tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7063942681010351482024-03-13T22:12:05.548-05:00Just JulsLearning to be 100% me 100% of the time!Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.comBlogger1164125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-26703124139853261372014-01-02T09:04:00.003-06:002014-01-02T09:04:56.516-06:00Let it Scare You Just a Little Bit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was a prolific blogger. Past life. A life that doesn't exist anymore. I wrote heart and soul to fill pages and pages of blankness with my thoughts, my feelings, myself. I made friends. Followed other blogs. Shared comments generously. I was one of them. My blogs were personal. My heart a window thrown open to the world offering a peek deeply into my life, my soul. I shared it all, bared my soul with those of you who would consider it a gift to be invited in. <br />
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The truth, I always held back. It may not have seemed that way to a reeling audience watching as my mind and my first marriage unraveled. I did it publicly and then it died, my blog, not me. I thrived. The safety of pulling my life back into a semblance of privacy was like pulling weeds away from a garden plant. I got sun and water and air and in that space and nourishment I could grow into a better person, a person healed. <br /><br />Now the writing, it calls me to risk again. Peeling back the layers of myself for public consumption is aversion therapy for the people-pleaser that resides within. My one goal, to be courageous and try to write in a way that scares me a little. <br />
<br />Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-5860454084703899842014-01-01T21:22:00.003-06:002014-01-01T21:51:59.691-06:00La vie est belle - Life is Beautiful<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7KNBGXv6wsvmIxJk62GQ68mXtwBPqRW7rqvTrbfXxge8Mls-9ZmFxrlhbTGf77uiyHsq3MQ5Je8AUbbhu8fzp0UQh2RXECFeUgqW2Z6TjtPaUqI0Z6c_Cltn5hqb_b-SO3F1E3h07lal/s640/blogger-image--200952336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7KNBGXv6wsvmIxJk62GQ68mXtwBPqRW7rqvTrbfXxge8Mls-9ZmFxrlhbTGf77uiyHsq3MQ5Je8AUbbhu8fzp0UQh2RXECFeUgqW2Z6TjtPaUqI0Z6c_Cltn5hqb_b-SO3F1E3h07lal/s200/blogger-image--200952336.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My perfume for Christmas from Kaitlyn</td></tr>
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The changing of time, the passage of an old year into a new is a cause for reflection. We look back on the landmark events of a good year, those dates we write down on the calendar with asterisks or use our red pen to draw little hearts around with fond recollection. Some years are marked with sadness when we must say goodbye to loved ones, try to make our homes in new places, battle things like illness, unemployment or difficult relationships. We readily bid those years adieu. But most years are a mixture of both where good and bad are interspersed with ordinary, non-descript days that are hardly remembered at all.<br />
Life can be messy and complicated. It can be mysterious, exciting and mind-numbingly boring. There are days that test your patience and courage and determination and there are days that will cause you unimaginable delight. This past year, seeing my granddaughter's face on an ultrasound caused a mixture of happiness and sadness I find difficult to articulate. With her arrival my daughter becomes a mother and I know that will stretch her and test her and reward her like nothing else in life can in all of it's beautiful messiness.<br />
The coming year offers so much potential. But I find that it is a lot of pressure to live up to. I woke this morning with a lot of messages about eating well and exercising, goal setting, resolution making. I like the idea of the first page of a book with 365 blank pages, but I also find it a little overwhelming. This year will play out as it will, already written in a book of the pages of the days of each of our lives and I will embrace mine as it comes, one day at a time. Because above all else, I am convinced that life is beautiful. Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-10974012508542717002013-05-09T06:48:00.003-05:002013-05-09T06:49:32.977-05:00Writing About Writing is NOT Real WritingWriting prompts, writing prompts, writing prompts. I can look at a million of them but if I don't put them to work for me, no writing will ever actually get done. I think sometimes the reason I don't write is that I'm too much of a perfectionist. Maybe this will come as a surprise to some who know me who see my tendency towards the haphazard in many areas - but I assure you that writing is not one of them. When it comes to writing, I have started a million journals and ripped out the first page, which is hysterical considering these are *for my eyes only*. I start a letter only to write a paragraph or two and ball the whole thing up and shoot it like a basketball into the wastebasket. If my words feel awkward, unless there is an assignment to turn in or a grade at stake or something that *must* be written, I will easily give up on anything short of perfection. <br />
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In one of my favorite writing books <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bird-Some-Instructions-Writing-Life/dp/0385480016/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1368099642&sr=8-1&keywords=bird+by+bird"><u>Bird by Bird</u></a><b>, </b>Anne Lamott urges aspiring writers with these two pieces of advice:<br />
<ul>
<li>allow yourself to write sh*tty first drafts</li>
<li>write only what you can see in a 1" picture frame</li>
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I love these two pieces of advice. Do I do either of them? No. I don't allow the first drafts to be really, really, really bad. I write, and backspace and re-write and edit even in the midst of what I'm writing. I stay obsessively focused on the big picture. I fret and worry about where I am going with whatever I am writing, the end result, the bottom line, the motivation behind what I feel the need so desperately to say to the world. <br />
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Lurching back into the blogging world has given me an opportunity to do this again, to just put something down! I don't intend for it to be anything of any ultimate significance to anyone else, but a forum to get myself writing again. Once upon a time I was a prolific blogger and stopped in my own best interest when my blog became a place to fall apart in a very public way when my life imploded. I am in a totally different place in life now, and I think I'm ready to throw myself back into something I loved so much - and in even this small way, discipline myself as a writer. <br />
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So here goes..... and thanks for those of you who have always encouraged me along the way. <br />
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<br />Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-78914459761745150942013-05-07T20:14:00.002-05:002013-05-07T20:14:44.614-05:00Never Actually WritingOne of the most difficult things about writing to me is the concept of taking roughly a million thoughts floating around in my brain, like balloons lifting high into the sky - trying to capture them and put them into some sort of order that makes sense. Much of the time my thoughts are equally as vulnerable, prone to popping and deflating. Often before they are even solidly anchored in my head, they disappear. I make attempts at scribbling partial, cryptic thoughts onto notecards and into various Moleskin notebooks only to look back and have no sense of what it is I thought was so brilliant about my idea. I sit before a blank Word document with a flashing cursor and have nothing to give it. I want to pour out all of myself at once - a myriad of thoughts and stories and depth of conviction, but no matter how I try, they all tangle up tightly like a shoelace that has twisted so all the threads become as one. <br />
