Do you use supplements?

Over the weekend my roommate and I decided it would be a good idea to join 24 Hour Fitness, which is like the Mecca of workout facilities. It’s not like joining a community center, which I did at the beginning of the year. Oh, no. It's very different.

You see, the community center is a very non-threatening kind of environment. Community centers are mostly frequented by old people, families, and middle-aged men and women. That’s not to say a few young people won’t sneak in here and there, but for the most part, you aren’t surrounded by a bunch of protein shake guzzling meat-heads who think they are the next Mr. Universe or Vin Diesel. The people who check you in and hand you your towel look like your grandparents or the school librarian. Most of the folks working out there are fully clothed in t-shirts and sweat pants and aren’t wearing a speck of make-up or bronzer. It’s about getting in, working up a bit of a sweat, and getting out.

I walked into my new gym today after work and sheepishly approached the front desk. The lady standing behind the counter did not look like either of my grandparents, but looked more like Christy Brinkley. The young beefcake standing next to the Christy clone was pretty confused by the information I gave him. Although I understand that the statement, “I just got a membership on your website yesterday and this is my first time in,” is a very confusing sentence. Especially when the only thing feeding your brain is Muscle Milk.

Luckily, Christy Brinkley’s long lost twin stepped in and got me checked in. She then explained that I get a free training session to get me started, and she summoned one of the resident beefcakes to get me penciled in for my first session. As I waited for my beefcake trainer to arrive, a group of other beefcakes milled around a few feet behind the front desk. I thought for a moment that maybe their job was to just stand at the front of the facility and look buff and hot. They were all, as Zoolander would say, ridiculously good-looking. I started to feel frumpy standing there and began to question my choice of jeans and a t-shirt.

Luckily, my trainer arrived within moments. He was also ridiculously good-looking. I wondered to myself if they have any ugly people working there. I think my trainer’s name was Richard, or maybe it was Derrick. Any way, what’s-his-name was buff, brown, and beautiful, and was walking with a limp. He informed me that he hurt his knee in a game of basketball. I made a quip that maybe I didn’t want him as my trainer if he’s all gimpy. He then threw in a comment that his wife wasn’t too happy with him that he threw his knee out. I really hate it when men do that. Within thirty seconds to a minute of meeting you, they throw a “my wife” or “my girlfriend” into the conversation just to let you know that they aren’t available. They do this because they assume everyone wants to date them. Get over yourself Richard/Derrick. He scheduled our session for Thursday and we shook on it. He bid me goodbye, and I realized he must have forgotten that Christy told him to show me around the facility. I didn’t feel like wandering around like a lost idiot, so I just left.

Halfway down the front steps some guy in a polo shirt and slacks comes trotting out the front door after me. I think I met him earlier, before my beefcake trainer showed up. “Did you want to work out today?” he asked. “Uh, I guess,” I murmured. “Well let’s get you back in here,” he beamed, “and I can show you around and get you started on some cardio!” Great. He shook my hand for like the third time and introduced himself as the district manager. He's not much taller than me, but I'm sure you can guess that he was . . . buff and beautiful! That's right! I always imagine district managers to be old and usually a bit paunchy. Well, they usually are. But not a fitness center district manager! I realized at that point that Richard/Derrick would probably get chewed out later for letting me leave the facility without getting my workout on because that's what district managers do. They chew people out.

District manager guy, whom I lovingly named, Mr. Shaky, showed me to the women’s locker room and then showed me around the gym. We pass a few girls in the weight room who are completely done up with hair, make-up, and super cute workout outfits. I figured that if you sewed together all the material from their workout clothes you'd probably have enough material for a hand-towel. I started to wonder if this was a workout facility for supermodels and also wonder who let that old guy and that fat chick in over there. Mr. Shaky yammered on about all the machines, blah, blah, blah. He shook my hand about two more times before he let me be at some cardio machine. At that point, I'd been sucking in my stomach since I left the locker room and my abs were starting to burn. I did't want anyone there to know I was a little out of shape, God forbid.

