The Beatings Never Really Stop

 

Not my story, thank God, but one worthy of documentation and remembrance.

Dating the woman who would become my wife I asked in the course of casual conversation about growing up, “…and remember when you would walk in the door and your dad would knock you to the floor, kicking and hitting and yelling?” She stared at me in stunned silence. There is no normal. The rational has been torn away from your ability to grasp it.

 

This Happened Tonight Near Seattle

My brother proposed. He surprised his fiancée by secretly flying from Peoria, IL to Seattle. He'd asked our sister and brother-in-law to invite TH for dinner. They told her PJ had sent a surprise; close your eyes. When she opened them, there he was on bended knee.

 

She said, "Yes." Details are developing toward a November wedding. TBC

 

Best Birthday Gift Ever; A Letter from My Brother

My brother @1965 at approximately 6 years old.
Picture Day.

 

After the email exchange of a few days ago, I didn't hear from my brother. But, he posted this photo on Facebook, indicating he did that for me. Then, I woke up to find the following had been emailed late on my birthday yesterday.

 

Hi M,

Hope it's been a great day with JE's family, grandkids must be a blast. Looking forward to it. I'm sure they take a lot of energy to keep up with.

I wanted to wish you a very Happy Birthday, and yes, I screwed up on the card thing, and no, this is not in lieu of. I just felt the need to express what a great big sister you have been to me. For as long as I can remember you've been doing things for me to make my childhood and beyond a little richer.

I remember you making it possible for me to attend basketball camp at Wheaton College, and taking me horseback riding for the first time. I still have vivid memories of both, and I'm sure I'm leaving out more. Words can't express my gratitude for what you did last year, all the time on the phone, trying to help me keep it together. I was so conflicted in my mind I didn't know what was real. I'm so sorry for what I put you and the rest of the family through, especially last winter. Then when you stood in the gap between hospital and home, well, that was just over the top. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The email you sent about the picture and my growing up was spot on. Although, I wasn't really raised by wolves; Jesus had a hand in that. Through Sunday School and Christian Endeavor, Bible Club and Vacation Bible School, good neighbors and teachers, He provided just what was needed. Mom instilled a conscience in me that guides me to this day, although I have chosen to ignore it at times it's always there.

I wrote another poem yesterday, a somewhat fictionalized version of some of what I've come through in the last 2 years. I'll share it with you later and you can critique it for me. Part of me has wanted to try my hand at song writing, (country of course) but I'm not sure how my style matches up with how they do it. If nothing else, it seems to be cathartic for me (pretty fancy word for a redneck wanna be, huh?). Hahaha!

Well, (as mom would say) well, thanks again for everything, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

 

My response? A simple, "I love you."

P.s. He ALWAYS sends great birthday cards.

Being Heard

Had my second cataract surgery very early this morning. Very happy to be on the far side of dealing with this "old folks" malady. A few more follow-up visits with the opthamologist and I can put this to rest.

But, the big news is that yesterday I finally had a chance to address my long list of annoying, painful, and/or vague symptoms that have been kicking around and accumulating for several years. Those symptoms that 2-1/2 weeks ago finally drove me to choose to pursue a gluten-free, limited dairy, limited legumes dietary revolution.

I felt so very encouraged as I left the Internist's office. I later sent this email to family and friends:

I have just not been well this summer. Certainly we had a lot of stress earlier which easily could have triggered the worst recurring symptoms of pain, insomnia, fatigue, etc. that I've had in the past couple of years (or ever).

Today, I am one happy camper. I don't know much more yet about what ails me, but there was blood work to (hopefully) eliminate Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis. I'll have those results in a few days, and fully discuss with my doctor in two weeks.

He's also reviewing all the cardiac tests I had in February 2012 (before the Shingles rashes appeared to clarify what I was dealing with). My first medical attention that time was due to cramping pain in my chest. All those tests were good results, but he'll determine what if any should be repeated. I don't feel at all like my heart-health is impaired, but with some labored breathing and fatigue we have to check...

After that, if nothing shows up, we will proceed as if I have an Auto-Immune Disorder. Probably Fibromyalgia. He will change-out the Lexapro I've taken for a number of years (periodic anxiety and agitation (a bit of depression)) for Cymbalta, which is in the same drug family but has added properties that calm down nerve endings. I could take Lyrica for the same symptoms (took for nerve pain when I had Shingles), but he prefers to stay in the same drug family as Lexapro for now.

