This past week one of my participants at work passed away.
I found out via email and confirmed with an online obituary. There was nobody close enough to him to call. Every time I met with him he was alone. Every time I asked him about his family he said they were too busy to visit much. It affected me greatly. I've had other participants pass away and it is NEVER easy or 'just a job' but for some reason his situation cut a little deeper.
This past week I met a new participant who is 98.
Her daughter, who is 75, has moved across country to live with her and assist in her care. To watch them interact is simply beautiful. It's a song and dance of providing memories, helping put on glasses that don't assist in vision anymore--but still matter, and answering questions to tell mom's story that she can no longer tell herself.
Who in our lives are we taking for granted? What friendships? What family? What loved ones?
Those people that in our final hour...would make the calls...would share our story...would hold our hand?
I think we much more easily to make ourselves available to the fringe people in our lives....our kid's teachers, co-workers, acquaintances....appreciate their place, enjoy casual conversation and give a smile.
That is very kind and friendly. It is important that we acknowledge humans and as I always say...EVERYONE matters. It is likely, however, that a month from now....years from now....we often won't even know who those people are and they likely won't be a part of our daily life.
****I fully understand that your family is not necessarily your biological family. So know that I am not necessarily talking about genetic family. I fully understand that it is a blessing that in my life...many of those near and dear to me are related by blood. There's a whole slew of other folks that are ride and die family as well.****
Appreciate your family~Acknowledge them. Say thank you. Find out what makes them feel special and then do that. Give them hugs. Look them in their eyes. Smile at them. Brag about them to others.
Invest in your family~Spend time together. Learn about who they are. Share with them who you are. Find common things you enjoy. Understand their story. Devote time to them individually, even if it's just a conversation about your day or theirs.
Cherish your family~Enjoy their being. They are unique and special. They are not promised to us and we never know what breath might be their last. Make sure they know where you stand and what they mean to you.
Appreciating someone, investing in them and cherishing who they are.....costs nothing.
You do not need to lavish fancy gifts. You do not need to go to fancy places. You do not need to host a party in a fancy home.
You need to send a card or text.
You need to go for a walk or sit by them.
You need to say, 'I am so glad you are in my life.'
It's really quite simple.
And yet we make it so complex.
Those fringe people? Yes, continue to be friendly and kind.
But your people?
Don't let a moment pass that they may not know....they matter and they are loved.
That's what I got today.
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Thursday, April 27, 2017
My Bucket of Lies
Bulimia is a nasty and vile eating disorder. The Webster's dictionary is much more politically correct in their definition, but that's my take on it after having dealt with bulimia since I was 15.
I don't really remember the first time I purged.
But I remember the start of it came during my dance days at Milwaukee Ballet School--Waukesha. I had a teacher who would poke me in the tummy/side with her pointer and call me fat. Tell me I needed to lose weight to be on stage. You know, all the encouraging stuff an insecure teen pretending to be secure needs to hear.
And so. I began to puke up my food.
Occasionally at first. An empty stomach was a flat stomach. It actually started to feel better when my tummy was empty.
At some point, and I don't know when....it became an everyday thing. An every meal thing. If I could. And it wasn't just about losing weight or keeping thin...by then the addiction had set in.
Heading to the bathroom after every meal can be suspicious....so you go to your room...and you keep a bucket of puke in the back of the closet, like a crude, rotten secret constantly reminding you of both your weakness and need for control.
My sister found it one day. The bucket. Now that's a special kind of shame. Standing before your sister and mother with your bucket of lies on the floor in between you. This is late 80s....just the start of awareness and often wrapped up in an after school special where all's well that ends well. So I promised to stop. And that it was about losing weight and my stupid dance teacher. Which...well it was. But it was also about more.
And I did try to stop. And I did for awhile. But it started back up. And I just got better at hiding it.
My freshman year of college I was in Chicago studying musical theater and dance. Crazy days full of so much fun. And bulimia? Well, that was pretty common actually. Definitely not celebrated or encouraged...but it was just kind of understood that some people binged and purged. And so I was able to resume a pretty consistent pattern. Also, it didn't hurt that I had dance class once, sometimes twice in a day....which began a pretty good behavior of control as well.
When I was 19 and found out I was pregnant...I had morning sickness just about the entire 9 months. This was not fun...but did help me stop binging and purging.
When it resumed around 21...that draw (with lack of better way to describe it)...and was not having any kind of weight issue....and not having any outside ridicule for my body....I realized that it was not something that I could just 'stop'. In fact, it became more than just binging and purging. I realized that even if I wasn't feeling like I wanted to binge and purge, my body almost naturally wanted to if I overate even a little...say at a party or cook out.
As the years continued on....I eventually stopped binging and purging. With a child it made it a little difficult to sneak off to the bathroom. That girl didn't let you sneak anywhere! But the mind control stayed in play.
I'd say the last time I binged and purged...I was likely around 25. And for a long time I thought of it as behind me because of that fact. Sure, I had residual things....like almost no enamel on my teeth and severe damage to my esophagus (really that fact that I can still sing is God's mercy on me) but I was healed of this nasty and vile disorder.
But here's the truth.
There are still stolen moments....when that dark place that holds that desire for control...that holds that desire for escape....and the need to pretend that reality isn't real....that I pause. And think...how easy would that be to get that release.
It's but a moment. And so fleeting. Because I have so many other, healthier ways of handling stress and anxiety now.
But I made me reflect on what being 'healed' is. I don't know that it's stepping out of a situation or being cured of...a behavior....an emotion...an addiction...a disorder and never, ever doing it again. I may not ever binge and purge again...but it doesn't mean that I couldn't step back into that world again.
For me, I am healed from the pain and self loathing that created such a storm. I am healed from the stigma and hiding and shadows. I am healed from pretending.
****If you have bulimia or know someone who does. Talk about it. Face it. Do not hide it in the shadows. Do not express disgust as they try to put words to this. Do not get angry if you can't stop. But do get help. It can be so so serious. You can do irreparable damage to your body. You can die. And the world needs the unique, beauty that God created you to be, so you must get help.****
There's no time like today to come out of the shadows. There's plenty of us here to hold your hand if you'd like.
That's what I got today.
I don't really remember the first time I purged.
But I remember the start of it came during my dance days at Milwaukee Ballet School--Waukesha. I had a teacher who would poke me in the tummy/side with her pointer and call me fat. Tell me I needed to lose weight to be on stage. You know, all the encouraging stuff an insecure teen pretending to be secure needs to hear.
And so. I began to puke up my food.
Occasionally at first. An empty stomach was a flat stomach. It actually started to feel better when my tummy was empty.
At some point, and I don't know when....it became an everyday thing. An every meal thing. If I could. And it wasn't just about losing weight or keeping thin...by then the addiction had set in.
Heading to the bathroom after every meal can be suspicious....so you go to your room...and you keep a bucket of puke in the back of the closet, like a crude, rotten secret constantly reminding you of both your weakness and need for control.
My sister found it one day. The bucket. Now that's a special kind of shame. Standing before your sister and mother with your bucket of lies on the floor in between you. This is late 80s....just the start of awareness and often wrapped up in an after school special where all's well that ends well. So I promised to stop. And that it was about losing weight and my stupid dance teacher. Which...well it was. But it was also about more.
And I did try to stop. And I did for awhile. But it started back up. And I just got better at hiding it.
My freshman year of college I was in Chicago studying musical theater and dance. Crazy days full of so much fun. And bulimia? Well, that was pretty common actually. Definitely not celebrated or encouraged...but it was just kind of understood that some people binged and purged. And so I was able to resume a pretty consistent pattern. Also, it didn't hurt that I had dance class once, sometimes twice in a day....which began a pretty good behavior of control as well.
When I was 19 and found out I was pregnant...I had morning sickness just about the entire 9 months. This was not fun...but did help me stop binging and purging.
When it resumed around 21...that draw (with lack of better way to describe it)...and was not having any kind of weight issue....and not having any outside ridicule for my body....I realized that it was not something that I could just 'stop'. In fact, it became more than just binging and purging. I realized that even if I wasn't feeling like I wanted to binge and purge, my body almost naturally wanted to if I overate even a little...say at a party or cook out.
As the years continued on....I eventually stopped binging and purging. With a child it made it a little difficult to sneak off to the bathroom. That girl didn't let you sneak anywhere! But the mind control stayed in play.
