Intermittently... not just a BNL song anymore

A Time for Mourning

2012-01-20T14:45:00.003-05:00

Life is fragile. I think we all know that, somewhere under the surface. I think that if you asked the random person on the street, they would agree, to some degree or another, that the statement "Life is fragile" is true. Sometimes, it just becomes blindingly clear.

In recent days, I've become more and more aware of this somewhat basic thought. Life is, indeed, fragile. Some recent losses: my friend's 30-year-old son, my sister-in-law's 30-year-old friend, my best friend's unborn child, and just last night, my aunt. Some recent fragile circumstances: a friend who is starting dialysis for kidney failure at the age of 29, a co-worker who fell and broke both her elbows, my boss's dad's heart disease, my own dad's pulmonary emboli, my husband's neck pain, and on and on and on. Life is indeed fragile, all around me.

My life is fragile. Just a change in my step can break my ankle. Just a change in eating habits can change my health, for better or for worse. Just a change in my personal hygiene can create health or death. It's very fragile. There's something beautiful there, though. Something beautiful in the fragility, and even the brokenness.

Can you imagine that the God of the universe entrusted us with something so precious and so fragile? Can you imagine that His heart is all tied up in our lives, to the point that He would join into this fragile humanity and do it with us, even through a brutal death? How beautiful it is, that we can share that with the Author of it all!

Perhaps the fragility is there so that we aren't blinded to eternity. If it wasn't so temporary, perhaps we would forget that there's more than just this life.

Just a thought. Hug your loved ones. Make sure they know you care. Pray for others.

Much love.
LL~

Saying Thank You

2011-11-29T12:03:00.007-05:00

All of the Thank You notes for our September wedding are now done. Shame on me for taking so long to get them out. Yes, I know that there's approximately a two-month grace period for newlyweds. Yes, I know, I exceeded that. Shame on me.

I've discovered that writing wedding thank you notes is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. Not that the WRITING of the thank you notes was all that hard, in and of itself, but that saying "Thank you" to such people was incredibly difficult.

How do you thank the people who have made you who you are? How do you say "thank you" for a gift, knowing that what you're really thanking them for is their very presence in your life?

Here are some examples.

My parents: How do you thank them for a whole wedding (which, oh yeah, my dad officiated, as well as giving me away, organizing, and paying), plus all that they instilled in me to make me the person who was ready to get married?

My godparents: How do you thank them for coming halfway across the country, helping with all of the decorating and tearing down, helping to officiate (as my dad was giving me away), and a sizeable wedding gift?

My Matron of Honor: How do I thank her for being a thousand miles (plus plus) away from her husband for TEN days to help me get ready, a massive bash (requiring an extra plus-sized suitcase which she had to check both directions for flights) of a bachelorette party, a thousand gifts and thoughtful gestures, the hundreds of pictures she took, oh, yeah, and the fact that she knows me so well and still likes me?

And those are just a few of the incredible people in my life.

While I know that one little note is incapable of expressing that of which my heart is so full, I tried. Probably pathetically. But, I tried. I handwrote notes to people who deserve so much more, and then regretted that those who had given so much would get so little in return. I belong to the school of thought that would say that saying thank you is the important part, and that saying it in my own handwriting, in as thoughtful a manner as I could is the goal (which I did); it all still feels inadequate somehow.

I suppose that, when it's all said and done, I need to make sure that I live my life in such a way that those who have poured into it will be honored. Still working on that. Will be for a very long time, I believe.

Much love.
LL~

Why Do I Want a Clean Home?

2011-10-06T10:03:00.003-05:00

I have recently downloaded and begun working through a book called "31 Days to Clean: Having a Martha House the Mary Way" by Sarah Mae. I'm not a "dirty" person, but I'm not a neat freak, and trying to keep things neat and straight when my best efforts are thwarted by me is intensely frustrating for this Maximizer. As I start married life, there are things I want to do from the beginning, so I don't have to backtrack later (for instance, when I'm having kids, or company arrives, or whatever) to try to incorporate good habits that are much easier to just do all the time. One of those things is getting the house organized and put away, NOW.

For those who don't know, my handsome husband and I are remodeling his/our house. All my stuff has come to live here, with me (since September 10th) and in varying degrees since I moved to Greenville in March. The crowning moment was when we got married and I moved completely out of the apartment. We had a commitment not to sleep together or live together until marriage, but moving my THINGS over the course of 6 months was MUCH easier than trying to fit a move in between the wedding and honeymoon. Well, we're up to our ears in stuff, mine, his, ours, wedding, presents, honeymoon, and to top it all off, the remodeling isn't done. So we're preparing to start redoing the master bedroom and bath, while the whole house is in upheaval. Smart, eh?

Anyway, it is the dream in my heart to have a home that is welcoming, and piles of stuff are NOT welcoming. I want to be able to have the widow down the street over for coffee, our community group in for the weekly meeting, or a party, or simply have our friend's daughter come bake with me. I don't feel like I can do those things right now.

So, I got this book, and I'm beginning to read. Now. Before my heart breaks with the mess. The first day's reading asks, "Why clean?" and I thought that it would be wise to put my answer in writing, so I'd remember. So I'd have a place to go where I can be reminded, when it's tough and there's construction dust everywhere and my clothes STILL don't have a home, and our bed is in the living room.

So. Why do I want a clean home?

I want a clean home so that when my husband comes home from work, he wants to be here. I want a clean home so that when we or others enter this place we see Jesus and not a mess. I want a clean home so that I can create an environment like the one in which I was raised-- one that is welcoming and comfortable and safe. I want a clean home so that I can be at rest and be inviting to others who may need rest and blessing. I want a clean home so that I don't feel frantic inside. I want to be able to engage myself with my husband, our family and friends, whenever needed, and not feel torn between what I "have" to do and what I ought to do. I want a clean home so that I can more adequately be as I am created to be-- an Image Bearer of the God of the universe.

I think that about sums it up.

Much love.

LL~

Humbled

2011-10-03T14:06:00.002-05:00

Over the last month, I have been humbled, time and time again, by the amazing people in my life. I'm hoping to get some posts up here in coming days about the events of the wedding and honeymoon, post pictures, etc. Some of what I want to show is how incredible my friends and family are. Truly my friends ARE family, as much as (and in many cases) more than some of the blood relatives. That was showcased beautifully in the times I shared with these loved ones in this last month.

The scads of thank you notes I'm penning aside, how do you begin to thank the people who have built you? I'm so honored and humbled to be part of this family, extended with people we've chosen and have chosen us, and hope to some day be the kind of person who is worthy of such grace.

Much love.
LL~

GAAAAAAAACK!

2011-08-19T23:38:00.002-05:00

OK, so my hormones are out of control crazy, and this week has been something less than (significantly so) smooth.. Have you ever just wanted to rip someone else's hair out and scream maniacally? If so, then you can relate to how I've been feeling this week.

Lest I be accused of bridezillism, I must say that the wedding/planning isn't stressing me out. (My fiance's boss informing us a mere week in advance of our travel date that he's changed his mind about when Mark can leave for the wedding-- by a FULL WEEK? Why, yes, that is inflaming my crazy. Thank you for asking.) I really am still enjoying all the wedding preparations, and loving being engaged, too.

Sometimes you just have to vent. All done. Now, I'm going to try to sleep for a full night, then keep trying to tamp down the hormones. Wish me luck.

Much love.
L~

So Loved T-shirt Giveaway from Wild Olive Tees!

2011-08-02T12:55:00.002-05:00

Pulled from the Wild Olive Tees blog:

We are excited to announce an extraordinary giveaway for our newest tee, So
Loved.

So
Loved was created to help bring Esther home from China to her forever family.
Two months before coming home, Esther passed away from a virus that was
complicated by her heart defect. We are proud to carry “So Loved” in our store
in honor of Esther, and orphans around the world, so that God’s love will be
glorified.

100% of the proceeds of the sale of each So Loved tee will be
used to fund a future heart surgery for an orphan in China.

In
remembrance of Esther, and as a celebration of her birthday today, we are giving
away 15 So Loved tees!

Since Esther is SO LOVED by us at Wild
Olive, we wanted to make this giveaway extra special. Here is what you need to
do to enter:
■Do a spontaneous act of kindness for someone in Jesus’ name.
“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life,
by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom.” James 3:13-14 Post a
comment here, telling us about it. (5 entries)
■Post about our So Loved
charity tee on your blog including our So Loved button and spread the word
about our Giveaway to Remember. (1 entry)
■Tweet about our giveaway and our
So Loved charity tee. (1 entry)
■Post about our giveaway AND our So Loved
tee on your facebook page. Please leave a comment on our fan page as well. (1
entry)
■DO ALL OF THE ABOVE ( 10 entries!!)

Don’t forget to come
back here and post comments, telling us about all of your entries(even if you
left a comment on our facebook page)! Entry deadline is August 14th. Winners
will be announced on the 15th.

We at Wild Olive look forward to seeing
what God does with our efforts, it is our prayer that Esther’s short life would
be honored, and that His love for Esther – and for orphans everywhere – would be
glorified.

Just as I am

2011-07-01T11:17:00.008-05:00

So much has been happening that I just haven't gotten on here to post. My intention is to post regularly, or at least semi-regularly. Sigh.

I just thought I'd take a few minutes (spurred on to a Five Minute Friday post by reading the blog of someone I knew in college) and check in.

I have been thinking, "I need to write a blog post." Then I think of how long it's been since the last one, and I decide there's too much to try to fill in the blanks. Reminds me of Princess Bride. "Let me splain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up..."

About 2 years ago, I met the man who will be my husband in 71 days. Back in November, on my birthday, he proposed. In March, I moved from my pretty little house in Vero Beach, FL to Greenville, SC to allow us to prepare for marriage. Now, the time is ticking away, and my wedding is coming faster and faster, like a hurricane gathering speed over open water.

I'm learning that now that it's down to the wire, planning my ACTUAL wedding, not assisting someone else, not planning a theoretical wedding that won't happen, that it's not what I thought it would be. (For those who may not know, I was a wedding planner/coordinator in days gone by.) Little is turning out as I had planned. Most of my decisions are overridden by factors outside my control. Many of the things that I would find meaningful simply won't happen. This has caused me to learn to focus on the marriage, instead of the wedding.

The wedding will be fine, I'm sure. It'll happen. Weddings usually do. They're rarely, in practice, identical to the theory, some adjustments get made last minute, some are made in planning, and some just seem to happen. I think I'll end up being surprised by how it turns out, because nothing is going as I planned for it to. I'm sure it will be lovely. It just won't be my doing, as I had hoped for the better part of my life that it would.

As I check things off the list, I've begun to prepare for the marriage. I'm thinking a lot about who I am and what I bring with me. I'm thinking a lot about what I desire to give, when I give myself to my husband--who I desire to be, so that he may have my best. As many years as I've had to prepare, I should be more. Better, somehow. My physical looks should be closer to how I always imagined looking for him. My life processes should be better organized. The one thing I feel is on track is my spiritual life. I'm just longing to be able to present him with, well, everything. Not just a piece.

The saving grace in these somewhat dismal thoughts about myself is the knowledge that he knows me as I am and loves me, exactly as I am. In our good-night prayer last night, he prayed that God would help me with my quest to be in better physical shape (a subject for another post). He said, "Father, she looks phenomenal. Of course she does. She looks like You." He doesn't want to marry me 15 pounds lighter, with flawless complexion, manicured nails, and clothes that don't make me look like I just fell out of a dryer. He wants to marry ME. Just as I am. Do you see why I want to give him my very best???

Love,

One of the rules of the Five Minute Friday post is that it not be edited. Just type for five minutes. REALLY?? Can people do that? Pretty sure I didn't completely follow the rules, but linked back to her, anyway.

Still Here

2010-11-05T13:46:00.003-05:00

So, apparently it's been a lot longer since my last blog post than I thought. Amn't I glad I chose well when I picked a title for this blog? (Yes. I am. Intermittent, it is.)

I've just posted the first post on a new blog, which has been quietly brewing in the back of my mind for a couple of weeks. The reason I created a separate blog is because it will be set aside for discussion of one topic only. Holiness. This blog (Intermittently) is kind of an amalgam of random thoughts, and I didn't want to muddy the waters on that subject by just tossing it in amidst the rest of this stuff.

I know that I've posted about spiritual things here, and I intend to continue doing that, so the new blog won't replace that. But while this one will handle some of my spiritual thoughts and developments, the other will be devoted to studying holiness, what it means, how it looks, etc. exclusively. I did not start the new one as a way of segregating holiness out of my lifestyle and isolating it into the theoretical. I intend for that to be a place where we look at the subject in a very practical, applicable light.

It's a little uncomfortable for me, to delve into a subject like that, publicly. I know all to well my failings. I know my humanness. I know that other people know these things, too. To speak out as though I have some knowledge about the subject is a little scary, when my life hasn't always given evidence of holiness. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I should write a post here about it, because anyone who knows me at all knows my frailty. And anyone who doesn't know me at all probably jumps to conclusions about it by reading anything I write. Fortunately, I don't suffer from a booming readership. haha

It is, as much as anything else, a cry into the darknes for holiness-minded individuals to identify themselves. We should be a unique population that's known not by what it does or doesn't do, but known for who we ARE. I know a (very) few of these people. I admire them greatly. Surely there are others. Surely there are more who desire holiness deeply but don't quite know what it means to choose it. It is my intent that during the study of holiness, I will call on the wisdom of others, those who have been choosing holiness for many years. I intend to have several spiritually-mature Christians write guest posts for it, by which the rest of us can bask in their wisdom.

We'll see how it unfolds. While I have some thoughts and ideas for it, I'm doing my best to not insert myself into it. The ultimate goal is to encourage others to choose holiness, and to identify holiness as it creeps in and changes those of us who choose it.

_____________________________________________________________

Aside from that, since my last Intermittently post, I have acquired a male guinea pig, who turned out to be a female, who turned out to be pregnant, and by whom I have acquired two more female guinea pigs and a male guinea pig... (No, really. He is.) The critters are heading north with me for Thanksgiving where the little boar will meet his new mentor/lifecoach/roommate. My brother's daughter has a full-grown boar who needs company, so the two of them are going to learn how to bond. Little do they know. I almost feel bad for the little dudes.

A few weeks ago, I painted my office purple, which is much, MUCH nicer than the blah shade of off-blah it was. It's so soothing, now. Even with the pale shade I picked (Inspired Lilac) this is the most vividly colored room in the house, and it kinda glows when you look from the other end of the house straight through to the office. Heh heh... I like it. :)

My best girlfriend completed The Transcontinental Move (east coast to west coast) in a remarkably short period of time, and I'm having a really difficult time wrapping my brain around the fact that she's all the way on the far left coast of the country, now. I keep shaking my head, like that'll help clear it or something. Nope. Doesn't work that way.

One of my dearest friends came to visit me for 10 days in October, and I had a wonderful time getting to share my world with her a bit.

I think that's all the news, for now. My mom will be coming back with me when I return from the Thanksgiving/Birthday pilgrimage, so I'm getting ready to start decorating for Christmas, tonight. Yay.

Much love.
L~

Hopeless Romantic

2010-02-24T22:30:00.003-05:00

As we prepare to close out this month of love, romance is still on my mind. Of course it is. I'm a hopeless romantic.

Have you ever thought about that phrase? I just ask, because that's what's keeping me awake right now. I should be sound asleep in bed, getting a good night's rest for what will inevitably be a very long day in the office, tomorrow, but I just keep thinking, "Why IS it so hopeless?" If you read my most recent post, you know that that mental hum accompanies me throughout every moment of my life, but it's times like these (wow, the grammar there)--it's a time like this, when I can't turn it down enough to fall asleep that I really wonder how people function without the mental hum. How do you people keep going, without the constant thoughts?? Do you sometimes just shut down and stop moving until your brain kicks back in?? Digression in progress..

So, tonight, instead of sleeping, I'm sitting in my bathrobe, with my glass of Pink Truck and the world wide interwebs, thinking about the hopelessness of romance. Why IS it so hopeless? I don't know that I'll have an answer to that question by the time I sign off tonight, but I'll at least be keeping myself amused by putting my thoughts into words. The easily bored, quickly distracted, and those who need a concise, three-point outline should check out now...

I know that I am one. A hopeless romantic, that is. Why such a downtrodden prequel to such a grandiose term? I think it works. It's desperate phrasing, and that's how it feels. It's a sigh on the end of a long kiss goodnight. It's a tear for the end of a love story. It's that final resolution of a dissonant chord that makes you kinda miss the dissonance, just a bit. That breathlessness that feeds on the anticipation of a touch is something physical, not just emotional. I don't know. Romance to me isn't the roses and candlelight. But it is. I mean, that's a kind of romance, the prequel to foreplay, I suppose. The seduction scene. But that's not ALL that it is. I see romance everywhere, and it's not all sexual stimulation and rushing endorphins. It's a jointness. Maybe romance is so hopeless because it's so big.

Ok, just TRY to tell me that any of these things is not romantic, and I promise I will immediately cease to hear your voice and mentally hum my way to a happier place than whatever you think you're selling me.

--At the end of The Notebook, as they fall asleep in each others arms...

--The man at the hospital physically feeling the pain of his wife giving birth...

--The young couple at the pricy restaurant. He's sweating with something sparkly in his pocket, and she's glowing, knowing that tonight's the night the story begins all over again...

--The scene in Fireproof where she stays home sick from work and he brings her soup...

--A gentle peck on the cheek over morning coffee...

--A small child who hands his mother a badly bruised dandelion that he picked just for her...

--The man who warms up his wife's car on a cold morning so that she won't be uncomfortable when she takes the kids to school...

--The moment at the end of a long day when there are no more words to be said, when just the knowledge that someone loves you is enough...

OK, so maybe romance doesn't equal love, but that's a part of it, right? It's not always the sexual or seductive, but just the patterns of loving in life. It makes me physically ache inside to see it, and I do know it when I see it. That's why I listen to love songs and watch sappy movies. It's a beauty that sparks a fond desire. But it's not just the desire to receive. It's that swell within your heart that longs to GIVE that to someone else, too. To SHARE that experience with another soul and know that no matter what else happens in life, THAT was real.

Romance isn't every moment. If it was, it wouldn't be special, and it wouldn't be hopeless at all. It is its very fleetingness that makes it so precious, so elusive, so finite... That's it. That's the thing. That's why. I did figure it out before the end of the post. Yay, me. Romance is hopeless because it slips away so quickly, in the bat of an eyelash. So those of us who are hopeless romantics live from romance to romance--not in a pathetic way (well, not always). It's just that those breathless anticipations, when you feel really alive, they help guage the remainder of reality... And the remainder of reality makes sure that you really feel those heightened timeless seconds.

Hopelessly romantic,
L~

Known

2010-02-23T00:15:00.003-05:00

In the last year, we have had a church-wide emphasis that is designed for us to know ourselves and one another better. The catalyst is the book "Living Your Strengths" and the Clifton strengths assessment and development tool that is linked to it. This book was created by the faith-based portion of the Gallup organization, and as I understand it, there are other studies that range beyond the scope of the faith-based that are now capitalizing on its development.

The rundown: The basic premise is that there are 34 basic areas of individual development that are inherent to all humans, in varying degrees, regardless of cultural development or bias, and that if the the top 5 areas of talent are identified, it would more accurately help individuals understand themselves and each other. (VERY basic.) If these signature themes, as they're called, are accurately identified and encouraged, the organizations of which these individuals are members could tailor themselves to their populations and be more effective.

So, our church has been going through the process of having everyone who cares to participate tested, and coached, so that, as a community of believers doing life together, we can exist more fully as the body of Christ-- living and acting as one cohesive unit, instead of many little unknown quantities.

To be honest, when I took my assessment, I wasn't 100% convinced that my results were accurate, but as they've grown on me, I've really embraced the fact of the matter. I am now in a class (yay) to discuss and be coached in a group setting. Tonight was the first class, and I'd forgotten how invigorating it was to be in an active learning environment. But, I'm getting ahead of myself, here...

OK. Here are my top five:

1) Input
2) Learner
3) Intellection (which my Input and Learner tell me is not an actual word)
4) Maximizer
5) Individualization

And, just for the record, yes, it does annoy me that the 34 signature themes are not consistently all the same part of speech, but I didn't make them up.

Basically, these five things tell you a LOT about who I am, why I function the way I do, and what I value in life, should you choose to acknowledge and understand them, and subsequently, me. Here's what they mean, very basically: Input means that I collect things. I collect information, quotations, words, and physical things. I catalog the things that I collect, either physically or mentally. Learner means that I find the learning process to be fascinating and enjoyable. I want to learn everything I can. I enjoy going from ignorance to competence. Intellection means that I have a "mental hum" that is interminable. My mind is always working. Intellectual stimulation, the flexing of my mental muscles, is just part of who I am, and I thrive on it. Maximizer means that I take something that's great and turn it into stupendous. It has to be the VERY BEST it can be. Good enough is simply not good enough. Individualization means that I relate to each person according to who they are. I interact individually, and I tailor my interactions to the ability or personality of the person with whom I'm interacting.

So, all of these things work together in my every thought, breath, motion, action, relationship, etc. That is WHO I am, not just something about me. That is how I live, move, and have my being. I am hard-wired to function extremely highly, without exhaustion in those 5 things. I am most productive, most valuable, most tireless, when I live there, and when I get out of those 5 things, I get run-down and defeated.

As an example, take my relationships. In relating to people, I deal with them through my Individualization. I will relate differently to my friend Pamela than I do to my daddy, and differently to him than I relate to my mother. I tailor each relationship to the most effective communication and relation with each. (Side bar: This is why I speak all 5 love languages fluently, though I don't receive them as equally.) My Individualization relates to each individual, but it is my Input, Learner, and Intellection that drive my relatability. I take in everything I can. I observe people, learn things, find things fascinating... I'm a big picture person. I want to know how everything works and how this cog fits into the bigger machine, not just how to spin the cog. So I learn everything I can, and that applies to the people about whom I care, and the things that they care about. Because of my Maximizer, I can't stop at just being able to relate to someone. I want to relate to them and understand them and REALLY know them. Good enough simply isn't good enough, remember? So I take all of my catalogs of knowledge from my Input, that I've Learned, and I use my Intellection to process them and Maximize how to Individually relate. Got it? That's me and my relationship bent, in a nutshell.

Well, knowing these things made it much clearer to me (remember the Input, Learner, Intellection-- I learned all about the whole Strengths thing, and what that meant for me, and all 34 of the strengths so I could relate better to others) how I actually function, and the more I think about that (Intellection-- my mental hum), the more I apply it to myself, the more I understand why I function the way I do.

In younger years, I had a tendency to find relationships unsatisfying. I wanted to know all about this person, and I wanted to tell him/her all about me, but he/she didn't want to know about me like I wanted to know about him/her. Frustration. It feels so one-sided. In recent years, I've grown up enough to be able to listen to my friends without expecting them to listen to me in the same way. I've learned to not divulge who I am, and answer concisely when people ask polite questions. The reality is, the VAST majority of humanity simply doesn't want to know. That may be why I find comfort in having my own blog. It is an outlet for me to make myself known without boring the people I love. hahahaha

I desire strongly to be known deeply, for who I truly am. Since others in my life don't have the raging desire to know me that way, I content myself with knowing them as best I can. There IS great fulfillment in this for me. It is wonderfully contenting to know WHY my brain works that way, and to be able to absorb all the tiniest little details about someone without having to spew all of my details at her. It is beautiful to have an intimacy that isn't spoiled by expecting the other person to be who I am or to function the way I function, and I'm much happier, on the whole, with my Individualization, because I know that my friends and family members truly love me. Really. They don't have to KNOW me, know all ABOUT me, know every thought I think as it passes through my head, to love me. They just love me. Now, how they function that way is beyond me, but I have that all catalogued away so I can relate to them, regardless of whether I think they're nuts for not having my top 5 the way I have them...

I love the idea of being known, and I've loved it for so long that one of my favorite movies, inexplicably, is "The Mirror Has Two Faces" with Barbra Streisand and Jeff Bridges. She talks about it early in the film-- the idea of someone loving her enough to know the little things about her, how she takes her coffee, for instance.. One of the defining instances in the movie is when she sees him know her like that, as he answers the waiter's question about her preferences, without consulting her. No she doesn't care for any pepper. When you get a chance, could you bring a little side dish of extra dressing for her salad? She'd like that. And the heart inside me sighs a little sigh of desire. Yeah. I'm pathetic like that.

I suppose that's why this quote stuck out to me so much that I underlined it in 3 colors in my copy of The Shack (by William P Young). "So many believe that it is love that grows, but it is the knowing that grows and love simply expands to contain it. Love is just the skin of knowing." (pg. 155) Love is just the skin of knowing. I love that. I love that because I love knowing. I love learning and understanding better. I love the idea that my love for those that I hold dearest is evident in my strengths-- the knowing. I love it that God knows me that way, and that He loves me in all the abundant wealth of His knowledge of me, not in the little bit of my knowledge.. I also love it that because I understand WHO I am and how I function, that I don't have to expect anyone else to know me the way I want to know them, and that THAT doesn't DECREASE how much they love me, either.

But, I still want to be known.

Much love.
L~

P.S. Apparently, there is a newer version of the assessment out now that you can purchase separate from the book. If you'd like to complete StrengthsFinder 2.0, you can go here to have your strengths assessed and identified.

Read My Friend's Blog!

2010-02-22T16:38:00.003-05:00

One of my best friends just started a new blog. :)

http://fulltimewife.blogspot.com/

Much love.

Reevaluating Life

2010-01-12T15:51:00.004-05:00

It's time. You know that feeling? When you stop and think that the time has come to reevaluate who you are and what you do? That's where I am.

As some may know, I turned 30 just a shade under 2 months ago, and perhaps it's the combination of not being where I thought I'd be at this place in my life (more on that later) and the new year, but somehow this became the right time. A lot of things are under reconsideration, at this point, but there are a few things I know for sure.

1) I'm too fat. Yeah, I said it out loud. I'm over it. Time to move on.
2) My life is on track. Really.
3) I'm content, but that doesn't mean I don't need to make some changes.
4) I still miss karate. It's time to check out what there is in the dojo world here.

I've taken the effort to have a few tough conversations, send a few mea culpas, and generally cut loose some of the baggage, but there's more to do. I've started cleaning up my eating and exercise habits, but there's still more to do. I've stopped traveling (for awhile, anyway), but there's a way to go before I'm stabilized here. I've taken a fairly objective look at where I am, and overall it's good. Maybe I haven't done some of the things I thought I'd do by 30, but that doesn't mean the things I have done aren't the right ones.

Some changes that I need to make:

1) I need a mentorship relationship with an older woman who can provide godly counsel to me. I don't even begin to know where to look. I think, perhaps, she should not be a part of my church, so that she can provide a more objective look at my contributions there.
2) I have to lose weight. Yeah, at some point the extra 10 or 15 lbs will have a serious adverse effect on my health, and now's the time to do something about it. Getting hooked up with a local dojo will help a lot.
3) I need to document where I am now. It's been almost 9 years since I had professional photographs taken. Perhaps there won't be posterity to care, but when I'm an old woman, I think I'll like to look back and remember.
4) Dad's right. I need to stimulate my intellect. While I have no desire to reenter academia, perhaps the idea of auditing some post-grad classes isn't such a bad idea. At the very least, I need to embark on some more specific educational pursuits. My habit of reading 60+ books a year doesn't necessarily translate to advancing my education in any area.

Perhaps I need to start journaling. Perhaps putting me down on paper will help me to more correctly evaluate my existence. I need to have the proper perspective to know where I'm going, how I need to get there, and what I need to change to do that. I guess that's what I'm doing by writing this post. A life documented seems to mean something more than one that just goes by. Without someone to bear witness to me, I suppose it's down to me to bear witness for myself.

Just some thoughts.
Happy New Year.

Love.
L~

The Study Group

2009-07-13T12:45:00.002-05:00

So, I have been asked to co-facilitate the discussion of William P Young's "The Shack" in my ladies' small group. This is going to be exceedingly interesting, extremely gratifying, and a whole stinkin' lot of fun.

Last night was our first session on this book, and our fearless leader asked me to take it. I gotta say, I love studying. I love researching, cross-referencing, preparing a lesson, and then executing it by facilitating a guided conversation. This is a whole host of my strengths just bouncing up and down and waiting to get out of my head. :)

God has given me the ability to learn vast quantities of information, and the further (more useful) ability to applicably regurgitate my studies. I have created and taught entire orientation and training programs, since high school, and this whole concept of studying and comparing notes on topics that interest me with people I love is not a new love in my life. This stuff is FUN!

Anyway, I'm thinking of posting the study guide to "The Shack" as I create it and we move through it. Maybe it could help someone else, if it's on the World Wide Interweb.

Much love.
L~

Happy Independence Day!

2009-07-04T21:22:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so independence is over rated. Says the single woman as she sits in front of her computer after watching yet another year's July 4th fireworks show by herself.

If you're going to read this, you must know that it is not going to be fluid, and I'm not going to re-read it forty-six times before I post it, like I usually do. Here's what I've got:

Vero Beach's fireworks show is, in my opinion, much longer and SIGNIFICANTLY better than Washington D.C.'s is. Go figure. It has the added bonus of not being as much of a nightmare to navigate, traffic-wise. Maybe I shouldn't post this online where people in DC can see it and flood VB next year...