I worked late into last night (after we came home from Small Group) to organize my research and symptoms, and to consolidate into a few brief statements. I had documented my symptoms from mid-June to mid-August, and he had that list scanned into my medical records.

During the past months, he pretty much brushed off any attempt at conversation around my fatigue and pain. I was fairly certain I'd have to find a new doctor, but today he was kind, gracious, and consoling--what we've come to expect of him over the 35+ years he's been our Internist.

Interestingly, ten days ago his very youthful and fit 65-year-old wife's heart randomly went into Tachycardia, just like CA's. He was very vocal about understanding what CA and our family had just been through and wanted to make sure I told CA that they identified strongly with our experience. His wife's heart reset itself, thankfully, so she didn't require cardiac ablation. She's on blood thinners, etc. for the rest of her life or until she requires more attention. Being married to a doctor will facilitate monitoring her INR levels much more conveniently than CA experiences. Thankfully, CA should be off Coumadin mid-September.

Anyway... I'm hopeful that many health-risk channels will be eliminated and that treatment will be as easy as changing meds. Cymbalta won't cure me, but less nerve irritation should result in better sleep and general well-being.

Lexapro is the only Rx I take, so far! My blood pressure dances around borderline, then settles into normal range, and my cholesterol has always been mid to high normal.

Enough about me! Really. I'm doing all I can with nutrition, and plan to up the exercise quotient once I'm recovered from this second cataract procedure (tomorrow). I expect good results.

I know, TMI.

As responses and encouragement emails have come in, I am interested in a recurring theme. At least three female family members and friends remarked that it is so good "to be heard." Interesting.

I know our world is full of pop-psychology and self-help lingo, but these women are thoughtful, introspective women of faith and wisdom. They probably wouldn't voluntarily call themselves feminists, but they each recognize on a deep level that every woman deserves to be heard. And, I'm pretty we are all more self-aware and self-confident than our mothers ever knew to be.

 

 

A Birthday Letter to My Brother

I was surprised at how much you hate this photo. I find it winsome and touching.

You were a little boy. A much longed-for and loved little boy. Unfortunately mom was not up to taking care of you; keeping track of all the things mommies do for their little boys. That doesn't lessen her love of you, nor does it excuse their lack of attention to your needs.

You were raised by wolves, yet you've managed to become a worthwhile, charming, intelligent, loving man. Good for you. Bad on them.

I think when you see this photo you don't want to feel that pain, suffer those memories again. I do not enjoy strolls down memory lane re: my growing up years, either. When I see this photo, It reminds me of your sweetness and the fun we had with you. I love your innocence, and a couple of my grandkids look a bit like this photo of you.

Everyone has a story. It's what you do after that counts. (Sue Miller's For Love.)

We write our own stories. (Don Miller, et al.)

Sometimes you need to let go of your old stories to make room for the new ones God is writing with you.

 

We mostly weren't beaten or ever locked up, so its hard to allow ourselves to acknowledge there was emotional abuse and certainly neglect. Yelling, empty threats, shaming, rage, embarrassment, disappointment--plenty. Yet, we had grandparents and aunts who loved and trained us, and they along with mom covered us in prayer. God is faithful.

I think having been a part of the first 5 kids--your sisters shared and reinforced the good memories. Some of us pretend they were all good. You were just too young while your sisters were at home to remember all the love we showered on you. And, our grandparents were older and less active by the time you could have most benefited; although I know you treasure your memories of both sets.

So, I'm loving this reminder of my baby brother. You've always had to make it up as you go along. Guess what, so did your sisters.

Now write a great story with the next chapters of your life.

 

 

That's My Story, and I'm Sticking to It

 

Image via @ginnybranch on Instagram.

 

Faith-Grace

Recent events in my family of origin have highlighted how easily we revert to/hold onto a flawed view of God's grace and human fragility.

Unfortunately, it seems that God allows a whole lot more ambiguous and painful things to enter our lives than we were led to believe in our younger days. There was definitely a teaching that if we followed Christ perfectly we could be spared most of the nastiness of life. Turns out that bad things happen to Christ followers, too. Faith, prayer, legalism, etc. can't cure mental illness.

Funny... Legalistic Christians can accept cancer, disease, tragedy, etc. as just the experience of every life, but there's a bias that believes that mental illness hinges on a right relationship with God. Now, that's a slippery slope that we watched our mom slide down. Repeatedly.

