Cooper

Two beautiful surprise packages joined our family last Monday, in the form of tiny little sons that I never thought I would have.

But God knew.

When we moved here six plus years ago, we were buying a different house. A house not quite perfect, but we were willing to overlook the too-small kids bedrooms in order to get the perfect public rooms we were looking for. Alas, the contingency offer fell through when our house didn’t sell in time, and my husband, especially, was disappointed.

‘God has a plan,’ I assured him, and he mumbled a halfhearted agreement.

So we found ourselves homeless at the holidays, while I was 9 months pregnant, and we had two toddlers to boot. With a limited housing market and even more limited time, we snagged a good enough house and vowed to trade up later. And just as trade up time rolled around, we learned that we were expecting. Twins. And we laughed together about God’s plan – that not only did He surprise us with these babies, but He knew six years ago that we would one day really need these oversized bedrooms way more than we would need a bigger living room.

My sister pinned this on Pinterest a few days ago and it made me smile. This is a lesson we have had so clearly illustrated to us in recent months. And we have that faith.

In all things.

Jackson was born first, and big sister Annabelle was able to assist the doctor. Boldly she pulled on the too-large gloves, confident and anxious to meet her brothers. The brothers she had prayed for and the Lord had answered her prayers. And confidently she delivered him – quickly and carefully suctioning, grinning ear to ear as she cut his cord.

And then came Cooper – slower, more complicated. A hand in the way, a vacuum extraction, and resuscitation required. I looked up at my terrified husband, nearly crying because he was so sure that this baby had not made it. Purple and lifeless he lay, until the doctor helped God, as Annie put it, and he drew his first breath. And then came tears of joy and relief and thanksgiving…and only then did my doctor – my beloved, trusted doctor – share with me that I should know before I see him that there was something. Amniotic Band Syndrome he called it, and I shook my head unknowingly. ‘It happened at conception,’ he assured me. ’It’s nothing you did or didn’t do.’ He knows my heart.

And so, in the brief moment I was able to hold him before he was whisked off to the nursery, I was able to look at his arm. His left arm, which stops just below the elbow joint. And my honest to God first thought was that he has an adorable dimple on the end of his stump. And I kissed it. And as he left the room, I laughed at the sick sense of humor that runs in my family, which is exactly when Annabelle said that he would make an awesome Captain Hook for Halloween. And Dr. Buck suggested that we start him off with a spork before we go full hook.

These are my people.

We believe in owning it. We won’t be hiding it away or refusing to discuss. He’s gonna rock his stubby little arm, and know without a doubt that he was fearfully and wonderfully made, exactly as he is.

Now I won’t have to worry that my husband will mix the boys up.

I immediately thought of the exchange in Fried Green Tomatoes.

Ruth: I can understand having a funeral for an arm, I just don’t know WHY she insists on calling him Stump.

Sipsey: Miss Idgie says everybody else will be calling him that, we might as well be the first.

I can honestly tell you that we are not upset. Everyone seems to find that hard to believe, but it’s true. We do not want reassurance that he will be ok – we know that already. We don’t need to hear that it could be worse, because we know that too. He is exactly as he should be.

After all that we have been through, with every passing moment it becomes more evident that God has a plan for our lives that we aren’t privy to just yet. And we have faith that even if only in retrospect, we will understand it.

My friend Darcie recently wrote about growing her daughter and it touched me. She grew a perfect Cassidy.

Me, I grew a perfect Cooper. Stump and all.

In the middle

Dear Catie,

My charming, challenging middle child. Oh, how you exhaust me! Mentally, physically, emotionally. I sometimes fear I will never be able to keep up with you.

People say that the middle child is the peacemaker and I throw my head back and laugh. They’ve surely never met you. You posses so many wonderful qualities, but making peace is not one of them. You are the spitfire of our family, stubborn and argumentative, contentious and unyielding.

It is utterly fascinating to me that you are the exact opposite of this when you walk out our doors. At school teachers were concerned that you would never stick up for yourself. I sat through many conferences hearing about my meek, shy, easily bullied child and wondered how in the world that was possible. You certainly stand your ground at home! The teachers, in turn, were surprised to hear that you could ever be an ounce of trouble, as your behavior for them was nothing short of role-model and praise worthy.

