I've spent the last hour or so putting together (and editing the track info on every track for accuracy) a playlist for travel. I dislike radio stations because you have no control over what they play--and all three of the stations in Yuma suck--and they inevitably cut out into annoying static somewhere throughout the journey. When traveling with Corey, he always has his phone or usb with tons of good music, but he is rarely my driver because of work. My plan is to burn several cd's, however many it takes to fit this playlist on, and keep them in my little GPS bag so that I will have them whenever I am traveling, because I always take my GPS with me on out of town trips, even if it's the same destination that I've been to every month for the past year. Just in case. Detours, and all that. Plus it finds restaurants and other stuff! Best Christmas present ever. Seriously. It's been so practical and useful! And I don't have to finagle trying to borrow my grandparent's GPS any longer.

Putting together the playlist has me listening to songs that I haven't listened to in the better part of a year, thanks to my discovery of Pandora and Youtube playlists. I haven't relied on my iTunes library in quite some time, but it was nice to discover favorite songs again. The interesting thing is that I started going through my old Christian Rock/Praise collection again, and I felt things… it was just very interesting.

Listening to my old Alternative Christian Rock brought back all the warm fuzzies from my time in Idaho, which is when I began listening to it and collecting various tracks and artists. It's kinda weird to feel the rushing tingle of whatever it is I'm feeling, but I just feel wrapped up in a warm hug, almost, when I hear certain songs. I think a lot of the powerful effect they have on me is that they are heavily associated with a lot of the work I was doing to confront my abuse and to break free of my crippling depression, so I feel that same jolt of self-affirmation and power that comes with really trying to better myself and my circumstances. That whole time period of 2 or 3 years, however long it was… it was difficult beyond all reason at times (a lot of times), but I also made more breakthroughs and developed myself personally more than I ever had before in my life. I really think it was the time I spent in Idaho and the summer in LA that gave me the backbone and strength I needed to face life with multiple degenerative chronic illnesses. I learned my own strength and intelligence, my charisma and ability to love and be loved. It was necessary preparation for not just the next phase of my life, which included college and my work with The Healing Journey and getting married, but for the rest of my life. My time at Bible college, SOULS West, was more of a test of my stubborn resilience, and without SOULS I never would have gone to Idaho like I did. I got a job offer from the Conference up there as a Bible worker (which I thoroughly hated, as much as I hated canvassing, but I can't deny the skills I honed through both of those occupations), and thus I was connected to the Adventist community where I lived in a way that I could not and would not have achieved any other way.

While I no longer hold to the beliefs that I struggled to adhere to in those days, I still get that rush of pleasant feelings when I hear the music of those days. When I first felt it, I questioned a little whether it was perhaps dormant beliefs rearing their heads? But no. When I listened to the lyrics, though, I thought that, yeah, it must be nice to believe in your ultimate importance in the grand scheme of things, to believe that there is more to life than meets the eye… and I believe that there is, but not in the Christian scope of things. Not anymore. Maybe if I hadn't gotten bold enough to start examining the questions and thoughts that I'd always buried before, lost in the flurry of religious activity and constant motion, then I'd still be a member of the church in some way or another, even though I probably wouldn't make it to church super often these days. I admit to missing the camaraderie of a unified culture, the instant connection with other Adventists due to common belief. How could I not? It gets lonely here, with only cats for company. Yet I don't have the energy or will-power to overcome the pain and seek out other company, so maybe it's for the best. Talking to people is really exhausting.

I saw the geneticist at the end of last month, and my rheumatologist earlier this week. At the advice of the geneticist, I quit taking Vitamin C supplements because I didn't see any difference or help from them. She said to note carefully if I did feel any different upon quitting, and to start up again if I noticed a benefit to me. Well… they were doing more than I realized. A few days to a week after leaving off the C, my pain levels skyrocketed to what they had been back in the bad old days, before I had found proper help for my pain. Even with the strong medication I'd been given, I have been in agony for the past week. It's been awful, so awful. It's not just pain, it's a painful burning within the bones and concentrated in the joints, like they are filled with napalm and brimming over into my muscles… I've had to use my walker to creep around the house this whole week. Thankfully, my fatigue has increased with the pain so that I am sleeping just as much as before, if not more, which means that I am insensible to the pain consciously, though I definitely still feel it. I know, because sometimes I wake myself up with moans that sound remarkably like the lowing of a cow. Go figure. Having figured out that it was most likely the lack of extra Vitamin C that caused this dramatic change (because nothing else is different), I began supplementing again about two days ago. I'm noticing some little bit of change for the better; not much, but any relief is something to shout from the rooftops about. Yes, it was that bad. I have no idea how I managed to visit the rheumatologist all the way across the state in such a state. I am certain that I will continue to improve, though I can't say at what rate, and I feel that this experience may have knocked me down a step or two permanently. Alas. It was an important revelation, however. What about Vit. C prevents the burning in my bones and joints, the pain that pervades every single nerve fiber in a flaming gout of misery? I don't know, but I do know that I will never allow myself to run short, ever. This extra amount of pain is the reason for my increased presence on my blog, however. It's been that and reading-- distraction of the mind. Anything to not focus entirely on my agony.

Speaking of the rheum, it was a fairly productive appointment. I informed him of my ever increasing back pain, the pain due to the injury I gave myself during my last bout of narcoleptic-like sleep attacks. I fell asleep while standing at my dresser, taking my meds, and then I fell backwards completely prone and hit my head on the metal frame of the bed. There was nothing I could do to stop myself when I woke up halfway through the fall. I hurt my head, of course, but I also jammed my back somehow when I landed on the hard floor like a piece of bread butter-side-down. When I went to my chiropractor, he said that I had 3 or 4 vertebrae all jammed in together. I've seen him a few times since then, and had several massages, hoping to heal it like I did the subluxated ribs that I got in the hospital about a year ago. It's even the same place that hurts. :( This time it's the spine, primarily, though the ribs are also affected. Mer. Anyway, Dr. S ordered an X-ray, which we both agreed would be the best thing. He could have gone with an MRI, but I asked him to go the cheap route.

As an aside, I worked the numbers recently, just in my head, and I realized that I need a minimum of $400 a month to cover my very basic medical bills and prescriptions and travel costs. That is pretty discouraging to me, especially as I was denied disability again and the only way I can pay that is to beg my dads for money. I hate doing that… which is why I have this low-grade feeling of desperation bubbling through my core at all times, though it increases to a high boil whenever I have to pay any bills outside of that.

Anyway… I shared with Dr. S that I had been denied disability again, and he was incredulous. I told him what the letters said, and he responded with a slightly indignant, "But you have EDS, and you have it bad. I mean, you really have it bad!" That was both slightly discouraging and affirming. I keep hoping for a spontaneous recovery, but my better sense tells me that this won't be the case, especially as my diagnosis list on my rheumatology paperwork still lists Dysautonomia and Inflammatory Polyarthritis as confirmed diagnoses, in addition to all of the endocrine diseases and other fun stuff. I really am amazed at how stubborn I was in previous years, insisting on finishing Bible college despite severe illness of a then-unknown nature… and college classes… and work at the Healing Journey… I really did a lot before my body caved in and became more helpless than before. When I think about all I accomplished (especially all of the backpacking and camping and other achievements from my time in Idaho), I am very proud of myself. I really am a tough chick!

Dr. S ordered several blood tests in addition to the back X-ray which I was able to knock out that day before I went home, but I have to go in for an ultrasound of the hands when I'm in Tucson next. My next visit will include the ultrasounds, a visit to Dr. L, my geneticist, and Dr. R, my cardiologist. Oh hey, did I mention that I've started Physical Therapy? Yes, I have a therapist coming to my home to get me started on a home exercise program. I had to cancel the last appointment, because I was in the throes of my increased pain and fatigue, plus the previous appointment had come right at the threshold of my slipping into old pain-types, and we had definitely over-done it. I am finally recuperated from that visit, but it's been almost a week. She has only 3 more visits she's allowed to make (stupid insurance), but I'm doing pretty well on my own. She just wants to show me what I can progress to, in time, but we are starting very slow and small for now. It does feel good to be working my muscles again, beyond my daily evening walk. Takes me back to my Acrosports days, in a way. I know that by a lot of people's standards these exercises would hardly be "pushing it", but for me and where my body is right now, it is definitely pushing it. It's a good opportunity for me to continue learning how to determine my limits and quit when I need to… despite my urge to keep going. Modified crunches have nothing to do with my worth, but it's hard to believe that thought sometimes, especially when I remember what I used to accomplish. I've fallen pretty far… It's not my fault, though. These are just the consequences of my faulty genes, and I'm making the best of it.

