It's weird. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but I feel so completely lost right now. I'm all out of sorts… and I don't even know why.

I'm tired. I know I'm tired. But it's like I'm so tired that I don't want to sleep. And I'm hungry (I think), but I don't feel like eating.

Also, I'm worried about meds. The perennial, anxiety-inducing worry of mine. I have pain pills now, yes, but not enough to get me through to see the pain specialist, even if I take them only every 6 hours. Will the new rheumatologist see that I need continuous pain meds and give me a script? Will the insurance let me cash it in? Will I have to spend a few days here and there throughout the week with little to no meds at all in the hopes that the pain docs will write me a script at our initial consultation? I don't even know what to expect. I need consistency in this, and in switching my care from the less than mediocre, I feel as though I am throwing myself off a cliff with no idea what awaits me in the abyss.

I wish I could just worry about, you know, "normal" things. Like holding down a job. Pursuing a career. Going to school. Planning a family. Taking care of my house. Saving up for vacations. Enjoying hobbies. But it seems as though my entire life, every minute of every day, is dominated by the draining, overshadowing worry of, "What if, by taking this pill to relieve my suffering now, I am dooming myself to even greater suffering in the future?" I am drained. I am tired. I am tired of worrying about how I'm going to survive. So very, very tired. I wish I had doctors that would champion for me, that would worry about this for me, or that would make the situation so that I would not have to worry.

I'm so tired… so very, very tired of being sick. Of being in pain. I'm all out of sorts. Now that the initial surge of joy from getting my pain killers has passed, the waves have receded and left me once more run aground on the rocky shoals of "what if".

Do you know what it's like to live in fear that the economy will tank, or there will be some national disaster or something because then you will not be able to get the meds that are keeping you alive, that are making life even semi-bearable? I literally live in terror of that thought.

I suspect that it's the looming closeness of the appointment with the new rheum that has got me all worked up. The unknown, it mocks me. Can this doctor help me? Will we begin finding answers at last? What is wrong with my body? Is it treatable? Is it curable? Is it fatal? Is there irreparable damage? Will you take me seriously? Will you help me, and not expect me to do your job for you? I'm so scared… scared of another dead end and even further declines in my health. How much further can I sink? Where will I go? How sick do you have to get before your body or your mind (or both) finally says "Enough!" and just stops? How miserable does life have to get before you just kind of snap and try to end your own suffering? So far I've managed to resist the temptation. It's been hard. Very, very hard. I have stayed, though, because of those who love me and want me to stay.

I don't think they realize what a sacrifice I am making for them by staying, by living in this body and abiding with this pain and sickness day after day. Every day that I am alive is a monumental declaration, a neon sign that says, "I care about you more than I care about not hurting anymore. I will continue to hurt so that you do not have to feel the agony of losing someone dear. I languish for you, dear heart, for you mean the world to me. Your happiness is more important than my own. I hope you know that." I would dearly love to put an end to my pain. Oh, yes. I would. But I care too much. I love too much. I don't have it in me to hurt the ones I love like that. So… I try to find the happiness here, with them. I try to find the smiles and the joy and the laughter. I try to find what makes it worthwhile staying here… and I have. In many ways, I have.

I do like living. I would like it better if I could actually live, I think, but it's pleasant enough. At times. It would probably be even more pleasant if I could at least have a piece of pie once in a while.

So I'm thinking about death tonight. Is that weird?

I'm just thinking… my body is pulling all kinds of crap that it shouldn't be doing, stuff that healthy, normal bodies don't do. I'm not getting better at all. I'm steadily worsening. Does that mean that I'm dying? Like, when do you actually cross the threshold from "sick" to "dying"?

I feel my life force ebbing away a little more each day. Does that qualify?

We had quite the adventure tonight as C advocated for me via phone and (politely and calmly) demanded answers to tough questions. The end result is that I'm not going to the ER tonight, but I am going to raise hell tomorrow to try and get some pain meds that actually work. I've been fluctuating between an 8 and 9 for hours now, and I'm totally exhausted, but I hurt so bad that I can't sleep.

Does that count as dying? I'm certainly not living anymore. I'm just kind of taking up space… bringing smiles and irritated groans wherever I can. I still have hopes and dreams and things that I want to accomplish, to be sure, but I'm not able to do anything about them right now. I simply don't have the energy or the will any longer.

As I lay inert on the couch tonight, fading into the buzz and fuzziness of my mental state (overwhelmed by pain and not able to function properly… how am I even typing coherent sentences?!), I sincerely thought that maybe I was just going to, I dunno, kind of fade out and just… stop being. Right then and there. Clearly, that didn't happen, and mostly because I wanted to update my Facebook status one more time. (Hey, any reason to live, right?)

I thought, though, about what would happen if I did just fizzle out tonight. How would C know who to notify? How would my friends know that I was gone? Would I be happy with what I'd left behind, the blog posts and the Facebook timeline and the conversations with friends and the gifts given and the super hot sex with my husband…?

The answer was yes.

If I were to just fade out tonight, I would have no regrets. I have no bones to pick, no relationships awry that need mending, just a little credit card debt (sorry, honey, I guess you'll have to pick that one up!), and no skeletons in the closet.

Okay, I take that back. I would regret not being able to do more, to give more, to make more of a mark on the world… to make the world a better place. I'm not done yet. I want to help the HJ grow, I want to work with my girls and see them rise triumphant from their broken pasts. I want to paint and see sunsets  and gloriously starry skies in different states. I want to visit the East coast, travel in New England. I want more hot sex. I want to eat pizza even though I'm not supposed to… or maybe a forbidden donut! (There's an awesome allergy friendly bakery in Boston, I think it is, that I really really really want to go to. I miss baked goods!!!) I want to cultivate more friendships and make more people smile. I want to put more good energy out there into the world. I want to visit Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch in Oregon. I want to see my sister K get married this summer. (Though reality whispers that I probably won't be able to do that one, sadly.) I want to make jewelry and sun catchers. I want to cuddle my niece and do silly stuff with my family.

I want more love, more laughter, more life and light and happiness. I would regret missing out on that, being able to create that, that's all.

So, ok, maybe I'm not done yet. But if I do fade away, if I am dying like I feel I am (in a totally non-melodramatic way, you understand), then I shall pass with the knowledge that I am loved, that I have loved, and that I have brought good into the world. That's a good thing to know.

I'm just kind of thinking about life today... You know, 42. The meaning of life, the universe, and everything. Well, my life, anyway...

Don't get me wrong. I like my life. Love it, in fact. I've got a little house of my own, I've got a solid relationship with a wonderful man (though lord knows it took years for that to be able to happen!), my husband has a steady job that pays our bills (mostly... if I could keep out of the danged emergency room, that would help), I have health insurance, the medicines that I need to keep me alive (wish I were exaggerating on that one), I have a job that I love with an understanding boss, and we have food in the cupboards.

That being said, there's also a lot that sucks. I mean, it's hard. Really hard. Every day is a battle, and a fierce one. I'm very grateful for my antidepressant. Even just the low dose that I'm on has helped to smooth out my peaks and valleys so much... it's a relief. That was a hard, draining battle to be fighting all the time, and it was making my health struggles worse. Still, I must fend off the grasping tendrils of depression almost every single day. There are days when I wake up bright, cheery, and not an emotional cloud in sight, but... those are the invisible pink unicorns, pretty much. The purple elephants. Oh, sure, I don't spiral downward into the black gaping maw of that horrible pit that I grew to hate and yet know so well. Well, not often... but I still have those voices in my head that scream and holler at me my worthlessness, my failings, the futility of my fight or of pressing hard after anything good in my life... because really, I do have to chase the good things in my life. Nothing has fallen into my lap. I've worked damned hard for the good things I've got, and I refuse to let myself botch them up.

I've had a lot taken from me. My childhood, for one. Abuse, molestation, more abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, playing the mother to everyone including my mother, more abuse... My family. Sibling bonds torn apart, taken from my mother on more than on occasion, divorces and betrayals... My sexual purity. I can't even be sure I was a virgin when C and I went on our special camping trip. I have no way of knowing, really, because so many of those years are lost to the blackness of my mind, willfully blocked to save my sanity. My mind. Poisoned genes passed down to me through generations of mental illness, a past that guarantees PTSD and depression, and I am helpless to resist the black tide that has washed over me for so long.

