Things Lost

I have always loved Stephen King.

Oh, I know some of you are groaning right now… oh, it's too scary… oh, he is too vulgar….oh, he is too weird.

Yes. Yes, he is all of that but he is also a GENIUS when it comes to writing. He has an amazing gift of locking you in a story and I have been reading his books since I was old enough to read chapters. Even-(gasp)-as a Christian. I know some of you are going to lose you salvation over that revelation… or be afraid I have lost mine. No worries J

"Carrie" and "Salem's Lot" came out in 1974 and 75 and I am pretty sure I read them shortly thereafter. I would have been 12 or 13, they scared the ba-jezus out of me and I have been hooked every since. I love, love, LOVE a good horror story (you can pray for me if it makes you feel better) and he is the best there is. Anyone with any experience at all with writing OR reading- already knows this. It is just a fact. I have read just about everything he has done, either by himself or in the co-author position- that is why I had to tell you about his latest book and what it had meant to me at the end of this year 2011. Just so happens I just finished it and it was absolutely amazing. I should also say that he isn't always vulgar and scary… if you read the book I am about to tell you about and like it, you should also read "The Girl that Loved Tom Gordon" or "Misery"… neither one is occultic or vulgar, and both are excellent. There may be some language; but don't blame him for knowing what sells; he just writes the stuff. (Don't however; read "Pet Cemetery" it scared me so bad I had nightmares for a week…. as an adult)

"11/22/63" came out November 1^st and I was on the hold list behind about 50 other people at the public library here in Ft. Wayne. I thought I would never get to read it and was trying not to buy it on my Kindle because from reviews I had read it was a big book and I wanted to hold it in my hands. I am attached at the hip to my Kindle but sometimes I just want to feel the book ("Under the Dome" was a big one too- and worth every single page).

I think it was so big it deterred some people or maybe they just couldn't put it down either, but in December it was waiting for me at my branch. I couldn't believe I had it so fast and I was fairly giddy taking it up to the check- out.

I can't tell you everything about the book because:

A)  It would ruin it. (think peeking at your Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve)

B) You just can't tell everything about a Stephen King story and do it justice. If you have ever been to a movie made from one of his books, you really need to read the book. Really. Start with reading "Thinner" and then rent the flick and you will see what I mean. (Thinner is low on the vulgar-scary scale too, it's about gypsies… basically.)

The jest of it is this. A man finds a time portal that takes him back to 1958 (don't roll your eyes, it's not Sci-Fi, trust me…). The man that discovers the portal gets the idea that if he could stop the Kennedy Assassination (hence, the title 11/22/63) that he could possibly stop the Vietnam war, ect,…. among other things too numerous to mention here. - The trick is that each time you re-enter the portal, you start all over on the same day in 1958- BUT anything you accomplished in the past is null and void; if you come back to present day and then try and re- enter 1958 at some point. The problem is that this guy had a life and a business in the present day and he had to go back and forth, so no matter how close he got to Oswald he could never stay long enough to figure out his plan, motive, trail, ect. It's hard to explain without butchering it up, but in a nutshell- he got cancer so he couldn't go through with stopping the assassination because even after years of traveling back and forth he was too sick to start over again in 1958 and stay until 1963, so- he found someone else to do it. This is the story of that "someone else" and WHAT a story it is. I couldn't put it down. Plus, I couldn't renew it because there were a thousand other library patrons with holds- so the book was constantly with me until it was finished and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

After the last page was read, I sat with the book on my lap in what I like to call the "Stephen King Afterglow"... yes, it IS just that good. It makes you want to have a smoke- or for me, eat some good chocolate. There has never been one book of his that didn't leave me with a sense of "Wow- that was one crazy ride!" or "Man, I just read one of the greats…" This one had a little bit of both, but most of all it made me ask myself one question:

"If I could go back and do anything over again, what would I change?"

First I thought about 2011, but soon I was going much further back in my head. Personally, I don't see myself stopping any assassinations; but I have had my own regrets along the way that have made me long for some do-overs.

I wish I had been nicer to my sister when we were young. I really regret that now. I had so many issues back then and she was just one of the casualties, I am surprised she talks to me at all… I hope I have made it up to her.

I wish I had spent more time with my mom and dad instead of always trying to get away. I was in such a hurry to move out and get on with MY life. If I could go back I would talk to them more and pay more attention when they talked to me. I long for their voices now that they live in Florida and as they get older, I worry about when that won't be a possibility anymore and how I will ever live through it when I can't pick up the phone or hop a plane to be near them.

I am thankful that I held my little brother as much as he would let me. Sang him songs and rocked him to sleep. Endless hours then but now, I see it still wasn't enough. I wish that when he wanted to move to Connecticut that I had tried harder to talk him out of it, wish I could have seen that it wasn't a whim, it was for YEARS. Maybe forever. I wish I would have asked him to stay, but I didn't.

I wish that all those times my great grandmother had asked me to come over and see her because she was "homesick for me" that I would have ran to her side. I wish that I would have thanked my grandpa for taking such good care of my grandma when she had Alzheimer's and that I could go back to just one day that she knew who I was when I walked in the room.

I wish that I had cleaned less and held my babies more. Wish I would have played on the floor with them and not been so cross when they made little kid messes. I wish that I knew then what I know now about how fast those babies grow up and leave home, and as much as I watched them all sleep, eat and breathe- I wish I could go back for 3 more days, 1 day for each of them-and just do it one more time. Give them all baths, tuck them in beds with clean sheets and kiss their damp hair. And smell them… God, that smell. I would really like to smell my babies one more time.

I wish I could go back to the day I married my husband and slow it down to about 35 miles an hour instead of 90. I wish I could look in his eyes again when he said his vows and I REALLY wished we had danced at our reception. It wasn't possible then, but I really wish we had. It didn't take me long to realize that the best gift I got that day was him, I just wish I could do it all again- all of the sweet firsts that come with being a new bride. Now THAT was a great day.

