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.

Exit, Stage Left.

I've realized lately that there are people in this world who just have to argue and fight and debate about every little damn thing. But I am not one of those people and you are desperately mistaken if you believe that I am. (And yes, this involves particular people and situations, so if you're reading this and it sounds familiar, then you have made an oopsie.)

My mind's laundry cycles will often lead me to posting philosophical ponderings or quirky thoughts on my Twitter or Facebook. And just like this blog, they are my opinion. I'm not proclaiming them as law or the new Bible or whatever. I'm not even telling anyone else they ought to think the way I do. I'm just stating what I think for the heck of it. Sometimes people agree with me and say so, or say nothing at all. I honestly don't ever care if I get positive responses or even any.

Buuuut, like I mentioned, there are those people who have to get all up in arms if whatever I've said goes against their personal beliefs. So they challenge me. And they question me. And they try to change my mind or make me see how idiotic I am for believing the things I do.

Which I don't appreciate.

That's not to say I would never change my mind about that certain topic or that I'm not up for a lively discussion. I'm open to hearing differences of opinion or different perspectives, sure, though only if done respectfully and in a non-inflammatory way. If you're looking to pick a fight with me, then you've come to the wrong place, because I refuse to fight with you.

Unless I'm asking for other thoughts or a debate on something, I'm probably not in the mood. Don't take out your pissy little attitude on me because I don't believe what you do about a particular thing. I don't get all over you if you believe something different. If you do what I do and randomly state stuff you believe/think and it highly offends me or goes against what I personally believe, I keep my mouth shut. Because I value friendship more than a debate about differing values.

I have offered my own opinions and perspectives to others of differing opinions, but only ever calmly and not looking for an altercation. Somehow most people get fired up and turn it into a giant fight, complete with disrespect and insults. Such is the internet, I suppose.

I understand that looking at both sides of what I've just said may seem hypocritical, but hear me out. I don't go into either situation to troll or get anyone riled up. In the first instance, I'm lah-dee-dah-ing along and decide to post a random thought I find interesting, no ill will against anyone intended. In the second, I only present my personal thinking because the poster will indicate "I don't understand why this kind of person does this" or otherwise clearly insinuate that they are looking for outside responses.

When I am pushed to explain why I've posted a certain belief or statement, I do, although I'm most likely really annoyed by that point. (No where in the terms of agreement for the particular social networks I subscribe to is it said that I am required to explain every little thing I post. And if I don't want to, then I shouldn't be pressed to.) I still respond respectfully, but mention that I'm not there to fight or debate. If the person continues to push, I will point them towards the exit (which would be the 'unfriend' or 'unfollow' button). In my mind, it's simpler to not argue. My profiles are not the place to do that. If the individual keeps trying to incite me, rile me up, or push my buttons, I simply block them myself.

It isn't that I would never question my beliefs. But for the most part, I know why I believe the things I do. And I think I've got enough other questions to answer without someone who doesn't know a thing about me to bother my about my 'whys'.

Don't Be An Ass

I'm going to address something that most of us are pretty familiar with, especially because it seems I've been dealing with it a heck of a lot lately: assumptions.

Ever hear that good old quote: "To 'assume' makes an ass out of u and me"? To be honest (and I've said this before), all it does is make an ass out of you. Sure, if we were assuming about someone else together or assuming about each other. But when you take a piece of hearsay as a given about me, you are being a total ass.

Most of the time, it's easily forgivable, even laughable. Other times, it can be rude and annoying. But still other times, it can be hurtful.

For example:

"She's only getting married so young because she's pregnant."

Yeah. I heard that one a lot after my husband and I were engaged.  I was six months into eighteen years of life when we said "I do". Granted, the quick wedding because of an out-of-wedlock pregnancy scenario happens quite often, but that does not mean it was true at all about me. We got married as fast as we did because a) we had been together long enough to know it was right, b) we wanted to be married in October because it was our favorite month and there was no sense in waiting another year, and c) I hate bringing this up, but he was deployed in a war zone and there's always that chance something could happen--in case it did, we wanted to be married before.

