Restore to a Previous Version

My laptop succumbed to a virus this week.  The only way to spare me from wiping the machine clean and reinstalling everything (and running the risk of losing whatever wasn’t successfully backed up on my external drive), was to “restore it to a previous version.”  I was explaining this to my mom: “they just tell the computer to go back to the way it was on X date, and it’s like the virus never happened.”

Wow.  Wouldn’t that be something if we could do that in our lives?  I started thinking about it, because initially it sounded appealing.  I thought about several blissful moments in time to which I’d like to return, prior to what I now know was lurking around the corner, about to wreak havoc on my life.  I thought of happier times with people I believed were good and whom I believed loved me, and how it might be nice to go back to feeling safe and loved by them before they showed another side of themselves, scarring my heart.  I thought about being able to go back to a time when someone was still alive, before they left this earth, and about what I would say or do differently, knowing what I know now.  I thought about going back to joyful moments, such as the births of my children, where I was basking in the glory of participating in a miracle. 

But I guess I can’t say I could ever choose a moment in time to which I’d want to restore my life to its previous version.  Is there a moment I’d like to rewind to, where someone I loved had his arms around me and I believed in our love and in the promise of tomorrow?  Maybe, but I’d miss seeing his true colors come out, so it would still be an inaccurate version of the truth.  Plus I would have missed every good laugh I’ve had since then, every good day, every smile, and every lesson I’ve learned. 

Would I like to go back before someone I loved passed away?  Well yes, I’d like to see several folks again, maybe express things better or differently….but rewinding to that moment would undo a lot of other great moments in my life I’d rather not sacrifice.  For instance, if I could go back to before my grandmother died, I’d have her, but I wouldn’t have my children. 

If I think of the most horrific thing I’ve ever experienced…of course I’d like to undo it.  But I see now how God turned that into a pivotal moment that pointed me towards a path that was suited perfectly for me.  I’m not sure I’d have taken that path if it weren’t for the pain I experienced beforehand. 

I realize this is a moot point, because we can’t restore ourselves to previous versions of our lives.  We are standing right here in this moment.  We are a result of everything we’ve experienced, every choice we’ve made, and every person we’ve encountered.  We’re right where we’re supposed to be, even if it is a moment of pain and uncertainty, of loneliness, confusion, bitterness, betrayal, poverty, or illness.  So rather than thinking of going back to a restore point, I need to think about my next upgrade and what that might look like. 

Dear 2011

Dear 2011,

I’ve hated you, I’ve come to be grateful for you in a twisted way, and I’m eager to leave you behind me without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror.  I’ve got nothing left to give you.  I literally feel like I was lucky to get out alive, with my core being intact. 

I feel as if I’ve been through more than my fair share of tests and trials that have proven and built my strength and perseverance.  Frankly, I’m tired.  And a bit disillusioned.  I have found my safe place and there I will reside until I deem it appropriate and necessary to emerge and subject myself to the winds that seem to howl at my door.  I almost wish to be forgotten, ignored, to bury myself in comfort and familiarity, refusing to leave my protective cocoon. 

So goodbye.  Good riddance.

Empty Stockings

My parents still do stockings for each other, for my brother and I, and for our children and my brother’s wife.  I made a wisecrack the other day that they must have a growing collection of personalized and unused stockings on account of me.  You see, my folks are so loving, generous, and welcoming that they have routinely added stockings for men I’ve had significant relationships with, as well as those men’s children.

I got to thinking about the symbolism here – about what those stockings really meant at the time they were presented.  They meant that the recipient was welcomed and appreciated because of their significance to me.  They were gestures of inclusion, and of generosity.

Now those stockings (if they haven’t been discarded) collect dust and are always empty.  No specially selected gifts debated and purchased for those folks.  No special touch of getting their name in glue and glitter along the cuff, making them feel a part of this very special family.

Come to think of it, I can’t recall anyone I’ve dated whose family has made a stocking for me, never mind my children.  Perhaps that means nothing, but perhaps it’s symbolic of something more.  I have a lot to offer in a relationship, and my family is one small part of that.  I am exceedingly proud of who they are, what they stand for, and how they treat others.  Being a part of this family means reaping the rewards of being around some amazing people.  You get me, you get my family too. 

