The title is a run-down of my day yesterday.
Obviously, I have not blogged for a while. I'm not sure why. I've just been too blah to write. I could blame the blahs on circumstances; such as being tired, too busy, financial distress, fall arriving, others irritating the crap out of me, work becoming an overwhelming trap of incomplete tasks & unrealistic demands etc...
This morning, however, I discovered that it simply boils down to pure selfishness on my part. I have been too selfish to seek God, too selfish to properly love those around me, too selfish to do what needs doing, too selfish to see how good my life is, and too selfish to obey and do what's right. So, there is my confession! On to my day yesterday.
As mentioned, work is becoming less fun and more..well...work! My favourite co-worker has now gone on maternity leave; which left a huge gaping hole in the fun category. Her incredibly positive can-do attitude, laugh-'til-you-drop sense of humour, and quick whit, made me actually look forward to each work day.
Now that she's gone I enter the office with a deep sigh at the sight of her empty chair. Clearly, I am not the only one feeling the loss. Everyone seems to have lost the ability to smile and stay positive. More than one person could use a phone silencer for when they slam the phone back on the hook. Many a frown should be turned upside down. Complaints, gossip, and pure misery seem to have taken over the front office. Not fun! But I am as much to blame as anyone.
Yesterday was no exception. I knew it was best to just shut up and work, which is close to impossible for a pure extravert.
Then came the e-mail that triggered an utter sense of failure. A sister-friend of mine forwarded a set of e-mails shared by her and another friend. They went right over my head and I wondered why she sent them to me. For the umpteenth time I felt like a third wheel.
You see, I have a tendency to include everyone. I was taught that as a child. If you invite one person in your class to your party, you must invite everyone. Do not leave anyone out! For our wedding, Rod and I went out of our way to invite people we knew normally wouldn't be considered wedding guest material. I just believe in inclusion. Jesus included the outcasts, why shouldn't we?
So when I consider new friendships, I try to reach out to people who are not "in" or "cool". I figure they already have enough friends. Of course, being inclusive draws me towards everyone, including the cool people, so I do have some cool friends too, but I make a point of being friendly to the outsiders.
This results in my having many triangle relationships. No, not when it comes to marriage! I have only one husband who has only one wife. But friendship wise I have plenty of threesomes. It works quite well in some respects, not so much in other. I often feel like the third wheel, even if I'm the one who started the friendship. When I make a new friend I immediately introduce that friend to another friend so they can branch out. This has lead to many of my friends becoming closer with each other than with me.
I have three particularly close friends with whom I share a lot. I consider each of them a sister-friend. They each belong to a different triangle friendship. Usually, I don't mind when they exclude me and do things with the other person in the triangle. I just find one of my other sister-friends to hang out with.
For some reason though, I was bothered by this e-mail. At once I felt left out, taken for granted and totally incompetent as a friend. Add that to the stress at work and my feelings of inadequacy there, and my mood was pretty low. I decided to take a long overdue lunch break.
I collapsed in my car crying. It felt good and sad all at once. (FYI I stopped taking my medication a few weeks ago so I have started to feel again.) I asked God why everything is such a mess. (Of course EVERYTHING is a mess when one feels out of sorts.) I thought of my friendships, and how little I contribute in terms of really mattering to people. I tend to be the one friends go to for fun, lunch, a movie, coffee or shopping. They lean on the other third of the friendhip triangle for love, support and caring. So, what's wrong with me?
I remembered a quote from my favourite tv show "The Office". (It might not be accurate word for word.) Michael said "There's something wrong with society!" upon which Jim replied "Maybe there's something wrong with you, not society?" Then Michael came up with the best excuse ever by saying "Well, if I'm wrong, it's society's fault for making me that way!"
I used that argument with God. Not sure he bought it even though I mixed it with tears and anguish! "There's something wrong with my friendships, God!" "Maybe it's not your friendships, Liz. Maybe it's you that needs to change." "But God, if I'm all wrong for these friends, it's the friendships fault. Maybe I need to find new friends?" "Nope, your friends are good friends. YOU just need to change." "But how?" I asked with a sob. Then came the Bible verse to which I frequently refer. "Seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you." Hmmm, back to that are we?
My best friend is God, really it's true! He likely feels like a third wheel nowadays too; I've sort of been neglecting him big time. I asked forgiveness for my selfishness, stinky attitude, and lack of "remaining in Christ".
Then I wiped my face and drove to the Bay. Big mistake financially, but wonderful for my sense of well-being. That's where I met Andre. I was a "sitting duck" for a salesman with hunter instincts. Checking out the perfumes with my puffed up red eyes, and lingering over the lovely smell of J'adore by Christian Diore, I was easy to spot as a vulnerable, ready to "charge-it" customer. Andre was observant and knew his job well.
"Are you having a bad day?" he asked compassionately. "Uh-huh..." I nodded as I took a whiff of another perfume. He went right for the kill..."Let's give you a makeover so you can feel better!"
Ok, let's pause here. If a very attractive, twenty-something, metro-sexual man with perfectly tanned skin, white smile, curled eyelashes framing bright blue sparkling eyes, mentions "make-over" and "feeling better" in the same sentence, wouldn't you sit down and let him have his way with you?
