Just A Rant

I must rant, for just a few minutes.

Lately, an old wound has been reopened. I believe that after being deeply wounded, people can become whole again. But I also believe that the deepest wounds can be reopened. Just as wounds in our physical bodies leave scars, so emotional wounds leave scar tissue on our souls.

I am blessed to live in a world surrounded by people who love unconditionally, regardless of race, religion, or sexual orientation. Some are avid atheists, some are Sunday church-goers. But all have come to the same rational conclusion: that compassion and non-judgment are the only way to live in harmony with one another. "Walk a mile in someone else's shoes," we say. But no one can walk in my shoes, and I cannot walk in anyone else's, though we can relate to each other profoundly. I will never know the core of what makes another person who they are. We all have our ways of coping, feeling safe and accepted.

Sure, we all judge. Its in our nature to have opinions and want to defend them. It is when one person feels so strongly that they are right, to the point of ostracizing or condemning a fellow human being, that the sticky problems begin.

I was raised Catholic. I understand the beauty of faith. I believe in the power of spirituality. I prefaced this statement by saying that we all judge, because I am not exempt. I do my utmost to be open-minded to any walk of life, even if I don't think it would suit me very well.

There is only one exception: avid religious activists who insist that they are right, everyone else is wrong, and that we must be saved from the wrath of God by living according to ridiculous and irrational rules and regulations.

I cannot express to you the acute pain I feel from being condemned by someone who ought to be biologically programmed to love me unconditionally. Fear is a powerful thing. It is so powerful that it can override love. How tragic that a person can be so blinded by faith that they would not only be ok with, but see it as necessary to point out the areas in a person's life that they disagree with.

In my case, it is not just one person, but many. The Catholic homeschooling families I grew up with, who spoke quietly to my mother about how my temper and vocal-ness about things needed to be reigned in, and the exclusion I felt because I was not docile like my peers. The Catholic youth ranch I was sent to for nearly two years, which used brainwashing techniques akin to those used on POW's in the Korean War in order to try to force me to comply. The private Catholic college I attended that expelled me after only a few months for not fitting the mold of a Catholic young adult because I was struggling with issues in my past. The very large Catholic church community in Louisiana that broke all ties with me save the occasional cordial, careful conversations as I attempted to deal with the emerged issues in my past. The small Puritanical Catholic community in Oklahoma I ran to for refuge, which instead universally condemned me and shooed their children away from me for refusing to adhered to their 18th century beliefs and customs.

Don't tell me that my healing will only begin when I return to the faith. I will not fall prey to the fallacy that the happiness of a perpetually unhappy person depends on my adherence to her belief system. And don't you dare have the audacity to announce that my incredibly happy marriage is doomed to failure without the Catholic faith.

You will forgive me for having strong doubts about returning to a community which defies its own definition.

A Random Act of Kindness

I have to take a moment to relate to you the random act of kindness we were blessed with today.

Reid's car is out of commission for the moment. He has been carpooling to work with someone who works in his section. Today was his frocking ceremony; he was promoted to petty officer, 3rd class.

We arrived on base to get stickers for my car, but we did not bring the correct paperwork. The woman behind the desk was unable to give us a day pass. We explained that Reid's car was not working and that we were trying to get to his frocking ceremony.

"I'm not allowed to; I would if I could," the lady said. "What time is the ceremony at?"

"1500," Reid told her.

"Well, would you like to take my Jeep? I'm off work at 4:15." The lady held out her keys to us.

We were in disbelief as we got into her car and drove to the ceremony. It was finished in just enough time for me to drop off Reid for work and drive the car back to the building she worked in. We thanked her repeatedly for her generosity, and gave her the bag of goodies we had received after Reid's ceremony.

The lady did not know us from Adam, and we never learned her name. Yet she trusted us with her vehicle and allowed us to use her gas as well, expecting nothing in return.

Amazing. And how unfortunate it is that such an act of generosity is so unusual. I have resolved to trust in the goodness of others a little more, and to go a little more out of my way in my life to perform random acts of kindness like this lady did for us.

When a Door Closes

You know the cliche. We recite it to our loved ones when we're at a loss for comforting things to say. We know its true, but it rarely helps in the moment. In retrospect, though, we usually see when and how the window opened.

I am not wizened with age, by any means; however, I've experienced enough of the difficulties of life to have some perspective. When your life is metaphorically down in a hole, you don't just have to start over. You have to dig out of the hole, get back to ground zero, and then build from there. It took several years for me, but I learned to take the ups and downs into stride and not to over-exaggerate them.

