I'm ordinary with special needs.

I want to believe that I am special to God.  I know all about the lost sheep story and about Christ's death and resurrection.  I know that He goes to the extremes out of love for me.  But I also know that He loves everyone enough to do the same.   What makes me different?  What makes me noticeable?  Because I want Him to notice me. 
I know that each person is unique and "special" in their own way, but that doesn't satisfy my desire to excel; the desire to strive for God's special attention. 
I think we all have this competitive nature in us; some more extreme than others.  You could say to be human is to compete.  The desire towards being the best is lived out in many forms in our life: work, school,  the entertainment industry, family, our hobbies, sports (of course), and even in the ability to manage our fiances - how much we have determines our status to the rest of the world. 

"I want Him to notice me."  I sound like Zacchaeus...(was a wee little man).  I sound foolish, selfish even.  When I studied the book of Hebrews in college I was mesmerized by chapter 11, which was referred to as "The Hall of Faith".  I knew that all people mentioned there were sinners just like me, but something was different about their life.  God had taken special notice and had their lives (mistakes and all) recorded.  As futile as it sounds, I found myself jealous of David.  The man who was said to have favor with the Lord, a man after God's own heart.   And I didn't want to be like Christ, I wanted to be like David because I wanted God to pay special attention to me. 

Job had special attention....  Ok, let's skip him.

I don't know if it's right or wrong.  But I just feel so lost in the crowd when it comes to God and me. 

Everyone keeps saying, "Let God's love be enough."  How do I do that?  When all I can think of is I'm just another Jane in this world.  Just another sheep that the shepherd loves.    (This is why polygamy doesn't work, fellas.)  We all want to feel special to someone.    I want to feel special to God. 

It wasn't always this way.  I used to believe.  I was so certain that God had a specific special purpose for my life to further His kingdom.  Someone somewhere down the line woke me up from that dream, and  I just want to get it back again.  How do you become naive after you're not?  It makes  having "faith like a child" seem like an impossibility.  We are told as children that we need to "grow up!", so that's what we do.  It's hard to imagine that we had a better chance at understanding the nature of God and His relationship to the universe at the age where we still wet the bed at night. 

In the upper room there was a discussion between Jesus and His disciples. As if Jesus didn't have enough on His plate, but His friends decided to bicker over who was His "BFF".

"Jesus said to them, 'The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors.  But you are not to be like that.  Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves.  For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves?  Is it not the one who is at the table?  But I am among you as one who serves.  You are those who have stood by me in my trials.  And I confer on you a kingdom, just as my Father conferred one on me, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.'" (Luke 22:25-30)

I like to serve others.  I get a personal joy from doing little and big jobs for people.  I believe that I would go to the ugliest smelliest most uncomfortable place imaginable for God, if He wanted me to.  The hardest thing for me to do is to live a life of mediocrity.  The proverbial question: "What if God asks you to live well and serve just where you are?"  No more, no less...  Would I feel special to Him through the everyday American middle class routine, serving just where I am?
All I know is I want God to fill in this hole in my heart with a purpose bigger than myself, bigger than the pain and all the lies left behind.  If it is wrong to look for it anywhere else, I need that kind of attention from Him. 

