tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9725090917974468302024-02-06T21:45:01.162-05:00Poor ReflectionsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger305125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-38493936659477210232017-03-20T10:27:00.000-04:002017-03-20T10:27:55.672-04:00Reactions to Disney's Live Action Beauty and the Beast I know this is showing my age, but I was eleven years old when I first saw Disney's animated Beauty and the Beast in theaters in 1991. It's safe to say that movie changed my life. I constantly played (and sang along to) the soundtrack and dreamed of being Belle.<br />
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When the <a href="http://annaruthcampbell.blogspot.com/2013/10/changed.html">Broadway musical</a> became a thing in 1994, I became even more obsessed. I have always loved singing and theater, but the main reason I dreamed of being on stage was because I thought it would be so amazing to play Belle one day (but, alas, I can't dance, and I choke at auditions, and I really didn't have as much experience as I needed to make it into some of the schools I wanted to go to. And that all worked out just as it should have, because I have never had the mental/emotional fortitude needed to rough out an actor's life). As it was, I never even got to see the Broadway version of Beauty and the Beast until about 20 years after it was first released--though I had also worn out the Broadway soundtrack and knew all the songs. It was great to finally be able to see them in the context of the play.<br />
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Last summer, a local high school put on an absolutely amazing production of the Beauty and the Beast stage play (I saw it twice), which rekindled a lot of my love for Beauty and the Beast, particularly since I knew that the live action movie was coming soon. I learned in 2015 that the live action film would premiere on March 17, 2017. My birthday is March 18, so I knew two years ago that I'd be seeing this movie for my birthday, and I did--and I had a whole themed birthday party around it. And I finally, finally got to be Belle for the day--but that's another story.<br />
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With all the recent controversy over a supposed "exclusively gay moment" that the director said would be in the film, a few people questioned whether or not I would go see the live action Beauty and the Beast. My answer: Of course I'm going to see it. It's BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. I'd been waiting years to see it. But let me make this clear. As long as you don't judge me for seeing it, I won't judge you if you have some reason why you choose not to see it. I might not agree with your views, but I can appreciate that everyone has a right to have whatever views they have. But I told several people that I would let them know what I thought of the entire movie as a whole (the "exclusively gay scene" will be one of the last things I address, so if that's all you want to know, scroll on down to where I address Parent Precautions), and so these are my thoughts--which I am still sorting out a bit. I've added headings below to help me organize my meandering thoughts. I will be getting the dvd, when it comes out, which I'm guessing will be close to Christmas. Then I'll be able to analyze some things a little more closely. So these are just my initial reactions.<br />
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I will try my best not to give spoilers (any that I do give will be in italics, and hopefully will just be light spoilers), but I'm going to just go ahead and assume everyone who has seen the animated movie already knows how the story is pretty much going to end.<br />
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First, I loved it. Of course I loved it. But if you're looking for a shot-for-shot reproduction of the animated film, you're going to be both pleased and disappointed. Parts of it were extremely similar to the animated version, parts were closer to the Broadway version, and parts were exclusive scenes/songs to itself. And after seeing the live action film, one of my first thoughts is that if you've seen the animated version, the play, and the live action version, you MUST treat them as different stories with similar aspects. They all share music, songs, characters--but there are differences in songs and plot devices that make them all unique projects. You cannot see them as the exact same story, because they are not the same exact story.<br />
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<b>MUSIC</b><br />
The live action version featured a few songs from the original animated version, including "Belle," "Be Our Guest," "Gaston," "Tale As Old As Time," and "The Mob Song." I noted a few lyric changes, which was to be expected. "Gaston" included several verses from the Broadway version, ones that I thought to be an improvement upon the original version. There were also some other lyric changes that adapted to the particular story changes in the live action version.<br />
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One song in particular might be the reason I <i>might</i> buy the soundtrack (or at least some of the songs from it). The Beast sang a beautiful, lamenting sort of song called "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPcxqpMbcSg" target="_blank">For Evermore</a>" near the end of the film, right before the final battle with Gaston and the happy ending (that should not be a spoiler for anyone who has seen the animated version, right?). The lyrics were interesting, from what I remember, but--wow. Dan Stevens has an amazing voice, and he performed the song beautifully. I was mesmerized by his voice. <br />
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To be honest, at first I was a little disappointed that they didn't include "If I Can't Love Her" and the reprise "If She Can't Love Me" from the Broadway version, just as I was sad they didn't include the Broadway version's "Home" for Belle (though they did use the music from it in a few scenes, which was a nice little nod to it). I would have also really loved it if they had included "Human Again" from the Special Edition of the animated movie and the Broadway play, but I can see why there was probably only time for one enchanted object show-stopper--and given the choice, of course "Be Our Guest" was the one they should have gone with. But it was nice to hear a few new songs added to this version (including a little song that Maurice sang that was very touching) and I think it is interesting that one story, told three different ways, now has so many lovely songs connected to it. <br />
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<b>ACTOR'S PORTRAYALS</b><br />
I've already mentioned that Dan Stevens has an amazing voice, and I do think he was wonderful as the Beast. Emma Watson was a perfect Belle, and her singing voice did not annoy me as much as I suspected it would. It was actually quite lovely. Ian McKellen and Ewan McGregor were a perfect Cogsworth and Lumiere, and the CGI characters weren't nearly as creepy as they seemed in previews. Kevin Kline played a wonderful, less comical and more doting Maurice. Luke Evans played a darker, more intelligent and manipulative Gaston. Josh Gad as LaFou nearly stole the show. There were additional enchanted object characters played by Stanley Tucci, Audra McDonald, and Gugu Mbatha-Raw that were all very well done and a lot of fun! Nathan Mack was cute as Chip.<br />
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The only actor I was disappointed with was Emma Thompson, and it wasn't her portrayal as much as it was her awful, awful accent. I have no idea why they chose to have her do this strange cockney sort of accent. If you're going to take on an iconic role that was played by Angela Lansbury, you need to be someone as strong of an actress as Emma Thompson. But I'm not sure why they chose to have her do some distracting and terrible accent that did not make me think of Mrs. Potts at all. And I almost just wish they had cut out her rendition of "Tale as Old as Time," although there would have been outrage if they didn't dance to Mrs. Potts singing this iconic song. Emma Thompson might have a lovely singing voice, for all I know, but NOT with that terrible accent. Again, I think she played the role well--but I was so put off by the accent that I couldn't concentrate as much on her performance.<br />
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<b>CHARACTERS</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
One thing I really enjoyed about both the Broadway versions and this new adaptation is that there was more of an emphasis on the plight of the enchanted objects. You were sad for them in the animated version, but you really feel their pain in the play and the live action movie. They are more three-dimensional characters with back stories and lives before they became household objects. I appreciate that they were given a little more screen time when the curse was lifted.<br />
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Regarding Belle, I was a little afraid of how her character would be portrayed, for I had heard she was more of a feminist in this film. The only way I really saw that play out is that she tried to take matters into her own hands and escape the palace. She did try to teach a little girl in the village to read, which was one of the reasons the villagers didn't like her, but I think the Belle of the animated movie would have done the same thing. <br />
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In fact, she did teach the Beast to read in both the Special Edition of the animated film and the play version. (VERY LIGHT SPOILER)<i>The Beast in the live action version was extremely well educated and well-read. There were many things about this Beast that were different from the Beast in earlier adaptations. He was more cruel to Belle, in the beginning, but as we got to know him along with Belle, we realized he was intelligent, awkward, and extremely snarky. Extremely. I kind of appreciated that. It was unexpected and fun</i>. I look forward to getting the dvd so I can analyze his character more.<br />
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Maurice was a much softer, less ridiculously comical character than in the animated version. The lack of silliness made his other character attributes, such as his devotion to Belle, stand out more. He was an artist, rather than an inventor (Belle seemed to have more of a knack for inventions), and that also made him seem a softer character. I absolutely loved his character in this adaptation.<br />
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Gaston was much different in this adaptation than in the previous adaptations. I always saw the animated Gaston and the play Gaston as being very stupid, yet very sure of himself--which is a highly dangerous combination. The live-action film Gaston was not stupid at all. Rather, he was manipulative and conniving in an unsettling way. I think he was intended to be seriously seen as an emotionally (and sometimes physically) abusive character. I'll touch more on this later, as it added quite a bit of darkness to the movie that I did not expect. <br />
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I'll write more about LaFou below, but I really liked his character. Without giving away any spoilers, I will say that there were some major changes to his character from the animated film and the play (that had nothing to do with his sexuality). In my opinion, these were improvements, and I really enjoyed what they did with his character. <br />
SPOILER HERE: <i>I really think the relationship between Gaston and LaFou in this film could be seen as an emotionally abusive relationship. Gaston wants LaFou around because he knows he's weak-willed and will give him all the praise his narcissistic heart desires, and he knows he will stick around no matter how cruel to him he is. And it's interesting to see LaFou get to the point where he's had enough--and interestingly, it's not because Gaston is cruel to him. LaFou, in this adaptation, is far more concerned with how other people are treated. I think he realizes how Gaston has been manipulating him when he sees how Gaston manipulates others--and he is able to break free.</i><br />
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<b>STORY ELEMENTS </b>(no spoilers, unless you're just completely unfamiliar with Beauty and the Beast, which, in that case, why are you reading this at all??)<br />
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I liked that this version had some elements that were more similar to the original Grimm Fairy Tale than the other two Disney adaptations. In fact, I always wished that the animated cartoon had included some of these elements. It was nice to see them here.<br />
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It seemed that one of the things this movie tried to do was to answer a lot of the questions people have had with the original animated version. It tries to answer some of the questions like:<br />
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"Why did the villagers not wonder what happened to the prince?"<br />
"Why didn't the villagers know about the Beast until Belle showed them on the mirror?"<br />
"Approximately how old was the prince when he became the Beast?"<br />
"How long had the enchantment been going on?"<br />
"What happened to the prince's parents?"<br />
"What happened to Belle's mother?"<br />
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But, I have to say, for all the questions they answered (some of which were actually kind of common sensical, and I was annoyed that the movie catered to them), I was left with a lot of other questions. There were aspects to this story that I really didn't like, just because they did not make a lot of sense.<br />
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For instance (no spoilers), there was a certain plot device unique to this movie that added a lot to one of the character's back stories, but then it was never used again. It was an all too convenient device that really could have been useful in a lot of different ways, but after it was used once, it was forgotten. I call B.S. (Beast Silliness), on that. <br />
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There was also more of a plot, for lack of a better term, around the Enchantress, but--it seemed so incomplete and confusing that I wish they had just left it out. <br />
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And honestly, that's the way a lot of things in this film made me feel. Incomplete. It was as though they had a lot of things they wanted to tell in this movie, but they didn't have enough time, so they only put forth half the effort to explain things that they needed to. I was left feeling, "Oh, I can almost see what they wanted to communicate here, but...not quite." So that was disappointing.<br />
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There were little glances between characters that made me wonder what they were thinking (I'm not even talking about the "gay moment" in case anyone was wondering), little things that were said that seemed out of place. I really want to get the dvd and analyze things better--but my initial thought is, sadly, that there are a lot of things that were not given the full attention they needed, and the story suffered. It never found that perfect balance.<br />
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I also think the director had some visions for this that weren't communicated well and just left me feeling confused, but I'll talk more about that directly below.<br />
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<b>PARENT PRECAUTIONS</b><br />
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Ok, let me just cut to the chase here. There was not a gay moment in this movie unless you really, really wanted there to be one. I've read a lot of things that claimed that the LaFou in the animated version was probably in love with Gaston, too, but I have to say, I saw little evidence of that in ANY version of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I see him as more of a toadie, just a side kick that follows around a bully because he wants to be associated with power he cannot attain on his own. <br />
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The director seemed to have a lot of ideas he wanted to communicate in this film, including this "gay moment" or whatever. Let me break down what I saw, because I was looking for it. I doubt I would have seen anything at all if I had not been looking for it--because there was little that was obvious at all. If you have any qualms about taking your kids--please don't let this "gay moment" nonsense stop you.<br />
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1. I doubt anyone else caught this, but I'm a grammar nazi, so I did. In the prologue in the animated movie, the narrator said, "...if he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return, the spell would be broken." The live action version used the word "their" instead of the word "her." This is a nitpicky point, and might mean absolutely nothing (certainly nothing a child would notice), but I promised I would give an honest report of my reactions. The use of "their" instead of "her" could signify that it didn't matter if the spell were broken by a man or a woman. It's a subtle thing that could mean nothing, but I did take note of it.<br />
2. There was some line where LaFou said Gaston was "athletically built" and there might have been a hint of innuendo in that. Maybe. If you were looking for it.<br />
3. Some have mentioned that LaFou gave Gaston a massage that seemed a bit sexual. I <u>completely</u> disagree. He was trying to cheer Gaston up and kind of touched his arm a couple of times. It was harmless. Unless you were really, really, really looking it to mean something more. <br />
4. Gaston asked LaFou why he hadn't found a girl, to which LaFou had a witty reply. I suppose it MIGHT have been construed as a remark that alluded to the fact that LaFou was still single because he was gay (because ALL single people are gay, don't you know /sarcasm). But...only if you really, really, really wanted that to be what it meant. I think this was perhaps the director's or writers' intention, but as I've mentioned, there were a lot of things poorly communicated and left open to interpretation.<br />
5. This is really the only thing I might see people having a legitimate problem with. The wardrobe character dressed three of the village intruders in women's clothing. One of the villagers was extremely happy, even proud of his new look. It was meant to be comical, but yeah, I can see how someone might have a problem with it. I think that young kids would simply find it funny and not ask questions. It wouldn't be something that would keep me from taking a child to see it.<br />
6. Ok, so this "exclusively gay moment." Sigh. Frankly, I can't speak for others, but I would think it would be a bit insulting to LGBTQ individuals to even call it an "exclusively gay moment" and to make a big deal out of it at all. I am not saying I think Disney should start adding gay characters and gay moments, but if you're going to act as though you're doing something groundbreaking, then commit to it. There was no commitment here. There was a pathetic attempt to make something happen--but it was just nothing. What happened was that the happy/proud character that the wardrobe dressed as a woman and LaFou shared an extremely brief, split second dance. Literally. It was on screen for less than a second. I almost missed it. One of my friends who was looking for it actually DID miss it, probably while she was blinking, because it was that fast. And it was innocent. There was a group dance where everyone was changing partners, and they accidentally ended up dancing with one another. For less than a second. <br />
Some have said that they shared a brief, knowing smile in this moment. I did not see that. Instead, I just saw a look of confusion, as anyone would have if they accidentally found themselves dancing with someone they did not expect to be dancing with. There was literally nothing to it. <br />
I can understand, even if I don't agree, if you choose not to see the film because you think there's some agenda Disney is trying to push. But, in my opinion, if they're trying to push an agenda, this was a sad, weak, half-hearted attempt. <br />
As I said, if you're going to do something groundbreaking to shock people, then commit to it. There was no commitment here. I still don't see LaFou as gay, whatever the director was trying to communicate. I think if you want to see it, you will. If you don't, you won't. And your kids certainly aren't going to be scarred for life by this "exclusively gay moment." As I suspected, this was a much ado about nothing. <br />
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However, I don't think this is a movie for young children. There are some extremely dark scenes that will likely be scary. The wolf scenes are not for the feint of heart. A lot of the scenes with Gaston are also very dark--he really does come across as a more abusive character, with text book characteristics of an abuser. Some of the things he did to others in this movie were very disturbing to me, and I don't think it appropriate for young children. Use your judgment here--if you feel your child is old enough, at least give him/her a warning that there are going to be some really scary or disturbing moments that might be difficult to watch. <br />
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So overall, I loved the film. I think it's another great adaptation in a series of adaptations. I loved the music, the characters, the costumes (I didn't mention that before, but wow--Belle's yellow dress, happy sigh!), the unique elements of the story. I do think there were a lot of things left to be desired--the director/writers just seemed to want to do too much with this, and the overall experience suffered. It will never be a replacement for the animated version or the Broadway play, but I'm glad there is another adaptation to enjoy of this Tale as Old as Time. Go see it if you want to, and use your best judgment in taking your kids.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-91462166787132337892017-02-27T22:45:00.002-05:002017-02-27T23:08:51.469-05:00The Freedom Of "I Can't"<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes, it's an extremely freeing thing to be able to say "I can't." Society doesn't like it, though (maybe you don't either). Society wants us to practice positive thinking, to try harder, to always believe we're capable of doing anything we set our minds to. Society wants us to believe that we are being negative if we ever admit weaknesses.
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">People tell us that we should ask for help and not be ashamed of asking for help. But when we do ask for help, we're given motivational speeches that are meant to empower us. "Just think more positively! Try harder! Believe in yourself! Try harder! Don't be negative! Try harder! Try harder! Try harder!"
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So we try harder. We tell ourselves that we have to do these things that we know we can't do, and we try harder and try harder and try harder. We don't ask for help again, because even though it's acceptable, it's not actually acceptable. When we inevitably fall apart, everyone acts so surprised.
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<br />
But...<br />There's nothing wrong with knowing your weaknesses.
<br />There's nothing wrong with knowing your limitations.
</span><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's nothing wrong with COMMUNICATING those weaknesses and limitations.
</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's really not.
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It's just that we live in a society where weaknesses and limitations are not supposed to exist, and we're all supposed to be capable of doing everything. So when we say "I can't," it's not validated. It's negated, and those who meant to help empower us actually help to enslave us. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
So we get caught in the try harder trap. And, sorry not sorry, but sometimes no amount of trying is going to make things possible. Sometimes all it's going to do is frustrate and exhaust us and lead to our eventual breakdown.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
Sometimes, freedom comes in admitting that we CAN'T. Sometimes, freedom comes in saying, "I don't believe in myself, because I know I just can't do this." Sometimes freedom comes in that surrender.
</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No more trying.
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I don't believe in myself, and I know I make people mad when I say that. I don't care, because it's true, and I won't apologize for being real with people. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
But I </span></span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">do</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> believe in God, and when I stop trying so ridiculously hard to do everything in my own non-existent strength, that gives Him more room to work in the midst of my weaknesses. Sometimes it takes a breakdown to get me that point, and that's okay. It might be more than okay.<br /><br />
Sometimes I'm at the point where my prayers are so weak because I'm so weak, and all I can do is pray one sentence, "God, I need You to cover me."
<br /><br />And He does.
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Because like Adam and Eve in the Garden, I can't...I just CAN'T cover myself. I can try, but all my efforts will fail. I need Him to cover me. I need Him to cover me with grace and power that is made perfect in my weakness. We have always needed Him to cover us--always.
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He knows our weaknesses better than we know them ourselves. He knows we need Him to cover us every moment. And I think it's a mercy when He allows us the moments of breakdown, when we are forced to slow down and realize how much we need Him, too. <br /><br />
I'm so thankful that there's mercy in the struggle.
