Argh. Another difficult one. My friendships that have ended have done so abruptly, for the most part, and usually come back stronger and better than ever later. In fact, I can only think of a couple that haven’t “restarted”, so to speak, and I’m fine with those being over. The friends that I don’t talk to every week or even month are THERE, you know? I know I can call them up at any hour, even though we haven’t seen each other in a while.

Drifted.

Hmm.

Ok, so…here goes…

I have a girlfriend who I was really close to for…a while. Three years of good solid hanging out, phone calls, etc. Our lives were parallel in some ways; both in serious, committed relationships. Both with full-time jobs. Both into performing and music.

But then, at the time when our lives were MOST similar (pregnancy and subsequent motherhood) we drifted.

I’m not sure if it was some newfound clarity brought on by growing another being inside me or just the fact that I was sick in the head with nausea most days, but I started to see things I didn’t like about her. And really negative things she brought out in me.

And, instead of talking to her about these things, I just let the whole friendship slip.

Maybe I should give her a call.

Or maybe there’s a reason we’re not as close, if we weren’t good for each other.

Life is one big maybe.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

I have started this post about 10 times and given up 10 times.

All of us have stories about that mean girl or that horrible boss. I personally have LOTS of those stories. But while I might have felt terrible in the midst of the situation, all of those situations have made me a far better person.

So here are the types of people who drive me crazy, and some days I let them get to me.

The One-Uppers
This type of person is the worst. No matter what you say, they can top it. It drives me CRAZY, especially when it’s in a brainstorming session. One-upping cuts all productivity because the person is constantly trying to best your idea.

The Blamers
It seems like I’ve dealt with this kind of person more often than any of the others. Everything is always someone else’s fault. If their job isn’t done, it’s your fault for not providing them with info they could’ve Googled. If their child hit yours, it was your fault for teaching your child to be too passive. If they wrote a nasty blog post about you? Yep, even that, somehow, is Your Fault.

The Pleasers
My personal favorite, because I can spot one from a mile away. That’s what happens when you lived as a Pleaser (also known as a Faker or a Hyper Hypocrite) for years. This is the person that MUST please everyone ALL THE TIME. And it’s not always by being nice to someone; sometimes, it means trying to fit a mold you’ve made for yourself so other people won’t criticize you. It’s the Christian who says they’ll pray for you, yet they barely remember your name next time you see them. It’s the girl who pretends to be your friend so she can get with your guy. It’s your friend who says she’s “trying everything” to lose weight while she sips her 800 calorie iced coffee from McDonald’s. Sometimes people slip up and I acknowledge that. But you can tell the difference between a Pleaser and someone who’s just not paying attention real fast…just try to offer some wisdom to the Pleaser and see what happens.

So there; the types that drive me crazy, and about all I could come up with for Day 08 of this challenge, all things considered.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

This is a toughie for me. While I have the typical answers (my husband, my child, etc.) I’ve just never been in a place of such despair that I had to convince myself to go on because _______ needed me.

Which gives me my answer.

When you’re a child, you are exposed to one belief system for the most part: your parent’s. You’ll have teachers and friends and extended family, sure. But it all comes back to what your parents believe.

My parents believe in God, His Word, His Son, and the Holy Spirit.

When I was 3, our family along with several others were sent from our church to plant a new one in a growing part of town. We left and did just that; started a new fellowship in what is now a flourishing part of Madison County. The church is still very successful, in fact.

Anyway, when your parents are starting a new church, you’re there all the time. I learned how to read music in church choir, developed an appreciation for the performing arts and got over my stage fright and shyness, all in church.

But beyond that I learned about my parent’s beliefs, and made them my own. I learned about a peace beyond understanding, a comfort that you gain just from uttering a prayer or singing a hymn. I began to grasp what it meant to sin, that there’s something supernatural about death, and what’s at the heart of love.

And there’s my answer. Jesus is my “someone”; a real man who walked the Earth, died for me and was resurrected. Through Him I’ve found a place of zero despair and He’s made life worth living.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

This one is easy and took absolutely no time to answer. I hope I never, ever have to bury one of my kids. There simply isn’t much to say beyond that.

I know if I did encounter that scenario it would be for a reason; there would be a higher purpose for it. But I can’t even begin to imagine the pain. So I don’t, and will continue to pray for long fruitful lives for the kids.

Before I had children in my life 24/7 I could stomach certain storylines in entertainment; a possessed child here, a child who died and now haunts someone there.

Now that my offspring walk this planet? I can’t do it. Jeff and I went to see Shutter Island right after Nola Jean was born. I spent 85% of the film with my face firmly buried in his chest. I couldn’t watch and the movie ended up giving me nightmares.

A good friend and role model of mine went through losing her baby to leukemia several years ago and I am still in awe of how she allowed God to be her comfort and strength in that trying time. Back then, before I was married and a mother, I thought I understood her pain. But that was short-sighted and selfish of me; now that I have offspring on this planet, I am so humbled by the thought of what she went through. It makes my stomach churn. I just can’t imagine how life could go on. 

