Locusts

Many sounds tell us summer has arrived. In the evenings, when life has slowed down, we can hear the croaking of frogs, buzzing of bees, birds chirping and the low hum of locusts.

I have been stuck on the verses from Joel 2:25-26 lately.

 I will restore to you the years

that the swarming locust has eaten,

the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter,

my great army, which I sent among you.

“You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,

and praise the name of the Lord your God,

who has dealt wondrously with you.

And my people shall never again be put to shame.

It is God's promise that He will restore what has been taken and destroyed.

This verse was first shared with and explained to me sitting in my psychologist's office. He and my counselor wanted me to understand early on that God, and only God, can and will restore what was taken and destroyed. A difficult concept for me to wrap my head around six years ago.

Through those years, it has been a verse I have gone to and been reminded of often. Up until recently, I am not certain I fully believed or understood the depth of this promise.

Have you ever considered the damage locusts can do?

A handful of them to even a few hundred really do nothing we notice. However, we are fortunate. They don't really swarm our areas like they do in some middle eastern countries.

Egypt has a huge problem with them. Despite spraying pesticides, they have a problem every few years with the locusts swarming their country.

They come in and wreak havoc on crops. One swarm of locusts can eat as many as 2,500 people in a single day. Once they consume most of the vegetation, they migrate to the next fertile area. They will repeat until there is nothing left for them and then, they will go dormant.

While they aren't directly harmful to humans, their devastation is. With their main food sources wiped out, prices sky rocket. The farmers gain nothing for their hard work and investment. The economy in all surrounding areas suffer and families struggle.

The next year, everyone starts over and life begins again. The crops flourish and the economy begins to recover.

God restores what has been taken and destroyed.

The verse doesn't just apply to locust or the people of Egypt, Australia or Mali.

I also don't necessarily think that complete restoration always happens on this side of heaven.

The reason this verse was so important for my psychologist and counselor to convey is because they needed me to hold onto God's promise.

I may have been a fairly privileged, married adult, but I was/am a broken young lady whose had a lot taken from her. Deep inside me, resides the little girl who was abused and neglected. The little girl had her life destroyed. She had everything valuable taken from her physically and emotionally.

It was as important for me to embrace that hurt little girl as it was for me to understand restoration was a part of healing.

These days, I have a much better understanding. I'm not saying life is perfect. I'm not saying that there isn't any hurting left in me. But, I can see a trend of God's restoration in my life.

He has begun to restore my heart, my ability to trust and love. He has replaced times of great fear with times of great joy. He has allowed me a marriage that has fulfilled me in ways I missed early on in life, especially a bond with someone who loves me. He has moved me far away from the hurt and pain.

There are so many ways that He has brought restoration to my life. I won't say it is complete. I think there is a lot left. It's a process and one that cannot be rushed.

I sit here incredibly thankful for God's promises and all He has done in my life. I could never attribute it to anyone or anything besides God.

The Stay

Unfortunately, the funeral wasn't the hardest thing we had to do last week. We stayed three nights with my husband's parents.

Let me start with the minor irritations of this visit. It's so uncomfortable there physically. They keep their house very hot. The heater was running on a 79 degree day. My hair was a disaster the entire time because I was sweating constantly.

The bed we have to sleep in is a full size. We normally sleep in a king. Two fat people and a minimum of two dogs in a full size bed is just insanity. We sweat and flop around trying to get comfy. I think we were both lucky to get 3 hours of sleep each night. We ran two fans and kept the window open. Not much help since the house is a few blocks from a dairy farm and hospital. Stink and sirens all night. Sirens meant dogs howling and barking. Ugh!

There's no internet service. Seriously! Our phones won't work inside the house. I imagine with the heat and smell, this is a taste of hell.

The place has recently had a lot of remodeling. That hasn't cut down the amount of body odor and cat litter box smells. Have I mentioned that I'm rarely bothered by a weak stomach. The only time I am is when I'm hot and there are disgusting smells.

Ok, so those are the petty things. I'm a bit spoiled by my surroundings.

The time with his parents was equally, if not more, miserable.

His mom is as she has been for more than a year. She has no clue who, what, when, where or why. She's declining physically as she shuffles her feet to walk. She sleeps a lot. She often wants to be taken back to her parents, who are deceased.

I have a growing compassion for her. It'd be easy to be mean to her given how she always treated me, but I'm not that way. I went through a time of living through confusion and it's hard. I have a bit of a soft spot for her. Aside from that, I have a great love and respect for her as she raised the outstanding man I married.

Keep in mind, I have the same love and respect for my husband's dad. But that's as far as it goes these days. I find myself getting more and more frustrated and angry with him.

Despite living with her everyday, he is the least accepting and understanding of her diagnosis. He also has no ability to control his anger and frustration.

I bit my tongue a lot. He treats everyone with great disrespect. Nobody knows how to do anything and he won't listen to anything.

He's so hateful in how he talks to her especially. Last week, he kept harping on her to read her watch. She doesn't know who she is, how do you expect her to read a watch. Let me tell you something, she may not know anything, but she still has emotions. After two days of harping on her, I heard her voice coming from the front room Thursday evening.

She was yelling. 9:11 9:11 9:11 9:11 9:12 9:12 9:12 9:13 9:13

Her husband started complaining that she was talking to the damn cat. I peaked in the room. The cat wasn't there. She was watching the digital clock on the DVD player and her watch, reading the time over and over. She was trying to teach herself to tell time again. It was like a child trying to learn something and avoid punishment.

We saw so much of that. It was all hard.

When we went to dinner, he made her leave her purse at home. Her purse is a security for her. When you take security away, she gets very out of sorts. Let's just say it led to a lot of yelling.

He doesn't know how to pick his battles. He also forgets that she's his wife. I've not forgotten. She's my husband's mother and I wanted to crawl down his throat to remind him of that. How dare he treat my husband's mom like that.

But the way he treats people isn't exclusive to her. He was disrespectful to us too. We fixed lunch for them and left it in the fridge for Friday. It's going to waste cause he's too lazy to heat it up. I tried again to take to him about cutting down sugar for himself and her. I pretty much got told to mind my own business. I begged him to stop giving her pills with juice or milk. Multiple drugs she is on lose effectiveness or cause upset stomach when taken with anything besides water and food. Again, I was told he had it under control.

There's so many examples.

He's getting a bit of dementia himself. He repeats himself constantly.

It's a terrible time. He refuses help and isn't helpful himself. His selfishness and pride is keeping both of them to have any quality of life during their remaining years. I hate that for them. I hate that my mother in laws decline has happened and he hasn't chosen to do all he can for her. He thinks what he does is enough and it's not.

That stay made me all the more content to live over 700 miles away from them. We can't do anything about it and likewise cannot live in the midst of it all.

The Funeral

Does anyone ever look forward to a funeral? As Christians, we should when the person was a follower of Christ. It's a time to remember to person and celebrate their eternity in heaven. Funerals should be a beautiful climax to our time on earth. 

I'm not sure anyone ever sees it that way. We long to have our loved ones and friends with us till the end of our days. In the moments we are hurting and grieving, our faith tends to naturally come second. It's hard. We aren't ready to let go. 

When I got the call last week, I wasn't prepared. My heart wasn't prepared to accept that my friend was gone. Even though I'd received every update, I struggled to believe my friend had gotten so sick and could possibly be gone. 

