Sunday, June 19, 2011
A Man Greatly Missed
He smelled like cavicide and WD-40. He could fix anything with a Dremel and some duct tape (including your teeth if the need arose). He incessantly chewed ice out of his white styrofoam cups (which at times might have been filled with a little vodka and orange juice). He ordered his food "extra burnt" and his chocolate milkshakes "triple chocolatey". He'd make me laugh so hard I'd have tears streaming down my face. He carried me when I couldn't walk, and held my hand while letting me run him crazy. I still remember how peaceful it felt to lay on his chest and count the wrinkles around his eyes. He didn't have a super hero's cape, he wore white undershirts and worn out loafers... But my daddy somehow managed to always save my day. There was never enough time in his day, yet he always had all the time in the world for me. I was a bit of a mistake, but he always called me his miracle. There were days I watched the world beat him up and down and all around... But somehow he always found the strength to let me fall into his arms and collapse into him. He carried the weight of my world on his shoulders and I don't think he ever once complained about how weighed down he was. I don't know how he was so many things to so many people, but he always did it all with a grin on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes. I learned to see the world perched on his shoulders, but he instilled a humility in me that's kept me grounded for life. He always made it okay to let him down, but never seemed to accept that it was okay to let me down. On days like this I miss him with such an ache it feels like my heart might crack in two.... But I know one day I'll melt into his arms and he'll give me one his famous bear hugs again. And I know I'm not the only one feeling this longing for the man that was Dow Bryan today... He was all kinds of wonderful to all his little girls, all five of his angels. We miss and love you, and I know you're missing and still loving all of us, Daddy. Happy Father's Day to one hell of a Dad.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
These Pivotal (and Enlightening) Moments
I choose not to watch the news based on the principal that I have enough negativity in my life as it is. Tonight my phone started going crazy with text messages and all my friends' and family's Facebook posts rejoicing over the fact that Osama bin Laden has been officially pronounced dead... And that was how I first heard the news. My initial reaction was Hallelujah!!!! I felt an immediate rush of calming resolution in my spirit. And for a brief moment, my mind raced with all the implications of what his death means for so many. It means that tonight there are mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, and children who finally have a sense of closure. It means that wounds that have been left open and festering for the past decade can finally begin to heal. It means that wars that should have never been started in the first place can finally begin to cease. And it means validation for the deaths of countless numbers of soldiers in both our country, and those of our allies, across the world. His death means hope... for so very many.
Which brings me to the flip side of my rejoicings. Thoughts began to work their way into my overly analytical mind and negate the momentary happiness I was experiencing. Thoughts which caused my spirit to cry out in pain over the fact that mankind has been taken to such a devastating place in history. A place where death of any kind is ever celebrated. How did we get here? How did we reach this moment in time where we so easily react to the loss of another human being with thanksgiving in our hearts?
My heart is saddened tonight. Saddened over that which never had to be. It never had to be this way for Osama bin Laden. It never had to be this way for the innocent people who's lives were taken before their intended time. It never had to be this way for those of us left to deal with these conflicting emotions. It was never meant to be this way from the beginning. This wasn't what God intended, for any of us.
So please excuse my confusion for a moment as I allow myself to grieve over the loss of a horrible man. Please do not get impatient with me as I struggle to feel excitement over a monster's death. Please refrain from gathering the people and the torches in my honor as I attempt to gather my thoughts and figure out where I stand right now. Please do not accuse me of being unpatriotic, or try to convince me that I am not being true to my country or my people.
Because these things are just not true. I'm simply a woman who realizes that I, too, have made some horrible mistakes (alot of them intentionally), and that never once have I truly received the punishment I so genuinely deserved for these trespasses. I have committed crimes against both man and God; I have stood firmly against both truth and honor; and yes, I too, have even murdered, in a vicarious way.
Because when you think about it, we are all guilty of these things. Even if only through our passive complacency when we turn a blind eye to the injustices in the world (or to the atrocities happening on our very own streets). Even if we are committing these wrongdoings by simply not screaming loud enough for the people in power to be forced to pay attention when we see children being forced into prostitution, slavery, and wars. When we know that women are beaten and starved and tortured daily for being who God created them to be, and we do nothing to stop it-- we too are as guilty as those who are actually hurting them.
So tonight, I do two things which I never thought I would do.
1.) I am allowing myself to enter into a place of gratitude over the fact that a man has been killed and is standing before God right now while being forced to face all of the terrible things he's ever done. I am giving myself space to be happy over the fact that he is having to look at the souls of those people whose lives he took.... and the grief-stricken faces of those who were left behind in their absences. I am allowing myself room to be ecstatic over the fact that he is going to receive his punishment of eternal damnation for what he has done to us all.
And on the opposite end of the spectrum:
2.) I am reminding myself that it is also okay to be sad over these very same things. And no matter who agrees or disagrees with me, I pray that I never reach the place where I can experience pure joy over the death of any human being. True healing begins with forgiveness, which begins with me, in my heart... so I forgive you Osama. And I also ask you to forgive me for ever having looked at you with anything other than the very same love and compassion that God Himself feels when He looks at me... And that He felt when He looked at you.
I am extending and asking for this forgiveness for having been stingy with my grace over Osama because............
Well, I guess it's because when all is said and done... It could have been me.... It could have been you.... It could have been any of us, really.... And tonight I realize how close of a call it really was.
Which brings me to the flip side of my rejoicings. Thoughts began to work their way into my overly analytical mind and negate the momentary happiness I was experiencing. Thoughts which caused my spirit to cry out in pain over the fact that mankind has been taken to such a devastating place in history. A place where death of any kind is ever celebrated. How did we get here? How did we reach this moment in time where we so easily react to the loss of another human being with thanksgiving in our hearts?
My heart is saddened tonight. Saddened over that which never had to be. It never had to be this way for Osama bin Laden. It never had to be this way for the innocent people who's lives were taken before their intended time. It never had to be this way for those of us left to deal with these conflicting emotions. It was never meant to be this way from the beginning. This wasn't what God intended, for any of us.
So please excuse my confusion for a moment as I allow myself to grieve over the loss of a horrible man. Please do not get impatient with me as I struggle to feel excitement over a monster's death. Please refrain from gathering the people and the torches in my honor as I attempt to gather my thoughts and figure out where I stand right now. Please do not accuse me of being unpatriotic, or try to convince me that I am not being true to my country or my people.
