OK, God I'm awake and I'm not real fond of your middle of the night awakenings. Even though I know this is going to be awesome when I'm done, I just want to remind you that I work 12 hours today, I trained for 8 hours yesterday for the chaplaincy training so I could go into the high schools and then I worked 6.5 hours at a boy's group home. But you win, I'm up, let's do this.
My head and heart are reeling from the last 16 days, the death of Robert has left me heartbroken and at the same time has opened our hearts and soul to a spiritual awakening and better understanding of who God is. As Elliott's words from 1-1/2 years ago ring in my ear, "sometimes the most merciful thing a loving God can do is take someone home and out of their torment", I wish I hadn't been so adamant in my beliefs that that would not happen. Perhaps I could have heard God clearer instead of being so sure what the outcome was going to be. Perhaps I would have gone ahead with the adoption of Robert instead of waiting until he put together 90 days sober. And perhaps when he was home for his birthday, which I am so glad we came home for those 10 days, I had this feeling that he should make out a will. Mind you, not that he had anything of worth, but just to simplify things in the end, but I was too closed minded to the idea that he would die that I refused to believe it necessary. God answered our prayers for Robert - that he would meet Jesus and he would be healed, but those answers came in a way that we did not expect - his death.
But obviously, God doesn't consult me and frequently answers prayers in a way I don't expect. And He certainly answered my prayers differently than I expected. Robert and I went to see "Blind Side" the movie, we wept together. Robert said, "that's like our story." We always knew we had an awesome story, almost a love story, to tell and I would tell him that our story would only make a good story if it had a happy ending. Nobody wants to read a tragedy. I believed that Robert would figure out sobriety, stay clean and sober, go to school, become successful and prosper and that would be a "great comeback" story. That his life story would affect 1,000's of peoples lives that he would inspire because of his own journey. That would be a story worth telling. But that's not what happened now is it. He left me here holding this bag of emotions and pain at his passing, and yet I have heard so loudly and clearly that my son's passing is not a tragedy at all because he has affected so many, many lives. At his memorial in Redding, we heard person after person stand and talk about what a difference he made in their life and how they pointed them to Jesus, I've seen the pilot for the reality TV show he was going to be on, and I know when that show airs on TV, that more than 1,000s of peoples lives will be touched by the story of his struggle with addiction. Robert somehow knew also, that he was a light bearer, people listened to him, he was brilliant and he had it within him to make a difference. We just didn't know it would be after he was gone. Nevertheless, he would be so happy and is so happy that lives are changed because he was here.
Robert and I talked frequently depending on his current state. We had come to an understanding that I would talk to him, sobriety or not, as long as he wasn't calling me when he was drunk or high. So, sometimes a few days would go by and sometimes a few weeks without hearing from him, which was counter balanced with when he was sober which was numerous calls throughout the day, "mother, where are you; are you ignoring me?" And then if I didn't meet his time schedule they would get bitchier, "well, if you're not going to talk to me, I don't know what bug went up your butt, fine then, I think I'll go cause havac" or some other threat or such. I would then text him, "simmer down, I'm at work. Hold your horses, I'll call when I'm off work". Of course, once he got you on the phone, he didn't want to let you go. "Don't go, I'm not done talking." Sometimes, he would be in monologue mode, there was no conversation there was only Robert ranting about something or sharing his excitement about something. Sometimes, I would set the phone down, let him rant on and on, picking it up every couple of minutes and saying, "uh, huh" and then setting the phone back down. I hope God doesn't do that when I monologue my prayers. Occasionally, I would let too much time pass and I'd pick up the phone to hear, "mother, mother, you did not hang up on me, did you? Mother!!!" I'd say, "of course not, I'm right here". And then he would be off and running again. I'm going to miss that routine.
We talked a lot about addiction and recovery. Robert said him and I were going to have a treatment house or a sober living house and show all those "bitches" how to do treatment right. I jokingly would say, "Yeah, we can call it "Big Mama's House". We would talk about what that would look like. We would encompass a whole body approach including his favorite healthy thing, cardio workout, into treatment and have better food instead of all those sweets he couldn't quit eating. I really believed that we would do that. He wanted to help other people get past their addictions. So many times, in the midst of his own struggles, he would leave to go help someone else. I would say, "you need to save yourself first Robert, it's not safe for you to go try and help someone else when you are still in the midst of your own addiction." He would reply that he was going to be OK, so and so really needed someone right now. He so desperately wanted to serve others, to make a difference in their lives, to give them a future and a hope when it was something so crippling for him to reach himself. He talked about he was going to be the best damn sponsor ever because no one would slip through the cracks or bull shit him about their using and such. He was going to be like Jules, whom he so dearly loved and admired. He was going to be honest, brutally honest, he was going to make his sponsees wake up, make better choices, quit relapsing, take responsibility for their life, have a life. He wanted them to know they could be anything they wanted to be, they were smart, bright, beautiful, loving and worthy, things he never completely believed about himself. I am hoping through this event, tragic as it feels for these first few weeks, that Robert's dreams and desires of making a difference to this community, that he loved, in regards to sobriety and recovery would come true. I pray that each one of you embrace a new commitment, determination, desire, a new dream, to seek out your sobriety with all your heart, soul, passion and all that is within you and not just follow after your childhood dreams but chase after them. He will look down from the highest heavens, with those big blue eyes and that beautiful, beautiful smile and say, "Heller, Halleluyer, Halleluyer!!"
Yep, that's my boy!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
God Predetermines the Events of Life
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8:
1. To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven. NLT
1 There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.
A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
A time for war and a time for peace.
11 Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.
Today, I can rejoice in that one word - God will make everything, and that includes me, beautiful in its own time. Now what does that mean in "its" time. Does that mean it depends on me somehow? No, that can't be. I don't want my opportunity to shine and be beautiful for God to depend on me, at all, whatsoever! I must look up a different version of the Bible. Oh, here's the Message. "True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time - but he's left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether he's coming or going." Well again it says, "every thing beautiful in itself and in its time." So when is my time?
New Life Version - if you don't like one version, it's OK to just keep on looking. "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has put thoughts of the forever in man's mind, yet man cannot understand the work God has done from the Beginning to the end." Hmmm, I kind of like that, "He's put thoughts of the forever in man's mind."
My first thoughts of forever are forever depressed, forever broke, forever lonely, forever fat. Oh, not that kind of forever, God's kind of forever. Oh, that's better - That's a good forever. That reminds me of a little book I just read. "Heaven is For Real." It's the story of a little boy Colton, 4 years old, he dies of an appendicitis and then lives. It's the account of the following year or two of his life as he shares what heaven is like. He shares in random conversation, things that he had never been told or could understand. His father was a pastor and has documented his story to share. It's really quite lovely and wonderful to read what he reveals about heaven. One of my favorite parts is when Colton went with his father (the pastor) to visit a dying man in a rest home. His father prayed for the man and his family and then walked to the door to leave. Colton turned around walked up to the bed of the dying, unconscious man and whispered in his ear, "It's going to be OK, the first person you see in heaven is Jesus." I don't know why that moves me so much. I guess it's just such a comfort to know that when I die, the first thing I'm going to see is Jesus. Hallelujah, or as my son says Hallaluyer! (to quote Madea). One other thing Colton revealed was he had a sister that had died in the womb. Colton was four, he had never been told about it, but shared about meeting his sister who had "died in mommy's tummy" and that God had adopted her. It's really an awesome little book, it will make you excited about heaven. Hey, we're getting older, we need to be excited about something, right? I got the book at Costco if you're interested.
Back to God makes everything beautiful in its time. I'm going to end this as it relates to heaven because I'm still stuck on that "it's time" thing. Colton says there are no "old bodies in heaven. Now, that's going to be BEAUTIFUL!
1. To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven. NLT
1 There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.
A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
A time for war and a time for peace.
11 Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.
Today, I can rejoice in that one word - God will make everything, and that includes me, beautiful in its own time. Now what does that mean in "its" time. Does that mean it depends on me somehow? No, that can't be. I don't want my opportunity to shine and be beautiful for God to depend on me, at all, whatsoever! I must look up a different version of the Bible. Oh, here's the Message. "True, God made everything beautiful in itself and in its time - but he's left us in the dark, so we can never know what God is up to, whether he's coming or going." Well again it says, "every thing beautiful in itself and in its time." So when is my time?
New Life Version - if you don't like one version, it's OK to just keep on looking. "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has put thoughts of the forever in man's mind, yet man cannot understand the work God has done from the Beginning to the end." Hmmm, I kind of like that, "He's put thoughts of the forever in man's mind."
My first thoughts of forever are forever depressed, forever broke, forever lonely, forever fat. Oh, not that kind of forever, God's kind of forever. Oh, that's better - That's a good forever. That reminds me of a little book I just read. "Heaven is For Real." It's the story of a little boy Colton, 4 years old, he dies of an appendicitis and then lives. It's the account of the following year or two of his life as he shares what heaven is like. He shares in random conversation, things that he had never been told or could understand. His father was a pastor and has documented his story to share. It's really quite lovely and wonderful to read what he reveals about heaven. One of my favorite parts is when Colton went with his father (the pastor) to visit a dying man in a rest home. His father prayed for the man and his family and then walked to the door to leave. Colton turned around walked up to the bed of the dying, unconscious man and whispered in his ear, "It's going to be OK, the first person you see in heaven is Jesus." I don't know why that moves me so much. I guess it's just such a comfort to know that when I die, the first thing I'm going to see is Jesus. Hallelujah, or as my son says Hallaluyer! (to quote Madea). One other thing Colton revealed was he had a sister that had died in the womb. Colton was four, he had never been told about it, but shared about meeting his sister who had "died in mommy's tummy" and that God had adopted her. It's really an awesome little book, it will make you excited about heaven. Hey, we're getting older, we need to be excited about something, right? I got the book at Costco if you're interested.
Back to God makes everything beautiful in its time. I'm going to end this as it relates to heaven because I'm still stuck on that "it's time" thing. Colton says there are no "old bodies in heaven. Now, that's going to be BEAUTIFUL!
When My Soul is in the Dumps.
Psalm 42 - Seek after the Lord. He can be found everywhere in everything.
The Message reads
1-2: "A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek, I want to drink God, deep thoughts of God.
I'm thirsty for God alive. I wonder 'Will I ever make it - arrive and drink in God's presence?'"
I want my soul to crave only you, God, to be consumed by thoughts of you, songs to you, praise to you, to exist non-stop in your presence. Oh, but wait, I don't want the pain, sickness, affliction, depression, trials or tribulations, especially physical ones, that bring me to that place of presence. Why can't I just exist in Your presence? Without all that heart ache. Is it my heart ache, illnesses, depression and neediness that keeps me seeking your presence? Do I really have the discipline to seek you everyday without all those things that draw me into Your presence - but I'm not sure I do and in all honesty - I don't think I do. Dang it!
3-4a: "I'm on a diet of tears - tears for breakfast, tears for supper. All day long people knock at my door, Pestering, 'where is this God of yours?' These are the things I go over and over, emptying out the pockets of my life."
That's a pretty funny choice of words - emptying out the pockets of my life. I can actually sit here with tears streaming down my face - smiling. God you have such a sense of humor. My pockets are empty. I knew this day would arrive - no one goes unscathed in an economic recession especially if you had severe money issues to begin with; that happens when your father only showed love by giving you money. I have a house, a couple of old cars and a whole lot of "invaluable" stuff left and I'm not sure how long I'll have the house. But through this "pruning", there are things that I welcome, like "cutting" the apron strings with my children, I mean solely financially. My husband would use different terminology that has to do with nursing mothers but personally it really irritates me and pisses me off when he says it. But, let's move on. They are 26, almost 24 and the child I chose is 22. They are adults, they make money, well 2 of them do, they should be paying their own insurance, health and car, their own medical bills, their own phone, their own way to the movie, their own coffee, etc. I used to think I don't care if I pay for everything, if I get to spend time with my kids. It made perfect sense to me, but here is the thing, I never anticipated not having money. I think this behavior was codependent on my part, and now that I don't have money, I'm lonely, they have found other things to do which I'm sure they are spending their own money to do. I'm OK with that, it's all part of growing up, maturing, becoming your best person and I am, OK I'm not, but I am being molded and shaped by my God in the process and that is always a good thing. Also, my children are growing up, maturing, coming out of themselves in the process.
4b: "I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd, right out in front, leading them all, eager to arrive and worship, Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving - celebrating, all of us. God's feast."
Yes, there are times when life seems wonderful, amazing, glorious, it's easier to praise and celebrate in someways - you seem to have more that you're thankful for - at least on the surface. I'm beginning to understand, and I emphasize beginning Romans 5:3, 4: "And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations knowing that tribulation produces perseverance, and perseverance, character and character, hope." I still have a long way to go - I'm not jumping up and down for joy in my poverty but God brings beauty from ashes and that's pretty much all I feel like I'm holding onto at times.