I'd say the last time I binged and purged...I was likely around 25. And for a long time I thought of it as behind me because of that fact. Sure, I had residual things....like almost no enamel on my teeth and severe damage to my esophagus (really that fact that I can still sing is God's mercy on me) but I was healed of this nasty and vile disorder.
But here's the truth.
There are still stolen moments....when that dark place that holds that desire for control...that holds that desire for escape....and the need to pretend that reality isn't real....that I pause. And think...how easy would that be to get that release.
It's but a moment. And so fleeting. Because I have so many other, healthier ways of handling stress and anxiety now.
But I made me reflect on what being 'healed' is. I don't know that it's stepping out of a situation or being cured of...a behavior....an emotion...an addiction...a disorder and never, ever doing it again. I may not ever binge and purge again...but it doesn't mean that I couldn't step back into that world again.
For me, I am healed from the pain and self loathing that created such a storm. I am healed from the stigma and hiding and shadows. I am healed from pretending.
****If you have bulimia or know someone who does. Talk about it. Face it. Do not hide it in the shadows. Do not express disgust as they try to put words to this. Do not get angry if you can't stop. But do get help. It can be so so serious. You can do irreparable damage to your body. You can die. And the world needs the unique, beauty that God created you to be, so you must get help.****
There's no time like today to come out of the shadows. There's plenty of us here to hold your hand if you'd like.
That's what I got today.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Most Days
My heart is kind of heavy today.
There's so much and so many.
There's abundance in some areas and great need in some others.
There's some with too much and others with none.
And while I can try and do everything in my power...
to bring awareness
to request assistance
to shower love
to walk through valleys
to connect the people
It's never ending.
And there's still those...will likely always be those...
who don't understand because they choose not to understand
who do understand but think it's not their problem
who judge and think if someone can't 'keep it together'
But I'm so grateful...
for those who will never stop giving
for those who will never stop sharing
for those who will never stop praying
for those who will never stop loving
Those that understand it truly takes a village
Those that understand it truly is everyone's lot
Those that understand it truly is important to care
Those that understand it truly matters...everyone truly matters
So when I am feeling weak
And overwhelmed
Like there's much on my plate
But yet as much, if not more on other's
I occasionally shut down and shut it out
But
I can't for long. Because I'm just not wired that way.
I'm grateful for friends who share my heart
With different perspectives and different places of influence
But still the same heart.
Most days. I need them more than they could know.
Today? Was one of those days.
That's what I got today.
There's so much and so many.
There's abundance in some areas and great need in some others.
There's some with too much and others with none.
And while I can try and do everything in my power...
to bring awareness
to request assistance
to shower love
to walk through valleys
to connect the people
It's never ending.
And there's still those...will likely always be those...
who don't understand because they choose not to understand
who do understand but think it's not their problem
who judge and think if someone can't 'keep it together'
But I'm so grateful...
for those who will never stop giving
for those who will never stop sharing
for those who will never stop praying
for those who will never stop loving
Those that understand it truly takes a village
Those that understand it truly is everyone's lot
Those that understand it truly is important to care
Those that understand it truly matters...everyone truly matters
So when I am feeling weak
And overwhelmed
Like there's much on my plate
But yet as much, if not more on other's
I occasionally shut down and shut it out
But
I can't for long. Because I'm just not wired that way.
I'm grateful for friends who share my heart
With different perspectives and different places of influence
But still the same heart.
Most days. I need them more than they could know.
Today? Was one of those days.
That's what I got today.
Monday, April 24, 2017
Marinating...
I've had more amazing conversations in the last week than I have in a long time. I'm so thankful to know people who love having deep, thoughtful and 7,000 word conversations because I love having deep, thoughtful and 7.000 word conversations!
Some of what I've been marinating on....
Life is too short to live pretend. When we finally give up pretenses and the façade of perfection we are free to figure out who we really are.
Who we are matters....not what others know us as...but who we are at our core...who are you?
Secrets always lead to problems. Whether they are secrets we are keeping from others or secrets we are keeping from ourselves.
There is nothing like worshipping God in song with full abandon and praising His name
Laughing is imperative.
A big hug from someone who cares about you can change your entire mood.
You are more than your fears and mistakes.
Sometimes we go back to the same ol mess because it's comfortable...it can be hard to figure out how to clean out our junk.
Appreciate the people you love. Let them know daily because tomorrow is not promised.
Sometimes writing is as much for the writer as it is for the reader.
That's what I got today.
Some of what I've been marinating on....
Life is too short to live pretend. When we finally give up pretenses and the façade of perfection we are free to figure out who we really are.
Who we are matters....not what others know us as...but who we are at our core...who are you?
Secrets always lead to problems. Whether they are secrets we are keeping from others or secrets we are keeping from ourselves.
There is nothing like worshipping God in song with full abandon and praising His name
Laughing is imperative.
A big hug from someone who cares about you can change your entire mood.
You are more than your fears and mistakes.
Sometimes we go back to the same ol mess because it's comfortable...it can be hard to figure out how to clean out our junk.
Appreciate the people you love. Let them know daily because tomorrow is not promised.
Sometimes writing is as much for the writer as it is for the reader.
That's what I got today.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
Hang On
When have you had your back against the wall?
And how did you get through that?
Because if you are reading this...then you got through it. And if you are like me...sometimes things are so dark and bleak that getting through didn't seem possible.
But you held on.
You might ask--how?
Sharing our stories of how is important because we all have held on differently. And we need to know that there is no cookie cutter way to get through.
Are you gripping and steadfast? Praying and maintaining hope that you were going to make it through.
Are you grabbing with all of your might? Kicking and screaming--fighting all the odds to get through.
Are you grasping and tired? Weak and wounded maybe not even believing that you can hang on to get through.
Maybe at some point all three?
But you made it.
And it is so good and important to community that we share that part of our story.
But once we've made it.
Maybe just as important is the part of story for us to share is the part of our story that came next..
We made it through--great--but why?
What did we do with our time once we made it through?
I want to know what those days are like for you...
Because I know what they've been like for me.
Sometimes. Sometimes they've been lost days.
I've been so tired that I might have well still been holding on because I was so worn.
I've been so frustrated that I might have well still been holding on because I was so angry.
I've been so afraid that I might have well still been holding on because I was so weak.
But.
Sometimes.
I've been so filled with hope that I am able to accomplish much.
I've been so filled with peace that I am able to understand others.
I've been so filled with love that I am able to change lives, including my own.
I don't know how to explain it and I don't have any special recipe of list to follow to make sure we move forward after we've been hanging on. I don't think anyone does. I don't believe that God plays favorites and decides 'worthy, not worthy...good cause, meh not so good.'
But I do believe that in relationship...learning from each other, encouraging each other and entering into someone's journey....we have the opportunity to witness great triumph and trial.
And maybe that's why we hold on.
That's what I got today.
Comfort and being quiet.
I've been thinking the last few days about the way a lot of Christians 'care' for others in times of turmoil. I have a few friends/acquaintances dealing with some tough stuff....even thinking back to some of the women I met while working at the shelter....and I remember so many yucky comments being made--in the name of care and compassion that were not just hurtful but possibly harmful.
I get it. I really do. And I've even been guilty of these comments too...so no judgment here. More exposure and knowledge to perhaps help deter these kind of comments in the future and self check.
'God knows what He's doing.' Why, why, why do Christians still say this to people who are hurting? In the moment of pain and despair, this very rarely brings comfort. If he knew what he was doing then why did my brother die? If he knew what he was doing then why is my child incarcerated? If he knew what he was doing then why is my loved one dying of cancer at 28?
'You will get over this.' No, no I might not. It is not your place to tell me that I will. In the moment of anguish I might not even want to. This very often can come across as a chastise...almost more of a 'c'mon get over this' It can sometimes feel as if you're telling me that my feelings of loss are wrong.
'You gotta have faith' Two things. One---why? If in this moment I lose my faith....I doubt....I distrust every things that I've ever believed....then what? Will you be there for that journey? Two---how do you know I DON'T have my faith right now in this dark place? That little bit of light might just be what is helping me hang on even if it might not be enough for you to see it because I'm not 'hallelujah anyway' enough for your comfort?
What I've seen and observed in the last few years are the individuals who are hurting and in pain, having to be the ones to say, 'Oh--they mean well' 'It's okay, I know their intention was pure.' 'I get it--they just want to be encouraging.'
Really? That's where we are now? Those we are meant to comfort....are suddenly put in a position to defend those that are inflicting more pain?
