With Regrets

Do you ever wake up from a dream unsure if it was real?  The thought that just maybe it was makes you break out into a cold sweat and your eyes widen in a panic as you quickly think back over your night.  You spend 10-15 minutes trying to recall every detail and then another 10-15 minutes trying to calm down because you are pretty sure it was just a dream.  But all day you keep thinking about it at the most inopportune times, indicating that you may have suddenly acquired a severe case of OCD.  Nah, me neither.

Okay, not really... About a month ago I had a terrible dream.  I woke up in a panic with tears in my eyes and my heart shattered.  In the dream I was in a brightly lit, although strangely dim room standing in the middle of a circle of people.  There was a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace, a velvet chaise lounge in the corner, and I stood on hard, cold, stone tiles.  Worse, I was naked.  Not one stitch of clothing on me.  The people around me were jeering at me, holding pokers with red-hot tips fresh from the fire.  They jabbed at me with the pokers as they screamed out my flaws, both physical and relational.  I was wide-eyed and scared as I stood there trying desperately to shield myself from the vicious attacks and cover my nakedness.  I had no hope of rescue, my heart was racing and I thought that the experience would surely be the death of me.  And then, when I could take no more, a beautiful woman came into my view.  The woman was someone whom I knew back in reality, and she REALLY disliked me in that space.  I bore no ill will toward her, but she hated me.  As the dream wore on she simply stood and looked at me with venom in her eyes, walked to the chaise lounge, disrobed and settled in completely naked.  All of my tormentors stopped in their tracks, turned and simply admired her physical beauty.  I cowered in shame at my overweight body, imperfect features, graying hair and a multitude of other flaws.  While everyone was distracted by the gorgeous woman lounging on the chaise, I slipped away from the room and eventually woke up in my bed.

As I thought about the meaning behind the dream I came up with the usual suspects. Fear of vulnerability-especially in public, believing that I don't measure up to anyone else, comparing my physical imperfections to what I see as physical perfection in others, oh heck, the list could go to infinity and beyond.

So why did I title this post "With Regrets"?  What in the world did this dream have to do with regret?  Well, I'm SO glad you asked.

You see, that dream affected me.  One month later I STILL have not been about to shake it.  Part of me has obsessively wondered if those people have judged me as harshly in real life, and the thought nauseates me.  How could they do that to me?  How could they so cruelly and eagerly condemn and threaten me?  How??  I found myself getting angry at them, feeling hurt at how cruel they were to me.  Even though it was just a dream it felt very unfair.

Then I remembered.  

I too am capable of the same cruelty.  I too judge people harshly.  I too love like I'm fallen instead of redeemed.  And I felt nauseated all over again. Gulp.  Crocodile tears formed in my eyes and I wondered how I could do that to others?  Why am I so quick to punish others for their faults?  Why do I feel the need to gloat when I notice the flaws of others?   Why???   Enter regret.

As I began to pray about why this dream was haunting me I had a huge 'aha' moment.  The faces of my tormentors were people who had been hurt by me at some point.  I had either been cruel and judgmental or they believed that I had been.  They were convinced that I did not like them, or that I enjoyed hurting them, or worse that I had done it on purpose.  Every.Single.Person.  My hurt and anger over their judgment as I stood in that circle was the same hurt and anger they held toward me. They were wounding me out of self-protection.  They were walking the bitter road of retaliation.

A fork in the road presented itself.  I could choose to walk down the same road as the tormentors in my dream (e.g. family, friends, frenemies, co-workers, acquaintances, anonymous critics from social media.)  I could wear the wrongs done to me like a comfy, old coat, refusing to shed it even when I was hot and miserable.  Or, I could shed the old outerwear and take the dusty road, the one that is usually uncrowded because it's harder, the road of forgiveness and mercy.  The road paved with grace and peace.  The road of unconditional love.

As I think about writing a book and revealing my story the thought of people telling on me, publicly criticizing me, defaming me is a bit hard to swallow.  Vulnerability is not my strong suit and I know that although sometimes I have been innocent of the charges against me, but more often than not I have been guilty.  I have not acting lovingly, I have let my own deep fears and insecurities lead me instead of letting Jesus love through me. And I regret it.  Deeply.

