Wave Shaped, Rescue Ready

I had been dropped.  Somehow my feet left the floor of the sight-seeing helicopter and I was falling.  Even still, I'm still not completely sure if I was pushed or if I jumped; it doesn't matter anymore.  It was a free-fall with no time to tuck and curl and certainly no parachute.  I hit the water, flat on my face, the air sucked from my lungs, the cold night closed around me, the cold water rushed every pore.

When daylight broke, I was still twisting in a somersault, trying to make heads or tails of where I was.  Was that ocean bottom or sky?  It all looked the same, the pressure was intense, the saltwater stung every gaping wound.

It took nearly a year just to get my head above water.  The cold nights fall fast and drag on forever, the days are hot and long.  Sunsets and sunrises are the hope and beauty my tired body and mind crave as I tread the deep water.  My swimming skills lack.  I should have spent more time in the pool, I think.

Then, late last year I saw the beach.  My soul was revived.  I pumped my tired arms and legs to swim faster.  In the distance I saw white sand, warmth, rest... I thought I felt my toes touch the bottom of the ocean.

The whipping, bitter, wind picked up again early this year.  The waves feel taller than ever as they crash over my head, the current is dragging me back to sea.  The vision of the beach is a faded memory, replaced by the reality of the immensity of this ocean.  I relaxed a little lower in the water.  I'm tired of the fight.  It's lonely.  It's painful.  It's cold and desperately dark.  The days turn to weeks, then months, and now, three years.  Still, somehow, I don't drown.

I'm starting to sense strength in my body like I've never known.  These waves are shaping it, toning me. I realized this month that the sunrises have lasted a little longer, and the sunsets have seemed a little warmer.  This week I caught a glimpse of what I couldn't see before. What I once thought was a hallucination is actually a lifeboat, full of friendly faces.  It is now clear to me, some of the tugging I feel is a thick rope fastened securely around me.  Together they are paddling slowly to shore, pulling me with them, screaming encouragement into the wind, whispering love to me in the cold, still, darkness. I have not been alone in this, not for a day.

It is becoming apparent to me:  I am a recruit.  I am part of a team.  I was dropped or pushed or allowed to fall, as a part of the program. All of this training has been disciplining and shaping my body, mind, emotions, will and spirit- for a purpose.

We will get to the beach.  My feet will feel the warmth of the white sand.  I will sit, briefly and soak up the sun. I will laugh and play and rest... I hope to spend a day or two there, but the beach isn't where I'm from, nor is it where I want to live.

One day, very soon, I will have a boat of my own.  It will come with a rope and I will have the strength, will-power, understanding, wisdom, insight and experience to help paddle another fallen swimmer to shore.

1 Peter 1:6-9

Google Image- Artist Unknown

Not Just Any Random Randy

Of all the topics I've written about in the past year, this one is the single most dreadfully complex one.  I'll just say right now... this blog is long and muddy and really, not for you.  I need to put this into words for me.  Read it, if you want, but don't feel bad if you get bored or mad at me halfway in...

I have thought through every angle for more than a year.  I've made vague references in other published writings and written boldly in my tattered hand-written journals.  I'm nervous as I sit here in my favorite corner of my couch, knowing that I'm about to expose my most private, vulnerable and possibly, foolish, thoughts.  I've come to the conclusion that I have no other choice.  I am not finding clarity or resolution anywhere else.  This is the story about how I met, fell in love with, and lost the best man I've ever known...

This is only my perspective, since it's the only one I have:

September 2011

The day was the 17th.  My fake sister-in-law and I had spend the day, not surprisingly, shopping. We tried on hats and scarves and shoes.  I bought two pairs, they were amazing.  I'm digressing...  While we shopped I was telling her about my irritation with the guy that I had been trying to get rid of.  He was polite enough at first, but had recently gotten a little pushy and possessive and seemed obsessed with finding out where I live.  Something told me to stay faaarrrrr away.

That night she and I picked up another hairstylist friend of mine for dinner.  We had a great meal, and sat for awhile on the, still gorgeous, patio by the fire-pit of a downtown restaurant.  All three of us were in a great mood and decided to wander to a sports pub downtown to mingle with people.  As we entered the pub, we ran into three or four guys that offered to buy us a drink.  As we were talking, a few more of their group showed up...

When I turned around and saw him, I instantly started feeling clumsy.  This is important:  He was the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on. I got butterflies, which is completely unlike me.  I carry myself with confidence at all times, but this time I got instantly stupid.  In an effort to recover my composure, I led my friends into the adjoining restaurant, inviting the men to join us if they felt like it. I told myself if they came over, it would be because my friends are both incredibly gorgeous.  A few of their group followed so we filled a couple of tables.  Mr. Gorgeous, who I will now refer to as Randy for the remainder of the story, only because I'm becoming a fan of making up names for this blog, didn't come right in.  I was relieved.  I was disappointed.

As I sat there chatting with the guys at my table, the one next to me kept grabbing for my hand.  I kept pulling away from him, but he was persistent.  This silent little back and forth continued until another hand was on mine.  Randy had slipped in next to me.  He quietly pulled my hand away from the persistent one and placed it on the table in front of me.  Then he looked at me and asked "are you alright?"  I nodded and continued my conversation with the guy across the table.  Randy stepped over to the group at the table behind me.  Interesting.  So, chivalry isn't dead...

Almost immediately following Randy's settling at the other table with my friends, I looked up and saw Mr. Possessive, from the previous weeks, sauntering across the room.  Awkward.  "YOU are not who I want to see right now", I thought to myself.  I halfheartedly introduced him to the group, wondering if they knew each other at all.  All 7 of the guys were in town working.  There had been an oil spill in the Yellowstone River and disaster response specialists had been summoned.

Eventually our group of 10 whittled down to 4,  Mr. Possesive, Randy, my fake sister-in-law and I.  At some point in the evening she had given Randy my business card and encouraged him to get his hair cut.  Funny, he hasn't done that in two years.  Aside from the hair, the chivalry, his viking-like rugged good looks and his lumberjack strength, I noticed four specific things about Randy that night: 1- he has amazing teeth 2- He has deep, beautiful, kind eyes  3- he has a witty, sharp sense of humor 4- he is extremely generous.

The next morning my fake sister-in-law and I met for breakfast.  We had the typical nonsense chatter you'd expect from girls after a night of fun, but then things got deeper.  She knows me well.  She knows, better than most, what I've been through in the last several years.  She understands my fear, doubt, insecurity, hopes and desires had has the specifics as to WHY they are so strong.

 "What do you think of Randy?"  Her words got directly to the point.

"Uhhhhh, from what I know, he's exactly my "type".  I couldn't have drawn a more perfect sketch.  Obviously we know nothing about him, but we can assume that he's a jerk."

"Why would we assume that, Collene?" 

"Well look at him!  He's gorgeous, funny, generous, intelligent.  He can have ANYONE.  He's probably used to getting what he wants.  I bet he's used to using women."

"I doubt that, he didn't seem like that.  I bet he calls you Collene.  You need to call me immediately when he does."

"Whatever, let's pretend that he's has integrity and character and humility and honesty, a guy like that isn't attracted to a girl like me."

She went on to protest the "girl like me" statement for awhile.  "Collene, the kind of guy you describe is EXACTLY the kind of guy God has for you.  Tell me when Randy calls, it's going to happen."  We agreed to disagree and went about our week.

I got the call five days later. Later he told me that he and Mr. Possessive had stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes and talked about me as we all left that night.  Although he claims he can't remember what Mr. Possessive said, exactly, he had looked at my card every morning and night since- and knew he had to call me.

The day he called, he had to leave a message.  I was up to my elbows in a color correction at work that I could leave alone.  He wanted a haircut, well really, he wanted the free perm I had allegedly promised him.  Nice, he's still charming.  I scheduled him for my day off.  The salon girls and I were heading out of town for a weekend of further education classes and I figured I could work him in before the trip on Saturday.

Friday night I didn't sleep, AT ALL.  What if I made a fool of myself without the distraction of 8 other people, music, drinks and food?  What if I cut myself, or worse, him?  I thought about cancelling, especially after a sleepless night, but my desire to see him again won that little mental war.

