I love it already!

There is a story about an old woman, recently widowed, who is moved to a nursing home.  The woman is blind and cannot live independently.  She waits, without family, in the lobby as her paperwork is completed and her room made ready.  A staff member describes the room in great detail to her as she waits.  “I love it already!” the old woman exclaims.

The nursing home staff member asks her, “How do you know you love it?  You haven’t been inside it yet.”

The old woman, blind but wise, says, “The actual room and its furnishings has nothing to do with it.  I’ve already decided that I love it.  Happiness is a decision you make on purpose.”

I’m paraphrasing the story.  I saw it originally on Facebook, and a google search showed that a similar story, but not quite the one that I remember was written by Joyce Meyer in “The Mind Connection:  How the Thoughts You Choose Affect your Mood, Behavior and Decision.

It’s been some time since I wrote a blog post.  To be honest, I’ve been feeling very sorry for myself.  We discovered at the beginning of August that my 88 year old mother’s cancer had caused pathological fractures in her spine and right hip.  She elected to have 10 radiation treatments to “beat it back” to alleviate the pain. Although I begged her to come stay with me for the duration of the treatments, she steadfastly refused to leave her home.

The treatments were harder than she expected.  Due to the area that was being treated, there was a lot of irritation and inflammation in the digestive tract.  She was frequently nauseated and vomiting, and there was nothing that I could do about it.  Once the treatment started at the cancer center near her home, it couldn’t be transferred to the sister center near mine because of differences in equipment and dosages.

The day after her last treatment we received a call that she was gravely ill, and that management at her independent living community had determined that she was no longer independent enough to stay in her home.  She was a danger to herself and potentially others.   She had to leave, and I needed to be there when they broke the news to her.

I finished up some urgent matters at my office and drove south to Mom’s home.  I packed up a handful of things in case I needed to stay overnight.  When I arrived, Mom was sitting in her chair.  Although we hadn’t spoken, she acted like she was expecting me.  “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer to come stay with you. It will be a little vacation at your house – let’s see how it goes.  I need some help.”

I was delighted that she had made the decision on her own.  I knew that once she arrived at my home, she was unlikely to return to hr own, but we didn’t talk about that.  I tried to get her to just get into the car so that I could help her (and so that my family could help me…)  She refused.  She needed to “clean the house,” and she couldn’t miss her doctor appointment in two days.  I decided to stay with her for those two days.

To make a very long story very short, the doctor appointment never happened.  Instead, my very sick mother slipped into a rapid decline and ended up spending the next two weeks in a series of moves that included two emergency rooms, three hospital rooms, two nursing home rooms and a bunch of procedure rooms.

I was with her night and day for more than a week that seemed like an eternity.  Somewhere around day 4, my mom started to disappear.  She changed from my loving mother to a scared, angry woman who told me that I was evil.  She went from praising the staff to believing that they were possessed by Satan.

She was treated for electrolyte imbalances and a urinary tract infection. Each time they discovered a deficiency, I grasped onto hope that correcting it would bring my mother back.  It didn’t.

She finally settled into a nursing home for rehabilitation.  She was unable to do even the most basic self-care chores for herself.

I really, really wish that I could tell you that she is like the old woman in the beginning of this post and that she was determined to like her room before she even saw it.  Instead, each time I would visit her in the nursing home, she would berate me.  She would accuse me of tricking her into agreeing to stay with her so that I could put her into a nursing home where they torture her, make her fly on trapezes, tie her to the bed, punch her in the stomach, and leave her alone in the dining room for hours and hours without help.  Gradually, I came to accept that the person that I love as my mother has rather suddenly disappeared.

One trip she told me that I am not her daughter anymore.  Another time she told me that there are two of me.  One is evil and one is her daughter, and she is not sure which one I am.  She tells me that she wants to go home – but now she thinks that home is in Kidron, where we lived for many years, but she hasn’t lived there in a decade.  Every visit, she asks me how her mom is – my grandma – who died when I was a little girl.  Every visit, she tells me that she wishes that she had just died.

