Garrett was in my dream last night. I finally confessed to him, after all these years of keeping it secret, that I had a crush on him in Jr High and High School. ("Crush" seems like such a small word, because to me with all the memories of my feelings for him, it felt more like love.)
I told him that I knew I was kind of a dork then, but now... He took it really well, but also a little matter-of-fact. Whether it made a difference to his perspective or not, it felt good to just get it off my chest and out into the open. When I awoke, that good feeling crossed over too. Even if it wasn't the real thing, I got what I needed out of it. I let go of my secret.
"A pool of water won't reflect unless it's absolutely still." -Unknown
Dreams are sometimes reflections of ourselves. When we dream, we reflect upon our day, our week, our life. Anything from insignificant details like how we floss our teeth or what we wore to bed, to grander thoughts like meeting the love our life or the fear we have about losing a family member; these images and/or ideas that plague our mind will go on to create elaborate stories within our subconscious.
Lately, I've been watching a show consumed with dreams and the possibilities that entail through their interpretation. "Medium" is a TV series in which the title alone will raise the red flag with some people, but I find it to be entertaining. Beyond the main character's obvious psychic ability to connect with the dead or those in trouble, her powers are most seen while asleep in the bedroom. She foretells the future with her dreams, or sees the past in her nightmares. But what I really find fascinating in all of this, is that just like anyone else's dream, what she witnesses while she's asleep is not always reliable for finding meaning. They may still contain a reflection of herself entangled within. Her humanity gets in the way of seeing the truth.
Even though, I'm not a psychic or a prophetess with an ability to dream the future, I still wake up from a dream or nightmare that makes me spend some of my day gnawing over events after I wake. I wonder..."What does this dream say about me?"
"Reflection" is a mirroring of oneself, or a situation.
It's good to spend time in "reflection". Some people call it meditation, others might call it quiet time. I like to call it my "alone time". No matter what word you use, this time set aside for self-examination to gather your thoughts together -to reflect upon your life or day thus far, is as necessary as the air you breath in maintaining a healthy mind and a focused life.
It's important to me that I spend time asking all the deep hard questions, such as: "Why do I do the things I do?" or "Why do I believe that way about that?" Or sometimes just trying to figure out what is going on inside me that made me react with such strong emotions to a certain situation (i.e. a fight with my husband, a phone call with my mom or dad, or a friend who doesn't see things the same as me.)
I understand that just like looking for a deeper meaning in a dream where many times there is none, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar in life as well. Sometimes bad grades in school are just from poor study habits. Sometimes a fight between a couple is just a childish power play or raising a fist in the name of "fairness". But sometimes...many times, there is another reason hiding somewhere between the ordinary and the simple explanations.
We hide the darkness that we fear lives inside. We hide it not because we're worried about the after life, but because showing it (it= failures, faults, temptations, fears, dreams, and doubts) might ostracize us from friends, family, and the society circle that we live in. We even hide it from ourselves, believing that our acknowledgement of "it" would make it more real. And ignoring it might make it go away. We worry that our humanity might get in the way.
A time of personal reflection is good, but keep in mind that the mirror image of oneself is not a clear one until we reach out for a second opinion.
------------------------
Next post will be a continuation of this one.
Your comments will help. Thanks!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Retreat!!! Run for your lives!
Attention Facebook: I am leaving the women's group (of a place that will remain unnamed), because
1) I know bunkus about "Bunco"
And
2) I have a fear of intimacy with other women.
Recently, I was invited to a Women's Retreat that our congregation is promoting. Last year, I didn't go because of the cost of the trip. But after being comfronted about the possibility of going to this years, I remembered that money was never the real issue; Fear was.
What am I scared of?
When it comes to emotions like fear or surprise, you feel it first and experience the sensation in your body before you understand what it is that made you feel that way. This is no different. I wasn't sure why I was so hesitant, but then every time the cost would be mentioned for the trip, I would automatically tense up. Ir's because, I knew that the conference alone was not costing nearly a hundred dollars. The women speakers would only charge close to half that. The gas and hotel stay would take up the rest. And suddenly there it was again - the fear inside me. I was scared of staying in the hotel room with the other women.
When I realized the source of my reluctance to go, it didn't make very much sense to me. I've been to countless sleep overs and slumber parties...all-nighters, you name it! And I remember feeling cautious about myself, because I had been labeled certain ways before, but I'd never felt this terrified.