The appointment quickly settled into a fun, relaxed, atmosphere.  The crazy girls I work with did their best to stay out of our way, while they watched.  Later they all three commented about how different I was with him, than with my other clients.  "Collene, I had no idea you were such a flirt!  You two had such fun chemistry, THAT was better than any movie.  Are you going to see him again?"

"Of course not", I replied.  He just needed a haircut and he's leaving anyway.  "Needed a haircut Collene?  The guy hasn't stepped into a salon in two years and suddenly, before he goes HOME to where his hairstylist lives, he neeeeeeeeds a haircut? Whatever!"

We hit the road for the weekend of classes.  Within a half hour Randy sent me a text, thanking me for the "best haircut he's ever had"... we spent the rest of the weekend texting nonsense back and forth.  I'm surprised I learned anything in those classes.

Our first date was Monday.  This time I wasn't nervous.  I was, however, already cautioning myself.  I had never met someone so naturally a fit to my personality.  At dinner we easily transitioned from lighthearted, goofy topics, to deeper, more personal ones and back again.  There was no awkwardness.  I had forgotten my insecurities and "insufficiency". 

Monday's date turned into another, then a semi-spontaneous lunch in a park.  The park date was my favorite of all of them.  He wasn't glossy and perfect that day.  He was tired and unshowered.  He even seemed a little nervous.  I liked the "realness" and the reminder that he is just a normal guy, beautiful, but normal.  We ate our sandwiches then walked to the water.  On the way back to the table he pulled me close, to dance spontaneously to imaginary music.  I stomped all over his feet and wrecked it completely.  I hated that the clock moved faster that day than other days.  I eventually had to drag myself back to the salon.

We sent a nearly constant stream of texts over the next days and weeks.  I spent most of my days and nights laughing, smiling, floating.  I tested him, lightly, by telling him a few of the most painful things I struggle with.  What did I have to lose?  He's leaving.  If nothing else, maybe I can get perspective or practice...  He handled that like a pro.  He was empathetic, kind, gentle, encouraging, accepting.

He was open with me, unlike any man I've ever known.  He was extremely familiar too.  He struggles with the some of the same things I do; he's come to terms with some of the things I have not, yet.  He is like my dad, in all the perfect ways.  He has characteristics of my older brother, but is most similar to the younger brother that I have always been closest to.  He wears his heart on his sleeve, he has an excellent work ethic, he can be a quiet, gentle, watcher as well as a confident, bold, leader.  He is respectful.  He continued to impress me with the generosity I saw on the first night.  While there are a hundred million things that are "right" with him, he is not shy about sharing his failures.  I realize I am getting a full-rounded picture of who he is, for better or worse.  I am not used to this, at all, and I find myself craving his honesty about his mild brokenness, while secretly treasuring his humility.

Then, one afternoon he asked for another haircut.  Ummmm, sure, I'd love to see him in the middle of the work day... At that appointment he told me he had just bought a plane ticket to leave, earlier than he expected.  His job was not over, but he'd be training someone to finish up the final weeks... He didn't have a good reason why, although he gave a few half-hearted attempts at trying to convince me he had to go.

Oh, okay.  Of course he would.  I already knew he was leaving eventually.  The fact was, over the last few days I had done my best to just carefully listen when he told me about some of job possibilities here that he had been presented with.  I was holding my breath.  I hoped he would want to come back here, for me. I did my best to conceal my heart-crushing disappointment.  Somehow, the foolish little girl in me had fallen for the guy she could never have.  

I believed that it was ridiculous to think that someone would uproot their entire life and relocate here, for ME.  I was determined to let him choose, without persuasion from me.  I had just spend the last 15 years making every life changing decision our family was faced with, then being the one "at fault" when people were dissatisfied down the road.   No, I couldn't weigh in on Randy's life or choices.  I needed him, he was good for me in a million ways.  I connected with him emotionally, physically and even spiritually.  Now, he seemed to be confirming to me that this "connection" was one-sided.  There's no way I could encourage him to come back now.

As the week wound down, I set my mind on attempting to disconnect the heartstrings.  I determined that he was good for me, even if I never saw him again, and I was going to make the most of every minute I was allowed with him.  The morning he left we hugged and said our "see ya laters".  He doesn't like "goodbye", neither do I.  As I walked away, I felt peace.  I will see that man again, I know it.

October- December 2011

The next days, weeks, and months were bitter-sweet for me.  I absolutely felt dizzy and my heart skipped when my phone buzzed with a text.  Was it Randy?  The texting was usually funny, but sometimes deep.  He became a gentle encourager to me.  He challenged me in a way that didn't make me feel challenged, but made me want to be better.  If this kind of man was possible for me, I was going to have to get some things in me sorted through, healed and made whole.  I need to be a woman deserving of a guy like that.  I began to realize that I only miss him when I breathe.  I could never let him know, I could never handle it if I put myself out there and got rejected, again.


I craved pursuit, but to my fragile heart, pursuit was going to have to be glaringly, wall-crushingly, obvious and by now Randy was starting to be a little mean in his joking.  I kept up, quickly responding with insults of my own.  I was not about to allow myself to take any of it personal.  I felt like he was testing me this time...  Push.  Pull.  Push.  Pull.

Finally, I determined one day to end the nonsense.  My heart was being bruised and I was the one in charge of that.  I pushed.  And pushed and pushed.  Eventually, there was a phone call... "are you going to let me push you away?"  I asked him.  "Do you want to?"  he asked.  "Not really, I hope you don't let me" I responded.  "Wellll, you're about to!"  Randy then told me he'd be here after the first of the year, If I could just try to "keep my car off the train tracks until then."  I laughed, then tempered my emotion.  This is too good to be true.  Maybe he's messing with me.  I can't hope.  He has me completely at his mercy, emotionally speaking, and this is new territory for me.  I've never felt like this.  Is this what love feels like, or is this just what coming alive again after a divorce feels like?  I needed to be sure.

In early December I started having wildly specific dreams about Randy.  It's hard to explain... they weren't like normal dreams.  They always woke me up, heavy-chested, with the desire to physically get out of bed to pray.  What was odd, was that I had become resistant to prayer a few years ago.  What's the point?  God had become a part of the "old Collene's" life and was such a distant memory that when I did pray for Randy the first time, it felt foolish.  Even more strange, is that I ACTUALLY got out of bed, in the middle of the night, and knelt on my wood floor.  It was cold, uncomfortable and foreign feeling.  Why would I do that?   I can only explain that the dreams were so compellingly specific, that it's the only response that made sense and allowed me the peace to sleep again.  I have decided not to share the specifics of what I "know".  That will have to stay between God and I, and Randy if I ever meet him again...


January 2012

I had spent Christmas with my parents in Arizona.  My communication with Randy had dwindled to a trickle over the weekend.  I knew he was busy skiing with friends and I was busy with family and kids.  As usual, I kept up my motto:  Don't Be 'That' Girl.

I don't neeeeeeeeed to hear from him.  He's a man, doing what he wants, besides if he doesn't want me I'm not going to push myself on him. After the new year came and went, I spent my time mentally preparing for seeing him and half expecting it to be him every time the salon door dinged.  I was ridiculously excited.  I tried to temper my excitement with the reminder that he hadn't responded to a text in a week.  Maybe he lost phone while skiing?  It happens.  I knew better, though.  Something was wrong and I had more "dreams" to confirm that.

The doubter in me was sick of the stupid little girl I was being.  "Seriously Collene, you can't love this guy, you barely know him."  I knew that I already knew him better, deeper, than I had known my husband on our wedding day.  But, if he was going to write me off like that, I wasn't going to sit around and pout.

A friend told me, "Collene if you can be with anyone else, then he's not that special. God's guy is going to be that only option that makes sense to you once you meet him.  Is Randy the only one that will do?"

I went on a few dates.  In the middle of the last one, I excused myself from the table and got alone to send her a text.  "No one else will do, I just want Randy."  And, I knew I would never be able to accept less.

Eventually Randy did text.  He felt distant.  He still joked, but something had changed.  We had a phone conversation that felt weird.  He was trying to be mean, I sensed discouragement, but he was closed tight, for the first time with me. He told me he was never coming to Montana as long as I live here. I teased him back, but he wasn't teasing.  He told me he "never wanted to see my face again".  He abruptly ended the call with a "call you right back", but he didn't.

My heart ached.  What changed?

A few days later he initiated a text.  Nonsense, really.  I responded because I knew now that I was hopelessly in love with him.  Whatever he was going through, I determined to wait and see...