For two weeks at least, it seemed that everything made me cry.  I stopped doing the things that I love to do.  I stopped doing the things that help me to function – to stave off anxiety and depression.  Instead, I cried.  Sometimes I raged – I would scream in the car driving down the road when nobody could hear me.  I have often told other caregivers “You cannot pour from an empty cup,” but when faced with the same sort of scenario in my own life, I poured and poured and poured until there was nothing left to give, and it still was not enough.

I would start projects  – writing projects, crochet projects, cleaning projects -and then I would abandon them.  My living room became filled with half-done afghans, dish cloths and hats.

One day a few weeks ago when I didn’t have court or client scheduled, I didn’t get out of bed until past 10:00 a.m.  I’m an early riser.  I get up, make coffee and then journal, meditate, and study.  My husband knew then that something was very wrong.

We were blessed with a beautiful weekend in late September.  My husband suggested a boat trip to an island.  Reluctantly I agreed to leave – immediately.  Instead of packing a large cooler full of food to prepare, we left with just our clothing and toiletries, a couple of packs of lunch meat, a loaf of bread, a bag of trail mix and another of potato chips, and elected to treat ourselves to a whole weekend of restaurants.

Although I used to run many miles each month, I had stopped doing that, too, over the course of the summer.  There was a charity run scheduled for Saturday that weekend on the island, and I decided to register and do my best.  I joined several hundred runners at the start line.   There were several times that I had a hard time seeing the road because the tears were flowing so hard.  I wasn’t in physical pain -it was a mental and spiritual battle. I crossed the finish line with tears streaming down my face.  I started something, and I finished it.  The 5k run didn’t become another unfinished project.

I wish that I could say that I snapped out of my funk and began living life again immediately after that 5k, but the truth is that it took another week of slowly beginning again to use the tools that helped me to function after the last crisis in our family.

Anyone who has followed me on Facebook or in my blogs for any period of time knows that I tend to post the happy things.  My life is spent cultivating joy whenever possible.  It’s easy to find joy in a flower when life is smooth sailing.  Applying the tools is much more difficult when the waves are crashing and it seems that the world is burning down around you.

I’m learning that people can’t hurt our feelings.  It’s our own thoughts about events that hurt us.  It’s our own thoughts about life that bring us joy.

For those weeks in September, I spent all of my energy trying to find a solution for Mom’s mental decline.  I spent hours combing my memory trying to find signs that the dementia was there all along and I just missed it.  I spent hours trying to convince her that she’s in a place for help and that she still has a life to live if she just tries.  that “project” took all of the time and attention from all of the other “projects” in my life.  I finally realized that making myself miserable and allowing depression and anxiety creep back into my life – forgoing joy and happiness won’t bring my mother joy.  It won’t bring her peace.  It won’t make her want to live.

I choose life.  Mom will be 89 in a few weeks.  Whether or not she emerges from this event, her life is nearing its natural end.   My visits always upset her.  I no longer see her every day.  It’s not good for her, and it’s really horrible for me.  If she tells my kids that she wants something, I send it.  I’ve stopped worrying so much about what other people think about the matter.

I’ve finished crocheting two cowls and I’m almost done with a poncho that I started at the beginning of summer.  I ran again this week.  I am back into my morning routine.  I go to sleep giving thanks and I wake up anticipating a great day.

I am here to love my life, no matter what may come.  It’s the only life I have, and I’m not about to waste it.  This weekend I am setting up my office in a different room in the same building.  I don’t know exactly what furnishing will fit or how they will look, but I love it already.  I’m going to learn to knit on Thursday.  I don’t know what I will make, but I love it already.

I don’t know what may come, but I’m certain that I can find beauty and comfort in it.  I love it already!

This one’s for you 

There was a time not so many years ago when I would write for the joy of writing. I would write stories and poems.  I wrote term papers and articles.  I enjoyed writing.  I enjoyed sharing my writing.  One day it came back to me through the grapevine that someone felt that my writing was “passive aggressive.”  They felt that it was directed at I them.  Maybe it was. I can’t tell you what was in my head at the time.  

Writing was an outlet for my feelings.  Feelings are not always right or wrong.  Brooke Castillo (check out her podcast) says that the thoughts that we have about a circumstance cause our feelings.  If that is correct, then we can change our feelings by changing our thoughts. That’s a lot harder than it sounds. 

