's confusing to know what is really in your heart.

8.  Both political parties will participate in their nominating conventions.  Both sides will stand in front of the world and talk about the economy.  It's difficult to have faith in either side when you see the massive amount of money that is being spent on the convention.  Sure, it creates temporary jobs.  Sure, there is a boost local economy at the location.  But, couldn't that money be used in better ways?

9.  Candidates should always consider their future when doing anything.  A particular local candidate was incredibly rude and inconsiderate of me and my time at a previous job.  He always had a demeaning attitude toward people who had "service" position.  Guess what, "service" and blue-collar workers make up a huge portion of the voting population.  It amazes me how dismissive candidates can be of those they see as being below them socially, financially, or intellectually.  Big mistake!

10.  An aging, unscripted Clint Eastwood just spells trouble.  Wow, there isn't much you can say about that train wreck performance he gave minutes before Mitt Romney's speech.  It was vulgar at times with insinuation, I mean he was talking to an empty chair and certainly not family appropriate.  His thoughts were scattered and it was just not good quality.  It devalued those who spoke in days before and on the same night.  The horrified look of those in the audience really said it all.  He made some valid points, but it will be the craziness which will be remembered.

The Sun is Down

When my mother-in-law was diagnosed with dementia, one of the things we suspected would follow is the sun downers.  That's where the person is way worse and more forgetful at night because they have used up all of their energy and have nothing left.

I don't know what that's like, but I think I have my own sun downers.  When the sun goes down, things spiral out of control.  It is about as predictable for me as the tick of the clock.

At night, I'm left to figure things out myself.  Most everyone I know is sleeping the night away by the time I am in emotional turmoil.  There are times, I desperately need someone I can talk to.  But theirs nobody to call.  Really.  There isn't anyone who knows my situation well enough who I can call in those desperate times (at least not anyone who is awake) to help me refocus or talk me through my anxiety attack. 

For me, it really is similar to my mother-in-law.  I have exerted every ounce of energy I have during the day to make myself appear normal to the outside world.  By what should be my bed time, I have nothing left.  Unfortunately, there's an even bigger blockade to just being able to lay down and go to sleep. 

Again, this is another place my psychologist is completely useless.  He can tell me why night time is worse than any other time, but he can't tell me how to make it better.  I suspect, he too, is sound asleep while my world is rocking.

He says that night time is the worst because the bulk of my abuse happened at night.  That is true, I believe.  It was a nightly ritual to be abused in my home as a child.  My dad would go to bed at 6:30 pm (you'll understand why in a minute).  My brothers went to bed by 9 pm and me by 10 pm.  My mom was the last to bed, usually by 10:30.  As soon as my mom was in bed, my dad got up.  He'd abuse me in all sorts of ways for hours before heading back to bed.  I would usually lay in a lifeless lump on whatever floor he left me, not sleeping a second.  I'd lay there until I had enough energy to crawl back to bed, usually about the time the sun came up. 

It is probably an understatement to say this was a ritual several nights every week.  It probably isn't that hard to believe the sun going down triggers a deep sense of agitation and fear.  Unfortunately, doing it alone every night feels eerily similar to laying in that lifeless lump every night. 

I'm exhausted with this cycle.  I can NOT wait for it to dissipate or even stop.  I'm ready to have a pattern of normal sleep and less emotionally charged nights. 

In a way, I have far more compassion for my mother-in-law than most others could who don't have the sun downers problem.  If you know someone with dementia or Alzheimer's and deals with sun downers, have compassion for them.  It's an awful cycle that you don't have control over!

Aging with Humor and Love

The past few weeks, I've had the privilege of visiting with and helping a senior couple from church.  They are a precious husband and wife who I've sat in front of at church for five years, but had little contact with beyond a handshake.

As I sat visiting with the husband in his hospital room tonight, I realized just what a privilege and honor it has been to spend time with them.  I think my time with them had been so task focused, that I hadn't really seen it before now.

During this time, they have been downsizing and moving out of their home and into an apartment.  Neither are very mobile, leaving the bulk of their move in the hand's of their children.  Neither one of them has felt their best and have rotated turns in and out of the hospital, ER and doctor's offices.  This had to be one of the more difficult times in their lives.

In the times I have spent with them, I've gotten to see the best of them despite everything else around them.  I've gotten to see the smiles, hear the jokes, laugh with them, hear the family stories, see their gratitude and most of all, witness the love for them and from them to those around them. 

