A Better Kind of Different

There is a pretty interesting vortex of things "working" on me right now.

The first is that it's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, for short; or NaNo, for shorter). As you know, James is participating. I am not. I was recently thinking about the NaNo M.O. of "Sorry, it has to wait until December" and mulling over the fact that I find that an excuse to be rude, and how that's not okay. Mostly, I was licking my own wounds because, this might come as a shock to you, but I have some pretty high needs (and, in James' case, expectations) in a relationship. November is always one of my favorite months. But I don't like being put off, even in good humor and even knowing it's temporary.

By the way, James won't read this post, so it's not a passive/aggressive missive to him. He won't read it because it's November. He won't read it because he doesn't read my blog, anyway, unless I tell him that there's something in there that he really needs to see. He only reads tech blogs, and as much as I want to please him, I can't even fathom that.

Go, Linux! (There. Maybe he'll see it. *shrug*)

A week ago, I went to bed on Tuesday at about 9:00 PM because I was in a snit and didn't want to get any of it on my family. I wasn't particularly tired, so I ended up getting a lot of praying in. And I felt better Wednesday morning.

It's a revelation when I don't say words I want to say that, miraculously, they can dissipate over time. They don't *have* to be said. Incredible.

This weekend, I even wrote a short letter. Which I didn't give James. I deleted it. But last night and this morning struck me the most, and that's when I started thinking about why and how I am sucking up a lot of what I'm "feeling" right now, and how that's playing out in one of the main goals of my life, which is to love James completely and perfectly (read: without self-seeking, pettiness, etc.).

First of all, Daphne and I re-started Bible Study Fellowship in September. We're studying Matthew, and particularly, for the past few weeks, the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus' healing ministry. Secondly, I just finished reading a book entitled "Jesus Feminist." I was about to say "Finally," but there's one more after this. Anyway, thirdly, Daphne and I are listening to "The Hiding Place." AND, finally, everything always at my church is about reconciliation and renewal, large scale and small.

Last year, before NaNoWriMo, when James was still living in Dallas, he warned me about his singular focus during this month. I told him that I wasn't sure I could handle an entire month of his preoccupation. He said, "You will. Because you know it's important to me."

I don't know if he meant this as a reprimand or a misplaced affirmation of faith, but I determined to make him right, When I went to bed early last Tuesday, it was with that phrase repeating over and over in my head: "You know it's important to me..."

But then last night, and this morning, my silence when I felt hurt or passed over was due to a slightly different motivation.

In Corrie ten Boom's history, long before her family's involvement in the Nazi regime, a young man after whom she had pined for most of her life showed up on her doorstep, engaged to a woman of means. Her father, rather than comforting her that there might be other loves in her life, encouraged her to ask God to help her love this young man with His love (rather than trying to stop loving him). She did this, she asked God to help her love this man as he did, to the point that she could be genuinely happy for him and his family.

And in hearing that, several things hit me at once:

1) I want to love James perfectly, and I'm absolutely unable to do it in my own strength. I am much too concerned about whether or not things are the way that I feel are "right" or whether or not I'm getting "enough" attention. The only way I'm going to be able to love James the way that I want to is through the example of Jesus and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. I'd posted a Dr. Laura quote on Facebook the other day, something to the extent of "Every morning, ask, 'What can I do to make him happy he's alive?' and 'What can I do to make him happy he's married to me?'" This is what I want for him.

2) This is a transcendent relationship. I know that being married is work, and constant attention, and refinement. But our relationship doesn't feel like swimming upstream against a torrent of white water and rain and locusts and bullets and fire bombs. It's, dare I say it, pretty comfortable and easy. I don't have to fight. I don't have to wrangle for affection or acknowledgement. James gives these things freely. Why is it still my tendency to fight? Isn't fighting for something that's already being granted (at his time and pleasure) basically inviting resentment and withholding of the very thing that is most important to my heart? Plus, it creates the opposite atmosphere of the one I want to have in our house. And so, I need to re-calibrate and stop defaulting to struggle mode.

3) It's a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes, it's difficult for me to rest in the fact that we have years and years together. Last summer, I went up to Dallas to visit James, and a really neat surprise I had for him fell through. I was bummed because he had all of these awesome stories of adventure and fun with other people in his life, and I desperately wanted some of those cool memories. A year later, we have a few. We're constantly making more. It takes time. We have time. James might come home every night this month and lose himself in his novel, but he's still sleeping by my side. He still takes every opportunity to tell me how much he appreciates me. And there's always December. And January. And 11 whole other months, every year for the next few decades. I find peace in that. I need to be able to rest in it.

