Laughing Mouse WI

I don't want this

2012-01-26T20:49:00.000-06:00

"I don't want this."
I think that to myself at least once a week. If I'm having a very good week. If.

On a bad week it can be once a day.
Today? "I don't want this ring. The one I bought that has Dad's birthstone. The one I bought as a gift to myself in memory of him."
Last week? "I don't want my friend (my amazing, wonderful dear dear friend) to be finishing a quilt made out of his jeans. Jeans that she can use only because he will never wear them again."
The last two weekends? "I don't want help cleaning and rearranging my apartment. I don't want help staying motivated to actually finish the job. I don't want to need their help because the grief and depression are so heavy it takes more than I have to finish the job on my own."
Christmas Eve? "I don't want to tell the host we only need a table for 4. Sister's boyfriend should make a table of 5, not 4."
October wedding? "I don't want to think about who might walk me down the aisle because he can't."

I haven't blogged much at all since October. A part of me is sorry about that. Another part of me wants to explain away that I've been focusing on finishing my last NaNo novel. And the part that is still a raw and gaping wound wants to tell you that I haven't written because I've (apparently) been in a fair amount of denial about how much this still hurts.

I wonder sometimes if people expect me to be "better" in the grief. No one expects you to "get over it" or to "move on" and I've had a lot of people tell me how well they think I'm doing and how much I impress them. But, then I wonder if they would be surprised at the depth of my grief right now as I sit on my couch and the tears stream down my face and I hold my breath as I cry and then sob when I can't hold it any more. I can't get the lyrics from Adele's Someone Like You out of my mind.

I had hoped you'd see my face

and that you'd be reminded

that, for me

it isn't over .

Nights like tonight it's almost as fresh as it was a week after he died. It seems like it hasn't been that long since I sat in a chair in the living room and held his hand while his spirit drifted away. Nights like tonight where the paradox is that it also feels like he's been gone for years. Like it's been forever since I heard his voice or kissed his stubbled cheek.

I admit, these days where the depth of my grief feels bottomless and I feel so very alone in the world are, in reality, becoming fewer and farther between. But, I wonder. I don't know why, but, I wonder if my friends would be surprised at how strongly I sometimes want to throw the plants across the room. If they would be surprised by the weight of grief I bear every day if I truly tried to express it in a way they could understand; or, if I could give it to them for just a minute. Would they be astounded that I am keeping a job? That I am paying my bills (mostly on time)? That I am mentoring college students? That I am investing in my friendships? That I am not literally floored for hours at a time?

A part of me answers "What choice do I have? What is my other option? To let the depression take over? To let myself cease to function? To start calling in sick to work and laying on the couch watching Harry Potter over and over and over again?" I don't know why I can't, don't, or won't do that. I have often said, very flippantly, that's just not who I am, that's just not the kind of person I am. But I am certain that there are people who thought they were as strong as I, apparently, am or truly are stronger, and yet a major loss like this still levels them. I don't know why I continue to function. I don't know why I can't just give up and lay on this couch and cry until the pillows are soaked and I can barely see because my eyes are so swollen and I have a headache from the dehydration and pressure of it. (shrug) But I just can't.

What I can say is that Jesus is still my Savior. God still Loves Me. My Heavenly Father has given me good gifts and will continue to only give me good gifts. He has a plan for my life, a plan of hope. And I can say, without the slightest shadow of a hint of a doubt that The Holy Spirit's presence in my soul and mind is the only thing keeping me moving a lot of days. I don't know why I'm one of those people who continues to function through a tragedy like this. I do know that God told me a couple weeks ago that this is not simply something to endure. That this loss is not something to just live with and figure out because it is something we will all go through in life. He told me that there is a gift inside this loss, inside this journey. I will have something at the end of this to show for it. I don't know how tangible it will be or what form it will take. But I believe that He has a higher plan and purpose for my life and that when I am finished in this world he will bring me home and I will see my Daddy again. He gave me that gift the day my Dad died, the assurance that Jesus was taking him Home.

So, on nights like tonight I will let myself cry. I will get a dish towel out of the closet because kleenex are expensive and leave bits of nonsense in your eyes. I will stop on the way home and get fast food because there is some comfort in certain foods and I won't want to cook anyway. I will allow myself to not answer the phone and not answer facebook and just lay on the couch and watch something semi-mindless on TV.

I will be gentle with my self and my heart. I will remind myself that all of this is ok. That no one is judging me for any of it, and if they are they can go to hell and I probably don't care much about that person or their opinion anyway. I will remind myself that God is still God and regardless of how much I miss my Dad and how angry I am at all these things that I don't want, HE is still worthy of my praise. I will still Praise Him in this Storm.

I was sure by now

That You would have reached down

And wiped our tears away, stepped in and saved the day

But once again, I say, Amen and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls

I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"

And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands

And praise the God who gives and takes away

And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands

For You are who You are no matter where I am

And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand

You never left my side and though my heart is torn

I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind

You heard my cry, You raised me up again

But my strength is almost gone

How can I carry on if I can't find You

As the thunder rolls

I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"

And as You mercy falls I raise my hands

And praise the God who gives and takes away

And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands

For You are who You are no matter where I am

And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand

You never left my side and though my heart is torn

I will praise You in this storm

I lift my eyes unto the hills

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord

The Maker of Heaven and Earth

I lift my eyes unto the hills

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord

The Maker of Heaven and Earth

And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands

For You are who You are no matter where I am

And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand

You never left my side and though my heart is torn

I will praise You in this storm

And though my heart is torn

I will praise You in this storm

Reason for Pessimism

2011-12-26T18:02:00.000-06:00

I have been in counseling a little over a year now. It has helped me immensely in quite a few areas of life. I wrote back in October during the 30 Days of Hope series about how I am more optimistic than I realized. Then I have days like today. Days where nothing goes right. Everything I try has whatever the opposite of a Midas Touch is done to it and I end up crying. Repeatedly. Over stupid little things that don't work like they're supposed to or just don't work for me. And I cry about Dad because that underlies everything that goes on in my life anymore. And I end up doing what I did years ago when I hit my last serious, major bout with depression. I escape to movies.

Last time I was Majorly depressed was in the early 2000s. I was living with my parents after graduating and living outside of Milwaukee for a year and a half. I was a couple grand in credit card debt. And that time the straw that put me over the edge was losing my job. A job I didn't actually love all that much to begin with, but .... being unemployed is hard enough. Add living with your parents. Add avoiding credit card companies calling. Add the undiagnosed predisposition to depression lurking in your own body chemistry. It was a fairly dark time for me. I was sharing this with a friend once and told him I spent a lot of time watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Which had never struck me as odd until he pointed out that they are a fairly dark series of movies. I shrugged and just said that I didn't know why but I was drawn to them. It took me awhile to realize why I had begun and continued watching them. It was because they were an entirely different world. I knew, ultimately, it all turned out okay for most of the characters and their world remained intact. Ultimately it drew me out of my own world where nothing seemed to go right.

I have, apparently, hit that wall again. I spent a bit of time crying today because my TV won't talk to my Laptop even though I have the cord that should make them talk. Then I cried because I thought I had figured out a solution and spent over an hour doing the stuff to try that solution only to realize the monitor cord does not actually come OFF of that monitor at all and the hour getting it ready was for nothing. Then I decided "Screw it, I'm making a cake. And I'm going to eat as much of it as I want." Only to get up and go to the kitchen and realize I have no eggs. What did I do?

I laid down on my couch, tears still leaking from my eyes, and turned on Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix I had started last night. Someone major dies in that one and even knowing that I decided I would rather lay here and disapparate (not a real word, but if you know anything about Potter you should know what that means, hopefully), into their world instead of my own. When it was over I felt just a smidge less fragile and decided to brave the public eye. Usually I don't like to go out in public looking like a hag or an eyesore or whatever other derogatory term I feel describes me at the time, but tonight I decided I didn't care. Who am I trying to impress?? What are the odds I will run into someone I know or, more importantly, run into The Man of My Dreams. Nil, so out I go.

First to Big Lots to try to find a computer monitor cord for cheap. STRIKE ONE.
Then to Office Max, which is right around the corner, because they have to have those right? Yep, for $38!!! STRIKE TWO.
Then to a local grocery store to get cake, toilet paper and a frozen pizza. They did have all 3 and I made it home safely and in one piece. And I started eating the cake as soon as the pizza was in the oven. But, see, the thing is, underneath everything. Like, everything is this simmering anger. Always. I wrote the other night about wanting to smash my plant. Today I fantasized a bit about throwing the computer monitor off my balcony and/or through my picture window and off the balcony. I snarled at the guy in Office Max. I flat out avoided looking at the girl at Big Lots whom I've talked to repeatedly on prior trips. I nearly snapped at the girl ahead of me in the grocery store because not only was she a Couponer, she was married with a huge ring and looked to be about 20 years old. That my friends was STRIKE THREE.

I snarled at traffic on the 3 block drive home. I snapped at my car as I was getting out. I threw small things across the room a couple times earlier today. I am angry. So so so angry.

But not because of Dad. That added a layer for sure, but it didn't start there. I realized a little over a month ago that I have been angry for years. Like, years. And I have no traumatic event to start it. I have no Thing that ever happened that could explain this anger. It is just there. Simmering under the surface. It rarely boils over at people I know personally. Once in awhile I will vent to a friend about someone else in my life. Usually if I go off at all it is at cashiers and poor sales people in the stores that are inciting that incident of flare up. I don't think I have ever truly gone off completely unprovoked, just provoked by little things that seem WAY more huge because I'm already angry and fragile and irritable.

I have told friends, repeatedly, to pray for me because my own prayers for my own life rarely if ever get a "Yes" answer. Often my prayers for friends get a "Yes," but mine almost never do. Nearly every time I cry and have a fit or a breakdown or whatever I circle around to this. When is it my turn? When do I get to hear a Yes? When will something finally go right for me the first time? When will it stop feeling like Every Single Thing in my life is 10x harder than it is in everyone else's???

Yes, some of that is perspective and no, I don't honestly believe many of my friends are living on Easy Street. But, most of them are married which continues to be a Big Huge Fat NO for me. Most of them have beautiful houses, which as long as that last one is a No, that remains a No. Most of them have jobs they love or feel really fulfilled in and seem to enjoy .... or they are staying home with their kids, which is exactly what they want to be doing, again a Big No for me. Most of them have the electronics they want and they work like they're supposed to, clearly a No for me. By far and away most of them still have both of their parents, Big Huge Painful No.

So, yes, on the one hand I see that maybe I have reason to be angry. But on the other hand, I know it goes deeper than just those circumstances. I know it is more like bone deep. More like that parable about looking for roses vs weeds I talk about all the time. Since that anger is already there, always simmering, I notice the No's more often. I feel the frustration and irritation and full-blown anger more often. I actually feel a bit of a stab in my chest when someone gets engaged or posts wedding pics on facebook. I react more strongly than may be warranted when I see posts about family and parents on facebook. I very very often think about throwing things. I walk through a room when I am frustrated and have a moment's consideration of what would happen if I grabbed the shoe rack and chucked it. Or if I swiped everything off my dresser in one swoop of the arm. Almost daily those thoughts occur to me.

So, although I did realize in October that I am more optimistic than I realized, I still think I have solid reason for pessimism. Is it justified? Probably not. Is it going anywhere? Probably not. I'll let you know when I figure out what to do about it. Until then, my pizza is done (which, by the way, melted between the bars on my rack and made another mess in my oven, Another Big No, apparently) and The Tourist is waiting for me to hit play.

Two Desks

2011-12-24T00:34:00.000-06:00

I got a tweet awhile ago from a guy named Sween. It said "My ideal job would have 2 desks. One for work and one for flipping over in blind rages." It made me laugh because I can see that scene from so many movies where somebody flips a desk or a table or whatever over in a fit of rage.

And I chuckled because I can see myself doing that. In my youth I was a thrower. I slammed my bedroom door so many times I loosened the brace thing and one day it simply fell. After the subsequent conversation i stopped slamming doors.

I broke the turn signal knob off my first car in a fit of anger. I was so embarassed afterwards that I didn't tell anyone about it. I simply took the knob and stuck it in my glove compartment. I had enough of the base of the knob to use that to signal with. My dad had to drive my car once and asked me about it, that is probably the only reason anyone ever knew I had done that.

I cracked the antenna on that mini antenna knobby thing that used to come on cell phones because I would throw it across the car in anger. Or I would throw it into the passenger floor board.

After admitting the cell phone thing to a friend she pointed out I should get rid of that habit because it's not a large leap from throwing a cell phone at the passenger door to throwing a plate at a husband. I didn't take her advice to heart immediately, but very shortly after I started forcing myself to stop throwing things.

For awhile I cried when I was angry. Almost exclusively in private. Until I started working as a guard in a juvenile prison. Crying from anger or frustration or despair or compassion was simply not going to work in that environment. So I learned a different coping mechanism. Swearing. It was, for me, a way of accurately expressing how I felt. You don't have to agree with me, but sometimes it just makes you feel better to drop the f-word. Sometimes fudge or flock or darnit just doesn't cut it. Brad Stein says that Christians should have their own swear words because "if you slam your hand in the car door, somethin' is comin' out of your mouth."

After I left the prison it took me a year or more to realize I had even shifted coping mechanisms at all. It took me quite awhile to retrain myself back to crying. Even now I swear way more than I ought to. But, believe it or not, God and I are starting to work on that. Just starting to get into some of the hard places that it comes from, so please be gentle with me.

All of this to say:
Tomorrow is my first Christmas without my Dad. I told a friend this afternoon that the pain is less sharp than it used to be. And this afternoon when i sent that text, it was true. But tonite, as I sit here facing Christmas Eve with just my sister and my mom, it's not less sharp, it's a different sharp.
Is one of us going to sit in his chair?
Will we still do our traditional family photo?
Will I make it through the next 24 hours without completely losing it? I can handle a few tears with Mom and Sister, but I don't want to have a full-blown ten-steps-past-the-ugly-cry kind of breakdown in front of them.

I spent a wonderful day and evening with wonderful friends. Friends who freely admit they don't truly "understand" what I'm going through but have walked this path with me more than anyone other than family has. They were exactly the "therapy" I needed tonite. I puttered around a bit when I got home, tidying up my schtuff. And I walked past an end table I have. One of the plants I got from my Dad's funeral is on it. The plant is growing like crazy. (I don't know what is better than a Green Thumb, but I have that). I tend to touch or pet my plants. I have two African violets and I love to take a few seconds and run my hands along their leaves to feel that fuzziness. I sometimes just touch the leaves of my other plants as I walk past. As I passed this particular plant tonight I had a moment's thought of running my hand over the leaves, but I have a bunch of stuff piled in front of the end table so I couldn't really reach the plant. And just as quickly as I dismissed the idea of petting my plant, I had a strong but fleeting thought that I don't WANT the plant. I had an image in my mind of picking up the pot and hurling it against something so that it breaks into a bunch of pieces.

But I have already trained myself out of throwing. More importantly, destroying this plant does not change my reality. Even if I broke the plant. Even if I cleaned up the mess. Or if I had someone else clean up the mess. Even if I set the thing on fire or threw it into the street or any other destructive thing I can think of. My Dad is still dead. He still won't be at the house tomorrow when I get there. He still won't call me from his cell phone with a computer question. He still won't be in "his" room playing spider solitaire and watching movies on TV.

As amused as I am by that tweet I mentioned at the opening of this post. I know that destroying or even damaging something won't change the fact that my world no longer has my Dad. So, I will write this up and take my chances posting it on Christmas Eve. I will cry hard after I hit publish and try to deal with these feelings now so I can be less fragile tomorrow. And I will sleep.

And tomorrow I will love my family. I will let my loved ones know that I care, that they mean something to me, that I am glad they are a part of my life. Because none of us can guarantee that those loved ones will even make it to New Year's much less make it to next Christmas. If you had told me a year ago that in less than 4 months my Dad would be dead, I probably would have punched you. I would have told you to shut your mouth and not speak that into my life. I don't truly have any regrets, but I do wonder if I would have done anything differently if I had known it would be our last Christmas as a family of 4.

Take the moments this Christmas to kiss your daddies and hug your mommas and squeeze the babies. Say that you love them, out loud. take their face in your hands and look them in the eyes and make sure they hear you. Tell them how much they mean to you. Don't take any chances this year by leaving something that important unsaid. Don't be in a rush to get to the next thing. Savor the moments. Note the scenes around you. Store up the memories for later. You may need them sooner than you think.

don't know my own strength

2011-11-24T18:00:00.000-06:00

It's been quite awhile since I posted. I would love to be able to say that's because i've been noveling furiously for NaNoWriMo. That has had it's place, but I haven't spent every waking moment noveling. If I had, I wouldn't be less than halfway to the goal with barely a week left to go.

This week has surprised me. I've been seeing a counselor and I shared with her last week that I am very aware of my emotional state most of the time. I can feel, like inside my chest, when I am getting what I have come to call "fragile." That moment, or day, or situation, or worn-down-place where I know the wrong word, the wrong song lyric, the right hug will reduce me to weeping. In those moments, at those times I close ranks, so to speak. I pull back from relationships that might strain me, which to be honest, there are very few of in my life. I pay closer attention to the radio and jump away from songs that I know have nailed me in the past. I pay a different type of attention to conversations with friends to try to keep it steered to safe topics. Since the funeral in April I have only cried in front of three or maybe four people. Like seriously lost it cried. The can't talk kind of cried. One of those people is my mom. Since the funeral I haven't cried in front of any of my other family.

I have only had a few "bad" days. One or two a month where the old weight, the old heaviness, the old apathy show up again. And I struggle to make coffee. I struggle to focus. I struggle to care. But they are the exception. They are still very hard and extremely frustrating because I can't control or predict them. But I can deal with once or twice every month or so if it means the rest of my days feel like most people's days feel. Not weighted. Not heavy. Not apathetic. I can deal with a few days.

I have had a number of people tell me at various points that they are proud of me for how I'm handling "everything." Some have even said they are impressed at it. For the most part I have graciously accepted the compliment and inwardly deflected it. I have said to a few of them:

I don't know any other way to be.

This is who I am,

this is how I've always been.

But a very dear friend of mine lost her father two years ago this weekend. She moved away from her home state 7 months prior to that, moved to a 2nd different state weeks prior to that, got married in there, oh, and switched careers. She changed jobs again afterwards.

In the last twelve months I lost a job, made a plan to return to school, Dad got sick, I got a job, I nixed the plan for school, and dad died. Oh, and I dated a dink for a couple weeks.

As someone with a degree in social work, I know that list of major life stressors that can cause all sorts of problems etc. Marriage, Death and Career are 3 of the biggest things on that list. Moving is very high as well. She and I were talking the other day and she said that she was totally not motivated to work on stuff around her house. But then she told me all the stuff she had already done. I told her I thought she was doing great. I forget exactly what she said, but I think I answered with 'there will always be bad days,' mostly because she has reminded me of that repeatedly. At one point I finally said to her:

Considering what each of us has been

through in the last couple of years,

I'm surprised neither one of us

is curled up in a fetal position

on the floor

in a closet.

A lot of days I am. I am astounded that I continue to function. I consider that it has been just over 7 months and I've kept down my job, continued to pay my bills, kept my apartment, maintained my friendships, and don't come home crying every night, or even every week. Some days it feels like it's already been years. I feel kind of awful for even saying it, but it almost feels like it's "always" been this way. And, some days, it's fresh and the wound re-opens and the quiet tears on the way home turn into heaving, not breathing, beyond-the-ugly-cry sobbing once i make it safely inside these 4 walls I call home.

Almost a month ago a friend got married. It was the first wedding since Dad died. I cried a few tears watching her dad walk her down the aisle. I cried a few more when her husband vowed to be with her "through every joy and every loss." I cried a lot more when she danced with her dad to the Stephen Curtis Chapman song Cinderella. But, I didn't escape or run away. I didn't cry on the way home. I didn't weep when I got home.

My Aunt and Uncle came to our house this year for Thanksgiving. We have never had Thanksgiving at our house. Ever. But they had their family Thanksgiving on Sunday so that they could be out here with us this year. That touched my heart so much. I decided to try to do something tangible to thank them for coming out. I found out what kind of pie my uncle likes and made a Double Crust Raisin pie. I also made a Pecan Pie in case the raisin one didn't turn out. I took them over tonite because I also made a Pumpkin pie at mom's request and I knew she had made a chocolate cream, and oh my good gawd in heaven there is no way we can possibly eat that much pie if we wait until Thanksgiving to start!

When I pulled into our driveway I saw our family van that we gave them after Dad died sitting in our driveway. That alone almost did me in. I almost sat in my car in the driveway and wept. Almost.

I took all 3 pies into the house and told my aunt and uncle that Suzie Homemaker made a visit and pulled out the raisin pie. Uncle was very excited. One tear escape when I told them I made the pie because I wanted to show them how much I appreciate them coming out here this year. I made it through supper. I made it through a game of Runs and Sets. And 3 games of euchre. But on the way home, Rascall Flatts was on the radio. That did me in.

I've been crying off and on writing this whole thing. When I typed "the funeral" the first time up above a few paragraphs I sobbed myself out of breath. twice. But I came back to this. I kept on.

I go to work every day.
I walk on my lunch hours.
I pay my bills.
I talk to my friends.
I spend time with my family.

I am not curled up in the fetal position on the floor in the closet.

As I write this, on Thanksgiving Eve, I recognize the God-given strength I carry. I acknowledge that until this, I didn't know my own strength. I accept that some consider it impressive for me to be at the place I am, emotionally, mentally, vocationally, relationally, whatever else -ally you can think of. And, if you have spoken that into my life I thank you. I thank you for speaking truth where I didn't see it. I thank you for seeing me in a way and from a perspective that I can't see.

And if you are curled up in the fetal position on the floor in a closet. The only thing required or requested of you right now? Just. Keep. Breathing. Consume some sort of sustenance every once in awhile. Smell fresh air if you can manage it. Let the sunlight hit your skin when you can. And lay all of your weigh and heaviness and apathy and whatever else you struggle with, in God's hands. Allow him to put his arms around you and hug you and hold you safe and protected. He will take good care of you. He will bring you through this. He has been down this path himself. He will not leave you. He will take you down your new "normal" path and show you things you wouldn't have seen otherwise. I promise you, in the end, You will see how everything has woven together and what purposes it all served. Until then, just breathe, just let Him hold you. You will one day realize that you also don't know your own strength.

~day 31~ Intangible

2011-10-31T23:58:00.003-05:00

These last 30 days I have written about Hope. I have written about my perceptions of hope. I have written about the things that bring me hope. I have written about the things I hoped would help you see hope in your own life. More than once in this journey I thought

"But hope is intangible

untouchable

a feeling

like faith

ephemeral "

(mostly because i wanted to use that word)

So what I'm really showing is the evidence of hope. Like that old quote, I think from Billy Graham,

Can you see the wind? I can't see the wind.

I can see the effects of the wind,

but I can't see the wind.

Like faith
or hope
or love
or peace.
"Peace that surpasses understanding." How do you explain to someone what peace is?
The same way you explain the wind. The same way you explain faith. You show evidence.
I have seen hope in so many new places in my life. In so many new situations.

I am sure I have written about the parable of the King who wanted to know if his kingdom had more weeds or more roses. He called two servants up and sent them out into his kingdom. One of them was to count the weeds, the other to count the roses. When they returned the servant charged with counting the weeds was trembling and afraid as he approached the King. He was greatly dismayed and on the verge of tears. "Your Highness I am so sorry. I had hoped to have a different answer for you. But your kingdom is full of weeds. From one end to the other." The King thanked him for his efforts and asked for the 2nd servant to share what he found. He was full of joy and bound into the King's presence with great joy. "Your Highness, I counted and counted and counted your roses. There are so many I lost count many times. I tried to keep track with stones and marks and nothing worked, there were too many to be counted." (my paraphrase and elaboration). The moral to this story being: What you look for, you will find.

If you spend your life looking for weeds, you will find weeds.
If you spend your life looking for roses, you will find roses.

I tend to look for weeds. When left to my own natural bent, I see the bad, the potential for destruction or hurt, the negative possibilities. In spending these 31 days writing about Hope, I had to look for hope. I forced myself to look for roses instead of weeds. Through that I realized that I am a more positive person than I thought, certainly more moderate than negative. As my counselor has told me a number of times, Stop being so hard on yourself. In so many areas of life I have such a ridiculously high expectation of myself that it would be nearly impossible for me to achieve even if only in one area. However, I try to achieve this Highest Standard in every area simultaneously. When I inevitably fail it is more proof that there are more weeds in my kingdom than roses. Through counseling, good friends, blogging, reading other good writers I am coming to be more gracious with myself.

I am beginning to see that the roses in my world truly do outnumber the weeds greatly. Even if some of those weeds are the huge nasty ones that someone left alone a week too long because they weren't sure if it was a weed or a flower. Here is my hope for you, as we look towards this holiday season that becomes so much nonsense, watch for the roses. Don't focus so much on eliminating the weeds, watch for the roses and enjoy their place in your life.

But as for me, I wil hope continually,

And will Praise you yet more and more

Psalm 71:14

p.s. I will be mostly absent these next 30 days. I will be writing my 3rd novel, Oblivion, for NaNoWriMo. If you have enjoyed this series or wish to encourage writers in our pursuit of fiction, click on over to the righthand Sponsorship blog on the site and throw some money at a GREAT organization.

~day 30~ Writing

2011-10-30T22:48:00.000-05:00

I forget what post exactly started me reading Chatting at the Sky. I believe my friend Kelly first suggested it to me. I knew right away it was a blog I wanted in my reader. I knew it would encourage me to pursue my writing. And any other "art" I would decide to try my hand at. That is how I landed here. Taking on this challenge of writing every day for a month. Taking on the challenge of finding 31 things to say on the same basic topic. Taking on the challenge to talk about hope.

Today was hard. Late night combined with fragile morning combined with "Hormones" combined with a dreary, gloomy day equaled hard. A few tears shed. A few laughs shared. Some prayers spoken. Today was the first day I truly blanked on what to write. I had thought of something at some point this afternoon, but as I sat down to write I could not for the life of me remember. I have one thought I've been ruminating on, but I think it should be my last post in the series, so I'm holding on to it. I thought about looking at the word Hope in songs or movies. I thought for a minute I had my idea when I was watching Once Upon a Time on ABC tonite and the main character says something about Hope being the most important thing to still have. But I can't remember exactly what she said, I don't think the clip will be posted online yet, and it just plain feels cliche. Not to mention I'm not even sure I can stretch it out into a whole post.

My art, however, I can always stretch out into a full post. I mentioned to a student last week that I had thought about asking him to edit my book. He said something about his friend also writing books. She asked how many I had written, I said 2 1/2. She giggled and said she'd written 10-12. I was discouraged for a few minutes as I considered her youth, but then she asked how long my novels were. "My first one was 55,725 words." I truly said it without arrogance or attitude. She immediately responded "You totally have me beat." Apparently her novels are comparatively quite short.

When my mom heard how long my book was she said "Seriously? Where do you even come up with that much to write about? I can barely write a Thank You card." Then she read the whole novel. And, had good things to say about it. Another good friend, and aspiring writer, also read it and agreed with her. They both had suggestions and gave me red inked copies back, but overall they liked my story. Nearly everyone I tell is impressed that I've written a 50,000 word novel. They're doubly impressed when I say I've done it twice. (Pun fully intended)

My writing gives me another world to live in for awhile. Another place to be. Somewhere else to park my mind for awhile. I'm an over-thinker. I way over think nearly everything in life. I have to have a TV on to fall asleep because otherwise my brain does not stop for over an hour. Watching movies I love or TV shows I enjoy and reading are all outlets to shut down my over-thinker for awhile and relax. And writing. Creating an entire situation for someone to live in and work through releases me from trying to figure out my own messes. I think I could survive as long as I had one of those options available. But if you took away all the options I think I'd end up committed to a psych ward somewhere.

