Before you go getting all excited, this is NOT a post about food. This is a post about being a black woman, a dark skinned, unapologetic black woman. Growing up, my family represented a fairly wide portion of the color spectrum. Light-skinned, "yella", "red", and ebony; they were my people. In high school, I first considered my place within this spectrum. Mind you, this wasn't a worrisome effort or any sort of emo-style self loathing exercise, it was merely the outpouring of my teenage curiosity. Through rigorous surveying and testing, it was decided I was a milk chocolate color. I was fine with that since everyone loves chocolate. If only that level of innocence remained past high school, and if only it were world-wide. As it turns out, not everyone loves chocolate...at least not when it comes to skin color.
Whether we consciously acknowledge it or not, we tend to classify people upon sight. It is not necessarily a shallow exercise, it's something that is ingrained in us, to make things fit into neat little boxes, also known as compartmentalizing. Our brains want order, they want things to make sense, so we mentally tick through the various ways in which people and things can be ordered before landing upon the most efficient option at the time. Occasionally, this classification is based upon prejudice, but for the most part, I'd like to believe it is personal preference. You see, personal preference is preferable to prejudice. Personal preference does not imply a hatred of someone or something, it just implies an affinity for something else. Prejudice is an affinity for one thing combined with a hatred of another.
At any rate, when it comes to human beings, the tendency is to classify first by gender then by color. It's a natural and obvious way to break things down into workable chunks. If we wanted to give this structure a label, it would be something akin to a food chain. At the top, would be males followed by females. Don't get distracted with the urge to engage in a feminist rant here, keep it moving. Each category is then broken down by color with the idea that lighter is better and black is not beautiful. When someone says the words, "black woman", many minds automatically roam to a dark skinned woman, and typically of some sort of black stereotype (loud, ghetto, and stupid). Not the most positive image in the world, but one that persists thanks to our culture. Usually when someone refers to a person of lighter skin, you start to get more positive descriptions "pretty hair" and "pretty eyes" are the most common.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, growing up, it crossed my mind that I was at the bottom of this "imaginary" food chain (I use the quotes because it is not as imaginary as one would like). Of course, with youthful optimism, I assumed it would all just work out because I wanted...no, needed it to. Like any little girl, I dreamed of getting married, being adored, and having some sort of fairytale life. Why wouldn't that be possible? I mean, it happens in the movies all the time...to the little white girls. Again, it kind of escaped my thought process that only certain girls get that happily ever after. As time wore on, I started noticing that lots of girls my age were living the dream...but none of them looked like me. The girls who looked like me were the ones always in fights, becoming baby mommas and ultimately ending up alone or settling for any man that would have them. I held on to my hope that I could rise above such foolishness, and be better; do better. Then, I started dating outside of my race in college...
After becoming romantically involved with only a couple of guys, I quickly found out that I wasn't consider marriage material. It had nothing to do with my personality or the way I treated my guys, in fact, many have commented on how well they were treated. They were "pleasantly surprised" (why would you be surprised?!). So why am I not marriage material, you ask? I am a black woman. Not a caramel woman or "light skin", but an "actual" black woman, and "no one marries those" (direct quotes from a guy I dated briefly). I have heard various (all races/ages) men say this in all kinds of ways, and to be honest, the ignorance is staggering. From the foolishness of "you gals don't want to get married anyway" to "chocolate women are for trying, not taking seriously," I have heard all manner of excuses given for why I can't be married or even simply introduced as a girlfriend. All over the world, little girls are dreaming of their happily ever after, but thank goodness the dark skinned ones don't know that it is likely out of their reach. Thank goodness they don't realize Prince Charming will only stop to ask them for directions before going after the light/white Princess. Sort of a reverse Cinderella thing.
In an odd twist of irony, I have gotten more compliments on my skin on my "blackness" not from family, but from white women. "You have amazing skin", "ugh, I love your hair!", and so on and so forth. It is a great thing that I realized in my mid-20s or so that my worth does not come from the outside, but rather on the inside. Thank goodness, I know that my happiness...my joy does NOT depend upon someone else's feelings, emotions or actions. At this point, being older, and hopefully wiser, I will continue my personal goal to change the way people think about black women. I will refuse to accept that being called "smart" or "well spoken" or some other compliment doesn't have a different meaning just because I happen to be black. I am strong, beautiful, black and proud! I deserve blessings and adoration just as much as anyone else. "Dark Girls" is a great documentary that depicts many of the ideas and concepts I have mentioned in this post. It is currently on Netflix, and I urge you to check it out and begin having intelligent, meaningful conversations with the men and women in your life.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Monday, June 2, 2014
Friday, July 19, 2013
Absolute weariness
As of late, with all the racial tension being flung about, I hear a lot of "Blacks need to just get over it" and "They blow things out of proportion." So desperate are some to assure themselves and others that race doesn't matter. People comment on experiences they know nothing of, and will likely never have to endure. I do not hide behind being black, nor do I allow it to be all that defines me. I do not expect hand-outs based on my race, and I have no interest in being pitied. What I am about to share is merely to allow those who will never experience these things an opportunity to see why some black parents give their children a whole different set of instructions before doing things like going to school, going for a walk, or dating.
In the 8th grade, my social studies teacher decided to do an experiment of sorts. When my classmates and I walked into the room, she had boys line up on one side and girls line up on the other. She instructed us to look at the person standing across from us. We were then told to walk towards that person and stand shoulder to shoulder with them. She then called each pair up and "married" us. Afterwards, she explained that in some Native American tribes, mass arranged marriages were done like that. She said we were "married" to that person for the rest of the 6 weeks. It was awkward because we were given various tasks to do as a couple. I was paired with a young man who can best be described as grunge-goth. He was nerdy, had a weird group of friends who all looked the same (like...the exact same, but more on that later). I tended to have friends from several different social circles, so it wasn't a big deal to be "married" to the outcast sort of guy. The only problem came when I realized he was taking the assignment a bit too seriously. In his mind, our "marriage" continued until the end of the year. He would frequently refer to me as his wife and give me the most unsettling looks. Occasionally, I would catch his friends giving me the same looks.