4) The more I stop myself from saying what's on my mind, the easier it is. The more I fight my selfish impulses and demands, the less powerful they become. Last night, I went in to the office to tell James goodnight, and he indicated that he'd still be a while. I thought of a lot of stuff I could have said. Mostly manipulative stuff that wouldn't have made him pack it in for the night, but certainly would have been meant to take the shine off of his enjoyment at least a little bit. Instead, I kissed him, I turned around, and I went to bed.

This morning, I got his breakfast ready and he sat down to eat it. I was cleaning out the sink and asking myself why I wasn't sitting with him when what I craved most was his company. At first, I reasoned that if I sat down right now, I'd be too tempted to complain about how little I see of him right now. Then I realized that was an excuse, and I was avoiding him as a stupid baby kind of payback. So I sat with him and enjoyed him very much... until I said something that he wanted to research. He got up and disappeared into his office. He always says I'm quick-witted, but really, I'm mostly quick-tongued. With the words, "If I'd known that would make you get up and come in here, I never would have said it" in my mouth, I walked to the doorway of his office... and stopped. Why throw those darts? So I kept silent. A few moments later, James came out of his office, frustrated with a problem he was having with the computer. My words would have added to his stress. Instead, he could focus being irritated on the computer, and still think I was wonderful.

I hope it just gets easier and easier until I don't even feel those self-focused impulses anymore. It's true that I want my husband around. He's pretty awesome, and his company is my favorite. But he has given and sacrificed and changed and worked so hard for me... for us. I can give him this. I can give him this month. He deserves it. Eventually, it won't be such a struggle to "act nice" about it; I want to "feel nice" about it. I love him. He loves me. We have time. We have each other.

An Open Letter

For obvious reasons, I can't contact you. I doubt I will ever be able to, and yet I know that I owe you a debt that I cannot repay. I hope, however, that if I put this apology out there, maybe it will find you, and maybe it will mean something to you.

This is not the time to go into the "what"s and "why"s of everything. I don't think we will ever agree about what "happened." But here's something that I know is real:

I am so sorry that I hurt you. I genuinely am.

You were a bosom friend at a time when I needed one desperately. I appreciate that. I appreciate your loyalty at a difficult time in my life. I appreciate your care for my daughter, and your desire to teach her things. Your mentoring spirit and your bent to educate others was one of my favorite things about you.

You told someone once to do an internet search for some video, to which you pointed as proof that I admired you. Of course I admired you. Everyone knew that. I didn't hide it. I thought that you were a very talented person, with incredible stories, and so, so much to offer the world. I still think that.

You told me once that I was cold, remorseless, and unfeeling. You were probably right. I apologize for being cynical and hardened. I am very sorry that I pulled you into the orbit of my life at a time when my life had no center. I apologize for being self-focused to the exclusion of your feelings.

I don't think that it matters that that was never my intention.

The reality is that I hurt you. I let you down. I was in a sh*tstorm and I involved you, then once I found my way clear of the mess, I left it and you behind.

I can see how that might look intentional. I know it was callous. I empathize with your anger. I was experiencing the same anger, directed elsewhere, parallel to yours. And I have sincere sorrow about the things that I did, and the pain that I caused.

Every once in a while, I see something that I think you'd like, and I mourn a bit that I can't send it your way. I wish you all of life's happiness. I hope that you can extend grace to forgive me in your heart, but if you can't, I will understand. I really will.

You were one of the dearest people to my heart, and getting to know you, and your story, and your family's history, was a bright spot during days that didn't have much else to recommend them. I am sorry that I injured you. I am forever sorry.

A Trip to the Mall

The nearest mall to our house is Barton Square Mall. I don't think the mall itself is actually square, as it seems to have many jutting-out points. The name must mean something else. 

Due in no part to this confusion, but due mostly for my disdain of retail and the fact that I am not a fan of crowds, either, I typically avoid the mall. There is a bright spot: The Godiva kiosk. I am a member of their fancy club and therefore get one free truffle a month. But even this isn't enough to bring me to the mall on that regular a basis. In fact, the last chocolate I claimed was in the month of August, when I also got $10 of free stuff because it was my birthday.

But tonight, we went to the mall! There was a special reason: A fund-raiser called CANstruction. Local clubs, businesses, and groups get sponsors to donate (or donate themselves) cans of food which they first use to build something and then donate to a local food bank.

So, without further ado, here are the entries. The judging had been completed when we went, but I don't know that they'd awarded anything. It was neat to see all of them, anyway...

St. Basil's Cathedral!

A tie-dyed shirt.

A TIE Fighter and R2D2.

From the back.

