Hands and Feet

It is finally time to start transferring these posts I have been long drafting out of my head and onto here.

The first has been a long time coming, well over due. 

Going back to August 2007, I was introduced to a woman as I walked through the church office to meet with the pastor.  I tended to stay fairly closed off of all strangers at that time.  I paid little attention to who she was and certainly had no idea of the significance she would very soon have in my life.

At the end of the meeting with the pastor, he handed me the card of the lady I had been introduced to and suggested I call her to set up a time to meet.  She was the church counselor.  I remember thinking, "No way!" 

In my family, counseling was bad.  Of course I understand now that it was another level of my family keeping their dysfunction as private as possible.  I had tried to go to counseling many times before.  Each time had been a miserable failure.

Less than a mile from the church, I pulled my car over and called the counselor.  She answered and scheduled an appointment for me the following Tuesday.  I had no reason within myself to do that.  In fact, had my call gone to voicemail I am not sure I would have left a message.  Looking back, I realize just how God orchestrated the details of all of it. 

The very next day, my life fell apart.  The dam broke.  Everything I knew, believed, lived and loved had been completely changed forever.  A flood of memories came rushing back to me.  It would be the last time I willingly saw my parents and would become estranged from my entire family. 

Just a few very long days later, I would walk into her office.  I was unable to speak over the choked emotion that had settled in my throat and the tears that would not stop.  My mind stood firm in holding the family secrets, but my heart found comfort in her words and actions.  What I spewed out that day was minimal, but her message that day was clear.  It was one of love and hope, two things I had experienced so little of at time and had such difficulty believing.

That was the first of many, many, many counseling sessions to come.  It was also the beginning of what would eventually become one of my most trusted friendships. 

It isn't an understatement to say that I cannot count the number of ways she has been there for me over the past 6 1/2 years. 

There have been times she has been like a mother to me.  And, I don't exactly mean as one of those matriarchal types who shows love and gives guidance through all things.  Don't get me wrong, she does do that.  What I am referring to is more of the stubborn mother of a teenager kind of motherly.  Yes, it is true.  Many times, sometimes for months at a time, I was that fit throwing-I don't need you screaming-I refuse to do anything you say teenager type.  At the time I hated her motherly approach.  I rebelled against her loving correction.  I insisted she couldn't be the mother I never had.

Maybe in my heart, I knew then and I definitely know now that she was loving me through those times when I trusted nobody and refused to believe I could be loved...because that was usually the source of my rebellion.

She has been that loving, comforter through some of the most difficult times too.  When I found myself lost and in the darkest valleys, her hand was never far away.  She would set for hours with me when I was fairly certain I could not stand to live one more minute.  During those seriously dark times, she held onto me so tight that I couldn't slip away and always went a step further to remind me that the darkness was only temporary. 

Everything she has taught me is too numerous to name as well.  I could start with this blog.  She is the one who taught me that these things that when the darkness threatens to consume, it is not my forever.  Regardless of how difficult it may seem, it will not be my forever because God has better for me. 

She has taught me to love and love well.  She has taught me to speak truth with love and respect.  She has taught me to trust and when to be cautious.  She has taught me that God is in the small things and He is far bigger than even my huge obstacles.  She has taught me to know my worth without arrogance.  The list goes on and on...

There have been times she has met very real, physical needs.  For most of the time I wasn't driving, she was the one who made sure I got where I needed to go.  Appointments, shopping, even getting my hair done, she made sure I got what I needed.  When I went for days without sleeping and I had a fear of my own house, she gave me a quiet, safe place to sleep. 

Outside of emotional and physical needs, she has been there to watch over my spiritual needs.  As I struggled to find my place in the church, she was there to guide me.  When I suffered the pains of being hurt in the church, she was there to direct me back to God.  And when I just didn't think I could do the "church thing" ever again, she never let me leave. 

Without a doubt, this woman is incredibly humble.  I know she would tell you that she does what she feels led to do and gets a front row seat to see what God does.  That is the kind of person she is.  She never takes credit and is sure to give God the glory for everything.

Through everything, she has never left me.  From beginning to now, she hasn't left my side.  Through all the difficulty.  When others have run in fear.  When the hurt has been unthinkable.  Through life altering times.  She's been there. 

I know I've said a lot and yet there is so much more.  Thinking through it all, I understand and know that this would not be possible in any other setting outside the church.  The trust, relationship and work in my life would not have happened in an average counseling setting.  In no other type of counseling would have so clearly seen the hand of God in my life. 

As I always do, I write this for myself.  I know my journey is far from over.  I know there are many times to come when I will be like an obstinate teen.  So, I share this as a reminder for myself.  A reminder that in the tough times to come, God will be in it all.  And, when God uses this person or others to be His hands, I need to grab on and hold tight. 

I also share this to encourage you.  Don't be afraid to let God use you in big ways.  When you find yourself in a position to be the hands and feet, don't let fear drive you away.  Allow yourself to be used for the glory of God.  Look past your fear and insecurity and know that God will give you what you need to be His mouthpiece, His hands.  Don't hesitate.  Don't run.  Give freely the love and hope that has been given you by others who have allowed themselves to be used by God.

One Way Road

The past few weeks have been full. Full of busyness, pain, joy, laughter, tears, exploration, accomplishment, goodbyes, hellos, shock, denial, anger, frustration, confusion, renewal, reunion and growth. Though I am not quite ready to share any of it today, I can say that God has been really good to me through it all.


In the many reunions and hellos of the past month, I have fought the internal battle of how much of my life to share and when. Keeping in mind, the range of people I have encountered lately have range from people who have been in my life for over 35 years to barely 30 seconds.

If the past six years have taught me anything, it is that much of my life has been kept hidden. For as much as I feel free to share, I still only share bits and pieces with those closest to me. It's fair. I want people to know, accept and love me for who I am before they know how I came to be who I am.

Although, I am learning that I am not ok with friends not knowing anything about me. In fact, I am really not ok with them not caring about my life. I think you know what I am talking about, those one way friendships.

Before I go further, let me clarify something. If we are friends and you read my blog, I am obviously not referring to you in this. In fact, it would be more directed at the people I am close to who have no clue I have a blog or even enjoy writing.

I know, my past experiences are expanse. Since the average person doesn't know my story, I tend to offer a lot of grace in their everyday conversations. However, if you talk to me very long at all you will know that I am estranged from my family and I do have a very difficult background.

Over the past year, I have renewed a relationship with a previous acquaintance. A text I received yesterday jumped off the screen and slapped me into reality. This has become a one way road. I have listened and helped this person at every turn, praying for their every request and given advice when asked.

Yesterday's text was one of many lately where I realized that this person knows nothing about me. She has never asked. She has never even asked how I am doing. She has never left room in any conversation for anything outside of herself. She has never been willing to listen to me. She has never offered to pray for me as she has never been open to listening to my needs. The list could go on...

It wasn't pride or ego that slapped me in the face; it was my own need for people and relationships. Frankly, I deserve better than that.

