Coming Out of the Woodwork

It's been a long time since I've written anything. I'm actually amazed that I was even able to access this blog to write again. I wonder if I have any followers anymore...

Life is funny. It's always busy, always changing, and yet sometimes we find ourselves back where we started. Toward that end I am contemplating another alcohol free year. In 2011, when I started this blog, I did so to document my journey. Upon successfully completing my alcohol free year it didn't take me long to rediscover the virtues of the almighty drink.

Now two years, and a move to a new town, later I find myself back in a low place. At yet another crossroads and important decisions to be made, decisions that must be made with a clear head, I am readying myself for another challenge.

Stay tuned...

The Unintended Walls We Build

I don’t talk very often about my son’s cancer or the time he spent treating for it.  Mostly because he has moved on and doesn’t want to be reminded of it.  Out of respect for his wishes, I chose not to become involved in organizations like Relay for Life, or other fundraising or support groups.  This was his experience first, not mine and he needed to be the one to call the shots.

It has been three years since he has been declared officially cancer free.  A total of eight years since he was originally diagnosed.  And at times it feels like a blur, or even like it never happened. 

But it did happen, and while it was his experience, I was there with him every step of the way.  And I learned some things.  I learned how to take care of a child with cancer. I learned how to juggle the needs of the family so that none of my other kids felt neglected.  But mostly, I learned how to lock down my emotions.

I learned how to be strong, capable and independent.  And the more help I was offered the more I resented it.  I did not want help.  I was perfectly capable of handling this situation and anything else that came my way, thank you very much. And how dare you insinuate that I can’t handle this by offering assistance.  Or at least that’s how I took it.

My son’s cancer is gone, long gone, but the lesson I learned…that to be vulnerable is to be weak, has been firmly cemented in my mind.  I still become obstinate about not needing help.  I can do this thing called life on my own.  And I have largely managed to get that message across to everyone. 

Last night was date night. My husband and I went out for dinner and during the course of the evening he shared with me that while he admires my strength and independence, he wishes I would let my guard down with him. He wants to help me. He wants to support me.  I, of course, responded by quickly wiping away the one small tear that formed in my eye, and changed the subject.

But this morning I’m thinking heavily about what he said.  Does he really want me to let my guard down? To be vulnerable?  Has my unwillingness to do that created a wedge between us that keeps us from becoming even closer?  There’s a certain amount of trust and faith that goes into being vulnerable.  And I wonder…is being vulnerable a weakness or is it a strength?

A Crisis of Faith

When I started this blog over a year ago, I was filled with purpose and determination. I  had set a large goal for myself, not only to give up drinking for a year but also to “fix” my relationship with God.  I blogged daily and so much of what I had to say was about God.

I don’t blog as much anymore.  And believe me, it’s not for lack of thoughts swirling through my head, it’s just that I like to have the answers. I like to know that when I have a problem, concern, whatever, that by the end of my tidy and concisely written article I have already drawn my conclusions.

I am struggling to write because I’m struggling to find the answers.  How can I wrap up my thoughts in a blog if I can’t organize them or make sense of them. 

I have been in search of peace.  A peace beyond all understanding that is promised to me in the Bible if I simply place my faith in Jesus Christ.  But if there is one thing I’ve learned it’s that there is no peace.  How can there be really? One look at the newspaper confirms that truth.

Life is a bitch, quite frankly, as the saying goes.  It’s hard. People get sick, they die, they lose their jobs, their friends, they struggle with addictions, money problems, health issues. The list goes on…

So the obvious answer is to assume there really is no God. How could there be in a world filled with strife.  Or maybe there’s a God, in the sense of some great energy force or some other such scientific something or other, but certainly no personal God.  If there was, wouldn’t I feel his presence? Wouldn’t I feel that peace that I yearn for so desperately? Wouldn’t I know for sure that everything would be all right in the end?

I don’t have the answers to those questions. Not today, maybe not ever. But I don’t believe the answer is to do what I have done over the last few months and turn away from the hope that He is there.  To give up on God is the easy way out.  To have faith amidst a headful of doubt is difficult.  It requires a choice.  A daily decision to believe that everything will be all right in the end.

