Medical Temper Tantrum...I've had it.

Today, I have had enough.
I've had it with doctors.
I work in alternative health care. I work in a small-ish office, for one doctor, with one other staff member, in a space that actually holds four doctors(only one of them is my boss). I'm an office manager, and I, for the most part, like what I do. My patients (and yes, I call them "mine," because even though they're not there to see me, we have enough conversations that I have grown to have at the very least, professional concern for them. Most of them, I actually like, and I believe they like me, too) know my name, and I know theirs. If I see them on the street, I can look at them and smile, have a conversation, and know that it's okay. Heck, I even recognize some of the patients of the other doctors, that I have little-to-no interaction with. It's that kind of an office, and though it's professional, it's a place of compassion and concern (for people--not for insurance company. There, my evil side comes out, and it's UGGGGGLY).
When I have to sit on the other side, and be a patient, I'm hyper-critical. It doesn't matter how busy we are, we do our best to be NICE. Walking into a doctor's office and dealing with a staff member who hates their little glass-enclosed-ring-a-bell-to-sign-in life is not what I consider warm and welcoming, especially when you're generally not in a doctor's office because you feel FABULOUS. I don't care HOW pretty the decor is, a doctor's staff sets the tone. I rarely have problems with office staff, but when I do, I let them know. I would want to know, if it were me.
Doctors, on the other hand, are their own unique breed. They're usually very insulated, and have little idea of what their staff is up to (unless a patient complains). In our office, all 4 doctors are kind, considerate, take their time, and truly focus on the patients we see. We see a HUGE variety of patients. Every one of them gets the doc's full attention, no matter now weird the questions. Our doctors are KIND.
My primary care physician is a wonderful lady, and I love her. MY OB/GYN is an airhead (who forgot that my daughter had died, just as he was wheeling me back for my uterine surgery that I had earlier this year--hey, he didn't deliver Hannah, and he'd had a busy morning, so I guess I can understand that, but REALLY?!?), but he's incredibly skilled as a surgeon, so I'm keeping him, even if he is a bit batty. He's kind, and he takes care of my whole family now, so we're good there.
My cardiologist, however, is a bonehead.
The first cardiologist I had, saw me at Missouri Baptist when the cardiomyopathy set in. The day after Hannah died, I had to go see him, and his first words were "How is the baby?" Needless to say, that didn't go over well. After a year's worth of care in that office (Town and Country Cardiovascular, with Dr. Hess--and yes, I'm naming names. He's a nice man, but darn it, nice doesn't fix a broken heart in any way, shape, or form) he sent us to see Dr. Moore at St. Anthony's, and told us we were ready to get pregnant again.
Dr. Moore actually laughed. It wasn't a "haha" laugh; it was an "are you KIDDING?" laugh. She said Dr. Hess just couldn't bear to tell me the truth that I'd never be able to successfully have another child. She gave us information on adoption, and sent us on our way.
I fired Dr. Hess.
My next cardiologist was Dr. Mazei, and I liked him. He wasn't thrilled with my use of acupuncture or nutrition to balance my heart, but he didn't ban it, and he was good with reducing my medication. I felt like under his care, that my heart was the most improved. Unfortunately, we moved to Kentucky, and I had to switch to a very compassionate doctor in Lexington...and then we came back.
I went back to Dr. Mezei.
My OB needed to do my surgery in April, and wouldn't work with Dr. Mazei, since he didn't have privileges at MoBap, and he sent me to Dr. Groll--who was also at Town and Country Cardiovascular.
I had a stress test done in April, and was told I was fine for the surgery....
On 12/3, I went back to Dr. Groll for my bi-annual checkup. I happened to ask him if I could possibly get a letter saying that I was okay, since my life insurance policy is about to run out. First he said, "well, they'll request your records, and you'll be okay...or maybe not....Nope, you're not going to get life insurance."
And this is the part THAT TRULY KILLS ME:
I have a test done IN APRIL. A "chance" question in DECEMBER has the doctor FINALLY read the full report, in which it's revealed that, oops, nope, my heart is anything but "fine," and that my numbers are anything but "normal." I'm not only uninsurable; I am not considered safe to have another child....which is ridiculous, since in September, just 3 months before this, my OB told me that we "ARE TOTALLY READY TO GET PREGNANT." Now, this?
DO DOCTORS EVEN STINKING TALK TO EACH OTHER ANYMORE?!?!?! WHAT IS SO BLEEDING DIFFICULT ABOUT READING A REPORT, AND FAXING IT TO THE REFERRING PHYSICIAN?? WHAT THE HELL IS THE FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE, and WHY WASN'T I TOLD ABOUT THIS?!?!?
To make matters even more confusing, I found out that the main heart medication that I take, that I thought was for my blood pressure, was NOT, so my attempts to wean off of the medication (on my own, which I know is stupid, especially now) was highly dangerous. I wasn't properly educated on that medication, nor on the one that I'm starting today. The one I'm starting today, which says it's for blood pressure, but not in my case, I was informed, is for left ventricular hypertrophy, which means that the muscle of my left ventricle is JACKED UP more than I knew. He topped all of this off by saying, "Well, after everything you've been through, at least you have a beautiful daughter to show for it." REALLY?!?!?!?!?!? READ AN EFFING FILE, YOU IDIOT!
So, my non-compassionate, non-informative, non-communicative cardiologist is fired, and I am so fed up that I don't even give a rat's rear if I find another one. Are they all like this? I mean, this guy's nurse actually called my office out of the blue last week to REMIND me NOT to get pregnant. AS IF I NEEDED THE FREAKIN' REMINDER!!!!!! I think I would have thrown something at her if I could have.
The cardiologist is changing locations next month, which is great. I need a new one, and I'd like someone at Barnes (if we were to get pregnant again, we'd be at Barnes anyways, as they have the highest-level high-risk specialists in St. Louis). I'd like a woman, and more than anything, I'd like a compassionate doctor.
I'd like a cardiologist that's as nice as my boss is to her patients, and since we do it in our office, I don't think that's too much to ask.
I'm sick of doctors, and I'm sick of their "practicing." I need a doctor who remembers my face, who doesn't ask me stupid questions like "how's your daughter" (which every one of my cardiologists has done--read the file, you idiots), and who, at the very least, explains what the heck is going on with my heart, and how they can fix it (and don't tell me it can't be fixed, because that's crap. We can do surgeries on babies in utero, we can do face transplants, and we can clone sheep. Don't tell me you can't fix a jacked-up heart). I want answers, and I'd like to be treated as a person.
If a doctor can't do that, then perhaps they should find a career they are more suited for (cleaning horse stalls comes to mind).
If you know of anyone from Barnes that fits my Wanted description (maybe I should hang up signs), please let me know. It would also be nice to have a doctor that doesn't throw out phrases like "you'd have to abort the fetus to save your life" and other such gems of hope. I need a new cardiologist. Stat, please. :)

So, what's going on?

Recent events have left me speechless, as far as blogging goes. Someone said to me, "I knew something was up--you've been really quiet on Facebook." They're totally right. Needless to say, if you were at church a few weeks ago, you know what's going on...
And you should know that I really don't want to talk about it....
I know I'm usually very open about things, even difficult things, but this goes beyond what I am capable of talking about, and it was never supposed to be made public knowledge (there was a completely unintentional miscommunication; KNOW that there are NO HARD FEELINGS WHATSOEVER, so please don't read into anything),
A very wise person once told me that if I couldn't end a blog on a good note, then I should rethink posting anything in the first place...so I haven't posted anything, because quite frankly, I have nothing good to say.
The "church" answer of having "hope/waiting on God/don't give up" sounds nice and all, but this is my life, and I have lived with all of the above for 4 years. I have been brokenhearted, and come back from it...This time, I am heartsick, literally, and my faith is shaken to its core.
Encouraging words have been spoken, but I am not in a place where I can hear it right now...I feel like I should apologize to anyone who has tried to lift my spirits, because I'm not responding like "normal" Cassidy would...
I am going through the motions.
All I want to do is hide in my Elijah-cave.
I am silent, because even though I want to write, I don't know anyone who would understand what I have to say...The only people I know, who know how I feel, are dead, and I feel so foolish for not asking them how they coped with this, when they had to walk the path that David and I are now on...I miss them, and that doesn't make this any easier.
I'd like to say that this will get better, but at this point, I'm not sure. What I really want to say, I can't, and what I should say, I won't, because it's not right. If you have questions, ask David, because he's capable of polite speech right now (as opposed to emotional babbling/ranting/yelling/bawling).
I will smile. I will tell you I'm fine.
And I will lie.
Because I'm not fine.
I'm heartsick (Hope deferred).

Blank...

Sometimes, I have nothing to say...
Sometimes, I have everything to say,
But none of it is pretty
So I don't want to say anything.
Sometimes, I try to hide,
But this time
Someone called me out.
Now everyone sees
What makes me want to
Run
Away...
What makes me want to
Hide in my
Cave
Made of
Blankets...
For 5 weeks now,
I have watched the world go by
While I remembered
When time
Stopped.
The vortex didn't catch me,
And I was proud
That I put one foot
In front of the other.
October 30th.
November 28th.
December 1st.
The days have blurred together,
And I forgot what day it was,
But December 3rd
Reminded me
And now
I am lost.
I want to blame Him.
I want to take my anger out
At the One Who has given
And has taken away...
He took
Away,
And I am so empty...
I know there is love,
I know He is Love,
But I am
Devastated
And need to make it all
Make SENSE.
It doesn't.
"This is what I want!"
I say to Him;
"This is who I am!
This is who YOU SAID YOU
Created me to be!
AND I AM NOT.
You won't let me."
And like a million women
With empty wombs
who have gone on before me,
I watch the world
Pass
Me
By.
My faith is shaking.
The words "cosmic killjoy"
Ring in my ears, and
I struggle
To remember
The promises
I sing on Sunday morning.
I am not a child
Who didn't get their toy
And is having a fit.
I am a woman
Who has lost herself
And her every heart's desire;
I am a woman
Who remembers joy
That evades her grasp
And drifts on to
Someone else.
I am struggling
To find a way
To be thankful
To be focused
To praise
To breathe
To
Hope...



(Just a sidebar--although I appreciate the words of hope and promise that have been shared with me lately, it doesn't make this hurt any less. I've had 4 years of hopes and promises, with nothing to show for them. It doesn't mean there won't be; but it means there's not, right now. I don't know what the future holds, or where God will take David and I...what I do know, is that I am on my face before Him--mostly because I've been knocked down at the knees--and that I have nowhere else to go. The song that says "I need You, Jesus, to come to my rescue; where else can I go?" could be tattooed across my forehead right now, with how many times it's run through my head. Thank you for your love, and for your prayers...I am hurting. It doesn't mean I give up...but it does mean that I'm laying low. I appreciate the support.)