Maybe I'm a sucker (well yes, considering I bought $1000 worth of pots & pans when I was 20, single, and working for $4.25 an hour, I guess I AM a sucker) but it felt nice to have Andre's full attention for twenty minutes. So nice in fact, that I didn't care that he wore a microphone; announcing to every hearing person in the store that I had tired eyes, wrinkles, age spots and red blotches on my skin.
Let's just jump to the part where I bounced back in to the office with a bright smile and a bag full of goodies; some free but most highly pricey. I felt like a million bucks! (As I should have, since I spent close to that amount.)
That evening Helen (one of my other sister-friends, not the one who sent the e-mail) and I went for coffee. We had a good long heart-to-heart. The thing I love most about Helen, is that she is who she is. And she loves me for who I am, flaws, selfishness and all. I don't think she has ever complained or pointed out any of my negative characteristics. We can say and do ANYTHING and we still love each other. Isn't that what true sisterhood is? I think so. I felt spurred on by our conversation to "seek the Kingdom of God first".
This morning, before doing much of anything else, I sat down with my Bible and read John chapters 13, 14 & 15. It's all about obedience, love, bearing good fruit and remaining in Christ. They are all tied together.
No wonder I've been feeling bitter and angry at work! No wonder I've been feeling inadequate! No wonder I've been feelong detached from God and other people! I haven't been obedient in seeking God. That leads to not remaining in Christ, which makes it impossible to love him, others or even myself. And the fruit I've been bearing is as rotten as the banana that's been sitting on my desk for 2 weeks. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control have all been in very short supply.
Change is coming! As the leaves change colour in the fall, so shall I change fruit. I want to fill the emptiness left behind by my missing co-worker. I know that in and of myself I cannot do that. I'm not that positive, friendly, energetic, young and whitty. However, if I seek the Kingdom of God first, and remain in Christ, HE will see to it that the change happens. I'll get an inside-out makeover that will cause me to feel like more than a million bucks. All without using my credit card. And my fragrance will be that of Christ rather than Christian Dior.
Thank you Lord for third wheels, your Kingdom, Andre and good friends like Helen.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Our history with vehicles
Once again, Rod is out looking for a vehicle for one of our offspring. "Another day, another car" is becoming our motto around here. Let me give you the low-down on our vehicle history...
When I first got my license at the tender age of 18 (yes, in Norway you can't drive until 18) I bought my uncle Johs' car. It was an older, beautiful looking dark blue car. (You will notice that I name vehicles by colour, not type or year, as all that counts for me is how it looks and if it works.) My uncle had spent years caring for that car as if it were his child. Cleaner than my teeth after I've been to the dentist (which isn't very often because dentists scare me, but I digress...) this baby drove like a dream. I suddenly became popular with the guys. One of those guys became my boyfriend and brought sudden death to my beloved vehicle. Soon after that he became my ex-boyfriend! I have never really recovered from that loss (the car, not the boyfriend!)
When I moved to Canada I quit driving, because I thought I'd need to take a test to get a Canadian license. (Years later I discovered I just had to trade in one for another, I guess Norwegians are known for their strict driving qualifications.) That's when I discovered bussing. I bussed everywhere. At the time it didn't bother me. However, after bussing to work each morning this past week, I have come to detest it more than ever. Too many weird odours, stains and hairy armpits on Winnipeg Transit for my liking.
Rod came riding into my life in a beat up old red wonder that was ductaped together so as not to completely collapse. (Slight exaggeration, but let's not ruin a good story with the truth.) He became my knight in shining armor and we drove around in that old thing until it finally choked on its own exhaust fumes. Rod got $50 for the remains.
When we hauled our brood & belongings to Norway, my dad sold us a purple car which did nicely for the two years we lived there. My younger sister, Trina bought it when we decided to go back to Canada. This is where the real fun visa-vi vehicles starts to unfold.
We bought a baby-blue boat of a car while in B.C. Then we moved to Regina and discovered that the Prairies has a slightly different climate than the coast. Our poor car got sick. I learned to drive automatic in that car. Did it complain as I slammed on the brakes every two minutes thinking I needed to shift gears? Noooo. Did it mind the noise of 3 chicken-pox ridden babies in the back as we raced to the doctor's? Nooooo. Did it ever refuse to move again when I happened to back into a garbage bin, parking meter, shed, garage or curb? Again, the answer is Nooooo! I loved that car, right until it died....on the highway....in the evening.....when I was alone with the kids.....on my way to a retreat.....several hours away from home. I spent the weekend grieving.
It went down-hill from there. We bought a lemon yellow (on the outside) and lime green (on the inside) old tank of a vehicle for $200. I have a great picture of the kids playing in the trunk as if it were a sandbox or something. My boys' favourite pass-time was to jump on its hood. This one quit working late one night in the middle of cow country (yes, northern Alberta) after a trip to Grande Prairie. We had taken another couple in to town to see "The Firm" (one of my all time favourite movies) and it was on the way back disaster struck. It was atleast 40 below and the warmest thing any of us wore was the cowboy hat Dale always sported. In times like these I love being a girl. Celeste and I just huddled in the back seat while our male partners headed out in the cold to figure out what the problem was. Praise God, an RCMP vehicle stopped and helped us out. Our yellow/green tank never drove again.
That's when we decided to splurge on a glorious dark-blue van. After all, we were a family of six, living in the boondocks and in need of a reliable vehicle.