Oh-I have other regrets. About things I shouldn't have eaten (especially in 2011!!) things I wish I hadn't said, days I wish I could start over and do differently- if I am honest most of my life is full of those days. I guess it's a good thing that I don't have a time portal of my own, because I would probably drive myself crazy thinking about all of the "if only I had dones" And the "what ifs??" Mourning all the things lost, over and over again. Trying to go back again and again and get it right this time. If there even is such a thing.

One of my pastors from days gone by said that God gives us 24 hours in each "bank" that are our days here on Earth. Each day we have to make decisions as to how to spend each of those hours. Some we will squander, some we will invest- but it is always our decision. We need to look at those hours as individuals and not chunks of time and spend each one wisely or before we know it, our "wallets" will be empty and there is no getting them back. I think about that often as I plan my days, especially now that I am home again maintaining a house, keeping a husband fed and in clean underwear; and helping with grandbabies. I do try and play more, love more and be more- but most days I just end up feeling like it is never enough. I fight looking in the mirror and seeing failure blinking at me like a big neon sign. I think about the things I wish I had done differently, past and present- the list is endless and overwhelming. I am always the last person that I am good to and I never feel like I deserve the benefit of the doubt.

In 11/22/63, I won't tell you what happens because I do think it's worth reading yourself, even if it takes you weeks… but I will say this much. What this "someone" finds out more than anything else is that he is the one that deserves a do-over. That after all is said and done, that he is the one that needs the grace given by getting another chance to do things right. That is what I took away from the book. Every decision we make, good or bad sets off a chain of events. What he found out was even if you could change something that you thought would be for the better, it alters everything else around it that is connected to it, and sometimes THOSE changes aren't so great.

Looking back; not just at 2011, but even further still- the answer for me has to be that I just did the best I could with whatever I had to do it with. I had a counselor tell me that once about my own parents and I believed it for them but I never would give myself that same gift of just being human.

My goal for 2012 is this. To quit wasting so much time mourning things lost, and be nice to myself for once. To look ahead and know that I will do the best I know how with each 24 hour day I am given. I will love to the best of my ability, play as much as my almost 50 year old body will let me and not live in regret. I will write, love my husband and my children, cuddle my grandbabies and be who I was meant to be.

Whoever- I was meant to be.

So let's raise a glass of whatever sails your boat and toast 2011, the good-the bad and the ugly. And also, I am toasting Mr. King's 11/22/63. It was a masterpiece and it changed me.

Salute'!






 

Major BFF

Honestly, after high school the thought that I needed a best friend never really entered my mind. I had found the complete package in my husband Brian. I trusted him with all my secrets and all my emotions, and if I never had another girl friend I thought that would be just fine. I never could get into the "girl" scene at school- I couldn't do all the drama and I felt too bad about myself to make anybody else feel bad by talking about them behind their backs, which was all girls that age wanted to do. The silly, drama made me crazy as did all the bickering and jealousy. Funny how that hasn't really changed much over the years- I just have always had a very low tolerance for all of that. My best friends were always guys and that was the way I preferred it.

I felt so strongly about this that when my daughter Cherith was a teenager, I taught her not to play all the games girls play. Often she was accused of thinking she was better than any of the other girls because she wouldn't be involved in all the petty gossip and comparisons. Once I had a very upset teen girl tell me that she couldn't stand Cherith because she thought she was a "goody two shoes"… I simply said, "Well- that's my fault so you might as well not "stand" me too. She is exactly what I raised her to be."- and it was true. I taught her to be above all of that and be kind, sincere and loving. That is a hard concept for most women under 25. She is still one of the sweetest women I know and next to my husband, I trust my daughter; above all else.

Don't get me wrong…I have had some very good friends over the years; women that I have entrusted with lots of those "secrets" and feelings, but usually I am still guarded as to how close I really let them get. There are very few that know what makes my heart break, that is not their fault- I have just learned the hard way that sometimes it back fires. It's those backfires that have caused me to retreat time and time again.

I don't know when I gave up the hope to ever have a best female friend again, but I had. Some people throw the term "best friend" around so easily. Not me. It is a term I don't take lightly. But at some point over these last very hard 10 years, I started to feel lonely. My church family had splintered apart and finally evaporated and my boys were struggling with their faith. I felt judged and alone. I felt like I had failed. I was tired of people that told me to just "pray about it" and not give up-tired of looks of judgement and people that didn't know what to say to me. When my 18 year old became a dad and I went to a social gathering with the baby; where one of my closest friends was hostessing- she barely looked at or spoke to me. Frustrated, I cried all the way home with my sweet grandbaby in the back seat. At that point, I didn't care if I ever had another girlfriend. I had been burnt so much in the previous years I just couldn't do it again. My old walls went up and my mortar hardened.

Over the next two years there were literally only a couple girls that I opened up to about the things dear to my heart. Afraid most would think that I was too much to handle, too much of a disappointment or that somehow I was flawed and contagious. One Saturday; a friend of our boys got married and I went to the wedding with my young grandbaby in tow. My son was working and it was his weekend with her and since I didn't want to miss the wedding, I decided to go, sit in the back and leave early before I had to speak with anyone. I wasn't ashamed of my beautiful granddaughter but I was so tired of the questions and looks of pity from our well-meaning church "friends" that I was running to avoid it. Everything went as planned until I ducked out into the parking lot right after the ceremony.

"Jama!" I heard the voice behind me call. I turn and it's the groom running out behind me, smiling in his tuxedo and buttoner, "Are you leaving? You aren't leaving are you?"