And just when I thought I had it all beat... just when I had climbed out of the fighting pit that I was thrown into at birth... I get sick. Real sick. Fuck my life. Now my livelihood is taken from me. Parts of my identity. Dreams. Plans. Hopes. Aspirations. Gone. All gone, in the span of a year. In place of my bright future, I am left holding ashes. The family that I thought I would have... gone. Two miscarriages and a diagnosis later, I am left wondering if I will ever hold the living embodiment of our union? I wanted to travel, to work for the forest service or a national park, to live in Alaska and hike Denali, to hike Mt. Whitney, to travel the floor of the Grand Canyon from rim to rim, to fly to distant lands and eat the local foods... I can't even eat out at restaurants. The past few days, I haven't been able to stand for longer than 5 minutes because of pain and fatigue. I want to see my friends, to go to movies and go out to eat and hang out at houses and go to the store or even just window shop, but I can't. Those basic, simple pleasures of life are denied me, and I weep.

I weep for the unfairness of it all. Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't I been through enough? When will it end? I was going to be a massage therapist, a mighty advocate, an outdoorsy photographer. I was going to be a survivalist, living off of the land and cutting my own wood. I was going to bear and raise children. I was going to visit every single state in the US, and other countries besides. I was going to go to Italy, France, Scotland, Ireland, England, Japan... And now? Now I lie on the couch, watching the clock and anxiously awaiting the time for my next pain pill.

So how, I ask you... how the hell am I still happy when I see my husband walk through the door at night? How am I still happy when I go to work and spend my hours tidying, filing, typing, creating, listening? How am I still happy when I create some especially tasty dish to savor, or even when I have a good cup of tea or a particularly perfect bowl of oatmeal? How am I still smiling when I see the pictures of my tall, beautiful sisters clad in pink and white and covered in flowers?

I don't know. I really don't. By all rights, and if I didn't have love to anchor me here, I would have killed myself by now. I am tempted to believe that the heart can only take so much suffering and pain before it breaks and all hope is lost, but... it seems that my heart has the capacity to absorb more suffering than I ever would have imagined. Maybe it's love that pours in to regenerate and heal the broken, bleeding parts of the heart so that it can go on? I know that my heart didn't start scabbing over until I went up north and found... love. Pure love, in the arms of a sister/mentor/friend, and in the warm circle of an honest, human, humble family. Things I had never experienced before. No, not even with C. We loved each other, true enough, and passionately. I would gladly have spent my whole life by his side, even then. But I was broken, so broken... even he, my life vest, couldn't reach the broken parts of me that needed healing. It had to be someone else, years later, when I was ready to face the truth of my brokenness.

Maybe that's why I can still smile. Because I've faced down my brokenness and I know that I cannot be conquered. All of the loss, all of the suffering, all of the agony... and I'm still here. Weeping, smiling, laid out on the couch like a corpse at a wake, but I'm here.

I guess you can cry and smile at the same time.

This is a topic that's been on my mind off and on for, well, a really long time... as long as I've been actively fighting chronic illnesses, that is. So... years? Don't think that my battle began with fibromyalgia, far from it!

I've always been "sickly" in some ways. Asthma as a kid and teenager, low energy levels and high need for sleep with a very difficult time getting up, leg pains throughout life... I just assumed all this was normal, and that I kind of sucked at life for not being able to soldier through as everyone else must be doing. I looked at the sporty kids in my high school, the ones that could run the mile without difficulty, and I wondered how they did it. I didn't know that there was something wrong with me, that you're not supposed to feel that way. I remember helping to plant a tree during Bible college, and just ten or fifteen minutes of the exertion of digging left me feeling cold, lightheaded, nauseous, weak, and trembling... yet I kept digging, because my partner was still digging. If they could continue, I could continue. I assumed that they were feeling the same way, but they were tougher than I was. Wrong. I didn't know that exertion isn't supposed to leave you feeling that way!

During Bible college is when I really began getting sick, and the gastrointestinal issues came to the forefront. I powered through as best I could, knowing that I was very sick in some ways, yet not knowing that I was abnormal in others, and a few months after graduation I finally found out that I was allergic to a bunch of different foods and that I had bad hypothyroidism. The next few years were a constant battle with my energy levels, my guts, and also my mind. I started working through my past abuse, all the different flavors of it, and I noticed that as I healed emotionally I also began to heal physically. But I was still sick.

I had reached a place of reasonable stability when the fibro reared its hideous head and began to drag me below the surface of functionality. I'd somehow always managed to stay afloat before, usually motivated by a fear of rejection and sheer stubbornness combined with economic necessity, but now I was sinking, and fast. Since last fall, I've found myself in a place where I require naps on a regular basis, I have a walking aid with me at all times when I leave the house, I regularly rely on painkillers to make it through a day (judge me as you will), and I still struggle with eating and digesting food in adequate amounts. And yes, I even have a handicap parking tag hanging from my rearview mirror. (Which is the bomb, by the way!)

This isn't to say that all is doom and gloom. I do see myself getting better in increments, and I think the Long, Dark Slide Into Oblivion is finally over. Now that I've recovered from the wedding stress, I feel like I'm taking incremental steps back up that figurative stairway that I had been so rapidly descending, and that encourages me! Mom told me today that for a while she began to think that she might have to move out here and just take care of me until I eventually died, that's how bleak the outlook was. (To be fair, she was also worried that I had cancer and they just hadn't caught it or something.) I assured her that I've stabilized (for now), and that I feel as though I'm improving some. I think that helped to put her at ease a bit.

The possibility of returning to my "old" self, or even better, brings me to a painful realization, though, one that I am actually quite loathe to face. It sounds kind of silly to admit even silently, much less to put into words on a page, but... I'm scared of getting better. No, really. I am.

Honestly, I've gotten used to being sick. This has become my reality, my daily battle. When it's "gone", when I'm better, what do I fight against then? What do I aspire to? Life is so simple when it is distilled down to "get better". That's what you focus on. That's the dream, the goal. It's the gatekeeper of other dreams.

I want to travel to different countries and experience different cultures.
I want to try sky-diving.
I want to have a baby and raise it.
I want to have a fulfilling job that I enjoy.

But those things (except for the job, maybe) are not things I can do right now. They would destroy me, and possibly those around me, were I to attempt them now. First things first, I must "get better".

I know it sounds like I've let the sicknesses become my identity. Like I'm saying, "Without them, what am I?" Maybe it's true. Maybe I have. I'd like to think that's not true, but I do know that as long as I'm sick, people consider me to be a fighter. People have this certain idea of me as a person, but when I'm not sick anymore... who am I? I am me, but I've lost a part of what made me "me" for a while. Sure, I can say that the fight doesn't define me, but... doesn't it? Not wholly, no, because I am so much more than a fibro fighter, or a UCTD fighter, or a hypothyroid fighter, or a depression fighter. I am Cassandra. But those different "fighters" are also a part of me, and when I'm not sick anymore, like not really sick, it's like those fighters go away, they step back into the shadows. They've been the visible forefront for so long, because this daily fight is so visceral, so intense, that the other aspects of myself can only come out solo in spurts and glimpses, or share the limelight with the fighters at best. When the fighters recede into the shadows... the stage feels very, very empty.

At least, that's how I perceive it to be. I do have visions of freedom, glorious freedom, you know-- to just do whatever the heck I want for a change?! But maybe it's like Stockholm Syndrome... you get used to your imprisonment, and you even get kind of fond of it. Humans love familiarity, even if it is a terrible familiarity. You get comfortable, and change is frightening. Even good change.

Also, when I am not sick anymore, I am then way more responsible for... everything. Cue my intense fear of failure and my unrealistic expectations. As of now, I can assuage my guilt with, "I'm too sick to accomplish _______, so it's okay." Sure, but what about when I'm not sick? Then it's just my own damn fault.

And maybe part of it is my fear of living in abundance. I come from a place of "I'm doing pretty good considering _______." I've never approached life from a place of, "I'm doing pretty good." There has always been a qualifier. Sickness is my qualifier as of right now. When that is gone, then I must face my life as it is, and the prospect of that is... scary.