Really, considering how physically miserable I am most of the time, life is actually pretty good. My marriage is doing fine. In fact, things feel better lately than they have for a long time. In another post, I'll talk about the Masquerade Party that we went to, and all the fun stuff connected to it. It's time I ate a little something, took my meds, and surrendered to sleep yet again. Good night, all. (Or morning, if that's where  you're at.)

I lie here in the semi-darkness; the room is lit with a weird half glow from the gibbous moon somewhere outside. The darkness is translucent and diaphanous about me, tinged with heady blues and soft blacks and the minute, luminous influence of starlight.

I am alive, vibrant, and humming despite my inevitable fatigue. My body yawns and curls in on itself; my spirit swings wildly in the breeze of my thoughts and flutters on the edge of an abyss. It reaches out with impossible hands to gather the moonlight to myself, to pluck the stars from the sky one by one and place them on my tongue to feel them melt into inexplicable froth and disappear.

The ever present question looms large in the darkness of my supposed rest: what is wrong? Another disease stricken off the list, and I suppose I ought to be grateful for each horrible fate that no longer awaits, each drooling and writhing hydra gnashing its teeth I somehow manage to escape. And yet… I find myself disappointed. Each awful reality would make so much sense, it would fit so well, and yet it all remains enigmatic and foggy… a foe that strikes at me from the mist, and I am helpless to identify it, to strike back, or indeed do more than clumsily dodge blows as best I can and try to staunch the bleeding.

It's not lupus. Well what the hell is it?! It's not multiple sclerosis. It's not this. It's not that. Do I just have the worst case of fibromyalgia in the whole freaking world?! Did I just hit the terrible luck jackpot and I have to live this way the rest of my life? Continually worsening… medications ineffective… barely scraping by financially because everything extra goes towards medical bills and the trips it takes to get me to doctors who might actually be able to do something… Maybe I should just do what a good soldier does and fall on my sword. But no… I've contemplated that so much lately, down to the minutae of planning and taking into account all the loose ends to be tied up upon my demise… and the thing that gets me every time is the mental image of C finding my body. I can't bear the look on his face or the tears. I just can't do it. So I curl up into a ball and whimper while the mist swirls and eddies around me, while the unknown, unnamed, faceless enemy (enemies??) stalks and jeers and jabs and demoralizes.

I want to get better. I want to be better so bad it hurts. (Maybe that's my problem. Hah!) I have so much potential… so much locked away inside because I don't have the energy or strength to pull it from myself and lay it out in the sun. I need an assistant, a minion, a crone… Someone to hobble hunchbackedly to and fro at my beck and call. Someone to take over the menial tasks of living so that I can focus all my precious remaining energy on creative, ennobling endeavors.

I sit here bare skinned, swathed only in quilts and blankets, and even in the dark I cannot bear the sight of myself. It is not that my form is displeasing, per se… but it's because I can see what is inside me and it kills me that I can't be everything that I want to be. On the inside, I am wind chimes and church bells and Tibetan prayer bowls and bagpipes and a hand drum. I am brightly colored beads flashing in the sun, multi-hued fish swishing secretly through cool ponds and rivers, and the whisper of leaves as the weather changes. I am the smell of rain on the way, the eye boggling pleasure of a riotous tie dye pattern, the satin caress of age-smoothed wood, and the soul satisfying release of the perfect cup of tea or coffee. I am so many bright, beautiful, eclectic, warm and neutral, shining, earthy, wildfire things inside… and I can't get them out. I can't be who I really am and who I really could and should be because of this poor broken body that I can't help but hate sometimes. Most of the time I regard it with a fond kind of pity as you would with an injured kitten, maybe with a bad leg. Other times, though, the frustration boils up in me like a scalding magma that feels so good to indulge yet at the same time fills me with a deep and ineffable despair and sadness… because I am not sure that this body, this prison, will ever change. Kitten's legs can heal. My beautiful soul-skeleton is closed in by swaths of pale, chubby flesh shot through with purple stretch marks that were never there before. Sometimes they are beautiful tattoos that tell the story of my Amazonian endurance, and other times they are the ragged cracks through which despair and disgust ooze from my very core as lava from the earth's crust.

So I lie here in the half-moonlight, and I wait. I wait for sleep to overcome me, as inevitably it will. I wait for tomorrow to begin. I wait… I just… wait.

I've been turning this around and around in my head and heart for the past few days, and I need to just get it out on "paper" so I can think through it... or at least feel it less... or maybe feel it fully. I dunno.

Saturday night, my youngest (bio) sister J called me in tears. She said that she was breaking down and that she couldn't stop crying and she didn't know who to call 'cause Mom wasn't answering her phone so she called me. I was honored, but concerned. As it turns out, she was having a PTSD flashback attack, being assaulted by memories that she had previously been repressing, and she didn't know how to deal with it or how to stop the memories. I talked with her through it and managed to get her calmed down, and we talked for about 2 hours. She didn't want to talk specifics at all, which I totally understand, but she said that she had memories of bad things happening to her. I guess that I just couldn't absorb what she was telling me, so I assumed she was talking about physical abuse and went with that for the rest of the conversation.

R called me in a panic an hour or two later (well, as panicked as he gets, anyway) saying that J had texted him in the course of a text convo they were having that the same thing that happened to me had happened to her. After our conversation and my piecing together the big picture from context clues in our conversation, I fb messaged her and asked outright, "Those memories that are troubling you... are they sexual in nature?" She responded that they were.

Dear god.

Here's the kicker... we share the same molester.

He's her father. Her biological father. I mean, how sick is that?! One thing that I've clung to all these years is that, "Well, at least he was only my step dad." 

She's been disclosing to family members and calling people involved the past few days... trying to make sense of the whole thing, I think, and also to validate her memories. She doesn't trust herself fully, so she needs someone to confirm that she was, in fact, abused and that she's not making it up. We've been in close contact since that night, whether it be through phone call, text, or Facebook chat. I am so glad that I followed the impulse I had recently to reach out to her and establish a deeper bond and to make myself available to her via regular phone calls. When she needed a support and someone to turn to, she had someone who was there for her.

Although I hate the situation with a passion, it did help to boost my professional confidence that I handled her crisis so well. I had no idea that I knew so much! I'm pretty much terrified of dealing with my girls when they're in crisis mode, and I have avoided giving out my phone number for that very reason. Besides my own trepidation, fear of somehow bungling it and damaging them further, and feelings of inadequacy, I know that it takes a lot of energy to deal with someone in an emotional crisis and I don't always have anything to give. I am selfish, I'll admit it. When I'm home, I don't want to be bothered with someone else's problems most of the time. Now, though... my perspective has changed. I realize how much I know, that I can help someone through a crisis... and I feel like my heart has been opened towards my girls a little more now. I have more love for them. It's hard to explain. But I'll be handing out my card with my phone number on it tonight to all of the girls, and I started a Facebook group last week just for them. I'm glad that I am involved in the teen/tween group again. It's not like it was last time when I was drowning, untrained and casting about on my own while battling my own demons without any weapons. I'm in a much stronger place emotionally, the turmoil of my romantic life has died down, and I've gotten some good counseling and experience under my belt. I've also gone through the program myself for a while, and that was worth more than anything in terms of training and learning.

So back to J. R called me while I was traveling the other day, and we urgently hammered out some of the details for me to fly back and be there with the folks for a few weeks next month. Mom will be having a hysterectomy and will be physically out of commission for a while and J needs a good support system more than ever right now. (She was hospitalized for suicidal ideations again last week.) She and I have really, really clicked and connected, and being a survivor of the same kind of abuse from the same abuser puts me in a unique position to minister to her. She sees that my life is good, that I have not only survived but thrived (HJ mission statement plug, lol), and I think that will give her hope. The beginning is hard, but the healing is even harder, and she's got a lot to work through. K was very abusive to her while they were growing up and it has affected her in dramatic ways. I'm trying to convince her to move here to Y with me for a year or two at the least after she graduates high school this year. I think that going through the HJ program with girls her age that are also wonderful, strong, empathetic survivors would hep her avoid a lot of heartache, pain, and dysfunction in the future.

Those are the facts. But the feelings? I guess I'm just numb still. I'm shocked, disgusted, sorrowful... but it's all kind of muted, far-off, tamped down. It'll probably be really intense while I'm there with her. I had restless sleep last night and woke up feeling all gross inside and I know it's because of this. I guess I've just written G off to such a degree that I can't feel anything about him right now, not yet. But I guess the biggest thing I feel is relief. I am relieved that I can do what I've been doing my whole life and rush in to take care of my family and help make things better, make them run smoother. I don't feel so helpless because I was there for J in her hour of need, I had the experience and training necessary to help her through the critical juncture, and I'll be there physically to be a support for her. I'll be there physically to help take care of my family's physical needs while Mom is out of commission (and even while she's not-- I've had reports that she's overwhelmed right now and not doing so well). I can do something, I already have, and that relief trumps everything else. I can't fix it; I know that. But I can help set the bone and make sure the fracture heals clean while the healing takes place.