It is time.

Time to confess my own sin.  Time to take the medicine I have refused and let Jesus heal the festering wounds.  Time to grant my Creator access to those ugly and embarrassing insecurities so that I can learn to love others well instead of offering them cruelty and judgment.  It is time to say goodbye to fear and walk boldly into the calling God has placed on my life and that starts with righting the wrongs.

It is time.

I refuse to waste my time regretting unimportant things like bad haircuts, (in my defense it WAS the 1980s in Houston), wardrobe choices (satin aquamarine pants - hey it was the 1970s!), and some of my weaker moments, usually involving food (it tasted good!) or secrets from my backpacking trips to Europe (shhhh!) 

BUT, for the rest of my life I will regret the ways I have hurt people.  If you are one of the unlucky ones please know that I am sorry.  Truly sorry.  If opportunity presents itself I will apologize, ask for forgiveness and work to make it right.  But, if you are someone who has been hurt by me and I am unaware of it, PLEASE gently let me know and I will work to make it right.  It is important to find reconciliation and healing with each other and it is one of the most beautiful ways to show the love of Christ.

And for all the drivers on the road who remain anonymous to me, I really am sorry.  I'm repenting of my road rage too!

365 Days

31,536,000 seconds
525,600 minutes
8,760 hours
365 days
52 weeks
12 months

ONE YEAR.  Countless heartbeats.  Fast, slow, erratic.  Emotions brimming.  Fear, anger, hope, joy.  Sometimes calm.  Sometimes hysterical.  Sometimes happy.  Sometimes sad.  Sometimes angry.  Mostly grateful.

I wish I could say I've handled everything gracefully, but that would be a big, fat LIE.  Felled frequently by exhaustion, my most faithful companion, I look and feel tired.  Stopped in my tracks by arrhythmias and dizziness that consistently remind me that things are not quite right with the old ticker. Ocular migraines alter my vision almost weekly and sometimes I get so short of breath I wonder if I'm going back into heart failure. In those moments I find myself clinging to Jesus for my next breath.  To combat all of these symptoms I need a lot of sleep and a lot of downtime, but I rarely get either.  There are nights when my heart rate drops so low that I fear it will simply stop beating.  Those are the nights I  plead with God for one more day, ever mindful that only HE knows the length of my time on this earth.

Now that I have a 36 mm piece of Nitinol (Titanium/Nickel) in the middle of my heart I notice every flutter, squeeze or arrhythmia.  For many months it felt like my heart was trying to squeeze the device out of me.  Laying on my left side brought an uncomfortable sensation that would startle me awake every night.  Needless to say, I learned very quickly not to sleep on my left side!  One thing I've learned about my particular heart defect is that the outcomes are much better for the younger crowd and/or those with smaller holes.  I don't fit into either category and I'm not gonna lie, that is a bit disconcerting.  And knowing that I was diagnosed with this defect as a baby, but was never treated and never told about it can sometimes paralyze me as I struggle with the permanent damage to my body.  It's hard not to wonder what might have been "if only"........ 

Fast forward to the start of 2018.  It looked promising.  Although POTS was still rearing its very ugly head and heart issues still plagued me, I was hopeful that things would improve.  Until January 27.  That is the day we discovered that my dad had experienced a few heart attacks sometime in the recent past.  Three days later my mother had a stroke.  Then my dad had open heart surgery.  And then my mom spent six weeks in rehab, angrily I might add.  And then I almost had my own heart attack because of all of the stress.  

As I write this, one year after my own heart surgery, trudging through the thick mud of my parents' recoveries, figuring out how to love and honor them instead of living in bitterness over their failures with my own health, I instead find myself living a new normal. Learning how to lovingly take care of them and my own fragile health.  Learning how lean hard into forgiveness.  Learning to put this Humpty-Dumpty life back together again.  God is so patient, merciful and gracious as I clumsily try to fit each piece back into place.  It's like a really tedious puzzle with a million pieces that would challenge even the best puzzler.  Some of the pieces changed and simply do not fit right anymore.  Some pieces grew, making for a tight fit (kind of like my jeans lately), but it stretches me in good ways (better ways than I stretch my jeans.)  Some pieces shrunk exposing gaps, but it's okay because those pieces were taking up too much space, besides, the pieces that grew will fill in the blank spaces.  Some pieces shattered into tiny shards, making it hard to find them, those buggers take a lot of time and effort to repair and place in the proper spot.  Other pieces stayed exactly as they were, which could be good and could be bad, only time will tell.  Then there is the problem with the picture that no longer matches the front of the puzzle box.  It looks nothing like it. Not even close.  It  is frustrating to put the puzzle together when the picture doesn't match but it is turning out to be okay.  I'm learning to focus on the most important pieces and not worry about the rest of them.