From deep depression and anxiety, a desperately fruitless love life chasing after shallow boy after shallow boy, homelessness, and an inability to care for myself let alone any other living being, I've worked my way to here.

Here looks like this: A quiet peacefulness and contentment with everything in my life, a confidence in myself and my abilities, including the ability to acknowledge that I am a good and talented person, a deeper-than-words connection with the love of my life, three unconditionally loving animals to care for, and my two dream career paths opening up before me. Call me average, but I've never wanted anything more than to be content and happy and loved. I have family and friends who love me unconditionally and the ability to wake up every day and do what I love. Sometimes I forget that none of this was dropped in my lap, that I worked my ass off to get here. Sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy because people that I love are unhappy.

I believe that what you put out is what you get back. I believe that if you fight hard enough, long enough, and focus on the positive, good things will come to you. There will always be another battle, another new hard thing to overcome, but for now, at this point in my life, I am blissfully happy with the view from the hill I've gotten to the top of. I can't think of anything more, right at this moment, that I could possibly attain or wish for.

Far From the Home I Love

The song from Fiddler on the Roof has been stuck in my head off and on for the past month, through preparing to leave California and then the moving process and now being here in Washington.

My emotions have been overflowing and somewhat stifled due to being busy, leading in turn to several breakdowns during the past few weeks. There are worse struggles than moving, of this I am aware. But for just a moment I am going to spill my insides.

I am happy to be with Reid. Seeing him every day and having a home together after so many months of anticipation is so wonderful. Our little yellow and white house is picturesque and cozy. Our cats are happy and we were very blessed to have Reid's mom's help the first week here.

Now we are just about settled in, however, and I feel a heavy weight on my heart such as I have not experienced in several years. Even more frustrating, I thought I would never feel this way again. Perhaps I was too naive.

I miss home. I miss it so much that tears are welling up in my eyes as I type this. The faces of my beautiful friends, my family, run in a slideshow across my mind. I know I am not forgotten about, but neither am I an active participant in my friends' lives, or they in mine. The lack of "hi, what are you doing this afternoon"s leaves my phone quiet most of the day. It will be better when I have a job; perhaps I will make some friends there. I am not especially a victim more than others who have had to move away from home, but because of the fact that I felt security and a family in California for the first time in my life, it was difficult to leave. Essentially, I never felt that I had unconditional love and support until I moved back to California. I have not just one or two close friends I could call on any time, confide anything in, but many. More than I could count with my shoes on, to be sure.

I would like to believe that I am a naturally happy and enthusiastic person, but perhaps I relied too heavily on my friends for a sense of well-being. Loneliness has always been the most difficult emotion for me to cope with, and when Reid is at work, I feel alone. I don't want to do anything but curl up under my soft blanket and lose my thoughts in a book or movie.

I strongly dislike the thought of struggling to have primarily positive emotions. There is so much to be gained from being here for the next 2 years. Missing home is less difficult to bear than missing Reid. I know Reid feels (unnecessarily) guilty for "making" me move here, so I don't want to go on and on about it to him. I want him to know only that I am overjoyed to be with him.

"Oh, what a melancholy choice this is: wanting home, wanting him...."

Moment of Truth

Has life ever caught you with a moment of realization that changes you profoundly? A moment when you realize there is a plan, a purpose for why everything happens the way it does?

I was talking to my sister-in-law last night. We've been hanging out; its perfectly wonderful. I always wanted siblings, and now I have a big brother and sister and a little brother and sister, and a mom to hang out with.

Things weren't always great between all of us; I often felt as though my eccentric personality made my new family very stand-offish. Since Reid and I were married, however, I've felt the hesitance lifted away. At first I attributed the truce to simply getting over it out of necessity. But between a conversation over lunch with my mother-in-law and another with my sister-in-law last night, I've realized that its one more coincidental twist of fate held in my dad's passing.

It hadn't occurred to me until the words were out of her mouth: if Reid and I hadn't been married a mere 48 hours before my father died, he wouldn't have been able to fly to Oklahoma with me to handle the details of the funeral. I certainly would have been an emotional wreck without Reid there.

Between my family meeting and accepting Reid without scrutiny due to the larger circumstances at the time, Reid's ability to go with me to the funeral, and Reid's family's acceptance due to to aforementioned realization, it is incandescently clear that something greater than ourselves has been at work in the beginning of our life together.

Also, as mentioned in previous blog entries, my relationship with my father was considerably less than ideal. Our last conversation was nothing more than handing off the phone, and communication that he initiated was rare. I had reached a point of acceptance and forgiveness of my father, for my own emotional health, but now I feel strongly that the healing from years of fear and humiliation has reached completion. Though not intentionally, my dad gave me so much in death, being unable to give me the things I needed in life. Call it twisted, call it miraculous, call it fate.