5-8: "Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God - soon I'll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He's my God. When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you. From Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar. Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers, crash and crush me. Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night! My life is God's prayer!"
Does that means God sings to me - I like that picture - He lullabies my soul. I don't know about "my life is God's prayer." My first thought is well, He should keep praying, because I just don't see that yet. I know He's God and all, but I'm just saying - I think I have a long way to go to reach "my life is God's prayer".
9-11: "Sometimes, I ask God, my rock solid God, 'Why did you let me down? Why am I walking around in tears, harassed by enemies?' They're out for the kill, these tormentors and their obscenities, taunting day after day, 'where is this God of yours?' Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God, soon I'll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He's my God."
So in the midst of all the world brings: heartache, chaos, loss, confusion, depression, stress, strife, despair - I put my hope in You, O God, the author and finisher of my faith. May you be my warm blanket through the night and the night of day and may my dreams be from you and about you, may you be my rising up, my welcoming of the day, my hope in the day, my compass for life and my laying down. Regardless of how I feel, physically, spiritually, emotionally or mentally, I choose you. Psalm 37:25: "I have been young and now I am old (ouch), yet I have not the seen the righteous forsaken. I choose you in life, with all of its ups and downs and I will choose you in death. You are my God, in You shall I trust all the days of my life and I lay it all at Your feet. Prune away, that my life will prop you up so that others will see You and not me that You may be glorified.
The Message reads
1-2: "A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek, I want to drink God, deep thoughts of God.
I'm thirsty for God alive. I wonder 'Will I ever make it - arrive and drink in God's presence?'"
I want my soul to crave only you, God, to be consumed by thoughts of you, songs to you, praise to you, to exist non-stop in your presence. Oh, but wait, I don't want the pain, sickness, affliction, depression, trials or tribulations, especially physical ones, that bring me to that place of presence. Why can't I just exist in Your presence? Without all that heart ache. Is it my heart ache, illnesses, depression and neediness that keeps me seeking your presence? Do I really have the discipline to seek you everyday without all those things that draw me into Your presence - but I'm not sure I do and in all honesty - I don't think I do. Dang it!
3-4a: "I'm on a diet of tears - tears for breakfast, tears for supper. All day long people knock at my door, Pestering, 'where is this God of yours?' These are the things I go over and over, emptying out the pockets of my life."
That's a pretty funny choice of words - emptying out the pockets of my life. I can actually sit here with tears streaming down my face - smiling. God you have such a sense of humor. My pockets are empty. I knew this day would arrive - no one goes unscathed in an economic recession especially if you had severe money issues to begin with; that happens when your father only showed love by giving you money. I have a house, a couple of old cars and a whole lot of "invaluable" stuff left and I'm not sure how long I'll have the house. But through this "pruning", there are things that I welcome, like "cutting" the apron strings with my children, I mean solely financially. My husband would use different terminology that has to do with nursing mothers but personally it really irritates me and pisses me off when he says it. But, let's move on. They are 26, almost 24 and the child I chose is 22. They are adults, they make money, well 2 of them do, they should be paying their own insurance, health and car, their own medical bills, their own phone, their own way to the movie, their own coffee, etc. I used to think I don't care if I pay for everything, if I get to spend time with my kids. It made perfect sense to me, but here is the thing, I never anticipated not having money. I think this behavior was codependent on my part, and now that I don't have money, I'm lonely, they have found other things to do which I'm sure they are spending their own money to do. I'm OK with that, it's all part of growing up, maturing, becoming your best person and I am, OK I'm not, but I am being molded and shaped by my God in the process and that is always a good thing. Also, my children are growing up, maturing, coming out of themselves in the process.
4b: "I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd, right out in front, leading them all, eager to arrive and worship, Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving - celebrating, all of us. God's feast."
Yes, there are times when life seems wonderful, amazing, glorious, it's easier to praise and celebrate in someways - you seem to have more that you're thankful for - at least on the surface. I'm beginning to understand, and I emphasize beginning Romans 5:3, 4: "And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations knowing that tribulation produces perseverance, and perseverance, character and character, hope." I still have a long way to go - I'm not jumping up and down for joy in my poverty but God brings beauty from ashes and that's pretty much all I feel like I'm holding onto at times.
5-8: "Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God - soon I'll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He's my God. When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you. From Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar. Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids. Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers, crash and crush me. Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night! My life is God's prayer!"
Does that means God sings to me - I like that picture - He lullabies my soul. I don't know about "my life is God's prayer." My first thought is well, He should keep praying, because I just don't see that yet. I know He's God and all, but I'm just saying - I think I have a long way to go to reach "my life is God's prayer".
9-11: "Sometimes, I ask God, my rock solid God, 'Why did you let me down? Why am I walking around in tears, harassed by enemies?' They're out for the kill, these tormentors and their obscenities, taunting day after day, 'where is this God of yours?' Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues? Fix my eyes on God, soon I'll be praising again. He puts a smile on my face. He's my God."
So in the midst of all the world brings: heartache, chaos, loss, confusion, depression, stress, strife, despair - I put my hope in You, O God, the author and finisher of my faith. May you be my warm blanket through the night and the night of day and may my dreams be from you and about you, may you be my rising up, my welcoming of the day, my hope in the day, my compass for life and my laying down. Regardless of how I feel, physically, spiritually, emotionally or mentally, I choose you. Psalm 37:25: "I have been young and now I am old (ouch), yet I have not the seen the righteous forsaken. I choose you in life, with all of its ups and downs and I will choose you in death. You are my God, in You shall I trust all the days of my life and I lay it all at Your feet. Prune away, that my life will prop you up so that others will see You and not me that You may be glorified.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Living Life in the Wide Open Spaces
I learned some very disturbing information today about one of my children. Now, my children know that I am adamant and relentless about honesty in our relationship; in every way. They hear me say things like, "you're only as good as your word", my daughter says "liars go to hell" which is kind of harsh. I've always been adamant about telling the truth and having the truth told to me. So, to hear that I've been lied to for years by any of my children is so heartwrenching I can't even begin to put it into words.
Although the information I learned today was disappointing for me, it's so much more disappointing for me to find out about the lying. If you're going to venture out and do something against what your parents advise, by all means at least have the "balls" to admit it. But to live a lie and keep guilt and shame inside of you, is unfathomable. I feel sorry for the torture my child has put themselves through living this lie, proclaiming to be something they are not; for what reason I'm not sure. What I found out today, explains so much about their behavior and issues, per se, and why certain circumstances which I just couldn't understand are totally understandable now. It's like a light has been shown in a dark place, but unfortunately not for my child. I'm not sure at this point, I can discuss this with them; I'm not sure I can handle if they continue on in their lie and tell me "you're crazy, who told you that, that's not true, how could you believe them over me," blah, blah, blah. Because the thought of having them continue in the lie is so much more great than actually being told by someone else.
But, I'm not sure that I can carry this weight; the weight of knowing I've been lied to, things are not as they seem. It will be hard for me to look at my child, speak with my child, spend time with my child, knowing there is this chasm between us that was put there when my child decided to lie to me and continue living the lie. I could have gone on in oblivious wonder had someone not "enlightened" me about this issue. But now that I know, I know. It kind of makes me mad at the person that told me; which is kind of ridiculous in a way, but they have their own part in this story. I want to cry because my heart hurts, this seems to happen a lot to me lately as a mother. I desire the best for my children and on both parts, this is not your finest moment. Oh, one of you can count it as "just a mistake" and the other one can act like it just never happened.
The only thing that comes to mind is that old gospel song that says, "where can I go, but to the Lord."
Although the information I learned today was disappointing for me, it's so much more disappointing for me to find out about the lying. If you're going to venture out and do something against what your parents advise, by all means at least have the "balls" to admit it. But to live a lie and keep guilt and shame inside of you, is unfathomable. I feel sorry for the torture my child has put themselves through living this lie, proclaiming to be something they are not; for what reason I'm not sure. What I found out today, explains so much about their behavior and issues, per se, and why certain circumstances which I just couldn't understand are totally understandable now. It's like a light has been shown in a dark place, but unfortunately not for my child. I'm not sure at this point, I can discuss this with them; I'm not sure I can handle if they continue on in their lie and tell me "you're crazy, who told you that, that's not true, how could you believe them over me," blah, blah, blah. Because the thought of having them continue in the lie is so much more great than actually being told by someone else.
But, I'm not sure that I can carry this weight; the weight of knowing I've been lied to, things are not as they seem. It will be hard for me to look at my child, speak with my child, spend time with my child, knowing there is this chasm between us that was put there when my child decided to lie to me and continue living the lie. I could have gone on in oblivious wonder had someone not "enlightened" me about this issue. But now that I know, I know. It kind of makes me mad at the person that told me; which is kind of ridiculous in a way, but they have their own part in this story. I want to cry because my heart hurts, this seems to happen a lot to me lately as a mother. I desire the best for my children and on both parts, this is not your finest moment. Oh, one of you can count it as "just a mistake" and the other one can act like it just never happened.
The only thing that comes to mind is that old gospel song that says, "where can I go, but to the Lord."
Saturday, March 19, 2011
A Way With Words
March 12, 2011
I have always been aware or rather I have been raised to be aware of words. It's kind of odd though, we were raised around motivational type information, books, literature and speakers because my dad was a salesman. I assume he used these works to keep himself motivated, positive and therefore drawing his own dreams and desires into existence. Oddly enough though, those aren't the words he spoke. We heard so many quotes, "People don't plan to fail, they fail to plan, show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser, water seeks it's own level, show me a man without a goal and I'll show you a man going no where, how can you hit a target or a goal, you don't have, winning isn't everything, it's the only thing."
On and on, they went. But he never directly spoke those words to us or my mom. If we were sick he would say, "get tough or die". That comment hasn't helped much with my empathy skills as a mother or as an adult. His words were hurtful, painful, damaging and at 55 years of age, those are the things I remember about my childhood and my dad. Report card - 6 A's and 1 B, "you obviously didn't try hard enough or you would have had all A's". That may be true but is that what you want, your child half a lifetime later to hear that bouncing around in her head. "Can't you do anything right?" Is that what you want your friend or child to remember when you're dead and gone; is that your legacy? Because your words live on, they have a life of their own. They live on not just in me, but because they affected and still affect me, they live on in my children, my marriage, my friends, my life. The words we say live on. From a small amount of human tissue placed strategically in a mouth between upper and lower teeth, comes the power to heal, the power to destroy, the power to build up, the power to tear down, the power to scream, the power to whisper. We can change the tone, the level, the intensity, the intention of our words all for good or for evil. It's a choice we all make, a choice we make unconsciously without thought, without even listening to our own words coming out of our mouth.
Father God, may we hear our words today, may we listen to what we say and may we be saying what you would want us to say - words that heal, words that mend, words of love, caring and adoration inspired by Your love that included dying on the cross. Also, as we say these words, may we be people of intention, that do the things we say that we're going to do that we show character and follow through on things after the feeling is gone. May we not just speak words of genuine caring and affection but may we follow through with our actions. Jesus, help me to be more like You.
I have always been aware or rather I have been raised to be aware of words. It's kind of odd though, we were raised around motivational type information, books, literature and speakers because my dad was a salesman. I assume he used these works to keep himself motivated, positive and therefore drawing his own dreams and desires into existence. Oddly enough though, those aren't the words he spoke. We heard so many quotes, "People don't plan to fail, they fail to plan, show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser, water seeks it's own level, show me a man without a goal and I'll show you a man going no where, how can you hit a target or a goal, you don't have, winning isn't everything, it's the only thing."
On and on, they went. But he never directly spoke those words to us or my mom. If we were sick he would say, "get tough or die". That comment hasn't helped much with my empathy skills as a mother or as an adult. His words were hurtful, painful, damaging and at 55 years of age, those are the things I remember about my childhood and my dad. Report card - 6 A's and 1 B, "you obviously didn't try hard enough or you would have had all A's". That may be true but is that what you want, your child half a lifetime later to hear that bouncing around in her head. "Can't you do anything right?" Is that what you want your friend or child to remember when you're dead and gone; is that your legacy? Because your words live on, they have a life of their own. They live on not just in me, but because they affected and still affect me, they live on in my children, my marriage, my friends, my life. The words we say live on. From a small amount of human tissue placed strategically in a mouth between upper and lower teeth, comes the power to heal, the power to destroy, the power to build up, the power to tear down, the power to scream, the power to whisper. We can change the tone, the level, the intensity, the intention of our words all for good or for evil. It's a choice we all make, a choice we make unconsciously without thought, without even listening to our own words coming out of our mouth.
