Christmas Eve and it dawned on me

So, 2012 is marching quickly upon us. I'm wondering what this even numbered year will present for me, for the country, for my family. I'm hoping that my visions of death in a car will be squashed, that my small group will have more direction, that I can be a leader, and lead by example.
I hope that I can be more understanding of my friends situations, who are in what I call ridiculous relationships with boys who ultimately suck, and by suck, I mean suck the life out of my friends. I hope that I can say the right things at the right times, and avoid touchy subjects at inopportune times.
With these hopes, I also ask that my friends can be more choosy, that they can each realize that they are worth more than they currently project.
I ask for a better relationship with my mother, and a bigger set of balls than I've ever had, not to proudly display, but to modestly back up my good intentions.
For 2012, I wish that Sarah gets into a good school, and can be a leader, and when the time is right, she will follow the right people and make the right choices.
It's not the amount of pictures that we took in 2011 that sums up what effectively marks the close of a year, nor the parties we attended in the month of December in celebration of Christmas or Hanukkah, or whatever it is that you give praise to. It's not the amount of friends you may have or not have on Facebook that represent us.
At the end of the day, at the end of the year, it's not what we thought was important that actually was. It wasn't the amount of money that we lost in a risky stock market trade that your friend promised was the goldmine, but really turned out to be the black hole. And it isn't that stunning diamond ring your honey surprised you with, when he got down on the very same knee that he broke playing ice hockey in 7th grade, when the new orthopeadist said he might have a slight limp, but thankfully, he didn't. It's the love that fuels us to do nice things for eachother. It's not the gifts. It's not the wrappings. It's the motive and the love.
As, I'm sitting here surrounded by beautiful packages, decorations that shine, lights that twinkle and music that is somehow not irritating still even though it has permeated every public arena and radio wave for the last month straight, relentlessly, I'm sitting here thinking that these small things are a culmination of what is to come.
These are the little details that God wants us to find solace in. These simple ways we find peace are just one more way that God shows His love for us.
I've always known, as most people probably have, those who believe in a greater being, be it Christian or otherwise, I've always known that God presents himself in the little things. That's what keeps us coming back. I can't speak for everyone, clearly, but the bells and whistles, the lights on Broadway, the cool breezes on a scorching summer day when you're impatiently waiting in line at the farmer's market, and the gramma in front of you wants to debate the price of a bag of tomatoes, the random twenty you found in your front jeans pocket when you needed to pay for parking and you had no cash in your thin little wallet- it's those things that keep us reeling.
I hear people say all the time, "I hate all the hustle and bustle of Christmas. It's not about spending a grip of cash you don't even have to spend." I may be guilty of saying it myself. I think it could be argued that we have all felt that way at least once or twice during the Christmas season.
But I realized tonight, that even though we may spend money we don't have, and we run around, fighting over parking spaces, burning up perfectly good food in our kitchens because that neighbor decided that she wanted to make a cake, and was missing the not 1, not 2, not even 3 eggs that a good cake recipe calls for, but 4 eggs, and realized that she was too lazy to go to the store, but not lazy enough to take on the rum cake, and she wouldn't leave your front porch because yelping about the other neighbor had somehow become the number one priority- in front of the cake, it's for a reason. We do these things, these out-of-our-wayisms, these seemingly never endingisms so that we can make others happy. That is the richness of life. That's what God intended for us.
He wants us to celebrate how much He loves us, by showing others how much we can love each other. And what a better time of the year than Jesus's birthday?
Praise God.
I wish that we could all take a moment to realize that all this stress and busyness is not all in vain. We do these things to make others happy. And that's the fat of life. That's what He wants.
Next time you are doing something for someone else that you really don't want to do, begrudgingly, try changing your attitude. Take the role of servant. Do it with JOY in your heart. The true blessing is that you are now BOTH the giver and the receiver. You are now receiving the other person's burden. And you are giving out a break to someone else. Don't we all need a break?
Praise be to God. Merry Christmas everyone.