Believe me; I know sometimes God will push me into a relationship to be more than I thought or more than can be given in return. I know that because He has put many people in my life who were that for me. They were for me more than I could ever be in return. That's what I needed at the time. However, I also believe God can give you a huge, giant sign that it is time to extricate yourself from a relationship and I believe I got it.

Honestly, the one way road kind of relationships is just not for me anymore. I have grown up. I need more. I need deep relationships. I need surface relationships. And I MUST have reciprocal relationships, even if it is only miniscule.

I think the ways someone can easily hurt me in a relationship has evolved. The easiest way is to not care about who I am.

I was forced for so long to keep my past a secret, burying it. I'm not saying I want to dump that on each person I meet, but I am saying that I don't ever want to feel like my life doesn't matter. I never want to feel like I don't matter. I think that has to be a normal feeling, regardless of your background.

Maybe it is the growth spurt (spiritual and emotional) I have hit lately that makes me so confident in knowing what I need in relationship. Or, maybe it is just me embracing the God given desire to be cared for and loved and known. No more one way roads.

By the way, I am so thankful for those who have walked through seasons with me where they likely felt it was a one way road. To you, I am forever grateful. Please know your perseverance has contributed to my growth.

The First in 20 Years

And so it just is...my life is messy right now.  Really, really messy.  So many things around me, far out of my control, that are affecting me in deep ways.  Hurt.  Anger.  Confusion.  They have all settled deep in my heart and for things others have done, things I cannot manipulate or change or even accept with any sort of willingness.

My 20 year class reunion is less than two weeks away.  I was not invited.  I wasn't a complete outcast in school.  Yes, I was quiet and didn't spend much time with my classmates outside of school.  I wasn't super popular, but I wasn't hated either.  I was super smart and the teachers probably had more fondness for me than my peers. 

Aside from all that, I helped plan and paid for our 10 year reunion.  Another story for another day.  We have lived in the same house for over 15 years and I am on most every social media where anyone could have asked my address. 

But I digress...that isn't what this post is about.

One of my classmates died Friday.  He's our first.  We had a former classmate commit suicide several years back, but I'm not sure anyone cared.  Sad but true.  The guy dropped out at 16, which was 8th grade for him and had a troubled life. 

So, this is the first major loss in our class.  We went over 20 years.  I know, the older we get the more this will happen.  Just like friends with major illnesses and all sorts of huge life issues that nobody ever thought they would see until they were their parent's ages.

The guy who passed away was amazingly talented.  He and his parents moved across the street from us when were in junior high.  I think this guy was born with a set of drumsticks.  He was the most talented drummer I had ever seen.  It was rare to not hear him pounding out a series of songs every night. 

He was a great artist too.  Although his art often came in the form of drawings that involved teachers doing I don't even know what to creatures that went straight from his head to the paper. 

He was a nice guy.  He helped me several times with car problems when my family wouldn't.  He is also the only guy who ever stuck up for me when I was being picked on as a kid. 

But he was also deeply troubled.  Despite loving parents, a strong churched childhood and a wonderful extended family, he fell in with the wrong crowd during high school. 

Through a few conversations with him late in high school and shortly after, I know he suffered from depression and possibly ADD or anxiety.  His way of coping was drugs.  Because of that, many people distanced themselves from him. 

I know he had his demons.  I had lost touch with him long ago, but his obituary reads as though he had turned his life around.  I don't yet know his cause of death and I suppose it doesn't matter now that he is gone.  His obit says he was a spiritual man, praying for friends often.  I hope that is true.  Regardless, my heart breaks for his family. 

My anger, confusion, hurt and frustration is felt in my classmates.  When I say we all grew up together, we did.  My graduating class was all of 44 people.  Of those 44, over 35 of us had been together since grade school and over 20 of us had started kindergarten together.  It shouldn't take death for that many people to come together or communicate with each other.  It shouldn't take a loss for people to be kind to each other.  It shouldn't take considering mortality for people to show heart and compassion. 

It would have been easier to understand if our class had been there for this guy during the hardest parts of life, instead of turing their backs.  I'm not sure I hear much from anyone in my class unless it is under the pretense of gossip.  How sad is that?  We spent 13 years in school with each other and we reduced ourselves to communicating only when there is gossip or death?  Why must it be like this?  Maybe coming from a small town where that is common place, brings us to a place of being just the same.

I'm sad that years pass by and the people who were our first real community become such strangers to us.  It is upsetting that what we know of each other becomes largely based on gossip or what we knew 10 or 20 years ago. 

Maybe I am in a little bit of shock because he's the first.  Maybe I am a little angry and hurt because some people are so uncaring.  m

Picking Tomatoes in the Rain

Several weeks ago, I wrote out lots of blog posts and scheduled them.  I have since figured out that I don't really like incorporating the recipes in this blog.  They just don't belong here.  So, I'll be transfering them back over to the cooking blog.  I don't mind the crafts being on here because they are the balance in my life. 

As I said in one of those posts, I never know how long these "good" times are going to last.  Unfortunately, it didn't last much past me typing it. 

Don't get me wrong, to the rest of the world, I usually look like things are good.  I keep myself put together long enough to get through any and all interaction with people.  When things get bad, that gets more difficult.  It gets harder to hide the depression and anxiety.  So, I tend to hide out at home or generally avoid human contact.  Even the people who are safe to talk to, I avoid.  I know silly.  But, I do have to illusion that if I don't talk about it, "it" WILL go away.

I have been bobbing along all summer on the edge of breaking down, but managed to hold off.  But when several things happen, one after another, I get overwhelmed and break.  That's what happened the past few weeks.

We had an extremely difficult birthday dinner with my husband's family.  That will get a post all of it's own, but it was painful.  The passive-aggressive claws came out and the conversations were like watching two cats face off.  I literally cried the whole hour long drive home from the personal hurt I felt and this isn't even my family.

I have several friends who have confided in me, relied on me, and come to me with a variety of issues.  I have been extremely happy to listen to them, talk to them, encourage them and help them.  But when you are fighting your own monster alone, it wears you down.  I feel sorry for those who have come to me because I know I haven't always been able to give 100%.

Speaking of going at alone, I really have the past few weeks.  I have become a master at surface relationships.  While I still struggle to have deep relationships.  I have one or two or three, maybe.  But those are newish and I live with a very real fear that they aren't strong enough yet to survive the other person seeing me in a breakdown. 

My husband's schedule continues to be very busy.  He did have an interview this week that could potentially put an end to all the extra jobs.  But until then, we pray and try to take advantage of the time we have together.  It also looks like his travel schedule is going to pick back up as he travels this week for the first time since June.

Again, this will probably be a post all of its own, but I found out just yesterday that we won't be spending Thanksgiving with my brother and his family.  I spent a day in shock and am now trying to sort through the various levels of heartache this brings. 

I won't even go into the myriad of nightmares, flashbacks and memories that keep me awake all night or in a constant state of irritation and hypervigiliance. 

Over the past couple months, I had made it to church several times.  I still find myself struggling to connect to the church.  It isn't just this church, I think I would feel that way anywhere.  Last year, I at least had a couple ministries that kept my foot in the door.  I had the church decorating and the kitchen.