I guess that I just never thought he would hurt his own kids, you know? Me, obviously. K, maybe. But his kids? They were obviously his favorites. I can't believe that even after all he did to me I still accorded him some measure of decency. Guess I was wrong. I would do a lot of things to make sure he never sees the light of day again... not for me, but for my baby girl, my sweet little sister. God. I can't even assimilate this. How could he? I don't have english words strong enough for my sense of outrage and repulsion. He is her father. I just... I just... I don't know. My heart is broken and inflamed all at once. My baby... he hurt my baby.

When it was just about me, it was excusable. (I know, I know, logic says it's not, but this is what the inner voices say, ok? I'm working on it. Give me a break.) I took the hit so the other kids would be safe. I took care of them, you know? But then when we were all taken away, when they were out of my care, he hurt her. He did bad things to her. There's nothing I could have done to stop it; I know that. But I spent all of these years believing that I had somehow saved the rest of them... that I had done my job as Second Mommy and taken care of my family to the best of my ability. But now I realize that I never could. I was just a kid, and he was a sick adult bent on draining the life and livelihood of those around him for his own selfish purposes. He never cared about us. It was always about him, only about him. This is proof.

There is no "I should have been there", because there is no way I could have been. The situation was out of my hands. I was too busy trying to take care of K and myself, and then Mom when we got back to her. The kids were with their Gramma and Grampa, so of course they were safe! They were taken care of. I didn't have to worry. Because, I mean, of course he singled me out... I was the oldest. The blonde one. The one that looked different. They were his. He doted on them. He'd take care of them, even if he despised K and I.

I was wrong.

But I can take care of her now. I can help. I can't change what happened, but I can change what happens from here on out... and I'm going to take care of my baby.

Hell hath no fury like that of a woman whose loved ones have been hurt.

Okay, I'm definitely better after some sleep... and a couple of inspirational posts by fellow chronic illness bloggers.

I'm actually not up for the day, but I woke up because my bladder was screaming at me, and my stomach was hollering for food. So I'm up for quick snack, but it's back to bed with me in a few minutes.

Look for wedding posts coming up soon, but I did want to make a couple of quick notes of little things that I'll forget if I don't record.

First, and most notably, C and I had all kinds of fun, introspective conversation snatches during the honeymoon itself, and the ride back home. I learned a few things.

• C genuinely thinks that I'm attractive and beautiful. (Right, it's one of those things that you already know, but it's nice to learn it again and again.)
• He considers me the type who doesn't get easily offended over things.
• I am not a nagger by nature. I really have to try to nag in order to get it right.
• Unless I change as a person (i.e. becoming super Christian again and trying to force that upon C), he cannot conceive of a scenario where he would regret marrying me. He said that even if I become super ill, bedridden and unable to take care of myself, he would still not regret marrying me. He would be sad at what happened to me, but he would not regret marrying me at all.
• C is happy that we are building a life together as well, he just is not giddily happy about it as I am. He is reserving judgment on the whole scenario until the "honeymoon phase" passes-- about 6 months in. (This is similar to him refusing to be excited/happy about the house until he's got the front door key in his hand.)
• C has no expectations for married life. He considered marriage to be more of a goal, like a box on a checklist. He has been working towards marriage because that's just what you do: grow up, get a job, move out, get married, have a family. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Another thing is that guys will get all kinds of goofy in the head, evidenced by big goofy smiles, when you step outside your comfort zone to do something fun and sexy for them, no matter how nervous you are.

Thirdly, people treat you all kinds of nice when they find out you're a newlywed. How long does the newlywed status apply, anyway? Like, really, how long can I milk this? ;)

I'm still not anxious to return to "normal life". Vacation was nice, I won't lie. And having a vacation with someone else? It's so different than taking off on a trip or adventure of my own! Especially when that someone else pays for everything! ^_^ Truthfully, though, we did spend a few hundred less dollars than he was anticipating. We used less gas than C thought we would (all the attractions were within a five minute drive of the hotel), we ate out less, and the Sea World tickets were already paid for, so...

We did pick up one souvenir, besides the stamped pennies that I collected everywhere we went. We got a blown glass paperweight thingy, an elongated circle with a flat bottom. It has a white jellyfish inside that glows in the dark. Very cool. It was between that or a Sea World t-shirt. Um, no contest! I plan to use the four or five pennies as part of a commemorative windchime (seashells and pennies, anyone?), and I kept the maps and tickets and stuff to scrapbook along with our wedding photos.

We didn't take many photos, but here's a random bonus photo, just for fun. (He said he was smiling. Hmm.)

Well, I had my special doctor's appointment this morning. It ran super loooooong, and I ended up missing math class (and a big test). I did, however, get a doctor's note, and I can make up the test, so it's okay. Between a test and a diagnosis, I think I made the right choice. (Even if I did have to call Mom to help me decide whether to stay or not!)

So.

I have Fibromyalgia.

The doc's are also doing auto-immune tests to see what kind of involvement is going on there. They suspect connective tissue disease (but there are over 200 specific diseases under that umbrella, so we'll see where that leads!).

While conversing about this with J, she pointed out that I sounded really optimistic, and was I really okay with this?

Well, yes and no.

Part of me is ecstatic. I have a name for this soul-sucking nonsense. I can focus my energies on managing something real. Most importantly, I'm not crazy. This is a legitimate illness, albeit "invisible". And I can do research, figure out what kind of lifestyle changes I need to make to manage this better. I can manage something I have a name for. It's no longer that nebulous, nameless sickness that steals so much time from me, but something concrete that I can fight, manage, and work with. It's hard to fight a faceless enemy. You never really know if you're doing the right thing... or if it's all just chance.

Part of me though, is a bit crushed. I'll be honest. To be laden with the mantle of "chronic illness" at 24 is... well, it seems unfair. Why is my body so fragile and broken? I have my whole life ahead of me, and now it's tinged with the expectation of pain. It may go away, but it may not. It could be pain like this, every day, for the rest of my life. Fatigue, crippling me... keeping me from being the kind of mom that I want to be, the kind of wife that I want to be... the kind of employee that I want to be.

Will I be able to hike the Grand Canyon next summer? I don't know.

Will I end up in a wheelchair because it hurts too much to walk? It's a possibility.

Will I have days that I can barely muster the physical energy it takes to walk from my car to the classroom? Likely.

And the thought of facing that for the rest of my life is... daunting.

But.

But.

I'm sure some good is going to come out of this. Do I dare call it a tragedy? It feels a little like one to me, but on the other hand it doesn't. Maybe it's an opportragedy. Mostly opportunity with a little tragedy thrown in :)

So the docs put me on this antidepressant that's been proven to help with fibro. As uneasy as I was at the thought of being on antidepressants earlier this year (when I went to beg my doctor to help me overcome my horrific depression, and was told by my employer that if I got on antidepressants they'd have to let me go, which STILL irks me to no end), I don't mind so much now. Probably because it's not a mental thing that I'm working with, so I don't feel like "I can fix myself given enough time". It's physical, it's here, it's "permanent", and I know I can't go on living like I am.

And hey, this'll probably help with my depression, too. Two birds, one stone :) (Also, it's non-habit forming. Wheee-hew.)

I think more research is in order. I'm not just going to be like, "Okay, I have this, life goes on as normal." No way! I bet there are lifestyle changes I can make that would help... beginning with regular massages ;)

Also, I'm seriously asking questions about the role of seratonin now... Why does a Seratonin and Norepinephrine Re-uptake Inhibitor help with fibro? Is there some connection with chemical imbalance and the likelihood of fibro? Why is it mostly women in a certain age bracket that get it? What connection is there between depression and fibro/overactive nervous system? Because that's what fibromyalgia is, basically-- a hypersensitive nervous system. There's a bust in the chain somewhere that keeps pain signals going when there's no stimulus or reason for pain. A broken feedback loop.

It makes me want to go into neuropsychology even more. Oh, how I want to research these things!!!!

There have been a few interesting twists and turns of events in the past few days. I just haven't had the energy to think about them, only react in real-time.

So Tuesday was kind of a sad day, with this giant wall of "shoulds" looming over me that I felt in no way equipped to fight. I felt trapped by my body and my health problems, trapped by my financial situation, trapped by my living situation (more on that in a minute), like I was failing as an employee and a productive member of society, and just generally defeated.

See, it's one thing when the Should Monster (who bears a striking resemblance to the Cookie Monster) is stridently insisting upon one particular Should. It's a whole 'nother ball of wax when it feels like a veritable tidal wave of Should is bearing down upon you, and you can't pick out one particular thing to combat.