In 9th grade, we were loosely associated with each other, he was on the fringe of my social circles. Every once in a while, he'd make a pass at me, still refering to our "marriage". Towards the end of the year, I was totally crept out by him. 10th grade was THE year, though. He began to stalk me. By mid year, he'd begun stalking me with his friends...who all had a certain...look (I mean, everyone goes through a head-shaving phase, right?). Frequently, they would be waiting for me after soccer or orchestra practice. They'd corner me and talk about how they'd pass me around their group...I could be everyone's "wife". They would make lewd gestures, and talk about how afterwards, they'd toss gas on me and set me on fire. The entire school year, this persisted. Thankfully, I was always able to out run them, physical fitness wasn't as important as learning firearms, it seems. When I'd pass any of them in the hall, they would mutter something about me being a filthy n!&&#%. One day, after soccer practice, I had to go upstairs at the school to get something from my locker. I don't know how they knew I would come, but the whole building was cleared. They stood there waiting for me with smirks on their faces. "Ready to die, wifey?" was my greeting.
They started describing what they were going to do to me, both sexual and non. Coming fresh from practice, my kleats still on, I kicked the living hell out of someone's jewel purse, and ran. Downstairs, blindly looking for someone...a janitor, SOMEONE. Desperate, I ran to my coach's room. He was there talking to another player. When I burst into the room, he sent the player away, and asked what was wrong. I told him everything, from 8th grade until that point. Never, had I seen him so mad. He turned purple, and left the room. Returning moments later, he told me to get my things, then he escorted me to my mom's car parked out front. I begged him not to tell her, which he didn't. The next morning, I went to his room, and he told me that he'd reported everything to the principle, and that I would have to talk to them. I freaked out, because I didn't want to be burned alive...didn't want to be raped. He looked me right in my eyes and said, "I will NEVER let them hurt you." I was called in to the principal's office, and given a legal pad. He told me to write everything that had been said, describe the gestures and anything else that had been done to me. I filled up half the legal pad and had to stop because my hand hurt and I couldn't remember everything exactly. The first few pages were soaked with my tears. I was so ashamed because I had let it all happen. In my head, I was as much to blame as those guys were. (Of course I understand now that it was not my fault, at all). When the principal read some of what I'd written, he looked ill. He looked at me, and looked at the paper again. The silence was killing me. He gave me tissues, and told me to take some time to compose myself before returning to class. His voice, shaking with emotion, swore, "They will NEVER hurt you." I never saw that guy, or his friends ever again. I have no idea what happened to them. For a while, I feared I'd see a burning cross in the yard or be jumped suddenly. Nothing happened. I didn't so much as hear their names ever again.
Still with me? Continuing on..
Junior year of high school brought the excitement of getting to go to prom. A new guy had moved into town, and I was instantly drawn to him. We became the best of friends, and since he was a year younger, I had to ask him to prom. I was so looking forward to it! I got the tickets, and had begun dress shopping. One night, he called me sounding horribly depressed. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "My parents found out I was going to prom with a black girl...they said I can't go." I immediately deflated. It had never crossed my mind that his parents would have those sentiments. His parents grilled him daily, to find out whether or not he'd continued interacting with me. We hid our friendship from them. He went from being a great, Jesus-loving guy to someone I eventually didn't recognize. We tried to remain friends, but he began to date a girl who absolutely hated me. She knew how his parents felt about me, so she began to report to them that he and I still communicated. They withdrew him from the school, and I never heard from him again.
Many things have happened since then, thankfully few have been as painful as the above examples. We hear so much about how hard things are for black men, but little light is shed on the struggle of black women. Granted, my experiences are not typical, but sadly, they are not that unique.
I'm sorry it's so hard for black people to "get over it". That we still see things a little differently sometimes. I'll be sure to try a little harder.
In the 8th grade, my social studies teacher decided to do an experiment of sorts. When my classmates and I walked into the room, she had boys line up on one side and girls line up on the other. She instructed us to look at the person standing across from us. We were then told to walk towards that person and stand shoulder to shoulder with them. She then called each pair up and "married" us. Afterwards, she explained that in some Native American tribes, mass arranged marriages were done like that. She said we were "married" to that person for the rest of the 6 weeks. It was awkward because we were given various tasks to do as a couple. I was paired with a young man who can best be described as grunge-goth. He was nerdy, had a weird group of friends who all looked the same (like...the exact same, but more on that later). I tended to have friends from several different social circles, so it wasn't a big deal to be "married" to the outcast sort of guy. The only problem came when I realized he was taking the assignment a bit too seriously. In his mind, our "marriage" continued until the end of the year. He would frequently refer to me as his wife and give me the most unsettling looks. Occasionally, I would catch his friends giving me the same looks.
In 9th grade, we were loosely associated with each other, he was on the fringe of my social circles. Every once in a while, he'd make a pass at me, still refering to our "marriage". Towards the end of the year, I was totally crept out by him. 10th grade was THE year, though. He began to stalk me. By mid year, he'd begun stalking me with his friends...who all had a certain...look (I mean, everyone goes through a head-shaving phase, right?). Frequently, they would be waiting for me after soccer or orchestra practice. They'd corner me and talk about how they'd pass me around their group...I could be everyone's "wife". They would make lewd gestures, and talk about how afterwards, they'd toss gas on me and set me on fire. The entire school year, this persisted. Thankfully, I was always able to out run them, physical fitness wasn't as important as learning firearms, it seems. When I'd pass any of them in the hall, they would mutter something about me being a filthy n!&&#%. One day, after soccer practice, I had to go upstairs at the school to get something from my locker. I don't know how they knew I would come, but the whole building was cleared. They stood there waiting for me with smirks on their faces. "Ready to die, wifey?" was my greeting.