After about 40ish minutes of cardio I called it a day. All the other people on their machines were probably thinking I was a big wussy since I could only do 40 minutes of cardio. I didn’t even lift any heavy weights or grunt while pulling and tugging on one of those crazy contraptions downstairs. I figured 40 minutes was enough time that Mr. Shaky wouldn't chase me out the front door again.

After grabbing my bag from the locker room, I headed for the front door. I tried to sprint out before Mr. Shaky saw me, but he spotted me and hollered a goodbye. Luckily he was too far away for another handshake, but he did remember my name as he hollered at me to have a good evening. I’ll give him five bonus points for that. Which brings him up to -7.

Sitting in my car all sweaty, I decided I need to get some looser workout shirts. If I keep having to suck my stomach in like this for 40 minutes at a time while working out, I might give myself a hernia. I also wondered if quitting the community center was such a great idea. Oh, well. Too late now!

I hate that this song reminds me of you.

I still think about you. I wish that I didn’t. It only makes me sad and angry. No one I’ve ever met has treated me worse than you did. And I still struggle to understand why. I struggle to understand what it was I did, other than love you in spite of yourself and your circumstances, to merit the pain you inflicted on me.

I still remember the first time I saw you when I was 16 years old, almost eleven years ago. If I’d only known then how much pain you would cause me, how many tears I would shed over you, and for how long our doomed relationship would rule my thoughts, dreams, and nightmares, I might have run the other direction.

It’s not like you hurt me physically, although I think sometimes it would be easier to forgive you for such behavior, as most of the time it’s easier to explain. What you did to me runs much deeper. You hurt me in areas that I didn’t know could hurt. You broke parts of my heart that I didn’t know could be broken. You can credit yourself with bringing me to the lowest point I have ever been at in my entire life. The point at which I felt utterly hopeless, completely worthless, and like I’d never be happy again. There were parts of me that I thought could never be healed. Parts that would always be broken. I remember thinking that I would never find a man who would love me more than he loved himself.

A little over a year ago, I lay in your arms crying. You were passed out from drinking too much. I placed my hand over your rapidly beating heart and, sobbing quietly to myself, begged God in prayer to save your tortured, dysfunctional soul. I asked for a miracle in your life and in mine. I cried out for help. Thank God for delivering me from you a few months later.

I am lucky to serve a God that never gave up on me. He never left me. And he is restoring and healing me in ways that no one else in heaven or on earth can. When all else fails and everyone else fails me, he does not. He is faithful.

I know that’s something you can’t understand. Being faithful.

I can only thank your brother for revealing to me what I had suspected all along; that you were a liar. You’d lied about almost everything. You were dating and/or sleeping with at least two other women, your home was nearing foreclosure, you had no job, and no real plan to find one, you were relying on your friends to pay your bills, and no, you didn’t really have brain cancer. That was the lie that made me feel most foolish. Who lies about having a terminal disease? And why?

I can’t tell you how many tears I’ve shed for you. Tears of anger, longing, sadness, and self-loathing. Tears of frustration, helplessness, loneliness and pity. Tears of grief, mourning, and rejection. I’ll bet you never knew there were so many different kinds of tears. It’s unfortunate that I can’t remember any tears of happiness shed for you.

Sometimes I think you might suffer from multiple personality disorder. I do remember a kind, funny, gentle man that surfaced on a few occasions. Maybe that man is the man you wish you could be all the time. Or maybe he was a lie too.

I don’t know why you felt like you had to lie to me. I accepted you as you were, and I told you that. I didn’t care that you’d been divorced twice and had a two-year-old son. I just wanted to be with you. One of the last times I saw you, I told you I wanted to move to Oklahoma to be with you; that I was tired of waiting to be with you. You told me you had to get yourself straightened out and work on some things, and until you did, you wouldn’t be any good to anyone. You said you wanted to be with me, and I told you I would wait. I’m glad I didn’t.