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-43998039380801578862017-01-12T23:48:00.001-05:002017-01-12T23:48:27.566-05:00The Forgotten Barren WomanThis is a very sensitive subject. I'm not trying to be insensitive or offensive to anyone. All I am trying to do here is shed light on something that I don't hear people talk about. Ever.<br />
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It's considered slightly taboo, in general, to talk about infertility, miscarriages, etc. I don't understand that fully, partly because I've never dealt with it <i>exactly</i>, but mostly because I'm the sort of person who is blatantly honest and tends to overshare about everything whether other people like it or not. I do understand why people keep things to themselves--sometimes the pain is too much, and it's even worse when people seem so calloused to that pain. I can understand that, the need for privacy, for the quiet grief reserved for yourself and those who are in your inner circle. What I don't understand is the way society seems to look down on those who talk openly about their pain, as if there is something to be ashamed of. There's nothing to be ashamed of regarding infertility, and I think everyone should be permitted to share about their pain, their heartache, their loss, the hopes and dreams they still cling to. I think everyone should be permitted to share what they want to share, without shame, without fear.<br />
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But that's not the world we live in, so a lot of people do choose to be private. That's okay, too. There's no shame in keeping things to yourself, either, if that's what you want. I just wish society would allow others to struggle and grieve openly, if those are their wishes.<br />
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As little as I see miscarriage and infertility talked about, I have recently seen more people be vocal about their particular struggles. I am so glad that they've been sharing. They share, and others are encouraged, and therefore also feel more free to share. It begins a wonderful cycle of sharing, and ultimately, healing. The taboo is lessened, the world seems a little less judgmental and a little more understanding. It's a beautiful thing.<br />
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But I wonder if there are others out there who don't feel as though they have permission from the world to talk about their <i>particular</i> struggles, because they are similar, yet different struggles. There's a similar, yet different taboo. It's an unspoken taboo. It's one I wish to break, or at least lessen a little. So I'm going to share some of my experiences, some of my struggles, and also some hope in the midst of it all. <br />
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You see, I am a barren woman. <br />
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That sentence alone might offend some people who know me. How could I be a barren woman? I'm not married! I haven't been actively trying to have children! It's insulting for a single woman to try to compare herself to women who have tried for cried and prayed and payed for years and years and years to have a child. It's disgusting for a single woman to say she has a right to grieve for not having children when she hasn't experienced the absolute heartbreak of multiple miscarriages! <br />
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But I don't really believe it's insulting or disgusting. It's just honesty. And I know it's not the same as a married woman struggling with infertility. It's definitely <b>not</b> the same. But I do think I, and others who are like me, need to be recognized. We need to be permitted to grieve, too.<br />
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I'm not talking about the young 20 somethings who think they're going to die single and childless because all their college friends are dating and they're not (though I know it can be hard for them, too--I was young once). I'm talking about those who have spent decades as a single adult, who have very much wanted a family, and who have not been able to have that family. It's not the same as suffering and struggling with infertility, but it still yields the same result: childlessness, and a loss of much longed for hopes and dreams. <br />
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And as an almost 37 year old Christian woman who once dreamed of having a large family, I do have permission to grieve. I have permission to talk about that grief. I have permission to think longingly about the children I never had, the children I will probably never have. And I have heard the arguments: "You have PLENTY of time" or "You can still adopt as a single parent!" Single parents are just stinkin' AMAZING, but I am very certain that I am not quite amazing enough to be able to handle it, not that I'm in a place financially or logistically that I could consider adoption, or even fostering. I might never get married (I have no prospects, and haven't for quite some time). Then again, I might get the shock of my life and wind up married within the next year. I'm not sure if that matters much anymore. The thing is, my heart has very much changed as I've gotten older. I've realized that I don't think I'd make a very good mom, even if I did find myself in a place where I was able and willing to have kids. I can barely take care of myself most days.<br />
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I'm not saying anything above to throw myself a pity party. I've had a long time to come to grips with the idea that I'll probably never be a mom, even though there was a time when I couldn't imagine NOT being a mom someday. Still, even now, I sometimes permit myself a little hope that it might be possible, someday. I find myself daydreaming, thinking up baby names, wishing I could rock a toddler to sleep (or send back to bed for the 100th time), even wishing I had a teenager to teach how to drive or have "the talk" with, or something crazy like that. I think about having an adult child someday who would hopefully be like a good friend. I think about having grand kids. The older I get, the fuzzier the dream gets. And that's okay, too. And maybe there are other women (or even men) out there who can relate. I want you to know that you're not alone. I want you to know that it's okay for you to dream, and it's okay for you to grieve for the dreams that haven't come true. <br />
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But I pray that the grief never turns to bitterness. As a single Christian woman, I get the stigma. SOME other Christians, inadvertently (most of the time), put us into one of two categories. Either we're in a category where we're doing something wrong or sinful and therefore God has not blessed us with a husband and family, OR we're in a category where God has given us the blessed, wonderful, amazing "gift of singleness" so we magically only have a heart to serve others and never ever ever think of ourselves or our own lives or have our own dreams for a husband or children or family of our own. And it's easy sometimes to think that no one sees that we are really just women, godly women, who are just like other godly women. We're doing our best to serve God, and we have the same feelings and dreams as other women (in general). We are allowed, as single women, to want a family. For some of us, it never happens. And I pray that if you're still struggling with that, and it's okay if you are, that you come to a place where you can grieve without being bitter.<br />
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I'm thankful that I've never really struggled with jealousy. When one of my friends gets engaged or married (in a godly relationship), I rejoice. When one of my friends is pregnant or is able to adopt, I rejoice. There's just no room for any other feeling because I'm so thrilled for what God is doing in their lives. I can't take credit for that--I think it's just a gift God has given me, and I pray He gives it to others. I know it's not always so easy for others, and if that's you, I don't want to minimize your feelings. If you're struggling with feelings of jealousy as your friends and family all have the things you have longed for, then your feelings are valid. I am so sorry for your hurt. I just pray God will bring you peace and so much joy for others that there's no more room for that hurt to live.<br />
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I am very blessed in that I have worked with kids for years, and even though I'm not a mom and don't have a family of my own, I've been able to share in the lives of a lot of wonderful families. I have a LOT of fun nieces and an awesome nephew. I think that's helped me deal with my struggles. Another thing I do is try to support adoptions and orphan ministries as much as I can. If I'm not able to adopt a child of my own, I can sponsor a child overseas. I can give support to ministries that care for orphans or children in need. I may never have the title of mother, but there are so many other ways to love. If you're struggling, if you're hurting, I pray you're able to find ways to love that both minister to your soul and give help to others.<br />
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Again, the point of this was not to offend or be insensitive. And you can think I'm wrong. I've had people tell me I'm wrong on this issue. That's okay. If you're offended by this, this post wasn't for you. It was for those women, like me, who can't have kids because we're single (and not open to or able to consider, for whatever reason, the idea of single parenting). We don't have a husband to grieve with us when the pregnancy tests come back negative. We don't have a husband to fearfully hope with when we are trying to adopt. We're in this alone.<br />
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Hannah was barren, but she had a good husband who loved her through it, all. But like Hannah, we can pray. We can hope. We can dream. We can wait. And maybe we'll wait until we get to the point where we don't want the same things we wanted before. We can get to the point where all the old dreams become fuzzy, and God sustains us with new dreams. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with you. <br />
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You are valid. You are seen. You are loved. You have permission to feel whatever it is you feel. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-15338004077411712472016-01-11T21:48:00.002-05:002016-01-11T23:00:49.158-05:00It's Only Forever: The Beautiful Tragedy of JarethFull disclosure: I'm not a huge David Bowie fan (RIP). I'm also not NOT a David Bowie fan. Basically, I'm not cool enough to really be familiar with much of David Bowie's work. In fact, I'm really only familiar with David Bowie's work in regards to a certain 1980s children's movie by the name of Labyrinth. And by "familiar with," I actually mean "absolutely obsessed with to the point where I watch the movie at least <strike>once or twice</strike> twelve times a month." There are many reasons for this, but the main reason, by far, can be summed up in one word:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Jareth.</span></b></div>
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Now, I don't care who you are or what your personal style is--I think we can all agree on one fact. Jareth is sexy. I'm not commenting on David Bowie himself, per se (that's for you to decide on your own), but the character of Jareth, the Goblin King. He's sexy. He's DANG sexy. I'm not saying I want to marry him and<strike> help him steal</strike> have his Goblin babies or anything--I've got a personal rule against dating anyone who looks better in eyeliner and leggings than I do, ok? But it's undeniable that Jareth has this incredible appeal. And his own 80s theme music. </div>
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So, so sexy.</div>
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But his magnetic appearance/presence, while powerful, isn't what I find the most remarkable about Jareth. On the surface, you have an over-the-top baby stealing Goblin King from a 1980s kids' movie. Pretty basic, right? If you look deeper, you find one of the most interesting, tragic villains ever. To look deeper into Jareth's character, we need to look deeper into the story of Labyrinth (spoilers ahead--so go watch the movie if you haven't already). </div>
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It's pretty obvious that Labyrinth is a story about growing up. You have Sarah, a 14 year old girl who is still clinging on to childish things. She has a vivid imagination and spends her free time acting out stories. Even when she has to face reality (at the request of her stepmother), she imagines herself as a heroine in a tragic fairy tale, where she is forced to babysit her infant brother. </div>
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One night, as she is babysitting her brother, she tells him a story about the Goblin King, who is in love with her. If she says the right words, the Goblin King will take the baby away. And, inadvertently(?), she says the right words.</div>
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And at this point, the viewer of the film isn't sure what is happening. It's never fully clear if Sarah is just imagining the story taking place, or if the events of the movie are "really" happening to her. I like to believe that her imagination has become so real that the characters and world she has imagined have actually come to life. After all, isn't that the hope of any good storyteller?</div>
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So enter Jareth (with much sexiness), the fierce Goblin King, who has taken her baby brother. On the surface, he looks like just a typical goblin child-thief you might see in a number of old fairy tales (only with better hair). But let's look at what Jareth immediately offers Sarah. He offers her her dreams, all contained in a beautiful, mystical glass sphere. He tells her she can have it, but only if she forgets the baby. What he's really saying here is that she can have all of her dreams if she forgets all her reality, all of her grown up responsibilities, all of the things that are important outside of her fantasies. </div>
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And one of those things that he's offering, ultimately, is himself. Because, even though at this point I believe he has become "real," HE is one of her fantasies. She imagined a dangerous, attractive villain, one that a part of her wants to love.</div>
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Sarah, of course, chooses to face the Labyrinth, and all her adventures really begin. Jareth attempts many villainous things to thwart her efforts, but in the end, she "fights her way to the Goblin City to take back the child he has stolen." </div>
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It is at the center of the Labyrinth, when Sarah once again faces Jareth, that we discover something very interesting.</div>
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Jareth claims he has been generous, that he has exhausted himself in order to live up to her expectations of him. Once again, we see this idea that Jareth is a creation of Sarah's own imagination--an imagination so powerful that it can bring its creations to life. And once again, we see Jareth offering her all of her dreams, including himself. </div>
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And although Jareth is just a product of her imagination, I do believe he has taken on a life of his own and become more powerful than even Sarah could imagine ("Everything I've done, I've done for you. <i>I move the stars for no one</i>."). And I do believe that he loves Sarah. Yet, I think Jareth knows, and has known all along, that he is doomed to be without her. Why? Because he loves <i>Sarah</i>. </div>
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And Sarah is only Sarah if she is able to beat him.</div>
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You have a character here who is born to play the villain. He was created from the imagination of his beloved to play the one who provides the challenge for her. He plays the part he was given to play because he loves her, because it's essential to <i>her</i> story and to<i> her </i>character development that he play the part he was created to play. If Jareth isn't Jareth, then Sarah can't be Sarah.</div>
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And if Sarah doesn't defeat Jareth, then she will never become the Sarah he knows she can be, the Sarah he knows she is, the Sarah he very much loves.</div>
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...and the Sarah that he can never have.</div>
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<i>"...Though, I do believe in you.</i></div>
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<i>Yes, I do</i></div>
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<i>Live without your sunlight.</i></div>
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<i>Love without your heartbeat.</i></div>
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<i>I, I can't live within you."</i></div>
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Because if she doesn't defeat him, then she's not the Sarah he loves. She's just a child playing in a bubble of a dream world that is so fragile it could burst at any moment. She is just a shadow of who she is supposed to be. And I think Jareth even <i>wants</i> to love this Sarah, but I think he knows from the beginning that he never could. A shadow of Sarah is not <i>his</i> Sarah.</div>
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And if Sarah defeats him, and she does (as he knew she would), then it means she gives up her fantasies...including him. </div>
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I love that scene posted above, where Sarah confronts Jareth for the last time. One last time, he offers her all of her dreams; one last time, he offers her himself. She fights to remember the phrase that will defeat him. The music stills, and Jareth waits, longingly in the pause that is so beautiful and tragic.</div>
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"You have no power over me," Sarah proclaims--essentially accepting that she is "putting childish things behind her" and setting aside the fantasies that have made up her entire reality. She has become the Sarah that Jareth always wanted her to be.</div>
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Immediately after her proclamation, he looks crestfallen, lowering the crystal that represents her dreams. But just a few frames later, after the clock has begun striking 13, Jareth's face is very different. It's a look of acceptance, of knowing that this was all inevitable, and there is a hint of something else. Admiration. Pride. Love.</div>
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He tosses the crystal into the air, and Sarah sees that it was never as real as she thought it was--it was just a bubble that dissolved on her fingertips. And Jareth quietly disappears, turning into an owl who can watch her continue to grow from afar, though he can never have her.</div>
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And I believe he would rather have her be this unattainable woman he loves, than to have her remain a child, incomplete, not <i>his</i> Sarah.</div>
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"...It's only forever. Not long at all..."</div>
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That's the tragedy and the beauty of Jareth. On the surface he's just a kidnapper in spandex. "Underground," beneath the surface, he's the lost and lonely, a richly complex character whose story absolutely breaks my heart every time--but in a way I really don't mind being broken at all.</div>
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So, aside from all the musical brilliance that David Bowie accomplished in his too-short life, that of which I am regrettably ignorant, I have to say that I will be forever thankful to him for bringing so much life and depth to one of my favorite villains. David Bowie WAS Jareth, and he was amazing. </div>
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"But I'll be there for you</div>
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As the world falls down."</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-70578180097713024672016-01-09T16:16:00.000-05:002016-01-09T16:16:18.873-05:00An Improvement on A Totally Inaccurate Eeyore MemeThis Eeyore quote/meme has been floating around the internet for the past few years. I don't have a clue who originally made it, but I've seen several different Eeyore pictures all with the same quote. The internet loves this meme. Here it is, if you haven't seen it.<br />
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Looks like a pretty great thing, right? On the surface, I'd agree with it and all the warm fuzzies it tries to produce. It's nice for people with mental illnesses (or whatever you want to call them) to have supportive and understanding friends. However, if you go beyond the surface of this meme, there are a few problems (if you don't want to read all of this, just scroll down to the bottom, where I've included a corrected meme, which is basically a summary of the whole blog post).</div>
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1. It's not even a meme/quote about Eeyore.</div>
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Oh, it starts out that way. "One awesome thing about Eeyore..." but it degrades from there. If you read further, you'll find that it slips into the passive voice (which I don't have a problem with, in general--but in this case, it changes the whole meaning of the quote). Eeyore "GETS invited" to do things. In the next sentence, the meme leaves behind the passive voice completely and just overtly starts focusing more on Eeyore's friends than it does on Eeyore. This isn't a quote about one awesome thing about Eeyore. It's a quote about one (or more) awesome thing(s) about Eeyore's FRIENDS. </div>
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One could make the argument that it's because Eeyore is so awesome that his friends want to include and support him, but I don't get that impression from the quote. Instead, I see that the quote is saying that Eeyore's friends are awesome, EVEN THOUGH Eeyore is "basically clinically depressed." It's not a quote about how awesome Eeyore is, but rather a quote about how great his friends are for being supportive...EVEN THOUGH he has issues. If you look at it a certain way, it could even be interpreted as a slap in the face for poor Eeyore. I'm not saying I take it that way, but I can see how someone might.</div>
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2. The quote is based on a lie (or at least a gross misunderstanding of relationships in the Hundred Acre Wood). </div>
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On the surface, that meme looks pretty good--even if it IS less about Eeyore and more about his incredible friends. I mean, isn't it great that Eeyore's friends are so supportive and inclusive? Only...they aren't. Usually this is due to the fact that all the animals in the Hundred Acre Wood have fluff for brains, and not because they're mean-spirited but...still. Anyone who is really paying attention to the original Milne or any of the movies that were directly based upon Milne can see that, most of the time, Eeyore's friends had a really loose understanding of friendship.</div>
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Allow me to give you a few examples from the original Milne:</div>
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- When Eeyore's tail was lost, they discovered that Owl had been using it as a bell pull.</div>
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- His friends forgot his birthday, and then later on, all they gave him was an empty honey pot and a broken balloon that resembled a damp rag.</div>
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- When Eeyore tried to rescue Roo from the river by dangling his own tail in the water, no one bothered to tell him that Roo had already been rescued until after his own tail had gone all numb.</div>
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-When "Small," one of Rabbit's Friends and Relations, went missing, Eeyore helped search for him. No one bothered to tell Eeyore that Small had been found. For two days. While he kept looking. For two days.</div>
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- His friends all fell on top of him in an attempt to rescue Tigger from a tree, after it was first suggested that they all stand on his back. </div>
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- When Tigger bounced Eeyore into the river (and lied about it--a fine way to repay a friend for helping to rescue you from a tree!!!), Pooh dropped a large stone on him in an attempt to "hoosh" him out of said river. Both Piglet and Pooh made excuses for Tigger's bounciness and their own stone dropping, but thought Eeyore was unjustified in being upset about it.</div>
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- Rabbit gently scolded Eeyore for not being more outgoing, but then immediately excused himself when faced with the unwelcome prospect of actually having to converse with the gloomy donkey.</div>
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- They generally regarded him as someone who was always gloomy, and therefore not to be taken seriously or listened to.</div>
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Now, Eeyore's gloominess could get pretty tedious if someone didn't get where he was coming from (more on that in a moment), and his friends did try sometimes. Pooh and Piglet were actually pretty good friends to him, when they felt like it, and when their fluff-for-brains didn't get in the way. They thought of him more than the others did, at any rate. </div>
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3. It's up for debate that Eeyore was 'basically clinically depressed.'</div>
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There's no doubt about the fact that Eeyore was gloomy, but I've never been one to see Eeyore as being depressed. Rather, Eeyore is a very misunderstood donkey. He isn't perfect, but he's not as much of a downer as everyone assumes. He's a realist--one who sees his circumstances as what they are. He's an old gray donkey, stuffed with sawdust (gets itchy), who constantly loses his tail, has to live in a house made of sticks (with no proper door) in the middle of the brutally cold and snowy winter, and, as I mentioned before, all his friends have fluff for brains.</div>
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I'd be gloomy, too, yo.</div>
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The thing about Eeyore, however, is that while he has an incredibly awesome sense of sarcastic humor (that many people don't understand), he also has a way of seeing good in others and in situations. A lot of people don't see that.</div>
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For instance, when he was given a broken balloon and an empty honey pot on his birthday, he treasured the gifts as though they were the best things in the world--because his friends had thought of him.</div>
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When Tigger bounced him in the river (and lied about it), Eeyore was quick to forgive him and share with him all his secrets for winning at Poohsticks and life. </div>
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Did he "milk" his gloominess a bit? Yes. Did he try to get attention by acting a little more glum than he actually was? Yes. Was he slightly arrogant because it was tedious dealing with all the fluff-for-brains? Yes. But basically, I think he had a great self-deprecating humor and sarcasm that was often just a little too over the heads of his fluff-for-brains friends, and maybe he should have toned that down a little. Or not. Because I kind of think Eeyore did Eeyore pretty well. </div>
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He didn't always appear happy on the surface, but he had joy where it counted. He knew who his friends were. He appreciated all their friendly efforts. And in the really great Milne moments, even the fluff-for-brains saw him for who he was. It was golden.</div>
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So here's my corrected meme. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2R1YUBF_MnQ1Pg81C1In4ogSes68o9QnOcAluivm0r5rU9dnD-_-VrKdLYSnmgaY-iSrFb2sI7vkUQwZWmL5NEUXZhkFEd1PCRbtefp9mlpqI_QyM6v5ECQSGAUDVOSrTSfn07Vf2H47/s1600/awesomeeeyore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2R1YUBF_MnQ1Pg81C1In4ogSes68o9QnOcAluivm0r5rU9dnD-_-VrKdLYSnmgaY-iSrFb2sI7vkUQwZWmL5NEUXZhkFEd1PCRbtefp9mlpqI_QyM6v5ECQSGAUDVOSrTSfn07Vf2H47/s640/awesomeeeyore.jpg" width="449" /></a></div>
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I fixed it. It's better now. Thanks for noticing me.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-59430796205373225752015-11-02T20:49:00.001-05:002015-11-02T20:49:46.152-05:00It's Ok To (Not) Smile AKA Dealing With Grumpy Cat SyndromeAbout ten years ago, I was serving as a preschool teacher on the summer staff at a Christian conference center. Preschool teachers were a rare breed among the summer staff. We had the appearance of being cliquish because our hours were so long and random that we didn't always have time to interact with other staffers. Also, I was the oldest summer staffer that year--some 8 years older than some of the teenagers they had working there. I was at a different place in my life than most of them. I wasn't particularly anti-social and did spend a fair amount of time hanging out in the staff center, but I also spent a lot of time in my room resting (after all, I AM an introvert). When I did hang out, it was usually with my preschool friends because they were the ones I knew the best.<div>
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So imagine my surprise one day near the end of the summer, when one of the other staffers--I can't remember which department he worked in--approached me and said, "I've been wanting to say this to you all summer. You never smile! You are SO negative all the time, and that's not displaying a good Christian attitude. Just smile!" He was extremely agitated in manner, which caught me even more off-guard.</div>
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I was absolutely flustered, and tried to offer rebuttal along the lines of, "Actually, I smile a lot, but you aren't around me that often, and you don't know me well enough to make such a claim," which was a pretty valid point. I also said something like, "Am I supposed to walk around smiling all the time like an idiot, because that's actually kind of creepy" That was also a pretty valid point, but it only served to make him more agitated. He "rebuked" me some more, wouldn't let me get much of a word in edgewise, and I finally just walked away from him, went back to my room, and cried.</div>
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Good job making me smile more, buddy.</div>
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That was probably the first time I've felt accosted about "not smiling," but honestly, it's something I've heard off and on throughout my life. People--friends, family, strangers, have often told me things like, "Smile! It can't be that bad!" One guy actually stopped me in the Walmart one time and said, "You look sad, and I think God wants me to pray for you. Can I pray with you right now?" I let him, but I was like, "Thanks, but really, stranger dude...I'm FINE."</div>
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In all of these situations, I wasn't ACTIVELY not smiling. I suffer from a condition that the interwebsnettubes now refers to as "Resting B*1@# Face," but I don't like to call it that. I like to call it "Grumpy Cat Syndrome" or GCS. It's when your neutral face looks grumpy (because Grumpy Cat AKA Tardar Sauce is actually a pretty friendly kitty, from what I've seen--she just looks adorably grumpy all the time). Basically, I'm the human version of Grumpy Cat. And I like it.</div>