They started describing what they were going to do to me, both sexual and non. Coming fresh from practice, my kleats still on, I kicked the living hell out of someone's jewel purse, and ran. Downstairs, blindly looking for someone...a janitor, SOMEONE. Desperate, I ran to my coach's room. He was there talking to another player. When I burst into the room, he sent the player away, and asked what was wrong. I told him everything, from 8th grade until that point. Never, had I seen him so mad. He turned purple, and left the room. Returning moments later, he told me to get my things, then he escorted me to my mom's car parked out front. I begged him not to tell her, which he didn't. The next morning, I went to his room, and he told me that he'd reported everything to the principle, and that I would have to talk to them. I freaked out, because I didn't want to be burned alive...didn't want to be raped. He looked me right in my eyes and said, "I will NEVER let them hurt you." I was called in to the principal's office, and given a legal pad. He told me to write everything that had been said, describe the gestures and anything else that had been done to me. I filled up half the legal pad and had to stop because my hand hurt and I couldn't remember everything exactly. The first few pages were soaked with my tears. I was so ashamed because I had let it all happen. In my head, I was as much to blame as those guys were. (Of course I understand now that it was not my fault, at all). When the principal read some of what I'd written, he looked ill. He looked at me, and looked at the paper again. The silence was killing me. He gave me tissues, and told me to take some time to compose myself before returning to class. His voice, shaking with emotion, swore, "They will NEVER hurt you." I never saw that guy, or his friends ever again. I have no idea what happened to them. For a while, I feared I'd see a burning cross in the yard or be jumped suddenly. Nothing happened. I didn't so much as hear their names ever again.
Still with me? Continuing on..
Junior year of high school brought the excitement of getting to go to prom. A new guy had moved into town, and I was instantly drawn to him. We became the best of friends, and since he was a year younger, I had to ask him to prom. I was so looking forward to it! I got the tickets, and had begun dress shopping. One night, he called me sounding horribly depressed. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "My parents found out I was going to prom with a black girl...they said I can't go." I immediately deflated. It had never crossed my mind that his parents would have those sentiments. His parents grilled him daily, to find out whether or not he'd continued interacting with me. We hid our friendship from them. He went from being a great, Jesus-loving guy to someone I eventually didn't recognize. We tried to remain friends, but he began to date a girl who absolutely hated me. She knew how his parents felt about me, so she began to report to them that he and I still communicated. They withdrew him from the school, and I never heard from him again.
Many things have happened since then, thankfully few have been as painful as the above examples. We hear so much about how hard things are for black men, but little light is shed on the struggle of black women. Granted, my experiences are not typical, but sadly, they are not that unique.
I'm sorry it's so hard for black people to "get over it". That we still see things a little differently sometimes. I'll be sure to try a little harder.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
I have nobody...to call my own...
Community is a beautiful thing. To be with others who love you, care about you and want nothing but good things for you is so comforting. No matter where you are in life, whether you're single, married with 20 babies or retired, community is important. God did not create us to live in solitude. For some, community happens more easily...young married couples with little ones are everywhere, they don't really have to look hard to find a group. College students typically don't have to look far to find their own kind or those that are willing to adopt them. It's the singles out there who seem to have a bit of a challenge. My heart really goes out to single men because it seems no one really knows what to do with them. Everyone loves women, so single women typically flock together, get grafted into families or adopted by older couples. Single men are just odd...they are like pinkie toes. They are necessary, but you aren't sure what to do with them. Anyway, I've veered from my point, let me return.
When I arrived in Waco in 2004, I was immediately thrust into various communities. There was the community I found in the dorms, the body of believers, and the circles of good friends from school. Community came to me, and it was good. After graduating, things got a little harder. No longer did I have the automatic community of college ministry folks, classmates, or roommates. I didn't feel connected to the college students at church because we were in very different places in our lives at that time. I was even viewed differently at church because people know how to handle me as a college student, but now I was just a random single woman. For once, I had to make community happen. I had to build relationships in a different way, allow a few to mature, and let others go by the wayside. Gatherings and hang outs had to be planned, they no longer happened organically. I became an event planner almost overnight. Dinner parties, game nights, movie nights, women and wine nights became my life. After a few years of hard work, I once again felt I was living in community again. My love for my church and those around me matured. I matured and life was good.
Now that I've moved back to Tyler I find myself back where I was after I graduated from Baylor. Communitiless (is that a word? It should be). I've found a good church, it's just a matter of making life together happen. I never realized how much community meant to me until now. I'm drowning in loneliness. My planner is collecting dust, I spent 10 hours on the phone this past week talking to the community I left. For years, I barely used my minutes, and now I'm burning through them like they're going out of style. I miss having dinner parties, having friends within walking distance, laughing until I cry my contacts out and my face cramps. I miss women and wine nights! Friday nights used to be filled with dancing, laughter and late night trips to IHOP. This last Friday I spent the evening at home watching Ghost Adventures and drinking milk. Sigh.
When I arrived in Waco in 2004, I was immediately thrust into various communities. There was the community I found in the dorms, the body of believers, and the circles of good friends from school. Community came to me, and it was good. After graduating, things got a little harder. No longer did I have the automatic community of college ministry folks, classmates, or roommates. I didn't feel connected to the college students at church because we were in very different places in our lives at that time. I was even viewed differently at church because people know how to handle me as a college student, but now I was just a random single woman. For once, I had to make community happen. I had to build relationships in a different way, allow a few to mature, and let others go by the wayside. Gatherings and hang outs had to be planned, they no longer happened organically. I became an event planner almost overnight. Dinner parties, game nights, movie nights, women and wine nights became my life. After a few years of hard work, I once again felt I was living in community again. My love for my church and those around me matured. I matured and life was good.
