Today marked the one year anniversary of Brent’s death.  In a lot of ways, it was a typical day; I went to work, went to church, and worked in the garden at home.  But a lot of the day was spent thinking, and remembering Brent.  Reflecting on my life and how much I have changed in the past year, and how much I have not changed.  Wondering if he’d be proud of me for the choices I’ve made, and for some of the ways I’ve stepped out.  Wondering if, instead, he’d be disappointed in me for still not having changed enough as I need to.

I still regret not speaking up more often, and calling Brent on all the risks he was taking with his health.  I regret avoiding discussing his eating disorder to the extent that I did, preferring to talk about things aside from the elephant in the room.  I regret not being more honest with him.  Why wasn’t I more honest?  He was always so open with me, and I couldn’t be with him. 

It bothers me that, after a year, I still have these regrets.  I still think “what if…?” and “if only…” and I wonder if I always will.

Bird and I are attending a preview day at a local state university, later this afternoon.  Originally, I think Racheal had intended to go on her own, but she changed her mind last night and asked if I’d be willing to come along.  I did, but wanted to check something first; “Mom is off tomorrow,”  I said, “Don’t you want her to go with you?”  When my sister snorted and looked slightly disgusted with me for even suggesting such a thing, I hastily agreed to take a half-day at the office and spend the afternoon wandering around the college campus with Racheal.

I really do want to go with her, and I’m pleased that she asked me.  It’s not often that she wants me to be her big sister any more, and even less often that she wants me to stand in as her mother.  I’ve sort of been missing that this summer - that feeling of being needed.  Sarah and Racheal have both grown up over the last year, from being away at college and from being home alone, and I don’t need to watch out for them nearly as much as I used to.  But I’ve wandered off topic…

I’m worried about Racheal’s relationship with our mother.  Mom’s not got a great relationship with any of us girls, but her relationship with Bird is by far the worst.  Racheal says she hates her.  Can’t stand her.  Can’t wait to get out.  Mom either completely ignores her and lets Bird do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, or she blames Bird for absolutely everything that’s wrong in our house and tries to break her with inappropriately harsh punishments and rules. 

Most kids go through phases where they dislike their parents.  I know this, and realize that part of this might be something normal that Bird’s just got to work through.  But what if it’s not?  Racheal’s always had a rocky relationship with our parents.  She’s not shy about admitting that she feels Sarah and I are more of her parents than our mother and father.  Once, she told us that it’s us she wants to escort her down the aisle at her wedding someday, not our dad.  And that scares me a little.

I want Racheal to have a better relationship with mom.  At the very least, I want her to not hate her…  But I don’t feel I’ve got the place to encourage Racheal to work on stuff, because I’ve got a lot of the same issues with our mom as she does.  Wouldn’t that be being a hypocrite? 

Ugh.  I just want to have normal, relatively healthy relationships amongst the members of my family.  I’m starting to believe, though, that this is either impossible, or that “normal, relatively healthy relationships” simply do not exist.  At least not among family members.

Thank goodness for second chances.  And for grace.  And for forgiveness.  God gives these things willingly, I know;  it’s an added perk when they’re given by people.

When I look back at high school, I don’t like the person I was.  Most high school kids are entirely too concerned with trying to look cool, with what the rest of their classmates think of them, and with how popular they are.  I was like that too, and it makes me sad.  I feel like I wasted a huge amount of time trying to be someone I wasn’t, just so I could fit in with a certain group of kids who never really cared in the first place.   And I missed out on a lot because of it.

I went to a really small high school.  The kind of school where you know practically everyone by name, and if you don’t know their name you can at least recognize their face.  There was this one kid… I knew him through a friend but I never really talked to him much.  I was polite, but never overly friendly.  Even though he was a nice guy, he was one of those kids who’d been labeled as being weird, and I was afraid of what would happen to my social status if I was seen talking to him too often.  I’m ashamed to think I was so shallow, and hope I’ve changed at least a little bit.

