Gratitude

 How grateful, thankful, and relieved am I for the love of Jesus? Let me put it to you this way; I love Jesus but do not like every single aspect of His character. Does He understand this? Certainly. And for that I could never properly express how much I appreciate His understanding. Does the aspect of Him that I don’t like make me view Him as less in my eyes? I pray that will never be the case. I’m only human and a fault I find in Jesus is a flaw in me; not Him. He understands all the complexities of my flaws in ways I could never express or comprehend. Some days are harder to bare then others but there is an unexplainable peace that happens when I remember how much Jesus understands and cry from the simple truth of that understanding. Not until I really started to walk with Him did I learn that there are tears of sorrow, tears of pain, and tears of frustration; but also tears of gratitude. 

The Road

 

As a child I was prone to anxiety and impatience. Worry WAS a friend of mine and I didn’t even know that I was doing it. My impatience would turn into anger very quickly. The anxiety that I felt was brought on by pressures. Pressures from family and from my own thoughts, expectations, experiences, etc. Time made me anxious to the point that I would look at the clock constantly. Being so young I didn’t know that this was not healthy, especially since everything is so fast paced nowadays. The impatience that I felt was from frustrations. Frustrations that also centered around time. In a world always playing beat the clock, I couldn’t hear what God was tryin to tell and show me at an early age. Balancing these two took, ironically, time and persistence. And was well worth the effort. 

A Lifelong Truth...

Church

 As a child church was more of a stress than a haven or joy. There was always the stress of getting around for services because we had that "image" to maintain. Then, since my father didn't go to church, usually some kind of fight because it was only the two of us going. Church was another place I never seemed to fit in and not simply because I was a loner. Although we didn't move homes, we moved churches A LOT. My mother would find a church and at first it would be the best church ever but with time that would always change. She didn't like how they preached or what they believed or one church I remember us leaving because she didn't approve of the songs they sang. Even if I told her I liked one church or the other, still we switched. Eventually I fought her one church attendance and didn't go back until my older years. I love God and the purpose of His House, yet in my earliest years I felt more of a connection to him outside than I ever did inside.

First Crush

 

Everyone has they're first crush. That first spark of feeling for someone because they find them attractive or funny etc. My first crush, we'll call him DL, was a boy in my class. Oh how much I liked DL lol. He'd walk into a room and I knew it, everything else seemed unimportant. He was cute and the fastest runner in our grade. Blue eyes, blonde hair, and a killer smile that made me jealous of anyone or anything it was directed at. I was hooked and when it came to him I was shy. And looking back I now feel dumb as hell whenever I think about him. We rarely talked and he never knew I liked him. Here I was, smitten over this boy who I didn't know more than two or three things about, calling it love. Foolish? For sure. I didn't learn that until much later and in a hard way. But that was usually the case, my family didn't talk about boys or girls unless it was juicy speculation or events. I remember asking my grandfather at sixteen what love was and soak in his words like a dry sponge. Anything else from anyone else, well "we just don't talk about those kinds of things." But DL moved away and I moved on to a new crush that crushed back lol.

"Siblings"

Siblings. It's a word that speaks for itself for anyone who has them. However, all of my siblings are half and were out of the house by the time I entered this world. So I won't sit here and say I know all of the ups and downs of sibling-ry. Did mine tell on me? Yup. Did they fight? Yup, still do. Did they call me the baby? Yup. Were they there for me? Bare minimum when I was a child and only on the surface now, especially since it's the christian thing to do. Back then you could almost call it a recruitment for who's side was who's later on down the line. Each one has their own life separately and content to live it out so. Unfortunately, any encounter with any one of my siblings in the present is either short lived or regretted. Was it always that way? No, but things change.

"Daddy's Girl"

For whatever reason children either favor one parent or a parent favors a child. In these terms I have always been a daddy's girl. If ever I'm spoiled it's usually because of him. Where dad went, I wanted to go. If it was interesting and dad was doing it, I wanted to too usually. A lot of myself is like my dad and I'll say that with both pride and shame. I mistakenly saw him as different from the rest of his side of the family or maybe it was wishful thinking mixed with blindness. There was always a disconnect. We seemed to be complete opposites on most surface things. And thats how, what I call, the Gap began. And once that Gap started it only ever seemed to grow. 

