I am going to say some things that terrify me so much I almost don’t want to talk about them. Almost. But if I am to believe that God knows my heart, I must also believe that He isn’t surprised by what I’m going to say. Other people might be surprised, even disappointed, who knows? It doesn’t make them any less real or scary to silence them.
So first, you need to go read my friend Sara's blog . Go! RUN, NOW! I’ll wait.
.:singing:. OH! I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY. WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY. YEAH, WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY. WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES…
You’re back? Sorry about that.
Anyway, in her blog, that you read, she talks about how badly she has always wanted to be a missionary. She always wished that God would call her into mission work and she never got the call. Until now. She believes that this is her mission; to live this disease and her faith gracefully, unswervingly and out loud. It is breathtaking. Truly astounding to watch.
Here’s where it gets real for me. As a child, I was so sensitive to the pain of others. I grew up thinking that I would be most happy serving others less fortunate. As I strayed from faith, I still had that very strong pull but it was too debilitating to be eyeballs deep in other people’s pain when my own heart was crying out from its own pain. The smallest tragedy would send me into a tailspin so you can imagine what the big ones did to me. The Sandy Hook massacre, the wars in Lybia, Tunisia, Egypt and Syria, missing children in my own community- I could not function under the weight of it all. Even small things that had no connection to tragedy made me tear up. I’ve talked about how it felt when I found Bright Blessings. I likened it to the Heavens opening up and angels singing. And it absolutely felt that way. It was the beginning of my faith revival.
Since then, I have heard reports of human trafficking in the US, girls sold into sex slavery all over the world, women and children objectified by their circumstances, men dying in wars over the democracy they so desire. In these stories of tragedy, we hear stories of heroes. Men and women who fight the injustices with their hearts on their sleeves and their guts bared wide open. It is then that I turn to God and say “Please, please use me that way one day.”
When I read Sara’s post, it hit me that we’ve prayed to God for the same thing. The difference is she didn’t get exactly what she asked for and she isn’t scared. She finally feels like she is fulfilling her purpose. I, on the other hand, am doing some major backtracking. I’m saying to God “Wait a minute. I want you to use me to free people from physical slavery, not spiritual slavery. I want you to use me to inspire people. I want to stand on a stage somewhere in nice clothes in a nice building in front of people and just talk. I don’t want to be uncomfortable. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to be in danger. I don’t want to be sick. I don’t want to wonder if I’ll live to watch my children grow. I want to do it all on my terms, not yours.” But that’s not how it works, is it? God plans things for us better and harder than we ever could have imagined for ourselves.. He uses in ways that we never would have thought possible. He gives us opportunities to be full of light and grace and humility that we wouldn’t have had before. And it scares the shit out of me.
Faith is hard.
Faith is uncomfortable.
Faith hurts sometimes.
But faith is worth it. Faith can make you whole. Faith can heal your soul, like it has healed mine. Being faithful isn’t always easy. It isn’t always warm and fuzzy. Sometimes it seems easier to give up.
I say all of this because I’m sure sometimes you feel this way, too. I don’t believe God expects us not to feel this way occasionally. I think He knows we will. The question is whether or not we’ll work to overcome it, whether or not we’ll say “No way, not me. I won’t give in to the fear. I will be faithful and keep believing.”
It’s a tough journey. I am still fighting the feeling of wanting to crawl in a hole so that nothing bad ever finds me. I still want to say to God “Please do this on my terms and forget about yours.” But this life wouldn’t be purposeful, it wouldn’t be meaningful and it certainly wouldn’t be as vibrant if everything were on my terms because I have always been my own worst enemy.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
I discovered a new weapon of mass destruction
I consider this space to be a sort of baby book for Fifi. Not the traditionally cutesy baby book with snippets of first haircuts and bathtub pictures, obviously but it does give a pretty accurate snapshot of our life. And I need plenty of snapshots because I suck at keeping photographic evidence of anything. For one, I can never find the camera and two, she’s always nekkid. Take tonight for instance, Daniel’s on all fours and she’s on his back getting a ride around the house. Nekkid fanny. I said “I wish I could take a picture but she’s nekkid.” I don’t know how many pictures you could reasonably possess of your child that say ‘These are normal and every parent has them’ before it crosses into abnormal territory but I don’t intend to find out. So there. I don’t have many pictures of my beloved firstborn because she is a nudist. Instead, I must rely on my penchant for “descriptive language” (read: the f word) and my ability to weave vivid imagery with words.