Maybe someday I will find someone who can offer me the same – my own stocking, my own special place in their world.  I’ve been with men who didn’t have much family, whose family was far away, and whose family viewed me as some kind of threat, a distraction, or an invasion.  It would feel so good to be embraced and accepted and celebrated.  Of course I’m not really concerned with the actual stocking, mind you.  That’s just a silly symbol of something bigger and better.

Hugs

In church this weekend, our pastor mentioned the importance of hugs, and how his wife had suggested that they be more intentional about hugging even their teenage children.  I started thinking about hugs in my home.  My 8 yr old son is very affectionate with me, and quite often initiates hugging with me, which I gladly receive and return.  My 11 yr old daughter is not that way, and I’ve observed it and made it a point to not be so “touchy feely” with her, as this just doesn’t seem to be her thing.

Recently though, she asked me, “Mommy why do you hug Noah all the time and not me?”  Wow.  I felt like a heel.  I explained to her what I explained to you above, and how I thought she didn’t want hugs.  She let me know in a kind way that my assessment was wrong.  Since then, I’ve been more intentional about hugging her, even if she doesn’t seem to be interested in a hug.  I’ve noticed, in turn, that she has become a little more affectionate toward me.

Here I was trying not to “baby” her or smother her out of respect and boundaries, but I ended up neglecting her.  It makes sense though.  We’re not all comfortable asking for what we want, especially if we’re afraid it will make another person uncomfortable, or afraid it will make us look needy.

I’ve worked in the same place for almost 8 years, so we are a pretty close-knit group.  There are times when I walk into certain coworkers’ offices and simply say “Can I have a hug?” and the other person will gladly oblige.  There are also times that others do the same to me, or simply walk in with their arms outstretched, making their way around my desk, and I know what they need and what they are there for. J

When I date a man, I pay attention to whether he hugs his children (if he has any) AND whether he hugs his mother.  I was once dating someone who hadn’t seen his mother in several months.  We traveled to her home, which is several hundred miles away, and I was so stunned that they did not hug upon our arrival, that I could barely focus on meeting her!  Perhaps they hugged “behind closed doors” while we were there, but even when we left, I hugged her and expressed how nice it was to meet her (she was a sweet peach), and he said goodbye and walked away!!  This was a man who was perhaps OVERLY affectionate with me.  I was stunned, and to be honest, I was concerned and a bit turned off.

I read on Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hug) that hugs have been proven to have health benefits, such as increasing oxytocin and lowering blood pressure.  I also read there that some U.S. schools have banned hugs…

So what’s my point?  HUG!  It’s like taking a smile a step further.  You don’t know how long it’s been since someone has been hugged, or how badly they might need that human connection.  Why do you think people hold and pet their pets?  They enjoy that sense of interconnectedness with other living things.  In social media, when a person expresses sadness, people will post "Hugs!!" as a way of letting someone know that, if they were there, they would hug them.  It costs nothing, and to someone, it might mean everything.

A God-shaped Hole

I had a great talk with my pastor the other day.  We got to talking about relationships, and about how we sometimes expect one another, especially our significant others, to fill up all of our empty spaces and to be predominantly responsible for our happiness.  When we find ourselves unhappy, it is easy to blame our partner in life for doing something wrong, doing it too much, or not doing it at all.  Or if we don’t have a partner, we can blame that too.

I’m guilty of it.  Not consciously doing it.  The problem is that, as he put it, we all have a God-shaped hole in our hearts that only God can fill.  And if I try to put something or someone else in that place, it doesn’t fit, and there are “air pockets” and I continue to feel unfulfilled.  I focus my energy and efforts on the things in my life that are in place and I expect more and more of them, but it is all in vain.  Only God can fill up that space perfectly and fulfill me.  If I let Him in. 

It’s easy to make idols of other things and people in our lives: careers, children, partners, belongings, addictions, earnings, hobbies…  But the people who advise that “you can’t make someone else happy until you’re truly happy” have a point.   And yet,  I can’t be your savior any more than you can be mine.  I will inevitably fail you.  When you tell me you’re addicted to me, it’s cute for a milli-second, but then it’s pathetic and concerning. 

I have found myself pushing God aside when something consuming enters my life – whether it is a good or bad "something".  It’s time for me to be more aware of the God-shaped hole in my heart.  It’s time for me to let that hole be filled as it was intended.  Whether that be worshipping (not just at church), studying scripture, dialoguing with others, praying, or just making the conscious effort to leave my heart open to God, it has to be done intentionally and purposefully. 

