Nan's Rants

Blue Valentine: An atypical movie with a typical message

2011-05-20T00:23:00.017-04:00

It’s been quite a while since I have written a movie review –lots of noteworthy movies have come out since Superman in 2006! -- but recently, M and I watched an independent film, which I cannot help but want to write about for so many reasons. “Blue Valentine,” is the story of a marriage at its sad conclusion. It has been hailed as a film that anyone who has been in love and fallen out in the end can relate to. In very vivid, sometimes more explicit than necessary, flashbacks, the film takes us back to the root of this failed relationship between Cindy (Michelle Williams) and Dean (Ryan Gosling), who are extremely convincing and effective in their roles, despite some very awkward moments shared onscreen. The contrast between the two young lovers who impulsively decide to get married sharing a tearful exchange of their vows and the married couple visibly aged and disenchanted six years later parting ways in total defeat could not be more stark.

The film is an obituary of a relationship that offers an uncomfortably intimate look into a marriage that was troubled before it began. The cause of death (in my estimation): impulsivity, a lifelong commitment made on the basis of feelings, selfishness, a lack of effort to reverse course and desire to make things right, and the absence of faith – factors all too common nowadays in an age where celebrities and mental health providers alike are proselytizing that marriage is no longer beneficial, realistic or advisable and where the divorce rate is alarmingly high, even among Christians.

From the opening of the film, it is clear that Dean’s proclivities, which may have once seemed charming now grate on Cindy’s nerves. The very first glimpse of Cindy, in which she is awakened by her husband and young daughter, who eagerly and playfully rouse her in her bed, reveals how unhappy, disenchanted, and bitter she has become. Dean, on the other hand, is content as a father and husband and with the fact that he can drink before going to work at 8 o’clock in the morning to paint houses. He has no ambition for the future apart from wanting more children and this clearly bothers Cindy who works as a nurse, having abandoned her youthful ambition to go to medical school, which, we learn, was the result of becoming a mother after an unplanned pregnancy (a choice she makes in the middle of attempting to undergo an abortion). It is obvious that Cindy has no respect for Dean and that the fact that his love for her and her child are all he desires out of life causes her to despise him. While it is easy to relate to some of Cindy’s misgivings about Dean, there is never any doubt that his love for his family is genuine. He admits that he never aspired to become a husband and a father but now takes pride in the fact that he honored those commitments and has become who he was meant to be. Who he has become is precisely what Cindy despises. Whereas their marriage and family represents Dean's identity, for Cindy, it embodies the loss of her own.

Over the course of the film, we learn that Cindy’s decision to have her daughter has resulted in a marriage premised on little more than that decision and a few brief encounters spent in reckless abandon between two teenagers in way over their heads. The feelings which marked her early relationship with Dean have turned into such disdain and resentment that she clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut during their lovemaking to the point where Dean feels so rejected that he can’t continue - a stark contrast to the sexual encounters that preceded their marriage, including an unnecessarily graphic scene, which lingers uncomfortably long – far longer than needed to make its point. Passive aggressiveness has replaced the passion Cindy once felt and the tenderness Dean once displayed and now seems to reserve mostly for their daughter. The more attentive to Cindy he is, the more she seems to despise him. We do not know what has led to these feelings but the glimpses we get of Dean make it easy to imagine what it is about Dean that Cindy finds it difficult to get past.

To say that Blue Valentine is raw and honest is an understatement -- too honest at times. While I understand the contrasts the director is attempting to draw and appreciate his artistic vision and desire to make the movie as true to life as possible, I wish that today’s filmmakers didn’t feel such an overwhelming need to showcase sexuality so graphically. All too often, such scenes add very little to a film (i.e., the unnecessary scenes in Black Swam which added nothing to the storyline that couldn’t have been conveyed without being so over-the-top and graphic). Hollywood will inevitably continue to push the envelope, but it seems to have reached a level where the public has become as de-sensitized to sex as it has become to violence and cursing. It is one thing that Blue Valentine’s NC-17 rating was downgraded to R. It is another that the viewing public has yawned at the downgrade and argued that the sexuality depicted is “not that bad.” In truth, many scenes in the movie are positively pornographic. I digress…

In an early scene in Blue Valentine, we learn that Cindy has inadvertently caused the death of the family’s dog, which in a rare moment brings the couple together in love as they hold each other and weep at their kitchen table. This is a sharp contrast to the exchange between the couple when they try to rekindle their romance – something Cindy obviously wants no part in – at a cheesy hotel in a room called very appropriately titled “the future room.” It is an even sharper contrast to the terms on which the couple leaves off. Their sorrow over the death of their dog seems greater than the sorrow experienced at the death of their marriage. Just as Cindy consoles Dean after the death of their dog, she consoles him at the death of their marriage, seemingly feeling nothing but certain that divorce is the only option available to her -- the only hope for her to regain her identity or reinvent herself in a life without him, a life not tied to a painful past or quite so many regrets.

The events leading up to the end include a chance encounter on the way to the “future” with a lover from Cindy’s past that gives more context to the father-daughter relationship between Dean and the couple’s little girl than the audience initially suspects. The emotional strain produced by the death of the family dog, this chance meeting which digs up so many past hurts and regrets, and the failed attempt at romance in the cheesy hotel room with the spinning bed, balloons into a violent confrontation at Cindy’s job which results in the end of Cindy’s career as she knows it, as well as the couple’s marriage later that day. In the final scene, we see the couple’s young daughter running after Dean, distraught that the only father she has ever known is being made to leave. While the audience is left with a remaining shred of hope that the characters may ultimately be reconciled to one another, the film gives very little reason to believe that this is a realistic possibility. Blue Valentine certainly conveys a very pessimistic view of love and moreover, of marriage.

While the film does reflect a lot of truth in the way that so many relationships nowadays conclude, sadly, the lesson seems to be that having children complicates good relationships, that marriage takes the fun out of sex, that love doesn’t last, and that individual happiness in the moment is far more important than providing a stable and loving home for children. It is not difficult to imagine that many viewers left the film thinking that if Cindy had gone through with the abortion, her life might have turned out better. How sad is that? The film arguably promotes the concept that marriage inevitably becomes an unbearable hell. While feelings undoubtedly change as surely as they wax and wane over time and in the midst of various circumstances, marriage was never meant to be premised on feelings or happiness alone. The message in popular culture nowadays seems to be that love is little more than a feeling undeniably intertwined with lust and that being in love (i.e. perpetual butterflies) is the primary purpose for becoming and staying married. This is not to say that feeling in love and feeling happy aren’t worthy purposes or a part of marriage but to say that they are the only purposes is an understatement of the greatest magnitude.

In typical movies, most movies, definitely not this one, we usually see the best parts of candy-coated relationship, perpetuating the idea that the best relationships are those defined by constant bliss. Those of us who have loved and gone through life or marriage know that love, marriage and life in general are rarely like that. So while I give the movie credit for attempting to be honest in showing that marriage has its drawbacks and creating something that feels real on so many levels, at the same time, I wish that it did not further promote the message that marriages naturally should end when the initial sparks fade.

Marriages that are able to survive the dark and troubled times grow stronger and the passion deepens over time and with experience and becomes something so much better and more beautiful than "butterflies." Still, I suspect that if the film had shown Cindy and Dean go through counseling, find faith in Jesus, commit to praying for their marriage and working through their problems, honoring their commitment to each other and their obligation to their child, and fighting for their family, it would be less dark, disturbing and thought provoking in the way it was intended to be.

The movie is beautiful precisely because it is dark and haunting; because it gets under your skin and makes you think. I imagine that it caused a lot of married couples facing difficult times to reflect on their own relationships and unique challenges. I can only hope it will not encourage the same outcome...

Blue Valentine was Rated R on appeal for strong graphic sexual content, language, and a beating; originally rated NC-17 for a scene of explicit sexual content.

In Spite of Feeling

2011-04-22T19:40:00.002-04:00

Daily, I've been fighting to get past an array of feelings that at times overwhelm and at times are absent when they seemingly shouldn't be. My mother-in-law's illness, my grandmother's accident/surgery/hospitalization, the pressures and struggles that have accompanied this sour economy and the transitions I have made in the last year in life on personal and professional levels (enduring a difficult pregnancy, moving, becoming a mom, finishing law school, moving again, starting my career, studying for and taking the Bar -- trying to wear more hats than my head can hold) -- it has surely taken a toll on me this past year. In truth, most days, I am not thriving. Most days, the most I can hope for is to survive. Most days I feel as though I am barely reaching that goal.

Today is Good Friday. The day we celebrate Jesus' ultimate sacrifice: His death for us on the cross. The day we are reminded of the price that we were purchased at and the extent of His love for us: that He would endure such vile and undeserved punishment just to set us free, so that we might see Heaven someday and be with Him for eternity. This Easter season marks my 11th re-birthday. 11 years since I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart as my Lord & Savior and asked Him to make me a "new creation." As noted above, I do not always "feel" like a new creation. I do not always feel free through Jesus' death on the cross. Mostly, I feel owned and consumed by my circumstances. I forget sometimes that I am His and that He is in me.

During this Lenten season, I committed myself to reading through the Gospels every morning on my way to work. I finished this morning, ending my journey through these books with the Gospel of John. Towards the end of this book, I re-discovered Jesus' prayer for us. I'm sure I have read it many times before, but it "felt" new to me this year. After Jesus prayed for His disciples, He said:

²⁰ “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, ²¹ that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. ²² I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— ²³ I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.²⁴ “Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.²⁵ “Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. ²⁶ I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them” (John 17:20-26).

As a believer, I accept Jesus at His Word. I believe that what He says is true. There is no doubt in my mind. But I don't always feel it.

The world tells us that we should live according to what we feel. Marriages are ended everyday because people just don't "feel" that it can work, don't "feel" happy. Decisions of great and little consequence are made on this flimsy and untrustworthy basis every day. As a woman, I believe that God gave us strong emotions and greater sensitivity than men for a reason. While our emotions and our ability to "feel" things so deeply is a gift, it can also cause us to make poor decisions, to give up when we ought to press on and to doubt what we know is true. I know that I have on more than one occasion...

This Easter, I am reminded that Jesus died on the cross to set me free, not so that I could be subject to feelings of depression, anxiety or doubt. He died on the cross so that I could be free, so that I could be in Him, so that I could seek and follow His will for my life, even when I don't feel the joy that I ought to feel. Though I am seeking to stand on His Word, to discern and follow His will for my life, I recognize that it doesn't necessarily mean that I will always feel joy. That being content may be the most I can hope for somedays. Most importantly, I'm reminded that what I need to recognize and that which I record here for what I hope will be an encouragement to others and pray will be a reminder to myself, is that Jesus is with me whether I "feel" it or not. He promised to work all things together for good. He promised to be the same today, tomorrow and forever. He promised that His mercies would be new every morning. I can stand on those Truths even when I feel that I don't have the strength to stand on my own two legs. There is comfort in that whether I feel it as deeply as I should or wish I could or not.

As a Christian, I have the privilege of worshiping a Living Savior. This Easter Sunday, I hope it will be as powerful a reminder to you as it is to me that though on Good Friday Jesus died a painful, horrible death, On Easter Sunday and every day, He is alive. He is risen. He is risen indeed.

Purpose Driven

2011-04-16T21:30:00.002-04:00

I'll be honest. Most days it feels like a struggle. The struggle does not merely concern juggling all of the different hats that I must wear, but surviving another day, making it through another week, counting down the days left before the weekend comes, and then trying to draw from every hour I'm given with my family a measure of joy, rest and peace that will give me strength to start the cycle over again on Monday morning. Life as a working mom is much harder than I ever thought that it would be, but at the week's end I am reminded of why I keep going. As I type this, Noah is coming at me with a broom, not at all happy that I have withdrawn to take some much needed "me time" on the other side of the room. Frustrating, yes, but even in these moments of frustration, I cannot help but laugh as I watch my son's personality grow at a pace much faster than his weight or height. Moments ago, my "tiny tyrant" was standing at my side shaking his finger at me saying "no no," imitating the instruction he had just received from his grandma and feeling the need to show me that he too can give instruction. He has quite a sense of humor, albeit a poor sense of timing...

