I wrote this essay about 1 1/2 yrs ago; I'm happy to say, Daniel is now 16 1/2, and he and Lindsey are still an item. Where the future takes them, only God knows, but I'm enjoying the ride.
I have a lovesick teenager at my house. He’s fifteen years old, smitten by a fifteen year old female. My son Daniel has been dating Lindsey for about nine months now, and although their relationship is innocent enough, I have to say his behavior is completely silly. This is the boy who, five short years ago, was the president of the Anti-Girls Club, an organization made up of 5 prepubescent wannabe men; who vowed to never like a girl, let alone touch one, and never, ever marry one. What is it about love, even puppy love that absolutely changes rational human beings into starry eyed saps?
I remember being a boy-crazy little girl who followed young males around the playground, watching their every move, daydreaming that they would turn and smile, and ask me to join them in their game of basketball. Even when they flipped my skirt up, pulled my hair, or tried to see up my dress when I was on the swings, I still believed that someday one of these handsome boys would pick me up, put me on his white horse, and ride off into the sunset to live in a castle, happily ever after.
I don’t think that much changes as we get older. Look at all the promises of advertising, which guarantee you’ll snag that special someone, simply by drinking the right diet soda, or driving the right car. And we fall for it, male and female alike. We believe that love is something that can be bought and sold. Women go to great lengths to change how they look, smell, and feel, all in the hopes of eternal bliss.
This is not a new thing; examples date back to the beginning of time. Eve gave Adam the apple, in hopes that she could lure him with wisdom. David went to great lengths to kill Bathsheba’s husband, in order to cover up his affair and win her as the prize. King Solomon, supposedly the wisest man to ever live, wrote one of the most steamy, syrupy love stories to the Queen of Sheba, and it actually worked.
Wars have been fought over love, kingdoms joined and toppled, murders committed. Sometimes the negative effects of love are easier to see than the positive ones. But they are there, and it’s actually in the ridiculousness of love that you find its beauty. Is it rational to love someone who has betrayed you with another? Is it sane to give everything you have for the object of your desire? Does it make sense to drive all night, sleep deprived, for one more moment with your love before they ship out? No it doesn’t. And that’s why we crave it. The idea that someone would be so crazy in love with us that they would do the most unpractical things is mesmerizing.
My son came home last week with what looks to me like a wedding ring on his left hand. I choked back my hysteria to ask him what this was. He replied “a promise ring.” To which I said “ a promise to what”? He said “marry her”. Let me repeat; this is my fifteen year old. How irrational is that?
But then I look at my right hand, where there is a ring of silver on the finger. It was given to me when I was fifteen, a promise to always love me and cherish me, and to be together forever, to be made official at a later date. And twenty four years later, that rash promise has been kept. Who knows? Love is rarely predictable; it’s a gamble.
Some win, some lose, and most fall completely overboard, but it’s always worth the chance.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
A Beautiful Mess
You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
Though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
That this is just what happiness is
And what a beautiful mess this is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions dear
'Cause here we are, here we are
Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy
Depending on how you take these
Words I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
And what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And kind and courteous is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt oh dear
Cause here we are, Here we are
Here we are [x7]
We're still here
What a beautiful mess this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes
And through timeless words, and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And times they turn, and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses, and stained our shirts
But it's nice today, oh the wait was so worth it.
Jason Mraz is known for his “wordsmith” songs; he is not afraid to use words to paint a picture. As a result, it is rather easy to listen to any number of his songs and feel an emotional and personal connection. On his album “We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things”, Jason uses his talent to describe love, childhood, sex, and honor. In ‘A Beautiful Mess’, he skillfully portrays long-term relationships.
As someone who has been married for over half of my life, I can tell you that love is, at times, messy. We do not marry our Prince Charming, ride off on a white steed, and live happily ever after. But we do live. Oftentimes, we hurt those we love the most with our words and actions. Mraz nails it on the head when he pens “Your comebacks they're quick and probably have to do with your insecurities”. Many times, the words we hurl at one another are a reflection of our own inner turmoil. Love, with its moments of beauty and ugliness, is “like picking up trash in dresses”.