Mental illness was the background of our family relationships. As was faith in an omnipotent God, and his call on us as Christ-followers to walk a righteous path.

The fact that my siblings have built healthy, loving families who continue to walk with the Lord is precisely attributable to prayerful grandparents, parents, and aunts and uncles. And, to God's grace and unconditional love.

 

Real Love

... Love has to be tough and uncomfortable, and it has to sting if it's going to prove to be real and last for the long haul. Love that's too timid to ache isn't love at all.

Pg. 31

The Rook

by Steven James

 

Well said. A jewel hidden in the pages of an FBI procedural novel.

 

Not the popular culture's view of love, for sure. But in the midst of months and months of walking alongside encouraging, questionning, and challenging my brother, it's the love he needs. And, it's the only love I can offer.

 

I've grieved his circumstances. I'm angry at his choices and lethargy. I've exhausted myself emotionally, but the anger has helped me to regain the healthy emotional distance I need for the long haul.

 

I can pray, but I'm done with the advice. He's extremely intelligent. He remembers much. He's heard it all. Taking action is his downfall.

 

Child Evangelism Fellowship

 

Mom's after-school Bible clubs were a huge part of my childhood. While I may have not always wanted to attend and been a bit embarrassed that the teacher was usually my mom, we had dozens if not hundreds of these lessons in our home throughout the year, and in our backyard (garden) in the summertime.

 

Flannel-graph. Quiet chair prize. Scripture memorization. Treats, sometimes.

-source-

 

Throughout mom's lifetime and despite her struggles with mental illness, she was faithful to CEF. Definitely, one of her callings.

 

The reason I'm reminiscing about this today, is that my brother PJ has been volunteering in the Peoria office two days this week. He's on medical leave and looking for worthwhile places to invest his time.

 

 

 

 

Surfing

 

 

"For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise

for the Jews from another place and you and your father's house will perish.

And who knows whether you have not attained royalty

for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14)

 

 

Our family has had a summer of waves. Tsunamis. God is faithful. We're surviving. Thriving. I keep thinking, "For such a time as this."

 

We are each particularly gifted, shaped, polished, hewn for specific endeavors. It's amazing to see how each sibling, family member, steps up to the plate with just the perfect solution, action, wise words.

 

Our lives have been designed and cast for such a time as this. We only need to be willing and available. Then, let God do the directing. Our deeds and words are multiplied exponentially. It's the loaves and fishes story all over again and again.

 

It's absolutely shocking to hear what comes out of my mouth at times. Wisdom or solutions far, far beyond my grasp. Same for my sisters and other family.

 

We're each taxed far beyond anything we could ever have imagined. Yet, there's strength for each day. And, middle-of-the-night or early-morning answers to irresolvable issues and problems. Peaceful resolutions. Bounteous blessings. Disappearing mountains of concern, grief, fear.

 

We're not in the clear yet, but we will not be defeated. God shall prevail. And, our family will likewise. Amen. (Biblical for "so be it.") Selah. (Pause and think of that.)

 

Luke 6:37-42

[37] "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. [38] Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

 

Unglued: A Prayer

 

"God, I'm so tired of being hurt. I'm so tired of feeling distracted and discouraged by this(these) situation(s). Pour your lavish mercy on my heart and into this(these) hard relationship(s)... help me see how to separate myself graciously from this(these) constant source(s) of hurt in my life. It all feels impossisble...Reveal clearly how I can best honor You, even in this."

Lysa TerKeurst

Unglued

 

 

 

Families: The One You're Born Into and the One You Make

Short of fleeing the country, pulling your phone land line, and ditching your cell for an anonymous pay-as-you-go, you can't shake family. They never go away.

 

Thank God for the family we've created. They're the people I choose for my desert island. We're far from perfect, but love, truth, and openness are key values. We make it all work.

 

The family I am born into is not without it's flaws, but for the most part we all make it work. We don't cut each other out, do the silent treatment, destroy each other on major holidays. But, as the years pile up the resultant baggage gets huge. Out-of-control. There's too many players. Too many personalities to wrangle. Too many life-altering, critical events and decisions. Too many conversations. Control issues. Viewpoints.

 

We're a family of words. Too many words. Good intentions backed up with too little information and empathy, and too many biases.

 

Good intentions run amok.

 

I have just enough empathy and energy these days for the family CA and I made. Anything extra is too much.

 

Yet, no one believes me when I say I can't do it all anymore. What will it take?

