“I Thought About You Last Night…”

Three years ago, I was scheduled to move to San Antonio, TX.  My job was transferring there, from Maryland and for reasons not worth re-visiting, I elected not to go.  I had a friend, though, I’d known casually for several years who was from San Antonio and like me, was working in the DC area at the time.  I called her and asked her if she was interested in going back to San Antonio.  The answer was a resounding YES!  Like many of us, she had come to DC not because she wanted to, but to further her career and experience.  Within a matter of days, I coordinated an interview between her and my boss and a short time later, she was home in Texas.

Within a year, my friend met and married her husband.  They’ve now been married for just over a year and they’re expecting their first baby.  Several months after she returned to San Antonio, I moved to California and just over a year after that, I moved back to Maryland.  We’ve diligently kept in touch this whole time and I can honestly say we are closer now then we’ve ever been.

Our lives are busy but we connect when we can – a training for work, requested specifically because it would send me to San Antonio (and of course, because I actually *needed* the training, lol). Or, primarily email updates on Fridays, filling each other in on our week and plans for the weekend.  Occasionally we’re able to take advantage of “slow days” and email back and forth throughout the day.  Last week’s emails consisted of me voting on the nursery theme for her baby and this week was the first song I’ll play at my wedding.

Ten years ago I started my first Federal job with a woman who had just moved to Washington state from Utah.  Her two younger daughters were in school and making friends, but her oldest daughter had already graduated and chosen to move with the family, but hadn’t made many acquaintances yet.  Being a local to the area, I started hanging out with her daughter and we became close.  For reasons not worth re-visiting now, we fell out of sorts for some time, but managed to reconnect a short time before I moved to Maryland – the first time.  Since then, we keep in touch by consistent “drive bys” on Facebook.  When her job sends her to DC for work, or when I go back to Washington to visit, we make getting together to catch up a priority.

My friend is single, loves to travel and has worked her way into a good paying job.  When she accepted Christ, I was one of the first people she told.  When we’re together, we’re usually in pain because we laugh so hard.  We’ve decided it’s time for both of us to travel more and have begun planning our first vacation together this winter.  

Two years ago, all I knew was that I needed prayer – bad!! I made my way to the front of the church and into the arms of a waiting couple.  I sniveled and hiccupped my heartbreak and they embraced me and we prayed.  I exchanged email addresses with the wife and went on my miserable, clouded way.  A short time later came the first of what would become thousands of emails.

My friend is active in her church and a stay at home mom who home schools her four kids.  She doesn’t have loads of time to roam the mall aimlessly and she can’t regularly get away to do lunch or get a pedicure.  Shortly after our one initial encounter, I packed up my toys and moved to California.  We emailed every single day – sometimes multiple times a day.  I didn’t see her again for eight months, when I returned to Maryland for a visit.  I was ecstatic to see someone I’d met once – and NOT in my finest hour – but considered a very dear friend.  When I moved back to Maryland in July, it was this friend who showed me where my post office was, how to get to the Costco, who counter-balanced the “crazy” in my church and who I still call when I’m lost.  Her family has taken me in and made me one of their own.

Seven months ago, I signed up for an Anger Management class at my church.  The class was fascinating, I learned a lot and I also made a friend.  We share the same dry, sarcastic sense of humor and often stood outside in the cold after class to keep talking, or gave each other the giggles while our teacher led us in breathing exercises in class.  My friend is real and transparent and I love it.  I know I can tell her anything and she will at least understand and at most, relate.  Living in Virginia, we don’t have the opportunities to get together as often as we would like, but when we do, we can spend an entire day together without realizing the time has passed.

As I travel though life, as I’m frustrated and encouraged, hurt and blessed, I’m thankful for my friends.  I’m awed daily by them – by how many I have, and how much they love me.  By how different they are and how quickly my years with them have flown by.  The one who called my job and pretended to be my mom when she got worried when I wouldn’t pick up the phone.  The one who used to call and leave long rambling voicemails “venting” – and if I’d make the mistake of picking up, she’d politely request to call me back and ask me to send her to voicemail, please.  The friend who is the ying to my yang who would allow me to drag her along on whatever adventure I could think of.  The friends who thoroughly investigated the two churches I was struggling with, from 3,000 miles away, so they could give me the advice I’d asked for.  My friends surround me like the flowers in a bouquet, but they are in fact scattered across the globe.

