I have been thinking a lot lately about betrayal. Since Mel's death I have felt so betrayed by God that it is hard for me to trust Him. For a while there I couldn't even pray I was so angry and distrustful of God.
Betrayal seems to me to be one of the hardest things to experience, because in order to feel betrayal you have to have loved someone, cared about someone, trusted someone and/or believed that these people you cared about would care about you FOREVER. I've also been betrayed by many people who I thought would support me when Mel died. In all honesty I have to say that people don't really know what to do or say when someone so significant in your life dies. Most people have lost somebody they love to death, but I have learned over and over in the last two years, there is no loss like losing a spouse, not even losing a child. When you are married and go through losses, you have your spouse for support and to lean on when you need someone so badly you think you might die. But when your spouse dies, there is no other person in the world who knows you the way your spouse did. Mel knew me inside and out, he knew how to comfort me, he knew to just hold me and let me cry. He knew he didn't have to "fix" everything that I mostly just needed "him".
I have learned the only FOREVER is the everlasting, blood-saving gift of life from Jesus Christ. That is the only thing I know is forever, and I know that I want to be there.
I have been TRYING to learn that God didn't really betray me when he took Mel home. He Blessed Mel with the greatest gift of all, the gift we Christians just celebrated on Easter. I just didn't want him to bless Mel that way, I wanted him to bless Mel the way I wanted Mel to be blessed. I wanted God to cure Mel's cancer and bless him with many more years on this earth with me. I used to pray that if God was going to take Mel from me that the rapture would occur at the same time so all four of us could go to Heaven together. Again, my idea not God's.
I've also been betrayed by many people who I thought would support me when Mel died. In all honesty I have to say that people don't really know what to do or say when someone so significant in your life dies. Most people have lost somebody they love to death, but I have learned over and over in the last two years, there is no loss like losing a spouse, not even losing a child. When you are married and go through losses, you have your spouse for support and to lean on when you need someone so badly you think you might die. But when your spouse dies, there is no other person in the world who knows you the way your spouse did. Mel knew me inside and out, he knew how to comfort me, he knew to just hold me and let me cry. He knew he didn't have to "fix" everything that I mostly just needed "him".
I have had to learn that some people are not meant to be in your life forever. Some are there for just a season of your life, and then they leave. Sometimes you know why, and other times you just can't understand why. The best part though is that God does put really, really special people in our lives forever, and they are family. I'm not talking blood sharing, DNA connected family, I am talking about people who just really "get you" and you "get them", and you love each other through everything and anything. I am blessed by really good "family".
Today while I was writing this entry I got a phone call from one of my main "sisters" Deanna. She was calling to say a very special person had passed out of this life into eternal life. He was my family, his wife is my family and his kids are my family too. He was my pastor for many, many years. He married Mel and I, he did Nicole's baby dedication, he did the funeral services for Mel's parents', he was there for Mel and I to renew our vows on our 10th anniversary. It was just Pastor Hal, his precious wife Sharon, Mel and me and Nicole. It was so special, and Mel had planned it as a surprise. He did Daniel's baby dedication, he was preaching his last sermon when Mel passed away, and the last service he performed as a pastor was Mel's memorial service. I saw Sharon a while ago, and I see how I must have looked a little over two years ago. I only hope I can be a good enough "family" for her to go through these horrible times. Lost is the only word to describe the look on the face of a spouse whose spouse has just passed away. Thank God Hal is in His presence, and if I know my Mel he is talking Hal's ears off, and that makes me smile. It also makes me smile to know that one day I will see Mel and Hal again.
During Holy Week I watched various shows about the crucifixion and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Man you want to talk betrayal, talk to Jesus. Even though his whole purpose was to be born of a virgin, live life as a human man and give his life FOR US, I cannot begin to imagine the betrayal he must have felt from pretty much the whole human race. His own friends (family, disciples) denied him and betrayed him for a few coins, then he was beaten beyond recognition, forced to carry his own cross to his own death, he was nailed to the cross, stabbed in the abdomen and left hanging there to die.
So to me the biggest betrayal of all is denying the One who was betrayed for us. Jesus Christ suffered so much and was BETRAYED beyond measure for ME, for YOU, and for ANY ONE who chooses Him. I am so glad Mel chose Him, I am so glad I have chosen Him, and all the others who have gone before me who have chosen Him. Because this is the only way BETRAYAL will ever win the biggest prize of all. Yes BETRAYAL wins because without betrayal there is no resurrection and no choice to be made to live or die for Jesus Christ. One day BETRAYAL will no longer exist because Jesus Christ, the King of Kings sits on the throne and the final judgment will be passed. Don't make the mistake of being one of those left behind on that day. Choose Jesus Christ today for your life and your salvation, and kick betrayal in the proverbial butt.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Unpacking
So we have been back home in Pueblo a month now. When we packed up our stuff in Washington, I was just more interested in getting everything packed, rather than going through everything and getting rid of things I didn't really need or want. So now I am faced with that monumental task as I unpack.
The boxes appear to be bunnies, meaning that they seem to reproduce while I work or sleep. Every time I get one room cleared of boxes, then there are more to go through so I take them to the box-free room so I have more room to go through them. At last count today I have approximately 12-15 more boxes upstairs to go through, then sometime (okay probably never) need to go through the boxes in the basement.
The thing about going through these boxes, is that I am not just unpacking things. I am unpacking a lifetime of memories. This time of year is not good for me, as it is almost 2 years since Mel passed away. I have so many memories of our life together. I have unpacked the first gift he ever bought me (a ceramic kitty cat), part of the first Christmas gift he ever gave me (a Mickey Mouse statue holding a great big gift box that he put a birthstone ring in for me to find), my wedding gown and veil, his things that I have kept for the kids to have and all the pictures of our lives together.
I am also taken back to Mel's last hospital stay of 2 years ago. I remember sitting on my window seat cot and watching the snow, the flight for life helicopters, the ambulances and all the other people coming to the hospital. I remember the bleak news we received day after day about Mel's health and prognosis. I remember just sitting with Mel and trying to absorb every moment, every feeling, every ounce of him. I wanted to take him "inside" of me and keep him safe and hold onto him forever. I remember staying awake at night and just watching him breathe and pleading with God with every breath I took to please spare his life. At times the pain is just as unbearable now as it was then. I have started feeling the "open gaping wound in my heart" pain again, and I am scared. I wonder if this will be the cycle I go through every year. Sometimes I wonder if I am really going crazy. I have been crying, a lot.
I was sitting in church on Sunday. The pastor's message was titled Extravagant Love. He talked about God's extravagant love for us, but he also talked about ways we show extravagant love to those we love. He mentioned the fact that caring for someone you deeply love when they are extremely ill and dying is an act of extravagant love. I very clearly heard Mel's voice say "Patty". I cried through the whole service. Mel was always so grateful for the things I did for him. He never went to sleep without telling me he loved me and thanking me for being there with him and taking care of him. I know that I am blessed. I do have the extravagant love of my Father, and I have also been lucky enough to experience the extravagant love of a man whom I absolutely adored and who loved me and spoiled me and was always kind to me. He would show up with flowers "just because", or a sweet card or small gift "just because". He always told me he was the luckiest man in the world, but I was the lucky one.
Last week a of friend of ours passed away. He was diagnosed with cancer within just a few months of Mel. He and his wife used to sit right behind us in church. I remember hugging his wife and seeing the fear in her eyes that I am sure was the same fear reflected in my eyes. He kept in touch with me by Facebook in Washington. We had last emailed about a month before we moved. He had been cancer-free, that is until the doctors scanned his abdomen. I wanted to go to his memorial service, but I just couldn't. I'm just not able to do that yet. I don't know if it's selfish or self-preservation, but I just can't bring myself to go to a funeral or memorial service. I do know that I will call his wife, maybe she needs the company of someone in the exclusive club called "widows-r-us" (I still hate that word).
On a lighter note, I can't get the stove in the new house to work. Some would call that a curse, I call it a blessing.
Well I am off. I have a date with a real square (packing box). Love you all.
The boxes appear to be bunnies, meaning that they seem to reproduce while I work or sleep. Every time I get one room cleared of boxes, then there are more to go through so I take them to the box-free room so I have more room to go through them. At last count today I have approximately 12-15 more boxes upstairs to go through, then sometime (okay probably never) need to go through the boxes in the basement.