Because these things are just not true. I'm simply a woman who realizes that I, too, have made some horrible mistakes (alot of them intentionally), and that never once have I truly received the punishment I so genuinely deserved for these trespasses. I have committed crimes against both man and God; I have stood firmly against both truth and honor; and yes, I too, have even murdered, in a vicarious way.
Because when you think about it, we are all guilty of these things. Even if only through our passive complacency when we turn a blind eye to the injustices in the world (or to the atrocities happening on our very own streets). Even if we are committing these wrongdoings by simply not screaming loud enough for the people in power to be forced to pay attention when we see children being forced into prostitution, slavery, and wars. When we know that women are beaten and starved and tortured daily for being who God created them to be, and we do nothing to stop it-- we too are as guilty as those who are actually hurting them.
So tonight, I do two things which I never thought I would do.
1.) I am allowing myself to enter into a place of gratitude over the fact that a man has been killed and is standing before God right now while being forced to face all of the terrible things he's ever done. I am giving myself space to be happy over the fact that he is having to look at the souls of those people whose lives he took.... and the grief-stricken faces of those who were left behind in their absences. I am allowing myself room to be ecstatic over the fact that he is going to receive his punishment of eternal damnation for what he has done to us all.
And on the opposite end of the spectrum:
2.) I am reminding myself that it is also okay to be sad over these very same things. And no matter who agrees or disagrees with me, I pray that I never reach the place where I can experience pure joy over the death of any human being. True healing begins with forgiveness, which begins with me, in my heart... so I forgive you Osama. And I also ask you to forgive me for ever having looked at you with anything other than the very same love and compassion that God Himself feels when He looks at me... And that He felt when He looked at you.
I am extending and asking for this forgiveness for having been stingy with my grace over Osama because............
Well, I guess it's because when all is said and done... It could have been me.... It could have been you.... It could have been any of us, really.... And tonight I realize how close of a call it really was.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
25 Random Things About Me
1. I always complete mazes from finish to start. And I never consider that cheating. I just like being unconventional :)
2. I am absolutely addicted beyond hope to Pibb Zeroes; I love that sugar-free spicy cherry soda!
3. I am obsessed with reality TV, especially celeb-reality. Housewives, Rehab, Jersey, Tabatha, Rachel Zoe, etc. I find the sociological revelations fascinating (and the gossip factor irresistible, of course).
4. I am terrified of dying of cancer because it is incredibly rampant in my family. My cousin (leukemia), 2 sisters, 1 brother, my father, both grandfathers. It's overwhelming to say the least.
5. I abhor condescension. It is the quickest way to get me to shut down and shut you out. I expect and deserve your respect because I give you nothing less than that.
6. I used to be a doormat and a pushover with no voice or identity of my own. Then God breathed life and passion into me and now I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut.
7. I have a burning desire for justice: I want to see it carried out in every aspect of my life and the lives of others. And when I see something that is unjust occurring, it infuriates me.
8. I am afraid to pray for healing. This is the hardest thing for me to admit. I know God can heal, I know he does heal, and I know that he will heal when it's within His will. But I feel guilty for asking because my dear cousin died from Leukemia after we begged for her healing. I think it's a guilt thing. This is an issue I'm trying to deal with because I know how this lack of faith hurts Him.
9. I carry others' problems and burdens on myself and tend to get overwhelmed and overburdened at times. When I see someone hurt, I literally hurt. If someone is in pain, I feel it. If someone is angry, I get angry with them. And the hardest thing in the world for me is trying not to fix it for them or take it from them. I spend too much energy trying to fix problems that aren't mine to fix.
10. I enjoy vocabulary. It's kind of a hobby of mine: finding words which embody the exact sentiment I'm trying to describe at that moment. The fact that one word can encompass all my thoughts trips me out.
11. I use phrases like 'trips me out'.
12. I don't think that certain words are cuss words. Now, of course, some are indisputable; but, try going to New York and telling them that piss is a bad word-- it won't fly. This is a regional thing and I don't plan on changing my mind on this matter any time soon ;)
13. I don't like eating the pointy ends off of French fries. When I lived in FL, I would break the ends off and give them to my BFF Vickiy. Now, I just have to throw them away :(
14. I love to write. One day I want to publish books. I don't care what kind. I have an idea for a series of children's books that I'm currently working on. I would love to write a book about my life one day, and I hope my life gets interesting enough for someone to want to read it.
15. If my boss, Dave, were to read this, he would probably laugh and roll his eyes because this note is way too long, just like my emails usually are. This is typical for me. I'm afraid of not saying enough.
16. I recently found out that I have a completely irrational fear of being held completely upside down when I got on an inversion table and was flipped me over. I've never been so certain that I was dying, and I began to scream and cry beyond consolation. It took a solid hour for me to compose myself from this traumatic event.
17. I never feel as if I measure up in life. I try my hardest to be good enough... and I try to be satisfied with my best, but it always feels I fall short no matter what.
18. I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the mistake I made 10 years ago, even though I've been forgiven, redeemed, and reconciled for it. And I'm okay with this.
19. I try to be positive, I can't stand negative people- especially those who offer only problems, never solutions. Or only criticism, never compliments. Condescension and injustice are the only two things that create chronic negativity for me.
20. I have pulsating tinnitus and I've had it for about 4 years now. It's the most frustrating, constant noise in the world. Any time you see me, I'm hearing you as well as what sounds like a really loud fetal heartbeat on an ultrasound machine in my right ear. It sucks.
21. I love chickens. I used to raise them in 4-H and they are my favorite animals. I wish I could still raise and show them. Or even just walk around my yard with a whole flock of them following me around like feathery disciples. Maybe one day...
22. I have one tattoo (of Foghorn Leghorn, the rooster). I've also had my tongue, eyebrow, and navel pierced. The tongue and eyebrow were done in my adulthood. I did the navel piercing myself- twice- when I was in the 8th grade. I secretly wish I could pull off a small pretty stud in my nose. This probably won't happen though.