But chance? I think not.

Hubby

I love my husband. And I am in possession of his great love, which I am so undeserving of.

No, but really. I don't say that in an attention-seeking way. I mean I am simply confounded by the capacity of Reid's love.

I ask you, what young man would marry his love just a few months after meeting? How many men do you know with that much confidence and courage? What young man would use his precious leave time to fly halfway across the country for the funeral of his new wife's father, whom he has significantly less than a high opinion of? What man would sit respectfully through a two hour funeral service IN LATIN and pick up a shovel to help bury his new wife's father, in his dress clothes, in the Oklahoma summer heat?

My husband, that's who. I mean it when I say the rest of the world will have to settle for second best, because I found the best man in the world.

A less that idyllic honeymoon? To say the least. But who could imagine a more solid confirmation of unconditional love, respect, and support?

I cannot express my gratitude to God for Reid. My heart bursts with pride to call him my husband.

A Wedding and a Funeral

Late last Friday night I received a call from my aunt. When she told me as gently as possible that my dad had passed away a few hours before, I immediately began to sob, not so much for myself, but for the intense, acute, indescribable grief I knew my mother was feeling and will almost certainly continue to feel for the rest of her life. During the three days Reid and I spent with her, helping in whatever small way we could, she described her sorrow with such accuracy. I felt such a weight in my heart for her. She described my father as "the only person who loved me more than I loved them" and she told me she saw no point in living without him, nor did she have any desire to. She spent several unimaginable hours with his body after she found him in their home that night.

What do you do or say when there are no words and no actions that reach the depth of someone's grief? I have never experienced a feeling of greater helplessness. I held my sobbing, unconsolable mother in my arms and wished to take her pain away.

Reid and I waited in Washington for several days until we were able to fly out to Oklahoma. I dreaded the thought of returning to a place where I had experienced so much misery. At first I felt scrutinized by the same words and looks I grew up enduring. But I focused on being there for my mother, and continually dismissed the feeling that I needed to prove myself to anyone else there. My journey to emotional health and happiness would not be understood by anyone, anyway.

I also scorned myself for seemingly not feeling the appropriate emotions about my Dad's death. Our relationship was strained, at best, for so many years. The problems are far too complicated and personal to go into descriptions here, but those of you who know me understand how my feelings could be so conflicting. Reid comforted me by explaining to me that there is no such thing as having a right or wrong emotion about it all. I would never wish evil on my dad's soul. I pray earnestly that he is in a better place. I will never know if he felt remorse for his treatment of me. Something inside me says that he did, but never expressed it to me. And I am at peace. I forgave him long ago, else I would not have been able to be truly happy. And what remained on his conscience, if anything, is between him and his maker now.

I am amazed that good can come even out of the most horrendous, painful circumstances. I felt an incredible sense of peace after Dad was laid to rest. Though the funeral and burial were difficult to endure, I knew that it brought some consolation to my mama, and that it was exactly as Dad would have wanted it. His simple, beautiful coffin was built by the men in the community from the tree he had chopped down the day he passed away. They dug his grave, lowered him into it, and buried him. Such a beautiful detail, I just wanted to share.

There has been a long-standing grudge between Dad's family and my mother, for various reasons within Dad's side of the family. His older sister detested us because of her vehement anti-Catholicism. His older daughters refused to communicate with my mother and I because they felt we had stolen their father away from them. Or so I was told growing up.

At the funeral, April and Erin approached me and asked for my contact information. I had not anticipated that they would want to keep in touch after Dad's death, since he was our only link. But they explained to me that they had never disliked me, and that they felt I had received the short end of the stick, on all accounts. I felt so much peace in the realization that I had not been hated. It is amazing that we can create such inaccurate realities in our own minds. I always wished for siblings, and for them to be my sisters. How tragic and pointless it is that we deprive ourselves of so much happiness because of holding on to hurt feelings and grudges.

Too, Reid met a large part of my family, and all at once, which would normally have taken years. He was welcomed warmly. I was so relieved, particularly given the circumstances of our marriage. I was grateful to have him by my side, and proud to introduce him as my husband. I was inexpressibly impressed at his always-appropriate demeanor, words, and actions. It isn't a secret that I have very little tact, and that my first and much less difficult meeting with his family was less than graceful. I continue to marvel at his sweet, strong, gentle manner. I was especially grateful for my mother's acceptance, which I had hoped for, but not expected. When we parted ways at the airport, she spoke words of wisdom to both of us, and told Reid she loved him as a son, and that she was glad he would be taking care of her daughter. If you don't know much about my mother, let me just say, this was a huge step for us.

