Perception vs. Reality vs. Truth

For the past month, there has been a great deal of twisting and turning in my heart and mind. There has been so much thinking back on church life, comparing perception, reality and truth.

When I started going to church, I had perceptions of what church and Christians should be like. Then there was the reality of church and Christians really were. Then there's the truth, what the bible says the church and Christians should be.

It struck me a few weeks ago that I am now one of those people who knows the words of nearly every song being sung. I know, it sounds like a simple thing. Not a big deal. Eight years ago, it was a big deal to me.

When I started going to church, I knew none of the music. It was a big deal to me. I love music. I live singing. But I hadn't been exposed to church music. I didn't know it. When the slides didn't work, I was lost. That wasn't really the worst part. The hardest part was that my perception was that everyone was smarter or better Christians than me. I felt so behind, so stupid. That was my perception.

The reality was that these people around me had grown up in the church and been singing this music for a long time, some decades. The reality was that exposure would eventually teach me the songs. Another reality was that knowing music was an indicator of faith, far from it. The truth was that the music part of the service wasn't about knowing the words. It was and is a time to praise God. Sometimes that comes in singing and other times that happens when we take in the words. It even happens when we just show up.

Another perception I had about church was that if someone has been in church their entire lives, they are far more mature than me. While this was sometimes true, not always. The reality is that years in church do not always equate to maturity. The truth is that each one of us has an individual walk with Christ, which matures at varying paces. There's no step by step that is the same for everyone in growing in faith. Someone who has been in church since birth may in fact be less mature than the recovering drug addict who accepted Christ only two years ago.

One of my hardest perceptions was that Christians were perfect and would be Christ like. This was as much my fault as a few Christians who presented themselves this way to me when I was new to the church. They hid their imperfect lives and lived a facade of being Christ like. The reality is that Christians are sinners and will do wrong. They will wrong you and me. It happens all the time, daily. The truth is that yes, Christians are to strive to be Christ like, but fail. The truth is that grace and mercy are the most vital christian values to learn. They are what allow anyone to have healthy relationships inside and outside the church.

These aren't new to me, but have been ever so real to me lately. We've been here for almost two years and we both still feel like we are in a foreign land. We have glimpses where we feel apart of this community, but they are fleeting. Part of that is us. Neither of us do well engaging with people we don't know, even though we've made attempts. The other part is that we are in a well established community with people who already have full lives, full social circles.

We never thought we'd still feel this way at almost two years. I often have to take individual situations and events and apply the perception vs. reality. vs. truth. Sometimes the problem lies in my perception of the situation or person. But sometimes the problem truly is in the reality. Those times hurt. And it gets hard to apply truth, grace or mercy. The hurt manifests in anger until truth can be applied.

Just yesterday, I had a second person in a month welcome me to the church as a visitor. We attend regularly and set in the same place. I now work for the church. We've been attending since May 2014. My husband serves during the service a few times a month. I was frustrated both times. Left church feeling completely outside. The reality is that one of the two had just come back after being gone a while, likely having no clue who we were. The truth is that despite my frustration with this or anything else, God has shown us many times where he wants us to be.

I've been a Christian for over eight years. However, I'd never consider myself to be a mature christian. I've got a long way to go. I think until that day comes, years and years away, I'll have to apply this thinking. I'll have to always consider perception, reality and truth.

Alcoholic

There hasn't been a lot of time to blog lately. Sure, I could blame holidays or busyness. That's not it. I'm tired, but for good reason. I'm a chronic insomniac, so I struggle to sleep anyway. But a few months ago, I was invited (pushed by God) on a journey with a dear friend.

During a random conversation, she confided in me that she was an alcoholic and was trying to quit.

Instantly, I jumped on board. If she trusted me enough to share her toughest struggled, it was my place to trust God to guide me in this journey with her. There was no question, I was to join her. Fight for her. Fight with her. Pray with her. Pray for her. Be there with her. Be there for her.

Let me be clear. I did not take this on as a project. I don't have a false idea I'm a savior for her. She's my friend. I love her. I went all in because God made it clear I needed to do it. I didn't think for a second it would be quick or easy. I never believed it would be an average relationship. I never thought I'd be able to throw a couple antecdotes or books at her and she'd be healed.

I knew this would be hard. I knew it would consume lots of time and energy. And it has. I'd give it all again and more if I could.

A few years ago, I watched a man my age spiral out of control with alcohol and die. It was painful for everyone who knew him and no doubt for him. There was a part of me that thought I would be damned if I watched another person I cared about die.

If you've never walked with an alcoholic in any capacity, it's easy to believe the person is choosing to drink or in control of their poor choices. Not so. The alcoholism is driven by misfiring in their thinking and brain. It's no different than someone having a propensity toward depression or anxiety. There's very little control.

Quitting is a long, painful process of rewiring thinking and getting to the bottom of base problem. It is hard. Painful. Easier to go back to drinking than address the issues. Many alcoholics fail. Some fail then succeed and then repeat. Over and over.

That is the reality on this journey. A reality that all need to know if they are going to be of any help at all. Those things have to be accepted so the expectations can be fairly set.

Thankfully, my friend is strong and truly does desire sobriety. When she's not melting down our friendship is normal. Remember, I love her. In good and bad times. So the good times are really good.

The bad times. Well...they are really bad. They scare me and bring me to my knees. Those times, I know just how inadequate I am and how much I must rely on God. He can and always will do far more than me.

Those times are hard and super emotional. It's almost always late at night. There's often talk of suicide or lack of desire to live. I won't lie. It drains me. Physically and emotionally. I will stay awake hours fighting the adrenaline from talking her off the ledge. It wears me out. I get angry. Not at her, but at the illness. There are hours of nail biting fear and pacing.

It sucks seeing someone you love hurt so bad they want to drink. It's also a constant balance of knowing how much you can allow and when to call for help. There are so many times when saying, "I quit" would be so much easier.

Let's be honest. Quitting would mean I'd miss the victories. The front row to seeing God work. Those moments are sometimes few, but bigger than any meltdown. The times when she decides not to drink. The fleeting moments when she admits life is better without alcohol. Those moments are worth it. Those small victories are worth giant praises to the Lord. I don't want to walk out on those.

