can barely breathe

Just before Thanksgiving my father called me to tell me that my grandmother, his mother, was not doing so well. Her name is Jean Bauer and she's 85 and a tiny, spunky woman who doesn't complain about ANYthing. It's a Bauer trait.

She fell and broke her arm badly and upon examination, the doctors found lesions under her arm and then all over her body...that - after much speculation and testing - turned out to be cancer. Like I said, she complains about NOTHING...so for the lesions to have grown the way they did...oh, i just feel sick. We got the news about 10 days ago that it was progressing so fast that it was time to come see her. My father and I weren't sure what that meant...whether she had just a few months, or few weeks or if this was our last time to see her alive. Intense. Seems we had JUST found out something was wrong...oh wait, we did.

My mother was too sick to make the trip and so it was myself, my father and my brother. Three Bauers in a rental car to West Palm Beach is not ideal....do not try that at home:). Just before we arrived my mother called me and told me not to repeat to my dad, but that she learned that "the Catholic priest had come the night before." I understand that to mean it was so bad that the priest was brought in for comfort and spiritual guidance and to make sure she had peace. Or something like that.

What that did to me...that phone call 30 minutes from arriving at her house...I can't explain. I began to sweat. My spirit was soo disturbed. My lips were shaking...my hands were shaking and I thought I'd never be able to hide the news. It meant she really was dying. I didn't want my dad to know because he was desperately trying to find something to be positive about upon arriving at his moms house. Turns out I didn't need to hide anything. We walked into her house...which she shares with my uncle tommy and his partner Jerry (who by the way take EXCELLENT care of her and have for the past 15 years). Greeting us was the caregiver/nurse who was hired to stay with her ever since the diagnosis. I put my purse down, swallowed hard and looked for her. No matter how sick I felt, nothing compared to seeing her. She was pale, skeleton-like and I could barely tell it was her. She has very specific cheekbones and when I saw her crooked smile, I could see that it was her. I have not seen her since my wedding 8 years ago...and just a few years ago...she was a knock out...a fabulously beautiful sweet little woman. And Friday night, she was dying of cancer.

I am told just 7 days prior, she was up eating cake for her 85th bday. I saw the pictures...the transformation in 7 days from his horrible cancer...devastating. She was still a beauty in those pictures. We all entered her room and it took a minute for her to realize that her grandchildren and her son were there. When she saw my father...she mustered all her strength and said "Jimmy! My baby! Jimmy!" And my fathers eyes grew wet with tears and he hugged her the best he could while she lie in bed. That broke my heart. She was terribly excited to see me and my brother and while it was hard to understand her, we could and did our best to "catch up."

Moments later, the morphine she was on helped her drift back off to sleep and we had some dinner with my uncles on their porch...a door open at all times to hear grandma. My father was crying. MY FATHER WAS CRYING. Not hard, not sobbing, but a painful, choking cry. Gut wrenching. He had his first beer in 15 years. Watching him deal with what he saw...his dying mother...was probably the worst thing I can remember seeing and feeling in a LONG time.

So then it was nighttime. I was alone with my uncles and grandma, as dad and jimmy went to a hotel. I drank a STRONG vodka drink..to calm down. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe...I was just so taken back. So then it was bedtime, and time to check grandma. It was also time for her morphine and as I saw my uncle measure it, my heart felt like it was going to explode because I KNEW I had something to say to my grandmother. What it was exactly, i don't know...but the leading to do something was there and I didn't want it to be. Before I knew it, I had asked for a few minutes alone with her...it was about midnight and there was a ton of moonlight in the room.

Grandma was alert, thinking it was morning, and she and I talked some. I told her how much I loved her...I felt like I used all my muscles to say it...I wanted her to know how much. In the four hours I was there, my head and heart were reminded of my grandmother, all the years of love and support she gave me and so many special memories came flooding back.

So I told her I loved her and she said something funny. I can't recall it exactly (maybe due to the vodka) but it was something about how special I was and "if" she made it to heaven, etc. Then I knew. I knew she was scared. I told her...and normally I might hesitate to make this so public, but it's my blog and I think if anyone has read any of it, this probably won't see surprising...that God loved her. That she could know for sure whether she'd see heaven. That SHE was the special one and that she did a great job as a mother and a grandmother. And she smiled her crooked smile. I'll never forget it. I asked her if she was scared, through very hot tears ( I was FURIOUS, FURIOUS that she was going through this pain), and she looked odd then...like she wasn't sure how to answer. I could also tell I was losing her. She was getting tired. I told her what the Bible says...which is just purely that God loves us. He made a way to get to him so that there is no question in moments like this. That way is Jesus and if she trusted in that truth, she had no worries. She would "make it". I remember speaking very steadily, very sure of what I was saying, yet inside I was shaking. This is not the first time I have felt God's strength when I was so weak. I prayed with her... then we were interrupted. Time for morphine. Time for grandma to slip away to sleep.

That is until about 1:30 a.m. I could hear grandma making noise. I was warned that she isn't sure what she's doing and tries to get out of bed. I jumped to my feet (as if my uncles hadn't been doing this for 2 weeks already) and went to her room. Indeed she was trying to get out. I asked her what she needed adn while she couldn't speak at that point, she nodded when I said "bathroom?". I was warned that she could fall, she could, if her source not strong enough, fall and break something else. She's been in a diaper and has a portable potty and that's what she has been forced to endure. She can't even use the portable potty herself. Did I mention she's the ultimate lady...always hose, heels and a purse...peeing in her bed or in a potty is NOT what she wants. She made that clear. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I offered to take her to the bathroom. I knew that's what she wanted. I helped her out of the bed and as she shuffled with her arms around me, mine tight around her back ( I swear NOTHING would break my grip) I helped her. I got her back to the bed...and realized...I have to lift her totally up to get her on the mattress. It's 1:30 a.m. I have to pick her up, all 86 lbs. of her. I'm a strong girl, but not that strong. I couldn't leave her to get my uncles. I didn't want to alarm her by yelling for them. Again the calmness came. Complete calmness. I found myself picking her up, like a baby cradled in my arms and I simply lifted her into the bed. I realized I forgot to put her diaper on the bed first. That too was not hard. Her body simply lifted and I was able to get her snug and secure. Then it hit me. I didn't do that alone.

Saturday came and I spent the afternoon in her room. My brother had a few moments with her too, as she loves her "little jimmy" dearly. His eyes were red and bright for a good part of the day. There were so many people in the house...including relatives I haven't seen, one I had never met before and yet that prodding came AGAIN. Heart beating fast...sweat, teh whole thing. So I closed the door and prayed that God would tell me what he had for me to tell her...how strange to know something like that, right? I mean, what else could it be? So she was really alert...and I showed her the scrapbook I made for her...and I was delighted that she could see the pictures...or at least she said she could. It was like she had gotten BETTER overnight. A good day. So we talked and I asked her if she remembered talking with me the night before and she looked blank. She said "can you talk to me now honey?" I didn't know what to say...but she told me that she was scared and then I started to cry. I sobbed and told her how sorry I was taht she was so sick. I told her how much I loved her, repeated what I said to her the night before and she said "you believe like I do, honey. I know how you must feel." Selfless grandma - she was trying to make ME feel better and she is the one dying. Shortly after, she fell asleep.