Because she will no longer be taking the vacation she and my dad were going on in October, she now has airline vouchers which she will be able to use to fly to our wedding next summer. It is so mysterious that innumerable little blessings arose from Dad's death.

I believe that when tragedy strikes, an easy alternative to dealing with the grief we are feeling is to blame someone. Somehow it makes us feel better to place fault. But in the end, the simple truth is that sadness comes in life, and that sometimes it is no one's fault. I have begun to grasp this situation of life in a more personal way.

I am exhausted, in a way that sleep cannot remedy, but only time and distance. It may seem twisted, but I am thankful for the entire experience, though it was one of the most difficult weeks of my life. Now all that is left is to begin the next part of life.

Marriage

A beautiful ring, a picturesque setting, ooh's and aah's, a gorgeous dress...

These are the things that pop into our heads when we think of getting married. The mental images are all surrounded by a glowing haze, the necessary planning and organizing of all aspects of the wedding cause stress levels to rise instantly.

I think of the man I promised to be with forever. I can see vividly in my mind's eye the look on his face when he slid a ring onto my finger, the tone of his voice when he promised to love me in good times and in bad. Now I know what a love so deep it requires no words is. Whether in the silly, the serious, or the romantic things, we can communicate.

I hold close to my heart all the advice I've received so far. My heart bursts with anticipation of the accomplishment of our plans and dreams. I find infinite comfort in the knowledge that I will never have to bear anything alone, because I trust my love completely.

The rosy tint surrounding marriage is, for me I think, different than the average ideal. It is ironic and very fitting that I, a lover of attention and all things flirty and cutesy, was married partially in secret in a courtroom with a judge and two witnesses I barely knew. I say that because I was able to focus on the commitment I was making, instead of the opinions and attentions of everyone around us. Now we are able to prepare for a celebration with all those close to us.

For a moment I questioned our reasoning behind getting married so soon at all. Aside from the external signs, our wholehearted commitment to eachother was already in place. Now there are rings and a legal document stating that we are husband and wife. We wanted simply to be "official", to be joined together in every way possible, legally, emotionally, and soon, spiritually.

I am grateful for the unconditional love and support of my family and friends. I am so tremendously blessed to be so loved, and especially to have the devoted, passionate love of Reid, so sacred only unto ourselves.

Poverty

There seem to be many kinds of homeless people in San Luis Obispo county. It makes perfect sense that they are all different, since every person is unique. They are not just "homeless", as a summary of their personhood.

Most homeless people I've interacted with downtown or around work all seem to have one thing in common, besides homelessness: they all seem to have a few screws loose, though in what area of their brain the screws are loose varies. Some seem to be brilliant minds, too brilliant for their society or their own capacity. They are so fascinated by the psychological that they lose touch with reality. Perhaps some have lost everyone close to them, and as a result they become so lonely that they will engage you endlessly in conversation, just to have someone's attention. Assuredly, some are chemically imbalanced and simply cannot function as normal members of society, with jobs and families. One of these, a lady with silver hair who wore many layers of clothing, once screamed at me when I walked past her carrying a Victoria's Secret bag, "I don't think its a secret anymore!"

I've watched enough episodes of Intervention to know that not all those who sit on corners with cardboard signs are actually in need. I know not to hand change or cash to just anyone. I can never help buying a bag of dog food for the ones who have their pets with them.

Sometimes I feel angry when I see them begging, freeloading off the pity of others day in and day out instead of searching for solutions to their problems, wanting my hard-earned money for nothing.

But more often I can't ignore the quiet desperation in their eyes. I remember the pangs of emptiness, loneliness, confusion, and a loss for how to get myself out of my slump. Though not holding a cardboard sign, I freeloaded off the generosity of everyone who loved me. Though the cause of my grief was not initially my fault, I sat emotionally on a corner in the dirt and begged for a quick fix instead of finding a real solution.

How fine the line is between homelessness and a livelihood. Anything could send you and I to the streets, or to Social Services. Perhaps the poverty of so many more of us is not as obvious merely because it is not external.