So for now, I'll take tired days and sleepless nights. I'll take the late night texts, good or bad. I'll support and encourage. I'll trade rest for pleading on my knees. I know God has a plan in this. A plan for restoration for her and a growing of faith for me. I know it. I know God has allowed me to love this friend and will give me everything I need when I need it. I know God has given me a front row seat to see what he's doing. It's worth it. She's worth it.

Ready for the Beach

It should be a happy time. It had been a happy time. Going back to work was something I looked forward to for a long time. Working at a small church part time definitely fits what I need in a job. I certainly should be filled with excitement.

That excitement has been sucked away the past three days. In fact, I feel like everything has been sucked away from me the past few days. Energy. Life. General contentment.

It's not any one thing or one person. It's a variety of things. It's life. It's nothing by itself can't be handled in average, everyday ways. In fact, I normally let things go as if they mean nothing. I do my best at keeping things in perspective or extending grace. It's one of the many things I've learned and grown in being here. I'm not perfect, but far improved over how I used to be.

But have you ever felt like you were a punching bag for the universe or some greater power was at work to beat you down?

That is what the past three days have been like.

It's times like this when I am reminded of the many caviates of PTSD. Stress isn't filtered like normal. Reactions aren't appropriate to the action. Coping reverts to an unhealthy behavior.

Again, it's not just one thing or person. It's dealing with a medical issue, school loan problems, tax concerns. It's fighting a medical office for the fifth month in a row over a refund. It's people acting or reacting out of character and not understanding why. It's being dumped on by people who have no idea the building stress of the previous hour. It's having sudden expectations that you know can't be met. It's not having expectations met.

I know, most of that's vague but I think it's a good picture of just one day this week.

Last night was a monumental meltdown for me. After cleaning up the mess the neighbor's dog made of our trash, I was doing my best to let go of the stress of the day. Then, completely out of character, my husband picked that moment to yell at me.

He'd had a stressful day and was lashing out. I wasn't really the reason, but I was the closest target. We all do it and we do it most to the ones we love. I couldn't help myself. I burst into tears. Not really tears as much as this bawling, snot flying, heaving, hyperventilating, ugly thing that made my head and stomach hurt for hours after.

It's been a while since I've had one of those. You know the kind. The ones that make your spouse stand in silence and freak out the dogs.

Today hasn't been much better. Tomorrow is my first real day in the office. I, like anyone else, am wondering what am I doing. Am I really cut out for this? Am I qualified? Can I handle it? Right now, I don't think so. When I was excited, I didn't question it. Now I do. Why wouldn't I? If I don't feel adequate enough to handle several really hard days, then I can't possibly be qualified to meet anyone's expectations of me. In a job or in life.

New Job

In a previous post, I mentioned some changes that were coming for us. Well, they are here.

One of the ladies who heads up our three county walk for Alzheimer's contacted me at the end of last year. She asked me to represent our town and join others in representing our county on the walk planning committee.

I took a few days to pray about it and discuss with my husband. It's his mom with the disease and he's the more appropriate one to represent her. But he works during the meeting times, making it impossible for him to go. I accepted and will be attending monthly meetings through September.

The biggest change for us is my job. That's right. I'm headed back to work. This week, I started working part time at our church.

I spent over three years volunteering at one of our previous churches and have volunteered at this church. The biggest difference is being paid. Skills needed, expectations, time, they are all very similar to what I've done in the past.

But my anxiety level has spiked the past few weeks in anticipation of this change. Don't be mistaken, I'm excited. It'll get me out of the house, give me purpose and help keep me in a healthier routine. But I'm so incredibly nervous. Really, it's a mixed bag of emotions.

Truly, I'm honored and humbled to have someone (probably several) believe in me enough to trust me in this position. If you knew the progression and sequence of events, you'd better understand that.

Believe me when I say, I still have a lot to prove. Even though this church is small, I only know a small portion and very few know me. Some don't even know my name. In fact, I had the same lady welcome me as a visitor this month twice even though we've been members for over a year.

There are people who don't know me, people who don't like me and people I think don't like me but more likely just do not know me. I'm a new face. We are transplants. I'm a stranger to the majority. We don't have relatives here and knew only one member before visiting the church.

In very small ways, I've been serving this church. Now I'll be doing it with a face, name and expectations. Friends and strangers, I'll be serving them all. I'm excited, but nervous.

Since we joined the church, I've prayed for direction and for God to show us where we should be serving. God answered that prayer in a big, obvious way. While praising Him, I'm reminded of the great responsibility He has laid upon me. Not to be perfect. But to be an imperfect servant who does their best to love people, serve with joy and to acknowledge His faithfulness.

When I say my anxiety has spiked, I'm not understating that. It's a huge change for both of us. It'll take some trial and error to develop a new routine. I'm a homebody. It'll be hard to leave home a couple days a week. I also don't want to neglect my place as a wife. I've enjoyed being a stay at home wife, especially since the move.

It's only honest to admit I have a great fear of failure. In all I do, I want to succeed. I'll do my best. But I fear failure. I fear letting people down. Over the past few weeks, I've convinced myself over and over that I'm not adequate for the job. So many times, I nearly backed out. It was a near panic stricken conversation after church last week when my husband talked me off the edge.

Even today, I felt like I was in over my head. I'm not, but after not working for six years, I sure felt like it. We talked about desks and work space. All I could think was, I just need a tiny bit of desk and maybe a file drawer. No fuss. Just simple. I was so nervous that it took me hours to think about things I might like to have on a desk.

Here's what I keep going back to in my overwhelm. God will give me everything I need to do what He's called me to do. It's been true in everything I have allowed God to lead me in. Imagine that!

I'm sure I will enjoy this new adventure. Even with the bumps along the way, I know this is where God is leading. I'm excited to see what is ahead.

Not Again

Things got a bit crazy the past month. When you throw some holidays, a long trip, house guests and two weeks of flu into one month, it all seems to meld together in one big pot of ugly.

Not again seems to be the overwhelming theme of our trip.

It is a huge undertaking to pack and haul two humans and four dogs across 1/3 of the country and back. Don't get me wrong, the dogs and us neither one are a major problem. It's just a lot of work and a lot of miles.

As suspected, the trip was not enjoyable. The travel was mostly uneventful and we made about the best time we've done so far.

Staying with my husband's parents was miserable. It deserves a post of its own. We ended up being at their house only two days, two very long days.

My husband's dad said this was the last year he would host Christmas at his house. After 50 years of a routine, this rattled my husband. He determined then and there, not again. We would not make the trek across country for Christmas or Thanksgiving. We might visit other times during the year, but no holidays.