My faith is shattered, fragmented and hanging on by a thread, but it’s not gone. I hope its enough…

Freeing Myself From Self-Help

I am pushing through my procrastination tendencies today to finally tackle the overwhelming project of weeding through the books on my bookshelves.  The hundreds of books that I have collected and read over the years and that have become something I have, until now, been unwilling to let go of.

I am amazed at the number of self help books that I have purchased and read over the years.  Books that I thought would help me define and conquer all of my faults.  My anxiety, my ADD, my drinking, my obsessive compulsive tendencies, my parenting skills...

For years I have been under the assumption that if I am doing something different than the next person, I must be doing it wrong and therefore must change or fix the way I’m doing it.  I don’t exactly know when or where I drew that conclusion, but it has been part of my driving force for years.

But am I doing it wrong?  I may worry too much but that drives me to pre-plan, investigate, consider all my options, and proceed with caution.  I may pursue my goals with a drive that’s borderline obsessive, but it allows me to achieve those goals, which gives me a great sense of pride and accomplishment.  And I mean no offense to the people this applies to, but perhaps my lack of ability to focus during conversations has less to do with an attention deficit of mine,  and more to do with the boring content of the discussion.

My point is, I do have idiosyncrasies and natural inclinations towards certain behaviors, but does that make them wrong? Do I really need a bookcase full of self help books because some psychologist with more schooling than me decides that I shouldn’t check my burners three times before I leave the house? 

No, the only thing I have been doing wrong, is focusing on my differences as if they were weaknesses and not focusing enough on my strengths.  And today I am especially grateful for my upper body strength that will allow me to toss this neatly packed up box of self help books out of my house for good.

A Mere Speck

I recently traveled to Norway because I decided it was time to overcome my fear of flying.  It was a whirlwind adventure that took me around the entire country by plane, train, boat, bus, and cruiseliner.  There were moments of profound awe as I viewed the immense and beautiful Norwegian landscape. And moments of anxiety as I had to board yet another plane. For the most part, everything went according to plan, but there was a moment on the cruiseliner, when I was being tossed around by stormy seas, that I began to wonder about my need to take this trip, my purpose in life, and my relationship with God.  And this is what I wrote…

It’s funny how people always say, don’t worry…it’s a big plane or a big boat…when trying to calm my nerves about traveling.  But after being here in this beautiful country and witnessing the awesome natural sights, and while sitting on this ship being tossed about like a canoe in these stormy seas, I can tell you this.  I don’t care how big any manmade structure is.  It is, and I am, but a speck on this earth.

I am powerless in the face of the power and size and vastness of nature.  And of  God.

I am constantly asking myself what my purpose is and I always feel guilty that I am not enough. That I am not doing enough. But what can one speck do? Am I here to enjoy life as a series of experiences? Is the pursuit of pleasure my purpose…to go after what I want at all costs? Or is my purpose to make life, which can be so difficult, just a little easier for the next person.

I think of the cab driver who was so pleasant to me as he drove me to this ship.  And the ladies in the hotel reception area who made me and my daughter, two weary travelers, feel so welcome.  And the bus driver, who made one extra stop out of his way, to be sure we were safely at the door to our hotel, knowing we were foreigners and did not know our way around the city.

Ordinary folk doing ordinary work and yet having such a profound impact on me, a mere speck.  Is that ultimately what it’s all about?  Small, loving acts of kindness towards other humans, other specks, as we drift through our own individual life journeys?  It doesn’t matter, I suppose, our job titles, our address, our bank account.  The only thing that matters is how we make each other feel.  Each day, every day, all day.

I think of the author, the musician, the screenwriter, who moves us to feel. A song that brings us back in time. A book we connect with. Small things. Chance encounters. The opportunity to meet other specks. Become involved, care for, meet the needs of…all while appreciating the vast beauty of this great earth we all share. And why? Because we can.  We each have one life. A small life with great impact, if we but chose to see it.