"Hi sweetheart," I answer my heart swelling at the sight of this sweet boy that played video games in my basement and ate my cookies, "I guess I am… It's nap time." He puts his hands in his pockets and walks out to me. Touches the baby's hand and says, "Thanks for coming it means a lot to me. I always loved being at your house." I look at him and something passes between us. Maybe recognition that things have changed and will never be the same… "I love you." He adds. I cup his face in my hand, as I have a habit of doing with the "boys" in my life and say, "Oh- I certainly love you too and I am so proud of you." He smiles.

"Maybe I should get back in there?" he jokes.

"I would guess yes." I say. He runs back in the church and I leave another function in tears…tears about grown boys, regrets and water under a very large bridge. That is the first time I felt like I really didn't have anyone that knew how I felt and the first time in a long that I thought maybe I needed one.

Not long after that I began praying for a best friend. I felt silly doing it, I even felt silly saying the words "Best Friend" but somehow I knew that was what I needed. Like we often do, I really didn't expect God to answer my prayer. I mean people have cancer… how important is a BFF in comparison? Thank goodness that God cares about the small stuff too. One night during a meeting of a women's ministry I was involved in I sat next to a woman that I had never met. For some people that may not seem like a huge deal, but for me it is (still) HIGHLY unusual. I tend to gravitate toward my comfort zones. I will go out of my way to sit or stand next to someone I know even if I have to walk clear across a room or arrive a half an hour early to accomplish it. But not this time, I had been cleaning up food across the hall and when I came in late there were only a couple seats left… I guess she looked the least intimidating. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. We hit it off from that first night and made a point to sit next to each other at the next meeting too and it wasn't long before I realized that God had answered my small, hurried prayer for a best friend in Dawn Rice.

Around that same time, she had an opportunity to return to the Air Force and become a Flight Nurse. She had already served her country for 4 years before going to school to be a registered nurse and now she had the opportunity to return for this specialized training.

So-after dropping her in a jungle and teaching her how to survive capture by the enemy, she became a Major. Do I know how to pick a BFF or what?? God not only gave me a best friend, He gave me an Air Force Major. It was one of those "cup overflowing" moments; but there was a price to pay too. She has deployed twice since we have met and often goes out of state on Air Force business. Surprisingly, it has fit into my life perfectly because I have never been very good at the BFF thing. I even asked her once if she was sure she wanted to be my friend because I have never been very good at it. I can go for weeks without calling because I hate to talk on the phone. I am bad about birthdays and Christmas, because I am not a "gift" person. I don't like to shop or do lots of the "girl" things. If you are needy, it can be challenging to be my friend because my best friends have been GUYS most of my life and guys don't need all that stuff. She assured me she would be fine and she has been. She has also been exactly what I knew and didn't know I needed; every. single. time.

I am SO proud of her. She selfishly sacrifices to serve the country I live in, taking care of the soldiers that fight to keep me safe-speaking words of comfort and support in their ears, much like she has me over our few short years as friends. I feel like I have known her my whole life and I love her family like my own; crying and praying over her kids and kissing her grandbabies when they scrape their knees. I have trusted her with my secrets and feelings and have never felt judged. I have said things I am not proud of, complained and cursed. She always centers me again; laughs at me, cries with me and helps me find my way back. She has restored my faith in the BFF thing and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can be completely honest with another female and she won't judge or pity me, she will just simply love me.

I wanted to write this for her because tomorrow is her birthday, Dec. 28^th and she is coming home from Kuwait. Last week, she went on the last mission to bring soldiers in. I don't think I could breathe until she texted me and told me she was back at base safe again- the end of a long war, one step closer to home. I look forward to seeing her on my doorstep again and not on Skype. I want to hug her and have a glass of wine with her, catch up over sushi and watch movies our husbands don't want to see. All the stuff we do that sets my world right again. All the things I never expected to need before I knew her- a world that involves her and her world- a beautiful tapestry of friendship with my BFF.

Happy Birthday Major Dawn! Hurry home, I miss you more than I can say in a silly blog and I need you more than I ever thought possible.

Thanks for being my BFF, I love you xox

Glenda the Good Witch

"The masses are always wrong. In every generation the number of the righteous is small- be sure you are among them." -A.W. Tozer

 

This far into my blog I can almost be certain there are a couple of things that people are thinking.

One is "That poor girl. Doesn't she realize that God loves her just the way she is??" And two: "I am more than just a size in my jeans! I am proud to be a WOMAN!!"

Lysa TerKeurst ; the author of Made to Crave says that she has had mixed reactions to her book. She has had a couple women approach her at venues where she was a speaker and verbally rake her over the coals for basically reducing her struggles to a weight issue (which if you really read her book you soon find out that isn't true). Lysa is much nicer then I am because she very graciously listens to their concerns and then tries to reassure them that she realizes that she is worth more than her jean size, Me- on the other hand, I would say this:

"How very spiritual of you. You must be very proud to be so much further along in your journey than I am…."

Seriously.

If you can honestly say you have never dreaded stepping on the scale in the doctor's office, I salute you. I have a confession to make…. I haven't went back to the ob/gyn for my yearly exams since I gained my weight back. I just cannot get on that scale and see those numbers again. A little while back one of the women in my church overheard me say that I hadn't had a mammogram in a couple years. She thought that was irresponsibly ridiculous and told me so. It is, but I can't bring myself to go to the dr. which is how you get the referral to get a mammogram. I used to go to a really intense family doctor that practiced a lot of holistic medicine but I had to quit going to him because he wanted you to come back all the time (all the time) and I just can't get on the scale in front of someone else that much. Now I know that no one there was judging me. BUT- I can't get past it in my own head. This same doctor told me once that everyone has different balancing points their body shifts to as they age and everyone's metabolism is different, so it's not like he made me feel bad…. Still, I had to change doctors to somebody that was cool with not seeing me unless I had the flu. And even at that I am hoping that I have dropped a couple pounds from being sick before I go.