So that’s it, plain and simple. Every other scenario out there pales in comparison to that.

This extremely morbid but honest post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

I’m away at camp at beautiful Shocco Springs for the week, so my posts will probably be quite sporadic. For instance, I just finished leading an hour and a half of Bible study with my 39 high school age camp workers and then we played Fishbowl.

Have you ever played Fishbowl?! Oh man. SO. FUN.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

I want to raise grateful children.

Seriously. That’s what I want to do with my life. I want to die knowing that my children are grateful for everything we have on this earth and those things above, around and in it, too.

One trait that I notice in kids a lot these days is entitlement. IT DRIVES ME CRAZY. The latest example of this is these college grads who just sit around, living at home, waiting on a job to fall in their laps. It doesn’t happen that way! You do not deserve a great job simply because you completed college!

And along with that entitlement comes ungratefulness; absolutely no appreciation for what you’ve been given in life. Absolutely no thankfulness for what’s been provided for you.

I’m so glad NJ, C, and K appreciate their toys, books, rides to school, etc.

I’m so glad to have the joy of being with these 39 teenagers for the week and seeing how hard they work.

I’m so glad my 20-month-old Nola Jean says “thank you” without being prompted.

I’m so glad to spend every Monday night during the school year with fantastic high schoolers who are grateful in general.

All of these things give me hope that the next generation will have a better attitude about stuff and who deserves what. I have hope that the next generation will work, and appreciate what they’re given, and learn from my generation’s mistakes.

And I’ll thank them for it.

This one is difficult for me. But here goes nothing.

In the past year I’ve played the forgiveness card several times in my little trip around the board game of life. I’ve made back old friends, opened myself up to people who lost my trust, and moved past some old grudges. It’s kind of been my “thing” for 2011, I guess.

So…

I forgive my hubby for making me late at least one morning a week because I just. can’t. stop. CUDDLING.

I forgive my little sister for moving to New York and landing an Off Broadway role; now I have to go visit one of my favorite places YET AGAIN.

I forgive my other little sister for getting knocked up and FORCING me to get reaaaalllly excited about my new nephew.

I forgive TK for introducing me to great new music which has cost me $275 in a festival ticket and waaay too much dough to count in new music.

There. That feels better.

Ok, seriously.

I need to forgive an old friend for giving up on us.

See, we were a boy and a girl who really liked each other. We weren’t ever official, though; our friendship was more important. We spent every. waking. moment. together in high school. He moved and for practically two years we didn’t date other people because we were just being us. There were sweet letters, looooong phone calls, and fantastic reunions when he was able to make it home. But we never declared our status.

So imagine my surprise when he calls late one night to ask me to consider marrying him and moving out west. I was SHOCKED. We’d joked before about living together at some point; we’d walked through Target and picked out our kitchen decor and cookbooks and favorite lamps and such. But we hadn’t really made the typical moving-toward-marriage motions. AND WE WERE WAY TOO YOUNG. He was 21 and I, 22.

I said no. I didn’t want to leave Huntsville; I was about to start a new job that I was excited about. I had just made a whole new circle of friends that I really enjoyed. I missed him being home but knew I couldn’t make a home with him somewhere else. So I said no. I could tell he was upset but we had a great conversation about it that ended with our usual sentiments.

And that was it. That was the last time we talked as friends.

I called the next few nights to no answer. I sent a couple more letters. And then I gave up; I knew something was going on.

3 weeks later I was back at the church where we grew up together for a special event. I ran into one of our old friends and she asked if I was excited for him.

“Um, I’m sorry…we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks. Did he get promoted or something?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know how to say this; I thought of all of us you’d know first! He’s engaged.”

At first I wanted to correct her; there was no way she was talking about him. Then it sunk in and the earth spun. I still remember that short conversation. I can still remember what I was wearing. I remember feeling like the wind was knocked out of me as I looked across the sanctuary to where his parents stood. I cried through the entire service, then went home and fought the urge to call him through my sleepless night.

And that was it. Nothing. I called him on that Christmas as I had for the previous 7 years. He told me that was the last time we could talk; I could hear the sadness in his voice, but there was no explanation. I attended the wedding reception 6 months later, and I took the kitchen towels, oven mitts, washcloths, art and cookbooks we’d always joked about buying for our house that he’d registered for with her. That was the last time I saw him; the spring of 2004.

I have no idea why I’ve written all this. I’m not sure what there is to forgive him for…I guess I’d like an explanation, but it wouldn’t matter at all in the long run because I know it all ended up exactly as it was supposed to. We would have NEVER worked out, and it’s probably best we aren’t close anymore. Yet for some reason I haven’t forgiven him for not respecting me enough to give me an explanation and for not wanting to keep our friendship.

But writing this has certainly helped.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

Let’s harken back for a moment, shall we? To post numero uno in this series. Most of the moments I have to forgive myself for have to do with my temper. So let’s remember that there are lots and LOTS of instances where my temper has bested me, and I owe myself an apology and subsequent forgiveness for those times.