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This is the frustration with writing or thinking myself a writer - the never actually writing. Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-65725773323964827752013-01-16T07:52:00.001-06:002013-01-16T10:09:40.120-06:00Clothed in What?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The ladies in our Sunday school class at church are embarking on a Beth Moore Bible study called <u>So Long, Insecurity</u>. This study is based on a book by the same name that I read a couple years ago. It had a major influence on me as I began to see how much my own insecurity has impacted my life. But to be honest, I read a great book like that with so.much.truth - one that shows me my own reflection like looking in a mirror, but it stuck in my brain like a magnet to drywall - <i>it didn't.</i> Insecurity's crippling grasp has had an effect on every relationship in my life, every decision large and small. It is my giant and I'm ready to face it! So I began pestering the ladies to do this study with our Sunday school class, hoping that repetition and discussion and doing the *work* (not necessarily in my workbook but in my honest examination of myself before the Lord) would cement the information in my heart and mind. Like the squeaky wheel..... I got the oil! <br />
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This morning I was reading this verse:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>She is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. ~Prov 31:25</i></blockquote>
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She is clothed with <b>strength</b>. In the original Hebrew this word means power, might, stronghold, strong-willed, stubborn, stouthearted. Since it is not a word that is commonly used - I had to look up *stouthearted*. It means <i>courageous </i>or <i>determined</i>. More times than I can count, I have felt fearful, weak, small. I have given up when I should have pressed on. This courageous determination has not earmarked my life. I want some of that. <br />
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She is clothed with<b> dignity</b>. Synonyms for this word include majesty, splendor, glory, honor. The antonyms for this word include <i>shame</i> and <i>disgrace.</i> Shame tells us we are not good enough and disgrace echoes that we never will be. Whether it is the result of our own wrongdoing or foolish behavior or the product of wrongs done to us, it is destroying us. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to have some dignity restored. <br />
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This verse comes to mind:<br />
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<i>As scripture says "Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame." Romans 10:11</i> </blockquote>
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It repeats what is written in Isaiah 28:16 -<br />
<blockquote>
<i>So this is what the Sovereign Lord says: "See I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who trusts will never be dismayed...."</i></blockquote>
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Jesus Christ is the cornerstone. He is the firm foundation. Fear and weakness, shame and disgrace are the products building my life on shifting sands. I am getting free of this if it kills me - and I'm taking as many ladies as I can with me! Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-29899344184072628032012-04-08T07:26:00.002-05:002012-04-08T07:26:50.261-05:00So Much More Than Heaven<br />
Easter morning. Flowers blooming, birds chirping, the grass is green and even the air smells of new life. The red buds on the mountain tell us that what the winter tamped down is rising again. All of creation speaks of spring and the bursting forth of new life that cannot be conquered, regardless of the cold, dark death of winter. It's as if the earth is telling The Story. He is painting a picture with <i>life</i> - with all that surrounds us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDV6wzw3nsla-v6_AdAR9Jb462gm6QLzByjxNMxXHW7f31ODEWA3l5llowCQj6rNgEuKxU8HolnjHrj1JtjaF3q0CT6ShHJSvZFxBA-q_R14-0-_ZE__do89tx-219VvYLI9w1YJKdYkjD/s1600/Easter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDV6wzw3nsla-v6_AdAR9Jb462gm6QLzByjxNMxXHW7f31ODEWA3l5llowCQj6rNgEuKxU8HolnjHrj1JtjaF3q0CT6ShHJSvZFxBA-q_R14-0-_ZE__do89tx-219VvYLI9w1YJKdYkjD/s320/Easter.JPG" width="240" /></a>This morning I am captured by the wonder of Cadbury mini-eggs with my coffee. The crunch of the delicate shell, then sweet and creamy chocolate melting over your tongue and washed away with the hot delicious bitterness of dark roast with cream. A simple pleasure that rouses the senses. Even this sensual indulgence can bring me to a point of worship. He gave me the ability to enjoy this treat and provided all of the makings. It is His, <i>all of it is His </i>and he shares it with me.<br />
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The talk of Easter is death and resurrection to new life. We no longer have to fear the end of this life because we know a price has been paid, the wrongs have been made right. We have the hope of heaven because of <i>Jesus</i>. So much of what we focus on as believers is the end of our lives and where we will go when we die. But it is about <i>so.much.more.</i> Jesus also defeated the things that would cripple us and defeat us as we live these lives. Every day can be accomplished victoriously because of the cross. Jesus died to defeat my anxious soul. This beautiful Easter morning, I will hold on to that for all that I am worth.<br />
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<i>Thank you Jesus for Cadbury mini-eggs and the power to overcome my anxiety. </i><br />
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<br />Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-68840423727009519052012-04-07T07:38:00.002-05:002012-04-07T07:54:06.414-05:00A Mile in the Moccasins of Not Trusting God EnoughOne of the worst parts of having an anxiety disorder is being anxious about <i>being anxious</i>. <br />
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When I share openly how I'm feeling, I get the impression that my anxiety is looked at as a weakness. I read a quote recently that said "Anxiety is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of having tried to remain strong for too long." Yep. Try 40ish years.<br />
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Here is the hard-core truth: I do not <i>want</i> to be anxious. Telling me to take a few deep breaths, take a walk, calm down, try yoga, give it to God, not to worry, yadda yadda yadda only increases the anxiousness that I am feeling - because now on top of the internal pressure, I am anxious about not performing to a <i>standard that suits you.</i><br />
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Recently a friend asked me if I trusted God <i>at all.</i> The most honest answer to that question is, not really. I trust that He loves me, I trust that He cares about me. I trust that whatever happens, He will be there to help me pick up the pieces and ultimately use it all for <b>my good</b>. The trouble with all of this for me is that there is still a lot of hard shit and deep, muddy water sometimes to trudge through in the process. God has allowed it in the past and He very well might allow it again. That is where the fear lies - what will I have to go through to get where God wants to take me? What else am I going to have to survive?<br />
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I love the way the Message puts this in Matthew 6:27<br />
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<blockquote>