Birthday Song

You know, I usually write myself a "poem" on my birthday...but...This song came up on Pandora today, and I think I'm going to steal the lyrics for this year. Consider this my anthem for 2010:

"For Those Who Wait"
By Fireflight

This is for those who wait

Another day, another waiting game
A little different but it's still the same
I am here, but where's the one I'm longing for?
I'm having trouble feeling all alone
Will my heart ever find a home?
I want to hope but sometimes I just don't know
I know I'm not the only one

So we sing a lullaby to the lonely hearts tonight
Let it set your heart on fire, let it set you free
When you're fighting to believe
In a love that you can't see
Just know there is a purpose
For those who wait

I want to open up my eyes
I know that all I need is time
I'm growing stronger every single day
God, I'm going to lean into You now
Letting go of all my fear and doubt
I can't do this on my own so I'll give You control
I know I'm not the only one

The pressure makes us stronger
The struggle makes us hunger
The hard lessons make the difference
The pressure makes us stronger
The struggle makes us hunger
The hard lessons make the difference
And the difference makes it worth it

So we sing a lullaby to the lonely hearts tonight
Let it set your heart on fire, let it set you free
When you're fighting to believe
In a love that you can't see
Just know there is a purpose
For those who wait

Impatience, Isaac, and Ishmael...

I'm sitting here at this desk, and my digital picture frame is on the verge of assaulting me. All of the pictures from Hannah that I have programmed in to it are going by one at a time, in a row, and it's almost more than I can bear today. That tiny little girl was once mine, and I remember everything about her.
You know, the smell of the hand sanitizer in any BJC hospital makes me think of her...There are other smells, too, that take me back to those last days, but I choose to block them out. Even now, it's too much, and I think it always will be.
I'm anxious to try again.
I'm anxious to go on that crazy journey of motherhood one more time, to give it another shot. I loved being pregnant, loved everything about it (well, okay, I hated my enormous cankles). I loved the feelings, the kicks, the hiccups--I loved it all, and I've never felt as fulfilled as I did the day they placed that baby girl in my arms. I look at these pictures and it blows my mind...
On 11/12/2006, we brought her home from the hospital, to start our new lives together. That day was the happiest day of my life...the joy, the panic, the amazement of what we were about to do, was overwhelming. I remember loading us all up into my Tempo (!) and the drive back to our house; my heart was flooded.
I'm anxious to try again.
It is a hard thing, to wait on the Lord for the thing you want more than any other. How Sarah must have felt, to know that God called her to carry a child...to know her calling in this world...and to not have it happen in her own timing...how she must have felt, to see her husband rush into things, and wind up with Ishmael. Poor Ishmael--he must have known, from the second Isaac was born, that he was the product of a man who rushed God's will. The bitterness he must have harbored had to be overwhelming, and to me, it's no wonder he hated Isaac from the beginning (and to this day).
I want to rush, to dive in headlong, because I know there is a calling on my life to be a mother. I want to tell God that my time is now. I want to do this my way...I want...Hey, that sounds like a pretty dumb idea!
Waiting patiently on the Lord, for Him to make things happen in His time, takes a lot of faith, and some days, I don't know if I can do it. The hope is so strong, that at least once a month I want to cry when my body reminds me that nope, this is not my time, for now.
I wish God would hurry up.
But...
I know He is faithful, and I know more than anything, that His will is worth my wait.
I will wait.
I will pray.
And I will rest in knowing that He has not forgotten me.
I will be like Hannah in the Bible, who prayed so hard that people thought she was drunk...go ahead, think what you will. I will be that crazy lady who fights the crowd to get to the hem of Jesus' garment. I know He sees me, and I know He hears my heart's cry...I know He doesn't give us empty heart's desires.
His will means more to me than life itself, so I will wait.
I want my Isaac...to see the true fulfillment of His promise in my life, His way, in His time, because when I do, and when I'm finally pregnant (or when we've adopted, as that's a possibility), I will not have fear, because I'll know He's ordained it.
My impatience is practically a noose, and it's got to break.
I'm writing this, to encourage my spirit, since I'm feeling frustrated at this point. I need the reminder of my place in this world, and of His will for eternity. What are my priorities? Do I want Him more than I want a child? Ouch--that's one for thought, as it's easy to cross that line.
He is faithful as the Son, and I have that engraved on my heart. His timing is the only timing, and it's what I'm waiting for...and it's worth every tear (if He's keeping those in a bottle, good grief). I will press on.

Heart Failure and Family Fun...

So, because everything happened all together, and so quickly, I don't often tell the story of the whole "heart failure" part of my pregnancy. It really is kind of a crazy story, and I don't know that I've ever put it in this perspective, so here goes...
I was sick during my pregnancy. I mean, you should have seen my ankles. I did makeup for a film shoot in Arcadia Valley, and by the end of the shoot, my ankles looked like soccer balls. Everything was chalked up to high blood pressure, and eventually, preeclampsia, and I was hospitalized on bed rest at MOBAP at 32 weeks. At just shy of 34 weeks, I had some visitors--if I remember right, it was Margaret and Lynn Renaud, and they made me laugh so much that my blood pressure HIT THE ROOF. The doctor came in the next morning, swearing a blue streak that no one had called him, and Hannah was delivered via C-section at 34 weeks. I was relieved--I was the size of a house (the weight hit me very quickly once I went on bedrest; up until that point, I'd kept in fabulous shape, even as a plus-sized pregnant woman), and was having brutal headaches. They delivered a beautiful, totally healthy Hannah Elizabeth Gayle Cooley, and the world was mine. I'd never been so happy.
Strangely enough, my blood pressure didn't get any lower. They'd promised that the only cure for preeclampsia was delivering the baby, but mine stayed high.
How much do you blame on doctors, who said my symptoms were the normal problems that pregnant women have...who said I was just a nervous new mom?
How much do you blame the patient, who knew something wasn't right, but who didn't stand up for herself?
Is there any blame?
I couldn't breathe.
I'd known since I was 7 months pregnant that something was off--I couldn't sing. I'd had a history of an arrhythmia in college (written off as stress) and was born with a mild mitral-valve prolapse (which remains just fine); I have a frightening family history of heart problems. BUT babies put pressure on the diaphragm. The heart works 30% harder during pregnancy than any other time. I was tired--but I was PREGNANT. There were too many symptoms that sounded like something else, and I guess I fell through the medical cracks.
I couldn't sing for months leading up to her birth (though God knows I tried!).
After Hannah's delivery, you could watch my heart beat through my nightgown. I know, because my sister told me so. I barely remember--evidently, my oxygen levels got so low when everything happened, that I lost a few chunks of my memory. I don't remember most of the 2 weeks I spent at MOBAP before I delivered.
I remember the night I had Hannah, they finally let me drink something, and I drank a 2-liter of Ginger Ale (Hey, I was thirsty!). The next morning (10/31), before they released me to get out of my hospital bed, I was paranoid because no one had changed my catheter, and I knew it had to be overflowing. It was empty, but no one thought anything of it. On November 1, 2006, I was unusually breathless, and I felt awful. I'd just had a C-section, so no one thought it odd that I was exhausted. I was really swollen, but then again, I'd had major surgery. I was so tired that when David and Billie said they were going to the NICU to give Hannah her next feeding, I opted to stay in bed. I told the nurse I was really having a problem breathing, and she told me I needed to "take a walk-it's just gas from the surger."
Mind you, this nurse had just told me she was (her words) "super nurse," and had been a nurse for YEARS. Yeah, well she missed this one, let me tell you. The next health care provider that says they're "super" anything, I'm RUNNING in the other direction!
I went for a walk, but I had to have help, and by the time I got to the NICU, I couldn't stand up. The nurses sent me back to my room, and they knew something was wrong. I got back to my room, back in bed, kissed David goodbye (he had to tend to the dog), and by that point, Mom was back.
I couldn't breathe.
I started to cough.
I couldn't stop.
I'd just had a C-section--and that hurt like hell.
I couldn't tell my mom that I couldn't STOP coughing; couldn't call for help; I don't know how many exciting colors I turned, but I'm sure it was cool. My mom immediately started to pray (at this point, Margaret Renaud came up to visit Hannah and myself, and didn't get very far; she saw my face, and knew to start a prayer chain. Between her and my mother, I'm convinced their prayers saved my life). The nurses were in the middle of changing shifts (I have the world's worst sense of timing) and it felt like forever for a doctor to come to the room. My sister happened to be wearing scrubs, so he yelled at her to get a chest x-ray, which was actually quite funny...but I couldn't breathe or stop coughing long enough to laugh. By the time they got the x-ray, my lungs were on the verge of collapsing, as they were entirely full of fluid.
My heart was three times the size it was supposed to be.
My left ventricle took the day off.
I don't remember the thoughts that went through my head; I do remember thinking my mom was terrified and that I wouldn't be around to raise my child. The irony of those thoughts does not escape me.
I sat at Hannah's hospital bed 25 days later and tried to exchange my life for hers.
God did not accept my terms.
Back at 11/1/06, the doctors catheterized me (AGAIN!!! AAACCK! 3x in 2 weeks!!!), ran me through some exciting tests (Hey, I have a heart monitor! It's been on for 12 hours! What do you mean, the signal didn't transfer to the third floor???? Seriously--that happened. What, they couldn't check that when they first hooked me up?), and then the real fun began. My lungs ate all of my bodily fluids, so my veins collapsed. I stopped counting after it took 3 or 4 or 8 people to finally get a vein to put my IV into...so they could give me the meds to take over 30 lbs of fluid off of me in one night. My oxygen saturation levels dropped down to 74, at their worst, which made them think I might have had a stroke (I didn't, miraculously), and did make them perform a new kind of torture called an arterial gas test. During this test, they attempt to put a knife through your wrist. No, seriously, they have to get the oxygen readings from an artery in your wrist. It hurt worse than the coughing, and at that point, I finally cried.
The left ventricle of the heart is the busiest. Mine decided to start functioning at 10% (a normal LV functions at 55-65%). That was, um, stupid.
At my echocardiogram the next morning, my technician was a woman who had part of her face covered, so I couldn't see her expression as she read my test...but the head-shaking told me it wasn't good. Something tells me that's an international gesture.
I don't know what the doctors told my parents. I know they told my husband absolutely NOTHING, which is also, um, STUPID.
What they told me sounded like this:
"Well, um, Ms. Cooley, what we think is that you have a rare condition called Peripartum Cardiomyopathy with Congestive Heart Failure and Pulmonary Hypertension." I've learned a lot of cool medical lingo since this incident, and that makes me sound uber-smart.
What they didn't say is that I narrowly avoided death/heart transplant/a very boring life spent with no physical activity...
They didn't say that I would be told I shouldn't have any more children; in fact, my cardiologist totally chickened out of that one, and sent me to a perinatologist who broke the news.
They didn't say that no one had bothered to research PPCM in over 30 years, in spite of the fact that it's on the rise.
They didn't say that they didn't even consider that diagnosis in the first place, because it's thought to be a primarily African-American disease.
They couldn't know that in 2008, I met a cardiologist in Lexington, KY, who has done extensive research on both preeclampsia and PPCM, and that he is the first doctor who gave me a much happier outlook on future children. He's taken part in the first study in over 30 years that was inter-racial and focused on PPCM with future pregnancies.
Can I have more kids? Yes. I have bi-annual run-ins with my cardiologist, and he has informed me that I'll be "high risk," but we can do it. Am I taking way better care of myself? Well, Halloween candy aside, yes. I'm actually a spokesperson with the American Heart Association, and though it's kind of on a hiatus right now, it's really educated me about heart health being for everyone (not just old people). I have been told there is scarring on my heart, but never to what extent; I hope to get a bit more information on that subject in December.
So, there's the story. Heart failure = One. Bad. Day. I currently take 1 tiny little pill to keep my blood pressure in check (which is miraculous--most heart patients have a menagerie of meds) and get acupunctured on a pretty regular basis. I also skip the salt (sorry, McD's) and have done a lot to educate myself on being a proactive patient. I encourage people of all ages to pay attention to their hearts, because the signs are subtle and easily written off.
Looking back, if I would have had the chance to trade my life for Hannah's, it's an easy decision: Take me. I don't know why God chose to take her, and keep me here. I don't know what He is or was thinking, or how His plan for my life will unfold.
While I'm here, though, I will be thankful.
Four years ago today, I almost died.
Somehow, my appreciation for my life has been affected by the pain of Hannah's death, so my "miracle" doesn't really get the celebration from me that it deserves. It's usually followed by my inner sarcastic punk saying "Okay...and Your point is?..."
He has reasons for everything, so I will keep following Him one step at a time. He is, after all, in the business of healing broken hearts, and I am no exception...

