It's Been Taken Care Of

Last year when Edith was in Kindergarten, everyone in her class had lice all year long. But Edith never got it. I learned all this at Field Day in May – other parents were telling me how their kids got it 3 or 4 times in the school year. I was so relieved Edith didn’t get it. I’m pretty certain that I (and my brothers) are not allergic to poison ivy. None of us have ever had it, and we’ve been in plenty of situations to at least one of us have gotten it once. I wondered if a person can just not be a good host for lice? I’ll admit, I was a little smug and a little proud that we got by unscathed.

A couple weeks ago I got a call from Nurse Michelle, which is never good. But could it be any worse??? You got it, Edith had lice. My head started to itch before I even hung up the phone. I panicked. Our lives are too busy for this! And how embarrassing! How shameful! Is it because I forgot to brush her hair that morning? I envisioned little bugs crawling up my back, over my scalp, in my ears, on my truck seats. We co-sleep, so there’s no way I’m unscathed in this. I start making phone calls – cancelling our lives – my own doctor appointment, two work appointments. I don’t want anyone to know! I go to Walmart and buy supplies and I give Edith one of her dreams – instead of having day care pick her up, I picked her up myself. She was a “car kid” for one day.

When I got her home, I looked in her hair to see what it looks like, because I have no idea what it looks like. I see nothing. So, apparently, lice is invisible. 

I had two hours to neutralize this invisible crap that had invaded our lives. You’d be amazed how efficient I can be – I put us in the shower – one shampoo, two shampoos. Leave the shampoo on, put plastic bags on our heads. Set Edith to doing homework. Strip the bed. Start the laundry. 83 loads of laundry, and that’s just the bedding. Thank God we have no carpet. Start spraying the mattress, the couches, the rugs. Rinse the shampoo out after 40 minutes. Give the dog a bath. Switch the laundry. Go, go, go!!!! Lice neutralized.

Throughout the process and the evening, Edith kept apologizing to me. She was in tears over this humiliation. I said, “Baby, baby, it isn’t your fault you have lice. It’s nothing you did. You did not cause this. It just happens, baby.” To which she would apologize again, and say she felt bad she made me do all that laundry. And yet again, I kept reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault. And that it was taken care of. It’s okay. It’s okay.

The next day I called Nurse Michelle and asked her to check Edith again with her microscopic vision, because I didn’t see anything. She called me back and said that all the live lice were gone, but there were still eggs. She said she’d send home a special comb for us to borrow. She also informed me that Edith had been telling everyone at school that she had lice, and Nurse Michelle had told her she didn’t need to divulge that information. A few hours later I got a call from the parents of the kids we were supposed to babysit that night…. Edith had told their dad she had lice. I affirmed she did not have it - but that she had HAD it. Miraculously, their plans fell through for that evening. They told me it had nothing to do with the lice, but I have my doubts. I don’t blame them. 

When I picked Edith up from school, I told her SHE DOES NOT HAVE LICE and to quit telling people she does. I explained to her, again, that she had HAD lice, but we took care of it. And now she doesn’t. I explained when she tells people that she has lice she scares them, and no one wants to be around her. She told me that she still had lice eggs, so she still has lice. And that makes a lot of sense – I can see her reasoning. I explained that all the live lice were dead, and yes, she had eggs, but we were going to keep treating her hair, and we were going to comb out those eggs, and she didn’t have lice anymore. I’m not even sure I believed my own reasoning though. I mean, eggs are eggs; but I did my damnedest to be convincing.

Even my Best Friend Siri is in denial about lice. Every time I try to type in a text message, she tries to change it to something it isn’t. Like. Live. Lide. Lime. You name it. Just not LICE.

I called her Girl Scout troop leader and told her about it, since the night before the discovery we’d been to a troop meeting. I asked her to let the other parents know, but to please leave my name out of it, PLEASE. This whole thing was so mortifying. That next night we had another Girl Scout function. On the way there, I told Edith if she told anyone there she had lice, I was going to beat her within an inch of her life. She solemnly swore she would not. After we’d been there about an hour, another mom walked up beside me and said, “So, Edith had lice?” I tell you what…..it’s a good thing there were about 100 witnesses, because Edith’s life was delicately swinging in the balance from a frazzled thread. I realized after the fact that this mom was also a troop leader, so Troop Leader #1 probably told Troop Leader #2, which is completely acceptable. But at the time, I saw red. RED I SAY.