I don't remember the last time I watched Independence Day fireworks with anyone. I've been alone too long. Last year (2008), I didn't go, because I was working my corner at Walter Reed. The year before (2007), I watched the fireworks over the National Mall, alone, from the park by the DCA runway(DC Reagan International Airport, for those of you who don't fly to the District). 2006, I watched the DC fireworks on my TV and out my balcony window and didn't leave my apartment. The year before (2005) was when I was in the middle of moving to DC, but I don't recall what I did or where I was. I don't think I watched an "official" display, though. I think I was at a party. I don't recall the ones in the three or four years before that, though I've tried. Anyhoo, every 4th display I see, I always dream of the day when it's me and my SO (boyfriend, fiance, husband) going together, and eventually the day when it's me, my husband, and our small children... Every year, it's not.

This brings me to the next point-- as awful as it sounds, and I'm not trying to be hurtful with this-- SOMETIMES spending holidays alone is better than spending them alone with people who care about you. Sometimes, it's just easier to be alone and lonely than be lonely with people who are all paired off.

Yet again, as I was walking back to my car from watching the spectacular display over Indian River, I wondered, "How many more holidays am I going to spend alone? How many more seasons are going to pass me by, without a hand to hold, without a future to plan?"

And yes, before you ask, I'm turning 30 this year, and as that hallmark birthday approaches, I'm beginning to be a little depressed. I have a wonderful life. Don't get me wrong. It's just a lonely one, sometimes.

Anyway.. Happy Birthday, Land of the FREE and Home of the BRAVE! There's certainly no better place to be all alone. :)

Gnight.
L~

Financial Attack on Political Opponents

2009-06-11T08:22:00.003-05:00

Here's a really klassy move on the part of the current administration. I'm trying really hard to be shocked, but I called this one.

OBAMANOMICS
Chrysler's 'hit list' targets GOP donors

Dealers who give to Republicans much more likely to be shuttered

Posted: May 27, 2009
7:54 pm Eastern
By Chelsea Schilling
© 2009 WorldNetDaily

As part of its Chapter 11 bankruptcy, Chrysler is terminating one-fourth of its franchises – but some say its catalog of doomed dealerships looks more like a hit list that specifically seeks to put Republican donors out of business.

Chrysler will now be eligible for up to $8 billion in taxpayer-funded federal aid. The federal government has already provided $8.58 billion to Chrysler and Chrysler Holding between the months of January and May of this year. The Treasury also loaned $1.5 billion to the automaker's lending arm in January.

President Obama has said the bankruptcy will give the company "a new lease on life," after his administration spearheaded a plan requiring the company sell to Italian automaker Fiat. Chrysler's stronger operations will be owned by Fiat, labor and the U.S. and Canadian governments. The sale could close as early as this Friday.

Obama said the bankruptcy would be a "quick" and "efficient" step toward Chrysler's "survival."

"The necessary steps have been taken to give one of America 's most storied automakers, Chrysler, a new lease on life," Obama said. "This is not a sign of weakness."
But WND reviewed the list of 789 closing franchises and databases of political donors and found that of dealership majority owners making contributions in the November 2008 election, less than 10 percent gifted to Democrats while 90 percent gave substantial sums to Republican candidates.

The listed franchise owners contributed at least $450,000 to Republican presidential candidates and the GOP, while only $7,970 was donated to Sen. Hillary Clinton's campaign and $2,200 was given to Sen. John Edwards' campaign.

Obama received a combined total of only $450 in donations – $250 from dealer Jane Baldock in Wenatchee , Wash. , and $200 from Waco, Texas , dealer Jeffrey Hunter.
Many of the majority owners who donated to Republican campaigns last year also contributed additional thousands to George W. Bush's presidential campaign in 2004 and to help elect GOP representatives.

The first dealership on Chrysler's list of facilities marked for termination by June 9 is located in Venice , Fla. , and belongs to Republican Rep. Vernon G. Buchanan.
Buchanan gave $2,300 to John McCain in 2008 and has contributed nearly $150,000 to GOP candidates and organizations since 2007. He discovered that his location was scheduled for closure when he crossed paths with Rep. Candice Miller, R-Mich.

According to the Associated Press, Miller told Buchanan, "I heard you're going to lose your Dodge franchise."

"Oh, really?" Buchanan said in a state of surprise.

The dealership's operating partner, Shelby Curtsinger, said he was astonished by Chrysler's decision because the location has been profitable – selling more than twice the stock of an average Chrysler dealership every year.

Houston dealer Robert Archer is one of 330 people contesting Chrysler's decision to close their locations. He donated $1,000 to National Republican Congressional Committee and $500 to Americans for a Republican Majority.

Archer told the New York Times he ordered 700 new vehicles and $1.7 million in new parts after Chrysler told him he could survive unless he stocked more cars. He sacrificed his profits to help the company survive.

Now he is set to lose his franchise.

Other GOP contributors include Michael Maroone, a dealer in Ft. Lauderdale , Fla. He gave $20,000 to the Florida Republican Party, $12,700 to the Republican National Committee and $2,300 to presidential candidate Mitt Romney. Likewise, Menomonee Falls , Wis. , dealer Russ Darrow and his family gave $19,000 to the Republican National Committee, $6,029 to the Wisconsin Republican Party, $2,300 to John McCain and $1,000 to Rudy Giuliani. Bedford , Texas , dealer Eric Grubbs gifted $11,500 to Mike Huckabee, $4,600 to Rudy Giuliani, $6,500 to Texas Republican Congressional Committee, $1,085 to the RNC and $500 to National Republican Congressional Committee. Midlothian , Va. , dealer Max Pearson donated $18,000 to National Republican Senatorial Committee, $6,900 to the RNC, $6,900 to John McCain, $3,600 to Virginia Republican Party and $1,000 to National Republican Congressional Committee.

The list continues with more than 60 political donors who are scheduled to lose their franchises – many of whom gave thousands of dollars to Republican candidates – and only seven dealers who contributed a total of less than $12,000 to the Democratic Party and its candidates.

Blogger Doug Ross reviewed patterns on the closure list and noticed the unmistakable trend.

"I took all dealer owners whose names appeared more than once on the list," he wrote.

"And, of those who contributed to political campaigns, every single one had donated almost exclusively to GOP candidates."

With 2,392 Chrysler dealerships remaining, some bloggers claim to have already begun the exhaustive process of checking each majority owner to determine whether Chrysler has been more merciful toward those who donate to Democrats while simultaneously giving walking papers to Republican contributors.

Chrysler has not responded to WND's requests for comment. The company claims it evaluated the dealerships based on raw sales volume, location, market, history of experience and market share. According to the company's bankruptcy court filing, the 789 dealerships listed for closure "lack the operational, market, facility and linemaker characteristics necessary to best contribute to the ongoing dealer network under current or future ownership."

Dealer Jim Anderer told Fox News' Neil Cavuto he doesn't understand why Chrysler is shutting down his Long Island dealership because he claims his dealership is quite profitable – with sales volume ranking in the top 2 percent.

Asked why he believes the company targeted him, Anderer said, "They won't tell us. They seem to be running for cover right now because they won't give us a solid explanation. They come up with all these reasons, but none of them seem to make sense."
He continued, "This is insanity. The government is stealing my business. And they're telling me there's nothing I can do about it."

Anderer said Chrysler claims it wants to combine its stores or that dealers cost the manufacturer money to stay in business.

"In the dealers that they cut, there seems to be no cohesive way that they did it," he said. "There was no process that you could put your finger on and say, 'Hey, we cut 25 percent of the lowest performing dealers.' They didn't do that. Nobody will give us a real clear explanation of the formula that they came up with."

An anonymous employee affected by the dealership closings blogged at Cars.com:
"This isn't about business. It's about politics and control. My dealership is in the top 125 out of the 3,500-plus dealerships nationwide ... yet we are on the list. We are not small nor are we rural. We are in a large major metropolitan area. Our new vehicle inventory alone is well over $4.0 million. Is that small?"

The employee continued, "This is so much more than 'just business.' This is about control and power by our present administration in Washington . An administration that will stop at nothing to bring complete socialism to this once great country. Wake up people or get in line now to 'drink the Kool-Aid.'"

Chrysler's bankruptcy court review process began May 14 and is scheduled to end by June 9. According to a May 14 Chrysler memo, dealers learned of their fate via UPS letters arriving earlier this month. A Senate committee is conducting hearings this week as dealers file their requests to block their termination.

George C. Joseph, owner of Sunshine Dodge-Isuzu in Melbourne Fla. , has sent out his plea to several online media organizations, including WND.

Joseph said his family paid for his franchise 35 years ago and employs more than 50 people. The company is active in the community and the local chamber of commerce, and he claims it is financially profitable.

"On Thursday, May 14, 2009 I was notified that my Dodge franchise, that we purchased, will be taken away from my family on June 9, 2009 without compensation and given to another dealer at no cost to them," Joseph wrote. "My new vehicle inventory consists of 125 vehicles with a financed balance of 3 million dollars. This inventory becomes impossible to sell with no factory incentives beyond June 9, 2009."

He said that without the franchise his family can no longer sell Dodge inventory as "new" or conduct any service warranty work. Joseph wrote that his parts inventory – worth $300,000 – is now practically worthless because Chrysler will not be required to buy vehicles, tools or parts from terminated dealers under bankruptcy rules.

To make matters worse, Joseph said Chrysler recently required his facility to be renovated, requiring a multi-million dollar debt in the form of a mortgage.

"This is a private business, not a government entity," he wrote. "This is beyond imagination! My business is being stolen from me through no fault of our own. We did nothing wrong."

Joseph continued, "This atrocity will most likely force my family into bankruptcy. This will cause our 50+ employees to be unemployed. How will they provide for their families? … How in the United States of America can this happen?"

Relationship Stuff

2009-06-10T16:03:00.002-05:00

So, for those of you who have read blog posts of mine for awhile, you may be wondering what's going on in my relational world. Here's a brief rundown of the last year:

I was in a relationship.
I got non-dumped (that's what happens when you never break up but the other person drops off the face of the planet).
I got over it.

How's that for a clear picture?

Some of you might remember someone I mentioned in a blog post over a year ago, if you've been reading for that long. Apparently, a story I thought was long over has many more chapters to be written. More on this later. For now, I need to continue to privately absorb the fact of it all.

We learn a lot as we go through life. We learn about all kinds of things, but relationally, we learn what we want and what we don't want, as our experience prompts. Some things become unimportant. Some things become vital. I've written about this before. For those of you that have read those posts, you know that in the last few years I've gone through a whole growing-up season of my life. Someday I'll write about that. One of the things that I've learned--the hard way, might I add-- is that respect is very important. If I'm in a relationship where I'm not respected, I shouldn't be in that relationship. If I'm in a relationship where the other person is not someone I can respect, I shouldn't be in that relationship. When neither of us respects the other, I DEFINITELY shouldn't be in that relationship.

I just have to say that I have a whole new picture of what love is in a relationship, based on the respect with which I am treated in my current relationship.

Ladies, you know how when you're in a relationship with a guy who's really good-looking (or whatever--insert adjective here..) but who doesn't care much for your opinion you start feeling needy? When you're disrespected (whether you know it or not) you begin to depend on the way you feel about your significant other because you're obviously not worth his time... It hits you right in the self-esteem and you don't even notice it at first. You begin to lose yourself in whatever he wants out of the relationship, and you discount anything that you want, or used to think you wanted, because obviously he must be right about how this is supposed to work. If you stay in that long enough, it can do lasting damage to you. Believe me. I know. When you feel lucky to be graced with a few minutes of his time, that's a sure sign that you need to run for your ever-loving life. I lived this crap off and on for about 6 years, and it's no wonder that I've had to learn from scratch the value that is intrinsic in me.

I told a girlfriend of mine who has had a lousy history of boyfriend-jumping (get your head out of the gutter-- I mean jumping from one boyfriend to the next) that until she had learned to grasp in the most private places of her heart how VERY MUCH God loves her, she will never be able to have a viable relationship. I wasn't saying this out of inherent meanness. I was saying it from the perspective of someone who has had to learn that the hard way. BUT, I've LEARNED it. No one can take this away from me. I've been held in the arms of Jesus, close to the heart of God. I have grasped the meaning of the suffering He experienced in my place on the cross, and I have seen the value that He places on ME, His Beloved. From here, I can see a whole lot that wasn't ever clear to me.

So, when I took the step into this relationship, I did it from a place of wholeness. For the first time in my life, I have entered a relationship knowing who I am and what I'm worth.

My mother has taught me all my life that "One is a whole number." I can't tell you how many times she's told me this. She got married when she was 18, and when she turned 36, she became depressed, because she had lived 18 years in her father's house and 18 years in her husband's house, with no time to see what she could do. (She got over it, btw.) She has told me over and over, seeing me lost and trying to figure out who or what I was: "One is a whole number. Until you are capable of being whole on your own, you can never be half of a couple. You are enough, just as you are." I am so very blessed to have her wisdom. I'm also blessed to be able to tell her that just shy of 30 years of age, I have fully grasped this lesson. Took me long enough.. Whew.

The other side of this is this: When I took the step into this relationship, BECAUSE I was able to do it from a place of wholeness, and because it was with someone who loves and respects me for whoever or whatever I am, I have entered a relationship on even footing.

This man's desire, as he tells me with every word and action, is to see my relationship with God grow. He wants me to be in the center of God's will. Period. He was willing to watch me walk away because he thought it more important for me to be happy than for him to get what he wanted. Because HIS desire is to be the man that God intends him to be, it's only to his advantage for me to be the woman that God intends me to be. If we're both in the center of God's will, then if God intends for us to be together, we'll both be united in that. Because he respects my relationship with God, he doesn't allow human desire to push him around. He knows that if we build the foundation of this relationship on solid ground, it will stand the test of time. He's willing to do that, brick by brick, bag of concrete by bag of concrete.

It may not look perfect from everyone's perspective right now, but because we are doing this the right way, with a respect for each other that helps define what love means to us, it will eventually be just right. For those of you who know me well, he also tones down my Type-A-ness when it's not appropriate and encourages it when it is. He never has to knock me off-kilter to keep the upper-hand, because he doesn't seem to care about having the upper hand. He only cares about loving me the way God wants him to. That means that it's a joy for me to show him deference. I get to see, in a real relationship of my own, that what I've always believed about submission is really true.

Another time, I'll share more of our story, where we are, where we're going, etc. For now, suffice it to say that I may have just been found.

Much love.
L~

Sunday Walks

2009-06-10T15:21:00.003-05:00

It has become my habit to take a walk on the beach at least once a week. When I'm in town, I always go on Sunday, and when I get a chance on other days of the week, I go then, too. I use it as a time to refresh and recharge, to adjust my attitude, to clear my mind. Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I sing. Sometimes I talk to myself. Sometimes I just wander absent-mindedly. The beach/ocean never fails to amaze me.

One of the things that occurred to me one day on my walk was that this was an analogy to heaven. Heaven touches the earth, as the water touches the beach. They wash over-under each other. One is one and the other is the other, but the two meet and mingle. We walk on earth the way I walk the beach, with our feet just touching the edge of heaven, but not fully in it. We get a glimpse of it, but our bodies aren't made to live in the ocean any more than they're made to live in heaven. For that, we need new ones. Just as I go to the beach, I go to the edge of heaven and peer out into it. In both places I meet God.

Missing me?

2009-06-10T13:44:00.002-05:00

I just realized that I haven't posted anything since February. This is NOT due to a lack of things about which to think/write. Rather, it is more due to a combination of a lack of personal time, intentionality, and decisiveness on my part. There have been many dozens of topics about which I've considered writing, pictures/videos/links I've considered posting, etc. One of the difficulties I've had is the fact that my personal computer continues to be possessed of the Blue Screen of Death on a fairly regular basis, and I get tired of fighting with it. When I'm done staring at my secure computer for the day, it's really hard to make the decision to fiddle with my own stuff for the evening. Be that as it may, I've been remiss in my bloggishness, and I deeply apologize. Please forgive the error of my ways.

Today, my goal is to get my links updated to include the blogs that I've been reading lately and a couple of things I like, as well as post a few thoughts on different subjects. I seriously doubt that I have retained any regular readers through my intermittent blogging, but if you're out there, thank you for your time and patience.

Links I'm adding:
Just Barely-- a blog that I originally encountered awhile back through Ranger Up, and of which I became a subscriber just to help meet a Ranger Up donation goal to Wounded Warrior Project.
Cake Wrecks-- I have NO idea how I found this, but I found it utterly hilarious. I'm now a regular reader on there, and am taking Jen up on her blanket permission to link to her. If I need a really good laugh, I just go on there and read a bit. :)

Links I'm pulling:
Brownie Points--as my friend has not updated it in over a year, I don't see the value in retaining the link.
The DTS Group-- as it's being re-worked. I'll add it back in when the new site is launched.

Hopefully, I'll be a little better at keeping up, now..

Much love.
L~

An Open Letter to My Heroes

2009-02-18T10:43:00.002-05:00

To the best of the best, our US military:

I heard a really infuriating thing the other day. A friend of mine stopped a soldier in uniform to thank him for his service, something that is always necessary and always right, whatever time and effort it takes. The soldier told him that he had just returned from the sandbox that day, and that as a group of soldiers were walking through the airport, there was a little boy watching them. He stopped his dad, and pointed at the soldiers. This scumbag of a wannabe frenchman pulled his little son back and said, while making eye contact with the soldier, "Don't get near them. They're a disgrace." Needless to say, the soldier was grateful for the appreciation shown him by my friend.

When I heard that story I was so mad and so sick to my stomach that anyone, for any reason, would EVER say that about MY guys. MY guys are out there risking life and limb so that we can bask in the freedom to say stupid things in public and ruin our children. I hope that little boy grows up to be a type-A commando with a love for country and a sense of honor that is big enough to die for his dad's right to make such idiotic statements.

My input: There is nothing too big, too hard, too difficult that I would not do it for all of you guys who sign your lives over to our country. Whether you are a soldier, sailor, airman, coastie, marine, policeman, special agent, firefighter, paramedic-- You are what makes us great. You are what makes us viable. You are what makes this country the beauty, the envy that she is. Your service is the only thing that keeps us a notch above, even when we make every effort to destroy ourselves with poor decisions. I love you guys, with all that's in me. You are so greatly loved and appreciated by so many. Some people don't know how to come up to a man (or woman) in uniform to tell them thank you, but that doesn't mean they don't feel the sentiment. They're worried that they might look foolish, they might bother you, they might embarrass you... Whatever. I'll say it for all of them. We love you. We FIERCELY appreciate you, and I, for one, would love the opportunity to do anything in my power to make sure that guy's voice is never again heard by anyone who wears (or ever has worn or ever will wear) the uniform. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your honor. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you to your family and friends who carry and support you. Thank you. I love you.

Blessings.
L~

Ranger Up Ladies Stuff

2009-02-05T17:45:00.003-05:00

Fans and friends, and odds and ends...

Today I got an email from Nick at Ranger Up (Yes, that's the site I love with all my heart in my links on this page...) asking me for some input for their ladies' gear line. I'm taking ideas here, via facebook, myspace, and email. If you have any thoughts, slogans, suggestions, colors, designs (graphic or clothing), please get them to me!

I'm brainstorming like crazy, and would LOVE any ideas y'all might have. Hey, since I'm telecommuting, I basically live in Ranger Up gear. :D

Much Love.
L~

The Obamination of the USA

2009-01-20T17:44:00.003-05:00

Today, Barack Hussein Obama was the 43rd man to take the Presidential Oath of Office. (No, he's not the 44th American to take the oath, as he stated in his inaugural address. He's the 43rd. Grover Cleveland served two non-consecutive terms, taking two separate numbers on that list, though being one man. Beyond that, I'll avoid pointing out that the Supreme Court still hasn't ruled on whether he's actually eligible to hold the office, due to a case in that highest court of our land questioning the whereabouts of his birth... but I digress.) I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my best to the new First Family.

To President Barack Hussein Obama: May all the wisdom of God be given to you as you ask it. May He guide your hand, your thoughts, your decisions. May He protect you and yours from those who would seek to do you harm, lead you astray, and press any agenda that might move you against His will.

To Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama: May you have the grace to fill the enormous shoes of the ladies who have gone before you. May God grant you patience as you deal with the necessary pressures your family will experience while in this position of power. May the stresses of this circumstance roll lightly off your shoulders, and may you truly be a role model for those millions of young ladies who respect you and frame you as their heroine.

To the little Obamas-- Malia and Sasha: May you grow in grace, to be beautiful ladies, as you are beautiful little girls. May you be preserved from the things which would impinge your chance to experience all the joys of childhood. May this be an extraordinary opportunity, and may you look back on it as a happy time in your lives.

To the First Family, the administration, and all of those who are linked thereto: May all the hopeychange be with you, inasmuch as you believe in it and work toward it. (Whatever the heck that means.)

To My United States of America: May God go with us as we are led by a man who would fight for the murder of babies, while speaking against those who participate in "slaughtering innocents" in his inaugural address. May He (that's God, not the Obamessiah, people) protect us from ourselves. May He guide our country and our President, and may He draw our hearts ever closer to Himself. May we remain the republic that we are (not the democracy that we aren't, Senator Feinstein), and may the consequences of our decisions be administered to us lightly and mercifully, but only as that might follow the infallible will of God.

While I might not have said it as well as Blackfive did, he is now President Barack Hussein Obama, and therefore occupies an office deserving of respect. As the man in the chair in the Oval Office, as the Commander in Chief, as the leader of the free world, he deserves our respect and support, however he also needs to remain accountable. I stand behind that office, no matter who occupies it, and whether I support his decisions, his standpoints, his policies, I will offer my prayers, and my support, on his behalf. Pray harder, people. We're going to need it. God help us all.

Much love.
L~

Obots. haha!

2009-01-19T12:26:00.002-05:00

Democratic Republic

2009-01-19T12:07:00.004-05:00

This country is not a democracy. This is a concisely, cleanly educational explanation of what government is and how it works. It's amazing what intelligent people can squeeze into ten minutes and thirty-five seconds.

Change for me, baby.

2009-01-17T12:32:00.004-05:00

Loving someone is wanting the very best for them. That has been a theory of mine for a very long time. Wanting the very best for them out of everything, including yourself. Becoming your very best so that they can have the very best of you. Seeing something that's less than the best and wanting to make it go away...

A thought that just occurred to me is this: If you want better for someone than he wants for himself, does that mean that you want him to change for you?

My Beast had some things that needed to be addressed in his life, and now that he's no longer mine, I wonder if addressing those things would have made him very different. If he was well, would he lose the things I loved about him? The things that made me crazy and kept me sane? Would he still be maddeningly, wonderfully impulsive? Would we still dance across the parking lot or skip through the zoo? Would he still offer sweet compliments to lift my mood? Would he lose the kind along with the unkind? I like to think that a healing within him would be the best for him, but would it? Maybe I should just stick with the things I know.

Maybe I wanted the very best for him, or maybe I just wanted the very best for me. I'm not really sure, anymore. What I do know is that I loved him. Still do. Now that the numb is starting to wear thin, I'm approaching the point where the emotions burst the dam, and it's terrifying. Loss is powerful, and undealt-with loss can be lethal. God help me.

Much love.
L~

Welcome back to DC...

2009-01-14T00:31:00.001-05:00

The land where chivalry is truly dead and everyone hates each other.

Ah, yes.

SO very glad I've moved. So So SO SO very glad.

We the People, Indeed

2008-11-05T08:50:00.004-05:00

I find myself profoundly disappointed in my fellow American citizens, this morning. I have stayed largely out of the political arguments in the last four thousand years of 2008 Presidential campaigning, but I awoke to the news that the majority of the other voters in my nation elected someone who is, at best, frightening. Unlike so many of the liberal idiots out there that I countermand, I respect the office of the President of the United States. Even when President Clinton was destroying our military and disgracing our nation before the eyes of the world, I still supported him as POTUS. I will always respect that office, regardless of its occupant. When January gets here, I will resign myself to trying to find something of which to be supportive about the reprehensible erstwhile Senator.

It is my considered opinion that no human being, or even any non-human with any shred of decency, should cast a vote in favor of someone who is pro-infanticide. Let me explain that term. I'm not using it as I would "pro-death" for the self-absorbed, morally reprehensible, irresponsible, wastrels of life who support abortion. Rather, I use it because he actually stood up and argued that babies who SURVIVE ABORTIONS-- as in they lived through the attempt on their lives, past delivery--should be murdered. THAT is INFANTICIDE. His reasoning is that if it isn't legal for you to kill babies who survive abortions, then maybe it wouldn't be legal at some point for you to kill babies at all, even the ones who haven't been born yet. Great. This is the guy you voted for.

I will not remark on all of the many, many, many other reasons why this individual should not have been elected to anything, because I believe that the above is reason enough. Anyone who is in favor of murdering a child after birth, in favor enough to argue FOR it in a state Senate and defend his argument in public, is also capable of many other, equally despicable things. It would not surprise me if blog posts like this one, and who knows how many others that point out the truth about his actions and stances, were suddenly to disappear.

Keep in mind that, if the day comes that your right to defend yourself, your right to speak freely (your right to ideological and political dissent), your right to practice the religion of your choice (anything non-islamic), your right to participate in the American dream disappear, it's because of people like this one, getting put into positions of power.

In the days of the new Messiah, er, I mean President-elect, the things that make our nation great will be under a methodical attack, however it will be hard to perceive. Political ground will shift like sand under our feet, and slowly, our rights, our humanity, and our way of life will erode even further than it has until now.

I believe in the democratic process. I believe in our way of life. I believe that of all the flawed political systems out there, that ours is the best. I believe that America is still comprised of people who, at their core, are basically decent (despite their attempts to prove me wrong with their votes). I believe that this republic will stand through the next four years, and that it could actually grow stronger for the battles it will have to fight within its own borders. I believe that I can find some way to be supportive of the office of the President without selling my very soul to the devil. But, I also believe that this election is far from our finest moment.

Sadly.
L~

Well said...

2008-10-20T14:40:00.004-05:00

Thanks to Villainous Company for this link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxhYampIl7A

Satin is MOVING TO FLORIDA!!

2008-09-28T23:55:00.002-05:00

So, it is with great joy and trepidation that I prepare for a move that will take me another 900 miles across the country. That's right. I'm moving. Again. I'm moving to Florida, this time, and yes, that's my house! :) Two weeks from yesterday, I'll be hitting the road with my parents and all my earthly belongings, heading off into the wild yue blonder... Give me a buzz if you want to know more.

Much love.
L~

Quote for Today

2008-09-16T14:14:00.001-05:00

"The most precious possession that ever comes to a man in this world is a woman's heart."

~Josiah G. Holland~

Of Grace and Graciousness

2008-09-16T14:05:00.000-05:00

If you know me at all, you know that one of the strongest words in my life is “grace.” The concept of grace is incredibly hard to grasp. It’s hard to explain a nebulous concept, even when it’s concrete, substantial in your own life. Grace is unmerited favor. Grace is an undeserved second chance. Grace is what ultimately gets us through life. Grace, in some regards, is life.

Grace is what creates an atmosphere that allows reconciliation. Grace breeds mercy. Grace provides a way out, when there’s no way out. Grace is what heralds love, kindness, patience, and myriad other qualities. Grace is indispensable.

Have you ever experienced grace? Perhaps a better question would be this: have you ever experienced grace and recognized it for what it is? I hope your answer is in the affirmative. If it’s not, take off the blinders. I am firmly convinced that there is not a soul in existence who hasn’t experienced some measure of grace. Stop and think about it for a moment. Have you ever made some harsh statement in the heat of a moment and then been forgiven for it? Have you ever made a bad decision, then been miraculously released from the consequences? Has someone been patient with you when you’ve been mean-spirited? Has someone applied the Golden Rule to you? Have you accepted the Salvation of Christ? Have you been relieved of responsibility for something that you couldn’t handle? Have you ever been loved by someone? Have you ever been treated kindly? All of these things are measures of grace—some large, some small, but grace, all.

I have, in my life, experienced great, heaping gobs of grace. It just piles up around me and runs down me. I can’t seem to wade through it all to even find where it ends, and yet, there are times when I am less than gracious to those around me. I suppose it’s something to which everyone must devote effort, but there are moments when I’m truly ashamed of my lack of graciousness, considering it all.

One of the new challenges in my life is helping me grow in the graciousness that I extend to others. Perhaps it is because of the fact that I pile up unmerited favor for myself and sometimes hoard it instead of dispensing it freely to others. Either way, I pray that the purpose of God is fulfilled in this challenge.

You know, sometimes grace appears in the strangest ways. My dad brought an instance of grace to my attention that I had entirely missed. This past weekend, my car broke down. Gasp! My steadfast, faithful car! Heavens, no! Yes. Sigh. Let me share the instances of grace with you. Dad pointed one out, and the more I think of it, the more I find.