Something I’ve been reminded of lately, is that friendship – the comfortable kind, that fits like an old pair of house shoes – takes time.  But also – like love – it comes out of the blue, when you’re not really looking for it. 

LOVE y’all!!

~M~ 

No Normal Friday

“God is on a cross.  The creator of the universe is being executed.  Spit and blood are caked on his cheeks and his lips are cracked and swollen.  Thorns rip his scalp.  His lungs scream with pain.  His legs knot with cramps…and there is no one to save him, for he is sacrificing himself.  It is no normal six hours…it is no normal Friday.” ~ Max Lucado

So whether you're lying to your boyfriend, or living with your girlfriend, beating your children or cheating on your taxes, if you're drinking, gambling or shopping away your paycheck, whether you're tired or angry, bitter or jealous, if you're lazy or controlling or depressed or afraid...today, He died for us.  Lest we forget.

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.  By his wounds you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.” 1 Peter 2:24-25

Wordless Wednesday

Blogger is disabling image uploads on Wednesday!  I'd have a window of time, but what with everything going on this week, I'm just gunna post early...(and make use of the fact I can use words lol)

How sweet it is!  Malachi was delivered to me at 4:00 on Sunday!  FedEx (finally) delivered his crate tonight...so now, he's been washed and clipped and dipped and we've sprayed every surface for rogue fleas from the other dogs he traveled with.  We've washed his special blanket and re-appropriated my bathroom from a make shift room for him and designated his corner in the dining room.  He refuses to sit in his sofa (smells like flea spray lol) so I'll have to replace it...but other then that, we're back in business...yaaaay!!

Love y'all,
~M~

Wordless Wednesday

(Subtitle: Can't Hardly Wait...! :)

Eat It Up

Tuesdays are Lemon Pepper Chicken day in the cafeteria.  It’s only been two months, but my co-workers already know what will be in my little to-go box when I come back to my desk on those days.  Occasionally, the cooks will get a wild hair (or maybe just some extra chicken) and make my beloved recipe on other days as well.  It hasn’t happened often, but just often enough to make me wonder what’s for lunch Wednesday through Monday…and then begrudgingly settle for the Orange Chicken booby prize.  Next week, my organization will begin the (labor intensive) relocation to a new building in a new city…far enough away from my current building to make Lemon Pepper Chicken Tuesdays completely unrealistic.  So I’ve been using my booby prize lunches as a means to remind me to relish what I have, when I have it.  Because someday, it could go away.

My job is kicking my butt.  But it’s doing it in the same way my Zumba class does.  I’m grunting and puffing and trying to keep up…but gladly coming back for more.  When I first got this job, work was scarce.  I diligently reported for duty and held down my chair everyday…while I surfed the web.  Work was delivered to me with little to no instruction and enough time elapsed between assignments that I wasn’t able to remember the process, recall what went where or determine what needed to be done.  Now, I’m the point person for a team and have to keep everyone else’s plates spinning as well as my own.  I like this much better, but on my busiest days, I do think back to “the good ol’ days” when I could message my friends on Facebook (or even make a doctors appointment with out feeling guilty) during work hours.

I have two dates scheduled for the same night.  I don’t know how this happened, but it did – and one is even a Christian.  It’s like Lemon Pepper Chicken two days in a row (lol)!  My dating history is hit or miss, so who knows if there will be a “love connection” with either of these men.  But, I’m not looking for a husband (yes I am, let’s keep it real, Mimi!) – ok, ok, I’m not actively interviewing for a husband.  At this phase in my life, I’m focusing on living life and enjoying life and experiencing whatever that means.  Hopefully, these goals will bring me a full and satisfying life as well as someone to share it with.  So I want to take particular care to enjoy the process – to relish it, because two dates in one evening might not always be situation normal for me.  Circumstances might take me away from such a social calendar the same way workload and geographic moves change my world.

