Waiting...

I spent some time as a teenager going on various mission trips with an amazing youth group. The running joke amongst all of the trips, was "Hurry up and wait!" It seemed like everywhere we went, no matter how hard we tried to stay on time, no one else could be bothered with something as simple as punctuality.
(My neuroses with punctuality is a whole 'nother blog. Get me started on the subject, and you may walk away with your eyebrows singed.)
We would hustle and bustle to get our group together, we'd get to our destination, and then...we...would...wait...a...really...long...time...before...anything...would...happen.....
Sigh.
"Hurry up, and wait."
It's been a long time since I've been on the mission field. I can't say that I miss the spiders, sleeping on concrete, or eating unidentifiable foods; I can most definitely say that I miss seeing other cultures, and their reactions to receiving the Gospel. We're so calloused here in the States...Other countries, it's almost like you can see a wave of peace wash over their faces. The transformation is visible in places that are open to the supernatural. Anyone who has been to a third world country knows what I'm saying--for some reason, nations that live in poverty receive the truth of the spiritual so much more quickly than those of us who are drowning in materialism. We think we can do everything ourselves--they KNOW they need help, and aren't afraid to accept it.
Doing the small amount of mission work that I did, taught me a lot. But, I have to say, the concept of "hurry up and wait" has probably been the one that's stuck with me the most.
Women that hope and dream of having a child are fighting a near-constant battle that is so personal, they rarely want to talk about it. I actually don't want to talk about it (yet it's AMAZING how many people ask me that persistent question--as if it wasn't a theme running through my head). However, it's the end of the year--what I thought was supposed to be MY YEAR, and there is no little one in my arms. I find myself teetering on a ledge that I've been trying to ignore all year long.
"Hurry up..and wait."
We were given the "all-clear" in April. I finally have the team of specialists I'll need, and the answers I was missing. The right tests were finally ordered, and the results were conclusive: I have a blood disorder called "antiphospholipid antibody syndrome." It's only an issue during pregnancy; it's treatable, and it's why my heart when wonky (scientific term) in 2006. I have the right doctors to treat it, the right medications to counter it, and all we do now, is wait...
Waiting on God can be so annoying (she laughs)...We've had this conversation before. David and I have discussed both natural birth, and adoption, with both options being open. We're both in "wait and see" mode. Yep--we spent 5 years waiting for answers, we finally got them, and now...we...wait...
I'm not known for being a patient woman.
The monthly struggle that women in this stage go through...waiting...anticipation...disappointment...waiting some more...anticipation...disappointment...It's this crazy cycle that I don't think that guys understand. Once a month, our body does this ridiculous circus that pains us physically and emotionally, and after a certain point, spiritually. Like, my flesh tells me I should be aggravated with God because there's no baby yet. "Darn it, haven't I been through enough? When is it my turn--I mean, I'm not getting any younger!!! I've waited long enough!" There's the counter-conversation: "It's not in His timing yet. I'm not risking anything because I wasn't patient enough for the Lord. This is in His hands. The only thing I can do is trust, pray, and wait."
"I'm Waiting!!!" (Princess Bride reference: 200 points!)
Grown-Up Cassidy is winning the conversation at the moment, although my inpatient alter-ego makes an appearance at least once a month. If it wasn't for the amazing faith of my rock-solid husband, I think that I'd be tearing my hair out.
This whole cycle that women go through--I've only been going through it for 6 months. There are women who go through this for 10-15 years. I don't understand how they do it. It's a roller-coaster, and it's difficult. Guys don't really have a grasp on the intricacies of the physical/emotional/spiritual craziness that we go through, but they do have to endure our flux of states. I have to give them some credit for going through it vicariously. It's a delicate waiting game. I frequently find myself wondering what in the world is wrong with me, questioning God, feeling defective--it affects so much of your heart and your life.
So, we wait...
It's exhausting, to sit and wait for what feels like ages...to be so close, but to not be able to catch the prize at the end. If people knew how many times a day I pray for the little one that I truly believe is on the way--they'd think I was crazy. I pray for the small one...I pray for David, for strength...I pray for me, physically and spiritually...I pray for my family, because I know they're terrified that we could go through that valley again...
Most of all, I pray for God's timing. Anything done outside of Him--even this--is not worth doing. I stand on that--on knowing that more than anything, this is in Him. I had hoped that 2011 would be our year for Baby, but it has turned out to be a year of answers, and of change...so...I am not going to look at this as a disappointment. If it wasn't for the answers we were given in April, I wouldn't have the hope that keeps that fire lit.
We will wait.
We will pray.
We will love.
And we will wait some more...
Until He says "It's time."
Which could be any day now...(she laughs!) (No, really, Lord! Any day now!)
:)

The Merry Christmas Blog...

(Pardon any typos--I'm posting this off of a pdf, which I'm still figuring out how to maneuver. :))
I always love getting those interesting letters from other families, this time of the year, to update us on the adventures of the people that we know. I rarely write one myself, because frankly, I don't think we're all that fascinating. We're just two people--and a dog-that are finding their way through life.
Then again....
Maybe things aren't as mundane as I think they sound.
I heard a song this year by some 'tweener band that contained lyrics they were no doubt too young to fully comprehend: "We all have a story to tell."
Everyone is interesting.
Our story might be kind of cool, but YOUR story is probably awesome. By the time all's been told, to see how the hand of God has touched all of our lives, is a common ground that we can share. "We all have a story to tell.” It’s true.
The retelling of childhood incidents is pure entertainment. I'm fortunate enough that I have both of my parents, my sisters, and my brother, and even my biological dad. David has both of his parents and all of his siblings, too (although he's lacking the fascinating hybrid of steps-and-bios that I have), and we
get together with all of them that we can, this time of the year. There are so many funny stories with my mom and dad-they're passionate people. No emotion in my household was ever expressed halfway (must be where I get it©). I can see the good and the bad in that. Fortunately, in my adult life, I appreciate the good in it more than anything else. Any joy that we celebrate, any loss that we mourn, has been centered around the love of God. That’s the greatest gift my family, and that David's family, has given us: They've shown us Jesus.
Life experiences have taken the childhood stories of Christmas and forged them into our hearts. Even as a kid, I knew the things I was reading in the Bible were not a fairy tale-1 was raised to believe in the Word as truth. There is no story greater than the one we celebrate this time of the year...Every story in our lives that we tell, comes back to This Story...A Virgin (a teenager!), a brave and faithful betrothed, angels that bear no resemblance to a Precious Moments figurine, a journey, a wicked king...a miraculous birth in a stagnant dirt-heap of a barn...The Greatest in Heaven and Earth, condensed into the
tiniest and most helpless of beings...
All of history revolves around This Story...
The Nativity scene in my parents' home is a little bit avant garde...I'm pretty sure there were no penguins in the manger, but they find their way into the barn every year. The Nativity set in my house is a tiny glass set that belonged to my late step-mother, and it stays up year-round. I've seen Nativities made of Looney Tunes characters, VeggieTales, Boyd's Bears, and just about every Enesco figurine you can think of. I'm not sure of the "proper-ness" of these renditions, but I don't really think it matters.
The time of year for our Christmas celebration, is off...our calendar is Constantinian (or something like that) and twisted with pagan religions...the tree is a pagan altar, the globes on the tree mimic Egyptian celebrations of the sun gods... Every celebration or tradition that we hold dear can be twisted into representing something we don't want it to represent. Even Christians attack various Christmas traditions for one kind of reason or another. WHAT. EVER. It’s a time that the whole world, sets apart to celebrate The Story.
This Story-A Savior Who came to this ridiculous earth, in the most undignified method possible-This Story, these facts. are the heart and soul of the salvation of man. This Jesus, this Messiah-He holds our broken hearts in the very palm of His hand, and He makes us new again by grace...Amazing, uncomprehendable Grace.
That’s what makes every story interesting.
We're two people--and a dog--who have been knocked senseless by Grace. We mess up; we fall down. He picks us back up and cleans us off by Grace. This is why we worship, this is why we sing-this is why we breathe. Grace.
This Christmas, that’s our prayer for ourselves, and for you: That you would be met face-to-face by Grace, and by the love of Jesus. That we would all understand just a glimpse of why He is worthy of whatever sacrifice He asks...that He is holy, and that He is trustworthy. That’s a lot.
2011 has been an interesting year. Things I thought I would see happen, haven't happened...so, we wait. David and I are both gainfully employed (for which we are INFINITELY grateful); he, at Convergys, and myself, at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. I am hoping to go back to school in 2012; we'll see where God takes us. Holly the Boxer continues to keep us entertained, in spite of mysterious back injury. It’s the three of us, the day-in-day-out routine, and the little things in life that never let it get boring. ©
I continue to attempt my takeover of social media, on Twitter and Facebook...@CassidyCooley. If you've found me, then you know I tell most of my life updates on there, as opposed to on actual non-environmentally-friendly paper products (because as you can tell, if I wrote on REAL paper, I'd kill a lot of trees}. Life is...life, and it doesn't stop. Fortunately, neither does Grace.
'Merry Christmas to you, friends and family. May we all run headlong into the Amazing Grace of our Savior this Season...may 2012 find us knocked
senseless by a Love we simply cannot comprehend...While the world goes crazy, may we all find a Peace that others find unreasonable...and may we all be given the chance to explain where that Peace comes from....
Merry Christmas, y'all...
Love, David and Cassidy Cooley
And of course,
Holly the Boxer

Milestones...