I understand. An era has come to an end and he is choosing to not be a part of new traditions. If he were closer to his siblings, maybe. But he's not.

It's fine with me. Again, I repeat, it was miserable and I hate seeing my husband meltdown emotionally.

While there and in the midst of the flu, we took a side trip to Branson. Also deserving of another post. It rained. Not just a little. The heavens opened up and dumped 12" of rain on us in 3 days. The area flooded.

We took my niece with us. There's the not again. I just can't continue to open ourselves up to people, children or not, who don't appreciate spending time with us. It's all about how much we will spend on them and there's no appreciation for what we do. I'm exhausted by it.

Our trip home was a long one. Branson to Iola, Kansas and then to Effingham, IL. Then home the next day. We made the trip a day early since we were both terribly sick. Besides dodging floods, the trip home was uneventful as well.

There were a few things from the trip that redeemed the bad.

We got to spend a few hours with friends in the KC area. That time is precious. We also got a date night at one of our favorite restaurants. We saw all our favorite Christmas lights and enjoyed every second.

Our hotel in KC was paid for with points, so it was free. A dear friend set us up in a hotel on the way home. We'd been in the car 15 hours and could not do another 5 to home. We felt so loved at that moment.

It'll be a while before we make that trip again, maybe a year. I'm ok with that. What we miss is not yet greater than the moments of pain the trip brings.

Snakes and Broken Hearts

If I've never shared this, it definitely needs to be written down. In fact, it needs locked in my memory, never to be forgotten.

A few years ago, my psychologist of all people shared this story with me.

There was a man walking down a path on a cold day. He came upon a snake. The snake was cold and shivering. As the man walked by, the snake asked the man to pick him up and keep him warm. The man returns with hesitation, stating that he was a snake and would bite him. The snake begged and pled his case and promised not to bite, he was freezing and wanted a place to get warm. The man finally picked him up and put him in his pocket. After the snake got cozy and warm, he but the man and slithered away. Confused, the man asked why he had bitten him even after he had promised. The snake replied, "because I'm a snake."

Because despite the circumstances, he's a snake. Circumstances don't change anyone, they just make us more desperate to get what we want.

That is exactly what happens when I deal with my family in any realm. I only ever deal with my little brothers family, but I forget what he is.

Two things have happened this week that have me reeling from the heartbreak of being bitten by the snake.

I've prayed, planned and utilized every resource I have available to make a trip to Branson possible. It was two months ago that I started the conversation about taking my niece and nephew. We even altered the days we were going to fit their schedule. I went to a business acquaintance for help with a discounted condo that comfortably sleeps four adults.

These trips with the kids in the past haven't always been pleasurable. They are bickering kids and they don't appreciate things. So, I've spent some time praying through that and in deep discussion with my husband. There's also been some question wether we could make it happen. I finalized plans yesterday and was content.

Last night, I was informed my nephew would not be going. He has wrestling practice one of the days we will be gone. I was livid. I'm so incredibly sick of hearing my friends complain about how Much they sacrifice for sports. I'm sick of coaches using threats to keep kids tied to a schedule that is unrealistic. I'm absolutely angry that my feelings don't matter to any of them. Im positive that if my brother and his wife had made plans, that coach would be called and the kid would be going. But I'm not important enough.

I told my husband a few weeks ago that I'm not interested in buying love any more and I meant that family. It's a post of its own, but we pay a high price to spend any time with any of them. I'm not interested. I'm also not interested in playing this game with them. The game where they make all the rules and we have to eat it or not see the kids.

We will take my niece, provided her mother doesn't punish her for my frustration. Believe me, it's a very real possibility. This trip was kind of it for me. A last I would initiate. If none of them go, I'm done. I can't handle the roller coaster. If there's one thing I've learned the past eight years, it's that the pain never outweighs the gain of not being in the drama.

Prior to that yesterday, I had contacted my brother. Let me back up. I got a Christmas card from my grandma. I have one set of grandparents and one grandpa. My grandma wrote a letter as well.

I've struggled lately with losing family members and how I'd really never be able to go to funerals. The letter, while completely impersonal but handwritten, touched a nerve in me. It was written specifically for me. I know my grandma has no clue why I left the family. They are completely distanced from my family, even though they live in the same town.

My heart was longing to say hello, while saying goodbye. I'm a realist. I know that seeing them would probably be my last. They aren't ailing, but aging. I've really not seen them for nine years. I'm not sure they'll be around another nine. Honestly, a short, sweet conversation now would be the way I want to remember them anyway.

Not really knowing how to make that happen, I contacted my brother. He's the peacemaker of the family. However, he decided to start making stipulations. My other grandpa is not well. He's deteriorating with dementia and other health issues. He's 82 and been a lifetime smoker who eats bacon everyday. He's likely not going to be around much longer.

My brother would help arrange a time to see my grandparents, if I'd go see my grandpa.

Here's the problems. I can't just randomly go anywhere. I cannot handle a run in with my parents. Therefore, I have to have a buffer. I have no desire to ever see my grandpa. My brother doesn't understand that because he doesn't know my grandpa is a child molester. I hadn't ever planned to share that within the family, but he's forcing my hand.

I wasn't the only victim with this abuser. There are others. That belongs to them. I don't want to trigger or cause distress for any of them. Even though they are all crappy to me, I choose not to be that way to them. This is the grandpa who left Polaroid proof of child molestation. I have physical proof there are at least four victims in the family.

Needless to say, I scrapped the entire idea. It became too convoluted. It also became about my brother and what he wanted instead of what I needed or what it would take for me to be ok in this. I don't always make everything all about me. Unfortunately, this has to be mostly about me. Again, I can't play this game with a snake.

That's it. All of it. It all comes down to trusting someone who doesn't have my best interest in mind. It is all about self foscused people who aren't going to change regardless of how convincing they might be. A snake is a snake. He can't help but bite even though he's promised.

Eight Years

It was September 2007 when I told my mom I was being baptized. She hung up on me and began the severing of ties between us. She disowned me at that moment. She didn't need to say it or be ceremonious about it. It just was. I had chosen Christ over my family and she knew it. I'd broken one of the rules and so I must be disowned.

