Home for the Holidays

Ahhh, the Holidays.
When family gathers from afar to laugh, love, smile and enjoy one another's comany.
Hmmm.
I wonder if my family missed the instruction manual on Holidays.

You know, I laugh with my family (ok, really at), I love my family (most of the time), I smile with my family (through gritted teeth), and I enjoy their company (for about 5 minutes).

Is this loving, functional family scenario a fairy tale? Does it truly exist? Or is it just stuff of legend, floating on the winds of time for those who wish it to be true.

I have never really experienced this loving family thing myself. At least not in full doses.
I fear this is like the falling dream myth. You know, the one where "they" (whoever they are) say that if you hit the ground in your dream, you will die. I am afraid that if I ever experience this loving family scenario for real, my heart would not be able to handle it. I would just keel over.

Now I do have a friend who tells me of a family outing that she had with her functional family as a child. She tells of a sunny day in an amusement park full of laughter and fun. How the family of four stepped into a cylindrical tube (the one that goes round and round while you try to walk through), and subsequently fell over one another laughing until she wet her pants.

Well, I find that hard to swallow. Mainly because for starters, you would never find my family at an amusement park together. There would have been too much fighting and the parental figure (notice only ONE here) would have just turned the car around and gone home (with a few over the seat backhands to boot). Then, comes the whole "laughter and fun" part of it. "Too much money, too many people, this is just stupid" Would have replaced that. Then, the whole "everyone on the same ride" thing? Seriously. I mean really. I won't even go into what would have happened if I had wet my pants in public! Hooboy.

I have searched for this elusive bit of harmonized relationships within my family tree and have not yet seen it. I believe that I may have spotted glimpses of it at other households, in other trees, but it remains hidden within my own.

The fairy tale remains just that, a fairy tale. A legend. Something to wish for and hope for.
A happily ever after.

So until I find that bit of pixie dust floating around at a family gathering, I will continue to enjoy my family the only way I can.

Laughing with my family (ok, really at), loving my family (most of the time), smiling with my family (through gritted teeth), and enjoying their company (for about 5 minutes).

The love of a Mother

I love my Mother. I really do.
I just can't stand her.

Ok. So I know how God has said to honor your Mother and your Father...but I am having a bit of a problem with this. The Dad thing isn't so bad because I never see him. Oh I run into him at the grocery store or Costco, but I stand and make idle chat and then leave. It's all really superficial.
My Mother, well, that's another story.

I have a movie, a home-made movie, that I purchased from a Disney internet site. The movie is of a couple of shows of Bill Hill and the Hillbillies in DisneyLand.
The movement is jerky and the sound has much room for improvement. And it makes me laugh the whole time. I sing with the songs, and I find that I smile through the whole presentation. It's fun.
So (stupid me) I thought that I would bring it over to my Grandmother's house while my Mother is here and let her watch it and experience some of the joy.
I was wrong.

I am sure that she was a fun and happy person at some point in time...like maybe when she was 5. But take fun, happiness, joy, carefreeness (is that a word?), and any other airy, dreamy or whispy characteristic and mush them all together. Then take a rock and pound until all crinkled and crushed, then ignite and burn until nothing but ash.
That's my Mom.

I guess I have trouble understanding the toll hatred and bitterness can take on the human heart, the life of a soul.
How sad that she can't see past the barrier that she has built for herself.
Now I know that most people have some sort of barrier. I have one myself..that I am chipping away at. However my Mother's barrier is made of steel and barbed wire. It is cold and gray and hard. It brings in no warmth or light.

Maybe someday she can know what it is like to have the heart of a child. To love, smile, laugh, and have her soul filled with joy.

I wish that for my Mother.
Because I love her.

cleaning house...part II

I feel that I am in a losing battle...with myself because you see,
I went camping.

I was cleaning my house, had not yet gotten to my car. And I was going camping.
Seeing as how I had to haul up my various outdoorsy attire, I had to be able to fit it into my rig.
...and that wasn't happening until I cleaned out my trooper. Hmmm.
Do you see my dilemma? Maybe not, but my trooper was full of stuff that, like my house, I am reluctant to let go of.
Soooo....
What did I do with all of the stuff that has been my constant traveling companion?
Most of it went into my living room.

Funny. I relate my house and my car to my current mental/spiritual/emotional state.
It's interesting that when I clean up one area, I justify messing it up again in the name of clearing out another.

