Time for Confrontation

A lot of time has been passing again between blogs. Again, I could make excuses; however, I prefer honesty. It’s not always easy to be honest. In fact, when we are in denial it’s nearly impossible I think. I have felt as if I just haven’t wanted to blog lately. At least that’s what I’ve told myself. Truth is, I think I avoid blogging when the personal things going on in my life seem entirely too fresh and personal to pour out onto the big WWW. I realize hardly anyone reads my blog, however the thought that anyone could read it still leaves me feeling fairly vulnerable.
I’ve had a lot on my plate lately. I’ve moved; the roommate situation didn’t go quite as planned unfortunately. That’s all I’ll say about that. My children and I are living with a relative while I try to buy a home close to the college I plan on attending in June. Thanksgiving and Christmas have come and gone. I’m still raising my 2 children, and I’m still working from my “temporary” home. The move was a huge stressor. Buying a home can definitely be a stressor as well.
The biggest stressor though? I’ve been watching someone very close to me struggle with an addiction for some time now. The entire thing hits so close to home, the very thought of it leaves me feeling a bit detached. Recent events in this person’s life have given me flashbacks into my own childhood. I’ve had trouble sleeping. I’ve repeatedly switched back and forth between peaceful days and days filled with anxiety. I’ve felt like running. I’ve felt like confronting. I’ve felt like turning my head, and I’ve felt like taking a stand. One day I feel ferociously strong about my beliefs, and the next day I may feel like perhaps I am being dramatic. All in all I think I’ve been pretty detached. I want to live my life with intent, and instead I’ve been doing a lot of going through the motions. The passion I generally have about living life has been a stranger only passing through for small periods of time.
I suppose it’s time for an intervention. I speak vaguely about doing this. When I truly begin to consider the conversation my stomach grows full of knots and I grow weary and fearful again. I’m going to do it though. I don’t think I know anyone who actually enjoys true confrontation; it’s just not easy. However, no matter how daunting the outcome might be (there are so many possible outcomes), I know deep within that it is necessary. The persistent need for the “confrontation” is not just for the good of one person, but rather for the well-being of many. So, for anyone out there who may be reading this post, say a quiet prayer that God will fill me with a strength that is not my own, because right now I am ever so aware of my own weaknesses.
Ps. Thanks to my friend who gently reminded me to blog…..

Brokenness, in my opinion

I had a conversation with a dear friend the other night. I was throwing around a lot of terms like “broken” and “flawed” in reference to how people often feel, or how they feel as a result of being judged by others. For days after the conversation I could not get the thoughts out of my mind. I still don’t feel as if I have sorted it all out well, but I feel like spelling it out anyways. I refer to myself in my blog as being “beautifully broken.” I’ve been asking myself, “What the heck does that mean anyways?” At one time I thought I knew; lately I’ve been trying to really break it down. I guess I just don’t want to throw around the term broken so casually as to offend anyone.
When I think of brokenness I think of a world where there are enough people and enough resources to satisfy many of the needs in the world; and yet it’s not happening. I think of people who die from illnesses that we in America have immunizations to prevent. I think of how we could share those things, yet others are still going without.
I suppose largely I think of our capacity as human beings to love one another. Then I look at the world and see how we don’t. My own brokenness does not lie in the mistakes that I have made, the choices I continue to make, or the emotional scars I live with daily. It doesn’t lie in the things I do that others don’t agree with. My brokenness lies in the shame I carry as a result of those things. I am broken when I judge others, when I allow fear to overcome opportunities to be honest, and when I am apathetic to other people or events. My brokenness lies in the weight I feel when others do the same and it some how becomes something I help them carry. So how can that be beautiful? I guess the beauty is in the journey I have traveled to get to where I am in life today. The beauty lies in my continuing effort to strive for more. Not for more money, friends or more things; but for more honesty, love, and compassion.
We live in a society where we are bombarded with opinions of what is right and what is wrong. I dare say, if we didn’t apply so much of our attention to those things would we spend more time trying to love each other as we are? Would then some of the brokenness we feel begin to melt away and things such as hate, crime, and violence begin to dissipate as well? How much of our brokenness is directly related to our feeling unloved?
Ok, so I realize some people may read this and think I must have been born in the wrong era, because we heard all this “all we need is love” mumbo jumbo back in the 60’s. However, I’m not referring to a desire to be loved that calls us to protest, riot, or any other behavior that somehow reaps negative consequences in the end. I just wish we would be willing to have the “tough” conversations, to share some tears, and begin to let the walls around our hearts crumble. Maybe then we would see that we are not alone and maybe we would stop trying to fight all these battles on our own.

In the words of Dori, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...."

People are aggravating, right? I mean, we all have to interact with other people every day. Or at least most of us I would assume. That interaction is not always pleasant. We’ve all spent time in frustrating traffic, or dealing with offensive drivers. Some of us go to jobs where we don’t necessarily enjoy the company of our coworkers or bosses. Most of us have had at least one experience where we would rate the customer service as poor. Do those things tend to pale in comparison to uncomfortable interactions you have with friends, family, or loved ones? Those are the interactions that leave us feeling restless at night. The ones that fill our heads so full of thoughts we can’t focus on the task at hand. At least that’s the way it is in my world.
Mother Teresa said, “It is easy to love the people far away. It is not always easy to love those close to us. It is easier to give a cup of rice to relieve hunger than to relieve the loneliness and pain of someone unloved in our own home. Bring love into your home for this is where our love for each other must start.” Ah, this strikes a cord with me. I wonder how we accomplish this. Sometimes it’s easy enough, but when we are dealing with other human beings who are also broken, hurt, and confused it becomes rather sticky. Do you ever have those times where you think of the conversations that took place, and then envision the “other” conversation that didn’t take place? The one where you told the other person what you really thought? Why do we hold back? Out of respect sometimes I suppose. In order to be mature, the bigger person? Because they wouldn’t understand or possibly listen anyways?
I’ve spent this week having so many of those “other” conversations in my own mind that I have begun to feel as if my life was a circus and I am in need of a mental vacation. I realize that all of this probably means I am in the midst of personal growth; however it’s awfully difficult to view this as a positive when I still feel squeezed by the pressure of it all. I keep trying to write, and the thoughts continue to go nowhere. I try to devise a plan; however no solution is coming to surface. Oh, and the world keeps turning, children still need parental guidance, bills still need to be paid, and work still has to be done.

Have we become just a lot of talk?

We talk about change and personal growth as if they are good for us
But when it comes time to experience them we hide
We talk about community as if it were the key to true progress
But we fight for independence and solitude
We long to be a part of something
But we run from the opportunity
We say we trust each other
But when we look in each others eyes we are overcome with the others weaknesses
We say we want to be there for one another
But we see each others needs as a burden
I cannot fight this fight alone
But why do I often feel like no one wants to fight it with me?
Do I merely depend on others too much?
Or is everyone just in this for him or her self?
I feel alone again, and I wonder how much of this I do to myself?
Perhaps we don’t talk to each other enough
Maybe we have given up on communication
We are quickly becoming a society of what we should do
Why don’t we just do?