At the end of January I sent him a text asking to see him when I was in his city the following week, now that he wouldn't be in Montana during that time.  He called, we talked for close to an hour.  He wouldn't be seeing me.  He also said that this would be the last time he ever heard my voice, he just "couldn't" anymore.  What.  The.  Heck?

He sounded so sweet, like the same 'ole Randy I had met before.  He was soft and gentle and funny and.. perfect.  His words weren't matching his tone or the "chemistry" of the call when, finally, he told me.  At Christmas he had run into a girl from his past.  He used to like her and now she was available.  He had to see where that goes, but he'd probably marry her.  Ummmmmm, okay... He also explained that he would be "bad for me" and made a few other stupid statements about why "we would never work".  I disagreed with all of them.  But a girl can't disagree with "I'll probably marry her".

At the end of the phone call, Randy asked me if I love him.  "No", I lied.  I sure as hell am not about to throw that word into this stupid conversation.  Of course I love him.  I've never loved anyone.  I love Randy.

February 2012

In his city, I'm unable to cope with my heartbreak.  This is something he has to do... I have to step away.

Valentine's Day, the stupidest of days, comes.  In the 15 years of my relationship with my ex-husband, combined with the few boyfriends I had prior to marriage, I have never been told "Happy Valentine's Day" by a man, when it wasn't initiated by me.  That day Randy sent a text.  He wished me a happy Valentine's Day and went on to tell me about the "wonderful person" I am.  He was being genuine.  It was perfect.  Perfectly awful, as I forced my heart to remember he's with her...

March passed with no contact.  I thought about the only name from my past that I would imagine would have plan-changing power over me.  Would that guy be able to interfere with my feelings for Randy if he were to suddenly become available.  Strangely, that guy contacted me a few days later.  He wasn't looking for anything except a "how are ya?"  My questions were answered, nope, that guy wouldn't do anymore either...

April came, I wished him a happy birthday, no response... April nearly concluded, but not before my Grandpa died.  The morning of my birthday was spent at the funeral home helping my grandma pick out music to play at the service.  No one had mentioned the day, actually I forgot too.  My phone buzzed in my lap, I glanced quickly at it and saw Randy's real name flash on the screen.  My heart stopped, I showed my sister.  She had no idea who Randy was.  Oh, that's right, she's missed a year and a half of my life.  He was the first person to remember and acknowledge my birthday on that horrible day. I couldn't stop the lump in my throat from dissolving into a mess of pain-in-my-heart tears.  I didn't respond for awhile.  Happy birthday?  What's happy about losing the best thing I've ever known?

I consoled myself... He has to do this.  Maybe God knows better for me.  It's hard to imagine a more perfect match for me.  I'm open to the idea, but have not even come close to meeting a Randy Lite or a Randy 90% or a Randy 2.0...

In May he initiated again.  This time, I am able to see the gist of how it will play out, before it actually does.  Day One was sweet, like the beginning.  Day Two was a little edgier.  The ole push/pull was in full effect.  Instinctively, I knew the morning of Day Three, it wouldn't go well.  He was downright crabby.  Mean.  Pushy.  He cut me off again.  He's "done with me".  Okay.  I expected that, I remembered January's discussion and his determination to marry her, even before they were really dating.  This restlessness and doubt I sense in him is heart wrenching for me, but I can't fix it, and wouldn't if I could.  He has to do this.

On May 21st I sent him an email.  I had thought all weekend about something he had challenged me with when he was being mean.  I was not offended, and completely understood what he was doing.  It still required a response.  I finally told him I love him.  I didn't tell him the ugly, raw, hurting version though.  I cleaned it up in a tidy, presentable protective package.  He responded with the same, he does love me, he clarified.  "It would be ludicrous to forget someone who believes in him the way I do".... we would "always be in touch".  Seven days later, he deleted me from his life.  No warning, no explanation.

I decided am the biggest fool on the planet.  I spent the summer replaying history, trying to convince myself that our physical, emotional, and spiritual connections were completely fabricated by an overly emotional, highly creative, desperately romantic, me.  I grasp desperately at my shortcomings and imagine her perfection... Head and heart argue, still, about facts and moments and definitions of "love" while beating me senseless by pointing out my failures specific to this situation.

I've initiated contact since.  He confirmed my worst fear, but I already knew:  He's marrying the girl he called the "safe choice" back in February.  He "never felt anything for me" and "told me from the beginning he wouldn't", he now claims. 

Two of my friends brought him up just this week.  "We", apparently,  made an impression in those few days.  They both understand why I can't find anyone else.  One friend worries a little, because she and her husband have never had that kind of ease in their relationship.  I argue that it couldn't have been anything special.  She reminds me: "No, Collene, I saw it myself.  You didn't make it up."

My last text to him was a lie.  Why not continue the trend?  I told him I hate him.  I keep trying to make that true.  I have nothing but respect for a guy that can put me in my place, gently.  I want him, but I do not want what she's getting. 

Unfortunately, "...love is patient and kind.  It's not jealous or boastful or proud.  It's not rude.  It doesn't demand its own way...

Who am I to argue with his choice?

"...love is not irritable, it keeps no record of wrongs..."

The girls at work and the few friends that met him have asked me: "what if he came back now, surely you wouldn't want him after all that..." All I can say is:  Yes, I would.  I understand enough of his "whys"...

"...Love does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices when truth wins out.  Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance..."

This is where I struggle the most.  If I could change it, I would.  I want an end.  I dread the reality of being deeply in love with someone else's husband.   If this was just in my head, my heart would have moved on months ago.  If it was just in my heart, my head would have already drug me forward.  My spirit is invested.  The burden on my chest, that I can only give credit to God for, the hours of prayers, the depth of insights into his struggles- that doesn't come from my own experience or talent,  and the depth of hope I have for him- not to be mine, but to succeed in life- in every way... have all cemented me to this person.

The feeling of assurance I felt that I'd see him again as we hugged our see-ya-laters, haunts me.  The hindsight knowledge of my complete and utter failure pertaining to him, tortures me.  I was so careful to protect myself and allow him to make his own choices, that I made it impossible for him to see how I felt about him.  He asked, in every way possible, without actually spelling it out for me, if he had a shot with me.  I never gave him a credible answer.  He had just enough energy to knock a few times, when I was expecting him to burst through the door.  The gentleman that he is would have never forced himself on me.  I got courage way too late, and even then, still tidied it up too much.   Soooo, I've learned from my mistakes, I suppose, but I've still lost the gift.

For now, I have no answers.  This is messy.  I told myself months ago I wouldn't shed another tear for him.  I was wrong.

For now, I will trust in what I know.  God loves me, unfathomably.  He knows the plans He has for me, they are plans to prosper me, not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future... Jer 29:11

Vievie

Thirty three days, not that anyone's counting, that's the rough estimate countdown.  Through all the heartache and frustration of the past three years, this one thing is becoming glaringly obvious:  God is merciful.

Her name is Genevieve Nicole.  On January 4th or 5th, or if they're lucky, New Year's Day, she will grace us with her squishy-faced presence.  She will be the fifth little girl I call "niece". Her name has a combination of special meanings.  It includes elements of my daddy's name as well as a part of my fake sister-in-law's name.

She is the culmination of years of loss and heartache and distrust and desperation and hope and prayer.  She is unexpected, undeserved, unlikely medically, and unimaginably healing.

For all the dread the next thirty three days holds for me, I will praise Jesus for his merciful timing and unfathomable love.

Dasani Me

I had a conversation with a client today about llamas.  That turned into a conversation about camels, which got me thinking, again, about desert wandering.

Actually deserts have been on my mind all week, along with the so-called "sufficiency of Christ".  Try to keep up.  Or just forget it, close this window, and go watch a YouTube video.  Either way, I can't seem to stop my relentless grinding mental wheel-turning.  Is it weird that a scene from Princess Bride just flashed in my mind?

I've never been thirsty in a desert, even in the slightest, but I have been extremely thirsty in less dramatic locations.  So, are you with me? Llamas, camels, desert, Princess Bride, no- wait, extreme thirst...