What if we just stopped. And held someone's hand while they cried. Made them a meal without setting up a chart. Dropped off a treat and didn't stay for a conversation unless we were asked. Didn't ask for any details but prayed anyway. Offered to take the kids and didn't wait for an invitation.
What if we stopped acting like we have all of the answers and stop trying to ease the uncomfortable silence. What if we were honest and said 'This is shitty and I have no clue what to say.' or just sat in the quiet?
Let's be the body. Not quote the bible.
That's what I got today.
I get it. I really do. And I've even been guilty of these comments too...so no judgment here. More exposure and knowledge to perhaps help deter these kind of comments in the future and self check.
'God knows what He's doing.' Why, why, why do Christians still say this to people who are hurting? In the moment of pain and despair, this very rarely brings comfort. If he knew what he was doing then why did my brother die? If he knew what he was doing then why is my child incarcerated? If he knew what he was doing then why is my loved one dying of cancer at 28?
'You will get over this.' No, no I might not. It is not your place to tell me that I will. In the moment of anguish I might not even want to. This very often can come across as a chastise...almost more of a 'c'mon get over this' It can sometimes feel as if you're telling me that my feelings of loss are wrong.
'You gotta have faith' Two things. One---why? If in this moment I lose my faith....I doubt....I distrust every things that I've ever believed....then what? Will you be there for that journey? Two---how do you know I DON'T have my faith right now in this dark place? That little bit of light might just be what is helping me hang on even if it might not be enough for you to see it because I'm not 'hallelujah anyway' enough for your comfort?
What I've seen and observed in the last few years are the individuals who are hurting and in pain, having to be the ones to say, 'Oh--they mean well' 'It's okay, I know their intention was pure.' 'I get it--they just want to be encouraging.'
Really? That's where we are now? Those we are meant to comfort....are suddenly put in a position to defend those that are inflicting more pain?
What if we just stopped. And held someone's hand while they cried. Made them a meal without setting up a chart. Dropped off a treat and didn't stay for a conversation unless we were asked. Didn't ask for any details but prayed anyway. Offered to take the kids and didn't wait for an invitation.
What if we stopped acting like we have all of the answers and stop trying to ease the uncomfortable silence. What if we were honest and said 'This is shitty and I have no clue what to say.' or just sat in the quiet?
Let's be the body. Not quote the bible.
That's what I got today.
Friday, April 21, 2017
19 Years and Counting
How we met
isn’t super romantic
In a club
with a tease and flirty helloExchanging numbers-my real one even
So infrequently given
And rarely worthy to receive
Spending
each day
Together and
suchFinding out there was definite connection
Truth be told mostly lust
But there
was something.
Several
months in
The distance
was hardLetters and phone calls
To bring us close
The cards were stacked
Against us.
But there
was something.
Home again
and
We began to
play houseStill learning and understanding
Each other
Likely moving too fast
If anyone had asked.
But there
was something.
Connection
is hard with a
Houseful of
kidsThere’s moments of abundance
Season’s of strength and even
Times of turmoil
But there
was something.
Years upon
years
Both good
times and hardTmes we regret and those
We wish we’d forget
But there
was something.
Pressing on
and forward
Holding
tight to the truth thatOur love is more than feeling
Its commitment, forgiveness
Hard work and
Dedication.
Because
there was something
Something I
too often take for granted
Something I
too often sell short.Something I too often overlook.
Love that is
enduring even when difficult
Love that is
worth it and does not end.
Because
there is something
That's what I got today.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Weary go again....
I've been relying on my own strength again.
I realized this last night as my achy, groggy body crashed into bed with an exhaustion that wasn't warranted.
Weary.
Of course at ALMOST 46 with a little extra cushion and bulged discs...achy isn't totally surprising.
After an emotional day at the hospital with family as my grandma underwent surgery (which went well-praise God) exhaustion isn't totally surprising.
After indulging in a ponza rotta so my sodium swollen ankles made me sloth-like groggy isn't totally surprising.
But weary? Is a different kind of exhaustion.
If you haven't experienced it, I'll do my best to explain.
When I am relying on the Sprit to lead me....I avoid conversations I shouldn't engage in. My heart stays protected from arrows satan may send to pierce it. My mind stays focused on the here and now. And even when I might be tired. I'm not weary.
I have hope. And in most situations I find the silver lining, so to speak.
I can see good. And in most situations I extend grace and mercy.
I seek love. I actively choose love.
There's a spiritual deficit that happens when I'm relying on myself.
It's not just about neglecting time in my bible. It's not just about vegging out to reality tv.
It's missing the moment to moment guidance and direction of the Spirit.
I physically feel differently.
I physically look differently.
I physically behave differently.
Tired and beat down and cynical and lazy.
Not that there isn't horrific chaos.
Not that there isn't horrific turmoil.
Not that there isn't horrific hate.
Not that there isn't horrific acts of violence.
But that I am a child of the Most High King.
But that I am filled with Holy Spirit power.
But that they will know me by my love.
But that no weapon formed against me shall prosper.
What looks like overwhelming calamity and a life with no hope?
Financial burdens.
Relational burdens.
Health burdens.
Community burdens.
I am revived and refreshed and ready.
Spiritual cleansing brings renewal.
satan get ye behind me.
for weary has no hold on me.
That's what I've got today.
I realized this last night as my achy, groggy body crashed into bed with an exhaustion that wasn't warranted.
Weary.
Of course at ALMOST 46 with a little extra cushion and bulged discs...achy isn't totally surprising.
After an emotional day at the hospital with family as my grandma underwent surgery (which went well-praise God) exhaustion isn't totally surprising.
After indulging in a ponza rotta so my sodium swollen ankles made me sloth-like groggy isn't totally surprising.
But weary? Is a different kind of exhaustion.
If you haven't experienced it, I'll do my best to explain.
When I am relying on the Sprit to lead me....I avoid conversations I shouldn't engage in. My heart stays protected from arrows satan may send to pierce it. My mind stays focused on the here and now. And even when I might be tired. I'm not weary.
I have hope. And in most situations I find the silver lining, so to speak.
I can see good. And in most situations I extend grace and mercy.
I seek love. I actively choose love.
There's a spiritual deficit that happens when I'm relying on myself.
It's not just about neglecting time in my bible. It's not just about vegging out to reality tv.
It's missing the moment to moment guidance and direction of the Spirit.
I physically feel differently.
I physically look differently.
I physically behave differently.
Tired and beat down and cynical and lazy.
Not that there isn't horrific chaos.
Not that there isn't horrific turmoil.
Not that there isn't horrific hate.
Not that there isn't horrific acts of violence.
But that I am a child of the Most High King.
But that I am filled with Holy Spirit power.
But that they will know me by my love.
But that no weapon formed against me shall prosper.
What looks like overwhelming calamity and a life with no hope?
Financial burdens.
Relational burdens.
Health burdens.
Community burdens.
I am revived and refreshed and ready.
Spiritual cleansing brings renewal.
satan get ye behind me.
for weary has no hold on me.
That's what I've got today.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
The Red and Green House
Tonight with some friends we were talking about how different the town we live in looks from the 70s, 80s, 90s. Streets are gone, buildings replaced, even restaurant's food tastes different.
And it got me thinking....
About being a little girl and my Grandma's house.
I was very blessed to have almost all of my grandparents in my life until adulthood. My paternal grandfather, Papi, died when I was almost 5 years old. I vaguely remember him, but most of my memories come from pictures and stories.
But through adulthood I had my maternal grandmother (who was a gem) and my maternal grandfather and step grandfather. What a gift to have them in my life. My children's lives. I don't take that lightly.
And then there's my paternal Grandma, Amelia.
My grandma has not had an easy life. It's been filled with sorrow and traumatic events. There's been devastation that others would not have survived.
She became a widow at a young age but in her mind, stayed married to my Grandpa. Because that's just what you did. There are so many things that I could share about her. So many stories waiting to be told.
But I want to talk about her house. And my experiences there as a child.
This house. Was the epitome of the family home.
Many of my aunts and uncles lived in it at one time or another. Many of my cousins the same. Most of us visited on a regular basis. And we all considered it ours.
The big dining room table , parlor revamped as a bedroom, and creaky, scary staircase probably impacted me most.
The dining room table transitioned from meeting place to prime arguing spot to gin rummy to the place for intense discussions (also known as arguments) I remember being little and seeing all of the grown ups sitting there talking, sharing, arguing, laughing. There was always lots of commotion and never enough chairs. I marveled at how different they all were and yet how similar their stories were simply by growing up in the same home. They might disagree on a lot of different issues....but there was love. And it was the coveted place. It seemed as if I'd never get my own seat. For the longest time I just had to be happy to watch from afar.
