Roller Coasters and Bananas

***Disclaimer: I am making a sincere effort to curse less. But sorry if there are still a few slipups.

Church has a way of getting my brain going. I’m not even sure if it really directly correlates even to what is being sung or discussed or preached. But man, can it get my grey matter cells firing red. And I’m thinking about men, and pardon me, but I’m not going to hold back. So reader beware. Once again.

I felt like with the last man I dated that I had asked God for a yes or no and all I got was a bunch of silence. And if He had just said “No” when I asked one of the thousand times I asked Him, it sure would have saved me a lot of pain. The two months after that relationship ended were some of the darkest two months I’ve ever known. And I’ve known some dark times. Probably darker, really. Maybe I shouldn’t try to one up myself. But those months – I felt completely devoid of any hope. I felt like an utter and obvious failure. I felt, literally, that the rug had been jerked out from under my feet. Again. That I was a silly girl chasing a silly dream, and got knocked on my duff, for all to see. My very soul bled. And my dreams and my hopes. Yes, I was crushed by something that seemed far bigger than me.

And now, in this moment, I don’t feel like that. It’s a roller coaster ride, my life is. And as time goes by, I think everyone’s must be. At least to some extent. And I have a new hill I could ride – or actually, am already riding. I met a man who I find extremely physically attractive. And he’s fun to hang out with and talk to. It’s fun. It makes me smile. 

I found myself last week on a chairlift, surrounded and awed by God’s magnificent creation, again beseeching Him to just tell me yes or no. And laughing a bit inwardly in a sarcastic manner because I feel He won’t answer me. I’m honest about that with Him, even though I know I’m in the wrong. He didn’t catapult me out of the chair lift or anything.

So in Sunday school I find myself trying to summarize the major reasons for failure in that last relationship – because we can only not repeat history by reviewing it, right? And in a complete honest assessment I came up with three major reasons, not really in any particular order. 

1) Physically we went too far, and not just because God shakes His finger and says “No, no, no! No touchy! Put the Bible between you and have 6” on each side of it!” But also because there is wisdom in God’s denying us this short term pleasure. We were not at a level of emotional intimacy. Why do I say that? I mean, I told him I loved him (the dude, not God. Although I do love God. Not saying I don’t.)Without delving into another huge major subject, let’s just say that I had not shared intimately with this man some of my own emotional and physical and mental and sexual scars. And since we were not at that level of intimacy, the – see, I would not even call it physical INTIMACY – I would just call it….. I’m making a face here you wish you could see….. I would just call it physical NESS. So since we were not at that level of intimacy, the whole thing back fired and then blew up, flinging blood and caca everywhere. That’s the best descriptor I’ve got. And boy, was it everywhere. I’m still cleaning up the pieces.

2) I’ve written on this enough so I am not going to expound much, but he was not a spiritual leader. Not only was he not a spiritual leader, but we were not even on the same page. So even though he was a Christian, we still were not equally yoked. I thought equally yoked just meant believers, and that’s it, but I think it goes beyond that. And I don’t mean to come across as some spiritual super star – because I’m obviously and most certainly not. At all. But I’m seeking God – I’m seeking Christ – and fervently. And I think that’s different than just stating you are a believer who doesn’t go to church because... whatever the reason may be. And maybe I’m a self-righteous jack ass too, but I don’t think so.

3) He was still married. Technically. And that, folks, isadultery. And adultery is a sin. I don’t think that one needs anymore explanation.

Okay, so here I am. At the start of another roller coaster ride. I’m already on the ride. We’re taxiing up that first big hill – you know, where you are going super slow, and the anticipation is building, and you wonder if you should just put both hands straight up in the air or clamp down on the bar or wonder how you ever even got on this ride in the first place what was I thinking? In fact, we might be in that split second moment when you finally crest that hill and your heart leaps up in your chest and what the heck, you throw both your arms up and suck in your breath and your heart jumps and FREEZE! I’m frozen in time in that exact moment. Right there. Complete freeze frame. 

Frozen.

[“Let it go! Let it go! Don’t hold it back anymore!” Sorry. Edith is 7 and it’s 2015, after all; I can’t help it. I need a little picture of Olaf.]

Is this the ride I want to be on? Is this a repeat of the last ride? And honestly, not yet, it isn’t. I could break the safety bar and eject myself. My thoughts circle back to the three reasons for previous failure. Physical intimacy is still safe. That’s not an issue. But I have to be honest with myself – is that only a function of time? Of where, on this particular ride, I am? Has anything changed, really? In me? Is anything different? Am I willing to put on my brakes with my hands, like I do when I’m sliding down a roof, at the expense of my own skin? They say to know thyself. I know myself. So while it seems like this one is in the bag, at this exact moment, I know darn tootin’ well it isn’t.