I will never forget the sight of my father in a suit, on his back under that van, trying to tie up its underbelly securely enough to get us home from the airport in one piece. He was not impressed with our new choice of transportation.
That van lasted until we were ready to start our vacation. One peaceful Sunday morning in Regina, an idiot decided to drive drunk in a vehicle without brakes. He interrupted our quiet drive to church by running a red light and hitting our van three ways before coming to a stop an inch from a KFC window. I remember seeing his fast approach and yelling "I'm going to die!" Thankfully, I didn't, but we never made it to the family reunion. Our van was totalled and our family in shock. I threw up at church that morning. Some friends lent us a vehicle to drive home to Flin Flon.
The next van was grey. It went up in flames in the middle of the night while we were at a Pastor's retreat. Say what??? Yepp, this is the total truth. We woke up from the front desk phoning us to say our van was in flames on the parking lot. Nothing looks as spectacular as a van burning to a crisp at 3 am. We still don't quite understand how that happened, but again we were thankful for the timing; at least we weren't in it on our way home or something. We caught a ride back to Flin Flon with friends.
Rod had just bought our next van (silver) when I sat parked at Natalie's school. I was in my pj's and totally unprepared for what happened next. A woman in a much nicer vehicle lost control and smashed into me. Nicer vehicle clearly does not equal better driver. I couldn't open my door to get out, but this one was at least repairable.
However, our first shopping trip at Polo Park in Winnipeg and that van was toast too. Our friendly "Welcome to Winnipeg" is familiar to many, as it is not unique. Our van was stolen, used as a joy-ride/stolen goods getaway-car, and left to rot on the side of the highway just out of town. Another write-off. Sigh!
Another van (the colour is a blur...it came and left so fast) was totalled by our son (I won't name names, but anyone who knows us will be able to guess) who ended up in a ditch while changing radio stations on Ravelstone. Then, David's first vehicle was stolen from our driveway and abused to the point of being written off. Daniel's first vehicle got hit by a nervous teenager driving her parent's car, and (you guessed it...) written off. The green van we bought after the ditch incident, lasted a loooong time, at least a couple of years. We sold it to Daniel when we took over David/Christina's burgundy car because neither of them could afford the payments.
David was driving Daniel's van a couple of weeks ago when a semi truck decided to slam into him as he sat at a red light on Nairn. The truck driver exclaimed "I thought you were going to blow that red, man! Us trucks need more time to stop you know!" Idiot.
So, here we are as usual, looking for another vehicle. Rod and Daniel just returned; it looks like a go. This car is a white two-door, perfect for Daniel. We'll see how long it lasts. Sadly, David has to pay a $200 deductible thanks to no-fault insurance. Yeay!
Meanwhile, I'll keep driving our burgundy car. Right now it makes a banging noise every time I hit the brakes. The mud flap has disappeared and every so often the whole inside thingamadoogie falls down, dragging along side the right front tire. I just pull over and tuck it back in. Thanks to a few garbage bins, sidewalks, parking barriers and meters both the front and back bender have "a few marks". But for now it'll do. Rod's about to take it out for a spin. Did I mentioned he is a mechanic? Stay tuned...
When I first got my license at the tender age of 18 (yes, in Norway you can't drive until 18) I bought my uncle Johs' car. It was an older, beautiful looking dark blue car. (You will notice that I name vehicles by colour, not type or year, as all that counts for me is how it looks and if it works.) My uncle had spent years caring for that car as if it were his child. Cleaner than my teeth after I've been to the dentist (which isn't very often because dentists scare me, but I digress...) this baby drove like a dream. I suddenly became popular with the guys. One of those guys became my boyfriend and brought sudden death to my beloved vehicle. Soon after that he became my ex-boyfriend! I have never really recovered from that loss (the car, not the boyfriend!)
When I moved to Canada I quit driving, because I thought I'd need to take a test to get a Canadian license. (Years later I discovered I just had to trade in one for another, I guess Norwegians are known for their strict driving qualifications.) That's when I discovered bussing. I bussed everywhere. At the time it didn't bother me. However, after bussing to work each morning this past week, I have come to detest it more than ever. Too many weird odours, stains and hairy armpits on Winnipeg Transit for my liking.
Rod came riding into my life in a beat up old red wonder that was ductaped together so as not to completely collapse. (Slight exaggeration, but let's not ruin a good story with the truth.) He became my knight in shining armor and we drove around in that old thing until it finally choked on its own exhaust fumes. Rod got $50 for the remains.
When we hauled our brood & belongings to Norway, my dad sold us a purple car which did nicely for the two years we lived there. My younger sister, Trina bought it when we decided to go back to Canada. This is where the real fun visa-vi vehicles starts to unfold.
We bought a baby-blue boat of a car while in B.C. Then we moved to Regina and discovered that the Prairies has a slightly different climate than the coast. Our poor car got sick. I learned to drive automatic in that car. Did it complain as I slammed on the brakes every two minutes thinking I needed to shift gears? Noooo. Did it mind the noise of 3 chicken-pox ridden babies in the back as we raced to the doctor's? Nooooo. Did it ever refuse to move again when I happened to back into a garbage bin, parking meter, shed, garage or curb? Again, the answer is Nooooo! I loved that car, right until it died....on the highway....in the evening.....when I was alone with the kids.....on my way to a retreat.....several hours away from home. I spent the weekend grieving.
