Being human.

Faith is faith. 
We're expected to question, it's part of being human. It's impossible to have all the answers. 
Blessed is he who believes and yet has not seen. 
We don't know if maybe it was all science, all God, or maybe it was God using science. 
So we just choose. 
Bad things happen, and we look for someone to blame. And we want to blame God, because why can't he just fix it? 
Because
It's the universe set in motion. 
A billion things happening at once. 
Good, bad, beautiful, ugly, sweet, horrific. 
All together, non-stop, never ending. And all intricately intertwined. 
Every action, reaction, and event are somehow related. 
Like dominoes. 
The first domino doesn't ever touch the last, but when the first falls, the second falls because of it. 
Circumstances are the dominoes, and each one is different. And once it's set in motion, the blurred, whirring maze keeps tipping and bumping on, until the last one falls. And each one throws itself into the next. 
From the inside, it's chaos. Sometimes beautiful. Sometimes maddening. 
And from where God sits, it's all beautiful.​

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Rack'em up, knock'em down

"We live in a take-down culture. And it's not just about proving them wrong, you also have to have more fun than them." - Taylor Swift

Like her music or not, the kid makes a crucially valid point. It isn't enough for someone to succeed. Their every flaw, mistake, and even any awkward move must be picked apart, until their accomplishments pale in comparison to their missteps.

Is it any wonder so many people feel unworthy of their own breath?

I used to squirm ashamedly beneath the weight of the ugly words and the cold stares, and when it got to be too much I'd have to find some hiding place. I'd escape to a new neighborhood, a new town, or a new love. I'd drown in the distractions until the memories drifted to the surface to gasp for air, and then I'd float away again on my sailboat made of anchors.

It never got worse, because really, nothing is ever worse than the faded cries of lost little hearts. Oh, my heart, with the cracks that only got deeper by the day. The nights I would allow the crevices to rip another chunk of my soul from my chest, lying on the floor in a pile of agony, begging and pleading to a God I didn't believe could possibly believe in me anymore. And then the tears would dry, but the soul never truly healed. Lungs can't breathe oxygen from a vacuum, and dead things can't be healed.

I didn't want to heal.

I wanted to be shredded to ribbons by white-hot knives, feeling every millisecond of the searing pain, just as I'd heard in that trembling, small voice on the phone. I wanted the pain to swallow me whole, and to never feel the breath of hope whispering in my ear. I didn't deserve it. I deserved the empty, cavernous void I'd built myself.

Except that sometimes I wanted out.

So I'd climb, but only halfheartedly believing the chains would break. Then the tug. I'd look down and see the shackles, and instead of putting up a fight, I'd convince myself it would be best to let them be. The chains were stronger, looping through the iron rings of self-hatred, embedded in crumbling concrete walls that dripped with desolation.

Little lights would shine, but when the flames were weak they'd only blow out and their wicks disintegrated, destroying the hope of ever being re-lit. When the flames were strong, they'd light the way for a little while, providing some warmth. Eventually, though, toxic flames will singe and burn and leave scars. So for a while, I began to try to grow in the dim light drifting through the cracks around the door. But few flowers bloom at twilight.

What I hadn't expected was that the roof would be so permeable. It began as something to pass the time: I'd poke a few holes, and a few stars would shine happen to shine through. Those few twinkles of light would encourage me to poke a few more. Soon, a skylight. Not long afterward, the roof began to crumble, and those small little voices were in my ears again. Only now they're not small anymore. And they're the music of angels in my ears.

Sometimes I'm afraid of being buried under the weight of falling debris of wasted past memories. Sometimes the scrape my cheek, or graze my side. But though the cell is still there, it's at least as big as an amphitheater, with a clear view of the sky all around. I suspect I'll climb out eventually, once I've rebuilt the steps to the door.

But outside the door, that's where the light truly changes, and the trees take over the crumbling paths with thirsty roots and fill the sky with shimmering leaves that reflect the sun.