I don’t like change.  I really, really don’t.  But it’s unavoidable.  Today as I scarfed down my Lemon Pepper Chicken while I pulled a file out of a moving box for my Intern and I tried to take a mental moment to enjoy.  To enjoy my chicken, to enjoy my busy job and to enjoy my current office and the way I know where everything is at.  Tomorrow, I’ll enjoy two dates (that still makes me grin, lol).  A time may come when I have no dates.  A time will definitely come when I have no more Lemon Pepper Chicken, and I’ve had enough new jobs to know that my web surfing days aren’t completely over yet. 

I want to make an effort to be aware and live in each present moment.  There is always a blessing in this present moment and I want to see it and absorb it and experience it to the fullest whatever it may be.  This present moment’s blessings might be different from the one before or after, but there’s still a blessing there.  Exhibit A: My office move will take me away from this addictive Lemon Pepper Chicken.  But it’s also putting me within walking distance to Georgetown Cupcake.  God is good!! :-D

Love y’all!

~M~

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

I had a good morning.  I think it was the residual effects of a good night.  I had a wonderful Anger Management class last night.  Initially, I’d signed up for the class out of some combination of self-concern, spite and curiosity.  But I wasn’t there 15 minutes and I knew this class was gunna be good.  I felt thankful that someone accused me of having this issue, but also sorry that he doesn’t seem to realize to what extent it could help him in his relationships too.  I didn’t linger terribly long on that thought, though, because let’s be honest – I didn’t pay the money to apply these principles to someone else (lol)! 

So I woke up feeling…renewed.  But I’ve had a couple of weird hiccups today.  I re-established the allotment with my bank for my paycheck – my new job finally gave me access that I needed (it only took seven weeks), so now I have the right amount of money going into the right account to get my bills paid.  It took, like, 7 seconds.  It was such a huge thing.  Then I did something else (I don’t remember what, to be honest) and had the same weird, physical reaction – almost like mental vertigo or something.  But at the same time, I was aware that the actions I’d taken were small ones in the big picture, so I shrugged it off.  I got everything out, to do some real work at my job (now that seven weeks in I seem to be finally getting all of the accesses that I need!)…but at first, I just couldn’t…it was that same feeling that washed over me. 

I think what’s happening is that life is going on. 

Until my recent “Facebook status change”, these little details were sort of building up – they had become my routine.  I didn’t work, because there was little to do or that I was authorized access to, so when I wasn’t shadowing another employee I mostly emailed or texted the not-boyfriend all day.  I neglected details like setting up my financial allotments or picking up packages at the Post Office because I was always with him or unprepared and running late because I’d overslept after being with him for too long the night before (lol)…

When I go into my kitchen or look in my fridge, I get the same feeling.  There are still things in there from when I first got here and we went grocery shopping together.  The flat of bottled water, the bottle of V8…he built my kitchen table and chairs for me and he organized my cupboards too.  Then there’s the last vase of wilting pink roses…I know the time will come when the stuff in the fridge will be gone.  Dying roses reach a point when they smell like death too.  And I’m sure that eventually the magnifying mirror he voted to keep in the bathroom or closet but I kept on the kitchen table (where I can sit comfortably for longer), will permanently make its home there.  Soon enough, life will move forward leaving behind any lingering evidence of what was supposed to be…I think that process is starting already.

Life isn’t standing still this time to mourn the demise of M&M.  On the one hand, that’s exciting – but on the other, it’s intimidating.  All I wanted when I got here was a familiar routine.  I yearned for it.  I wanted to have “the usual” – the things that I could expect or assume.  I’m realizing now, that I had those things, they just didn’t look the way I expected.  As my weekend approaches, there’s a subtle anxiety in my stomach.  I’m nervous because I have one entire day out of two where I have no plans.  I’m distinctly aware that my routine has been disrupted, because usually I would be with him.  But I’m also aware that like those couple of other things that I managed to accomplish today, new routines are on the way...I just have to wait and keep looking.  Because they tend to come when I’m busy doing them.

“In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life.  It goes on.” ~Robert Frost

Love y'all,

~M~

Tree of Life

“There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go of.” ~ Anonymous

I am here.  I made it back to DC.  God is faithful – He delivered me (practically with a bow on my head) not only back to the DC area, but to the same area I ran away from last year.  I am blessed.  I have possibly the cutest apartment in the most convenient area and have the cutest new car to troll around my new area in.  God is faithful.  He has met all of my needs.  I am alone.  Five months ago, the last time I blogged, I contemplated taking risks.  I had no idea how mine would pay off, but I hoped for the best.  That what I desired most of all would come to fruition.  But it has not.  Once again, one year later, I am here and blessed…and alone.