Yeah, What she said

This is a question that was posted in a forum I was reading.  Although not all of the details of her situation are the same; I really connected with the relationship that she describes with her fiance.
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"I'm a 27f and my fiance is 24. We've been together for almost 6 years this May. Sex has been great in the past, not as much as I would like it but acceptable I guess. For the past few months he hasn't tried anything at all and blames me most of the time. He says you fell asleep or it didn't seem like you wanted it. Well I can't be staying up till 3am waiting for him to try something. And when I try he says he's too tired, happens almost everytime. I got all dressed up in lingerie the other nite lookin my best. He complimented on how sexy and beautiful I looked but again he went to sleep. To me he didn't show interest like he used too. We have been through a lot though. But I feel that should not have anything to do with sex. I don' think its a sexual issue though. I feel even when we hang out at home that things aren't the same. All he does is watch tv while I stay at the computer. I stay at the computer because I don't feel wanted by him. I think he thinks I don't want him either. Its just gotten really boring. He said that to me the other day. He said that when people have been together for as long as we have that its normal for things to get boring. I don't think he meant it to hurt me because I somewhat agree but I can't help to think if he was meaning something by saying that. It hurt. I'm not a boring girl. I like to go out and I like getting dressed up for him. I love sex all the time if I could get it. I know when I leave he puts on a movie and gets off without me. Thats really messed up though. I've had to do it without him because i'm not getting any which sucks sometimes. I'm bi and this girl is trying to meet up with me. I'm more temepted than ever. He knows i'm bi. He doesn't know i'm talking to this girl though. I want to tell him but I don't know if I should because that can open a can of worms about our relationship. He might wonder why i'm trying to meet another girl. Then he'll pull a guilt trip on me or something. What do you all think? Do I have the right to wanna hook up with this girl? Does my fiance still want me sexually? I'm so confused and need advice."


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Luckily, the last part of her post is not a problem for me.  But I'm sure that if I was ever put into a place where I would be tempted by a relationship with a woman, I might feel just as confused about it.   (Sorry, if the sound of that makes some of you go "WHAT??!" or think poorly of me....I'm just being honest.) 
 
I posted this because I wanted to hear some feedback about what you might say in response to this woman's confusion.

Let your light shine through

In my last post, I talked about the image that I saw in myself.  I mentioned that throughout H.S. I dated guys because it boosted my self-esteem, but only to have it crushed when I would realized that I still was not good enough to be seen by the ones that I wanted to look at me.
I simply was not made to be beautiful.

After High School graduation, my folks moved on to a new house in a new state, and I was forced to follow.  I had never even traveled this far north before and now, everything I had worked for (my reputation, my friends, my hangouts, my job..) it was all taken away.  I was starting over again.  I was starting fresh.  And after the summer was over, I would start college. 

If it wasn't soccer, then pool was my game.  Not swimming, billiards.  I knew that if I could find a pool hall in this town then I could make some new friends (aka. dates to fuel my self-esteem again).  I was used to getting guy's attention, in an environment where I was the only female available. 
Naturally, I would go in alone.  I would scan the room for prospects and then would proceed to start playing a game - solo.   It wouldn't take long before I would have a partner for the next game.  I looked at them like they were suckers, paying for my games, my drinks, my attention, my FUN...but down deep inside, past my stubborn pride, I knew who the real sucker would be.  Because without fail there was always that one guy that I would spot, and immediately I would know that he was much too good for me.  Even if he wasn't marriage material, his looks said that he would never even second glance at me.   That pool hall in Illinois was the first to break that rule.  And I quickly found myself in too deep before I knew it was happening. 
The physical attraction was so intense that all my virtues of waiting for marriage, was quickly being forgotten.  What would hold me back in the end, was my own insecurities.  I was still afraid that something about my body would turn him off of me. 

Jesse was one of those special guys.  I still have fond memories of him.  He was just as confused as I was, but in a whole nother way.  Jesse was a self-confessed sex addict.  I wasn't really sure what that meant when he told me, but I knew that I must be just another set of legs to him.  When I wasn't working the late shift, I would tell my parents that I was, and then sneak off to see Jesse.  I was afraid of him, and afraid of me, but I also wanted to indulge and push the limits a little bit.  Jesse was what people might call "cut" he had the pretty face to match the muscles too.  And I knew by the way he talked, that I was just one of many women that had noticed his beautiful body.  That fact left me feeling insecure, even in our flimsy dating relationship that we were in.  I wanted more from him.  I wanted to be special to him. 