I get anxiety. I won’t say that I suffer from it (although I sometimes do), but the fact is that I experience anxiety is truth.  I am feeling anxiety right now. I am anxious that this blog post isn’t eloquent or polished.  I get anxious that people will think there’s something inferior about me because I admit that I have anxiety. 

Anxiety has a physical quality. My tummy feels a little funny and it feels like someone is squeezing my voice box. Sometimes it feels like my heart is beating in my throat. Sometimes anxiety has an identifiable source. Other times, it’s just there. 

My anxiety has a host of symptoms that accompany it. Sometimes I worry. I play a scenario out in my head and invent a dozen potential outcomes – some of them catastrophic. It’s rather like the movie “Groundhog Day.”  Sometimes there aren’t conscious thoughts – just a feeling of impending doom. 

I used to love to add to this blog. I allowed anxiety to take it away from me. I worried about what other people might think of me as a person or as a professional. I stopped writing. 

Like other things in life, anxiety ebbs and flows. When anxiety reaches its high tide mark, I stop creating. It takes too much energy. There is nothing left for music or writing. I can get through the things that I have to do, but there isn’t energy left to create.  

When my anxiety is high, I hope for an invitation to spend time with someone then make myself sick being anxious about it. If I can push through the anxiety, I nearly always have a great time. It’s getting there that is the problem. 

I know some remarkable people who have anxiety.  Over time, we learn ways of coping with it, or even harnessing it. I’m no expert on treating anxiety- or even coping with anxiety, but I have survived anxiety for at least 35 years, which qualifies me to say it can be done. 

I’m constantly seeking and evaluating new approaches to dealing with anxiety. Some work better than others. My anxiety toolbox includes exercise, meditation and essential oils.  Sometimes it has included medication and therapy. 

May is mental health awareness month. Perhaps this post would have been more appropriate last month, but the truth is that admitting you have anxiety causes…(you guessed it…) more anxiety!

My hope is that there is someone out there who reads this who will say, “I am not alone.”  I’m putting this blog out in the world unedited, flaws and all, to prove to myself that it’s okay to do C+ work once in a while.  If you think this is for you, it probably is. Tell me what you think.  We can talk about it. It would make me anxious…but I think I’d like it.  

Special Delivery

When you begin listening for the voice of God in your life, he speaks in many ways.  Sometimes, it is that “still, small voice” in my head during a meditation.  Other times it is looking up to see a sunbeam playing across the floor bringing just a little light into a dark moment.

When I pay attention to “living, instead of existing,” God manifests.  Perhaps you will say that these moments are simply coincidences.  I choose to view them as the breadcrumbs left behind to show me that I am still on the right path.

God sent two messages to me last week via “special delivery.”

I adopted “comfort and joy” as a little personal theme, brand or motto a year or so ago.  I post photos of teacups or flowers, bright colored yarn or even close-ups of my dogs. If it brings me comfort or joy, it’s a likely candidate for my instagram hashtag, #comfortandjoy.

I have an eye condition that makes it difficult to read sometimes.  I do as much of my reading on a screen as I can because I can tweak the contrast and the font size to make it easier to see.  As a result, I rarely look at “real” books anywhere anymore.

Last weekend I went on a little shopping expedition to two of my favorite thrift stores.  At the first, where I have never even glanced at the used book rack, I was forced to stop a moment by the shelves because a couple of people were admiring objects in a curio and blocking my way.  I turned to the bookshelves to pass the time, and my eyes lit immediately on a daily devotional about “Simple Abundance” with “Comfort and Joy” in the title.  I picked it up and paid for it.

At the next stop, I was waiting for my son to try on some clothing.  I had already checked out the dishware and found no teacups that called to me, so I walked to the book shelves.  Just the day before, I had reviewed my Amazon “Wish List.”  On it was Regina Brett’s book, “God Never Blinks.”  I’ve enjoyed reading Regina’s newspaper columns for years.  She has inspired me on many occasions.  I “follow” her on Facebook, and although I frequently have considered buying her book, I just haven’t gotten around to it.

Just as at the previous shop, the first book that I saw “called out” to me.  Its bright orange cover drew my eye, and into the cart it went.