Building bridges

The ones who didn't know your strength thought the black, oily beast who tore out your insides would end you. But as he crouched over you, ripping and shredding your insides, you fought. You fought so hard it hurt to breathe. Because that sickening beast wanted the very thing that gave you reason to keep breathing - more precious than jewels or gold, and this monster was tearing it away, pulling it apart and throwing it like leftover scraps. But these pieces of you are worth so much more than anyone could ever know.  Still, he gutted you and threw you into the black swampy water while you gasped for breath.

He thought you'd die. He thought you were weak.  He's clever, but he was wrong.

You still had enough to hold onto to want to keep going. And you still had faith. So you stood on the slippery rocks to keep your head above the black, murky water for as long as you could. You'd slip sometimes, choking on the slimy sludge, but always managed to keep breathing.

Sometimes someone would come along to watch. Others would reach a hand for you to hold for a little while, some pulling away because the water scared them. Some left because your fight scared them. Some came to watch you drown. But you didn't.

Eventually you were able to build a raft. It was leaky and slick, but it floated. So you held on tight, guarding what you had left, but you still missed those other pieces of you the beast tore away long ago. The empty spaces scream with pain. 

Then, miraculously, you find your way out of the swamp and into open water.  And you find enough odds and ends to build a boat. Though you can't quite tell if it's a big boat, or if it will even float, but it's ok. Because it's a gift, and it's hope. And if it floats, that boat will rival any yacht in the ocean. And maybe when it does you'll find your missing pieces.

Counting Blessings

Yesterday was tough. Bad news, hard time with the little ones, arthritis in my back acting up, and financial crud from single parenting. It all adds up, and it had boiled over for me.

On top of it all, I had to go to the grocery store.  So I dragged my two youngest to the local market, trudged up and down the aisles, trying not to burst into tears in public.

When we had everything we needed, I went to the only open lane and began simultaneously unloading the cart and trying to corral the kids.

The cashier was a young man about the same age as my second oldest, about 17 or 18.  As he began scanning our items, he asked the kids how much they thought it would be. He turned it into a game, and the kids were happy to play along. He ended up keeping them occupied until the groceries were bagged and we were on our way.

That young man had no idea how much weight he lifted from my shoulders with that one simple gesture.

It hit me today that I was so busy complaining yesterday that I neglected to remember to praise the blessings, too.  That needed to be rectified!

Today after work I went back to the store and asked to speak with a manager. I told him vaguely about the stress I'd been under and how much the cashier's actions had relieved so much of that stress. Turns out, that manager and the young man he employs really needed the uplift from the compliment, too.

No matter how stressed you are, or what's going on in your life, be sure to acknowledge the good things in the middle of your mess.

Why Sweetpeas and Sour Apples?

"If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom, and yet depreciate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.” ― Frederick Douglass

The other day I sat in the kitchen of a couple who leads a local ministry that helps fix cars for people who can’t afford expensive mechanics’ labor rates. We’d been discussing struggles, and how some people seem to go through so many more than others.

How does that seem fair? Why does God seem to favor some people over others?

The man’s wife told me a story about their trip to Napa Valley, California. She told me how she’d expected the landscape to be full and lush, just like we see in all the romantic movies. Instead, the scenery was dry and the vines looked brittle. She asked the vintner if this was a bad year. The man explained that though other vineyards might prefer the lush expanses of overloaded grapevines, the wine produced is lower quality. He has found in through experience that the best wines come from the most stressed grapes.

"I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” - John 15:5

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Let Hope Arise

I am honored to have had the privilege to guest post for my mentor, Jon Acuff's blog, Stuff Christians Like, and to have been a part of the groups that he's created.  The experiences have been amazing, and the people who have made connections in those groups have become like family.  It was definitely a year to remember. 

 I am so grateful to have been a part of such an incredible experience, and look forward to many more adventures with these new friends.   This is my story of hope. I hope it encourages you - or even that it opens your mind to the complexity of the stories of those around you.

 

view blog reactions | tags: test

Becoming the Rib

As I was on my way home from work and the grocery store today, I heard an amazing interview on the radio.  The show was on the Q90fm (90.1 in Appleton/Green Bay) Naomi's Table show.  It truly inspired me to stop and think about how we as women view men and relationships.  It also validated a conversation I had yesterday with another truly amazing and strong woman who has helped me immensely, whether she is aware of it or not.