This Cup Feels Half Empty

My mother and her husband offered to keep the baby tonight. So, I decided to make the night special for my daughter since we rarely get any time alone together anymore. I offered to take her to a movie, and gave her a couple of choices of shows. She didn’t choose the one I would have really liked to have seen. She chose the romantic comedy of course. We went in this evening to watch Life As We Know It. First of all, I must say that I obviously don’t get out much, because I cringed when they told me it would be $17 for the 2 of us to watch the show. We hadn’t even bought any snacks yet! That added a whopping $15 to my bill. Ching, ching. So this is why I don’t get out much, huh?
I hate to ruin it for those of you who haven’t seen the show yet, but I do need to vent. The show ends with one of those airport scenes. You know the kind. The kind where one person races to the airport in chase after another after just realizing that they are madly in love with the other person, and they can’t live another day without them even though they just sent them off with a farewell. I realize this is supposed to be a suspense-filled moment in the show where the audience grips the arms of his or her seat as they anxiously wait to find out if they will catch the other person before the plane leaves, or if that person, once caught, will reciprocate the love. It was at this precise moment though that I found myself thinking, “Really? Another airport scene? C’mon already! Do we really have to ruin another good show with one of these?” Of course, the movie ends exactly like you would picture it to end, everyone lives happily ever after, yadda, yadda, yadda. Honestly, it was a cute show, it just stirred up some rotten feelings. Here are these 2 people who don’t care for each other much, yet they find themselves in life raising a child together, and Tada! They fall in love! Oh, gush. If only life were truly so neat and tidy. Ok, so there were a couple of sad parts, and some truthful portrayals of parenting and single-parenting.
So, we leave the show and I’m already thinking about how I am going to blog about this. Then I decided to ask my daughter why she liked the show so much since she was gushing over it. I thought, “Well, this conversation could add to my blogging material.” I asked her if she liked the whole romantic boy-meets-girl scenario, or the fact that it made her laugh, or how it ended with love? Her answer left me more than speechless. She said she liked how the 2 people loved the baby and they were like a family. Queue the part where my heart falls from my chest. Queue the part where I am holding back tears the rest of the ride home as I try to make small talk amidst all the chatter taking place in my heart. Damn! Girls her age are usually beginning to think more about boys, and are dreamy-eyed when they watch Cinderella-like movies where boy meets girl and falls in love. Here’s my little girl, just dreaming that a male would walk into her life and let her call him daddy.
Forget romance. Forget 5th grade crushes. Just give me a man that wants to watch my Christmas program at school, wants to take me for trips to the park, wants to tuck me in at night, or wants to tell me how beautiful I look in my new dress. It’s the one thing she wants more than anything, and it’s the one thing I haven’t been able to give her. My heart is still reeling from the blow. I was prepared for her happily ever after fairytale visions of a 10 year old. I was not prepared for this. It’s times like these that I begin to ask why God does allow some things to happen. I want to tell God that I am ok if there is no one out there for me, but I want to cry out to God for not placing some kind of father figure in my daughter’s life. Ok, ok. So God is our Father, right? But she wants something tangible! I can keep telling her God wants to fill that void in her life, but her response? “But why doesn’t God speak to me?” I try to explain to her that God speaks in ways we can’t hear like we hear each other speak. Alas, confusion. If God loves her like He does, where is her dad? And why does he choose to live a life without her, even though he lives a mere 20 minutes away? Why doesn’t he love her enough to sacrifice all his own interests, rearrange his priorities, and come chasing after her? My answers don’t really satisfy these questions. She’s still going to go to school tomorrow and hear other girls in her class tell stories of big, mighty, loyal fathers. She’s still going to be left with just movies to watch about how some other person got the love she always wanted. The love of her Daddy.

Begging for excitement

Well, here I am. I don’t have much to say again. Life has just felt like a steady progression lately. Purely moving forward with the daily grind. I’ve been reading less, sewing more. I feel the need for a project. As if I have the time for that. Ah well, you have to make the time for the things you’d like to accomplish in life, eh? My roommate is on vacation this week. I have tried very persistently to fill her vacation days with projects that could use my help. She has gently resisted. I wonder why? Perhaps it’s because she’s on vacation? I’ll start my own project then. My grandmother has bags of gourds. Yes, gourds. She’s the type that used to love being crafty, and then old age caught up with her. She’s also a hoarder. Yes, a hoarder. You’ve seen the shows, right? Alright, so maybe she’s not as bad as some, or at least it would seem that way. I think quite possibly the only reason her house doesn’t look like some you see on the show is because her children or grandchildren make visits to her house and try to make sense of her chaos. Every so many years the fam also orchestrates a big to do and gets together to help grandma “get her stuff together.” It usually results in a large garage sale that leaves grandma feeling “rich” and clutter free for a few weeks. Then she picks back up her old habit of buying crafty things she no longer crafts. Hence, the gourds. She saw something on television once where a woman used dried gourds to make cute little snowmen. She searched Ebay and invested it some gourds. That was years ago. Some of them are still in their boxes. Her sister then heard of her knew endeavors, grew some gourds, and brought them as a gift when she came to visit. Those gourds still sit in trash bags in grandma’s back yard. I on the other hand am still quite crafty in my youth. I plan to rob her of her gourds soon. I’ll ask her first of course. She will hem and haw. I will speak of marvelous gourd plans, and after much debate, or possibly even a few days of mulling the idea over, she will relent and donate her gourds to my worthy cause. I will set out then to begin creating obnoxious creations from worthless gourds. The children will join in on the venture, and the family will be bombarded with colorful, useless gourd gifts for Christmas. Ah, the joys of parenting.
But first, I will refinish an old rocking airplane my mother bought for my son at a garage sale. It’s currently filthy, all the screws are loose, and it’s covered in a cracked and bland choice of primary colors. I will take the entire thing apart, sand it down to its natural finish, and apply a fresh, beautiful coat of pecan colored polyurethane. I’ll complete this project while my daughter is at school. My son will be with me, possibly ransacking the garage and finding exquisite new toys like hacksaws and hammers. If this is the case I’ll likely accomplish nothing very quickly and resort to completing the project while he sleeps. I’m a woman on a mission. I dare you to stand in my way. I once found an old antique chest of drawers marked “free” on a roadside. I brought it home and had it refinished in 2 days. It’s now my son’s dresser. Now, enough chatter, it’s full speed ahead!

A Whole Lotta Nothing

Alright, so it just occurred to me that I’ll be visiting my therapist (haha! Love to say that) in a couple of days, and I have not blogged in awhile. She sure likes to chew on me (very gently) in order to hold me accountable as far as my journal/blog goes. Since she is the only return reader my blog has, I will honor her accountability. That being said, I really feel as if I don’t have a damn thing to talk about lately. Oh you know, I could complain about some of the usual things I find myself complaining about. “So and so dismissed me. It hurt my feelings. As a result I’ve felt angry, alone, or confused.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. Or, how about this. My babysitter quit. My sales are down at work. Somebody buy a dress please! http://stores.shop.com/dresslikeyoumeanit I never have unpacked all the boxes from my move (from 2 months ago). I need to do laundry. I’d like to quit smoking. I need to take the GRE so I can apply to college to begin my masters. I need to choose a college. I need to save money. I need to make money. I need to work out. Or I could talk about what I have been doing. I gave my son a haircut today (no, I don’t have any professional training). I went to a renaissance festival over the weekend. I also went to a dueling piano bar with my little brothers. I had my car repaired after the hail damage. I’ve paid some bills. I’ve slept. I’ve worked. I cleaned my grandma’s kitchen today. I made my grandma dinner. I saw a guy masturbating (pretty sure) in his car in a parking lot today. Or what I like to do. I like to brush my roommate’s dog. I enjoy scrapbooking. I love reading. I love to sleep. I love talking. I like to sew. I LOVE shopping (I even get to do it for a living). I feel very rewarded when I do for others. Or I could tell you what my daughter says about me. Mom, your butt jiggles. Mom, you have a lot of pimples. Mom, you are beautiful. Mom, quit calling yourself fat. Mom, you never let me play with my friends. Mom, you never let me drink soda. Mom, you are the greatest mom ever. Mom, you are weird. Or I can talk about how I often feel. Lonely. Dismissed. Desiring to be noticed by somebody, anybody? Unaccomplished. Lazy. Alone. Depressed. Weary. Busy. Or I can tell you how I’ve felt about myself lately. I’ve felt pretty darn confident (that’s big). I have felt loved. I have felt smart. I have felt very content in my singleness. I have felt useful. I have felt like a good mom.
Alas, my blogging often comes from bouts of depression, or anger, or loneliness, or confusion. I don’t suppose I’ve felt much of that as of late. Therefore I don’t have much to say. But I’ve said a lot anyways. Now, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my 2 follower who may or may not be reading this. And, now I’m signing off. Peace.

and this is Peace

Sadness has crept in tonight for one reason or another
Underneath lingers hope
As I contemplate injustice courage wells up in my heart
I’ve always felt a deep strength within in times like these
I don’t believe it is my own
I used to wonder what it meant
Now I believe it’s the Spirit of God
Calling us to live a greater purpose
Telling us we are not alone in the battles we face in life
Compassion surges through my being
It tempts me to ponder selflessness
I am compelled to pray
To a God I can’t see
Yet I feel him as the wind blows across my cheeks
I felt him as I turned the car around last night to watch 6 deer majestically cross the road
I hear Him when the laughter of children fills the air as I chase them in a game of hide and seek
I am intensely aware of a presence that is not my own

Not one of my finer moments

Fierce anger whips through me as I recall the injustice of watching one person emotionally beaten down by another
When I look in the eyes of the victim I see broken heartedness
I see pleading
Tears unwept
Confusion
Hurt welling up and choking them speechless
I feel like threatening the abuser
I feel like reaching out to the victim, even if only with my eyes
I want to tell him he deserves more than this
I want to tell him to listen to his heart as it cries out
But alas, I took the cowardly stance and said nothing
Only looked on with sadness

