The Way We Are

Since I’ve been on break, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. It’s wonderful to be able to read the things I want to read, and not just whatever happens to be assigned for the next class period. Right now, I am in the middle of Wicked, by G. Maguire. It’s a story about the life of the Wicked Witch of the West, and is making me think much more than I expected it to. I am frustrated because I like clear, black and white answers to everything, and I’m not getting any right now.

I’ve never given much thought to the concept of evil, or how evil people become such. I guess I’ve always just assumed that there is something innately dark inside of them from the very beginning, from the time they are born. Child molesters, serial killers and rapists all have some inherent quality about them that drives them to do all sorts of increasingly nasty, rotten things as they grow in age until the evilness inside of them drives them to commit the acts that result in their respective labels. I know that we all are affected by Original Sin, and that we all have evil inside of us to some degree; I suppose I just always assumed that those who committed crimes deemed heinous by society were more evil in nature than the rest of us. I mean, surely I do not have enough evil inside of me to be driven to do such awful things.

But what if I do? What if there’s that potential in all of us? Already I’ve done multiple things that I’d promised myself, as a child, that I’d never do. Countless minor sins. But isn’t a sin a sin? Aren’t they all equal in God’s eyes, regardless of how we view their magnitude and depth?

Maybe we are no different than child molesters, serial killers and rapists. Racheal and I have been talking a lot over the last few days about why we both are the way we are; both she and I grew up in the same house and under the same circumstances, but due to personality and personal choice have developed completely different coping strategies. What makes us react to things in the way that we do? Could I just as easily have chosen to have the same negative coping skills as my sister has, as opposed to my own? Could she, conversely, make the choice to have mine?

How do we end up the way we are? The Witch, in the story, hasn’t decided to be wicked yet. I am 7/8 of the way through the book, and there’s nothing in the Witch’s thought process that’s suddenly snapped and made her go bad all at once. I’m starting to think that there won’t be.

Maybe the way we are really is determined by the choices we make on a day to day basis. Maybe there really is no single event in our pasts that makes or breaks us. Maybe, given we make the correct number of incorrect choices, we all have the potential to turn into child molesters, serial killers, rapists or something equally disturbing. Or, maybe not. I don’t know.

Oh, the things I think about when my brain is not bogged down by anatomical terms and theories on nursing.

“To Boots”

Sundays are my favorite day of the week.  This morning I woke up feeling terribly cheerful and excited, looking forward to going to my church.  Going there feels like going home, for me.  When I open up the big glass doors and step inside the main lobby, I can feel all the junk that I may have accumulated throughout the week just melt off of me.  Problems and worries don’t disappear when I’m there, but they always seem less significant.  I am grounded and safe when I am at my church.  It is the people, I know, and not the building itself, that makes me so.

At church this morning, I stepped out of my car and was immediately accosted by Howie.  Howie is the head parking lot attendant, and he harasses me every Sunday.  “Hey Boots!” he will yell as I pull into the parking lot, and he will smile and wave at me.  ‘Boots’ is the nickname he’s given me; last year I didn’t own any, and Howie teased me all winter for shuffling into the sanctuary like an old lady, afraid I’d slip on ice in the parking lot and break my neck.  My Sunday mornings now begin with Howie teasing me as soon as I get out of my car, and I always feel disappointed on days he’s not there for me to tease back.  This morning, I was surprised when he handed me a package.  “To Boots, From Howie & Sue” it said on the tag.  I realized I was crying a few minutes later, as I was hanging up my coat in the lobby.

It’s the funniest little thing…  Howie and his wife didn’t have to do that for me.  There have been plenty of times when I’ve caught myself thinking how nice it would be to have someone like Howie for a grandpa; his granddaughter comes to church every weekend, and I always wonder if she realizes how lucky she is to have Howie and Sue as her grandparents.  I feel very… moved, I suppose would be the right word.  I feel very moved that they would think of me and would put extra effort into buying me a gift. 

This morning I was reminded of what a wonderful church family I have.   There are so many people loving me and looking after me, and I am very, very blessed.

Waiting for my Linus.

On Sunday, I watched A Charlie Brown Christmas for the first time ever. Don’t ask how I’ve gone 21 years without watching it… up until last year I’d never seen A Christmas Story and I’ve still yet to see It’s a Wonderful Life… but that’s not the point of this post. My point is, that in watching Charlie Brown, Lucy and the rest of the Peanuts crew attempt to prepare for their pageant, I realized that I am feeling very much like Charlie Brown this year… Somehow I am struggling to figure out what the real meaning of Christmas is.