I’ve decided that if I can survive you, I can survive anything. I just pray that you survive yourself. I pray that you won’t be able to hurt anyone else like you hurt me. I pray that you won’t call or text me ever again. And I pray that you will fade into the back of my memory, with only the scars you left on my heart to remind me of how far God has brought me and how I never want to go back there again.

The Love of My Life

One of the best moments of my life was when Mario Chalmers hit a three pointer in the 2008 NCAA Men’s Basketball National Championship Game to tie the score and send the game to overtime. KU would then go on to beat Memphis 75-68. Some may say it’s a little sad or pathetic for a sporting championship to be one of the best moments of your life (especially if you weren’t actually playing in it), but my bet is those people aren’t sports fans. And I haven’t had a wedding day or popped out any kids, so what do you want from me?

It’s nearly impossible to put into words all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that go with being an avid sports fan. It’s hard to explain to a non-sports fan the awful, heavy feeling my friends and I felt in the pit of our stomachs when Memphis was up by nine points with just 2:12 to go in regulation. It’s similar to the feeling you’d get if your spouse told you they were leaving you for their kick-boxing instructor. And as we stood there in disbelief, thinking all was lost, we went from feeling the lowest of lows to the highest of highs. Kansas went on to score 12 points in the remaining two minutes, culminating in Mario Chalmers three point tying basket with just 2.1 seconds on the clock. When that shot went in we all jumped so high in the air we could have touched the ceiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy, so exhilarated, so over-joyed. As my friends and I hugged and jumped and jumped and hugged some more, KU went on to win their first national title in exactly 20 years. We felt like we’d just landed a date with the hottest chick/dude in the world. It was like winning the Powerball Jackpot. Like meeting the President. And the celebration that took place afterwards in the streets of Lawrence? Imagine having a party with 30,000 of your closest friends. It was kind of like that.

What followed is a blur. My friends and I paid our tabs at the Bottleneck as quickly as we could and poured out onto New Hampshire Street. We hugged and high-fived every stranger we passed. As we reached Massachusetts Street, we could already see that most of Lawrence, Kansas was pouring in on all sides and from every direction, like a swarm of army ants devouring a piece of sticky candy on a hot summer sidewalk. The air was full of cheers, screams, whistles, horns, shouts, chants, songs, high-fives, and various shouts of "Champions!", "Rock chalk Jayhawk!", and "Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!" The best part of a celebration like this was that there was no plan at all. It was spontaneous and wonderful. Chaotic and beautiful. It was about being with family and celebrating one of the awesomest things to happen to that family in the last 20 years. The streets were shoulder to shoulder, so packed with people that hardly any cars could pass. You'd think we'd just won a war. It was like we'd just topped Saddam or Hitler. People were embracing, kissing, dancing, and any number and combination of other things. Mass Street was Crimson and Blue for as far as the eye could see. And my eye could see pretty far. I got to the highest point I could and as far as I could see there were Jayhawk fans. It was like that scene at the end of Field of Dreams when the camera pans out and the line of cars on their way to the baseball diamond seems to go on forever and ever. It was just like that. If you win it all, they will come. And come they did. And the best part was, there was no violence. Just happiness, joy, and camaraderie. And lots of celebratory drinking. Only two people were arrested that night, one was in connection with a car fire several blocks from the celebration, and I'm pretty sure the other was the Asian guy who's Jayhawk joy inspired him to climb to the top of the flag pole at US Bank. There were plenty of officers waiting for him when he finally came down. It was like Jayhawk Mardi Gras. People parading up and down the streets until all hours of the morning. I don't remember what time I finally went home, but I do know that I wanted that night to last forever.

I can't think of another memory as joyful that's not related to sports. I have similar memories from my freshman year at KU in 2003 when the Jayhawks made it all the way to the Big Game, only to lose to Syracuse as Michael Lee's game tying three pointer was blocked by Hakim Warrick. That shot did not go in, and Lee was not dubbed "Miracle Michael," but the games leading up to that last heartbreaker were amazing.

