Anxiety

Lately, my anxieties have increased. I've noticed that when my regular daily routin is or is about to change or be interrupted, my anxiety increases.

Not that there aren't other things. Since getting Bell's palsy in January, I've have a list of residual issues. One of those is pain in and around my right ear. It's a little long in the recovery process, but I can't do anything about it. If I'd have chosen medical intervention and steroids, I might not have the issues. My right eye still twitches and I can tell my muscle tone is not normal.

Fall is the worst time for allergies for me. My allergies flare and then my sinuses are irritated. When that happens, my ears ache and I get pain down into my neck. It's the norm and has been for years.

Those swollen sinuses and Eustachian tubes are even more painful and pronounced now after the BP. The vertigo comes on fast and furious. The muscle spasms are hitting me hard at night.

It's all a bit anxiety provoking.

But those are probably minimal compared to routine changes.

We are getting ready for vacation. I should be excited and I am. But my anxiety spikes.

Vacation isn't for a few weeks, so I hope it will improve.

Because I recognize this pattern, I can deal with it now.

After communion at church today, it hit me that I don't really have to worry about this. I have the ability to pray about it daily. But it's more than that.

I know this, but it was a gentle reminder from the Holy Spirit. There's nothing that's going to happen that God doesn't already know. He knows.

Even better....no matter what happens, my place is secure in heaven.

As much as I want to be here on earth and live my life and love my husband, I don't have to worry. When that time is over, my eternal life begins.

It was just a good gift to be reminded that worrying about the day I will die is stealing the days I can live.

Oh Lord, I need that reminder often!

Time After Time

For whatever reason, I still cannot shake this current cycle of dreams and memories of my brother. As I've said before, it's been well over eight years since I've seen him and we never had much of a relationship as adults. When we were with each other, our relationship was toxic and physically and emotionally destructive. That doesn't negate the feelings I have for him.

From afar, I love him. We are both products of a severely dysfunctional family. I chose a path of health and he has not. But I still care deeply.

Also as I said before, he's a complete stranger to me now.

With the memories and dreams, I can't help that my heart is breaking and I am fully immersed in the grieving process.

This weekend was his 39th birthday. It's never forgotten. It's the same day as my husband's childhood friend/best man at our wedding. They share the same name and same birthdate.

Even though he's not much younger than me, I still helped raise him. I was there for him when he was hurt as a small child. And that was a lot of the time. I was the one who made sure he was fed, had clean clothes that fit, and his homework was done.

I know I've shared this before, but it's heavy on my heart again.

In 1983, Cyndi Lauper's song "Time After Time" hit the late night videos. At all of eight years old, the words of the song seemed to accurately describe how I felt about my brothers.

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me."
"If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting."

I know this song isn't exactly about being there for your brothers, it's about a relationship. Maybe I didn't know quite everything at eight years old. What I did know is that when I sang the song to my brothers, it was comforting to them.

The words were valuable. In those moments when we all felt the world spinning out of control and completely alone, there was comfort in brief moments of quiet.

Now there is a commercial which plays often with a cover of this song. The memories flood back each time it comes on tv.

Our relationships all eventually fractured. We were pitted against each other. We also learned it was survival of the fittest. We all learned to fight for ourselves and against each other. It's a natural response when you are fighting for your life.

Despite what I've said, I believe I've held onto some faint hope of reconciliation with my brother. Now, realizing he's been a stranger to me for far longer than eight years, I'm finally being forced to let go.

Do you know how badly that hurts? To know you have a sibling who is living and breathing, but you must grieve them as if they are dead?

It's not the same as just being estranged or having a strained relationship with a sibling. I have that with my other brother. No, it's completely different. This is a loss. A loss that is far harder to understand than any death.

For the past month, I wished away these memories and dreams about my brother. Now I understand it's my mind and hearts way of letting go and moving on. I'm finally letting go of that tiny bit of hope which was buried deep inside me.

I'll always love him, much in the way I love others I've lost.

Bob

Note:  Since I do my best to not discuss specific people by name, I've changed this persons name.

So...Bob.

Bob is an older man in our church. He shook my hand this morning, as he does most Sunday's. As he started to walk off, he stopped again and said, "You look really good."

I thanked him and smiled.

My 30 lb weight loss is finally beginning to show, slowly. That in itself has caused several people to offer compliments and encouragement.

That may have been where his compliment came from, but the entire relationship is worthy of sharing. It's one of how God softens hearts, especially mine.

A little over a year ago was the first time I met Bob. Bob was an existing member of a bible study we started attending. Our first impression of him was that he was kind enough, but bitter and a whole lot judgemental.

Bob always had something to say during bible study. He came across as very black and white, very opinionated. Bob is an elderly man and I believe has lived in this area most, if not all, his life.

I believe because of those things, he has little tolerance for this progressive world. His era was filled with hatred toward blacks and absolutely no understanding of homosexuality. He's from an era where both were shunned and not shown God's love.

Those feelings and beliefs oozed out in passionate conversation during bible study.

Not knowing anyone very well and not having a good understanding of this very sheltered area of the U.S., we often didn't know how to comprehend what was said. It came out as offensive and hatred to us. Not at us.

One night, I left bible study in tears after Bob and his friends spent a good chunk of the study sharing their hatred toward gays. There was name calling, blaming and shaming.

I have friends and family who are gay. I love them. I do my best to love them how God would want me to love any of his children. So, I was taken back by such hatred spewed from mature Christians.

That night and many months after, I held onto hatred for Bob and his friends. People explained a little bit to us why Bob was the way he was. I was hearing none of it. He was hating people and I wasn't going to stand for it.

In the coming months, I got really sick and then hit an emotional low. That study group were the only ones who really had any clue. They saw the color fade from my cheeks and checked on me often. They were the ones who eventually saw the color come back to my cheeks and that I was improving.

During that time, Bob made a point to check on me on Sunday mornings. I didn't realize at the time, but that's what he was doing. About a month ago, he told me he was glad to finally see me smiling. The next week, he let me know he had been and is continuing to pray for us. And not just for our struggles, but specifically for us to have a child.

Piece by piece, he's let me know and not in a prideful way, that he has followed, checked and prayed. His heart may or may not have been softened toward us at first, I don't know. But I know now, it is. He's been loving us in his way.

I only begrudgingly shook his hand for months. But then God softened my heart toward him. I began to pray for him months and months ago. I began respecting him and his life's journey. God put it in my heart to love Bob and his friends.

I do. I love these people who once offended me. I care so deeply for them. I've checked on them when I haven't seen them at church. I've taken meals when they've been sick. I've sent cards when I've felt led. I've prayed and praised God for how they serve the church and set examples.

The compliment this morning was lovely. But, the evolution of the friendship and how God has worked in big ways....that's beautiful!

Slump

Tomorrow is my weigh in and measurement day. It might be the first one I'll skip in 7 weeks.

This last ten days have kicked my butt in so many ways.

Up to this week, I got plenty of exercise. Between cleaning and prepping for a guest and then going a lot while she was here, I didn't slow down much.

It is always good to have visitors. Don't get me wrong! But it's stressful and definitely gets me out of my regular routines. I won't say much more about the visit because it had special stresses. It kicked up a lot of OCD in me.