Allow me to paint a picture about the latest happenings in this house. My MIL has a very large basement and two bedrooms that her sons no longer occupy. All three rooms are filled with anything your heart could desire. Fifi’s heart desired Mickey Mouse perfume and Grandmaw does not disappoint. She told me that Fifi had found it and she didn’t want to tell her no. Fine. That’s what grandparents are for-to spoil the babies and give them all kinds of unsuitable gifts the parents would never agree to. I take issue with the fact that she lied to me about the perfume. She said “I told her to be careful so she doesn’t spray it in her eyes. It’s really just colored water and I think she wanted it because it has Mickey on the bottle.” Let us examine the previous sentence: “…it’s really just colored water…” has got to be the boldest lie I have ever heard in the history of lies.
I’m gonna tell you what this vile aroma really is.
It is an undiscovered biological weapon.
Fifi loves to spray and spray and spray and then spray some more. The revolting smell hangs in the air like a mushroom cloud. It NEVER dissipates. And then I walk right through it. It brings me to my knees. I think it’s the sister of chloroform; my senses are instantly assaulted and my life flashes before my eyes. A friend suggested that perhaps I could get the lid off the bottle to dump the wretched liquid out and replace it with water.
The fucking lid does not come off.
I tried.
And even if I could get it off to dump it out, I have no idea where I would safely dispose of it. I worry that it could pollute the ground water if I poured it down the sink or dumped it outside. Wildlife exposed to the repulsive odor would probably instantly kill over and I’m not trying to have a pile of bird and raccoon carcasses in my backyard. My neighbor’s cats might enjoy that a little too much if they could somehow stand to get near the heap of bodies. Perhaps dead animal rot is the only thing that could mask the stench of this “perfume.”
I successfully hid the bottle for a week or so. And then one day it happened. She found it. I didn’t know she found it until I walked right through the cloud. Talk about a shocking way to start the morning.
Perfume for my preschooler can now go on the list of gifts that shall never cross the threshold of this house. The list also includes Barbies, Bratz Dolls, Monster High dolls, booty shorts, belly shirts, body piercing jewelry, ingredients to make a pipe bomb, lawn darts and anything that sings but does not have an off button.
Allow me to paint a picture about the latest happenings in this house. My MIL has a very large basement and two bedrooms that her sons no longer occupy. All three rooms are filled with anything your heart could desire. Fifi’s heart desired Mickey Mouse perfume and Grandmaw does not disappoint. She told me that Fifi had found it and she didn’t want to tell her no. Fine. That’s what grandparents are for-to spoil the babies and give them all kinds of unsuitable gifts the parents would never agree to. I take issue with the fact that she lied to me about the perfume. She said “I told her to be careful so she doesn’t spray it in her eyes. It’s really just colored water and I think she wanted it because it has Mickey on the bottle.” Let us examine the previous sentence: “…it’s really just colored water…” has got to be the boldest lie I have ever heard in the history of lies.
I’m gonna tell you what this vile aroma really is.
It is an undiscovered biological weapon.
Fifi loves to spray and spray and spray and then spray some more. The revolting smell hangs in the air like a mushroom cloud. It NEVER dissipates. And then I walk right through it. It brings me to my knees. I think it’s the sister of chloroform; my senses are instantly assaulted and my life flashes before my eyes. A friend suggested that perhaps I could get the lid off the bottle to dump the wretched liquid out and replace it with water.
The fucking lid does not come off.
I tried.
And even if I could get it off to dump it out, I have no idea where I would safely dispose of it. I worry that it could pollute the ground water if I poured it down the sink or dumped it outside. Wildlife exposed to the repulsive odor would probably instantly kill over and I’m not trying to have a pile of bird and raccoon carcasses in my backyard. My neighbor’s cats might enjoy that a little too much if they could somehow stand to get near the heap of bodies. Perhaps dead animal rot is the only thing that could mask the stench of this “perfume.”