I have to admit that I had listened to this particular album several times, and had actually skipped this song just because it was really slow. But in November of last year, I took my son to see Jason Mraz in concert at the Fox Theatre in
Someday -and I hope it’s later, rather than sooner- my life mate and I will be parted. While I’m sure it is a natural thing to have regrets at that time for words unsaid or for those that were spoken in haste, I love the perspective in the last lines of this song:
And through timeless words, and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And times they turn, and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses, and stained our shirts
But it's nice today, oh the wait was so worth it.
Sources:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKanbidzvUQ&feature=related
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
To Kill a Mockingbird
I just completed a second reading of To Kill a Mockingbird, one of my all-time favorite books. I read it the first time in my sophomore year of high school; this time in a literature/writing class I'm taking. I was asked to compare an incident from childhood to the story, and I'm posting my essay here. I promise not to take advantage of my friends by doing this everytime; I will eventually post things that aren't required in a class! Having a deadline is definitely incentive to write!
An Incident from Childhood
As any parent knows, a child is shaped most by what a parent does, not what they say. This is not to discount a parent’s word; before a child has the chance to see their role model in action, or to watch their life for many years, they will take a parent at their word. For the most part, children are concrete in their thinking, and if a parent says so, that’s enough for a small tyke. But as our character and intellect develop, we begin to question what we’ve been taught, and we wrestle with the integrity of a parent’s word. In the novel To Kill a Mockingbird, adolescent Jem Finch is struggling with the image of his father, Atticus. He sees his dad as older, quieter, and in essence, ineffective. But his perception is challenged and changed through the actions of his father. In a different way, I remember having my perceptions of my mother challenged and changed; in one instance in particular.
When I was 9 years old, I truly believed everything my mother told me, and was very literal in my interpretations of her words. I thought my mom was perfect. She loved God, took us to church every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. She donated her pennies and nickels to the missionaries. She didn’t work outside our home, choosing to baby-sit instead, so she could be home when we returned from school. We even had a little girl whose mother was a troubled teenager, and who would leave the girl with us for days at a time. She and my mother had an agreement that we would keep the child overnight, and she would go with us wherever we went if her mother was not at our house to pick her up by 6. More often than not, she spent the night with us.
My mother witnessed to this teenager on many occasions, and I remember seeing them sitting in our living room, crying and praying. The girl could barely take care of herself, let alone a toddler. Sometimes she would come pick up her daughter with glassy eyes and the sweet smell of smoke on her coat. Many times, there was a man driving her car, but never the same man twice.
One Monday morning, this mother came to drop off her daughter, and told my mom that she had given her life to Christ. She looked different to me; her hair was combed, her eyes were clear, and she seemed wide open, as opposed to the closed off look she normally wore. I was overjoyed, because after all, this is what my mother had told me we were here for; to reach the lost, to lend a helping hand, to show the love of God.
On Friday evening of the same week, we were planning to go visit some friends, and needed to be there by 6 o’clock in the evening. When the mother wasn’t there by 5:45, my mom decided we would take the toddler with us, and her mother could pick her up in the morning. But when we arrived home around ten that evening, the mother was sitting in our driveway, waiting. She was not happy, but I do not recall her being angry, or saying anything rude or unkind. She merely mentioned that the agreement was 6, and that she had been looking around town for us since 5:50. What I do remember is my mother’s reaction; the woman who had taught me to love others, care for others, and be Jesus to others, completely lost it. I heard the word "bitch" for the first time in my life, and even though I didn’t know what it meant, I understood that it wasn’t good, and I could tell by the look on the girl’s face that it hurt her deeply. My mom went off about everything; the girl’s drug addiction, her promiscuity, her lack of parenting skills. The girl silently picked up her daughter and left in tears. We never saw her again.
It took me quite some time to wrap my mind around the distance between my mother’s words and her actions. I kept waiting for her to call the girl and apologize, but she didn’t. I felt as if I had taken the words for myself, rather than hearing them directed at someone else, because they struck the core of me, and shook my belief that my mother was above reproach. It took many years to realize that no one is perfect, and everyone snaps at some point. My mother has no idea the impact of her words on that night.