Father God, may we hear our words today, may we listen to what we say and may we be saying what you would want us to say - words that heal, words that mend, words of love, caring and adoration inspired by Your love that included dying on the cross. Also, as we say these words, may we be people of intention, that do the things we say that we're going to do that we show character and follow through on things after the feeling is gone. May we not just speak words of genuine caring and affection but may we follow through with our actions. Jesus, help me to be more like You.
Healing Ministry
March 2, 2011
This week I'm attending the Risen King's Conference on "Redigging the Wells of Supernatural Healing". I didn't really know what to expect, except perhaps some healing; I would think that would happen at a healing conference.
Evenings are open sessions, anyone can come to hear the speakers. Monday night, my daughter's roommate and I are sitting on the second row at Risen King. There is an older couple in front of us; they appear physically frail. I don't know whether their health had taken a tole on their life or their life choices but it didn't really matter. They were very attentive to each other in a very loving and caring way. We worship; it was amazing. God was there, it was like basking in warmth. The presence of God so apparent. After worship, we took a few moments to meet the people around us. We met the couple in front of us, the woman had a beautiful name.
Moments later, the woman stiffened up, the man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her, she began shaking and he administered something to her; I assumed she was having some sort of seizure. We leaned forward, outstretched our hands and began to pray for her. A few other people came to her side to comfort her and try and attend to her. I listened to the man as he comforted his bride, he spoke into her hope, he prayed, "Father, Father, come, help her, calm her." He stroke her face, he stroke her hair, he held her, he continued to speak into her and to pray. After a few minutes, she calmed, the seizure had past. He continued to speak into her, loving on her, loving her, his total attention on her well being.
We listened to Bill Randall speak about healing prayer. It was moving and informative and led into a time of ministry for those wanting healing. I would assume the man and the woman in front of us were there for healing; it is a healing conference, right? She was approached and soon people began to pray for her; sitting right behind her, I leaned forward and prayed for her also. It was heart wrenching, gut wrenching to imagine someone whose life is tormented by such a disease as epilepsy. In my mind, I believed she deserved to be healed, like any of us deserve anything, but her body was ravaged with a disease and a loving God, a loving Father would surely not want that for his daughter. Right? Isn't that right? I know Bill talked about not everyone gets healed but we pray in anticipation and trust that God heals anyway He sees fit and it will all be for His glory. Now, this is the first time I've ever attended anything like this and admit it's all new and although I believe God can do anything, I'm still wondering can He do it through me? I know it's a silly question but I'm trying to be totally honest here. My husband and children have heard me say over and over, "I believe God flung the stars from His fingertips, anything else to me would seem easy for Him." Now, I know He uses me in many ways, I just always believed that people were gifted healers, not just people like me who step out in faith boldly to see God move through them in a new way.
We prayed, we prayed again and she sat down. Minutes later, she had a seizure again. Really, God, a few minutes later. The man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her again, he administered something again, he began speaking life and hope to her again, he began to pray again, "Oh Father, Oh Father, calm her, come Lord Jesus." He stroked her hair and her face, he held her, he was handed a damp towel and he wiped her face. He continued, and continued, and continued, this seizure a little longer and more intense than the last. I pray again, I'm thinking, "oh my, this woman can't be left alone, his whole life is wrapped up in taking care of her. God, you really need to heal her so that they can have a 'normal' life." I think at this time God is laughing and responding, "like your normal life?" I continue to lean forward and pray for her, I haven't quite resorted to begging God and I probably would have except I just texted my daughter a quote that said, "For us to beg God to heal someone is to say that we have more mercy than God." I pray again and continue until the seizure passes. It's sad to see someone who has no control over their body, something physical holding her body captive. It finally passes, and within 15 minutes; it happens and it starts all over again.
The man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her again, he administered something again, he began speaking life and hope to her again, he began to pray again, "Oh Father, Oh Father, calm her, come Lord Jesus." He stroked her hair and her face, he held her, he wiped her face again. He continued, and continued, and continued until this seizure past. Shortly thereafter, the session was over or maybe it was over for me; I don't know. But I left the building and as I walked to the car I was weeping, "God why didn't you heal that woman, she so desperately needed to have her body freed from the bondage of epilepsy? Why, I want to know why?
God is so faithful, He answers: "The greater gift is how he loves her? How many times do you see love like that? He gives his life to care for her. His love is the greater gift; the gift the world needs to see."
I'm officially in a puddle; a puddle of my own tears. Once again, I ask, He answers, I am humbled and wowed at the same time. Thank you Jesus for that most beautiful picture of your love; I don't see it very often. In fact, the last time I saw love like that I was 16 years old at a business conference with my parents. When the meal was over and it was time to dance, one of men there picked up his severely handicapped daughter, held her in his arms, her feet hanging limply fifteen inches from the floor and he danced on the dance floor with her like she was a princess. Yes, he was giving his life for her also. That was 39 year ago; so yeah, I guess you just don't see that very often. Thank you, thank you, thank you; God; I'm beginning to understand healing ministry.
This week I'm attending the Risen King's Conference on "Redigging the Wells of Supernatural Healing". I didn't really know what to expect, except perhaps some healing; I would think that would happen at a healing conference.
Evenings are open sessions, anyone can come to hear the speakers. Monday night, my daughter's roommate and I are sitting on the second row at Risen King. There is an older couple in front of us; they appear physically frail. I don't know whether their health had taken a tole on their life or their life choices but it didn't really matter. They were very attentive to each other in a very loving and caring way. We worship; it was amazing. God was there, it was like basking in warmth. The presence of God so apparent. After worship, we took a few moments to meet the people around us. We met the couple in front of us, the woman had a beautiful name.
Moments later, the woman stiffened up, the man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her, she began shaking and he administered something to her; I assumed she was having some sort of seizure. We leaned forward, outstretched our hands and began to pray for her. A few other people came to her side to comfort her and try and attend to her. I listened to the man as he comforted his bride, he spoke into her hope, he prayed, "Father, Father, come, help her, calm her." He stroke her face, he stroke her hair, he held her, he continued to speak into her and to pray. After a few minutes, she calmed, the seizure had past. He continued to speak into her, loving on her, loving her, his total attention on her well being.
We listened to Bill Randall speak about healing prayer. It was moving and informative and led into a time of ministry for those wanting healing. I would assume the man and the woman in front of us were there for healing; it is a healing conference, right? She was approached and soon people began to pray for her; sitting right behind her, I leaned forward and prayed for her also. It was heart wrenching, gut wrenching to imagine someone whose life is tormented by such a disease as epilepsy. In my mind, I believed she deserved to be healed, like any of us deserve anything, but her body was ravaged with a disease and a loving God, a loving Father would surely not want that for his daughter. Right? Isn't that right? I know Bill talked about not everyone gets healed but we pray in anticipation and trust that God heals anyway He sees fit and it will all be for His glory. Now, this is the first time I've ever attended anything like this and admit it's all new and although I believe God can do anything, I'm still wondering can He do it through me? I know it's a silly question but I'm trying to be totally honest here. My husband and children have heard me say over and over, "I believe God flung the stars from His fingertips, anything else to me would seem easy for Him." Now, I know He uses me in many ways, I just always believed that people were gifted healers, not just people like me who step out in faith boldly to see God move through them in a new way.
We prayed, we prayed again and she sat down. Minutes later, she had a seizure again. Really, God, a few minutes later. The man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her again, he administered something again, he began speaking life and hope to her again, he began to pray again, "Oh Father, Oh Father, calm her, come Lord Jesus." He stroked her hair and her face, he held her, he was handed a damp towel and he wiped her face. He continued, and continued, and continued, this seizure a little longer and more intense than the last. I pray again, I'm thinking, "oh my, this woman can't be left alone, his whole life is wrapped up in taking care of her. God, you really need to heal her so that they can have a 'normal' life." I think at this time God is laughing and responding, "like your normal life?" I continue to lean forward and pray for her, I haven't quite resorted to begging God and I probably would have except I just texted my daughter a quote that said, "For us to beg God to heal someone is to say that we have more mercy than God." I pray again and continue until the seizure passes. It's sad to see someone who has no control over their body, something physical holding her body captive. It finally passes, and within 15 minutes; it happens and it starts all over again.
The man quickly dropped to his knees in front of her again, he administered something again, he began speaking life and hope to her again, he began to pray again, "Oh Father, Oh Father, calm her, come Lord Jesus." He stroked her hair and her face, he held her, he wiped her face again. He continued, and continued, and continued until this seizure past. Shortly thereafter, the session was over or maybe it was over for me; I don't know. But I left the building and as I walked to the car I was weeping, "God why didn't you heal that woman, she so desperately needed to have her body freed from the bondage of epilepsy? Why, I want to know why?
God is so faithful, He answers: "The greater gift is how he loves her? How many times do you see love like that? He gives his life to care for her. His love is the greater gift; the gift the world needs to see."
I'm officially in a puddle; a puddle of my own tears. Once again, I ask, He answers, I am humbled and wowed at the same time. Thank you Jesus for that most beautiful picture of your love; I don't see it very often. In fact, the last time I saw love like that I was 16 years old at a business conference with my parents. When the meal was over and it was time to dance, one of men there picked up his severely handicapped daughter, held her in his arms, her feet hanging limply fifteen inches from the floor and he danced on the dance floor with her like she was a princess. Yes, he was giving his life for her also. That was 39 year ago; so yeah, I guess you just don't see that very often. Thank you, thank you, thank you; God; I'm beginning to understand healing ministry.
Youth Group Leadership
February 28, 2011
Never before have I been gathered with a group of volunteers, adult and student leaders for youth group, that I have developed and experienced such amazing love and a feeling of family as I did on Saturday. To hear everyone's story of how they met God, their struggles, their hopes, their dreams, their passions and to seal those with the prayers and declarations of God was AMAZING! As people spoke over each other, it was so filled with the spirit of God that we couldn't stop. It was a long, long day, we tired, but we're family, we couldn't deny anyone the experience of such a blessing.
I think the thing that blessed me most was when we prayed for Isaac. My thoughts had been gentle giant, like a redwood tree whose roots grow so, so deep. As he sat in the chair and one after another prayed for him, the same things were declared, "walking calmness, a quiet peace that surpasses understanding, a welcome gentleness, quiet and reserved, but greatly missed if he wasn't there". The beauty of it was the look on his face, of almost surprise and shock that these things were being said about him. As if he had no idea what he brought to the group, as if he thought he wouldn't be missed if he was absent.
His reaction reminded me of the day I walked into Starbucks by the mall. I had a bunch of kids there, teenagers, telling me Chris Overstreet was there, to go ask him for prayer. I said, "in the middle of Starbucks?" They said, "you keep telling us to let Jesus out of the box we put Him in. So?" Reluctantly, I approached Chris, waiting my turn, I ask him for prayer. He says something like, "you are mother to all, God has anointed you as a mother to the motherless, a mother to a generation, you are mother to all." The minute he said that my heart knew what my mind could not conceive, God created me, equipped me and gifted me to be a mother, not just to my own children, but to all.
Purpose, meaning, direction sealed with God's incredible love and the gift of community. That was a good and monumental day in my journey with Jesus. I am the mother to a generation that is going to rock this world for Jesus.
Never before have I been gathered with a group of volunteers, adult and student leaders for youth group, that I have developed and experienced such amazing love and a feeling of family as I did on Saturday. To hear everyone's story of how they met God, their struggles, their hopes, their dreams, their passions and to seal those with the prayers and declarations of God was AMAZING! As people spoke over each other, it was so filled with the spirit of God that we couldn't stop. It was a long, long day, we tired, but we're family, we couldn't deny anyone the experience of such a blessing.
I think the thing that blessed me most was when we prayed for Isaac. My thoughts had been gentle giant, like a redwood tree whose roots grow so, so deep. As he sat in the chair and one after another prayed for him, the same things were declared, "walking calmness, a quiet peace that surpasses understanding, a welcome gentleness, quiet and reserved, but greatly missed if he wasn't there". The beauty of it was the look on his face, of almost surprise and shock that these things were being said about him. As if he had no idea what he brought to the group, as if he thought he wouldn't be missed if he was absent.
His reaction reminded me of the day I walked into Starbucks by the mall. I had a bunch of kids there, teenagers, telling me Chris Overstreet was there, to go ask him for prayer. I said, "in the middle of Starbucks?" They said, "you keep telling us to let Jesus out of the box we put Him in. So?" Reluctantly, I approached Chris, waiting my turn, I ask him for prayer. He says something like, "you are mother to all, God has anointed you as a mother to the motherless, a mother to a generation, you are mother to all." The minute he said that my heart knew what my mind could not conceive, God created me, equipped me and gifted me to be a mother, not just to my own children, but to all.
Purpose, meaning, direction sealed with God's incredible love and the gift of community. That was a good and monumental day in my journey with Jesus. I am the mother to a generation that is going to rock this world for Jesus.
