2011

I'm not timid in admiting that 2010 has been one of the worst years of my life.

This year, my heart was broken worse than I ever thought possible by the man I'd loved since I was sixteen. It hurt in ways I didn't know it could. This summer I felt like I lost my mind, my self-worth, and any idea I had about who I was and where I was going. In the fall I had to make the choice to shut my mother out of my life, for my own mental and emotional well-being. I lost my grandpa just before his 92nd birthday. He was the last grandparent I had. And just before Christmas, my friend's six-year-old son was murdered by his father, who then killed himself, leaving her devastated and alone, and leaving me wondering how so many bad things can happen in such a short amount of time.

I sat with my parents and my sister in the living room just before midnight on Christmas Eve, wondering aloud if my mother would kill herself because she felt abandoned and alone, and wondering if a sherrif's officer would knock on the front door on Christmas Day to give me the news. I mused that after living through my friend Nick's suicide a few years ago and now dealing with the murder suicide of my friend's son and husband, I'd come to realize that horrible things happen every day. And they can happen to you. And it's naive to sit there and say, "That could never be me," because it very easily could be. Some might think it morbid to contemplate such things, but I find it's better to be prepared. You should always take every situation seriously. You should never consider anything impossible or unfathomable. It's a trap. People get divorced, get cancer, hurt you, die, murder, steal, fail. Bad things happen to good people. I'm not saying you should live in fear of these things, but I feel like the more you come to terms with the fact that they are very real parts of living in this world, the more prepared you will be if you experience something tragic or horrible.

A while back I saw this lady on a weight-loss show telling about how she'd become overweight. She was a fairly attractive, relatively young, blonde-haired lady. She wasn't obese, but she was definitely over-weight. The most striking thing about her though was how bright and up-beat she was. Her extremely positive attitute was even more surprising after she shared her story. She told about how she'd had a husband, a young son, and a new-born baby. They had a great life, big plans, and their whole future ahead of them. Then she told about how all three of them were killed in an auto-accident by a drunk driver. All of them. Killed instantly. Her whole life was gone in a matter of moments. She sat there nearly sobbing, talking about how it felt to have her whole life torn from her, all her plans obliterated, and how alone she'd felt. She talked about her faith, and how she focused on just getting through each day. She talked about building a new future, because that's what her husband and children would want. She was an amazing person.

I thought about that lady the other night, and then I thought about my friend. I thought about how one day she had a husband, a child, and a family, and the next day she had nothing. I can't imagine how that would feel. But it happens all the time. People lose people all the time. People experience tragedy all the time.

And that's why I plan on having my best year yet in 2011. Not out of fear that it could all be over tomorrow, but more out of a desire to live life to the fullest while I have breath in my lungs, no matter what happens. Even if what happens is tragic and horrible. Athough I'm hoping there will be less tragic and horrible and more amazing and wonderful in 2011.

My Grandpa Art always said that how long you live and the quality of life you have is all about attitude. And considering he was almost 92 when he died (with perfect hearing, perfect eyesight, and a valid driver's license) he maybe knew what he was talking about. And Grandpa always had a plan. He had a plan for each day. And even after he lost his wife of 67 years, he was still able to keep going.

When I told my step-mom about the lady on the weight-loss show, she said it reminded her of Grandpa Art. "He felt the same way when he lost mom. He felt like he'd lost his whole life. His reason for living. His other half. But he found a way to keep going, and by doing that, he kept us going too."

So I'm going to keep going. I'm going to wake up each morning with a plan, and I'm going to accomplish some of the goals I've set for myself that I have yet to accomplish. Maybe I'll find my dream job, my dream husband, or my dream home. Maybe I'll tae that dream vacation I've always wanted to go on. I have have to start somewhere. What better time to start than January 1?

Hold my Heart

I was driving home tonight listening to a song called "Hold my Heart" by Tenth Avenue North. It got me thinking about my own heart -- my emotional/spiritual heart. I started to wonder what condition my heart was in.


In the chorus of the song the singer tells the listener about how his heart is breaking, and he's asking God to hold it together. The picture the singer paints is a desperate one. The listener gets the impression that the singer's life is falling apart, and he's at the end of his rope. Everything is in shambles, and he's begging God to help him hold it all together; asking God to hold his heart together because it's being ripped apart. I imagine the singer on his knees on some dark street corner in the pouring rain, looking longingly up at the sky. Or maybe he's crumpled on the sidewalk with his hands over his face. Then in my mind I see an actual beating heart, and it is being destroyed by some invisible force. It's a gory scene; blood is splurting all over the place. Pieces of the heart start to fall, like slices of a cored apple. Then two hands come into the picture and envelop the heart before it completely falls apart. The hands are the only things holding the pieces together.