Now that I've moved back to Tyler I find myself back where I was after I graduated from Baylor. Communitiless (is that a word? It should be). I've found a good church, it's just a matter of making life together happen. I never realized how much community meant to me until now. I'm drowning in loneliness. My planner is collecting dust, I spent 10 hours on the phone this past week talking to the community I left. For years, I barely used my minutes, and now I'm burning through them like they're going out of style. I miss having dinner parties, having friends within walking distance, laughing until I cry my contacts out and my face cramps. I miss women and wine nights! Friday nights used to be filled with dancing, laughter and late night trips to IHOP. This last Friday I spent the evening at home watching Ghost Adventures and drinking milk. Sigh.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
bound with strips of duct tape
I've been thinking about church a lot lately. Studying the anatomy of The Body. Human beings do so many things that tend to make no sense at all, yet not only are many of these things not frowned up on, but some are actually encouraged. Take, for example, having children. For a woman, you endure 9 months of having another human being being smooshed inside your body (which up until now, only barely had enough room for you), then after the smooshing comes the gushing and bringing forth of life. Hours and hours of screaming, pushing and all kinds of body fluids flowing out of you. For what end? To have screaming, pooping, needy little person to burst forth and demand constant attention for the next 13 years or so. After that point, you're left to deal with some incredibly awkward stranger living in your home, eating your food and spending your money, all while managing to ignore your existence. This person will see any sign of life on your part as an extreme violation of their existence...a direct assault on their popularity, the likes of which will undoubtedly end their so-called life. You finally begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel when this person (heaven forbid you have more than one of them), who you squeezed out in a fashion akin to something out of a horror movie, turns 18 and ventures out into the real world. After dropping yet another small fortune on this bigger version of the screaming, pooping, mess, you begin to enjoy the freedom of post-person life. Hopefully the other person who helped you create the third person is still at your side. Somehow this screaming, pooping mess will likely end back up in your house, only older and more dangerous (I say dangerous because they are now legally old enough to do more stuff). Eventually, with any luck, this person will leave your home, perhaps because they found another person or because they just couldn't take it anymore. Yet we persist in the bearing and raising of children.
Church is an interesting phenomenon. It's not a legal requirement. The government can't make you go, and after a while, neither can your mother. People willingly come together to admit there is nothing good in them, and they require more help than any other feeble, troubled, messed-up human being could provide. When you walk into a church, if you've got a proper understanding of things, you know you're coming to the place where all the sinners gather. If you look to your right and to your left, you are looking at people who will at some point sin against you. Church people can hurt you in very unique and unexpected ways. Walking through those doors can be like walking into a mine field. No matter how lightly you tread, you're still running the risk of being blown to Smithereens, not to mention the potential collateral damage. In spite of all of this, we still choose to gather together in vulnerability to worship the One who made us all. We argue, bicker, and wound each other time and time again with the expectation that grace will be extended, peace restored and fried chicken will be brought to the next pot luck. What on earth compels us to do this? In any other situation, these actions would be seen as incredibly foolish, and in some cases an intervention would be conducted. That we subject ourselves to life together with no legally obligatory reason for doing so, is borderline insanity. Yet we persist.
Let's explore the One who thought up all of this ridiculousness. This One, created us...He knows how vile, unforgiving and unloving we tend to be. He knows we will argue, bicker and wound one another about a frillion times. It is not out of ignorance that we are called to life together. This is on purpose. It sounds like something out of the twisted, sadistic mind of a madman. That we worship Him, is astounding. This holy, loving, unbelievably generous One calls us to life together as a Church, binding us together with His love. Now I understand there are huge theological yada-yadas behind all of this. Trust me, I know. It's just that I've been thinking about the things I devote my time and energy to, and it sort of messed with my head a bit that church and church activities are voluntary. If one were to decide they'd had enough of playing Russian roulette in a mine field (aka going to church), they could simply stop. There's little the church could legally do to make them continue (all sense of moral/theological reasons aside). Yet we continue to gather together. As wounds are inflicted, we treat them and continue our Sunday stroll about the mind field...together.
***please note*** I say all this, not as a knock against church, God, or parenting but with a more awestruck attitude that God orchestrates all this...that God helps us get over ourselves. I just didn't feel like getting bogged down with a deeper explanation of everything.
Church is an interesting phenomenon. It's not a legal requirement. The government can't make you go, and after a while, neither can your mother. People willingly come together to admit there is nothing good in them, and they require more help than any other feeble, troubled, messed-up human being could provide. When you walk into a church, if you've got a proper understanding of things, you know you're coming to the place where all the sinners gather. If you look to your right and to your left, you are looking at people who will at some point sin against you. Church people can hurt you in very unique and unexpected ways. Walking through those doors can be like walking into a mine field. No matter how lightly you tread, you're still running the risk of being blown to Smithereens, not to mention the potential collateral damage. In spite of all of this, we still choose to gather together in vulnerability to worship the One who made us all. We argue, bicker, and wound each other time and time again with the expectation that grace will be extended, peace restored and fried chicken will be brought to the next pot luck. What on earth compels us to do this? In any other situation, these actions would be seen as incredibly foolish, and in some cases an intervention would be conducted. That we subject ourselves to life together with no legally obligatory reason for doing so, is borderline insanity. Yet we persist.
Let's explore the One who thought up all of this ridiculousness. This One, created us...He knows how vile, unforgiving and unloving we tend to be. He knows we will argue, bicker and wound one another about a frillion times. It is not out of ignorance that we are called to life together. This is on purpose. It sounds like something out of the twisted, sadistic mind of a madman. That we worship Him, is astounding. This holy, loving, unbelievably generous One calls us to life together as a Church, binding us together with His love. Now I understand there are huge theological yada-yadas behind all of this. Trust me, I know. It's just that I've been thinking about the things I devote my time and energy to, and it sort of messed with my head a bit that church and church activities are voluntary. If one were to decide they'd had enough of playing Russian roulette in a mine field (aka going to church), they could simply stop. There's little the church could legally do to make them continue (all sense of moral/theological reasons aside). Yet we continue to gather together. As wounds are inflicted, we treat them and continue our Sunday stroll about the mind field...together.
***please note*** I say all this, not as a knock against church, God, or parenting but with a more awestruck attitude that God orchestrates all this...that God helps us get over ourselves. I just didn't feel like getting bogged down with a deeper explanation of everything.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Broken and blessed
When you work with people, you are working with depraved sinners in need of grace...in need of a Savior just like you. Sometimes in our loftier moments, we like to think of ourselves as being somehow removed...somehow better. In especially difficult occupations/roles, our pride makes us strive towards unbreakability. While as believers, we should be unshakable, sin must not come as a surprise, unbreakability is not a trait God wants to instill in us. In fact, He wants quite the opposite.
"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise" -Psalm 51:17
When we accept, proclaim, and own Christ as our Savior we are reborn with a new, clean heart...made of flesh. This delicate, exposed heart could also be likened to porcelain. Fragile and easily broken. A broken heart is painful, but so beautiful in the eyes of the Lord. It's not a weakness...something to be ashamed of, NO, it is something to fall on your face before your Creator and praise Him for giving you the ability to feel. In this broken, vulnerable state, you can truly love, and love like Him.