That afar was just a room over. A parlor turned into my grandma's bedroom. No door and open entry. It was the place where the cousins played, danced, sang, argued and wrestled. I remember jumping on the bed and my cousin Junior fell off and hit his head on the dresser. I remember jam sessions with my cousins Kris and Shawn back in their hip hop days. I remember my cousins Rachel and Tessie and even Jessie dancing and showing their moves. I remember reading story after story because I was the oldest grandchild and was almost always in babysitting mode. And I remember it being a stage....my stage where I would pull out my violin and play a little song...where I would sing....where I would act out the Micheal Jackson/Alfonso Rivera Pepsi commercial...and where my family would humor me.
When we'd tire of each other there was a foyer where we were allowed to play. Kind of. Because in that foyer, my Grandma had a beautiful memorial for my Papi. Candles, flowers, the Virgin Mary, a rosary. I remember being so intrigued by this. I didn't know the story of my Papi's passing at that time...but I remember I knew it must be sad and painful to have a shrine dedicated to him. We'd always have to be careful not to get too rowdy, so this would often lead to a few kids heading upstairs to the bedrooms. The staircase? Was crickety and rickety and every time I took a step I envisioned myself falling through. Now it was NOT as spooky as the basement steps where the cucuy lived. But still a little spooky just the same. The banister was weak and wobbly. The steps felt like you'd fall through. The paint was chipping. But something about that staircase just drew me in. I would often sit on one of the bottom two steps. (Mostly to get away from watching all of those cousins!!)
That house represented the best of my Grandma.
Dedication.
Commitment.
Steadfastness.
This is one of the last pictures we got of the house before they tore it down. It's old and there are a LOT of us missing. But it is still a representation of Amelia's legacy.
A legacy that includes
10 kids who are as different as night and day and yet the same.
26 grandkids who have little and much in common.
38 great grandkids and one on the way who we must pass on the stories so they don't lost the legacy.
7 great great grandkids (this may be off by one or two)
Respect for elders and yourself and the past.
Love for each person deeply even when they mess up.
Acceptance for differences even if we might talk about ya a bit.
Laughter that will make you cry. That withstands pain.
Tradition.
That house was more than a rickety structure painted red and green. More than pain and loss and broken dreams. More than triumph and tenacity and strength.
It was home.
For all of us.
And even though it isn't there anymore....it will never not be.
That's what I got today.
And it got me thinking....
About being a little girl and my Grandma's house.
I was very blessed to have almost all of my grandparents in my life until adulthood. My paternal grandfather, Papi, died when I was almost 5 years old. I vaguely remember him, but most of my memories come from pictures and stories.
But through adulthood I had my maternal grandmother (who was a gem) and my maternal grandfather and step grandfather. What a gift to have them in my life. My children's lives. I don't take that lightly.
And then there's my paternal Grandma, Amelia.
My grandma has not had an easy life. It's been filled with sorrow and traumatic events. There's been devastation that others would not have survived.
She became a widow at a young age but in her mind, stayed married to my Grandpa. Because that's just what you did. There are so many things that I could share about her. So many stories waiting to be told.
But I want to talk about her house. And my experiences there as a child.
This house. Was the epitome of the family home.
Many of my aunts and uncles lived in it at one time or another. Many of my cousins the same. Most of us visited on a regular basis. And we all considered it ours.
The big dining room table , parlor revamped as a bedroom, and creaky, scary staircase probably impacted me most.
The dining room table transitioned from meeting place to prime arguing spot to gin rummy to the place for intense discussions (also known as arguments) I remember being little and seeing all of the grown ups sitting there talking, sharing, arguing, laughing. There was always lots of commotion and never enough chairs. I marveled at how different they all were and yet how similar their stories were simply by growing up in the same home. They might disagree on a lot of different issues....but there was love. And it was the coveted place. It seemed as if I'd never get my own seat. For the longest time I just had to be happy to watch from afar.
That afar was just a room over. A parlor turned into my grandma's bedroom. No door and open entry. It was the place where the cousins played, danced, sang, argued and wrestled. I remember jumping on the bed and my cousin Junior fell off and hit his head on the dresser. I remember jam sessions with my cousins Kris and Shawn back in their hip hop days. I remember my cousins Rachel and Tessie and even Jessie dancing and showing their moves. I remember reading story after story because I was the oldest grandchild and was almost always in babysitting mode. And I remember it being a stage....my stage where I would pull out my violin and play a little song...where I would sing....where I would act out the Micheal Jackson/Alfonso Rivera Pepsi commercial...and where my family would humor me.
When we'd tire of each other there was a foyer where we were allowed to play. Kind of. Because in that foyer, my Grandma had a beautiful memorial for my Papi. Candles, flowers, the Virgin Mary, a rosary. I remember being so intrigued by this. I didn't know the story of my Papi's passing at that time...but I remember I knew it must be sad and painful to have a shrine dedicated to him. We'd always have to be careful not to get too rowdy, so this would often lead to a few kids heading upstairs to the bedrooms. The staircase? Was crickety and rickety and every time I took a step I envisioned myself falling through. Now it was NOT as spooky as the basement steps where the cucuy lived. But still a little spooky just the same. The banister was weak and wobbly. The steps felt like you'd fall through. The paint was chipping. But something about that staircase just drew me in. I would often sit on one of the bottom two steps. (Mostly to get away from watching all of those cousins!!)
That house represented the best of my Grandma.
Dedication.
Commitment.
Steadfastness.
This is one of the last pictures we got of the house before they tore it down. It's old and there are a LOT of us missing. But it is still a representation of Amelia's legacy.
A legacy that includes
10 kids who are as different as night and day and yet the same.
26 grandkids who have little and much in common.
38 great grandkids and one on the way who we must pass on the stories so they don't lost the legacy.
7 great great grandkids (this may be off by one or two)
Respect for elders and yourself and the past.
Love for each person deeply even when they mess up.
Acceptance for differences even if we might talk about ya a bit.
Laughter that will make you cry. That withstands pain.
Tradition.
That house was more than a rickety structure painted red and green. More than pain and loss and broken dreams. More than triumph and tenacity and strength.
It was home.
For all of us.
And even though it isn't there anymore....it will never not be.
That's what I got today.
Monday, April 17, 2017
Time to get serious....
So. I pretty much have experienced writing in the following ways...for enjoyment, to work out my junk and just to share the crazy in my head.
But. I believe that it is to be more. And the occasional bursts of 'writing moments' isn't cutting it anymore. So I purchased some tools to help me grow into more. I not only desire to write. I believe I must write.
One of the tools I bought is journal/book called 500 Writing Prompts. It's filled with writing exercises and the start of sentences to encourage writing. I've decided that at least once a week I will take a prompt and write. I am also taking a 30 Day Writing Boot Camp that looks as if it might be both brutal and joyous. My favorite kind of experience!
Back to the 500 Writing Prompts. I'll be sharing some here...because well, it will likely be what I have that day. And also because all of you who care to read...are kind of my sounding board. Also, because I like to have the entire world to hold me accountable as well as my little tribe.
While at the beach you decide to write a message in a bottle. What would it say? Who would you like to find it? I would hope that anyone with a dream and a doubt would find this message.
Precious one.
Do not give up. There will be days that are too much to bear and moments that seem too overwhelming to experience. But if you do not give up or shut down or walk out...you will NOT be disappointed.
Not because everything will be okay. I can't make any guarantees about that. But I can share that...if you hold on...tomorrow comes. And just as you are not in the same place today that you were a year ago....a year from today the same will be true.
You matter. God created you. The universe and you. His best work. Each tear. Each smile. Each eager dream and broken promise. Not without purpose. Discover. Hope. Seek. Give. And LOVE. Cover everyone you encounter with love. Allow yourself to be loved.
You dear one, were meant to find this. I do not know why. It is likely you do. And that is good.
So rejoice not because all is well. It is very possible that it is not. But you have breath. And you have life. And there is light.
Peace.
So help keep me accountable. Ask what I've written lately. If it's been awhile since there's been a blog post...press a little. Let's get coffee and talk about writing and living and loving.
That's what I've got today.
But. I believe that it is to be more. And the occasional bursts of 'writing moments' isn't cutting it anymore. So I purchased some tools to help me grow into more. I not only desire to write. I believe I must write.