 

And again, I will forgive the jerk

A particularly rough day is deserving of a little self loathing, a healthy dose of denial, and a heaping mound of forgiveness, but not before an even deeper sea of questions float around in my brain. I'm obviously speaking from personal experience here, and riding on the dirtiest of  coattails that were probably worn by some grey, curly wig wearing, black cloaked, pinky lifted, teensy glasses wearing man from the sixteenth century, who overly anunciated his words, and only spoke with the Queen's English.
I feel like I have to explain my actions, to justify the beginning that for the most part, and unfortunately so, has often ended ugly.
Another try for Paul, has again ended in sorrow. Another chance to redeem himself, lost in translation, clouded mostly by his uncontrolled alcohol consumption, a genetic tragedy that he needs to take care of or it will most assuredly steal his life.
I TRY not to judge people for having addictions. Unless, there is a child involved, and in my case there is, since Paul is my daughter's father. Ouch. I think I just contradicted myself. Ok. I'm human. I don't fault anyone for having an addiction if they truly have remorse for their actions. There, that makes more sense.
I know, that it could just as easily be me on the other end of the stick. I could be that girl sticking a needle in between my toes, smoking a glass dick in the school bathroom, sniffing a bump of coke from a key in the car during lunch. I could be that person.
I  try not to do things that I know could have me by the balls because I know my personality. I'm the fun one, the trouble maker, risky and wild. It could just as easily be me who gets caught up. I know, because I've been caught up before.
Regardless, it makes it easier for me to forgive Paul when he's drunk, and being obnoxious, when he says things about my deceased brother, when he makes desparaging comments about my Mom for no good reason, and somehow, rediculously extracting bits and pieces of untamed arguments from something that I have done.
He comes in and out. Mostly out, but when he is around, I never withhold his love for Sarah. Most people around me don't get that. They think I must be co-dependent. No. I'm not. I know who I am. I know what I stand for. I know when it's time to say, "No."
Sometimes I wonder if it's me that never learns when it comes to matters of the heart- never giving up on people, which can result in being let down by the same person over and over in similar situations. I don't know if I ever want to learn. To know is to be jaded. I think I'll stay just as I am.
I'm left in a moral dilleama, never fully sure if I'm being naive, or just being nice, forgiving to a fault. I seem to find myself in these same predicaments with the same people repeatedly. I know you're thinking, why in the world doesn't she learn from her mistakes? People are people. They don't change.
That is not true.
We all change. We have different seasons of our lives that enable us to move in different directions. Some people don't want to change their ways. That's unfortunate. They guard themselves. They build walls.
I guess I just think everyone needs a get out of jail free card. Some of us more than others, but nevertheless, we are all guilty of making mistakes. We all do things we regret, we're sorry for later, and we sometimes wish we could take back. The sad truth is that we can't. But what we can do, is being cogniscent of eachother.
We can be forgiving. We can start over and over and over. Yeah, it will hurt sometimes. Yeah, it migh rip a few protective barriers, but it's the least we can do for one another.
I will probably give Sarah's father try after try, chance after chance to prove himself, to make good of his screw ups. I will not give him full access to my heart, but I will leave the key under the mat for him now and then.  I will let him love Sarah and let him back in her life when he begs and barters, and brings over an insane amount of precut Christmas cookies that fill up my fridge. He can make an excuse as to why he hasn't paid any child support. He can say the check is in the mail, that he has another job offer, that is probably in truth,  non-existant.
I will never be physically attracted to him again in any form or fashion romantically or otherwise, but I will recognize that under that rough, unshaven, occasionally dirty exterior, there is a soft soul dying to be fed and loved. Somehow people don't get that. I have had to explain on more than a few occasions that there is no romantic attraction any longer on my end. None. Honestly, I don't recall there ever being any. I'm sorry to even put those thoughts to words, and embarassed  a little too.
I will forgive Paul. I will do this because I know there have been times in my life that I needed another chance. There have been times in my life I didn't deserve another chance- things I did to my parents that weren't worthy of forgiveness.
That's unconditional love, and correct me if I'm wrong, but God commands it.
I will probably be hurt more, probably be let down, but not before a fighting chance has been offered first.
Very few people in this world understand what true forgiveness is, and even fewer people practice it in their daily lives, and can honestly say they forgive, and without holding a slight grudge.
Maybe that's why I stay happy. I don't know if there's a direct coorelation. But I know that if I walk around hating people I will not be happy.
So, I will give hundreds of chances to people who probably don't deserve them. I will be hurt many more times, but at least I will have the satisfaction of knowing that I can forgive. And that makes me a stronger person.
If you don't understand that, maybe you should try to forgive someone today that you never thought you could. And I will again, forgive Paul for acting like a total ass tonight.