I don't want any of you to misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I'm scared of feeling tempted to have dirty or lustful thoughts. That is always a concern for me in my present mental and emotional state, but that is not what scares me. Even after coming all this way: from believing I was born to be a man; to embracing motherhood with the ability to be a good wife, knowing that God has fashioned me in that way. I still feel like an outsider when I'm in close-quarters with other ladies my age and older. And there is nothing more intimate in our daily schedules than to sleep within the same room with one another.
I don't have an answer to this one....
I'm open to hear YOUR thoughts on how to better understand this.
1) I know bunkus about "Bunco"
And
2) I have a fear of intimacy with other women.
Recently, I was invited to a Women's Retreat that our congregation is promoting. Last year, I didn't go because of the cost of the trip. But after being comfronted about the possibility of going to this years, I remembered that money was never the real issue; Fear was.
What am I scared of?
When it comes to emotions like fear or surprise, you feel it first and experience the sensation in your body before you understand what it is that made you feel that way. This is no different. I wasn't sure why I was so hesitant, but then every time the cost would be mentioned for the trip, I would automatically tense up. Ir's because, I knew that the conference alone was not costing nearly a hundred dollars. The women speakers would only charge close to half that. The gas and hotel stay would take up the rest. And suddenly there it was again - the fear inside me. I was scared of staying in the hotel room with the other women.
When I realized the source of my reluctance to go, it didn't make very much sense to me. I've been to countless sleep overs and slumber parties...all-nighters, you name it! And I remember feeling cautious about myself, because I had been labeled certain ways before, but I'd never felt this terrified.
I don't want any of you to misunderstand me. I'm not saying that I'm scared of feeling tempted to have dirty or lustful thoughts. That is always a concern for me in my present mental and emotional state, but that is not what scares me. Even after coming all this way: from believing I was born to be a man; to embracing motherhood with the ability to be a good wife, knowing that God has fashioned me in that way. I still feel like an outsider when I'm in close-quarters with other ladies my age and older. And there is nothing more intimate in our daily schedules than to sleep within the same room with one another.
I don't have an answer to this one....
I'm open to hear YOUR thoughts on how to better understand this.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Memoirs of a suicide victim
What time can't do, love will.
Remember the expression, "There's not enough time in the world"? There's never enough time in a day, in a week, month, or year; it seems, to get done what you want to accomplish and still have those moments to breathe in deep. And yet sometimes you enter a period of life when the days seem eternal, keeping you prisoner to the skin you're living in.
I had an uncle David. The memory will forever be imprinted inside my head. The feelings of hurt, helplessness, and hatred toward his actions have left their scars on my heart.
I'd like to say I knew him well, but I didn't. Most of my memories of my uncle consist of him sitting on my grandma's couch and smoking a cigarette before heading off to work at the hospital. My mom had talked about him while I was growing up, and that is where most of my knowledge of uncle David stems from -hearsay. What I heard was eye-opening.
David's dad (my grandfather) died while he was still in high school from a heart attack. David complained to my mom many times that his dad had been abusive in his anger to him. My mom, of course, denies that anything horrible ever happened inside that home. She remembers her father to be a respectable and loving man. My mom also let it slip to me later on that my uncle had thought himself a homosexual at one time, possibly having male lovers...no one would know for sure. David grew up in the church, but it had been over 20 years since he stepped inside a church building. He had tried to find help, to find counsel with the minister of the congregation when he was a teen and confided in this man about his emotions and homosexual attraction. My mother tells me that things seemed to be looking up for him after that. David was becoming more involved in the youth group and appeared genuinely interested in conquering these "obstacles" in his life, until... he was betrayed.
David signed up to be a part of a routine mission trip to another country. A mission trip that all other three of his siblings had taken before him, but one thing would stand in his way. The preacher (his confidant) was listed as one of his three references on his application. He ended up writing a letter that not only "outed" David as a struggling homosexual, but also strongly recommended that he should NOT be allowed to go on this trip. David somehow got wind of this letter and what had been said, and immediately closed the door on the church forever. Later, he would have a fiance' and she would end up leaving him because he didn't engage in sex with her before marriage. It was told to me that all she really wanted was a baby from him anyway. But all this happened before my time. Still, my mom had no idea just what kind of connection she was personally orchestrating between my uncle and I through her gossip-like stories.
I would never have the guts to approach him about these stories until I was well into my third year in college.
