Worth a Thousand

Joy to the World!  It's Christmas time. 
Snow, lights, trees, candy, decorative cookies, carols, red and green, nativity, fat men in felt suits, family picture time;  must mean it's Christmas time. 
So where's my smile?

I can't fake it.  I'm not sad, but the joy that's shown on every one's faces is not showing on mine. 
Everyone has their holiday traditions.  Something that we pass down to our children so to establish with them a heritage, a history, a memory. 
I like my family now.  My kids are the sweetest and the best.  My husband is one of a kind.  I thought myself better than him when we met, but I was sorely wrong.  I see that now.  God has blessed me with this new family.  I would give my life for them.  I don't deserve any of them.

This morning I had the pleasure of making homemade chocolate truffles with a long time friend of mine.  Rachel and I don't see eye to eye on every subject; we've had our moments of heated debate, but we have a mutual pursuit of truth that keeps us together.  That and we love CHOCOLATE!   Truffles are not hard to make but they are extremely messy.  I must have washed my hands close to 8 or 9 times in less than half an hour.  Every truffle has to be hand rolled into a "ball-like" shape, and as the cooled chocolate melts in your hand (not in your mouth) it gets soft and leaves a pudding like mess behind.   Delicious as they are when they are finished, while you are in the thick of the process, you might begin to wonder, "Is this even worth it?"
When we were all done Rachel let me be the designated taster.  And oh baby, is it ever!

My support team from my Thursday meetings say that I shouldn't push myself so hard; "It's a process".  I'm in the thick of it now.  And I've started to look at my place in the world.  More specifically, my place in my family.  Inside a picture of smiling faces, my smile is absent.  A friend reminded me recently that a smile is worth a thousand words.   What is mine saying?  Picture time scares me now.  I didn't used to feel like this.  And I'm thinking, "This 'process' sucks".  I need to live my life now!  I don't have time for all this drama inside. 

Traditionally, my Mother always tried her hardest to make Christmas Eve a special evening.  Traditionally, it always fell flat because of Dad's attitude about it.  He wanted her to try, but he didn't want to try.  All he had to do was show up.  All he had to do was sit and enjoy all her efforts.  All he had to do was smile. 

My Dad has a process going on too.  It's been going on for over 25 years.  Now it's sort of stuck on rinse and repeat.  His father hurt him emotionally, and he's felt tormented by those memories ever since.   He's sought counseling.  He's sought to drown it with medication.  All his anger and discontentment with his job, himself, and his family was all part of that process.  He was so busy internalizing that no one that was around him understood what was going on.  My grandparents have both passed on now...and when I hear my Dad is having heart problems I wish he would just die too.  I figure my problems, my bad memories, and all that stuff that took away my sweet child-like smile, will just go down with him to the grave.
But my Dad still does not smile...

I always run away from "tradition" because of him.  I don't want to become a part of that family abuse statistic.  I'm a fighter and I refuse to let his destiny be my own.  I'm in a process, and my smile is a fake one sometimes; but I will never stop trying.
My new family tradition is to laugh, is to play, is to not let the stress of money and relationships (both past and present) take me away from those surrounding me that sincerely love and care.  Those little hands that reach out to me to hold them.  Those little ears that crave to listen to their night time stories.
And for my sweetest, who only wishes for my love and undivided affection, I will learn to live in the here and now.    For my God, I will try even harder to shove away my demons that spread disbelief, so to remember all that He had done and is doing now.  
 As for the pictures...let the smile find itself.  I'm no good at faking.

Christmas is not about keeping up with the Jones'.  It's about the beginning of an end.  It's about an answered prayer.  It's about how love came down from Heaven to grow up surrounded by hate.  That night, a new tradition was born.  And it is all part of a process.  (Isaiah 9:1-7)

Moving Forward...Powerless

"When we were children, we used to think that when we grew up we would no longer be vulnerable, but to grow up is to accept vulnerability.  To be alive is to be vulnerable."  ---Madeleine L'Engle

      I hope I do not sound redundant when I say that I am "moving forward", because I'm sure that I have already written a post or two that would suggest that same idea.  But there for awhile and recently (just last week) I felt like I was stuck and sinking deeper to the very spot where my life was standing.  The depression from those feelings kept me from writing and following through with my commitment to have a weekly update.  I consoled myself by saying that no one really checks it that much anyway.  It's old news, another fad, and my readers have moved on.  It (my story) was feeling like "old news" to me already.  A rut ..a sinking sand that I could not escape from.  All my struggling seemed pointless.  The outcome is always the same.  What did I think?  That my faith, my prayers, would actually change something?
I was afraid to be this vulnerable to you.  I was afraid you would question my character or my allegiance to God.  But in reality, these are questions similar to the ones that we all ask ourselves from time to time.  Many are just like me and too afraid of what others might think to actually voice them.  Questions like:
 Is there a God?  Or do I believe that there is because of the alternative option? 
Is the God of the Bible really as "loving" and "caring" as the majority would say that He is? 
If God is limitless, why does he seem "limited" to our decisions? 
And what is free will?  If the only inevitable option of our "free will" is to be enslaved to sin. 
How can we still call it freedom?

"Is God good?"
I started attending a Christian support group for various addicts working to overcome their vices.  After one of our weekly meetings, I started in on this discussion with a friend.  The conversation started about my relationship with my Father and how we would know whether we finally had forgiven someone or not.  Then it somehow bled into my depressive thought life of what was happening now.  But my friend was the one who stated the question for me, "Is God good?"  I said, "He is, because His very nature defines the word.  But does His definition match mine?"   What is good to me might not be "good" at all.  I eventually just asked for prayer (suspicious that might not actually help) and resigned myself to believe that all my questions concerning God's goodness and authority could be considered just another language barrier. 

     I wanted someone to yell at.  I needed a face to put my anger with.  I wanted someone to blame my disappointment on,  for my trauma, my cruddy childhood, and the stench that it left behind.  Because what I want is to be happy and content.  Reviewing my past makes me furious!  I would rather just forget.

    I had a significant dream while I lived in the dorms at college.  It was about a man, who would eventually kill me. He never told me that it was my inevitable outcome, but I knew it was true.  I had plenty opportunities to run and hide.  That was what he wanted me to do.  He left the door open, and I was free to leave.  But where would I go?  Where would I hide that he would not find me? 

He looked like an ordinary man (white, middle-aged, bald, athletic build).   Yet there was something ... He was different. 
He wanted me to run and I ran for my life. 
After he caught up with me again, I told him that I wasn't running anymore.  I didn't want to play his game, and in reply he asked me, "How do you want to die?"  I tried to think of some place full of people so they would know what he was.  I was no longer afraid of dying.  My spirit had been crushed, and I was finally letting it go. 

I awoke to silence as I floated overhead of an empty movie theater.  Down in front, I could see a mangled broken body folded in the red upholstered seat.  It had been mine.  I felt nothing for it now.  I felt nothing.
Another man who looked similar to the one who had put me there, sat down next to the twisted limbs that had been mine.  And diligently, tediously pieced the body back together till it looked functional and recognizable again.  Then he breathed into me, and we walk out together.

It wasn't long until the first man caught up with me again.  He was a constant threat to my life and I thought also of those that were around me.  He would always catch me.  There was no where I could go.  It was happening all over again.   What had changed?

   I was traveling in a car with a few friends from school.  We were going on a weekend road trip out of state.  They all thought that my fear was ridiculous.  They attempted to console me by saying, "How can this man find you in a moving vehicle?  Look!  There is no one there.  There is no one on the road with us.  Relax."  I wanted to believe them, but down deep I knew they just didn't understand.  
Suddenly, the door of the backseat where I was sitting ripped off, because it had been opened at such a high velocity.  I heard someone in the car say, "Go faster! Now!  Speed up!"  But there he was.  Both hands clung to the door frame with the rest of him flapping in the wind.  Nothing was stopping him.  And I really hoped it would this time. 
I didn't want to die.  I was afraid. 
I screamed out for help as he climbed inside and clawed for my skin.  I yelled to the driver for HELP!  The driver turned around, looked at me, and smiled.  It was the man from the movie theater.  The smile on his face told me that I didn't have to be afraid anymore.  And I felt peace knowing that he was still there.  

Forgetting is impossible, if I am to love and honor my parents.  Going "home" for the holidays to be with family reminds me of this.  My Dad wants to hug and kiss me.  He wants to pretend that everything is alright, and I just want to spit in his face.  I consider it a victory enough for my Christian values, if I am able to bite my tongue long enough to let him push away my hair to kiss me on the cheek.  I suppose if he asked, I would offer him the other as well.  But don't ask me to like it.  Don't demand that I enjoy it or cherish it.  I can't do that. 