The decorating is no more and for reasons I can't even explain in an intelligent way.  The kitchen is there, but barely.  I get contacted when there is a problem or supplies are needed.  Last year, I was involved in and organized meals on Wednesday evenings.  Because of a lack of volunteers, that ministry is no more.  At first, I was happy about that.  It was a lot of work.  I didn't think it would bother me, but it certainly does.  I kind of feel like I have nothing now.  And I mean that.  Outside of a couple things I do in the women's ministry, I have been shut out of just about anything and everything I would be interested in within this church.  That's a tough reality. 

So today when I woke up and heard the rain falling, I grabbed my shoes and headed to the garden.  Still in my pjs, I picked tomatoes.  The rain was a symbol of life for me today.  The rain falls, grass and plants grow.  The dry, brittle grass is revived after a soaking rain.  As the rain drenched me, all I could think about was how I needed for something to feed me...revive me.  I needed to feel alive again. 

Sweet Pickles

Canning anything is something that has always intimidated me.  As I started to get an abundance of cucumbers from the garden, I decided to dive in and learn some canning.  My first venture was refrigerator sweet pickles.  They are so easy and I love them!

The recipe can be doubled or tripled or whatever you need to make all the pickles you need.  There is something even better about this recipe.  The pickles are good in the fridge for three months and so is the juice.  That means for three months you can continue to refill the jar with cucumber slices, if you eat them as fast as we do.

Here is what you will need for a small batch:

3 cups cucumber slices (I use a mandolin)
1/2 white or red onion, chopped or sliced
1 cup distilled vinegar
1 1/2 cup white sugar
2 tsp salt
1 tsp celery seed
1/2 tsp cracked black pepper

Whisk everything together except cucumbers and onions until the sugar has all dissolved.  Put your cucumbers and onions in the jar and pour the liquid mix over them.  Don't worry if the liquid doesn't fully cover the veggies.  They will soften some, bend and you will find it all works out.  Leave in the fridge for 24 hours and eat! 

I love these on burgers, sandwiches and as a snack.  I'll be trying some dill pickles next.

Cinnamon Zucchini Bars

Yes, another zucchini recipe.  As much as I like dark chocolate, I think this might be my favorite of the two.  This makes a huge sheet cake pan full, so I would recommend making this if you have a crowd to please.  With the subtle cinnamon flavor and not even a hint of zucchini, it is sure to please.

Most, if not all, of my cooking and baking is done with almond milk.  Almond milk used in this frosting does not require refrigeration.  It also makes it milk free, which is good for my lactose intolerant tummy.  Sometimes almond milk is the tiniest bit thinner than 2% or whole milk and you may have to compensate by adding a touch less or more powdered sugar as in this case. 

The original recipe says this should be more dense than it turns out.  It really does turn out like cake, but still wonderful!  Next time, I will add an extra egg to the batter and double the cinnamon in both the batter and frosting.

Here is the recipe I used:

• 1 1/4 c. butter, softened
• 3/4 c. sugar
• 3/4 c. brown sugar, packed
• 3 eggs
• 2 tsp vanilla
• 2 1/2 c. flour
• 1 Tbsp baking powder
• 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 2 c. zucchini, grated
Frosting
• 2 c. powdered sugar
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 2 Tbsp butter, melted
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 2 Tbsp milk

Instructions

1. Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix in flour, cinnamon and baking powder. Blend in zucchini.
2. Pour into greased jelly roll pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Cool.
3. Prepare frosting. Add more milk if necessary to get right consistency. Spread over cooled bars.

Dark Chocolate Zucchini Bread

My garden has kept me incredibly busy this summer.  It has been a mild summer, but a little dry.  That means I've watered more than I'd like.  It's all been worth it though.

I planted one zucchini plant, knowing I've only gotten those to produce once ever.  It took forever, but I finally got some.  I think I have picked 5 or 6 now.  They have all been small, but so flavorful.  Besides the goal of growing the veggies, fruit and herbs, I had a goal to not let anything go to waste.  I am happy to say that if it made it out of the garden, it got eaten or used in a recipe.

Since neither of us like zucchini plain or by itself, I have used all of them in a recipes and we love them!

Here is one of our favorites.

Ok, so there isn't a zucchini here.  In fact, I've failed to get any of the before shots of the zucchini.  But this is a picture of my very first harvest of the year.  I felt like a total green thumb when I hauled this in before Memorial Day.

Here's the goods!  This has to be the most amazing dessert bread I have ever eaten.  Dark Chocolate Zucchini Bread.  Oh.  My.  Word.

I'll share the recipe, cause it is so good.  I recommend making mini loaves or even muffins.  I would also recommend baking for longer than suggested or until you can pull a toothpick out clean.  I altered the recipe by using Hershey's Special Dark powder.  Here you go:

1 1/2  cups shredded raw zucchini 

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground allspice

1/2 cup  canola oil

1/2 cup granulated white sugar

1/2 cup light brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

3/4 cup semi sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350°F with a rack in the center of the oven. Grease (spray some Pam on there) a 9x5x3 inch loaf pan.
Grate the zucchini, using a medium sized grater, and set aside. You do not need to squeeze the zucchini dry. In a large bowl whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, and allspice. Set aside.
In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the oil, sugars, eggs, and vanilla extract until well blended (about 2 minutes). Fold in the grated zucchini. Add the flour mixture, beating just until combined. Then fold in the chocolate chips. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake a toothpick/cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean (about 55 to 65 minutes). Place on a wire rack to cool for about 10 minutes, then remove the bread from the pan and cool completely.

Happy Birthday to You

Today is my husband's birthday.  He is 48 years young today.  Remember, I keep him young.  As hard as it is for him to believe he is just a few years from 50, I think it is just as hard for me to believe in a few years I will be married to a 50 year-old.

This is probably one of my favorite days of the entire year.  My husband works so hard, provides in abundance for us and loves me to a fault.  So, it would make sense that I absolutely love the one day a year that he doesn't balk at me celebrating him.

He is so selfless and modest and humble.  It is sometimes a chore to celebrate him, not that I am complaining at all!  I love it regardless.  He doesn't ask for things or really anything.  For as long as I can remember, he has always jokingly said he wants a hot dog when I ask him what he wants for dinner. 

I have lots of hits and misses trying to celebrate him without his cooperation.  There was a year I bought him one gift for every year old he was.  Another year I surprised him with gift cards from all his favorite restaurants or businesses.  On his 40th, I had a surprise birthday party for him with his family.  There were more, lots and lots more.  Regardless of whether they were a success or failure, he was worth every bit of it and more.

Up until this past year when his mom started to not know who I was, I always sent her a card on his birthday.  Over 15 years of sending her a simple thank you card on his birthday.  Not only have I tried to celebrate him, but I have done my best to celebrate who he is and where he comes from.  I would send a simple thank you card, letting her know how much I appreciated her.  Regardless of how I felt or how I was treated by his family, I have always respected that they raised him to be the man he was when I met him.

I probably say this every year, but this year I am looking forward to celebrating his birthday more than any other year.  It isn't a monumental birthday, I just love him more than ever. 