As hard as this has been to post every day. As hard as it has been to think of something new to say about Hope every day. It has refreshed my hope. It has reminded me that the more I look for hope, the more I will find hope. It has renewed my hope-er, that part of my heart and mind that takes care of my hope and keeps it alive. And I am very excited for NaNoWriMo to start tomorrow night. I'm going to open this novel with an incredibly cliched phrase just so I can write it at midnight to say I started right away and then go to bed. Tonite, my hope is Harry Potter. Tomorrow my hope will be Lydia. Who knows what next month will bring!

~day 29~ Innocence

2011-10-29T22:29:00.001-05:00

A friend called a few weeks ago and asked me for a favor. She has another friend that likes to come and take her daughter for a girls night. Her daughter is 2 1/2. She has a son who is 4 1/2. She called to see if I would come and take him out for awhile so he isn't left behind while his sister goes off with a friend. Since her kids adore me and her son actually brought that up last time I had been there, I readily agreed. I proceeded to forget entirely what day that might occur on. She called today a little after 1. I was extremely glad that I had not made other plans!

I picked him up and went to McDonald's. This kid is adorable. He is all boy and he has his own will that shows up strong from time to time, but he is incredibly sweet and loving. I got to see the sweet and loving part in full force today. He wanted a specific toy at McDs and I said "We can ask for it, but they might not have it, so you'll have to take whichever one they give you." He semi nodded and I fully expected an incident when he opened his happy meal. He did not get the toy he wanted and he did not freak out in any way shape or form.

I asked him on the way over what he wanted to eat and he said cheeseburger. I asked if he was going to eat first and then play or if he wanted to play and eat. At first he said play and eat, but then I suggested eating first because the cheeseburger would get cold. If he had wanted nuggets or something I would have happily let him eat and play at the same time, because i'm that indulgent friend that has no problem spoiling your kids absolutely rotten before sending them back. However, when I mentioned the cold cheeseburger possibility he actually agreed. And then when we got our food and sat down, he happily sat there and with reasonable slowness ate his whole cheeseburger. And made silly faces etc at the little boy at the next table. He never asked if he could go play he never whined or complained, nothing.

He made friends with a little girl who was there, the only other kid to play with really, and they played hide-n-seek for a bit. He played along very nicely! I noted a few times during the night how polite he was and how obedient he was and I praised him highly for it. I thought a couple of times what a sweet and well-behaved boy my friend was raising. And I texted that to her because I knew he had not been so well-behaved earlier in the day.

He hasn't experienced loss yet. He hasn't been terribly disillusioned by the unfairness of this world yet. He hasn't endured medical treatments for something he couldn't possibly understand, nor has he had to watch anyone in his life undergo that. There is a sweetness to that kind of innocence. Almost like it carries a fragrance or a sound. We lose that as we grow up and experience those things. And some of it we should lose because in the world we live in, maintaining that degree of innocence is quite dangerous. But I think we could all be a lot more hopeful if we could simply enjoy a few rounds of hide-n-seek with a new friend. If we could enjoy an afternoon away from our normal routine with a dear one. If we could walk in whatever weather we have and be glad that we are properly clothed and mobile under our own power and breathing clean air in a safe country. If we could look at the blue sky and marvel at the shade. If we could look at the many cloud types and formations and tints and be amazed. If we could listen to a song and be reminded that we are not alone in this world. I've heard it said "Hope Springs Eternal." I think this is most true for the young and innocence. May you spend your Sunday recapturing the innocence and hope of youth.

~day 28~ End Point

2011-10-28T23:29:00.001-05:00

This month of posting has stretched me. A Lot. Which I've said previously, so I won't harp on it. After this post goes up I will have 3 more posts and be able to proudly say I blogged every single day for an entire month about Hope. That sounds kind of impressive. The novelist in me doesn't think it sounds as impressive as "I completed a 55,725 word novel in 30 days, less than 30 actually." But, opinions, beholders etc.

Tonite, hope takes the form of knowing there is an end in sight. I won't be letting anyone down if I don't post anything next Tuesday night. I won't be adding yet another thing to my lengthy list of things I never bothered to finish (like my last novel currently is). I can see the end. I can see the rewards. I've gotten encouragements. I know this will not last forever. Yes, I realize this may sound quite dramatic and woe-is-me. Yes, that sentiment would be an exaggeration for this actual situation.

But in real life, there are a lot of situations in which we lose our hope because we don't see the end. We don't see things being any different in a month or 3 months or a year. It is hard to keep hoping for our heart's desire when we can't see any form of fulfillment in our near future. Especially when we see those around us getting their heart's desires and sometimes their own version of exactly the thing you desire. It is hard to watch yet another friend, younger than you, get married and you have had exactly 1 date* in 7+ years. It is hard to go home to an apartment, no matter how lovely, after leaving a friend's beautiful home. It is hard to listen to someone talk about how easy it was for them to lose baby weight when you can't seem to pry off even a few ounces of cupcake weight.

Much more importantly, it is hard to have hope when a loved one battles for their very life. Intentionally putting poison in their body that makes them violently ill in the hopes that the poison will only kill the thing inside of them. It is hard to have hope when you truly have not met any decent, single, available guys within a reasonable age range in years. It is hard to have hope when you carry something around inside of you that can be managed but not cured. When there is no cure on the horizon. When those around you don't even know that you have this thing because it is managed so well your symptoms are nearly imperceptible. It's hard to live that for very long and keep hope.

I think I can count another blessing in the timing of my Dad's death. I have struggled to keep hope alive probably for as long as I've struggled against depression. I will count it a blessing that I, we, didn't have to wait for test results to see if it was working. We didn't have to try another round of this cocktail or that combination and start waiting for test results again. I tried to have hope in the few weeks that we had. I'm not sure I was all that successful. I can hope that the next wedding will be easier. I can hope that next Father's Day will sting less. But I don't know how long I could have continued to hope if we would have had to fight for very long. I don't know how long I could hope if I got a diagnosis of something chronic and/or incurable.

But Tonite? Tonite I can have hope because I only have 3 more posts and then begins my noveling adventure. I think I'm going to name her Constance. Constance Marie or possibly Constance Naomi. We'll see what she has to say next week.

~day 27~ One Thing

2011-10-27T22:29:00.000-05:00

I've heard all sorts of things about how to change a habit. I've heard it takes 12 days, 30 days, 45 days, 60 days and maybe even 90 days to change a habit. I've heard willpower is the way to go (which is total bunk, by the way). I've heard you have to create a distraction from the habit. I've heard you should come up with a Bible Verse to "fight" the temptation when it comes. I've heard you have to replace the bad habit with a good habit.

And I've heard you should only change one habit at a time. That is part of why New Year's Resolutions rarely work. We fill our heads with these grandiose ideas of how this year will be different. Of how our life will be Amazing and Perfect if we can just defeat these few mountains in our lives. But that is all bunk too! First and foremost, let me point out that even if we defeat these "few" mountains life will not be Perfect. It won't be Amazing for very long. But, more pertinent to this post, secondly, we can't possibly make that many changes all at once successfully. I've gone so far as to stop calling them resolutions and set goals instead. I've even taken those goals and broken them down into chunks and pieces and steps and planned it out. I've split them across the months of the year so that I'm not trying to fight 5 battles all at once. And you know what?

I am still significantly overweight.
I still swear too much.
I still haven't memorized more than a half dozen Bible Verses in a single year. And ask me how many of those I still remember!
I still am not independently wealthy.
I still am not comfortably wealthy.
I still bounce checks at least once or twice a year.
I still have no savings to speak of.
I still have not published a book, nor researched getting published, nor edited the books I have managed to finish.

I keep those lists of goals. So I can refer back to them. You know, Someday. I've looked at them in my moves and rearrangements etc. There is a common theme through them all. Change. I want my life to look different. I want my home to look different. I want my body to look different. I want my bank account to look different. I want my character to look different.

Today I changed one thing. In order to accommodate that one thing and make it worth changing I had to change 3-4 other things. I thought about texting it to facebook because I was quite proud of my one change. But I realized I wanted to store it up for myself for that moment. As I pondered what I could possibly still have to write about Hope I decided to share this one thing.

I decided to walk on my lunch hour instead of going home and screwing around on facebook for 45 minutes. In order to do that I had to remember to take walking shoes and clean socks. I had to put them in a bag and hang it on my door handle or I would for sure and for certain forget them. Since I wasn't coming home I also had to figure out lunch. So I had to mix a slim fast shake (I do the powder ones you mix yourself, the pre-canned ones taste icky) and take it with. I also decided that if I was going to try to do this 'healthy' thing that maybe I shouldn't be drinking 2 cokes a day, every single day and eating 2-5 mini crunch bars a day. I can only drink coffee at work until it gets ice cold. I bought a juice smoothie drink thing to take with and open when the coffee got cold, instead of opening a Coke. Plus, I had to put all that stuff into a bag and remember the bag when I left for work. Then .... are you ready for this? I actually USED it all AND went for a walk on my lunch! And, I enjoyed it! My walk was lovely. I was not starving most of the day, like I usually am if I try to do the slim-fast thing. The smoothie was a PERFECT replacement for Coke #1. And, I just plain felt good about making a good choice.

I've been seeing a counselor for awhile now. We talked last week about my terrible sleep habits. One of the things she has repeated to me in various situations regarding a variety of issues and always in a different way, is to not be so absolute with myself. I have been a very All or Nothing person for a very long time. If I'm not going to go to bed "early" every night like a Responsible Adult does, then why bother ever doing it? If I'm not going to work out "regularly" then what good could it possibly do me? If I can't keep up with my checkbook every day or every week like a Good Steward, then why bother trying at all? But as she so accurately pointed out, you know your schedule, you know your life. You know that Monday nights and Thursday nights are late for you. So cut yourself some slack. Go to bed early when you are home early and you can. Basically, stop beating yourself senseless over the fact that two nights a week you choose something else rather than sleep. She's told me this 'stop beating yourself up' thing repeatedly. You'd think I'd be able to start seeing it on my own. Nope!

So, this week, I went to bed early Tuesday night and tried to go to bed early last night. Tuesday I ended up not sleeping quite as early as I'd hoped, but still way earlier than I had been previously. Last night, same thing, but that time I couldn't fall asleep once I was in bed, so I didn't actually get a great night's sleep, but I tried. Tonite, I am home early from campus so I might just get to bed at a decent time! We'll see.

Today there is hope in the one choice. Today I chose to walk at lunch. I am going to be happy about that. Even if I don't do it again for MONTHS! I did it today. And that is worth celebrating. I've done it once, I know it is possible, I can do it again another day. Possibly tomorrow. Who knows!

~day 26~ New Life

2011-10-26T23:07:00.000-05:00

A few years ago a movie came out called Children of Men. A dramatic, apocalyptic type movie. I am not sure I knew going in what the true storyline was, but I do know I am in love with Clive Owen, and would see just about anything he is in.

If you can resist him, I envy you. ;)

What the movie is actually about is a world in the future in which women no longer get pregnant or if they do get pregnant they do not carry to term. There is no scientific reason they can find for this, nothing we "did" to ourselves as a race, and it is a worldwide phenomenon. The last "baby" has just turned 18 in the opening scenes of the movie. If I recall he gets mobbed or attacked or something because he is seen as a messiah type figure because he was the last child born on the planet. Ultimately a woman is found who has conceived naturally and is already at or past 8 months along and Clive's task is to try to get her safely to a place where she can have this child safely. There are all sorts of political intrigues hinted at but never explained.

All of that explanation to say that babies give me hope. Hope that God has not given up on us as a race yet. Hope that there is still love in the world. Hope that there are still relationships and bonds and connections and commitments. I have two good friends who are pregnant now and if you compare it against the world in the movie, they are totally taking their pregnancies for granted. In fact, one of them is so miserably ill she has not enjoyed a single second of her pregnancy. "Morning Sickness" doesn't even begin to describe what she's endured these last couple of months.

In fact, we don't even have to make a comparison to such a drastic difference in the world. I used to work for an adoption agency. Nearly every family that came to us to build a family through adoption had tried some form of fertility treatment. I can guarantee that every single one of those women would gladly take the miserable morning sickness my friend has if they knew it was because they had gotten pregnant.

I hate winter. I hate being cold. I hate the months on end of gloominess. I hate getting off work in the dark. The only up side to winter is cuddling, which isn't even an up side for me since I have no one to cuddle with except my body pillow ...... and let's just be clear, that is totally not the same. The only other benefit of winter is the fresh appreciation of spring. I was especially amused this year, just a week or two ago when we were complaining about having to get out blankets or heavier jackets or sweaters. Because in March? That exact same temperature is cause not only for celebration, but for shorts and flip flops. There is hope in more sunshine in a day. There is hope in melting snow. There is hope in shedding the excess layers and showing your skin to the sun again. As long as we have new life, in some form, I think we can keep on hoping. As long as my African Violets keep blooming, I'll keep hoping.

Violet - my 1st African Violet. She's bloomed at least 5 times in the last 2 years.

~day 25~ Functioning

2011-10-25T21:58:00.000-05:00

let me first say, I'm not going to lie. I am *totally* looking forward to being done with this challenge. I feel like I am out of ideas on hope and yet .... every day I can find some way to recognize the hope in my life and then coherently translate that to all of you. But I will be ridiculously glad when the 31st is here. But that doesn't even mean I get a break because November is NaNoWriMo!! And I have my story idea fermenting!! Just took my first notes on Yarny this FANTASTIC website I found through the goodness of the NaNo site and maybe Twitter, I forget. The degree of love I have for Yarny rivals what I might feel for a boyfriend. Seriously. If a guy created Yarny and if that guy was single I would TOTALLY date him. I'd probably stalk him for that matter. So I'm a little excited about NaNo. A lot excited about being done with these 31 days. And inspired enough to share today's thoughts on hope with you. (side bar, if you have any desire to encourage me to write or help things like NaNo keep running, since they are non-profit entities, click on over this site and on the righthand side is a box you can go "sponsor" me. Monday can go directly to NaNo. Give it a shot. I'll give you a cameo in my book! You can even tell me who you want to be! hee hee hee.)

Some days functioning is the max you can sustain. You have no extra. You have no room or space or excess. You go to work, you are mostly productive for most of the day, you come home, and on really good days you can do something productive at home before you shut down. Tonite I did my dishes. They weren't ridiculous, but I was out of bowls and travel coffee mugs. Plus, I'm home tonite, may or may not be home tomorrow night, won't be home thurs, probably will be gone fri and .... I'm tired of rinsing out a bowl for the next morning. Somehow that seems gross, although I can't quite put my finger on why. But, I digress.

As someone who has struggled with depression for a long time I only now recognize how hard it can be to function. I told a friend today, a friend who has been through more these last couple years than I have, that to be honest I'm surprised neither one of us is curled up in the fetal position in a closet. And when I consider the major blows of this year and the stress levels I've had for a few years and the ups and downs of relationships, mostly friendships, but guys too, I amaze myself a bit at how strong I (apparently) am. I shrug even as I type that, I don't know any other way to be. But I am coming around to a point of appreciating it. Appreciating who I am and how I have been created. Appreciating that there is value even in the tasks that are "just functioning."

My bathroom got cleaned three weeks ago, I think it was three. As did my floors, a bit of dusting and vacuuming. Before that ..... the toilet got swished a few weeks before that. I don't remember when I last vacuumed or mopped up my floors. And I refuse to dust on principle. There is hope in doing my dishes. It means I haven't given up entirely on life yet. I haven't given up on the future. I still have a sliver of hope, at the least, that tomorrow can be different. Or maybe just that tomorrow is a new day. Or maybe even just that today is over and I can crash if I need to.

We don't give ourselves enough credit. We spend too much time comparing ourselves to everyone around us and not enough time considering how far we've come. Or giving ourselves a point or whatever for getting that one thing done. So what if the "to do list" is as long as your arm or fills half a steno pad. You got that thing done, didn't you? So what if the dishes will start piling up tomorrow? You got the ones that were there done today, right? So what if you didn't wash that last knife because you didn't find it til you let out your water. You have other knives.

In a lot of things we compare ourselves to those around us. But, sometimes, we compare ourselves to our family, how a parent did something or how you were raised to do something. But who gets to say what is right?? I don't do weekly cleaning. I'm just not a "clean" person, I don't care. And because I was raised with weekly cleaning I absorbed the idea that you cleaned everything once a week. So, as an adult I despise cleaning. I don't want to do it all at once. It's overwhelming to me. But, swishing out the toilet every week or two isn't overwhelming. Sweeping the kitchen when i've dropped one too many things on it, isn't overwhelming. (confession moment here ....... are you ready???) Keeping an extra toilet brush inside my shower so I can swish out the tub after a shower once in awhile, isn't overwhelming. But we don't give ourselves permission to make our own rules. We don't give ourselves credit for the steps we are taking towards continuing to function. We certainly don't recognize that underlying all of that is a sliver of hope. Because if you have truly lost hope, then there is no need to do the dishes. There is no need to clean the toilet. There is no need to change the sheets. So, if you are still functioning, give yourself credit for what you did. Even if it was only to get up and go to work. You still get credit for that.

~Day 24~ Tangible Help

2011-10-25T00:26:00.000-05:00

I have spent most of this month talking about the intangible evidences of hope. About the not visible to the naked eye rays of hope. Tonite, I realized that hope can be very tangible. And it is especially vibrant when the tangible thing is an act of goodness or generosity towards someone else. I will probably have the opportunity in the weeks and months to come to help a friend with a specific need. I smiled as I considered how to go about accomplishing this task int he weeks to come.

I know that more than once I have babysat for a friend to allow them to spend a few hours with a spouse and reconnect.

I have helped a few different friends clean, reorganize or rearrange an area of their home.

I have created a CD of beautiful images with Bible verses on them for my students.

I have purchased countless meals for those students in these years I've been volunteering.

I have shoveled a walk or two.

I have taken meals to new families.

I have helped create newsletters for things at church.

And those are just the material and tangible things I can think of off the top of my head. That doesn't include praying for others. That doesn't include spending my money on extra gas every week to drive up to whitewater to meet with students. That doesn't include spending money on conferences or scholarships. That doesn't include a hug to someone who is hurting, or even just doing any less than spectacular.

Again, if you can do this, you have hope. If you can allow yourself to refill your gas tank when what you really want is to get cable back so you can sit on your couch and watch useless, brain-numbing television all night every single night, you have hope. If you can cook a meal for a new family and manage to hold it together and not break down weeping as you hold that brand new bundle of promise, you have hope. If you can help convert the sanctuary into a reception hall without screaming or throwing things in a fit of frustration, you have hope. I'm not certain if I'd said it before, but it bears repeating if I have,

If you can see past your own nose,

and you choose to look out rather than in,

you have hope.

~day 23~ Nothing lasts forever

2011-10-23T12:21:00.000-05:00

We have all sorts of cliches about how things always change. Nothing Lasts Forever. Change is Inevitable. Tomorrow is a New Day. Because we all know that to be true of life. 99% of things changes over the course of a life. Usually your name stays the same, but not if you get married or adopted. Usually your hair color or skin color or eye color stay the same, but not of you dye it or tan or change contacts. Usually your height and build stay mostly the same, but not if you wear heels, have an accident or gain or lose a large amount of weight. Usually your family stays the same, but eventually you lose some of them either to death or disagreement. In my 3 years at the adoption agency I found that the vast majority of people also stayed geographically where they had started, within about a 50 mile radius. But depending on jobs and callings and relationships that changes too.

Change can be scary and hard and intimidating. But there is also comfort in change. There is hope in change. I can take comfort from recognizing that someday, I will be able to watch a friend get walked down a wedding aisle on her daddy's arm and not want to scream and wail. Someday I will be able to watch the daddy/daughter dance at a reception and not want to curl up in the fetal position in a closet somewhere. Someday those things won't sting as badly as they did yesterday. I am very happy for my friend. Truly so happy for her. She has found a match and they made their covenant yesterday and it was beautiful. And I am so happy for her that she gets to start that journey of life as part of a marriage. And that is the living, breathing, epitomized definition of bittersweet. I can be so happy for her, and yet still want to curl up in a ball and weep.

I've heard it said a few different places that you can't feel two emotions at the same time. Maybe what they mean is two opposite emotions. Because I could feel happy for my friend yesterday and feel grief over my loss at the same time. We've all heard of a love/hate relationship. I can thoroughly enjoy a much too large piece of chocolate cake while also feeling guilty about the overindulgence and what that will mean for my waistline. I can even be grateful for blessings through our loss while still deeply grieving my dad's death. We are such complex and emotional beings, why do we buy into it when someone simply states that you can't feel two emotions at once? We can multitask can't we? We can cry and laugh at the same time, can't we? And we've all had that experience of one emotion suddenly sliding into a different emotion unexpectedly. Laughing so hard with a friend and suddenly being hit with a wave of grief or flash of anger. Weeping for loss and suddenly remembering a funny story or seeing something ridiculous that makes you laugh.

Change is good. Ecclesiastes even says it, there is a time for every season. I can cry for my loss and be happy for my friend's gain. I can take hope in knowing that someday the pain of my loss won't be quite so sharp as it was yesterday. I can even take hope in knowing that there are still a few good, decent, Jesus-loving men "out there" that I might just cross paths with someday. I can take hope in knowing nothing lasts forever. Hope in knowing that everything changes eventually. Hope in knowing that tomorrow is a new day.

~day 22~ Laughing yourself silly

2011-10-22T23:30:00.001-05:00

Last night I visited a friend and her family. We sat around a dining room table and ate and laughed. And then laughed some more. I don't recall what it was, but I told a joke or a story or someone said something and my friend and I laughed so hard I snorted. I don't do that very often. I laugh a lot. I laugh wheezy breathy laughs. I laugh loud guffaws. I rarely snort.

Today a good friend got married. Being older than her and still single combined with this being the first wedding since my dad died I really didn't know how I would handle it. There were a couple of rough moments for me, but a lot of laughs too. I sat next to a wonderful friend and her family and we chatted and laughed at little things through nearly the entire ceremony. We laughed some more as we converted our auditorium type sanctuary into a reception hall. We laughed while we at. I laughed with a number of other friends while we were there.

Laughter is good medicine. Laughter also says you still have hope in life. If you can be amused by something then you're not too far gone. If you can watch a sitcom and giggle or even just smile if that's where you're at in your journey, then you can be comforted that you still have some hope left in you. I'm not going to lie, there have been a lot of days in my life where the hardness and heaviness far outweigh the laughter. But I am better now than I was a year ago. Watching my friend dance with her dad to a song written by a man who tragically lost a daughter to a wrong place, wrong time accident was tough, it was super hard. Hearing her husband vow to be with her "through every loss" was hard. I thought both times that I might have to simply leave the room and compose myself elsewhere. But both of those instances are bookended with hearty, good, clean laughs. Laughing myself silly gives me hope that the future is brighter than it may seem.

~day 21~ Appreciated

2011-10-21T23:42:00.003-05:00

For any of you that don't know me in person, I talk a lot. Like, A LOT.

A LOT!

I didn't realize this was out of the ordinary until probably college. There have been a few ongoing reactions to that, and, again, I didn't realize until college or even afterwards that those reactions were not standard for everyone. I didn't realize until just a few years ago that I had gotten to a point where I didn't like or appreciate or want those reactions, but I had resigned myself to them because I thought there was no alternative. I thought that to expect an alternative reaction from people would be unfair.

I realize this may all sound very very cryptic. I got used to people not listening to me. I got used to them being in my general vicinity and seeming to hear what I was saying, but not actually listening and certainly not truly considering what I was saying or if it would or should have any impact on their life. Until my friend Nathaniel startled me one day. I had gone out to have dinner with him and his wife and their kids and I don't even know what it was that we were talking about. Probably something to do with our church. A week or two later he casually mentions that he has been thinking about what I said and either implemented it or was going to or something. I stood there truly dumbfounded. It even took me a minute or two to figure out what that feeling was and why it was so strange to me.

Then I realized how very sad it was that the "norm" for my life was to believe that very few people were actually listening when I talked. What a sad thing it is to go through every day honestly believing that few people, if any, will be paying attention and truly listening when you open your mouth.

I concede that not only do I talk a lot but I "Chase The Funny." Meaning I tell stories and nonsense and ridiculousness to get people to laugh. I am totally not above telling a story about something idiotic I did if I think it will make people laugh. I imagine that some people get tired of waiting for the conversation to go serious or can't distinguish when I've moved from one to the other.

All of this is to say that I now notice when someone is truly listening. I notice when someone has taken my opinion or thoughts to heart. I notice when someone says "I've been thinking about what you said ...."

And, I noticed at a recent meeting with students that the 3 young men in the meeting paid attention. They heard what I was saying, truly heard it. Now the topic is not something that can be resolved in a simple conversation amongst a small group of people, but to know that they valued my opinion meant a lot. It truly did. So I texted one of them afterwards to thank them for listening to me and valuing my opinion. I went on to say that I truly appreciate that because it has not always been the case in my life. As if their listening wasn't enough, the one I texted answered back and said that my opinions come from a caring heart and that should always be considered. To which I thought:

I LOVE MY STUDENTS!!!

For me, being appreciated is a new thing. I have not felt appreciated very often or very significantly in my life. Because being appreciated is a new thing for me, it gives me hope that things are changing. That I am changing. That I am not the person I was a year ago or 5 years ago or 10 years ago. I am becoming more of my truest self. I'm dropping the bull and the baggage (hey, that sounds like a good book title or maybe another series ... hmmmmmm). I'm letting my full character and heart shine through my personality. Somehow those all feel like slightly separate things and my "personality" has never had a problem shining. ;) Knowing that someone important in my life values my opinion gives me hope.

~day 20~ Knowing your limitations

2011-10-21T00:06:00.002-05:00

I am a night owl.

I volunteer twice a week until at least 10 pm, usually 10:30 or 11.

I like to settle in front of a computer for a bit before bed. Sometimes I also want a bit of TV. Occasionally I convince myself that I can follow that up with a "little bit" of reading before going to sleep.

I also have issues with insomnia. Sometimes I just plain can't fall asleep. Sometimes I wake up multiple times in a night for no reason. Because of this problem I sometimes allow myself to stay up much later than I ought simply because I convince myself that if I stay up too late then I am guaranteed to fall immediately and directly to sleep.

All of these things combined this week to make for a week in which I do not go to bed before midnight once. A couple of nights it was closer to 1 am than not. I don't have to be to work until 8, but I am not one of those people who can function on 5 or 6 or even 7 hours of sleep consistently. I need 7 1/2 or 8 solid hours of good, restful sleep to function well.

Tonite, hope is knowing that I can try to get home at a reasonable hour tomorrow night and can definitely sleep in on Saturday and catch up a bit. Hope is knowing this is a weakness for me and trying to figure out ways to accommodate it and compensate for it. Hope is knowing that you all will understand my limitations and accept this short post. Hope is knowing that agreeing to blog every! single! day! for an entire month is an incredible stretch for me and pushes my limtations. Hope is knowing you will acknowledge my limitation and wish me good rest tonite.