If love means that my heart must let go of all the pain and believe his hypocrisy again.  I guess I have a long way to go.  If forgiveness means the same, then I guess I am damned to remain unforgiven.  I can control my voluntary actions, but I am powerless to change my heart.

Here I sit waiting on God.
I need Him to teach me that love is not an emotion.  I need Him to teach me to take one day at a time.  I need Him to fix what's been mangled and broken.  I need Him to remind me that I can't change the past.  I need Him to help me let it go.  I need Him to hold my hand as I walk through this process.   And I need Him to remake my heart again...  and again... 

and again.

Mine is not a new story...

Haunted by Good Feelings

I really hate myself sometimes. 

It's guilt, yes, that makes me feel that way, but there's something more that leaves me helpless and trapped: My smile.   After I have "repented" (momentarily) and realized my fault in the delusions with other women that I sought to carry out a a fling with, I still carry the shame of enjoying the memory of it. 

I like the fantasy, otherwise why would I create it?   But it's not the fantasy that I am talking about.  I liked the women that I fantasized about.  I liked the feeling that they gave me while they were around.  I liked how good it felt when they gave me their attention.  It was powerful.  It was memorable.  And the memory of it still feels good. 
I know I should feel rotten because of that...  and I do.

My husband and I were swapping stories around the dinner table when I recalled one relating to a friend of mine.  Greta was the newbie at youth group when I decided to sit down next to her to make her feel welcomed.  She was a 7th grader while I was a year ahead of her.  I'm not sure why it meant so much to her that I was older, but it did and soon after she invited me to her birthday party.  I hardly knew her, but I was not going to say no and make her feel inferior with me or with the youth group.  Her parents were well off and had rented a couple of rooms at a four star hotel for an all girl slumber party.  It was me, Greta, and about 8 other 7th graders - all of them overly giddy to have an 8th grader in their midst.  I thought to myself, they really don't know me very well.  But all the attention started to give me a big head after awhile.  Especially any attention that I received from Greta's cousin. 
Melissa caught my eye immediately.  Everything she did, her walk, her words, her voice, made me smile.  I worked really hard not to show just how crazy she made me feel while I was at the party.  The night consisted of meeting at Greta's house, going out to eat, swimming in the hotel pool, and watching a pay-per-view inside our room.  I remember that Melissa took a shower that night after the swim and then another again in the morning.  Twice I saw her wearing a towel two and from...I was in awe of her beauty.  She was a goddess to me.  I wanted to talk to her more, but I had no words to say.  It was easier to sit and just admire.  It's because of this memory that Greta and I were never that close as friends.  I was invited over a couple more times after the party, but all I could think of was her cousin.  I would even ask about her inconspicuously, to see how she was doing.  I explained to Drew that even now, I can't think of Greta or her parents without thinking about that party with Melissa there.  And I smile at the thought of it.  I know I should feel guilt and shame over it.  But I don't.  I still like the memory...I feel the same about it.  What I regret is that I let something so small distract me from having a quality friendship with Greta. 
She became collateral damage from my selfish attraction.

Many advocates for gays have stood up against the notion that anything should be able to "fix" them.  They say that they are not sick, that there is no disease making them this way.  I agree.  It's not a disease.  And no one can undo what has been done...   We all have to just keep moving forward.  But I stand before you now saying that I do wish to be "fixed"....  most days.  Some days I like being attracted to women.  I like being different.  "Normal" people seem boring and two-dimensional.  But when those days pass to the next, normal is everything that I hope for.  Sanity is what I pray for.

I am tormented by feelings that I know I should not indulge in and enjoy.  How do I tell myself to not enjoy what is enjoyable?

A few months ago, I called up a friend from church and asked her if she could meet me to talk.  I was feeling rotten and sharing these thoughts with other people has been my cry for help lately.  Unprepared with any words to say, I told her that I just wanted to spend time with a friend.  She was not satisfied with that response, and persisted to pry out what was bothering me.  Feeling guilty, for calling her out there as if I was wasting her time and invading her space, I tried to explain what was going on.  I hated myself.  I saw my beautiful kids and loving husband and I felt so undeserving of them.  I knew I had done things wrong.  My thoughts were deceitful and my actions had been (in the past) following that same path.  I wanted to beg someone to institutionalize me, just so my family might be spared from my insanity.  My friend must have misunderstood, because she began to bombard me with advice and  "what you need to do''s. 
She told me that I should find a church that has more elderly people so I would not feel tempted as often.  I shook my head at the notion that running away from it as if that would solve anything.   Her advice just reaffirmed my feelings of failure.    She tried to relate from a heterosexual level with my situation.  She reminded me of my obligation to my children and spouse.  My friend tried to assure me that everyone struggles with physical temptation to look at other people that are not your partner.  "You just have to go somewhere else and look away."  "Do it for your kids, just think of their sweet little faces and what that would do to them."  By the time she was done encouraging me, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die from remorse.

What my friend failed to realize (besides the obvious misunderstanding of my emotional state) was that I am attracted to a gender of people, not just one person.  I'm not trying to say that all women make me blush.  I do have a man, whom I love, and I have a family that I love.  But I just desire something more.  That something is an experience with a woman.  Although, not just any woman, I would still have to avoid an entire gender to be sure I was ridding myself of that temptation.  Avoiding a gender that is your own... now that's what I call an impossibility. 

I know, I'm a mess.  I'm a wreck waiting to happen, and any other cliche that fits. 

This is what it's like to be haunted by good feelings.

Created Unworthy

Manless I am nothing. 

What purpose could I serve to God as an unmarried woman?


I'm not sure how to tackle this subject.  Everyone has their own beliefs, even if contained within the same religion (in this case Christianity).  The trick is distinguishing between man's contributions and God's absolute truth.  I still don't think I can effectively cancel out my own experiences and the different ways my parents and teachers have influenced my thinking enough to see truth clearly. 


In the early years of my childhood, I was raised in a non-instrumental Church of Christ.   Many of those congregations were as opposed to instruments being brought past the church doors as they were to see a woman approach the podium to speak.  Women were allowed to teach Sunday School for the children under the Junior High ages only.  They could also study together in women's Bible study groups.  I noticed these obvious disadvantages that girls had within the church as a child, but I would never have dared to question the established rules that God himself had set in place.  My Dad had made it clear to me that women had only one place, behind a man.  Every Christian I knew seemed to simply confirm this belief.

God was my purpose.  I held on to my life for Him and not just because of Him.  I believed I was cursed, worthless, and a living burden to my family, especially my father.   I lived for God and Him only.  I had to hold onto a belief that He needed to "use" me for something.  I believed that He could make me usable.  As a girl, the possibilities seemed limited.

My Mom worked outside the home as a nurse.  Even though she worked, my Father depended on her to have a warm dinner and a clean house waiting for him everyday when he arrived home.  And somehow she made it happen.  My Mom never prayed when my Father was present.  She stayed in her place very naturally and appeared content to do no more.  I, on the other hand, felt like I was living up to my Daddy's harsh words, as I was screaming on the inside for something greater.  Women seemed like no more than drones.  I guess I should have felt honored to be God's drone, but if I had this love for Him with a desire to do so much more, how could I keep silent?  Why would He demand that from me? 

Why were women so much lower than men?

I was told it began in the garden when Eve was deceived.   Yet didn't Adam eat from the same tree as well forcing him to face death and punishment?   My Mom was not much help in answering these questions, but she did assure me that there were things we could do for God, even if not in a position of authority. 

The super-sized congregation that we had been attending had a split.  Apparently, someone snuck a guitar into their Sunday School class and it didn't go over well with the elders.  This sparked a controversy over Biblical elements like I had never seen before.  My parents decided to go with the "splinter church", the instrumental church.  They called themselves Disciples of Christ and many things were different there.  Beyond the worship style and songs dramatically changing from classic hymns to contemporary music heard on the radio (I even remember hearing "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton on one occasion), there were wives serving communion with their husbands.  That was an amazing sight for me, but I still wondered if they were doing something wrong.  I had never seen a woman take part in anything like that before.   I began to suspect that it might just be because their husbands were there with them that the ladies could be allowed to do something like that.    One thing was becoming clear though, I needed a man if I wanted to do anything of any real magnitude for my Lord.  I wished I was a man all the more because of this.