Unraveling scars

I watched “Letters to Juliet” tonight with a friend. It puts a smile on my face to realize that only a matter of months ago watching a love story left me feeling bitter, sad, and lonely. On this night, this particular love story reminded me that we are inspired by stories such as these for a reason. We long to be loved. We have been given a desire to love and be loved. You see, for years I have been telling myself that I don’t necessarily want that in my life. I have worked feverishly, compelling myself to believe that I have been designed for more dutiful things in life; things such as single-parenting, a solid career, and serving others. While watching this movie it occurred to me that all along I have known the bitterness I have felt is a direct result of trying to squelch the hope that I might one day fall in love and marry another. Somehow I thought disregarding these feelings might soften the blow of rejection when it comes. Why is it that when I fight my way through mazes of feelings that are all tangled up in a mess, I always find fear at the root of the chaos? I can pose that question, but the truth is I already know the answer. When a person has suffered through trials in life that have led them to experience pain in a manner that feels as if he/she were left bleeding internally, putting up a front feels like a logical defense.
It’s easier to tell myself I make choices due to my strength rather than fear. Easier in the moment I suppose, but in retrospect I see that I have only been pouring water on the fire God created in my heart for love and hope. Thankfully God doesn’t seem to care how hard we fight to put the fires out, He’s just excited for the moment when we realize that He has been rekindling the flames all along.
I’m grateful that someone knows what I need better than I know it for myself. Why, just tonight I left my car parked outside during a hail storm. Silly me I was thinking, heck I’ll take the money and pay off some debt. As baseball size hail starting smashing the house with an alarming ferocity I realized my decision had probably been a poor one. This was confirmed as I checked on my car when the hail let up. I’m not sure why I never thought my windshield might actually be shattered. I took things into my own hands thinking it would all work out in my favor. Now, I’m not sure what God has in store tomorrow, but I have an inkling the outcome might be a lot different than I expected.
I guess what I’m getting at is that I’m beginning to realize that I sometimes make decisions as I am compelled by emotions such as bitterness or greed. When I act on those emotions without allowing my love of truth to seep into my noggin, I might be inviting catastrophe into my life.

Dear Blog

Dear Blog,
I realize I haven’t written in awhile. My first reaction is to spell out the many things in my life that have kept me too busy to write. The thought that then crosses my mind is that I am likely making excuses. You see, I can look upon my life and see that I am often busy with work, raising children, errands, etc., etc. However, I also see a lot of time I do not use wisely. There are many ways I do this. The one that bothers me the most is sleeping. Now I don’t mean the 8 hours we should get every night. I mean the naps I take during the day. The ones I am often inspired to take after dealing with the tantrum of a child, or a glance at my current bills and then my bank statement. I also like to fill my down time with visits with friends or family. This is important, and it can be very good for me. However, I often allow it to be a large distraction from pressing matters as well. It seems I have a bit of a problem telling myself no at times. “No, your closet is already bulging at the seams and you can’t possibly have room for one more pair of shoes.” Oh, that’s a big one. I do love shopping. It does not serve well as a medicinal purpose for my bouts with depression though.
I have told myself that for the next month I will not engage in any more of my shopping sprees. Whether online, or in stores. Oh my goodness those discounted designer dresses are already calling my name! Oh dear blog! I know I’ve not been such a dear friend as of late! Now I am asking for your help! Would you please so kindly act as an accountability partner for me as I travel this road of “what’s in my closet is enough?” And the cigarettes too. They absolutely must go! I have 5 packs left, and they must be my last! Dear Lord! What am I thinking!? Heaping all this discipline on myself all at once! I’m just so tired of complacency. Tired of speaking of things I’d like to do and never moving my rear end far enough to accomplish any of these things.
I shall try and remember some of the many things that have driven me to this place of absolution; my health, my children, my future, goals, dreams, and so on. Alright blog, so I’m counting on you to help. Not just you though. I don’t want to burden you with all of the responsibility. I’ll also be turning to family and friends for support and encouragement. Please forgive me in advance for any hostility I may force you to suffer through. You know I mean you no harm. I am painfully aware though of the tension I am about to embrace in my life. My head sometimes spins just to think of it! Well enough for now! Work is calling my name. Until we meet again….
Yours truly,
Betty

The Beginning of Community

My new roommate and I have found ourselves perpetuating the word community lately. There are now four children and two adults living under one roof. It’s beautiful chaos; for the time being. The children don’t always agree. There have been tug of war contests between toys and children. Cries of it’s mine and get out have also become common. Today I even heard, “He keeps touching me.” I believe it all to be a great learning experience. The conversations so far have been deep and fulfilling. The events have been entertaining. For instance, my roommate’s son almost rolls on the floor with hysteria every time my son throws a fit. This makes it rather difficult for the rest of us not to spill into fits of laughter ourselves. My roommate has a dog. I have a cat. So far they avoid each other for the most part. I believe the dog would love to befriend my kitty, but thus far my cat will have none of it. I did wake from a nap the other day to find one of them lying on each side of me on the bed. I tried to get up quietly so they would be left staring at each other when they awoke. No such luck though, as my cat woke also and declared immediately that he would not be left lying next to a large, heavy-breathing beast in my absence. I was having a nice conversation with my roommate just yesterday when her dog proceeded to expel a rather nasty stream of phlegm across the carpet directly in front of us. As I shrieked in disgust she proclaimed, “Now that’s community!” Well, I guess it was a moment bonded by our laughter.

Detach much?

How is it that we can feel so alone even when we are surrounded by others?
I get this feeling and begin to wonder if something is missing
I often feel pulled between 2 places
The need to go away and seek change
And the desire to be close to those I love
I don’t know that there is even a right or wrong
When I correlate these thoughts with God all I come up with is that He is at work in my life no matter where I am geographically
How do I know then what my next move shall be?
And why do I have moments of contentment that don’t seem to last?
My faith has been changing for some time now
At times it feels full and rich
Other times I wonder if I am settling for luke-warm
Life is always running ahead of me
I yearn for simplicity
When answers come they are simple
As if all my struggling and searching were just a fight I fought alone
Motivation comes and goes like a distant friend
In between I am full of complacency and longing for sleep
I feel there are things inside of me I put off facing
Like a deer in headlights I freeze in my tracks instead of pursuing the goal
I try and tell myself feelings are just feelings
A person can move ahead in spite of them
My heart however compels me to make sense of them
Something tells me at the root of them lies the road block
Perhaps this is what it means to not live the comfortable life
Perhaps all the questions and doubt draw me nearer the Final Resting Place
In this moment I may feel unsure of much
But I am certain these random musings will never end

Parenting

Raising children is tough. In fact, I’m fairly certain it’s the largest responsibility I have ever shouldered in my life. Don’t get me wrong, it’s incredibly rewarding. However, it can also be incredibly scary. For years now I have watched my daughter and realized that I can become aware of things I need to work on in myself as I see them reflected in her. While I am grateful for this, it can also be terrifying. At times I have wondered if I am just going to “screw” her up the way I have felt “screwed up” from my past. As I have gotten older I have come to realize some things that are helping me come to terms with all of this. I have come to a place in my life where I have been angry with my parents for the way I was raised. I’ve struggled through the anger and dealt with it. In doing so I was led to ponder their past. Seeing where they have come from has helped me to see that they loved us kids as best as they knew how. They still do. It may not always look that great or even look a lot like love. But it is. I am learning to know and trust this in much the same way as we are to know and trust our Father. Perhaps it doesn’t always come the way we would like it to, however it does exist. This gives me hope in raising my own children. I’m going to screw up. I already have. However, I hope they will reach that place in their own lives where they can acknowledge that I never stopped loving them, or seeking healthier ways to show them that love.
Being a single parent I used to try to live by this idea that I had to be 2 parents. After smashing my head against that brick wall for years, I conceded to the truth that I am only one person. I cannot make up for the lacking of another, however I can try to be the best I can be. Admittedly, some days I feel as if I fail miserably at this goal. Other days, or perhaps just moments, I feel like I shine like a star.
As I age I feel much more aware of these moments, these times shared when all seems right; as it should be. These times don’t always look alike. Sometimes I will be in the midst of a wrestling match with my two children. Other times I will be in mid-conversation with my daughter when the impact these conversations might have on her life become all the more apparent to me. Just this week I found one of those moments as the three of us took turns wearing a pull-up diaper on our heads, dancing, and being silly. I also love finding these moments as I watch them sleep and I swim in the deep love I have for them.
I also have times where I would like to just check out for awhile. I have thoughts of dropping them off on my mother’s doorstep and driving for the coast with the convertible top down on my car. I don’t have a convertible top on my car though, so I suppose this will remain a wistful thought. Somehow we manage. I keep believing that if I continue striving for intentional relationships with them life will progress in a positive forward motion.