Every year at the Christian college that I attended, they would have a break in the spring that would not be called Spring Break. They called it Week of Evangelism (aka Week of E.). Many students would just go home or do their "own thing" just like any other school break. But some would go on various student lead or sometimes professor lead trips to help out other churches in other countries or in other states inside our own. My grandmother was sick, and had been spending a lot of time in the hospital, so I decided to go see her. Knowing that my uncle David lived with her, I considered using this opportunity to open up those doors of conversation that no one in my family had dared to. I wanted to help. I wanted to tell him that I understood. I wanted to express the connection that I felt that I shared with him all these years. Mostly, I wanted him to know that he was loved, because I always got the distinct feeling that he never felt that from anyone else in his life. My heart was in torment to talk to him. I needed to go. So I did, and I took a friend with me (Drew).
Uncle David had been threatening suicide for a couple of years. My mom would cry on the phone to him not to talk like that, but I doubted that anyone by this time was taking his words very seriously. When I arrived at my uncle's doorstep to spend the night, he greeted me at the door by saying that my grandma had passed away while I'd been traveling to get there. My heart felt crushed in that moment. All these thoughts of regret of time lost and opportunities to call or write to her that I had passed up, felt suffocating.
My uncle David snapped me out of my grief, by telling me that he would understand if I wanted to turn around and head back now, or to stay with my uncle Steve instead of him.
I wanted to say, "Oh you silly man, don't you know? I'm here to see you. God sent me to you."
No, I really wanted to laugh hysterically (because I was feeling a little hysterical). Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course not. I'm here to spend time with you too."
I spent the whole week at his tiny apartment. We went to the funeral together. We went to the grave site together, and all of the special arranged family events, but none of it seemed like a good opportunity to approach him about his life or mine. I don't know what I was waiting for. Perhaps a sunbeam from heaven, or a dove landing on his shoulder. I was scared. What if the stories were just stories? What if he denied it? What if he got mad?
I knew something was wrong. He kept wanting to go back to her grave over and over again. It was more than just grief and tears that needed to be released. I think he was envious of her. We finally shared a moment in his car together one night before I had to leave. I told him that it was ok to be mad at God for letting his mom die. I wanted him to know that it was alright and normal to feel that way. He told me that God doesn't control these sort of things. He said that these things just happen and God can't do anything about it, so why would he be angry with Him? I shook my head, because I knew that was not true. I said, "Nothing is impossible with God." Then I got more out of my comfort zone by singing a special song to him that I wanted to share.
I'm not sure if anything I did or said meant anything. I left that Texas town feeling confident that God had a purpose for it all. He had sent me there, and I had followed his leading.
Three days later, my phone is ringing off the hook and I just want to take a nap in between classes. but the message finally got to me that day. It was a Wednesday; I'll never forget it. They told me he shot himself not in the head, but with the barrel pointed straight at his heart. I remember thinking, how poetic of him, and then how bastardly selfish of him. Then that frustration turned toward God saying, "What the heck, God?! What was the point??" My feelings for my uncle continued to go south. I felt like I wanted to kill him (if he wasn't already dead). So many swear words come to mind, but I won't list them here.
I was so angry with him, and I still am a little. But those claws started to retract a bit when I heard of the lack of care and respect that his family was showing him. Even in death, he was receiving second-hand love. Even in death, they gave him little if any respect. The comments that were made were mostly about his debts that he left behind. And I can't even imagine what his life was like. Is it really any wonder that he felt so motivated to take it? Is it really?
I've felt suicidal before, but only in the heat of the moment. I can only imagine (thank God) what it must be like to live in that moment all day, every day. And I don't know what else to say about all of this.
Except love heals. No one is to blame for anybody's suicide, but just because we are not to blame doesn't keep us from falling victim to its destruction. Love can be the prevention.
Sincerity of that love can mend what time of constant wear and tear has made broken. Notice I said "can". But if there's something that can be done....
For those that want it, here's a special challenge (I am challenging myself too) make a list of people, write it down, those close to you and those not so much, who are way over due for some attention from you or from anyone. If you are having trouble then just think of someone who is angry all the time. People tend to be grumpy for a reason. Think of those people in your life that might as well be the hanging on the wall or the doorstop, because they seem so unimportant. I understand we all need to be loved, but I think what you and I forget is that many of us have our sources of love, while many others have their many sources of heartache and affliction.
If you are that person, and your life feels like a prison. I can assure you that there is more than just help out there for you.
There is love.
Back to the challenge: You've got your list. Memorize it, pray over it, sleep with it ....Invest yourself in these people. Before anyone will believe that they are important in your life, you must believe it yourself.
The next part is simple but not easy, because we all have our busy lives with our busy schedules...families, work, etc. But remember how important that love is to you in your own life and maybe that will help.
