Tonight I had the privilege of observing a MADD DUI Impact Panel. For those not familiar, this is a court mandated meeting for DUI offenders, where speakers from MADD educate and inform offenders of the gravity of driving under the influence, hoping to persuade them to better life choices.
I spent the first part of my volunteer time helping to set up the room for what would be a sizable crowd, of approximately 175 people. Extra chairs had to be brought in, and the room rearranged to accommodate for the large crowd. As we prepared, the crowd gathered outside. As this is court mandated, recipients receive a certificate upon completion of the meeting, as proof of their attendance. The cost of the meeting is $45, which as I learned, is a small price to pay in comparison to the fines associated with this crime.
Myself and two other ladies manned the registration desk, verifying personal information, and collecting money for the event. We were accompanied by two police officers, there for our safety, and usually to administer breathalyzer tests to every attendee. The testers were in for recalibration, but I assume our already 30 minute registration process could have easily taken 45-60 minutes with the testing.
It seemed like an endless line of people. I tried to greet each person kindly, looking them in the eye, smiling at them as I took their information, and even addressing some by name. It's amazing the response you get from a person when you use their name, and smile at them. Can you imagine the embarrassment of coming to one of these things? Some people dressed in business attire, with suit pants and button downs, while others looked like they hadn't slept in days.
There was a young man that came up towards the end, with what I assume was his guardian. He had no photo ID, which meant he couldn't attend the meeting. He argued, telling us that he was going to be arrested for violating parole if he didn't attend today, as he had already gotten an extension on taking this class, and this was the last day of the extension. When asked if he had any form of photo ID, he said all he had was a medical marajuana card. He grew more upset that he couldn't attend, knowing that he may be put in jail for violation of parole, and walked away. His guardian was polite and understanding, trying to work with us. Eventually, we were able to provide guidance on where to go from there. It was hard to be understanding in that situation. You know, going into this, that at least 10% of attendees will end up as repeat offenders, and some, back in the very same class months down the road. A harsh reality.
The first speaker was our program director, who went over the statistics for drunk driving accidents. Did you know that 28 people PER DAY are killed in drunk driving accidents, in the US alone? That's nearly 200 people dying per week, from completely preventable crashes. As the program director pointed out, that's like a plane crashing every single week, of every single month, every single year, and finding out every single pilot flying those planes was drunk...and then doing nothing about it.
Well, not nothing. There are meetings like this one for "pilots" all over the country. But when's the last time this made national news. If a plane crashed every week with a drunk captain, there would be hell in the media. But drunk driving accidents, not so much. It's so cliche now, so much a part of life.
In Arizona alone, 256 people were killed last year at the hands of a drunk driver. As Arizona is a no tolerance state, it doesn't matter if your BAC is above the legal limit, if you've had anything to drink, or you are under the influence of prescription or elicit drugs, and you are pulled over for impaired or reckless driving, you're done. The degree of punishment varies, but fines usually start around $3000. One of the speakers had everyone stand, and then had people sit down as she went up the scale on how much in fines they had to pay thus far. $3,000...only a few sat down. Anyone pay under $4,000? Only a few more. Every thousand dollars she went up, and at $10,000 nearly half the room was still standing. She kept going to $12,000, and that left about 10 people. She asked them individually how much it had costed them. Fifteen, twenty, forty-five thousand...my mouth almost hit the floor.
The $40 Uber fare seems worth it now, doesn't it?
Driving under the influence is no respecter of age, race, color or religion. In fact, the majority of the attendees, with the exception of a small group were well into their twenties and above. Not the stereotypical "young, stupid kids". You don't have to start out as a stupid person to get a DUI charge, drinking does that for you. Drinking makes us all kinds of stupid.
It's amazing what one drink can do. The effects of alcohol vary from person to person, but the facts are the same for how long it takes to get out of your system. A blood alcohol level of .08 is the legal limit in all 50 states. For the last nine years running, the average DUI charges in Arizona, hold a BAC of .16. That's twice the legal limit. Nine years running... To get down from a .16 BAC it would take 10 hours of no drinking to get it out of your system. To get .08 out of your system takes five.
The next two speakers of the night were both speaking for the victim. The first shared the story of her and her husband. They were party-loving people with two teenage sons. They were an average family, who didn't go out driving on the holidays, because that's the time when all the drunk people are out driving. It was an average weekend night, and her husband and youngest son went out to see a movie. They were hit 2 minutes from their house. She heard the crash, heard the sirens, but it couldn't possibly be them.
The phone calls from two different hospitals where they were taken, started flooding in. Her son, who's face and head were lacerated several times, unrecognizable to his mother. Her husband who was revived at the scene, was now permanently paralyzed, his spinal chord severed in the accident. He spent the next ten years of his life in and out of the hospital, until he finally passed away from complications of his injuries. Her son survived, and gives her words to speak at these meetings.
The next speaker was a husband and wife team. The husband is a double amputee. Immediately, I thought he was a victim of a DUI crash. But drugs and alcohol affected him in a different way. His addictions caused sepsis and his legs were burned from the inside out. He had a 1% change to live, with every major organ in his body in failure. He survived, and six months later, after getting his life together, and getting a new start with his family, their only son was killed in a DUI crash at the age of twenty.
All those times out partying and nothing happened, and then that one time...
The biggest word used in the panel was "choice". Everyone has them. Everyone makes them. Some are good, some are bad, some are deadly. No choice only affects the individual. The ripple effect from DUI is incredible, powerful, and sobering.
The message of the DUI Impact Panels is to encourage others to make better choices, to be faced with the possibility of their crime, in hopes that they won't do it again. It's not to cast blame. It's not to inflict guilt. It's not even to tell people not to drink. It's to put a face to a crime, to hopefully reach people before it's too late.
I was so impressed at the forgiveness and strength of the speakers tonight. Their stories were heart-wrenching. I sat there, thinking about my own family and friends...the ripple. My insides hurt for these people, as I understand, in a very small way, what they have gone through. They were parents, and wives. I thought of my mom, and my parents, and a million memories came flooding back. Flashbacks coming at me in all directions as they shared their stories. I couldn't help but think...I'm so glad my parents still have their child. If for nothing else, the pain of losing me would have devastated them, and I saw that in these parents.
These are the chilling facts of driving under the influence. These are the realities of that decision.
At the end of the meeting, I was assisting in passing out surveys and pencils. Certificates were being called out, and there was a hubbub of people surrounding the tables. Still holding my surveys, a woman came up to me and said, "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't ever want to drink and drive again. If I can save one person by not doing this I will. I just..." And the tears started coming when I reached out and put my hand on her arm, and said, "You're welcome, thank you." She hugged me and cried, saying thank you several more times before walking away.
This is why.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
An Angel At The Chick-fil-A
As my days seem to go lately, I end up surprised by what happens. Today was no different. And although it was totally unlike anything I had planned or would have wanted for my day, I ended up blessed by a complete stranger...a teenager working the drive-thru window at the Chick-fil-A I stopped by today. I've probably traumatized the poor kid forever. I will be "that one lady that started balling in front of me at the drive-thru window". Always and forever. I guess everyone deserves some kind of memory like that in their working career. It's nice to know I will live on in his mind, in that way...
One of my close friends asked me to attend a counseling session with her this morning, at a nearby church. It was scheduled a couple of hours before my work shift started, but I had another appointment right before that, so I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it. I also wasn't sure I wanted to make it. Having friends, or being part of a family, means that sometimes you are forced to sacrifice for the sake of the relationship, because the other person is in need. I know this goes against everything we are taught in "the real world", but to keep relationships you have to be willing to sacrifice. If you aren't, or they aren't, walk away quickly, or don't even bother. It won't last, and you won't end up happy. Sometimes you're asked to do more than you think is your fair share. Sometimes that's okay. Because when the shoe is on the other foot...
Anyway, I got out of my appointment, and went over to the nearby church, where I impatiently waited for the elderly receptionist to figure out that I was meeting with the pastor and my friend, who were already there, and was eventually taken back to meet them. The pastor was friendly, but my friend was already in tears when I got there. I have been at this place in my life...the dark hole, the pit, the quicksand of life. I try to avoid being there again, at almost any expense, and it's equally difficult for me to walk the path with someone else, knowing my own tendency to fall into repeated patterns of depression and anxiety that have plagued me for years. It's just as easy to relapse when you're surrounded by other people in that stage in life.
I listen to my friend talk, and my heart hurts for her. I can feel my emotions welling up, as she finishes sharing with the pastor. He starts talking to her about our perception of God's "hate" for things, and how our English minds want to use this term literally, even though scriptural uses of the word translate as "prefers less". God hates divorce. God hated Esau. Etcetera. If human beings didn't do what God hated so much, there wouldn't be a Bible. There wouldn't be any need for grace. There would be any need for Jesus, or forgiveness, or any of it. But people do things God hates all the time, so we have all of the above and more to "deal with it".
He was speaking some more, and then looked right at me and said, "Do you think God wants a drunk driver to hit someone? I know a little something about that."
It was at this point that I remember my friend had met with him once before, and either he or his wife had been directly affected by a drunk driving accident, and I remember she relayed my story to him. He already knew who I was, before I even got there today.
I could feel the tears start to cloud my eyes as he continued. He spoke of grace, forgiveness, and love that should be shown to a flawed human being who had hurt my friend; a person who has a free will to choose right or wrong. I couldn't help but think of my own circumstances at the same time. I'm now covered in tears, choking back sobs, and holding it in, listening to them both talk.
I had to leave the meeting early to go to work, never speaking a word the whole time I was there. I wasn't even out of the office building before I was crying more than I ever do in public, hoping to find my car quickly to avoid any personal confrontation. I hate crying. I hate crying in front of people even more. Only recently did I accept crying as something I should just let happen, and not try fighting all the time. However, crying in front of people is another story. I can almost appear stoic sometimes, and will wait until I'm along before I let it all out. Today was no different. I sat in my car and started driving, but then couldn't move.
All emotions, stress, burdens, and weight of the last couple of months, pouring out on the steering wheel in a mess of tears and mascara. I couldn't stop. It was all coming out. I was sobbing, crying more tears than I have in months. "Why, God?" "Why this?" "Why these people...again...still?" "What am I supposed to do with all of this?" "What are you doing here?" "I'm so hurt...so...broken." "God, please..."
I had to leave at this point, because I had to go to work. Although, I did contemplate taking a mental health day, or even a mental health few hours. It would certainly have been justified.
I had no time to go home and eat, and had only brought enough food for my dinner at work, so I stopped at the local Chick-fil-A to grab a grilled chicken sandwich. I'm still crying...the whole way there. I pull in the parking lot and decide now would be a great time to shut off the waterworks, because I'm going to have to face another human being. However, after I order my food with whimpered voice, I am still sopping up tears from my now entirely red face. My eyes so fiercely green, it looked like I had just polished a couple of emeralds and stuck them on my face. Mascara is in places it shouldn't be, smeared around my face. I am the epitome of a "hot mess".
I pull up to the window, trying to avoid eye contact with the human being taking my money. He looks like a teenager, but I'm kind of older now, and everyone young looks like a teenager, so I really don't know for sure. I avoid his stare. I'm chanting to myself in my head, "Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together Marci!!"