Through it all God has blessed me with amazing friends who show up for crisis after crisis, stick around in the hard times, forgive my failures, love me even when I'm a brat, AND offer wise counsel and heartfelt prayers.  Who could hope for more?  They are the hands and feet of Jesus when I can't figure out what to do next.  They are part of the reason I am not (yet) insane.

Looking back I think I should be depressed or something, but I'm actually really happy and at peace because through it all my faith has deepened and I have seen God show up in the most beautiful ways.  He keeps reminding me that  HE is THERE in the middle of the mess.  Picking up the broken pieces.  Lovingly putting me back together to reveal a more beautiful picture than what I could ever hope to create.  He is proving that even when life is hard, circumstances are impossible and people disappoint me, HE WILL NOT FAIL ME.  His reasons for affliction may not make sense to me, but he never lets me go.  He never stops proving his deep love for me.  He never stops revealing new things about his character.  He never stops offering me mercy and grace despite my sin.  Despite my failures.  Despite my anger.  He goes into the depths of despair with me AND to the top of the mountain.  He is worthy of worship in both places and as I know from experience, the richness of our relationship is directly related to the affliction.  Suffering, pain, wounding, those all reveal my need for a savior and lead me to the only safe place where my heart is free.  Looking back, I can see every scar from the last 365 days, but they have never looked so beautiful to me.

4 Months

4 months today. It's surreal. Recovery is taking a long time. I still have scary episodes, as recently as today in fact. But, I do feel better most of the time. I'm still impatient and easily frustrated by my limitations and the heat, especially the heat. It really messes with my heart rate, which is always unexpected, even though it's hot every.dang.day. Really, really hot. I know, I live in South Texas and it's August so the heat is not news. I just have to be more careful than I had to be a few years ago. It's not a big deal when I remember how ill I was before April 4. :-)

I'm still amazed that I was spared the worst outcome. To benefit from a true miracle is a humbling experience. It almost flattened me more than the struggles ever did. I'm grateful and awed. God was obvious as I walked, crawled and cried my way along a very difficult road. He carried me and lavished his grace and mercy on me without reservation even though I deserved none of it. And he hasn't stopped. But that's what he does. It's his nature. I'd sure like to grow into that kind of woman. Someone who lavishes that same grace and mercy on others. Even when they don't deserve it. I'm working on that. It isn't easy to tame my temper and respond graciously when I'm hurt or angry. But life is too short to not love well, because I am loved well. I hope you are too.

Weebles Wobble but They Don't Fall Down

Today not only marks our country's independence, it marks three months since my heart was patched. My independence from heart failure if you will. :-) We're getting used to each other this patch and I. It hasn't been an easy relationship, but I'm committed to making it work. I hope Nite is too. (That's my nickname for the little booger.)

I wish I could say things are perfect. They're not. But I can say they are better. I have more good days than bad ones. I'm still impatient to be completely well, whatever that means, but I have a VERY long way to go in that regard.

I've had many medical appointments of late, lots of routine tests. And last week I got a phone call. Something suspicious was on the mammogram. Awesome. Many women get call backs, but this was new for me since my last one and I will admit that I was a bit nervous. I had a choice to make when I received that call. There were a few tears and then I remembered that God knows what he is doing even if circumstances indicate otherwise to my human eyes. Lord help my unbelief!

So I did something very mature. I started singing the Weebles song from my childhood.  Yes, I could have chosen something more spiritual, but nope, it was the Weebles song (google it if you are too young to know what I'm referring to.) It's a really good thing His strength is made perfect in my weakness. And it's a good thing I'm kind of shaped like a Weeble..... 