I successfully hid the bottle for a week or so. And then one day it happened. She found it. I didn’t know she found it until I walked right through the cloud. Talk about a shocking way to start the morning.
Perfume for my preschooler can now go on the list of gifts that shall never cross the threshold of this house. The list also includes Barbies, Bratz Dolls, Monster High dolls, booty shorts, belly shirts, body piercing jewelry, ingredients to make a pipe bomb, lawn darts and anything that sings but does not have an off button.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Broken
****WARNING****
This post includes bad words that appear frequently. If that kind of thing offends your sensibilities then don't read. I'm too sad to apologize for or defend my swearing.
Today, I would like to shout the loudest "Fuck you" to the Universe. Today, I want to crawl in a hole. Today, I want to be strong but I don't know how. Today, I found out that my dearest friend in the whole world has been diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma.
If I had to choose one very best friend simply based on all of the things she knows about me, all of the good things, all of the bad things, and all of the ugly things, it would be Sara. Sara is smart, funny, kind, beautiful and all of the other things anyone would say about their dearest friend. But she's also lots of other things. For all of the terrible things she knows about me, she only ever says nice things about me. Way too nice. She has loved me unconditionally, she has picked me up off the floor literally and figuratively. She saw me through the hardest year of my life. She picked up the pieces of my life when that year was over. When I didn't know who I was, I modeled myself after her. When I didn't know how I'd go on, she showed me the way. When I didn't think I could survive another second, she gave me a shove. Some of my most cherished memories include her. Some of my most cherished stories that I don't actually remember but have been told I participated in include her.
Sara and I were roommates during my freshman year of college. I was young and naive and confused. I was supposed to room with a friend from high school and she was supposed to live off campus with one of her friends; at virtually the last minute, both of our friends backed out and we got put together. I was apprehensive at first but the year we lived together ended up being exactly what I needed. At the time, I was one half of a relationship built on control, manipulation and lots and lots of lies. . At some point during the year it all came crashing down. I couldn't keep up the ruse anymore and not many people were fooled by it anymore. I couldn't even fool myself into believing it was a healthy relationship. Even though I didn't want to live like that anymore, I didn't know how to be anyone other than Half. I was so lost and so scared. Sara gave me direction, she gave me understanding, she told me everything I needed to hear even when it was ugly. I owe everything about the person I am today to her. I owe her for giving me the strength to walk away. I owe her for giving me the confidence to demand better. I owe her for giving me purpose.
She is so strong and I am so not. She says this isn't what she would have chosen for her family but it's what they've been given so we should pray for her girls and her husband. That's right, she's married and has two beautiful little girls. How in the fuck does this happen? I thought being in my late 20's meant that some of my friends would be getting married, some would be getting divorced and we'd be raising children. I thought that we wouldn't have to deal with fucking cancer until our babies were older and didn't need us as much. Her babies need her a whole lot because they are still babies. She's so full of grace and faith and so stoic. Meanwhile, I want to throw the world's biggest temper tantrum and lash out at everyone who shovels that load of bullshit titled "Everything Happens for a Reason" and "God Doesn't Give You More Than You Can Handle." Who the fuck believes that? Only the people who aren't experiencing complete devastation, that's who. Even Job didn't believe that shit when he was given plenty more than he could handle. It's such a cop out excuse. I don't want to believe in a God that hands out horrible suffering like the bitch that is cancer the way He hands out the wonderful things like the smell of babies' heads and coffee and springtime. I refuse. I'm not buying it. Why don't we all just say what we're really thinking which is, 'Why in the fuck do good, honest, loving, kind, caring people have to put up with this shit when there are plenty of other people who are none of those things that deserve this more?' God isn't in charge of this. Some other asshole is responsible for it and I want to personally deliver a swift kick in the taco to whoever has left a gigantic pile of shit in the middle of a life that is supposed to be lovely and vibrant.