I am a strong woman.  I have the tendency to crumble under high amounts of stress, which leads to panic attacks and sometimes even tears, but I am highly independent.  Throughout my relationships, one theme has resurfaced over and over again:  I hate relinquishing control over myself and my home.  I would very much prefer to do everything myself.  Men have a strong desire - no, need - to be providers and protectors within their families and relationships.  They want to fix everything.  Men need to know their purpose as a strong, solid rock within a relationship.  It's a woman's role to nurture and protect this within him.

Biblically, a woman is to be submissive. I'm not talking about cowering in the corner and obeying his every command.  For a very long time, that's exactly how I saw that Biblical view.  Part of it has been my own personal experiences, but there is a big difference between survivor and victim.  I took the definition of survivor to an extreme.  It was the means to my survival to be so strong and in control of everything.  

It was a good thing to take these last two years off and remain intentionally single.  It was good for my heart, for my mind, and for my own healing.  It has been good for my children, they've needed this time.  I needed to be in control and strong to defeat the doormat syndrome I'd held for far too long.  It has been a means of finding my heart, healing the scars, and moving on to a healthier, more stable life.  I have chased dreams and accomplished goals I never thought I'd actually achieve.  Though I still have far to go, I feel successful.

There is a time for everything, though, and the time has come for me to relinquish at least some of that control.  I will always be independent and strong.  I will always have my sense of self.  It's simply time to be womanly again - and I now understand that to be womanly does not mean being weak.

The interview on the radio show today was about the relationships between men and women.  One of the points that really hit home was about woman coming from man's rib.  Not from the head, to lord over him, not from his foot to be walked on.  From his rib.  Why the rib?  The rib is a strong, but flexible bone.  The rib's function is to protect the heart and lungs. 
So how does this correlate to our relationships as women?

It is a woman's job to protect a man's heart.  I'm not just talking about the wishy-washy function of the emotional heart.  The physical heart pumps blood, which is one of the basic essentials for human life.  The stronger our blood, the stronger we function.  We strengthen our relationships with our womanly capacity to nurture.  A woman's strengths lie in compassion and understanding.  We're sensitive to everything around us, to the emotions of others, as well as our own.  We need to be in touch with those abilities, and to work with them to nurture our relationships.  

The ribs also protect the lungs.  Our lungs re-oxygenate our blood.  We breathe in cleaner air, and exhale what isn't useful.  Woman, with her capacity for compassionate understanding,  have the ability to be the voice of reason.  Men are typically action-oriented. They fix things.  Women who take control are also taking away some of that vitality from a man, by not allowing them to function fully in their roles as protectors and managers in relationships and in life in general.

The woman being interviewed (I wish I would have heard the beginning, or at least a name, so I could give her proper credit) spoke of relationships as a garden.  Gardeners know to prune unwieldy, wildly-growing plants.  The parts that are pruned are called "suckers" - literally sucking the life out of the rest of the plant.  We need to prune ourselves, as well.  We need to remove some of those untamed parts of us which keep us from growing stronger and more beautiful.  Pruning isn't always pretty.  We're sometimes left barren, feeling ugly and raw.  That's exactly where we need to be.  We need to cut off all that excess and return to the person we're intended to be.  We need to grow from those unruly life-suckers and become stronger, more full and well-developed human beings.

Over the past month, that's exactly where I've been.  I've been pruning.  It's sometimes been ugly, and sometimes very raw.  It's also been a beautiful growing and learning experience.  It's been about finding myself, truly and meaningfully, and growing into someone better and more fully developed.


view blog reactions | tags: life

I'd like a great big scoop of possibilities. In a waffle cone, please.

Isn't it wonderful when an unexpected possibility enters into your life? One of those crazy dreams suddenly becomes a reality, out of nowhere.

I've wanted to advocate for others for so long. So I waited for the right time to come around.  What my
Start group has taught me, though, is that "someday" never just happens on its own.  You have to make your someday now.

I began making my someday a reality early last month, and it was more well-received than I'd imagined.
Next week I meet with a board of very interested and enthusiastic people to discuss making my someday a reality.  I've also been asked to speak at events on behalf of them.

To say I'm overjoyed would be an understatement.  

