Hello Desire/Goodbye Guilt

Just found out in Bible Study that Eve was created last because something was missing.  God created woman in his own image. Woman was created because there was a finishing touch missing in God's creation.  Say what?


We are the cherry on the sundae of life.  How sweet!  


Also read that all of our desires were placed in us. Yes! Our desires. All of them. The desire to be beautiful, appreciated, special, adored, and loved. Loved most of all. 


God put desires in me? There are so many desires in me -- it was a relief to read that having desires was not a bad thing. Not a bad thing, but natural and God given. No more fear that I would be damned if I desired money, beauty, or a man.  That it would actually be odd if I did not have desires.


Definition of the word desire...

de·sire  transitive verb

1: to long or hope for : exhibit or feel desire for <desire success>

2 a : to express a wish for : request desire an immediate answer>

   b archaic : to express a wish to : ask

I desire many things -- health, weight loss, continued love/romance with my husband, financial abundance, making a difference for all, fame, respect, success, to love and be loved.

  

Do I believe God personally desires financial freedom?  No.  Don't think he personally needs money.  But I do believe that he needs money for others.  

Do I think that God desires to lose a few pounds? No. But I believe that he desires health and well being for all of us.

Do I think that God desires fame? No. But I do believe that he desires to be known.

Do I think that God desires to be loved? Yes. Resoundingly so. Absolutely. Without a doubt.

What a relief to be created because the picture wasn't complete without me.  To be created with desires just as God has desires.  A sense of calm and rightness has descended upon me.

Finding myself created as a woman.  A luscious woman of substance.  Freedom to be a woman who desires.  How fun is that?

Words

Words are very powerful tools to have in your toolbox.  Knowing what the words mean is vital as well.  Interpreting the words once combined into a sentence is a talent.  Spelling a word correctly is mandatory. Punctuation is a critical aspect as well.


"Why?" you ask?


Primarily because it shows a level of intelligence and thoughtfulness.  A well written sentence that can be easily understood and not mis-interpreted is like winning the Academy Awards of communication.  


Some people are natural born Oscar winners in the writing department.  Others?  Well do we even know of their work or character?  I do not speak of pulitzer prize winners or Nora Roberts, I speak of the everyday writer.


No.  We, ever so slightly, dismiss them as being inferior.  While it is a subtle distinction, don't we automatically think someone is less intelligent for spelling a relatively simple word wrong?  Either that or that they are lazy. That subtle distinction could mean getting or not getting a job.  A simple typo can ruin an otherwise inspiring sentence.  It detracts from the message.  A well written sentence can lay the groundwork for whether a book becomes a best seller, a letter to your Aunt is enjoyed, or your cover letter gets you an interview.


Spelling a word correctly, using it appropriately in a sentence, punctuating for clarification requires a level of integrity.  That integrity shows a level of character that I believe is desirable.  That integrity quietly tells people that you pay attention to detail, are educated, and that you care.


Amazing how powerful a word can be. 

Paul Bunyan, broken furniture, and bowling

Filed a claim for broken items from our recent move today.  What a pain the  _ss!  Eleven items either damaged or broken.  Three large pieces of furniture -- our armoire, an upholstered living room chair, and a sofa table are broken.  I'm talking large pieces of solid wood furniture.  What do they do to your furniture when you move?


Well the mysterious brutes who moved our furniture must have flung the pieces across the truck. The armoire, no little dainty piece of fluff, has two legs broken, the bottom caved in, and gouges across the front. The living room chair's right rear leg looks like Paul Bunyan picked it up by one leg, went to move it and the leg snapped off. Jagged pieces of wood protrude from the bottom like broken saber tooth tiger fangs. The poor sofa table is just broken. When Paul moved the chair he must have dropped it on the table and snapped off the left wing.


While the armoire slid across the truck floor, it banged up against the sewing machine and miraculously did not dent the case but broke the accessory holder inside.  Cracked pieces greeted me when I went to set it up. After it ricocheted off the sewing machine it hit the box of kitchen dishes and broke two glasses (actually that occurs as a miracle that only two glasses were broken).


Then as the armoire continued to slide to the rear of the truck it caught on the bed rails and rubbed the finish off and managed to gouge the wood. Finally it settled at the back of the truck where it nestled up against another box hugging it so tightly that the lamp and birdhouse that were inside were broken.