I can’t remember who found one another first, but somehow, after we’d graduated and survived our first two years at different colleges, this boy and I started to talk to one another on-line.  He was still weird, but I’d been out of high school just long enough to realize that the opinions of the kids I’d graduated with never meant anything in the first place, and that no one in the real world gives a rip about the social status one held when they were 17. 

We still talk.  Every day, practically.  Somewhere along the line, he’s become one of my best friends.  I’m not sure how that happened.  Somewhere along the line, the things about him that I used to think were weird have become some of the things about him that I respect the most.   I’m not sure how that happened, either.  He’s never cared about what people think, and I view him as being grounded and self-confident.  I wasn’t a Christian until the very end of my senior year, and so I didn’t understand his faith; now I can see that he’s got an amazing relationship with Christ.  He’s honest and says what he thinks.  He knows who he is. 

At the end of the summer, he’s going to China for a year.  To do missions work.  I am so incredibly proud of him.  I am so proud to be his friend.  He’s never brought up the way I acted in high school, and what a complete and total snob I was.  It’s like it doesn’t matter to him and he’s completely forgotten it.  That’s more than I deserve, and I realize that. 

Isn’t it kind of cool to think that that’s what Christ does for all of us, every day, on a much larger scale? 

Thank goodness for second chances.  And for grace.  And for forgiveness.

Some cool things have been happening as of late.  Good things.  Big things.  Things that make me excited and scared at the same time.

I talked with my dad on Independence Day.  I mean talked with him, and told him things I’ve been holding in since I was twelve years old.  It was like once I got started I couldn’t stop, and it felt good to get things out in the open.  Slightly scary, because I wasn’t sure how my dad would respond, but liberating at the same time. 

It’s funny the way that everything happens in God’s time.  I could not have had this conversation with my dad when I was twelve.  It just wouldn’t have happened.  I was too young.  He wouldn’t have understood where I was coming from.  I wouldn’t have been able to see his side of things.  We both needed to grow up a little bit more.

We’re ok now.  Things between us aren’t perfect, but they’re ok.  We promised we’d be more honest with one another, and I think we’re both trying harder.  Dad keeps calling me, just to say hi or to see how my day’s gone.  I’m loving that.  I’m excited because I feel like this might be a new beginning.  I’m a bit scared as well, worried that this might be a false start.  That within a few weeks, things will go back to the way they were.  Gosh I hope not.

I want this to stick.  I like this feeling.   There’s a lightness and a sense of freedom, and I know that this feeling will grow if dad and I keep working on things.  It’s nice to think of him and not be angry.  Not like I was before. 

I know that things will happen. I know that there’ll be future hurts and disagreements, and that my dad and I will both do/say stupid things.  But I guess we’ll just deal with that when it happens.  As it is, I’m grateful for our discussion and that the timing was right.  And, even if this does turn out to be a false start, I am glad that I got to say what I needed to say.

 13Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” 14Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. 15Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” 16As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil. 17Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn’t do it, sins.

James 4:13-17

I have always struggled to completely understand this passage.  I understand that it means God is sovereign and that he has control over everything.  And that we shouldn’t always expect to carry out the plans we make for ourselves, because they might not be in line with what God wants for us.  But does it mean that we shouldn’t make plans in the first place?  Or that we shouldn’t have any goals for ourselves?  I guess I just get confused when I read this, because I struggle to imagine that God wouldn’t want us to have any aspirations in life, or anything to work toward.

I’ve been making a lot of plans for my future lately.  Or trying to, anyway (I keep thinking myself in circles).  After this year, Sara will graduate, and so I’m trying to decide whether I’d like to stay on campus with a different roommate, commute to school from my mother’s house, or find an apartment off-campus.  Also, I’m starting to think about what I want to do next summer; should I go on another mission trip, do a summer study abroad program, stay home and work in the office like I’ve done for two years, or find a job in a hospital?  And then what do I want to do after I graduate?  Would I like to work in a hospital or a clinic?  Stay local or move away? 

Do you see why I’m thinking myself in circles?  One question leads to another, and all of a sudden I’m trying to plan my entire life out when I really need to just get through today.