23. I believe my children prove that Creationism and God exist. There is no way that my genes alone could have produced two boys who are so perfectly, fearfully, and wonderfully made. I will never understand what I did to deserve the type of kids that they are. I hope I do as right by them as God expects me to.
24. My mom taught me to stand up and fight for what I believe in. My dad taught me to enjoy the things that matter to me. They were not perfect, but they were exactly what God needed them to be in order to turn me into the person He wanted me to be. And I am grateful for them both.
25. I can't stand the thought of not living up to my expectations. Whether it's in my friendships, my parenting, or my work, I want to give nothing short of my most excellent potential. Anything less frustrates me to no end. Expectations are very significant to me. Even in my thinking about your reading this, I'm really hoping that doing so has not been a waste of your time. And I'm hoping beyond hope that you have not been disappointed in what you've read.
26. So, now this is number 26. You were guaranteed 25, but of course, that's not good enough for me. I have to one-up myself. You can see how I have to say just a bit more than you expected, or even desired. What can I say? It's a compulsion. All I can do is apologize. And thank you for understanding :)
2. I am absolutely addicted beyond hope to Pibb Zeroes; I love that sugar-free spicy cherry soda!
3. I am obsessed with reality TV, especially celeb-reality. Housewives, Rehab, Jersey, Tabatha, Rachel Zoe, etc. I find the sociological revelations fascinating (and the gossip factor irresistible, of course).
4. I am terrified of dying of cancer because it is incredibly rampant in my family. My cousin (leukemia), 2 sisters, 1 brother, my father, both grandfathers. It's overwhelming to say the least.
5. I abhor condescension. It is the quickest way to get me to shut down and shut you out. I expect and deserve your respect because I give you nothing less than that.
6. I used to be a doormat and a pushover with no voice or identity of my own. Then God breathed life and passion into me and now I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut.
7. I have a burning desire for justice: I want to see it carried out in every aspect of my life and the lives of others. And when I see something that is unjust occurring, it infuriates me.
8. I am afraid to pray for healing. This is the hardest thing for me to admit. I know God can heal, I know he does heal, and I know that he will heal when it's within His will. But I feel guilty for asking because my dear cousin died from Leukemia after we begged for her healing. I think it's a guilt thing. This is an issue I'm trying to deal with because I know how this lack of faith hurts Him.
9. I carry others' problems and burdens on myself and tend to get overwhelmed and overburdened at times. When I see someone hurt, I literally hurt. If someone is in pain, I feel it. If someone is angry, I get angry with them. And the hardest thing in the world for me is trying not to fix it for them or take it from them. I spend too much energy trying to fix problems that aren't mine to fix.
10. I enjoy vocabulary. It's kind of a hobby of mine: finding words which embody the exact sentiment I'm trying to describe at that moment. The fact that one word can encompass all my thoughts trips me out.
11. I use phrases like 'trips me out'.
12. I don't think that certain words are cuss words. Now, of course, some are indisputable; but, try going to New York and telling them that piss is a bad word-- it won't fly. This is a regional thing and I don't plan on changing my mind on this matter any time soon ;)
13. I don't like eating the pointy ends off of French fries. When I lived in FL, I would break the ends off and give them to my BFF Vickiy. Now, I just have to throw them away :(
14. I love to write. One day I want to publish books. I don't care what kind. I have an idea for a series of children's books that I'm currently working on. I would love to write a book about my life one day, and I hope my life gets interesting enough for someone to want to read it.
15. If my boss, Dave, were to read this, he would probably laugh and roll his eyes because this note is way too long, just like my emails usually are. This is typical for me. I'm afraid of not saying enough.
16. I recently found out that I have a completely irrational fear of being held completely upside down when I got on an inversion table and was flipped me over. I've never been so certain that I was dying, and I began to scream and cry beyond consolation. It took a solid hour for me to compose myself from this traumatic event.
17. I never feel as if I measure up in life. I try my hardest to be good enough... and I try to be satisfied with my best, but it always feels I fall short no matter what.
18. I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the mistake I made 10 years ago, even though I've been forgiven, redeemed, and reconciled for it. And I'm okay with this.
19. I try to be positive, I can't stand negative people- especially those who offer only problems, never solutions. Or only criticism, never compliments. Condescension and injustice are the only two things that create chronic negativity for me.
20. I have pulsating tinnitus and I've had it for about 4 years now. It's the most frustrating, constant noise in the world. Any time you see me, I'm hearing you as well as what sounds like a really loud fetal heartbeat on an ultrasound machine in my right ear. It sucks.
21. I love chickens. I used to raise them in 4-H and they are my favorite animals. I wish I could still raise and show them. Or even just walk around my yard with a whole flock of them following me around like feathery disciples. Maybe one day...
22. I have one tattoo (of Foghorn Leghorn, the rooster). I've also had my tongue, eyebrow, and navel pierced. The tongue and eyebrow were done in my adulthood. I did the navel piercing myself- twice- when I was in the 8th grade. I secretly wish I could pull off a small pretty stud in my nose. This probably won't happen though.
23. I believe my children prove that Creationism and God exist. There is no way that my genes alone could have produced two boys who are so perfectly, fearfully, and wonderfully made. I will never understand what I did to deserve the type of kids that they are. I hope I do as right by them as God expects me to.
24. My mom taught me to stand up and fight for what I believe in. My dad taught me to enjoy the things that matter to me. They were not perfect, but they were exactly what God needed them to be in order to turn me into the person He wanted me to be. And I am grateful for them both.
25. I can't stand the thought of not living up to my expectations. Whether it's in my friendships, my parenting, or my work, I want to give nothing short of my most excellent potential. Anything less frustrates me to no end. Expectations are very significant to me. Even in my thinking about your reading this, I'm really hoping that doing so has not been a waste of your time. And I'm hoping beyond hope that you have not been disappointed in what you've read.
26. So, now this is number 26. You were guaranteed 25, but of course, that's not good enough for me. I have to one-up myself. You can see how I have to say just a bit more than you expected, or even desired. What can I say? It's a compulsion. All I can do is apologize. And thank you for understanding :)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
If You Really Look at Me
*The lines around my eyes aren't crows' feet, they are the hard-earned stripes I've received for a life worth living, and worth living hard.
*The creases around my mouth aren't wrinkles, they are reminders of the countless smiles and unforgettable moments of laughter that I've been blessed with.