"Gaining Ground"

I have mud on my feet
I have dirt on my face
From this side track that's taken
My eyes off of You...
I have scuffed up my shoes
I have holes in my jeans
From this side track that's taken
My eyes off of You
And I fall
Down...
Face
Down
And I fell
Down
But You picked me up
Again...
I have scars on my heart
You have scars on Your hands
And You put me back on
The course that You've set for my life...
I'm not dressed to be seen
In the Presence of Love
But You set me upright
And embrace me with all of Your heart...
And I fall
Down
Face
Down
And I fall
Down
And kneel at the feet of Your
Grace...
Is there anything You
Can't do?
Is there any hurt You
Can't heal?
Is there any distance?
A height,
Or a depth;
Is there any path
That can take me away from
Your Love?
The only thing
You couldn't do
Is to love me
More
Than You already do...
I have mud on my feet
I have dirt on my face
But I got it while
Playing
Outside in the rain
Of Your Love...
And I fall
Down
Face
Down,
And I fall
Down
And You pick me up
Just to dance with me
Just to spin me around
Just to hold me again
In Your arms, once again
There is laughter
And life,
There is grace
And there's peace...
And we fall down...

Sometimes you're a soldier...sometimes, you're a wanderer.

I’m hesitant to post this. I feel like I’m standing in a doorway, trying to decide whether or not it’s “safe” to go out into the world, or whether I should bite my tongue like a good girl, and keep to myself. Maybe I should try to be holier, put my game face on, and “ponder things in my heart,” I don’t know. I don’t “bite my tongue” well, and though I wish I had the spiritual fortitude to be silent, I don’t…I don’t want to be “safe.” I want to be honest. There is a time and a place to ponder things in your heart, but in this case, I would venture to call that sulking.

This is not a “cry for help.” This is a promise I made to myself. A long time ago, I started to write, and though I’ve the sense to know not to fall in love with my first draft, I’ve always said I never had much appreciation for literary censorship. This is an art, and to censor things is like taking half of the colors away from a painter. You might get the picture, but it’s not going to be what truly reflects their heart. Editing and censoring are not the same thing—you edit, to produce an improved, cohesive final product. You censor, to destroy and turn something into what you think should be right. So I’m going to write this, and I’m going to be honest, because it’s all I can be. I write because God made me to. I write because sometimes, it’s the only way I can get things off of my chest and find the way to face another day.

Every year without her makes me hurt. Every year that passes is one more year that I’m closer to seeing her again. Every year that goes by, I see children deciding what they’d be for Halloween, and I die a little bit inside. It hurts. I’d have a four-year old…what would she dress as? What kind of birthday party would I be throwing? My three-year old niece had a princess party this month…that same day, I had to put a new arrangement on my daughter’s grave. How hard is that, do you think? I know, because I did it. I do everything I can to not dwell on those hurts, because I know full well that God gives healing and hope….He does.

But that’s a church answer.

Sometimes, the church answer does not make it all better.

Most of the time, I have such an appreciation for the incredible grace of God. If it wasn’t for Him, I’d be dead on so many occasions; I know Him—I trust Him. Please don’t preach at me, or worry about my salvation, because it’s sure. Jesus is my Friend, and no one knows my heart like He does. I feel like my Christian friends are sitting there, waiting with baited breath to give me a verse, or say an encouraging word, or do whatever we all want to do, when we see someone hurting. I appreciate that, I really do…I love every single person who has put an arm around me or sent me encouragement. I almost feel bad for saying this, but…

Just shut up and tell me you love me.

I feel like I need to sit here and make an excuse for my bad behavior—after all, shouldn’t I be running to the Word for encouragement? Shouldn’t I be on the phone, asking for prayer? Isn’t that what good little Christians do when the bottom drops out of their day? Does this make me rebellious, in a bad place, or God forbid, a backslider?!?!?!?

No. It makes me human.

I am broken, and even if it’s just for a few days (as opposed to a few weeks, which it normally is), I am constantly reminded that it’s okay to be broken.

It’s okay.

I don’t have to be told a solution—God does not frown on the broken heart. He loves it. He calls me to His side, in His way, in His time, and I can’t help but respond. Whether that’s with tears, with singing, or with all of the above, I can’t help but respond to the grace of God. That doesn’t mean that I run to His arms, and jump up, completely perfect. It means that I run to His arms, and He holds me to His heart…where I find that His heart is even more broken than mine.

He gets it. He gets me.

I am hurting. I feel like I did so well, keeping it together, hearing from Him, learning new things and being so strong, and then suddenly, yesterday, for whatever reason, I lost it. I actually drove home, and after uncharacteristically screaming at a fellow driver, I said out loud, that “I have completely lost my mind.” I tried to pray—I’d managed to make it through helping our patients—I tried to focus on what I know, on Who He is—I tried every method of coping with grief and changing my focus that I could think of—but I. Lost. It.

(Children in the background are singing "Ring Around the Rosy" as I write this...the windows are open because I love fall..."all...fall...down." Hmm.)

I tried to call my mother, who was in the middle of something. She handed the phone to my well-intentioned father, who said all of the wrong things. My sister, God bless her, is out of town and was texting me to hang on—she’s seen me like this before, and knows it can end badly—until she could get to a landline and talk me down from my ledge.

Aren’t I supposed to be a grown-up?

I crashed yesterday, just bottomed out. I feel guilty for my coping mechanism. I thought about calling a friend, but who wants to sit and listen to me cry incoherently for an hour? I felt like such a burden. I almost stopped by GHOP, but couldn’t remember the schedule, and didn’t want to be seen in the mess that I was. I went home, cried on the phone with Billie, and no, I didn’t run to the Word. I didn’t dissolve into prayer. I honestly didn’t want to talk to God last night, but I think that’s okay—He didn’t need me to talk to Him, for Him to know what was going on. I went home, and I crashed into a pile of blankets, which is where I stayed until I got up for work this morning.

I’d hoped joy would come in the morning, but it didn’t. Just me, looking at myself in the mirror, wondering where in the world I would find the strength to go to my office today. Should have been a big girl, called my boss, and told her I needed a Mental Health Day. Instead, I went into work, and I have no idea of what I did today. I spent 20 minutes on the phone with Blue Cross/Blue Shield, and have no clue what we talked about. I cried at my desk. I went in with no makeup on, and I’m pretty sure I forgot deodorant. I left work early, and thank God, my boss understood. I actually called my DENTIST to see if the consult I’d scheduled for my TMJ could be done earlier, just to give me an excuse to leave work early, because I was too chicken to tell my boss the fact that I simply could not handle today. My brain is not functioning, and I don’t know what to do.

I feel very lost right now, but I know that I’m not. When you see me again, I'll probably be fine, and act like none of this was ever written...this is for today. My feelings, and truth, are right now, two very separate things, and I know—I know—that I will pull it together and get my head on straight, shortly. I also know that I have to believe that it’s okay for me to cry right now.

It’s okay, for me to fall apart.

I’m not the one Who’s holding me together.

It’s okay for me to lose it.

It was never mine to begin with.

“Keeping it together” is merely maintaining the illusion that it’s all under my control… (thanks, Paige)...

It’s not.

I am going to burrow under my blankets again tonight, and I will stay there….and it will be fine. Joy really does come in the morning; anyone who guarantees that it’s the “next morning” is foolish.

I feel like I’m having to make excuses for my “bad” behavior, like I have to explain myself, but I don’t.

I’m not making excuses.

My daughter would have turned four years old on Saturday. She’s dead, and I’m here, and that realization simply put, sucks. I’m hurting. I know Jesus holds her in His arms, and most of the time, that’s all I need to know. For today, though, I will cry.

For today, I will lose it.
For today, I will mourn.
But
Joy
Comes
In The
Mourning.