Was there anything good about being born a girl? 

If men were so wrong about a ridiculous rule making piano playing a sin, even if done for the right motives, then why couldn't they also be wrong about their beliefs of a woman's place in the church? 
Later, I dismissed this as wishful thinking.

In Junior High and High School, my youth minister inspired me like no other had before.  He never knew it, but I made him my own personal role model of Christ for my life.  When people told me to be like Jesus, I had a picture of my youth minister running through my head.  I wanted to be just like him.  I would sometimes give little mini sermons in my room to my mirror, and I noticed how much they sounded like him.  That was a good thing.   If I had a career choice I would have gone to college to be a youth minister.  Aside from a job in the music industry, preaching was my dream.  I had so much to say, and I really believed I was good at it too.  But if no one could accept me because I was woman than what good was that gift?  It was a wasted effort, just another pipe dream. 

One Sunday morning during invitational song, I went forward to dedicate my career to the Lord's service.  I knew that no matter what I would not be happy unless I was working directly for God.  I noticed that we had a woman as the head of our Children's Ministry department at our church and even though that was not my first choice, it was something.   I promised in front of the whole congregation to pursuit a college degree for the purpose of Children's Ministry.   That was not what I wanted to do...I wanted to speak to adults.  That was what I was good at and all my speeches were aimed at an older audience, but again, I knew it was useless.  No one would be willing to listen.  I was just a girl.

While at Bible college, I discovered a cool couple.  Priscilla and Aquila were wife and husband.  More importantly they were an example directly out of the Bible of a woman working in a more of a spotlight position than her husband. 

The New Testament references to Priscilla and Aquila make it clear that, despite the male-dominant culture, Aquila was not the leader and Priscilla his assistant. In fact, of the seven times the two names are mentioned together, Priscilla is listed first five of those times (Acts 18:18-19, 26; Rom. 16:3; 2 Tim. 4:19). Because it was the custom to list the husband’s name first, this reversal indicates Priscilla’s importance in the minds of the New Testament writers Luke and Paul. It also indicates that Priscilla was not teaching as a secondary partner under the ‘covering’ of her husband’s spiritual authority. If there were a universal spiritual principle requiring a woman to be subordinate to the teaching authority of the man, Priscilla would not have been referred to in terms indicating either her equality or her prominence in the Priscilla-Aquila teaching team. ---(Internet Source: http://bible.org/article/aquila-and-priscilla-1-corinthians-1619)

I was inspired by the knowledge of this little "hiccup" in the female submission teaching of the Bible. Still, I was confused at where the line should be drawn and where it could be pushed back. 


I genuinely thought I needed to be married to be truly useful to God's ministry within the world.  If I were to go at it alone, I assumed that I would not be taken seriously.  When I met Drew, we had many conversations about venturing to the mission field.  Unfortunately, as it turns out, it's harder to start a life in another country once you have another person to take care of.  The mission field would have to wait again. 

I love my Drew.  He has helped me discover strength in myself that I never thought existed.  And although I have regrets of not making it to Thailand, liked we discussed so many times before,  I have been a witness of God's ability to use us and our love for people right where we are.  Drew has always been fine with me as an equal in ministry.  So even if I know now that in fact, I did not need a man to be useful to the church, I don't resent my decision to marry.  If I hadn't married, how would I have the confidence to take the necessary steps?   God knows what he is doing.  He knew what He was doing when Drew and I were brought together.  Things don't go smoothly all the time, but we both have a connection to service for God's kingdom that makes us stronger.  Every time we follow that "leading", seeing someone in need and jumping at the opportunity to help, it brings us closer.  I feel a little more whole inside.  I can tell that he does too. 

I still spend time, on occasion, wishing that I had some kind of public forum to tell others the Gospel.  I could fight for my position in the Biblical food chain if I wanted to.  But why?   I'm not sure I would be accomplishing anything for Christ by shouting "Hey!  Let me Speak!"  I'm not giving in or giving up.  As I stated before, I don't have this all figured out on what's right.  I am happy to know that God doesn't look down on me because my gender, the way that many men in church do.  I am thankful for strong female examples in the Bible.  I am thankful for the progress that the American nation has made in this area.  I still believe that there is a line though.  I don't know where it is, but I hope we don't make all the extremists correct by crossing over it. 


Moral of the story:
Be Thankful for what God has given to you.  He is good at what he does. .. ALL he does


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Next Post:   Haunted by Good Feelings

Acceptance- The rest is up to...

"Acceptance" comes easier when people see with their hearts and not with their eyes.

I don't want to be rich, but I wish I was comfortable.  I don't need a house full of elegant furniture and designer clothes, but I want to be able to entertain company of those that do.  I don't need a great career that is more fun than work, but I want to make my dreams a reality.  I don't need to be in a class higher than I am, but I want to feel contentment.

I need to learn acceptance. 


As a teen, watching the unbelievable relationship between my parents, the role of women in the world looked less then appealing.  I saw my Mom as weak and overly emotional.  I read in the Bible that women were to "submit" to man's authority.  To me, the word "authority" and my Father's tyranny were synonymous.   I continually shied away from that scripture.  I had a hard enough time submitting to God's rule over my life.  Submitting to an angry out of control man did not seem like the correct thing to do.  The Bible must not be talking to me, I concluded. 

I've spent the last couple years whining to my friends and my spouse.  I whined to God the most.  Oh Why am I in this position?  Why do I have to deal with this 'evil' attraction all the time?  Why didn't YOU stop my Father from doing those things to me?  Why God?  Why can't I just be a 'normal' woman?  Why do I have to feel like scum around other ladies?  And WHY won't you take this from me?

A few of my friends showed me the door after hearing about all this, but most of them told me that I'm not all that bad.  They said, "Kayt, you are making this bigger than it is..."   But I thought I should think myself cursed because I though the Christian world would reject me...if they only knew.  If they would reject me, then how could I accept me?


The fact is... women are physically not as strong as men (generally speaking - not every man is stronger).  Women have a specific role to play in relationships...this is true too.  So does a man.   And it is also true, according to the Bible, that I must submit to my husband's God given authority.  It also says that Drew should love me like Christ loves the Church (Jesus gave His life as a demonstration of that kind of love).
My Dad messed up his portion of the relationship, but my Mother (in her weakness) held on to God's promises and was faithful to do her part no matter what.     .....Perhaps she was stronger than she appeared.

Whether I am lower class my whole life....  Whether I get cancer and all my hair falls out ...whether my husband dies in a tragic accident...Whether 'love' doesn't seem to last in our marriage....Whether a hurricane blows away my newly purchased home...  Whether I never finish my degree and owe my student loans for the rest of my life...  Whether I never witness my influence changing someones life for Christ.....

I need to learn acceptance.


If this is the life I have been given, and it is.  I must learn to move away from what others might think is right for my life.  God tells me all I need to know.   He loves me.

The Pity party is over.  The struggle inside to make the right choices might never go away.  And I'm done wasting my prayers asking for an end to this struggle.  I am learning to be content in my circumstances.  Whether God-made or man-made, it doesn't matter at this point.  It's done.   There will be no rewrite.   I am here, and this is what is happening now.  All my fighting, screaming, and clawing about it...just makes me selfish and crazy. 

I am learning acceptance.

Innocence Again

"Blue skies and rainbows, sunbeams from heaven, are what I can see when, my lord is living in me."

The stormy weather today reminded me of this children's church hymn that I used to sing at the top of my lungs (to my older brother's annoyance, I'm sure).  And when most people think of thunderstorms, they think of rainbows as their calming reminder that there is an end to all bad weather.    Rainbows are nice, but I like sunbeams better.  Rays of sunlight breaking through the dark clouds and making everything in its path seem more alive with color than it ever had before.  These beams remind us not that the storm will soon be over, but that all the while darkness fills the sky, the sun is still there.  I think that as the winter months quickly approach us, we would do well to remember that fact.

Many of my childhood memories are so overshadowed with pain and self loathing, that I forget about the great kid I was.  I'm not trying to pat myself on the back with that, and yes, I did get into my share of trouble and detention at school.  But overall, my heart was pure and... well, innocent.
 I was always trying to do the "right thing" in every situation.  I knew early on that God saw everything and especially cared about what was inside my heart.  But knowing that did not scare me, because I wanted Him to know.  I found it comforting to believe that someone (even someone I could not see) could see inside and understand me.   We went on walks together after school.  When I spoke to Him sometimes, I would look in the mirror.  I felt so close to God and so comfortable with our relationship that those kind of oddities did not seem "odd" to me.  Life is simple for children.  At least for those of us that came after the great depression and child labor.  Besides school they eat, sleep and play with no concern for what will happen next.  I was an easy going person.  Even after I became a college loan leech, there was not much that got under my skin.  I took life at my own speed.  I think one of my roommates referred to that as "pokey".  I didn't want to rush because I wanted to take the time absorb the things around me.  I guess some people call that meditation. 
I call it observing.