"She married him for his money."

Again, it happens a lot in the military. But not in this case. I don't give a flying rat's ass about money. Necessities of life (food, water, shelter, warmth, etc) are all that I care about.

Foolish things are said and people get hurt when someone makes a quick assumption, rather than approach the person themselves, because they are too damn lazy to take a few seconds to do so.

I've been called names because people feel better believing whatever lie they've told themselves about me instead of getting to know me. They pick little bits of truth about me and fill in the rest with lunacy, which does not make for a pretty picture.

If you're going to assume things about me (whether simple and petty, or extensive and hurtful) instead of checking with me and talking, you prove to me that you are not worth my friendship. I'm sorry, but I'm not. If you don't have the decency or the balls to make the time and make a way to approach me about whatever it is that's tweaking your melon, then you have no place in my universe. You don't. And that is all on you.

You can save both of us so much trouble if you just stop and think with a little compassion before you go racing around and breaking things with your assumptions hanging out everywhere. You make yourself look pretty bad if you're going to make your mind up about something with no reason, no evidence.

There was an "assumption incident" involving me today, and it was kind of painful. Something really stupid and little, but this particular event had been building up for a while. Let's just say I've been left out of a lot of things with a certain group because they "assumed" I was too busy or some such nonsense. And they left me out again today because it was assumed I wouldn't be available to do what they were do (which, in fact, I was perfectly available). That shows me how much they cared and it honestly felt like very little. They dived in, helter-skelter, and left me in the dust. It felt callous and cold, whatever their intentions were or were not.

So as a reminder to our own selves (since we cannot control the actions of others), don't assume. If you absolutely have to know something, go talk to that person instead of making up some crazy story in your head to satisfy you. That should be your very first instinct.

Side note: There are good and bad sides about assuming. I don't mind people assuming that I'm a kind-hearted, smart, friendly, etc person or assuming those same things about others (although I don't do it to the point of naivete). Just stay away from the dark side. No cookies there.

Where We Are

"Sigh."

I lean back in my chair, take a sip out of my glass, and tap my fingers on the desk. I'm so itching to write and I'm sure I owe it to the few people who read this blog in order to keep up with my life to write something relevant and informative.

But I've got nothing. No news. No developments. No hiccups, good or bad. Just the day in and day out of what has become my life.

And I'm not complaining. Things have reached the place where there is a natural ebb and flow, give and take, things happen as they will. No pressure, no rush, no stress. It's all very smooth. Yes, the days seem to run together and I'll forget the date, but I prefer the peacefulness of that to the choppy, run-around, having to know the day of most everyone else.

We relax. We game. We listen to music. We talk. We cook together. We play. We'll deposit our fur baby at doggie daycare and have a date, losing ourselves in the fun and togetherness of it all. We do as we please. And we forget.

Zach and I forget the anxiety, worry, pain, frustrations, and all the unpleasantness that has hounded us since the day he was shot. It was a day that has changed our lives forever and will always remain at the back of our minds in some way. The anniversary of that day has come and gone, and we've done our best to hold on to the happier moments of the past year. Soon after, we came upon one year of living in our house and our puppy turning a year old.

It's not all bad and some days, it's much easier to forget about what is bad than others.

You may judge us and say we are lazy or that our life is boring or that we aren't really living. And we will beg to differ. We are living the best life we could have in this place, at this moment. And what we consider "best" for our lives will change. Our circumstances will change and we will have to come at it all from a different angle. We are just fine with that.

But for now, we are working with what we've got and making what we've got work for us. It doesn't have to work for you; you don't have to understand it. It's enough that we do and that we love it.

The One About Sex (Rated Mature)

(Disclaimer: this post is for mature adults only. If the term 'mature adult' does not apply to you, don't continue further. Or if you're related to me, it might freak you out to read this. Proceed with caution.)

This one was bound to happen sometime. Considering I am a married individual and am about to hit the one-year mark of living with my husband (we've only been living together in the same house since last March), it was going to come up sooner or later. And most things I think about for extended periods of time on any occasion get turned into a blog. (One last thought, I also need to be a bit more gutsy and talk real stuff. This is something pretty real for sure.)