*The gray in my hair isn't just another sign of my premature aging, it's the crown of silver that God has offered me for the years of perseverance, at times painful, that I've put in.
*The ache in my back isn't just some symptom of a degenerative disc, it's simply the aftermath of having carried two children who changed my life, and who will one day change the world.
*The painful crick in my neck wasn't caused by my body growing older or by me sleeping in an awkward position, it was brought on by the hours I laid awake in my bed and prayed over my family like an ever-watchful sentinel standing guard between them and the very gates of hell.
*What sometimes comes across as a forceful disposition doesn't come from me not getting what I want out of life, it comes from the experience and wisdom I've gained that have taught me that being persistent is the only way to get what I want... And from the beautiful people in my life who have instilled a passion in me to never settle for less than just that.
*If you look at me and see a thirty-something year old woman with too many miscellaneous-looking kids, a body that could use some toning-up, hair in a tangled mess, and a frazzled look on my face, well.... you don't really see me at all.
*Because if you really saw me for me, this is what you would see:
*A woman who has been kicked and held down too many times to count, but has also managed to get back up at least one more time than that.
*A woman who refuses to accept no as an answer to anything I ask for, because the things I ask for are rarely for myself.
*A woman who, in spite of the skepticism and doubt surrounding her existence, proved herself worthy to be called Wife, Mother, Friend, and Daughter of God.
*A woman who, today, is a better person than she was yesterday; and, who is determined to be better tomorrow than she is today.
*A woman who might make you prove yourself to her, but if she finds you worthy of her time and affection, will love and fight for you to the death, if need be... And stand, without regret, by your side, even if it means having to do so in the pits of hell.
*This is what you see when you look at me, *if* you really look at me.... now I wonder, what would I see if I took the time to *really* look at you? Won't you tell me, friend?
*The creases around my mouth aren't wrinkles, they are reminders of the countless smiles and unforgettable moments of laughter that I've been blessed with.
*The gray in my hair isn't just another sign of my premature aging, it's the crown of silver that God has offered me for the years of perseverance, at times painful, that I've put in.
*The ache in my back isn't just some symptom of a degenerative disc, it's simply the aftermath of having carried two children who changed my life, and who will one day change the world.
*The painful crick in my neck wasn't caused by my body growing older or by me sleeping in an awkward position, it was brought on by the hours I laid awake in my bed and prayed over my family like an ever-watchful sentinel standing guard between them and the very gates of hell.
*What sometimes comes across as a forceful disposition doesn't come from me not getting what I want out of life, it comes from the experience and wisdom I've gained that have taught me that being persistent is the only way to get what I want... And from the beautiful people in my life who have instilled a passion in me to never settle for less than just that.
*If you look at me and see a thirty-something year old woman with too many miscellaneous-looking kids, a body that could use some toning-up, hair in a tangled mess, and a frazzled look on my face, well.... you don't really see me at all.
*Because if you really saw me for me, this is what you would see:
*A woman who has been kicked and held down too many times to count, but has also managed to get back up at least one more time than that.
*A woman who refuses to accept no as an answer to anything I ask for, because the things I ask for are rarely for myself.
*A woman who, in spite of the skepticism and doubt surrounding her existence, proved herself worthy to be called Wife, Mother, Friend, and Daughter of God.
*A woman who, today, is a better person than she was yesterday; and, who is determined to be better tomorrow than she is today.
*A woman who might make you prove yourself to her, but if she finds you worthy of her time and affection, will love and fight for you to the death, if need be... And stand, without regret, by your side, even if it means having to do so in the pits of hell.
*This is what you see when you look at me, *if* you really look at me.... now I wonder, what would I see if I took the time to *really* look at you? Won't you tell me, friend?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Hard-Headed, Soft-Hearted, Brown-and-Bright-Eyed Me
*A few days ago, I was blessed with the chance of holding a newborn infant, only a few hours born, in my arms. Looking down at her precious, tiny nose and perfect, tiny toes made me very curious about what it must have been like on the day that God constructed her perfect little self. As I sat counting her fingers and stroking her soft cheeks, I wondered, What was going through His mind as He was placing the cells where they needed to go in order for Hailey to have eyes the color He wanted them? What was He thinking as He planned out where she will one day get freckles when she's been out in the sun for too long? Did He say to Himself, "One day she will fall down on this knee, so I need to make the skin a little extra tough right here"? Or, "I know that little boy is going to pull her pony tail in class, so let me make sure that her scalp is really strong"?
*I began to wonder about the inner dialogue that goes on inside of Him every time he creates a new person. Able to know every single thing we will ever have to go through in our lives, and being responsible for creating a heart, mind, body, and soul that are able to withstand the rigors of this world, what crossed His mind with each new addition to us? Not humanity as a whole, but specifically when He created you or me, what was He thinking?
*When He was assembling this person they call Casey, did he stop to think about the emotional bruises He knew I would have to endure... and so chose to make my spirit a little more resilient than He would have otherwise? It had to hurt Him to think about me crying into my pillow as a teenager when this boy or that girl had hurt my spirit and wounded my heart. I bet He wanted so badly to keep me from that pain, but instead gave me the strength to endure it; because without that hurt, without that experience, I wouldn't have gained the wisdom He needed for me to have in order to protect myself and my children in the future.
*I wonder if, while he was putting me together, He shed a little tear when He thought about how my heart would be shattered into a million pieces the day my grandfather, Buddy, passed away. As a parent, I can't help but think that He had to overcome some temptation to keep me from the pain, to help me avoid it altogether. But He knew that it wouldn't be long after this loss that I would lose my daddy, an absence which would hold even more agony for me; and so He decided instead to give me a man who was strong enough to hold my hand as tears streamed down my face to help share the burden of my grief with me. He knew I would need these experiences in order to help others get through the pain of losing their loved ones. He needed me to become strong enough to share the burdens of His other children as well.
*Did He have to talk Himself out of keeping me away from those people in my life who would introduce me to the enticing lures of mind-altering substances? When He envisioned the day that His little girl would no longer "just say no", did He cry out a little, wishing He could yell loud enough to make me listen and warn me about the road down which He knew my choices would inevitably lead me?