Community - what does it look like
February 22, 2011
Community - a unified body of individuals, a social, religious, occupational or other group sharing common characteristics or interests or perceiving itself as distinct in some respect from the larger society within which it exists. ecclesiastical - a group of men or women leading a common life according to a rule, similar character, agreement, identity.
Oh God, it would be so much easier to be a Christian, to love you, honor you, follow you if it wasn't for these other Christians I have to deal with. The minute we create community or attempt community, all of the sudden it is an obligation to openly bare your soul and trust people you don't really know. It's like first day of hunting season, I'm going to find your weakness or struggle - not just point it out to you but to the community. It doesn't matter if you feel safe with these people, what the hell we're all Christians. Wars have been fought in the name of Christianity. Does that make it Godly or of God? No, I don't think so. We bring the wounded, the broken, confused, screwed up, wandering into community to first and foremost lift them up, to point them to Jesus, to prop up Jesus in front of ourselves. Did Jesus point out to the whole community about the situation of the woman at the well? Or did He offer her a better life and living water. Jesus offered up grace and love, hope and a dream. If we don't have that to offer up, what we have to give is judgment, hypocrisy and shame. Really is that what we want to give. I recently watched the Furious Love DVD and heard that the greatest weapon we have as Christians is love.
Can we and will we get that and live that? I pray so, I truly pray so.
Community - a unified body of individuals, a social, religious, occupational or other group sharing common characteristics or interests or perceiving itself as distinct in some respect from the larger society within which it exists. ecclesiastical - a group of men or women leading a common life according to a rule, similar character, agreement, identity.
Oh God, it would be so much easier to be a Christian, to love you, honor you, follow you if it wasn't for these other Christians I have to deal with. The minute we create community or attempt community, all of the sudden it is an obligation to openly bare your soul and trust people you don't really know. It's like first day of hunting season, I'm going to find your weakness or struggle - not just point it out to you but to the community. It doesn't matter if you feel safe with these people, what the hell we're all Christians. Wars have been fought in the name of Christianity. Does that make it Godly or of God? No, I don't think so. We bring the wounded, the broken, confused, screwed up, wandering into community to first and foremost lift them up, to point them to Jesus, to prop up Jesus in front of ourselves. Did Jesus point out to the whole community about the situation of the woman at the well? Or did He offer her a better life and living water. Jesus offered up grace and love, hope and a dream. If we don't have that to offer up, what we have to give is judgment, hypocrisy and shame. Really is that what we want to give. I recently watched the Furious Love DVD and heard that the greatest weapon we have as Christians is love.
Can we and will we get that and live that? I pray so, I truly pray so.
God's Grace for the Task
February 22, 2011
I have been struggling with one thing for months, it's making me discouraged, it's making me sad, it's making me cry and question who I am in God. That can be a good thing and then not.
I have, will, rather, we have always taken people into our home - literally an employee, a boss, friends, students - and even a foster child. I have always, OK not always, had the grace to handle having "guests" short term or long term. Most recently, a young girl, age 18, that needed a place to stay came to reside with us. When the subject first came up, I said she could stay a few days and it's been over six months now. I have struggled and struggled with this situation. I can't put my finger on it, except I feel like I just don't have any mothering left in me. Now this is very odd, because I have been anointed as a mother to all, and I am that, I have been that before. Except for now, I feel I can't even mother this child - I don't know why, I've been asking myself for months now. It can't be her because she is easy compared to some of our guests, Robert you know that I'm talking about you. But God always gave me so much love and grace, no one in my family could understand it, I couldn't understand it, except for God. Robert would stand at the door, ready to stomp out of here (long walk to town), swearing, screaming, yelling, "you don't care about me". Each time, I would stand there in front of him, letting his barage of profanity fly and when he was done I would say, "well, I'm still here and I still love you". At that time, he would begin to weep and I would hold him like mothers do.
For weeks and months, I have pondered and prayed about this situation. I finally began asking for wise counsel, wish I had done that a whole lot sooner. My first wise counsel was insightful, said my family all needed to be on the same page. If we couldn't that I needed to release our guest because I was denying someone the blessing of truly serving her and her needs. OK, that was helpful.
My second wise counsel spoke so much truth into me, without knowing anything about the situation. I was told it requires an extra amount of grace to welcome someone into your family or for any type of serving ministry. God equips us for that task with an adequate amount of grace to do the task well. I was told, "perhaps this is not what God wants you to do right now and therefore, He is withholding the amount of grace needed to do it well. God could be taking you in a totally different direction and wants all of your attention on Him." My heart knew what my head could not conceive - yes my heart knew. I still have the heart of a mother, I am still anointed as a mother, but I have been mothering for 30 years and my oldest child is 25 years old. For whatever reason, God has called me to a time of rest from full time parenting, full time mothering. I am being called to full time discipleship of Jesus as He is doing a new thing in me. He is sharpening the sword of truth in my life, He is preparing me to further mother a generation to Jesus and that's just where I am and that's exactly where God wants me.
I have been struggling with one thing for months, it's making me discouraged, it's making me sad, it's making me cry and question who I am in God. That can be a good thing and then not.
I have, will, rather, we have always taken people into our home - literally an employee, a boss, friends, students - and even a foster child. I have always, OK not always, had the grace to handle having "guests" short term or long term. Most recently, a young girl, age 18, that needed a place to stay came to reside with us. When the subject first came up, I said she could stay a few days and it's been over six months now. I have struggled and struggled with this situation. I can't put my finger on it, except I feel like I just don't have any mothering left in me. Now this is very odd, because I have been anointed as a mother to all, and I am that, I have been that before. Except for now, I feel I can't even mother this child - I don't know why, I've been asking myself for months now. It can't be her because she is easy compared to some of our guests, Robert you know that I'm talking about you. But God always gave me so much love and grace, no one in my family could understand it, I couldn't understand it, except for God. Robert would stand at the door, ready to stomp out of here (long walk to town), swearing, screaming, yelling, "you don't care about me". Each time, I would stand there in front of him, letting his barage of profanity fly and when he was done I would say, "well, I'm still here and I still love you". At that time, he would begin to weep and I would hold him like mothers do.
For weeks and months, I have pondered and prayed about this situation. I finally began asking for wise counsel, wish I had done that a whole lot sooner. My first wise counsel was insightful, said my family all needed to be on the same page. If we couldn't that I needed to release our guest because I was denying someone the blessing of truly serving her and her needs. OK, that was helpful.
My second wise counsel spoke so much truth into me, without knowing anything about the situation. I was told it requires an extra amount of grace to welcome someone into your family or for any type of serving ministry. God equips us for that task with an adequate amount of grace to do the task well. I was told, "perhaps this is not what God wants you to do right now and therefore, He is withholding the amount of grace needed to do it well. God could be taking you in a totally different direction and wants all of your attention on Him." My heart knew what my head could not conceive - yes my heart knew. I still have the heart of a mother, I am still anointed as a mother, but I have been mothering for 30 years and my oldest child is 25 years old. For whatever reason, God has called me to a time of rest from full time parenting, full time mothering. I am being called to full time discipleship of Jesus as He is doing a new thing in me. He is sharpening the sword of truth in my life, He is preparing me to further mother a generation to Jesus and that's just where I am and that's exactly where God wants me.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Hearing God Speak
February 10, 2011
I am very burdened by the condition of people around me and their lack of hearing God speak. Jesus: Think bigger, girls! For one day you'll see Me in my glory, then you'll say . . . "We should have thought bigger!"
God help me to think bigger, beyond my thoughts, beyond my comprehension, beyond my understanding, beyond this earthly realm and think of heaven and Your glory as we live in Your presence and bring heaven to earth. Expand my faith, my boldness, my understanding, my vision, my dreams, my passions, may I be Your girl, Your daughter, and You be My Beloved, Jesus. My life and hope are in You.
OK, lack of hearing is on my heart. I've had a period of time when I didn't hear God speak for a whole year, so I know that it's totally possible, it's extremely painful, lonely, discouraging, and will bring you to a place where you must ask for prayer. It's very humbling, to say the least. I always assume if people don't hear God speak, that's why. But I guess those seasons are few and far between, thank God for that. I guess when someone shares they are not hearing God speak, my first question should be "is there something in your life God is putting His finger on that you're refusing to handover to Him?"
It came up in youth group the other day, the question about recurring sin. I think the question was about what if we keep sinning? It was explained and discussed about we all live in a constant state of confessing our sins, having them forgiven and being renewed and restored. Now, I'm almost, I say almost, afraid to write this next part, out of my own fear. There is a difference between confessing our daily sins, attitudes and such from continuing on with the same sin over and over. God puts His finger of the fire of purity on something He wants to purge from our lives and we say, "no, not that". Now that creates a totally different situation.
That particular issue didn't get discussed as a group but I discussed it later with a few of the teens. John was the one who put it so perfectly, in words and pictures, even I could grasp. He said, "if 80% of you is following Jesus down a pathway and 20% of you is going in a different direction, you create a V figure. As you progress further down the path you get further and further away from God. It creates a static, like a TV on the wrong station, there is no peace there and the longer you sustain life in that manner, the further away from God you become. Some times to the point that you don't hear God or He becomes very difficult to hear. That's because when we disobey God over and over again - He will wait patiently for us to act and yield to obedience. He is a patient God who is totally passionate about our free will, He will allow us that above all things, even His desire to be in relationship with us. And personally, that reality causes me to love Him more and more.
I am very burdened by the condition of people around me and their lack of hearing God speak. Jesus: Think bigger, girls! For one day you'll see Me in my glory, then you'll say . . . "We should have thought bigger!"
God help me to think bigger, beyond my thoughts, beyond my comprehension, beyond my understanding, beyond this earthly realm and think of heaven and Your glory as we live in Your presence and bring heaven to earth. Expand my faith, my boldness, my understanding, my vision, my dreams, my passions, may I be Your girl, Your daughter, and You be My Beloved, Jesus. My life and hope are in You.
OK, lack of hearing is on my heart. I've had a period of time when I didn't hear God speak for a whole year, so I know that it's totally possible, it's extremely painful, lonely, discouraging, and will bring you to a place where you must ask for prayer. It's very humbling, to say the least. I always assume if people don't hear God speak, that's why. But I guess those seasons are few and far between, thank God for that. I guess when someone shares they are not hearing God speak, my first question should be "is there something in your life God is putting His finger on that you're refusing to handover to Him?"
It came up in youth group the other day, the question about recurring sin. I think the question was about what if we keep sinning? It was explained and discussed about we all live in a constant state of confessing our sins, having them forgiven and being renewed and restored. Now, I'm almost, I say almost, afraid to write this next part, out of my own fear. There is a difference between confessing our daily sins, attitudes and such from continuing on with the same sin over and over. God puts His finger of the fire of purity on something He wants to purge from our lives and we say, "no, not that". Now that creates a totally different situation.
That particular issue didn't get discussed as a group but I discussed it later with a few of the teens. John was the one who put it so perfectly, in words and pictures, even I could grasp. He said, "if 80% of you is following Jesus down a pathway and 20% of you is going in a different direction, you create a V figure. As you progress further down the path you get further and further away from God. It creates a static, like a TV on the wrong station, there is no peace there and the longer you sustain life in that manner, the further away from God you become. Some times to the point that you don't hear God or He becomes very difficult to hear. That's because when we disobey God over and over again - He will wait patiently for us to act and yield to obedience. He is a patient God who is totally passionate about our free will, He will allow us that above all things, even His desire to be in relationship with us. And personally, that reality causes me to love Him more and more.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Help! My mother has Alzyheimers!
This blog will be especially hard to write, if I can even wrap my head around my feelings. I don't know if it has to do with alzyheimers, aging or just the childhood dynamics of my own family. And I will be the first to admit that these are purely my feelings and my stuff and may not even be close to reality, but they are still mine.
First, I suppose a little family history would help. We looked like the Leave It to Beaver family, but, of course, we weren't. Nobody is the Beaver family. My dad was a very dynamic individual, driven by work and accumulating money, which he did very well. Unfortunately, that quickly translated to money is more important than me. My guess is because of his own childhood, growing up in the depression, that he did not want to experience the lack of anything as did his preacher parents. Not just preacher parents, but parents that planted churches in new areas. My mom says that my grandma used to take her kids to the goodwill and when my dad would get a pair of shoes there, he would get shoe dye and take them home and dye them so the other kids wouldn't know he had bought shoes at the goodwill, possibly even their shoes. Which is kind of odd actually, because growing up he had no problem sending my mom to the goodwill for our clothes and shoes. That was actually fine with me and from what I remember most of what I did with my mom was shopping, thrift store, goodwill, yard sales, fabric stores, and finally malls. She wonders why I have problems with overshopping and over spending. Even as an 80 year old woman, it appears her highlights of the week are shopping, for herself, of course.