At the very moment I accepted Christ, I'm not sure I fully grasped what it would mean for my life. I certainly didn't automatically think I'd have to give up my family. Let me be clear about something. If this hadn't happened, I would have eventually had to make a break from my family because of the depth of their dysfunction. My mom took the first step and created an early out for me.

Despite their dysfunction, they are my only family. I love my two brothers, two nieces, two nephews and one sister in law. It was a lot to lose. Outside of my own life or my husband, it was probably the greatest sacrifice I could have made for Christ.

That was eight years ago. This is my eighth set of holidays away from them. Beside the first, this might be the hardest time I've had with it.

It was hard and lonely the first few years. Then it was a bit of triumph to have a few years when I thrived despite being lonely. Then there were years when the celebration of Christ was sufficient. The last couple years have brought a moderate amount of contact with my brothers family and time spent with his kids. Those years have supplied their own level of hard, but less loneliness.

The past couple months have been extremely lonely for me. Not quite connected here and too far away from there. So much time alone has given my mind too many opportunities to go down crazy paths.

Only briefly have I considered giving up Jesus to go back to my family. You might think that's extreme, but it's not for the situation. There's no place for a Christian to co exist in my family. Extended family, yes. Immediate, no. There's no possibility of balance. Make no mistake, my husband would never allow that level of crazy. My dad is still far too physically and emotionally dangerous. I'd sacrifice my sanity, marriage and possibly my life to go back.

But, my mind wanders and my heart longs. I've considered what it would be like to sneak back into the family and evangelize them. Would God protect? Would Jesus be enough to keep me in line? Yes, yes. The problem goes back to me not being quite healthy enough to do it. I'm good at admitting where I'm inadequate, not enough. God lets me know. I'm not enough to take on the evil that reside there.

Even if I were able to go back, it would not be as I dreamed. It wouldn't be like the return of the prodigal son. There would be no party. Nobody would be waiting with open arms. There would only be suspicion. I'd be in a vulnerable position with a pack of vultures. There wouldn't be cookie baking or reminiscing. There wouldn't be carol singing or sharing life. It would be dramatic and cold.

I hate this place, hate the emotion. It's not even about not having what I want. It's about the loss and grieving what will never be. I can wish, dream and even scheme. Everything still stands as it is. Impossible.

Before you say that nothing is impossible with God, it's not applicable in that way here. It was only possible with God that I was extricated from this terrible environment. That's what was not impossible and I have to be thankful for that.

Even though I know all of this and eight years is a lot of time to accept it, there's nothing which changes the heartache. There's nothing that makes it hurt less.

I can't hardly believe it's been eight years. It's been nine years since I spent a Christmas or Thanksgiving with my family. So much has changed. None of my nieces or nephews were in school. The oldest turned five and the youngest was a baby.

Despite my own loneliness, I always hope others have wonderful holidays with their families.

Reality

Things are status quo and yet completely off. I know, it's contradictory. Given everything in life, I have to admit that things aren't terrible. They could be worse. It's what I tell myself to make it ok to face the world.

The absolute truth is the cumulative effect of the past two years seems to be sitting heavy on me these days. Starting January 2014, our world was turned upside down and we've had one thing after another to handle. I know, I should be able to deal with one thing and go into the next. I'm not designed that way. I deal with each thing as little as possible, so I can get by and deal with the next thing. What's left over festers until I hit bottom and then it spews out of me like a volcano.

I'm still sleep deprived. It's not as bad at it was, but I can't get caught up at all.

This past few weeks have been hard. I've kept it together. Barely.

After surgery, I got a glimpse of how life will be as we grow older. I'm not complaining. I loved being able to help my husband. It was a perfect time to serve him in ways he's done the same for me. What I realized is that I'm not enough. I have limited abilities outside of loving and feeding him. If he ever becomes physically incapacitated, I won't be enough. While I knew it, it was hard to see firsthand.

The holiday thing has hit me hard this year. It was tough last year, but it was as I expected. This year is incredibly lonely. Even as we prepare for our trip back to KC, it's still lonely for me.

On our trip back, we will be making time for my husband to see his friends and we will stay with his family. We were supposed to take my niece and nephew to Branson for a couple days. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen. Between increased expenses, no raise and a couple months of completely unexpected repairs and expenses, there's nothing left. It's a lean year and my wish list has taken the hit.

Without going into it, I can tell you that there are a few more things complicating life as well. They aren't things I'm ready to lay out there, even to strangers.

Needless to say, I'm tired. Tired as in kind of lost. In the past, I had help with this sort of thing. I had a support system, people I could talk to and who could help. I don't have that now. I have a couple people who would listen and I'm thankful. But, now, I need people who can help. People who know those things I haven't shared here and can help me get through.

Surgery Day

Here we are. Surgery day for my husband. This has needed to happen for 10 years or more. Yes, he's been nursing along a rather large hernia for that long.

I've been sitting here since 6 am. His surgery started at 8 and is nearing the two hour mark, a bit longer than anticipated.

There's something about being here, having surgery that makes you vulnerable and emotional. Not just me, both of us.

As the anesthesiologist explained the intubation process, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. While he does this everyday, I don't. In fact, I never have. This is the first time I've sat in a surgical waiting room waiting on my husband.

The idea of my husband, big, strong and seemingly invincible, not being able to breathe on his own was more than my exhausted heart could take.

After everyone left, we had a few minutes alone. A laid my head on his elbow and prayed. What else could I possibly do? As I looked up at his face, saw the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. I asked if he was scared, to which there was no answer. It'd be out of character for him to admit fear over a silly hernia.

I told him it was ok to cry. I could tell he didn't want to, so I changed the subject. Actually I started reading him about not having on underwear and farting on the table.

There's nothing I want more than my husband to be healthy and whole. I hope this surgery helps with both.

This is another time I hate being away from KC. Waiting rooms alone kind of suck. Other families gather in corners and give funny looks when they realize you're alone.

Part 2

Soon after I typed the last sentence, I was able to see my husband. The surgery took nearly two hours. They had him in recovery for 15-20 minutes. At 10:30, just 2 1/2 hours from the beginning of surgery, he was being rushed out of the hospital. Seriously. He barely dressed himself, felt sick and was loopy. But evidently that's procedure. Crazy.

The surgery was more involved than expected and he has a drain. He's fairly miserable and I'm his working parts for standing and getting in and out of bed for now.

Absolutely not complaining. I'd do even more. But it's rough doing everything for two adults and four dogs. I'm praying the next few days improve. Especially at night. He's miserable and can't get comfortable. Unfortunately that means we are all tired after a long, long night.