<b> "Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch?"</b></blockquote>
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I am under no impression that my worry or anxiety is making any impact on reality, whatsoever. This past week there was a tornado nest forming itself around my oldest daughter where she lives thousands of miles away from me in Texas. When I read that one was touching down in her town and she posted on Facebook that tornado sirens were going off and I couldn't get in touch with her by phone or text, the fears and thoughts were swirling as fast as those torrential winds. Here's a little peek into the thought stream of a full-blown panic attack: <br />
<blockquote>
"<i>Does she know to get out of the third floor? Is there anywhere to go? Why isn't Gary answering his phone? Did she even think to ask that when she moved in there? She's on foot because she doesn't have a car yet, so there's no way to get anywhere else. Why won't she answer her phone? I hope she doesn't try to walk from her apartment building to the complex office once the tornado is there. Bathtub! They have a huge bathtub - she can get in that. Oh, she'll need to pull her mattress on top of her. I wonder if she has listened when I told her these things. Oh Jesus! Why isn't she answering her phone? GOD please keep her safe. </i>(this was about all the prayer I could mutter)<i> Where is Jacob? Oh Lord I hope he's not on a roof somewhere.</i>" </blockquote>
It just went on and on and on like this for a couple of hours. Even once I reached her by phone, the weather hadn't cleared yet. I did not think at any point that I could stop the tornadoes, but I did worry my girl would be safe in a way that was crippling and paralyzing. In contrast, my boss' son who is a college student in that neck of the woods of Texas received a text message from his parents asking if he was alright.<br />
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Sometimes well meaning people advise me to "trust God", not realizing it just makes me feel like more of a failure, like.I'm.failing.God. He knows that I am <i>dust.</i> He knows my frailties and my weaknesses. He knows the capacity I have for trust, and if I am <i>trusting enough.</i><br />
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There are a lot of things that have happened to bring me here. The truth of the matter is that nobody wants it to go away more than I do. I hate it that it has frustrated people that love me and that my friends don't know what to say or do. Sometimes the best medicine is a hug and hearing "it's going to be okay". <b><i>Please know that I am trying.</i></b> Short of taking a handy-dandy handful of pills that the doctor is more than willing to prescribe which will offer me a number of other side effects and drug reactions to put in place of the anxiety and numb me of every other feeling, pain or pleasure - I am doing absolutely everything I can to work on this day by day. I've re-instituted my yoga routine, I'm doing a Beth Moore study on Esther that illustrates God using the most adverse circumstances for someone's ultimate good <i>(pay attention Julie!)</i>, I'm starting a self-help class that helps re-wire your brain so you learn to process stresses differently, I attended a recovery Bible study faithfully for 6 months even though I was the.only.regular attendee <i>with my loving Sasquatch by my side </i>and I have also been doing several other things that I won't mention for fear of how weird they might sound. My body even betrays me, when I'm feeling calm mentally, suddenly my pulse will be soaring with a heart rate of 100+. <br />
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This is a process. Healing is a process. The healing is emotional, mental and physical. The damage didn't happen overnight and it isn't going to heal overnight. Be patient with me and and in so doing, help me learn to be patient with myself. I'm a work in progress.<br />
<br />Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-14190873599018582822012-02-10T06:30:00.001-06:002012-02-10T08:05:32.294-06:00God's Will and Small Steps in Dense FogOne of the most interesting aspects of the Christian language is the assertion of what is and what is not "God's will", the quest to discern the will of God and the superstitious ways in which we apply this to our lives. I do not believe that God's will is laid out before us neat and tidy like a map or a GPS directing us which way to turn. Personally, though I have no theological ground on which to base this outside of my own life experiences, "God's will" seems hidden in the day to day steps we take in faith that are followed by either peace or a total lack thereof. <br />
I have heard Christians say, in regards to a matter for which they are seeking God's will, that a thing is "done" because they prayed about it. The sting of such an arrogant statement lasts long after the issue does not conclude in our favor. Then who has failed, the person praying or God? Seldom have I heard anyone, following such a bold statement take credit for their error in projecting their own interests on God or misinterpreting His will, allowing the blame to fall squarely on the shoulders of a faultless God.<br />
I had someone well meaning tell me when I was separated once from my ex-husband that since we weren't Christians when we got married, that we did so apart from "God's will" - asserting that divorce would then place me back in a right standing with God by realigning myself with "His will" for my life. The truth is that when the end of that marriage came, it was much like stepping off of a cliff and hoping that I wouldn't splat at the bottom. God's will was not clear. I felt a nudge in one direction and took one step, but the rest of the path was dense with heavy fog. I could not have said at the beginning of that journey that I knew where it would lead. My heart was open, but it was literally the journey of a thousand miles taken one step at a time.<br />
So often as humans we do what we want to do, and God meets us along the way that He already knew we would take and works <i>all things out according to the good of those who love Him</i>. This is the immeasurable beauty of free will - that He does not abandon us when we lose our footing on the path He would have us on. It is a bitter pill to swallow when someone you love is doing something you hate and accrediting it to God and His dang-blasted will. All things being equal, my misgivings about this could also be a sign to them that this isn't "God's will". In my experience, those looking for the signs to point in the direction they are already making plans to go will not see what they don't want to see. <br />
Sometimes my faith is so small that I struggle to hold tightly to the truth of the good intentions for me of a Love that I cannot comprehend. For today, right now, in this moment I can say whatever His will may be, everything is going to be alright.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-28280866982700593862012-01-09T07:03:00.001-06:002012-01-09T07:03:06.795-06:00Awkward Much?One of the things I dislike the most about going to church is this contradiction it seems to make in telling folks to be independent thinkers in a culture that opposes God - and yet tells you what to say, who to say it to, when to say it and how loud to say it. We've all suffered through uncomfortable moments with total strangers when your heart drops and the pastor says "Turn to your neighbor....." or the sweat saturated palms you have to clasp with someone whose name you may not even know. Yesterday I had to tell a lady behind me during communion, which I believe should be sacred and introspective "Jesus died for you that you might live for Him". Awkward much?<br />