I knew that wasn't my heart though. I knew because I'd been where the singer had been. I knew what it felt like to have your heart torn apart. My heart didn't feel that way.


Then I imagine a bruised, beat-up looking heart. This heart looks like hell, but it's still being held together by some Frankenstein type stitching. It's all sorts of different colors: black, blue, purple. There are cuts and gouges all over its surface. It's a healing heart, but it looks like it has a long way to go. It kind of looks like a soldier would the day after a gruesome day of battle.


I didn't think this was my heart either. I knew because I'd had that heart too, and I knew the dull ache that came with it. My heart didn't ache like that.

If I'd pictured a third heart, which I didn't, It probably would have looked fairly healed, but with lots of scaring and a few fresh bruises and scratches. I think that's my heart.

I remember thinking it's impossible to have a completely healed heart because no matter how far down that healing path we get, things keep hurting us. That seemed really unfair. But that's life. Life is a series of battles and victories, and it's impossible to get through these battles unscathed. And I would argue that every battle ends in victory because even when we lose, we win. We can take something good away from every failure. There is always a lesson to be learned.

And while hurt or broken hearts are impossible to avoid, we can control the rate of healing. Healing is a choice and some people choose to stay broken. Choosing to heal looks different for everyone.

As cheesy as it sounds, I said to God in my mind, "I want to have a strong heart." I figure the stronger my heart is, the better it will withstand an assault. Besides, it's hard to cut or rip through scar tissue, isn't it?


Things that have torn apart my heart:

My parent's divorce
My friend Nick's suicide
Will Caskey
My mom's bitternes and hatred
My friend's husband murdering their six year old son and then killing himself

These things were all horrible and devastating in their own ways, but they have all made me stronger. I think. Or they've made me a better person. Or they've helped me understand life, myself, or other people a little better. You can learn just as much from the bad as you can from the good, maybe even more:

Romans 5:1-5

1 Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. 3 Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Another Lonely Day

I heard a song on Pandora today by Ben Harper entitled "Another Lonely Day". It's rather depressing, but it’s become one of my favorite songs. It goes like this:

Yes indeed I'm alone again

And here comes emptiness crashing in

It's either love or hate

I can't find in between

Cause I've been with witches

And I have been with a queen

It wouldn't have worked out any way

So now it's just another lonely day

Further along we just may

But for now it's just another lonely day

Wish there was something

I could say or do

I can resist anything

But temptation from you

But I'd rather walk alone

Than chase you around

I'd rather fall myself

Than let you drag me down

It wouldn't have worked out any way

And now it's just another lonely day

Further along we just may

But for now it's just another lonely day

Yesterday seems like a life ago

Cause the one I love

Today I hardly know

You I held so close in my heart oh dear

Grow further from me

With every falling tear

It wouldn't have worked out any way

So now it's just another lonely day

Further along we just may

But for now it's just another lonely day

You may wonder exactly what I like about it. Look at the first verse:

Yes indeed I'm alone again

And here comes emptiness crashing in

It's either love or hate

I can't find in between

Cause I've been with witches

And I have been with a queen

It wouldn't have worked out any way

It seems to represent the end of a relationship and the frustration of not being able to find something stable. And in the absence of love or hate, he’s crushed by loneliness. Whether he finds a “witch” or a “queen”, none of these relationships seem to work out. It seems hopeless.

My favorite part is in verse two:

Wish there was something

I could say or do

I can resist anything

But temptation from you

Here he seems to indicate that he wishes he could fix whatever is wrong with their relationship. It would appear that he is normally a strong guy, but she seems to be his Achilles heel. He can’t resist her. He can’t say no to her. Which is why I like the next line:

But I'd rather walk alone

Than chase you around

I'd rather fall myself

Than let you drag me down

It wouldn't have worked out any way

He faces his weakness and leaves. She can’t tempt him if she’s not around. He’d rather have his pride and be alone than be chasing after some girl who causes him to stumble and look a fool. This is insanely difficult, as I feel like the majority of people in the world are so terrified of being alone that they stay in relationships that strip them of their dignity and self worth.

The third verse struck me the most, as it reminds me almost too much of the last relationship I was in:

Yesterday seems like a life ago

Cause the one I love

Today I hardly know

You I held so close in my heart oh dear

Grow further from me

With every falling tear

It wouldn't have worked out anyway

I was in a relationship like this. It does seem like it was “a life ago”, even though it was only six months ago. I thought I knew the person very well, but in the end I realized I didn't know him at all. He’d lied about so many things that I had no idea what was truth and what was fiction. And with “every falling tear” it made it easier to push him away. Both because I was tired of him causing me so much pain and because he’d become like a stranger to me.