A Moment to Reflect

Just over one year ago, I sat with a martini in hand and reflected on my life.  Or rather what had become of my life.  I looked at my house, my kids, my husband.  All things I wanted and yet there was a sense of sadness within me that I couldn’t explain.  Why was I unhappy? I had everything I wanted but I reached a point where I was just getting through.  Just going through the motions. And the only thing keeping me going was my evening cocktail.

So I made a deal with God.  God, I said, I don’t seem to be handling my life that well.  If you think you can do a better job, have at it.  And in return I will give up alcohol for one year. 

Well that year has come and gone, and I lived up to my end of the bargain.  Not once did an alcoholic drink pass through my lips.  And as I reflect on my life, I am happier, more content and I feel more fulfilled. I have taken on many new activities. I have challenged myself and stepped outside my comfort zone.  But something continued to elude me.

I was convinced that at some point throughout this year I would hear from God. I was sure I would get a sign, something that I knew for sure came directly from the Heavens above.  I didn’t know what that sign would be, but I knew that when it came, there would be no question that it was from God.

So I waited, and I watched, and I continued to fill my life with non alcohol related activities. I met new people, I saw new things, went new places.  I even traveled by plane all the way to Norway.  But even as I stood amidst the breathtaking landscape of this incredible country, God remained silent. No whisper, no voice in my ear, no unmistakable sign that, yes, He is with me.

I used to believe that my life was already mapped out.  That God had a plan for me and my life and I spent most of my life searching for that plan. But now as I sit here on New Year’s Day, thinking ahead to all the things I want to accomplish…the places I still want to go, the things I still want to do with my life, I feel as though my life belongs to me. 

Right or wrong, good or bad, my life and my choices are mine.  Nobody else, including God, is responsible for telling me what to do or how to live my life.  Finding my happiness rests with me and me alone.  So I will embrace this new found knowledge as I look ahead to 2012 and I will create the life I want.  

Perhaps that’s what God wanted for me all along…

Me and God Against the World

I used to think that relying on God was a sign of weakness.  I thought that I was a stronger person for going it alone.  For doing it my way.  It never occurred to me that reaching for a drink was a sign of weakness.  That, to me, meant that I didn’t need anybody to help get me through.  I could take care of myself.  It was me and my cocktail against the world.

Well, nine months into my non alcoholic year, I realize that I had it all wrong. 

I have come to realize that I am a much stronger person than I ever gave myself credit for.  But I have also come to realize that I have not been going it alone.  I know that something is sustaining me.  Something is always there to pick me up when I fall, a force or energy that I know is there.

I call that energy God.  And I believe Jesus when He said “the kingdom of God is within”.  Those are the words I focus on now.  Because I no longer believe the Christian mantra that we are all sinners in need of saving.  To focus on being a sinner quite frankly causes me to resign myself to a life of sin. 

But when I focus on the kingdom of God being within me, it causes me to want to aspire to that truth.  We all have that energy, that force within us.  We all have a flame burning inside us that reminds us that we are part of God’s great and beautiful creation.

And we allow that flame to grow stronger and brighter the more we listen to that voice within and become the person we were created to be.  Unfortunately, so many things of this world try to extinquish that flame.  Luckily for us, that flame was put there by God.  It can never completely go out.  But we have to fight like hell to keep it going sometimes.

No, relying on God is not a sign of weakness.  Relying on God means embracing the full force of the universe so that when things seem difficult, bleak or hopeless, I can find the strength to put on my armor and cry out to the world “You may beat me yet, but it’s not going to be today…”

The Voice in my Heart

I have so many voices in my head I often feel like I have multiple personalities.  These voices tell me who I am, or who I’m supposed to be, or what I should say, do and think about the things of this world and the things of my life.

The problem is the voices in my head are not mine.  These voices belong to my parents, past teachers, coaches and friends.  And I listen to them because I think they know what’s best for me.  After all, that’s why they started talking to me in the first place, isn’t it?

“I know what’s best so listen to me.”

And I trusted them.  I trusted that others, because they were older and smarter, knew what was best for me.  So I listened, and I followed.  And they were right.  I have a good life.  I have a wonderful husband and great kids and a comfortable home.