The battery had died, inexplicably, with no warning, when it had worked fine a few minutes previously. Dead as a doornail. Dead. Dead. Dead. I went to the trunk to retrieve my jumper cables. I am anal-retentive about making sure that there are jumper cables in my vehicle. I always keep them in the wheel well with the spare tire, so that I don’t inadvertently remove them when I clean out the trunk or something. I opened up the wheel well, and, wait. What in the world!? No jumper cables. (The only thing I ultimately came up with is that when I had a flat over a year ago and the shop was putting the spare back in the trunk, they must have removed my jumper cables and not put them back afterward. Sigh.) Grace instance #1: my girlfriend and her boyfriend were there and were willing to jump my car with hers. Grace instance #2: someone else was nearby and was willing to loan us jumper cables. We continued with our plans, and when we got to our destination, we realized that my car was dead again. Grace instance #3: a very kind young man bent the rules to allow my insurance’s roadside assistance access to the area where we were. We finally got moving again, and my car died in the parking lot of a gas station where we had stopped (leaving the car running) for a potty break. Grace instance #4: a kind man offered to get jumper cables and return, and then he did. Grace instance #5: another kind man who had jumper cables with him loaned them to us. Grace instance #6: my friend’s car overheated while we were trying to jump mine with hers, and she just cooled it off, fixed it up, and hooked it right back up to mine. Grace instance #7: when we weren’t sure that we’d make it back, another friend offered to bring me back to pick up the car the next day if I had to leave it. I may have forgotten to mention that we were about an hour and a half away from where I live, at the time. I have free towing with my insurance, but it only applies within a 12 mile radius, so my car would have been towed to a station that was still an hour and a half from my place, had we not gotten it started. Grace instance #8: my friend and her boyfriend followed me all the way to my repair shop, which was out of their way, and then took me home afterward. Grace instance #9: the shop was closed when we got there. I had a dead car, no place to leave a key for the mechanic, and no way to get back to deliver it. There was still someone inside, and she graciously opened the door and let me leave the key and sign the paperwork.

Now we get to the part that my dad pointed out… All this happened on Saturday. That meant that I was without my car on Sunday, and until the mechanic could fix it on Monday. Without a car, getting to/from the church I attend is a huge ordeal, where I live. I stayed home. I sat and read my Bible, read some of the books that I’m currently studying, and then got started with some things over which I’ve procrastinated myself into a corner. I actually got a ridiculous volume of work done in my apartment on Sunday afternoon. When I talked to my dad, he said, “God knew what He was doing. If you’d had your car and had the ability to run around, run errands, go to church, and all that, would you have gotten all those things done?” The answer, when I thought about it, was no. I wouldn’t have completed some things that have weighed on my heavily, unless my car was gone and I was stuck. So the Grace of God figured out how to solve a half dozen or more of my problems by using car trouble. Furthermore, I’m getting ready to move about 900 miles away, and had my car broken down on the trip, or after I get to the new location (without a repair shop I know and trust), I could have been in really hot water. The protection that God provides is astounding sometimes, when you stop to think about it.

I don’t suppose that this post really has a point. Perhaps it’s more of an observation than anything, but if that’s the case, it’s a reminder to me that I should give out of the bounty of the blessings I’ve received. If the way we forgive is the way we’ll be forgiven, then it’s yet another measure of grace that the grace that’s extended to us will always abound exponentially over the grace we extend.

If you’re someone who has extended grace to me, I thank you. If you’re someone I’ve not treated graciously, I am truly sorry. My assignment is now to find some way to extend grace to those around me in some form or fashion, every day. May you be richly blessed with grace and graciousness.

Much love.
L~

Another quote

2008-09-10T12:03:00.001-05:00

"You say that love is nonsense.... I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain, an ache about the heart, never leaving one, by night or by day; a long strain on one's nerves like toothache or rheumatism, not intolerable at any one instant, but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength."

~Henry Brooks Adams~

A thought.

2008-08-22T13:26:00.000-05:00

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. . . . It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more."

~Erica Jong in How to Save Your Own Life (1977)~

Introspection and Critique: Where is your Heart?

2008-08-21T13:01:00.000-05:00

It has been said by wiser men than I that there are three paradigms by which an individual is viewed/judged: what he knows about himself that no one else knows, what he knows about himself that everyone else knows, and what everyone else knows about him that he doesn’t know. It was recently pointed out to me that what someone else sees in me as my “true colors” is a very contrary view to what I see in myself, and/or what has been conveyed to me that others see. That concerns me terribly, especially because this person’s opinion matters greatly to me. My daddy says that how anyone views you is exactly how you are, if only to that person. Thus, we must be acutely aware of the opinions of others, so that we may not become what they think we already are.

While I cannot speak to what others see in me that I don’t see in myself, I can speak to some of my intimate knowledge of myself. Perhaps contemplating what I know of myself could help me to see a way to salvage the good opinions of those I wish to know me well. Perhaps, I can un-become what they may think I am. Perhaps not, but it’s a start.

Here is my heart. Here is who I am. This is how I view myself.

I am the daughter of the two people I trust, respect, and love more than anyone else in the world. My parents have formed me, raised me, trained me. They and I are the same person, in some respects. I am a combination of the two of them. One need only know them well to know me. My father has a Type A personality, and my mother has a Type B personality. They are both dedicated, disciplined, well-read, educated individuals of sterling character. I aspire to be more like them as I grow. My dad’s drive and determination, commitment to action, and decisiveness are easily complemented by my mother’s gentleness of spirit, patience, kindness, ease of personality, and maternal nature. While I seek to grow the feminine side of me that longs to be seen as I see my mother, I am a combination of, what I see as, some of the very best of both my parents. I know their weaknesses, because their weaknesses are my own. But I know their strengths, because they have bestowed those on me with all the blessing that any parents could offer.

My parents raised me with godly discipline. They ingrained in me some very basic beliefs about family life, child-rearing, how life works in the real world, and how one operates within a functional family unit. My brother and I lived an idyllic childhood, and I am more and more convinced that I have been blessed so much more than I ever knew by my family and life, to this point, as I meet and interact with others. We always lived on acreage. We always had places to run and play and things to discover. We always had work to do, things to contribute, and a place within the family. We were well-educated at an early age, and we were taught the value of hard work, of self-discipline, and the respect of elders. (I hope and pray that I can instill some of this into my own children, when the day comes.)

I say all this of my childhood, because it provides the foundation on which to build an adulthood. Now, at this moment in my life, I value hard work, discipline, the opinions/input/respect of my elders, my faith (and the reasons behind it), my education (both in school and out), and the lessons I learned through doing chores through four seasons of the year, whether we felt like it or not, whether the weather cooperated or not, because it wasn’t up to me. Others depended on me. I couldn’t just not feed the chickens because I didn’t feel like getting up. I couldn’t forget to water the horses because I didn’t remember. Their lives hinged on my discipline, and when my meager, childly self-discipline wasn’t enough to get my mind on the task at hand and my fanny in gear, my parents’ discipline was. I was a part of a unit. We all had jobs, tasks, chores, responsibilities, and together, everything was accomplished.

As my father’s daughter, I prefer action to inactivity. We work hard. We play hard. We rest hard. We devote all of our energy to what we’re doing. Our unofficial family motto, spurred on by this drive of my dad’s, is “It’s not done until it’s overdone.” I can’t tell you how many family activities we’ve undertaken that were characterized by that motto. I can’t tell you succinctly about the houses that we’ve turned into amazing, beautiful homes, through hard work—team work, not because we had to, but because it’s simply amazing what you can do when you set your mind to something. It’s incredible what beauty, and conversely, what havoc, we can create just because we choose to.

By the same token, one of my dad’s favorite sayings is “if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing wrong.” Even if things don’t work out the way you’d like, even if it turns out to be a fizzle in the end, if it was worth doing in the first place, DO IT! You can’t allow yourself to be paralyzed into inaction, just because you can’t see how things will all turn out in the end. As my mentor likes to say, “You can’t steer a parked car.” You have to move.

I’ve never known boredom in my life. My parents didn’t believe in it when I was growing up, and I don’t believe in it now. Either give me something to do, or get out of my way and I’ll find something. (Napping is something to do, just to clarify. Haha) If you want to drive me absolutely bonkers, put me in a holding pattern with nothing to do. Put me in a hotel room or a plane or some other enclosed space, without a book, without paper, and break my concentration so that I can’t even sleep or think or anything, and I promise you, I WILL go completely, stark-raving mad. (Unless it’s a specific program –preferably entertaining and/or uplifting, television does not count, and television cuts my focus and makes it extremely difficult to do anything, up to and including sleep. Television is an irritant. I don’t own a television for that reason. If I’m not watching it, it needs to be out of my hearing and out of my line of sight so that I can do something else.)

Some of the darkest parts of me, the battles I fight within myself, are very closely linked to some of the things I consider my strengths. My action-mindedness breeds, if I’m not careful, irritation with others who aren’t as focused as I, or even others who are focused on different things. I must be vigilant about that, and since my life currently lends itself to an abundance of activity, I’ve gotten to the point that I don’t think about it. I need to. I need that to be on my radar so that I don’t inadvertently hurt others with something that seems obvious (and obviously right) to me.

My appreciation of discipline breeds an inability to cope with others who aren’t disciplined in the same way I am. I have to realize that few others, in my peer group, were raised the way I was, and I need to learn to judge less harshly the things that I see as short-comings in others. I may be seen (and probably am by some) as overly disciplined, to the point of being harsh, and that is not my wish. I have come to know great joy in discipline, because it makes life so much better, richer, and easier in so many ways. Not everyone has experienced that the way I have, and I can’t expect them to know my perspective.

Living alone, I have become far too self-reliant. I have come to depend on solitude to recharge my batteries. (In psychology this is referred to as introversion—drawing strength from within instead of from without, needing solitude to recharge, no matter how much you love being sociable. Some people—extroverts—need social experiences to recharge.) I have gotten so used to the fact that I have no one else’s schedule to contend with, feelings to consider, or agenda to navigate that sometimes I don’t even see how selfish I’m being, until after the fact. Being single and living alone is a breeding ground for selfishness of thought, behavior, and attitude. I need to make a point of considering others. I need to fight that circumstance-borne illness, because it will kill my relationships if I don’t. I need to make time for solitude so that I can adjust my attitude and thought processes, however I can, and when I need to, and I need to make clear my reasons for seeking that solitude.

I prize communication. Sometimes I prize it too highly. Sometimes it’s ok to shut up. Sometimes it’s ok to let things go. I need to learn to relax more about communication. I need to be less vocal about some things and allow others to be how they choose to be. The danger here for me is that I hurt others with unkindness. I must strive to remember that unasked advice is criticism. My need to communicate is not more important than my need to be kind and loving. I must learn to balance the two.

I think this all boils down to the same thing, and it’s hard to correct this through introspection. I am a selfish person. I don’t always think of others. I think of my thoughts, because they’re the only thoughts I have, and I don’t take the time to try to see the perspectives of others. I judge people against a standard that is clear in my head, but one by which they may not judge themselves or me. What I see as “how life works” based on my experiences, education, training, etc., is not necessarily how others see life or experience it.

So perhaps it’s not so difficult to see why someone else may think my “true colors” are less than I believe my character to be. Perhaps how I have acted has spoken so loudly that others can’t hear a word I’m saying. Perhaps, because they can’t see my motives, my struggles, the desires of my heart I can’t expect them to view me through those things the way I do. No one, outside of my closest confidants, knows the battles I face within myself and how the true desire that screams inside me is to be loving and kind. Perhaps all they see is a terribly selfish, unkind, unloving individual who cannot be better than the worst that she fights within her.

Lord, have mercy on my broken, humbled spirit. Help me to undo the damage I have done in my relationships. Help me with these struggles. Draw my attention to the things in me that don’t bring honor and glory to You. Break me. Change me. Grow me. Protect me from the worst of myself. Prepare me for the things You have for my future. Make this the prayer of my heart and the focus of my spirit, through Your unending (THANK YOU) grace and mercy. In the all-powerful Name of your precious Son I pray, Amen.

Much love,
L~

Glimpses of His Love

2008-07-23T14:19:00.004-05:00

As previously mentioned, I’m reading The Way of the Wild Heart by John Eldredge, and he discusses the six phases of the masculine journey. (I encourage you to read this book and Wild at Heart, whether you’re a man or a woman, because it’s very enlightening. I also highly recommend Captivating, which is about the feminine journey.) They are Adored Son, Cowboy/Ranger, Warrior, Lover, King, and Sage. I am just beginning the chapters on the “Sage” part, and to this point, the most difficult part for me to read has been the “Lover” section. However, one thing in the Lover part of the book struck a chord in me, and that was when Eldredge was speaking of this communication between God and man. He spoke of the way God has shown His love over the years, and that resonated with me, because I understood. I have been there. I know what you mean. Shortly after I read that section, I had one of those little things happen that communicated to me that God longs to be intimately connected with my life. That experience led to the poem that I posted yesterday and began this post brewing in my head. Some things are really clear in my mind, but become much more complicated when I try to get them out and put them in words, so I hope I’m not confusing this issue too much in the telling…

Someone once said that when you talk to God it’s called prayer, but when God talks to you it’s called schizophrenia. :) I still think that’s hilarious. Have you ever spent time thinking about the ways in which God carries on conversations with His people? Chances are, if you’ve spent any time in prayer, ever in your life, you’ve at least considered the reverse. Perhaps you haven’t spent much time thinking about it. Perhaps you’re one of those people who think that it just doesn’t happen. Perhaps you’re not even sure that God exists. On the other hand, maybe, like me, you’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about it and have begun to enjoy a more regular intercourse with your Creator because of your careful consideration.

The two typical interactions that people automatically assume you’re talking about when you refer to the voice of God in your life are the Bible, and other people. It’s true. Those are great sources of interaction with God. I firmly believe that the Bible is our primary source for understanding the Mind and Heart of God, because it is His love story that He put in writing for our benefit. I believe, like many before me, that the Bible is the divine Word of God, that it is a living Word, and not a dead writing. I believe, as the Bible says of itself, that it is “able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness; that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.” In addition to Scripture, I believe that God uses people to speak to one another to convey His thoughts. In my life, He has used many people, even some unlikely sources.

This thought always reminds me of the little girl who was afraid of the dark. She called for her daddy, and he came into the room. She told him of her fear, and he said, “Don’t you remember that you learned that Jesus is with you all the time? You don’t ever have to be afraid of anything, because Jesus is there to take care of you.” She replied, “I know that, Daddy, but I just wanted someone with skin.” In our frailty as humans, we sometimes need someone “with skin,” and God faithfully provides that. He places people in our lives to help us through things, and for that we are grateful. On the reverse of that is the fact that sometimes you and I become the someone with skin to help others through. Sometimes we know it, and sometimes we don’t, but it’s a blessing to be that someone, either way. But I digress…

There are many other ways that God shows us that He is present, that He cares, and that He is interested in even the most mundane details of our daily lives. Sometimes He speaks directly to our spirit, using words that are almost audible in our heads. Sometimes He conveys an emotion or alleviates a negative emotion. There have been moments in my life that I could very clearly, in my mind, hear God’s voice speaking to me. Those things have not always been life-changing words, in fact, most of them were just moments shared between two close friends, but some of them have been very eye-opening. The first time that I felt God joking with me startled me and delighted me. But when I thought about it, I thought that if we’re created in His image and we joke with each other, why wouldn’t He joke with us, too? There was a time, a little over a year ago, that I had found a song that I loved, and I was listening to it one morning while getting ready to go somewhere, and I heard Him speak to me, in echo to the words of the song. That song has, ever since, been my love song with my Lover, my Lord: OUR song. Every time I hear it, I smile, and it renews my commitment to Him.

It’s interesting to note that trying to explain to someone else these moments is nearly impossible, even to someone else who understands. There’s such a POWER in the voice of God that it’s impossible to convey, so the re-telling of the experience loses something big. I’ve learned that those moments are generally to be shared only between the two of us, and in the sharing of those moments alone with Him, a precious intimacy is developed.

For those of you who know something of my spiritual journey, you know that it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve begun to grow by leaps and bounds. I had the foundation, being raised in a Christian home and being “saved” since the age of 4, but the personal relationship side of Christianity was, for me, a roller coaster ride. Sometimes I wasn’t even near the theme park, and sometimes I was at the height of the highest hill in the throes of the ride. I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on the supposed intimacy that God offered. He’s so big, and I’m so small. Why would He care about the little things in my day, when He has so much else to do? (This is why I intensely dislike the song “God Must Be Busy” btw. I understand it, but I detest the theology of it.) In thinking that He wouldn’t care about the little things, I effectively cut Him out of those parts of my life. When you consider the fact that the majority of our lives revolve around the little things, that cuts God out of the biggest part of who we are. I didn’t, at that time, see how those “minor” exclusions broke His heart. He wanted to be a part of those things, and I just didn’t want to “bother” Him by sharing them. It makes me sad to think about that.

One of the best things about God is that even when we hurt and reject Him, He keeps pursuing us. He keeps blessing us. As David put it in Psalms, “He knows my frame. He remembers that I am dust.” He doesn’t let it get Him bent out of shape. He doesn’t say, “Well, if she’s going to exclude me, I’m just going to forget it! Let’s see if she can make it through the day without me being there to fix things for her. Hmph!” He just continues to woo. He loves us, demonstratively, overwhelmingly, each day, even when we fail to notice. It’s really incredible.

You know, when I thought of the gifts of God, as I was growing up, I would think of the really obvious things: life, health, salvation, prosperity, etc. I didn’t think of actual gifts. My parents gave me the gift of life, too, but when I think of gifts they give me, I think of the littler things: a book, a memento, a card in the mail. It took a long time, but I started realizing that God gives little gifts, too. He gives us evidence of His love in tangible form, much the way a suitor would give his beloved when he’s wooing her. This is where we get the imagery of Jesus as the Lover of our souls. All aspects of human experience directly relate to aspects of divine experience. Our relationships among ourselves mirror the relationship we have with God, and He did that intentionally.

I want to give you an example, because this was the event that got me thinking about this post in the first place. I attended a business conference over the weekend, and Saturday morning I wound up parking a significant (in 4” heels, 8-10 blocks is much more significant) distance from the convention center and walking. It was the first spot I could find, and I was in a rush because I was running late. Little did I know that the distance was orchestrated by God. With hands full of the things that I “needed” to get through the daytime sessions and into the afternoon break, I was trotting down the sidewalk (yes, trotting) toward the conference, and something caught my eye. It was a flower, or rather a little batch of flowers off some bush like a lilac. I saw it, pristine, beautiful, recently cut, unbruised, untrampled on the sidewalk. I looked around for the bush, and I didn’t see it. I thought, “Oh, that’s nice, God, thank You,” and I kept walking. I felt a little twinge of guilt for not stopping to pick it up, but I was running late, hands full. I didn’t have anywhere to put it. I kept walking. “You could put it in your hair.” True. I could, but I’m a block away from it by now, and I’m still late and I’m still carrying stuff. “Alright.”

I thought about that flower off and on for the rest of the morning/early afternoon. Before the evening session, I decided that I needed to take some of my stuff back to the car so I wouldn’t have to deal with carrying so much after the late night session ended, so I hauled my proverbial cookies back to the car. I didn’t see the flower, but about a half-block down from where I remembered it being, I saw the bush it had come from and thought, “How could I have missed that bush? It’s so beautiful and has flowers all over it.” The answer was, “I meant for you to see the flower I wanted to give you, not the bush it came from. If you’d seen the bush, the flower wouldn’t have been as remarkable.” I took my things to the car, dropped them off, reorganized and started back, at a slower pace. I was looking for my flower now. It was still lying there, a little wilted from the heat of the day, but unbroken and untrampled. I thought, “Oh, it’s wilted. That’s too bad.” I got about 10 steps past it when I thought, “I’m an idiot. I’m not walking by that AGAIN.” And I stopped, turned around, and went back and got it.

Now, had someone been with me, they would have thought I was crazy. I turned around and went back and picked up a wilted flower. I carried it in my hand back into the hotel, into the restroom where I changed my clothes, and then placed it in my hair where it had belonged all day. No one said anything. It would have been beautiful in my hair when I arrived, because it just matched my dress, and it was fresh then, but I had, as a friend of mine says, “delayed intelligence.”

The rest of the walk, after I picked it up, I realized what it meant. God gave me flowers. He gave me a little bouquet, for no other reason than that He loved me and wanted me to be happy. He knows that the question of my heart and the journey of my life is the quest to be beautiful. He blesses me with little bits of beauty that He leaves for me alone to see because He knows I’m searching for beauty in my heart. He gives me beauty that complements my own beauty (matching my dress, even) as an affirmation and in answer to my question, “Am I beautiful, God?” “Yes, my Love. You are beautiful. You are more beautiful to me than anything. I love you. I delight in your beauty, and because you delight in the beauty in which I surround you, here is a token of my love. Wear it in your hair as a gift from your Lover.”

My primary love language is gifts. God was speaking my language, physically, so that I could hear, see, smell, touch, and experience His love. I love flowers. I’ve only received flowers from a handful of people over the years, and they mean the world to me. I told my daddy that if I ever got married that it would be his job to make sure that my husband knows how I love to receive flowers. He said, “When you get married, your husband should know that without having to have me tell him.” Well, God’s my Lover, and He knows my heart so well that He gives exactly the gift He knows will delight me. And, not being a gracious lover in return, or perhaps more accurately, not always being in the frame of mind of being the Beloved, I noticed, but didn’t really notice. It took Him several tries for me to acknowledge His gift, and being as boneheaded as I am, it took me a bit, but I got the message.

God speaks to us. He gives us glimpses of His love. He showers us with gifts, even tangible ones, and we are so wrapped up in our tiny, little lives that we miss them, but He keeps trying. He woos. He calls. He loves. He leaves it up to us to open our eyes, to be receptive to His love, and to share the amazing lives that He longs to give us. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to work at keeping my eyes open, at being available when my Lover calls me to come out and play, at hearing His voice. May you see Him in your life. He’s there, just pay attention, and you’ll see Him.

Much love.
L~

P.S. Yes, the picture above is of the actual flower from God. And, yes, I still have it. :)

A poem

2008-07-22T15:40:00.002-05:00

In the not too distant past I have read Wild at Heart by John Eldredge and Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge. I am now reading The Way of the Wild Heart by John Eldredge. I intend to read most of his/their books. My loyal readers know that I have been doing a self-directed study of femininity and masculinity for a couple of years now. These books are a part of that.

The poem below was inspired by these works. Captivating maintains that the central question of a woman's heart is "Am I beautiful?" The idea is that while the man is the rough, warrior side of the image of God, that the woman is the beauty side of God. We are meant to engage others in God through our beauty. Since I know how difficult this particular issue is in my own heart and mind, I tend to believe that the beauty premise is true. While the natural inclination will be for the reader to assume that this poem is written about a man, the fact of the matter is, it's written about my relationship with God. There are things in my other relationships that point me back to Him and to the way He sees me, and it is true that I am more capable of seeing His hand at work in my life, when my other relationships are working properly. Here it is:

The Warrior and the Beauty

In dreams the Warrior came to me.
He’d whisper in my ear;
His strength was big, his heart was strong,
His power drew me near.

I wondered who I was to him
And why he ever came,
For I was nothing special then
No one to take a name.

But in my mind, my Warrior stood
So handsome sleek and strong,
And in my heart, he softly wooed
And brought to me a song.

The Beauty that I longed to be
He recognized before.
He loved in me the things I sought,
Though having them in store.

And as I learned my Warrior’s love
The Beauty in me grew
Until I learned that it was I,
And it was then I knew

That what my Warrior saw in me
Had been there all along,
And what his strength inspired in me
Was my own Beauty’s song.

So now the Warrior, with his queen,
The Beauty, measures free
The love they share; for from now on,
His Beauty will be me.

Great Is His Faithfulness

2008-07-22T15:26:00.002-05:00

(This post was written on 7/18/2008. I didn't get a chance to post it until now, though. Please forgive my untimeliness.)

His mercies are new every morning; great is His faithfulness.. This blogpost has been a long time in coming. There were dozens of posts that I didn’t write, for various reasons, and this one will probably contain a slight smattering of them all. I didn’t write them out of fear. It sounds odd, and it’s unreasonable, but fear is a funny thing. Fear comes to us in many forms, and it catches us at odd moments. Sometimes it’s obvious, and others it masquerades under the guise of more “logical” emotions. The fear of which I speak for this post is a relational fear.

I have a healthy fear of God. That fear of God bleeds over into a healthy fear of my parents. I don’t mean fear as in “I’m afraid of my parents” so much as “I’m afraid of hurting or disappointing my parents.”

Let me tell you a little about my parents. My parents are two of my best friends. They are my trusted advisors. They are the voices, arms, and bodies of God in my life. They are my heroes, my mentors, my examples. Their opinion(s) means more to me than any other. It’s only been in the last few years that I have developed to the point that I feel that they can count ME as a friend, too, but that friendship that I share with them is rich with the many facets of a well-cut gem. I am their daughter, true, but I am also their friend, their companion, their spiritual sister.

In my younger years, I regrettably developed the habit of not communicating with them about some important things. Under the guise of “what they don’t know won’t hurt them,” I excluded them from portions of my life. I didn’t share the things I should, and I reaped a large harvest of heartache for my, well, deceit. Hurts that could have been prevented weren’t. Things that Satan meant to destroy me almost did. The lies in my head were bigger than my faith in my parents, and I’m truly ashamed of that. I bought into the lie that they couldn’t possibly understand, that the hassle wasn’t worth the trouble, that they’d be disappointed in me, that they might reject me—whatever lie was most convenient for whichever occasion.

Since moving away from my home state, I have learned to be more frank with them. I have learned to discuss things with them, to rely on their wisdom and input into my life, to understand their perspective more, to include them in my life. However, there are still times when I struggle with being forthcoming, because it was such a way of life for so long—hiding things. I would justify it in my head with whatever reasoning I needed to, such as “they don’t need to know,” “they wouldn’t care,” “it’s too much hassle,” or the ever-popular, “I’m an adult, and I get to decide what I do with my life, and I don’t have to explain that to anyone. I don’t live under their roof anymore; I pay my own bills…”

Cut to 2008. I’ve had an interesting month or so. Since Monday, 16 June, I have been in some rather interesting conversations with “Bonehead” as my friend calls him—the somewhat-subject of an earlier blogpost about my relational life. (I still maintain that the post was about me, but he did feature predominantly in it, so I won’t argue semantics.) In the course of those conversations, and the developing friendship that I share with him, I have had many ideas that I longed to put on paper, to post here. I didn’t do it. I didn’t share, because I knew that my parents were set against him, and it was just too much to poke the hornet’s nest, when there wasn’t really anything going on. Well, over the last couple of weeks, there has been a lot of development on that scene, some of which I will share here, and I have come to the point where I faced my fears and actually had a couple of conversations with my parents.

At this point, I’m not sure where to really begin, but I’ll give you a smattering of the developments and allow you to draw your own conclusions. I’m going to refer to him as Beast, here, because I like it better than Bonehead, and it’s a little more flattering, if only in my head. haha

Conversations began over a misunderstanding (intentionally fostered by an interested third party), but quickly evolved into a serious discussion (hereafter referred to as The Conversation). Beast had heard a conversation between his uncle and me (herafter, Uncle Beast or UB) on his mom’s (Mama Beast or MB) radio phone. He had listened intently to most of the conversation, and I was surprised at the degree of attention he paid. UB and I were discussing some fairly weighty topics, such as the state of the family in America, personal responsibility, the roles of masculinity and femininity in our society, and the devolution of sin from the time of the Fall of man. Beast said that during that conversation, he had developed a greater realization of my spiritual state. He said that the contrast between where I am, spiritually, and where he was, spiritually, was huge, and that he knew, for the first time, how far he’d gone the wrong direction. He realized that his condition was so bad that he didn’t even know where to start to get back on the right track. He asked for my help in changing the course of his life. That’s where it began.

As some of you know, he had broken my trust when we were together before. Unfortunately, trust broken is not easily mended. I am loyal to a fault. I care for people more than I should, most of the time. But, when I’m hurt, it takes time and faithful effort to move past that. I’ve spent too much time making excuses for people who hurt me, and I’ve gotten to the point where I won’t do that anymore. I can’t. This desire for my help put me in an awkward position. Not only had I been hurt, but my parents had been hurt on my behalf. They were dead-set against him. I called my mom to tell her about the conversation, and she told my dad, who called me. While not unpleasant, it wasn’t pleasant, either. He doesn’t want to see his little girl get hurt. I can understand that.

When I began developing this friendship, again, it was slow going. I couldn’t see this growing to be more, and in fact, I saw an end in sight and coming quickly. Why bother my parents? Why needlessly concern them, if nothing is going to come of it? Why stir up the hornets?

Indeed.

Shortly after this conversation began, Beast and his brother, the honorable Mississippi Pimp/MP (long story—don’t ask) were scheduled to move to Florida. Florida isn’t nearby. My thought was that they’d move, and that’d be it. Well, he asked me to come visit him in Florida when they went, so we made the plans, and I got tickets to fly to FL the weekend after they moved. Ok, so maybe it wouldn’t end when they left. I helped them pack, played babysitter quite a bit, shared a piece of their lives, got closer to them, and planned for a brief Florida vacation.

When I went, I thought that I’d get down there, there’d be a lot going on, we wouldn’t get much time to talk, and then we’d have some argument, and I’d go home and never hear from him again. That didn’t happen.

I got home and thought, “Crap.” Yes, it’s good to have a burgeoning relationship. Yes, it’s exciting to know that there’s a mutual understanding and caring. Yes, it’s terrifying to think of telling your parents that you’re seeing the one guy they really wish would drop off the face of the planet, especially when they don’t know that you’ve just spent the weekend in his home state in his mother's home.. Crap.