After a conversation I had with my husband last night, I thought about how uptight Christians are about sex. Still. Today. As relevant as the church tries to be, they still end up doing an awkward dance around the topic of sex.

Growing up, sex was a non-existent idea to me. I'd never really heard the word, understood what it entailed, or knew that it became a big deal as soon as you become a teenager. And forget thinking about my parents doing anything more than making out in front of us (which was bad enough). Sex was simply a non-entity.

Then I got the special 'birds-and-the-bees' conversation from my mom when I was about the age I would hit puberty. The books my parents had me read on it approached it as more of a baby-making process, rather than something to be done by married couples as an expression of passion and intimacy. More than anything else, it was just confusing. I couldn't grasp why it would be such an important subject.

When I hit the teenage years, sex suddenly became a central topic. In everything. Not only the media I partook of, but also the small group and youth church I attended. I was lumped with all the hormonally-charged kids my age who probably did think about and experiment with sex. And the biggest thing I took away from any occasion it was mentioned in a Christian setting was don't. Don't think about it, don't watch it, don't do it. If you aren't married, just don't. And by the way, your own body is off limits to yourself.

I began to sense this giant cloud of doom whenever sex was mentioned in any way. And if you have sex before you're married and someone finds out (or you out yourself by becoming pregnant)? You're going to be labeled and looked at with guilt and judgment every time you show your face. Whenever sex would be brought up in a married context, the joy and intimacy and covenant of it was overshadowed by the doom cloud. I wasn't married, so I automatically tuned out whatever was said.

This was a feeling that was hard to shake, even when I did enter into a covenant relationship with my husband. I was now allowed. As freeing as I'm sure it was meant to be, it was the exact opposite. When you're newly married, you sometimes forget. And when it comes to sex, you need a few extra seconds to remember that you're allowed to do this now.

I'm no longer shackled by those religious dictations when it comes to my sex life (which is quite healthy, thanks much). My body belongs to my husband to bring him pleasure and joy and connection, and his body belongs to me for those same reasons, simple as that.

What puzzles me is that the church is still so unsure about it. At one end of the spectrum, you have those blogs and websites written by Christians that are no-holds-barred and can be explicit, but it's easy to see how free they are and can be helpful at times. At the other end, you have those tight-lippers--even married people--who don't talk about it in any case, except to tell their teenagers not to do it. Right smack dab in the middle are the ones who try so hard to be relevant but can't get much more out about it than *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* references.

I'm not sure exactly where in those categories I fall. I do know that I want to approach the awe and beauty of covenant intimacy with my kids instead of wagging my finger at them and making them feel condemned and lectured for something they haven't done yet (also known as positive reinforcement). Or only explaining it as a means of making babies.

Sex is something wonderful and amazing that cannot be duplicated to the same level outside of marriage. It's fun and crazy and a way to connect to your spouse on another level. I just wish most Christians weren't so afraid of it.

I'm part of a small group on Facebook that talks regularly about sex (some Christians and some not), exchanging tips and suggestions. It's informative and just fun. No uptightness or stress or judgment, everyone sharing whatever they're comfortable with.

And as a last thought, if in reading this post you feel offended because you taught me some of the doctrine or knowledge about sex I've mentioned and you feel I've directed this towards you personally, don't worry. This is all out of my perception and feeling about the whole thing. As a teacher, parent, or mentor, I know that you were doing your very best and I might have just received something different. You at least taught me to discover on my own and that, I have.

Potential

Mulling over a rather mind blowing movie, only to realize I have been challenged. I loved every minute of it, yet while it was going on, all I could think of was, "Do I have what it takes to do something like this?"

Not just something good enough to make into a movie. Useless crap comes out in the theater every year that nobody will remember a month after seeing it. I want to write something that if it ever had the good graces to be made into a movie, I would want people to walk out of that theater looking utterly boggled by the magnitude of the whole thing. Scratching their heads, talking about it for days to make everything make sense (which in the end, would), getting headaches over the immensity of it all.