The other conversation of the week that I plan to marry with that train of thought is the one I had Monday at the Benjamin Meeting.  That's what I'm calling my weekly Monday morning sanity hearings with my counselor/mentor/friend/thingymajiger/person.  Anyway, I like Ben.  He's experienced in EVERYTHING.  He's a long time boxing coach/trainer, former alter boy, former electrician, former dairy hand, veteran of the Navy, father of 8, husband to the coolest lady alive (to hear him tell it), has theology degrees, counseling degrees, compassion, patience and insight.  Okay, that's a scratch of the surface, but it's enough to give you tonight.  The BEST part about the Benjamin Meetings is that he came to me and asked to meet with me.  Weird.  I was putting off the urge to call him all summer.  Sooooo, the result has been a couple of months of me sticking my toe in the waters of trust, testing their depth and trying to figure out what exactly the end result of our friendship will be.

Ben is the first church leader I have felt completely comfortable around, especially when I don't like what I'm hearing.  More than once I've told him that he or "it" pisses me off.  I may or may not have used the phrase "so what you're telling me is that what I think/want is @$^&%*$$?"  He is always calm, always even tempered.  I'm pretty sure his blood pressure never raises.  Which is good, because I'm (at times) highly, frustratingly, emotional.

So, Monday we were discussing the idea that I'm supposed to magically find my "sufficiency" in Christ alone.  I was mad that those words are SOOOOO bumper-stickery and the perfect Christianese example if why I HATE being around glossy, churchy people.  No one can give me a satisfactory example of how that meshes with real life, especially in the life of a worn-thin, tapped-out, mostly-penniless, stupidly-idealistic, overly-trusting, weakly-hopeful, massive-hearted, single mom of three.  More than a few numbers went up on my blood pressure that day, as well as the pouring of a few dozen jugs of tears and snot.  I'm sexy when I cry. Wait, nope, that was someone else I saw on a movie once...

Ben and I had come up with a list of five of my harshest daily realities.  They all started with "P".  Okay, all but one, but we changed it to a "PH", so take THAT.  At the end of the problem solving/perspective gaining session I told him about my current grief-category anger as it applies to two and a half of the "P"s:

"I feel like my whole life I'm been excruciatingly thirsty, standing alone in the middle of an enormous desert.  In two of those categories I was recently offered a glass of water.  Before I could grab it and drink, the glass was torn from my hands and a teaspoon of that water was trickled onto my lips.  Now, I've tasted it.  What I've craved, no NEEDED for survival, tasted sweeter than my exhausted, treacherously parched soul could have ever dreamed up.  It's beyond cruel.  Actually, I believe that this is worse for me than if I'd never known water existed."

We sat at his table and argued about semantics for awhile.  I told him that my understanding is that I'm not supposed to want or need anything.  In fact, how dare I even try to ask for a "want", when "needs" are constantly in my face?  I'm supposed to care less about the frivolity of asking for Dasani water, when Arrowhead isn't even an option.  I hate Arrowhead, it tastes like dirt- my faucet's city water is better...

He let me rant.  He tossed a box of Kleenex at me and waited.  Then he said, "Collene Jesus was a man. Even He said 'My grace is sufficient for you'..."  He went on to say, "don't you think that if He was physically sitting next you in an actual desert, He'd give you actual water?  He never just sat by someone with real-life needs and became their "sufficiency" just because he was physically present."  He made me define "Grace", which was easy because it's part of my daughter's name- God's Blessing.  Okay, so then he made me define what a blessing is..."a gift", I told him.  Yup, sooooooo if all that is true, then why in some of these areas, am I being tortured with barely moistened lips and I'm not even seeing swamp water in a mirage on the horizon?  Is there some "Christmas Day" I have to wait for to take even a teeny sip again?  What happens if I die of thirst first?

I don't know.  I'm still wrestling the narrative that stubbornly whispers "it's because you're bad and don't deserve it Collene".  The truth is, it's entirely possible that I took that glass of water and threw it out myself, rather than having it taken away by some mysterious ogre.  What I know is that I can't see it, solve it or repair it.  I'm concerned that, that which I destroyed (although it CAN be), WON'T be salvaged or replaced by Him... Tonight, I'm clinging to the last shred of faith that says He will.

I'll end by telling you, mostly for me to refer back to in the near future, what Ben told me last:

Apparently, from his perspective, I am not a mess.  I am surrounded by messiness, but I am "very well adjusted, intelligent, grounded, thoughtful and even sane."  I am an "unusual woman" (a compliment, I think) and "incredibly deep- relationally".  In addition, I am "a very good mom who parents with purpose and foresight" and oh, "any man with half a brain could see that I am a catch".  Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, all of that is even uncomfortable to type.  I can't see it quite that way,  but whatev, it's his opinion and it felt good to hear.

Goodnight.

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Blessed

Last fall, when I started this blog, a friend called me to express her concerns about it.  She has always been on the lookout for potential destroyers of my heart and saw this as a huge risk.  She was right, it was, and continues to increasingly be, risky.  What neither of us could have known is that, despite the exposure, the risk has payed off in unexpected ways. 

Writing here, unlike writing in my tattered journal, has helped me process years of experiences and nonsense internal narratives.  I am being forced to confront the inconsistencies in myself while being held to a certain amount of accountability by my readers- whomever they may be.  This has made it nearly impossible for me to turn back and get comfortable again in the ridiculous lifestyle of "Egypt".  I am being changed.

You might be relieved to learn that I have not spent the entire last two weeks being angry.  The truth is, after I wrote last, I regretted letting you see that deep into me and nearly deleted the post.  I would have, except for the conversation I had with a reader the next day.  "You just summed up the entire two and a half years of life after my dad died, unexpectedly, my senior year of high school", she said.  Later, another reader sent me a reassuring message.  His grief also resonated with my ugly thoughts and emotions.  He went on to tell me more about his experience.  These conversations are invaluable to me, so I press on. 

For months I've been arguing with myself about whether or not to tell you more of the "everything" I committed to working through.  Mentally, I have written that blog 1,000 times since May.  Yet, each time I sit here to type it, I don't.  I continue to feel that I am at a loss pertaining to a specific experience this past year.  In some ways, I actually feel despair that I can't work the situation to a comfortable, healthy place of understanding in my head and heart simultaneously. 

I'm not sure when, but I plan to tell you about the foolishness of loving someone I "shouldn't".  Until (if) I find those words, I'll tell you about this year's Thanksgiving vacation:

Anger is exhausting.

I threw my fit, asked my "whys", retreated to my bed , sobbed barrels of tears and then, I drove.

Fifteen hours of road noise, kids happily chattering in the background, my iPod on shuffle, and my own noisy thoughts, brought me to my first destination.  I concluded that don't have time or energy to be mad.  I have worked my heart into a place of forgiveness and, if it were possible, I owe an apology or two.  By the time I arrived in Albuquerque my head and heart had shaken hands in a cease-fire agreement, for now, and I was able to enjoy my visit. 

She and I have three decades of friendship experience, most of which have been spent communicating by pen and paper. (It seems that I'll have to take my kids to the Museum of Natural History, past the Atari and Pacman displays, to the room of Ancient History to show my kids a postage stamp...).  She has known my family nearly as long as I have and has such sweet memories of things that I had forgotten or taken for granted.  Lately these kinds of conversations are deeply important to me.  It's funny, although we were surrounded by five of our offspring, most of the time, I didn't feel a day older than ten.  We reminisced and shared perspectives, updated each other on the current state of affairs and then shared plans for the near future... I am so blessed. 
 
Before I left New Mexico I had come full circle.  The "I don't want to do this" mentality of the days and weeks before, was replaced with the understanding that I absolutely don't have to do this, but I need to. I am aware that I have "outs", distractions.  Instead, I am committed to finishing the course and earning my degree. Pain is an excellent teacher and experience is what gives meaning to ideology.

I finished my vacation in northern Arizona.  Three of my five brothers met me there- at Mom and Dad's.  There was a sister-in-law, two nieces and a nephew thrown in the mix, along with my own kids, as well.  I can't define it, exactly, but the visit was different than usual.  "Simplicity" is the only word that describes it.  I have decided:   These people I was assigned to share life with from birth are the exact people I want to do life with when things get tough.  We could not be more different.  We could not be more perfect for each other.