One of the tools I bought is journal/book called 500 Writing Prompts. It's filled with writing exercises and the start of sentences to encourage writing. I've decided that at least once a week I will take a prompt and write. I am also taking a 30 Day Writing Boot Camp that looks as if it might be both brutal and joyous. My favorite kind of experience!
Back to the 500 Writing Prompts. I'll be sharing some here...because well, it will likely be what I have that day. And also because all of you who care to read...are kind of my sounding board. Also, because I like to have the entire world to hold me accountable as well as my little tribe.
While at the beach you decide to write a message in a bottle. What would it say? Who would you like to find it? I would hope that anyone with a dream and a doubt would find this message.
Precious one.
Do not give up. There will be days that are too much to bear and moments that seem too overwhelming to experience. But if you do not give up or shut down or walk out...you will NOT be disappointed.
Not because everything will be okay. I can't make any guarantees about that. But I can share that...if you hold on...tomorrow comes. And just as you are not in the same place today that you were a year ago....a year from today the same will be true.
You matter. God created you. The universe and you. His best work. Each tear. Each smile. Each eager dream and broken promise. Not without purpose. Discover. Hope. Seek. Give. And LOVE. Cover everyone you encounter with love. Allow yourself to be loved.
You dear one, were meant to find this. I do not know why. It is likely you do. And that is good.
So rejoice not because all is well. It is very possible that it is not. But you have breath. And you have life. And there is light.
Peace.
So help keep me accountable. Ask what I've written lately. If it's been awhile since there's been a blog post...press a little. Let's get coffee and talk about writing and living and loving.
That's what I've got today.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Savory and rotten bits
Other than being married to my hubby for 18 years and working our asses off to make it 80 more...there is nothing I am more proud of in my life than my kids. Any of you who know me, read my blog, watch me on social media know that I love and adore them in an almost unhealthy way...lol.
I love being a part of their lives. I love that they include me in triumphs and trials. I love that they are learning to own their imperfections and not be afraid of having an opinion that is different than others. I love that they are all extremely different and yet aligned in some mystical way. I love that they have embraced and allowed other people into our family group....even their sibling group and understand that family is not just blood. I love that they love their extended family--the haphazard group we all are with strong personalities and stronger yet convictions who sometimes yell and often judge, who makes mistakes but deeply love.
And I love that they love me. They care about my well being. They pray for me and send me good vibes. They love to see me spend money on myself and do things that I enjoy doing. They ask how I am and truly want to hear the answer. They respect me and the struggles that I've been through. They respect me and do their best to listen. This does not mean doing 'what I say' and I love that too. Seeing them become adults is both hard and delightful. I love walking through valleys and resting on mountaintops with them.
As I think about entering this new stage of life--no kids in the house-- in August when our youngest heads off to college....I am happy that while I am still a little nervous and Eeyorish some days...teary eyed from time to time....I am also seeing it as a stage where I can learn to love myself as much as they do. And believe me, while I have not always loved myself...I have never once doubted that I am a very loved person. I just didn't always understand why.
It might be surprising that as I think of the tremendous humans attached to those tattooed arms above, my mind is not resting on great parenting wins. It's not resting on times my hubby and I made wise choices and saved the day with our expertise. It's not even resting on those sweetly delicious times of cuddling, bedtime songs or kissing the boo boos.
It's resting on times I made those crazy parenting misses. Those times I might do different if I had the chance. Then again, maybe I wouldn't. And I am laughing and wincing and marveling that we're all in one piece and relatively normal. So of course I am sharing a couple because well.....live out loud. I know it's not for everyone and I'm cool with that. But it is for me and it brings me healing and comfort and peace to share all of my savory and rotten bits.
The girl was 4. I know this because it was only her. And we were late. Nothing new. And it was snowy and icy and all kinds of Wisconsin outside. And it was dark because when you have a 45 minute drive at 6 in the morning? It's cold and dark and crappy. So we trudge in a very hurried way to the car. I don't remember but I am quite certain I was rushing her and dragging her. (She really was the most whimsically slow child. There is no time to taste the snowflakes child.) In the car seat, stuff tossed in the back, threw it into reverse and. Stayed still. Wheels spinning. Try again. Stayed still. Wheels spinning. Sigh. Get out and access. Yep. Ice. Try to chop it away. Kick it free. Seems good. Hop in and threw it in reverse. Stayed still. Wheels spinning. Sigh. Open drivers door. Stick unbooted foot out. (because 24 year old single mothers are still trying to be freaky and fine and I guess it worked because it was very shortly before I'd snag my hubby) And I push as I throw it in reverse. And we rock. And rock. And then stay still. Wheels Spinning. The start of tears for more than the ice. For more than running late. For being alone and not getting it done. For knowing that my perpetual lateness at work was wearing thin and I didn't really have time for this. For the little eyes in the rear view mirror staring at me. The little eyes. The little eyes. 'George. Wanna help mommy?" Of course she did. This girl, like her momma loved a good underdog and the chance to help them. "Sit right here. Like a big girl. And hold the steering wheel...very very still. And see those pedals down there. The left one stops. And the right one goes.' Car in reverse. One foot on the brake one on the ground. 'Put your foot here with allllllll of your strength. Let's see, can you hold it down?' Yes. Yes she could because well. She's always been a rock star. 'Ok. Mommy is going to tell you exactly what do and you are going to help me drive!!!!!!' George's eyes are saucers and she smiles. 'Ooooh.' And I leave my child in the driver's seat. And I head to the front of the car to push. 'Ok sweet girl, very slowly, like 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 take your foot off of the one that stops and then wait ok?' Push. Little rock. Step one. Done. 'Great! Now put that same little footsie on the one that goes. Kind of gentle. Mommy will tell you when to take your foot off. Remember to hold that steering wheel as still as you can. Push. Movement. Step two. 'Yay!! Now take your foot off of the one that goes and very, very slow like 1,2,3,4,5 put your foot back on the one that stops. And then wait.' And I jumped back in that car and threw it in park. And I cried and laughed and hugged those little eyes so tight.
The boys were maybe 3,4 and 5? Unclear because 1999-2002 are kind of a blur of toddler times clouded by mania and depression. But we were in the grocery store. I never wanted to be the kind of mom who had to wait until dad got home to go out and do things. PSA. It's okay to be that mom sometimes! So we're at the store in our usual fashion. Mom feeling focused and ready to tackle this. Chubby little cheeks and non stop chatter. Izzy in the seat and Isaiah and Elijah in the big red attachment created especially for crazy moms like me who made all of Pick N Save patrons suffer on a Saturday morning by bringing her tribe in for vittles. And the famously favorite word of children everywhere was on triple repeat. 'Mom. Momma.' I used all of my parenting skills. I addressed and smiled. I ignored and redirected. I took deep breaths. I pretended I didn't know who they were talking to. This was amidst the goofy one's habit of reaching into other people's carts when they weren't looking, snagging something of theirs and tossing it into our cart. Seriously. This was amidst channel 6's (because he brought all the news) occasionally crying and tattling because he was being tortured by being ignored and also my big brothers who made faces at him. This was amidst the grandpa one's constant reminder of the things that we needed. And. 'Mom. Momma.' Now knowing I likely was having a panic attack but at the time not. I took deep breaths. 'Momma why are you breathing so hard? Ew.' I closed my eyes. 'Momma, why are your eyes closed. You're gonna hit something.' I went to an aisle where there were no other customers. 'Momma, we don't need anything down this aisle.' 'Mom. Momma. Mom. Momma. Mom. Momnmna.' And then, in a Cruella de Ville way I squinted my eyes up and bent slowly down. I leaned in toward those chubby little cheeks. I lowered and quieted my voice because well a whisper is scarier than a yell. And I told them, 'If you say mom. Or momma. One. More. Time. I am going to leave you right here in this shopping cart and I am going to go home.' Each of their faces were examining mine, checking for validity of this threat and slowly comprehending that yes I was quite serious. I saw a mouth start to open. 'No, no. There is no talking. There is none. You may not say my name. You may not call me mom once more time at all today. I can not hear you. One more time. Say the word momma.' Those big ole eyes were in full understanding now. Mums. The. Word. Except for the goofy one. Pretty much always the one to push. Tilted his head. Big ole grin. All the teeth. 'What should we call you then?' And through my laughter and tears I said, "Call me Fred."
