A New Leaf

Hey guys.

It's been a good run.

But it's time for change. This has been a good place for transition out of my teenage years and into my adult ones, but there are some things I need to leave in those teenage years and this is one of them. I'm not saying I'm a full-blown adult, by any means. But when I re-read this blog, I'm held in the past, and I feel like I need to move on.

There are things I'm proud of here, good pieces I've written, good points I've made. There are also things I'm not proud of, tantrums and pettiness that I'd like to just forget.

I'm not saying goodbye, heavens no. I'd never abandon you guys. We're just moving to my new leaf :)

I hope to fill my new blog with more stories, poems, and positive, happy vibes. A lot of dark things have happened here, smoldering and simmering. I'd like to show the world I have more to me than that.

If you want to see this other side of me, or just keep up on new things happening in my life, here is where I shall point you:

http://mussedmusing.blogspot.com/

I hope to see your smiling faces there, as I take my next tentative steps in my new story. I love you all!

Parting of Ways

I can tell you right now that this is a bit of a touchy subject. Not just for myself, but others as well. And I'm not wanting to get people all riled up-- I've learned my lesson with that (see my recent note on Facebook). I'd rather smooth feathers than ruffle them.

About a year ago, I wrote a blog entitled "Wisdom vs. Desire" about my longing to become a mother. I feel like being a mom and having kids is something my entire life has been leading up to; I'm just one of those people.

So that was a year ago, right? Well, some feelings just don't go away. As much as I've tried to forget about it, wish it away, sweep it under the rug, the thought still niggles at my brain. I wake up in the morning, it's there. I go about my daily routine, it's there. And when I lay down again at night, it's especially there. I can't seem to shake it.

I've come to a sort of understanding that I will be dealing with this until the joyous day occurs that I do reach motherhood.

I won't bore you with a complete rehashing of the aforementioned blog, but all this does have to do with how I operate on my social networks.

Now, I'm not the kind of person to rashly unfriend people. If I'm going to do so, I first quietly ponder the reason(s) I would unfriend them and see if those outweigh the reason(s) for allowing us to stay connected. If allowing that connection to continue would personally cause me harm or hinder my growth in any way, then that is just a tie I have to sever. And sometimes it happens more in an "it's not you, it's me" type of scenario.

Lately, I've found that random pregnancy announcements from my Facebook friends can be very painful for me. Now here's where I don't want people to get huffy: I really don't have a problem with hearing it from friends that I know have been trying or planning or really wanting a baby. Rather, I am overjoyed for them because they are seeing their heart's desire come to pass.

What throws me through a loop is the ones that just come out of the blue. I'm not saying surprise pregnancies are a bad thing at all. Every baby is a gift from God, planned or unplanned, wanted or unwanted. I believe that very firmly. And it really isn't any of my business whether these friends were planning for/wanting babies or not. That's between them, their significant other, and God.

All of that said, here is my piece. In the beginning of this post, I mentioned that I felt I've been preparing my entire life to have children. And for assorted reasons, I am putting having kids on hold. I'm young. I have things to do, places to see.

But I also mentioned that waiting is extremely difficult for me. Some days, knowing that we aren't having kids yet and watching other families and parents with happy babies gets to the point of being debilitating for me. And finding out someone else that I either didn't know was planning to get pregnant and became pregnant or is having an unplanned pregnancy, while I am having to hold off on my own dream can be excruciating.

It sounds kind of silly and some people will probably think it is. I wish I could change the way I felt about all this. I've tried, believe me.

However, I harbor absolutely no animosity for anyone who has had a child without warning or who is currently undergoing an unplanned pregnancy. None at all. But this is one of those times I have to unfriend people, not because of anything they've done, but because of how I react to them. I admit, it's an area I'm not fully grown in. But I know that I will look at their pregnancy updates, ultrasounds, newborn pictures and upset myself again and again. And I can't destroy myself like that.