God does not break us for His own sadistic pleasure. He breaks us to let us know He is alive, we are alive, and to rebuild us. The very moment we cease to feel, to experience heartache is the moment we cease to live. Compassion is often rooted, not in warm-fuzzies, but rather a broken heart...our fleshly heart cannot sit idly by while another suffers. Instead, it is moved to action.
Lord, may I never outlive my love for You or Your people. If ever I believe I am unbreakable, show me I am not. Thank You, Father, for every tear, heartbreak, every second of brokenness. Thank You for rebuilding, restoring and reviving me. Your mercy is undeserved, Your grace is endless, and Your love is incomprehensible. Amen.
The following song is one of my favorites. It is performed by Barlow Girls.
Broken heart
One more time
Pick yourself up
Why even cry
Broken pieces in your hands
Wonder how you'll make it whole
CHORUS:
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart of mine
Of mine....
Someone said "A broken heart
Would sting at first then make you stronger"
You wonder why this pain remains
Were hearts made whole just to break
CHORUS:
Creator only you take brokenness
And create it into beauty once again
Chorus:
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart
Please mend this porcelain heart
Of mine of mine Creator mend this heart
"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise" -Psalm 51:17
When we accept, proclaim, and own Christ as our Savior we are reborn with a new, clean heart...made of flesh. This delicate, exposed heart could also be likened to porcelain. Fragile and easily broken. A broken heart is painful, but so beautiful in the eyes of the Lord. It's not a weakness...something to be ashamed of, NO, it is something to fall on your face before your Creator and praise Him for giving you the ability to feel. In this broken, vulnerable state, you can truly love, and love like Him.
God does not break us for His own sadistic pleasure. He breaks us to let us know He is alive, we are alive, and to rebuild us. The very moment we cease to feel, to experience heartache is the moment we cease to live. Compassion is often rooted, not in warm-fuzzies, but rather a broken heart...our fleshly heart cannot sit idly by while another suffers. Instead, it is moved to action.
Lord, may I never outlive my love for You or Your people. If ever I believe I am unbreakable, show me I am not. Thank You, Father, for every tear, heartbreak, every second of brokenness. Thank You for rebuilding, restoring and reviving me. Your mercy is undeserved, Your grace is endless, and Your love is incomprehensible. Amen.
The following song is one of my favorites. It is performed by Barlow Girls.
Broken heart
One more time
Pick yourself up
Why even cry
Broken pieces in your hands
Wonder how you'll make it whole
CHORUS:
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart of mine
Of mine....
Someone said "A broken heart
Would sting at first then make you stronger"
You wonder why this pain remains
Were hearts made whole just to break
CHORUS:
Creator only you take brokenness
And create it into beauty once again
Chorus:
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
You know You pray
This can't be the way
You cry You say
Some thing's gotta change
And mend this porcelain heart
Please mend this porcelain heart
Of mine of mine Creator mend this heart
Thursday, April 22, 2010
all by myself with you
"I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you are to me...please, please, don't leave me. I always say how I don't need you, but it's always gonna come right back to this...please, don't leave me..." -Pink, Please Don't Leave Me
This is not a quote from a hymn...not even a modern worship song. It's a song sung by the pop artist, Pink. Funny thing is...it could have easily been something straight from Scripture.
Yesterday, I was talking with someone about how God's pursuing of me seems to have intensified lately. He's definitely wooing me all over again, appealing to my hopelessly romantic nature...a quality He Himself thoughtfully and lovingly created in me before there even was a me. There are times when I'm out jogging or hiking or even just walking through a parking lot, were it seems God brings my attention to some absolutely breathtakingly beautiful bit of nature and whispers softly, "For you, beloved."
Usually, my heart is easily re-captivated by my Father and King during these moments, but it's the in-between times that led me to start with the quote at the top of this post. How often do you stop and just praise God for His beauty? His grace? His faithfulness? His unending, undeserved love? Not nearly enough, I'm afraid. Fear not, for I am in that boat with you. None of us...not a one, could love Him back as fiercely, as rightly and passionately as He loves us. We do quite the opposite at times, actually. It's almost laughable how so often in the Old Testament we read, "...and the people again sinned in the sight of the Lord" or something along those lines. On one page we read of some amazing blessing God bestowed upon His children, then we turn the page (or even just move to the next paragraph) and read about how those same people have forgotten their Creator, the very Source of their blessings, and sinned yet again. There are times when I read passages like that and shout, "Seriously?!!" Yes, seriously. We're like that.
So often we try to live by our own might, our own power, and feel as if God is here to serve us, not the other way around. We get to the point were we think we've "got it", then we're proven horribly, horribly wrong. Then it is at that point, when we're setting up shop in Rock-bottomville, that we cry out, "please don't leave me!!" Can you imagine how much patience God has to have when it comes to us? It's just like when a child says, "I want to do it all by myself, Daddy" all the while they cling to their father's hand. I've even caught myself saying, "I want to be by myself...with people." We say we want to be left alone...as long as we don't have to do it alone. God's gotta laugh at that sometimes.
Anywho, I think the following hymn says a lot of what I'm thinking at this moment, enjoy, for it is one of my favorites. Pay close attention to the verse that says, "prone to wander...". Good stuff
Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing
by: Robert Robinson, 1758
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.
This is not a quote from a hymn...not even a modern worship song. It's a song sung by the pop artist, Pink. Funny thing is...it could have easily been something straight from Scripture.
Yesterday, I was talking with someone about how God's pursuing of me seems to have intensified lately. He's definitely wooing me all over again, appealing to my hopelessly romantic nature...a quality He Himself thoughtfully and lovingly created in me before there even was a me. There are times when I'm out jogging or hiking or even just walking through a parking lot, were it seems God brings my attention to some absolutely breathtakingly beautiful bit of nature and whispers softly, "For you, beloved."