I can't be too hard on myself, though, because truly, I'm still learning how to pull out my tools and deal with this stuff. I'm not going to get it perfectly the first time, or every time for that matter. So I forgive myself for not immediately bouncing up and away from the sadness and the Shoulds and the defeated attitude.

Wednesday, I had my last session with my counselor. It was a good one, and I realized something interesting towards the end, beyond the things I already know. Like, I know that the Should Monster is handing me a load of crap and I need to stand up to it, and self-affirmations will help a ton in this regard; that I am afraid of either living up to or acknowledging and owning my awesomeness, because then I feel like I have to perform at this super-high level all the time and that just kind of sets me up for failure and disappointment, so it's better and easier to just put myself down all the time and operate under the premise of "I'm messed up, I'm sick, I'm so screwed up" all the time.

I learned that I perform in spurts. Seriously. This is how I operate best. Rather than having to be operating or performing at a certain level all the time (think 9-5 job, 5 days a week), I am way more productive and don't have meltdowns when I have a spurt of awesome (however long that lasts) and then can retreat into non-productive mode. Think artist, or wedding planner, or somesuch. Musician. Trapeze artist. Writer. Whatever. Being "on" all the time doesn't work for me. And realizing that is super freeing and empowering. Like, just realizing how I operate is... cool. Part of what's been such a downer about the struggle with work is that I "SHOULD" be able to do that 9-5 thing and make it work and get over myself and just survive, right? Dude, I'm just not wired that way. Even if I weren't sick, I would still hate it and get burnt out. Which I have. Again and again. And being frustrated by it because I couldn't understand what was going on.

I also realized that I tend to live so much in the present that it's hard for me to see past this moment. I know it's a little weird, because I have struggles with being fully present in the moment, but let me explain... It's like, whatever is happening now is how things will be forever. If I'm happy now, I will always be happy. If I'm sad now, I will always be sad. If I'm in a place of limbo (which I am), things will never change and it will always be like this and I've failed. If I'm succeeding, it will always be like this... and when it changes, I'm devastated. Destroyed. Because I must have done something wrong, or else it would have always been like that.

I have a hard time understanding on a very fundamental level the ebb and flow of life, the changing, and the fact that whatever is happening now... will not be this way forever.

Maybe it comes from the type of childhood I lived. When things are crazy and dysfunctional, you're not thinking of the future. You're reacting to right now, and this is all there is. "Right now" is your world, because you never, ever know how things are going to change in three seconds. They could stay the same (Daddy's happy. Good. He's been happy all afternoon. Good.), or they could change in the blink of an eye. (Daddy was happy, but then I made a noise and annoyed him and now he's really mad and I'm being punished and he'll be in a bad mood the rest of the night.) The present moment is your world.

So. Interesting things.

But I am learning, and growing, and learning how to wield my tools with yet more proficiency. I was sad about things ending with my counselor, but I'm grateful for all she taught me and showed me. It was really a good little phase, and I know I'll always remember her fondly.

So then I've been fighting Food Stamps for two weeks, 'cause they're playing these stupid games with me. They called me for my interview a couple of times during the time when I specifically wrote down that I was unavailable, and when I (finally!) got a hold of them again, they said they'd put me back on the call list. Days later, when I haven't heard anything, I call back and find out that they never actually put me back on the list. That happened several times. Finally, yesterday, I decided to go down there after school. It was the first day that my schedule allowed me to, so I figured I'd take advantage of it. Plus they'd pissed me off the day before. After another round of calling me during unavailable hours, my calling them and them promising to call me back that day, I called them just before closing and got put on hold... for over twenty minutes. Then they hung up on me and wouldn't answer the phone anymore. (Did I mention this isn't the first time they've put me on hold and then hung up on me?) I was ticked.

As I'm walking up the sidewalk to the Food Stamp building's front doors, my phone rings. It's them, and they're calling for my interview. So I talk to the lady while I'm standing in front of the building! Hah! Long story short? I don't qualify for Food Stamps, because I'm a student and I'm working less than twenty hours a week.

Now, let me get this straight.

You won't help me because I'm in a position where I need help?

Right. Because, the lady explains, food stamps are meant to be a supplement, not the sole source of support.

Yeah, okay, so supplement me. I don't need to be fully supported. If you only knew how I'd been scraping by...! I can make it with your supplement. I'm not asking for welfare, here.

So I explained that I'm physically incapable of working 20+ hours a week while in school, but it makes no difference.

The door is closed in my face.

So I did what any normal woman would do... I went to my car and I cried. Because I don't know how I'm going to survive. Food stamps are out, disability isn't an option at this point... work is a mess right now anyway, but I'm doing all I can there... I'm out of options, and the only thing I can do at this point is live off of my credit card.

So I cried.

Then I called my mom. And she sympathized, but had no ideas for me, except that C should be supporting me.

I've heard that from people before, and I disagree.

It's not that he won't help me out if I ask, because he will. He's proven it, and he's blatantly stated that he won't let me go hungry. That's great. But, though we are engaged... I am not his financial responsibility. I didn't move in with him so that he would take care of me. We never, ever agreed to that, and I refuse to place a burden of responsibility on him that doesn't belong there. Just like if I moved back in with Gramma and Grampa, it wouldn't be their responsibility to take care of me, just because I'm living with them, just because I'm their granddaughter. It doesn't work like that. So I guess I get a little up in arms when people question C's moral integrity for not "taking care" of me while I'm in my dire straits here, because it's like judging him for failing to do a job that's not his. You know?

So I thought about it all day, and I finally decided to bite the bullet. Unfortunately for me, I didn't even think of the fact that I'd had all day to mull it over and C had just gotten home from work and needed some time to decompress, because I just hit him with it right after he walked in the door! I apologized later-- it was thoughtless of me, and rude. He accepted the apology and told me it was fine. Whew.

Now, we've had several "serious" conversations the past few days. There was Tuesday, when I broke down crying because I felt like a failure. (He maintains that I'm not.) Then there was Wednesday, when I had realized from Tuesday's conversation about having space of my own and feeling like a hangers-on that it's really, really important to me that a.) I know that when the house is purchased that it's our house and not just his, and b.) it's really important to me that after we're married we have our own place and space (i.e. no roommates). That was a good convo, and it went well. And, yes, it will be OUR home, OUR house, not just his. It's hard for me to feel that way now, because he's the one putting all the finances toward it... but when we're married, we're partners. Equals. His house, my house. (Right now, in the bachelor apartment, my stuff is kind of socked away in convenient locations because I came along last. He was already settled, and so was S, so it's their place, it feels... I just happen to live here.) And I'll be the one decorating it and cleaning it and all that, so I think I will feel more ownership. Right now is just a weird time of trying to fit myself into convenient little gaps.

I explained what happened with the food stamps, and C was sympathetic. He was very upset on my behalf when they were being so frustrating, so I knew he'd understand my disappointment at being turned down. So then I told him how I went and cried, and then I just asked him... I asked him if he'd be willing to support me until I can graduate and get a job. I know it's bad timing, what with trying to save for a house, but I'm trying my best and I'm doing all that I can, but I'm stuck in this weird limbo and falling between the cracks and I just don't know what else to do.

He asked how much I thought I'd need a week, and then he kissed the top of my head after I told him, "Sorry." He said that he knows I'm trying my best, and that means a lot to him. It's not like I'm just sitting back and doing nothing. So I asked for $200 a month. That will cover gas and should cover most basic food. I will continue to work and go to school... none of that will change. I'm just getting some help from my sugar daddy :) He says he knows what he can afford, and he's told me before that it's not like I'm a gold-digger. I hate to ask him to do this for me, but... I can't see any other way at this point.

It was funny-- I had texted him during the day that I wanted to make Rice Krispies treats, but he doesn't get the texts until he picks up his phone from the weapons locker at the end of his shift. So he's walking out the door with some other guy, and his phone goes off. When he sees it's from me, he's like, "Uh-oh, that's never good..." So he opens it and reads, "I want to make Rice Krispies treats...", and he's like, "I can deal with that. I can very, very much deal with that!" LOL He told me the story when he got home.

So we traipsed off to Wally World to get the ingredients, and while we were there, do you know what he got me?!??!

A neon/fluorescent sweater! Like the one I used to have in high school! (Actually, he's the one who bought the first one for me, while we were up at Ren Fair the year it was super cold and rainy.) I wore that thing to death, and finally got rid of it at SOULS, because I learned that you weren't supposed to draw attention to yourself with your clothes... and neon is definitely attention garnering. In the years since, I've regretted getting rid of it, since I figured I'd never have an opportunity to own one again.

I thought wrong!

You should see this baby in the sunlight. It'll sear your retinas right off :D

So. That has been my past few days. What an adventure. *sigh*

And what a good guy I've found.