When I was a stay-at-home mom, finishing up my final year of law school, searching for a job that never seemed to come, I often felt that my only purpose was to change diapers, to provide sustenance and to get my child to sleep. I've often said -- and still maintain -- that being a mom is the highest profession I could ever aspire to. It has been the privilege of my life. Yet, being a mom has certainly involved a measure of sacrifice. Largely, what I've missed most of all is being able to write. And I don't just mean the time. I also mean the energy, the focus, the clarity of thought, the ability to put my thoughts into words or finish something I start. Although I am optimistic that returning to this blog will allow me to return to my first love, I am aware that the demands of being a mom will often leave little time to follow-through. That is OK. It will have to be for now.

In honesty, I have sometimes felt jealous of Michael's ability to serve God by playing lead guitar as a member of the Creative Arts Ministry at our church. I have been searching for a ministry and a purpose of my own and have not had any success in finding my place or roll in which I could serve. Prior to becoming a mom, I always felt that blogging was my ministry and that there was no better forum in which I could use the tools that God has given me. Whether it can be that for me again is to be seen.

I came across a verse today that reminded me that God knows His plans for me, even as I struggle to define a purpose for myself. This verse (Psalm 138:8) is a promise I am standing on and is my prayer today, though my heart is overwhelmed and my mind is tired and the words do not come quickly or easily enough:

"The LORD will fulfill [His purpose] for me; Your love, O LORD, endures forever--do not abandon the works of Your hands."

A Similar Lesson on a MUCH Larger Scale

2010-02-01T18:14:00.026-05:00

"I just want to tell you how much I love you and how much you've meant to all of us all these years." Those were the words that came to me today as I began what may have been the last conversation I will ever have with my grandmother Millie this side of Heaven.

........

I thank God that my long term memory is very sharp and that I can still so easily recall so many vivid images. Most of the photographs that document my childhood were destroyed in the various floods that filled the basement of my New York home time and time again. Very few were salvaged.The one to the left is nearly 3 decades old. It documents the birth of my younger sister, Michelle. And beside me, watching while I held my baby sister is my Grandma Millie (or Carmella, or Mimi, depending on who you ask). Other than this photo, the only other picture I have with her was taken while I was in first grade, at my sister Michelle's kindergarten graduation. When I looked at this picture today, it brought back so many memories of what it was like to be a child spending time with her... How she always wore stacks of gold bangle bracelets that clanked together every time she moved her hands. Her raspy Betty Davis voice and the catch phrases she fell back on time and time again while disciplining us for being bad. "I'm going to get out the board of education," was her favorite thing to say and she said it often as she searched for her ruler to smack us on the hands with. It never actually hurt. It only made us laugh, which only seemed to aggravate her further and caused her to make the face she made whenever we ran through the house with her stuffed black and white cat that we so frequently abused during our visits. We impersonated her so often in the way she said "disrespectful," that I can still hear her voice as though she was here with me right now. With that one word, she was able to speak volumes about her frustration regarding any given situation.

I can still picture her standing in the kitchen stirring sauce on the stove with one hand and smoking with the other. Frosting pound cake with heaping spoonfuls of fresh whipped cream before she'd freeze it, further removing the very little bit of taste it had. Coating bow tie pastries with fresh jelly and sugar while talking on the pale yellow phone with the long spiral cord twisted in knots. It's hard to believe I'll never have my grandmother's sauce again, always filled to the brim with braciole and sausage. It's been a lifetime since I've had it.

And How can I forget the endless hours I spent playing Black Jack and Red Dog with her and my sisters using the pennies she'd stored up in the heavy plastic containers she'd brought back from one of her many gambling trips to Atlantic City? Grandma taught me how to play cards; she taught me the primary colors and how to use them to make new ones; she taught me the names of the Great Lakes, which I sadly, twenty-something years later, don't remember.

These were the types of memories that came rushing back to me today as I spoke into the phone, wondering if she could hear me on the other end, hoping she could understand.

On Thursday, my Grandma Millie had a stroke. On Sunday, I was given the news that she had a DNR and that it was unlikely she would be alive for very long, as she'd refused a feeding tube. I called to talk to her today, knowing she would not be able to respond, and being unsure as to whether she would be able to understand anything I was saying. I wanted to talk to her about God and Heaven and tell her that I was praying for her -- and I did. I told her those things. But it was not long before the memories that came flooding back overwhelmed me so much that I had to share them with her. Memories of her endless supply of BINGO paper and all the games we played together on it when we weren't rattling the dice of our word game so loudly that my Grandpa would holler at us. Swinging from the bars of her staircase (pictured right) for so long that our palms were stained as black as our bare feet. How many times did we launch ourselves off between the bars and nearly knock over the dining room table covered from end to end in an array of boxes from Mei Mei's Chinese Restaurant?

I recalled how she always let me know how proud she was of me. How she told me every time we spoke that she was always watching Fox News expecting to see me one day everyday since I had moved to Washington. I told her I was sorry she never got that chance. Grandma was an avid Conservative who took great pride in knowing that I grew up to adopt the same views without any assistane from anyone else. She had helped me map out my education all the way up to getting my doctorate degree when I was just a little girl. I told her I was sorry that I hadn't graduated law school in time for her to see it. I told her I was sorry that she had to leave the world with Obama as our President, something that I know caused her great aggravation this past year. I told her that I couldn't imagine what life would be like without her and that I hoped she wasn't in any pain. What I told her was as disjointed in my speaking as it is now in my typing.

Mostly, I told her how much she meant to me. How she has been such a blessing to me for the 28 years I've been alive. I told her how happy I was that she lived to meet her greatgrandson (my sweet Noah) and how sorry I was that he wouldn't get the chance to know her better.

How many people can honestly say that they had the chance to tell someone they love just how much they meant to them before they died? I can say that now... though I could have went on for hours. After I got off the phone, I thought to myself that I could only hope to live 90 years and hear my child's child reveal her heart to me for one final time before I go...

For now, all I can do is wait and pray... pray that she feels peace and not fear, pray that in those quiet moments, she reaches out to God and pray that she will be re-uinited in Heaven with the two children she buried in her nearly 91 years life (my Uncle Michael, who I never met and my Uncle Sal, who passed away on my 16th birthday) and especially my grandfather, her "Nino." I hope he will be waiting for her too.

I wanted to share this with you today, not only to document what a wonderful life my grandmother had and what a light she was, or merely as a means of preserving the few memories I have retained, but as a reminder to all of you out there who have loved ones that don't fully know how much they are loved and who would really benefit from hearing it. I am fortunate to have gotten the chance to express that to my grandmother this afternoon...

Her life and her times are in His hands. I know how capable they are. Please keep her in your prayers...

One Last Pint Sized Lesson...

2009-11-23T13:07:00.017-05:00

This morning my hamster passed away. For those of you who know me well and for those who have been following this blog long enough, you know that, to me, Beanie was not just a hamster. She was an important part of my life and my story with Michael -- and God used her on more than one occasion to teach me more about Himself. I blogged on this once before. And this morning, on our last morning together, God taught me one last pint-sized lesson through my little furry friend...

Beanie was my very first pet as an adult living away from home. I had always sworn I would never have any pets after having lost my dog Baby who was by my side for 11 years through thick and thin. Though Michael and I had discussed eventually getting a dog, I made it clear that I was not sure I could handle losing another pet. I had already lost so many... Leave it to me to pick a pet with a 3 year lifespan when I finally felt ready to try again...

When we got Beanie, Michael and I were living in a one bedroom apartment in Arlington. We joked that she was all we could fit into that narrow a space. While we lived there, I played with her all the time. I lavished her with everything a hamster could possibly have -- material things. Beanie saw us through three moves. The first, to a slightly larger apartment in Arlington, the second to South Riding and the third to Leesburg.

When we moved to South Riding, Beanie began acting very strangely. For whatever reason she began building a nest on the top floor of her "rat palace," which created a terrible mess on our floor everyday. Whether it was stress or whether she was just adapting to her new environment, Beanie was very comical to watch as she tried to make herself at home in our new home. In the beginning, I played with her all the time. I loved watching her zip across our faux hardwood floors in her little ball. But it was not long after our move that I found out I was pregnant and everything changed. I was advised to steer clear of her for the baby's sake and for the most part I did. I still talked to her but I stopped making an effort to show her how much she meant to me.

I was in the second half of my pregnancy when we moved to Leesburg and by this time, Beanie and I spent very little time together at all -- if any. Once the baby came, I rarely even walked by her cage because I was upstairs with Noah most of the day. For the last three months, I felt nothing but guilt that I had failed to give her more attention. I kept saying to myself that there would eventually be time, but I never seemed to find it. I tried to no avail to find her a new home - a happy home - where she would get the attention I couldn't give her. And then, just last week, I took some time and held her and promised her that I would make an effort to give her a better life, never knowing that I would not be given the opportunity or the time to make good on that promise.

This morning, I held her -- what little was left of her -- for over an hour and told her I was sorry and said goodbye, the way I never got to do with my dog Baby, whose death haunts me to this day and perhaps always will. As Beanie lay in my hands barely breathing, I kept praying for God to take her but He didn't.

In those sad moments, so much occurred to me that I feel compelled to share...

Now, I know that there are some of you reading this who might think it's silly that I should care so much for a rodent. That's fine. I also know there are many of you who are quite certain that animals don't have souls and don't go to heaven. I don't need to discuss that right now... I try to have hope. But in realizing that there is no certainty, it made me realize how fleeting life is and how my experience with Beanie is a lesson on so many levels.

First, I learned that we should take nothing for granted. We may not have another day to tell the people we love how much we love them or more importantly -- we may not have the opportunity to show them. Though I gave Beanie all the material things in the world, I missed out on so much of her life. And it got me thinking... How many of us have estranged relatives or friends that we have been neglecting to call or write or bother with? How many of us have allowed nothing other than our own sense of guilt to get in the way of restoring damaged relationships? I know I have...

Second, I learned that God's timing is God's timing and sometimes we have to accept it when it seems that He is not willing to honor our requests. Sometimes we need to be patient and accept (whether it's easy or not) that God is trying to show us something and that He rarely (if ever) stops until we've learned it. I seem to only learn the hard way... but I'd like to think I learn nonetheless...

Finally, and most importantly, I was reminded that little losses prepare us to handle bigger losses. In those quiet moments with Beanie, God instilled in me a sense of urgency to talk to those people in my life who don't know Him -- People whose loss would hit me a hundred times harder than the loss of any pet if I did not have confidence that I'd see them again in Heaven. You see... I have no way of knowing if I will ever see Baby or Beanie or Peeps or any of my dearly departed pets ever again. So when they passed, it hurts that much more... because goodbye really MAY be forever. But when it comes to human beings, we DO have certainty. The Bible makes it clear that those of us who call on the name of the Lord, who accept Jesus Christ as our One and Only Lord and Savior whose death was the price for our sin, who seek a real relationship with Him and ask Him to come into our hearts and make what was once old new-- we CAN know with utmost certainty that when we die we WILL be reunited with those who walked with God to go on before us.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16

When I was sitting there holding Beanie in my hands, I thought of those closest to me whose eternal fate I am just as uncertain of as I am hers. And I realized that I need to stop waiting for another day -- the way I waited to give Beanie the attention I should have months and months ago... And so I wrote a letter to one of those people. And I pray with all my heart that she is able to receive the message. I did not write this entry to document that - nor did I write it to merely remember my sweet Beanie Bear, whom I will never forget - I wrote it because I know that there are others out there that need reminding of what I learned today. And if it helps someone else even in the most minute way, then at least a blessing will come from my loss. Quite a legacy for one little hamster. I hope its a message that will be well received...

Rest in Peace Beanie. Never Forget You. HOPE I will see you again...

It's A.....

2009-04-17T11:56:00.002-04:00

After months and months of waiting, guessing and speculating, M and I found out the gender of our baby last week!

We found out that we are being blessed with a baby ..........(CLICK HERE)............!!!!!!!!!!! :)

We could NOT be happier!

A Reminder of God's Provision in Uncertain Times

2009-03-30T09:11:00.002-04:00

I posted this morning to my baby blog about the recent turn of events in my, Michael and Vanessa's lives. I hope this will be a testimony of God's power and mercy and provision. I know there are so many people in these uncertain times who are struggling as we have struggled and I hope this will be a reminder that God has everything in the palm of His hands, that He is intimately concerned with what is going on in our lives, and that He WILL provide... that no matter how grim things seem, God is in control and He is bigger than the problems of this world. We need only put our hope in Him.

(Read the post here).