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There are several candid pictures from my childhood where someone caught me looking mad at the universe, when really, I was just suffering from GCS. And in a lot of pictures where I WAS trying to smile, I just managed a weak grimace that made me look as though I couldn't wait for the picture-taking to be over. </div>
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Now that we're in the world of selfies, I do tend to take my fair share of them (and with a crappy cell phone without a front-facing camera, I might add). In a lot of my selfies, I just don't smile. No one is standing behind the camera demanding my smiling face, so sometimes, I don't. I post these unsmiling pictures, and people sometimes ask, "Why aren't you smiling?" as if that's a rule or something.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This IS my happy face.</td></tr>
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And I don't think most people mean a single thing by any of it, but it got me thinking. Why does it seem to bother society when we see someone not smiling? I don't think most people are intentionally thinking it through, but I think most of us humans have trouble seeing other humans who aren't happy. Selfishly, perhaps, we want others to look happy, because that makes us more comfortable. And maybe that's not a completely fair or accurate assessment, especially not in MOST cases, but I do think it's something to think about.</div>
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Because I googled "smile quotes" today, and the results were somewhat sad. I got a few cheesy ones about how "a smile is the prettiest thing you can wear," but a lot of what I saw was about people faking a smile for the world to see, while on the inside they were miserable. A lot of people have learned how to put on a mask so the world will be able to accommodate them better.</div>
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I've never learned how to fake a smile.</div>
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That's why my childhood photographs are a lot of images of me grimacing (I'm proud to say I inherited this trait from my daddy). That's why when I take pictures now, I often tell people behind the camera to say or do something that will make me laugh, because I want my smile to be genuine and not a forced grimace. </div>
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And I do have a lot of genuine smiles. I laugh. I sing. I also cry. I also have neutral moments where I might look angry, but I'm probably just thinking about either solving the world's problems or about what I'm going to have for dinner or about how much I just love Doctor Who or whatever. </div>
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No one is perfect. All of us are going to have those times where we absent-mindedly tell someone to cheer up, and we need to be gracious in those times. But I think the better thing for us to do if we see someone not smiling is to ASK and not ASSUME (or, you know, just mind your own business...just a suggestion...).</div>
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I think it's perfectly fine to ask someone if they're all right, but be prepared for the answer. If a person says they're fine, they might be lying. On the other hand, they might be telling the truth. I am not one to lie about how I'm feeling, so it bothers me when someone insists I'm miserable even when I tell them, point blank, that I'm okay. I understand that in a society of people who wear masks, it's probably a knee-jerk thing to assume everyone is lying, but listening is crucial. Unless you have some pretty darn good reasons to believe someone is lying about how they're feeling, please take them at their word. On the other hand, if you ask someone if they're okay and they tell you they aren't, then you'd better be prepared to listen to that, too. Don't ask someone if they're okay unless you're prepared to listen to them if they aren't. That kind of listening often involves an investment of time and caring. Be prepared.</div>
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Also, don't judge. If someone looks angry/sad/miserable/etc., don't assume that it's because they really are angry/sad/miserable/etc. Also don't assume that if someone IS actually angry/sad/miserable/etc. that it means they have no valid reason to feel that way. Telling someone to smile when you think they're sad is like telling someone to just slap a bandaid on an open wound so you don't have to see their blood--you're not helping their problem; you're making it easier for YOU to deal with it.</div>
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That misguided, but probably well-meaning fellow summer staffer told me that I wasn't displaying a Christian attitude, but he made assumptions, he didn't listen, and he judged me. Ironically, the one who wasn't displaying a Christian attitude was him. HE was the one being negative by judging another. And unfortunately, I've seen others act that very same way over the past ten years. </div>
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But since I'm not one to just smile and pretend everything is okay, I'm talking about it. I'm putting this out there to let others with GCS know that they aren't alone, and to possibly let others know that it's not okay to look down on others for not being perpetually happy.</div>
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I'm not anti-smiling. It's perfectly fine to smile. It's good to smile. It's also okay, and even good sometimes, not to smile. It's the "reallness" that's the thing. I'd rather see genuine tears than a fake smile, any day. </div>
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After all, Grumpy Cat is proof that someone doesn't need to smile to be beautiful.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-71914732838971316962015-03-18T08:19:00.003-04:002015-03-18T08:19:22.690-04:00Ten Years LaterI struggled with writing this. <br />
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In fact, I had a couple of false starts and even almost had an entire blog written (and if you know me, they can get looooong), but all that I had written just wasn't right, somehow.<br />
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I set it aside a few days. Sometimes that's all it takes to figure out how to go about this.<br />
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Because how does one approach writing a blog about the tenth anniversary of what was one of the worst days of one's life?<br />
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It was also my 25th birthday, just FYI.<br />
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And I got dumped by a guy I was absolutely and totally in love with. I thought I was going to marry him. <br />
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But I didn't.<br />
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In fact, he's married to someone else. <br />
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And, well...good.<br />
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I don't mean that in a Grumpy Cat sort of way. I mean like a real, honest, wonderful good.<br />
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The reason I struggled so much to write this blog, something I'd planned to do for about a year now, was that I realized it's just not even that big of a deal, anymore.<br />
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I spent a the better part of the last decade thinking of that guy every single day. I prayed God would take care of him. There were times when I prayed God would bring us back together. There were times when I just prayed God would get me over him. But mostly, I just tried to live my life in the midst of the struggle. And people didn't always like the way my life looked. They wanted me to move on or whatever.<br />
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I did. Just not how or when they wanted me to.<br />
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This post isn't so much about the relationship I had with this guy that ended ten years ago as much as it is about how God has used the struggle to shape my life over the past ten years. <br />
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It wasn't until about this time last year that God finally let me know it was time to let go. And there will be people who will argue with me about that and say I needed to let go way earlier, but I can't worry about them. It wasn't their struggle. It was the one God gave me. And He had me struggle with it for years--about 13, all in all, considering the time when I met the guy to the time when I was 100% over all that had happened with him. I still do love him, really, but oh, not at all in a way that might be considered romantic or even friendly. I honestly hope I never see him again--not because I hate him or because I'm bitter, but simply because it would be ALL KINDS of awkward. I wish him well. I pray for him sometimes, whenever he comes to mind--which is not nearly as often as he used to. I pray that he and his wife will honor each other and honor God. And I leave it at that and go on with my life.<br />
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I couldn't do that until a little over a year ago. And it's okay. In fact, it's good. <br />
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And if you ask me why God had me go through all of that, I don't have a definitive answer. I can give you a few things that I learned through it, a few ways I'm a better person for it, but in the end, that's all rubbish. The real answer is: I don't know. <br />
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That's okay.<br />
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People told me right after the relationship ended that God just wanted me to learn something from it. But I rejected that idea then, and I reject it now. God didn't want me to love someone just so I could gain some lesson from the experience. Certainly, I did learn a thing or two, but that wasn't the only reason or even the main reason for the relationship. God wanted me to love that guy because He wanted me to love that guy. Plain and simple. He wanted me to, and so I did. And He wanted me to wrestle with that for almost 9 years even after the relationship ended. So I did.<br />
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I don't claim to understand it. Trust isn't about understanding. Trust is about obeying. <br />
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And the same Father who brought me into it brought me through and out of it, and I'm here on the other side a 35 year old (gosh that age sounds so grown up) woman who is still kind of figuring out who she is apart from that struggle. Of course, I've got about a hundred other struggles that have come into my life since I became free of that one. It's still okay. It's still good. <br />
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Anyone who knows me well knows that I really hate the winter. I don't like the snow. I don't like the cold. I don't like the stillness of nature, probably because humans are too busy to slow down along with it. We're still going about all of our business unless we get snowed in or something. Because humans are too dumb to hibernate.<br />
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But spring is my favorite season, and I'm glad that my birthday comes at the very end of winter. It's not quite yet spring, but the world certainly knows it's coming. Sometimes we have to struggle through some very long winters before the spring comes. Sometimes we have to struggle through some very long nights before joy can come in the morning. <br />
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It's good. I don't claim to understand it, but it's good.<br />
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So ten years later? I'm not exactly who I thought I'd be. But I know myself, and I do like myself. I think both of those things are pretty important.<br />
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It's almost spring again. There's a lot of uncertainty in my life right now--I have no idea what life will look like in a few months, let alone a few years. Chances are, I'm going to have some struggles.<br />
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But, as I've said before and will continue to say, there's mercy in the struggle.<br />
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It's good.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-86621544618658296512015-03-01T14:59:00.001-05:002015-03-01T18:04:03.591-05:00Insecurity's Biggest LieThis morning at church, my adult Sunday School class (they don't call it that, but that's what it is) got out very early. Only a few people showed up, since there was a little bit of ice mixed in with the morning rain, and people down here in the South are paranoid (with good reason, I guess).<br />
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Some of my friends were going to be presented to the church as new members at the close the second service (which meets during my Sunday School hour), and I wanted to be there for them, so I decided to just sit in the foyer outside the <strike>sanctuary</strike> worship center and wait until closer to the end of the service.<br />
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I was sitting there, watching the sermon on a monitor. I had already heard the sermon during the first service, so I wasn't paying all that much attention. Still, it was nice to note that the pastor's second service sermon wasn't 100% identical to the first service sermon. He spiced it up a little with different little examples and such. Nice guy, that pastor.<br />
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Then a lady came and sat down next to me. She was probably in her early-to-mid 60s. I'd never seen her before, that I recall. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I figured we would just mostly ignore each other.<br />
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Then she asked me a question.<br />
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"Do you have any pets?"<br />
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I thought it was a weird opening question to ask a stranger, but I answered politely that I would love pets, but I can't have them in my rental property (without paying a huge deposit).<br />
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She told me about her "little Yorkie dog" and her "yaller (yellow) cat."<br />
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I nodded politely. I am not good at making conversation, and I thought it was a little odd how much she seemed to want to talk about pets.<br />
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We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then she asked me, "Do you have any children?"<br />
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I just said, "No, I don't have any children" and hoped that was the end of the conversation.<br />
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But she continued. "Why don't you have any children?"<br />
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I managed to stay polite, I think, which is pretty difficult for me most of the time. I am pretty good about saying whatever is on my mind, and right at that moment, what was on my mind wasn't polite. I wanted to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, I gave her the short answer to why I don't have any children.<br />
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"I never got married. I never had any children."<br />
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The long answer wasn't something I really wanted to go into with a complete stranger.<br />
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She asked me another question. "Don't you WANT to get married and have children?"<br />
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I took a very deep breath and said, "I am at the age now that if I do get married, I'd like to adopt, but I don't know if that's going to happen."<br />
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I immediately pulled out my phone and got on the Facebook, mainly to show her that I wasn't interested in furthering the conversation. I didn't want her questions. I didn't want her judgment. The fact that I'm not a mom and will probably never be is something that I've made peace with, but it's not something that makes me particularly happy, either. When people start judging me for something that has been a struggle, for something that's broken my heart, I really don't like it.<br />
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So I shut her out.<br />
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As I continued to browse the Facebook, I vaguely heard her mutter something about having tried to have kids, but not being able to. I heard her say that she even tried to adopt once, but the adoption didn't go through. Whatever, lady. The conversation was over, as far as I was concerned. How dare a stranger judge me for something they couldn't possibly understand. How dare a stranger pry into my life without my permission.<br />
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After a moment or two, the lady realized I wasn't going to talk to her, and she got up. She crossed the foyer to the welcome desk where one of the ministers was standing. I heard her ask the minister the same questions she asked me. She started out by asking if he had any pets. It still struck me as a strange opening question, but he responded much more graciously than I did. He also listened more graciously as she told him about her "little Yorkie dog" and her "yaller cat."<br />
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Then she asked him about his family, and he talked proudly about his wife and newborn son. Then she talked to him about the child she had tried to adopt, and even though she wasn't talking to me anymore, I listened that time.<br />
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And I realized something.<br />
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The lady wasn't judging me; she was just trying to talk to me.<br />
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She was looking for someone who she could talk to about the things that had hurt her. She was talking about her pets who meant the world to her, who were like her children, because she had never been able to have kids of her own. And when she was asking those questions of me, she WAS trying to get into my life, but not in a prying sort of way. She just wanted someone to talk to. She wanted a human connection, to know that she wasn't alone.<br />
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Maybe she was a little awkward about it, but then, I know a thing or two about being awkward.<br />
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And like a fool, I let my insecurity lie to me again.<br />
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Insecurity's biggest lie is that other people don't have insecurities. Insecurity's biggest lie is that other people aren't speaking from a place of brokenness, but they're speaking from a place of arrogance, from a place of judgment. Insecurity's biggest lie is that we're the only ones who are hurting, the only ones who are fighting sin, the only ones who fail, the only ones who are needy. And so we hide, we run, we fight, because we don't want to be hurt by those who are, in reality, hurting just as much as we are.<br />
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Instead of letting this lady reach out to me, instead of reaching back out to her, I shut her out to avoid being hurt.<br />
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And I missed that she was hurting, too.<br />
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I don't know what you believe. I don't know if you're doing fine, or if you're facing the biggest battle you've ever faced. I don't know if you feel hurt or judged or neglected or alone.<br />
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But don't let your insecurity tell you that you are alone.<br />
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No one wants to be hurt. No one wants to be judged. That keeps us apart.<br />
<br />
I know that there are people out there who are filled with hate and pride and hypocrisy. They lash out because their sin is greater than the sin they like to imagine and attack in others. Sin is real, sin is ugly, and sometimes sin is all too easy to see in the hate that other people have towards others. Those people are out there, and they make me sad.<br />
<br />
But there are also people out there who are hurt, who are scared, who are angry, who are defensive. They lash out because they've been hurt, or they stay quiet because it's hard to trust. They fight or flee because their insecurity tells them that others don't care, that others will hurt them, that a lack of understanding or agreement means a lack of love.<br />
<br />
It's hard to tell the difference sometimes. Nothing is ever easy.<br />
<br />
But I believe that love is the opposite of fear, and I believe that if we make that effort and that choice to love others more than we fear getting hurt, that some remarkable things can happen. It doesn't mean that we'll agree on everything or even understand everything.<br />
<br />
It does mean that we won't be alone.<br />
<br />
I blew it today. I missed the opportunity to make a new friend. I missed the opportunity to see someone, to know just a little bit of who she is. And maybe she's a little quirky and loves her Yorkie dog like a child, and maybe I'm a little quirky and eat too much hummus and draw horrible sketches of Dragons in my sermon notes. Maybe we're both a little awkward and don't know how to have a conversation like normal people. She, at least, tried.<br />
<br />
But like an insecure jerk, I chose to believe she was seeking to hurt me instead of seeking healing, and I shut her out.<br />
<br />
So I guess this is my penance. It's not much, but it's sincere, at any rate. Maybe a song will come out of the experience and be a better penance than this simple blog entry. Or maybe my penance will be that next time (and I both pray and believe there will be a next time, because God is far more gracious than I deserve), when I see someone who strikes me as a little bit odd, a little bit rough around the edges, a little bit broken, and I choose to love instead of fear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-61724746219840074842015-01-20T14:32:00.000-05:002015-01-20T14:32:36.602-05:00That's Why It's Called TrustI've been blogging a lot lately, which is probably a good thing. I don't know. At least I'm writing something. I haven't been able to do that so much lately.<br />
<br />
Depression--particularly the apathetic kind, to which I seem to be prone--is a beast.<br />
<br />
I've got a day off today, which is a rare and wonderful thing. I have stuff I should be doing--errands I should be running. I need to go make a bunch of appointments--to see the eye doctor, to see the real doctor, to go get a massage someone was kind enough to buy for me. But I decided to stay in today and just rest, just think about life. <br />
<br />
I've been under Spiritual attack a lot lately, whether it's through insecurity or depression or anxiety or a fierce combination of all of those. And mostly, people have been awesome about it. I do get the occasional, "Well, here's a book to show you how to change your life around in ten easy steps," or "Hey, maybe you need to take these 'magic pills' that make you happy," or, perhaps the worst, "What sins have you been committing that have led to your depression and anxiety? God doesn't want us to be depressed or anxious. You must be doing something sinful to cause these problems in your life."<br />
<br />
I'm not perfect. I make a lot of mistakes. And honestly, the more I pray through what I'm going through, I think God is showing me how much he's working in and through my imperfections. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to do everything right. <br />
<br />
Right now, I'm struggling to get up in the morning. I'm struggling to do simple tasks like make the coffee (which, ironically, is something that helps me get the day going). I'm struggling to do my preschool planning. I'm struggling to study music for songs I'm learning. I'm struggling to read books, to write--something that has been second nature to me for so long. The prospect of hanging out with friends or chatting over coffee is even something I sort of dread all of the sudden--even though I know I'll enjoy it if I just go DO it. Everything is just suddenly so hard.<br />
<br />
And, basically, I know I'm not doing all the things I could be doing. I know I'm not doing all the things I should be doing. <br />
<br />
Yet, God is doing so much in the midst of these things in which I'm failing. Just last week, a dear friend and preschool coworker presented me with a gift card for no reason at all. Well, she had a reason. It was something that absolutely astounded me. She gave me a little note with the gift card just thanking me for always having a friendly, encouraging word and a smile for her in the mornings. I didn't even realize I was encouraging her. I come into work most mornings feeling like I'm not doing all I should be doing. But I do remember greeting her on those mornings, talking with her briefly, maybe giving her a hug that I needed more than she did. Apparently, that was HUGE to her. And all I can say is that I didn't really do anything--God did all of that through me. <br />
<br />
And I wish I could just focus on little things like that all the time. <br />
<br />
I need to confess a sin of pride that is just eating away at me.<br />
<br />
It's a pride that is so sneaky that it disguises itself, quite well, as humility. And I have a feeling there will be some song lyrics to come out of that before all of this is over. <br />
<br />
The other day, someone me gave me a compliment. Only, I didn't see it as such. I know the person did NOTHING wrong. I wasn't mad at him at all. But what he said was devastating. It shook me so hard that I wanted to retreat back into the turtle shell I've somehow developed as of late. <br />
<br />
There are certain vocalists that I don't like. Hearing them sing makes me cringe. And this guy compared my voice to that of a vocalist I really don't like. <br />
<br />
He meant nothing by it. He was being nice. But I respect his musical opinion very much. And what he said sent me in a downward spiral like nothing else. The ironic thing was, he also said something about how much he appreciated my humility.<br />
<br />
But I wasn't being humble. I was being the opposite of humble.<br />
<br />
Because suddenly, I thought that if I sounded like that vocalist I don't like, then it meant I was a horrible singer (something he never said, but my insecurity was shouting at me). I thought that if I was a horrible singer, I shouldn't be singing at all. I thought that if I shouldn't be singing at all, then all the things I thought about myself and had worked towards were worthless. If all the things I thought about myself and had worked towards were worthless, then <b>I</b> was worthless.<br />
<br />
Because, as I might have mentioned in previous blogs, I can go from "just fine" to "worst-case-scenario" in less than 60 seconds.<br />
<br />
Similar things have happened with my writing. I lost a jump drive with a complete novel on it, one I was editing. I had saved versions of it elsewhere. I KNOW I had saved them in multiple places--including on email accounts so I couldn't lose them, but now I can't find them anywhere. And after all the work I put into that book, I wonder now if the reason I lost it was because God never wanted me to write in the first place. It makes me wonder if all the things I've wanted to do and be are things I was never supposed to do and be. And if that's the case, who in the world am I?<br />
<br />
And it really makes it hard for me to want to try again. <br />
<br />
It's all pride. It's all me putting trust in myself and in the abilities I was given. And the thing is, those abilities are things God gave me--but they ARE NOT GOD.<br />
<br />
And when you put your trust in anything besides God, no matter how good it is, you're sinning. <br />
<br />
And that's how I've been sinning lately. That's NOT to say that my sin has CAUSED my anxiety and depression. Rather, God's just good enough to show me things as I'm walking with Him through whatever He's brought me to.<br />
<br />
The anxiety and depression and whatever I'm going through are just ways God is showing me how NOT in control I am. I can't despair of the season I'm in. Nor can I will myself out of it, or just "try harder" or any of that nonsense. I know I can't try harder. I've tried to try harder. That's when something else happens to knock the proverbial wind out of my proverbial sails. BECAUSE THIS IS NOT ABOUT MY EFFORTS. It's about God doing what I can't do. And there's a lot that I just CAN'T do.<br />
<br />
What I can do, however, is trust. <br />
<br />
I can trust that God is using me, as I am--as weak, as imperfect, as broken as I am. He's using me.<br />
I can trust that He is in control. I can trust He's leading me, even when I can't see what's ahead or what He's doing. I can trust that where He's leading is not somewhere He doesn't want me to be. I can trust that where He's leading is to something that is ultimately going to bring Him more glory.<br />
I can trust that He's good. I can trust that He's able. I can trust that He loves me.<br />
<br />
I'm scared. I'm afraid. <br />
<br />
And I know this is the year of "Do not be afraid, Part Two." I know that God repeated in Scripture, over and over, "Be strong and courageous." I figure He repeated that so much because He knows our fears. Being strong and courageous is part of the battle, part of the struggle.<br />
<br />
And there's mercy in the struggle.<br />
<br />
So maybe my writing isn't something that I'm supposed to share with the world (I don't think that's the case, actually, but you know, just hypothetically speaking). Maybe my voice isn't the greatest, and maybe my songs aren't a style a lot of people want to hear.<br />
<br />
And maybe God is using me anyway. Maybe God is using those talents He gave me anyway. And maybe I need to trust in Him more than in those talents and things that I thought were what made me who I am. <br />
<br />
As I told a friend yesterday, "Trust is hard. That's why it's called trust."<br />
<br />
It's a one-day-at-a-time sort of thing. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other as He leads.<br />
<br />
I'm sharing a song to close this post. It's called "My Salvation" by Mitch McVicker. <br />
<br />
"Lord, please change these driftings in my soul,<br />
Cuz I've been fading just trying to grab control...<br />
<br />
You're my strength<br />
You're the tune I'm whistling<br />
When I'm afraid.<br />
So now I cling to You when I can't see.<br />
Every day<br />
You become<br />
My Salvation.<br />
You're my Salvation."<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/1an5aJjLxgw" width="560"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-82453953641176091932015-01-18T19:31:00.000-05:002015-01-18T19:32:17.362-05:00The Survival Mechanism I Could Never Live WithAbout a month ago I did something that most people these days have done in their lives...sometimes on a daily basis. I offended someone on Facebook. They'd posted a picture with an inspirational quote, nothing big. They were well-meaning, and I wasn't offended by what they posted. I just had a reply for it that I don't think they could appreciate.<br />
<br />
Okay. Back story.<br />
<br />