In the middle of worship this morning, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks: "You give me Beauty for Ashes, and Joy for my Mourning."
Brick.
In.
The.
Head.
I seriously almost doubled over.
I realized, "Hey, here we go--yet again, Cassidy's going to lose it in front of a bunch of people." I started praying, "God, please don't let me embarrass myself like this again. Please..."
I start to see four walls closing in on me...Yes, I'm still singing, but in my head, a tremendous tug-of-war is happening. I felt God say, "Stay. Play it through." It was a whisper...it was clear. "Play it through. Bring Me the sacrifice of praise."
The walls were closing in...I kept singing.
In my head, I see myself put my hands on the walls, and push them back. The heaviness that started to descend on me--the bitterness that began to creep in--lifted, and worship, in my heart, began again. I've been through this process before, but I don't recall ever seeing it quite so vividly in my head. Granted, I have a pretty vivid imagination, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't something I made up. There was a battle for worship this morning, and I don't know that it involved just me.
I really feel like a lot of us in the church struggle with the holidays--we have Missing Persons syndrome. For me, this weekend is particularly hard, true--but the whole season gets affected. It's not "what is"--we know our loved ones are in Heaven. It's "what isn't." The "what isn't (s)" are the things that hit me out of nowhere--would my five-year-old be dancing in front of the church, with the other kids? Ouch. It's a beautiful thing to see, but bittersweet. This morning (and it's happened before), it caught me in the gut--no warning. Grief sucker-punches us, but we can't let it knock us out.
It sounds so easy, when I put it in writing...
We bring a sacrifice of praise...praise when we're going along just fine, when we get what we want, and life is wonderful...and praise when the bottom falls out, the world is pear-shaped, and we can't see any Light through the fog that's buried our hearts. I've always said that for me, worship is when I feel the closest to God. It has nothing to do with singing (thank God); it has nothing to do with the aesthetics. It has to do with the fact that when we worship God, we open up that which we close off to the world. We walk around this grimy, dirty world, and we guard our hearts so closely...We are a jaded, bitter species. But when we worship, we take the bars off of the windows, and we connect, heart-to-heart, in intimacy with the One Who loves us (dirt and all).
This is a really, really tough time of year for many people. Tomorrow marks, for me, the fifth anniversary of my daughter's death, and I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm fine. This sucks. Just because I love Jesus doesn't mean this doesn't hurt--again, yes, I know she's in Heaven. I'm still missing a baby that came from my body--I have scars that are supposed to be reminders of the happiest day of my life...they hurt to look at. This is hard, and anyone who would say otherwise is kidding themselves. He doesn't make the pain go away. I saw a movie tonight where a Rabbi was talking about the death of his daughter. The interviewer said, "Weren't you mad at God?" "Furious!!" the Rabbi replied. "Didn't it affect your faith?" "Absolutely. But, I was thankful--thankful that I had Him to cry to!"
He doesn't make the hurt, the longing, the ache--He doesn't make it disappear, even though He could. I don't really understand why we go through this pain; frankly, even though I know it prepares us for other things in life, anesthesia sounds lovely. What He does do, though, is give us Someone to cry to. He gives us more than just a shoulder to cry on...He carries us in His arms. He shines His light on that "dark night of the soul," and He provides us with a love that handles the worst of our temper tantrums. He understands our grief, and He bears our sorrows.
He knows that if we understood a tenth of "what is" as opposed to our grasp of "what isn't," all of the selfish desires we have to see our loved ones again on our terms, would wash away. I believe in Heaven with every fiber of my being, and I know I'll see my baby girl again. If I even slightly grasped a corner of what it's really like, though, my heart would never ache for her on this planet again. I would be completely satisfied and at peace with where she is.
I don't get that knowledge, though--I don't get to see Heaven. I get to have faith that He knows what He's doing, and that I'll get there eventually. Faith, hope--that's the key.
That's why we worship. Because we have faith that He hears us, that He is, above all, GOOD.
This season, I hope that you see that He's good. Even if you're struggling with a loss...even if what/who you're missing is weighing on you so heavily--please know that He is good. Saying that, in the midst of grief, is one of the hardest things you'll ever say in your life, but it's so true. He is a good God, and you will make it out of the valley. Worship God, even in the midst of it. Praise Him for the extra measure of grace and peace that He'll drop on you if you ask. I know that's my prayer: "I need grace...I need peace. I need a reason to keep hope going, to keep hanging on." That's where I am...desperately clinging to grace and peace, and making myself hang on to hope. I cannot give up. He doesn't allow it, for any of us.
There's a song from the Muppets that I quoted on Facebook earlier today, anhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifd even though I quoted it incorrectly, I was pretty darn close. It's a season of "Saying Goodbye," but it's not permanent. Leave it to the Muppets to make you smile, and cry, all at the same time...
Grace and Peace to you this season...He loves you. He delights in you, even when you feel "un-delight-able."

Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching our hands, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.

Don't want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes its better to go
Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when

You're in my heart, so until then
It's time for saying goodbye.

Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart so until then
Wanna smile
Wanna cry
Saying goodbye"
--From The Muppets Take Manhattan

La la la la, la la la la
It's time for saying goodbye
La la la la, la la la la
La la la la-la la la.

Driving Blind...

Jesus sits in my front seat.
No, really--I'm not kidding.
Before you run me off to the funny farm, let me tell you a story (as I'm so inclined to do):
I struggle with fear. I have my entire life--it's the secret, paralyzing force that waits until I'm vulnerable, and then it quite literally reaches around my throat and chokes the breath out of me. There is panic, blindness, loss of logic, profanity, and a total lack of ability to focus on the truths I say and believe in. This fear strikes me the hardest while I'm driving.
I hate to drive. I think that I speed so often, just to get the driving part of my day over with the fastest (somehow, I don't think that will ever get me out of a ticket). I drive almost an hour to work each way, and my fear of driving almost led me to turn down this job--this wonderful, blessing of a job that I am most grateful for. This job is part of my calling, it's a gateway to my calling, and for me to almost walk away out of fear is so like me. I'm so glad that I had a powerful force of friends who prayed me through making the decision to take this position, even though it was a difficult transition (hey, nice rhyming!). But the drive--oh, the drive.
A few months ago, a torrential downpour hit as I was driving home. It was sudden, ferocious, and a total white-out. I couldn't see to get off of the road; I pulled over 3 times on the way home, and I went ballistic. Crying, choking, full-blown asthma attack--by the time I finally made it through our door, I practically collapsed. I don't think anyone would ever guess that this is such an issue for me, but it is--I was genuinely petrified.
Dentists make me panicky, nauseous, and irrationally violent...rats/mice/ROUS make me cringe and squeal. But driving/car incidents make me incapable of anything. It's almost a separate personality that comes out. I'm literally unintelligible from the shrieking. I'm petrified.
I've thought of things I could do--I'm spiritually opposed to hypnosis, although it's crossed my mind (especially in regards to the dentist). I've prayed about it; when there's been an issue, though, I usually find myself so scared that I can't make the words come out. Then, when the words DO come out, they're nothing I would ever repeat to anyone (except David, who tries to talk sense into me while I'm freaking out--you should hear his "psychology" tone of voice that he uses when I've flipped like this. In a rational moment, it's kinda funny. I think he tries to sound kinda like my dad, because he knows it works).
My car began acting up on Saturday--we were at a restaurant, and it wouldn't start. We futzed around with it a little bit, got it to a Wal-Mart, and dropped in a new battery. Since I was with him (even though neither one of us is mechanically inclined), I was okay--no freak-outs. We knew that a cable was a little loose, but with some jiggling, it started, so I went off to work this morning (Note: We drove EVERYWHERE Saturday and Sunday without incident). I went to work, ran some errands, went to a visitation, and suddenly, my radio began to go off and on. Not a good sign. I pulled over, jostled the cables, restarted the car, and off I went--and got lost--and my headlights started to flicker. I called David, and said I was on my way home (mind you, he had just left to go pick up a piece of furniture). I got to the top of the hill in my very rural neck of the woods, and realized I couldn't see--when I went to turn on my brights
I got
Pitch
Black
Nothing.
No oncoming cars.
No lights from my vehicle.
And a very deep ditch off of the side of the road.
By the living grace of God, I got the car off of the side of the road without falling into the ditch--about 12" off of the white line--just enough for me to get out of my car.
I didn't even have my emergency lights going...I had no idea it could be that dark outside.
I called David, calmly at first, to tell him that I had a serious issue. He said to jostle the cables, and restart the car, and I'd be fine--except it didn't work this time. I messed with the car alarm--no help. The lights worked for a few minutes, then nothing. I keep a flashlight on my keychain, that I tried to use to call roadside assistance--EXCEPT THE PHONE NUMBER ISN'T ON MY INSURANCE CARD ANYMORE!!!!!--AND AT THIS POINT I BEGIN TO FREAK OUT!!!!!
@#$%@#$%!@#$!@#$!@#$!@$!@#^&^&^t#$tr!$!@#$!$r!%$!
DAVIDYOUHADBETTERSTOPWHATYOU'REDOINGTURNTHATTRUCKAROUNDANDGETHERE!!!!ICAN'TBELIEVETHISISHAPPENINGWHYINTHEHECKCAN'TWEFIXCARSWHATTHE@#@@#DOIDONOW?!@#$!@#$!@#$!#@$@ And that's the highly edited version. '
Oh, the shame...
Wherever he was, I didn't know how long he'd be, so I abandoned my beloved Camry and began a 1/2 mile trek up the hill from Hell. By the time I got to the top, between the panic, the blood pressure, the cold (BTW, thanks, Dad, for teaching me to always keep a light-colored jacket in my car. And for the mace.), the anger, or the very steep incline, by the time I got to the top of the hill I couldn't breathe. Full-blown asthma attack that I'm still trying to shake--and I have no one to blame but myself.
Couple that with the fact that David no sooner comes and rescues me, but he gets to my car and it STARTS RIGHT UP...and now I feel HORRIBLE.
Stupid.
Panicked-for-nothing.
And physically awful, because I know how dangerous asthma attacks/freaked-out blood pressure can be for me, but I still let myself get that bad.
Don't get me wrong-my car was messed up. He drove it to our house (1 mile away--so close!!), and as soon as he turned it off, it wouldn't start again without cranking down the cables. We'll cross that bridge tomorrow, during daylight.
Either way, like the rainstorm, it was another classic case of me being in a pinch, and rather than pausing/being rational (granted, I tried that for like, 30 seconds), or praying it through (which should be the first thing I do), I freaked out. I said mean, terrible things to my husband (which I feel like an @$$ over--especially since the car started when he barely looked at it), I didn't trust God, and I'm not even sure I properly thanked Him for keeping me from ditching my car. I let fear win--I drove blindly, without faith, and without responsibility.
David's already forgiven me, which says something about him, and I've totally forgiven him (I'm sexist--I think that just because he's a guy, he's Mr. Fix-It, which is not always the case). Fear is such a nasty thing, though--it sends you into such an awful tailspin. Grace gets us out of it--if we let it, it keeps us from getting into it in the first place.
I'm such an imperfect creature, and I hate it when I have that reminder shoved so glaringly in my face. Incidents like this are the ones I need to have the sense to reflect on, the next time I'm broken down, to keep me from jumping into that mudpit of fear, blame, and highly-consequential anger.
We are never "driving blind." Jesus is always with us, even when it doesn't look that way--that realization is the only thing that can truly conquer those paralyzing fears. I hope I get that through my thick head before my next driving-related incident!!! For David's sake, if not mine!!!!! (God bless David Cooley--I'm pretty sure he should be nominated for some kind of sainthood after this)...