I guess the prodding to talk to her about heaven and God and well, the "big stuff" comes from the fact that I do truly believe in God. The past few years have been really tough in that capacity, lots of questions...but I DO believe. I search for answers, I search for Him constantly. And, regardless of what you believe, if you believe there's a path, a way, and that it is the TRUTH wouldn't you share it with a dying person?

I received an envelope from her that day..via my uncles. It was some of her jewelry that she saved for me. I will wear it with pride. I slept in her bedroom the night before we left and felt so comfortable looking at her figurines, her things...things I used to look at as a small child...and almost all of her pictures had me and my brother in them...and then I felt crushed...like all the air had been sucked out of me...b/c I had not visited her often enough, had not written her enough...and actually, as sick as it makes me feel even now, i have two piles of pictures that i saved for her...and never sent. Shame on me. She never forgot me..ever. My god that is a horrible feeling.

Saying goodbye to her was the single worst thing. We all knew, including her, that was our last moments with her alive. My father knew it the most. He was very figity that morning and nervous. Dad came in to say goodbye and again, that terribly painful choking cry came out and i felt like someone stuck a needle in my heart...my body HURT. I couldn't look away...he was hovered over her (and at that point I noticed he signed her cast "Jim Loves Mom") trying to tell her that he loved her, he had to go and that she should get some sleep and dream great dreams and he'd see her soon. MY GOD...WHY...WHY does it have to be so damn hard? Then it was my turn and by this time her eyes were closed. I thikn she was doing it to make it easier. I thanked her for my jewelry, she smiled, eyes closed. I told her I loved her so much and while her mouth barely opened, I could hear her, from way deep inside, tell me she loved me too.

Apparently since we left on Sunday, she has been sad, feeling as though everyone has left her and what kills me, what is making me cry right now, is that she is so painfully aware of her impending death...and she's sad...she's trying to say goodbye in her moments of clarity...and is heartbrokern herself!

I saw her exrays...her body is spotted like a dalmation...totally filled with cancer...her bladder and her brain, her collar bones, ribs, etc...everything...cancer everywhere. Damn it. she's 85 and has had a long life...but the pain, the waiting, the detoriorating...the body is going.

...and watching her cancer filled body lie in that bed...and yet hear her ask about all of US, if we had eaten, if we were sleeping, if we "wanted ice cream on the patio" when she was alert enough, was just, well, something else - for lack of a better word.

When you see a sick body asleep..I don't know...for me this hyper awareness of spirit and soul was there. Watching a chest filled with cancer rise and up and down, struggle to breathe at times...but then see moments of HER...well, it was surreal.

So now I am waiting for the phone call that says she has passed. Most believe it'll happen before christmas, which breaks my heart. Until then, she'll be in that room, in that bed and I just hate it. HATE IT HATE IT HATE IT. I can't imagine how my dad must feel.

I feel like I have been run over by a truck and I am not the one who's sick...i can't seem to talk about it w/out either feeling completely sick or crying. I think it's the waiting...of knowing shes waiting too...maybe a bit unsure...maybe a bit lonely...and it's really tearing me up.

I wrote it out here in hopes that I will better deal, but she is constantly on my mind...the pictures of our family all over the her walls...the memories...the fact that a life is ending...it's just really...hard.

Decidedly Different

I was just sitting here thinking about the workload I've been under. Every minute of every day for the past week has been calculated - what can I do in 15 minutes? What can I do in 3 hours, before I have to pick my son up from preschool? How late can I stay up and how much can I get done to keep my clients happy? When will I get a break or when will I figure it all out? What am I supposed to do with my business? After all, my business came to be literally over night. How far can I take it (if left to my own powers, I'd be a workaholic, like my dad) while being the mother of a preschooler? Am I doing a good job? Do people think I am smart? Am I a quality worker? Does my son feel neglected? Does he know how much I love him while I stare at him over my laptop, juggling various clients and responsibilities?

What I do know is this. Every sentence above has been about me. I've been self absorbed and I hate it. I loathe it. I haven't even thought about how my husband feels with me so focused on what I have to do. Usually our conversations revolve around what I have to do that night to make sure MY job is done and that MY clients are happy. It has to be done, sure...I have to meet deadlines...I have to get teh work done in admittedly horribly small amounts of time...but I need to be more concious of the "partner" that I am to him.

That being said...and I realize I have concepts all over the place that I find difficult to put words to in order to string together, so bare with me. This recent stress has made it occur to me that there may be a completely different plan for my life than what I've been, well, planning, and I happy to hear it. HAPPY. I know deep inside, beyond any doubt, that I want to do work that is much more significant. Work that changes things....while that can happen in the smallest ways, I have always known that someday I'd be involved in something a bit more extreme. I don't know when that day will come...but I do think about it quite often.

I think it's part of the reason I am so focused on life's big concepts. I have been attending and am now, as of a month ago, a member of Community Bible Church, a church that has a huge following and is sometimes referred to a legalistic and a cult. I think it's because it addresses those big concepts over and over and over...very clearly. I also know it's because of the fact that its pastor, pastor Carl Broggi, is an incredibly strong man who is, to my knowledge, the most thorough, capable teacher of the Bible that I have ever come across. Do I love everything about the church? No way. Do I worship Carl Broggi? NO WAY. Does he want me to worship him? Absolutely NOT. But I do love Carl's teachings and feel thoroughly taught at the end of every sermon. Everything I could want or need is at my fingertips. I attended there as a teenager and actually have several hurtful memories that I have allowed, for a time, to keep me from really being comfortable there. In a nutshell, I was focusing on people who have hurt me, not on God. I have grown quite a bit as a person over the past year and have put it all behind me. I have an email that I sent to some friends about my decision, my family's decision, to join that church and I'll post it (when I find it) to give some additional background. Trust me...it wasn't easy to swallow the fact that I knew several eye brows would go up when I made that decision. I am not one to stir the pot - especially with friends and people of different beliefs - eagerly...

Back to the big stuff. A recurring theme in my writings is my search for answers...and speculation on the human race and its attempts to find them as well...
Some things are easy to find parallels with, others not so much. One example is yoga. I have been taking yoga classes for several months now, some teachers more focused on a spiritual aspect than others. I know enough about the spiritual foundations of yoga to know that it many times is in direct opposition to scripture, the only source of instruction that I trust. Does that scare me? No. I have a body that physically needs to be taken care of. The physical benefits of yoga are amazing and I've always been aware of that as a dancer. I have not, until this weekend, felt any sort of, well, anything regarding yoga's spiritual roots. I mean, take a class at the YMCA or a local fitness center and more often than not, it's just about the physical practice. Find a private studio with a teacher whose life is yoga and the experience is very different.