This year I've paid attention to the few things he has talked about wanting.  I have covertly gotten a birthday dessert request from him.  I have been able to plan a special dinner with some of his family. 

All that aside, I am just excited to be celebrating him.  He's the man I love.  I love how calm he stays under pressure.  He is so fearless.  He kills the spiders, even the ones that don't really scare me.  He checks the doors when my imagination hears things that aren't real.  He never gets super angry, even when I make not so super mistakes.  He is mature and a voice of reason.  He still laughs and acts like a teenager sometimes.  He is loyal.  He is a comforter and protector.

He isn't perfect, but he's perfectly mine.  I love that he continues to grow and amaze me by the man he is.  I am always amazed that I ended up with someone who possesses everything I've needed and never deserved. 

Today I celebrate my husband, my loving husband.  I celebrate the day he took his first breath and every precious moment of the past 48 years of his life.

Quilting

I have decided to simplify my life and convert all my miscellaneous blogs into one....

This spring, I started sewing blankets and have continued through the summer.

I started simple with kit and with a raggy quilt.  I picked up the kit at Silver Dollar City this spring.  It included all the fabric I needed and instructions.  Just an FYI for anyone who purchases a kit with material included, they don't give you any extra for mistakes.  Measure twice, cut once!  My first was a success and I loved it.

The finished product is so cute, fresh and lovely.

So after that success, I decided I would make something I found online.  My sister-in-law loves Americana stuff.  My next project would be her Christmas present.  Now keep in mind, at this point, I was going off my own design and measurements.  Simple, yes.  However, it probably isn't proportionally correct since I got my star fabric cut too narrow.  Regardless, I made it work anyway.

While I was working on this for my sister-in-law, my husband decided he would like to have a flag shaped blanket too.  The only catch was that he wanted his fully functional.  I had to search my brain and whip out some good old-fashioned algebra.  I designed a massive layout, but forgot to take into consideration the amount of material that would be ragged.  It fails to be anatomically correct with two extra stripes and two few stars, but it turned out just fine.

By the time I finished with these three, I felt like somewhat of an expert.  Seriously though, these are the simplest quilts ever!  When I found out my friend had cancer, the only thing I could think to do was make her a blanket.  She is probably the most cold-blooded person I know.  She is that person who lives in long sleeves and pants year round.  I whipped this up in an afternoon, no pattern or math needed.

They really are simple.  If you want to make one, there are couple things you will need.  For a good, adult size lap quilt, you will need about 2 yards of cotton or cotton blend fabric and 2 yards of flannel.  The only other things you really must have besides a sewing machine are thread and scissors, really sharp ones are preferable.

You can use any stripe or square pattern you would like.  For every piece of cotton fabric you cut, cut a matching flannel piece for the back.  Once you've cut your pieces, you marry them together with the next pieces.  You then sew a straight stitch down the edge with a 1/2 to 1 inch margin.  You repeat that step until the entire blanket is sewn together.  Every edge on the top should have a multi-ply seam sticking up and the back should be flat and smooth.  You will sew around the outer edges with the same margin.

Once your sewing is done, you make cut down to but not crossing over your stitching on every edge and seam.  This is ragging.  Your ragging cuts can also be 1/4 or 1/2 or even 1 inch wide.  I use 1/2 inch.  After you have ragged the quilt, you will want to wash and dry the quilt a couple times.  This will give you the raggy looking edges.  Be sure to clean the dryer filter each time.  As a finishing touch, I will also roll a lint brush over it when it is dry to pick up any left over fuzz.

There you have it.  This has to be the simplest quilting ever!  Off I go to whip up more of these for Christmas presents.

Thankful Thursday

Since I blog for myself and not the reader, I have largely stayed away from the blogging trends.  I'm still not particularly drawn to them.  However, I think some of them have benefit and validity.

There is no doubt that my life tends to be messier than the average bear.  Because of that, I tend to go through seasons where I struggle to find the positive.  There are days when my ever present blessings surround me, yet I cannot see them. 

And so, Thankful Thursday has been birthed.  Not an original idea, but a challenge I am willing to take on for myself.  I won't force myself to find the things I am thankful for but intentionally create a running log of the many blessings in my life.  When those seasons come, I will have a place to remind myself of what is already there.

I'm starting in an odd place.  Today is my brother's birthday, so I felt it was appropriate to start within my family.  I know, I know...not what anyone was thinking I am sure.

I haven't worked full time since December 2009.  I can't.  While I have been fairly stable all summer, that too has been a season.  Just like any other season, there is no set time frame.  It may be permanent or it could be over by the end of the day.  Needless-to-say, working a full time job has been impossible for me and likely still is with my sleep patterns.  And yes, the weight of the blame for this lies directly on my family.

Throughout the time I haven't worked, I have struggled with not having job.  I tied my identity to it.  Not only that, but I didn't know what to do with myself.  I hadn't embraced anything to keep me busy.  My days were long and pushed me deeper into depression and dysfunction.

The general population hasn't helped with that struggle either.  Whether I was shopping or at the salon or in a group of people, I got such odd questions and looks when I said I didn't work.  I mean I look capable, especially when you don't understand the background reasons. 

In this hustle and bustle world we live in, the idea of being a stay at home housewife is a foreign concept.  In fact, I think the term stay-at-home-momless-wife would probably garner less confusion for some. 

Honestly, it has only been in the past 6-9 months that I have begun to embrace the idea of being a housewife.  Although, I'm not sure why it took so long.

As I was thinking through that this morning, I realized that it was my mom's and my generations who made being a homemaker obsolete as a profession.  Get this, before that happened, it was NORMAL for women to work in the home and not out of it. 

Of all people, it was my grandma who taught me that.  Yes, my cussing, love-to-be-naked, soap opera addicted, dirty magazine reading, porn watching grandma taught me that being a homemaker was the most important job you could have as a wife.

Despite her faults, she made her house a home.  She was very routine.  She got up early every morning and made my grandpa breakfast most days.  When he was still working, she packed his lunch and made the bed before he walked out the door everyday.  After breakfast, she washed dishes, cleaned the house, ran errands and did all before lunch.

After my grandpa retired, she made lunch everyday.  Her afternoon was reserved for soap operas, but good grief she had nothing else left to do.  She would often fall asleep between soaps and dinner.  She would fix dinner and clean the kitchen again afterward.  In the evenings, she would sit on the deck with my grandpa, go walking or visit neighbors or family. 

I know, even I am having to pause for a moment with the shock that there could be something so normal within my family.  Believe me, this is probably the best it gets.

My grandma worked for only a brief time at a local ice cream/burger joint.  That was it.  No other job ever outside of the home.  She fully embraced being a homemaker.  She enjoyed it.  It was her job.  In fact, right before she passed she received her social security statement.  She became eligible for it within days of her death.  She was terribly mad that her benefits were so low.  The reason, she had never held a job.  She put nothing in, so the amount given to her was the bare minimum.

Looking back though, I am so thankful to have those memories.  I am so thankful she embraced that part of her life.  Putting all the other crap aside, all the bad stuff about her, I am thankful she set an example for me.  I have something to strive for, I really do.  I want to embrace my place as a wife in the home like she did.  I want to develop that routine, keep my house clean daily, joyfully serve my husband the way she did.  This is probably the only way I long to be like anyone in my family.