I still look at my feet and pray the nurse doesn't say my weight out loud.

If you have never felt like that then I am so happy for you. But I bet there are more people in my camp then yours.

Of course you also have the other side of the coin too-the people that lament over being 3.2 lbs. over their ideal body weight. And feel the need to tell everyone… yeah, THOSE people.

"I have got to get to the gym, I am just not comfortable weighing 115! I need to be 110 to feel healthy."

For real? Get over yourself.

Or the people that feel like they have to be everyone else's Calorie Police: "To Protect from Cellulite and to Serve Low Fat Yogurt!!" Gag. We don't care how many points you have eaten today. Some information doesn't need to be shared.

But here is the thing… nobody thinks one iota about anyone else's feelings. I know that I have been guilty of it myself. I look back on times when I was on speaking terms with my scale and I talked about it too. I would like to think that I was slightly more sensitive given my history, but I can't be sure. We are so prideful when it comes to our own vanity. The bible says that before satan fell he was the most beautiful angel in all of heaven. That is where the saying, "Pride comes before the fall" originated. Pride is our worst enemy.

A long time ago I had a girlfriend that I did lots of things with. This friend knew a lot about my struggles with my eating disorder, self-image, ect. Not everything, nobody did back then- not even Brian, but she knew enough. Every time we would do things together, Brian would say it took me days to recover. He couldn't tell me I was beautiful or even be "frisky" because I would feel so bad about myself after our encounters, it would literally send me into a downward spiral for days. The last straw came when we were at the mall one day looking at clothes. I found some really cute shorts on a rack and called her over to look at them. As we looked through the rack, she found a design she liked and pulled them out. "These are REALLY cute," she said," How much are they?" and took the tag in her hand. Immediately she dropped the tag like it was on fire and grunted, "Ugh! If I were that size I would KILL myself!" She hastily put them back on the rack and continued her search snickering to herself. Curious, I pulled the pair out and picked up the tag and looked.

They were a size 12. The size I wore.

I am sure she had no idea what size I wore, but that is just the point isn't it? We can't speak without thinking and slaughter people with our words. If we as women have come SO far… shouldn't that be part of it??

I am pretty sure I didn't buy anything that day. In fact, I am pretty sure we never went clothes shopping again. When I got home, Brian was livid. He couldn't understand why I continued to torture myself with her company, but back then I wasn't sure I deserved otherwise. Eventually, years and life drove our friendship apart and I now have friends that love me and make feel good about myself. Probably better then I deserve even, you know….REAL friends.

When my kids were small and squabbling as kids will do, I read an article by James Dobson that told about how he dealt with his own children when they would argue and fuss with each other. He would take them to the big window in front of their house and say, "See that out there? That is a big world. Not everybody in that world is going to like you and certainly, not everyone is going to have your best interest at heart. Inside these walls, we are family. We love each other, protect each other and look out for each other's best interest. In here as GOT to be a safe place because out there is not."

I did the same with my kids. I took them to the window at our house and I taught them to love each other. I still have people that tell me they have never seen a sibling group, even grown up- as close as my three kids. They were normal and had their squabbles, but nothing like lots of homes do. Even as adults they love and care for each other and each other's children, protect each other's best interest and speak with kindness. It is still extremely important to me. Of course, they still screw around and get on each other's nerves some, they aren't saints- just siblings, after all.

Right now, the masses of this world are selfish, self-seeking and for the most part rude. Even at Christmas time, it amazes me how unkind people are to each other in general out in public. We think we have come so far and yet, we still think our own little bubble is the most important bubble of all. The problem with bubbles is there isn't much room in them and they can be pretty lonely. If you don't learn to pop it, you could wind up with only yourself as your biggest fan.

I don't know about you; but if my own opinion of me was the only one I heard loud and clear that would be pretty scary.

I just had a thought about Glenda the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz. You know how she traveled around in that bubble? Well, it was beautiful all pink and shiny… amazing the way it just transported her around…. But until she stepped out of it, she didn't even have enough room to wave her wand. She couldn't do any of the things she needed to do or be any of the things she needed to be until the bubble popped and she stepped into Munchkin Land. It's the same with us really. We have got to love self-lessly, forgive generously and live respectfully or we can never be who we are supposed to be. Especially as women.

For me, I need to direct some of that to myself… maybe a little wand waving in the mirror. For some of you, maybe there is someone in your life who would benefit from you stepping outside your bubble more often. Some of you sealed your bubble up a long time ago because someone hurt you deeply. I know how that feels too. Sometimes it's hard to trust again and the bubble is so safe, isn't it?

The thing is; Munchkin Land is so much more fun. You'll never hear the adoring cheers of the crowd below if you stay where it is safe.

Give yourself a gift of some adoring cheers this year at Christmas. Love, trust, venture out, take your big-pink-shiny walls down and live a little.

Merry Christmas

 

Angel With the Blue Jeans On

 

Before I go any further in my personal story and before we start Made to Crave in February; it's only right that I tell you about my sweet husband, Brian. So much of this story is his too and so much of my battle, he bears the wounds of. I have said before that when Brian met me at 17, he had no idea what I was packing in the baggage that came along with me and it was 10 years into our marriage before he convinced me that he wasn't going anywhere because of it. Sometimes the dark places were so deep, I would literally beg him to leave me. But he refused. I have spent the last 20 years trying to make him glad he made that choice. I will forever be in his debt.