Dad is feeling relatively healthy.  I noticed a few (unacknowledged) pained expressions, from time to time. He occasionally looked tired.  He has changed his diet and, to some extent, his daily routine.  He is softer.  Mom is too.  I have thought a lot about the reality that he (like all of us) is dying.  Sometimes I want the specifics.  Do I have two months, ten years, with my dad?  Ultimately, it doesn't matter.  No one knows, except God- and He's not saying.  For now, I have today and I am blessed...

Every Party Has A Pooper

If you don't appreciate a toddler tantrum thrown by an adult, you should go now.

If I could throw myself to the ground and toss my sippy cup and bang my head, hard, onto the concrete- all the while wailing and rolling around, I would.  If I could kick someone, hard, in the shins and run away as fast as possible, I would.  If I could beat my tiny fists against someone's broad chest and kick at the air until I ran out of steam, I would.  If I could lay my head on someone's shoulder and sob until they tucked me into my crib for the night- with my soft footy pajamas, I would.

But, I'm a big girl, with no sippy cup, no soft footy pajamas, no broad chest to beat, no shoulder to sob on, no shins to kick and a headache that wouldn't find relief slamming the ground.  There's no security within the four slatted walls of a crib and really, I'm all out of steam anyway.

Today, I'm afraid.  I physically hurt in chambers of my heart I never new existed.  I found that breathing too deeply released tears at stupid times today.  I'm angry.  I want to pick a fight with someone, anyone. (You'll be relieved to know, I didn't, mostly because I chose the "safe bet" to pick at today, and got no response.) I want to make the people who have most recently devastated me, hurt the very same way. Yes, I am immature and ridiculous, embarrassing even.  What I really want is just to be held, to be reassured that it will all be okay.

"It" won't be okay.  None of it.

I don't want to do this anymore.  I don't want to DO this.  I don't want to do THIS.

Most of them are stuffers, my familial heritage, that is.  When situations are complicated, emotionally speaking, the family handbook prescribes an ignore-it-it'll-go-away remedy.  However,  I'm only a recessive carrier of that gene, an anomaly.  I need direct.  I need a plan.  I need "why" to be understood.  I'm irritated that I'm so different.  In some ways I feel like I don't belong.  I can't find comfort in coping the way most of them do.

I am more alone than ever.

Last week I took the pre-planned trip back to Arkansas; my third visit since April.  The timing of the trip could not have been more perfectly orchestrated, actually.  My grandmother had just had heart surgery and was about to be released from the hospital. The trip was planned before Dad's diagnosis.  My dad had told his mother about his cancer, but spared her details, concerned for her own health.  In some ways, I spent the week reassuring her of what I'm not convinced myself.  She seemed naive about the entire situation until the day she point-blank asked me: "Do you know where they plan to bury your dad? Is there a nice cemetery near their home?"

I DON'T want to do this. I don't think his mom does either.

The other parts of the week were sweet.  And bitter.  Grandma told me about her fighting depression since grandpa died in April.  She told me she clings to the happy times, of which she had dozens of stories.  She is writing a book.  I told her I'd try to help her.  Who wouldn't want to hear about my 83 year old, semi-driving, itty-bitty grandma who "used-to-could" do just about anything?  This woman has a plethora of one-liners.

She assured me several times that she knows, very well, some of what I'm going through and that she understands how hard my daily life is.  I believed her because she willingly shared a few of her own experiences along with a few regrets and heartaches.

I found myself deeply loving and appreciating this woman in ways I didn't think possible only six months ago.  I found a little of myself in her and I found myself feeling very sad.  And mad.  And fighting emotions and doubts and hurt and frustration and years of confusion. And then I found myself, on the return plane, coming to a place of acceptance without understanding.  I hated leaving, wondering if I'd see her again.  There are so many places I need to be and only one of me and never enough time or resources...

If I had the energy, I'd tell you about the other pressures I can't quite escape.  I will say that if I'm being honest, at the end of the day fear, doubt, distrust, loneliness and the physical sensations of grief are ruling my heart.

 What I feared has come upon me;
    what I dreaded has happened to me. 

 I have no peace, no quietness;
    I have no rest, but only turmoil.”

 ~Job 3:25,26 

Will someone please send me to my room?

Fight Club

The other day I promised to tell you about my love letters.  I have written and re-written about them at least six times.  The concepts churning in my heart have gone in a dozen directions and nothing seemed complete.  I had the sense that I had yet to take the end-of-quarter exam, although the week had ended.  I actually took notes about Sunday through Saturday and the incredible love that I was shown.  I was surprised by the extraordinary examples and blessed to note the ordinary examples.  

Then came Sunday, again.
  

The morning started out as usual. I have started making it a habit of not only attending church, but going early for a class as well. I am the "baby" of the group, which I love, and the people have proven themselves to be genuine. 

The church I've been attending is seven miles away so I decided to multi-task by calling my dad on the way.  My parents have been on my mind heavily lately, for various reasons, and it had been a few days since I checked in with them.  Mom answered Dad's phone and told me he'd have to call me back.  He had spent the whole night awake, in pain.

The previous week we had been together in Arkansas to support my grandmother as she went through a fairly difficult heart surgery.  When I left, grandma had just been moved out of the ICU and everyone else seemed well.

Days later I called my dad for an update on Grandma's rehab progress. "Little Girl, I can't talk, I hurt too much.  Can I call you back later."  Uhhhhhh, okay.  I called Mom.  She informed me that Dad had suddenly started experiencing pain that he had decided must be kidney stones.  The pain passed quickly and he returned my call.  Days passed.  A few bouts of pain and 1,100 miles later, he was home safe and returned to his normal routine.

This time, on Sunday, Dad didn't call back.  Hours passed, the day uneventfully slipped into evening here as I wrestled with my own internal challenges.  Bedtime came and mom called, effectively signing me up for a club I never requested membership too.

"Collene, your dad's pain never went away this morning like it has the other days.  I took him to the ER in Flagstaff this afternoon.  They're running tests, but they've ruled out kidney stones."

The doctor had suggested to Dad that he may have pulled a muscle in his lower back... Uh, if you've ever met my dad, you know that he doesn't go to the ER with a pulled muscle.  He was insistent.  "I'm 64 years old.  I've pulled muscles, this isn't that.  Try again".  A CT scan and some blood work were ordered.

We should know something in 30 minutes, they say.  Thirty minutes later the nurse arrived, announcing that it would be about 30 minutes before the doctor would have results.  Dad teased her that her time was up already, she needed to give him answers now.  She knelt down next to him and with her face on her folded hands said, "I'm so sorry, you must be in so much pain.  The doctor needs to talk to you, but he needs more time." This was the first indication that his "pulled muscle/kidney stone" wasn't going to be so simple.

The doctor returned, with pictures.  My daddy's bones are full of holes.  His hips are both fractured, his ribs and spine are splintering off into pieces that free float in his abdomen.  This man has been fighting forest fires all year all over this entire nation.  How is this possible?

Sunday night he was admitted to the hospital with bone marrow tests ordered for Monday morning.  The night took forever.  Monday morning came and went, there was some disagreement among the doctors... Finally, after reviewing his tests, a new doctor assigned to his case decided a bone marrow test is too risky.  He believes my dad's spine could shatter, just from the needle.  A lymphatic biopsy is ordered along with additional blood work and more scans.

Monday drags on.

One brother was unreachable, working in Africa.  Another was not directly contactable, a member of the USMC, located in AnUndisclosedDangerousLocation (it's a real place, trust me).  A third had no cell and no power, living in New York with his new pal, Hurricane Sandy.  The rest of us, desperately cling to each other, from every corner of this country, for encouragement and even a few laughs...

Monday night the doctor finally returned.  Even without the biopsy results, it is obvious: My hero, my rock, my adviser, my daddy, Superman himself- has rapidly growing, Stage IV, metastasized, incurable cancer.

I hate this club I've been forced to join.  This morning when I woke up with tears already (still?) streaming out of the corner of my eyes, I realized that I am changed forever.  I thought I knew Grief, but yesterday, Grief started unpacking his boxes to stay.

Yet, already this club has it's comforts.  So, so many of my friends and loved ones are members here.  I no longer watch them from across the fence. They've already started to show me around.  My five days of love letters look puny in comparison to the flood of specific love evidence that has already filled pages of my red tattered journal since Sunday.  Yes, God is still good.  Yes, He loves even me.