I’m not sure yet just what my thoughts are on this recent turn of events.  It’s only now been 24 hours.  My eyes hurt, my stomach muscles ache, I’ve eaten approximately seven grapes all day and I can’t look a single person in the eye without bursting into tears.  Zumba tonight was quite a feat – I should feel special and excited that my teacher remembers my name and has began talking to me in class.  But…tonight?  My care group chose tonight to review the group covenant and by the time we reached the bullet about supporting each other in prayer, I was hyperventilating.  Again. 

I really wanted this.  I prayed for 13 months and 3,000 miles for direction, clarification, hope.  I can clearly recall March 8th when he emailed me and invited me on a date – to pursue me, with the intention of marrying me, he’d said.  I remember standing in a stall in the ladies’ room, my head pressed against the door, just praying.  I had worked so hard for so many months to put – and keep – God first in my life.  Before everything.  Before my love, before my desire to get married, before my desire to have children.  And then, the ultimate test was in front of me. 

I remembered Abraham and Isaac.  Abraham’s love for God was so great that Abraham was willing to sacrifice his only, cherished and longed for son.  Because he knew God had a plan.  I wanted to always remember – always – that whatever happened, I should be able to give my love up if the time came.  Because God has a plan.  And as hard as it may be, or as wrong as it may seem, my only job is to trust that.  Then, tonight, as she was leaving, a woman at care group who I hadn’t met before handed me a small slip of paper and smiled.  I opened it and read…

“For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”” Jeremiah 29:11

It’s a verse I’ve read many times before – it was my life verse in high school, in fact.  But tonight, it felt like a hug.  It took me back to that bathroom stall, thinking about Abraham and wondering if I would ever in life be so brave as to trust God’s plan that way…and now, just six months later – and as I troll around Montgomery County realizing so much of my familiarity with the area is directly thanks to my love – I realize, that I am.

Five months ago, my pastor reminded me that to get the good stuff, I’ve got to go out on a limb.  So I did…and I learned that sometimes that limb can break before I can reach the prize.  I learned that if it does break, it will hurt.  But that should never stop me and I will always hold out hope for another season – because life is long and ultimately I know that I am rooted in the Tree of Life.

Love y'all,
~M~

Fruit Doesn’t Grow on the Trunk

"Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter.  Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it."

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Six weeks ago, I started on a journey that will possibly - likely - change my life.  Most of the people I know, who know about my decision, have been skeptical and something less then supportive.  Initially, I was so hurt that the people I love and who love me would be so pessimistic.  Initially I wondered if their reluctance was a sign from God that I should pay attention to.  But the peace that I feel whenever I pray over this, confirms for me that I’m doing the right thing.  I don’t know what will happen, how this will end…but I know that I’m doing what God would have me do and I know there is something to be learned and/or accomplished from this experience.  So even if it doesn’t go the way I would prefer, I will be happy – and content – because I know I followed God.

Two years ago, I dated a man I wanted to marry.  Our break-up darn near killed me and exposed traits in me I didn’t even know I had.  The experience taught me that I cannot say, “I would never do that” – because you just never know(!).  The months after our relationship ended, the months that I spent piecing my life back together, taught me much about God’s sovereignty, our own free will, trust and also forgiveness.

I used to call him MSO – My Special One, more special than any one I’d known before.  Which is, to me, a gold star example of the sovereignty of God’s plan.  The man I knew then was slightly flawed but perfect for me as far as I was concerned.  And now, two years later, he’s better than I ever could have imagined.  Seeing this change in him, the skepticism from my loved ones hurts me.  But I’m trying to remember that these loved ones who know we’re communicating again, have less information to work with, then I do.  They haven’t talked to him countless times daily, every day for six weeks.  They haven’t had the opportunity to see the changes in this man.  They haven’t prayed for guidance and felt the complete sense of peace.  They just know that they love me and that I loved him.  And that he hurt me…so they don’t love him.