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Busting Writers' Block: My Morning Exercise in Futility

I've spent the past couple of hours trying to come up with a subject for an article.  I'm 99% positive there are about a hundred things I could write about, but for some reason when I attempt to put words to the page the descriptive words necessary to relate these ideas go up in smoke.  I'm able to think up the idea and why it's worth writing about, I just can't figure out how to explain it to an audience.
This sort of thing has been happening for quite some time.  It's more than likely the result of the umpteen stresses tornadoing through my life at any given time.  Stress kills.  Stress kills creativity.  
Stress can bite me.
I decided to get happy.  Happy is a solution to stress.  Music makes me happy.  The radio isn't playing anything to inspire creativity.  Let's try Pandora.  Listen, peeps:  When even Pandora refuses to play more than one motivating song there's a conspiracy afoot.  
Next, I decided to procrastinate productively:  I searched Facebook for something inspiring.  Unfortunately, this led to what it always does.  The Facebook Zone-Out.  Obviously not the best idea (ya think?!).
So here we are, laughing in the face of the word-block demons with wordy attempt to destroy them.  
My next feat of incredible awesomeness will be to go sit on the porch with my coffee to try to clear my head.  You're welcome to join me.  I need cooperative ideas.


view blog reactions | tags: writing

Truth in Dreaming Dreams

There are so many lies we as human beings listen to. We use every excuse imaginable to avoid success.  

We act as though accomplishments are something to fear.  We come up with every excuse to prove the imminent failure of any dreams we've ever had.  These internal put-downs are quite often the result of lies we were told in our lifetimes, which we diligently carried with us in order to avoid rejection or pain.

Growing up I was constantly reminded that dreams, especially mine, were ridiculous and stupid.  When I circled the modeling agency ad in the teen magazine, my mother and step-father laughed at me.  They told me the outfit I'd saved weeks to buy made me look like a bag lady.  They often made hurtful remarks about my overbite and crooked teeth, which were never fixed.  I was told I looked horrible without makeup, in harsher, more vulgar words.  I was told I was over-emotional and stupid, and that I would never be more than a factory worker.  I was told no man would ever stay with me.  My diaries were read and sometimes mocked.  I was made to feel worthless.
I was shy and introverted, but I did fight back.  I argued, stayed out longer than I should, hung out with friends they hated.  My own rebellion was comparatively mild compared to that of some of my peers, but it was still as much rebellion as I dared.  As much as I wanted to have my freedom, I was terrified of overstepping the strict boundaries I'd been confined to. I was terrified of exploring life, for fear I'd be ridiculed.
I was so afraid of living life that I took great pains to avoid it.  When my friends went skiing I told myself I'd probably get hurt badly.  When my best friend got married and moved into the cute little apartment in the city of Hartford, expecting me to rent a room with them, I told myself it would end badly and I'd only be a third wheel.  I told myself I wasn't smart enough to write anything worthwhile, even when everyone around me told me I should write; even though everything within me needs to write.  I opted out of events, parties, get-togethers, meeting new people, going to new places.  I settled for whatever seemed safest.
Lately I have joined a group of many other people who share some of the same fears.  Surprisingly, many of these people are successful and put-together.  I'd never expected anyone successful to have fears, especially fears so similar to my own.  Many other people are wall-flowers like me, preferring to shrink back from success entirely.  The fears they've expressed mirror my own; they fear others will think their dreams are crazy or stupid.  The group has been challenged to examine their fears, to share them, to discuss them, and ultimately to realize the truths their fears have hidden.  
I went into this with three goals.  The first goal is a major project involving a local organization.  I was certain this particular goal would be condescendingly laughed at and brushed off as a silly notion.  I took the initiative to create a proposal for my idea and delivered it by hand.  Much to my surprise, the proposal was warmly welcomed and even applauded.  I heard words like inspirational and exciting.  It was exhilarating, but more than that it was validating to be viewed as a worthwhile and intelligent human being.  
The third of my goals is a much larger one, which will take longer to achieve and much more hard work.  I've not talked about it much because it seemed to crazy.  It's not something so outlandish to have never been done before.  I'd just always assumed it was too much for me to expect of myself.  Within this group are a few people with similar goals.  One in particular shares many, if not all, of the same viewpoints I do.  I've gained a whole new level of confidence in my dreams through our conversations, and even in sharing these ideas with the group.  I've begun to see the possible reality in things I'd merely thought of as fantasies before, and have even dreamed some new dreams. I know this goal can be accomplished.  Some of the newer dreams might not, but I believe they're worth holding out hope for anyway.  One never knows what Providence might have in store.