The thing about going through these boxes, is that I am not just unpacking things. I am unpacking a lifetime of memories. This time of year is not good for me, as it is almost 2 years since Mel passed away. I have so many memories of our life together. I have unpacked the first gift he ever bought me (a ceramic kitty cat), part of the first Christmas gift he ever gave me (a Mickey Mouse statue holding a great big gift box that he put a birthstone ring in for me to find), my wedding gown and veil, his things that I have kept for the kids to have and all the pictures of our lives together.
I am also taken back to Mel's last hospital stay of 2 years ago. I remember sitting on my window seat cot and watching the snow, the flight for life helicopters, the ambulances and all the other people coming to the hospital. I remember the bleak news we received day after day about Mel's health and prognosis. I remember just sitting with Mel and trying to absorb every moment, every feeling, every ounce of him. I wanted to take him "inside" of me and keep him safe and hold onto him forever. I remember staying awake at night and just watching him breathe and pleading with God with every breath I took to please spare his life. At times the pain is just as unbearable now as it was then. I have started feeling the "open gaping wound in my heart" pain again, and I am scared. I wonder if this will be the cycle I go through every year. Sometimes I wonder if I am really going crazy. I have been crying, a lot.
I was sitting in church on Sunday. The pastor's message was titled Extravagant Love. He talked about God's extravagant love for us, but he also talked about ways we show extravagant love to those we love. He mentioned the fact that caring for someone you deeply love when they are extremely ill and dying is an act of extravagant love. I very clearly heard Mel's voice say "Patty". I cried through the whole service. Mel was always so grateful for the things I did for him. He never went to sleep without telling me he loved me and thanking me for being there with him and taking care of him. I know that I am blessed. I do have the extravagant love of my Father, and I have also been lucky enough to experience the extravagant love of a man whom I absolutely adored and who loved me and spoiled me and was always kind to me. He would show up with flowers "just because", or a sweet card or small gift "just because". He always told me he was the luckiest man in the world, but I was the lucky one.
Last week a of friend of ours passed away. He was diagnosed with cancer within just a few months of Mel. He and his wife used to sit right behind us in church. I remember hugging his wife and seeing the fear in her eyes that I am sure was the same fear reflected in my eyes. He kept in touch with me by Facebook in Washington. We had last emailed about a month before we moved. He had been cancer-free, that is until the doctors scanned his abdomen. I wanted to go to his memorial service, but I just couldn't. I'm just not able to do that yet. I don't know if it's selfish or self-preservation, but I just can't bring myself to go to a funeral or memorial service. I do know that I will call his wife, maybe she needs the company of someone in the exclusive club called "widows-r-us" (I still hate that word).
On a lighter note, I can't get the stove in the new house to work. Some would call that a curse, I call it a blessing.
Well I am off. I have a date with a real square (packing box). Love you all.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Houses
Today I was busily cleaning house and getting things all shiny for the showing tomorrow. It made me think of the house that Miranda Lambert sings about in her song "The HouseThat Built Me". She sings about the house she spent her childhood in, and she goes back to relive her childhood memories and the things that happened to her there that made her who she is. I love the song.
It got me thinking about all the houses I have lived in. The first house I remember living in was a great big old house on Tejon street in what is now downtown Colorado Springs. I only have hazy memories, flashes of a staircase and the wood in the house. I also remember that my brother Andy picked at the plaster in his room until he made a hole in the wall. I remember a picture of Lois and me in dresses standing on the porch of that house.
I next lived in a house in the brand new subdivision called Widefield, near Security in Colorado Springs. When we moved there, our house was one of the first houses built. I remember it raining and flooding and tornado warnings. I remember filling the washing machine with water when it stormed, I guess to have fresh water. I remember my best friend Terri Hayes. We became friends in 2nd grade and remained friends into high school, even after I had moved, and then lost touch with one another. I remember raising our rabbits, mine was the one who had babies. I remember getting chicken pox with my brother and sister and my cousins Steven and Wendy. It was so hot. My mom and aunt Bonnie set up lounge chairs for us in our garage to lay on where it was cooler. I remember the poppies my mom had planted out front, and I remember being afraid she was going to go to jail for growing them because somewhere along my road of growing up I learned that heroin came from poppies. I'm now fairly certain that wasn't the kind of poppies mom grew. I remember being little and my dad tied me to the close line with the sash on one of my dresses and made me feel like I was flying. We had a huge back yard, and in the bottom of it Lois, Andy and I along with our partners in crime Steven and Wendy dug a great big huge fort in the dirt. We spent so many hours in that dirt. We fought wars, played house, played wagon train and anything else we could think of. My first boyfriend lived across the street from us. His name was Darryl Kriner. I remember he was a hemophiliac (bled easily) and had to get infusions of plasma and blood transfusions. I often wonder what happened to him, there were so many who ended up with HIV or AIDS from all the blood products they received before there was testing for this. We "went steady". He gave me a ring made out of beads, and I treasured it as if it was a diamond. This is where I lived when I remember losing a pet. We had a dachsund named Cisco. His back went out and we had to have him put to sleep. I remember mom and dad sent us outside to play so dad could sneak off to the vet with Cisco without us knowing. However, in true Cisco fashion, as dad drove by us outside he lifted his head and looked out the window as if to say goodbye to us. Dang dog.
When I was in 9th grade, we moved to Canon City, Colorado. I remember when we first went to see it. There were all these old people driving old cars, we called them Beaver Cleaver cars from the show Leave it to Beaver. We moved into a house in the country. We had an alfalfa field and an apple orchard. We lived next door to a dairy. They had a dog named Andy, and for a long time, we couldn't figure out why they were always yelling at my brother. We had a garden and black walnut trees and a circle driveway. I remember thinking that was pretty fancy. I worked next door at the dairy taking care of the calves. I LOVED that job. We lived in this house when my grandpa Tiffany died. I was almost 16 when he died. I remember he was the first person I loved who died (I was at least old enough for it to effect me). I had a pet goat named Cathy whom I adored. I bought and raised male calves from the dairy and sold them to my dad when they were ready to be butchered. The first time I fell in love I lived in this house. He knows who he is, so I won't say the name here, but we were crazy in love, only as teenagers can be. I remember "keggers" and "woodsies" (AKA beer parties) and bonfires. I remember Skyline Drive, a road the prisoners built that twists and turns atop a mountain above the old prison. Canon City is where most of Colorado's prisons are. I fell madly in love with a baby named Amy. She was a newborn baby whom I babysat for a year or so. I felt so important taking care of her. Of course she mostly slept when I was there, but I would go in her nursery and sit in the rocking chair and just watch her sleep. She was blonde and had blue eyes. I remember the huge bedroom Lois and I shared. We painted it the ugliest color of yellow, but at the time we thought it looked like sunshine. We always shared a bedroom when we lived at home.
In 11th grade I moved to Tehran, Iran. My dad had taken a job through the telephone company to be part of the team put together to install the phone system in Iran. We lived in an apartment. I remember feeling how strange it was to live somewhere that the people around you didn't speak your language. I remember being so horrified by the extreme poverty people lived in as much as I was fascinated with how rich the others lived. I remember the butcher shops with meat hanging outside in the heat with dried blood and flies on it. This is where my aversion to meat came from. I had a great friend there. Her name is Joy. We reconnected a couple years ago on Face Book. We were partners in crime. She had a boyfriend she was forbidden to have contact with because he was much older than she was. We traveled by cabs provided by the telephone company anywhere we went in Iran. Joy and I would call a cab and go to a fancy motel to mail her forbidden letters to Steve (by the way they are still married) and to buy our fancy cigarettes. We also ditched a lot of school and hung out at Mexicali restaurant. Two of the waiters were quite taken with Joy and I, and we would spend the days there eating and flirting until we had to take a cab to our bus stop to make it look like we got off the bus with everyone else. We also used to go to a park that was by the Shah's castle and sit and smoke and laugh and giggle. By then I was dating her brother Patrick and their mom's name was Patty too. So we would talk about my boyfriend and she would tell me about the forbidden Steve. It all ended when the Shah's regime started falling apart and severe rioting and killing of Americans started. We all had to leave. No time to say goodbye to anyone. We were just lucky to be able to get on a plane to anywhere but Iran. I am still so thankful for the experience and very, very grateful to live in the United States of America.
