Wowza!
Let me repeat what I've said before...this year has been full of more stuff than any other year of our marriage.
January
We started off the year praying about our church change. At the end of January, we joined the church we had been visiting for several months. We were finally learning a new normal after my daily schedule and church change. On the 28th, we buried Kents aunt Wilda. It was a cold day and it was icy. It was also the day we got the first call saying we needed to start looking at homes in Ohio.
February
Bam! It was official. We were moving. I learned firsthand how difficult it is to tell people you are moving. We saw how different people treat you when you say you're moving. It sucks, but it's how some people deal with change. We made the long list of things that needed to be done to the house. And worked tirelessly. The month is a blur because it was working non stop and dealing with the shock. We also had a huge debt problem to work out.
March
House went on the market. Got sold. We bought Ohio house. Lost contract on KC house. House back on market. March was nuts. We were in final planning mode for the move and Kent had a start date of May 5.
April
House still on market. We said a ton of sad, teary goodbyes all month long. So many, that I was just ready to go. The Saturday before we left, my friends threw us a going away party and birthday party. Since I'd be in Ohio away from them next year for my 40th, I wanted to celebrate my 39th with them. On the 29th, we packed a few things and made the trip to Ohio. We took possession of our house and had to spend the next four days cleaning the mess that was left. Meanwhile, our stuff and car was loaded into two moving trucks.
May
Our stuff arrived. We unpacked in record time, four days. We visited our church for the first time and then a month of terrible churches. We were homesick and frustrated and lonely. Our house was still on the market with no action.
June
I started to get sick all the time. I blamed the water. We went back to the first church and found a home. Our house was not showing at all. We started to get to know our neighbors. We had two guests. One came over for dinner. She was visiting family that live an hour away. Another friend flew in from Kansas and stayed a week.
July
We spent the 4th with neighbors and it was great. We had friends stop for dinner on their way through on vacation. It finally stopped raining so much. I was really sick in the beginning of the month. The nausea subsided, but then other issues came up that made me sicker. We fired our agents in KC on the 28th and I went to the ER on the 29th.
August
I began August being tested for cancer. An uncertain diagnosis and continued illness led to a referral to a new doctor at the end of August. In the meantime, we secured a new agent for the house. By mid August, we had a contract. We were within days of foreclosure and bankruptcy.
September
On the 3rd, I had surgery. On the 5th, we made the trip back home to visit family. On the 8th and my husband's birthday, we finally sold our house. We disposed of all of our debt. It was amazing! On the 17th, I learned that my illness all summer was a pregnancy and miscarriage that had been missed. They did find suspicious cells, but the miscarriage was the problem. By the end of September, I was in a full blown meltdown.
October
We had another miscarriage in the first few weeks. During that time, we traded in the car for a Tahoe and started to meet more people. We took a vacation to Lake Erie. We spent a lot of time praying about fertility treatments and school for me.
November
I committed to Liberty University and things started to get a teeny tiny bit easier. I went to the ER twice. Once with a possible blood clot in my leg and once for a gallbladder attack. We made the trip back for Thanksgiving. We took a few days in Branson for vacation and then spent time with friends and family.
December
We didn't do a lot this month. The holidays were hard. Developing new traditions was hard. We mostly spent the month learning to praise God in the tough times. The last week of the month (now), my brother and his family visited.
It was a crazy year. Our faith was strengthened. Our love was tested. Our tolerance for adapting was forever changed. Our trust in others was renewed. Our hearts were broken. We survived by faith and with those who walked with us through it all.
I would never change any of it, but I'm glad it's over.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
The Year According to a Dog
As I think through a review of our year, I have to consider what it's been like for our dogs.
Our dogs are like kids. Not just our kids, but they are seriously like everyone's kids.
They've had quite a year too.
We ended last year having spent a lot of time alone. Kent travelled a lot and it was hard on them. So they had some adjusting to do once he was home all the time. They slid back into their routines of knowing when to wait for him by the back door.
January was a tough month for all three. We had stayed with my inlaws for several days at Christmas and again at the end of January when my husband's aunt passed away. My inlaws have a flea problem, which meant we had a flea problem. The two girls, Lucy and Winnie, handle fleas with little more than scratching. Our boy, Gizmo "Bubba", doesn't do well at all. He gets incredibly sick. He drops weight quickly and is covered in huge sores. When he gets sick, he's prone to seizures.
In February, we were in full swing of readying the house for sell. That meant we had a lot of work to do. Lots of people in and out of the house, lots of barking, lots of behavioral problems. Bubba was thoroughly freaked out by all the machines and things out of place. They also absorbed our stress.
In March, we got the house on the market and took a trip to Branson and Ohio. We left Lucy with a friend, who spoiled her rotten. The other two did amazing with the travel and endless hours in the car.
In both March and April, we constantly had to leave for showings. That meant hours and hours and hours in the car. They were good but it started to be a chore to get them loaded cause rides were no longer fun.
Also in April, we began packing what we would be moving and preparing for the big move. Again, Bubba didn't so well at all. He freaked out a lot and had several seizures. We also found that Lucy was having some bizarre health issues that got put on the back burner.
Then came the move. The long haul in the standard can truck, 12 hours across the country. Thankfully, Lucy enjoys sleeping behind the seat. That kept us from being cramped the whole way. They did well and we only had to stop for potty/water breaks about 6 times.
We were stuck in a hotel for a while because the house was a disaster and our stuff didn't arrive for several days. They were good, but they are used to going on vacation with us.
Once we were in the house, they explored and smelled everything. Given the amount of animals that had been in the house before, I thought for sure we'd have a problem with peeing in the house. Not at all. I didn't expect the problems we did have.
We had two problems.
Winnie is little and doesn't manuveur steps well at all. At the old house, she had one step and it had taken her weeks to master that one. Here, there is a small fenced area surrounding our deck. Each side of the deck has three steps. Not was clear she was having none of it. I spent hours trying to get her to go up and down.
I would coax and beg and put her half way up or down. Nope. She was not interested. About a week of carrying her up and down the stairs, I looked out the sliding glass door and there she was. She'd finally got it. She still fumbles once in a while, but she's been good.
Our other problem lasted a bit longer. Bubba decided he didn't belong in Ohio and was determined to go back to KC. If he got into the garage, he stood by the car door patiently and refused to move. If he got outside, he headed west down the road. Every time, he would trot off the right direction. He finally adapted, but we were a little afraid he'd be one of those dogs who travels back home and ends up on the news.
Lucy's health problems got worse. She had ballooned in size and was losing hair. We were afraid the stress was taking its toll. No, tests showed she had low thyroid. Now she takes two pills a day.
Most of the summer, they were all extremely sensative to me being sick. We spent most of our days curled up on the couch sleeping.
In September, we made the long trek back to Missouri and Kansas. We had to stay at the inlaws and again had a flea problem. Probably the worst we'd ever seen. Baths and meds finally rid them of the fleas. Afterward, Bubba got incredibly sick. Bloodwork showed he had acute kidney failure. It was from the flea treatments. He's doing well now, but we were sure he'd make it. We know we can't wver knowingly expose him to fleas.
In October and November, we travelled. They did awesome!
Earlier this month, our little Winnie got sick and had horrific breath. She had several loose teeth that we could see. She had surgery and the vet removed all but 9 teeth. She's recovered but was was whiney and snuggly for a few days.
As they sit all curled around my feet, I can't help but be thankful for them. They make me laugh and smile. They drive me crazy with barking. I wouldn't have it any other way.
They've all had a tough year right along with us. I'm glad they were with us, but I hope this next year is easier. They are now at home here in Ohio and if they could talk, would probably have some crazy stories to share from the past year.
Our dogs are like kids. Not just our kids, but they are seriously like everyone's kids.
They've had quite a year too.
We ended last year having spent a lot of time alone. Kent travelled a lot and it was hard on them. So they had some adjusting to do once he was home all the time. They slid back into their routines of knowing when to wait for him by the back door.
January was a tough month for all three. We had stayed with my inlaws for several days at Christmas and again at the end of January when my husband's aunt passed away. My inlaws have a flea problem, which meant we had a flea problem. The two girls, Lucy and Winnie, handle fleas with little more than scratching. Our boy, Gizmo "Bubba", doesn't do well at all. He gets incredibly sick. He drops weight quickly and is covered in huge sores. When he gets sick, he's prone to seizures.
In February, we were in full swing of readying the house for sell. That meant we had a lot of work to do. Lots of people in and out of the house, lots of barking, lots of behavioral problems. Bubba was thoroughly freaked out by all the machines and things out of place. They also absorbed our stress.
In March, we got the house on the market and took a trip to Branson and Ohio. We left Lucy with a friend, who spoiled her rotten. The other two did amazing with the travel and endless hours in the car.
In both March and April, we constantly had to leave for showings. That meant hours and hours and hours in the car. They were good but it started to be a chore to get them loaded cause rides were no longer fun.
Also in April, we began packing what we would be moving and preparing for the big move. Again, Bubba didn't so well at all. He freaked out a lot and had several seizures. We also found that Lucy was having some bizarre health issues that got put on the back burner.
Then came the move. The long haul in the standard can truck, 12 hours across the country. Thankfully, Lucy enjoys sleeping behind the seat. That kept us from being cramped the whole way. They did well and we only had to stop for potty/water breaks about 6 times.
We were stuck in a hotel for a while because the house was a disaster and our stuff didn't arrive for several days. They were good, but they are used to going on vacation with us.
Once we were in the house, they explored and smelled everything. Given the amount of animals that had been in the house before, I thought for sure we'd have a problem with peeing in the house. Not at all. I didn't expect the problems we did have.
We had two problems.
Winnie is little and doesn't manuveur steps well at all. At the old house, she had one step and it had taken her weeks to master that one. Here, there is a small fenced area surrounding our deck. Each side of the deck has three steps. Not was clear she was having none of it. I spent hours trying to get her to go up and down.
I would coax and beg and put her half way up or down. Nope. She was not interested. About a week of carrying her up and down the stairs, I looked out the sliding glass door and there she was. She'd finally got it. She still fumbles once in a while, but she's been good.
Our other problem lasted a bit longer. Bubba decided he didn't belong in Ohio and was determined to go back to KC. If he got into the garage, he stood by the car door patiently and refused to move. If he got outside, he headed west down the road. Every time, he would trot off the right direction. He finally adapted, but we were a little afraid he'd be one of those dogs who travels back home and ends up on the news.
Lucy's health problems got worse. She had ballooned in size and was losing hair. We were afraid the stress was taking its toll. No, tests showed she had low thyroid. Now she takes two pills a day.
Most of the summer, they were all extremely sensative to me being sick. We spent most of our days curled up on the couch sleeping.
In September, we made the long trek back to Missouri and Kansas. We had to stay at the inlaws and again had a flea problem. Probably the worst we'd ever seen. Baths and meds finally rid them of the fleas. Afterward, Bubba got incredibly sick. Bloodwork showed he had acute kidney failure. It was from the flea treatments. He's doing well now, but we were sure he'd make it. We know we can't wver knowingly expose him to fleas.
In October and November, we travelled. They did awesome!
Earlier this month, our little Winnie got sick and had horrific breath. She had several loose teeth that we could see. She had surgery and the vet removed all but 9 teeth. She's recovered but was was whiney and snuggly for a few days.
As they sit all curled around my feet, I can't help but be thankful for them. They make me laugh and smile. They drive me crazy with barking. I wouldn't have it any other way.
They've all had a tough year right along with us. I'm glad they were with us, but I hope this next year is easier. They are now at home here in Ohio and if they could talk, would probably have some crazy stories to share from the past year.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Finally Here
Today is the day. A day that I've been praying about since we left KC.
We bought plane tickets for my niece and nephew this summer and they didn't come. I was devastated because I thought that's what I needed at the time.