I just shook my head in amazement.

All of these qualities – this strong-willed, strong-tempered, frustrating independence you have -

(I can still hear your tiny toddler voice declaring angrily ‘I do it my own self!’)

all of these things I find maddening about you, and also they give me peace. If, by the grace and miraculous nature of God I can manage to put you on the right path, I know you won’t stray from it. You are an absolute force of nature when you want to be – we just need to channel that determination to something worthwhile, like saving the world, instead of your current frivolity like creating your own elaborate hairstyles. Because truly, I have never seen anyone work harder when they set their mind on something like you do, Catiebug. Just stop wasting it on girl stuff.

I wish I could convince you of your muchness. Of how smart and funny and generous and beautiful you are…when you want to be. (Oh, the Jekyll and Hyde of your adolescence!)

Of how worthy and worthwhile you are, no matter what anyone else thinks or says or does. I wish I could convince you to love yourself for all that you are, and to stop worrying about what you are not. I wish you would stop comparing yourself to the other little girls of this world, and measure yourself against the only One who matters. I assure you, He thinks you are even more incredible than I do, and that’s really saying something.

Yes Catie, there will be mean girls in your life. You’ve already encountered a few, and unfortunately you will encounter many, many more. Even as a grown up. Mean people suck. Feel bad for them, pray for them, but don’t dwell on them. Don’t let stupid people take up space in your head. It’s valuable real estate you have there, my dear – don’t waste it. There is something wrong with them, honey. Them, not you. Don’t you ever let a small, petty person affect your sense of self worth. Your value is determined in Him, and not in any of them…no matter how popular or pretty or important they think they may be. I promise you baby girl, that even though it seems impossible to believe right now, one day those girls and those problems will be just a memory. There is a danger in peaking too early, and the girls that are fabulous in high school can only go downhill from there.

You, sweet Catie, were made for something far greater. I don’t even know what that is just yet, but I know it is More. It’s Bigger and Better and More than anything that you or I could ever conceive of right now. And all of these problems, they’re temporary. One day you will remember them and roll your eyes instead of cry.

One day you will know that you are More. And I pray that day comes soon.

Bob, part deux

Wow.

After a record-setting number of visitors and emails yesterday, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I feel like I should have something really profound to say today, but as my regular readers can verify, I rarely have profound things to say. I like to bust out my profoundity profoundess profanity deep thoughts only on special occasions.

Coincidentally, I do have another subject that I’ve gotten several emails about. Marriage. And if you’re reading this all ‘Why is the world would anyone think she should be giving out marital advice?’, don’t worry – I’m right there with ya. I’m not qualified and I know this. But my post about my friend Bob marrying the wrong woman apparently struck a chord with many of you, and I got an unusual number of questions. Never one to disappoint my handful legion of loyal readers, I’m obliging with a few more thoughts.

Reader Lisa (not the Lisa from the Bob post) asked me how I know that settling is a bad thing. ‘Just because it wouldn’t work for you doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work for someone else, right?’

Maybe. Maybe if you’re not very intelligent, or you’re not very passionate, or you’re not very ambitious, or you have low self-esteem…maybe then you’ll be okay with settling. Not happy, but maybe not miserable. So if ‘not alone’ and ‘not completely miserable’ appeals to you, well, then, best of luck.

For the majority of you, settling will not a happily ever after make.

You know those sitcoms like Everybody Loves Raymond, where the loveable characters bicker over how the toilet paper goes on the dispenser [paper over] or how the toothpaste gets squeezed [bottom up] or who carries the suitcase up the stairs? And then they laugh at their silliness before the kiss and make up?

Lies.

Things like one spouse saying ‘alls’ will make you homicidal one day ['Alls you have to do is...'] You will not laugh and kiss and make up, you will silently stew over the most annoying spouse in the whole entire universe because little things become huge when you’re in close proximity with the same person for forever.

When I was a young girl my mom said that for a happy marriage, spouses should agree on religion, politics, and money. And while I don’t necessarily disagree, I’d have to amend this thought.