I don’t think there is anything wrong with wanting, needing, and even relying on other things and people in this world.  I think it’s natural in fact.  To a point.  But I know I must remember their place in the big picture, and set my expectations accordingly.  I am responsible for pursuing, finding, and maintaining my own happiness, regardless of the events, people, and relationships around me.  Easier said than done?  Absolutely.  Possible?  Let’s find out.

How I Wish...

Forgive me, because I've not had much sleep and my thoughts are like a tornado, but they're what woke me up and I need to get them out of me.

My friend killed himself yesterday.  Even typing those words I can't believe it's true.  Keep waiting for him to pop back on FB and say "suckers!"  Not gonna happen.

I scroll back through his page and see days and weeks of pain and heartache, of sad songs and heart-wrenching comments.  I see comments from people saying they wished they'd known how bad it was or that they wished they could have helped more.  My friend and his fiancee had split up.  He was broken-hearted.  I'm coming from the perspective of a person who also split up with their fiancee recently, and who is also broken-hearted. 

At some point, someone told me that a FB "friend" had hidden my posts because she was sick of reading all my whining and crying.  I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I have experienced a lot of pain.  For me, it needs to go somewhere.  Hence this blog.  It's like putting a letter in a bottle and hoping someday someone will find it and just read it.  Just....read it.  Not expecting anyone to solve my problems or say the perfect thing, but just to listen.  Otherwise I would keep these entries saved to my PC and not put them out into the world where I can see people from Russia and Singapore reading them.  But I admit, sometimes it makes me angry to see that 50 people have read a blog post and 1 or 2 have commented on it, especially when that blog is filled with words that relay how lost and hurt I am.  It's like drowning in the ocean, screaming for a life jacket, and all these people just stand on the shore and silently watch you flailing.  The gal who hid my posts is symbolic to me of a serious problem: not wanting to be bothered by another person's pain.  What the hell does that mean?

My friend had no shortage of comments and support on his page, and people trying to reach out and offer their help.  I'm not scolding his friends, I believe we all did what we could and he had a different answer in his mind...another solution to end the crippling pain he was feeling.  My page is similar - an overwhelming documentation of the love and support I have from so many.  Am I trying to say my friends haven't done enough?  No, no way.  I'm saying there are people out there who are so wrapped up in their own busy-ness, their own drama, or their own content lives, that they can't be bothered to really hear or meaningfully respond to the words of another soul who is suffering.  Maybe they don't want to believe it could ever be them.  Maybe they don't know what to say.  How about saying SOMETHING?  Anything.

I see looks of discomfort in certain people when I try to talk to them about the pain I'm feeling over issues relating to my divorce, or issues relating to being a single mom, or issues relating to the wedding I planned this year that never happened.  I'm not talking to people in hopes they will solve my problems or give me brilliant advice.  I'm talking so they will listen.  Are we listening?  Or are we rolling our eyes: "here s/he goes again" and silently wishing the broken person would keep it to themselves?

My friend lost his go-to person.  I lost mine.  People who don't get it...don't get it.  I get it, old friend.  I told you so many times that I got it and could relate, and I tried my damnedest to offer you positive thoughts and encouragement. 

This is what he posted yesterday:

"Prayers please. i have had it tough before. but never like this"

"Still awake ! cannot clear my mind !"

"Crushed. numb"

And then, from what I've been told, very shortly before he ended his life:

"I loved her with all my heart"

"I could never find another"

My last three words to you yesterday were "Decide to persevere."  In response to his Crushed. numb post I wrote:

"take care, friend. You are loved. I know crushed and numb all too well. Decide to persevere."

I'm so sad.  You will be horribly and irretrievably missed.  I'm praying for your boys, your ex-fiancee, your ex-wife, your family, friends, coworkers, and everyone who was blessed enough to see your dazzling smile, laugh at your wit, and have the pleasure of knowing you.  How I wish that you'd had hope.  How I wish that you'd been able to make it through one more day, and then another, and then another, until you found yourself in a more peaceful place.  How I wish you'd been able to embrace the gift of life and find another way to work through the crushing pain of the heart being left lonely, confused, empty, angry, grieving, and numb.  How I wish my words could have helped.  You cried out to God for help this week, and oh how I wish you'd felt his presence, his promise, and his love for you. 

This song is for you.  Probably the saddest song I've ever heard, and I know you loved it:

George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today"