Usually, my heart is easily re-captivated by my Father and King during these moments, but it's the in-between times that led me to start with the quote at the top of this post. How often do you stop and just praise God for His beauty? His grace? His faithfulness? His unending, undeserved love? Not nearly enough, I'm afraid. Fear not, for I am in that boat with you. None of us...not a one, could love Him back as fiercely, as rightly and passionately as He loves us. We do quite the opposite at times, actually. It's almost laughable how so often in the Old Testament we read, "...and the people again sinned in the sight of the Lord" or something along those lines. On one page we read of some amazing blessing God bestowed upon His children, then we turn the page (or even just move to the next paragraph) and read about how those same people have forgotten their Creator, the very Source of their blessings, and sinned yet again. There are times when I read passages like that and shout, "Seriously?!!" Yes, seriously. We're like that.
So often we try to live by our own might, our own power, and feel as if God is here to serve us, not the other way around. We get to the point were we think we've "got it", then we're proven horribly, horribly wrong. Then it is at that point, when we're setting up shop in Rock-bottomville, that we cry out, "please don't leave me!!" Can you imagine how much patience God has to have when it comes to us? It's just like when a child says, "I want to do it all by myself, Daddy" all the while they cling to their father's hand. I've even caught myself saying, "I want to be by myself...with people." We say we want to be left alone...as long as we don't have to do it alone. God's gotta laugh at that sometimes.
Anywho, I think the following hymn says a lot of what I'm thinking at this moment, enjoy, for it is one of my favorites. Pay close attention to the verse that says, "prone to wander...". Good stuff
Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing
by: Robert Robinson, 1758
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.
Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Finding home
My life over the past few months has been nothing short of chaotic, fun, miserable, meaningful, and frustrating. For you bloggers out there, one of the most notable things that has occurred is that my computer has died. There is no bringing it back in the near future, and I've even had my Internet cancelled at home. Surprisingly, I haven't really missed having 24/7 access to the Internet (who are we kidding, what I really mean is 27/7 access to facebook). Every once in a while, I wince because I've missed an important email or message, but other than that, it's really been nice to focus my energies on other things.
Ballroom dancing has really taken over my life; it's crazy. Not a day goes by that I don't dance...even if just for a few seconds. Being a single woman can make the love of dance quite frustrating. For those of us ladies out there who refuse to step out of our role as the pursued, this can mean sitting out during many great songs...many dances not danced. The desire to be sought after does not dissipate when one steps into the dance hall. There's something about dancing that changes a woman. I don't know if it's just me, but it's almost this Cinderella experience. You're sitting there, and this wonderful song comes on, then out of no where a gentleman comes and asks you to dance. You spin, glide, laugh and get wrapped up in the rhythm, the sweet melody, and if you're lucky...your partner. It can be an intoxicating experience. For a moment, you feel beautiful, carefree and happy. Now please don't get too bogged down in the romantic side of ballroom dancing, it can be maddening when you can't seem to get the steps right, you're off rhythm, and the cologne of one of your dance partners just won't seem to wash off...even after using a Brillo pad to scrub your skin. Ah yes, even after nights like that, I still love dancing. I could go on about it, but I think you catch my drift.
I find myself becoming more settled in my life. I'm starting to get more involved with my community, and really taking a look at what being an active, productive citizen means to me. At the moment, I'm starting small...coaching a little league team, and being part of a homeless coalition. Hopefully, I'll add to my activities more over the next few years. My schedule is seriously getting jam packed each week. At first my weekends were sort of wide open, but not those are also requiring a good bit of coordination. Both this coming Friday and Saturday, I may attempt to be in 3 different places at once.
I like being busy, though. It keeps me out of trouble. I'm not sure if literally not having time to get into trouble really counts as triumphing over temptation...probably not. The real test comes in the quite. What do you think about...dwell on...when everything else is silent? One thing I've taken the time to think about is my singleness. What to do with it, how to handle it, possible causes of it. For the first time in my life, I'm genuinely okay with being single. Hmm..."okay" isn't the best word; let's go with "at home". Yes, that has a better ring to it. I'm at home in my singleness. What does this mean? It doesn't mean I've abandoned all hope in obtaining a husband, I think marriage is a great and wonderfully sanctifying thing if that's what the Lord has called you to. Being at home in my singleness is more like diving head first into it and enjoying where the Lord has me. It's cultivating a rich life without constantly looking over my shoulder to see if Mr. Right is coming. It's realizing I can still very much so be a homemaker even though I don't have a husband or children. I can make people feel loved, welcomed, and at home with me. It also means I can feel at home in myself, and while I'm not always happy with everything about myself, I do have a pretty good idea of who I am, and what I want.
Friendships mean so much more when you take the time to really digest them, savor conversations with close friends, stoke the fires of acquaintanceship, and rebuilding broken relationships. Friendship really does add spice to life.
To sum everything up, I'll describe the past few months in 3 words: joy, passion, and frustration. So much has happened, way more than I care to cover here, but do know, gentle readers, that I have not forgotten you!
Ballroom dancing has really taken over my life; it's crazy. Not a day goes by that I don't dance...even if just for a few seconds. Being a single woman can make the love of dance quite frustrating. For those of us ladies out there who refuse to step out of our role as the pursued, this can mean sitting out during many great songs...many dances not danced. The desire to be sought after does not dissipate when one steps into the dance hall. There's something about dancing that changes a woman. I don't know if it's just me, but it's almost this Cinderella experience. You're sitting there, and this wonderful song comes on, then out of no where a gentleman comes and asks you to dance. You spin, glide, laugh and get wrapped up in the rhythm, the sweet melody, and if you're lucky...your partner. It can be an intoxicating experience. For a moment, you feel beautiful, carefree and happy. Now please don't get too bogged down in the romantic side of ballroom dancing, it can be maddening when you can't seem to get the steps right, you're off rhythm, and the cologne of one of your dance partners just won't seem to wash off...even after using a Brillo pad to scrub your skin. Ah yes, even after nights like that, I still love dancing. I could go on about it, but I think you catch my drift.
I find myself becoming more settled in my life. I'm starting to get more involved with my community, and really taking a look at what being an active, productive citizen means to me. At the moment, I'm starting small...coaching a little league team, and being part of a homeless coalition. Hopefully, I'll add to my activities more over the next few years. My schedule is seriously getting jam packed each week. At first my weekends were sort of wide open, but not those are also requiring a good bit of coordination. Both this coming Friday and Saturday, I may attempt to be in 3 different places at once.