Don't get me wrong. I know lots of pastors, teachers, preachers and speakers that I respect highly who do the whole "repeat after me" thing in an attempt to get their congregation engaged. Some of my favorite speakers do it - Beth Moore, T.D. Jakes, and the list goes on. Then there is the reaction if the response isn't vehement enough - committed enough - bold enough. I've been admonished in church repeatedly with "Come on people, you can do BETTER than that!" Maybe I can't. Maybe I'm not there yet. Maybe it takes my learning style just a bit longer to process what was just presented. Maybe I was taking notes - writing down what was said in an attempt to engage myself. I am wondering why we are so afraid to let people learn and grow in their faith at their own pace or worship in a way that is individual to them? Can I not sing equally as passionately if I am sitting as opposed to standing? I spent years wondering if this was a pride thing for me - an attitude of "<i>don't tell me what to do"</i>. I've come to the conclusion that it is more of an aversion to cult-like behavior. Don't confuse what I am saying. I have no intention of criticizing godly men and women who are doing their best to motivate people to live their lives sold out to Jesus. I just have an aversion to this specific element of corporate worship.<br />
I love being with other people that love Jesus. I love listening to intelligent speakers that inspire and motivate me. I don't love feeling like I must obey the ritual or say the words I'm told to say or speak to a stranger without a proper opportunity to introduce myself. I hate the cult-like mantras of repetitive music and speech that go on and on. Nowhere else in society do people who don't know one another clasp hands. The whole thing is a false sense of familiarity and relationship that does not exist.<br />
I would like to know how to participate in Christian community and avoid these things. Any suggestions?<br />
<br />Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-89514361434863872872011-08-29T05:07:00.000-05:002011-08-29T05:07:31.132-05:00Take That Worthlessness!This was my Facebook status this morning - and it has made such an impact on me that I wanted to preserve it here: You are valuable. Yes YOU. Not because of your net worth or your earning potential - but because once upon a time, a decision was made by a Creator who holds the breath of life to infuse life into cells. The exact perfect circumstances had to exist to bring this about and He allowed every single variable to line up. None of us are a mistake. Nobody is an accident. Our entrance into this world did not take Him by surprise - and we each were very much wanted because He decided this world <i>would not be the same</i> without us. From those conceived in royalty to babies born into the arms of teenage parents - and everything in between - to Him there is no distinction. As someone who struggles with intense worthlessness, I woke up this morning to this affirmation that I can only imagine was from Him - that I was wanted and loved and HIS. How much different life would be if we all lived as if this were true - not only of ourselves but of every single other person that we encounter in our days. We are <i>so loved.</i> Take that worthlessness!Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-9533136003347825432011-08-27T07:29:00.002-05:002011-08-27T08:14:17.788-05:00A Fist Full of AshesHealing is a process. I keep telling myself this - like a mantra that is followed with this positive affirmation "<i>it is okay to be </i><b><i>in</i> </b><i>process". </i>Nobody likes to be in process - preferring much more to have arrived at the destination of a whole mind and non-fractured spirit, at least insofar as healing is concerned. <br />
<div>A friend shared this scripture from Isaiah 61 with me at last night's group meeting - and though I'd heard it a million times before, this piece was illuminated to me:</div><div><blockquote><i>".....to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise <b>instead of a spirit of despair</b>....." </i></blockquote></div><div>How easily my spirit despairs. I looked the word up in my concordance and it means to [smolder]. </div><div><blockquote><b>smol</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 15px;"><em style="font-style: normal; font-weight: bold;">·</em></span><b>der </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Doulos SIL', Gentum, 'TITUS Cyberbit Basic', Junicode, 'Aborigonal Serif', 'Arial Unicode MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Chrysanthi Unicode'; font-size: 13px;">/ˈsmōldər/ </span>verb: burn slowly with smoke but no flame</blockquote></div><div>The despair is a slow burn - and unchecked it will eat.me.alive. The smallest thing can trigger deep feelings of worthlessness, the tiniest injury can unearth catastrophic old wounds. It takes constant effort to remember that I am no longer trapped in an abusive marriage or childhood. It takes intentional choices not to react with the same defensive behaviors - which can range anywhere from lashing out in fear to scurrying into the shadows like a skiddish animal. It is taking time and conscious effort to trust myself, others and God.</div><div>This phrase <br />
<blockquote><b>beauty for ashes, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">beauty for ashes</span>, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">beauty for ashes</span></b></blockquote>keeps rolling through my mind. Some of the despair has been necessary - to allow this old life to burn away. These ashes are all that is left of my old life - and yet I often hold them in fists clenched tight. The crown of beauty may be preferable to most - but to reach out for it means to let some of these ashes spill out of my hands. </div><div><br />
</div><div><b></b></div><div><br />
</div>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-63106382673584730202011-06-28T07:42:00.000-05:002011-06-28T07:42:01.564-05:00The Mother WoundI cannot remember where I first heard the term "mother wound", but I knew instantly on the hearing that I had one as deep as the Grand Canyon and as wide as the Nile River is long. It is the thing that has most significantly shaped me as a person, for better or worse. A brief definition: <br />
<blockquote><i>We all come into the world needing the tender presence of a mother's touch, nurture, care and love. In fact the mother's influence begins when we are in the womb. The absence of this mother love is a wound that is created in three ways: </i><br />
<br />
<ol><li><i>Mother separated from the child through illness of the mother, mother's death, divorce</i></li>
<li><i>Child separated from the mother through illness of the child, incubator/hospitalization, adoption</i></li>
<li><i><b>Unhappy relationship with mother through neglect, abuse, mother's mental or emotional distress, attempted abortion</b></i></li>
</ol></blockquote><br />
I think most mothers leave positive and negative marks on their children. I know that in spite of my best intentions, I have done (or not done) things that my kids will have to overcome. The mother wound is more profound - and the healing is sure to take a lifetime. The confusion created when the same hands that are meant to nurture and provide, harm and withdraw is significant. One resource listed the consequences of the traumatic interruption of this attachment as an overwhelming sense of abandonment and dread of aloneness, emotional dependency and a loss of self and being. The list is longer but these are the three attributes that are most identifiable to my personal experience. <br />
My mother was mentally ill for most of my life. She had extended stays in the psychiatric hospitals and long periods of time where she confined herself to her bed while my step-father and I provided 24/7 room service. Since I became an adult and was able to define some personal boundaries of acceptable behavior, our relationship has become more and more distant. There are years when we don't speak at all. Somehow through the neglect and abuse the need for a mother remained, my spirit wooden like the body of a mannequin with non-posable arms reaching out for something just beyond its grasp. <br />