As I walked into the sanctuary, I saw the casket. A soft blue casket adorned with pink flowers. Roses, tulips, sunflowers and a host of other flowers filled the pots and vases. It was simple and fresh. 

The service began with a slideshow of her entire life. School, college, wedding, pregnant, babies, showers, they filled the screen. There were several with friends and times as an adult. There were even a few taken at our home. 

I teared up as I watched. A life so full and so short. I found myself caught by her contagious smile and wishing I'd had one last moment with her. That was the person I remembered. I didn't see her at her sickest. The last time I saw her, I got the smile. Not the face affected by a stroke and altered by pain. 

When the family walked in, my heart broke. I could see the numb and lost look in the eyes of the family. The pain I felt for them in that moment wasn't for the grief they felt that day. It was for the pain they would feel in her absence over the days, weeks and years to come. 

Each person who spoke during the service painted a picture with their words. A picture of the beautiful, intelligent, faithful, loyal, humble, loving woman, the kind of picture you can see in your mind and feel in your heart. Each person in that room had been deeply impacted by her and the service reflected who she was. 

We were reminded that no matter how deep and wide our love her is, Gods is even deeper and wider. God loves each of us far more than any love we could ever know on earth. We were reminded that there is comfort in Gods plan. 

When she was diagnosed, everyone began praying for her healing. We must rejoice in Gods faithfulness to us in prayer. He answered those prayers. Not in the way or timing we would have chosen. We could find comfort that day in answered prayers. 

As the service drew to a close, I watched the funeral home attendants approach the casket. I waited with tears for them to roll her out of the church. Much to my surprise, they removed the flowers and opened the casket. One by one, they dismissed the rows to walk past her. 

I hadn't expected it. There she was. It wasn't what I wanted. I felt myself begin to cry. I don't mean tears down the cheeks, but heaving, can't breathe, tears coming so fast I can't see bawling. It was her but not. She was a shade of green or grey. My heart wanted to yell, someone please wake her up. 

Making by, I could barely look. She was to my right, the family to my left. I didn't have the right to cry so hard in front of people who were going to feel her loss daily the rest of their lives. But as I saw the colored page laid at her hands by one of the children, I couldn't hold back my emotion. The walk from the casket to the foyer was a blur. 

Standing in the foyer, I found comfort in the hugs of friends. Lots of unspoken words were shared with tearful hugs. 

At the graveyard, I couldn't bring myself to get near the casket. It was too real, too final. 

As a Christian, I should have been more joyful. My friend is healed. She is healed and in her eternal home. She's in a place where there is no concept of time. She will be reunited with those who love her and believe in God sooner than we can imagine. 

It's hard to assimilate things when they happen so fast. It's going to take some time for this to not feel surreal. 

I do miss her already. She wasn't an everyday part of my life, but I loved her. She was a part of my life and I will miss her for a long time to come. 

Church Return

This past week has been rough. We traveled 7 of 8 days on 2 separate trips. The latter was the longer and more emotional. I didn't have great internet coverage in rural Kansas, so I've got some catching up to do.

My friend who passed never left our first church. She was considering it when she got sick. Her cancer diagnosis changed things. She said she wanted to stay put until she was better and get up to visiting churches. That never happened and I know it was all in Gods master plan for her.

Let me really start there. My friend was a member of the church long before us. The pastor of that church did not perform the service. Even though he's been her pastor for over four years, the family chose someone else.

Yes, I'm certain this surprised a lot of people but those of us who knew the score. There's a lot of dynamics that I won't go into, but let me share what is mine to say.

The pastor of that church is an incredibly intelligent and gifted man of God. He is gifted in preaching and has a great knowledge of theology and scripture. He, admittedly, is not gifted in people skills. I've personally watched him struggle in connecting with the congregation and especially with women. He can even come across as offensive and lacking compassion. It's there, but you have to dig deep. I see a lot of this in this situation.

It's important to point out that pastors and many professionals aren't well balanced in their giftedness, as I've seen. Some are great with people, but stink at leadership. Some stink with people, but run an office with sufficiency. In eye care, I saw that too. You have doctors who are awesome with the finances, but have a less desirable repore with patients and vice versa. It's a rare gem to find one who is an even balance.

All that to say, we had good reasons for leaving that church. We were in disapproval of how the church was being led and the changes, which were being made. We disagreed with policies when they failed to be in line with what leadership had previously taught us.

I don't bring any of that up to point fingers or poke at an old scab. Forgiveness was difficult for me. The leadership showed no compassion when we left and had a "good riddance" attitude toward us. I still believe that was biblically incorrect and is what kept me stuck in bitterness for so long.

Forgiveness didn't come easy. In fact, I'd say it didn't come until we moved and I had a chance to talk with others about it. But I have forgiven and no longer hold onto any bitterness. However, the emotions still flooded me as I walked back into the church last week.

The day wasn't about me and that allowed me some peace as I walked through the doors. My first contact inside the foyer was a dear, sweet friend who met me with a hug. In that instant, I felt like I was oddly back at home.

Keep in mind, we have no intention of ever returning to the church and would probably question God if ever felt led there. So, I was pleasantly surprised at how it all felt normal to me.

As I stepped into the sanctuary, I had one person after another coming to hug me. I loved it, but did feel overwhelmed. I was there to grieve and I almost felt guilty that feeling loved seemed to take over for me.

While sitting in the sanctuary, I had one memory after another of time I spent there. Having volunteered there, I spent more time than most. I won't lie, there were many times I fell asleep on the pews or floor. When life was super crazy and I has severe insomnia, that sanctuary was the only place where I could relax and be quiet.

So many good memories. There were bad ones too. But the good were definitely the focus. Probably the best was my baptism. How could I ever not feel a sense of home in the place I was baptized? The place itself most certainly embraced me and comforted me as I sat in mourning.

The people also made it feel like home. Let me say this, there were definitely a great deal of those in attendance who'd left the church. We were in good company as many were walking back in for the first time since leaving. But I was super excited at the number of people who are still members who made me feel welcome.

Not trying to offend, but that isn't a strength of the church. I saw it while I was there and experienced it when we left. If you leave, you're an outsider. Even though you're still a Christian, still a brother or sister in Christ, you are shunned. Very few people stayed in contact with us except through social media.

It was awesome to see that not seem to matter on that day. At least to most. Don't get me wrong. There were still a group who didn't bother to even say hello when our elbows accidentally touched. So sad for them, that they still have a lot of maturing to do.

I couldn't have predicted how things would go. I couldn't have guessed how happy it would make me to step foot in our first church.

I can say happy with conviction. It was a reminder of how God led us there and worked in our lives. That church was my first, the place where God slowly and confidently showed himself to me. I suppose it's similar to the emotions I have for our first home. It wasn't always easy, even painful at times, but it was a good place. It was the place where something bigger in our lives began.

I don't have any plans to return, but if ever I need to, I will. I'll happily go. I'm so thankful for the ways God has used that church. Even the hardest of times, God has used to teach us.

Mixed Bag

We go home last night at 9:30 and leave tomorrow morning at 5 am. I'm tired to say the least. I'm dreading this trip. That's just honest.

It's never easy to look forward to a funeral. I hate that is the reason for the trip. But I dread all of it.

We've not learned yet how to manage these trips. How to prioritize visits and who it's ok to disappoint. We've been back twice and both times left people disappointed. It made us feel like we didn't prioritize correctly at the time and guilty that we let someone down. We've tried to give ample opportunities, but people's schedules never mesh.