But there’s another voice.  A very quiet voice and it’s not in my head, it’s in my heart.  That one belongs to me.  But I don’t listen to it because the voices in my head are so much louder and much more determined to be heard.

This other voice sits and waits patiently.  And I know it’s there because I do my best to drown it out.  By keeping busy.  By taking care of others.  By staying “plugged in”.  As long as there is noise, the voice can’t be heard.  But it’s still there.  It never goes away. 

And I feel restless.  Because this voice holds the secret to my personal happiness.  It knows my hopes and dreams.  But it doesn’t fight to be heard. It fades off into the background and let’s the voices in my head duke it out.   

I can choose to listen to the voice of my heart but that means trusting that I know what’s best for me and I have long since forgotten how to do that.  I second guess myself, and I ask others for their opinions, and I read book after book after book trying to find the answers.  But they can’t be found out there, they can only be found within.

I have been given a gift.  That gift is my life.  It’s like a candle, burning so brightly. But also like a candle it is growing shorter with each passing day.  Will I let my light burn out without ever allowing the fire in my heart to burn it’s brightest?

Will I let the voices in my head win the day?  Never to be quieted by the voice in my heart that only has to be heard one time.  Just once. And all it has to say is “Thanks, but no thanks. I know what’s best for me.”

What Does My Gut Say?

I was watching Housewives of Beverly Hills last night…wait, did I just say that out loud?  Ok, yes I am a closet drama junkie.  I realize I should engage my brain with loftier pursuits, but I can’t seem to help myself.  I love reality TV.

So last night, Taylor, (one of the housewives) was talking about her therapy sessions and one of the other housewife’s husbands indicated that therapy was a sign of weakness.  His idea of therapy was basically get over it.

I have been in therapy for years.  Personally it suits me.  Where else can I talk about myself for an hour knowing that my audience is giving me his complete attention, if only because he is paid to feign interest in my pathetic little life.   But I would rather pay to dump on someone than dump all over a friend.   That gets old, plus it would require me to reciprocate, which I’m willing to do, but my willingness and ability to do that is closely tied in with my mood at the moment.

So back to the issue of therapy…is it a sign of weakness?  Is it a tool of the narcissist? Or is it a valid method to improve my mental health?

I go back and forth.  I’m in therapy so obviously I find it helpful on some level or I wouldn’t go, but there are times when I feel that what I need is to get over myself.   Nothing like a good swift kick in the pants to get me to focus outward, not inward. 

But actually I go to therapy because I have lost confidence in myself and my basic instincts.  I doubt my thoughts and my actions and I need someone to tell me I’m on the right track. 

I would like to get to the point where I trust myself again.  Where I’m confident enough with myself that I realize I have everything I need to decide what’s best for me.  I’m just not quite sure how to do it yet…I think I will ask my therapist.

The Tables Are Turning

I haven’t thought much about God lately.  I think back to Lent when every post was somehow related to my thoughts and feelings about God and now I hardly think about Him at all.  I haven’t been to church all summer and I haven’t read my Bible. 

I’m tempted to give up on the idea all together.  After all, my life doesn’t look that much different with or without Him, so where does He fit in? What’s the point of believing in God anyway?

Is it to give me strength? Because I don’t always feel His presence even during those times when I feel I need Him most.  And whether He’s there or not I manage to move forward with my life regardless.  So is it Him? Or me?

Is my belief in God simply my get out of jail free card? My ticket into Heaven?  Or do I believe in God because He has the answers on how I’m supposed to live my life?  Does He know the path I’m supposed to follow and I can only find it through Him?  Or is He simply the guy who keeps me in check, keeps me on the straight and narrow, as if the only reason I strive to be a good and moral person is to avoid the wrath of the old man in the sky.

My daughter has just started confirmation class.  This is her opportunity to learn about God and Jesus and decide for herself what she believes and if she will follow Him.  I’m grateful for this opportunity to watch her go through this process.  My hope for her is that she thinks about what she is hearing. That she asks the tough questions and is satisfied with the responses.  So that by the end of the year she knows who God is and what it means to believe in Him.