The entire experience is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And I realize, it’s probably not my last experience with it either. But lice don’t like hair dryers. I don’t either, but I’m going to acquiesce on that point. We’ve used a blow dryer three times in the past two weeks.

At some point in this whole process, my brain started making a really big connection – you know, lice and sin have a lot in common.  You might laugh, but I think I needed the lesson. For starters, I thought we couldn’t get it – there have been sins that I was certain I would never “catch.” I was smug and self-righteous. And then it happened. And I was embarrassed and ashamed, but there are some things you can’t hide. And everyone knew. And you know what? Sometimes I can’t even help myself from telling them about them, even when I know I’d be better off to keep my mouth shut. And now, I see others around me who aren’t guilty of *my* particular sins, and they feel the same way - I can read the self-righteousness from a mile away, because I’ve been that person. I bet in ways I still am that person. 

The biggest hitting home point for me was that our sin problem has been taken care of – completely taken care of – but I don’t accept that. My brain can’t fathom that. And so I continue to feel guilty and dirty and ashamed, when it’s already been taken care of. Completely. How exasperating for the One who already took care of it!!! To give a gift, at a heavy price, only to have the recipient not acknowledge it. And, yes, there’s more sin to come. I’m full of potential for it – but it’s still already been taken care of. And just because I have the potential, doesn’t mean I’ve committed it. Even if I do commit it, it’s still been taken care of – it just has to be treated. And treatment is simple – it ain’t no 83 loads of laundry!

So what’s the hair dryer? It’s heat. And sin can’t take the heat. My brain could literally race with the correlations, as it did today while I was out on my run. Can yours?

Does your scalp itch?

Leading Along a Precipice

A couple of years ago during one of his sermons, my pastor talked about walking along the precipice of morality. It wasn't what the entire sermon was about, but I remember him describing walking along the edge of a cliff of what is right or holy, as close to the edge as you can get with still being right, dipping a toe over the edge and hanging it out there, claiming to still be righteous. I can picture myself even sitting on the edge, dangling my feet over the edge and swinging them. At the time, the description rang very true for me in many areas of my life, and I suppose it still very much applies today. I have surrendered areas of my life to Christ, but I definitely try to walk the tight rope and push it to the very limits. And sometimes I fall off the ledge. Yes, I crawl back up, and then I keep walking along it some more.

In God's design, God is the head, and then Christ acts on our behalf, and then it goes to man, and within a marriage or even within the church, then it goes to the woman. That's the structure he set up, the hierarchy, women libbers be damned.

When I was going through my divorce, and turning towards God, part of that was listening to K Love Radio. And one of the songs that was very popular back then was called Lead Me. It really struck a chord with me. The song talks about how a wife and children need a man to be the leader. And the man needs God to be his leadekr. It's states that we cry out for that. I realized that was something that was completely lacking in my marriage. My husband was not a spiritual leader in any way, and he wasn't really a leader in any other way either. It made my heart ache in a sweet, longing way to think of a man that would love me well enough to lead to me. I decided that is what I wanted. The problem is, that's pretty hard to find. Men these days aren't much into the business of leading, especially not spiritually. I could get into a long lengthy discussion of why I think that might be, and it probably started back in 1920 and evolved from there, but we are not going to delve into that on this.

In a man's (husband's) absence, I believe that I am the leader of my family. So I lead Edith. And Christ acts in the husband's role, leading me. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for He is with me, His Rod and His staff, they comfort me. He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He anoints my head with oil. My cup floweth over. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

Recently, I have been dating a very, very good man. But he is not in the lead, and he's not going to take the lead from what I can see. I tried to convince myself that that might be okay, but it isn't. Because then what happens is I am in the lead, and now not only am I leading Edith, but I'm leading someone else. And my natural tendency, as I stated before, is to walk along the precipice. So I'm leading them both along that precipice! Now it's not just me that could fall over the edge of the cliff, I've got two others in tow. The thought sends chills up my spine. And down my arms. And to my heart.

If I were to let him lead, and I follow, it doesn't appear that we are going to a firm destination. In fact, it doesn't appear that we are going anywhere. Except where we already are. You can't follow someone who isn't going anywhere. That seems mean and awful to say, and it isn't said out of spite, it's just how it is. 

I also have come to realize in this that I have not been letting Christ lead. I've been trying to lead. I think if I were to let Him lead, He wouldn't be walking in the same areas I've been walking in. To me, abiding would mean that you're in the center of something. Enveloped by something. There's no edges in that.