I'm just gonna say this and it will make me sound awful, I know. I'm super excited to see the people I considered family two years ago. They were a solid group of friends for about three years. At the same time, I'm not excited at all. These are the same people who have mostly forgotten about me. The majority have had none to little contact with me unless I initiated. They are the same people who've made me feel lonely the past year. The same group who mostly forgot my 40th birthday. Why would I be excited? It's a hard balance that I'm not sure how to maneuver nor how to feel.

There are a few people who will be upset that I make no contact with them nor an effort to see them. They aren't a part of this group, but have mostly forgotten about me. We will have ONE day in town and part of that will be for a funeral. I don't know how to make it all work. It also doesn't seem fair to put priority in people who don't seem to care. I don't know. Of course there are a select few people none of this applies to and I'm looking forward to seeing them.

For 3 of the 4 nights, we are staying with my in laws. Oh how miserable, let me count the ways. My mother in law won't be a problem unless she gets mean. She mostly sleeps. However, she will be the downer. The thing that makes my husband grouchy, difficult and sad. I understand and yet, it's hard to handle.

My father in law will be grouchy as usual, I am sure. Again, understandable. I'll fume as I watch him treat his wife as she should be able to function normally and constantly bitch that she doesn't clean any more. It will be hot cause they keep the house 80 degrees and that will make tempers rise.

If we stay one day and the dogs are covered in fleas, then we will be scrambling for a hotel and all plans change. That's an extra stress.

My brother and his family is easy to deal with this time. There has been no contact since Christmas break and so, there's no need to have any now. It'll alter how I feel. It's sad.

We both know and feel all these things. Not going to lie, we will fight. They will be huge fights where we don't speak to each other for hours or go to bed mad.

I think about all these things and wonder why I would ever want to leave here. We've discussed that a lot lately. We only have one year left that we have to stay. Do we want to stay? Do we want to go back to KC? Do we want to go somewhere else? All I know is that preparing for this trip makes me lean toward staying. I may not have many friends, but I don't have the stress.

She Never Lost Her Hair

Showers are a great place to think because you don't have the distraction of TV or pets or text or Facebook. It's also a place for reality to overcome you.

It was in the shower, nearly 24 hours after learning of my friends death that I finally succumbed to reality. She's gone. My dear, sweet, precious friend with a contagious love for life, quirky personality and rock solid faith is gone. The humorous quips, notable grins and "What's up?" texts all gone with her.

Through and through, I'm a realist. I'm not a daydreamer and usually have a firm grasp on potential outcomes. But this happened so fast that I didn't have time to really wrap my head around it. The last time I saw her was a couple days before we moved. She was laughing and as healthy as any cancer patient can be. She hugged me goodbye and I never dreamed that would be our last.

Even though we knew the end was coming over a week ago, my heart wouldn't let me accept it. There was still time. Time for her body to gain strength. Time for doctors to try something new. Time for a miracle. We had discussed going back home over Memorial Day weekend and my intention was to see her. My heart was set on this not being the end, even though I knew better. While friends began referring to her in past tense, I refused. My friend was still very much alive and I refused to go there.

Last week as I began praying that she would make it past Mother's Day for the sake of her children, I still held onto hope for a miracle. The miracle would have been having her make it until then.

Fitting for her quirky personality, nobody can quite figure out if she passed away Saturday or Sunday. I imagine her up in heaven laughing that nobody can get it right or that it even matters. She'd really have a fit over all the fussing about and with her.

I first met Debbie during Wednesday night meals at our first church. My husband and I often say alone at a huge table. Debbie would often drop her kids off to eat at our table and take off to eat with friends. So, I really got to know her kids first. Honestly, neither of us liked that but never said anything. Over the next few years, it still happened occasionally.

About five years ago, I started going to a bible study with her. It took some time to get to know her. She was reserved and had a scowl a lot. But then we both got involved with this wonderful bunco group. A group of 15-20 ladies who became a family to me. Through that, I got to know Debbie much better.

She would help occasionally with rides to the store or church or social functions. She didn't live far from me, so it was convenient. The more we were around each other, the more we learned. We learned we had anxiety in common. Neither of us took meds for it. She never took meds because a diagnosis and meds could mean the end of her flight training.

We also shared screwed up brothers. I won't go into details about hers, but he's every bit as jacked up as my brothers. It gave us ways to pray for each other.

Once she was diagnosed, we became closer. It was easy to serve her and get more involved in her life. We were close until 600 miles separated us.

As it hit me in the shower today, I realized that all I have now are memories and a hope they will not soon fade.

I know God has a plan. It's greater than I can fathom. What I can see is only enough to illicit anger and confusion as our plans seem better. This is where the battle of good versus evil takes a supreme toll on my thoughts and heart. This woman was good. She was loved. It's evidenced by the numerous family members and friends who are deeply grieving. She had two young children. Why does this happen to someone like that, when evil people live on? I've lived a much more wretched life than her. My parents. Murders. Rapists. Why her over so many others?

I had a very religious friend say to me, this was Gods plan for her life. He needed her to die so that He could accomplish something greater. Wow! Not sure if go that far. Yes, I do believe He can and will use this death for His glory. However, I don't think He caused it for His glory.

I like what my husband said last week to me. I had a day when I couldn't hold back the tears and sadness and weight of what was happening. He didn't want to simplify it too much for me because he knew that would only make it worse. However, his simple explanation was so profound and beautiful. He said that the world and disease had broken her down so much, that God said it was almost time to heal her.

As I sit here in my heartache, I know he's right. I'm thankful he's right. The day I prayed for since my friend was diagnosed with colon cancer is finally here. The Lord has chosen to heal her and make her whole again. She is rejoicing with her Savior.

When she was diagnosed, many of her friends fretted over prognosis and treatments and staging. Not her, not on the outside anyways. Her biggest concern was not losing her hair. She was always cold and was certain being bald would make her freeze even more. She also didn't want her kids to see her without hair. While her hair thinned, she never went bald. I have to believe that was one of the many ways the Lord showed His goodness to her.

So now we plan and try to figure out how to make the long trip home. It's an unexpected one with poor personal timing for us. I can't imagine not being there though. I can't imagine not being with friends as we all say goodbye to our beloved friend. I can't imagine not hugging the necks of the many people who hold onto the same hope and faith that we will one day see her again.

MD 2015

I walked into church relatively adjusted given today is Mother's Day. We are leaving town later today for an overnight trip. I'd not thought about it much at all cause I've been focused on this little getaway.

Then son of a .... the people with a baby came in and sat down right in front of me. Tons of empty pees and they sit in front of me. I have to hear everyone wishing this new mom happy Mother's Day. I can smell that baby smell and now she's crying. What a cruel joke, God. Not fair at all today.

It took all of two seconds for the anger, hurt and frustration to flood in and overwhelm me. Damn it! I'd done so well.

I have no mother to celebrate. I have an egg donor who chose evil and selfishness over being a mother and now is not worthy of being celebrated.

When I was a kid, I hated how teachers made us make Mother's Day gifts every year. I never put in much effort and it made me hate art. Sometimes I would toss it out of my bag. Other times, I'd break it before giving it to her. She wasn't worthy and I knew that even as a young child.

Now, I feel like companies and society crams it down our throats. It's not a day to celebrate but spend. I know. My email has been bombarded for a month. It's everywhere. I can't escape it.

Then we have the whole issue of not being a mom. I know some would say I am with children in heaven. I don't see it like that. I'm not recognized. There's no cards for that. No gifts. Only sad looks on days like today cause I have never experienced motherhood.