In To Kill a Mockingbird, Jem sees his father as an old man, incapable of throwing a ball, tired and boring. But like most boys, he wants to be like him, at least, some parts of him. He dreams of becoming a lawyer like his father, although he plans to do it when he’s young.
Imagine the feelings that must have gone through Jem when he saw his father take dead aim at the rabid dog and bring him down. The realization that this “old” man was someone he did not know, with abilities he had not seen. Imagine how this seemingly small instance shaded his other perceptions of Atticus. Miss Maudie’s explanation to Jem of why he hadn’t seen his father shoot a gun before seems to resonate Atticus’ character to Jem. It would be like a lens suddenly coming into focus; everything he knew about Atticus that had been blurred would become clear. The story says it eloquently:
“Naw, Scout, it’s something you wouldn’t understand. Atticus is real old, but I wouldn’t care if he couldn’t do anything-I wouldn’t care if he couldn’t do a blessed thing.”
Jem picked up a rock and threw it jubilantly at the carhouse. Running after it, he called back: “Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!”
It may be easier at first glance to see the contrast between Jem’s experience and mine, but the comparison is there. We both learned lessons about our parents and their character in one seemingly simple action. And these lessons undoubtedly shaped us from that moment on.
Monday, August 31, 2009
"B" Roll
In a society that is infatuated with its celebrities, it is easy for the “common man” to forget that his story is fascinating, simply because he or she is the only one to live it, and each day comes with its own triumphs and failures, pain and laughter. Better than any movie script, my life has captured my imagination and attention for the past 41 years.
I have understood the concept of loss for as long as I can remember. Both sets of grandparents died before I was born, and at age two, my father was killed in a terrible accident at his workplace. I tell this part of my story, not as a downer, but to establish a simple fact about myself: I have always been keenly aware of that hole in my life, that loss of the opportunity to be “daddy’s little girl”. My mother raised my older sister and myself on her own, and made many personal sacrifices to be there for us, for the next 10 years.
I was raised in a very strict religious environment, and it would be easier to tell you what I was allowed to do versus what wasn’t allowed, since so much was forbidden. This gave me a harsh and intimidating view of God, especially the image of God the Father, and by the age of 12, as I was blossoming into a young woman, I had decided that if this was what a father was, I didn’t need one. That was the year my mother decided to remarry.
My new father had just ended a 24 year, tumultuous marriage, and was very bitter and distrusting. While he clicked with my older sister, his suspicion and distrust was turned fully on me. All of my perceptions about angry, vengeful father figures seemed to be proven true. There was nothing I could do or say that didn’t seem to get twisted around, and it was always assumed that my intentions were to be deceitful and sneaky.
I remember being allowed to spend the night with a friend in 8th grade, and her mother took us to the movies to see Footloose. The rule, prior to the marriage, had always been that if someone spent the night, they went wherever we went, and we rarely called to ask permission. Apparently that rule had changed, and no one bothered to notify me. I was sitting in the theater, watching Kevin Bacon teach all the good church girls how to shake it, when I was abruptly pulled up from my chair and escorted down the aisle by my step-father. I was grounded for a month, not because he objected to the movie, but because I didn’t ask permission to be there. I have many other examples, but that is the one that made me feel humiliated and hopeless. I began to feel that, if this is what they expected of me, I might as well risk it and have some fun. Children become what you tell them they are.
I was so hungry for male affection, and I began to look in all the wrong places. I never did anything huge, but I did place my trust and devotion in boys who took advantage of it. I was trying to fill a need that couldn’t be filled in that manner. I was dangerously close to making some decisions that would have completely altered the course of my life. And then God decided to show me a different aspect of his nature.