He hands me back my receipt, and it's at this point I realize there is a short delay in getting my food, and he just looked at me. He crouched down in the window and looked directly at me, and said, "How's your day going today, ma'am?"
I could already barely speak, still trying to avoid looking at him, and I was hanging on by a thread, but then he had to go and ask how I was. I could tell he saw my face, as his face turned from happily questioning my day, to realizing that I wasn't having a good one. I don't remember what I said, but I remember blurting out my broken words amongst intermittent gasps of air, while I tried to hold back the tears that were now flowing freely again. It went something like, "Oh...I'm...okay. I've had better...days...but...thank you...for asking."
"I'm so sorry to hear that ma'am." I remember seeing his face looking back at me with so much compassion. You know how you can just tell when someone is hurting for you? I mean, this kid didn't know me. He had absolutely no idea what I've been and am dealing with. No clue. But his face turned sad, looking right at me, and almost in a soft whisper he asked, "Are you okay?"
Again, amidst my sobbing and that weird gasping for air thing that happens when you're really sobbing, I reply back, "I'm...okay. I'm just...having a...really...rough day."
He turned around to get my food, and what I thought for sure would be a request to have a manager come to the window. I mean, seriously. If I were him, I would have been like, "Yo! There's some chick balling at my window. Help!" But he didn't. Instead, he handed my food to me, and looked at me again and said gently, "I really hope the rest of your day gets better, ma'am."
I'm sure I thanked him at this point, though I can't really remember. I was more concerned about vacating this awful, embarrassing situation. As I pulled away I thought to myself, "omg, they're going to be talking about this all day." Not my finest moment, and it certainly ranks up there with my most embarrassing moments of all time...or at least my most awkward ones.
I cried the rest of the way to work. I cried walking into work. I walked my red-faced, blood shot, emerald eyed self into work, collected myself in the bathroom, and almost managed to make it to my emails without crying again, until my boss asked if I was okay. Some things just can't be hidden. Either I came down with the flu and pink eye overnight, or there was something wrong. Chicks know. I'm thankful for my understanding, compassionate boss...and free kleenex.
I had no idea that in being there to support my friend at her counseling appointment this morning, I would be "asked" to face my own hurts. I should have known better. The message of this counselor was directed towards my friend, and while completely applicable to her life, I know full well that was something God intended for me to hear as well.
There is no name on my receipt from Chick-fil-A. So to the sweet, caring and compassionate, Africa-American teenager working the drive-thru window at the Crossroads Towne Center location in Gilbert, at about 2:30pm yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon, I would like to offer a most sincere thank you...for caring about a person who just happened to cross your path today. Thank you for doing the uncomfortable, yet loving thing in genuinely showing concern and care for a completely stranger who was hurting. You most certainly didn't have to. It meant more than you know, and I would like to think that if God gave you that much compassion in your heart, that he has amazing things planned for it in the future.
God really is quite the master weaver.
Tomorrow is another day. A new day. And I'm still practicing...
Here's the story.
One of my close friends asked me to attend a counseling session with her this morning, at a nearby church. It was scheduled a couple of hours before my work shift started, but I had another appointment right before that, so I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it. I also wasn't sure I wanted to make it. Having friends, or being part of a family, means that sometimes you are forced to sacrifice for the sake of the relationship, because the other person is in need. I know this goes against everything we are taught in "the real world", but to keep relationships you have to be willing to sacrifice. If you aren't, or they aren't, walk away quickly, or don't even bother. It won't last, and you won't end up happy. Sometimes you're asked to do more than you think is your fair share. Sometimes that's okay. Because when the shoe is on the other foot...
Anyway, I got out of my appointment, and went over to the nearby church, where I impatiently waited for the elderly receptionist to figure out that I was meeting with the pastor and my friend, who were already there, and was eventually taken back to meet them. The pastor was friendly, but my friend was already in tears when I got there. I have been at this place in my life...the dark hole, the pit, the quicksand of life. I try to avoid being there again, at almost any expense, and it's equally difficult for me to walk the path with someone else, knowing my own tendency to fall into repeated patterns of depression and anxiety that have plagued me for years. It's just as easy to relapse when you're surrounded by other people in that stage in life.
I listen to my friend talk, and my heart hurts for her. I can feel my emotions welling up, as she finishes sharing with the pastor. He starts talking to her about our perception of God's "hate" for things, and how our English minds want to use this term literally, even though scriptural uses of the word translate as "prefers less". God hates divorce. God hated Esau. Etcetera. If human beings didn't do what God hated so much, there wouldn't be a Bible. There wouldn't be any need for grace. There would be any need for Jesus, or forgiveness, or any of it. But people do things God hates all the time, so we have all of the above and more to "deal with it".
He was speaking some more, and then looked right at me and said, "Do you think God wants a drunk driver to hit someone? I know a little something about that."
It was at this point that I remember my friend had met with him once before, and either he or his wife had been directly affected by a drunk driving accident, and I remember she relayed my story to him. He already knew who I was, before I even got there today.
I could feel the tears start to cloud my eyes as he continued. He spoke of grace, forgiveness, and love that should be shown to a flawed human being who had hurt my friend; a person who has a free will to choose right or wrong. I couldn't help but think of my own circumstances at the same time. I'm now covered in tears, choking back sobs, and holding it in, listening to them both talk.
I had to leave the meeting early to go to work, never speaking a word the whole time I was there. I wasn't even out of the office building before I was crying more than I ever do in public, hoping to find my car quickly to avoid any personal confrontation. I hate crying. I hate crying in front of people even more. Only recently did I accept crying as something I should just let happen, and not try fighting all the time. However, crying in front of people is another story. I can almost appear stoic sometimes, and will wait until I'm along before I let it all out. Today was no different. I sat in my car and started driving, but then couldn't move.
Tears.
All emotions, stress, burdens, and weight of the last couple of months, pouring out on the steering wheel in a mess of tears and mascara. I couldn't stop. It was all coming out. I was sobbing, crying more tears than I have in months. "Why, God?" "Why this?" "Why these people...again...still?" "What am I supposed to do with all of this?" "What are you doing here?" "I'm so hurt...so...broken." "God, please..."
I had to leave at this point, because I had to go to work. Although, I did contemplate taking a mental health day, or even a mental health few hours. It would certainly have been justified.
I had no time to go home and eat, and had only brought enough food for my dinner at work, so I stopped at the local Chick-fil-A to grab a grilled chicken sandwich. I'm still crying...the whole way there. I pull in the parking lot and decide now would be a great time to shut off the waterworks, because I'm going to have to face another human being. However, after I order my food with whimpered voice, I am still sopping up tears from my now entirely red face. My eyes so fiercely green, it looked like I had just polished a couple of emeralds and stuck them on my face. Mascara is in places it shouldn't be, smeared around my face. I am the epitome of a "hot mess".
I pull up to the window, trying to avoid eye contact with the human being taking my money. He looks like a teenager, but I'm kind of older now, and everyone young looks like a teenager, so I really don't know for sure. I avoid his stare. I'm chanting to myself in my head, "Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together Marci!!"
He hands me back my receipt, and it's at this point I realize there is a short delay in getting my food, and he just looked at me. He crouched down in the window and looked directly at me, and said, "How's your day going today, ma'am?"
I could already barely speak, still trying to avoid looking at him, and I was hanging on by a thread, but then he had to go and ask how I was. I could tell he saw my face, as his face turned from happily questioning my day, to realizing that I wasn't having a good one. I don't remember what I said, but I remember blurting out my broken words amongst intermittent gasps of air, while I tried to hold back the tears that were now flowing freely again. It went something like, "Oh...I'm...okay. I've had better...days...but...thank you...for asking."
The exchange that followed can only be described as one of the most compassionate 60-second conversation I've ever had with a stranger.
Again, amidst my sobbing and that weird gasping for air thing that happens when you're really sobbing, I reply back, "I'm...okay. I'm just...having a...really...rough day."
He turned around to get my food, and what I thought for sure would be a request to have a manager come to the window. I mean, seriously. If I were him, I would have been like, "Yo! There's some chick balling at my window. Help!" But he didn't. Instead, he handed my food to me, and looked at me again and said gently, "I really hope the rest of your day gets better, ma'am."
I'm sure I thanked him at this point, though I can't really remember. I was more concerned about vacating this awful, embarrassing situation. As I pulled away I thought to myself, "omg, they're going to be talking about this all day." Not my finest moment, and it certainly ranks up there with my most embarrassing moments of all time...or at least my most awkward ones.
I cried the rest of the way to work. I cried walking into work. I walked my red-faced, blood shot, emerald eyed self into work, collected myself in the bathroom, and almost managed to make it to my emails without crying again, until my boss asked if I was okay. Some things just can't be hidden. Either I came down with the flu and pink eye overnight, or there was something wrong. Chicks know. I'm thankful for my understanding, compassionate boss...and free kleenex.
I had no idea that in being there to support my friend at her counseling appointment this morning, I would be "asked" to face my own hurts. I should have known better. The message of this counselor was directed towards my friend, and while completely applicable to her life, I know full well that was something God intended for me to hear as well.
There is no name on my receipt from Chick-fil-A. So to the sweet, caring and compassionate, Africa-American teenager working the drive-thru window at the Crossroads Towne Center location in Gilbert, at about 2:30pm yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon, I would like to offer a most sincere thank you...for caring about a person who just happened to cross your path today. Thank you for doing the uncomfortable, yet loving thing in genuinely showing concern and care for a completely stranger who was hurting. You most certainly didn't have to. It meant more than you know, and I would like to think that if God gave you that much compassion in your heart, that he has amazing things planned for it in the future.
God really is quite the master weaver.
Tomorrow is another day. A new day. And I'm still practicing...
Thursday, October 22, 2015
The Knight In Shining Tow Truck
In all respects, tonight started out just like any other night. It was midnight. I had just gotten out of work 20 minutes prior, and caught up with an old co-worker for a few minutes before heading to my car. It's the first chilly night in Phoenix. The air so crisp, it was finally feeling like Fall.
I got in my car, turned on the R&B station, and started driving. Something was off. The light goes on. It's the air pressure. Of course it is.! It's "cold" out! I stop. I look. It's not just cold, it's flat. I wonder if I could make it down the street to the gas station, but the awful sound coming from the tire has me turning right back into the work parking lot.
It's the first time I've used my emergency road side assistance plan, and it works out great. (Shameless plug right here, my entire service was free, and the people were great. Great job Jake from State Farm! (Or Roy, as it were.)) Anyway, the estimate said 40 minutes before arrival, and it just so happened that I had my Bible and my journal in the car. Perfect!
I open up to Psalms 73, which hits me. Then I decide to read the book of Ruth. The whole book. Don't freak out. It's only 4 chapters long. I'm tearing up reading this story. I'm having this mini-moment with God. Here's this chick, married into this family of people from another country, who practice a different religion. In time, her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law all die. I don't know in what period of time they all died. But they are in fact, all dead. Sorry to be so blunt.