I loved the outdoors.  So much to see and experience and nothing is ever routine.  I once made a spiritual connection between a leaf blowing across the street and my life journey with Christ.  Something that would possibly not make sense to anyone else but it meant something astounding to me.  David wrote in his psalms about how even the trees praise God, but I didn't believe him until I saw it for myself.  The leaves dancing in the breeze, it looks like a thousand hands clapping.  Observing things of nature has always been amazing to me.  But nothing compares to observing the behavior of the most intricately designed creature known as mankind.
People watching was a hobby of mine.  I never knew it had such a simple label until I heard others speak of the same "hobby" in their own life.  I would just sit wherever I had to be at the time, the mall, the park, the busy streets, school, or church.  It didn't matter, people were the most fascinating thing to see.  Why they say what they say, do what they do, why they where the clothes they wear, and who they are with and how they interact with one another...    I watched as an outsider, like an audience at a show.  They were all God's and I wondered if they knew that too. 

I was such a child.  And I was a good little girl for my Savior.  But no one noticed.  No one was observing me.   And I wondered why?

Countless times did the youth minister coach us on how to save a life and show them Christ.  I had listened and absorbed all that he said.  Internalizing it deep into my heart, making it bleed for a world torn apart and in need.  I looked on in jealousy as others in the group brought their friends in to be immersed with a decision to believe. Still, I was left empty with nothing to show for my faith but what I had brought from the start.
Seeds planted and seeds sown.  All that was fine, but to be ignored for my potential to serve became unnerving.  I questioned myself and then I questioned their leadership.

This made my vision swerve.

Looking at the other side of the fence, I could see people becoming successful in their careers.  I saw them fall in love and have fun at their parties.  I observed that they were noticed by their peers for being themselves without restrictions placed upon them.   And it made me wonder....why was I trying so hard to be a perfect servant to people that didn't care?   Soon after, that nagging thought started effecting my behavior.  I tried on smoking again.  (Something I had not done since sixth grade and then it had been only an act of public rebelliousness).  I tried out drinking and the bar scene.  I tried out a "new" language with F*#% as my go to.  Different movies, music, and browsing adult video stores...not much was left taboo to the new me.   And I felt no reason to apologize for any of it.

My conversations with God went from a constant stream to a dripping faucet.  I ran from the guilt that he would try to make me feel.  Who was he to make me feel that way??  He wasn't here living my life....

Questioning my belief in God never became part of that new behavior till I started to acknowledge how deeply deceived I was in my personal thoughts about others.  If I could be so dedicated to a belief in something that I had made every effort to NOT believe in (example: Rosa, Veronica, and Ben) then how could I trust my judgment on something so controversial as the Bible?    It didn't seem so black and white anymore.    I was running from my world that was crumbling and I didn't want to be made into an idiot again.


Now as I sit here downing my root beer,  instead of the hard liquor or real beer that I normally drink while writing, I can't help but think of the "me" I was before all this bitterness began.  Drew and I went to a street carnival while we were engaged (they were always popping up in our college town).  We were still both kids in big people clothes.  We loved amusement park rides and hassling the carnies at the money suckering booths.   As we got out of the car and walked up to the ticket booth, we discussed just how true this childlike fact was about our personalities, and how much we never wanted that to change.   We made a promise to one another that night.  A kind of pinky-swear, to never ever become an adult.  We swore to never mature away from the kid games, laughing at slap stick comedy (i.e. The Three Stooges), and/or enjoying a night of spontaneous gallivanting around the city.  We did not want to grow up in our hearts even if we knew we eventually had to with our bodies.

A few months back I asked my husband, Drew, a loaded question about myself and our relationship (loaded, because I wanted to answer the same question about him).  My plan to point out something that I wanted him to change about himself backfired on me when he told me about what I needed to change.  The question I asked was, "Have I changed a lot in myself since we were married?  Is there something you miss?"
Drew's reply was,"Yes, ....Well, you used to have more faith in God....and that's what I really loved about you."   His response to my question shocked me, but it shouldn't have.  I knew what he was saying was right.  What I hadn't realized, until just then, is that it had been so obvious to my spouse.  He had seen something beautiful and valuable in me when we met, and that something had been my devotion to Christ and the things of Christ....and... I had thrown that all away.  I had thrown it away because no one noticed me for it. 
For someone who didn't want to be an idiot again, I sure felt like one now.

And the rest of the song goes...

"And I know that, Jesus is well, and alive today.  He makes his home in my heart.  Never more will I fear, as long as he, has promised me that, he never will part." 

It's comforting to remember that last part, when you are like me and in desperate need of a second chance.  I wonder if it is possible, living in a world in which time continues forward and never backward, to recapture that seemingly naive hope that we had as children.  The dreams, the ambitions to accomplish things so much greater than ourselves?  Will they ever become real to us again?  To feel ideas are still attainable as possibilities for our future?   To slow down enough from my daily schedule and take a walk not just for exercise?  To watch the shapes in the clouds fly by?  To run through random sprinklers without feeling self-conscience and worrying about what others might think?    To feel free to tinker, play, and imagine?
Is it possible for a now maturing adult like me, to return to that kind of childlike innocence again?.....

 I think so.

Feeding the Monster

It is said...  Insanity is when someone preforms the same action over and over, and each time expecting a different result.

---------
I am guilty.
Like I am sure many others, I have thought that sometimes the best way of coping with a "problem" is containing it.  Just like a wild animal in a cage, if you want to keep it civil you must feed it what it likes.  Only this time, it will be on the keepers terms and not on the beast's.    The question is, "who is the keeper?" 


It's always difficult to pin point the beginning of habits.  Sometimes they become so ingrained that they are referred to as "second-nature".  But I believe that my lust for a sexual high (and things related) began with my laptop computer.  My husband had loaned it out to a friend so he could do his homework while traveling.  Many months after it was returned to us, I was doing a search through some old files and I proceeded to open up one that I did not recognize.  I can still remember exactly how it made me feel.  The feelings came out in stages.   First, confusion (What is that?  What's going on?)  Second, shock  (I know what that is...and look away.)  Then disbelief and soon after anger at the thoughtless guy that left it there.
It wasn't long after I announced my disgust to Drew, that my curiosity kicked in.  It's obvious that I knew all about sex by this point, but to the world of pornography, I was still a virgin.    After my angry rant, complaining to my spouse about his choice in friends, I approached the computer again to erase the file.  Before I erased it though I wanted to see it again.  The first time, I had not watched it very closely.  I wanted to see what the appeal was.
 I found it.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.  The images stayed in my head.  At first that frustrated me, and I just wanted to flush my brain of everything I had seen.  Then after the picture started to get fuzzier, I had to have another look. 

Drew and I had talked about the idea of going into a adult video store before, but it had been mainly just for kicks.  We giggled like little kids at some of the "toys" and misc. nic-nacs they sold.  I blushed at the video covers and tried hard not to make eye contact with anyone in the store.  We never actually bought anything.
After discussing the idea again, and seeing how it might help give a little more spice to our own relationship, we decided to give it another try.  This time we exited with a  porn video in hand.

The first few times we watched the video together, we made love and it seemed to add some excitement to our sexual relationship.   Then I began watching the video while Drew was away at work (this was before we had children).  I was careful to return it to the shelf in the closet just the way I found it, so that he would never know that I was watching it without him.
Suddenly, sex with my husband was unsatisfying to me.  So I started to replay events that I'd seen in the movie during the course of our love making.  I would pretend that we were in a different settings with different roles and even imagine him as a different man.

By the time that I realized that this was not a benefit to our relationship, it was too late.  I was hooked, and becoming increasingly selfish.

Under mutual decision, we threw the video in the garbage can.  Yet we were both still left with a craving that would never be satisfied within a monogamous marriage.