I remember being crammed into my friend Sean's dorm room on the third floor of McCollum Hall dormitory with about twenty other people for the Kansas/Arizona game. We huddled around his TV like bums around a flaming garbage can. After blowing a 16 point lead in the second half, the Jayhawks were back within three points. After KU commed a shot clock violation, Arizona had the ball with 7.1 seconds on the clock. Jason Gardner threw up a 25 footer, but Kirk Heinrich got a hand on it and tipped it away. Luke Walton got the rebound and fed it back to Gardner for one last shot, but it didn't go in and the game was over. We were in the Final Four. Rowdy Freshman were running up and down the halls all over the building. Sean and I went down to the parking lot to join a bunch of others in celebration. And as we stood there, we could hear cheers of joy all across Mt. Oread and all over town. Car horns honked in the distance, fireworks shot into the air, and beer cans were cracked open all across Lawrence. I knew at that point that I was part of something special. Something that would live on for years and years. Something I had already felt rush through me that year as I had cheered on my Jayhawks in the hallowed basketball haven of Phog Allen Fieldhouse. After beating Marquette that same year in the Final Four and advancing to the Championship game against Syracuse, my friends and I ran up and down Mass Street high-fiving everyone we saw. I high-fived so many people my hand went numb. It was the best feeling ever. That is until 2008, when I would beat my single evening high-five record, and experience one of the best nights of my life.

And that's one of the best things about being a sports fan, the memories. Imagine this: I walk into a pub in Ireland and spot someone in a Jayhawk t-shirt. After just a few minutes of KU related conversation, it feels like we’re old friends. We both know the history, the wins, the losses, the players and coaches of past and present. As alumni, we attended classes in the same buildings, lived and studied in the same dorms, and can recall with remarkable precision almost every detail of the foliage that covers one of the most beautiful campuses in America. We share stories of where we were when Roy left, what we thought when Self showed up, and how many celebratory beers we drank after Mario sank his miracle shot. And as we buy each other Guinness after Guinness, what onlooker would know that the only thing really connecting us is the love of a college basketball team in a small Kansas town thousands and thousands of miles away?

The Art of Talking to Women

While I typically like to spend New Year's Eve at home on the couch, I broke out of the mold in 2010 and went to a New Year's Eve party. The guy hosting the party works with my friend Bill at Costco.

Once I arrived, a quick sweep of the room confirmed that there were no potential future husbands in this bunch, so I struck up a conversation with the first person I came accross. I can't tell you the name of the fellow I was talking to (that's just how memorable he was), but I can tell you he was completely clueless about how to talk to pretty women. Our conversation went as follows:

Clueless Dude: So, yeah. Have you seen this show on HBO called "Spartacus"?

Me: I don't have cable. Just Netflix.

Clueless Dude: Oh. Have you ever seen the movies "Troy" or "300"?

Me: Yeah, dude movies. Lots of blood, guts, and fighting.

Clueless Dude: Yeah! Well, "Spartacus" is a lot like those movies! It's really great. You'd like it.

Me: I doubt it. It's not really my favorite genre.

Clueless Dude: Oh, well it's got a healthy amount of porno in it too!

Me: Um, yeah. Still not my thing.

Clueless Dude: What? You don't like porn?

Me: Um, I guess I like the occasional steamy scene, but no, I don't typically sit down and watch porn.

Clueless Dude: Oh. Well . . . that's weird. *Clueless Dude stands there awkwardly for five seconds and then heads over to the margarita machine.*

This guy clearly had no idea what women are into. A safer question for him to ask would have been, "What's your favorite TV show?" Then, depending on my response, he could have proceded accordingly. My response would have been, "It's hard to pick. I watch a lot of BBC shows. But I also really like 'The Office', 'Lost', and 'Gilmore Girls'." Even if he had no idea what the BBC was, chances are he's seen one of the other shows I named off. This gives him a decent range of what I'm interested in, at least TV wise, and he can procede by talking about any common TV ground we may share. But no. None of what I just wrote would make any sense to Clueless Dude because he doesn't think. He just says whatever pops into his head. He probably doesn't get why he hasn't had a date in five years, except with that chick from Lawn and Garden who loves Rusell Crowe movies and has a second job at Cirillas.