I am thankful for what she taught me and the example she set.  I am thankful to know that even though she has long passed, she can give me confidence in my place in life and the home. 

Split-Second Changes

My thoughts have been consumed these past few days with how quickly life can change.  It is a current theme I am seeing and feeling all throughout life right now.  Even though it seems like a somewhat unnatural theme, it truly shouldn't be.

We should expect the unexpected and know that we aren't promised consistency outside of God Himself.  In fact, scripture prepares us for it.  John 16:33 says, I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” 

Even though we should expect it, we never do.  Our minds can't wrap around the idea that life can and will change without notice. 

Sometimes it's good.  Engagements.  Births.  Weddings.  Job promotions.  Just to name a few.  Those things sometimes come as a surprise and always, always forever change our lives.  We celebrate those milestones.  Friends and family rejoice those life changing events with us.

Sometimes it's bad.  Accidents.  Illnesses.  Job loss.  Death.  Those things sometimes come as a surprise too and forever change us.  It is those things which probably have the more profound effect on us.  Those things are probably the ones which make us take stock of what we have and drive us deeper into introspection.

Unfortunately it is the bad kind of life altering moments I have seen in the lives of my family and friends lately. 

As you may have seen in the last post, my friend went into surgery for a potential appendix problem and was given a cancer diagnosis two days later.  Completely unexpected.  Her life, the life of her family and friends, has forever changed.  In a matter of days, she went from healthy to having a massive life altering obstacle set before her.

This weekend, my husband's 21 year-old nephew was involved in an accident.  He was driving a dump truck when he struck another truck from behind, pushing it into oncoming traffic.  One driver died, another was flown to a KC hospital and his nephew was not physically hurt.  I say that because he is likely suffering emotionally and mentally. 

In a split second, our nephew's life, the lives of the drivers, the families of the drivers and our family was forever changed.  When the days started for everyone involved, I know none of them expected how the day would end.  I probably should keep my comments to a minimum since this is likely still under investigation.  What I can say is that at this moment, none of us fully know or understand the depth of change this will bring to our nephew's life alone. 

Trauma, adversity, change, none of it is foreign to me.  Trauma has been common place in my life, but too much so.  Seeing others go through it, changes me.  It penetrates my heart in a different way.  I feel these things so very deeply.

These things cause me to think through my life.  I have been spending a lot of time prioritizing the things that really matter.  My husband matters.  The lady who was rude to me, not so much.  I have thought about the things I need as opposed to what I have.  I have far more than I need.

Probably the most important is being thankful for my faith.  My goodness, I am not sure how I handled these traumatic things before becoming a Christian.  In fact, I think my overall ability to think through all of these things in healthier ways in every way related to my growing understanding of who God is.  Without that, I would be a mess today and not able to use these things to evaluate my own life. 

I hope the next time I have one of those split-second, life-altering changes, good or bad, I will remember all of this.  I hope I will be able to find peace in that moment knowing regardless of what has changed, God has not.

The Big C Strikes Again

It was just over a year ago that it seemed like cancer diagnosis were being handed out like candy to those around me.  For about a 2 month period, I felt as though I was watching everyone waiting for the next announcement of bad news.

My father-in-law went through treatment for prostate cancer last winter after a scary diagnosis during the summer.  We prayed through the fear of that the cancer had spread.  It had not and he went through treatment and quick recovery.  We rejoiced at his progress and rarely think about it now.

Another dear friend was given her second diagnosis of breast cancer.  She had a double mastectomy, but struggled with the decision to put herself through another round of chemo.  I'm not going to lie, I struggled with that.  It was a blossoming new relationship and I had a tough time with the idea of no treatment.

Just this week, I shared with her how angry I had been during that time.  I remember spending an entire night awake, wrestling with God about it.  I was angry with God for allowing the cancer to come back and I was angry with her.  That one long night, I cried, stomped my feet, got on my knees,  cried some more and at the end of it all accepted God was in control.  He was in control of the things I was angry about and that I couldn't understand.

She did have a change of heart and is now one treatment away from being finished with chemo.  In a few weeks, we will rejoice with her.  We will celebrate her strength and perserverance.  We will thank God for the gift of her survival and her faithfulness through it all.

When I say we, I mean our group of bunco ladies.  A core group of us have been together for two years now.  I love these ladies.  Once a month, we put aside our differences, problems, stress and play a silly dice game.  I treasure those nights and they have given me a social group I wouldn't have developed otherwise.

As we prepare to share in our one friend's victory, another one of our friend's has been given a cancer diagnosis.  

It came completely unexpected.  When I heard she was having emergency surgery for a possible appendix problem, the last thing I expected to hear two days later was that she had colon cancer.  

This is the quiet one of the bunch.  Always faithful to be there whether it is bunco or bible study or church.  She's always the one who is silent in a conversation until there's a place to insert words of wisdom.  She's the one with a dry sense of humor who says the funniest things when you least expect it.  

She is also a busy mom of two wonderful children.  A wife.  A sister.  An aunt.

It is heartbreaking.  She just got her diagnosis late last week.  I don't know what is ahead of her, none of us do yet.  All we know is how much we love her.  We all share the same struggle of getting our heads around what she is going through or will be faced with now.

I have been able to be matter of fact and have kept my emotions in check so far.  But, I know it's coming.  My fist-shaking, crying, angry, wrestling with God moment.  I'll pray and ask why.  I think those are all normal responses to any cancer diagnosis for a friend or family member.  I know at the end of it all, I know the answer will be the same as last year.  God is still in control, even over the things that make me angry and that I don't understand. 

I used to think that a crisis like this weakened my faith.  What I have learned is just the opposite.  I find myself being incredibly thankful for my faith.   I know that I don't have to understand anything besides, God is over it all.  All I can do is pray.  Pray for a miracle.  Pray for comfort.  Pray for understanding.  Pray for healing.  Pray that God would show himself in big and glorious ways in this.

My head and heart know all of this, but my earthly body will still shake my fist and wrestle with God over what I don't understand.

Myth Buster

So it would appear that I have busted my own myth.  That would be the one where I truly believed I must stay as far away from the children's hallway at church because I would not last five minutes.

Let me back up just a little bit though.

On Friday night, I sat amongst women I considered (notice this past tense...haha) my friends.  The need for children's workers came up in our conversation.  What happened next was kind of a blur for me. 

You know those times when you chime in on a conversation because that is totally appropriate social etiquette.  I think it was one of those moments.  It was far past my bed time and I was in a daydreaming, comatose like state, talking in between yawns.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 

I may have completely and utterly been joking when I said that I might as well go help in the nursery since I am not really engaging in the church service these days.  I should known by the perked ears and feeling as though I were suddenly fresh meat for a pack of ravenous dogs that I was in trouble.  Although, through my foggy brain and blurry eyes I am positive that I repeated how bad of an idea it would be for me to be with a bunch of children.