Three things were already in place inside my heart before this week and for now, this is all I have:

#1- The recurring words on my lips, as I waited for news on Monday, were actually lyrics to "Don't Stop The Madness", another Tenth Avenue North song:

All I hear is what they're selling me: "If God is love there can't be suffering, have a little faith and prosperity." 

But, oh my God I know there's more than this! If you promised pain, it can't be meaningless. So make me poor if that's the price for freedom...

Do whatever it takes to give me your heart and bring me down to my knees Lord.

#2- I had already been reading in Romans 8... (you might remember this day).  A few verses before those (vs 18) it says this:

 "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

#3- I had a conversation, completely unrelated to this situation, on Monday morning... My friend, who embraced Grief years ago, gave me these words of wisdom:

"Shake hands with Sadness, he'll visit often and stay for a short while.  However, when Grief knocks at your door, welcome him and embrace him, for he has moved in to stay."  

Finally, if you don't know my dad, you need to understand this about him:

He has just rallied.  He plans to, in his words, "get the pain under control, start a treatment, talk to a few more specialists, cut some firewood, do a few chores around the house and get back to fighting fires."  I don't doubt that. With is excellent health, physical strength and spiritual and emotional fortitude, he will have longer than most with his diagnosis.  If you pray, please do.  This is likely to be a long race...

 Always a firefighter.

Always his "Little Girl"

Spring Cleaning, Well Into Fall

I can hardly wait to tell you about the love letters I got this week, but there's still a couple of days left in the Week of Illumination, so I'm going to wait... Instead, there were three separate, but equally awesome, conversations at work today that I want to tell you about.

Stuff is rapidly coming together for me because apparently, conceptual repetition is my friend.  Unfortunately for you, if you've read my blog since the beginning, you're being drug along from room to room with me as I do my spring cleaning, because nothing I am telling you about today (this month, really) is new. I can't apologize though. Every room needs the same elbow-grease effort, even if it will feel overly familiar by the time I get to the end of this work.

Today's Conversation #1

The girl is cute. A gorgeous blonde, petite figure, with energy for days and business-woman ambition, she's the mother of two INCREDIBLY beautiful little girls.  She married her junior high/high school sweetheart and lived happily ever after.  Mostly.

We've had a professional relationship for a couple of years, but lately we're starting to know each other on a deeper level. Somehow the conversation came around to religion, churches and how we were raised.  Yup, Professional Etiquette 101, Rule #1 says, "Stay away from religious, political or controversial topics with clients."  (Shhhhhhhh, don't tell anyone, I break ALL the rules and people still seem to re-book.)

Anywho, her story gave me some perspective and encouragement.  God is faithful.  Whether we tend to be overly strict and pious, or ridiculously lax and apathetic in our understanding of Him, His Law, and His Son, we are repeatedly each given the opportunity to know Him personally.

The biggest take-away from Conversation #1?  I need to ask God who He is and what He expects of me pertaining to my sin and purpose.  Being dependent on other people to define Him or His "rules", whether it's a well meaning friend, parent, teacher, pastor or priest, will never satisfy.  In fact, that scenario is the perfect breeding ground for frustrated, bitter, disillusionment and facade manufacturing.

Can you tell I'm passionate about that?  So, my very next client opened this can of worms...

Conversation #2

This woman is so darn great!  She's only been in my chair twice, but even before she was a client, as a virtual stranger, she nearly single-handedly painted my house. (Yes, I'm THAT blessed- friends recruit strangers to take care of my needs these days.  A-MA-ZING.)  She is the gentle, artistic, organized, mother of two ADORABLE little boys.  She married the man of her dreams, after living a short lifetime of experiences and lessons- learned the hard way.  Our conversation started with the topic of romantic love.  Don't get me wrong, I do deeply love, but the reality is that I have very little to add to a conversation like that, so I listened.

"You know when you know that it's right, even if you don't want it to be." She said.  She had made enough mistakes, thinking she knew, hoping she knew... When he came along, there was no doubt.  However, she did resist for awhile, what she instantly knew.  Weird how we are sometimes, when we actually get what we want right in front of us, huh?

Anyway, that conversation, somehow, morphed from romantic relationships to general relationships to spiritual relationships and then to the topic of discipline.  She quoted her favorite verse:

“My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son.”  

~Proverbs 3:11-12 & Hebrews 12:5-6

For the rest of the appointment we discussed the difference between punishment and discipline.  An athlete disciplines their body, never punishes it...  sometimes it's still so easy to hear the "God loves me when I'm good and is angry at me when I'm bad" narrative I've believed for all these years.  No.  God is training me through discipline, for a specific use that He has in mind.  These dark-jungle days have meaning in the mind of my Trainer.  If He promised pain, it can't be meaningless.  He is good.

Conversation #3

Finally, this woman is a friend.  She is beautiful, generous, incredibly hardworking, broken.  So many abuses have been inflicted upon her, I'm not sure she knows who to start forgiving first.  She is desperately trying to find reason in it all.  There is none.  Still, her heart aches to find grace for her abusers. Our conversation was one that could be summed up with "If God is so good, then why...?"  I see her point.  I've felt her desperation.

So she asked, "If God is all about love and forgiveness, then he can't punish anyone right?  He always has to forgive because of Jesus, right?"  We spent the next several minutes talking about wrath (redefined) and the necessity for God to be perfect love and perfect justice.  We discussed that Jesus said "it is finished", but that individually, we have to accept his offer to pay our sin debt.

"Free" is hard to accept, isn't it?

And that, my friend, is a perfect way to leave you while I re-read my love letters... I'll explain all that later.

Goodnight

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Apprenticeship of Love

 "Collene, do you trust me?" The question continues to challenge me.  Sometimes, I'm not sure...

 In the same way the Spirit also comes to help us, weak as we are.  For we do not know how we ought to pray; the Spirit himself pleads with God for us in groans that words cannot express.  And God, who sees into our hearts, knows what the thought of the Spirit is; because the Spirit pleads with God on behalf of his people and in accordance with his will. 

~Romans 8:26,27

I woke up that way again this morning. What once felt like a baby elephant playing on my chest, now feels like a massive, full grown pachyderm has firmly seated himself directly over my heart.  The hours, days and months have not lightened the load and the nights are getting darker.  Initially, it was easy to turn the burden over to God.  I could fill pages and hours with very specific, heartfelt prayers.  Now, with the thick darkness and confusion of this jungle, most of the time all I can utter is "Jesus, help".

Thank God for Romans 8 this morning.  Thank God that the subject of my deepest aching burden doesn't have to depend on my faithfulness, understanding or skills.  Thank God that He pursues us, despite us, all the while inviting us to participate in His pursuit of others.  Thank God that He is using this situation to teach me a hands-on class about true love.  Pray that I graduate, would you?  Here's the syllabus:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

 Love never fails. 

But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.  For we know in part and we prophesy in part,  but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears.  When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.  For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 

 ~1 Corinthians 13.

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Fig Leaves Are So Last Season

Exposure was the main character of my day.  Nobody likes that guy, seriously!  Well, wait.  I started thinking about various personalities of Exposure and, boom, before you know it, I can almost imagine him becoming a dear friend.

It all started with me relaying, to one of my nosy pastors, some of the details about the insecurities and pain I left out of yesterday's blog.  (Well really he's not nosy, I did give him permission, once, to dig and he's not the kind of guy to turn down an invitation.  Persistent fellow, he his.  I'll tell you more about that some other day, maybe.)  He was annoyingly accurate and seemed to be teaming up with a few of my friends, a sibling or two and a parent, in his assessment of me.  Thankfully, he didn't label me with his assessment without a follow-up action.  I'll get to that in a minute.

So anyway, the craziest place I could think of in all of scripture for the guy to take me would be the Garden of Eden in Genesis 3.  He took me there anyway.  We read the story. Then he re-read it, substituting my name for Adam's and using the details I had just given him about my situation.  It actually made sense to me...

Adam was exposed.  He was afraid and didn't trust God with his exposure.  So, he covered himself his way, with a few fig leaves, then hid.  Huh.  That's a familiar action and reaction.  As the story goes, God lovingly leads Adam to a confession, despite his resistance, then makes him better (fur and leather) clothes.  These clothes required some pain and death, but Adam's exposure was covered, without earning it or deserving it, perfectly, comfortably and completely.

Exposure brought about real love.