I’ve realized that, in the past, Christmas has been mainly about tradition for me. It’s been about my family. And I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that; the holidays are meant to be spent with your family, and traditions are a lot of fun and have a wonderful ability to draw people together. It’s just that, this year, the traditions aren’t doing it for me. Something is missing, and I’ve realized that traditions have done a great job of hiding that fact from me for all these years.

I am frustrated because I know the story. In my head, I know what Christmas is about. I have read the story of Christ’s birth half a million times, to the point, I worry, that it’s become just that; a story. A nice story. I don’t want it to be just a story.

I am waiting for my Linus. I am waiting for something to happen to me that is the equivalent of Linus’ walking out into the middle of the stage in A Charlie Brown Christmas, and speaking those words from Luke. That’s the part of the movie when Charlie Brown gets it. I want to get it. I want to be in awe of my God and what he’s done for me through his Son. I want to know. And I want to stop searching.

8And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

9And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

10And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

11For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

12And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

14Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2:8-14 (King James Version)

A Family Resemblence

While I was lying on the couch reading my book last night, my mother made a comment to me. She said I looked like my dad’s side of the family. For the life of me, I’ve not been able to figure out if my mom meant that my having the physical characteristics of those that share the last name of her ex-husband is a good thing, or a bad thing.

We’ve all been thinking about my dad’s side of the family a lot lately, I’m certain. The Sunday before last, my dad’s mother, my grandmother, was diagnosed with cancer. There are no treatment options available; chemotherapy would be of no use, nor would surgery. The cancer has spread so quickly that my grandma’s already been placed in hospice care. No one is expecting her to live until Christmas, and this is made more difficult to accept by the fact that my grandma lives in Georgia, over 20 hours away from me, and I’ve no way of seeing her.

My father is there, with all his brothers and sisters. After my grandparents split up, my grandma raised their six children on her own. My daddy is being amazing a bout this; every time he calls me to give me an update, I am impressed by the strength I hear in his voice. My grandfather died of cancer three years ago; I can’t imagine being my father and having to watch both my parents fight the same battle in such a short span of time. My dad is really tired, I know. He is still smiling for my grandma, though, because that’s what she asked him to do. In one of his phone calls to me, my dad said that he hopes he never puts my siblings and I through watching him die, the way that he has had to do with his parents. I told him that, in the end, I hope I can smile for him if he asks me to.

Right now I am kicking myself, the way everyone does, I suppose, when facing the loss of a loved one.  I am angry with myself for all the times I’ve wasted the opportunity to spend time with my grandmother.  Granted, she lives in Georgia and that has made seeing her difficult, but even so… there were definite times when I could have seen her and opted not to, assuming my grandma would be around forever.  Susan suggested that I ask my father to relay the things I’d wish to say to her to my grandmother for me.  Even though I called my father and asked him to tell her all the things I’d wished to say, I still wish I’d been able to tell my grandmother those things myself.

When I think about my grandma, I hear her laughter in my head.  She is always laughing.  Her eyes smile, and she looks at her children with more pride than I’ve ever seen exhibited in another human being.  My grandmother and I have the same hair.  I get my curls from her.  And, even though I know these things aren’t inherited, I really hope I can have my grandma’s strength.  And her faith.  Shoot man, does she have an awesome faith.

But I don’t know… I look at my father and wonder if maybe these things can be inherited after all.

Blue Sky and Sunlight

I am always impressed by how much brighter the sun seems to shine in the winter months.  Yesterday, the sky was clear and it didn’t snow at all.  All day long,  I was so thankful for the blue sky and sunlight. 

It is during the dark times that we most appreciate the light.  Little blessings seems so much bigger.  We are infinitely more thankful for the little things because they are the things that carry us through.

God gives us millions of little blessings every day.  Why is it that we completely miss the majority of them?  We don’t see them because we are so distracted by life.  It’s only when life gets stripped down to the bare minimum that we really take notice of all the good things we’ve been given. 

It sort of makes me sad that things work out this way.  I want it to be different; if God’s good to me on a daily basis, I want to notice it.  I want to give Him the thanks He deserves for the little things He does for me every day, not just when the little things smack me in the face. 

Here are some of the little things I’m appreciative of today:

• I am finished with finals.
• The college bookstore had one of my mom’s favorite movies for sale, and I was able to buy it for her today as a Christmas gift.
• I have 4 weeks with nothing to do except read books and write.
• Sara put up colored Christmas lights in our dorm room, and it makes the whole room seem very festive and cheerful.
• Susan called and I got to laugh with her.
• Sarah and I came up with an awesome way to spend our Christmas this year.
• My dad told me he loved me.

What are some little things that you’re appreciative of?

