Thanksgiving

I haven't really been home for more than one or two waking hours at a time for the last 3 days, so I'm just now getting around to this. But, I had a great holiday even though it was exhausting and my house is a wreck. I always wish there were more time to spend with relatives.

But that isn't what I'm writing for. This is a small list of things I’m thankful for this year:

That I don’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Or really cook anything.

That my siblings got married and that they married good people who help complete them.

For the family in every way. I love them all.

For my little Baby doll, JJ, who keeps me humble. If I ever thought I was a good parent, she’d put me in my place. She’s sweet and surprising and full of hilarious things to say, and snuggles to give.

And for Arlo, my intelligent, kind daughter who loves people in ways I didn't know a kid could, and who wants to learn about everything, especially history. What more could a mom-teacher want?

For my friends, the long-time ones and the new ones and all of the people in between who have walked beside me through the places I didn’t want to go and the places I did.

For my parents and their constant presence in my life and the way they always offer their house for me to host stuff because mine isn’t big enough. For their good health.

And for God’s patient ways that put up with all of the muck and mire in my life that always gets in the way of us, and that He’s willing to clean it up no matter how many times I screw up.

Starving Artist

The other night I went to a party with some people from our group at church. I got to talking with the "mentor" women, who are in in their late 40's with teenage/college aged kids. We were at Stephanie's house, so I asked about the art. Her parents own a gallery or something so she had a fairly significant collection of original paintings, none of which were "very valuable". But all the same, I envied her.
Then something happened that i don't think has ever happened before. We started talking about art and our love of art, and the other woman Sandy, asked "What's your favorite medium?" And I didn't even know what to say, because I've hardly done anything. I like using pencils a lot, but I liked painting. And I've never even used oil paints. So I told her that. And then one of them asked what kind of art I like best.
I've never had a conversation like that. And as I've thought about it since that day, I've realized it's a little bit of a hole in my life. Because I love art. It draws out a big part of myself when I see well-done paintings. I'm not a scoffer when I see modern art. I like to try and derive meaning from it, thinking about the artist and what place they came from. It evokes a strong response from me every time I have a chance to look at art.
Which is pretty much never, save the paintings at the dentists office or wherever.
Well-done art is scarse. In Iowa... I'm just going to say there's a big void. I know some artists. I've talked with some.It just isn't as big of a part of life here as it could be. Maybe that's true everywhere. I've never lived anywhere else. And maybe I don't pursue the opportunities I have when I should.
But I noticed a sort of starved feeling when I was at my brother's wedding reception at a gallery, and I wanted to spend the whole time looking at paintings rather than visiting with friends and family.
When I'm in a gallery (which is, again, never), I drink it in. It feels like there isn't enough time to really spend enjoying all of the art, and I know I'll miss something I would have liked to see.
I'm starved from art, and it's making me a little bit sad inside, realizing that I've neglected that part of me that makes me more alive. No longer. I'm going to do something about this.
And, i'm going to make sure my kids are well-cultured in the art arena too. If it's the last. thing. I. do.

God is Working

This might be an overly religious post. Fair warning.
Tonight started with me and my friends in Bible study, talking about things that make us insecure (We're reading a book called "So Long Insecurity") and what triggers insecurity. We talked about sensitivity and how it affects us. And we had some good conversation.
On the drive home, I thought to myself, "In my stories, I have these cool characters that say these nice insightful things about God at the right time. Why don't I ever do that? Why don't I just say what I'm thinking?"
I've realized in the last few weeks that part of the reason I don't say things when I want to is that I haven't been as sensitive to the Holy Spirit's work as I should be. Because I do believe he helps us find words to say and tells us when to speak. But I haven't really wanted to listen to that.
Part of it is because I used to have a really big mouth, and mostly I used it to be sarcastic and cutting. It was funny, and I sort of miss those days. But, in trying to reign that in, I probably squelched some things I shouldn't have too.
Anyway, I had that thought.
I went home and checked facebook. One of my friends quoted a Papa Roach song about suicide. At first I didn't think anything about it. Then i wondered if he was actually thinking about it.
Then a second friend messaged me that she was on the phone with him trying to find out how he was doing. I prayed. I prayed hard for him. Then I called Daniel down and he prayed too. This is a guy we've both known for a long time, but not very well. Eventually Daniel met the guy at Perkins to talk.
THen I called another friend to tell her that Daniel couldn't help her with her "technical question" that night but he'd try to call tomorrow. We got off topic (which is good, since we were talking abotu fixing toilets), and she basically ended up telling me her whole faith story. Which was great, because I've also known her for a long time. I mean almost fifteen years. And in that time, I've been praying and trying to be helpful and watching her slide up and down and all around in where she stood with God. Tonight, there weren't any questions left. She knows Him. She really believes that He exsists, that He's working in her life, that He's taking care of her, and that she can trust Him. And that is a big deal. If you knew her, you would understand. It's a really big deal.
I was so encoruaged to talk to her. And, I had the chance to say the things I was thinking, like I'd just been telling myself to do on the drive home.
I think I'm going to make that a more regular practice.
Because I like seeing Him work and change lives and answer prayers. It assures me that He's there. It doesn't always feel like He is. But sometimes it just does.