When I was in high school I had basically one boyfriend that I went back and forth with over the course of the 4 years. I dated other boys short term-off and on, but one special one kept bopping his way back into my heart over and over. He was a blonde, tall drink of water from the major city high school where I grew up. He was funny, gentle, loved basketball and played the guitar in a group we both sang in from my church. He was my first and I believe only real love during those young years, and from age 14 until around my 17^th birthday- he guarded my heart. He was absolutely God sent for that time in my life and I loved him as much as someone that age can. I had a deep bond with him and I thought no matter how many times we broke up, that eventually (as did both of our families) he was who I would marry. I broke his heart as young girls will do, but he was always kind, always a gentleman and always came back- over and over. I am so sorry that I hurt him so many times, it is one of my biggest regrets during those years but as much as I hate to admit it, it was God protecting him. I wasn't near ready to get married and if we had sustained the path we were on, I doubt that I would have made it out of high school before we ran off to somewhere where we didn't need permission. That is how deeply I felt about him. He is happily married now to a very sweet girl and I am so happy for him. (If you are reading this and you know who you are… consider yourself lucky) I am so sorry that I was a crazy, emotional teenage girl. That didn't change much for a very long time, so you did good. You can say a "Thank You Jesus" right now and I won't take it personally…

At 17, I received an invitation to come live at a Christian campground that I had been volunteering at for 2 summers. It was an opportunity to attend bible college and be on staff (room and board as compensation) and I jumped at it. Blondie and me were "off" again and it looked like it was possibly the last time he was going to let me waltz back in and disrupt his life, so I was ready for a change. I graduated mid-year and packed my stuff and left my parent's home. I am not sure if they knew I would never live there again in the same capacity, but I think that deep down, I did. I looked at my 3 own kids when they were all 17 and thought about that moment. They didn't look old enough to me to decide if a shirt was dirty or clean enough to wear- but I thought I did, and for me; then- that was enough

My husband says that he noticed me that day when I got off the bus at the church where they were picking up the "newbies" only because someone said, "Who's the redhead?" Little did he know then, but it would be only 7 short months before he would hear that question again. This time from a "newbie", but his answer would be much different… this time he would say, "She's my fiancée."

I wondered for the first few years we were married if he ever wished he hadn't made sure he said it loud enough for that guy to hear him.

It was January when I first moved to the camp and it was March before I ever really laid eyes on Brian. I think it was mostly because he was so quiet and withdrawn. He didn't really talk to any of the girls that congregated together and his work detail was very specific so our paths didn't really cross that much. I am sure we sat close together in class or one of the many required church services, but he just never caught my eye. I was still reeling from my last break-up, so I tried to stay focused on my work and getting my head on a little straighter.

A very good friend of mine in the dorm had a fiancé that was also on specific work detail. His job was to keep the machinery in working condition on the campgrounds. It needed constant attention because for one; most of it was either donated or second-hand because we were a non-profit organization and two because the camp was huge and it just took a lot of gear to keep it up. Brian's work detail coincided with the fiancés work detail because her fiancé was legally blind. Brian was very good at working on anything mechanical (he still is, Praise Jesus) and so he was the "eyes" of the operation. He would tell him what he saw and then "Fiancé" would ask for a tool and do the repair himself or he would help point Brian in the right direction. One day my friend asked me to walk down to the maintenance building with her, so I did. Now, I am not sure if they were matchmaking on purpose and she has never admitted it to me if they were, but when Brian pulled himself out from under a tractor to meet me, I think I stopped breathing. It's as if I just knew that somehow my life would never be the same. Thank goodness for small miracles- same is way over rated.

Brian was nothing like Mr. Basketball, big city high school, guitar player. NOTHING. Here is a hint just how opposite they were….

When my grandmother first met him she pulled me aside afterwards and said, "Jama… Are you sure?"

tee-hee.

It's funny now because when she had Alzheimer's at the end of her life, she didn't even know me; her first grandchild. But she knew Brian. She quickly became enthralled with him after that first day, but it still tickles me when I think about her question and face full of concern.

When I met Brian, at 18 he was already losing his hair. When he laments about it today- I just say, "Honey I knew you were losing it in 1981. I didn't think it was going to grow back."

After all bald is beautiful. Some guys don't need hair, Brian is one of them.

He was also the second shortest guy I had ever been interested in. At 5' 9" he wasn't much taller than me. NOW I know it was because I needed him to be the right height to be able to fold both arms around me and pull me in so I could be in the center of his chest, by his heart. I would need that over and over through the years, but for now… well- he was kinda on the short side. But unlike Grandma; I don't think I even noticed.

He was also a "good ole' boy" from Kentucky who had traveled back and forth from childhood home to childhood home, with only his brother as his best friend. I had basically grown up in 2 homes my whole life, and had never even eaten sausage gravy and biscuits. Thank goodness the camp started serving them so I eventually got somewhat of a clue how to make them; but for the most part we were polar opposites. I was loud and gabby; he was quiet and thought before he spoke. And he didn't care for me one bit when we first met. I love to remind him of this. He swears it didn't last long, but it still makes me smile. Maybe it was his "Fight or Flight" instinct trying to kick in- leaning towards the Flight part. Thank God he didn't.

A month later; we ended up talking until late into the night. Interest had been sparked but we both were coming off break-ups and felt the need to warn the other that we weren't ready for another round. I think Brian's exact words were, "I am not getting married for at least 5 years." And my reply was, "Good. I don't want to get married anyway." We were almost inseparable from that point on.

As a matter of fact; we were engaged by July and married that November. Eight months from start to finish and absolutely God ordained (So much for 5 years; who says God doesn't have sense of humor??). I needed Brian to keep me from jumping off the ledge I just didn't know it yet. My bulimia was at a slow ebb (it just isn't that easy when you live with 4 other girls in a small dorm) so I was bouncing back and forth between crazy diets (like nothing but popcorn or green beans…) and anorexia, ruining my metabolism and straining my emotional and mental well-being as I tried to maintain control. Brian was then as he is now, my Angel. He has laughed with me and cried with me. He has taken car keys away from me when I tried to "leave him for his own good" and checked me into a hospital when I was drowning emotionally. He has stood by my side through the birth of our children and stood outside the bathroom door to make sure I wasn't purging after a meal. There are too many things to even begin to list that he has been, done and said over our 30 years together for me to even get a running start, but you had to know his story before I could go any further into mine. He IS me and to this day, losing him is single greatest fear of my life. He has kept my head above water for so long I am not sure what I would do without his rescue. I just trust that God knows today like he did 30 years ago how desperately I need him. His truck pulling into the garage is still my favorite sound of the day, and when he calls me "Baby"- I see that same blue-eyed boy pulling himself out from under a tractor to say hi.