He Knew

God knew what He was doing.

That was said to me last night. It was said by one of the only people to really walk through the last 14 months with us. Someone who saw us at our worst. Someone who sat with me for hours as I struggled, grieved and bawled. Someone who saw my crazy.

Without a doubt, this person loved us well through it. They didn't have to, we were complete strangers. My grief and pain came out is crazy and sometimes hateful ways. I was raw and full of emotions and had no place to dump them. This person allowed me to dump them in unkind and ugly ways while reassuring me that I was loved.

I sometimes forget. I forget that someone did that for me, for us. When my ugly spilled out on people who didn't know the back story or couldn't extend grace and apathy, this person reassured me that I was not only loved but was loved by God.

No doubt, 2014 will be known to us for a great long time as the year our lives were turned upside down. It'll be that way until another crisis is bigger and badder than what we experienced.

As we talked last night, I was reminded how I sat across from this person and swore that was not me. The normal me was a less emotional, less crazy. My normal is easy going with occasional frustrations or anger complicated by past hurts, but those are rare. My normal is smiling or inquisitive. My normal is quiet until I'm comfortable and hurt at the thought of offending someone. I think I'm finally much closer to my normal than I maybe ever have been.

It made me smile to be reminded of that. Not because I was right but because I was right. I know how that sounds. I wasn't right as in I'm a know it all and am patting myself on the back for being right. No. I'm thankful I was right and could predict that someday things would be normal again. A new normal but normal. Thankful God allows me to have confidence in Him at times or better yet, I choose correctly to have confidence.

Don't mistake what I'm saying. Things are far from normal, but we live a new normal. We fight the adapting we still have left to do. We want a normal that we dream of now.

Back to what started this whole afternoon of thinking through 2014. God knew what He was doing.

I didn't believe that last year. I couldn't. It wasn't within my capability. I barely had the energy some days, physically and mentally, to get out of bed.

There was never a doubt that God was in control with this move. It was bigger than either of us could control or even think of controlling. Once I got here, got homesick, got really sick and started grieving, I doubted my faith in Gods plan. I doubted I was this was His plan. I didn't curse Him, but I seriously doubted this could ever be what was best for us.

I can only share my perspective of why I know now that God knew what He was doing.

He led us to our church before the illness and grief. He used a couple people is great ways. He provided someone to love us through a tough time. He used someone to show His unconditional care and love when we needed it most.

We were so in between churches before we left and not emotionally tied to a pastor. We would have had friends to be there with us through grief, but maybe not someone like we had. Immense grief would have made me incredibly vulnerable to my family. Being back in KC would have allowed us the opportunity to bottle our emotions instead of dealing with them together.

God knew what He was doing. Each step of the way. His timing, while not our timing, was perfect. He provided imperfect people at perfect times and gave them what they needed to love us.

I don't or can't be happy about the trial. But, I can be happy for the people who recognize the journey and the progress. I can appreciate the people who walked through the ugly with us and never left. They deserve all our thanks and respect.

Christmas Decorations

There's a part of my life that is driven by sheer boredom. I'll vacuum twice a week because I'm bored, not because the house is dirty. Sometimes I'll sit and stare at tv for the same reason.

It's because of that, our house is always adequately decorated for the holidays or season. Prior to eight years ago, I might or might not put up a Christmas tree and that was it. The house was cluttered with crap, but it wasn't really something I cared about or enjoyed.

Maybe it was maturity or maybe it was beginning to enjoy life more that I began decorating. Each year it has grown into a bigger deal for me.

For years, Christmas was still a love/hate for me. We went through the motions, but I really hated it. My family left me with so many awful Christmas memories that I wanted no part of it. Once I became a Christian, it got easier. Not for the reason you'd think.

So much became clear for both of us when I accepted Christ. It was all part of the flood of memories. Once I was able to be honest with my husband, he absolutely stepped up. He understood that in order for Christmas to be enjoyable, not only did I need to understand the meaning, I needed to have new memories and stable, happy traditions.

He began making Christmas special. Not in childlike ways, but in good ways. We started doing Christmas shopping together. We'd walk through toys r us during midnight sales. We'd go look at animated light displays or drive through the KC plaza. We took an annual trip to Branson, which all Christmas. We went to Christmas Eve services. We discussed the birth of Christ. He never complained about Christmas music. He helped change my heart toward Christmas.

Because I'm at home all the time, I tend to change decorations early. Fall goes up mid August. Christmas goes up mid November. Christmas tree and a few other items get put away in January. Most of my Christmas decorations are actually winter and snowman themed, so they stay up until March. Then the spring stuff goes up. In May, a few Easter themed items get put away and a few summer things take their place. Then it all starts again.

Next week, the Christmas decorations will go up. My Christmas shopping is done. I know it seems really early for some, but it makes me happy. With the current state and upcoming state of things, I want to be surrounded by what makes me happy. So next week it is!

You're Safe

Even though I've said it before, it never hurts to have a reminder. I survived a horrific life, a life nightmares are made of really.

My days aren't full of reminders, but the reminders fill my down time. It would be a lie to say that the reminders aren't debilitating at times. They are. Not as bad as they were two years ago, but enough.

We've been here 18 months. That means I've had only 18 months of my 40 years when I've lived without fear of an abuser. Only 18 months where I didn't live with harassment, abuse and torture. My dad didn't stop the abuse when I married and he never, ever left me alone. To my knowledge, he was still harassing and taunting me up to the day we left.

In 40 years, 18 is just a blip, the tiniest fraction of time. There are a list of things that don't just go away after all that time.

There are still nightmares. There are still flashbacks. There are still times when I shake in fear and forget I'm 700 miles away. There are times when I wake up in a cold sweat in the dark and have to figure out where I'm at. There are times when I have to verbally repeat that I'm safe now and he's far, far away.

It's the first of November and the start of holiday season. All of my issues get worse during this time of the year. That locks me in a nasty cycle. As those things increase, so does my insomnia. In July and August, I was at 8-9 hours. September and October were 6-7. Now, I'm lucky to average 3 hours a night.

I know it will improve, but it will take a long, painful few months.

Unlikable

Have you ever felt or believed you were completely unlikable?