I must admit that babies have been on my brain lately.  I am 38 and my biological clock is ticking like a bomb.  My reproductive woes have had little influence over my heart and brain lately.  With friends having babies, trying to have babies, pregnant with babies, babies, babies, babies, everywhere babies...I swear my ovaries cry a little everyday.

As the music began playing today, I had a friend tap me on the shoulder from behind.  I'm sure she said to me, "I heard you wanted to help in the nursery and we really need help today."  That's not at all what I heard though. 

What I saw was this giant, floating head off to the side talking in a cartoon-like voice.  What I thought the cartoon-like voice was saying was, "B A B I E S...you want to go hold babies."  That was the point my brain lost all ability to answer in any sort of appropriate way, like with a "Have you lost your mind?  Those children can smell fear!"

But NO, my crying ovaries and baby, baby, baby, baby heart, jumped up and hauled the rest of me to the nursery.

Let me tell you, I was a fish out of water.  I've watched babies before, it isn't a new thing for me.  But there is something different about having a half dozen of them looking at me.  It is a completely different animal when you walk into a church nursery for the first time.  Not that anyone was mean or assuming or anything like that, but I'm not kidding when I say salivating pack of ravenous dogs.  Fresh meat!!!!

So many babies, it was overwhelming.  I was handed a fussy baby so my friend could tend to another fussy baby.  Not overly fussy, but fussy enough. 

As I sat and rocked the little guy, more help arrived.  Oh good, my chance to hand off and split.  But NO again.  Said baby boy calmed down, cooed and my ovaries once again took over for my brain.

After 30 minutes, I got to set in a quiet little room and rock the little guy to sleep.  Each time I laid him in the crib, he'd cry and we'd repeat.  The last time I rocked him longer and listened to him breathe deep with a hint of a snore.  I think in that moment, I finally got my brain back and decided it wasn't so bad.

But then I walked out with all the other babies and one by one they started to get fussy.  It was like a chain reaction.  What had I gotten myself into?  The next hour was a juggling and jostling of babies from person to another, trying to finding the right combination of adult and baby to make the babies happy.

I had walked in the nursery before, but only to drop off Sunday school books and when it was completely empty.  I would secretly laugh to myself when I would see the little instructions hanging on the cabinets.  I learned today that those things are just as good as an instruction manual and every child needs to have one. 

You know what else I learned, when you have multiple babies, parents really should somehow identify their baby bags.  That would make the hunt for diapers and binkies and blankies so much easier.

When the parents began to trickle in, I realized that I had officially busted that myth.  I had made it the entire time.  I was sure to show a moderate amount of anxiousness to get out of the nursery.  I wouldn't want anyone to think I had somehow become comfortable.

I left with drool running down my leg and spit up on my shirt and of course, that sweet baby smell all over me.  I think that made it all worth it.  But shhhhh...don't let that get out.  Pack. of. Ravenous. Dogs.!!!!!!

It's a Season

I realized that I have written a lot on focused topics lately but nothing much about how things are for me. I think that is indicative of this season I am in right now.

My head is so full that it feels like a swirling little hot mess that could explode. My emotions are comparable to that beach ball held under water for so long that the slightest move off of center and they will shoot about four feet above the surface and come flailing back down with a torrential splash.

But it is a season for me. A season when I must go it all alone.

The people closest to me are in various seasons in their lives as well. They are all going through times when they just aren't available. They are busy with family and health issues and work. Even my husband is in one of those seasons when he barely has time for a conversation.

I am not faulting anyone, but living in acceptance of how life goes.

So I tuck it all away. I hide it all inside, doing my best to not let a hint of it reach the surface especially in the presence of others.

Even though I have done my best to embrace the stay at home wife role, I still struggle each day finding value and purpose for my life. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. I cook and clean and do my best at keeping the laundry and dishes done. Those things don't seem to give me much value.

I know some of those people close to me are so quick to point out that seasons like this point me to God and teach me dependence on Him. Seasons like this are when you find your value in God alone.

Blah...blah...blah...blah. Yea, I know. That doesn't do anything to help me in my very earthly, fleshly struggles where a season like this breaks me down. It doesn't do anything to help me find very earthly reasons to keep chugging along. It does drive me toward wanting eternal life sooner than later.


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Forgiving the Forgotten

Several unplanned and unexpected events have led to this strange rebuilding of a relationship with my little brother and his family.

If you would have told me a few years ago that this would be happening, I wouldn't have believed it.  I would have laughed if you said I would spend two holidays in one year with his family.  

As the relationship slowly begins to mend itself, we all have become more comfortable sharing pieces of life with each other.  My feelings about our parents seep into the conversation in ways I never expected.  

Likewise, my brother has started to share more about the family with me.  Oddly enough, he shares in healthy ways.  He doesn't over share either.  Not because I have set any boundaries, but because in his own maturity has not pushed that information on me. 

This weekend, he shared several things with me.  He gently creaked open that door into the dark under belly of my dysfunctional family.  That's a scary place.  For the most part, I have been blocked off from all pertinent family information for over six years.  Births, deaths, illnesses, good news, bad news...it's all been locked down like it were top secret government information.

He shared with me that my grandpa has a significant amount of brain atrophy and is suffering from Alzheimer's. 

My grandpa has a secure place on the long list of my abusers.  His part is only a small slice of what lies in my past, but is horrific all the same. 

He recently turned 80, so this comes as a natural progression of life to me.  Yet, I am finding peace in it.

While I didn't get a lot of information, I got enough.  He gets easily confused when he leaves the house.  His second wife and her children are currently considering putting him in a home.  His life is winding down to the end.  He is 80, it is expected.  He's smoked since he was a kid and never taken care of himself.  He has traveled and done all the things he wanted.  He has 3 children, 10 grandchildren, 13 great-grandchildren, many step-children and step grandchildren.  He still has living aunts who are in their 90s.  He's had a full life.  It's natural progression.

He did some horrific things when I was a kid.  I have physical evidence of some of his abuse in the from of photos (long story).  I had yet come to a point in life where I was ready to forgive him.  

Learning about his current condition has left me in the unique place.  There's nothing left but forgiveness.  

He's a physical shell of the person I once knew.  The horrible monster who used to do unspeakable things to me is now trapped inside this shell.  He can no longer remember his wrongs and will never be able to make personal amends for them.  

If I ever chose to confront him, he would never comprehend what I had to say and any remnants of genuine sorrow would never make it to the surface.   That time has passed here on earth.  

His wrongs, the weight of his sin against children...that has now become an issue between he and God.  That is all that is left.  It is no longer my issue.

It isn't that I am completely over all that he did.  He did some really messed up things that still haunt me.  But the over arching issue of forgiveness, that door is closed for me.

There is peace and healing in that for me.  While he is still living, my earthly conflict with him is over.  I don't have anger or hatred toward him.  I don't feel as though he owes me anything, not even an apology.  Door closed.

Honestly, I don't feel the same gut-wrenching heartache with him having this disease as I do with my mother-in-law.  It will take some soul searching of my own to know if that is because I deep down believe it was somehow deserved.  I will have to search my own heart to know if there is some twisted satisfaction in knowing he will die a miserable death with such a horrible affliction.  I will have to consider my own fleshly lack of concern for his salvation.  