I feel like talking about myself

Why would I have a blog if I couldn't use it once in a while for some narcissisticreflections, right? No one's making you read it.

Here's the news from my pretty boring life. I've been spending a lot of time writing. I'm working on a sequel to this book I wrote in about a month's time. The sequel isn't coming along quite as easily. I wish that it were because I like the story and i think it will turn out well, but I just finished reading through the 172 pages and trying to tighten it up and wasn't so successful. But whatever. I'm already thinking about the third book. Which could be a problem.

I've also been thinking about how much unhealthy food I eat, and how I really shoudl change that. It goes in spurts where I try my darndest to do it right, and then I get sick of it and eat a whole lot of things that aren't good for me. I like sugar. I can't help it. So now I'm considering this idea about taking out most of the refined sugars and flours in the diet and focusing more on protien. Because I feel tired all the time and the doctor keeps saying everything's OK but I sort of think something isn't. Long story.

Tonight I met with my preschool moms group for an "outing" at the pub down the road from me. We had a really great time. We talked a lot about health foods and natural living and gardening and meat and stuff like that. I felt really smart, having grown up in Iowa and being pretty familiar with the natural living I was raised on. A lot of the gals grew up in big cities so things like... canning is just foreign to them.

I'm feeling antsy for the "next" thing in my life too. I know i shouldn't be, but I'm restless. I want to get finished having babies and go on to school age, and live in a bigger house and have a garden in the country and stop worrying about neighbors. And it seems like everyone around me is having their next baby and moving to better houses, but I'm stuck. And I know it shouldn't feel that way and I want to be content. And most of the time I really am. But lately I just want to DO something different. It might be a long winter if this feeling doesn't go away.

There you have it. I could keep going but i guses I have nothing more to say. And I'd rather be working on my story anyway. This was the most boring post ever. Hopefully no one read it.

Haunted

Lately I haven't been able to stop thinking about my best friend from high school. We aren't friends anymore, and I'm actually too dense to really know why, although I have an idea.
But it's sort of overwhelming once in a while, when those memories come up. Because they're more just like feelings. It's one of those subjects that hurts too much to really write well about, but i want to anyway, and I can't stop thinking about her. I've been praying because sometimes those un-erasable thoughts are actually something else, something spiritual that needs to be addressed. I don't know if that's true in this case but I've prayed anyway. Sometimes when a relationship ends yuo know it's over. Sometimes you know it's not. Sometimes you're just left to wonder.

I never thought I’d lose you

I never knew I could

All of those walks through the halls

And afternoon locker meetings

The notes and the secrets,

The songs and the feelings

Torn apart now like a shredded photograph

Me reaching, you hiding

Anger and pain slipping in between

All our insecurities, what we once called trust.

In my dreams I see you often

And we aren’t enemies.

You know how sorry I am

You know the real me.

And we walk off together like old friends should

Entwined by memories

Love stronger than friendship, unbroken by time

Lost in those fragile moments.

If I’d known then what I know now

I wouldn’t have said I hated pink.

I would have given you a chance to speak

And listened without judgment

Why is it so hard to forget about those days

When we were still friends

I’d like to think that you’re the one who changed

But I think you know we both did

I just can’t stop rewriting the end.

If I could do it over

I would a hundred times

But you’d tell me how you felt

And I’d know what to say

And somewhere in the middle we’d find a way

Or some common ground.

Instead of all the hiding and facades

and maybe we wouldn't both be so empty today.