Sometimes I have these great ideas of things to write about, and I even go as far as writing them down on a scrap piece of paper, and guess what happens. Yes, I lose that little piece of ripped off paper. In fact, I can't even remember where I was when I tore it off of that unsuspecting, lonely piece of unwanted paper. Back to square one.
Today at church there I was, sitting with close friends, my friend, and her awesome son, who's 12, backed into a corner, which I don't mind because I can be found crying on occasion when I'm there.
That, I can't explain. Some people laugh when they're uncomfortable. Some people talk too much when they don't know what to say, which is the exact opposite of what should happen in my opinion, but I am not the authority on all things right. Thank God, you're thinking.
I cry at church, and when I am happy. I cry at weddings probably more than I have cried at funerals. Commercials with hungry children and sad, abused puppies and kittens make me cry, some Hallmark commercials too. I wish I could appropriately describe what it is that pulls at my heart strings, so sometimes I could avoid it. Don't we all want to escape from feeling at times?
I would just like to go one day without having some form of extreme feeling. I can hear one of my bosses now, "Brooke, you're a woman. Your mood will change like you change your underwear, that is, if you change them once a day in the trailor park."
We joke a lot about my being from North Carolina. Somehow, he forgets that he is too. You know that addage that is played out, but still funny, "you can take the boy out of the country but you can't take the country out of the boy." If you really want to be redneck, you can take the of's out of that statement.
At times I would just like to be a plain white sheet of paper- no lines, no random red dots, no spaces to be skipped on occasion. I just want to be a plain white sheet draped over a beautiful, but never before revealed to the public, awaiting at auction, Picasso, that some rich, and wanton person of the male species would buy at his own discretion probably without first consulting his wife.
I want to be someone else sometimes, not all the time, but occasionally I would just like to not care. I would like to be devoid of thinking about other people and hearing everyone's problems. I would like to leave work at work, and would like to be greedy. I would like to disassociate, to avoid others, to be cold, to not care. It would be so much easier.
I am thankful that I am not that way, but it would be so easy.
Life shouldn't be a breeze should it? We are put here to learn, to morph, to grow, and inspire others to do that. At least that's my take of life. At least that's why I am here. I can't speak for everyone, but I know that God wants me to show leadership in generosity. How do I know, you wonder?
Because he told me many times. He let me know what I need to do.
He lets us all know. We don't all listen.
The price we pay for not listening is much higher than the price we pay for obeying, for some, the price tag is just too high. But I'm here to say that it's not.
And listen here, I'm no saint by any means. I make a million mistakes. I can't take credit for much, I'll admit. But I try to obey when it comes to my finances. And I have never gone hungry. I may have wondered where the money will come from on occasion, but it always ends up working out.
I'm not telling you this because I want credit, but I am saying this because I know there are people who read my blog who are generous as well.
I know there are people here who could be more giving, and are scared to trust Him with your finances.  I'm telling you as an encouragement to do it for yourself. I want you to see how easy it is to trust God when he says he's going to come through. And He always comes through.
We don't though.
This was not at all what I had intended on writing about today. It's funny how things work out sometimes, isn't it?

secrets? I have none.