Can you imagine? All the men in your family, all the heads of the home, all the providers for an entire family, gone? A wife has lost her husband AND both of her sons. Two young women have lost their husbands. Now they are left with a mother-in-law, far from their own families, and without providers.
The mother-in-law, Naomi, tells these young widows to go back to their families, seek out husbands to provide for them, and bear children with. One eventually does, and the other stays, vowing to stay with Naomi no matter where she goes, vowing to be a part of her life, and know her God, be her family. Naomi eventually gives in, and the two widows go back to the original country of Naomi's family. The daughter-in-law, Ruth, gets "a job" picking up the scraps of wheat left behind by harvesters. Unbeknowns to her, she just happened to be working land owned by a distant relative of her mother-in-law Naomi.
Custom, timing, and grace culminate to a beautiful love story of redemption. This man sees her dedication and love for her family, her trust in God, and her needs, and honors her for it all. This distant relative ultimately takes Ruth in as his wife, and their child becomes the grandfather of King David, one of the most well-known characters of the Bible.
Woah. Like, woah!
Here she is in devastation, poor, without protection, and bam.
"Where are these men now, God? Where?! Where are the men that value these qualities in a woman, enough to do something about it; not to leave her to another man, but to take action, ownership of her heart, claim it, something!" So, God and I are having a little chat about this, and I'm still waiting for Mr. Tow Truck Man, who is now late. No phone call, no updated ETA. Just late. For all I know he was hitting up Jack in the Box before meandering over to meet me. I had no idea. "He better be cute", I thought to myself (because that makes up for it, somehow).
At 2am, Mr. Two Truck Man arrives...and he is cute. Now, I realize my sense of cute isn't always the most popular. I also don't have a type, so Mr. Tow Truck Man (let's call him...Josh) is just one batch of good looks God whipped up in his laboratory. Let me tell you about him. Josh is tall, not skinny, just an average build, with a deep voice, a bald head, and facial hair...and he's a ginger. Already I am like, "Dear Jesus, thank you", but his looks continue to intrigue me with the tattoos, and the spacer spikes in his ears. Not to mention those cowboy boots he's wearing look worn and comfortable, like he knows how to wear them, likes to wear them, and wears them frequently, if not all the time. Mixed with the jeans that are covering another great part of his body, I have summed up that Josh is actually pretty cute, and also probably a little bit of a bad boy, yet polite...which is kind of fun.
It occurs to me at this point, that he is in fact, driving me home, and I wonder if Josh is a creeper or a gentleman, or maybe a little of both. It doesn't take long for us to get into conversation on the way to my place (because I am me, and I do that). Not only did it take me less than five minutes to sum up Josh physically, it took equal time for me to sum up his life story...even less to find out he's single.
Within the first five minutes of conversation, I learned Josh had just broken up with his live-in girlfriend that past weekend. He likes curvy girls (they have to have some "meat" on them), and he likes them drama-free (what guy doesn't?). He also has a son, lives only a few miles from me, is quite able as a tradesman, has family property out of town, he likes the country, hates the city, and has already had two women on his Facebook, hitting on him since this weekend's re-entrance into singledom.
This part is what I kindly refer to as "peacocking" - An effort by men to show off for women, hoping to gain attention or favor. I'm not sure why men choose to peacock about other women who want them, or whom they are starting something with, but for some reason they think this is a signal to other women that he is "worth it", and it should be a turn-on. I don't get it, but Josh was no exception.
I don't know if I wear a sign on me that says, "Please make me your best buddy", that all men can see, or what, but this seems to be a thing. Although, Josh was clearly (and even I could pick up on this, and I am dense when it comes to flirting) flirting with me. We were talking about life and age. He clearly didn't think I was anywhere close to his age, though I knew I was. He pointed out that he had gray hair, then so did I. He's close to 40. So am I. He thought I was 29.
Typical.
I could tell Josh was liking the fact that we had so much in common. It wasn't uncomfortable at all, and that I was a listening ear for him to share his woes about how tough it is to find a curvy, drama-free, simple girl in this town full of plastic, high-maintenance, drama queens. Again, this is my life. Yup. Right here. Sitting right here!! Yes, it's so difficult to find those women. Gee, I wonder where you could find one? I wonder where ANY man could find one?!
I think this is the point where I'm supposed to point out that I am that person. That is what I'm supposed to do right then, isn't it? I knew better than to go down that road.
Anyway, we're nearing my house, and I can tell that Josh would be a lot of fun. He admits to not wanting anything serious with anyone right now. Just fun, no commitments. Again...my life. He might be fun, but he also admits to me that his ex-girlfriend of four whole days, dumped him because he wouldn't grow up. And he wasn't sad about that at all. He wants to be a boy, not a man.
It's at this point that I have a mini-epiphany. Not a full-blown one. Just a mini one. In twenty minutes I summed up a man's outside and insides, and determined that I could do whatever I wanted to with him. Josh was a lonely and willing man. Every woman knows that a lonely and willing man is one "wanna come in for a drink" away from being hers...even if it is just for a night. At first glance and an elevator pitch, Josh might have seemed like a great catch. A cute package for a disaster waiting to happen.
I don't care about a man's profession. I don't care if he drives a tow truck, works on a farm, sells real estate, or is a CEO of a company. I could care less. At 37, I've learned to take care of myself. I pay my bills. fix my car, schedule my own doctor's appointments, and carry my own groceries. Not that I would mind someone providing for me in those ways, but they aren't the things I need in life. I need someone who is able to take care of my soul...my heart. Whatever else he wants to take care of, out of love and care for me, is pure icing on the cake, in my opinion.
That was my mini-epiphany for the day - that while some things are available to me, I have learned what it is that I want, and what the value I now see in myself says I don't have to settle for.
The story of Ruth still ringing in my ears I was reminded of the qualities Boaz saw in her. He truly saw her. And he intentionally sought to provide for her, honoring her at every step.
She must have felt lonely, poor, and maybe unworthy of love, wondering how God was going to take care of her and her needs. Not only was she cared for, she was honored.
In any light, one Boaz is better than a thousand Josh's.
So here I am...waiting for Boaz. I have had men that want me and don't love me. And I have had men that love me and don't want me. Somewhere there is someone who wants both. Because I'm worth that.
Carry on, oh knight in shining tow truck. May you find your noncommittal, drama-free, curvaceous, country girl, and live happily ever...hmm.
Still practicing...
I got in my car, turned on the R&B station, and started driving. Something was off. The light goes on. It's the air pressure. Of course it is.! It's "cold" out! I stop. I look. It's not just cold, it's flat. I wonder if I could make it down the street to the gas station, but the awful sound coming from the tire has me turning right back into the work parking lot.
It's the first time I've used my emergency road side assistance plan, and it works out great. (Shameless plug right here, my entire service was free, and the people were great. Great job Jake from State Farm! (Or Roy, as it were.)) Anyway, the estimate said 40 minutes before arrival, and it just so happened that I had my Bible and my journal in the car. Perfect!
I open up to Psalms 73, which hits me. Then I decide to read the book of Ruth. The whole book. Don't freak out. It's only 4 chapters long. I'm tearing up reading this story. I'm having this mini-moment with God. Here's this chick, married into this family of people from another country, who practice a different religion. In time, her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law all die. I don't know in what period of time they all died. But they are in fact, all dead. Sorry to be so blunt.
Can you imagine? All the men in your family, all the heads of the home, all the providers for an entire family, gone? A wife has lost her husband AND both of her sons. Two young women have lost their husbands. Now they are left with a mother-in-law, far from their own families, and without providers.
The mother-in-law, Naomi, tells these young widows to go back to their families, seek out husbands to provide for them, and bear children with. One eventually does, and the other stays, vowing to stay with Naomi no matter where she goes, vowing to be a part of her life, and know her God, be her family. Naomi eventually gives in, and the two widows go back to the original country of Naomi's family. The daughter-in-law, Ruth, gets "a job" picking up the scraps of wheat left behind by harvesters. Unbeknowns to her, she just happened to be working land owned by a distant relative of her mother-in-law Naomi.
Custom, timing, and grace culminate to a beautiful love story of redemption. This man sees her dedication and love for her family, her trust in God, and her needs, and honors her for it all. This distant relative ultimately takes Ruth in as his wife, and their child becomes the grandfather of King David, one of the most well-known characters of the Bible.
Woah. Like, woah!
Here she is in devastation, poor, without protection, and bam.
"Where are these men now, God? Where?! Where are the men that value these qualities in a woman, enough to do something about it; not to leave her to another man, but to take action, ownership of her heart, claim it, something!" So, God and I are having a little chat about this, and I'm still waiting for Mr. Tow Truck Man, who is now late. No phone call, no updated ETA. Just late. For all I know he was hitting up Jack in the Box before meandering over to meet me. I had no idea. "He better be cute", I thought to myself (because that makes up for it, somehow).
At 2am, Mr. Two Truck Man arrives...and he is cute. Now, I realize my sense of cute isn't always the most popular. I also don't have a type, so Mr. Tow Truck Man (let's call him...Josh) is just one batch of good looks God whipped up in his laboratory. Let me tell you about him. Josh is tall, not skinny, just an average build, with a deep voice, a bald head, and facial hair...and he's a ginger. Already I am like, "Dear Jesus, thank you", but his looks continue to intrigue me with the tattoos, and the spacer spikes in his ears. Not to mention those cowboy boots he's wearing look worn and comfortable, like he knows how to wear them, likes to wear them, and wears them frequently, if not all the time. Mixed with the jeans that are covering another great part of his body, I have summed up that Josh is actually pretty cute, and also probably a little bit of a bad boy, yet polite...which is kind of fun.
It occurs to me at this point, that he is in fact, driving me home, and I wonder if Josh is a creeper or a gentleman, or maybe a little of both. It doesn't take long for us to get into conversation on the way to my place (because I am me, and I do that). Not only did it take me less than five minutes to sum up Josh physically, it took equal time for me to sum up his life story...even less to find out he's single.
Within the first five minutes of conversation, I learned Josh had just broken up with his live-in girlfriend that past weekend. He likes curvy girls (they have to have some "meat" on them), and he likes them drama-free (what guy doesn't?). He also has a son, lives only a few miles from me, is quite able as a tradesman, has family property out of town, he likes the country, hates the city, and has already had two women on his Facebook, hitting on him since this weekend's re-entrance into singledom.
This part is what I kindly refer to as "peacocking" - An effort by men to show off for women, hoping to gain attention or favor. I'm not sure why men choose to peacock about other women who want them, or whom they are starting something with, but for some reason they think this is a signal to other women that he is "worth it", and it should be a turn-on. I don't get it, but Josh was no exception.
I don't know if I wear a sign on me that says, "Please make me your best buddy", that all men can see, or what, but this seems to be a thing. Although, Josh was clearly (and even I could pick up on this, and I am dense when it comes to flirting) flirting with me. We were talking about life and age. He clearly didn't think I was anywhere close to his age, though I knew I was. He pointed out that he had gray hair, then so did I. He's close to 40. So am I. He thought I was 29.
Typical.