I may sound like an awful person. But we all have to make those choices for ourselves that sound ludicrous to others at times. I do wish those mothers and fathers all of the very best, but some of their journeys I cannot bring myself to be a part of right now. I don't always like it, but I know that it's better for me than wrecking myself over something that, most of the time, has nothing to do with me. And that's a decision I've had to make for my own well-being.

For A Lady of Exceptional Grace, Honor, and Beauty

Tomorrow (or today for everyone else who's a time zone or so ahead of me) being Mother's Day, coupled with the fact that I haven't posted in a few weeks, I thought it would be appropriate to dedicate a post to my mom.

I haven't seen my mom face to face in almost a year. We haven't been able to visit home and my parents haven't had the opportunity to visit Hawaii (not to mention that they had to re-designate their visiting air miles for my brother's wedding this summer, something that I have absolutely zero issue with).

But the point remains that my mom and I were pretty close friends for about three years before my marriage, and having to be so far away from such an inspiring and supporting person can be wearying.

First and foremost, my mother displays an undisputed, completely dedicated love and loyalty to God. She is one of the steadiest, strongest women I know because of it. When she feels inadequate, she turns to Him. When she feels lost, she turns to Him. When she is exhausted, she turns to Him. She is so humble, so dependent on her Father and on His love for her. And she is a heartfelt, passionate prayer warrior. When that woman prays, there is no doubt of where her faith is. My mom has always been a shining example for her children to follow when it comes to having a personal relationship with God.

Her marriage to my father is also a part of her I look up to. This February marked twenty-six years of marriage for them, which is a pretty big deal these days. I have never seen or heard them argue, raise their voices with one another, utter a sharp word or take a cheap shot. I have however, on countless occasions, seen them make out, embarrassing as that is to admit. (Which is something even kids in two-parent homes can be privileged to witness--parents who have committed to their love for life and aren't afraid to be in love or to show it.) My mom has always supported, comforted, encouraged, strengthened my dad. She's been the very definition of his helpmate and the wife "who's worth is more than rubies". Every day that I've witnessed (which is about twenty years' worth).

My mom has been amazingly faithful to my siblings and I, all five of us, even to the point of taking on homeschooling us all (an incredible undertaking, when you realize that's been at least ten years of school for each of us). She has done everything in her power to raise us right, to teach us values, morals, faith, to be the best human beings we can be. She became a mother about twenty-three and a half years ago and has done a wonderful job since. My mom has put up with diapering, breast-feeding, potty-training, instructing, disciplining, and loving five kids. She has dealt with our messes, our tears, our scraped knees, our fits, our rebellious teenage attitudes, our relationships, our heartbreak. She's been to one wedding and is soon to attend another (and let's not forget the droves of future grandchildren I bet she's going to get!).

Mom, if you're not crying yet, here's where it's going to happen (trust me, I'm crying with you). I cannot think of a single person on this earth who has put more effort into my life and who I've turned out to be than you (and Dad, of course). You've fought for me and my well-being (physical, mental, emotional, intellectual, relational, etc) since day one. You've loved me when I was throwing tantrums and screaming at you, when I would get into trouble, when I was keeping to myself and you didn't know what was going on with me, when I met Zach, when I probably nearly gave you a heart attack when I announced he'd proposed...

I'm not proud of the way I've gone about some things the past few years, but you always tried to point me in the right direction and protect me. And I think it made all the difference in the world to me when you realized I was happy and made an effort to accept the direction my life was going in because you care.

I know it's been hard, because I'm your baby girl and we've become so close. But you've still supported me, encouraged me, given me tips and advice, let me vent to you. That's how great of a mom you are. It's got to be a difficult part of being a mom, having your baby birdies grow up and leave the nest, choosing their own path and making their lives happen.

But I want to tell you, none of the hard work you've put in for the last twenty-something years has been in vain, none of it. Even on the days when you feel it's been for nothing. Even when you feel despised and abused. This is one of your children that wants to tell you that you are an amazing mother. You are such an important part of who I am, who I've become. Whether it's Mother's Day or not, I appreciate you so much. The effort and love and care you put into everything is absolutely extraordinary. You are so beautiful, so inspiring, so wise, the type of mother that younger mothers ought to look up to and learn from.