And at this point, I don’t even really have to review number two and three. But three is easy – he is not married. No issue there. My learning curve is not *completely* inversed, after all. But number two isn’t there, either. And the big thought that occurs to me today while I’m sitting in church is How Will I Know? How will I know that I’ve met someone with whom I am equally yoked? It seems to me I’ve put myself in the self-righteous judging chair – a Pharisee saying You-Are-Not-In-Your-Walk-Where-I-Am-Because-I-Am-Awesome-And-Holy-And-You-Are-A-Degenerate. I mean, who am I? Who do I think I am? Me, of all people, to sit in a seat of judgment? To just say, not this one, not that one, and toss them to the wind? Reminds me of a phrase I love – Who died and made you God? But now I’m saying it to myself. So is that voice right or wrong? Who is speaking that to me?

And thus I waffle. Switch from the roller coaster analogy to Mario Cart. The Will of God is the right hand wall on the race course. And The Will of Ami is on the left side of the race course. We haven’t really talked about the Will of Ami in this discourse, but I have to admit something to you. I’m human. I really am. My skin craves touch. I feel starved of touch. Oh, I get my snuggles from Edith. And sometimes, if I offer her cheese, she’ll even rub my back for 23 seconds. But that doesn’t even usually work. (I’m making myself laugh so I don’t cry). I look around, and I’m insanely jealous of women who have men to talk to at the end of the day. Men to giggle with under the covers. Men to even take out the trash. Simple things - start the car when it’s cold. Paint the front door. Mow the yard. Fix the broken door knob. And beyond that, because I can do most of that, or have friends (great friends) who can help me. And I can hire a massage therapist and a yard man. But I also yearn for companionship. Male companionship. True intimacy. I want someone to swing on a porch swing with in my old age and hold my hand. My very soul yearns to be treasured in the most intimate of ways.

And when someone caresses me, pays attention to me, desires me - I have a strong tendency to not just slightly turn the wheel, but to go crashing into the side wall and slip on a banana and completely wipe out. I guess as I learn to steer better, instead of completely wiping out, I just bounce off of that wall and then bounce off of the other wall, and thus go bouncing down the race course like a drunk, slipping on bananas. And if you’ve ever played Mario Cart before, you know that isn’t how you win the race.

At least my precipice has walls now.

And so that’s where I am. I feel I should reach some great theatrical conclusion. Yet that’s all I have right now. 

But I am thinking God isn’t as silent as He lets on.

Sunrise

I spend a lot of time making sure I'm strong.

I'm strong enough to hold my own head up.

I don't need anyone.

I can survive and excel. 

I'm tough. 

Alone often. 

I'm like a galvanized 2" ring shank nail.

I persevere. 

And people expect and respect it.

Count on it even.

Like a mountain that will always be there.

But, oh, thank God,

I have this precious place,

Where I can lay my head down and
The mountain can crumble.

Where I feel safe exposing my weaknesses.

Where my soul is held tender and sacred.

Where I can rest. And reflect. 

And turn my inside out completely and twice over. Blood and infection and all.

Curse.

Break down.

Express utter desperation and despair.

Cry.

Report failure.

And then laugh.

I have a place where I don't have to be strong. Or right. Or perfect.

Where there's a hand to hold, 

And even arms to wrap around me.

I didn't earn it or buy it.

I just merely asked for it,

Like playing the lottery.

But I actually won.

It's so much beyond what my comprehension was -

I had no clue how great the gift was that I innocently requested.

I thought I was getting maybe an hour of time, on the hopeful side.

Maybe two hours, if I held my breath just right. 

Because this place was exceedingly Important and Busy.

A Land Where All Shit Was Totally and Completely Put Together.

A sharp contrast to My Inner.

It's not by a stream. Or under a tree. Or looking at the sky. Or hearing a song. Or in reading a book. Or even in taking a personality test.

It's immersed in unconditional love.

It's hand in hand with acceptance,

It's embraced with truth.

Someone who will say "Ouch."

Someone who tells me gently when I'm wrong.

Someone who isn't trying to harvest me for their own sake.

Someone without an agenda or stop watch.

The term Friendship seems like calling fireworks sparklers.

Or a thunderstorm a mist.

Or ALS a sickness.

Even a poem falls completely flat in the oven.

Because, you see, it's so great that mere words could not ever express it.

Like a sunrise.

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.