That's what it boils down to. I'm scared, scared to lose my familiar cocoon of pain and symptoms and walking sticks... scared to step into the sunlight because that's not what I'm used to. Scared that "better" will let me down. Scared to be disappointed, or worse-- to disappoint.

But as I was thinking about it the other night, I realized that I'll never be 100% "better", not really. At least, not in this current place and time. They don't have cures for what I have. It's all management, really. I am beginning to view it as I view my food allergies-- if I ignore my limits and eat whatever I want, I damage myself and I hurt. I pay a price. Sometimes I pay a price for something that I don't even know the cause of! I can be as good as can be, and sometimes I still just hurt or get sick, and that's a fact of my life. (Momma C always knew when I was stressed even before I did, because I'd start having gut problems and get sick. She's the one that made that connection, not me.) I have chronic illnesses. Chronic means that they're going to be around a long time. I can choose to be good about it and manage them as well as I can, or I can be an inconsiderate dick to my body and pay the price. Even if I am as good as can be, sometimes things beyond my control will cause flares-- weather, environmental stressors, other illnesses like colds or flus, etc. Like my allergies, I can get to a place of stability, where I'm not constantly miserable... but I will spend the rest of my life being constantly aware. The fighters will be lurking in the shadows, keeping tabs on things and patrolling the perimeters. Sometimes they'll have to come back into the forefront, but the goal is to get to the place where they offer background support to the other aspects of myself that will emerge into the light, one by one.

Sure, I'm scared of what it will mean when I'm "not sick anymore", but I think it's worth at least trying. I was scared of the changes I needed to go through emotionally to heal from my past, but I would never trade this health for that dysfunction! Facing the fear and walking through it were valuable experiences... and this is just another aspect of that.

Besides, if I hate it, I know what I have to do to get sick again, right? ;)

(Please know that I'm being facetious! I refuse to play the system for my own gain. Stuff like that ruins the legitimate claims for help that people with chronic illnesses need.)

Also, Dave Walker over at From the Fog did a great post on this very topic the other day, which encouraged and inspired me to actually get this out of my brain and onto "paper". Thanks, Dave, for that kick. I needed to process through this.

I just got out of a meeting with Father B about our wedding ceremony. He had previously agreed to be our officiant, and after meeting with the photographer I realized that I needed to get cracking on ceremony details. (Who knew that decorations aren't all there is to a wedding?)

Well, there's just this one thing... Father B is very, very Episcopalian. Which is not a bad thing. I've visited his church and pretty thoroughly enjoyed myself, despite the "visitor haze" I always wrap myself in the first couple of times in a new church.

Anyway, the ceremony is also very, very Episcopalian, and he's pretty much tied in regards to what he can change and what he cannot.

It's not bad, but it's very much a church wedding. Which, again, isn't bad, but it isn't exactly what I had envisioned... especially since I'm not "churchy" anymore (even when I was, I still didn't envision the standard church wedding, call me a renegade if you will), and given that C's an atheist, well... He's willing to have some God stuff in the ceremony, but even I'm not totally comfortable with the ceremony. It's just... I mean... I don't really need the Episcopalian church's blessing on my marriage! lol

Here is the "abbreviated" ceremony outline that Father B would follow (since the real formal one just isn't what I want at all).

"...the man and the woman, together with their witnesses, families, and friends assemble in the church or in some other convenient place.

1. The teaching of the Church concerning Holy Matrimony, as it is declared in the formularies and canons of this Church, is briefly stated.

2. The intention of the man and the woman to enter the state of matrimony, and their free consent, is publicly ascertained.

3. One or more Readings, one of which is always from Holy Scripture, may precede the exchange of vows. If there is to be a Communion, a Reading from the Gospel is always included.

4. The vows of the man and woman are exchanged, using the following form:
'In the name of God, I _____, take you ____ to be my wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.'

5. The Celebrant declares the union of the man and woman as husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

6. Prayers are offered for the husband and wife, for their life together, for the Christian community, and for the world.

7. A priest or bishop pronounces a solemn blessing upon the couple.

8. If there is no Communion, the service concludes with the Peace, the husband and wife first greeting each other. The Peace may be exchanged throughout the assembly. (Note: "The Peace" is a greeting, goes something like, 'The peace of Christ be with you', but it gets abbreviated to 'Peace of Christ', or even just 'Peace'. The hippie in me likes the last abbreviation ^_^)

9. If there is no Communion, the service continues with the Peace and the Offertory. The Holy Eucharist may be celebrated either according to Rite One or Rite Two...

So, you can see why I'm having my doubts... I wanted Father B to officiate, to be sure, but... I never wanted an Episcopalian wedding. I always figured I'd get to craft my own ceremony.

Also, been having doubts about the honeymoon. I mean, sure I've priced it out to be like, $800, which is really not a lot of money as far as honeymoons are concerned. However... that's almost a thousand dollars, a sum which could be applied towards the "future home" savings fund. I would rather have a nice home than a trip to Flagstaff any day. Plus we're already planning on taking a trip to the Ren Fair the weekend before the wedding.

So, these two concerns percolated in my mind on the drive home today, and I thought... why don't we do something a little out of the ordinary? I ran the idea past C, and he says he'd have no problem with it, but one logistic would require some thought. I agree, and I'm totally willing to put the work in and compromise some to get a wedding that's way, way more along the lines of what's true to C and I.

What if we hit up a courthouse and get legally married the week before the wedding, go to the Ren Fair as planned but stay in a nice hotel and have that be our honeymoon, then come back and welcome all the friends and family and whatnot and have a nice celebration in the park together as planned? And since we'd be legally married, and we don't care about being blessed by a church, anyone that we wanted to could officiate the ceremony. Then we'd have the freedom to make it exactly what we wanted. C says that the only concern would be finding the right person to do the ceremony, but otherwise he's got no problems with it.

I'm still going to ask C to look over the Episcopal service, on the off chance that he doesn't mind it. But when I mentioned it to him, he gave me the wide eyes and said, "Yeah, well, if you're having second doubts about it..."

Yeah, well...

So, we'll see what evolves from this. The neat thing is that Father B was totally cool with (even promoting!) the idea of getting a justice of the peace if the ceremony isn't something we're comfortable with. And C agrees that he'd still come to the wedding, but as a guest. Since he was the one who did our pre-marital counseling, I really want him to be a part of the wedding somehow, even just as an invited guest. Plus he's a really neat guy. I like him a lot.

Perceptions.

I hate how they're so relative.

And yet, I cherish it at the same time.

It's part of what makes life interesting, after all. C and I have different perspectives on a great many things, though we most always manage to find a bridge between the two, or we find that they link together perfectly.

I read an article a while back (I linked to it somewhere in some post, but I'm not going to bother finding it again) about how we're not actually living in the present like we think we are, and how our memories change every time we remember them. That's part of why I like to blog-- it captures a snapshot of what I'm feeling and thinking at a given moment in time, so that later, when I've changed my mind (wait, I never do that! ^_^), I can go back and see what I thought/believed/felt/hoped for at that certain point.

It made me think more deeply about the nature of reality, and perception, and differing viewpoints. Think about it. (They use this argument in favor of the authenticity of the Gospel accounts, by the way.) If something happens, like an accident or a robbery, and several people see it, each person will have a slightly different account of what happened. They each bring filters to the situation that kind of determine what they will notice as important, what will stand out to them, and what will have an emotional impact. Same situation, different perspectives. Are they each wrong? No, not at all, but they certainly won't be a video-recording of what actually happened.

It's interesting that our modern world has gravitated so much towards the clear and unbiased reporting of fact, yet is still so stridently insistent that each person's perspective is unique and right and okay, all the while pressuring us to conform to a certain perspective. It's a mess. But interesting.

Probably as long as there are more than two people on this planet, someone will be "right" and someone will be "wrong". It happens. I don't think it's right (see?), but it happens.

And I know just as well as anyone else that I have my own filters that affect my perception of events. They can skew my understanding of a situation faster than you can say "Jack Robinson". (Although I don't know why you would say that...)

I have crazy filters and responses when it comes to situations with father figures. The situation with B really, really screwed me up. Trying to figure out my place in the S home and my relation to D (and his biological daughters!)... that was a mess. I think I did pretty good, but it was still stressful. I know that my perspective is subjective, and I know that my dealings with dads are greatly, greatly affected by my past history.