"Hold That Baby!"

My Aunt Florence died over the weekend.
Florence Elizabeth Lutz.

She wasn't really my aunt.

My family dynamic is really, REALLY hard to describe (it's harder still when you have memory loss). I'd try to tell you how it all works, but I'd probably get it all wrong. We have adoption, steps, "blood," and a whole lot of "like a ___ to me" that all somehow ties in together; I think I'll truly understand it all only when I get to Heaven. Florence and her husband Gene were a like an extra set of parents to my mom, before she was adopted. Gene and his sister (Aunt Mary?)(or maybe it was his mom), and my Grandpa Myers raised my mom, and then he met Florence (and Grandpa met Marie), and the rest is history...although, in my mind, it's a very confused history.
Florence was funny, kind, sweet, and quite...ahem...round. Her house was always too hot, smelled funny, and TBN was always BLARING on the television. Going over to her little apartment was never something I really looked forward too, but my mom would always remind me how she could die at any time, and "wouldn't you feel bad if you didn't go see her?" Yep--I'm an A+ student of the Pseudo-Italian/Jewish School of Guilt. :)
Gene and Florence were around quite a bit when I was little, although I only remember Gene as being very, very ill--he died when I was really young, and my memories are vague. I knew he worked for Chrysler, and that he and Florence married late in life. They never had any children, and I think that was because of something that happened to Gene as a young man. Mom was as close to a kid as Florence ever had, and she loved her fiercely. I truly believe that the prayers Florence prayed over Mom are why she's a Christian today.
I protected my daughter ferociously. Not many people had the chance to see her at the hospital, and I'm not much for company (when I'm healthy), so not many people saw her in my home. Florence is the only person who's home we visited with Hannah, outside of my parents--mom said she really wanted to "hold that baby!", so on Thanksgiving, 2006, after the meal was finished at my parents' house, off to Florence's stuffy little apartment we went.
She held Hannah, cuddled her...even though she was starting to just dust the edges of dementia, she loved on that baby girl. Hannah, in that weekend, got to meet my Milo and Edna, and Aunt Florence--my favorite "old people."
They're all gone, now...
There's a jealousy that strikes me at every funeral I go to, now...they all get to see my Hannah again before I do. It's so strange...
Florence was ready to go. Nary a tear was shed today, by those of us who knew her. Florence wanted to see her Gene, and meet her Jesus. I've never known anyone who was so ready to go to Heaven. She'd talk about what she'd see when she got there, to anyone who would listen. Heaven was her favorite subject...Jesus, Gene, and to "hold that baby!" in eternity.
Florence was one of the few people that could say those "old lady" things to me, and I would listen, because I knew she meant it. She'd say to me, "I can't wait to meet Jesus! I'm gonna see GENE! And I'm gonna HOLD THAT BABY!!!" She'd smile--but the first time she said it to me, I had to walk out of the room so she wouldn't see me cry. I wasn't ready for that, yet, even though I knew it to be true. She said it a lot, any time she saw me: "I'm going to meet Jesus, be with my Gene, and I'm gonna Hold That BABY!" Florence struggled through diabetes, blood pressure issues, obesity, some weird form of cancer--all kinds of stuff, and never lost her sense of humor. Her favorite saying was "I SWAN!" which I found out today, is the "nice lady" way of not saying "I swear"--'cause that's not Christian. :)
Today, in saying goodbye, I went up to the casket and patted her hand. It's the first time I've touched a body in a casket in 5 years. Someone at the nursing home had painted her nails with tiny flowers on them--something that I know Aunt Florence would have loved. She loved pretty things, sparkly things, glittery things--Mom and I come by it honestly. Apparently, when they painted her nails that way 2 weeks ago, she told her friends with a big smile, "Looky! I've got my nails painted like the YOUNG GIrls! (I SWAN!)" She was so darn funny (but you'd never hear her say "darn!"). She was a down-home girl from Indiana, even though she was 90.
There was a look of peace about her in that casket...something that made me want to go up and pat her hand, even though I know she's not in that body anymore. She was ready to go...ready to leave this world behind, ready to meet Jesus. Who can cry, at a funeral like that? Who can mourn? Not anyone who has that same hope.
They touched up her nails for today, and put her in a beautiful blue dress. Whoever did her hair made it up just right for today, and she looked amazing--but I'm positive that was the peace in her expression, and not her makeup. Florence died in her sleep (like all of my "old people," thank God), and she met Jesus on His terms...
I can't imagine what or who she's seeing...I know she's with her beloved Gene...
And I know she's "holdin' that BABY!"

Distracted...

Can’t get you out of my head…
Can’t stop thinking about you…
Can’t stop thinking about
10 perfect toes and
Feet that looked
Just
Like
Mine…
You looked like your daddy…
You looked like your auntie…
You looked like an angel,
And far too soon
You became one.
I’m trying to get my day done,
Trying to get through the mundane
Every day
To pay the bills and be
A good wife
But really,
I am
So
Distracted
By thoughts of
Ten
Perfect
Toes…

Love, Joy, Peace...And The Beat Goes On...

Isn't it funny, that when you go through trials in your life, you go in one of 2 directions:
1. Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faith, Gentleness, and Self-Control
2. Anger, Rage, Tears, more Rage, more Tears, and a few good blogs...
Hmm.
And then there's option 3: All of the above.
I have a certain peace in the knowledge of Heaven.
I have faith that Jesus loves me when I am unlovable.
I would like to think that I'm usually a good person (until you hurt a child around me, and then I will maul you like an angry she-bear).
I would like to think that I'm typically kind (unless you count the times that I mentally play "What Not To Wear" as I'm people-watching at the mall).
I am patiently awaiting the conception/pregnancy/birth of our next child (but God, if You'd just hurry up with it already, I'd be totally happy with that).
Self-control: Oh, we'll tackle that later--did someone mention brownies>
The fruits of the Spirit have always fascinated me. Study them in the Greek, and it's pretty cool. I'm convinced I'll never honestly get there, as I'm a totally corrupt and broken human being.
Weekends like this convince me of that.
It's been a roller-coaster. Yesterday was my 5th Share Walk for Remembrance and Hope. 5 years on this journey...I'm supposed to be (in my own little world, where I get my way) planning a 5th birthday party for Hannah. Her birthday's 10/30. No--it's fine. I don't expect anyone to remember that. It would be incredibly selfish of me to.
The rest of the world kept turning....
Mine is turning, of course...just a little bit slower than some.
Instead of a Finding Nemo party, or a Pretty Princess party, I coordinated a group of people who either suffered their own loss of a child, through miscarriage, neonatal loss, or stillbirth...or who knew someone who had (um, that's me). These people gathered to show support and respect, and hope for the future.
The whole 5th birthday thing has me caught. It's like I've tripped, and can't get my footing again. I'm genuinely snagged, and I feel like sitting here like a child, until I can't cry anymore.
Just when I start to think I'm fine, something will come along to knock me back down again (this time of the year).
I've gone from anger...to sadness...to loneliness...to laughing about God-knows-what...to being so enraged that I had to leave room full of people (before I embarrassed myself with an outburst)...to crying some more...to finally laughing again. And now I'm drained and exhausted, and wondering if this will ever stop hurting.
Survey says: XXX
Nope.
This will hurt until the day I die.
This place will always be tender...the "injustice" of it will always be an Achilles' heel. The fact that drug-addicted crackheads have babies that are thrown away, while I have empty arms, will never stop being a breaking point for me--it will never stop causing me to question God. I will never be satisfied with not knowing "why."
I don't ask the question, most of the time, but it's unspoken. This God, this Being Whom I have placed my heart with--He makes no sense to me. His ways are beyond my ways, and I have to accept that. Do I have to agree? Do I have to like it?
Do I have to hide the fact that my faith continues to be affected by my daughter's death?
Is God so small, that He can't handle knowing that I'm still struggling with being angry with Him, sometimes?
If the God Who created the universe can't handle my temper-tantrums and broken heart, then He's not much of Who He says He is, is He?
I am allowed to be angry (but not to live in anger).
I am allowed to be sad (but not to live in sadness).
I am allowed to scream "JUSTICE!" and know that as long as we are in this earthly home, there isn't any.
I am allowed to ask God what the heck is going on?!?
He might answer me; He might not.
I don't understand Him, but I do not doubt Him.
I question His love for me, but that's only because I see myself as a disgusting mess of a person--I don't love myself all that much, but His Word says He does. I have to take it as truth, whether I'm feeling it or not.
I'm on a roller coaster, but He's on it with me. In fact, He's the only One keeping me on the tracks. On my own, I'd jump.
The fruits of the Spirit show us how well we're grounded, in times of trial. When we're struggling, do we still have faith? Do I still have faith?
Do I still love?
When my heart is broken, do I still show gentleness for others--is my self-control affected?
I'm not sure what my grade would be right now.
I've skipped over "joy."
I heard a sermon recently on joy, and it made me angry enough that it's for another day.
Joy is a state, not an emotion...
Joy is something deep within, and very misunderstood.
Joy is something that you find in the strangest of places...when you notice the humor of facing death, and you laugh at the joke (even though it's totally inappropriate).
Unless you've truly grieved, you cannot know true joy, because you don't understand the total dichotomy.
Joy is the flashlight in the Valley of the Shadow of Death...

