When it saves you

A friend said to me, "I can't believe you kept your faith through all the hell you must have gone through. I admire that." I told him, "You can't be angry at something you don't believe in." (Thanks for that one, Aggie.)

And it's true. I can't very well be mad at God for taking my husband away from me if I don't believe in Him. But as I was thinking about this conversation this morning, I came to an interesting conclusion. I wasn't talking about believing in God. Although I do believe in Him, it would be more appropriate to say that during that conversation I was saying I believe in Love.

For so long after the hubby died I was angry. The kind of anger that sucks what's left of your life out of you and makes you worthless for anything but rage. I was most angry with the hubby. HE was the one that didn't eat right. HE was the one that smoked constantly. HE was the one that didn't exercise. HE was the one that didn't care enough about us to stay. (I never said anger was rational, did I?)

But I loved him. And I know this is true because it would be impossible to be so angry with someone you didn't love. I also know that his love saved me.

The hubby walked into my life at a time when I was living in a loveless, abusive marriage. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and I was certain that nothing I did was right, let alone worthwhile. And this man, this great big bear of a man, walked into my life and gave me the courage to leave that situation. He showed me that despite what my ex-husband was telling me, there were people in this world that would love me for who I am. People who wouldn't put restrictions on that love.

I'll say it again, I did not leave my ex-husband to marry my hubby. It just turned out that way. And that's how his love saved me. It gave me options I didn't know existed. And because he loved me so much I'm able to continue on each day.

His love saves me every moment in the form of a beautiful little girl that we made together. She's laying on the couch right now, playing with her legs, and asking me what I'm doing. And pretty soon, she'll tell me that she loves me. I'm saved all over again. Every night when she hugs my neck and tells me she loves me before going to bed. Every morning when she curls up next to me in bed and nearly suffocates me in her hug. Every time she looks at me and shows me that grin that can only have come from one place: her father. I'm saved all over again.

My parents have been behind me 100% for the last 19 months. They make sure that I have what I need and even the things I don't need but just want. They take this task of parenting seriously. They show me they love me every day. And their love saves me.

I have friends that show me how much they love me and they save me too. You all know who you are. And I hope you also know where I couldn't have gotten without you. You're amazing people and you make all the difference in my life.

Yes, love saves. And it comes when and where you least expect it. It would seem to me, though, that it always comes when it's most needed.

Hold me accountable

The boyfriend has taken his daughter to D.C. for her Spring Break and won't be home until sometime on Saturday. I'm attempting to use this time to kick start myself into some productivity. There are lots of projects I always talk about doing and never manage to get done. I'm hoping that if I share the list here you all will help keep me motivated. Here's the list:

• Finish an afghan that's 6 feet wide and seven feet long. The afghan is currently half done.
• Read two books, Body of Evidence by Patricia Cornwell and The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King. I've started both books but am not too far in either of them.
• Pull everything out of my closet except the clothes. Organize, donate, or throw away all of the junk.

Because reading the books and crocheting the afghan cannot happen concurrently, I think this is a pretty healthy list for 5 days. Other jobs that can be done while crocheting include watching shows on the DVR to clean that off and listening to podcasts clogging up my iPod (and seemingly multiplying while I'm not looking!).

Anyone have any ideas on how I can keep motivated and get this stuff done?

A lasting aftereffect of trouble

Why are scars shiny? Shiny usually connotes something good, something new and exciting. Birthday parties. Little girl's patent leather shoes. Sunlight. In contrast, scars and their stories are often rife with pain. You may hear the story of a scar told with great bravado and excitement. At the time, few people would express such pleasurable opinions about the activity that caused the scar.

Being a widow has taught me a thing or two about scars. Science tells us that scars never completely go away. The scar left by Ron's death has not gone away. In time, I'm sure, I'll continue to see changes in its appearance. I have already noticed a change in the pain. I feel myself and the scar changing. But it will never be gone. There's a part of me forever irreparable because of what happened.

But is my injury, my pain, really a scar? A scar does not form until the would is completely healed. I am not completely healed. I am moving through my grief, but I'm not sure that part of me will ever be healed. I am moving forward and looking to the future. Maybe what I have isn't a scar after all. I'm left with a weakened spot. That weakness allows memories to sneak in and open the wound again. Scars are physical marks that show healing has occurred. My healing is not all in the past. I will have many more moments of healing. But maybe, just maybe, there's some shiny skin peeking through.