A long time ago, I slept with a handwritten list under my pillow of all the things I wanted in a husband. Not long after Brian and I got married, I pulled that list out and realized God had given me every one.

So whenever I am upset about some unanswered prayer, or doubt that God even cares about the dust speck of my life, all I have to do is reach across my king sized bed and feel the heartbeat next to me that is still so much my own; even after all these years.

My Angel with the blue jeans on- not in bed… but well; you get my drift.

 

 

 

 

Little Flickers

I am EXTREMELY low-maintenance. So much so that I often joke about having my girl card revoked; though I would gladly hand it over willingly. I am sure my poor husband would like someone that was comfortable in heels and gel nails but that just isn't me. I dabble occasionally in both but I can't commit. There is just no amount of heel that can make these legs look any better and I am too cheap to keep up with fake nails and pedicures. Even so, almost daily-he calls me "Pretty Girl". You have got to love a guy like that.

There are a few things in my life that I am fairly O.C.D. about. Almost superstitious (if I believed in that at all…) One is my house. It has to be clean and orderly. I am not proud of that; in fact I wasted much of my kid's childhood making sure it looked just so. Just this week, I had a stomach virus and I was so upset because I was supposed to clean the bathrooms that day. Brian just kept telling me to "stay put" (which means either in bed or on the couch) T-O-R-T-U-R-E for someone who can barely watch T.V. without their Kindle in their hand. Only one day. That is all I can allow myself to be sick. I told you I was messed up.

The other two take much less time but don't let that fool you. They are equally as important as my housework. One is my coffee cup and the other is a light made out of my Grandma's funeral flowers that my Aunt Cynda bought for me when my grandmother passed away. I need both of them in working order, every day 24/7. Please and thank you.

The coffee cup was given to me by one of our adopted children, Rachel.. Or Rachie- as she begrudgingly lets me call her J Rachel was and is a dear and good friend to my daughter Cherith; her Mama to me and her Dad to my husband. We had lots of good times together when they lived in Indiana. We lost her dad to cancer a few years ago and the family moved to Washington State. The cup is just the right size and makes me think about Rachel and all my other adopted kids and the connection I have with each one of them. If I can't find my cup… I am in a slight panic. I usually hand wash it every day when I am done so it is ready the next time I need it (which could honestly be in a matter of hours depending on the day…) Can you say French Press?? Anyway- at times it ends up in the bedroom or bathroom which sends me on a semi-frantic hunt but I find it and everything is Zen again. Brian doesn't touch it. No-sir. It is really girly anyway, thank goodness.

The light is a different kind of security for me. This past week it started flickering. It sits within my sight, were I start every day, reflecting and reading my bible. When I noticed it was flickering, I went over and touched the bulb and it came back on. This went on for a couple days. Until today I finally replaced the bulb. I started thinking this week about the light dying for good. I mean, how long can a light like that last? It is basically flowers from my Grandmother's funeral pressed in wax in sort of a candle shape but instead of a wick there is a light bulb in the middle that glows through the wax. It is not very complicated really and Brian can fix just about everything… so I am trying not to worry about it. It is just that when I see it, I think about her. Just like my Rachie and the coffee cup.

She was such a light in my life. She and my grandpa both were. I had such great examples of grandparents. I strive to give my little "grand-brood" what they gave to me- unconditional love, self-worth, confidence, a safe place to just be me. Whenever I kiss Leah a thousand times every Monday and tell her I love her- I think of my Grandma kissing me over and over and calling me: "Grandma's Doll Baby". When Lucy runs in the house yelling, "GRANDMA!!" and runs past everyone else in the room to B-Line for my arms, I remember doing the same with them. When they were in the room, no one else was. And when I was in the room, they were a devoted audience. I want to give that same love and devotion to my grandchildren.

The other day, Cherith and I were driving to Indy to see the house that they ended up eventually buying, and we were chatting on and on like we tend to do. Sage, her 23 month old- was in the back seat singing louder and louder because we weren't paying any attention to her. Cherith was glancing in the mirror off and on like she often does in "Mommy-mode" checking on Sage; then she looked at me with a huge grin on her face. "Mom," she said, "Look at Sage." I turned around and looked at my little Roo. I can't even describe the look of sheer contentment on her face. She was smiling at us, looking from Cherith's face to mine. Perfect happiness. Perfect joy; just to be in the moment with her Mama and her Gigi. When I looked at my girl, Cherith she had tears in her eyes and her hand over her heart. "Don't you just love her Mommy??" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Isn't she just the cutest? Sometimes I think I could just die looking at that face.. I just love her so much." I will never forget that moment. I wish I could freeze it. I do know just how Cherith feels. For one: I feel it every time I look at her, and two: I could just die looking at Sage's little face. I know now why my grandmother loved me so. I know why she wanted me to call her and spend the night and talk to her and sing my songs and play at her feet. She was soaking me up every time I was with her like a big sponge. She knew it goes by so fast. Lucy our oldest granddaughter is 4 1/2, Sage is almost 2 and Leah is 1 and I swear it happened in a blink. Or maybe more like a flicker. Just like the bulb in my grandmother's light-a warning to not get too comfortable. A flicker to remind us that something is changing-almost used up. But unlike the small bulb- their childhood is not replaceable.