When we got back to the states we lived in Pueblo for a while with my grandma until we got a place in Canon City so that Andy and I could finish school at Canon City High with our friends. When my dad returned to the states, he took a job in Grand Junction with the phone company. After I graduated my mom moved to Grand Junction and that fall I moved there to go to college. That was a bad time in my life. This was right after I had my abortion. I started nursing school, and my first rotation was labor and delivery. It nearly killed me. I remember seeing babies being born and longing for my own. I dropped out after a semester. About a year later I moved to Pueblo and lived with my grandma. I went to business school to become a secretary and later started working at Parkview Hospital where I worked for 17 years.
In 1996 I bought my first house. I was so proud that I did this all by myself. I was still single. I met Mel a couple months before I bought the house. He helped me move and put things back together in the new house. This is the place we fell in love. This is where he proposed to me. This is where we lived when we had Nicole. When Nicole was 3 we moved up the street five blocks to the house where I lost Mel. I fell so in love with that house. It was so beautiful and seemed so huge. Mel bought me a hot tub. We would soak in it in the middle of the night when it snowed. That was our favorite time. This is where we lived when Daniel came to us, another baby to love. This is where we lived when Mel was diagnosed with cancer, where I cared for him when he was ill, and where I eventually lost him. I don't know if I could ever walk back into that house. This summer when we went home I could hardly drive by it. Every once in a while someone will tell me they have driven by and how the new owners have changed it. I don't want to hear. I want to erase the bad things and go back there and relive the good years again.
In May 2011 the kids and I moved to our house in Odessa, WA, 10 weeks to the day after Mel died we arrived in Odessa. I still don't know how I managed that. I hated being here, I hated living here, I hated being anywhere that Mel wasn't. This is the house that has built me the most. This is the house I have lived in where I have ranted and raged at God for taking Mel from me. This is the house where I have laid curled up in a ball in the middle of the night, night after night, sobbing, begging God for my old life back. This is the house where I have had to learn to function again, at least on the surface. I have spent more time in bed in this house than I probably had the previous years in our old house. This is where I have laid at night curled up with a baby puppy in my arms and tearing streaming down my face in loneliness. This is the house where we all three sleep in the same bedroom. I have gotten a lot of unasked for advice about how to remedy this situation. I figure they won't still be sharing a room with me when they get married so I'm not too worried about it. We still feel better if we are all together, especially at night. This is the house where my faith in God has been tested over and over and over again. This is the house where I have argued over and over and over again with God about not wanting to be here. This is the house where God has taught me so many things. He has taught me that He didn't take Mel from me as punishment. He took Mel home to live in Glory with Him until he comes again. This is the house where I have learned to laugh again and where I have started to trust God again. The time I have spent here has been a real spiritual journey for me, and God had the exact people in place here that He knew I would need before I even knew they existed. My Christian sisters Lynn, Kerry, Faye, Michelle, Merleen, Vici, Wendy. They have held me and loved me through so many emotions and changes and questions and doubts and fears. He put us next door to a wonderful couple who has loved us like family, second grandparents to my kids and sounding boards for me. He put me here with family to rely on when I need help or a place to go when it's lonely. So I believe that this is really the house that built me, because God has put me here to "build me" into the person I am today. I still miss Mel, I always will. I still don't understand why he couldn't have been cured here on earth, and I never will. I still get angry when I think of my kids not growing up with their daddy, and I always will. But this is really where my spirituality has been tested and grown more than any other time or place in my life, and for that I am thankful.
I first wrote this several months ago. It is now December 28, 2012. A lot has happened since this started. A few weeks ago my dad called me. He told me he wanted to start looking for us a house in Pueblo even though our Odessa house hasn't sold yet. I told him no, he told me yes, I told him no and told him I could not ever ask him to do that. He told me I hadn't asked but he had. He told me he didn't care what anybody else thought about his decision. He told me he is 75 years old and doesn't have that much time left to live, and the time he does have left he wants to live it with my children close to him (maybe me too). He told me he had even considered that maybe it would be best for us to be in Washington when he dies so that Nicole and Daniel wouldn't have to witness losing him. He asked me if I thought he was selfish. I told him no. I told him that my greatest desire was for my children to be near their grandparents again. I guess it takes being a grandparent to know the joy of actively participating in your grandchildren's lives. My kids are the only grandchildren my parents have ever had the opportunity to live near. So it comes to a full circle. Today a house is being bought for my family, about 2 miles from my parents home. Next week we start packing up, and then I move across country again for the 2nd time in less than 2 years. I am excited but I am also sad. I will miss my family and friends in Odessa, but I hope to remain a part of their lives. Facebook is a wonderful place. I love you all and wouldn't have missed being in Odessa for anything. God really does have a purpose for everything in life. There was a purpose in me being here, I have a whole new "circle of friends" whom I will love for life. Thank you, all of you for taking care of us this past year and a half.
It got me thinking about all the houses I have lived in. The first house I remember living in was a great big old house on Tejon street in what is now downtown Colorado Springs. I only have hazy memories, flashes of a staircase and the wood in the house. I also remember that my brother Andy picked at the plaster in his room until he made a hole in the wall. I remember a picture of Lois and me in dresses standing on the porch of that house.
I next lived in a house in the brand new subdivision called Widefield, near Security in Colorado Springs. When we moved there, our house was one of the first houses built. I remember it raining and flooding and tornado warnings. I remember filling the washing machine with water when it stormed, I guess to have fresh water. I remember my best friend Terri Hayes. We became friends in 2nd grade and remained friends into high school, even after I had moved, and then lost touch with one another. I remember raising our rabbits, mine was the one who had babies. I remember getting chicken pox with my brother and sister and my cousins Steven and Wendy. It was so hot. My mom and aunt Bonnie set up lounge chairs for us in our garage to lay on where it was cooler. I remember the poppies my mom had planted out front, and I remember being afraid she was going to go to jail for growing them because somewhere along my road of growing up I learned that heroin came from poppies. I'm now fairly certain that wasn't the kind of poppies mom grew. I remember being little and my dad tied me to the close line with the sash on one of my dresses and made me feel like I was flying. We had a huge back yard, and in the bottom of it Lois, Andy and I along with our partners in crime Steven and Wendy dug a great big huge fort in the dirt. We spent so many hours in that dirt. We fought wars, played house, played wagon train and anything else we could think of. My first boyfriend lived across the street from us. His name was Darryl Kriner. I remember he was a hemophiliac (bled easily) and had to get infusions of plasma and blood transfusions. I often wonder what happened to him, there were so many who ended up with HIV or AIDS from all the blood products they received before there was testing for this. We "went steady". He gave me a ring made out of beads, and I treasured it as if it was a diamond. This is where I lived when I remember losing a pet. We had a dachsund named Cisco. His back went out and we had to have him put to sleep. I remember mom and dad sent us outside to play so dad could sneak off to the vet with Cisco without us knowing. However, in true Cisco fashion, as dad drove by us outside he lifted his head and looked out the window as if to say goodbye to us. Dang dog.
When I was in 9th grade, we moved to Canon City, Colorado. I remember when we first went to see it. There were all these old people driving old cars, we called them Beaver Cleaver cars from the show Leave it to Beaver. We moved into a house in the country. We had an alfalfa field and an apple orchard. We lived next door to a dairy. They had a dog named Andy, and for a long time, we couldn't figure out why they were always yelling at my brother. We had a garden and black walnut trees and a circle driveway. I remember thinking that was pretty fancy. I worked next door at the dairy taking care of the calves. I LOVED that job. We lived in this house when my grandpa Tiffany died. I was almost 16 when he died. I remember he was the first person I loved who died (I was at least old enough for it to effect me). I had a pet goat named Cathy whom I adored. I bought and raised male calves from the dairy and sold them to my dad when they were ready to be butchered. The first time I fell in love I lived in this house. He knows who he is, so I won't say the name here, but we were crazy in love, only as teenagers can be. I remember "keggers" and "woodsies" (AKA beer parties) and bonfires. I remember Skyline Drive, a road the prisoners built that twists and turns atop a mountain above the old prison. Canon City is where most of Colorado's prisons are. I fell madly in love with a baby named Amy. She was a newborn baby whom I babysat for a year or so. I felt so important taking care of her. Of course she mostly slept when I was there, but I would go in her nursery and sit in the rocking chair and just watch her sleep. She was blonde and had blue eyes. I remember the huge bedroom Lois and I shared. We painted it the ugliest color of yellow, but at the time we thought it looked like sunshine. We always shared a bedroom when we lived at home.