For some weeks in advance of this, and even prior to The Conversation, talk had been happening among his family that I would be joining them on their family vacation, this year. It sounded like a lot of fun, and something I would LOVE to do, but… well, but. But, when the topic originally arose, Beast was essentially not speaking to me, but he wasn’t planning to go on the trip, either. As our friendship emerged, and as the potential for romance was rekindled, it became an ongoing topic of conversation. He decided to go. The family had adopted me as one of their own, and they wanted me to be part of this event in their lives. “I’d really like to go, but I just don’t know if I can swing it.”

Somewhere, sometime, behind my back, the decision was made. Satin is going on the family vacation. The family is buying her tickets. It’s a done deal. No arguing. Yesterday, that happened. The tickets were bought, the arrangements were made. Crap. Now I HAVE to tell my parents. Crap, crap, crap.

So, I made the call. Mom was NOT thrilled. She’s the single most relaxed, easy-going, gentle-natured individual I know. She was NOT happy. She passed the phone to Daddy. A conversation was had. I had broken Daddy’s heart. He was deeply concerned. There were some things, to his way of thinking, fundamentally wrong with the concept of my having a relationship with this man. How does a concerned dad protect his daughter from heartache and not inadvertently push her away instead?

After that phone call, I received calls from MB, Beast, and UB. I spent a lot of time on the phone. Much was said. In the end, it was time to pray. I sent an email to my 4 best female friends asking their intercession on behalf of the matter. When I awoke I had responses already from three of them. Later, I found out that UB had spent most of the night saturating all of those involved in prayer, specifically my dad.

Partway through the day, I got a call from my dad, and we visited more, coming to a greater understanding of each other. He had spent the night praying and studying the Bible to search out truth, where it relates to the fundamental issues with my relationship, and in his studies, he came to a different understanding of the grace of God than he had possessed to that point. We became closer through an issue that threatened to tear us apart. THAT is why this post is entitled “Great is His faithfulness.” Through the faithfulness of God, I was brought forth from a crippling fear. Through the faithfulness of God, my dad was brought to a deeper understanding of scriptural truth. Through the faithfulness of God, my relationship with my dad was strengthened. Through the faithfulness of God, a very important friendship was spared and the potential for a future was preserved.

Now, I don’t honestly know if Beast and I have a chance at making this a forever thing. We both have much to learn and a long way to go. This is just the first step in a long journey, however, it is one of the most difficult steps I’ve envisioned needing to take. These two men in my life haven’t yet met, but I’m not as worried about them killing each other on sight, now. Perhaps we stand a chance. With each step, the “hope and a future” that God speaks of in Jeremiah is more in evidence. Great, GREAT is HIS faithfulness, in my life. His mercies are truly new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.

Much love.
L~

What, now?

2008-05-16T13:38:00.002-05:00

I got a call from my mom, yesterday, and my dad was in the background talking, so she passed the phone on to him.

"Hey, Baybee. I invented a new website."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, it's called RumpBook. It's where people can just log in and kiss it if they like. I even have a list of preferred users-- you know, people who have been pre-approved as users because I really think they should make use of it."

...so, I told him he could at least have his own blog post about it. haha

Please feel free to comment on this post until www.rumpbook.com is up and running.

Much love.

Bring on the Boneheads

2008-05-14T11:04:00.003-05:00

I was raised by parents who thought it was very important to be educated. The foundation of education, from their perspective, was reading. My brother and I were read to before and after birth, and the books we were read were adult literature, most of the time, not children’s story books. We were both taught to read for ourselves before we started school. I was reading “real” books by the age of 4. We were raised with good literature, including both fiction and non-fiction. Commonplace in our home were Sherlock Holmes novels, Mark Twain’s writings, C.S. Lewis’ books (Chronicles of Narnia, and his apologetics), Jane Austen’s works, William Shakespeare’s brilliance, and too many others to recall or name here. Heavily dominating the literary training of our youth was the Bible. This is where I get my vast love of reading, literature, writing, and speaking. I love, with all that is in me, words.

Sometimes, I forget that other people don’t come from extraordinarily literate families like mine. Sometimes, it doesn’t occur to me that the language I embrace and use so imaginatively is gibberish to those with less extensive vocabularies. Frankly, it wasn’t until adulthood that this thought even occurred to me at all. A friend of mine asked me to teach her English as a second language. Important point—English is the only language said lady has ever spoken/read/learned. She would pick a word from our conversations, ask me to define it, then find somewhere to use it within 24 hours. She ASKED me to correct her grammar! Dream come true. Haha. That moment defined a tiny thought in my brain. That thought triggered a greater realization. Not everyone thinks exactly the way I do. Amazing.

Something incredible about language is what it does inside our brains. Words are tools by which we learn to embrace and use our world. Teaching someone words is a portion of teaching someone thoughts. When you have words at your disposal, you have more ingredients for thought. Thought leads to ideas. Ideas lead to action. Action leads to experience. Experience equals education. I will, at this time, refrain from stepping onto my soapbox regarding education, as that is quite another topic and not the one I wish to discuss for the time being. Suffice it to say, readers are thinkers.

When you are raised to read and reason, you learn to think things through before you act on them. Major life decisions require thoughtful planning. Believe me, I have a truly spontaneous nature, but that doesn’t keep me from refusing to act on foolish thoughts… well, most of the time, anyway. One of the major decisions in life, from my perspective, is the person to whom you will be bound for eternity—well, at least ‘til death do you part. As a little girl, I watched my mother and learned how to be a woman. I was raised to believe that the highest calling any woman can have is to be a homemaker, a wife, a mother. Having pursued careers, owned businesses, gotten ejumacated, run wild, and eventually started to grow up, I have come full circle—to the point that I believe little else with such fervency. I truly desire to be called to that noblest profession. There is one teensy tinesy little caveat with that. It’s awfully hard to be a homemaker/wife/mother when you’re single.

Beyond that, (eventually I will get to the subject of this post, I promise) a favorite topic, whether in thought or conversation, of girls the world over is boys. We (well, at least the straight ones of us) think of them a lot. Those of us (guilty, as charged) who are, what we called in elementary school, “boy-crazy” think of them more than a lot—read constantly. Those who are both boy-crazy and raised to believe that homemaker is the highest calling are pooched from the get-go, because we put a lot of thought into what Prince Charming is going to be like. When you couple that with a literary bent and the thought-processes borne of studying thoughts of great thinkers, you basically have a mess. This calls to mind that part of a song from Music Man when Marion the Librarian’s mother is trying to convince her to give Professor Hill a chance—“I know all about your standards, and if you don’t mind my saying so, there’s not a man alive who could hope to measure up to that blend of Paul Bunyan, St. Pat, and Noah Webster you’ve concocted for yourself out of your Irish imagination, your Iowa stubbornness, and your library full of books!” To put it simply, we think ourselves out of the possibility of a relationship with anything that even vaguely resembles a human.

So, we make lists. Lists of things he’ll like. Lists of things he won’t like. Lists of things he’ll do. Lists of things he won’t do. Lists of things he’ll be, won’t be, will think, won’t think, will have, won’t have, will look like, won’t look like, etc. etc. etc. Lists of lists and lists of places you left the lists of lists because you can’t keep up with them all. And then, every once in awhile, you take all the lists and put them in a pile and set them on fire and watch them burn, until your smoke alarm goes off and the Alexandria Fire Department get in their shiny trucks and come over to rescue you from your burning apartment. And you think, “Oh, as soon as they let me back in, I need to add “Firefighter” to list 32—no, wait, I burned that one, too.”

As a single, fairly level-headed adult who desires to remain the latter but not the former, for most of the rest of her life, I keep my eyes open. I observe people. I don’t often act on my observations, anymore, due to a pesky little thing called self-preservation, but from time to time, I get into “dating” mode. Usually short-lived, “dating” mode for me is a flurry of first dates, and rarely second ones. Occasionally, someone strikes my fancy or hits enough points on my endless lists that I’ll allow myself to consider a relationship. Even less often, I’ll actually try out that relationship. To put this in perspective, in my post-college life (all seven years of it), there have been three guys who I’ve considered to be my boyfriend, three more who considered themselves to be my boyfriend, and two more that I thought about potentially kindling a romance. None of these have lasted longer than a month. (Someday I’ll write a “war” stories blog post and fill you in on all that.)

The reason most guys don’t make it past a first date is that I’m not interested in CHANGING guys. I have no desire to push, prod, or nag them into being someone else (or becoming a Man). I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to me, either. I don’t want to saddle myself with someone who doesn’t live up to my standards, someone who drives me nuts with his need to discuss politics, someone who fancies himself an intellectual and is therefore incapable of condescending to the level of someone who is, frankly, more intelligent, better-read, and way out of his league (yeah, that’s me), someone to whom I’m not physically attracted, someone who, after one date, feels it’s appropriate to call me at 3 in the morning on a Tuesday for reasons unknown then get bent out of shape when I’m not particularly thrilled that he awakened me to chat about nothing specific, someone who is unstable, someone with anger issues, someone who has no respect for my time and even less respect for my person, or any of the other, somehow unsatisfactory “someones” who troll the world. (Here, I shall refrain from stepping onto my “State of the Dating World Address” soap box.)

The main problem with this whole thing is—They’re. All. Alike. Every. Last. One. Of. Them. You try and you try to pick the one who seems the least nuts, who meets, in some way, a portion of your Non-Negotiables, who might, perchance, not make your family want to kill him on sight, who is vaguely attractive, who has a “good” job (whatever that is), who has an “education” (whatever the heck that means), etc. etc. etc., and they’re all alike. Frankly, they’re all completely wrong. Well, for me, anyway. They’re all self-aggrandizing, pompous, obnoxious, yuppies who need a swift kick in the pants administered by a real man. Bar-none. And some of them are downright rude, or they’re just plain jerks. They’re a waste of my time and energy, and nothing, absolutely nothing gives me a headache like that particular variety of a waste of my time and energy.

So I met this guy. He drives me crazy. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated. My favorite term for him is “bonehead.” Yup, he’s a bonehead. He is almost as much of a bonehead as I am. OK, maybe he’s more of one. He scores so low on my list-compliance test that I almost didn’t acknowledge that he was on my radar at all. The problem is that he’s forced me to re-think the lists themselves. He is completely, totally, and in all other ways, utterly inappropriate for me. He flat-out doesn’t qualify for an AUDITION for the role of “Man in My Life,” much less a call-back. Like I said, he’s a bonehead. But. Yeah, you knew it was coming. BUT. But, he fascinates me. He intrigues me. He attracts me. He makes my brain scream, my heart cry, and my body zing. I get all confused and enthralled when I think about the possibilities. Then I get depressed because there is just no way. None. And then he dumps me. Out of the blue. One day, we’re happy. The next day, he’s blank, and we’re done. I’m relieved. Really. Truly. On the level of my heart that says, “Whew that was a close call, and he could have messed you up BAD…” (yes, that level of my heart does not always acknowledge my internal grammar checks) I am relieved. Now I don’t have to worry about him being around my family and the potential offense he can spark. And then, the little girl in me—the one who refuses to succumb to anything so boring as “appropriate”—cries and says, “But now I don’t have to worry about him being around my family…”

You see, in all my list-making, all my life, I failed to consider some things. I failed to consider the fact that a girl who is so boneheaded and heartstrong as I needs a strong man in her world. I failed to consider that the woman in me needs a man that can meet my velvet with a boulder of his personality. I failed to consider that a man entirely unlike my father will never earn my respect and will never be worthy of my love and devotion—no matter how I long to give it. I failed to remember that said Daddy is also a bonehead. I failed to consider that the fact of an attraction between the soft woman I strive to be and the hard man that I need would cripple all of the reasoning that I bring with me. I failed to consider that the man I need, the man that the woman I’m becoming needs, might just not be predictable. He might not fit into my neat little packages. He may not look the way I expect him to. He may affront me with the force of his being and make me crazy. He may be a cave man, a beast, a bonehead—and when you put “my” in front of those words, they become terms of endearment, loving niceties. He may be too many things I hadn’t thought of and too few of the things I had thought of for me to even consider. I failed to consider reality. I read too many books.

OK, so that’s it. No more of him. He’s not mine, nor was he, except in my head, or when we were alone and he’d whisper those honey-soaked words that professed my possession of him. My boyfriend. My Man. My Beast. My Caveman. My Bonehead. OK. It didn’t last long enough for me to be too hurt. But two little girls are in the back of my head, like children on a cross-country family vacation. One is the prim and proper “big” sister who insists on dressing up in mommy’s shoes and wearing her pearls everywhere she goes. The other is the free-spirit who prefers her scuffed up jeans and her bicycle (or pony, in my case) and a smudge of dirt on her cheek to the perfume and powder of her polar-opposite twin. They sit back there, softly arguing. Not so much that Mom and Dad (my conscious thoughts) are forced from their conversation in the front seat to intervene and bring order, but just loudly enough that when there’s a lull, the parents are aware of the subject at hand. Instead of arguing over a toy or picking on each other out of exhaustion or crankiness, the twins in the backseat of my mind are arguing over life, the future, the potential for happiness, the dreams I hold dearest, and the realism of the necessity of lists.

“You can’t consider someone like that. He swears too much to even introduce to the family. He has tattoos for Pete’s sake, and wants more. He’s uncouth and undeveloped. He hasn’t yet learned some of the most important lessons in life, even though he’s 5 years your senior!”

“Yes, I know all that.” The little foot would stomp the floor-board impatiently if it could reach, but being short, the little girl actually kicks the back of the driver’s seat instead. “But the only people I’ve ever met who are ‘appropriate’ for me are not attractive. I have no respect for them. They don’t meet me on my level or challenge me like that. Those people just bore me, give me a headache, and annoy me. He's a MAN. He makes the girl in me wake up and take notice!”

“But you can’t base a future on how someone makes you FEEL. Feelings are fickle.” She’s absentmindedly twirling the string of pearls through her fingers. “Feelings tell you nothing, but that you’re alive—“

“Exactly! I’m ALIVE!”

“—But you can’t base a future on a vital sign!”

“But if I don’t have vital signs, how can I have a future?”

And Satin Perfume & Pearls pauses, always careful to choose her words with consideration. Satin Ponies & Puddles looks very proud of herself for a heartbeat, then more unsure as the two consider. And the argument continues, quietly, in the back of my mind.

So, my paradigm has shifted. I’ve always known that some things work and some don’t. I’ve always known that there are things I want in my life and things I don’t. The man in my world will need to be certain things and need to not be others. It’s just that I’m not as sure of all those things as I was before. The problem with being sure is dealing with the sharp contrast between surety and reality. A few of my Non-Negotiables remain. A few are less “Non” and more “Negotiable”, and a few things that I hadn’t considered have become mainstays of the Non-Negotiable master list. Thanks to the man who was briefly My Beast, My Strong Man, My Bonehead. Yes, Bonehead. That is now a Non-Negotiable.

It took someone who does not think the way I think, who doesn’t have the “education” that I have, who doesn’t meet my qualifications, who doesn’t fit. It took someone who can’t possibly be my one-and-only to teach me that my scripted suitors don’t fit, that my lists don’t cover all the bases, that the intangibles create the romance, and that I need to rethink this whole idea of who will be a part of my future. He’ll never read these words, I’m sure, but I thank him, with all my heart. And I thank my girlfriend who opened the door with her request for English lessons, because if I hadn’t realized that mine was not the only perspective, I would have never been open to discovering this whole other side of the man I will someday love and marry. And now, bring on the Boneheads. :D

Much love.
L~

What kind of poison is your personality?

2008-05-13T10:20:00.001-05:00

What kind of poison is your personality?

Urushiol

Nothing drives a man wild like a little contact dermatitis! You don't really want to kill anyone, you just want to make them wish they'd died. Found in the Poison Ivy plant , when you touch someone, the itch can last forever.

Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

Follow-up on KABOOM

2008-04-16T10:26:00.001-05:00

I have been granted permission to link to LT G's blog. You'll see the link in the right-hand column on this page, from now until eternity. :D

Much love.
L~

Prayers for our Troops

2008-04-16T09:55:00.004-05:00

Some of you may know this; others may not. I have been a member of a particular military website since September 2003, and within this site, there are various clubs and groups that you can join. I am a member of the Prayer and Religious Discussion group, which was started to remind the members of trackpads.com to pray for the troops, and to do so publicly. Many of the members of this site are military veterans, current military, and military families, so it's not a stretch to think that the troops are nearly always on their minds. Having something on your mind doesn't mean that you are keeping it in prayer, however, and that is the primary purpose of this group. There is a thread on our sub-forum that is exclusively for prayers for the troops. I do my best to post there regularly, but anyone who isn't a member of that group on that website doesn't have access to the thread. Since I don't have permission to use the prayers of others, I am re-posting some of the prayers I have placed on that thread, here. Please feel free to use them or elements of them or inspiration from them as a guide for your own prayers on behalf of the warriors that ensure that we have the option to live as we choose.

Pray for, and support, our soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, and coasties.

Much love.
L~

Dear Father,

Thank You for all the blessings that You give us. We know that every good and perfect comes from You alone. Thank you for the men and women who protect us. Please bless them, protect them, guide them, cheer them, and heal them. Thank You for Your grace and mercy. Make us ever mindful of them.

In Your Holy Son's Name we pray,
~Amen~

Our Heavenly Father,

Thank You so much for the protection that You've given us over the weekend. Thank You for acting on our behalf. Thank You for Your loving care, even when we don't deserve it. Please act on the behalf of our men and women who stand in the way of danger to protect us. Please guide them. Please shield them from spiritual attacks, as well as physical and mental. Please strengthen and hearten them, today. Please place Your hands on them and increase them in the way that only You can.

Forgive us for our impurities, in motive, word, thought, and deed. Please heal us and heal our land. Please help us to not repeat the mistakes of history. Draw us closer to you, as individuals and as a people. Return us to You. Put out Your call on our lives and hearts, and send a vibration through our souls. Help us to return to You. Weaken us, that Your strength may be made manifest in our weakness. Decrease us, that You may increase. Make us nothing, that You may be seen as our Everything, our All. Take from us our most precious possessions so that we may be loosed from our dependence on anything or anyone but You. Save us, Lord. That's all we need. Put the desire in our hearts, as a people, to have nothing but You. Lead us to You, because we can't make it on our own.

Thank You for Your attention to us. Thank You for Your patience. Thank You for not reacting to our unbelief and unfaithfulness the way a human would. Thank You for remembering that we are dust.

It's in the Name of Your holy Son we pray all these things.
~Amen~

Our Heavenly Father,

Thank You so much for the willingness with which our men and women in (and out of) uniform sacrifice themselves. Thank You for their decisions that have brought them to this place of service. Help them to know that their nation supports, loves, and admires them. Help them to draw strength from the value we place on them. Thank You for them and their place in our hearts and minds. Please protect and keep them this day.

We ask that Your Hand of grace and mercy be put on those who have suffered or are suffering from battlefield and combat-related injuries. Please step into their lives and hearts and heal them. You alone can heal the hurts that go deeper than flesh, bone, and blood.

Please touch our warriors who have been scarred mentally and psychiatrically. Please heal these mental wounds that so affect the way in which they live and the lives they choose. Protect their families, friends, and loved ones from the wounds that overflow into others' lives.

Please step into the lives of the men and women who choose to rebel against You, knowingly or unwittingly. Please go after them and do not let them rest until they desire you with every breath in their bodies. Pursue them and let them know that they are being hunted by a Holy God, and return them to You.

We ask your protection over our protectors. Please place them in the forefronts of our minds and cause us to always be in prayer and supplication on their behalf. Bless and encourage them and give us opportunities to support and love them.

Thank You for Your unending grace that envelops us through it all.

In the name of Your precious Son, our Savior, we pray.
~Amen~

Dear Father,

Please act today in the lives of our troops. Move their hearts and minds ever closer to you. Protect them from those who would do them evil. Shield their minds and thoughts from unhealthy influences. Give them strength of spirit and the ability and drive to move forward. Give them peace in their hearts, and let them know how very much they are loved.

Keep them in our thoughts and prayers in each moment and bless them.

In Your Holy Name we pray.
~amen~

Dear Father,

Thank You for the men and women who serve. Thank You for the blessing that they are to us. Thank You for their protection, devotion, and sacrifice. Thank You for their training and their willingness to put it to use on our behalf. Thank You for them. Please help us to be a blessing to them.

Lord, You know the needs of each one of these individuals who keep us safe and secure, and You alone know how to meet each need. At this moment, You know the needs that are pressing on my mind, and You know the soldiers and their families. You know their hearts, and You know their paths and their futures. For all three of these young men, I pray healing. For all three, I ask that You reconcile them to You. Please draw them inextricably closer to You each day. Pursue them with Your mercy and grace. Touch their lives and hearts and renew their minds. Remove the influences that keep them away from You and protect them from the attacks leveled at them. Only You can act on their behalves. Only You can guide them home. Only You can reach so deeply inside of them to heal their scars. Those around them have lived so much pain already. Please protect the ones that love them from destructive behavior patterns. Please heal their pain. Protect the children from the habits of their parents and extended families. Heal these homes. Reconcile them to You. Lord, in Your mercy, hear our prayer.

Sometimes it seems like there are no answers. Sometimes it seems like there's no way to right the wrongs. Sometimes it seems like even the best solutions are not enough. In these times, we ask Your guidance. We plead for Your grace. We NEED You to make the paths straight before us. We, Your people, ask on behalf of those we love, when they are too far gone to ask for themselves. Please honor our prayers and the spirit in which they are offered. Please make our motives pure. Please help us to see Your provision and Your hand at work. We know You are working, but we don't see from Your perspective. Sometimes we're just too small to see the big picture. Help us to trust You and allow You to make all things beautiful in Your time. Perfect Your work in us. Help us to not grow impatient when we don't see what we think we should. Help us, Lord, for we are weak. Be exalted in and through our weaknesses.

Lord, we want so badly to be a blessing to others. We want to be effective. We want to be Your ambassadors to the world, but sometimes it all seems to be so much more than what we can do. Please help us to do what You've called us to do and not get sidetracked by the enormity of need. Protect us from complacency and from being overwhelmed. Give us eyes so we may see and ears so we may hear. Guide us and give us Your Spirit and Will. You are the God of miracles. Magnify our efforts and our prayers to the point that they can meet the ever-growing needs around us. Help us to be worthy of Your name.

Please bless our warriors, today. Please protect them. Please meet their needs. Please guide them into Your will and make them walk in Your way.

We ask all these things, through Your mercy, in the name of your Holy Son.
~Amen~

Father, please hold the men and women in our Armed Forces and law enforcement in the palm of your hand. Please protect them, keep them, guide them, and touch them. Please draw them closer to you, with each task they are asked to perform. Draw them ever nearer to you, and bless their work for all that they sacrifice for others. Encourage them and remind them of the love we have for them. Thank you for them. Help us to remember them and pray for them with every breath.

In Jesus' Name,
~Amen~

Unfettered Approval/Recommendation

2008-04-15T16:32:00.004-05:00

For anyone who stumbles across my blog, intentionally or not:

I HIGHLY recommend that you read LT G's blog, Kaboom War Journal.

I am absolutely and totally addicted to it. That, and I have the song on it stuck in my head. I have requested his permission to put a link to him permanently on my page, and quite understandably, have not yet heard back from him. I have read every word he's posted on it, and am eagerly awaiting the next post. For those literary fans out there, you will be entranced, impressed, and befuddled by his brilliance.

If you don't care for a clever turn-of-phrase, literary genius, or the men who make this country great by their very existence, their battlefield savvy, and their love of job/comrade/country, you probably won't care too much for it, but I do, so there. How's that for a rebuttal?

While I don't entirely agree with his ideology, I find him fascinating in his thought processes and brilliant in his composition. Yup, I said brilliant. Twice.

Much love.
L~

P.S. Please be aware that this is a milblog, and that as such, it exhibits some of the coarse language that goes with a warrior's vocabulary.

Interesting Day

2008-02-07T14:36:00.000-05:00

It was an interesting day, yesterday.

I had signed up to donate plasma at Walter Reed Army Medical Center (WRAMC), which is supposed to be about an hour and a half long procedure. For those who don’t know how this works, they put a needle in one arm and draw the blood out of it. The blood runs through a machine that separates the plasma from the rest of the blood. They put a catheter into the other arm, and once it’s through the machine, return the unused portion of your blood to you through the cath site. This process is called apheresis. (If you’re interested in more info about giving blood in support of military hospitals, click here.) Most people know about whole blood donation. That’s when one donor provides whole blood that helps usually only one or two patients. Fewer know about apheresis, which allows one donor to help up to 3 patients. Whole blood donation can only be done every 56+ days because of how long it takes the body to manufacture the blood to replace the deficit. Apheresis can be done every 2 weeks, because the body isn’t running on less blood, so it can work more efficiently to replace one type of cells in the blood.

For those of you who don’t know, I started giving blood in an effort to squelch my irrational fear of needles. (It works. When they want to give you a shot with that tiny little teensy barely-there prick of a needle, it’s NOTHING compared to the 14 gauge, or whatever it is, that they use to draw blood.) For this reason, it’s not entirely logical to jump to the conclusion that I’d be all about the whole apheresis process, since it requires 2 equally large needles going into two arms respectively.

I got there and checked in, and they took me into the room where they do the procedure. I got all comfortable in the really stinking kewl chair they sent me to, and the young gentleman came over to prepare me to insert the needles. First he had to decide which veins he was going to use. He looked at my left arm and identified 2 likely candidates. The first was the fire-hose vein through the center of my elbow, but it’s a bit deep, and the second was the vein that runs across the top of the inside of my elbow. He looked at my right arm and settled irrevocably on the center vein in my elbow. He did all of the sterilizing stuff, then proceeded to stick the needle in my arm. He poked and prodded, and he tried to get into that big vein with no luck, so he called over another person to try. He poked and prodded, and he tried to get into that big vein with no luck, so he pulled the needle out. He sterilized the other site, stabbed the needle straight into it with no problems, and I proceeded to gush blood all over everything. He cleaned me up and got the catheter all ready to go and drew a half dozen vials of blood from that site, then the first guy went to my right arm. He stabbed right into that big vein in the middle, but couldn’t get it seated properly, so he poked and prodded until he was happy with where it was. He hooked me all up to the machine and got my blood flowing.

************
A side note—since this procedure usually takes about 1.5 hours, I had brought reading material. When you have needles in both elbows, you cannot bend your arms. This makes reading a less desirable past time. I did manage to finish one book (which only had a few pages left, anyway), but then I took the movie option. They have a huge library of movies to watch.
***********

All was flowing well, and I was very comfortable, and the machine started to beep. The young man came over and readjusted the needle; the machine stopped beeping. A few minutes later, the same thing happened. A few minutes later, the same thing happened. A few minutes later, the same thing happened… you get the picture. He decided my hands were cold, so he got me some warm IV bags to squeeze instead of the foam ball. (I’m a very warm-natured person. I overheat at the very thought of “room temperature”. I was entirely OK with the concept that removing blood and putting it back in cools you down. I was perfectly comfortable with this process. Cooling off is no problem. I didn’t want to get warmed back up, but they made me. Sigh.) Several more shifts of minutes going by and needle adjustments happened. Finally a THIRD guy came over and grabbed the needle to rummage around in my vein a bit, untaped everything, re-seated it, re-taped it. A few minutes later, the machine was beeping again. The second guy came back and stripped the line. He said, “oh, it’s just clotting. No big deal” and we went on. After a half dozen more times of readjusting the needle and stripping the line, they finally decided that it wasn’t flowing well enough to continue. They removed the line to my right arm to try to get some vials out of it. Nothing. Nada. No flow coming through that needle. Apparently I had managed to clot up the whole works from inside the needle. They let the blood continue to flow back in through the cath site, then they had to remove the catheter and reattach the other thingie so they could take more vials out of my left arm, which was also beginning to be sluggish. Eventually, they unattached everything and bandaged me all up. They let me finish the movie (and even brought me snacks), gave me a t-shirt, and sent me off on my own. Apparently, I have very good platelets. haha

I’ve had a friend in the hospital there for more than a week, and I had been trying to reach him to let him know I’d take him to lunch while I was there, but to no avail. So, since I’d visited previously, I just went up to the ward where he had been. I was told that he’d been moved. They checked the computer, and he had been moved to ICU! I was shocked. He’d been on the mend when I’d seen him last, and he had been told he was going to be released. What in the world?!? So I hauled my cookies down to the ICU, where I was immediately presumed to be his wife and escorted into his room. I spent a few minutes there, holding his hand as he slept, and then I asked if it’d be alright if I came back. I was told that I could come anytime I wanted to, and I left to go to an orientation class that I was required to attend at 1.

I went to the auditorium, found a seat, got comfortable, and was prepared to be there for a few hours when I began looking around. I thought, “What’s with all the vestments?” I asked another lady, “Is this the Command Orientation?” She said, “No, this is Catholic Mass.” It was Ash Wednesday, so that made sense, but I had a schedule that said that I was supposed to be there, so I went to check. Surely enough, Command Orientation was cancelled for the day, and it was not communicated. At all. No signs. No emails. No notes. Nothing. A friend of mine told me that there was a Protestant service up in the chapel, and she thought it was at the same time as the Mass, so I headed up there. I figured it would be good for me. It turns out that the Protestant service was at 11, and all was long over and done.