Banana Joe's Bar

Sometime this week we were driving from somewhere to somewhere like we always seem to be doing, and an ad came on the radio for child stars. It was a Christian radio station and I wasn't even listening, but according to Edith they were looking for kids ages four and up to try out to be on great shows that premier on Disney and Nick Junior. She starts pleading with me that she really, really, really, really wants to do that. And quite honestly, she would probably be very good at acting. I've considered it on a smaller scale, but it's a huge time commitment. Anyway, she's pleading with me to let her do this, and I look at her and I say, "Edith, I love you more than that." She looked at me like I had a chicken on my head (around our place that is not completely impossible). She asked what I meant by that? I explained to her that those child stars for the most part grow up to be miserable adults. They grow to be spoiled, ungrateful, devoid of morals, and lonely. I told her the best thing that I could hope for for her in life would be that she would grow up with Jesus Christ at the center of her life - then she would be the richest girl she could be. I explained to her that would be the best gift I could give her as a parent. And after it flew out of my mouth, I looked inwardly and wondered just who in the world I have become? That not only did I say that without any forethought, I actually even believe it. Who am I?

A couple of years ago my church put on a women's retreat, like they do every year. It sounded worse than five consecutive root canals to me. You go off for two overnights in the wilderness with about 50 women. No men - pure estrogen. And not even alcohol available to dull the pain! It sounded like sheer hell and I begrudgingly signed up against my better judgement. I was not even close friends with any of these women, and I found myself in a dorm with about seven of this species. I took a top bunk, and pretty much kept to myself. One evening after the service, one of the girls on the lower bunk brought up the fact through some conversation that she wasn't really even sure that she believed all this God stuff…I listed for quite a while as some of the women witnessed to her. Two women in particular I found just amazing. Their faith in God was unshakable, and they both professed it eloquenty. And I knew (and still know) that I will never be that person. What really struck me about them is that they really, really believed it, they were not being hypocrites. You could just tell that Christ was the absolute love of their lives, even though they were both married and had children. Quite honestly, it made me really uncomfortable. I rolled over and went to sleep.

So yesterday when that flew out of my mouth to Edith, I couldn't help but remember those two ladies. And wonder what was becoming of me.

A few hours later Michael Jackson came up in conversation. I assure you, it was completely uncorrelated to the earlier conversation about children stars, unless you believe in divine intervention. But it was not intentional on her or my part. Her dad recently showed her the Thriller video and she was a little traumatized by it. She asked about Michael Jackson and if he was scary. I told her that he was one of the most amazing and talented human beings that we have ever seen - he could dance, he could sing, he could act. He was incredible! He was also very strange. Very, very strange. And then I remembered the child star conversation, and I told her that he had actually been a child star, and even though he had all of that talent and was so famous and had so much money, he grew up empty on the inside, and eventually died from overdosing on drugs. I didn't even know if she would know what that meant, but then she told me that her uncle could have killed himself overdosing on alcohol and then driving. And I said "Exactly."

My Edith, she's pretty smart.

Truth

Let's just throw this God crap out.
That's is not what I am about.

Let's be real and examine what's true
Instead of what people created to soothe
Their minds and their fears of what's real.
What truly matters in the grand scheme of things?
Without fairies or poppets or any of those things?

I dug to the very core of my own being
For the first time, without blinders,
I was actually SEEING.
I asked if I could have this or have that,
Which would I choose? Which can't be moved?
If I had to choose between one ideal or another, which would it be?
And the thing that I always chose was my Integrity.
*That* was the thing that I would be.
But then I broke it down further
To its most basic form:
And truth as my core value was perfectly born.

Truth I already had! Lying within me.
All I had to do was to choose it, to proclaim it, and that perfectly.
I fortified my self with it - it became my being
Because truth, when 100%, cannot be deceiving.
All would know me, Ami, as truthful and pure.
I had it. I'd solved it. Alone. And SO sure.

The truth I told, even when it pained me
Even if it cost me, it truly became me.

And it all worked out great
Until that day came about
That no one believed me.
I was incredulous. Floored.
How I did cry and indignantly shout!
How could this be?
I spoke the TRUTH. ALWAYS!
How could they not see that?
My world turned sickeningly sideways.
My anger dumped colors
On my own tapestry.
How can I portray to you my complete misery?
I told them and told them,
But they would not believe.