The First Time That Ever We Saw Your Face... :)

2009-02-23T13:45:00.009-05:00

This morning, M and I got an up-close look at our beautiful baby boy or girl. It is amazing how much he or she has grown in just a few short weeks. At our last ultrasound we could barely make out where the head ended and the body began but today we were able to see his or her face. I just keep reflecting on Psalm 139 and the wonder of knowing that we have a God who loves us and knows us -- and that even now he is "knitting" this precious child together.

PSALM 139

¹ O LORD, you have searched me
and you know me.

² You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.

⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O LORD.

⁵ You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.

⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, ^a]">[a] you are there.

⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

¹¹ If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"

¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

¹⁷ How precious to ^b]">[b] me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!

¹⁸ Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake,
I am still with you.

¹⁹ If only you would slay the wicked, O God!
Away from me, you bloodthirsty men!

²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.

²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, O LORD,
and abhor those who rise up against you?

²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.

²³ Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.

²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

An Unexpected Twist of Fate

2009-01-20T19:32:00.016-05:00

On New Year’s Day, my husband, stepdaughter and I went to the movies to see Marley & Me. While I fully expected to see a movie documenting the hijinx of a naughty pup wreaking havoc on a young couple, I did not expect to watch a commentary on family, the futility of trying to plan out your life, and the changes that having children brings to a marriage. To be honest, I left the theater feeling a little shaken but very happy with the state of my life as it is.

After the movie, the three of us went out to coffee with our dear friends Dan and Melody, who are expecting their first baby this April. “I am just afraid to ruin what we have because I love our marriage the way it is,” I told Melody as she laughed and nodded her head. I shared with her the reservations the movie gave me about starting a family and, as always, she reassured me that God is in control and that all things work together for good. I agreed and laughed off my apprehensions, noting that it wasn’t anything I would need to worry about for a long time. I am in my third year of law school after all, I added, and M is still working on his engineering degree. And besides, I have endometriosis and there are no guarantees that we would ever be able to have any children of our own anyway. This settled my troubled mind and it was not long before this conversation (and the worries and concerns the movie had sparked in me) faded out of my memory.

You can imagine how ironic this conversation seems now, in retrospect, as I now know that at the time we were having this engaging conversation, I was already four and a half weeks pregnant. Here, I was discussing a movie, based on a true story, that clearly demonstrated that life happens in spite of all our planning and I was ignoring the central message I had clearly identified (and have written on before): “Man plans and God laughs.” I have to imagine that God was just sitting up in Heaven shaking his head and chuckling as He listened to me go on and on with my own ideas about what our life would and should be like. Apparently, He had bigger plans in store for us!

And so, M, V and I have spent the last few weeks adjusting to this unexpected news and preparing ourselves for all the things there really is no preparing for. It has given me a new perspective on so many things. Here, I thought I had it all figured out – but it was no sooner than I had come up with a master plan, that God shows me that His are always better.

I have been procrastinating for too long in blogging. I had been meaning to write an entry for some time now on the futility of fear, as I have finally conquered my fear of driving – something I could do with God’s help alone. In the past four months, I not only got my own driver’s license, but I got my own car (a gift from M for my 27th birthday in November).

Looking on all the drastic changes our lives have taken in the past year (moving from the city to the suburbs, from an apartment to a house, learning to drive and getting a license and a car and finding a Bible study group whose members have small children that are welcome to attend each Friday night), I can’t believe I didn’t see what God was preparing us for. And I guess, I still don’t know what the future has in store and I guess that’s the moral of the story (at least as I see it): We can only live day to day and seek God’s will in what we do and wait expectantly for God to show us where we need to be. That said, I am very happy to be where I am, in spite of the horrific morning (noon and night) sickness that at 7 weeks and a few days along, I have still not grown accustomed to!

For all the downsides of pregnancy I have been experiencing this early on, this morning changed my perspective yet again: when M and I not only saw our baby and his or her tiny beating heart, but we heard it! It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. And while our baby looks like little more than a little blob, I can’t believe how much love I feel for something so very small. And for all the worries I have had concerning how early on my pregnancy is, I remind myself that God is in control.

“For you formed my inmost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful. My soul knows that very well.” Psalm 139:13-14

Big Plans

2008-08-13T08:46:00.014-04:00

There is an old saying where I’m from that was repeated throughout my early life more times than I can remember: “People DON’T change.” Children who do not see the world in such black and white terms don’t easily believe things like that. Youthful optimism does not allow for such cold “truths” to be too readily adopted. I didn’t believe it – not even when the circumstances surrounding me seemed to only confirm that “truth” for me time and time again. If there is any truth to that old motto it is this: While it is often very difficult for people to change themselves, GOD changes people. This is something that the pastor at my church often refers to as “pruning” – another way of saying that God roots out areas of our lives that need to give way so that we can grow into who we are meant to be. And I truly believe that, but I always like to think of it in more artistic terms…. terms just as clearly defined in the Bible… Potter and Clay…

I can still remember “throwing” pottery in the drafty art studio at my high school in Brooklyn. I remember how much strength was needed once the clay was on the wheel to force it into the desired shape. Some days, I lacked the endurance and ended up with a mess on my hands, literally. I gave up many times dissatisfied and frustrated. Mostly I ended up with a shape far less than perfect. Once a viable shape was formed, it was time to let it dry or cook it in the kiln. As any potter knows, the trick is that if you want to engrave anything into it or if you want to reshape what you have formed in any way, you have to begin at just the right time or else it dries up hard like leather and leaves the potter with a much tougher (if not impossible) task. Time and time again, I let my pottery dry out so much that reshaping or engraving it was nearly impossible. Time and time again I ended up spending hours scraping the sides of some misshapen pot with a shaving tool, desperately trying to grind down the imperfections or cut away mistakes, listening to the ear piercing screeching sound and believing all the while that the form could not be changed. (And sadly sometimes it was the case.)

I think this is how God sometimes feels about us. Only in the case of human beings, it is we who choose to harden. And in the case of God, He doesn’t give up on us. I know this because in every way I was that misshapen pot. Stubborn in my ways, clinging to that old adage and believing what I’d been conditioned to believe about myself and the world, I resigned myself to accepting certain things I never should have. I fell shorter than short (no obvious pun intended). But fortunately for me, the Potter was not as willing to give up on me as I was in that basement art studio. God had a plan for my life and He was willing to scrape away at those rough and flawed layers no matter how long it took and no matter how many ways I had to break before I’d give way.

The process was difficult and I reached some of the lowest places of my life, but God was faithful to repair all my brokenness. And I don’t regret a moment of the repair process -- though I shudder at the thought of ever going through it again (I’m certain I will again to at least some small degree). I remain a work in process. I’m far from beyond “pruning.”

I was reminded of God’s faithfulness in a big way this past week. On August 11, M and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary and gave thanks for the amazing work that God did in both our lives over the course of 3 short years.

This month, M and I are also approaching the 2 year anniversary of our baptism together into the body of believers in Christ. I still remember standing there in that water, soaking in all that God had done at that point in my life to bring me out of the pit I dug myself into. Never could I have imagined all that God had in store for me and my husband over the years to come. Big plans.

Just recently, I have begun to overcome the biggest fear I’ve ever harbored. (You may remember, I faced it momentarily once before, years ago.) And everyday for the last week and a half, I have done that which I once swore I would NEVER be able to do. At the ripe old age of 26, I have finally learned to drive. And in just 10 days, I will resign my label as a “city girl” when M and I move into our first home in the suburbs. (A leap of Faith if I ever made one!)

God truly has a sense of humor. He has changed me and my life in so many ways. In spite of my shortcomings, in spite of all the ways I’ve failed to put my trust in Him, He has never let me down. All things have truly worked together for good for me and my little family. And the next time I face trials, which I’m sure I will, I hope I remember my own words… God IS Faithful and He loves us too much to leave us how we are.

His plans are much bigger….

A Pint-Sized Lesson About God

2008-07-06T18:31:00.006-04:00

I live in a city where people dress their dogs in better designers and pay nearly as much rent for them as they do for themselves. But with limited square feet and one year to go in law school, a puppy has been out of the question for the time being. Enter Beanie -- our cute-as-a-button black teddy bear hamster. Now… I know hamsters are typically children’s pets, but given that I have an 8 year-old step-daughter, I had a perfect excuse to bring this little muffin home. And I must say, she is as spoiled (if not more) than even the most primped and pampered pooch in my building. And… believe it or not… she is teaching me quite a bit about God… Let me explain…

It was not long before M and I realized that as cute as Beanie’s little pink house was, she was growing far too big for it. When she almost got caught in her tunnel (the first day we got her) we realized it would not be before long that we’d have to go bigger. So we went to Petco where M and I eyed the biggest hamster cage in the store appropriately called the “Rat Palace.” The salesman of whom I inquired, with no reservations asked me, “Isn’t that a little extravagant for a hamster?” I stood there blinking at him wondering how on earth he got his job. Nevertheless, one day after work M brought home a “house” (the palace) for Beanie that probably gives her a bigger ration of square feet for her size than we have. (Definitely does).

Beanie’s palace has three floors (not including the ground floor) and is equipped with hamster furniture of all sorts. (Yes, someone beat me to that idea). Beanie has a TV she can climb into, a couch she can kick back on, a lamp she can eat out of, a nest, and even a rocking chair, not to mention blocks with letters spelling out her name to chew on, two wheels and a log she can hide in, run through or eat, depending on her mood. Too extravagant for my Beanie? Never. So where does God come into all of this?

Well… When M and I set up Beanie’s palace I wondered if it would feel like Christmas morning when she opened her eyes and saw all this new space and fun toys. If a hamster could receive such a thing, this would probably be a huge blessing to her, right? If so, she took quite some time to realize it. First off, Beanie gnawed incessantly at the bars of her cage. Even if it was a "palace" it was still a prison to her, I guessed. Still it was such a giant step up from her pink house that we couldn't understand why she wasn't happier. Secondly, each floor has it’s own ladder for her to climb up and down to the different levels. But Beanie wanted absolutely no part of the ladders. We might as well have installed a diving board on each floor! Night after night, rather than take the stairs, Beanie preferred to nose-dive to the bottom of her cage with one large crash after another. And, glutton for punishment that she is, she climbed back up to try again each time, falling only harder still. This reminded me of why my stepdaughter initially wanted to name her Crash and why my husband initially preferred Pinball (you should see her in her ball thumping everywhere she goes...)

Day after day M and I wondered if she would get seriously hurt as we did all we could to teach Beanie to use the stairs. And I wondered… is this how God feels when he pours out blessings on his children only to see us do everything we can to avoid doing what He intends us to do with them? No matter how many times we put Beanie on the right path (her ladder) she insisted on doing things her own way rather than stay the course. And time after time, it only had negative consequences. I wondered how God’s frustration compared to the frustration we were feeling.

Fortunately, there is a happy ending to this story. Eventually Beanie realized that her ways were not as wise as what we had intended for her and she began to realize that the stairs of her ladder were a much safer and convenient alternative. Like humans, fallen as we are (pun definitely intended), it took learning the hard way for Beanie to wise up. Now, she could not be happier and we could not be more pleased.

And it made me wonder… what blessings has God poured out on me that I’m oblivious too? How often have I been ungrateful when God has done something huge in my life? Can you relate? I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find what we’ve been looking for in one respect or another has been right before our eyes for some time… a better, safer way.

"'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,' says the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts'" (Isaiah 55:8-9).

Our Irrational Anger

2008-05-24T09:34:00.009-04:00

“I just don’t want to talk.”

How many times have we said that to a friend or family member beseeching us to confide in them, only to have them stare back startled, resigned, or disappointed? Whether it’s said under our breath, with passivity, or with a booming voice, the statement gets across the message that whatever lies at the root of any present problem is NOT (and may not ever be) up for discussion. And we usually don’t realize how angry or upset or troubled we really are until we’ve put it as plain as that and heard our own voices.

To often this has been my attitude towards God.

I never understand why when things in my life start to go south my first inclination is to blame God for it. Though I was once able to lay out my anger before God– sometimes maybe a little too bluntly– all too often, in times of anger, my first inclination is to slam the door on God and lock it behind me, saving for another day whether I will ever permit Him entry again.