Maybe that is what James is trying to get at in the passage above.  It’s not that we shouldn’t have goals and dreams (because otherwise we’d all sit around like slobs), but we shouldn’t get so wrapped up in our plans for tomorrow that we forget about today.  Especially since we’ve no idea what the future will bring, and whether or not something will happen tomorrow to change things and make all our planning and worrying completely pointless. 

What do you think, Bible scholars and blog readers?  Am I on the right track with my reasoning?

Did you ever notice how important names are in the Bible?  I guess it’s sort of impossible not to.  There are countless examples I could list of people and places whose names hold certain meanings.  Abraham means ‘Father of a multitude’.  Jerusalem means ‘City of Peace’.  Peter means ‘Rock’.   Do you see what I mean?  In the Bible, God doesn’t just dish out names arbitrarily; he names people and things according to their purpose and the plans he has for them, or to serve as a reminder for something he’s done.  I think God’s still doing that today.

When I was younger, I hated my name.  I thought ‘Melissa’ was terribly boring and common, and longed to be named something more sophisticated.  ‘Katherine’ would have been perfect, I thought, and would have suited me much better.  Apparently, I was a very opinionated little girl and thought very highly of myself…

Now, I love my name.  Somewhere along the line, I looked it up and found out that Melissa means ‘Honey Bee’.  I love that.

I’ve always thought of bees as being little miracles.  Did you know that they shouldn’t be able to fly?  If you really look at them, their bodies are much too heavy for their puny little wings to carry them.  In my opinion, the only reason that they’re able to buzz through the air is because God allows them to.  Bees were created by him to produce honey and polinate flowers, and God has enabled them to do so.  Regardless of whatever limitations their physical bodies and the laws of science and aerodynamics have placed on them.

Now, I love my name.  I love my name because of the meaning behind it.  I am a miracle because of the things God has done for me.  My name serves as a reminder of that to me.  Additionally, it also reminds me that God will give me the ability to do whatever it is he’s put me on this earth to do, and I that I don’t need to be concerned or burdened by situations or obstacles in my life.  There are no limitations or impediments that God can’t remove. 

I love that, and I think it was awfully considerate of the Lord to give me such a nice reminder that I can take with me wherever I go. 

So what’s your name mean?

Last weekend, I drove to Ohio to visit some old friends.  Friday afternoon, on the way down, Susan called me.  “I swear,” I told her, “if my body could handle being stuck in this car, I would drive forever.”

I. Love. Roadtrips.

Especially roadtrips by myself, as odd and anti-social as that may sound. 

Getting in the car and going is the most fantastic feeling.  There is this incredible sense of freedom one gains from sitting behind the wheel of a car with the highway stretched out in front of them.  In my opinion, it’s one of the most relaxing feelings in the world.  I always feel like I’m flying; I role the windows down, turn the music up, and wail along with whatever’s playing.  I love it.

And an eight hour drive from my house to southern Ohio doesn’t even come close to being long enough.

The door to the house is still locked when I return from walking the dog, and all the anger that I’d pushed aside while walking around the village rises up in me once more when I turn the handle and the door refuses to budge.  Unwillingly, the muscles in my jaw tighten.  I play the scene out in my head, imagining what I’m about to do before I actually do it. Then, I straighten my shoulders and walk purposefully to our barn, where I remove the heavy lock from the door.  My flip-flops smack against the pavement of our driveway as I walk back to the side door.  I give myself some distance and make sure the dog is out of the way before I take aim, and then I hurl the lock against the glass portion of the door with as much force as I can.  It shatters, and the noise is slightly louder than I’d expected but gives me a feeling of satisfaction.  I smile slightly as I reach my hand through the hole that used to house a smooth pane of glass, locate the door handle on the other side of the door, unlock the lock and let myself into my house.  Using my feet, I push the shards of glass out of the way, concerned that the dog might step on them as I lead her into the house.

