Halftime Already?!

Note: This blog was inspired by the message my Pastor Ken Murphy shared this morning.  Check it out yourself at http://thecwc.net/media.php?pageID=11 (should be posted by Tuesday 8/21).

Have you ever watched such a riveting football game that you found yourself stunned when you realized it was halftime?  In an analogy my pastor used this morning about life as a football game, I realized it's quite reasonable to think that I may be close to - or at - halftime in my life, with two quarters completed and two to go.  That was a strange, attention-getting revelation to make!

Halftime is best spent taking a quick rest, reflecting on your performance in the first half, and strategizing for the second half.  Oftentimes I find myself wondering "what am I doing?" or "what have I done with my life?"  On paper, it looks pretty good.  I graduated high school, graduated summa cum laude from Ohio State, earned a master's degree, got married, had two healthy children, bought a home, and have been blessed with employment that, for the most part, is satisfying and enables me to provide for my family. 

At a second glance, however, I might add that there is a lot that is missing.  The marriage didn't last, and I'm a single mother.  I've yet to find a Christian man that can contribute to a respectful and loving relationship on a long term basis.  I'm a hard core romantic with a lot of love to give, and while there are a lot of other souls I can and do love and care for, it's no substitution for a mutually beneficial adult romance and partnership.  It's lonely.  It's exhausting.  It's depressing.  But it's also a refusal to settle.

There are certain things in this world that I am extremely passionate about: music, women's issues (especially reproductive health and rape prevention), and writing.  And while I've dabbled in karaoke and choirs, volunteered for various women's issues/causes, and have this blog...I'm not really pursuing any of those dreams.  My excuse?  Unless I really "made it" in one of those areas (i.e., touring as Miranda Lambert's opening act or writing a couple best-selling novels), they don't pay well, and I can't afford a low-paying job asvthe sole breadwinner in my family.  For instance, my "empty nest" dream (when I have the ability to be on call) is to become a midwife, but I'm terrified of being directly responsible for a woman and child's life or death. 

I felt a spark of excitement today as our pastor encouraged us to find that "sweet spot" where we can best serve God and others using the talents with which we've been blessed.  He reminded us that it often takes a few tries until we find that place where we look forward to serving, even as we change lives while doing it.  I was reminded of a non-profit where I volunteered but realized it wasn't a good fit....and of being guilted into serving in children's ministries at another church and hating every minute of it.  Neither of those was the target I'm trying to hit.

I felt a renewed sense of hope, that maybe the second half can be a game-changer.  Maybe, for practical reasons, my career will  not align with my passions, but maybe I can find that place in my church or in the community where I can feed my passions and derive a sense of purpose where I truly feel that I'm making an important difference in the world and not just increasing someone's profits.  And maybe while I'm doing all of this, I'll run smack into a good man who is not just taking from the world, but giving back as well.  Stranger things have happened.

"you say you don't want it again and again

but you don't really mean it
you say you don't want it  - this circus we're in
but you don't really mean it...

...how many fates turn around in the overtime?"
~Tori Amos, "Spark"

Promise Me That You'll Give Faith A Fighting Chance

The day you were born, so many thoughts passed through my mind.  Mostly, I was just feeling sheer joy, pure exuberance.  You were a miracle - a miracle that came after a diagnosis of "infertility" and many roller coaster months of hope and disappointment.  I thought about your infancy, your toddler years, and your childhood.  I thought about you as an adult - with a career, a home of your own, and an identity that would sprout from your roots.  I did not think about this moment.

Tonight I sat in an auditorium at your sixth grade orientation, and I felt - vicariously - the nerves, anxiety, uncertainty, and excitement that comes at this age with a new school, new classmates, and a new chapter in life.  I wanted to wrap my arms around you, but knew I could not because it would embarrass you.

Those "middle years" were hell for me.  Girls can be so horribly mean.  Everyone is maturing at a different pace, both physically and emotionally.  I always felt I was the last one to cross each milestone - to shave, to wear makeup, to date, etc.  Those that had gained access to those rites of passage tended to rub it in my face to make themselves feel superior.  I was not attractive, I had hair that was changing from stick straight to curly, I was a nerd (i.e., smart) and I was not athletic. 

Sunday nights were routinely filled with sobbing pleas to my folks - begging them not to make me go back to school.  They would remind me of the big picture, including college, and I'd insist that I wasn't going to go to college - therefore there was no need to finish school.  I wanted so desperately to escape those awkward years when I didn't know myself and didn't know who I wanted to become.

I pray that it's different for you - better somehow.  I pray that having divorced parents doesn't negatively impact your sense of self or your upbringing.  I pray that you always remember God is on your side, at your back, and leading the way...that he loves you immensely and will protect you and guide your steps if you listen to his will.  And like the song we used for your baptism ("I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack):

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance. 

On I Walked

I saw you today.  You saw me.  The look on your face was priceless – it spoke volumes of shame, guilt, and embarrassment.  You managed a sheepish grin.  Your fingers formed into the peace sign.  My face was stone.  An eyebrow raised, chin lifted higher, and on I walked.  An onlooker would never have fathomed how close we once were.

Why was I trembling, shaking, and struggling to breathe?  I guess all that hurt returned to me for a moment.  In an instant, those feelings of vulnerability, shock, hurt, and pain all returned to me, as if in waves.  I didn’t feel safe.  But I felt aware, and so I guided my breathing and regained my composure, reminding myself that I am safe.  You can never hurt me again.  And on I walked.