But there is one thing that I’m still pretty angry at myself over, and is a mistake I won’t make again. And it has nothing to do with my temper.

When I found out I was pregnant in February of 2009 I was beside myself with joy. I’ve always wanted to be a mother, and Jeff and I had decided not to prevent having a baby. I come from a long line of fertile Myrtles, so naturally we married in November and found out we were expecting 3 months later.

And yet, despite KNOWING that I really wanted prenatal care from a midwife and KNOWING that the hospital wasn’t the place for me (I have some pretty terrible anxiety in a medical environment, and anxiety + needing to relax so you can PUSH A BABY OUT are not a good combo), I still subjected myself to 5 months of sub-par care from an OB. And I haven’t forgiven myself for it yet.

Here’s the thing; I knew I wasn’t doing what was best for me. I told Jeff that repeatedly and he encouraged me over and over to explore the midwife option. He read books with me, watched videos, listened to stories of my MANY friends who’d gone that route. But I just didn’t have the guts to make the leap.

I was afraid what the change would mean, of some really stupid things. What are people going to say about me? About us? Will the doctor be upset? What if the midwife laughs at me for coming to her so late in my pregnancy?

Then there were the things that weren’t so stupid…how much will it cost, since we’d have to pay out-of-pocket? What house will we use? What’s our back-up plan?

Anyway, we took the plunge and I’m so glad we did. I immediately felt better and more in control of the entire experience. But I still regret those  months where I didn’t respect myself enough to walk away and find the care I deserved.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

I love:

-My imagination. It gets me in trouble sometimes, but it is extremely important in my line of work (imagination = creative thinking). I think I relate to the kids better, too, because I haven’t lost my ability to daydream and use my imagination.

-That I am very loyal. I will stick by someone until I’m burned all over, which isn’t always a good thing, but more often than not people cite it as one of my best traits. I love that I’m loyal because it means that I find other loyal people to surround myself with.

-That I have extremely high expectations. Again, this is something else that really sucks every once in a while but most of the time works to my benefit.

-That I am very good at my job, but not afraid to change and grow. I’ve been in the non-profit event planning world for 6 years in September, and in event planning and production for almost 9. It is an environment that is constantly changing and I’ve learned how to adapt.

-That I care about what other people think of me, but not so much that it affects me negatively. I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s true, and something that took a long time for me to discover in myself.

-That I am organized where it matters. Does it matter that I attend all the meetings on my calendar? Yes. Does it really matter, in the long run, if I fold the laundry THE MINUTE it comes out of the dryer? No.

And, finally, I love that I see the importance of family. It is so important to respect and cherish the family God gave you, and I do.

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

Hate is such a strong word. Can we just say strongly dislike?

Also, why am I afraid of the word hate?

Ok. So.

I hate my temper. The hubs calls it “passion”. I call it LOSING ALL CONTROL AND GETTING REALLY UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID.

My temper isn’t usually fueled by anger. It’s usually brought on when I’m frustrated. There is a big difference. Anyone out there know what I mean?

I don’t get angry about plans getting changed at the last minute. I get frustrated because when you change my plan it causes me all sorts of stress. And then I lose my temper with you because I’m overwhelmed at the changes.

Luckily I’ve learned how to control my temper in MOST situations. Currently, the only person who is directly affected by my temper is my dear sweet husband and occasionally the kiddos.

But I do strongly dislike my ability to fly off the handle over stupid things. Of course, when I’m in the middle of said tantrum it feels AWESOME. Like, I AM ALL SORTS OF JUSTIFIED HERE SO JUST GET OVER IT awesome.

It’s afterward that I feel like a toddler stuck in the Terrible Twos.

And realize that Nola Jean has the same “passion”, as the hubs calls it.

Which means SOMEBODY is getting back what she’s been dishing all these years.

Hoo-boy…

This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Blog Challenge. You can find the list here.

Last year, my pal Cindy and I (with 4 month old Nola Jean in tow) ventured out to Po-Boy Factory to celebrate Fat Tuesday. THIS year, we’re having about 20 people over for Jeff’s homemade gumbo, etouffe, bread, salad, Krispy Kreme bread pudding, and king cake from Sucre.

While I’m so excited about having everyone over and celebrating the beginning of Lent in our own little way, the fact that we’ll actually be IN New Orleans in a little over two weeks is killing me. I am SO READY to be there, to soak it in. I’ve never been in the spring and I can’t wait.

And the best part? We literally have NO PLANS for the entire weekend. We’ll check in to our hotel (not staying in the Quarter this time!) and then…who knows? Usually we have at least one thing we have to do (almost always something to do with one of our jobs) but this trip? Is just for us, and the baby, and I’m so PUMPED. And the fact that we’ve timed our trip to be there for the Tennessee Williams Festival…well, I’m so PUMPED!

Can you tell I’m pumped?

Happy Mardi Gras, everybody…here’s to letting the good times roll!