I ask her sometimes if she is watching from heaven; to help me be a good GiGi to these girls. I wish she could see them and sink them into bathtubs full of bubbles, leave lipstick on their cheeks and fix them fried chicken and dippy eggs, like she did me. But since she isn't, I am glad that I can give them a piece of her each time I do those things. To some I may seem preoccupied with my grandchildren. That's okay- I was preoccupied with their mom and dads too. I refuse to be an unintentional grandparent and I will do my best to not let one flicker go unnoticed.

I have huge shoes to fill you know;… I don't even own one tube of red lipstick.

Fat Girl in a Skinny Girl’s Body

The only time I can remember NOT thinking about weight is before age 10 or 11. I vaguely knew that my mom struggled with weight but I didn't look at my mom and think anything about it. She was my mom and I loved her. She was funny and creative and I loved to hug her. I still do. I never thought of her as being anything but just Mommy and she never really let on that her weight bothered her that I can remember, unless someone said something unkind to her. My grandma on my Dad's side (God love her) was notorious for making remarks about my mom's weight, and eventually my sister's weight as she got older. My grandma is gone now, but I am sure (and I choose to believe) she said things out of concern and love for them… that said, I am also quite sure it did not feel that way. Let's get real. No matter how kindly someone makes a comment about eating habits, weight, health, hair-dos or hemlines… it NEVER feels like it is out of concern. We, as women; hear: undisciplined, fat, lazy tramp having a bad hair day… that is just the way it is. So no matter how she sliced it, I know my mom's feelings were hurt and even though not much was said outright about it- I learned at a very early age that being overweight was something to be avoided. I should add here that through my entire life men have always flirted with my mother- ALWAYS. She has this magnetic personality. My sister and brother were lucky enough to inherit this funny-charming gene, but not me. I took her to Italy a couple years ago and it was the same story over there. All she has to do is smile and flash her baby blues and men smile, wink, talk, nod…. At almost 70 she beats me in the unsolicited attention of strange men hands down. This is probably one reason her weight never really occurred to me until much later in life. It just wasn't an issue for her in any of the conventional ways. I am not saying it was never on her mind; I wouldn't go that far- she is a woman living in this Eye-Candy World, but she never let it show. She was always confident, unlike her oldest daughter… which brings me to the next problem:

Enter puberty.

I can remember the day pretty well considering it was more than 35 years ago. I was 13 years old. I had always had issues with my stomach, so up until then I was a scrawny kid. Nowadays I call it the "Field's Stomach" – (my maiden name) because my boys have it too and my dad ate so many Tums and Alka-Seltzer we should have bought stock, but I am not really sure it goes back any further than that. I was a nervous kid that internalized my feelings. I had frequent migraines that put me in bed or on the bathroom floor, and like most kids; I didn't eat much- only what I really, really liked. I often think about how much that has changed over the years. I will eat things that I don't really care for, that aren't cooked how I want them and that don't really taste good. I don't know when that started. The lesson here is don't train your kids to over eat. Let them stop when they are full. I watch my youngest grandbaby Leah eat and think that I could really learn something from her. She stops when she is full (believe me, you can't force one more bite in…) and if she doesn't like something she either gives it to my standard poodle or very slyly sticks it next to her on the seat of the high chair…. Or puts it on top of her head, you know; whatever works.

You have to understand that I DEARLY loved my grandparents. My grandpa was my "boyfriend" (self-proclaimed) until I was 15. I thought he was the star, moon and Milky Way. He was handsome, dressed dapper and always smelled like great pipe tobacco. He felt similar about me- minus the pipe tobacco of course, so he in every way meant what he said to me that day as a compliment. But that isn't what the Fat Girl inside of me heard and since I didn't know her yet, she snuck up on me.

This is what he said:

"Honey, you are really filling out and becoming a young lady."

What I heard:

"Honey, you are really getting chubby and becoming a Fat Girl."

Now it may seem strange for a grandfather to make a comment like that but I was SO skinny prior to puberty, everybody over 40's mission was to get me to eat…. so I think he was complimenting me out of relief. Unfortunately, what he did was start a downward spiral that would control the better part of next 12 years of my life as I plummeted headfirst into Bulimia. There is barely a day that goes by that I don't miss my grandparents, but today I am glad he isn't here to read this because I know it would kill him. He loved me, I was his girl.

From that moment on my view of myself physically was skewed. I felt like my Fat Girl was clamoring to come out and I started on a mission to keep her in line. No matter what the mirror reflected, I saw fat. No matter what the tag in my clothes said, I saw Too Big. Little did I know what the next 12 years would bring and how long it would take me to rein in the Fat Girl's voice. And even though most days these 35 yrs later, she is silent… or at least whispering; I can still pass by a mirror on a jewelry counter in a store and she screams at me.

"Look at that double chin."

"Who's following you?? Oh, wait that is your BUTT!"

And on and on and on she rants. Until, I find the duct tape.

When I started on the road to NOT forcing my fingers down my throat anymore; I was 23 years old; had a 9 month old baby AND a 2 yr. old. I will tell you more of that story as we travel along, but for now onto the "duct tape" God gave me one day during devotions:

" You formed my inward parts;

You covered me in my Mother's womb.

I will praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,

Marvelous are your works.

And that my soul knows very well.

My frame was not hidden from You,

When it was made in secret,

and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed.

And in Your book they all were written,

The days fashioned for me,

When as yet there were none of them." Psalm 139: 13-16



Take that Fat Chick. Stick that in your Pie Hole and chew it.

God knew me and planned me. I may not be where I am supposed to be yet- But He knows the road I will travel because He chose it. I may never be a size 6. For that fact I may never see the inside of my 8's again… (heavy sigh) oh well. Maybe there is a bigger lesson to be learned here when I feel that I am listening to the lies of the Fat Girl again. But that is probably a story for another day- for now at least, she is quiet. I really do love me some duct tape.