The logic goes something like this:
Something beyond my control is paining me. God is all-knowing. Therefore, He is aware of it. Because He is all-knowing, He is also aware that He Alone has the Power to fix it. Now, He could take whatever pain persists away or pour whatever restoration I beg for down on me if He really wanted to and cared. Therefore, when my life is a mess, and God, who is All Powerful to restore it chooses not to, it means He either doesn’t care or that His plan for my life is one of destruction. Therefore all that is wrong in my life is His fault because He has allowed it.

Isn’t it amazing how twisted our logic can become when we are in pain and approach God with pride and entitlement rather than desiring to understand and submit to His plan in our lives? We can turn the God who wants to be intimately involved in every moment of our lives into a passive, indifferent spectator.

In retrospect, I’ve discovered that when we embrace this flawed logic and allow our pride to interfere with our relationship with God, we miss out on the blessings and lessons He has in store for us. We deprive ourselves of the peace that He intends. When we blame God and look only for the specific answer we’ve enunciated rather than waiting patiently before Him, we miss seeing Him at work in other areas of our lives. We damage our relationship with Him. We reason to ourselves that it’s God who has moved and exalt ourselves with the false belief that we are blameless in the matter and that God has somehow jilted US. We reason that it’s He who is guilty of bolting the door we’ve slammed in His face. And we forget that all too often, the cause of our present suffering is the result of our own sin or our faithless impatience.

Meanwhile, God, like that beseeching friend or relative that we put off so rashly, is asking us to bring our pain and disappointment to Him and pour it out at His feet. He is asking us to trust in His perfect plan for our lives. He is asking us to stand in our faith through the trying times and He is promising us that He will never leave us and that it WILL all work together for good if we just trust Him.

I have too often allowed a misplaced resentment towards God to harden my heart. And in the end, I’ve only felt more pain at the disrespect I’ve showed the God who purchased me with His Son. This, of course, doesn’t hit me until I let down my defenses and realize how self-righteous and unjustified my anger has been and how ridiculous I sound. This sometimes takes a long time. Like anyone else, I can be a very stubborn prideful person. And we all know what pride comes before…

As I get older and grow in my faith, I begin to realize that though God allows suffering He has a purpose for it that we cannot always see. His plan is always better than ours. How many times have I thanked God for not granting my specific request? How blessed are we that God doesn’t just give us what we think we want to our own detriment?

I forget that sometimes. It’s good to be reminded.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jer 29:11

Will we trust in that promise? Or will we continue to stomp our feet like children in the candy store who have been told “no, you’ve had enough?” It’s a choice we make everyday: To let God in and draw from Him the comfort only He can provide. Or to shut Him out and allow our hearts to harden. We do so at our peril.

The Pain of Unanswered Prayer (Happy First Birthday in Heaven)

2007-10-24T15:17:00.000-04:00

A year ago today, I was sitting in my first year Torts class text messaging under my desk with my sister Christine who gave me minute by minute updates as my sister Michelle was taken in for an Emergency C-section hours away in a NY hospital. I sat with my hands fumbling under my books unbeknownst to my teacher, anticipating the break so that I could run out of the room and give my sister a call. It was the longest two minutes of my life. (As my sister Michelle often says, it took two minutes for Abigail to be born and 10 minutes for her to pass away.) All I remember as I ran out into the hall was a text coming in from my sister Christine before I got out of the school that said in caps “SHE IS BORN AND BEAUTIFUL” and this picture which confirmed that message.

We were all so overjoyed. Never could we have anticipated that a year later we’d reflect on that day with such pain. Today is Abigail’s First Birthday, in Heaven.

Last night, my women’s small group discussed the pain of unanswered prayer and we looked at verses 21-26 from Lamentations 3. It begins:

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

I thank God that we were not “destroyed” by the pain that my family was subjected to just 10 months ago, but 10 months later, the pain is still so raw and there is still the lingering question of WHY. Last night, I confronted my anger towards God and spoke a lot of things that I’ve been bottling up for so long. I know that I will never understand why God allowed Abby to suffer or why THIS was His will but I trust Him anyway and there is peace in that. I know that His thoughts are higher than ours and that I do not know what bigger plan God has for any of our lives. Still, I admit that it was so hard to trust God again immediately following Abby’s death. But then I think back to the day that Abby passed away and the overwhelming sense of peace I felt after she passed. I KNEW that could not have come from myself. Feeling so greatly despaired, peace was not a feeling I could have manufactured. God’s compassion did not fail. And I pray with all my heart that they will not fail my sister or the rest of my family who suffer with her today.

Lon Solomon, the pastor at my church gave a sermon last month that really helped me to put this in perspective (text, mp3). He compared our perspective on the direction of our lives to us trying to watch a parade and not being able to see past what is directly in front of us. We cannot see what is at the end, but God can. I don’t know how all the pieces go together or what the purpose is, but God does and I know that His plan is not to harm me or my family and so I put my trust in Him and I just pray for comfort and understanding, though I resign myself to the fact that I may never fully attain the latter.

Today, I try to find comfort in knowing that my beautiful niece Abby, my sister in Heaven, is beyond pain and is happier than I could ever imagine, safe in the arms of the Lord… Though the pain of not being able to hold her or see her little smile or celebrate with her, as we always imagined we would, is more than I can bear at this time. There is always tomorrow…

“But there's one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning.” Lamentations 3:21-23 (the Message)

Wife then BRIDE

2007-10-22T09:28:00.000-04:00

I always have to do everything in my life backwards or it wouldn’t be my life. It would follow that I’d get married before I’d have a wedding. I guess I like being unconventional.

In the summer of 2006, M and I asked his daughter’s permission (she was 6 at the time) to get married on our own, between just us and God. We promised her that we would have a church wedding when we got back from our trip to Turks and Caicos once I got a handle on law school and that she would definitely be a part of it. Never could we have imagined everything that would happen with my sister or her dear baby Abigail who passed away after just two short months of being with us. Wedding planning obviously got pushed to the wayside but after some discussions with my family and needed encouragement from my sister, we finally pulled it together and decided to have the wedding we’d planned on. God knew my family needed a HAPPY reason to come together…

So, on August 11, 2007, one year to the day M and I became man and wife, we had our little church wedding so that our loved ones could come together and celebrate the joining of our two families, here in Arlington, VA.

It was beautiful.

I stood at the altar as I imagined I'd do since I was a little girl and felt more peace than I'd ever felt in all my life.

And my very tall groom stood staring back at me. We both stood so still. I barely breathed. I watched him mouth the words "wow." I laughed. It helped distract from the fact that both my sisters were crying, which was making it harder for me to keep my composure. We all had a good laugh when M wrinkled his brow when asked his intentions before saying "I do." After that the day went by in a flash.

Our families prayed together.

M and I fed each other communion for the first time.

The pastor prayed over M, V and I.

My step daughter got to participate in everything and now has a tangible memory of us all becoming a family.

We really had a chance to celebrate.

And there was much dancing!

V even got her first father daughter dance!

And it was great to see my sisters...

and my family....

SMILING again...

.. especially my sister Michelle, who has had such a rough year....

The day was more than I could have hoped for.

And now I have pictures I can show my grandchildren (God-willing) someday ☺

If we’d never had our church wedding I could have survived but I’m so glad we did. I got to marry the man of my dreams AGAIN. My family finally got to see where I've been living for the last 4 years and meet our friends. Our families got to know each other better. And we all have beautiful memories to take away from it.

I feel very blessed.

Remembering Abby, Six Months Later...

2007-06-19T12:37:00.000-04:00

Six months ago today, my sister’s life and the lives of every member of my family were changed forever. Six months ago today, our precious Abigail Rose, my baby niece, passed away. When I looked at the calendar today, it hit so hard. Has it really been that long? Or that recent? Sometimes, I’m not sure which it is.

I’m haunted by the memories of those final days, I can recall with such clarity the drive to the hospital the day we knew would be her last. The music playing in the car, “10,000 miles” a song that still haunts me and reduces me to a puddle with the first few chords. [listen/watch] The last time I held her in my arms and kissed her little face. The day we said goodbye. Walking away from the place we knew her tiny body would be laid to rest. And the trip home. I took all of it with me. None of it was left beind, except the little token I left beside her in her coffin, a tiny silver heart inscribed with the words “we will miss you forever.” I knew it wouldn’t be forever before I’d see her again, but they were the best words I could muster at the time and best described the sorrow that was so overwhelming. -- and still is.

Fortunately, as a Christian, I know that Abigail is not in Staten Island, where my sister is headed in a few minutes to visit and lay flowers on her grave. I know that she is in heaven, that she is in the arms of our Lord, that she is free from all pain and suffering. I just wish sometimes we had had more time with her. I just wish I could kiss her little face again, look upon her navy blue eyes, and see her little "Elvis" sneer that I loved so much.

I know that everything happens for a reason but sometimes it is so hard to come to grips with. Fortunately, I know that even when I don’t have the words, I have God’s promises to stand on. I just pray that my sister would have this assurance and that she would realize that she never leaves her baby behind when her visit to the cemetery ends. Please keep that in prayer…

When we gather at our church and I see so many people singing songs of praise with such joy, I think about Abigail, my sister in heaven, and I think of how we will worship together someday – and that gives me comfort. In the meantime, I hold on to her memory, I cherish the short time I had with her, and take comfort in knowing she is more alive than I can ever conceive of.

Still, I miss her...

A Much Needed Reminder

2007-03-29T13:32:00.000-04:00

“For I know the plans I have for you…”

It’s easy to wonder sometimes whether we are following the correct path in life, and this gives rise to doubts as to whether or not we have truly been “put” where we belong or if we have chosen it for ourselves. For those who choose to live their lives seeking God’s will in all things, it’s difficult sometimes to escape these doubts as to whether God chose our course and brought us where we are or if we chose it and brought Him there instead. These are doubts I’ve entertained for the last few months since beginning my second semester as a first year law student… They have truly tried my faith.

I had hoped to draft this earlier in case the novelty faded. I wanted to write this to preserve a reminder for myself in the event I become discouraged about the course I’ve chosen in life, which I’m sure I will do from time to time…

I must confess, law school has been harder than I imagined it would be. (This leads me to wonder if I perhaps watched Legally Blonde one too many times.) Given everything that took place last semester concerning the month long illness and eventual passing of my precious niece Abigail, I did not do as well as I’d hoped to do on final exams, which took place at the same time as this tragedy in my family. I let the fact that I did not score as well as I thought I could have get to my head. I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. I started to wonder if I had chosen this course for myself and done so to my own disadvantage. I had once been sure that this was where I belonged, but I began basing the accuracy of my decision on the world’s standards and not God’s. Perhaps a truer statement is that I’d been pretty sure that this was God’s will, but I wasn’t feeling very sure that it was mine anymore. That was until last Saturday, when I had a powerful reminder.

Public speaking has always been one of my biggest fears, but in facing that fear in the past (through mock trial in college and L-D debate in high school) I felt strong and convicted; I forgot myself. I was worried that I had changed too much since then and that this would no longer come naturally to me in my mid-twenties when I learned that I had to compete in a first year Oral Arguments Competition last weekend. I was fortunate to have been proven wrong. Not only did I feel as strong and convicted as I did in younger days, but I felt stronger than I ever had. In the midst of arguing I nearly forgot the fictional state of my client. Every minute was a total rush that left me wanting more. The judge’s comments and encouragement at the conclusion of the round only fed this fire. I left the competition not knowing whether I would advance but feeling reassured. I prayed the whole way there making requests of God and the whole way home thanking Him just feeling something inside me reminding me that I was born for this. This is what I want to do. It’s what I was made to do. This was the reason I felt convicted to go to law school: so that someday I can stand and do this in an actual courtroom. I felt convicted that this was what God wanted for my life and I felt so grateful that He sustained me through it.

When I learned on Monday that I advanced to next round, which takes place this Saturday, I was thrilled beyond belief. It was icing on the cake. I already had my reminder and whether or not I go further, I’m positive I will not be one bit discouraged. The point, I guess is that sometimes we doubt and when we do, God usually gives us that gentle nudge (or great big push in some instances) to remind us what it is we should be doing.

How awesome is our God that He cares even about the trivial things, which we inflate to such great proportions in our tiny lives?

Keeping God in the Details

2007-03-17T12:40:00.001-04:00

It has been some time since I posted. It is not because I have been completely destroyed by the death of my precious niece. I have not stayed away because I’ve lost an ounce of hope or faith. It has just taken me some time for me to be able to write again. (Fortunately, I was encouraged and admonished about this recently by a dear friend I had not seen in many seasons.) Abby’s death still weighs heavy on my heart but I am secure in knowing that God has a purpose, even if I don’t know or understand what it is right now and even if the details leading up to her death still haunt me.