Since I was out of routine, I was only able to get 2-3 hours of sleep for night. That left me completely exhausted. A week later and I am finally feeling like myself again.

During that same time, I had a minor health crisis. Nothing that isn't getting under control now, but one that took me a step backward with my blood counts. There's a good reason why you cannot donate blood for 2-3 years after low platelet levels. It only takes a minor crisis or bump in the road to set you back.

All that to say, I'm just now getting some energy back. But this week has been hard. I haven't gotten much exercise.

I've also struggled with some emotional issues. Dreams about family have continued. I don't have a true place to process and download most of that.

We are coming through one year anniversaries of very stressful and tough times. A year ago today, I had surgery. It's also when we found out how close to death I'd been. This month will mark a year that we learned of our miscarriage and had another. Not that I'm stepping back into that realm of grieving, but it does stir up some emotions.

In some of my dreams, I am desperately trying to get my mom to be with me through some of the emotions and her response is always the same. She stands at a distance and laughs. Sad, but that's how she dealt with my rare displays of emotions as a child.

All of that has been a pretty heavy load to carry. There's only so much I can share with my husband. His shoulders are already full with his own stuff. Exhausted, alone and deflated has made this a rough week.

It's the first week that I haven't paid attention to diet or even cared. It was the first time that the idea of losing only one or two lbs discouraged me. It was the first time in seven weeks that I really believed that I was wasting my time. It was the first time in this journey that I was content to just be a fat girl forever.

I know some people use a list like that to push them to work harder. Not me. It was my white flag moment.

Of course, I won't stay in this place. But I have to be honest about where I'm at right now. I have to know that every step of this journey wasn't easy. Not every week was about weight loss. I have to remember that some weeks were just about getting to the next week. I have to be reminded that weeks when I sabotaged myself, I could still start fresh the next week. I have to know that there were weeks when I was carried and the journey was never mine to take alone.

Comfortable Life, Bigger Plan

There is probably more than one post about this and there should be a lot more. Sometimes, and not often enough, what Jesus did for me overwhelms me and brings me to my knees. 

Admittedly, I sometimes don't pay attention to the communion devotion at church. They sometimes include personal stories or sports analogies that distract me and I try to focus solely on Jesus on the cross. Last Sunday was different. I hung on every word as the guy talked about how Jesus left heaven to be with us. 

Jesus came to earth in human form. His life was designed and formatted with purpose to teach us about sin. His life was intricately written to be a guide for us and how to live our lives. 

It wasn't all roses and sunshine. He had to convince people of who he was and fight their unbelief. I mean without the written prophesies at their fingertips, most had no reason to believe God would separate himself from heaven and come to earth in flesh. 

He was hated and even those closest to him doubted. If heaven is all its said to be, why would anyone trade it to be amongst sinners clinging to a fallen world?

I don't know about anyone else, but I don't like to step outside the comfort of my own little self created world. My house is clean, there's a pumpkin candle burning and soft music playing. The temp is a perfect 72 degrees. It's going to be near 90 degrees outside today. The flies and wasps are on their last leg of summer. 

It's a safe to say I'm going to hang out on the couch today with the TV, book or craft project. There's very little that could change my plans to stay where it's comfortable. There's very little I trade these comforts for today. 

That's a fairly accurate description of how we live life. Only big things ever change our desire to be where it's comfortable. Only crisis or God will push us out. And when that happens, we can trust that there is a bigger plan. 

Exactly! There was a bigger plan for Jesus living on earth. His death. Not only did he teach and leave us a guide for living, he came to die. 

I know I've said it before, but his sacrifice is more than I can comprehend most of the time. 

He didn't die a quick death. He was beaten mercilessly and nailed to a wooden cross. He died on a cross so that we could be forgiven. His death on the cross created our other to heaven. He gave it all for us. His life and his last breath. He gave it all. 

Jesus sacrificed his life so that we could one day know ultimate comfort. 

It's hard to believe most days that there's something more comfortable than my current surroundings. But there is. I know there will be plenty of times when I get pushed out of my comfy house. I just hope I always remember there's always a bigger plan. I know there is because Jesus gave his life for it. 

Reliving Firsts

Last weekend, my husband and I talked about how hard our first six months were here. It was truly a blur for us. So much was happening and our focus was on illness, finances and we were torn between here and there. 

Going into this fall, we will pass several milestones. Our first year of being free of our KC house. A year since grieving. A year of increasing health. A year of really settling. 

We were probably into this summer before things finally began to feel different, like this was home. That changes the perspective of everything. We had a year of living conflicted and heartsick. Now that those hurts have healed, we are experiencing things for the first time. We are living in the moment. 

Last year, I decorated for fall. It took me three days to clean and swap out decor. I had no energy and my heart wasn't in it. This year, it's taken a couple hours and it's made my heart so happy. 

I'm ready for the change of season. I'm ready to experience the Ohio fall when I can soak it in and enjoy it's intricacies. It'll be my first Ohio fall where I can see it with fresh eyes and a heart of thanksgiving. 

Not that I would have chosen how last year went. Up until then, the seasons changed and I rarely got so excited or felt as though I was experiencing it for the first time. Missing a year of changing seasons has given me a new perspective. 

Even though it's only September 1st, I'm ready for this next season. I'm ready for the smells of fall, changing leaves, pumpkin everything and the sounds of harvest time as I enjoy the cool breeze on the deck. 

I'm thankful to be in this place in life at this time. I hope it stays for a while. 

Cheaters

While making the hour long trek back from Dayton Saturday, my husband I had a long discussion about the Ashley Madison website hack. No, neither of us can be found on the website. But it's worth the time for us to discuss. 

Until it hit the news, neither of us had heard of this website. That's a plus for our marriage. We were both amazed by the amount of information could be found after the hack and how brazen some people had been. Using work email and time to cheat on their spouses. We weren't judging, just surprised. 

We were also heartbroken for all the people who now have relationships to mend. Even if the site membership never led to an affair, there is still a brokenness which must be dealt with by the couple. 

There was an equal surprise that there have been lawsuits filed against the website. We understand if the sole purpose is regarding the personal information now available for the world to see. But, if it's because they were caught, then that's frivolous. 

I've tried to write about this subject before and have mentioned it in passing. Infidelity is something that plagued us early in our marriage. So, we both have ample ability to speak on this and know it's not about judgement. In fact, I share in all honesty knowing it can bring judgement on us. 

There's a lot I can't tell you and much that won't seem in context. But, I'll be as transparent as I can. 

My husband didn't cheat. To my knowledge, he's never even had a huge problem with lust. However, he has fallen into the throes of women who were looking to prey on his genuine care and kindness. He's a bit naive. He never saw flirtations for what they were. 

Me, however, I was the cheater. I won't romanticize it nor will I make excuses for it. But, I ask that you do two things. Understand as best you can the extenuating circumstances and believe me when I say that I am NOT a cheater now. 

First of all, I was not a Christian. It was 16 years ago. I had no moral compass. All I had was 23 years of watching how my parents dealt with their marriage and problems. They were cheaters. I was still being emotionally and physically abused by my dad. Unless you've been down that road, you can't possibly understand how that warps your needs and desires, as well as your ability to cope. And there's a lot to deal with in the beginning of the marriage. I also believed my marriage was of no value. I sought ways to drive my husband away because I believed he would leave anyway. I also believed I was unworthy and incapable of being loved. 