In 11th grade I moved to Tehran, Iran. My dad had taken a job through the telephone company to be part of the team put together to install the phone system in Iran. We lived in an apartment. I remember feeling how strange it was to live somewhere that the people around you didn't speak your language. I remember being so horrified by the extreme poverty people lived in as much as I was fascinated with how rich the others lived. I remember the butcher shops with meat hanging outside in the heat with dried blood and flies on it. This is where my aversion to meat came from. I had a great friend there. Her name is Joy. We reconnected a couple years ago on Face Book. We were partners in crime. She had a boyfriend she was forbidden to have contact with because he was much older than she was. We traveled by cabs provided by the telephone company anywhere we went in Iran. Joy and I would call a cab and go to a fancy motel to mail her forbidden letters to Steve (by the way they are still married) and to buy our fancy cigarettes. We also ditched a lot of school and hung out at Mexicali restaurant. Two of the waiters were quite taken with Joy and I, and we would spend the days there eating and flirting until we had to take a cab to our bus stop to make it look like we got off the bus with everyone else. We also used to go to a park that was by the Shah's castle and sit and smoke and laugh and giggle. By then I was dating her brother Patrick and their mom's name was Patty too. So we would talk about my boyfriend and she would tell me about the forbidden Steve. It all ended when the Shah's regime started falling apart and severe rioting and killing of Americans started. We all had to leave. No time to say goodbye to anyone. We were just lucky to be able to get on a plane to anywhere but Iran. I am still so thankful for the experience and very, very grateful to live in the United States of America.
When we got back to the states we lived in Pueblo for a while with my grandma until we got a place in Canon City so that Andy and I could finish school at Canon City High with our friends. When my dad returned to the states, he took a job in Grand Junction with the phone company. After I graduated my mom moved to Grand Junction and that fall I moved there to go to college. That was a bad time in my life. This was right after I had my abortion. I started nursing school, and my first rotation was labor and delivery. It nearly killed me. I remember seeing babies being born and longing for my own. I dropped out after a semester. About a year later I moved to Pueblo and lived with my grandma. I went to business school to become a secretary and later started working at Parkview Hospital where I worked for 17 years.
In 1996 I bought my first house. I was so proud that I did this all by myself. I was still single. I met Mel a couple months before I bought the house. He helped me move and put things back together in the new house. This is the place we fell in love. This is where he proposed to me. This is where we lived when we had Nicole. When Nicole was 3 we moved up the street five blocks to the house where I lost Mel. I fell so in love with that house. It was so beautiful and seemed so huge. Mel bought me a hot tub. We would soak in it in the middle of the night when it snowed. That was our favorite time. This is where we lived when Daniel came to us, another baby to love. This is where we lived when Mel was diagnosed with cancer, where I cared for him when he was ill, and where I eventually lost him. I don't know if I could ever walk back into that house. This summer when we went home I could hardly drive by it. Every once in a while someone will tell me they have driven by and how the new owners have changed it. I don't want to hear. I want to erase the bad things and go back there and relive the good years again.
In May 2011 the kids and I moved to our house in Odessa, WA, 10 weeks to the day after Mel died we arrived in Odessa. I still don't know how I managed that. I hated being here, I hated living here, I hated being anywhere that Mel wasn't. This is the house that has built me the most. This is the house I have lived in where I have ranted and raged at God for taking Mel from me. This is the house where I have laid curled up in a ball in the middle of the night, night after night, sobbing, begging God for my old life back. This is the house where I have had to learn to function again, at least on the surface. I have spent more time in bed in this house than I probably had the previous years in our old house. This is where I have laid at night curled up with a baby puppy in my arms and tearing streaming down my face in loneliness. This is the house where we all three sleep in the same bedroom. I have gotten a lot of unasked for advice about how to remedy this situation. I figure they won't still be sharing a room with me when they get married so I'm not too worried about it. We still feel better if we are all together, especially at night. This is the house where my faith in God has been tested over and over and over again. This is the house where I have argued over and over and over again with God about not wanting to be here. This is the house where God has taught me so many things. He has taught me that He didn't take Mel from me as punishment. He took Mel home to live in Glory with Him until he comes again. This is the house where I have learned to laugh again and where I have started to trust God again. The time I have spent here has been a real spiritual journey for me, and God had the exact people in place here that He knew I would need before I even knew they existed. My Christian sisters Lynn, Kerry, Faye, Michelle, Merleen, Vici, Wendy. They have held me and loved me through so many emotions and changes and questions and doubts and fears. He put us next door to a wonderful couple who has loved us like family, second grandparents to my kids and sounding boards for me. He put me here with family to rely on when I need help or a place to go when it's lonely. So I believe that this is really the house that built me, because God has put me here to "build me" into the person I am today. I still miss Mel, I always will. I still don't understand why he couldn't have been cured here on earth, and I never will. I still get angry when I think of my kids not growing up with their daddy, and I always will. But this is really where my spirituality has been tested and grown more than any other time or place in my life, and for that I am thankful.
I first wrote this several months ago. It is now December 28, 2012. A lot has happened since this started. A few weeks ago my dad called me. He told me he wanted to start looking for us a house in Pueblo even though our Odessa house hasn't sold yet. I told him no, he told me yes, I told him no and told him I could not ever ask him to do that. He told me I hadn't asked but he had. He told me he didn't care what anybody else thought about his decision. He told me he is 75 years old and doesn't have that much time left to live, and the time he does have left he wants to live it with my children close to him (maybe me too). He told me he had even considered that maybe it would be best for us to be in Washington when he dies so that Nicole and Daniel wouldn't have to witness losing him. He asked me if I thought he was selfish. I told him no. I told him that my greatest desire was for my children to be near their grandparents again. I guess it takes being a grandparent to know the joy of actively participating in your grandchildren's lives. My kids are the only grandchildren my parents have ever had the opportunity to live near. So it comes to a full circle. Today a house is being bought for my family, about 2 miles from my parents home. Next week we start packing up, and then I move across country again for the 2nd time in less than 2 years. I am excited but I am also sad. I will miss my family and friends in Odessa, but I hope to remain a part of their lives. Facebook is a wonderful place. I love you all and wouldn't have missed being in Odessa for anything. God really does have a purpose for everything in life. There was a purpose in me being here, I have a whole new "circle of friends" whom I will love for life. Thank you, all of you for taking care of us this past year and a half.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Empathy (I Hope)
Recently I have found out about some people I know who have been diagnosed with kidney cancer. One of them is an old friend from high school who was diagnosed with Stage IV kidney cancer just like Mel was and the other is my cousin's daughter a young 23-year-old single mom of two young children. It breaks my heart when I hear news like this (I know I don't have the market on this, it affects everyone who hears about it in one way or another). I am sad to think of someone from my past, whom I haven't seen or talked to in 14 years, will likely die and leave a wife and children behind. It breaks open old wounds on my heart. I am sad to think that my cousin's precious child has cancer, maybe it's gone, maybe it won't come back, but once it has been said you have cancer I think the thought of it having been there at all is always niggling at the back of your mind.
I think back to when my mom lost her sisters and brother. Her older sister, Merle died of lung cancer. Never smoked in her life except shirtless in the back of a pickup truck with my mom and their other sister and their children (there is a story behind that). At the time she died she was driving a souped up Camaro. She was my "cool" aunt, the one I could talk about anything with. She fought cancer with everything she had. I saw her a lot between the time she was diagnosed and passed away. Every time I saw here, there was a little bit less of her there. The one time I knew for sure that she knew she was going to die my parents and I, Merle and her husband Paul, had all gone to Albuquerque to see my mom's baby sister who also had cancer. We went to a 50s styles restaurant, and Bonnie (mom's baby sister) wanted us all to sign our napkins and put the date on them, and aunt Merle didn't want to do it. I knew then and there she knew she was going to die. She was usually the ring leader of these kinds of silly, fun things. My mom nursed both of her sisters to the ends of their lives (mom was a nurse). A little bit of her died with each of them. When my mom was a little girl, she went to kindergarten twice because when Merle went she couldn't stand to be away from her while she was at school.