So I ran a few errands in the building, made some necessary visits to a couple of offices, and I went out to my car and got another book and went back up to the ICU. No one had asked me how I knew him. I was allowed to bring in a chair and sit by him and read. He slept most of the time. He was a very sick boy. He only awakened enough to talk and make sense twice, for a few seconds. When he was slightly more conscious, he would squeeze my hand. I was very concerned. Everyone who came in, though, (doctors, nurses, techs, etc.) assumed that I was “family” and told me basically everything they would have told him if he was awake. It was really interesting. I was even given instructions to tell him things when he woke up, which he didn’t do again while I was there.

Eventually, I got my things together and left. By the time I headed home for the evening, I could do nothing but laugh at all the misadventures of the day. I successfully gave plasma, albeit a shorter batch than what they usually take in essentially twice the time it usually takes to give it. I didn’t get the orientation completed, and don’t even know how to go about finding out when it’s to be re-scheduled, which was the main reason I was at WRAMC in the first place. I got to spend time with a friend, who, admittedly, wasn’t entirely conscious of the fact that I was there, and I made some new friends in the hospital. All in all, I have to say, it was a very interesting day.

Much love,
L~

Post Script: I did speak to my friend's nurse, today, and was told that he is doing considerably better. He’s awake, alert, and functioning almost normally. They were preparing to move him back to a regular patient ward, pending the results of some tests. I will see him tomorrow in his new room, when I’m back there, but his condition is much improved. Please keep him, and all our recovering warriors in your prayers.

A Birthday Thought

2007-11-27T11:08:00.000-05:00

Here I am, looking back at another year of my life. I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think I’ve ever really considered what life would look like beyond 27—at least, not by number. I’ve thought of what I’d be or where I’d live or who I’d become, but I don’t think I’ve ever really assigned an age to things. Well, as of today, I’m past 27. The only real thought in my mind is, “What now?”

This last year has been interesting. It began on my Golden Birthday (turning 27 on the 27th). This was my first full year of fighting an illness that I didn’t know I had until 17 November 2006. That was when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (a.k.a. PCOS). At the time of the diagnosis, I also had another little health scare which required me to have a minor surgical procedure right after Christmas. Fortunately, all was well when the results came back negative, and subsequent exams have confirmed that relief. It’s interesting learning that you “have” something. I spent a lot of time determining how things were going to go. The medication I was put on made me violently ill for about 10 weeks, but then my body acclimated to it. I could see how easy it would be to become, mentally if nothing else, a “sick” person. When you have a diagnosis hovering over you, it is a conscious choice to not let that be who you are, and it is a struggle, initially. I’ve learned though, that nothing or no one can dictate to you who or what you will be without your active participation. Nothing outside of me, other than God, will tell me who or what I am. So, today, I am well. I am healthy. I do what I need to do to protect my body and my health, but I will not let some ICD determine how I feel or how I think of myself. After that, I moved, my car broke down, I sprained my ankle badly, I lost my job, my refrigerator broke down, I encountered a bunch of bills that I wasn’t planning to have, etc. etc. etc. It was a very full year.

Twenty-seven has always been my favorite number, and I looked forward to it as a favorite age, as well. I don’t know that it was my favorite of the years in my life, to this point, but it was a very good year (despite the “negative” happenings…). I think I’ve grown more as a person in this year than perhaps any other year. My faith is deeper. My belief in myself is stronger. My walk with God is closer. My relationships with my parents are fuller. My friendships (some of them, anyway) are better. All around, I feel as though I know me more fully and I am becoming who God plans for me to be. I truly believe, for the first time in my life, that I am where I am supposed to be on my walk of faith.

So now, from this point of clarity, I am looking forward to the coming years. I have no idea what they hold. I’ve always had some idea of the future in my mind, but here I am looking at a blank page. It’s not that I don’t have any desires or goals or hopes for the future, but it’s that I don’t really have a plan. That could be very scary for a type-A personality like me. I don’t know where I’ll be when I turn 29. I don’t know what I’ll be doing, or with whom. I just don’t know. I’m not really concerned about it, though, because I know that God’s plans for my future are so much greater than mine could ever be. I’m living now in the solid belief that my future is bright, because my present is bright. My God will supply all my needs, according to His riches in glory. I’m not saying that because I THINK He will. I’m saying that because right now, in this moment, He is actively providing for me. I may not have some of the things I’d like to have, but He knows my heart. He knows my desires. I believe that He gave me those desires and that He will either fulfill them or He will replace them with the desires for the things He intends to provide.

Last January, I thought that by 2008 I would probably be in a relationship with my future husband, but that doesn’t look to be the case. As another year is gone, I find that I’m really not anxious about it. I’ve watched friends get upset about being single, or worry about being a spinster (or whatever you kids are calling it these days), but I have absolutely no desire to speed through my life. I’m not even “waiting” for Mr. Right to come along, now. I wrote a blog entry some months ago about being found, and I really do feel that way. I have NO desire to chase after a man because I THINK he might be right for me. I know that (whoever he is) God will guide him to me, and I know that he will pursue me, when the time is right. If a guy isn’t coming after me, then he’s not meant for me. God has a real man for me, if I am to have a relationship, and that man will want me, romance me, pursue me, and love me. He won't be able to resist me. But here’s the thing. God won’t bring a man into my life until both he and I are ready, so even if I am where I need to be, my husband may not be. Who am I to rush something like that? If God isn’t fulfilling the desires of my heart, it is because the time is not right. I would rather have the very best than the good. If I’m not to have a home and a family, then it is because those things are not the very best that He has for me. I want nothing less than His very best. I will not put my faith in anyone but God. I will not divide my heart from being wholly His. I am where I am today because THIS is where I’m supposed to be. I will not second-guess my Creator, Author, Protector, and Provider. I may look forward to those things, but I will not lust after them or long for them to the point that I am miserable in this moment.

Twenty-eight, huh? It’s not so bad. Maybe this year will be even better than last. Maybe I’ll move somewhere far away. Maybe I’ll meet exciting new friends. Maybe I’ll find new ways to serve those I love. Maybe my heart will change and I’ll see the will of God leading me another direction. Maybe. Regardless of what it brings, I am safe; I am well; I am whole. My God will continue to supply all my needs…

Blessings,
L~

Thank God for America.

2007-11-19T11:38:00.000-05:00

I considered emailing this out, but decided to post it here instead. This is a "must-share" article, to me. We forget so easily our blessings, in the midst of our petty bickering. Sometimes it takes a foreigner to remind us of them. Blessings to all, and happy Thanksgiving!!

Much love.
L~

Mark Steyn: World should give thanks for America

MARK STEYN Syndicated columnist

Speaking as a misfit unassimilated foreigner, I think of Thanksgiving as the most American of holidays.

Christmas is celebrated elsewhere, even if there are significant local variations: In Continental Europe, naughty children get left rods to be flayed with and lumps of coal; in Britain, Christmas lasts from Dec. 22 to mid-January and celebrates the ancient cultural traditions of massive alcohol intake and watching the telly till you pass out in a pool of your own vomit. All part of the rich diversity of our world.

But Thanksgiving (excepting the premature and somewhat undernourished Canadian version) is unique to America. "What's it about?" an Irish visitor asked me a couple of years back. "Everyone sits around giving thanks all day? Thanks for what? George bloody Bush?"

Well, Americans have a lot to be thankful for.

Europeans think of this country as "the New World" in part because it has an eternal newness, which is noisy and distracting. Who would ever have thought you could have ready-to-eat pizza faxed directly to your iPod?

And just when you think you're on top of the general trend of novelty, it veers off in an entirely different direction: Continentals who grew up on Hollywood movies where the guy tells the waitress "Gimme a cuppa joe" and slides over a nickel return to New York a year or two later and find the coffee now costs $5.75, takes 25 minutes and requires an agonizing choice between the cinnamon-gingerbread-persimmon latte with coxcomb sprinkles and the decaf venti pepperoni-Eurasian-milfoil macchiato.

Who would have foreseen that the nation that inflicted fast food and drive-thru restaurants on the planet would then take the fastest menu item of all and turn it into a Kabuki-paced performance art? What mad genius!

But Americans aren't novelty junkies on the important things. The New World is one of the oldest settled constitutional democracies on Earth, to a degree the Old World can barely comprehend. Where it counts, Americans are traditionalists.

We know Eastern Europe was a totalitarian prison until the Nineties, but we forget that Mediterranean Europe (Greece, Spain, Portugal) has democratic roots going all the way back until, oh, the mid-Seventies; France and Germany's constitutions date back barely half a century, Italy's only to the 1940s, and Belgium's goes back about 20 minutes, and currently it's not clear whether even that latest rewrite remains operative. The U.S. Constitution is not only older than France's, Germany's, Italy's or Spain's constitution, it's older than all of them put together.

Americans think of Europe as Goethe and Mozart and 12th century castles and 6th century churches, but the Continent's governing mechanisms are no more ancient than the Partridge Family. Aside from the Anglophone democracies, most of the nation-states in the West have been conspicuous failures at sustaining peaceful political evolution from one generation to the next, which is why they're so susceptible to the siren song of Big Ideas – communism, fascism, European Union.

If you're going to be novelty-crazed, better the zebra-mussel cappuccino than the Third Reich.

Even in a supposedly 50/50 nation, you're struck by the assumed stability underpinning even fundamental disputes. If you go into a bookstore, the display shelves offer a smorgasbord of leftist anti-Bush tracts claiming that he and Cheney have trashed, mangled, gutted, raped and tortured, sliced 'n' diced the Constitution, put it in a cement overcoat and lowered it into the East River. Yet even this argument presupposes a shared veneration for tradition unknown to most Western political cultures: When Tony Blair wanted to abolish, in effect, the upper house of the national legislature, he just got on and did it.

I don't believe the U.S. Constitution includes a right to abortion or gay marriage or a zillion other things the Left claims to detect emanating from the penumbra, but I find it sweetly touching that in America even political radicalism has to be framed as an appeal to constitutional tradition from the powdered-wig era.

In Europe, by contrast, one reason why there's no politically significant pro-life movement is because, in a world where constitutions have the life expectancy of an Oldsmobile, great questions are just seen as part of the general tide, the way things are going, no sense trying to fight it. And, by the time you realize you have to, the tide's usually up to your neck.

So Americans should be thankful they have one of the last functioning nation-states. Europeans, because they've been so inept at exercising it, no longer believe in national sovereignty, whereas it would never occur to Americans not to. This profoundly different attitude to the nation-state underpins, in turn, Euro-American attitudes to transnational institutions such as the United Nations.

But on this Thanksgiving the rest of the world ought to give thanks to American national sovereignty, too. When something terrible and destructive happens – a tsunami hits Indonesia, an earthquake devastates Pakistan – the United States can project itself anywhere on the planet within hours and start saving lives, setting up hospitals and restoring the water supply.

Aside from Britain and France, the Europeans cannot project power in any meaningful way anywhere. When they sign on to an enterprise they claim to believe in – shoring up Afghanistan's fledgling post-Taliban democracy – most of them send token forces under constrained rules of engagement that prevent them doing anything more than manning the photocopier back at the base.

If America were to follow the Europeans and maintain only shriveled attenuated residual military capacity, the world would very quickly be nastier and bloodier, and far more unstable. It's not just Americans and Iraqis and Afghans who owe a debt of thanks to the U.S. soldier but all the Europeans grown plump and prosperous in a globalized economy guaranteed by the most benign hegemon in history.

That said, Thanksgiving isn't about the big geopolitical picture, but about the blessings closer to home. Last week, the state of Oklahoma celebrated its centennial, accompanied by rousing performances of Rodgers and Hammerstein's eponymous anthem:

"We know we belong to the land
And the land we belong to is grand!"

Which isn't a bad theme song for the first Thanksgiving, either.

Three hundred and 14 years ago, the Pilgrims thanked God because there was a place for them in this land, and it was indeed grand. The land is grander today, and that, too, is remarkable: France has lurched from Second Empires to Fifth Republics struggling to devise a lasting constitutional settlement for the same smallish chunk of real estate, but the principles that united a baker's dozen of East Coast colonies were resilient enough to expand across a continent and halfway around the globe to Hawaii.

Americans should, as always, be thankful this Thanksgiving, but they should also understand just how rare in human history their blessings are.

©MARK STEYN

Link here

Trust for today and bright hope for tomorrow

2007-11-15T12:45:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking about the similarities between trust and hope. Trust is a rock. It’s a firm faith that all will be well, that all is well. Trust is the storm cellar during a tornado. It’s a peace within your heart that even though the wind blows, all is well. So the world may be crashing around my ears. So what? I know that all is well. What does it matter if I lost a job, an ankle, a refrigerator, a friend? All is well. All will continue to be well, and my circumstances don’t change that. Trust is strong. It’s steady. It doesn’t ride on the moment, because it’s rooted in something much deeper. If I honestly trust God to supply all my needs, then the fact that my desire in this moment hasn’t yet been met doesn’t make any difference. Just because what I want now isn’t what I have doesn’t mean that my needs are not being supplied. Right? So the fickle winds of the moment don’t move that rock. Trust is a contented sigh. My needs are being met, right now, even if I can’t see it happening.

Like trust, hope is a solid thing. Hope is a sunny sky and an expectant smile, but it’s more than just a passing mood. Hope is the knowledge that the future, like today, will be wonderful. Hope is expecting that the trust I have now will not be broken. Hope is seeing past the immediate storm to the flowers that bloom after the rain. Hope is knowing (not wishing) that from every moment comes a lesson. Hope is the knowledge that there is little that may be considered true adversity, because character is not borne of the carefree moments. Character is forged in the victories, both small and large, of life.

It’s easy, sometimes, to grow discontented. As they say, “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.” There’s a song that states it well, in my opinion. The words are “I have moments when I curse the rain, then complain when the sun's too hot. I look around at what everyone has and I forget about all I've got.” It’s really true. It’s easy to forget about all the blessings, when we’re focused on the things that we don’t have. But, how can we demand that God provide for us in the way WE choose? How can we presume to know more about how life should look than its Author does? Perhaps the reason you haven’t gotten that promotion is that it comes with a hefty responsibility that would make it impossible for you to be there for your family. Maybe he isn’t interested in you because he isn’t what God has for your life. Suppose that God knows more than you, just for a moment. Suppose that He has your best interests at heart, and He wants to weave you into a beautiful picture that you just can’t see.

Imagine that you are a thread. Just a piece of string. Imagine that you’re supposed to be part of a beautiful tapestry, and imagine, just for a second, that the only way you can add to the beauty of it is to be tied up in knots, used in ways you don’t understand, and attached to other threads about which you know nothing. Now, imagine that you decide to stand up for yourself and untie all those knots, unravel yourself from your spot in the design, and move yourself to another place that’s outside of where you should rightfully be. Imagine that your decision to do as you please mars the design entirely. So you picked yourself up, unknotted your world and moved outside of where God intended you to be. You disassociated from the people who were made to surround you, and you left a hole where you should have been. That’s the moment when a human would say, “Enough!” and cut you out entirely. However, God is still weaving. He is able to take you where you stand and weave you into His design. He’s able to re-arrange everything so that, once again, you fit. You aren’t a spot on the tapestry. Instead, you’re an integral part to an intricate piece of art, because God had grace for you. God chose to use you, wherever you decided to stop fighting. Now suppose that there are many millions of threads, and they are all different lengths, sizes, colors, and textures, and they ALL have their own plan for how they’re going to be. Imagine them ALL getting up and moving around and not allowing Him to weave them where they belong. Sounds like chaos, eh? Isn’t it amazing that God can weave all these errant threads together and keep recalibrating the plan to accommodate all their erratic behaviors?

This all sounds beautiful in the hypothetical, doesn’t it? Well, the real test of faith comes in those moments when you feel small and unimportant. That’s when you choose trust and hope. That’s when you make yourself pliable and available to the will of the Weaver. Or, that’s when you undo His work and move off in another direction. He’ll make it work, because He always does. But, when you look back at the end of your life, it may not be as beautiful as it could have been had you simply trusted.

I’m in that moment. “Wait on the Lord,” said the verse in Psalms. For those whose hearts are anxious, that verse is hard to read. For the type-A personalities among us (guilty, as charged), “Be still and know that I am God” reminds us that not all flexing of the muscles is visible. Sometimes the action we need to take is an act of trust, an act of hope, an act of faith. Sitting is an action verb. So is waiting. So is resting. Trusting. Hoping. Believing. These are things we DO. When we feel as though we need to DO something, maybe it’s just flexing THOSE muscles. So here I am, sitting, unsure of the future. My God is actively supplying my needs. So my action words for today are both nouns and verbs. They are trust and hope. I trust God today, and I hope for my future, secure in His will.

Much love,
L~

Friday Night on the Corner

2007-11-09T11:50:00.000-05:00

I work a corner at Georgia and Elder in NW Washington, DC on Friday nights. No, this isn't a career change for me (dirty-minded people), despite the recent fluctuation in my job situation. I spend several hours at the main entrance of Walter Reed Army Medical Center visibly supporting the troops.

Around 2 1/2 years ago, some idiot communist came up with the moronic idea of protesting at Walter Reed. (There are a handful of moonbats that stand out on the street, from 7p-9p on the dot, in front of one of the oldest and most prestigious military hospitals in the country to make a political statement by carrying signs that don't make sense.) Well, shortly thereafter, a group of patriots decided that there was no way that this political statement could go unopposed. So, they got together and took up post at all four corners of the main entrance to Walter Reed from 6:30p-9:30p (or whenever the buses show). This has been a weekly event for 134 weeks, now. Rain, shine, snow, sleet, wind, hail (OK so none of those last few exist in the DC area, but you get my drift), Tropical Depression Ernesto, etc.-- that corner is manned EVERY Friday night.

I have joined this group for the last couple of weeks (Click here for the after-action report and pictures from last week), and I just gotta say-- I'm not sure I can quite come up with a better way to end my work week. It's refreshing and energizing to do something for someone else. Even though the weight of the week has worn you down, when you stand in support of these warriors and wave and smile and express your appreciation, you feel lighter, happier, and more effective. I was trying to explain to my mom how much fun it was to stand in the drizzly rain a couple of weeks ago. She said, "Standing outside in the rain and getting cold and wet is not something I would think of as 'fun'..." The thing is, after you get cold and wet, you get to go get warm and dry again. We have soldiers (and sailors and airmen and marines and coasties) out there in weather of all types. They don't get to go home and drink hot chocolate after a few hours on their feet. How hard is it for us to stand in support of them for a little while?? How little that requires!

What we do is this: We gather on all four corners of the intersection. We hold signs and banners. We wave flags. We wave and smile at the cars coming and going. We call out "thank you" to the military personnel driving in and out. We get a lot of support (thumbs up, smiles, waves, honks, thank yous, etc.) from the cars going by. We've been told by several passers that they go out of their way to pass that corner on Friday on the way home, just to see us. I suppose it can be summarized by saying that we step just a little out of our comfort zones to honor those who have been removed from theirs.

On Friday evenings, buses filled with patients and their families go out to dinner. The supporters are standing on the corner when the buses return, and the moonbats have long gone home. When they come up to the entrance, the buses slow down, and the interior lights come on so that we can see the soldiers and families waving at us from within.

Tonight, there will be approximately 100-150 patriots crowding the intersection, due to the Veteran's Day weekend. (I'll post another entry about the weekend.) If you get a chance and happen to be in DC, please come join us! If you'd like more info, please feel free to gmail me.

Much love.
L~

Support The Troops National Ad Campaign

2007-11-09T11:46:00.000-05:00

Howdy, all~

On Thursday, 8 November, several Eagles (Gathering of Eagles members) joined Freedom’s Watch to help film a Support the Troops commercial. It is currently in editing and is due to begin airing during the week of Thanksgiving. This national ad campaign is set to air on cable news networks, including Fox News and MSNBC, through the "holiday" season. Once the edit is complete, the commercial(s) will be posted online, and I’ll make sure to get a link on here so everyone can check it out. We may even be able to see a schedule of when they’re scheduled to air. When you start seeing the commercials, keep an eye out for familiar faces!

For those who participated, it was a pleasure to meet and spend time with you! For those who weren’t able to come, I’m sorry you missed it. It was an absolute blast!

Much love.
L~

Good News in Iraq

2007-10-24T13:06:00.001-05:00

Don't expect to hear it from the American "news" media, though. This piece was largely ignored by US media. Reuters reported on it.

Here's the link. (For those of you who need sources.)

Here's what the story says, for those of you who don't like links.

By Aseel Kami

BAGHDAD (Reuters) - Violence in Iraq has dropped by 70 percent since
the end of June, when U.S. forces completed their build-up of 30,000 extra troops to stabilize the war-torn country, the Interior Ministry said on Monday.

The ministry released the new figures as bomb blasts in Baghdad and the
northern city of Mosul killed five people and six gunmen died in clashes with
police in the holy Shi'ite city of Kerbala south of the Iraqi capital.

Washington began dispatching reinforcements to Iraq in February to try to
buy Iraq's feuding political leaders time to reach a political accommodation to
end violence between majority Shi'ites and minority Sunni Arabs that has killed
tens of thousands and forced millions from their homes.

While the leaders have failed to agree on key laws aimed at reconciling the
country's warring sects, the troop buildup has succeeded in quelling
violence.

Under the plan, U.S. troops left their large bases and set up combat
outposts in neighborhoods while launching a series of summer offensives against
Sunni Islamist al Qaeda, other Sunni Arab militants and Shi'ite militias in the
Baghdad beltway.

Interior Ministry spokesman Major-General Abdul-Karim Khalaf told reporters
that there had been a 70 percent decrease in violence countrywide in the three
months from July to September over the previous quarter.

GRADUAL IMPROVEMENT

In Baghdad, considered the epicenter of the violence because of its mix of
Shi'ites and Sunni Arabs, car bombs had decreased by 67 percent and roadside
bombs by 40 percent, he said. There had also been a 28 percent decline in the
number of bodies found dumped in the capital's streets.

In Anbar, a former insurgent hotbed where Sunni Arab tribes have joined
U.S. forces against al Qaeda, there has been an 82 percent drop in violent
deaths.

"These figures show a gradual improvement in controlling the security
situation," Khalaf said.
However, in the northern province of Nineveh, where
many al Qaeda and other Sunni Arab militants fled to escape the crackdown in
Baghdad and surrounding region, there had been a 129 percent rise in car
bombings and a corresponding 114 percent increase in the number of people killed
in violence.

While the figures confirm U.S. data showing a positive trend in combating
al Qaeda bombers, there is growing instability in southern Iraq, where rival
Shi'ite factions are fighting for political dominance.

Police said six gunmen were killed in police raids in Kerbala, 110 km (70
miles) southwest of Baghdad.

Some 50 people were killed in Kerbala in August in fierce clashes between
fighters loyal to Shi'ite cleric Moqtada al-Sadr and local police, who are seen
as aligned to the rival Supreme Iraqi Islamic Council's armed wing, the Badr
Organization.

After the clashes, Sadr said he was imposing a six-month freeze on the
activities of the Mehdi Army, increasingly seen as beyond his control, so that
he could reorganize it.

In Baghdad, three roadside bombs killed four people, including three
policemen, while in Mosul one policeman was killed when a blast hit a police
patrol.

© Reuters2007All rights reserved

Gathering of Eagles-- Operation Eagle Justice

2007-09-17T14:44:00.000-05:00

“Eagles don’t flock. You have to find them one at a time.” ~Ross Perot~

Two groups of vastly differing character met in DC, Saturday. One was a boiling cesspool of all that I would wish my children never to encounter. A disjointed collection of hateful people, who could agree on little but the poisonous epithets they spewed, and the hapless numbers they ensnared and infected with their lewd vitriol. Claiming to be a “peace” rally or an “anti-war” demonstration, several of the most notorious organizations in the country (with their notoriously deep pockets) gathered in front of the White House, and then wandered down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol building (two-and-a-half hours late). As the scummiest portions of society tend to do, they collected groups of mere children to join them, clueless as to the purposes of hatred at work in the groups with whom they stood. Most of the junior high, high school, and college students were receiving some sort of class credit for their presence. Many of them were there without the knowledge or approval of their parents. Most of them errantly believed that they were there for “peace”, but when questioned individually, they were unaware of the affiliations of the groups that had sucked them in. They were unaware of the bent toward communism, the desire to so demoralize our troops that they become ineffectual, the blood money passed under the table to terrorists to kill our soldiers, the lies, the fear-mongering, and the true goal: the defeat of America, her soldiers, her values, and her existence. They were unaware that the blood that purchased the first amendment right for them to stand with traitors was on their hands and heads. One may hope, though, that they were NOT unaware of the fact that the colors of our democratic republic were not represented in their midst, but among the group that stood in opposition to their vile language, their flippant disregard of true character, their debasement of the flag, their dishonorable and illegal use of the names, images and memories of our heroes, and their ignorance of the realities of this issue. I have one thing to say to these horribly misguided people. You cannot claim to support our troops if you’re marching with the organizations which are paying for their deaths.

And then there were the veterans, the blue star and gold star families, the patriots. The difference between the two gatherings was striking. This group was characterized by unity, by respect, and by a fervency of demeanor borne of true character. Each of these knew why they attended. They shared the same cause, and they bore the colors of the country. The flags waved luminously, and the unified cries were bursts of patriotic songs or chants of “USA, USA, USA.” The very air crackled with the certainty that the only right place to stand was in support of those men and women who choose to stand and fight. It would have been more festive, had there not been the somber note of having to stand in opposition to those who desire nothing less than the defeat of our nation.

For there are some who have seen the horror that is war, and those who have been made wiser by it do not welcome it, nor do they embrace it’s squalor. However, while not desiring it, they value its necessity. They are aware that while mankind lives, there will be times when war is inevitable, and they do not fear its teeth. Those who have faced the beast see it with eagles’ eyes. They have been in its jaws, and yet escaped, though not unscathed, and they are able to see it for what it is. They are able to look down upon it with a grander view, and they are able to see the path ahead, beyond the monster. For this reason alone, they are willing to risk the lives of their young heroes, knowing that the ravages of war will be bitter from the loss, though slightly sweetened by the deepening of character, hard-won in strife.

They do not take these sacrifices lightly. With each, they recall the grief they carry from days gone by. They feel the wounds afresh, and they bleed again, with the young warriors. These, the eagles, will continue, year after year, to carry these men and women of character through each ordeal, until they, too, gain the vision to see beyond the beast. And the Eagles welcome all who would join their ranks. They support one another and draw others up to soar the heights, and they carry those who are finding their wings. These will not rest, will not nest down and fold their wings, because they see the ones on the ground who are in the fight. They have stared down death, and they will hearten those who still must. While the battle rages, the eagles fly.

Much Love,
L~

What WILL they think of next?

2007-09-14T18:18:00.000-05:00

I have a dear friend who works as a security guard in the facility where I work. He helped me move, he shows a genuine interest in my life, he's very kind-hearted, and I count myself blessed to know him. He's a good man. Anyway, when he saw me come into the building with my brand-new white cast and my tricked-out crutches, he began to talk to me about these "scooter" things that someone in the other building uses, since she, too, is in a cast. I had never heard of such a thing, but apparently, this is a somewhat popular crutch-alternative that is made by several medical equipment companies. He suggested that it might not be as exhausting as the crutches.

At some point, shortly thereafter, he spoke with the young lady with the scooter, and she sent me an email. Her email said that she had gotten the device through her insurance company because she's in a hard cast (non-weight-bearing) for fourteen weeks as she recovers from ankle surgery. (Eek!) She said that the one they sent her didn't fit her properly, as it was slightly too tall for her, even on its lowest setting, so she had them send her another, smaller one. She said that I was welcome to use the first one, since she didn't have any use for it, for as long as I need to. She brought it to me the following afternoon. (It was pretty funny, because she was on her crutches, and her co-worker was wrangling the scooter, and I went to open the door for them on my crutches. We were a circus. haha)

She and I are about the same height, but she said that she was able to use it just fine, that it was just less comfortable than the new one. I have been using it to putter around the unit, since it frees up my hands to carry paperwork, etc. I brought it home for the weekend, because I haven't decided whether it is a better option than the crutches, and I thought it deserved further experimentation.

One of the benefits of using it to get around is that when I sit, I can use it to put my foot up, or I can sit on the little seat, if necessary. In truth, I'm not sure that it's the best choice for me, because when I put weight on my leg on it, it mashes the cast into my shin, which becomes uncomfortable, and with the atrophy in my injured leg, I'm finding it exhausting to use those muscles again! (Yes, it's true. Atrophy begins in the first few days that you stop using a muscle, and already there's a visible difference between my left and right legs' muscles.) Beyond that, if I need to go up a step, get on a bus, or remain stationary on an incline, I don't feel particularly stable. While it does have a brake (cute, eh? How fast do they think I'm gonna be going??), it doesn't have steering capacity. I can go in a straight line REALLY WELL, but I gotta stop and pick up the front of the thing and re-position it in order to change directions.

So, I brought it home for the weekend. You should have seen me coming home with crutches and the scooter. I'm sure I was quite the sight. I was thankful for the help and sympathy of both bus drivers (one of whom actually parked the bus, came over, and helped me onto the bus and situated, and took my fare card to scan so I didn't have to get up.) and a couple of kind-hearted passengers. I did make it home in one piece. :D Wish me luck in my experimentation!