The only claim to motherhood I have is to four little dogs. They don't speak, but show affection in other ways. However, the general public sees that as a sad, pathetic claim to motherhood.

After today, I won't have to think about Mother's Day until the emails start up next April. Thank God!!!!

School Update

I finished my first semester!!!!

All of my classes were difficult, as was the learning curve. In 4 out of 5 classes, I started with a C or lower. It took a lot of dedication and hard work, but I finished with 4 As and a B. I'm happy with that.

While I have enjoyed classes and they have kept me busy, I was ready for a break from the books.

This 12 days off have given me time to consider and pray and plan for my remaining degree specific courses.

As I mentioned before, the idea of graduating over 20k in debt weighed heavy on me. With cramming all my hours into 16 months, I was looking at not being able to pay much out of pocket and relying on federal loans. Not ideal, but it got me some the fastest.

Also, as mentioned before, I don't plan to use the degree for a paid position. So, that meant I was adding debt with no additional income. My payback would have started about Christmas time of 2016. My loan payments would be nearly $400 per month.

Ok, who has that kind of money without a job? Not me!!!!

That led me to seriously consider slowing down.

Remember, God will give me everything I need to accomplish his will.

I have to admit something. The past five months have been miserable for me. Sure, school kept me busy. But it also tied me to a chair about 10 hours per day.

By half way through, I found my depression and anxiety increasing daily. I didn't have time to do anything I enjoyed and I get more and more trapped.

Moving here has brought more stability. However, I feel like I have to protective that or I can lose it. A major depressive or anxious episode could set me back. If you know my full story, you know the chaos that could come with that.

Keeping in mind that I do have a stress disorder and 15 hours per semester proved to be highly stressful, I definitely had to reconsider the class load.

Another problem is that the class load prevented me from serving people. That's what this whole thing is about. I want to serve people better. But I also don't want to give up serving to meet the goal.

It's a mixed bag, but I've (we've) decided to slow down. I'm only going to take the number of classes we can afford. It will delay the goal, but not prevent it. My classes are locked in and I know exactly what I need to graduate.

Hopefully, I can find scholarships so that I can add classes each semester. This semester, I'll be taking one bible class in the second half of summer. We will see what the fall brings. Until then, I'm going to enjoy some time get back into a routine that doesn't keep me on the couch all day.

Run Forrest Run

As I've been down all day with a sore back, I can't help but think about my only goal.

I literally haven't been able to do much except walk around the house and that has left me in excruciating pain. Two nights ago, I threw heavy boxes around in the garage like I was some kind of he man. I woke up today with pain from my neck down to my knee on one side. It sucks and makes me feel old!

It seems funny to say since I can barely walk today, but I still want to run. I wrote about this before. It's one of those far fetched goals tht will likely never happen, but I want to.

I've looked at the couch to 5k stuff and it's scary to me. I don't mind the walking part, but jogging for even 90 seconds scares me. Oh my goodness, I also wouldn't want anyone to see that either.

So I suppose it's more of a dream than goal. It's all part of this dream I have of being healthier. I don't care about losing weight. That will come natural if I'm healthier. It's so hard though.

If I'm given the choice between chips or a salad, it's too easy to make the choice that makes me happier.

I have no idea where this dream is going, but I want it to be more than that. I really do want health over short term happy.

I'd love to hear any suggestions anyone might have.

Our OCDs

My husband and I both have some obsessive behaviors. We also don't fight over much, except those behaviors. We don't have much to fight about. We don't argue about money and no reason to disagree over children. So, that leaves our own behaviors. Don't get me wrong, we fight. We both fight dirty. He brings up stuff from the past and I refuse to talk to him, which he hates.

We will often fight over who is going to do what, since we live in a world where things are often split evenly. We tend to fall into that trap where we often feel slighted or like the other isn't pulling their weight. It's trivial, really.

In our married life, we've had more serious things to fight about and fight for. Right now, isn't one of those times. However, behavior is the most consistent thing we've fought about.

The first time I did laundry as a new wife, I was so happy to wash, dry and put all the laundry away. I was crushed when I found my husband refolding all of his clothes. It made me feel like I was already a failure as a wife.

I'm diagnosed with mild OCD and my husband probably would be if given the opportunity. Mine doesn't interfere with leading a normal life, but I do have repetitive behaviors that keep me busy.

If you looked at our house or my life, you wouldn't guess that either of us deal with OCDs. They aren't so obvious to anyone who doesn't live with us. I've written about a lot of mine previously. But in summary, I don't care if the floor is filled with dog toys. However, I cannot sit still if there is a light on or cabinet open. I check and recheck doors at night and ask my husband over and over if he has his wallet or has closed the garage door or shut things off.

My husband has several too. Obvious, he has very particular ways he wants his clothes folded. He has relaxed on it, as he has most of his. He can't stand to put dirty dishes in the sink. He wants the toothpaste to be squeezed from the bottom up and always pushed to the top.

That's where I want to stop. I know, none of these things are complex things. They are simple and silly things to most. But, it's all a part of who we are. These are the things we fight about.

When I say fight, I mean my husband gets irritated or blows up over one of our behaviors and I return blows of my own. Not that I am a saint, but I learned long ago that I am ok with most quirky behavior.

At the core of each fight are two things. One person who wants to change the behavior of the other and a complete lack of understanding and/or respect.

Both of us have held onto these behaviors for a very long time. It is unlikely that blowing up is going to change anything about the other person. In fact, we are just going to hurt their feelings and make them feel like a weirdo. We blow up because we don't understand what drives the other person and we lack respect for all that makes the other person who they are. We love each other. We should respect all that makes up each other.

While I was getting toothpaste the other day, I had an epiphany about all of this. My husband had pushed all the toothpaste to the top like he does after I use it every time.

Is it really that hard to use the toothpaste the way he prefers? Wouldn't that alleviate his frustration when he has to take care of it everyday? Don't I love him enough that I don't want to cause him any additional stress, even if I don't understand it?

You bet!

I don't at all understand why toothpaste tubes cause him so much frustration. But they do! We've fought over it.

My biggest problem with him and my OCDs is his lack of understanding and respect for me. What I realized is that I'm not very understanding and respectful either.

For the past few days, I have made sure to squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. He might not ever notice, but I will know. I will know that each morning he won't go through the hassle of fixing it.

It is simple, but it matters. It matters because I love him. I can't possibly ever expect to get from him what I'm unwilling to give. And, that matters too.

Not that I plan to, but I'm sure I'll eventually slip up and he will eventually blow up over it again. I think next time, I'll have a bit more understanding and can hopefully handle it a little better. We will celebrate 17 years this August and gosh....I'm still learning how to be a wife, respect my husband and love him better.

Greater

Admittedly, I was preoccupied with other things during church on Sunday. It was all good. It wasn't like I was focused on lunch or something silly. It was the cross. However, I think the minister quoted a Mercy Me song. If he didn't, then I'm a bit crazy and imagined it.

Bring your tired and bring your shame.
Bring your guilt and bring your pain.
Don't you know that's not your name.
You will always be much more to me.

Bring your doubts and bring your fears.
Bring your hurt and bring your tears.
There'll be no condemnation here.
You are holy, righteous and redeemed.

Every time I fall, there'll be those who will call me a mistake.

I hear a voice and He calls me redeemed.
When others say I'll never be enough,
And greater is the One living inside of me,
Than he who is living in the world.