Again, those aren't excuses. But me cheating wasn't about lust or love. It was purely based on dysfunctional, sinful living in a time of life when nothing was stable. 

I admitted my mistake to my husband. He was crushed and I offered him an out. He stayed. He stayed and loved me even more. I won't say he automatically forgave me. He didn't. That took years. Trust took even longer. 

My life and our marriage changed long before we started going to church, but going to church was the start of having a guide for our marriage. I changed long before becoming a Christian, but becoming a Christian began building that moral compass. 

Neither of us would tell you that I'm a cheater. We'd both tell you that cheating and lust are not a part of our marriage and not a sin with struggle with. We are both confident in our commitment to each other. We would both tell you that was another life ago. 

My husband could have left. He had ample reason and biblical grounds for divorce. I know, even though we weren't in church at the time, it was God working on his heart. I know God had a plan for us to stay together through it. 

A couple months ago, our preacher touched on something that was like a dagger to my heart. I had a moment of true repentance. Not that I'd never before, but a moment that allowed me to put it completely in the past. In tears on the way to lunch, I told my husband how sorry I was for hurting him all those years ago. 

He let me know he had long since forgiven me. But, I needed him to know how truly heartbroken I was over the pain I had caused him. It was the first time I'd ever really known he'd forgiven me and that it was completely in the past. 

As I sat with the Ashley Madison hack list in front of me this weekend, I thought about searching for names of family and friends. I didn't. I don't need to know. Knowing would only give me opportunity to judge. I don't want that. Each person has their own demons. Each person has a responsibility to repent to two people, God and their spouse. I have no part of that and neither does anyone else. 

Cheating isn't just a problem for men. Plenty of women struggle with it. 

Having been down this road, I'd like to offer some sound advice. Avoid your natural instinct to be angry and judge people you know. It's a sin problem and no different than the sins we all struggle with. If you know a cheating spouse or someone who's been cheated on, don't assume their needs to be a divorce. God's plan may not include divorce but a stronger relationship. God can and will use this for His glory. 

Be compassionate for both and I know that's hard. Judgement isn't going to help. God loves sinners and is near to the broken-hearted. Show them the overwhelming love of Christ and point them back to God in the darkest of days. 

We made it through without God's people, but I know not without Him. 

My husband would tell you the same things. He would also tell you that my mistake has made him a better husband and proven to him that he can love me through the better and the worse that we pledged on our wedding day. 

I'm not thankful for my mistakes, but I'm thankful for the ways I've grown through them. 

Not Wasted

This week has been long and tiring. That's good and bad. A deficit of sleep has finally caught up with me. Things that have happened have continued to pile on my shoulders. Things have poked at my anxieties and emotions.

There's no denying, the past six weeks have been good. They've put me on a high mentally, emotionally and physically. A high that allowed me to ignore the times when my body and mind were crying out and trying to get me to see that I was being falsely confident in my own abilities.

We need times like that. We need times that are good and help us move past tougher times. But that doesn't mean we can forget what we've just walked through or out of.

I've had great results from exercise and diet. The results push me to keep going. But, I can't always do that. I have irritated old injuries and ignored my sheer inability to tolerate allergens. I've stayed busy in ways like I used to when I held a full time job and went all the time. The truth is, I can't do that. I can't go from couch potato six weeks ago to going like a teenager now.

It's a process. A process that I must respect in order to not overwhelm my body and mind.

The physical activity has given me an excuse to ignore the mental and emotional parts of life. When it hit me this week that I've been doing just that, there was a huge message the Lord laid on my heart.

I can't ignore and leave the trials alone. I can't pretend they aren't or haven't been there. Obviously, there is a high probability those trials will resurface if I'm just ignoring them.

The bigger problem is that tossing them aside like dirty laundry is wasting them. Of course it's easier and less painful to turn your back on them as if they were just a blip in life. Don't get me wrong, they may have been. But if I toss them aside, I'm wasting the trial.

It's taken years for me to fully grasp this. A trial is wasted when we do not allow it to grow us. Trials should change us. If it changes us in no other way, it should at least drive is closer to the Lord. But they can grow us in so many ways.

Trials can humble us, teach us grace or patience. They can shine a spotlight on relationships we should value and even those we should let go. They can guide us to make life changing decisions or changes. Trials can teach us dependence or imdependence. They will break us and show us all that we cannot do alone.

Ignoring the trial is completely turning out back on the opportunity to grow and change.

I've done that plenty this past year. I've complained and whined. It's been hard. I've chosen the easy way to react. I've also allowed so many of the trials to change me.

It took seeing someone else not use a trial as an opportunity to grow for me to see I often do the same.

Here's the giant neon flashing sign that has been sitting in front of me since then....Hey don't waste the trials. Allow them to change you. Use them. Use what you've learned to love others.

Sometimes it's hard to put into words something so big and so personal that's been laid on my heart. It's even harder to listen, do and allow the Lord work when it's so much easier to ignore.

Skeeter

That's a random name for a beautiful, happy Sunday afternoon. Honestly, it's a random thought that keeps coming back to me.

Facebook creates this alternate universe where my little brother and I are friends even though there is no contact. We know what is happening in each other's lives to the extent that we are willing to share with the world.

However, I have no fake or real contact with my other brother. In fact, most people don't even know I have a second brother or another niece and nephew. I think maybe I forget sometimes too.

I do. He's the middle child and 16 months younger than me. Thanks to a few weird dreams and seeing a few men who resemble him, he's been on my mind this week.

Skeeter is his nickname. He's had it since we were kids. Even my brothers kids know him as uncle Skeeter.

He's a complete stranger to me now and probably always has been. I know 18 years of his story, but can't possibly fathom how it has altered his life.

The last time I saw him was somewhere around nine years ago. We weren't close even before my departure from the family.

He was married to a woman for several years and left her probably 10-11 years ago. He viciously lied about his ex, claiming she was a lesbian. It wasn't until years later that we learned he cheated and left his wife for a woman my moms age. To my knowledge, he is still with her.

If I came into contact with my parents today, they wouldn't be strangers. No amount of time or distance will ever erase the vivid memories I have of them. It would never change exactly what I know of them.

But my brother.... I can't even wrap my head around having a brother out there that I don't know.

Dreams and reminders of him make me sad.

There's a good reason we don't have a relationship. We cannot. We are toxic together. I know what 18+ years of abuse made him and therefore cannot be near him. One of the last times I saw him, he left me with a black eye, busted lip and concussion. That alone is reason enough to never be near him.

Given what my little brother has shared, it is safe to say that a reconciliation will never be possible for us. It's another long term effect of growing up in a living hell. That orphan feeling runs deep.

Most days, weeks and months go by without thinking about him. But that hole, that sadness always resides just below the surface. It's deep and wide. I can't even describe it. I hide it as it comes and wish away the longing for family.

These, these are the ripple effects of surviving abusive parents.

Six Weeks Ago

A few minutes ago, I made two trips down my driveway and back. My driveway is a little under a tenth of a mile long. No big deal right?

I have this deal with our puppy. If he goes to potty when it's time to go get the mail, he gets to go. By go, I mean I carry him. He likes it and I don't trust him off a leash. Today, there was no mail, but I had two trash cans to walk back to the house. So, him in one arm, I made two trips to get the trash cans. He was in heaven.