view blog reactions | tags: #StartExp

Starting

An author I follow recently posted an invitation to embark on an adventure.  No other explanation was given, except to say that the post would be removed within 24 hours.  Intrigued, I answered the call.  It turned out to be more of a challenge than an invitation.  
Jon Acuff, author of Start, was answered by just over two thousand willing adventurers.  I am one of them.  The Start Experiment community is endeavoring to get up and live their dreams fully, instead of waiting for the ever elusive "someday."  Big dreams do not come knocking at your door and lie willing at your feet, you must chase after them with all the fire in your soul and launch them into realization.  The idea is to fight your fears.
One dream I've had for as long as I can remember is to write.  I've placed it on the back-burner for a long time, telling myself I'd never be good enough to make a real living at it.  Eventually, the dream faded and my writing did the same.  A couple of freelance projects here, a few started and eventually abandoned blogs there.  I did some weeding out, figured out which ones I'd like to keep going, and am refocusing my creative energies into those.
I love to help, and have a dream to that end, as well.  I love to do whatever I can for others, because it feels good to be a catalyst in whatever good I can.  It's cathartic and meaningful.  With the encouragement of my new-found community of Starters, I came up with a proposal for a peer mentoring program which was well-received when I presented it, and plans to make it a reality are in the works. I was even asked to lead the project, which was exactly what I was hoping for!
I've also got one of those dreams that's going to take a little longer to realize, and a lot more work.  I've always wanted a little hobby farm.  I'm infatuated with barns and fields.  I want the old farmhouse, surrounded by trees and with a tire swing.  I want a barn with a loft.  More than all of this, though, I want it to be a way to help.  A sort of retreat with the purpose of helping others to become self-sufficient.
In any case, two of the three goals are already on the way to becoming a reality.  This gives me hope for the third.  


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Kindling

Oh, dear blog, it's been so very long since we've talked.  So much has happened these past several years since I threw you so callously to the wayside.  Yes, I have missed you, really I have.  It's just that somewhere along the way I forgot how to carry my voice through you.  I forgot how good it felt to bleed the passion in my heart into the words on your pages.  I let life get in the way, and the fears creep in and take over that part of me you once held.  I let the cobwebs cover your corners while I allowed my passion to die a slow, quiet death. 

For so long I didn't see the error of my ways.  I allowed myself to think you were a silly passing phase, and that my passion for writing at all was just one of the ghosts of my past.  I gave up on giving my thoughts a voice.  Instead, my thoughts became tiny blips, miniature social networking posts which barely drew the bat of another's eyes. I allowed the pain in my life to become my sole focus. 

I did some positive things.  I went back to school, where I earned Honors recognition, learned new skills and honed some skills I'd let get rusty.  I conquered the dreaded speech class, and even learned I loved it - as long as what I spoke about was one of my passions.

I'd forgotten what living passionately felt like.  I'd forgotten the joy I once found in words and in spilling my overflowing thoughts onto the page. 

I want you to know, dear blog, that I have rediscovered my passion for you once again.  I've reclaimed the intensity of my love for writing and for the words that pour from my overflowing mind onto the page, baring my heart to you. 



view blog reactions | tags: writing, #StartExp

Cookin' Up More Fun Than A Barrel of Monkeys

Do monkeys cook ... ? And in barrels?! Talented little buggers, aren't they!

No, this is a different kind of cooking Monkey. My lovely friend Crystle

Didn't I say she is lovely? 

(who also happens to have Tumblr with yummy recipes) is the administrator of a fun little group called Monkey Witch Kitchen, a wonderful fantasy land of delectable edibles.