It went down-hill from there. We bought a lemon yellow (on the outside) and lime green (on the inside) old tank of a vehicle for $200. I have a great picture of the kids playing in the trunk as if it were a sandbox or something. My boys' favourite pass-time was to jump on its hood. This one quit working late one night in the middle of cow country (yes, northern Alberta) after a trip to Grande Prairie. We had taken another couple in to town to see "The Firm" (one of my all time favourite movies) and it was on the way back disaster struck. It was atleast 40 below and the warmest thing any of us wore was the cowboy hat Dale always sported. In times like these I love being a girl. Celeste and I just huddled in the back seat while our male partners headed out in the cold to figure out what the problem was. Praise God, an RCMP vehicle stopped and helped us out. Our yellow/green tank never drove again.
That's when we decided to splurge on a glorious dark-blue van. After all, we were a family of six, living in the boondocks and in need of a reliable vehicle.
I will never forget the sight of my father in a suit, on his back under that van, trying to tie up its underbelly securely enough to get us home from the airport in one piece. He was not impressed with our new choice of transportation.
That van lasted until we were ready to start our vacation. One peaceful Sunday morning in Regina, an idiot decided to drive drunk in a vehicle without brakes. He interrupted our quiet drive to church by running a red light and hitting our van three ways before coming to a stop an inch from a KFC window. I remember seeing his fast approach and yelling "I'm going to die!" Thankfully, I didn't, but we never made it to the family reunion. Our van was totalled and our family in shock. I threw up at church that morning. Some friends lent us a vehicle to drive home to Flin Flon.
The next van was grey. It went up in flames in the middle of the night while we were at a Pastor's retreat. Say what??? Yepp, this is the total truth. We woke up from the front desk phoning us to say our van was in flames on the parking lot. Nothing looks as spectacular as a van burning to a crisp at 3 am. We still don't quite understand how that happened, but again we were thankful for the timing; at least we weren't in it on our way home or something. We caught a ride back to Flin Flon with friends.
Rod had just bought our next van (silver) when I sat parked at Natalie's school. I was in my pj's and totally unprepared for what happened next. A woman in a much nicer vehicle lost control and smashed into me. Nicer vehicle clearly does not equal better driver. I couldn't open my door to get out, but this one was at least repairable.
However, our first shopping trip at Polo Park in Winnipeg and that van was toast too. Our friendly "Welcome to Winnipeg" is familiar to many, as it is not unique. Our van was stolen, used as a joy-ride/stolen goods getaway-car, and left to rot on the side of the highway just out of town. Another write-off. Sigh!
Another van (the colour is a blur...it came and left so fast) was totalled by our son (I won't name names, but anyone who knows us will be able to guess) who ended up in a ditch while changing radio stations on Ravelstone. Then, David's first vehicle was stolen from our driveway and abused to the point of being written off. Daniel's first vehicle got hit by a nervous teenager driving her parent's car, and (you guessed it...) written off. The green van we bought after the ditch incident, lasted a loooong time, at least a couple of years. We sold it to Daniel when we took over David/Christina's burgundy car because neither of them could afford the payments.
David was driving Daniel's van a couple of weeks ago when a semi truck decided to slam into him as he sat at a red light on Nairn. The truck driver exclaimed "I thought you were going to blow that red, man! Us trucks need more time to stop you know!" Idiot.
So, here we are as usual, looking for another vehicle. Rod and Daniel just returned; it looks like a go. This car is a white two-door, perfect for Daniel. We'll see how long it lasts. Sadly, David has to pay a $200 deductible thanks to no-fault insurance. Yeay!
Meanwhile, I'll keep driving our burgundy car. Right now it makes a banging noise every time I hit the brakes. The mud flap has disappeared and every so often the whole inside thingamadoogie falls down, dragging along side the right front tire. I just pull over and tuck it back in. Thanks to a few garbage bins, sidewalks, parking barriers and meters both the front and back bender have "a few marks". But for now it'll do. Rod's about to take it out for a spin. Did I mentioned he is a mechanic? Stay tuned...
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
25 years of wedded bliss
Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. I was thinking about that as I sat on the bus this morning. At least until I fell asleep and missed my stop. Got kinda distracted after that.
Imagine, Rod and I married for a quarter of a century! Many who watched us say our vows were inwardly thinking we wouldn't last a year. Rod an old fashioned Mennonite and me an independent Scandinavian....you get the picture.
They weren't far off in their predictions, we almost didn't make it. In spite of Rod memorizing every Dobson book on marriage & women before vowing to endow me with all his earthly posessions (a wok and a beat up old toyata), our first few months together were far from blissful. Poor Rod tried everything to tame his willfull bride. Somehow reading Proverbs 31 to me every evening did little to improve my attitude. I only wished for the authority to write a Proverbs 32.
By grace we adjusted and survived. We have gone through quite a bit as husband and wife. The birth of four children and the loss of one who should have been born, 15 moves (two of which were overseas), the passing of both our mothers, numerous career changes, and everything that brings joy and sorrow in between.