*Knowing that I will never be as hard-hearted as I am hard-headed, did it make Him take a deep breath, and maybe even have to hold back His anger when He foresaw me getting taken advantage of by horrible people in my life who would intentionally hurt and traumatize me? But instead of preventing it, He had to instead equip me with the survival instincts to be able to make it through these things, so that I could one day yell loud enough, convincingly enough, to warn the other unsuspecting people that this is NOT the road down which they should travel.
*As He held my tiny little being in His enormous hands, did he look into my eyes, and into my future, and think about the day that His innocent little Casey would finally be overcome by temptation and give in to the seduction of wandering away from Him? The day that I would stray so far from Him that even He would have to squint His eyes in order to see me... The day He would have to let me go so that I wouldn't have any other choice but to fall. I bet He almost couldn't stand the thought of me hitting rock bottom, but knew it was the only way I would realize how desperately I needed to be clinging to Him.
*And I wonder what joy it must have brought Him when He looked down at my infintesimely small feet and realized that these were the same feet that would one day, dirty and dusty and scarred, bring me back to Him like a prodigal daughter returning Home. I wonder if He even bent down to plant a little kiss on my itty-bitty feet, blessing them so that they would be able to withstand the tumultuous journey He knew they would carry me through.
*I can't help but imagine that He placed His hand, ever so gently, on my heart for a moment... Pouring His love into me intensely, perhaps even ferociously, so that I would never have to endure one Love-less moment, even after this life and this world have managed to sap all the energy and motivation out of my soul.
*He surely must have felt a little twinge of bittersweet reverie when He finally placed my soul into my body and breathed that first breath of life into my lungs... Oh, how He loved me in that moment, in all my innocence and tenderness and inexperience....and, oh, how He must have hated to have to let me go, even though it would just be for a brief period in His infinite span of time.
*And now.... Oh, how He loves me even more now! Now that I'm hardened and damaged and broken and fractured, He holds even more passion for me. He's seen all that I've done, the good, the bad, and the undeniably ugly, and He feels even more violently in love with me! When He looks at me now, He looks *at*, not *past*, all the battle scars on my body and war wounds in my soul, and feels a rush of affectionate admiration for me and all that I've become. He somehow sees me through eyes filled with pride and satisfaction.
*Where the world sees a tired, overburdened, underappreciated, and sometimes resentful and bitter woman, He sees His hard-headed, soft-hearted, bright-eyed and unapologetically optimistic little girl with a not-so-tiny-anymore nose and toes that are no longer tiny, but are laughably and perfectly crooked... And He smiles down at me with a knowing grin on His face, because no matter how old I become or how dirty I may get, He will always see me as His sweet little Casey with big brown eyes, freckled skin, and scarred and knobby knees... All of which He placed right where they should be. For I was perfectly and wonderfully made by an Abba who dotes on me every second I'm alive, and with every breath I take He somehow loves me more than He did the breath before.
*I began to wonder about the inner dialogue that goes on inside of Him every time he creates a new person. Able to know every single thing we will ever have to go through in our lives, and being responsible for creating a heart, mind, body, and soul that are able to withstand the rigors of this world, what crossed His mind with each new addition to us? Not humanity as a whole, but specifically when He created you or me, what was He thinking?
*When He was assembling this person they call Casey, did he stop to think about the emotional bruises He knew I would have to endure... and so chose to make my spirit a little more resilient than He would have otherwise? It had to hurt Him to think about me crying into my pillow as a teenager when this boy or that girl had hurt my spirit and wounded my heart. I bet He wanted so badly to keep me from that pain, but instead gave me the strength to endure it; because without that hurt, without that experience, I wouldn't have gained the wisdom He needed for me to have in order to protect myself and my children in the future.
*I wonder if, while he was putting me together, He shed a little tear when He thought about how my heart would be shattered into a million pieces the day my grandfather, Buddy, passed away. As a parent, I can't help but think that He had to overcome some temptation to keep me from the pain, to help me avoid it altogether. But He knew that it wouldn't be long after this loss that I would lose my daddy, an absence which would hold even more agony for me; and so He decided instead to give me a man who was strong enough to hold my hand as tears streamed down my face to help share the burden of my grief with me. He knew I would need these experiences in order to help others get through the pain of losing their loved ones. He needed me to become strong enough to share the burdens of His other children as well.
*Did He have to talk Himself out of keeping me away from those people in my life who would introduce me to the enticing lures of mind-altering substances? When He envisioned the day that His little girl would no longer "just say no", did He cry out a little, wishing He could yell loud enough to make me listen and warn me about the road down which He knew my choices would inevitably lead me?
*Knowing that I will never be as hard-hearted as I am hard-headed, did it make Him take a deep breath, and maybe even have to hold back His anger when He foresaw me getting taken advantage of by horrible people in my life who would intentionally hurt and traumatize me? But instead of preventing it, He had to instead equip me with the survival instincts to be able to make it through these things, so that I could one day yell loud enough, convincingly enough, to warn the other unsuspecting people that this is NOT the road down which they should travel.
*As He held my tiny little being in His enormous hands, did he look into my eyes, and into my future, and think about the day that His innocent little Casey would finally be overcome by temptation and give in to the seduction of wandering away from Him? The day that I would stray so far from Him that even He would have to squint His eyes in order to see me... The day He would have to let me go so that I wouldn't have any other choice but to fall. I bet He almost couldn't stand the thought of me hitting rock bottom, but knew it was the only way I would realize how desperately I needed to be clinging to Him.
*And I wonder what joy it must have brought Him when He looked down at my infintesimely small feet and realized that these were the same feet that would one day, dirty and dusty and scarred, bring me back to Him like a prodigal daughter returning Home. I wonder if He even bent down to plant a little kiss on my itty-bitty feet, blessing them so that they would be able to withstand the tumultuous journey He knew they would carry me through.
*I can't help but imagine that He placed His hand, ever so gently, on my heart for a moment... Pouring His love into me intensely, perhaps even ferociously, so that I would never have to endure one Love-less moment, even after this life and this world have managed to sap all the energy and motivation out of my soul.
*He surely must have felt a little twinge of bittersweet reverie when He finally placed my soul into my body and breathed that first breath of life into my lungs... Oh, how He loved me in that moment, in all my innocence and tenderness and inexperience....and, oh, how He must have hated to have to let me go, even though it would just be for a brief period in His infinite span of time.