An Attitude of Gratitude

A wise man once told me that one of the most powerful qualities to possess is an attitude of gratitude. Though as nothing more than a clever alliteration, the phrase stuck in my mind. Several years later, I now realize a great deal more the value of having an attitude of gratitude. Contrary to popular opinion, you do not need to focus on the miseries of the world, or gloat about what you have that others don not. Focus instead on the blessings in your life, and not just the material ones. Pets, family's unconditional love, friends who always have your back, hobbies you enjoy in your free time. For a minute, stop worrying about acting a certain way, and take delight in something small. If you must keep up appearances, acknowledge it only to yourself. The refresh of your drink, the sunshine warming your head, an unexpected text from a friend. With only an act of mindpower you can change your thoughts. Let us use the aforementioned examples.

From "Oh my God, I'm so thirsty" to "This soda tastes so good!"

From "Its so hot" to "Thank goodness its not raining on us!"

From "She never texts me anymore" to "I'm so glad she finally said hi!"

Try having an attitude of gratitude. You'll be amazed how much happier you are. :)

To Write a Memoir

I've been strongly encouraged by numerous friends and family to write a memoir about Trinity, the youth ranch I was sent to when I was 14. It has been an emotional, grueling process, with many outbursts of fury and sadness as I relive the miseries of those 21 months while I write. I have paused to wonder what my motivation is for writing and hoping to publish a book about my experiences at Trinity. I have considered the broken hearts of the parents, especially my own, who sent their daughters to Trinity as a last resort, seeking help, and were given back an even more damaged daughter. Still, I felt compelled to write. It is an as-of-yet untold story of the millions of lives that have suffered, some irreparably, from the effects of psychological trauma. Not all of the girls who went to Trinity are of the same opinion as me regarding Trinity's inhumane treatment of its residents. I have been called dramatic and ungrateful by many. But I have talked with many more of the girls since leaving Trinity who struggled with similar situations as me after leaving Trinity, and I am writing for those girls, and the girls (and boys, too) who are enduring the same trauma even as I write. My pen moves more speedily when I think about it. They are my motivation. I hope and pray that many parents' eyes will read my words and reconsider sending their child to such institutions as Trinity. I also hope that those in places of authority who will be able to take action to stop the abuses will read the book. I am fighting the abuse in a way I know how: through my writing. I've always had lofty notions of changing the world one life at a time. Even if one child will suffer less because of my memoir, it will all be worth it, not only the writing but the experiences too. I firmly believe that we suffer things in life so that we will grow into strong people who can help others when they experiences similar struggles. Who knows, maybe I can save a life.

Please send good thoughts, prayers, and anything else my way that I reach my goal!

Long Distance Pro's?

I am often greeted with incredulous looks when I tell someone I am in a long-distance relationship. I never imagined I would be "the type" to date long-distance, and before now I would have been incredulous as well. However, even though it is sometimes so painful to be separated, I know now that anything is bearable if you are with the right person. Also, there are many benefits to dating long-distance.

I ask you, what areas of your relationship need to be strengthened if you do not think one or both of you could withstand distance? Reid and I never question eachother's faithfulness because we trust eachother completely. We have excellent communication, because talking is the essence of our relationship. Many women crave emotional support and understanding in a relationship. I always know Reid will be there, even if only on Skype or the phone, to listen, comfort, or encourage.

We appreciate our time together infinitely more because we are separate so much of the time. because we are already conquering such a difficult challenge in our relationship, other struggles will be much less challenging because we will be able to communicate face-to-face.

I have learned a little more the meaning of the phrase "love is a decision, not just a feeling." It is a choice, an act of the will. Regardless of the circumstances of your relationship, when the going gets tough, keep in the front of your mind what qualities you admire in your loved one, and remember what brought you together and attracted you to eachother. Remind eachother of them especially, and the spark of your love will be ever re-kindled.

[Side note: All of this having been said, I can't wait until the day Reid and I are together.] :)

Oh, Daddy

Daddy was never the type
To sit on the porch with a shotgun
When guys would come around
Well, maybe he should have been

But don't you worry, Daddy
He didn't hurt me that bad

Daddy was never the one
Who said to stay away
When a boy was bad news
Daddy was the first with the wandering hands

But don't you worry, Daddy
You didn't hurt me that bad

Daddy was the one
Who taught me how to pick 'em
The ones that have the power
To break you and use you

But don't you worry, Daddy
It didn't hurt me that bad

Daddy wasn't there
To walk me down the aisle
To the man I found
To trust with my heart

And don't you worry, Daddy
He doesn't hurt me that bad

To Revive Love

How tragic it is that hearts wounded too often in love become jaded and cynical. We are all guilty of breaking hearts and we are all possessors of a heart that has been broken.

So few believe in the possibility, the existence of true love. Yet certainly it is not a conjured notion, for the heart cannot proclaim what has never existed.