I like being busy, though. It keeps me out of trouble. I'm not sure if literally not having time to get into trouble really counts as triumphing over temptation...probably not. The real test comes in the quite. What do you think about...dwell on...when everything else is silent? One thing I've taken the time to think about is my singleness. What to do with it, how to handle it, possible causes of it. For the first time in my life, I'm genuinely okay with being single. Hmm..."okay" isn't the best word; let's go with "at home". Yes, that has a better ring to it. I'm at home in my singleness. What does this mean? It doesn't mean I've abandoned all hope in obtaining a husband, I think marriage is a great and wonderfully sanctifying thing if that's what the Lord has called you to. Being at home in my singleness is more like diving head first into it and enjoying where the Lord has me. It's cultivating a rich life without constantly looking over my shoulder to see if Mr. Right is coming. It's realizing I can still very much so be a homemaker even though I don't have a husband or children. I can make people feel loved, welcomed, and at home with me. It also means I can feel at home in myself, and while I'm not always happy with everything about myself, I do have a pretty good idea of who I am, and what I want.
Friendships mean so much more when you take the time to really digest them, savor conversations with close friends, stoke the fires of acquaintanceship, and rebuilding broken relationships. Friendship really does add spice to life.
To sum everything up, I'll describe the past few months in 3 words: joy, passion, and frustration. So much has happened, way more than I care to cover here, but do know, gentle readers, that I have not forgotten you!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Mmm...pumpkin soup
I love this time of year. It's the time when everyone starts being a little nicer, the weather is toned down, and fall colors are starting to creep in (commercially, and naturally). This is also the time of year when pumpkins are once again lifted onto a pedestal, and everything from ale to ziti is pumpkin flavored. It's a beautiful thing. I've been busy with work, and spending time with dear friends.
I've had a few people ask me how I manage it all, and I just can't help but think, "You make time for things that matter to you....God didn't make a mistake in putting 24 hours in a day. That's plenty of time to do all the things HE wants you to do...but maybe not everything you want to do." I've got 4 jobs, and a decent social life. I'm happy, somewhat healthy, and most importantly, I haven't missed a meal. Anywho, I'm excited about coaching a little league basketball team for the next 6 weeks. As some of my long time readers will remember, I learned quite a bit from coaching the soccer team. Let's hope I can say the same of my basketball babies. Just get ready to laugh, I'm sure stories will be coming soon!
My progress towards transitioning from pants to skirts/dresses is going, but not as quickly as maybe I'd like sometimes. I have noticed that I'll immediately go look through skirts/dresses in the store rather than look through pants. I can't help but wonder sometimes why women who like to be fashionable even bother with pants. Honestly, there's only so much you can do with pants. Skirts/dresses, on the other hand, are almost limitless in their possibilities. From fabrics, to cuts to styles, they are just way more user friendly.
I have more to chit-chat about, but I'll just have to save that for another post. Until then, my dearies....God bless.
I've had a few people ask me how I manage it all, and I just can't help but think, "You make time for things that matter to you....God didn't make a mistake in putting 24 hours in a day. That's plenty of time to do all the things HE wants you to do...but maybe not everything you want to do." I've got 4 jobs, and a decent social life. I'm happy, somewhat healthy, and most importantly, I haven't missed a meal. Anywho, I'm excited about coaching a little league basketball team for the next 6 weeks. As some of my long time readers will remember, I learned quite a bit from coaching the soccer team. Let's hope I can say the same of my basketball babies. Just get ready to laugh, I'm sure stories will be coming soon!
My progress towards transitioning from pants to skirts/dresses is going, but not as quickly as maybe I'd like sometimes. I have noticed that I'll immediately go look through skirts/dresses in the store rather than look through pants. I can't help but wonder sometimes why women who like to be fashionable even bother with pants. Honestly, there's only so much you can do with pants. Skirts/dresses, on the other hand, are almost limitless in their possibilities. From fabrics, to cuts to styles, they are just way more user friendly.
I have more to chit-chat about, but I'll just have to save that for another post. Until then, my dearies....God bless.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
QT4ME
It's funny how friends can help you get to know yourself. Randomly, I decided to take some little online Love Language quiz, not too long ago. I was mildly surprised by the results, thinking my primary love language was Physical Touch. Its actually, Quality Time. When I mentioned this to one of my girlfriends, she immediately said, "I can see that." Curious, I asked how she could know something like that. Her response kind of took me aback. "It's what you ask for," she said, as if I should kinda have known that.
Looking back on my friendships, and how I judge the status of a friendship, and how I feel friendships grow; her reply makes total sense. Any of my friends will tell you, I always want to spend time with them when possible...preferably one-on-one. Sitting with someone one-on-one and opening up about life is how I know I'm loved/valued. The love comes from knowing that the other person has trusted me enough to make themselves vulnerable and that they want to be around me. When starting a new friendship, I absolutely ACHE to know everything about the other person, and in turn, I want to share my heart and passions with them. I love finally getting to the stage in a relationship where you can communicate tons of information with each other without saying a word.
I guess this is why it always hurts very deeply when I encounter someone who doesn't really want to share anything with me, nor do they want any one-on-one time with me. Now please don't misunderstand me in all of this. I'm not strictly talking about romantic relationships. This applies to both platonic (male or female) and romantic relationships. One thing I've noticed about myself is that quality time with a new acquaintance is the thing I'm most afraid to ask for. Given that, QT = love, it makes sense. If that person rejects me, or if the QT is compromised by lack of connection/interest, I could somewhat easily walk away from the situation feeling extremely hurt.
Understand this, quality time is not simply just being around another person. It's actually FOCUSING your attention on them exclusively for a sustained period of time. It's about sharing your life with them, and making them feel comfortable enough to share their life with you. I don't know about others, but for me specifically, it's not about sharing abstract theories/theologies, intellectual debates, and impersonal musings. It's about communicating the things you're passionate about, sharing bits and pieces of the events/moments that have gotten you to where you are, and dialoging about where you hope to be.