~day 19~ Being Available

2011-10-19T19:41:00.000-05:00

I volunteer as a "mentor" for college students at an InterVarsity chapter at my alma mater. (I put mentor in quotes because it sounds much more official and planned out than what I feel like I actually do). I meet with as many of the girls in the chapter as I can throughout the semester and just love them. I try to listen to them, although I often catch myself talking much too much. I offer them encouragement and sometimes a perspective that they, nor their peers, simply don't have. I very often feel like I am the one getting more out of our meetings than they are.

I have been doing this for almost 2 years and I love it. I feel like this year I am really finding my groove. I'm connecting with girls, I'm meeting with a couple of our leaders on an ongoing basis, I had 11 of them down for a movie nite. Sometimes I sit in our large group and I ache to pray with them. I want nothing more than to put my arms around them and just hug them. In those moments I wonder if what I do is worth it. Does it have any impact. Is it making a difference. As He has a number of times in the past, God speaks up and shows me ways that it is making a difference.

Two years ago at our winter conference a student I'd gotten to know realized that she was allowing a sin in her life that she didn't want there anymore. She was allowing something into her heart and mind that was separating her from God. I sat with her as we sang and held her hand as she cried and dealt with it before God. I didn't pray for her, I didn't say much of anything, but I was there for her to lean on.

A couple of weeks ago our speaker gave a great message about living for God. Honestly, I don't really remember most of what he said, but I remember that it held weight in that room. One of my girls came to me as they sang at the end and asked me how many times God would take her back before he stopped taking her back at all. I was able to speak truth to her and hug her and pray for her and assure her that He will never leave her or let her go.

Shortly after I started our area director asked me to begin meeting with a specific student who had some pretty major things going on. I met with her weekly (more or less) for a year and a half. I know that my role in her life was to speak truth to her. She would come up with these ideas for things to do or ways to earn money that were not only potentially dangerous but also would be deeply damaging to her as a person. I knew a couple of times that when she came to me she truly wanted someone to tell her no. We live in a society where anything goes, everything is okay, you can be whatever you want and do whatever you want with your life. But we rarely talk about the things that can damage us and hurt us permanently. No one would tell her that idea, that option, that plan is not a good idea. And not just because I say so and not just because God says XYZ about whatever. But because you haven't really thought these sides of this idea out. You don't realize that will hurt you emotionally. I could share from my experience and life why those things weren't good ideas.

The 2nd meeting we had there was a young woman there who asked me if I would pray for her. She is new to school and left a mother behind who relied on her heavily. That was all she told me. I prayed with her. I haven't seen her since.

Sometimes, Hope comes in being available. Being there for God to use you. Being out there, living life, doing your thing. I've heard many times "You can't steer a parked car." And that's true. God will have a much much harder time trying to use you and work through your life to impact others if you never leave the 4 walls of your home. If you go to work and go straight home and never interact with anyone else. If you live life with your head down just trying to avoid anything that might request time or energy from you. I concede the base theological point that God can use whomever he wants, that God could steer a parked car, that God can use you if you never leave your home etc. Each of us is called to something. Be it big or small doesn't matter. I'll even concede that some people are called to minister inside the 4 walls of their home, through blogging or the internet or whatever. My larger point is that even those people are open to working with God. They are Available for Him to work through. They are willing to hear from Him and follow what he says.

As long as there are some of us still hearing from Him, still working with Him, still being Available in life, I will have hope.

~day 18~ Persistence, Perseverance, Tenacity

2011-10-18T23:53:00.003-05:00

As a logophile I have a hard time not using accurate words. I struggle, especially in fiction writing, to find the truest word to convey what I mean (even there, I almost used imply, but that isn't quite the same as convey is it?) I sometimes get stuck while writing trying to figure out the word I am actually looking for. Tonite I'm tired. beyond tired. I'd like to say exhausted, but that sounds a little too harsh compared to what the rest of the world will face tonite.

So, tonite, I am not going to look up the definitions of the title words, I'm not going to figure out which one is more appropriate and accurate. I'm not going to figure out how to work each of them into this post in a pleasing and lyrical way. I'm too tired.

But tonite I will say that Hope is continuing on. Hope is forcing yourself to do that thing you agreed to even though you *really* want to just give up and go to bed already. Hope is being honest with yourself and recognizing that you could have written this post over an hour ago, but instead you started playing facebook games. Hope is extending yourself grace. Grace that says I don't have it all together, I don't even have most of it together, but I'm going to write what I know to be true. I'm going to write what I can tonite and length doesn't matter, profundity doesn't even really matter. It's the principle of the writing that matters.

Maybe all this is to prepare me to go to town on my novel for NaNoWriMo, Oblivion. Maybe all this is to help me see the roses rather than the weeds. Maybe all this is to help me get through this month, this month of Daddy's birthday and the 6 month-versary of his death. Maybe this is to help some of you see hope where you didn't recognize it before. Again, maybe it's just the principle. Following through on something I decided to do. Something I chose to do. Something i knew would be a stretch for me, but also be very good for me.

Tonite Hope is persistence in posting. Hope is perseverance in writing. Hope is tenacity in .... continuing to fight to find the right word, and even the write setting for that word.

What is hope to you tonite?

~day 17~ Hope is Connection

2011-10-17T20:54:00.000-05:00

I've had a day. Very very busy day at work. Our secretary took the day off and I was just kind of swamped all day long. It took until about 4:00 to see the top of my desk again. And there are still plenty of things to get done. So, for most of the day I was very involved in the things immediately in front of me. Little connection with anyone else. Little connection with people yesterday too. A couple of moments with friends at church and then the afternoon and evening with only my mom. Which was good, it was great to watch the Packers win again and finish fixing my Halloween costume. It just wasn't much in terms of quantity or volume of connection.

Tonite I came to campus and took a student out to supper. She was so excited to know it was my treat. I thought I told her that at one point, but maybe not. Then I bought tea for another one. We connected. It was good. The first one is a freshman who is just getting started in life "on her own." The other has done quite a bit of traveling and is much more settled in life, even if she won't finish school for a couple more years. I got to talk to each of them and connect a bit. I got to know more about who they are, what they believe and where they come from.

That connection always gives me hope. Hope that the world might be able to avoid that handbasket scenario. Hope that I am not alone in what I believe. Hope that God is still at work. He is still accomplishing his purposes. Hope that the depression can't overwhelm, won't overtake, doesn't win. All of those connections that I make every day build me up. They take me out of my self. They remind me that not only does the world not revolve around me, but that I'm not alone in this world either. I need those connections. I need to cultivate those connections. For the sake of my mental, emotional and spiritual health. I need that ongoing reminder that others care about me. That I am a blessing to other's lives. That they are glad I am a part of their life. And I can be glad they are a part of my life.

~day 16~ When you're afraid

2011-10-16T23:05:00.000-05:00

Something happened in my church this morning. It scares me. It shouldn't. Most of the people in my church don't share my fear and nearly all of them wouldn't understand it. I hold a somewhat unique position in our body. I am effectively the only single person beyond college age who attends regularly. There are a few divorced people, but they all have kids so they get plugged in there. There are a few seniors as well, but they band together a bit and get plugged in with each other. If I'm not actually, I usually feel like the lone "career-woman." Single Income, No Kids.

Having been that person for so long it surprised me immensely how many people think highly of me and are protective of me. I have not gotten used to that still. So I am often aware and very conscious of the people, especially men, around me who I believe would step to my defense or assistance if I would need it. So when this thing happened this morning, it hit me hard. Much much harder than I expected.

As I knelt there nearly sobbing and obsessively repeating "I'm afraid. I'm so afraid." God and I began to do some business. Once I settled enough to actually hear Him I realized he was asking me if I trusted Him. Did I trust Him to take care of me? Did I trust Him to protect me? Did I trust Him with this? I took a few moments with that and agreed to lay the situation in His hands. I agreed to trust Him with my spirit and heart. I decided to give the situation time and see what God has in store for us.

This is hard. Incredibly hard. I am still fairly scared for a number of reasons. (I'm not concerned for my physical safety or anything like that. Simple emotional and spiritual concerns only.) But I am agreeing to Trust Him. I am agreeing to allow Him time to work and do as He wills.

That takes hope. Again you have to be able to see the other side where things might be better. You have to believe that God is who He has said He is. You have to conclude that He does only give good gifts to His children. You have to make peace with the fact that He is Soveriegn and that we cannot see the whole picture, nor can we see His end plan. It takes hope to see those things and say "My Hope is In You." My hope is not in the human beings that make up the rest of my church. My hope is not in the programs that we run. My hope is not in the (wonderful) worship team we have leading us every Sunday. My hope isn't even in my nearest and dearest friends. My hope is in God. He is the only thing that has brought me thus far in life. He is the only thing that has healed me of so many many things. He is the only thing that holds me together and allows me another day on this earth. My hope is in Him. My trust is in Him. Even when I am afraid.

~day 15~ Hope is trust

2011-10-15T23:27:00.003-05:00

I have a few ideas for other things to write about hope, but none of them seemed to really fit for my mood tonite. Then I thought for a second about what an odd thing it is to blog. What a strange thing it is to write out your feelings, your deepest desires, weirdest secrets and rawest parts of your soul and not only expect people to read it, but expect them to handle you with care. Some of us blog about some pretty heavy stuff. We don't have to. We could all write about Pinterest and cool stuff on Etsy. We could write about the funny thing our kid just said, crazy thing our dad just said or that wax figure of Wayne Newton I swear was in the minivan that just drove past me. We could choose to stay on the surface. We could choose to stay safe.

But for some of us, that isn't an option. Writing is a purge. It's an impulse that we can't ignore. It's like runners or cyclists who say that if they go too long between workouts they get twitchy. It has taken me awhile to get here in life, but I like who I am. I like my heart and my personality (mostly). I like my ministries and my peeps. I like how I inhabit this world and who I choose to spend my time with. It has been a desire of mine for over half my life to be real. Authentic. Genuine. Whatever word you want to use for that, since some of those words have become so cliche. When you meet me, I am who I am. I don't hold back. I don't pull punches. I am kind and sympathetic, but if you hit one of my hot buttons, I will speak my mind. So, I am not capable of posting something here that doesn't line up with who I am. More importantly, I can't post something that isn't true of where I'm at in life at that moment. I can't pretend I'm doing peachy keen if I'm sobbing my guts out about my dad. I can't fake Life is Great if I want to punch something because another person I know on facebook got married and they are another one of those people that truly make me wonder what in God's name is wrong with me that they can find someone but I can't even get a decent date! I can't fake it. I won't.

So I trust. I write my heart. I articulate my soul. I trust that you won't trample on it. Or shatter it. Or attack me. I trust that you will handle me with care. I trust that even if you've never met me, that you will want good things for me. That you will want me to be better, to heal, to grow in character and faith. I trust that writing and sharing will do you more good than it will harm me. So far, it has. I thank you for being readers I can trust to care for me as my dearest friends do.

~Day 14~ Hope is forgiveness

2011-10-15T10:55:00.001-05:00

forgiveness for the fact that I got off work and immediately hung out with a friend for hours and hours and then played on the internet and watched an episode of Revenge whilst talking to someone on messenger and

COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FORGETTING TO BLOG!

Oops. Better stuff over the weekend to make it up.

~day 13~ Hope is belief

2011-10-14T00:10:00.000-05:00

belief that when he says his mercies are new every morning he really means that.

belief that he can ( and will? ) give me supernatural rest when I sleep tonite.

belief that my week of too little sleep has still been productive and kingdom building in more than one way.

belief that each and every one of you will forgive me for what is possibly the shortest post ever. Because it is already after midnight, but that's the kind of day/week I've had. More to come in the next couple of days. Have a couple of thoughts ruminating, but I need more brainpower than I currently have access to in order to write them out coherently.

~day 12~ Hope is Helping

2011-10-12T23:23:00.002-05:00

Tonite, I was able to help a friend. She's pregnant and ridiculously, desperately ill because of it. She can function some days and some days she can't even do that. And she has 3 other kids and a husband who works 2 jobs. So, when I got off work tonite, I changed into some loungey clothes and headed over to her place. I picked up supper and helped take care of the kids and get the baby to bed and just keep her company while she waited for hubby to get home.

A couple years ago a friend had a migraine or double vision or something that she ended up in the hospital overnight with her infant. She called and asked if I would come and spend the night with her. I did.

A very dear friend of mine had baby #2 and had a short, but surprisingly intense, bout with post-partum. Just a couple of really bad days and one day just really needed someone else to be there with her. I did.

I have given moms a break from being moms and just let them be women. I've given couples a break to be just married again and not parents for the moment. I've tried to help married friends realize how good they have it. And I've tried to help single friends realize how bad it could be if we insisted on trying to get our own way at the expense of everything else. I have tried to help college students see beyond this semester or the 4 years they are in school to the much, much larger picture.

If you truly have no hope in life, you can't do any of those things. You can't see the other side of it. You can't see your way out of it. You can't see the light at the end of the tunnel**. You can't see beyond your own nose, or face, or hand, or home. You can't get past yourself.

That can be a dangerous and scary circle to get into. You can't see past your self, so you start trying to figure out what's wrong with you. In doing that, you lose track of what else is going on in the world around you and lose touch with it, thus making you feel more isolated and alone, and making you focus even more on your self and how to fix it.

But, if you can get a glimmer of hope. If you can get a glimmer of possibilty that someday, something, could maybe be a little different than today. Then sometimes you can grab hold of that mustard seed and help a friend. And remind yourself that you are useful and valuable and maybe, possibly, there is nothing wrong with you at all. Or, maybe, you are useful and valuable and you need to remind yourself to intentionally look beyond your nose once in awhile. Or you need to ask a friend to (metaphorically) smack you with a 2x4 when you get too engrossed in your self.

When that flash of clarity shows up, take advantage of it. Help the friend nearest, closest, most immediately to you, that you can get to the fastest, or that asked you the most recently, or that has the least baggage. Whatever you can handle in that moment, pounce on it. And, as I said to my mom once, ride that horse til it dies. Those flashes will become moments, will become hours, will become days and hopefully weeks and months. That originating horse will die. But another will come along. Keep riding each one until you can't anymore.

Believe me when I say, if you have no hope, you can't see past your own nose. The last couple of years are surprisingly hazy in my memory. There are long periods I can't remember anything from. Yes, partially because nothing memorable happened. But one facet of that 'nothing memorable happened' is that I wasn't attempting to do anything because I couldn't function beyond working. I couldn't make myself do anything where much was expected of me. If you didn't expect anything more from me than for me to show up, I could do that. I did things, I was involved in things, but I was half on auto-pilot and half on fumes.

Now? Now I'm doing much better. I don't just love my job, I adore my job. I don't just love my students, I adore them. Love has become too cliche and too meaningless in our society, the feeling in my soul and chest is stronger than "love." I am in a much better place to pour into multiple students. I am in a better place to desire to go to work and work for someone who appreciates who I am and what I bring to the office. I am in a better place to be there for my friends and offer them something, not show up and sit like a bump on a log or even show up and suck energy from them.

Tonite, hope is helping a friend. Something very simple, something I enjoy doing, something I am able to do. And that is something I haven't been able to say for quite awhile.

**If you've ever struggled with depression, like hard-core, no one gets this, christian music is too nice to help, kind of depression, give this a listen. Third Day "Wherever You are" album. I listened to it and literally thought to myself "They came through a dark place to write this stuff."

~day 11~ Comfortable

2011-10-11T20:18:00.001-05:00

I am 33 years old. Almost 33 1/2. I lost 21 pounds so far this year, which puts me a bit under 200. At 5'2" that's not a healthy BMI. I have dated 4 men in significant, long-term committed relationships since I was 15. They weren't necessarily the "best" choice for me, but that's what hindsight gives you. I was almost scary thin for the first two and had rounded out just a little for the 3rd. Then I went almost 3 years being single and put on not just a Freshman 15, but a Freshman 40. That's right, 40 pounds first semester of my freshman year. Which I never lost. And that was 20-30 pounds ago. But after putting on that weight I met a guy and we dated and we ended up being together for 2 1/2 years. He never had much of any problem with my weight. (There are things that can be said and stories that can be told, but ultimately he was never mean or cruel about it).

I have always been the one with the problem about my weight. I have been told that I have very nice characteristics and features and at least a couple of very nice "parts" that can attract the right kind of man. So it is odd to me that I still think of myself as too fat to be attractive. That I still worry that if or when a man asks me out that I will worry it is some sort of dare and I will end up humiliated. Because the thing is, I really am pretty comfortable in my skin. I love my backside, I love my hair, my eyes are beautiful and I have a fantastic mouth. I have strong and shapely legs. And, none of that accounts for my personality or character. I am just recently coming around to agreeing with my friends that i am kind of a catch. (Don't get me wrong, I got all kinds of crazy going on over here, but a few of you have assured me that we're all a bit crazy and I'm not *that* far off the reservation).

The weird thing is, when I'm alone, I'm very comfortable in my skin. I am reasonably sure that once I am in a significant, committed relationship I will be even more comfortable in my skin and even become quite confident in my self. So, it's funny to me to recognize that I am 33 and just now finally getting comfortable in my temple I inhabit. To truly acknowledge that the only "part" of my body I don't like is my santa belly. And even that I can reason will make a great pillow for movie watching for the right man some day. (think Aaron Rodgers likes movies??)

So, today, hope is being comfortable in my skin. Hope is adoring the sound of my high heels click clacking around my world. Hope is focusing on my beautiful eyes in the mirror and not the bags underneath. Hope is appreciating my very sexy legs that work so very hard to hold me up and keep me moving. Hope is acknowledging that it truly takes all kinds and there is a lid for every pot.

~day 10~ Hope is discouragement

2011-10-10T23:50:00.001-05:00

I volunteer with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at University of Wisconsin Whitewater. I absolutely adore my students. I work mostly with the girls, checking in, getting to know them, offering perspective and prayer and the occasional shoulder. This year I am also working with our servant team, the group of upper classmen that are basically guiding the chapter. Tonite one of our leaders was a little discouraged that we haven't had any "conversions" this year or in the recent past. We discussed the reasons behind this and what we can or should be doing to change it and, as is usually the case with something as large as this, came up with no solid, definitive answers.

But here's the thing. He was so frustrated by the situation, the lack of God movement, the lack of faith, and the lack of solid ideas on how to change it. That frustration looked quite similar to passion and zeal. I was so encouraged by his discouragement and frustration because it shows he cares. It shows he wants more than what the status quo has been. It shows he believes there can be more, that there is 'more' available to us. It shows he recognizes there are people all around him that do not know the amazing and wonderful God that we love and serve who loves us. It shows me that our focus is pretty good. We are desiring to be a group that is busy being about the work of God and not just doing what we've always done because that's what we've always done.

It sounds so contrary and almost a little mean. But, tonite I was encouraged by his discouragement. Tonite, his discouragement brought me fresh hope.

~day 9~ early to bed

2011-10-09T23:23:00.003-05:00

Hope is planning and saying for days and weeks and months on end that "tonight" is the night you will go to bed early to catch up on sleep.

Hope is saying it will happen tomorrow or maybe Tuesday because it's already 11:22 here.

Hope is believing you will forgive me for a short and very not-profound post.

~day 8~ Hope colored glasses

2011-10-08T16:16:00.003-05:00

Today I spent the bulk of my day in someone else's attic packing up their stuff that has been in that attic for no less than 3 years just waiting to be moved to it's permanent home. The time has finally come. The friend that owns the stuff wailed, truly, full-out wailed, when I told her my dad had died. She wailed so loud and it startled me so bad that i honestly thought something else had happened at her own home that I hadn't heard over the phone. Once she settled and I told her what had happened the first thing she said after her condolences was "I've already checked and plane tickets are (x) dollars. I can be there if you want me to." That stands as one of the sweetest offers I got from anyone in that whole time around his illness and death. I told her I thought I'd be okay and to just "put on the hog" when I went down to visit her. Meaning, do it up big, which she kind of always does anyway.

So, although I don't like getting dirty. I hate being hot and icky. And I probably won't even get to see her for 10 minutes, if that, when she comes to get her stuff. I am packing it up for her. Because I am that kind of friend. I believe that she would do the same for me if the rolls were reversed. And even if she wouldn't (which would be a long-shot and would have some seriously messed up and convoluted story behind it), that's just the person I am.

Because, I guess, I function on hope. I guess I see life through hope colored glasses. Much more than I realized before this moment that I typed that out. I do this for her because I believe and hope that she would do the same. There was a whole issue with another friend's mom's lawn not getting mowed and I told her I would take care of it if need be for the exact same reason, because I believed she would do the same for me.

I work with my students at U-WI-Whitewater because I Hope that it will have an impact. I hope that they will be different and better than they were if I stayed at home immersing myself in sitcoms and crime dramas.

I write my novels because I hope that someone will read them and see God in a different way. Or be entertained without pages of X-rated material to distract. Or see relationships or friendship in a different light.

Before this post I would have declared, vehemently, that I am a pessimist. The glass is not only half empty, it is usually cracked and sitting precariously on the edge of the table and if anyone even breathes in its general direction it will fall off and shatter. I focus on the wrong side of the coin. I focus on the things that do go wrong. On the things that aren't what I desire them to be. The things I can't fix or control or can't get a handle on. Instead of focusing on the things that have gone so very very right. The things that are exactly what I have prayed and worked for them to be. The things I have fixed or given up attempting to control or have gotten a solid handle on.

Note to self: Look at your Self through those Hope colored glasses. Someday someone will think you are stunning and delightful (Thanks Lori!) and will want to stick around "til death do us part."

~day 7~ Laughing with family

2011-10-07T23:15:00.001-05:00

My godmother is in town visiting my mom. We went out to dinner last night and out for a friday fish fry tonite. My sister and her beau came with. Afterwards we went to Mom's and played cards. 6 handed euchre. Lots of laughs were had.

We had a TON of laughs when we did our 2nd annual Hayride followed by our Minute to Win it family competition. Yes we get teams of 2, yes we do actual minute to win it games, this year we had an actual trophy.

We laughed at each other trying to blow bubbles through a hoop, with what were likely the worlds worst bubbles. Ever. In the history of the planet. We laughed at each other trying to knock over a 3 high stack of empty pop cans by shooting rubber bands at them. We laughed at each other trying to thread an uncooked spaghetti noodle through the pop top of an empty pop can so our partner could grab the other end and carry it to the other end of the table .... by holding the noodle in our mouth! That doesn't count any of the shenanigans that were had on the actual hayride. The least of those shenanigans was that about half of our family went up into some field to potty halfway through.

I think most of us had moments where we missed Dad. I noticed it tonite because we were an even number of people because I'm still single and didn't have a +1 to bring with. I remembered a few times this week that Dad and I played a game of euchre with his 2 brothers just a week before he died. We won. And even in the midst of that game it occurred to me that it might be the last card game I play with my dad, that it might be dad's last game ever. I remember that. I can take the comfort in knowing that I had that. I think most of our family took as many of those "small" moments as we could after we knew dad's cancer was essentially terminal. Family and long-unseen friends showed up just to see Dad. I am certain not one of them regretted the drive or the expense of gas or the time spent. I'd wager that none of them regret seeing my Dad looking the way he did at the end. He wasn't terribly awful looking, but he was certainly not himself.

There is hope in knowing we can laugh again. We can smile again. We can visit friends and be there for our other loved ones. Others can be there for us. There is most definitely hope in knowing that sharing your grief, letting others know your history, can release them to share theirs with you. Maybe theirs isn't so easy or simple or straight-forward. Maybe they didn't get that last card game. They didn't get to tell their loved one how much they loved them. They do have regrets. Or maybe they just aren't sure that being fine for weeks on end is "normal" and after weeks to be blindsided by something ridiculous or inconsequential and be reduced to a sobbing blubbering mess. There is hope in knowing that God is and will use this to make you more like Christ and to help others become more like Christ. Hope is laughter with loved ones.

~day 6~ Focus

2011-10-06T16:12:00.000-05:00

Last night as I grieved my dad's passing I realized something, again.

I am greedy.

I want more.

More life.

Just more.

It's such a profound and bone deep desire I can barely articulate it. But, right alongside more is better. I want to be better.
A better housekeeper.

A better budgeter.

A better friend.
A better sister.
A better volunteer.
A better woman.

People have told me all sorts of cliche things about still being single and waiting for the right man and working on yourself while you wait. For me that translated into
"There is something wrong with you, and until you fix it, you won't find him."
"You're not good enough for the kind of man you want, once you're good enough he'll be able to see you."
I've heard it in the media, I've seen it in movies, I've even heard it in various ways to different degrees from friends. Only one or two friends have honestly said "I don't know why you're still single." And said it in a way that attempted to tell me that none of those other things are true.

Tonite I cried and I prayed. As I prayed I asked for more, almost as a default, I'm not sure I actually think much about it anymore. Then I asked to be better. At first I meant healed, done with this grieving, moving on, progressing, better. Then I felt like God said to me "Better than what?" And I listed off all those things above that I want to be better at. And I felt like He said "You're doing just fine. It's ok to be here. You're not as bad as you think." Cause see, the thing is, I focus on the comparison I make to my friends and family. The comparisons I listed out in a previous blog about people who keep their houses clean and their weight down and their checkbook balanced. I see that, and when I measure myself against that standard I lose. I will always lose. Always.

I thought to myself
"I am going to work.
I pay my bills.
My dishes get done eventually.
I spend time with my friends, and i'm not catatonic.
I spend time with my family, and i'm not catatonic.
I am pouring into my students still."
Could life be better? yep. Could I be better? possibly. But if I compare myself to where I was 5 years ago, I'm doing very well. 10 years ago, very very well. Even one year ago, much much better than where I was then.

So why do I focus on what I still lack? Why do I focus on my perceived shortcomings? Honestly? Because they're easier to see. It's easier to let the negative voices of life repeat to you that you're not enough, that you're ugly or stupid or fat or lazy or loud or emotional or whatever.

It's easier to listen to those than to block those out and shut those away long enough to hear

The Lover of Your Soul rejoice over you with singing.

To hear Him say you are his Beloved.

To hear Him say he will never leave you nor forsake you.

To hear him say you are enough, even if no one else believed it, He does.

He always has, He always will.

And He never lets go.

He will always ever continue to whisper His Truth to your heart.

All you have to do is focus and it comes in loud and clear.

~day 5~ They didn't have to

2011-10-05T22:00:00.000-05:00

Today is my dad's birthday. He should have been 61. This is how I remember him, probably how most of us remember him.

I asked a few friends to pray for me today that I would be able to work all day without breaking down. Mostly because I didn't want to just lay at home and cry. Also because I didn't want to take any vacation time cause I'm planning a trip away in December. And I made it. Only by the grace of God. I had two or three moments where I thought for sure it was over. But I shook myself and buried my brain in whatever task was in front of me and I made it. But at 5:02 I posted a picture on facebook wishing Dad a happy birthday and the tears started.

After dinner with mom and sister and planting the bulbs from the funeral plants I headed home to bury my head in facebook and network television. Mom called to tell me her sister had called and had a picture to text to me. She warned me it would make me cry. When I got it, it did. It was my aunt and 3 of her grandkids and our full-size family van that we gave them with a Happy Birthday balloon. Mom didn't realize right away, and had to tell me, that they had gone out to the cemetery where Dad is buried. They took the picture there.

Hope is knowing that there are people who "get" your grief. Hope is knowing that they will do the thing you can't do (drive 2 1/2 hours to visit that cemetery). Hope is knowing people will do the thing they don't have to do just because they love you, just because they understand, just because they don't want you to feel alone.

Happy Birthday Daddy. We love you. We miss you.