My aunt Bonnie lived in Seattle when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a mastectomy and was assured by her surgeon that she needed no further treatment. Not long after that she moved to Albuquerque and was found to have metastatic breast cancer in her liver. The only thing that made me feel better with her cancer is that she did not have the excruciating pain that aunt Merle had with her cancer. Bonnie was such a dear sweet lady. She always had a ready smile and a laugh and LOVED to shop (I think the gene has been passed on to my daughter). Once when she was in the hospital to have a blood clot filter placed, the hospital auxilary was having a jewelry sale and she insisted on being put in a wheelchair and all of "us girls" going down to buy some jewelry. My mom lost another piece of her life when she lost her baby sister. You see mom and aunt Merle had practically raised Bonnie. They remember her being born and them putting blankets in a dresser drawer for a safe place for her to sleep, and they took care of her.
My mom's brother Ralph died without my mom being there. Mom and dad had gone to Utah because Ralph was sick. He died as they were pulling into the hospital parking lot. My mom felt a sense of betrayal and loss for not being able to see him once more or to be with him when he died. I told mom that I thought God knew she had had enough of watching her siblings die and I don't think Ralph wanted her to go through that either. All three of her siblings died within just a few years. She was raw for a long time after that. I felt that way when Mel died. I felt cheated. I still think to myself what if he was scared or could have spoken one last time and I wasn't there to comfort him or to hold his hand when he passed from this life to the next.
When my sister Lois was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wanted so badly to be with her. I knew she was scared, but she was also determined and brave. The night my mom came to tell me Lois had cancer, I called her (mom) a liar. I told my mom there was no way my beautiful sister could have cancer. I put the kids to bed and went to bed early. Mel was working nights, and I remember I lay awake all night crying, longing for him to come home and hold me tight. I felt so alone that night. Little did I know 2-1/2 years later I would lose my strong, handsome, funny, flirty, kind husband to cancer. Lois told me she was scared at night, and when Mel came home from work at 1:30 in the morning, we would pray for God to be with her and give her strength and peace and courage. She told me she didn't know what to pray and I told her "just call out the name of Jesus and He will be with you, He will know what you need and what you want to say".
The day Mel was diagnosed with cancer, I had to go to the bathroom at the doctor's scheduling office to compose myself. I was curled up on the hard, cold floor and called my sister. She helped me be strong enough to get out of that office and into the car with Mel so we could go home and decide what to tell Nicole. I told Mel as we drove out of the parking lot that day that our lives would never be the same again, and they weren't. There were a lot of good times, fun, laughter and more love in those years we had left together. We used talk at night in bed, all four of us, and we would share a memory of that day that had made it special for us. I wish now I had written all of that down, but it's still in my heart.
Today I heard from a friend about a family member of hers whose husband is very near death. She is a young woman with a 3-year-old baby. I am absolutely horrified of what she is going to have to go through. You are never ready, never prepared for that kind of life event. I have never met this lady and I just want to reach out and hug her and tell her that it isn't okay, it will never be okay, it will never get better (maybe just a little easier) as time goes on to say a final goodbye to the man you love and the daddy that small baby loves.
So now that all of this has been said, I want to say that what I am going to say next is very selfish and self-serving of me, but it is the way I feel. I don't want to hear about people who according to a doctor should have died years ago from a rare cancer, and they are still alive and Mel is dead. I don't want to hear of new cancer treatments that might save a life or even cure cancer when it is too late for Mel and me. I don't want to hear that the treatment Mel had gave someone else five more years with their family. On the flip side of the coin, I would never wish cancer on anyone, I would never want anyone to have to lose the love of their life, I would never want another child to ever lose their daddy like my kids did, and I don't want people I care about to be afraid to share news with me just because I don't want to hear. I want to know and be involved in the lives of the people I love, good and bad and all the in between. I just wanted to have more time with Mel, and that will never change, but I still want to throw myself on the floor and scream like hell and want to know why me, why us, why my kids.
I know in my head (or what's left of my brain at this age) that this is the same for people everywhere, everyday, all over the world. I am not the only person to have suffered this kind of loss, heard devastating news, watched the horrifying details of a disease who eats away a little bit every day of the person you love. I want people to know that I know they feel that way too. I also want them to know that no one will ever know exactly what it is like because we are all so different. Sometimes I just don't want to hear it because I know the pain and heartache it is going to bring to the next family who has to hear it, and I know how horrifying the aftermath is and that it takes a long time to start to see the light, to see the clouds lifting, to feel the dead weight of grief ease a little bit, and also to know that all of those things come crashing back at you in waves when you least expect it.
This is how I sum up cancer, one of my passwords is f*&* cancer, and I mean it.
I think back to when my mom lost her sisters and brother. Her older sister, Merle died of lung cancer. Never smoked in her life except shirtless in the back of a pickup truck with my mom and their other sister and their children (there is a story behind that). At the time she died she was driving a souped up Camaro. She was my "cool" aunt, the one I could talk about anything with. She fought cancer with everything she had. I saw her a lot between the time she was diagnosed and passed away. Every time I saw here, there was a little bit less of her there. The one time I knew for sure that she knew she was going to die my parents and I, Merle and her husband Paul, had all gone to Albuquerque to see my mom's baby sister who also had cancer. We went to a 50s styles restaurant, and Bonnie (mom's baby sister) wanted us all to sign our napkins and put the date on them, and aunt Merle didn't want to do it. I knew then and there she knew she was going to die. She was usually the ring leader of these kinds of silly, fun things. My mom nursed both of her sisters to the ends of their lives (mom was a nurse). A little bit of her died with each of them. When my mom was a little girl, she went to kindergarten twice because when Merle went she couldn't stand to be away from her while she was at school.
My aunt Bonnie lived in Seattle when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a mastectomy and was assured by her surgeon that she needed no further treatment. Not long after that she moved to Albuquerque and was found to have metastatic breast cancer in her liver. The only thing that made me feel better with her cancer is that she did not have the excruciating pain that aunt Merle had with her cancer. Bonnie was such a dear sweet lady. She always had a ready smile and a laugh and LOVED to shop (I think the gene has been passed on to my daughter). Once when she was in the hospital to have a blood clot filter placed, the hospital auxilary was having a jewelry sale and she insisted on being put in a wheelchair and all of "us girls" going down to buy some jewelry. My mom lost another piece of her life when she lost her baby sister. You see mom and aunt Merle had practically raised Bonnie. They remember her being born and them putting blankets in a dresser drawer for a safe place for her to sleep, and they took care of her.
My mom's brother Ralph died without my mom being there. Mom and dad had gone to Utah because Ralph was sick. He died as they were pulling into the hospital parking lot. My mom felt a sense of betrayal and loss for not being able to see him once more or to be with him when he died. I told mom that I thought God knew she had had enough of watching her siblings die and I don't think Ralph wanted her to go through that either. All three of her siblings died within just a few years. She was raw for a long time after that. I felt that way when Mel died. I felt cheated. I still think to myself what if he was scared or could have spoken one last time and I wasn't there to comfort him or to hold his hand when he passed from this life to the next.
When my sister Lois was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wanted so badly to be with her. I knew she was scared, but she was also determined and brave. The night my mom came to tell me Lois had cancer, I called her (mom) a liar. I told my mom there was no way my beautiful sister could have cancer. I put the kids to bed and went to bed early. Mel was working nights, and I remember I lay awake all night crying, longing for him to come home and hold me tight. I felt so alone that night. Little did I know 2-1/2 years later I would lose my strong, handsome, funny, flirty, kind husband to cancer. Lois told me she was scared at night, and when Mel came home from work at 1:30 in the morning, we would pray for God to be with her and give her strength and peace and courage. She told me she didn't know what to pray and I told her "just call out the name of Jesus and He will be with you, He will know what you need and what you want to say".