Christmas at my parents house was routine, it always seemed like the gift giving was totally out of obligation. It was Christmas, you were obligated to buy a present. It wasn't about what anybody wanted, mind you this is my perception, but it was fulfilling the obligation. I can remember my brother opening his package and my mom quickly saying, "I hope you like it, I bought it on sale and you can't take it back." Yes, from what I remember, we got one package at Christmas. On Christmas, the packages would be passed around, they would all be ripped apart and people would scatter. I don't remember really sharing what people got or even recalling. You unwrapped your package and quickly put it in your room; I'm not sure if that was about cleaning up the mess or taking on the "my package, back off" mode. The first Christmas I had with Mike's family, I found out that other people don't do Christmas like that; it was like party time. The day would start with the video camera rolling, everyone getting in front of the Christmas tree, bar lights (that's what was used in that day) were blaring at us from the kitchen to make sure there was plenty of light. It was happy, festive, celebratory; I knew I wanted to emulate that kind of Christmas when I had children. The first Christmas we were married, Mike's parents gave us a gift, it started with 8 little poems, first one on the tree, all clues brought us closer to the gift. From the tree to the cupboard, to the bathroom, it was like a treasure hunt. It was so fun; it brought us to the front deck of the house to a string that led to the shed and upon opening, there was a red bow almost as big as the dryer underneath it. It was joyful.
My dad was not a demonstrative guy; he died never having said the words to any of us, "I love you"; he never said it to my mom either. I don't know how you could marry someone that couldn't tell you those three little words, but my mom said she knew that he loved her. I guess that was enough for her. She must be stronger than me. I do remember though the first time I knew my dad loved me. It's really kind of a sick story when I stop and think about it; so dysfunctional. My dad was an extreme tight wad, you used to call him that and I think he enjoyed it. He took pleasure in discount everything, except for maybe his fishing or hunting stuff. I don't remember ever eating out because he used to say, "you're mom's an awesome cook, why would we eat out?" I'm pretty sure that aspect of my childhood is what caused me as a newlywed to want to eat out almost every day. Funny, how denying someone something, causes you to then crave it or seek after it. The day I knew my dad loved me was after he gave me a check, I think for $10,000; well, actually he gave all three of his children checks. I cried when I came home with that check. I remember holding it up to my husband, tears streaming down my face, "I would gladly give him this check back, if he could say those three little words, I love you". I knew that he couldn't do that, but as weird as it sounds, I now knew that he loved me. It's so twisted when I think about it and as I type about it, it's so dysfunctional, it's sick. The money gift came after I had been in a confrontation with my father and yelled, "all you care about is your money; you care more about your money than us." I remember he said, "that's not true" and I replied with "you won't let my mother call me because it's long distance, she calls my house on my toll free number". Did she not know that I was paying for those calls? Those money gifts continued year after year, each year I wept with the perverted thought that I knew my father loved me. Such an unhealthy attitude about money; yes, it would bite me in the butt at some point, perhaps over and over again.
For birthdays only, my mom would purchase a gift, it was always to be under a certain limit that she said my dad put on her. I remember $10 a gift, then $25 and up until he died, $35 gift. My mother each birthday would remind me that she would do more than that if she could, but my dad puts a limit on the gifts of $35. Now, that's not necessarily a bad thing, having a money limit, that concept probably would have benefited me with my own children or even my gifts to my family, i.e. my mother, than to just buy them what I know they wanted, needed or loved. As perverted as it may sound, I looked for ways to make my children's lives easier by buying them what might help them reach their own goals. Perhaps overspending, but enjoying the spirit of giving. Now this probably wouldn't keep coming up in my head, beating me over the head with the thoughts, if it didn't seem like my family was all about the money. You see telling me for years and years, about this money limit and "I would do more if I could, but your dad won't let me" and then having him die and you not buying me a birthday present since is messing with my head. It's sending me messages that I don't want in my head. Messages like, "you're not loved, it still is all about the money". I'm trying to wrap my head around this, I'm praying about it, I really am trying to move on, I'm trying to let go of it but obviously, it continues to come up, to wake me in the night and to leave me weeping myself back to sleep. It's no longer about the gift, it's about something else. Oh wait, I did get a birthday present last night, it was Hickory Farms sausage package, (1/2 off after Christmas), $13.00 to be exact, I'm glad she didn't go over her self-imposed, at this point, limit of $35.00. This is inconceivable to me since I put a lot of thought into my mother's presents (except this year), I enjoy buying her things. Her last birthday, I believe I got her one night's stay at a bed and breakfast on the Oregon Coast that was a lighthouse because lighthouses are one of her favorite things. Now, I know I sound ungrateful, I'll be the first to admit that and that is so discouraging to learn about myself. That's part of the reason I'm writing this blog, I'm trying to let it go but somehow it has attached itself to me and won't let go. I know in my head, that she's old, not thinking well, but she hasn't bought me a present since my dad died 5 years ago, but this year she buys me a sausage log gift package. If she knew me, she would know that's not even something I would eat. Oh well, Debi, let it go.
My tightwad dad had amassed a fair estate, he was good at making money, no doubt about it. Part of his estate planning was to each year gift us the maximum allowed money gift so that when he passed, he wouldn't have to pay so much estate taxes on the money. If he didn't gift us money, it would be taxed in the estate which would be costly. He didn't like that thought at all. He did his gift giving at Christmas, probably because it saved on getting another gift. So, my dad dies and what does my mother do, she makes up her own rules. My oldest brother is her co-trustor person, but he just repeats over and over, I just do what mom wants which is asking a lot for a 80 year old woman, who didn't know where all of her accounts were when my dad died. So, each year, it's a different amount, based on her whim, I guess. Who knows. But again, as warpped as my thinking may be, what this tells me now is she must not love me. I know it's wrong, it's stupid, it's silly, it's perverted, I can acknowledge that, but it still haunts me. Last year, I brought it up to her that the maximum amount was a certain amount, she had decided less than that amount. She had no reason for her decision, she said to me: "well this is the amount I've decided on and I'm going to stick with that". Perhaps that was the first time I understood what my dad said when he used to say, "don't confuse her with the facts her mind is made up". Ok, then. No logic, no plan, whim estate planning. I believe that my dad was a bright guy and he sought out wise counsel and gifted the maximum amount because he could and because it saved him estate taxes in the end (no pun intended) and because he "loved" me. So, this year she hands out a check for a $1000. I know, I should be happy, ecstatic perhaps, but all I feel is unloved. Don't remind me, I know it's sick, I know I have money issues; why is this the message I hear. My dad had it all figured out and now my mom who has said a zillion times to me, "I'd do more for you kids if I could, but your dad won't let me" does her "whim" estate planning and changes what she does. There's no rhyme or reason to try and talk to her because like last year, "her mind is made up". So this whole situation now makes me feel like I lived my life with my feelings and attitudes about my dad from what my mother said about him; I feel like I, perhaps didn't really know him at all. And who is my mother? Was she lying to me all those times or is she just slipping or am I just slipping? Like slip sliding away. That's me!
I think I've been an amazing daughter and I have amazing children. My mother-in-law died many years ago; my mom and dad were in Arizona for the winter. I called weeping and asked her to come home. Her reply was that it was a waste of money, she was already dead, my dad wouldn't let her fly home for the funeral. The day after my mother-in-law died my sister-in-law who had decided to stay at her mother's apartment (and now we all know why) rented a U-Haul and had it half loaded before we got there. Mind you his mother died on a Tuesday, 6:30 p.m., Wednesday morning 11:00 a.m. we drive over to the apartment to a half loaded U-Haul. Needless to say, it was not a good experience. Her perception was she was the daughter and she deserved whatever she wanted. My husband was unwilling to take any kind of stand although he was the executor and so he did nothing except watch me rant about her. Most disturbing to me was the costume jewelry; Mike's mom had 3 big boxes of it that my kids used to play with every Friday when they would spend the night there. Mike's sister let them each pick out one necklace. Really, out of three big boxes, you're going to give them one necklace each and take anything of value and leave the tupperware, worn out linens and old lady clothes for our "inheritance". OK. I tell this story as a preface to my next hurt. So, jewelry goes to the daughter no matter what, that's what she said.
So, I get a call from one of my children a couple of weeks ago, they witnessed the whole demise of Mike's sister and her selfishness when his mother died. My daughter says, "you better get over to grandma's, she's giving away some of her jewelry to your sister-in-law. Now, I've already experienced my mother passing off a few of her jewelry items to me, everyone of them with the name of one of my daughters on it. Not to me, but directly to them. Even the diamond necklace and earrings I gave her, she gave back to me and told me to give them to _____ designated daughter. I've discussed with her numerous times about my incident with Mike's sister, how hurt I was but now she's handing out her jewelry to said daughter-in-law. Let's see the daughter-in-law that you have been complaining of for years about "she practically drives right by my house on her way to work and never stops to see me". Well, the last 2 months she's been visting my mom regularly and now she's getting the jewelry I guess. Well, that may be an exhaggeration somewhat. After I was told about her giving jewelry away, she asked me over to her house. She has laid out various earrings and says are there any of these you want, I've already decided I'm so hurt, I can't even go there. I say no, ask Amy and Anna. So, today I go over there to pick up my birthday present, half-off Hickory Farms gift package, ($13) and again she has jewelry laid out. She asks me to come see if there is anything I want. I don't look, I just say, "No". Fifteen minutes later my brother shows up, husband of said sister-in-law, and my mother immediately takes him into the bedroom to ask him what he wants. What the hell? What about my children?
At this point, I'm feeling unstable. I leave and get to my car to weep alone. I wonder why I have these feelings? Why can't I just let go of this stuff? Why am I so hurt? I think I've been an amazing daughter, I actually think I've been a hell of a lot better daughter than my own two daughters, but why does this hurt so much. Is it watching my mother, the one I thought to be so strong, slipping away. Her feelings for people shifting based on who spent time with her last. Is it watching and observing the "probate hell" that I've seen so many times as a legal secretary: someone dies, first one to the house gets what they want. Or is it the behavior of my siblings and their spouses? Is it my brother's wife buying my mom's silver dollars for a dollar a piece? (those were returned) Or my other brother after my dad's death saying all of the coin collection was his? Or my other brother taking most of the cowboy boots, 58 pair of them or whatever? Or is it my oldest brother, the designated co-trustor with my mother, never sharing any information about the status of the trust or anything? When asked a question, his standard reply is "I just do what mom wants". That's no comfort considering her state of mind. Or is it my mom telling one of my children they can have her computer and then letting my brother take it home? Or is it my mom telling my children if they come over and clean or take her to run errands and then she either forgets to pay them or pays them and then says something like, "I feel like they only come over here for the money". That's because that is what my family of origin is all about, the freaking money. Well, here's the thing, my children were calling and visiting you regularly before she ever started handing out the $10 and $20 for cleaning or running errands. And although they are awesome grand daughters, she decides not to give any of the grand children money because four out of the six of them, don't deserve it. How is that fair?
I thought that I had developed some maturity and spiritual depth in the last 15 years, but now I'm not so sure. I am so hurt and angry. I know my feelings are irrational, ungrateful, ridiculous, embarrassing, but they are still my feelings. Was I not a good enough daughter? I feel like I spend my life investing in others but am I ever going to get a break? I don't think so, not on this side of heaven. This is my lot in life.
I realize that I would do things differently. First off, as a grandparent I would love to do things for my awesome grandchildren, for example, my children desperately need new computers, it is their livelihood. As a grandparent, I would love to do that, it would have brought me great joy knowing everytime my grandchild used that computer, she would think of me; when I was gone, she would have found memories as to my love for her. But, there I go, that's me. I have to realize my mother is not me. She lived her life for my dad.
My mom came back from visiting my aunt in Washington, her sister. Growing up everytime her and my dad returned from one of their many trips, my mom was sick for a week or so. So, she comes back from visiting her sister and she's sick, no according to her she's dying. She tells my children she's ready to go, she doesn't think she has long to live. I call my aunt who tells me my mom is just feeling sorry for herself. She says don't give into her. I believe my aunt and carry on. Not the rest of the family, after all there's a lot at stake. So, my oldest brother starts showing up twice a day and my other brother sends his wife over there almost daily. And guess what? My mom has this miraculous recovery. So, I ask her about a month ago, "so you want to go check out the senior citizen, it's less than a mile away, we can go check it out?" She says, "no, I don't want to do that, I'm content being in my house". What she is really saying is: "I've trained my children, well, not this one, to be at my every beck and call. I no longer need to hang out with people my own age, because my children, except this one, will keep me company everyday." It's to the point where when I am going to stop by other there, someone else is always there and I continue driving. I'm not going by there to visit anyone but her. I would probably discuss some of these things with her, but I'm sure half-way into the conversation, company would show up.