My heart breaks for those too heartbroken to believe that love is real and true. Its power and wonder can permeate the whole of life if you allow it. Simultaneously my heart is angered by those so jaded that they speak out in cynicism against love.

How to reach out to these souls and reassure them of the great joy they can attain? Perhaps it is only through living life in a constant demonstration of love. Therefore resolve, my soul, to renew love in hardened hearts through your own.

You Know What Assuming Does....

I'm amazed over and over again in life at how my assumptions are proven wrong.

What is it that causes us to make judgments about people without knowing them? The weakness and insecurities in us feel the need to place judgments on others in order to divert people's attention from ourselves.

We assume because we lack intelligence. I am always humbled when my assumptions are proven wrong.

A small percentage of a certain group of people causes us to assume that everyone from that race, religion, creed, or color are the same. How silly and shallow of us to assume that all bald guys are scary, all military men are players, all cowboys are backward and uneducated, all lesbians are hostile, all artists are narcissistic...

Perhaps in making that list I have perjured myself by revealing the assumptions I have succumbed to.

Rather than assume the worst of someone, we ought to seek to find all the good in a person. What a tremendous difference this will have in all our interactions with others.

Good at Heart

Be forewarned: this entry may sound very hippie-esque. :)

My hypothesis is this: that all people are good at heart, and that if we look, we will discover what we have in common with every person that makes their way into our lives.

Yes I believe that each person we interact with comes into our lives for a reason, and that one word of kindness can change someone's life forever. I remember random sentences or someone's attitude that have had a powerful impact on my life to this day.

Imagine the power we hold in ourselves, to be able to change so many lives for the better. Touching a life doesn't require saving someone about to jump off a bridge or being a missionary. Mother Teresa said to do small things with great love. Once, I Hindu man asked Mother Teresa how she could take such devoted care of him despite their religious differences. She replied, "Because I see God in you, and I love you." Her simple attitude of life changed the world.

Each day brings new opportunities to smile at a stranger, to quietly perform an act of kindness for someone. If we focus on what is different in everyone else or what we dislike about them, how can we expect to be loved, appreciated, and respected? Our thoughts influence our actions toward others.

Do whatever is within your means. Look for the countless opportunities to perform an act of kindness throughout each day. Look for the good in others; even if it is difficult to see, they are people worthy of kindness and respect. Perhaps you will be the wearer of a smile that changes a life today. :)

I'm Crazy For This Boy

Its no special milestone or anything, just our 3 month anniversary. I'm just writing a little tribute to the man who has stolen my heart, the better half of my soul, Reid.

Its pretty common knowledge that I've had one too many disastrous run-ins with jerks, whether it be their fault or mine or both. I was reserved but immediately intrigued when a handsome boy sent me a friend request on Facebook.

After the first conversation I had with Reid, every inhibition I had disappeared. There was a little turmoil among my friends when I announced shortly after accepting that friend request that I was flying to Washington to spend 10 days with this handsome boy. But I knew I was head over heels for him. I took a risk. And oh, my, how it has paid off beyond my wildest dreams.

He knows I'm crazy. He's had to deal with my crazy streak firsthand so many times. But he sees right through the crazy to my heart. He knows when I'm justifiably upset and when I'm being irrational, and he knows just how to talk to me during the latter. He doesn't love me in spite of it. He loves me because of it. He knows passion and beauty have a feisty side. He loves me. Period.

From 1,000 miles away he still manages to be near and present and helpful whenever I need him. I can't remember what I did before I had him to lean on.

He is selfless, disciplined, honest, tactful, big-hearted, goal-oriented, hard-working, focused, rational, and both knowledgeable and wise. He is all of the attributes I aspire to. And he chose to love me, so obviously part of him is just as crazy as me. :)

So, for no particular reason, I thought I should proclaim to the world how perfectly amazing my man is. I am honored and humbled that such a virtuous, irreproachable man decided to make me his.

I'm crazy for you, Reid. Thanks for the best 3 months of my life. I can't wait for the rest of forever with you.

Only Unto Us

Initials carved into a tree
fallen
Permanence only unto us
Whispers into silent slumber
Sacred only unto us
A caress, and embrace
Passionate only unto us
Sparkling eyes across a room
Significant only unto us
A century of love in a moment
Timeless only unto us
Love,
beating
in two hearts but one
Perfection only unto us

Risk It

Take a risk. You might wind up being happier with the changes that happen as a result of your risk-taking. And even fi you aren't, you can go back to the way things were and be proud of yourself for being brave enough to take a risk.