And I hope I can. I hope I have that kind of bigness in my mind. Somewhere. Someday. But I'm just a baby in all this. I always feel like a beginner, but that's the thing with writing. Whenever I write, I'm discovering whatever it is as I am doing the writing. The story plays itself out however it wants to be told as I'm typing the keys. I'm great at starting out. But once I establish a set of characters, relationships between those characters, the boundaries of the universe and such, I feel restricted and eventually grind to a halt.

Whatever the story is, I cannot let that happen to it.

You've heard that greatness is in every day people, but I know this to be a fact.

I have a friend who is doing awesome things with photography, filming, art, even writing her own music. It gets more astounding each time something new of hers comes about. She is going to do something great someday. I know it. It's building up inside of her and one day that creativity is going to explode in front of someone who has the means to show it to the rest of the world.

Someone I've known for a very long while has recently taken very strongly to acting. And I'm sure he does it extremely well, knowing he's been in a few plays, some with difficult roles. From what I've heard, he's passing with flying colors. And he will be great some day. He's got nowhere to go but up.

I know dancers, actors, singers, writers, artists, musicians, photographers, and more, each going about their apparently normal lives, each growing, blossoming, excelling within those 'plain' lives.

The potential to be great is astounding. In every one of us. I could give you the names of everyone I've known, met, run into by happenstance (it would be a tiringly long list) and I could tell you something great that was either growing within them, being practiced, or had already come to full fruition. We can each give something that no one else can; we can dream something up that could never be possible in another time than the one we live in.

Never discount yourself or that particular bent you might have been born with. It may do something to change history.

Fickle

Venting can be part of the healing process. Obviously, I need a little healing. I'll warn you now, this is a vent-exclusive post and something that's been long put-off. But it needs to be done. And to be specific, it is toward a certain group of people that you will probably have figured out by the time I'm done.

I don't know how you could have done it: stood by and smiled that dashing smile, struck that deadly pose, while I pined for you, always on the sidelines. I couldn't help it; seeing you regularly the way I did, having to look at your face--those eyes, that grin. Any red-blooded female would feel the same and it's apparent you knew it as well as I did.

You may have played with my emotions without ever speaking a word to me, or you could have manipulated me the whole time we knew each other. I had all these perfect scenarios in my head: the moment you first noticed me, how you would fall for me, how perfectly irresistible I would be to you. In some cases, I would do the same as you had done to me, shun you while you tripped over yourself to get one glimpse of me or have one conversation with me.

And while I thought about you constantly, dreamed of maybe someday being together, you had your gaggle of unnaturally pretty girls to choose from, and so you did. The whole time, I would play the misfit and you, the playboy. We played our parts so very well. I knew what you didn't, but what you did, everyone knew. Whether you were clueless about my affection, I could not say. But you still took the stage and your bow as well, every time I saw you.

You were out of my league and I knew it. Girls I had known for years and who'd grown into these shapely gazelles became your first choice while I sat by, feeling the lowest of low. That's why I had to imagine, had to con myself into thinking I had a chance.

In the end, I would always be burned, when you would leave to wherever the next place was. The rejection, the knowledge that you never would have picked me in a million years, that you only were with the girls that had the body I didn't, that I was too safe or never could have fun, that you never wanted to know me because you weren't introduced to a pretty face, that I would always be the awkward girl in the background--that would ruin me. 

And I would cry, wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn't ever get noticed, ever be good enough for your type.

Now I look back, to those occurrences that feel so long ago, almost in another lifetime. I realize that all that pain was only caused by a freshly pubescent mind playing tricks on me. Most of those guys have now grown into people I would not want to know.

Several have gotten their girlfriends pregnant (at an age which very few females are qualified to be mothers) and are now forced into a fatherhood they may not have wanted. All because they decided to act against wisdom.

One developed mental problems.

One raped his then-girlfriend.

One is a pot-head and has been in jail at least once.