This wasn't the path I would have chosen.  I would have chosen to eventually confront him.  That day has passed and the door is closed.  He likely wouldn't even know who I am.   

Regardless of the path or circumstance, there is always healing in forgiveness.  I couldn't have chosen it any sooner.  I couldn't have done it any other way.  

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Schools

Ok, so the other icky topic I am getting hit with so often.

Homeschool vs. Private School vs. Public School

This one definitely shouldn't effect me, given I don't have children. However, it comes up in conversation quite often.

I have seen and heard many of my friends be cornered in the halls of the church by those pressuring them to pick a side. Of course, they want them to pick a side that is the homeschooling side.

(Before you get offended, I am not referring to the home school moms who are absolutely respectful of the individual choices.)

Some of these are young moms who still have years before they have to make a choice. The more mature mothers aren't immune to the badgering either. I have seen firsthand when moms who have chosen public school are ridiculed and made to feel less than as a mother.

While the bible isn't clear on which of the options is best, I am thinking that the choice does fall on the parents. The PARENTS!

I am all for helping others make informed decisions by offering useful tools and giving objective advice WHEN ASKED. But what I see happening crosses a line.

Some of these aggressive home schooling moms are barreling over that line and soaring into that area where only the parents of the child belong.

Let me tell you, I went to a public school. It was a horrible public school. Even with that, my education didn't suffer. The schools around my area are far more advanced than the school I grew up in and I would be comfortable with a child going there.

Let me share another observation I have made. Some people home schooling really shouldn't be.

I know there is a stereotype of home school kids being socially awkward. Honestly, that is dependent more on the personality of the kid because there are plenty of public school kids who are socially awkward.

What I see in comparison is that I know a lot of home school kids who are not as advanced as public school kids. Technologically, they seem far behind the public school child.

Now, I am going to get brutally honest. I know some parents who may think their calling is to home school, but it is not their gift. I wish they would consider their ability or lack of ability to teach in regards to their children. They could potentially be doing more damage than good.

It is hard to see so many beautiful, intelligent moms struggling with this subject. It is hard to know they hurt because of the direct and indirect judgements that fall on them when they choose public school. It is hard to hear their fears as they feel the pressures prematurely placed upon them.

Since I don't have children, my opinion matters not to these people. However, I wish it did. I would tell everyone of these eager beavers to back off. The bottom line is that the decision is between the mother and father. Support them through these difficult decisions, don't judge them if they choose a different direction than you. Respect God's decision to make us all different from each other.


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Adoption

Lately, I have been thinking about all the things I never have to deal with because we don't have children. We don't have to discuss methods of discipline. We don't have to prepare for the first day of school and spend money on school supplies. We don't have to deal with awkward teenage years or dating. We don't have to save for college or elaborate weddings someday. Yes, there are a few pros to not having children.

There are a couple child based subjects that shouldn't affect me, but keep sneaking onto my radar.

Adoption.

Oh my goodness, adoption is a wonderful thing. I think every child in the world should be adopted. Near or far away, I wish any child without a parent to love and nurture them should be adopted.

I would give anything to adopt a child. I would adopt more than one child. I would love that child as my own. It's not even something we have discussed, but I know my heart on it. Good grief, this is why we have three dogs.

Sadly, we can't adopt. We can't afford the process and the adoption. Those things are expensive. We can't afford to go through a lengthy process of flying to the corners of the earth to find an orphan.

It has taken me so long to come to a healthy enough place in my life to even consider adoption, that I realize it is just too late. My husband is approaching 50 years old and we are just not prime candidates.

Isn't it sad that the amount of love you have to give a child is such a minimal requirement for an adoption.

But it I can't grieve and put yet another missed opportunity behind me. This subject is always in front of me. Staring me down. Pushed upon me. Thrown in my face. Judged by those who feel the same way, but don't understand the circumstances.

Since the bible is fairly clear about caring for the orphans, it is understandable that the church body supports and promotes adoption. But, I see it taken way too far.

Some people are capable of reproducing without a problem and never feel called to adopt.

Some people have considered it, but cannot afford it.

Some people choose to be childless because that the direction their life has led them.

Adoption is NOT for everyone. If you don't choose to adopt a child, it doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't even mean that you don't have a love for orphans. It simply means, that God has not called you to adopt.

Why is that so difficult for people to understand? I find it most often in those who have adopted. They try to push others toward their personal passion. They do it in abrasive and confrontational ways. They do it with a lack of respect for the person and what God has done in that person's life.

It is a tough, tough issue. None of the people constantly bringing this issue up know me, know my heart. None of them know how badly I want to adopt a child. None of them understand how brokenhearted I am to not be able to share all the love I have reserved just for a child.

Next time...Schooling...

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Holy Bananas Batman

Most of the time, I consider myself to be a unaffected by the insecurity monster.  But there are seasons when my husband is busy or unintentionally not attentive, times when I think so low of my self or the way I look.  I've definitely had a season of that sprinkled throughout my life lately.

I didn't do a lot this week.  When I struggled with self with and insecurity, I tend to not leave the house much.  After vacation, I couldn't hide from the grocery store.  List in hand, I headed to my usual store a few blocks away.

My first stop was produce. I want to make chocolate covered frozen bananas and they were on sale. Score for me!

I looked them over and decided the bunches being put out by a man stocking the shelf were the best looking.  I waited for him to move and then grabbed what I wanted.

As I put the bananas in my basket, I looked up at the man stocking.  Looking straight at me, he said "Stupid fat fuck."

Shocked, I stood there looking at him in disbelief.  Picking my mouth up off the floor, I began to walk away.  In those seconds, I know I kept thinking about what was said. Had he really just said that?  I tried to find any other words that I could have put together that wouldn't have been those.

Before I got out of the isle, he was standing beside me rubbing my shoulder and mumbling some nonsense about how sorry he was that the bananas weren't in better shape.  What the hell?  Sorry about the bananas?

I pulled away from him and walked away.  Just past my shock were the tears setting heavy in my eyes.  My mind was full of thoughts.  How could this man have been so cruel.  You know I'm not above the swearing.  But by an employee?  Yes, I know I'm fat, but who was he to remind me?

Several isles back and deep into the bakery section, I had finally regained enough composure to go on shopping.  Standing over some rolls, I felt a hand on my back shoulder.   Nearly jumping, I turned around to find the giant asshole standing in by me again.

He had banana in hand and was bringing me what he thought were better ones than I'd picked.  I stepped away from him as he reached again to put his hand on my back.  Believe it or not, I told him to put the bananas in the basket and let me go...CALMLY!

He was a strange man who'd been so mean to me, then touched me repeatedly.  Oh my word!  Ivy then, I was doing my best to not breakdown in a bawling heap.  I had those full body shutters that you get as you are about to or just finished crying.

I'm not sure what kept me in the store.  It took me about 45 minutes to finish my shopping.  I'm a fast shopper. That's slow for me.

At the other end of the store, I heard raised voices and swearing coming from a hallway to the warehouse.  Out stomps the same older man, cussing in a raised voice.