At different times, both of them shared in different ways how thankful they were for their three children who were doing so much to help them.  It always comes with momentary surprise when I hear a father talk about how much they love their "girls."  I always have to fight back the tears as it sinks into my heart that father's are supposed to have that love for their children.

I experienced the same thing as I sorted through items with the wife.  It was nearly a chain reaction of tears when I saw her saddened at the thought of getting rid of things her children had given her.  It was a reminder to me that when a mother loves her children, she never wants be apart from them.

It hasn't all been sad and teary.  There has been lots of laughing too.  Having worked in three nursing homes, I've been around a lot of aging people.  Most of them are grouchy and understandably so.  In their own way, these two have such a wonderful sense of humor.  I have learned how important it is to be able to keep things light-hearted when nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is in your control.  

Toward the end of a long, tiring day, there was a hint of a smile and laugh from the wife as she watched me fail to kill a spider after 12 attempts.  No kidding, that spider wouldn't be smashed by anything.  I'm sure it was an entertaining sight.  I think it was what we both needed to go into another round of purging and packing.

Even though we both spent some time laughing and chatting, I think the visit to the hospital tonight to see the husband did more for me than him.  After several really bad days, I needed those deep belly laughs while we were swapping some funny family stories. 

I don't think I've ever had anyone thank me as much as these two have, nor feed my ego.  Literally, all I have done is help with the move in small ways and fix them a meal.  They have probably thanked me a 100 times.  Tonight, one of the nurses at the hospital was told that I was the "best chef in the whole church."  He was far too generous with that statement, but what a compliment!  I must admit, just the idea that anything had made him happy was like a ray of sunshine in my dark little world.  Again, I feel a little guilty cause I think I got far more from this couple than I gave to them.

I'm so thankful for the time I've had with these two and I hope to have more.  I can only hope I have half the humor, love and support when I am their age. 

Bad Night

Sonofabitch...yep that came out of my mouth.

I'm having one of the worst nights emotionally that I've had in a while.  My anxiety is through the roof and I feel like I'm going to bounce from wall to wall.

Those usually available to talk me through it all are unavailable.  So here I am, trying to deal with it by myself...failing miserably.

This is what happens when I get swamped by flashbacks.  In case you don't know, flashbacks are a symptom of PTSD.  It's when you are triggered by something that brings backs memory of trauma.  The flashback manifests as a visual, body, sound and emotional playback of the memory.  Frankly, it feels like the horrific thing is in all ways happening to you again.

Right now, my trigger is my own house.  The memory is something horrific that happened in my house.  I can't really leave my house, so I'm stuck.  That trapped feeling intensifies the flashbacks and doesn't allow for much of a break.  I can only write this because I spent the last hour bawling, then calming down.

Normally, I'd have a resource to talk through this.  She's great at knowing what to say and most of the time can get me calmed.  She's just not available.  My husband is asleep.  My psychologist is absolutely useless with these acute problems.  There's nobody.

If you're a Christian reading this, you might be thinking that I JUST need to trust God because He is my comfort, my protector, my healer and He is with me when nobody else an be.  If that's the case, then I might be thinking you should piss off.

I wouldn't fault you for it though, I couldn't.  Unless you are one of five people, you have absolutely no idea what is truly going on in my life right now.  It would take a whole lot of explanation that I don't feel like giving right now.  Right now, the mere idea of praying or anything of God or the bible causes an anger so strong and so deep, that it honestly puts me at risk of bodily harm or damage to property.

This is my life at times.  It's an honesty that is just dark enough that I can only put on a one-sided conversation blog post.

The pain is so real, I just can't escape it.  While the rest of the world sleeps, I'll be struggling to catch my breath as I feel the extension cord tighten around my neck.  My toes will ache from hours of keeping my balance and doing my best to not accidentally hang myself while being beaten.  As graphic as that sounds, it is absolutely nothing compared to the rest of the story I am reliving over and over and over.

That is my hell tonight!  My reality!  Daylight can't come fast enough.

I Never Prayed

That is an honest, from the heart confession.

I never prayed for my father-in-law this past week.  I couldn't.  Through each of my friends' health crisis' the past few months, I prayed diligently.  In each one, the exact thing I prayed for was the outcome.  I prayed for no cancer, there was cancer.  I prayed for no chemo needed, chemo was needed.  And so on...

So, I decided I couldn't pray for my father-in-law.  I feared a feeling of guilt had I prayed and his cancer had spread.