We've had two major "hic-ups". By that I mean we almost parted ways twice. Both times we re-committed our lives to each other by wiping the slate clean and starting fresh as if we had no past. It worked like a charm. Sometimes you just can't sort through everything and "get to the bottom" of each issue. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie and move on. One thing Rod and I have in common is that we hate keeping a record of wrongs. Actually, my lack of memory is such that I couldn't, even if I wanted to, so that helps.
I am so glad we made it to 25. It is too easy to give up when the going gets tough. Even the best of relationships have their ups and downs. I believe that couples who never have disagreements are in deep trouble. Each time we made it through a rough spot we grew closer as friends, confidants and lovers. Rod has faithfully been by my side through thick and thin just like he promised. I kept my promise too: "Where you go, there I will go also." took on a much bigger meaning than I anticipated when we said our vows. I really didn't want to leave my homeland and family for a second time back in 1988. And, I really loved the job I had in Flin Flon. But every move has been worth it; with new experiences, friends and life lessons each place we've gone.
We've never been big on celebrating our anniversaries. Not sure why, other than the fact it would be up to Rod to make the arrangements. Actually, we never went on a honeymoon either. That was my fault. I was to begin a new job two days after our wedding, so I couldn't go anywhere. (As I walked down the aisle, I silently chanted price lists I needed to have memorized.) We figured we'd go somewhere on our fifth anniversary instead. We didn't; not on our fifth, tenth, 20th or alas, our 25th.
Although we aren't celebrating this day with any major fanfare, we are happy to hit our Silver Anniversary. I love my husband by far more now than when I said "I do". I hope we have a honeymoon sometime before we hit our 50th, but if we don't that's ok too. It's the years in between that count.
As for the earthly possessions he endowed me with, - they are long gone. But the treasures we've been storing in our hearts and in heaven will always be with us.
Happy Anniversary dahling!
Imagine, Rod and I married for a quarter of a century! Many who watched us say our vows were inwardly thinking we wouldn't last a year. Rod an old fashioned Mennonite and me an independent Scandinavian....you get the picture.
They weren't far off in their predictions, we almost didn't make it. In spite of Rod memorizing every Dobson book on marriage & women before vowing to endow me with all his earthly posessions (a wok and a beat up old toyata), our first few months together were far from blissful. Poor Rod tried everything to tame his willfull bride. Somehow reading Proverbs 31 to me every evening did little to improve my attitude. I only wished for the authority to write a Proverbs 32.
By grace we adjusted and survived. We have gone through quite a bit as husband and wife. The birth of four children and the loss of one who should have been born, 15 moves (two of which were overseas), the passing of both our mothers, numerous career changes, and everything that brings joy and sorrow in between.
We've had two major "hic-ups". By that I mean we almost parted ways twice. Both times we re-committed our lives to each other by wiping the slate clean and starting fresh as if we had no past. It worked like a charm. Sometimes you just can't sort through everything and "get to the bottom" of each issue. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie and move on. One thing Rod and I have in common is that we hate keeping a record of wrongs. Actually, my lack of memory is such that I couldn't, even if I wanted to, so that helps.
I am so glad we made it to 25. It is too easy to give up when the going gets tough. Even the best of relationships have their ups and downs. I believe that couples who never have disagreements are in deep trouble. Each time we made it through a rough spot we grew closer as friends, confidants and lovers. Rod has faithfully been by my side through thick and thin just like he promised. I kept my promise too: "Where you go, there I will go also." took on a much bigger meaning than I anticipated when we said our vows. I really didn't want to leave my homeland and family for a second time back in 1988. And, I really loved the job I had in Flin Flon. But every move has been worth it; with new experiences, friends and life lessons each place we've gone.
We've never been big on celebrating our anniversaries. Not sure why, other than the fact it would be up to Rod to make the arrangements. Actually, we never went on a honeymoon either. That was my fault. I was to begin a new job two days after our wedding, so I couldn't go anywhere. (As I walked down the aisle, I silently chanted price lists I needed to have memorized.) We figured we'd go somewhere on our fifth anniversary instead. We didn't; not on our fifth, tenth, 20th or alas, our 25th.
Although we aren't celebrating this day with any major fanfare, we are happy to hit our Silver Anniversary. I love my husband by far more now than when I said "I do". I hope we have a honeymoon sometime before we hit our 50th, but if we don't that's ok too. It's the years in between that count.
As for the earthly possessions he endowed me with, - they are long gone. But the treasures we've been storing in our hearts and in heaven will always be with us.
Happy Anniversary dahling!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Early morning thoughts
I was going to call this entry "Thoughts at 5 am", but it is now much later. So although I thought these thoughts around 5 am, I can't lie and pretend it's still 5 am. I could call it "Thoughts at 6:42" but then again in a minute it won't be 6:42 and another lie would surface. Let's just say I'm awake way earlier than usual and my fuzzy brain is racing.
One thing I didn't mention in my first entry is that I'm on Prozac. Sounds so Hollywood, but it isn't. Since going on medication I have found out that many, many women my age, right here in our city, are on Prozac. (Considering the crime-rate here, who can blame us? Just kidding....sort of.)
I did not just wake up one morning and say "Hey, I think I'll try some Prozac. Sounds so cool." On the contrary. It started with sleeplessness and worry. Continued with crying and despair. Next came the inability to eat or swallow. That's when I knew I needed help. It's not normal for me not to eat. That's how people recognize me. When they see a middle aged blonde stuffing her face they automatically go "Hey, isn't that Liz?"