Death By Dry Cleaning

It's been a tough week in the Cooley household (oh, that's so positive!!!! Yay!!!). Rewind--let's start this over:



It's been a CHALLENGING week in the Cooley household (That's better!!!). I love the "rush" you get from going on retreats, but let's face it--when reality jumps back in, there are challenges to putting feet to your faith. I had so much fun on the retreat, and laughed like I hadn't in years. It was the perfect set-up for this month, which (no secret here) can be a hard time of the year for me. Much to my surprise, it's going well--nothing like the plummet I've faced in years previous.



There is, however, a gentle melancholy that I've noticed that kind of drapes around the shoulders. I'll walk by a picture in the living room that I've passed a thousand times, and this time, I will stop short. A deep sense of longing will come over me...a kind of abbreviated panic. Every time, I face a choice: Sit in that place, and linger? Stay busy? Pray it through? Find a glass of wine? Go to sleep? Go to church? Eat some chocolate? Every time, the decision is just as difficult as it was the time before. There is a determination, though, that I have this year that I've never had before, and I'm so thankful for it.



I've been alone a lot this week, and next week will be more of the same. Making conscious, careful decisions of what I do with my time is the challenging part, more than anything else. Eating and shopping have been favorite pastimes, and neither is an option for me anymore (and never should have been, honestly). I haven't been the best at time management this week, in my personal life, so next week I am looking for improvement.



This week, I have been called a "perfectionist" and "uptight." It hurt my feelings. I'm trying to learn that what people say to me, does not define me. The Women's Retreat reminded me that no, I'm not "uptight" when it's not related to insurance/"the job," and that being a perfectionist is just fine and dandy in the workplace, but not so good for dieting. I have to be more forgiving of the mistakes I make, and continue to laugh at myself as much at home, as I did 2 weeks ago in front of that room full of strangers, who became friends.



Point in case:



My dry cleaning almost killed me today. Seriously. I picked up a sweater from the dry cleaners (in their nice little clear-plastic-bag-over-the-hangar thing) and hung it in my back window of my car. With the windows down, I drove home from work. I could see it blowing in my rear-view mirror, so I reached up and tore off the little paper tag that was flapping around. As I made the merge onto 270, that little plastic bag became a harbinger of horror!



While picking up speed and negotiating the curve, the evil plastic bag flung itself up over my driver's seat, twisting about as though it was determined to suffocate me! I tried to roll up the windows, but it didn't work--I frantically tried to steer the car and grab the hangar, but couldn't reach it. It flipped around, I blocked it from my face (it was a white sweater, and I had just put lipstick on! Not to mention that I needed to BREATHE while driving!), and finally, FINALLY got the darn thing torn down. I managed to tear the bag off of the hangar, pull the sweater down, negotiate the merger onto 270, and NOT kill myself.



I did, however, laugh myself into oblivion.



God makes me laugh. He doesn't just LET me laugh--He MAKES me laugh. I find myself in situations so crazy, that it doesn't matter if life has thrown me a few curveballs. I'm going to laugh. Maybe not right away...but whether it's a Death by Dry Cleaning, rapping to MC Hammer, or explaining to a group of teenage girls the difference between "church booty-pop" and "club booty-pop," and which one is NOT appropriate, I. Will. Laugh.



So, that's what I'm doing as I write this. I would have been freaked to be a driver on the road next to me today--"911! There's a crazy lady flailing her arms around and a plastic bag flying around!!! She's swerving, and her music's turned up too loud!!! Sir, send a cop--she's GOT to be drunk!!!!" If you saw me on 270 in rush-hour traffic, I was sober. I promise.



But I did see my life flash before my eyes, and in it, I was wearing a Clean Sweater...and laughing.

Age Aint' Nuthin But A Number, Baby...

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had every dream laid out in her head…By 23, she’d be married. There would be a house and a yard, there might be a picket fence, there would be a husband who loved her…He’d take her away from the chaos of home, and the rules of her parochial education; there would be plenty of money in the bank, they’d be well on their way to those 2.2 children, and they’d have a cat. She’d have her Master’s degree in English, and all would be right in the world. She’d eventually become a celebrated children's author, and she’d teach teenagers the beauty of language and expression, and oh, how God would work through her! She’d save the world, one term paper at a time…

Sure, she trusted God…and oh, yeah, she believed she would follow His will…if it followed THE PLAN…”Yes, Lord, I surrender…if…and…but…however…um…”

Somehow, life has not worked out according to THE PLAN.

33 is fast approaching. Every year on my birthday, for the past 11 years (I think), I have sat down and wrote a poem about where I’m at that year. This year is hitting a nerve, and there’s around 1,000 reasons why. Do I feel like a bit of a failure? Honestly? Yes, I do, even though I know I shouldn’t.

In fact, as I look at this year, I’m in a far better place spiritually, than I’ve ever been. These past 11 months have been blowing me away, and I’m continuously amazed at what God is telling me. I know this is just an attack…maybe if I voice it, and lay it all out there, then I will deal with this on a better level…

33. It’s how old Jesus was when He was crucified, and that realization TOTALLY bums me out. Of course, to counter, it’s also the age at which He was radically glorified, so I could focus on that, but really, there’s more drama in being sad about the age, and we all know how I love drama, so I’ll focus on the negative (oh, I’m laughing at myself, now!:) Seriously, though, it sounds so FINAL. Like, I’m in my mid-30’s. I see celebrities in their mid-30’s, and they look amazing. They’re filthy rich. They have their 2.2 kids, and they have flat stomachs, and I pale in comparison (yes, I know, I’m not supposed to compare myself to anyone, much less celebrisnots that can pay someone to work out for them. But, I’m wallowing in this blog, so leave me alone).

(The more I type, the more I start laughing at myself, so bear with me. I’m pretty sure by the end of this blog I’ll have sorted myself out.)

I find myself feeling really disappointed with life. I’m not where I want to be, physically, educationally, or financially…I know it’s a matter of time, but I’m one impatient force of nature, so I want my credit cards paid off, my butt to be smaller, and my hair to look nice for once, and I WANT IT NOW, so darn it, as hard as I work, why is it all not happening to me? (Insert whine here.) There are people that I see that have had 5 children by this age, and I haven’t. I’m about to be 33, and I feel like a ticking time bomb. Yeah, plenty of women have children after 35. They weren’t diagnosed with a heart condition. This wicked combination of jealousy and disappointment is dangerous, and if I dwell on it too much, especially this time of the year, it will cut me off at the ankles…I’ve been down this road before, and I know where it ends up (Xanax and a bottle of wine. I’m serious. Not good.). I think I’ll try something else….

“Count your many blessings,
Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings,
See what God has done…..”

This whole season is an attack, and I think the little things are tripping me up. Looking around at other people, and comparing myself and my life to them, or to THE PLAN that I always had in my head, is undermining me during a time that I really don’t need or want to be undermined. I want my focus to be on where God is taking me, not on where anyone else is at.

Sure, they have 5 kids. Sure, that chick’s a yoga instructor with a sick body that I will never have. Sure, they just bought a new car and I’m looking at needing new tires. What do I have?

Let me tell you what I have. Let me tell you what I remind myself of every single day (I’m serious. I actually started writing things on my bathroom mirror with a dry-erase marker to remind me to keep my focus). I have an amazing husband who is way cooler than most people will ever know. I have a fantastically psychotic family that will tell you what they really think, rather than put up a front and let you believe a lie. I have a job that I actually enjoy most of the time. I have a church family that listens to me when I cry, laughs when I sing bad karaoke, and teaches me to put feet to my faith. I do not have a picket fence….and I do not have a cat. I have a dog, and a chain link fence that warns people that she will eat their face off. I have a dog that, when she’s not tripping me up during a run, makes me feel welcome every time I step into my little house. I have a home with my husband that is full of pictures of two people who love each other ferociously…I have the memories of a little girl that I will see again someday, and I have the love of a Savior Who promises me—Who bet His life on—an eternity with Him. I have seen 33 years on this planet of love, betrayal, loyalty, pain, poverty, and blessing, and I think that if I died tonight, I could do so knowing that my life was full. I have traveled abroad and in my own country; I have flown and cruised and hopped a train. I have roller skated with a dog, and I have held an alligator that could have easily eaten my arm. I’ve met people who have survived unimaginable odds, and I’ve been one of them. I’ve faced the greatest pain a woman can know, and I have buried my own child…and I have lived to not only tell the story, but to see the story teach someone about the love of God.

33 years have I on this planet, and if I want to sit around and whine that life’s not what I planned on it being, then I’m wasting time that I do not have. THE PLAN is really not so important to me, for the most part, as I’m learning to trust His plan overall. These times when I lose my focus, it always works to remind myself that His plans are always for good—God. Is. Good!!!! I caught myself the other day, when the pastor said “God is good!” responding in my head, “Sometimes.” Where the heck did that come from!!!?!?!?!? What do I BELIEVE? No, not “what have I been told to say when someone says ‘God is good’?” What do I BELIEVE? I BELIEVE God is good! All the time—not just when things go according to THE PLAN! I KNOW God is good! I KNOW this, because even in the midst of despair, even in the midst of seeing the floor drop out from under my faith, I saw His hand work! I see it even now, even when I’m attacked over this stupid “33” thing!

One of the doctors in the practice said something beautiful to me today when I mentioned that I’m kinda dreading this birthday. He said that “if you spend your whole life waiting to be happy, then you spend your whole life waiting.” That’s so deep. I mean, REALLY. Give that one a few seconds to sink in. Who wants to spend their whole life “waiting” for something that may or may not happen? What does it take, to “be happy” on this crazy earth, any how? Are we, as Christians, ever supposed to “be happy” in the first place? Aren’t we always gonna feel a little out of place, a little homesick, if we’re doing things right? There’s joy…there’s peace. I think “happiness” is a human emotion, whereas joy and peace are spiritual states. Am I happy that the clock is ticking, and that yet another year has gone by? Not particularly, when I look at the bills, the dress size, the empty nursery, and my bachelor’s degree (I really, REALLY want to go back to school). However, when I look at what the last year has held, how could I not celebrate it with joy? It’s been a great year!!! I’m hoping it’s followed by another great year! If time stopped, how many awesome things would go unfulfilled?!?

So, Cassidy, here’s to you. You are about to turn 33, and it will be a great year. You will see the hand of God move mountains this year, in ways you never expected. Life will change, but it will be in such a way that you’ll know it’s supposed to, and that it will be okay. 33 will bring you new challenges, new hopes, new dreams, and new visions, and you’ll learn greater ways to rely on God…You’ll see Him do unexpected things. Don’t try to figure out what He’s up to…just take the steps one by one, and watch the dance that He leads you on, come together. Don’t wait to be happy…find your “happy,” each second of the day. As you know, it will be “all right” in the end, so celebrate it all.