In fact, God's plan is always infinitely better.
My nephew fell. He ended up being fine, but had to stay at home for tests. I was sick and ended up at the hospital that week. It was bad timing.
The best pet of the failed trip, it allowed for this trip and all of them coming to Ohio.
I'm so incredibly anxious. Not for the typical reasons. I'm worried that I won't have the stamina.
This is their vacation and they will want to go.
I'm low key and enjoy relaxing. We had a family visit in August and I thought I was going to implode. We went non stop. Each day was packed with activities and tons of walking. I wore a pedometer. We walked 10 miles a day. Slow, painful walking through crowds and museums. When they left, I felt crippled.
I can't help but be concerned about that. It's not that I'm unfit. It's that mentally, I don't go at that pace any more.
Since we have an entire week, hopefully it will be fine and we can have downtime.
I also worry about keeping them happy. I know that's a common problem for anyone having guests. It always is for me. I work so hard to make sure everyone else is happy that I forget to enjoy myself.
This trip has taken a lot of prayer, planning and patience. I know with the same, the next week will be wonderful.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
A Season of Thanksgiving
I could focus my post for today on the sadness I feel, we both feel. We know it's there. If you read much of my blog, you know it's there.
It's the usual sadness compounded by being alone here in Ohio, the growing list of changes we've had this year and some significant loss.
I'm not going there. I'm not restating nor dwelling on the obvious.
So much that has happened this year has given me a deeper understanding of thanksgiving.
I know, I've mentioned this many times before so bare with me.
The two miscarriages were hard and still are. It's the first one that has changed me the most. Not the loss, but the experience.
The miscarriage started the end of June and wasn't diagnosed/stopped/removed until the first of September.
My body went through hell during that six weeks. My white blood cell count went up while my hemoglobin plummeted. I was in excruciating pain. My body temperature dropped. My heart rate skyrocketed.
When I had surgery in September, my heart rate was 284 and I had tachycardia. My body temp dropped to 94 degrees. My blood pressure was high and my hemoglobin was 6.9. In recovery, my body normalized and my hemoglobin started to raise.
In recovery, my nurse said I was very sick and my doctor had saved my life. He said nobody realized how sick I was and I could have died. I took that only somewhat seriously. That was until I got a call from my doctor the next day. He said he was certain about halfway through the surgery that he was going to lose me. He was sure he could get my body temp up or my heart rate stabilized.
At my follow up visit, he explained everything in detail. It made sense, but left me with a lot to think about. Because I went straight into a meltdown over the miscarriage, it took me a while to consider everything else.
I could have died. I had a doctor who thought he was going to lose me in surgery. It's taken me a while to wrap my head around that completely.
The whole experience has changed how I see life. I've become a little less anxious and a little more willing to be vulnerable. I'm a lot more willing to try things and have let it push me toward the future.
The biggest change has been in my heart.
I am infinitely more thankful than I ever have been before. I'm even learning to be thankful in the midst of struggle and not just after.
I'm thankful for what I have and know it's not because of what I've done or that I'm deserving. It's all temporary gifts. I'm so much more thankful for people, their sacrifice, example and correction. I'm more thankful for time and want to use it in ways that glorify God.
I've become more thankful for my savior than I ever have been. I often read about or meditate on the death of Jesus. His sacrifice has become so real for me. I find myself laying out my sin and grieving over all the little things that Jesus had to die for. I have developed a profound amount of thankfulness for Jesus.
It hasn't been just my experience alone. This year has been a tough year for friends. One of my friends is losing a battle with cancer. A 24 year old friend and daughter of friends passed away this year after multiple health issues. Another friend was given a life ending diagnoses. Several friends have suffered losses of parents, spouses and unborn children.
They've all praised God before, through and after. Their faithfulness has been a constant encouragement to me. I find myself thanking God with them and for them.
After we are born, each day we live is one day closer to death and eternal life for believers. It's easy to be sad about death and excited for our eternal home.
As Christians, we do things a little backwards from the world. The world is excited about life that comes after birth. Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus because we are so excited about the death.
This Christmas, I am abundantly thankful for the birth of Christ and so much more. I'm thankful He was born to die for me.
It's the usual sadness compounded by being alone here in Ohio, the growing list of changes we've had this year and some significant loss.
I'm not going there. I'm not restating nor dwelling on the obvious.
So much that has happened this year has given me a deeper understanding of thanksgiving.
I know, I've mentioned this many times before so bare with me.
The two miscarriages were hard and still are. It's the first one that has changed me the most. Not the loss, but the experience.
The miscarriage started the end of June and wasn't diagnosed/stopped/removed until the first of September.
My body went through hell during that six weeks. My white blood cell count went up while my hemoglobin plummeted. I was in excruciating pain. My body temperature dropped. My heart rate skyrocketed.
When I had surgery in September, my heart rate was 284 and I had tachycardia. My body temp dropped to 94 degrees. My blood pressure was high and my hemoglobin was 6.9. In recovery, my body normalized and my hemoglobin started to raise.
In recovery, my nurse said I was very sick and my doctor had saved my life. He said nobody realized how sick I was and I could have died. I took that only somewhat seriously. That was until I got a call from my doctor the next day. He said he was certain about halfway through the surgery that he was going to lose me. He was sure he could get my body temp up or my heart rate stabilized.
At my follow up visit, he explained everything in detail. It made sense, but left me with a lot to think about. Because I went straight into a meltdown over the miscarriage, it took me a while to consider everything else.
I could have died. I had a doctor who thought he was going to lose me in surgery. It's taken me a while to wrap my head around that completely.
The whole experience has changed how I see life. I've become a little less anxious and a little more willing to be vulnerable. I'm a lot more willing to try things and have let it push me toward the future.
The biggest change has been in my heart.
I am infinitely more thankful than I ever have been before. I'm even learning to be thankful in the midst of struggle and not just after.
I'm thankful for what I have and know it's not because of what I've done or that I'm deserving. It's all temporary gifts. I'm so much more thankful for people, their sacrifice, example and correction. I'm more thankful for time and want to use it in ways that glorify God.
I've become more thankful for my savior than I ever have been. I often read about or meditate on the death of Jesus. His sacrifice has become so real for me. I find myself laying out my sin and grieving over all the little things that Jesus had to die for. I have developed a profound amount of thankfulness for Jesus.
It hasn't been just my experience alone. This year has been a tough year for friends. One of my friends is losing a battle with cancer. A 24 year old friend and daughter of friends passed away this year after multiple health issues. Another friend was given a life ending diagnoses. Several friends have suffered losses of parents, spouses and unborn children.
They've all praised God before, through and after. Their faithfulness has been a constant encouragement to me. I find myself thanking God with them and for them.
After we are born, each day we live is one day closer to death and eternal life for believers. It's easy to be sad about death and excited for our eternal home.
As Christians, we do things a little backwards from the world. The world is excited about life that comes after birth. Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus because we are so excited about the death.
This Christmas, I am abundantly thankful for the birth of Christ and so much more. I'm thankful He was born to die for me.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
An Old Picture
Its Christmas Eve. Life is kinda sucking right now. It's just hard.
This morning, I came across a box shoved on a shelf. I obviously didn't know where to put it when we moved.
I opened it to find cross stitched towels given to me by my grandma about eight years ago. On the top were two pictures of an elderly lady holding me.
I've no clue who the lady is, but she looks happy to be holding me. I'm sure she is a great or great great grandma. I'm still researching. It's not like I can call up my parents and ask.
Finding this picture is what I needed today. I needed to see that someone held me as a baby and looked at me with love.
That wasn't how I remember my childhood. At one time, I went through all my old pictures and could not find one where I looked happy or there was an adult who looked loving. At the time, it broke my heart and validated that I wasn't loved.
I often forget, probably intentionally repress, that I called my my mom. I wanted to know if she would acknowledge that I was her daughter. Friends from back home had told me that she claimed to have two sons and no other children. I needed to know from her if she still claimed to be my mom.
She didn't. She said I was dead to her. I'd had the courage to call, but not the strength to handle the truth. With her reality slapping me in the face, I asked a question I wish I hadn't.
I asked her why she had me, kept me if she wasn't going to claim me. Her answer still makes me physically ill.
She said she never wanted kids. She claimed that my dad forced her to have children so he could molest them. She went on to say I had ruined her life. I had been such a terrible child that I caused my dad to be mean. She told me I was dead to her and to never call again.
I collapsed into a ball on the floor. I didn't have tears. I was writhing in pain, an excruciating pain in the pit of my stomach that radiated all over my body.
At that moment, I knew there would never be a reconciliation between us. Any mother who could so easily emotionally destroy her own daughter was not anyone I could ever be near.
That's the kind of thing that settles in this time of year. That truth is what hurts so badly when I see families celebrating together. My mom never wanted me, blamed me for what my dad had done, and has hatred toward me that is beyond comprehension. My dad only wanted my brothers and I to subject us to the evil he had hiding inside him. How could I not think of that during a family oriented time of year?
So, it soothed a small part of my aching heart to find this picture. At some point, I was shown love and affection. It may have been minimal and I don't remember it, but I'm glad to know it happened. Every baby should be loved, even if it's just once.
Quirkiness
Have you ever thought about your quirks? Where they came from? Why they started or continued? If other people do the same thing?
As a general rule, I favor my dad's side of the family. Not the evil or rage! My dad's family is crazy talented and incredibly intelligent. My mom's side have no real positive attributes. I suppose that is where I got my propensity for foul language. So, it's easy to say I favor them. Physically and medically, I tend to favor them as well.
My mom's side is definitely quirky. I suppose maybe I get that from them too.
My grandma was probably the worst. She would never let us walk on the opposite of anything, poles, tables, etc. She didn't think she could get dressed before drinking coffee. She believed if you vacuumed everyday, you'd never get sick. Her lipstick and nail polish had to match all the time and had to be a shade of purple. There was more. Lots more.
Last time I was around my mom, I could see she was starting to be a little like her mom. My mom had her own quirks. She thought powder was a substitute for deodorant. She clicked her jaw when she lied. Some of the others are just too gross to mention.
Over the years, and with my husband's help, I've identified a lot of my quirks.
What I mean is that he's pointed them out to me and I've changed what I could. In true OCD/type A personality fashion, I've analyzed them all.
My husband is good, he really only has one. When he is stressed or nervous, his feet two the floor. It's crazy that I've known him for over 20 years and I never knew that until we moved.
Me on the other hand, my husband would tell you that I have a ton.
I can't be in a dark room. I freeze, scream for the lights to be turned on and start to shake uncontrollably. This is probably a little bit more PTSD than a quirk, but it happens even when I know I'm safe. This one is probably the easiest to understand. Darkness = chaos.
When I step out of the shower, I must step on a towel. This is one that drives my husband crazy. I've stood and screamed at him to bring me towels before. If I have to step on the floor barefoot, I have to retake the shower. Why? Because when I was a kid, our bathroom had carpet. The carpet was never clean and often crawling with bugs.
Again with the shower, I have a routine that I must follow. If I accidentally do something out of turn, I start from the beginning. Why? Because when I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to use soaps. When I moved out and had my own, I developed a routine to never forget anything. It's not the easiest thing to teach yourself personal hygiene at 18 years old.
I cannot touch cardboard or Popsicle sticks. If I do, I cringe, get goosebumps and even gag. No explanation for this one. I don't know why.
There's rarely a time I will drink everything in a glass or bottle. Why? Well this one is just common sense. Everything that shouldn't be in your drink ends up on the bottom.
I have to put my left shoe on first.
I wipe my mouth after a kiss from my husband. He's not slobbery, I don't like mouth germs. I tell him that I'm rubbing it in.
I have to sit on the right of my husband except in a movie theater.