Even though the better part of us kids are working our way into adulthood, you are still so treasured and valued. If not for you, we would not have a chance. We wouldn't have our fighting spirits, our inquisitive minds. You are forever a major player in the best parts of us.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for not giving up, for always cheering us on, for always doing everything in your power to help us stay on the right path. You are a woman to be admired and honored.

Follow-up to "The Visitor"

Hey lovelies.

A few of you have brought to my attention that last night's post was a mite confusing. You've asked if I'm alluding to anything currently happening. I was very "in the zone" or tunnel visioned, if you will, while writing it so I'll bring you up to speed.

This may have been the first post to not actually have anything to do with real life, mine or anyone else's. Since blogging about my life and happenings in it has been the norm, I can understand the confusion.

In fact, you have now gotten a glimpse into my writing process--my creative writing process.

It usually begins with a phrase that pops into my head, which can be the most general or the most specific of things. Sometimes, it is someone speaking.

That's how last night's post started. The first sentence was rolling over and over in my head to the point where something had to be done with it. So I wrote it down and decided to follow it wherever it wanted to go.

This is the scenario I was feeling: an elderly woman is puttering about in her house, fiddling with her knickknacks, doilies, and what-nots. She is alone; the house is quiet. 

Her doorbell rings and startles her, as she hadn't had a caller and wasn't expecting any for a long time. She opens the door to find a ghost of her past on her stoop, waiting patiently. (And I do mean an actual, ethereal being, not a person from her past.) 

Upon seeing the ghost, memories come flooding back and bring waves of feelings with them. She knows why the ghost is there and invites it in. She is not entirely pleased with the ghost or its timing, but feels no ill will towards it.

The ghost is there to observe and both of them know it. It is there to see how she has recovered from the event. She chats with it like an old friend, and it watches her closely. 

In the end, the ghost is satisfied with what it has seen and heard and says its goodbyes.

The lady felt a bit sad as she closed the door, because she knew the next time they would meet would be in the next world, as she was not long for this one.

As I wrote her side of the conversation, I was asking myself, "How might any of us react if our past were to appear to take accounts of us? To see how we've responded to the traumas and blessings we go through?"

I can honestly tell you, I do not know what her "event" was, whatever happened to send this ghost of the past to check up on her every so often. We can't really know for sure anyone else's stories but our own.

Some randomly inspired writings such as this one have extended over years and some last only minutes. I guess this one only appeared to ask a question, to teach me and hopefully to teach others. I hope this answered some of your queries about it.

The Visitor

Hello, dear.

I thought it would be a while before you stood at my door again, but here you are.

You've come for tea, I know.

It's a bad time, but please, come in.

I have nothing to hide from you. What you see is all I have to offer.

Have a seat, make yourself comfortable, have a look around. I'll just be a minute.

How do you take your tea? You are free to add whatever you like.

You don't look a smidgen different from when last we interacted. If I didn't know better, it might have even been yesterday.

How am I? Oh, I feel as if I've lived a century in a matter of weeks. Yes, things have been quite lively. No idle time, here.

Really? Found some new hobbies, have you? That is good to hear.

Do tell? I couldn't imagine! Hadn't thought to ask, honestly.

Yes, yes, we certainly have had our adventures. Feels a lifetime away from our former lives;  so distant from everything we knew before.

Oh no, it's no trouble. I did say "feel free".

Like what I've done with the place? There was that bit of bad air I had to clear out. I did manage well; you wouldn't recognize it now.

Well, there was certainly nothing we weren't determined to deal with. Things were handled seamlessly and beautifully; not a hitch to be found. I was proud beyond words. We've come a long way.

Not at all! I do hope you move on, dear. Some things simply aren't worth dwelling on.