The day Mel was diagnosed with cancer, I had to go to the bathroom at the doctor's scheduling office to compose myself. I was curled up on the hard, cold floor and called my sister. She helped me be strong enough to get out of that office and into the car with Mel so we could go home and decide what to tell Nicole. I told Mel as we drove out of the parking lot that day that our lives would never be the same again, and they weren't. There were a lot of good times, fun, laughter and more love in those years we had left together. We used talk at night in bed, all four of us, and we would share a memory of that day that had made it special for us. I wish now I had written all of that down, but it's still in my heart.
Today I heard from a friend about a family member of hers whose husband is very near death. She is a young woman with a 3-year-old baby. I am absolutely horrified of what she is going to have to go through. You are never ready, never prepared for that kind of life event. I have never met this lady and I just want to reach out and hug her and tell her that it isn't okay, it will never be okay, it will never get better (maybe just a little easier) as time goes on to say a final goodbye to the man you love and the daddy that small baby loves.
So now that all of this has been said, I want to say that what I am going to say next is very selfish and self-serving of me, but it is the way I feel. I don't want to hear about people who according to a doctor should have died years ago from a rare cancer, and they are still alive and Mel is dead. I don't want to hear of new cancer treatments that might save a life or even cure cancer when it is too late for Mel and me. I don't want to hear that the treatment Mel had gave someone else five more years with their family. On the flip side of the coin, I would never wish cancer on anyone, I would never want anyone to have to lose the love of their life, I would never want another child to ever lose their daddy like my kids did, and I don't want people I care about to be afraid to share news with me just because I don't want to hear. I want to know and be involved in the lives of the people I love, good and bad and all the in between. I just wanted to have more time with Mel, and that will never change, but I still want to throw myself on the floor and scream like hell and want to know why me, why us, why my kids.
I know in my head (or what's left of my brain at this age) that this is the same for people everywhere, everyday, all over the world. I am not the only person to have suffered this kind of loss, heard devastating news, watched the horrifying details of a disease who eats away a little bit every day of the person you love. I want people to know that I know they feel that way too. I also want them to know that no one will ever know exactly what it is like because we are all so different. Sometimes I just don't want to hear it because I know the pain and heartache it is going to bring to the next family who has to hear it, and I know how horrifying the aftermath is and that it takes a long time to start to see the light, to see the clouds lifting, to feel the dead weight of grief ease a little bit, and also to know that all of those things come crashing back at you in waves when you least expect it.
This is how I sum up cancer, one of my passwords is f*&* cancer, and I mean it.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Morals, or lack thereof
Today I had to go to Spokane to have a followup mammogram and ultrasound. Last year my mammogram was abnormal, and I had to have a needle biopsy done. So this was a followup to see if the mass had changed at all, and Praise the Lord it had not, so I just need yearly mammograms now.
Now to tackle the morals issue. We were driving down Division Street in Spokane, and there was a very scantily dressed young "lady" outside her place of business trying to wave down business. I think it was a coffed place of all things. She was wearing either a bra or a very skimpy bikini top and a pair of jean shorts that, shall we say, left nothing to the imagination. She was on the sidewalk waving to everyone and motioning them to come get a "coffee".
This really made me think about the moral decline of our entire society. I also thought that the people ogling this young girl needed to think if that was they way they wanted their mom/wife/daughter/girlfriend to be ogled at in the same way by hundreds of people driving by. I know I don't ever want anyone to see Nicole like that, and Mel would have killed them for it.
It also made me wonder why parents would purchase these kinds of outfits for their daughters to wear. Here at the school in Odessa the girls wear "booty shorts", slippers, pretty much anything goes. I remember when I dressed for school (ok I know it was like a million years ago), we dressed conservatively and were taught at HOME to respect our elders and our teachers. In elementary school the only time we could wear pants was if it was too cold, and then we wore them under our dresses, and once we got to school we were sent to the bathroom to take them off. For PE we had a pair of shorts to wear under our dresses.
I also wonder about the choices young ladies make in their bathing suit attire and anything else that reveals a lot of flesh. Then I go back to the fact that I would not want anyone looking at my daughter the way men look at young ladies in the skimpiest of bathing suits. I also think men should have the dignity to avert their eyes when they something like this.
Nicole dropped out of dance class this year because of the fact that in one of the dances they were supposed to wear jean shorts, cowboy boots, a white T-shirt and a plaid blouse over the shirt. When she went to practice her instructor informed her that her shorts were not short enough, and her shirt was not tight enough. After seeing the video of the recital, I was thankful that Nicole had not wanted to perform in that recital and show her body to everyone in the audience. During most of the dances the girls were pulling their shorts down, and I think it made them uncomfortable to wear that short of shorts, or they would not have been frantically pulling on their shorts everytime they had a chance. At the end of one of the dance numbers (the one with the short shorts, cowboy boots and a hoodie, at the end the girls unzippled their hoodies, and on their shirts they had written "I'm sexy and I know it". One girl painted 2 crosses on her shirt, one over each breast, and I thought why don't these parents step in and have a voice in what these girls are wearing to dance in and to have a voice in the numbers they dance to.
I don't understand why so many people are okay with young girls flaunting their bodies whereever they go. It has been proven that men focus on the body and what they can SEE visually on women and that women are attracted to men for their kindness/respect and other things like that rather than just "seeing" the kind of body he has. I think we need to raise up our boys to be respectful and not ogle the bodies of girls who flaunt "what they've got" for the whole world to see, and we also need to teach our girls that modesty is a good thing, and that the way to get positive attention from the opposite sex is not by "flaunting what they've got" for the whole world to see.
I have a friend who has four sons, and they are very vigilant in what they look at. They have a code word "Nike" and anyone in the family can say these when they feel they are looking at something that is not modest, and all of them (including mom and dad) avert their eyes. They are trying to raise Godly men in a world filled with sin, and I admire them for that.
Mel and I have also taught Nicole that you need to be modest in what you wear, and that modesty is something that God wants us to practice. Remember Sodom. Nicole wears a 2-piece bathing suit, but the top has to come down and cover the waist of her bottoms, and she wears a pair of shorts over her bottoms most of the time. She wears shorts and skirts at the knee or lower, or she wears leggings with anything shorter. I think we need to raise our children to respect their own bodies, so that when it is time to date they know what limits to put out there and expecting their "dates" to respect their limitations as much as they do.
My goal in raising my children is first and foremost I want them to be born again Christian's, I want them to know the Word of God and understand it as it applies to daily life. I want them to care enough about themselves that they don't look for approval in the opposite sex to fulfill what is lacking when it comes to their self-perspective. I want Daniel and Nicole to know that if they wait upon the Lord, he has already picked out a perfect mate for each of them. I want them to know that every little piece of yourself you give to others of the opposite sex is one less thing you have to give to the mate God has chosen for them. I want them to know that no matter how the world judges their appearance that God created them to look exactly they way they look, and there is no shame in anything that God has created. I don't want them to make the bad choices I made and have had to live with for my entire life. I want them to be able to talk to me about anything, which I was never able to do with my own parents. This is why we do scripture memorization, bible teachings and devotionals.
I tell Nicole all the time that when you first become friends with someone, have common interest, desires and beliefs, that is how a mature relationship starts to grow. I tell her how Mel and I were friends for about six months before anything romantic happened, and that the best compliment he gave me was that I would not have to worry about physical pressure from him, that he just wanted to be my friend and see where it went after that. I want Nicole to know that if boys are demanding physical attention from her, that they probably don't have her best interests at heart, and that if she communicates with them her limitations and beliefs, if they continue to pressure her, then they really are not thinking of her best interests or respecting her choices.
I know a lot of people don't agree with my feelings about this issue, but it is something I feel very strongly about and hope to instill these beliefs in my children. Modesty and protecting your virtue is no laughing matter and should not be something to be ashamed of or coaxed into dropping your guard about.
The most important thing is to commit your lives to Jesus Christ and confess your sins and let Him lead you in the direction you should go, this way you will always make the best choice possible.
Now to tackle the morals issue. We were driving down Division Street in Spokane, and there was a very scantily dressed young "lady" outside her place of business trying to wave down business. I think it was a coffed place of all things. She was wearing either a bra or a very skimpy bikini top and a pair of jean shorts that, shall we say, left nothing to the imagination. She was on the sidewalk waving to everyone and motioning them to come get a "coffee".