My anger and frustration came out way more than it should have. Not that there aren't times for parents to be angry or frustrated. They definitely happen and might even be needed at times in middle school and high school. You might have to slap a cheek or flip a tv tray on occasion. Ok, maybe not you. But I might.
I don't like the times it came out in those small times of irritation because I hadn't gotten enough sleep. Because I couldn't juggle it all. Because I displaced anger. Because working too much, marriage and bipolar. Because some times it can all just be too much. So I missed out on opportunities and I forgot to rejoice. I bristled instead of embraced. I shut out instead of seeing.
And you don't get those moments back. But if you are lucky, you get new ones.
And you sing silly songs. And you ambassador and advocate. And you have catch phrases. And you cook for all the friends and open up your home. And you take road trips and still love each other at the end. And you plan surprises and search for just the right gift.
And you learn to love the Jonas Brothers and Spice Girls because it's good to be a filled with music. And you travel the Midwest for soccer because it's good to pursue dreams. And you goofy dance and laugh at silly jokes because it's good to remember that life is full of joy. And you let your windows be washed by spit on socks because it's good to help others.
And the next thing you know. It's 18,19,20 and 25 years. It's seeing these four amazing humans who are sometimes more responsible than you. Who love others fiercely and with abandon. Who fight for themselves and those most forgotten. Who have respect for their elders (and that includes you and your hubby) and appreciate where they've come from. Who might not have much, but understand that what they have is more.
I love that they do their own thing. I love how they love each other. I love that they have a group message and talk--probably often about their crazy family-almost daily. I love that they know one day Fred and Dad won't be here and they get to carry the legacy. I love that they believe in happy endings and that there is a peak coming after the valley.
Love your tribe well. Invest in those humans around you. The ones you have been blessed to intersect with. For all the 4 year olds driving and toddlers almost being left in grocery stores...might become young adults tackling daily life and killing it. And they might not. So we can't waste one moment of them not knowing that they are your people.
Trusting mine know it well. And that I never forget it's part of my lot to make sure they do.
That's what I got today.
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Oh, You know...just a little soul bearing....
I've been thinking a lot lately about being a believer of Jesus Christ and just what that means to me and the journey I've taken to get this place I am right now.
I didn't grow up a Christian and was okay with that.
I went to CCD and memorized the Lord's Prayer and the Beatitudes (which coincidentally I didn't realize were actual SCRIPTURE until well into my 20s.) I actually wrote a letter about why I shouldn't be confirmed because I didn't think an old man overseas was the end all (my deepest apologies to my grandma and the Pope) Even through all of that....I prayed because I did believe in God and I could sense and feel his presence in my life.
And then I spent most of my life living wild, reckless and free.
From 15-24 I dabbled, redabbled and outright submerged myself in bulimia, alcohol, an intense year of weed, promiscuity, compulsive shopping, extreme type A behavior and pride. (looking back this was the groundwork for my manic episodes....but who knew that then.)
There were several moments of amazing grace in my life during that time....
I discovered my talents for dance and singing and acting.
I graduated from high school and college.
I left an abusive relationship.
I lived through a suicide attempt.
I made it through numerous relationships---some quite nice and others horrific with very little collateral damage.
And I helped create one of the very best human beings I know....Jordyn Ashley.
This caused me to slow down greatly and even stop many of the unhealthy behaviors I was engaging in. I hate that phrase by the way, 'unhealthy behaviors' it's way to cliché for my liking. Actually I probably hate it more because of it's truth.
Then I met my now hubby, Marlon and the evangelical church and Jesus and the bible. Oh, and helped create three more of the very best human beings I know....Isaiah Luis, Elijah Otha and Israel Dale. Nobody is perfect of course. But honestly? They are incredibly special humans.
I Became a Christian and wasn't sure I wanted to be one.
Marlon and I joined a church in 1997 and got married in 1998. I liked the constant he and the church brought to my life and my jumbled brain.
And I was suddenly becoming a Christian woman. Or Woman of God. Or Bible Study Girl. Take your pick. Whichever one, I was becoming the kind of woman who carried a bible in a cute cover with highlighters, drank lattes, listened to K-Love, ended emails with 'In His Name' and even worked at a frickin church!
This was not an easy transition although it was quick. Marlon began to teach and preach and minister. He grew up in the household of one of the most beautiful Jesus lovers I have ever (and probably will ever) know, Granny. So his transition back to church and God and the bible was pretty seamless.
I still wanted to have a few drinks, pout a little and binge and purge on occasion. And I most CERTAINLY did not want to be married to a pastor, or deacon or minister---whatever the heck that even was. And it soon became apparent to me that I was nothing like many of the other women that I saw around me.
The next 15 years was an amazing time of growth and stagnancy...of joy and sorrow....of lifting my voice in song and hanging my head in tears....of serving to the point of exhaustion and hiding in the pew hoping nobody saw me. I had many amazing friendships and beautiful prayer sisters who saw me through some horrible seasons. I encountered miracles---in many different facets of our life. I also doubted the intense clarity so many had about their faith and the 'right' way of dealing with the many daily life struggles and realities I saw around me.
I loved Jesus. And I tried to be obedient to all of the rules and nuances the churches I belonged to were telling me I needed to be. We tried to follow these in our marriage and we tried to adhere them in our home. This was good. And. Also not so much.
I was finally free of so many deep dark clouds and secrets that plagued my soul. I was learning how to be a woman my husband could be proud of. I sang to my kids and threw myself into being the best mother I could. I am proud of these things and do not take that for granted.
His unending, undying, no limit LOVE is what I am actually after.
It was about 3 years ago that I fully realized that I had a very very different perspective of what it meant to be a Christian than the evangelicals around me. I never really used 'evangelical' to describe myself--remember I hate labels--but looking back? That's what I was. Well, more than anything else. But I always kind of knew I did "God and Jesus" differently. I didn't wear shoes in church. I sometimes swore. I did not like catch phrases or trendy speakers or authors. Once in a while I threatened to take off my earrings. Women who smiled sweetly a lot and told me God was in control made me uncomfortable. And I began to doubt...not in God or the amazing love and sacrifice of Christ...but in how humans were living it out.
I knew myself. And I knew that I could not be bullied into staying stagnant and staying where I wasn't supposed to be, professing things I didn't believe in. This meant leaving people, churches, my job even.
I was pro choice. Not pro abortion so please no hate mail. But I truly and honestly believe that women are full fledged people who have full authority to make decisions for their life. Even ones that I might not make.
I do not believe in the death penalty. I'm not saying I can't understand why many desire it's existence but I can't hang for one main reason. We have an incredibly jacked up, racist criminal justice system in our country.
I do not believe in 'let go and let God'. I believe He has made us in His image and allows us to have relationship with him. Relationships have two active partners. So I don't get to just sit back and 'watch him work'. He's not my servant. Not that kind any way.
I believe that homosexuals have the right to marry. That transgender men and women should use the bathroom they identify with. I believe that 'we' (meaning Christians) do not have the ability to proclaim we know everything about what and who God condones. If we do? Hi Pharisee.
I have much to learn because the next phase of my following fast after Jesus journey is leading me to deeeeeeep bible study. Not the topical kind of study that convicts me and reminds me to pray (although that is important and necessary and good.)
I know very little and am certain of less. But what I do know?
Jesus loves. And he commands us to love. Jesus entered into people's lives. And he sat beside them asking questions to build relationship.
Jesus didn't give all the answers. He asked the questions to lead us to the answers. And those closet to Him didn't know what he meant all of the time.
God is mysterious and vast and more powerful and majestic than I could ever even imagine. If I believe that it true....how dare I try to claim or transcribe to a tribe that claims to have all the knowledge and answers to all the questions?? Usually that means they have the answers to the questions they've decided to ask and they've decided they are willing to die on. So they take those scriptures very very seriously and do not deviate. The others....well, that's open to interpretation. (Exhibit A. sex out of wedlock vs. women wearing earrings)
Love is not easy. It is messy and often ugly. It is uncomfortable.
And loving EVERYONE? Well, really Lord, couldn't you just have told us to hang by our toenails once a day and three times on Sunday?
I have no answers for you. I have no formula. And I am not trying to trick anyone into following me. Seriously, enjoy my company if you like, you might glean a thing or two, and you will definitely laugh because despite my children's opinions...I am hilarious! I do this with others and it is so good and wise to broaden our perspectives and horizons by those that are not like us...but do NOT think I can tell you how to figure it out because I don't have it figured out. You have to do your work.
As I am continuing to do mine.