Those books sat on my coffee table for several days, untouched.  I opened the cover of “God Never Blinks” and saw an inscription from a daughter to her mother on Mother’s Day 2012.  It made me a little sad to know that a carefully chosen gift had made its way to the Salvation Army store.

I turned the page, and saw that the author had autographed the book, and my amazement that this little book had found its way into my hands was magnified.  I turned to the Introduction section, and as I read the words, I knew that I had discovered a soul sister.  Tears streamed down my face.

I’ve been reading from these two books for a week now, with no hint of discomfort – no visual distortion.   Now, I read a lesson each day.  I want to keep turning the pages and consume the entire book in a single sitting, but it would be over too quickly.  Instead, like a box of expensive chocolates, I will savor just one each day, letting the words sink in slowly.

God didn’t just send me a message.  He sent me an autographed copy.  Thank you for your words, Regina, and thank you to unnamed “favorite daughter” who bought her mom and autographed book in 2012 that would be delivered into the hands of another mother nearly 5 years later.

 

Day 6/365: Prayer and Meditation

I spend a period of time each day in prayer and in meditation.   I set aside time each day for each of these practices.  I am not a theologian or a guru.  I have found, though, that prayer and meditation complement each other and add a great deal to my life.

I have heard it said that prayer is talking to God, and meditation is listening for the answers.  That may be an oversimplification, but I like the sentiment.

The first thing I do in the morning, before I get out of bed, is to give thanks for another day of life.  If my husband is in bed, I check if he is breathing and give thanks for that, too.  I (silently) say “this is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it,” and then I wake up my 16-year-old son and round up the dogs.

I go to sleep at night (literally) counting my blessings and giving thanks for the many people and things that bring joy into my life.  I don’t view God as a vending machine in the sky that doles out favors in exchange for prayer tokens.  I don’t spend much prayer time asking for specific blessings.  I do, however, seek answers.  I ask for inspiration, and I receive it.

I attempt to spend 15 – 20 minutes each morning in meditation.  I have some recordings that i like to use to get into a meditative state of mind.  It seems my mind is always working on one question or another, and it is difficult to reach a place where I can just “be” instead of “doing.”

I have learned to keep a pad of paper and a pen handy when I meditate because ideas just pop into my mind.  Without my mind planning projects or worrying about details, I am free to simply breathe in and out and listen for inspiration and answers – or just to relax and enjoy life.

There are many free meditation apps for iPhone and Android that are useful tools to help you learn to meditate.  Although it’s cold in Ohio as I write (1 degrees F, brrrr), when the weather is warn, there is nothing that I enjoy more than sitting in nature with my eyes closed and just simply observing the sounds of nature and the sensations of the sun and the breeze as they touch my skin.  In these moments I can truly disconnect from the wear and tear of life’s distractions and allow God to speak.

 

Oh, the weather outside is frightful (but do it anyway)…

As a child, my brother and I would ride in the back seat of our parents’ station wagon and sing “Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house, we go…”  We literally would cross a river (more like a creek) and there were woods on the way, so I felt like the song was written just for us (except for the horse part…).

As an intact family, we had one set of traditions to worry about.  Christmas Eve would be at Grandma and Aunt Betty’s house.  Christmas morning would usually be back at home in Kidron, where the presents awaited under the tree.  It was two days full of fun and traditions.

When I married and had my own family, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were generally divided between my family and his.  Christmas Eve would still be a Aunt Betty’s (Grandma had gone to heaven by then), Christmas morning and Christmas Day would be at my in-laws.  It worked.

When my oldest son was six years old, his father and I divorced.  Now we had visitation schedules to worry about.  The schedule said “alternate holidays” and that meant that someone’s traditions suffered.  That was more than two decades ago, so I don’t remember the details of when J’s dad and I finally figured out that we could divide things up as best suited our various family traditions instead of according to a piece of paper, but we eventually got there.

Today, I’m writing as the wife and mother in a divorced and blended family.  I’ve had a lot of years to get it together, and I do some of it right.  I’ve also had a lot of years to reflect on where I got it wrong, and I’m sharing both of those with you.

