Commitment phobias die hard.

It is amazing what a day can do to one's heart and mind. My whole spirit feels overwhelmed with comfort today.

This morning I woke up and decided that I was going to be happy. It's my choice to feel how I will feel. Today I decided to feel happy. Or maybe just better? I don't know.

I'm thinking about joining a "run for an hour straight in two months" challenge. It has been a life's goal to be able to run a mile by the time I'm 35. I have never been able to run. Even when I was young. My lungs just couldn't handle it. I'm not sure my heart can take any more failure on my body's part, hence the nervousness. But it does start quite gradually, and maybe that will help? I don't know. I'm thinking about it. But I suppose, as with all things, I am reluctant to commit. Or maybe I'm just too sober to commit? LOL!

I am feeling so discouraged. I feel like all of my positivity is gone and I just feel completely defeated. I am so frustrated with my broken body that is not functioning right. I'm exhausted all the time, sick all the time, and if I eat more than 1000 calories a day I gain weight and more weight and more weight. I hurt because my body can't handle this much weight. It doesn't matter that I exercise every. single. day. It doesn't matter that I eat like a health nut. It doesn't matter that I take vitamins, stay away from soft drinks, consume an incredible amount of water, etc etc. I don't like sweets, so I exceptionally rarely eat them (we're talking maybe once every two months). I don't crave junk food (chips are such a waste of nutrition). I just am so fed up.

So after four months of being sick (literally), I went to the doctor. As much as I love medicine, I am intelligent enough to know when a physician actually needs to treat me and when I just need to suffer through. I know I need to see an endocrinologist. I know my hormones are off. But now my insurance company no longer believes in referring people out. So the doctor said it will probably be denied. Wonderful. The Army will pay thousands of dollars for me to have some sort of weight loss surgery but heaven forbid I should actually see the specialist who can fix what's wrong with me.

I feel like giving up. I feel like crawling into a hole and hiding. It's not that I care about being fat. Seriously, I don't. It's the control. I have none. Yes, I can control what I eat. Yes, I control whether or not I work out. But I have no control over my body performing the way it is supposed to. I have no control over whether or not all of my nutritional and health efforts will do anything.

Today my blood pressure was really high. So despite that I eat like a nutrition nut. Despite that I exercise every day, my body is still falling apart. It is incredibly maddening and immensely frustrating.

Is this my punishment for getting my tubes tied?

I have been incredibly sick. I have been horrifically sick. I hate being sick and it literally irritates the bananas out of me, but it is what it is.

This being said, I don't know what I feel about Christmas this year. I feel incomplete, if that makes sense at all. I feel like the Christmas story hasn't been focused on or perfected enough. I feel like I've barely started writing December, let alone the notion of Christmas.

I have immensely loved being with my children and husband. Our days have been filled with laughter, smiles, cuddles and closeness. I have stayed as far away from my phone as humanly possible. I suppose the deployment caused phone burn out.

Life is good. Despite the sickness aspect. I feel so thankful to be with my whole family again. I am blessed beyond measure.

Parenting. It's scary!

I always hate when people write excuses for why they haven't updated their blogs. So I won't. My apologies.

The past couple of weeks I have really been vegging out. It's amazing how this time of year I end up completely exhausted. I don't feel like talking on the phone or doing much of anything, because everything is so GO GO GO and busy, busy, busy.

I have really been trying to pay a lot of attention to my kids. I think they've been overlooked the past few months. I have intentionally removed myself from the deployed-glued-to-the-phone viewpoint, and have made efforts to being with them. The truth is, they are growing up so fast. These moments will fade away quickly. Soon they will be grown up and I'll be sitting here wondering why I didn't play with them more and focus on everyone else less.

Tonight was one of these moments. We all sat around and watched a movie together. Then we turned on some Christmas music and started dancing. The dancing then led to laughing, which led to chasing, which led to two hours of fun and play time. It. was. a. blast.

Even now as an adult I remember the moments when my parents would chillax and play with us. There was one day when we went to the park and played "baseball" with a tennis racket (we were poor) and a hand ball (all we had). It was the time of my life. I didn't care about how we looked, or what other people thought. We were just having the time of our lives.

I wonder if these moments will be lasting for my children. I have to admit, I am a pretty strict mom. I really am. On the flip side of that, I want my children to remember their childhoods with smiles and silliness. I want them to remember a home where laughter reigned supreme. I want the foundation of their adult selves to be joy and love.