It's been a pleasure having you stop by. You're welcome anytime you wish to visit; I do not mind showing you around.

Good day to you.

Beauty and the Bully

 

This beautiful girl is Rehtaeh Parsons. And she is dead.

I question the sanity of our world today. I really do. And girls like Rehtaeh are the reason why.

You may recognize the names of Amanda Todd or Jane Doe from Steubenville, Ohio. For those who don't, I will explain who they are.

Fifteen year old Amanda Todd hanged herself in October of last year. A while before, she had ingested bleach as her first (known) suicide attempt. It all stemmed from an incident in which a stranger convinced her to show her breasts during a video chat, who proceeded to capture an image and use it to blackmail and further sexually exploit her. This pervert then circulated this picture on the internet. Her schoolmates found this picture and bullied her endlessly. It led to her severe depression and eventual suicide.

Jane Doe was a highschooler attending a party. When she became drunk to the point of incapacitation, several members of the highschool football team decided to make her their toy. This included being carted around to other parties, sexually assaulted, undressed, orally penetrated, and digitally penetrated (an act which Ohio law defines as rape).  Photographs taken during the night were also spread on social networks. This girl has been bullied by an entire town after coming to light with this story and naming her attackers, but thankfully she has family and friends surrounding her and backing her up. She is alive.

But that brings me to Rehtaeh, who is not. She was raped at the age of fifteen by four male classmates. Two years later, she was being constantly bulled and teased by her classmates. The boys would taunt her and ask her for sex, while the girls would call her a slut. Just for being raped. She decided she'd had enough and this Friday, decided to end her life. She was found hanging (still alive), but her parents decided to take her off life support a few days ago.

That is three stories. There are hundreds more like this, and let's not forget it's happening to boys as well.

My heart breaks and cries in agony every time a story like these comes out. The world is breaking children and it is doing it by the hands of other children. These beautiful souls are being tormented to the point where they are convinced that they have no worth, that death is better than the hell they are given by their peers every day.
They are traumatized and having their innocence taken by others who think it's a game, who have become so desensitized to the sacredness of sex and sick in their spirits that they have made it their tool of oppression and fear.

These are kids. Read that again. Kids. There are fifth graders having sex, there are twelve year olds becoming pregnant, and there are other twelve year olds killing themselves. They've barely experienced or begun to understand what life is all about and they are doing things that shock and horrify grown adults.

I can't even begin to grasp why. Why the bullying, the rape, the sex, the torment is so rampant in the schools.

All I know is that it breaks my heart, to hear of these beautiful children, these priceless souls killing themselves, hurting themselves, because they don't believe they are valued. "If my peers do not consider me worthy, then what is the point?" they think.

I want to tell all of them, that they are so beautiful. I want to hug each and every one of them. I want to wipe the tears off their face. I want to protect them, shield them from harm. If I'm anything, it's a mama bear and it kills me that any child, any teen, would be hurting as bad as most are.

This world is becoming worse and worse as time goes on. And this kind of thing terrifies me to even think of bringing children into this world, as much as I long for it. God have mercy on our kids.

I'm awake, so you get to be in my head for a bit.

I can't sleep.

My husband's alarm for him to get up and go to PT (physical training) formation is going to go off in an hour and I can't get to sleep. My one reprieve from life and my own thoughts, and my mind is too busy recycling...that.

I guess since it's been over a year since it happened, I can talk about it more freely and maybe share some details I had left out.

I'm talking about my husband being shot.

It comes up a lot and will probably continue to do so, because it is something we have to live with.

Friendly fire. You can believe my expression was as incredulous as yours is now. We've had to go through everything we have because of friendly fire. Life as I knew it was changed because an E6 (staff sergeant, for us non-military folks) was being a complete numbskull in his handling of a pistol and it went off.

A staff sergeant. Not even your run-of-the-mill sergeant. A rank higher than a sergeant made a major goof that might be expected of a private. Thank goodness the only other person involved was only grazed by the bullet going through his pant leg before hitting my husband. (After all of this, the staff sergeant was demoted two ranks and denied re-enlistment, which he had been planning for and would have occurred a few months later.)