I don't like odd numbers. Everything must be divisible by 2. If a package of socks has 3 pair, I buy 2 packages. It drives me nuts that we have three dogs. That's why I tell my husband 2 are mine and 1 is his.
Things have to be symmetrical. That's the only time odd numbers are acceptable.
I read everything twice. That's probably more habit from the reading comprehension problem I've had in the past.
I'm sure there's more.
The other day, I was talking to a friend about quirks. I was a little bummed that my list is a bit long. My friend said to me, "Sweetie, it's all part of who you are and I love you quirks and all."
What she said really reiterated what has been on my heart a lot lately. We all have quirks. Some are just there. Others come out of our stuff. All of them are part of who we are. I need to accept people, quirks and all. My love for people can't be conditional on how they look, their uniqueness or quirks. I need to be kinder to those who are different than me because I am different from them and desperately seek the same acceptance and love.
As a general rule, I favor my dad's side of the family. Not the evil or rage! My dad's family is crazy talented and incredibly intelligent. My mom's side have no real positive attributes. I suppose that is where I got my propensity for foul language. So, it's easy to say I favor them. Physically and medically, I tend to favor them as well.
My mom's side is definitely quirky. I suppose maybe I get that from them too.
My grandma was probably the worst. She would never let us walk on the opposite of anything, poles, tables, etc. She didn't think she could get dressed before drinking coffee. She believed if you vacuumed everyday, you'd never get sick. Her lipstick and nail polish had to match all the time and had to be a shade of purple. There was more. Lots more.
Last time I was around my mom, I could see she was starting to be a little like her mom. My mom had her own quirks. She thought powder was a substitute for deodorant. She clicked her jaw when she lied. Some of the others are just too gross to mention.
Over the years, and with my husband's help, I've identified a lot of my quirks.
What I mean is that he's pointed them out to me and I've changed what I could. In true OCD/type A personality fashion, I've analyzed them all.
My husband is good, he really only has one. When he is stressed or nervous, his feet two the floor. It's crazy that I've known him for over 20 years and I never knew that until we moved.
Me on the other hand, my husband would tell you that I have a ton.
I can't be in a dark room. I freeze, scream for the lights to be turned on and start to shake uncontrollably. This is probably a little bit more PTSD than a quirk, but it happens even when I know I'm safe. This one is probably the easiest to understand. Darkness = chaos.
When I step out of the shower, I must step on a towel. This is one that drives my husband crazy. I've stood and screamed at him to bring me towels before. If I have to step on the floor barefoot, I have to retake the shower. Why? Because when I was a kid, our bathroom had carpet. The carpet was never clean and often crawling with bugs.
Again with the shower, I have a routine that I must follow. If I accidentally do something out of turn, I start from the beginning. Why? Because when I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to use soaps. When I moved out and had my own, I developed a routine to never forget anything. It's not the easiest thing to teach yourself personal hygiene at 18 years old.
I cannot touch cardboard or Popsicle sticks. If I do, I cringe, get goosebumps and even gag. No explanation for this one. I don't know why.
There's rarely a time I will drink everything in a glass or bottle. Why? Well this one is just common sense. Everything that shouldn't be in your drink ends up on the bottom.
I have to put my left shoe on first.
I wipe my mouth after a kiss from my husband. He's not slobbery, I don't like mouth germs. I tell him that I'm rubbing it in.
I have to sit on the right of my husband except in a movie theater.
I don't like odd numbers. Everything must be divisible by 2. If a package of socks has 3 pair, I buy 2 packages. It drives me nuts that we have three dogs. That's why I tell my husband 2 are mine and 1 is his.
Things have to be symmetrical. That's the only time odd numbers are acceptable.
I read everything twice. That's probably more habit from the reading comprehension problem I've had in the past.
I'm sure there's more.
The other day, I was talking to a friend about quirks. I was a little bummed that my list is a bit long. My friend said to me, "Sweetie, it's all part of who you are and I love you quirks and all."
What she said really reiterated what has been on my heart a lot lately. We all have quirks. Some are just there. Others come out of our stuff. All of them are part of who we are. I need to accept people, quirks and all. My love for people can't be conditional on how they look, their uniqueness or quirks. I need to be kinder to those who are different than me because I am different from them and desperately seek the same acceptance and love.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
First Impressions
Today I realized that I've been carrying a fully composed blogpost in my head for two months. I was certain I'd typed it out, but no.
While talking with someone I'd met since we moved, they shared their first impression of me.
This is someone who I shared with very quickly my testimony. It was appropriately timed so that they could adequately talk through life with me. This is a person I trust and respect.
This person shares with me that before they knew me very well, their impression of me was that I was full of myself. That's a direct quote. For the record, this person doesn't remember saying this.
I do. It crushed me.
After the conversation, I came home and had a full blown rant session with my husband. I was hurt and angry. How could someone have such a negative first impression of me?
I consider myself a kind, soft, tender hearted person. Why would anyone think I was full of myself?
I won't lie, I went through a short period of really not liking this person. It was short lived because I soon spent time searching my heart.
When someone says setting about me to me, I take that seriously. If they are willing to share how they saw me or felt about me, then I at least need to respect that. It's completely different from when you heard from a third party. That's just gossip and doesn't phase me.
I had to get real with myself. What had I done to give that impression? Had I potentially been that way with others? Do I need to apologize? What do I need to change so that others don't see me that way?
The hard truth was that I probably did come across that way. We came from a different area. I was a city girl who had fully embraced the suburbanite attitude. I can honestly say that I was never comfortable with that, but it was a method of survival. It was the only way to fit in.
When we got here, I was angry. Nothing was the same. All those luxuries at my immediate disposal were no more. No Target or Starbucks or Trader Joes or multiple grocery stores. I was a city girl in shock.
Even though the people were nice, so incredibly nice, my heart wasn't good toward them. Man, it sucks to admit that. These were country people and I didn't fit in. Furthermore, our plan was to only be here two years. So, I had no intentions of making friends. Just doing my time and running back to KC.
I've gotten used to driving for luxuries. Despite my plan, God did a work in my heart and I quickly fell in love with the area and people. I went from making an exit plan to begging my husband to stay beyond our two years.
Because of previous church hurt, I know that I walked into our church with a chip on my shoulder. I wasn't interested in being hurt and had a ton of walls protecting me.
But it took the Lord opening my eyes and changing my heart. He had to teach me that this church would be different. He had to heal the broken past experiences and I had to forgive.
Yea, it's highly probable that I came across full of myself.
That's what truly crushed me. That multiple people got a first impression of me that wasn't at all who I was. What they saw was the broken, hurting, angry me who was in full self protection mode.
I know there's more than one person and I'll have to apologize to each one of them as appropriate. I also have to have patience and grace while they learn who I really am.
There's a big piece of how to change that first impression. I have to allow them to see the real me. I have to accept that it may take some work on my part since I'm the one who gave a false first impression.
More than anything, I have to be cautious. I know my natural propensity is to be self protective. If I'm not willing to be vulnerable and show that softer side of myself, nobody will ever see it.
I've had to be proactive when meeting people. Smiling, listening instead of speaking and offering encouragement where I can. It's hard to stay self aware, but I've tried.
What was said did hurt, it stung. The person who said it followed the statement by saying that they had gotten to know me better, heard my story and didn't believe that's who I really was.
It's never easy to hear truth about yourself, especially when it's not favorable. However, when it comes from a trustworthy and respectable person, it needs to be heard.
It's hard to admit, but I'm glad that was shared with me. It led to a lot of prayer, self awareness and change in my life.
I jokingly said today that I'd forgiven this person. I had already apologized a while back. The truth is that I should have thanked the person for being honest with me.
While talking with someone I'd met since we moved, they shared their first impression of me.
This is someone who I shared with very quickly my testimony. It was appropriately timed so that they could adequately talk through life with me. This is a person I trust and respect.
This person shares with me that before they knew me very well, their impression of me was that I was full of myself. That's a direct quote. For the record, this person doesn't remember saying this.
I do. It crushed me.
After the conversation, I came home and had a full blown rant session with my husband. I was hurt and angry. How could someone have such a negative first impression of me?
I consider myself a kind, soft, tender hearted person. Why would anyone think I was full of myself?
I won't lie, I went through a short period of really not liking this person. It was short lived because I soon spent time searching my heart.
When someone says setting about me to me, I take that seriously. If they are willing to share how they saw me or felt about me, then I at least need to respect that. It's completely different from when you heard from a third party. That's just gossip and doesn't phase me.
I had to get real with myself. What had I done to give that impression? Had I potentially been that way with others? Do I need to apologize? What do I need to change so that others don't see me that way?
The hard truth was that I probably did come across that way. We came from a different area. I was a city girl who had fully embraced the suburbanite attitude. I can honestly say that I was never comfortable with that, but it was a method of survival. It was the only way to fit in.
When we got here, I was angry. Nothing was the same. All those luxuries at my immediate disposal were no more. No Target or Starbucks or Trader Joes or multiple grocery stores. I was a city girl in shock.
Even though the people were nice, so incredibly nice, my heart wasn't good toward them. Man, it sucks to admit that. These were country people and I didn't fit in. Furthermore, our plan was to only be here two years. So, I had no intentions of making friends. Just doing my time and running back to KC.
I've gotten used to driving for luxuries. Despite my plan, God did a work in my heart and I quickly fell in love with the area and people. I went from making an exit plan to begging my husband to stay beyond our two years.
Because of previous church hurt, I know that I walked into our church with a chip on my shoulder. I wasn't interested in being hurt and had a ton of walls protecting me.
But it took the Lord opening my eyes and changing my heart. He had to teach me that this church would be different. He had to heal the broken past experiences and I had to forgive.
Yea, it's highly probable that I came across full of myself.
That's what truly crushed me. That multiple people got a first impression of me that wasn't at all who I was. What they saw was the broken, hurting, angry me who was in full self protection mode.
I know there's more than one person and I'll have to apologize to each one of them as appropriate. I also have to have patience and grace while they learn who I really am.
There's a big piece of how to change that first impression. I have to allow them to see the real me. I have to accept that it may take some work on my part since I'm the one who gave a false first impression.
More than anything, I have to be cautious. I know my natural propensity is to be self protective. If I'm not willing to be vulnerable and show that softer side of myself, nobody will ever see it.
I've had to be proactive when meeting people. Smiling, listening instead of speaking and offering encouragement where I can. It's hard to stay self aware, but I've tried.
What was said did hurt, it stung. The person who said it followed the statement by saying that they had gotten to know me better, heard my story and didn't believe that's who I really was.
It's never easy to hear truth about yourself, especially when it's not favorable. However, when it comes from a trustworthy and respectable person, it needs to be heard.
It's hard to admit, but I'm glad that was shared with me. It led to a lot of prayer, self awareness and change in my life.
I jokingly said today that I'd forgiven this person. I had already apologized a while back. The truth is that I should have thanked the person for being honest with me.
Fasting
I have found that a lot of Christians are not comfortable with fasting.
It's definitely something people are uncomfortable discussing. We aren't supposed to be boastful about it. It's a personal thing, not something we do to check off the list.
What I've learned is that people are uncomfortable because they don't understand it. They get confused about what it's about.
The general thinking is that you give up food for a period of time. That scares some people.
Let me give you me 10 second explanation and how it was taught to me.
Fasting is giving up food or more importantly something that you are tied to. That could be a cup of coffee or electronics or an activity you enjoy. You give it up for an extended period of time. The purpose is to, instead of go for that thing, you go to the Lord in prayer. It also clears your mind of that thing and allows you to listen to the Lords leading.
Fasting is done for lots of reasons. Personally, I've done it when I've felt far away from the Lord. Probably the most common reason for me is when there's something in life that needs a lot of prayer or decision.