That was the determining factor in what would happen next.

When I got to checkout, I waited patiently for the cashier to ask if I'd found everything.  When she did, I was ready. I said first of all, I could t find wonton wrappers.  The truth was that they were in produce and I couldn't go back.

Then I said second, your banana sticker must be having a bad day because he called me a stupid fat fuck.  Before I knew it, there was a supervisor standing there asking me what had been said.

As I shared with her what had happened, she asked if it was possible he had not been talking to me.

Hello!  I was the only one standing there.  I'm pretty sure that the bananas had not done anything to tick him off.  Shouldn't her first response be to apologize anyway?  That sort of language by an employee should not be acceptable regardless of who he was talking to.  Probably the most obvious thing would be that if you say that around a larger person, it's going to be taken personally.

My aggravation was certainly growing by this time, which was when the store manager stepped in.  I'd repeated it so many times by this point that I was feeling humiliated and more angry than I had been.

I walked out of the store with a couple free cases of pop, wontons and a $50 gift card.  Honestly, I'd trade it all for an explanation and apology.

I know that most women are very sensitive to how they look.  That insecurity is multiplied when you are a heavier woman.  I know that even a slightly overweight person would have been offended.  I do wonder why he felt so lowly of me that he would label me as something so awful.  It had more to do with him having a bad day than anything about me.  However, I still wonder if my mere existence is that off putting.  Am I that difficult to look at, so much so that I appear to be a wall of flesh with no emotion.  Do I appear so large that my ears must be filled with fat rendering me unable to hear the insults being hurled at me?

It makes me think and consider and beat myself up inside.  It's a good thing I'm not an emotional eater cause this is the sort of thing that would land me in the middle of a family sized pepperoni pizza and half gallon of ice cream.

Smiles

As I get ready to go through our vacation pictures, I am reminded of how hard it was to get a smile from my niece and nephew.

I asked my nephew the first day why he wouldn't smile.  He said because a tooth far back on the side was chipped and he was embarrassed.  He said, "it's the same reason my dad doesn't smile." 

It is true that his dad had chipped a front tooth growing up, ruining his once perfect smile.  Surprisingly enough, it had everything to do with lack of attention at school and nothing to do with the tumultuous home life.  My parents didn't have the money to get it fixed like most parents would do now.

The conversation made me think about smiling.  It has only been in the past 10 years that I have been more comfortable smiling and only in the more recent years that I have embraced it.

Obviously, we didn't have a lot to smile about as children.  That wasn't really the biggest problem with smiling.  My dad hated it!  Looking back, I think he took smiling as a form of happiness.  The slightest hint of happiness was a threat to his control over us and his desire to keep us miserable.

Smiling and laughing taunted him.  Have you ever heard the saying, "I'll wipe that smile off your face."?  Well in our house, it was used and over used.  It wasn't an antagonistic statement so much as a viable warning of what would happen if we showed the slightest bit of happiness.

Outside of the home and for years after I left, a smile consisted of an upturned, closed lip smile at best. 

When I started working at the eye clinic, one of the doctors told me I had a wonderful phone voice that the patients would value.  He is also the one who taught me that your phone voice is greatly altered if you will intentionally smile throughout the conversation.  That was probably the point, I started smiling willingly.

I don't know that there was a turning point, but I have started to embrace my smile more the past few years.  Granted, a smile is my one of the more confident ways I hide everything terrible in my life.  When you present yourself with a smile, it hides all the ick and makes people think life is wonderful.

Pictures have even gotten easier the past few years.  My smile is my smile.  It is unique to me.  Good, bad or ugly, it is a part of me.  Since I'm not going to do anything intentional to alter it medically, it's a part of me that's unchanging. 

The longer I am intentionally away from my parents, the easier it gets to smile and laugh and enjoy life. 

Whatever the reasons my brother or niece or nephew choose not to smile, I hope they eventually learn it is ok.  I hope they get to a place in life where they know that a chipped tooth or another person doesn't need to be a barrier in them being able to do the simple things in life.  Nobody needs a barrier to allowing others to seem the simplest sign of happiness in their lives.

Happy 15th Anniversary

Today we will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. 

Thanks to blogger's ability to schedule posts, I am writing this during a few moments of down time as we prepare for our trip.  Provided things have gone close to planned, we have checked into our hotel for the next three days and will be headed out on our NASA tour soon.

The fact we are spending our 15th anniversary with my niece and nephew in Texas is somewhat indicative of how our married life has gone. 

When we got married, neither of us had a plan.  Even though we had dated for nearly five years, we hadn't discussed the major things in life.  The only thing that mattered was that we loved each other and had a place to live.  We hadn't discussed children or savings or future plans at all.  We were the epitome of "fly by the seat of your pants" when it came to our relationship.

That way of living has led us to completely different ends of the life spectrum over the years.  We've had times of flourishing and times of depletion.  I am sure at some point over the next couple weeks, we will take time to reflect on both.

It is with great humility that I can say that the great times were the most fun, but the worst times taught me the most.

He prepared well for me, buying a home for us before we were married.  After all these years, we finally have made it a home.  Great progress has been made in our ability to communicate with each other just through a complete home remodel. 

Some of our more impulsive times and most fun have come in our vacations.  We have traveled all over.  Minnesota, Wyoming, Utah, California, New Mexico, Texas, Arizona, South Dakota, New York, Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Colorado, Iowa, Mississippi, Alabama, Kansas, Missouri, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Nevada, Jamaica, Mexico, Grand Cayman, Belize, Honduras, Canada and we've sailed around the coast of Cuba.

I am so thankful that we've had so many opportunities to travel and spend quality time together.  Goodness, that may have very well balanced out the bad.

There is one thing which has been consistent in the worst of times during our marriage.  I have been solely responsible for the bad times.  Yes, it is true.  My husband is not a saint by nature, but has practiced patience and forgiveness like one.

Massive credit card debt, not now but we've made a huge dent in the over 150K debt.  Infidelity, that one's probably the hardest to admit and was very early in our marriage.  Walking out, this has been a go to for me when things have gotten rough.  Job loss.  Surgeries.  Fertility treatments and miscarriages and infertility.  Diagnoses of life-altering mental illness, subsequent unemployment. 

Not to make excuses for any of the terrible things I have done, but if you knew more about the mental illness, you might have more understanding about some of the things I listed above. 

It is kind of amazing and hard to believe that we survived all that.  I have given my husband every reason to divorce me.  In fact, I think there were times I did things intentionally to test his willingness to stay.  I don't do that any more, he's proven over and over that his love is greater than my ignorance. 

I know that every cheesy, mushy anniversary card tells your spouse that you love them more today than the day you were married.  In our case, that is true.  I love him so much more than I ever thought possible.  What's even more amazing is that he loves me more than I ever thought possible. 

He's still the one.  The one I trust the most.  The one I love the most.  The one I know will never leave me.  The one I want to share the good things in life.  The one who wipes my tears.  The one who was made for me.  The one I want to be more like.  The one I want to grow older with.  I love this man.

Happy 15th Anniversary!  May the next 15 bring more joy than pain.