~day 4~ Hope is elusive

2011-10-04T23:53:00.000-05:00

Hope can be elusive. It can feel more like a theoretical concept than a reality of your life. There are moments in the hardest spots of life where you will honestly wonder if it will ever get any better. I have had at least a few of those moments every single year for almost 10 years probably. And the thing is, if I am truly honest with myself, a LOT of things in my life have changed. A lot of things have gotten better and some things have gotten ridiculously better. Yes, somethings got worse, sort of, or I suffered loss or pain or something, but overall things are pretty good for me.

My pastor asked a couple Sundays ago that anyone who had a "need" picture it in their mind and we prayed about it. Thing is? I couldn't truly think of something I could call a "need." I don't want to be single, but I can't classify that as a need. I'd rather not work a day job because I'm a night owl (i'm writing at 11:40 pm) and would rather sleep in every morning, but the need to keep my apartment trumps that desire. I do need to lose weight, but that's not the kind of need I felt he was talking about, and more importantly I didn't even think of it at that moment. I looked around and I saw a friend in a very rough situation that truly only God himself can intervene in, so I shifted my prayers to be on their behalf rather than my own. But 5 years ago? I had needs. 3 years ago? I had needs. A year ago? I had needs. I need healing yes, I need someone to walk me through this process of grieving. But I have that. I have amazing friends and wonderful family going through that road with me. And I have God himself on my side, he understands this truly, and he can absorb all my fury and rage and despair.

Tomorrow hope will likely be elusive. I will hold tight, white-knuckled probably, to the intellectual belief that it will get better. But I probably won't feel it. In fact, I can almost guarantee that I won't feel it. In fact, I may not "feel" it so much that I won't get out of bed or go to work.

Tomorrow is my Dad's birthday.

He should have been 61. We should be going to Olive Garden or Ground Round or even Texas Roadhouse to have dinner and then back to their house for a piece of cake. Maybe a card game or two before calling it a night. But he isn't 61. And we aren't going out to eat. And it will definitely not feel like a celebration. We've got a plan, we know what we want to do to remember and honor him, but ... it won't feel like a celebration. Because we're each missing a piece of our heart.

But I have to hold on to hope. Hope that next year it won't be quite as bad, it won't feel quite as hard. Hope that the sharpness of the pain continues to ease. Hope that someday we can talk about him without wanting to break down. Hope that someday the nevers will be done or almost done and I won't find myself leaning against a wall reminding myself to breathe because I'm doubled over with the weight and pain of the grief.

And, the reason I write, hope that someone else might see this and realize they are not alone. That someone else might read this and know that someday, it does get better. Birthdays will get easier, holidays will get lighter. The pain may not go away, but the sharpness of it will dull. The intensity of it will fade some. Someday it will be like someone who claims to feel the rain coming in an achy joint, you'll remember your loved one and there will be pain, sadness, loss, but you'll be able to laugh and enjoy life and share who they were and how they impacted your life. You'll be able to talk freely about them without hesitating to check and see how you're doing emotionally and whether or not you can get through it.

Today it's elusive. But, eventually, on some seemingly distant tomorrow, it won't be quite so elusive.

~day 3~ Mah Students

2011-10-04T00:08:00.002-05:00

I volunteer as a mentor to college students at my alma mater. I work with an organization called InterVarsity Christian Fellowship.

And I love it. I adore it. It makes me happier than almost anything else I've done in the last 5+ years.

Tonite we had a meeting and our chapter president asked how we become a chapter that is passionate about God. Are we living like we are clothed with power from on high? How do we become that kind of chapter?

We discussed a bit and it's midnight, so I need to get to bed, so I'm not going to delve into the theological ideas and thoughts that went around. But, this conversation, this desire in a kid who's not even old enough to drink! This is hope to me.

I love my students. I love the girl in charge of socials that has had a tragedy this week. I love the girl coordinating our welcome table who is dealing with a bit of heartbreak. I love the super shy girl I know from my church town who is helping with the welcome table. i love the brand new girls I've just met. I love our bible study leaders. I love our emcee because she's real. I love them. And don't even get me started on our young men. We did a pancake party after our large group last Thursday. When we asked for a couple of guys to help with the cleanup, almost every guy in the room stood up and invaded the kitchen. Then they proceeded to wash dishes that weren't even ours! (sigh) I am in love. ;)

This is hope. Knowing that young people are still finding purpose and value in Christ. Knowing that when the rubber hits the road and mom and dad aren't there to watch that they still want to have God in their lives. Knowing that lives are being changed and impacted by these students that I get to influence, even if that influence is so small I, myself, can't even see it. That is hope.

~day 2~ Hope is like a cousin

2011-10-02T21:44:00.005-05:00

Some of us know our cousins well. Some of us have vague recollections of them from childhood. Some of us have never known any of our extended family beyond the knowledge that our parents didn't spring from the ground on their own.

Hope can be like that. Some days you have so much hope in your life and in the future that your chest swells to bursting with it. You can hardly believe life is this good. You can hardly believe how far God has already brought you from where He found you.

Some days you remember what it was like to hope. You know that you used to hope for things. But these days hope feels like a child's birthday wish. Something silly we allow for the innocence of children. Something that never comes through (how many of us got that pony we always wished for?).

And some days. Dark days. Hope is nothing more than the knowledge that you used to hope. The knowledge that such a thing exists, for some people. But on the darkest days of a full-blown depression, hope feels like a court jester mocking you. In the dark of those moments the idea that life could ever be better is ludicrous. In that moment it feels as if life has always felt that way so why should tomorrow be any different?

When you're traveling the road of grief you have to pack hope. There is simply no way around it. Merriam Webster defines hope as:

to expect with confidence or

to desire with expectation of obtainment

When you are grieving you have to expect that someday, eventually, that hurt won't be quite as sharp. Some day that song won't make you break down in the grocery store. Some day you'll be able to celebrate his birthday more like you did when he was here. Because without hope, there is only despair. You are only left with that pain and absence. That wound that will never heal.

If I didn't have hope I'd have long ago lost my apartment, probably my car, most of my furniture and landed back in my parents basement. I've struggled with depression for a long time, I can't comprehend the worst of my bouts with depression still being full-blown while trying to grieve my dad. I just can't. I was barely functioning much of the time as it was, and life was pretty good overall.

Tonite I grieve. In 3 days my dad should have been 61. But he won't be here to celebrate that birthday. My mom and sister and I are going to do our own celebration of the wonderful man we had for 60 years. We will cry I'm sure. We plan to plant bulbs that were sent to us in funeral flower arrangements. We will eat cake. And we will remember what a wonderful man we had in our lives for so long. Yes, he should have gotten to 61. He should have gotten to 81 as far as I'm concerned. But even He said the day of the "official" diagnosis

At least I've had a good life,

I'm not some kid who never got a chance to live.

So, I will go to bed tonite trying to focus on hope. Trying to focus on expecting, with confidence, that someday Oct 5 won't make me weep. In my mind I know that in the long run Hope is stronger than Grief. In the long run I will be able to smile and celebrate and be happy that I had such a wonderful Daddy who modeled for me how much a man should love his wife. Someday I will have more hope than I have grief.

~day 1~ I didn't expect that

2011-10-01T21:29:00.000-05:00

A few months ago I met a guy online. We chatted online a few times. We exchanged phone numbers and talked on the phone a few times. We met in person and it went fairly well. We talked a few more times and met again. Without getting into gory and unnecessary details, he certainly left me with the impression that he very interested. And 2 days later I got an email saying that he, in fact, did not think we were a good match. Which was very hard. Felt very abrupt and it hurt. In case it needs saying he was not trying to be a jerk. His email was as kind and respecting as it could be considering the purpose. But it hurt.

A few weeks later I went to a picnic. When I mentioned to someone that I had been seeing a guy and it had ended another friend piped up and said "Can I go beat him up?" I was surprised. It made me smile. I didn't expect that. Of course, I told the friend "If you can find him, go ahead." And went on to discuss where he might find the guy.

When I first met the guy I would post occasionally on Facebook that I was talking to a guy or that he seemed to have promise and I posted when we were meeting. But, not where cause I didn't want my friends to show up and scare the poor boy off! ;) A lot of people posted encouragements and hopes for things to go well. To be honest I was a bit surprised at how many people commented to wish me well. I didn't expect people to wish me ill, but I was constantly surprised by which people would take those few extra seconds to post words of encouragement and not just hit like. I was also surprised by which of the people would post. Again, not that I believed they wished me ill, but they were, well they are people I haven't had any other contact with in 5 and 10 years or more. I didn't expect that.

Last week I heard a story, which would take much too long to type out, but comes down to an acquaintance , M, of mine threatening to take down a guy I know, J, if the guy didn't treat his girlfriend right. I ran into J and the girlfriend and was telling her about my guy situation earlier this year so we could laugh about sending M out to knock some sense into my guy. Well, J stops me at one point and says, "Wait, what happened?" Because the full answer is much too complicated and the situation wasn't truly conducive I took a moment to figure out how to phrase what happened and answered "He didn't want to date me." Which I thought was pretty innocuous as far as potential answers go. Well, J, apparently, didn't agree. J is one of the single sweetest guys I know. He is an absolute teddy bear. But when I told him that this guy didn't want to date me, his face went hard and his eyes narrowed and he seriously looked like he might consider driving out to knock some sense into the guy himself, forget about taking M. I didn't expect that.

These things, and a few others, made me realize just how special I am to people. They made me realize how protective my friends are of me. They made me realize I don't think nearly as highly of myself as most of my friends do.

A couple weeks ago the guy emailed me out of the blue. In part because I've read too many romance novels where the heroine refuses to give the guy the time of day without making him grovel and all the while he just wants to explain what happened and why he was a moron and can he please make it up to her for the rest of his life, I gave him the opportunity to take me out to lunch. Again, much too long a story to bother telling, but suffice it to say I got the answers I was looking for. I was correct on some of my suspicions. I was wrong on others. I'm still single. We've chatted a few times on instant messenger and I'm realizing that we are not a good match at all. I'm ok with that. I'm still very very tired of being single. I'm very very tired of carrying in groceries by myself. I'm tired of worrying about bills myself. I'm tired of going home alone to an empty apartment. But I would rather continue this life I have than force a relationship that won't have my best interests at heart. I didn't expect to recover quite as quickly as I have.

Today starts Chatting at the Sky's 31 days challenge to post every day for the month of October. I seriously considered joining. My focus right now is on fiction and November is NaNoWriMo. NaNo did a 2 month set of challenges called Camp NaNo in July and August. I successfully completed July and that completion fried my brain for August. I already have my idea for this years NaNo story, so I am not committing to writing daily for the 31 days of October. Plus, I don't know if I can string together coherent thoughts about the same topic for 31 days. That's a lot of days and ways of looking at one thing. I commented that I didn't know if i could complete the full 31 days. I mentioned that the only topic i could think of was grief. I thought about what the other side of grief is and decided it is hope. I can get stuck in grief and despair or I can turn my mind and heart and focus on hope. But 31 days is a lot of thinking about hope.

Then, as I was writing this, right in that paragraph above, this song by Addison Road came on:

Everything rides on hope now
Everything rides on faith somehow
When the world has broken me down
Your love sets me free

It occurs to me that maybe God has 31 things to say to me about hope. Originally I decided not to join, but I'm reconsidering that. I'm going to post today and see if I manage to get something up tomorrow. If I decide to go for it, you'll see a daily post from me. If life comes crashing in, you won't. Either way, I didn't expect to realize how many people want such very good things for me. I didn't expect to be challenged to write about hope for 31 days. But then, I didn't expect God to find me almost 15 years ago either. But he did, and he's never let me go.

Like a ton of bricks

2011-09-26T08:30:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in awhile. Mostly because I've been busy living life out in the real world. And partially because I've been doing pretty well. My job is going great. My friends and family relationships are going great. I've started volunteering at UWW again, which I absolutely love, and which has taken up a lot of time these last few weeks. Oh, and I got suckered into two more facebook games that can take up a lot of time if you allow them to, which I did for awhile. Plus it's easier to zone out if you're playing facebook games than it is if you're reading or writing or actually interacting with someone or something for real.

Tonite Amazing Race started again. Since I had to do laundry anyway, it was a two-fold trip to Mom's. When I got there she first said she was glad I was there because she was "wasting away to nothing," which is a running joke in our family since most of us are or have been overweight for significant periods of time. But then she looked away and her face got a little funny and her voice hiccuped a bit and she said

And I was feeling lonesome.

I started my laundry and settled into my usual spot in the living room and we chatted awhile. She told me a few things from her day and why she was feeling lonesome and we both cried just a little bit. Amazing Race finished and my laundry got done. I gave her a hug goodbye and she thanked me for coming over.

She thanked me.

And she said "Your Dad always looked forward to you coming over."

She's told me that before. We used to kind of joke about it because he and I barely spoke when I was there. We didn't play cards or watch movies or do things together. He sat in his room playing spider solitaire flipping between 2-5 movies and Mom and I sat in the living room watching Amazing Race. But he looked forward to me being there. Even if I brought us supper from a take out place he almost always sat in his room to eat and Mom and I sat in the living room and ate. But he still looked forward to that.
These are the things that blind side you. That fall on you like a ton of bricks. That it would have never occurred to you would become poignant and make you cry. Mom and I's routine hasn't changed. But the rest of the house sits dark while we watch our show.
And again I think

"It's not supposed to be this way."

So many things aren't supposed to be this way.

I was laying in bed last night waiting to fall asleep and wondered fleetingly how long it has been since I cried about my dad. I wondered if that meant anything. I wondered if it was "normal." And tonite, Adele's song goes through my mind again. Someone Like You, which has recently been released on the radio. The chorus strikes a chord with me every time

"I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,

I had hoped you'd see my face

and that you'd be reminded that,

for me,

it isn't over."

When you go through something like that people tell you all sorts of things. Really a lot of people say "If you need anything ...."

But 5 1/2 months later where are they? I know of only two of my friends who would truly have welcomed me in tonite and let me just cry on them. Some would have accepted it as a "necessary" or "required" part of friendship, but they would have been distracted by their kids or their schedules or whatever is going on for them. And that's, whatever. c'est la vie. That's just how we are as human beings.

So I drove home with tears rolling down my face pretty continuously. I brought my laundry in and locked my door behind me. And nearly collapsed from the weight of the grief. People forget, or don't know, that grief can carry a physical weight with it. An exhaustion and a wearing and a heaviness.

So, I started my mantra. The mantra I've told myself for years while struggling through depression.
While trying to find "normal."
While trying to function and even thrive in this world of mine.
While looking around myself and not seeing anyone else having this same struggle.
Not seeing anyone else who can't be moved to do their dishes until they start to smell.
Not seeing anyone else who can't be moved to put the laundry away until there are 3 socks and a pair of underwear left in the basket and a pile of laundry where the basket is supposed to be and the only reason you even do it then is because the dirty needs to get washed and you need the basket to take it to your parents.
Not seeing anyone else who can walk over 5-10 receipts just laying on the floor all over the house because you truly can't figure out what to do with them and it's easier to just leave them there.
Not seeing anyone else who comes home, boots up facebook, flips on Bones DVDs and literally zones out for 2-4 hours just to avoid thinking about anything more than harvesting crops or finishing recipes until it's time to go to bed.
Not seeing anyone else who not only desires but actually does, regularly and consistently, eat themselves into oblivion or into a carb coma so that their brain will stop functioning and they can make it to bedtime without a breakdown.

I repeat my mantra
"Just don't stop moving.
Just don't stop.
Just keep moving.
Just keep doing.
Just keep going."

I hold the walls for support as I walk around my apartment putting things away and getting the coffee pot ready for tomorrow. I double over the coffee table with the weight and let it have just a few seconds before I force myself upright to put the laundry away. I move through my apartment by memory because my eyes are so full of tears I can't actually see straight.
And I ignore the dishes.
and I ignore the receipts.
and I ignore the laundry.
and I ignore the voices that tell me all sorts of mean things.
I'm a failure because I can't keep up with my dishes.
I'm a loser because I have never done housework with any version of consistency.
I'm single for a reason, and that reason is I'm too fat for anyone to find me attractive.
I don't have anyone to stop in on uninvited, unexpected because I am a brand of crazy that my friends barely tolerate.
I compare myself to my sister, and I come up very very short.
That this is not just a season, this is my life. This is forever.
And to some degree the last one is true. The grief over my dad will never truly go away. It will dull with time and I will learn to function with that wound, but it will never truly go away. And that's ok. That's how it's actually supposed to be. As that pain dulls and I get used to the wound, things like the first Amazing Race Premier without Dad in the other room will hit me like a ton of bricks. Not having to figure out what to feed Dad cause Mom and I want Chinese will come out of right field. Random snippets of popular songs "Have you ever wished for an endless night," strike you like a piano from a tall building. But, hopefully, those times get farther apart. Hopefully those times get less severe. Hopefully those times become less debilitating. Hopefully, someday, maybe, someone will be here to help me through those times.
Tonite the dishes sit. The receipts sit. Half of the laundry sits. And i write and cry. Because maybe, someday, someone else will feel exactly like this and will wonder if they are all alone in that feeling. They will wonder if really unexpected things will be the things to truly blindside you. They will wonder if any of this is "normal." And they can read this and know they are not alone. Unexpected things do blindside you. All of this is normal. Whatever you're going through is normal. You can use another version of my mantra.
Just keep breathing.
Tonite, that's it. That's all you have to do. Everything else is secondary.

Regret

2011-08-19T22:07:00.011-05:00

In early March I got Season one of FlashPoint from the local library. One episode was about a guy who used to be on the team the show revolvs around. At the end one of them says something about family and how there should be no secrets with family. Something about that episode and the others I watched around it struck a chord in me. And I wrote a short letter to my Dad. I told him that I wanted him to fight. I told him I wanted him to be here. I told him that I did not want him to stay if it meant he was miserable. But, I tried my best to make it clear that I wanted him to fight back, that I believed we could beat the odds of this. I tried to make myself believe it was possible. I told him over and over, in writing, how much we love him and that he's not allowed to leave me for a very long time.

the world will forever be off it's proper axis
if you leave me too soon

When I wrote it I intended to rewrite it into a pretty card that they could keep in the living room. I even wrote in the note that I was doing a card instead of driving over there at 11pm in my pajamas so that he could look at the card and remind himself why he's fighting.

I never wrote it into a card.

I never gave it to him.

In my heart of hearts, in my spirit, in my intellectual mind, I sincerely do not believe that this letter would have done anything at all to make him stay. When it was all done, I realized how far gone the cancer was before he ever went to the doctor in the first place. His death certificate says Stage 4. But even knowing that .... I still wish I had at least torn this sheet out of this stupid effing notebook and given it to him. Or gone over there and done like I said in the note and taken his face in my hands and looked him directly in the eyes and told him how very very much we all love him.

But, I thought we had time.

But ...

I don't regret losing a job in a toxic environment that almost gave me an ulcer 4+ months before he died.
I don't regret taking the job I have now less than a month before he died.
I don't regret spending almost the entire last Friday before I started work at the house with him watching stupid, ridiculous corny lifetime movies.
I don't regret staying at the house the night before we called hospice
I don't regret missing work that Wednesday we called hospice.
I don't regret sitting next to him, holding his hand as his family prayed the rosary.
I don't regret being there to watch him slip away silently.
I don't regret texting most of my friends to let them know he was gone.
I don't regret sitting there holding his hand off and on the rest of that day until the funeral director came to get him.
I don't regret telling his sister to get on the first plane she could get, to not wait two more days to come out.
I don't regret writing his obituary.
I don't regret missing a week of work for the funeral etc.
I don't regret insisting, superficial as it still seems, that I needed black pants with pockets for the visitation.
I don't regret starting a eulogy because I turned it into a letter we put up for everyone to read at the visitation.
I don't regret anything I said aloud to anyone.

I could play what if. We all do it at various points in life over various situations. (I was recently seeing a guy for just barely over a month and then poof he's gone too, believe me, I've been playing a lot of what if over that). But for the most part, I refuse to allow myself to play what if. What if I had said this. What if I had done that. What if I had told that person this thing or this person that thing.

What if I had given that letter to my dad?

Not only is it unproductive, it can be very damaging. I did the best I knew to do at the time with the knowledge I had. If I had known that we had mere hours left, would I have done things differently?

ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY.

But even those things are for other people. But even that is unproductive. I can't change any of it. I can't fix anything for anyone else that I wish I had done differently for them. At the end of my life I will only answer for my own choices. And I was there. I got to say what I wanted him to hear. I got the peace afterwards that he had heard all of us. I can remind myself of that peace and comfort myself with the assurance that he is looking down on me from heaven.

Even if that doesn't dry my tears.

So often I see people with their families and I want to shake them. I want to take their hand or grab their face in my palms and beg them, beg them to tell their parents they appreciate them. To say the words. To make sure they know, beyond any possible shadow, that everything they could ever wish to say has been said. But I'm already a little crazy to begin with, I think that might push me over into Avoid-That-Crazy-Lady status (kidding).

I thought of doing that very thing a few weeks ago when I was spending an evening with a family I'm good friends with through my church. I wanted to take both the daughters and just say "Please. Please go in there right now and tell him how much you love him. Tell him what a wonderful Dad he is and has been. Tell him how much you appreciate him. Please, please tell him. Now." But just thinking about doing that nearly brought me to tears. And I don't think I can become 'that' person who cries in front of people. I cried in front of people at the funeral and stuff, but other than that, I've cried in front of my mom and two friends, as far as I can remember right now.

So, instead of actually walking up to you and taking your cheeks in my hands and looking you in the eye, I am doing it virtually.

To each and every one of you.

I had 7 weeks and I never got around to giving him the letter I wrote. You may not get 7 minutes. Take the minutes you can, right now. Email them if you have to. Text them. Call them if the ringing phone won't give them a heart attack. Even if they weren't the Worlds Greatest Parent. If you turned out well and you can attribute any of that to your parents, then go Thank them. please. Don't put it off and end up with regrets that will weigh you down for years.

My regrets are light. They are few. I think it would be impossible to not have some regret about something, no matter how small, when you're looking 20/20 hindsight at the situation. But I sleep at peace. I cry in grief only. I breathe deep and keep walking. I hope you will be able to do the same when the time comes for you to walk this road.

Good Will Hunting (video has lots of language, skip to 2:20 to hear just this bit & none of the language)

No, I'm not kiddin' you, Will.

That's why I'm not talkin' right now about some girl I saw at a bar twenty years ago

and how I always regretted not going over and talking to her.

I don't regret the 18 years I was married to Nancy.

I don't regret the six years I had to give up counseling when she got sick.

And I don't regret the last years when she got really sick.

And I sure as hell don't regret missin' the damn game.

That's regret.

time

2011-08-13T01:21:00.005-05:00

Time is a funny thing. Some gurus and pundits declare that we all have the same amount of time in a day and our life becomes the sum of how we spend those amounts. I suppose on a technical scale that is true. But in the reality and practicality of living it gets much more blurry.

In one way I have 8 hours less a day than my friends who stay at home with their kids. I am not at my house, I am not nurturing friendships or other relationships. I am not (necessarily) utilizing my gifts or talents or pursuing my hobbies. And in one way those mom's have 3-5 hours less a day to sleep than I have. I don't have late night night terrors or middle of the night feedings or little fingers poking me much earlier than I'd like to be woken up.

So, time becomes a relativity and an amorphous idea. It's easy to say we all have 24 hours in a day and break that down to minutes and seconds or count it up to hours in a week. But that completely ignores the fact that reality isn't always real and outside things constantly affect our tracking of time. A night spent with good friends will always go faster than a boring or stressful afternoon at work. Both might be 4 hours long, but they will certainly not feel the same.

My Dad went to the doctor on February 22 and he died on April 13. 7 weeks and 1 day. The 7 weeks before he died and the 7 weeks after, at a minimum, are a haze. I can recall pieces, some very vividly and some in snippets, like the rememberance of a dream you had a few days ago. I can remember going to the house and sitting with him on Friday the 18th while my Mom went in to work or ran errands or something. I remember going in to work on the 13th for an hour or so to tell my boss we were calling hospice. I remember hearing my aunts sob when they found out they hadn't made it to the house in time. I know I sent a text to the people I was keeping in the loop. I remember calling my best friend in Japan repeatedly over the course of 2 hours until I could get ahold of her. I remember calling another dear friend who didn't have a cell phone and couldn't receive a text. I remember another wonderful friend wailing on the phone and I remember that surprising me, and wondering if something else happened on her end to make her wail like that, it actually took me a second to realize she was crying for me. I remember realizing that my job was actually a blessing in the grief because without it I don't know if I would have gotten out of bed by now.

I remember my eyes filling with tears in the office at UW when the chemo doctor told us if the chemo worked that it could buy us time, hopefully many months. I remember Dad saying that retiring from General Motors after 35 years was probably the thing he was most proud of in his whole life. I remember him saying that at least he had already had a good life and a good wife and girls who loved him, rather than some little kid who hadn't even had a chance at life yet. I remember him telling me that once the weather got nice he was going to have someone come in and paint the entire house. I remember humoring him because the idea was, and still is, ludicrous.

I remember thinking we'd have time. More time. A few months at least, maybe he could make it to Christmas. Then I saw how quickly he was declining and I thought maybe he'd get through our birthdays, that would still have been 2 months. Then Mom decided it was time to call hospice, and I thought we had a couple of weeks. Time to gather the family, time to ask the questions or tell the stories I still long to hear. Time.

I remember telling a couple of specific people to tell each other what was going on, and I targeted "my group" of people to keep in prayer for us. But I also distinctly remember not putting it on the prayer chain at church and not posting anything on facebook because I didn't want to deal with the crap that people would inevitably throw at me. Platitudes and bumper stickers and rote prayers. I just didn't want to deal with it.

But a couple of weeks ago in church we prayed for a woman. I think her name is Kathy. She lives in the town I go to church in and she was recently diagnosed with some kind of cancer, I think. My pastor started to pray and I started to agree in prayer and ask that God spare them the grief I am going through .... and I had to get up and leave the sanctuary. I stood by a window in our foyer and quietly cried. I think I may have made it to church once in those 7 weeks before he died. Since I specifically didn't want it on the prayer chain, I wondered ...

Did they pray for my Dad and my family
like they are praying for this woman?

I had that momentary "what if?" And I cast that aside pretty quickly, it tried to come back a few times but I refused to dwell on it. But I still wonder. I've thought of asking a couple of my friends who would know, but I'm not sure I want to know the answer. It's a two edged sword for me. If they did pray for us, why didn't any more of them say or do anything before he died? If they didn't pray for us, could it have made any difference? Intellectually, and even spiritually, I know that God is sovereign and holy, I know that His will was done, I know that He is good and only gives good gifts. But my heart weeps.

People like to say time heals all wounds. But that's not true. If you lose a leg in a tragic accident, time doesn't heal that. If you get in a horrifying car crash and your leg is shattered, you will never be exactly the same as you were before. You will have scars. I think time especially doesn't "heal" grief, not this kind of grief. I truly believe I will always feel this absence in my life. But the sharpness and intensity of it will fade as I continue walking through my days. In a few years the idea of October 5th or April 13th won't make me want to curl up in a ball and stop functioning for awhile. Eventually I will be able to remember the good stuff and laugh and only be glad that I had such a wonderful Daddy for such a long time.

But right now, I keep hearing Pink's voice in my head. (starts about 2:55)

Have you ever
wished for
an endless night
lassoed the stars
and the moon
and pulled that rope tight.