Those things might make you, but sometimes it’s toilet paper and toothpaste that breaks you.

If you don’t have something deeper and more meaningful underneath, if you have no passion, no true love, then the little things become too much to bear.

The Art of Marriage
by Wilferd A. Peterson

Happiness in marriage is not something that just happens.
A good marriage must be created.
In the art of marriage the little things are the big things…

It is never being too old to hold hands.

It is remembering to say “I love you” at least once a day.

It is never going to sleep angry.

It is at no time taking the other for granted;
the courtship should not end with the honeymoon,
it should continue through all the years.

It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives.
It is standing together facing the world.

It is forming a circle of love that gathers in the whole family.

It is doing things for each other, not in the attitude
of duty or sacrifice, but in the spirit of joy.It is speaking words of appreciation
and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways.

It is not looking for perfection in each other.
It is cultivating flexibility, patience,
understanding and a sense of humour.

It is having the capacity to forgive and forget.

It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow.

It is finding room for the things of the spirit.
It is a common search for the good and the beautiful.

It is establishing a relationship in which the independence is equal,
dependence is mutual and the obligation is reciprocal.

It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.

You’re not likely to do that for someone you settled for, so don’t tell yourself you will. It’s a lie, and it’s a lie that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

So whatever happened with Bob?

Well nothing, yet. He was a little annoyed with me for writing about him, but said it made him think. He’s still dating the same girl, but he’s not talking marriage proposals anymore. And he said he’s thankful that he isn’t ‘stuck’.

Now let’s hope it stays that way. Stuck is a very bad address to have.

If you don’t advise settling, then how would you recommend I meet someone?

I don’t know. Truly. I’m just being honest here.

My parents met in a bar. I would not recommend meeting someone in a bar. Yet my parents have one of the best and strongest marriages I’ve ever seen.

You just never know. And I realize this is not the answer you want, because it involves waiting and patience and fate and destiny, none of which you can control. I can totally be all ‘eharmony.com baby’ if you’d like, but I wouldn’t have any idea if that’s really good advice or not.

What I can tell you is that I went to a Bible college, and the place was crawling with husband hunters. It was repulsive. Granted, Bible college is probably a decent place to meet a good man. But to have marriage as your only goal makes you, frankly, not very appealing. And I say this as a woman who wanted nothing more than to be a wife and mother, so I know of what I speak.

Develop yourself, get a hobby, and volunteer somewhere so you don’t become completely self-centered. The right partner will come along, and if you rush it all you’ll do is make yourself more likely to settle for the wrong one.

If Bob ever breaks it off with Ms. Wrong, will you play matchmaker?

Um, no. See the above, and sign yourself up for zumba or something. Patience is a virtue.

In closing, Bob would like me to clarify that he’s not a loser. He thinks I made him sound desperate. He’s not. [Because not desperate people marry someone that's just 'ok' all the time...] He’d also appreciate it if I clarified that he does not have ‘a good personality’. He’s a stud.

He just wanted you to know that.

I told Bob that you don’t always get what you want.

Comfortably Ever After

If you could put any three people in a room together (along with yourself), who would they be and why?

This is a conversation that I recently listened to but did not participate in, primarily because at the time I was busy dying of pneumonia and completely unconcerned with anything other than the small chuck of lung I’d just coughed up.  The responses were interesting and varied -

James Garrison, Lee Harvey Oswald, and Jackie O ['she had to know something!']

Abe Lincoln, Ronald Reagan, and Barack Obama

Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli, Bette Midler

Yes, there was a gay man in on this conversation, and no, he didn’t pick the three you’re thinking.

Later, as I lay on the sofa barely clinging to life, I thought about this question and realized that as much as I might enjoy talking to these people individually [well ok, some of these people], the group convo didn’t really interest me.

Yesterday, I realized what three people I’d like to bring together. None famous – yet, anyway. None rich and powerful. Just three dear friends that have never met, but need each other.