And of course, when you're honest with yourself, you finally realize:

It wouldn't have worked out anyway

Believing this last line was the hardest thing of all for me. Depending on how deep a state of "delusion" or "denial" you're in, you can imagine any number of insane scenarios in which it would "work out". It's quite a step when you are adult enough, and honest enough to say to yourself, and the other person, "This is never going to work out."

So now it's just another lonely day

Further along we just may

But for now it's just another lonely day

And the last step is battling the loneliness. Which is a day to day battle. Because even when I’m feeling fine, others can “drag me down”. I waffle between hope and hopelessness. It all seems so impossible. Too much to ask for. A dream. But hope remains, none-the-less. Because I am generally a hopeful person. Hope is all we have, really. And my hope is in God, whom I know will never fail me.

Why can't I be shallow and selfish and not care?

For some reason, as I was lying in bed tonight praying for whoever crossed my mind, I began to think of my family. And I started to cry. I was thinking about how I needed to have a talk with my step-mom and get everything out in the open. Tell her I think she’s always resented my relationship with my dad. Tell her I feel like she’s jealous of me. Half the time I feel like she loves me and the other half I feel like she can’t stand me. Then I thought I’d tell them I’m tired of trying to be good enough for them. I feel like they’re judging me all the time. I’d tell my dad he’s an alcoholic and he needs to admit it. What’s the worst that can happen? Then I started thinking about my uncle and how he and one of my aunts don’t speak. And come to think of it, neither of my aunts speak to each other. I thought that maybe if I went to visit my aunt that doesn’t speak to anyone and talk to her about things, I could somehow bring them all together. Then I thought about my mom. Who is not speaking to my sister and vice versa. I’m not speaking to my mom either. Mostly because I can’t communicate with her at all. Maybe I never have. She never really listens. I thought maybe I could drive down to see my mom and try to talk it out one last time. Tell her that her other daughter is going off to war and may never come back. Is that how she really wants to leave things? At least if it turns out bad with my mom, I can visit my uncle. I like my uncle. I like both of my uncles. I like most of my family really, they just don’t like each other.

How can one person really conquer all these things? They can’t. But I feel the weight of it all on my shoulders. Like I have to fix it all. Because no one else will.

I don’t want things to turn out like they did with my grandmother. She and my mom never talked about anything. They just resented each other and complained about each other. When my grandma finally died, I was the only one who was there with her. I felt like I was the only one that cared. Because my mom never dealt with her feelings towards my grandmother, her grief was more drawn out and amplified. It was awful. I can’t let my family end up like that.

I had a vision of my sister coming home from Afghanistan with a flag draped over her coffin. How would mom feel then? Would she regret the way she’d behaved? The way she’d dealt with things? I know she would. I don’t know if she’d even come to the funeral.

I’m sure my sister will be fine. I don’t know about my mom. Or the rest of my family.

Or me. I really wish I could stop thinking and go to sleep.

I'll Be Your Huckleberry

There are times in life, every once in a while, when I am overwhelmed by how blessed I am. These times also seem to come after great stress or trial. Once the dust has settled, and your foe lays vanquished at the other end of the square, you’re able to look around you and appreciate that you are still alive, that your enemy (at least metaphorically) is not, and that most of the people watching gave you the courage to walk out there, draw your gun, and fight. Life is a battle, and anyone who believes otherwise obviously hasn’t left their house.

Your enemy could be almost anything: a negative thought or feeling, an ex-boyfriend, your own pride and hubris, a divorce, something you want but know you shouldn’t have, losing your job, losing a loved one. If you don’t fight, these things will eat you alive. They will take you down. They will go for the gut. You will fall, and you will not get up again.

Sometimes these fights are like a shoot-out in an old western. You stand in the square in front of the General Store while men, women, and children look on. You stare down your enemy as you position your hand above your gun. As the sun beats down on you, the clock strikes twelve and whoever draws first lives. Someone falls. It all happens in a few ticks of the minute hand.

At times these fights are like an action sequence from a Bruce Lee or James Bond movie. You and your enemy are flying all over the room, breaking tables, flipping off walls, trying to kill each other with swords, guns, ninja stars, two by fours, or whatever else you can grab. It’s like a dance. However, after no more than ten minutes or so, someone makes a wrong move and it’s over. Just like that.