It could have been worse.

My husband saved a life. Simply by standing where he was, talking with a buddy. Had he been anywhere else for some other reason, that buddy would have taken that nine millimeter bullet to his heart. (How do I know? After my husband was taken away to get emergency care, the rest of the guys stayed to figure out what happened and reenact the whole thing. That was the result they came up with.)

He was coming home. The entire hellish year he'd been in the giant sandbox was almost up. My husband was on the return trip of a deployment, his group having stopped over at a main airforce base for a few weeks before making the last leg of the trip home. I was getting ready to leave Washington myself, expecting to have two weeks to make arrangements in Hawaii before he got back.

Things changed drastically with the series of phone calls I got to inform me of the accident. I can't even tell you what I had been doing that morning, or the rest of the day. But for the rest of my life, I will probably remember that I was dancing to Zumba on the Xbox with my friend at her and her husband's apartment when my phone rang. I was expecting it to be the usual, "Hey, how are ya, just getting a call in when I can". But it would be the last thing I ever wanted to hear. My friend could tell you how stunned I was. I just sat on her couch, not even crying. I didn't even cry until I was home, telling my mom, and she started to cry.

So what has that got to do with life now? Everything.

There have been many nights I've been startled awake several times by my husband jolting in his sleep from something in a nightmare. Other nights, I've held him, rocked him, and comforted him after he woke up, shaking and sweating from those same nightmares.

I've had to watch as a man, who had come back from basic two years before, alive and fit as ever, came home broken. This man, who had shown me all the different kinds of push-ups he knew, who had worked out for hours a day overseas to get his body into the best shape it's ever been, may never do another push-up in his life, may never run another mile.

I have to see him in pain every single day. The numerous doctors he's seen have pushed every kind of pill at him that they could think of. And it doesn't matter if he has medications or not, because his soul and body have suffered such a deep trauma, that chemistry simply cannot touch it. And it seems that the army has given up on making him whole again.

And after going through all of this, time after time in my head, I come to the same conclusion.

There is nothing I can do.

I cannot fix my husband's PTSD, his depression, his damaged nerves and muscles, his nightmares, his spine problems, any of it. I'm not a doctor. And in all reality, there is nothing I can do to fix it.

But there is one thing I have learned. I can affect the part of him that no doctor, no psychiatrist, no medicine can ever touch, and that is his heart. His soul. Who he is. I can let him know that he is never alone, that I'm backing him up, that I am always here for him. When he feels weak and can't continue, I hold him up. When he can't see the light, I promise him there is one. When he gets sucked dry by the stress of life, I pour my love into him. When there are no words, we hold each other.

He's seen hell, and I've seen forms of it. This is something that we go through together, or we won't get through at all. No one can come close to our love, because we've seen suffering, we've met depression, and half the time, we live it.

Does it suck? You bet your britches, it does. But we are a team. No other person will complete him the way I do or meet the needs the I do, and the same goes the other way around. We cling together, and we cling to God, because I have a feeling this ride isn't over yet.

Being Real: Definition

One of the blogs I've been reading has gotten me really inspired, to go deeper, to be more personal. I have stories worth sharing, or so I think, probably more so than all of the ranting and raving I've been doing. I'd rather help people than bash them any day.

So here goes.

I was eleven years old. Old enough to begin to understand that boys were attractive, for whatever reason it was. I hadn't made it to the birds and the bees conversation, but I knew enough to be able to point out the most attractive guy in my church, at least, according to the other girls around my age.

It was the Christmas season, and the annual children's Christmas play was revving up. I had volunteered for a speaking part as an angel named Joy, because the teachers had run out of favorites to place in priority roles and I had been dying to be on the stage with the popular kids.