In the kitchen, I send the dog out the back door and into the yard after unhooking her from her leash.  When the leash is hanging in its proper spot, I wash my hands in the kitchen sink and dry them on a towel.  Turning to my left, I open the door to the middle cupboard and survey the dishes on the shelves inside.  Dinner plates, salad plates, bowls and saucers.  My gaze lands on the stacks of teacups in the back, behind the bowls, and I remove one from the cupboard.  I note, with a sense of disdain, the film of dust on the cup as I weigh it in my hand.  Experimentally, I toss it gently into the air before catching it again.  And then I let it fall to the floor, where it cracks in two.  Not satisfied, I reach for another teacup and repeat the process, throwing it to the ground with a greater force than the cup would have if it were allowed to simply free-fall.  This time, the cup shatters and the pieces scatter across the wooden floorboards.  I launch the next cup I grab across the room, where it explodes against the wall and rains pieces of cheap porcelain throughout the kitchen.

If someone were to ask, there’d be no way for me to explain what I am doing, nor any way for me to explain the immense feeling of release I feel with each piece of dinnerware I pitch across the room.  I feel almost detached, separated from myself and not fully in control of my actions.  The shelves in the cupboard are emptied as I move through them.  I fling plates as if they’re frisbees, spiraling them through the air.  The bowls and salad plates are not spared either, and share the same fate as the other dishes they once shared the cupboard with.  When I am finished, I am out of breath and every single dish we own is shattered.  Their pieces lie scattered throughout the kitchen, every bit as broken looking on the outside as I am feeling on the inside.

Susan says that Sara and I make her cry, because Sara is such a huge blessing to me.  I’ve heard so many stories about nightmare roommates, and am incredibly grateful that I’ve never had to experience such a thing.  Sara and I get along so perfectly that I’m certain she’s my roommate because God wanted her to be. 

It’s funny, because we should have nightmare stories; Sara and I are practically complete polar opposites.  I’m anal as all-get-out, and Sara’s idea of taking care of things is just dropping them on the floor wherever there’s a spot of carpet showing.  I’m up at 5:30 every morning, hours before my first class, and Sara hits the snooze button on her alarm four times before crawling out of bed ten minutes before she needs to be seated behind a desk in the Science Center.  Contradictory characteristics like these define our relationship.  I guess that the old adage is true and opposites really do attract.  Sara is one of my best friends.

She’s living on campus this summer, working at one of the local hospitals.  On a whim, I called her and asked her to go to church with my last Saturday night.  Sara did, and brought with her a ton of old eyeglasses her mother had said I could donate to my church a few months ago (they were collecting them for a mission trip).  Sara’s mom said that I could have the glasses to donate on the condition that Sara and I try them all on.  After the service ended, that’s what we did.  Sara and I found an empty classroom, shut the door, and let loose.  We spent about 15 minutes trying on glasses and taking photos as documentation to show her mother, laughing the entire time.  And then we went out into the parking lot, leaned against our cars, and talked for a half hour about nothing.

I love having her as a friend.   There’s something so absolutely wonderful about girlfriends; something fantastic about having someone you can giggle and be silly with, and yet feel completely comfortable sobbing your eyes out in front of.  Sara is one of those people for me, and I am so thankful for her. 

And I honestly feel quite sorry for guys, who don’t know what it’s like to have girlfriends… Life is not complete unless you’ve got someone to giggle with.

If you say you’re ready to work on forgiving someone, doesn’t that mean you’re admitting that the person in question hurt you in the first place?  What if you’re angry at that person and don’t want to confess that you care about them enough to have let them hurt you in the first place?  What if you don’t want to let them know that they’ve had that much power and control over you?

And, if you forgive them, isn’t that like saying that whatever they did to hurt you doesn’t really matter?  Like it wasn’t important?  Like you were the one being silly and dramatic, and it can just be forgotten about?  Because, obviously, it must be important.  If it hurt you and impacted you enough that you need to give forgiveness for it, whatever happened must have been somewhat important and you’d be lying if you said otherwise.  So how do you just forget about it?  Are you just supposed to slip back into denial and start telling yourself “you’ve got no right to be upset” all over again?  And what are you supposed to do if you begin to forgive someone, and they just hurt you once more?