By giving up that thing I want, I purposefully spend time in prayer about whatever is going on. I've done it here with various church things. I've done it while making the final decision for school. I did it when I waited on my cancer test results and when I thought I was going to die this summer.
Probably the most powerful fasting I've ever done was over a year ago. When Kent interviewed with Honeywell, I fasted for several days. I gave up my iPad, Facebook, email, texting and ate just enough. During that time, I prayed for my husband. I never prayed for him to get the job. I prayed for God's will to be done and for Kent's job to change or become more tolerable.
I knew when he wasn't offered the job that it was firmly God's plan. I knew without a doubt.
Then a few months later, we found out his job was changing and we were moving. I never questioned that either. I knew without a doubt, God wanted us in Ohio.
If I'd never fasted, I'm not sure I'd have been so confident, so peaceful about the move.
If fasting isn't a part of your prayer life, I invite you to try it. Ask if you have questions. I promise, you won't regret it. You may find it is what's missing from your prayer life.
Side note: Oddly enough, this subject came up in Sunday School about a week after this was originally written. It reinforced that this subject is difficult for people to discuss.
Side note: Oddly enough, this subject came up in Sunday School about a week after this was originally written. It reinforced that this subject is difficult for people to discuss.
Monday, December 22, 2014
First Christmas
I know multiple posts in multiple days. There's a good explanation. This is my outlet. This is the only place that I can safely put into words what's in my heart.
It's taken me hours of laying here agonizing over why I'm so full of stuff.
I'm happy here. I'm healthier than I've ever been. I've never been so immersed in the Word and never so solid in my faith.
So why is my mood spiraling?
It's Christmas. It is my first Christmas in seven years to not have a full support system. By that, I don't have people to talk through the stuff with. I don't have people who have walked with me long enough to know that I will smile and look normal while I crumble inside. I don't have people who know how badly I need to feel loved or how much a hug means to me this time of year.
To be fair, there are a couple people who probably have a clue or are getting to know me well enough that they'll eventually learn these things. They are genuine, caring people who have and would listen to my hurting heart if I was honest with them. I trust them, but am still fearful of judgement.
So there it is...
The emotion that I've been so afraid would hit my husband has settled in for me.
I knew this holiday would be hard, but I didn't expect this. The normal struggle is compounded by our move and the difficulty of this year. The discouragement and amount of fighting with my husband isn't helping either.
Believe me, I don't want it. I don't want to be depressed with my brother coming.
I hate the word. My depression is always circumstantial. The past few years haven't been so bad. I've had all those things I listed above and I made it through little more than a couple days of high emotion.
I'm not even sure what to do.
When I got so sick this summer, I did much the same thing. I was full of fear and emotion. Nobody knew. When you lay around day after day feeling like you are going to die, because you really are dying...well I kept that all to myself. There wasn't anyone to talk to and if I had someone, I knew they'd think I was crazy.
Ok, so not the healthiest way to cope, but it's all I have right now.
Those relationships I had, the support system, I needed them every year but that need grew less and less each year. I didn't need them because I was being prideful and thought I could handle things alone. I didn't them as much because I was healthier.
This year has nearly broken me over and over, I need it this year.
I hope when next year rolls around, things will be easier.
For now and like the rest of the year, it's just hard.
It's taken me hours of laying here agonizing over why I'm so full of stuff.
I'm happy here. I'm healthier than I've ever been. I've never been so immersed in the Word and never so solid in my faith.
So why is my mood spiraling?
It's Christmas. It is my first Christmas in seven years to not have a full support system. By that, I don't have people to talk through the stuff with. I don't have people who have walked with me long enough to know that I will smile and look normal while I crumble inside. I don't have people who know how badly I need to feel loved or how much a hug means to me this time of year.
To be fair, there are a couple people who probably have a clue or are getting to know me well enough that they'll eventually learn these things. They are genuine, caring people who have and would listen to my hurting heart if I was honest with them. I trust them, but am still fearful of judgement.
So there it is...
The emotion that I've been so afraid would hit my husband has settled in for me.
I knew this holiday would be hard, but I didn't expect this. The normal struggle is compounded by our move and the difficulty of this year. The discouragement and amount of fighting with my husband isn't helping either.
Believe me, I don't want it. I don't want to be depressed with my brother coming.
I hate the word. My depression is always circumstantial. The past few years haven't been so bad. I've had all those things I listed above and I made it through little more than a couple days of high emotion.
I'm not even sure what to do.
When I got so sick this summer, I did much the same thing. I was full of fear and emotion. Nobody knew. When you lay around day after day feeling like you are going to die, because you really are dying...well I kept that all to myself. There wasn't anyone to talk to and if I had someone, I knew they'd think I was crazy.
Ok, so not the healthiest way to cope, but it's all I have right now.
Those relationships I had, the support system, I needed them every year but that need grew less and less each year. I didn't need them because I was being prideful and thought I could handle things alone. I didn't them as much because I was healthier.
This year has nearly broken me over and over, I need it this year.
I hope when next year rolls around, things will be easier.
For now and like the rest of the year, it's just hard.
As Far Away as the Stars
As we sat in the hot tub tonight, I counted the stars. We never saw stars in KC, it was too light.
While I counted, I remembered another time long ago.
I rarely acted out as a child. Rarely talked back. Never got defensive. I knew the penalties and it wasn't worth it. It didn't take much to set my dad off. There was often punishment without explanation and the punishment never fit the crime.
Christmas night of my 4th grade year, I remember asking if I could please have the orange from the stocking at my grandmas. I'd walked from home to each of my grandparents houses and wasn't allowed to eat much that day. I was hungry.
My dad lost it. After he beat me, he pushed me onto the front porch in my skimpy tshirt and locked the door. It was a mild winter night, thankfully.
He often locked me outside after beatings and sometimes without clothing. Winter, summer, didn't matter. It's why I don't have feeling in some of my toes.
I always his behind the holly bushes. They stuck me, but were the only thing tall enough to hide behind. I hid whether I was clothed or not. I was afraid of the dark and they gave me some sense of safety.
This particular night, I laid out on the sidewalk and looked at the stars. As I counted the stars, I remember thinking that if I died, I'd probably go as far away as those stars. That was absolutely what I wanted at the time.
At 9 years old, I wanted to die. I wanted to escape the hell I was living. If I were dead, nobody could hurt me again.
Until daylight, I laid there thinking of all the ways I could try to die.
When my brother let me in that morning, I went straight to the kitchen cabinet and took 6 Tylenol. I didn't say they were good plans, I was only 9.
As I was falling asleep, I didn't care that I thought I was dying. I was happy. Obviously, I woke up several hours later with an upset stomach.
That was the first of many suicide attempts as a child. I tried a lot of things. I always got sick or slept a long time, but obviously never died. I did have one time as a teen that a cousin did have to do CPR to get me to breathe again.
Thinking back on that time makes me so incredibly sad. It's sad that a child would be so hurt that they would try to commit suicide at 9 years old. Most kids haven't even dealt with the death of a relative at that age. It makes me sad that a 9 year old would want to escape life that badly. It's sad that a 9 year old didn't have love to hang onto.
I'm thankful now. In all those times, I never cared about the future. If I'd succeeded, I'd never seen the life I have now and experienced any healing. I'd never learned what true love was. I'd never have seen the glory of God.
I know all the things I did. There's no scientific reason why I survived every single time. The same is true for every time I was shot at or stabbed or tortured or hung or strangled. There's no earthly explanation for how I survived it all.
I've been told I survived because I was strong and resilient. I disagree. I survived because that wasn't the plan for my life. It wasn't God's plan for my life.
So tonight, as I thought through all of those times, I tearfully praised God for a plan that wasn't mine.
While I counted, I remembered another time long ago.
I rarely acted out as a child. Rarely talked back. Never got defensive. I knew the penalties and it wasn't worth it. It didn't take much to set my dad off. There was often punishment without explanation and the punishment never fit the crime.
Christmas night of my 4th grade year, I remember asking if I could please have the orange from the stocking at my grandmas. I'd walked from home to each of my grandparents houses and wasn't allowed to eat much that day. I was hungry.
My dad lost it. After he beat me, he pushed me onto the front porch in my skimpy tshirt and locked the door. It was a mild winter night, thankfully.
He often locked me outside after beatings and sometimes without clothing. Winter, summer, didn't matter. It's why I don't have feeling in some of my toes.
I always his behind the holly bushes. They stuck me, but were the only thing tall enough to hide behind. I hid whether I was clothed or not. I was afraid of the dark and they gave me some sense of safety.
This particular night, I laid out on the sidewalk and looked at the stars. As I counted the stars, I remember thinking that if I died, I'd probably go as far away as those stars. That was absolutely what I wanted at the time.
At 9 years old, I wanted to die. I wanted to escape the hell I was living. If I were dead, nobody could hurt me again.
Until daylight, I laid there thinking of all the ways I could try to die.
When my brother let me in that morning, I went straight to the kitchen cabinet and took 6 Tylenol. I didn't say they were good plans, I was only 9.
As I was falling asleep, I didn't care that I thought I was dying. I was happy. Obviously, I woke up several hours later with an upset stomach.
That was the first of many suicide attempts as a child. I tried a lot of things. I always got sick or slept a long time, but obviously never died. I did have one time as a teen that a cousin did have to do CPR to get me to breathe again.
Thinking back on that time makes me so incredibly sad. It's sad that a child would be so hurt that they would try to commit suicide at 9 years old. Most kids haven't even dealt with the death of a relative at that age. It makes me sad that a 9 year old would want to escape life that badly. It's sad that a 9 year old didn't have love to hang onto.
I'm thankful now. In all those times, I never cared about the future. If I'd succeeded, I'd never seen the life I have now and experienced any healing. I'd never learned what true love was. I'd never have seen the glory of God.
I know all the things I did. There's no scientific reason why I survived every single time. The same is true for every time I was shot at or stabbed or tortured or hung or strangled. There's no earthly explanation for how I survived it all.
I've been told I survived because I was strong and resilient. I disagree. I survived because that wasn't the plan for my life. It wasn't God's plan for my life.
So tonight, as I thought through all of those times, I tearfully praised God for a plan that wasn't mine.
My Baby Brother
He gets a little testy when I call him that, but he is my baby brother.
I'm so incredibly proud of my brother.
There was a time when I couldn't say that. Even though my mom protected him from a lot of abuse, he was still beaten in my dad's rages. He saw some abuse but not all of it. It's questionable whether he even knows about the sexual abuse.
He didn't walk away unscathed from our childhood.
When he was younger, he was a bad kid. Sweet as can be, but bad. He was sexually active very young and often with my other brother's girlfriends. At the time, he wasn't aggressive and didn't get angry. That in itself was amazing. He lived in our shadows. I excelled academically and my other brother was a standout in sports. My little brother was a product of the special education system and played golf. He was a little, scrawny guy. So he got teased a lot! But never any anger.
Like I said, he was sweet. He had the heart of a saint, but the hands of a klepto. He was a bit of a Robinhood. He'd steal and give everything away. When I was struggling, he stole money from my parents and gave it to me. I didn't know at the time what he'd done. Thankfully, he grew out of that in adulthood.
Back to the sex thing. In 1997, he got his then girlfriend pregnant. She was underage. We were asked if wanted to adopt the child. We weren't married yet and regretfully declined. A few years later, he got his then 15 year old girlfriend pregnant. She had my nephew at 16 and my niece 10 months and 1 day later. In between children, he married her.
I know they had a rough marriage for a while. They were kids with kids. My brother had a huge problem with writing bad checks and couldn't tell the truth. Somewhere through there, he developed an anger problem. One that led to him hitting his kids.
Behavior makes sense when you understand where it came from.
Now, let me get to the gushing, proud sister moments.