 

"No." should be enough. Just say, "No." And repeat until they hang up, leave, go in search of a more empathetic relative. Good-bye.

LOOK ALIKES?

Just can't believe how much beautiful KF reminds me of photos of me at or near her age. She's much prettier and photogenic. She's a precious and interesting little girl. I think she might be brilliant.

Today she enjoyed a double-dip, side-by-side watermelon ice cream cone. YUM!

FAMILY DYNAMICS

The past weeks have been filled with roller coaster emotions, brain-numbing road trips, and endless analytical phone calls as our parents have endured the breaking down of body parts and the necessary hospitalizations and after-care. CA's mom's successful second hip replacement and the ensuing care interspersed with helping Aunt Margie get into assisted living and dispersing most of her worldly goods, then my dad's declining health and subsequent collapse.

Aunt Margie loves her new home--just one small room with a shared bath--in a clean and lovely care facility. She tells everyone that she's loved it since day one. Thank you, God. CA's mom, Gigi, is 90% back to normal and loving life in her independent living community--back to playing bridge several times a week and driving her friends to dinner and club events.

My dad is happily ensconced in a skilled care facility rehabbing from arrhythmia and related bodily failings. For a few weeks we've thought he would continue to fail, but he's gained a bit of ground and is rehabbing and again eating normally. His spirits are encouraged and he, too, loves his caring environment. This is a temporary solution--if he ceases to progress or when he's reached his limits he will be sent home or we'll seek other arrangements.

My dad is married a second time and has been for 10 years. They've done well together, but her health is fragile and she's stated frequently that she can't care for him at home. As he's gaining strength, she might change her mind, but it's seemed that he'd rather not go back home and she'd rather not have him.

But, this weekend I noticed an affection between them. When we delivered her to his room on Saturday afternoon, they seemed happy to see each other and then segued into gentle bickering. Might end up being a case of can't live together, can't live apart.

So, dad's current state is stable and improving slightly, whereas one week ago we thought he would tumble downhill gently or abruptly. I lived in a state of nerves for a couple of weeks. I like to know what's coming and then deal with facts. No one knows what's next for dad or how soon or how much. He's happy and somewhat optimistic, and so are we.

I wonder how reflective he is and how real his faith is to him as his body fails him. I've struggled with the reality of my faith and with half-remembered feelings and hurts that he's inflicted over the years. Forgiveness is daily and I have to seek it often. I know that my affection for him is shallow and my attention to him is a lot of "Honor thy father..."

I always say that he's been a piece of work, and he is. I know that my trust issues are traced to his fathering. I know that he's had his own demons to vanquish. Self-awareness is my generation's thing, and his generation's thing was survival. He was a child of the Depression, a WWII non-combat vet, and a parent before the pill or reliable birth control. My mom's mental health issues also shaped him, as he shaped her.

I had a moment of clarity last week when I realized my tension was more related to navigating the rest of his life with a presumed roller coaster of health issues and less related to actually experiencing grief or loss when he dies. I'm not proud, but that's honest. And, I'm fully aware that as I realized with my mom's death 12 years ago, I've spent a good bit of my adult life grieving the loss-lack of parenting and stability and unconditional love.

One of my sisters used to say that they did the best that they could. I don't think so. At the base of each parent's personality is-was a self-centered immature focus. As Christians they had the Bible and God's teachings on how to love and his offer of guidance and wisdom. If you seek God's wisdom and direction, he gives it to you. My mom prayed without ceasing, but mostly she was praying for her own peace of mind and heart. (I profoundly regret that most of the effective drugs for depression and anxiety did not exist in her lifetime.) I don't know about my dad's prayers. I'm guessing he prayed, too, but I'm really clueless about how he lived his faith.

Yet, I cannot complete these ruminations without acknowledging that they took us to a Bible-believing church and they taught us to pray. There are six siblings and we all actively worship and follow God.

MIRACLES

The loud whirring of the treadmill, the force of my feet as they rhythmically beat the track... Eyes closed and clinched, my mind uncomprehending... Tears flowing; thoughts racing. Prayers formed and unformed wrenched upward. It was just before 5:30am on a dark February morning and I exercised not from discipline but from a need for release from some of the tension and confusion that had frozen my brain and emotions. My sister would probably die that day.

* * *

For weeks, and months as it turned out, she had faced a puzzling array of symptoms that her doctors had dismissed. Christmas overwhelmed her and the new year was daunting. Even her unfailingly loving and supportive husband didn't comprehend her situation.