The Internet is less conspicuous then any triple X store.  I started out with simple searches, viewing whatever the pay per view sites would offer me without the use of a credit card.   I found ways to erase my "history" on the computer so that no one would ever see what I had been looking at.  I was always filled with shame and regret after each viewing session.  Then I would pray for forgiveness.  Sometimes I would even confess to Drew about my online actions.  Of course, I didn't know that he was doing some of the same things and not telling me.
As regretful as I was about what I had seen and done, it was not enough to keep me from returning to it again and again.
I learned that there were sites that offered links to free videos and pictures from other web pages.  That made viewing easier and quicker.
But it was never enough.  I always wanted more.
What had helped me to feel satisfied before was not good enough for the next time.  I started looking at less "traditional" sites because I was becoming sexually frustrated -  I sought out sites that featured things more hardcore such as threesomes, sex parties, and men with men.

I was out of control. 
I knew it and I pleaded with God for help to stop. 
But every time I would ask Him for help, I knew that I was not completely willing to give up yet.  I felt helpless and certain that I would end up begging Him to forgive me again soon.  I still tried to sound genuine, even knowing my reluctance would make it impossible to actually make a lasting change.  
I had to face it.  I was addicted to pornography.


Eventually, through prayer and accountability (and A lot of self-discipline in saying "NO") I broke free from the Internet lust.  But I was not free of the dependency that the sexual high held over me.


Sometime later....

My interactions with Veronica frustrated me.  I had never been interested in witnessing two women together while browsing through the sex sites.   And for the times that I had come in contact with that scene, it did not appeal to my taste.  (I had been more interested in the men.)   As my physical body started reacting more and more to Veronica in ways that I made me feel helpless to control, I went looking for an outlet.  God had failed to answer my prayers to take this type of desire away from me so I had to find a way of coping.   I thought I should find a "release" or an outlet so that I didn't end up making a really big mistake.     My eyes were opened by the super hyped cable television series called "The L Word".  All the scenarios seemed so ridiculous at first and all I could do was shake my head and laugh at what seemed like a script a man had written.  But the more I watched, the less shy I became about their unrealistic behavior.  I justified my actions by saying that I was "feeding my monster" so that he would not crave what he couldn't have.  This was my way to control my behavior around Veronica so I thought....
I was naive to not realize that I was just starting a new problem and one that was so very similar to the first. 

Now I know....
Feeding the monsters only makes them hungrier for more.

Give Me A Reason

"Losing faith in humanity one person at a time." -Bumper Sticker

The idea for this post came to me while watching an episode from the TV series "House".  Is there anyone more untrusting then the main character?  In the episode I recently saw, he was close to sounding just like another conspirator. Everyone is a liar in Dr. House's book.  More directly, everyone has a reason to lie to him. 

When I was still a newbie in college I had decided to share with everyone what I had discovered.  I proclaimed it to other girls in my dorm as if it was some great new revelation from heaven.  I had been doing some personal reflection and just some general deep thinking about life when I had stumbled upon the ultimate answer to all life's questions.  The answer was "Trust".
Our problems are all solved if we just trust God.

I went from room to room, friend to friend, stranger to stranger, telling them the news that I had discovered.   I was so excited about it.  It was like I had personally been brought down into the Jordan and that murky water had miraculously changed my vision forever.  It was all made simple and clear.
Trust, that was the key that unlocked everything.

That was close to ten years ago from now.  And now I laugh and shake my head at that seemingly naive person that I was back then.

I've always had issues with trust.  Trusting others was a big risk, but trusting myself could be even riskier.  Trusting in an unseen God can sometimes take more than a good imagination.  Trust has to be earned. 
In hindsight, God has an exceptional record with coming through with everything I need.  I would be hard pressed to point out a specific instance that He failed and did not come through for me.
I especially have witnessed this in areas of my own personal failure.  After I failed or quit trying,  He stepped in and picked up the slack.  The examples will seem small to others, but together they have impacted my life in very big ways.
Also, it does not take much for me to look around and see the many ways he has blessed me.  I dreamed it but I never thought it would actually happen, I have a husband and two children (a boy and a girl ~ exactly what I wanted).  We are proud owners of two vehicles, a big screen TV, and a mortgage.  I even have the privilege of staying home with my children till they are school age.  That's something that many mothers only dream of (including my own). 
So why?
 Even with so much proof in front of me, why is it still so hard to put my trust in God?

I used to pray for that perfect man for me.  In my journals I actually gave him a name, "Simon" because I had to refer to him so much, it just made it easier.  It also made it easier to focus in on "him" being just one man, and not just everyman.  In Bible College this turned into a big debate between me in a few of the professors.  I wholeheartedly believed that marriage was important enough to God that He had only one specific person in mind for each person to marry (assuming that they would marry at all).  That sounds like I'm a fatalist a little (I'm not), but so be it.
All the profs at the college endorsed each other using  "The Umbrella of God's Will" as their demographic/ blueprint.  In short  "The Umbrella" is a way of saying that there are dos and don'ts but for the rest of your decisions in life, you decide and as long as it falls under His "Umbrella" it's fine.  It is part of His will.  I understood the analogy.  But I believed that marriage was more than choosing a fish from the sea. 
How could I be trusted with a dire decision such as that?  I thought when I gave up my life to God, that meant that He was now driving me.  They all just laughed at me.  Each prof would smile and nod as if to pat me on the head and then shove me aside.  My arguments were not even worth their time.  They saw me as naive about my world.  I was a little child amongst spiritual giants.  What could I know about the will of God?

I struggled with this.  Knowing that my decisions always leave room for error, how could I be sure that I wasn't making a mistake? 

While Drew and I prepared for our wedding day, each day moving us closer, I prayed with every quite moment I had that this was what God wanted.  If it wasn't I asked that he would make it clear. 
I did question (in deep parts of my mind) whether this constant prayer and looking for a sign from God to call it off was actually a pretty good indicator itself.  But I wasn't trusting in my judgement anymore.

Drew and I never really dated.  We were never labeled boyfriend and girlfriend either.  Looking back, it kind of seems like we were pushed together (at least from my standpoint) by circumstance.
  We were just friends before our engagement.  I hold back even saying that we were "good" friends, because my memories of pre-engagement are full of my own personal frustration that Drew was not Ben (you might have to do some back reading to fully understand who Ben was to me). 
I was still in love with Ben when I met Drew.  I was still under the spell that Ben and I would be together at some point, and it was just a matter of patience...my patience.  I was just buying time with Drew, I told myself.  And I did not attempt to hide this fact from him.  Not a great start to any sort of relationship.

When I arrived at my wedding in the park.   I took a moment to clear my head.  I had planned this whole wedding and the day was flying by.  My parents had arrived and my past life living at home with them had been in full swing, including my Dad becoming outraged with me.  I knew that whether I was getting married or not, I would never go back to live in the same house with them again.  I wanted to be free of that life forever.
  In the car, I had my last chance talk with God.  This was the point of no return...not the vows or the rings..It was right here and I knew it.  But instead of the nervousness and anxiety that I had been feeling every night up to this point, I felt peace. 
I had only a naive clue of what was ahead for Drew and I, but I was willing to take that risk.  I was trusting God with every step believing that He knew something more about all this than I did.

I wanted out. 
It was barely into our first year and I was ready to throw everything away.  Not believing that divorce was a godly option in this case, I thought of others.  "Till death do we part" was ringing in my desperate ears.  "Till death", mine or his, there had to be a way to end my sadness. 

I blamed God for this.  I blamed my cursed self the most.  I knew who had made that choice.  I did.  It's not that Drew was a bad guy.  I just had not given myself enough space to know how I felt ...what I thought about him.  I was so busy worrying about what God wanted and how I would be reunited with Ben in the end that reality finally bit down hard.  There would be no more Ben.  Still I loved him like a first husband.  Drew was the friend that had listened to all my crazy stories that I so busy telling that I never gave too much thought to his stories.  I was waking up to realize that I had no idea who I had just married.

I was immersed into the church and into Christ when I was only seven.  I don't remember going into the water or what was said by the preacher before he took me under.  What I do remember is how much I shook after I came up. 
The ladies that helped me to get dressed commented about it and asked if I was cold.  I wasn't, but my teeth were chattering as if I were freezing. 

Not hardly a full day after my baptism, I was doubting.  I was practically jumping on furniture with questions full of doubt and calling them out to my Mother.  (Tom Cruise would've been proud.)
After answering many of my accusations and rants, calmly my Mom told me to stop and be still.  She hugged me till I stopped resisting.   Then holding my head in her hands so she could look into my eyes she said, "Kayt, this is Satan doing this."  Even at seven, that took me back.    My Mother hardly ever spoke of anything supernatural directly affecting our everyday life.  I knew this was serious.  I didn't know what Satan would want with me, or why he would waste his time on me like that, but I was not about to let him have any control.  I was calmer after that.