I always wonder what kind of impact I will make on the world. Doesn't everyone?
Do we not all wonder what we'll turn out as, some of us secretively, some of us blatantly obviously, and for some of us, it's hard to believe that we even think of others even while we're sitting on the toilet and have nothing else to think about.
It's never my intention to make my name known, but it is on the contrary, to share ideas and I'll admit, maybe to show to people that I have known at some point in my life, that I have changed. I am not who I once was.
I hope you aren't either, unless you were a saint.
Life is journey, and you can't truly grow unless you learn from your mistakes and use them as stepping stones. I accidentally typed stoners.
That was funny and quirky.
That is the richness of life- the quirky moments, the small things, the times where you think no one notices you, and they do.
I hate to sound preachy, arbitrary even, but I mean it when I say that life is rich- even when rain is predicted. It's full when we see empty. It's beauty in the mire. We fail to see the simple abundance of goodness when we are surrounded with it because we find ourselves consumed with earthly desires.
We think we all need to be rich, to be heard, to be known, to be understood by all. Truthfully, and by God, we all won't achieve that, and realistically, we won't understand why. But as soon as we can understand that the small things are what make up life, we will begin to reap the benefits of a deeper understanding. You don't have to be rich and famous to impact the world.
The impact of goodness doesn't have a number attached to it. It's not quantitative. Thank God it's not.
My Mom asked me the other day as I was walking up the stairs at her house, and at such a perfectly appropriate time, if I didn't feel that writing a blog for everyone to see (those few who take active interest), was exploitative (not her word), even invasive of my privacy. I'm sure it wasn't my privacy that she was most concerned about.
So, with respect for her, I'll not speak of her unless something really juicy happens from now on.
I don't want to put a strain on our relationship.
But here's the deal: I enjoy the ability to be frank in writing. It's such a release. I honestly think everyone in the world should find their voice through writing.
Most people can't speak out loud. They refrain from confronting situations that propose honesty in its purest form.
We all are guilty of it.
We won't talk about what happens in the virtual world.
We use computers and computer programs to hide and to make avatars of who we would really like to be.
In fact, I believe, and I spoke with a long time friend about this just yesterday, that we don't even choose communication anymore.
We choose to text instead of talk. We choose to email instead of calling. We choose to evite instead of taking the time to buy stamps.
We are constantly taking short cuts. Why?
How have we gotten so far removed from others that we take short cuts in our personal lives? We don't have relationships anymore. We barely even see each other face to face. We hide in our little "me bubbles", and I hate that.
My mom rarely talks to anyone outside of her bubble. And that's OK for her. It's what some people do. It's normal.
I don't want to be normal.
I don't want to be in the bubble. I would give anything to have my mom's open mindedness, her understanding, her wisdom. One day I will. What price will I have to pay to get it, I wonder? That's unimportant.
What it's like to have those qualities...that's what I'm after.
I am not at that point yet in my life where I can be comfortable with who I am without making a statement. It's who I am right now. It's probably what I will be for a while. I was born to be that person. The loud one. The constant advocate. The debater.
But when it all comes down to the nitty gritty, I'm about everyone else. It's not about me. It's about you.
It's about what you stand for, and how I can help you. You should see the trails of thoughts inside my brain, riding the waves like it's the hundred year storm and you are Bodhi in Australia and Keanu Reeves is waiting to lock you wrists together at the shore.
Mom, if I write about you, please don't be upset with me. That's all I can really say because I write about what I am about. And if you are a part of my life, you can most likely assume that you will be in some story that I will write. That goes for everyone.
Sarah, my four year old, has told me on a few occasions that I embarrass her. I told her to get used to it. That's mean isn't it?
No, I told her this: Sarah, the things that are important for you are important to me. And the things that are important to me, are important to my family, and the things that are important to my friends are important to their family, and that's how the world goes around. Whether you want to admit it or not, people care. Get used to it. I care. I love you, or I wouldn't tell anyone the funny little things you say.
Her response: Mom, let's just keep some things a secret.
What can I say to that but, "I love you, and you're awesome. Don't let anyone EVER tell you different. I know, and I'm your mom."
That is exactly what I said.
That was what I meant.

