Not gonna lie, it has been a rough two weeks. Physically and emotionally I have been stretched to my limits and, sad to say, I am still not a candidate for sainthood. Apparently adding just a wee bit more to my already full plate of activities and anxieties is enough to push me over the edge and send me on a sinning spree.
Ugh I hate this side of me. The short tempered, demanding, snapping, cranky, gossiping, unforgiving, judgmental, un-compassionate side of me that, a few years ago, used to dominate my personality. Now it usually only makes a brief appearance on really hot days in traffic. But the past two weeks I let the beast loose. I hurt people that I love. I hurt people that were already weak and hurting. I was mean to my friends and to my family. I embarrassed myself. The wake of damage is wide and I am so sorry I can hardly stand it.
I finally called it quits yesterday when I noticed my ever-patient spouse was losing it with me. There are days, and this is one of them, when I am almost convinced that God's mercy is so close I can practically breathe it in.
If you were one of the victims of my misery, words cannot express the regret and sorrow I feel that I made things more difficult for you and caused you pain. I pray that you will forgive me.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I won't tell.
I can't say what I need to say. In a somewhat pathetic attempt to avoid pride and selfish behavior, I just can't say everything that is going on. The good and the great and my bad; they are all sitting here in my head and on my heart and I can't talk about them to anyone.
The frustrating thing is how badly I want to talk about it. But there is a chance that someone will credit me for these miracles and those are dangerous waters for me to be swimming in. It is too easy to say, "yep, I am pretty great.". Taking credit comes so naturally for me and before I know it I am going to be wandering around Israel for 40 years....no thanks. So I can't say anything. As much as I would like to.
The other, even more, frustrating thing is how much I want people to hear what is going on in my life. How incredible God is and how I am convinced, more than ever before, that He loves us all. I am so grateful and I am not sure if I have ever been sincerely grateful for anything in my whole life. It is a vulnerable state to be in...one of gratitude. But that is where I am tonight; sitting outside, watching the 4 most amazing children on the planet; in a state of gratitude and amazement for God, for His mercy and for His love.
The frustrating thing is how badly I want to talk about it. But there is a chance that someone will credit me for these miracles and those are dangerous waters for me to be swimming in. It is too easy to say, "yep, I am pretty great.". Taking credit comes so naturally for me and before I know it I am going to be wandering around Israel for 40 years....no thanks. So I can't say anything. As much as I would like to.
The other, even more, frustrating thing is how much I want people to hear what is going on in my life. How incredible God is and how I am convinced, more than ever before, that He loves us all. I am so grateful and I am not sure if I have ever been sincerely grateful for anything in my whole life. It is a vulnerable state to be in...one of gratitude. But that is where I am tonight; sitting outside, watching the 4 most amazing children on the planet; in a state of gratitude and amazement for God, for His mercy and for His love.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Goodbye Tulsa Zoo
I can’t remember a summer in the past 16 years that our family has not gone to the Tulsa Zoo at least once. Several years ago we began purchasing their family zoo pass and we were there in the sun, the rain and the snow. I am very sad to say that these days are about over The Tulsa Zoo has gone from a relaxing, enjoyable way to spend time with my family to one big downer of a day.
Unless you are ready to spend a couple hundred bucks or only have one child, be prepared to say “No” a whole, whole lot. I used to have to say no only one time, as we walked by the gift shop. Now I say no to:
The Gift Shop
The Second Gift Shop
The Rock and Mineral Dig
The Camel Rides
The Rock Climb
Whatever that frog game is next to the rock climb
A food cart every 200 feet or so
A multitude of penny and 3.00 coin machines
And just when you think you are safe, a final gift shop-cart near the parking lot.
Today I also got to say no to 3 buildings that were shut down. Nope can’t go see Nanuk or the Cave or the Florescent Lights Display. The exchange center, their very favorite place, was closed too.
Somewhere between the WAY overpriced fun and food, the terrible smells, the displays that are always under construction and that bear who looks like he needs antidepressants, I realized that we are done. I don’t like having to spend an entire day saying no, no, no to my kids. Tulsa
Friday, June 1, 2012
Buzzards to Blessings
Many years ago I watched my husband stand in the airport of a foreign country. He and I with our 1 year old daughter were getting ready to fly home to the U.S. but we had to make a stop in Miami and spend the night in a hotel.