Before I left today, I asked my sweet pastor to tell me how I can fix this natural-as-breathing reflex I have to sew myself a few fig leaf outfits.  I don't even know when I'm doing it for crying out loud.  His response, my big follow-up action? Stop doing.  Uhhhhh, I'm a do-er.  How does a do-er not do?  Apparently, by taking their hands off the situation, whatever that means.  Soooooo, he tells me, we're going to be praying for illumination this week on those types of situations.  This means my uncomfortable, exposed injuries will remain open to the air and light and potentially be a whole subject in the classroom of life this week.  Umm, I'll let you know how that goes.

Meanwhile, at lunch, I had more food for thought.  I'm a visual learner and find myself using illustrations to tell a story.  As I was discussing, with my fake big sister, the events of the weekend and the morning's conversation with my pastor, I summed it up for her kind of like this:

I feel like somewhere along the way I had a broken bone.  Maybe not an arm, but something deeper and more vital like a spine.  I spent years putting gauze and ace bandages on it while treating it with ibuprofen.  Eventually the pain subsided and the bone healed.  Never mind that it's all jacked up now.  I'm crooked and crippled, but the pain is lessened- unless I try to stand up straight, or move forward in any way.  Recently, it occurred to me that I'd like to stand straight and walk correctly again.  The physician offered to cut me, to heal me- to break me, to bind me.  He'll have to cut through my flesh to the bone, re-break it, set it correctly, then suture and bandage me with His plates, screws, staples and gauze.  His medicines will be prescription strength and His tools sharply precise.  Somehow, I keep arguing with the surgeon about how to do the procedure.  In His grace, He is waiting for me to say I'm ready.  In His mercy, He'll cause me to heal and function the way I was intended to, before the injury.

Exposure is merciful.

Finally, it's no secret I love photography.  I admire "real" photographers and am not afraid to admit that the more I learn about it, the less I really know.  I spent the afternoon alone, playing with some of the pictures I've taken, trying to salvage some of the ones that had low exposure by using certain filters during the edits.  Hmmmm, there's that word again.  Exposure. In photography, it refers to the amount of light allowed to fall on an object or area in a shot and is usually controlled by a shutter.  Without Exposure, we would have no photographic art. 

Exposure is illuminating.

Okie doke, I'm getting it.  This acquaintance, Exposure, is begging to be my friend.  I suppose I'll look for the illumination this week that the good pastor is praying for me.  Like Adam, I might just find real Love. Besides, fig leaves are so last season.

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Sitting On The Edge Of A Dime, Swinging My Legs

Have you ever had a day that you felt so low?  

I lived a lifetime this week, on a dime, just like that.  I'm irritated to admit, but try as I might to avoid them, his incredibly insightful words kept echoing through the empty silences of my week... again.

"Do you ever wonder, is God in Control?" I had asked.

"He is, you just have to trust Him."

"What if I can't anymore?"

"You can, you just have to get over yourself first."

His response both soothed and cut me.  What does he know about me?   Besides "he" is just someone-I-used-to-know now anyway.  I've deliberately worked very hard at dismissing everything else he said in our short friendship, both the pleasant and the unpleasant things.  However, those specific words still haunt me.  Between you and me, the good news is that we won't ever have to tell him he was right, or that he had me figured out in more ways than one.

Tonight, it seems my buddy Oswald agrees with the stranger-I-used-to-know too:

Why doesn’t God reveal Himself to you? He cannot. It is not that He will not, but He cannot, because you are in the way as long as you won’t abandon yourself to Him in total surrender. ~ O. Chambers

Wellllllll, that's just weird.  I don't usually look up his stuff before bed.  Tonight couldn't have been more perfect timing for those words.  I've wrestled, hand-to-hand combat style, with the "getting over myself" concept all weekend.  Until today, I couldn't figure out what that's supposed to look like on a daily basis. Here's how if finally made sense, but I'll have to back up a few days:

Last week there was a trip.  Nope, not a vacation, there's a difference, trust me.  The why's and details aren't important to the story, but the timing is.  I already told you that this time of year is tough on me, with dates and yada, yada....  Prior to the trip, I had felt myself slipping into disappointment, lethargy, discouragement and teetering on despair.  Circumstances and conversations pushed me over the edge and I allowed myself to embrace a full-on depression. 

In August I told you about that project of healing in me that seems impossible even to God? Yeah, well, I re-read it.  I think I accidentally gave God permission to reach into that, didn't I?  The insecurities and deep injuries I've held closely guarded and bound securely, were exposed to the light and air, dramatically and all at once.

Well what good is exposure, if there won't be healing?  The lyrics of 'You Do All Things Well' (Tenth Avenue North) became my source of comfort and hope:

You break me to bind me
You hurt me, Lord, to heal me
You cut me to touch me
You died to revive me

There's a paragraph that I've typed here about four times.  I can't seem to make it publishable, so I'll jump to the end.  Today Luke 9:23 is what finally made sense of all of this nonsense I've been wrestling for months, no, years.  Yup, it's a bumper-sticker-turned-real-to-me verse: 

"Then he said to them all: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." 

So, there it is.  Oswald, the Stranger Friend, and the good doctor, Luke, agree.  I have to get over me.  My rights, desires, hopes- including the God-given ones, my capability and self-sufficiency, what I perceive to be my deepest needs, even my fears- will have to die, every day, if I want to follow Him- more importantly, if I want to see that He's in control... and I do.  It's a well documented fact that I make such a mess when I lead.

The good news is that He's still writing my story with Mercy's pen.  Nearly every day, I being reminded, in outrageous ways, that I am unconditionally loved, a precious treasure, extremely valuable, a daughter of the King, more valuable than the birds of the air or the flowers of the field...

One of these days, I just might believe it myself.

This One Time, At Band Camp...

My brother-in-law and I agree, all good stories start that way.   I'll confess I never went to band camp.  Here's the story anyway:

Five days ago, I sealed my fate.  I got a cat.  If you've spent any time with me over the past year, you're probably already on the phone with the straight jacket people, reserving my padded room at Warm Springs.  In the words of my daughter: "We're not cat people, we're dog people".  In fact, It's been a running joke with my friends since this blog in January.

Here's how I lost my mind, temporarily:

Five days ago I was minding my own business.  The kids were due back to my house in a few hours and I was taking a much needed day off from the grind of life.  My eldest (who, by-the-way, turned 14 today) was pheasant hunting with a friend.  Since I'm not the "hunting parent", nor was I the day's custodial parent, you can imagine my surprise and heart-in-throat response to his phone number calling mine that morning.  "Mom", his desperate voice asked... "I found a kitten in a ditch, by a tree, she's tiny and there's no momma cat here,  can I bring her home, she's scared and her eyes are so blue and she's so little mom, can I keep her, I'll take care of her, please mom..."  His sentences ran together, his desperate words pouring out, my son barely taking a breath between.

Instantly I thought "no", for a million reasons.  However, by the time he finished with his plea, I had, in my mind's eye, the vision of two young men, toting shotguns, bent over a helpless teeny kitten, concern and excitement written all over their faces.  Somehow, I lost all sense of reason and I said yes.

It occurred to me later in the day that he was the kid of mine that had been slightly allergic to cats as a little boy.  I called him back to ask if she was making his eyes water.  I was having reservations and was about to back-track in my decision...  He said yes, his eyes were a little watery.  So I asked if he was puffy and itchy too.  He answered, "Oh, wait no!  I'm not allergic to her, my eyes are watering a little because she is so helpless and her eyes are so blue..."

This boy makes my heart happy.

When they got home with her, I had the usual mom-to-child Responsibility Lecture prepared and seamlessly presented.  My son, who has been 45 years old since birth and, more often than not, is more responsible then both of his parents combined, readily agreed to the terms. After some discussion, he determined that she would be our Daisy.

Over the last five days things have not gone quite like I had planned.

Daisy, who would easily fit inside a Dr. Pepper can, has assigned herself to me.  She drunkenly jumps after me in a tottering kitten sideways run as I walk from room to room.  She cries by the shower until I get out and purrs when I lean down and say her name.  She waits, expectantly, on the floor by my bed watching for me to wake up and forces her way beneath blankets next to me on the couch each evening. She is hopelessly beautiful.

The eldest of my children has, without fail, exceeded the expectations of the terms and conditions set before him, and the other two have declared themselves "cat people". 