I could tell Josh was liking the fact that we had so much in common. It wasn't uncomfortable at all, and that I was a listening ear for him to share his woes about how tough it is to find a curvy, drama-free, simple girl in this town full of plastic, high-maintenance, drama queens. Again, this is my life. Yup. Right here. Sitting right here!! Yes, it's so difficult to find those women. Gee, I wonder where you could find one? I wonder where ANY man could find one?!
I think this is the point where I'm supposed to point out that I am that person. That is what I'm supposed to do right then, isn't it? I knew better than to go down that road.
Anyway, we're nearing my house, and I can tell that Josh would be a lot of fun. He admits to not wanting anything serious with anyone right now. Just fun, no commitments. Again...my life. He might be fun, but he also admits to me that his ex-girlfriend of four whole days, dumped him because he wouldn't grow up. And he wasn't sad about that at all. He wants to be a boy, not a man.
It's at this point that I have a mini-epiphany. Not a full-blown one. Just a mini one. In twenty minutes I summed up a man's outside and insides, and determined that I could do whatever I wanted to with him. Josh was a lonely and willing man. Every woman knows that a lonely and willing man is one "wanna come in for a drink" away from being hers...even if it is just for a night. At first glance and an elevator pitch, Josh might have seemed like a great catch. A cute package for a disaster waiting to happen.
I don't care about a man's profession. I don't care if he drives a tow truck, works on a farm, sells real estate, or is a CEO of a company. I could care less. At 37, I've learned to take care of myself. I pay my bills. fix my car, schedule my own doctor's appointments, and carry my own groceries. Not that I would mind someone providing for me in those ways, but they aren't the things I need in life. I need someone who is able to take care of my soul...my heart. Whatever else he wants to take care of, out of love and care for me, is pure icing on the cake, in my opinion.
Josh was just a boy, who doesn't want to be a man. I want a man, who hasn't forgotten what it's like to be a boy.
That was my mini-epiphany for the day - that while some things are available to me, I have learned what it is that I want, and what the value I now see in myself says I don't have to settle for.
The story of Ruth still ringing in my ears I was reminded of the qualities Boaz saw in her. He truly saw her. And he intentionally sought to provide for her, honoring her at every step.
She must have felt lonely, poor, and maybe unworthy of love, wondering how God was going to take care of her and her needs. Not only was she cared for, she was honored.
In any light, one Boaz is better than a thousand Josh's.
So here I am...waiting for Boaz. I have had men that want me and don't love me. And I have had men that love me and don't want me. Somewhere there is someone who wants both. Because I'm worth that.
Carry on, oh knight in shining tow truck. May you find your noncommittal, drama-free, curvaceous, country girl, and live happily ever...hmm.
Still practicing...
Monday, June 8, 2015
There's Bleep In The Fertilizer!
Do you know what organic fertilizer is made out of? There are three main ingredients in fertilizer, which are nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium. With organic waste, I'll tell you what it's made out of...a lot of poo. Chicken poo, bird poo, blood meal, cow dung, etc., etc., etc. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Basically, a lot of shit, and other really nasty things. I promise that's the last time I'm cussing in this post. The rest shall be censored with bleeps.
We had a garden growing up. Actually, we had a garden at every point in my life. We've had them as far back as I can remember. Anyway, this was the first place I remember living, and we had a garden. We also had a dog. He was a Dalmatian named Bachelor Buttons. Cute, right? Yeah...he was not a smart dog. Dalmatians aren't really. But they're very cute and fun.
One of the best things you can use to fertilize your garden is compost. Old table scraps, food waste, etc. Every once in a while my dad would go out and put this stuff into the ground under the garden, and cover it up with dirt, then occasionally churn it up. There was some poo in there too. We had a dog, so it kind of goes without saying. Gross that poo and waste are what feeds a garden of things you...eat. Again, I just threw up a little in my mouth.
Anyway, I think the dog thought this was a game - the buried waste. After all, he was a dog. He got to dig for it, and then he got to eat it...all that nasty stuff. Bachelor ate too much garbage out of the garden one time, and died. Like I said, not very smart, but he was a dog, and I guess even rotting garbage was just too tempting not to take a bite of. It must have called to him like a pile of dog treats, "Come and get it. It's soooooo tasty! Mmmmm, yum!" Ewe.
I saw a Facebook post recently, from an acquaintance, talking about how people comment to her about how nice and sweet she is, and how she is such a great person. She responded saying that she has gone through really, really tough things in her life, and a time when she wasn't a nice person at all. She was mean, in a very bad place in life, and has done so many bad and hurtful things. But now she has made it through that, and that is why she smiles, because she loves life and people, and has compassion because of the things she's gone through.
I feel the same. I have people comment to me about the smile always being on, never seeming to be mad about anything, being so nice, etc. I always like to set the record straight that the smile is not always on, but when it is, it's because of God. I'm not always nice, but when I am, it's because of him too. And I do get mad, and I do wrong things all the time. You just might not see it. I have gone through so much pain to get where I am, both physically and emotionally. Bleep, really. Lots of bleep. There is no other word to describe some of the things I have gone through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone...not even the one(s) who inflicted it on me. That's the truth (most days).
I commented on my friend's Facebook post that the bleep we go through in life can be like fertilizer for an amazing new life, full of gratitude and joy. I've noticed that most people that are truly happy in life, have been through some really awful things and have made the CHOICE to live in joy, to use the bleep as fertilizer for an amazing life. This is not fake, or some blanket "everything is fine" statement to cover all bad things that happen in life. There is still stress, bad things, moments of anger and disappointment...life happens. But the choice to take on life, and really live it, is the mark of a strong person who has already been through a lot of...bleep, and decided to plant a beautiful garden on top of that pile of bleep and called it life.
I wrote previously about Words Feeding Lies and how old wounds can make their way to the present. I wish bleep in the garden fertilizer worked the same way as bleep in the fertilizer of life. You could just bury it, then churn it every once in a while and in time just morphs into beautiful rich soil. But there's an extra step that is needed in the life-kind, to make sure the bleep doesn't stay...well, bleep. You can churn it, lessen the pile, try and cover it up, or just bury it down deep, and think it's gone for good. But the fact is, the bleep in life doesn't just turn into beautiful, dark, rich new soil all on its own. It takes a lot of the right surroundings to encourage the process. I have experienced these things, and let me tell you, the list of things to help this process along is LONG! You know what I'm talking about.
I've been through traumatic and just plain bad things, and went through years of counseling to deal with all of it. I swear to you, I thought there was nothing else in my life I could have purged during this process. It was all coming out. Surely, this was the end of the old stuff. Surely my bleep had been dealt with, so I could just handle the new bleep that comes in every day. I took my lovely dark dirt, and planted a seed that started this beautiful garden I call my life. Tada!! Everything's great now!!
Hahahaha. That's so funny.
Sigh.
Growing up, our small city had this landfill that they capped, filled, and built a huge park and baseball fields on top of. I grew up in an agricultural community...the burbs on the edge of farmland. I remember the uproar this park caused, creating parks and fields for kids to play on, not knowing the effects of the bleep that sat beneath them?!?! Did you know that traditional landfills have exhaust pipes to release methane into the air? So, rotting garbage creates methane (so does manure). If you put that stuff in a sealed container and just leave it there untouched, methane can actually built up to a great enough level to cause an explosion. True statement. That's why you have to churn your compost. That why landfills have exhaust pipes. So, if I'm relating this back to human life fertilizer, the process we undergo with time, wounds, healing, and our past can be likened to this beautiful park on top of the sealed and filled landfill, and the methane released through the exhaust pipes likened to "life farts". That's what I'm going to call them - life farts. (I just came up with this, and it's kind of making me giggle.)
You know the feeling you get when that gas is building up. It's so uncomfortable, You're shifting around. You're trying to hold it in. Then you go to move, and....pffffffft. It's just never the right time, especially if you're around others. So often, it's the worst time. All of the sudden someone's asking, "Ewe, what's the smell?" Everyone's looking at each other. Who did it? Sometimes, the gas is followed by a little something extra. That's a thousand times worse.
Not that any of this has ever happened to me...ever. I'm a girl. I don't even fart. I don't know what you're talking about. Gas? Yeah right. I expel only sunshine and lollipops. I've only heard about these things. Just wanted to clarify.
How perfect a reminder right now in my life! Thanks God for the culmination of learning tools to help me deal in this moment, with my bleep. Perfecto! I love it when life comes together like that...except when it comes to unpleasant, stinky and disgusting things. We like to call those things "baggage". Like a suitcase I'm rolling behind me to every stop in life. I would prefer not to even carry on, but everyone has something they take with them when they go. I try to keep mine to the size of a small carry-on, or maybe even a toiletry bag, but sometimes I add to it on my travels, and it grows to the size of one of those jumbo suitcases with the expandable sides.
I get up to the counter to head out to my next destination and find out I'm over my weight limit. "Sorry ma'am. You have to pay extra for this size bag, or get rid of some stuff." Pfffffffffffffftsplat. Ewe, what's that smell? That's my baggage, AKA bleep, AKA my past...making an entry into my present.
We had a garden growing up. Actually, we had a garden at every point in my life. We've had them as far back as I can remember. Anyway, this was the first place I remember living, and we had a garden. We also had a dog. He was a Dalmatian named Bachelor Buttons. Cute, right? Yeah...he was not a smart dog. Dalmatians aren't really. But they're very cute and fun.
One of the best things you can use to fertilize your garden is compost. Old table scraps, food waste, etc. Every once in a while my dad would go out and put this stuff into the ground under the garden, and cover it up with dirt, then occasionally churn it up. There was some poo in there too. We had a dog, so it kind of goes without saying. Gross that poo and waste are what feeds a garden of things you...eat. Again, I just threw up a little in my mouth.
Anyway, I think the dog thought this was a game - the buried waste. After all, he was a dog. He got to dig for it, and then he got to eat it...all that nasty stuff. Bachelor ate too much garbage out of the garden one time, and died. Like I said, not very smart, but he was a dog, and I guess even rotting garbage was just too tempting not to take a bite of. It must have called to him like a pile of dog treats, "Come and get it. It's soooooo tasty! Mmmmm, yum!" Ewe.
I saw a Facebook post recently, from an acquaintance, talking about how people comment to her about how nice and sweet she is, and how she is such a great person. She responded saying that she has gone through really, really tough things in her life, and a time when she wasn't a nice person at all. She was mean, in a very bad place in life, and has done so many bad and hurtful things. But now she has made it through that, and that is why she smiles, because she loves life and people, and has compassion because of the things she's gone through.
I feel the same. I have people comment to me about the smile always being on, never seeming to be mad about anything, being so nice, etc. I always like to set the record straight that the smile is not always on, but when it is, it's because of God. I'm not always nice, but when I am, it's because of him too. And I do get mad, and I do wrong things all the time. You just might not see it. I have gone through so much pain to get where I am, both physically and emotionally. Bleep, really. Lots of bleep. There is no other word to describe some of the things I have gone through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone...not even the one(s) who inflicted it on me. That's the truth (most days).