That wasn't even the last of my conversations with Clueless guy. He later bragged about how he was the valedictorian of his high school graduating class of four people. He then confessed he was actually pretty stupid and had to go to an alternative school just to get his diploma. I'm not sure why he thought bragging about his lack of intelligence would be appealing to me. I just shook my head and spaced out for the remainder of the conversation. When I was leaving the party and saying goodbye to everyone, I extended my hand to Clueless Guy for a handshake. "Nice to meet you," I said, hoping he would get my obvious attempt to avoid a hug. Nope. He shook my hand and then went for the hug anyway. What an idiot.

And this was no isolated incident. I met an equally as Clueless Guy just two days before at Old Chicago. I'd gotten off work at 11:30 at night, and was headed home after a long shift. I stopped at the bar to say hi to my friend Kate, who was having a brewsky. Kate used to work at Old Chicago, so we chatted for a while. I told her it was my birthday the next day, and she and two of her friends demanded that I stay and have a drink in honor of my birthday. And so I agreed.

I sat down at the bar next to her friend, Kelly. Kelly was a nice enough guy. He was also fairly intelligent. We chatted about his job in Colorado and how he was a philosophy major. We discussed foreign films and foreign language. He even spoke to me in fairly decent Italian when he found out I took four semesters of Italian at KU. He told me about his plans to go to grad school in Boston. It was suprisingly decent conversation.

However, things quickly took a turn for the clueless. Kelly kept trying to persuade me to take shots with them and to stay out all night and party! It was, after all, my birthday the next day.

"Oh, just call in sick tomorrow! No big deal!"

Kelly did not have an off button. No matter how much I protested, and no matter how many legitimate reasons I gave him for only having one beer and going home to bed, he kept at it. Halfway though our conversation, Kelly put his arm around the back of my chair. Great. He was already closing off my exit. When I'd finally had enough of Kelly and had finished my beer, I paid my tab and got up from my stool to leave.

"Don't leave!" Kelly said, grabbing my wrist, "You have to stay and party with us!" I tried to be polite.

"Look, dude. What's your name again? Anyway, I'm leaving now."

"No! You have to stay and be irresponsible with me!"

"No, really, I'm going home and going to bed. I have to be at work at 7:00 am."

It was at this point that Kelly grabbed both of my wrists and tried to pull me towards him. It was also at this point that I had to summon all that was within me to not punch old Kelly boy in the face. I wrenched my hands from Clueless Kelly's grip and backed away about three feet.

"It was nice to meet you. I'm leaving now."

"Well obviously it wasn't that nice since you're leaving," he quipped.

"Yeah, bye."

I was so irritated. Can guys really be this clueless? If you get to the point where you have to physically restrain a girl from leaving your presence, she probably ain't interested. If Clueless Kelly hadn't been a friend of my friend, he probably would have gotten punched, and he would have heard a stream of very colorful words. I've always wondered how much damage a swift elbow to the jaw could do.

I related these very amusing stories to two of my co-workers at Old Chicago, one of whom is a married man in his forties.

"Guys just don't understand the art of talking to women," my married, guy friend John remarked. "Some of these pick up lines guys use these days: 'Nice shoes. Wanna have sex?' When has that line ever worked?" he asked. I mused to myself that it would probably work on the chick from Lawn and Garden. Guys like John have women figured out. They respect and appreciate women.

I guess I just feel like I'm drowning in a sea of clueless lately. Someone throw me a life preserver of common sense. I just want to know that there is at least one, non-clueless guy left out there.

I just don't get it.

Mars. Venus. John Gray had it right.

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.