With my birthday just having past and Mother's Day coming, I certainly in an annual struggle over my identity.

There is no other time of the year that it is so important for me to find my identity in Christ and not here in this world.

Until I was a Christian, I had a sorry identity. It pains me to even think about it.

I was a horrible wife who treated her husband as if he were a paycheck and way out of a bad situation. I was an uncaring manager of women who were broken and wanted to be loved for the most part. I wasn't a mother and had no hope of ever being one. I didn't care what I did to others or myself. I was the daughter of child molesters, child abusers and those who neglect every living thing.

Yea, that last one was probably the hardest and the one I most identified with. Even with the little memory of my childhood that was known to me, I knew they were bad people. They were bad people, so as their daughter, I must also be bad. That's what I hung onto for over 32 years. I didn't even try to change, it was my destiny.

I won't say it was immediate at all, but in time as a Christian, I learned that I had a new identity. I am a bad person, so far from perfect. Not bad because I was born to bad parents. I'm bad because I am a sinner. Maybe bad isn't the best description for it. I am a sinner.

As a Christian, I am forgiven. I am forgiven and accepted into God's kingdom as His daughter and sister to many.

When I was finally able to wrap my head around this gift that I never deserved, my identity changed. I no longer have to be attached to my original family. They abandoned me and left me as an orphan, by their actions and choices. They left me and I was adopted by a bigger, better family.

That struggle has lessened immensely, but it creeps back up. I have to remind myself over and over of the truth.

I'm so thankful that this topic of identity has been woven into bible study and sermons lately. I've needed the helpful reminder. I've needed to hear verbally from someone else that I am redeemed and loved, a part of something bigger.

God is Faithful

Last year, we spent a lot of time putting life together inside our house. It was a mess. To be fair, it took a lot of work and energy. With my husband being a mess and me being sick, we did little more than mow outside. I had a garden, but it was skimpy at best and not well kept.

You can imagine the mess we had outside if there was a chicken carcass in the cabinet and panties in the freezer inside. There was so much trash in the yard. The flower beds were a disaster. We did manage to pick up the trash last year but lived with awful landscaping.

This year we started tackling the landscaping as soon as it looked possible. We started with the flowerbed that wraps around our porch and house in front. We filled in the giant gaps with perennials. I now have pink, orange and yellow roses. We have lavender, carnations and lambs ear with decorative grass at the very end. We filled it with black mulch and added solar lights. We will have to weed and maintain it, but shouldn't have to plant anything for several years.

We didn't stop there. We added creeping phlox and a bush to the garage side. I've filled pots with herbs and flowers. We've put our house plants on the deck. For the first time ever, I have been able to buy and hang beautiful, huge baskets of flowers. We have two huge pots hanging on the deck. we have a hummingbird feeder for the many varieties of birds we have come through during the spring and summer.

Our garden got planted this weekend too. Tomatoes, peas, beans, carrots, asparagus, herbs and three kinds of onions. We have been busy on the yard, most definitely. We've both already gotten sunburned. The trees aren't quite full yet, but they are finally coming.

Things are new and fresh. We had a long, cold winter. Everything died and all signs of life were brown and gray. I think that's why I love snow so much. It covers the dead things and makes them look pretty and pure.

Of course throughout the entire weekend, my friend with cancer was on my heavy on my heart. Last week, I was told to pray that she have a few days at home with her family. So I did. I shared that request with others. We all wanted her to have her hearts desire. She got to go home on Thursday and was still there as of today.

She is weak. I'm not sure about her pain level. Each day that I find out she is still at home, I rejoice. It seemed like too simple of a request, but too big to achieve. I am thankful that she has gotten this time with her family. Most of us knowing are preparing for what happens when she can no longer be at home.

As I sat in church today, I found it hard to focus on the sermon because I was focused on the cross. The cross is a constant reminder of the biggest promise the Lord ever made to us. He promised us salvation through the work of Jesus on the cross. That's a big one and one that we rarely forget. But, God made other promises too. He didn't just make promises, He stays faithful in them...over and over and over and over.

In the Bible, we can find all His promises. In Philippians 4:19, He promises to take care of us. In Romans 8:37-39, He promises that nothing can separate us from His love. In Matthew 11:28-29, He promises us rest and to carry our burdens.

He also promises restoration. In Joel 2:25-26, He says He will restore all the years that the locust have eaten.

He promises in Mark 11:24 that He answers prayers for believers.

I thought through all of these.

The winter comes and kills everything that is beautiful. Spring brings warmer weather, rain and a restoration of what has been dead. We know we can count on it because He never fails us. I suppose there are areas that are too cold or too hot to see this kind of renewal. But, we do get to see it and I am so happy about that.

As we were working outside this weekend, I found myself feeling guilty. I'm likely going to cover this later, so I won't dwell on it much. My friend was laying on her couch dying while I enjoyed God's faithfulness in the restoration spring brings.

While I was thinking through all the ways God shows His faithfulness, I had to remind myself that she is experiencing God's faithfulness in other ways right now. He has promised to answer prayers and He has by giving her time at home. He has promised to take care of us and He is by giving her what she needs when the doctors can do no more. He is giving her hope in eternal life by what Jesus did on the cross.

My flesh leads me to be sad for all that is not right now. However, my heart knows that I can rejoice. I can rejoice because of the Lord's faithfulness in His promises.

Hard Goodbye

I am trying me best to enjoy my break from school. It's so great to not be stuck on the couch with a book, paper or computer. This break is good for me. It makes the OCD me happy to be able to deep clean and catch up on laundry. Already this morning, I've got chili and a pork shoulder in crockpots. I've had Christian music playing. It's my happy place or should be.

There's this dark cloud lingering overhead. I suppose that's normal when you are trying to accept and process the impending death of a friend. It's heavy on my heart. I got another dreaded phone call and text yesterday. My friend had to be taken to the hospice house because she was in pain.

The goal for her is to get her pain under control with IV meds enough to give her a couple days at home. If they can get that, then she will return to hospice house for the last of her days. Her remaining days are few. They also don't know if they can give her her hearts desire, but they are trying.

Over the past few days, friends have helped her and her family plan her funeral. I'm trying to process that and I can't. This really is the end.

Shortly after her first round of surgeries, she had a colostomy. My friend isn't good with medical stuff. At a girls night, she had massive problems with her bag and had to leave early. The next day when I checked on her, she said "I hate this shitty mess." Well friend, that's how I feel now.

Up to today, I had chosen not to call her. First of all, I can barely think of her without bursting into tears. I didn't think that would be encouraging to her. Second, I've held onto hope that I would see her again. As I've figured out that's not going to happen, I've gone back and forth. I was told last night, that I waited too long to call her.

This morning, I sat and wrote a text to her in hopes her family will read it to her. My heart broke and the tears flowed, but I didn't make the text sad. Even though it was a final goodbye, it wasn't a sad goodbye. I let her know how much I loved her and what her friendship has meant to me. I don't have to say goodbye since I'm confident in the promise of heaven. For my own selfish heart, I needed her to know how much I valued her.

There's no place I'd rather be right now than back in KC. When she was diagnosed, I made her a lap quilt. She's always freezing and it was pretty clear she was going to have a long road of chemo treatments. As I say in the hospital with her the day I took it to her, I told her she'd never walk a step of this journey alone.