Six weeks ago, I would be out of breath by the time I got to the end of the drive and nearly hyperventilating by the time I got back to the house.

I was seriously out of shape. I still am. But not that bad.

On my last trip to the house, I thought about all that has changed for me in the last six weeks.

Six weeks ago, I sat and longed for a time when we could be back in KC. I hated life here. I was miserable with my life in general and I felt terrible about myself.

I did that walk today without breaking a sweat or even raising my heart rate. I was breathing easy. Such a huge change.

Even though I'm in disbelief because my clothes don't feel that much looser, I've lost a whopping 24 lbs. I don't think I look any different. My belly isn't shrinking fast and neither are my cheeks. Those are two things that happen when I do crash fad diets or get sick.

Thankfully I started measuring myself or I would have never believed the scale. Here are my totals so far:
Hips -2.5"
Waist -5"
Chest -5"
Shoulder -7"
Thigh -2.5"
Arm -2.5"

That makes the number on the scale make so much more sense to me. I am losing weight in healthy ways and it's coming off all parts of my body. I know I've said that before, but I can't help but remind myself. I'm doing it the right way. My pants aren't going to fall off me at 24 lbs cause I'm not just losing weight in one place.

Size is such a small prt of it for me though. I am amazed at how
Much more I do and want to do.

Six weeks ago, I was doing good to get 1200 steps per day. Maybe a busy, grocery shopping day might get me 2300 or just over a mile.

For a month, I have walked at least five days a week. I get in 3/4 to 1.5 miles before 6:30 most mornings with my husband. I've started walking or getting some exercise in the evenings too. I hit 10,000 steps or more at least 3 days a week and am working on getting more. I've even had a couple two mile walks this past week.

I did try some exercising inside one day. I ended up throwing my back out and might rethink what I'm doing there. However, I did sit-ups and push-ups. I'm still beside myself that I can do any of that. Not since freshman year of high school have I done any of that.

The absolute best part of all of this is I'm not miserable. I'm enjoying life here. I've had some deep conversation. I'm making relationships. Friendships that will hopefully last for years to come.

The best side benefit is that my husband is on board now. He's walking five days a week and losing weight. He started walking for his back and it's helping. But now he pops up out of bed and goes without me if I'm sleeping. He has shirts that he hasn't worn in a couple years that he's digging out of the dresser to wear. I love that and love him. He even says his attitude is better at work. Yay!

I hope the next month is as productive as this one. It would be awesome to write a post at the end of September and have similar results.

FHMCC

First Heavy Metal Church of Christ

That's where we worshipped yesterday. It is exactly as the name implies. If you're thinking it might have been way out of my comfort zone, it was. Yet, it had an amazing impact on my heart.

We had decided to take a couple weeks off from our church and serving to do a few things. This Sunday just happened to be wide open when a friend asked if we wanted to check out this church in Dayton. They aren't members and only attend on occasion. It's about a 75 minute drive. Not close at all.

My friend gave me a list of warnings, but nothing prepared me for what I saw and only the Lord could have prepared my heart.

As we pulled up to the mid 1900s school house, the first thing I spotted was a parking lot full of card just like ours. Modest, family cars and in nice condition. In my mind, that fit for what we are used to at church.

I may have said this before, but all of our current and previous churches are at varying levels of "come as you are." But, we do and have worshipped with people of our common social status. It's just the way it's worked out. We are used to a parking lot of nice vehicles and well groomed people. That's our comfort zone.

The next thing I saw was a Hearst. It was painted with flames and had a pew as the front seat. It had writing on it, but I couldn't really get past what it was. Walking to the door, there were groups of fairly rough looking people all smoking. That definitely wasn't the warmest welcoming. This is a good time to point out that we aren't the kind of people this church caters to and that's really ok.

Inside, it was as you'd expect from an old schoolhouse. Dingy, dark, hot and stale. The musty, ashtray, gym sick smell assaults your nose as you walk in the door. Here's where things got real. While my senses were on high alert, I didn't fail to see how each person who passed us or said hello carried a gigantic smile. It took me only seconds to see how excited these people were to be there to worship.

Before I go any further, I think it's important to explain my reference to these people and why we didn't quite fit. Even in our jean shorts and tshirts, we stood out and so did our friends. Not that anyone made us feel like that.

As the old gym filled with people, I couldn't help but do some good old fashioned people watching. I've never seen such a diverse group of people. All different colors, sizes and ages filled the seats.

There were girls and guys with blue, purple, pink and flaming red hair. Older men and young with beards of varying length and even down to their waist. There were girls ripped shirts and bellies hanging out. Older ladies dressed in all black. There were men in chaps and covered in chains and biker attire. Tattoos were abundant. About 90 percent were dressed in black or FHMCC shirts. We saw about every type of piercing you can imagine.

Speaking of tattoos, we saw several gang and satanic tats. A different art for a past life, obviously. We saw a couple people wearing shirts indicating heroin was their current or past demon.

It's not with judgement that I look at these people as different, but you can see how we might have felt out of place. That was actually a very good thing in the end.

The band came out and I mean real band. The lead singer looked like an older version of Hulk Hogan and the bassist looked and acted like a ZZ Top member. They sang original hard rock/heavy metal songs about God and Jeaus riding a motorcycle and did it very loudly. Not exactly our usual "Be Thou My Vision" kind of Sunday.

However, this was the point I began to feel conviction and love for this church. As the music blared, these people were on their feet, hands in the air and enthusiastically worshipping their God. My God.

If I'd seen these people standing outside an abandoned schoolhouse before yesterday, I'd have thought they were about to be part of a biker rally or even some kind of cult worship. I'd never have believed I was looking at a group of Christians or seekers. Shame on me!

Likewise, I'd never see most of these people in any of the churches where I've been. In those moments, my heart crumbled. These people were worshipping my God with more love and enthusiasm than I've ever had. Despite what they looked like, they were no different than me. A sinner saved by grace.

When the band finished, the pastor came out to Ozzy intro music and armed with a giant squirt gun. Yes, he shot the crowd with it. He was your average tatted biker looking guy with a mic.

I'm so used to well prepared preachers and sermons that get read off an iPad and have multiple overhead screens. Not here. Admittedly, he didn't have the message until that morning. It was typed on a few sheets of paper. It also didn't all flow together perfectly. He literally included random things that were on his heart.

The sermon. Wow! So much of it spoke to my heart. I loved how he prefaced so much of what he said with the idea that there may only be one person in the room who needed to hear the message. Yes! I know at least one who needed it.

One of his points was about church. There is no perfect church, which we know. But we tend to get restless or discontent and want to move on to the next church that will eventually lose that new car smell. Yes!!! It's one of the things that led us there that day. Not that we are or were searching for a new church. We aren't. But we are restless and bored and struggling in some areas.

He was standing right beside us when he quite pointedly said, you need to put down roots. God doesn't want us church hopping. He wants us engaged and involved. He wants us making relationship. Gosh, that spoke to my heart and touched on what I want. I have to be a part of that and get content.

As he went on, he talked about using our gifts. He said God gave us our gifts. If we aren't using them to serve Him, then we are wasting them. I know this. But again, it was a poignant message with perfect timing.