I’m furious and broken and overcome with utter shock, dismay, and devastation. For Sara, for her family, for her girls and her husband and myself. I’m so selfish that I’m saddened for myself. Mainly because I don’t know how to exist in a world where respectable people receive horrific things and also because, it is my own worst fear that I would become sick and have to focus my time and energy on getting better, rather than focusing on being a mediocre mother. Also, because if this can happen to her whom I admire so much, what could happen to me? I haven’t always been faithful or kind or true.
Tonight, when it was Fifi’s bedtime, I didn’t rush her like I usually do. I read an extra book. I “nuggled” just a little longer. I lingered over the smell of her head a few extra seconds. I thanked God for blessing me with a wonderful, perfect girl that I’ve never been worthy of and cursed the existence of pain, disease and suffering. I chastised myself for assigning importance to things that don’t really matter. For holding onto relationships that don’t give me anything back, for wasting precious time in friendships with people who could never be Sara, for thinking that things like houses, cars, clothes and jewelry actually matter. They don’t matter. None of that shit matters. What matters are snuggles and extra books, cookies before bed, sticky hands, melted popsicles and stolen kisses.
Today, I would like to shout the loudest "Fuck you" to the Universe. Today, I want to crawl in a hole. Today, I want to be strong but I don't know how. Today, I found out that my dearest friend in the whole world has been diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma.
If I had to choose one very best friend simply based on all of the things she knows about me, all of the good things, all of the bad things, and all of the ugly things, it would be Sara. Sara is smart, funny, kind, beautiful and all of the other things anyone would say about their dearest friend. But she's also lots of other things. For all of the terrible things she knows about me, she only ever says nice things about me. Way too nice. She has loved me unconditionally, she has picked me up off the floor literally and figuratively. She saw me through the hardest year of my life. She picked up the pieces of my life when that year was over. When I didn't know who I was, I modeled myself after her. When I didn't know how I'd go on, she showed me the way. When I didn't think I could survive another second, she gave me a shove. Some of my most cherished memories include her. Some of my most cherished stories that I don't actually remember but have been told I participated in include her.
Sara and I were roommates during my freshman year of college. I was young and naive and confused. I was supposed to room with a friend from high school and she was supposed to live off campus with one of her friends; at virtually the last minute, both of our friends backed out and we got put together. I was apprehensive at first but the year we lived together ended up being exactly what I needed. At the time, I was one half of a relationship built on control, manipulation and lots and lots of lies. . At some point during the year it all came crashing down. I couldn't keep up the ruse anymore and not many people were fooled by it anymore. I couldn't even fool myself into believing it was a healthy relationship. Even though I didn't want to live like that anymore, I didn't know how to be anyone other than Half. I was so lost and so scared. Sara gave me direction, she gave me understanding, she told me everything I needed to hear even when it was ugly. I owe everything about the person I am today to her. I owe her for giving me the strength to walk away. I owe her for giving me the confidence to demand better. I owe her for giving me purpose.
She is so strong and I am so not. She says this isn't what she would have chosen for her family but it's what they've been given so we should pray for her girls and her husband. That's right, she's married and has two beautiful little girls. How in the fuck does this happen? I thought being in my late 20's meant that some of my friends would be getting married, some would be getting divorced and we'd be raising children. I thought that we wouldn't have to deal with fucking cancer until our babies were older and didn't need us as much. Her babies need her a whole lot because they are still babies. She's so full of grace and faith and so stoic. Meanwhile, I want to throw the world's biggest temper tantrum and lash out at everyone who shovels that load of bullshit titled "Everything Happens for a Reason" and "God Doesn't Give You More Than You Can Handle." Who the fuck believes that? Only the people who aren't experiencing complete devastation, that's who. Even Job didn't believe that shit when he was given plenty more than he could handle. It's such a cop out excuse. I don't want to believe in a God that hands out horrible suffering like the bitch that is cancer the way He hands out the wonderful things like the smell of babies' heads and coffee and springtime. I refuse. I'm not buying it. Why don't we all just say what we're really thinking which is, 'Why in the fuck do good, honest, loving, kind, caring people have to put up with this shit when there are plenty of other people who are none of those things that deserve this more?' God isn't in charge of this. Some other asshole is responsible for it and I want to personally deliver a swift kick in the taco to whoever has left a gigantic pile of shit in the middle of a life that is supposed to be lovely and vibrant.