This really made me think about the moral decline of our entire society. I also thought that the people ogling this young girl needed to think if that was they way they wanted their mom/wife/daughter/girlfriend to be ogled at in the same way by hundreds of people driving by. I know I don't ever want anyone to see Nicole like that, and Mel would have killed them for it.
It also made me wonder why parents would purchase these kinds of outfits for their daughters to wear. Here at the school in Odessa the girls wear "booty shorts", slippers, pretty much anything goes. I remember when I dressed for school (ok I know it was like a million years ago), we dressed conservatively and were taught at HOME to respect our elders and our teachers. In elementary school the only time we could wear pants was if it was too cold, and then we wore them under our dresses, and once we got to school we were sent to the bathroom to take them off. For PE we had a pair of shorts to wear under our dresses.
I also wonder about the choices young ladies make in their bathing suit attire and anything else that reveals a lot of flesh. Then I go back to the fact that I would not want anyone looking at my daughter the way men look at young ladies in the skimpiest of bathing suits. I also think men should have the dignity to avert their eyes when they something like this.
Nicole dropped out of dance class this year because of the fact that in one of the dances they were supposed to wear jean shorts, cowboy boots, a white T-shirt and a plaid blouse over the shirt. When she went to practice her instructor informed her that her shorts were not short enough, and her shirt was not tight enough. After seeing the video of the recital, I was thankful that Nicole had not wanted to perform in that recital and show her body to everyone in the audience. During most of the dances the girls were pulling their shorts down, and I think it made them uncomfortable to wear that short of shorts, or they would not have been frantically pulling on their shorts everytime they had a chance. At the end of one of the dance numbers (the one with the short shorts, cowboy boots and a hoodie, at the end the girls unzippled their hoodies, and on their shirts they had written "I'm sexy and I know it". One girl painted 2 crosses on her shirt, one over each breast, and I thought why don't these parents step in and have a voice in what these girls are wearing to dance in and to have a voice in the numbers they dance to.
I don't understand why so many people are okay with young girls flaunting their bodies whereever they go. It has been proven that men focus on the body and what they can SEE visually on women and that women are attracted to men for their kindness/respect and other things like that rather than just "seeing" the kind of body he has. I think we need to raise up our boys to be respectful and not ogle the bodies of girls who flaunt "what they've got" for the whole world to see, and we also need to teach our girls that modesty is a good thing, and that the way to get positive attention from the opposite sex is not by "flaunting what they've got" for the whole world to see.
I have a friend who has four sons, and they are very vigilant in what they look at. They have a code word "Nike" and anyone in the family can say these when they feel they are looking at something that is not modest, and all of them (including mom and dad) avert their eyes. They are trying to raise Godly men in a world filled with sin, and I admire them for that.
Mel and I have also taught Nicole that you need to be modest in what you wear, and that modesty is something that God wants us to practice. Remember Sodom. Nicole wears a 2-piece bathing suit, but the top has to come down and cover the waist of her bottoms, and she wears a pair of shorts over her bottoms most of the time. She wears shorts and skirts at the knee or lower, or she wears leggings with anything shorter. I think we need to raise our children to respect their own bodies, so that when it is time to date they know what limits to put out there and expecting their "dates" to respect their limitations as much as they do.
My goal in raising my children is first and foremost I want them to be born again Christian's, I want them to know the Word of God and understand it as it applies to daily life. I want them to care enough about themselves that they don't look for approval in the opposite sex to fulfill what is lacking when it comes to their self-perspective. I want Daniel and Nicole to know that if they wait upon the Lord, he has already picked out a perfect mate for each of them. I want them to know that every little piece of yourself you give to others of the opposite sex is one less thing you have to give to the mate God has chosen for them. I want them to know that no matter how the world judges their appearance that God created them to look exactly they way they look, and there is no shame in anything that God has created. I don't want them to make the bad choices I made and have had to live with for my entire life. I want them to be able to talk to me about anything, which I was never able to do with my own parents. This is why we do scripture memorization, bible teachings and devotionals.
I tell Nicole all the time that when you first become friends with someone, have common interest, desires and beliefs, that is how a mature relationship starts to grow. I tell her how Mel and I were friends for about six months before anything romantic happened, and that the best compliment he gave me was that I would not have to worry about physical pressure from him, that he just wanted to be my friend and see where it went after that. I want Nicole to know that if boys are demanding physical attention from her, that they probably don't have her best interests at heart, and that if she communicates with them her limitations and beliefs, if they continue to pressure her, then they really are not thinking of her best interests or respecting her choices.
I know a lot of people don't agree with my feelings about this issue, but it is something I feel very strongly about and hope to instill these beliefs in my children. Modesty and protecting your virtue is no laughing matter and should not be something to be ashamed of or coaxed into dropping your guard about.
The most important thing is to commit your lives to Jesus Christ and confess your sins and let Him lead you in the direction you should go, this way you will always make the best choice possible.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Stinging Words
gos·sip 
(g
s
p) KEY
NOUN:
gos·siped, gos·sip·ing, gos·sips
Gossip hurts. Even when it is the truth, it hurts to know people we trust and love talk about us behind our backs. I do it too, so I personally take blame for my participation in forms of gossip. If I have ever hurt you by something I said behind your back, feel free to call me on it. The thing about gossip is that I may have said or done whatever the gossip is about, or somebody may have heard about it from so and so that I said it or did it, so I think I should at least get the chance to be honest with you and admit it if I said and to declare it an untruth if I didn't say it.
Women are great gossipers, but I know a few guys who are really good at it too. Men are just generally more close-mouthed than we girls are. Gossip can ruin a career, a relationship, a life. Even Jesus cautions us about gossiping. When I moved to Odessa last year, I joined a ladies bible study. These women are very close to me, and we have an understanding that our private conversations and prayer needs or just trials we each go through are to remain confidential. I have shared a lot with these women I trust that I don't want anyone else to hear. I say it to them because they are my "safe people". They can look at things objectively for me and maybe point out to me a different take on what I am upset about or worried about. We also did a bible study on how to be a better wife. That was hard for me since I had just lost Mel. It talked a lot about gossiping and how as wives we need to protect our husband's from idle talk and our families as well, and we do this from protecting ourselves from gossip.
Gossip covers a wide variety of topics from child rearing, child discipline, personal habits, housekeeping, spending habits, affairs of the heart, speculation about affairs of the heart, and feeling like you have the right to judge people for the way they do any of the above.
When Mel was sick, many times we had news from doctors that we intentionally did not share with everyone. We didn't think our kids needed to know all the details of his illness. During this time there were people who thought Mel should do more physically, do more with the kids, do more to help me, but what they didn't know was that he was in excruciating pain and wasn't able to do those things. At the time we told only the people taking care of us how much pain he was in, and it was very painful when I would hear some of the things people said about him just being lazy, or just using "cancer" as an excuse not to do the things he should have been doing, in their minds at least.
There have also been times when I have made assumptions about people, their decisions, their way of life, their discipline or lack thereof, and I know that I have to be very careful what I say and do. I think we would all do a better job of caring for each other if we would just take the time to talk to the people we are "talking about". If you are going to talk about someone, they should at least have the chance to defend themselves or correct the information or confirm it if they choose. Maybe they don't want to talk about it, and that is their choice. If you see someone struggling, hurting, being dragged down by circumstances, why not offer a kind gesture, a word of hope or encouragement, or hand up or a hand out, help them do the things they don't seem to be able to do for whatever reason. Just be a "good Samaritan" and jump in and help, and then don't go around telling everyone what you did for that person. People who care about each other should just help each other without having the need to report all the grisly details to anyone who will listen.
I am so thankful to the Lord that I have "my ladies" who have my back and will (and have) done whatever I needed them to do in the darkest time of my life and during the darkest corners "in my mind". I didn't even have to ask, they just helped me, and guess what? They did it with a servant's heart and didn't tell anyone about it. I love you "my lovely ladies". I only hope I have the chance to reciprocate or help someone else in need, that is hurting, that is paralyzed in fear, emotions, grief or whatever they are going through and help them. I don't want to be the person on the other end of the conversation telling the details of what someone needed to do for me, that I could NOT do for myself, and seem to take pleasure in the telling of it. I want to serve with a servant's heart and love with a Jesus heart.