Each month, Monkey Witch Kitchen is hosting a special cooking challenge for it's members. Don't be intimidated by the concept, it's actually quite simple: Create a dish based on the month's theme (this month is chicken), then post a photo of your dish to the group. At the end of the month a winner is chosen at random for a great prize! The prize package for May is an assortment of barbecue fun!

Each monthly challenge is a little different. Here are some of the past winners of Monkey Witch Kitchen Monthly Challenges:

January's Monkey Witch Kitchen Chocolate Challenge winner was Janna Grubbs Derry

Decadent Chocolate Torte

Janna's prize was this fabulous package - can you say amazing?  I'm jealous!

I love the special attention to detail Crystle puts into these prizes.

Here is the winning creation for February's Potato Challenge, won by Erin Neu

Potatoes fried in coconut oil with cumin and mustard seeds

Lucky Erin received this awesome prize box for her yummy potato creation

Simply lovely!

In addition to the monthly challenges, Monkey Witch Kitchen also holds weekly Grab Bag Challenges. All you have to do is to "like" the group's Facebook post in which the challenge is announced, and that's it - you're entered! See this link for a list of the great prizes people have won in the past!

I strongly encourage you to head on over to Monkey Witch Kitchen and get involved in the fun!

view blog reactions | tags: Friend_Pimpin' | Cooking | Contests | Groups

Hmmm...

Maybe I should have waited on NaBloPoMo until after my finals were over...?

Stay tuned folks, the brain cells are currently otherwise occupied.

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It's Gonna Get Ugly

Bin Laden is confirmed dead, and this development is sure to draw retaliation. Don't get me wrong, this is a great accomplishment. Just keep our military members in your prayers, please.

view blog reactions | tags: Bin Laden, Afghanistan

Maybe...

Life is full of maybes.

"Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's."

"ADVICE, LIKE YOUTH, PROBABLY JUST WASTED ON THE YOUNG" by staff writer Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune on June 1, 1997

The idea behind NaBloPoMo, aka National Blog Posting Month, is to encourage bloggers to post at least once per day, every day for one month. This month I am going to participate in NaBloPoMo's May 2011 theme, "Maybe."

view blog reactions | tags: NaBloPoMo, life

Motivation. I needs it.

Yeppers, boys and girls. Motivation is what's been missing. It happens to all of us sometimes. You let something get to you a little too much and before you know it, you're enveloped by it. Motivation is the first thing to go right down the toilet.

I've begun walking almost every other day. It's a start. It gets the kids and I out of the house, helps to alleviate some of the stresses of the day, and has been really helping in the weight loss, firm, and tone department. I'm trying to get my schedule to the point that I can walk every day. I could simply walk out the front door and around town, but it's so much more soothing and peaceful to go out to the park and walk the trails for an hour or two. The lack of "busy noise" helps to clear the mind and get it refocused. It's beautiful out there now with the flowers starting to bloom. I'll have to get some pictures posted, since I don't know what they are. One looks like a pale, striated violet, another is similar to an aster, and then there's one that looks something like a very small and fragile crocus. I think they're considered an invasive species, but they really are pretty. Anyway, I'd also like to mix up the walking routine with some running a few times a week, to build up stamina and tone a little more.

Next on the list is spring cleaning. Not just cleaning, I mean really getting in there and cleaning. Get rid of all the leftovers of the long winter, and probably tossing lots of crap we don't need lying around in the house, too. Rummage sale season is just beginning, so it's prime time to lose the extra baggage and make some cash in the process. The kids have started to weed out the things they don't want, so this will teach them some things about the value of things, and hopefully about saving money, too.

Then there are the creative endeavors which have been horribly neglected for far too long, this blog being one of them. The intention of a post per day might not happen immediately, but I will try. I'm also going to try to get back to more crafting. I didn't so much as knit a stitch all winter! I did sew and craft a little, but it didn't last long, honestly. I'd like to say I'll make at least one thing every day, but with college, kids, house, walking/running, and blog... Let's just stick with one project per week.

Here's to new beginnings!

view blog reactions | tags: Motivation

Aw... poo...

You know what I hate?

Limbo.

Limbo sucks.