Last Step: Plan out time each week to show that love to someone on your list. This could mean a phone call, an email or special text ( written letters tend to last longer though -Hint Hint) a hug, a talk at lunch, ..be creative/ but be real. If you are stumped on what to do, than I would suggest you think about what would mean the most to you. What would brighten your day? Yeah, do that.
Love heals.
Let the love begin.
(If anyone would like to contact me: kaytmasterson@gmail.com) Also, for info on suicide prevention or causes you might be interested in visiting http://www.twloha.com/ .
Remember the expression, "There's not enough time in the world"? There's never enough time in a day, in a week, month, or year; it seems, to get done what you want to accomplish and still have those moments to breathe in deep. And yet sometimes you enter a period of life when the days seem eternal, keeping you prisoner to the skin you're living in.
I had an uncle David. The memory will forever be imprinted inside my head. The feelings of hurt, helplessness, and hatred toward his actions have left their scars on my heart.
I'd like to say I knew him well, but I didn't. Most of my memories of my uncle consist of him sitting on my grandma's couch and smoking a cigarette before heading off to work at the hospital. My mom had talked about him while I was growing up, and that is where most of my knowledge of uncle David stems from -hearsay. What I heard was eye-opening.
David's dad (my grandfather) died while he was still in high school from a heart attack. David complained to my mom many times that his dad had been abusive in his anger to him. My mom, of course, denies that anything horrible ever happened inside that home. She remembers her father to be a respectable and loving man. My mom also let it slip to me later on that my uncle had thought himself a homosexual at one time, possibly having male lovers...no one would know for sure. David grew up in the church, but it had been over 20 years since he stepped inside a church building. He had tried to find help, to find counsel with the minister of the congregation when he was a teen and confided in this man about his emotions and homosexual attraction. My mother tells me that things seemed to be looking up for him after that. David was becoming more involved in the youth group and appeared genuinely interested in conquering these "obstacles" in his life, until... he was betrayed.
David signed up to be a part of a routine mission trip to another country. A mission trip that all other three of his siblings had taken before him, but one thing would stand in his way. The preacher (his confidant) was listed as one of his three references on his application. He ended up writing a letter that not only "outed" David as a struggling homosexual, but also strongly recommended that he should NOT be allowed to go on this trip. David somehow got wind of this letter and what had been said, and immediately closed the door on the church forever. Later, he would have a fiance' and she would end up leaving him because he didn't engage in sex with her before marriage. It was told to me that all she really wanted was a baby from him anyway. But all this happened before my time. Still, my mom had no idea just what kind of connection she was personally orchestrating between my uncle and I through her gossip-like stories.
I would never have the guts to approach him about these stories until I was well into my third year in college.
Every year at the Christian college that I attended, they would have a break in the spring that would not be called Spring Break. They called it Week of Evangelism (aka Week of E.). Many students would just go home or do their "own thing" just like any other school break. But some would go on various student lead or sometimes professor lead trips to help out other churches in other countries or in other states inside our own. My grandmother was sick, and had been spending a lot of time in the hospital, so I decided to go see her. Knowing that my uncle David lived with her, I considered using this opportunity to open up those doors of conversation that no one in my family had dared to. I wanted to help. I wanted to tell him that I understood. I wanted to express the connection that I felt that I shared with him all these years. Mostly, I wanted him to know that he was loved, because I always got the distinct feeling that he never felt that from anyone else in his life. My heart was in torment to talk to him. I needed to go. So I did, and I took a friend with me (Drew).
Uncle David had been threatening suicide for a couple of years. My mom would cry on the phone to him not to talk like that, but I doubted that anyone by this time was taking his words very seriously. When I arrived at my uncle's doorstep to spend the night, he greeted me at the door by saying that my grandma had passed away while I'd been traveling to get there. My heart felt crushed in that moment. All these thoughts of regret of time lost and opportunities to call or write to her that I had passed up, felt suffocating.
My uncle David snapped me out of my grief, by telling me that he would understand if I wanted to turn around and head back now, or to stay with my uncle Steve instead of him.
I wanted to say, "Oh you silly man, don't you know? I'm here to see you. God sent me to you."
No, I really wanted to laugh hysterically (because I was feeling a little hysterical). Instead, I smiled and said, "Of course not. I'm here to spend time with you too."
I spent the whole week at his tiny apartment. We went to the funeral together. We went to the grave site together, and all of the special arranged family events, but none of it seemed like a good opportunity to approach him about his life or mine. I don't know what I was waiting for. Perhaps a sunbeam from heaven, or a dove landing on his shoulder. I was scared. What if the stories were just stories? What if he denied it? What if he got mad?