R2Dtail

Bulldozer "leveling out" hunger.

A horse.

Neat detailing on the main and reigns.

Texas armadillo!

Hunger Busters. This one is really good, even though it looks simple. 3D, clean lines. Pretty amazing.

That's no moon!

Pooh Bear with a "hunny" pot stuck on his head.

I guess he's sleepy?

Ursula from "The Little Mermaid."

A whale of a tale? No. The tail of a whale.

James noticed that most of the creations had approximately 1500 cans. Now all of those will be donated and used locally. Pretty cool all around!

The Back Story

Since I started this blog, I don't think I've written at all about my ruptured disc, which is probably good, right? For a while, it was the defining situation in my life. I appreciate all of the prayers and everyone's concern, so thought I'd follow up with some information.

When I talked to the original doctor, back when he thought that it was possible that I just had a herniated disc, he said that about 50% of people feel better after 6 weeks, and that the other 90% feel better after 6 months. I assumed that meant "healed," and once I found out my disc was ruptured, I was pretty discouraged.

However, just after the six month mark, my symptoms started easing. Here are some things that I lost that I have gotten back: the ability to lounge in bed after I wake up, if I choose to (even though my positions are limited, I'll take it!); sit on the couch; sit through an entire movie, concert, etc. without having to reposition every five minutes; drive early in the morning without hating life; run; shake the hair out of my face just by moving my head; sit out on the porch. It's amazing how much these things affected my quality of life, and how happy I am to have them back. I hope I never take them for granted again.

Last week, I hurt myself playing laser tag. I know! They warn that laser tag isn't for people with back injuries (or asthma, for that matter) but I have played before since having hurt my back, and it was fine. This time, however, I just misjudged the angle of a ramp going up to the second floor. I lost my balance and pitched forward, with my left leg extended. One thing I still can't do, and am fairly certain that I've lost until I ever have to take some concrete treatment, is bend at the the waist with my left leg straight... So this hurt. Intensely. I wandered around up"stairs" for a few minutes, trying to walk off the pain. But mostly, I was trying to walk off the panic. What if I'd just given myself a setback from which it would take months to recover? Fortunately, that was not the case. I was pretty tender that night, but sleep was no problem. The next day was normal.

I live with slight to moderate pain fairly frequently. But it doesn't stop me from doing what I want to do. I have lost some of my precious flexibility, which wasn't anything I used much, except to kind of show off. But the fact that I can sit and chat with people instead of always feeling like I look like I'm getting ready to leave is a lot less awkward than things used to be. And sleeping a full night, not having to get out of bed at 3 or 4 AM for an hour, is incredible. Right now, as I sit here, I feel a tug in my left... um, upper leg. But I'll take being sore over crying in agony any day.

I am grateful for the restored semi-normalcy, especially given that I did not have to take heroic measures to get here. I am thankful that I was reimbursed for the money I spent on pain relief, plus a little bit extra. James said that the liability settlement didn't come close to making up for the emotional damage, and that's true. If James had taken me up on my offer to get out of marrying me because of the basket case I had become, I might have gone more ruthlessly for the jugular of the RV park. But I am sincerely happy and as healthy as I want to be, pretty much, and life is awesome. So I will continue to feel blessed with the way things turned out, and try to be appreciative of things that I used not to think about at all, since I've seen the other side.

Sometimes, I can be (not very em)pathetic

Watching the scene unfold from the peanut gallery, I have my opinions. Given the garbage I have managed to produce in my life, my ability to judge others' motives with impunity is astonishingly intact. Things happen that I pretty much knew would pan out that way, so surprise doesn't play into it... instead, I have a haughty sense of low expectations fulfilled.

Then it happens, as it did today: God smacks me in the back of the head with my own 2x4, and I never saw it coming. Glancing over, I watch this person slip into a moment of utter despair, and without it ever registering in my conscious brain, I am destroyed. I begin to sob, and memories flood back. Memories of being in exactly the same spot. Memories of singing praises, and genuinely meaning them, or at least wanting to mean them, but having their celebratory lyrics stand in stark contrast to the reality of the gloom I was experiencing. Knowing that I loved and trusted God, and that there was a plan for my life, but not really sure how that would parse out to the little things... like walking back out to my car. Everything seemed overwhelming. It was too big for me, and I needed God and his people... at the same time that being around his people hurt. Because what I was going through was an intensely private thing. And everyone knew. And everyone had an opinion... And now I've become "those people."

God help me.

When Daphne was little, sometimes she'd get hurt because she'd do something I'd told her not to do. As tempting as it was to lecture her, I knew better. When she was in severe pain, even though it could have been avoided, I knew that it wasn't the time for a life lesson. It was time to put my arms around her and try to help her feel better.