I am trying to blame alzyheimers for my mother's mind, her feelings, her confusion, her making no sense to me, her decisions that hurt and devastate me. But what am I to blame my own feelings on: hurt, anger, distraught, resolve, helplessness, loss, disgust, etc. I'm doing my best to try and lay these things at Jesus' feet, "this world is not my own, I'm just a traveling through", but, the pain, the almost anguish consumes me. I can't go to her apartment without having these overwhelming feelings of being unloved and not measuring up. I need a breakthrough in this area of my life. I don't know why, at this point of my life, I am having these feelings, perhaps that's the bigger question. God puts me in places to teach me, to mold me, to make me more like Him, but through this whole experience of hurt and pain, I feel far, far away.
I think my mom's alzyheimers is making me crazy, one crazy bitch!
First, I suppose a little family history would help. We looked like the Leave It to Beaver family, but, of course, we weren't. Nobody is the Beaver family. My dad was a very dynamic individual, driven by work and accumulating money, which he did very well. Unfortunately, that quickly translated to money is more important than me. My guess is because of his own childhood, growing up in the depression, that he did not want to experience the lack of anything as did his preacher parents. Not just preacher parents, but parents that planted churches in new areas. My mom says that my grandma used to take her kids to the goodwill and when my dad would get a pair of shoes there, he would get shoe dye and take them home and dye them so the other kids wouldn't know he had bought shoes at the goodwill, possibly even their shoes. Which is kind of odd actually, because growing up he had no problem sending my mom to the goodwill for our clothes and shoes. That was actually fine with me and from what I remember most of what I did with my mom was shopping, thrift store, goodwill, yard sales, fabric stores, and finally malls. She wonders why I have problems with overshopping and over spending. Even as an 80 year old woman, it appears her highlights of the week are shopping, for herself, of course.
Christmas at my parents house was routine, it always seemed like the gift giving was totally out of obligation. It was Christmas, you were obligated to buy a present. It wasn't about what anybody wanted, mind you this is my perception, but it was fulfilling the obligation. I can remember my brother opening his package and my mom quickly saying, "I hope you like it, I bought it on sale and you can't take it back." Yes, from what I remember, we got one package at Christmas. On Christmas, the packages would be passed around, they would all be ripped apart and people would scatter. I don't remember really sharing what people got or even recalling. You unwrapped your package and quickly put it in your room; I'm not sure if that was about cleaning up the mess or taking on the "my package, back off" mode. The first Christmas I had with Mike's family, I found out that other people don't do Christmas like that; it was like party time. The day would start with the video camera rolling, everyone getting in front of the Christmas tree, bar lights (that's what was used in that day) were blaring at us from the kitchen to make sure there was plenty of light. It was happy, festive, celebratory; I knew I wanted to emulate that kind of Christmas when I had children. The first Christmas we were married, Mike's parents gave us a gift, it started with 8 little poems, first one on the tree, all clues brought us closer to the gift. From the tree to the cupboard, to the bathroom, it was like a treasure hunt. It was so fun; it brought us to the front deck of the house to a string that led to the shed and upon opening, there was a red bow almost as big as the dryer underneath it. It was joyful.
My dad was not a demonstrative guy; he died never having said the words to any of us, "I love you"; he never said it to my mom either. I don't know how you could marry someone that couldn't tell you those three little words, but my mom said she knew that he loved her. I guess that was enough for her. She must be stronger than me. I do remember though the first time I knew my dad loved me. It's really kind of a sick story when I stop and think about it; so dysfunctional. My dad was an extreme tight wad, you used to call him that and I think he enjoyed it. He took pleasure in discount everything, except for maybe his fishing or hunting stuff. I don't remember ever eating out because he used to say, "you're mom's an awesome cook, why would we eat out?" I'm pretty sure that aspect of my childhood is what caused me as a newlywed to want to eat out almost every day. Funny, how denying someone something, causes you to then crave it or seek after it. The day I knew my dad loved me was after he gave me a check, I think for $10,000; well, actually he gave all three of his children checks. I cried when I came home with that check. I remember holding it up to my husband, tears streaming down my face, "I would gladly give him this check back, if he could say those three little words, I love you". I knew that he couldn't do that, but as weird as it sounds, I now knew that he loved me. It's so twisted when I think about it and as I type about it, it's so dysfunctional, it's sick. The money gift came after I had been in a confrontation with my father and yelled, "all you care about is your money; you care more about your money than us." I remember he said, "that's not true" and I replied with "you won't let my mother call me because it's long distance, she calls my house on my toll free number". Did she not know that I was paying for those calls? Those money gifts continued year after year, each year I wept with the perverted thought that I knew my father loved me. Such an unhealthy attitude about money; yes, it would bite me in the butt at some point, perhaps over and over again.
For birthdays only, my mom would purchase a gift, it was always to be under a certain limit that she said my dad put on her. I remember $10 a gift, then $25 and up until he died, $35 gift. My mother each birthday would remind me that she would do more than that if she could, but my dad puts a limit on the gifts of $35. Now, that's not necessarily a bad thing, having a money limit, that concept probably would have benefited me with my own children or even my gifts to my family, i.e. my mother, than to just buy them what I know they wanted, needed or loved. As perverted as it may sound, I looked for ways to make my children's lives easier by buying them what might help them reach their own goals. Perhaps overspending, but enjoying the spirit of giving. Now this probably wouldn't keep coming up in my head, beating me over the head with the thoughts, if it didn't seem like my family was all about the money. You see telling me for years and years, about this money limit and "I would do more if I could, but your dad won't let me" and then having him die and you not buying me a birthday present since is messing with my head. It's sending me messages that I don't want in my head. Messages like, "you're not loved, it still is all about the money". I'm trying to wrap my head around this, I'm praying about it, I really am trying to move on, I'm trying to let go of it but obviously, it continues to come up, to wake me in the night and to leave me weeping myself back to sleep. It's no longer about the gift, it's about something else. Oh wait, I did get a birthday present last night, it was Hickory Farms sausage package, (1/2 off after Christmas), $13.00 to be exact, I'm glad she didn't go over her self-imposed, at this point, limit of $35.00. This is inconceivable to me since I put a lot of thought into my mother's presents (except this year), I enjoy buying her things. Her last birthday, I believe I got her one night's stay at a bed and breakfast on the Oregon Coast that was a lighthouse because lighthouses are one of her favorite things. Now, I know I sound ungrateful, I'll be the first to admit that and that is so discouraging to learn about myself. That's part of the reason I'm writing this blog, I'm trying to let it go but somehow it has attached itself to me and won't let go. I know in my head, that she's old, not thinking well, but she hasn't bought me a present since my dad died 5 years ago, but this year she buys me a sausage log gift package. If she knew me, she would know that's not even something I would eat. Oh well, Debi, let it go.
My tightwad dad had amassed a fair estate, he was good at making money, no doubt about it. Part of his estate planning was to each year gift us the maximum allowed money gift so that when he passed, he wouldn't have to pay so much estate taxes on the money. If he didn't gift us money, it would be taxed in the estate which would be costly. He didn't like that thought at all. He did his gift giving at Christmas, probably because it saved on getting another gift. So, my dad dies and what does my mother do, she makes up her own rules. My oldest brother is her co-trustor person, but he just repeats over and over, I just do what mom wants which is asking a lot for a 80 year old woman, who didn't know where all of her accounts were when my dad died. So, each year, it's a different amount, based on her whim, I guess. Who knows. But again, as warpped as my thinking may be, what this tells me now is she must not love me. I know it's wrong, it's stupid, it's silly, it's perverted, I can acknowledge that, but it still haunts me. Last year, I brought it up to her that the maximum amount was a certain amount, she had decided less than that amount. She had no reason for her decision, she said to me: "well this is the amount I've decided on and I'm going to stick with that". Perhaps that was the first time I understood what my dad said when he used to say, "don't confuse her with the facts her mind is made up". Ok, then. No logic, no plan, whim estate planning. I believe that my dad was a bright guy and he sought out wise counsel and gifted the maximum amount because he could and because it saved him estate taxes in the end (no pun intended) and because he "loved" me. So, this year she hands out a check for a $1000. I know, I should be happy, ecstatic perhaps, but all I feel is unloved. Don't remind me, I know it's sick, I know I have money issues; why is this the message I hear. My dad had it all figured out and now my mom who has said a zillion times to me, "I'd do more for you kids if I could, but your dad won't let me" does her "whim" estate planning and changes what she does. There's no rhyme or reason to try and talk to her because like last year, "her mind is made up". So this whole situation now makes me feel like I lived my life with my feelings and attitudes about my dad from what my mother said about him; I feel like I, perhaps didn't really know him at all. And who is my mother? Was she lying to me all those times or is she just slipping or am I just slipping? Like slip sliding away. That's me!
I think I've been an amazing daughter and I have amazing children. My mother-in-law died many years ago; my mom and dad were in Arizona for the winter. I called weeping and asked her to come home. Her reply was that it was a waste of money, she was already dead, my dad wouldn't let her fly home for the funeral. The day after my mother-in-law died my sister-in-law who had decided to stay at her mother's apartment (and now we all know why) rented a U-Haul and had it half loaded before we got there. Mind you his mother died on a Tuesday, 6:30 p.m., Wednesday morning 11:00 a.m. we drive over to the apartment to a half loaded U-Haul. Needless to say, it was not a good experience. Her perception was she was the daughter and she deserved whatever she wanted. My husband was unwilling to take any kind of stand although he was the executor and so he did nothing except watch me rant about her. Most disturbing to me was the costume jewelry; Mike's mom had 3 big boxes of it that my kids used to play with every Friday when they would spend the night there. Mike's sister let them each pick out one necklace. Really, out of three big boxes, you're going to give them one necklace each and take anything of value and leave the tupperware, worn out linens and old lady clothes for our "inheritance". OK. I tell this story as a preface to my next hurt. So, jewelry goes to the daughter no matter what, that's what she said.
So, I get a call from one of my children a couple of weeks ago, they witnessed the whole demise of Mike's sister and her selfishness when his mother died. My daughter says, "you better get over to grandma's, she's giving away some of her jewelry to your sister-in-law. Now, I've already experienced my mother passing off a few of her jewelry items to me, everyone of them with the name of one of my daughters on it. Not to me, but directly to them. Even the diamond necklace and earrings I gave her, she gave back to me and told me to give them to _____ designated daughter. I've discussed with her numerous times about my incident with Mike's sister, how hurt I was but now she's handing out her jewelry to said daughter-in-law. Let's see the daughter-in-law that you have been complaining of for years about "she practically drives right by my house on her way to work and never stops to see me". Well, the last 2 months she's been visting my mom regularly and now she's getting the jewelry I guess. Well, that may be an exhaggeration somewhat. After I was told about her giving jewelry away, she asked me over to her house. She has laid out various earrings and says are there any of these you want, I've already decided I'm so hurt, I can't even go there. I say no, ask Amy and Anna. So, today I go over there to pick up my birthday present, half-off Hickory Farms gift package, ($13) and again she has jewelry laid out. She asks me to come see if there is anything I want. I don't look, I just say, "No". Fifteen minutes later my brother shows up, husband of said sister-in-law, and my mother immediately takes him into the bedroom to ask him what he wants. What the hell? What about my children?
At this point, I'm feeling unstable. I leave and get to my car to weep alone. I wonder why I have these feelings? Why can't I just let go of this stuff? Why am I so hurt? I think I've been an amazing daughter, I actually think I've been a hell of a lot better daughter than my own two daughters, but why does this hurt so much. Is it watching my mother, the one I thought to be so strong, slipping away. Her feelings for people shifting based on who spent time with her last. Is it watching and observing the "probate hell" that I've seen so many times as a legal secretary: someone dies, first one to the house gets what they want. Or is it the behavior of my siblings and their spouses? Is it my brother's wife buying my mom's silver dollars for a dollar a piece? (those were returned) Or my other brother after my dad's death saying all of the coin collection was his? Or my other brother taking most of the cowboy boots, 58 pair of them or whatever? Or is it my oldest brother, the designated co-trustor with my mother, never sharing any information about the status of the trust or anything? When asked a question, his standard reply is "I just do what mom wants". That's no comfort considering her state of mind. Or is it my mom telling one of my children they can have her computer and then letting my brother take it home? Or is it my mom telling my children if they come over and clean or take her to run errands and then she either forgets to pay them or pays them and then says something like, "I feel like they only come over here for the money". That's because that is what my family of origin is all about, the freaking money. Well, here's the thing, my children were calling and visiting you regularly before she ever started handing out the $10 and $20 for cleaning or running errands. And although they are awesome grand daughters, she decides not to give any of the grand children money because four out of the six of them, don't deserve it. How is that fair?