I knew something was wrong. He kept wanting to go back to her grave over and over again. It was more than just grief and tears that needed to be released. I think he was envious of her. We finally shared a moment in his car together one night before I had to leave. I told him that it was ok to be mad at God for letting his mom die. I wanted him to know that it was alright and normal to feel that way. He told me that God doesn't control these sort of things. He said that these things just happen and God can't do anything about it, so why would he be angry with Him? I shook my head, because I knew that was not true. I said, "Nothing is impossible with God." Then I got more out of my comfort zone by singing a special song to him that I wanted to share.
I'm not sure if anything I did or said meant anything. I left that Texas town feeling confident that God had a purpose for it all. He had sent me there, and I had followed his leading.
Three days later, my phone is ringing off the hook and I just want to take a nap in between classes. but the message finally got to me that day. It was a Wednesday; I'll never forget it. They told me he shot himself not in the head, but with the barrel pointed straight at his heart. I remember thinking, how poetic of him, and then how bastardly selfish of him. Then that frustration turned toward God saying, "What the heck, God?! What was the point??" My feelings for my uncle continued to go south. I felt like I wanted to kill him (if he wasn't already dead). So many swear words come to mind, but I won't list them here.
I was so angry with him, and I still am a little. But those claws started to retract a bit when I heard of the lack of care and respect that his family was showing him. Even in death, he was receiving second-hand love. Even in death, they gave him little if any respect. The comments that were made were mostly about his debts that he left behind. And I can't even imagine what his life was like. Is it really any wonder that he felt so motivated to take it? Is it really?
I've felt suicidal before, but only in the heat of the moment. I can only imagine (thank God) what it must be like to live in that moment all day, every day. And I don't know what else to say about all of this.
Except love heals. No one is to blame for anybody's suicide, but just because we are not to blame doesn't keep us from falling victim to its destruction. Love can be the prevention.
Sincerity of that love can mend what time of constant wear and tear has made broken. Notice I said "can". But if there's something that can be done....
For those that want it, here's a special challenge (I am challenging myself too) make a list of people, write it down, those close to you and those not so much, who are way over due for some attention from you or from anyone. If you are having trouble then just think of someone who is angry all the time. People tend to be grumpy for a reason. Think of those people in your life that might as well be the hanging on the wall or the doorstop, because they seem so unimportant. I understand we all need to be loved, but I think what you and I forget is that many of us have our sources of love, while many others have their many sources of heartache and affliction.
If you are that person, and your life feels like a prison. I can assure you that there is more than just help out there for you.
There is love.
Back to the challenge: You've got your list. Memorize it, pray over it, sleep with it ....Invest yourself in these people. Before anyone will believe that they are important in your life, you must believe it yourself.
The next part is simple but not easy, because we all have our busy lives with our busy schedules...families, work, etc. But remember how important that love is to you in your own life and maybe that will help.
Last Step: Plan out time each week to show that love to someone on your list. This could mean a phone call, an email or special text ( written letters tend to last longer though -Hint Hint) a hug, a talk at lunch, ..be creative/ but be real. If you are stumped on what to do, than I would suggest you think about what would mean the most to you. What would brighten your day? Yeah, do that.
Love heals.
Let the love begin.
(If anyone would like to contact me: kaytmasterson@gmail.com) Also, for info on suicide prevention or causes you might be interested in visiting http://www.twloha.com/ .
Monday, April 18, 2011
I'm pro choice
There are some things that can't be avoided. Yet there are many situations where the choice is ours to make.
I had intended to start this post out with a quote by a famous 20th Century poet. The quote itself is excellent and to the point, but the poet and her life is a different story entirely. I like words, almost as much as I like music. Words are powerful. It may not be true that the pen is mightier than the sword, but for certain they both can be just as effective.
Adrienne Rich, now a renown lesbian movement phenom, had many choices to make. According to an Internet biography, she is the daughter of Arnold Rice Rich who was a professor of medicine at Johns Hopkins Medical School. Born around the 1930's, her feminism had many obstacles to overcome before it became full swing. For one, her father was hoping to groom her to be a pathologist or something similar to his own profession. Her second "obstacle",was her family's Christian values and beliefs concerning matters of the home. Which (according to her own words) led her to believe that she needed to marry to become a more acceptable and successful woman in the world.
"I married in part because I knew no better way to disconnect from my first family [...] I wanted what I saw as a full woman's life, whatever was possible."