I was a sophomore in high school when I met the most caring, loving, patient person I have ever met. He saw me, not the outside of me, or the mask of me, but the inside of me. He saw the fear, the mistrust, the desire to be more than I was brought up to be. He pursued me, even though I was not interested in the least. Rarely do we know what’s good for us when it’s standing right in front of us, particularly during our teenage years. But he pursued, and I relented, albeit grudgingly at first. The relationship grew, and my heart opened slowly, but fully. Today, this pursuer is my husband Keith, and we’ve been married for 22 years. God has taught me that he is also the Lover of my soul, and he used Keith to do it. I can truly say I love them both more now than ever.
Keith and I have a wonderful life; not perfect, by any means, and rocky at points. We have three healthy boys, ages 18, 16 and 15. I suppose I should call them young men. We own a modest home and our bills are paid, and these days, I count that as a high blessing. We enjoy camping together, and each person in our family is involved in music in some way; my husband runs sound at our church, my oldest and youngest sing, as do I, and the middle son is in band. Our conversations are filled with laughter, and even the tensest situations are typically diffused using humor.
I work at Drury as an event coordinator in the Alumni department, and love every minute of creating atmospheres for people to connect. My interests are varied, but include an oversized appetite for reading. It is nothing for me to read three or four books in a weekend that I have nothing to do, which is a rarity these days. I absolutely love to revisit books that were mandatory reading in high school, because my perspective has changed so much since then. There are times I think “OH! That’s the point of the story”. My employment at Drury has enabled me to go back to school, and pursue a latent passion for writing and literature, and my heroes are beside me, encouraging and sometimes pushing, every step of the way.
I’ve always thought it interesting that a little girl who had no father or brothers, who longed for male companionship and affection, would grow to be a woman surrounded by men. And I have so much laughter and affection from those guys; there are days I just sit and marvel at what my life has become.
It’s no box office smash hit, but then again, I’m no Angelina Jolie.
I have understood the concept of loss for as long as I can remember. Both sets of grandparents died before I was born, and at age two, my father was killed in a terrible accident at his workplace. I tell this part of my story, not as a downer, but to establish a simple fact about myself: I have always been keenly aware of that hole in my life, that loss of the opportunity to be “daddy’s little girl”. My mother raised my older sister and myself on her own, and made many personal sacrifices to be there for us, for the next 10 years.
I was raised in a very strict religious environment, and it would be easier to tell you what I was allowed to do versus what wasn’t allowed, since so much was forbidden. This gave me a harsh and intimidating view of God, especially the image of God the Father, and by the age of 12, as I was blossoming into a young woman, I had decided that if this was what a father was, I didn’t need one. That was the year my mother decided to remarry.
My new father had just ended a 24 year, tumultuous marriage, and was very bitter and distrusting. While he clicked with my older sister, his suspicion and distrust was turned fully on me. All of my perceptions about angry, vengeful father figures seemed to be proven true. There was nothing I could do or say that didn’t seem to get twisted around, and it was always assumed that my intentions were to be deceitful and sneaky.
I remember being allowed to spend the night with a friend in 8th grade, and her mother took us to the movies to see Footloose. The rule, prior to the marriage, had always been that if someone spent the night, they went wherever we went, and we rarely called to ask permission. Apparently that rule had changed, and no one bothered to notify me. I was sitting in the theater, watching Kevin Bacon teach all the good church girls how to shake it, when I was abruptly pulled up from my chair and escorted down the aisle by my step-father. I was grounded for a month, not because he objected to the movie, but because I didn’t ask permission to be there. I have many other examples, but that is the one that made me feel humiliated and hopeless. I began to feel that, if this is what they expected of me, I might as well risk it and have some fun. Children become what you tell them they are.
I was so hungry for male affection, and I began to look in all the wrong places. I never did anything huge, but I did place my trust and devotion in boys who took advantage of it. I was trying to fill a need that couldn’t be filled in that manner. I was dangerously close to making some decisions that would have completely altered the course of my life. And then God decided to show me a different aspect of his nature.