I commented on my friend's Facebook post that the bleep we go through in life can be like fertilizer for an amazing new life, full of gratitude and joy. I've noticed that most people that are truly happy in life, have been through some really awful things and have made the CHOICE to live in joy, to use the bleep as fertilizer for an amazing life. This is not fake, or some blanket "everything is fine" statement to cover all bad things that happen in life. There is still stress, bad things, moments of anger and disappointment...life happens. But the choice to take on life, and really live it, is the mark of a strong person who has already been through a lot of...bleep, and decided to plant a beautiful garden on top of that pile of bleep and called it life.
I wrote previously about Words Feeding Lies and how old wounds can make their way to the present. I wish bleep in the garden fertilizer worked the same way as bleep in the fertilizer of life. You could just bury it, then churn it every once in a while and in time just morphs into beautiful rich soil. But there's an extra step that is needed in the life-kind, to make sure the bleep doesn't stay...well, bleep. You can churn it, lessen the pile, try and cover it up, or just bury it down deep, and think it's gone for good. But the fact is, the bleep in life doesn't just turn into beautiful, dark, rich new soil all on its own. It takes a lot of the right surroundings to encourage the process. I have experienced these things, and let me tell you, the list of things to help this process along is LONG! You know what I'm talking about.
I've been through traumatic and just plain bad things, and went through years of counseling to deal with all of it. I swear to you, I thought there was nothing else in my life I could have purged during this process. It was all coming out. Surely, this was the end of the old stuff. Surely my bleep had been dealt with, so I could just handle the new bleep that comes in every day. I took my lovely dark dirt, and planted a seed that started this beautiful garden I call my life. Tada!! Everything's great now!!
Hahahaha. That's so funny.
Sigh.
Growing up, our small city had this landfill that they capped, filled, and built a huge park and baseball fields on top of. I grew up in an agricultural community...the burbs on the edge of farmland. I remember the uproar this park caused, creating parks and fields for kids to play on, not knowing the effects of the bleep that sat beneath them?!?! Did you know that traditional landfills have exhaust pipes to release methane into the air? So, rotting garbage creates methane (so does manure). If you put that stuff in a sealed container and just leave it there untouched, methane can actually built up to a great enough level to cause an explosion. True statement. That's why you have to churn your compost. That why landfills have exhaust pipes. So, if I'm relating this back to human life fertilizer, the process we undergo with time, wounds, healing, and our past can be likened to this beautiful park on top of the sealed and filled landfill, and the methane released through the exhaust pipes likened to "life farts". That's what I'm going to call them - life farts. (I just came up with this, and it's kind of making me giggle.)
You know the feeling you get when that gas is building up. It's so uncomfortable, You're shifting around. You're trying to hold it in. Then you go to move, and....pffffffft. It's just never the right time, especially if you're around others. So often, it's the worst time. All of the sudden someone's asking, "Ewe, what's the smell?" Everyone's looking at each other. Who did it? Sometimes, the gas is followed by a little something extra. That's a thousand times worse.
Not that any of this has ever happened to me...ever. I'm a girl. I don't even fart. I don't know what you're talking about. Gas? Yeah right. I expel only sunshine and lollipops. I've only heard about these things. Just wanted to clarify.
So, is everyone pickin' up what I'm layin' down here? Are my metaphors making sense to everyone?
Sometimes, I have life farts. And the people around me are asking, "Ewe, what's that smell?" Even I might be asking that question. "Oh, that. Sorry, that's just my bleep...coming back to haunt me at the most inopportune time!" I'm waving it around, lighting matches, moving out of the area, trying to pretend that does not exist, and that it didn't come from me, because all of those things are done and healed. Right? Oh, I'm sorry Self, you thought healing was a one-time thing? Haha. You're funny. Like the exhaust pipes of the landfill, situations in my life come up that remind me what my garden is planted on top of, and that smell is off-putting to everyone in the area...including me. Worse when it's got that little extra something added at the end that seems to touch whomever is standing near me.How perfect a reminder right now in my life! Thanks God for the culmination of learning tools to help me deal in this moment, with my bleep. Perfecto! I love it when life comes together like that...except when it comes to unpleasant, stinky and disgusting things. We like to call those things "baggage". Like a suitcase I'm rolling behind me to every stop in life. I would prefer not to even carry on, but everyone has something they take with them when they go. I try to keep mine to the size of a small carry-on, or maybe even a toiletry bag, but sometimes I add to it on my travels, and it grows to the size of one of those jumbo suitcases with the expandable sides.
I get up to the counter to head out to my next destination and find out I'm over my weight limit. "Sorry ma'am. You have to pay extra for this size bag, or get rid of some stuff." Pfffffffffffffftsplat. Ewe, what's that smell? That's my baggage, AKA bleep, AKA my past...making an entry into my present.
"Excuse me, while I go take care of this "situation"."
I could light all the matches in the world, grab a shovel and start piling more dirt on top of it, plant some more flowers on it and try and make it look pretty. The fact is, there is only One in my life that can transform my life bleep into beautiful soil.
For sure, I do have a beautiful life, and a new creation, redeemed. But that life was built on a bed of difficult circumstances, and was fertilized with the scraps, and the waste, and the bleep of those things. Every once in a while I'm reminded of what's down there, and that it hasn't quite transformed into the right kind of soil to keep my garden growing beautiful things.
I have to dig it up and deal with it. Expose that bleep, let the air and then Son hit it, so it can remove the stench and dry up the hurt. Then I can cast it on the altar and burn that bleep.
There is a season for everything. I am a new creation, but I am not without a past, present and future. I am not inhuman. "Everybody Poops", so that children's book says. "Bleep happens", as others say. I can't escape it. I can't escape others' either.
Forgiveness is great. Love is greater. And God is the author of all.
Shall we, then?
More on this later.
Still practicing...
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Words Feeding Lies
I've been thinking a lot lately about words that turn to lies, words that hurt, words that wound. It anyone has read any of John Eldridge's books, you will know what I'm talking about when I say, "words that are like arrows". There are many things that can effect a person's life, but words seem to mean more than a lot of things. And words said by the right person can leave wounds the size of small planets.
I recently held a women's breakfast, and asked each of the attendees to write affirmations about themselves, and then character traits or things about themselves. Lastly, I asked them to share three things they were struggling with. We then went around the patio and shared these things with each other. It was a moment (okay, more like an hour) of honesty with each other.
One of my close friends and I were talking about this time, later that weekend, and she was commenting to me how many of us shared struggles with self-worth. Self worth. Am I worthy? What makes me worthy as a woman...as a mother, wife, girlfriend, daughter, sister, lover, friend? What determines my worth, and why is it so damn hard to grasp it? Why does everything else in my life seem to hang on this one thing?
Seems pretty easy. I'm a Christian. I believe that someone died for my life. My life has that much value that someone died for it! Therefore, I should live a state of complete appreciation and understanding of said value, and never have a moment's question as to my significance, value, and purpose in this life. Sure, okay. Religiosity is so perfect, isn't it? Let's mix some guilt in with your doubt, because clearly if you're questioning these things you're missing something. Go read your Bible or something. I know this great Bible study you should go to. They talk all about these issues, and it could really help you. Gag me. (More on this in a sec.)
My life going into Bible college was tumultuous. Home life was a disaster. Some kids turn to partying, drinking, drugs, sex. I turned to Bible college. Seriously. I was running as fast and as far as I could from all of it, but it seemed like the safest and most responsible decision ("Good Girl, Running"...could have been a book title for this point in my life.) If anything, I had spent my life doing responsible and right, really well.
I will point out at this point in the story (because it's important to the story) that I was kind of "fluffy" going into college. Depression has a way of doing that. I think I may have only been about 20-30 pounds lighter than I am now, maybe not even that much. And I had put on my "Freshman 15" already. (It's important to mention here that I look back at pictures of myself at that age, in our little outfits, and think, "I was beautiful (even with a little fluff)." After all, this was half a lifetime ago.)
Here's the thing. Even things done in truth and honesty can crush a person. I've done it. In my teens and early twenties I was all hopped up on Jesus-juice and thought I could just go out and preach to people and rid them of their sinful ways. I crushed them. I crushed their spirits. Even in my writing...I bet I've done it. I hope that wisdom and maturity have kicked in enough, and through my experiences I have managed to show compassion when needed, but I am human too. I bet I've crushed people with my words, even recently.
It happens. It wasn't ill-intentioned. This guy was after all, was being honest, and in his mind trying to help me out as a friend. He might have even thought it should be flattering to me that they talked about me in this way. (You know...because I'd be a great wife and mother and all.) Sometimes truth and honesty ain't all it's cracked up to be. Once words leave our mouths, they enter unfiltered territory. They fall on ears, attached to a body and a heart that has wounds, and weak spots, and baggage.
Because I'm a Christian, I believe in powers unseen. I believe in Truth and Love as God, and I believe in lies and deceit as my Enemy. We'll call him Satan. Did you know Christians can be used by Satan? NO FREAKIN" WAY!! Yes way. We should really pay more attention to this possibility. It would really help a lot of issues. Anyway, I like to think of the Garden of Eden situation (yeah, that place) as a primo example of how Satan works. Like a snake, slithering his way into our minds and hearts, convincing us of things that aren't true. Maybe they're half-truths, maybe just flat out lies, but he plays on our insecurities and our lack of trust and understanding of God, to plant a seed of doubt. And yes, I mean us women.
Thanks Eve, for the many curses upon our sex. Much appreciated. One of the biggest things we women struggle with is our self-worth. We're craving answers to this hole in our hearts. We want validation, confirmation, and affirmation in the worst way. Sometimes we develop very unhealthy ways of trying to get these things. I'm not saying men don't struggle with this too. There's just something about this that's a little different, maybe a little more defining and powerful, for a woman. What am I worth? What am I worth to you?
These questions start straight off, and in the most healthy way, we get our first human validation of our worth from our parents and family. They are our little world, and they are the ones that fill us with knowledge and understanding of who we are, and who we are in relation to everything and everyone else around us. But even the most healthy situation is not void of snaky influence. A full, undamaged, pure and loving heart is a threat to lies and deceit. Even our enemy sees our value.
Half-truths, small deceptions, insecure thoughts, negative comments, negative images, abuse, bullying, mean girls, jealous moms, withdrawn dads, etc, etc, etc. It starts out so small, but the arrows keep coming, and a wound that was the size of a small pinhole, gets larger and larger with each arrow hitting it's center, until it is a gaping wound looking for healing.
This giant arrow that hit my heart in college had perfect aim. A wound was already there, but this honest conversation caused years of pain. Obviously, if I can remember the conversation almost 19 years later.
Christians like to throw a blanket fix (sometimes) over wounds like this. Like that my value is in Christ. Does my head know that? Absolutely. Does my heart know that? Not always.
When I turned 35 a couple of years ago, I think I was going through my midlife crisis. I was dreading this birthday. I still believe everyone has a birthday they dread. Mine was this one. It was all in my head, of course, but I was struggling with my expectations of myself at age 35. Why wasn't I further along in my life? Granted, I had a car accident/recovery that wasted almost 10 years of progression in life, but who cares about that. I was 35. All of my friends were done with school, married with children, and here I was. I quit school because of the accident. I wasn't married, and had no children. Why? Because I have a beautiful face, a beautiful soul, but the rest of me...not so much. I kid you not. This has been my response to myself all these years.