I give up.  I have a cat.  Sorry son, you'll have to get your own.

 

There's nothing cliche here at all people, keep moving...

 

She's pretty sure I can't see her behind the Q-tips, she's right.

The mighty hunter returns with a Dollop of Daisy 

(The commercial jingle is getting a little over-sung here, you might imagine) 

The 365

Dates are important to me.  Well, some dates.  I'm sorry to admit, Mr. B., although you were a fascinating teacher and story teller, most of History's dates haven't stuck with me any longer than necessary for passing the quizzes excepting a few... But the ones that pertain to my life, stick a little too well at times.

Anywho, because I'm that kind of girl, tonight is a teensy nostalgic, sorta lonely and completely ridiculous.  I have yet to work out the mess in my head connected to this date, not to mention one or two rapidly approaching next week.

I'm sick of grasping at protective emotions as a coping mechanism.  I'm tired of "looking at the bright side" as if I could actually see something usable there.  So today, since sleep beat me up again last night, I took a nap.  Twice.   The naps helped, at least as far as "going through the motions" is concerned, but tonight I'm afraid will be longer than last night.  I've determined to set my mind on What Is, not on What Isn't. I've been going through the pages of pictures of memories and change this little family of mine has experienced in 365 days, I'll share:

Last October we took our first "new" family vacation.  We went "home" for me- Paradise Valley, MT.  I love fall colors, barns, mountains, wildlife, and Yellowstone. I can't believe how much I had missed this place.

On this trip I drug along another single mom and her kids.  We took an insane number of detours to find photo-graphical barns.  We ate in every restaurant in Gardiner (which is not hard to do in three days).  We even bought the nonsense touristy stuff I swore I'd never own.

With very little cell service, ridiculous music blasting on repeat- with 5 partially tone-deaf children singing along at the top of their lungs, a good cup of coffee and a sweet friend, THIS was a perfect vacation:

December brought a new adventure.  We packed up snow gear, food, gifts and clothes and headed south to Northern Arizona.  The kids hadn't been to see Grandma and Grandpa in years, in fact only one even remembered their house.  We had a sweet time reconnecting with two of my brothers, a niece that had never laid eyes on her cousins, and my parents.  There was more snow there than what we had back in Montana, so the kids spent the days teaching their Californian cousin how to build snow creatures.  We spent the final day of vacation at the Grand Canyon.  It cannot be stressed enough:  I LOVE my family.  All of them, even the quirky ones....

In February, I was invited to crash my sister's party in San Antonio.  Her husband had been there for weeks of Guard training and she was heading down to visit him.  Tickets to S.A. from MT are cheap, more doable on a Single Mom Budget than a ticket to Alaska, so I was all over that invitation.  Besides, it's Texas... in February.  I went and did some inviting of my own.  San Antonio is where my brother D and his wife K lived when they met, so they've got lots of special memories there.  They were easily convinced and they brought my nephew along too...


D and I had more fun than any two adults should be allowed to have in the rain, on a playground.  I'm pretty sure we broke this jeep, but ask me how much I care:

As March turned into April, I was in Seattle.  Among other things, my services were required as it pertains to teaching the short people how to dance at Pink and sampling FAR too much food at trendy downtown restaurants.  The dancing was mostly successful, if you consider Chicken Dancing a genre, and the food passed the inspection of my delicate palate.

Not enough can be said about my four days in the Sea-Tac area.  I will say, not a drop of rain fell until I was on my way to the airport to leave.  I'm not saying it was me, but it was.  The trip was legendary, and quite possibly a movie will be made...

Nearly a dozen years of calling this woman "friend" has, at times, made the unbearable, bearable.  I trust her with anything.  How is it possible that a woman like me is surrounded with this caliber of human?  Someday, I'd like to be HALF the wife, mom, chef, fitness guru, and deep well of wisdom, strength, humor and beauty as this one...

Two quickly became four... Seattle called, they miss us.  I'm coming back, be prepared.

The great thing about my life is that I'm inundated with SO many quality friends!  After recovering from my trip out West, I was happily convinced to take my first trip to Vegas, for my 35th birthday.  Well, a pre-birthday, birthday trip, really.  This woman would be my sister, if I was the one choosing.  In fact, my kids call her "Aunt".  I went with no expectations and came home completely satisfied.  I cannot confirm or deny how MUCH shopping we did, but I will say someone had to buy additional luggage and it barely closed.  Oh, and Vegas made a small world smaller when I found a few of my Alaska girls there too.  Thirty five is my favorite year so far.

Immediately following Vegas, we got the news that my Grandfather was about to pass away.  I'm leaving a lot out here, because there's too much emotion and too many crazy details, but my little sister and I, miraculously, were able to drive to Arkansas together.  After 20 years, the place looked the same as it has last time I was there, the people did not.  Grandpa passed away the day before my actual birthday, so I spent my birthday with this part of my family for the first time in my life.  Avoiding the hard part of the story, I'll fast forward to the part I love:  Even in the tough stuff of life, I was blessed beyond my expectations.  Love, Mercy, Compassion, Forgiveness and Peace mingled with laughter and tears.  

My sister and I spent my birthday together.  This was the best gift.  The blessing of helping Grandma pick out funeral flowers was strangely sweet:

Summer was tough, like I've told you previously on this blog.  I did, however, find myself laughing from time to time:

There was a wedding party to style, along with some rain to dance in.  We smiled a LOT on this day...

There was a vicarious return trip to Seattle as a head on a stick.  The girls took me to dinner and a concert.  I should add that it's the best date I've had all year aaaand they kept me up to date via text the whole night.  I have never enjoyed a night of texting so much.

There were countless evenings like this one, with my fake sister-in-law.  She's always good for something.  Whether it be a two mile walk after an eleven hour day on my feet, you know, to clear my head... or a whole day of "grammin" (photo taking/editing).  This one can make a stranger grin, just by the sound of her laugh.  She's a truth speaker too...  Sometimes, uncomfortably so.  I need this in my life.  I love her for her nonsense, depth, integrity, wisdom, sense of humor, experience, insight and honesty.

I picked up a new habit.  It made me meet new people.  It made me smile, a lot.  It's a healthy way to let go of a hard day. 

We went to a couple of the MCB concerts.  I grinned.  And danced.  And sang.

















I shot stuff.  I killed paper, cardboard, glass and aluminum... possibly some dirt.  I smiled. It felt fantastic.

This is my fake big sister.  She is just as fun as she looks here.  She is full of perspective and experience and mercy.  Did I mention she also loves shoes?  Most of my days start with her cheery voice.  Many of my afternoons are peppered with her wisdom.  If my waistline has expanded this year, it's her fault.  She. Is. Fantastic.

I don't usually like purple dinosaurs.  On this day, I did.  I smiled and my kids weren't even embarrassed of me. (Not that I would have cared, mind you, it's my job!)

Concerts and the Fair brought a smile and a giggle or two.  This guy, obviously, is now a friend.  He wears the right team colors.  Also, he's full of humility and depth and grace.  What's another brother, when you've already got five?

We had a photo shoot for our salon's website.  We did get a usable one too, but more importantly, we had FUN.  I think I've told you recently how much these women mean to me...

There was an 80's themed dodge ball team, they insisted we play...  We took home a tourney trophy, for all the wrong reasons.  I did embarrass my kids on this day.  I'm not even slightly sorry.

The Beartooth Pass made me smile.

Barefoot dancing in the snow on the pass made me laugh.

Baseball games with friends were ridiculously fun.

The girl and I ran four 5k races this summer, with one more on the calendar in a few weeks.  She is faster than her mom.  She makes me so proud.

My first, and most definitely not the last, NFL game:  Broncos vs. Steelers, Game One of the regular season.  The kids even cheered for their mom's team back at home.  Dad's team choked.  "It wasn't a surprise" according to one of the offspring; I'll never tell who.  This made me smile, endlessly.

Finally, this fall I was able to take my kids and my fake sister-in-law to South Dakota for this year's "new" family vacation.  We had some amazing conversations and experiences.  I do expect that on this day next year, life will look much different.  However, I have a very good life.  I have grown in a million ways internally, nearly as fast as my children have grown physically.  More importantly, they are amazingly grounded, thoughtful, respectful, intelligent and well adjusted.  

...well, the well-adjusted part is open for interpretation...

Goodnight.