Thankfully, we found out today that his cancer has NOT spread.  It is in his prostate only with an excellent prognosis.  He and the doctor will determine treatment soon.

I'm still upset that this wonderful man is having to deal with this while being the primary care-giver for his wife.  However, I am overjoyed that his cancer has not spread.

As I sit here tonight, I find it so much easier to praise God than it has been to pray.   Actually, I have to be really careful in making sure I praise God and not those who prayed when I could not. 

For as happy as I am, there is an underlying issue brewing in all of this.  When I pray, nothing good happens.  When I don't pray, I get my hearts desire.  All of those typical questions start swirling around my head.  Does God not hear me?  Does God not care?  Why does God answer some people's prayers so quickly and succinctly, while mine are not?  If God doesn't hear my prayers, what am I doing wrong?  Am I really a Christian? 

I suppose for now, I'll continue to thank God for taking care of my father-in-law.  That's really all that matters to me at this moment in time.

The Best One I Got

Since nobody has really asked how I am handling the recent news of my father-in-law's cancer diagnosis, I'm going to lay it out for you.

While dating my husband to be, I learned really quick how important his family was to him.  One of his brothers went on our first date with us and our third date was a trip to meet his family while they were camping.  His mom was a bit snobbish, but his dad was all smiles and very welcoming.  Until I got to know him, I took his smile as just being happy his 28 year-old son was finally bringing a girl around. 

Dating, we had a very consistent schedule.  Kent came home on Friday and we spent that evening together alone.  On Saturdays, we would go fishing with his parents or hang out at his parent's house.  On Sunday, we had dinner with the family and spent the last few hours together there before he would head back to Wichita or KC for the week.

I got to spend a lot of time with my future in-laws before I knew I'd eventually be part of the family.  I'll save you the pain-staking details of how difficult it was to develop relationships with most of my husband's family.  Not with his dad...that one was always easy.  I won't say he always liked me, but no matter what, he has always treated me with respect and kindness from the very beginning.

Whether I lived by myself or with my grandparents, I was always responsible for myself.  I had nobody in my family to help me.  If my car broke down or needed help with anything, I was on my own to figure things out.  Once I got to know my husband's parents, his dad became my go to person.  I can't tell you how many times I called and he came to my rescue.  Flat tire late at night.  Broke down car.  Broken windows.  Broken faucet.  Needed a place to stay because the weather got bad.  No money for gas to get home.  Help with a sick dog.  Help moving.  Grocery shopping on crutches.  He's the one who helped me out with all of those things and more.  Not only that, but he did it without any expectation that I owed him anything in return.

Outside of my experience with my husband to be at the time, my father-in-law was my only other example of unconditional love during that time of my life and he has continued to be.

He was also my first real picture of how a father is supposed to love their children.  It took me a lot longer to see it for what it was.  His kids were all grown by the time I met him and the adult child/parent relationship isn't always as obvious as little child/parent relationship.

I think my father-in-law's favorite two titles in life are father and grandfather.  He has four kids and four grandchildren.  He has one son-in-law and two daughters-in-law.  But if you ask him, he'd tell you he has three girls and four boys. 

When I got a new job or promotion, he told me he was proud of me.  When I am excited about something, so is he.

He is one of the few people who can make me laugh till I cry and cry until I laugh.  He's a simple man who doesn't get wrapped up in the latest technology or keeping up with the neighbors.  The man called all computers and all computer programs a "Microsoft."  He always gives me a good political debate where we both think we are right.  I know he's not my dad, but we have a similar hard-headedness. 

He is so matter of fact when telling a story, even when he's wrong, that all you can do is laugh.  One time we were out in the middle of a lake and the fish were biting, we had hit the fisherman's catfish dream.  This young lady had drank a lot of water, floating on water and well...you get the picture.  He dumped out a bucket and insisted it was now my only option.  We laughed so hard on the way home, I was in tears. 

There were two times I remember our conversations went the other way.  The first was on the way to an infectious disease appointment for my husband before we were married.  He was getting incredibly sick, turning pale, clammy, feverish and weak.  Unknown to us at the time, he had been bitten by a tick and had Lyme's.  I was so scared for him, all I could do on the way to the appointment was cry.  My father-in-law told me all about how tough his son was and proceeded to tell me all the wild things he had done as a kid. 

Another long trip we had together was the one after Kent's apartment had burned.  This time, it was my father-in-law was the one who was crying.  I couldn't help but cry along with him.  I don't remember what he said or did that turned us both around, but by the time we reached the half gone apartment, we were both laughing hysterically.