Take, for instance, the situation with R.

Yeah, remember that blog post that I never wrote? It was about R.

All that junk went down, and I flipped out. Old wounds and roles and complexes and coping mechanisms just sprang up out of nowhere, and I was lost.

I also admit that I was wrong.

To a point.

What happened, happened. It wasn't as bad as I had initially thought, but it was still... bad. I guess. Inappropriate? I mean, if C responded to situations in the same way that R does, I'd be gone. No doubt. I couldn't live with that in a partner.

Ahh, but R's not my partner. He's my dad.

And he is. Really. He's my bona-fide father, at least in my eyes. He's been the best father I've ever had, one of the few men that I can look up to and actually respect (Grampa being the other one that comes to mind, although I can't literally look up to him, since I'm taller). I ask him for advice, and he comes up with the most amazing things. He knows how to talk straight to me, yet comfort me at the same time. He rescues me over and over again and doesn't think twice. (Yeah, it hurts to swallow my pride and let him, but I'm supremely grateful for it.) He's just... I mean... he's a good man. And I love him. I'm actually tearing up as I write this, because sometimes it just hits me how good it feels to know that I have a dad, after all these years, you know? Someone I can trust, a protector, a strength... someone who will take care of my family because I'm not there to.

He's also human. He has his own filters, his own wounds and roles and complexes and all that. We all do. And so I understand why, in an intellectual sense, he sometimes throws down like he does. I don't like it, I don't like it one bit, but I get it.

But when K called me, when I heard what had happened (the highly emotionally charged, abbreviated version, of course! lol), it felt like I had lost my dad. It felt like the R I know and love had been whisked away and G had been planted right there into the scenario. It felt like I had failed to protect my family, but it also felt like gut-wrenching betrayal, because I'm not supposed to have to protect them from someone I trust?!

It felt like I had lost R, and G had come back again.

And what happened at Christmas the other year, that was inappropriate. I don't agree with how he responded at all, and I refuse to minimize it. It was abusive behavior, and it was wrong. You shouldn't treat the people you love like that. Does that make R an abuser? Not necessarily.

I know, I know, dichotomy. But I truly don't believe that R is abusive. I know I freaked out at first and thought that. I've changed my mind. My perspective changed. And that's okay. He does act in ways that are abusive sometimes. That's true. But he, as a person, as a father, as a husband... he's a good man. A good man with faults and wounds of his own. And he makes mistakes and bad calls and yeah, we suffer sometimes when that happens. But my dad is not an abuser.

Good grief, I'm glad to be able to type that.

But at the time when this "domestic dispute" or whatever went down, I felt like I had lost R. I had lost my dad. Again. F**K! Why does this keep happening? How could I have prevented this? Why did I ever trust him? Why did I ever love him? I should have seen this coming! Etc. etc. etc.

Truthfully, I was scared to talk to him. But... he called me (what was it, like a week later?), and... he was still R. He was still my dad. Still the same guy I know and love. And you know what? He brought up what happened, and we talked through it. I got his perspective, which I hadn't heard before. It helped me see the big picture more clearly.

Nope, it wasn't as bad as I had thought. Also, my emotions weren't as high then. Also, I was coming back out of the depression I'd been in, so I wasn't as emotionally high strung. Heh.

But no. It was still R. I hadn't lost my dad, after all.

After that conversation, and further conversations with Mom, my perspective did change. I thought R was an abuser for a while. I don't anymore. I still don't think that they've got all the wrinkles ironed out, and I think that there are definitely still some dysfunctional dynamics floating around that household, but considering where we all come from, can you really expect otherwise?! I also believe that the family is the healthiest now that it has ever been.

I really have a good deal of hope for my little family.

I wish I had blogged this a long time ago, actually. But the concepts were just so huge, and it was all still so emotionally charged... I just never could bring myself to do it. I didn't know how to wrap my mind or my words around it.

So... summary?

Bad stuff happened. I didn't have all the facts, and I was influenced by my past, and I freaked. I calmed down, R called and we talked, and I realized my error (while still maintaining that bad choices were made-- I'm not absolving anyone of responsibility, here!). Relationship restored, life moves on, and here we are several months later. (Also, since then Mom has had some perspective changes that have domino-effect changed my perspective. Like, how he and she approach money? He's not a miser, she's a big-time spender with no concept of how much money they were actually bringing home. Do you know how glad I am they worked through that?! It's been a source of contention for foreeeeeever.)

I love my dad. He's going to walk me down the aisle. He's going to be a stellar grandpa here soon. And I know he's trying really hard. And I also see the progress he's made, and I'm really proud of him.

So... I guess that's what I wanted to say about R.

Just wish I'd thought to say it sooner.

So in Intro to Essential Sciences (which I've affectionately nicknamed A&P, even though it's technically not), we're covering the central nervous system. If you know anything at all about me, you'll know that I'm in hog heaven!

It's amazing how the different parts of the brain connect and correlate and affect different aspects of bodily function. It truly is. When we were going over the basic building blocks of the body, I marveled at the intricacy found in function, and during the section on pain I was astounded by the efficiency and grace of our body's reigning systems. Fabulous. That's what we are. Every single one of us. Just by virtue of the way our cells work.

So anyway, I developed this hypothesis/theory during class last night. There are three major divisions of the brain; the cerebrum, which is the largest and what you typically think of when you hear the word "brain", the cerebellum, which is the second-largest and looks kind of like a low-hanging addition off the back, and the brain stem, considered to be the "ancient brain" and is in control of the centers for vital survival functions and reflexes.

The brain stem houses a few interesting little segments, such as the thalamus, the hypothalamus, and the pineal body. The hypothalamus is what I'm most concerned with at this point. This part of the brain does stuff like regulate blood pressure, peristalsis (you know, the muscle contractions that move your food all the way from your esophagus to your anal sphincter, the thing that I have so much trouble with!), appetite/satiety, pleasure, temperature, etc. In addition to all that, the hypothalamus is also the "crossover" to the endocrine system, meaning that it is in direct communication with the pituitary gland. The pituitary gland, in turn, controls the adrenals, the thyroid, the ovaries, the testes, etc.

So! Here's my theory. I've been wondering about onset, and I've been wondering about the difficulties that I have that I'm not sure can be ascribed to simple hypothyroidism or food allergies, etc. I've especially been wondering about onset, and why I got so sick so fast for no apparent reason. What if, in the accident of 2006 (see photo at the bottom of the post), when I got my head banged around so much and got that concussion (which always damages the brain, even if it's slight), I somehow damaged my brain stem/hypothalamus and that in turn caused my pituitary gland/endocrine system to go haywire, inducing hypothyroidism and adrenal insufficiency, in turn causing my body to attack itself (because, as an abuse survivor I'm already predisposed to autoimmune diseases) and thus making me very sick a year, year and a half later?

Seriously. I think it makes sense. Brain damage may also help to explain my vision and balance problems.

I know it sounds a little extreme... brain damage. Hah. I sound like a hypochondriac.

But, really, I think it's a viable hypothesis. The way to tell would be to get thee to a neurologist, I think... but I don't have the money for that at this point! When I find a good doctor, though, I'll be sure to bring this up.

Anything for an answer, right? :)

Here's a couple of pics of the accident. You be the judge. I mean, after all... it did cause me to go blind for a while.

 

Mom, picking our belongings out of the van a week or so later... 

 

BJ, helping to collect our belongings

 

The back of my head, where it was the worst-- the morning after (it was all squooshy and stuff, like a pocket of warm jello. Pretty cool)

 A few days into the hospital rigamarole, my head and neck started swelling. Probably not good.

  

Swollen head! Can you tell?

So anyway, we'll be celebrating our "anniversary" next month. I just wonder if I escaped as unscathed as I had previously thought?

I don't even know how to begin to unload all that is going on within my mind...

I am still on this journey with God, but I wish that I could reach some conclusions... I feel so off kilter, not belonging to "the church" anymore... because I don't have that formula to follow anymore, that outline of who I ought to be and how I ought to behave... It's scary, trying to be a good person without the confines and dictates of expectations or rules to bind you. What if you're not doing it right?

I guess I'm just longing today. I'm longing for blessed assurance... I'm longing for the knowledge that I will make it through life okay...