And I will do my best to stand by silently, not imposing my own doubts and cynicism upon her.  It’s time for my daughter to formulate her own thoughts and opinions about God and faith and life.  And maybe, just maybe, I will learn a little bit more about God through her.

If I Could Turn Back Time

The summer that my first son started kindergarten I was with a friend who was also sending her first child off to school for the first time and she commented, “I hope I’ve done a good job as a mom.”

I laughed at the comment finding it strange.  Her son was 5 years old, like mine.  We had plenty of mothering left to do.  But as she continued to talk, I understood her point.  The first few years of our childrens’ lives are the only years that I, as their mother, have sole custody so to speak. 

It is the only time that I am the main influence in their lives.  As they enter school, they will encounter teachers, principals, coaches and friends.  And they will have an influence on my children.  So what my friend really was talking about was their foundation…so I considered that.  Did I give my kids a good foundation?

I just dropped my third son off at college for the first time.  I wish I could say it gets easier with each child but in a way it gets more difficult.  I’m so grateful my kids are able to take advantage of the college experience.  I’m grateful they have their drivers licenses, jobs, friends, and a certain amount of freedom because of those things.

But each time they walk out the door, each time I say goodbye to them, I feel just the tiniest bit sad.  Because in my head, I want my kids to be strong, independent, self-sufficient people, but in my heart I want them to be 4 years old again. 

Does anyone but a mother really appreciate the words of Elizabeth Stone?  “Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart walk around outside of your body.”

Today I feel the weight of those words.  And while outwardly I wouldn’t have it any other way for I want my children to spread their wings and fly, inwardly I wish they were mine…all mine.

Trust Me To Make Mistakes

There are so many quotes about making mistakes, most alluding to the fact that the best and hardest lessons are learned from our mistakes.  In fact, I know for myself, the lessons that have stuck with me the most are the ones I learned the hard way.  Through mistakes. Or poor choices. Or lack of information.

There are those who love me so much that they wish to protect me from making mistakes.  “Learn from my mistakes” they say.  Don’t do what I did.  And I understand that love.  I would love to protect my children from all bad things.  I would love for them to never feel pain, sorrow or regret, especially when I see, as an onlooker, that the pain, sorrow, regret, could have been avoided.

But then would they grow? Would they learn?  If I never let go of the reins long enough to let my children fall, will they become who they were meant to be? 

I come from a long line of worriers.  And this worry drives my family to overprotect.  Even control.  And I have resisted this control.  I have been called a rebel without a cause, the black sheep, because I wish to break free from this control.

In my weak moments, I rationalize the control and worry.  They just love me, they want what’s best for me, I should listen to them.  I should play it safe. They are right and I am wrong.

In my strong moments, I make my own decisions, live my own life, listen to the beat of my own drum.  And yes, sometimes I make mistakes.  But I assess and consider, and reconsider.  And believe it or not, I can be trusted to learn from my mistakes.  I can be trusted to make decisions that are right for me. 

So I appreciate the love, the worry and the concern.  I appreciate that there are people in my life who have gone before me, who know things that I do not know and who wish to keep me safe, but that is not how I will learn, and it is not how I will come to fully live.  So let go of the reins, keep me in your prayers, but not under your thumb, and let me learn for myself…even, and maybe especially, if it’s the hard way.

When You Wish Upon A Star

I grew up believing that my happiness would come when I found true love.  I devoured all the great fairy tales.  The princess saved by Prince Charming who swept her off her feet after rescuing her from the evil witch or whatever the particular details of that story happened to be.

So I grew up thinking of myself as the weaker, frail girl who needed rescuing.  I didn’t have to worry about anything because my knight in shining armor would ride in on his white stallion and save the day.

But then I got older, and I got married (to my Prince Charming) but he wasn’t always my knight in shining armor.  He often didn’t swoop in to rescue me from all the evils of the world and I thought something was missing.  It wasn’t enough that he went off to work every day to provide for me and our kids.  It wasn’t enough that he came home every night after a long day to the insanity of our lives, willing to help me out where he could.