But I hope that they will cautiously give him another chance, the same way I have.  Because regardless of how this journey will end, I can see that God is in it.  The person I am called to be through this journey is a truer, deeper Christian then I have been before.  Because the question in this experience really isn’t whether or not to let this man back into my life, whether or not he will hurt me again.  It’s whether or not to trust that God has a plan for me.  Whether or not to believe that even if this experience doesn’t end the way I would hope, that it has come to me for a reason.  To exercise my belief that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord.

I don’t know how this will end.  I’m praying and seeking, diligently holding fast to my plan to move back to DC for myself.  And I’m trying to be open and aware of the new things God is showing me and the new ways God is growing me, and that perhaps he is using this very special person for a purpose.  For 17 years I’ve trusted in Him.  Taking one small step and then another and another, more and more boldly each time.  I never want to lose that.  I never want to lose the promise that when I take a leap of faith, God will be there to catch me.  And as if to affirm that desire, this morning my pastor spoke directly to me from the stage, when he said, “Fruit doesn’t grow on the trunk, friends – to get the good stuff, you’ve got to go out on a limb.”

Love y’all!
~M~

Simple Truths

I was already in bed when my cell phone rang. The caller was from a number I didn’t recognize, but I picked up anyway, a mixture of boredom and curiosity. The caller was my mom. “I have some bad news” she said matter-of-factly, “Your grandpa has died.” I sat bolt upright, I’m not sure how long I was stunned silent, but finally I managed, “My grandpa…?”

My grandpa was a quiet, deliberate man – easily overshadowed in a family of loud, gregarious women. During WW2, he fought in the Army and raised four children in the baby boom. He built every house my mom lived in, until she moved out on her own. He took me in as his own when I was a baby and my parents divorced. He taught me to love ice cream and the Lord. His favorite color was green and when I was little, it tickled him to no end that when he scowled at me, I would scowl back. He bought me a Honda CRX for Christmas one year and was genuinely concerned that I wouldn’t like it. He helped pay for me to attend Catholic elementary school and helped put me through college. He told me once that my best bet to find a good man, was to find a dumb farm boy “like him”.

Whenever my grandpa got dressed up, he would wear a bolo (of which he had several) and a belt buckle I can’t remember giving him that said, “Worlds Best Grandpa”. When he spoke, if I listened close enough, I could hear his dentures click. He was damn near stone deaf, we had to shout ourselves horse to talk to him.  When my grandpa was my age, he was so handsome – he looked just like a movie star. My grandpa sat in a chair in the Living Room for the last few years of his life, while the family life continued to buzz around him. Countless times, when food was being served in the kitchen or eaten in the Family Room, my Gramma would hand me a plate and say, “Take this to Dad…” and I would dutifuly deliver it to the next room.  My grandpa ate a bowl of ice cream every night and when his doctor suggested he cut back to just a cup, I made him a ceramic cup the size of a bowl with “I love you grandpa” painted on the bottom inside. When my grandpa laughed, no sound came out. He would squeeze his eyes shut and shake his shoulders.

My grandpa loved plaid and flannel -  and he loved them even more, together. When I was growing up, he loved to work on cars. He went hunting every year with his sons. One year, he brought home such a haul, he had to talk my mom into buying a full size freezer so we could store the venison (deer meat) in her basement. My grandpa believed in conspiracies and the end times. He built a house big enough on property large enough for all of us, in the event the end times started any time soon. My grandpa’s birthday was Christmas day and every year he got a $1.00 box of chocolate covered cherries from my mom – a tradition started when she was small. One year recently she didn’t get it, assuming he didn't really care…but that evening he asked her, “Where are my cherries, Reet?”

I used to visit grandpa when no one else was home, just to talk to him in his chair. He told me he heard God’s voice once. My grandpa read the King James Bible every day but when he’d get really upset, he’d still cuss (not entirely unlike his granddaughter).  He also had an alternative cuss word (not entirely unlike his granddaughter) – his was “Dagnabit”. My grandpa collected John Deere’s and CATs and loved to get them stuck in the earth on his farm. He made the pond on our property and stocked it with fish – we had to explain to him that he couldn’t shoot the Blue Herring that kept eating them all out because it was an endangered species.  He didn't much care.