Much love.
L~

P.S. Yes, the picture was taken on the diagonal to get the whole thing in the picture. If you just cock your head to the left, it'll make more sense... :D

Hit-and-Run Salvation

2007-09-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

One day this week, I was standing at a bus stop, waiting to go home for the day, when I was approached by a gentleman who began a conversation with "God BLESS you..." He spoke with a very strong African accent, and did not enunciate very well, so I only caught every third or fourth word or phrase. After several sentences regarding my being blessed by the Creator and His capacity to heal my injury, the gentleman's healing from being wheelchair-bound earlier in his life, several random Scripture verses thrown in for good measure, etc., he got to the point of asking me directions to a hotel. While I was familiar with the fact that this hotel did indeed exist nearby, I didn't remember where it was located, and so was unable to provide directions. The gentleman then embarked on another spate of blessings over me and my injury, and he asked if he might pray for me by name, as he was a minister. Never being one to turn down a blessing or a prayer, I told him my first name, and he told me his (which I didn't quite catch), and then he began to pray for me. From what I could tell, the first couple of sentences were in another language, and then he got right down to the praying in English. At this point, he did something that vaguely perplexed me. Without inquiring as to the state of my soul, he asked me to repeat a prayer after him which seemed to be a version of the "sinner's" prayer. Essentially, it was admitting that I'm a sinner and knowing that Jesus died for me and asking for forgiveness from my sins and praying the blood of Christ over me. After I somewhat mumbled along (being caught off-guard), he proceeded to pray a Scripture-heavy prayer for me (Lexie), my injury, my soul, and the blessing of my life and ministry as a new Christian. He invited me to come to some sort of gathering that he would be attending that night, but he wasn't sure what time it was or where, and then, with much blessing, he said his farewell and left me standing, quite speechlessly at this point, for my bus. Interesting approach. Well, may God BLESS him, wherever and whoever he is.
Much love,
L~

Blackened Piggies

2007-09-08T16:18:00.000-05:00

OK, so I really wish I didn't have a cast on. My little piggies are turning black, as the bruising creeps down them, and I'm sure that my foot, ankle, and lower leg are a wonder in technicolor right about now. I would SO love to see what my foot's doing under there. It was beginning to be black along the ankle, and there was a horizontal stripe along the side of my foot, and the rest of my foot and ankle were beginning to be grayish, when they put the cast on. I'm sure that by now, it's really interesting, and I'M MISSING IT!!! I know it's still swollen, because the cast still fits like a glove. The doctor said that once the swelling went down I'd have to come back in for a new cast that fits.

ANYWAY, I'm thoroughly curious and doomed to disappointment. (I thought about cutting the cast off and then hauling my cookies back to the doc for a new one, just to see my pretty colors, but that seemed like too much work.) So here's the picture of my current condition, blackening piggies, and cast with a star on it. I'm gonna have to start getting some decorations on my cast, or I'm going to feel unloved, soon. :D

Much love,
L~

Rub-a-dub-dub-- DON'T GET THAT CAST WET!

2007-09-06T08:28:00.000-05:00

I have no pictures for this one. You'll thank me for that here in a bit. I am not allowed to take showers. I get to take baths, while in the cast. The gentleman who put the cast on me in the doctor's office told me that if I get the cast wet, the chemicals in it will eat my skin, so he doesn't recommend getting it wet. Then he said that sometimes people try to dry the cast with a hair dryer, after getting it wet, and they wind up with 3rd degree burns from the heat of the hair dryer, so he doesn't recommend that, either. All in all, it's best to not get it wet. Showers are bad, because the water will run down my leg and into the cast. Baths are really the only way to go, for me, for the next few weeks. Here's a thought for you.

How would you get into a tub without putting your feet in?

I'll let you ponder that for a few minutes. Go ahead. I'll wait. I'll just hum quietly to myself, for a moment. Don't mind me.

OK. Do you have an answer? Well, here's what I came up with. Sit on the edge of the tub, and tilt backward until you fall in. Simple. Easy. To get out, just repeat the process in reverse (which is much harder than it sounds).

So, last evening, when I got home (FINALLY!) from work, I decided to take a bath and get my hair washed so I could be clean. I had gotten overly-warm hauling myself around on my crutches, taking the wrong bus (another story for another blog entry), etc., and I thought it would be nice to get out of those clothes and take a nice bath. Once I was in, it was nice, to lie in the bathtub with my cast (in a trash bag, of course) propped up against the wall... until I decided that I actually needed to get clean, shave my legs, wash my hair, etc. None of that was as simple as you'd think it might be. Try doing any of those things with one leg sticking straight up in the air, without drowning. Good luck. I didn't drown, no. I did keep the one leg straight up in the air, yes. I also managed, at one point, to get stuck perpendicular to the length of the tub while trying to spin around so that I could rinse the shampoo out of my hair. That was fun. I was actually glad that I live alone, because no one heard me giggling about being stuck with my legs sticking out and my head under the soap dish.

It has been suggested to me that, perhaps, I should do sponge baths during the week, so that I don't endanger myself in a slick tub any more often than necessary. I've discovered that it would be a very simple matter to break something ELSE trying to protect my wounded wing.

I'm quite tempted to go to the salon downstairs to have the nice beautician lady wash my hair for me on Saturday, as I seem to have not quite gotten all of the conditioner out of one little section of my hair, while trying to rinse my hair without sliding back so far that the faucet would run directly on my face.

The fun of bathing aside, the toughest thing about being on crutches is all the stuff you normally do with your hands that you don't even think about until you don't have them available anymore. Since it takes both hands/arms and my good leg to get me around, I don't have my hands available for things like opening doors, carrying things, moving things, etc. For instance: drop something. While standing on one foot and trying to control 2 crutches with one hand, squat down on that one foot (without using your other foot/leg-- no cheating!) and reach down with the "free" hand to pick up the thing that is 2" farther than you can reach, because you misjudged the distance because you forgot that you can't use that leg. Then try to scoot or hop, without standing all the way up again, because heaven forfend that you have to do TWO squats, or lean without tipping over, to reach the item. Success! You picked it up! Now stand back up with your one leg (remember one-legged squats in gym class/aerobics/tae bo?) Now what are you going to do? You need that hand, in which is the item you so precariously grasped, to use the crutches, and that item is still a room away from where it needs to be. Depending on the size/shape of the item and the size/shape of your bra/shirt or waistband or pocket, you may just tuck it between your boobies, under your waistband, or into your pocket and lurch over to where it goes, on your crutches. Now think about trying to figure out how to get a glass of water into the next room without any hands. Right.

My diet has been reduced to whatever is in the fridge that I can pick up and eat without having to move it anywhere. If it requires heat, you can forget it. If it requires a utensil, nope. But, if i can balance on one leg in front of the open fridge and put it in my mouth, that's what I'm having for dinner. Lunch today is the last of the left-over bacon from Tuesday's breakfast (which my wonderful mother made) and some almonds. I have become a scavenger. haha. I'm going to have to break down and order pizza or chinese or something. Of course, when they deliver it, they'll have to carry it over to the table and stand there and wait for me to eat and then throw the trash away for me and put the leftovers in the fridge. I wonder if they charge extra for that...

This may be a gift, straight from the hand of God, though, in that it will force me to bless others by allowing them to help me. I am not able to take care of myself. That much I know. This is when I have to start making those pride-swallowing calls. "Hi, friend. I need help. Could you please come?"

Much love.
L~

Day 4

2007-09-04T18:14:00.000-05:00

This picture accomplishes several things.
1) It shows you that I am in a cast.
2) It shows the cast in it's purest state-- unsullied and unsigned.
3) It shows you what color I painted the wall of my bedroom.

:D

Much love.
L~

"Pimp my ride"-- What in the...?!?

2007-09-03T18:05:00.000-05:00

Have you ever experienced crutches? I don't mean just being on crutches while walking, but actually being on crutches and not being allowed to use a leg. Have you done that? Yeah, it's kinda fun for the first little bit, and then it's completely exhausting. It's also not particularly comfortable. Once the insides of my arms and the sides of my ribcage started bruising, and my hands were sore from carrying my weight on them half the time, I started hopping around the apartment on one foot to save the wear and tear on the rest of me. Yes, the jolts of hopping were quite painful to my injured ankle, but I just couldn't stand being bruised up anymore.

We met a very nice lady at church on Sunday (Day 2 of my ankle saga), who suggested that I might get some sheepskin to wrap the tops of the crutches so that they'd be softer. Off we went (my mother and I) to the fabric store, and we found this BEAUTIFUL piece of fabric that I *HAD* to have, and I used a very small portion of it to "pimp out" my crutches. First I wrapped the armrests in cotton batting, then I made the little sleeves to go over the batting, and I sewed them on. Then I decided that I wanted the hand grips to match, so I made little covers for those, too. I'm actually really pleased with how they turned out. :)

I don't believe I got into this in my earlier post, but here's the story of what I did to my ankle.

Mom and I got up Saturday morning and decided to go for a walk before it got too hot outside. We hopped in the car and drove over to a beautiful trail that I use (have used) often, and we decided to walk about 4 miles. At one point we decided we should jog a little, toward the end, on the way back to the car, so we did. And then we walked some more, and then we decided to actually run for a little bit. Well we took off, and I was a little faster than mom, so I stopped after a bit and waited for her. We walked a little more, then we decided to do one more run before we reached the car and the end of the walk. I was staying with mom, this time, and I was exaggerating my movements a little, to get to run while going slowly enough to stay with her-- yes, I was clowning around-- and I quite firmly planted my right foot just off the edge of the pavement. The inside of my foot caught the pavement, and the outside of my foot crumpled downward. I heard an audible *CRACK*, and I folded. Fortunately, we were within about 100 yds. of the car, so mom helped me to the end of the path and pulled the car up, I excruciatingly fell into the car, and she drove me to the hospital.

When we got to the hospital, it was beginning to swell, but I didn't want to take my shoe off until I got there, because I knew I wouldn't get it back on, and it was keeping some of the swelling down. The ankle swelled over the top of my shoe, and it looked like I had a baseball glued inside my skin, by the time they took my shoe off me. By the evening, my foot was beginning to swell, too, and it was kinda funny looking, with a dimple below the ankle. (See the picture in the previous post.) The next day, Sunday, it swelled MUCH more, and it began to discolor. Today, it looks like a fat sausage with 5 little sausages (with blue toenails) sticking out of it (which I can't think of as toes, but they're cute, so I'm calling them my "piggies"). I didn't take any pain medication, yesterday, but last night, it was waking me, and this morning it was ratcheting back up to the excruciating level, so I did break down and take one, today.

I will be going to the Orthopedic Surgeon, tomorrow morning, to have it re-evaluated. They took a bunch of x-rays at the hospital, but there wasn't a visible fracture on them. The PA said that it certainly looked and acted like a break, though, so she was unwilling to call it a sprain, especially since I heard it crack. She told me that I needed to get in "first thing Tuesday morning" to the specialist for re-evaluation. I bent down to pick something up this morning, and accidentally put some weight on it (which is verboten) and it crackled, which wasn't pleasant. I'm doing my best to stay off it (believe me, I want to stay off it), but it certainly gets old, lying still with it elevated and putting ice on it. I have almost no motion in the ankle, and my toes are so swollen, at this point, that they're difficult to move, as well, though not painful.

So, that's the story. I'll post something once the other doctor has seen me, and I'll let you know how it's going. What should be most interesting is the getting mom to the airport and me to work thing, tomorrow. I walk a fair distance from my bus stop to my office, and that might prove difficult, for the time being.

Much love.
L~

So...

2007-09-02T18:44:00.000-05:00

I broke my ankle. On doctor's orders, I am to stay completely off it. I have crutches and a brace, and I have to go see a specialist on Tuesday. Crutches aren't much fun, so I've taken to hopping around the apartment on my "good" foot (which is quickly wearying of the ordeal), which makes my mother (who leaves on Tuesday) call me "Hopalong" or "Hopalong Cassidy" while she laughs at me. She has been a tremendous help, though. She's been waiting on me hand and foot and driving me around, since it's my right/"driving" foot... I'm not much looking forward to either her departure or my return to work.

More updates as I find out more.

Much love.
L~

A Ray of Sunshine in a Dark and Dreary Week...

2007-08-15T12:17:00.000-05:00

So this week has been something out of the very pit of hell, for the most part, however I had a ray of sunshine, last evening. I went out on a first date with a very handsome man. I guess we'll see how that goes. :)

Much love.
L~

Physicians vs. Guns

2007-08-08T11:34:00.000-05:00

Physicians:
a. The number of physicians in the U.S. is 700,000.
b. Accidental deaths caused by Physicians per year are 120,000.
c. Accidental deaths per physician is 0.171.

(Statistics courtesy of U.S. Dept. of Health &Human Services)

Now think about this . . .

Guns:
a. The number of gun owners in the U.S. is 80,000,000.
b. The number of accidental gun deaths per year (all age groups) is 1,500.
c. The number of accidental deaths per gun owner is 0.000188.

Statistically, doctors are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than gunowners.

Remember, “Guns don’t kill people; doctors do.”

FACT: NOT EVERYONE HAS A GUN, BUT ALMOST EVERYONE HAS AT LEAST ONE DOCTOR. Please alert your friends to this alarming threat. We must ban doctors before this gets completely out of hand!

Note: Out of concern for the public at large, I have withheld the statistics on lawyers for fear the shock would cause people to panic and seek medical attention.

Starving for Love

2007-07-20T12:22:00.000-05:00

If you haven’t read the book “The Five Love Languages”, I highly recommend that you read it (or one of its variations). It’s been more than a year since I last read “The Five Love Languages for Singles”, and I intend to go back and re-read it sometime in the next few months. (For those of you who don’t know, I’m an avid reader, and my goal is 65 books, this year. Last year my goal was 52, and I hit it in September, then slacked off the rest of the year. I’m actually behind where I’d like to be for this year, though. It’s almost the end of July, and I’m only around 30. Sigh.)

The basic premise of the book is that there are five primary ways in which people give and receive love. Not everyone is familiar with all five ways. Most have one way that means more to them than the other four, and if you don’t speak to them in their “love language” they won’t feel loved, even if you’re speaking to them in yours. Sometimes the love language they use to receive love is different from the one they use to give it. Knowing all five makes it easier to learn to communicate your love and appreciation effectively to everyone. The five love languages are Quality Time, Physical Touch, Gifts, Words of Affirmation, and Acts of Service.

By way of an example, I’ll use my family. My mom’s primary love language is Acts of Service followed by Physical Touch. She feels most loved when we do things for her. She expresses love by doing things for others. She’ll drive cross-country with her steam-cleaner in her car (something she’s done many times for many people) to go clean someone’s carpets. That’s a classic way (if you’re looking for it) that she says, “I love you.” If you don’t speak that language, you might not catch it, though. My dad’s primary love languages are Quality Time and Physical Touch. Something that he might do to say, “I love you” is take me on a motorcycle ride. I’m right there with him, spending time with him, and he can reach back and pat me on the knee, or feel my hands on his shoulders, so that speaks both of his love languages. My brother’s primary love languages are Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service. He needs to hear, “I love you. I’m proud of you. You’re the best big brother in the world.” If I step in to help with the dishes or something, while I’m staying with them, that’s another “I love you.” Having been raised in this environment, I am fluent in all five love languages. I can usually comprehend that when someone is speaking their own love language, it’s their way of telling me they love me, even if it’s not how I’d choose to hear it. I’ve learned that to tell my mother that I love her is nice, and to spend time with her in conversation or in person is wonderful, and to send her cards or give her gifts is fine, but if I really want her to grasp how much I love her, I will brush her hair, clean her kitchen, cook her meals, drive to Missouri in the middle of the night and be there while she’s in the hospital, pluck her eyebrows, fold her laundry, wash her car, shop for her groceries, etc.

A friend of mine and I have had some discussion about it, recently, and the conversation stimulated my thought processes. My primary love language (just barely, by 1 point, from the quiz) is Gifts. One point behind Gifts are both Quality Time and Physical Touch. I had an “aha” moment, this morning, because of the conversation about love languages.

I moved to DC from the MidWest about 2 years ago. All my life, to that point, I had been surrounded with many, many, many sources of Physical Touch. Most of my friends and family are very touchy-feely people, and I think that’s much more common in the MidWest than it is here in the Middle East. I had been used to receiving Physical Touch on a daily basis from many people. I had close friends that would hug me, pat me, fix my collar, brush off lint, play with my hair, etc. My family could SMOTHER you with the amount of personal-space-invasion that we do. While I’ve always had an independent streak a mile wide, it was just part of life, that the people who love you touch you. Hugging, kissing, tickling, wrestling, poking, prodding, bumping, holding, snuggling, cuddling, pinching, elbowing, tapping, patting, nuzzling, and all that kind of stuff just reminds those around you of your affection.

I’ve tended to think that I don’t have many friends out here. If you ask me to name my friends, it takes some thinking on my part to come up with people to populate that list. Here’s my “aha” moment: it’s not that I don’t have friends out here, it’s just that the friends I have don’t touch!

I’m serious. This was a huge thing for me to figure out, because I’ve spent the last two years of my life feeling absolutely lonely and starved for affection. There is literally no one in the DC area (or east of Kentucky, for that matter) that I can go to for a hug. Period. That’s why I’ve been so lonely! It’s not that they don’t love me in their way, it’s just that they don’t love me in MY way. I have noticed that, while most of my background in love is in the areas of Physical Touch and Quality Time, the way most people out here express love is in Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation—neither of which are ways that I would choose to receive love.

When I long for “home”, I think of the physical proximity of people. I think of my church, where people greet you by shaking your hand and patting you on the shoulder, or with a big, tight hug, or with a kiss on the cheek—where it’s not uncommon for friends to sit closely together with arms around each other, and where hand-holding isn’t reserved for significant others. I think of my friend, Kelsy, who gives the best hugs ever. I think of Nellie, who helps me get dressed and puts on my make-up and plays with my hair. I think of Karrisa, who came over one time just so we could take a nap, and who would invent some excuse to drop by the bank where I used to work to see me. I think of my friends who stand too closely, until we burst into fits of giggles, or who hug me and kiss me and groom me, or who drive across town just to be there and hold me when my heart is broken, or who make excuses to stop by where I work to just say hello and get a hug. I think of my beautician, who hugs me when I leave. I think of my “surrogate moms” who treat me alternately as a peer and as a daughter. I think of my Aunt Polly, and lounging on the couch with her, nestled into her side. I think of my family—none of whom have any concept of “personal space”—who think nothing of coming and climbing in bed with you, who sneak up on you to hug you or “get” you, who tumble over each other, even in large, open spaces, who are equally likely to pinch your earlobe or pat you on the bottom as they walk by, who issue your wake-up call in the mornings by climbing over you or snuggling up to you, who touch, touch, touch, touch, touch, because that’s what you do to the people you love.

When I’m asked how I like living in the DC area, my response is inevitably, “It’s a really beautiful city.” It’s not that I dislike it here, it’s just that it’s much less friendly. It’s not that I don’t have friends, but the friends I have here are different, less warm, on the whole, to my way of thinking. No, it’s not because they like me any less (or I like them any less), but it’s just because they don’t speak my language. After awhile, you begin to grow tired of speaking OTHER people’s languages, and you wish you could just have a conversation in your native tongue. For two years, I’ve felt lonely, starved, deprived. My only salvation was a trip to Kansas or Missouri, or a houseguest’s arrival. For two years, I haven’t been able to grasp the depth of the friendships I have here. Now I know why.

Much Love.
L~

Coming soon: How Starvation Helps You Grow.

When furniture placement is black magic...

2007-07-19T15:09:00.000-05:00

I was talking to my friend, the other day, and we were discussing, with amazement, the fact that someone we respect is, inexplicably, extremely fond of someone who is somewhat incompetent, very subversive, and basically unlikeable. (Both of us tried to like her, but that didn't work out, so much. I've decided that she simply doesn't want to be liked.)

She said, "I don't know. She must've done some feng shui crap to him."

I said, "You mean she rearranged his furniture??"

And the word you were looking for there is Voodoo. haha. :D

So now, threatening to rearrange someone's furniture is code for performing black magic.... Shhhhhhhh-- don't tell anyone!!

Much Love.
L~

Tired of my job.

2007-07-19T13:27:00.000-05:00

I'm tired, and it's my job's fault. If you gotta have a job, you gotta at least think the one you've got's bearable. Fortunately for me, I like my job. I enjoy what it is that I do. (Not the politics that go with what I do, but that's a whole other issue.) The problem is, I'm tired of doing it, day in and day out, 40+ hours a week, on the pay/benefits that I get. I accrue approximately 7 hours of vacation/paid-time-off per month, which means that if I get sick for one day each month (which I don't, but I'm just saying...), I use up all of my leave, plus an hour of unpaid leave. If I have business with vendors that are only open during normal office hours, I have to be extremely creative to conduct it. Doctor's appointments, DMV business, Post Office runs, etc. all must be carefully scripted in advance, unless I want to take a pay cut for that week.

I'm very glad that, in this age of e-commerce, I'm able to do most of my business online, because I'd seriously be pooched without DSL. I'm able to do all of my banking (funds transfers, bill payments, deposits, check orders, insurance, etc.), some of my DMV stuff (tag renewals), and the vast majority of my shopping without leaving my home. However, I'm convinced that all of this convenience-- by way of the internet-- has contributed to the mindset, among employers, that the employees' needs don't even make the priority list. Having unhealthy, unhappy, unproductive employees is fine. Whatever. (Now if they could only invent a way for employees to send their teeth to the dentist, their eyes to the optometrist, their bodies to the doctor, unaccompanied, and lose the reproductive organs altogether so that no one would ever have families or a need to see an OB/GYN, the employers would be THRILLED!!)

Anyway, let me get to my true gripe. (Yuck. Starbucks rice crispy treats are not good.) In the process of preparing to move, I am busy from the moment I drag my tired, sorry rear end out of bed in the morning until the moment I drop it wearily back into bed at night. The tasks I normally do, and the unforeseen, and the seasonal, have all got to be jammed in there somewhere, too. I got up an hour earlier, this morning, so that I could clean my kitchen. (Being my mother's daughter requires me to NEED to have a clean kitchen. Yes, things all over my apartment are a disaster as I sort, toss, and prepare to pack all of my worldly belongings, but the kitchen is what matters. If the kitchen and bathroom are clean, I can deal with the rest-- controlled chaos though it is.) I love sleep. I need sleep. When I'm well-rested, everything is well, or at least I can deal with everything if it's not.

I'm not going into the politics at work, right now, but I have determined that, had I not HAD to come into work today, I could have both gotten that extra hour of rest that I wanted to get, and gotten my kitchen cleaned. I could have also taken care of a whole PILE of things on my list, because eight-and-a-half-plus hours is a long enough time to make a SERIOUS dent in my to-do list.

All that to say: I'm tired of my job.

Much love and blessed rest,
L~

What a difference a year makes!

2007-07-09T15:12:00.000-05:00

I recently decided to re-read a book I read about a year ago, titled “Every Woman’s Battle” by Shannon Ethridge. It’s one of several similarly-named books. (“Every Man’s Battle” was the first, and this one, “Every Young Man’s Battle”, “Every Young Woman’s Battle”, etc. came out subsequently.) I have recommended it to quite a few people, and I’ve even purchased the applicable book for a couple of friends to give them as gifts. I decided to read it again, because I wanted to remember some of the specific things she had said in the book, and I was glad that I did. The thing that struck me, though, was the fact that my perspective this time was completely different than the perspective I had a year ago. There were several portions of the book that I had underlined last year that didn’t mean much to me this time, and there were others that I underlined this time that hadn’t hit me as significant, previously. I was amazed at the difference in my spiritual life, in retrospect. I was excited by the growth I’ve experienced. I was saddened by my past thought- and spiritual- life, and I am extremely grateful for the grace God gives us in our brokenness.

Something I found myself pondering was this: Our brokenness, sinfulness, filth, unfaithfulness, and all of the worst parts of us are not revealed to us in their entirety, all at once. I am VERY glad about this, because I think that, had all of my misery hit me at once, I would have been crushed by the weight of it all.

Instead, God chooses to enlighten us in pieces. He allows us to work through/past all our painful experiences and choices in shards, and when we’re ready for the next piece, it’s revealed—in HIS time. This is a blessing of immeasurable worth~ that God knows our weaknesses and our humanity and He makes concessions for the limits we carry. He could choose to just strike us down in our sin, our pride, our pain, but instead He lovingly holds us until the sobs and the lashing out and the bitterness subside. All He asks is that we step ever closer to the image of Christ in ourselves, and never does He chide us for not being where we think we should be on that path. Instead, He offers us all the love in existence, in each moment of each day, no matter where it finds us, and He allows us to be romanced by our Creator at the speed our frail forms can handle.

Wherever you are on your journey, know that the Eternal God longs to romance you as His precious love. Know that He desires a relationship with you that would make your heart skip a beat and your spirit blush with pleasure. Know that His touch is more fulfilling than any human touch can be, and know that He longs to draw you close to Him, as His beloved. From someone who is only beginning to understand: there is a child-like wonder in knowing even a portion of how dear you are to the heart of God. Please be open to Him, to His touch, His voice, His love. Know that with every heartbeat, He longs for you to share your pain, your past, your pride, and He longs to provide for you in ways that you may never imagine. He is all the healer, provider, protector, lover, father, friend, counselor, and comfort you will ever need, and the very heart of Him longs, with aching desire, to be the fulfillment of you, in this and every moment.

With love,
L~

When God calls, "Come out and play!"

2007-06-12T17:36:00.000-05:00

I heard Him, today. Plain as the lightning that flashed across the sky. "My Princess, come out and play with me!" I went out on my balcony and I listened and watched as the cloudburst rolled through. The thunder and the lightning tripped through the clouds as my Papa God invited me to join Him for a romp in the rain. I stood and watched, fascinated as the rain dripped around me. I cried out to Him, inside my heart, and I asked Him for the strength and the opportunity to answer His invitations in the affirmative.

Do you ever get flashes of insight into Who God is? I had one of those flashes, while I stood on the balcony, almost in a storm. I saw God as the precious child who runs to a close friend and says, "Can you come out to play?" The problem is that so many other voices are drowning out the still, small voice of the God of the universe, and so often, the answer we give Him, when we take the time to answer at all, is "Not right now, I'm busy." How very sad! He created us to be in relationship with HIM and with each other, but we're too busy, running our lives, to hear His calls. He does call to us. He seeks us where we are. He invites us to join Him in an adventure that would blow our socks off. And when we say, "No, not right now, God." He simply says, "Alright. I'll wait. I'll wait until you hit crisis mode and you need me. I'll wait until you think the time is right. I created time, and I can put you on a schedule that is much more productive, but I understand that you don't have time for Me. You don't have time for me? OK, then." And we go about our busy days... staying busy, struggling to be productive, wondering why everything doesn't fit the way we think it should, getting frustrated, wearing down, burning out.

And every once in awhile, God gently interrupts. He softly whispers into our hearts, "Hey. I'm still here. Would now work for you?" And if we hear Him at all, if we've not drowned Him out for so long that we can't even hear His voice any longer, we say, "I'm sorry, God, but I'm on deadline. I have to finish this report before COB, and then I've got to get to a doctor's appointment, run 3 errands, get home and get supper on the stove while I'm putting laundry in the dryer..." and our mental list takes over, and we cease to speak to our Father as we transition back into busy. He knows. He understands. He sees the strain on us, and He longs to take it from us. He longs to help us carry the load. He longs to flex His power over time and task to help us do all that's important, but instead of intruding, uninvited and unaccepted, into our daily lives, He simply waits outside, and calls to us to "Come out and play!"

Perhaps you've heard Him. It may not have been today, and it may not have been in the rain on your window, but perhaps at some point, you've heard the gentle voice in your heart inviting you into a relationship, inviting you on an adventure. You see, little children have big imaginations. They were created in the image of God, and they haven't learned yet that they need to grow up in the image of the current Cosmo girl or GQ guy, model or sports hero, pop princess or superstar... they haven't learned that yet. What do they do with these imaginings? They make up "imaginary" friends or "imaginary" siblings. My three-year-old niece has a "big brother" named Archibald. (Where was she when I named my "imaginary" friends? I'm not even going to share what I came up with...) What do they do with these friends? Well, they go out and play. They make up adventures, and then they go on them. There is nothing too outlandish that they cannot imagine it to be so. Where do they get these amazing imaginations? Could it be from the One who Created us all to be in relationship, to answer the call to come out and play, to step outside of the little comfortable boxes we create for ourselves and let Him accompany us on the greatest, most amazing adventures that HE can dream for us? Possibly... Maybe... Perhaps.

And you say, "But God wouldn't ask me to forsake my priorities. He wouldn't tempt me to enjoy the weather instead of working in a cube when I have an obligation to work. God doesn't work like that. He wants us to be serious and be grown-ups. You can't 'play' with God. You have to go to church or pray or something with God. You can't just 'be' with Him." If that's your answer to this, then I'm very sorry, but we aren't serving the same God!! My God created beautiful weather, and it wasn't to tempt us away from important things. Who says that what you think is important truly is, anyway? If you died tonight, tomorrow someone else would finish your reports, because you are expendable at work. My God created work, and He provides us with the ability to create priorities. Are your priorities straight? Have you checked with HIM to make sure He thinks so, too? What on your list outweighs your relationship with Eternal God? What is more important than answering His call? Certainly not the phone conversation, the email, the paperwork, the deadlines, eating, drinking, or sleeping... What is so gall-blasted important that you have the nerve to be too busy for GOD? You see, God created laughter and tears. When was the last time you laughed out of uninhibited joy? When was the last time you cried an honest tear? If He created us in His image, then shouldn't He understand? Shouldn't He get to weigh in on your priorities? Shouldn't He get acknowledgment every once in awhile? When was the last time that you noticed, appreciated, and thanked God for the weather? When was the last time that you watched the sun set or the moon rise? When was the last time that you shared your lunch with your "imaginary" friend and giggled over something that no one else would understand? When was the last time you answered the call to "come out and play"?