In the months that have followed, I have been consumed with trying to keep up with the workload for my second semester as a 1L, which has been quite challenging. I have also been trying to recover from another car accident I was in just a few days after Abigail’s funeral in NY that was certainly a setback to my progress. To quote my physical therapist, I am "back at zero." But in these months I have discovered that it is more than just mind over matter, it is keeping God in the details.

About two years ago, after having one spinal procedure and one major surgery that left me hospitalized for a month and not walking unassisted for some time afterwards, I was told that I needed a double spinal fusion. I’ll spare you the gruesome details and just note that it involves removing discs, bone grafting and inserting metal rods and screws into the spine and pelvis. (I guess that was still pretty gruesome. Sorry.) This was before this last accident and after the second of three that have taken such a toll on my body. For years I wondered why God would not heal me. I struggled with being in pain all the time and muddled through physical therapy, which only seemed to make matters worse and showed me how far I needed to go to get better.

This time, I decided to try something new. I decided to work this through without doctors and with God. M and I moved recently into a great building in Arlington that has a rooftop gym with an amazing view of Washington DC. For the last two weeks, I have been going up there almost every day and “working out like a rockstar,” as I like to put it. I’ve been on spring break this week and so I have had the gym mostly to myself. I’ve been amazed at what I am capable of doing if I approach it in prayer. I know there is a long road ahead to recovering completely and I may not be able to push surgery off permanently, but I feel stronger and healthier and more capable then I have in years. I have turned my workout into a time of worship. With Chris Tomlin and Matt Redman blasting through my ear buds, I feel strength that I didn’t know I had and it is taking me miles – literally.

Sometimes there are so many distractions that make staying in constant conversation with God difficult. But it is in the little things, such as washing dishes, cleaning the house, going to the grocery store, or taking care of our bodies that we can magnify Him. (I'm sure there are some better examples that don't involve chores that could be inserted into that sentence too.) It certainly has taken me further than I ever could have gone on my own. And who knows how far I’ve yet to go! It helps to know that I'm not going it alone... and never really was.

An Angel for Christmas

2006-12-28T10:07:00.000-05:00

Last Monday, M and I hopped a flight to New York to get to the hospital to see baby Abigail before it was too late. Nothing could have prepared us for what we would see when we got there. (I tell you only because you need to understand this to understand the blessing God would give us in the midst of all the pain we would experience…) When I walked into the room, I took only a few steps before I ran the other way, out of the PICU and into the waiting area where I fell apart. In that moment, it made sense to me why everyone in my family who I’d spoken to earlier that week shut me down every time I expressed the hope that she could still get better. She no longer looked like a swollen sleeping baby in a coma. She no longer moved her eyes and mouth as though to cry. That adorable wincing face that gave us so much hope was now so still. She was skinny, positioned in an upright position, her head was bandaged and bleeding through, her eyes were partially opened, her skin was so dry. She looked so sick, as though she had given up too.

We stayed there until 3 in the morning, holding her hands, talking to her, saying our goodbyes. My other little sister painted her nails with pink polish. She had promised the baby over and over that she’d give her manicures when she got older and realized that this was her last chance. My sister Michelle was so strong. “She’s tired; she’s ready to go home,” she said.

The next morning M and I arrived at the hospital and sat with Michelle and Abby. After the rest of the family arrived, the doctors asked us to leave the room. Abby’s heart rate had begun to drop. She was telling us she was ready to go. They wrapped Abby in her favorite pink blanket and put on a little pink hat to cover her bandages and Michelle held her. Her husband sat beside them. The family sat out in the waiting room crying while my uncle watched the monitor and let us know what it said until it was turned off. The doctor who’d cared for Abby since the night she was brought in came out and said, “She’s gone.”

One by one we were called into the room, but eventually we were all in there together. Walking back in could not have been more different from the morning before. Our sick little baby had become an angel. Her face no longer looked thin and sad. It seemed to glow. It was as though peace had just come over her little body. I would be lying if I said that I’d ever seen her look more beautiful than she did after she passed. It was God’s gift to us. Rather than remembering how sick she looked, I knew we would always remember how angelic and at rest she looked.

Never in my life have I seen something so small touch so many lives, that even the doctors and nurses were crying after Abby passed. They all took turns with the rest of my family making the sign of the cross over the baby's head with oil and consoling my sister who was still holding her on the bed that Abby had laid on for exactly one month.

The greatest gift for me was when she was placed in my arms one last time. All that time she was sick, I grieved that I’d gotten so little time with her. I never imagined I’d get to hold her again. Holding her in my arms one last time and kissing her little face gave me more comfort than I could ever put into words.

After leaving the hospital to go home and prepare for her funeral and burial, which would take place 5 days before Christmas, I couldn’t understand why I felt this overwhelming sense of peace about everything. I knew it wasn’t coming from myself. I trusted that Abigail was happy in the arms of Jesus.

The next few days were very hard. Saying goodbye is never easy. We mourned not only for our dear niece, but for my sister Michelle. She had changed her life so much because of this baby and I knew our loss could not compare to what she was going through. When a child dies, a parent doesn’t just lose a baby, but all the hopes and dreams they had for that child and for their own life. I do believe that God has a purpose for this loss, but it’s still hard to come to grips with.

M and I made our way back home to be with his daughter for Christmas, even though neither of us had much celebrating in us. How do you explain death to a 6 year old? I just told her that God needed an Angel and couldn’t find a baby more beautiful than Abigail Rose and so He took her home. She just nodded and smiled.

<3...Abigail Rose...<3
Forever in Our Hearts

What My Heart Still Doesn't Know, But Head Believes...

2006-12-15T22:12:00.001-05:00

Abby is gone. All that’s left of her is an empty shell. That is what the expert from NYU, who went to the hospital to evaluate my precious niece and give my sister a second opinion, told my family earlier. There is nothing left of her. All those moments when it seemed that she could hear our prayers over her, all those times she opened her sweet little mouth and winced her face trying to cry, might just have been involuntary reflexes. All this time we thought she was fighting, she was only sleeping. She might already have gone home to be with God.

I never wanted to believe that. Even now, my heart will not accept it. How can that be true? How can she be gone when we only got to keep her for such a short time? We never got to hear her laugh or see her take her first steps. We’ll never get to know what kind of child, what kind of girl, what kind of woman she would have been. She’ll never know how wonderful and beautiful and tragic this world can be.

All I have left are a few precious hours engrained in my mind, when I held her in my arms and felt amazed at how much love I could feel for something so small.

Today, my sister got to hold her baby for the first time in four weeks… minutes before they told her that her baby was gone. Instead of planning Abby’s first Christmas, she is planning her funeral.

There are just no words…

Waiting For God. An Update on Abigail

2006-12-02T14:39:00.000-05:00

I remember when I arrived at the hospital the Sunday before last, I opened my Bible trying to make sense of what was going on, hoping to land on a verse that would bring me comfort and understanding. For the next week that I was in New York with my family, I tried my hardest to push that verse aside. The verse was Isaiah 57:1-2: “The righteous pass away; the godly often die before their time. And no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For the godly who die will rest in peace.”

Clearly, I could not imagine that God would take this precious little one who never had a chance to walk upright, let alone sin, before we had a chance to know her, before she had a chance to grow up and learn about this world or His word… I could not fathom it, though it rested heavy on my heart in the days that followed, and still does.

God has not taken Abigail. She is still with us, though how much alive she is, and what is left of her is still a matter of so much speculation.

Yesterday, my dad called with new that Abby was showing signs of some improvement, though she was still so deep in her coma. Today, there is new news, news of such a different character. The bleeding in Abby’s brain has worsened. One of her doctors has told my sister that Abby is paralyzed. Another said it’s not conclusive but there is little evidence that it’s not true.

There, Abby waits in her coma. What comfort does she have? We do not know if she can hear her mother’s voice or if she heard our prayers over her, our pleas for her to get better. All this time it was a comfort to me to know that even if she could not hear, God could. I struggle with why He does not answer. I know He is sovereign. I try to hold my head up high and wait patiently for God. But this is so defeating and we are crushed by the weight of this.

Why does God choose not to heal? I'm sure that any member of my family would bear any suffering if it could bring this little one back and restore her. Isn’t that how much God loves us? That He died to save us? How I wish that He’d have mercy on this shattered family, on this broken child. How I wish He'd heal her. I trust in God’s power… I just wish His will was the same as mine. There is no way for me to tell. My hope is all that sustains me and it seems to fade so fast. I know God is faithful and I put my trust in Him, even if His will should be to "spare" Abigail in a way different from what we hope and pray for.

Still, we hope and pray.

Giving Thanks; Needing Prayers....

2006-11-22T21:27:00.000-05:00

At this time last year and for every year for as long as I can remember, my grandmother and I sat and cut celery for the olive salad, spiced our homemade stuffing with fresh sage, mixed our sweet potato balls, and prepared the mixture for the manicotti we’d roll the next morning. This year, we sit vigil. There are no preparations to be made. We just wait for news to come. Thanksgiving this year will not be like the Thanksgivings of years past. Tomorrow we will be thankful not for the bounty of food we lay upon the table but for what little hope we have to hold onto. Thankful that our precious Abigail Rose is still with us. That she is still alive and that our family is together. There will not be turkey, but there will be thanksgiving…

Three days ago, the morning after my birthday, M and I awoke to a call from my sister telling us that her 26 day-old baby was in the hospital in critical condition. How could we have known that by the time we got to NY after a 5 hour bus ride that that little angel would have had 3 cardiac arrests and be fighting for her life? How could we have anticipated that she would be hooked up to all kinds of machines, that a ventilator would be breathing for her, or that within three days her brain would swell so badly that she’d be in a coma? There is nothing that can prepare a person for a sight like this. The sight of my sister, helpless, broken down, asking the same question that everyone has asked every hour, everyday since this happened – a question that no one can answer or understand: Why? Why does a thing like this happen? Why does God allow such suffering? I have never known pain like this.

Everyone sits around and cries until they are too numb or tired or frustrated. A family that has never really prayed, whose religion has always been so textbook, is now asking God for help and answers. But they don’t come soon enough to make anyone content. Abby’s life is in His hands and the future is so uncertain. The doctors take care not to give us too much hope. They are so grounded in the reality of their science that they forget that our God is bigger than this. It’s just a matter of whether or not He’ll choose to move in the way we hope He will. And how we hope…

I have never wanted anything in my life the way I want to see that precious baby wake up, open her eyes, stick out her tongue at me when I sing… just for one moment to hear her cry. Just to see her again in her mommy’s arms. Right now, she is so absent from her little swollen body… But I know God is present even if Abby seems so far from us. And I thank Him for every minute I have with my family, even when we are at odds with each other and our stress and fear and frustration lead us to lash out at one another…. I thank Him for every minute I can look at that little girl and remember what it was like to hold her in my arms, and picture the way she brought such joy to her mother’s eyes, the way they both lit up like her little glow worm.

This year, Thanksgiving will not be about eating. We won’t come together as a family at the dinner table we’ve eaten at for the last 26 years. But we will come together…

Please keep my sister Michelle and her husband Shawn and my whole family in prayer this Thanksgiving and thank God for those who are in your lives, even the littlest lives that we sometimes take so for granted.

Please pray for Abby….

Twenty-Five (Happy Birthday to Me)

2006-11-18T09:32:00.000-05:00

Today, I turned 25. Yes, it’s true, I’ve made it halfway through my twenties. Guess it’s time to start planning for retirement, checking out the local assisted living facilities, and saving up for that hip replacement I’ll undoubtedly need! OK, so maybe 25 is not THAT old. Today, though, I feel like a dinosaur. Truly, Barney has nothing on me. Except that he’s fat and purple…

For whatever reason, no birthday has hit me like this one has. I guess it just caught up with me, how fast time has flown by. My twenties are a blur to me. I hardly remember them. And here I am, 25, married, a stepmom (not evil, fortunately), living far from home, almost half-way done with my first year of law school... Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was planning my Sweet 16 and praying to get as far away from high school as quickly as I possibly could? Well I did, but it just happened so quickly! Fortunately, there are no regrets. I’m where I belong in every sense of the word… only I’m “old” now.