That’s my speech to myself. 33 is just a number. It’s another page to turn, and I have a lot more to go. Getting tripped up over something as silly as a birthday (that won’t even be here for a few more weeks) is nonsense, and I know better. I also know it belies other issues, and sorting it out, blog-style, has helped me get a handle on what’s REALLY going on here. His plan does not go along with THE PLAN, aka, MY PLAN. No, there’s no Master’s in English with a white picket fence and my 2.2 kids with their cat (at this point). What I DO have…what God has given me…is so much better. It’s where He wants me, right now, in this time, and that’s where I truly do want to be. That’s my heart’s desire—to be where He wants me. Everything else is just…well, everything else.

I’m going to stop dreading this birthday. I’m going to celebrate it, darn it. God has lots in store for me, and I’m going to live it all out. ‘Cause I can. ‘Cause He said so….and He. Is. Good.

The Women's Retreat Blog...Deliverance via Karaoke

I'm a really good actress. No, I mean, REALLY. Because, if someone were to describe me, one of the very first things they would generally say, is that I'm "outgoing." This weekend, someone used the term "boisterous," and I believe "bubbly" was used once or twice.



It's all lies, people, I tell you.



I'm a closet introvert (don't laugh!). I actually like my peace and quiet, and have hermit-like tendencies during the week. I like to come home to my quiet house, dance in my living room, and go on outings alone. When I know I'm about to be in a large group of strangers, I fight nauseating nerves...if I have a solo, I'm struggling not to vomit at a microphone. I like being on a worship team as a backup singer because (wait for it), I'm a BACKUP SINGER. I'm pretty sure no one would ever guess this, and the few times I've admitted it, people have laughed at me in disbelief. I tell you, it's true.



Inside of me, there's a person sitting in the corner with a blanket over her head, praying that someone asks her to dance, yet who is too afraid to do so, once they've held out their hand to her.



I am a chicken.



Many times in my life, I've been in public situations, and have literally felt like my insides were falling out. The only way, it seems, to calm the nerves, is to suck it up, and stick my neck out. I feel like I have to either speak up, stand up, stand out, reach out, or do SOMETHING, because otherwise, the anticipation is going to kill me. I have to silence the nerves and go introduce myself--not for the sake of reaching out to a stranger, but for the totally selfish purpose of quieting the inner monologue that is telling me things are just not right. So, I speak out...I speak up. I share opinions, and believe me, there's plenty of times where I've wished I would have listened to my inner hermit and kept quiet!!! Am I even making any sense here?



You get the point: My "outgoing" personality is all a lie, and I'm secretly a wallflower.



The "problem" is that God didn't make me to be a wallflower, and He constantly puts me in situations where I simply cannot BE a wallflower--I have to come out of my shell. I have no idea why He does this, but hey, I'm just along for the ride, right?!?



I went on a women's retreat this past weekend, and I was petrified. Here I was, about to embark on this weekend with a bunch of women I barely knew (special thanks to Hannah Preston for being my roomie and my security blanket), and I was convinced that the weekend was going to be all about homemaking, how to be a Godlier wife, why I wasn't a Godlier wife, forced methods of bonding and communication, how to knit a blanket, why I should quit my job, and why I should eliminate half of my vocabulary. I just knew the speaker would be an older woman with a perfect life, and 2.5 kids, a long-standing marriage, and a cat. I was quite sure I'd learn a thing or two, but that my inner sarcastic punk would win out, and that I'd learn more hiking the trails on my own, than I would in a meeting hall. (Oh, that inner sarcastic punk! She has such issues!). I had also been informed that karaoke would be happening at some point, and that I was "expected" to participate.



Sidebar--did I mention that when I got to the retreat center Friday night, I realized I'd forgotten half of my clothes, and all of my shoes? All I had with me were my work shoes, and my Vibram Five Finger hiking shoes. I also had a pair of workout capris, a stained T-shirt, and 2 outfits that were not designed to be worn with toe-shoes. Not only was I nervous facing the weekend; I was now badly dressed with highly noticable silly shoes that clashed with EVERYTHING. I felt like a wreck. These are people that normally only see me on a Sunday morning, looking somewhat collected and coordinated! I looked awful! All weekend! And now I had to step on stage--in front of everyone?!?



Mind you, the organizer of the retreat is a woman I HIGHLY respect and love. I also know not to cross her--if she asks you to do something, you'd probably better do it, because you'll find yourself doing it one way or another. But karaoke? Would I get to rehearse? What would I sing? Would I look stupid? All of these women are going to think I'm retarded! No one will think I can sing--I stink!!! (Note--I'd only done karaoke one other time in my life, on a cruse, with my mom, where I only knew 4 people, and we were all related. That's a safe audience!). Every time the subject would come up, I'd get nauseous. I was terrified.



The retreat started on Friday night, and all day Saturday, I prayed that I'd hear something from the Lord. I'd gone on a nature hike, sat and talked with a few girls, took a nap, and though I got a few things, nothing was really blowing my mind. And since the dreaded karaoke was fast approaching, I was starting to wonder if this whole weekend was a wash? Why was I here? I've lost my stinkin' mind. God--I need something.



The organizer said something on Saturday night about expecting something fabulous from Cassidy Cooley and then something else about karaoke in the same sentence, and I literally had to go outside for air. (Just a note--with all honesty, she'd brought it up before, and I never gave her the slightest inclination that the mere thought of karaoke made my stomach film inside-out. She had no idea. Had she known, she would have never intentionally made me feel that uncomfortable, as she's an awesome lady. I was too shy to say anything, and figured I'd muddle through and cry later, LOL!) Upon returning, my "Mother Hen" (LOL--small group leader) said our team would be performing, and that we'd have to do something that I would most likely carry.



That. Did. It.



I honestly threw back my head, and laughed. It was the last straw--God had something to say to me this weekend, all right. He'd been trying to get through to me, and it took the prospect of public humiliation to do it. Why am I so afraid to look silly? Why am I so afraid to be different, or to stick out? Why am I so afraid to go up front, to speak out, to stand up? Why am I so afraid of _____? Fill-in-the-blank, because it seems over the last few years, I've really struggled with a lot of irrational fears that I should be trusting Him with. From the silly shoes, to the karaoke, I felt God say to me "You never look silly to Me. You only look beautiful. Never be afraid of looking stupid when you're doing what I've called you to do." All of my silly fears--from looking dumb, to singing badly, to dancing like I have Tourette's, to sticking my foot in my mouth...to holding back in worship, to not saying things when He tells me to say them, to not grabbing a person and hugging them when He lays it on my heart...to not giving a word when He gives it to me, to not living out the gifts He's planted in me, to not ever feeling good enough, to being afraid to wear the mantle He's placed on me...to trusting Him with life and death, and everything in between...what am I afraid of?



He has plans to prosper us...plans to give us a hope and a future, plans He says in Jeremiah 29:11. Our God--my God--is awfully fond of me, He says.



I dropped my gloves, threw down my pride, and wound up having the craziest, best time that I've had in years. These women, these hilarious women of God, can throw a party, and they were gracious enough to invite me along. We karaoked, danced, spun, jumped, and ate...we celebrated and fellowshiped, and I tell you, God broke something in me, and He used karaoke to do it. I guess if that's what it takes, that's what it takes!!!! He has a unique approach with me, I suppose. I feel like I made a lot of new friends, saw a whole new side to people I thought I knew, and gained an entirely new respect and love for these women. They truly blessed me with their shared silliness!!!! (And yes, there's video. I kinda can't wait to see it, because I know it's blackmail-worthy. But I bet it's HILARIOUS!)



I came back from that retreat a little bit different. God dropped a lot of information on me, and gave me a few promises along the way--which are things I will ponder in my heart, and not on my blog, LOL! I feel like in the process of shedding some serious inhibitions, that some walls were knocked down that were holding me back. I have a new thankfulness in my heart, and a new joy, a deeper joy (I'm usually a pretty joyful person, I think, but some sarcasm and bitterness were starting to creep in). I feel like there's a crazy new freedom (someone used the phrase "crazy chickens" this weekend, and I love it!) flying inside of me, and I'm so ready for it to hit...I'm ready to free-fall, and just trust that it will be okay. I may look stupid more often than not, but it's fine. It's temporary, and He's not. He's eternal.



Over the last few weeks, I've had some lessons on thankfulness...on picking my battles...on not stepping into "obligatory" vortexes of emotion...and now, on freedom, joy, boldness, and trust. I don't know what He's doing, but He's releasing some things, and it's time for me to move forward in a whole new way...



It's time to crank up the karaoke.

Sometimes, I don't even make sense to myself...

I was thinking about Hannah recently--okay, truthfully, not a day goes by that I DON'T think of her--and what a weird juxtaposition this journey has been. Several times over the past year, it's felt like certain chapters of my life were coming to a close, or about to come to a close, and it's made me a bit reminscent....and totally panicky, because I have no idea what God is going to do with David and I, next. All I know is that it will be fine...in fact, it will be AWESOME...and that this year, 2010, is the year for letting things go. I've felt like this year is the year to sort things out, get rid of things, do some housecleaning, get organized, and get ready. I have no idea what's around the bend, but I know I have a lot to do before 12/31/10, and I'm way behind. I've been trying to get my priorities in order, and it hasn't been easy. I've been made aware of, oh, let's just call them "character flaws" that are indicative of my own selfish nature; of certain "personality traits" that are just not okay; and of particular "habits" that need to be broken/demolished/destroyed/vaporized.

I have a tendency to pull people into my vortex.

You know what a "vortex" is? It's a spinning tornado of crap that rages around a person, who then spreads it to another person, sucking them in and stealing their joy. A great example of a vortex is this: I have a crappy day. David, who is wonderful and smiley, comes home from his crappy day, smiling anyways, because he has joy and is a joyful person. I don't want to hear about his joy; rather, I spew my crappy day onto my smiley husband, which makes him frown, and now, he's in a bad mood because HE IS IN MY VORTEX. (If the word "crap" offends you, I apologize. Think of the alternative. Now, appreciate the substitute.) Because sucking David into my vortex isn't enough for me, I also call Karen, Billie, Mom, and God-only-knows-who-else, and suck them into my vortex as well, thus putting them in a bad mood, and POOF! They've now shared my vortex with their families. It's contagious.