You see, I've done a lot of wobbling these past three months, heck these past five and a half years to be honest. The neurosurgery, the layoff, the fire, my dad's stroke, my heart defect. It has been a lot for me to absorb. But like those childhood toys that fascinated me, I keep getting back up, and even if I'm a little more wobbly of late, at least I'm not down for the count!

Thankfully the follow-up ultrasound yesterday indicated that I do not have breast cancer! There will still be more tests for whatever is going on, and to be honest I'm tired of my lab-rat status. But once again God spared me what he has not spared so many others. It's humbling.

My faith is like the Weebles song. It can get wobbly, but it is the reason I can get back up over and over again. Faith is part of every fiber of my being. It isn't going away just because life gets hard. I've benefited from a few miracles of late and I'm grateful I'm still standing. Happy Independence Day!

12 Weeks

12 weeks since I went to the doctor because I knew something was drastically wrong with my heart.

10 weeks since I found out I had a birth defect in my heart.

8 weeks since that giant hole was patched with a device made of nitinol, a nickel/titanium alloy. I have no idea what that really is but I've attached a photo for your viewing pleasure.

In my humble opinion that device is THE most beautiful thing. It's in the middle of my heart, which sometimes gives me pause, as in skipped beats, but guess what? It's working!

My right heart is no longer enlarged. It has returned to normal. I can get my teeth cleaned now. I can exercise (I'm trying to be excited about that.) Heck, I can run a marathon. Well, maybe not that last thing, but I could TRAIN for one and not have a stroke now, but no one hold your breath. Seriously.

Speaking of breath, I still find myself amazed and extremely satisfied every time I take a deep one. I NEVER knew how much I struggled to breathe normally until my heart was patched and I started, well, breathing normally. Hindsight.

There were dark days, especially with the first diagnosis. It felt like a death sentence. Based on my symptoms and weird left-to-right shunting I should have had it. I'm glad that I didn't. Yet, I am GRATEFUL everyone thought I had it, because without it I would never have been referred to the clinic where one VERY persistent echocardiogram technician found what every other tech and doctor had missed for so many years. She's the unsung hero in this story.

I read the most profound quote last night that rings so true for me. "God meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be." (I have no idea who should get credit for that quote....) Yes, in the depths of despair, he was present. Through heartbreak (literally in my case) he was present. At medical appointments when I was in deep shock, he was present. When I pretended to have it together I missed him. But when I let myself be a mess I heard him speaking in the most enticing whisper. Filling me with inexplicable peace as I prayed and lamented. Recognizing his great love when friends and family demonstrated their love for me. He.was.always.there.

Faith is a beautiful and complex thing. Jesus has saved me over and over from many traumatic and life-threatening (can someone please tell me if this should be hyphenated???) things in my 47 years. You'll have to read the novel for all the gory details.

Now, to be fair you should know that things still aren't perfect. My heart is a bit rebellious. I'm still wearing a heart monitor (that weird beeping is probably just me.) I'm struggling with skipped beats, a racing heart rate, sudden drops and ridiculous fatigue, but even with all of that I feel SO MUCH better. I've been waiting to say that for 3 months and it feels so good when I do!

Now comes the hard work of rehabbing and regulating that rebellious, old ticker. Learning to live with those pesky PACs and PVCs. The ocular migraines. The rushing feeling in my chest. Who knew recovery could be so exhausting?? (My tongue is firmly in my cheek.)

Life is never dull is it? But it is still beautiful, meaningful and full of hope. And mine is FULL of so many wonderful friends and family. Friends who sacrificed for me. Prayed for me. Cried with me. Fed me. Listened to me. Nephews who stayed with me. Changed my sheets. Watched movies with me. Let me be grumpy. Big brothers who drove from out of town to help my parents when I couldn't. A baby brother and sister-in-law who took over when I couldn't manage. And lots of flowers, cards, phone calls, emails and texts. I'm still overwhelmed by all of the TLC, and I don't mean the cable channel.

Brushes with mortality are always sobering. After more than one I've learned to cherish the personal growth and deeper faith that grow out of those experiences. There will no doubt be more, but I know that I will not walk through them alone.