In other words, I am not really cleaning.
I am just moving my junk around to:
1) Make room for even MORE junk, and
2) Try to make something clean when all I have done is just make it LOOK clean.
Interesting.

What lies do you believe

In a recent Ladies Bible Study class that I attend, I was asked this question: "What lies do you believe? "
Hmmm. This is not a very easy question for me to answer. In fact I find it nearly impossible.
I have not been in the habit of life-long self evaluation, although in the last few months I have been faced with this inner-observation type of questioning more and more.
What lies do I believe.
Isn't this an oxy-moron? If I knew they were lies, why would I believe them? If I believe them, then chances are I have no clue that there is little or no truth to them.
Now, I know what the author is digging for here. I'm not ignorant to the fact. Yet, I still was having trouble pinning something down.
Can you believe a lie so inherently that it becomes truth? Yes. I believe you can.
So I guess the better question is: "What truths do you believe that are not conducive to your well-being and overall emotional state?"
It doesn't sound as poetic but I think it better reflects my thought process.
What truths do I believe?

I believe that I will never be married because no one will ever want to be that close to me.
I believe that I try desperately to make people think that I am emotionally strong and that I don't care what other people think of me.
I believe that if I am busy, I won't hurt so much.
I believe that if I continue to stay over-weight, then I can blame my weight for me not being attractive to anyone.
I believe that I am not good enough to be a wife or mother.
I believe that if I am funny then people won't notice my other shortcomings.
I believe that people who pay compliments to me are doing so out of pity.

These are my truths. I did not write them to instill an outpouring of pity or a barrage of compliments or whatever.
In fact, I would actually prefer any readers to not address me in person regarding this post.
I'm not very good at face to face conversations with personal things like this. I'm actually pretty lazy when it comes to uncovering these precious little treasures and I'm ok with that. At least for now.

The Mountains

Have you ever felt "drawn" to something so much that you could feel the ache in your bones?
I know this may sound stupid, but I have been pre-occupied with one thought now for several weeks, and this week it is getting bad. That one thought?

The Mountains.

You know, memory is a powerful thing. The body can retain a visual memory, but it can also retain audible, olfactory and sensory memories.
Every time I start concentrating on ANYTHING, I start "hearing", "feeling" and "smelling" the mountains.
I hear birds, feel the cool air, smell the evergreens and douglas firs.
It is such an overwhelmingly calm experience that I find I want to stay there...which can be a bit of a problem since I have a normal life.

I wish that I could make others understand what physiological changes take place when I am in the mountains.
I never really realized that there was a physical change until a couple of years ago.

The Craftsman had an opportunity to head up to a camp facility in the mountains for a weekend "retreat". I rode up with Dan and Mary, so I was sitting in the back seat just watching the scenery. As we climbed in altitude, the horizon gradually became greener, the shade became darker and the air became cooler. And I felt myself become calmer. I became increasingly aware that my heartbeat was slowing. My arms and legs began to relax. I could feel tension releasing it's grip.
I was so amazed I could feel this, could actually watch it happening.

I love to camp.
I love to camp in cooler weather (the heat makes me miserable). I love to be in the mountains. I love the sounds of birds singing, a creek rushing by. The feel of a breeze blowing through the trees.
I love getting up in the morning and having trouble starting a fire because your fingers are numb with cold.
I love sitting and talking and playing board and card games with friends.
I love scooching up next to the camp fire in the afternoon with a blanket wrapped around me.
I love singing songs around a camp fire, and I love looking at a mountain night sky filled with stars.

I thank God that He has given us this most incredible gift of nature to enjoy, and I plan on doing just that this weekend.

A Clean House

I have started to clean my house.

I know that may not be a huge statement for most, but for those who know me, or by rare occasion have actually stepped into my incredibly humble abode, you realize how huge of a statement that really is.

Now, I was not raised in a dirty or messy home. Nor was I raised with bad cleaning habits.
Every Saturday was cleaning day, growing up. My room was cleaned, my laudry was washed, and we (my brother, sister and I)had to pick a portion of the house to pick up, wipe down and vaccuum.

Those particular duties have not followed me, however, as I have moved on into adult-hood. I am not comfortable in a spic-and-span home. I like a "lived-in" feel.
Yet, I taken that to extremes.

I can leave my dishes in the sink for extended periods of time, let my laundry pile up and let my living room become a virtual dumping ground for anything that happens to wander into it.