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Bob is a friend I’ve had for more than half of my life, and I love him dearly. He’s in his late 30′s, good job, relatively debt-free, and a real catch. He’s good looking, he’s smart, he’s funny… and he might just marry a woman for all the wrong reasons. When he told me a few weeks ago that he was thinking of proposing I was stunned. We’d just talked about how she was ‘fine’. Comfortable. Easy to be around. You know, all the ‘good enough for right now’ phrases you could use to describe someone you’d date for a while, until someone better came along.

Bob would tell you that he doesn’t care about love – he’s perfectly content to fly solo. He’s not interested in romance. He’s practical, and he doesn’t get emotional – he makes decisions with his head. I disagree. If Bob were really happy on his own and he didn’t care about love, he wouldn’t be proposing. He’d be hanging out.

Instead, he’s willing to live comfortably ever after with a woman who is… ‘nice’.

And there’s a lot to be said about companionship, for sure. But a marriage that is solely based on it? I wish he could talk to Jen.

Jen is currently living in that ‘comfortable’ state, having married her college boyfriend when it was time to get married. He was nice enough, everyone expected it, she really did want to marry and have kids… So 15 years later, Jen has the kids… and a roommate.

They live separate lives, which is understandable since they had no passion to connect them in the first place. They even watch tv in separate rooms, so you can imagine where they’re sleeping. They’re like ships passing in the night, with nothing more to say to one another than information exchange.

‘Sam got an A on his history test’

‘Kelly needs to be picked up from dance at 4′

‘Did you pay the water bill?’

All of their time is spent separately, and Jen deeply regrets her decision to settle for ‘good enough’. She tells me there is no pain more deep than being lonely when you’re not alone. And I’d imagine her husband might feel the same… if he cared enough to talk about it. Whereas she is devastated and wants to make her marriage better, he is fine with what they have, miserable or not. He doesn’t care enough to work on improving it, and he shows no signs of leaving. So there they are… stuck.

I wish Jen could talk to Lisa, who has been there and done that. She too once married Mr. Right-on-Paper, only to find out several years and 2 kids down the road that what’s right on paper doesn’t translate well to what works in life. Mr. Right started feeling very wrong, especially after he left her and the kids for someone ‘better’. [No surprise, that someone better has been replaced a couple of times over by now]

Lisa was destroyed. A twenty-something young woman with 2 small children, a ‘career’ as a stay-at-home mom, and a sudden need to be the sole support for 3 people…she was overwhelmed. Terrified. And absolutely certain that the rest of her life would suck.

But God had another plan for Lisa, and along came Bill. A man who loved her and her children as if they were his own. A man who treated her like a princess, who adored her every quirk, who loved her in a deep and meaningful way. She was stunned to know that men like this even existed, and as the cliched song goes, she thanked God for the broken road it took to get her there. Lisa and Bill married of course, and have added two more children (and a cat) to their brood, and today have one of the happiest, most solid marriages I have ever seen.

Three people. One similar decision.

I wish they could talk to one another and really hear. Really listen.

But that rarely happens, right? We have our reasons and we justify them.

It’s good to marry for practical reasons and not passionate ones, because passion fades!

I’m 38 years old and I want to get married. I want to have kids. It’s now or never!

Of course we won’t always have intense feelings – that’s normal! Comfortable is a good thing!

Until it isn’t.

Oh Bob.

I wish you could understand that once hindsight becomes 20/20, it’s too late.

I wish you could feel what it’s like to walk in Jen’s shoes.

I wish you knew how incredibly rare it is to find an ending like Lisa’s.

Comfortable doesn’t cut it, my friend.

I hope you see that before it’s too late.

Don’t settle.

You deserve more… and so does she.

Recovery

It is said that life is a series of peaks and valleys.  Writer Spencer Johnson takes this a step farther and speaks of plateaus, as well.

“Like a healthy heartbeat, your personal Peaks and Valleys are an essential part of a normal, healthy life. So are the Plateaus, if they are times of healthy rest when you take stock of what is happening and pause to think about what to do next. Peaks and Valleys are not just the good and bad times that happen to you. They are also how you feel inside and respond to outside events.”

I am on such a  plateau in life right now.  It’s a low one.

Nothing horrible is happening, but there have been many setbacks in life.