I thought that I had developed some maturity and spiritual depth in the last 15 years, but now I'm not so sure. I am so hurt and angry. I know my feelings are irrational, ungrateful, ridiculous, embarrassing, but they are still my feelings. Was I not a good enough daughter? I feel like I spend my life investing in others but am I ever going to get a break? I don't think so, not on this side of heaven. This is my lot in life.
I realize that I would do things differently. First off, as a grandparent I would love to do things for my awesome grandchildren, for example, my children desperately need new computers, it is their livelihood. As a grandparent, I would love to do that, it would have brought me great joy knowing everytime my grandchild used that computer, she would think of me; when I was gone, she would have found memories as to my love for her. But, there I go, that's me. I have to realize my mother is not me. She lived her life for my dad.
My mom came back from visiting my aunt in Washington, her sister. Growing up everytime her and my dad returned from one of their many trips, my mom was sick for a week or so. So, she comes back from visiting her sister and she's sick, no according to her she's dying. She tells my children she's ready to go, she doesn't think she has long to live. I call my aunt who tells me my mom is just feeling sorry for herself. She says don't give into her. I believe my aunt and carry on. Not the rest of the family, after all there's a lot at stake. So, my oldest brother starts showing up twice a day and my other brother sends his wife over there almost daily. And guess what? My mom has this miraculous recovery. So, I ask her about a month ago, "so you want to go check out the senior citizen, it's less than a mile away, we can go check it out?" She says, "no, I don't want to do that, I'm content being in my house". What she is really saying is: "I've trained my children, well, not this one, to be at my every beck and call. I no longer need to hang out with people my own age, because my children, except this one, will keep me company everyday." It's to the point where when I am going to stop by other there, someone else is always there and I continue driving. I'm not going by there to visit anyone but her. I would probably discuss some of these things with her, but I'm sure half-way into the conversation, company would show up.
I am trying to blame alzyheimers for my mother's mind, her feelings, her confusion, her making no sense to me, her decisions that hurt and devastate me. But what am I to blame my own feelings on: hurt, anger, distraught, resolve, helplessness, loss, disgust, etc. I'm doing my best to try and lay these things at Jesus' feet, "this world is not my own, I'm just a traveling through", but, the pain, the almost anguish consumes me. I can't go to her apartment without having these overwhelming feelings of being unloved and not measuring up. I need a breakthrough in this area of my life. I don't know why, at this point of my life, I am having these feelings, perhaps that's the bigger question. God puts me in places to teach me, to mold me, to make me more like Him, but through this whole experience of hurt and pain, I feel far, far away.
I think my mom's alzyheimers is making me crazy, one crazy bitch!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Help! My son is a drug addict.
I have a son, his name is Robert, he's an alcoholic/drug addict. About three and a half years ago, my daughter called me from Los Angeles where she was living. "Mom, I have a friend whose mom overdosed again, he needs a mother. Would you be his mother?" Without a thought, I said, "Of course." I had some knowledge of Robert, he was Anna's friend, well really more of an acquaintance. She met him while she was working at a make-up counter and he used to come in to shop for make-up and they developed a friendship of sorts. The first time he came into the store and to her counter, he was dressed in a skirt and high heel women's shoes. Anna is someone who can look past someone's outside appearance and love them no matter what, which she did. So, I knew a little about him but didn't really know him; basically had met him once, but never talked.
So . . . without further thought, I called him up and asked him to lunch. He was ackward on the phone, shy, polite, apprehensive most likely. I would have been, some middle age woman calls out of the blue and wants to take me to lunch; WEIRD. But, we made plans; I really thought he would cancel. But the day arrived, I drove to his apartment to pick him up, and my mothering relationship with him was birthed. That first meeting was over lunch, sushi, which I didn't partake of but stuck with something of which I was more familiar, cheeseburger. Not really. I probably did most of the talking, let's not misrepresent here, I did most of the talking. God's been telling me that area of my life needs work, that means basically, I need to shut up and listen more. Neither one of us will ever forget that first fateful meeting. We talked about, OK, I talked about guarding your heart in relationships, getting to know the other person before you give your heart away, protecting yourself, and safe sex. I suppose those were some ackward ice breakers for a 51 year old woman and a 17 year old gay boy. But, like I said, that fateful meeting gave birth to the relationship we now have, mother and son. I'm not going to share at this time, all that happened up to now, I'll share that later. But, for today, I shall share about his addiction.
He's always dabbled in substances, occasionally overindulged in alcohol. Because of his health, he took a lot of prescription drugs which he wouldn't take as prescribed, but it was the suicide of his mother that began his quick and fateful downward spiral into the dark and seedy world of addiction. It's been eleven months since I dropped him off in Los Angeles, California at a rehab center. I was so relieved that he would finally get the help he needed and that I would no longer have to worry about where he was and what he was doing. But unfortunately, that lasted only eight days. Yep, eight days before he walked out of that rehab facility and got picked up at a Starbucks by his new sponsor, Ms. Elliott. From that day until now, ten and half months later, it has been nothing but a roller coaster, seeing how close he can cheat death with his wacked behavior. It didn't take long for his addiction to pain pills to spiral into meth use and end him up in the mental hospital, twice now. He has been to the emergency room more times they I could count on these hands, but he leaves the hospital and immediately returns, as the Bible would say, like a dog returns to its own vomit.
I have a new appreciation or rather a new hold on my heart for the parents of addicted children. Never before have I felt such pain, loving and desiring what is best for a child, and at the same time waiting their death at any given moment and there being nothing you can do about it. So many nights I go to bed and cry myself to sleep as if I will awake to the police at the door to inform me of his death. And then again, time goes on and he leaves me a message; I know longer answer his phone calls because I never know which Robert I will get, the drugged out, abusive Robert, the weeping uncontrollably because of his poor choices Robert, or the I'm doing awesome, I have this many days Robert. Each one either bringing hope, frustration, or resolve. So, for my own emotional health, I let him talk to the answering machine. As ridiculous as it is, it lets me know he lived through another night.
So . . . without further thought, I called him up and asked him to lunch. He was ackward on the phone, shy, polite, apprehensive most likely. I would have been, some middle age woman calls out of the blue and wants to take me to lunch; WEIRD. But, we made plans; I really thought he would cancel. But the day arrived, I drove to his apartment to pick him up, and my mothering relationship with him was birthed. That first meeting was over lunch, sushi, which I didn't partake of but stuck with something of which I was more familiar, cheeseburger. Not really. I probably did most of the talking, let's not misrepresent here, I did most of the talking. God's been telling me that area of my life needs work, that means basically, I need to shut up and listen more. Neither one of us will ever forget that first fateful meeting. We talked about, OK, I talked about guarding your heart in relationships, getting to know the other person before you give your heart away, protecting yourself, and safe sex. I suppose those were some ackward ice breakers for a 51 year old woman and a 17 year old gay boy. But, like I said, that fateful meeting gave birth to the relationship we now have, mother and son. I'm not going to share at this time, all that happened up to now, I'll share that later. But, for today, I shall share about his addiction.
He's always dabbled in substances, occasionally overindulged in alcohol. Because of his health, he took a lot of prescription drugs which he wouldn't take as prescribed, but it was the suicide of his mother that began his quick and fateful downward spiral into the dark and seedy world of addiction. It's been eleven months since I dropped him off in Los Angeles, California at a rehab center. I was so relieved that he would finally get the help he needed and that I would no longer have to worry about where he was and what he was doing. But unfortunately, that lasted only eight days. Yep, eight days before he walked out of that rehab facility and got picked up at a Starbucks by his new sponsor, Ms. Elliott. From that day until now, ten and half months later, it has been nothing but a roller coaster, seeing how close he can cheat death with his wacked behavior. It didn't take long for his addiction to pain pills to spiral into meth use and end him up in the mental hospital, twice now. He has been to the emergency room more times they I could count on these hands, but he leaves the hospital and immediately returns, as the Bible would say, like a dog returns to its own vomit.
I have a new appreciation or rather a new hold on my heart for the parents of addicted children. Never before have I felt such pain, loving and desiring what is best for a child, and at the same time waiting their death at any given moment and there being nothing you can do about it. So many nights I go to bed and cry myself to sleep as if I will awake to the police at the door to inform me of his death. And then again, time goes on and he leaves me a message; I know longer answer his phone calls because I never know which Robert I will get, the drugged out, abusive Robert, the weeping uncontrollably because of his poor choices Robert, or the I'm doing awesome, I have this many days Robert. Each one either bringing hope, frustration, or resolve. So, for my own emotional health, I let him talk to the answering machine. As ridiculous as it is, it lets me know he lived through another night.
Mistakes were made, yes by me
I have a book I bought, Mistakes Were Made, But Not By Me, I haven't read it most likely because I wasn't buying it for me. I buy a lot of books that look and sound good and I actually want to read, but I just never sit down long enough to get any of them started let alone finished.
I've always believed I was an amazing mother; I literally poured every ounce of myself into being the best mother I could be, teaching my children every conceivable thing I thought would help them in life. I was not going to make the same mistakes as my own parents leaving me scarred from years of "get tough or die, children are to be seen and not heard, or can't you do anything right." I didn't say those things to my children; I did not make those mistakes. I believe I corrected all of those "errors" from my own childhood. I said things like, "you're the one in a million kid, you don't do things like everybody else, you're not like everybody else. You think differently, you don't follow the crowd, you think for yourself, you're your own individual, you're amazing." Now those were some pretty cools things to hear all the time growing up, I would imagine. But there were still those teen years when they would individually come into my office crying about being a freak and they weren't like other teenagers, no boys liked them, they were goofy and weird, which to me was like music to my ears. I wanted them to be who they were, whatever that dressed like, whoever they were, thinking about it now, what ever that was to a certain degree. I assured them that the day would come where they would be admired and embraced for their own individuality and creativity; that they needed to just trust me. There were times I doubted myself in the midst of their meltdown of questionning themselves. I wondered if there would ever be a time when they would embrace their own individuality or if they would end up like their mother, a young woman with no self-esteem seeking for any attention to confirm who she was because she didn't know; I know now. I promised them the "one in a million" boy, yes I did, knowing that if they became who they were destined to be that there would be a boy, so different than the other boys, that they would see the beauty of them for who they had become. They would be seen for just being who they are without them changing to be what another person wants or needs.
When I told them they were "one in a million", I believed it and I still believe it, but never did I imagine that they would really embrace that concept and believe it themselves. They believe it on some level though, because they ask me, "where are the one in a million boys?" A young man who is different, followed their own dreams, not the crowd, says what he means and means what he says, a man who follows through on things after the feelings are gone (my definition of character), a man that pursues and not waits for the female to make all the moves, and most importantly a man who pursues God, character, and integrity with all his heart. Where are those young men? A young man who opens the doors, both car and house, not because he has to but because he desires to respect them and to be different also, a man who doesn't look and oogle over the cute, skinny, pretty, cookie cutter girl that will become whatever the man wants. I ask you young men, if you want to be different, perhaps you should learn now to really dance with a woman, I don't know a woman who doesn't love to dance, but most men will be content watching girls all dance together with each other than to put any effort into learning something women in general love. Hello, boys, time to become men and wake up. But, I don't want to fully talk about that today, I'm going to save most of what I say on that topic for another day. What I want to talk about are the mistakes I made, yes mistakes were made by me.
When my children were little they were so helpful, my mother used to complain that I shouldn't let them empty the dishwasher at 3 and 5 years of age, "you know they might break something." My mother raised me a "cripple", not to be politically incorrect by the use of that word, but she crippled my own development and feelings about myself by doing everything for me and allowing me to not do things for myself. So, I believed that if someone does everything for you, you won't know that you can do it yourself. So, as children, I had them do things like put away dishes, make their own lunches, do their own wash, etc. But somewhere along the way, I lost my way, and therefore, they lost their way.
I used to be the most selfish person, I used to say: "When you're the mother, everything will be all about you, but I'm the mother now and it's all about me." Somehow, that hasn't translated well from childhood to adulthood for my children. Now don't get me wrong, I have amazing children who are "one in a million", it's just at this point in life, "Christmas time", it exhausts me because I feel, mind you I said I feel, (which doesn't mean it's necessarily reality) like my children are not helpful or considerate of me, or perhaps it's just me at all. I shall offer a few examples. We're in San Francisco for work for one of my daughters, we're doing some Christmas shopping and it's later in the evening and I'm tired. We are walking up towards Union Square, they are walking and talking and don't even notice that I am half a block back, this is at night mind you, and they go ahead and cross the street without even looking for where I am. My first thought is "wow, I don't do that to my own mother and I can't believe they have done it to me." It may be petty, but it makes me worry about my "sunset" years and what my free spirit, one in a million children will do. Perhaps I just witnessed what these two will do.