I wanted more…I wanted the fairy tale. Perfection and bliss.  No worries or troubles because my Prince Charming was there to take all of that away from me, so I could live happily ever after.  But that’s not my life.  I have worries and troubles.  I have chores and messiness.  And I grew angry and resentful.

I felt alone and I secretly continued to wish for a new Prince Charming.  A better one.  One who fulfilled my fantasies, who would protect me, take care of me and allow me to live happily ever after in perfection and bliss. 

But I have come to realize something (and it only took 46 years).  I am not a woman in need of rescuing.  I need no knight in shining armor to take care of me.  I got lost in the fairy tales of old believing that’s what I needed.  And not only do I not need that, I don’t even want it. 

My Prince Charming doesn’t need to swoop in and rescue me.  He only needs to be my friend, my greatest supporter, he needs to love me through thick and thin, for better for worse, on good hair days and bad, with or without makeup, through PMS and menopause.  And that’s what I have. 

So I’m the lucky one.  I don’t need rescuing because I am not weak or incapable or frail.  I am much stronger and far more independent than I have ever given myself credit for.  And the best part is, in my fairy tale, I have my own white stallion which I can saddle up all by myself and ride next to my Prince Charming into happily ever after…

 

It Is Finished...For Real

One of my son’s friends is an atheist.  He makes it very clear that he has no interest in talking about God and I respect that.  I don’t fear for his soul, I don’t feel the need to evangelize, to share the Gospel message or otherwise try to convert him to my belief system.  And yet I call myself a Christian.

Can I, as a Christian, believe that there are other paths to God? Or other worldviews?  As a Christian I have been taught the terrors of Hell.  Christianity professes that Jesus Christ is the only path to God and Heaven. So if I am a Christian, and I accept the tenets of the Christian faith, shouldn’t at least part of my life’s purpose be to bring this boy over from the dark side?

And yet, I don’t do it.  So that either makes me cold and heartless, caring little for the fact that this person is going to spend eternity in Hell, or I simply don’t believe he is going to Hell because he has a different opinion than me about God.

I respect other opinions.  Not only do I respect them, I have done enough reading, questioning, doubting of my own that I can even appreciate how someone arrives at their conclusion that there either is no God, or at least that there are many paths to God.  So again I ask the question…am I a Christian?

Can I pick and choose which parts of the Christian faith to believe in and still call myself a Christian?  Can I believe that Jesus was God and died on the cross claiming that through His death we receive life and yet not believe that unbelievers will end up in the fiery pit?

I cringe at the words saved and unsaved, believers and non-believers.  To me, these terms create division, not harmony.  Exclusion as opposed to inclusion.  Jesus himself created much trouble among the religious leaders of his day by including the excluded. 

As I read my Bible, I don’t see a panicked Jesus, desperately trying to save souls.  If Jesus is God, and knew of this terrible place called Hell, why would it be good enough for Him to only reach those who had ears to hear?  To me, it seems as if he’s perfectly happy to move on from people who don’t wish to hear His message, understanding that not everyone will get it.

So that makes Him either as cold and heartless as me with my lack of evangelizing or He simply didn’t worry because He knew that His work on the cross would save everyone, regardless of whether they heard or understood or even accepted or denied His message. 

Tell Me Why

I have vivid memories of my childhood.  One of them being that I had a natural curiosity about everything in the world.  I would drive my parents crazy with my why questions...why is the sky blue? Why do the leaves change colors?  Why do bees sting?   To the point where my father finally bought me a series of children’s books called Tell Me Why.

I spent hours reading them.  I found the answers to all my questions and many that I didn’t know to ask yet.  And as an adult I find I am no different.  I still ask the why questions.  Partly because I still have a natural curiosity about things, but mostly because things have to make sense to me.

Throughout this past year and for much of my adult life I have thought long and hard about my faith, about God, about my life and it’s meaning and purpose.  I have grown up attending Christian churches so I have been influenced by the Christian faith. 

I have tried desperately to fit into this community.  I sent my kids to a Christian high school, attended numerous bible studies and many churches, all in an effort to understand the Christian faith, the Christian God. 