...but as I look at the past, and I realize that this world is waist-deep in crap and horrible things, and that God won't necessarily save us physically from those awful things...

...I am frightened. I have no assurance that I'll be okay, for disaster looms around every corner.

At least before I had the ability to glibly gloss over latent tragedy with the sovereignty of God. How I wish I could believe that He would or could make everything okay...

...but I know that's not the truth, it's not reality, it's not how things happen...

Otherwise D wouldn't be dying of cancer.

And the HJ wouldn't even exist.

I wouldn't live across the street from a hospital.

Am I just longing for heaven? Am I yearning for the fulfillment of a promise that I don't even entirely trust?

Maybe LC was right. We connect the physical world and the spirit world way too often.

God did not protect me physically, that much is abundantly clear.

But he did protect my spirit, in some magical way, or I would not be the wonderfully strong woman that I am today. I don't understand how I came through that hell so unscathed... except that maybe God did protect me.

Was I reading the wrong definition into the promise of protection? Maybe God won't protect us physically--and blast you, Psalms, for leading me astray in that regards!--but maybe he will protect our spirits.

I don't know. I'll have to look into this more, think about this more...

But I do know that I don't want to give up, although it's tempting.

I got confirmation when I was in ID from L. Don't give up--you'll find the answers someday. I think it was from God, that message.

I'm still not feeling the whole "love" thing, though... and I think that's what I'm longing for, today. I want to feel God's love for me.

Sometimes, all I see is indifference.

Heck, who am I trying to kid? Most of the time. And I don't want that to be the true picture.

I can see you lost your way
It’s just easier to hide
But He sees inside your soul
Where your past cannot define

You’ve been heading down this road
And you don’t know who you are
But He knows what’s in your thoughts
And He feels what’s in your heart

You could run ’til you can’t find home
Sail ’til you can’t see land
There is no place you could go
You could fall ’til you’re out of hope
Chase things that never last
You could never run too far
Love will find you where you are

So you’re feeling all alone
But you are never out of sight
There is healing in His arms
There is mercy in His eyes

No height, no depth could ever separate us
From the power of His great love

I'm still in the throes of what I call "spare bedroom life". This means that, though I have illusions of having my own space and independence... I pretty much don't.

So, when it comes to matters like keeping a feast that my "landlords" don't believe is viable anymore... you end up with a Spare Bedroom Passover.

Factor in food allergies, and it looks something like this:

Grape juice and, yes, those are Veggie Chips. It's the closest thing I have to unleavened bread. Well, either that or tostada shells, but these are infinitely tastier!

The Feast of Unleavened Bread is a little tricky, because I can't exactly go through and throw out all my grandparent's bread and leavened products. Talk about awkward. So I figure I'll just worry about my own food and space, and call it good.

Contemplating the meaning behind Passover and Communion, though, has proved interesting.

It seems to me that most things in the Bible really boil down to trust-- am I going to believe that God will do what he says he will do, regardless of extreme circumstances?

That, to me, is the essence of Passover. Freedom from literal slavery, freedom from figurative slavery... do I really believe God can do it? That's definitely a personal challenge to me at this point, as I look at the bondage of fear that I have been a slave to for so long... and find myself wondering, "Can God really heal me? Will God really heal me??"

I'm glad to have these reminders and food for thought.

I had a teacher in grade school that didn't like me much. I think it was a grudge against my family that somehow got redirected towards me, but I'm not sure. Regardless, my teacher didn't like me much, and I sometimes got into trouble. (I would NEVER get into trouble otherwise! Uh-uh, no m'am! lol)

One year, we were drawing pictures of the Advent- you know, classic manger scenes- and I got into trouble for making mine too realistic. In my drawing, Mary was lying in a pile of straw on the floor of an empty, dirty barn, her dress hiked up to mid-thigh, blood all over her legs, and bags under her eyes. Yeah, in retrospect, that may have been a bit graphic. I mean, aren't ten year olds supposed to be sheltered from that kind of thing? But I was tired of all the serene, surreal manger photo-ops that had ushered me through so many holiday seasons.  I wanted to draw it how it really was, how it really happened- dirt and blood and lack of sleep and everything. (To placate the teacher, I went back with an eraser, got rid of the blood, and lengthened Mary's hemline. The bags stayed.)

Today, the church service got me thinking... we tend to make Christmas so shiny and magical, we lose sight of what really happened. It's become so sparkly and tinselly that it has lost all relevance to every-day living.

What really happened?

First of all, you have a girl, probably younger than myself, facing her first pregnancy and her first marriage, all at the same time.

Will he believe me? I mean, what a story! He's going to divorce me, and then what will happen to me? I can't support myself, especially with a child! I have to believe that God will work it out somehow, because this was his idea, but... seriously?!


And I thought applying for schools was tough.

After Divine intervention, Joseph decides to go ahead with the marriage after all. Stressful for the both of them, as people are prone to talk, but probably a great burden off of Mary's mind. She had stability and economic security for the future, both for herself and her coming child.

Then, they get news that they have to travel to Joseph's ancestral home-town, in relation to a tax hike. Great. Just what they need- heavier taxes, not to mention traveling expenses! But they make the trip regardless.

A modern day walk from Nazareth to Bethlehem is 157 km (97.5 miles), which would take about a day and a half, depending on how fast you walk.

If you think about it, the trip is probably what induced Mary into labor, irrespective of whether she rode a donkey or walked.

So, there they are in a foreign city, all the hotels booked, and Mary is going into labor with her first child. She has no women around to help guide her through this very important event, no hospital to check in to... no private place to have this child. Is she going to have the baby on the street? No, someone offers the use of the barn. The barn. You know... the place where animals eat, sleep, and relieve themselves. Not exactly the most sanitary place to have a child.

So Joseph helps his wife have her first baby. She has no anesthesia. They have no umbilical clamps. Where did they get the water to clean up Mary and the baby? Where did they get the cloths? You can't exactly use a towel and then throw it in the washer for the next day. Did she bring a spare change of clothes? Did she have a spare change of clothes?

But, really, I see the beauty in God's bringing shepherds as the first people to come pay their respects to the very new family. Shepherds are accustomed to birthing sheep, and know what to do in the aftermath of the entrance of a new life. Perhaps they were able to assist Joseph in making Mary more comfortable, offering tried and true remedies to relieve the pain, practical tips on keeping the baby safe and sound, making sure infection doesn't set in, etc.

The manger scene we present now is gilt-edged and sparkly, echoing with the sounds of the Vienna Boy's Choir. In reality, it was a pretty crappy day from our perspective. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan.

That amazes me. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan. God's hand was still on them, even though it did not fit the mold of the typical situation.

I think we tend to do that to Christianity, in general. We airbrush it, spray paint it with gold, scatter some glitter on it... we pretend it isn't hard. We present this glamorous, sparkly facade so that people will want some of what we got, but when they break through the thin, scintillating crust, they find that it is hard.

Yes, Christianity is hard. But we don't want to tell people that, because they might not want to follow God if they know it will be hard. My generation was raised in a culture that embraces, and even glorifies, instant gratification and the path of least resistance. We don't like difficult. People don't, generally, as a rule, like difficult. I have come to the point, however, where I like difficult... in a certain way.

It's like the day my Mom brought home new cups for everyone. She had found a great dollar store and brought us each home a cup. Mine was made out of stone, and K's was made of ceramic, painted pearlescent silver and gold, and styled to look somewhat "Roman". It was pretty, but I have always preferred wood or stone over ceramic. Now, years later, we still have our cups, but the ceramic is cracked, and the paint is chipped and peeling. It's still lustrous, but not as appealing. My stone cup, however, has maintained every iota of its charm and dignity throughout the years, and now currently houses my toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss.

I see this as a comparable analogy. Yes, following God is hard. It's not the pretty painted, ceramic cup that we sometimes make it out to be... but it's sturdy. It is beautiful, but a beautiful that has substance, purpose, and lasting value.

The damage that we do when we superficialize the manger scenes is this-- we trick the world into complacency. They don't understand that we serve a God who understands "hard". He gets it. He did it. As the newborn in the ill-equipped barn, and as the one who had to let him go into a world fraught with danger and pain... God gets it. He understands.