Earlier that day, I'd been just flat out accosted by misunderstandings. One person assumed I was angry when I was fine, and started walking on unnecessary eggshells around me. The fact that they assumed I was angry ended up making me as angry as they originally assumed me to be (funny how that works). But I just took Queen Elsa's advice:<br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_LYGbKi3Zw3RRRaeY5cktGTAVvLyxablZbBy6F0klPrDXwNKIH8pN2agl-09okRRAC1xNIgCmLk4ri4DuAeHmyuumoA008xRV5-Ia_b1qnov5fXGINZuFZrx9Ab6xnRQVRYieirNGm-Rq/s1600/letitgoelsa.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_LYGbKi3Zw3RRRaeY5cktGTAVvLyxablZbBy6F0klPrDXwNKIH8pN2agl-09okRRAC1xNIgCmLk4ri4DuAeHmyuumoA008xRV5-Ia_b1qnov5fXGINZuFZrx9Ab6xnRQVRYieirNGm-Rq/s1600/letitgoelsa.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only my hair didn't look as awesome.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Later that day, when I was minding my own business, a friend greeted me with the statement, "What's wrong with you? You look like something's bothering you." I said nothing was bothering me, because nothing was bothering me, and I got an argument in reply. "No. Something's bothering you. I can tell from the look on your face." I restated, rather firmly, that nothing was bothering me. In fact, the only thing bothering me at that particular moment was the fact that she kept insisting that something was bothering me. "Well, I know something's bothering you because your voice sounds like something's bothering you."<br />
<br />
Grr. <br />
<br />
Look lady.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbnUAnyq-vRU4yfEiNG3aSmbG1q6n-RvF1yFdz9UD5UFV377yZ9-tD_1pdOsXNfP_s7utJb8EV4B5GcI-xVgSXLT07Jm_fEucW9zwt2w2-VWdne8cc12zm2Z-fx53gQrlcVJUwhwh7rQA/s1600/bovvered.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbnUAnyq-vRU4yfEiNG3aSmbG1q6n-RvF1yFdz9UD5UFV377yZ9-tD_1pdOsXNfP_s7utJb8EV4B5GcI-xVgSXLT07Jm_fEucW9zwt2w2-VWdne8cc12zm2Z-fx53gQrlcVJUwhwh7rQA/s1600/bovvered.gif" height="153" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But I just took Taylor's advice:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4F3THZ_phB_DwbRSAN3Kuw5t_zFC0jLBwFEBBGwgJrEnDGCscKbeoG1wQeQ76u6bE_9BKxhTWIUfO5gyaKqjERJRwveEKVo7Ip0hw3zi2dY93w4Sych-BsiiQXdbWxfM5l6BZ8KTa5ntF/s1600/shakeitoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4F3THZ_phB_DwbRSAN3Kuw5t_zFC0jLBwFEBBGwgJrEnDGCscKbeoG1wQeQ76u6bE_9BKxhTWIUfO5gyaKqjERJRwveEKVo7Ip0hw3zi2dY93w4Sych-BsiiQXdbWxfM5l6BZ8KTa5ntF/s1600/shakeitoff.jpg" height="320" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sidenote: I think there should be an obscure American religions version of this song:<br />
Shakers gonna shake shake shake shake shake shake<br />
Quakers gonna quake quake quake quake quake quake.<br />
...no? Okay.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
About twenty minutes later, when I was again minding my own business, ANOTHER friend just flat out started attacking me with accusations that I was being rude to her. <br />
<br />
I'd run out of cartoon characters, pop culture icons, and catchy lyrics to give me advice of what to do in such situations, and I basically threw a <a href="http://couthramble.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-ruth-fit.html" target="_blank">Ruth Fit</a>. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfg4jzjMDHkwJ0tZuhO7yCwOy4Ixz82DA8nA6qnyYyzq2aV2TjDZ6L-HqBvYEJXLdL6VVN1M3jhEV0K5bIuYGqF8KQOfB33EQSuWxlFCH11HdiTQh2ovEeyX-9KNX19C1Pdl7GA1tXAGyr/s1600/hulkangry.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfg4jzjMDHkwJ0tZuhO7yCwOy4Ixz82DA8nA6qnyYyzq2aV2TjDZ6L-HqBvYEJXLdL6VVN1M3jhEV0K5bIuYGqF8KQOfB33EQSuWxlFCH11HdiTQh2ovEeyX-9KNX19C1Pdl7GA1tXAGyr/s1600/hulkangry.gif" height="171" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'd had enough. People who were my friends were misinterpreting my facial expressions or my introversion and jumping to conclusions about my thought processes, and I felt attacked. I felt like I couldn't even mind my own business without hurting someone's feelings somehow. And since I have a whole mess of insecurities inside this crazy brain of mine, I pretty much went from being completely un-<strike>bovvered</strike>bothered to wanting to crawl under a rock and die the death.<br />
<br />
That's actually a pretty common-place occurrence. I can go from just-fine to worst-case-scenario in less than 60 seconds. Call it a superpower, if you want to. I call it a jerkface. Incidentally, that's also the name of my elliptical. Fitting, since I keep running in circles obsessively with both of them and never actually get anywhere.<br />
<br />
Well, since I can't keep anything in, I put a little something on the Facebook about all these attacks. Maybe I shouldn't do that. People are always like, "If you're vague on the Facebook, it's because you want attention." Actually, I just want prayer, which is usually what I ask for when being vague, but okay.<br />
<br />
I prayed through it myself, and started realizing that the first two "attacks" weren't really attacks at all. They were simple misunderstandings from concerned friends. Maybe these friends were pushy, but it wasn't their intention to be harmful. They cared. The third attack really was an attack, but I started thinking about the possible reasons behind the attack.<br />
<br />
She was attacking me. Why do people attack? Because they're defensive. Why do people get defensive? Because they're afraid.<br />
<br />
And I took the focus off myself and put it on the other person. She was afraid. She misinterpreted my minding my own business to be something unkind towards her--I was preoccupied with what I was doing and trying to focus (something that's hard for me because I get distracted by shiny objects), but she thought I was ignoring her. And that hurt her feelings. So she accused me of some things that weren't true. I sent her an email about it. We talked. We made up. We're friends again.<br />
<br />
But through all of that, the things on the Facebook still remained, and a well-meaning friend posted one of those inspirational quotes on my wall to help me feel better. I don't even remember what it said, but it was one of those generic things about only letting people in your life who appreciate you, about getting rid of the people who hurt you.<br />
<br />
And I understand why these attitudes exist. They are survival mechanisms. There are abusive people in this world. There are people who will take and take and take and never give. There are toxic people with horrible attitudes and actions that just poison everyone else around them. I understand that. And sometimes they abuse others so much that it's entirely healthy and good for those people to GET OUT of those relationships, to get away from those people, to move on in a different, more positive direction.<br />
<br />
I've had to let go of some friendships that I realized were toxic. I realized I was always apologizing for the sake of restoring the friendship, even when I hadn't really done anything wrong. I was trying to be the "Peacemaker," but no peace was being made because the other person didn't want to change. The other person was always quick to "forgive me" for my apologies, but she never admitted guilt of her own. I eventually "defriended" this individual, but I never blocked her. Because I'm praying that there's restoration one day. I'll always pray for that. I still pray for her. I still think about her. I still hope one day we can be friends again.<br />
<br />
Because when it really comes down to it, it's completely against my nature to stop caring. And I think there's a danger in taking the "Let it go" attitude too far. I've only seen Frozen a couple of times, and it has some decent lessons in it. The trouble is, too many people focus on Elsa's "Let it go" rampage more than they do on Anna's sacrificial love for her sister. And "shaking things off" is great if you're talking about not caring too much about what people think, but it can go too far if you use that attitude to stop actually caring about PEOPLE. And I think people don't know the difference anymore. But I probably err too much on the other side and care too much about what people think WHILE I'm caring about the people. And I just can't seem to stop caring about people.<br />
<br />
I'm not trying to say I'm anything great. I'm not. I've got hangups and stuff as much as anyone else (see above comments about crazy brain insecurities). But one of the perks about being an overly-sensitive person is that I do care about people. Sometimes that care can morph into something ugly where I care too much about what people think or say. But the flipside of that, the good side of that, is that the main reason I let things bother me so much is because I do care about people.<br />
<br />
That's why, after I calmed down, I was able to sit there and think the whole situation through. I was able to think through things and determine if a friend's comments were spoken out of love, or if they were spoken out of fear. I was able to reach out to a person who had attacked and deeply hurt me because I realized SHE was hurting, too.<br />
<br />
I could have just let this friend go. I could have just shook her off. The world would have told me to do just that. I am glad I didn't. And I know it's not always applicable. Some people have been in situations where it's dangerous and unwise to seek reconciliation. But I'm thankful that God has never looked at me, a rebellious child who has failed him time and time again, who takes so much and gives so little back of what I've been given, and He's never turned His back on me. We're not God. We're not able to take as much as He can take. We're not able to give as much of ourselves as He has given of Himself. But aren't we called to see beyond our own selves and our own fears and defenses and insecurities? Aren't we called to forgive? Aren't we called to love?<br />
<br />
That love looks different in every relationship, every situation. Sometimes it is more loving and more healthy to walk away. But that should never be the norm, never the initial reaction. My fear in this "let it go" society is that people are giving up on other people way too quickly.<br />
<br />
And I looked at the inspirational thing my Facebook friend had sent me, and I knew it just wasn't fitting for me or my situation. And I responded to it by saying something along the lines of, "If I had that attitude, it would mean I didn't care. That's really just not my style."<br />
<br />
And the relief I felt in posting that was just tangible. I realized, again, that I really do like who I am. It's something a lot of people misunderstand, it's something a lot of people just CAN'T understand. But I like me. I like me in all my insecure, over-thinking, obsessing-over-little-things glory. I care too much. And I dare to say that it's not always a bad thing.<br />
<br />
I noticed that the entire post my Facebook friend had posted was gone a few minutes after I'd posted my comment on it, so I sincerely hope I didn't hurt any feelings. As I've said, other people have other situations. There's a place to let go of harmful people. I just don't find myself in that place very often, and when I do, I never really stop caring completely.<br />
<br />
That's why it took me the better part of a decade to get over a broken heart.<br />
I don't even regret that.<br />
I still care, in fact--not at ALL in a romantic way, but I do pray for him from time to time. I pray that he's being a good husband to his new wife (and I'm thankful she's not me). I pray God's leading him.<br />
<br />
Because I'm not the sort of person to just forget the people who have hurt me. I figure they were part of my life for a reason. If they're not part of my life anymore, whether by their choice, my choice, or just chance, then I can still give them a passing thought or prayer. <br />
<br />
There are survival mechanisms and such that people adopt to get away from pain. And I probably have a few of those in my crazy brain, too. But I'm not able to turn off the part of my soul that cares. In some ways, I guess it's inconvenient. I just can't bring myself to regret even those relationships that have hurt me. <br />
<br />
And I can't bring myself to regret who I am.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-90591169428582729052015-01-17T18:13:00.000-05:002015-01-17T18:18:10.202-05:00Procrastination and FearIt was a Sunday night. <br />
<br />
I'd had a busy weekend. Most of my weekends are busy. This particular weekend was even busier--with an extra band practice and work and some side projects that were going to take up most of my time on Friday night, my whole Saturday, and my Sunday morning and afternoon, I knew I was going to have to plan well to get everything done. So I told myself all week that I would have to be a grown up and set aside Sunday night to do some work for preschool. I had a preschool work day on Monday and knew I would need to do some pre-planning for it.<br />
<br />
So the weekend happened. I had band practice and went to work and got all my side projects done. Sunday night came. I turned on my computer. I looked at the folder on my computer's desktop--the one labeled "Preschool." I looked at it for several seconds.<br />
<br />
I clicked my internet browser on and clicked on my Facebook tab. I played around on Facebook for a few minutes. Or an hour. I forget which.<br />
<br />
I, again, had a stare-down with the "Preschool" folder on my computer's desktop.<br />
<br />
I watched a few BuzzFeed YouTube videos. Were Ashley and Andrew dating yet?<br />
<br />
No. Of course not.<br />
<br />
I looked at that "Preschool" folder again.<br />
<br />
I had to check Facebook again to see if anyone had responded to my hilarious status. I had a couple likes. That was nice.<br />
<br />
I looked at the "Preschool" folder again.<br />
<br />
I checked my bank account to make sure there were no fraudulent charges. You never know when someone's going to steal your info. Nope. All clear there.<br />
<br />
I checked the Facebook again.<br />
<br />
I watched another YouTube video. It had been a while since I watched David After Dentist, and you know, those older videos are still pretty hilarious. How old is David now, anyway? I should Google that. Oh, My Lanta. He's a teenager now. I need to stop looking at this. It makes me feel old.<br />
<br />
And I looked at the "Preschool" folder. Enough procrastination. Do your work, Ruth.<br />
<br />
I checked the Facebook again.<br />
<br />
And then I started my preschool work.<br />
<br />
Half an hour later, I was too tired to brain anymore. My eyes were closing by themselves as I typed, so "Circle Time" became "Cieroiuadkjaofu." I had to go to sleep. My work was unfinished, but I figured I'd get up early and work on it.<br />
<br />
Only, of course, I overslept. I made it to work, but I had to use my work day to do my lesson plans instead of work on other stuff I'd intended to do.<br />
<br />
And I realized I had a problem.<br />
<br />
Procrastination.<br />
<br />
Now, I've always been a bit of a procrastinator. I've never really had a problem with being a procrastinator. But recently, I've started thinking about the reasons behind my procrastination. And that was a slap in the face. It wasn't what I was expecting, but I have to admit that it's true.<br />
<br />
My procrastination is based on fear.<br />
<br />
And since I'm doing a repeat in my "Year of No Fear" (last year just wasn't enough of a lesson), fear-based procrastination just isn't good enough. It's just not.<br />
<br />
There are several reasons why I procrastinate.<br />
<br />
1. I'm afraid what I need to do is going to take forever, so I don't want to start.<br />
<br />
I have been watching the same girls for 6 years. They're older now, so I'm pretty much just a glorified chauffeur who yells at them to do their chores and homework. But when the youngest one was younger, I would help her with her homework. <br />
<br />
And by "help her with her homework," I mean "we met on the glorious field of battle."<br />
<br />
There were tears. From both of us. Cries of outrage. Fits of fury. You name it. <br />
<br />
The worst part about it was that she would whine/cry/scream/fight/literally throw things before she would even START on her homework. She'd complain for at least 45 minutes, and usually much longer, about how hard her homework would be, about how long it would take her to finish. I would physically put her pencil in her hand because she claimed it was too hard to hold it. I'd make her write her name, and she would AGONIZE for five minutes over that simple starting task. Sometimes this sort of thing went on for an hour or more.<br />
<br />
Then, when she finally started, she was done with her homework in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Homework time sometimes lasted an hour. Only ten minutes of that time was actual homework. The other 50 minutes was the battle before hand--the needless worry and anxiety that it would take FOREVER.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, I act just like that. I don't want to start because I'm afraid of the time commitment. If I would just START doing what I'm supposed to do, it would be over quickly. The work would be done. But that fear of committing the time is just so hard to overcome sometimes.<br />
<br />
2. I'm afraid I'm going to fail, so I don't even want to try.<br />
<br />
I'm not a perfectionist, but I do want to do things well when I do them. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'm going to fail before I even start. So I put it off because I don't want to fail. I put it off because I think it's going to be too hard. I put it off because I don't want to make mistakes. I put it off because I don't think it's going to matter, that no one will care or notice, that all my work will be in vain. I put it off because I don't want to deal with the fear of being wrong, of being imperfect, of being not good enough.<br />
<br />
I think that's probably the most relatable procrastination fear. <br />
<br />
It's just hard to try sometimes. It's hard to trust that the effort you put into something is going to be worth it in the end. <br />
<br />
3. I'm afraid I'm going to succeed, and dude, that's a lot of pressure. <br />
<br />
Have you ever done something really well, and then all of the sudden people expect greatness out of you all of the time? What if you can't reproduce that? What if people only like you because you did something well? What if they stop liking you if you don't do it as well the next time? What if they try to build a bridge out of you because they think you're a witch? What if? What if? What if?<br />
<br />
Go home, insecure brain. You're drunk on lies.<br />
<br />
4. I am afraid of gaining my soul, but losing the whole world.<br />
<br />
Boom.<br />
<br />
That's the face punch right there.<br />
<br />
When you get right down to it, that's the biggest problem I have. I want to use "my time" on "my pursuits." I'm like a dumb kid who wants to eat a steady diet of jelly beans, when my mommy wants me to eat my veggies. It's fun to eat the jelly beans, but it's not responsible, and I'm going to eventually get sick. <br />
<br />
I'd rather sit on the computer and waste time on silly things like Facebook and YouTube videos than do work that's important. That important work requires an investment, and that investment is something that's going to turn into something eternally good--blessing children and their parents, and more importantly, furthering God's Kingdom. Watching a YouTube video isn't doing anything but furthering my kingdom. And my kingdom is kind of lame, quite honestly. We don't even have pony rides.<br />
<br />
But sometimes I act like I don't want to lose that kingdom, that tiny, insignificant kingdom. Sometimes I act like I'd rather forfeit my soul in order to gain the whole world. And what good is that? Seriously. What good is that?<br />
<br />
It's not good at all. And it's based in a fear that is really quite silly and selfish. And it's just not good enough.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that we shouldn't have down time. I need down time. There's nothing wrong with Facebook or YouTube videos or reading or television or video games or whatever. But there is something wrong with wasting time for the sake of wasting time. There's something wrong with procrastinating because you're afraid. And I'm guilty of both of these things.<br />
<br />
And I'm just thankful the Holy Spirit has convicted me. The hard part is now--putting the knowledge into action, making the changes. <br />
<br />
God's been so faithful to me in this season of depression and anxiety and fear. I'm learning so much. I know He's going to get me through this season. I just have to remember what's important. I just have to remember that I'm dust, but with His breath inside me.<br />
<br />
I want to breathe. I want to live. I want this life He's given me to matter.<br />
<br />
Living in fear, living in self, living in just mere existence? That's not good enough. <br />
<br />
He's done too much for me.<br />
<br />
He's done too much for me to live in fear.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-82231591155889914942014-12-18T08:27:00.000-05:002014-12-18T08:27:11.691-05:00My Grandmother's Last Christmas Gift*The following was written in July of 2014. It took me over five years to work up the courage to write it, but I wasn't ready to share it yet. I think the time to share has finally come.*<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You never know when you’ll be
ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
For instance, it’s July of 2014,
and my grandmother died in February of 2009.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I’m sitting on a screened in porch
at a house where I’m dog sitting, and it just occurred to me that I’m ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
For the past five and a half years,
I've grieved my grandmother’s death and celebrated her life. I've needed to write about it, and badly, but
haven’t quite been able to do so. I
haven’t been ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Because how can I even begin to put
into words who my grandmother was to me?
How can I describe the way I feel when I smell something that reminds me
of her—a feeling that can only be described as <i>her</i>. It’s more than a
feeling or a scent or a sight or anything tangible, this presence that she’s
left here, imprinted on my life and on who I am and on everything I've ever
been or will ever become.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do think <i>her</i> when I smell the aroma I now know is the scent of stale perfume
mingling with even staler cigarette smoke.
When I was younger, the smell didn't have a name or components. It was just the way my grandmother smelled, a
smell that was so completely her and all the things I felt when I was with
her. It’s ironic that the masked,
fragranced cigarette smell I associate so closely with her is what eventually
killed her. And yet, I can’t bring
myself to hate that smell, for it brings with it the memories of all she meant
to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I realized while writing that
how wrong it was, because all she meant to me was really all I meant to
her. For that was the impression she
made on me—that everything she was could be reflected in how she loved me, in
how she loved others. That’s why when I
smell perfume and cigarettes, I feel safe.
I feel loved. I feel
important. I feel all the things I was
to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the seemingly hundreds of
feral cats and sweet old dogs lining the porch of her house. It was the house with the hollow concrete
stairs leading up to the animal covered porch.
I’d make sure and jump on that step, just for the satisfaction of
hearing the low hollow thump. And those
stairs eventually cracked (probably because I, and every other child in the family, jumped on them so much) and were replaced with something more substantial,
and it’s all just a metaphor of how things never stay the same. And my childhood has been replaced with
something more substantial, but I still listen for the hollow thump of that
step. I still strive to breathe in a bit
of <i>her</i> when I smell the perfumed cigarette smoke. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And at least my memories are good,
for now. They’re not as hollow as they
once seemed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember Christmas. There isn't anything more to say on that, and
still I know I have to try to describe something that can’t be described. For Christmas was always partially defined by
<i>her</i>.
Christmas was never complete until we had gone to grandma’s house. When most children longed for Santa to come,
I’d anticipate along with them, but the anticipation carried on throughout the
day. I knew more was to come, and more
would include family, food, presents, joy, togetherness, love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My grandmother lived for Christmas,
and I take after her in that. But,
oh. It was her show. She started her Christmas shopping in
January, buying multiple gifts for everyone.
The tree was perfect. In my
childhood, I always thought it looked like the sort of Christmas tree one might
find in a magical fairy forest, all white and shining. The tree we had at home was green and plastic
and boring, covered in cheap ornaments containing pictures of me and my brother
and sister. I knew those ornaments meant
love, anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my grandmother’s Christmas tree
was the most beautiful tree I’d ever seen.
It was covered in magical snow that never melted. When I got old enough to know better, I realized the white tree wasn't really
covered in snow, but rather, in cheap aerosol flocking.
But there were pictures of me and the other grandkids in plastic
ornaments scattered throughout. And when
I got old enough to know better all over again, I realized there really was some magic in that
tree.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Presents surrounded it, and everyone
expressed a few words of guilt about how much we had compared to the
less-fortunate before we ripped into those presents. And parents would complain about how much
stuff they had to carry home, while the kids would revel in their new
treasures. And grandma would sit in her
chair and smile. Everyone gave her
gifts, too, and she loved them. But the
present she wanted most was one that she had given to herself—a family that
surrounded her, a family she loved so much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got older and my grandmother got
older. She was sick for a long time
before she died. And I didn't always
cope well with that, and she knew it. I
wanted my grandmother to be young and beautiful, as I remembered. I wanted her to sit on the stool behind her
kitchen counter and tell me stories about when my mother was a little girl, or
about how much she hated it that time granddaddy grew a beard, or about silly things
I did when I was really little. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think back on it now and realize I
should have asked her so much about her.
I should have asked her about her childhood, about her own
grandmother. I should have asked what it
was like to grow up with so many siblings.
I should have asked her about how she met granddaddy, or I should have
asked to hear again how they had to wait a year to get married because the
minister said they were too young. I
should have asked how she felt when she became a mother, to my mother, for the
first time, young and poor. I should have asked her how
hard it was to work and raise six children.
I should have asked her how hard it was to be a State Trooper’s
wife, always on the move. I should have asked so many
things, just so I could know her.
Because it occurs to me that the only way I knew her was just as my
grandmother, as the one who loved her family.
As the one who loved her grandchildren.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the one who loved me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And on the last Christmas I ever saw
her, the last day I ever saw her, she gave me a gift. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a child, I’d get many
gifts from her. I’d get dollar store
trinkets that I thought were the greatest toys in the world. I’d get more expensive toys that I’d brag
about. I’d get clothes and books and
toys and music boxes and jewelry. When I
was older, in my twenties, she gave me a diamond cluster ring. She had saved up and bought one for all her
daughters, daughters-in-law, for all her granddaughters. And to this day, it’s one of my most valued
possessions. It was something she wanted
to do for those she loved.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the gift she gave me that last
Christmas was more valuable than the ring or any other gift she gave me. She was so weak. She didn't even look like herself. And I was shocked to see her like that. My mom had tried to prepare me, but nothing
could have prepared me to see my beautiful, strong grandmother in such a frail
condition. I don’t think I hid my shock
well. But she was my grandmother, and I
loved her. I took her hand. I told her Merry Christmas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She said to me, “Ruth, I love you
more than you’ll ever know.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the last thing she ever
said to me. She knew it would be the
last thing she ever said to me. I was too much in denial to realize
it. But she knew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was her last Christmas
present to me. It was the embodiment of
every Christmas present she had ever given me.
It was, pure and simple, her love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My granddaddy remarried a few years
ago. He had been married to my
grandmother for 60 years (and almost 2 months).
They celebrated their 60<sup>th</sup> anniversary on Christmas Eve. She died a few days after Valentine’s Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When my granddaddy told my mother,
his first child, he was seeing another lady, a year or two after my grandmother
had passed, he was so nervous. He had
only ever loved my grandmother, and wasn't sure how the rest of the family
would accept his new relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He needn't have worried. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because when my grandmother had an
opportunity to accept someone into the family, when she had an opportunity to
love someone, she took it. And we all
followed her example. No one in the
family had trouble accepting the precious lady who would become my granddaddy’s
new wife.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was writing this on the
screened in porch, thinking of Christmas while it’s the heat of July, the wind
was blowing. Now it’s calm. And I’m calm, though there are tears of
memories and love in my eyes. I’m
waiting for a Christmas that will never come again, longing for a smell that I’ll
never smell again, hoping to hear that hollow thump that I’ll never hear again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it’s all right. The change I wasn't ready for I’m still not
ready for. And I think I've come to
realize that I’ll never be ready for it.
It’s all right. It’s just all
right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because there’s always room for
more. I can have the memories of the
sounds and smells and feelings. I can
have the wintry chill in the air that enhanced my excitement of going to
grandma’s house. I can have this warm
breeze that calms me now. I don’t have
to lose anything in order to gain anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s love. There’s always room. And I don’t know if I’ll ever have a child of
my own, let alone a grandchild. But I
hope I do, and I hope that if I do, she knows me. She doesn't have to know that I’m insecure
about everything or that I love Rich Mullins music. She doesn't have to know that I once had a
cat named Bradley that was my best friend, or that I got my heart broken in
college, or that I used to sit out on borrowed screened in porches and write.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because, in a way, everyone we meet
becomes a different person when we meet them.
We have a version of who we know them to be in our minds, in our hearts,
that is just a little bit different from what anyone else knows in their minds or hearts. And I don’t know who my grandmother was to
everyone else. I just know she was my
grandmother. I know she loved me. And partly because she loved me, I know how
to love others. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was her last Christmas gift.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t wear it on my hand like a
ring, nor can I play with it like a silly toy.