Occasionally these fights are more like battles. You’re on a bloody battlefield, fighting an enemy you can’t really see. You may be wounded and crawling under barbed wire. Bombs are exploding over your head like a scene in Saving Private Ryan. It’s long, drawn-out, scary, and painful. If you’re still alive when the sun comes up, you win. It’s about survival.

No matter the kind of fight, victory is sweet. When you make it out alive, everything is brighter, sweeter, and more fragrant. You appreciate the little things more: birds tweeting, babies laughing, the wind blowing across your face. Sounds cheesy, but not to someone who has faced death and lived.

Of course, being a believer in Christ, I know that there is no battle I cannot win with my Savior at my side. However, sometimes, when the bombs are exploding overhead, the ninja stars are whipping through the air, and the world moves in slow motion as I pull out my gun, there is a little seed of doubt that tries to creep in and tell me that I might not make it.

As I sat in my parent’s living room last weekend, the battle seemed so far away. On a night when I could have been out on the town, doing any number of fun and exciting things, I could not have been more content sitting there on the couch. My step-mother and I were knitting washcloths, while my 91 year old grandfather telling us stories about the good old days, and my dad sat in his chair reading the paper. “I love you guys,” I said. I couldn’t hold it in. “We love you too.”

The only thing I must overcome now is the fear of when the next fight will come. Why fear when victory is assured? Good question. I guess it is fear of the unknown. For now, I try not to hold onto the fear and try to focus on the tweeting birds, the laughing babies, and the wind blowing across my face.

Finding Your Happy Place

happy place - n.

1. Place inside all of us where we are all happy and get the warm fuzzies. Our happy places are insulated from the jerks that make up just about everyone we encounter.
2. The mental state achieved when one wants to avoid the unpleasant or uncomfortable. Everyone's happy place is different, and usually consists of the things that make them joyous.
3. A psychologically-induced trance-like state, where a person may regress from a stressful situation. A person may go to their 'happy place' when trying to repress unhappy memories from their childhood.
4. A person whom is resting & de-stressing from work.
5. A term used to mean a place visualized or relived in ones mind as horrible or unpleasant things occur

urbandictionary.com


I've been trying to find my happy place lately. At night, when I close my eyes, try to relax, and drift into sleep, I am often kept awake by my ever working brain. I wish I was the kind of person that could just go to sleep as soon as their head hits the pillow, but I'm not. I lay there and rehearse the events of the day, good and bad. I re-think things I said or did and think of ways I could have said or done them better. It's almost like SportsCenter in my brain: Headlines, Top 10 Plays of the Day, analysis, replays, interviews. It's all very tiring.

This is why I've been trying to find my happy place. I need something I can focus on when I go to sleep that will make all the other thoughts slip away. And maybe not even just when I go to sleep, but when the troubles and trials and stresses of life try to get the best of me at any time of the day.

I got the idea recently when reading Johnny Cash's autobiography, Cash. It's really just a collection of stories about how he grew up, the people he knew, his family, his music, his time on the road. Johnny was a very spiritual, Christian man. At one point in the book he talks about how he spends time with God. He finds a quiet place away from everyone, he sits down, and he closes his eyes in a sort of meditative way. He then imagines this place he's been to in the mountains in Alaska. A small patch of ground in the wonderful, big, peaceful forrest. But he doesn't just imagine it. He goes there. It's almost like an out of body experience. And that's where he spends time with God. He goes through this long description of exactly what the place smells like, looks like, sounds like. He knows exactly how far it is from the shore of the ocean and what time of day it is. It's unreal. He probably knows this little patch of ground better than any other spot. And in that moment of meditative prayer, that spot is as real to him as if he were actually there. It blew my mind when I read his beautiful prose about this tiny spot. I wanted one too.

This week I've been imagining myself sitting in a high-backed arm chair in my parent's front living room. I'm wearing my favorite long sleeved t-shirt from high school that has my last name peeling off the back and my gray KU pajama pants. I'm also wearing socks because it's usually freezing in my parents house. I'm wrapped in my almost white, lavender colored robe that I've had longer than I can remember. The red blanket I got as an office Christmas present two years ago is across my lap. I imagine feeling the warmth of the ceramic coffee cup in my hands; the steam rising from the coffee and condensing on my nose as I take a sip. I let out a sigh, as I usually do after my first couple of sips. Amaretto creamer in my coffee. There is a floor lamp turned on next to me to offer a bit of light. It's early morning and there is just enough light to see that the snow is still falling outside. Big, fat, fluffy flakes. Most of the snow fell in the night, and the snow plows haven't come out yet, so most of the snow is undisturbed. Everything is quiet except for the sound of the hot air coming out of the air register in the corner of the room. A small table is to my right with a book on it. The book is Harry Potter y La Piedra Filosofal. There is a green mechanical pencil stuck in the middle of the book and a few yellow, lined sticky notes poking out the top. I just sit there, and stare out the window, and sip my coffee. I sip slowly and silently wish that the coffee would never run out and that the snow would never stop falling. An old Ford pick-up truck with it's headlights on slides through the stop sign at the corner, and the snow keeps falling.