I first went to a doctor regarding my mood changes about three and a half years ago. This particular MD was more like a drug dealer. Without thought he asked if I wanted drugs. I responded "What do you think?" at which point he'd already filled out a prescription for anti-depressants. I must have looked as crappy as I felt, because he sure didn't probe much. I was not ready to do drugs. I feared the drugs more than I feared the fear. That changed.
A year later I was loosing weight rapidly. I learned that skinny people are unhappy people. The reason they're skinny is because they walk around with a knot in their stomach and another one in their throat so they can't eat. I decided I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable. I missed my love affair with food. I also missed sleeping. And I missed being able to not cry. I cried each time I looked at my kids, sure that their lives would turn out terrible. I cried when I went to bed, knowing I wouldn't sleep that night either. I cried in the morning when I had to get up. What to do with life, what to do? I cried in the washroom at work several times a day. I cried as I walked the neighbourhood praying for all the lost youth. God help them. GOD HELP ME!!!
I felt like the writer of Psalm 88. Rod calls this the darkest Psalm with no good ending. That's how I felt. Like there was no good ending. As the last line reads "The darkness is my closest friend." Thankfully, after Psalm 88 comes Psalm 89! It starts out "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever, with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations."
After much prayer and involuntary fasting, a year after my first offer of medication, I met a wonderful doctor who really cared. He counselled me weekly for months until I finally agreed to try Prozac. (Actually I'm using a cheaper brand, but Prozac sounds more familiar and is much easier to spell.) Within a month I was back to normal. I could think again, I definitely could eat again, and I started to enjoy life once more. It felt just as if someone had turned on the light.
Of course I don't credit just the medication for my getting well again. Many friends prayed for me. I did what the bible said and went to the elders. I also have the most patient and loving husband in the world so that too helped. With the help of a fabulous surgeon I got rid of my uterus. That did wonders. A handfull of dear friends shouldered my misery and listened patiently to my cries. But above all, God himself heard my weeping. He answered my prayer. When I was spread across my bed, desperate for relief screaming "God help me, where are you, do you care????" he was right there by my side saying "This too shall pass".
I also found a friend in books. Authors like Barbara Johnson who use humour as a balm, introduced me to laughter in the midst of pain. May God bless writers everywhere!
Why am I thinking about all this right now? Because, after a year of taking Prozac I am thankful. A sleepless night no longer means the end of the world. I know I can sleep again later.
Praise God for intelligent, caring doctors. Praise God for praying friends. Praise God for early morning rain. Praise God for laughter. Praise God for eternal perspective. Praise God for his guidance and care. And as Psalm 89 ends, so shall I. "Praise be to the Lord forever! Amen and Amen."
One thing I didn't mention in my first entry is that I'm on Prozac. Sounds so Hollywood, but it isn't. Since going on medication I have found out that many, many women my age, right here in our city, are on Prozac. (Considering the crime-rate here, who can blame us? Just kidding....sort of.)
I did not just wake up one morning and say "Hey, I think I'll try some Prozac. Sounds so cool." On the contrary. It started with sleeplessness and worry. Continued with crying and despair. Next came the inability to eat or swallow. That's when I knew I needed help. It's not normal for me not to eat. That's how people recognize me. When they see a middle aged blonde stuffing her face they automatically go "Hey, isn't that Liz?"
I first went to a doctor regarding my mood changes about three and a half years ago. This particular MD was more like a drug dealer. Without thought he asked if I wanted drugs. I responded "What do you think?" at which point he'd already filled out a prescription for anti-depressants. I must have looked as crappy as I felt, because he sure didn't probe much. I was not ready to do drugs. I feared the drugs more than I feared the fear. That changed.
A year later I was loosing weight rapidly. I learned that skinny people are unhappy people. The reason they're skinny is because they walk around with a knot in their stomach and another one in their throat so they can't eat. I decided I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable. I missed my love affair with food. I also missed sleeping. And I missed being able to not cry. I cried each time I looked at my kids, sure that their lives would turn out terrible. I cried when I went to bed, knowing I wouldn't sleep that night either. I cried in the morning when I had to get up. What to do with life, what to do? I cried in the washroom at work several times a day. I cried as I walked the neighbourhood praying for all the lost youth. God help them. GOD HELP ME!!!
I felt like the writer of Psalm 88. Rod calls this the darkest Psalm with no good ending. That's how I felt. Like there was no good ending. As the last line reads "The darkness is my closest friend." Thankfully, after Psalm 88 comes Psalm 89! It starts out "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever, with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known through all generations."
After much prayer and involuntary fasting, a year after my first offer of medication, I met a wonderful doctor who really cared. He counselled me weekly for months until I finally agreed to try Prozac. (Actually I'm using a cheaper brand, but Prozac sounds more familiar and is much easier to spell.) Within a month I was back to normal. I could think again, I definitely could eat again, and I started to enjoy life once more. It felt just as if someone had turned on the light.
Of course I don't credit just the medication for my getting well again. Many friends prayed for me. I did what the bible said and went to the elders. I also have the most patient and loving husband in the world so that too helped. With the help of a fabulous surgeon I got rid of my uterus. That did wonders. A handfull of dear friends shouldered my misery and listened patiently to my cries. But above all, God himself heard my weeping. He answered my prayer. When I was spread across my bed, desperate for relief screaming "God help me, where are you, do you care????" he was right there by my side saying "This too shall pass".