My excuse, as always, is that I am too busy to deal with it. I leave my home in the early morning hours between 7:00 and 8:00am and make it back to darken my doorway somewhere between 9:00 and midnight...sometimes later.

I was accused once by a neighbor of renting an apartment for storage, since I seemed never to occupy the space.

Interestingly enough, on my road to self discovery I am learning some things about myself.
One of these is the realization that my house is a direct reflection of my mental mindset.

I have found that when I harbor negative emotions, when I have things that I don't want to deal with, when I have trouble facing certain things, it is then that my house (not to mention my car) are the messiest.
I treat my house the same way I treat my mental/emotional/spiritual "home".
I ignore it. I keep it a mess. I choose not to look at it.

The problem with that logic is, well, it just keeps getting messier. These things don't just go away (duh), they just keep getting messier.
It starts to get inconvenient. I trip over things. I can't find what I am looking for, and it invites other things into the mess. Spiders, ants, mice.

In the "cleaning process" of my m/e/s "home", I am finding that I am losing tolerance of the mess in my house.
I notice things that I normally wouldn't. I take the time to pick up things that I normally let lie. I have a desire to do my dishes right away rather than "save them for later". And I am starting to open the door to let visitors in.

Now, my house is not spotless. I doubt it ever will be. Like I said, I like a "lived in feel". Yet I am tiring of old messes. I want to clean things up right away rather than let things lie. I want to catch and do away with creatures that sneak into my home, rather than let them lurk where they're not supposed to be.

This post, in and of itself, is a confession and an admission of the messes in my life.
When my car is so messy that I can't let one person in. When my doors stay locked and my blinds stay closed.
These are the times when I am messiest. When I refuse to look at the garbage that I have collected.

Thank you to those of you who have unwittingly helped me in the cleaning process. Those of you who have commented on my vehicle looking like a traveling yard sale. Those of you who have darkened my doorway, pounding on the door until I answered..even though the conversations took place on the porch or through the door's small window.

I will soon have an empty couch to sit on and a clean dish to eat from. And a welcome mat at the door.

You have been blessings to me in more ways than you will ever know and I love you.

Tag: Back'atcha Johno

A book that changed my life besides the Bible:
Hand Me Another Brick by Chuck Swindoll


A book I’ve read more than once:
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
by Douglas Adams


A book I would take with me if I were stuck on a desert island:
Camping and Wilderness Survival: The Ultimate Outdoors Book
by Paul Tawrell


A book that made me laugh:
Good In Bed by Jennifer Weiner


A book that I wish had been written:
As soon as I type this out, someone will let me know that
it has been written...


A book that I wish had never been written:
Another Roadside Attraction by Tom Robbins


A book I’ve been meaning to read:
Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis


I’m currently reading:
Deadly Emotions (&) What Would Jesus Eat (both) by Don Colbert, MD and
New Glucose Revolution Guide to Living Well with PCOS by a bunch of different people.

The dog that returns to it's vomit

"I will never be the same again,
I can never return, I've closed the door.
I will walk the path, I'll run the race,
And I will never be the same again".

The beginning words to this song are sad to me.
They are sad because they don't necessarily ring true.
Yes, you can NEVER be the same again. Once you have died to sin and been given the gift of eternal life, you really can't be the same. Yet I have seen someone I love dearly return to the bonds and chains that used to enslave him.

It physically hurts. There is real pain associated with observing someone else's bondage.
What hurts most, though, is knowing that you might have been able to help keep someone's freedom.

My brother is a Meth addict. He had been doing meth for almost a decade when he was able to hear God calling him to a better life. He took God up on His offer and gave his life over to Him.
What a change. What a difference. For the first time in my life I had a brother. A real brother. Not just a relative, but a brother in Christ. That was incredible. I talked to him about the spiritual bond we now shared. The gifts that we were both given.

But that relationship began to wane. My brother began to have problems that he couldn't, or didn't have the tools, to handle. He was overwhelmed.

What did his dear sister do? Nothing. Really, nothing. Oh I prayed. But what action did I take?
Not one. Did I go to him and confront him? No. Did I go seek counsil on his behalf? No. Did I stand up and take the arrows that the Enemy so precisely aimed at him? No.
I stood on the sidelines. I whined and complained. I was not what God has called me to be as a Sister. A Christian Sister.

Now, my brother is once again suffering from the active addiction to Meth. He has dug himself a hole I'm not sure that he can climb out of...without help.
I am here, forgiving my brother 70x7 times for the hurtful, drug-induced actions that he has taken against his family. This doesn't mean that I am not angry. I am.
I am hurting for my brother, who has allowed the evilness of his addiction to dictate some very bad actions.