Jesse wasn't a Christian.  Far from it, in fact.  When I told him that I was going to a Christian college, he asked me if I was going to be a nun. (uh...no.)  My connection with God was still a very high priority, and although my selfish desires had clouded my good intentions; I still really wanted to share my faith with Jesse.  We talked in depth about his search for a higher power.  I could tell that he longed for something more to this life.  Even with the sheltered view that he had of the world, he knew that without something good, all that's left is the bad.  He was searching for God.  He told me that he was waiting for a "sign" to believe.  Sadly, I had to say good-bye and go to school.  Jesse had decided to join the Job Corp.  I had hoped that I would be that "sign" he was looking for.  Instead, we went our separate ways sad and slightly annoyed with one another because of the faith based coversations. 

I was in the middle of my second semester sophomore year, when I got an unexpected letter delivered to me.  It was Jesse.  He had called my parents house to get my address. I was shocked and very excited to hear from him, especially knowing to what great lengths he went to get in touch with me.  "You must have made a lasting impression with me," he said.  With every word I read, all I could think of, was he couldn't be talking about me, because I'm nothing special.  But then I knew what it was that made him believe that I was.  Unfortunately, there's nothing that I could quote from Jesse's letter to would show you what I can see when I read it.  But through all the recorded memories and by the way he spoke about our last moments together I can tell, I was special to him.  I was special in the same way that music is to a deaf person, or touch to a blind person.  I allowed him to feel the one thing that he'd been missing. 
I began to slowly piece it all together lately.  It was something I had forgotten.  Amongst all the diet planning and workout scheduling throughout my year, I had missed the point again.  In fact, I drive myself crazy when I try to live up to my standards of beautiful.
 I can't make myself beautiful.  I can't make myself special to anyone. 
But God can.
And when I allow His light to shine through, He does.

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(Fun Fact: I am fascinated by the meanings behind names.  I looked up the meaning of "Jesse"- you should try it. Tell me what you find.  That is his real name by-the-way.)

What do we behold?

I've always wanted to be beautiful. 
Everyone does.  I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the "beholders" that I want to impress have been far more beautiful than what my eyes have seen in my own refection.  I assume that they see the same when they look at me.   This belief along with my genetic OCD has led me down a relentless path; the pursuit of personal perfection. 

It was early on when I started to feel inferior in my physical qualities to other girls my age.  In kindergarten, my friends and I role played "Star Wars" on the playground.  There was just three of us; John Mark, Jessica, and I.  For anyone who knows about the original series will realize that there is only one girl part to choose from.  I thought Jessica was beautiful, but she was my friend and I was happy with being friends with her.  I absolutely adored John Mark.  He was my Mr McDreamy, and I wanted to be as special to him as he was to me.   But just looking at him and at our mutual friend Jessica, I knew that would be unlikely.  After all, who would ever fall in love with Darth Vader?

Even after I stepped up and stepped out of my so-called "tomboy" phase, so that people would have less reason to be confused about my gender, I still knew that I would always be a mediocre woman at best.  At night or when I was alone (which was mostly at night) my OCD would kick in full force and would wreck havoc over my entire body in search of imperfections.  To put it simply, I'm a "picker".  Every bump, every spot, every rough spot, or speculated problem area on my face and body would need to be smoothed out, because it could not be allowed to be there.  I already felt ugly (or uglier that most)and blemishes of any kind would only make that worse.  I wanted to do something to change my physical appearance.  I wanted to perfect it in every way possible, and "picking" was my only way of handling that kind of hate that I had for my body.  It didn't ease my anxiety or frustration, but it gave it an outlet so that I could survive.

When I would get made fun of, or brushed aside by my peers, I always ended up thinking to myself, "What's wrong with me?"  Because, I knew the "me" inside wasn't bad.  I knew that I loved Jesus, and that nothing made me happier than to help another person.  I was smart.  I was kind.  I had good manners.  And I could be funny, if people would just give a chance to smile.   If beauty was on the inside, then I should have been all that my Mom had told me I was and more, but it wasn't my Mom's attention that I was longing for.