Ultimately that is true. God has been with her every step. So has her family. And her friends. But the the reality is that only she has experienced this journey in her shoes. I can't imagine the fear and anxiety she must have felt at times. She's a highly anxious person anyway. You'd never know cause she puts on a brave, no non sense face most of the time.

When she found out what my issues were, she shared quite openly with me her struggles. Despite her anxiety, she couldn't be medicated for it or she would have lost her job. She was flight trainer for commercial pilots. She always told me she was going to take me up and cure my fear of flying. I always laughed at that.

I can't yet wrap my head around all of this. Right before her diagnosis two years ago, we grabbed lunch on a rainy day when she wasn't working. She was fine. There was no sign that this evil monster was growing in her. Here we are two years later and we are preparing to not have her. I can't yet adjust my life to not expect her quirky "what's up" text every month or so.

Dreaded Text

I got the text today that I've been dreading for two weeks. Two weeks ago, I got the text that my friend with cancer had a stroke. As her recovery from the stroke began, we (her friends) learned that she had been told late last year that her cancer had spread and she had masses in her stomach and lungs.

When she was diagnosed, we were told she had 10 years. Like I said in a previous post, that's a long time in the realm of cancer. A lot can happen. Treatments today are far better than 10 years ago.

After her testing late last year, 5 years was tossed around. Ok, not good, but there's still hope. Five years with young kids is never enough but a good chunk of time to watch them grow and teach them.

After the stroke, a year or two was discussed amongst friends based on tid bits of info being passed around. Ok. Wow. It's getting real now. At that time, we were told that she had 6 months of chemo left and then there was nothing they could do for her.

Today, I got the text I've been expecting and dreading. My friend had taken a turn for the worse. The doctors have stopped chemo treatments because they are no longer beneficial and are more harmful. Her cancer is spreading and there is nothing they can do. She is in a great deal of pain. She has been placed under hospice care for the remainder of her time.

Her prayer is to have the pain controlled enough so that she can have a few good days with her family. It doesn't seem like an unreasonable request.

One of my friends said today that the reason they have been so tight lipped about her condition is that she has been in denial. Oh my goodness! What young person wouldn't be. While her faith is strong, her flesh is weak just like the rest of us. She is one of the most straight forward people I know, but I'm sure leaving her children has left her looking the other direction in the face of cancer.

I don't have to tell you, but I will. My heart is breaking. I want her healed and I selfishly want her healed on this side of heaven. Our original 10 year window has shrunken and I'm not the least bit ready to say goodbye.

As I told my husband tonight, I've experienced losing people fast and without warning like with accidents or suicides. I've experienced slow, agonizing loss too. Watching someone slowly die is much harder.

It's difficult to know exactly what to think or pray. Do you hope for a miracle or accept the prognosis? Do you pray for extended life knowing it will be painful or do you pray for a swift passing? Do you text as you normally would, knowing it would be meaningless? Do you dare make a call, knowing you'll have nothing to offer but your own tears? It's a difficult road without many directions.

I would much rather see my friend now than go to her funeral. I don't think with my husbands job, that will be possible. It sucks being so far away.

Knowing the end is near for someone you love alters your everyday life. When you read email or look at Facebook, you hold your breath and hope that there's no bad news. When you hear your phone ding, you cringe and pray it's not the text you fear the most right now. You pray diligently, but selfishly concern yourself with your own heartbreak. You try to be positive even when your gut knows.

I cannot imagine never meeting my friend. She has been an encouragement. She's made me laugh. She's never hesitated to be honest, even when it hurt. She's taught me to have grace with stupid people. Seriously, that was a big one.

Losing her is going to leave a big void for everyone who knows her. It's a void nobody else can fill. I'm not sure about her other friends, but I want to honor her. I don't know how, but I want to use everything she has given to me and pass on her legacy. I want to make the world a better place in some small way because she made it better in big ways.

Food

We have experienced a huge change in food since we've moved. When we lived in KC, we ate out a lot. For two people, it was easier and sometimes cheaper to go out. I didn't have a lot of kitchen space, so we didn't keep a lot of staples in the house. So to make something even simple like tacos, it was cheaper to hit Taco Bell.

That isn't the case here. We have lots of space and have stocked up on staples when they've been on sale. I've also stocked the freezer with things from the garden and Amish market. The food here is about 25% cheaper. It makes sense to eat at home more and we do. We don't have a lot of options in places to eat. In our town, we have a pizza place and diner. In the next town, there are chain restaurants, Bob Evans, some diners, pizza places and a steak house.

Because of the lack of options, Kent doesn't go out for lunch. He takes his lunch, which makes cooking even more valuable. I try to have plenty for leftovers.

We have to drive an hour for restaurants we are used to.

But there's something more to it than that. I know, this is going to make me sound like a foodie snob. Maybe I am, but this is really about the difference between here and KC. I could make a similar comparison to the area I grew up in Kansas.

The palates and expectations of people here are different. That's not an insult, but an observation.

We've had a lot of people recommend places to us, which we've been thankful for. But we've often wondered why. This is my theory. People have different tastes here. They are recommending the best that they've had or know to be around here.

There are three BBQ places within 30-40 minutes of here. Ok, maybe it's a little unfair. We are from KC where BBQ is a love language. Two haven't been bad, but one has made us sick every time. None of them are even close to KC BBQ.

The places all seem to have the same level of cleanliness too. They just aren't. Many people had recommended the Japanese steakhouse where we ate yesterday. The food was good for this area. The portions were huge. It was a bit over salted for my taste and they don't know how to make a veggie roll. But that's all ok, nothing that would keep us from going back.

It was pricey for this area. We definitely understood why it is a special occasion place. However, it was filthy. It was almost like they never cleaned after the Saturday night crowd. The ladies restroom has three stalls and none of them worked. There were paper towels clogging the sink. When I told the hostess, who acted very hungover, she was disinterested and told me to look in the men's room for a working toilet. No thanks!

I'm not saying this would be acceptable to the people around here. But when we spend $60 on a lunch, we certainly expect to have working restrooms. But unfortunately, this level of filth exists more often than we would expect.

Again, I'm not trying to be judgmental. It makes me a little sad that there isn't more attention to detail by owners and managers. We've easily walked into at least a dozen places that far surpassed the filthiness of LCs BBQ in KC. That place gets shut down for health code violations at least twice a year.

I won't at all say it's all been bad. We've found several good places to eat. We love the Skyline Chili chain and a local burger joint. We've explored and tried lots of different things. We've even gone to places, like Holtmans Donuts, that our more local friends haven't tried or even heard of.

Like is said, I could say many of the same things about the area we grew up. They make Mexican food really well and that's it.

We've experienced something else similar to home. When I would make gourmet salads for my husband's family, they never got eaten. By gourmet, I mean caprese salad, fruit filling salad, red velvet cheesecake and others. Not super fancy but certainly different for them.

In the few times I've cooked for small group and an event, I've had similar experiences. Anything out of the norm, wasn't eaten. I made a tomato, bacon and pasta soup for an event. It's something we eat all the time. I brought home nearly an entire crockpot of it and I know it was mistaken for a very bad chili. No biggie, we ate it. But it's still been an interesting experience. It's made me feel a little weird and like even my food doesn't fit in.

Crazy. It's amazing to me how so much is different and there can be such a difference in food over 600 miles. As always, it continues to be a learning experience for us. Even if we don't feel like it, we are slowly fitting in to the norm around here. Some of these things used to bother us and now we are a lot more tolerant.