I realize many are focused on their individual spiritual journeys, whatever they may be, while practicing (I almost sound like I buy into that concept...just give me a second). The chanting (I don't pretend to know enough about it to really speculate)and the acknowledgement of humanity and life and all that is good is, well, good. I can appreciate that. I was in a class this weekend where the teacher was very good...and what he taught was very fun and physical....but something in me wasn't at ease. I told myself I was being stupid. I did my best to take it all in, to try to really be "in" the experience, even though the chanting and some of the things being said made me uncomfortable. Things that were not bad, so to speak, but things that just made me, well...see a bit clearer the things I don't always wish to see. There were references to the universe, blanket statements about God, how we are all on this journey together, however we see it, however we take it, etc. At one point we were told to acknowledge our higher beings and that's when I felt that pain. That pain in my heart that while I don't want to feel it - it comes. My stomach tightens, without my doing, and I am overwhelmed with grief because I know this...THERE IS ONLY ONE HIGHER POWER and HE is who we are to honor. I would not be honoring God by honoring myself...no matter how I tried to distort it. I could be thankful to God for my body, but honoring myself instead of a direct "what up God, thanks so much for creating me" is very different. So instead of praising myself, I thanked the Lord for my body, for my health and prayed for those, including my mother, who did not have the physical capabilities that I did. DId I expect everyone to feel the same? Absolutely not. That would be ignorant of me and pretty obnoxious. Certainly not everyone in there is this "mere christianity" gal (thx again, C.S. Lewis) that I am....though I ache for them to be...to see.

What's the big deal, right? So you say some really comforting words, some things that everyone can identify with and feel good about and get a fabulous physical workout in teh process. Yes. Those are good things. But for me, who has spent the past 2 years really digging around my own brain and heart...testing my current knowledge against old and learning all the time...this was not good for me. Well, actually, I guess it was good for me. It challenged me to get stronger. The teacher made reference, very respectfully to a religious man he came across on his journey here and very quickly commented that they were the "same"...both sharing their different beliefs, respecting one another, etc. He was trying to find common ground and that is great. He essentially said he and the jehovah's witness were the same because God/the universe is everything and we all find him a different way. He had some great points...about how any kind of mission brings about service, etc, and that is true. Hell, the fact that this teacher was in town was part of a "mission" to raise money for african villages. I thought of missionaries, of the homeless and abused, of the starving....and.... of this passage from "Jesus Among Other Gods" (i've referenced this before, I am guilty of not having finished this book yet, so this is what I got):

"All religions are not the same. All religions do not point to God. All religions DO NOT say that all religions are the same. At the heart of EVERY religion is an uncompromising commitment to a particular way of defining who God is or is not and accordingly, of defining life's purpose." Ravi Zacharius


But here it is, again. Is the purpose of our lives, of the human race, to find ways to be peaceful with our different beliefs during our time on earth? Is that it? To find ways to end war so that we live harmoniously, regardless of our beliefs? We can all do and be what we want peacefully? That's the American dream isn't it? Kinda? That sounds wonderful, and I wish it were that way. I wish everyone I loved and have yet to love no harm, no pain, no suffering. But the scripture is very clear that there is only ONE method, one way to God. That is through His Son, the ulimate sacrifice who paid it all, once and for all, Jesus Christ. We are also free agents to believe or not to believe.

I was thinking, with the aid of one of Dr. Broggi's sermon's ringing in my head, about Jesus. I have read countless words about Him. I have asked Him to change my life, to show me how to live my life and WHY? Because if history is true, if the Bible is true (and I say if lightly...) then Jesus is the prime example, source, giver of love and life. I didn't pray to a dead memory of a great man, I prayed to a living God to change me. If Jesus is God's son, part of the trinity - Father, Son, Holy Spirit - the Bible says He "is" God. Omnipresent. If He was able to make it through his human life and suffer all that he did, why would I not believe that it would be ideal to follow him? Surely he had some serious self control and strength, right?

Jesus, as a toddler, preschooler, child, teenager and adult ALWAYS knew the sequence of events that were to occur. He KNEW as a carpenter, every single time he hammered a nail that He would die by nails forced into and through his hands. He knew, everytime he smelled a rose, that He would gush blood from a crown of thorns being pressed into his head. And He knew, every day of his human life the physical pain he would have to endure to bridge the gap between the human race and a Holy perfect God. He spoke of his impending death so many times...and still served, taught and loved...every day of his human life. There's a passage that says that Jesus was found praying many times...knowing what his human fate was to be...the brutal death he would die..

Luke 22:42 states that Jesus asked God to "remove this cup from him". His cup was that he was going to BE MADE SIN and suffer the wrath of God on the cross. I'm sure a good number of people remeber the words, or something like it that say "Jesus Paid it all, all to Him I owe" But wait, He is God, so how does that work? Could he just say "screw it" and blow the whole world up and not suffer that way? Sure could. I will have to check for sure, but I think I remember reading that there were legions of angels ready to relieve Him at ANY time from this suffering (think about it...you love someone, they suffer, you have the power to stop it, at their word....you are on guard ready to fight!)But He loved us instead.

His "cup" was that he knew he would be seperated from God, as a member of the Trinity, in order to pay the debt, he had to be the object, for numerous blood gushing, painful, tortourous hours, of God's hatred and wrath, on a cross. It wasn't the PAIN he feared, but teh seperation from God, even for moments. I am sure Jesus would have been interested in another way, an alternative way to pay the world's debt...but that was never the plan and he accepted that. He knew it was to happen, so even as he was mocked while bleeding on the cross, he said nothing in his defense because it was supposed to happen. Nothing in the Bible contradicts that. There must be something HUGE to bridge the gap (Jesus) between imperfect people and a perfect God.....

So back to my yoga experience. That "pain" I felt was the pure knowledge that so many are told that anything is ok and acceptable and that absolutes are wrong or at the very least, worth an eyebrow raise and some talk behind the back. That we "all get there in our own way." My skin is hot right now as I am typing hoping I can get this out correctly....

While I wish it were that way, it's not. If it were that way, then Jesus DIED FOR NO REASON. He suffered that tortorous death for NO REASON. If we could earn our way to heaven, if we could do some cool rituals and say some great, good feeling words then JESUS DIED IN VAIN. And that hurts me. And I am glad that I felt pain this weekend because it shows me that my struggles, my earnest seeking has been for THE truth. Why else would I feel that way? Like I said, none of those words were negative or bad...on the surface....

Jesus died his human death at age 33 I believe. I am two years shy of that. I think about myself. If I knew, my entire life, what I was to suffer...how horrible of a death I was to die and how much it would hurt....what would all the days before include? Would I hate everyone around me...those I could see through who would tellme they loved me but didn't? Would I have at the very least a bad attitude, a fearful heart, a sharp word? Would I think that everyone around me, mom, dad, brother, husband, son and friends weren't enough to bear that pain or even worth it? I'd like to say no.

BUT AGAIN. It was NOT the pain that caused Jesus to ask God to remove this " cup" from him. He didn't say "God, this is going to hurt so badly, this is too excruciating of a punishment...please." It was that he could not bear the thought of the seperation from God for even a moment in order to "receive" the punishment. Seperation had to take place for unification to be possible. Amazing. I didn't understand this until recently. Actually, at one time I thought that if crucifixion was how they killed ppl back then, then what was so special about Jesus dying that way? Two others died beside him that day...remember the visual of the three crosses?

And even today...as I sit here chewing on the fact that I very well may sound insane to those who have never been affected by the scriptures, who are not worshipping God or really believing in anything...I smile and bite my lip in sadness at the same time that I am DECIDEDLY DIFFERENT.

That's all I can pour out of my head right now. I don't really get that many comments, and that's ok. I don't even know who is reading this. I know that it's healing to me, it's necessary to me...and so...here it is....