In a telephone conversation less than 2 weeks before, she described her symptoms and frustrations and asked me, "Don't I sound sick to you?" Yes, she did and she was frustrated because no one was taking her seriously.

And then within days, she was very sick and in the hospital and the doctors weren't sure what was happening. Yes, there seemed to be some liver infection; not hepatitis. A diagnosis was not forthcoming, and as the doctors pondered her illness worsened. She was terribly sick and still they dithered.

Finally, days too late, they sent her by ambulance to the University of Chicago Medical Center. GJ's husband and oldest son followed the ambulance, hearts heavy with fear and thoughts racing. JL drove from Michigan and I from the NW suburbs of Chicago. We left our jobs and homes and schedules and took a leap off an unfamiliar cliff to be close to and support and comfort our sister.

As I headed to my car that morning I grasped at ideas for comfort because I knew my limitations--I could bring my sister my prayers, my support, and maybe some comfort. I grabbed my favorite afghan, a cross-stitched sampler I'd made of a Bible verse GJ had offered me a few years earlier when I needed comfort, and a cassette recorder with the tapes I found most comforting--My Utmost for His Highest, Amy Grant, and Rich Mullins.

On admittance to that famous teaching hospital, GJ was diagnosed with liver failure. Acute liver failure. Her situation was deemed critical.

When they'd settled her in the hospital room and JL and I were allowed to see her, we found her relieved and weak, hooked up to monitors--tubes of fluid moving in and out.  Her tears were amber--not tears of fear but tears of weakness and relief. Relieved that her illness was finally recognized and being taken seriously. God's grace and strength were with her.

The cath bag's fluid was an incomprehensible tea-stained hue. Strong tea. JL explained that without the purifying processes of the liver, the toxins were poisoning GJ. The liver was failing and no one yet knew why.

* * *

It's always alarming when a phone rings very early or very late--the noise of the treadmill masked the sounds, but CA heard and immediately brought the phone to me. Overnight miracles had begun to happen. True miracles. God-designed and controlled.

Late in the evening, JL had returned to her daughter's apartment and CN and SN to the nearest motel, exhausted and numb. With the lights out, CN could hardly think; barely pray. The prognosis the doctors had given was more than grim. GJ needed a new liver. Now.

I'm not sure how the transplant list works now, but 13 years ago wherever your name fell on the recipient list when the doctors classified you as critical, you moved to the top of the list. But, organs are not a commodity that can be warehoused or procured. In all likelihood, there would be no liver available in the short-term and the short-term was all that GJ had.

Laying in the dark but not sleeping, CN and SN were none-the-less startled by the ringing phone. As he reached for it, CN glanced at the clock and registered in that split second the time was 11:11pm. GJ's birthday is 11/11.

The hospital was calling. There was an available liver and the helicopter team was heading out to retrieve it. If the tissue matched, the liver was GJ's. I doubt CN or SN slept at all.

By the time my phone rang at 5:30am the tissues were matched and GJ was being prepped for the transplant.

Numbly, I began to dress and prepare to move forward into a day I could not fathom. Because I am a problem solver and a nurturer, I decided I needed to be in charge of food. I loaded our large, wheeled cooler into my car and started my journey. Recently a Byerly's had opened near Woodfield and while prepared and semi-prepared food is a grocery store staple today, Byerly's was a front runner and a mecca of possibilities. I decided that we were going to need top quality sustenance that day. Stopping off near Woodfield was a necessary detour.

I don't recall how many hours the surgery lasted. It seemed all day. The waiting room filled up throughout the day with GJ's sons and daughter and their spouses and babies, our siblings and nieces and nephews, dad and mom, friends of GJ's from church and her pastor. NC flew in from Seattle. I remember tension and silences, laughter and babies' cries. GJ's daughter JB was a new mommy with a 10-day old infant and a breaking heart. I have a vivid memory of CN's arm around JB, her head on his shoulder, and despair on their faces.

At some point GJ was out of surgery with the replacement liver, still critical but living. People migrated home and to the homes of friends and family--hearts heavy and prayers flowing we were citizens in an unknown land. All of us.

It was late, at least fully dark on this winter night and I only remember CN, JL, NC, and I being left, but there were probably a few others still waiting when the transplant doctor, the surgeon, came out to talk to us. Things had gone very well. GJ had the new liver. There had been a decision made as to whether to replace one kidney that had ceased functioning. They didn't, betting on the kidney to kick in once the liver was functioning.