Another happy place involves reading a book in approximately the same spot as my winter scene while rain falls outside. The window is slightly open and I can hear the rain falling. It's not a torrential rain, but a steady downpour. A cool breeze floats in.

Another happy place involves me laying in my childhood bed in Overland Park. My window and door are open, and the attic fan is running down the hall. I can imagine little, six-year old me perfectly. I'm wearing an over sized, navy blue t-shirt that says "Wiegand for Governor". I'm missing one of my front teeth. My skin is brown from playing in the summer sun. I remember exactly what my sheets and bedspread looked like. A small, mutt puppy is snuggled under the covers with me. She has blue eyes.

It's just a start. It's important to know all of the details. That way the image of your happy place flows more easily, and you're not hung up deciding on the details. It must be the same every time. You'll know your scene so well it will be easy to get lost in it. It will be like you're actually there. Breathe deep. In and out.

It seems to me that most of my happy places involve some sort of soothing white noise, or nature sounds. No music, as the words would distract me. No other people, as they would distract me too.

While it has become somewhat of a societal joke for angry people to repeat to themselves in moments of frustration, "I'm going to my happy place!", it's not really a joke for me anymore. It's a reality, and sometimes the only way I can find shalom in everyday trials and tribulations.

A Couple of Moments

"You only get a couple of moments that determine your life. Sometimes only one. And then it's gone. Forever." Jack Burden, All the King's Men

These words echoed in my mind after hearing them. I sat in the dark in my living room and thought about the one moment that determined my life. I couldn't exactly pick just one, but a couple came to mind. It made me sad to think about because most of the moments that came to mind were times when I made the wrong decision, or made no decision, and then the moment was gone. Forever.

In the movie All the King's Men, character Jack Burden is referring to a couple of things. In reference to himself, I think he's referring to a moment in his youth when he could have made love to the love of his life, Anne. However, he chose not to, even though he wanted to. Anne felt rejected and ashamed, and it killed their relationship. I think he considered that the moment that determined his life. If he'd made love to her, they probably would have ended up together and lived happily ever after. Maybe not. But he missed the moment, and it was gone forever.

There are other moments like these for the other characters. Maybe for Anne it would have been the moment in which Willie Stark, the governor of Louisiana and Jack's boss, made her certain promises in return for her "company". She could have said no, but she said yes, and the moment was gone. She broke what was left of Jack's heart and gave away what little was left of her own.

For Willie Stark himself, maybe his moment was when he was about to give a speech at a local fair after finding out that he was just a pawn in a political game. They were using him to split the vote. There was a moment before he started his speech, when he could have chosen to leave and go home, or to just give the speech they gave him. He chose neither, and gave his own angry speech which launched his own, independent campaign. The moment was gone. He ended up dead.

Perhaps Anne's brother Adam's moment was when Willie Stark offered him a job. He could have turned it down, and he did at first, but then there was a moment when he started to re-think his decision. He could have turned it down and remained dismal and broke, but left with his pride and his values. He changed his mind, took the job, and the moment was gone. He ended up dead too, after he shot Stark to death.

If I'd just . . . made love to her.
If I'd just . . . said no to Willie Stark.
If I'd just . . . left the fair and gone home to my wife.
If I'd just . . . turned the job down.

Every now and again, the "If I'd just"s echo in my mind. These moments stick in my head and they replay over and over. I dream about them. I've tossed and turned over them. I've written pages and pages about them. I've cried many tears over them.

I probably won't know if those were the moments that determined my life until I die. Only then will I know whether I let those moments go. The moments in which I was faced with a choice: do or don't; say something or say nothing; do this or do that.

I often say, to myself and to others, that I don't regret the choices I've made in my life, because they've made me who I am. I can't change how those moments passed. But If I said that I never think about those moments and wonder how my life would be if they'd passed differently, I'd be a liar.

I do wonder. If only out of some sort of twisted curiosity. But usually only when listening to a really sad song, witnessing great grief or tragedy, or after watching All the King's Men.