I also found a friend in books. Authors like Barbara Johnson who use humour as a balm, introduced me to laughter in the midst of pain. May God bless writers everywhere!
Why am I thinking about all this right now? Because, after a year of taking Prozac I am thankful. A sleepless night no longer means the end of the world. I know I can sleep again later.
Praise God for intelligent, caring doctors. Praise God for praying friends. Praise God for early morning rain. Praise God for laughter. Praise God for eternal perspective. Praise God for his guidance and care. And as Psalm 89 ends, so shall I. "Praise be to the Lord forever! Amen and Amen."
Monday, August 11, 2008
I love Lucy!
I love Lucy, really I do. The whacky red-head could make me laugh (and relate) like no-one else. But, does my life have to resemble her beloved re-runs?
Take Saturday morning as an example. I woke up in a rather brutal, not uncommon, way. The phone was ringing loudly and no-one was taking it. I'm not the only person in the house who faithfully sleeps in on the weekend. I am however, the only person who wakes up when the phone rings. I crawled out of bed in my usual sleep attire; a rather short, somewhat skimpy nighty. Sounds sexy? Maybe from the neck down, but my morning hairdo and make-up could scare the sex drive out of any man! In retrospect, that might be a good thing.
I was heading towards the dog-on phone when I tripped over a pile of DVD's on the floor. I should've known better than to look straight ahead; in our house there are various piles of different sizes whereever you'd least expect them. The trick is to look down at all times. Anyway, as I lost my balance my arms flew in the air, my body made a strange twist, (I can still feel it) and I fell face first and boobs second right onto the couch. That's when I realized I was not alone. A young man was sleeping on the couch, or at least he was until I landed on him. Thinking it was my son missing work again I yelled "DAVID, you gotta get up for work, that's probably them calling!!"
"WHAAAEEEE!!!!!" the no longer sound-asleep young adult screamed! "WHAAAAEEEEEEEE!!!!" I yelled even louder. Behind me I heard a third "WHAAAAEEEE!" from my 17 year old, Natalie. "MOM, NOOOOO! That's NOT David!!!!" She sounded near hysterical.
Now that I was awake, I realized I was leaning over a total stranger; my semi-sexy nighty, racoon make-up, "got-frizz?" hair and all. I quickly excused myself and ran back upstairs. Well, I really don't do running, so it was more of a hurried limp.
Exactly 23 minutes later I re-appeared in the kitchen; boobs, hair and make-up in all the appropriate places. I introduced myself to the young man (who was at this point having it out with our coffee maker) as Natalie's real mom. My poor daughter was still recovering from the entire experience. I think it might take her some time.
FYI my daughters don't make a habit of bringing home male companions without clearing it with me first, but apparently this was an "emergency" of sorts, and poor Trevor (who actually makes pretty decent java) needed a couch on which to crash for the night. My bad for going to bed so early I guess.
The day only got worse, for me that is, not Natalie. (How could it? She went on her merry way to the mall like any sane, unemployed teen on a Saturday.) So as to finish sometime today, I will only bring up disaster number two, and you'll get my drift.
My munchkin (a.k.a. my one and only grandchild Nicholas, who is of course the most beautiful, intelligent, strong and observant almost-four-month old in the entire universe!!!) was about to arrive and I had up to this point not accomplished anything visa-vi housework. The most urgent task on my agenda was to boil water for his bottles. Like any person in our family, Nicholas is not impressed with starvation, so it was of utmost importance that I have at least half-a-dozen bottles at the ready before his grand arrival. As I plugged in the kettle I realized the kitchen was in desperate need of a wipe-down, so I plugged the sink, turned on the tap and added a bit of soap. You know what comes next, don't you...
My excuse is a riveting article in the newspaper. It had to do with Winnipegers once again showing their compassion in action, this time by planning to block a crazy cult (yes cult, not church!!!) from gaining access to a funeral. Anyone following the story would understand the distraction. When the water started flowing like a river across the kitchen, I heard it, yes I admit I heard the sound...it just didn't register. I honestly thought it was the kettle boiling, and I usually let it boil for a while anyhow so I ignored it.
Suddenly I discovered the sudsy waves splashing across the hallway and once again "WHAAAEEEE!!!" fell from my mouth along with a few other choice words. David (who indeed had stayed home due to an accident: a whole 'nother blog for a different day) came tearing up the stairs in a "let-me-at-em, let-me-at-em" mode, in spite of his injuries, ready to battle with whom/what ever was attacking his mama. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was "only" a flood taking over the house.
Several laundry loads of wet towels later, I was ready for Nicholas, whose mom thankfully called and said they'd be an hour late. God is good. If she'd come on time, she might never want me to spend time with the tyke again, for fear he'd drown in my kitchen.
I have often heard from friends that I remind them of Lucille Ball. At first I would thank them, thinking I actually looked like her. She was after all very beautiful. But alas, it has more to do with her lack of focus. I too have no focus. I would like some focus. Just a smidgen focus, even, would be great. It would, for example, be nice to read one book at a time, or get my whole house clean on the same day, or drive to work just once without someone honking at me or vice versa. (Actually, I don't honk, I just use my outside voice. Thanks to a co-worker, I can yell at people in Italian, which somehow seems more effective.)