I’m furious and broken and overcome with utter shock, dismay, and devastation. For Sara, for her family, for her girls and her husband and myself. I’m so selfish that I’m saddened for myself. Mainly because I don’t know how to exist in a world where respectable people receive horrific things and also because, it is my own worst fear that I would become sick and have to focus my time and energy on getting better, rather than focusing on being a mediocre mother. Also, because if this can happen to her whom I admire so much, what could happen to me? I haven’t always been faithful or kind or true.
Tonight, when it was Fifi’s bedtime, I didn’t rush her like I usually do. I read an extra book. I “nuggled” just a little longer. I lingered over the smell of her head a few extra seconds. I thanked God for blessing me with a wonderful, perfect girl that I’ve never been worthy of and cursed the existence of pain, disease and suffering. I chastised myself for assigning importance to things that don’t really matter. For holding onto relationships that don’t give me anything back, for wasting precious time in friendships with people who could never be Sara, for thinking that things like houses, cars, clothes and jewelry actually matter. They don’t matter. None of that shit matters. What matters are snuggles and extra books, cookies before bed, sticky hands, melted popsicles and stolen kisses.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Walking
I've been dealing with a lot of questions lately and so I decided to be quiet and try to listen for what I felt like God was trying to tell me. I have had a lot of things going on in some of my close personal relationships and friendships that left me feeling empty. My usual way of dealing with it hasn't been cutting it so I took a step back. I've debated on whether or not to share my entire experience with people who I'm not really close to but I have used this space to write lots of personal things and I feel like God would want me to share all of the details of my walk because I live my sins and my imperfections out loud so I should also live my celebrations that way, too.
When I gave God the room to speak in my life, I came away with a lot of answers to my questions and fulfillment where the emptiness used to exist. My struggles came from allowing myself to compare my walk with God to other people's walk with God. I allowed other people to question my path and my intentions. I allowed their doubt to creep into my thoughts. I allowed myself to be led down a path that I normally refuse to believe in the existence of-the one where people tell you that you have to be different than you are to follow God. The one where they tell you have to do xyz to be a real Christian. In my case, they tell me I have to use nicer words, I have to go to church and elevate a pastor's teachings above my own beliefs because he/she went to seminary and is an expert on the Bible. They tell me I have to teach Fifi how to worship in church or she'll never know how. They tell me I have to condemn the sins of other people that the Bible deems bad. And here I thought, all sins are bad. Here I thought, we are all sinners. Here I thought, God sees all sin the same. Here I thought, He does not see one sin as better or worse than another. They tell me I'm wrong.
I am here to tell you that God has told me I am not wrong. He has told me that my personal walk with Him is just that-personal. He has told me to stop believing anyone but Him. He has told me to listen to my heart. You know why? Because He gave it to me. He, who breathed life into my heart and soul, who breathed life into my dreams and passions and aspirations has told me that they are valid. I've learned that my faith is fluid. I just go with what feels right and what He tells me on that day. He has a plan for me. It probably includes not swearing so much. He probably has a church for me. He probably has a church for Fifi. I don't deny that those things might one day make me a better Christian. I deny that I should do them on anyone else's timetable but His. I deny the idea that I must change who I am today to be closer to God. I deny that other people know my path better than He does. I deny the organized sale of religion to the masses by people who are dead inside on everyday but Sunday.
God has told me that He sees me. He sees me in my important moments and He sees me in the mundane moments. He sees me on the days that I lose my schmidt before 9am and on the days that it sets the tone for the entire remainder of the day. He knows that parenting a strong willed, stubborn toddler may very well be the single most trying time of my life. Some days I tell Him I don't know what to do. I need Him to shove me in the right direction. And He does. Because God knows me well and He knows that subtlety doesn't work for me. He knows that I am strong willed and stubborn just like the precious child He blessed me with. And it occurred to me: I should parent Fifi the way Jesus parents me. Know her heart, give her what she needs, be there for her when she's pissed because it isn't what she wanted. Guide her but don't push her unless she asks for it; she hasn't asked yet because she's too young so I'm just going with gentle guidance. Jesus isn't a helicopter parent. It's why He let me stray and stumble for so long. Why he let me believe I was in charge.