The fruits of the Spirit show us who we are, and where we need to go. They're a Bucket List, or a litmus test, for our walk with God. I think that they are different, in different areas of our lives--I have faith in this area, but not here; I have love in this area, but not here. My goal is to find those fruits, grab them, and spread them out, perhaps a little thicker in the tender areas, than in others. My goal is to hold onto them, even when I'm on the Roller Coaster...

There is peace...there is love...
There is faith...there's even gentleness.
I have patience...I could always be kinder
Goodness...self-control is a goal...
And there will always be...
In the midst of the tornado...
Joy.
Because He says so.

Everything Is Alright...

I will tell you everything is okay..
Everything is perfect,
But He is the Healer of our hearts,
And He knows where we are broken...

Everything is alright
When you look through the eyes of mercy.
Everything is alright
When you fall apart into the arms of grace.
Everything is alright
When the One Who catches you
Has carried the weight of the world...
Who are you, to Him?

I know what this looks like;
Everything is a mess,
But Who can wash away our disasters
Like the One Who created the stars?

Everything is alright
When you're seen thru the eyes of Love...
Everything is alright
When you're hiding in the shadow of His wings...
Everything is alright
When the One Who picks up the pieces
Was broken before there was time...
You are all, to Him

There is nothing like the love of Jesus...
There's no healing like the wholeness in Him.
And even when I find myself
Hiding in the sand of isolation.....
He is there...

And everything is alright...

Permission.

I am fragile. I will smile at you, and I will tell everyone--even my husband--that I am fine. Once I'm alone, though, the defenses drop, and I'm face-to-face with the reality that I am so very fragile.
I can act like I can hear your issues; I can quote the Scriptures (but not the references); I can smile and sing, and you wouldn't know the difference.
I am so very fragile.
I keep saying it, because I find myself shocked by the mere admission--much less the REALITY of it. I'm a freakin' mess, and I hate being by myself because that's what I'm faced with. Everything just seems so much scarier when I'm alone...there is genuine anguish that occasionally rises up. Today, I feel like I've been punched in the face.
I'm not bouncing back...and I am still by myself.
God has heard it all today--yes, I know, don't be trite. I'm never TRULY alone. But when there are people in the general vicinity, I don't have permission to verbally get everything out of my system. 9 days out of 10, there's actually not much to vent. God and I converse throughout the day, so He hears it all. On that one day out of 10, though--on that rare day, when being alone is the worst place I could be--the things that God hears me say make me feel awful.
I was raised to follow Jesus. I am from a Godly (realistically Godly) home, I went to a Godly (unrealistically Godly) Christian school, I married a Godly (realistically Godly) guy, and I go to a Godly (realistically/unrealistically Godly) church (we can define that some other time:). I was raised that you follow Jesus no matter what, you accept things as His will, and you don't ask the tough questions.
What happens, though, when life forces you to ask Him the tough questions?
Here's what happens:
He loves you.
I have said things to my Father that I would NEVER let anyone else hear. I sat at a cemetery today, at my daughter's grave, and I said things out loud, that I didn't even realize I was struggling with....not just the things that I'm STILL struggling with, 5 years later, but new questions, new realizations, new frustrations, and that ever-present heartbreak that never really goes away.
"Christianese" tells me that Jesus heals every pain.
I lost my child. I lost a chunk of my heart, and I will NEVER get that back. Does Jesus heal even that? You betcha. Does it leave ridiculous scars? Unless you've been through this, you wouldn't understand. Of course, it leaves scars.
I have a scar on my foot from a surgery I had, 5 years ago. Most of the time, it's fine. You wouldn't notice it if I didn't point it out.
That scar will swell up from time-to-time. It will turn red; it will puff up, and it will make my dress shoes uncomfortable. That's how I feel.
I'm healed through the worst of losing my girl. Occasionally, though, the scars puff up, and I feel like my heart will break right out of my chest. Today, at the cemetery, was one of those times.
Don't give me the church answer--I already know and believe it.
I am acting on my license to grieve.
I have permission to cry.

What I don't have, and I've said it before (as a reminder to myself, more than anything), is permission to stay here. That, as a Christian, we don't get. It's not "sucking it up;" rather, it's going to Jesus for comfort. It's falling into His arms, and knowing that He hears our heart's cry. He knows our sorrows, and He hurts for us. He also picks us upright, and gives us what we need to cry--just a little--and get back into battle.

My heart hurts, and I'm feeling more than just a little broken right now. I attended a visitation last night, for a young firefighter who passed away. He had no idea how much he was loved...I didn't know his parents, but to be in that receiving line, and see that father reach down on occasion and pat his son's chest, cut me to the quick. That's one more set of parents who have to say goodbye. That's one more daddy without a son; one more mother who's heart is broken. By the time we got to where we could shake their hands, I couldn't even speak. There's a certain group of women, myself included, who have lost a child and understand that grief. It's identifiable, and it's an unspeakable club to be a member of. That mother's expression--that look in her eyes--I still see that, on occasion, in the mirror.

I am not the same person that I used to be. I'd like to say that the process changed me for the better, but I'll never know that, will I? I'll be "celebrating" a 5th birthday that isn't, at the end of this month. Every leaf that falls has a tendency to smack me in the face with the reality of what isn't. I don't want to feel like I'm ramping up to October 30th...I don't want to feel like the "Monster At the End of This Book" (I've already been through that phase--that was so 2007). I refuse to make this some dramatic, weepy, cry-on-my-pillow month-long fiasco.

I am fragile, yes.

This will be okay, possibly as soon as David gets home (he always makes me smile, and besides--I don't want him to see me like this). And when he's not here, I'll get creative in my coping mechanisms (today involved my first attempt at homemade bread, making a pot roast, grocery shopping, getting physical therapy...sigh).

Between the visitation last night, and the cemetery this morning, with the first of October looming on the horizon, I'm a mess. Sitting down and blogging it out is helpful, but then I have to deal with the don't-feel-sorry-for-me fears. Whatever.

I am finding strength (yet again--how does this work?!?) in a God that never seems to run out, or turn me away...or tell me to get over it, or preach at me, or treat me like a mutant. It's amazing to me, how He just lets me cry.

He knows I'm fragile, and His Strength is Perfect....
He gives me permission to cry...
He loves me relentlessly, and His arms are always open...

Intimate vulnerability...

I can't believe it's been two months since I last sat down and wrote a blog. That's ridiculous. Even I know that if I don't blab incoherently for a while in cyberspace, pent up emotions will get to me. So, here I am..."I'll bring the wine; You bring your scarred psyche." (Sad, when I start quoting Batman Forever. Worst Batman of all, truth!) Anyways, here I am.
I don't really have anything to say. I'm in a weird place of taking things day-by-day, which is where, I suspect, God wants me. I've had a few trials over the last few months, but nothing that He couldn't handle. I've put up with some garbage, had some flung at me, and at the end of the day, He washed me off. He's good at that. He even lets me start over...I love how He rescues me.
The one consistent thing that I keep getting in my spiritual life is vulnerability. I hear this refrain: "Open the windows; tear down the walls. Open the doors for Your people of praise. Open the windows. Tear down the walls; open the floodgates for Your people of praise; we're Your people of praise." I hear Him saying that worship is the place to take off the armor...worship is the place where we lay down all of our fears and burdens, and we crawl into His arms to rest. It's the place where He, as the Lover of our souls, welcomes us in to the secret places.
We are so guarded, as people. We're so afraid of our own faults and scars, but He's not.
At this point, I take the next paragraph that I wrote, and I scrap it. I scrap it because I want to write about intimacy with God...but there's a rawness there that I'm not wanting to put online. I have so much to learn...and some things I have to ponder in my heart.
I am in a season where I simply want to hide under His wings. I'll eventually have to come back out again, but for now, this is where I stay. I am not calling it "hibernation;" that would be too seasonally-appropriate. I just have the sense that He's got a lot to say...so I'm listening.