I dated a lot as a teen, but was never in an ongoing exclusive relationship.  I was able to get the attention of several guys. I liked that.  It made me feel good about myself.  But that good feeling was always short lived, when I realized that the reason they liked me was because no other self respecting girl would give them a second glance.  Then I would remember the guys I did like, how untouchable they seemed to me.  The "us" would always be just a dream inside my head.  

 My biggest crush started in junior high.  Garret was good looking and everyone could see that.  He had the charm and personality to accompany his good looks.  But what really made him stand out to me was his knowledge of and pursuit after God.  His love for my lord was what made my heart jump when he would look my way.  For the whole 7 years that we were around each other, I never had the courage to show him how I felt.  In fact, when he would strike up a conversation with me, I would act as if his presence around me meant about as much as deciding what's socks to wear that day.  I would do anything not to look foolish or to be publicly embarrassed.  I would like to say that Garrett and I were friends, but because of my feelings about myself, I kept my distance from him. 

Always my dates would end up trying to pressure me into some kind of sexual action with them, and I enjoyed the attention, but the feeling of attraction was never mutual.   By the end of my H.S. years I had concluded, that I dated unattractive guys (both inside and out) because I was unattractive and that's all I could get.  That's all that I deserved.  I should learn to be content to live within my own physical limitations.  Fairness or my own feelings about the matter are irrelevant to the situation.  That's just life.

The college years began to prove me wrong.



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second half coming soon

In this moment

Inspiration doesn't tell time.  It's almost 4 AM while I type this.  My kids have been spending some time away at Grandma's house for swimming lessons, and it has given Drew and I a much needed break to regroup ourselves.  I've spent some time watching non-Disney movies, cleaning house (while it can actually stay clean for more than 5 minutes) and other similar activities.  But the best use of my time has been spent going on walks or driving a little ways to a quiet spot, to think and pray.  Prayer and meditation has a way of putting all our stressers and worries of our past, present, and future, back into perspective. 
Realizing,  all we have is today.

It seems like such a simple concept, but ironically it took my formerly abusive father's example to open my eyes to it.  It was Mother's Day weekend, and the kids and I packed oursleves in the van.  We were off to spend time at my parents house just to be there for my mom and make her wish come true.  Drew was unable to go with us because of work.  I always end up regretting going to see my parents by myself, so I was not looking forward to making this trip alone again.  Family always brings out the worst in people, and knowing what I know now concerning the orgin of my addictions and same-sex attraction, only fuels the fire for hostility in me. 
I have to put on a face.  I have to make my indifference to the past seem real.  I must accept the hugs and kisses from the man who actions still haunt me today.  There's an obvious injustice that I am forced to ignore, because I want to be respectful of my family.  
The weekend went as well as could be expected.  We all went to church on Sunday, and afterward met up at my brother's house for lunch.  When the meal was over it was time for the kids and I to pack up and say our goodbyes.  The trip seemed without any significant incidence. We appeared to be leaving everyone on a high-note for a change.  I was thankful for that, but didn't want to waste time waiting for the winds to change before heading home.   Then just after I shut my driverside door, my dad came up to talk to me.  I began to feel my face and body tense up, not knowing what to expect.  Quietly, only audible to me, he said,"Kayt, I just wanted to tell you...I'm very proud of you and the life that you've made with your family.  I just wanted... to tell you that."  I nodded and forced a smile and subtle quiet "thank you" came out of my mouth.  Then we all waved good-bye one last time and I drove away. 
I had to make a stop again about a mile away to fill up with gas.  When I pulled up next to the pump, I was already fuming about what my dad had said.  "Just WHO does he think he is??!  What does he think that crap is gonna do?!  Does he really expect me to FORGET about all the s*#@ he's put me through?!  Like that one little gesture is gonna make everything ok between us!  He hasn't changed...NOTHING's changed." 
I went inside the station to pay with cash, and the whole time....I had this unexplainable ache in my chest.  Some guy followed me out of the building asking me for change, and I gave it to him; which had me calmed down again while I put my seat belt on.  As I started to get on the highway, I realized that my poor reaction to my dad's words had made me the bad guy this time. 
I like road trips.  They give me a lot of time to think.  I had three hours to reflect upon my father's words to me.  By the time I was getting onto my exit, God had sifted through my pain and bitterness to show me the heart that exists; a heart that can still love and understand. 
I realized that my dad came to my door to say those heart felt words all on his own.  Nothing prompted him.  There was no need for apologies that day; he hadn't done anything wrong.  But still, he went out of his way to tell me that my life meant something to him.  He was proud of me.  He didn't have to tell me how he felt, but he did.  And I had spent all this time on the road resenting him for his kindness.  I had been looking at the past and considering what might be the future, and  forgetting what was happening in the now.  He did all that he could in that moment.  In that moment, he was the best father I'd ever known. 