I am so psyched about Christmas. Yaaaaaay! It's the world's chance to be what God intended us to be- in unison.

Are you excited for the right reasons? Are you going to stop not believing?

When I die

When I die, please play the "over the rainbow" by IZ okawawissomeoneoranother.
And I love the video. I'd like a funeral like that. I think Wilson would like that too. I'm thinking right now that maybe he would like me spread his ashes in that manner....Oh how would he love his friends to all gather as friends in his honor, or not in anyone's honor, but as people coming together just because they had something in common together....Wilson. And something to share....and it's so simple. It's called love.

I want to spread his ashes. I want it to be something that he would have liked. I can't wait to see him again.

I miss Wilson. This makes me cry. I pray that God can allow me to look past outward appearances and allow me to see what people are really made of.

God, I pray this prayer...

Please allow all of us, who are united through my brother, Wilson, and my Dad, John, to become one with one another regardless of anything that might prohibit us, and let us all be accepted by one another, and be loved by one another in and through You. Thank You, God for allowing life to happen, even though we screw it up on a daily basis, and thank You for being understanding because we couldn't be. Please help us to be more like You when we don't think of you, and when we don't act like we even know You.
Keep us reminded of Your brilliance and love and shining wholeness that we will only be a small fraction of it, but because you love us more than we will ever understand. We will cover the Earth and be here to represent You.
Lord, let us be what You intend. Please forgive us when when we stray from You, but thank You for always welcoming us back. We will always love you, if we are smart....=) God you will always find us, when we are hiding in the deepest places, and on behalf of many, I thank You, and wish that You will draw those here that are far from You closer to You and from this service God, You will make them understand that You are the way, and make them know that You are always with them even through the pain. God , it is through You that we all live, and I thank You. Love is a freedom. You have always given us the choice. Thank You. In Jesus's name I pray.

I guess life isn't easy for anyone.