My spirit is not disheartened, exactly…but it’s tired. Exhausted.

In need of rest, both physical and mental. And emotional too, I suppose.

I cried last Sunday, which is very unlike me.  I haven’t decided yet if that is a good or a bad thing.

And so today I realized that I am in recovery.  Trying to find the new normal.

~ Recovering from family issues which have shaken everything I believed to be true.

~Recovering from my husband’s diagnosis, which changed everything about the present and greatly shapes the future.

~Recovering from the financial sting of said diagnosis.

Sting sounds so tiny, doesn’t it? Gun shot? Cannon ball?  The financial atomic bomb?

~Recovering from the loss of a life planned.

That one is a life-long recovery, I’ve learned. As my dad would say, “If you want to make God laugh tell Him your plans.”

~Recovering from a torn calf muscle, and grateful to be able to climb stairs without crawling again!

~Recovering from a wild sleepover this weekend. I don’t know how people with 6 kids do it!

~Recovering from a vomit-inducing Steelers loss to the Patriots last night.  I have no more polite words about that.

~Recovering from a very upsetting scene I witnessed yesterday afternoon, where I did not react and have been kicking myself for ever since.

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And I know that I’m not alone in my quest.  Many of those in my life are recovering right now as well.

~Friends are recovering from the sudden loss of their father/father-in-law.  Prayers for the Williams family would be much appreciated.

~A childhood friend continues to struggle with recovery from drug addiction.

~The developer of my neighborhood is recovering damages for the sign that the drunk driver took out.  I hear we might have a replacement this week.  I’m not holding my breath.

~Hopefully the drunk driver is recovering somewhere as well.

~Many of our newly-elected leaders are promising economic recovery.  Again, I’m not holding my breath.

Don’t panic – it’s just a joke.  When you Google ‘recovery’ images you mainly get computer screen shots and they don’t make me chuckle.  This did.  And no, I actually do not think that the next President will be able to fix this mess any more than I believe Obama will. Politics – the only area of life where I’m a cynic. An equal-opportunity cynic, thankyouverymuch.

~ It looks like the Pirates are considering recovery.  After 18 years of suck.  Good luck, very-appropriately-named Clint Hurdle.  We’ve made sure to keep the bar very low for you.

~And Demi Lovato is in recovery as well.  I’m saddened by how many young people in Hollywood go this route, and I blame their parents.  There, I’ve said it.  I blame the parents for not recognizing the dangers of a young, impressionable life lived under public scrutiny, and for not loving their children enough to know that sometimes it’s ok to say no.  Some dreams should wait.

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Are you in recovery today?  Do you have a need that I could help meet?  I’d love to hear from you.

“Courage consists in the power of self-recovery.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today’s mission: Face the day with courage!

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~Jeremiah 29:11

September 12th

For this country, and for many of our friends around the world, this is a sad day.  September 11th will never be the same.

On 9/11, something was taken from us.

Loved ones.

Peace.

A sense of security.

It was a day that needs no description, because you know exactly how it felt.

And every year on this date, we as a country stop to remember September 11th.

And that inspires us to do good things.  We volunteer.  We pray.  We donate blood.

I’m doing all three today myself.

But as we do these things, we remember September 11, 2001.

And that’s where I part ways with the rest of the nation.  Because I don’t want to think about 9/11, not ever and most especially not today.

I think about September 12th.  The 13th, the 14th, the 17th.

I think about the days that followed this great tragedy, and how we as a nation came together in a way that made me proud to be an American.

Immediately following the terrorist attacks, we were a strong and united front in the face of unspeakable horrors.  We prayed together, cried together, worked together.  We gave of ourselves and we cared about our neighbor in a deep and meaningful way.  We banded together and carried each others burdens.

We were good.

September 12th.  That’s the memory that gets me through September 11th.

May we return to the nation that we lived in on September 12th.

A nation that remembers we are all in this together, regardless of political affiliation.

A nation that respects our common goals, and acknowledges that more binds us together than tears us apart.

A community that works together.  A government that works together.

People – together.

Just like we saw on September 12th.

Weeping may last for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.