So to you, who are tired and empty, to you who lose your schmidt before 9am everyday for a week, to you who question and doubt, I want to say: God sees you. You don't have to buy the Kool-Aid that everyone's selling. Your heart won't try to sell you anything. You only have to be open and let your heart be flexible to hearing the directions for your right path. Your right may be the wrong one for me and that's okay. You may find peace in church. That may be where you feel God. Go there. Don't allow anyone to question that or take that peace from you. And for those of you who break out in hives at the idea of church, God is everywhere. God delights in our happiness and our joy. Do what makes you joyful and you will find Him there. If you have questions or doubts, don't be scared. God isn't threatened by those things. He expects them and it is okay. Just listen for the answers.
When I gave God the room to speak in my life, I came away with a lot of answers to my questions and fulfillment where the emptiness used to exist. My struggles came from allowing myself to compare my walk with God to other people's walk with God. I allowed other people to question my path and my intentions. I allowed their doubt to creep into my thoughts. I allowed myself to be led down a path that I normally refuse to believe in the existence of-the one where people tell you that you have to be different than you are to follow God. The one where they tell you have to do xyz to be a real Christian. In my case, they tell me I have to use nicer words, I have to go to church and elevate a pastor's teachings above my own beliefs because he/she went to seminary and is an expert on the Bible. They tell me I have to teach Fifi how to worship in church or she'll never know how. They tell me I have to condemn the sins of other people that the Bible deems bad. And here I thought, all sins are bad. Here I thought, we are all sinners. Here I thought, God sees all sin the same. Here I thought, He does not see one sin as better or worse than another. They tell me I'm wrong.
I am here to tell you that God has told me I am not wrong. He has told me that my personal walk with Him is just that-personal. He has told me to stop believing anyone but Him. He has told me to listen to my heart. You know why? Because He gave it to me. He, who breathed life into my heart and soul, who breathed life into my dreams and passions and aspirations has told me that they are valid. I've learned that my faith is fluid. I just go with what feels right and what He tells me on that day. He has a plan for me. It probably includes not swearing so much. He probably has a church for me. He probably has a church for Fifi. I don't deny that those things might one day make me a better Christian. I deny that I should do them on anyone else's timetable but His. I deny the idea that I must change who I am today to be closer to God. I deny that other people know my path better than He does. I deny the organized sale of religion to the masses by people who are dead inside on everyday but Sunday.
God has told me that He sees me. He sees me in my important moments and He sees me in the mundane moments. He sees me on the days that I lose my schmidt before 9am and on the days that it sets the tone for the entire remainder of the day. He knows that parenting a strong willed, stubborn toddler may very well be the single most trying time of my life. Some days I tell Him I don't know what to do. I need Him to shove me in the right direction. And He does. Because God knows me well and He knows that subtlety doesn't work for me. He knows that I am strong willed and stubborn just like the precious child He blessed me with. And it occurred to me: I should parent Fifi the way Jesus parents me. Know her heart, give her what she needs, be there for her when she's pissed because it isn't what she wanted. Guide her but don't push her unless she asks for it; she hasn't asked yet because she's too young so I'm just going with gentle guidance. Jesus isn't a helicopter parent. It's why He let me stray and stumble for so long. Why he let me believe I was in charge.
So to you, who are tired and empty, to you who lose your schmidt before 9am everyday for a week, to you who question and doubt, I want to say: God sees you. You don't have to buy the Kool-Aid that everyone's selling. Your heart won't try to sell you anything. You only have to be open and let your heart be flexible to hearing the directions for your right path. Your right may be the wrong one for me and that's okay. You may find peace in church. That may be where you feel God. Go there. Don't allow anyone to question that or take that peace from you. And for those of you who break out in hives at the idea of church, God is everywhere. God delights in our happiness and our joy. Do what makes you joyful and you will find Him there. If you have questions or doubts, don't be scared. God isn't threatened by those things. He expects them and it is okay. Just listen for the answers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)