That's usually not one of my more intense insecurities. I've always been honest and passionate. I've often found that I'm one of those people you like or don't and there's not a lot I can do to change your opinion. It's not that I don't care, but I've found over the years that winning over people who have an already developed opinion of me, true or not, is not a strong suit of mine.

Honestly, that works when you live in a heavily populated and diverse area. You'll still make friends and find plenty of people who appreciate your personality.

When we moved here, I made two critical errors. One was that I acted like the person who recently come out of their shell/got comfortable in their own skin. The other was believing we would be quickly accepted.

My first error was a very natural one. I wasn't afraid to speak or share. The problem came in the people here not knowing what the past 8-40 years of my life have been like. Opinions were made about me based on my confidence and false security. First impressions were unfairly made. I don't really have the ability to change that, even if I want. Most the people could never know that it was a good thing for me to have confidence and be open.

The second error was also a very natural one. I believed if we came in, loved each other and showed love for the people and community, we would fall into place as if we had always belonged. Yes, that happened with a couple people and even some of those have been difficult. We've felt on egg shells with a great deal of people.

I'm honestly not complaining about anyone or any group of people. I'm trying to flesh out those very real feeling that bring a lot of loneliness.

We've met a few hundred people since we've been here. Most have been only once or twice and no real conversation took place. I'll be honest, we aren't very memorable people on first meeting. We are quiet and reserved.

Here's the hard part. We've been here 18 months now. Between the two of us, we have almost a hand full of relationships that are beyond surface. However, we feel stuck there. Not stuck in those relationships, but stuck not making any more.

Recently, we've had the opportunity to be in large groups of people a few times. Even though we were amongst them, we were not. We watched as they all mingled, laughed and talked. In all the situations, only one person spoke to us. People we've shared meals with walked past us as if we were invisible. One or both of us would wave or say hello and there was no response.

This sort of thing happens all the time. It's a small town. We see people in stores, restaurants and gas stations. In 18 months, we can probably list the number of times people have acknowledged us.

Most of these people have no known reason to dislike us. And, most of the time we don't take it as that. Mostly, we know that we are strangers. We know that people's friend receptors are full. We don't take it personally a lot of the time.

But lately, it's been harder. It has felt personal. I'm just being very real here. We often discuss why it feels as though we are so unlikable. What is wrong with us? What are we doing wrong? What can we do better? Do we let this be the thing that drives us to move on next year? Is God using this to teach us something or show us this place isn't where we belong?

Of course, some of this is extreme. But it's one of the most painful parts of this move. Even 18 months later. Neither of us is immune to it. It touches on insecurities. It causes pain. We are separated from one place and not quite a part of the new place.

They Don't Stay Little

Theres no other way to put it, it's been a rough week. Fall is tough on me. Congestion, itchy eyes, dizziness, headache, runny nose. My allergies are worst in fall and harvest time seems to exacerbate them. Allergies, cold weather and a serious lack of motivation have got me out of my normal routine and kicked me off the health journey. I'm not gaining weight, but I'm not losing either. 

As you can tell from the last post, it's been a rough week emotionally too. 

For a short while, I thought I finally had my feelings about my brothers in check. Sort of felt like it was over. Maybe it was. But a couple events have brought it all back. Frankly, I miss them. 

Last Saturday night, I had a dream that seemed so real. I was sleeping and my phone kept ringing. I finally answered. It was my sister in law. Something had happened to my brother and his kids. Before I found out what, I woke up. I was shaking. Checked my phone. Nothing. Relieved, but the reality of how easily that could happen would not leave me. It bothered me for days and I was never so relieved to see a random post from one of them on fb. 

The next day, I learned that one of my little brothers classmates had passed. Keep in mind, we are from a town of 2000. Everybody knew everybody growing up. We are older, so we expect this kind of thing to start happening eventually. I've lost two classmates, one to suicide and another to drug overdose. My middle brother has lost a few more for a variety of reasons. This was my little brothers first class loss. That first one is always a little shocking. 

Once I got more information, I learned this wasn't just any classmate. This was also the brother of one of my classmates. He was a kid that I spent time with when we were younger. He was 37 and died of a massive heart attack. 

Things get even more real when it's a situation where you can see yourself. I'd be devastated to lose one of my brothers. It brought up a lot of thoughts and conversation about what I'd do if that happened. 

This guy had lived a rough life. But, I'll always think of him as a child. His laugh and honesty. Him playing and riding bikes like little boys do. I can't hardly imagine him gone. That's honestly the way I see my brothers in these days of missing them. I see them as children. Innocent children, not understanding how the world is going to break them. 

Last night, we handed out candy at our church trunk or treat. We live in a small and somewhat poor area. There were some elaborate costumes, but most were children from the church. Same with pre made costumes. What we saw a lot of were what we call "grandmas bathroom closet costumes." That's when you throw make up on to look spooky and wear oversized adult clothes. It's also known as the poor kids costume. 

I'm not judging. We wore the poor kids costumes. I wore my softball uniform and my grandma drew stitches on my face one year. One of my brothers used an old wheelchair, clown wig, and awful makeup with grandpas overalls. What the heck? We saw a lot of that kind of thing last night. Random stuff. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate creativity when you don't have money for store bought costumes. 

So much of it reminded me of my brothers. Little and fun. I usually had to come up with a costume. I was the one who walked them all over town. It was usually a night where we left the fear of our home and enjoyed the fright of Halloween. 

I came home last night with this weird conflict inside me. We all wished to grow up fast. All of us wanted out. It felt like it took forever, but we all got out of the house and I got out completely. But, I wish they could have stayed little. 

There are times I wish they were little so I could still influence them. I know that can't happen. I also know that none of us loved being little enough to ever make it worth living in hell again. There was a bliss about being naive in how quickly life changes and the fear of loss. That's the reason I wish they could have stayed little. 

Once in a While

Things are so much better for us here. Compared to last year, it's a completely different life for us. 

We are happier now. We both are starting to feel a little more connected to the community, church and friends. We are happier with each other and have learned to communicate better and depend more on each other. Mentally, we are both so much better. Physically, I am stronger. 

The move, health crisis, loss, aloneness, it all took a toll on us that we finally feel has lessened. 

But, once in a while, it all falls apart and we find ourselves feeling extremely alone again. 

Things are relatively normal, but we have a rough few months ahead of us. Starting today, we had the first of several medical appointments for my husband. He sees his back surgeon Friday and unfortunately, we expect a back surgery in the near future. I can't even think about that right now, partially because we have a lot prior to that. 