I feel… grown up. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. (I’ll try now to stop offending those of my readers who are not as “young” as I am (sorry!!)) In truth, since I got baptized in August, I’ve felt like a different person, probably more myself than I’ve ever felt before. And that’s a little scary because I can’t help but wonder why it took so long to figure all that out. It was all in God’s time. My desires have changed, my heart has changed, my outlook on life, all of it has changed… matured, I’d like to think. For the first time in my life I’m happy; I’m settled. I am content with where I am and what I’m doing. I know God has me in his grip. He is hard at work. So many wonderful things are happening all around me…

My wonderful husband just found out he’ll be playing guitar for our (mega-)church. God has brought him to a place where he can use the talents he’s been given to serve Him the best way he knows how. My baby sister is a mom now, growing up too, and I’m an aunt to this precious little child. I am so blessed to have godly friends in my life who encourage and inspire me everyday and push me to be the godly woman I so want to be. In 25 short (long?) years, God has brought me to a place of peace I never thought I’d reach. Through all my doubt, He was so faithful.

I am old now, so I’d like to think that makes me “wise.” I am grateful.

Loved By God

2006-10-13T08:48:00.000-04:00

I am a sinner. I am so far from perfect. Never have been, and quite certain that I never will be. Yet, I am loved by God. Though sometimes I despise this body that I so often take for granted, I am told that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I have read that suffering and physical pain produce patience and perseverance but, so often, I’m too bound, too selfish, too caught up to be made wise. I’m such a stubborn girl. And though I’ve been such a reluctant student, I’ve received such divine instruction. I’ve gained so greatly from the lessons I too soon forget. Only to have the nerve to question why I’m at a loss again, as though there’s anyone to blame but me. I’m so forgetful. So ungrateful, it would seem, for all that I’ve been shown -- for the trouble God has pulled me through, for the reward I could have never earned.

It’s so hard to comprehend the love of a God that I have never seen and only known.

What could I have done to deserve the love of One who is more perfect than I’ll ever comprehend, when I’ve done nothing but disappoint and reject and forget, time and time again? And there’s the truth: The answers not a thing. The same conclusion, once again, comes down to that cold sentence: “It’s not about me.” It’s all about Him and His Grace: a Love, a Forgiveness that I could never deserve – not even if I had 100 lives to live.

And sometimes the burden seems too much to bear. How could I live up to that, knowing I’m so apt to fail? [I can't.]

“All men sin and fall short of the glory of God.” That’s little comfort to me now. Yet, whether we glorify Him or not, He’s still there watching, loving, providing. His hand is steady, though we’re so easily moved. He remains willing to widen the road beneath our feet if we should lose our way in a world where there are so many lost. He seeks to find them out.

How could I ever express the gratitude I feel for a Gift no works of mine could ever match?

I can only try to live a life that's worthy, knowing I’m so certain to fail, certain that in any case, through anything, He’ll love me still.

Just Married... <3

2006-10-02T09:52:00.000-04:00

52 days ago, at sunset, Friday, August 11, 2006, M and I became one in a Christian wedding ceremony before God on Grace Bay Beach in the Turks & Caicos Islands. It was a night more perfect and romantic than I ever could have dreamed of. It was straight out of a fairy-tale and my groom was more handsome than any prince I could have imagined as a little girl growing up. The wind and the sounds of the ocean were our music. The sunbathers standing far down the beach and clapping loud enough for us to hear it when we kissed were our witnesses. And the setting sun lit up the sky brighter than any candles. It wasn’t the big fancy wedding I had once envisioned but it was more than I could have ever hoped for: to be marrying my best friend, the person who knows me and understands me and accepts and loves me better than anyone in this whole world, the man who has my whole heart, who helped me through the toughest times and darkest days of my life, who stood by my side through so much more than any man ever has, my other half, my partner in crime is now my partner for life. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

There was so many times in my life that I wondered if I’d ever get to this point. Where I am truly, 100% happy and content with my life. Still, there are problems with health, which never seem to go away, but where my heart is concerned I know it is in able hands. In M, I’ve found more than a husband. I’ve found peace. And I see now more than ever why marriage is to be like our relationship with Christ and his to us. If M and I can love each other this much, how much more does God love us? He has been so faithful!

Still, I know that there will be times when our marriage will suffer trials. It already has in the 2 short months we’ve been married and I truly believe we are stronger for it and will be, come what may. In such a short time, I’ve become a wife and a step-mom, a law student and a newly-baptized Christian. It amazes me that given my past mistakes, God has brought me this far and continues to increase my joy. Nothing I could ever have done could make me worthy of such a reward as His gift of salvation, as the glimpse of heaven I have in my beautiful husband’s deep blue eyes. How could I ever put to words how grateful I am to be where I’m standing? I can't.

Still, I try... <3

The Healing is Slow

2006-09-11T09:10:00.000-04:00

Has it really been five years since my beautiful New York City was turned into a war zone? Though I’ve watched the images replayed countless times, they still cut to the bone like they did the first time I saw them. They still produce the same shock and fear. It’s hard not to get angry.

I just got off the phone with my younger sister, who lost someone she loved that day. It’s no easier to talk about it now than it was then. The wound is still so fresh. There are still no words. She got off the phone just a moment ago, before the moment of silence at 8:46. She couldn’t speak anymore. She’s married now and has a baby on the way that will be born next month. She decided to go to work today to avoid watching the news, which I’ve been doing all morning.

They’re reading off the names of those lost now and I wait for the names of those I knew, people I went to school with, relatives of close friends, people whose bodies were never recovered, like my sister’s boyfriend. For five years those families have suffered. Has there been any healing? It’s hard to say.

New York has been built back up in these five years but the towers no longer stand and never will again. Soon it will be a memorial, something a lot of New Yorkers fought against. In many ways, it has gone back to business as usual – some might say that that’s a tribute to those who died, that we carry on - but has anyone forgotten? Maybe some have. We are no longer united as we were in the days and weeks and months following the attacks. There are no longer American flags streaming from every front porch and every passing vehicle. Politics have taken over again, dividing us. Americans have forgotten how our President stood with the people of New York and vowed to make the terrorists hear from us. I haven’t.

I’d like to believe we are still in the process of making them hear. In the meantime, all we can do is pray for those who are still suffering today as they suffered five years ago and hope that there will be retribution and peace for them someday. The healing comes slowly, but eventually it will come. (Won't it?)

However hard it is to recall or put into words, I know I’ll never forget. I doubt any of us touched by that day will.

The second moment of silence has just passed...

And the memories of that day rush to my mind. Walking in the door after running through the streets to get home. My family answering the door in tears . We almost collapsed right there. But mostly, I remember those days following 9/11, when my family and I all sat together and watched the news for nearly 24 hours at a time. We sat and cried together, talked together, watched the countless childen holding up "missing" signs on the news, begging for their loved ones' return. I felt so fortunate to be with mine. Up to that point in my life, I don't think I ever felt more love for them as I did in those days.

What a reminder that day was and will always be of the need to tell those we love how much we love them -- especially when we think of how many people likely died without ever being able to do so... I'm glad I was able to today.

NEVER FORGET.

Finally Back & Ready for the Next Adventure!

2006-08-16T16:20:00.000-04:00

These last few weeks have been a complete whirlwind and unfortunately it took me away from blogging for some time. It was surely the longest I've ever gone without checking in, so I apologize for going MIA on those who follow! As some of you know from the prayer requests blog, my oral surgery (to get out all 4 impacted wisdom teeth in mid-July) did not go very well at all... I ended up missing the last 3 of my 4 weeks left at the organization I've loved working at so much over this last year and a half... and that has all wrapped up now.

M and I also just got back (last night) from vacationing in the Turks & Caicos Islands - the most beautiful place I've ever laid eyes on and possibly the most beautiful place on earth. To put it simply: if heaven were a beach it would surely resemble Grace Bay. As for the airport situation (which, began on the morning we were scheduled to leave) I'd rather pretend we didn't have to fly to get there... I think that should say it all!

This has been an incredible week in my life... and it's only getting started. I start law school the day after tomorrow! The time for relaxing is past (and too quickly at that) and the time for hard work and major stress (I'm sure) is at hand. But my faith is in God that I will be able to succeed at George Mason, and I remind myself often of something Kristin said in the comments section of this blog many months ago.... that God puts desires in our hearts' for a reason. I have to believe that He will give me the strength and perserverance to do the best I'm capable of, come what may.

When I think about the girl I was a little over a year ago, I feel like I am recalling a photograph I saw once that's date I can't remember. Something I remember briefly, that is gone from me. God has surely raised me up from times of trouble and He has surely blessed me immensely in this last year! The gift that M and his precious daughter have been to my life have meant more to me than I could ever put into words - though I've tried to time and time again... I reflect on where I've been and where I'm going and I know that I am standing exactly where I need to be... with M by my side and a future that we can only imagine before us. (When we are baptized together on August 20th, my joy will be complete). And the words to that hymn that is sung at Frontline so often ring so true now... "It is well with my soul." Wherever the road leads...

A Short Vacation

2006-07-07T15:11:00.000-04:00

"Once in a while you have to take a break and visit yourself ." - Audrey Giorgi

It’s not something I’ve done in a while, it seems. I’m so easily distracted these days by the mundane tasks that often amount to so very little in the big scheme of things. How easily do we become so enveloped in the things we have to do that we forget the things we need or want to do like give ourselves a moment of quiet or say a silent prayer?

In these last couple of days - as the last few weeks at my job before I head off to law school wind down absent a decrease in day-to-day stressors - I’ve been planning my escape. Not from my job – or even from Virginia, necessarily – but from “it all,” I guess. (I think we all need that sort of vacation sometimes.) That’s why this quote struck me as it did when I visited the Christian Women Online Magazine to read more about their In “Other” Words feature, which I hope the other women in this blog community will consider participating in.

In the last week, I’ve been busy orchestrating the details of a last-minute trip to New York with my fiancé and his daughter to celebrate my sister’s wedding as well as a trip to Turks & Caicos (in August) to get some much-needed and well-deserved (I think) R&R before the stress really piles on. As my workload has increased along with unavoidable anxiety about the future, my blogging has been reduced to sporadic entries, the last of which has nothing to do with myself, really. What do I really care about Superman anyway? I’m trying to work out a budget while signing my soul away in student loans and planning for a May 2007 wedding for which funds remain a question mark while trying to learn how to be a step-parent and preparing to be a wife and not lose my mind or patience or sense of peace in the process. Sometimes, I think I need to lose myself in the things that don’t matter just to stop thinking about the things that do. Introspection can be wearing.

But maybe Audrey Giorgi had a point… So I took a moment to think on her quote. What does it really mean to take a break and visit yourself? I think it means to do the things we bloggers (male and female alike) do whenever we sit down to empty our minds/souls of our thoughts or burdens or ideas. We visit ourselves. We take time to really examine our conscience without the added burden of resolving all worries or conflict or solving all problems. We just allow ourselves for however long to be still; we just allow God to look at us.

This is not to suggest that God is not ever-watchful. But sometimes, it’s nice to just resign to the quiet of your own mind and let God look at you. Rather than trying to conjure up some eloquent prayer or find the words to thank Him for everything you can bring to light or apologize for, just letting your words be few: simply clearing your mind for a while and resting in the peace that you are Saved no matter how dire your circumstances may be.

One moment of un-interrupted quiet may be the best vacation there is….

I’ll certainly test it out in Turks & Caicos. :)

Truth, Justice and All That Stuff: Superman Returns

2006-07-01T13:47:00.000-04:00

The Summer movie season has officially begun with the release of Superman Returns, the blockbuster that hit screens this past Wednesday. Having grown up watching the series, I felt compelled to rush out and see it. The fact that the newly cast Man of Steel was very dreamy indeed and in some ways resembled the late Christopher Reeve was also a plus. Yet, in my haste, I missed some warning signs that may have changed my mind…

For a movie that is based on a comic book star who has for more than 50 years been believed to be an American hero and icon - and one that opens on 4th of July weekend - the movie lacked something a bit telling about it’s producers: anything American. For an American hero, the lack of references to the United States, absence of a single American flag and total lack of patriotic underpinnings was a bit disturbing, though the film did provide many throw backs to the original series in non-conventional ways.