I would never wish for my father to still be here in as much pain as he was that last night. But I hear those lyrics and that's what I think of. I wish I could go back. I wish I could stop everything that night, or the night before. I wish I could have appreciated how little time we actually had. I don't know that I would do a lot of things differently than I did, but if I had known we only had 7 weeks, I don't think I would have done anything other than be at the house with them.

Every.

Single.

Day.

it's been awhile

2011-08-06T12:47:00.003-05:00

so, yeah, it's been awhile since i posted anything. As is true of my entire life, things go in spurts. I blog pretty consistently for awhile and then ignore it completely for months on end. c'est la vie. or at lest c'est la vie of this Mouse.

I spent July alternating between vegitating in front of facebook games or Bones episodes and writing another 50,000 word novel for Camp NaNoWriMo. (You can sponsor me by clicking on the link widget to the right.)

I have been ruminating on a post for most of the month. But I just don't seem to be able to get myself sat down and write it. One of these days I'll get it up though.

I had forewarned my facebook friends last week that I would be hard to get ahold of this month due to a second session of Camp NaNo. Now I am warning you of the same. I have a feeling that blog I've been thinking about will make it's way up before the end of the month, but then again you may have to wait until September to see it.

Gotta go work on my novel now. My stats page tells me that at my current rate, I won't finish this novel until December 1! That is *totally* not within the challenge time allotted.

2011-06-30T22:25:00.002-05:00

I went to Radio Shack a couple years ago to get a Digital converter box. I walked in and rather than browsing around with no idea what I was looking for or where to find it, I simply walked up to the counter. There was one man at a computer working on something, and the monitor was so high on the desk that I just barely saw the top of his head. There was a 2nd guy at a 2nd computer working with a woman on her cell plan. "Ok, only two guys in the store, I can be patient." A few minutes later a 3rd guy walks out of the back, passes right by me and walks up to someone at the very front of the store and asks if he can help them. Um, wait, hello?? Ok, i can let him off the hook, I kinda looked like I was in line, I guess. He goes back into the back, again without acknowledging me in any way, shape or form. Then the 2nd guy gets done with the cell phone lady and as soon as she turns to leave he turns to leave and goes into the back. Again, not acknowledging my presence in any way. Somewhere in this that first guy behind the computer also left and went into the back. Then a 4th guy comes from the back and starts talking to someone else about how he can help them. At this point I am having a seriously Twilight Zone/Heroes moment.

"Have I become invisible? Why don't they see me? Why don't they acknowledge me? Is it because I'm a woman? Cause I still need techy digitaly stuff. How would I know if I was invisible? That's ridiculous. People aren't invisible. Heroes was a made up TV show. That stuff isn't real. Ok, but why haven't any of these guys offered to help me???"

Then the 2nd guy, who was helping the cell phone lady, came back out and right up to the computer he was working on before and started doing something. Again, never acknowledging I am even standing there at all. Didn't glance at me, didn't smile in my direction, didn't seem to even notice my presence at all. Finally I decided to test my "so incredibly remote possibility it borders on me appearing truly certifiably insane" theory.

"Am I invisible or something? Do you not see me standing here?"

To which the cell phone helper guy jumped to and very apologetically stated that he thought someone else had helped me. Who he thought helped me, I have no idea. Why he thought anyone was helping me when I was standing in the exact same spot I had been in since I'd walked in, I don't know. He was incredibly helpful and very very apologetic after that. I got my convertor box and went home a fairly happy customer.

A few weeks ago I met a guy online. We chatted online a few times, exchanged phone #s and talked on the phone a couple times. Then we met in person. Though it was less You've Got Mail and more Must Love Dogs, it was a good meeting. Spent almost 6 hours with him that Saturday. Talked a few more times that week. Texted a bit. Set up a 2nd date. Had another nice day. Lunch and mini golf with a friend of his, hanging out on a bench being relaxed and content, while chatting about everything and nothing. Met up with him a 3rd day, the very next day, again a nice day. Had a few bumps both of those days, things were not perfect nor love at first sight. But both of us agreed definite potential for more. Two days later I got an email telling me he didn't think we were a good fit because he is recently out of a relationship and is more vulnerable than he realized and that he didn't want to take emotional advantage of me. Intellectually I appreciate his honesty and his explaining himself rather than just slinking off leaving me wondering WTH just happened.

But my heart is bruised. My hope is tarnished. Again. I find myself asking if I am invisible. Do people see me?

I keep parts of my Self back in every relationship I have. I show these sides to this friend and those sides to the other friend. I don't know that I have ever truly opened up every single facet of my heart and mind and life to any single friend. It's one thing to not get around to sharing something, that's not what I mean. I mean there are pieces and parts of my heart and thinking that I intentionally withhold from various friends. Because as the MercyMe song, Beautiful, says "Wondering if you ever could be loved. And if they truly saw your heart, they'd see too much." In my mind, if someone did see my full, true heart, it would be too much, and they would leave. Stop taking my calls, stop answering emails, stop spending time with me, leave.

I went for a bike ride after the guy cut and run and amidst the many things I thought of and prayed about I thought, repeatedly,

"I just want someone to see me. I want someone to notice me."

I have been realizing these last months and even years that for whatever reason I often feel invisible. I'm pretty sure that feeling/fear is why I can be so boisterous and outgoing and even obnoxious and loud. Because how can you not see and acknowledge that girl? Thus guaranteeing that I am seen. The downside to that is it makes my fear of being invisible become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The people in my world get so used to me being boisterous and outgoing and loud that they don't notice me when I'm not that way. I have tried to "test" this theory a few times at church and various church functions. "If I don't get up and go say hi to someone, will anyone say hi to me?" I think to myself. And I simply sit, quietly, waiting, hoping that someone will notice me. Inevitably, no one does. And my hope tarnishes again.

So I flounder. I stumble about in this life hoping that someone will help right me. Hoping that someday someone will choose to stick around after I have a (very mild) freak out about how I don't know how to date or start a relationship. That someone will see my tears and think only of comforting me, not get scared off.

That someday, somehow I will believe God. When he calls himself El Roi, which means the God who sees Me, that it will fill my heart and mind as Truth. Not feel like an empty sentiment that doesn't actually help.

That someday I won't feel invisible.

Hate to turn up out of the blue

2011-06-14T23:02:00.004-05:00

I have fallen in love with Adele. Love love love. She's only put out 2 albums. But the 2nd one especially is on repeat in my car. And this song came on tonight, Someone Like You.

The chorus says

I hate to show up

out of the blue

uninvited

but I couldn't stay away

I couldn't fight it

I had hoped you'd see my face

and that you'd be reminded

that for me

it isn't over.

And that last bit just got me. I can make it about a week before I really miss my Dad. But I can spend time with friends and family and not show it. I can laugh and even meet a guy, and not show it. I can go to church and worship and not show it. I can work diligently for days and not show it.

But for me. It isn't over.

All I could imagine as I drove home with this song on repeat was who's house would I "turn up out of the blue, uninvited" at? I only have a couple of close friends right here in town, and it was late enough that I wouldn't have wanted to bother them. Plus I make excuses on their behalf why I would be a bother.

I wonder if they'd be surprised. If it startles anyone else that for me, it isn't over.

I don't want to wear Daddy's spring jacket.

I don't want to have his pajama pants in my dresser.

I don't want a box of his jeans in my trunk waiting to be turned into a quilt.

I don't want picture frames on my table waiting to be filled for Father's Day.

I don't want to go pick out a headstone and all the details that will go along with that.

I don't want to wonder if people think it's odd that sometimes I talk about him in the present tense. Because the sentence makes sense that way and it actually would sound weirdER if I tried to fix it. I don't want to reference half of my life around After Dad Got Sick, While Dad Was Sick, After Dad Died. (and saying he "passed" somehow sounds too easy, too simple, too not-painful) I don't want to have a 2 monthish haze where I remember pieces and I can't get the vast majority of them into any coherent or chronological order.

And I don't want to forget. That he would have taken care of the yard for Mom. That he would have made sure my sister's dead tree got taken down. That he would have called with a computer question and then hung up without actually saying good bye. And when he called he would say "this is your dad." And how he smiled. Somehow in my memories I don't see my Dad as a really smiley person, but when I gathered my pictures together to make a screensaver and desktop shuffle of him, he is smiling in every single one. A truly happy, content in his life smile.

But there are things I do wish I could forget. Seeing him shuffle around, so uncomfortable, that last day. Helping the hospice nurse shift him around to get him more comfortable. Seeing his swollen ankles in sandals that barely fit so that we could get up to UW to hear what they had to say. How cold his hands were afterwards. The small and medium irritations of family that on a good day roll off your back ..... but not so much then. Having a too vivid imagination and seeing him in that casket in the grave. I've told a couple of people recently, "Now I understand why people want to lay down on top of graves."

A part of me knows this intensity will slowly fade. That the good things and the best moments will always be remembered. That it's ok to cry at random song lyrics about love lost. That it's ok to take the space I need to keep breathing. That for most of what goes on in my head and most of the choices I make, I answer to no one but God and myself; if that hurts you, then right now, that's too dam bad.

But still I wonder. If I showed up at your house

out of the blue

uninvited

would you see my face

and be reminded?

That for me It isn't over?

Reduced to a single word

2011-05-31T22:58:00.002-05:00

Help.

These last couple of weeks I've noticed that most of the time when I try to pray, my mind gets all jumbled. My thoughts get mixed up. Connections don't connect the right dots. I've struggled with depression off and on for most of my life (only realized in hindsight), but one of the things I know about the bad bouts is that feeling that you are truly, literally losing your mind. Like you are somehow aware that your mental capacity is not functioning like it is supposed to be. I'm not talking wondering if you shut the oven off or not. I'm talking about something so much deeper and bigger that I don't even have an example.

So these last weeks, probably months really, I've prayed a lot of

helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelp helphelphelphelp prayers.

It makes me think of Romans 8:26 "In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words" Because sometimes I can't even really articulate any words at all.

I find it ironic because I can sit here and articulate the problem to all of you, but I can't even ask God to do anything more than Help me right now.

I was thinking about this the other night as I laid in bed, waiting for sleep to show up. I think the difference is that He truly sees right through me. With most of you I can fake it. I can be ok when I need to be, I can shed a tear or two, I can be honest and tell you I'm doing fine. I can be strong and get through the day or situation or conversation and save The Ugly Cry for later. But when it comes to Him, there is no hiding the shattered heart I'm carrying. There is no 'being strong.' There is no such thing as 'small talk' with God. You don't say "How about the Brewer's?" when you approach the throne room of heaven. There is nothing else to say or see or acknowledge but your deepest heart and Who He Is.

In all honesty, I don't want to talk to Him about the weather. I want to talk to him about how much it hurts right now. About how I don't understand, and I don't want to hear the oversimplified bumper sticker answers people toss around. (I actually haven't had a single person give me a bumper sticker answer, but I hear them in my head). I want to hear that He Still Loves Me. That He Still Has A Plan for Me. That He is Still In Control.

That this was not a cosmic accident.

A cosmic accident he'll apologize for when I get to heaven.

The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away.

Blessed be the name of the LORD."

Job 1:21

I hope that this sad time is the worst I'll have in my life. Even after I typed that some part of me thought "You know that isn't even possible for this to be the worst ever."

It sounds incredibly presumptous even to myself, but I have a slight twinge of Job-ness right now. That I can continue to write in spite of the hole. That I can continue to pray in spite of the lack. That I can continue to praise, without the blessings.

There are so many bits and pieces and starts and stops and nonsense and gibberish in my head. I continue to be reduced to that one word. Or sometimes, that one sob. And when I can see the light, I am so very grateful that he doesn't require eloquence to respond. That he does see right through to the core of me and loves it in all it's brokenness and ridiculousness and selfish-pettiness. That he understands the spiritual translation of that sob. And responds to it. That he feels and understands my hurt. That he is doing what he can to comfort me and lessen that pain, while still being the God that He is who is In Control and Knows What's Best for me. I am trying to rest on that.

^{Psalm 27:13}

I would have despaired unless I had believed

that I would see the goodness of the LORD

In the land of the living.

¹⁴ Wait for the LORD;

Be strong and let your heart take courage;

Yes, wait for the LORD.

This'll be hard to read ......

2011-05-21T22:07:00.005-05:00

I don't think anyone would argue this point, but I didn't want My Daddy to die.

I didn't want to lose him at 60.

I didn't want my little Sister to celebrate her 30th birthday 3 days after his death.

I didn't want to celebrate my 33rd a month later.

I don't want to have a Christmas with out him.

or Thanksgiving.

or Labor Day or Memorial Day.

Mom doesn't want to have an Anniversary without him.

I don't want to get married without him. (Though God himself is the only one who knows if that will even happen.)

I don't want to buy a house without him. (If I ever actually want to do that.)

And I feel guilty. Because I think some part of me knew within that first week or two that he wasn't gonna make it. Just one of those weird intuition things. I really only had hope for about 4-5 days between the first oncology appointment when they said they believed it was colon cancer and the day they called to say it was not colon cancer. And even in that, I know that my hope was a desperate kind of hope, that clinging hard to a life raft because you are absolutely certain that your life depends on it kind of hope. The hope against hope that your intuition is wrong.

I laid on this very couch with the pillow that is currently next to me and begged God to let us keep him. To do a Huge Dramatic Crazy Miracle and heal my Daddy. And even in the desperation of that begging I felt the answer was going to be No. And I completely soaked through the pillow with my tears.

I said often in those first weeks that I've had a few losses. That I "know" how to do this grief thing. I have a degree in Social Work for goodness sake! And to be honest, a part of me knew that wasn't enough. A part of me knew that I did not actually know how to do this. A part of me knew that this was gonna be really really hard. That I would struggle to find the right words to try to describe this intensity and depth and .... soul-wrenching-sad-isn't-a-strong-enough-word feeling that hits me. It's almost like I would imagine a punch in the gut would be, but with no real corresponding physical outward sensation.

I would go to church and we'd do worship and on some subconscious level I felt like I was pre-training myself to be able to worship after the loss. I did the same when I went up to campus for InterVarsity large groups. I semi-consciously forced myself to either set my reality aside or to worship in spite of it, almost as if he were already gone. I guess it worked. I'm still able to Praise God. I'm still able to say that God is Good. It makes me sob, but I can say that God only gives Good Gifts to his children, that He has a plan for us.

And I have regrets. I'd love to say I don't, but I do. I wish I'd hugged him more. I wish I'd kissed him more. I wish I'd pushed harder to just spend time with him. I wish I'd asked about the Journal in a Jar I gave him to get him to write more down. I wish I'd spent time over there every single day those last few weeks. And maybe if I'd known it was only going to be 7 weeks, I might have.

I wish I'd given him the letter I wrote telling him I wanted him to fight, but I didn't want to keep him here miserable either. Because what if?

And I know the pat answers. I know God is in control and all the other stuff you might say to that. But in the middle of the night when you're missing your Daddy, you can't help but wonder if your words might have made a difference.

And people try to say such nice things. Things about how they are going to change their ways because the shock of this has woken them up, so to speak.

A cousin said he wanted to be around more and spend time with our extended family. Which is great, but in the darkest moments I think "I would never see that cousin again if it meant I could have 20 more years with my Dad. Hell I'd give up seeing the entire family ever again to have Dad back."

One friend said that this might be a really "creative" time for me because I said how writing is how I process and get through things. And I think "I would never put another word in writing anywhere ever for the rest of my days if it meant I could have my Dad walk me down the aisle."

Even myself, I've said that 'you really figure out who your true, solid friends are when something like this happens.' But when I lay on the couch sobbing and soaking a pillow all the way through I think "I'd keep up two dozen crappy, horrible friendships for the rest of my life if I could have my Daddy not be in a casket."

I never understood before why people wanted to lay down on top of a grave.

I have even tried to tell myself that I am now the one walking this road ahead of most of my friends and I will be "prepared" to walk with them through it when they lose their own parents. and I think "I DON'T WANT TO HELP THEM!!!"

I've never been that great at asking for help. Sometimes I'm fine with asking certain people or certain tasks don't bother me. But some do. And if the person says No, sometimes I go into a serious tailspin mentally and emotionally. Because what does that mean? do they not like me? Are they mad at me? is it truly just a bad time? should I bother to ask again? But no matter what I asked my Dad, including the handful of times he said no or didn't help immediately, i knew it didn't mean anything else. I knew it wasn't a reflection on me or how he felt about me. It was just timing, or a task he didn't look forward to doing, but would do anyway. And people say "If you need anything ....." But how do you UNtrain 30 years of habitual thoughts?

How do you ask someone to check the oil in you car without having a meltdown when they try to teach you instead of just doing it?

How do you ask someone if they have a drill and then to come over to hang one picture, because that's all you need hung right now, one picture?

How do you ask someone else to deal with getting and setting up mouse traps because you want to "be the girl" and just not deal with it?

People told me before that I was too independent .....

How do I justify asking for help with housework when I was never a decent housekeeper to begin with?

How do I justify asking for help rearranging when logically I am certain I can accomplish it eventually on my own? And, more importantly, I would not have asked him to help with that, so why should I ask you?

How do I ask for help when I don't even know what it is that I need?

How do you ask someone to just sit with you while you sob uncontrollably? Like the seriously ugly cry? where you drool and your snot flows freely and you gasp and heave for breath? How do you ask someone to sit with you during that??? How do you admit that's how you spent your night?????

How can things seem so fine and normal? How did I go for a 9 mile bike ride two times this week and didn't even notice the feeling of loss???

How do I find a new normal? a new equilibrium? a new ok? How can I post this for all of you to read??? How can I bare my can't-see-straight grief??? How can I admit that tonight I'm not doing ok, not ok at all. I guess because I feel like putting all this down in writing. Sharing it for my friends and anyone else grieving to see. Getting it out of my head and letting the tears flow and the eyes swell and the face get seriously contorted in grief, that is the way through. That is the only way to take a step or half step towards equilibrium. That is my new normal. This is what my life is right now. And this is what my life will be for awhile. And even if it makes me cry, I have to keep reminding myself that it is ok. All of what I'm feeling and writing is ok. And, today, I am still breathing, I haven't given up. I'm just grieving and whatever that looks like (short of utter incapacitation or suicidal thoughts) is ok.

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning...

breathe in and out all day long.

Then, after a while

I won't have to remind myself

to get out of bed every morning

and breathe in and out"

--Sam Baldwin

Resistance

2011-05-18T20:28:00.005-05:00

Tonight's playlist:

Most of us have heard someone somewhere say

Be Careful What You Ask For!

Because You Just Might Get It!

Well I had that moment tonight. And for the first time I can remember, ever, I didn't freak out and get angry etc.

I have been on this Made to Crave journey since about the start of the year. I started the year at a weight of 211. I am still working on not letting this define my worth, better than I was Jan 1, but not quite got it down yet. Anyway.

I weighed 197.5 last week. on the one hand that is more than a couple of pounds. I have lost them slowly but steadily, and even My Father's Funeral didn't derail me! So I am feeling pretty good about it. But on the other hand, at 5'2" that leaves a minimum of 60 pounds left to lose if I want to get to a truly healthy BMI and hit any sort of acceptable range on anyone's height to weight ratio chart.

Now that it's finally (sorta) gotten nice in Wisconsin I have been trying to be active. And, again, for the first time, possibly ever, I am doing it for the right reasons. It makes me feel better (there will be a post about how exercise apparently can actually help depression, but that is for another day). It accelerates my weight loss. It gives me something to do. Somehow even a walk will get out some aggression for me and cycling gives me a peace and contentment and freedom I don't get anywhere else. Not to mention the challenge!

My Mom and Sister and I are going to be seeing family Memorial Day Weekend. And earlier this week, probably right before we went to Olive Garden for my birthday, I thought

Wouldn't it be cool if I could say I lost 20 pounds since the start of the year?!?

And then I calculated that out. Yes, I have to think for much too long figuring this stuff out. Subtraction is not my forte and these are not multiples of 2 or 5. Once I was done with the calculating, which to be honest felt a bit like I imagine calculus would fee, I realized I'd have to basically lose 6 pounds in two weeks. Then I thoroughly enjoyed my Olive Garden supper with the Fam. Mind you, I did not overeat, I did not stuff myself silly. I did have a few more carbs than was "best" perhaps, but I had salad and tried to balance those carbs with chicken. Chicken, I might add, which was DEE LISH US!!

(possibly) Needless to say, I have not lost any weight this week. Which is truly not a huge deal to me. It would have just been cool to be able to say that. Which also assumes anyone would even notice or say anything, since most of them just saw me 6 weeks before. It still gives me a kick to think about when I can say that.

All of that story to tell you this story.

Tonight I went on a bike ride. Last night I walked and oh! my! gawd! I hurt so bad when I got home I decided that as long as it wasn't raining or something today I was biking. Got home from work, reloaded my mp3 player and hit the road. I had pondered the route I thought I wanted to take on my way home and started out that path.

The thing is ... Janesville sits on a hill. Actually it sits across a hill. Basically one half of the town is on the top of the hill and the other side of town is at the bottom of the hill. Which effectively means that no matter which way you ride you have to go up or down a fairly significant hill. There are some ways around this, but you really have to think about it ahead of time and plan out which hill you want to come back up on your way home. Well .... I have to figure that out because I live in the top of the hill part.

I had figured out what route I thought I wanted to take and headed out. One of the first things I do is go down a steady but not super steep hill. So it's a great way to start. Then I hit a few spots here and there where there is the slightest incline and I have to pedal to keep going. I met up with the bike trail that runs through town and was debating walking my bike up this super steep hill and heading towards home, or continuing on the path a bit and taking a slightly longer route home. The bike path has a water fountain at one point and I was PARCHED. So I decided to go find the bubbler and then decide. The bubbler was much closer to continuing the longer ride than going backwards.

(If you don't know this about me, I don't like to backtrack. At all. Ever. For any reason. I will reroute myself going to or from a place just so I don't have to backtrack. Don't ask me why, I don't know.)

I un-parched myself and kept riding. Somewhere on the bike path it had gotten really hard and wearing to ride and I couldn't figure out why. Then suddenly it dawned on me that it was because there was a wind. Not a huge crazy wind, but a little more than a light breeze.

Enough to create resistance.

For a moment I dropped into old habits.

"Really God? Really?! Wind? Right now? Seriously?!?"

And just as quickly as those old tapes went through my head I realized the resistance was a gift. I want to lose 6 pounds (and yes I do consciously realize that is an absurd goal) in the next week and a half ... what better way to do that than with a more intense work out!!

I couldn't quite get to a point of Praising God in the "storm" but I was definitely singing along to the songs on my mp3 player. I definitely didn't have the pity part, super angry, stop-testing-me-God-because-I-will-always-fail argument with him. I did, sorta, thank Him for the resistance and the better workout.

(insert infomercial voice here) BUT WAIT!!!

Then I got home. And calculated out the distance of my ride. I had mentally clocked it around 5-6 miles. I try to be realistic and I probably under calculate because I am fully aware that spacial reasoning is not my strong suit. But if I'm on the bike trail, a lot of that isn't even on maps, so it's hard to calculate out the true distance of a ride.

Today's ride was all on city streets, or right next to them.

I RODE 9.4 MILES Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was STUNNED. 9 miles?!?!? And I didn't die!?!?! And I didn't think I was going to die?!?!?

That in and of itself is a feat. I am not quite feeling proud, but I am feeling very good about my night. Thanking God for Resistance tonight.

Here is my route if you want to know where exactly I went.

And here is my playlist if you didn't hit play above and wanna hear them now.

Gifts I Didn't Want

2011-05-17T22:03:00.001-05:00

A dear friend of mine bought Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts early this year. I'm pretty sure she even preordered. And she told us that she'd ordered extras because she knew she'd want to share it. I'm gonna be honest, and hopefully she doesn't get hurt or offended by this, but I didn't want the book. All I could think of was the post on Stuff Christians Like I'd just read about "Not Knowing how to tell someone their favorite book didn't change your life." Sure it was great for her and doing wonders, but I didn't need to be "more" grateful. I was doing just fine thank you very much. but, I accepted the book (graciously I hope) and put it in my pile of devotional books I'm slowly working my way through.

(note, when I say devotional books, it's the pile of books I read in little bits during my "coffee, waking up, time in the morning," the only time I take all day to sit and intentionally find God. Only one out of the current 6 is an actual "devotional". And the reason I have 6 is because I get bored that easily that I can't finish one book straight through.)

I intentionally and purposefully ignored the book for quite awhile. Probably a month or more. The thing was, I was unemployed but finally had the opportunity to build the life I'd always dreamt of. Working for myself. Helping others. Selling the skincare line I use. Marketing my computer services. Sleeping in and being perpetually well rested instead of perpetually exhausted. Planning to go back to school in June, IF I could make it that far and still be on unemployment. I was doing pretty well. My meds were fully kicked in and keeping me above "just functioning."

But I check in with God regularly. Especially in the morning. I take a moment and ask Him what I need to read. What will speak to me today. And sometimes I get a significant tug in my spirit and sometimes I just grab whatever is on top. One day I finally had a Significant tug towards this book. So I opened it and started reading. I'd read Ann's blog for awhile. But she's married and working hard at her marriage, and although she doesn't share icky intimate details she is very open about her marriage. And that hurt. It was too hard for me to read those posts. And the homeschooling posts just got old. So i took it off my reader. In that absence, I had forgotten how lyrical her writing is. How flowing and beautiful like a full stream over rocks and through timber is. And I got hooked.

I read it in very small pieces. So much of it was dense with Truth and Wisdom and Encouragement, that it was like trying to eat a very very rich dessert. A bite or two is plenty and it almost ruins the dessert to eat more than just a bite or two. So I read it in fits and spurts. And I rebelled against the idea of needing to write out my gifts. I was quite grateful thank you very much. I often appreciated the sky around me, and the smells of fresh cut grass and blooming flowers, even the smell of rain. I thanked God often for breath and life and job and body and family and friends.

And I am anal. I don't have a journal to write these gifts in. I have journals, but they don't feel worthy of that type of list or they are already started with other things. But I finally gave in. And a beautiful journal my sister gave me that had been started and been unused for possibly a year, was changed into a Journal of Thanks.

That was on March 16. We didn't know yet how sick Dad was. We knew there were tumors. We knew it was cancer. He'd had a liver biopsy and colonoscopy with biopsies. We had begun planning for colon cancer. We didn't know yet that it wasn't colon cancer. We didn't know yet that it would be called cholangiocarcinoma. We didn't know that it would be terminal. I didn't know that in a month he would be dead. But a part of me, probably a spirit part, was insisting that I give thanks regardless of what happens with Dad. If Ann could figure out how to give thanks after her sister died in a tragic accident in their farm lane, If she could figure out how to give thanks after her family fell apart because of that, If she could figure out how to give thanks while figuring out how to raise children and love a man who adored her even though she had no idea how to raise the kids or why that man loved her so. Then I could certainly try.

Even in that I tried to be arrogant and smug. She would write overly simple things.

Jam piled high on toast.

Morning shadows across the old floors

Leafy life scent of the florist shop

Windmills

Mail in the mailbox.

Wool sweaters

Faint aroma of cattle and straw.

My friend's 10 year olds can be thankful for things like that. *I* want to be more profound than that. *I* want to write deeper things. Important Things. Profound Things. Things that go unnoticed. Things that most are not grateful for. But yes, i'll add simple things to the list as I go, because sometimes being grateful for the colors in a beautiful sky is the most profound thing you can see. And I got to #11 before I got a little "shallow." and Thanked God for 50 degrees and sunny in WI in March.

But then #6 was "Having a wonderful Daddy for at least 32 years."

#21 was "Email so I don't have to say the words that make me cry every time over and over.