Looking back on my friendships, and how I judge the status of a friendship, and how I feel friendships grow; her reply makes total sense. Any of my friends will tell you, I always want to spend time with them when possible...preferably one-on-one. Sitting with someone one-on-one and opening up about life is how I know I'm loved/valued. The love comes from knowing that the other person has trusted me enough to make themselves vulnerable and that they want to be around me. When starting a new friendship, I absolutely ACHE to know everything about the other person, and in turn, I want to share my heart and passions with them. I love finally getting to the stage in a relationship where you can communicate tons of information with each other without saying a word.
I guess this is why it always hurts very deeply when I encounter someone who doesn't really want to share anything with me, nor do they want any one-on-one time with me. Now please don't misunderstand me in all of this. I'm not strictly talking about romantic relationships. This applies to both platonic (male or female) and romantic relationships. One thing I've noticed about myself is that quality time with a new acquaintance is the thing I'm most afraid to ask for. Given that, QT = love, it makes sense. If that person rejects me, or if the QT is compromised by lack of connection/interest, I could somewhat easily walk away from the situation feeling extremely hurt.
Understand this, quality time is not simply just being around another person. It's actually FOCUSING your attention on them exclusively for a sustained period of time. It's about sharing your life with them, and making them feel comfortable enough to share their life with you. I don't know about others, but for me specifically, it's not about sharing abstract theories/theologies, intellectual debates, and impersonal musings. It's about communicating the things you're passionate about, sharing bits and pieces of the events/moments that have gotten you to where you are, and dialoging about where you hope to be.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
candles burning at both ends.
On Friday, my mother will turn 61. With each passing year I take a closer and closer look at my parents' mortality. This may sound morbid to some of you, but others of you are probably nodding your heads in understanding. The older my parents get (my father will be 61 in October), the more I think about my own lot in life and the lots of my siblings. As some of you may know, I do have two biological siblings. A sister, 37; and a brother, 38. I don't have a working relationship with either, and I mainly know about their lives through the bits and pieces I get from our parents (even now it feels weird saying our parents). Both my brother and sister each have a child, and my sister has been married for 15 years. Now you may be wondering how my parents' mortality ties in with my brother and sister. You see, the older my parents get, and the more single I get (okay, so maybe singleness doesn't really increase, but occasionally it feels that way); the more resentment becomes a concern. Given our family medical history, I'm somewhat concerned about how many "good years" my parents have left.
The resentment comes in when I start thinking about all the things my parents have shared with my significantly older siblings. They (my sibs) got my parents when they were a young, fresh, newly wed couple. Both got the "new parent" smell. They were involved with all kinds of things, and their childhoods were like the Golden Ages. They got to go through their 20s and finding their way in life when my parents were middle aged. My father walked my sister down the isle. I remember when he had "the talk" with my future brother-in-law before he proposed. Facing my parents' mortality as a single woman scares the crap out of me. I think back to how they took care of my paternal grandfather during his last years of life, and I know they couldn't have done it without each other. Christians, I know we aren't supposed to worry about tomorrow, nor what we shall eat, drink or wear, because God will handle it, but that doesn't mean that I don't.
What if my parents pass away before I finally get established in a career, marriage, or in some other way? What if the Lord FINALLY blesses me with children, and my parents are there to share in that? Sometimes I find myself anxious to give them grandchildren just to "make it up to them". They were definitely part of the movement of "grandparents as parents". They practically had to raise my nephew (who is 15 now), because in someways, I feel my sister wasn't ready to be a mother...and she didn't chose a husband wisely. They haven't gotten to be just grandparents, because I was only 10 when my nephew was born. So not only did they have the mid-life child to raise, but they had to start over again with a grandchild that lived with them off and on.
I guess, if I'm honest, I'd say I want to make them proud. I want to be the child that has a good working relationship with both of them, went to college, got married, had a family and was just a well behaved, Christian woman. I want them to see that before it's too late. So this is where the resentment that my brother and sister "got them first", comes from. I feel as if I now have half the time to be 4 times better. Not to mention, I don't want to face their mortality as a single person because I know I will NEED the love and support of someone who's there "for better or for worse". This may sound old fashioned, but I sometimes sense that my father worries about whether or not I'll be taken care of if anything ever happened to them. Just something to think about: what do you want your parents to see happen in your life before they pass? Brings new meaning to the words "die happy", huh?
The resentment comes in when I start thinking about all the things my parents have shared with my significantly older siblings. They (my sibs) got my parents when they were a young, fresh, newly wed couple. Both got the "new parent" smell. They were involved with all kinds of things, and their childhoods were like the Golden Ages. They got to go through their 20s and finding their way in life when my parents were middle aged. My father walked my sister down the isle. I remember when he had "the talk" with my future brother-in-law before he proposed. Facing my parents' mortality as a single woman scares the crap out of me. I think back to how they took care of my paternal grandfather during his last years of life, and I know they couldn't have done it without each other. Christians, I know we aren't supposed to worry about tomorrow, nor what we shall eat, drink or wear, because God will handle it, but that doesn't mean that I don't.
What if my parents pass away before I finally get established in a career, marriage, or in some other way? What if the Lord FINALLY blesses me with children, and my parents are there to share in that? Sometimes I find myself anxious to give them grandchildren just to "make it up to them". They were definitely part of the movement of "grandparents as parents". They practically had to raise my nephew (who is 15 now), because in someways, I feel my sister wasn't ready to be a mother...and she didn't chose a husband wisely. They haven't gotten to be just grandparents, because I was only 10 when my nephew was born. So not only did they have the mid-life child to raise, but they had to start over again with a grandchild that lived with them off and on.
I guess, if I'm honest, I'd say I want to make them proud. I want to be the child that has a good working relationship with both of them, went to college, got married, had a family and was just a well behaved, Christian woman. I want them to see that before it's too late. So this is where the resentment that my brother and sister "got them first", comes from. I feel as if I now have half the time to be 4 times better. Not to mention, I don't want to face their mortality as a single person because I know I will NEED the love and support of someone who's there "for better or for worse". This may sound old fashioned, but I sometimes sense that my father worries about whether or not I'll be taken care of if anything ever happened to them. Just something to think about: what do you want your parents to see happen in your life before they pass? Brings new meaning to the words "die happy", huh?
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