Another point he made was that God wants us exactly how we are. We don't have to quit our addictions. We don't have to give up our idols. He just wants us to come to Him. If we do that, He will begin to work in those areas. He will show his love and mercy as He changes the lives of addicts or the hearts of those bound to idols. He will get the glory. I've known that, but never heard it put so perfectly.

At the end, he closed with a time of unison prayer to commit or reconnect to Christ. He said any pastor not sharing an alter call or invitation isn't doing their job. That was an interesting perspective since some of our churches have stopped doing that.

Before the final prayer, there was a time when about eight people stood in the front and took time to pray with those wanting it.

It was a unique experience to say the least.

It's not a church we will frequent and we may never attend again. Not that we are against it, it's far away.

Here's the thing though, I left feeling extremely thankful for that church. That church is in a rough part of Dayton. It ministers to a people group right here in the U.S. that is largely unreached. They go to places where other churches might serve once a year. They love a community of addicts, metal heads, partiers, cults and doubters.

It's not that our churches don't or aren't prepared. Honestly, most the people in our churches wouldn't know where to start with some of these people. These are the kind of people who, before coming to Christ, would have spit on your tract or ripped you a new one for sharing Christ. Most of these people wouldn't have lasted past one service in our churches. No fault on either side. This church just meets a unique need. They meet people where they are when where they are is darker than what we typically see in our churches.

Even though it's not a place for us permanently, I'm thankful for the experience. I'm grateful for all that the Lord laid on my heart. Sometimes a new and different perspective is exactly what you need to remind you of what you have already.

Anxiety vs Trusting God

It's Saturday morning, a rare Saturday morning. My husband is taking a conceal and carry class. It's just me and the pups and they are sleeping.

There's nothing going on, but I'm sitting here anxious. I don't have big worries. Last year at this time, we had a KC house that wouldn't sell and I was sick and my husbands meds were jacked up. I had plenty to agonize over then.

We don't have any of that stress right now. I feel better physically than I have in years. And yet, I stress over that. I'm prone to anxiety, it's me and how I live. Anxiety takes over when people would turn to other addictions.

There are moments when I can think logically. I'm getting more exercise than ever. I'm more active and watching my diet closer than ever before. I'm working to get off the only two medications I take. My muscles, body and heart should naturally be getting stronger. Things like cholesterol, blood pressure and insulin levels should be coming down or within normal ranges because of the lifestyle changes.

Since I'm moving and exercising more than ever, it makes sense that my body is going to ache and hurt in different places. Sore shoulders, back and ribs have more to do with trying to do push-ups and sit-ups than poor posture or overeating.

I know these things. But, I still let them nag at me. I'll let a little gas or headache drive me to WebMD until I find the surely you will die diagnosis. I've shared before, but my entire life has set me up to always expect the next bad thing. I've never really allowed myself or lived life to expect anything good or plan too far ahead.

My life really isn't that rattled any more. But, you don't suddenly set aside what you've known to be true for 35+ years of your life.

This week I have been tired and had a lot of neck, shoulder and upper chest stiffness and pain. My mind has gone to all those places where nothing good happens. It's a natural response for me. It was a year ago that I slept all the time.

I've only had one day that I slept much over 6 hours. I need a full 8 to really feel good. I've done things like workout and rake the yard. I've spent hours with my head tilted toward the sky looking at meteors. Yes, all of those things make sense.

As a Christian, I know I should rejoice at the idea of going to be with Jesus. And I do. But Christians, do you ever think about how scary it would be to leave your spouse or kids or family? I think that fear is exactly what keeps me locked in anxiety and unable to trust God in these moments and days.

I'd say the same is true with travel anxiety and financial worries. The fear is greater than my trust in the Lord.

Maybe my prayers should be less "Lord please...." and more, "Lord, teach me to trust in You!"

Lord Jesus Come

Those were the lyrics of the last song that played. Some days, it's my prayer. My cry. Today is one of them. This post isn't about Jesus' coming, but it is in a way.

In heaven, it won't matter what I look like or how fat I am. It won't be a struggle for health and constant balancing of what's good and what makes me happy. There won't be judgement amongst the people over what I do or don't do.

Over the past ten days, I've gotten my husband on board with walking. He's starting to be more health conscious. Knowing how to lovingly push him in ways that don't make him feel bullied is a battle. He loves sleep and is the one who hits the snooze seven times before getting up.

In addition to encouraging him, I've had to find the strength to continue the exercising. Unless you've been extremely overweight, you'd probably never understand. It's a challenge physically to get up and go. My ankles, legs and feet hurt. I've got residual hip and foot problems. I know walking will help some of those problems and worsen others. Long term, all of the problems should improve. My back is going to hurt. I'm going to struggle to breathe and often get dizzy or get a headache. It's never easy. Not one day.

Last week, I wrote about how discouraging fat shaming was. This week, satan has decided to attack us both in other ways.

Two of the past four times walking on my road, I've had the same lady smack me in the arm with her mirror. Seriously! Do you get what I'm saying? I don't want to over dramatize it, it was only the mirror and I had only minor bruising and soreness. But, I don't want to minimize it either. A grown woman hit me with her car twice and drove off.

You should know how I walk. I walk on one side or the other and not in the middle of the road. If I see or hear a car coming, I get as far off the road as I can and will stop until the car passes. We start walking about 6:10-6:15 and it is not pitch dark. I can't speak for my husband, but I'd say he probably gets over too.

In the last two days, I've felt under attack for walking in the mornings. There have been multiple people outspoken against us and what we are doing. I don't want to even go into details.

Here's what I will say:

People here absolutely do not get that pedestrians have the right of way. I can't believe what I've seen and been told. It's assanine! Look at state pedestrian laws. Ultimately, drivers have a responsibility to the person on the road unless clearly marked that pedestrians are prohibited.

I cannot believe how completely discouraging people are. One attack was very personal and was more about me being too fat and that the road isn't wide enough for me and a car. I'm tough, but that hurt. I obviously don't want to be so fat or I wouldn't be out walking.

Here is probably the hardest observation for both of us. We aren't doing anything others haven't or don't do. We have lots of walkers and joggers on our road at all times of the day. The difference? We aren't one of them. We haven't always lived here and always walked on the road.

I hate to bring that up, but it's true. We have found that in so many instances, we cannot make the right decision. We have been looked down on or told we shouldn't do or say things that we observe others doing. We abide by the unwritten rules and get told we are cold and standoffish. There's no winning with about 95% of the population. We are outsiders. We are going to be wrong even if we act and look like a local. Keep in mind, there are a handful of people who don't treat us that way.

There's a lady at church who snubs me weekly. She comes over, stands right over me and shakes the hand of the lady sitting next to me. I've tried to shake her hand, only to have her push mine out of the way.

When that happens at church, it's easy to believe people driving on our road would treat us the same. It's sad, but it's reality for us.

Since we've decided to stay, it something we have to cope with. It shouldn't be, but it is. People who can't make eye contact with us, won't shake our hands and hit us with their cars. I'm not angry and it doesn't change how I feel about this community. My God is bigger and has given me a heart for this area. But it doesn't mean I'm not sad. It doesn't mean that I'm not discouraged.