*And now.... Oh, how He loves me even more now! Now that I'm hardened and damaged and broken and fractured, He holds even more passion for me. He's seen all that I've done, the good, the bad, and the undeniably ugly, and He feels even more violently in love with me! When He looks at me now, He looks *at*, not *past*, all the battle scars on my body and war wounds in my soul, and feels a rush of affectionate admiration for me and all that I've become. He somehow sees me through eyes filled with pride and satisfaction.
*Where the world sees a tired, overburdened, underappreciated, and sometimes resentful and bitter woman, He sees His hard-headed, soft-hearted, bright-eyed and unapologetically optimistic little girl with a not-so-tiny-anymore nose and toes that are no longer tiny, but are laughably and perfectly crooked... And He smiles down at me with a knowing grin on His face, because no matter how old I become or how dirty I may get, He will always see me as His sweet little Casey with big brown eyes, freckled skin, and scarred and knobby knees... All of which He placed right where they should be. For I was perfectly and wonderfully made by an Abba who dotes on me every second I'm alive, and with every breath I take He somehow loves me more than He did the breath before.
3 Boys, 1 Girl, and the Conquering of Pensacola Beach
*Thinking back on my childhood brings with it a myriad of feelings and emotions. My early life was unpredictable, to say the least. I was born as the only child (and a huge surprise at that!) of my two parents, but the baby of five older half-sisters and one older half-brother. My parents found each other late in their lives and I think they were both trying to make things better for themselves when I popped up in the picture. They divorced when I was a toddler, so I've never really had any memories of the three of us together. Nor did I ever have the 'normal' sibling experience of having brothers or sisters near my age in the house with me. But I do remember the day my dad came into my Pepto-Bismol pink bedroom to tell me that my sister Joni, her husband Rick, and their three boys were moving down to Florida with us. I don't know if I even knew who they really were at the time. I was so young, and my life with my dad consisted of being with him every other weekend. I remember being worried about having to share my dad, and my life, with three yucky boys. But I am so glad that they came.
*The "boys" as they were collectively named early on, came crashing into my world like a triple tornado, and they effectively changed the course of my life from day one. I think we were instantly bonded and tied to the hip from the moment we met. Larry is one month older than me and I used to love holding it over his head that he was supposed to be calling me Aunt Casey! I know I drove him bonkers! He was definitely the smartest kid my own age that I had ever known. And man, oh man, was I proud to know him and be his aunt! Then there was Eric, the middle boy. Eric was always the one in the middle of everything, as a matter of fact! Where Larry stayed focused on his own tasks, Eric had to be a part of whatever was going on. He was up for anything! He was never too tired or too complacent to play with me. Larry, on the other hand, quickly grew into his own friends and made sure to establish boundaries as needed. He had much more important things to worry about than sneaking rubber snakes into mailboxes to scare my step mom Mary Martha (aka "Scary Martha"). Things like hacking into this weird thing called the world wide web, when the rest of us only used computers for playing Math Crunch at school. Lastly, there was Chris. The youngest of the three... The one my dad (their granddad) nicknamed "LS", which stood for Little Shit (it was an affectionate term, he gave it to my son Nate when he was born, as well). Chris was mine and Eric's tagalong, or so we thought! It didn't take long for us both to realize that we were really Chris's tagalongs! He always knew the most fun and mischievous way to get anything accomplished and loved playing pranks!! He took alot of heat that the three of us probably should've shared (it's always easier to blame the one everyone else suspects is the culprit anyway!)
*My days as a kid are filled with memories of bike rides along sand-dune lined roads to the Tom Thumb to spend all the money we had managed to hustle out of the adults in our house that day. We would ride the mile-long journey to that convenience store, legs burning, lungs gasping for air, and then we'd stock up on more junk food than anyone should ever devour in their lifetime, much less in an hour! We would take our prizes and treasures to the beach, hide behind a sand dune and a spray of sea oats and have the time of our lives. Then we would immediately begin the hunt for the coolest jellyfish or hermit crab we could get in our grasps (yes, you can hold some jellyfish consequence-free, you just have to know the difference). Having saved the poor unsuspecting tourists on the beach from the evils of the tentacles and claws of these beach monsters, we would head back to the two-story stucco haven we called home base. We would inevitably be sunburned and exhausted, but just you try to convince us to stay home and skip the same adventure tomorrow! No way Jose!!
*Hey, wanna know the perfect way to really piss off a bunch of grown ups?! Just ask us! We can tell you what worked for us: hide all of the remote controls to all of the tv's out in the back yard's beach-sand landscape. And then forget which sand dune you hid them in! Man! I don't think we'll ever live that one down. I'm pretty sure there might be a police report sitting around somewhere! Wanna know how to get under the skin of all your neighbors and get them to call your folks to complain about you? Simple! Just habitually steal their newspapers out of their Pensacola News Journal boxes in the wee hours of the morning before anyone else is even up. I'll never know how all those grumpy old snow birds knew it was us!
*We had an old tennis court, the fencing around it covered in an overgrowth of dense vegetation, making it feel oh-so-fort-like, in the middle of our subdivision, Villa Sabine, where we would go and camp out at all day and catch horny toads and roly polies and, on a really great day, tadpoles galore. Across from the tennis court lived a flock of geese... who were the meanest damn creatures in Sabine! You better pedal your bike super fast past that house, or risk getting bit in the ass... just ask any of the four of us (Chris may still have a scar since I think he took the hardest bite of any of us!)
*Our favorite forbidden thing to dare each other to do, was to see how far we could get down the road to where the Environmental Protection Agency sat, all gated and governmentally-protected looking. We'd meander down that road, pedaling slowly and looking as innocent as possible (not an easy feat, let me assure you), and checking over our shoulders to make sure we weren't being followed by the CIA or what-not (as Larry always assured us we were). It never failed that about half-way down, we would chicken out and make a break for it! We would pedal as fast as our little legs would allow until we were safe at last. This would usually land us at our Nano's house, because there was no safer place in all the world than in her welcoming home. She would always bring out the ice milk (not ice cream, mind you!) and make sure we ate our fill. She would stir in a little extra milk and vanilla extract to make an ice cream soup (which is still my favorite desert to this day). She never cared how much sand we tracked in, or if our hands were dirty or clean. We would sit at her bar, content with being waited on hand and foot, until we were sure we had managed to lose the FBI who had been hot on our trails just moments before. And then we would begin the trek back to the house to see what else we could get ourselves into.