I generally assumed that because I struggled with so much of what I was taught that that meant my faith was weak.  I was frustrated when I would ask questions about things that didn’t make sense to me and heard the response “some things are just a mystery, they can’t be explained.”

I have tried to accept that response, tried to “let go and let God”.   Tried to ignore the nagging questions and doubts, but I simply can’t do it anymore.  There are so many things about this Christian belief system that simply don’t make sense to me.  The inconsistencies in the bible, the miracle stories, the fact that God would send his Son to be brutally tortured and murdered on the cross and I’m supposed to accept that as a sign of God’s love for us.  Really?

So I wonder…why do I feel the need to believe things that don’t make sense to me?  Why do I try so desperately to be a good, faithful, and devout Christian when so much of it seems to go against my own worldview?

My relationship with God is defined by my questions so I will continue to ask them until I find the answers that make sense. Because perhaps it’s not a lack of faith that causes me such anxst, perhaps it’s that I’m walking in a direction I was never intended to go.

Ok God...You Win

Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.  – John 14:27

There’s a cartoon I think of from time to time because it reminds me of my relationship with God…

A man is driving around a very crowded parking lot looking for an open space.  He cries out to God, “God, if  you help me find a space I will commit my life to you.”  Just then a parking spot becomes available to the man.  As he pulls into the spot he says “never mind God, I got it”.

How often do I cry out to God when I need something, then walk away from Him when I think I’ve got it covered, when I think I’m all set?

I was reading over my past blogs today.  And what struck me was how much progress I seemed to have been making during the Lent season when my focus was on God.  Then as soon as Easter came and went so did my focus on Him.  And I find I am struggling with some old issues, some old weaknesses and temptations.

It’s funny how I resist devoting my life to God for good.  I resist the idea that I need God, that I should humble myself to this unseen power because He is in control.  I can do it for a time, for a season, but once things get back on track…”thanks God, I’ll take over from here.”

Why do I view it as a weakness to admit that I need God in my life? 

Somehow, it’s ok to need a drink, or need caffeine, or need chocolate.  But to need God?  No, it’s much easier to blame God for the fact that I need a drink, caffeine and chocolate. In fact, it’s much easier to blame God for just about everything that I’m unhappy about. 

But the truth is I do need God.  My life looks different when I put Him first.  It’s just that it’s hard to remember to put Him first.  It’s hard to live a life that honors God when I have my own agenda.  It’s hard to say “thy will be done” rather than “my will be done.”

But I’m convinced it is the only path to peace…not necessarily happiness, which is temporary and fleeting, but peace.  Long and lasting peace.

Enough is Enough

Be the change you want to see in the world – Mahatma Gandhi

There are many people in my life, who for whatever reason, cannot seem to see their own beauty.  They are very hard on themselves, working tirelessly to live up to some image they hold of themselves.   I hear them start their sentences with such phrases as:

“I wish I was…”

“If only I could…”

“If I was more…”

…then I would be happy, then I would find peace.

And I look at them, bewildered, wondering why they don’t see how wonderful they are, wondering why they beat themselves up over things that don’t define them.  I know the impact these people have had on my life and I wish they could see it.  I wish they could see themselves through my eyes.

The problem is I do this to myself.  So how can I expect these people to change if I am not willing to do the same.  I see myself in my friends when they refuse to acknowledge their greatness and I understand why others get frustrated with me.

So what would my life look like if I just stopped.  Stopped complaining about my weaknesses, stopped focusing on my faults and instead celebrated my strengths.  What would my relationships with other people look like if I chose to be a little kinder and gentler with myself.

In the interest of being a guiding light to all my friends who cannot see their own beauty, I am willing to make a sacrifice.  I am willing to give up the self-flagellation, I am willing to give up the constant stream of negativity directed toward myself.  And hopefully, I will create the change I would love to see in the people who mean so much to me.  

Anything But That

I am a very generous person, so I’m told.  I will give you the shirt off my back. I will open my house to you. I will let you borrow anything from my closet.  I will buy you what you need, I will loan you money.  But if you ask to borrow my truck, I will say no. 