Now excuse me, I just heard Titanium on the streaming app (remember when we used to say radio?) So I'm going to turn it up and dance. Because I can. And because, well I'm full of titanium now. Guess you could say I'm bionic. ;-)

5 Weeks

It has been a long five weeks.  I really thought I'd be fully recovered and back to a normal life by now.  The best laid plans I guess.  The good news is that I can breathe deeply and normally like I assume most of you do.  I cannot even begin to describe how it feels to fully expand my lungs without wheezing, coughing or getting dizzy.  I've never done that before in all of my 47 years.  It's kind of amazing.  Apparently I look better, at least that's what I'm told.  Maybe because I no longer look like I'm about to have a stroke.  Woohoo!  I don't know why God spared me the fate of others who have this defect, but I'm grateful and don't want to waste it.

I have learned that I am TERRIBLE at resting.  REALLY bad at it, but my body has required it and I've had no choice.  It has been kind of boring, although I have learned a whole lot about English Royalty.  Maybe I'll finally learn how to take care of myself now and listen to my body, even when others dismiss me.  I'm confident that I know myself well enough to fight for my health.  I am the only one who knows how I feel.  I'm trying not to be so hard on myself, which is fairly new.  It feels weird, but not necessarily bad.

My heart is a creature of habit.  I don't think it likes having a metal device in the middle of it.  It keeps trying to function like it used to, even thought it was damaging itself.  So not it's acting like a crazy, rebellious teen. It can't drive 55.  Instead it revs its engine and takes like at speeds of well over 100 only to scare itself, freak out, slam on the breaks and turn into that annoying Sunday driver going 45 in a 65 mph zone.  It is a wild, unpredictable and sometimes scary ride.  Hopefully the new medication will help.  It not then more tests.  Honestly, I'm tired of tests and would rather not continue to be a case study.  

Yet I still feel better today than I have in months.  Still not where I want to be, but maybe getting there.  Zeus even got a 15-minute walk tonight.  Of course I needed a nap after, but I did it!  I never knew I would be so excited to take a 15-minute stroll, but I'm thrilled!  Baby steps are hard when you're impatient, but at least I can take them.  So, I'm praying that my heart stops freaking out and I can live as a healthy, active, happy woman again instead of a sick, recluse who can't walk from the sofa to the bed!

Savor every moment friends because life if precious.

P.S. Those Tudors were CRAZY!

Broken Hearts Can Be Mended

Broken hearts can be mended, literally. Although I don't normally post about health issues and I don't like to "preach" at people, I feel compelled to thank God publicly for his grace and mercy in my life. 

After a very tough few weeks beginning February 23, 2017 and many, MANY tests the doctors discovered a large Atrial Septal Defect in my heart. It's a condition I was born with and it was causing heart failure. I was stunned, scared and nervous. It explained SO many of my weird health issues throughout my lifetime, although not the autoimmune stuff, darn! I wasn't lazy at sports, I really couldn't do them because I was not getting enough oxygen. I wasn't depressed or a recluse because I needed so much extra rest, I was very, VERY sick. 

On April 4, 2017 I went in to have my heart repaired. The ASD was 40% larger than originally thought, close to the aortic valve and lacking enough tissue for the device to seal properly. That meant open heart surgery. Many, many people prayed over me on that Tuesday and I asked the doctor to try to patch it through a catheterization. And he agreed and consulted with an expert and miraculously there was enough tissue, he spliced the patch so the valve would not be damaged and my heart was mended. NO OPEN HEART SURGERY WAS REQUIRED! 

Today was the first day I felt human. I have a lot of healing to do and a lot of things to process but my heart is functioning properly for the first time in 47 years. And despite a 1-inch hole in my ticker I never had a stroke, which is amazing. I'm praying that the heart damage will heal completely and that I will live a healthy life until God calls me home. My faith has been strengthened and I have been humbled. 