I also realized that my vortex doesn't just involve a bad day; it can involve a sad day, too. The loss of my daughter has been a subject I've been really open about, to a fault. Not everyone needs to hear my story, not everyone needs to know my business, and for a time, I thought they did. Moving to Kentucky was great, because it put me in a new place, where I didn't feel like I had to talk about it all of the time, and I could be "normal," whatever that means. Not everyone knew, or needed to know, and I've carried that back to St. Louis with me. A lot of people know Hannah passed away; most people don't know the whole story, and that's fine. The big issue I've had, is that on the days where I've struggled the most, I've been really open about it, and have unintentionally sucked people into my vortex of grief, which I feel really bad about.

I don't want people to feel sorry for me, and I don't need people to say "Aww, you poor thing," like I'm some kind of permanently broken person. I want to be able to say, "Yes, this makes me sad. Mother's Day makes me sad (although thanks to some key people last year, and some major breakthroughs, I think my panic at that day is done, and that I'll be able to celebrate it next year--praise God!), October 30 makes me sad, etc," but not feel like I'm Debbie Downer.

There are things to look back and celebrate, even through the darkest days of my life. There are things I look back at and laugh over, that just this year, am able to say were actually funny, that happened as Hannah was dying. (I feel like as I type that, that a collective gasp just rang out. Hey, God gave me a sense of humor. Getting it back has been a major ordeal, and now that it's here, putting that perspective on certain things is a good thing. If you want to know what in the world could possibly be funny during a time like that, ask me some time).

I feel like there is some kind of cloak of sadness that settles over me and whomever I'm speaking with, when Hannah comes up, that is almost suffocating, and I'd like the world to know that it's not that way. I don't like the thought that I'm sucking someone into a vortex of grief whenever I bring Hannah up in a conversation...and yes, I have the right to talk about her. She is a permanent part of my life...my pregnancy is a permanent part of my life, her birth is a permanent part of my life, my NICU/PICU experiences are a permanent memory in my life, and yes, we can talk about it as candidly as you want to talk about it--it's okay. And yes, you can talk to me about heartburn, weird kicking in the middle of the night, morning sickness, stretch marks, C-sections, and everything that goes with having a baby, because it happened to me, and I'm cool with it.

But maybe this is all in my head.

Anyways, I say all of that, because I started to write this poem today, and halfway through, it completely shifted and turned into something else. I have no idea why. It came outa visit to Worldview Church, when David and I visited a few weeks ago. For some reason, I felt the Holy Spirit say to me, "You know, there doesn't have to be a 'vortex of October' if you don't want there to be." The arrival of October (and autumn) has felt like such a kick in the gut to me--seeing October 1 on the calendar has sent me into a spiral, in the past, and I was convinced that this year would simply be a repeat of last year (which felt disasterous). God said that to me--that if I wanted, He could mend that panic, and that I could choose to not jump into the vortex of sadness that always accompanied October. So I said okay.

Granted, October's not here yet...but even with it approaching, I feel a different perspective about it this year, than any other year since Hannah passed away. It doesn't hold the same fear, the same "there's a monster at the end of this book" feeling that it's always had. I'm actually looking forward to it, which sounds a little crazy to me. I want to celebrate Hannah by treating October just like I treat January or March...It's a beautiful month, with beautiful weather, and it's all in celebration of the God Who made our seasons...of a God Who decided there is a time to live, and a time to die; a time to mourn, and a time to laugh.

October is my time to laugh...as I type that, I remember that when Hannah was first taken out of my womb, I laughed (fitting, for someone named "Sarah," I suppose--it's my middle name). It's my time to laugh, and in laughing, I close the chapter on the darkest days of grieving of my life. It doesn't mean that I don't miss her, or that I'm "over it;" it simply means that I'm through with it. This poem may not make a lot of sense, (since when did I make sense?), but it's where I am. It's where I choose to be.

It's where I choose to stop the vortex, and let joy take over.


“Beautiful Girl”

C. S. Cooley

September 16, 2010



Beautiful girl…

It’s that time of year

That takes my breath

Away…

Beautiful girl…

It’s that time of year

I can feel the days pass by

Like a clock ticking

Down…

Beautiful girl…

Not a day goes by

Where I don’t see your face

Behind my smile

Tears don’t always

Have to fall

For a heart

To cry…

Beautiful girl…

It’s that time of year

When I close my eyes

And breathe…

Beautiful girl…

It’s that time of year

When I lean on Him

To be strong

Beautiful girl…

Not a day goes by

Where I don’t see your face

In my mind…

Tears don’t always

Have to fall

For a heart

To cry…

Beautiful girl…

Time goes on

And the time has come

For me to say

That it’s all right…

Beautiful girl…

Let the beauty for ashes

Give strength through the mourning

For morning

Has

Come…

Beautiful girl…

This is the time

To ponder in my heart

The journey He has me on…

Tears don’t always

Have to fall

For a heart

To cry…

Beautiful girl…

It’s that time of year

Where I celebrate

All I have to be

Thankful for

And you,

My beautiful girl

Are on my heart…

Though at times,

These tears will fall

At all times,

He holds my heart

And He knows…





Who am I,

To pull others into

My vortex of grieving,

When the days of

Grieving are

Done?

When the time for

Celebration is

Here?

Who am I,

To let myself get

Pulled into the

Things I see others doing

And consider it

Fine for me

When it’s not?

Who am I,

To indulge myself

In depression,

In sadness,

In letting these

Weights

Drag me down

Into depths

Where no Light

Can possibly

Shine?

There is sadness

Lighter than

Grief;

There is sorrow

That doesn’t

Come

With

Chains….

No one needs that kind of

Attention;

No one needs that kind of

“Aww, you poor baby,

Just cry a little longer,

We’ll pray for you,

Jesus, we’ll pray for her….”

At this stage of the game….

Put on your armor,

Suck it up,

Go out into the world

Keep your chin up,

Your smile bright,

Throw your head back

And laugh,

Because if this is the worst that it gets,

Guess what?

I’ve pulled through…

I’ve been

Scarred up, Beat up,

Thought that I’d never see

Daylight,

Put up, or shut up,

What kind of faith do you have?

Mine is

Quite small…

But my God

Is

Big…

And the time

Of

Weeping that lasts through the night?

Well,

It’s 9 am,

And joy has

Come

In this morning---

Raise up a shout,

For I am not like

The others who carry

Their grieving around

Like a blanket made

Of lead…

I had my time.

Now I’m done.

My heart still hurts—

And maybe today,

I’m feeling much stronger than

I will

6 weeks from now.

Remind me.

Remind me.

Remind me.

Don’t let me

Saturate

In

Sadness…

Yes,

My heart still hurts,

But my heart is

Healed

And I have run miles

I have run marathons in faith

In A God

That has moved

My mountains,

So it’s not “all right”

Don’t let me

Saturate

In

Sadness…

He loves me beyond

My tears…

And she

Is

Worth

Celebrating

With

Laughter…

We choose our vortex…

Who am I,

To pull someone into mine?

Who am I,

To be in one,

In the first place?

The vortex of

October

Has

Come

To

A

Screeching

Halt

And

I

Will

Laugh

At the

Days

To

Come!!!

(Because that is what He promised me!)



Beautiful girl…

This is the time of year

Where I stop

And thank God

For the journey

He’s brought me

Through

And for the

Journey

He’s taking me

On.

Beautiful girl…

This is the time of year

Where I stop

And

Celebrate you

With a life

Of

Laughter.

21st Century Weight Loss

So, tonight was it. Tonight, I took the leap into the 21st Century and started a 12-week online/phone nutrition class. Sure, there's the fact that I can sit in my underwear and gain an education....and that I can jump around the internet and let my ADD run rampant while I listen in on the facts and information...but then again, there's the fact that if I can't look at someone and their chalkboard, I have a really hard time staying focused and gleaning all of the information I need to. I do virtually NOTHING via telephone in my personal time, because the darn thing is attached to my hip at my office, and I'd sooner throw the phone against the wall into a million pieces, then be on it when I cross the threshold of my humble abode. I'm not a phone person, and my irritation at the format of this class is undeniable.

So I have to get over it.

One thing I've discovered is that in this time of technology, more and more education is online. In fact, I have a management class I have to take, that I haven't taken yet, that's online. Freaks. Me. Out. Where's my classroom? Where's my stage of academic competition? I did fairly well in school because I felt like everyone would know if I failed. Online classes don't allow you that spirit of "show-off," and I fear I may not succeed because there's no accountability. Where's my April McMullen in choir, to challenge my vocal abilities? Where's my Richard Harrison, to challenge my Greek skills (oh, wait, that didn't work--I stank at Greek, no matter who I was in class with!)? Where's my Phil Perrey, to make me study my Old Testament that much harder? My classmates had names, faces, and there were finals with published scores (at least, verbally published)! It made me work that much harder!

Was I ever that good, in the first place, or was it fear, that let me "succeed" in the classroom?

This time, I'm on my own, and the lack of competition makes me question my abilities.

I've always looked at education as a contest, and as long as no sports are involved, it's the contest that makes it worth trying. When I don't have the face-to-face intellectual combat, I don't think I give my best performance, so this online/phone class has me worrying about whether or not I can seriously do this.

I told you I'd be accountable on my weight-loss journey, and I am.

It's been one year since I set out to lose weight. My initial goal was to lose 40 pounds, and I did that. Up until August, I kept it off, too. Last month (and I've referenced this), I wiped out in going to the gym, I ate like a loser, and I gained like, 10 pounds back. Since I've really been off of my meal-replacement plan since January, I'm trying not to kick myself too hard for those 10 pounds, but really! I'm aggravated, and I feel like a failure, so shouldn't that be enough motivation for me to be more focused on this class?

You'd think so.

I'd actually like to lose 40 more pounds, as crazy as that sounds. I'd be happy with knocking out another 30, but 40 would be righteous. I'm learning that this whole food-relationship thing is so much more than just food, and I've said this before. It's emotional-no, it's spiritual. I reward myself with food, because I'm not trusting that God sees me, that He sees what I do, and that He acknowledges me (I'm secretly 5 years old, and require constant pats on the back. Seriously?!?). This is a constant struggle, and I wish I knew what magic button I could push to make it easy!!!!!

This isn't about being fat-it's about being healthy, about building a body that can live to be 100 and not feel like my parents feel...it's about completely diffusing this heart that's a ticking time bomb, and about having a body that reflects the faith that God keeps His promises! The longer Satan can keep me bound up in this food addiction and crappy mentality, the further away I am from seeing my goals and heart's desires that God gave me.

That's the end-game.