My husband stood there, surrounded by a group of people, and he opened his wallet and held it out. The folks surrounding him pushed and picked, taking every last dollar until my husband held his wallet upside down and said "It's empty."
For a long time this memory made my stomach hurt. The people seemed almost like buzzards, swooping down and grabbing what they could. I remember watching in disgust as my husbands hard earned money went to people who seemed not to appreciate his gift. I was so worried about our trip home. What if we had an emergency? We needed that money!
This memory had changed for me as I changed my focus from the group of people to the expression on my husbands face. He was joyful, smiling and laughing from the very bottom of his belly at the honor he was being given to provide for others. I love this memory now. It shows, not just the generosity of my great husband, but the depth of his faith. He never worried about our trip home. His security is not linked to money, the way mine is. It is a gift that only a life of poverty can give, true faith that God will provide for us.
My husband stood there, surrounded by a group of people, and he opened his wallet and held it out. The folks surrounding him pushed and picked, taking every last dollar until my husband held his wallet upside down and said "It's empty."
For a long time this memory made my stomach hurt. The people seemed almost like buzzards, swooping down and grabbing what they could. I remember watching in disgust as my husbands hard earned money went to people who seemed not to appreciate his gift. I was so worried about our trip home. What if we had an emergency? We needed that money!
This memory had changed for me as I changed my focus from the group of people to the expression on my husbands face. He was joyful, smiling and laughing from the very bottom of his belly at the honor he was being given to provide for others. I love this memory now. It shows, not just the generosity of my great husband, but the depth of his faith. He never worried about our trip home. His security is not linked to money, the way mine is. It is a gift that only a life of poverty can give, true faith that God will provide for us.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Social Work Confessions-Do What I Say and I'll do whatever I Want.
At a parent-teacher conference last week for my first grader, I heard the dreaded "T" word. I knew it was coming and I was not near as prepared as I thought I would be. I cried.
First of all, it was not a traditional parent-teacher conference. It was a parent-big sister-teacher-tutor-principal conference. Five people sitting at a tiny table to discuss what is best for my son.
My baby. The son I never expected to have; The baby who challenged everything I knew about parenting and my faith after he crash-landed on this planet. The baby who I have pulled off the roof, who my daughter has pulled out of the deep end of the pool; the baby who locked himself in a dryer and inside of a cooler. The child, who as a result of having absolutely no fear, has lost a toe-nail and almost lost his penis. My son. The one I have sat beside in the hospital over and over while I listened to him scream in pain, cry in fear, praying the rosary, singing him to sleep, questioning every decision I ever made, wondering if I do the right things for him. Of course I cried. Life has been so hard for him.
It is no secret and I never deny that I have no objectivity where he is concerned. I want to clothe him in bubble wrap and never let anyone near him.
And now the school wants him TESTED. This should not be that big of a deal. I am a social worker. I refer people for services ALL THE TIME. I have told countless parents to have their children tested for a variety of mental health and education issues. I encourage them to consider therapy and medication when it is appropriate. But the first person who comes near my kid with an assessment form or a pill may get a punch to the face. And I wonder why this is.
Do I not trust my profession? Do I not really believe in the services that are out there to help and heal children and their families? Do I think the rules apply to everyone but my family? Where does my hesitation stem from, I wonder. Maybe because I understand there are exceptions to all the rules. That the DSM is not an exact science. If you see my son on a good day, you would wonder what all the fuss is about. If you see him on a bad day, you might wonder kind of parent am I. I don't want him to become part of a system that I believe is broken. I am scared of the labels that I, myself, place on other people's children. I want to protect him from all of the "experts" who are in line, waiting to judge his abilities and his intentions. I am so close to these systems that I only see the negative. I have no idea how testing (gag, vomit) is going to help him in a private school classroom. I can't even bring myself to make the first phone call.
First of all, it was not a traditional parent-teacher conference. It was a parent-big sister-teacher-tutor-principal conference. Five people sitting at a tiny table to discuss what is best for my son.
My baby. The son I never expected to have; The baby who challenged everything I knew about parenting and my faith after he crash-landed on this planet. The baby who I have pulled off the roof, who my daughter has pulled out of the deep end of the pool; the baby who locked himself in a dryer and inside of a cooler. The child, who as a result of having absolutely no fear, has lost a toe-nail and almost lost his penis. My son. The one I have sat beside in the hospital over and over while I listened to him scream in pain, cry in fear, praying the rosary, singing him to sleep, questioning every decision I ever made, wondering if I do the right things for him. Of course I cried. Life has been so hard for him.