I stopped writing very shortly after that March 16 start up. On the one hand I felt too busy with a new job and sick dad and life going on to be able to take a moment and write them out. But I carried the journal with me, just in case I suddenly felt like writing one down.

Daddy's been gone a month, and for at least a week I've been purposefully ignoring Ann's book. But today is saturday. And I had a good cry last night. And I don't want to become hard or bitter or rude or crass or unfeeling. I want to feel what I feel and keep walking through life one step at a time. Mom decided she is going to make Dad proud and keep living a life and doing things. But I'm kind of stuck. I'm not sure what would make Dad proud of me right now. I'm trying to find a true north to start pointing towards, and my compass looks like Jack Sparrow's.

We had 7 weeks. That's 7 weeks longer than the family in my church town had when their parents both died in a car accident. We had 24 hours of true, nearly unbearable, suffering. That's days and weeks less than the family we have been friends with since before I was born faced. We had 36, 32 and 30 good years with a good man who lived a good life and loved his family the very best he knew how to do. That's 25 and 30 years longer than a lot of military families have gotten.

Gifts I didn't want.

I was there, by his side, holding his hand. So was Sister. We said I Love You. Mom sang to him. He simply drifted away. Hospice had come, so we didn't have to worry about EMTs or an emergency room. Aunts from both sides were there, so we didn't have to go through any of it alone. I had 14+ friends on text and email and phone helping me through it with their prayers and tears and sympathy.

More Gifts I didn't want.

But yesterday I read this post on (in)courage. From a woman who is homebound and for her birthday was asking us to simply enjoy the life we have and the things she can't. Not at all in a self-pitying way, just in an appreciate what you have kind of way. So today I'm trying to see the gifts around me.

The rain on the pavement last night.

The open windows and cool breezes.

A laptop that works well that I love.

Wonderful friends who call and text to see how I'm doing.

Online continuing education I can do at home so I can keep my job.

Papa Johns pizza - which I thoroughly enjoyed last night, and will enjoy for most of this week.

Chinese from my favorite local dive.

New Shoes

An evening planned with wonderful neighbors who want nothing more than to make a big deal out of my birthday.

A family dinner to Olive Garden to celebrate my birthday.

Olive Garden.

Writing. Processing. Sharing. Pouring out here what I need to get out of my own head.

A wonderful job with a wonderful boss who loves having me there and appreciates me.

Gifts I want.

But that's how life is. Like the underside of a cross stitch project or a quilt top. From our side sometimes it looks messy and ruined and unsalvageable. It looks awful. Like it will never be right. Like something was done wrong somewhere. Maybe a wrong from long long ago that would take much too much work to go that far back and fix. But from this side we can't see the finished project. We can't see the beauty of the whole thing. We can't see the amazing finished picture that awaits. Sometimes we can see The Scarlett Thread that runs through all of it. But we don't see where it ends.

So I will try to give thanks. For the gifts I wanted and even for the gifts I didn't want.

An Open Letter To My Church "family"

2011-05-13T21:14:00.004-05:00

(hit play first if you want a soundtrack as you read, otherwise come back and hit it later on, I quote the lyrics later.)

And to anyone else who attends a Christian church regularly.

Or listens to worship music regularly.

Or regularly refrains from singing or from singing loudly or from singing badly because of whatever nonsense thing they've made up in their head.

One month ago today my Dad died. On February 22 he went into urgent care, on March 29 we were at UW getting the official diagnosis of Cholangiocarcinoma and on April 13 he was gone.

I will never get to hug my Dad again.

I will never hear his voice again.

I will never kiss his cheek again.

I will never get to laugh at how he never said goodbye when he hung up the phone.

I will never get to have him hang or fix something in my apartment.

or on my car.

I have a lot of nevers ahead of me.

And still I worship.

I noticed it the week after he died. That first Sunday we were in Iowa for the funeral arrangements, but I went to church the very next week I could make it. I also volunteer with college students as part of a christian ministry and they do worship every Thursday.

Random bits of every other song choke me up. Something about the darkness being as light. Something about God holding everything in his hands. Something about God knowing our days before we do. Something trips me up.

And I feel the pressure in my chest. And the burn in my throat. And the welling in my eyes.

And still I sing.

My body tries to hold back the tears and the crying, so my diaphragm and lungs sieze up and make it hard to breathe. So what I do manage to choke out is stilted and stuttery.

But still I sing.

I try to sound pretty when I can. But when it is all I can do to stay standing and not collapse from grief, I focus on not collapsing and on what my heart is saying and less on how pretty or unpretty I sound.

But, still I sing.

Because what else do I have?

Even if I stop worshiping God, that won't bring my Dad back.

Even if I never set foot in another church the rest of my life, that won't allow me to hear Dad's voice.

Even if I burn every Bible and Christian book or novel I've ever owned, that won't give me the opportunity to sit and watch a Nascar race with him.

Not to sound pessimistic or cranky about it,

but what other choice do I have?

I lost someone who was so much more dear to me than I even ever realized he was. And I prayed for healing. I prayed for a miracle. I prayed, specifically, that God would make my dad well on this side of the veil. Because I know that once God took him home he wouldn't be sick anymore, but I didn't want God to take him home. I wanted him to stay here and walk down a church aisle with me someday. Instead I walked him down a church aisle with my Mom and Sister.

That wasn't a decision I got to make.

So I praise. And I cry. But I praise. I sing off key and off kilter. I sing half words and partial sentences because that's all I can choke out. When I can't get any breath past my vocal cords I praise in my heart and mind because I know that He can hear that.

So I say to all you who will be attending church with me on Sunday. Whether you be in the same actual building, or in any building you choose. I don't care what your reason is. I don't care what your justification is. I don't care what excuse you think you have. I am asking you to praise in the Good so that you are built up to praise in the Bad. Because, trust me, Bad will come. Hopefully not as fast or hard or grief-filled as mine is, but it will come. You will lose someone you love. Someone will get chronic or terminally sick. Something will happen eventually in your life, and I want you to be able to say

As the thunder rolls,

I barely hear you whisper through the rain

'I am with you,'

and as your mercy falls

I'll raise my hands

and praise the God who gives

... and takes away."

He doesn't care what your voice sounds like to the woman in front of you.

He doesn't care if you are clapping on beat or not.

He doesn't care if you're sitting or standing or kneeling.

He only cares that you are looking to Him.

That you are seeking Him.

That you are recognizing Him.

That you desire to Praise Him, even if you can't quite do it yet.

That you desire to be closer to Him, even if all you want to do is beat your fists on Him.

That you are honest in where you're at and what's going on in your deepest heart.

Join me this week? In being honest? In Praising Him in truth and love, and not in melody or appearance. Will you Praise Him in this storm? with me? Because I can't do this alone. You can't either. Can we bear each other's burdens and Praise Him together this week?

But once again,

I say amen,

and it's still raining.

.....

I will Praise you in This Storm

I will Lift My Hands

You are who You Are

No matter where I am

Every tear I cry,

you hold in your hand.

you've never left my side

though my heart is torn

I will Praise You in This Storm.

One Bite at a Time

2011-05-06T22:54:00.006-05:00

I think nearly everyone knows the parable (or whatever) about how to eat an elephant. One bite at a time. I have never been very good at that. At least not in spacing the bites out over the course of days and weeks. If I want to do something, a project, rearranging, anything,I have it stuck in my mind that I have to do all of it at once or not at all. In part this is self-preservation because I also tend to get bored very quickly, so my enthusiasm for any given project will almost certainly fade before the project has gotten done. I often ask friends and family members to keep me company or help me with projects because I know that if left to myself .... they won't get done. At least not to any degree an average person could call done "well."

I have been working on this. I'm over 30 years old and suddenly it occured to me one day that I could do that project in little pieces. I don't recall the very first time it occurred to me, but it was A Revelation! So I have been trying to talk myself into that for various projects since then. And it is working!

Since I got my laptop I don't spend a lot of time in my spare room/office. Plus I had it "organized" except that i had a lot of stuff lined up against the wall that had the radiator on it. Which meant the room was always very cold. For a couple of months I have been pondering how to move things exactly. What is The Most Efficient way to arrange the furniture in there. (I'm a nutcase about that.) After my Dad got sick one night I tackled my business stuff. Samples and brochures etc. I had sorta set up a system once but then it didn't really make sense to me, so I never stuck with it and it all went to pot right away. It is now well organized. Well Organized.

I have a cute little white shelf/stand thing I got from a friend that I've had in my bathroom for a couple of years. I got a little white shelf from Goodwill to use to better organize my books. I'm a bit of a bibliophile. The stand in my bathroom is really cute, and to be honest, feels a little "wasted" in there. One day it occurred to me that I could swap the two. Earlier this week, I did that. Here is the stand in my bathroom. And boy oh, boy was the last one being underutilized! This one is at least half empty and it's probably 3/4 the size of the other one.

I also got a tv/microwave stand. I'm not certain which it is "supposed" to be, but I realized that the one I bought is about 2 inches wider than the one I have my microwave on now. This is worth noting because I had to buy a new microwave a year or so ago, and I thought it was the same size ... Totally NOT. It fits, but just barely. When i realized the one stand was a little wider I decided to swap them out. Again, this, in my head, was a crazy big ordeal and involved 3 rooms of the house and hours upon hours of focused energy and concentration. One day I decided to just do it and on my lunch hour I swapped the two stands. Yes you did read that right. On My Lunch Hour!! Loved it. Actually I loved the feeling of accomplishment I got to carry around with me all day.

I have, as previously mentioned, an obsession with efficient usage of space. So I am constantly pondering the best way to organize things. Especially my books and movies, since those collections are constantly growing. My movies have been stacked on a book shelf for the entire time I've lived in this apartment. But it just never quite felt right to me. It worked and I didn't have an alternative, but I knew it wasn't "efficient." One day I realized I could use the other TV/microwave stand thing instead of the bookshelf. So Wednesday night, I did that.

I pulled the stand into the living room, put all the movies into the canvas boxes I already had and put all my DVDs back on the shelves. And as an added bonus, it gives me somewhere to put one of the plants I am accumulating.

But Wait!

That's not all!!

I did it again at lunch, today! I realized where I ultimately want that small bookshelf to end up, so I put it over there and put all my non-fiction books on it. And I left it sit there even though the rest of the corner isn't "right." I left all my fiction books just sitting where they were and didn't organize or rearrange them at all. Because I didn't have time and just as importantly the stand is not where I'd like it to end up. So I just left it. I did one small bite of a fairly large project, and left the rest for later!

On the one hand I'm very proud of myself for all of this. Truly this has been a Major Thing for me. On the other hand, I'm cornfounded. My coffee table is almost completely covered in crap. My shoes by the door have zero organization. I have two piles of Stuff in the spare room. And dishes to be done. But, I just can't make myself want to take care of those things. I know it's a touch of depression. Mostly I'm ok with that. But sometimes I wish I could be different. I wish I could cope by cleaning like a crazy person. I wish I could make myself care or even just take care of it. But I am trying to remind myself that My Dad hasn't even been gone a month yet. Letting the house go to pot, a little bit, is fine. It is acceptable. No one will think anything of me one way or the other based on the state of my apartment.

I am trying to remember that I am functioning. I am working, and I enjoy it. I am sleeping and still eating regularly. I am keeping in touch with my friends and family. I am crying when I want to. This is what Grief looks like. This is where I am right now. And that's fine. I'm ok. I'm not fantastic, but I'm not shutting down either. So, I'm happy that my little projects are getting done. Eventually they will all be done. Well, actually, probably not. Because I never stop moving things around. But the major swap stuff will get done. Eventually. Someday.

For now, it's back to watching The Hangover for at least the 15th time.

The Good Stuff

2011-04-29T21:41:00.004-05:00

My Dad died 3 days before Sister's 30th birthday. When Mom told us she thought it was time to call hospice she said "I just hope he doesn't go on Saturday." Sister's response was "Well, if he does, that'll just be the day I remember all the good stuff." I remember thinking she had a great perspective on it.

When we were kids Mom worked every other weekend. 7a-3p. And when she worked, Dad took care of us. I never felt like a burden, I never felt in the way, nothing like that. It was simply a part of being a Dad for him. It was what His Girls needed from him at that time, and he did what it took. During those weekends, he often put us in the truck and did whatever he wanted to do. If he wanted to go to his buddy Ed's car shop and hang out, we went to Ed's. If he wanted to go to the coffee shop, we went to the coffee shop. There was some kind of store downtown that had an old soda pop fountain counter and sold model train stuff in the back half. The soda pop fountain side had a candy counter. We were allowed to pick one item per visit. I almost always picked Sixlets. Sometimes we would sit on the stools and see how fast we could get ourselves to spin. Sometimes we stood next to the stools and spun them as fast as we could. I never remember being reprimanded for any of that. But then we were often the only people in the place, or sometimes a friend or two of Dad's would be there.

I remember this one time, he took me to A Bar! A bar that is still here in Janesville. And I can remember sitting on that barstool with a shirley temple in front of me sitting so proud because I was in such a grown-up place. What I didn't know until probably college was that Mom got very angry at Dad for taking me to A Bar! I told that story at Dad's wake.

My sister and I both remember riding around in a black and gold truck Dad used to have that had a tape deck in it. And he had this one tape we always asked for that had Down In The Boondocks on it.

It also had this song Cinnamon on it. We both remember jamming out to that song and just loving that time spent driving around with Dad.

When I was 16 Dad started teaching me to drive. He took me out in his full-size truck. 5 blocks from home he said "You see that pedal on the floor on the right?" "Yeah." "It's the gas. You can put your foot on it and make us go a little faster."

I don't remember my Dad ever spanking me once. I only remember him getting Stern with me once. I was a teenager and Mom and I were not getting along, 'nuf said. Sister and Mom can only remember once he even ever got angry ... and that involved a Snowblower.

When my grandma moved out of her apartment I got her hide-a-bed couch. Dad moved that couch no less than 4 times. He was quite happy when it came time for me to find it another home.

I mentioned that my Mom worked every other weekend. Since she was originally from Dubuque and all of Dad's family was closer to Dubuque than here, we went to visit the family. Every Other Weekend. For at least ten years. We drove the same stretch of road Every Single Time. After I got my license I drove my car to Dubuque once to show the family. Dad rode with me and Mom and Sister took another car. I remember getting stuck behind someone going too slow and being really nervous about passing. He said to me "Just wait a minute. Over that hill is a passing zone." I remember thinking "How in God's Name does he know where the passing zones are???" But he had driven that road at least twenty times a year for at least ten years. He probably had the passing zones memorized in that first year!

My cousins told the story of when my Dad showed up at Mom's parent's house for their first date. Mom is the 3rd of 4 girls. Her oldest sister was married and had 2 or maybe 3 kids when Mom and Dad met. My cousin said she remembers my Dad showing up .... and that he never left. He was just always around after that.

That is the kind of man he was. He was never much of a talker. But he was always there when you needed him. He moved me in and out of 3 apartments. He helped take care of Sister's lawn often. He took Mom to work on cold winter mornings and picked her up so she wouldn't have to sit in a cold car or drive in less than ideal weather. These are the things I'm going to store up in my heart.

Heart is breaking.

2011-04-28T18:44:00.002-05:00

I read this blog/newsletter thing called (in)courage. I enjoy it, and I skim it, and sometimes I really focus on what I'm reading. Today I finally caught up on it a bit and found a post from Ann Voskamp of A Holy Experience about hearts breaking just a little. And at the end she asked

What’s breaking your heart a bit right now?

I needed to comment. So I said:

My heart is breaking a lotta bit right now. Because My Daddy died two weeks ago. And it still doesn't quite seem real. and it has never felt right. and I make it through my days as if nothing has changed and then wonder if I'm ok or not because shouldn't I need more time off work? Shouldn't I have a harder time getting out of bed? Does it say something about me or my love for him that I am continuing to function quite well??

So my heart is breaking. My Daddy is gone. And I will never get to kiss his stubbly cheek again on this side of the veil.

And then I needed to share it further. So now it's here for you.

My Daddy Died Last Week.

2011-04-23T20:38:00.004-05:00

Only 7 weeks after his first visit to Urgent Care. He thought he'd pulled a muscle, but it wasn't going away. He asked my mom to take him up to Urgent Care. That doctor could tell right away, just from feeling around his abdomen, that Dad's liver was enlarged. (what?!?) So they ordered a CT scan which showed tumors in his liver. They had to order a 2nd CT scan because the first had not scanned his lungs, and he smoked since he was like 14 or something. That scan actually came back clear. Next was the liver biopsy and subsequent colonoscopy and biopsy of the colon. Liver came back cancer, but somehow not technically Liver Cancer. We began planning under the assumption that his history of Crohn's disease would lead us to colon cancer. Believe it or not, aside from a full out miracle, I was praying it was colon cancer, because my understanding is that colon cancer responds very well to treatment, and liver cancer does not. We saw the oncologist, set up appts to start treatments, and the next day cancelled it all because the colon biopsies came back negative for cancer.

Then we were referred up to UW in Madison to the Gastrointerological Oncology department. They reviewed Dad's tests and scans etc. We met with a surgeon who told us the tumors make surgery not feasible because there wouldn't be enough healthy liver left over. They even showed us the CT scan of his liver. No less than 3/4 of it was tumors, and that was to my not-medically-trained eyes. Then we met with a Chemo doctor (didn't know you could actually specialize in that) and she was very compassionate and careful in what she said, but she told us that chemo might buy us time, and it would only buy us months. Two weeks and one day later he was gone. He passed at home. Surrounded by family. Daughters holding his hands. Family praying the rosary. Leaving peacefully. We said what we wanted to say before The Strong Drugs took full effect. The priest was there to administer The Sacraments before they took effect. He went directly to Heaven. But I still want him here with us. Healthy. Mowing the lawn. Getting mom's milk. Taking care of His Girls like he always did.

We met with a GI doc early on who said they no longer give time frames on prognosis because they've had patients that they may give a few months and they live 5-6 years. And I thought to myself

"Five years isn't enough!"

We got 5 weeks after that.

I just keep thinking things that sorta don't make sense. Things that everyone who has lost someone they love deeply thinks. Things that everyone knows don't make sense. Things that none of us can change. But somehow, being on this side of the thinking, it feels stupid to even think it.

We're not supposed to be here.

He's not supposed to be gone.

I want My Daddy back.

He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.

My Dad was not a Talker. He wasn't a particularly affectionate man. There have been times in my life where I wished he'd been different. Where I'd wish he'd hug me more. I'd wish he'd talk to me about deep and serious things and not just whether or not my oil had been changed recently. And right now, all I want is for him to be sitting in the computer room at their house playing spider solitaire and watching whatever is on cable.

A family friend got married in August. She got to dance with my Dad at her wedding. I have lovely pictures of them. And I catch myself feeling jealous and hoping she realizes how lucky she is to have danced with him, because I won't get to.

I struggled with depression before. I knew what lethargy and apathy were. I knew what it was to not care. I have achieved a whole new level of those in the last week and a half. And I know I have a right to be sad and a right to feel depressed and for today it's ok. But I already wonder how long it will last. What will my home look like if/when I snap out of it. Will people stop checking on me before I make it out the other side. How many nights will I cry alone. How many times will I slip and think of him or talk of him as if he's still here. Do people think it's weird that I don't frame all my conversations about before and after. Do I care of they do. Will I manage to lose some weight through this or will I pack it on with comfort food.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want this to be real.

Do they see it in my eyes? Can people tell something is wrong? What did that girl at TJ Maxx think when I returned the bag and cried because the socks I bought him because his feet were so swollen were on that receipt? Am I phoning it in already? Is it weird that I can go days without crying? Have my neighbors heard my sobbing yet?

I don't want that figurine. I don't want these plants. I don't want the roses. I don't want to think about thank you notes. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!!!

Last week as we prepared for the funeral arrangements Mom and I talked. I told her that some people think the last steps of grieving are moving on and getting over it. I said that when it comes to losing a loved one, a person, those are BS. You don't move on, you don't get over it. But you do find a New Normal. She agreed. Later on she told me she decided she was going to make Dad proud of her. She decided she is going to do things and keep going and go to work and visit with people and stuff. And she was going to make him proud of her. And I was proud of her for deciding it.

Tonight I wonder if I'll make him proud. I wonder if I'll find my equilibrium before 2012. I wonder when I'll figure out what New Normal is. Yes, I realize this is all still very fresh and new and grieving is a process and mourning takes time. But when left to my own devices I tend to wallow. I want to mourn and grieve. I keep reminding myself that this is ok. The ugly cry is acceptable. The sobbing without breathing followed by gasping sobs is ok. That standing in my kitchen waiting for the pasta to boil with tears running down my face is ok. I am feeling things, and that's good. I am sad, and that's right. and somehow in spite of that, and my degree in social work and my classes in psychology and having lost a few people in my life ....... somehow none of that prepared me for the depth of grief that floods me. It is so much deeper and stronger and more intense than I expected it to be. And I find myself very glad that I am at home as it washes through me.

Someday. Someday I'll find my equilibrium. Someday it won't be quite so intense. Someday I won't wonder what other people think. Someday I'll realize I have found my New Normal and I'm functioning well again.

But for today I weep.

The Unfairness

2011-04-02T00:30:00.007-05:00

My family got hit with The Unfairness this week. As a 30 something adult you know that bad things happen to good people all the time. And you hear stories of The Unfairness coming out of left field and hitting families all the time. There are fundraiser banquets and walks and bicycle rides and awareness seminars, constantly, it seems. But even as you see all of those and you pray for those people and you feel badly for them, you never think for a second that your own family might someday get hit with one of those things, those things that are so unfair. The bad things to good people. The worst things to the very best people. The time taken away from people that barely had any to begin with. The pain to the person who has done everything in their power for their entire life to ease their loved ones through life as much as possible.

When The Unfairness hits, everyone has some sort of reaction towards God.

Why did he cause this?

Why did he allow this?

Why won't he fix this?

Why is he taking so long?

Did we do something he didn't like?

Is he really, truly a good God?

Does he actually want good things for us?

How can this possibly be any part of his plan for good in my life?

Hopefully we scream and we wail and we swear and we beat our fists on his chest and we scratch at him. And when we are spent, we curl up in his arms and weep. I hope that we all stick around for the weeping part. Because that weeping bit, that moment is where he shows up the strongest for you personally in your heart of hearts. That place that no other person in this world can even approach. That is where you find peace through the hardest things you've ever faced. That is where you find strength to fight like you've never fought before. That is where you can finally unleash all the fury and terror that you are holding back from everyone else.

Hopefully curled up in his arms is the safest you have ever felt. Hopefully you know that he truly is good. That he actually does want good things for us. That he does have some sort of plan, even if that plan contradicts the one we've had 100%.

Hopefully in the dark of the night when your heart breaks for The Unfairness that has shown up in your life, you go to him and let him gather your tears. Hopefully you do know that he may be the only one that can handle all that fury and rage and terror. That whatever The Unfairness has brought into your life, that he has felt it too. That he understands. And even if you can't believe that The Unfairness will bring anything good, you can believe that he will not leave you for a nanosecond while you fight and weep and lay spent and empty. No matter how much love and support you have around you, there will always be times when no one will answer their phone, and no one is home, and no one is on the internet (ridiculous, I know) and you will feel like you are weeping alone.

But you're not.

That is the exact moment that Love Is Here waiting for you. Just waiting.

Not expecting.

Not asking.

Not requesting.

Not taking.

Not draining.

Not nagging.

Not complaining.

waiting to take you in his arms and share with you just how much he truly does love you. That even if you were the only one on earth who needed him, he would still have died just for you.

And some of you are skeptical. Some of you are scoffing. Some of you think I am a nutball. And that's fine. Truly it is. You have your process and situations and life-lived-thus-far, and I have mine. This is where I have landed. This is one of the only things in this whole mixed up crazy world that I believe without hesitation or equivocation. I have my doubts about specific things at times, but since November 9, 1996 I've never doubted for a second that he died so that he and I could have this direct, personal, intimate connection. That I could sit here, writing through my feelings about The Unfairness with tears running down my cheeks, and even as I rail at him and beg him for different, that he is sitting right with me, waiting for me to be spent and remember that the only thing that gets me through a day is his presence in my heart and world. That the only reason I can get through a day is because he is holding me together. That the only reason I haven't shut down entirely and lost that great job I just started is because he is putting strength in my limbs and tasks in my mind to keep me moving.

This is the thing I can't seem to express. The thing I can't seem to put into words. The thing I can't say out loud because it looks a little crazy in print and I can't imagine what it would sound like spoken aloud. But that is the only truth I know right now. That is the only thing anchoring me right now. His love and presence is the only thing I can actually count on. I wish that for you. Each and everyone of you fighting your own battle with The Unfairness.

That somehow through it, or before it, or in it, or after it, you would find yourself in his arms.

safe.

loved.

planned for.

cared about.

died for.

redeemed.

connected.

That you would be able to find that peace in the hardest thing you've ever faced.

That is where you find the strength to fight like never before.

That is where you finally unleash all the fury and terror that you are holding back from everyone who may not get it.

That he wants to be By Your Side as you go through this valley. That somehow you find that The Unfairness isn't fair, even to Him. That at the end of you, you find Him and in Him you find you. That someday you can read my feeble attempt to express this thing beyond words and it makes sense to you. That someday we can share our stories and know we aren't alone in the world or in the fight against The Unfairness. That someday The Unfairness is no more.

_____ _____ _____ _____ _____ _____

This post was midwifed by two separate friends and a woman I've never met who writes more beautifully than anything I've ever read. The woman I've never met is Ann Voskamp. And she has been given the opportunity to offer a scholarship*** to a woman to the She Speaks conference Lysa Terkeurst puts on every year in July. My two friends separately and without talking to each other both told me I should apply for it. And this is how I do it. I write something that reflects a little of my heart, and I tell you here a bit about She Speaks and include a link, and we'll see what God does with it.

She Speaks is a conference Lysa started to help women connect with the right resources and learning and tools to share whatever message God has placed on their hearts. There are large sessions and workshops. There are high intellectual discussions and nuts and bolts talks. There are many opportunities to hone your craft and share your message and maybe find just the right connection to publish a book. So I am throwing my hat in the ring, and if you have a message you are passionate about sharing on a larger scale, maybe you should throw your hat in the ring too.

***http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/03/how-christians-create-art-she-speaks-scholarship/

Project: Simplify - Week 1

2011-03-13T12:25:00.003-05:00

(sorry for my long hiatus, sadly not overly surprising for any regular readers. But I've had some stuff going on.)

So a friend, somehow or other, introduced me to a blog called Chatting at the Sky. and I've gotten hooked on her. Of course, I added her to my google reader right away. Last week I was reading the post I linked above about decluttering and this other person's book and their current challenge/project thing on that blog. So I went to check it out. I'm always game for a new challenge and external accountability and validation.

Hotspot #1 was to clean out your wardrobe. Closet and drawers. Well, I've been intending to clean out my spare room/office closet for awhile because I want to rearrange this room and get rid of a few of those things and put a few "out" things inside the closet. But the bedroom closet, I thought "I can do that!" I am not a "clothes horse" or a designer girl so I don't have a ridiculous amount of clothes nor very much that I don't wear. So I thought A) this'll be easy and B) it'll be something I get a quick reward on!

So I grabbed the half started bag of clothes to give away and set it in my bedroom. I cleared off my hope chest to have a surface to use if I needed it. And I dug in.