Five years ago I was recovering from a devastating fire after neurosurgery and a layoff. Today I am recovering from heart surgery to repair my poor heart that never functioned properly and I could not be happier or more blessed. New life just as we celebrate Easter. Thank you Jesus for your mercy, grace and peace

Celebrating Life

For the past 2 1/2 years I have done little but work and recover from major wounds and trauma that occurred over a three month period beginning in November 2011.  Physical degeneration and excruciating pain led to neurosurgery.  An unexpected layoff led to unemployment.  Financial insecurity led to fear.  Securing a new job led to the inevitable stress of fitting into a new (and vastly different) work culture.  The fire that almost killed me destroyed far more than material possessions and led to months of severe shock and depression.  Moving home after my apartment was remodeled led to frequent bouts of insomnia as I paced the floors convinced I smelled smoke.  Battling the demons of so many major, traumatic and painful life events in such a short period of time led to physical decline.  I worked too much, ate too much, exercised too little, slept too little and usually curled up into a ball to watch television when I arrived home at the end of the day. 

 

I've spent many hours contemplating how I survived it all without ending up in a straight jacket or worse.  Obviously the strength and love of others helped, and my faith carried me through the deepest valleys, but can I just admit that I'm tired?  Still?  Sometimes I feel guilty for not rebuilding faster and for not responding better, but surviving and recovering are both hard work and I was incapable of doing more than I did.

 

So this weekend, instead of celebrating life with a big party or fancy dinner, I chose to celebrate by enjoying the mundane and ordinary events that mark a normal life. 

No drama and no trauma were my motto.

I tried something new and played BINGO with my boss and some co-workers.  I talked to one of my favorite people for a few hours.  I took my friend's 9-year-old son to his basketball award’s ceremony (his parents had a fund raiser to attend).  I took my beloved dog Zeus for an extra-long walk and hugged him a little tighter as I remembered how he gently woke me up as smoke engulfed our home.  I reveled in a big hug from my Godson and stayed to play a little longer because he asked me to.  I ate a little better, laughed a little harder and loved a little deeper.   I read the Sermon on the Mount and understood it a little better, and chose to thank God for his mercy, even though it has often been disguised as trauma. 

No one gets through this life without pain, but all of us get the chance to learn from it.  I want to celebrate by growing into a kinder, gentler and more serene woman.  To live in humility and grace, cherishing every second with the people who mysteriously find a way to love me despite my quirks and insecurities.  I want to boldly engage even when I'm terrified or have already been hurt.  I want to forgive freely and remember less the wounds that have been inflicted; to love more and give vulnerably and completely to those I love.  I want to celebrate by really living and loving, knowing that those efforts are never wasted.

Then I'll have a real party and I may even DANCE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Holy Ache

Hope is fickle.  There are days when it is so easy to embrace.  I feel all warm and fuzzy.  Peace envelopes me.  Sunshine and roses are abundant.  All is right in the world.  Maybe things will get a little easier.  Maybe things will fall into place and I won't have to try so hard.  Maybe, just maybe. 

 

Then I wake up in reality.  Try as I might I cannot divorce myself from it.  Reality is a cruel world often devoid of peace.  It's not pretty.  It's exhausting.  It's cloudy and dark.  All the flowers have long since withered and died.  There are a lot of tears.  Everything is ten times harder that it should be. Everything that is wrong with the world weighs on me. Everything that is wrong with my life crushes me.  Every failure haunts me.  And I sigh.

 

Reality is a fight to find my faith.  Reality is where I claw my way out of myself and into the embrace of my Savior.  It's the place of my deepest wounds and my deepest comfort.  It's the place where my life becomes less about me and more about Him.  Reality is where everything comes full circle.  Where wounds collide with faith into a beautiful explosion of HOPE.

 

I'm pretty sure I can't have hope without a healthy dose of reality.  Living in the tension between hope and reality causes a holy ache.  I am soothed as I dive deeper into the illogical, and frankly sometimes bizarre faith that sustains me.  It doesn't make sense.  It seems hokey.  Old-fashioned.  Weird.  Foolish.  And without those things it wouldn't be faith.

 

Sometimes I get answers I like.  Sometimes I get answers I hate.  Sometimes I don't get answers.  Sometimes all of those things cause me to ask more questions.  I'm okay with that.  I have faith that God knows more than I do.  God loves perfectly.  God's grace is endless.  God IS.  I am because of HIM and no other reason.  It doesn't make sense.  It just is. 