So, how does one get rid of that hurt, or even start to heal it? You have to go back to it, find the arrow, painfully remove it from your heart, and spend time administering the healing balm of Truth to it. It's not an insta-fix kind of thing, either. Then when you're done taking that one out, you find the others, one by one, and do the same thing. You find as many of them as you can, and are meant to find at this point in your life, and you do the hard work of grieving, removing, and replacing. In a nutshell. And oh, by the way, the arrows still come lookin', even if you've "healed" a part of you. They still come, looking for a place to land.
My value, ultimately, is not assigned to what others think of me. It's not assigned to how many Facebook likes I get on my writing, or my profile picture, or how many friends I have. If that's a way of measuring my value, then I will surely be crumbled. My value was placed the day I was created. My Maker designed all of me, and decided the world needed a Marci...just the way she is. He needed this soul to be this way, to look this way, to go through these things, and that thing (lots of things), and gifted her specifically, with things she would need to conquer life...gifted her with things that she could use to help others see God, so that they could do the same.
My point is this. We're going to "f" this up. We are human. Let's love each other well. I have gone back to this specific conversation in my mind, several times, to heal from it, and from the wounds preceding it. We need to do that too. They are lies. They are intentional lies. Lies meant to derail us from a life of love and hope. We can't live there. We must scrape up enough courage and hope to realize even the smallest value in ridding ourselves of the lies we carry, so that we can be free.
Free.
Our value, our healing, our revival...is threatening. But we have one fighting for us that is greater than all. He is fighting for us while our hearts lay in a pile of mush, our scars and our open wounds lay bare, and we cannot fight for ourselves. We are worth this much. This much.
Still practicing...
I recently held a women's breakfast, and asked each of the attendees to write affirmations about themselves, and then character traits or things about themselves. Lastly, I asked them to share three things they were struggling with. We then went around the patio and shared these things with each other. It was a moment (okay, more like an hour) of honesty with each other.
One of my close friends and I were talking about this time, later that weekend, and she was commenting to me how many of us shared struggles with self-worth. Self worth. Am I worthy? What makes me worthy as a woman...as a mother, wife, girlfriend, daughter, sister, lover, friend? What determines my worth, and why is it so damn hard to grasp it? Why does everything else in my life seem to hang on this one thing?
Seems pretty easy. I'm a Christian. I believe that someone died for my life. My life has that much value that someone died for it! Therefore, I should live a state of complete appreciation and understanding of said value, and never have a moment's question as to my significance, value, and purpose in this life. Sure, okay. Religiosity is so perfect, isn't it? Let's mix some guilt in with your doubt, because clearly if you're questioning these things you're missing something. Go read your Bible or something. I know this great Bible study you should go to. They talk all about these issues, and it could really help you. Gag me. (More on this in a sec.)
Half a lifetime ago...
Literally...half a lifetime ago (yikes), I was in my second year of college, and was part of a small traveling singing group. It was the best...a little family of sorts. Nine of us total, 4 females and 5 males, which included our sound guy. We even had matching outfits for performances. Yeah, we were legit. It was Bible college in the late 90's, and this was my second year with these friends. We had all been in a larger group, and some of us together in small ensembles the year before, so we all knew each other going into this year.My life going into Bible college was tumultuous. Home life was a disaster. Some kids turn to partying, drinking, drugs, sex. I turned to Bible college. Seriously. I was running as fast and as far as I could from all of it, but it seemed like the safest and most responsible decision ("Good Girl, Running"...could have been a book title for this point in my life.) If anything, I had spent my life doing responsible and right, really well.
I will point out at this point in the story (because it's important to the story) that I was kind of "fluffy" going into college. Depression has a way of doing that. I think I may have only been about 20-30 pounds lighter than I am now, maybe not even that much. And I had put on my "Freshman 15" already. (It's important to mention here that I look back at pictures of myself at that age, in our little outfits, and think, "I was beautiful (even with a little fluff)." After all, this was half a lifetime ago.)
I remember the conversation like it was yesterday...
One of the guys in our group and I were hanging out, talking and stuff. Like I said, we were all pretty close. We spent every day, and every weekend together, so when he asked me if he could tell me something honestly, I said yes. I believe his words went something like, "The other guys and I talk about you a lot, and we all think you'd be a great wife and mother. I think you're going to be great at it. You're so perfect for it. And you're face is so pretty. Really, it is, but it's just the rest of you is...not as much. We think you're so great. It's just that one thing, I think, that holds any of us back from dating you."
Lightbulb moment: PEOPLE SAY STUPID THINGS!
So, there I was, completely like, "Um, okay" speechless (because, what do you say to that?). I believe I said something graceful like, "Thank you for being honest with me" or some crap like that. Honest words from a friend...and they felt like a thousand arrows pointed at the same target. All grace aside, it was a stupid thing to say.
Here's the thing. Even things done in truth and honesty can crush a person. I've done it. In my teens and early twenties I was all hopped up on Jesus-juice and thought I could just go out and preach to people and rid them of their sinful ways. I crushed them. I crushed their spirits. Even in my writing...I bet I've done it. I hope that wisdom and maturity have kicked in enough, and through my experiences I have managed to show compassion when needed, but I am human too. I bet I've crushed people with my words, even recently.
It happens. It wasn't ill-intentioned. This guy was after all, was being honest, and in his mind trying to help me out as a friend. He might have even thought it should be flattering to me that they talked about me in this way. (You know...because I'd be a great wife and mother and all.) Sometimes truth and honesty ain't all it's cracked up to be. Once words leave our mouths, they enter unfiltered territory. They fall on ears, attached to a body and a heart that has wounds, and weak spots, and baggage.
Because I'm a Christian, I believe in powers unseen. I believe in Truth and Love as God, and I believe in lies and deceit as my Enemy. We'll call him Satan. Did you know Christians can be used by Satan? NO FREAKIN" WAY!! Yes way. We should really pay more attention to this possibility. It would really help a lot of issues. Anyway, I like to think of the Garden of Eden situation (yeah, that place) as a primo example of how Satan works. Like a snake, slithering his way into our minds and hearts, convincing us of things that aren't true. Maybe they're half-truths, maybe just flat out lies, but he plays on our insecurities and our lack of trust and understanding of God, to plant a seed of doubt. And yes, I mean us women.
Thanks Eve, for the many curses upon our sex. Much appreciated. One of the biggest things we women struggle with is our self-worth. We're craving answers to this hole in our hearts. We want validation, confirmation, and affirmation in the worst way. Sometimes we develop very unhealthy ways of trying to get these things. I'm not saying men don't struggle with this too. There's just something about this that's a little different, maybe a little more defining and powerful, for a woman. What am I worth? What am I worth to you?
These questions start straight off, and in the most healthy way, we get our first human validation of our worth from our parents and family. They are our little world, and they are the ones that fill us with knowledge and understanding of who we are, and who we are in relation to everything and everyone else around us. But even the most healthy situation is not void of snaky influence. A full, undamaged, pure and loving heart is a threat to lies and deceit. Even our enemy sees our value.
Half-truths, small deceptions, insecure thoughts, negative comments, negative images, abuse, bullying, mean girls, jealous moms, withdrawn dads, etc, etc, etc. It starts out so small, but the arrows keep coming, and a wound that was the size of a small pinhole, gets larger and larger with each arrow hitting it's center, until it is a gaping wound looking for healing.
This giant arrow that hit my heart in college had perfect aim. A wound was already there, but this honest conversation caused years of pain. Obviously, if I can remember the conversation almost 19 years later.
Christians like to throw a blanket fix (sometimes) over wounds like this. Like that my value is in Christ. Does my head know that? Absolutely. Does my heart know that? Not always.
Healing...
Healing has been a challenge. Remember, this is now a gaping wound. All the Bible studies in the world about it, didn't help it. Every guy from this conversation on has only affirmed these lies even more. "You'd be a great wife and mother, but..." "You have a beautiful face, but the rest of you not so much". It has helped me answer every question I have ever had about why I am still single. Truth.When I turned 35 a couple of years ago, I think I was going through my midlife crisis. I was dreading this birthday. I still believe everyone has a birthday they dread. Mine was this one. It was all in my head, of course, but I was struggling with my expectations of myself at age 35. Why wasn't I further along in my life? Granted, I had a car accident/recovery that wasted almost 10 years of progression in life, but who cares about that. I was 35. All of my friends were done with school, married with children, and here I was. I quit school because of the accident. I wasn't married, and had no children. Why? Because I have a beautiful face, a beautiful soul, but the rest of me...not so much. I kid you not. This has been my response to myself all these years.
So, how does one get rid of that hurt, or even start to heal it? You have to go back to it, find the arrow, painfully remove it from your heart, and spend time administering the healing balm of Truth to it. It's not an insta-fix kind of thing, either. Then when you're done taking that one out, you find the others, one by one, and do the same thing. You find as many of them as you can, and are meant to find at this point in your life, and you do the hard work of grieving, removing, and replacing. In a nutshell. And oh, by the way, the arrows still come lookin', even if you've "healed" a part of you. They still come, looking for a place to land.
My value, ultimately, is not assigned to what others think of me. It's not assigned to how many Facebook likes I get on my writing, or my profile picture, or how many friends I have. If that's a way of measuring my value, then I will surely be crumbled. My value was placed the day I was created. My Maker designed all of me, and decided the world needed a Marci...just the way she is. He needed this soul to be this way, to look this way, to go through these things, and that thing (lots of things), and gifted her specifically, with things she would need to conquer life...gifted her with things that she could use to help others see God, so that they could do the same.
My point is this. We're going to "f" this up. We are human. Let's love each other well. I have gone back to this specific conversation in my mind, several times, to heal from it, and from the wounds preceding it. We need to do that too. They are lies. They are intentional lies. Lies meant to derail us from a life of love and hope. We can't live there. We must scrape up enough courage and hope to realize even the smallest value in ridding ourselves of the lies we carry, so that we can be free.
Free.
Our value, our healing, our revival...is threatening. But we have one fighting for us that is greater than all. He is fighting for us while our hearts lay in a pile of mush, our scars and our open wounds lay bare, and we cannot fight for ourselves. We are worth this much. This much.
Still practicing...
Friday, May 29, 2015
On The Verge
I should probably blog about this. It’s going to be long, and I haven’t blogged in a while. But…I’ll leave this one for my friends on Facebook. (Update: I DID post this in a blog!!)
I feel it coming again…that old familiar feeling that comes right before something major is about to take place in my life. It’s as if I’m standing at a crossroads of desire and hope, with fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions coming at me from every other direction. My instinct is to feel alone in this moment, as if I’m the only one who is, and has ever, experienced this very thing. I am not.
I have no idea which variable in my current world is about to change, but I have been around long enough to know where I’m standing.
Desire and hope are not something I’m familiar with accepting in my life. They seem to be too good for me, too good to be true, or just too risky to believe in. But fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions…I’m very familiar with these things. At the crossroads of these decisions in the past, I have been more likely to give in…especially to insecurity and lies. They seem more comfortable. More real. Safer.