It's not about seeing the other people in the classroom, and proving that I can be smarter than them (although, Richard and Phil, I could NEVER be smarter than you two Einsteins. Ridiculous, those craniums). It's not about looking someone in the eye and sizing them up. It's about looking ME in the mirror, and deciding whether or not I trust God enough to do what He says He will do...it's about looking at me, and saying that if He say's I'm worth it, then I'm worth it.

My Jesus is particularly fond of me.

I am worth taking this time on this horrible little instrument of technological torture, to learn how to properly care for this body. After all, He spent quite a bit of time and effort keeping this body alive...and I am done with ruining it, so this phone/online aggravation is a small sacrifice.

It's time I let myself into the 21st century, and got over my technology issues.

But please...don't call me. :)

Crazy Affection...

The house is quiet, and I'm finally sitting down to this computer to put on a very public display of affection...I like that word, "affection." I think that when I was a child, I was a very affectionate little girl, and that the world took that away from me. It was twisted into something perverted, stripped of its innocence, and made to make me feel like a bad person. The truth is, we have a very affectionate Father God Who longs for our affection in return, and when we've lost our understanding of the beauty of affection, we've lost a bit of our understanding for Him.

This is why God gave me an affectionate husband...this is why I am bonded to a man who irritates the living daylights out of me with affection. He walks by and pokes me in the ribs on the days that I'm the crabbiest...he taps me on the rear when he walks by, on the days when I want to turn around and throw something at him. It's not a sexual thing--it's an affectionate thing, and on the days when I'm not cranky, it's an adorable reminder of David's affection for me. Here's the definition of "affection:"

af·fec·tion(-fkshn)n.1. A tender feeling toward another; fondness. See Synonyms at love.

2. Feeling or emotion. Often used in the plural: an unbalanced state of affections.

3. A disposition to feel, do, or say; a propensity.

4. Obsolete Prejudice; partiality.

I married a man who is affectionate toward me--He has a disposition to feel toward me, a propensity toward me...a partiality for me.

I've always been taught that God loves us in every sense of the word, and that our relationships with people teach us about His character. If God is affectionate toward me like David is affectionate toward me (except God is like, a million times more), that means He embraces me wholeheartedly, lightly (that reflects His deeper love)...that when I'm not paying attention to Him, He comes by and taps me to remind me that He's there...that on the days that I want nothing to do with Him because I'm so self-centered, He grabs my hand to hold it and walk me down the road. He has a propensity toward me...God is partial to me...The very nature of my affectionate Jesus points Him to me.

God is quite fond of me.

There is love...and in love, although you want to be totally ensconced in it, completely wrapped in it, it doesn't always have to be on the emotional end of the spectrum to be felt or appreciated. I love David; he loves me, yet we don't run around acting like lovesick morons all the time. Our love for one another has an understanding and an honesty. Love changes all of the time; it's always there, but there's an ebb and flow of intensity. There's a deepening that goes beyond the emotional high, and is fine-tuned over time. In the richness of that genuine love, though, you still have to have room for the playfulness of affection.

Affection is just that--playful.

The same God Who allowed His Son to die on the cross for our sins...the same One Who loves us so maddeningly deeply...has this crazy affection for us. He's playful! He's like the dad I saw at church this morning who was sitting there playing with this son; his son would giggle like mad when his daddy would kiss his cheek. There's a deep, fearless love with a playful, agape affectionate side that we all need to remember.

When I think of dancing with God in my head (because honestly, I'm too embarrassed to even consider doing it in public), I think of standing with Him in a wheat field and spinning myself in crazy circles, arms outstretched, head thrown back, and a song flying out of my mouth....I don't even know what I'm singing, but I'm there with Him, and He's twirling and laughing with me...He grabs me into His arms (I'm never too big for my Daddy), He holds me and He shows me genuine affection...He kisses my cheek, He holds my hands, and He laughs with His little girl.

This is not the boring God in a white robe on a throne....When I see my Father, I see living, vibrant Love that laughs over me...that sings over me...that sings with me...

There are days when my eyes are clouded...where my vision is gone, and where I can't see that wheat field anymore. There are days when the tears don't stop, where it doesn't make any sense, and where I feel like I just can't take one more step.

Those are the days when David will walk by and poke me in the ribs (and risk his neck, in all honesty) and remind me, in his own silly way, that he has a genuine affection for me.

God uses this crazy man to show me that He loves me when I am blind and unlovable, that He's waiting for me in my wheat field, and that if I find the strength to simply open my mouth, the song will come....and there is where I find worship.

My absolute favorite picture of David...

This came from my office, but it also applies to me...

Forwarded from Complete Wellness Center...
"Last week, our Office Manager Cassidy met with Angelina DeWeese, a holistic nutrition coach, who has worked with hundreds of women to re-vamp their plates, minds, and outlook on food REAL sustainable weight loss. Prior to this meeting, Cassidy had lost around 40 pounds, and is now looking for ways to not only take off additional weight, but to learn ways to prepare meals for both herself and her husband to sustain that weight loss, and cook healthier foods. Meeting with Angelina provided an opportunity to begin to do just that!

Check this out:

Angelina is doing a 12-week Group Tele-class Program series for women called the "How to Lose 10 Pounds in 30 days" Series. (Not something you're going to see every day!)

She's doing this program as a way to help even more women conquer the weight loss struggle once and for all. In her words, "exactly spot your barriers and lose weight without all that anxiety, shame, and guilt, all the hidden opportunities to lose your next 10 pounds exist in your body RIGHT NOW." The time is now!

Angelina takes a very radical approach to health, wellness, and living our life's full potential... you'll see what I mean on the calls!

Here's a sneak peak of what she's got in store for you:

* Spot hidden messages that exist in your body RIGHT NOW to reduce sugar cravings (most women miss these clues and spend way to much time feeling guilty.)
* Master the art of Healthy Meals on the Go (rather than quick prepared foods, that just suck your energy)
* Leverage your time to use less time to in the kitchen preparing meals
* Have a clear idea about your bodies individual needs so you can focus on the few things that make the biggest difference
* Discover 10+ breakfast options that will have your body roaring with energy so you can focus on other things
* Learn a proven system to gracefully turn your inner crabby self OFF and turn your Inner Beauty On, so that you'll stop beating yourself up and focus on getting results!
* Shop like a pro -- you'll learn an easy way to shop on a budget to get the foods that make the biggest impact and leave all the rest
* Use your practical, easy daily self nourishing practices so your stress level can reduce exponentially, so your body will feel safe enough to get rid of the protectionary fat
* Discover the #1 most important food that help to fortify your thyroid re-up your metabolism
* ...and so much more!!



Dates & Times of the program (mark your calendar!):
Monday Evenings 6:30-8:00pm
Starting September 6th 6:30pm CST/7:30pm EST

You don't want to miss a program! And if you can't make them live, she will of course be sending out the recordings afterwards, if you sign up for the series.

To Register, click HERE

P.S Cassidy is super-excited because she will be joining the group.

P.P.S. Angelina is one of the few teachers out there who really "gets it" when it comes to embracing simple steps for accomplishing practical health goals such as weight loss and more energy. At some point "push, push, push" doesn't work anymore, and then the only choice left is to find a gentle, feminine way of achieving the same goal. This program will lead you in that direction.

Tri-Polar Exchange (Outside Looking In)

"But what if I don't WANT to feel sadness?
What if I only want to feel good things?
Don't I get some kind of guarantee in life
Because I say I
Follow You?
Don't I get a free pass
To happiness,
Because
'Jesus paid it all?'
Aren't I entitled?!?"
"Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed, and
Why should we be saved
From nightmares?"
The spoiled brat
And the woman with the wisdom
Of painful experience
Who both reside in my brain
Are arguing
And I feel caught
In the middle of this
Tri-polar
Exchange...
We are so
Insulated
That we feel any trial in life
Is a punishment
For "that other person's sin,"
Until it happens to us,
Then it's a "tribulation"
That's a teachable moment.
Really?!?
We turn down our noses at the brother
Or sister
Who grieves,
Who mourns,
Who doesn't paste on their pretty smile
On Sunday,
And we think to ourselves,
"Well, they just need more Jesus..."
As we pass them by...
"FINE, then, just leave me alone!!!
I'm fine ALL BY MYSELF!"
(Stomp, stomp for punctuation)
Sadness is not a punishment...
Loss is not a judgment...
There is no guilt in grieving.
There is also
Little mercy for mourning,
As we expect our people
To pick up as quickly as we think we would,
And get back to "normal"
As soon as possible...
It's uncomfortable to see their
Tears...
So we tell them things like
"It's all for the best."
"God has a plan for you that's just not what you expected."
"He is in control."
We should let them cry...
Let them weep...
Let them mourn...
And let them know we are here
In
Silence.
But we are generally not very good at
Keeping our mouths shut.
(I would know.)
Trust me...
There is nothing you could say that would
Make it go away...
That would
Make it "better."
I'm not 5 years old, and this is not
An "owie"
That can be cured with a kiss.
These wounds are deep,
And they occasionally fester up
And remind me that
I am not
Whole (There are pieces missing).
People who have walked this walk understand.
People who have not, do not,
And sometimes, it's hard to forgive
The "pithy" words that fall out of their mouths.
(I've been guilty of that one a few times.)
The spoiled brat
Is angry
That she didn't get her way...
That she doesn't have her
Picket fence
That she feels she should have...
That she thinks she's earned (though she's hardly put in her time).
She thinks she is due for her
Reward
Right
Now.
The woman with wisdom
Who occasionally looks me back in the mirror
Smacks me in the head and reminds me
There are no guarantees
Of an easy life;
In fact, there are only
Guarantees of
Fires
And of a
Savior Who walks you through them so closely,
You don't even smell like smoke
When you come through to the
Other Side.
The brat and the adult
Who battle within
Challenge the sadness:
Let it engulf?
Let it swamp over me?
Go hide in the blankets?
Or
Acknowledge it...
Acknowledge the reason...
Tell Him all about it...
And keep on walking?
When we ask for His will,
Do we mean it?
Are we asking for His will,
Thinking it will work out for our
Advantage,
Or are we asking for His will
Because we put our
Trust in Him
For the mountains and palm trees,
AND
For the valleys and deserts?
I listen to myself,
To the argument within,
And I know I'm not alone,
Because you have the
Same
Argument
Too.
There is what we have earned,
And what we deserve
But what He gives
Is a grace
We can neither deserve
Or earn
And it is more than enough
To bandage
The cuts, scrapes, bruises
Bruised egos
Entitled hearts
Angry hearts
Broken spirits
Shattered dreams
And grieving souls.
It is a grace that enables
That woman with wisdom
To lay down the pain
And silence the spoiled brat
Without spewing the
Frustrations that
Lay just below the surface.
It will be okay,
And there will be another
Victory
But it will require
Some time in the
Garden
Alone...