Marrying didn't hold her back much from her mission of self discovery and pushing the limits of society through her written words. In the meantime, she gave birth three times to boys. But the mother of three sons kept digging and chipping away through any means that she could muster. Adrienne was said to be an extremist in the anti-war effort during Vietnam. Her home was used as a gathering place for many Black Panther meetings. While she fought all these grand battles against "The Man" and the system, her husband was losing his mind,; believing that she had lost hers already. Alfred Conrad finally was divorced from her in the 70's, which became his final trigger to take his own life soon after.
Adrienne continues her life and sexual exploration seemingly not mourning her late husband as any form of loss. Her success continues to this day through her many published works.
This story makes me sick to my stomach. Not because she's a lesbian now, or because she was a pillar in the feminism movement; but for her lack of concern for anyone around her. I understand that some people will read about her life and become inspired to break free of their own chains that hold them back, but I see something different.
I see myself.
I've never seen the movie Brokeback Mountain, but I have been tempted to - just from curiosity. From what I've heard of the movie and seen in the trailers, these two men who find love in their eyes for each other, both have wives waiting at home for them...trusting them to be the faithful men that they promised to be. To me, that doesn't make for an entertaining movie.
The whole idea of branching out and "finding yourself" is very popular today, and for good reason. It's powerful. It's self indulgent nature, to run away as far as you need to go and to push as hard as you need to push and trample down the ones who deserve to be trampled because they got in your way of finding your happily ever after, is very appealing. It's compelling and attractive ....until you open your eyes and become resensitized to the lives that you've hurt in the name of "I".
I visited another church this past Sunday. It was a small congregation full of younger attractive men and women. There was only one person that came to say "hello". When she introduced herself, I was preoccupied thinking about my sticky hands from my kids donuts that they had grabbed before the service, that I didn't hear her name. It was a casual conversation and I honestly didn't feel much about it, even after realizing how beautiful the woman was sitting next to me. Everyone has a "type" and she fit the description for mine; I knew it and brushed it aside. Before I excused myself to the bathroom to wash off the mess still on my fingers, I thought to ask for her name again. I hesitated because for a split second, I was unsure of "why" I wanted to know. So I walked away... Later that morning, she was in my line of sight again, and I experienced what men would refer to as a "turn on" or in the world of Wayne (aka Wayne's World), a "shwing". This happens a lot when I'm around attractive ladies, and I feel awkward and ashamed every time. I cannot deny that I like feeling that way though. That kind of physical stimuli is important to me. Is it important enough to act on it and leave my family in the dust just to experience more? Absolutely not!
But that is MY choice.
I had intended to start this post out with a quote by a famous 20th Century poet. The quote itself is excellent and to the point, but the poet and her life is a different story entirely. I like words, almost as much as I like music. Words are powerful. It may not be true that the pen is mightier than the sword, but for certain they both can be just as effective.
Adrienne Rich, now a renown lesbian movement phenom, had many choices to make. According to an Internet biography, she is the daughter of Arnold Rice Rich who was a professor of medicine at Johns Hopkins Medical School. Born around the 1930's, her feminism had many obstacles to overcome before it became full swing. For one, her father was hoping to groom her to be a pathologist or something similar to his own profession. Her second "obstacle",was her family's Christian values and beliefs concerning matters of the home. Which (according to her own words) led her to believe that she needed to marry to become a more acceptable and successful woman in the world.
"I married in part because I knew no better way to disconnect from my first family [...] I wanted what I saw as a full woman's life, whatever was possible."
Marrying didn't hold her back much from her mission of self discovery and pushing the limits of society through her written words. In the meantime, she gave birth three times to boys. But the mother of three sons kept digging and chipping away through any means that she could muster. Adrienne was said to be an extremist in the anti-war effort during Vietnam. Her home was used as a gathering place for many Black Panther meetings. While she fought all these grand battles against "The Man" and the system, her husband was losing his mind,; believing that she had lost hers already. Alfred Conrad finally was divorced from her in the 70's, which became his final trigger to take his own life soon after.
Adrienne continues her life and sexual exploration seemingly not mourning her late husband as any form of loss. Her success continues to this day through her many published works.
This story makes me sick to my stomach. Not because she's a lesbian now, or because she was a pillar in the feminism movement; but for her lack of concern for anyone around her. I understand that some people will read about her life and become inspired to break free of their own chains that hold them back, but I see something different.
I see myself.
I've never seen the movie Brokeback Mountain, but I have been tempted to - just from curiosity. From what I've heard of the movie and seen in the trailers, these two men who find love in their eyes for each other, both have wives waiting at home for them...trusting them to be the faithful men that they promised to be. To me, that doesn't make for an entertaining movie.