WHY?

I'm have a day when every muscle in my body is aching...ok really just my back. But it was bad. I had to go to the chiropractor and a massage therapist within a couple of hours! I think it's stress related and the fact that I am always on this computer!

Anyhow...just randomly typing here...I am on day two of really feeling bad about myself. Really. I look at my pictures and see legs that are larger than I want them to be and arms that are softer than I wish. Those two things, coupled with some business stuff that really threw me for a loop yesterday, just kinda got me down on a very girly, human level. And I HATE IT.

If I could, I WOULD exercise all the time. I absolutely LOVE it. All of it...the bursts of energy, the lack of energy, the soreness, etc. I would take dance classes all the time... My body hasn't changed that much in the past 10 years. I think I actually might be stronger now than ever...but that mirror...oh that mirror..

There was a time when I would have beaten myself up a lot more than I am now for very minor things and I thank God I don't really know how to do that anymore.

I am thankful for my health and my life and while I am capable of some really deep thoughts and have an ability to write novels about them (hope this isn't the first blog of mine that you've read), I am riddled with self conciousness right now. Odd isn't it? I'll get over it...soon...tomorrow...I hope:)

Not Finished...but I want to Finish Well.

My heart is currently under construction. The past 48 hours have been quite hectic, forcing me to think and deal with life on an eternal level.

I don't know what will come of this, what I will be/feel like next week. I hope I getter a bigger dose of whatever I've got right now.

I woke up this morning, literally, with the lyrics from this song in my head:

You have redeemed my soul
From the pit of emptiness
You have redeemt my soul from death

I was a hungry child a dried up river
I was a burned out forest
And no one could do anything for me
But You put food in my boddy
Fill water in my dryed bed
And to my blackened branches
You brought the springtime
Green of new life
And nothing is impossibleFor You


We all have an instinctive "hole" in our hearts the moment we are born. Find me SOMEONE, ANYONE who doesn't ask at least once, "is there a God" "is there something to worship". If the question is not asked, it's felt. To what do I owe my allegience? The earth? Animals? People? Choices are made. Fame, fortune, presidents, leaders, musicians...are they worthy of worship? What do I choose above all else? What drives me to do what I do?

Switchfoot sings "This is Your Life. Are you Who You Want to Be?" My answer is NO. I recently went to a class, yep at church, that asked if we wanted to finish well. Yes, above ALL else, I want to finish well.

“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:28-31 (NIV).

In General...

My four year old recently said " Mommy, when I grow up, I am going to drink a beer and be silly." GULP.

Ok. I don't plan to let him live in a bubble and believe that he should be exposed and know about things...but something still bugged me.

Is it me or my husband? Do we drink so much alcohol in front of him that beer and wine have become household names? Highly doubt it....but we don't necessarily hide the occasional drink and tell him plainly what it is. I am nuts all the time alcohol free...so he saw something ELSE somewhere. I am careful to tell him that it's like sugar...it's not healthy too have too much and can make you very sick. He seems to get that.

I do, however, think I need to check the activities that I am allowing him to be a part of. Several of my friends have children, and so there are lots of bbqs and get togethers...and there is always alcohol present. When my son is with me...it's one and then done usually. But I have recently observed such an increase in alcohol intake that adult censors are way down. Lots of alcohol leads to lots of foul language and an irritable attitude when my son says "mommy, so and so said X word." I have told him that grown ups are in charge of themselves and that while our family does not say certain things, that other people may choose to be different. I literally tell him " I am not in control of what he/she says and neither are you. But please remember that we do not say those words because they are not good." He says ok and moves on. Most of the time. I DO tell him that he may come and talk to me about something he hears..so that we can get through it and he doesn't stuff it down in his heart to be repeated later. To some adults, my son is "tattle tailing"...making it hard for me to know who the adult is.

I have had this stomach ache about this issue...because it's so much more than just words. It's a representation of my parenting. How "old" do I expect my son to be? Shame on me. He's only 4. His little filter is still developing...and I am waiting for the day when he just starts repeating. I do ask the repeat offenders to please curb their language and usually get a good response, but one that is clearly lined with irritation. At first I was a bit shy about it...but now, I am pretty much over that. I used to be afraid that I would embarrass someone, seem "holier than thou", etc. I am guilty of saying a few choice words myself...way too often...but never in front of my kid...except that one time...crap. We ALL make the mistake...but I apologize to my son because I deep down DO NOT want him to grow up with a foul mouth. The soul reason I ask adults to curb their language if I have to.

At one point growing up do we forgo the nice talk and just start cursing? Probably middle school...showing your defiance, getting a reaction. I know I did...

I believe I got that in check when I read the scripture "out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." I felt horrible. I didn't say I DON't curse, I am far from perfect...but I do hold myself accountable for my actions and I really, really don't want to have so much crap inside of me that only crap comes out.

I would venture to say that the majority of adults, regardless of whether they are parents and regardless of any spiritual or religious ties...agree that children have a shot at being a better human than them...and therefore try to protect what they see and hear. Right????

I guess if you see cursing as only words, then maybe it's suitable for you to drop the f-bomb or the gd's all the time...I mean...kids won't get in trouble at school for saying such things if their parents approve,right? I don't think so. I know some who teach their children to say bad things b/c I guess in some sick way it's humorous to see an innocent child with an open mind and heart say something that only an adult knows the meaning of.

Sometimes IT IS just about the kids. Sometimes family functions should truly be family friendly.

In saying all this, I have decided to return to my mother bear-ness:) There are some experiences my son shouldn't have...and it's my job to watch out for him. So there.

I know what it is...

So for the past few years I've been on a very rough journey. Much of it involved daily life and struggles and much involved me just changing. Some good, some bad...some stuff still ongoing. Any and all of it related to my core being, my faith, my understanding of God.

I had a few years of total and complete security in my beliefs in my early/mid 20's, having learned a lot about Christianity, the Bible (that used to sit in a drawer,dusty), developing lifelong friendships with people of similar beliefs, etc. This was a huge development in my life. This came after experiencing many people with beliefs that differed greatly from mine. I took as much as I could in, knowing some day I would be accountable to myself for it all...for weighing the experiences of others against my own.... So by the time I invested in Christianity for the second go-round (high school was the first round), I meant it totally. No pretending, no mother yanking me to church on Sunday after a late night w/ friends, no facades, just everyone sincere in their desire to learn about the truth of it all. Then gradually (though it seems so fast) we all grew up, got married, had children, grew apart in a lot of ways...however these are still people I can go to at any point, day or night, for what I know is the truest of friendships.

What drives me...and drives me nearly insane...is this deep nagging to continue.....because human life does not go on forever and I desperately want mine to count for something. A lifetime achievement award? No thanks. Not what I mean.

Background for my intensity: Sometime - in 2006 - to be exact, I started to find it harder to deal with lots of things, started to question a lot of things (it literally just happened...one thought led to another) - and my life changed a lot. Maybe it was the mental, emotional and spiritual weight of being responsible for another human (micah was just 1 then)...I think that had a lot to do with so much. At one point I questioned the Bible's validity, the whole concept of God. I probably spent several months ignoring what had been ingrained in my heart...ignoring the prodding, the leading that I had become familiar with. It wasn't always constant, but when it was there, it was clear as a bell. But I ignored it all. I was committed to being "confused."