That's not who my brother is any more. He has changed and without professional help. He's no longer angry. He doesn't beat his kids. He doesn't lie or steal.
He's a good, family guy with a stable work history. He doesn't drink, smoke or do drugs. He loves his wife and has made a good life for them.
It's buried, but he's still got a huge heart.
He is a volunteer fireman and is very passionate. The small town we are from has lost a lot of children in house fires, including a kid we grew up with and his family. I know my brother was passionate about saving people. His time on the unit has been hard. I believe he's faced a lot and it has matured him. A few years ago, he responded to an overturned truck in a creek. My brother went in for the recovery not knowing he was about to pull out his deceased brother in law. I know it changed him, softened him and he's been different since.
When I severed ties with my family, my brother and his family were the hardest loss for me. It was so painful, that many times I nearly gave up Jesus to go back. It was a causality that was just too much for me.
My niece and nephew didn't understand and thanks to my sister in law, we had maintained a semblance of a relationship for a few years. That led to us spending more and more time with the kids over the past three years. We've gotten them at holidays or spring break or in the summer.
It was last year that I saw my brother for the first time in 6 years. As much as I wanted to grab hold and not let go, I knew we weren't there.
He didn't understand why I left the family and was tainted by what my parents had said.
So the past 18 months, I have stayed consistent with him and have shown him as much love as I could from a distance.
Now, him and the family are coming for 8 days. Oh my goodness how things have changed. When we were back in September and November, we spent several meals with them. We had lots of laughs and had a good time.
Again, I wanted nothing more than hug him tight for hours on end.
I'm nervous about this visit. Excited, but nervous. I love them all. So much that I want things to be perfect. However, I'm anxious about possible conversations. I want to show him the love of Christ and I'm terrified I will fail. I want it to be fun, but know we are in the middle of nowhere.
My brother is a fixer and I know wants to put the family back together. That can't happen and I'm fearful of the conversation. My minister said something so profound to me. I know I won't do it justice. He said that we've already lost so much, it would be terrible to let the past take any more from us. That's so so so true. I must keep reminding myself of that. I don't want to waste a second on what we can't change or anxiety.
Only a few more days and they will be here. I can't wait. In a season that's so hard, their visit is my gift. I can't believe I get 8 days to love on them!
I'm so incredibly proud of my brother.
There was a time when I couldn't say that. Even though my mom protected him from a lot of abuse, he was still beaten in my dad's rages. He saw some abuse but not all of it. It's questionable whether he even knows about the sexual abuse.
He didn't walk away unscathed from our childhood.
When he was younger, he was a bad kid. Sweet as can be, but bad. He was sexually active very young and often with my other brother's girlfriends. At the time, he wasn't aggressive and didn't get angry. That in itself was amazing. He lived in our shadows. I excelled academically and my other brother was a standout in sports. My little brother was a product of the special education system and played golf. He was a little, scrawny guy. So he got teased a lot! But never any anger.
Like I said, he was sweet. He had the heart of a saint, but the hands of a klepto. He was a bit of a Robinhood. He'd steal and give everything away. When I was struggling, he stole money from my parents and gave it to me. I didn't know at the time what he'd done. Thankfully, he grew out of that in adulthood.
Back to the sex thing. In 1997, he got his then girlfriend pregnant. She was underage. We were asked if wanted to adopt the child. We weren't married yet and regretfully declined. A few years later, he got his then 15 year old girlfriend pregnant. She had my nephew at 16 and my niece 10 months and 1 day later. In between children, he married her.
I know they had a rough marriage for a while. They were kids with kids. My brother had a huge problem with writing bad checks and couldn't tell the truth. Somewhere through there, he developed an anger problem. One that led to him hitting his kids.
Behavior makes sense when you understand where it came from.
Now, let me get to the gushing, proud sister moments.
That's not who my brother is any more. He has changed and without professional help. He's no longer angry. He doesn't beat his kids. He doesn't lie or steal.
He's a good, family guy with a stable work history. He doesn't drink, smoke or do drugs. He loves his wife and has made a good life for them.
It's buried, but he's still got a huge heart.
He is a volunteer fireman and is very passionate. The small town we are from has lost a lot of children in house fires, including a kid we grew up with and his family. I know my brother was passionate about saving people. His time on the unit has been hard. I believe he's faced a lot and it has matured him. A few years ago, he responded to an overturned truck in a creek. My brother went in for the recovery not knowing he was about to pull out his deceased brother in law. I know it changed him, softened him and he's been different since.
When I severed ties with my family, my brother and his family were the hardest loss for me. It was so painful, that many times I nearly gave up Jesus to go back. It was a causality that was just too much for me.
My niece and nephew didn't understand and thanks to my sister in law, we had maintained a semblance of a relationship for a few years. That led to us spending more and more time with the kids over the past three years. We've gotten them at holidays or spring break or in the summer.
It was last year that I saw my brother for the first time in 6 years. As much as I wanted to grab hold and not let go, I knew we weren't there.
He didn't understand why I left the family and was tainted by what my parents had said.
So the past 18 months, I have stayed consistent with him and have shown him as much love as I could from a distance.
Now, him and the family are coming for 8 days. Oh my goodness how things have changed. When we were back in September and November, we spent several meals with them. We had lots of laughs and had a good time.
Again, I wanted nothing more than hug him tight for hours on end.
I'm nervous about this visit. Excited, but nervous. I love them all. So much that I want things to be perfect. However, I'm anxious about possible conversations. I want to show him the love of Christ and I'm terrified I will fail. I want it to be fun, but know we are in the middle of nowhere.
My brother is a fixer and I know wants to put the family back together. That can't happen and I'm fearful of the conversation. My minister said something so profound to me. I know I won't do it justice. He said that we've already lost so much, it would be terrible to let the past take any more from us. That's so so so true. I must keep reminding myself of that. I don't want to waste a second on what we can't change or anxiety.
Only a few more days and they will be here. I can't wait. In a season that's so hard, their visit is my gift. I can't believe I get 8 days to love on them!
Sunday, December 21, 2014
I was THAT kid
A few weeks ago, we had the opportunity to purchase Christmas gifts for a little boy in our community. This is something we've done for the past 10 years or more. We usually adopt a little girl and boy.
Given how I grew up, you can probably guess how I feel about providing for children. That's the reason we happily buy Christmas gifts or pay for kids to go to church camp. It's a joyful sacrifice.
The truth is that I was one of those kids.
We had nothing. When I say we, I mean us kids. We didn't have clothes without holes or stains. We didn't have shoes that fit. There were years when I had no underwear or socks. We didn't have treats cause we barely had edible food. We sometimes ate rotten food because that's all we were allowed. We had nothing.
My parents income qualified us for food stamps and government foods like rice, cheese and peanut butter. So, I know that we were poor.
I say that with a caveat. My parents had everything they wanted. They had food, clothes and lots of luxuries. My dad made a lot of money on the side. My dad didn't do drugs, but he sold them. With that and the cash from prostitution, him and my mom didn't want for anything.
We ended up on the angel tree at the bank for multiple years. I remember getting excited when Santa brought lots of gifts and candy for us. The excitement was short lived. Every gift was taken by my parents. What they didn't keep, they sold or used as gifts for other people. Not in any of the years did we ever get anything.
I know every time we've bought gifts for these kids, I have wondered and hoped that they had better parents than me.
As a Christian, I've often had the chance to be reminded of how God has changed my life, even before I knew Him. I could have, should have, would have continued to live in poverty and need if God hadn't led me to my husband and waited patiently for me to turn to Him.
It's humbling to think through that. Think about these needy families and to know I was one of them. I look around my house and my life and know that I went from having nothing to having an abundance.
When we shop for these kids, we buy things they want like Legos and things they need like clothes. We always add blankets, hats, gloves, puzzles, books and candy. We pray over all of it. We thank God for the chance to give and be the hands and feet. We pray for the family, that they would get to a more stable financial position. We pray for the family and child, that they know these gifts are ultimately from God. We pray for the child, that they would know how much they are loved and that someday they know the joy of giving back.
Don't get me wrong, what my parents did is wrong. They screwed us up for years to come. They stole a lot of joy from is that can never be given back. However, without my experience, the joy might not be felt as deeply and what God's done in my life may not seem quite a big.
Given how I grew up, you can probably guess how I feel about providing for children. That's the reason we happily buy Christmas gifts or pay for kids to go to church camp. It's a joyful sacrifice.
The truth is that I was one of those kids.
We had nothing. When I say we, I mean us kids. We didn't have clothes without holes or stains. We didn't have shoes that fit. There were years when I had no underwear or socks. We didn't have treats cause we barely had edible food. We sometimes ate rotten food because that's all we were allowed. We had nothing.
My parents income qualified us for food stamps and government foods like rice, cheese and peanut butter. So, I know that we were poor.
I say that with a caveat. My parents had everything they wanted. They had food, clothes and lots of luxuries. My dad made a lot of money on the side. My dad didn't do drugs, but he sold them. With that and the cash from prostitution, him and my mom didn't want for anything.
We ended up on the angel tree at the bank for multiple years. I remember getting excited when Santa brought lots of gifts and candy for us. The excitement was short lived. Every gift was taken by my parents. What they didn't keep, they sold or used as gifts for other people. Not in any of the years did we ever get anything.
I know every time we've bought gifts for these kids, I have wondered and hoped that they had better parents than me.
As a Christian, I've often had the chance to be reminded of how God has changed my life, even before I knew Him. I could have, should have, would have continued to live in poverty and need if God hadn't led me to my husband and waited patiently for me to turn to Him.
It's humbling to think through that. Think about these needy families and to know I was one of them. I look around my house and my life and know that I went from having nothing to having an abundance.
When we shop for these kids, we buy things they want like Legos and things they need like clothes. We always add blankets, hats, gloves, puzzles, books and candy. We pray over all of it. We thank God for the chance to give and be the hands and feet. We pray for the family, that they would get to a more stable financial position. We pray for the family and child, that they know these gifts are ultimately from God. We pray for the child, that they would know how much they are loved and that someday they know the joy of giving back.
Don't get me wrong, what my parents did is wrong. They screwed us up for years to come. They stole a lot of joy from is that can never be given back. However, without my experience, the joy might not be felt as deeply and what God's done in my life may not seem quite a big.
So many babies 2
Some of my posts are written days in advance. Not all, but some and that's why there's occassionally two a day.
Since I wrote the previous post, I haven't slept.
I spent a good 5 1/2 years processing memories from the past. Lots of counseling. Lots of therapy. It was hard. It took a variety of methods. But, most all of the past had been drug from the jumbled files of my brain and talked through.
That was followed by a year of learning how to manage everyday life with PTSD. Even though you process your stuff, doesn't mean the trauma, the residual side effects go away. My trauma was so vast that I it is unlikely that I will ever not deal with PTSD on some level.
But that year, I spent a lot of time learning to live with it. There's several things I've had to learn. One is how to talk truth to myself when things trigger me. That's not easy. I've had this discussion recently. Someone asked me if men touching me, hugging me, or walking behind me was a trigger. No. Not at all. It used to, but it's huge growth for me that none of it bothers me now. Things that trigger me are obscure. The smell of black licorice or sawdust, basements, seeing belts or extension cords and box fans to name a few. They are way obscure.
I've had to learn to manage anxiety. That's been the hardest, partially because it requires asking for help. I know when my anxiety is growing. If I don't ask for help soon enough, I end up in a full blown attack and meltdown. I hate asking for help though. To be fair, my anxiety has greatly improved. It's only once in a while it gets out of control. I'm also getting better at asking for help, but still hate it.
All that to say, I was in about the best place I could have been when we moved. I knew I would need to establish something with a counselor here just to manage the once every 3-6 weeks when I needed to talk through stuff.