Christmas is not about shiny. Christmas is about reality- about grit, and hay, and excruciating pain, and... enduring beauty. Substance. Hope. Meaning, purpose, and joy.

There is joy, but it's not necessarily sparkly. There is glory, but it's not necessarily shiny and gold. Our plastic and paper Christmases have robbed us of the understanding that, in following God, things don't have to be going "right" to be according to plan. In fact... it's usually when things are at their most "wrong" that God blazes through the most brilliantly.

I could be watching a movie with the fam, but I know I need to process, or else I will lose myself in the swirl of activity that tomorrow will bring, and whatever insights I might have gained will be lost.

How do you force yourself to process through feelings? It's kind of like... well... like... something that doesn't work very well, that's what it's like.

By the way, I wish that I played cello. And fiddle. And piano. Those are the next 3 instruments I'm going to tackle. I've already begun piano a little bit.

Okay, focusing back on topic now...

I was just so frustrated today, so upset... it seems like all my plans and ideas are crumbling, turning to ashes... like it's all for naught.

And here's the kicker-- this is the first time I've really researched and done my "homework" and laid out a plan and saved and... tried to do it the responsible, mature, motivated way. Most things, I just kind of go with whatever opportunity presents itself and assume that's God's will.

No, I take that back-- I did the research and homework and whatnot with summer camp, too. That didn't turn out so good.

And here I am again. Maybe I should just make opportunism my modus operandi?

Let's chart this out...

My first big decision for myself was to go door to door. Research? Nope. I didn't even know what it was about except that I was selling books. How hard can that be? Hah! But that was a step towards God.

Next: Attend academy. Research? Nope. I just visited it several times as a kid, and knew that I wanted to go there. And my family friend wanted me to go, too. Another step towards God.

After that, move in with boyfriend and get a job. Bad decision, I realized later. Hmm...

Then, leave boyfriend-now-fiance and go to SOULS. Research? Nope. J talked to me, I knew that I had to get out of the situation I was in, and this was a handy out. Yet another step towards God.

When I'm about to graduate SOULS (about a month left?) and no idea where I'm going next or what I'm doing, the Idaho guys came down to interview students. They interviewed me, and I got a job a few weeks after graduation, which led me to Idaho.

I did do some research that time, to see whether I wanted Spokane, or the little country churches. I looked at the cities' websites, and I chose the country churches.

Aaaaaand... I've been here two years now. I did major homework on which summer camps to apply to, took the first one that contacted me, and... what a summer that was. (Mer.)  So that decision was a mix of the two types of decision making, really.

Then, I left camp early and decided the night that I left that I would drive out to WI for my dad. It was a great decision. I have absolutely zero regrets, and I'm so glad I did it. Talk about impulsive ;)

And now... researching and contacting schools, figuring out where I'd like to go, which schools offer what I want, etc. etc, looking for places to stay, figuring out viable options, researching scholarships and grants, filling out my FAFSA forms, and... for what?!

I talked to the financial aid lady today (finally!). It's weird, because I seem to have a semi-difficult time getting ahold of the staff at this school, whereas the school in Colorado was always so prompt... I wish this school were like that. Anyway, I finally talked to her, and realized that she had no idea that I needed to work out financial details now, because I have no money and no place to stay when I get down there. She said she'd do some figuring and call me back.

I about fell apart on the way home. It seems like everything I've tried is just not working out. The $10,000 scholarship that I thought I was guaranteed fell through. The churches I've contacted asking for a place to stay haven't contacted me back, except one. (Seriously? At least call me back to tell me, "No"!) The job I applied for hasn't contacted me, either.

As I was driving home, crying and praying, it occurred to me that perhaps God is setting the stage for something awesome. I'd really like to believe that.

I'm scared. Terrified, really. I'm scared that I'm going to go down there, only to wind up homeless. I'm afraid that I'll find out that I can't get enough money and I'll have to leave to do...???

I'm afraid that it's not going to work out. I'm afraid that I'm going to be dependent on others forever. I'm afraid of getting stranded on my way down because I only have a few hundred dollars. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid that I can't actually make it on my own.

I'm afraid that I'm going to be living in poverty forever, that I'll never make it out. I'm afraid that I will have to sacrifice my dreams on the altar of necessity.

I'm afraid that life will become nothing more than a vicious battle to simply survive.

I'm afraid because I have no backup plan. Everything I have is staked on this. And it seems to be falling apart.

I just feel so helpless!! Why can't I be self sufficient and independent, dammit?! And why do I still say bad words?! lol

I want so much to be consistent, stable... mature. Responsible. And yet I find myself constantly swinging from idea to idea, from thing to thing... It's like I have this conception of my ideal self, yet I cannot achieve it. And that frustrates me. And angers me. And scares me.

I don't want to be trapped in mediocrity.

I was sharing all this with Mom today, interspersed with tears, of course. How scared I am, and how frustrated, and how I have nowhere to go and I don't know what to do and why is this not working the way it's supposed to?!

She pointed out to me that I do have somewhere to go. Gma and Gpa would love to have me, if I wanted to wait a few months, or if I can't get this financial stuff straightened out in time.

I told her that the S's want me to leave. The sentiment in the statement is not quite the same as the sentiment they express, but it's pretty clear that it's time for me to move on. And January is the time they ("they" meaning C, lol) have set for me to move on.

And you know... E would love to have me work with her.

I could wait. I don't have to rush off. Going back to Y is a viable option. I don't know if the school has a spring starting date, or if I'd have to wait until fall, but... I could.

Who says I have to start in January? Nobody. And who would rag on me if I didn't? Probably just myself. Because once I say I'm going to do something, I want to do it! Right away! lol

And if I did go back... I could get a job, maybe. Like Mom said, there's always Denny's. Yuck. Actually, maybe not...

But seriously. Would I be a failure if I did not start school in January? Because that's what that voice in my head tells me... "You said you were going to start in January. So either do it, or scrap the whole idea. None of this 'wait till later' stuff. That's failure talk. Either you do it or you don't."

Who to believe? Mom sounded awfully believable while I was talking to her.

I need to pray about this some more.... and make phone calls.

I'll take L's advice and start pushing on some doors ;) As they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

But, oh... I just don't know.

Sure, it's an adventure. That's one of the only things that keeps my spirits up.

Is there anyone truly happy in the world?

Does Christianity truly make a difference?

Because it seems that everyone I've thought was happy, healthy, whole, and functional... well, they turn out not to be.

Where's that abundant life I've heard about? Where's the joy?

Why does everyone hurt so bad?

And isn't there something someone can do about it?

Have you ever been rather certain of something, and yet you do not want to advertise the certain-ness for fear that you are not, in fact, totally certain, and that you will end up looking like a fool?

Yup, I'm in that quandary. I'm praying and praying that God will guide me, show me whether this certainty stems from him or from my own misguided ideas, and, well, I know I'll be making up my mind soon one way or another. I know myself- I'm not one for protracted examination of... anything. I make decisions fast. (Relatively.) My dad, now, he'll research something into the ground before he makes a decision. I'm better about researching my decisions now than I ever was before. But I'm still a rather rapid decision maker. I'll agonize over my choices intensely, but when I come to a decision, I want to get on with things. NOW! lol

Anyway, that's just a private storm brewing in the recesses of my mind. I'll probably have made my mental choice one way or another (for now) by this time next week.

Ahhh... don't you wish you knew what I was alluding to? :)

J's right. I'm impulsive. I swing from one thing to another quickly. Is that a bad thing?

I just feel something in the air... change. It's coming. Something is going to change, in a big way, and soon. I don't know what it is, but I feel it coming. God's preparing me for... something.

In a way, I'm trepidatious, like, "Does this mean that I'm not going to be able to do my support group after all? After setting everything up? Or does it mean that I'm only going to be able to do it for a few months? Isn't that technically failure?"

Because here I've thought that the very fact that God's opening doors for this group is proof that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to do... and I am. For now. But that may change soon. I think. Maybe. Heh. (That's just my life!)

I don't want to go anywhere until winter's over. I don't like traveling in winter.