I have allowed the gaps in my knowledge to overtake the way I function. Ater realizing (long journey) it wasn't Christ or Christianity I was grappling with (Jesus is the only major leader/prophet who has been recorded as coming back to life), I realized that I was really, truly and embarrassingly uneducated. I was/am grappling with myself. My ability to back myself up...the provability of it all...the historical support, the theology....the facts. Well...I knew quite a bit...but not enough to fight a tough battle or even argue for very long in a room of thinkers, of intelligent, thoroughly thought, well, thoughts...and hey, I like these kinds of people. I hope I am considered one of these people someday...so there was work to be done...there is work to be done. I remain full of gaps...but the complete parts must be what drives me to fill in the blanks...oh does this make sense? Oh LORD will I find myself in seminary courses soon? I won't say no.

Why can't I just let things roll? Let the unknown remain unknown? Let it all just be? Just can't. Those on neutral territory, who claim nothing, may smile at my attempts to figure it out, may truly appreciate it even. I know that I truly appreciate anyone who attempts to figure life out...

I can't imagine taking a breath and living the next 50 years without understanding. Why bother with anything otherwise? Just wake up, occupy myself with a job, medicate or numb myself with some substance (a nice white is what I prefer) or stay so busy I don't have time to think? Or, I could remain neutral. I could take the stance that whatever anyone believes in some way is right, that all paths lead to the truth, eventually. Then that would take me off the hook of having to really think or try.

Thoughts:

Religion - I am currently reading Ravi Zacharius' "Jesus Among Other Gods" because, well, like I said it's not that I don't believe in Jesus. I have spent most of my life trying to learn about him through the Christian faith. It's just that I have met people so influenced by THEIR different faiths that it threw me a bit (I am not talking Baptist vs. Presbyterian). I want to know what I know for sure, 100%. Not because I want to say "I'm right, your wrong, so there." But's it's because I want to truly understand it all. I want to live peacefully in this world, do waht it is I am meant to do, and if I figure it out, maybe tell a few folks:) It's possible if I try, right?

In this book, and I have only scratched the surface, I identify completely with the following statements by Zacharius:

"All religions are not the same. All religions do not point to God. All religions DO NOT say that all religions are the same. At the heart of EVERY religion is an uncompromising commitment to a particular way of defining who God is or is not and accordingly, of defining life's purpose."

My interpretation? Ditto. The driving force behind my decision to dive in and figure it out. So and so is Catholic, so and so is Presby, so and so is muslim, 7th day adventist, mormon, methodist, yadda yadda. HOW can it all be right? Too hard of a question? - can't be. The differences minor? Well then why SO many different churches...that does not say unity or minor difference to me.

"Anyone who claims that all religions are the same betrays not only an ignorance of all religions but also a caricatured view of even the best-known ones. Every religion at its core is exclusive."

My interpretation/thoughts? How much easier would it be to just chalk it all up this way...to say...worship however you wish, believe what you will, follow bits and pieces here and there, whatever means the most to you, whatever speaks to you, and it will all be right in the end. HOW COULD THIS BE? Many religions that claim the christian faith utilize the Bible. I have read enough of the Bible, many, many times, to know that it clearly states what it means to be a Christian...and it's actually VERY simple...but we crap it all up with STUFF that isn't in the Bible..

I try to envision what others might think. Here's my best guess. I anticipate that after reading this some might think "ok, she's a christian. Most of America is Christian. What's the big deal?" The big deal is that Christianity is based on believing in Jesus Christ, becoming christ-like by asking him into your life... as stated in the Bible ( we were made with choice, free will). While many have distorted this by adding, taking away or ignoring totally, it remains a truth in my life.

I know some Christians who simply need little more than the story of Jesus to believe. Fine...swell...I am sure God appreciates those easy converts:) sorry. I am not one. If Jesus is not going to show up in my bedroom tonight and show himself to me in the physical sense, then surely he will show himself to me in other ways ( I need him to show up in other ways)...and if I think for a minute...he already has:

* many times I will read the words of the Bible outloud during Bible studies or even to myself or my son and my voice will crack from the weight of teh power of the words. I simply can't get them out without crumbling...i am always humbled.
*when I listen to a passionate teacher or preacher and see their sweat, their tears, their urgency to tell their audience what they know...without expecting anything in return...and I am glued to my chair...unable to do anything but take it all in.
*When I hear a song that brings me to my knees, literally and figuratively
*When I am in yoga class or dance class and can fully appreciate and be aware of the inner workings of my body...and how it has the potential to strengthen itself and heal itself
*My son has clearly accepted Jesus' message. He wants to know as much as he can about God, about truth and actually told me that God is powerful and more important than anything else.
*When I am able to speak with clear confidence about what I do know, sometimes unaware of the words coming out of my mouth as I say them...
*When I am in a situation that seems normal to others, but I experience something else...grief more often than not, for what I see.

Things that happen to me as I continue my search and invest in my life this way?

*I am haunted by terrible scary dreams (wonder what opposing force enables that)
*I am constantly distracted
*I doubt my ability to get through all the stuff i want to get through
*Feelings of inadequacy
*Fear
*Confusion.
*sadness

I realized recently that I experience those things because the "opposing force" does not want me to reach my full potential. This means there is something to do...there is a purpose for my life, for everyone's life.

I have nothing to lose if I am wrong about everything I've stated. I have NOTHING to lose if Christ isn't real, if God isn't real, if the Bible is a load of stories randomly put together. But I believe it and live by it (attempt). If I am right I have everything, everything to gain.

Finding Everything Hard...

...I am finding it harder and harder to find things to be happy about lately. The more I watch television, the harder it gets to envision my son's future without it being riddled by perversion of some sort. I can't possibly watch any more reality shows about musicians or ex porn stars who have started their lives over. For a MINUTE I thought I may have loved Brett Michaels too - but then I watched his tongue go down multiple penthouse throats and thought I was going to be sick. And how is it that every cast off gets his/her own show? What is the world coming to? Seriously? Seriously.

I can go deeper here, but I am not going to. I am too tired and too irritated.

Signing off!

a little movement, please

Every so often I will get an immense ache to move my body. I am thankful for that. It reminds me that I CAN move my body, that I am NOT sick or suffering from anything. I studied dance for so many years...and still, at 30, after 6 or so years of NOT taking dance regularly...miss it like crazy.

What do I miss? The cuts, the blisters, the chunks of skin or even maybe a toenail being removed? Well, yeah, sort of. I have a few scars on my toes from the years I took pointe. I remember the first time I put a pair of pointe shoes on at 15 I loved them. I begged my mom at 10 to let me take pointe, but she had some crazy notion that it was bad for me:) Yes, I am standing on the very, very tips of my toes, my arches forced to their maximum. So what? I felt like a giselle....even though I was a VERY VERY late bloomer in ballet, I loved every second at that barre. I loved the style, the strictness, the challenge it was to make every movement appear effortless.

I took dance at the average "tap and twirl" as my old NC Dance Theatre friends called it - through middle school. Tap and Jazz was my focus...I was good at it...or as good at that studio was. But I always knew it was a part of me, that it was more to me than it was to most. i didn't care about the costumes or the performance as much as the process. My body could do this?!