But it’s in the memories—the perfumed smoke and the hollow steps. It’s in the summer breeze and the Christmas
chill. It’s part of the present, part of
all I do, all I say. Her love that
always, always makes room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The windchimes chime now, and I am
ready. I’m ready to write. I’m ready to live. I’m ready to remember. I’m ready to love. I’m just ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m ready now.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-42887017905205905952014-12-07T15:27:00.002-05:002014-12-07T15:27:53.764-05:00Glory Shown (Christmas 2014)Often, I find myself being drawn to the more mysterious places in Scripture. Some of my favorite passages are where God does something really unusual, such as when He wrestled with Jacob or when He spoke to Elijah in a still small Voice. And I suppose it could be argued, quite easily, that the entirety of Scripture is the story of God doing something really mysterious and unusual. It's the story of the Creator pursuing His creation. But sometimes the stories and characters in Scripture seem commonplace. I think that people then got so busy "doing life" that they forgot the mystery. And people today do the same thing.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite mysterious stories from Scripture is about Moses. Here's a man with a great and terrible past--with insecurities and hesitations. He never really wanted to lead. But God called him out. By the power of God, he had spoken to Pharaoh. By the power of God, he had done signs and wonders. By the power of God, he split the waters so that the Israelites could be free from their Egyptian bondage. And by the power of God, he led the people, with riches to spare, out of the land of Egypt.<br />
<br />
He spoke God's words to the people, and the people vowed that they would do all that the Lord had spoken. So Moses went up to Mt. Sinai to speak with God. He was gone 40 days and 40 nights.<br />
<br />
The people, who had so quickly vowed to do all that the Lord had said, just as quickly turned away. Tired and afraid of waiting, they made a golden calf to worship in the place of God.<br />
<br />
When Moses learned of this, he grieved. God threatened to desert the people. Yet Moses dared to intercede with God for his people, the people God had given him to lead. And he knew that he couldn't continue to lead this stiff-necked people without God. He knew that they needed God with them.<br />
<br />
And Moses said, "Show me Your glory."<br />
<br />
A few years ago, I tried to figure out exactly what glory is. I know it's obviously something to do with having great honor, worth, and/or majesty, but I don't think I've ever heard a satisfactory definition. It's a word that is frequently used and perhaps overused, but I'm not sure how many people, if any, really know what it means. The closest I got to figuring out glory was by reading a thesaurus. I found nothing really helpful in the synonyms (all of them seemed to fall short), but then I read the antonyms. Base.<br />
<br />
When I think of something that is base, I think of something lowly--the lowliest. I think of something that is lower than anything else. I think of something stuck on the bottom of my shoe, but not something even sticky or foul-smelling enough to worry about. It just stays on the bottom of my shoe, trodden upon, ignored and forgotten. Glory is the complete opposite of base. It's the highest. It's above anything else. It's something so high that base fools like us can't even define or imagine it.<br />
<br />
And that's what Moses asked to be shown from God. He wanted to be shown GOD in all His fullness, in all His GLORY. Moses knew that he needed to see pure glory if he were to continue leading the stubborn people of Israel, those wrestlers with God.<br />
<br />
So God hid Moses in the cleft of a rock and covered him with His hand, for He knew Moses couldn't see His face and live. After God had passed by, He allowed Moses to see His back, where He had been. He allowed Moses to see the glory that had passed. But He didn't let Moses see Him face to face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bethlehem was a small town, unimportant, as towns go. There, not in a palace or a mansion or even an inn, but in a stable, Mary, Joseph, and the lowly shepherds were the first ones to peer into the face of God. He didn't look glorious, I'm sure, all tiny and red and potato-headish (as newborns tend to be), and probably covered in birth goo. He didn't have a lot of power and might. In fact, I can't think of many things weaker and more helpless than a newborn human being. There were many alive at the time who probably would have thought as little of this baby as they would of something stuck to the bottom of their sandals.<br />
<br />
The Beloved Disciple wrote in John 1:14, <span style="background-color: #fff2cc;">"<span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">And </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NASB-26059R" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NASB-26059R" title="See cross-reference R">R</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">the Word </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NASB-26059S" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NASB-26059S" title="See cross-reference S">S</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">became flesh, and </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">dwelt among us, and </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NASB-26059U" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NASB-26059U" title="See cross-reference U">U</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">we saw His glory, glory as of </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">the only begotten from the Father, full of </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NASB-26059V" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NASB-26059V" title="See cross-reference V">V</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">grace and </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NASB-26059W" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NASB-26059W" title="See cross-reference W">W</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">truth."</span></span><br />
<br />
The Word--Jesus--became flesh, and came down here to this base world full of base people. <i>And we saw His glory</i>. Moses' prayer was answered, not in the way he expected, and years after he prayed it. What he had seen was a partial revelation, but He later revealed the full. God showed us His glory--not just where He had been and in what He had done, but in what He was doing. And the world finally could see God face to face, for God had become like us. <i>God was with us</i>. Moses had asked for God to be with them in the wilderness. Those in the wilderness needed God to be with them in the time that Jesus walked the earth. Those of us today in the wilderness need God to be with us now.<br />
<br />
And because God, the Father so full of glory we can't even comprehend Him, chose to set aside His glory and come down here to this base world, in the form of a weak little baby, we no longer have to walk through the dark wilderness alone.<br />
<br />
And the very act of setting aside so much for so little is a glorious act in itself. It's one of those mysterious moments, when God does something really unusual. That's probably why Christmas is my favorite time of year, a time to celebrate the miracle of God being with us. Emmanuel.<br />
<br />
We have seen His glory. We are not alone. He is with us.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-67857976295617758182014-11-16T13:57:00.000-05:002014-11-16T13:59:06.730-05:00My "Mental" IllnessDepression has been in the spotlight a lot lately, particularly in the recent and tragic events of several celebrity suicides. People are talking, and that is very good. People are taking notice, and that is very good. As someone who has experienced occasional depression, and who is currently experiencing depression, I am glad that more people are realizing the need to take depression seriously. <br />
<br />
And I hesitate to blog about this subject for several reasons. I know it's controversial. Those who believe specific things about depression, whether it's because they've experienced it first-hand, by walking through it with a loved one, or because they've studied it, are very adamant in their beliefs. Matt Walsh wrote a blog shortly after the death of Robin Williams that got all kinds of backlash. I'm not afraid of backlash, but I am afraid of <i>hurting</i> people, as Matt Walsh did in the writing of that blog. I did like a lot of what Walsh had to say, but if he did anything wrong, it was that he did the same thing that a lot of people who oppose his ideas on depression and suicide do, as well.<br />
<br />
A lot of people seem to think depression is the same for everyone who experiences it. Even if they don't think that's what they're thinking, their attitudes towards suicide seem to indicate their true thought processes. People go to the extremes of thinking that all people who commit suicide are either making a horrible conscious choice, or that all people who commit suicide are too mentally ill to think clearly.<br />
<br />
I don't have all the answers. It's okay not to have all the answers, by the way. But in talking about this with some others via social media, I realized what my thoughts on depression are. No one who is experiencing it experiences it the same way. And I don't have the grounds to say that <i>all</i> suicide is <i>always</i> the result of a conscious, awful choice. I've been in some dark places. I've been in some <i>very</i> dark places where it was all I could do to fight the demons (that I believe are both literal and figurative) that told me the world would be a better place without me in it. But I've never attempted suicide, and God forbid that I ever do. I don't know what it's like to be in <i>that</i> dark of a place. I've always had control of my thoughts, to some degree, even if it was all I could do to just keep telling myself to hold on until morning. Morning always came. The night was so, so long. But, oh, morning always came.<br />
<br />
Some people might not have been able to think clearly enough to realize that morning was coming. I don't know. <br />
<br />
So I can't make any blanket statements.<br />
<br />
But, and this is a but that might offend or hurt some people, I think there's a danger in going too far in the opposite direction and saying that <i>all</i> suicide (and all depression, but I'll touch on that later) is <i>always</i> the result of mental illness. Our society doesn't like to deal with things that just can't be easily dealt with. We like excuses. We don't like to blame ourselves. And we don't want to speak ill of the dead. It's easier to deal with something like suicide if we can tell ourselves, "This loved one who left us didn't choose to leave us. It was the depression. It was the mental illness that killed my loved one. It's the depression's fault."<br />
<br />
I don't want to be insensitive. I've lost friends to suicide. I've had friends who have lost close family members to suicide. It's awful. There's just no way around that. There's no sense to be made of it. Yet we're a society that wants things to make sense. It's easier to say that suicide is a result of a disease than the result of a very, very bad choice. <br />
<br />
In the case of Robin Williams' death, many factors might have been at play. He was suffering from Parkinson's and might have been having hallucinations. But the thing is, we really don't know what was going on at the time of his death. Sometimes, we just don't know.<br />
<br />
And that's okay. <br />
<br />
It's okay to not know things. <br />
<br />
I think that we forget that sometimes, and we try to explain things. We try to make excuses. We try to find ways to make things make sense.<br />
<br />
The problem is, suicide doesn't make sense.<br />
<br />
It just doesn't.<br />
<br />
I don't wish to offend. I don't wish to hurt. The thing is, if you're upset enough by anything I wrote above, chances are, you've already been hurt. And deeply. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what you've been through and what you're going through. Surviving a suicide is a grief no one should ever have to bear. It doesn't make sense, and sometimes this world doesn't make sense. And I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
But sin and death exist in this world, and really, they were never meant to. We're all subject to pain and grief and loss and hardship that God never intended for us. But when Adam and Eve fell from grace, sin entered into the world, and we all have to bear the consequences. Sometimes the pain we experience is the result of our own sin. Sometimes it's the result of someone else's sin. Sometimes, it's just a result of sin in general. And this world is a hard, hard place in which to live. <br />
<br />
And this is something else that might offend people, but I've already taken offense. I take offense to those who make blanket statements about depression. I take offense to those who say that all depression is a mental illness. If all depression is the result of mental illness, then, because I experience depression, I'm mentally ill. <br />
<br />
And maybe people who make such blanket statements are trying to be encouraging by saying that my depression isn't my fault. I don't think that experiencing depression is my fault either, necessarily, but I'm not comfortable with this idea that I don't have any responsibility in how I live as a depressed individual. <br />
<br />
If I wake up in the morning and don't want to get out of bed, I still get out of bed because I have things I'm supposed to do. Is it easy? No. If I'm at work and I numb and disconnected from reality, I still work and try to invest myself in what I'm doing. Is it easy? No. My particular brand of depression is more numb and apathetic than sad (though if I let myself have a pity party and invite my anxiety, I can get ridiculously sad pretty quickly), but I learned a long time ago that life is a whole lot more than what I'm feeling. If I don't "feel" what I'm doing, that doesn't make it less real. What I do is still important, even if I don't "feel" it.<br />
<br />
And others might not be able to overcome it that easily, and there are definitely days when I struggle more than others. But my depression is NOT a mental illness. And what's more is, I don't necessarily want to be rid of it. <br />
<br />
I read something somewhere (I wish I'd written down the source, sorry) that made some statement that depressed people's minds were so distorted that they didn't realize it was preferable not to be depressed. Maybe that's where I am. Maybe all of these thoughts are just the result of a mental illness, and therefore I'm just absolutely crazy. But I don't think so. <br />
<br />
I've been depressed, on and off, throughout my entire adult life. Seasonal depression almost always hits me in the autumn, but I experience it at other times, too. And what I've learned is that I do tend to think more deeply when I'm going through seasons of depression. Artistically, some of my best song lyrics and writing have come out of times when I'm struggling. And maybe I should think to ask God if I could have creativity without depression, but I've always kind of figured that it's connected. I don't mean just creativity and depression; I mean life.<br />
<br />
Life is not just joy. Life is not just sorrow. It's not just bursts of creativity or comfortable silences. It's a journey, and I seem to be taking the scenic route. Others have had problems with that, but I don't despair of who I am. Sometimes my depression helps me slow down and look at things others might have missed, or that I might have missed if I weren't looking. <br />
<br />
I don't see depression as a mental illness. I don't see it as a gift either, really. It's just something that is, that's part of what I have to experience along with everything else in this wonderful, awful life. <br />
<br />
And this is more than just that old cliche about the only difference between a blessing and a curse is how you choose to see it. I just know that I've got a path in front of me. I don't always see the next step. I just put one foot in front of the other, and pray I won't stumble. And sometimes I do stumble. And sometimes I retreat back a few steps. And sometimes things are harder than others. <br />
<br />
But one thing I'm sure of is that there is mercy in the struggle.<br />
<br />
There is so much mercy.<br />
<br />
Because the only illness I have is the same illness the whole world has. It's not really a mental illness as much as it's an illness of the soul. It's called sin. There's only one cure for it. And I'm just grateful that through all that I've experienced, I've met one named Jesus who has saved me from sin and self forever. I struggle. Oh, I struggle. But my hope is in Him. <br />
<br />
I can't speak for anyone else regarding depression. All I know is that He's the One who has given to <i>me</i> songs in the night and joy in the morning.<br />
<br />
And I figure as long as I'm traveling along this road of life, that's the way it's supposed to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-90548232432052929852014-11-10T21:51:00.000-05:002015-02-21T17:30:20.700-05:00My Experiences With Essential Oils, So FarThis isn't usually the sort of thing I blog about, but lately my blog has had no real rules. So, without further ado, I must admit that, my friends, I've become a hippy essential oil lady. And in this blog, I will vomit just about everything I have learned about using essential oils. Fair warning. <br />
<br />
I post about my oil experiences a bit on "the Facebook," and so I get a few questions from time to time. Lately, I've gotten a LOT of questions. Essential oils are gaining popularity, and people are curious. I'm no expert. I'm still pretty new at essential oil usage (just started using them back in April or May), and I'm still learning. I will still be learning, as there are many, many different oils, many, many different blends, and many, many uses for each oil. But, since I keep getting questions, I thought I'd go ahead and write about my experiences with essential oils, so far.<br />
<br />
<b>DISCLAIMER</b>: I'm not a doctor. The statements I make here are based on my own experiences using oils and are not to be taken as medical advice or expertise. If you use essential oils, please do your research on each individual oil or blend so that you can use them SAFELY (especially if you are considering using oils with children or if you plan on taking oils internally). Please also keep in mind that not everyone has the same reaction or experience to each oil. What works for me might not work for you. I might be able to handle a particular oil or blend without diluting with a carrier oil, but each person needs to see what works best with their own individual skin and body chemistry. Also, the uses I list below for these oils is not an exhaustive list. There are many uses for oils, so do your research! "The Google" is full of all kinds of info.<br />
<br />
<b>What brand of oils do I use?</b> I use <a href="http://www.rockymountainoils.com/" target="_blank">Rocky Mountain Oils</a>, which I either get from their website OR I order them from <a href="http://www.nativeamericannutritionals.com/essential-oils.htm" target="_blank">Native American Nutritionals</a>. The companies recently joined, and so both sites sell the exact same oils at the exact same price (unless there is a sale on one of the sites), and they are shipped within the same time frame (usually takes 3 work days to get my oils after I order them). The reason I use both sites is because I've learned that sometimes one site will offer sales on certain oils or free shipping deals. I have also found promo codes on various blogs that are useful only on one of the sites or the other. I try to take advantage of any sales from either site in order to save money. I like saving money. <br />
<br />
RM oils are therapeutic grade, pure, organic, and not to mention, awesome. I decided to go with RMO because they offer high quality at a lower price than some other companies. I originally got into essential oils through a friend who is selling Young Living oils. The oils I got from her were great--I have no complaints about their quality. But they were EXPENSIVE. RMO offers similar quality at lower prices. And I can also go online and order whatever I need whenever I want it, without having to go through any multi-level marketing middleman. It's nice having that convenience. I personally don't care what oil brand you go with, as long as you do your homework and get high quality, therapeutic grade oils--especially if you plan on using these oils medicinally. If you just want some peppermint or cinnamon oil to keep bugs out of your house, go get something cheap. If you're using this on your own body or on your family--spend the extra money to make sure you're not getting something that can hurt you or your loved ones. I looked around and read a lot. I read several other blogs that had tested different oils (I wish I had the money to do that for myself, but I don't), and RMO came out on top in many of those tests. <br />
<br />
Here are all the oils or blends I have used. I am still fairly new at this whole thing, so I do plan on using more oils in the future. I also want to note that I haven't gotten around to purchasing a diffuser, and I'm still on the fence about whether I want to or not. I'm not sure a diffuser is something I'd even use enough to justify buying one. Other people use them and love them, but I'm bad at upkeep (*coughI'mASlobcough*), and I housesit so much that I'm often not even living in my own house for weeks at a time. A diffuser would probably get buried under some laundry or knitting somewhere. But other people like them. So if you're looking into diffusers/oils that are good for diffusing, I'm not your girl. Yet.<br />
<br />
(*EDIT* I have recently started using a diffuser. I don't have a lot to say on the matter, except I like it. I don't feel knowledgeable enough to say much more than that.)<br />
<br />
<b>Melaleuca (AKA the oil that is hardest to remember how to spell...well, probably not, but still...):</b><br />
Melaleuca is basically tea tree oil, except that tea tree is a slightly higher potency (I plan on purchasing tea tree oil from RMO, to see how it compares to Melaleuca, but that's not in the budget yet). This was the first essential oil I tried. I originally used Melaleuca from Young Living, and it worked well. When that ran out, I purchased Melaleuca from Rocky Mountain. Their quality is about the same. RMO's Melaleuca has a slightly less pungent smell, but I noticed no difference in how the oils worked. I have had dry scalp issues for years. I use melaleuca in my shampoo, in hair oil, and a few other hair products. The thing that really does the trick, however, is a scalp treatment I use once a week (the recipe is at the end of this blog post). This has been the only thing to help with my severely dry scalp--seriously, before I started using this, my scalp was flaking and peeling so badly that I felt like a leper. As long as I use the weekly scalp treatment, my head doesn't even itch! I also put a few drops of melaleuca in my skin toner (recipe below) and in my store-bought moisturizer. Melaleuca is supposed to help with acne--and I'm one of those unfortunate adults who still has occasional acne breakouts. I still get acne, but not as much as I did before using the melaleuca in my moisturizer.<br />
<br />
<b>Lavender</b>: Everyone says that lavender is the most versatile oil, and it's true. I use lavender to soothe (and heal) my severely dry hands. I put a few drops in my store-bought lotion, and at night I use coconut oil with a few drops of lavender oil mixed it. I slather my hands with the coconut oil mix and cover my hands with white gloves. This has been the only thing that has helped really heal my dry, dry skin. I've tried just about everything, so this was what really sold me on essential oils. I originally got lavender oil from a friend selling YL. When I ran out, I purchased a new bottle from RM. I like RM's smell a little better, but the oils are really about the same quality. <br />
I also use lavender with other essential oils in an allergy mix (recipe below). The allergy mix works so well that I've been able to give up Claritin! I put lavender in my hair products and in the weekly scalp treatments, facial toner, and in my store-bought moisturizer. <br />
Last week I burned my finger on a hot pan. Usually, such a burn would blister by the next day. However, I just put a drop of lavender oil directly on the burn (it's one of the mildest oils--please don't try this with a different oil or blend without checking to see if it's safe), and the next day, you couldn't even tell I'd been burned. Lavender's smell is wonderful and relaxing. If you're going to try out essential oils, I recommend lavender as the one to start with. NAN/RMO sells two different kinds of lavender. I use the Lavender Bulgaria, as I read that it is a little more potent than the Lavender Hungary.<br />
<br />
<b>Peppermint</b>: Another extremely versatile oil! I use it in the aforementioned allergy blend. If my back/neck/shoulder muscles are tired, I put a drop in a handful of coconut oil and slather it on my back. I don't always use it in my scalp tonic, but sometimes I'll add a few drops to help cover the smell of the apple cider vinegar. This is a "hot" oil for some people, so please make sure you test how your body reacts if you plan on using it. I do just fine applying it straight to my skin, but you might need to dilute it with a carrier oil, like coconut oil, jojoba oil, or almond oil.<br />
<br />
<b>Pink Grapefruit</b>: I originally got this oil because I thought it might help improve my mood to inhale it. I love the smell of grapefruit! Inhalation didn't seem to make much difference in my mood, but I started reading about how some people like to put grapefruit oil in their water for weight loss. I thought I'd give it a try. I didn't notice much weight loss, but what I did discover is that putting a drop of grapefruit oil in my water not only gave my water a wonderful refreshing flavor, but it REALLY helped energize me. If I'm feeling sluggish in the afternoons, I add a drop or two of grapefruit oil to my water. It really gives me a pick me up to get me through the day. *NOTE* Please educate yourself before taking any oil internally. Many people who use oils choose not to take them internally, regardless of the oil's quality. If you choose to take oils internally, make sure you are using a therapeutic grade oil, as many cheaper oils contain dangerous additives or are extracted using unsafe methods. Some oils (such as melaleuca) are toxic and should NEVER be taken internally. RMO oils are safe to be taken internally if they are not toxic, but this is a decision you should make for yourself. In other words, don't just go order a bunch of oils and start drinking them. Do your research! Make an informed decision!<br />
<br />
(*EDIT* I have recently stopped taking any oils internally. After reading more on it, I decided against using them in that manner. I feel it MIGHT be unsafe, and even if it's safe, it seems unnecessary. This is still a choice you must make on your own, and please do research.)<br />
<br />
<b>Lemon</b>: Lemon is a great little versatile oil. A lot of people use it in cleaning or use it to flavor their water. As of right now, I just use the lemon oil in my allergy mix. There are a couple of different kinds of lemon oils available from RMO. I got the Lemon USA Pressed Peel. It smells really, really good!<br />
<br />
<b>Rosemary</b>: I use this oil in all of my hair products and in my scalp tonic, as it is good for hair growth and strength. I love the way my hair smells when I use rosemary in it. There's also a lot of evidence to support that inhaling rosemary oil is good for memory. I'm not sure if it helps my memory, but the scent of rosemary oil does help me relax.<br />
<br />
<b>Bug Off</b>: This is a blend of oils sold by RMO. A blend differs from an oil single as it contains many essential oils that have already been blended by the company. Bug off contains lemongrass and citronella, among other oils, which are useful in warding off insects. I made my own bug spray with this (recipe below). It worked just as well as something I'd buy from the store, only without the added chemicals--and for a fraction of the price. I figure one bottle of Bug Off will last me through several "insect seasons"--well worth the investment.<br />
<br />
<b>Aligning</b>: So far, this is the only oil I've used that I haven't just absolutely loved. I do think it's helping, but for me, it hasn't produced the dramatic results it seems to provide for other people. I'm still using it and testing it to see if I start to notice any real difference that it makes.<br />
I have had back/shoulder/and neck issues and accompanying dizziness for months. I was seeing a chiropractor, but that stopped helping, and it got too expensive. Since this oil blend is known as "a chiropractor in a bottle," I thought I would give it a try. I applied a few drops along my spine, particularly around my neck and upper back. At first, all this oil did was make me dizzy. As dizziness was one of my neck/back symptoms, I thought perhaps that I was just having a relapse. But I noticed there was a correlation--I'd apply the oil, and a few minutes later, I'd start to feel dizzy. As a result, I started using the oil only at night, right before bedtime. <br />