 

Living between hope and reality is challenging but it's good.  It's often painful.  It's often joyful.  It's a conundrum.  It takes faith but faith is life to me so I do it knowing that life is a holy ache.

"In him we live and move and have our being."

Acts 17:28

 

Exactly.

Withered Dreams

It happened again a few weeks ago.  I was enjoying a nice dinner and evening out with a friend when a young couple walked by our table with a newborn baby.  He was so tiny and precious, so very perfect and his parents were beaming despite the fresh lines of exhaustion etched into their faces.  Tears formed in my eyes and threatened to ruin the rest of the evening.  I breathed in sharply, shook my head and attempted to restart the conversation, but it was pointless.  By the time I unlocked my front door a few hours later I was raw and overwhelmed with sadness. 

For me the sorrow that comes from never marrying or mothering a child is often too much to bear.  Those two things were all I ever really wanted and it appears they're not to be mine, which hurts me more than I can ever seem to express to friends and family.  When I do talk about it many people try to point out all the "bad" things I'm escaping like not having to share the remote control or change dirty diapers or state the obvious like, "It's better to be single than married to the wrong person", which only succeeds in only minimizing the pain.  That in turn makes me feel like a an ungrateful whiner, silencing me from reminding them that I walk this journey alone.  There is no one to help share the burden of daily living in this ugly world.  Although I'm loved and have great friends, I'm simply not a priority  It's a hard truth to live with on those days when I simply need hug. 

But oh you should hear the sermons if I risk expressing any of those feelings!  Statements like God has a plan for your life and it's better than anything you can hope for or imagine; His timing is perfect; He is always with you so you don't have to walk alone offer little encouragement at this point in my life or faith.

As a devout Christian, it's hard to address these statements because I do believe that God walks with me, and frankly carries me more than anyone realizes.  He is LIFE to me and that will not change, even when my circumstances are lonely or nothing like what I dreamed of when I was younger.  But, to be honest God is not a husband to me; he's my Creator, Saviour and Friend, but NOT a husband.  Neither is he a child who needs to be nurtured and loved.  And to those who tell me I can have "spiritual babies" (whatever they are) let me remind you that they will never fill my achingly empty arms. 

So I wonder, are those types of statements always true or even helpful?  They may have been when I was younger, but now that it's unlikely I'll mother a child, and the possibility of marriage is dimming, they leave me cold.  Does God have a plan for my life that is BETTER than I can hope for or imagine?  REALLY?  Because from where I'm sitting right now it doesn't look that way, unless you assume that I imagined a life of singleness and empty arms, which I assure you would be incorrect.

What about God's timing being perfect?  I guess it is when you get what you want, even if you have to wait longer than you originally anticipated.  But what about when you DON'T get the desires of your heart, after 10, 20, 30 years or more?  Does it mean you didn't trust God enough?  Does it mean your dreams were selfish?  Does it mean you would be such a terrible spouse and/or parent that God is protecting the innocent from you?  Does it mean that you are called to something much bigger than a simple office job and you're a failure if you don't do more with your life?  I really hope not, but I'm not always sure when I consider how deeply the church idolizes family, or to be more specific, motherhood, as evidenced by the average Mother's Day celebration in many churches across America.

Let me be very clear, I'm relatively happy and try not to dwell on the unfulfilled dreams, but in unguarded moments like the one in the restaurant it's all I can do to maintain my composure because those dreams are on life support and therefore still breathing.  It would have been easier if they had been severed instead of watching them wither year after agonizing year.  And although there were valuable lessons learned, I'm not  so sure I wouldn't trade the wisdom gleaned for the chance to love and be loved in ways I can only dream of now.

Please don't misunderstand, I know that many people suffer greatly in this world, more than I'll ever understand.  Many wait and hope trying desperately to fend off despair, cognizantly aware that in a few short breaths they may suffer the death of their dreams instead of the fulfillment of them.  After nearly 25 years I have joined them.  I know that God does as he pleases and I don't always like it.  As my cousin recently said,  "When do the lemons become lemonade?  I'm tired of the lemons."  So.am.I.