Then in high school I was exposed to modern dance. Barefoot. Totally feeling the floor with my entire foot. This wasn't so stylized, but yet equally if not more challenging to my muscles. There are all different modern dance techniques and I loved them ALL. I was HOOKED. I could be inventive while using my technique. I remember my freshman year in college we had a guest teacher ( I was a dance minor just because I could NOT give it up to take poli sci like every other communications major) and she took us through a combination of steps. I have great difficulty picking up series of movements quickly. I always get nervous and try hard to remember the series, but.... I need them over and over again...but I still did what I could. I will never forget her saying "you love modern dance. I can see it in every inch of your body. Keep trying." And so I did. I was on air after that comment...like someone could see my insides!


In the grande scheme of things, I was/am an average dancer physically...but mentally, I was more. It's a part of me. I feel the urge to move and yet have that total peace at the same time...that's dance for me...EXTREME everything...physically, mentally, emotionally and even spiritually. I mean..God gave me this love and ability to dance. I even see it in my son. I do not dance in front of him. He's been to a dance studio a handful of times. He ADORES it. He has a natural inclination toward different beats, is actually very coordinated and graceful and quite flexible. Naturally. God passed that down to him too. How neat. That's how it happens I guess. I wonder if he'll ever wish to take a class. He tells me all the time he loves ballerinas...but then he burps and does something so nuts...he's perplexing!

So here I am...again with the itch. I need to find some classes that fit my schedule...ergh. Motherhood and personal desires don't always go hand in hand. I have learned a lot about myself the past 4 years...what I am willing to give up, what I am not. Mostly everything that I thought was important or necessary was not after having Micah. Dance was such a huge part of my life for so long...that I allowed it to affect so much even when I clearly was off on a different educational and career path...some were healthy affects, some were not.

Overall, though...I am learning to appreciate the human body more and more as I get older. I am FINALLY AAAAAAAAAAAAAALmost comfortable in my own skin. So what if I am the 70 year old lady in tights? haaa. That sounds just like me.

Do I Expect Too Much?

I have had a lot of things happen to me and around me at the ripe old age of 30 that make me wonder if I expect too much overall - from everyone and everything, including myself. My report cards as a child always showed straight A's...well mostly...but the reports would say that I was a "worry wart" and a "perfectionist". Obviously it was a bit of an issue if I was making A's and a teacher thought to tell my parents. Hmm. I think I must have carried that through my whole life...for whatever reason.... I do NOT like to disappoint ANYONE and I am afraid of all sorts of things. As a cutie patootie 5 year old told me today " That's RUBBISH." How true...but how hard to stop.

I am the product of a public school system that doesn't exactly have the best reputation...but came out seemingly unscathed. But it is b/c of that negative reputation that I find myself questioning my abilities...time and time again. Am I really smart or just smarter than Joe-Smoe next to me? Yes I graduated 7th in my high school class, but if you compared me to someone from another area, I wouldn't be in the same league intellectually - right?! I don't know. I DO know that I try really hard at everything, am more than fairly bright and have a deep desire to know more and more...about EVERYTHING. However...I am 30..and should know better when it comes to my son. I have recently caught myself expecting my 3, almost 4 year old, to have it all together, to know more than the average runny nose kid. What is WRONG with me?

Well. Sometimes I wonder if that's not what's "right" with me. People don't give kids enough credit. They know and absorb SO much more than we give them credit for...IF you take the time to watch and understand your child. I remember reading that although they can't speak, babies understand everything you say by 6 months of age...or something like that. It was that knowledge that led me to believe that I was right in discipling a baby and toddler. I remember the first time I ever disciplined him...and it was before he was 1. The moment I asked him to do something and he looked at me and did the opposite...I knew the battle of wills had begun!!! I remember thinking HOLY CRAP this is young for him to defy me...someday he'll actually speak sentences, be sarcastic (it's inevitable in my family line)and THEN what will I do? I am there now.

Every day is a battle. I used to get really really caught up in it. It would make me miserable. When Micah was younger, he wasn't able to reason...he felt a certain way and he reacted...period. When he was an infant/baby, he cried to get what he wanted. We taught him a few sign language words, thinking it would help him communicate....which it did...but he always signed "MORE COOKIE"...ha! No joke!

When he was a baby/toddler...he pointed and cried and said a few words. When he was a toddler, he spoke full sentences and told me - demanded things of me with no room for listening. As a preschooler...he not only informs me of his desires, but lays them out LOUD AND CLEAR. "Mommy, when I get big like you, I am NOT cleaning my toys up. That's how it will be b/c I will be in charge." Impressive. I laughed. Or there's "I can do whatever I want." THAT was learned somewhere other than our home...so to that I say "Yes, you always have a choice, but you have to pay the consequences for the bad ones." He understands but I think just likes to say things. He even has this annoying way of fluctuating his voice in a whiney way to get his point across. Ahh...he's learning how to stress certain words and not stress others to make a point. Pretty good stuff.

As I look back, I realize that I NEVER spoke baby talk. I talked in a low voice, was goofy and playful...but didn't shorten words, didn't make up words...and maybe that's why his verbal skills are so good...I don't know. Maybe God just gifted him in all sorts of ways. But I've realized that I sometimes, b/c of his great communication, expect him to act a bit older. Not that I don't love 3 year olds for the little bright things that they are...but I just realized that my son is not even 4. He has NOT BEEN ON THIS EARTH 4 years yet...how could he have his behavior down yet? I mean...when he acts out or reacts to something...it's actually quite similar to what I NATURALLY want to do.

When my parents annoy me, I WANT to yell at them...but I don't..because I have been taught to respect them.

When people disappoint me, I WANT to sulk and feel sorry for myself - but instead try to turn the other cheek and let things go. This doesn't always work for me.

When I am annoyed, I WANT to bite the head off of anyone close to me...but I instead walk away and fume until I can return to the room an adult.

When I open my fridge and see chicken - AGAIN - I want to DEMAND pizza or pasta and want to eat out.

When I see someone wronged, a justice not served...I feel a strong desire to get in someone's face and serve justice, so to speak...but instead...I have learned to pray for the situation.

It has taken me THIRTY years to get here...I just listed what I REALLY want to do in certain circumstances...it's no different than what my son does naturally. I am trying to help him through his natural reaction so that he can live AMONG PEOPLE in peace - or at least in a rational manner - when he grows up. Simple as that. I sometimes expect him to know so much, to take what I said and run with it instead of forgetting it. But he's not EVEN 4!

I am not beyond telling my son I am sorry. I did it several times this week. I love him so much. Thinking of him, only one room away - I miss him. He is light and life and everything that is right in my world. I think I may need to take a step back and appreciate the intelligent, fairly well controlled boy that he is and just PLAY with him:)


Micah Gabriel Carper...will he EVER know how much I love him? Probably not.

Why So Secretive

Some people refer to it as personal. Others as private. Others as not appropriate to discuss.

Religion.
Spirituality.
Church.
Belief Systems.

Any or all of these is what I am referring to. Why is it that we are all so afraid to talk about them? I was very afraid - for a long time - until I realized I wasn't scared.