Thank you, God, for my fiance.

And with that... I'm off to make the promised RK treats.

I found it. I've found my code of ethics.

You know, that set of "rules for living" that just resonates deep within you?

Yes, of course I lean towards the Christian set of ethics, but there are inherent things that just bother me... whether they be misunderstandings on my part or genuinely held ideals.

Anyway, while Stumbling today, I came across this gem: Native American Code of Ethics.

Read, and be inspired.

1. Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often. The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak.
2. Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path. Ignorance, conceit, anger, jealousy and greed stem from a lost soul. Pray that they will find guidance.
3. Search for yourself, by yourself. Do not allow others to make your path for you. It is your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.
4. Treat the guests in your home with much consideration. Serve them the best food, give them the best bed and treat them with respect and honor.
5. Do not take what is not yours whether from a person, a community, the wilderness or from a culture. It was not earned nor given. It is not yours.
6. Respect all things that are placed upon this earth—whether it be people, animal or plant. Honor the Spirit in all things.
7. Honor other people’s thoughts, wishes and words. Never interrupt another or mock or rudely mimic them. Allow each person the right to personal expression.
8. Never speak of others in a bad way. The negative energy that you put out into the universe will multiply when it returns to you. All persons make mistakes. And all mistakes can be forgiven. Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind, body and spirit. Practice optimism.
9. Nature is not for us, it is a part of us. They are part of your worldly family.
10. Children are the seeds of our future. Plant love in their hearts and water them with wisdom and life’s lessons. When they are grown, give them space to grow.
11. Avoid hurting the hearts of others. The poison of your pain will return to you.
12. Be truthful at all times. Honesty is the test of ones will within this universe.
13. Keep yourself balanced. Your mental self, spiritual self, emotional self, and physical self—all need to be strong, pure and healthy. Work out the body to strengthen the mind. Grow rich in spirit to cure emotional ails.
14. Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you will react. Be responsible for your own actions.
15. Respect the privacy and personal space of others. Do not touch the personal property of others—especially sacred and religious objects. This is forbidden.
16. Be true to yourself first. You cannot nurture and help others if you cannot nurture and help yourself first.
17. Respect others religious beliefs. Do not force your belief on others.
18. Share your good fortune with others. Participate in charity. Be willing to give back to the people, so that People will live.

I've been thinking about my life lately.

Questioning, more like.

I just finished up the book "The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love", which was exceptional. I found myself, however, incredibly baffled and bemused as to why the author, someone so like me, would choose to settle down with someone so infuriatingly crazy as this Mark fellow.

To be fair, she does have misgivings--many, many misgivings. But she ultimately decides that the man she loves and the life he offers her is worth the sacrifice of giving up a part of herself and the goals and ideas she once held.

Here's a few interesting excerpts:

"Mark joked that I was going to Hawaii for my solo honeymoon, but it was a hollow joke. I think we both knew there was a real possibility that I wasn't coming back. I imagined my friends would sigh, say it was just like me, that they'd expected it all along; my parents would roll their eyes and forgive me for putting them through all that drama, and debate the proper thing to do with the wedding gifts.

At the center of my attachment to travel had always been the belief that indeed there is such a thing as escape. You can change everything with one slim ticket. The last time I'd been in the Maui airport, I'd been a girl, twenty years old, and as I walked toward my luggage, I wondered if I would find my free, young self waiting for me there among the airport greeters with their leis, or if I'd murdered her by getting married to a farmer and a farm. I supposed I would find out. Travel tends to grant clarity. Remove all that distracting context and you find yourself staring at cold hunks of truth."

"Watching that guy's collard flutter into his basket was the moment I got married, in my heart. There is no such thing as escape after all, only an exchange of one set of difficulties for another. It wasn't Mark or the farm or the marriage that I was trying to shake loose from but my own imperfect self, and even if I kept moving, she would dog me all the way around the world, forever."

As I said, she is so much like me. And this, too, seems to be the conclusion that I am evolving towards.

"It's never the way you think it'll be, Mark used to tell me. Not as perfect as you hope or as scary as you fear."

I've been having those panicky second thoughts lately.

You see, the euphoric feelings have dimmed, and I am left with the mundane, the every day... the more or less steady, predictable rhythm of responsibilities and the flow of those around me.

I have a hard time with mundane.

There's been quite a bit of drama in the HJ lately, a large portion of it traceable to an individual who, apparently, can't quite thrive without drama of some sort... even if she has to create it.

Now, I'm not one to create drama, but it's easy to sniff disdainfully at someone's handicap until you realize it's your own.

I've come to realize that I'm rather at a loss when not desperately pressed in circumstance. Or, at the very least, depressed. The sheer euphoria of positive feelings, of resolution, so close on the heels of misery, pain, and strain is addicting, to say the least. It's like picking a fight just to make up.

At first I thought this was an inherent flaw, but I realize now that it is a logical outflow of my upbringing. The domestic violence cycle, or even just the dysfunction cycle, goes like this:

The abuse is awful, to be sure, but the reconciliation and the honeymoon phase stand in such sharp relief that it's... well, it's like a drug. And it's hope. Hope that things will get better, that the bad won't come again. I go through this same up and down dance with my depression.

The kicker is that, should the hoped for peace come to pass... you've now become so accustomed to the cycle that you don't know how to live with that peace. At least, I don't. I'm always waiting for the axe to fall, craving it, even. (Could possibly be a part of PTSD, as well...)

And C is so steady, so... steady. I don't know how to handle it. The life he offers me... so... steady. It's obsessively, compulsively compelling at times, yet uneasily repellent at other times. I'm the one that goes up and down, back and forth. He hasn't wavered in his intentions at all.

(P.S.- That cycle totally describes the home front, with R and the kids and Mom... sigh. I was party to that just last Christmas.)

But when I'm wavering, I remember that he is good for me and I am good for him. I have a freedom with him that I have not had with any other relationship. He lifts me up, I lift him up. And, importantly for me, he puts up with all my crazy, and holds me through it. I've been revealing more and more facets of who I truly am to him of late, and he's still implacably by my side. Go figure.

Am I really just frightened of having someone who won't walk away, or give in to drama?

You know, I'd really like to learn how to live in the mundane and be at peace with it. I find myself in an arena of choice... is it worth it, this man that I love and the steady, stable life that he's offering me?

It's official-- I'm a crazy cat lady.

My friends up in ID joked that I should go into rescuing kitties full-time, and I'm inclined to agree with them.

I was settled comfortably cross-legged on my bed, ready to balance my bank account, when I heard this repetitive noise through my window. Thinking it to be a bird, I ignored it at first, but then the thought came to me, That sounds like a kitten meowing. Listening more closely, the sound galvanized me into action. I quickly strode outdoors, heedless of my bare feet.

I followed the sound to its apparent origin, but I didn't see anything. The almost desperate mewling had stopped. I made a small clucking sound with my tongue, and was startled when a meowing kitten nearly exploded from the brush before me and clambered over my feet. The little black creature was tiny, fitting neatly into my cupped hands, but I hadn't reckoned what a spitfire this kitten was! Ineffectual hissing and clawing made sure that I dropped that kitten in a hurry.

After fetching a pair of flip-flops for my thorn-encrusted feet and grabbing a can of cat food, I re-attempted the wooing of the kitty. A few minutes into the process, I realized that this little one was in need of help, so I scooped it up and carried it indoors with a minimum of protest.

And now... I find myself the possessor of a tiny black kitty. It is so young, its eyes are still blue! I can't keep it, though I want to... After all, I just rid myself of Holly not too long ago. (Funnily enough, I was thinking to myself just this morning how nice it was to not have a cat anymore, since I'm gone at all hours of the day and night and trying to take care of a cat would be a pain. Now, I have a baby who can't even eat on its own yet. Of course. ^_^)

Well... I hope C is okay with my rescuing animals. He's going to have to deal with it for a long time to come.

Where do I start in processing through all the events of late?

Campmeeting was great. It helped me a lot in my consideration and study of the OT feasts. I used to think that feast-keepers were crazy weirdos, but now I realize that they are not. They're really sincere in following God's will as expressed in Scripture, and I really admire them for that. I loved how the studies and talks presented really illuminated God's character further, and even the cross. I didn't think that would be the case-- I was hesitant about the whole thing. But, it proved to be a blessing. I wonder where my studies will lead me?

The S family is so inclusive and warm-- I love it! I got to meet D's side of the family for the big birthday party in his honor (and because he has cancer, it was a kind of "just in case we don't get to see you again" get together). I got to meet a lot of his friends from the olden days (when they were my age), and it was great to see them all interact. We pulled out our guitars and jammed together-- what a blast! I love music.