I still apply this oil to my spine every night. I'm no longer having sensations of dizziness, and sometimes when I apply it, I will note that it is a lot easier to pop my neck. It might be doing its job, and I might just not know it. I think the original dizziness was actually the oil working to realign my back and body. I was feeling dizzy because it was working, but my body was used to being out of alignment and protested being put back in alignment. But I'm not 100% sure. With that being said, I'm not sure whether this blend is a good one for me or not. I still have an almost full bottle, so I will keep using it for a while. Other people have used this blend and had a lot of help from it, so my personal experience with it is not to be taken as the norm. But if anyone out there has used Aligning from RMO (or a similar blend from another company, such as Balance by doTerra or Valor by Young Living) and has experienced dizziness or headaches after using this oil, please leave me a little note in the comments. I really thought I was going a little crazy when I started having adverse reactions to this oil, so it would be nice to know if anyone out there has had a similar reaction. It does just go to show you that not everyone has the same reaction to an oil or blend. And sometimes your body just needs to get used to an oil or blend. Note: This oil is dark, due to the blue tansy it contains, and it might stain clothes--but in my opinion, you'd have to really be trying to make it stain anything.<br />
<br />
<b>True Blue</b>: Okay. This is the stuff. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE True Blue. Since having all my neck/back/shoulder issues, this blend has been an absolute life saver! True Blue helps me so much with the pain, but it's also anti-inflammatory and calms tension! It contains both peppermint and wintergreen, so it smells a bit like Winterfresh chewing gum, but it also contains blue tansy, which serves to calm and soothe. I absolutely love the smell. My body has started reacting to the smell of True Blue before I ever apply the blend to my skin. I smell it and immediately feel calmer, more relaxed. If I'm in pain, the smell serves to alert me to the fact that relief is coming. I apply this product directly to my back, neck, and shoulders, placing a drop on whatever area is in pain at the moment. Sometimes I'll slather on some coconut oil to my whole upper back region after applying the oil. This provides exceptional pain relief and promotes relaxation. I use this stuff almost every night before bed, and as needed during the day. I've found I haven't needed it as much during the day, as it really seems to be keeping the inflammation in check. I love this stuff. I'm not exaggerating to say that it has greatly improved the quality of my life. If you have pain due to inflammation or arthritis, please look into this blend. *Note* This oil is dark, due to the blue tansy, and can stain clothes, but, as I said, you'd really have to be trying to make it stain your clothes. I figure you'd have to be wearing a white shirt and apply drops directly to said shirt to really have any problems. I mean, if you're clumsy, like me, just don't wear white while applying this oil. Roller bottles are really good options for clumsy people who spill stuff, btw.<br />
<br />
<b>Feminine Aid</b>: This is another blend that I just can't stop raving about. I got this oil because I heard that it helped with three things that plague me: 1) Anxiety, 2) Depression, 3) GIRLY TIME CRAMPS. I suspect it's the latter of those three things that give Feminine Aid its happy little name. To be honest, it doesn't help too much with my cramps. I did apply a little to my abdomen during my last girly time (yeah, I'm blogging about that, get over it), and it helped a bit. It took the edge off my pain, but I still had to take ibuprofen to be functional. I've read other reviewers say it was the only thing that helped them with cramps, so if you're having issues, it's worth a try. It also helped my manage some of my, how shall I put this?--FEELINGS during girly time. <br />
But I really wish this blend had a different name, because it's not just a girly time oil. It's an every-day-can't-be-without-it oil. I suffer from mild anxiety and depression. It's manageable, but lately, due to all my back issues and stress and life in general, I've had a harder time of things. I figured I'd try this blend to see if it helped me deal with my anxiety and depression. I put a drop or two behind my ears, on my wrists, around my ankles, wearing it much like a perfume. At first, I noticed it helped a little. It would keep me a little more focused. The smell was calming. I was happy with it.<br />
But a couple of weeks ago, this oil did something that absolutely astounded me. I had had an awful day. Just awful. And I had a lot I still had to do that day. So, during my short amount of time to myself, I did what any reasonable anxious person would do, and I started having a panic attack. I've had them from time to time, but I've had them more frequently as of late. I was having trouble breathing without hyperventilating. I was crying. I couldn't calm down. I felt completely out of control. I couldn't stop the negative thoughts from overwhelming me. But I reached for my Feminine Aid. I took a good sniff straight from the bottle (inhalation is the quickest way to get an oil in your system), and then I applied a drop behind my right ear. Then I started to put a drop behind my left ear, but I noticed something. My breathing had already become even. I immediately felt calmer. The bad thoughts went away, and I felt grounded and reasonable, immediately able to see life realistically instead of thinking the worst and letting it all overwhelm me.<br />
<br />
Y'all. That essential oil blend stopped a panic attack in its tracks.<br />
<br />
Immediately.<br />
<br />
That stuff is legit.<br />
<br />
I am NEVER leaving home without Feminine Aid.<br />
<br />
I'm a believer.<br />
<br />
If you have mood issues, I strongly recommend this blend. It's all kinds of amazing.<br />
*Note* It took me a while to become accustomed to the smell, as it's very earthy and musty. In my opinion, it smells very different in the bottle than it does on your skin. On my skin, it smells like a nice musky perfume. I think your body chemistry will change the scent a little, so if you get this and are turned off by how it smells in the bottle, give it time.<br />
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<b>Immune Strength</b>: I have only just started using this oil, so I'm still figuring out the best way to use it, as well as how well it works for me. I was having some lingering sore throat/cough issues, and I thought I'd try this to see if it would knock it out. I diluted some in coconut oil and rubbed it over my throat. I also put a drop on each foot, near my toes (this is a HOT oil blend, so my foot is the only place I feel safe using it undiluted). That seemed to help my breathing, but I still had throat pain/chest congestion. After reading a little more on this blend, I did put a drop in a glass of warm water and drank it. I did this two nights in a row. I'm not sure if the oil is the culprit, but I had an upset stomach the second night. I stopped taking it internally after that, but I did notice that the cough is gone, and my throat is feeling better. That cough and sore throat had lingered for almost a month, and I finally feel like I'm over it. I'm not 100% sure, but I think that drop of oil in the water I drank is what knocked out that cough. I might try just gargling with a glass of water and a drop of Immune Strength the next time I have a sore throat. I've read so many good things about this oil, so I'm definitely going to keep trying to figure out the best way(s) to use it. I'm considering adding a bit to my allergy blend, but I haven't decided yet.<br />
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<br />
<b>Recipes</b>:<br />
<br />
Note: When I use the word "recipe," what I mean is "this is the general idea." Honestly, when I cook and when I use oils, I never do things exactly the same thing twice. But here's basically what I do when I make certain things using essential oils.<br />
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<b>Scalp Tonic</b>:<br />
<br />
1/4 cup Apple Cider Vinegar<br />
3/4 cup Water<br />
3 drops Melaleuca Oil<br />
3 drops Lavender Oil<br />
3 drops Rosemary Oil<br />
1 drop Peppermint Oil (optional)<br />
1 teaspoon Olive Oil (optional) (if used, reduce amount of water)<br />
<br />
Mix water, ACV, and optional olive oil. I don't always use the olive oil, but I find that it helps improve my hair if I use it occasionally. Hot oil is a good hair treatment. When I use the olive oil, I microwave the mixture for about 30 seconds to get the oil nice and warm. If I'm not using the olive oil, I don't worry about warming it up--although a warm mixture feels nicer on your head. It's up to you.<br />
Pour mix into an 8 oz. spray bottle. Add essential oils. Close bottle and shake vigorously for a few seconds. Lean your head over your tub or sink and spray contents on your scalp, occasionally pausing to massage mixture into your scalp. When bottle is empty, gather all hair into an elastic band, wrap your head in a towel, and leave mixture on for at least 30 minutes. It won't hurt to leave it on longer. I once forgot I had the treatment on, and watched a good 2 hour movie before remembering I needed to wash it out.<br />
When you've left it on a bit, just wash your hair as normal.<br />
I do this scalp treatment once a week, and my scalp doesn't itch or flake anymore!<br />
You MAY want to follow all this up with a leave-in hair rinse which includes:<br />
4 cups water<br />
A "splash" (appr. 1 tbsp) ACV<br />
3 drops Melaleuca<br />
3 drops Lavender<br />
3 drops Rosemary<br />
1 drop Peppermint (still optional, but since you're leaving even a small amount of vinegar in your hair, the peppermint REALLY helps eliminate the residual odor that might linger after your hair dries).<br />
Pour this over your head after you wash your hair, and just leave it in and go on with your life.<br />
I don't always do the follow up rinse, but sometimes it helps my scalp even more. I do the follow-up rinse about once a month.<br />
<br />
<b>Facial Toner</b>:<br />
<br />
1/4 cup ACV<br />
1 cup Water<br />
3 drops Melaleuca<br />
3 drops Lavender<br />
<br />
Mix all ingredients in a bottle. Apply to face as needed with a cotton ball.<br />
<br />
<b>Allergy Mix</b>:<br />
<br />
Equal parts:<br />
Lavender Oil<br />
Peppermint Oil<br />
Lemon Oil<br />
<br />
It's that simple. <br />
You can put a drop of each on the soles of your feet, or you can premix a blend. I actually use two different kinds of mixes. At night, I use a mix of these oils in a base of coconut oil. I rub the mix all over my feet, as this provides allergy relief, as well as makes my feet all soft and dainty!<br />
In the morning, I use a roll-on bottle (can be purchased from RMO or NAN websites) with equal parts of the oils already mixed together. I simply roll a little on the soles of each feet (particularly near my toes), and then put my socks and/or shoes on. It sounds a little silly, but it really works!<br />
<br />
If I'm feeling particularly allergic on a certain day, I'll get a glass of water and put a drop of each oil in it. I'll gargle the oil water for a few minutes. It helps even more. Some people go so far as to take this oil mix internally by drinking it or putting it in capsules. But usually, just putting it on my feet is enough. I was taking Claritin every day, and I'm off it now. The oil blend actually works better than the Claritin!<br />
<br />
*I might try adding Immune Strength to my allergy roller, as it seems to help alleviate chest congestion and sore throat pain. If I do, I will use much less IS than the other oils. Maybe 1 part IS to 2 parts of the others.<br />
<br />
<b>Bug Off Spray</b>:<br />
<br />
Fill a 4 oz spray bottle almost completely with water. Add 20-30 drops of Bug Off. Shake well before each use. Spray on Bug Off spray all over your skin before going outside in an area where you might be exposed to mosquitoes or other biting insects.<br />
<br />
<br />
So far, that's my limited experience with essential oils. But I'm always trying to learn more. I want to try new oils and new blends, as well as learn new uses for the oils I already own and love! Please share your own experiences/recipes/questions below. I'm learning that there's a whole community of essential oil users--so let's help out one another! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-524391662450342892014-11-02T15:16:00.002-05:002014-11-02T15:16:30.966-05:00At the Top of the HillI used to be a runner. <br />
<br />
I ran in 5ks and 10ks, and even did a half-marathon and a 15 mile fundraiser run (that turned into a walk-jog near mile 12, because I didn't train as well as I really needed to). <br />
<br />
A few things happened, like me having weird knee pain and back pain and general laziness, that made me get out of the habit. And maybe I'll be a runner again. I don't know. <br />
<br />
When I was a runner, I preferred to run alone, but that was never a rule. I'd occasionally run with my friend Mary, or I'd run with my running group, The Second Wind. We would meet up at a park in a ridiculously small town that was about 10 minutes from the not-quite-as-ridiculously-small town where I lived. We would usually just run the mile loop at the park, and really that was all I knew of the town. I knew they had a Sonic Drive-In, a CVS, and a few schools, but I didn't spend much time in that town. It was ridiculously small.<br />
<br />
But I ran that mile loop a lot. Probably more than 100 times. It was familiar. It was comfortable--even that big hill near the end that I hated so much. I'd always try to run faster when I got to that hill, just to show it who was boss. And even when it beat me and I had to walk it, I got to the top. And in the springtime, my favorite time to run, on the other side of that hill were honeysuckle bushes. That heavenly aroma, my favorite smell in the world, was my reward for conquering the hill.<br />
<br />
And I deserved a reward. That hill was hard. It was a very hard, awful, butt-kicking hill.<br />
<br />
But at the same time, it was familiar. It was something I knew was coming. I knew how to mentally prepare for it. I knew what I had to do to pace myself before reaching it. <br />
<br />
But one of those times where I met with my running group, the guy leading us decided to lead us out of the park. I had no idea where we were going, as I had only run that mile loop (with that familiar hill). I'd never ventured outside the park in this ridiculously small town. And even in a ridiculously small town, I was uncomfortable. I had no idea where we were going.<br />
<br />
We ran down Main Street. We turned a corner onto a street I don't think I'd ever been on before. We ran past homes and tiny little shops. I took it all in, trying to figure out exactly where I was. We ran down this street for maybe half a mile before I realized I sort of knew where we were. The road we were on connected with another road I had driven down, but I'd always been on the other side of it.<br />
<br />
We did take that road, and I figured out where we were pretty quickly. But had we kept running on the path we were on, we would have run up another hill. And this hill wasn't one I'd seen before. It wasn't familiar to me. And at the top of that hill was a house I'd never seen before.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward about three years. <br />
<br />
I'm living in that unfamiliar house at the top of that unfamiliar hill in that ridiculously small town. I've been living here over a year now. And this ridiculously small town isn't so scary anymore.<br />
<br />
But as I drove past those homes and tiny little shops along the street where I now live, I couldn't help but remember how foreign they once looked to me, as I ran an unfamiliar path. <br />
<br />
And that hill that once looked almost foreboding to me, the hill that I didn't know, well, it's my home.<br />
<br />
I've been wondering right now what's to come of my life. I feel completely overwhelmed sometimes, completely stuck where I am. I start things and fail to accomplish them. I try, only to be beaten down by circumstance, or worse, by my own laziness. I trudge the same paths, and they're familiar, but they're tedious.<br />
<br />
I need to face a new hill. I'm scared because I'm not ready. I don't know how to prepare myself for something I don't know. But I need to face the hill.<br />
<br />
Because at the top of it might be something I couldn't expect, something I couldn't imagine, something that might change my life.<br />
<br />
I don't know how. I'm not ready. But I think the time is coming fairly soon, and I'm going to need to take that first step up that hill.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-68521450581854209922014-10-28T16:48:00.004-04:002014-10-28T16:48:55.090-04:00Do Not Be Afraid: Part TwoChristmas season is coming. It's kind of what my calendar revolves around. I spend Septemberish-Marchish celebrating Christmas. That's sixish months of the year. And I'm okay with that.<br />
<br />
And every year, I theme my Christmas and my year around a word or statement from the Biblical Christmas story. This year, the theme has been "Do Not Be Afraid." And God has taught me a lot through that theme this year. <br />
<br />
And I don't think He's finished.<br />
<br />
So many good things have happened this year, and so many hard things have happened this year. I am battling depression right now big time. I usually do in the autumn, when it gets cold. But this year, it started in the summer and never let up, and then hit me all over again in the autumn. Right now, everything is hard.<br />
<br />
Even writing is hard, so sorry I haven't updated this very much. ...not that anyone has really wanted to read it anyway.<br />
<br />
But when I started thinking about what theme I would have for next year, when I started looking at different words or phrases from the Christmas story, I realized that I'm not quite ready to let go of this year's theme. I still think there's a lot I have to learn. And I think the lessons are going to get harder from here on out.<br />
<br />
I'm a really independent person. I am introverted and need a lot of time to myself. And while I love people, I really don't need to have a lot of people in my life to be happy. I can be alone and be just fine. But I've had a lot of health and financial issues this year. I've had some hard stuff happen--not devastating--just hard. And I really think God's leading me to start letting other people help.<br />
<br />
I don't like being taken care of, but I think God's leading me to start trusting people a little more, and stop depending on myself for everything. It's hard, because trust is hard. I know I won't let myself down, and if I do, I only have myself to blame. That's comfortable. Trusting others isn't comfortable. Relying on others means I have to let go of that little bit of control that I'm still holding on to. I have to trust God to help me trust others. I have to open myself up a little bit more. It's scary. It's more complicated. It's hard.<br />
<br />
But I don't remember God ever promising us that following Him would be easy.<br />
<br />
And it's weird how He's leading me to be courageous and strong even in something like relationships with others. But here I am, still hearing Him tell me: "Do not be afraid."<br />
<br />
So, I'm looking forward to 2015, not knowing at all what to expect. I know it will probably continue to be hard. I know that there will be new challenges, new obstacles, new choices, new risks. But He tells me not to be afraid. He tells me to be courageous and strong.<br />
<br />
And I have learned and am still learning that love is worth the fight.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-38259404661028442882014-09-28T14:41:00.000-04:002014-09-28T14:45:14.939-04:00Find a WayTemptation:<br />
<br />
My temptation is the temptation of Moses, who, when God called him to speak and gave him words to speak, claimed that speech was too difficult for him. He asked, begged, God to use someone else. <br />
<br />
Sometimes it seems that there's no place in this loud world for quiet people. <br />
<br />
It seems the only choices for quiet people are to remain quiet and unheard, or to become as loud as everyone else. Some are able to do this, but not me. Not me. So I ask for an "Aaron," one who can speak on my behalf.<br />
<br />
Except I've learned that it doesn't work. People who want to speak for me are not people who listen well. The loud, too often, misrepresent the quiet. They assume instead of questioning, or when they do question, they question without listening. It's not their fault so much as it's just my ever-present struggle--I'm misunderstood. <br />
<br />
The quiet are often misunderstood.<br />
<br />
So I'm tempted to fade into the background, to let someone else go in my place. I'm not strong enough. I'm not talented enough. I'm not brave enough. I'm not capable enough. I'm not LOUD enough. And no one would listen to a quiet person like me anyway.<br />
<br />
And since I'm often misunderstood, some might see me naming my flaws and think that I'm just being humble. But the truth is that the line between humility and pride is so thin that it's hard to tell the difference between them. Sometimes, I don't even know if I'm being humble or proud. But when I focus more on what I CAN'T do than on what God CAN do, I really don't think I'm being humble. Not at all.<br />
<br />
So my temptation is the temptation of Moses, the pride to remain silent when God has given me something to say, to ask for Him to use someone else. I'm not worthy or capable of speaking His words. And who would listen to me anyway?<br />
<br />
Conviction:<br />
<br />
The world is loud, and I am quiet. That's a fact. But that fact does not excuse me.<br />
<br />
A prophet doesn't get to choose to be a prophet. And why would anyone choose such a task? To speak truth to a world that doesn't want to hear it? That's asking for a heap of trouble, and more importantly, that's asking for incredible pain. Because a prophet doesn't weep because people hate him or her. A prophet weeps because people would rather believe lies than truth.<br />
<br />
And lies are extremely, extremely loud.<br />
<br />
And I am quiet.<br />
<br />
But I have something to say.<br />
<br />
And so the conviction is very simple. The conviction is very complex.<br />
<br />
<b>Find a way.</b><br />
<br />
Find a way to speak.<br />
<br />
The prophet's job is to speak the truth, both in love and power.<br />
<br />
The prophet's job is <i>not</i> to make people listen.<br />
<br />
In a loud world where so few have ears to hear, a prophet must find a way to speak. <br />
<br />
Even the quiet ones.<br />
<br />
Because Love demands action, and faith demands obedience.<br />
<br />
And He commands me to be strong and courageous, to not be afraid. <br />
<br />
All my insecurities must fade in the light of who He is.<br />
<br />
It's not easy, and no one ever said it would be. And my path isn't the same as other's paths. I can't speak for anyone besides myself. <br />
<br />
But as for me, it's time I found a way.<br />
<br />
I am quiet. I will always be quiet. <br />
<br />
I will find a way to speak.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-86665746187100503792014-09-21T20:46:00.000-04:002014-09-21T20:52:04.127-04:00On Not Being AfraidIt occurred to me just this morning that it's over halfway through September. The year is ever so gradually coming to a close. If you've been keeping up with my blogs for a while, you might know that I have a theme for each year that I choose from the Biblical Christmas story. This year's theme: "Do Not Be Afraid."<br />
<br />
And what an interesting year it has been.<br />
<br />
I had no idea how many lessons God would teach me, nor did I have an idea of how He would teach them. At the beginning of the year, I figured God would teach me how to be less fearful or something. I really didn't know what to expect. It's been a journey.<br />
<br />
This year, I learned to let go of things I didn't know I could let go of, and I learned to embrace things I didn't know I could embrace. I've learned to say yes, and I've learned to say no. I've learned how to follow, and I've learned how to lead. <br />
<br />
I've learned that sometimes you have to gather in faith. I've learned that sometimes God calls you to scatter in faith what He once had you gather. And it's good.<br />
<br />
I've learned that when I am weak, He is strong. And you'd think I'd know that one by now. It's funny how we think we have things figured out all right, and then God shows us our pride in a completely different light. He is so faithful to show us our need, as well as His provision, and it's good. <br />
<br />
I could list all of the various lessons, the various trials. I could list my victories and my failures and my insecurities. But, honestly, it's been done. If you've ever read my blog before, you should know I'm weak. You should know I'm insecure. You should know I'm fearful. <br />
<br />
And maybe the most important thing I've learned this year, this year with the theme of "Do Not Be Afraid," is that it's okay. It's okay to be afraid.<br />
<br />
Because all my life people have told me that it's not okay to be afraid. Because people say "don't be afraid," like it's something we actively have some minute amount of control over. They say, "If you fear, then the Bible says you haven't been perfected in love." They say, "Well, in the Bible God and His angels tell us over and over to not be afraid or He commands us to be strong and courageous, so we should never, ever be afraid." <br />
<br />
But I have to wake up every morning and stare at the ceiling, facing the unknown. I have to walk outside the door of my house into the world, just praying I don't get too dizzy (due to my neck pain) that I pass out in the driveway. I have to start my car and hope that it actually starts and doesn't break down on the way to work. I have to go to work and deal with people who ever, ever threaten my insecurities. I have to go to social things, whatever they may be, that overstimulate me and threaten to cause anxiety attacks. I have to go to bed at night, staring at the ceiling again, facing the unknown. <br />
<br />
I'm freakin' terrified. <br />
<br />
And I think that I probably should be.<br />
<br />
And I don't think anything is to be gained by pretending I don't have any fear. <br />
<br />
Because I figure that overcoming fear and being perfected in love isn't a matter of just praying a prayer and being cured of fear forever and always. I figure being perfected always involves a process. I figure that being perfected in love means you choose love over fear in the millions of little every day issues and problems that arise. When someone hurts my feelings, instead of brooding in my insecurity, I can choose to love and forgive and remember that others have insecurities too. When I'm afraid to talk to someone because I don't know how much commitment that friendship might take, I can choose to risk it and love anyway. <br />
<br />
And I figure I haven't been perfected in love. But I figure that I am currently being perfected in love. And I figure that One Day I'll be fearless, but I'm not there yet. <br />
<br />
And I figure that if God and His angels repeated His commands "be strong and courageous" and "don't be afraid" over and over and over again, it's probably because we need the reminders. We need them <i>constantly</i>, and not because we're fearless. It's because we're naturally fearful. We can't just pretend that away. If we could pray a prayer or sprinkle magic holy dust on ourselves and be fearless forever and always, we wouldn't need the numerous reminders. God gives them to us because He knows we need them. We're fearful. We're ever so fearful.<br />
<br />
And that's okay.<br />
<br />
Because "not being afraid" isn't about willing myself to get over my hangups or willing myself to go do something that would normally scare me silly. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with taking risks, but risks should only be taken wisely.<br />
<br />
And I'm not exactly talking about worldly wisdom.<br />
<br />
Because the <u>fear</u> of God is the beginning of wisdom. And I'm still learning how to be afraid, but I figure the best way to be afraid is to fear God above anything else. Not in a way that we tremble before Him in constant trepidation--though we should. We absolutely should. <br />
<br />
Because of who God is, we should tremble on our faces in utter terror.<br />
<br />
But because of who God is, we don't have to. <br />
<br />
Because fear has to do with punishment, but we're being perfected in love.<br />
<br />
But when we fear God, we're accepting all He is. We're accepting all He's done for us. We're accepting that He is stronger than anything else that we could possibly fear. So what, then, is left to fear? Nothing, really. <br />
<br />
But our minds don't fully grasp that, and, well, how could they?<br />
<br />
So we still fear.<br />
<br />
But He has left us His Word, and He has left us His Spirit. He didn't just <i>tell</i> us "be strong and courageous" and"do not be afraid," He <i>tells</i> us now. He tells us now because He is with us now. <br />
<br />
So when I stare up at the ceiling, facing the unknown, I'm not facing it alone. <br />
<br />
And I figure the only way to "be strong and courageous" is if we let Him be strong and courageous through us. <br />
<br />
In the big things, in the little things, my fear is going to be real. My anxiety is going to be real. And maybe I'd like it if I could be that fearless person that everyone thinks I should be, but I'm not. I can't be. At the end of the day, all I can be is His. That's enough. <br />
<br />
One of my favorite musicians, Mitch McVicker, put out a song on his last CD, <i>Underneath</i>, entitled "Danger." I'm posting it below, because it's all kinds of amazing. <br />
<br />
If you're afraid, don't kid yourself. Nothing is really gained by that. But in your fear, don't forget that He's here, and He's patiently reminding you not to be afraid.<br />
<br />
"Show me Your Love is more than what's dangerous. <br />
Just let me know You're here,<br />
And I'll be brave. <br />