Silly little answer to a silly little prayer...

One of the guys at church preached this morning about faith, and how God answers the prayers of a righteous man. He specifically used the example of how he felt led to pray that our church's sound system needs would be met, financially, and much to his surprise (since he really doesn't consider himself much of a righteous man), someone dropped off a check to the church specifically for the sound system, and voila, our sound system rocks.
I have been looking for silverware for about 2 years. Not maniacally, not diligently, just occasionally, when the mood hits, I've gone to Macy's, Homegoods, Dillards, etc., looking for a good set of silverware. The set when we got married has partially gone AWOL, and it wasn't of a great quality; it met the need, and now needs some replacement parts. It's really a stupid thing for me to even be blogging about.
I wanted a higher-quality full set for at least 4, of a decent brand-name (with a good reputation) and a weight of 18/10 (I don't know what that means, but that's what I was told I needed to look for). I didn't want to pay more than $40, and I barely wanted to pay that. I don't remember every praying for a new silverware set, and I certainly (CERTAINLY) don't consider myself a righteous woman (I'm a wannabe).
Yesterday, when not really even thinking about my silverware, we went to a yard sale...and there I found a 65-piece set of a full-service-for-twelve and still-in-the-box set of 18/10 Oneida, and purchased it for $7.
$7 (because David didn't want to give me a $10, and told me to see if she'd take less, which, to my surprise, she did).
This is a silly little thing.
This is a silly little answer to a silly little prayer...yet I am the type to find miracles in mudpuddles, so for me, this silly little thing is a hug from God.
You see, I know someone who doesn't think that God meddles in the affairs of men, and that there's this thing called "coincidence." Not a day goes by that I don't pray that this person encounters God in the details. I long for the day when this person gets an inkling of the understanding that yes, God cares about every little aspect of our lives, and no, there is no such thing as "coincidence". He cares whether or not you have a job, whether or not I have hurt feelings, whether or not our house is in disarray, or whether or not you have gas in your car. God not only cares about the details--He loves them.
And He's big enough to care about your details as much as He cares about mine.
I have a strange relationship with God. I find it easy to see Him in something as simple as silverware, but not so easy to see His hand work in the sadness of my soul. It's a strange juxtaposition, and one I struggle with on a daily basis.
The pastor this morning talked about jumping off of a platform of faith...What if we approached God without the baggage of our disappointments, and assumed He'd do what He says He'll do? What if we stopped trying to make Him make sense in our brains?
What if we saw Him in the silverware and in the sadness--what if we trusted Him with both the big and the little, instead of one or the other?
My silverware is a silly little reminder that my God can handle my heart...and that if He cares about the silverware/lilies of the field/sparrows, then He certainly cares about my hopes, dreams, and heart's desires, and that He doesn't forget His promises for me, even when they don't make sense to the human mind...
Just a thought.

So, I met with a nutritionist....

Transparency time...
Sometimes, things come together and lead you to a huge point of revelation (I almost said "self-realization," when the Holy Spirit kicked me under the table and reminded me that all of this was His idea, LOL). Different factors come together to point you down a path, and when you actually start to walk down said path, you find there are lovely little signs along the way that tell you you're headed in the right direction. When you veer off track (which you inevitably will), there are obstacles that gradually remind you that you're out of line, and help to steer you back on your original destination, and this is the pattern life follows.
I was sitting in traffic the other day, when a scene from Office Space came to mind: Peter Gibbons is stuck in traffic. No matter which lane he gets into, the other lanes go faster. I was in traffic, trying to get to my exit, and everyone was passing me by. It felt so. Stinking. Metaphoric.
I got angry.
At God.
Probably not a good idea, but cathartic, nonetheless. Besides, I think He's big enough to handle it.
2010 has been a year of "Enough" for me, a year where I've determined to bring a new authenticity to who I am and where I'm going in life...a year in which I've continuously felt the metronome of God ticking in my heart that "It's TIME," although I have no idea what for. I've felt the need to reorganize, to restructure, to refocus, and to renovate my whole outlook on my problem areas. I've felt the need to get bad habits under control, to get debts paid off, to stop needing to have my hand held, and to stand up for what I know is right. I've felt the need to stop talking about what I want to do, and to start laying the groundwork to get off of my butt and do it. I've felt the need to stop being so burdened by shame that I can't be honest about the sins and struggles that I'm fighting, even to the One Who already knows everything about it. I've felt an anger rise up in me at a Church that consistently ostracizes it's own people, and continuously bludgeons a world that hates it, though it expects them to drop everything and love some Jesus that only points fingers instead of opens arms. I've developed some strange fear of not saying what I really think, even in my own damn blog, because I'm so afraid of what people will think that I'd rather say something funny than something true...whether it's my pastor or my boss or my sister or my husband, since when did I start letting those people dictate this thing that has my name on it?!?
I may be having my Jerry McGuire moment...and there may be repercussions....
But. I. Don't. Care. And. I'm. Tired. Of. Playing. The. Game.
Things have been said to me lately that have shocked me into dropping my gloves. This fight in me, between what I should say, and what I want to say, is coming to a halt, because I'm done. That's the other phrase that's been ringing in my ears this year: "I'm done."
I feel like I have to be done with these things, before it can be time to break free of them and move on.
This is my year to get it right, and I'm running out of time.
I had someone randomly tell me that I was having issues with communication. (And yeah, I get tired of people telling me that I always say what's on my mind. It's not true, so quit it. You have no idea what is on my mind, and I have very little idea of how to say it without shocking you, so don't tell me that I'm Ms. Verbal here. I candy-coat, I play nice, and I edit things to the point of unrecognition, and even then, I still manage to make people mad. I was raised with brutal honesty without the concern for cushioning the impact, so perhaps I lack a few communication skills. Even with that, though, I'm not saying what I'm thinking.) The person who told me I was having issues with communication had no idea how that resonated with me...they were right.
I've needed to sit down and write about a few key theological issues, and I haven't done it, because I haven't wanted to deal with the consequences of being so open about my faith. I've been bottling it, and somehow, this person caught that I was restrained. She told me I needed to let it out, and I ignored her, still in fear of the consequences.
I've felt restless in my career lately, knowing that I want to go back to school, but not necessarily knowing how I'd balance it all out...knowing that I want to write, and not understanding why it's such a huge thing with me...knowing that I have this huge passion, and not knowing what to do with it, but knowing that THIS IS NOT WORKING FOR ME...
I've struggled spiritually, because of this stifling, and I've struggled physically, as well.
I went to see a nutritionist today (www.pure-nourishment.com) and as she was asking me about my relationship with food, she said something very interesting. She pointed out that when I mentioned "writing," my whole face and voice changed. She said she could tell I was passionate about it, and that if I stifled that passion, I'd find some other method of releasing that tension, i.e., eating. I found that fascinating, and true...when I have something to say, something that has to come out, and I don't, I wind up parked in front of the TV to get my mind off of it, and then I wind up eating.
Right now, I'm sitting in front of a computer...not eating. Interesting.
As we talked, I began to put a few pieces of the puzzle together....I feel stifled. I don't feel particularly creative. I don't feel successful (and by that, I'm not thinking financial). I'm struggling with debt, compulsive habits, eating problems, and a lack of spiritual discipline and mental clarity, and I don't feel like I'm living up to the potential God has for me. I feel like a bad, worthless person...so I eat, because it makes me feel better. Hmm. Doesn't sound like I know a God of grace, love, and mercy very well, does it?
I grew up in a very strict home, at a very strict school (a ridiculously strict school) that fostered more of a religious belief, than that of a true relationship with Jesus. My parents were great at teaching us to fear God, and to fear them, but not so great at teaching us the power of forgiveness; my school was fantastic at teaching me that tight jeans made me a bad person and that cleavage was a sin, and that the Bible was nothing more than a textbook that I got candy for memorizing. (For those that went to school with me, I know that sounds harsh, but think about it. Did that Jolly Rancher you got for memorizing Isaiah 53 teach you anything about the personality of the Lamb? I'm just saying). I grew up with a performance-based belief system: If I did good, Jesus loved me. If I didn't, I got an F, and the world was over.
Somehow, I'm still living in that place.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you want to read His Word so that you can know Him better--not so you can have your Jolly Rancher at the end of the day.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you are desperate to connect with this Being that says He made you in His image...
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to dull the ache inside by eating a jar of Nutella as you numb yourself in front of the television.
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to go to the mall because you just want to be alone, and wind up spending more than you've saved (and dealing with the guilt afterward).
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally....
When you grasp the full understanding that you were created by a God Who loves you unconditionally, you don't have to feel like a failure every time you screw up, whether it's eating too much, spending too much, not reading the Bible like you think you should, saying mean things, whatever. I have a tendency to, whenever I do mess up, I do it full throttle, i.e., "If I'm going to blow my diet on a piece of cake, that piece had better be a fourth of the cake, so I can make this screw-up worth it!!!"...and that generally leads to a total bender of dietary disaster. That mentality is cutting me off at the knees in so many areas...Not feeling like a failure would, I believe, help me stop the landslide....
When you grasp even a tiny portion of knowing His love (King's love), you feel like you truly belong, and all of the other crap you're struggling with...that I'm struggling with...falls by the wayside when you fall to your knees.You stop feeling like a huge fat phony when you say you love the Lord, because you understand the genuine affection and desire He has for you, and you want with all of your heart to reciprocate it.
My spiritual issues are a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord...which, as I write this, I'm realizing needs a lot of work.
My physical/food/spending issues are a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord.
My reluctance to write, and to get it all out, is a direct reflection to how well I understand and accept the love of the Lord...and how much I trust in Him to handle the consequences, if what I say is truly what I feel like He wants me to say (which is still percolating).
I am not living a life that says that I feel loved by God. I am living a life that looks like I think I might be kinda sorta a decent person who goes to church. I am not walking on a path that says "Peace and fulfillment in Jesus." But I'd like to be.
So it starts here...on this little blog...writing the words that I know I'm supposed to say, but have been too scared to put out there for the world to see.
The gloves are coming off...(who can type with gloves on?)
The plate is being pushed away...(there's really no permanent fulfillment with food)
This is my blog, and I know why I started it...why I got away from writing like I know I should...and how I'm going to take it back.
It's time.