The whole idea of branching out and "finding yourself" is very popular today, and for good reason. It's powerful. It's self indulgent nature, to run away as far as you need to go and to push as hard as you need to push and trample down the ones who deserve to be trampled because they got in your way of finding your happily ever after, is very appealing. It's compelling and attractive ....until you open your eyes and become resensitized to the lives that you've hurt in the name of "I".
I visited another church this past Sunday. It was a small congregation full of younger attractive men and women. There was only one person that came to say "hello". When she introduced herself, I was preoccupied thinking about my sticky hands from my kids donuts that they had grabbed before the service, that I didn't hear her name. It was a casual conversation and I honestly didn't feel much about it, even after realizing how beautiful the woman was sitting next to me. Everyone has a "type" and she fit the description for mine; I knew it and brushed it aside. Before I excused myself to the bathroom to wash off the mess still on my fingers, I thought to ask for her name again. I hesitated because for a split second, I was unsure of "why" I wanted to know. So I walked away... Later that morning, she was in my line of sight again, and I experienced what men would refer to as a "turn on" or in the world of Wayne (aka Wayne's World), a "shwing". This happens a lot when I'm around attractive ladies, and I feel awkward and ashamed every time. I cannot deny that I like feeling that way though. That kind of physical stimuli is important to me. Is it important enough to act on it and leave my family in the dust just to experience more? Absolutely not!
But that is MY choice.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
I was thinking....
It's been awhile since I stepped in front of a car ...I think I should write a new one. I'll be typing it up tomorrow morning. So check back on your lunch break.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Perfectly Imperfect and proud of it
I have observed the power of the watermelon seed. It has the power of drawing from the ground and through itself 200,000 times its weight. When you can tell me how it takes this material and out of it colors an outside surface beyond the imitation of art and then forms inside of it a white rind and within that again a red heart, thickly inlaid with black seeds each one of which in turn is capable of drawing through itself 200,000 times its weight - when you can explain to me the mystery of a watermelon, you can ask me to explain the mystery of God. ~William Jennings Bryan
We are all created perfectly imperfect. God thinks I'm useful, but I feel like the biggest screw-up that has walked the earth. I remember that Paul who wrote the majority of the New Testament in the Bible, characterized himself in a similar way. So do we all think we are the worst of the worst?
"It seems that my greatest argument is denial."
One of the readers wrote back to me asking what exactly I was denying? I prefaced my answer by saying that what I meant by "denial" was more like living in the state of, rather than just denying one thing or another. More to the point, I live within my own set of expectations that I place upon myself, and assume that those beliefs about me are equal to God's.
How is it even possible that I would expect more from me than God, Himself?
I have believed that the show of my life should look spotless with my obedience to God and His will. When I fall short, I beat myself down; not just for my "sin" but because of my imperfection. My imperfect nature causes me constant frustration and self-ridicule. I don't mean to argue with God about anything, but when I consider myself only created to fail, that's exactly what I'm doing.
I'm still fighting off the ghosts of my past. I know that reprogramming takes time. I am beginning to realize how unnecessary it is to hate myself over that, when my expectations in God and myself are not met.
If God tells me to "Jump" or if He tells me to "Stay" in my troubled marriage or if He says "Keep on living" when I feel like giving up because I failed again....I need to remember that He is God and He will have His way, whether I argue with Him or not.
God, understanding this imperfect nature and my impulses to do things the wrong way, still chooses me for His work. He still wants me, to love ....and then to love Him.
We are all created perfectly imperfect. God thinks I'm useful, but I feel like the biggest screw-up that has walked the earth. I remember that Paul who wrote the majority of the New Testament in the Bible, characterized himself in a similar way. So do we all think we are the worst of the worst?
"It seems that my greatest argument is denial."
One of the readers wrote back to me asking what exactly I was denying? I prefaced my answer by saying that what I meant by "denial" was more like living in the state of, rather than just denying one thing or another. More to the point, I live within my own set of expectations that I place upon myself, and assume that those beliefs about me are equal to God's.
How is it even possible that I would expect more from me than God, Himself?
I have believed that the show of my life should look spotless with my obedience to God and His will. When I fall short, I beat myself down; not just for my "sin" but because of my imperfection. My imperfect nature causes me constant frustration and self-ridicule. I don't mean to argue with God about anything, but when I consider myself only created to fail, that's exactly what I'm doing.
I'm still fighting off the ghosts of my past. I know that reprogramming takes time. I am beginning to realize how unnecessary it is to hate myself over that, when my expectations in God and myself are not met.