Mary...

We run...we maintain an unbelievable pace.
We never stop...we pause for a quick moment--
Say a quick prayer...
Do our "Christian" duty...
And we're off again.
We have so much to DO
"For the kingdom."
It is a never-ending
Chaos of
Motion...
We
Never
Stop.
I
Never
Stop.
Is there any greater honor
Than to be called to
His table?
It's a banquet,
Not a Drive-Thru.
How can we sit and
Savor
His blessings
When He's still a
Stranger
And we have
Things to do
Places to go
People to see?
Is there any greater honor
Than to be asked to
Sit at His feet,
To hide
Under the shadow of
His wing...
To be at the place that's the
Closest
To
His
Heart?
Would we know?
Have we taken the time?
Martha gets a lot done...
But Mary--
Mary knows
The Heart of Jesus.
Mary
Finds
Rest...

"In peace, I will both lie down and sleep; for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."--Psalms 4:8

"God, What Do You Mean, I Have A Career?!?!?"--Fairytales and Faith

Rewind 20 years:
A young girl sits in her tiny bedroom, surrounded by childhood leftovers--Cabbage Patch dolls, Barbies, teddy bears, and a random assortment of other "stufties"--and thinks about life. She can't get rid of any of the toys, because they, along with an admirable book collection that inspires her imaginary world, are her friends. No, she doesn't talk to them--at least, not anymore--but she does sleep with as many as her twin bed will hold. She's an avid reader, and the stories she tells herself as she falls asleep at night would hopefully, one day, grace the pages of a bestseller.
She has dreams.
She dreams of going to college...of meeting the right guy, someone tall and handsome, someone who makes her laugh...she dreams of getting married, of having a family, and of raising them differently than she perceives that she is being raised. She dreams of telling stories, of teaching, of writing books and of touring the country, telling people about the Jesus she knows...
She dreams, more than anything, about feeling loved (which, at this age, is something the enemy has stolen away from her)...
She dreams of her children....she dreams of things that can't be written, of hopes fulfilled...
She dreams of feeling like she belongs.
"In 10 years," she says, "I'll be 23. I'll be out of college, I'll be married, I'll start a family, and everything will be perfect."
Everything would go in order.
This chaos, this instability that she wrestles with--it will be over. Things will go exactly as planned, with the white picket fence, and a permanent smile. Everything will be just the way she wants it--because after all, God wants His people to be happy, right?

You know, when you place your life in God's hands, and you ask Him for His will, He has a way of burning the pages of your fairytale.

I started this blog with the flashback, because it's an image I find myself thinking about quite frequently. I remember when all I wanted to be was a wife and a mother. It was something that was dropped into my heart from an indeterminate age, and it's something I have never (and will never) let go of. I could never get rid of my dolls, as a child, because I was their caretaker (to this day, I have 2 teddybears that will probably have to be buried with me, 'cause they're staying put!). There has always been that internal need to take care of something. I really did think that somehow, I'd have it all--I could be a stay-at-home mom, and have a writing/speaking career (at one point, I wanted to be a singer along with that, but the reality of being average set in, so music became a thing for worship alone--not a bad thing).
Someone said to me in college (and I quote), "You know, if you were to ever go into business, you'd be incredibly good at it--you'd be one amazing corporate bitch." That's what he said--and it was a pastor that said it. I laughed, at the time, and said, "Yeah, right--that world is not for me." It was meant to be a compliment to my tenacity, administrative abilities, and overall anal-retentiveness. He didn't know it, but those words hit me like an arrow to the heart.
They lodged in.
I find myself, in the present time, in the corporate world. 10 years, in the medical field (in an administrative capacity), and I have found, even in small business, that I can be a total corporate B (yep, that's a capital "B"). I actually like the thrill of the hunt, so to speak, in making an insurance company do what they're supposed to do. I like the detail of untangling accreditation nightmares, or cleaning up billing disasters. I've recently switched fields, and taken a position at a university. It's my first time working for a big company, and I'm realizing that once I get settled in, I have the potential to go somewhere--to "be somebody," if I go down that path. I'm definitely continuing my education (the dream of being a writer/speaker is VERY much alive), but apart from that, I'm seeing some potential.
But then something happens...
Those words come back to haunt me.
"Corporate bitch."
Am I?
Really?
Is that who I'm meant to be?
I know I'm designed to work. Even when I'm "off," I still find myself completely unable to be a slacker. I actually mentally schedule in time to slough off. The brief times of unemployment that I've had, I probably worked the hardest at home, for the most part, because I can't stay still (yep, I have a total Mary/Martha problem, FOR SURE). So, I will always work, in some capacity...but corporately?
I don't know.
Hardly any of my friends are so-called "career" women. They may have been, at one point, but most of them are stay-at-home moms. I'm not hugely fond of the term "housewife;" in fact, I find it derogatory. "Susie Homemaker" makes my skin crawl. SAH moms are, to me, incredibly gifted, because I don't think I have the patience to stay at home chasing after a two-year-old. I think I'd go nuts. Since I'm not around kids very often for long periods of time, it takes me a long time to get acclimated to having them around. I find myself short on patience and struggling to breathe. I'm just being truthful. I wonder if that will change, when it's my own children? If some magic thing will go off, and I'll never want to leave the room they're in?
Part of me says yes...and part of me hopes that I'll be able to compartmentalize and leave so I can continue to provide for my family.
I wasn't married with children by 23. I was married at 27, and by 29, I'd lost my only child. We have never had a picket fence, and through a strange series of events, the market wiped out the lucrative position my husband held for over 10 years. The things I always thought would happen? They didn't happen.
You know what DID happen?
God never left.
If I could go back to that 13 year-old little girl, I'd have a few things to say to her...
1. Your parents are doing the best they know how to do. Their lives weren't easy, growing up, and you don't know about the anguish they're facing. Your mother loves you (but she's hormonally imbalanced and totally needs a hysterectomy--Don't laugh, it was true! She finally had one when I was in college, and turned into the coolest Mom EVER!). Be patient with them--far more patient than a teenager should have to be, but be patient. They really do love you.
2. Keep praying for your future husband. He's coming. It's not where, when, or who you think, but he's The One. Give him a chance (I did. He's awesome).
3. The love that you have in your heart, that's dying for a chance to get out--don't waste it on fairytales. There is a realness that's worth holding out for.
4. You can't always get what you want, and you won't. Asking God for His will is the most painful thing you will ever do in your life, because it means giving up control. It means giving up the white picket fence, the writing and the speaking, and all of the hopes and the dreams that go with it. It means laying all of that down for one thing, and one thing only: Jesus. Your body and your mind have wishes and dreams, and it's painful to let them go....But...Your spirit has desires engrained into the heart, and those are the things that the Father has put there--these are the things that will cost you everything, because those are the things He made you for. They will break you, strip you, and drop you to your knees, which is right where He wants you. And when you get there, and He pulls you into that calling that your heart aches for, everything you've been through will be totally worth it.

My 33 year-old self looks back at the blissfully delusional 13 year-old self, and sees a lot of longing. I ask myself if somewhere along the line, I blew it? Did I miss God, and the rest of my life is judgement? Was I supposed to "live the dream," and be that stay-at-home mom with a side-job of writing/speaking, and did I knock myself out of commission with bad choices? Or was this His "Plan A" all along? Have I merely been on a side-track, and I'm getting it all back together now, 10 years later? Or has it taken all of this--all of the craziness, all of the heartache, all of the rip-it-all-down-and-start-over, to get me back where He wants me? Is the corporate life really where I'm supposed to stay? (Stay tuned, kids, for part 2!!!!)
There are the things I always wanted, and there is the reality of my life. There is a certain envy of my friends, and there is a definite noticing that I am not the same ("one of these chicks is not like the other!"). There is a longing for that life....there is an honest look at where David and I are spiritually, physically, and financially, and the realization that we are not those people, right now...and there is hope that maybe someday, we will be.

This is not how I thought my life would be...but this is where He has taken me. So, for the 13 year-old me, who longed for marriage and motherhood, above all things, I would say this (as I declare every single day): "Your will be done, on earth, as it is in Heaven."