I know I have a long way to go. I am a work in progress. As the saying goes "Be patient with me God isn't finished with me yet". We are all works in progress. Let's be kind to each other, love each other, help each other, and do it without the guilty pleasure of talking smack.
Let's be friends and love one another
(gsp) KEYNOUN:
- Rumor or talk of a personal, sensational, or intimate nature.
- A person who habitually spreads intimate or private rumors or facts.
- Trivial, chatty talk or writing.
- A close friend or companion.
- Chiefly British A godparent.
gos·siped, gos·sip·ing, gos·sips
- To engage in or spread gossip.
Gossip hurts. Even when it is the truth, it hurts to know people we trust and love talk about us behind our backs. I do it too, so I personally take blame for my participation in forms of gossip. If I have ever hurt you by something I said behind your back, feel free to call me on it. The thing about gossip is that I may have said or done whatever the gossip is about, or somebody may have heard about it from so and so that I said it or did it, so I think I should at least get the chance to be honest with you and admit it if I said and to declare it an untruth if I didn't say it.
Women are great gossipers, but I know a few guys who are really good at it too. Men are just generally more close-mouthed than we girls are. Gossip can ruin a career, a relationship, a life. Even Jesus cautions us about gossiping. When I moved to Odessa last year, I joined a ladies bible study. These women are very close to me, and we have an understanding that our private conversations and prayer needs or just trials we each go through are to remain confidential. I have shared a lot with these women I trust that I don't want anyone else to hear. I say it to them because they are my "safe people". They can look at things objectively for me and maybe point out to me a different take on what I am upset about or worried about. We also did a bible study on how to be a better wife. That was hard for me since I had just lost Mel. It talked a lot about gossiping and how as wives we need to protect our husband's from idle talk and our families as well, and we do this from protecting ourselves from gossip.
Gossip covers a wide variety of topics from child rearing, child discipline, personal habits, housekeeping, spending habits, affairs of the heart, speculation about affairs of the heart, and feeling like you have the right to judge people for the way they do any of the above.
When Mel was sick, many times we had news from doctors that we intentionally did not share with everyone. We didn't think our kids needed to know all the details of his illness. During this time there were people who thought Mel should do more physically, do more with the kids, do more to help me, but what they didn't know was that he was in excruciating pain and wasn't able to do those things. At the time we told only the people taking care of us how much pain he was in, and it was very painful when I would hear some of the things people said about him just being lazy, or just using "cancer" as an excuse not to do the things he should have been doing, in their minds at least.
There have also been times when I have made assumptions about people, their decisions, their way of life, their discipline or lack thereof, and I know that I have to be very careful what I say and do. I think we would all do a better job of caring for each other if we would just take the time to talk to the people we are "talking about". If you are going to talk about someone, they should at least have the chance to defend themselves or correct the information or confirm it if they choose. Maybe they don't want to talk about it, and that is their choice. If you see someone struggling, hurting, being dragged down by circumstances, why not offer a kind gesture, a word of hope or encouragement, or hand up or a hand out, help them do the things they don't seem to be able to do for whatever reason. Just be a "good Samaritan" and jump in and help, and then don't go around telling everyone what you did for that person. People who care about each other should just help each other without having the need to report all the grisly details to anyone who will listen.
I am so thankful to the Lord that I have "my ladies" who have my back and will (and have) done whatever I needed them to do in the darkest time of my life and during the darkest corners "in my mind". I didn't even have to ask, they just helped me, and guess what? They did it with a servant's heart and didn't tell anyone about it. I love you "my lovely ladies". I only hope I have the chance to reciprocate or help someone else in need, that is hurting, that is paralyzed in fear, emotions, grief or whatever they are going through and help them. I don't want to be the person on the other end of the conversation telling the details of what someone needed to do for me, that I could NOT do for myself, and seem to take pleasure in the telling of it. I want to serve with a servant's heart and love with a Jesus heart.
I know I have a long way to go. I am a work in progress. As the saying goes "Be patient with me God isn't finished with me yet". We are all works in progress. Let's be kind to each other, love each other, help each other, and do it without the guilty pleasure of talking smack.
Let's be friends and love one another
noun
1.
a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.
3.
a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?
4.
a member of the same nation, party, etc.
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I got up early this morning because I forgot today is “trash day”, and I have a lot of trash this week. After reading your post I sat here and thought about the trash and filthy garbage that Satan likes to fill our minds with. He takes great joy in the things that frighten us and take hold of us even for a few seconds, because during those few second we are not focused on the love of Jesus Christ and all that He has done for us and is doing for us. I have my own fair share of “trash” that I carry around, and usually it is the same “trash” over and over again.
I have trash (fear) about the future. I worry about whether or not I will move home again, and then I worry about leaving Odessa behind and all the wonderful people God has brought into our lives to bless us and love us here in Odessa. See I let fear sneak in even when it comes to a blessing God has given me. I wonder how many times we do that. I am embarrassed to say I do it a lot. I try to take just one day at a time, live in the moment, live in the day that I am in. When I look too far into the future I get so scared. I see my kids growing up, leaving home, starting lives and families of their own, and in my mind's eye I see an old lady alone and lonely. Satan doesn't even let me consider the possibility that my kids might live near by or that I might have a friend or two to share my life with. Satan doesn't want me to see that, but God wants me to trust for "I know the plans that I have made for you, plans for you to prosper" (sorry bible study girls I don't remember where the verse is or know it word for word). God would never plan for me what Satan wants me to think. God loves me, yes even me.
I have trash (fear) that I can't be an effective single parent. Every day I think in my mind "what would Mel say about this, how would Mel react to this". Satan gets me to question this, because Mel and I inevitably thought the same about discipline, love and training and bringing up of our kids. We never argued about it, and when we talked about it we were always on the same page. So here again Satan wants me to think I am ineffective as a single parent, but I forget that God so blessed me with my perfect husband that I already instinctively know what "we" would do to raise our children. I also believe Mel is watching over me and that he is proud of how I love our kids and how I preserve our memories of him.
I have friends who fear about pregnancies because they have lost babies in early, middle and late pregnancies. When I was pregnant I feared that my baby would die because God was going to punish me for having had an abortion in my teen years. My mind was Satan's field of victory for over 25 years with this subject. In my mind I knew that God forgave me, but in my heart I, I, I could not forgive myself. All my life all I had ever envisioned myself being was a mother of many children. It took reading our church's newsletter and the message from Pastor Hal to make me learn that I had to get help with this "piece of trash". He wrote about a barge floating around in the ocean that was full of garbage and had nowhere to go, so it just floated around all day, every day in the Atlantic Ocean doing nothing but becoming stinkier by the day. Quite an analogy of Satan's lies don't you think. After I read this, and I read an article in the paper written by a Catholic priest about a healing retreat they held each year for women who had undergone abortions. I went and talked to Pastor Hal. Until this, very few people even new this about me. I was afraid that if people at church knew about it they would scorn me. I believed that they would not want me to work in the nursery and take care of their children after I had killed one of my own. I feared they would shun me. I never wanted to think about this story in my life, much less share it, but I believe it speaks to the overwhelming, all surrounding, all consuming love that God has for me. I went to a recovery support group. I learned that 1 in 4 women have had an abortion. To me that meant that even in my church there were women who had tragically made this decision, and I was right. I was friends with one of them and never even knew it until years into knowing her. So just the fact that I no longer beat myself up over this every day, that I can now claim being pro-life without feeling like a liar to God, is a miracle to me. God has blessed me with two children, and I know now that God smiles upon me and them and the fact that I am trying to raise them to make Him first in their lives. I think it is important for people to know that not only does abortion take a baby's life, it also destroys a mother's soul. I encourage compassion with people who have had an abortion and have suffered in silence, fear and self-loathing for years for making this decision.
For all my friends and family I want you to know I pray for His peace upon you, His love and presence surrounding you, and please know how very many people are interceding on your behalf for God to bless you abundantly. Our last bible study here was on intercessory prayer, and it is so powerful, so we need to take comfort that when we are our most frightened and can’t seem to catch a breath and fear takes hold of us that there is still intercessory prayer going up to God on our behalf, that even when we are weak, there are many of Christian brothers and sisters being strong for us. That’s what Family is for, and we belong to the highest family, we were all created equal by the one and only King of all Kings, and he DOES NOT CREATE TRASH.