Healthcare

There is no way that I can do this post without sounding negative. However, that's not the purpose. The purpose is to remind me always of the differences right here in the U.S.  It might serve as an opportunity for you to see a different perspective.

Healthcare is easily the thing I took for granted the most before we moved. In 16 years, I had 4 primary care doctors. The first, I left because he was terrible and our insurance changed giving me more options. The second two were in the same office. They both left for other positions. However, I was with them for over 10 years total. The last few years in KC, I switched to a young lady at St. Luke's and she was great.

Over the years, we both saw a handful of specialists. Dermatologist. Gynecologist/fertility. Surgeon. Orthodontist. ENT. And others. We never had to drive far. In fact, we only had a 30 minute drive to one. If we needed an ER, we had a 5 minute drive to one of the best in the city.

We had first class, top-notch care. The offices and hospitals were clean and sanitary. It was exactly what you would expect. The only complaint was an occasional longer than average wait. Even that was not super common.

I don't want anyone to think it was perfect. There were a few bumps in the road. There were some annoyances. We always knew that if one doctor didn't suit our needs, we had a long list within five miles to chose from.

We joke sometimes that we moved to a third world country. My KC friends would agree, I'm positive of it.

Last summer, we learned very quick that healthcare was not equal to what we left. After a full day of calls, I found nobody locally who took our insurance and had any openings within three months. My husband finally found a sympathetic receptionist who listened to his story about moving and need for med refills. He got an appointment within a month.

During that time, I also began searching for a gynocologists because I knew I had a problem. Nobody had any openings within six months for me. In August, I had my first ER visit.

I know I've written about this before, but as a reminder....  We were treated like scum of the earth in the ER. There was no care, compassion or privacy. They failed to do a pregnancy test. They sent me home knowing my hemoglobin was low and nothing for pain, let alone all the other problems. They were more concerned about my BP than anything. They did get me in with a gyno three days later.

That gyno didn't speak English well and was fresh off her residency. She too failed to do a pregnancy test and gave me the most painful biopsy of my life. She ordered no bloodwork and was also most concerned about my BP. Of course my BP was high, I felt like death.

The next month, I finally got a referral from my chiropractor of all people to a better gyno. He got me right in and did surgery. He also saved my life! He is an excellent doctor. However, after dealing with his office staff now for a year, I can tell you his quality of service isn't seen in the staff. They have been awful! They are incompetent and only care about filling his schedule. The entire office has a huge communication problem. I am once again in search of another gyno.

In the meantime, we had other medical issues.

My husband had to go to one specialist after another. None around here have taken new clients any sooner than two months. When we drove 90 minutes for the big problems, we got right in. His arm doctor was absolutely the only comparable office, care and doctor to our KC choices. Beacon Orthopededics was awesome! His back doctor works out of an old, smelly, dirty office in Cincinnati. He's a good doctor, but his staff obviously hate their jobs.

I had two more visits to ERs. One more at the local hospital, where I got two warfarin shots in the belly and sent home with a probable blood clot in my leg. The other time was about 30 minutes away when I was puking and doubled over in pain. Those idiots hooked me up to an IV with pain meds and then wanted me to walk all over the hospital for tests and scans. Right!!!

Since I was having issues, I did call and set up an appointment with a local doctor. New patient, two month wait. Two days before my appointment, I got a call that the doctor had left the practice. Ok. Schedule with a different doctor. Two months wait. Day before appointment, I get a call that the doctor left the practice. No more doctors in that practice who take our insurance. One of the only offices locally who take our insurance and new patients is my husbands doctor.

Ok! My issues have resolved, so it wasn't urgent. However, it's time for an annual physical. As of August 1st, my husbands doctor no longer takes our insurance.

We will have at least 45 minutes to find a new doctor now.

I spent a year on the wait list for the only psychologist who takes our insurance. Kent has been on the wait list 15 months, but mine was a bit more urgent. The day I went in for paperwork, they announced that only provider was no longer going to be in their office and there were no providers for our insurance.

We are on our second dentist since moving and are in search of our second optometrist.

Besides our chiropractor, there has been NO office or hospital who has billed my insurance correctly. We've paid multiple copays us on Kent because of incompetence in billing staff.

I've noticed that if I complain, the locals get a bit offensive. I understand. I probably would to if I'd lived here forever. I get it.

But let me be clear, the people here do not get the care they deserve. The people here deserve the kind of care and options we had in KC. They deserve to have compassionate staff and doctors who care.

I hate that the healthcare system is so broken here. It seems great to some people here because it's the best they've ever had. But they could and should have better.

I LOVE my community. If I could bring one thing here to give to this community, it would be a better healthcare system.

Again, I know this sounds so negative. I know there are exceptions to everything I've shared. I know a couple nurses who are amazing and I'm sure there are others. They do their best with what they've got to work with.

But, and it's a big BUT, there's no equality been here and KC. There's really no comparisons between here and where we grew up either. Even where we grew up has higher quality care and facilities.

It's not likely to change with the current administration.

State Fair

As I said before, we do want to embrace our new home and area. We are explorers by nature, so we enjoy checking out the obscure and the things considered family favorites. Yesterday, we headed to the Ohio State Fair.

It had been 26 years since I went to my first and only state fair in Minnesota. I don't remember much except the food and Viking ships. It was Minnesota after all. My husband had never been to a state fair. We had only been to the county fair back home together.

When we lived in KC, county fairs weren't popular like they are here. Here, they close schools down for the county fair week. Crazy, I know! The Missouri State Fair was a family tradition for some friends, but not anything we ever made the 45 minute drive for.

With a few things we had going on, the last day of the fair was the only one that worked with our schedule. And it was packed!!!!

We got there as it opened. It's about 90 minutes away, which is really nothing since almost everything is an hour away. It was about 75 degrees and pleasant. However, I forgot sunscreen.

Once you step in the gate, three things were clear. One, we had a multitude of choices for lunch. Two, this state loves John Deere. Three, the one thing they love more the JD is the OSU Buckeyes. The state has 2 professional football and baseball teams, a professional hockey and basketball teams and many semi pro teams. They even have some excellent universities who do well in sports. But nobody is as universally loved as the Buckeyes.

Just to be clear, except the Bengals, we haven't given up our favored teams and embraced the local ones.

We walked through a couple buildings with fair entries in crafts and food. We also walked through the Marketplace filled with blood sucking salesmen. Seriously though, Direct TV is the worst! We only went in one animal barn and that was enough. It smelled so bad! Maybe had it been cooler and earlier in the fair, we'd have spent more time looking at the animals.

Looking at all the cakes, breads, candies and cookies got us good and ready for lunch. We chose a BBQ vendor. Big surprise! He had ribs, I had chicken. I was strategic. It was easier to justify dessert with a healthier lunch. Believe me, I'd rather have eaten the tenderloin the size of my head. So, grilled chicken it was.

After lunch, we hit the dairy barn. There was the giant butter display. I'd seen a cow carved out of butter, but this was far more. It was a cow, calf, two football helmets and Brutus the Buckeye mascot. Quite impressive! It was rednecky and made us feel at home.

We made the giant loop through the fair and decided to go home after about four hours. On the way to the gate, a dessert stop was necessary. The supplements we take have eliminated sugar cravings, but we still enjoy an occasional dessert.