All My Single Ladies: A Call to Married Women

This blog has been sitting on my heart for a week.
I think I'm ready to write.
I called this blog "All My Single Ladies: A Call to Married Women" for a reason that is weighing on me...it's one of those frustrating things that you know something has to be done about, but don't have the time to do it yourself...So I'm putting it out here, in cyberspace, and I'm hoping it gets seen.
Single ladies, you are noticed.
I've been asked quite a few times, as I try to become more sociable (it's so AWKWARD!), how my husband and I met. The question is always answered with a smile--someday, I'll tell it in a blog, 'cause it's funny. Let's just say that it involved a brother-like friend, a baby in a kitchen sink, a stupid e-mail forward, and a killer pair of high heels.
There is NO REASON on earth that there should have ever been a second date.
God had other plans...and yep, it was a total cliche: Right place, right time, God-ordained. This man, that I had surrounded in prayer since I was 14 years old (thanks, Donna Shelton, for that teaching, way back when), was real. Yes, Virginia, he DOES exist.
Single ladies, HE DOES EXIST.
I've had a few conversations lately with my single girlfriends. Their ages vary...their careers are vastly different. These women have 2 things in common: They love the Lord. They hate being single.
My heart breaks for them.
There's something painful, about wanting something SO BAD, that you have no control over. It's strange, how I identify with that deep, heart-wrenching longing, in a different way...I can't create life, any more than my single gals can create a husband. It's totally in God's hands, and boy-oh-boy, wouldn't we put Him on fast-forward if we could?
Sigh.
His will is worth the wait.
Single ladies, HE DOES EXIST. That guy is out there. Single guys, if you're reading this (I don't think any guys read this blog, including my hubby, and that's okay), where you at? When are you going to man-up and notice the amazing array of Godly women that surround you like the most fragrant of perfumes?
Our church is full of beautiful, amazing, focused, Jesus-loving single women. I see them every Sunday, and I have to wonder what in tarnation is wrong with the boys? WAKE UP! Look!!! They're gorgeous, inside and out, and you don't find that anymore!!!
Single ladies, HE DOES EXIST.
Please, don't lose heart. I know that "hope deferred makes the heart sick;" I know it better than anyone. Don't lose hope. I don't have an easy answer for you, other than to tell you to hang on--don't let being single make you bitter. Don't let it corrode your heart. Hang on.
I could give you Scripture references; I could tell you pithy sayings, make a few jokes, and point you in the direction of an appropriate devotional. It would do neither of us any good. Your heart hurts, plain and simple. You have a heart's desire, for a mate, and it's not happening. It sucks.
So, here's the call to married women:
Married ladies, these are your sisters. We have our families...I have a job, a husband, bills to pay, and a household to run. It's easy for me to get caught up in this world, and to forget the loneliness I felt before I met David. Our single sisters need our prayer(and I don't mean all of them--some of them are happy being single, and that's great. This blog is meant to focus on the ones who AREN'T happy being single. I don't mean to generalize anyone, so please don't take this the wrong way. If you're happy being single, good on 'ya). I'm not organizing a prayer group for this. I'm asking the married ladies of the church to commit to praying individually (and if you're already in a prayer group, add this to the list)and as a family, for the single girls and guys in our church. This isn't to jump-start a singles ministry or to add another church function to your prayer list. This is about being responsible to take care of people in our church who are struggling with where they are, as a single person. I'm focusing on the women, because I can relate to that heart's desire. Single guys, again--not that I think you read this--need prayer too. Wives, encourage your husbands to pray for the single guys. And while I'm on a bandwagon, encourage your husbands and these single guys to hang out. The singles need mentors, and the husbands need fellowship. Guys need Godly examples.
Married women, let's step up. I don't care how long you've been married--you know that once that ring goes on, there's a change. You feel like a puzzle piece that's been properly locked into another, and you feel that in your spirit. David is the other half of me--he's everything I prayed for, come hell or high water. I am sad, for the ladies that want that, and don't have it. I'd like to be a part of praying that in.
Our single ladies need encouragement, so as not to give up...they need direction, in knowing the difference between Godly expectation and vanities (ask, if you want me to clarify that). They need to know that "settling," when you're talking about a covenant, is a ticket to disaster--it's worth the wait. They also need to learn that they are amazing women, and that being single is NOT a form of rejection--there's an assault on their self-esteem that's taking place, and it's wrong.
Married women, can we do that? Can we agree to pray for our sisters? We love them, don't we? Let's lift them up, and encourage their faith and their values. If you have anything to add to this, leave me a comment on the Facebook page. This has been burning in my heart for a week, so your thoughts/prayers/support for our single community is appreciated.

No reason--just rhymes (and a little writer's block)

If I hadn't flunked music theory,
This would go much faster.
I can't quote the Circle of 5ths,
But I have friends who have it
Tattooed on their
Elbows (thanks, C.J.!)...
So,
Here goes.

It's midnight, when He comes to me
Spinning words around my head
And I just can't sleep
So here I am in front of
The keys I can play
And the music is in what I can say...
Of course, as soon as I sit down,
It's a total let-down.
My mind goes totally blank
To be frank
That key marked "delete"
Just might be the death of me
Because my screensaver
Just kicked on...
I have nothing to say.

If I go back in that bedroom,
As soon as my head hits the pillow...
Words
Will
Flow...

It's super-easy for me
To get caught up in the He-
said-she-said
Why-her-not-me
Triviality that
Trips me...
Falling flat on my
Face...
Grace
Catches up with me
When I'm trying to sleep
I think He's caught on
That it's the only time of day
When I'm quiet...
Silent...
Shh...
Then He finds me,
Holds me,
Hides me,
Intertwines His hands in my brain
And starts the game
of association in my
Head.
He says,
I say,
We say,
He wins
And I begin to laugh at the
Funny things
He links together
In ways only we
Communicate.
He speaks our own language
In my twilight.
Some might think
I'm crazy
But He knows
It's true...
He is, too.

Love knocks on the door of
My brain
At insane times of the night
And I'm not
Complaining because
It's our game
And it's how
I
Fall
Asleep...
It's how
I
Stay
Alive...
He plays
Hide-and-seek
with
His children
And He always finds
Us
First...

I don't mind
that I'm awake...
At midnight.
So
Is
He.

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary....

How DOES your garden grow???

Ah, the garden. What a place...this mysterious place,where something starts from a tiny little speck, and, through hard work, great fear and wondering, sweat, showers, and dirt, eventually becomes something useful...something wonderful...something we hoped for, but didn't really think we could accomplish without mom (or Paige Clausen) holding our hands...
April, 2011

May 8, 2010


It's amazing, the changes that can happen in just 8 weeks.
This little flower garden (loaded with perennials), my little vegetable pots (spinach, lettuce, cilantro, rosemary, garlic chives, tomatoes), and my hanging pots (begonias, marigolds, and impatiens) are a trial effort for me. If this goes well, David and I will attempt to put in raised garden beds in our backyard next year. I realize that this may seem trite, country-fied, and silly to some people, but to understand the feeling of pride I have in my garden, you have to understand why I put the thing in, in the first place.
I have never successfully "raised" anything (you can see where this is going). Not one plant has ever blossomed under my care. I have always said that "everything I touch dies," until that phrase began to cut off my oxygen supply. I started to think it was true, for more than just plants.
It began to suffocate me--I couldn't keep anything alive...at all. The mere mention of a garden would hurt my heart, because it seemed indicative of so much more. Last year, though, the Holy Spirit began to bring the concept of a garden to my thoughts until I could finally ignore it no more.
"A garden? Me??!? I don't have a green thumb! I can't grow anything, I mean, have you SEEN my pathetic excuse for a yard/flower garden?!?!? David had put in some daisies and some green thingy a few years ago, and the indestructible holly bushes will never die, but everything's unkempt! I mean, a CAT took up residence in the bushes! The "flower garden" is a litterbox!! I can't do that!! I don't have time for that crap!"
He was persistent...a certain Misty Edwards song kept ringing through my head, and I couldn't shake it. "Put in a garden." I heard. "Grow closer to me--find out what I'm trying to teach you. It's your parable...put in the garden."
So, last year, I took the time to clean up what we already had. I pruned the Indestructible Holly Bushes (which I'd really like to get rid of), tried to untangle the daisies, attempted to save the green thingys, and put in 2 little coral bells. Other than that, the mere fact that I added dirt and mulch made a huge cosmetic difference in the front of the house.
I was shocked at what a change it brought, cosmetically.
I was shocked at the amount of weeds that can come up in 10 square feet (what IS that?!?).
"It's You and me alone, God...." That's the line from the song.
Last year, as I tried to keep the weeds under control, and intermittently pruned the IHB, I began to see how it took regular maintenance. I wasn't very good at it...and it was reflective of my spiritual life. It was intermittent, patchy...kinda full of weeds. But it was a start.
This year, I decided to take it to the next level.
The house we live in, we'd wanted to move out of after 5 years. When we bought it, we knew the neighborhood was sketchy, but we figured we'd give it a bit, and then "move up." But the housing market bombed...so we know that barring a miracle (which I'm optimistic for!), we're here for a while. I want to make my house look pretty. I want it to look like the picture I've always had in my head. It may be small, but I want it to be welcoming. I put in some annuals this week (which I wasn't going to do, but felt encouraged to do so after talking to Hannah Preston about what I really wanted to see), and my little vegetable pots are growing quite well, for the most part (I think the rosemary is out of commission. Gonna have to try that one again). I am, at this point, successfully raising SOMETHING. It's a start, and it is so much fun, to see the results come to pass.
I'm encouraged. Things are blossoming. I don't "kill everything" I touch, and that thought can disappear. And the more I prepare my place, my home, to be a place of welcome, the more I reflect on the patience and love God has for me. He's taking me down new roads that I'm scared to go down, but I know He's with me.
It's a huge time of transition for so many people I know. Some have told me it's the planetary alignment...some say it's the Chinese Year of the Rabbit, which is good for change. Others say it's the earth preparing for 2012. I know that it's God. New roads, new changes, cause us to seek Him even closer than our stagnant paths. They make us rely on Him so much more, because they make us aware of how blind we really are.
I quit my job on April 26th.
It's the craziest thing I've done (since I got married, God reminded me). I left a job that I really liked (for the most part), a field I've worked in for 10 years, in one office or another...to take a position at a university doing a job that I have little experience in. I have a LOT of learning to do. I've never worked in a corporate setting, and frankly, I am intimidated. I have faith...and so far, I've managed to block out the "what-ifs." Ben Scofield challenged us a year ago to stop living in our comfortable Plan B, and to seek God to get us back on track to Plan A. I took those words seriously, and this is where they are leading me. I am EXCITED, scared, petrified, and totally, incredibly, freaked out.
I asked Him to direct me, to get me out of Plan B...I want my calling. I want to go where He wants me to go, not where I think I have to be. This is His answer, and it is awesome.
I am blind, and I am having to hang on for dear life to the One Who is directing me down this crazy path.
I am in this place...I am starting out as a speck, with nothing, and I am relying on Him to eventually become something useful...something wonderful...something I hoped I could be, but knew I'd never accomplish without Him holding my hands...
I am trusting that with what I have invested in my garden thus far, that it will be fruitful.
I am trusting that with what He has invested in my life thus far, that I will be fruitful in this endeavor.
"I don't want to waste my time living on the outside
I'm going to live from the inside out
I don't want to waste my life living on the outside
I'm going to live from the inside out
I'm no longer my own; I'm Your garden"--Misty Edwards
May 11, 2011

Generation...