Those mischievous brutes must have had fun pretending to bowl with our furniture.  


Now we get to fill out paperwork to prove when we bought it, how much we paid for it, how much it would take to repair it (ha!) and how much it would cost to replace it. So fun. I didn't know that when I bought furniture years ago I should have kept the receipts for years -- just in case one day some large insensitive person would break my stuff and I'd have to prove that it wasn't broken when they picked it up.


I thought (silly me) that they would treat my stuff like it was their own. Oh... maybe they did!

Trust

They say that God does not give you more than you can handle. Well I must be one heck of a handler.  

We own two houses! Investors and landlords we did not set out to be.  Yet here we are living in Washington with two houses in Colorado.  One is rented and one is not. We would love to sell the house that my husband inherited from his divorce.  It's been for sale since January. It's now October! The question of the hour is not if it will sell but WHEN.

There is so much more we could be doing with our money than pay two mortgages.  Especially when we are paying for a house that we do not desire to own or live in.  Thoughts that flit through my mind are those that fantasize about paying off our debt.  Paying our two credits cards off, repaying loans to family/friends, getting the car a tune-up, new brakes, new tires, helping our children, and saving for the future.  We were so close.  So close to selling the house at the end of this month and then beginning our plan to become debt free.

I trust that all things happen for a reason and that sometimes we do not know what those reasons are.  Sometimes we won't find out for years.  Other times the purpose is immediately clear.  This is one of those times when it is not clear. 

What is the lesson to learn? 

Patience?  Trust?

I've been patient.  Knowing that at some point it will sell.  Sell to the right family for the right price and at the right time.

Then it must be trust.  Trust that God will not give me more than I can handle.  Trust that the consequences of not selling at this time will not cause undue distress or catastrophe in the other parts of my life.  Trust that there is a lesson for me to learn.  Trust that I am not alone.  Trust that I have a partner.  Trust that it will all work out. Trust that these fearful feelings will disappear. Trust that the tightness in my throat will go away. Trust that I can pay all of our bills this month.  Trust that my desire to eat away the problem is not the answer. Trust that this will end because I believe that God watches over me.

Ultimately, I don't know what the lesson is.  What I do know is that I will do my best.  The consequences I can accept especially since I have done my best.  That includes trusting the delay and the outcome.  All is well.

Muzak of my mind

Today I realized that I have been hiding out.  While busy, productive, and involved in some areas of my life (playing house, Church, bible study, water aerobics, and seeking employment), in other areas, I lurk behind the curtains and peek through the holes.

For example, today I logged onto Facebook (as I do most days). Diligently reading what everyone has written since the last time I was on.  I smile at their postings, cry when they struggle, am proud of their accomplishments, and always look at their photos. Sometimes I'll even offer words of encouragement.  Then it dawned on me. It's all one sided. I am spying on them. I am a voyeur!

In clinical psychology, voyeurism is the sexual interest in or practice of spying on people engaged in intimate behaviors, such as undressing, sexual activity, or other activity usually considered to be of a private nature.  In popular imagination the term is used in a more general sense to refer to someone who habitually observes others without their knowledge, with no necessary implication of sexual interest. 

Well I certainly am not checking people out in Facebook for sexual reasons.  However, because no one knows whether I've checked or not, it feels like I am spying/observing on their lives without their knowledge.  

Why don't I share more about myself? The root cause is one of my old demons -- self esteem.

No one is interested in hearing what I have to say or what is going on in my life.  Which is total bullshit.  Yet the evil voice in my head runs the story on an endless loop.  It's so subtle and pervasive that I don't even hear it. The muzak of my mind.  ACK!

So I posted on Facebook that I had this realization.  I shared what my plans were for the day.  Friends came out of the woodwork and said hello, encouraged me, told me they missed me, and, in general, lifted me up. They noticed I had lost weight.  That I looked good. They showed their love for me -- all because I shared a small part of myself.

Time to record a new sound track for my life.  Time to share and spread the love.

Grieving - a wierd adventure

Tears are coming out of nowhere. A sadness permeates my entire body.  My eyes hurt.  Each limb feels heavy. The filter on my emotions has a hole in it.


Having the last parent die is different than the first parent dying. Each death is a different experience.  True. Thinking that you will grieve the same -- big mistake.