Scar tissue is different than the original tissue of the skin. And I am different than I was before I was on my own. That thought no longer scares me. I used to worry that when I got done changing no one would recognize what was left. Underneath it all I'm still me. A lot has changed. Some parts are very different. Look at all I've learned. I am more confident, independent, and willing to take on whatever life tosses my way. My experience would not have been the same without all the pressure applied in the last year and a half. Ron's death prepared me for so much that I never would have felt comfortable with before.

I prefer to think of scar in the etymological sense. The word "scar" is derived from the Greek word schara, meaning place of fire (fireplace). And if that's true, when I'm left with a scar from this experience, I hope there's still fire left in me.

Gratuitous song reference: Scars by Papa Roach

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut

My weakness is that I care too much
And our scars remind us that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Things that make me laugh, smile, be grateful

• Mom was getting a perm the other day. Munchkin and I stopped in to see her and share some deliciousness from the bistro next door to the salon. Mom had all kinds of tiny blue rollers in her hair and Munchkin says, "Nana, you have batteries in your hair!"
• Being asked by my father to create a custom crocheted project. He's participating in a Community Theater production and needed a British Judge's wig. Seems he told the costume department he was pretty sure his daughter could crochet one. Seems he was right.
• Munchkin singing Figaro. Here's an example of the song. Munchkin's version is MUCH cuter.
• Modern Family. Love, LOVE, LOVE this show.
• A truly fantastic tax refund.
• Shopping at consignment shops and finding LOADS of things for both myself and the munchkin. It's so nice to be able to replenish the basics in my wardrobe thanks to the afore noted tax refund.
• A certain little girl in her beautiful new glasses. Thanks to that special person that paid for them.
• Lady Antebellum. I know they've been around for years now, but this is the first time I've heard them and I think they're fantastic. I never buy CDs anymore and I'll be buying this one.
• The fact that I'm slowly becoming better at keeping my house clean. I'm getting more regular about cleaning things up and also beginning to tackle projects like my closet, sorting through the Munchkin's old clothes, the spare bedroom, and the dreaded lower level.
• Just living my life and knowing that I'm finally in a position where I feel like the world isn't going to fall in on me.

Leaning toward the light

A friend recently sent me this email:

"Night time is painful. There's the loneliness of being in a dark room. It's very conflicting--hiding under the covers is all I want to do all day, but if I fall asleep, which I always do, there's the threat of a new day. It's a no win situation."

As I responded to her I began to wonder, "What is it that makes us afraid of the dark?"

And I thought about how we began this life in darkness. Genesis 1:1-4 (King James Version) states,

"1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. 2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. 4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness."

Verse 4 says that God felt the light was good. From this, are we supposed to believe that the darkness is bad, or at least not as good as the light? Other mentions of darkness in The Bible would lead me to believe darkness is not the desirable state.

Psalm 88:1-6 (KJV) tells us,

"1 O lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: 2 Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry; 3 For my soul is full of troubles: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave. 4 I am counted with them that go down into the pit: I am as a man that hath no strength: 5 Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom thou rememberest no more: and they are cut off from thy hand. 6 Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps."

Again we are told that the darkness in verse 6 is not where our salvation lies.

Proverbs 4:19 (KJV) brings up another reason many people fear the dark. This verse declares,

"The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble."

I don't believe that many of us are truly afraid of the dark. Our fear lies in what the dark may hide. We sense a lack of preparation on our part. Suddenly, one of the senses most of us rely on most heavily is gone.

Could we have prepared for the darkness if we had been forewarned?

And I'm not just referring to a spiritual darkness. How many of us live in a self-imposed darkness of ignorance, abuse, doubt, or any other detrimental emotion? What would it take to pull us out of that and begin living a new kind of life?

We are not often warned about impending darkness nor are we given an opportunity to prepare ourselves for it. The only thing we can do is be aware that darkness exists and continue to believe that it does not have to be a permanent state.

Plants automatically grow toward the light. Begin your journey and lean toward it yourself.

Walking with a friend

Recently I've spent a lot of time on the phone and online with a dear friend who has needed some encouragement. She's going through a rough time and is often unsure of herself and her path. Talking with her has taken me back to experiences from my first marriage. Yes, for those of you who don't know, I was married before (to my high school sweetheart) and it did not end well.

But this woman, this wonderful friend of mine, has found so much in such a short time. Where I apparently had an operation to remove my spine while I was married to my disaster, she has found hers. Not that she ever really lost it, but some of the moves I've seen her make in the past few months astonish and inspire me.

She's building a life on her own for her children. She is doing everything within her power to make their lives the safest and most consistent she possibly can. Heck, when I was in her position, I wasn't able to do that and all I had to deal with was myself.