So, a funnel cake was a must. We didn't pick just a plain cake. Oh no! We had a cake topped with hot chocolate, marshmallow cream and graham cracker crumbles. Smores on a funnel cake. It was ooey gooey sticky goodness. Truthfully, it made me sick and was totally worth it.

We walked off some of those calories with the 1/2 mile walk to the car.

Let me tell you what happened.

It was 88 degrees when we left. We spent 4 hours in the sun. I had drank only 1 small bottle of water. Bad news for me!

I was extremely dehydrated and sunburnt. I'm fair skinned, pale and the sun is not my friend. I also dehydrate easily. My face was hot, my body was cold. I was dizzy and a little delirious. I had waves of nausea rolling over me and I was certain I was going to spew funnel cake everywhere. I downed another bottle of water, but it took a while to get hydrated.

We stopped at SAMs for some shopping and I was a mess. I barely remember most of the store, but was coherent enough to pull my mental list out. I do remember my husband asking why I was so goofy and telling him I didn't feel good. The sun doesn't effect him the same way.

We were back in the car before I started feeling a little bit better and more like myself.

Once we were home, I stayed on the couch all night except to eat dinner. I also slept 9 hours last night and feel a little puny today. Thankfully, only my face is still red and no terrible burns. It sucks to have that reaction to heat and sun. It's happened since I was a kid and only doesn't happen when I stay well hydrated and use sunscreen. Evidently it's a form of sun poisoning.

Since we are planning to stay, I think the fair is a fun, family tradition for us. It was worth it. Next time, sunscreen and lots of water.

Fat Shaming

Today at the store, a younger girl walked passed me with a couple friends. The girl was overweight with tight shirt and shorts. Her belly was hanging out of her shirt. She was covered in tats and her face covered in piercings.

I had on a modest tshirts that went to my hips and a pair of capris. I always dress conservative. I rarely wear earrings in my only two piercings. My only tattoo is always covered. My hair is probably the least conservative part of me and it's not outlandish.

As she walked by, she belted out "look at that ugly oinker."

Damn the stabilized hormones and emotions. That stuff used to not bother me. Now I have these things called feelings and stuff like that hurts. Prior to a few years ago, I'd flipped her the bird, called her a loser whore and went on. I didn't. I walked on by as the entire bunch laughed and the girl made pig noises.

This girl obviously has issues. She was no Barbie.

I was so sad. Not sad for me as much as the next person she decides to treat that way. It'll happen. I'm not special. I was just available.

What that girl and everyone else who makes a surface judgement about me based on how I lol or my size is that I'm trying. I'm trying harder than ever before.

I'm barely a month into this journey. And it is a journey. Nobody really knows about the journey. A couple gals I walk with and my husband. They are the only ones who actively encourage me because they are active parts of this journey.

It's a hard road. I don't want to get up and walk in the mornings. I don't want to count every calorie. I don't want to eat healthy or find ways to be active. But I do want to be healthier. This journey is about being a healthier me.

There have been times when I've felt so encouraged to keep going and there have been times when I've been so discouraged that I wanted to quit.

People who fat shame others do not make the problem better. It's not encouraging. It brings down even the strongest person who's working their hardest to change their life.

I wanted to drag her ass off to the side and show her the changes I've made in the last month. The changes I've made are paying off.

I am down 16 lbs, 2" in my hips, 4" in the waist, 3.5" in the chest, 3" around the back and shoulders, 1" in my arms and 2" off the thighs. I can tell I'm gaining muscle in the arms and thighs.

There's not one lb or inch that has been easy or come without work and dedication. I've walked with foot pain and leg cramps. I've chosen veggies over chips and popcorn over ice cream.

When the girl chose to belittle me, I had to remind myself that I've been there before. I've been made fun of thousands of times. It would be a lie to say I've not been made fun of the past month. It happens. I think it hurts a little more when I'm trying so hard.

I'm not doing this so people won't be mean to me. I'm doing this so I can breathe easier walking up stairs and so I can enjoy a long walk on the beach and have more options when shopping for clothes and not have to spend the rest of my life on medications because my weight causes health problems.

Year 17

Last Saturday, we celebrated our 17th anniversary. This one, while not special in number, was the sweetest one of all.

After the past two years, I feel like we worked harder to get to this one. I also feel like we love each other better than ever before.

I don't have to enumerate the reasons why the past two years have been hard. I can't honestly say that either of us ever considered leaving. However, we were exasperated at times and wondered how it would ever work out. Things were so unstable and uncertain that the future was scary. We both feared what the next bad thing would do to our relationship.

We didn't have the easiest start. Our wedding and honeymoon were a disaster. We were so different. He had been a single guy living a bachelor life for well over ten years. To say we had a lot of adapting to do was an understatement.

I'll just get completely honest. My husband had no clue what he had gotten himself into. I was a mess. I had debt. I had severe mood swings we didn't understand. I was angry. I didn't like him, but didn't want to leave. At least not most of the time. Ok. I wanted to leave all the time.

It's hard to admit, but I was abusive to him both physically and verbally. I had a rage that would come over me and I would spin out of control. I had no understanding or even memory of my actions most of the time. I left him many times. Most times it was late at night and I would take off barefoot down the road spewing hate and obscenities at him.

His family hates me and I hated them. My family hated me and loved him and I hated him for that. I lied and cheated. I manipulated until I got my way, only to hate him after. I trashed him to anyone who would listen and accused him of all the terrible things I was doing.

This wasn't just the average rough start to a marriage. There was a whole lot going on with me that we didn't know and didn't understand. We didn't know I had PTSD. We didn't know about a long list of other issues and problems.

Think my husband is a saint? Me too!

This man! Let me tell you about him and I'll do it through tears. It's painful to know and absolutely amazing grace.

He never left. Never even considered it. As I yelled that I hated him and wanted a divorce, he'd repeat how much he loved me through sobbing and crying. As I lost control and took swings at him, he wrapped me up as tight as he could and held me until I calmed down. He hunted for hours when I threatened suicide and hid from him.

The list goes on. Before you hate me, please keep in mind that there was a lot more to the story that we wouldn't understand until much later in our marriage.

By no means was he perfect. He held onto a lot of anger toward me for a lot of years over my actions. He let his unforgiveness ruin a lot of the good times. He let his hardened heart keep him from seeing a desire in me to change or have a better life. He allowed his family to interfere and have input where it wasn't helpful.

To the best of his ability, he loved me through it. I've asked him over the past few years why. His answer is always the same. He took a vow in front of God to love me for better or worse. Last night, we had a similar discussion. We both agreed that nobody would have known how to correctly love someone who believed and wanted to be unlovable. He eventually had a mountain of information to take in and assimilate. I think even he admits now that the deck was stacked against him and he did the best he could at the time. We both agree that a lesser man would have given up long before.

At five years, I began to love him. At ten years, I started to understand what that love meant. Now, I'm completely in love with him. I love him beyond what I can describe. There are no words. He is a part of me. No, I don't always like him but I always love him.

It's been a long road. A lot longer than I can write here. I never thought I'd say this, but it's a love story. It's an awesome story of how God can work in lives even before they become committed to Him. It's a story of suffering and perseverance. It's painful and beautiful. It's a story of grace and mercy.

Of course I regret that it took so long to love him the way I do now. But without the suffering in the journey, I'm not sure I would love so deeply or have such an appreciation for him.