I took the folding chairs out and put them next to the closet they rightfully belong in. Which is currently a tad overfull of other things so I couldn't put them away right away.
I poked through my shelf of sweaters and tossed the 3-4 that I have disliked intensely for quite awhile but I keep because they fit.
I went through all my hanging shirts and pulled out 3-4 that I also have not liked for quite awhile and one blazer type jacket that hasn't fit in like 5 years!
I pulled my laundry baskets out to get them out of the way.
I looked at the tote of sheets and realized I'd kind of prefer to have them in a drawer so they are more easily accessible.
So I started checking through my drawers. I realized almost immediately that 2 of the 10 drawers in my two dressers are NEARLY EMPTY!! 3 small clothing items in each. AND one of them held the pajama pants I have been missing for MONTHS. duh!
Cleaned out my drawer of nonsense, i.e. pantyhose I rarely wear, the slip I have because every woman ought to own a slip etc. Put them in a different drawer that made more sense.
Cleaned out my "workout clothes" drawer.
Moved my dress pants up a drawer and then moved my jeans up a drawer.
Pulled she tote o' sheets out of the closet and put them into a drawer. And then put the tote into the office, out of my bedroom.
Then I started on the upper shelf of the closet.
I have a set of painting clothes, so I put them away in a drawer. but I took the ridiculous pajamas I haven't worn in almost 3 years that I was storing in the bottom of the bag with the paint clothes into the give away pile.
Re-gathered my travel toiletry kit thing together.
Pulled the box of old checks down and put it into the spare room where those things "ought" to be, in my mind.
Pulled the box of Lia Sophia jewelry boxes and catalogs down. Got a bigger box because they were overflowing and reorganized that, as well as put the catalogs into the office "where those things belong."
Pulled out the box for my bluetooth and cell phone I got over a year ago! and threw them away, but then realized I'd read a tip about putting stuff like that together in a ziploc bag to be stored elsewhere, so I did that and tossed the boxes and plastic molds.
I grabbed my bag of cosmetics bags and re tidied that and put it into the hope chest with the rest of my travel-type bags.
then I put my laundry baskets back.
tossed all my house shoes/slippers into the empty space at the bottom of the closet, I think I'm going to get a basket or something for them.
Lastly I reversed all my hangers. I'd read a tip quite awhile ago that if you're not really sure what you wear and don't wear, to reverse all the hangers in your closet (hang them from the inside, backwards), as you wear items put the hanger back the normal way, then after 3 months or whatever time you set, anything on a hanger that hasn't been turned gets tossed. I'm pretty sure everything in there is going to get worn in the next 3 months because WI is moving from winter into spring and shortly into summer. But we'll see.

My photos have been uploaded to Flickr and I am feeling pretty great about my wardrobe cleaning out. Although I did realize as I was writing that I did not go through my pajama drawer to check for items to be donated. And I also realized that some of the items in my donation bag may not be quite so appropriate for homeless people. Like the silky pajamas? or bras? Or that blazer I mentioned. So I think I'm going to go through that bag tomorrow and pull those items out and take them to the YWCA instead.

Now my office/spare room is a disaster. But I have a fair idea where I wish things were, AND I got rid of a giant bookcase I didn't want anymore that was occupying space in here. Plus my students are donating the clothes this week so I can get rid of mine as well as the extra bags I have been storing for them. I can start to adjust sometime later this week. It was a good project!!

What if you didn't get paid?

2011-02-08T10:03:00.002-06:00

I am unemployed. I have been for just over 2 months. I have had plenty of time to ponder and read and pray and think. Have I done that? Not nearly as much as I originally wanted to. I have, however, gotten myself to level 53 in Cityville on Facebook.

I am focusing on re-launching a direct sales business I have been dabbling in for almost 3 years. I have done some learning towards launch a consulting business. And I have done some work towards launching a different, but related, consulting business. My goal in those would be to make enough money to support myself and leave myself enough time to seriously pursue my writing. My goal in writing is to become a New York Times Bestselling Author. Well they say shoot for the moon, even if you miss you'll fall among the stars, right? So why not shoot high.

I finished a novel in November for NaNoWriMo. I started another one in December that has already fallen to the back burner, but is patiently waiting for me. I have another novel started, but only a few hundred words written; that one may languish and die, not sure if I'll ever go back and finish it. I have an idea for a screenplay I'm going to write in April for ScriptFrenzy, which I tried last year and failed miserably at; even though that movie is really good and I hope to finish it and get it made some day. And a friend asked me a question on instant messenger the other day and I have my next NaNo novel idea already started. And that doesn't include the note board of ideas and scraps that I have jotted down over the last couple of years and posted for future writing projects.

I am a busy girl. A lot of my "busy" is nonsense and nonproductive and mindless. And that bothers me, but only on a superficial level, I guess. I've read a book and started another on time management. I read a couple different blogs about how to live your life and get more out of it etc. I am reading a book specifically for the novel I started because my main character started reading it, and now I need to so I can flesh out that bit of story. (and boy am I glad I started it ... TOTALLY not what I thought it was about, and totally changes that bit of my story.)

In all of these things they suggest, recommend, command you to "Find Your Passion." (Amy, stay with me, I know you don't get the passion thing ;) hee hee) And one of the suggestions for finding it that they keep saying is "What would you do, or keep doing, if you never got paid for it?" At first I was kind of stumped, probably because I am on unemployment, which doesn't quite cover my very minimized expenses and I am very focused on doing things in order to get paid, not the other way around. But then one day, sitting at this very computer, in the chair I am in right now, it dawned on me. I'm already doing the one thing I would keep doing if I never got paid and I'm doing it for free now!

I volunteer for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at the UW-Whitewater campus. Whitewater is where I went to school and InterVarsity was instrumental in my time there and the direction my life took since then. I talk to students, I try to mentor one or two per semester. I pray for them, mostly not with them but as I go through my days. I hug them. I love them. Usually they make me feel cool and young and funny. Some of you make me feel funny and a few of you even make me feel cool ... but I gotta be honest, none of you make me feel young. On the other side of that coin they also make me realize how much I have grown and matured as a person. I go on retreats with them and have the opportunity to share some of that growth and maturity and wisdom with them when they are going through a tough time. I can add a layer of perspective that none of their peers can give them, because they are all still in the same college boat.

And I Love it!

I love meeting with them and getting to know them. I love sharing a different perspective with them or pointing out some bit of something they may be missing but which can be life changing or perspective shifting. I love laughing with them and getting them to laugh at me. This is the thing I would do, well the thing I will continue to do, even though I will probably never get paid for it.

Yes, I could go on staff with InterVarsity. I could apply and do all that work to get "funded" so I can go on campus. But even then the dynamic would change. I'd be more official, so I'd feel like i had to be more official. I'd have to focus more intently on specific students, the administration of the chapter and my fundraising, and on growing the chapter, executing the vision etc. This way, it stays much more like Play.

It takes up two nights a week. And some weeks that feels like a lot. Some weeks I wish I could just have a "normal" life where I do whatever i want to every night of the week. Some weeks I wish I had every night to work that direct sales business in. But I always remember the time before I started "officially" volunteering. I had a normal life for a long time, and seldom did much of anything with it. I mostly visited friends sporadically. And watched a lot of TV. I had my business for at least a year or a year and a half before I started volunteering and didn't do much with it then either. So the joy far outweighs the time commitment.

I will keep volunteering for as long as they'll let me, or until I move away, if that ever happens. I love my students. And I'm going to keep making new friends and keeping the old, just like the Girl Scout Motto says. And I'm going to focus on the enjoyment of it as much as I possibly can. And I'm going to keep getting younger ... until I'm about 21, then I'll stay that age, cause who wants a middle schooler giving them career advice?? ;)

Picky much?

2011-02-05T11:13:00.002-06:00

I read a post on Her.meneutics today. The post was good, it was a book review about a book aimed at single women and declaring that they/we are too picky. I started to read through the comments to leave one of my own because I really appreciated what the author had to say. Then I read a few of the posts and forgot what my own thoughts were.

Originally I read the post and thought

"How and why is this book being marked to Christian women? The author is not a Christian and has no problem with pre-marital sex nor with eliminating religion as a must-have in your relationship. Also, I loved your comment: I can’t help wondering where the book is that tells men that they need to “settle” for a woman who is kind and caring but might not look like a supermodel."

Then I read this:

The heart of the problem is women, especially professional women, have grown accustomed to "getting it all" in the jobs market and now this is spilling over into the selection of a mate. Sorry, ladies there now appears to be some justice for men.

and

Of course single Christian women are way too picky. Unless you are "perfect", whatever that means, Christian women will say that they "just want to be friends". On the other hand, if you are "perfect", whatever that means, Christian women will go gaga over you, even if you don't know the difference between Jesus Christ and Buddha. I accept that there are people who remain single throughout their lives because they have been called to serve God in that manner, however, any single Christian woman who desires to marry, and are not married, only have themselves and their unrealistic "criteria" to blame

and in response to other comments

you seem to be saying that, if a Christian woman is single, it's her fault, and if a Christian man is single...it's still her fault.

The whole conversation bothered me. All of it. How quick we are to judge each other. How quick we are to blame the "victim." How quick we are to Declare All That Is Wrong With (insert descriptive of your choice). And how incredibly quick we are to excuse and justify ourselves.

I posted this as a response:

As a single, 30 something, Jesus Girl in a moderately sized midwest town, I do not think i am too picky. Period. I was quite offended and hurt by citylady's comments and annoyed by a few others. but I recognize two things. 1) I didn't read the comments in order to respond to them. and 2) those people probably will not even read my comment; so I choose not to respond to them.

I live a very full life. I volunteer mentoring college students twice a week. I enjoy my church, which is in a smaller town a half hour away from my home, and has, literally, no available single men at all. I go out for dinner and lunches with multiple friends and spend time with them at their homes. I see my parents once or twice a week, every single week. I am currently building a business and have plans to launch a second one next month. I tried online dating last year and was simply not able to give it the time and attention it would need in order to have any level of success.

And I haven't even mentioned my "criteria" yet. So how can you possibly, how can ANYONE possibly declare that I am picky? That anyone else in my boat is too picky? How can you possibly? You don't know a single thing about me! You don't know my issues with self-esteem, you don't know how deeply I desire a man who loves Jesus more than he loves me, you don't know that I haven't even MET a new, possibly single, Christian man in years, you don't know that I desire a man who is considerate and will carry groceries and open doors for me. So how can you possibly read this post about this book that isn't even written by a Christian and declare that *I* am picky??

Yes, I have a list. But it is not based on Hollywood or Harlequin. It is based on YEARS of seeing my friends work on their marriages and love each other. On seeing in them what makes one work and what doesn't. On watching husbands interact with their wives and learning to appreciate the things that are much more than skin deep. I have a list of 5-8 non-negotiable items #1 of which that he be a Jesus Lover. and then I have a list of another 8-10 things that would be preferred, but are not necessary to my life-long happiness.

Multiple friends have told me that they don't know why I haven't found a guy by now. They have also in the next breath told me that they don't KNOW any single, Christian men. So, you tell me. Is it women who are too picky? or is it men who are refusing to step up and be mature, responsible men and own their own pickiness? Their own desire to have a Christian Barbie doll to sit on the couch next to them while they play video games and pine away on the porch while he goes and plays with his buddies.

Please stop determining that "all" of us single Christian women are too picky. Please stop blaming us for something that most of us would change in a heartbeat if given the chance. Please start talking with the men in your lives about their desires and lists and what they are doing to meet us. Because I, for one, will NOT ask him out. He will need to find me and ask me. Like another commenter above, if you ask, I will give you at least one date.

Can we please have an honest, caring, compassionate conversation on both sides of this issue and help each other find Jesus in the middle?

I am annoyed. A little upset. I have been tempted, on multiple occasions, over the last 5+ years to ask my friends, point-blank if there is something "wrong" with me that I need to be working on to make myself more attractive (not just physically) to men. But i have always stopped myself for two reasons.

First, I honestly couldn't handle the honest criticism. No matter how loving the source would be. I don't think I'd be able to stay friends with you if you told me that my laugh is obnoxious and puts men off because I'd never be able to laugh with you again and I'd never be able to spend time with you without wondering what else is obnoxious about me to you.

And Second, I am a Jesus Girl. I am a work in progress. I am very clear that I am not perfect. But I am working through My List in God's order and timing. I weigh over 200 pounds and I have for at least a year, possibly two. I have not addressed this yet because God had other items on My List that needed to be dealt with first. I believe now may be my season to deal with the weight and get the spiritual side of it under control, but I think we all would agree that men ought to consider potential mates based on spirit and soul and character and personality, and not on whether or not the jeans size is in the double digits.

But, somehow, this side of the equation never comes up in sermons or conversation. We never discuss how many men I browsed on ChristianCafe who were unwilling to even consider a woman who was any larger than "a few extra pounds." Most of them wanting "Athletic" "Fit" or "Slender".

What about my heart?

What about my compassion?

What about my dreams and goals for this life?

What about my laugh and sense of humor?

What about the way that I love my friend's kids and they all love me?

If you can't see past the size of my "Trunk" then you never get to see those things. You never get to see the truest heart of who I am

as a Woman

as a Jesus Girl

as a Midwesterner

as a Moderate

as a dreamer

as a business owner

as an author

And that is your loss. It takes two to Tango. There are two sides to every coin. There are plenty of places to lay blame and Declare this that or the other. But can we just not do that this time? Can we simply talk to each other? Can the men speak up and say "I asked a girl out and she laughed at me." And can we ladies apologize for what a bee-yatch that chick was? Can we ladies speak up and say "I had a guy tell me once, point-blank, that he was unwilling to date anyone who wasn't "Stunning."" And can you gentlemen apologize for his superficiality and shallowness? can we meet in the middle and see what Jesus would say to all of us, and each of us individually? Can we discuss our lists and must-haves and would-be-great-to-haves and see where we may be eliminating great partners?

Or can you just set me up on a blind date? Cause i'd be game for that too.

Made to Crave - Week 1

2011-01-12T10:37:00.004-06:00

My church is doing the Made to Crave book/video series by Lysa Terkeurst. I've read about 6-7 chapters of the book and we watched our one video and I've started the participants guide. I tend to be something of a rule follower, at least in the beginning. And I've realized a few fairly profound things. One friend suggested journaling, which I don't disagree with, but I feel like a few of the realizations ought to be shared. In case someone else can realize they have as similar thought, pattern, problem, whatever.

One of the first things was something Lysa said during the first video. That this obsession and craving for food constantly, this replacing God in our hearts and minds with food obsessions and thoughts and plans etc is like a war. 1 Peter 2:11 says "Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul" And at first glance that seems kind of strong wording for something as simle as food, but if you truly consider how you interact with food, it may be true for you too. I often spend minutes and sometimes up to a half hour or more thinking, pondering, justifying, rationalizing, deciding the simplest things. Should I go get a pizza or should I make something at home. Should I drive across town to get the super delicious Chinese food I adore, or should I make something at

home. I have literally spent half hour to an hour going back and forth in my mind trying to decide if I have the money, if I've been good enough with my other food, if I deserve it etc. And as my friend KG pointed out, it is definitely like a war. That realization alone has freed me from a lot of the warring.

Just last night I went to Logli to get a movie from Redbox and as I pulled out I thought "Oh, I should run and get Chinese! Wait, I'm not sure if I have the money for that. Well, I did just babysit last night and got paid cash ..." And just that quickly I was able, for the first time I can ever remember, to say "Nope, I don't need Chinese. I'm not sure where my finances sit. I'm going home to eat something I already have." And I did. VICTORY!!!

Another realization I had has to do with my love language. I am a physical touch person. I always have been. I realized that eating, food, chocolate, cakey-goodness, coke, sugar-laden coffee, are all ways of attempting to fill up that Touch Bank that is nearly empty most of the time. The worst part about this realization is that I don't really have a way around it. God, in all his power and might and grace and mercy and amazing wonderfulness, cannot re-incarnate himself simply to come down and give me a hug. Well, He can, I just don't think he will. Sometimes I can get a similar sensation through thinking of him and imagining him hugging me etc, but it's not quite the same. I've asked friends at various points to rub my arm, tap my knee, ruffle the back of my hair, give me a hug; but most haven't done much more of that than they ever did before. So, this will be an ongoing place of work for me. If you know me, feel free to give me a tap or a hug or whatever you're comfortable with. Or send your kids over to give me a hug, they work just as well, sometimes better. ;)

In Chapter 1 of the book she talks about that commercial for a weigh-loss program that personifies Hunger/Cravings as a small orange creature which dogs a woman's every step.

She asked you to consider what your cravings "look" like. I thought about it for a minute and immediately discarded this particular orange guy. Then the picture came to me. My Hunger, My Craving is a parrot on my shoulder. He gets louder and Louder and LOUDER until I give in to him. But Polly never wants a cracker. He wants cake, or cookies, or cupcakes, or brownies, or cinnamon bread or pasta or coke or another coke or another coke. As with many things in my life, once I realize something like this, it immediately starts to lose power. But then, I'm also at the very beginning of my journey here, so here's hoping that I can focus on Philippians 4:13 "I can do All Things through Christ who gives me strength." And that I am choosing to be Empowered and not focusing on being Deprived.

I'm still processing through my most recent revelations, but I will tell you it was in Romans 8:5-10. Just this morning verses 5-6 blew me away!

"For those who live according to the flesh are concerned with the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit with the things of the Spirit. The concern of the flesh is death, but the concern of the Spirit is life and peace!!"

Holy Wow!!

Housekeeping, 2nd movement

2011-01-10T11:39:00.006-06:00

Movement 2:

Recently a good friend was telling me how she had to find her "incentive" to do housework. She reads a number of blogs and it can be time consuming to keep up with all of them. But it is her thing. She does it to relax and get a break from the world etc.

Her husband is a computer guy and as part of their jobs they do sales and they implemented an incentive program for themselves that if they hit X mark they could get bonuses or whatever. And every single month since they set up this incentive thing they have hit their mark. EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH. So she decided she needed to do the same, come up with an incentive for her To-Do list. Her incentive is the blogs. She does not allow herself to read her blogs until her To-Do list is done. Now I think her To-Do list is a daily list of things to be done in that day and not the 6 page list of things to be done sometime in the next 3 weeks to 6 months, like some of us do. But still, it works for her. She's been very excited because she has been getting her stuff done! Yay for her!! Seriously, that's awesome!

We were talking about this the other day. She suggested this incentive thing to me. And, I'm not gonna lie, at first I was like "Won't work for me. I'm not good at policing myself. Period. Ever. About anything. Hello, I weigh over 200 pounds, clearly I'm not good at self-policing."

But the seed was planted. And it has germinated.

I tend to be very "moody" about cleaning. If I'm in the mood I'll just clean until I drop. And if I'm not in the mood, the apartment goes to pot. I have walked over receipts for weeks. In fact right now there is an old chinese fortune cookie fortune laying in the middle of my dining room floor that has been there at a minimum, two weeks.

Between Christmas and New Year's I Cleaned my kitchen. Wiped everything down, did up the ridiculous amount of dishes that had accumulated, swept and mopped the floor. Cleaned.

A week later I rearranged my cupboards. I wanted to move some Tupperware out of the previously mentioned curio and had to adjust my cupboards to accommodate it. Also, the layout just was not working for me anymore. So one night I got the bug to do it, and got up off the couch in between episodes of Bones and did it. And, I might add, I felt pretty dang good about it.

Last night, I came home and did up my few dishes. Wiped down the counters. Put away the schtuff I had drug home that belonged somewhere in the kitchen. Then, I took my bit of Christmas whatnot down to my storage unit and did a 2nd trip down to take my recycling down. I cleaned all my pictures and whatnot off the front of the refrigerator and then I cleaned off the top of my curio. AND HUNG PICTURES That I have wanted to hang for no less than 6 months. and then topped it off by making a reasonably healthy supper. Fettuccine bag noodle mix healthified with sauteed chicken. And now I'm going to go watch a movie I've had from the library for a week.

What does this all mean? I realized two things. One, I prefer to do housework at night. I don't like doing it during the day. Not sure why, but no matter which task I schedule at what time during the day, I will not get around to doing it. Period. However, all those above things I did? Done at night. Every single one. So, voila, I prefer to do housework at night! Suddenly I feel FREE!

That incentive I mentioned? Movies/TV. I am going to begin building in "I can't watch X until the dishes are done." Or the floor is vacuumed. or the tub is scoured. Or whatever other task is driving me crazy. I know a lot of people do the "I clean the whole house on Saturday" thing, but I just already know that is simply NOT gonna work for me. A) I don't like to do anything on Saturdays and B) I will never complete the whole list of household chores in a single day. If I'm in the mood I might get through half of them before something else steals my attention.

Ok, gotta run. Got projects to do so I can be free to incentiveize myself tonight to do dishes before the movies I rented.

Housekeeping, a movement in 3 parts

2011-01-09T20:45:00.008-06:00

Movement 1:

I have realized something these last few months. I don't like empty space. At all. Anywhere. Except maybe my shower I suppose. And my fridge.

So I fill up my spaces.

My desk has a box of receipts I haven't touched except to add to it in months. It has a stack of papers on top and below that. To the other side is an organizer for holding file folders that I have full of binders and regular folders. I have the front of my desk full of stuff. Every available surface has SOMETHING on it. Even my entryway, which is lined with shelving type things, has to be filled closer to the middle of the room, so I dump my bags etc when I walk in to fill up that space.

I honestly have no idea where this comes from. But it worries me.

Because I can't stand empty space in my mind either.

Or in my calendar.

Or in my to-do list (which sounds counterintuitive I know, but it makes sense to me).

Or in the sound waves around me, I always want some sort of noise.

Or on my computer, I can't stand sitting and waiting for something to load, I have to click over to something else while i wait.

I always take a book and/or magazine and/or project with me when I go places. Just in case I end up with a few minutes of unfilled time.

Since I can't stand empty space I have a hard time cleaning, because it intentionally leaves empty space behind.

I know, it sounds like a cop out, right? And yes, I will admit, sometimes I let that be an excuse for allowing myself to continue being a slob. But, there is a hint of OCD type anxiety about it too.

Last Night I finally cleaned off the top of my grandmother's curio cabinet that I inherited a couple years ago. It has been accumulating stuff for at least a year. When I first moved into this apartment I put some cute fruit candle holders up there and maybe my black coffee cup rack thing and slowly it has accumulated more. And more. And More.

On the one hand it's handy to only be 5'2" because I don't really notice what's going on up there very often. It's just above my eye level so unless I'm reaching up there for something, I often don't notice. Same for the top of the fridge.

But on the other hand, since I rarely notice it; It doesn't even bother me all that much.

What does that say about me? I'm clearly not Empty Headed, right?

So much time, so little focus

2011-01-08T12:55:00.003-06:00

Some of you may not be aware, but I lost my job on Dec 2. No, don't cry for me Argentina, I'm doing fine. It was a shock, well more like a stun and there are reasons behind that, reasons that I don't want in print. But suffice it to say, December was ok. Parents helped me out some and I've been approved for Unemployment, so at least I can sleep well knowing I won't lose my apartment or my car or something.

That whole thing aside, I've dreamt of "designing my life" for years now. Dreamt of living by my own schedule and pursuing my dreams. But it was never a real thing. Never a true possibility. Now it is not only a possibility and a real thing, it is my life. And I have to create, from scratch, the life I've only ever dreamt of living.

One of the reasons I never really went hard-core after any of my ideas for income while living my dream life was that I could never figure out a way to fill up an entire day without working. I could tell myself I'd sleep until I woke up rested. I'd have coffee and devotional time with God. But after that it gets squidgy.

I want to work out, movement, exercise, something to wear out my body a little bit so I don't end the day too twitchy to sleep from lack of movement.

I'd write. Every day. 1600 words is my artificial goal, generated from successfully completing NaNoWriMo this year.

I'd work my direct sales business. Selling the amazing skincare products I've been using for years now to other people. Helping people get them at a discount, and even helping some start their own businesses and change their lives.

In recent months I began developing some ideas for creating a consulting business helping companies here in my local area create and maintain a social media footprint.(be kind about that blog, wordpress is 10x harder to build & navigate than blogger & my learning curve isn't what it once was.) Which I immediately am expanding to include helping direct sellers create their own fanpages and utilizing the power of facebook more effectively.

I am also going to apply to the local Technical college to go back to school for a Web Design certificate. It's something I've thought about doing for years and just never had the drive or inclination to pursue. It's a natural next-step beyond the things I'm already starting.

And I'm applying for jobs. Jobs I would take, jobs I am qualified for, jobs that would, in effect, end all the dreams I just shared.

Plus family and friends. I've always dreamt and wished I could see friends more. Do Lunch or visit away an afternoon. Oh, I'm going to paint my sister's bathroom too. And maybe a household project or two for other friends.

And so I find myself sleeping in. Waking rested, which is glorious in itself. Making coffee, eating breakfast and spending some time reading a book of some sort and focusing some time and brainpower on God. And then it all sort of drifts away.

Yesterday I had it all set in my mind. Get up, breakfast, coffee, devotional. Then Writing! And while devotionalizing I got an idea for a blog. So i sat down at my "new" computer to draft the blog. But Facebook was up, so I had to check and see what everyone had been up to. and if I'm going to do that I may as well reopen my restaurant! And check my City! "It'll Only Take a Second." But it never does!!!

Then I check my business email. That takes me awhile because I did a training this week for my L'Bri teammates on Facebook fanpages and i had a few after-thoughts things to take care of. Not to mention slogging through the Google Alerts I have set up and the newsletters I signed myself up for.

Then a friend messages me on google talk and we chat while I'm doing all of this. Then it's been awhile so maybe I should check back into My City because I've now generated some more energy and can do more "work" there.

and I read an email from a blogger I greatly admire and he has given us "dreaming of a different life" types who read his blog a challenge and I take it. And I brainstorm and write down my answers and answer his email etc etc etc. and suddenly it's time to get ready to go to a friend's for a movie night.

And I think

"Where'd my day go???"

And that doesn't include the days I make plans with friends. Monday I babysat for a friend in the morning. Tuesday afternoon I did an emergency babysitting half hour gig for a friend who was in a bind. Wednesday I did a couple hours for a friend who was getting her ultrasound for #3. Thursday I went to visit with another friend that I've lost touch with because we've both been so busy. And I was so looking forward to Friday at home, no plans, no leaving the house til the end of the day, no distractions, just an entire day to focus on my "work."

But I didn't! And it makes me frustrated. And annoyed with myself. And annoyed at "The World" for whatever.

I do recognize one thing in this. I have a VERY hard time saying No. To anyone, about anything. I had a revelation about this inability to say No the other day ... but at this moment what the revelation was, is completely escaping me. Something to do with not ever saying no as a child, and something about "buying" my friend's affections, and something else that is just a sliver in my brain right now, but I'm sure it'll come out again eventually.

And so I make these plans.

"On Monday, I'll start again."

"Tomorrow I'll do it right."

"This week I'll make it happen!"

Today I'll be doing laundry and visiting with my parents so I can see other friends tomorrow night. And Monday will start another new week. A Monday that I don't have any plans until 5:45 pm. And a full week with minimal appointments. Maybe the week to turn my world upside down in the best possible way.

Here's hoping for focus!

No Regrets - Welcome 2011!

2011-01-01T14:07:00.002-06:00

For the first time in a long time I drove home last night with a smile on my face and peace and joy filling my heart. Just writing that out now, 13 hours after the fact brings that same "welling up" of peace and joy in my chest that i had last night.

You see, I did exactly what I wanted to do last night. I thought, in passing, weeks ago, about who might be available to spend New Year's Eve with and thought of my (former) neighbors. I was down visiting them, at their new digs since they had to move out of my building (tears were shed after their move), two weeks ago and asked what they do for New Year's. S (the wife) told me that they never make it to midnight because they both have fallen asleep by then. They have 3 small children, 3 under 5 (if you know what that means). I suggested we ring in the new year together. They readily agreed.