One of the biggest, well, THINGS, that I have noticed, is that the "shut down" begins when people can't answer their own questions - when they've come to the realization that they've made it this far not really KNOWING FOR SURE a lot of things. Some are content with the unknown. Those who are agnostic sometimes believe that it is beyond human capability to know if God exists. Don't worry - I am not going to say "look at the face of a newborn baby, or the sunset, or the rainbow" and expect the realization to hit. That would be absurd. If that was enough to convince the masses, we'd all be on our knees asking forgiveness, no?

I grew up "religious." I went to church, Lutheran to be exact. I went to a southern christian school for one year, where I learned that the Bible wasn't an object you dusted on the end table or that people placed their hand on to promise something super duper important. You actually read it as a GUIDE. A fricking GUIDE! How crazy...of course at that time we were locked into the version that forced me to say words like "bestow, thus and though" and that just made me giggle. Fortunately, though, I realized the significance - that this was God's word. His WORDS! I mean...if he wasn't going to show up with skin on in my life, then thank, well, GOD, that there's SOMETHING I can touch, open and read!

I have a whole other set of thoughts I am constructing on the validity of those words - written down by man - but haven't quite mastered what it is I need to get out of my brain...it's a bit touchy for me...so I have to get back to you (ok me - who else is frickin reading this) on that.

So anyway - once I learned the words I realized I needed to read more...wanted to read more...because these words were alterning my being, my life...then I remembered the Bible being referred to as "the book of life" and I thought..."Huh! I remembered something from church!" But then quickly learned that many, many of those I knew and loved around me weren't being taught to open their Bibles, but were taught to sit, listen and learn from a person - who would either make references to the Bible, or not, read a bit out of it, but never teach it solely. THAT is where my journey to discuss EVERYTHING started. I thought...well what is this OTHER stuff I am learning - my people, my family, my friends are learning?

So - ok - how to continue? Years have gone by since I first learned how to read the Bible, how to study it. I spent some time working on the validity of it...because there are other beliefs that have books that serve as their "bible" - The Koran, The additional book/writings that Mormons use, etc. Careful now - I am not saying anything about THEM. No need. I am just talking through the journey MY brain and heart took.

So I am still on that journey a bit. I have learned the history (tho I can't recite it) on how the scriptures came to be and how the translations were made...and I'll leave it at that for now.

What eats at me is why even the closest of friends and family - who may be of different belief systems and backgrounds choose not to discuss any this - THIS "WHO" THAT THEY "ARE".

I mean...there are reasons people keep their lips sealed. It's awkward. It IS personal and to some - it's just none of your business. I tend to view the gazillion churches on every corner an obvious demonstration of disunity (is that word?) and confusion and the propeller of the secretism I am discussing. THere are also people who you fear you'll be associated with if you open your trap. That was my issue. I mean, you have the obvious morons who think they know it all and judge instantly - and really, that's a lack of spiritual maturity.

For example...I LOVE to dance. If a person came to me to learn the first thing about it, and I decided to really put on a DEMONSTRATION - to really dazzle them with my talents (stretching the truth here)...don't you think they would 1. be irritated and 2. discouraged. I mean...how could a beginner who doesn't know HOW TO PUT ON a ballet slipper dance Swan Lake? See?

There are also those so wrapped up in themselves and their "righteous" lives that they are afraid of everyone else and force themselves and their families to abstain from any activity affiliated with those who believe something other than what they do - you know - those who won't eat in a place that sells alcohol because they feel alcohol is an evil (I don't remember the last time an establishment made drinking alcohol a requirement), those who won't let their kids play with others of different beliefs because they are afraid of its affects - or those who know so little/care so little about the human race as a whole that they spend no time with them. There are also those who are just plain WEIRD.

I guess I just feel like this. I know some stuff. This stuff happens to be about God. I want to know more stuff, but most I know are afraid to investigate the stuff. I mean...not without good reason - I just stated some good ones in the above paragraph- who wants to go THERE?

I have felt more sure of things than I do right now. I feel more sure of things right now than I have at other times. I am LEARNING. And while I feel very sure there is ONE answer (another blog), I'd like to discuss, to analyze, to speculate. People are afraid to be WRONG. I certainly don't like to be wrong. But I have been wrong...and will most likely be wrong again in my life:)

There is one thing, however. I have an eternal focus. I have seen too many people die and have wondered - in all general respects -WHERE they were/are now b/c it was obvious that the body they lived in was a HOUSE for who THEY were.

So my desire to learn and KNOW comes from the FACT that I will die someday. My son will die someday. We will all die someday. Enjoy life while you can? ABSOLUTELY. Why not do it with an understanding of why we're here in the first place?

Bulldogs...

Everyone needs a bulldog. I am sure of that. I have recently had a bulldog. Not in the furry, friendly companion type of way, but in a way that defends your honor and your character and your, well, person.

I have not had many defenders in my life, actually none that I can really remember. Yesterday I did. And it was great. Something was said about me - and without batting an eye, my bulldog delivered a tactful, power-packed, defense statement in my honor. Amazing.

I have had the privelege of being someone's bulldog before. It comes naturally for a real cause.

Today I was my son's bulldog as well as his classmate's. I was also my own bulldog today - something I am a bit uncomfortable doing because I question myself so much. But I have resolved to stop being afraid of what will happen. I am convinced if I do the right thing, that fear has no room to grow.

It occured to me...

It occured to me, only recently, that I really have no reason to fear much of anything. I am not saying I don't fear things...a lot of things...or act like a total idiot, paralyzed by the unknown...but like I said, it just occured to me that there is no reason for it.

Here's why.

If I actually subscribe to the belief I profess to "belong" to, that is one of no particular denomination and "Mere Christianity" (thank you C.S. Lewis for that easy title - makes explaining my strangeness so much easier)of the simplest kind...you know God, Jesus, a book of life that is the key to everything I need to know....well...then there can't possibly be much to fear. RIGHT?! I mean, if you BELIEVE something...WHATEVER it is...it should affect the way you live your life.

Because, in that "book" - which was once like reading Greek ( I would say Hebrew...but might confuse myself in that joke) - I have found so many things to be true...so many of its passages, once totally absorbed and understood in CONTEXT (don't let me get started on that one...you can't pull random shit out of anything and piece it together the way you want to and have it be anything that really makes sense or has actual validity), to change my life. Not in the way that self help books change you. I am not talking about jazzercising my way to a better me or learning that I actually "AM SOMEBODY"...or better yet...learning to control myself by Jenny Craiging to the next boxed meal delivered by UPS (although all of these have merit and worth - seriously). I AM talking about the kind of life change that rocks your insides...your brain, your heart, your soul in a way that says, damn, how can this not be truth - kind of way. I have experienced this. However - I have since let those experiences and memories go, chosen to forget them and allowed myself to believe that I was under some kind of influence, and let myself be absorbed by my day to day so that I could BE the angry biotch I want to be...but my memories only stay away so long:)

Sidenote for the jokesters:

Some may be more concerned with me saying shit and damn in the middle of talking about the Bible...well...sorry. Truly I am. I realize it's a bit contradictory for someone claiming to have strong beliefs. I mean, even those who don't necessarily affiliate themselves with God or spirituality or even religion probably suspect that it's odd for someone who does to so easily throw the words out:) Sometimes, though I know it's not the right thing, throwing in a good curse word now and then really seems to help get the point across. Think about it...what's more effective (note I did not say CORRECT or RIGHT): "What do you mean we're losing the house? You forgot to make the mortgage payments for the last 4 months?" OR "What the ____ do you mean we're losing the house? You forgot to make the ____-ing mortgage payments for the last 4 months?" I digress.