What does this have to do with trust? 
Giving my life to Christ and saying "I do" to my husband are the two biggest decisions that I ever made in my life.  Even though I thought myself adequately prepared and informed when I made them, to stay and not run from them was the real choice.   My trust in God was the glue that held my feet in place.

I have learned that I can't trust my own thoughts.  There is not much I can do about my feelings towards people and situations.  And sometimes my body reacts to these feelings involuntarily, that is not my fault.  But I have certainly fooled myself into believing more lies than I can count.  My pride hurts to even think about my foolishness and how I've been deceived over...and over.  Especially in knowing that it will soon happen again. 

I don't trust God to care about my desires.  I don't trust my husband to bring me happiness.  I don't trust my Dad to ever really get the help he needs.  I don't trust my friends to stick around after they hear all my "wicked" thoughts.  But the real conspiracy is inside me. 

I create worlds that don't exist....but to me they do.  How can I make that go away?  How will I make the distinctions between fact and fiction after I have believed the lie for so long?  Who can I trust to tell me what's real?   If not myself, is there anyone that really knows for sure?

It took Dr. House an entire two hour episode at a mental institution to get his head together.  His biggest obstacle, trust. 
Where will I find my cure?





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To My Readers:

     I apologize if this sounds like rambling.  It should be obvious that I have yet to fully comprehend the extent of what damage has been done to me.  ( referring to the child developmental process, Trust Vs. Mistrust).  My marriage is fine, not great, but I'm sure you will hear more about that later on.  Thanks for reading...

Six Pence None The Richer

This was the lullaby that I sang to both my babies ...when they were babies. It's a very simple song. It served as a good reminder for me to.

Forbidden Love: no more

I didn't have to be a fortune teller to know that it would come to this.  Every day that was spent together, was a day spent trying to figure out a way to run away from her.  I thought about not going to the group meetings anymore or even changing congregations, but I had ties with other people there and how would I begin to explain the reasons I had for abandoning them.  Anything short of the truth would be pretty close to a lie because I did not want to leave. 

Everyone knows that Christian folk act all funky around homosexual people.  And although I had begun to open up facts of my life to a few people, I still lived in fear that someday I would be "found out" and then ostracized at church. 

Veronica had suggested that we should go out for coffee together again.  We had done the breakfast thing a few times before.  Each time had gone similar to the last.  I would feel ill with some ailment the whole time we were together.  I had only agreed for this one last Starbucks meeting because the offer took me off guard.  It came after telling her about the book I had started to research and write.  The book is about caring, understanding, and loving homosexuals as people even if we do not agree with their actions.  I tried to pawn off the idea that it was not about me personally, but that I had friends that had sparked this desire to write this book.  Realistically, I was just trying to see what she would say or how she would react to my interest in that subject.  Veronica was shockingly supportive and had so many questions to ask me about the audience and the direction that I was taking with my research.   Before she dropped me off at my apartment, she asked me when we could do the "breakfast thing" again?    It was unusual for her to be so direct in asking me, let alone even ask it.  Most of the time it was me doing the asking, and her giving me a very vague "We'll see...I have to work a lot this week so....."  But even more curious to me was the timing of the suggestion.  I was taken back by it.  I was certain that she had to know by now just what I was.   And we made plans.

Again at home I was a wreck of thoughts and doubts swimming through my head.  ARRRG!  I couldn't take it anymore!  The games that my brain was playing on me were too much.  I found myself returning to the computer a lot when I would review past events in my mind.  Facebook was my only insiders view to her life without the worry of her seeing me.  I know that makes me sound like a stalker.  Mainly I would just review the facts that were already there about her.  I was looking for some hint, some clue that would tell me how to be able to "read" her.  Even with all the experiences she had told me about, I still felt lost as to her reactions to things and what they meant.  I was so confused. 
It had to stop.  I had to get her out of my head.  I needed a way to shut it off. 
I deleted her from my Facebook friends list. 

We still met for coffee.  It was already on the calendar. I was dreading it and ended up not being very good company.  She wanted to go somewhere around town after, but I told her that I just wanted to go home and cut our visit short.
I wasn't sure if she had noticed what I had done online yet or not.  But I wasn't looking forward to explaining my actions to her.

The facebook deletion was a good beginning, but certainly not an end to the problem in my head.
I would still see her at church and other gatherings.  I needed more.  I needed something definitive.  I wanted some kind of explanation of her actions.  This had all happened before with Rosa, and I had been left with questions forever unanswered.

I tried to make plans with Veronica for a short meeting to talk.  She returned my phone call and was pushing me to talk about it right then.  She didn't have to push very hard because of my desperation I was ready to just blurt it out.  I was an incoherent mess.  I knew it at the time, but my mouth just kept moving.   By the end the conversation:  I had inadvertently implied that I was stalking her on Facebook;  I managed to "out" myself (thinking she already knew.  She claimed she did not.); and even call her a bad friend. 

When I hung up the phone, I felt awful.  The whole thing was a giant disaster,  I had been a jerk (in more ways then one) and she had been clueless.  I later emailed Veronica a brutal apology, but I knew that it was over.  I had ended the friendship... before it had even started.

Our group didn't meet together anymore.  I haven't been to a Tupperware party since and although we still attend the same church,, it is big enough that we do not have to interact with each other unless we choose to.

I feel better about myself now.  I feel better about my interactions with family and friends.  My relationship with God has improved.   But I still missed out.  I can't escape the knowledge of that.

Forbidden Love: too good to be true

I'm not a quitter.

Reality had been smeared.  There was nothing I could do about that now.  But I didn't want to let it go.  I didn't want to let go of what might have been a really great friendship. 

Veronica was funny with her adolescent humor (by that I mean, she made "dirty" jokes out of everyday things).  On top of her gorgeousness she had an elegance about her, noticeable in both her personality and poise.  Even as a friend, I felt somewhat out of place with her next to me.  What would she want with someone like me anyway?
I found out that her Mom and Dad hired a maid for all their household cleaning.  I thought to myself, "Well, that figures..."
It all just seemed to make sense.  Her husband and kids were all wonderful.  Her house and neighborhood all wonderful.  Her sense of style, very classy.  It seemed that the only thing that didn't fit was her interest in me. 

I lived in an apartment complex in a neighborhood known for theft and murder.  My husband, although a very respectable job that pays well enough that I don't have to work, is still a manager in retail.
I have yet to finish my degree.  Our cars are both over 10 yrs old.  I don't buy and wear designer clothes, and, of course, I mentioned my issue with weight at this time.
Did she just feel sorry for me?

Over many months we chatted online through email and instant messages.  I found that I could communicate better through any means that did not directly involve us speaking face to face.  When we met up with groups or friends, she would always ask if she could come sit with me.  I thought the asking part was weird, but the following me around became even more noticeable (to me) when I purposely found a room where no one else was to sit down and eat my plate of snacks.  She followed in behind me leaving the others in the crowd to come and find her.  So whether I understood her reasoning or not, it was becoming clearer that she wanted to be friends with me. 

I want to make it clear.  I didn't believe that she was ever better than me or "too good".  I did believe that it would make more sense with her personality and taste in people and in things she owned for her to see it that way though.

They say, "It takes one to know one" and I thought that was happening to me now.  I started seeing more and more questionable behavior from Veronica.  The more I saw the more I looked for it.  Even to the point of becoming obsessed with instant replay in my mind of events that occurred involving her and I. 
(I have no interest in replaying them anymore so I will not list the so called "questionable behavior" except for story purposes.)
When I was in my right mind, I knew what I was thinking and feeling was wrong.  All the questions that I had about her actions could be written off to her personality.  I just didn't want it to be that simple. 

Most of the ways she contributed to these ideas in my head were in the things she didn't do.  The things that she didn't say.  Actions that I thought would be common place between friends. 

With every meeting between us, I had a crash to follow.  Again face first to the floor my fingers digging into my hair just trying to wrap my brain around the truth.  I felt like it was unstoppable.  I just wanted to stop thinking about it.  I wanted to stop thinking about her.
It had a hold on me and liked to hold it over me when I was with her.  The torment of trying to keep my feelings at bay was so real that I could feel myself becoming physically ill while we were together. 