Truth be told, Superman Returns is a lot of fun, albeit a bit corny. Yet this corniness is part of what makes it so fun and funny. The movie reminds us that although this is a hero we have known - and who has not changed - for years and years, it is still a man in tights who flies. As has been reported in many magazines asking the question “Is Superman Gay?” Superman is a bit…. daintier than you may remember. Perhaps, a little lighter in the loafers. He’s not as masculine and far from as manly as you might remember, but he’s still a far cry from either members of the Ambiguously Gay Duo of Saturday Night Live. Yet, he is still faster than a speeding bullet, durable beyond comprehension and as strong as he ever was. As for Clark Kent – who did not enter into any phone booths this time around, much to my dismay - he is a lot nerdier than you might remember. This makes for an interesting viewing and provides some good laughs. At times it is just silly and at other times endearing. I found it very enjoyable (politlcal grudges aside).

The special effects are at times very gripping and at other times very clearly CGI. Superman, when wearing his tights, has an almost angelic glow that is obviously computer generated, but it helps to distinguish him from the geeky Clark and give a little more plausibility to the implausible idea that no one realizes that the two are one in the same. Though, be careful to note, there is one person who almost seems to…

Superman Returns is a movie that doesn’t take itself too seriously. It is a far cry from Spiderman on many levels, but still suspenseful and enjoyable enough to warrant seeing - if you can get past "all that stuff..." Let me explain...

When I left the theater, I couldn’t wait to call my dad, whom I feel obliged to call whenever I see some film we both watched when I was growing up (King Kong, Star Wars, etc.) Not expecting the response I would get, I called him to tell him that he would love the film. “You actually went and saw that movie?!" he said to me with a bit of hesitation and shock. “What do you live in a bubble out there in Washington DC? You haven’t heard about what they did with that movie?” I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.

Of course, for those of you who are familiar with the news item, my dad was referring to the interview given by the writers of the film in which they defended their reasoning behind removing any American references to the American icon in the film. Yet, though the lack of American paraphernalia was obvious, I had missed the throw away line that summed it up. For those of you familiar with the man in blue tights, you may remember his catch phrase: “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” Well, I’ll let you read what the writers had to say about that (as featured in the NY Post article entitled “Man of Stuff”):

June 27, 2006 -- SUPERMAN'S motto, "Truth, justice and the American way," has been rewritten in the new "Superman Returns" to "Truth, justice and . . . all that stuff." Jeannie Wolf reports on Movies.com that screenwriters Mike Dougherty and Dan Harris wanted to avoid outdated jingoism. Dan: "I don't think 'the American way' means what it meant in 1945." Mike: "He's not just for Metropolis and not just for America." Dan: "He's an alien, from Krypton; he has come to Earth to be kind of a savior for this world, not our country . . . And he has no papers." Mike: "What would happen with the immigration laws we have now?" Dan: "I'd like to see someone kick him out!"

Sadly, an anti-American or liberal bias is to be expected from Hollywood filmmakers nowadays. However, one would think that given what an institution Superman is in this country that they would have given more deference to tradition. When dealing with iconic films like Star Wars, King Kong or Superman, you would think that the filmmakers would realize the need to take care not to go to far. (If you remember, in Spiderman 2, the filmmakers practically dedicated the film to this country, featuring a scene where New Yorkers rose up with great patriotism to fight back against Spidey’s enemies.) In this case, I’m sure many fans will see Superman turning his back on his roots and his country as nothing short of a sacrilege. That Superman no longer stands for the American way is a put-off beyond measure and one that leaves me wondering if I would have seen the film if I’d heard of this before.

So does the anti-patriotic take on one of the most patriotic figures from the last 50+ years warrant skipping out on this fun Summer film? For my dad, it will. And for other Americans, I suppose that is to be seen.

Superman is rated PG-13 for some intense action violence.

Nan Plans...

2006-06-16T14:48:00.000-04:00

“Man plans and God laughs.”

That was what a mentor of mine once said to me. I remember being a little surprised by his statement because he was an atheist, but I agreed that in some ways he did have a point. We plan and plan and plan our lives but we forget that nothing is guaranteed, not even tomorrow.

This week, I’ve learned all too well what my mentor meant - though I doubt that God is as sadistic as the adage implies. If anything, I think it’s more of a chuckle than thunderous amusement.

When I was very young, an endocrinologist told me that I would have to have a baby very young if I ever wanted to be a mother. I couldn’t have been much more than 10 years old and my parents had taken me to see him only because I was very short for my age – something I never really grew out of, no pun intended. It was an irresponsible statement to make to someone so young and impressionable and not one I fully understand even to this day. Needless to say, I grew up with the irrational fear that I’d never be able to have children. It was almost as though my fears spoke it into being true.

After much speculation and several years of treatment for endometriosis - something the vast array of doctors I saw were not even positive I had, I decided I’d had enough. There was no real evidence then that suggested that what that callous physician had said would come true. Yet, that (combined with large doses of hormones I received and several unrelated surgeries on my spine I underwent) did not stop me from tumbling into a pit of depression so deep that I’d only recently managed to climb out of. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust God. It was that I didn’t understand why His reasoning would be so contrary to what I deemed, “common sense.” I’ve always believed that I would make a great mother…

“My daddy is going to marry N and they’re going to have a baby and I’m going to have a sister,” V announced to a perfect stranger at the bus stop a week or so ago. I looked down at her and pressed my lips together and nodded. “Or a brotherrrr,” she sighed.

She couldn’t have known why my face had changed the way it did. She couldn’t have suspected that I had just found out days earlier that evidence had finally surfaced to support the case the vast array of doctors had made. For three weeks after the tests (which the technician clued me in to without the doctor present), I was filled with fear that everything I thought I’d overcome was coming back to haunt me. But the doctor never called to give me the results. No news is always good news, I reasoned. Finally, I called and scheduled an appointment, determined to hear an explanation of the results from someone authorized to tell me. That appointment was this morning.

The whole train ride, I felt really proud of myself for brushing off my fears. The doctor would have called if something was wrong. The technician must have misinterpreted what she saw. I was going to have a beautiful family with M and V would be thrilled. God wasn’t really going to allow this to happen to me after everything that’s happened and I had been foolish to worry. That was the lesson I was going to learn.

Nan planned…

I guess that’s why I was surprised when the doctor confirmed my wildest fears and left me in an even more certain limbo than I’d ever been before. Although she officially diagnosed me, she explained that it would be years before I’d be able to have the necessary surgeries to determine whether or not I’d be able to have children. I’d have to be married and trying to get pregnant for at least a year before the insurance would pay for it, she explained - noting that I was just starting law school in a month and a half and explaining that given that, it would be at least 4 years before I’d be eligible for the necessary tests. That would leave me a year away from 30 before I’d even have certainty – and who’s to say I ever will? I am grateful my faith is strong.

With all the recent planning for my future: my career, my wedding, my life, I had forgotten that no matter how much control I think I have, some things are out of reach and nothing is guaranteed. Some things have to be left up to God. And while there is comfort in that, there is still fear. I don’t want to become bitter or resentful. I don't want to be angry at God. In this case, it seems that what I want is beside the point.

“My times are in Your hands…”

Rules of Engagement

2006-06-07T10:27:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, my fiancé and I had a meeting with my soon-to-be step-daughter's lawyer. "When are you planning to marry?" she asked innocently enough. So I told her. "Next May after finals." After chewing the end of her pen for a beat, she offered, "Well why don't you just elope now? Honestly, the best thing to do would be to get married immediately and save yourselves all the hassle." I must have been a little stunned because she seemed to watch me for an eternity as I stared blankly back at her before she spoke again.
"Why are you waiting anyway? Oh, let me guess, it's your first marriage and you want the big church wedding, right?" she said cynically. "Trust me, in the end you'll end up spending so much money for a little piece of paper you'll wish you hadn't. Better to just go ahead and get it over with now – involve [step-daughter to-be] - and then have a big wedding next year when you want it."

Had she just referred to my impending vows as little more than a technicality? Was she equating my starting my life with M to nothing more than a signed document? In an instant she had whisked away all romantic notions and left me with little more than a legal strategy designed to best resolve the conflict regarding M's ex. She had also given M a better excuse to support his joking about us running off to some island and getting hitched. Now when M text messages me during the day asking me if I want to get married after work, I'll have to take his suggestions a little more seriously. (P.S. M: you don't really stand a chance!)

With all the media attention swirling on the value of the institution of marriage, the lawyer's comments did not come as that much of a surprise. For so many, marriage has lost it's appeal or relevance or value. Though her suggestions were well-intentioned, it was still a bit unsettling. But what struck me more than anything was a fear that my views on the world would too be forever reduced to that of legal technicalities and reasoning. Can law school really strip me of my values and romantic notions about life? Can the challenges of the curriculum and pressure of the Socratic method really challenge my faith and lead me to doubt?

Have you followed this blog long?! :) I wouldn't count on it! Even if I should become more argumentative, I'll still be me. And for the first time in my life I'm really OK with that.

As for the lawyer's advice, in the end I'll have to do what's right for me, M and my precious V. Needless to say, theres more than a piece of paper involved. Regardless of what others see.

I see... possibilities.

I Am...

2006-06-01T17:20:00.000-04:00

I AM: passionate and persistent, small but strong, someone who puts my foot in my mouth a little more than I should, not afraid to be who I am

I SAID: “You want me to write it down? What do I look like?!” (while getting lost in VA), “"I’m still in the sink” (while texting at the hair salon), "Right now my pinky toe and my big toe feel like they are being held for questioning... 'I swear I don't know anything'" (after walking around in a pair of too small stiletto heels).

I WANT: Peace in my life and for those I love, and not much else.

I WISH: I could fix everything that’s broken and take away others’ pain. (big dreams, I know… but they’re supposed to be…)

I MISS: Midnight rides on 3rd avenue with my girls eating food in cars parked outside of peoples’ houses like we’re concealing a crime. Holding my sweet little step-daughter to-be in the pool (the only time I can actually lift her up). Not having to pay bills – but who doesn’t?
.
I HEAR: The sound of 5 economists working in close quarters: nothing but pages turning and keys clacking (mostly mine).

I WONDER: What my crazy black lab and fat boston terrier are doing right now.

I REGRET: Getting so worked up sometimes. In the end, it’s rarely ever worth it.

I AM NOT: One to hold my tongue when I know the answer.

I DANCE: Not as much as I used to but whenever I can.

I SING: While my fiance’ strums his guitar and I scribble out lyrics that don’t quite work yet.

I CRY: When I can’t take it anymore.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: As strong as I’d like to think I am.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: the best meatballs besides my grandma, “Ma.”

I WRITE: Whenever I need to get something out of my system, good or bad.

I CONFUSE: others? I dunno… myself sometimes. When I look at a map definitely.

I NEED: A driver’s license and it’s about time.

I SHOULD: Start waking up earlier in the morning. I’m such a bum sometimes.

I START: At least 10 projects a day.

I FINISH: Every book in about a week, except “Just Exchange: A Theory of Contract (The Economics of Legal Relationships)” blahhh

I LOVE: with all my heart and no hesitations...

I TAG: KC and Corry, Kristin, Audrey, Pia and PinkLetterLaw

On Being Content & Worrying

2006-05-30T15:52:00.000-04:00

“The funny thing is I’ve never felt this content in a relationship before,” a good friend said to me as she sat picking apart long greasy fries and sipping diet coke from a short straw.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?” I asked as I knowingly smiled back at her and nodded.
“Terrifying.”

And it got me thinking… Why is it when a relationship finally reaches the critical stage of comfort that we begin to freak out and question everything? Why is it so easy to become discontented by contentment and doubtful when there’s no indication that we should be?

What is it that makes comfort so uncomfortable for so many people?

If there’s one thing my girl friends have in common it’s that they never want to put too much stock into anything – especially a new fling. (A Coach wallet, a Louis Vuitton purse, and a new line of Mac makeup - maybe, but never something as uncertain or potentially permanent as a relationship!) So, of course, I was surprised when one of my best friends who’d flown solo for as long as I’ve known her announced that she had since become someone's girlfriend. As do most twenty-somethings, she went through the initial stages: cautious interest, experimental flirting, and a testing of the waters so-to-speak before she dove in head first. And much to her surprise, she was actually happy. Yet while happiness was easy to relish in, it was a sense of contentment that launched a sea of red flags. (As the saying goes where women are concerned: if nothing is wrong, find something wrong.) Eventually something will go wrong along the way, won’t it? Sometimes it's easier to have faith in that -- and often safer.