And I watch her do what she feels is floundering. All I can think is, "This woman has incredible grace and class under pressure." She knows what she will and won't accept, and she's going for it.
She seems to think that some of the advice I've given along the way is helpful. We talk on a regular basis, vent about our bad days, and share our triumphs. She pats me on the back and encourages me and tells me what a great job I'm doing. We are there for each other. We both routinely walk to the edge of the insanity cliff and contemplate what it would take to push us over the edge. And when one gets too close to that edge, the other one pulls her back again.

Some friends rely on manicures and spa days together. We rely on the every day. Because every day is all we've got. Each day is its own moment. Each day holds the answer and is the grand mystery as well.

I just hope she realizes that there's no one I'd rather explore those mysteries and answers with.

Let me just tell you...

The week of January 18-24th was a difficult one at my house. Shall we run down the list?

On Tuesday I did some checking. Apparently, I make too much money to adequately care for my child, but yet I don't make enough to adequately care for her. Even if I weren't working right now, because of the money that we receive from Ron's Social Security income, we are over the income limit for Medicaid. For me, this isn't such a tragedy. I can take decent care of myself on my own. But for the munchkin, healthcare would be so welcome. And that's a hard pill to swallow. Once I get bills paid off I'll be able to put aside enough money that if either of us needs to go to the doctor, it won't break us. And I'm also in the process of looking for a job that offers medical benefits. So all is not lost. But, I guess, I was really hoping that we could get some help.

Wednesday we were having rotten weather around here. Bitterly cold, high winds, freezing rain, blowing snow, etc. Because my daycare is out of town I asked my parents to go pick up the munchkin. When I wasn't a single mother the weather didn't seem so much of an issue. But, things are what they are now, and so I deal with it the best way I know how. Maybe I'll move to some warmer climate.

Thursday was my wedding anniversary. The stress of the event was enough for me, but not sleeping well for several days ahead of time made me a basket case. In order to not be alone that evening, I invited all the girls over for Stitch and Bitch. I made some great dips and a chocolate cake. It wouldn't have been a day to remember Ron without chocolate cake.

But Friday was the real kicker. In the last few weeks both my parents and I had noticed that the munchkin was squinting and closing her left eye when looking at things close up. I was of a mind to believe it was just something she "did". However, Mom chose to freak me out by googling the information and finding that it could be lazy eye or any other myriad problems. Did I have the money to take her to the optometrist? HECK NO! Bless Mom and Dad, they made it happen. So, Friday Morning at 8:15 we showed up for an eye appointment for a (nearly) 4-year-old.

First they took us into a side room where they did some measurements and tests to see if she could tell which animal "popped off the page". She did OK, but was much more interested in telling us about the animals than which one looked different. Then, they pulled out the book with pictures designed to test whether or not she was color blind. The woman asked her to trace the numbers, and the munchkin is not overly familiar with the concept of tracing. She shocked us all a bit when I asked her if she could see a number in the picture and she piped right up to say, "Oh, the 7?"

In the end, the optometrist determined that she has a "significant" prescription necessary in both eyes. She wouldn't even cover her good eye with the paddle in order to test the strength of the weak eye. Don't ask me how, but they did get a good look at both eyes and determined that she not only needs glasses but should also do some work at home while wearing a patch in order to strengthen the weak eye.

The optometrist also commented that children will often greatly change their behavior greatly upon beginning to wear glasses. They feel more secure in their world once they can see better. I'm hoping that this will be true in our situation as she can be difficult to deal with at times.

However, the munchkin did love trying on glasses. After all, Mommy and Nana wear glasses all the time anyway. So now she'll be just like us. We chose an extremely cute pair of pink glasses with bright green butterflies on the ear pieces. She's been asking when she can wear her glasses. I'm hoping they'll be in today or tomorrow at the latest.

It was a week certain to make the strongest of people feel a bit overwhelmed. But, now it's over and I feel like I can again take some time to breathe.

The lesson in all of this is that I have to learn to slow down. I need to realize that everything will work out in the end. One way or another, she and I will make it through all of this and be stronger because of it. Currently, I can't say I'm feeling all that strong, but I'll get there.

Strength isn't something that you either have or don't. Certainly some people are emotionally stronger than others. Am I one? All I know is what I've told many of my friends. I'm only a woman playing the hand she's been dealt. I have no other choice. Sure, I want to throw my hands in the air and just go back to bed. But that doesn't accomplish anything. And it's not what Ron would have wanted for us either. He taught me a lot. And now, I have to teach the munchkin those same lessons.