All of my emotions made it increasingly difficult to look her in the eyes.  I was afraid that she would see.  I was afraid she would know just what I was, and what I was going through. 
But I didn't want to give up on us.  To me that meant failure as a new reborn woman that Christ had made me.  I thought that if I could just make this work out for the good then I would be free of the power that my past had carried with it.  Giving up would mean the opposite.  I could not keep running away from attractive women like I was a man.  That would hang over my head as a constant reminder that I would forever be weird.  I would forever have to be distant from everyone just to hide myself from them.
I don't want to live like that.

I needed a plan.

In the past, I would be able to suppress feelings and thoughts toward another woman if we were close.  I would have respect for them in that way.  Veronica kept me close but then also at a noticeable distance.  When she would get up to go get more coffee she would ask me to come along.  When her husband was involved in a ministry position at church that kept him from sitting in Sunday service, she would ask me to join her.  When we car pool together,  there would always be an extra 20 or 30 minutes of conversation in the parking lot.  Sometimes more.   But she would never be too personal.  She shared about: her family a little; her in laws a little; her life before kids a little; and her life now...a little. 
Veronica would never call me unless she was calling me back about something.  About this I had said to her that if she didn't want me to call her, because I understand that some people are not "phone conversationalist", that I would stop using her number.  She made it a point to make it clear to me that she wanted me to keep calling her.

Veronica asks me this question a few times that really stuck out to me.  She wondered, "Do you think we would have been friends in High School?"  I didn't know what to say.  My feelings for her seemed so similar to what I'd felt for Rosa then.  And looking back I knew Rosa and I were never close friends.  I was never sure what we were.  My mind had become Swiss cheese with integrated memories from my fantasies and what was really happening around me.  I was afraid that the same was happening here with Veronica.   ....and there seemed to be nothing I could do to stop it. 

The fight was over.
I was starting to slip up:  plotting ways to be alone with her;  trying to get her undivided attention;  hoping that she felt the same pull for me.  It was increasingly becoming obsessive.  Deep down I was scared of me.


It was time to pull the plug.

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(Next post will be up early.  Look for the end to this Forbidden Love on Friday afternoon.)

Forbidden Love

"What do you say when sorry is not enough?" -Tre Williams (The Revelations)

Unexpectedly she catches my eye.  Unprepared I look away.  I don't want to stare so I look down at my feet.  My mind a mess with dialogue.  Both sides presenting a convincing case.  On one hand I know how I'm feeling right now and I don't want to give in to the thoughts or hint to the room how I'm feeling.  On the other hand, I'm a grown married woman and this is ridiculous for me to feel embarrassed  at appreciating the beauty of another lady.   Still debating my choices, I hear a voice next to me say "hello".  Stunned by the sudden friendliness from a stranger I say a late "hi:" and look up just in time to see her pass by.  I feel ashamed to even look at her.  She's so beautiful.  Why did she have to talk to me?  Why couldn't she just leave me alone?   But how could she know...
 ... a simple greeting would make things difficult for me?

This scene played out a few months back while I sat at the optometrist's office waiting for my turn to be helped.   It was going to be a long wait, I could tell.   The "she" was another patient.  No relationship was made.  No more words were said between us.  And still my day completely changed from in control to rampant.  The aftermath is always the same: guilt followed by deep depression.  And the feeling of "I don't want to do this anymore.  Someone please make it stop..."

I have a loving husband.  Between his long hours at work and spending a little quality time with the kids, I know that he tries his best to make me feel like I'm his world.   But anyone that has young children demanding your time and a husband that is gone often understands the need  for a friend outside of it all.
It's not easy meeting new people, let alone developing a meaningful relationship once you are an adult and out of school.  Hence, we develop online dating sites and mom circles with chat rooms.  Clinging onto old friendships even if long distant is the only way some of our social lives survive.  In general, adults are lonely people.  Good thing that we can fake it well.

I had put on the pounds while going through two pregnancies, and even with all my efforts had shown little progress in losing them.  It had gotten so bad that when I looked in the mirror I hardly recognized my face.   I didn't appear grotesquely overweight, because I'm so tall.  However, the question of when my baby was due  rang through my ears more times than I want to count.  I had always been athletic and working out  in a weight room was more of hobby than a chore for me.  This new body made me embarrassed and shy in social situations.  I lacked confidence in myself even more than I had before.  At church, because I was still new to the congregation,  I was anxious that this was the "me" that everyone thought I had been all along. 
I never thought I had a prejudice against those who struggle with their weight, but my own attitude towards myself was revealing some ugly facts.   When I was approached by someone as beautiful as Veronica, I felt even uglier.

I met Veronica and her family of four at a social gathering at church.  Immediately I thought, why is she even talking to me?  .But knowing that they were all just being friendly and doing their part to make me feel welcome at the event, I shrugged it off.  Still, I made a mental note to stay away from her because of her attractiveness.  That was my only game plan that I carried with me from my past.  STAY AWAY.
And I did.

Another lady from church trying to reach out invited me to a Tupperware party that she was hosting.  I laughed to myself about it because I'm not that sort of lady.   It seemed so cliche' to even be invited, but I was lonely and desperate for time away from the kids, so I went. 
I called to RSVP my spot at the party and was told to meet up at another ladies house so we could car pool.  Veronica drove the car pool.  The party was hosted out of the city.  We all laughed and there was much less talk about the greatness of Tupperware than I'd imagined.   I actually had fun.  As it got later some of the ladies in our group had to leave early because it was a weeknight.  So many had left, that when it was time to go, it was just Veronica and I in the car ride back.  I did my best to get over my nervousness and pretend that it's no big deal.  She was nice and easy to talk to.  She was what I'd call "on the level".  By that I mean, she was not your average uptight Christian woman homemaker.  We chatted a little about her, her neighbor (who had also came to the party), and a little about music.  By the time the car ride was over, I felt much more at ease.  We seemed to have a lot in common.  I thought this might be the real friendship that I'd been waiting for.   And I was excited about that idea.  Her beauty was not intimating to me anymore.

(This next part is going to be difficult to describe to you.  I apologize in advance for my vagueness but I know my audience and I don't want them to know who I am speaking of.)

Since the Tupperware night, Veronica's family and mine had become involved with a group at church that met on a somewhat weekly basis.  On most evening that we met with our group I had to go alone with my kids because Drew had to work.  That didn't bother me that much.  I'm an independent person who doesn't need my "other half" holding my hand all the time to feel whole.  Most of the members of the group felt sorry for me, I could tell.  That only made their gestures of friendship seem that much more forced.  Who wants to be pitied?   I wanted something genuine.   Veronica took an interest in getting to know me. 
Rosa had just ditched me after my confession to her and I was still brokenhearted about it. 
I'm certain that my depression over Rosa led to me to over think my interactions with Veronica. 

Our group had a couples fun night.  No kids allowed.  Drew had to work again so I thought about not going.  When he found out that I wasn't going because of him, he practically pushed me out the door.  So I dropped off my kids at the sitters and went on my way to the restaurant.  By the end of the evening, Veronica and I had spent a lot of time talking and laughing.  Although not in great detail,I told her about a friend from my past that had recently defriended me on Myspace and Facebook and I still was bummed about it.   I was having such a great time with everyone that I started giving out hugs to say goodbye.   When I hugged Veronica I lifted her off the ground...that's where my memory stops.  I'll try to explain.

I know I made it home and put the kids to bed, but the details of the evening stopped with that hug.  The whole car ride home was spent trying to convince myself that it was okay.  I had a dialogue in my head.
" I didn't do anything wrong.  I just was being friendly and got a little carried away.  She's not going to think anything of it.  She doesn't know anything about me.  She doesn't know... Don't worry."

The dialogue continued all the way to my basement at home.  That's where it got ugly.  I couldn't make it stop...I couldn't stop thinking about it...  worrying about it..  I knew it was no big deal, but something had taken control of my brain and would not let me speak reason to it.  (I know how that sounds, but it's true.  It was so intense and I was fighting it.)  It would not let me sleep.  For close to five hours I had my forehead digging into the floor pleading with my mind to stop.  Asking God to help me.  I just wanted to go to bed, but I was immersed in depression, tormented by doubt and fighting something else that I hadn't yet let myself realize.

From this point on, I would never be able to look at Veronica as an equal  ever again.



(Story continued in next post)

Preview of coming post "Forbidden Love"

This is the radio edited version. So no need to worry about the kiddos hearing the F-bomb from your computer.

Time spent with Veronica made me feel special and like a creep at the same time.

I've started the new post but it is still unfinished. I'm dragging my heels because I don't want to make myself look bad, but sometimes it can't be avoided.