Not the neighborhood yardstick-propped-up-by-tiki-torches game.  I'm talking about life's little tastes of purgatory.  Where people go when they're kind of messed up, need space, or just time to think.  Sure it sounds hunky dory and totally doable, I mean, you've gotta get things figured out, right?  But what about the peeps on the other side of the equation?  Those poor schmucks get to sit it out blindfolded while you get your head on straight.  Not exactly a good time.  While you're over there on the shallow side getting your ducks in a row, your counterpart is treading water in the deep end with no life preserver.


It's interesting how, though we think we are so certain that we know what we want, we're really completely clueless when it comes right down to the test.  We say we want something, but when we get it we get all freaked out and just sit there staring at it, not sure if we should be happy or drop it and run like hell.  Most people seem to simply go with the latter.  It's easier and there's less mess if you screw it up.  Of course, there's no telling if it really would work out, since most people refuse to put more than five minutes' effort into anything, anyway.

So why do we bother spending all our time and effort over our entire lives chasing things we just toss out the window once we've attained them?  Is it the thrill of the chase?  Or have you spent so long chasing it that once you have it you're too overwhelmed to know what to do with it?  I'm going with overwhelmed in most cases.  The majority of people have eyes far bigger than their stomachs.

I'm a very intense person.  I am passionate about everything, and am very "all or nothing" in whatever it is I want or do.  Either you're in or you're out.  But once I have that longed-for goal in my grasp, I give it everything I have.  I pour my very being into it and let it swallow me whole.  If I'm going to experience something, I want to experience it.  I want to become part of it, and let it be part of me.  Don't just keep your eye on the ball, be the ball.

I can certainly understand the point of view of the overwhelmed, but purgatory is still no real treat to endure.  All the good stuff is up one or two levels and they never leave a dessert cart for you.  Purgatory is boxed mac and cheese with fish sticks.  After a while, everything tastes like cardboard.

I want the gourmet experience.  I want smoked salmon, filet mignon, and real truffles.  And by golly I want that darned dessert cart.  Stat.

And come to think of it, I hate the party game, too.

  the word on the street | tags: love | life

Gracie's Words of Wisdom

Last night my children and I watched The Nativity Story, a beautifully done movie depicting the events leading up to the birth of Christ. The idea was to give them a better understanding and almost first-hand view of why we celebrate Christmas and the importance of God in our lives.

There was one part that was difficult for us all to watch (though there was no graphic violence shown), the part of the story about King Herod's murder of all male children under the age of two. Herod had ordered this because prophets had described the coming of a new king, and because of his fear of being overthrown. My seven-year-old daughter Grace (whom was called on occasion "The Little Prophet" by a couple of members of our church in Indianapolis for her comments on various biblical subjects) had much to say after the movie:

"People should be loved and cared for, and babies should be loved very much. People should not be hated. They have to be loved very much. We have to love each other, not be mean to each other. They have to be respectful and very nice to people, and especially God. They need to love the children."

For those who don't know Gracie's history, she is a miracle child in every sense of the word. Doctors told me to abort her, that because of medication they'd prescribed during my first trimester carrying her, she would likely not make it through the pregnancy. Even if she did actually make it to birth, they said, she would have severe deformities at the very least. I was told she would have poor quality of life, and that I would have a special needs child. They told me the chances of her being "normal" were slim to none.

I prayed. One night her name popped into my head, along with the quiet assurance, "She is a girl, and her name is Grace." Even though the baby's gender had not yet been determined, I knew with all my heart that my baby girl would be fine. Doctors wanted a large number of tests done, but I denied them to do anything invasive. Even though several ultrasounds found nothing wrong physically, they said that breathing problems and cognitive deformities were impossible to avoid - but I was having a girl.

I went into labor at five months along and was placed on medication to stop contractions and steroids to help develop her tiny lungs. I was again told there was little likelihood of her survival. Grace held on and remained strong.

Three-and-a-half weeks before my due date, Grace decided she was ready. With a room full of NICU staff and lots of equipment, doctors told me to prepare for the worst. They told me to be prepared, because she would have to be placed on a respirator. They said she would be in the NICU for at least two weeks and my contact with her would be limited until she developed enough to breathe on her own.