Earlier in the evening, we were having dinner with a friend of one of my girls, she was talking about her parent's 30 wedding anniversary and this beautiful party they had planned for her parents, One hundred sixty people her parents know from around the world sent pictures holding a sign that said happy anniversary. They were going to make the pictures into a book for them. They also rented a restaurant, invited family and friends and it was all a surprise. For my own parents 25th wedding anniversary, (when I was 17 years old) I planned a full on wedding, renewal of vows, a wedding dress, my mom's best friend flown in and a bride's maid/s dress, full reception, because my mother got married in a suit in a "dinner house" more commonly known as a bar. For their 50th wedding anniversary, I put on a reception, sent invitations, catered, etc. and I'm really proud of what I did. But for my husband and I on our 25th wedding anniversary, my children had my mother fix dinner which was Costco potato salad and tri-tip and for our 30th wedding anniversary I got a card from one of my children with a gift certificate for a new restaurant, which we haven't used yet but we will; I don't think I got anything from my other daughter. See now, here's where my codependency kicks in, I'm being ridiculous, it's not that big of a deal, they are busy girls, they don't have any money, blah, blah, blah. But you see, it's not just the anniversaries, it's life, it's my life.
Now I have both of them back home, 25 and 23 year old women, strong women, opinionated, bright, engaged, intelligent, goofy, amazing, articulate, "one in a million" women, it's hard. Right now, I am so disappointed in myself as a mother, I have children who I have to threaten them practically to do the dishes, empty their kitty litter boxes, clean up after themselves, put away dishes, empty their own garbage which overflows in their own bathroom and hallway. My youngest helps herself to my clothes, my shoes, whatever else she wants or needs and fails to put anything back; I have to go around the house and round up MY stuff. The other one has a small job, I don't know, 3-5 hours a week and a college class, but she never has the time to do any of the painting we're doing, or help with clean up (although they have no problem complaining about the mess), with stuff, (and they do a lot of complaining about the mess), in our old house that always needs work and repairs. But if you ask for a couple hours of work, everybody's busy. My oldest daughter although she's been told over and over again to quit turning the central heat up because I can't afford it, she does it anyway and this morning I woke up and the thermostat was turned up, she had a space heater going all night long in her bedroom and she lay on her bed with no covers on. My youngest daughter just moving back from Hollywood, is adamant about she's not living here, "I can't live here, I won't live here." She can't afford to pay her bills, doesn't have a job, hasn't had regular work in ten months, but we must be the worse family in the world with which to habitat. She has no clue how lucky her life has been. I told her at first that I would help her with her expenses while she pursued her acting and makeup work, I notified her in August that I couldn't help her anymore, couldn't give her anymore money, but every month she needed rent money and regularly transferred money, at her every whim, out of my checking account. Oh, God, reading this here, I'm so codependent, I should be committed to a mental hospital, come to think about it, that might be a welcome break (after Christmas maybe). It's all about them; that's the problem with being a codependent mother; I have spent my life on them and for them without taking adequate care of myself. I'm not sure it's more about the lack of help with anything required around here, or just their lack of respect for me. I fear it's just a lack of respect because when you're codependent and you put your children first, they grow up and put themselves first. I was raised in the "do your own thing" generation, I chose differently, I made sacrifices for my family and my children. But somehow I raised "do your own thing" children.
Don't get me wrong, I did may things right, many, many things, but for today, thirteen days before Christmas, with painting left undone, with boxes of Christmas decorations that they want someone else to put up, it's just a feeling I can't shake. It's the feeling of being left half a block behind my children and them crossing the street without looking back. What was I thinking? I hate being codependent.
I've always believed I was an amazing mother; I literally poured every ounce of myself into being the best mother I could be, teaching my children every conceivable thing I thought would help them in life. I was not going to make the same mistakes as my own parents leaving me scarred from years of "get tough or die, children are to be seen and not heard, or can't you do anything right." I didn't say those things to my children; I did not make those mistakes. I believe I corrected all of those "errors" from my own childhood. I said things like, "you're the one in a million kid, you don't do things like everybody else, you're not like everybody else. You think differently, you don't follow the crowd, you think for yourself, you're your own individual, you're amazing." Now those were some pretty cools things to hear all the time growing up, I would imagine. But there were still those teen years when they would individually come into my office crying about being a freak and they weren't like other teenagers, no boys liked them, they were goofy and weird, which to me was like music to my ears. I wanted them to be who they were, whatever that dressed like, whoever they were, thinking about it now, what ever that was to a certain degree. I assured them that the day would come where they would be admired and embraced for their own individuality and creativity; that they needed to just trust me. There were times I doubted myself in the midst of their meltdown of questionning themselves. I wondered if there would ever be a time when they would embrace their own individuality or if they would end up like their mother, a young woman with no self-esteem seeking for any attention to confirm who she was because she didn't know; I know now. I promised them the "one in a million" boy, yes I did, knowing that if they became who they were destined to be that there would be a boy, so different than the other boys, that they would see the beauty of them for who they had become. They would be seen for just being who they are without them changing to be what another person wants or needs.
When I told them they were "one in a million", I believed it and I still believe it, but never did I imagine that they would really embrace that concept and believe it themselves. They believe it on some level though, because they ask me, "where are the one in a million boys?" A young man who is different, followed their own dreams, not the crowd, says what he means and means what he says, a man who follows through on things after the feelings are gone (my definition of character), a man that pursues and not waits for the female to make all the moves, and most importantly a man who pursues God, character, and integrity with all his heart. Where are those young men? A young man who opens the doors, both car and house, not because he has to but because he desires to respect them and to be different also, a man who doesn't look and oogle over the cute, skinny, pretty, cookie cutter girl that will become whatever the man wants. I ask you young men, if you want to be different, perhaps you should learn now to really dance with a woman, I don't know a woman who doesn't love to dance, but most men will be content watching girls all dance together with each other than to put any effort into learning something women in general love. Hello, boys, time to become men and wake up. But, I don't want to fully talk about that today, I'm going to save most of what I say on that topic for another day. What I want to talk about are the mistakes I made, yes mistakes were made by me.
When my children were little they were so helpful, my mother used to complain that I shouldn't let them empty the dishwasher at 3 and 5 years of age, "you know they might break something." My mother raised me a "cripple", not to be politically incorrect by the use of that word, but she crippled my own development and feelings about myself by doing everything for me and allowing me to not do things for myself. So, I believed that if someone does everything for you, you won't know that you can do it yourself. So, as children, I had them do things like put away dishes, make their own lunches, do their own wash, etc. But somewhere along the way, I lost my way, and therefore, they lost their way.
I used to be the most selfish person, I used to say: "When you're the mother, everything will be all about you, but I'm the mother now and it's all about me." Somehow, that hasn't translated well from childhood to adulthood for my children. Now don't get me wrong, I have amazing children who are "one in a million", it's just at this point in life, "Christmas time", it exhausts me because I feel, mind you I said I feel, (which doesn't mean it's necessarily reality) like my children are not helpful or considerate of me, or perhaps it's just me at all. I shall offer a few examples. We're in San Francisco for work for one of my daughters, we're doing some Christmas shopping and it's later in the evening and I'm tired. We are walking up towards Union Square, they are walking and talking and don't even notice that I am half a block back, this is at night mind you, and they go ahead and cross the street without even looking for where I am. My first thought is "wow, I don't do that to my own mother and I can't believe they have done it to me." It may be petty, but it makes me worry about my "sunset" years and what my free spirit, one in a million children will do. Perhaps I just witnessed what these two will do.
Earlier in the evening, we were having dinner with a friend of one of my girls, she was talking about her parent's 30 wedding anniversary and this beautiful party they had planned for her parents, One hundred sixty people her parents know from around the world sent pictures holding a sign that said happy anniversary. They were going to make the pictures into a book for them. They also rented a restaurant, invited family and friends and it was all a surprise. For my own parents 25th wedding anniversary, (when I was 17 years old) I planned a full on wedding, renewal of vows, a wedding dress, my mom's best friend flown in and a bride's maid/s dress, full reception, because my mother got married in a suit in a "dinner house" more commonly known as a bar. For their 50th wedding anniversary, I put on a reception, sent invitations, catered, etc. and I'm really proud of what I did. But for my husband and I on our 25th wedding anniversary, my children had my mother fix dinner which was Costco potato salad and tri-tip and for our 30th wedding anniversary I got a card from one of my children with a gift certificate for a new restaurant, which we haven't used yet but we will; I don't think I got anything from my other daughter. See now, here's where my codependency kicks in, I'm being ridiculous, it's not that big of a deal, they are busy girls, they don't have any money, blah, blah, blah. But you see, it's not just the anniversaries, it's life, it's my life.
Now I have both of them back home, 25 and 23 year old women, strong women, opinionated, bright, engaged, intelligent, goofy, amazing, articulate, "one in a million" women, it's hard. Right now, I am so disappointed in myself as a mother, I have children who I have to threaten them practically to do the dishes, empty their kitty litter boxes, clean up after themselves, put away dishes, empty their own garbage which overflows in their own bathroom and hallway. My youngest helps herself to my clothes, my shoes, whatever else she wants or needs and fails to put anything back; I have to go around the house and round up MY stuff. The other one has a small job, I don't know, 3-5 hours a week and a college class, but she never has the time to do any of the painting we're doing, or help with clean up (although they have no problem complaining about the mess), with stuff, (and they do a lot of complaining about the mess), in our old house that always needs work and repairs. But if you ask for a couple hours of work, everybody's busy. My oldest daughter although she's been told over and over again to quit turning the central heat up because I can't afford it, she does it anyway and this morning I woke up and the thermostat was turned up, she had a space heater going all night long in her bedroom and she lay on her bed with no covers on. My youngest daughter just moving back from Hollywood, is adamant about she's not living here, "I can't live here, I won't live here." She can't afford to pay her bills, doesn't have a job, hasn't had regular work in ten months, but we must be the worse family in the world with which to habitat. She has no clue how lucky her life has been. I told her at first that I would help her with her expenses while she pursued her acting and makeup work, I notified her in August that I couldn't help her anymore, couldn't give her anymore money, but every month she needed rent money and regularly transferred money, at her every whim, out of my checking account. Oh, God, reading this here, I'm so codependent, I should be committed to a mental hospital, come to think about it, that might be a welcome break (after Christmas maybe). It's all about them; that's the problem with being a codependent mother; I have spent my life on them and for them without taking adequate care of myself. I'm not sure it's more about the lack of help with anything required around here, or just their lack of respect for me. I fear it's just a lack of respect because when you're codependent and you put your children first, they grow up and put themselves first. I was raised in the "do your own thing" generation, I chose differently, I made sacrifices for my family and my children. But somehow I raised "do your own thing" children.
Don't get me wrong, I did may things right, many, many things, but for today, thirteen days before Christmas, with painting left undone, with boxes of Christmas decorations that they want someone else to put up, it's just a feeling I can't shake. It's the feeling of being left half a block behind my children and them crossing the street without looking back. What was I thinking? I hate being codependent.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Who Am I?
I guess I should start with who am I. Not that it will make any difference as to whether someone else will read this blog or not, but perhaps it will help me answer that question myself.
I am a 54 year old woman, wow that sounds old. I used to think 30 was old, then 40 was old, and then 50 was old, now, I guess, 60 is old; well maybe 70 is old. I am definitely on the backside or downward side of life. I think I have a youthful disposition, I'm going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter tomorrow night. Doesn't that make me youthful. Who cares if I nap all afternoon so that I don't start snoring in the long awaited Harry Potter movie?
I have one husband of 30 years, whoa, that's a long time; more than half of my life I've been married. I think of everyone we know, we are setting a record.
I have two daughters that I gave birth to and a chosen son, that my daughter asked me to be his mother; and I have embraced that role even though at times it's heartbreaking because of his life choices. I am also the mother to a generation of children, who for whatever reason, come across my path and I gladly embrace them in my arms and in my heart. It is to this generation, the one that encompasses the age of my own children, and to those younger and older than them, that I write and dedicate my blogs.
I am a 54 year old woman, wow that sounds old. I used to think 30 was old, then 40 was old, and then 50 was old, now, I guess, 60 is old; well maybe 70 is old. I am definitely on the backside or downward side of life. I think I have a youthful disposition, I'm going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter tomorrow night. Doesn't that make me youthful. Who cares if I nap all afternoon so that I don't start snoring in the long awaited Harry Potter movie?
I have one husband of 30 years, whoa, that's a long time; more than half of my life I've been married. I think of everyone we know, we are setting a record.
I have two daughters that I gave birth to and a chosen son, that my daughter asked me to be his mother; and I have embraced that role even though at times it's heartbreaking because of his life choices. I am also the mother to a generation of children, who for whatever reason, come across my path and I gladly embrace them in my arms and in my heart. It is to this generation, the one that encompasses the age of my own children, and to those younger and older than them, that I write and dedicate my blogs.
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