*About halfway there, we would pass the "castle house" where, everyone knew, the weird old couple that lived there had buried their small children in their front yard under the huge tombstone-like rocks that lined their fencing. We would speculate about how those kids had died for the rest of the journey home, the story changing and getting more horrific each time it was told. When we finally arrived home, it was usually time to go swimming in Sabine Bay, the best damn place to swim in all of Pensacola Beach... and perhaps the world. This was where we spent the majority of our childhoods, I think. Larry would usually rejoin us at this point, although he didn't fully participate in our childish games, preferring instead to just watch the goings-on around him (and probably plotting his take-over of the world as he sat on the pier gazing across the bay).
*Eric and I would find the old green aluminum fishing boat, flip it over, pull it out as far as we dared to go in the bay, and hide under it in the water. It was there, in the safety of the underside of the boat, that we would giggle and laugh as quietly as possible until our sides were aching as poor little Chris would be calling for us from the shoreline, pleading with us to stop hiding from him. Eric and I would stay in the water under that boat until our fingers were as wrinkled as dehydrated prunes and finally reveal ourselves to Chris, who by this point knew right where we were but, much to our disappointment, had given up caring long before.
*We would then swim out to the sand bar, shuffling our feet in the sand as walked like we had been trained to do from birth. It was imperative, after all, to make sure you kick up those sting rays out from their hiding places under the sand so you don't step on them, like our granddad Rupert was rumored to have done years before. Thoughts of blackened, poisoned feet were the motivators for the diligence we used on that sand bar. We would inevitably get bored (it turns out the sand bar is only interesting from a mysterious distance) and tired and realize how far we had to swim to get back to dad's pier, so we would plan the piggyback swimming schedule to get back. We would take turns pulling each other until we finally reached the sanctuary that was 256 Sabine Drive.
*Night would fall, we would succumb to the heaviest eyelids ever known to mankind, and all pass out, piled up on brown leather Lazy Boy recliners, in front of a huge screen tv, sipping chocolate milk from frosted glasses, covered up with the down comforters that were necessary in the meat-freezer like temperatures of our stucco abode.
*Now I'm all grown-up, the boys are all grown-up, and we're scattered all about... But get any combination of us together at any given moment in time, and you will soon see what I've known for years: Larry, Eric, and Chris (AKA "The Boys") might be my nephews biologically speaking, but in every other possible way, they are the truest and best *brothers* this little girl could've ever been blessed with. I'm so glad that God brought them to me that day... And I'm still so proud of each and every one of them. They brought smiles, laughter, and happiness to my childhood... And they continue to provide me with these essentials in my adulthood. I love you three... You will always be *my* boys. Without you, I wouldn't be... me.
Love,
Me
*The "boys" as they were collectively named early on, came crashing into my world like a triple tornado, and they effectively changed the course of my life from day one. I think we were instantly bonded and tied to the hip from the moment we met. Larry is one month older than me and I used to love holding it over his head that he was supposed to be calling me Aunt Casey! I know I drove him bonkers! He was definitely the smartest kid my own age that I had ever known. And man, oh man, was I proud to know him and be his aunt! Then there was Eric, the middle boy. Eric was always the one in the middle of everything, as a matter of fact! Where Larry stayed focused on his own tasks, Eric had to be a part of whatever was going on. He was up for anything! He was never too tired or too complacent to play with me. Larry, on the other hand, quickly grew into his own friends and made sure to establish boundaries as needed. He had much more important things to worry about than sneaking rubber snakes into mailboxes to scare my step mom Mary Martha (aka "Scary Martha"). Things like hacking into this weird thing called the world wide web, when the rest of us only used computers for playing Math Crunch at school. Lastly, there was Chris. The youngest of the three... The one my dad (their granddad) nicknamed "LS", which stood for Little Shit (it was an affectionate term, he gave it to my son Nate when he was born, as well). Chris was mine and Eric's tagalong, or so we thought! It didn't take long for us both to realize that we were really Chris's tagalongs! He always knew the most fun and mischievous way to get anything accomplished and loved playing pranks!! He took alot of heat that the three of us probably should've shared (it's always easier to blame the one everyone else suspects is the culprit anyway!)
*My days as a kid are filled with memories of bike rides along sand-dune lined roads to the Tom Thumb to spend all the money we had managed to hustle out of the adults in our house that day. We would ride the mile-long journey to that convenience store, legs burning, lungs gasping for air, and then we'd stock up on more junk food than anyone should ever devour in their lifetime, much less in an hour! We would take our prizes and treasures to the beach, hide behind a sand dune and a spray of sea oats and have the time of our lives. Then we would immediately begin the hunt for the coolest jellyfish or hermit crab we could get in our grasps (yes, you can hold some jellyfish consequence-free, you just have to know the difference). Having saved the poor unsuspecting tourists on the beach from the evils of the tentacles and claws of these beach monsters, we would head back to the two-story stucco haven we called home base. We would inevitably be sunburned and exhausted, but just you try to convince us to stay home and skip the same adventure tomorrow! No way Jose!!
*Hey, wanna know the perfect way to really piss off a bunch of grown ups?! Just ask us! We can tell you what worked for us: hide all of the remote controls to all of the tv's out in the back yard's beach-sand landscape. And then forget which sand dune you hid them in! Man! I don't think we'll ever live that one down. I'm pretty sure there might be a police report sitting around somewhere! Wanna know how to get under the skin of all your neighbors and get them to call your folks to complain about you? Simple! Just habitually steal their newspapers out of their Pensacola News Journal boxes in the wee hours of the morning before anyone else is even up. I'll never know how all those grumpy old snow birds knew it was us!