GJ's liver had been the size of a baseball, where a normal liver is more the size of a football. The biopsy had shown that there were no living cells in GJ's liver. You can't live a day without a liver.

That day was not GJ's day to die, it was God's day to work his miracles. I don't know why it seems that God waits until the last minute so much of the time. I guess he really doesn't and that he performs miracles and acts in all of our lives so often and with such forethought that we can't imagine all he's spared us from enduring.

The road to recovery was long and rocky, but 13+ years later her life is full and dynamic. Her marriage is loving, her children are thriving, her grandchildren well-loved. She quilts and teaches Bible study; she's become the rock our aging aunt leans upon.

We learned to live life to the fullest and to marvel at God's provision and sufficiency. We learned that our family functions beautifully when challenges arise. When both our mom and brother-in-law died just over a year later, we accepted those losses as realities of life. As we learned to celebrate GJ's miracle, we also learned to accept the grief and pain of miracles denied.

Our family story has had many more chapters since then and we have many more still to be written. For now we are learning how to support and manage the care of our elders--the balance required to live our own lives while negotiating the time and energy required for the larger family unit.

We don't have a map yet, but each day and each experience is teaching us how to traverse this territory one day and one event at a time. When we project ahead we are overwhelmed, so we are beginning to remind each other of God's strength for today, his sufficiency in times past, and our eternal hope for the future.

We won't get it right every time. We will flounder and fail and complain. But, we will do the best that we can because we won't forget that God is in control. He does miracles that we can see and marvel at, and he does miracles that we can't even imagine.

SCRAMBLED BRAINS

Having an elderly parent in failing health is like entering a whirlpool of over-the-head heated emotions. Will he recover; what's next? Is he receiving good healthcare; when does advocacy become whining? How many siblings should be-need be in attendance on any given day? Why does it fall to the geographically available siblings to vet these issues? How can geographically distant siblings ease the burden without totally uprooting their own lives?

And, who can even identify all of the swirling emotions--issues from childhood ranging from benign neglect to out-right cluelessness to overt rage and rejection...

Add in an upper respiratory illness and possibly you get the drift as to how I'm doing this weekend.

I'm home for now and recovering from my symptoms, continually wondering what the next phase will be. Will he recover enough for the planned skilled care interlude? Will he regain full function or continue to require asst living? When should I hit the road again? What's next?

AGING

My dad is in the hospital and I'm not sure what to do. He's not very sick, yet. He's also 89 years old and therefore an uncertain future. He's been incredibly healthy with just a few small scares along the way, and only a hernia surgery or two. No heart attacks, and until last winter no strokes. Last winter he had two TIAs, but recovered almost fully with a bit of a slur and a slight limp for just awhile.

Funny thing, he's always been quite concerned with his health. I guess being healthy is no guarantee that you can celebrate your health.

My mother died suddenly, without warning. A cough, bronchitis, lethargy, hospitalization, death and everlasting life. All within 5 or 6 days. My father-in-law died slowly and agonizingly with emphysema--gasping for breath and struggling with life.

I don't know what's ahead--we never really do, I know. For the immediate future I have to decide whether I take a quick trip to Central Illinois or wait it out. It's hot and humid, and I've been there too many times in the last weeks. CA is busy with soccer so nothing but my own selfish heart could make me not go. I've left a message with JL in Michigan to see what her plans are and if we'll plan together.

I've done enough hibernating and navel gazing the past two weeks. Self-examination sucks. Helping others is life-giving and God-honoring.

I'm sure I'll make the right decision.

HOLIER THAN THOU

I spent my childhood living with these people. The words never sounded right to me, even when I was young. Condemning words. Judgmental words. Hate-filled words. I hear them for the first time in many years tonight as I exit a store with my elderly aunts.

"No God-honoring people would shop in this store.

People who walk with God wouldn't wear these clothes."

I steal a glance to see if anyone is within ear-shot. Just one woman. She heard, I'm sure. Maybe she's used to hearing these words in this Middle-American conservative city. I'm not. I haven't heard this kind of language since I was a child.

I love God and I follow his precepts. I'm imperfect and can be judgmental. I shop at this store in my own area. It is a good store. I buy many of my clothes at this store.

It's shocking how we can harbor such hatred and anger within the same heart that loves God and chooses to serve him.