Do I think I'll be leaving S's? Maybe. I love this family, and dearly. Desperately. Obsessively. Compulsively. (Ok, ok, just kidding.) But it's very difficult for me to balance "support" with "salvation" right now... and honestly, I'm tired of being dependent. My dad pays for my medical bills (now that's salvation!), my cell phone (I'm on a family plan ^_^), my car insurance, and until this year, my car tags. The S's provide me with food. I pay for my gas, car maintenance, clothes, other basic necessities of life, gifts, and my Bible college bill. Not bad, I guess (especially with no income!), but I am itching to be totally independent. Not that I wouldn't mind a roommate or something- I don't like staying places totally by myself. But I want to be an adult, for crying out loud! I want to strike out on my own and make an impact on the world.

On the flip side... leaving home is scary, and this place is warm, snug, and secure. Why should I leave the womb? (Funnily enough, I actually refused to leave the literal womb.) I long for change and adventure, yet I am loathe to leave the security of the known and predictable. What a trap to be caught in. Which impulse do I obey?

Interestingly, the Holy Spirit now resides within me. I don't know where he was before, or if he was in me/around me and I just didn't know it, but last night I asked God to send the Holy Spirit into my heart and give me what I need (because I'm not always accurate on what I think I need), and then I found Luke 11:13, which says, "If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?"

Huh. Well, then, I guess that means that God send the Spirit when I asked him to. That means... that now I don't have to be confused about whether or not he dwells within me as 1 Corinthians 3:16 claims he does... because God said he'd do it, so he did. Cool!


I know that the Bible says that when we are followers of God, when we have faith in Jesus' name for our salvation, that the Holy Spirit will come and dwell in us. It always confused me, though, because I thought, That certainly can't be true! Look at all the junk inside me! There's no WAY God would want to hang out in there... But I guess he does. And I think it's only by hanging out among the junk that he can clear it out. He had to come down and live with us people in order to save us... I think it's the same principle, as near as I can tell. Then again, I'm no authority.

Buuuuuuut... now that the Holy Spirit is for sure for sure living inside me, I know that he'll for sure for sure guide me. God's guidance is not some "somewhere out there" thing that I have to try to decipher. God will guide me, personally, now. How? Not sure, precisely, about all the specifics... Definitely through the Bible, though. I mean, if someone were to come to me for advice, and I'd already written a book, I'd probably give them the book to read if it would answer their questions. It'd be tons easier.

But I know that God guides people in other ways than just Biblical exposition. I was reading Acts today, and the disciples were so amazingly attuned to God's voice! Yes, he sent angels and gave them visions, but those were the exception, not the rule. Most of the time, they went places to preach until, well, until they were done. Then they moved on. It's like they just knew. God told them, I think. They didn't stress about having time quotas to spend in each place, or how many converts they were supposed to get... It was powerful stuff, what they were doing. What's really cool is that they were just going and God would give them an opportunity to speak, and they would (and the Holy Spirit would fall on them and give them the words and the power), and people's consciences would be pricked. Usually, that meant people would profess faith in Jesus, but sometimes that meant the apostles would be stoned or thrown in prison or beaten, etc. And that was alright, because it was God's plan, not theirs, and they knew that whatever was befalling them, God had it under control and it would all work out okay.

WOW.

If I could live my life like that, well... there's no telling what could happen. Talk about adventure ;)

I could live with that kind of transmogrification. Imagine, frightened little me, living a life of bold faith.

Oh, I want it. I want it real bad.

But am I willing to bear the cross that comes before the crown?

Eh... that's one item of junk that the HS is gonna have to clear out... all that trepidation I've got plastered on the walls.

It's amazing how much stress can affect the body. I got sick, like, real sick-- a fever, abdominal cramps (and all that accompanies that), loss of appetite, etc.

However, after spending the afternoon and evening in bed, and sleeping 13 hours last night, I found my fever broken this morning, and I feel much better. I even did the dishes. :)

My appetite's still AWOL, but I'm sure it will resurface eventually.

C sat me down yesterday morning as we were preparing (scurrying, really) to take off. She said that as she was having her worship, God impressed her that she needed to let me know that I didn't have to go,  I wasn't obligated to the family or to D and C, and it's okay if I wanted to stay.

Well, I did want to stay. I didn't really want to go, and I wasn't feeling well to boot. So, I stayed.

I've realized that I have to stop trying to "save" the family. I want to be supportive, yes. But how do I do that without trying to assume responsibility for their happiness, welfare, and stress level? Hmmmm...

And I've had these crazy ideas about moving to a different state floating around in my head... Like, hello, that's probably just your escapism going into overdrive!

J and I were talking last night. She helped me to see that I'm, well, rather impulsive. I tend to go from one extreme to another. *Sigh* If only I were a steady person... I try to be. I think I'm doing better. But how much is really just my personality? And is it a bad thing to be this way? And does God work with me being this way, or is he trying to turn me into something else so I can finally interact with him the way I'm supposed to?

How does God speak to people? Like, how does he guide them? Because so many times, I'm praying about decisions and hoping against hope that the decision I'm making because I think that's the direction God wants me to go is really what he wants me to do and I'm not missing something somehow and doing the exact opposite of what he wants me to do. Does anyone else ever feel that way? Or am I the only one? I don't trust my impulses on the big stuff. When it comes to buying a gift for someone, sure, I trust that. I pray about it, I keep looking until I find what I'm looking for, even if I don't know what I'm looking for (if that makes sense). When I see it, I just know. But how come that doesn't work for the big things?

Or does it?

Am I just making things too complicated?

Quite possibly, yes.

Gah.

Off I go, into the wild blue yonder...

I'm heading up to Camp today. Pretty much everything is packed- all that's left is to pack up my trusty car.

This summer... I want it to be... good? Yes, good, but more than that... impacting. I want lives to be changed.

I get overwhelmed when I think about all the needs to be met... all the people that I'm supposed to witness to... and it's scary, because when I think about sharing "the blessed hope", I wonder... how can I share what's so shaky within me in the first place? I mean... I struggle so much with just the basics... I was a Bible worker, and I can't even give a basic Bible study on salvation. That's bad, huh? Like, if someone were to ask me, "What does the Bible say about salvation?" I could not guide them to the correct verses.

I could, however, tell them what God's done for me... but then again, I'm not the inspired word of God, so how much weight does that carry?

I guess I'm just discouraged/encouraged... because in my Talk with God this morning, I read Psalm 105, which said to me, basically, YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT GOD'S GOING TO DO! He does the most unlikely things- seriously. In addition, all those big events swirling around the Israelites... God was in control of them, the whole time. If he didn't actively cause something, he allowed it.

How can I fear about the state of the world around me? Do I think that God is too small to notice, too weak to handle it?

The cool thing was, verses 1-5 are a capsule of how to "live Christian", if you know what I mean. Basically, this is what walking with God is all about. It's pretty cool! And, it is a big relief, because I think, "Whew! This is not as intimidating as I had thought... this might actually be possible in my life! Yippee!"

Anyway... I wonder if the kids' parents know that one of their *potential* counselors is this... I don't know... what's the word... immature? I guess I just feel that, since I went to a Bible College, I should be past this.

However, voices in my head, I will inform you that this struggling and hashing things out is the building blocks for a solid future, thankyouverymuch. So get out.

I've got to go pack now.

(Okay, one quick side note... super hilarious... when I was talking to D last night, I mentioned that I had "found the best thing in North America!" He immediately responded, "Oh, you mean me!" LOL! I managed to choke out a reply in the midst of my shock... something to the effect of, "Pssht, what-ever! I meant a radio station." It was funny, though. He's quick, that one.

And, just now, he sent me a promised picture of the mountain across the river from him... with the caption, "Good morning, beautiful". Eep! I'm not even going to respond to that one. I'll pretend I never saw it. What in the world would I say to something like that, anyway??)

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.

A is married. What a strange thought. I mean, she's super amazing, and she totally deserves to be happy, but... it's almost like she's too amazing, you know? Like there can't really be a guy out there that can match her, that would be worthy of her... so I wonder. I had never actually met the groom before yesterday, but I and a thousand other people were insisting that "he must be awesome, because A's so awesome!" We know that she wouldn't settle for some lame-brain. (At least, we desperately hope so.)

Her wedding was beautiful, but a lot of work. I only helped an infinitesimal amount, but it was still a lot of work, and for something that was over so quickly... it really just reinforced the concept that a wedding is only one day, but a marriage is for a lifetime. So many couples spend their time focused on that one day, rather than preparing for all the days that are to follow. I pray that I do not make the same mistake...