I visited another massage school down here, one run by people of my denomination. I'm really, really leaning towards it, which is ironic, because I didn't even want to go check it out. I kind of did it as a favor for C. I wasn't thrilled about it, just by looking at the website... I guess I had set my heart on going somewhere where no one knows me, and I don't have the pressure of living up to expectations... Although, the churchgoers in this area are so liberal, I probably wouldn't have to worry about that. Aaaaaand, I'm supposed to be learning about not judging myself according to my perception of other's expectations and trying to act a certain way just because I think that it's expected of me... *Sigh* Easier said than done. Anyway, this school intrigues me, and the director and I really clicked. I've got my lists of pros and cons, I'm praying like crazy, and as I work through this, I think... I'd be kind of foolish to walk away from this school without some serious reasons for turning it down.

Hmm. Oh, yes! Healing Journey wants to give me a scholarship! Yeehaw! We'll see how that works out-- I'm not hanging anything on it just yet, but I'm excited about the prospect. I need to decide what school I'm going to, first. I should have a decision in a week or two at the most. My folks need to know what my sched will be like so we can buy a ticket for me to come visit for Christmas.

J is shocked that I will be making such a decision so quickly. It took her three years to decide where to go to school, what to take, etc. I mean, this decision of mine has been a process of several months, one step at a time, but it's significantly faster than her decision making process. We're just very different in that way. Very, very different. Hehe.

Some friends of mine down here in southern CA have invited me to go canvassing with them tomorrow. Eeep, is all I can say. I want to hang out with them, but I really don't want to go canvassing. We'll see. I just had a convo with JC about canvassing, and both of us not wanting it to have "beaten" us. I almost want to go just to prove to myself that I can, you know? Sort of a "face my fears" type thing... but I know that's not the right motive. Plus, I still really, really don't want to. So if I do, I'll probably just sit in the car or something. Maybe accompany someone else as they're at doors. It's a start.

Some friends of D and C's are taking us out to Indian food tonight. I know for a fact that Indian food contains garlic. I've decided to just bite the bullet and try it. If I perish, I perish. I'm tired of making a big deal about food. *sigh*

Anyway, this trip has been good. I'm very glad that I came. I was unsure of how things would turn out, but, yes, I'm glad I came.

JC has been calling me much of late. I wonder what that means? I think I need to set a boundary on the amount that we talk. I'm glad to have him as a friend, but I'm not interested in a repeat of the Awkward Saga. I know what can happen when you talk too much to a single guy, when you're too vulnerable... and JC and I have this wonderful friendship where we're able to be very truthful and open with each other. Dangerous stuff.

The fam jokes that, if I came down here (to an Adventist mecca), that I'd probably wind up married with a baby, and it'll all be over. I'll say the thought crossed my mind, but I have come to the conclusion that I'm not ready to be married. I've got growing to do... I listened to a sermon by David Asscherick called Hitchhiking For Love that really helped me see with greater clarity some things I'd realized after the break with D. I mean, yeah, I've got the skills it takes to take care of a household, but I'm not the person I need to be yet. I need more time.

That's hard to take, because I want to be in a loving relationship. I really do. I want what I see that D and C have. I want what I see a few other people have... but in the right time. It's hard, but it's better this way.

I'm learning so much from this processing through my relationship with D! Maybe this is what God had in mind when he directed us together?

Life... it moves on, regardless. I'm so glad that God is directing my footsteps. He will open and close the doors for me to walk through.

Yup, that's right-- I'm part of a meme!

I'm rather proud of myself, actually... usually I'm totally clueless when it comes to the twists and turns of popular culture, especially blogging culture. I'm just not "with it". I have my own little world, but now that world has collided with the worlds of at least 25 other people. Check it out.

Ahh, yes, and I made a discovery as well. (It's been a big day.) My love language is most definitely Quality Time. (Perhaps secondarily Gifts, but QT is the first and foremost.) It's the effort and the time put into the gift that makes it valuable to me.

So, that has made this week even more spectacular when it comes to conversations, since I have my phone back until Sunday morning. D and I have talked every single day, at least once. (All three of 'em!) I'm reveling in it. (Not that we are necessarily having deep, theological conversations... We talk about fish and the weather, about our families, mosquitos, God, my health, campsites and sometimes movies, and whatever pops into our heads, really.) I've talked to the S's several times, my mom several times, my sister, J, and I'm going to be calling H tomorrow.

Ahhh... it feels good to talk again. I can't wait to be back home and be in their physical presence. (Of course, then I'll miss the people I left behind down here in California, but that's just how life goes, isn't it?)

This last week, we had an amazing camp pastor, Pastor D. She was incredible. Her messages were simple, powerful, spoken in love, and so applicable. I didn't get to hear many of them, because I was in the kitchen most of the time, but what I did hear was amazing... and exactly what I needed. It was encouragement, straight from the throne of God :)

So I wrote her a letter, thanking her for her ministry, and telling her that. She responded by finding me for a great, deep conversation on Sunday morning, which she followed up with by writing the "bullet points" of the conversation in a letter to me so I would remember. (Part of why the conversation was so powerful is that she and her daughter have been through the pain of sexual abuse as well.) Here's the letter:

"Dear C,
   I am so glad God enabled us to have such a wonderful conversation. These are the highlights of our conversation that you asked me to write in a letter:


1) God loves you exceedingly, greatly, and abundantly more than you can ever ask or imagine. He will reveal this in your life as he did in mine through your trust in Him. He showed me His love directly one evening as I watched my 10 year old daughter sleeping and thought:
"L, will you blame me for what has happened to you? I don't know if you can understand this now, but I couldn't have stopped it from happening. But I spared myself nothing from being with you and sharing your pain. I am all scarred as a result- that is how much I love you."


 I went to bed shortly afterwards, and as I placed my head on the pillow with my heart throbbing in pain, I heard God speaking to me:
"D, will you blame me for what has happened to you? I don't know if you can understand this now, but I couldn't have stopped it from happening. But I spared myself nothing from being with you and sharing your pain. I am all scarred as a result- that is how much I love you!"


I never knew how much I was loved by anyone until that moment.


2) God did not will the evil of abuse on you, but He did will for you to pass through it- in other words- to hang on your own cross next to Him as you suffered through the evil that is done in this world at the prompting of the great deceiver himself. The evil one desires to separate you from God forever and neutralize your power as a force for God's kingdom through your anger and distrust of God as a result of your abuse.


  But your faith in God even through your suffering (see Ps. 22:24-28) makes your life a powerful witness for the kingdom of God. In your brokenness the light of God's love will blaze through and people will be drawn to the light of His love shining through your life.


3) You are an amazingly beautiful woman- body, mind, and soul. Abuse is so devastating because it causes us to doubt our beauty and our worth. God will use all of your experiences (both good and bad) to mold you and shape you into the lovely, unique woman He designed you to be. You were in His thoughts before the creation of this world and He conceived your life in love and will hold you and keep you in His love-- both now and forever.


4) God has a special person prepared to share this life with you--a person who will love you and cherish you. I am praying for you and for the one God has prepared for you.


5) You have a very special purpose and ministry--especially through music. People will be drawn by the power and spirit of your voice and music--especially children. I am excited for the purpose and plans God has for you. You will not understand the full impact of your ministry in this life. Together we will understand it in eternity when God wipes all the tears from our eyes and we can see clearly and completely.


I hope that you are able to rest this next week and continue to find healing--body, mind, and soul-- in the arms of God.


Much love,
D W"

Pretty amazing, huh?

The conversation that we had, and the following letter, brought to my attention the fact that I am resistant to my own importance. Does that make sense?

It is so, so, so difficult for me to believe that God has prepared anything for me above mediocrity. Me? A warrior? You've got the wrong person. A powerful ministry? I think you are mistaken.

The conversation dusted off a wall around my heart that I had been hiding. I've felt it there before, but I think that the walls preceding it have been torn down enough to where I really feel this one now.

I know that God loves me. I know that I can trust him. But... I just don't know how I can believe that God actually enjoys me. Like His love is an obligation, he's duty bound to love me, but he doesn't really like me. And having great plans for me? Why would he do that if he doesn't even like me? No, more likely he'd put me on a back shelf somewhere, part of his collection, but not a very important part.

That's the wall. The wall that is resistant to... to what? How do I even describe this? But it holds me back. It chains me down. It's this wall that confines me within the wastelands of uncertainty and doubt of my own worth, of other's estimations of me, of my ability to participate within a relationship without driving the other person away... What do I call this thing? How do I describe it?

Yet it binds my every move, inhibiting my heart... and I do not know how to be free of it.
Indeed, I do not know if I want to be free, because even a wasteland is comforting if you've lived there long enough.

Photo Credit

I found out that I'll be in the kitchen "for a while".

Whatever that means.

It does mean, however, that I need to get my Food Handler's Certificate.