Nauseous

In three days, I’ll be back at my house.  The semester and all its finals will be finished, and I’ll have no reason to stay at school.  I’ve got mixed emotions about needing to be home until mid-January.  Part of me is dreading going home, but part of me wants to be there already.  I want to be with my sisters right now.  I want to be with Racheal, in particular.  I want to be home, doing my job and keeping my sister safe.

The girls and I are gearing up.  We have been, really, for at least a month now.  It’s been a while since my parents have gotten into any sort of argument, for which I’m really grateful, but this means that they’re long overdue for one.  My sisters and I are quite certain that they’re going back to court.  Racheal wants to move in with dad, and mom doesn’t want her to.  Which means another custody battle. 

You know how there are certain words that turn your insides to ice?  Words that, as soon as you hear them, make your stomach twist up and cause you to feel nauseous?  The word “court” does that to me, as do the words “custody” “judge” and “lawyer”.  The words bring up all sorts of memories; endless fights, feelings of being used and put in the middle, psychiatrists, child advocates, police officers, etc.  For the past month, Sarah and I have remained relatively sheltered from all this; we’re away at school, separated from our parents by miles and by the lives we’re forming for ourselves at our respective colleges.  Not so for Racheal; Bird’s alone at home, stuck right in the middle of all my parents’ mess. 

On my way to a meeting at church last night, I stopped by the house and talked with Racheal for a while.  My mother, it seems, is being pretty impossible.  In the recent past, Bird’s made some poor choices, but I really think my mom is going overboard; searching Racheal’s room on a daily basis, putting passwords on the computer so that Bird can’t get on it, and taking away her phone seems like a bit much to me.  It’s like my mom’s trying to break my sister, which is just making Bird more frustrated and angry, causing her to rebel more.  Last week, Racheal started the process of applying to a school near my dad’s house.  Her application was denied; my mother figured out which school it was and called them, and somehow talked the administration into not taking my sister’s application.  It hurts to see my sister cry and not be able to do anything about it.

I want to be home.  I want to be able to run interference between my mother and my sister.  I want to be a distraction.  I want to fix this.  I want Sarah to be home, because my sisters and I are always stronger when it’s the three of us together.  Mostly I just want to be done with all this mess, because enough is enough all ready. 

A Lesson from my Mom

It frustrates me when people judge others based on face value alone.  If we are hurt when people judge us and our actions without really knowing us and the reasons behind our actions, why do we turn around and judge others in the same way? 

People may do things we don’t understand for reasons that we don’t understand.  If you can’t see what’s going on inside a person’s head, or have no idea what that person’s gone through in the past, don’t judge them or their actions.   It’s a mistake to judge someone without knowing the whole story. 

For me, my mom is an excellent reminder of this.  I love my mother, but she’s not the easiest person in the world to get along with.  She tends to be controlling and can be pretty manipulative.  In an argument, she can chew you up and spit you out faster than you can blink, and she can hold a grudge better than any person I know.  But my mom is also really hurt.  Her mom died when she was three years old, and so my mom was separated from her two sisters and spent her childhood being raised by aunts, passed from one house to the next.  My mom was emotionally abused by her uncle.  Her father was an alcoholic.  My father left her.  When I remember these things about my mom, it’s easy for me to see why she is the way she is.  And the more I learn about her through talking to my great aunts, the more I see why she reacts to certain things in the ways she does.

Learning about my mom has taught me how important it is to not judge people.  I’m not saying that it never happens, but I try really hard not to form opinions of people before I can understand completely where they are coming from.  I try not to form opinions based off of what people do.  I try not to judge them for how they act when they’re scared or uncomfortable.  I’m not God.  I can’t read people’s hearts to know why they do what they do.  It’s not my place to judge.

Nor is it your’s.  So please return the favor and try not to judge me. 

What is that?

So… I babysat for the Adopteds over night last night.  This morning, after the kids woke up and I’d fed them breakfast, I went to wash my hair in the bathroom.  I put on my makeup, brushed my teeth, washed my hair and was towel-drying it when I noticed something on the bathroom throw-rug.  “What is that?” I thought.  And then, “Oh my gosh.  That’s a bat.”

Ew.  It was just lying there.  I have no idea how it got there, and I really hoped it was dead at first.  It wasn’t; when I threw my towel over it, it started squeaking and moving.  Which made me want to start panicking; I did not want to be trapped in a bathroom with a bat.  I pretty much just jumped on it; I was pretty sure I broke one of its wings in my hurry to wrap it up in my towel and prevent its escape.  The poor pathetic thing was squeaking like crazy as I carried the towel down the stairs and out the back door, holding the towel as far away from my body as I possibly could and praying that the kids didn’t stop me to ask what I was doing.  I stood on the back porch and tried to shake the bat out of the towel, but it wouldn’t come out.  So I just left the towel hanging over the back porch railing, and went back inside to get rid of my heebie-jeebies.  Ew.