My grandpa’s name was Max and he died yesterday. He’s in heaven now, of that I am certain. I will miss him until I see him again. Today after church, a song came on the radio and I will forever believe it was my grandpa saying good-bye to me.  My grandpa led the family in prayer at every meal we shared together. Today, my prayer echos the last line of every prayer he prayed as far back as I can remember:  “Lord, help us and help us, to help each other.” …now, more than ever, Father. Amen.



I love you, grandpa...
~M~

Walk with a Limp

Almost two years ago, my grandmother slipped on some stairs and broke her hip.  She bravely underwent a total hip replacement and then diligently worked in numerous physical therapy sessions to regain use of the broken part.  Last year, when I was home for Christmas, I could tell my Gramma had a little hitch in her “giddy up” and she always had her cane in hand.  It made her feel safer, she said, when lots of people where around.  This year, I was home again – this time in August. Gramma’s cane was often forgotten in a different room, there was a barely noticeable limp and the only time she really reported trouble with the hip, was if she slept on it at night.

In the last month or so, I’ve really felt led to make peace with someone I thought I was done with – for good.  It was a gradual feeling that would come to the surface and lodge there for several days, until I was able to convince myself it was my imagination and stuff the feeling back down…only to have it resurface a day or two later.  We’d tried a couple of times before, but for various reasons, true peace was not a result of those efforts.  Finally I reached out again and was curious and relieved when he reached back.  When I think of peace, things certainly aren’t how I would’ve imagined them to be with this person.  But I know they’re how they should be, because I feel different.

For me, with understanding came forgiveness.  A moment came, when I could clearly see the place this person is currently in and I could understand the associated behaviors that have impacted my heart in such ways.  I was surprised to realize that I didn’t feel anger, but…compassion. Selfless compassion.  And with that, came peace without expectations.

Forgiveness is such a difficult thing.  Even when your brain understands all the details and you want to forgive - your heart can still be like my Gramma’s hip.  Sensitive.  Touchy.  Injured.  Consistently since I rededicated my life to Christ almost three months ago, I’ve earnestly sought God and tried multiple times to find forgiveness for this person, who hurt me so deeply.  Like my Gramma’s physical therapy, it’s been painful and difficult.  There were (and are) times when I’ve wondered if it was working or worth it and times I’ve wanted to give up completely.  But just like my Gramma, every day was a new day to get better.  I clung to God the way she clung to her physical therapists.  Believing Him, when He encouraged me to take another step – to try again.  Like Gramma, I knew this would be for the best and I would be glad someday…some distant, unidentifiable day in the future (lol).

My Gramma was protective of her hip as it healed and I’m trying to be more protective of my heart now.  We both know our limitations – and what to lean on – as we mend.  I’m cautious not to forget my crutch – especially with this person.  But I’m feeling safer and less vulnerable when other people are around.  There’s still a slight hitch in my giddy up and if I put too much pressure on that part of my life or how I relate to that person, pain will still flair.  Overall, though, I’m learning that healing completely isn’t a prerequisite to forgiveness (which also means it's probably time to apply these lessons to other people in my life who might need some forgiveness...grrr...).  Through understanding and forgiveness I’m healing up well.  Better able, everyday, to use my broken part…and some days, I hardly notice that I still walk with a little limp. ;)

Love y'all,
~M~

The Best Path through Life, is the Highway

Last week while I was in San Antonio, I met a guy from DC in the training class I was attending.  We went to dinner and a movie and then lunch together the next day.  Conversation flowed fairly easily and part way through dinner, we discovered we were both Christians.  For the remainder of the training week, we kept each other company in class by texting about our classmates and events in class and on the last day, we agreed we’d keep in touch and maybe get to hang out again one day.

Also last week (and for possibly the millionth time), I watched part of my all time favorite romance movie ever – Love Story.  I love this movie, with preppy Oliver and feisty Jennifer – this time, though, I watched it with an anxious ache in my stomach.  It reminded me too much of the somewhat recent demise if my own amazing love story.  It’s been almost a year now, since we’ve been together and I still think about him all the time.  The strength it takes me every day to resist contacting him, is not my own and experiencing it, is all I need to believe in miracles.