Don't ask me why, but this feels significant... like God is setting me up for something.

Puzzle pieces are falling into place, I just can't see the picture on the front of the box. And you know what? I'm okay with that right now.

I can hardly believe it, but... I think I'm glad to stay in the kitchen. I've come to enjoy it.

Today, one of the cooks gave me a compliment. Before I knew I'd be in the kitchen a while longer, I said to him, "Today is our last day working together, I think. I wonder if I'll be in the kitchen this summer?"

He replied, "I hope so. You're a good helper."

Awww, thanks, O! I'm glad to know that I'm a good helper. Sometimes I feel so very inept.

And, incredibly, I have survived those nine days that previously seemed so overwhelming and potentially fatal. Even more incredibly, I have survived with a smile on my face and happiness in my heart... even without talking to D for a week.

God has used this brief interlude to teach me so much... what in the world will the summer bring??

Finally! Time to sit down and process through the last couple of days!

Monday, I arrived at the camp, and was immediately put to work in the cafeteria. After supper was over and the kitchen cleaned, then I headed over to my "new" house to move in... but I was waylaid for about half an hour by my friendly neighbor, J, who also happens to be my half-boss.

There is a reason why I'm here before summer camp starts... The story is that there was this guy who worked here at the camp- nice kid. Totally normal. (That's what they always say!) Then, one day, he apparently snapped, shot and killed one of the housekeepers, and was going to kill all the rest of the staff. However, he must have come to his senses, because he turned himself in. After this story got out, camp attendance dropped... drastically. (Uh, yeah!) So, this year, the Boss decided that he needed someone to go around to the different elementary schools and pump up the camp, get the kids excited! That's where I enter the story.

I'm basically here because some guy freaked out and killed someone else here on camp grounds. But here's the best part... My little apartment they gave me to stay in? Yeah, it was the killer's house. D laughed so hard when I told him... he said it was "haunted" (jokingly, of course).

But no one had really even stepped foot in here for about a year and a half, since the guy's parents came to collect his stuff. So it was pretty dirty... and strewn with the carcasses of bugs... and the evidences of mice. So, in between work times yesterday, I scrubbed and swept and vacuumed and aired out the place (which means I essentially worked a twelve hour day yesterday- no wonder it was so hard for me to get up this morning!!)

D called last night, and I was thrilled to hear from him. I had been hoping he'd call. It was a bright hope to look forward to... and it got me through the day. (Odds are he won't call tonight, though. Drat.)

See, the thing is... I don't like working in the kitchen. But, this is where they need me the most, so I'll do it... and God is using it to teach me cheerfulness and thankfulness in spite of circumstances. It's been good, but challenging... and I can't wait for each day to be done.

I made a mistake today in the time I was supposed to come in for lunch prep, so I was fifteen minutes late. Gaaah... Kill me. I hate making mistakes! So I did the dishes as penance. I think I'm the only one who thought of it that way, though :)

I've realized that my being in the kitchen is a witnessing opportunity. It's kind of weird, because I never thought of it that way, until I actually found myself there, but my interactions with the people we feed really can influence their conception of Christians in general, and Adventists in particular. I get the chance to serve them, and to show them Jesus. That applies to my fellow staff, too... so I've been really praying about maintaining cheerfulness.

The funny thing is, the group here now is a rather conservative group (and vegan, which irks the kitchen staff somewhat)... the culture is much the same as SOULS. However, the staff here don't know I'm from that culture, so I get to hear exactly what they think about it without there being any walls of caution there. And, interestingly, the group doesn't realize that I'm "one of them". They think I'm just another staff member. It's like I'm caught between two worlds, but I don't belong to either one any more. I've got an interesting perspective, that's for sure...

One guy, though, pegged me as a SOULSer. He stopped me in the lobby. "You're from SOULS West, aren't you?"

Yes, I am. How did you know?

"I saw you speak at Faith Camp last year."

Oh, really? Yeah, I gave that talk on Ezekiel 28.

"That's right. So you're working here this summer? Good for you!"

It was funny. But it was also sobering, because I realized... people are watching me. So, although I don't really care for the work that I'm doing, I'll do it with a smile... because that's what I want people to see about God- that he's enjoyable.

D helped to encourage me last night. I shared my thoughts about cheerfulness and thankfulness, and what I'm learning, and how I'm choosing to view this thing as one big adventure... but then I also shared my honest opinions. Hehe... they're not necessarily the best. I'm not super impressed. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure I'd work here again. Regardless, I'm here now.

I so appreciate how D can help me to see the positive when I'm overwhelmed with homesickness or fighting discouragement and disillusionment. Because, really, seeing the positive is what's going to get me through this... adventure. If I focus on any or all of the negative things, I will easily be overwhelmed and swept away.

It's pretty obvious that we both desire to be in the same place. I haven't seen him since before I left, which would be two months and some change... and it's going to be many more months till we see each other again. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for the way things are, and I appreciate what we have, a lot. But I do long to be near him, to see him, and to do stuff together. He said he'll cook me some fish :) But, as Jim Elliot said, "Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living."

Maybe it will be easier when the summer gets going, and I'm distracted by all the kids. (And only able to have my phone once a week.) He's going to send me letters, though. I'm so excited! I love letters :)

I miss my family, too. When I'm in the kitchen snapping peas or chopping yams, I smile to think that I'll be doing that for the family soon. The summer will fly, I'm sure... but I can't wait to go home. (It's been two months already... *sigh*)

I have discovered the most amazing thing in North America, and quite possibly the universe as well.

(But it's only amazing if you like the Baroque era of music. Just a warning.)

Sunday Baroque

I've been listening for the past... 3 hours. At least.

Finally, a Sunday I enjoy! Usually, I dislike Sundays, just because the rhythms of the day tend to get messed up with sleeping in and all... banks are closed, post office is closed, etc. It just throws everything off. They are awkward.

Buuuut, today was rather enjoyable. (So far.) I had a good Talk with God this morning, the shower was nice and hot (it's hit and miss around here), I feel TONS better than I have the past several days, and I found this amazing music to listen to. I got the fridge cleaned out, most of my stuff packed, a pot of beans (sans garlic this time) simmering to freeze later, and I think I'll make bread this evening, after I pack up my food items. Oh, yeah, and an amazing lunch! (Penne alfredo- made with sunflower seeds and pine nuts, toast with olive oil and fresh basil leaves, and broccoli. YUM!)

It's been a day of getting things done. I like that.

In addition, I wrote H a thank you/goodbye card to leave with the jasmine candle I got her. We had oohed and ahhed over the Yankee Candles in a nearby art and framing store, and the jasmine candle was the one that tickled both our fancies the most... so I figure it's an appropriate parting gift. I didn't have any wrapping paper, so I wrapped it in tissue paper (not an easy feat, considering the candle is cylindrical, and the wrapping paper is square) and folded some kudsukama flowers out of pretty paper to decorate the top. (Note to self: do not use heavy paper next time!)

It's been a weekend of reality check, too... I bumped into a friend of mine in church yesterday, and after a while he asked what my plans were next year. I told him, of course, that I'm headed back to Idaho to study agriculture for a year (it sounds so impressive, doesn't it?), and that I was praying about starting a support group for abuse victims. He immediately encouraged me to do the group, which meant a lot to me, since I really respect his opinion. He knows about doing new ventures for God... After all, he did start the Magabook industry back in the 80's.

I've been praying... Lord, should I do this, or should I not? Is it just because I want to feel like a leader? Do I really have anything to contribute? Is this my idea, or yours? Is this just me, or do you really want me to do this? After thinking about it a while, the only things holding me back are a.) Hesitation that it might not be what God wants me to do, and b.) fear of failure, fear of risk... just... fear.

*Sigh*

Oh, and this weekend, I read another book, When God Writes Your Love Story by Eric and Leslie Ludy. It helped me understand what C was talking about with the "feminine mystique" thing- at least, what I think she was trying to get across! It was less being coy and more preserving my purity and not selling myself cheap. I was challenged when I realized that saving physical affection and sexual purity for my future husband isn't really the end of the line. Someday, I want to be able to give him my heart, my emotions, my everything... and I don't want those to be things that I carelessly tossed to the highest bidder. Now, don't get me wrong, I know how to do this... when I'm single.

The problem, and the challenge, lies in the fact that I'm now dating D. How do I maintain my emotional purity while in a dating relationship? While pondering this, I realized that I had gotten too "into" this relationship... I was so ready to hand him my heart, without him even asking! No way, dude!

I mean, I know that the relationship needs to progress in order to be healthy, but... if I'm throwing everything I have and am into this from the get-go, there will be nothing for him to discover... and there will be nothing to save.

Does this even make any sense? It does in my head. We're getting to know each other. That's a fact. We both like each other. That's undeniable. But that doesn't mean that I should now drop my reserves and completely expose my heart to him. Discretion, I believe it's called.

