Rocky

I lost my best friend and confidant a little over a week ago. And while it seems like it was just moments, it already seems like a lifetime away. He had walked through life’s struggles with me, sat and cried with me and let me cuddle with him when the world outside seemed cold and dark. He never judged me or scolded me for over reacting. He didn’t care that my mascara was running or that I was wearing my comfy pants for the second night in a row. He loved me unconditionally.

I had always said that no one else would love that pup like I did. He was in many ways my heart and soul. He saw me at my worst, brought out my best and no matter what he always wanted to be near me—even when I couldn’t stand myself.

He was my first dog and I was surprised how much my heart could love him in the short seven and a half years he was a part of my life.

He was my best and longest relationship with the opposite sex and while to some that may sound sad, I think it’s much to be expected. He never let me down, never broke my heart (until a week ago) and at every turn wanted to know how I was or where I was (and yes, apparently I still can go to the bathroom without him in the same room, but it doesn’t seem the same).

Rocky was there when things hit the fan. He licked my tears, laid with me when I couldn’t move and listened to me yell at no one in particular. He was a godsend, a major player in me making it through the past five years and in many ways the tangible version of a God who I can not touch.

Now he’s gone.

It has been 8 days, six of those have involved tears, but I'm always sad and I miss him constantly. I talk to him, sleep with his toy clutched to me (the ones that I refused to pick up after he slobbered on them-those seem the most precious now). I added his dog tag to my keys and find myself rubbing it mindlessly. I’m constantly sad, no matter what my face may be showing. My whole body knows that something is off.

And it doesn’t just end there. The house is quiet. It makes sounds I’ve never heard before and things spook me easily. I can’t watch a scary movie because who will comfort me? I give directions to my house and get sad as I drive our walking route. I see remnants of him and my heart weeps a little. How am I doing? I’m holding on. Outside is one thing, inside is another.

I get concerned easily. I'm nervous to answer the phone--feeling like something tragic is coming. A number I don’t recognize could mean an accident or answers and each one holds it’s own set of fears.

So much tragedy, so much pain in 29 years. There has to be a reason for all this pain. Other pain I’ve gone through I have seen the other side and I see Him at work. But, Rocky?!!? He was so much a part of me. How can his tragic and horrible death come from a God who is supposed to love me? I don’t see it and I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m confused.

So, no, in no way am I back to 'normal,” no matter what you see on my face, but I’m hanging on the best I know how without him.

Deafeated and Depleted

Do you ever feel like God totally showed up when you needed him to? That is how I feel right now, like this little ray of sunshine can be enough to keep me going for a little while longer.

It shouldn’t surprise me when it happens, because time and time again he has done it. Yet, each instance causes me to just stop and marvel in his grace, mercy and love for me.

I wasn’t feeling exceptionally loved waking up today and was feeling defeated and depleted on many playing fields. Worry about what other people think and putting my identity in the hands of others had caused tears and frustration. A criticism from someone I didn’t even know seemed to be the icing on the cake.

So, I started to do what I should have done way earlier and I just asked God to remind me of my identity. To help that insecure little girl inside my head fully understand how wide, how long, how high and how deep is the Father’s love for me. That I would find my value in the fact that I am his treasured daughter. That these truths would just take root in my soul and I would stop struggling with this concept.

And then He showed up.

And I’m still sitting here in awe. It was a simple thing really, but in one night he tackled three fears. It’s like He was saying, “I want you to get this, I know you’re hurting and I so want you to grasp this. I can’t stop until you really get it. Because until you do, you won’t fully live the life I have for you. But see here, in the midst of this pain, I’m reminding you that I love you.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that He showed up. But I am. I walked in faith, out of my comfort zone, to do what He wanted. There have been attacks, but tonight was reiteration that this is where He wants me. When I put my trust in me or my ability, I will fail and I will fall. It’s not to say that it will be easy or that I won’t struggle, but I’m marinating on how wide and long and high and deep is His love for me. I AM his treasured daughter!

Artistic View

I don’t know how people view me. For most of life this doesn’t really matter. Oh, the ideas enter my head as fleeting thoughts pretty regularly, but they don’t prohibit my ability to move, think, act or grow. Then something happens and I’m stopped in my tracks. A moment where I’m suddenly confronted with the reality that I don’t know the impression I’m giving and I don’t know if it’s the one I want to be espousing.

Is my body language showing how I truly feel? Are my actions and efforts being mistaken or misread? Do my insecurities and issues shine through the facade I’ve placed in front to protect myself? Do people like me, am I making them comfortable? Do they view me as awkward as I see myself?

I get caught in this mind game of trying to figure all these things out, but the reality is that many times I may never know. People fly in and out of my life and I may never truly understand what they felt about me and it’s probably best that I never broach the subject.

In talking to those close to me, I realize that many people in my inner circle have opinions that, while similar, do vary to some degree. I begin to see patterns in what they view and what I tell them. How close I let them in and the stages they see me on. The places we’ve met or the pretenses we have operated under.