Pushing yourself can be a good or a bad thing

We own a television in our house. My daughter and I like to rent the occasional movie. We don’t have cable. I haven’t subscribed to cable for 10 years now. It started because I had to cut back on expenses when I began single parenting when my daughter was 5 months old. My daughter and I used to go over and visit my grandmother several days a week when we lived ¾ of a mile from her. Somewhere along the way I realized that trips to grandma’s house had become more about watching different television series being aired on certain nights of the week. Grandma and I would watch our show while my daughter watched the Disney channel in the other room. When I realized what was happening I felt very discontent about it. We started going to grandmas less. She was hurt, but I felt we had to do it to break the habit. It worked. I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way I found that I was not addicted to finding out how the next murder mystery would be solved. Therefore we continued the tradition of no cable in the home even when we could afford it. Finding things to occupy my time without T.V. was easy. I discovered a passion for remodeling my old home. I learned how to refinish wood floors. I put a chain-link fence around my backyard on my own. I painted, wallpapered, and redecorated. I even sold Party-Light Candles long enough to furnish my lovely home with many of the things I fancied in their catalogs. Then I discovered a love for gardening. The first summer I tried for rhubarb and strawberries, all the while dreaming of strawberry-rhubarb pie. A peacock that had decided to make our neighborhood his home enjoyed eating all the plants before they could produce a thing. I gave up on the garden and began plotting to get rid of the peacock. He liked to perch on top of my garage. One day I decided to chase him off with rocks. He wasn’t impressed, and after I chased him from the garage he chased me around a bit. I think that’s when we decided our dislike of each other was mutual. Next I decided that ignoring him might be my best option; until he began to eat the cat food from the dishes on my front porch. Then he also began munching on the annual blooms growing near the porch. In my opinion, he was just asking for it. I called animal control and asked them to take care of the situation. They left a note on the door saying they never saw a peacock. I didn’t buy it. In his hatred for me the peacock had decided to make my yard his primary place of residence. Not a day went by when I didn’t see him. Therefore, I called them back and very nicely told them that if they did not remove the peacock immediately I would be shooting him with my gun. Ha! I don’t even own a gun, let alone know how to shoot one! They advised me that this would be illegal and I should reconsider my idea. I advised them that there would be one less peacock in the world if they didn’t pick him up by the week’s end. I never did see that peacock again.
By this time I had worked at a research extension office for some time where I had learned a whole lot about having a green thumb, and by golly I developed mine! I filled my front yard with colorful shrubs, flowering perennials, and bright flowering bushes. When winter came I longed for spring when I could try my hand at planting something, anything. Spring would arrive and I would cherish pulling weeds as I recalled how good gardening seemed to be for my soul. I was bringing home twiggy things and bulbs, nurturing them, and watching them all glow from all the love and care.
Then I began working out again. I told myself I had to go to the gym at least 5 days a week for 6 weeks before I could slow down to a more doable pace. This way I could be sure the exercise would be a part of my normal routine. That first week I would come home from the gym and groan with every step I took up my porch. I’ve always been fairly active, but suddenly I found that I had muscles I had long forgotten about. After that first week though, it was great. I began to make friends, I was trying out all kinds of classes, I was full of energy, and I felt beautifully confident! I was always a runner on the track team in high school. Running the mile was my main event. So, I decided to start running again. Just a mile here or there. One day I ran five miles, and decided I should just strive for more. Roughly six weeks later I competed in a half marathon. I don’t know where I placed. My daughter had the flu for days before the race, and it turned out I was coming down with it too. I didn’t figure this out though until about mile 7 the day of the race. I was lagging behind and didn’t understand why I felt so bad and had no energy. I thought of pretending to use the restroom and sneaking back to my car. Instead I pushed on and finished. I don’t know if I have ever sprinted as hard as I did when I saw that finish line looming ahead. Onlookers probably thought I was so proud to be finishing that I was going to give it my all. Truthfully, I needed to vomit or something and I was just ready for all this running to come to an end. I was so delirious by the time I finished that I walked around for half an hour in a daze because I couldn’t remember where I had parked my car and I just needed to get home! I spent the next couple of hours lying on my bathroom floor. The extensive pressure of running 13 miles on a hot day only fueled the virus that was ransacking my body.
This is what I have learned. I’m a much more productive person when I’m not glued to a television. However, allowing pride and thoughts of all the work poured into training drive a person to finish a race that something is telling them to walk away from will inevitably end in disaster. Or possibly just hours of hanging your head over a toilet, followed by days of dehydration.

Assuming a defensive position

Alright, so I lied. Not purposefully, however in my last post I said I would forget the troubles of the day and focus only on the good. I struggled, and I tried. It’s 3:30 am now and I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve been full of anger and thoughts of lashing out at another. I have tried to count the many ways I could tell them they don’t know what they are talking about when they speak of commitment and sacrifice. Years of single-parenting have flashed through my mind. Sleepless nights, days full of labor, and evenings of child-rearing. Yet I kept coming back to the question, “What of all these thoughts? Why can I not just let it go?” Then I thought of the Book of Job. I climbed out of bed and back outside to read from it. Humbled. What do I really know about sacrifice? What do I really know at all? My meager 30 years are nothing in the face of the One who created life. Now what? I honestly don’t know, but I do feel my anger melting away. I suppose what’s left is to keep giving it back and realizing that I am not in control. As long as I give in to the emotions they grow in strength until I am consumed by them. Then I am left fighting for control; all the while being fueled by what? Selfish thoughts? Feelings of grandeur? Stubbornness?
Why is it so hard to take a stand for what I see and believe and leave it at that? How much easier it can be to take that same stand and then lose sight of what I truly stand for as thoughts of injustice creep into my mind. Then what am I left standing for? Just defending myself?

Choices

So, I had a shitty day today. Well some of it. I awoke to an unhappy email from someone I know. I had told this male a while back ago that I had some interest in him. Last night I told him I had realized we were 2 very different people in 2 very different places in our lives. I told him I didn’t want anything with him. It didn’t go over well. Therefore I woke to an email explaining to me how I really feel. Also telling me why I really wanted to have the conversation in the first place. Hmmmm. No, I’m pretty certain I know how I feel and why I said what I said. It was not to lash out. Merely to cut ties now before time progressed. I agreed to disagree. I was called fickle.
I stopped at the apartment office to ask a question and reminded them I would be handing in my keys in a week or two after I moved. My file was examined. I was told there was no proof of a written form explaining my plans to vacate. I reminded the office personnel of our conversation a month ago when I asked what I needed to do and was told that I didn’t have to do anything else. I remember other details of the conversation as well. They don’t remember a thing. They say I am responsible for another month’s rent. I say no, I won’t be doing that.
A couple nasty phone calls and text messages from the boy later, I feel as if I will explode with emotions. I walk into a house full of boxes, some empty, some full. I watch my nephew walk on the grapes and strawberries Romeo has dropped on the floor. I try to get things out for supper as my son screams. My daughter bombards me with questions. My stepfather walks into the kitchen and begins to comfort my son. I sit outside now and can hear my nephew and daughter inside arguing over how long popcorn should be cooked.
I also reflect on my day. I had a wonderful conversation with my aunt this afternoon. She even gave me ten bucks for hemming her daughter’s skirts for her. I treated myself to Starbucks! Even told my daughter I would buy her a frappucino if she paid for half. She only ever drinks half of it, so it only seems right. She was happy. We got home and blew bubbles and colored with chalk. I visited with a neighbor. I visited on the phone with my cousin. Then, my stepfather was there to witness the chaos in my home amidst all the personal struggles I had spoken of previously. Darn, it felt good to know someone was there to see it. At times I feel like no one knows what it is like. For a very wonderful hour he experienced it with me. He gave me a wonderfully warm hug before he left and mused at how he wishes he could do more. I told him that listening and being a part of my life for that one hour was what I needed the most.
I think I’ll go to bed tonight thinking of how rich my day was. I’m choosing that today. Like the sign that hangs above my kitchen sink, “Remember the Days Blessings, Forget the Day’s Troubles.”

Ah, the dreaded finger!

I do believe that before noon today I already felt like giving at least 5 people the finger. Perhaps I’m just premenstrual. However days like these always make me stop to consider the relationships in my life. Sometimes I listen to others around me talk and realize they seem to complain constantly about the same old things. I listen and wish they would begin to ask themselves if perhaps they could change, instead of being so upset that others won’t change. Ah, this brings me to look at myself. *sighs* How often do I do the same thing? Would it not be grand to learn to shut my mouth if all that pours out is complaints? Instead I would seek change in myself, and actively and intently seek to practice that change. Alas, it is not so easy.
The very things that wear me out are the very things that if addressed with intent, might not be so wearisome. How many moments, how many days do I spend intent on all the wrong things or intent on nothing at all? I could write a list of my top five priorities, however if I ponder my life, am I truly living as they are the top five at all? Oh Lord, I am so constantly in need of Your divine intervention!