That's my husband and his papa.  My husband is the apple of his dad's eye.  I used to be so jealous of the relationship the two had because I never had a dad like that.  Now, I love watching them together and enjoy seeing the love between them. 

This picture was taken on Mother's Day this year.  When I walked into their house, my father-in-law met me at the door.  He give me a hug and said, "how's my baby girl?"  Even though I knew way before then, I think this was the first time it was solidified in me that the same love he gives to his children was and had always been offered to me too.  It was my first realization that he was the closest thing I'd ever have to a dad and the first time I wanted to savor every second of that feeling.

My father-in-law is a big fisherman/camper kind of guy.  But even this manly man melts with a puppy.  Very few people around me really get my love of pets and need for them to fill that hole in my life from not having children.  Each and every pet I/we've had, he treats just like a child.  He gives them treats, talks to them, loves on them and genuinely treats them like they are part of the family.  I love this about him!  I know without doubt my pets are in good hands when we are on vacation.

I may have seemed to jump from one topic to another here, but the general theme is all the same....my father-in-law is one of the most loving, kind, understanding and lovable people I have ever met.  He is just flat out a decent human being.  I could write so much more about him, but it would all the theme wouldn't change. 

I love him so much.  If you asked me how I feel about his health crisis or how I am doing with it, my answer would be quite simple.  I'm angry!!!!  My heart is breaking.  My anxiety is over the roof.  I want 10, 20, 30 more years to live life with this man who is quite possibly the closest thing I have to a dad.  He's the best, most loving relative I have and I'm heartbroken that he, of all people, has cancer.

The Big C

Prior to this summer, I had only limited experience with the Big C. 

Most of my great-grandparents had all died of random things long before I was old enough to remember them.  A step-great-grandpa, who until his emphysema got so bad he could barely breathe, smoked hand rolled tobacco and eventually succumbed to lung cancer.  Another great-grandma had breast cancer back in the early 1980's when people just didn't talk about that stuff.  She eventually died about 6 years ago at the age of 93 from a second bout of breast cancer she just wasn't strong enough to fight in her declining years.

As I inch closer to my 40's, I am happy to say that have only lost one grandparent.  All of them are 75-80 years old and have no major health problems except some chronic back problems, which I do think they have passed onto me.  I believe one or more of them may have developed diabetes, but in their very late 60s-70s.  My one grandma who died 14 years ago developed lung cancer, but was also a heavy smoker for all but the first 9 years of her life. 

My grandma's death was my first real exposure to cancer.  Since she was only diagnosed with cancer one week before her death, I never saw her live with cancer.  My second experience was when my good friend's mother died of breast cancer a few years ago.  Again, she was diagnosed and died less than a month later. 

The exposure I did have set me up to fear cancer because it always lead to death.  Maybe a silly thought, but it was my only experience.

Through church, I've known several people who have been diagnosed with cancer but nobody I had known terribly well.

In the spring, a good friend of a friend was diagnosed with breast cancer.  While I had great compassion for her, I was still on disconnect.

Then in early summer, a very dear friend was diagnosed for the second time with breast cancer.  Within the same week, another dear friend's husband was diagnosed with colon cancer.  While trying to digest it all and talk through some other issues with another friend, she confided in me that she had just come from a visit with her physician who was concerned about a lump in her breast.  A few weeks later, that friend was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I in no way could possibly understand their side of things, the two are incomparable.  I can only tell you what it was like for me. 

It was miserable.  I struggled to see the "good" God plan in it all.   In fact, I have lived in fear of what I am supposed to learn from all of this.  At times, I even lived with that "who's next" fear.

Unfortunately, I learned all too quickly who was next.  My father-in-law. 

I'm not a doctor and don't pretend to be one.  There is literally nothing I have control over in any of these situations.  I think that makes it even more difficult to not feel shoved in the cancer box.  I mean really, it's been everywhere this summer...like an epidemic around me.  I've said jokingly, I'd better not drink the water around here.

There is one thing I am learning.  The word cancer is not necessarily a death sentence like I had seen it before.  I am seeing people live with cancer and live beyond cancer.  I know I needed that reshape of my thoughts so I wouldn't be so fearful if it ever falls closer to me. 

I'm almost afraid of what September, October, November...will bring.  This 1-2 a month average is wearing me down and really taking a toll on my ever-so-fragile faith.