I'll end with this:

As a senior, my speech teacher said that real love is unexplainable. If you say you love someone and can list the reasons, then you're in love with the reasons. If you truly love someone, you'll not have any reasons and there will be no words.

I have no list of reasons and no words. I love this man because I do.

Mom Dream

Most days, I don't think about my mom. I try not to. It never ends well. Ever!

But sometimes, I can't keep from it. It would be easier if my mom were deceased. Then I'd never have to wonder if she thinks of me, misses me or anything else. My heart longs for that day. It'll be a definitive moment of transition in my life.

Don't get me wrong. For the sake of my nieces and nephews, I don't want that moment to come sooner than Gods plan. I am not ready for them to feel the pain of losing a grandparent. Two of them have already experienced the loss of a young aunt and uncle.

There is no hope of reconciliation with my mom and I've accepted that. It's not something I pray for nor long for.

However, my heart still deeply longs for a mother. I can't shut that off, even though I try.

I woke up at 4 am after what seemed like a long dream.

My dad was gone and my mom was working at the local Walmart. I know, crazy. I didn't recognize her as we stood in her check out line. After I paid, she run around the counter and hugged me. She told me to go pick out whatever I wanted from the store and bring it back so she could pay. I insisted that wasn't needed, but she said she had a lot of years to make up for missing.

First of all, my mom wouldn't have hugged me. Ever! She's not an affectionate person. I've been told that even as a baby, she showed no affection with me. No hugs. No kisses. It's part of the reason it took me so long to be ok with hugs and affection. It's also the reason I struggle to initiate affection.

Second, it touched on my love language. My love language is gifts. I've written about that before. There's so good reasons for it. However, my mom doesn't know what my love language is and likely doesn't know what a love language is.

My mom operates in a sad, dark place where buying things for someone is buying their love and the only way to keep them around. Even though my love language is gifts, I know the gift is not the ultimate sign of love. I cannot be bought, but she can. It's also a sick game that her and my dad played. It was the I'm going to beat the crap out of you and then buy you something nice. It makes my skin crawl.

Third, my mom isn't that generous. She's selfish and self consumed. She's more likely to spend her last $20 on cigarettes and lottery tickets than buy milk for her grandchild. It's painful for her to give up a penny to anyone and she knows little about sacrifice.

The dream definitely touched on those things that hurt. It's hard during this time of year. It's hard during holidays and birthdays.

My relationship with my parents was severed eight years ago today. But the loss came long before that. In all my 40 years, I've never had any semblance of a mother.

While the dream wasn't awful, it wasn't real either.

Zoo Trip

We spent half our anniversary day walking through the Columbus zoo. It was a good time, because we made it so.

I've had a couple people ask me how the zoo compares to the KC zoo or others we've been to. Around here, Columbus seems to be the preferred zoo between it and Cincinnati.

It was ok. The layout was fine and it was clean. It had a couple problems. The biggest is that the staff fed the animals at 9 am on Saturday. So, we were there for an hour before we started seeing animals. It was hot and naturally, the animals were all hiding out in the shade. Maybe during cooler times of the year, it would be better. I'm not complaining, it was nice enough.

There was a huge difference between the KC zoo and Columbus. The number of animals. Nearly every zoo I've ever been to has more animals. To be fair, we did not walk through the Australian section. We also avoided all aviary areas. Other than that, we covered the entire zoo. The number of animals seemed extremely low.

This is probably my only criticism of the zoo. I love Jack Hannah. I think this zoo might put a little too much into promoting him than utilizing space for animals. Just personal opinion.

We both agreed that the Omaha zoo is by far the best we've been to. I can't think of an animal that isn't on display there in multiples. They have adequate space for the animals and its overall an awesome zoo. The aquarium in Omaha is phenomenal compared to all other zoo aquariums.

Going to the zoo, meant we walked nearly 6 miles Saturday. I still hurt. Keep in mind, a few weeks ago I couldn't have gone that far. However, I did and did it on four hours of sleep. I finally feel rested, but have minor injuries on both feet. I've aggravated a previous injury and have a pulled muscle in the other.

I'm ready to go again. Maybe to the Cincinnati zoo. It was fun to go and have energy and be out.

Maybe this fall, we will head up to the zoo again.

Come As You Are

Have you ever heard that about church? Come as you are! Broken and bruised. Rips and tears. Come as you are.

That is how Jesus wants us to come to him. He doesn't want us prideful or pompous. He wants as we truly are. Scarred. Battered. Broken. Hurt. Angry. Emotionally. Physically. He wants us to come to him as real as we are.

Nothing else matters. Jesus already knows. We can put on a smile and pretty clothes. To the person sitting beside us, that might cover up all the mess. We can look good to everyone else, but Jesus still knows.

I have three primary churches where I've spent my Christian life. Two were very similar and one is different in many ways.

In my first two churches, I never felt it experienced that come as you are mentality. I'm not really talking about the emotional either. I'm very specifically thinking through the physical.

At both churches, most people wore their "Sunday best" to church. Women wore dresses and men wore at least business casual attire. In both churches, those serving communion often wore suit and tie.

Before I go further let me clarify. I don't think it's wrong. It seems appropriate to offer God your best. Can we honor God by dressing in our best?

Maybe.

But is it the most important thing? Is it really how he wants to be honored?

The reason it's such a big deal is because it's been a fight between my husband and I. He likes to be comfy. He will wear sweats to bible study and would to church if I didn't throw a fit.

Honestly, it wasn't that I wanted him to dress different to honor God. I wanted him to fit in and not stand out. I didn't want him to come as he is.

So here we are, sitting in rural Ohio. Our church here is completely different.

If you walked into our church today, you'd find a menagerie of people and dress. Some of the older ladies are dressed in skirts and dresses. But that's not the norm. There are no suits. The pastor is in jeans. Men serving communion are in tshirts and shorts and flip flops.

You'll find a lot of that. Tshirts. Shorts. You'd probably even find a couple stained shirts and ripped shorts. You'd find jeans and messy hair.

Please don't think I'm putting down or judging these people. I'm one of them.

This church truly gets the physical part of come as you are. The guy in the Harley shirt is absolutely equal to the older man in a tie. The young girl with her belly hanging out is treated no differently than the one in a nice dress.

As much as I love so many at both of my first two churches, I have to be honest. There would not be an equality there for these people. Their surface appearance would set them apart. I've seen it. It's painful, but I've seen it.

I've seen two godly people run off from a church because they weren't accepted. It's not that they were theologically different. It was because they ride bikes to church and chaps into the service. Sad but true. Nobody really got to know them. By actions, they were shunned. Nobody welcomed them.

Friends, that's not the way Jesus is and it's not how the church is supposed to be.

Has it been different for us and even an area where we had to adapt? Sure has!

The emotional come as you are is an even bigger animal to tackle. There's room for growth in every church for that. However, I have to give kudos to the church I'm in now. They are closer to getting this right than any we've seen.

I'm not at all bashing the churches we've come from. They are different and in different areas. There's no perfect church and each church is always growing and changing. Some churches are changing in bad ways so they can be redeemed.

The point is, it doesn't matter what we wear. Jesus still wants us to come to him. We don't need to be dressed up or perfect. He already knows what's under it all.