Why did I start a blog? Because I love writing. I would like to write a book; but a blog seems more appropriate. I won't have to focus for too long and no-one will actually have to publish what I write so as to not destroy my self-esteem.
Welcome to my place.
Liz
PS. I never did find out who called.
PPS. There will be plenty of PS's as I never finish talking, unfocused as I am.
Bye.
Take Saturday morning as an example. I woke up in a rather brutal, not uncommon, way. The phone was ringing loudly and no-one was taking it. I'm not the only person in the house who faithfully sleeps in on the weekend. I am however, the only person who wakes up when the phone rings. I crawled out of bed in my usual sleep attire; a rather short, somewhat skimpy nighty. Sounds sexy? Maybe from the neck down, but my morning hairdo and make-up could scare the sex drive out of any man! In retrospect, that might be a good thing.
I was heading towards the dog-on phone when I tripped over a pile of DVD's on the floor. I should've known better than to look straight ahead; in our house there are various piles of different sizes whereever you'd least expect them. The trick is to look down at all times. Anyway, as I lost my balance my arms flew in the air, my body made a strange twist, (I can still feel it) and I fell face first and boobs second right onto the couch. That's when I realized I was not alone. A young man was sleeping on the couch, or at least he was until I landed on him. Thinking it was my son missing work again I yelled "DAVID, you gotta get up for work, that's probably them calling!!"
"WHAAAEEEE!!!!!" the no longer sound-asleep young adult screamed! "WHAAAAEEEEEEEE!!!!" I yelled even louder. Behind me I heard a third "WHAAAAEEEE!" from my 17 year old, Natalie. "MOM, NOOOOO! That's NOT David!!!!" She sounded near hysterical.
Now that I was awake, I realized I was leaning over a total stranger; my semi-sexy nighty, racoon make-up, "got-frizz?" hair and all. I quickly excused myself and ran back upstairs. Well, I really don't do running, so it was more of a hurried limp.
Exactly 23 minutes later I re-appeared in the kitchen; boobs, hair and make-up in all the appropriate places. I introduced myself to the young man (who was at this point having it out with our coffee maker) as Natalie's real mom. My poor daughter was still recovering from the entire experience. I think it might take her some time.
FYI my daughters don't make a habit of bringing home male companions without clearing it with me first, but apparently this was an "emergency" of sorts, and poor Trevor (who actually makes pretty decent java) needed a couch on which to crash for the night. My bad for going to bed so early I guess.
The day only got worse, for me that is, not Natalie. (How could it? She went on her merry way to the mall like any sane, unemployed teen on a Saturday.) So as to finish sometime today, I will only bring up disaster number two, and you'll get my drift.
My munchkin (a.k.a. my one and only grandchild Nicholas, who is of course the most beautiful, intelligent, strong and observant almost-four-month old in the entire universe!!!) was about to arrive and I had up to this point not accomplished anything visa-vi housework. The most urgent task on my agenda was to boil water for his bottles. Like any person in our family, Nicholas is not impressed with starvation, so it was of utmost importance that I have at least half-a-dozen bottles at the ready before his grand arrival. As I plugged in the kettle I realized the kitchen was in desperate need of a wipe-down, so I plugged the sink, turned on the tap and added a bit of soap. You know what comes next, don't you...
My excuse is a riveting article in the newspaper. It had to do with Winnipegers once again showing their compassion in action, this time by planning to block a crazy cult (yes cult, not church!!!) from gaining access to a funeral. Anyone following the story would understand the distraction. When the water started flowing like a river across the kitchen, I heard it, yes I admit I heard the sound...it just didn't register. I honestly thought it was the kettle boiling, and I usually let it boil for a while anyhow so I ignored it.
Suddenly I discovered the sudsy waves splashing across the hallway and once again "WHAAAEEEE!!!" fell from my mouth along with a few other choice words. David (who indeed had stayed home due to an accident: a whole 'nother blog for a different day) came tearing up the stairs in a "let-me-at-em, let-me-at-em" mode, in spite of his injuries, ready to battle with whom/what ever was attacking his mama. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was "only" a flood taking over the house.
Several laundry loads of wet towels later, I was ready for Nicholas, whose mom thankfully called and said they'd be an hour late. God is good. If she'd come on time, she might never want me to spend time with the tyke again, for fear he'd drown in my kitchen.
I have often heard from friends that I remind them of Lucille Ball. At first I would thank them, thinking I actually looked like her. She was after all very beautiful. But alas, it has more to do with her lack of focus. I too have no focus. I would like some focus. Just a smidgen focus, even, would be great. It would, for example, be nice to read one book at a time, or get my whole house clean on the same day, or drive to work just once without someone honking at me or vice versa. (Actually, I don't honk, I just use my outside voice. Thanks to a co-worker, I can yell at people in Italian, which somehow seems more effective.)
Why did I start a blog? Because I love writing. I would like to write a book; but a blog seems more appropriate. I won't have to focus for too long and no-one will actually have to publish what I write so as to not destroy my self-esteem.
Welcome to my place.
Liz
PS. I never did find out who called.
PPS. There will be plenty of PS's as I never finish talking, unfocused as I am.
Bye.
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