That's what I've got today.
I didn't grow up a Christian and was okay with that.
I went to CCD and memorized the Lord's Prayer and the Beatitudes (which coincidentally I didn't realize were actual SCRIPTURE until well into my 20s.) I actually wrote a letter about why I shouldn't be confirmed because I didn't think an old man overseas was the end all (my deepest apologies to my grandma and the Pope) Even through all of that....I prayed because I did believe in God and I could sense and feel his presence in my life.
And then I spent most of my life living wild, reckless and free.
From 15-24 I dabbled, redabbled and outright submerged myself in bulimia, alcohol, an intense year of weed, promiscuity, compulsive shopping, extreme type A behavior and pride. (looking back this was the groundwork for my manic episodes....but who knew that then.)
There were several moments of amazing grace in my life during that time....
I discovered my talents for dance and singing and acting.
I graduated from high school and college.
I left an abusive relationship.
I lived through a suicide attempt.
I made it through numerous relationships---some quite nice and others horrific with very little collateral damage.
And I helped create one of the very best human beings I know....Jordyn Ashley.
This caused me to slow down greatly and even stop many of the unhealthy behaviors I was engaging in. I hate that phrase by the way, 'unhealthy behaviors' it's way to cliché for my liking. Actually I probably hate it more because of it's truth.
Then I met my now hubby, Marlon and the evangelical church and Jesus and the bible. Oh, and helped create three more of the very best human beings I know....Isaiah Luis, Elijah Otha and Israel Dale. Nobody is perfect of course. But honestly? They are incredibly special humans.
I Became a Christian and wasn't sure I wanted to be one.
Marlon and I joined a church in 1997 and got married in 1998. I liked the constant he and the church brought to my life and my jumbled brain.
And I was suddenly becoming a Christian woman. Or Woman of God. Or Bible Study Girl. Take your pick. Whichever one, I was becoming the kind of woman who carried a bible in a cute cover with highlighters, drank lattes, listened to K-Love, ended emails with 'In His Name' and even worked at a frickin church!
This was not an easy transition although it was quick. Marlon began to teach and preach and minister. He grew up in the household of one of the most beautiful Jesus lovers I have ever (and probably will ever) know, Granny. So his transition back to church and God and the bible was pretty seamless.
I still wanted to have a few drinks, pout a little and binge and purge on occasion. And I most CERTAINLY did not want to be married to a pastor, or deacon or minister---whatever the heck that even was. And it soon became apparent to me that I was nothing like many of the other women that I saw around me.
The next 15 years was an amazing time of growth and stagnancy...of joy and sorrow....of lifting my voice in song and hanging my head in tears....of serving to the point of exhaustion and hiding in the pew hoping nobody saw me. I had many amazing friendships and beautiful prayer sisters who saw me through some horrible seasons. I encountered miracles---in many different facets of our life. I also doubted the intense clarity so many had about their faith and the 'right' way of dealing with the many daily life struggles and realities I saw around me.
I loved Jesus. And I tried to be obedient to all of the rules and nuances the churches I belonged to were telling me I needed to be. We tried to follow these in our marriage and we tried to adhere them in our home. This was good. And. Also not so much.
I was finally free of so many deep dark clouds and secrets that plagued my soul. I was learning how to be a woman my husband could be proud of. I sang to my kids and threw myself into being the best mother I could. I am proud of these things and do not take that for granted.
His unending, undying, no limit LOVE is what I am actually after.
It was about 3 years ago that I fully realized that I had a very very different perspective of what it meant to be a Christian than the evangelicals around me. I never really used 'evangelical' to describe myself--remember I hate labels--but looking back? That's what I was. Well, more than anything else. But I always kind of knew I did "God and Jesus" differently. I didn't wear shoes in church. I sometimes swore. I did not like catch phrases or trendy speakers or authors. Once in a while I threatened to take off my earrings. Women who smiled sweetly a lot and told me God was in control made me uncomfortable. And I began to doubt...not in God or the amazing love and sacrifice of Christ...but in how humans were living it out.
I knew myself. And I knew that I could not be bullied into staying stagnant and staying where I wasn't supposed to be, professing things I didn't believe in. This meant leaving people, churches, my job even.
I was pro choice. Not pro abortion so please no hate mail. But I truly and honestly believe that women are full fledged people who have full authority to make decisions for their life. Even ones that I might not make.
I do not believe in the death penalty. I'm not saying I can't understand why many desire it's existence but I can't hang for one main reason. We have an incredibly jacked up, racist criminal justice system in our country.
I do not believe in 'let go and let God'. I believe He has made us in His image and allows us to have relationship with him. Relationships have two active partners. So I don't get to just sit back and 'watch him work'. He's not my servant. Not that kind any way.
I believe that homosexuals have the right to marry. That transgender men and women should use the bathroom they identify with. I believe that 'we' (meaning Christians) do not have the ability to proclaim we know everything about what and who God condones. If we do? Hi Pharisee.
I have much to learn because the next phase of my following fast after Jesus journey is leading me to deeeeeeep bible study. Not the topical kind of study that convicts me and reminds me to pray (although that is important and necessary and good.)
I know very little and am certain of less. But what I do know?
Jesus loves. And he commands us to love. Jesus entered into people's lives. And he sat beside them asking questions to build relationship.
Jesus didn't give all the answers. He asked the questions to lead us to the answers. And those closet to Him didn't know what he meant all of the time.
God is mysterious and vast and more powerful and majestic than I could ever even imagine. If I believe that it true....how dare I try to claim or transcribe to a tribe that claims to have all the knowledge and answers to all the questions?? Usually that means they have the answers to the questions they've decided to ask and they've decided they are willing to die on. So they take those scriptures very very seriously and do not deviate. The others....well, that's open to interpretation. (Exhibit A. sex out of wedlock vs. women wearing earrings)
Love is not easy. It is messy and often ugly. It is uncomfortable.
And loving EVERYONE? Well, really Lord, couldn't you just have told us to hang by our toenails once a day and three times on Sunday?
I have no answers for you. I have no formula. And I am not trying to trick anyone into following me. Seriously, enjoy my company if you like, you might glean a thing or two, and you will definitely laugh because despite my children's opinions...I am hilarious! I do this with others and it is so good and wise to broaden our perspectives and horizons by those that are not like us...but do NOT think I can tell you how to figure it out because I don't have it figured out. You have to do your work.
As I am continuing to do mine.
That's what I've got today.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Because Then You Have Someone to Sit With....
Today I spent much of my morning playing with kids under the age of 9 (there's one or two older....but when I say most....we're talking like 11) We spent much of our time outside laughing with bubbles and relay games and tag and bubbles and parachute games. If you ever play Sharks and Minnows as a big person with a lot of little persons....it is HILARIOUS to let the 3 year old chunky little guy with the sparkly blue eyes pull you under the parachute. Because after all....he has incredible muscles he is constantly showing you and this will give him life.
But first....because Ms. Mindy really doesn't like 'kid' time while grown ups have 'big church' to just be about playing....we first spent some time sharing prayer requests.
4-7 year olds have the sweetest prayer requests.
I pray my mom is a great nurse.
I pray for my cats Lou and Pork Chop.
I pray.
I pray for Jesus.
I don't want to pray.
I pray for my friends.
I pray for church. For my friends and family.
I don't know, is it time to go outside?
These prayer requests led to a talk about friends. And a couple of kids that wouldn't or couldn't share a prayer request when asked directly...began to have this amazing conversation about friends. And the struggle with friends.
There's one friend group and another friends group. And "Sarah" (not her real name) used to be a part of the first group but now she's made friends with the second group and the first group is sad and sometimes mad. Because well, they like "Sarah" and don't want to split her time.
I naively suggested maybe both groups could be friends.
And then another little seven year old friend chimed in.
Oh that's hard. I mean, you have one group and another group and then you have a lot of people and they don't wanna play the same thing, and they don't all like each other and then you have to choose who you are going to sit by and it's like, it's like, (heavy sigh) so much!!!
And I realized that I had done what I always tell adults not to do when they talk with kids....I had minimized the seriousness of their situation and given a band aid suggestion.
So we took a minute and talked about how it must be hard to be "Sarah" because sometimes when you start to get older...the friends you had in kindergarten or third grade are not the friends you will have in fifth grade or eighth grade. And how very hard that is. That you aren't trying to mean. And that this can happen for all kinds of reasons. And how even if it might hurt your feelings....it's ok. And how school can be hard if you don't have friends. But really....really? One good friend is all you need. If you have one good friend....you can make it.