Homophobic Me

‎"My orientation does not define who I am. I am more than an orientation. That is only a part of me. I am who I choose to be." As posted by Jordan Nilson.

This was a headline that the Facebook group called "Homosexuality is NOT a choice, but homophobia is" recently put up on their page.

And since the word "homosexuality" seems to be defined by attraction and desire rather than a sex-related action, I would definitely agree with the name of the group.

"I am more than an orientation...I am who I CHOOSE to be." I love that. That's freedom. For me, that's hope.

We can not choose our obstacles (sometimes another word for parents) in life, but the choice is still ours to make in terms of our character. Everyday when I wake up and roll out of bed I make a choice. Most days I choose to be grouchy till I get some caffeine in me. But grouchy or not the choice is still mine.

This reminds me...
Most of the time I have a certain genre of music playing while I write. Occasionally, I will even play the same song over and over again depending on what is going on in my head and what works for what I'm trying to write. It helps me to stay on topic. Based on what was just said about "choice" and building up character, I have selected two.

To satisfy your curiosity....




I must confess MY prejudice.
I find it hard to have a sympathetic ear and mind to those who claim Christ and yet appear to be freely choosing to do something that I, myself, have been brought to repentance of. Even those who do not place themselves under the umbrella of faith and the Bible make me uncomfortable.

Ellen Degeneres is hilarious, I know. I love her voice over in Finding Nemo. Yet I can't watch her daytime talk show for more than a few minutes. It's not disgust that I'm feeling for her. It's embarrassment. Maybe I am sympathizing a little when I look at her. Possibly, I even see myself in her.

I can only imagine Ellen and I in a conversation together. She might try to tell me that there was no choice in her actions, and it's just who she is, how she was made. I lack tolerance for that.

The answer seems illogical to my reasoning and to following my own convictions.
Some say that there is no "absolute truth" or answer. Everything is relative and/or subjective to both the person and the situation. That too doesn't make sense to me. I understand the premise and why someone might see it that way. I do believe there are "grey" areas in certain circumstances, however, not in all.
There has to be a simple truth somewhere. After all, you can't have grey if black and white don't exist. Without digging out my color wheel, I'll move on.

Trying to find the right balance between a healthy understanding of what it means to be holy without feeling contempt for those that appear to out right break the rules (sometimes waving it in front of my face) has not been an easy task.
It could be jealousy. But mostly, I find it hard to comprehend why it is that they don't see what I've seen.

I'm not trying to justify any wrong feelings or thoughts I've had for anyone holding the label of "gay". I am only sharing with you what's been in my heart. But my heart is conflicted, and that is where my sympathy stems from. That is also where my hypocrisy finds me.

Again, I'm reminded of when I visited my friend in Chicago. Emily and I went to college together. We had shared a floor in one of the dorms and I even have some pictures of her from wedding reception. We had lost touch for a few years after, but that happens a lot in adulthood.
After talking for a while through online sites (Facebook etc) and over the phone, Emily finally spilled the beans to me. She had a girlfriend.

They had been together for a couple of years by then and I...I was floored by it. I did not feel disgusted by her confession. I felt relieved, happy even. I was excited to hear that I was not alone. Finally, I had found someone that believed in God and still had these feelings.

We arranged a visit at her place for a weekend. I wasn't sure quite what to expect. I had been around "gay" men and women before, but this was different somehow. This was the first time I had heard about other Christians who were gay. I had only seen my friends rejecting their faith or trading it for a different one. This was different.

I felt giddy about spending time with her and her girlfriend. And at the same time, I thought I needed to save her.
I told myself that I was going as a friend to spend time with a friend, but I also had another agenda, to share what God had done in my life thus far. My motivations were very unbalanced and filled with mixed emotions.

My first night there we all went out to a bar. I was actually kind of hoping that she would take me to a gay bar so that I could see what her life was like. Also..to be honest, I was kind of hoping to be hit on by a lady. That didn't happen. However, I did attract affection from a certain strange man from the table next to us.
That's a story for another time.

I also had hoped that Emily would take me to see the sites of Chicago. She did not disappoint. We went to Millenium Park and saw the big shiny bean. She took me shopping in Chinatown which was something I had wanted to do for a long time. And on Sunday all three of us took a bus to what Emily refers to as "Gay Church". It turned out to just be a Methodist church in a part of Chicago that is known for their "gay" population. Entering the doors and taking my seat for the service was actually more difficult than I'd anticipated.
I worried that everyone had me pegged as an outsider and were judging me already for judging them. I thought that they knew. Like they saw me as a "gay hater".
The only thing that seemed to calm that fear in me (enough to stay in my seat) was knowing that I had something in common with them.

Even though I still have difficulty overlooking what I see as sin in their lives (and in mine), I was actually inspired by the warmth and friendliness of the congregation. Everyone wore a smile and cared so much about the other people there. When the service was over, they were not all just rushing out the door to beat the waiting line at their favorite restaurant. No, they were talking, hugging, encouraging one another. All the things that many churches that I've been to are lacking in. They even welcomed me.

I definitely think that I was seeing a stereo-type of my friend the instant that she told me she had a girlfriend. The types that live in stereo tend to be the ones on the TV and all over the news. They are the loudest. We forget...I forget about the aunt, the brother, the sister, the son, or friend and co-worker that do not live within that box. They are more than just sex maniacs. They are more than just people that dress funny. They are ...human. And we are all children in grown-up clothes.
I forget to not be everyone's referee. I forget what humility feels like.

After my trip was over, and I came back home to my world and my family, I realized that I had went to Chicago looking forward to that stereo-type Hollywood gay weekend with my friend. Nervous about it even. Instead, she made me see that she's not so much different than me.

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Maybe not as harsh as I anticipated. I'm sure more could be said, but not tonight.

Next up: "Forbidden Love"

My fight to survive a friendship with a woman that I was attracted to.

Should be interesting...I can't wait to read it!

A little different than the rest

Am I a homosexual?


Medical Dictionary
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/homosexual
1 ho·mo·sex·u·al definition
Pronunciation: /ˌhō-mə-ˈseksh-(ə-)wəl, -ˈsek-shəl/
Function: adj
1 : of, relating to, or characterized by a tendency to direct sexual desire toward individuals of one's own sex
2 : of, relating to, or involving sexual intercourse between individuals of the same sex.


I am married and sexually active with my husband. How far does number one definition extend?

I'm sure there are some that label me as bisexual. That same site defines "bisexual" with the idea of a hermaphrodite which possess both male and female sex organs. It's listed as number five.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/bisexual
5. a bisexual organism; a hermaphrodite

Yet all the other definitions seem ...fitting.

If I fit the definition then why do I fight the label?

Maybe hypocrite would be a more accurate label for me.

In my past, I was repulsed at the sight of two women kissing. If I heard someone talking about it, I would instantly become nauseous. If it was a couple of men instead...that was just wrong. And HOW COULD NO ONE SEE THAT???

Yet I had envisioned myself making out with over a dozen women throughout my youth. Why didn't I think that it was disgusting then?

Possibly because I wasn't seeing myself as a girl. In fact, I wasn't seeing myself at all.
It was a first person point of view. Even if you had held up a mirror in front of me, I still would not see what an onlooker could see in me.

Finally coming into my "womanhood" and escaping my own disbelief about my gender, forced me to face my demons.
What I saw was hideous.

I wanted to drive that monster so far into dark that no one, not even I, would know that he was still there.

It was just a past that I was running from, and very few knew about it.

I was still concerned that others could see into my dark places.

I remember being in a long distant phone conversation with a friend from college about my "change". To relieve any of her fears concerning our friendship I said to her, "Now seeing two women kiss, or for me to think about kissing another girl, is like me making out with my Mom. It's disgusting. (nervous laughter)."

I really was telling the truth at that time. I felt sick about it. I felt sick and embarrassed that I had been associated with that kind of people.

These views of my own self image and coming into the light to see my "monster" has also shed light over my own prejudice that I hold over others. More specifically, my own distaste that I contend with for the homosexual or gay community.


------------------------------- Extended Invitation -----------------------------

I have to stop here. I never know the exact direction that each post will take before I write it, but I can tell that this one will get very hostile if I continue. This post was exceptionally hard to write as it is.

Next post: Hold your breath till the end...
I promise to upset some of you.

It will be best for everyone to remember that I'm talking from my point-of-view.
It should be obvious by now that my "point-of-view" is not always one you can put your trust in.

I've always thought that the truth of ANY situation should be sought out by the person seeking it and not forced upon them.

Please come back and read.