Just Now Warmin' Up

Well, it has taken me a full year to start this blog. I tried right after I first left my job last December but I just don't think I was ready yet. So today, while my youngest granddaughter Leah sleeps peacefully in the other room, I will attempt it again- this time with more of a purpose maybe. My daughter Cherith is moving out of our city. Not very far away really only two hours but right now, to me it might as well be 2 days away. I have never been more then 20 minutes from her for more then 2 weeks when she did mission trips in highschool; or now-as she travels with her husband BJ. Cherith is more then my daughter, she in an extension of my own life. Another arm, another heart. When she gave birth to her daughter Sage, almost 2 yrs ago- it was the closest thing I have ever experienced to giving birth myself without actually doing the pushing. It was physical and emotional and exhilirating. And that is pretty much a description of our relationship is too. She is my only daughter. My sweet girl.
Unfortunately, of all the wonderful things I could have handed down to her- which in my defense, she did get a few... I gave her my snail-like metabolism, my thighs and my sweet tooth. Oh, she also got my love for cooking and being a wife. My love to decorate for the holidays (any holiday...) and entertain company as well. We both love to invite, plan, shop and cook a meal that you can just come in, sit down to and enjoy. We love to do it all from start to finish from polishing the glassware to scraping the plates.... I got this from my Great grandmother Oca Lee Fields, and thankfully- I was able to hand it on to Cherith. She shines at it and I am so proud of that.
 On the other side of my family; my mother is Sicilian/German. My grandpa and grandma Donofrio were both bigger people- in stature and girth. They both loved to cook and eat all kinds of German and Italian foods. My favorite memories of them are in their kitchen in New Castle PA. My grandmother was always at the stove. Everything centered around the family, cooking and eating together and I get my love of that from them. My favorite times with my kids are when they are all here eating and talking to their daddy while the grandgirls squeal and run through my house wearing princess garb. If I never leave the kitchen the entire time I am perfectly happy to just be surrounded by them. That to me is heaven on earth; there is just one problem (refer back 1 paragraph...) SNAIL LIKE METABOLISM. Loving to grocery shop, cook and eat with family is all well and good- if you are one of those girls that can eat an entire Meat-O-Grande Pizza and still zip your size 2 jeans, but that isnt me. (Don't you just hate that word- GRANDE?? Some of you little girls have never had the pleasure of having a tag in the back of your shirt that states: Large-slash-Grande. It is the worst feeling. Large is bad enough but somehow in Spanish it's even more painful... anyway, I digress....) I  on the other hand; can eat 2 pieces and my size 12's can be tight. UGH. 12. I vowed to never get there again. You see I have had some diet success over the years. I won't go into lots of detail because eventually you will know my entire sorted past as this blog labors on, but I lost about 27 pounds almost 3 yrs ago and I actually kept it off for 2 yrs, but this past year thanks to menopause and bad choices, I gained it all back. I was down to a size 8 and sometimes 10, which is almost miraculous for me. But here I am again. Overweight, my joints hurt, my back hurts and I am starting over at the gym again on the treadmill. And can I just say, I hate the treadmill. I really really do. There isn't enough MoJo in the treadmill for me. If you love the treadmill, I have so much admiration for you. Yes, I have read, listened to music, listened to TV. I just have a hard time walking my butt off to nowhere. I am a die-hard elliptical girl. Which seems funny for an anti-sport, never sweated in higschool outside of a backseat (did I say that??), forged excuses to skip gym class, ect ect ... but on the elliptical I can MOVE. And I like it- more on that later I am sure, but for now I am in the back of the room at the gym looking wistfully at the elliptical that not 2 yrs ago I was doing an hour on... and walk my boring, out of shape, butt off.
SO- I said all of that to come to this point... Cherith and I have decided that: A) I need to blog so I don't drive her crazy calling everyday when she moves. It is somewhere for Mama to vent a little so she can have time to adjust without me calling her everyday to lament how much I miss her being 20 min. across town. She hasn't said these words, nor would she ever because she is such a sweetheart (she really is) she would never hurt my feelings in a million years and she loves me in spite of the inherited thighs. She has been one of my strongest encouragers to write, so here it goes....

B) (This is the BIG ONE) We are going to try and get in better shape and stay healthier. We are reading a book called Made to Crave by christian author Lysa TerKeurst and in Feb I am going to start leading a sort of book club on this book on this blog. There is also a workbook that we are going to start that goes along with it. What this will consist of is one chapter a week, we will read, do the workbook and I will discuss some thoughts about what I encountered, felt, accomplished, ect... via this blog. SO- Cherith and I want to invite anyone who wants to join us on this journey, between now and Feb. 1 to get Lysa's book  and follow my blog. You can look it up on Amazon.com to find out details about the book or even order it but it is also available at bookstores.

It's hard to capsulize the book (we are both reading it one time through before we start in Feb...) and do it justice but let me just say that it isn't a diet book. It is really about making changes you can live with, whatever that means to you personally. If you are like me- at 48, I know ME pretty well. I have dieted for 34 years (literally) and I know what works and what doesn't, so it isn't about her laying out a eating plan. It is just the story about her personal journey and how it can change yours; because we were made to CRAVE. We were just made to crave things eternal not temporary fixes to fill a hole. I am already finding out that Lysa's journey isn't very similar to mine, but there is still MUCH that has spoken to me. Cherith feels differently, she is relating to more of the personal reflections. Everyone is different.

If you don't feel like this book or journey is for you, I still encourage you to follow my blog. Why?? because I think it will still mean something to you aside from the book. My little brother told me once that everyone has a book inside of them and story waiting to come out. I will tell you my story along the way. I promise every blog won't be this long so please forgive me. I am finding out that a year after leaving my job, I am just now warming up in so many ways. I hope you decide to come along for the ride.