I swear."<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ttS62NmUsTU" width="420"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-65440943491448368972014-09-14T21:08:00.001-04:002014-09-14T21:08:03.905-04:00Theories on "Listen" (Doctor Who)I know I've written two Doctor Who themed posts in, oh, the past two days, but this shouldn't become the norm. I think. It's just that last night's episode of Doctor Who, "Listen" was extraordinary. It left the viewer with a lot of questions. Since this is actually the first time I'm experiencing new episodes of Doctor Who with the rest of the world (and not just playing catch up on the Netflix), it's pretty exciting to get to form theories and such. This shouldn't become the norm, and if it does, I'll create a separate blog for my nerd posts. :-D But for now, here it is.<br />
<br />
The following absolutely contains spoilers, so don't read this unless you have seen the episode.<br />
<br />
There are a couple of really obvious questions from last night's episode. <br />
<br />
Question 1:<br />
<br />
<b>What in the name of Tom Baker's scarf was under that blanket</b>?<br />
<br />
As the Doctor pointed out, there were two possibilities for what was under the blanket. It was either just a kid playing a prank, or...it was something else.<br />
<br />
Let me go ahead and say that it was <b>not</b> a child under that blanket, at least not a human child. I work with kids and know that even a really weird kid would probably not carry the prank out that far. After he/she had scared the others pretty well, he/she would have probably just thrown off the blanket and shouted "BOO!" A child, even a weird one, would probably NOT sit/stand there under the blanket acting all creepy for as long as that thing did.<br />
<br />
Plus, we got a very fuzzy, distorted image of whatever <i>was</i> under the blanket, and it wasn't human--unless it was a human wearing a mask of some sort. If it was a kid wearing a mask, then running away kind of defeated the purpose. If it were a kid wearing a mask, then the kid would be wearing it to play a prank and scare people. Running away and slamming the door was a bit pointless. <br />
<br />
So it wasn't a kid.<br />
<br />
I have a couple of theories of what it might have been.<br />
<br />
<b>A Different Alien Theory</b>:<br />
<br />
First, I don't think it was the same creature the Doctor was looking for. The Doctor was looking for a creature that was a <i>perfect</i> hider, a creature that wanted, more than anything, to remain hidden. Now, he conjectured that these creatures might come out of hiding for children, the elderly, the mad, people whom no one would believe. That might explain why the creature was so bad at hiding if just Rupert were in the room, but that doesn't explain the creature's odd behavior if Clara and the Doctor were also present with Rupert.<br />
<br />
Because if a creature were trying to remain hidden, why in the world would it noisily climb onto a bed and under the covers? It was unnecessarily revealing its presence, if not its appearance, and in a very obvious way. Why would the creature do that if it was a perfect hider? That doesn't make sense.<br />
<br />
Now, it could be that this creature got overly curious--perhaps it was a child (just not a human one). It could be that this creature realized it had been discovered, and it got momentarily curious. Then it shied away at the last second and fled the room. That's entirely possible.<br />
<br />
But I think it more possible that it was a different alien, one that was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stranger things have happened on Doctor Who. This alien had been what originally scared young Rupert, whether intentionally or unintentionally. When Rupert got up, however, it scurried off to a corner or closet or something to hide. When Clara came in and climbed under the bed with Rupert (a little sketch, you think?), the alien tried to make a run for it. But if you remember, the Doctor also came into the room. The alien must have seen him coming (possibly already knowing the Doctor's reputation for being dangerous to unwelcome aliens on earth), and so it hid in the closest place he could find--under the covers. When it thought it safe to flee, it did.<br />
<br />
<b>It Was Clara</b>: It was Clara. It was Clara the whole time. Isn't that what we learned? Perhaps Clara realized she had been the one scaring everyone all along. So she used the Tardis to go back to the children's home a few moments before she had originally arrived. She put on a mask, just in case she actually was seen. Then she sneaked into Rupert's room. She hid under his bed and made creepy noises. When Rupert stood up, she grabbed his ankle. While he was freaking out, she rushed off into hiding and waited until her former self came into the room and got under the bed. Then she climbed on the bed and under the covers.<br />
<br />
So, Clara is the creature under your bed everyone. No need to fear anymore. She's like 5'2 and skinny. I think we could all manage to take her down.<br />
<br />
All I know is, I'm going to be searching her apartment every time they show it from now on. I want to see if she's stashed Rupert's blanket somewhere.<br />
<br />
Find the blanket, find the alien.<br />
<br />
Question 2:<br />
<br />
"<b>What was knocking on the spaceship door</b>?"<br />
<br />
Sorry, everyone, but I don't buy the whole "the ship is just settling" or "the atmosphere around the ship is disturbed" or whatever nonsense the Doctor, Clara, and Orson were making up to make themselves feel better. There was something out there.<br />
<br />
Well, the knocking on the spaceship door really reminded me of the Midnight episode. This was the seriously creepy episode where the 10th Doctor was riding on a bus with a bunch of strangers (and Merlin...?) to see the Sapphire Waterfalls. They were on the planet Midnight, which had a sun that emitted Xtonic radiation that would almost immediately kill every living thing. So they were apparently alone out in the middle of nowhere, since nothing could survive outside the bus. Well, the bus broke down, and <i>something</i> started knocking on the bus door. Then there was an explosion that killed the drivers, one of the passengers got possessed by an UNSEEN alien presence that mimicked voices. Then...it almost stole the 10th Doctor's voice.<br />
<br />
"Listen! It's me!"<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/NIYdxvItlE8" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
All turned out well, obviously, but the creature was never seen. There was never a good explanation for what that creature was, or of what it wanted.<br />
<br />
<b>Theory</b>: The creature from "Midnight" was the same sort of creature the 12th Doctor was looking for in "Listen."<br />
<br />
Imagine a race of creatures, I'll call them the Listeners. These creatures feed off the voices of others; they get their nourishment merely from listening to the words of other creatures. They aren't malevolent. They just want to survive and coexist with us. They are <i>perfect</i> hiders, and NOT the same creatures that grab ankles from under beds--those really are just nightmares/primal fears/Clara Oswalds. They're just Listeners.<br />
<br />
I think it was a Listener who took the Doctor's chalk and wrote "Listen" on the chalkboard. It realized the Doctor was onto it, and decided to have a little bit of fun. Maybe Listening to the Doctor for so long had made it a bit quirky. I wonder if a Listener can get indigestion if it listens to the wrong kind of voice for too long...hmm. I digress.<br />
<br />
Now, the creature the 10th Doctor encountered in Midnight was a little different. I think this creature was a criminal, by the standards of its own people. Perhaps it had gone insane. Instead of merely listening, this creature decided it wanted a voice of its own. It decided it wanted to master the voices of other beings instead of just passively listening and existing. It had probably tried to steal the voices of other beings before its kind stepped in and banished it into the wilderness of a planet where there was no possibility of life--where there were no voices for it to listen to. I think they left it there to die.<br />
<br />
And I think these creatures take a very, very long time to starve to death.<br />
<br />
Well, when the 12th Doctor was on that space ship, it was the end of time. There were supposedly no creatures left alive in the whole universe. The Listeners are obviously not typical life forms, however. They were still alive. And since there were no other beings in the entire universe for them to listen to, they were starving. <br />
<br />
These creatures were not malevolent. They didn't mean any harm. But they were desperate for voices to listen to. That's why they knocked on the door. That's why they made themselves known. They desperately wanted inside that ship where there were voices--the last voices in the universe.<br />
<br />
When the Doctor unlocked the door to the ship, and the creatures opened it, he didn't speak. He was too busy trying to hang on for dear life and not get sucked outside the ship to his death. The creatures still had nothing to listen to. When Orson pulled him back to safety inside the Tardis, the creatures were furious! They made all sorts of noise and tried to get inside, just starving to listen.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if these creatures are why we talk to ourselves or not, but I am no longer going to feel so crazy when I do talk to myself. I'm just feeding the Listeners. Hopefully,what I'm feeding them is something pleasant to the taste. <br />
<br />
Meh. Voices probably taste like chicken.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So what are your theories about the creature(s) from "Listen"? Do you think we'll learn more about them in future episodes, or do you think Moffat will just keep us hanging? I think it's better sometimes not to know. Knowledge has a way of taking the fear out of something, and well, as Clara told the very young Doctor, "It's OK to be afraid. ...Fear makes companions of us all."<br />
<br />
Let me know what you think. Maybe my next post will be less nerdy, but until then, Allons-y!<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-51122764085091142072014-09-13T20:40:00.000-04:002014-09-13T20:40:22.726-04:00The Unlikely Person Who Changed My Mind About Matt SmithIf you didn't already know, I'm a Doctor Who fan.<br />
<br />
Suffice it to say, this post probably won't interest you unless you, too, are a Doctor Who fan.<br />
<br />
Also, let it be known that if you aren't up to date with Doctor Who, there might be some slight Spoilers, Sweetie. <br />
<br />
And since I'm already being direct, I might as well go ahead and state that David Tennant, the 10th Doctor, is, and very likely will always be, my favorite Doctor. Perhaps that is why, when David Tennant didn't want to go and Matt Smith GERONIMO!ed his way into the TARDIS, I decided I didn't like this young guy with the angular face and derpy hair. <br />
<br />
This was more than the usual, "You've redecorated the Doctor. I don't like it," phase that most Whovians go through upon a new regeneration. The more I watched the 11th Doctor, the more I felt that something vital to the Doctor had been lost. He could be serious, even properly scary-angry at times, but I felt like he never had enough depth to be the Doctor.<br />
<br />
In the 50th Anniversary episode, the 10th Doctor was dubbed 'the man who regrets,' and the 11th Doctor was dubbed 'the man who forgets.' And I certainly agreed with that assessment. It seemed as though the 11th Doctor had forgotten everything that had happened before his regeneration and just awkward-giraffe-danced into this completely different and new AmyPondRiverSongCrackinWallFezEnthusiastStevenMoffatSilenceWillFall thrill ride. He just went Wibbly-Wobbling throughout the universe, handing out paradoxes like jelly babies. He wasn't the 10th Doctor. He wasn't the 9th Doctor. He wasn't any of the older Doctors that I started watching, either. He was something different--too carefree, too flippant, too flirty, too clueless, and just, well...the wrong kind of silly.<br />
<br />
Honestly, if it hadn't been for Rory, I would have stopped watching. Love a Rory. Rorys are cool.<br />
<br />
So, when it was announced that Matt Smith was leaving the show, I was thrilled. Just thrilled. It didn't matter who it was who replaced him (though I prayed that Moffat would wibbly-wobbly something together and get Tennant back for good). I just wanted him gone. <br />
<br />
When Peter Capaldi was announced, I was pleasantly surprised that they were going for an older Doctor. When they surprised us by revealing his famous (infamous?) eyebrows in the 50th Anniversary episode, I knew we were in for something amazing. When the 11th Doctor regenerated into the 12, and he started disliking the colour of his kidneys in a rich Scottish brogue, I felt like all was right in the universe. Ding dong, the Smith was dead. Which-a-Smith? The Silly Smith! Ding dong, the Silly Smith was dead!<br />
<br />
...Speaking of the wrong kind of silly. Sorry. Sorry everyone. So, so sorry.<br />
<br />
Well, I waited for months, like the rest of the world, for the first full Capaldi/12th Doctor episode. And it. was. brilliant. HE was brilliant. All Scottish and angry eyebrows and mysterious. I felt like the Silly Smith was gone, and this Doctor, this older Scottish Doctor was going to get back to the Doctor's roots. He was going to be something new, but something old at the same time. <br />
<br />
But, as I watched, I noticed something I wasn't expecting with the 12th Doctor. <br />
<br />
Vulnerability.<br />
<br />
Behind those ferocious eyebrows and wizened face was a man who was frightened, just terrified. What frightened him so? <br />
<br />
Himself.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because he's Scottish, or maybe it's because he's more mature, or maybe, just maybe, it's because he's more childlike--but the 12th Doctor is honest, blatantly honest. It's not that he doesn't have the capacity to lie. The Doctor lies, of course. But he knows that "people don't need to be lied to." He's very direct, very straightforward, sometimes obnoxiously so. He doesn't conceal his thoughts or feelings well, nor does he really even seem to think he should. And I think he just might turn out to be the most complex Doctor yet.<br />
<br />
The 12th Doctor is beginning to face himself, again<br />
<br />
I never understood Matt Smith, the 11th Doctor. I thought he was just ridiculous most of the time. But, like many things in the universe, I could never really learn to appreciate him until he was gone.<br />
<br />
But I realized through the 12th Doctor, new as he is, what it was that I really didn't like about the 11th Doctor. We were reminded many times through out the 11th Doctor's reign that "the Doctor lies." The 11th Doctor told many lies, many of them bold-faced, and often to those he cared the most about. But I recently learned that there was one person the 11th Doctor lied to the most.<br />
<br />
Again, himself.<br />
<br />
The 10th Doctor was brilliant, just brilliant, and I dearly miss David Tennant as the Doctor, but one would have to be a fool NOT to see that he got a little scary and dark near the end of his reign as the Doctor. Along with all the other demons that the Doctor has had to carry throughout the centuries, I think 10's seriousness all just got to be too much for him. He had lived too long, indeed. When the 11th Doctor came along, he NEEDED to be "the man who forgets" instead of "the man who regrets." The regret had become too much. And so he donned a bow tie, proclaimed it cool, and went on an awkward romp through the universe. Rules didn't matter as much. Everything was cool. As long as he could keep that pesky crack in the wall from destroying the universe, more than once or twice, everything was cool. He could flirt with his future wife/best friend's daughter while said best friend was still pregnant with her. Everything was cool. He could quickly forget his wife and start wildly flirting with an Impossible Girl who was, in another time and place, a Dalek. Everything was cool.<br />
<br />
But the 11th Doctor wasn't silly for silliness' sake, as I long believed. He was silly because he couldn't fully face all the darkness that was within him. He couldn't bear to think of all that he had lost. He couldn't bear to think of why or how he had lost it. He needed to forget. He needed to lie. So he put on a young face, a bow tie, occasionally a fez, and just pretended he was far more carefree than he actually was. <br />
<br />
But age caught up to him. Time caught up to him. He expected to die, and I think a part of him was relieved. He had managed to run away from himself until the end. I think it was as a childish man in an aged 11th Doctor's body that he accepted a new regeneration cycle. And maybe it was that gift of life that got his attention. Maybe it was the knowledge that his fellow Time Lords really were still alive out there somewhere. Maybe it was just that he was tired, so, so tired, of running away.<br />
<br />
But whoever it was that "frowned him this face," I think it is clear that the 12th Doctor isn't running away anymore. No more lies.<br />
<br />
We're only a few episodes into his regeneration, but I'm already seeing that the 12th Doctor is afraid, but he's starting to face his fears. He's starting to face himself. He doesn't like what he sees. It saddens him deeply. It terrifies him. But instead of running away and pretending to be strong, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable.<br />
<br />
He doesn't mince words. He doesn't do social graces. He admits when he needs help. In fact, he almost demands it, as if he can't think beyond himself--like a child. In some ways, even in a more mature form, the 12th Doctor is more childlike than the apparently young 11th Doctor. And it's this vulnerability, this acceptance of who he is and how things are, that make him intriguing. I think he's going to wind up being one of my favorite Doctors. It's too soon to tell, perhaps, but I very well may end up liking him as much as the 10th Doctor.<br />
<br />
As for Matt Smith, the 11th Doctor, he will never be one of my favorites, but I have a much greater appreciation for him now. I understand him. I actually want to go back and watch all of his episodes again with my renewed perspective, so that I can give him another chance. <br />
<br />
And it took Peter Capaldi's 12th Doctor for me to understand the 11th. That, more than anything else, shows me how truly remarkable this new Doctor is. I think we're in for something amazing. I think we're going to see both more darkness and more light in the Doctor than we have seen in quite some time. I think it is going to be fantastic.<br />
<br />
Just fantastic.<br />
<br />
Allons-y!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-30761534571042900382014-08-31T21:34:00.002-04:002014-08-31T21:34:59.552-04:00More Thoughts on Loving LeadershipEarlier this summer, I wrote a post entitled <a href="http://annaruthcampbell.blogspot.com/2014/06/loving-leadership.html" target="_blank">Loving Leadership</a>, in which I shared some some things about leadership that I've learned in my experiences as both a leader and a follower. <br />
<br />
But I've been thinking more about leadership lately, and I thought I'd follow up with another blog on loving leadership.<br />
<br />
There's a popular children's game (or it used to be popular) called Follow the Leader. The game was simple. The leader would walk in front of a line of other children, and the followers would follow the leader around. Sometimes the followers would just walk in line behind the leader, and sometimes they would mimic the leaders actions.<br />
<br />
With children's games like this, it's no wonder I grew up with an image in my head of a leader being someone who goes in front of others. And certainly, that is part of what a leader must do. A leader should go before the followers. A leader should either already know what's ahead or be the one to experience it first. <br />
<br />
But I've been reading in Genesis lately, and I've realized there's another aspect of leadership. I noted this aspect through two bad examples of leadership. <br />
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In Genesis, in the beginning, God created everything. He made the earth and the skies, the sea and the land, the plants and all the animals. And He made Adam and Eve and put them in the Garden of Eden. They were allowed to eat from every tree except one. <br />
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It was never really clear how much time passed before Satan tempted Eve, and she ate of the fruit. They might have lived quite happily in that garden for centuries. They might not have lasted the week. Knowing sin and temptation like I do, I'm going to guess it was the latter. <br />
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So Eve ate the forbidden fruit and really messed things up for everyone. Thanks a lot, Eve. Humanity was cursed forever because you just<i> had</i> to eat the fruit.<br />
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But I have one question. Where was Adam?<br />
<br />
Let's see if we can figure out where Adam was:<br />
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<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">Gen. 3: 6 Then the woman saw that the tree was good for food and delightful to look at, and that it was desirable for obtaining wisdom. So she took some of its fruit and ate it; she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-HCSB-62D" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-HCSB-62D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
That's interesting. That's very interesting. According to Scripture, Adam was right there with Eve when she ate the fruit. I'm assuming that he was also there during the temptation. <br />
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And I'm not going to speculate too much on this, but I'm assuming also that Adam was already the established leader in the relationship. I do know that part of Eve's curse was that her husband rule over her, but I think a Godly sort of husband leadership was already in place before the Fall. If this was the case, then why didn't Adam speak up? Why didn't Adam protect his wife? Why didn't Adam stop her from doing what they both knew to be wrong?<br />
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He didn't do any of these things. Instead, he ate of the fruit when she gave it to him. He just ate it. And later, when they got caught, Adam started the finger pointing. He blamed Eve, and what's worse, he blamed God for giving Eve to him. But my question still stands. Where was Adam?<br />
<br />
Because although Adam was right there with Eve, he wasn't present in the way that he needed to be. I do not discount Eve's grave sin; she was at fault. However, I would be so bold as to state that the greater sin was Adam's. He was the leader, and as the leader, he should have stood by what God had commanded. He should have protected his wife. Instead, he went along with whatever she said, and thus, humanity was cursed with sin and all its wages.<br />
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This isn't Scripture, but I really like something John Milton wrote in <i>Paradise Lost</i>. When God questioned Adam for his sin, and Adam blamed Eve, God had an interesting response:<br />
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"Was she thy god?"<br />
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Was she? Perhaps so. For instead of following God's leadership, instead of being the godly leader that he should have been, he just went along with Eve's sin. <br />
<br />
I have another example from Genesis, also involving a husband and a wife.<br />
<br />
In Genesis 19, we have the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. We also have an unusual case of a lady, identified only as Lot's wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt after turning back to look at the doomed cities. The angels had warned them not to look back. But Lot's wife did, and she was also destroyed.<br />
<br />
But my question here is similar to the one I asked in the Genesis 19 account. Where was Lot?<br />
<br />
Genesis 19:23-26<br />
<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text Gen-19-23" id="en-HCSB-481" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">23 </span>The sun had risen over the land when Lot reached Zoar. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"></span><span class="text Gen-19-24" id="en-HCSB-482" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">24 </span>Then out of the sky the <span class="small-caps divine-name" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord </span>rained burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah from the <span class="small-caps divine-name" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-HCSB-482I" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-HCSB-482I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)"></span> </span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"></span><span class="text Gen-19-25" id="en-HCSB-483" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">25 </span>He demolished these cities, the entire plain, all the inhabitants of the cities, and whatever grew on the ground.</span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"></span><span class="text Gen-19-26" id="en-HCSB-484" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">26 </span>But his wife looked back and became a pillar of salt.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text Gen-19-26" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
Now, it's not clear exactly where Lot was when his wife looked back, but one thing is abundantly clear from the entire account of Lot's escape from Sodom. He was terrified. He didn't want to leave; the angels had to drag him and his family along. He didn't want to flee to the mountains, but instead pleaded to be allowed to run to the small town of Zoar. And after his wife became the first Morton's girl (yes, I went there), he took his daughters off to the mountains, after all, because it turned out that he was also afraid to live in Zoar. And that's when things got disgusting all over again, but I digress.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
See, I think it can be assumed that Lot was running ahead of his wife. It sounds as though he just might have reached the city before she did. I think it can be assumed that he wasn't running with her, nor was he running ahead of her as to lead her, but he was running ahead to save his own skin. And, again, I'm assuming much here, but I think it's reasonable to say that Lot's wife might not have looked back if Lot had been with her. Had he been leading her out of love, running with her, she might have survived the flight from Sodom. As a result, she might have been there to guide her daughters to make better choices. The Moabites and Ammonites (born of the incestuous relationships between Lot and his daughters) might never have existed to cause strife with Israel. A lot of sin might have been prevented if one man might have been less fearful for his own sake, and more concerned for the welfare of his family members.</div>
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Sometimes, a leader has to walk on ahead, go on before, to lead the way. It's much like in those silly childhood games of follow the leader. But I'm learning that a good leader sometimes leads in a much different way. Instead of walking on before, sometimes the best leader will come along beside. Because we're not children playing silly games anymore, and I've learned that people are more likely to follow well when the leader is able and willing to come down and meet them where they are. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I have one other example of a leader, but this is a good example.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When Jesus called his disciples, they came. They left their fishing boats and nets and family members and they came. Immediately. When Jesus called Matthew, a tax collector and sinner, he came. Why? Why would these men follow Jesus just because he told them to follow? </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because Jesus wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. He wasn't afraid to dine with those tax collectors and sinners. He wasn't afraid of what others might think or even of what others might do. He came along others and met them at their point of need. </div>
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<br /></div>
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If anyone had any right to point fingers, it would have been Jesus. If anyone had any right to save his own skin, it would have been Jesus. But Jesus didn't flee from pain and death. Jesus didn't pass blame. Jesus loved. And people followed him. People still do. I certainly try to.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I know I'm still learning to be a leader. Shoot, I'm still learning to be a follower. But I know I've got to be humble and accept my own weaknesses. I know that I have to trust beyond all my fears.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It's hard to follow. It's hard to lead. It's even harder to do both at the same time. But I think a person has to learn to do both in order to be really good at either. We need to trust God to come along side us as well as learn to come along side others. We need to be humble as well as confident that the One who gave us our leadership abilities and positions is guiding us as we lead. We need not to point fingers. We need not to be afraid. </div>
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We need to follow the Leader, and we need to trust Him as He leads us to lead. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-21295601367886269972014-08-24T14:10:00.000-04:002014-08-24T14:10:36.134-04:00Tantrums, Struggles, and What We Find in the MidstIt might be because I'm a little weird, but I consider it one of the biggest perks of working with young kids that I've gotten to experience some really amazing tantrums.<br />
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Yesterday, I had the blessing of caring for a very strong-willed little boy who had just turned four. He was in a pretty good humor when he arrived, but then he chose to deliberately disobey me.<br />
<br />