  1. Be mindful.  Your children come first in this.  They want to please both mom and dad.  if you ask them what they want to do, they’re likely to tell you what they believe  you want to hear.  Instead, try asking them about their favorite parts of Christmas celebrations.  Share that conversation with your ex.  Work together to try to find a solution that will allow your child to enjoy time with both sides of the family.

    I remember many an early Christmas morning or late Christmas Eve night on the road through snow and ice to meet my ex-husband and his wife somewhere “half way” so that our son could enjoy as many celebrations as possible, including those of his stepfamily.  Looking back, it was so worth it.

  2. Be generous.  Your child wants to give both of you gifts on Christmas.  I can remember neglecting this because I felt it wasn’t my job to buy something for my ex and his spouse.  Perhaps it wasn’t my responsibility, but I regret not doing the generous thing and making sure that my son had something to give to every important person in his life.

    If money is tight, help your child create something – an ornament or a plate of special cookies.  You may receive nothing in return from the “other side,” and you need to be prepared for that.  You’re doing this for your child – not for yourself.

  3. Be firm.  Although I encourage you to be giving and open-minded, don’t be railroaded, either.  If sticking to the visitation plan in your court order is what keeps peace in the family, then stick to your guns.  Just make sure that you are doing it for the right reasons.
  4. Be inventive.  Sometimes it is just impossible for your child to be included in all of the celebrations.  Technology makes it possible for them to be included in your celebration.  Facetime, Skype, or Zoom are all great ways for distant family members to be included in any holiday.
  5. Be courteous.  If your co-parent is being cooperative, don’t overreach.  Don’t monopolize “their” parenting time with phone calls and Facetime.  Keep your calls short and simple.  Don’t stir up emotions for your child and leave their other parent to try to calm them.  Keep it simple.  Keep it positive.

    Along the line of “courtesy,” be on time.  Your child needs that predictability, and so does your co-parent.  You all have plans for this holiday season, and sometimes things need to run like clockwork for everything to happen smoothly.  Don’t be allow your failure to plan be an additional stressor for your child.

Remember that once you have created a life with another person, you are linked to them forever.  Once your child is grown there are still graduations, marriages, birth, deaths and other important milestones.  I was moved to tears when my ex-husband and his wife came to my father’s calling hours to be there for me and our son.  We are not close, but we are cordial, and that is what matters.  Holidays are an opportunity to forge a different kind of relationship that will help you to be civil and supportive through all of the important times in your child’s life.

 

 

Let your light shine

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

I remember being about 5 years old and singing this song in Sunday school at the top of my lungs.  I can still picture the room in the basement of the Orrville Christian and Missionary Alliance Church where I attended Sunday School.  I remember the little chairs and the tables.  I remember the upright piano in the front right corner of the room.   I remember the motions to the song.  I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Jumping forward to third grade or fourth grade, I remember singing the song “One Little Candle.”  My Dad played the piano to accompany me.  “If we all said a prayer that the world would be free, a wonderful dawn of a new day, we’d see and if everyone lit just one little candle, what a bright world this would be.”

For years and years I have been troubled by mucky feelings about myself.  I’m too fat, too slow, too messy, too simple. Yet, when people meet me, it’s not uncommon at all for them to tell me that they are drawn to my light.

I spend a lot of time hiding my light.  I’m afraid of what “this group” or “that group” will think.  I worry far too much about the good opinions of other people instead of letting my light shine.  Don’t’ like it?  Don’t read it.  Don’t like the gift?  Pass it on.

scatter-joyThis summer I found a sign that attracted me in a thrift shop in Breckenridge where I was shopping with friends.  Several of those friends took the time to point the sign out to me.  Somehow, they knew that I would love it.  Although I didn’t end up buying it because I didn’t want to tote it around town and back home, I snapped a picture of it.  It said, simply, “Scatter Joy.”  I have adopted that simple message as my personal motto.

“There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’m learning, bit by bit, to uncover my light and to share it.  I make things (mostly crocheted scarves, hats, or blanket) to share with people who I feel could use a dose of friendship.  I receive the most amazing little thank you notes.  While I cannot see my light in the mirror, I see it reflected in each of you, and for that I am weeping with joy as I write this.

