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.