God help me not to care whose fault it is. Help me to put my arms around those who are hurting and even if all I can offer is comfort, to give freely, without listening to my inner Church Lady. Help me to remember how repelled I have been by people saying the right things at the wrong time. Help me to have compassion...

Even as I think this through, I wonder whether it's too soon. I have done this before: walked with someone who was going through something very traumatic, and listened to her say horrible, ugly things... things that I had also thought and said... And I was near enough to remember and extend grace, but far enough away to have my wounds scarred over.

But I also know that God never wastes a hurt, and I feel like I have some responsibility here.

If nothing else, I need to keep my heart pure. I need to remember what it feels like to be in that place I don't want to remember. And I need to be able to love, even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult.

UT, finally.

Even though we live in the UT campus area, I haven't posted many pictures from campus. This afternoon, I rode my bike over and took a few pictures of things I thought were pretty or interesting. I went to several schools, and most campuses have their own charm... but I think there are many extraordinarily lovely places on the UT campus... which really contrasts with how ugly Guadalupe is, incidentally.

Fortunately, they've recently added a glorious bike lane to Guadalupe that is buffered from traffic by a parking lane. They put out some potted plants, too. Who knows? Five years from now, the commercial row might actually be attractive. They have some great local restaurants and businesses; it'd be great if the exterior matched.

But I digress. Here are some scenes from the University of Texas, just from my walking around after having ridden my bike less than a mile.

This building has a lot of windows, and each of them...

...has this very cool detailing at the top floor.

Regal mist! My favorite ornamental grass.

A campus icon.

This building had the signs of the Zodiac in addition to the window detailing.

It's difficult to tell in this picture, but under each window was a name: Virgil, Cicero, Dante, Aristotle, etc.

I believe that the Hebrew alphabet and the Greek alphabet, at least, are depicted one letter at a time on the metal plates between the windows of the Tower.

The sort of infamous turtle pond.

One of two telescopes on campus.

There is a roof. On the ground.

Even facilities maintenance can be pretty. The heating building next door had the names of Watt, Edison, Zuener, Carnot, Joule, and Franklin in metal plates along the building (which is fairly utilitarian-looking).

Just took this because I know it *is* University of Texas to some people.

Looking away from the fountain and tower.

As the sun set, it was time to head home... dinner wasn't going to make itself! In short, I love where we live. It's incredible. Come check it out some time!

ENFJ, but only barely

The other day, a friend posted a link to a very simplified version of the Myers-Briggs personality assessment that I suppose I've taken about half a dozen times in my life, but about which I care almost not at all. Last year, when James and I started dating, he encouraged me to take one just, I'm sure, so he'd have some idea with what he was dealing, precisely.

I don't remember what I scored on most of the test and, honestly, I'd be willing to be that the answers, and therefore my personality, change over time. But what I do remember is that I was one point away from being in introvert. The test I took the other day came up with: "You have marginal or no preference of Extraversion over Introversion (1%)." (And, yeah, I tend to spell extroversion with an "o" but they're both correct, and the "a" might actually be more precise.)

Introversion/extroversion is interesting to me. James is a classic introvert. I am a barely-across-the-border extrovert. James is a lot less shy than I am in terms of talking to strangers, drawing attention to himself by being rambunctious. It has taken me several years to realize that "shy" and "introvert" aren't the same thing. I know some shy introverts. I know some shy extroverts. I would consider myself shy, mostly, in certain situations... Wait. Maybe that's "awkward." I'm definitely that.

I don't particularly like crowds. In fact, large impersonal crowds like at the mall or in amusement parks absolutely send me rushing to the nearest exit. I don't mind staying home for days in a row, either. I don't "need" to be around people to recharge, although I like being around *my* people. Conveniently, they live with me. I don't need to be out and about, and if I'm away from home too long, I'm super ready to get back here and be quiet. But I can also spend all weekend hanging out with friends and family, or spend all day hanging out with friends and that's fine. I guess it's running around that I don't love.

Yes, I majored in theater. And there's almost nothing I love better than acting, unless it's writing. However, I typically won't choose to be the center of attention in a group if it just happens organically. I don't mind people staring at me in the context of being on stage, acting or speaking to a crowd. But I don't "show off." I don't burst into song. I don't quote movies in character or do accents... except for myself or my family.

Hopefully, this would never be needed by anyone associated to me:

(I don't think I ever practice lines out loud when anyone else is around.)

So... since I straddle the line between introvert and extrovert, what does that make me? Average? Normal??