Two months ago, with great trepidation, I gave my Oliver – as well as my entire love life – to God.  I knew He was asking me to put the whole subject at His feet and then leave it there.  It was honestly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  First, it was terrifying because of my deepest fear that I’ll end up a single spinster like many of the women in my family have.  Second, the idea of giving up males and love and dating was a hard one, because of the caveat to leave it with God.  Anyone who knows me, knows my hobby is the male persuasion and in the words of a new coworker recently, “…you can give up men, but they will never give up you.”  I wasn’t confident if I gave my love life to God, that I would be strong enough to resist opportunities to take it back.

I still think about my Oliver every day.  And I have to remind myself almost every day that God has my love life now and He will take good care of it.  Giving up control of that part of my life was and is hard.  It’s not a blissful ride, occasionally I get panicky or resentful.  It annoys me that I have to sit behind not one, but two canoodling couples on my flight from San Antonio to LA.  I mean, come on!!  But still, I know He’ll take good care of me.  Since giving my love life to Him, I’ve met two new men…and both are Christians.  That’s a big deal to me because in 16 years as a Christian, I’ve met and dated exactly...one fellow believer.  So it feels like a sign on the interstate telling me I’m not there yet, but I’m headed in the right direction.

I haven’t given up on my Oliver completely and I haven’t been able to get clarity on if giving him up is even something I should do.  So in the meantime, I pray and I focus on myself and my walk with God…and until He tells me different, I hope.  But while I hope, I’m also more acutely aware that when God is in the driver's seat, I don't have to know where I'm going, I can just sit back and read the signs.

Love Story is my favorite romantic movie ever…I know the story, I’ve seen the “signs”…but I’ve never actually seen the end. That’s fitting, I think.

Love y’all,
~M~

Waiting is the Hardest Part: Part 1

When I was in my mid-twenties, I thought I’d endured my last wedding.  Wedding season seemed to be the years between high school and college graduations.  And as those years passed, I became more and more aware that this was a season I’d be spending on the bench.  It was difficult, because it’s something I want so much – to find the one whom my soul loves.  To belong to someone and conspire to face the rest of our lives, together, no matter what.

Years have passed since that time (ahem, not that many years, but still) and I have lived a full life despite this one desire not being fulfilled.  Now, in the last month, two of my good friends have gotten engaged and are in the middle of wedding planning.  One of them, dearest to my heart, even asked me to be in her wedding.  Leading up to her now fiancé popping the question, I’d secretly wondered how I would feel about the wedding in general and if, by chance, she would ask me to participate.  When the question came, I was honored – and happy to know that my love for my friend overshadowed any other feelings I might have had.  About a week later a friend in Texas called with exciting news; her boyfriend had proposed.  Wow, that’s so…great.

I felt like the parents of a new baby, who just started sleeping through the night, when someone slams a door or makes a loud noise.  The parents freeze and look at each other panicked, waiting…waiting…did we make it, or is she going to react?  Was I going to be happy and excited…or were the feelings from my 20’s when I was benched for the season, going to come back full force?  I was cautiously excited for her, guarding my feelings and my level of exposure to the whole situation, the entire time.

So now I’m helping my dear friend plan the wedding that I’ll be in – and I’m so excited to do it.  She’s a cherished friend and is supportive of my feelings on the entire topic.  Today, my Texas friend emailed me several times, with a website and plans for not just one, but two weddings, this year and next.  I want to be a good friend to her and support her in her exciting time, but I could also feel the panic feeling rising in my shoulders and my chest.  The baby was stirring.  Not fully awake, but restless…will she react?  Will she stay asleep?  Waiting…waiting…would I feel sorry for myself, since my Texas friend is there because I gave her my job?  Would I begin to yearn again for my own lobster (sorry, random “Friends” reference) and that special connection?  Or worse, would I begin to look behind me, or wonder if something is wrong with me?

I decided to read one of the daily email devotionals. The title was “The Waiting is the Hardest Part” and it discussed waiting on God’s perfect timing. Slowly, the baby began to settle down.

I don’t know why God has me still waiting on the sidelines, and then brings someone together with their lobster in record time. I have to trust it’s for a good reason, and I have to believe that like Abram and Sarai, the benefits of waiting and trusting in Him will be more then I could ever imagine. It’s hard, I won’t lie. And it’s a moment-to-moment decision. But I titled this blog “Part 1”, because I have to trust and believe that someday, God will bring me to my Part 2. And small things – like the perfect timing and subject of that devotional – help me believe that He will.

Love y’all,
~M~