My prayer for you, today, is that you will hear the voice outside your window, and that you will make it a priority to "come out and play" with God when you do.

Much love.
L~

Rom... what, now?

2007-05-14T14:29:00.000-05:00

Ah... spring! The birds are blooming, the flowers are blowing, and the breeze is singing a soft romantic tune-- or something like that.

(OH-- Side note. There was this really obnoxious bird noise coming from the trees in front of the hospital, when my family came out in the evening, one day last week. It was the most incredible thing. Dad said he hadn't heard anything like that since he was in Africa. Turns out it was just a recording to scare the birds away from the parking lot, but I thought it was pretty nifty. I want one on my balcony. I also want a remote-control, dive-bombing bird so that I can inflict terror into the hearts of the smokers that stand outside and blow carcinogenic smoke into my apartment. :D )

So, what is romance, anyway, and why do we want it? What is it within us that cries out for someone to pick us out of a crowd and shower us with candlelight and roses? (Or daisies and a picnic, or granola and a hike, or whatever variations thereof) I have some theories, but I want to hear from you. Faithful readers, please enlighten me with your views. :)

Much love.
L~

Media Blitz and the Proper Response

2007-04-19T09:03:00.000-05:00

OK, so everybody knows about the Virginia Tech shootings. Lots of people have opinions about what's going on with all that. Here's my take...

The media is propagating this cycle. Essentially, the media is telling every nut-job that has nothing to live for and wants his 15 minutes that he can go out in a blaze of media glory by committing a gruesome act of violence. They're also telling him that the best place to commit his murder/suicide is on a school campus, because there will be much more hype, and very little resistance. (I'll save my thoughts on "gun control" and security for another time... or you can read the post from 10 April, entitled On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheep Dogs.)

My problem isn't that they're reporting the story, it's that they're salivating over it. The war is on to see which network can out-hype the others, and whatever pathetic attempts at emotion they show are obvious plays for viewership (and preferably awards) and not anything genuine.

I think it's great that we live in a country where we have a free media. I think that it's the American way, and I think that it's good and right. Media outlets must self-govern, however, and they don't even try to do it, most of the time. Just because you CAN make everything into a circus doesn't mean you SHOULD. Somewhere, someone should have the good taste to say, "Hey, not only are we stomping on the memories of those who lost their lives, but we're also making the whole thing much more likely to happen again." Unfortunately, "media" and "good taste" don't belong in the same sentence.

Here's my message-- because I KNOW you want it so badly... haha-- turn off the TV and internet, put down the newspapers and magazines, and actually spend some time with the people you'd miss if they were suddenly removed from your life. Call home, just to tell your family you love them. Thank a soldier for the freedoms we possess. Be more kind to those around you. Give someone the benefit of the doubt, even when your first instinct is to assume the worst. Stop living in a virtual maze, and go outside to get some fresh air. Don't take life for granted. It is ALTOGETHER too short, whether you get shot or not. Ultimately, you're not going to wish you'd spent more time playing video games. Make an impact in someone's life-- a positive one-- so that when you die, they will have benefited from the fact that you decided to really LIVE.

Much love.
L~

Find or Be Found?

2007-04-16T09:31:00.000-05:00

“Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord.”
~Proverbs 18:22

“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.” ~Proverbs 31:10-12

I think that those two scriptures bring us to a point that most women miss. That we are to be FOUND. Flushing out game is not the same thing as being found by it. Trussing up a man and throwing him over your shoulder to fireman’s carry him down the aisle is not the same as being found by him.

Too often, women get impatient and decide that “NOW is the time that I need true love, so I’m going to go out and hunt down some poor sucker to marry me”… and then they wonder why their husbands resent them and their marriages don’t work. She’s unhappy because she has to do all the work in the relationship, and he’s unhappy because he didn’t get to be the one to pursue her—in fact, he’s not even sure that he would have pursued HER. She denies him the blessing he would receive for having found a good thing, and she is something less than the virtuous woman of Proverbs 31.

Psalms 37 says “Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass. And he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday. Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him:”

It’s fairly clear that God has our best interests at heart. Unfortunately, our culture bombards us with messages about Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now. It teaches us that we have to look out for ourselves. It tells us that women are “equal” to men, though by “equal” it means that women should do anything that men do with utter disregard for the fact that women and men are completely different. It tells us that it’s OK for the woman to be the pursuer in the relationship and that it’s “old-fashioned” (this term is usually spat out, as though it’s a swear word) to allow yourself to be wooed by a man of valor. Of course, this is the same culture that teaches us that now isn’t soon enough, that immediate gratification takes too long, that relationships shouldn’t take any effort, and that if you get tired of the one you’ve got, you should just throw it away and get another one. Give your body to whomever you choose, but share your heart and soul with no one. Babies are “in” this year, but once they get over the cute baby stage (or once they start interfering with your career or social life), you can send them off to day care where they can be taught values you don’t share by total strangers. Good plan. Is it any wonder that the American family is broken, bleeding, and dying?

It begins with a guy who never learned to be a man and the woman who hunted him down and mounted him over the fireplace as her trophy, and it ends in a lack of trust and respect, disillusionment, children who know their teachers and day care providers better than their moms and dads, pain, unhappiness, and divorce. Where is the blessing of God on the families of America? It’s stolen by the women who refuse to allow men to be men and FIND them, as God intended.

Much Love.

2007-04-13T10:57:00.000-05:00

It might be supposed that a measure of how unhealthy a relationship is might be reflected in the way you feel when the relationship is over. If you feel as though a burden has been lifted, and you feel a great sense of relief that you no longer need to feel obligated to try... perhaps the relationship was one you no longer needed, and maybe, just maybe, it was detrimental to you. If someone treats you poorly consistently, yet you feel obligated to stick around because EVERYBODY else can't stand to be around the individual and you're the only person who puts up with it-- that MIGHT be a signal that there's a problem. Fortunately, as is the case for me, today, you may be spared from having to end the relationship, due to the fact that the individual in question goes off the deep end and has her mother send you hate (and hateful) emails.

Perhaps this is a judgement of my character, but the way I feel right now is a mixture of sadness, relief, sorrow, and joy.

Lord, please touch the friends that are friends no more. Reach into their lives and show them Your plan for them. Please, bless and keep them and provide them with influences that will bring them closer to You and make them stronger. Protect them from the influences that seek to destroy them, and guide them in the Way Everlasting. Thank you for protecting our hearts, even in the ends of long-time friendships. Amen.

May your friends be close to you today, and may your relationships be blessed with love, understanding, and, most of all, kindness.

Much Love.
L~

On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs

2007-04-10T09:24:00.000-05:00

I've read this article several times, and I wanted to post it on here.

The Source

By LTC (RET) Dave Grossman, author of "On Killing."

Honor never grows old, and honor rejoices the heart of age. It does so because honor is, finally, about defending those noble and worthy things that deserve defending, even if it comes at a high cost. In our time, that may mean social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or as always,even death itself. The question remains: What is worth defending? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for? - William J. Bennett - in a lecture to the United States Naval Academy November 24, 1997

One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me:
"Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident." This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another. Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.

Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.

I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.

"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.

"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."

If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero's path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed

Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.

But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.

Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."

Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.

The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.

Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?

Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones.

Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn't on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.

There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.

Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.

Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. -- from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.

There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men. - Edmund Burke

Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.

For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.

I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy's body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"

Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.

Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have and idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?"

It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.

Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn't bring your gun, you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear helplessness and horror at your moment of truth.

Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: "...denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling."

Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.

And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself...

"Baa."

This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.

As much fun as a barrel of starving eels...

2007-04-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

It’s been a year. I haven’t dated in a year, now. It was a much-needed break, and I’m glad I took it. When your heart is pulverized and your chest physically hurts from the ache therein, when you’re so bruised emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, and mentally that you find it impossible to force your face into a smile, let alone laugh, when you become physically ill because of the pain of a broken heart, it’s probably a good idea to take some time off.

I’ve never enjoyed dating, but it’s never been much of an issue, since it’s extremely rare that I get invited to date. I hate the games and the nonsense. I have never been so lonely that I was willing to put up with all of the horse hooey that goes with having a social life. Even now, I don’t have any desire to date. I don’t want to go through all of the hassle of getting ready and picking out an outfit (after trying on 12 different things—if you care at all) and spending an entire evening with someone who may or may not be capable of carrying on a coherent conversation, making small-talk, pretending interest in topics that have nothing to do with anything I might possibly want to discuss, trying to figure out the protocol for first dates/blind dates/etc., keeping the little weasel in check so that he doesn’t think it’s alright to physically accost me, and going home with a screaming headache and a desire for either strong libation or hibernation… NOT fun.

For those of you who are not currently in the dating pool, I’ll outline a list of my top ten least favorite things about dating. On some dates, some of these were transposed…

1. Getting asked out by guys I don’t want to go out with and/or unavailable (MARRIED) guys.
2. Deciding whether or not I care enough about the possibility of a relationship with this guy to care about how I look, or how he thinks I look.
3. Deciding what to wear—trying on half my closet, and tossing out my closet in its entirety based on the fact that it’s inappropriate for the planned activity (things that require high heels for physical activity, comfortable clothes for more formal activity, etc.), it makes me look like a walrus with a water-retention problem (at this point it’s probably too late to decide to diet 6 months prior to accepting the invitation), or it gives the impression that I’d be interested in getting pawed by this bonehead.
4. Being hit with various unpalatable traits: poor hygiene, obnoxious cologne, bad breath, verbal mannerisms that beg me to beat him black and blue with a dictionary/elocution manual/English textbook/Miss Manners book/etc., ticks (no, not the blood-suckers—I can deal with those) such as rapid eye-blinking/hand-movements/foot-tapping/etc., and a host of all other manner of annoyances.
5. Finding out that the individual in question isn’t just annoying, but is genuinely unlikable.
6. Poor or annoying driving habits.
7. Bad taste—food, jokes, activities, whatever.
8. Fending off a physical assault. PET PEEVE ALERT: You are NOT entitled to any physical touch, based solely on the fact that you put my dinner on your credit card. PERIOD. I get to make the decision whether or not I allow you to hold my hand on the 3rd date. ;)
9. Running out of common interests or things to discuss.
10. Keeping him from asking for a second date, inviting himself over, stalking me, etc…

All that being as it may, I’ve not been very eager to put my head back on the old dating chopping-block, shockingly enough. This past year has been a blessed respite from my previously non-existent dating/social life. Unfortunately, here is the point of my impasse. I have every intention of getting married and having piles of adorable children with my manly-man husband, but the commonly accepted North American ritual of dating tends to be the main one of very few viable options to finding Mr. Manly-Man and becoming his blushing bride. The ever present biological time bomb is ticking away, and I find myself reluctantly (oh-so-recalcitrantly, dragging my feet) back on the market.

I have forced myself to renew my match.com membership. With a prayer and a genuflection, I am tentatively dangling my toe in the ever-shrinking, ever-murkier pool that is the potential-mate-selection available to a nearly-thirty, traditional woman in the 21st Century. Please pray for me. :D

Much Love.
L~

Suffocation feels like... spring

2007-03-27T11:58:00.000-05:00

I think I'm dying of recycled air. Must... Go... Outside... cough, cough... Not... Gonna... Make... It...

Clarification...

2007-03-23T15:51:00.001-05:00

Umm, Lord? Yeah, You know the hearts of men, so I'm sure you know this already, but for the clarity of my readers, could you please make that a Navy SEAL instead of a half-man/half-seal beast? Thanks!

In store for me

2007-03-23T15:41:00.000-05:00

Ok, so why is it that when people talk about "the man God has in store for you" I think of a huge warehouse of men on ice just waiting for women??

I might be a little bit random, today. Yes?

L~

Is there any chance...?

2007-03-23T15:04:00.000-05:00

Dear God,

I'd very much like to meet and marry the man you have for me. I was just wondering, though, if there's any way he could be a man of valor? Is it possible that he could have been a SEAL?? You know how I feel about guys who serve my country in battle... Just a thought. Truly, whatever You will. Only You know what's best for me. Give me faith in my wavering, and strength in my weakness.

Amen.

Temptations come...

2007-03-23T12:12:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed that it's when you're trying to do something worthwhile with your life that you get tested? Doesn't it seem like the more valuable your activities, the harder it is to do them? It seems to me as though whenever I get my head screwed on straight, and I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, everything conspires against me! I have been tested, tried, and tempted over and over again lately!! It's not just the obvious tests, either. (Although there have been MORE THAN ENOUGH of those.) Sometimes, it's just the little things that sneak in and steal your time, your energy, your focus and take them away from where they should be centered. Have you ever noticed that when you undertake a noble occupation/pastime/calling that you just can't. seem. to. get. it. done? Yeah, that's where I'm at.

(You can tell I'm going to hell in a handbasket when I make obvious grammar errors and don't go back to correct them. "Where am I, and why am I in this handbasket??")

I don't know. Maybe I need to just wash everything out and start all over again. Except my hair. I like it red.

Sorry for the incoherent ramblings.
Much love.
L~

This made me snort. :D

2007-03-13T11:29:00.000-05:00

http://www.glumbert.com/media/spiders

Where have all the MEN gone?

2007-02-23T14:07:00.000-05:00

I’ve come to the conclusion that there aren’t very many men in our society today. At some point, we stopped teaching our boys how to grow up and become men. At some point, the women decided they had to pick up the slack. At some point, the boys decided that, since the women were doing such a good job of taking care of themselves and everyone around them, it wasn’t worth the hassle of becoming a man.

I remember my brother coming home after a long day at the hospital, one day, and telling mom that a woman had gotten huffy with him because he opened a door for her. I will never forget my mother’s response to his question of why he should open a door for a woman who didn’t want him to and didn’t appreciate the gesture. She said, “You don’t open the door because she’s a lady, because she may not be, but because you are a gentleman.”

It seems as though guys are all too comfortable with their masculine role being “stolen” by feminists. It seems they’re not willing to step up and take the responsibility for their own actions, because they’re too afraid to “get in trouble” for their efforts. Guys are too willing to renege on their responsibilities and blame it on the feminist movement.

In the midst of World War II, the men were going off to war to give their lives for their country, and the women stepped up and went off to work so that the country would still be there upon the return of their men. Women answered the call to arms, the call to jobs, and the call to keep on at an unprecedented level. Unfortunately, when the men and women returned from war, many of the women decided to keep their jobs. It was easier to work a full-time job than to be a full-time wife and homemaker. So they stayed, and the jobs that the men had before going to serve their country were filled, so the men had fewer options. Some woman came up with the supposedly ingenious idea that women were being repressed by being the caregivers of the families, and the battle was on. For awhile, men fought the idea of the women encroaching on their roles, their jobs, their spaces. For awhile, the feminist movement fought the “glass ceiling” that inhibited the promotion and adequate compensation of female workers. Then the men realized that the women weren’t going to give up, that they were hard workers and capable of doing more than their fair share of the work, leaving the men fewer responsibilities, and that it was easier just to crumble.

The problem is that most of the women I know DON’T WANT the men’s roles we’re having to fill. Most of us don’t want to have to take care of the things that responsible men in a developed society should do. Most of us have figured out that, if we don’t protect ourselves from these guys that refuse to become men, no one is going to come to our aid. We have discovered that, not only are the guys we’re dating NOT going to protect us from danger, step between us and those bullies, open the doors for us, but they’re quite possibly going to put pressure on us in ways that no MAN would. Not only do we have to protect ourselves from what’s “out there”, but we also have to protect ourselves from the ones who should be our protectors.

It’s not right.

At what point did it become the woman’s job to make sure that not only did SHE do what’s right, but that the men in her sphere of influence and encounter did, too?

Have you ever wondered why women are attracted to military men and powerful corporate-executive types? It’s because they have a higher level of responsibility and accountability than the guy on the street. There is something about a man who is in control that is not just attractive, but almost mesmerizing. He, the man in the uniform, is able to meet a set standard. He has disciplined himself, mind and body, so that he can be more than just some guy. He, the CEO-VIP, has risen to that level of responsibility by maintaining disciplines in his life and not backing down. He has proven himself, time and time again, through competence and a willingness to BE the decision-maker, not just act like one. He, the MAN, attracts us, because he is a man. He is not a guy. He is not a dude. He is not a poor excuse for a momma’s boy. He has stepped up and taken responsibility for his life. How often do we meet men like that? Certainly not as often as we should.

It used to be that the family, and ultimately our society, could not function without responsible men. The family unit would crumble without the bread-winner. It was a shameful thing, when a man couldn’t provide for his family well enough to keep his wife at home. It was a shameful thing for a family to owe money or for a woman to have to go to work. Today, guys are all too secure in having their wives go off to work a 40-80 hour work week while they PAY a stranger to raise their children.

The fun thing is that there aren’t that many women who really WANT to have those jobs. Most women have resigned themselves to it because it’s common practice, these days, or because they HAVE to work outside their homes to provide for their families, or because there’s a dearth of MEN out there. Women are waiting longer and longer to get married, and more of us are exploring alternative ways to fulfill our desire for children, because there just aren’t that many MEN to be had. Sure, we could settle for the guys that expect us to pick up the check, the guys who expect us to defend our own honor and fight them off, tooth and nail, when they “lose control” of themselves. Sure, but what kind of life is that? What kind of existence is it to be both the man and the woman in a relationship? To be the nagging woman that he doesn’t want to come home to, because he can’t be trusted to do the basic things that comprise his role in the relationship? If we wanted to do that, we’d stay single. Oh, wait… We ARE staying single.

Men, it’s time to step up and take responsibility for yourselves. It might not be easy. Many of us (women) have become used to fending for ourselves, and sometimes it’s difficult to relinquish control of something that’s long been our responsibility, but WE WANT you to take these things off our hands. WE WANT to not have to concern ourselves with walking down the street in broad daylight, entertaining company in our own homes, etc. We want you to open our doors and treat us like ladies, EVEN WHEN WE’RE NOT ACTING LIKE IT! We want to not HAVE to take a self-defense course. We’d much rather MEN step up and be MEN and stop being little whiny wussies who can’t control themselves.

Women, it’s time to step back and allow the guys to become men. It’s time to relinquish the roles of protector, provider, decision-maker. It’s time to resume our femininity. It’s time to stop being the heavy and learn to become the lady whose very softness commands the respect, desire, and love of a man who is TRULY a man.

I guess the question is: Who do you want to be? Do you want to be all that God created you to be? Men, do you want to command the respect, devotion, and adoration of women? Ladies, do you want to be loved, admired, and treated as an equal? Who do you want to be?? Is it who you are now?

Thanks to Jasperfforde.com...

2007-02-20T16:54:00.000-05:00

To initiate emergency "Boss Approaching" procedure, click HERE.

Valentine's Day Syndrome

2007-02-16T12:46:00.000-05:00

Valentine's Day is not a painful thing for me, anymore. It used to be. I used to HATE being single on Valentine's Day, and there's only been ONE that I wasn't. (That one, by the way, was fabulous... My boyfriend brought me flowers the day before because we weren't going to see each other on the day of, then he also brought me a HUGE bouquet of 5 dozen flowers and the movie "The Notebook" on V-day. Nice. Yeah, I'm a fan of the flowers thing. Must. Stop. Chasing. Bunnies. ) I would see all the hearts and flowers and fancy cards... the idea of being swooped up into a romance with some guy who would show up to pick me up for our fancy date in a stretch limo was just too much! I'd whine and moan about being single, and I'd get all sad and down when no mysterious gift from a secret admirer arrived.

The truth is that hearts and flowers and planned out scenes are not love. They're not even romance. They're the veneer of a contrived romance that we're supposed to accept as being the real thing, because Hollywood and the marketing industry can't replicate the real thing. This isn't one of those rants about the mass-marketing conspiracy theory of Valentine's Day, though. I think that hearts and flowers are sweet reminders of a romance-- they are not, however, the actual romance. I think that Valentine's Day is a good reminder to guys (who tend to be a little clueless in the romance department) that they might want to show their appreciation to the women in their lives, and an opportunity for women to feel a bit pampered, once a year. Ideally, relationships should have some romance in them without the reminder by Hallmark from mid-December through mid-February... (Seriously. I saw Valentine's stuff in one store BEFORE Christmas, this year!)

Beyond all that, I've finally gotten to the point in my life that I understand. All the misery I used to perpetuate on V-Day has been replaced with hope. Yes, ladies, I said hope. Not necessarily hope for romance, but hope for the future. I have finally begun to see the future as better than the past, and I'm looking expectantly into it. (Not LIVING in it, mind you, just looking into it.) So I hauled my cookies to the movie theater to watch a sweet little romantic comedy, and I left, not at all disillusioned or bitter over the on-screen romance. Maybe this is proof that I'm maturing. Who knows?

Much love.
L~

A Pleasant Diversion

2007-02-16T11:46:00.000-05:00

Instead of being a complete loser and staying home by myself on Valentine's Day, I went to a movie. By myself. I can't quite make up my mind which is worse, but I enjoyed the movie...

I went to see "Music & Lyrics", starring Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. I thought it was a sweet little movie. Not, by any stretch of the imagination, award-worthy, but very good, nonetheless. It was devoid of ickiness and foul language, which pleased me, and it was generally a nice story.

It's about this defunct popstar and his plant-watering-lady's-replacement writing a song together for the pop princess of the day. The song they write is called "Way Back to Love". The song is your basic pop song, simple and catchy with the schmaltzy lyrics that touch us all so deeply... (yeah, I know, it's blatantly obvious that I'm not the pop-music type), but it gets stuck in your head!! Particularly the first section of the first verse (which is repeated throughout the movie). It's been stuck in my head since I left the theater, which could get really annoying, but I actually do like the song.

So I ordered the soundtrack. :D

Much love.
L~

An Explanation for my Readers...

2007-02-06T11:54:00.000-05:00

The Man of my Dreams post is about the man with whom I would like to be in a relationship. I thought this appropriate for the upcoming Valentine's Day. Someone once gave me some very good advice. She said that if I intend to be in a relationship with the man of my dreams, I need to know what he's like. She said that it's not enough to think "tall, dark, and handsome" or to imagine his physical characteristics, because physical beauty fades, but bad character lasts forever.

I think this is something that single women routinely do wrong. We don't set our standards highly, we don't become the type of woman who attracts the princes among men, and then we gripe about bad relationships or how stupid guys are or whatever. If you're trying to snag the first hapless guy who comes along, what do you really expect the outcome to be??

So, I have begun looking a little deeper. I've begun thinking about the way this man will make me feel. I think about the indicators of character that show you that someone is truly high-caliber, and I've begun thinking about how I can become the woman who attracts that kind of man.

I know that God has a plan for my life, and I know that if the desire for relationship that I have isn't of Him, that He'll replace it with something else. In the mean time, instead of wasting my time with the foolishness of so many relationships, I choose to focus my relational energy in other areas. When the desire to have a guy in my life gets to be too much, I imagine the man of my dreams, and I realize that the man God will provide will be so much more than a random guy on match.com.

The Man of My Dreams

2007-02-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

On those lonely nights—the nights when the emptiness of my room was simply too much to bear, you were there. Well, not physically. In fact, you were somewhere else entirely, but in my dreams, in my imagination you were there. I would squeeze my eyes tightly shut, burrow up against my pillows and imagine it was you. I would dream that beautiful words were being whispered in my ear, that my lover was holding me close and with tender fingers stroking me to sleep against his chest.

I dreamed on countless nights that the fantasy was real: that we were married, in love, creating a family and a life. I would shut out the reality of loneliness, the reality that you were not, and might never be, mine. I would imagine my way into a world that did not exist, and then I would simply fall off to sleep in the idea of your arms and dream about you. When I woke, I’d imagine you getting out of bed with me in the morning, perhaps after making leisurely love to each other, and I’d picture your face in the mirror, brushing your teeth, or I’d put on my make-up with the image of you taking your morning shower. It was in those moments that I thought of all the mundane things that comprise love. The moments that don’t mean anything individually, but when you add them together, they become a life built together, intertwining, revolving around and throughout each other’s existence.

When I look at you, I see a man who has been through the wringer, but is stronger than it all. I see a man who provides well, and happily, for his family. I see a man who chooses his commitments carefully and honors them with not only his words, but his actions. I see a man who has struggled through things that he did not choose, and has come out on the other side of his struggles victoriously. I see a man who has earned the right to a happy life and a loving family. I see a man who has earned, in every way—through honor, battle, passion, and decision—my respect, adoration, and loyalty. I see a man. Not a boy or a guy or any other derivation of a masculine term… a MAN.

I dream now of a life I can share, and I never spent much time thinking about that, before you opened my eyes and my heart. I’ve been alone so long. I’ve had to be strong, be the decision-maker, be the authority, the bill-payer, the one who ultimately had to answer for the hours in my day. My successes and my struggles went equally un-shared, and I had not dwelt on that fact, because I didn’t know how to become unselfish enough to desire a life shared with another. I spend a lot of time thinking about it, now. I think about what it would be like to have my strengths and the strengths of another working together. I think of the moments of joy over something that’s gone right, and the arms into which I could rush when things didn’t go the way I’d choose. I think of the abilities that I have, and I dream of having those things recognized in an equitable relationship. I dream of the qualities that I admire and how I would show my appreciation for all that my man is. I dream of the physical relationship, but what I long for now, that I could never acknowledge—even to myself—is an intimacy that must be earned. I long for an intimacy that sees the faults, but overlooks them in favor of the good bits. Someone once said that love has eyes, but it also has eyelids. I long for the day when I can devote myself to that man who is able to share that relationship with me, because if he trusts me enough to be intimate with me on those levels, then I can completely submit to his desires and needs with total abandon, willingness and a desire of my own.

It was you who opened my heart to a something I’ve always desired. It was you who showed me that it was possible to have the great romance of which I dreamed… and it was in those lonely nights that I longed for the arms of a man, the one who had crept in so quietly and stolen my fascination. That man was you—the man of my dreams.

Hurt Brings Healing

2007-01-25T00:20:00.000-05:00

Heartaches must be endured alone. No friend will ever be so close that she can feel the beat of your heart when it falters. Tears must be cried in solitude. True emotions can only be felt when there is no one around to see them. It is only in the privacy of loneliness that clarity of feeling can be known. When accompanied by another, regardless of how caring the other may be, it can never be ascertained whether the emotion is in its purest form. However, when one is bared to oneself and Eternal God, the depth and breadth of life and love, hurt and heartache can be measured. It is in that moment of nakedness that the soul can cry, and the heart can bleed drops of pure love and pain.

In his moments on the cross, Jesus experienced an alienation and a loneliness that cannot be fathomed. It was in that time that the depth of His love for us poured from his body, and it is by the wounds he suffered in solitude that we are healed. Whatever paltry hurts we must experience, in our own times of sorrow, cannot be legitimately compared to the weight He carried, however they can bring us a heartbeat closer to a Love that heals in a way that is utterly inexplicable.

It is in those truly “alone” times that I call to mind the picture my daddy drew for me of our heavenly Father. Daddy talks about when Jesus called God “Abba”—translated, that most closely resembles “daddy” or “papa.” My earthly father drew the picture in my mind that comforts me in my deepest pain and sorrow when he spoke of crawling up in God’s lap as I used to crawl up into his lap when I was sad or hurt. In the alone times, it is readily apparent that my “Abba” God is sitting there, patiently awaiting my hasty retreat to the haven of His arms. When I cry into God’s shirtfront, He just puts his arms gently around me and wipes away my tears with his nail-scarred hand, and a moment passes between my heart and His wherein I understand, briefly, for a hanging breath in time, the phrase, “but for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame…”

Though one may touch the heart of God in any circumstance, I find the moments when I’m bleeding from the soul to be the most tender, because it is in those times that I meet the Healer, the Comforter, and His gentle touch is the means by which grace is delivered. I am alone. I am hopelessly lonely, and broken and bleeding, but it is in my hurt that I find the heart of God pouring a fresh breath of life into my soul and replenishing my strength, when I have not enough to continue. Heartaches must be endured alone to understand and accept the gift of grace.

I'm annoyed

2007-01-16T12:29:00.000-05:00

To those of you whose input here has been positive and enjoyable, I apologize. I will miss your thoughtful contributions. I have disabled the comments on my blog, because instead of being able to enjoy the input of my friends, I was given the dubious honor of playing policeman to other people's idiocy.

I find it annoying that some people think it's appropriate to hide behind the relative anonymity of the internet in order to make nasty comments about people. If you have something to say, then say it, openly. Don't be a jerk. (For those who are blissfully unaware of the circumstances, there is a blogger who is EGGing me on by posting lies about me in the comments section of my blog, and I have no patience for that kind of nonsense.)

DON'T EVER accuse me of anything illegal or immoral on MY blog. Period. DON'T tell me that I cannot be successful. DON'T come into MY world to pedal your poison. I will not have it.

Go be a jerk on your own blog.

I make it a matter of personal policy to make any contribution a positive one, and I will not allow anyone to lie about or be a jerk to me on my blog. There's plenty of room for being obnoxious elsewhere. I will not tolerate it, here.