Focusing now:

Believing all of the above, that there is a God whose love for his creation was so great- that before we were even created He had a method (jesus) that would allow a union with Him in heaven(I mean, there has to be A method, right - how can holy and perfect be joined with the imperfect, without something occuring to bridge the gap) - that would mean that I am a stupid ____-ing moron for allowing myself to succumb to the inferior feelings of fear and anxiety. Because if I am His, so-to-speak, I feel pretty secure he's got my back.

I am terribly, terrribly afraid of failure. Does God not qualify? I am afraid of what people think of me. Does God not shape and mold my character if I am His? I am afraid that I will lose control of the things around me (financially, relationally, career-illy:)?) and BIG BLACK DOOM will swallow me and my family whole. Does God not make promises that He has a plan to prosper us and not to harm us? Well...all that means a hill of beans (my first southern saying in a blog!) to me when I allow myself to be scared by the, well, fear. Shame on me.

I have been the recipient of many gifts, many things in my life...all that have come at just the right time. I don't always get what I want, but I get what I need (sing along people - the Stones were created for a REASON!). Sometimes that comes in the form of severe loneliness...no matter who or how many are around...but it's become clear that God is my constant companion. I have been cast aside by people closest to me...people who chose to assume about me rather than investigate...but I've had a constant ally.

There's so much more to say here. To some, I've said too much. To others, I've said the obvious. To me, I've said what I needed to say. It's my blog. :))))

So This is How it Starts

Hmm. I am not entirely sure I want to go here. Blogging I mean. I could easily turn this into a vice, a necessity, an outlet than no one else wants to be part of or read:) My silent audience. Ahh - maybe this IS what I need.

I've been thinking of so many things lately (lately- huh! My brain hasn't shut off since I was born) and am over the days of diaries that I never filled out (writing on paper is soooo-o slow), stories half written, thoughts half expressed or over analyzed that they now seem like insanity...that I thought I'd start a blog. Yay me!

I am sure many of my entries will be about my son, Micah, now almost 4. He is the center of my world, as any little boy should be:) I don't know where to start with talking about him. Well, maybe I do. I wrote this, this, THING about him being 3 this past summer. So I'll post it and go from there:

Three.

My son Micah is three. Three. At three he runs tirelessly, eats constantly, grows quickly (out of everything), speaks intelligently, contemplates major things and comes full circle with many thoughts. Impressive. Before I had a child, I thought three meant small and cute and cuddly, and just, well, there. You know, throw him a cracker, pop in a movie, the usual. I learned quickly that was not the case. Micah is funny, articulate and pretty good at almost everything he tries. Shame on me for thinking three- year- olds were anything but incredible!

He took his first swimming lessons this week and I think I was more anxious than he was. He goes to preschool, so he understands the teacher/student relationship, and while I felt I thoroughly prepped him on listening and trying his best, especially around water (for the obvious safety reasons), I was worried. I was worried that he would be afraid. He loves the water, swims great with a life jacket, but this was a new ballgame. I could see every emotion, feel them almost, as he sat there, trying to comprehend the instruction.

“Blow bubbles, kick, turn your hands into ice cream scoops and push the water away,” his teacher said.

He was trying his best to believe me that the person I allowed to be in charge of him in the water would keep him safe. I could tell that by his timid face and his constant looks back to make sure I was still there. Micah is no introvert, but when it comes to him being uneasy, he wants his mommy. I sometimes revel in that, knowing that will soon not be the case. So, here I was, on the bleachers, watching him, and he listened. He tried. He succeeded. He said no to going under the water other day, but he agreed to try today, after much coaxing and promise of a matchbox car if he did it (bribery, sometimes evil, sometimes God’s gift). So, as the last words came out of the teacher’s mouth, “ready Micah?” I saw him panic, but not refuse, and he did it. He came up, looked miserable, about to cry, looked for me, and I nearly bounded down the bleachers to hug and kiss him. Realizing that might freak everyone out, I just stood and cheered. Another mom next to me smiled and did the same. There’s nothing like mom support when you can hardly control your pride in your child.

I was thinking the other day how awesome it is to raise a child, a person. I mean, that’s what I am doing. I am thoroughly aware that I don’t have some kid to watch and entertain (or throw a cracker to), but a spirit to encourage and inspire, a will to sometimes break, to sometimes build, and a brain to teach right and wrong to. What a job.

While he can drive me completely over the edge, causing me to question my own self control, he can also speak to me so kindly, so lovingly and is actually quite empathetic to people. We talk a lot about people who have less than we do. We pray for them at night and I wonder, in his little mind, what he imagines as I say the words “God, please watch over and protect all the boys and girls in the world and the mommies and daddies who need help. Help us to help them. If we can’t, please send others to help them.” I learned last Christmas, that he knows what that means after all those nightly prayers.. When he was given the choice to spend his $1 on candy or donate it to the Santa with the Salvation Army, he said, “let’s help the kids.” He knew. He was 2 ½.

Now by no means is he some angelic genius. He is a fighter…through and through. He will test me and cause me to want to get my tubes tied. He will remind me of the words he is not allowed to say. Nearly every day he says “Mommy, we can’t say shut up or I hate you….RIGHT?” Obviously that’s his way of saying them without getting in trouble –by acknowledging he can’t say them. He spanks our dogs, all the time, because he wants to be in charge. We’re working on that one. He absolutely must have the correct number of grapes in his bowl…not that he counts them all, but if there is any space left in the bottom of the bowl, he knows it’s not full. If I give him a cup of juice that is too full, he refuses to drink it down and I must pour half back in the container. What else? This is a tough one. My father smokes. We try, very hard, to limit Micah’s exposure to my dad while he is enjoying this activity. But, he loves my dad and at first thought it was some cool thing Pop Pop did. He even put his crayon box in his pocket and said they were his “smokes.” Of course I freaked out, feeling like I was the worst parent ever, angry at my dad…and proceeded to point out ALL that is bad and wrong about smoking. He gets it now. He gets it so much that he tells any and every adult that they should not smoke and how they won’t be able to play basketball or run. I know adults find it annoying, but all I can think is “That’s my guy!”

At three Micah can see his wrong, admit it and occasionally apologize without coaxing. At three he can ride in the back of my car, look out the window toward the sky and say, “good job, God! Mommy, did you see what God painted?” That one gets me every time. At three he knows what good behavior is, reminds me of the good job he is doing IN TIME OUT and can barely wait to get into trouble upon release. At three he can ride a bike, skip, hop, dance, sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to the hundreds of baby frogs he catches in our yard. At three he can miss me, be angry with me and be frustrated by my unwillingness to bend. But in the end, we come full circle and love each other very much.

I just turned 30, and while that is young to some, old to others, it’s new to me. It’s a time in my life when I am learning to be comfortable in my own skin, my own parenting skills and my own ability to truly raise a person. I figure the wrinkles to come will be mostly from laughing at my son, crying with him and loving him through any and all things. Thirty is ok. Three is way better.