Thinking of You

I remember the day my sister died. I remember it clearly, as I do the birth of both my children. Where I was when I found out. How I reacted. The way I cried. The thoughts that passed through my mind. I remember others too. How they reacted. How we held each other. The vulnerable, heartfelt moments we shared. I remember the stark naked reality of it, and how it chewed my life up and spit it back out. I don’t think a single day has passed in 6 years when thoughts of her have not crossed my mind. The first couple of months were the worst. Staying up late because the feeling that you had made it through another day was a relief you wanted to cling to. Waking with her being your first thought, and wondering how you were going to face another day. Going back to work was awful. So many people just looked away uncomfortable, not knowing how to respond. Some who were not afraid to respond spoke words they meant to comfort, but instead they were callous. I don’t recall how many weeks had passed before I could drive home from work without shedding tears.
I remember feeling too broken to sleep at my own house. Every room held scenes of her from a former life. Every bad day cycled back to my grief and I struggled to separate grief and bad days. Her grave became my place of solitude. It became the place I could run to and cry and breathe thoughts of my brokenness and suffering. I talked to God there. I spoke to Him by sitting in the grass, staring at the sky, gazing at nature through my tears, and listening to the sound of the wind. I felt the need to see her name inscribed on that headstone with 2 dates underneath. The reality was painful, but necessary. Her death ignited something within me. Never had I felt so sure of my own feelings. No one was going to tell me how I should feel, or that how I felt was wrong. I felt, and I felt, and I felt. It was liberating. It was excruciating. I think it was then that I began to realize my life had been a series of living a life I thought I had to live to keep others in it. It was then that I felt myself falling. Dropping lifelessly into God’s hands. I remember nights where I had no strength and the only prayer I could mutter was, “God, please just hold me so I can sleep. I have nothing else to say.” All that was only the first couple of months.
I’ll never forget how it has changed my life. I had pills in my purse when she died. The very thought of them after made me sick. Days later I threw them out. I had struggled with many addictions. Her death took them away. I could no longer throw my life away when hers had been stolen. I remember nights on my sofa, curled into a ball, fists clenched, my entire body wracked with pain. The grief was intense. Now I look back and wonder if some of those nights were withdrawal all swirled in with the ache of death.
It has changed us all. All the members of our family have become different. Our love for each other is different, more honest, and full of more effort. Some days my heart aches when I think of my son, and how he will never know her. In his mind she will always be like a character in a story. A character he never knows very fully, just bits and pieces of stories put together in his mind. My daughter was only 4 years old at the time, so the stories she tells are only stories she has heard us tell. I don’t know that they are truly her own.
My life has spun in a new direction since she left us. Life has gone on, but with more intention. The truth is I think we ask to be changed, and then when change happens we resist. We ask God to take it away. We know there is suffering, death, pain, sorrow; yet we are horrified when these things show themselves unexpectedly. I would love to grow older not wishing I would experience these things, yet hoping and learning to be submissive when they come. I want to be someone who doesn’t see these small parts of life as monstrous, but as mere opportunities to grow and be made new all over again.

This one kinda sucks, but I feel like posting anyways....

I thought I might be falling for someone once
Until I allowed myself the room to step back and take it all in
For when I did, a boy took the place of the man I had thought was standing there
I’ve fallen for this lie before
The one where potential looks like reality
I’ve bought into the soothing words before
Until I began to hear actions screaming with a vengeance
I’ve heard promises
I’ve heard tales of love
I’ve heard lies spoken as if they were truths
I’ve waited up
I’ve settled
I’ve compromised
I’ve given away pieces of myself
And I feel so over it
I want none of it anymore
I am not made of perfection
Sometimes I am not even made of beauty
I am however in pursuit of life
Not the type that resembles life, full of busyness
Real life
Authentic relationships
Integrity
Lessons that may be painful, yet they build character
Vision that sees beyond the neighbor’s yard
Conversations that penetrate places in the heart that long to be touched
Travels that have nothing to do with distance and local attractions
Something simple, yet profound

Here's a toast!

Exhausted. That word encapsulates my feelings this evening. I am on the verge of moving our happy little apartment to a happy little house. Well, big house really. I’ve found a single mother roommate! She’ll have the upstairs, we’ll take over the basement! Actually, she’ll have it all and graciously share it with us, as she owns it. My little family will just be intruding into her so called current life for the next year as I save money for college. Sounds interesting, eh? I’m excited and nervous. Excited to have someone around to share life with; joys, hardships, goals, tears, and so on. Nervous that another person will be able to gaze into my sometimes chaotic life. That thought makes me feel vulnerable to say the least. However I believe that feeling to be essential for this new direction in my life. Avoiding others, isolating myself, soaking in my own loneliness and depression…well, I believe these things should become a thing of the past. I’ve been trained to stuff my own feelings, thoughts, and emotions. Something has always tried to tell me that in doing this I’ve not been true to myself. I’ve been ready to believe that for some time now. Here is progress. I’m taking a step. I’m on my way to partake in a setting where communication, trust, commitment, and honesty will be vital to the survival of all participants.
For some time now the highlight of my week has been Thursday evenings when a saved seller lists all their new merchandise on Ebay and I get to scope out all the goodies I’d like to snipe! Perhaps soon I’ll have much more personal and authentic experiences to look forward to throughout the week. So, tip up your glass and offer a “cheers!” Here’s to shamelessly allowing another to witness the tantrums of my ten year-old, my lack of motivation to fold laundry, my poor organization, and the reality of the mess of my every day life!

Control

I watched a 2 year old today taunt her mother
The mother called, the daughter just looked on and smiled
Then the mother gave chase, and the daughter ran
It occurred to me then that the battle for control begins in a child
And carries on into our adult lives
We want to control our bodies, so we diet and exercise
We want to control others, so we manipulate
We want to control our future, so we plan ahead
I’m beginning to despise the word
I feel it leaves me reaching for a sense of perfection that is absolutely unobtainable
Tangled in its webs are the desire to fit in, our definition of right and wrong, and a hideous portrayal of love
It conceives insecurities
It gives birth to feelings of failure
The aching for control leaves us drowning in its wake in the aftermath of crisis
Tell me, is there any good in it at all?

God's Evident Grace and Mercy

Those of you who know me know that I am a huge fan of the writings of Donald Miller. Well, I have great news! Don has posted contest information on his blog. The lucky contest winner will be flown to Portland, Oregon for the Living A Better Story Seminar with a friend. The thought of this has me so excited I can't seem to stop talking about it! My apologies to those of you who will be bombarded with my never-ending chatter about my chances of winning. I assure you, it won't last forever though. The contest ends on August 20th, at which time a winner will be chosen. If you listen to my incessant chatter now, I promise not to sulk in your presence if I don't win!
As I am in the process of a new chapter in my life, I believe that in attending this conference I would greatly benefit from learning more about what it means to live a better story. Watching my story unfold around me without any real intentional purpose or action on my part makes heavy my heart. I could use all the added encouragement I could get as I pursue new endeavors! Of course it also makes my heart leap to know that much of it will be personally delivered by Donald Miller! Well, here goes! Enjoy!

The last few years of my life have been a roller coaster ride to say the least. I think it all started when I decided to sell my home, sell most of my belongings, and head to the west coast. It was rather impulsive, without nearly enough planning going into the venture. Truly the writings of Donald Miller spurred much of my inspiration. While reading any of his books I have moments where it feels necessary to put them down briefly, breathe a big sigh, and ask myself where he has been my whole life. Then there was the belief that God was calling me there. Today I have to honestly look at the situation and laugh at the idea that God might actually have wanted me to sell everything I owned besides what would fit in a 4x8 Uhaul, have a hitch put on my Toyota Yaris and head for Portland in January with my daughter, and without a job. Pedal to the floor, cruising through the mountains in blowing snow, going 25 miles per hour. Ha! Oh how I have deceived myself. Then there’s the fact that once there I went out one lonely night, traded 4 years of abstinence for one night of passionate lust, and conceived a child with a complete stranger. You can pick your jaw up from the floor now. Yes, this is a true story. It’s part of my story. For far too long afterwards I lived in shame and self-contempt. My next act of impulsiveness, driven by shame, led me back to the Midwest. Many lonely dark months followed. Adoption crossed my mind. I wondered if I would ever be able to love this child. Then I began to feel him move within me, and I knew. He was mine. He was a part of me regardless of how he got here. I still had days filled with doubt and fear, but as my womb grew, hope grew with it. I remember my first thought the moment I held Romeo in my arms. “How could I have ever had a negative thought about any of this? He’s an absolute miracle.”
My life began a slow, steady progression in a new direction from that point on. For the first 8 months of his life Romeo screamed incessantly, with colic we all presumed. Amazingly my love for him never faltered. I would hold him in my arms for 3 hours bouncing him, patting his back, speaking words of love. Then he would finally fall into a deep sleep and I would lie him down and plan to begin the day’s housework. Until a glance at the clock told me it was already 2am. How God must have held me in His arms all those months. Looking back now I realize I would not be sane today had I been going it all alone.
Time has gone on, and I’ve spent it all doing a very thorough moral inventory. I believe only God can take something that felt so tragic, and unfold it all into something so beautiful. Now I am once again looking forward and wondering what direction I will go from here. Lately I seem to have settled into a stagnant swamp in at least one area of my life. I have a job, I love my children, and I’m growing through counsel every week. I’ve even joined a single mother’s support group! Yet that quiet whisper has returned to me saying, “There must be more to life than this.” Sure I’ve been striving towards emotional maturity and healing. Growing love and stability within my home have been a primary focus. However, change is on the horizon. I’ll soon be applying to a graduate program back on the west coast where I want to study to be a counselor. The cost of living in that region makes me wonder if it’s even possible. I’m also reminded of the intense loneliness I experienced during my last move. I could drive myself mad thinking of all the details; childcare, starting over, making new friends, building a new support system, homework, student loans, scholarships, housing, time, energy, parenting, etc., etc. AAAHHHHHGGGG!
Alright, so I take a few deep breaths. One day at a time, right? Most of my family believes that a single mother of 2 has no business running off and chasing such ridiculous dreams. Grandma says, “How will you ever come cook meals for me if you live that far away?” Truly I am ready to pursue a life beyond what everyone else thinks is best for me. Especially when so much of their support and advice comes wrapped in pretty little packages full of selfish motivations. I love them, but I have never belonged to them! Even in my youth I would cry to the pages of my diary that I was a piece in this puzzle that did not fit. As an adult I now see the puzzle as a dysfunctional cycle that circles around from one generation to the next. I want to experience the breaking of these shackles and be filled with a new hope for the future of my children: Hope that is free of this curse of addiction, abuse, and denial. This college believes that in order to truly be able to counsel others a person must dive into his or her own story first. God, how I need this! The idea of it is terrifying and beautiful really: Standing face to face with all the monsters within me as I gaze into the mirror of my life. However, I realize that all the pain, suffering, overcoming, and joys I’ve experienced are meant to be shared. What a shame it would be to keep it all to myself.
I’ve found some scholarships for single moms, some others for Psychology majors, and the college offers reduced tuition for single mothers as well! It looks like soon I’ll be studying to take the GRE tests and begin the application process. Personnel in the admissions office have even spoken of some sort of co-op childcare between students. A little I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine. Sounds superb to me! Therefore, where this time I’ll have a better plan I hope, I’ve also learned a thing or two about God, and how His plans can look incredibly different than my own. My therapist calls this surrender. So, surrender I shall. And I pray this time I won’t confuse my human frailty with my faith.