My Secret

2006-12-19T15:59:00.000-05:00

I have a secret.
Don’t tell anyone.
An angel walks among us.
She doesn’t know she’s an angel, though.
I know.

She thinks she’s just a woman, just a mom, just a friend.
She’s not. She’s so much more.
You see, moms are there when you need them.
Friends offer care and concern.
She offers her heart and soul.

She drives for hours, just to be nearby.
She loses herself in providing love and tenderness, a listening ear.
She loves unconditionally—not just sometimes, but always.
She gives herself to people who never cared, never expecting anything but honesty in return.

Her disappointment would be the worst form of punishment, because she deserves so much.
But she is never disappointed.
Even when you fail her, she continues to love and give.
She never sees the failure.
She never sees the mis-step or the broken promise.
All she sees is the face of someone she loves.

An angel walks among us.
She is my mother.

Disclaimer

2006-12-19T15:57:00.000-05:00

I intensely dislike free-form poetry. I'm of the belief that poetry should have a meter, and that it should rhyme. Unfortunately, the words don't always come the way you'd like for them to come, and with what you're left is something in-between poetry and prose. For the above, I apologize.

Shameless Rip-Off From Brownie Points

2006-12-16T15:12:00.000-05:00

Your Vocabulary Score: A+

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary!
You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

Giant Headaches and Tiny Victories

2006-12-16T13:22:00.000-05:00

Decorating for Christmas is a fun way to begin the holiday season. In our family, we have a tradition of decorating for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving. All the decorations come down the day after Christmas. Well, I live far away from my family, and I was going to be at my parents' home over Thanksgiving, so I decorated my apartment for Christmas on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. I like to put lights on my balcony railing, so I got out my lovely icicle strand and hung it carefully. When I was done, I plugged it in and it lit up beautifully... except for one section of it.

Christmas light strands, these days, are made so that if a bulb burns out, only one section will not continue to light. This is good, in that it keeps you from having to check the entire strand for one little broken filament. I found the offending bulb. (And I'm very thankful that, while my eyesight is imperfect, I have wonderful near-vision. If I was at all far-sighted, I'd have been pooched! Those filaments are nigh-unto invisible!)

I thought to myself, "I believe I have more small bulbs in with the rest of my Christmas stuff," and I was correct. I retrieved the bulb, and put it into the slot where the broken one had been. It didn't fit. I pushed harder. It still wouldn't fit. I twisted, and almost broke the bulb. It wouldn't go in the little blinking blanking hole. So, I took the replacement bulb and held it up to the broken bulb. What I found is what you can see in the picture above. There is more than one miniature lightbulb base. (Presumably so you can't replace the bulbs, which causes you to, instead, replace the entire strand. Actually, not a bad marketing strategy, but a bugger for the consumer.)

Well, being of the lineage that I tout, I did the difficult thing to do. I whipped out my pocket knife and started carving away at the little plastic base. (The green bulb is the replacement bulb, so I needed to whittle down the base until the grooves matched the white one.) As I learned while growing up, the only way to tackle a task such as this is to make sure that your mouth is running at approximately the same speed as your tool of choice (particularly if the tool is ill-suited for the job you've given it), and your mouth should be muttering tiny little curses (not foul-language, just actual curses) against the communist nazi who came up with the stupid idea which foiled your plans, your day, and ultimately your entire life. :D That bulb never had a chance.

I won. I put the freshly-carved lightbulb into the strand, and -- PRESTO!-- the previously-dead section came to life! VICTORY against a lightbulb! Thank God for opposable thumbs and rapidly-moving intellect. :D

Now all I have to do is carve another bulb for the next section of the strand which decided to die recently... Sigh.

Much Love.
L~

Color and Me

2006-12-16T12:54:00.000-05:00

Interesting... Take a quiz, and see how close it is to correct. I like this one.

This is me, apparently. Fairly accurate...

You are a person who approaches their finances aggressively and with purpose. You make sure you have covered every angle by consulting the best professionals, then move in for the attack.

Preferring a more casual appearance, you are more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than in a suit. You don't like over dressing for any occasion, although you never look scruffy.

You are aggressive in business, but tend to take the backseat when it comes to your personal life. You are more comfortable talking about work than relationships.

You are a very practical person. It's more important to you that the things you own are useful, rather than nice to look at.

A good listener. You are comfortable allowing others to take the spotlight and share their adventures. You are protective about your friendship and ensure the best for your friends.

You are a no-nonsense, practical person. You make sure that you are there when your friends need you, and like to solve their problems for them.

Seasonal Greetings

2006-12-15T11:27:00.000-05:00

For My Democrat Friends:

"Please accept, with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the generally accepted calendar year 2007, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country, nor the only America in theWestern Hemisphere. And without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishes. By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for herself or himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher."

For My Republican Friends:

“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!”

An American Coward

2006-11-14T16:36:00.000-05:00

I usually prefer to write my own stuff for my blog, but I thought this was too good to not re-post.

An Honest Confession by an American Coward
By: Pat Conroy

Pat Conroy's novels include The Prince of Tides, The Great Santini, The Lords of Discipline, and Beach Music. He lives on Fripp Island, South Carolina. This essay is from his forthcoming book, My Losing Season.

The true things always ambush me on the road and take me by surprise when I am drifting down the light of placid days, careless about flanks and rearguard actions. I was not looking for a true thing to come upon me in the state of New Jersey. Nothing has ever happened to me in New Jersey. But came it did, and it came to stay.

In the past four years I have been interviewing my teammates on the 1966-67 basketball team at the Citadel for a book I'm writing. For the most part, this has been like buying back a part of my past that I had mislaid or shut out of my life. At first I thought I was writing about being young and frisky and able to run up and down a court all day long, but lately I realized I came to this book because I needed to come to grips with being middle-aged and having ripened into a gray-haired man you could not trust to handle the ball on a fast break.

When I visited my old teammate Al Kroboth's house in New Jersey, I spent the first hours quizzing him about his memories of games and practices and the screams of coaches that had echoed in field houses more than 30 years before. Al had been a splendid forward-center for the Citadel; at 6 feet 5 inches and carrying 220 pounds, he played with indefatigable energy and enthusiasm. For most of his senior year, he led the nation in field-goal percentage, with UCLA center Lew Alcindor hot on his trail. Al was a battler and a brawler and a scrapper from the day he first stepped in as a Green Weenie as a sophomore to the day he graduated. After we talked basketball, we came to a subject I dreaded to bring up with Al, but which lay between us and would not lie still.

"Al, you know I was a draft dodger and antiwar demonstrator."

"That's what I heard, Conroy," Al said. "I have nothing against what you did, but I did what I thought was right."

"Tell me about Vietnam, big Al. Tell me what happened to you," I said.

On his seventh mission as a navigator in an A-6 for Major Leonard Robertson, Al was getting ready to deliver their payload when the fighter-bomber was hit by enemy fire. Though Al has no memory of it, he punched out somewhere in the middle of the ill-fated dive and lost consciousness. He doesn't know if he was unconscious for six hours or six days, nor does he know what happened to Major Robertson (whose name is engraved on the Wall in Washington and on the MIA bracelet Al wears).

When Al awoke, he couldn't move. A Viet Cong soldier held an AK-47 to his head. His back and his neck were broken, and he had shattered his left scapula in the fall. When he was well enough to get to his feet (he still can't recall how much time had passed), two armed Viet Cong led Al from the jungles of South Vietnam to a prison in Hanoi. The journey took three months. Al Kroboth walked barefooted through the most impassable terrain in Vietnam, and he did it sometimes in the dead of night. He bathed when it rained, and he slept in bomb craters with his two Viet Cong captors. As they moved farther north, infections began to erupt on his body, and his legs were covered with leeches picked up while crossing the rice paddies.

At the very time of Al's walk, I had a small role in organizing the only antiwar demonstration ever held in Beaufort, South Carolina, the home of Parris Island and the Marine Corps Air Station. In a Marine Corps town at that time, it was difficult to come up with a quorum of people who had even minor disagreements about the Vietnam War. But my small group managed to attract a crowd of about 150 to Beaufort's waterfront. With my mother and my wife on either side of me, we listened to the featured speaker, Dr. Howard Levy, suggest to the very few young enlisted Marines present that if they get sent to Vietnam, here's how they can help end this war: Roll a grenade under your officer's bunk when he's asleep in his tent. It's called fragging and is becoming more and more popular with the ground troops who know this war is bullshit. I was enraged by the suggestion. At that very moment my father, a Marine officer, was asleep in Vietnam. But in 1972, at the age of 27, I thought I was serving America's interests by pointing out what massive flaws and miscalculations and corruptions had led her to conduct a ground war in Southeast Asia.

In the meantime, Al and his captors had finally arrived in the North, and the Viet Cong traded him to North Vietnamese soldiers for the final leg of the trip to Hanoi. Many times when they stopped to rest for the night, the local villagers tried to kill him. His captors wired his hands behind his back at night, so he trained himself to sleep in the center of huts when the villagers began sticking knives and bayonets into the thin walls.

Following the U.S. air raids, old women would come into the huts to excrete on him and yank out hunks of his hair. After the nightmare journey of his walk north, Al was relieved when his guards finally delivered him to the POW camp in Hanoi and the cell door locked behind him.

It was at the camp that Al began to die. He threw up every meal he ate and before long was misidentified as the oldest American soldier in the prison because his appearance was so gaunt and skeletal. But the extraordinary camaraderie among fellow prisoners that sprang up in all the POW camps caught fire in Al, and did so in time to save his life.

When I was demonstrating in America against Nixon and the Christmas bombings in Hanoi, Al and his fellow prisoners were holding hands under the full fury of those bombings, singing "God Bless America." It was those bombs that convinced Hanoi they would do well to release the American POWs, including my college teammate. When he told me about the C-141 landing in Hanoi to pick up the prisoners, Al said he felt no emotion, none at all, until he saw the giant American flag painted on the plane's tail. I stopped writing as Al wept over the memory of that flag on that plane, on that morning, during that time in the life of America.

It was that same long night, after listening to Al's story, that I began to make judgments about how I had conducted myself during the Vietnam War.

In the darkness of the sleeping Kroboth household, lying in the third-floor guest bedroom, I began to assess my role as a citizen in the '60s, when my country called my name and I shot her the bird. Unlike the stupid boys who wrapped themselves in Viet Cong flags and burned the American one, I knew how to demonstrate against the war without flirting with treason or astonishingly bad taste. I had come directly from the warrior culture of this country and I knew how to act.

But in the 25 years that have passed since South Vietnam fell, I have immersed myself in the study of totalitarianism during the unspeakable century we just left behind. I have questioned survivors of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, talked to Italians who told me tales of the Nazi occupation, French partisans who had counted German tanks in the forests of Normandy, and officers who survived the Bataan Death March. I quiz journalists returning from wars in Bosnia, the Sudan, the Congo, Angola, Indonesia, Guatemala, San Salvador, Chile, Northern Ireland, Algeria.

As I lay sleepless, I realized I'd done all this research to better understand my country. I now revere words like democracy, freedom, the right to vote, and the grandeur of the extraordinary vision of the founding fathers. Do I see America's flaws? Of course. But I now can honor her basic, incorruptible virtues, the ones that let me walk the streets screaming my ass off that my country had no idea what it was doing in South Vietnam. My country let me scream to my heart's content - the same country that produced both Al Kroboth and me.

Now, at this moment in New Jersey, I come to a conclusion about my actions as a young man when Vietnam was a dirty word to me. I wish I'd led a platoon of Marines in Vietnam. I would like to think I would have trained my troops well and that the Viet Cong would have had their hands full if they entered a firefight with us. From the day of my birth, I was programmed to enter the Marine Corps. I was the son of a Marine fighter pilot, and I had grown up on Marine bases where I had watched the men of the corps perform simulated war games in the forests of my childhood. That a novelist and poet bloomed darkly in the house of Santini strikes me as a remarkable irony. My mother and father had raised me to be an Al Kroboth, and during the Vietnam era they watched in horror as I metamorphosed into another breed of fanatic entirely. I understand now that I should have protested the war after my return from Vietnam, after I had done my duty for my country. I have come to a conclusion about my country that I knew then in my bones but lacked the courage to act on: America is good enough to die for even when she is wrong.

I looked for some conclusion, a summation of this trip to my teammate's house. I wanted to come to the single right thing, a true thing that I may not like but that I could live with. After hearing Al Kroboth's story of his walk across Vietnam and his brutal imprisonment in the North, I found myself passing harrowing, remorseless judgment on myself. I had not turned out to be the man I had once envisioned myself to be. I thought I would be the kind of man that America could point to and say, "There. That's the guy. That's the one who got it right. The whole package. The one I can depend on."

It had never once occurred to me that I would find myself in the position I did on that night in Al Kroboth's house in Roselle, New Jersey: an American coward spending the night with an American hero.

My Friday Experience in Discomfort

2006-11-13T12:51:00.000-05:00

I flew back to Kansas City over the long weekend, and decided that while I was there, I’d see my doctor for my annual exam. Every 2 years, I am screened for cholesterol, and this was the year, so I got to fast before my exam so that they could draw blood for that. (High cholesterol runs in my family.) I had a whole list of things that I wanted to talk to my doctor about, so when she came in, I handed it to her and we went through everything. I got poked and prodded, as always, with a little extra palpitating based on some of the questions I asked. She decided that I needed to have an ultrasound done, and since someone does those there in the office on Friday afternoons, she asked me to try to schedule it for the same day. I got done with the exam portion and headed over to the blood-letting area for my cholesterol screening. I was also due for my once-a-decade tetanus vaccination, and that means I wound up with entrance and exit wounds on my arm. Woohoo. When I went to check out, I was able to schedule my ultrasound for that afternoon, and the lady told me that I had to continue to fast until that appointment, but I needed to have a full bladder for the ultrasound. She said to “drink AT LEAST 32 ounces in the hour or so before your appointment.” So, I re-scheduled my lunch appointment. Being the over-achiever that I am, I started drinking fluids a couple of hours before the appointment and downed close to 50 ounces before the appointment. Here comes the fun part.

On Friday afternoon, there was a really bad accident with a fatality on 435. (For those of you who aren’t familiar with the KC area, 435 is the interstate highway that circumnavigates the city. It is always busy.) Apparently, one of those HUGE highway directional signs—you know, the big green ones that tell you where the exits are?—fell on a car. They had to bring in a crane to pull the sign off the car. It took them about 4 hours. (Something new for the paranoid people out there to worry about, eh?) So, they shut it down. 435. They shut down the highway. For four hours. Closed. None of this one-lane-is-still-open-and-traffic-is-creeping-through stuff. I was ON 435 when they closed it. I HAD A FULL BLADDER on 435 when they closed it. So traffic stopped. That means I stopped. I honestly have never felt that way before, and I’m not planning on repeating the experience. I was driving my brother’s Toyota Tacoma (stick shift) pick-up truck. When your bladder is in danger of exploding and you have to KEEP your bladder full, a vehicle with a manual transmission is not the most fun thing to be driving. All of the traffic from all 4 east-bound lanes was being diverted onto Nall Ave. Fortunately, my doctor’s office is on Nall.

So I finally, painfully arrived at my doctor’s office, half an hour late, and went in. I was able to convey the urgency I was feeling to the reception staff, and they got me right in. (They’re always quick, there, but the kind lady physically went back and retrieved the ultrasound technician for me.) She didn’t even wait for me to change or anything for the first part of it. She just slapped on some jelly and snapped the pictures she needed and ushered me to the bathroom. God bless her sweet soul. I went back in and she finished the procedure on a much-less-uncomfortable me. (She told me that the receptionist was mistaken, and I really didn’t HAVE to fast for the ultrasound… I could have had lunch!) It was funny, though because as she was getting her gear put away she said, “I’m done here, but your bladder’s filling up again. You’ll probably want to use the rest room again before you leave.” Kinda strange to have someone tell you when you’ll need to go potty. Haha.

So I completed my annual well-woman exam, had blood drawn, got a Tdap shot (which means my deltoid is STILL sore, though it’s wearing off, now), breast exam, pap, pelvic, basic physical, and an external and internal ultrasound. When you add to that list the knee injury I’m still battling, you get quite the picture of my comfort levels for the remainder of the weekend. I have officially added “not needing to have a colonoscopy or endoscopy” to my list of things to be thankful for. Hahahahaha! Ain’t being healthy grand??

The trip was good, overall, though, and I had the opportunity to sit in a hot tub for a little while on Saturday night. That went a long way toward making things well again. :D

Much Love.
L~

(BTW, I got a call from the nurse today saying that my cholesterol was within the normal range, but on the high side—nothing to worry about, just make sure I’m eating properly—and that she would call me back when they got my other exam results back.)

On Politics-- because you need ONE more opinion.

2006-11-09T14:02:00.000-05:00

Some people say that if you don’t vote, you can’t whine. True as that may be, I’d say that even if you do vote, you shouldn’t whine. Here’s my logic—follow if you dare. You voted, you got your say, and just enough of the country believed differently than you that the decision didn’t go your way. Be this amendments or candidates, you don’t get to whine. Sometimes you side with the majority, and sometimes you don’t. Not being part of the majority of voters (not necessarily the majority of the country) does not mean that you didn’t have a valid reason for voting the way you did. For instance, in this mid-term election, VA voted on the amendment stating that marriage should be limited to legal unions involving one man and one woman. Some voted yes, and some voted no. The reasons that each voted the way they did may be equally valid, but the majority said yes. Will it do any good for people to whine to others about not having this go their way? No. But they’ll still whine.

The difference is between words and action. Do you break fellowship with friends and strangers to make a political point, or do you gracefully accept the reality of the situation and move on? I’m registered as a Republican. I tend to vote Republican, not because I’m registered as one, but because the Republican nominees tend to represent my views on a lot of issues. If I find a Democrat who believes as I do more closely than his Republican opponent, I’ll “break party lines” and vote for the guy who best represents me. The thing is that I’m not voting in a popularity contest and this isn’t a p!ssing match. This is our country. If we want to have a representational style of government, then we need to vote for the people who represent us, regardless of their political affiliations. With the turnover of the House to the Democrats and the possibility of the turnover of the Senate, many Dems are gloating about getting some “comeuppance” or other. The fascinating thing about it is that some of the Dems that got the highly contested seats are extremely conservative and vote along the same lines as I; they’re just registered as Democrats. I didn’t vote for them (since I’m outside their constituency), but that doesn’t mean they don’t adequately represent my view of reality.

I think it’s really fascinating how much mess was being thrown around with this mid-term election. The media made a big deal about this being a referendum on President Bush and the war in Iraq—both of which were well-supported initially. The fun thing is that we are just not used to having a politician be honest with us, and then keep being honest. The POTUS said at the beginning that if we went into Iraq it wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to be brief, because the fight wasn’t about the visible government this time, so much as the shadow organizations that the government was hiding. He, from the very beginning, made no bones about the fact that this was going to take time, thus the “stay the course” statement that got old after awhile. The reason he kept saying it is because it’s really the key. So we vote in a President who commits to a course of action that the overwhelming majority of the population supports, and then we remember that we live in the microwave society, and get fed up. We get someone in office who does not only what he said he was going to do, but also keeps the promises made by the previous occupant of the White House**, and everybody flips out. “Run, run!! Don’t you know that politicians aren’t allowed to keep their word?? Quick! Get somebody else out here, before we faint! We don’t care who, just somebody else! Even if they’re lying, cheating scumbags! We can’t have someone who actually loves our country and our troops running rampant. We’ve gotta try to hobble him!” So what do they do? They go to the polls in the mid-term elections and try to vote in enough democrats to change the make-up of the House and the Senate. They elected Democrats who fall on the same side as most of the Republicans. The message being declared by America, over an incredibly large bullhorn is, “WE WANT CHANGE… just not a big change. Just a little one will do fine. Let’s just change the name from Republican to Democrat. We still want our representatives in the House and Senate to vote the same way, but we want to call them something else while they do it.”

SO---> You voted, and the other guy got elected. According to my theory, you don’t get to whine. What do you do? You crack open those good-old lines of communication. If the new guy doesn’t tend to vote the way you’d choose, you write a letter or send an email or call his office. Let him know, respectfully, that since he represents you in the Senate (or whatever) that this is what you believe and this is how you’d like him to vote. NOW, this works better if you have an actual belief about a particular topic. Calling an anti-gun liberal to tell him to vote pro-gun is not going to help. If there’s a gun measure pending and there’s a reason you believe he should vote pro-gun on this particular measure, convey specifically and accurately WHY and how he can best represent his constituency. “Senator Nogun, I’d very much like you to vote yes on H.R. 47*. FBI statistics show that 92% of the time the possession/brandishment of a firearm by a citizen, when confronted by a someone with criminal intent, prevents crime. This means that in most cases, the gun possessed by the law-abiding citizen is not even fired. Furthermore, 86% of your constituency support this measure, according to ABC poll conducted by XYZ. Please protect our Second Amendment rights to keep and bear arms so that criminals are not the only armed people on our streets. Thank you for your accurate representation of your constituency.” You like/support what he does? Tell him. You don’t like/support what he does? Tell him. That’s the beauty of our form of government. You don’t have to be a Dem to speak to your Dem representative. You don’t have to be GOP to speak to your GOP representative. Nifty, ain’t it?? So if you hear me complain about a Democratic House, you have free rein to reach out and slap me on the back of the head while politely reminding me that it doesn’t matter what party “controls” our government—we control our country.

As I said before, there’s a difference between words and action, and whining to your co-workers won’t make any difference in the way your Congressperson votes, but making that call or sending that email just might. You must remember that what’s shown on TV isn’t necessarily the whole truth. News media have a job to do, and that is to sell newspapers, increase viewership, etc., and thereby, maintain continued gainful employment. Their job is not necessarily to accurately show reality. If they did show all of reality accurately, no one would pay any attention to them, because in reality, not everything is in imminent danger of blowing up or dying. Boredom does not garner support, so the news only reports what they consider stimulating. It’s more stimulating (negatively) to report that the sky is falling than it is stimulating (positively) to report that the fire department rescued that kitten from the tree. It’s more stimulating to report the body count in Iraq than it is to show that the majority of the country is peaceful and that the skirmishes are limited in range and severity and confined to certain areas of the country. (I know this because I know many people who have been in and out of Iraq during this conflict, a couple of whom just returned.) They also fail to report that the body count in this military action is much lower than any other armed conflict in recorded history, while the casualties are being treated more quickly and more accurately to produce better results and return more wounded (rather than dead) soldiers to their homes than ever before. Peace is boring. Dead bodies are exciting-- stimulating. They report the dead bodies. Likewise, relating to politics, the news will carry the story that half a dozen pacifists “converged” on city hall demanding that the recent gun legislation not go through long before they will carry the one about 86% of the population of their city owning and bearing small arms. They know that the “demonstration” will rile, or at least irk, enough of their viewers to an extent that they will continue watching the news, waiting for the next round of protests. It will also maintain the viewership of those 6 pacifists that protested at City Hall, because they’ll believe they’re making headway, just by being on the news. If an anti-gun legislator receives personally-written, well-worded letters from all 6 of those protestors, and sees them on television, but only receives one note from some guy named Jimmy Bob that reads, “Vote fur them gun laws cuz guns are cool,” he’s going to be more likely to believe that his anti-gun stance is an accurate representation of his constituency, and he’s going to sleep soundly after he votes no, while the majority of the people in his district go to bed fuming over their lack of representation. YA WITH ME?????

Ok, I know it’s getting hairy, but stick with me for just a bit. The last thing I’m going to talk about is the mud-slinging ads. During the days/weeks/months leading up to an election, you can’t turn on a television or a radio, or even walk down the street, without being faced with yet another political ad. The majority of them are negative and soul-crushing. Frankly, I think we should crack down on this nonsense and impose heavy fines for being obnoxious. If you can’t tell me who YOU are and what you believe, thus telling me whether or not to vote for you, I sure as HELL don’t want to hear you try to tell me who your opponent is, what he believes, and why I shouldn’t vote for him. If we’re being honest with ourselves, the ads from both parties are disgusting and should be removed from view. (I have a few ideas about where these things should be placed, if the respective candidates wouldn’t mind bending over…) Furthermore, the fines imposed for airing this rubbish should be stiff enough to make them feel it where it hurts worst—their own wallets. The party publishes a commercial smearing your opponent? YOU get to pay for it. You approve an ad that smears your opponent? YOU get to pay for it. Whoever stands to “profit” from the ad should be slapped upside the head and billed for the damage to the collective American Psyche, payment due immediately on penalty of jail time. I feel dumber and dirtier for having seen and heard some of the things that were aired by either party during these elections, and I’m running out of lotion, because all the showers I have to take after seeing these ads are drying out my skin. STOP THE MADNESS!!!!

Before you vote, do some research. Vote for the person who best represents you and who you think will do the best job of taking care of the interests of the country. Be responsible. Keep in mind that the person filling the job ultimately has to answer to you, and act accordingly. Be respectful of those in authority, whether or not they are your choice for those positions. Disrespect of those who occupy an office does not reflect poorly on them, just on you. Be kind. As Samuel Johnson once said, “To cultivate kindness is a valuable part of the business of life.” I’ve quoted this poem that my mother taught me before, and I’ll say it again.

“I have wept through the night
For the shortness of sight
That to somebody’s need made me blind
But I never have yet
Felt a twinge of regret
For being a little too kind.”

These are my official views. This is my blog. If you disagree, you’re welcome to do so… on your own time and on your own blog. :D

Much Love.

L~

* H. R. 47: Citizens’ Self-Defense Act of 2005 “To protect the right to obtain firearms for security, and to use firearms in defense of self, family, or home, and to provide for the enforcement of such right.”

** After the various attacks on the US (Embassies, the Cole, etc.) on Clinton’s watch, he promised that we’d track down the cowards. He didn’t but Bush did.

Obituary

2006-10-17T12:57:00.000-05:00

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Mr. Common Sense. Mr. Sense had been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such value lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm and that life isn't always fair. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not kids, are in charge).

His health began to rapidly deteriorate when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place- Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. Mr. Sense declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer aspirin to a student; but, could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Finally, Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense finally gave up the ghost after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a bit in her lap, and was awarded a huge financial settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by two step-brothers; My Rights and Ima Whiner. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

Uncanny resemblence?

2006-10-10T13:34:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else noticed the resemblence between William Shatner (no explanation necessary) and Michael Weatherly (NCIS, SA Anthony DiNozzo, CBS)? Just a thought...

... William Shatner
and Michael Weatherly...

:D

Friends and Strangers

2006-09-28T14:31:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had that moment when you suddenly realized that a person you THOUGHT you knew quite well was, in reality, little more than a stranger? Funnily enough, the exact same thing can happen in reverse, as well. Sometimes you meet someone, and while your conscious mind knows that you don't know this person at all, your heart tells you that you're close friends. Even stranger than that, BOTH of those scenarios can happen internally in the relationship you have with yourself. You may be flying along through life and, suddenly, one day awaken to realize that despite the fact that you live with yourself and know all of your stories, you don't know yourself at all. That's not an uncommon thing. The reverse is something I recently experienced.

I have been studying a lot about the way the brain works, and I've been applying the things I'm learning to my own thought processes. My goal is to change the way I think so that I can exhibit my better characteristics more readily and completely eliminate my less desirable traits. Essentially, this means that you change the person you are to a stranger with different viewpoints about life. It suddenly occured to me, today at lunch, that this stranger I'm becoming is someone that I know very well. I realized that I'm happier, calmer, and better with the new thought processes. They fit me in a way that's familiar, despite the fact that they're entirely new and different from who I once was. I came to the realization that the reason that this stranger is a friend is that she is the person I was meant to be all along. She is a soulmate that I never knew I had. I didn't want to be friends with me before, and now I'm this wonderful, beautiful person that I never saw!

It's funny, because I tell my friends that I wish they could see themselves the way that I see them-- as beautiful, valuable women who deserve so much better than they think they do. And now, I'm experiencing what I wanted them to have. I'm seeing me as being the woman that others must have seen, in spite of me. (They had to be seeing the me I'm seeing now, because nobody would want to be friends with the me I saw in the mirror before!) So, here's the thing: studying, bettering yourself, growing as a person, and refusing to stagnate are activities that all of us must do. Just because you're not a part of an organized educational program, or DESPITE the fact that you are a part of one, is not an excuse to cease learning. School has its place, but education is something that cannot and should not be confined to institutions or curricula or some such nonsense.

If you're sick and tired of yourself, but you just can't figure a way to go anywhere without you, then change who you perceive yourself to be, and in turn, the person you become will astound you by being a complete stranger who is the closest friend you've never had.

Much Love.
L~

2006-09-28T08:20:00.000-05:00

Check out this video. This is nuts!!

Gun Control Hurts Women

2006-09-07T15:45:00.000-05:00

Great article.

I feel... Indefinable

2006-08-24T15:11:00.000-05:00

Aren't our feelings, our emotions, supposed to fit into categories? We're raised knowing what "happy" means. I'm happy. I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm whichever thing. Pick the category. The problem that I've discovered (Deepak would say, "Challenge. Not problem.") is that emotions don't fit into the boxes. The boxes are too little, and the emotions, too big. When too many different things are warring inside your head, and someone asks you how you are or if you're doing alright, what do you say? I guess you say what my friend Rohil says, "GREAT!" and just make it so by the power of the spoken word. (He's quite wise, beyond his two years-of-age.) So I may feel indefinable, but I'm doing GREAT!