It is no secret and I never deny that I have no objectivity where he is concerned. I want to clothe him in bubble wrap and never let anyone near him.
And now the school wants him TESTED. This should not be that big of a deal. I am a social worker. I refer people for services ALL THE TIME. I have told countless parents to have their children tested for a variety of mental health and education issues. I encourage them to consider therapy and medication when it is appropriate. But the first person who comes near my kid with an assessment form or a pill may get a punch to the face. And I wonder why this is.
Do I not trust my profession? Do I not really believe in the services that are out there to help and heal children and their families? Do I think the rules apply to everyone but my family? Where does my hesitation stem from, I wonder. Maybe because I understand there are exceptions to all the rules. That the DSM is not an exact science. If you see my son on a good day, you would wonder what all the fuss is about. If you see him on a bad day, you might wonder kind of parent am I. I don't want him to become part of a system that I believe is broken. I am scared of the labels that I, myself, place on other people's children. I want to protect him from all of the "experts" who are in line, waiting to judge his abilities and his intentions. I am so close to these systems that I only see the negative. I have no idea how testing (gag, vomit) is going to help him in a private school classroom. I can't even bring myself to make the first phone call.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Punchline Just Isn't Funny Anymore.
There are some topics that I am sure of but can't seem to get on paper. This is one like that. One I know I want to talk about but can't get my thoughts together and organized. When this happens, the best thing I can do is just say it as plainly as I can and wait for the fallout.
Christians, our faith is not a joke. If those in the media and our society use it as fodder for comedy, it is because we ourselves make our faith a laughing stock. I hear people frustrated, saying "They would never talk about the Muslim faith like that" or "They never disrespect the Jewish faith" spreading the feelings that our faith is picked on and picked apart; oppressed and maligned. We not only make it easy for them to insult us, we insult ourselves and we insult our God.
We are the ones who took our most sacred days, Christmas and Easter, and handed them over to secular marketing. The Muslim and Jewish faiths understand that their holy days are just that. Holy. Sacred. How can we possibly expect the world to take us seriously when our mascots are turned into cartoon characters? The virgin birth isn't enough? God coming to the world or dying for its salvation is not enough to celebrate on their own? "Look kids! Look at Santa and the Easter Bunny. Arn't they precious? Arn't they funny? Ignore Jesus bleeding on the cross and eat your chocolate. Hilarious.
We are the ones who turned our faith into a political requirement instead of allowing our faith to rise above government and focus on the eternal. We are more passionate over our tax rate than we are about the poor. We want our politicians in church on Sunday but turn away quickly when their sin is brought to light. Ha ha. Just another joke. Another Christian caught with his hands down his pants or in someones wallet. Now we hate him. Isn't our inconsistancy just a giggle a minute?
Christians, our faith is not a joke. If those in the media and our society use it as fodder for comedy, it is because we ourselves make our faith a laughing stock. I hear people frustrated, saying "They would never talk about the Muslim faith like that" or "They never disrespect the Jewish faith" spreading the feelings that our faith is picked on and picked apart; oppressed and maligned. We not only make it easy for them to insult us, we insult ourselves and we insult our God.
We are the ones who took our most sacred days, Christmas and Easter, and handed them over to secular marketing. The Muslim and Jewish faiths understand that their holy days are just that. Holy. Sacred. How can we possibly expect the world to take us seriously when our mascots are turned into cartoon characters? The virgin birth isn't enough? God coming to the world or dying for its salvation is not enough to celebrate on their own? "Look kids! Look at Santa and the Easter Bunny. Arn't they precious? Arn't they funny? Ignore Jesus bleeding on the cross and eat your chocolate. Hilarious.
We are the ones who turned our faith into a political requirement instead of allowing our faith to rise above government and focus on the eternal. We are more passionate over our tax rate than we are about the poor. We want our politicians in church on Sunday but turn away quickly when their sin is brought to light. Ha ha. Just another joke. Another Christian caught with his hands down his pants or in someones wallet. Now we hate him. Isn't our inconsistancy just a giggle a minute?
Call me whatever you want.
I grew up listening to several back-handed compliments and straight out criticisms of my personality.
The first one I ever remember hearing was that I talk too much. This was tricky for me because 1. there was just so much that I wanted to say and 2. I could never figure out what the socially appropriate number of words were. It was probably true and pretty hurtful.