40th

This has probably been my hardest birthday I've had since childhood. It really wasn't the age. It's true that 40 is just another day. 

The past few days have been tough, probably more than I expected.

Let me first get out what was right. I have to acknowledge what was good and the people who made it so. 

My husband gave me exactly what I asked for. A weekend of no cooking. My sensative stomach is paying the price for that, but I'm happy. He also took me wherever I wanted to go. We started Friday night. We have a casino about an hour away. We aren't big gamblers, but we are so desperate to be around people. So, for the first time in over eight years, we went to a casino. We first stopped at their buffet. 

I'm usually not much into community smorgasbords and their germs, but I made an exception. There was actually good food to choose from and it wasn't bland. After loading up on prime rib, buffalo perch and pecan pie, we headed into the casino. We each made a donation to our local schools at the slot machines and decided to head home. On the way out, we hit the machines that always pay out...the pop machine. 

The next day, we headed to Cincinnati. We've lived here a year and only been to Cincy once. On the way, we stopped a donut shop. A Walmart cashier and Pigeon Forge recommended it. I'm glad he did. They were the best donuts we've had since we left KC. Then we headed to Ikea. Evidently when it rains hard on a Saturday, everybody with a screaming child heads to Ikea. 

That place is a bit overwhelming. Once we got it figured out, it was pretty smooth. We got a ton of ideas for the house. We didn't go in with a list, but we came out with a cart and a basket full. We loved getting some things to freshen up the house and a second dresser, that we've needed for years. We had lunch there. It wasn't spectacular, but it was free. Evidently, if you spend at least $100, your food is free. 

We made the long, super rainy trip to Trader Joes and then home. We tried a deli in town for dinner and it was good. I'm thinking we will definitely go back. Today, we headed to a Japanese steakhouse after church. It was ok, but maybe not the quality we are used to. Definitely good for this area. We hit a couple stores and came home. Tonight, we got burgers from a place in town and I'm officially stuffed and ready to not eat for days. 

Two friends surprised me with precious gifts and cards. It was so sweet of them. I've had lots of birthday wishes on Facebook and a couple texts. So sweet of people to think of me. 

It's all been fun and sweet and far more than I deserve. 

There is a sadness to this birthday that is unique to this year and this place. 

The first is obviously my family. They are responsible for half the tears shed the past few days. I woke up at 3 am this morning and couldn't fight back the tears. More than any birthday in the past eight years, the situation with my mom has gotten to me. It was 40 years ago that she had her first child. The same child she now no longer claims. 

Did she think of me today? Did she even remember what today was? Was it anywhere in her hardened heart that made her want to reach out to me? Then the reality of my questions sets in and I know the answer to all of them. At 3 am, that reality rested heavy on my chest. I can only imagine that's a normal response for anyone who's estranged from their family. 

I think it's further complicated by not having a relationship with any of my family or my husband's family. I do have 15 family members on Facebook and phone numbers of about 20. I had one aunt and one cousin acknowledge my birthday and no texts. I think that would make anyone sad. 

Of course it sucked not being with friends on my birthday. That's all I ever wanted. My closest friends know how hard birthdays are for me. Sadly, only a couple of them bothered to contact me. Again, how can I not be sad? It was a big birthday. Of course it was hard to feel so incredibly alone. it really hits on those old feelings of not being wanted. 

I'll smile and tell everyone it was a good day. But, it wasn't. It was incredibly painful. I'm thankful for the people who went out of their way to make it special. They are the reason I won't let this linger. 

Gender isn't a choice!

I've been back and forth on whether to touch on this subject. Making a choice to change ones gender is something I struggle with and especially now that it's being thrust upon us.

If you have read much of my stuff at all, you know that I stay on the more liberal side of social issues that tend to divide people in passionate ways. I know and see homosexuality as a sin, but make a very conscious choice to not make a big deal over other people's sin when I have so much of it in my own life. Their choices, much like my own, will come with an opportunity to repent and convert.

But, gender reassignment or even transgendered (living as the opposite sex), is something I can't easily get on board with. I can't seem to separate it as a sin and equal to my own sin.

Let me explain a little bit deeper. I have said this all before, so it isn't something new. There have been times in my past when I wondered why I wasn't born a boy. My entire life, I have always identified with males more so than females. Relationships are easier and interests are more common. I have even gone through periods of my life when I hated being a female.

Despite all that, I have learned to embrace who I am. Even before I was a Christian and believed that I was created by God, I still embraced myself as being made the way I was meant to be. It wasn't easy. I even tried to force myself into loving the color pink and being girl while trying to forget that loved football and the smell of grease.

Not only did I have to learn to embrace who I was, I had to learn balance. The same God who made me a girl, designed the innermost parts of me that prefer hockey over shopping.

I cannot help but think people who live as the opposite sex or make permanent alterations to their sexual orientation are completely depraved. They cannot possibly know or believe in God or that they were designed by an awesome Creator.

Forgive me, I am very passionate about this subject lately. What I am saying isn't out of judgement but sheer ignorance. I just can't wrap my head around it. I even question the legality of a sex change operation. Gender reassignment surgery is making a mutation of something that was already perfectly designed.

Recently, the president has made a push to outlaw therapy for this particular growing group of people. Is that really a good idea? If you are so confused about your gender that you can't live as the sex you were born, isn't there a need for therapy? I think so. By therapy, I don't mean just talk therapy. There should be some extensive hormonal testing and therapy made available if necessary. We need more, not less.

This isn't just a religious issue for me. I don't base all of my thoughts or opinions of my relationship with Christ. It is more a disgust and lack of understanding for people being unwilling to embrace who they are or adapt. When I say disgust, I mean we live in a society where if we don't like something, we snap our fingers, throw down some cash and someone can change it without any questions being asked. I suppose to a degree, we all do that. Don't like your hair color, spend $65 and get a new color. Changing one's gender just seems to cross a line I don't quite understand.

I know there is a continual evolution of what we will accept as a society. It seems like we are starting to cross lines that will make even more horrific things acceptable. I know it is a stretch, but today it is changing one's genitals and I have to ask what's next. Will we push the boundaries of what is ok and start allowing 14 year olds to marry? I don't know.

As you can see, it's not something I support and it's something I find a reason for at this time. I definitely won't be watching the big interview on tv tonight. I can't watch another spectacle that tells the world it's ok to change what you don't like.

Overthinking

My dreams maybe an indication that I'm over analyzing this upcoming birthday. You only turn 40 once, right!

Like I've said, I've not been overly upset about the age. I feel like my age is finally starting to match me. Truly the depressing part of my birthday is not having friends or family to celebrate.

I had one of those depressing birthdays. It was when I was 15. I woke up completely upset by the fact I was half way to 30. At that age, I must have thought 30 was old age or the end of life. Oh my goodness! My 30s have been some of the best and most challenging years of my adult life.

Last night, I informed my husband that he only had three days until he was married to an old woman. He responded with a laugh. I suppose that's fair. He is ten years older. That means he's got a ten year head start on being old.

Anyway, I can tell I've been thinking about my age way too much. My bizarre dreams are a reflection of the crazy things that float through my head.

I think with any big birthday, you consider the future and maybe even your mortality. It's not eating at me, but I think naturally in my thoughts a little more.

The past week, I've had crazy dreams. They all involve "old people" things or bizarre things happening.

In one, I had to wear glasses to see an ear of corn and then subsequently lost my teeth eating the corn. Another, I went to a doctor who made dentures and fit people for adult diapers. Holy nuts! In another dream, masked men invaded my house and I beat them off with a cane.