Believe it or not, I was still reluctant to share this story about my dad doing something right on here.  I'm still getting the hang of this "forgiveness" thing.  But I am beginning to see that the big picture is in the small things. 

I tell my kids to clean up their room once in awhile.  Every time I do, you can see it in their faces how overwhelmed they feel by looking at the mess that lies before them.  Understanding this same feeling of defeat before the start, I come to their aide with some comforting advice.  "Don't look at the whole room.  Instead, just pick up one toy at a time, and put it away until there are no more toys to pick up."  I know that it's nothing profound to most of us, but to a small child with a messy room, it was relief from a hopeless situation. 

I feel that same relief when I look at my recovery and my relationships with others that way.  There have been many times where I would want to ask for forgiveness for my sinful thoughts or bad decisions, but felt reluctant to even talk to God, because I knew that my history spoke for itself and my repentance would not last.  So what's the point in trying?  I was defeated from the start.  Those feelings of hopelessness would lead to hating myself, feeling trapped, and suicidal thoughts.  I was jealous of those who would speak of their addictions in the past tense, not knowing how I could ever be in that position with the way I am.  But my father showed me the way.  Just by taking one day at a time saying,"In this moment, I am doing ok.  In this moment, I'm doing it right." 
Forget about the past.  Don't worry about the future.  All we have is this moment. 
And I can do my best in that.

When push comes to ...ask?

Hello, I know that you tried to contact me - thanks for that.  I've been in kind of a bad place lately.  I'm married and have always been involved with the church, and so I am selective with whom I talk to about my feelings and problems that I face.  A support team is important to me because I have seen how secrets have kept me scared and in the dark within my past.  Recently, those that I would call upon when I needed some encouragement have been preoccupied, living their own life, to continue to help me with mine.  I understand why they need to focus on their families and themselves, but I am concerned ...  Where do I go now? 
It's not that I'm a needy person, but that I am worried that without support being there, I will forget the "why"  I needed them in the first place.    I'm beginning to understand why people seek out paid professionals for help.  I, however, do not have a surplus of money to put towards this.  With the state that my relationship is in with my spouse at the present time, it wouldn't feel right to use his earnings on myself like that anyway.   Any suggestions?

status update

I apologize if you have been checking on here and noticed that I haven't written anything new in two weeks.  Spending time alone and reflecting can stir up some dust sometimes, and I can see that metaphorically, my life seems rather dirty right now. 
One of my goals in writing this blog is to be completely honest and open to myself and others about my thoughts, feelings, and events that take place. 
I don't feel as if I can do that in the place I'm in right now.    Give me some time, I'm sure that I will come around to talking about all my "secrets" again.  Thanks for your patience.

Reflection: "alone time"

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.

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Next post will be a continuation of this one. 

Your comments will help.  Thanks!