It was this conditioning of neglect and abuse that first taught me I was worthless and led me to accept the mistreatment of a spouse who was supposed to love me for far too many years. I am working on being at a place where I harbor no resentment while stating the truth. I would rather spend my energy on the healing process that God is doing in my life than to dwell on the darkness of history with anger or malice. The darkness has swallowed far too many precious years already.<br />
Our last rift was over my refusal to add my mother as a "friend" on Facebook. I explained that I would rather establish a real-life relationship with her than to have voyeuristic familiarity. She responded by not speaking to me for a year. In recent months, my mom and I have talked sporadically - text messages, emails here and there. When I dropped Gary off at the airport on Sunday morning, it triggered my fear of abandonment. I knew immediately it had nothing to do with him or the situation - but it was deeply connected to <i>my mother wound</i>. People think I'm brave. They think I'm strong. What nobody knows is that inside I'm still pining for a mother. I was bawling my eyes out as I left the airport, so I dialed her number. <i>She never answered. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-43515224190385260402011-06-21T07:25:00.001-05:002011-06-21T07:52:20.549-05:00There is No Such ObligationI have been churning inside since a discussion yesterday in which a friend attempted to correct what they perceived as immaturity on my part. In another online format, I took a dig at someone who had done something illegal that involved one of my children about a year ago. I feel no guilt or remorse over what I said despite their best efforts to show me the error of my ways. The comment did not distract from the conversation and only those who are aware of the situation understood the underlying implication. No harm, no foul.<br />
<br />
What disturbs me more is this idea that no matter what wrong or evil someone has done, we are to smile and lovingly emit a grace we are not ready to give and forgiveness whether you feel it or not. Supposedly, this is the <i>Christian way</i>. More and more as I contrast the precepts of my faith with the experience of my humanity, I have decided that I am no longer able to "fake it till I make it". Grace and forgiveness are a process, and in this particular situation it has not yet been achieved. I made a statement about the wrong done and I have no regrets. This same grace must be extended to cover me.<br />
<br />
The other thing I was called down on was the issue that one of our friends who is not a Christian might be thrown by my inability to show the love of God to someone who caused injury to my child. In this case I will have to defer to God to love them, because at present I cannot. While this is considered horribly <i>un-Christian</i> of me, let me propose that it is perhaps moreso than putting on a fake smile and pretending whatever someone does in any given situation is okay because I am under some mandate to pursue forgiveness. Interacting with people with the motive of evangelism is as disconcerting as the friend who is a Tupperware dealer inserting the current specials into every conversation. We are not Jesus - and we might stop being such a colossal disappointment to the non-believing world if we stop the facade that we might be.<br />
<br />
I am under no obligation to live up to the expectation of others.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-73893732372615311692011-06-18T23:09:00.003-05:002011-06-18T23:10:55.983-05:00The Best Dad is Mine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienu0gIOe32ZEtVYr6d_IJYKzh0HBaOP8YOiSd1gs5mWBVme6hSfeHVxeUxN9mPiG06qDU6s6wGNCzv09AYZmqTJRKoJ3dn-s2i7vkdN3q4kGNxKVapoKsUAnbnhyphenhyphenxJpvl9IvRkIywU8Di/s1600/Dad%2527s+Hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienu0gIOe32ZEtVYr6d_IJYKzh0HBaOP8YOiSd1gs5mWBVme6hSfeHVxeUxN9mPiG06qDU6s6wGNCzv09AYZmqTJRKoJ3dn-s2i7vkdN3q4kGNxKVapoKsUAnbnhyphenhyphenxJpvl9IvRkIywU8Di/s320/Dad%2527s+Hug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Every little girl's first love is her daddy. This was as true of me as the next girl. My dad was my hero. It was the 70s and he had shaggy blonde hair and wore polyester pants and shirts with wide collars. I thought he was more handsome than any other man that on earth. He drove a green Pinto and had an affinity for Krispy Kreme donuts and big bowls of chocolate ice cream. He was the <i>coolest</i>. <br />
<br />
When my parents divorced in the late 70s, the greatest loss was the connection between a father and his little girl. My dad had begun a new life of which I was rarely a part. It was some serious collateral damage and a grieving that endured throughout my childhood and into adult life. My mom made it very difficult for me to spend any time with him, and so I didn't very much.<br />
<br />
A couple of years ago when the pieces of my life all came crumbling down around me, my dad was there. He sent money to help me afford a rental truck and gas, but that wasn't what was most important. He answered his phone - over and over and over again -whether it was a phone call or a text message. He was there for me. I never needed him so much in all of my life and he came through. He told me I was doing the right thing, to be strong, that he loved me. It meant everything to have this validation and support. The picture posted here is of my dad hugging me after my wedding to Gary. Before the ceremony was even over - my dad was on his feet and up to hug and congratulate us. He has worried all of these years about me - and I know how happy it makes him to see me safe and loved and happy after all this time. It gives me a lot of joy to see him so happy too as I've watched him go through a lot of changes in his own life in recent years. <br />
<br />
Happy Father's Day Dad. I love you more than words. You are the best dad in the world, <i>because you are mine.</i><br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="quote" style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;"><b>My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><i>- Jim Valvano</i></span></span></blockquote>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-44831539154201537852011-06-16T01:13:00.009-05:002011-06-16T13:54:59.095-05:00The Healing ProcessSometimes when you are healing, you can take one step forward and two steps back. Almost two weeks ago I got a Monroe piercing. Some people say that they are nurturing their inner child, but much of the time lately I feel like I am nurturing my inner rebellious teenager, as evidenced by this need to poke a hole in myself. The first few days after I got the piercing, I had a lot of difficulty getting used to it. The labret they put in at first is extra long to allow for swelling and I think mine would have accommodated Angelina Jolie and Mick Jagger's love child. Every time I tried to bite or chew food, not to mention talking, my teeth would pull it from the inside. It was no fun. Gary took me to Cherry Bomb tattoo and piercing parlor a couple of times to get the jewelry changed which helped quite a bit. Little by little it was feeling better, until a couple days ago when my teeth caught it and gave it a good pull that grabbed the front end and pulled it through my lip. OUCH! <br />
<br />