My Truth .... Was garbage
My values ... My reason ....
All wrong? Was it possible?
Can an ideal be guilty of treason?
How could it be so easily defied?
How could they simply cast my truth aside?
In those moments a huge part
Of me completely died.
I lost faith in mankind, in my own sense of worth.
I circled, and stumbled, and fell to the earth.

I've come to realize, after years of soul searching,
That I was so close, yet I was missing completely.
The Truth *did* in fact, lie within me,
But I didn't create it or make it or earn it.
I didn't even have to go prove it.
Funny enough, it was not up to me at all to do it.
Truth is, I was the one who had silenced His voice.
I had shut him down and taken over my soul as my own, by my very own choice.
Yet He is the way, the truth AND the life.
Not me, independently, in my own right.

And finally the Truth, He did set me free.
And rightfully took His seat at the pinnacle of me.

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope

The best explanation she has is that it feels like she's falling through a kaleidoscope, she explains from the corner, knees pulled tightly to her chest

I gently ask for an explanation, if she can. She breathes deeply and whispers, at first slowly but then faster and faster.

The emotions and thoughts explode in balls of vibrant colors, changing and rotating at a nauseating peace. Flashes of memory and ribbons of guilt wrap themselves around her brain and her heart.

And she's falling through it, tangled within it. If she closes her eyes it only intensifies. If she wills it to stop, it only spins faster. The harder she fights it, the stronger it becomes, enmeshing her in hopelessness.

Her heart slams inside of her chest, and silent tears build up behind her eyes.

And then she's silent. Her voice box is crushed and placed into the recycling bin.

Adrift.

Old Flames Die If You Let Them

So last year I dated a guy for a couple of months. I really liked him. I really did. Then when I finally was ready to introduce him to Edith, that very day, the wheels came off the truck. I guess he decided it was time to lay down the law. We got in a big argument. Well, actually, it was pretty one-sided – it was mostly him telling me how wrong I was about a number of things. I tried to defend myself from time to time, but it was pointless. I finally got mad and left him standing on my back porch while I went to bed and went to sleep. The next day I told him to take a hike. And since then, I’ve been glad I didn’t hook up with a crazy jealous possessive person who is constantly going to think I’m having an affair. Been there, done that, no thanks.

The gist of his diatribe can be summarized in these basic points:

1.       I have too many friends in general

2.       I have far too many male friends – in fact, I should not have ANY male friends at ALL

3.       If I have male friends who are married, then I am causing those men to have emotional affairs

4.       If I had male friends when I was married, Tom had every right to go through my phone and check my emails and check on my whereabouts at all times

5.       And why do I feel a need to stay in touch with old flames? He asked me if it … how did he word it…. He asked me if it was essential to my self-esteem. I can’t remember how he worded it. I do know I wanted to gouge his ever-loving eyeballs out.

Recently I find myself in a new relationship. With a guy I really, really like. And I find myself circling back to this argument from my past. I was furious and indignant at the time. I was certain I was right, and he was wrong. But now all the sudden, dang nab it, I’m starting to see some truth in what he said. Not how he said it, mind you. But point number 5 has been taking me for a beating today.

Why DO I stay friends with ex-boyfriends or love interests or whatever you want to call them? What benefit do I gain? What am I doing and why am I doing it? I could argue I liked them as people then, they aren’t bad people, why throw the baby out with the bath water? We can be friends. But can we, really? Once a line has been crossed physically, can one truly retreat? Or is it like a safety net, to catch you if ever you should fall? I started wondering this morning, and wondering hard – an intense self-examination – of what exactly I am doing and what my motives are. I have plenty of friends. I really do. If I retain these old interests as friends – am I truly giving myself over in a new relationship? Are they bed post notches, or charms, or validation that I’m an okay person, or safety nets? And even worse, if they are married, or in relationship – what am I doing? What is anyone gaining? Is there really any true benefit to these relationships? I kept coming up with a big resounding NO. It was a convicting NO. I argued with it – I mean, one friend I’ve been friends with since I was 12 – am I just to throw that away? I think, maybe, yes. Yes, I am.

6 miles of running gives you a lot of time to think. Let’s switch subjects kind of – but they interrelate. Stay with me.