A certain sadness takes over...
Some kind of melancholy.
I dig deeper,
Try to find the branches
But maybe I should stop
Because there is disease
At the root...
My life--
I've spent it feeling
Like the odd woman out
Looking different
Thinking different
Acting different
When I look in the mirror
I see features that
Do not fit in
The family picture
(Although as I
Grow up
I am turning into
My mother)...
That nose--
Those lips
Ridiculous,
These hips
When I see the skinny legs
And little bodies
Of people who
Share the same bloodline
As me...
So I search
(for more than just a
Physical resemblance)....
Where do I come from?
The history is
Sad...
So sad...
Broken hearts litter the
Garden
Where my
"Family Tree"
took root.
Biology is
Over-rated
Yet we look to it
To feel like we
Truly belong.
Can I be free of the
Generational
Plagues
That chased down
My father?
Can I break the chains
That bound the
lives of my
Grandparents,
Coating them
with the slick deception
Of Inconvenience?
I spent a long time
Wishing I could
Fill in the
Missing Piece...
The more I learn,
The less I want to know...
The more I'd like to
Take an axe
To the family tree.
How did we make it out alive?
God bless the mother
Who wants more for her children...
Who packs the bags and
Takes the car...
Who leaves...
God bless the mother
Who throws the bastard out.
God bless the father
Who realized
That the instant-family
That came with the ring
Was never really "instant"
At all...
It brewed in love.
God bless the father
That stayed.
Out of what was intended
For destruction
Comes life,
Hope,
And a promise for tomorrow.
I am not
A product of my
Family Tree.
I am a
Product of
Adoption by
Christ.

Forgiveness...It's Not Just A Trend; It's a Way of Life (That I Suck At).

My drive-time is very often my alone time with God...that, and that awesome twilight that I have as I kind of pray myself to sleep. Of course, that drive-time is often interrupted with what I've come to call "Vehicular Tourette's" (translation: My prayers are frequently sidelined by my tendency to verbally overreact to approaching vehicles, whether or not I'm in the driver's seat), but I always try to bring it all back around. I thought this was totally abnormal, until I realized that since the God I know sees me in all of my various stages of maturity, He can handle me when I'm almost rear-ended by that moron in the SUV who just HAD to fix her makeup when my light turned red (God's heard my diatribe on women who drive vehicles larger than they can handle...and so have most of my friends, readers, and random patients who had the misfortune to ask). As I recently said (to my chagrin) to a church full of people, "God likes me, even when I've gone nuclear on my curling iron). He's God.
I'm not.
The graciousness of this realization is continuously amazing.
As I'm driving to work this morning, it dawned on me that my "spring break" has thrown me off of my pattern, so I started to pray. I found myself at a loss for words, and since a recent sermon @SG reminded me of a past place in my prayer life, I took it back to the basics of Matthew 6--The Lord's Prayer.
There was a time in my life where I could not pray, at all. I had nothing in my heart to say to God--I couldn't bring myself to trust Him with my prayers, since they'd all seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Because I knew I HAD to pray, every single day, all I said was the "Our Father." There were days when it was the cry of my heart; there were days when it was mere recitation. There were many (MANY) days where I said it with the sole resolution that I'd say it 'til I meant it, even if it was the last prayer I prayed. It's short, sweet, and to the point, and really, it can be prayed in 30 seconds or less.
Imagine how many times that can be repeated in a 30 minute drive to work.
And back.
For 2 years.
The more I pray that prayer, though, the more I fall in love with it's complexities...with it's simplicities...with it's poetry and focus. Every time I pray The Lord's Prayer, it steels my resolve.
I could take it line by line, and break it all down, but that blog would take a while to write. This morning, I was struck by the phrase "Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us."
I stopped praying.
It has recently come to my attention that I have a real issue with forgiveness--one that goes past being raised by an Italian father and his love of the revenge of Chuck Norris. I most definitely have some anger issues, and I have a true desire to see certain people get what I just KNOW is coming to them. Once someone is on my bad side, fahgeddaboutit. They're done. Somehow, the innocence of childhood (where my mom used to say I was the most forgiving person in the world) has been mucked over by a real bitch with a nasty right hook. I can be so stinking vicious!!! There are certain family members, coworkers, people who hated my dress, that will never know how truly angry I am with them; I lie to myself, and say that just because I've never really let them have it, that I've forgiven them, and it's all handled. Then, I lie awake at night, and think of all of the "zingers" I could have zapped them with, to make my point. Underneath it all, of course, is true hurt that I have to give to Jesus and let go. I'd rather stay mad and bitter, than forgive them, break off the muck, and get the hurt healed.
Is this the true nature of the human condition, in regards to forgiveness? Or am I alone in this?
As I was praying this phrase, "forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us," I stopped, and said, "Dear God, I hope not, because I suck at forgiveness!!!! If You forgive me, according to how I've forgiven other people, then I'm so totally screwed!!!"
I hold on to past hurts and issues so tightly, even though I know there's freedom at the cross. To forgive someone, to truly let it go--I'm not sure I even begin to know how to do that. Do you just stop talking about it (even to yourself), or is that bottling it up? Do you write one of those disposable letters that you burn and never send (that would be SO unfulfilling to me)? We lay things on an altar to give to Him, yet our hands are curled so closely around them that our fingers get burnt in the offering. Or, we let our "living sacrifices" crawl off of said altar and onto our backs to weigh us down another day.
There is freedom in forgiveness. The last thing I want to hear is someone I know tell someone else that "Cassidy has a problem with forgiveness," even though it was said in jest. That truly cut me to the quick, and made me wonder how much of that statement is true? More than I'd care to admit...but if you told me about it, I'd just stay mad at you. :)
I have been forgiven for so much...God is so much bigger than me, so much bigger than my sin, than my offense; who am I, to withhold forgiveness from anyone?
Forgiveness...
Just one more reason why I'm so thankful that God is God, and that Jesus came...and tomorrow is one more day toward learning to be like Him.

Goodnight, Sweetheart...

It's almost 4-o'clock in the morning. What. The. Heck? I've been waking up like this for the last few weeks, at roughly this same time (that's 3:00 am, plus-or-minus an hour of tossing, turning, praying, finding the "rain" music on my iPod, and wishing I could take large amounts of sleeping pills). Tonight, I wound up on the couch (David has a cold/allergy thing, and bless his heart, I can't handle it), and after a particularly vivid dream about my step-mom, here I am yet again. Wide. A. Wake.
I could write about philosophical meanderings, but I really don't have much on my mind (or is it so much, that I can't make it all make sense?). I could make something up that might make me look deep or super-spiritual (I'm not). I could contemplate the frustrations of the sudden appearance of cellulite where I never had it before (WTH? Really?!?!? NOW, of all times in my life?!?) or the fact that I can most likely cross that concept of a bikini off of my bucket list...I could go back to that ever-underlying sense of something missing in the Cooley household, but that's pretty obvious, and I don't feel like indulging in a pity party today. I could mention that I can think of at least 3 instances of unwelcome advice/recommendations from people regarding my reproductive status in the past week alone, and how trying that is, but when I put it in that perspective, I'm pretty sure you get my point...besides, getting THAT riled up when all I want to do is go back to sleep is probably counterproductive.
There's a lot that I could say.
There's far too much that I do say.
The things I should say, I usually bury under fear and self-loathing...
And the things I should leave alone, I usually blurt out in a montage of oblivity and/or what boils down to pride.
Ever wonder what your life would be like, if you'd have just moved your chess piece one square over in a different direction? How much impact would that one square make?
That's one for 4:00 am.
Ever wonder if any of it will make sense? Or if you'll ever live long enough to see if He truly makes everything work out for His good? If He really does have those "plans to give us a hope and a future?" Or how our various messes eventually come together and make the amazing tapestry He's set into order (don't get that last phrase twisted--I'm not a Calvinist)?
No one has it easy. Nobody's life is perfect, no matter what beautiful pictures we make on Sunday morning. We all have what we want people to see, and what really is (and I don't care who you are--we're all in the same boat). As honest as I've always said I wanted to keep my blog, I've been avoiding it for the last few months because I don't want to face the backlash of what people would think if I really let 'er rip (and that includes my husband, whom I will respectfully defer to, as he is the head of this household, and I'm not going to post anything that would elicit the "CASS!" response that I know when to expect :) on certain issues, be they theological, political, or otherwise. I also have been just too plain lazy to do the research on a few things that I will eventually get to (adoption, surrogacy, US infant mortality rates, creation, evolution, abortion, and the fact that Charles Darwin was one of the biggest racists EVER, yet we allow his sick, twisted beliefs on the "origin" of our "species" to dominate our "educational" system)...
Hey, that might just be why I'm awake at 4:00 am...that's a lot on my to-do list.
None of those are peaceful issues to discuss, and a few of them could totally offend people if they let it (regardless of the fact that it's my stinkin' blog). I've been afraid to tackle any of those subjects, because I didn't want it to affect my job or offend anyone who didn't want to hear my conclusions...but I really need to get back to writing stuff that matters, so I'm thinking I need to get over my "fear of offending" and (post-spousal review) intelligently present my simple opinion of complicated issues....The last 2 times I said I was going to do this, I wound up hitting the "snooze" button...darn it!
And no, I don't really think anyone cares. Since this blog has nowhere NEAR the hits as my original MS blog, I think at this point in my writing "career," I'm safe to postulate.
With that off of my chest...and a to-do list that I'd better get cracking on, just in case that New Madrid-or-whatever fault-line-earthquake-apocalypse-thing hits St. Louis, and I lose my internet connection...I'm going back to sleep.