 Oh my goodness.  Thank heavens that it was me in the bathroom right then.  What if one of the kids had been in there?  That would have been a nightmare.  Really, so many things could have gone wrong; the bat could have escaped from out of the towel, or from out of the bathroom… oh gosh, I could have stepped on it.  Ew.  Ew. Ew. 

Thank you, Jesus, that all the things that could have gone wrong didn’t.  I actually feel really accomplished now, and a little proud of myself, because I took care of the whole situation.  Susan laughed at me, when I called her to tell her what had happened.  She said she was visualizing me in a pith helmet and safari jacket… Liss the Bat-Slayer. 

My Oldest Friend

     When Sarah was little, I once convinced her that she was adopted; I told her that I couldn’t remember her birth, and so therefore our parents must have gotten her from someone else.  Sarah cried, and I got grounded. 

     We ran away together, once; we both decided that our mother was being terribly unfair by making us come inside from drawing with chalk on the driveway, and so we packed up all the clothes and toys we could carry.  Sarah and I brought Racheal along with us, deciding that it really wouldn’t be fair to leave our youngest sister home alone with our parents.  The three of us headed down the street, to our second cousin’s house, on the other side of the housing tract in which we used to live.  Unbeknown to us, our dad followed us the whole way there; Racheal got a ride back to our house, but Sarah and I had to walk.  We had to carry Racheal’s stuff back, too.

     Sarah and I used to have the same re-occurring nightmares; we’d dream that millions of insects were crawling all over us, eating us alive.  I hated those dreams.  When I woke up from them, I could never manage to fall back asleep in my own bed because I was always convinced the bugs were hiding in between my sheets.  Sarah’s room was safe, though.  Regardless of what time of night it was, all I needed to do was creep into my sister’s room, gently wake her up and whisper “Bug dream,” and Sarah’d skootch over and make enough room for me to sleep in her bed for the rest of the night.  And there were plenty of nights where she’d end up sleeping with me under the same circumstances.

     Sarah is my oldest friend.  She has been through nearly all the rough stuff with me, and we’ve survived it together.  It’s been a privilege to watch her grow up over the years, and to see her turn into a young adult since she’s gone away to school.   I am blessed to have her for a sister, and to have been able to share secrets with her.  Sarah has always been able to make me laugh.  She gives off a sense of strength and beauty that overwhelms me.  Sarah knows what she wants and where she stands on things, and she doesn’t let any body push her around.  I admire that about her.  She is a blessing to me, and I am more grateful for her than she can ever know.

 

    

Not so bad.

  Winter and I do not get along.  I hate snow.  I hate snow a lot.  I’m not a huge fan of the wind, nor of being cold all the time.  I hate having to wear boots.  I hate that it takes 10 minutes to get dressed before going outside, because I’ve got to load on all these scarves and gloves and hats.  It bothers me that I will spend the next 4 months or so terrified that I’ll get into an accident every time I get into my car, due to black ice, a deer, or crummy driving conditions.  I do not like the way my hands get so dry and chapped, and that I spend twice as much money on hand lotion in the winter as I do in the warmer seasons.  I hate the way my car always looks filthy, because of the salt from the roads.  I hate that I have to add 20 minutes of travel time onto any trip I take, because of the weather.   I hate having to warm my car up.

  But I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to wake up late on a Saturday morning, and to see the world outside my window completely covered in white.  To watch the snow fall slowly from the sky, and to know that I am safe and warm inside my room.  It is mornings like this morning that almost make me think that winter is not so bad.  And so, in an attempt to be slightly positive and optimistic about the coming cold weather, here is a list of things that I do like about winter:

• building snowmen and having snowball wars with my siblings
• watching my dog play in the snow
• the patterns that the frost makes as it freezes to my windows
• sprawling out across the floor with big mugs of hot chocolate (with lots of marsh-mellows) and a really good book
• Christmas and all its traditions
• the way it makes me appreciate blue skies and sunlight so much more than any other time of the year
• Christmas break and not having any tests, quizzes, labs and/or papers to write
• the way hot showers seem to feel so much better
• being able to see my breath in the cold air
• the way I can smell wood stoves burning as I walk by some people’s houses
• how quiet everything seems

  Really, it’s a much longer list than I anticipated it being…  Maybe I should work on being more appreciative instead of being so negative all the time.