What I was yearning to pour into D, I'm now channeling elsewhere. I've started writing letters to my future husband. It helps me keep perspective, and gives me a place to put all that mushy gushy stuff without endangering or rushing my relationship with D.

Mom once told me, while I was still getting to know/ dating GM, "Treasure this time. If things move forward, you won't ever have these moments back."

She's right. I'm going to savor this phase, and not worry about what lies ahead. What does rushing into the future gain? Absolutely nothing.

I've been reading Pilgrim's Progress through again lately. Since I haven't been feeling well for a day or two, I've made quite a bit of progress. (I'd say I'm about half through.)

I came to the part where Christian's burden is released- when he climbs to the top of Golgotha and views the Suffering One on the cross.

It occurred to me... I don't think I really get it. I've read the story of the crucifixion, and it has impacted me- don't get me wrong! But I don't think I truly, truly "get it".

I'm also reading another book, called "He Loves Me!", and I came across this series of quotes this morning.

"...it was not so incredible to Abraham when the God who had touched his life asked him to sacrifice his only son. All the other gods in Canaan did it, why not his? But this God was not a false god like the others deemed interested in human sacrifice. This was the true God. He was going to reveal himself to Abraham and wanted him to know this God had nothing in common with Molech, Baal, or Asherah."

"Abraham had faced the ultimate test in his growing trust in God. Even though he was willing to sacrifice Isaac, he discovered that God didn't really want or need the sacrifice." (The author means the act of a human sacrifice, not Abraham's willingness to sacrifice all for God.)

"In this one act, God drew a line that separated him from all the false gods men had ever created. The false gods demanded sacrifices for their own appeasement. This God provided the sacrifice we needed to finally cover our shame and allow us to know him as he really is."

That's when I knew that I didn't get it. I thought, Man, I'm so visual! If only there were some way that I could see it, I know it would impact me...


So I watched The Passion of the Christ, for the first time ever.

I'd been putting it off. I was scared. I knew that, once I watched it, those images would be seared into my brain forever...

And now I get it.

At least, more than I did before.

I cried. No, more than that- I sobbed, I screamed, I wept and I pleaded with the soldiers on the screen to just stop hurting him!! That's God! What are you doing?!

And as I watched Jesus being tortured, I thought about pain. I thought about the fact that I'm hurting today, and it's hard to walk. I compared my pain to his pain... yeah, right. Mine is but a wisp of a shadow, even when solely comparing the physical aspect. How could I ever claim that God does not understand pain??

I also thought about the marvelous machinery of the human body. I thought about how Jesus was there, creating Adam... tenderly and meticulously sculpting and arranging the various tissues, muscles and nerves. I thought a lot about nerve endings. I thought about how desperately, wickedly ironic it was that the very aspects of God's creation he formed with such delicate care were now being exploited and used against him. God made pain to protect... and now, he was subjected to the utmost limits of it.

I thought about my healing. I thought about how much hope I have found, how much happiness and joy... and I realized that this... this... unspeakably horrific and unutterably heroic moment in time is the underpinning and undergirding- the very backbone- of all the good things I have found. How can something so good come out of something so ghastly?

"By his stripes, we are healed."

As sobs racked my body, I realized with great clarity that this is the cost of healing. And he wanted to give that gift to me. He did it willingly... so that I might be free.

Amazing love... how can it be that you, my God, would die... for me?

What kind of God is this? What kind of person goes through that... willingly? What kind of a person is woven from the fibers of such pure LOVE that, after hours upon hours of unspeakable tortures, and in the midst of yet another brutal assault, they can crack open swollen, blood-drenched lips to rasp out, "Forgive them"?

If I never knew before, I know now... and I will serve this God for as long as I live.

Now I understand why the apostles were so fervent. They got it.

I like talking to him. Really.

He's funny, but it's not a conversation filled with hollow laughter. He knows how to talk about real stuff, too.

He asks me how my day was, I'll give him a synopsis of a few words, and he'll say, "Tell me about it." I love that.

He's concerned for my safety. I'm supposed to go buy some pepper spray now.

He totally supports what I'm doing with the kids for Camp _____.

I like the lists of questions that we ask each other. It's fun to get to know him.

The more I get to know him, the happier I am about the man I find.

And he loves the Lord, too? Shoot. Wrap him up. I'll take him home. ;)

We have internet now!!! But I still blogged... sorta. A few times, anyway.

Tired... very tired... but I know that I need this. I missed this.

What a week it has been. Has it really only been one week? It seems like half a lifetime has been crammed into these few days...

There is so much newness to fathom, to be adjusted to, to work around- a new job, new residence, new responsibilities, new relationship, new schedule... new everything, really. The only thing that’s the same is me, and even I am changing a bit.

I’ve had to come face to face with fear and insecurity a lot this past week. They seem to have a pretty tight grip on me, but I know that God can grow me out of this. I can find freedom from this, for sure. It’ll take time, but I’m willing. I’m sick of living in fear.

It taints all my decisions. It haunts nearly every waking moment. This has got to stop.

And it’s not even that I don’t trust God, because I do. I know He doesn’t make mistakes, but I’m afraid of my making a mistake. Maybe this is a deeper level of the trusting God issue? Because I guess it does come down to that... The rationale is that if I make a mistake, I will be abandoned. By who? Whoever. D, the S’s, God himself, if the mistake is big enough... If I make a mistake at work, I will be fired. If I make a mistake discerning God’s will and get into a relationship when I really shouldn’t have, then I’m on my own until I repent and get myself back into God’s favor and will. (Boy, as I’m typing this out, I can clearly see what a load of baloney this is!! It’s so hard to see it when you’re living it, though...) If I say something D doesn’t like, or take a stand he doesn’t like, then he’ll break it off. As for the S’s and my family... well, I don’t think I could ever do anything to drive them away, really. (So sad that I am more secure in their love than in God’s.)

I trust God. But I’m seeing a deeper level of trust being revealed here that I wasn’t ready for before. And if I really trusted God to this depth, then I wouldn’t be afraid of his abandoning me. 

I guess this is the next thing to pray about and study on...

Oh, and I miss Idaho. A lot. Quite desperately, actually. Living in LA has taken some getting used to (especially the smog... and the traffic... and the sheer volume of people... and the materialistic availability). I can’t wait to get to CCF and live in the nature again. And I really can’t wait to get back home and commence the gardening, and the cuddling of my kitty, and the tackling of the sisters. I just miss my life up there SO MUCH! I miss our routines, and I miss the company, and I miss the familiarity of the surroundings, and I miss the “traffic jams” of five people at a stop sign.

There has been so much newness I’m trying to adjust to, and it wiped me out and stressed me out for... well... I’m still not over it. But I’m slowly but surely adjusting and learning to even thrive!

D leaves tomorrow for A. *sigh* I see both pros and cons in a long-distance relationship, but... I don’t care for the fact that he’ll be so far away. I’d like to see him once in a while. Phone calls are nice and all, but they can’t compare to a face-to-face conversation. He talks more than I’ve ever heard him talk before! (Maybe he just needed some motivation. lol) But I’d like to actually see his facial expressions and body language as he talks.

I have found out a few things that trouble me... The thing is, I struggled with the fear and the questions and the uncertainty, and came out the other side believing that God led both of us into this relationship. I’m already learning a ton (this is one of the big ways I figured out that fear was controlling me). So the quandary is that these facts do cause me concern, but... God led. So... what am I supposed to do except keep praying?

What facts? (I’d be curious, too!) He’s not a serial murderer or convicted rapist or anything. For starters, he’s older than me. I already knew that, but now that I have a number to attach to that nebulous concept, well, it packs a surprising punch. 16 years. That’s a big number. I talked to Mom about it though (and she has met D before), and she assured me that, from this age on, it really doesn’t matter. Truly. I believe her, but still... that’s a lot of years. So that’s one thing. (The interesting thing is that everyone I’ve talked to about this has expressed surprise, because he is young for his age. Not immature, but young- he has a youthfulness about him that, to appearances, knocks off about 6 to 8 years from his actual age.)

The second thing is that he’s been divorced. Twice. (He’s has a rough background, but I can’t hold that against him, because so have I.) Both of those marriages are from before he became a Christian, is what I understand.

Thirdly, he has a son. A teenage son. Young teens, but a child nonetheless.

So, I dunno. I talked to him about it earlier (that would be Friday afternoon), and how those were big things I was still praying about. I pointed out that we are both seeking God’s will, though, so it really doesn’t affect anything, because whether or not those facts were a part of who he is, we’d still be waiting on the Lord to direct.

Scary stuff, yo. I’m just going to keep praying and surrendering. It’s the only safe thing for me to do. :)