And then one guy...who is a little older and often hangs out with us but rarely engages, said---almost to himself, 'Because then you have someone to sit with.'
And I said, "Exactly. "Jim" (not his name) is exactly right. Someone to sit with. Sometimes all you need is someone to sit with.
And his little friend who is no more than four said, 'Because then you aren't alone.'
And in that moment....the entire group kind of smiled and nodded.
It was one of the best moments we've had as a group yet.
And so there was no reason to move onto the bible story and activity.
Because we had shared community, compassion, listening, understanding and as a collective unit...love.
That's what I got today.
But first....because Ms. Mindy really doesn't like 'kid' time while grown ups have 'big church' to just be about playing....we first spent some time sharing prayer requests.
4-7 year olds have the sweetest prayer requests.
I pray my mom is a great nurse.
I pray for my cats Lou and Pork Chop.
I pray.
I pray for Jesus.
I don't want to pray.
I pray for my friends.
I pray for church. For my friends and family.
I don't know, is it time to go outside?
These prayer requests led to a talk about friends. And a couple of kids that wouldn't or couldn't share a prayer request when asked directly...began to have this amazing conversation about friends. And the struggle with friends.
There's one friend group and another friends group. And "Sarah" (not her real name) used to be a part of the first group but now she's made friends with the second group and the first group is sad and sometimes mad. Because well, they like "Sarah" and don't want to split her time.
I naively suggested maybe both groups could be friends.
And then another little seven year old friend chimed in.
Oh that's hard. I mean, you have one group and another group and then you have a lot of people and they don't wanna play the same thing, and they don't all like each other and then you have to choose who you are going to sit by and it's like, it's like, (heavy sigh) so much!!!
And I realized that I had done what I always tell adults not to do when they talk with kids....I had minimized the seriousness of their situation and given a band aid suggestion.
So we took a minute and talked about how it must be hard to be "Sarah" because sometimes when you start to get older...the friends you had in kindergarten or third grade are not the friends you will have in fifth grade or eighth grade. And how very hard that is. That you aren't trying to mean. And that this can happen for all kinds of reasons. And how even if it might hurt your feelings....it's ok. And how school can be hard if you don't have friends. But really....really? One good friend is all you need. If you have one good friend....you can make it.
And then one guy...who is a little older and often hangs out with us but rarely engages, said---almost to himself, 'Because then you have someone to sit with.'
And I said, "Exactly. "Jim" (not his name) is exactly right. Someone to sit with. Sometimes all you need is someone to sit with.
And his little friend who is no more than four said, 'Because then you aren't alone.'
And in that moment....the entire group kind of smiled and nodded.
It was one of the best moments we've had as a group yet.
And so there was no reason to move onto the bible story and activity.
Because we had shared community, compassion, listening, understanding and as a collective unit...love.
That's what I got today.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Back to 'normal'........
I've refrained from writing...really have been unable to....because I have been having quite the past few weeks.
If you've had to deal with meds and finding the right 'formula' for your ___________ (insert diagnosis here) then you know that sometimes things aren't that good. Or easy.
Many know that I am Bipolar II and last fall, after over a DECADE of being off of meds and following a natural, rhythm way of managing it, I went back on meds. A few people have asked how I knew I needed to go back on meds. I don't have a very clinical answer for that.
When you know you know. It's just a matter of whether or not you are going to follow through on what you know.
Psych eval. Check.
Meds. Check.]
Personal therapy. Check.
Marriage therapy. Check.
Life, my mood and my brain started functioning a little more "normal"....whatever that means. The older I get the more I am convinced we are all a little crazy in our own way. We just don't all claim it.
In February I went for a psych follow up and my Dr. tweaked my meds. Very normal procedure. Things seem to be working, it's been a few months, let's play a little with the dose to see if we can maximize the effects.
But a couple weeks in.....things went awry. Quickly.
Almost out of the blue....I had almost no short term memory. To the point of forgetting words as I was talking. I couldn't read. It took incredible concentration to focus on the next word. I couldn't focus. I can be easily distracted...but this was to the extreme. And my anxiety was on 10.
I tried to fight through it.
I tried to ignore it.
I tried to accept it.
Then I decided to call my Dr. and ask to be seen as soon as possible.
What an amazing gift it was that he was able to make an opening that same day.
And he calmly let me know that there is a small percentage of people on the med that I take that cannot tolerate a higher dose for the exact reason of the symptoms I was experiencing. So he switched it back down and told me to give it a week or so.
And.
I'm slowly settling back into my 'normal'.
Here's a myth about people who live with bipolar disorder.
We can control it.
Here's another.
We are all the same.
It is a disease. And it can affect your brain and thus your moods in debilitating ways.
For me, I've learned I can't control it. As I mentioned above....for years and years I wasn't on meds and I used a holistic rhythm approach to managing it. I'm not saying that didn't have some 'success' but looking back, quite honestly I think I just set up safety nets to protect myself during those manic and depressive episodes. But the reality is that Bipolar is unpredictable. You can cycle back and forth and you can also experience long periods of time, years even, with no episodes. So maybe I just went that long without an episode.
While it's never really been a secret that I have a diagnosis of Bipolar II....it also hasn't been something I've broadcasted either. I normally don't really like embracing labels so I think I've hesitated to speak on it. Also the negative stigma of bipolar disorder is rampant and I am not always patient with educating others.
But through this last manic episode I knew it was time to come out of the shadows. For myself, but for anyone else that it might help. My husband knows and loves me. My kids know and love me. My parents, sister and nieces know and love me. My dear sweet prayer warrior sisters know and love me.
And I know.
And while it's been an on again, off again love affair.....
I love me.
That's what I got today.
If you've had to deal with meds and finding the right 'formula' for your ___________ (insert diagnosis here) then you know that sometimes things aren't that good. Or easy.
Many know that I am Bipolar II and last fall, after over a DECADE of being off of meds and following a natural, rhythm way of managing it, I went back on meds. A few people have asked how I knew I needed to go back on meds. I don't have a very clinical answer for that.
When you know you know. It's just a matter of whether or not you are going to follow through on what you know.
Psych eval. Check.
Meds. Check.]
Personal therapy. Check.
Marriage therapy. Check.
Life, my mood and my brain started functioning a little more "normal"....whatever that means. The older I get the more I am convinced we are all a little crazy in our own way. We just don't all claim it.
In February I went for a psych follow up and my Dr. tweaked my meds. Very normal procedure. Things seem to be working, it's been a few months, let's play a little with the dose to see if we can maximize the effects.
But a couple weeks in.....things went awry. Quickly.
Almost out of the blue....I had almost no short term memory. To the point of forgetting words as I was talking. I couldn't read. It took incredible concentration to focus on the next word. I couldn't focus. I can be easily distracted...but this was to the extreme. And my anxiety was on 10.
I tried to fight through it.
I tried to ignore it.
I tried to accept it.
Then I decided to call my Dr. and ask to be seen as soon as possible.
What an amazing gift it was that he was able to make an opening that same day.
And he calmly let me know that there is a small percentage of people on the med that I take that cannot tolerate a higher dose for the exact reason of the symptoms I was experiencing. So he switched it back down and told me to give it a week or so.
And.
I'm slowly settling back into my 'normal'.
Here's a myth about people who live with bipolar disorder.
We can control it.
Here's another.
We are all the same.
It is a disease. And it can affect your brain and thus your moods in debilitating ways.
For me, I've learned I can't control it. As I mentioned above....for years and years I wasn't on meds and I used a holistic rhythm approach to managing it. I'm not saying that didn't have some 'success' but looking back, quite honestly I think I just set up safety nets to protect myself during those manic and depressive episodes. But the reality is that Bipolar is unpredictable. You can cycle back and forth and you can also experience long periods of time, years even, with no episodes. So maybe I just went that long without an episode.
While it's never really been a secret that I have a diagnosis of Bipolar II....it also hasn't been something I've broadcasted either. I normally don't really like embracing labels so I think I've hesitated to speak on it. Also the negative stigma of bipolar disorder is rampant and I am not always patient with educating others.
But through this last manic episode I knew it was time to come out of the shadows. For myself, but for anyone else that it might help. My husband knows and loves me. My kids know and love me. My parents, sister and nieces know and love me. My dear sweet prayer warrior sisters know and love me.
And I know.
And while it's been an on again, off again love affair.....
I love me.
That's what I got today.
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