Now in my family I have a reputation.  You know the kind of reputation that follows you to your grave.  I am known as the family crier.  According to my family all the tears came to me. "Well you know you DO cry alot." "You cry at everything, Renee." "You've always cried alot, this is no different."


But it is different. Different from my perspective. My Mom died. The person I've known longer than any other is gone. Not available anymore.  


She and I had an interesting relationship.  The roles reversed.  I took care of her as if she were my child.  Granted a grown child with a mind of her own who resented being treated as if she had no freedom of choice.  She had freedom and chose not to exercise it. She relinquished it to me.  Then she relinquished it to God.  Now, she's truly free.


So I cry.  I gasp for breathe I cry so hard. The snot comes dripping out of my nose.  Between the tears and the snot, I soak tissues.  I cry for her.  I cry for all the things that she might do differently. For all the missed opportunities for her, for me, for others.


I cry for all that she accomplished.  I cry for her children, grandchildren, and friends.


Do people think has because I cry more than they do that the tears are fake?  Or that they don't mean anything?  Or that I am not hurting?  Do I need to stop expressing myself naturally in order for others to see that there is pain, upset, compassion?


One time my Mom said to me, "Well Renee, it doesn't seem like you are upset because you aren't crying."  I thought about that for a moment.  Realized that if I did not cry she did not take what I was saying as real.  I then verbalized the exact same statement but with gulps and tears.  "Bitch!", she spat.  


I laughed and said "Mom, it seems like if I don't cry you don't think I mean it."  


So I cry so people will know that I mean it.

On being in Spokane

Well it'll be a month tomorrow since we moved from Denver to Spokane. Much has happened in the interim. It is beautiful here. Big open blue sky that goes for miles and miles. No mountains breaking up the horizon. Spokane's sky occurs as vast and endless. The weather has been ideal. Hot, but not too hot. Cool in the mornings. Perfect 70s in the evenings. Two cloudy days which disappeared by noon.

Fairchild AFB has been here for awhile. Huge trees line the roads, well manicured lawns and open spaces. Everything is taken care of and clean. Our home on base has been remodeled. We are one of the lucky families. Our two bedroom has new hardwood floors in the main areas, new carpet in the bedrooms, and new tile in the kitchen and bath. All new appliances. A full basement. One car garage. Central air. Covered patio in back. I am present to how blessed we are. Stacy and I created our next home in our minds...

Ranch style, open floor plan with at least two bedrooms (1 for us and 1 for an office), room to store our things (full basement), hardwood floors, small backyard to relax in with minimal grass for the dogs to enjoy, and newer interior. Simpler, cleaner, less maintenance!

God provided exactly what we asked for and more. We knew that in military housing that privacy was at a minimum. Our home is at the end of the block (on a corner) that backs up to a park. My view out the office window is of a jungle gym (rarely used), green grass expanse, large column poplars, with maples in the distance, the perimeter road with green expanse after that. Beautiful.

My honey and I have been slowly unpacking boxes, getting rooms organized, and choosing which wall to hang things on. Some people call it nesting. When we got married, Stacy moved into my home. Now we have our home. While we will be in this particular house for only a year, it has been fun exploring our preferences together.

Finding out that he REALLY doesn't like my copper whale (which also happens to be one of my favorite pieces). It's been educational watching him test the waters with what he can say, how he can say it, and not hurt my feelings. It's almost like he's never had the freedom of spoken opinion before. I enjoy providing him a safe space to be him. Express his feelings and preferences. What works for both of us. (We found a spot for the whale that pleases both of us. Yeah us!)

Our home is coming together. Seemingly small things like, where to put the towels, which drawer will hold the silverware, cereal top shelf or bottom, curtains or blinds, oatmeal or eggs for breakfast. A myriad of small choices that comprise this life we have. Choices we make together that strengthen our bond. Each choice a thread. I just got present to that I am creating the equivalent of a 600 thread count sheet. Soft, strong, and comforting.

I love this life that I have. Thank you God for bringing Stacy to me, having him choose me, being all that I desire and need -- strong, compassionate, loyal, funny. Being loved unconditionally is such a delicious treat. Being trusted with his heart is a task that I treasure. I am honored to be his wife and his partner.