On on June 12, 2003, Grace Kaye Elise (meaning "grace sweet and pure") was born perfect and healthy. Her APGAR scores were all nines and tens, she squawked just enough to let them know she was alive, and she nursed immediately. Grace rarely cried and was a happy, inquisitive and very intelligent baby. At all of her appointments with the pediatrician, she continually shocked them with her progress and verbal skills.

Gracie is a brilliant, strong-willed, confident little girl with a beautiful voice, and who has memorized and sings everything from Mozart and Beethoven to Taylor Swift and Colbie Callait. She wants to be a ballerina and singer, and maybe a doctor, too. She is full of wisdom and compassion.

 


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You are made for so much more than all of this

It's funny, the chain of events and people who lead us to the changes in life, both good and bad, which bring us lessons and ultimately new-found strength and renewal. We face adversity, reach a state of hopelessness and feelings of loss and teeter on that dangerous knife's edge, upon which we must decide whether to dissolve ourselves into the chaotic abyss of despair, or to fall into faith, hope and overcoming fear.

It may seem odd that regaining hope and faith are the more difficult option, but in reality it takes great strength to let go of the past and allow faith to replace worry and fear. Being weak, allowing chaos to take over - that's easy. You don't have to work at being afraid. You just allow it to come in and take over your life. Fighting fear takes energy and stamina, two things that depression and pain drain you of.

God brings things into our life with a purpose and the intent of helping us to combat all of this. People and events are brought into our lives for a reason. Nothing is by chance, but it's up to us to choose the paths of our own lives. Our choice in paths can make our life journey very smooth and easy or very, very difficult. Not everything is a choice on our own parts, but everything does happen for a reason: birth, death, love, loss, joy, hardship, knowledge, pain.

My beginnings obviously weren't my own choice. I hadn't chosen to be abused or neglected, and ultimately rejected by my own family. Those experiences, however, have given me a compassion and understanding I would not have had without them. Though I have long recognized these hardships as learning experiences, I have also wallowed for much of my life in the pain they caused. I have made unsound choices which only resulted in further torment and hardship in my life.

I have spent the majority of my life fighting. I've fought not just those who've hurt me, but because I was so used to having to fight for love and respect, I've also fought those who've loved me. I've fought for love, for respect, for my own dignity. In my quest to fight for the help and understanding I sought for so long, I ended up fighting those who truly wanted to help me. I've fought my friends and mentors, and even myself.

When I wasn't fighting I was hiding myself away. My typical reaction to stress is to hermit myself away, hide from the harshness of the world and lock myself in my own little bubble. Me against the world - and life. When you've lived in fear and pain, you haven't really lived at all.

When you feel worthless and you're used to fighting, you tend to take on ventures that give you a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Something that tells the world you've been here, done something worth doing. In my case, it is Soldiers' Angels. If I've never had anything to offer, anything worth giving, then at least compassionate philanthropy is something I do have to give. When you know pain and loss and hardship, you can better relate to those who endure it, even if it's of a different category than your own.

Through the volunteer work with this organization, I met Shelle, a very strong and no-nonsense woman who has in turn introduced me to many more strong and beautiful women who have also persevered through hardship, each journeying through pain and loss into their own forms of healing and rebirth. One of these women is Jodi Rae, a sweet, loving, kind and compassionate woman who has no doubt endured considerable tribulation herself.

Jodi Rae authored a book, The Blonde On The Prairie, detailing her journey to overcome those trials and rise above them. Over a lunch with Logan, a dear friend in his own right, Jodi Rae signed a copy of her book which Logan then sent on to me. Even from the very first page, I knew they'd both seen straight through to my heart at a critical time when I had nearly begun to slip back into that abyss.

"It took great and powerful adversity for me to end up broken and discouraged, feeling un-loved and not worthy. That same adversity forced a mighty resilience in me to fight back and go on living.

When I began to live, I began to know love. Love yielded laughter. Laughter exploded into healing."

- From The Blonde On The Prairie, by Jodi Rae Ingstad

Jodi Rae, I believe that Shelle instinctively knew somehow that you and all of those other strong and beautiful women would hold the keys to bringing back the me that adversity tried so hard to destroy. Thank you for sharing your joy with me when I needed it most. I'm going to try leaving my barn door open, and let the joy come back in.


Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him. - James 1:12

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