Why is this notion so easily lost in the chaos of raising children? For some it's lost in the guise of strictness and rules. For others it's completely lost in the complete and utter lack of any sort of rules at all. Truth is, raising kids is really freaking hard. It's the hardest thing I have ever done. The truth is, I don't really have any answers at all. Parenting is always a work in progress, an ever evolving process of figuring out some really weird stuff and then trying to set guidelines (which are always changing, by the way, because your kids get older and need larger guidelines!) and teach the kids to live within them. You are doing all of this, while also internally embarking on WWIII within your very self because all you want to do is protect them, shelter them, and save them from anything that might ever hurt them.

So anyway. I love the moments when I can throw off the roles of "momzilla" and just be silly and crazy. I love laughing with my children.

Love

When I was young I believed that real love didn't exist. I viewed love as selfish, manipulative, conniving, dishonest, abusive, destructive. I hated love. I hated affection. Love was something that people only had in the movies. Love wasn't real, and love was certainly not something I was going to experience.

I dated a decent amount of fellows desperately wanting to believe that love was real. Until Ace (nickname).

That whole "relationship" started out on a lie. He asked me to "go steady" (lol) with him and I told him I needed to pray about it. For a whole week I prayed, and I knew God was telling me no. I knew it wasn't something I was supposed to be in. At the end of the week, he called me for my response (doesn't this all sound so dramatic!?). He was so excited and I didn't have the heart to hurt him. So, to be nice, I said yes. I remember telling God that night that I was tired of being hurt and that I just wanted this one thing to work, and that I needed him to make it work. I literally told God that he "owed" me and that he needed to make this happen because I needed it.

Biggest mistake ever. That relationship was probably the most destructive I've ever been in. Not because of him, or really because of me, but simply because of circumstance. Despite the fact that I knew God was saying no, I literally fell hard for Ace. My heart was wholly his. Nevermind that our personalities were just completely inappropriately matched. This relationship failure was not for lack of trying. Ace loved me. Ace really loved me. And I really loved him. And we tried. We tried with every fiber of both of our beings and in the end, we both ended up messed up, confused, and broken. I learned then that it didn't matter how hard I tried, sometimes two good people just don't belong together.

After that break up, I launched myself into three years of playing with men. I was a tease. I was bored. I was angry. I was hurt. Guys were just a tool to feel better about myself.

On some random day in January, my whole world changed. I met this person, on the phone, who literally rocked my core. I met this person who sassed back at me, who teased back at me, who wasn't intimidated by me. I met this person who fought back at what I dished out. I met this person who completely mesmerized me. I fell in love. It was instantaneous. There was no arguing with it either. I was completely a lost cause. I had no idea what this chap looked like. I knew nothing about him at all, except that he was in the Army. I went to dinner that night and told my friends that I met the man I was going to marry. They laughed at me. Mind you, this laughter was deserved, since I had a "new guy" every week and they knew me only to be incredibly fickle, however, I still knew I was going to marry this dude.

All of a sudden, love became something completely different. All of a sudden, love became terrifying. It wasn't  hard. It was easy. Too easy. We never fought or argued. We agreed about everything. Not in a superficial, but in a completely literal way. We thought alike. We believed alike. We viewed the world the same way. It was amazing. I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility of real love being so easy. So I ran.

I took off and tried on a love that was "hard" because I guess my screwed up brain needed to be completely convinced that "hard love" wasn't real love. Well, it isn't. Love isn't hard. At least not the way so many people like to make it seem. Love isn't endless compromising, or fighting, or changing, or morphing, or sacrificing. Love isn't giving everything up, or bending over backwards over and over again. Love isn't generous. Love is completely selfish. But in a beautiful way.

It is selfish for me to love him. I LOVE loving him! It is selfish for me to do the things that make him smile, because I LOVE making him smile. I don't change myself to fit his "status quo". I am my complete self. He loves my complete self. He loves my flaws, my insanities, my silliness, my seriousness, my emotional basketcaseness, my worrying side, my angry side, my comforting side. He knows every facet of my self and he loves me anyway. THAT is what love is. Love is loving someone, accepting someone, completely as they are. Not as you want them to be, pretend that they are (or they pretend to be), or you imagine you both could be together.

I have seen so many people commit themselves to love being hard. I have seen this (and done it myself) because of a complete fear of being alone. I think we all have an aspect in ourselves that says "I'd rather have a difficult 'love' than no love". I think this is a lie that evil feeds us. Difficult love isn't love. It's infatuation, desperation, anxiety, and maybe a lot of other words, but it isn't love. Real love sets you free and finding it is a complete and utter miracle.