Passive Agression

I'm discovering that I'm the kind of person who can't stand passive aggressiveness. I don't like it when people puddle up their anger or hurt or whatever and don't bother to mention it for weeks or months or years. I'm not woman enough to read the signs. I can't tell when you're upset unless you TELL me.
I think I lost my best friend that way. She never said it, but I guess she was mad for a while.
And then I get in my head that maybe someone is upset about something and they aren't telling me. And that worries me even more, because then i'm afraid that, in their mind, everything I do is evil, and everything I've said has been another bullet against their chest, another stab to try to fix, and all the while I had no idea.
I obsess about it and worry and when i finally confront it I worry even more. Because no one likes to be the one opening the can of worms. But it seems like someone has to, and I'm not really afraid of fighting. At least not usually.
I mean, I understand. You're hurt. you don't think you can share it. Because when you're hurt you're vulnerable and the last thing you want to do is go with an open heart to the person who stabbed you and try to work it out.I get it. I've been there.
But you know what? That's how friendships work. It's how conflict gets solved. Not talking really just makes it all worse.
If you're reading this and thinking, "Oh, is that how she feels about me?" chances are, no. I don't. I just felt like venting that out, because of certain situations in my life right now which involve none of my blog-readers (at least not the ones I know of. I'm aware there are stalkers, but I can't be resonsible for keeping everyone happy, can I?)
I wish it didn't have to be so hard to live and be in community. But, if you have a biff with me, you should probably write me an email or call me or something. Because being angry and not saying something is like refusing to get a job when you're broke. No good. I'm tough. I can handle it. I don't want to be hurtful or mean, I promise. I'll respond the way you want, with copius apologies for my behavior or for being misunderstood. I'll probably even get you chocolate or something just to be sure you know how sorry I am.
Just don't be passive aggressive, okay?

Not Everyone at church is a Christian

Is that a news flash? I mean, it seems kind of obvious. But what Id in't know when I was younger was that not everyone who ACTS like a Christian is actually a Christian either. They come to church and they do all of the right things and go through all of the motions, but they haven't really been able to surrender to Christ for whatever reason. It doesn't make them bad or terrible, please don't think that's what I'm talking about here. What I'm thinking about is my own past and one of the only big regrets I have.

I had several friends who fell into this category. I don't know where their hearts were when I knew them, maybe they were sincere then and just wandered away later. But one friend actually told me that she'd been faking. I'll call her Jane. She was there every Sunday. Every Wednesday. She was in the choir. She went on the retreats. she went to Mexico with us. She wasn't afraid to talk about God. And I never had any reason to question her sincerity.
But then she told me, ten years later, that she'd just wanted somewhere to belong, and the Christian kids seemed nice enough so that was what she did. It never really meant anything to her. It never sunk into her heart.
And it makes me sad that I was (probably still am) so dense. That I couldn't see that creeping sadness in her eyes, notice the brokenness in her stories, read in between the lines and see what she was trying to tell me all along.
And I think, a lot of people come to church because they're hurt and they want to feel safe. But sometimes maybe that comes with the cost of disguising the wounds and just trying to fit in. I think that's true for people who know Christ and people who don't. Church shouldn't be a scary unsafe place, but some how since we're all hiding our wounds, it becomes like that unintentionally. And that's a tangent.

So I'm sort of left wonder what I'm supposed to do now that I know the truth, that some of those hurting friends of mine actually just haven't come to "saving faith" as it were. I mean, we're not supposed to "judge", and I don't think we should go around questioning peoples' salvation. So I don't really know what to do with it. Because I don't want to be a well-intentioned jerk who thinks that I'm "encouraging the brotherhood" but really I'm just saying things that don't mean anything t oa person who's faith isn't quite where I thought it was. I think I lost my best friend that way. I thought I was giving her a little push to follow things she'd claimed to believe, but I think in her heart all she heard from me was "You aren't actually good enough and you have to do this to be". Which was not my intention. And I never would have said anything to her if I'd known she didn't truly know God. Because really I would have been OK with it. I would have still loved her the same. I wish people would feel like they can be honest with me.

Lingering questions haunt me because of that relationship, and the other one with Jane. Is it safe to assume that everyone I go to church with understands the gospel? Obviously not. I just don't quite know where to draw the line between judging and helping and discerning. Maybe if i knew God better, it would be easier to pick up on those cries for help. Or maybe I'm just not supposed to really concern myself with it, and just do what I would have done anyway. But it sure sucks losing friends.