It is ironic that I could see insecurity and lies as a safer option. They do nothing but deter me from truth, honesty, and the absolute best. But they feel safer, as if I would suffer no disappointment if I follow that path, because I already know the outcome. I can retreat within myself, giving myself the control of the lesser life. At least I would be in control. At least I would not be vulnerable...unraveled. I could allow for those better things more easily, could I take lies and insecurity along with me. But on the trail of truth and honesty, there is no allowance for a backpack of ugliness to drag along. I am stuck at this crossroads with what seems like the weight of the world pressing down on me for an answer, and I feel at war on the inside.
Why is it so hard to trust? God says, “Trust me”, after 99 times of trusting him so recently, with no clear picture of why. Do I need a “why”? Do I need to know? My feelings want to see the result of my trust like a child wants a lollipop for good behavior at the doctor’s office. I did, so I get. I did, so therefore I see a, b and c happen. My trust has produced mounds of painful things recently. Things I have lost that I felt so much, that trusting seemed so painful, and I’m not sure I want to trust for the 100th time.
God asks me to trust him with reckless abandoned, and I question the result. I only see the pain it has caused me. I asked myself to look and see if this was the only thing I was “getting” out of trusting, and the answer was a profound no. But like Satan and the original sin, he has convinced me that God’s best is being kept from me, and in order to get it, I must step outside of his best, and go get it for myself. The lies!!
In reality, any temporary pain that I have gone through has ultimately been for my good. A cleansing of sorts, to allow room for other things that have actually brought me tremendous blessing, and *should* be encouraging my faith and trust. How easily I overlook those things, and focus on the others.
I am invited, at this crossroads, to a place of honesty – with myself, with others, with the situation in front of me. And not just honesty, but vulnerability. My honesty, brought forth in complete trust, has the opportunity to cause more pain, like before. It also has the opportunity to bring me so much joy and love, more than I have ever experienced. Am I willing to trust, knowing in my head that no matter the outcome, it is the best for me, while my heart lies in a pile of emotional spaghetti? Or do I cut and run, listening to my insecurities, and go with the “safer” option?
I am saying mounds of prayers over my own situation right now, the details of which are so personal I won’t share. But as I said before, I know I am not alone in this place of uncertainty and vulnerability. To be completely honest and open, everything in me is crying "run". Run quickly...and in the opposite direction, because I am about to get hurt. I am about to get my heart torn into a million tiny, unrecognizable pieces, and I will not survive. (This is not true of course, and I have no way of knowing that I will even get hurt at all, yet this is what I tell myself to justify my actions).
I could do this, but instead I am I am forcing myself to sit in silence, in this most uncomfortable place…and wait. I will sit here while I let my mind and heart rest in uncertainty. I will ward off my negative thoughts and feelings, and protect my heart and my mind from lies and insecurity, by calling on God and angels to surround me with peace and love. They do conquer all.
And I will try, when it is time, to take that most awkward and terrifying first step.
Still practicing…
I feel it coming again…that old familiar feeling that comes right before something major is about to take place in my life. It’s as if I’m standing at a crossroads of desire and hope, with fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions coming at me from every other direction. My instinct is to feel alone in this moment, as if I’m the only one who is, and has ever, experienced this very thing. I am not.
I have no idea which variable in my current world is about to change, but I have been around long enough to know where I’m standing.
Desire and hope are not something I’m familiar with accepting in my life. They seem to be too good for me, too good to be true, or just too risky to believe in. But fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions…I’m very familiar with these things. At the crossroads of these decisions in the past, I have been more likely to give in…especially to insecurity and lies. They seem more comfortable. More real. Safer.
It is ironic that I could see insecurity and lies as a safer option. They do nothing but deter me from truth, honesty, and the absolute best. But they feel safer, as if I would suffer no disappointment if I follow that path, because I already know the outcome. I can retreat within myself, giving myself the control of the lesser life. At least I would be in control. At least I would not be vulnerable...unraveled. I could allow for those better things more easily, could I take lies and insecurity along with me. But on the trail of truth and honesty, there is no allowance for a backpack of ugliness to drag along. I am stuck at this crossroads with what seems like the weight of the world pressing down on me for an answer, and I feel at war on the inside.
Why is it so hard to trust? God says, “Trust me”, after 99 times of trusting him so recently, with no clear picture of why. Do I need a “why”? Do I need to know? My feelings want to see the result of my trust like a child wants a lollipop for good behavior at the doctor’s office. I did, so I get. I did, so therefore I see a, b and c happen. My trust has produced mounds of painful things recently. Things I have lost that I felt so much, that trusting seemed so painful, and I’m not sure I want to trust for the 100th time.
God asks me to trust him with reckless abandoned, and I question the result. I only see the pain it has caused me. I asked myself to look and see if this was the only thing I was “getting” out of trusting, and the answer was a profound no. But like Satan and the original sin, he has convinced me that God’s best is being kept from me, and in order to get it, I must step outside of his best, and go get it for myself. The lies!!
In reality, any temporary pain that I have gone through has ultimately been for my good. A cleansing of sorts, to allow room for other things that have actually brought me tremendous blessing, and *should* be encouraging my faith and trust. How easily I overlook those things, and focus on the others.
I am invited, at this crossroads, to a place of honesty – with myself, with others, with the situation in front of me. And not just honesty, but vulnerability. My honesty, brought forth in complete trust, has the opportunity to cause more pain, like before. It also has the opportunity to bring me so much joy and love, more than I have ever experienced. Am I willing to trust, knowing in my head that no matter the outcome, it is the best for me, while my heart lies in a pile of emotional spaghetti? Or do I cut and run, listening to my insecurities, and go with the “safer” option?
I am saying mounds of prayers over my own situation right now, the details of which are so personal I won’t share. But as I said before, I know I am not alone in this place of uncertainty and vulnerability. To be completely honest and open, everything in me is crying "run". Run quickly...and in the opposite direction, because I am about to get hurt. I am about to get my heart torn into a million tiny, unrecognizable pieces, and I will not survive. (This is not true of course, and I have no way of knowing that I will even get hurt at all, yet this is what I tell myself to justify my actions).
I could do this, but instead I am I am forcing myself to sit in silence, in this most uncomfortable place…and wait. I will sit here while I let my mind and heart rest in uncertainty. I will ward off my negative thoughts and feelings, and protect my heart and my mind from lies and insecurity, by calling on God and angels to surround me with peace and love. They do conquer all.
And I will try, when it is time, to take that most awkward and terrifying first step.
Still practicing…
Friday, February 13, 2015
The Day We Started "Cuddle Therapy"
My 15-year old cousin moved in with my sister and I this past August. The transition for all of us has been hard. In the last seven months we have been faced with so many issues, I wonder what's left that we could possibly deal with. That's a stupid thought for any parent to think, by the way. There is a list a mile long of things my kid could be doing that are worse than what we're going through. When I think I can't possibly take any more, I let my mind wander for just a second to this list, and then realize I should be grateful. And I do try...to be grateful. I try to put those big girl panties on, and strap on my warrior parent vest, and count my blessings like every good parent should. But the truth is...sometimes this job is just really, really...really hard. I have spent more time crying in the car and in the shower, recently, than I care to admit. It's just like that right now.
I am still trying to adjust to my adventures into insta-parenting. (I say "insta-parenting" because I've never actually raised children, and am now jumping into it with a 15-year old with some major issues.) The last time she was here, she was only here for 5 months. Now she's here for 5 years. Adrenaline only takes you so far, and then the honeymoon period ends and the kaka starts hitting the fan. I think our "honeymoon period" literally lasted the length of most honeymoons (probably a week or two), before we started getting slapped in the face with it. I wish we could have had one of those rich people honeymoons that lasts for like a month. That would have been nice. :)
Before you go thinking that I hate parenting, or my cousin-daughter, let me tell you about some really cool things about being a parent, and my kid in particular. First of all, she is AWESOME!! She is super-creative. And if I were ever able to pick what kind of child I would have, it would be a creative one. She draws and paints, and makes crafts, cooks (without recipes), and loves color...on everything (her hair, the walls, her body, etc.) She often draws on herself, and I feel like (if she wants to), she would make a great tattoo artist some day (if she keeps practicing her art).
Her brain thinks differently than a lot of people's. Chances are, she will never work in a corporate setting (at least not in the way most people think of "corporate"), and I'm okay with that. Those people are stuffy anyway. I like the creatives, the nerds, the geeks, the people who are tattooed up to their necks, with weird hair and ear lobes the size of golf balls, the people that tend to be socially awkward, but have hearts of pure gold, and are usually geniuses that just look "weird". (And yes, I think gauging is ridiculous.) But there is something about these people that strikes a cord with me, and that's how I feel about my kid. I WANT her to be weird in this way, because it allows her to be herself, and because it makes her more awesome, and I think the world needs more awesome.
The next cool thing about my kid is she's really perceptive. She can sense when I'm deep in thought, when I'm sad, or when the mood of a room is just "not right". She's tuned in to that stuff more than most people I know, and I think it's great. Honing those skills will do her good in life. She's also very spiritual and introspective. She knows a lot about herself. Combined with years of counseling, and her own natural giftedness, she is able to say to me, "I NEED ATTENTION"...literally. She says that to me, exactly those words, exactly that way. Who does that?! I don't. I beat around the bush like, "Hey, wanna do something together sometime?" Yeah, no. She is not like that. She just comes right out with it, and is very opinionated about what she thinks, and what she wants. She'll walk out of yoga and say, "Wow, I feel so at peace right now!", while I might just think it was a great workout.
She has never met a stranger. Whether it be the stray cats on our property, our neighbors, random people on the street, this girl just talks to anyone. I feel like "stranger danger" was not introduced to her properly, or maybe she was absent that day in kindergarten, because even at 15, I'm constantly trying to remind her that there are dangerous people out there, and she needs to be careful about going into stranger's homes. ?????? Yeah, it's like that. She has named all the stray cats on our property, and knows practically every dog-owner in our complex, by association to their dog. (She doesn't know their human names, just the dog's names.) My kid is also hilarious...and VERY sweet!!(when she is not acting as Sassy McSassypants...haha)
The last thing I'll mention, in a long list of what could be a novel about the awesomeness of my cousin-daughter is that she loves to be loved. Her biggest love language (for those of you who have read that book) is physical touch. She loves to hold hands (a LOT), walk arm in arm, have her hair played with and her back scratched to fall asleep. (I will just point out here, that having a 15 year old that craves love and physical touch is TERRIFYING!!!)
Ahem. Okay, back to her. My cousin-daughter was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was 2 1/2 years old. Her birth mother was using cocaine (and other drugs) when she had her. She was also abused and severely neglected during her first two years of life. She was finally removed from that home, and that is ultimately how she ended up in our family. I believe those first years have a hard link to her craving for physical touch, and her constant need for nurturing.
About two weeks ago we had some major stuff go down in our house, some big issues were discovered, and some very devastating choices were made by our cousin-daughter that has left us all in a state of damage & safety-control. Schedules have been revamped. Items have been removed from our home, and most importantly we are on 24-watch patrol. Needless to say, it has been stressful on all of us!!! And what 15-year old wants their parents around 24/7?! Right. NONE!