I do not take responsibility for his actions, but for my In-action.

He is my brother. May he, and God, forgive me.

The Stars Make Sense

Have you ever looked up into the night sky and seen stars? I'm not a true star-gazer. I usually happen to look up because I am thinking or perhaps just to take a moment. I can make out the North Star, the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. I can usually pick out Venus (that is the one right next to the moon?) and, of course, the moon. And if I'm lucky, I can catch a shooting star or a meteor shower.

How amazing, the night sky. But have you ever looked up and seen no stars? Not because of cloud cover, but just because there was too much light?
Living in a city, I know that the further out of town I go, the more stars I am able to see. That is only because there is less and less artificial light to interfere with the celestial light. And when I am up in the mountains, the darkness really brings out the brightness of the stars.
But there was one night that puts all others to shame. I have not seen another night like it before or since.

I was in Tuba City Arizona three years ago for a short term mission trip. Tuba City is on the Navaho Indian Reservation. That is smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.
On one of the last nights in Tuba City, there was a city-wide power outage. No light for 50 miles. Now it was late, and the only reason I actually came out of the bunk-house was because the air conditioner went off. As I stepped out the front door onto the sidewalk, I was confronted with a truly awesome sight.

Stars. Not just stars, but millions upon millions of stars. And galaxies. And I don't even know what else I could see there, but it was magnificent.
And I wasn't the only one standing in the desert night air with my head hanging back and my mouth hanging open. There we stood, for how long I don't know. But when the power came back on, and there were lights again, the galaxies dissappeard. The millions upon million of stars just became the few that I am used to seeing. The North Star, the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper.

Now, they really didn't dissappear. They are still there. The difference, I am realizing, is the light. When there is light from sources other than the heavens, it diminishes my view. But when my only light is from the heavens, then I can see all that the heavens have to offer.

My pondering question. Do I do that in my spiritual life, my Christian walk?
Do I allow other artificial "lights" to interfere and cloud my vision of what spiritual things are going on around me?

I know that there have been occasions where I have extinguished all other "lights" in my life and allowed the Light of God to be my only source.

Wow, what a difference. What an awesome, and sometimes scary gift, this Light of God. It is truly amazing what I can see when I use God's light instead of my own.

Yet, the things that I see with God's light? They are always there. They have always been there. Whether I use my light or God's light doesn't change that. What changes is my ability to see, and my appreciation of what is there. I think I will choose to practice using God's light instead of my own. My light doesn't shine near as bright as God's.

What an incredible gift, to see with the Light of God.

Femininity

Femininity.

What IS femininity?

The very word emits visions of coy smiles, flowing tresses, billowing skirts and fluttering eyelashes. This is a word that I have been wholy unfamiliar with. Not that I haven't, on rare occasion and failed miserably, attempted to assume that very image.

Oh, how I wish that I could snap my fingers and be transformed into the stunning princess who causes the rise or fall of princes, paupers, villians, or kings.

Women have used their femininity for both good and evil throughout history.

Biblically and historically speaking, women have used their femininity through the ages to cause nations to fall or help save entire peoples from extinction. They have used it to cause the death of great men, and weaken the strong. To stand ready in battle, or risk their own lives to help save others.

Yet, this still does not answer the question, What IS femininity?

Is it a super secret power? A special tool? An invisible force?
Femininity can be seen. It can be felt.
So yes, it IS a power. It IS a tool. And it IS a force.

I grew up a tomboy. I played in trees and shot BB guns. I ran around in orchards and caught grasshoppers.
I wore toughskin jeans and sweatshirts. My hair was always short, My face was always red and sweaty and dirty.

And I know grown women who could pull off every single one of these things...and never lose touch with their femininity.

I am coming to find that femininity is not a how or a who. It is a what.

I said earlier that I had attempted to assume the image of femininity. I now realize that I have been approaching this incorrectly. Femininity is not an image. I have taken the qualities that I have attributed to femininity and superimposed them onto a frame. I have cut and pasted them into a picture of a woman. I am, and have always been, wrong.

Femininity is an attitude.

It is from the deepest recesses of the heart. It seeps through the pores and scents the air with a fragrance of all things woman. It is strength, weakness, power, humility, discipline, love. It is happiness, sadness, anger and joy.
It is hope and peace and assurance.