His older brother was in the room that was intended for older children, and the four year old asked me if he could go in the "big kid's room" and watch his brother play video games. I told the four-year-old that he was allowed to come in and watch his brother play video games, but that he wasn't allowed to play with any of the toys or games in the older kid's room because they were for the older kids only, and they weren't safe for him. I turned my back to talk to another child, and I caught him playing at the air hockey table. I reminded him that he wasn't allowed to play with it, and warned him he'd have to leave the "big kid's room" if he disobeyed again.<br />
<br />
Well, after that warning, I turned to help another child with something. Not a minute later, I looked over and caught the four-year-old playing air hockey again. I told him he needed to leave the "big kid's room" because he broke the rules.<br />
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What happened next was one of the best tantrums I've ever had the honor of experiencing. And since I was the one at which the tantrum was being thrown, I didn't just observe like an innocent bystander. I got to be part of it. And that, friends, is a wonderful thing.<br />
<br />
I'm not being sarcastic, for a change.<br />
<br />
The tantrum lasted about an hour. <br />
<br />
It started with screaming at the top of his lungs. This adorable four-year-old child stood in one spot and screamed. And screamed. And screamed. <br />
<br />
I first tried talking to him, calmly and rationally. And sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn't. Knowing how strong-willed this child was, I realized that he wasn't going to respond to calmness and reason. Basically, he was unknowingly trying to manipulate me into doing what he wanted by throwing a tantrum. But since I'm also a strong-willed child who has had a lot more practice at being strong-willed than he has, I wasn't going to give in to that sort of nonsense. So I tried ignoring him. I walked away and started singing a song to myself.<br />
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But there's a method to ignoring a tantrum-throwing child. You walk away. You don't look at the child. None of their screaming or attention-seeking behavior will get your attention. To that child, it looks like you are interested in everything besides them. <br />
<br />
But in reality, that tantrum-throwing child was very much on my mind and heart. While he was standing rigidly in one spot and loudly, repetitively screaming, I was praying for his little heart. I was singing a hymn to remind myself of grace. I wasn't just ignoring him out of meanness or because I was fed up with him. I was ignoring him for his own good, to show him that he couldn't manipulate me. <br />
<br />
And, of course, at the age of four he wasn't thinking all that through. He didn't realize that he was trying to manipulate me. It was all very innocent and natural for him, especially as a strong-willed child, to act out when he didn't get his way. <br />
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And he IS a very strong-willed child, because when he realized that I wasn't going to give him any attention for his tantrum, it didn't discourage him. It just made him madder--and louder. He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. After a good ten minutes of screaming, he just kept going.<br />
<br />
And I realized that the ignoring method wasn't going to work. So I took his hand and dragged him, literally kicking and screaming, to the back of the room. I told him, "You are not in time out, but while you are crying and screaming, you have to sit in this chair. Whenever you're done screaming and crying, you can get up and come talk to me."<br />
<br />
Of course, it was hard to say all this to him, because while I was saying it, he was screaming in my face. So I said it, not once or twice, but probably about ten times. I said it calmly and firmly, repeating it and praying that it was getting through.<br />
<br />
But strong-willed little four year old boy wasn't going to take that. I was giving him some control over his situation, which was probably what he really wanted, but I wasn't giving it to him in the <i>way</i> that he wanted. I was letting him be the one who dictated when the tantrum was over, when he could get up and be free to play again. But he wanted it on his terms. He wanted to be able to play with the toys he wanted to play with, and not the ones that I said were okay. He saw the air hockey table, that was too tall for him to properly reach, as the Promised Land. He fixated on that so much that he couldn't see the huge room full of age-appropriate toys just ready for him to enjoy. And he was so angry with me for not allowing him what he thought he wanted. He was angry with me because I enforced the rules I'd set for him, even though he knew he was the one who had disobeyed them.<br />
<br />
Because what we all want is control, but we want it on our terms. And that's not the way it works. <br />
<br />
We think we want something, and we don't even want to let God stand in our way. <br />
<br />
That's one of the biggest reasons why a lot of people just won't believe in a God that sets boundaries for His creation. That's one of the biggest reasons why people have stopped believing in things like absolute truth. That's one of the biggest reasons why people seem to want to create God in their image, instead of letting themselves be transformed into His image.<br />
<br />
Boundaries aren't always fun, but children need them. <br />
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Boundaries aren't always fun, but we all need them. <br />
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But, as adults, we need to move past this childish mindset that boundaries mean we can't do anything fun or enjoyable. We're so quick to yearn for something we can't have, while right in front of us is more than we could ever imagine, more than we could ever deserve. We all want to be kings and queens, so we fight the King of Kings, when all along He's longing to adopt us and make us His children and heirs.<br />
<br />
It's like what C. S. Lewis said in <i>The Weight of Glory</i>:<br />
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<h1 class="quoteText" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: #ffe599;">“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”</span></h1>
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That same day the child threw a tantrum, another little boy who had been so good while under my care suddenly turned into a beast when his mother arrived. He wanted to keep playing with the toys and games at the drop-in center. His mother told him that she was going to take him to "Frankie's Fun Park," but he was so focused on what he wanted that he couldn't imagine being happier elsewhere. And we're the same way. We are far too easily pleased.</div>
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But boundaries aren't meant to keep us from enjoyment; they're put in place for our own good. The trouble is that we like to believe that we know what's best for us, more so than God. </div>
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In my favorite novel, <i>A Wrinkle in Time</i> (by Madeleine L'Engle), I've found one of the greatest illustrations of free will. One of the most interesting characters in all of literature (in my humble opinion), Mrs Whatsit, describes the human life as a sonnet. There is a strict form that must be followed, otherwise it is not a sonnet. But within that form, the poet has complete freedom to write whatever he or she desires. </div>
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God has given us a form. And I don't like having a form to follow, especially a strict one, because I'm a strong-willed kid. But when I stop being angry that I can't do everything my way, I realize that I actually do have a lot of freedom. I realize, when I stop being angry, that I have a lot of opportunity for joy.</div>
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We want things a certain way, and even if we're not throwing a deliberate tantrum, we're struggling to understand this life He's calling us to live. We're struggling to understand grace--sometimes throwing tantrums just so we can see how God will react, because our sinful hearts just don't understand things like unconditional love. Like Jacob, who was basically a weak mama's boy and a liar to boot, who didn't deserve any kind of grace, we need to wrestle with God. We don't deserve a blessing, but we need to be foolish and bold enough to hold out for it. And that takes a life-long wrestling match.</div>
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Because let me tell you something I've learned. If you think Christianity isn't meant to be a struggle, then you're doing it wrong. But I know that there's so much mercy in the struggle. And I know something more: There's joy in the struggle.</div>
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And after that precious little boy threw a tantrum for almost a solid hour, he was just exhausted. He was still trying to scream, but I could tell his throat was getting sore. He had fought me so hard, refusing to back down, and he was weakening. His strong-little will wasn't broken. I never meant to break it; I never meant to break him. But he needed to know that I wasn't going to break, either. As tired as I was, he was so much more tired; I'd had more practice, after all. His strong little will was just DONE. He was too tired to fight anymore. And it's sad that we have to get to that point sometimes, but that's why there's mercy in the struggle.</div>
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I finally pulled up a chair mere inches away from that screaming little boy. He tried to pull away from me, but he was too tired to fight that hard. I sat there, inches away from him. I put my hands out. I said his name. I said, "Come here. Come on, buddy. Come here." I kept repeating the call, kept saying his name. I probably said his name fifty times. He only had an inch to move.</div>
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And finally, after an hour of fighting, he stopped screaming. He said, "I want my mommy and daddy." And I said, "I know, buddy, and they're coming back soon, but I'm here now, and I love you so much." And he bridged that inch gap and leaned on me, too weak to even pull himself into my lap. But I picked him up and pulled him close to me. I held him and rocked him and told him that I loved him. I told him I loved him when he was good and that I loved him when he was bad. And he sobbed into my shoulder and hugged me so tight, because the fight was over, and he knew that he was safe with his Miss Ruth who loved him.</div>
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So tired from the fight, so secure now in my arms, he fell asleep. And, to me, that sweet, sweet moment was worth the entire tantrum. I was really blessed to be part of that, because I saw so much of how God relates to little strong-willed me in how I related to that little strong-willed boy.</div>
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Because I know there's times when I fight against God, either because I'm stubborn or stupid or just want my way, and I put up a really good tantrum. He might seem distant, ignoring me, but I'm on His mind and heart. He might be speaking to me calmly, reasoning with me, and I might be too angry to listen. He might be sitting right next to me, calling me to Him, waiting for me to come. </div>
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And when I do, there's not the anger and distance I expect from Him. I don't have to be afraid. He comforts me with His presence, reminding me of His unconditional love. I'm His kid. I never had to do anything to get His attention; I've always had it.</div>
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And in the times when I'm not exactly throwing that tantrum, I'm still forever struggling to understand God and who I am to Him. If I'm not struggling, it's because I'm not really living. I'm not seeking for the life He has for me. </div>
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But I know there's blessing beyond what I can understand, if I just keep holding on, if I just keep struggling and keep wrestling. The dawn is coming, though the battle has lasted all night. </div>
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And, hallelujah, there's mercy in the struggle. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-23707939118322778902014-08-17T14:15:00.004-04:002014-08-17T14:15:49.805-04:00Nothing to ProveMy first grade teacher was horrible. I mean, I'm sure she had her good qualities, but I could tell, even at the age of six, that teaching wasn't one of them. I also need to acknowledge that the poor woman had to deal with awkward, advanced-reader/writer me. I know I wasn't the easiest first grader to deal with, either.<br />
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I made good grades, but she would always cut me down in conduct. I got a poor grade in conduct on my first semester report card, which made my parents very upset with me, but to this day I don't think I deserved it. I'm not saying I was always perfect, but I think most issues rose out of her misunderstandings, rather than my misbehavior or disobedience. Basically, I wasn't really all that challenged in her class. That wasn't her fault, really, but it gave rise to a lot of problems. I'd skip ahead in writing or reading assignments, sometimes going too fast for my own good. She seemed to think it was arrogance on my part, and maybe some of it was. I think most of it was just that I had already been reading simple books at the age of three or four. I was already very interested in writing my own stories when I was in kindergarten. My parents were teachers and encouraged that. She thought I was doing things to show her up or irritate her, when I was just doing what came naturally to me. I loved learning.<br />
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I remember one time in particular, when things really got completely out of hand. The class was taking turns reading out loud. Now, reading has always come VERY easily to me, but speaking and reading aloud has NEVER come easily. And the book we were reading was a little bit ridiculous and below my reading level. I remember seeing the words very vividly on the page. I'm a visual learner, and always have been, so those simple words have been ingrained on my brain forever.<br />
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"Pots and pans and pans and pots." <br />
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That's what I was supposed to read. And I knew that's what it said. But when it came time for me to read out loud, I got nervous. My words got jumbled and I stuttered out, "Pans and pots and pots and pans." <br />
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My teacher immediately made a huge deal about how I read it wrong and that I needed to read it again correctly. Well, I got extremely nervous and embarrassed and overwhelmed then, and I started crying. I tend to still do that when I get nervous and embarrassed and overwhelmed--ain't anxiety great? But my teacher was either oblivious to my emotional state, or she thought I was faking--or she just didn't care. She demanded that I read it again, but I was so distraught that I couldn't even speak, let alone read out loud. I tried. All that came out was a few soft-spoken, jumbled sounds.<br />
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It was time for recess, and I figured I was saved by the bell, but no. My teacher said, "You are going to stay in here with me while everyone else goes to recess. You can't go to recess until you read this correctly, as it's written."<br />
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And even as a six year old, I knew that my teacher was making a huge deal out of something extremely unimportant. She<i> knew</i> I could read those words. She knew that it didn't matter if I got them backwards, because she knew I was probably the best reader in the class at that point. I have no idea why she wanted to do a Mexican stand-off over something as simple as that, but apparently she was ready to fight me to the death over it. She had something to prove.<br />
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And I'm not sure how long I sat in there with her, in the dark room (she had turned the lights off as part of my punishment--to make me feel more isolated while the other kids were out playing). She kept telling me I had to read the words correctly, or I'd have to sit by myself for the rest of the day. And I just kept crying, but by that point, my embarrassed, anxious tears had turned to frustrated, angry tears.<br />
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She was going to make me conform. She was going to make me say things exactly as they were written. And I didn't see the point. I didn't see why it was so important to her that I do things so precisely, especially when we both knew I understood the concepts. And even at that young age, I was incredibly stubborn. If she was going to have a stand-off, I was going to have a stand-off. I had something to prove, too.<br />
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I wasn't sure how long this thing went on, but it felt like an eternity. I'll never forget how alone and misunderstood little six year old me felt as I sat in the darkness, exchanging stubborn glares with a grown woman.<br />
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She started fussing at me again. I started crying again. And then, out of nowhere, like a knight in shining armor, my daddy appeared in the classroom door. The relief was tangible, like a cool breeze. My daddy knew, somehow he knew, that I needed to be rescued.<br />
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He asked my teacher why I was all alone with her in the classroom while the rest of the class was outside. She immediately became very sheepish, then very smug as she came up with a good cover story. She informed my dad that I was <i>refusing</i> to read the words correctly. My dad picked up the book and gently said, "She can read this. Ruth, what does this say?" <br />
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Everything that had been impossibly difficult for me before was suddenly very easy, now that my daddy was there. I told him, quietly, but with certainty, "It says, 'Pots and pans and pans and pots.'" <br />
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My dad looked at my teacher, still unsure of what the problem was. My teacher just said, "There, now, Ruth, was that so hard?" <br />
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I nodded through my tears, smiling, but not for her sake. It was because I'd been able to do something my daddy asked me to do, and the ordeal was finally over. So I took his hand and we left.<br />
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Turns out, my dad was supposed to pick me up early that day because my family was leaving town early for a vacation. I had forgotten, and so had my teacher. He caught both of us off guard. <br />
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I know I cried some more and talked to my dad about what had happened during the "Great Pots and Pans Reading Standoff of 1986," but I don't remember what either of us said. I don't remember if my parents really said anything to me about it, or if they just talked between themselves. But I do know that when my next report card came, and I got an even LOWER conduct grade, my parents weren't upset--at least not with me. I remember being terrified about getting that bad grade, but they didn't punish me or fuss at me or anything. And when I was older, I asked my parents about my first grade teacher. I learned that they had taken my side. They agreed with me that my first grade teacher was far too hard on me, knew that I was advanced for my age, and that she probably did have a lot of issues with insecurity.<br />
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Don't we all.<br />
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I write all that not to berate a teacher I had almost three decades ago. I'm not perfect either, and I'm sure in my time in childcare that I've caused a few kids to feel embarrassed and angry. I know I have trouble picking my battles sometimes, too. We all need grace, especially when dealing with children!<br />
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But I'll never forget how I felt when I was in such a dark, oppressive place, when there was no justice, when I was pressured to be something, to do something that didn't make sense to me, when everything was just WRONG--my daddy rescued me. My daddy gave me strength when the world just brought me anxiety. When I took his hand, everything was right and good again.<br />
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Because my teacher made me think that I had something to prove. But my wonderful daddy already knew what I was capable of.<br />
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And I'm not naturally assertive, and I'm not naturally aggressive, and I'm not naturally full of gumption--at least not how the world sees it. Sometimes it feels as though the world sets up some kind of stand-off against me. It wants me to conform. It wants me to be like it. It wants me to do things the way it things I'm supposed to, or it's going to abandon me to darkness and isolation with the other soft-spoken, introverted, anxious people who don't matter. <br />
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Sometimes I am tempted to believe that I have something to prove.<br />
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I have to be good enough, strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough, loud enough, cool enough, talented enough. I have to be enough.<br />
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But I'm not.<br />
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And when I lift up my eyes and see my Father standing there in the doorway, when my Father assures me that He already knows me, I realize:<br />
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I don't have anything to prove.<br />
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He's the One who comes to my defense. He's the One who gives me the strength I need. Through Him, I have what I need in any circumstance. When the world is oppressive, when the world breaks my heart, He's the One who holds my hand.<br />
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I don't have to be anything. Just His.<br />
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And He's enough. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972509091797446830.post-33483072676041346452014-08-13T08:15:00.000-04:002014-08-13T08:15:09.970-04:00Please Prove You're Not a Robot (Thank You, Robin Williams)When I was a little girl, I was extremely self-conscious about the way I looked. I suppose I still am, but I definitely like the way I look a lot more now than I ever did as a kid (I guess I finally grew into my face or something). My parents cut my hair short because it was so unruly and I didn't know how to take care of it. I had huge 80s glasses (and I wasn't cute in them). I was overweight. My face was all weird, too. I've always had a pointy chin and a big nose. And people teased me constantly. I hated the way I looked and wondered why I couldn't be pretty--or at least normal looking-- like the other girls.<br />
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But when I was 8 or 9, there was some Disney Channel special with Carol Burnett, Carl Reiner, Whoopi Goldberg, and Robin Williams (pretty sure it was appropriately named "Carol, Carl, Whoopi, and Robin," and I'm pretty sure it was all kinds of brilliant). This was also about the time I started seeing "Mork and Mindy" reruns on Nick at Nite. And I was suddenly just entranced by Robin Williams. He was over-the-top hilarious, but in a way that was genuine and natural (a lot of the other comedians of my childhood seemed like they were trying too hard). I saw in Robin Williams a guy I could relate to. He was a pretty funny looking guy, at least to my 8 or 9 year old brain (I think he was handsome, now--those eyes!). The more I looked at him, the more I realized that he looked a little bit like me. He could have been my father with his funny face--his unruly feathery hair and pointed chin and protruding nose. <br />
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But people weren't laughing at him like they laughed at me--because they wanted to make me feel badly about myself. They were laughing at him (and usually with him) because he was funny. They weren't laughing in a cruel way, but they were laughing at him because he was hilarious, because he made them happy. It was such a gift to be able to make others laugh like that. And I actually started thinking, at the age of 8 or 9, that God maybe had a reason for making me look the way I did. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be classically beautiful like some of the other girls. Maybe I was supposed to look funny so that I could make others laugh--like Robin Williams did. <br />
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Suddenly, everything changed in the way I looked at things. I was still self-conscious and awkward, but I decided that I wanted to be funny. I wanted to make people laugh. I wanted to bring others happiness by being as funny as possible.<br />
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I wasn't always class clown material, though, and I was probably more annoying than hilarious...at least for a few years. But now? Well, now I have people telling me all the time how much I make them laugh. I have people telling me they purposely stalk me on Facebook because they know I'll have something funny posted. They tell me that I bring happiness to their lives. <br />
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The kids I watch? Most of them know two things about me 1) I love them, and 2) I'm silly. And those reasons, more than anything else, are why I'm good with kids. I have the tough love stuff down pretty well, too, but only when its necessary. Most of the time, I'm the fun teacher. Children understand that life doesn't have to be as serious as adults sometimes make it out to be. When an adult takes the time to stop being a serious adult and just have fun with them, that actually communicates love to most children.<br />
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And in the light of this tragic loss of my favorite comedian of all time, Robin Williams, I've suddenly realized that he is the main reason that I have wanted to touch others' lives with humor and wit. When I was that awkward, strange-looking kid, Robin Williams helped me see that I could use even my awkwardness and strange-lookingness and quirkiness to bless others. <br />
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I just read a very touching Robin Williams tribute blog over at my friend <a href="http://themimsey.blogspot.com/2014/08/when-words-are-insufficientgoodbye.html" target="_blank">Jay Mims' blog</a>, and I was trying to write a comment without crying. And no one should feel badly about crying for Robin Williams' death, or for the death of any entertainer, for that matter. I think it's sometimes very appropriate to grieve for the entertainers and artists we've never met. Even though we never knew them, we connected with them. They have made us laugh and cry and feel and hope and dream. They've been a vital part of our human experiences.<br />
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And sometimes I'm tempted to feel useless in what I do. The childcare is definitely useful, and I love doing it, but I also want to do more with the other gifts I have been given. I want to write. I want to sing. I want to continue making people laugh. But the world seems to scream at artists that they're impractical. There's so much emphasis on practical careers nowadays. Science! Math! Technology! Practical! Practical! Practical! Go back to school and become a nurse! Go back to school and become an engineer! Go back to school and become a legal consultant. Go back to school, you dreaming adult who never got a practical job, and do something USEFUL with your life!<br />
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It's very discouraging.<br />
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But I thought about Robin Williams and how much joy he brought to my life, about how much joy he brought to so many others. I thought about how appropriate it is to grieve for those artists and musicians and entertainers who have been part of our lives--how we've laughed and mourned and danced and dreamed alongside them--how we've taken their stories as part of our own. <br />
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I haven't talked to anyone who isn't just devastated that Robin Williams is dead. Everyone is grieving. It's because he made a difference in our lives. And I remember now. I remember now why I do what I do, why I want to encourage others to laugh and to dream.<br />
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The world needs a little impractical.<br />
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When I finally managed to comment on my friend's blog, a security window popped up asking me one of those annoying code questions to ensure I wasn't a spammer. It read, "Please prove you're not a robot."<br />
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Well, I started crying again. Why? Because I'm not a robot. I'm human. I'm an entertainer. I'm a writer and a songstress and a laugher and a weeper and a hoper and a dreamer. <br />
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I think sometimes we need the impractical, the nonsensical, the beautifully, wonderfully, hilariously brilliant dreamers of the world to remind us, to PROVE to us. We are not robots.<br />
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So thanks, Robin Williams. Thanks for all you gave us. Thanks for all you gave me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1