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

Pick me sound bite  Eddie Murphy sound bites

Teetering

It’s been another one of those days. One where it’s only half over and you find yourself already glancing at the clock wondering if it’s bedtime yet. The kind where you leave the house to go somewhere and ask yourself as soon as you arrive why you ever left in the first place. Romeo is teething. I’m not sure if that’s his problem or not, but in any case he has these days where everything seems to upset him. 17 months old and he’s already mastered the art of throwing himself onto the floor, arching his back, and screaming at the top of his lungs. Then there’s Juliet who has this thing about playing games with him, but taking it so far that he begins to get upset and scream, and she seems to find this all the more amusing. Here comes the point where I begin to feel as if I am a witch as I find myself asking her yet again why she would take joy out of making a baby cry? She hollers and stomps off. I am left with screaming baby. The day goes on, one incident after another. Finally, not able to take it anymore we load into the car and head to my grandmother’s house. Here I listen to my daughter ask repeatedly if it’s late enough to begin doing fireworks. It’s clearly still daylight outdoors, but she wants to go anyways. I tell her she’s free to go on her own, but she insists that I should come out with her. I insist that I will be staying indoors until it’s dark enough to do fireworks. I leave to pick up dinner to go for all of us, and relish every bit of the 20 minutes that I am alone. Dear God, I need a break. See, I’m not just a single mom. I also work from home. During the summer the children stay home with me and it begins to take a toll on me. Even more frustrating is the amount of family that all live within 10-30 minutes of me. However no one offers to help out with the kids in any way. Well, rarely anyways. My mother, not the grandmotherly type, is generally too caught up in her own endeavors to stop and think much about being a grandmother. She’s on the go constantly, and physically can hardly keep up anymore with the ideas that are flying through her head. Besides, if my mother sensed I was having a hard time she would stay far away from me, as I’ve been told that I’m just too moody. Truthfully, I believe she’s just always wanted to see only the good in life, and doesn’t want to take the chance of allowing another’s sadness to seep into her happy bubble. My father, well, for obvious reasons I wouldn’t want to ask for his help. I’m longing for the night to come. When it does it’s still just a tease, because I know that in order to have time to myself I will have to stay up late. If I do that I will be exhausted when Romeo wakes at 7:30 am. I also do most of my work after he goes to sleep. So many nights it’s the familiar tug between knowing I need to get work done, but starving for some time to relax. What do you do? I muddle through I guess. It feels sloppy, as if we could somehow have a better routine than this, but I haven’t figured one out yet. Instead I move forward, trying to keep up the balancing act.

Just broken

Sometimes in my moments of weakness I wish someone would walk around the corner and ask how things are going. Then I might be able to cry out or just cry in the midst of the tough times how much I feel like I am truly falling apart on the inside. Forget the strong front. Forget the masquerade. Here it is. Here I am. The real me. The one who finds herself feeling like stepping out on life looks so appetizing at times. Looks so good I can almost taste it. What has done this to me? What has brought me to this place? And why? When did I become this person? And if I make it through the night who will I be tomorrow? And where will I go with my life?
The questions seem endless at times. It’s not always like this. Otherwise I wouldn’t call myself beautifully broken. Sometimes you feel beautiful in your brokenness. Sometimes you just feel broken. So where do you go when you find yourself here? I find myself crying out for God. Crying out to be held. You can’t hear it. But I can feel it. And as words pour onto paper my heart is already feeling lighter. Release. Is this because He hears me? I suppose I just long for someone to hear me. And you can stare at me like you are horrified. Or you can cast me off as if I am out of my mind. But I look into the eyes of others every day who feel the same. My soul is screaming for a world where truth is accepted. Where people are allowed to feel every feeling given to mankind, and express it, and be loved just the same.

No More Impulsive Me

So I am writing this with hopes that you will be reading it
I know you say that emails and text messages convey limited emotions
And I agree
But I am in love with words
I love their beauty and power
They are liberating and they are endless
With everything I write I long to capture the essence of my feelings
Sometimes I feel limited in the scope of my vocabulary
That feeling just impels me to write more
Caught in the frenzy of thoughts I am completely wandering off course
You called me tonight
As your name appeared on my caller ID my heart became full and calm all at once
Filled with relief just to hear your voice
You tell a story and I want to take it all in
Just the way you perceive things in life puts a smile in my heart
How do I describe this intense emotion that’s pounding through my being?
My body is so full of it I feel I must be radiant with energy
I keep reflecting on the time we spent together
The way you fit right in
The way we shared laughter
How you knew when and how to intervene
Your deep insight and reflections
Timing has been a key component for us
From conception to the present
I don’t know if anyone will understand that like you do
We didn’t know that in the beginning
However we both see it now
Even in the distance between us, or maybe especially in the distance between us
And I wonder now why I didn’t see this sooner
But there fits in the timing again
I suppose it was only just now the time and place for it
What beauty will time reveal to us next?
That question will be teaching me much about patience

Emmanuel....God with us

I feel a peace today
A calm reassurance
It began with a tidal wave of fear, confusion, and pain
Tears were shed
Then in a moment I walked away from another realizing my heart was held in limbo
I was upset
But I did not panic
Then you called
Hearing your voice I wished you were standing in front of me again
And I sensed your reservations were gone
The uncertainty of the future is still present
However it all feels well again
As it should be
And now I know that tonight I’ll sleep well
The fog has slipped away
Clarity in its place
No guarantees
But hope and confidence
My heart is smiling
As once again I remember that being vulnerable does not have to leave me drenched in fear
It’s a beautiful place to be as well
I’m thankful to you for that
I’m even more thankful that something more powerful than I will ever be is responsible for all of this

That little shit....

I have been trying to teach my son about poo. When he has a poopy I tell him “poo-poo,” and show it to him in hopes that this will make potty training go a bit smoother in the future. If it’s of the right consistency we go to the toilet and shake it out of the diaper. We wave and say “bye-bye” as I flush the nasty away. So I am giving Romeo a bath this morning. I laugh with him as he splashes around playfully. Suddenly he turns his face toward mine and I see that familiar look. Teeth gritted together, cheeks pinched, hunched over, face turning red, etc., etc. Oh boy, not again. Yep. Little pellets start floating all over the surface of the water. He begins to notice our new floating friends and lets out a couple of shouts of fear. I’m laughing, he’s on the verge of hysteria. I tell him, “Well yes! You made poo! It’s poo-poo!” At the mention of this he calms down and begins to watch the floaters as I reach to unplug the tub. He starts pointing and repeating, “poo-poo, poo-poo.” I agree with him as I reach for the towel to get him out of the septic bath. It’s then that he begins to reach for the largest poo that happens to be floating past. I shriek and tell him no, the poo is nasty. Don’t touch. He doesn’t want to get out though. And then the little stinker began to wave at all the turds drifting towards the drain as he said, “bye-bye, bye-bye.” I finally coax him from the water and we finish the morning process, forgetting all about the poo.
The best part? A close friend of mine was coming to stay over for the night. Around 9pm she said she needed to go up and shower. I say, “Oh yeah. I forgot Romeo shit in the tub today. There’s bleach next to the tub and washcloths by the sink. Sorry about that.” Gotta love good friends.