If God tells me to "Jump" or if He tells me to "Stay" in my troubled marriage or if He says "Keep on living" when I feel like giving up because I failed again....I need to remember that He is God and He will have His way, whether I argue with Him or not.
God, understanding this imperfect nature and my impulses to do things the wrong way, still chooses me for His work. He still wants me, to love ....and then to love Him.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I AM the greatest
I expect so much from myself, yet I trust myself with so little.
Getting down to it, I always thought that if God says "Jump!" Your response should be "How high?" if not just to jump immediately. And if you think yourself unable to perform said action, for example (given the analogy) you are a cripple, your response should be the same. BECAUSE He's God! Who can argue with Him? ......Who am I to argue with Him?
Arguing with God... that reminds me of many "greats" written about in the Bible.
There was Jonah, probably the most common arguer remembered. He argued because he believed that God WOULD do the unthinkable or impossible, and he didn't want that to happen. God had to send a large mouth to talk some better sense to him. And even though Jonah eventually obeyed God's command, his heart never seemed to change.
I think most people forget that Moses argued with God. Before he became known for the Ten Commandments and the Twelve Plagues, Moses was a fugitive and a runaway. When God approached him about the mission "Save Israel", Moses had already made a life for himself and was happy and content to live out his days in it. He understood who God was and his position that he deserved, at His feet. He didn't understand why God would ask him to leave where he was at peace, to go and start a war with Egypt. More specifically, Moses argued that you got the wrong guy, God. Saying, "Surely YOU can do better than me!" So God said "Fine! Would it make you feel better, if I gave you an assistant?".
God wasn't budging from his plan to send Moses or Jonah, and he found the right ways to make them understand that.
The last character that comes to mind is Peter. Simon Peter had the balls to argue with God right to His face. Jesus gave Peter his horoscope and Peter said, "No way! I would never. You're wrong God!" To put it simply, Peter argued whether God really knew him better than he knew himself. In the end, fear and/or embarrassment won out over what Pete knew was right. The power of a moment and the loss of logical thought processes that goes with, was proven true right there with him. God knew he would fail, and told him so. Peter believed himself to be better than that though, even though that required him to debate with what he believed was the son of God.
These are the "greats" folks. Yet here I sit, expecting more from myself than them.
It seems that my greatest argument is denial.
--------------------------------
I would like to do a follow up post on this. Please keep checking back for that!
Getting down to it, I always thought that if God says "Jump!" Your response should be "How high?" if not just to jump immediately. And if you think yourself unable to perform said action, for example (given the analogy) you are a cripple, your response should be the same. BECAUSE He's God! Who can argue with Him? ......Who am I to argue with Him?
Arguing with God... that reminds me of many "greats" written about in the Bible.
There was Jonah, probably the most common arguer remembered. He argued because he believed that God WOULD do the unthinkable or impossible, and he didn't want that to happen. God had to send a large mouth to talk some better sense to him. And even though Jonah eventually obeyed God's command, his heart never seemed to change.
I think most people forget that Moses argued with God. Before he became known for the Ten Commandments and the Twelve Plagues, Moses was a fugitive and a runaway. When God approached him about the mission "Save Israel", Moses had already made a life for himself and was happy and content to live out his days in it. He understood who God was and his position that he deserved, at His feet. He didn't understand why God would ask him to leave where he was at peace, to go and start a war with Egypt. More specifically, Moses argued that you got the wrong guy, God. Saying, "Surely YOU can do better than me!" So God said "Fine! Would it make you feel better, if I gave you an assistant?".
God wasn't budging from his plan to send Moses or Jonah, and he found the right ways to make them understand that.
The last character that comes to mind is Peter. Simon Peter had the balls to argue with God right to His face. Jesus gave Peter his horoscope and Peter said, "No way! I would never. You're wrong God!" To put it simply, Peter argued whether God really knew him better than he knew himself. In the end, fear and/or embarrassment won out over what Pete knew was right. The power of a moment and the loss of logical thought processes that goes with, was proven true right there with him. God knew he would fail, and told him so. Peter believed himself to be better than that though, even though that required him to debate with what he believed was the son of God.
These are the "greats" folks. Yet here I sit, expecting more from myself than them.
It seems that my greatest argument is denial.
--------------------------------
I would like to do a follow up post on this. Please keep checking back for that!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Gay/Bi/Lesbian or Straight - I was born this way
I handed my MP3 player off to my husband, and forgot that he had it when I drove away. So I was, in turn, "forced" to listen to the Top 40 over the radio on the way home. This song by Lady Gaga was number 15 this week.
Your thoughts?
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