The second one that was repeated over and over again was interchangeably describing me as "too sensitive" and "over-reacted" to things. Again, these personality flaws were treated as serious as lying or stealing, but they didn't have formal instructions as to when I could hurt for myself or others or when I should express some righteous indignation. Everyone seemed to intuitively understand when to talk and how to react in a socially acceptable manner but for me it was all very murky.
The worst of them all, the characteristic which has been used my entire life, is "passionate". It is always presented as a compliment but it echos the rings of over-reacting and sensibility that I was accused of early on. I never hear it as a compliment. It was confusing to grow up hearing words that seemed to describe a positive attribute but so often used to insult or correct my behavior.
This morning my 7 year old precious son handed me a picture his teacher had the kids make for Mother's Day. It was a flower, which he colored brilliantly. Above it said, "God could not be everywhere, so He created Mothers".
Yes. I get it. I understand that my son colored a beautiful picture for me out of love and celebration for the holiday. I understand that it is the thought that counts and the teacher probably meant nothing more than to help the children recognize the importance of motherhood. I DO GET IT.
But I can't help myself and the offense I feel. On behalf of my faith, my church and the bucket-load of cash I pay this Catholic private school every month, I just HAVE to ask, "What in the world are you teaching my son??" Why do they have to make my life so much more difficult? Now I have to explain to the school that they are inadvertently teaching heresy to my child.
#1 God is indeed everywhere
#2 God does not need help.
#3 Mothers, however special, are not god or substitutes for God.
I also understand that I could not say anything and let it pass. It would be easier for me and for the school if I didn't address this issue. I wouldn't embarrass myself and the school would not think I am a lunatic. But what does God think? When I stand before Him, is He going to ask why I didn't stand up to other Christians when they misrepresented the creator of the universe? Is He going to say, Oh, Susan, you are so overly-sensitive. I don't really care."
So am I being over-sensitive? Am I over-reacting? No. I don't think so. If it is ever appropriate to be sensitive and react, it is when it comes to the glory of my God and the salvation of my soul. Am I passionate about what I believe? You bet. And I am not sorry for any of it, not at all.
The first one I ever remember hearing was that I talk too much. This was tricky for me because 1. there was just so much that I wanted to say and 2. I could never figure out what the socially appropriate number of words were. It was probably true and pretty hurtful.
The second one that was repeated over and over again was interchangeably describing me as "too sensitive" and "over-reacted" to things. Again, these personality flaws were treated as serious as lying or stealing, but they didn't have formal instructions as to when I could hurt for myself or others or when I should express some righteous indignation. Everyone seemed to intuitively understand when to talk and how to react in a socially acceptable manner but for me it was all very murky.
The worst of them all, the characteristic which has been used my entire life, is "passionate". It is always presented as a compliment but it echos the rings of over-reacting and sensibility that I was accused of early on. I never hear it as a compliment. It was confusing to grow up hearing words that seemed to describe a positive attribute but so often used to insult or correct my behavior.
This morning my 7 year old precious son handed me a picture his teacher had the kids make for Mother's Day. It was a flower, which he colored brilliantly. Above it said, "God could not be everywhere, so He created Mothers".
Yes. I get it. I understand that my son colored a beautiful picture for me out of love and celebration for the holiday. I understand that it is the thought that counts and the teacher probably meant nothing more than to help the children recognize the importance of motherhood. I DO GET IT.
But I can't help myself and the offense I feel. On behalf of my faith, my church and the bucket-load of cash I pay this Catholic private school every month, I just HAVE to ask, "What in the world are you teaching my son??" Why do they have to make my life so much more difficult? Now I have to explain to the school that they are inadvertently teaching heresy to my child.
#1 God is indeed everywhere
#2 God does not need help.
#3 Mothers, however special, are not god or substitutes for God.
I also understand that I could not say anything and let it pass. It would be easier for me and for the school if I didn't address this issue. I wouldn't embarrass myself and the school would not think I am a lunatic. But what does God think? When I stand before Him, is He going to ask why I didn't stand up to other Christians when they misrepresented the creator of the universe? Is He going to say, Oh, Susan, you are so overly-sensitive. I don't really care."
So am I being over-sensitive? Am I over-reacting? No. I don't think so. If it is ever appropriate to be sensitive and react, it is when it comes to the glory of my God and the salvation of my soul. Am I passionate about what I believe? You bet. And I am not sorry for any of it, not at all.
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