I share this story of the piercing because it seems to be the way of healing. In this process there are stops and starts. We gain ground and start to feel a sense of wholeness and suddenly and often unexpectedly that same ground seems to drop from beneath our feet, leaving us reeling again. But healing must occur and we must expect that it does not do so in a linear fashion. If we choose to forego the healing process our only option is to remain battered and bitter. It seems not a choice at all to me. Healing is not easy, and it requires that we deal with our scars, but wholeness is always the goal. I read something beautiful recently from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Bee-ebook/dp/B001QWDRF6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1308248781&sr=1-1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Little Bee by Chris Cleave</span></a> about scars:<br />
<blockquote>"I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. <b>A scar means, </b><i style="font-weight: bold;">I survived</i>."</blockquote>I survived. When the bad memories come, the pain creeps to the surface and demands acknowledgment, I remind myself that I survived. These things did not kill me then, and they will not kill me now. Like my piercing, the pain will serve it's purpose. In time, healing will come and with it a beautiful scar as a reminder that I survived.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-40406076875836533772011-06-14T16:04:00.007-05:002011-06-14T20:30:41.163-05:00Happy Divorce-iversary to Me!I'm going to throw caution to the wind and post this celebratory declaration of the one year anniversary of my divorce. This anniversary celebrates a passage of time in which I have not had to suffer verbal, emotional or physical abuse. My children now live in a house where they go to bed every night certain that they won't wake up to violence, rage or outbursts. In the last year nobody has told me that I was fat, clumsy, stupid or a b*tch. In our home, nothing has been thrown, broken, mutilated, or destroyed in a fit of anger. I have not had to duck, hide or passively apologize to neutralize a toxic situation. Nobody has disabled my car to keep me from leaving or made empty promises to manipulate me into staying. Perhaps divorce breaks God's heart, but I can't help but think that this metamorphosis of our family gives Him anything but joy.<br />
<br />
A divorce marks the disentanglement of two legally joined parties, but if I'm honest, my heart was disentangled long ago. My life followed slowly, and what a life it is!Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-89852993386148584652011-06-13T04:55:00.007-05:002011-06-13T05:05:12.478-05:00Taking Off the MaskI woke super early this morning with about a hundred ideas of what to blog about and the desire to write them all at once. Finally some reprieve from blogger's block that had me stuck for the last couple of years, staring terrifyingly at the little white box with the hope that eventually words would come and I could click the little orange button and "publish post". Once in a great while I was able to eek out a few words, but nothing like the hum that used to go on in my head with a steady stream of things to blog about. Now I know that this hum was silenced when it was for the best. Though people often slow as they pass the scene of an accident, nobody really appreciates the eye full of mangled metal as much when there is a person among the wreckage. I was that person. The wreckage was my life. The EMTs and tow trucks and insurance companies needed to work unhindered behind the scenes to provide emergency medical care, clear the debris and assess the losses.<br />
<div><br />
I have shared on this blog some of my deepest fears, most vulnerable weaknesses, embarrassing antics and personal anguish with no regrets. As Gary and I were laying in bed last night in those precious moments before sleep, he asked me if I ever worried about unguarded way that I share and put myself out there in the blogosphere. I ruminated on that a while before dozing off and woke this morning to the comment on the last post from "Anonymous" who said "it's raw and it's real......... and it's beautiful". This comment validated my personal principle for writing - to fling my heart wide open and share with little hesitation. I do work hard to create a balance of maintaining privacy and dignity for those who are crazy enough to walk through life beside me, while maintaining authenticity. I could write exclusively about the best parts of my life in the hopes that everyone would want to be me in this fabricated life I'd conjure for public consumption, and be the author of a blog nobody would want to read, <i>including me.</i> It is my resolve to be as real as I can and in so doing, help other people with similar struggles to know they are not alone. This process of self-discovery that I'm in the midst of can only flourish if I am validating others - and we can do that only if we are each willing to take off our respective masks.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(A note to Anonymous - I feel like I should know who you are - but sadly once I started sharing my story - <i>so many</i> women who were surviving various levels of abusive relationships were contacting me. I still get emails and blog comments and Facebook messages asking for help for a friend or some advice on how to get through the worst of it. If you don't want to identify yourself here - please send me a message on Facebook or an email at julsnwv AT gmail DOT com. I'd like to know who you are so I can follow your story.)</span></div><div><br />
</div>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-52033889965134825142011-06-12T20:42:00.002-05:002011-06-13T11:21:54.985-05:00Non-Static PeopleLately I have been going through what could best be described as a mid-life crisis. I'm bored, I'm restless, I'm anxious and easily agitated. I go from laughing to crying and back again. Some days I wake UP in a funk that doesn't clear most of the day - which is not my usual "bubbly" (as my hubs calls it) demeanor. I'm impatient (at least in my head) with people over things that should not be so irksome, including myself. I'm unreasonable and irrational and I wonder how it is possible that anyone could find me lovable in such a state, especially my husband who has been married to me for just nine short months. If he doesn't occasionally wonder what on earth he has gotten himself into, I think he should be awarded some sort of sainthood.<br />
<div><div><br />
We were having a discussion about this fledgling personality disorder that I am developing earlier today. He knows that I am, as <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">cliché</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> as it sounds, trying to "find myself" and has been my biggest cheerleader. Abusive relationships diminish a person's true self, and I am still very much in the healing process. Often the progression of self-discovery is hindered by self-loathing and you literally have to learn to examine who you are and evaluate that this person in the mirror is good, valued, lovable. In a lot of ways, Gary has gotten to know me better than I know myself. His honesty and willingness to hold my hand through this unfolding of my true self has made all the difference. In one of my emotional tantrums, I was asking him if he could still love me as I change and grow. "People aren't static" he said. "I'm going to love you no matter what." </span></div></div><div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">People aren't static. They are dynamic and changing and organic and vibrant, and I am among them. Being loved securely, come what may is truly the greatest gift imaginable. </span></div>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-65280709204683872622011-02-28T07:51:00.003-06:002011-06-12T18:56:56.094-05:00Judge Not<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I woke up this morning on the dawn of my 41st birthday with a headache. There is an impending storm, but the overcast day will do little to make me forget the sunshine of yesterday or the spring that is waking across the mountain. A hike yesterday afternoon with my family revealed that even in the depth of the woods, new shoots of green leaves are pushing through the surface to make their appearance known. So many symbolic references to be made between the newness of my life and the emerging new life of spring, but that was not the intent of this blog post. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yesterday morning's sermon was about the judgments we pass on one another and how the church should be a place of acceptance, outstretched arms of love to those around us. The pastor said that instead of being the conduit of the love of God to a hurting world (<i>my paraphrase)</i>, we judge and condemn them for doing what comes naturally. That struck such a chord in my heart. So often instead of being appalled by the sin and the consequences that follow, I am disgusted with <b><i>people</i></b>. I wonder in my own heart, "What is wrong with <i>them</i>??!" As a believer, I already know that they do what they do because they are slaves to their human nature. Even fellow believers still have the flesh to contend with, that wages war against every bit of what is inside of us that is good. I have been hurt as much <i>inside</i> the church as I was ever hurt from the outside. But I try to remember that I too have inflicted similar hurts on others, and keep this as a warning inside my own heart and mind to tread lightly and hold grace as a banner over others. (At least this is what I<i> want</i> to do, though often I do not do it.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Recently in a newcomer's class at the church we have started going to, I faced the judgmental words of a woman that said, "I've never been divorced." This has been one of my biggest, most paralyzing fears that I would be summed up as a person and a Christian on the sole event known as the end of my marriage. Without having to bare your soul for the world, nobody knows how hard you tried to make it work or what you endured so that this would never be the final outcome. Even in marriages that put on a happy face, nobody knows if the person asserting, "I was never divorced" was the most miserable spouse in the world, in a marriage that lasted due to no credit of their own but because of the patience and long-suffering of another. The fear of this judgment over my divorce has held me back from the body of Christ. I have attended church over the last couple of years sporadically, but I have not invested in a body of believers or the people around me for fear that if they got to know my situation or me, that they would decide I was <i>"less than". </i> I think it is time to risk the judgment and the fear of rejection and embrace the fellowship of other believers. I have missed this for so long. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The sermon yesterday spoke this hope into my life, that I was free. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-41008291162310214802011-01-23T20:45:00.002-06:002011-01-23T20:47:41.067-06:00That's How We Always Did ItSo pretty much everyone has heard <a href="http://www.snopes.com/weddings/newlywed/secret.asp">this story</a> in different variations of the woman that cuts the end off of a ham/roast. She tells her husband who asks why she does this that it's what her mother always did. She calls the mother to find out and she says it was what her mother always did. When asked, Grandma says she cut the ends of the meat off because that was the only way it would fit in her roasting pan! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_rn0VTZ7FLbrJm8m0e5dQIJY1_77nBAFZKkMgqkkK3SzsXCxDpB1MXWKTodVj1vUixvPD2pguaK9kl9T3i_9yFg4wSqzRkYOxEJvxSHiibPVWTIIIt36xI1Q8nqpbSU0inevWf8THCQS/s1600/raw-milk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img 320"="" border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_rn0VTZ7FLbrJm8m0e5dQIJY1_77nBAFZKkMgqkkK3SzsXCxDpB1MXWKTodVj1vUixvPD2pguaK9kl9T3i_9yFg4wSqzRkYOxEJvxSHiibPVWTIIIt36xI1Q8nqpbSU0inevWf8THCQS/s320/raw-milk.jpg" style="float: right;" /></a></div>I heard this story years ago and it made me wonder what we do because "that's how we always did it" without questioning the whys. I am a "like to know why" person but even something like this has snuck in on me from time to time, where I do the thing someone shows me, unquestioningly.<br />
Recently we have been exploring the delicious world of raw milk and the nutritional benefits of kefir and unpasteurized dairy. Raw milk is not only unpasteurized, but also non-homogenized. (Homogenization being that process that fuses the cream that rises to the top with the rest of the milk so it does not separate.) I've been drinking pasteurized, homogenized milk my whole life but for some reason, I grew up always giving the milk a few good hard shakes before drinking it. I never stopped to wonder why. My parents did it and I learned to do it and then passed this little milk-shaking tradition on to my kids. I can hardly bring myself to take a swallow from milk that doesn't have the little bubbles on top from being shaken, or out of a plastic cup...... <i>but I digress. </i>The other day when shaking the raw milk, intentionally to mix the cream in with the milk, I realized that this "milk shaking" must have been passed on in my family for several generations. Though we have been drinking milk that did not separate and thus had no purpose for shaking it for many years now, still we shake it, because that's how we always did it.<br />
I'm looking at the world with new eyes. I'm questioning everything and asking why.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-10077005140082923392011-01-09T08:36:00.002-06:002011-01-09T09:00:34.207-06:00Oh Christmas Tree What a Year Can Bring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3UPKSpJlqdokZcxVXQylow2R2sCMYmKXwIvBbYNwRJH4hj7Q_ogkrx5glxgpWye82P05HZPbHNC578-MD47UY949EwiF43ZK2njDxd5APg7nHTfUHqfDOFrMHbdY2sltPh_1utk476XH/s1600/christmas+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3UPKSpJlqdokZcxVXQylow2R2sCMYmKXwIvBbYNwRJH4hj7Q_ogkrx5glxgpWye82P05HZPbHNC578-MD47UY949EwiF43ZK2njDxd5APg7nHTfUHqfDOFrMHbdY2sltPh_1utk476XH/s320/christmas+tree.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; width: 240px;" /></a>The holidays were so busy and with activity and chaos that when it all settled we weren't in a hurry to take down the Christmas tree. It was only after the holidays that I found the opportunity to really sit and enjoy it. But come down it must. So yesterday Gary and I set out to accomplish this task, <i>together.</i> </div>This is new for me - this idea of doing things "<i>together"</i>. I don't believe it has anything to do with being newlyweds, as some would say. This is a goal for the two of us who suffered our share of heartbreak, lived for years with spouses who were not committed to us and struggled on our own to change this cruel fact and are determined to make this marriage, this relationship everything it can be. It is such a joy in life to finally not be alone.<br />
While Kullen is away at winter camp this weekend, the girls were here to give us a hand. I had gathered all of the Santas and stockings and nativity set pieces from around the house earlier in the day. I boxed away all of the Christmas cards we received for 2010 with the commitment to sit down next year when the decorations come out and read through them once again. When the four of us went about removing the ornaments and lights and trimmings from the tree, I couldn't help but think of all that might change in the year before we see these things again. So much has changed in the year since we visited them last and I am acutely aware of how much can change in the coming years as children grow into adults, parents and grandparents grow older, and time it seems stands still for no one. In this past year though painful like childbirth, the changes have all been for the better - more peace, more love, more joy. But I know that some years can be full of pain and struggle and loss. I have lived years such as that and though I have no desire to endure it again, it makes me stronger knowing I won't face it alone. <br />