*We had an old tennis court, the fencing around it covered in an overgrowth of dense vegetation, making it feel oh-so-fort-like, in the middle of our subdivision, Villa Sabine, where we would go and camp out at all day and catch horny toads and roly polies and, on a really great day, tadpoles galore. Across from the tennis court lived a flock of geese... who were the meanest damn creatures in Sabine! You better pedal your bike super fast past that house, or risk getting bit in the ass... just ask any of the four of us (Chris may still have a scar since I think he took the hardest bite of any of us!)
*Our favorite forbidden thing to dare each other to do, was to see how far we could get down the road to where the Environmental Protection Agency sat, all gated and governmentally-protected looking. We'd meander down that road, pedaling slowly and looking as innocent as possible (not an easy feat, let me assure you), and checking over our shoulders to make sure we weren't being followed by the CIA or what-not (as Larry always assured us we were). It never failed that about half-way down, we would chicken out and make a break for it! We would pedal as fast as our little legs would allow until we were safe at last. This would usually land us at our Nano's house, because there was no safer place in all the world than in her welcoming home. She would always bring out the ice milk (not ice cream, mind you!) and make sure we ate our fill. She would stir in a little extra milk and vanilla extract to make an ice cream soup (which is still my favorite desert to this day). She never cared how much sand we tracked in, or if our hands were dirty or clean. We would sit at her bar, content with being waited on hand and foot, until we were sure we had managed to lose the FBI who had been hot on our trails just moments before. And then we would begin the trek back to the house to see what else we could get ourselves into.
*About halfway there, we would pass the "castle house" where, everyone knew, the weird old couple that lived there had buried their small children in their front yard under the huge tombstone-like rocks that lined their fencing. We would speculate about how those kids had died for the rest of the journey home, the story changing and getting more horrific each time it was told. When we finally arrived home, it was usually time to go swimming in Sabine Bay, the best damn place to swim in all of Pensacola Beach... and perhaps the world. This was where we spent the majority of our childhoods, I think. Larry would usually rejoin us at this point, although he didn't fully participate in our childish games, preferring instead to just watch the goings-on around him (and probably plotting his take-over of the world as he sat on the pier gazing across the bay).
*Eric and I would find the old green aluminum fishing boat, flip it over, pull it out as far as we dared to go in the bay, and hide under it in the water. It was there, in the safety of the underside of the boat, that we would giggle and laugh as quietly as possible until our sides were aching as poor little Chris would be calling for us from the shoreline, pleading with us to stop hiding from him. Eric and I would stay in the water under that boat until our fingers were as wrinkled as dehydrated prunes and finally reveal ourselves to Chris, who by this point knew right where we were but, much to our disappointment, had given up caring long before.
*We would then swim out to the sand bar, shuffling our feet in the sand as walked like we had been trained to do from birth. It was imperative, after all, to make sure you kick up those sting rays out from their hiding places under the sand so you don't step on them, like our granddad Rupert was rumored to have done years before. Thoughts of blackened, poisoned feet were the motivators for the diligence we used on that sand bar. We would inevitably get bored (it turns out the sand bar is only interesting from a mysterious distance) and tired and realize how far we had to swim to get back to dad's pier, so we would plan the piggyback swimming schedule to get back. We would take turns pulling each other until we finally reached the sanctuary that was 256 Sabine Drive.
*Night would fall, we would succumb to the heaviest eyelids ever known to mankind, and all pass out, piled up on brown leather Lazy Boy recliners, in front of a huge screen tv, sipping chocolate milk from frosted glasses, covered up with the down comforters that were necessary in the meat-freezer like temperatures of our stucco abode.
*Now I'm all grown-up, the boys are all grown-up, and we're scattered all about... But get any combination of us together at any given moment in time, and you will soon see what I've known for years: Larry, Eric, and Chris (AKA "The Boys") might be my nephews biologically speaking, but in every other possible way, they are the truest and best *brothers* this little girl could've ever been blessed with. I'm so glad that God brought them to me that day... And I'm still so proud of each and every one of them. They brought smiles, laughter, and happiness to my childhood... And they continue to provide me with these essentials in my adulthood. I love you three... You will always be *my* boys. Without you, I wouldn't be... me.
Love,
Me
The Hopeless Cause of Living Logically
*I have stood victorious on the top of a mountain that I thought would kill me, and I have lain fetal in the valley of a drug den. I almost lost my life on the day I was born as the cord that had supplied me with life for nine months tried to suffocate my very existence. I have destroyed more than I have created. I have caused gut-wrenching pain to those who have sacrificed themselves for me. I continue to surprise myself by the extent to which I fall short of glory. It never fails that the moment I start to believe that I've arrived, life insists on breaking my back and laying me flat on my ass for all the world to see. As I lay there, gasping for air, my head spinning, I curse myself for ever having gotten back up in the first place and try to convince myself that this time it would be best to stay down... After all, the closer you are to the ground, the less it hurts when you make impact with it. I guess if I wasn't such a relentlessly foolish optimistic dreamer I might listen to the voice in my head. Inevitably, however, I manage to outwit my better sense and laugh at its silliness of ever thinking that life is better lived from the ground level. I dust myself off and start the climb again, knowing full damn well that it is just a matter of time before I lose my footing on that mountain and plummet back down to the valley again. But I'm a hopeless cause as far as living logically goes... I will always take the risk that is called life no matter what the potential consequence may be. I will always jump up and beg for more experiences and more happiness, even though I've learned that it always brings more pain and more turmoil with it. I've attempted to weigh my options on the scales of justice and self-betterment several times to no avail. I always choose the most risky option available to me... I always dive head-first into life-changing mistakes... I simply must immerse myself in this life and taste every flavor that it offers to me, no matter how bitter or sour it is. I want to hold this life until I squeeze the meaning out of it and not let go until I have absorbed every drop of its intensity into my soul. I want to share moments with people, in spite of the pain caused by their absences when they leave. These moments of self-doubt mixed with understanding are the ones that form the mile-markers for our lives and without them, we are left with endless highways of living that do nothing but numb the brain and cause drowsiness. I want to live... For all the pointless agony and for all the glorious memories that this brings with it. I want it all. And I will stop at nothing to attain this. My life has been marked with heart-ache, confusion, and despair... But it has also been illuminated by the light of grace, the kindness of strangers, and the love of others. I will gladly embrace the darkness because when that sun called Existence finally shines down on me, it brings with it an overwhelming warmth and beauty that makes it all worth it...
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