~Psalm 30:5

Formals gone wrong

One big area where I’ve consistently embarrassed myself is formal wear.  Part of it was the times, for sure.

{Quick, name me something you wore in 1989 that wasn’t hideous!}

But also, I always made my own dresses.  At least twice a year I set my creativity loose and designed and made my own formal wear.  And let’s just say how very ironic these pictures are, considering I now design children’s clothing.  Clearly, my artistic vision has changed over the years.

Take this monstrosity, for example

Hello, everything red ever made!

I had no ability to edit.  I loved red and I was ready to show the world.

It’s a darn shame this picture doesn’t capture my red earrings, red shoes, and red purse.  I can’t say for sure now because my brain is very old and tired, but something tells me my underwear wasn’t white.

And my date for said prom (who is probably reading this and laughing at me right now…or possibly feeling relieved that his picture isn’t here, forever attaching him to crazy red blob girl) was told specifically to bring all red flowers.  I feel strongly that he also should have sung ‘Lady in Red’ without prompting, but that didn’t happen.

With or without the prompting.

Seriously dude, could I have dropped any more hints?

And what do you think that look on my face is about?  Is it, ‘Mo-om, stop taking pictures of me!  I’m super cool and you’re making me look like a dork here!’

Or was it ‘I know that my former BFF is behind me and she looks sooooo much better in her ruffled cupcake dress than I do in my big red blob. Plus her hair is bigger than mine! Dangit!’

[I'm struck by irony because as I write this, the last song we ever danced to came on Gen X radio.]

The next year I’d like to say I learned something, but, um, not really.

Enter ‘faux sequins’

Oh, and also the first time my hair went brown, though this time it was accidental.  I have to accept responsibility for all future misadventures with a bottle.

Note to self: If you don’t have the patience to hand sew thousands of individual sequins, then pick another style. ‘Sequin-like fabric’ is in fact nothing at all like actual sequins, and very, very tacky.

Lesson learned.

Prom that year went better.  I lightened up on both the color and the bling.  Unfortunately, I lightened up all the way to white, which makes it look like I was a teenage bride.  And judging by my date’s ball cap, I’m thinking this wasn’t the wedding of the century.

White – not a good color for a pale, sickly girl.

Try again – Cinderella Ball, the following year.

Ok, so the color is better.  But the hair?  The hair is not good.  And also, looking back at this and knowing how old I was in this picture, I cannot believe that I wore/my parents let me wear a dress that low cut.  It looks like the see-through fabric stops just shy of my navel.  Klassy.

[And lest you think less of me, the date was just a friend.]

I reverted to my old ways for the next prom, too.  Wedding #2

Two minor changes this time.

1) I wore Ivory instead of white.

2) I knew I’d be shaking my booty all night and had the good sense to wear sneaks.

My only regret here is that they weren’t Chucks.  Or combat boots.  Either would have made for better pictures.

Have I ever told you that I wore tennis shoes under my wedding dress, too?

In college I seemed to learn my lesson.  I looked much better…but had dates that I couldn’t stand to see again, so you won’t be getting pictures there.

{Besides Jen, this is really all for you, and you’ve already seen the worst of that.}

Bad Judgment

In oh-so-many ways.

It started young, when I was sporting a polyester leisure suit at my birthday party

Now this doesn't date me at all...

And it just grew from there.

For example, the date that felt chinos and no socks would be appropriate for a semi-formal.

No socks.

Who does that? Blech.

But hey, remember when boxer shorts as attire was popular?

No eyes when I smile. Seriously.

Yeah – me either.  But it certainly helps to make them look cool, the way I have them hiked up to my armpits.

Dear Heather,

Circa-nineteen-whenever-overalls-were-popular

Overalls – not good.

Moving on…

Where to even begin with this one?

Pretzel legs

Oh, I know – how about we start with the pictures of the creep plastered all over the wall behind you? Bad. Judgment.

Also, you are still wearing boxers, and you still have no eyes when you smile.

Oh, and this?

Driving Miss Daisy

You are at least 20 years too young to wear a dress with a matching shirt.  A dress that stops mid-calf, AKA the least flattering length known to man.