There was no counseling available here who were christian and on our insurance. So, I got on a wait list for a secular office. That scares me. I've had other counselors suggest divorce and I don't want that. Their views aren't necessarily mine. I got off the wait list early and was offered an appointment. It was while we were out of town. I had to decline and restart my wait. I'm now wait listed again until at least June.
Thankfully, my minister has helped me through tough times and managing some anxiety.
Here I am now. When I left KC, I knew I only had two things left completely unprocessed. Very hard. Very dark. Very hidden things. Two things that had never in any form been fully processed in counseling. They weren't anything that had surfaced, they were buried. Maybe to never come out. So I thought.
This baby thing has obviously surfaced. Like with stuff in the past, when it surfaces I have little ability to put it away.
The problem is that I don't have anyone to talk with about it. I don't have anyone to listen to the story, tell me exactly why it was wrong and evil, then remind me it's completely over and I'm ok. I don't have that now. This is the first time in over 7 years that I don't have someone to sit down and work through this kind of thing.
That's left me to try to do it myself. I am failing. I can't sleep. Don't have an appetite. Can't get some of the graphic images out of my head. I am miserable. You'd never know, because I'm a master at hiding how I really feel. For the most part, I can put a mask over even the deepest pain. It's a gift and a curse.
The insomnia and nightmares are the worst. The insomnia will effect me in big ways if it doesn't stop.
In a way, I'm glad that one of the two issues has surfaced. I want complete healing for myself. The only way to get that is to fully process even the deepest and darkest memories. That I only have two of those left is awesome. The other thing that's awesome is that once I've talked through it, it's done. So I have to be excited that even as painful as this is, I'm almost done.
I'd like to add that this is another reason I feel called to become a counselor. There's not enough availability here. I've called and talked and begged. There was absolutely no availability for christian counseling. It was only after a member of our church suggested it that I met with our minister. I'm not minimizing what he has done. He has been amazing through my grief and adapting and anxiety. He's been easy to talk with, be honest with and I trust him.
This sucks, but I'm almost done. The other thing may never, ever surface. But for now, I deal with this.
My prayer, Lord please open a door to allow me to process this. You know. You know how desperately I don't want to lose one more day to the evil of the past. You know I want to be functional. You know this insomnia has potential to unravel me. You know I want to start this journey in school with a clear head.
Since I wrote the previous post, I haven't slept.
I spent a good 5 1/2 years processing memories from the past. Lots of counseling. Lots of therapy. It was hard. It took a variety of methods. But, most all of the past had been drug from the jumbled files of my brain and talked through.
That was followed by a year of learning how to manage everyday life with PTSD. Even though you process your stuff, doesn't mean the trauma, the residual side effects go away. My trauma was so vast that I it is unlikely that I will ever not deal with PTSD on some level.
But that year, I spent a lot of time learning to live with it. There's several things I've had to learn. One is how to talk truth to myself when things trigger me. That's not easy. I've had this discussion recently. Someone asked me if men touching me, hugging me, or walking behind me was a trigger. No. Not at all. It used to, but it's huge growth for me that none of it bothers me now. Things that trigger me are obscure. The smell of black licorice or sawdust, basements, seeing belts or extension cords and box fans to name a few. They are way obscure.
I've had to learn to manage anxiety. That's been the hardest, partially because it requires asking for help. I know when my anxiety is growing. If I don't ask for help soon enough, I end up in a full blown attack and meltdown. I hate asking for help though. To be fair, my anxiety has greatly improved. It's only once in a while it gets out of control. I'm also getting better at asking for help, but still hate it.
All that to say, I was in about the best place I could have been when we moved. I knew I would need to establish something with a counselor here just to manage the once every 3-6 weeks when I needed to talk through stuff.
There was no counseling available here who were christian and on our insurance. So, I got on a wait list for a secular office. That scares me. I've had other counselors suggest divorce and I don't want that. Their views aren't necessarily mine. I got off the wait list early and was offered an appointment. It was while we were out of town. I had to decline and restart my wait. I'm now wait listed again until at least June.
Thankfully, my minister has helped me through tough times and managing some anxiety.
Here I am now. When I left KC, I knew I only had two things left completely unprocessed. Very hard. Very dark. Very hidden things. Two things that had never in any form been fully processed in counseling. They weren't anything that had surfaced, they were buried. Maybe to never come out. So I thought.
This baby thing has obviously surfaced. Like with stuff in the past, when it surfaces I have little ability to put it away.
The problem is that I don't have anyone to talk with about it. I don't have anyone to listen to the story, tell me exactly why it was wrong and evil, then remind me it's completely over and I'm ok. I don't have that now. This is the first time in over 7 years that I don't have someone to sit down and work through this kind of thing.
That's left me to try to do it myself. I am failing. I can't sleep. Don't have an appetite. Can't get some of the graphic images out of my head. I am miserable. You'd never know, because I'm a master at hiding how I really feel. For the most part, I can put a mask over even the deepest pain. It's a gift and a curse.
The insomnia and nightmares are the worst. The insomnia will effect me in big ways if it doesn't stop.
In a way, I'm glad that one of the two issues has surfaced. I want complete healing for myself. The only way to get that is to fully process even the deepest and darkest memories. That I only have two of those left is awesome. The other thing that's awesome is that once I've talked through it, it's done. So I have to be excited that even as painful as this is, I'm almost done.
I'd like to add that this is another reason I feel called to become a counselor. There's not enough availability here. I've called and talked and begged. There was absolutely no availability for christian counseling. It was only after a member of our church suggested it that I met with our minister. I'm not minimizing what he has done. He has been amazing through my grief and adapting and anxiety. He's been easy to talk with, be honest with and I trust him.
This sucks, but I'm almost done. The other thing may never, ever surface. But for now, I deal with this.
My prayer, Lord please open a door to allow me to process this. You know. You know how desperately I don't want to lose one more day to the evil of the past. You know I want to be functional. You know this insomnia has potential to unravel me. You know I want to start this journey in school with a clear head.
So many babies
There's still no doubt that giving up on fertility treatments is right for us. We've talked a few times and we are both far more relaxed and overall ok with this.
But I've had a lot of the emotional stuff hitting me.
It's absolutely nothing I'll understand this side of heaven.
We've had a total of 10 miscarriages during our marriage. That's not the whole story. That's the story of the past 16 years. That's hard enough to say. But the whole story is a lot more difficult to admit.
A few months before I started dating my husband, I dated an older, engaged man. So if I'm being brutally honest, it wasn't dating so much as just sex. Because of my abuse, sex didn't mean anything to me. My virginity was long gone and my moral compass was non existent. I also was naive enough that I believed the lies about leaving his fiancé.
Long story short, despite my best efforts to prevent it, I got pregnant. I was probably no more than 12 weeks when I had a miscarriage.
Sadly, that's still not as far back as the story goes.
What I'm about to share is incredibly hard. I hold so much shame over this, shame over my niavity and fear I'll be seen as the whore my dad claimed I was. I've never shared this with anyone besides a counselor and my husband.
From the time I was 8 and up, my dad sold us into prostitution. My earliest memory of being raped at home was first grade. My body never had a chance to be normal. Physically, I matured far faster than everyone else. I was literally a rag doll with no control or understanding of what was happening.
There were things that happened to my body that I didn't understand. Had I been allowed in the sex ed classes at school, I might have understood. It sounds funny, but it's true, I was 18 before I knew how babies were made. I'll spare you the details, but my more mature, adult mind now understands that I had many pregnancies as a child.
The sad reality is that they could have been from my dad, the banker, the neighbor, a teacher, the mailman, my brother, a cop, or who knows. (I'd like to add that I'm incredibly thankful that a wise person pushed me to be checked and cleared of all STDs a few years ago.)
I don't think I ever realized what was happening. My dad knew. Again, I'll spare you the details but I believe my dad knew exactly what kind of torture it took to cause a miscarriage.
It took a lot of counseling for me to reconcile my feelings about this. To want a child as an adult and try to understand loss from so long ago, it's not an easy combo. Don't get me wrong, the shame is still there. I don't feel released from that yet. I do fear those who read this and know me personally will think differently of me.
I think the shame comes mostly through my relief. I'm relieved I didn't have a child at 10. I'm glad a child was never born from a rape by a family member.
There's more to the story still, more that's just too graphic and too hard to share. It also keeps me bound by shame. This has been hard and scary enough to share. I will say that there is guilt over what's still hidden.
Making a decision to give up on having a child has made me question this part of the past.
I don't get it. I can't find a way, 20-30 years later, to glorify God. I can't see how God has used this in my life. I can't see how God has redeemed and restored this. I think I'm probably more confused. I can't see the lesson or where God was.
What was done to me, completely outside of my control, is exactly why I'm prone to miscarriage. Those things that happened is why our dreams have to be abandoned. I don't get it. I don't get why so much was stolen from me.
I hope once I get to heaven, I no longer need an explanation. I hope heaven is so overwhelmingly wonderful that I forget the past. I hope that we are truly made clean and the pain of the past stays firmly in this broken world once we enter into our eternal life.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Blessed. Blessing. Blesses.
Earlier this year, I read an article about how Christians over use the word blessed. I know at the time, some of my friends were taken back by what it said.
The point was that when we refer to something like a new car or birthday party or a good day as a blessing, then we are underminding what are true blessings. As Christians we are blessed with eternal life, a relationship with Jesus, the promises of the Word.
Those are true blessings. Those are gifts of grace and mercy.
I've been very careful to keep that perspective. I don't ever want to put my salvation and a material object on an equal plane.
As the year comes to an end, I'm becoming reflective. This year has been more active than any other in our marriage. It's worthy of a year in review so that I can remind myself someday what we survived.
I can't help but juggle that word around when I look at the past year.
We've been blessed. Blessed by the Lord. He has come near to us when we needed and when we thought we didn't need anyone. We have been reminded over and over that our salvation is secure and our only security is in Him.
But there's so much we've been given. So many ways we must give all the glory to God. He has been good to us. Even in the most difficult times, He is still worthy to be praised.
I prayed over a year ago for a change in Kent's job. That prayer was answered.
We left an awesome church and almost immediately found an even more amazing church here.
A doctor got aggressive with my care and saved my life.
When we were days from foreclosing on our KC home and filing bankruptcy, our house sold.
We had some key people here care for us and love us and walk through difficult times with us.
When we needed help, people showed up.
There were gift cards or bonuses that showed up when the bills were far higher than the income.
Yes, we've received so many gifts this year. I want to say we were blessed by them. The truth is that we've been blessed by the Lord and He has allowed us to see his goodness in life. His love through others. His provision through circumstance.
We know this year has left little energy or time to focus on anything beyond ourselves. I think we would both say we've failed to give back this year. We've not actively pursued ways to be the hands and feet of Christ. We haven't served the body or the community as much as we have felt led. Neither of us believe we've given enough of ourselves to anything besides us.
I hope we can change that in the next year. I know we both want to spend less time inwardly focused and more time serving. We want to share the blessing and goodness that can only be found in Christ to those who need it most. We want to love and support those around us.
The point was that when we refer to something like a new car or birthday party or a good day as a blessing, then we are underminding what are true blessings. As Christians we are blessed with eternal life, a relationship with Jesus, the promises of the Word.
Those are true blessings. Those are gifts of grace and mercy.
I've been very careful to keep that perspective. I don't ever want to put my salvation and a material object on an equal plane.
As the year comes to an end, I'm becoming reflective. This year has been more active than any other in our marriage. It's worthy of a year in review so that I can remind myself someday what we survived.
I can't help but juggle that word around when I look at the past year.
We've been blessed. Blessed by the Lord. He has come near to us when we needed and when we thought we didn't need anyone. We have been reminded over and over that our salvation is secure and our only security is in Him.