We were at one of the extra practices designated for the core "actors", which included the main group of angels and the angel "band" (which was made up of most of the popular, cool boys, a popular, hot girl, and one of my little brothers). Lo and behold, that meant the most sought after boy of my age group would be there. The "hottie". The "cutie". The one all the girls whispered about among themselves and giggled over how perfect he was. Him.

I knew he would be there, him and his cronies (made up of the other pastors' sons, who were also considered attractive, although after him on the "it" list). I stole glances at him all night, while trying to focus on my lines and be extra pretty during the songs; he and his groupies just looking as cool as ever, with their sunglasses and air-performing on their instruments.

Afterwards, we all waited for our parents to pick us up, while gathering in our groups and chatting. I had no group, as the main cast was made up of the popular kids, and I sure as heck didn't belong with them. My little brother was over chilling with a member of the band, he-who-shall-not-be-named's little brother.

So I was alone.

And here comes his best bud, strutting as they all do, son of the music pastor. I willed myself to be a stone.

"So hey," he leaned on a chair in front of me, cool as a cat. "_______ wanted me to come talk to you, ask you something."

"Um, sure," I stuttered. My mind whirled as to why this guy would even be talking to me, let alone why _______ would even stoop so low as to send his best friend to talk to me.

"He wants to know if you'll go out with him," the guy continued.

OH MY GOSH!! WHAT IN ALL THE HECK?! WHY WOULD HE WANT TO GO OUT WITH ME?! OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, I THINK I'M GOING TO PEE MYSELF!!!!

My heart sank. What was I thinking? My parents would never let me go out with anyone...

"Uh," I mumbled to my toes, "My parents don't allow me to date." My heart was still racing.
He stood up. "That's cool." Then he strutted back to his pals.

Had I bothered to look over to the "hot" fella's group after his friend had rejoined them, I would have been fully aware of what had just happened.

But my brain and heart were on cloud nine, I was floating, I really knew what angels felt like. _______ likes me? He really likes....me? That was all that consumed my thoughts for the next three weeks.

Skip ahead. The play was over, we had all gone our separate ways. I was in Sunday morning class with my then-best friend (who I had always envied and seen as a million times prettier than I). We were whispering about you-know-who and I told her about the incident a few weeks before. She did a double-take.

"Ah, Rach", she took a deep breath. "You know how (another girlfriend of ours, who happened to be a pastor's kid) and I have been hanging out with all of them?"
I nodded. It was bound to happen. Both of them were prettier and more popular than I, so sure, I understood that they would be desired by 'the guys'. I believe one or both of them were 'dating' members of that group at the time, but don't remember exactly.
"Well, _______ told us that it was a prank."
I froze. "What do you mean...?".
"_______ never meant it when he had _______ ask you out. The other guys dared him to do it. It was a joke. I thought you knew."

But I didn't know. I'd never had anything happen like that before. I had spent the last few weeks on cloud nine, and I was the butt of someone's joke, their prank? I couldn't grasp the concept. This guy that I and every other girl in the church had a major crush on for forever (but especially me) had asked me out because it was funny? How could anyone be so (blind) cruel?

For months, years, this devastated me. This isn't the time for the rest of the gritty details or parties involved in the rest of the story, but my life was definitely impacted. For the negative.

I dwelt on the supposed fact that I wasn't pretty enough for what I considered an attractive guy to ask me out of his own volition, without being dared. This incident, so early in the formative years of my teens, marked me. It set the standard of my self esteem, which rode low for many, many years. I believed none of the 'hot' guys I crushed on, from the age of eleven to sixteen, would ever like me for any reason, would ever ask me out. And for whatever reason it was, none of them did, which only served to solidify my self-loathing.

So if you know me (or even if you don't) and you haven't been able to understand my extreme dislike for myself, this is one of the places it was conceived. I can't say it was the only place, but it was a contributing factor for sure. I also won't say that I haven't learned and grown from it, because I definitely have. It no longer defines me, but if I were to constantly think on it, it would hurt exactly the same as it did my eleven year-old self. So I just don't.