Take a chance. Take a dare. Life is too short to stay in the familiar and comfortable all the time. As people, we have a need for routine. But in life, we have to learn to adapt, otherwise we will become fearful and withdrawn. Those who don't take risks miss out.

Your risks could take you from poor as a church mouse to rich as a king and back again. I'd be willing to bet, 9 times out of 10, the church mouse is wealthier in love and happiness than the kind. Give something away that you enjoy, just to see if you can survive life without it. Keep close the things in your life that make you truly wealthy instead: the people you love.

Take a risk. I promise, no matter what the outcome, you'll be happier being you.

Love, Take Two

Perhaps I have advanced to the next stage of love. At the beginning I was warned by jaded hearts, "The honeymoon phase will pass." "Just wait. The good feelings will go away."

Yet even in the midst of a quarrel or a hard day, one thing remains constant: my love. "Love is a battlefield", as anything else in life is.

I, the eternal optimist and hopeless romantic, believe that happiness is a choice, and love is a decision.

"Too quick."

"Red flag."

"Just wait."

The advice and warnings pour in. Yet no one sees my heart. And they needn't understand. Age, distance, time, disagreements…all formidable, but not as strong as love.

Many can say "I would die for you." How many can say "I will live my life for you and sacrifice for you"?

Ask any couple that have been married for 50 years and they will tell you that they made it through the rough times by keeping the big picture in mind, by remembering that their love would carry them through.

This is the day-on, day-out decision to love.

Love is stronger than me. Love is more powerful. I have chosen love, and nothing will conquer it.

An Over-Abundance of Stuff

As I pack to move this week and attempt to shove my ever-increasing belongings into my little Honda, I continuously wonder how much of the stuff I have would go completely un-missed if I were to throw it away.

How many bottles of shampoo and body lotion do I even need? If I really think about it, I could make do even without the things we consider to be essentials in life.

I've already thrown away dozens of almost-empty bottles of body products, pieces of paper I once considered to be important, old notebooks with nonsense written in them, and put together an overflowing box of clothes to donate that I haven't worn in over a year. I can't even remember what most of the items I put in the trash were. As I contemplate the places where these perfectly good things could be useful, I realize how many people in this very town would value a clean pair of jeans, an extra throw blanket, or a book to read. I suddenly feel excessively rich, and greedy to hold on to all this stuff. Its just stuff, after all.

Millions of people in the world make do with the bare necessities. Food, water, the clothes on their backs, and hopefully shelter from the weather. Millions more don't even have what they need to survive. We have blessings far above and beyond most of the world. Why are we not more grateful? Why do I complain about having less money for shopping or eating out when in fact there is nothing I am in need of?

"To live content with small means, to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart, to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never, in a word to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common, this is to be my symphony." ~William Henry Channing

Christ-Like

"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."

Gandhi had a point.

I ask you, Catholic Christians, did you have selective hearing when Christ said "Judge not lest you be judged"?

Christ didn't live by rules. He was not accepted by society. He was a vagabond and a radical. Ironically, what people found radical about him was that He chose NOT to abide by empty rules and regulations. His message was not that we should live a strict rigorous unhappy life. It was quite simple: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. He broke the rules, because He knew that love was more important.

When Christ asked the rich man what the commandments were, he started reciting off a list. And Christ said "love your neighbor as yourself." The man went away sad. Rules and regulations he could follow, but something as simple as being generous and selfless he just couldn't swallow.

"Let he that is without sin among you cast the first stone." In the recorded documentation of Christ's life in the Bible, where do we see Him pointing the finger? Not at the fisherman, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the adulterers, the Samaritans. In fact those were the people with whom He chose to associate, and He didn't give a damn what people said or thought about it.

Clearly, casting out the people who do not choose the same lifestyle as you is not an imitation of Christ. The only place you see Him lose His temper and point a finger is at the Pharisees. The hypocrites. The posers who condemned everyone who didn't follow the exact set of rules and regulations that were supposed to be their ticket to salvation. He promised paradise to the man hanging on the cross next to him instead.

So if it is the very definition of the word "Christian" to be "Christ-like", where did so many of those who profess Christianity get lost in translation?

I, Like Christ, only point the finger only at those He pointed the finger at. I choose to seek to understand rather than condemn what is foreign to me. I choose to treat everyone around me with love, only pointing out wrong when I fear their safety, health, or happiness are at stake. I choose to be Christ-like.

Bring on the Rain

During my visit to Washington, I was able to spend several days in Forks, visiting my cousin and her wonderful fiance. I was quickly taken aback by the dismal appearance of the small logging town, to the point that I wondered how long my cousin could exist there without losing her sanity, even with the passion of love.