Don’t get me wrong, I am myself through and through- take it or leave it. But, one person probably said it best that I am guarded. Silly it seems as I place this out there for all of cyber space, but I am guarded. Myself with a different rating-- depending on our relationship. Some get certain parts of me while others see a completely different set. Levels that, I guess, are determined somewhere in my own head.

Comfort? Safety? Trust? I’m not sure how I make those determinations, but I do.

I guess the most important question I should ask is how do I see myself? Do I like what I see? Does my view match up with the version I’m showing to the masses. And how do I change if I need to. I don’t know if I have the answers to all those questions, but I’m trying.

Trying to determine what it means for the parts that don’t quite align. Why do some people see me as more outspoken while others see my more introspective side? They are both parts of me that come and go. They ebb and flow at times depending on situation, circumstance, attitude, comfort level and a whole slew of factors I may not even realize.

I am multifaceted, not just a simple piece, but a tapestry made up of many fabrics. So, why do some see only yellow while others view blues and greens more readily? And who are those people that can see the final artwork? They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Maybe I just need to come to peace with the fact that we are all art critics and those who are meant to see the magnificence in the tapestry will. Those who are not will walk away either feeling slighted or no worse for the experience.

Waiting

I was sitting in a waiting room the other day and realized this has become my life--I'm in a state of waiting. I looked around at the other people, some reading magazines, some on their iPod and others talking on their phone and I just watched, taking it all in and waiting.

It's not like I've sat on my hands, forfeited my turn or bowed out completely, but I'm still waiting. The "perfect" job, the man of my dreams/knight in shinning armor/the "one"/whatever descriptor you want- waiting.

I'm not a patient person and the trust thing is hard for me, so this waiting room experience is by no means easy. But, I have to trust that there is a purpose and a plan here, even in the waiting.

My pastor calls this the "Land Between" and talks about the Israelites in the desert for 40 years. He talks about how the decisions we make in this time help determine our faith. Our choices, no matter what we pick, will either harm or help our walk with Christ.

So, what am I choosing? Am I making this time of waiting profitable? Am I learning to trust in the desert? Has my faith grown while wandering in this land between? Or have I fostered a complaining heart, grown discontent or harbored anger?

I feel like there has been progress, not perfection, but steps in the right direction. But still waiting. I find myself asking God how long must I wait. How long will I be in the land between before I reach the promised land?

Rejection

"We decided to go with another candidate"..."it's not you, it's me"... silence... an email or phone call un-returned. No matter what way you slice it, rejection hurts. It stings, leaving a mark and chipping away at your soul.

From the dawn of time people have been dealing with rejection and we have all faced it multiple times. We didn't get picked for the team at recess, the popular crowd doesn't include us or the school we wanted said our grades weren't good enough.

So, after 29 years of facing rejection, why does it still sting? Why do tears still well up after I face another round? Is it the compilation of it all at once,--real or perceived--relational versus situational or is there more to it?

I don't know. I can't fully explain. Certain types hurt me more than others. They feed into my own insecurities and past aches. Others seem to zap me from nowhere and leave me grabbing for the Kleenex STAT.

The past few weeks have been a flurry of rejection and turmoil on many fronts. Part of it real and some of it my own over-reactions and worries. Either way, I think the more beaten down we are the more susceptible we are to feel more pain. So the cycle continues over and over again until something stops it. I'm ready for that.

Trust

I lost it somewhere between "I do" and he didn't; the bachelor party lie and the secrets revealed. The "how could you believe I would..." and the confession. Secrets and truths. Trust and its opposite.

I'm not blaming and I can't entirely trace it all back to one person, but that is where it grew and gained momentum. Where I learned it's best to cocoon because being honest, truly and completely transparent, with a man (no matter how much he promised to love) wasn't worth it.

The more I learned, the more I realized that being me-all of me-was more than he wanted. I always get emotional when I hear the line from one of my favorite songs that says "you couldn't stand to be near me when my face don't seem to want to shine 'cause its a little bit dirty." I complained too much (smudge), I didn't let him do anything (another mark), I was always perfect (scars).

It didn't matter that these weren't true or that they were bits and pieces of his own issues passed on to me. That my insecurities were being played out in front of me at home and at work was of no concern to him. But I bought was he was selling. The sad thing is- that is what has left the scar. I worry when I complain or vent or tell someone how I really feel that I will drive them away. Because we all want to see the shiny.

Maybe that is why I didn't want to do this blog in the first place. If people could see me, hear my thoughts, view the Samsonite baggage and know what I was feeling they wouldn't want to be around. I guess that is the crux of it all. If you could see me for who I truly am, would you accept me or would you leave?

I am Not in Control

I don't consider myself a control freak. Don't feel like I have to be in charge to be happy. In fact, I know I'm not the head honcho and that is fine with me. Yet, I struggle to give up my sense of control. As if I'm in a mental tug-of-war with God over the reins of my life all the while knowing he is in the driver's seat and that is where I want him. Yet I'm shouting out commands like a backseat driver.

I'm single--turn here.

My job's in chaos--don't forget to stop at the stop sign.

Niece and nephew have medical tests--the light's green.

The past four years have been a bounty of examples of how I am NOT in control. Divorce, unemployment, sale of home, new job, new home, termites, car repairs, loss of both grandmas, wind damage, single, dating, single again.