Someone important to me told me this summer how broken he believes me to be.  I’ve spent a lot of emotional energy in the five months believing him.  I saw myself through his eyes instead of the eyes of the people who choose to see the good in me.  I would wish for that time and energy back, but I’ve learned an important lesson.

I listened this week to a podcast in which the presented gave a message which I am paraphrasing here.  She said something that I internalized as,  “there will people who will not like your authentic self.  They will not respond to your light.  They will not accept you as you are.  Those are not your people.  They are not your tribe.”

That resonates with me because I am being the best person that I know how to be.  I am in contact with God as I know him.  I am trying my best to treat people as I wish to be treated.

I have been struggling with anxiety and depression since that dark day last summer.  I convinced myself that I was that broken, horrible person.

In the past weeks I have done little things for people.  I will scatter joy, and I will spread kindness.  I will send comfort and I will wear purple or electric blue to the office when the spirit moves it.

“Hide it under a bushel? NO!  I’m gonna let it shine.”

I’m not broken – I’m just cracked, and dear one, that’s how the light gets in. (Apologies to Leonard Cohen, may he rest in peace).

Love, Be

 

Perfect Sense(s)?

12983773_10154170302648223_4397169664801694898_oOver the past six months or so, my life has been enriched through the use of essential oils.  I’ve read some of the science behind them, but to be honest I really don’t understand *how* they work.  I just know that for me they *do* work.  This post isn’t really about that, though.

I’ve been fighting a cold / sinus infection for a week.  The essential oils have been helping me feel a little better than I usually do, but yesterday, something changed.  I made a batch of essential oil-laced bath bombs to share.  I opened my favorite essential oil – the one that I call happiness in a bottle – and took a whiff.  Nothing.  I held it up to the light to see if perhaps the bottle was empty.  It was half full.  I opened the next bottle and again, nothing.

Although I was feeling congested, I was still able to breathe in through my nose.  I opened the cinnamon and the peppermint – odorless.  I opened the peanut butter.  Nothing.

Confused, I ran to consult “Doctor Google.”  He said that anosmia (the absence of the sense of smell) has a number of causes, not the least of which is sinus infection and nasal congestion.  I flushed my sinuses with my neti pot.  Still nothing.

i lamented to my husband that the I wouldn’t be able to taste the dinner that I had planned.  Graciously, he suggested that I save my labor for another day and offered to feed himself and the “boys.”  I ate my flavorless baked potato and a salad. If not for the varied textures, I’m not sure that I would have been able to differentiate between them.

Back to Dr. Google, I wondered if perhaps my neti pot could damage my sense of smell.  I came upon a discussion thread filled with individuals who had been living without their sense of small (and sense of taste) for long period of time.  One professional chef related how she had battled depression.  Life just wasn’t as vibrant without tasting and smelling.

I thought back to my essential oils.  After battling anxiety for years, I’ve found something that really helps me.  My emotional aromatherapy is something that I not only enjoy – it helps me feel and think “better.”  If this anosmia were to persist, how would I go back to “before?”

I ate some flavorless popcorn as I watched television with my husband.  At the suggestion of a friend, I stuck some basil essential oil up my nose.  It cleared my sinuses, but I couldn’t smell it.  I gave a longing look at the essential oil diffuser in the bedroom and debated as to whether or not I should turn it on.  Would it help me drift off to sleep ifI couldn’t smell it?

I woke up this morning and still couldn’t smell a thing.  I couldn’t “wake up and smell the coffee.”  I started feeling pretty sorry for myself, to tell the truth.

If I had to give up a sense, which would it be?  I couldn’t imagine not seeing a sunrise or hearing music.  Without touch, how would I avoid injury?  Before this experience, I suppose I might have said “smell,” but I find myself rethinking that position.  Taste protects us from consuming spoiled foods and makes life richer.  Smell and taste go together, I have discovered.

We depend upon our sense of smell to warn us of danger – fire, smoke, spoiled food.  what a marvelous creation the human body is.  These five senses work so perfectly together to keep us safe – to enrich or lives.

As I pondered the senses, I doused the tiny ants that had made their way into my kitchen with a spray of white vinegar and peppermint essential oil.  Suddenly, the acrid smell of vinegar penetrated my head and I smiled.