I (finally) got them hooked on watching Bones. Yes it's a "crime" drama, yes it's gory and has half decomposed bodies often, but the personal interplay and the small moments of comic relief are well worth it for me. Not to mention the eye candy portion of the show. So with a new shared entertainment in mind, we decided to ring in the new year with Bones and "booze." I wasn't sure until I arrived last night if the booze would be real or not, but I really didn't care either way.

I arrived in mid-afternoon, groceries in tow. Had the older boys help me cut cheese and sausage for our appetizers. Then they helped me do take-n-bake snickerdoodles from Aldi's (which are surprisingly and ridiculously good). They even helped me mix up some Banana bread. I started a pot of Litt'l Smokies too. They bought KFC and had veggies and dip on hand. The closest thing to a regret that I have is that I ate about 3 bites too many and my stomach was so full I was uncomfortable until about 3 am. But jeez that KFC was good, and the dip was good and the cheese and sausage hit the spot, and those last 3 snickerdoodles were basically worth it.

We watched 3 episodes of Bones. Paused it for 10 minutes or so to do our own toast to 2011 with the sparkling white grape juice I grabbed at Aldi's. And then finished the episode. We chatted awhile, they expressed heartwarming concern over me driving home at 1 am. And I left.

I can honestly say, for the first time in a very very long time, I made it home just as contented as when I had left! Usually I leave feeling fine and great and halfway home realize I'm alone, and my apartment is empty and that devolves into no one loves me, no one will ever love me, no man in his right mind would be attracted to this Santa belly etc etc etc.

But not last night. I had the Christian radio station on and a great song was on. I remember thinking "I should blog about this when I get home and put this song up. Or maybe make a video of my pics from this year and use this song as background music." It was followed by another great song. Then I switched stations because an overplayed song came on, and the new station had a great song on. Then that had a commercial, so I switched stations again ... and another great song was on.

Do I remember any of those songs??

No. I. Do. Not.

I'm pretty sure the very first one was either MercyMe or Casting Crowns, but I couldn't tell ya which.

that desperate single-girl voice tried to remind me on my way home that I was going home by myself to an empty apartment, no closer to a date or a husband than I was when I left that apartment. But that feeling of peace and joy overrode her voice. I simply didn't care. I had not changed my plans to put myself in a better social situation for meeting men, so my expectations weren't unreasonably high for the evening. I hadn't invited myself anywhere I didn't truly feel welcome, so there was no lingering guilt or shame, and, again, expectations were fine.

I spent the evening enjoying a tv show I love, with friends I love, who love me, and kids who think I'm great, and ultimately, spent New Year's Eve exactly as I wanted to.

Wanna know the very best part and ironic bit? I couldn't have told you that it was going to be a Perfect New Year's Eve beforehand. I had no conscious idea that what I wanted was exactly what I had planned. It just plain worked out that way for me this year.

Even on the way home, as I got off the interstate I was thinking about this blog and I thought

"The only thing that could have possibly made this any better, would have been an amazing man who thinks I hung the moon to kiss me at midnight."

But just as soon as i thought that, I also realized that even if he had been there, I'd probably have been disappointed. I'd probably have set the whole scene out in my mind, and set it up much closer to a TV episode or favorite movie than reality can ever come close to and I would have unconsciously set myself up for disappointment.

So, all of this to say. I am content. I am happy. I am enjoying the prospect of what 2011 has to bring. And, right now, I'm enjoying more Bones. I've got Season 5 to finish.

Dear Santa,

2010-12-27T12:22:00.002-06:00

Was my only true request, the deepest desire of my heart, really too much to ask for this season? Really? The required components too expensive? The level of quality too high for your elves? I didn't really want much, just ...

a man with Pierce Brosnan's taste in women,

Looks like Ryan Reynolds,

Sings like a cross between Josh Groban and Michael Buble,

and the eloquence of The Script

And, of course, thinks I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever known and thinks I hung the moon.

Was that really too much to ask for?

World on Fire

2010-11-30T22:39:00.002-06:00

Not really entirely, that's just the first song I'm putting on my windows media player for this post. Although it isn't entirely untrue either.

Thought it was about time for another update. What a road! to some extent there aren't words. Because how do you put feelings into words? It's like that Chris Rice song "Smell the Color 9."

It's just one of those things that you can't translate. But that is likely the bain of the writer's soul, the need to at least try to put those exact things into words.

I logged some of my medication story previously. Sadly it never really got any better. I gave up the first one after a week. Took a couple weeks off due to scheduling and money and tried to get back on. Ended up taking a 2nd med for 3 or maybe 4 weeks ... but only at a quarter dose! That was all I could tolerate before I started getting nauseous again. ***

Then I decided to just call and try getting on something else. I mean there are literally 20+ anti depressants on the market, ONE of them has to work for me, right?? I mean, seriously? Right??

I finally got around to emailing my doctor, only to finally call the day before my twice post poned appointment and be told that although they had gotten my email, they had emailed me back, inside their website system with no outside notification to me that they had answered at all. And their answer was "Come in and talk to the doctor." Um, sorry, no, not spending $25 copay for that conversation. I'm too broke and I, honestly, don't see the trade off value of that particular expense. I need groceries, ya know?

I've been seeing a counselor for a couple of months and she's good. Problem is that she is a block from work so I go on my lunch hour and it feels like all we talk about is work. I feel like I can tolerate that environment, that it is a "limited-term engagement." But my "Life" is not. That is the part I want to fix. My mental hang ups about my business, that is what I want to fix. This obvious inclination to curl up on the couch or settle in front of facebook and zone out for hours on end rather than doing anything productive, that I want to fix. Now don't get me wrong, she has been helpful. She's encouraged me to stand up for myself and given me an outlet for some of the work stress that I'm tired of dumping on my friends. And I believe we will get around to my "Life" but for now we talk about work.

She told me on our last appointment that they have an Advanced Practice Nurse that works with their office and is qualified to prescribe meds. She suggested I consider seeing her since she may (probably) have more experience with antidepressants and their side effects and maybe she'd have a better option for me to try than the previous two. So now I need to check my insurance and make certain she is covered and then make an appoinment to see her. Here's hoping she's not booked til next year!

(update before I even post this - just checked my health insurance website, and although every single psychologist type person at the facility is covered, this Advance Practice Nurse doesn't appear to be. Fan-freaking-tastic. I know, I'll call and see if I can verify or figure it out, but that's more work and more time and effort and I can barely drag myself out of bed and go to work right now!)

so, After 4ish weeks on that stupid quarter dose, I stopped taking it, in prep for switching to something new. Which now appears that it might not be happening at all. And all I can think is

Why does this have to be so damn hard?!?

I said it before, I say it weekly, there is no reason for anything to be "this" hard for no reason. I mean, yeah, if someone's got cancer that's hard, but no one questions your decision to take chemo ...

I have only had a couple of people question my desire to get on anti-depressants. A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in my car in line at the bank drive thru when someone jumped ahead of me and I nearly got out of my car to punch her. Because I'm not "that" person I refrained, but instead nearly started crying and all I could think was "You want to know why I'm trying to get on drugs? Because there is no reason for that incident to bring me to tears. No reason.

I did well through November. I really did. Maybe it was the meds still working their way out of my system. Maybe it was the week and a half I spent in sunny, warm Raleigh, NC. Maybe it was the fact that I SUCCESSFULLY completed NaNoWriMo!!!

I wrote 55,725 words within the 30 days of November. I completed an entire novel! And I didn't exclude every single contraction or hyphen just to pad my words. And it's a coherent story, it's not the same word or sentence or paragraph repeated over and over again. It's a lovely story, and to be honest, I'm excited to get it published eventually. Right now it is extremely rough and needs a fair amount of editing. And I need to add the Epilogue I thought of the night I finished it.

I get home, I work 9 hours straight with people who treat me like ... I have only been doing the job for a month, and have a lovely evening with my parents buying me a Christmas present, and get home and putz on facebook for an hour or two (i lost track of time, so I've no idea how long I was on). towards the end I realize I am thinking to myself "I'm shutting down. I can feel it. I'm withdrawing into inside myself and I'm shutting down and shutting out the outside world. Then I suddenly realize I forgot to buy milk and have nothing to 'cream' my coffee tomorrow, and all I want to do in that moment is sink to the floor, right where I stand, and dissolve into tears.

Over milk.

You want to know why I'm trying to get on anti-depressants? That's why.

There is no true or genuine reason for that night and that situation to put me to tears. I don't have a baby to feed. It isn't blizzarding outside, so I'm not trapped in my house. I'm fairly broke right now, but not so broke that I can't afford some milk to cream my coffee. There is no reason for that to dissolve me to tears.

So don't ask me again why I'm on meds. They helped. I think that's probably the worst part of this whole ridiculous nonsense mess I've gotten myself into. Even that little stupid quarter dose was helping. I didn't feel quite so overwhelmingly heavy and sad or apathetic all the time. I could smile without it feeling forced. I could see a light at the end of the tunnel. But all I could focus on was how far away that light truly was and how much more quickly it would come to me if I could get on a full dose of something. Yes it helped, yes I felt a little better, but all I could focus on was how much MORE better I could maybe feel if I could tolerate a full dose of something.

So, let's make an agreement, shall we? I agree not to pry into your personal life or dissect what medications you are on or what health decisions you make for yourself, I also further agree not to offer my opinions unasked for on any and every topic of discussion, and you agree to do the same? Agreed?

***A friend pointed out that the "quarter dose" didn't make sense to her. Let me clarify. The doctor had prescribed whatever dose it was. I took the first dose and got sick. I called the pharmacist and asked if I could cut it in half, since that was what the doctor had recommended for the first drug I tried. He said that should be no problem. So i tried that, but still got a little sick. So I decided, on my own, to try starting with a quarter of a pill to see if I could build up some tolerance to it so I wouldn't get sick. After a week, or maybe two, of the quarter pills I tried upping to half but got sick again, so i stuck with quarters until i quit it entirely. speaking of which, I think I'm going to go try it again ... long story, will tell eventually.

You need a Champion

2010-11-24T23:45:00.000-06:00

I watched Eat, Pray, Love with friends tonight. I expected a bit of encouragement, a few laughs, and some correlations to be drawn with my own walk with Christ.

I did not expect to be hit between the eyes and solar plexus in two separate moments on two separate topics.

I feel oddly deflated. One thought should be freeing. The other should be encouraging. At the moment, the encouraging one makes me want to cry.

A bit counter productive and very counter intuitive.

In the movie Julia Roberts plays Liz Gilbert, this woman who had written a book or two at least. She was married and realized it wasn't working and decided to pursue a divorce. I'm sure various uber conservative groups would lambast her for this decision, but please let's set that aside and see her bigger journey. What's done is done, the divorce happened, it's already long past, let's move on. She decides after her following relationship fails as well to take a year off and travel the world. She's going to spend a few months in Italy and then on to an Ashram in India of a certain guru she admires, and then back to Bali. The place where the whole thing started.

I admire her through he entirety of the movie. Her courage. Her awareness that this is something she needs to do but at the same time something that is quite crazy and outside our standard cultural norms. but not only does she travel for the experience of it, she truly immerses herself in the place she is occupying. Which is a lesson all it's own.

One of the bits that hit me was when she was in the Ashram in India. You'll have to ask me about that sometime because that one is not the focus of this post.

A light, slightly comedic moment with the man she is building a relationship with in Bali is the one that is currently making me tear up.

Javier Bardem's character, her boyfriend, has just had his palm read by the medicine man that started her down this path over a year prevoiusly. As the medicine man is reading Felipe's palm his wife, sister, friend, companion, whatever she was person makes a comment to Liz that she needs a good man, and he (Felipe) is a good man. As they are leaving Liz says "I am so tired of everyone telling me I need a man." and Felipe looks at her a moment and as he's walking away from her he says

"You don't need a man,

you need a Champion."

And i almost started crying right here. And i mean CRYING. Not the single glistening tear, I'd already shed a few of those on the earlier poignant moment that i may blog about another day if you ask. I'm talking break down in sobs kind of crying. and although I don't think my friend would truly mind, I didn't think it necessary to freak her out or freak out her husband.

I couldn't even think. It just resonated so deeply for me. That is putting words to something I don't think i even realized i was hoping for. Something I hadn't even realized was on my list. Something that is in fact top 4, necessary, absolutely required, under no circumstances can it be compromised.

Which makes last weekend even funnier. Had dinner with friends of my friend. Met another friend of my friend's that I hadn't met before. (enough friends in there for you?) He is newly separated, his wife left him, and he is hitting the bar scene, and all are assuming he is hitting the "post" bar scene as well. So for a couple of painfully obvious reasons i wouldn't want to date him anytime in the near future. However, I caught myself a few times thinking that I wished he were interested, even if I'm not and can't/won't return the interest. One of the things I thought was that it would just be nice to be noticed or even desired. But deeper than that I realized he is not champion material. At least not for me. Not right now.

So, even though i hadn't recognized it yet. Even though I hadn't put words to it yet. Even though it wasn't consciously on my list.  I was looking for a champion. I am looking for a champion.

I pondered what that actually meant. For a man to be my champion. As I began defining it, I almost started crying again. I've taken care of myself for so long. I've taken care of others to various degrees for so long. I've defended myself for so long.  I've done whatever was required to maintain a life for so long. It would feel ... amazing? fantastic? freeing? to have someone else go to bat for me. Willingly. Happily. Intentionally.

Even in my prior relationships I don't think i ever felt like any of them was a Champion. Granted 3 of them were in high school, so that is kind of expecting a lot. But still.

I can't even say that all of my friends are married to Champions. or even most of them.  Maybe I just don't see it, maybe what would speak to me doesn't speak to them anyway. I'm not saying it's good or bad one way or the other, but what I am saying is I have virtually no role models for this. Am I then hoping for a pipe dream to come true? is it like the blond who prays to win the lottery over and over and over until a voice from heaven says "buy a ticket."

and I watch Liz as she navigates this life she is creating. And how she goes after certain things and experiences and immerses herself in places and savors. And I admire. And I think, if I did something like that, could I meet my champion? Could i show that kind of confidence in the journey? Would that be attractive enough to someone? because apparently the high heels aren't doing it on their own.

I don't know where to find romantic love. I don't know where to look. I don't know what to do. But hopefully when I meet a man who is Considerate, who makes me laugh, who loves Jesus above all else, and has Champion in his blood, hopefully when I meet a man like that, I will recognize him and be open to the experience of letting him love me.

New Leaves and all that

2010-10-24T22:36:00.000-05:00

How often do we set out to "turn over a new leaf."

To change our life from one thing to another in one single fell swoop.

To change all, or even one, of our bad habits overnight.

And how often do we fail at that??

It's the whole reason that New Year's Resolutions are a joke!

It's also the reason that 99% of diets fail.

I have told others for years to make the best choice you can as each and every individual choice comes to you. Don't set out to not ever eat chocolate again. That's just unrealistic. But if you can choose a bluberry muffin over the chocolate chocolate chip "muffin" at the store, that helps. The more times you can do that, the better. The total effect will add up. (A guy even wrote an entire book about this idea).

Problem is, I haven't been taking my own advice.

Sure sometimes, especially wtih food, I can make a good choice, nearly half the time. But the other half I just plain don't care. Which may not be entirely 100% mental for me (see previous entries on depression). But I do hold my own level of responsibility for it, and although I'd like to deny it and pretend like it truly isn't my fault, it is. My actions and choices resulted in the life I have, and the Santa Belly I carry. But, I digress slightly.

My pastor gave a sermon this morning about the difference between a servant and a slave. A slave is characterized as insecure and unsure, reluctant and rebellious, complaining and dissastified with life, they do only what is demanded and must be watched, they are unconcerned & desire a different situation and are primarily concerned with themselves. Servants, in contrast are bold & confident, show initiative and movement, complimentary and encouraging, they do more than is required and can be trusted, often consider what can they do to make the situation better, don't need to be watched and are primarily concerned with making the "boss" look good.

We have an incredibly screwed up idea of slavery vs servanthood in America. You have to go back to old England, possibly at the turn of the century, maybe even earlier. Think of a Butler. He is the epitome of a "servant." Not African-Americans in a cotton field. If you keep in mind the picture of an Old English Butler, the differentiation is clear and immediate.

The thing is, God has been poking at me with this for months. I would like to think I have a fairly good servant mentality, most of the time. A source of continued improvement for me, but a reasonably good starting point. However, work is an entirely different matter. I am deeply entrenched in a slave mentality at work. I have been able to justify it to myself by saying that they don't treat me right to begin with and therefore don't deserve my servanthood. But that's not what God says! That's not what Jesus taught us.

He gave his blood for me, who am I to decide who gets my servanthood and who doesn't? He has given me all the knowledge and wisdom I need in the Bible, 4-5 verses which come to mind immediately. And, all that teaching says that offering my servant heart to someone else is commanded in this situation. As I type that I realize that my heart is exactly what I have been holding back. I don't consider them worthy of it, nor do I think they will steward it well. So I harden myself. I allow my "not a morning person" personality to dominate and I nitpick anything I don't want to do and epitomize that slave mentality I described above.

I had a moment during the sermon where I thought "Ok, I'll change my ways ... starting tomorrow morning." and I meant permanently. As if I were capable of making this change overnight and immediately and completely. As if I would be able to hold this enormous and incredible change for more than a half hour, if even that! And I amended my prayer. I asked God to help me change just tomorrow. Just Monday. No farther than that. Any farther is overwhelming. Any more makes me want to quit before I start.

Clearly not God's plan for me.

So tonight, I go to bed with a different hope for a new tomorrow. His mercies are new every morning. I can only hope they last til noon.

Weekend Frivolity

2010-09-27T22:55:00.000-05:00

I am surpringly close to my extended family. Not so much because of the family, though they are obviously their own brand of crazy. But surprising because so few people are close to their extended families anymore.

It's funny how you don't realize something is odd or rare until you meet someone to whom the same thing, which is so normal and obvious to you, thinks you're nuts for it. When i talk about spending time with my aunts and cousins in Iowa sometimes people stare. They haven't seen their aunts or uncles in years. They know their cousins names but have no idea if they are married or have any kids. No clue where they live or what they do. And that seems bizarre to me.

But then, my mom was a transplant. Fell in love on St. Patty's day in a bar. Almost bailed on the 1st date. Ended up falling crazy in love and got married October of that same year. 36 years ago in just a few weeks. Now the truly crazy part was that she moved 2 1/2 hours away to live with her husband. Who worked second shift. Where she knew not a single living soul. Where they didn't have a phone much less long distance. And I'm not even sure they had a TV. She used to cry in her dishwater after Husband left for work at night.

So, you can imagine, when they had kids a couple years later. She wanted to be close to her family again. Especially when one sister was pregnant at the same time and had a daughter just a few months after mom's first. So, began our long treks. Every other weekend, for 10+ years, almost without fail, we loaded into the car at 4:00 on Friday and drove to Dubuque to spend the weekend with mom's family.

Every
Other
Weekend.
For 10+ years.

That's over 200 trips on the exact same highway
to the exact same destination.

No wonder Dad still knows where each and every single passing zone is on that entire stretch of road!

All of this to say that this last weekend, we had a Hayride. My cousins' kids had never been on one, and someone mentioned it to my Uncle the Farmer. So we planned it. Out we went. Friday at 5, as soon as Sister and I were off work, away we went. Hit the Road Jack!

Saturday we woke up, leisurely. Got ready for the arrivals. Greeted and chatted. Hit the hay rack. In the rain. Thank you Amazing Builder Cousin for helping Uncle Farmer get a jury rigged tarp over the top of it for us! And off we went around the country. It was cold. And wet. But we were family and we had fun!

Then, when we got home we ate. One of the most bestest parts of any family gathering. The Food. Pork Loin, two marinades. Cheesy Potatoes. German Potato Salad. Pasta Salad. Bread. Baked Beans. Fruit. Desserts abounding, including pies.

and when we were done and reasonably digested. the True Fun began.

The 1st Annual Boyer Family Minute to Win It competition!!!!!

In teams of 2 we competed in various Minute to Win It games. Each team of 2 got 3 lives and when your lives were up, you were out.

Fun and hilarity ensued. I can't even tell you all of it! Partly because it kind of blurs together after a few and partly because it's late enough that my brain stopped functioning.

So, instead, I'll show you the 1st video I created (Yep, all by myself!!) of our First Challenge

This Blows.

Suggestions requested!

2010-09-08T22:18:00.003-05:00

So I was reading Pioneer Woman's post on the 10 things to do while blogging. And I thought of another blog I read somewhere that mentioned something about structure. And I know Anna over at Holy Experience posts something to do with Gratefulness on Mondays.

And it occurs to me, maybe I'd post more if I had specific goals and topics/starters. Like Gratefulness. Or family. Or flirting, more appropriately my bad-ness at it. Or weight. Or my many friends many kids. So ... any requests? Any suggestions? What are your thoughts??

side effects SUCK!

2010-08-27T21:53:00.004-05:00

Well, it's been a week. 7 full days since I started my first anti-depressant. Which I am still hesitant to announce to the "public" at large in my world. Which is duly ironic and amusing since I am posting all my business here for all the world to see. Anyway. I started Zoloft last weekend. Friday night to be exact. Around 7 ish. And hung out with my neighbors the rest of the night. I warned my neighbor that if I started acting "bizarre" to please tell me, since I might not realize I am. to which she replied "how will I be able to tell that it's different from normal?" Which, considering me, is an honest question. And we laughed about it. We also laughed about some of the other possible side effects. weight loss? BRING IT ON! Drowsiness? Well, I guess I'm taking this at night until i know otherwise! I read through the list, because that is what one is supposed to do. But I gave nary a thought to truly having a bad reaction to the medication. I never dreamt I would be the one in a hundred or more who actually had a rare and severe reaction.

WARNING TMI -

Unfortunate timing, but I also had my period over the weekend. Which ALWAYS makes me nauseous anyway. My metabolism spikes and my stomach goes all wonky and I have to be SUPER careful about eating enough and often enough and in the middle of the night or I get so hungry I'm actually nauseous, and then unable to eat at all. I have figured this out about myself.

So the nausea I felt on Saturday felt normal.
The ickiness I felt on Sunday felt normal.
I'm not sure what I thought on Monday. But I do know I went to work and worked the whole day.
Tuesday it occurred to me that something wasn't right.

I called the doctor. I explained that the medication was making me so nauseous I couldn't function. Their solution was to cut the pill in half and do half doses for a week while my body gets used to the medication. I was not quite coherent when i called and they told me that. So i didn't truly ponder it until after the fact. I thought that maybe if I took the pill in the morning it wouldn't make me so sick until evening and that way I could get through work. So I decided to skip Tuesday night's dose and take one Weds morning.

Then I realized Tuesday afternoon/evening, that the pill wasn't giving me an upset stomach. The medication in my blood stream was making me nauseous. Like nauseous. Like I woke up in the morning and was so hungry I was unable to eat. Followed very quickly by waves of nausea. A pain/rock in my upper abdomen. A ball at the back of my throat, right where your gag reflex hits you. And the sick feeling rolled over me repeatedly. Every few minutes. It was the closest I ever hope to get to Morning Sickness. Which officially created reason #28 not to have kids, ever.

Then Weds morning rolled around. For the 3rd day in a row I woke up, wide awake, at 6 am. Almost a full hour before my alarm. Ummm, no, i don't think so body/god/whatever! NOT getting up at 6. I got up, and crawled onto my couch since I 'felt' like I was half upright and maybe I wouldn't feel as sick as if I were truly flat.

And at 7:15 I called in sick to work.

I was so nauseous I could barely get off the couch. I dozed until almost noon.

Every morning. Especially Weds, thinking

I'd rather be depressed than live like this!!

And I decided, I was not ingesting a single granule more of that medication. I refuse. Not gonna happen. I went to work at 1:00 that day, and felt worn out the entire day. I felt like I was going to fall asleep at my desk!

And I recovered, slowly. In hindsight, each day was slightly less nausea than the one before. Each day lasted a little less than the one before. Monday and Tuesday are a complete and utter blur. Wednesday I was functionable by noon. Thursday I was functionable by 10ish. Today I was bouncing back between 8:30 and 9:00. Thank Gawd tomorrow is Saturday! So, even if I wake up at 6 am with some last vestiges of nausea, I can doze back off once it fades away.

Like I started this out saying. I never dreamt, in a 100 years, that I would be the one in a thousand who has a severe reaction to the medication. Never Dreamt.

And yesterday I called the Doc back. I left a message with the receptionist that I thought there might have been some confusion about my concern earlier in the week. I thought the nurse might have misunderstood my complaint. That the pill wasn't making my stomach upset, that the medication in my blood stream was making me so nauseous I couldn't function. I told her I'd had to call in sick to work the day before. She was very empathetic and told me she'd relay the message to the nurse.

This morning I got a call back, while I was at work. Which i also happened to miss. So I called them when I went to lunch. And the nurse seemed almost put out that I had quit taking the medication entirely. Almost annoyed with me for not taking their 'cut the pill in half' advice. Which, in turn, made me want to get rude with her. Which I did not. I held my peace and my tongue. I told her I would not ever ingest another one of those pills. Was Not Gonna Happen. Somehow I felt like she still wasn't understanding my differentiation between upset stomach and Nausea. Which was additionally annoying, considering SHE'S A NURSE! I asked that she inform the Doctor of this and find out two things. First and foremost, what is the next alternative, and an alternative which has a $4.00 generic at WalMart please. And secondly, do you happen to carry/have any samples that I could try a few before investing in an entire prescription to find out if I'm going to have a similar reaction.

They called me back at 5:05 to tell me they do not have any samples, but they have called a prescription for Celexa into Walmart for me. So i went to pick that up. Now I'm crazy nervous about starting another new one when i'm fairly certain the old one isn't quite out of my system and I had such a ridiculously B!A!D! reaction to the first one.

And, all of this is just my anecdotal explanation. I haven't even gotten into the whole spiritual battle I'm in now.

Did I truly pray enough?
Did i truly ask HIS advice?
Do I actually WANT His help?
Could this reaction be a punishment for not seeking his face instead of his hand?
Could it be nothing more than the enemy of my soul trying to stop me from having the Life of Abundance that He has promised?
If it's not a punishment, why won't he stop the nausea!?
If it's not the enemy, then why me???
ad nauseum (pun fully intended)

But even with all of that. I've made up my mind. And tonight, I decided 3 strikes and we're out. I start medication #2 tonight. If I have a ridiculous reaction to that one, I'll try a 3rd. If I have a 3rd ridiculous reaction, then I'm done. I'm off to therapy to see if that will help me by itself.

Because here is the thing. Last night I was on the phone with a friend and I realized I was humming. Not along to a song. Not to a song stuck in my head. Just humming. A non-tune. And I realized I can't remember the last time I hummed for no reason. And the friend I was on the phone with couldn't remember either. And we talk 2-3 times a week a minimum.

And I then hung out with my neighbors watching Will & Grace. And I felt light. Light, like I wasn't weighted down. Like everything wasn't ridiculously heavy and overly hard. I felt the same way at work yesterday afternoon. And today. So, I think the principle of an anti-depressant is what I need. The one I started with was just a bad start.

So, cheers for attempt #2!

p.s. Remember that weight loss side effect? I did somehow lose at least 4 pounds!! But that was probably because I ate one tiny meal a day for 3 days in a row. :)