I had a good conversation with D yesterday. He sent me the cutest text message! It was a picture of a beautiful sunset he saw the other day, with the caption "I miss u 2". Hee hee... Forgive my giggles, but I really am all... giggly. (Funny thing was, I couldn't recall saying to him "I miss you", but then after some thought, I realized he was probably referring to the text I sent him while he was on the ferry/out of cell service for like 5 days, which said "I hope you get cell service soon- I miss talking to you!")

He was kind enough to re-answer my questions, so that I could note his responses (although he was somewhat reluctant, since he hadn't written them down himself, so they were going to be somewhat different than the previous day, but I told him it was fine).

To the question, What is the point of dating/why are we dating, he had a slightly different interpretation of the question itself than I was thinking. He came at it from the viewpoint, What do we want out of this relationship? His thoughts are that he wants somebody he can talk to and get to know better, someone he can depend on, and eventually, more than that (i.e. marriage). As far as spiritual growth goes, he said that he has grown spiritually because we talk about a lot of spiritual, uplifting things, like our day to day occurrences and how we deal with them, how God is working in our lives, etc. Actually, he even said that he looks forward to talking to me, because it helps him sort of refocus. (That's a big, fat "Awwwww" in my book!)

Enough with this he said/she said, though.

It's interesting, because after that "fateful" conversation (it was really pivotal!), I feel like we've kind of moved up to some mysterious "next level" in our relationship. We spent the first month just getting to know facts about each other, hobbies, likes and dislikes, our pasts, etc... more of a friendship thing than romantic. I mean, we both knew that we liked each other, but it wasn't brought up hardly. It was like the establishing of a friendship. Now, we still have that friendship basis, but there's something more simmering under the surface... I don't know if it was the m-word that I had to bring up or what, but it's more emotional now than it was. I don't think that's a bad thing. As a matter of fact, I'm glad that it took that long... longer would even have been okay with me. But I know that I really enjoy him as a person, and as a friend... despite the butterflies (which have multiplied in number recently).

I'm just really enjoying myself. This is fun! And not as scary as I had thought... though it does have its moments. But it's a lot more fun than I had initially thought it would be. Best of all? No regrets, baby. I love it.

Know what else I love? Stir fry and brown rice. Mmmmm...

So what, really is love?

What I mean is, how do you know when you love someone?

And by that, I mean how do you know you love someone beyond the principle of selfless love that we're supposed to have for all mankind?

Of course, by that I mean how do you know when you are in love with someone... romantically? (Enough to marry them?? 'Cause, really, you can love anyone, when you look at it from the standpoint of "love is a principle, not a feeling". You could marry anyone in the world and love them. But how do you know when you love them?)

I went to my friend's wedding shower. It was eye-opening, to say the least. I had a few revelations.

Firstly, this whole wedding thing is A LOT of work! Yikes!

Secondly, I realized that, though I daydream about being married sometimes, and I think about my wedding... the whole sex thing is scary! I'm not ready for this! Funnily enough, I've thought in the years since I left my fiance, Hmm. I miss sex. Boy, it'll be great to be married someday so I can do that again.

But with my poor, innocent eyes being barraged by a plethora of lingerie, I'm beginning to seriously reconsider my thoughts on the situation. I'm just not comfortable with the idea of anyone seeing my body but me. Even my husband. Especially my husband. I mean... what if he doesn't like it? What if he doesn't like me? I would feel so awkward parading around in basically nothing. I'm just not that confident. The thought is very, very scary. (Aaaaand cue fear of rejection.)

Thirdly... I don't really know how to process this, but the reason that my friend is getting married so quickly is that she has, as she puts it, a little sea-monkey on board. She assured me that they would have married anyway, and that they really do love each other.

I am not as devastated as I thought I might be, but I am disappointed. I mean... she was a spiritual mentor to me in the past, and I guess I had her on a pedestal. I realized that as I was thinking about this situation. I still love her, and dearly, but now, she's off the pedestal. We're shoulder to shoulder now. And that's probably healthier. I just wish it could have come about some other way.

I told her I was glad they were being responsible about it (because my biological dad ran away and wouldn't take responsibility for his procreative capabilities).

I'm not quite sure how I feel. I had confidently proclaimed to H, "If they're getting married this quickly, then I'm sure it's because the Lord is leading. I trust her relationship with God." It's not that one mistake makes me distrust her relationship with God, I'm just frustrated, I guess. Like, why would you even do that? You know it's a mistake! You knew when you were doing it! So why?

Well... I've been in that same place, so I guess I can't talk. I knew it was wrong, even while I was doing it... but I just wanted that comfort and solace so badly, and that's where I'd always found it before (at least temporarily). I was addicted, what can I say? Definitely a mistake... a series of mistakes, rather. But I never walked away with a sea monkey.

I've thought about it, and I'm actually grateful that D and I have a long distance relationship. It protects us from the physical desires that might spring up otherwise. We can focus on getting to know each other without that distraction. (Then again, my severe apprehension about the whole sex thing might really help keep me in check, too! lol)

I go through alternating bouts of security and apprehension/insecurity about the relationship. I know I love God, and I know he does, too... but is our relationship spiritual enough? Should we be, like, praying together or something? I mean, we have, but should it be a consistent thing? Are we supposed to talk about God in every conversation? Well, we kinda do, but... I mean... is it spiritual enough? Are we doing it right? I wish I had a blueprint right about now... *sigh*

I think I can say right now that, if things continue on as they are for a good length of time... I could see myself marrying him.

Scary, eh? Yeah. Big time scary. But that's what dating is about, after all... to see if you're compatible for marriage. God brought us together, so I'm just praying and trusting Him to lead the way. He knows. I am trying to focus on enjoying what we have now, and learning the lessons that God brings up. So far, I'm still stuck on fear.

I can't help but giggle a little inwardly when I think of our conversation yesterday. Not the whole conversation, but towards the end, he said, "Oh, I found a rock for you." I was, of course, happy- I love rocks and stones and sticks and feathers and so on, so forth. He went on to describe it- it's small, but it's a perfect heart. "It's even grey!" (My favorite color- he remembered :)  ) He said it might even be small enough to send in an envelope, which means I'll get it sometime during summer camp.

So, yes. My boyfriend found a perfectly heart shaped rock on the beach in my favorite color and saved it to give to me. If that isn't cute, I don't know what is! (I doubt he knows that gifts are my love language... I should probably inform him so he can be careful not to tap into that too much.)

I asked my mom that question about love that I started this post with. I asked it in the context of D, more specifically. "Mom, how do I know when I love him? 'Cause we've been dating three weeks, and I know I really like him... but how do you know when you cross that line?"

She told me, "You already love him."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"You already love him. You have a loving heart of compassion for people. You love him like God asks us to love others." She wasn't really able to answer my question fully, though, 'cause she knew I was talking about the romantic, I-wanna-marry-you love. She said she was the wrong person to ask. Lol. Yeah, maybe just a little... hehe. But I know I can be totally honest with her without fear of judgment or condemnation. Why are you asking that?! Too soon! You're thinking about this too soon! Go read some SOP and calm yourself down.

Juuuuust kidding. That's never actually happened to me. But that's the lingering fear that prevents me from freely seeking advice from some godly people. I'm afraid I'll get a lecture instead of genuine, compassionate counsel. I'm already slightly confused as it is. (I don't know what I'm doing, remember?) I'd rather not throw a whole bunch of "do it this way" voices in there and mix things up any further. I need to focus on God, on hearing HIS voice.

Oh, yeah. I wrote a song today. About D. This whole thing with my friend shook me up a little bit, so I was thinking, How do I really feel about this guy? So I wrote a song. But I'm not sure if I should give it to him or not. I really, really don't want to rush into anything, or push our relationship faster than it needs to go. It's not a mushy, romantic song. It's rather platonic, actually (at least I think it is). Uh, not that I feel platonic about D... Oh, my. This is getting confusing. I'll just post the lyrics and that can satisfy me for now. I'll pray about whether or not I ought to share with him.

I think I'm going to eat something and take a nap before I pick H up at the airport... at midnight.

I need to apologize to D. I've been adamantly insisting that I'm a night owl. I have realized that I am not, in fact, a night owl any longer.