I have, at last, caught a glimpse of myself all-together feminine, and I like what I saw.

Why?

Why?
Why am I not an alcoholic sitting on a bar stool every night begging for a drink in a drunken stupor?
Why am I not a burned-out pot-head zoning in someone's living room whom I don't even know scraping together what I can to buy my next ounce.
Why am I not sitting on an oxygen machine while I pick a half-smoked cigarette butt out of an overfull ashtray?
Why am I not sitting in a jail cell for theft of an item that I really didn't need?
Why am I not crying in an alley about the man who refused to take me home-or did?
Why am I not regretting every single day of my life because I made some stupid split-second mistake that could have cost someone else their's?
Why?
Why was I spared?
Why is my path so different than the one I started out on?
Why does it seem that others are so comfortable staying on that path?
Why can't they see what I see?
Why do I always seem to land on my feet when my sister and brother don't?
Why?
Why am I so concerned about things that aren't eternal?
Why do I get nervous about things that don't matter?
Why am I afraid to let myself get hurt?
Why am I afraid to love anyone?

The unemployment line

Time just flies when you're having fun....
But it drags and drags when you're unemployed!

It just stinks, you know? You put in your time, you work your tail off, you try to do the best you can and then "Whammo!" you're in the street.

Ok, so it wasn't like that. At least it sort of wasn't like that. My job is no more. My business is no more. What really bites is that there really isn't anyone with which to take out any anger. Stinks stinks stinks.

What I really dislike is looking for another job. It's like a divorce...really. You have a family, a home. You share your secrets, desires. You know your co-worker's likes and dislikes. Their families.
And then they're gone.

I am still in mourning I guess. Grieving a lost home and family. Uprooted and forced to find a new life.

Dramatic? Perhaps.
Over the top? Maybe.

Did I love my job and co-workers? Definately.

Now I have to try to find a new home, and in this type of market...it's not going to be easy.

Self Prophetic

Isn't it funny when you set out to do something, like-say...start blogging, and you make a comment not unlike the one in my one and only previous post regarding keeping up with the posting-and then don't?
Silly silly silly.
The story of my life.

You know what? My life gets in the way of me. That doesn't sound right, doesn't look right.
But it is correct. It has always been that way. My life comes first. I come second.
What vast array of particles make up "My Life"?
Work. Church. Family. Friends. Finances. Duty. Responsibility. Expectation. Grief. Pain. Joy.
Exhaustion. Laziness. Happiness. Sadness.
I am sure that I could come up with more splintered pieces of the puzzle that is "My Life".
But that is just what it says. It is My Life. The one thing that is missing is Me.

I have a friend who found "me" a couple of years ago.

Now, I don't know if you know anything about structural integrity, I don't know much. But what I do know is this; it only takes a small crack in the foundation to bring down a giant of a structure.
The structure in this case is years of self-vows, hiding, constant chastising and unworthiness.
These have been my constant companions over much of 31 years. Sad, but I am comfortable here. I know my way around. I have laid brick upon brick, diligently glued together with the best mortar I know: emotional self-preservation.

Funny thing this building. Before long you may come to realize that the structure you have built has become your prison. No way in, no way out. But like I said, this is where I am comfortable.

Yet I have a friend. A friend who is not satisfied with seeing me through prison walls. A friend who cannot accept that the structure he is looking at is actually me. A friend who has taken the time to chisel away at the foundation of what I have passed off as me.

I still have a long way to go before the last brick has fallen and I have found better companions to live with. I am unsure what shape or form "me" is taking, but I know that this has been, and will continue to be, a slow painful process.

I am new to "me".

Thank you Dan, for the sweat of your brow and blistered hands.

Dirty Laundry

So, this is my first post.
I have never kept a diary, and I have always considered blogging a sort of 'Jerry Springer-ish' type of laundry-airing. Now I know that is totally unfair, but I can't help that my first formed opinion of blogging has lodged itself deeply into my brain and I can't seem to rid myself of it.
I am sure then, that the question that immediately arises is, "Well then, why are you blogging?".
To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. Maybe I need a generic audience to which to air my laundry. Maybe I am challenged to do some soul searching and give said results validation by puting them on screen. Maybe it's because someone else asked me if I wanted to try blogging.
Whatever the reason, I have started. And hopefully, it will not end up like so many other things that I start. Things that are shiny and new and fun that end up in the corner, in pieces, forgotten.