It was nice to see items that we took out independently from our separate stores to decorate the house for Christmas intermingled when we put them away. Gary packed the boxes away in the container in the garage until next year and I set about cleaning and rearranging the living room. With my birthday around the corner followed the arrival of spring, I will likely soon forget the depth of thought provoked by undecorating the Christmas tree, but then again there's always <i>next year</i> to remind me.<br />
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<blockquote>On posting a picture and wrapping the text: <i>it has taken me nearly half an hour to remember how to do something I used to do in my sleep!</i></blockquote>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-51290157597205537462011-01-03T19:11:00.000-06:002011-01-03T19:11:20.503-06:00It's the Little ThingsTonight I arrived home from work to a husband standing at the top of the stairs with my favorite Tequila Sunrise in hand. The house smelled of the Italian chicken and pasta he had made for dinner. On the table, a salad with a side of chopped mushrooms just for my bowl, since I am the only one who likes them. During the day, he ran to town to take the comforter from our bed to the laundromat. I have <i>never</i> been spoiled in my life. I have <i>seldom</i> even know what it was like to have someone that not only didn't need me to take care of them, but invested their time and energy into making me happy and making my day just a little easier. In the few months that he entered my life, Gary has shown me more love and companionship than I have ever known. I can still remember what it was like to be alone in the world, struggling. I hope I never forget so that I always appreciate this gift given so freely, daily of his love.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-62745769436142242482011-01-02T21:43:00.001-06:002011-01-02T21:43:13.719-06:002011: Day TwoThis year is starting out much like all the rest. Busy-ness, chaos and activity. I have been off for most of the last two weeks, and I am looking forward to the routine and consistency of going back to work. This morning was church and then a trip to the airport to send Kaitlyn's sweetheart, Matthew on his way home after a visit from Texas. Soon he will graduate and come to college nearby so they can be together more often - but for now the ache of separation. Kullen also said goodbye to his friend Tessa. These first budding feelings are so fragile. I think that I woke this morning burdened for my children and their sadnesses. Fortunately, the busy-ness of the day did not allow me to carry them for long.<br />
My goal in the next few days, weeks and months is to slow myself down. I need a few minutes each day not to be sucked away in the flurry of activity and the demands of others so that I can breathe a little. I want to write and paint and cook and do absolutely whatever I find to do without the tug and pull of obligation. The one solace in any day I have is this - the fifteen or twenty minutes every night before I fall asleep in the arms of my sweetheart. I share the days joys and burdens with this man who exerts that it is his pleasure to walk this road of life beside me. This makes all the difference.Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-76566236456709734702011-01-01T21:57:00.003-06:002011-01-01T22:19:05.990-06:00A Little Bitter, Mostly SweetThat is the best way that I can describe 2010. The year has come to a close and a new one has begun. When I was younger, a new year was met with excitement. Much like the exhilaration of a new journal, so many blank pages and the joy and anticipation of time and what story they would write - a new year was a story waiting to be told. In recent years I had become more cynical and increasingly more hopeless. No eager anticipation - just an ever increasing sense of being stuck - stuck in pain, stuck in misery. Just stuck. <div>I am thankful for the resilience of spirit and the inner strength that could only be from God that brought me through. This past year has been one of the most difficult of my life. I had to resign to the fact that my marriage was over. I saw the words in black and white of my divorce decree. That in itself did not hurt as much as I would have anticipated. My marriage had been dead for a very long time. What hurt was the letting go and giving up on something that I had worked so hard on. I was the EMT refusing to quit CPR though all signs of life had ceased. </div><div>From the ashes came beauty. About six weeks after my divorce was final, in a time that I would have never anticipated, I met someone. Gary and I were married on September 26th. He is truly my best friend. There is so much to how we met and why we married so quickly and what our plans are for the future. I am sure this venture back into blogging will offer many opportunities to share some of that. My blog has been more therapeutic than I ever could've imagined. It was here I poured out much of my pain, sorted a lot of confused thinking and found much comfort, support and advice. On these blank pages of this blog, over the course of this year I want to share our story as we write it. This is a story of love, forgiveness and laughter. It is a chronicle of family and faith and much healing. </div>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-706394268101035148.post-59569461556763055822010-05-02T06:47:00.007-05:002011-06-14T09:02:21.516-05:00The Mother Wound I Give<div>This morning - the overwhelming emotion is melancholy. A sense of sadness for what my kids are feeling. Kullen poured his heart out to me last night. He told me that though he didn't used to want his dad and I to get back together - he did now. He said he thought that his dad had changed and that the fighting would stop. It breaks.my.heart. It takes me back to my 9 year old self, standing in the driveway, begging my parents to fix what was broken, to love each other again, to validate me - the girl with a "real family" and not the girl whose life would always be marked by this horrible sadness. </div><div>All I know to do is hold Kullen tight. If he needs to be angry at me, to let that be okay. </div><div>He does not know the way the girls do how I pushed further, loved deeper, held on tighter. He doesn't see with any maturity how the neglect and abuse and loneliness choked my spirit, crushed me as a person, until I ceased to do more than surviving, limping around broken and bruised. </div><div>My heart aches for this beautiful child who daily is pushing towards manhood, but is still very much my little boy. Oh how I wish I could carry his pain, quiet the brewing storm and tenderly hold and protect him from this.</div><div>For so long I had this loop tape that played over and over again that "God hates divorce". How that one little phrase imprisoned me. It took a caring voice to tell me that God hated equally the things I was going through. I thought I would lose His love. I know now that He loves me - period, outside of my actions. He is the one day by day setting me free. </div><div>I can only hope that one day, my kids will all understand that I am holding out for a better way for all of us. I stayed as long as I did because I didn't want this hurt for them, but now see with more clarity that by staying I allowed them to be hurt in a different way. This is never what I wanted for any of us.</div><div>God help me minimize the damage and maximize the love. </div>Just Julshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373348890004668952noreply@blogger.com1