It's like God really wants me to grasp this concept, but I keep failing miserably. I know I'm not in charge, but why do I keep trying to direct things? I'm not saying God wants us to sit on our hands, but sometimes he needs us to get out of the way so he can work. He doesn't need me in there messing it up. He needs me to step aside so his plan can be revealed.

The odd thing is that I trust him with certain things completely. I was unemployed and he brought me an amazing job--unemployment doesn't bother me. I've been there and he provided every step of the way. The mortgage on my new house was always paid and I never went without.

"But the relationship thing hasn't always worked out so well, so if you don't mind God, I'm gonna keep a hold on this one." It's silly, I know, and I need to turn it over fully and completely--to surrender to self and just let go. Like many things, this is much easier said than done. So, I'll keep plugging away at it and if you see my grabbing the steering wheel or shouting out directions, feel free to stop me.

A Rose by Any Other Name

We all know the paraphrased line, "a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet." The point is that a name is just that, a name. Nothing more and nothing less. Love shouldn't be forbidden based on the name Capulet or Montague. A rose by any other name.

It has me thinking about Christianity and how much I have assumed based on one word. I have taken for granted that to some it is just a name; a label a description of how they were raised. But, I'm realizing there is a drastic difference in making Jesus the Savior of your soul and the Lord of your life.

If Jesus is purely Savior then it changes the game. It's a one act play. Once the role has been filled and my get out of jail card is obtained, I no longer need Jesus anymore. It's fire insurance and nothing more.

If Jesus is Lord of your life then it's a whole different set of rules. Suddenly morals and values and sin, grace and mercy come into light as major players. The soul saving becomes the driving force, but not the whole thing. Life becomes more about living in God's will than knowing where you go when you die. It becomes alive and vibrant and there is a purpose not just a final destination.

This is a concept lost on many and, I have to say, until recently I don't know that I would have described it this way. For a long while I have wondered why so many people claim Christianity, but it's like we have a separate definition. The guy who thought the bible was just a collection of nice stories, but said he was a Christian. Or friends with benefits, but yet helps out with his church youth group.

I'm not saying I'm perfect (I have plenty of faults and flaws on display and those less obvious), but in striving to make Christ the Lord of my life, I have to give up certain things. I have to die to self. I don't always do what I want to do or what "feels good." I strive to make decisions that would be pleasing to God and when I mess up (which is often and not very pretty) I have to confess and get back at it--that, my friends, is Christianity.

It's people who are tragically flawed, but wonderfully forgiven. A group of ragamuffin misfits who are striving to the something more God has called them for. Something more than just a selfish life spent doing only for me. Christianity is supposed to mean Christ-like. But does it? Maybe my real issue is just with the name.

But then that burns me. Christianity is supposed to mean Christ-like. Christ lived on this earth and he ate with sinners and those viewed unclean, but he never lost site of his purpose. Not just to save their souls but to call them to something more, something better. To take up their cross and follow him. To be fishers of men. The road was not promised to be easy, but we were told we wouldn't go it alone. Christ was always aware of the will of the father. Even in some of his final hours it was "my Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." (Matt 26:9). Constantly striving for God's will in his life.

So when people try to reduce Christ to one single act, though an amazing act of love and grace, it bothers me. It's accepting a gift without a 'thank you.' A life saver is thrown and you take hold. But as soon as you are back to the shore you walk right back to your old habits. Before you know it, your life is on the line again and you expect someone to jump in to save you again. I struggle with allowing that to be Christianity. I don't think the act of "soul saving" was all it was ever meant to be and it can't truly exist apart from a life changed. It's lip service to me. Nothing more than a promise made with no intention of keeping it.

There is no solution. The masses won't read my silly little blog and stop acting the way they do. I'm certainly not going to attack ever poor use of the word 'christian' and make sure that the branding is done properly. I think the only true way for me to combat this is to make sure that I live with Christ as Savior AND as Lord of my life. The rest, unfortunately, will come one day with "depart from me I never knew you."

I think I will stop describing myself as merely a 'Christian' and, as I've seen recently, simply state "I'm a Jesus follower." Because that is more what it is about. Following his will for my life and following his example. A rose by any other name.

I'm Back

After much pressure and gentle email reminders from a friend of mine I have decided to re-join the blog posting world. I re-activated my profile on here which I believe is the first step. The next one is to open myself up enough to be vulnerable and honest about what I have been feeling on the inside lately. To say this will be easy is an understatement.

I had spent the better half of my life being somewhat private--social, but private. Only let people see a little bit into my soul and then shut the window when they get too close. Over the past four years I have opened the window more often and for longer periods of time. The problem is, now I’m again feeling the pain of letting people in. It’s messy and hurtful and sometimes people disappoint.

Part of me starting this tonight is in some way to show that I’m not done opening the window. But as I sit here and write I realize that it doesn’t make any of the pain go away and, unfortunately, I don’t expect it to. Sometimes there are small events, snubs or lack of responses that spiral me back to wanting to slam the window shut and walk away completely.

For now this is my small attempt at opening the window and letting a few people in…I just hope I don’t regret it.