Sick

 Under the age of 10 I was sick...a lot. My immune system was a joke to say the least; as well as my ability to have and maintain my own body heat. And two of the main problems I had were stomach bugs and ear infections. I shudder to think of all the times I had to either lay weird because of my ears or lay weird because of my stomach. Couldn't possibly be sick for only a few days, no, it was weeks at a time. One ear would get infected and then it would move to the other ear or simply spread hurting both ears at the same time. As an adult I still receive surprised comments about how scarred up both of my ear drums are. Then there were the stomach bug. My parents either didn't want to deal with the hassle of taking me to the doctor or thought it a waste of time, money, etc. Thus, I remember laying wherever I felt comfortable and begging myself not to throw up as if I could stop it through sheer force of mind. No amount of sprite, crackers, bread, or alka-seltzer eased my churning stomach nor did how cold the house was usually kept. Eventually and thankfully I grew out of these issues but I will never forget how many times I prayed for God to simply go ahead and take me at such a young age.

First Day of School

 Some remember their first day of school while others happily don't. I was afraid and angry. And I could feel an awful feeling deep within me that simply would not go away. I remember as my mom brought me through the front doors of the elementary school the feeling increased, I began to panic internally and cry. The lady from the office and my mom tried to persuade me to go into the classroom but the sight of all the other kids and the very thought of going in alone made it worse. About the time my mind had almost had too much the school councilor, Mrs. W, approached and offered to take me so they could get back to work. It was a relief of monumental proportions but I was still afraid. She took me into her office and showed me the sand box full of different sand toys and told me that I could stay as long as I liked. Mrs. W was kind and made me feel an ease that I rarely experienced from people. I relaxed and looked around at the walls covered in positive words, happy colors, and soothing pictures. I remember she had some soft classical music playing as well. Taking all of this in I turned to the sandbox and played until she felt I was ready to go to class. I was late and attracted even more attention from the other kids but by that point it didn't matter. God was with me that day, in ways I never even imagined or realized at the time. And from that moment on I was completely devoted to Mrs. W and soaked up anything and everything she taught me, so many lessons in so few years but every one of them I still use to this day.

Sorry...

Good Memories

Some of my most favorite memories are of my grandfather. Before I learned what I call the "language of the grouchy" I was afraid of him and all his gruff. Eventually I got over that and he became my very best friend and mentor. We would sit outside in the yard swings and talk or simply listen to the wind and watch the birds. My grandfather, I would later realize, was the one whom I learned to listen to the wind and talk to living things as living things. He was an example to me that no matter how down and out you are or feel to never take any bs from anyone. I remember he would turn the tv to old westerns or National Geographic or sometimes the History Channel and we'd watch together while having a bowl of ice cream. That man was the biggest part of my life growing up. He encouraged a love for God, taught me how to paint, and seeded a curiosity for our heritage. When most men around me believed that women were stupid, my grandfather had me helping him in his shop with various projects. One of the things I look forward to, other than finally getting to hug Jesus, is to see my grandfather walking around on his own two feet again asking if I'd like to get us both some ice cream. 

First Friends

The first friend I remember making was a girl I met in daycare, however for a reason I either cannot remember or did not understand at the time we instantly grew apart. One day it was playing in daycare, the next it was looking at each other like we didn't know who the heck we were. It was what it was. My next friend reminded me a lot of one of my half-sisters and we ended on not the best of terms, grew apart too quick I think. After that I had two real good friends but MAN did the fighting and drama break out a lot. So when one moved and I moved we all fell out of contact. From that point on I stayed pretty much a loner, from middle school up. People could sit right down and talk to me but I never really associated with one person or type of crowd. I had older, younger, and same age friendships. It could be lonely I suppose and no I didn't feel like I fit in anywhere but looking back I wouldn't have done different in that area of my life. I've always been the odd of the odd and by now that's how I like it. Others do not feel that way. If you're one of those people and you feel left out: Be You and the right people will either find you or you'll find them but don't waste your time hanging on to the ones that don't love you. Don't waste anymore time on the ones that only love you when they want to or need you but give nothing back. If you can't be a loner don't let them make you a loner! Feel me?