And it’s amazing this one didn’t get me arrested

Sullying the good name of Nemo

since quite obviously, I appear to be pants-less in Disney World.

I’m not, for the record.

A – Not fat, just pregnant. I know I say that a lot, but it’s true.

B – Wearing short shorts

C – Wearing my husband’s pullover which is way too big for me

D – Too stupid to look in a mirror

I had that ‘too stupid’ problem here, too.  This is the day I learned that when taking pictures, your neck should be pushed out, not pulled in.

Hello, double chin!

Dear Heather,

Shield your eyes from the glow

Don’t take pictures in the pool unless you’ve discovered the sun.  Or at least a decent self-tanner.

I’ve had several [failed] attempts at hat-wearing

But at least I don't have poodle hair!

Am I playing dress-up here? Why are the clothes hanging off of me?  Gross! Eat a burger, pronto!

Let’s try again

The furry scarf really sets it off, don't you think?

Ok there, fatso. Back off the burgers now.

Maybe feathers would be better?

Practicing my routine for Vegas

As it turns out, no. And where are my darn eyes?

The mortification fun ends here today.  More kicks to the gut laughs tomorrow!

What If, Part Two

When I wrote about the ‘what-ifs’ yesterday I had a couple of particular situations in mind.  Perhaps the saddest of these is my old friend Hyo.

He is the second person I’ve known who committed suicide.  The other was someone who worked for the same company I did.  I had just started working there, he was in a different department – we didn’t really know each other very well.  But Hyo – that was different.  We had dated.  Not seriously, but enough to be friends.  We’d gone through a mutual rough spot together, and I suppose I felt a common bond with him because of that.

The problem is, we didn’t really get through it together.  I got through it.  He hid the fact that he still hurt.  He never got over it, and for years he kept his pain to himself, until one day it became too much to bear.

When I read Mama Kat’s prompt last week, his was the first face that my mind saw.  His soft voice was the first one I heard.

Oh Hyo.  What could I have done differently?

I really do not know the answer to that question, and I never will.  I’ll never be able to go back in time and change something, choose differently, react differently.  I can’t bring him back.

I didn’t realize that this was still weighing on me until I read that prompt, and since then I’ve scarcely stopped thinking about him.  It’s just so horribly, awfully sad.

Two quotes keep coming to mind.

“Painful as it may be, a significant emotional event can be the catalyst for choosing a direction that serves us – and those around us – more effectively. Look for the learning.” -Louisa May Alcott

I’m still looking.

“What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now.”

I’m not sure how to make everything new.  I’ve started by making a donation to New Hope, a Christian resource for those who are depressed or suicidal.  But that’s easy, isn’t it?  Hands-off and comfortable, to send a few dollars whilst actively doing…nothing.

I’m looking to do something.  Partly to assuage my own guilt, I admit.  And partly so that I don’t find myself in this position again, having looked the other way and left someone behind.  Sins of omission are sometimes the hardest to deal with.

Temporary

When I was in high school, our church had a revival.  A really great evangelist came to speak, though unfortunately now all I can remember is that his name was Tommy.  Tommy the super speaker was really inspirational to me and my favorite thing that I walked away with was the ‘temporary’ stamp.

I ordered one immediately.

Or maybe my parents ordered it for me since I was still sponging off of them at that point.

Either way, we went home and found a stamp-ordering place and ordered a lovely, self-inking rubber stamp.  I still have it to this day (of course I do, since high school was just a few short years ago. Ahem.) It bears only one word.

Tommy said that we should all have a ‘temporary’ stamp, and we should be marking everything we see with it.  Being right in the middle of my angst-y youth, that really had an impact on me.  And I’ve carried that with me into the, um, older years of my youth.  Or adulthood. Whatever.

I think it’s a good reminder that applies to everything in life.  Sort of a ‘this too shall pass’ but more succinct and less annoying.

When Carrie Underwood released her Temporary Home song, I was thrilled.  So glad to know that I’m not the only one with this philosophy.

That’s it – that’s all I’ve got.  Short, sweet, and simple today.

Have a good one.