Some, moved away and I couldn't tell you where they are now. But after a random run-in with one or two of them, I doubt it is anywhere I would want to be.

A few turned out to be genuinely nice guys. Just very unmotivated to grow up and above all, not for me.

And after all of that turmoil, I am the one who got the beautiful romance and am now married to a man who respects, admires, honors, values, and loves me more than I deserve. Most of those simple souls I longed for were nothing but pretty pictures with no substance underneath. A lot of them are in situations I wouldn't wish on anyone. If I had to do it all again, I would. The love I have now is worth so much more than those fickle surface desires.

(Yes, I had more than a few crushes when I was younger. Most only lasted a few months [which was usually how long I would have regular interactions with them].  Only two were ever really acted upon and taught me lessons I will never forget.)

I suppose it shows that God is so much better at picking your mate than you are. I probably would have been in a terrible mess if I had done my own choosing.

Separation of Life and Internets

Dear readers who read (redundant, because that means you, assuming you are reading this right now; I know, it's a silly and trivial thing):

I've had a lot of brain things going on inside my head and I'm rearranging some mental furniture. In layman's terms, you could say I'm changing.

Changing what, well...if I had any clue, I would play nice and enlighten us both at the same time.

I just know it's change because it hurts. And it sucks. And I am sensitive and angry and constantly roiling with conflicted emotions about myself and about other people. I really don't know what to think at the moment; I only hope things will improve.

I'm trying to stay quieter, I guess you could say, in terms of my writing. I've used my blogs to write out frustrations in the past and it's done some unsightly things--to me and to others. Part of this whole change fight (and only a part) is learning to keep my mouth shut, even when my anger makes me want to run rampant through the interwebs and destroy things.

But behind every computer screen (as I promise is the case here) is a human being. And most of us have pretty relatable feelings. I'm surprised I hadn't learned my lesson, what with my own experience of being trashed on the blog of she-who-shall-not-be-named. I'd rather my anger be channeled out another way than damage relationships and people.

I'm trying to stay quieter in general, really. My fingers tend to be little chatterboxes when they get near a keyboard and it's hard to shut them up. Never mind that my brain goes a hundred miles an hour. I'm way too attuned to this social media thing, announcing every little thing I'm feeling and hoping every single person notices. We really shouldn't give a rip. You might have a heart attack thinking about how people separated their social lives from their personal lives before the Internet.

I think that's what I need to go back to though, unless I have something incredibly mind-blowing to share. Then, I won't hesitate. But the little stuff, eh...you could probably live a full, happy life without knowing. My word vomit is pretty much for my sake anyway, not that I need the ego boost.

So I'll be here and there, but most likely not posting as often. Some mental things need to be straightened out, as well as emotional and relational. I'll see you when I see you.

You Have What I Want And I Have What You Want

Humans are a funny thing.

I've noticed a lot of us create these fantasies, these perfect worlds to daydream about while trying to fall asleep, in our spare time, or what-have-you.

You know what your perfect job would look like, your perfect spouse, your perfect kids, your perfect weight, your perfect social groups, etc.

You pine and sigh, watching the people who have one or two of those things, envying them, wishing you could trade places.

And yet...they themselves aren't happy. What I find funny is that we are surprised to discover those we are jealous of aren't happy...even when we have things other people want and aren't happy ourselves.

For example, I submit a generic conversation between two women (I'm sure everyone has heard a version of this):

Female 1: "Ugh, if I could just lose those ten pounds, I would finally be happy."

Female 2: "Are you serious? I would pay money to look like you!"

Ad infinitum, inserting whatever gender or situation you please.

You may have the body you've always wanted, but your job might not be what you dreamed of. You might have a super-hot spouse, but you can't feel confident with them because you aren't at that perfect weight. You might have great kids, but you can't stand how your social life has panned out.

Most of us have something that someone else wants. We need to face the fact that our lives might not ever reach that perfect place, but if we have the power to change something, we ought to give it our best effort. We should rejoice in those good things we are blessed with and not waste our energy on envy.

That energy could be devoted to bringing an area of your life to a place you want it to be.