I will drive you wherever you want to go, I will rent you your own truck, but you cannot have mine.  And because of this I feel selfish.  I should want to help you, right?  That’s what friends do for each other.  But I can’t give over the keys.  Why?

It took me until recently to understand this perplexing behavior of mine.  But I do understand it now.  You can’t have my truck because my personal vehicle is my refuge.  My safe haven. My place of solitude if I choose it to be, or my place to blast my music.  Not the music the kids like, or my husband likes, but the music I like.

 I can turn the volume up or down as I see fit.  I decide if I want air-conditioning, or open windows.  I decide how fast or slow I will travel, where I will go and which route I will take to get there.  Behind the wheel of my personal vehicle I am in control of my life.

When I get stressed out or frustrated, I go for a drive.  If I argue with my husband, I clear my head in my vehicle.  It is my ticket to freedom. It is where I do my best thinking, my meditating, I solve the world’s problems from the time it takes me to get from here to the grocery store and back.

So in the interest of world peace, please don’t ask to borrow my truck…

Happiness is Overrated

I hear the question “what will make you happy?” or “what can I do to make you happy?” a lot.  Hell, I ask it of myself all the time….”what will make me happy?”  or “what do I need in my life to make me happy”.  I ask it as if by finding the answer, that elusive thing out there, that one thing that I am lacking, then I will finally be happy.

But what do I even mean when I say “I just want to be happy?”  Does that mean I never want to be sad? Is that what I really want?  I love to watch movies that make me cry, so does being sad “make” me happy?

Does being happy mean I will never experience difficult times in life? That I will have smooth sailing from here on out?  Quite frankly, that would make me bored.  Not that I want to wish difficult times on myself, but if I look closely at those times in my life, the really challenging times, it was those times that I learned the most about myself. And it was during the challenging times that I grew the most as a person.

Does being happy mean that that I will never be angry, frustrated or discontent?  But it’s when I’m feeling those emotions that I make changes in my life. And those changes are generally for the better.  When I’m frustrated or discontent, I evaluate why I am and I work to change it. 

So what do I mean when I say I need this or that to make me happy?  Happiness that I attain from something outside of myself is not really happiness.  It’s a momentary feeling of being happy, perhaps, but it never lasts.  Why?

Because I can’t be happy all the time, in fact, I think it would be downright annoying to be happy all the time.  To be fully human, fully alive, I must experience all things. All emotions, even the painful ones.  Maybe even especially the painful ones.  Because that’s when I realize that nothing out there will make me happy, that can only come from within.  And it isn’t a feeling…it’s a state of mind.

Narcissism at its Best

I haven’t been blogging very regularly.  Not sure if that’s because I don’t have anything to say, I don’t want to write about what I would like to say, or if I’m “just living life” and don’t have time to say what’s on my mind.

Regardless, I miss it.  I miss writing.  But I’m getting a little bored writing about myself all the time.  (Did I seriously just say that?) I mean it is my blog. And it is where I get out all my thoughts, but still…

So I’m trying to think about other things I can write about and tonight I’m thinking about this whole new Twitter phenomenon.  Much like blogging and Facebook, this is definitely an “all about me” thing.  Narcissism at its best. 

By signing up for Twitter I can spew out random thoughts all day long for anyone who cares to listen.  I can also follow famous people (because how did I ever manage to get through my day without knowing what Ashton Kucher had for lunch) or just follow people I know.

It seems the more technologically advanced our society becomes, the more disconnected we become.  Talking at each other, rather than with each other.  I’ve tried to understand the new generation of people, such as my kids, who are constantly plugged in.  With their phones in hand to keep up with their texts, their statuses, their tweets, and whatever else they are engaged in to keep their minds sufficiently stimulated.

Try as I might to teach my kids the value of a face to face conversation, this is a battle I’m losing.  So I’m joining the wonderful world of Twitter. For two reasons...First, because instead of taking the time to write on my kids wall to advise them that dinner is ready, I can "tweet" at them instead. And second, because just like how I feel about Ashton Kucher, I don’t want anyone being kept in the dark about what I had for lunch.

Follow me @DebBohlz