I ran to unmold the bath bombs and my head was filled with the odor of “joy” (yes, joy has a smell).

Today, I give thanks for a world filled with smells and tastes, touches and sights and sounds.  It all makes perfect sense.

Just write what you know.

love,

~Be~

 

 

What if I Fall?

There is freedom waiting for you,

On the breezes of the sky,

And you ask “What if I fall?”

Oh but my darling,

What if you fly?

~Erin Hanson

I’ve had an idea bouncing in my brain for a long while. Over the past weekend, it began to take form.  soon, it began to grow.  The idea took on new aspects and grew in scope, and before I knew it, I had talked myself right out of it and into an attack of anxiety.

The words of the week are “Courage,” and “Trust.”

TTYL

~Be~

All The Colors of the Rainbow (An Unbiblical Marriage)

My husband and I have been married for 15 1/2 years.  We have a child together.  We disagree sometimes.  We make up again.  We have been through some real trials and tribulations, but we have weathered the course and I can say with all sincerity that I think our love and our commitment to each other is stronger than ever.

With the marriage equality issue squarely in the limelight right now, I have devoted a lot of thought to the issue of marriage.

I’ve been delving into the scriptures, and I realized that I have the privilege of being married to my wonderful husband only because the State does not put Biblical constraint on heterosexual marriages.  You see, I have been married before.  I was married at age 19 and divorced some 8 plus years later.  Both my first husband and I have moved on.  We are each married to new partners.  If, however, the State had taken the position that is consistent with the scripture, I could not have remarried.

 In 1 Corinthians 10-11, Paul stated, “10But to the married I give instructions, not I, but the Lord, that the wife should not leave her husband 11(but if she does leave, she must remain unmarried, or else be reconciled to her husband), and that the husband should not divorce his wife.”

My husband and I eloped.  The only “guests” at our wedding were the other people waiting at the little chapel for their turn to state their vows.  We did not have to seek approval of clergy.  We did not go through pastoral counseling (not that it would have been a bad idea), we just paid our money, said our vows and signed on the dotted line.

I have close friends in the gay and lesbian community.  I attend services at a church that has taken an “all are welcome” stance on the issue.  They have welcomed my divorced and remarried self with open arms.  Their love has shown me what I have been missing in my life as I worshiped in solitary.

I have witnessed first hand in both my personal and professional lives the havoc that can result when a gay person marries a straight person who is unaware of their sexuality.  Although those marriages are Biblical, they can leave broken hearts in their trail, and frequently do.

As a sinner, I leave the judgment to God.  I have never attended a gay wedding, but I will if invited.  Perhaps gay marriage is not sanctioned by the Bible.  Neither is remarriage after divorce.  Perhaps there are florists and bakers who would have refused to cater my wedding reception if I had planned one.  They’re not making the news, though.   I respect the right churches to refuse the rites of marriage to those couples whose unions are inconsistent with that church’s teachings.  I expect we will see more on that issue soon.

I thank God for my husband.  I thank my family, who may or may not have agreed with my decision to remarry, for accepting us and encouraging us.  I realize that on this issue, we may not agree.  I learn from them, and I am thankful for every opportunity for me to consider my stance on issues where law and faith intersect.  They have always been respectful when disagreeing with me, and I am confident that will continue on this issue.  I love them, and I know that they will continue to love me, just as they have in the past when we have disagreed.

I quietly celebrated yesterday.  I have many men and women in the LGBTQ community who I am honored to call “friend.”  They welcomed me with open arms into their circles.  They did not care that I was once divorced, an unwed mother, or a morbidly obese person.  They simply called me “friend.”

Just as they do not refer to me as their “obese, divorced and remarried heterosexual friend Betty,”  I do not think of any one of them as “My gay friend Max,” or “My lesbian friend Sally” – they are simply my friends.  I love them.  I will celebrate with them.

I am an Ally.  I am a welcoming Christian. I have chosen not to discriminate in my business or in my friendship.  I cannot personally use the scripture to deny the right to marry to anyone whose union doesn’t comport.  I gave up that right when I chose my own path.