In the first few weeks of November, my husband will have an EKG and other tests prior to a hernia surgery the week of Thanksgiving. There are a couple complications with surgery that are a bit concerning for us. The surgery itself is for a larger than average sized hernia. Common for an experienced surgeon, but recovery could be longer. It's a little nerve wracking for me to have my husband out of commission for six weeks headed into winter. 

Although I'm not ready to go into it, he has another medical issue that is a lot concerning and will require testing. To do that, we must find a new PCP as our previous one dumped our insurance. I'm doing my best to not worry until there's something to worry about. However, there's already reason to worry given the symptoms. 

Those are pretty tough things to squeeze into two months. In addition, we will be traveling at Christmas and that is always stressful. Between medical bills and unexpected expenses, the next few months will be hard financially as well. 

When I look at all of this, I do feel alone. I feel like I'm carrying a lot by myself. My relationships seem to ebb and flow. I'm currently in one of those times when I'm fairly reclusive. Not by choice, but it's just a season. This is one of those times when I miss my previous support system. While that is beginning to organically develop here, it's not yet the same. That probably speaks more to my comfort level than anything. I still don't feel as though I'm at a place where I can reach out to people or ask for help. 

Through it all, I know Gods not leaving me. I'm not completely alone. As hard as it is at times, I know He still has a plan. I know He will provide everything we need and when we need it. 

Why Kids?

Obviously, God has allowed me to be burdened by a few things lately and I've yet to understand why.

Everyday, my thoughts have been consumed by children. No, not having children, but the well being of children.

I've said before, the news here is tough. There is much more violence, drugs and death reported on our local news. Each week, there's a new story or two about children being killed or injured. News of late includes teenage sisters being shot in a fury of bullets, killed by their brother. A grandmother who overdosed on heroin and drowned her grandson. A dad cutting his child's nose off. A little boy losing a six month battle with a brain cancer. That comes after a full summer of children being shot, car accidents, domestic violence where children were killed and so many more.

Now, it's in the national news. An intoxicated/mentally ill person drove into a crowd at a homecoming parade in Oklahoma. One child was killed and 1/4 of the 47 injured were under 12. Kids go to parades for fun and candy. They never expect to be run over.

Likewise with all of the instances I listed. Kids are supposed to be happy and carefree. They aren't supposed to live in fear of guns, cars, brothers, parents and grandparents.

The burden is even more local. We live in an area with a lot of poverty. It's an area where there are a lot of kids who don't eat three meals a day. I only know because I've witnessed it, but there is abuse and neglect more visible than what we are used to seeing.

I can't stop thinking about these things. My heart won't stop breaking.

There's no way to save them all. In fact, I'm not even sure what can be done. Of course I can pray. I know quite intimately what it's like to not be fed, be abused or neglected. I survived and I want others to have a fighting chance to do the same.

Back Up

Most of my days here in Ohio are spent at home. Sure, I'll go to the store and on weekends, we usually do something. But, mostly, I'm home alone or with my husband. So, I look, feel, act and seem as normal at home as anybody else.

We both know I have PTSD and anxiety, but when I rarely leave the house, I'm triggered little. Most of my triggers are memory and have nothing to do with other people.

It's fair to say, I forget. We forget. I forget that I'm triggered by strangers and unfamiliar places.

We had a rough trip to Dayton today. I wanted to go, but had a tough insomnia night with barely three hours of sleep.

When we walked into our usual Trader Joes, I quickly saw that they were in the middle of a remodel. It's needed. The place is crammed full and they've needed to do it a long while. However, nothing was in its usual place. It was unfamiliar.

There was frustration and confusion. We both wondered around searching for our usual products. No easy task. That rattled me, but only slightly. I've learned to adapt much faster to unfamiliar places. But, still, I could tell my lack of sleep was making it a touch difficult.

At checkout, a slightly older couple got in line behind us. My husband was helping bag the groceries and I was waiting to pay. The woman stayed in line while the man came up to us and stood about a foot behind me.

I knew he was there. Before I go further, even if I were perfectly normal, I'd have thought where he was standing was odd and uncomfortable. He was basically hovering behind me and between my husband and I at the end of the checkout lane. Weird.

Of course I'm fine until I'm not. His position made me not fine. He figgited and was close enough, I could feel him moving. I got physically uncomfortable and began to shutter. I felt trapped with a strange man too close behind me. I was so uncomfortable that I screwed up the prompts with payment and had to start over.

My husband could see the problem and did nothing. The cashier saw and tried to redirect the couple to another lane with no success.

I knew I was seconds from breaking down. My body was shaking more and I could feel uncontrollable tears coming. I finally turned to the man and politely asked him to take a few steps away from me.

We finished and left. It took me a while to unwind and calm my body.

A few years ago, I'd have not handled the situation the same. I wouldn't have been able to. I would have either lashed out at someone or froze and cried. I didn't do either. I held it in as long as I could and handled it the best I could when I knew I couldn't go one more second.

I don't freak out if someone I know comes up behind me. Sure, I might get jumpy, but I'm ok. This was a strange man with odd behavior. It was a huge trigger.

It's been a while since I've had a public incident like this. The recovery isn't any easier now than it was last time or even the first time. It was hard. It was a reminder that I'm still not normal. As much as I like to seem normal and look normal to everyone, I'm not. I have severe PTSD. It doesn't have me. I don't let it confine me or make me afraid of going and trying things. But I do have it and it's not going anywhere.

I'd like to forget, but I can't.

A Colorful Tunnel

This probably isn't going in the direction you'd think.

As I've said in the past, I struggle to understand transexualism. This is showing an ugly part of my heart, I know.

With wider acceptance of homosexuality, transsexuals are being thrust into our lives whether we want it or not.

Homosexuality is something I have much more understanding of and acceptance. Do I agree with it being sin? Yes. But no greater than my sin. It's something I grew up with and have seen great trauma as a cause. I've seen lives redeemed from this life choice. And yes, it is a choice when a life can and is redeemed.

Transexualism and gender reassignment seem to be in a different realm for me and specifically the GR.

I cannot wrap my head around the idea of how anyone could physically alter their reproductive parts, basically mutilate them so they can permanently pose as the opposite sex. More than anything, it goes against everything I know ethically about medicine and God. I won't apologize for my views, but don't hate me for my personal opinion.