Then there have been the dreams where I either die or am sick. Those suck.

I don't remember these kind of things when I turned 30. All but one of my grandparents is still living. They are all in their 80s with no evident health issues. No parent, uncle (oddly I don't have any blood line aunts) or cousin has died and none have any diseases or apparent health problems. All of my great grandparents except one lived into their 80s or 90s. Same with extended family. Suicide and car accident are the leading cause of death in my family. My middle brother is the only one with any health issues. So, hopefully, I've inherited good genes and life is still less than half over for me.

I'll be finishing up my 30s with lots of schoolwork. Probably the really crazy thing is that starting next week, I'll be a 40 year old college student.

The Mother

My mornings all start about the same way. I take my time getting up and then immediately put the dogs out for the second time of the day. I will start laundry or dishes if needed and pour myself a glass of cranberry juice. I will take a few minutes to straighten up things. Lately, the floor stays littered with dog toys since the puppy is still too small to get them out of the toy box. Finally, I'll sit guard over the puppy's food bowl while he eats. Those bigger dogs love puppy food. I will usually open the window blinds and windows if it is warm enough and listen to the dogs wrestle and play. About the time I am ready to sit down with my school work, the dogs are already for their morning naps.

There's nothing terribly stressing about my mornings. I move at a leisurely pace. I don't bother to shower until I've spent a couple hours on school work since I have the option to study in pjs. I rarely turn on the tv, so the house is quiet. Unfortunately, that means my brain is usually busy. It is kind of my time to think through the day or analyze the previous day or dreams.

For some reason, my husband and I have had strange dreams for several nights in a row. We aren't drug users and there is no apparent reason for the dreams. My theory is that we are both processing subconscious feelings about our mothers.

My dreams have been obscure, but the common theme is that my mom takes me somewhere and leaves me. Last night, she took me, my stuff, two dogs and a pet turtle to a cult commune and left me. I had to escape on my own as some really strange things were happening.

My husband has been having dreams where his mom calls him. She tells him she loves him and misses him. He wakes up wanting to cry.

Neither scenario is possible. They are just that, dreams. There's no way they could be anything else.

Even though my husband's dreams make him sad, I would much rather be having those instead of mine.

In my husband's grief over having but not having his mother, he often forgets how fortunate he is and has been. He grew up with a mother who always told him she loved him. She supported him. She was a huge part of his life and who he is now.

While I don't have a favorable opinion of her because of how she treated me, I absolutely love the mother she was to my husband. For that and that alone, she has my respect and love. I have always tried to acknowledge her role in my my husband's life.

Admittedly, our marriage is stronger without her presence and meddling. I can't overlook that. However, I do wish she was still present in my husband's life in more than just a physical way. Because of my rocky relationship with her, my husband doesn't believe I have a right to grieve her illness and loss. Truthfully, maybe I don't. But I do have every right and responsibility to grieve with and for my husband and his family.

I don't think my husband or his siblings quite understand the treasure that they've had. Like anyone else, I think it's easier to see the negative and forget the positive. I also think they are a bit jaded to the fact that not everyone grows up like they did. In their eyes, they had it rough. But they didn't.

Not everyone has a mother who loves them. I don't. I mom has never told me she loves me. She has never supported me. She has never been there when I needed her. She did plenty of meddling and causing problems in my marriage, but done completely out of an evil heart.

I do envy what my husband has had with his mom. I know he will never hear his mom say she loves him again. But at least he has heard it. He knows what it is like to have a loving mother. He had a mother.

I know I have said this all before. These things stir up in me around my birthday and mother's day.

Even though my dad was absolutely evil and did the majority of my abuse, I have to fairly acknowledge my mom's lack part in my past. She was equally depraved.

The Father

Our preacher touched on something in his sermon yesterday that made me think through my growth as a Christian. In the last prt of his sermon, he talked through what being a father meant and how God as the Father is seen or described.

When I first became a Christian, it was easy to see God as an authority figure. Even though I've always been a strong Type A personality and have fit more naturally into leadership roles, I still have a healthy respect for authority. It was quite easy to see God as being comparable to a boss only over every aspect of my life.

I'll be honest, I've been known to test authority. Never in a rebellious way, but in ways where I could make sure that the authorities over me had were safe or had my best interest in mind. I've done that in jobs and with my husband. It was my way of knowing if I should stay or go and for good reason. Remember, I lived under an evil authority for a very long time.

Since perfection eludes us, I know that no father is 100% comparable to God. I completely get that. However, some fathers are a lot closer than others and most fail completely. Then there are the fathers, like mine, who absolutely warp the idea of what a father is.

When I became a Christian, I couldn't see God as a Father. In fact, when people referred to God the Father, I cringed. I even heard God referred to as Daddy a few times and tht just sickened me. Even through I understood that God was loving and just, I could not wrap my head around him as a Father.

Like I said, my idea of a father was terribly warped. I had a true and righteous hatred for my dad. He had never shown me love. He had hurt me all ways possible. He wasn't a good guy. He was evil. Everything for him was conditional and the end result was always painful. He never wanted children to love and teach. He wanted children for his own personal hell he had long fantasized about.

For 32 long years, that was my view of a father. The TV version of what a dad should be, like Ward Cleaver, was only a mythological creature. It never occurred to me that dad's were really supposed to be that way. Loving most of the time and firm when needed.

I know I wasn't a perfect child. I did make mistakes. It's sad, but I couldn't tell you what they were. I can never recall a time when my wrong was explained to me nor when the punishment fit the crime. I thought about this not long ago.

One summer day, I was actually allowed to go to a school mates birthday party. I had just finished third grade and the party was on the school lawn. My parents told me to be home at 3 pm. The party started at 1 pm and the school was one block away. They sent me off with rules and a plan for failure. I had no watch and the party was outside with no clocks. Unable to really enjoy the party, I fidgeted and was anxious the entire time about getting home on time.

At what I believed was a reasonable time to leave, I ran home. As I pulled open the door, I saw the clock on the VCR change from 3:00 to 3:01. Surely that counted. I was on the front porch and in the doorway at 3 pm as expected. My mom directed me to the garage. My dad was waiting for me with a board that had a carpet tack strip attached. He beat me until I fell to the floor.

To this day, I still don't understand what happened there. It seems like the punishment was already planned before my expected failure. But there was no explanation.

That was one of 1000s of reasons why my ideas of a father were so skewed.

My counselor worked so very hard to change my thinking. She had a huge part in my evolution, but so did others. I had to see it. I had to see fatherly love and good dads. Being in the church helped me see that.

Probably the most profound moment for me was with a friend who has a special needs son. I watched the dad come home and show immense love for his son one day. His son is non verbal and has little ability to give him anything in return. It was unconditional love like I'd never seen. In that moment, I could finally conceive this idea of God as a loving Father.

It was a painful journey to fully acknowledge God as my Father. But there is something very beautiful here despite the pain. Once I got it, accepted it, believed it fully, I never looked back. My dad was replaced. He had never earned the right to be my father. In a sense, he was out and God was in.

I think when your birth father is so incredibly horrible, it's much easier to embrace God as the Father. God the Father is everything you've dreamed of having and more. He loves and corrects when needed. There's explanation of correction in the bible. It's an amazing thing that is truly difficult to put into words.

I'm thankful for my Father. Not the one who donated the sperm, but the one who created me and loves me still.