I owe some credit to Beth Moore, the infamous Christian mother, writer, inspiration giver, teacher, and motivator, whose books and lectures I absorb on occasion, but not frequently enough.
My small group is currently studying her book, So Long Insecurity, which although I love it when I pick it up, I have failed to put any real time into reading it piece by piece, and have mostly skimmed.
I won't make up an excuse for why I haven't done something that will clearly reap larger benefits than the occasionally unworthy things that currently have overruled my personal time, but I will say that the small tidbits I have taken from what I have read, have had incremental, but some might say profound impacts on my daily living.
I made another trip to the vital records office yesterday.
It was not to flip through musty pages of dusty volumes of birth records this time. Although it was pertaining to a birth record- not of mine though, and not creating of a fiasco like the other time I showed my face at the vital records office back in August of 2011.
Instead, this time I was getting a certified copy of my daughter's birth certificate.
She will be a kindergardener next year. It goes without saying that I am in shock of this impending future that is closing in at speeds that I can't clock. Besides the obvious and overwhelming perplexities which most likely bubble with my disgust at the Charlotte Mecklenburg schools "lottery system" that leaves many children behind in my opinion, I have to worry about things like where and when. I have no control over my daughter's future education unless I have the greenery to back it up. That worries me about the world.
I visited a private school today in fact, and I expect God, and I know this will sound strange to some people, those that don't believe audaciously the way we all should, and they way God promises us to be able to believe, I expect God to allow Sarah to go to a school where either she can be a part of something wonderful or either she will be the wonderful part of something. I'm not sure if that makes sense to most. It does to me, and that's all that matters right now.
In essence, I know that we will always be provided for in some manner by God. It might not be what I want, but it will always be what I need. And He is the decider.
As I was walking into the Vital Records office in uptown Charlotte, you call it uptown, not downtown, if you're a Charlotte resident, I noticed they had finished their minor, and I express, minor, upgrade. Well it was more of a midgrade if you ask me, but I guess I'm picky, maybe even high maintenance at times.
I beebopped in, with my headphones in, listening to The Strokes and listening way too loud for my already-abused eardrums. I walked into the familiar, somewhat quaint even, office that I had been in not too long ago, without even referencing the marquee. I scooted through the door, which was patiently being held by a middle-aged bald man, who resembled Carey. His first name is drawing a blank now. He hosted who wants to be a millionare, and lost weight, and gained it back, and is funny sometimes, other times drab. Oh whatever his name is, I like him.
I pushed the 3 in the elevator which wasn't draped this time with grey drop cloths, went up, walked down the hall and beebopped in like I owned the place.
Even though I had just walked 2.5 blocks to my car only to find I couldn't find my damn keys, walked back to my office another 2.5 blocks only to find my keys weren't on my desk, and then having frantically called Sarah's daycare across the street to confirm if they had mistakenly landed on her cubby or inside of it, which was not unthinkable, and has happened a few times before, I was not in a bad mood.
Even though it was the third time I had called AAA in 2 maybe 3 months, and that's being generous, even though I had just had a rough as hell morning, I was in a good mood.
I was happy listening to my music, and I knew that whatever had happened, was just that, in the past. I was living in the moment. I was not letting little details bother me.
God takes care of those. For a stresser, that is very hard to take. I don't consider myself a stresser, but I know plenty of people who I would say could join or start a stress club.
I walked into the room, with a smile on my face. The guy behind the counter was curt, but he was cute, so for the moment, it didn't bother me. I asked for change for a ten. He acted like I had asked to get change for a thousand dollar bill. That was fine. I couldn't get it. No biggy.
But before I approached the window, the same bullet retardant, sliding glass window, I went to the forms area to fill out the appropriate form.
Every proper government office has requests to fill in forms before giving out the goods.
So I did what I was asked. I filled out my pink form.
The blue forms were for death certificates. The pink, for birth.
I turned in my form and while I was whistling, and twirling my unruly, curly head to the music, probably chewing gum even, another sign of carefreeness, I looked over and saw something that shrunk my heart.
I saw an elderly black couple, filling out a form. Their form was blue. It wasn't pink, like mine. It was blue.
It was a death certificate form. All I could do, was stop being happy dead in my tracks and be sad for them.
I thought about what they were going through right then. I don't know their story.
They could have been there to get a death certificate for their son who just died in Iraq. It could have been their daughter who was sick with Cancer for the last 5 years. It could have been their granddaughter who was shaken to death by her daddy who was on drugs and couldn't handle fatherhood like her mother could have.
They could have been just geting a copy of a death certificate for someone who died years ago, but I doubt it.
The looks on their faces were solemn. They weren't smiling. There was no beebopping. There was no cutesiness, nor cheer.
There was an undeniable look of grief.
I have seen that look before. I don't know if I can even describe that look accurately. It's a look between partners when you have to give up. It resembles a commonality that only a few could grasp, the few that are engulfed in the issue. It's a blanket covering just your shoulders when it's 34 degrees outside, and you're wearing shorts and a tank top.
That feeling of loss and uncertainty is something that so many people in this world have been so blessed not to have ever known.
I knew it when I saw it immediately. I felt my heart shrink, my lungs collapse, and my eyes bulge, full with water.
That pain is unmistakable. It's undeniable.
Maybe, had I not known the pain, I wouldn't have been so in tune with it. I don't know. But all I could think about was Beth Moore.
I was thinking about her depiction of insecurity and how it can be fed through simple things that people around you do without being aware it.
I was thinking about how a woman can derive insecurity from a friend who reveals more of herself in a manner that makes her feel uncomfortable about herself without even knowing it. Friends can watch what they do to keep other friends' insecurities at bay.
But those are VERY conscious decisions. We all have direct impact on others whether we choose to recognize and believe it or not, whether we chose to acknowledge it or not.
And that is my point. If I can note that someone is having a rough time in her life, just by seeing a blue slip of paper, I can certainly and most undoubtedly make an effort to not throw my happiness in someone else's face who is feeling sadness.