But there's so much we've been given. So many ways we must give all the glory to God. He has been good to us. Even in the most difficult times, He is still worthy to be praised.
I prayed over a year ago for a change in Kent's job. That prayer was answered.
We left an awesome church and almost immediately found an even more amazing church here.
A doctor got aggressive with my care and saved my life.
When we were days from foreclosing on our KC home and filing bankruptcy, our house sold.
We had some key people here care for us and love us and walk through difficult times with us.
When we needed help, people showed up.
There were gift cards or bonuses that showed up when the bills were far higher than the income.
Yes, we've received so many gifts this year. I want to say we were blessed by them. The truth is that we've been blessed by the Lord and He has allowed us to see his goodness in life. His love through others. His provision through circumstance.
We know this year has left little energy or time to focus on anything beyond ourselves. I think we would both say we've failed to give back this year. We've not actively pursued ways to be the hands and feet of Christ. We haven't served the body or the community as much as we have felt led. Neither of us believe we've given enough of ourselves to anything besides us.
I hope we can change that in the next year. I know we both want to spend less time inwardly focused and more time serving. We want to share the blessing and goodness that can only be found in Christ to those who need it most. We want to love and support those around us.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Marsha, Marsha, Marsha
That's what I think about in those times when I've been dwelling on this baby stuff. Mine sounds more like a whiny woman saying Baby, Baby, Baby.
In all seriousness, this baby stuff has weighed heavy on me since September. There's not a day that's passed without thinking about it.
A child. That's a life altering thing that deserves every bit of thinking and prayer that I can possibly muster.
With the new year approaching, I have known that a decision needed to be made quickly. I've struggled with it. I have written previously about how I could not make a decision.
Choosing fertility treatments comes with a lot of sacrifice, which doesn't scare me. What does scare me is the unknown. There's no guarantee. We would be able to go through 1-2 rounds of IVF. It would break us, but it would be worth it...if it were successful. But we don't know. I am not overstating this, another loss or walking away empty handed might break me. I don't think I could emotionally recover from that. I've barely recovered physically and am still recovering emotionally from two miscarriages this summer.
Choosing adoption comes with lots of risk. I won't deny that. It would take a lot of our savings. It would be worth it.
We could choose nothing. That's not where either of us lean. We have love and a home and a life we want to share.
Have you ever tried to figure out God's will for your life? Not always an easy thing to do. I've prayed for a clear direction. My husband said since it was my body, he'd support whatever I chose. I've prayed and begged for him...for anyone...to make the decision for me.
I've felt and been told by friends that this was an opportunity to have a child, a second chance, that I shouldn't pass up. I've felt obligated to take the leap and put my heart on the line. I've pushed mysef to believe I'd be ok no matter the outcome. I've falsely convinced myself that I would be judged if I didn't take this opportunity.
Since my doctor is expecting a decision from me within a month, I did what any half-crazed middle aged woman would do. I went to my minister for godly counsel on knowing God's will in this.
Let me say this....
My minister is a young guy. Helping at the church allows me to have light hearted, fun conversation. I (sorta, kind of, most definitely) misjudged him. He graciously met with me after my meltdown in September. Even then, I fully expected him to throw some scripture at me and send me on my way. Each time I've met with him, he's kicked my butt with biblical truth, wisdom, humility and genuine compassion.
Talking through this baby stuff with him was no different.
He'd said before that there was no wrong decision here. I know I dismissed it. Surely I could make the wrong decision.
So I laid it all out for him. Through the past few months, each person I've talked with has spoke directly to my heart and my longing to have a child. They've encouraged me to follow through with fertility treatments. I don't fault them. But, I've either not shared my fear or they've not heard my heart on what more loss would do to me.
My minister, he's seen the tears from my broken heart. He's seen firsthand how deeply the loss of a baby crushes me. He's witnessed the crazy. It was not pretty.
Today, he told me exactly what he would do if it were his decision. Adopt!
Through our conversation, I felt as though the weight was being lifted. There really was no wrong decision. That it was ok to not risk it all. That I had permission to not push mysef into a decision that has no promise. Do you get the gravity of this? I needed to hear it was ok for me to let go of this. I needed permission to say no and return to the original plan.
It doesn't come without emotion. I'm giving up all hope of a biological child. I don't take that lightly. However, that was my reality before September. There will be some grieving, but it won't be spirit crushing.
We talked about adoption, a lot. Adoption was the direction Kent and I planned to eventually go prior to September. My minister reminded me of so many examples of how adoption works and works well.
The oldest of my brothers married a woman who was pregnant with another mans baby. That little girl is his daughter, my niece and always will be.
After an intense, emotional conversation with my husband, we've decided to return to our original plan. Adoption.
We will continue to pray, prepare and pray some more. We have an idea of when we'd like to begin the process, but will pray and know that God's plan may look different than ours.
In the meantime, I praise God for those willing to speak to me with wisdom. I praise Him for growing me through this tough times. I praise Him for the promise of eternal life with a loving Father, childless or not.
In all seriousness, this baby stuff has weighed heavy on me since September. There's not a day that's passed without thinking about it.
A child. That's a life altering thing that deserves every bit of thinking and prayer that I can possibly muster.
With the new year approaching, I have known that a decision needed to be made quickly. I've struggled with it. I have written previously about how I could not make a decision.
Choosing fertility treatments comes with a lot of sacrifice, which doesn't scare me. What does scare me is the unknown. There's no guarantee. We would be able to go through 1-2 rounds of IVF. It would break us, but it would be worth it...if it were successful. But we don't know. I am not overstating this, another loss or walking away empty handed might break me. I don't think I could emotionally recover from that. I've barely recovered physically and am still recovering emotionally from two miscarriages this summer.
Choosing adoption comes with lots of risk. I won't deny that. It would take a lot of our savings. It would be worth it.
We could choose nothing. That's not where either of us lean. We have love and a home and a life we want to share.
Have you ever tried to figure out God's will for your life? Not always an easy thing to do. I've prayed for a clear direction. My husband said since it was my body, he'd support whatever I chose. I've prayed and begged for him...for anyone...to make the decision for me.
I've felt and been told by friends that this was an opportunity to have a child, a second chance, that I shouldn't pass up. I've felt obligated to take the leap and put my heart on the line. I've pushed mysef to believe I'd be ok no matter the outcome. I've falsely convinced myself that I would be judged if I didn't take this opportunity.
Since my doctor is expecting a decision from me within a month, I did what any half-crazed middle aged woman would do. I went to my minister for godly counsel on knowing God's will in this.
Let me say this....
My minister is a young guy. Helping at the church allows me to have light hearted, fun conversation. I (sorta, kind of, most definitely) misjudged him. He graciously met with me after my meltdown in September. Even then, I fully expected him to throw some scripture at me and send me on my way. Each time I've met with him, he's kicked my butt with biblical truth, wisdom, humility and genuine compassion.
Talking through this baby stuff with him was no different.
He'd said before that there was no wrong decision here. I know I dismissed it. Surely I could make the wrong decision.
So I laid it all out for him. Through the past few months, each person I've talked with has spoke directly to my heart and my longing to have a child. They've encouraged me to follow through with fertility treatments. I don't fault them. But, I've either not shared my fear or they've not heard my heart on what more loss would do to me.
My minister, he's seen the tears from my broken heart. He's seen firsthand how deeply the loss of a baby crushes me. He's witnessed the crazy. It was not pretty.
Today, he told me exactly what he would do if it were his decision. Adopt!
Through our conversation, I felt as though the weight was being lifted. There really was no wrong decision. That it was ok to not risk it all. That I had permission to not push mysef into a decision that has no promise. Do you get the gravity of this? I needed to hear it was ok for me to let go of this. I needed permission to say no and return to the original plan.
It doesn't come without emotion. I'm giving up all hope of a biological child. I don't take that lightly. However, that was my reality before September. There will be some grieving, but it won't be spirit crushing.
We talked about adoption, a lot. Adoption was the direction Kent and I planned to eventually go prior to September. My minister reminded me of so many examples of how adoption works and works well.
The oldest of my brothers married a woman who was pregnant with another mans baby. That little girl is his daughter, my niece and always will be.
After an intense, emotional conversation with my husband, we've decided to return to our original plan. Adoption.
We will continue to pray, prepare and pray some more. We have an idea of when we'd like to begin the process, but will pray and know that God's plan may look different than ours.
In the meantime, I praise God for those willing to speak to me with wisdom. I praise Him for growing me through this tough times. I praise Him for the promise of eternal life with a loving Father, childless or not.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Tattoo Freak
I saw something last weekend that still has me scratching my head. It was a young man with "FREAK" tattooed on his forehead.
Now, I'm not one of those people who judge other people with tattoos. I don't really care what people do to their bodies. This one puzzled me.
Even though I have one, I don't have an infinite love for them. I have one. It was very well thought out. It's very detail and very big. You also wouldn't know it unless I told you because it's in a very discreet place.
When I got it, I knew what I wanted. That's what I got. It was something that caused a huge fight between my husband and I. He was against and still hates it. The timing was a little bit or maybe a lot a statement of independence. I wasn't going to let him stop me.
You can read my original post about it Here.
So I know that even the people who have the most influence over you can't stop you when you want something.
I can't hardly wrap my head around this. It's not the first one I've seen.
You have freak on your forehead. That's going to make for interesting wedding photos or prentice teacher conferences. How do you disciple your kid or discourage them from tattooing their bodies with a forhead tattoo?
Even if you tried to remove it, there would still be an outline scar.
Even though I've been scratching my head over this, it has reminded me of something incredibly valuable.
Each one of us someone's son or daughter; brother or sister; aunt or uncle; mother or father. We each are intricately woven together in unique ways. All of us have our own unique experiences that alter how we act and react.
A mark on our skin, it changes none of those things.
Our natural human instinct maybe to judge that person or any person with a tattoo. We maybe inclined to think they are stupid or project on them the many regrets they must be facing someday.
The reminder in this for me is that I must embrace the uniqueness of each person. Despite what I may think, each person is worthy of love and I must respect what has made them who they are.
It sounds easy to do. Most people can offer general decency to others. It's not so easy when you've already developed an opinion or judgment of others or a type of person.
I have to continue to pray that the Lord would soften my heart and give me the eyes to see people as He sees them. A heart to love them. A motivation to show that love. Even to a freak.
Now, I'm not one of those people who judge other people with tattoos. I don't really care what people do to their bodies. This one puzzled me.
Even though I have one, I don't have an infinite love for them. I have one. It was very well thought out. It's very detail and very big. You also wouldn't know it unless I told you because it's in a very discreet place.
When I got it, I knew what I wanted. That's what I got. It was something that caused a huge fight between my husband and I. He was against and still hates it. The timing was a little bit or maybe a lot a statement of independence. I wasn't going to let him stop me.
You can read my original post about it Here.
So I know that even the people who have the most influence over you can't stop you when you want something.
I can't hardly wrap my head around this. It's not the first one I've seen.
You have freak on your forehead. That's going to make for interesting wedding photos or prentice teacher conferences. How do you disciple your kid or discourage them from tattooing their bodies with a forhead tattoo?
Even if you tried to remove it, there would still be an outline scar.
Even though I've been scratching my head over this, it has reminded me of something incredibly valuable.
Each one of us someone's son or daughter; brother or sister; aunt or uncle; mother or father. We each are intricately woven together in unique ways. All of us have our own unique experiences that alter how we act and react.
A mark on our skin, it changes none of those things.
Our natural human instinct maybe to judge that person or any person with a tattoo. We maybe inclined to think they are stupid or project on them the many regrets they must be facing someday.
The reminder in this for me is that I must embrace the uniqueness of each person. Despite what I may think, each person is worthy of love and I must respect what has made them who they are.
It sounds easy to do. Most people can offer general decency to others. It's not so easy when you've already developed an opinion or judgment of others or a type of person.