The "Family"

Looking at both sides of my parentage is like looking at a dead tree still watering itself. And un-amazingly so, I am the very black sheep of both. My mother's side is the zealots and my father's side is the travelers.

Both with pasts so dark, tangled, and twisted that denial and anger are common and comfortable dishes served everyday. As a child I was a pleaser and very soft hearted when it came to living creatures both insect and fuzzy. These two beautiful traits where easy targets for my family members. The rules always changed and good was never quite good enough. Praise was rare and sprinkled with but it could be betters or your half-siblings, cousins, my friends kid did it like this's. In the whole of my childhood something always felt off, something always felt simply wrong all the time. Dad and mom where masters of saying something then doing another. If they weren't fighting each other it was somebody else, but rarely did they fight together. I seemed to be instantly born with a distrust of people, their words and even their actions. There were other issues I had that I didn't know I had until I got older, things that parts of my family still do not believe in despite the world today.

First Politics

Ah the political realm, how early it shapes our lives. And how much it shapes our lives whether we're apart of it or not, whether we're political or not. My first political memory was of President (Bill) Clinton getting off of a plane. I didn't think much of it then because, well I was always told that I didn't know much of anything. Then came the election of Bush and I hoped he'd win because thats what my parents were for. But in my youngest years, deep at heart I was a liberal. In those days I believed that every person on the earth was simply in the way of the earth. Animals were more important, plants were more important, and even myself could be wiped away so the planet could have it's peace back. At that time I also believed in abortion and loss of gun rights, as well as a strong sense of feminism. I won't sit here and say I was stupid or wrong for my past preferences, but I will say they were misguided. The same is true for when I went in the completely opposite direction with my political affiliations. My heart was enacting too big for God's purpose of this earth, either way. However, it did give me two, although crumbling, foundations for my current beliefs today. 

First Walk

My very first walk with God wasn't traditional by any means. In fact, looking back I didn't realize that's what I was even doing. You see in my family God was only in church or wasn't to be believed in at all. One side of my family believe to an almost zealotous degree. The other side thought it was hogwash and fairytales meant to scare people into heaven by sending them to hell. As a child I would spend as many of my days outside as I could. We were  blessed enough that we had a big backyard shielded from the rest of the city by trees, shrubs, and on one side our neighbors big privacy fence. I would walk around all the haphazard flowerbeds or sit and watch the world around me. I daydreamed a lot and then, like most children, believed in magic. A part of my mind thought I could here the wind speaking and I would sometimes talk to the plants and bugs around me. Little did I know that these were my first real interactions with God. That voice on the wind comforted and encouraged me when there was none else to be had.

First Memories

The very oldest memory I have is from one of the many times my family took me to have pictures taken. Hated it is an accurate although watered down description for my feelings on it. The stuffy, frilly, and uncomfortable clothes plus all the directions I was scolded for not following properly only to be blinded by hot lights and camera flashes. They meant well, its tradition after all. "You'll thank us later." As an adult I have nor do not care to have any of those ridiculous photos. But thanks all the same. I never cared for all the pose and pomp. We weren't near as special as made up to be. So why bother? Because like most there was an image to maintain. Even at such a young age I saw the curtain and hated it then as much as I still do. Live some kind of lie? No thanks. Am I bitter about it? No. There's simply no joy in those first memories involving me and my family. Most likely because there was little joy to be had when my parents or other relatives were in proximity. They all found a certain entertainment in nagging and making each other miserable, common on both sides of the dying tree. But thank them I do because with those first heart connections I might never have found my true strength and courage, Him.