Last week, I read that our local grocery store chain is now going to pay full health benefits for anyone seeking GR.

I am absolutely distraught over this.

Companies are doing this so they can avoid discrimination law suits. Our country has devolved to this place where we live in fear of hurting someone's feelings and act preemptively.

GR surgeries and treatment used to be done with years of counseling. That's no longer required. It's not required because how dare anyone suggest transexualism be a biproduct of a mental disorder. In the 80s and 90s, counseling was required and nearly 70 percent chose to not proceed. The numbers don't lie. Now, as long as you have the financial means, you can mutilate or add body parts all you want.

Probably my biggest problem with this new policy is the discrimination against your average person. Your average person who barely makes ends meet and pays outrages insurance premiums. The people diagnosed with major diseases everyday who can't afford medications or surgeries to save their lives. Where's the fully paid insurance plans for them?

Damn it! Just writing it out makes me mad all over again.

Unfortunately, this grocery chain is the only main one nearby for us. Walmart is our only other real option and it's a nasty, filthy one. However, that maybe what we go to. Neither of us can stand the idea of giving this company with such warped standards one more penny.

Will we be able to get away from it completely? Probably not. But we will try. We won't buy their gas either.

As I left the store today, I was angry at the injustice. So, so angry.

As I drove down the highway, a song came on the radio. I don't even know the name or artist. But the lyrics were right on. God is there to take on what is too big for us. Fight the battles. We don't have to go at it alone. He's our protector and there's no fight too big for Him.

While I took in the words, I found myself surrounded by bright orange, yellow and red trees. It was a beautiful tunnel of fall color. Without sounding too silly, the beauty embraced me and the song was like a hug. I cried. As angry as I was, I knew the fight was bigger than me and would have to be fought on a level higher than me.

It would ruffle a lot of feathers, but I want to get others to cry out over this injustice. Like I said, it's not even so much about my personal struggle with GR and transexualism. It's the reverse discrimination. It's taking money from hurting, poor people and giving it to people making choice/non necessary medical decisions.

We, as a community, don't have a lot of choices in where we get groceries. I'm not sure even well meaning Christians could give up their only grocery store on principle.

Big, huge prayers on this one. For whatever reason, God has allowed this to burden me, weigh heavy on my heart.

Home from Vacation

We made it home from vacation and crawling back in our own bed felt wonderful.

Vacation was good. Neither of us were ready for it to end. We could have stayed for months.

The place we stayed wasn't exactly as advertised. It wasn't truly a home away from home, but it serves it's purpose.

We didn't do anything spectacular. We watched fishermen compete, shopped a little bit and spent some time at the beach. The beach was beautiful and relaxing. We spent sunset on the beach and experienced the most amazing sunset ever. We ate. Oh my word, we ate. We ate fish, Irish food, pizza, BBQ, Mexican, burgers, ice cream and donuts, lots of donuts.

Mostly, we spent quality time together. We enjoyed the time. We laughed and genuinely weren't ready for our uninterrupted time to end.

But, we were ready to crawl back into our own bed.

Why is that?

We can have a fantastic time away and never want to return, but our hearts and bodies long for the comfort of home. It happens every single time and not just to us. It's the most common thing you hear from anyone returning from vacation. They were ready to come home.

Truthfully, it's how I spent the first year here.

It was great and I loved this place. But, my heart and mind longed to be home. Back in the place where I lived for 16 years. Our bed was the same, but I longed to be back in the familiar. The place that was my first real home. By home, I mean community as much as house. I longed to be back where I was most comfortable.

Last year when we returned from vacation, I didn't have that feeling of being thankful to be home. It wasn't yet home. It was still the place where I spent days longing to be home.

Life is so much different now. When we got home Friday, I was home. I was glad to be home. My home.

When my heart longed for the routine and comfort of my own home, it was here. When I crawled into bed late Friday night, I was home.

Vacation was wonderful. I'd go again this week, if I could. However, there is great joy in knowing my heart is no longer torn over two homes. There is joy in crawling into my bed and knowing this is my home.

The Ocean and a Sick Dog

Today is one of those days. The kind where there's so much good and so much not good that it leaves you a sobbing mess.

I'm tired. An energy filled puppy kept me awake last night and I got a whopping three hours of sleep. It's fair to say that I started today grumpy. I lacked basic communication skills with my husband and that made our nine hour road trip a bit tense.

But it was good. It was uninterrupted time with the man I love. We made it here safely. We managed to fight only once. We laughed and had good conversation. Of course that all came after a Starbucks stop an hour into our day. Starbucks seemed to make everything right with the world. Ok, maybe not, but it was a little bit of happiness in a cup. We didn't have anything going on that a little sugar or caffeine couldn't fix.

The dogs were awesome. The three of them slept all but about 90 minutes of the entire drive. It was fabulous.

Our Starbucks stop set us back an hour and we managed to keep all other gas and potty breaks down to another hour.

That got us to Destin in time to see the sun set over the ocean. That made the entire trip worth it.

We got to our condo and unloaded. Our condo had a fenced courtyard. Score for not having to walk the dogs. Our condo was a lot disappointing. It's dirtier and run down much more than portrayed. We had to make a trip to the store for toilet cleaner, toilet paper and paper towels. Ick! And, the Internet doesn't work. After we get our refundable deposit back, there will be a review written.

It will suffice. We just need a bed and place to relax when we aren't exploring Florida.

About halfway through our trip today, I called our vet back home. Lucy, the dog we had to leave with a sitter had some tests run yesterday. The news isn't good.

She has a kidney disease that is going to take her life. Her kidneys don't function like they should. They push protein out in massive quantities, while filtering her urine toxins back into her body. That's why she's gained ten lbs in four months. It also explains a low amount of protein in her blood.

When we get back, we will have one more test done. Then we will have to decide if we want to put her through a high powered trio of meds that may or may not give her a few extra months. There's no cure for this disease.

We obviously have some decisions to make. But, this is vacation. I'm doing my best to not think about what I cannot change. I couldn't hold back the tears. I'm incredibly attached to my dogs. They've been through a lot of life with us. We've had her for nearly nine years and during some of the hardest of our lives.

Frankly, I'm not ready to let her go. I know, I don't have to today. When you get that kind of news, it's impossible to not go down that road. But I'll try not to let it be a cloud of vet this much needed vacation.

Here we are, a block from the ocean. Happy to be on vacation, finally.