Mother

Mother I haven’t been answering all your calls
Many times your name registers on the phone and I can’t bring myself to say hello
When we do talk I find myself very impatient and short with you
You seem to be falling short in every way
The other day you let my daughter down again and I was pissed
I drove away thinking I don’t care if you never see my children again
Perhaps this is what you deserve
I thought to hell if I will let you dismiss her the way you did me
As I drove home fuming I wondered again why I come back to visit
I know. I love you. But damn you!
I remember when you sat on the couch and didn’t stir as he beat the shit out of me
Yes, you put meals on the table. We never went hungry.
Not for food
I remember hiding in your closet, smelling your sweater and crying for you to come home from work
Yes, you never left us, but you did leave us there
I remember telling you I just wanted to live with Grandma, I couldn’t live that way anymore
You told me nice girls didn’t say such things about their family
I told you so much. Where did my words go? Were they ever heard? I never saw an impact.
I searched for understanding and decided sharing my feelings was a painfully awful idea
Remember when I showed you the cuts all over my wrists? You told me it was a silly thing to do, and turned back to the TV.
Why did you decide to listen when my sister spoke of his sexually abusing her? Had my experiences not been worthy?
You ripped us from our lives in less than 24 hours.
You told me to stop crying. So I did. And then I couldn’t start again.
Oh, what a blissful time that was after the initial shock of abruptness. Peace in our house like I had never known.
You promised not to look away anymore. You promised he had no more control over us.
So why did you bring him back to our home less than a year later? Nice Christmas present mom. Surprise! Your father lives here again!
You forgave him. We needed to do the same.
Why did it frustrate you that I would not agree? I would like to ask why it didn’t surprise you when I chose that time to start using drugs. But the truth is, you never really saw that either. Not until it was too late. Not until it almost killed me.
Picture a small child huddled in fear and shame and excruciating pain, in the same room with her mother. The child is screaming and crying and making a huge scene. The mother flits around finding things to do, humming songs. Every now and then she may even try to make the girl laugh or giggle with a silly tune or a funny face. She never offers any comfort though.
That was us mom.
Now when I am upset you want to tell me how your feelings are hurt when I am not incredibly pleasant to you?
YOU want ME to think of YOUR feelings before mine?
No mother. I am angry. I can hardly listen to your voice. Most the time I don’t want to look at you.
You never allowed us to be angry. I don’t need your permission anymore
My heart is screaming out that you are not allowed to make mistakes now
You owe me that
Wisdom tells me that’s not possible
A battle has been waged within
This time I will let the fires burn
This time I will learn how to restore the mess left by the flames
In the meantime, you may want to get used to the sound of my voicemail

On Dating

Someone asked me today if the reason I have picked the "bad guys" is because the "good guys" are too boring. I said maybe. Truthfully I just can't ever answer so quickly. I thought about it some more. I could give many reasons to support why I have dated assholes. I have dated some nice guys though. Why hasn't it lasted? Firstly, I have never been ready. The bigger reason though is fear. The very thing that cripples me in many arenas of my life. The fear that if they only knew the real me.....If they saw all the weaknesses I am so very aware of in myself....If they saw the awful person I can be....
So, I suppose I've never felt I could measure up. I've just always believed that they would run if they knew what I know about myself. So I run first. Sabotage.
Then there's this belief in my mind that perhaps none of them are really all that good either. Coming from a home filled with abuse I feel that I suspect it is everywhere. I'm not only aware of it, but I look for it. Everyone seems to be suspect. Just when I think I might begin to believe there are still good ones out there I hear another story of abuse. That's it. The walls go back up. Sometimes I also wonder if it is not more a lack of trust in myself and my own judgement rather than a lack of trust in men. Afraid I'll make the same mistakes twice. Ah, there's that word again. Fear. Terrified that I might be so vulnerable as to risk having my hopes up and my heart crushed.
Can a person feel as if they have been crushed so many times that the next time might be fatal? Next time I might not be able to pick up the pieces and move on. Truthfully if I had all the answers I might actually be dating. As it is I haven't been on a date in almost 4 years. Before that it had been almost 4 years. It feels more safe this way I guess. Although at times it just seems sad to me that I would allow my fears to become so overpowering that they hinder forward motion.
So, do I think I'll date again? I do. I can't say for sure when. Maybe when the opportunity slaps me in the face. Until then I'll continue to explore these fears, trying to make sense of them and their origins.

This one speaks for itself

Somewhere in between who I am and who I believe I should be
In the midst of pain and growth and renewal of the spirit
Often there comes an urge to reach out and find someone who will listen and recognize and reciprocate on some level
A past of reaching for those not yet ready to breech those monumental fears leaves me hesitant to reach anymore at all
The result is longing drenched in loneliness
Is it quiet desperation?
Tired of wondering and seeking affirmation that this is the norm
Desiring instead to believe that whatever it is, it is ok, because it is mine and I want to own it
Liberating and so fulfilling to be where I am
Draining to embark on this journey
Down paths that have become overgrown and hidden
Becoming set apart in a new way
A way that promises not to leave me huddled in fear and shame
I’ll be standing instead in Truth
This is when brokenness becomes beauty

Complete randomness

1 a.m. and I am still awake. Creature of the night, I am. I relish the time after kids have fallen asleep. Sure, my bed calls. However solitude calls louder. Something beautiful about piddling around the house by myself. The baby wakes for his first of at least 2 nightly feedings. Ah, yes; 16 months old and still not sleeping through the night. My days of rolling my eyes at mothers who whine of no sleep are over. My first child might have been pleasant and sleepy all the time, but not this one. I step outside armed with my laptop, energy drink, and a pack of smokes. Cool breeze, dark skies, and every so often the sound of a bird that has forgotten that everyone else is sleeping. It’s been a good week. My mind drifts with random thoughts. Thunder rolls in the distance. It’s been one of those days where the future does not nag me to make plans. Instead I am at peace right where I am. Sure the occasional struggles with the pre-teen, or fleeting thoughts about finances arise, but today peace wins. The world is as it should be and I am left to dream. I did notice my jeans were fitting more snug through the hips this afternoon, but thoughts of a gym membership are a couple of months away. Today I didn’t fret. Today I know that tomorrow will take care of itself. Today I encouraged myself to think of how much worse things could be the next time I feel darkness setting in. Will it work? I’m not sure, but today I have a plan. I used to pray all the time. Sometimes I even dropped to my knees in earnest, heartfelt prayer. I don’t really find myself doing that anymore, but today I prayed. Small quiet prayers in the face of possible melt downs. I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I do know that if I don’t get some sleep soon it might be miserable for sure.

The value of regifting

A good friend of mine calls. We chit chat about her latest guy crush and realize it’s been too long since we have last talked. Both broke, dinner seems out of the question. Then I remember the $50 Olive Garden gift card my father gave me for mother’s day. Perfect! We decide it’s a fabulous idea and agree to meet there in half an hour or so. After we are seated our oh so cute waiter comes to take our drink orders. As he does so I’m noticing his cute brown curls, not too long, not too short. Just right. My friend and I toss around ideas of sharing meals as our girls visit and my busy son tries to dismantle everything within reach at the table. What a lovely dinner and conversation! As the waiter comes back to check on us I notice the silver bar that pierces the top of his ear and stretches down and out the bottom lobe. Sexy. He is becoming more and more attractive by the minute, although I’m sure he can hardly be a day over 20. My friend and I joke. You know the line from Dazed and Confused? “I keep getting older, they stay the same age.” Oh yeah. Why does this seem to be a problem for me? I turn 30 and all of a sudden I can’t spot the difference between a 20 year old and a 30 year old? Or perhaps it’s just that those baby faces have always been such a weakness of mine? At any rate, the waiter comes with the tab and I, in my suave demeanor hand him my gift card and say, “Oh I’m ready.” Suave demeanor my ass. I’m not wearing a touch of make up, my son is tired of being strapped to a chair, and I’m quite certain he’s fairly soggy at this point. His britches I mean. The waiter brings back the tab and the card and mentions something about having only $5 left. Geez! $45 for the dinner? I was hoping to have some left over to come back for lunch some time! I look at the ticket and gasp as I realize he means the $50 gift card only had $5 on it! Is this some kind of sick joke? Well, this is not right. I explain to the angel face waiter that I just received the card for mother’s day, assuring him that it is worth all of $50. He comes back with a ticket that shows the history on the card. Purchased months earlier it was used almost 2 months ago and shows a $5 balance. As he rushes off to track down the manager I ask my girlfriend, “Are you going to try and resolve this or do you want to wipe my baby’s hiney?” I would love to be in 2 places at once, but have yet to master the art. She rushes to the potty and I dial my father. “You did just purchase the gift card you gave me for mother’s day, correct.” “Well, no I….” Ding. Ding. Ding. He continues talking but the bells are already ringing. “….team gave it to me as a gift at the end of the season.” Ding. Ding. Ding. “You mean the season that ended some time in February?” “Well, yeah.” “Dad, you took myself, my daughter, and your mother out to dinner with that gift card.” I try and shake up his memory, but he has no recollection. I do. I remember that gift card. I remember his making jokes about how the $5 that remained wouldn’t buy anything at the Olive Garden. The manager is here now with the waiter, the one with the bulging biceps. Or has he just become more attractive as I begin to feel more like an ass? I tell my father we’ll finish the conversation later, hurriedly hang up the phone, and turn to face them and admit my error. “I’m sorry,” I say with my best smile. “You are right. No worries, I’ll just use my debit card.” Analyzing their faces I can’t tell if they think it’s all in truth or if I have been trying to scam them for a $5 meal. Forget it. I pay the tab as random thoughts of “cheap bastard” and “freakin’ mother’s day regift” and such ring in my ears. We hurry past the waiter and out the door. Oh yeah, did I mention HE WAS HOT? Outside at last I mutter, “I’m definitely blogging about this.” So, at least now I have some fresh material to speak of, right?