I married the first man I had sex with. Why? I think because he was the first person I had sex with. I think sex clouded my vision. I think sex made my emotions override my intellect. And the more people told me I was doing the wrong thing, the more I knew I was doing the wrong thing, but the more intent I became on doing it. I had my pride in the way, I had my emotions in the way, I had my righteousness at stake, I couldn’t re-attain my virginity, and in the end, I spun out. I spun out bad. And then, I lost sight of my preciousness. My self-worth became caught up in my sexual attractiveness and in my sexual performance. I looked at attraction as a challenge to prove my own worth. I sought to overcome all the years where I felt I couldn’t offer what men wanted. I offered. And over time it went from a gift to a commodity. A second marriage where I wasn’t cherished - failed. At some point that’s all I knew how to be cherished for, but it doesn’t last. I found myself in a downward spiral, unable to achieve what my heart desired. Loathing myself. Unable to establish any sort of boundary – realizing I really had never had any. Not really.

I remember driving home from somewhere I should not have been, feeling completely washed out. Destroyed. Hating myself for what I was doing. Unwilling to surrender – unable to stop the merry-go-round. The air was still – I almost felt high. High on hopelessness – do you know what I mean? And a song came on the radio – on a CD I had listened to 100 times – but I’d never heard this song. “Don’t say goodbye, don’t say hello. We’re just standing on the surface….Don’t say alright, don’t say I know, I promise it’s not worth it. I want to know who you are, even if you’re falling apart. Reach in and touch your scars and all the shame you’ve kept in your heart. ‘Cause it’s not enough, it’s not enough, just to say that you’re okay. I need your hurt, I need your pain, it’s not love any other way. Let’s not pretend, Stop your parade, trying to convince me that you’re alright and everything’s okay. Yet, do you even know me? …..” I must have hit repeat on the CD player 50 times. That wasn’t the end, but I was nearing the brink.

I decided 2 years 5 months and 3 days ago (not that anyone is counting) that pre-marital sex was an issue for me and I was not going to participate in it anymore. This was no easy decision – I’m not one of those women who hate sex anyway. Some women do, I know, so this decision might have been an easy one for them. But I love it. I would even say it was (is?) an addiction for me. And it wasn’t that I just woke up one day and said, “Gee, I think having sex outside of marriage is detrimental. I’m not going to do it anymore.” No, this was a knock down drag out wrestling match with God that went on for an extended period of time. And I finally surrendered – or maybe I just lost the wrestling match. There had to be something better in store. There had to be.

In 2011 dating after divorce with an agenda of no pre-marital sex doesn’t really make you too popular with the men. So in one sense it felt like I was cutting my own throat, but the repercussions of what I was doing were even harsher. I wasn’t going to make it. Out of desperation, I submitted. And it wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. And I honestly am pretty sure I’m still not doing it on my own accord.

Anyway, I flashed back to high school. I didn’t believe in premarital sex. There were two boys I really, really liked, who basically were not interested in me because I would not “put out.” Well, they were interested, but they were more interested in the girls who would. And it hurt me. It hurt my self-worth. You’d think I felt I was better, meeting a higher standard or something like that, but I felt the opposite. I felt rejected. I felt like a child and they were seeking women. And I am still friends with these two, now men, to this day. Both married. WHY IS THAT? What am I accomplishing? I thought today to myself how I am still friends with these two, and I wonder how much of a relationship exists between them and the ones they were interested in at the time… So maybe I did accomplish something. Maybe our relationships did last longer, but to what end? What am I seeking? What am I proving?

I got convicted today. I got convicted of letting the charms go off the charm bracelet, because they are filthy rags, really. It’s not an easy decision. As I walked through Facebook unfriending…. Well, it’s a process, let me tell you. Some of it was easy, some of it not so easy. Some I feel I owe an explanation, even knowing they won’t understand the explanation more than likely. And also thinking they probably don’t even really care. I think it’s more my issue.

I’m afraid they’ll think me a religious zealot. Well, maybe I am.

But if I am to present myself as a holy sacrifice, I’m going to have to let it go. And that’s my end goal – to present myself as a holy sacrifice. Which I would have scoffed at just a few years ago – me? A holy sacrifice? But yes, me, a holy sacrifice. And hopefully, if God wills, not just that, but also a restored woman of virtue to a godly man who treasures her. To offer up to him this holy sacrifice. And have it be sacred, like it was meant to be, in the beginning. To have sex have intense incredible worth – but not self-worth. Not be something to prove, but again be something truly treasured to give.

Yeah, so the guy that told me I shouldn’t keep old boyfriends around? He’s right; therefore, I unfriended him on Facebook today (of course after thanking him for his insight). I’m not completely ungrateful.