I was a sophomore in high school when I met the most caring, loving, patient person I have ever met. He saw me, not the outside of me, or the mask of me, but the inside of me. He saw the fear, the mistrust, the desire to be more than I was brought up to be. He pursued me, even though I was not interested in the least. Rarely do we know what’s good for us when it’s standing right in front of us, particularly during our teenage years. But he pursued, and I relented, albeit grudgingly at first. The relationship grew, and my heart opened slowly, but fully. Today, this pursuer is my husband Keith, and we’ve been married for 22 years. God has taught me that he is also the Lover of my soul, and he used Keith to do it. I can truly say I love them both more now than ever.
Keith and I have a wonderful life; not perfect, by any means, and rocky at points. We have three healthy boys, ages 18, 16 and 15. I suppose I should call them young men. We own a modest home and our bills are paid, and these days, I count that as a high blessing. We enjoy camping together, and each person in our family is involved in music in some way; my husband runs sound at our church, my oldest and youngest sing, as do I, and the middle son is in band. Our conversations are filled with laughter, and even the tensest situations are typically diffused using humor.
I work at Drury as an event coordinator in the Alumni department, and love every minute of creating atmospheres for people to connect. My interests are varied, but include an oversized appetite for reading. It is nothing for me to read three or four books in a weekend that I have nothing to do, which is a rarity these days. I absolutely love to revisit books that were mandatory reading in high school, because my perspective has changed so much since then. There are times I think “OH! That’s the point of the story”. My employment at Drury has enabled me to go back to school, and pursue a latent passion for writing and literature, and my heroes are beside me, encouraging and sometimes pushing, every step of the way.
I’ve always thought it interesting that a little girl who had no father or brothers, who longed for male companionship and affection, would grow to be a woman surrounded by men. And I have so much laughter and affection from those guys; there are days I just sit and marvel at what my life has become.
It’s no box office smash hit, but then again, I’m no Angelina Jolie.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Can I Get a Witness?
I have a friend who just completed a small group of sorts; I don't know all the ins and outs of the group, so I won't try to explain it, but in conjunction with this group, she has written her journey to share with the next group coming in. She calls it her witness. As I read her story, I was struck by the depth of the human experience. This person is not someone famous, just an "ordinary" wife and mother, and if you just met her, you wouldn't know that she had traveled on an incredible journey to where she is today. The human soul's ability to feel and change is staggering.
It occurs to me that every human being-regardless of talent, appearance, money, or intellect-has incredible stories to tell. I think this is because most of life is lived out in the ordinary, day-to-day living, not in major life moments. It is only as we see our life as a whole that we realize who we are and where we come from. This gives us context for some of the how's and why's of our life story. And that story is incredible!
My friend's Witness has inspired me to write my own. I'm about 1/10 of the way through my life, and already I can see why I feel the way I do about some things, and have some issues in other areas. And while my life story will in no way become the next great human drama novel, maybe it will encourage another on the path of life. Just as I've been encouraged by my friend's Witness.
Hmm, I wonder who will play me in the movie...
It occurs to me that every human being-regardless of talent, appearance, money, or intellect-has incredible stories to tell. I think this is because most of life is lived out in the ordinary, day-to-day living, not in major life moments. It is only as we see our life as a whole that we realize who we are and where we come from. This gives us context for some of the how's and why's of our life story. And that story is incredible!
My friend's Witness has inspired me to write my own. I'm about 1/10 of the way through my life, and already I can see why I feel the way I do about some things, and have some issues in other areas. And while my life story will in no way become the next great human drama novel, maybe it will encourage another on the path of life. Just as I've been encouraged by my friend's Witness.
Hmm, I wonder who will play me in the movie...
Monday, July 6, 2009
Today's the Day
OK, this is it. No more putting it off, no more talking myself out of it. No more telling people that I want to be a writer when I grow up. I looked in the mirror, and guess what; I'm a grown up! It's now or never, and this blog is my start. I'm committing to myself to write everyday, even if it's just useless drivel. Eventually, hopefully, the practice will turn into something more meaningful, longer, and more publishable! At this point, it doesn't matter if anyone else reads it, or likes it. I just need to DO it!
But I hope someone else reads it and likes it.
But I hope someone else reads it and likes it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