A few days after all of this went down, the emotional breakdown hit. It's the post-breakdown breakdown. Not the initial one, but the one after that, when all the depression hits and it starts to get real. It was my day off, so I was home in the evening. She was getting ready for bed, and started crying over what seemed like really insignificant stuff, so I calmly talked to her to see if we could resolve it before she fell asleep. The tears actually had nothing to do with the insignificant crap (as they rarely do with any woman). They just kept coming. Not sobbing, but they might as well have been. Just constant tears from a very broken heart.
So I did what any mom (or quasi-mom) would do. I climbed in next to her in her little twin bed, and held her up against me like I was holding a baby...a little 5'10" baby. If I could have walked her around the room, bouncing her, and patting her back, I would have. As we lay there on our sides, facing each other, her crying into my chest, I learned all about what was plaguing her brain and her heart. I allowed her to cry, as I kept stroking her hair, speaking affirmations to her, praying for her out loud, praying for protection, for angels, for any living or celestial being available, to come protect my child's thoughts, dreams, heart, life and well-being. What else was I supposed to do at this point? So far we had us, our friends, our family, therapists, church...what else was there??!!
I held her for almost an hour and a half like that. I had been silent for all of two minutes when she says in her almost-asleep whisper, "Say something." (Remember previously mentioned calls for attention. She is not shy about asking for what she needs.) So I start in again with the affirmations, with the prayers, until her breathing is so heavy and deep, I determine that she is finally asleep. I stay holding her for several more minutes until I can remove my grip from her, and go into the other room. Ten minutes later I hear her frantically calling my name from the bedroom. I go in, and she's asleep, but breathing like she terrified. I start in again with the stroking and the praying, until I feel it's safe to leave again.
That night may have been the first night in a week or so that she slept through the night. She was dead to the world the next morning. Something had worked. After a week of nightmares and not sleeping well, something had finally worked. After speaking with her therapist, he explained that this act was similar to rocking a baby to sleep (something that she rarely, if ever, experienced). With all the therapy she was getting, and all the stuff being drudged up, she was literally craving the nurturing one receives as a baby. He suggested we continue our now fondly named "cuddle therapy" every night to help her get the physical touch, and comforting nurturing she had been craving. Some (hopefully a lot) of her behaviors would be helped by this.
We are a week in to "cuddle therapy", and I notice a difference. I wouldn't say I "love" half-hanging off a twin bed three nights a week, for an hour and a half, praying I don't fall off. But what I do love is filling a love tank for my cousin-daughter, that has been empty for 15 years. I love that. I love hearing about her day, and allowing her space and safety to talk about what is on her mind and her heart as she falls asleep. I love telling her about herself, and praying for her as she goes into her dreams every night. And I love the effect that it is having on her behaviors, as the blow-ups don't seem so bad, and the frequency has decreased (at least for the time being). Along with all the other coping mechanisms we are learning as a family, "cuddle therapy" has turned out to be really rewarding.
I heard someone say recently that kids are often not craving attention. They are really craving is connection. And her therapist repeated it only days later, so it must be true!! The proof is in the pudding, I suppose. I'm sure we'll learn how well this "cuddle therapy" (and all the other therapy) is working out. So...here's to cuddling!
One thing is for sure though...we really need a bigger bed.
Signing off for tonight as I keep practicing...
I am still trying to adjust to my adventures into insta-parenting. (I say "insta-parenting" because I've never actually raised children, and am now jumping into it with a 15-year old with some major issues.) The last time she was here, she was only here for 5 months. Now she's here for 5 years. Adrenaline only takes you so far, and then the honeymoon period ends and the kaka starts hitting the fan. I think our "honeymoon period" literally lasted the length of most honeymoons (probably a week or two), before we started getting slapped in the face with it. I wish we could have had one of those rich people honeymoons that lasts for like a month. That would have been nice. :)
Before you go thinking that I hate parenting, or my cousin-daughter, let me tell you about some really cool things about being a parent, and my kid in particular. First of all, she is AWESOME!! She is super-creative. And if I were ever able to pick what kind of child I would have, it would be a creative one. She draws and paints, and makes crafts, cooks (without recipes), and loves color...on everything (her hair, the walls, her body, etc.) She often draws on herself, and I feel like (if she wants to), she would make a great tattoo artist some day (if she keeps practicing her art).
Her brain thinks differently than a lot of people's. Chances are, she will never work in a corporate setting (at least not in the way most people think of "corporate"), and I'm okay with that. Those people are stuffy anyway. I like the creatives, the nerds, the geeks, the people who are tattooed up to their necks, with weird hair and ear lobes the size of golf balls, the people that tend to be socially awkward, but have hearts of pure gold, and are usually geniuses that just look "weird". (And yes, I think gauging is ridiculous.) But there is something about these people that strikes a cord with me, and that's how I feel about my kid. I WANT her to be weird in this way, because it allows her to be herself, and because it makes her more awesome, and I think the world needs more awesome.
The next cool thing about my kid is she's really perceptive. She can sense when I'm deep in thought, when I'm sad, or when the mood of a room is just "not right". She's tuned in to that stuff more than most people I know, and I think it's great. Honing those skills will do her good in life. She's also very spiritual and introspective. She knows a lot about herself. Combined with years of counseling, and her own natural giftedness, she is able to say to me, "I NEED ATTENTION"...literally. She says that to me, exactly those words, exactly that way. Who does that?! I don't. I beat around the bush like, "Hey, wanna do something together sometime?" Yeah, no. She is not like that. She just comes right out with it, and is very opinionated about what she thinks, and what she wants. She'll walk out of yoga and say, "Wow, I feel so at peace right now!", while I might just think it was a great workout.
She has never met a stranger. Whether it be the stray cats on our property, our neighbors, random people on the street, this girl just talks to anyone. I feel like "stranger danger" was not introduced to her properly, or maybe she was absent that day in kindergarten, because even at 15, I'm constantly trying to remind her that there are dangerous people out there, and she needs to be careful about going into stranger's homes. ?????? Yeah, it's like that. She has named all the stray cats on our property, and knows practically every dog-owner in our complex, by association to their dog. (She doesn't know their human names, just the dog's names.) My kid is also hilarious...and VERY sweet!!(when she is not acting as Sassy McSassypants...haha)
The last thing I'll mention, in a long list of what could be a novel about the awesomeness of my cousin-daughter is that she loves to be loved. Her biggest love language (for those of you who have read that book) is physical touch. She loves to hold hands (a LOT), walk arm in arm, have her hair played with and her back scratched to fall asleep. (I will just point out here, that having a 15 year old that craves love and physical touch is TERRIFYING!!!)
Ahem. Okay, back to her. My cousin-daughter was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was 2 1/2 years old. Her birth mother was using cocaine (and other drugs) when she had her. She was also abused and severely neglected during her first two years of life. She was finally removed from that home, and that is ultimately how she ended up in our family. I believe those first years have a hard link to her craving for physical touch, and her constant need for nurturing.
About two weeks ago we had some major stuff go down in our house, some big issues were discovered, and some very devastating choices were made by our cousin-daughter that has left us all in a state of damage & safety-control. Schedules have been revamped. Items have been removed from our home, and most importantly we are on 24-watch patrol. Needless to say, it has been stressful on all of us!!! And what 15-year old wants their parents around 24/7?! Right. NONE!
A few days after all of this went down, the emotional breakdown hit. It's the post-breakdown breakdown. Not the initial one, but the one after that, when all the depression hits and it starts to get real. It was my day off, so I was home in the evening. She was getting ready for bed, and started crying over what seemed like really insignificant stuff, so I calmly talked to her to see if we could resolve it before she fell asleep. The tears actually had nothing to do with the insignificant crap (as they rarely do with any woman). They just kept coming. Not sobbing, but they might as well have been. Just constant tears from a very broken heart.
So I did what any mom (or quasi-mom) would do. I climbed in next to her in her little twin bed, and held her up against me like I was holding a baby...a little 5'10" baby. If I could have walked her around the room, bouncing her, and patting her back, I would have. As we lay there on our sides, facing each other, her crying into my chest, I learned all about what was plaguing her brain and her heart. I allowed her to cry, as I kept stroking her hair, speaking affirmations to her, praying for her out loud, praying for protection, for angels, for any living or celestial being available, to come protect my child's thoughts, dreams, heart, life and well-being. What else was I supposed to do at this point? So far we had us, our friends, our family, therapists, church...what else was there??!!
I held her for almost an hour and a half like that. I had been silent for all of two minutes when she says in her almost-asleep whisper, "Say something." (Remember previously mentioned calls for attention. She is not shy about asking for what she needs.) So I start in again with the affirmations, with the prayers, until her breathing is so heavy and deep, I determine that she is finally asleep. I stay holding her for several more minutes until I can remove my grip from her, and go into the other room. Ten minutes later I hear her frantically calling my name from the bedroom. I go in, and she's asleep, but breathing like she terrified. I start in again with the stroking and the praying, until I feel it's safe to leave again.
That night may have been the first night in a week or so that she slept through the night. She was dead to the world the next morning. Something had worked. After a week of nightmares and not sleeping well, something had finally worked. After speaking with her therapist, he explained that this act was similar to rocking a baby to sleep (something that she rarely, if ever, experienced). With all the therapy she was getting, and all the stuff being drudged up, she was literally craving the nurturing one receives as a baby. He suggested we continue our now fondly named "cuddle therapy" every night to help her get the physical touch, and comforting nurturing she had been craving. Some (hopefully a lot) of her behaviors would be helped by this.
We are a week in to "cuddle therapy", and I notice a difference. I wouldn't say I "love" half-hanging off a twin bed three nights a week, for an hour and a half, praying I don't fall off. But what I do love is filling a love tank for my cousin-daughter, that has been empty for 15 years. I love that. I love hearing about her day, and allowing her space and safety to talk about what is on her mind and her heart as she falls asleep. I love telling her about herself, and praying for her as she goes into her dreams every night. And I love the effect that it is having on her behaviors, as the blow-ups don't seem so bad, and the frequency has decreased (at least for the time being). Along with all the other coping mechanisms we are learning as a family, "cuddle therapy" has turned out to be really rewarding.
I heard someone say recently that kids are often not craving attention. They are really craving is connection. And her therapist repeated it only days later, so it must be true!! The proof is in the pudding, I suppose. I'm sure we'll learn how well this "cuddle therapy" (and all the other therapy) is working out. So...here's to cuddling!
One thing is for sure though...we really need a bigger bed.
Signing off for tonight as I keep practicing...
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About Me
- Marci DeHaan
- It is my joy to write. All of my blogs have a special meaning to me, and allow me an outlet to express every side of myself. I like to write like I think, a scatterbrained mess of ideas and emotions that somehow spill out into totally relatable stories for others to share in. That is my life. Please enjoy my blogs and writings. They range anywhere from cynical posts about singleness, to nurturing, important posts to young women, to every kind of life moment and stories about being human. My favorite catch phrase is "still practicing", which is on almost all of my posts. Why? Because I am...still practicing at writing, at being a better, more well-rounded person, and at life in general. I hope to always be practicing. Happy reading! :)