I have to continue to pray that the Lord would soften my heart and give me the eyes to see people as He sees them. A heart to love them. A motivation to show that love. Even to a freak.
Monday, December 15, 2014
16 Years and...
He still pisses me off.
I love my husband. My husband loves me. So why do we make marriage so hard?
I know we do it. I irritate him. He irritates me. We fight. We half-heartedly make up. We go on until the next blow up.
We love each other, so why do we treat each other so horribly? And, I know we aren't alone. Your spouse is the person you are to love the most and I believe most people do. So, why are we so terrible to the person we love the most?
The ways we fight are completely different. I blow up and I'm done. I'm that way with most things. When I'm ready to address an issue, I say everything that I need to say and then I'm done. It's sometimes packed with emotion, but it all comes out at once. Unless it's intertwined with some future event or decision, I'm done with it. Never to speak of it again. He's not like that. He wants to discuss every facet of the issue and have a detailed explanation for an action or emotion. Then, he moves on as if everything is ok. But it's not, he tucks it away to use later or repeatedly.
Neither are right. Neither are conducive to a healthy relationship.
I'll give a great example that just happened.
He asked where to find toothpicks yesterday. I told him. He was very frustrated with another issues, but snapped at me for the amount of time it took to find them.
When I told him he hadn't been very nice, he spiraled into an explanation of how I used to (10 years ago) do something that irritated him and that's why he snapped at me.
This morning, I went to the cabinet and found the toothpicks exactly where I had said they were. He's sug and found the extra box. In the process, he completely messed up the cabinet and knocked a bottle of red food coloring onto the floor between the fridge and cabinet.
Said bottle leaked, leaving a huge mess. I cleaned it up, but there is now a light pink penis shape on the floor. I can't make this stuff up!
So, that elicited a scathing text to my husband.
I knew the minute I hit send, that all I had done was bring him down. He has chronic depression and is extremely agitated during this holiday season. He didn't need that. It was my blow up. I was angry. He'd been very nasty to me all weekend. I'd not defended myself all weekend in a way that meant anything.
There was a point that I did say something to him. I kindly asked him to please listen to the way he was talking to me. In complete calmness, I told him that his tone and words sounded more like he was talking to some bitch he lives with and not his wife. I didn't blow up though.
No doubt he will have a response to my text besides "sorry." It's how he works.
Why do we do this? We have each matured in our own ways. We've changed over the years. Unfortunately, our fighting has only become more defined and predictable.
I wish this wasn't the case. I wish that we could have more respect and love for each other in the difficult times.
We've been together for over 20 years. I love my husband more today than I ever have. He doesn't hit me. We don't fight about money. He's never cheated on me. I won't say we'd have a perfect marriage, but if we learned how to fight fair we'd sure have a better marriage.
I love my husband. My husband loves me. So why do we make marriage so hard?
I know we do it. I irritate him. He irritates me. We fight. We half-heartedly make up. We go on until the next blow up.
We love each other, so why do we treat each other so horribly? And, I know we aren't alone. Your spouse is the person you are to love the most and I believe most people do. So, why are we so terrible to the person we love the most?
The ways we fight are completely different. I blow up and I'm done. I'm that way with most things. When I'm ready to address an issue, I say everything that I need to say and then I'm done. It's sometimes packed with emotion, but it all comes out at once. Unless it's intertwined with some future event or decision, I'm done with it. Never to speak of it again. He's not like that. He wants to discuss every facet of the issue and have a detailed explanation for an action or emotion. Then, he moves on as if everything is ok. But it's not, he tucks it away to use later or repeatedly.
Neither are right. Neither are conducive to a healthy relationship.
I'll give a great example that just happened.
He asked where to find toothpicks yesterday. I told him. He was very frustrated with another issues, but snapped at me for the amount of time it took to find them.
When I told him he hadn't been very nice, he spiraled into an explanation of how I used to (10 years ago) do something that irritated him and that's why he snapped at me.
This morning, I went to the cabinet and found the toothpicks exactly where I had said they were. He's sug and found the extra box. In the process, he completely messed up the cabinet and knocked a bottle of red food coloring onto the floor between the fridge and cabinet.
Said bottle leaked, leaving a huge mess. I cleaned it up, but there is now a light pink penis shape on the floor. I can't make this stuff up!
So, that elicited a scathing text to my husband.
I knew the minute I hit send, that all I had done was bring him down. He has chronic depression and is extremely agitated during this holiday season. He didn't need that. It was my blow up. I was angry. He'd been very nasty to me all weekend. I'd not defended myself all weekend in a way that meant anything.
There was a point that I did say something to him. I kindly asked him to please listen to the way he was talking to me. In complete calmness, I told him that his tone and words sounded more like he was talking to some bitch he lives with and not his wife. I didn't blow up though.
No doubt he will have a response to my text besides "sorry." It's how he works.
Why do we do this? We have each matured in our own ways. We've changed over the years. Unfortunately, our fighting has only become more defined and predictable.
I wish this wasn't the case. I wish that we could have more respect and love for each other in the difficult times.
We've been together for over 20 years. I love my husband more today than I ever have. He doesn't hit me. We don't fight about money. He's never cheated on me. I won't say we'd have a perfect marriage, but if we learned how to fight fair we'd sure have a better marriage.
Friday, December 12, 2014
Praise You in the Storm
It's been one of those weeks. Nothing terrible has happened, but I'm plagued with all the little things and the past. I'm coming off a week of being sick and can't seem to get back to full speed yet.
About every night, I've dreamt about babies and pregnancy. Last night was the worst.
My dream started with me about to have an abortion. I was 20 weeks and certain that the baby would die anyway. My husband convinced me to not do it. We went from there to a sonogram where we learned we were having a healthy baby girl.
This maybe the first time I've ever had a dream when the baby was a girl. I felt her move and we were starting to discuss names when I woke up.
I love and hate these dreams!
These recurring dreams are directly related to the amount of processing I still need to do with this baby stuff.
Needless to say, last nights dream capped off an already crappy week. It's made today difficult. My body and mind wants to go back to that dream and make it real.
I've had a tough time being alone today. I had to resort to a basic skill to speak truth to myself.
As a very new christian, I was paired with a woman during a mentoring program. She was supposed to be a mentor, but she was certifiably bat shit crazy. I'm sure that's the medical term, look it up. Despite her crazy, I learned a lot from her husband. Valuable lessons that have helped me reshape my idea of family and love.
She taught me one thing. She taught me sometimes you have to physically speak truth to yourself, even if it looks ugly.
She told me that when she couldn't hang onto truth any other way, she would head to the tub. She'd lock the door, sit in a hot tub and sing Praise You in this Storm at the top of her lungs.
The concept was to drown out all that was stirring in her heart and head, speaking truth to herself.
Not very often can I quiet my crazy mind enough to make that work, but I did today.
In the shower (don't visualize that, eww), I had to repeat aloud the basics of what I believe.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
Over and over.
It's hard to stop my whirling head long enough to get the words out. But when I do, the hope is that the words will leave my mouth and penetrate my heart.
I think the most frustrating part of any bad week or difficult time is that what you know to be truth isn't what we hang onto. It's that miscommunication between your mind and heart. You know the truth but can't live as if you do. Oh so frustrating. And always a relief when you get a respite and can grab hold of that truth.
About every night, I've dreamt about babies and pregnancy. Last night was the worst.
My dream started with me about to have an abortion. I was 20 weeks and certain that the baby would die anyway. My husband convinced me to not do it. We went from there to a sonogram where we learned we were having a healthy baby girl.
This maybe the first time I've ever had a dream when the baby was a girl. I felt her move and we were starting to discuss names when I woke up.
I love and hate these dreams!
These recurring dreams are directly related to the amount of processing I still need to do with this baby stuff.
Needless to say, last nights dream capped off an already crappy week. It's made today difficult. My body and mind wants to go back to that dream and make it real.
I've had a tough time being alone today. I had to resort to a basic skill to speak truth to myself.
As a very new christian, I was paired with a woman during a mentoring program. She was supposed to be a mentor, but she was certifiably bat shit crazy. I'm sure that's the medical term, look it up. Despite her crazy, I learned a lot from her husband. Valuable lessons that have helped me reshape my idea of family and love.
She taught me one thing. She taught me sometimes you have to physically speak truth to yourself, even if it looks ugly.
She told me that when she couldn't hang onto truth any other way, she would head to the tub. She'd lock the door, sit in a hot tub and sing Praise You in this Storm at the top of her lungs.
The concept was to drown out all that was stirring in her heart and head, speaking truth to herself.
Not very often can I quiet my crazy mind enough to make that work, but I did today.
In the shower (don't visualize that, eww), I had to repeat aloud the basics of what I believe.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
I know the Lord loves me.
I know Jesus is with me.
Cling to what is good.
Over and over.
It's hard to stop my whirling head long enough to get the words out. But when I do, the hope is that the words will leave my mouth and penetrate my heart.
I think the most frustrating part of any bad week or difficult time is that what you know to be truth isn't what we hang onto. It's that miscommunication between your mind and heart. You know the truth but can't live as if you do. Oh so frustrating. And always a relief when you get a respite and can grab hold of that truth.
Christmas Cookies
I had my first full blown holiday meltdown of the year. It was over Christmas cookies.
On the Big Bang Theory, Amy made Sheldon cookies with his Meemaw's recipe. I lost it. I cried like a baby.
This wasn't so much about me. Don't get me wrong, there are things I do miss about the holidays. I miss the stocking of fruit from my grandma. I miss the candies and special dishes my grandmas used to make. I miss the $2 from my grandpa. I miss a few traditions.
This meltdown was more for my husband. This will be the first time in nearly 50 years that he is away from his family. It's the first time in over 20 years, I won't be with his family on Christmas. It is going to be hard.
Truthfully, the little traditions have been missing the past few years. With his moms Alzheimer's, nothing has been right for at least two years. But we were all together. He was with his family. Even when it wasn't fun, it was still togetherness. That's what he craves.
My heart aches for him. He says he would have happily made the trip for both holidays, but I know we couldn't. It's too far and too expensive. I know he's angry with me about that, because I put my foot down. I had to. It's a 14 hour drive to his parents house. It's too much.
I never thought he'd ever understand how I felt when I had to give up my family. But he does now. That makes me sad.
I'd rather hurt than see him hurt.
I've said this over and over, but I think this is going to be the hardest holiday we've been through.
Dear Lord, show yourself in big ways to my husband. Show him that your love is sufficient and your near to him always.
On the Big Bang Theory, Amy made Sheldon cookies with his Meemaw's recipe. I lost it. I cried like a baby.
This wasn't so much about me. Don't get me wrong, there are things I do miss about the holidays. I miss the stocking of fruit from my grandma. I miss the candies and special dishes my grandmas used to make. I miss the $2 from my grandpa. I miss a few traditions.
This meltdown was more for my husband. This will be the first time in nearly 50 years that he is away from his family. It's the first time in over 20 years, I won't be with his family on Christmas. It is going to be hard.
Truthfully, the little traditions have been missing the past few years. With his moms Alzheimer's, nothing has been right for at least two years. But we were all together. He was with his family. Even when it wasn't fun, it was still togetherness. That's what he craves.
My heart aches for him. He says he would have happily made the trip for both holidays, but I know we couldn't. It's too far and too expensive. I know he's angry with me about that, because I put my foot down. I had to. It's a 14 hour drive to his parents house. It's too much.
I never thought he'd ever understand how I felt when I had to give up my family. But he does now. That makes me sad.
I'd rather hurt than see him hurt.
I've said this over and over, but I think this is going to be the hardest holiday we've been through.
Dear Lord, show yourself in big ways to my husband. Show him that your love is sufficient and your near to him always.
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