But on the last day of my visit, I came to an understanding, even an appreciation for the nearly constant rain and the thickness of the wet, cold air. We hiked to Marymere Falls from a barely noticeable rest stop off the main road that leads into Forks.

As we walked, it was no longer the biting cold air that took my breath away, but the enormous trees clothed softly in moss, and the perfectly shaped wax-like ferns that crept from the fallen logs. The once-depressing grey sky now cast a greyness of hushed mystery over us and everything around us. As we stood on the bridge, the icy clear water whispered of the centuries that it had seen, of the endless cycle of life that it nurtured with its gentle flow. I remained speechless, unable to take in completely the wonder that encompassed us. Only an occasional sigh of delight escaped my lips.

As we neared the waterfall I could hear the quiet roar of the water and felt the mist on my face. Then it was in front of us, and I stared at the water as it fell perfectly, endlessly. Every living thing around the fall leaned toward the water, yearning for it. I was grateful to be able to witness this majestic, untouched creation.

While we walked away from the waterfall, my cousin shared a profound truth with me: none of the beauty around us would exist without the rain and atmosphere that continually sustained it.

And just as nature must endure the rain, sleet, snow, and frost, so we must endure with resilience the challenges and heartbreaks that life throws at us. The harder the rainfall, and the louder the thunder, and the angrier the lightning, the more beautiful and mysterious the soul it leaves behind to warm with the sun's rays.

Love

Love. It really can be just like it looks in the movies.

At first it starts out with meeting someone. The conversation is light-hearted, your senses of humor mesh easily, and you can't shake the feeling that you're communicating on a deeper level, even though nothing you discuss is very serious. You can't help but walk around with a little extra lightness in your step because he's always in the back of your mind, a light in your life.

Very quickly comes the giddiness. The flirting, the twitterpation. Everything he says is adorable or charming, or both. Everything reminds you of him: a pair of shoes that would look good on him, a meal you wish you were having with him, a love song that seems to explain what's happening in your heart perfectly.

Then he comes to mind all the time. He's the first one you want to tell everything to. You want to tell him about the crappy days and the exciting moments you have, too.

Then the difficult conversations come, and all you want to do is go back to the time when everything was wonderful and in a haze of bliss. But you discover that the hard parts are easy to overcome with him.

And the fear comes, too. The fear of what might happen when he eventually, inevitably discovers every imperfection and flaw you have.

But he never fails to reassure you. And just as quickly as the panic about your vices rushed in, the relief that your virtue is always foremost in his mind quiets your heart. The realization comes: he's not perfect and you're not perfect. But you're both perfect for eachother.

Since When?

It has become increasingly apparent to me in interactions with my peers that we have adopted a horrifyingly negative mentality. The mentality is that it is acceptable to use another person for a sense of gratification with no thought to the feelings of the person, primarily in the area of sex and affection.

Suddenly one day my friend asked me, "When did we become so harsh?" I was taken aback. I make it a priority to be kind to everyone, but suddenly I found myself going out of my way to make it obvious to the people who had hurt my friends that I did not like them. I had arrived at a breaking point. A girl can only watch and give quiet, patient advice followed by quiet, patient comforting for so long. All I could think was, "Was I this exasperating to my friends when I fell head over heels for someone who didn't give two shakes about me?" I was no longer happy to sit on the side lines and observe, or be the brunt of it myself.

Somewhere along the way, my generation lost the concept of consideration for others' feelings, particularly in dealings where actions can be so easily misinterpreted.

You may attempt to rid yourself of all emotion and become a machine designed with the sole purpose of fulfilling your carnal pleasures. But you can't. Because we are human and our emotions are a fundamental part of us.

How do we change this? Gandhi said to be the change you wish to see in the world.

The Story of 1-4-3

The lighthouse keeper kissed his lover goodbye. He was loathe to let go of the woman who held his heart and soul captive. But the lighthouse had to be tended, lest the men at sea lose their way. The keeper's obligation was to them, for they, too, had lovers on shore waiting for them.

"Never fear, my darling, but watch tonight for the light signals. I will send the message of my heart to you."

The keeper's lover waited by her window. She watched as the endless waves thrashed the jetty on which the lighthouse stood, and prayed for no harm to come to her love.

And that night, the keeper filled the lamps to overflowing with oil, and lit them. Then he flashed the lights. One swing. Pause. Four swings. Another Pause. Then the last three swings.

1-4-3

The keeper's lover saw the lights from the lighthouse, and blew a thousand kisses to her lover.

And until they grew old, the keeper lit the lamps every night, to send his message to his lover on the shore.