Love is a powerful, simple and yet completely complicated word. Love is life changing, perspective altering. Love gives all. It has to, because it doesn't have the option of holding back. Love is messy, feisty, argumentative, emotional, and completely insane.

In my own life, I have different levels of "love". I can literally count on just a few fingers the number of people that are on the receiving end of my intense love. With all of them, I instantly loved them (despite all logic), and have continued to do so. With all of them I have given more of my emotional state than with everyone else combined. With each of them I would give and give and give and give. With each of them I would bend over backwards, climb Mount Everest, swim the ocean, and cry buckets and buckets of tears.

These are people in my life who don't get a lot of public recognition, with the exception of Chief. This is for a multitude of reasons, the first of which is that I am incredibly protective of them. Ferociously so. Almost borderline psychotically protective. The second is that my love for them is not an option. It isn't something that I can choose to turn off. It isn't something that anyone else is allowed to have an opinion about. It is what it is because it has to be. 

I have never been able to pinpoint what it is about these individuals that creates this attachment. I have spent an incredible amount of introspective thought power to try to say why it is that I must love these people. I can't say. There is no one thing that clicks in my mind and says this is it! This is why! Now it makes sense. There are just too many reasons to list. There is too much about them that is too significant. It is on a completely different plane of reality from everyone else.

This morning I took what I can only call the most significant step in my whole life. A lot of people think that getting married, having children, or buying a house would classify as this pivotal moment in their life. For me, getting married and having children were massively significant moments in my life, but they paled in comparison to this one. On this day, December 4, 2011, I officially and publicly said goodbye to my former life of Baptist faith and tradition, and stated my intention to join in full communion with the Roman Catholic Church.

I was a passionate Baptist. I led bible studies, dove into massive theological understanding, sought out truth, challenged and questioned God, myself and others. I have had people say a lot of things about what my spiritual gifts are. I have been the "hope" of a lot of leaders who wanted me to take up the biblical teaching task and allow them to relax a little.

Truth be told, I love Scripture. I thrive on it. I enjoy studying it. It is a massive passion of mine to take what so many people struggle to grasp, or barely pay attention to, and then help them to look at it in a different way. It is a massive desire in my heart to help other people fall in love with Jesus. So many people have no idea who He really is and they live angry, frustrated lives, because no one actually takes the time to introduce them. That breaks my heart.

Leaving my life of Protestantism was incredibly painful. The amount of agony in my heart over all the people that I have assisted in leading in error cripples me. I am hungry for more and more truth and understanding. I am sad to leave that which has been so familiar to me. It hurts. It seems so silly that it does, but I can't seem to stop myself. It hurts to know that I have to draw the line, and I can't partake in this wishy washy attitude of "aren't we all a part of the same team" kind of perspective. Truthfully, we're not. Catholicism and Protestantism are mutually exclusive beliefs. You either believe that the Catholic Church was the backbone on which Christ established his tradition and church or you don't. You either believe the Eucharist is a commandment (John 6) or you don't. You either believe that the Eucharist is the actual blood and body of Christ or you don't. You either believe that scripture has called all of us to a life of submission to both God and the church, or you don't. You really do have to choose between the two. And it's hard.

Protestantism is incredibly successful because it's entirely emotions based. Truthfully, that's all it really has going for it. Think about it, Sunday morning is all about "vibe." Do I feel good in this place? Do I feel the Holy Spirit here? Do I feel welcomed? Do I feel this is where God wants me to be? Do I like the worship? Do I feel moved when the music is playing? The list of self centered questions go on and on. Protestant church, however, is all about self. And when it's all about self, it's not about God. Because self focus and God focus are mutually exclusive. You are either focused on God, or yourself.

Leaving a life which has been entirely centered on my feelings is hard. I used to feel the presence of God all around me. I used to feel God moving in me and around me. I don't anymore. Not that I don't know that He's moving and that He's here, I just don't have the emotional aspect of it anymore. It requires a massive change in perspective. Knowing and feeling are two completely different things. I know God is around me. I know God is here and moving.

Today, I had all the physical manifestations of my body's version of panic: migraine headache, sweating, dizziness, shaking. I literally felt sick. Then Fr. Rick started talking. He started talking about this beautiful experience is clinging to God, and letting all of the other stuff fade away. This has been lost in the "christian" realm. People are too focused on feelings. They're too focused on numbers, or tithes, or buildings, or popularity, or concerts. People are too focused on appearing like they're in love with God to actually be in love with God. People don't cling to Him anymore. I don't even think they really know Him.