Escape

All day I’ve felt alone

Caged

Running from work

Retreating to the comfort of the sofa

This anxiety that sometimes builds

How often do I honestly give in to it?

And why?

For then when I do rise the rest of my day is spent in guilt and loathing

So often not accepting of myself.

Mother comes to deliver an article I have left at her house

More sadness as I am reminded that she does not see me

Tell-tell traces of my depression if only she would glance around the house

But she doesn’t

Or maybe she does, but she would rather not be brought down by this darkness that has plagued me for years.

I search my mind for purpose in this day.

Where is it?

What is it?

I step outside armed with coffee and a cigarette

Oh sweet release!

Shining sun, freshly cut lawns, birds chirping

I dream of lying on a blanket, arms stretched wide, basking in the sun, taking it all in

Free of interruptions

Wish my neighbor would step outside

I’d love another distraction from my work

Coffee

Yesterday morning I wake and start a pot of coffee. Then I trudge up the stairs to get the kids up. After making sure Juliet is getting ready I head down with Romeo, only to find my coffee filter has folded over, thus making coffee and grounds pour all over the kitchen counter and floor. Cleaning up the sopping mess I growl as I have already slept in past my alarm and now this. I finish my cleaning and proceed to ready another pot of coffee. Push the button. Red light comes on. Leave the kitchen. Finishing dressing Romeo. Trudge back to the kitchen for coffee. No coffee. Damn coffee maker has quit making! Oh lovely day! I decide I deserve Starbucks in light of my crappy morning. Take my daughter to school. Late. Drop Romeo off. Head to Starbucks. I decide to try something new. After all, today I am treating myself. Get in the car. Head home. Get halfway through the cup before I decide it is pretty unbearable. Damn. Now where shall my motivation to start the day come from? I could by a new coffee pot, but I’d rather let mine dry out first to be sure it is truly broken. Besides, I’m still resentful that it crapped out on me. Noon rolls around. I’ve accomplished a large stack of nothing. Mother calls. “Let us take you to lunch dear! You deserve a nice cup of coffee!” Off to lunch. Order the coffee. Prepare myself for a piece of heaven. It’s the crappiest cup of coffee I have ever had I believe. Ordinarily I may finish it anyways, just to relish the pick-me-up. Not today. Bitter thoughts and stubbornness have set in. Drive home. Screw it, I’m taking a nap. While lying on the couch I hear a funky, nasty sound. I peer up just in time to witness my cat vomiting all over the freshly laundered pile of clothes tossed next to the sofa. Nice. I hiss at him, “That’s wonderful!”
The day goes on. Midnight is approaching and I know my neighbor will be home from work soon. I gather my book and smokes and head to the porch where I read in wait. He pulls up and I shout, “I’m hoping you’ll be my savior!” I relay the story and beg of him to make me a pot of coffee. No, I don’t care that it’s midnight. I haven’t had a damn cup of decent coffee all day. He fills my carafe and we sit and visit until I am sure I’ll wet myself after 2 cups of dreamy coffee. I relieve myself and head to bed. Where my body is crying for sleep but my heart is pounding and my mind racing. Damn. Stinkin’ coffee.

My therapist told me I should start a blog. So, here I am! In hopes that my blogging efforts will lead to discovery as my emotions spill onto the keys of this laptop, or perhaps even a position that pays me to do so? Ah, wishful thinking....
Now here I am, beautifully broken, mother of 2, entrepreneur, recovering addict, survivor, dreamer. That's me - Betty. Names will be changed, to protect the innocent of course. Single mother to....let's call them Romeo and Juliet. My oldest, Juliet just celebrated her 10th birthday a couple of months ago. She loves the colors pink and purple. What little girl doesn't, right? She comes home from school either happy that she got along well with friends, or sad because yet again they have fought and are not longer speaking. They'll make up tomorrow, no doubt. Yesterday I pulled in front of her school to pick her up only to see her limping to the car. As she saw me watching the limp became more pronounced. Honestly I couldn't tell which leg she was favoring, yet I could see where this was going. Now she threw in a little shoulder action, one rotating forward in time with the limp, then the other. I lean towards my window and whisper, "Oh Lord, here we go." Ah, the joys of raising a girl. I'll never forget the day a few months ago when she came bounding from the bathroom, squealing with glee as she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness I have a pimple! I'm an adult!" All in a moment my heart filled up with joy for her. The realization that my daughter is growing up, she'll be a woman before I know it. Her excitement was contagious. I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but it was not a pimple. And by the way, pimples are not something a person is generally fond of once they begin to take over the smooth beauty that once was. I laughed with her for a moment before a sadness drifted in. I pondered the unwelcome feelings and determined that the battles of child-rearing can be so overwhelming when single parenting. However the loneliness of having no one to share these little moments of joy with are often more unbearable.
When once I thought my days of experiencing a bigger family were drifting away, surprise! Along comes my little Romeo. Sixteen months old and such a boy in every way. Wow, it's been so long since there has been a man in the house. It just occurred to me the other day that soon my floors will no longer be filled with baby toys, but rather replaced with cars, drums, and various toys that growl and shoot missiles. My little angel whose face lights up when we pull in the drive as he says, "Ki-Ki, Ki-Ki." Poor kitty waits anxiously by the door for our return. Now he runs in terror as little Romeo chases him and slaps wildly, as he knows nothing yet about gentleness. Morning person that he is, he rises happily 5 minutes before my alarm rings every morning. The remainder of my day is spent in hot pursuit of this little creature that can light up a room with his smile and tear it apart in under 5 minutes in his curiosity and destructiveness. I chase him around with a diaper and clothes until I can finally wrestle him to the ground to clothe him. Several times I will shout up the stairs, asking Juliet if she is almost ready. While my back is turned Romeo has ripped 2 keys from my laptop. We finally set foot outside where I unlock the doors to the car and try to bend my son into his car seat as he arches his back, twists up his face, and hollers. Part of our daily routine, I'm not sure why he seems so surprised and angry that once again he must be strapped in before we can leave. I drop Juliet off, reminding her to have a good day at school and promising to be back to pick her up in 7 hours. Off to the sitter's house where my son proclaims, "Ruff,ruff, ruff." "Ah, yes. Ruff, ruff, ruff. You want to go see the puppy?" We walk in and he wrestles around on the floor with little fur ball. After visiting for a solid 20 minutes, possibly the only adult contact I will have all day, I set out the door. Free at last. Heading home, relishing the sound of music coming from the stereo. Uninterrupted by cries of, "Mom!" For a few brief moments I am free of titles and responsibilities until I pull up once again in my drive and walk in to my home/office.

Love Story

I watched a movie today….a love story.

I was reminded of why I quit watching those types of movies.

They depress me.

When I tried to probe within my feelings to find out why, all I could come up with is that I don’t believe in them any more.

Love stories that is.

When I correlated that thought with who Christ is, I became even more sad.

No wonder my relationship with Christ feels so empty.

Then I opened the blinds on the front window a bit to take a picture and hurriedly shut them when I was done.

My anxiousness bothered me.

I asked myself why.

I don’t want anyone to look in.

I love the light.

However if letting the light in means allowing others to see in as well, I believe I prefer to sit in the dark.

And so it is in my life.

I realized I was not just thinking about the window anymore.

I got some flowers today.

They were beautiful, and for a very short time they brightened my day.

And then it stopped.

And I’m not sure why, except they were from a boy.

I don’t like the idea that a guy will buy me flowers.

Or say something endearing or nice.

Because then he might not respond if I text.

He might not relate to how I feel.

He might not listen.

He might not understand.

So many mights become so mighty.

So heavy.

I’d rather not carry them I think.

So I’ll try and avoid them all together.