...And...

If you're looking for Susie-so-Happy, that is not me, right now. I told a friend tonight that one thing I hated about books on the grieving "process" is how they candy-coat things into making it all sound so holy and perfect.
I am not "holy and perfect" right now.
My life is not all about my loss. There is much, much more to me, and losing my daughter is only a percentage. I'm a fairly "normal" person, and that is only part of my "story." It doesn't "define" me. I am comfortable around pregnant people, I can go to baby showers, I can cuddle most infants, I can walk through the baby department, and I will not go postal, so please don't judge me and say that you think I have a problem around someone because they're in the maternal way. Yippee for them. No, really--I have a deep love for pregnancy. It's the most beautiful time in a woman's life, and babies are AWESOME. That being said...
There are certain parts of losing a family member (no matter how small they were) that one must go through. You eventually have to go through their things; eventually, no matter the age, you have to decide on things to get rid of.
First, we got rid of the diapers...the formula...anything new went back to the store, or to the unending number of people that were pregnant at the same time I was.
Certain things were initially held back...a Blues hockey onesie, a particular dress...then, slowly, even those things began to find homes. Some things are still in storage (I haven't given up hope-hope is restored, I am hanging on, etc)=, but some things must be passed along for the sake of space.
This is a small house.
We bought the crib, secondhand. It came with a changing table...the mattress, we purchased brand-new.
"New crib mattress for sale...never used."
They've sat there, in our "nursery," for 4 1/2 years.
The time has come.
They have been passed along.
My nursery is empty.
As practical as I know this is (I have nephews that would like to have a bed to sleep on; we're now looking for bunk beds or a trundle bed to put in there, so if you know anyone, please let us know), words can't describe how much this sucks.
Please don't say, "I'm so sorry." I'm not trying to elicit a compassionate response. This will be fine--I will be okay.
David told me not to go in there, after they came to take the crib away...he said to wait.
I couldn't.
I walked in
This pain is palpable.
I feel like I've been disemboweled.
There is no holiness to this feeling.
There is only leaning.
I can't stand up.
I wasn't even going to write about this, because I feel so much of this very painful journey has been so public...recent doctor's visits have cut my feet out from underneath of me, and I find myself struggling to breathe.
I've actually been sick with some kind of throat infection for almost a month, and I can't help but think the "funk" from the December cardiologist's visit upset me so much that my immune system shut down. I'm on my second round of antibiotics, and I'm exhausted...
I'm back to working out 2x/week, and I'm hoping to consistently get to 3x/week, in spite of being sick. That's got to help, right?
I have an amazing network of friends....I'm sure they're sick of me by now. I have an amazing husband...my family is fractured right now, so I'm trying not to talk to them about this.
This is not about giving up hope...
This is not about not trusting Him.
This is about today.
Today hurts.
Today, I'm not angry...
Today, the fact that we bought furniture we planned to use...and never got to use...hurts my heart.
The fact that the furniture went to someone who will grow up in love, lessens that pain, and helps me to pray for that family...that there would be miraculous provision...strength...phenomenal peace...and nothing but the greatest of blessings.
Today I prayed over that furniture, before I said goodbye (in tears).
And I thanked God for the day that will come,
When I will have the need to ask for it back.

Abortion, Adoption, and Government Redefinition

I'm not the most politically minded girl. I rarely comment on political things, since I don't really pay a whole lot of attention to that section of the news (it usually frustrates me into a coma, when I do), but every now and then, the perfect storm of a particular issue will get under my skin. And, every now and then, I dig a little deeper to find out what all of the ruckus is about...
First of all, let me preface this:
I'm a registered Republican. Does that mean I always agree with my party? Heck, no. But if you must know, in order to validate my political tantrum, then yes, I'm a Republican.
Most importantly, I'm a Christian. No, I'm not going to hit you over the head with a Bible and tell you you're doomed....but I am going to tell you that I believe God loves you, and that this cosmic killjoy with a beard that we're taught to envision, is not the God Who loves us so amazingly.
Thirdly, I am 100% pro-life. I didn't believe in abortion before I got pregnant, due to my own research on fetal development and my values of life....and I sure as heck don't believe in it now that I've felt that life grow within me. I was born at a completely inopportune time for my mother; she considered aborting me. Since she changed her mind, I can't help but be grateful that my mom honored life...and so do I.
That being said, I have several friends who are pro-choice, hate Christians, and are Democrats. I'm okay with that--I love them for who they are, not for their political/religious beliefs.
New legislation is pending with "health care reform." For the record, since I'm establishing myself before I make my point, I am AGAINST GOVERNMENT-SPONSORED HEALTH CARE REFORM. Anyone who has worked with the current government-sponsored health care reform (Medicare/Medicaid) will tell you it is SEVERELY FLAWED, and the idiots who came up with it, have no business in the health care industry. Health care reform should be privatized by an institution blending physicians in several specialties, and patients/staff who have seen both sides of the issues. Doctors, with no ties to any pharmaceutical company whatsoever, are the only people I'd trust to dictate standards of "necessary" care--not politicians, not drug companies, and definitely not the government. But, that's my perfect world...I digress.
I am against the federal funding of abortion. I believe we as taxpayers should have the option to deny our personal monies being delegated to support the abortion industry. I would love to see the word "abortion" replaced by "adoption" in our vocabularies, and I would love even more, to see the women in these situations, given counseling options that are truly considerate of where they are in life.
That being said, abortions performed in the case of rape or incest have always warranted a turned head from most people. Most of us would say, "Absolutely-who would want to carry the product of rape or incest to term?" I don't know the answer to that. In a perfect world, a woman would be given the degree of counseling that she needs to make that decision with peace...but if someone hasn't been in that situation, you can't expect them to understand the decision she makes.
Can you imagine? Having someone invade you so horribly, that all you want to do is wash it away--all you want to do is forget the trauma you went through...and then you find out that you can't.
I am adamantly pro-life; I'd like to think I would not abort that child, that I have enough of a support group to carry me and my husband through that situation. But I think of a time in my life where "no means no" didn't apply, and the years of pain that followed...had I become pregnant from that encounter, I don't know what I would have done.
And now, with the government stepping in with a "redefinition of rape," I don't know if there would have been anyone to help me, regardless:

'"The House Republicans' second major legislative masterwork since coming into power — the first being a symbolic go-nowhere bill to repeal the Democrats' health care reform law — is called the "No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act." Direct taxpayer funding for abortion has been outlawed since 1976. But the new health care law brought back this debate about what counts as "taxpayer funding for abortion." What about government tax breaks or subsidies for plans that include abortion coverage? The GOP's new bill, among other things, would eliminate the health insurance tax-deduction for any plans that offer abortion coverage, meaning those plans would cease to exist.

But for years, there have been exceptions for abortions that are eligible for federal funding: In case of rape, incest, and when the pregnancy endangers the mother's life. The "No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act" would make some changes to trifecta! Mother Jones' Nick Baumann reports:

With this legislation, which was introduced last week by Rep. Chris Smith (R-N.J.), Republicans propose that the rape exemption be limited to "forcible rape." This would rule out federal assistance for abortions in many rape cases, including instances of statutory rape, many of which are non-forcible. For example: If a 13-year-old girl is impregnated by a 24-year-old adult, she would no longer qualify to have Medicaid pay for an abortion. (Smith's spokesman did not respond to a call and an email requesting comment.)

Other types of rapes that would no longer be covered by the exemption include rapes in which the woman was drugged or given excessive amounts of alcohol, rapes of women with limited mental capacity, and many date rapes.

The fact that "forcible rape" has no real meaning as a federal legal term makes this all the more obnoxious.

Oh, and what about the incest exception? "As for the incest exception, the bill would only allow federally funded abortions if the woman is under 18." You figure out the rationale on that one."

I don't know what the House intends to do, with this kind of "legislation." How dare they? Not only is it ludicrous--it's damaging for women like me, who wait years before finally getting the counseling and the help they need for that situation.

I believe that with Godly counsel, love, and a tremendous amount of support, Grace can overcome any situation--I really do. This government "redefinition," however, will cause women to hide in shame, and I do not believe it will do ANYTHING to curb the abortion industry. Women will simply say what they need to say to get the services covered, if that is the decision they want to make. Congress is only making it more difficult to get to the truth of the matter.

Abortion should be a decision that is made state-by-state, and that the degree of its availability, as well as it's funding, should be an issue that is strictly voted on by the people. Do I believe Roe vs. Wade should be overturned? Absolutely. Do I believe that we, as a society, are ready to handle the influx of babies who will need loving adoptive homes, or the influx of mothers-to-be that will need adequate health care? No, I don't. I don't think we're there yet (though I know of many churches who are trying to lead the way). Until we get there, and even when we get there, the way that rape/incest cases are handled will require love, compassion, support, and grace, that we as a society (and primarily as a church) need to offer--we don't need the government (or anyone else) passing judgment on a woman and what defines her condition.

Love the woman. Love the child. Anything less than that should be silenced.