This day is painful in a lot of ways. I have always been immaculately different from those around me. I have always been the odd one: in my family, in my friends, in the crowd. I have hated this aspect of myself. So today I walked away from the faith of my family, the faith of my friends, and I feel incredibly alone in my circle. I was hurt that my friends didn't support me today. I was hurt that while so many of my beautiful church family shared in celebrations and encouragement, I was ignored and snapped at. It's not that those things are required. I'm not on this journey for the celebration of others. This is not about anyone other than me and Christ, but it still stings.

I am so grateful for my brothers and sisters at St. Patrick's. I am thankful for their hugs and their cheers and their support. I am thankful for the journey that we're all on together. I'm thankful for the sense of family that they have brought to my life. I am thankful even for the stings that came along with this day. I am thankful that Chief was standing right next to me while we both said our first official "goodbye" to all that we had previously known and our public "hello" to Truth. I am thankful for his shoulder to cry on in mass. I am thankful for the man that he is. I am constantly in awe of his support, encouragement and wisdom.

So I suppose I'm trying to process all of this.

All's fair in love and heat strokes

I love my husband, I really do. I think all you have to do is read through just a couple of my posts and you can see that I am pretty hardcore in this dude that I'm married to. However, there are moments when the love of my life drives me completely crazy. I will divulge into this very serious issue, now.

Sleep is a sensitive issue for me. When Chief deploys, I no longer have to battles with his middle-of-the-night (okay, slight exaggeration) alarm clock sounds, the worry that he got up and went back to sleep in the living room instead of getting ready for work, and the fifteen thousand times he comes in and out of my room, turning the bathroom light on and off, while getting ready for work. Let me just say, I have not missed these activities. I have tried to shift my morning schedule to get up when he does so that this will bother me less, however, it has never really proved successful. Maybe I should take up the fight again.

Of all things aggravating, however, this is minor on the scale. You see, women, especially women who are getting older (gasp! Did she just say getting older? Well chillax my women friends, there is no such thing as a woman who is not getting older. Or a girl, boy, man, etc etc for that matter as well) have this lovely concoction within themselves called hormones. Hormones create, in women, what I like to call female heat strokes (AKA night sweats) while we attempt to sleep. Women, if they have children, who don't get a decent amount of sleep become highly agitated and snippy.

Now, I confess to you that I suffer from female heat strokes. I am constantly roasting under my thin sheets. It has been so awful on occasion, that I have actually slept with ice packs!

So how does Chief play into this disturbing phenomena? I will tell you. I am 100% convinced that Chief's body temperature rises to 800 degrees when he falls asleep. I kid you not, we can be snuggling in bed reading books, or playing games, and he does not cause me to roast. I will give you an example. Last night I slept with the window open in my room. It was negative 700 degrees outside, so I figured that for certain I would get a decent night's sleep. Is this what played out? No. Chief decided that he was not content to sleep next to me in our massive bed, no no. Chief had to sleep on top of me, with Spaniel alongside just to ensure my experience of heat stroke. I kicked off all the blankets to try to cool off, and then I decided to feel Chief's forehead. Um, if I had a thermometer handy, I swear his body temperature was AT LEAST 105 degrees (on a side note, is this why he's so skinny!? He just sweats off every single calorie that enters his body! Humph!).

Now I know that to have him here to sleep next to (or under) is a wonderful treat. So I tried to fall asleep, and tolerate how hot I was. I know that so many dear friends' husbands are far away. I know that he and I have spend many nights not sleeping next to each other, and it is a beautiful gift to hear his sleep talking, the rise and fall of his chest, and the comfort of his embrace. I get all of that. However, at about four o'clock in the morning, I tried to gently push Chief over to his side of the bed. What happened? He took that as wanting to snuggle more and in his sleep starts to tell me how much he loves me (is this sleep induced guilt-tripping? Does that exist!?). I finally snapped. I was a rubber band that had been stretched too thin from lack of sleep and too much overheating. I spicily said, "Can you please move over to your side of the bed!?!?!?!" He reacted like a child who just put his hand on a hot stove.

I finally cooled off. I could feel my skin breathing a massive sigh of relief. So, do you know where I was when his alarm went off this morning for him to go to work? I had shifted myself over to his side of the bed and I was snuggling him!

I guess I'm just a glutton for heat stroke. :)