For women (I can’t attest to how men think and doubt they usually can either where matters of the heart are concerned), when you reach a level of comfort in a relationship, it can only mean one of two things: you’ve either found a good thing and the feeling is mutual or you’ve seriously deluded yourself somehow along the way and are in for a crash landing. If there is one thing a girl wants to avoid like plague it’s a false sense of security – better to have none at all. Fortunately for the girl in question, it doesn’t seem she’s wandered into such territory and I think that things might very well work out as she hopes. Yet, by entertaining doubts, she’ll unnecessarily hold back somehow or fail to enjoy what she’s found as fully as she might otherwise have.

For trust to grow – like anything else – time and patience are required. Perhaps it is best to remind ourselves that those initial feelings of comfort do not always blossom into the type of contentment that can last a life-time. But we should still take heart in knowing that time will ultimately tell. I’ve learned that to a large degree in the last year.

With M, I’ve found a contentment I never thought possible – and I don’t think I quite realized just how much until I had this little chat with my friend last weekend. I’d been so busy trying to keep up with work and wedding planning that I hadn’t left myself time to worry – at least not about anything other than which reception venue to choose or which cake design I liked best. In the interim, I’d been too busy just enjoying my life with M to allow my mind to wander. For whatever reason, when I nodded my head and offered my opinion on the matter, I felt surprisingly mature and it just hit me that I was exactly where I needed to be in my life. That I was living proof that there doesn’t have to be fear in love. That things really do work together for good.

Sometimes, I think I’m too busy to realize how blessed I really am. I’m glad I took the time today…

...have you?

Would it Be Better To Forget?

2006-05-18T14:24:00.000-04:00

Lord knows I’ve tried on several occasions and in many different entries to write about the value of our pasts. And still, that does not keep me from retracing the same arguments in my mind and wondering whether or not it’s an absolute truth.

And it got me thinking… Does the pain of our past always serve some purpose? Or should we instead be seeking “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” by deciding to forget?

For those of you who have seen the movie (I highly recommend it by the way), you may already know where this is going...

If it were possible to forget the past, if it we were somehow able to erase the painful memories entirely from our recollection, if we could manage to wake up tomorrow believing it was nothing more than a bad dream who's details we cannot remember – would we? Should we?

Everyone deals with heartache differently. Some of us learn and grow in spite of (or because of) the things that previously hindered us and others harbor negative feelings and emotions until they turn cold. For those of us able to look back and push aside the bitterness and see the bigger picture, even the most tumultuous past can seem like a blessing. If we hadn’t been where we were, surely, we wouldn’t be where we are. But there are still some people who are forever trapped in the past, who cannot help but relive their mistakes time and time again. They cannot go forward. They cannot move on because instead of looking ahead or up, they are forever looking back. They are bound to stumble. I’d like to think there’s a happy medium, but I’ve been on both sides of the spectrum. I know how difficult it is to find the middle ground. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of faith and more than anything it takes time. Healing comes slowly.

For years before I met M, I lived life in the shadow of a past I couldn’t out-run. I decided before I was 21 that I had, had my shot at happiness and had ruined it and I made up my mind that every future attempt at love would fail. And it did! I saw to it. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy that I would not admit to as I sabotaged one relationship after another reminding myself that nothing would repair my broken past. Regardless of the steps I often took in spite of myself to move on, I was too wrapped up in the things I could not change. I couldn’t forgive myself. Even when I thought I was moving on, I was just running in place. And it’s sad to say, but it took facing the demons of my past in the most confrontational way possible before I finally put it in perspective. It took almost losing everything to realize everything I had right in front of me.

It took time. And it was not long before I started to see M for the gift he was intended to be in my life -- a realization I would not have been able to come to had it not been for the contrast with my past. And it brings us back to the same line of reasoning: that we could never appreciate the day without the dark of night and we could never know what is good without first knowing the bad. Yet, for those who have not yet seen the day or stumbled upon the good, it may seem ludicrous. The pain of the past may be nothing more than painful. Yet, there is still hope.

If we can look back even on the bad times and remember some spark of happiness, some shred of a memory when we felt joy, then we have something to look forward to. (Those of you who saw the movie may be remembering that one moment that the main character tries to hang on to, which makes the painful past worth remembering.) If we could just believe that God will not let us settle, that the best is yet to come. If we could pinpoint all the times we were low and God pulled us up. If we could realize the truth: that God hasn’t put us here to punish us or keep us down and that sometimes, down is the only place we can look up from, it would be easier not to look back. It would be easier to see the past as a piece of the puzzle, as a thread in the tapestry. It would be easier to trust that someday we will understand the reasons that have been concealed.

If we don’t remember where we’ve been, how can we know where we’re going? I’m glad I know now. It was a lesson worth learning.

Entertaining Doubts

2006-05-09T12:37:00.000-04:00

“Cannot you not hear? Cannot you not see? And if with words You could change the way things are arranged Surely you'd be speaking, speaking no change…”

The music was blaring through the apartment as I made my way around it cleaning up from last weekend’s events. It was a song on a CD that I had listened to countless times, but for whatever reason it felt like it was the first time I was really hearing it.

“Oh and I pray, my prayer's not heard. Could it be your death, death to mortal words? Oh, and see her pain, and drain and drain. Could you be deaf, and blind my friend?”

In spite of having always known that Dave Matthews Band was secular, it had always moved me to hear these objections to faith put so plainly. Despite being a Christian long before I was introduced to DMB, these were notions I had also struggled with. And listening to the songs reminded me of how difficult it often is to understand a God we cannot see and not always understand. For whatever reason, the music deepened my faith because it clarified for me how necessary blind faith often is.

The song in particular used an example of a suffering child that the singer believes God could save if He wanted to. Because nothing is done to spare the child or ease it’s pain, the singer concludes that there is no God and if there is, He is not a loving God.

“Oh, so I'm praying all at night. And I wake up praying the whole daylight. I pray to you, and hear my request. I ask of you to save this baby Oh, look at the girl. Awful inside, is cancer-eaten, is life-deprived. And if so by who? Could it be you?
I see no need for a baby's wisdom for you.”

This is the classic disconnect between the unbeliever and faith. It is two-pronged. It’s the argument that on one hand, if we are to believe that there is a God we must accept that He is indifferent at best and on the other that if there were an all-powerful God who could correct the situation, He would, so there isn’t one. Listening to the lyrics of DMBs songs, these notions are clearly illustrated.

“If at all God’s gaze upon us falls it’s with a mischievous grin, look at him…”

The problem of pain, as C.S. Lewis wisely noted is one that plagues the believer and nonbeliever both. Even for those who love and accept God, it’s sometimes impossible to come up with an explanation when we witness needless suffering or unspeakable tragedy that seems to serve no purpose. It is at times difficult to trust that God is working when we cannot see it and accept that in order to allow free will, the problem of pain must exist. Yet in order for us to make choices, we must be given a range of possibility, we must be allowed to make bad choices that hurt others or ourselves as well as good choices that help others, otherwise we’d be no better than puppets.

Yet, rather than blame the people who sin, we blame the God who allows us the choice. We reason: if He could fix it, He would. But if He did, it would rob us of what makes us human: the ability to decide, to believe or not to believe, to sin or not to sin, to help or to hurt, to do good or evil. It is entirely our decision whether or not we trust Him and put our hope in the notion that all things will work together for good, even when we cannot imagine how.

But the point of this entry wasn’t to try and explain it away or make excuse. It wasn’t to try and re-iterate the finer points in C.S. Lewis’ masterpiece or dabble in philosophical reasoning of my own. It wasn’t the concept of God’s indifference that struck me when I listened to the song that prompted me to write this blog. It was the notion that I hadn’t considered: That if we suffer when we witness pain and tragedy, how much more does God suffer BECAUSE He could change it?

At any moment, God could rearrange any situation (as the singer in the song requests). But it would contradict who He is and who He made us to be if He were to pull the strings, interrupt our actions or prevent consequences. Our actions and decisions would be meaningless. We would be playthings instead of people. Instead, God must sit by and watch us destroy ourselves and each other knowing that He had the power to prevent it but could not. It would be the end of the world as we know it. Instead, God must watch the creations that He loved enough to give such limitless possibilities to go astray. I can imagine that if it hurts us to hear about, it hurts Him a great deal more.

So why not scrap the whole thing? Why not stop the world as soon as a tragedy occurs?

I’d like to think it’s out of love. That in spite of our misdeeds, God finds a way to use pain to reach us, to teach us, to perfect and improve us, and that He works to comfort those who suffer through no fault of their own. And that, I guess is where faith comes in. Though every now and then I’ll hear the words to some familiar song and entertain my doubts for just a moment before realizing how fortunate I am to know the truth.

Surely, He is watching.

Sometimes it Takes a Storm

2006-05-02T05:52:00.000-04:00

Why does God move so quickly for some and not for others? Why does He sometimes come as a “still small voice” and at other times “in the midst of a storm?”

Not too long ago, my life was a very different thing. One broken relationship followed after another and I was left cold, downcast, and unable to pray. Rather than “seek up,” I had chosen a course for myself that I knew was wrong. It had become an idol for me. In spite of various warnings, I was determined to have it my own way. I was fortunate that God had better plans, even if it took a storm to reach me.

I had been too stubborn to head the whispers, and in truth there were plenty of shouts I also disregarded. Yet, although I’d given up on God, He’d not given up on me. In the end, it took having my heart broken for me to be healed in the way I’d been seeking for so many years. Everything that I’d been holding on to, every past regret and resentment, was ripped away from me in one fell swoop. The lesson was great, but I was not a willing student. Though the method of instruction seemed so harsh, I was grateful once I understood its purpose.

Sometimes we have to fall in order to find the strength to stand.

I was grateful that God lifted me up from those trying times and am grateful still that I stand stronger now in faith. God rewarded my faithlessness and used my adversity to redirect my path. He taught me that I had to love Him first – and myself – before I could love somebody else. In spite of my impatience and strong will in the past, He was quick to bring someone into my life who I could share my faith and life with. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t thank Him for being harsh in correcting me, though it certainly took some time before I was able to.

When things are going well in our lives, it’s easy to forget God. In the beginning, we thank Him for providing for us in whatever way we desired, but over time, we focus more on our provision than its source. And if that provision gets taken away, we are the first to accuse God of being faithless. (I know, because this was my initial reaction to the turmoil that I so vaguely described above.) We take issue with Him though we seek to understand the greater purpose. We ask “why?” Sometimes the answer is obvious and we ask only to express our frustration and other times we ask from the depths of our doubt trying to make sense of what we cannot comprehend. Sometimes we won’t get an answer. We wait for God.

Yet, I’ve no doubt that in these times of trouble, God is present and is speaking. Whether as a still small voice or a raging storm, He is working. All we can do is remember His faithfulness and trust that in every adversity there is some lesson He is crafting, if only we would be patient to receive it. We need only prepare our hearts.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

"The preparations of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord… A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps." (Proverbs 16:1&9)

The Secular Message Christians Should Hear

2006-04-26T14:50:00.000-04:00

“There are plenty of people in the world who believe in something and fail to live up to it at times.”

That was the blunt – and surely, the only redeeming – message of last night’s episode of House, the Fox drama about the brilliant, but deeply flawed physicist Dr. Gregory House, who is more prone to popping pain killers than providing any personal comfort to any of his patients during the course of their mysterious illnesses. Last night’s episode should have come as no surprise to anyone familiar with this character or the state of the media’s secular worldview. House does not believe in God and when he comes in contact with a possible miracle, he is hell-bent on proving that there is always – undeniably - a rational explanation for anything that can happen in this life. For those of you not familiar with the program who could give a care less about anything Fox network has to say about God or faith or medicine, please bear with me, I have a point to make. (If you could bear my soap opera references below, I trust you’ll find this equally relevant. One can hope!)

The patient that House comes into contact with is a 16 year old boy who claims to hear the voice of God. As per usual on Fox and any other network approaching such a delicate subject as devout faith, the boy was made out to be more of a cartoon character than a human being and more of a nut than a Christian. This is not surprising. What, after all, has the secular media to offer to debate in the Christian community? More than we realize, I think.

While Christian programming is popular among those who subscribe to the Christian belief system, it is often inaccessible for those who lack faith or spiritual maturity. They are left to get their lessons on God from secular programs that pretend to be religious such as 7th Heaven, which – although it was a program depicting the family of a pastor – was careful not to make any references to God or prayer throughout the course it ran. As a Christian, I sometimes feel it’s important to be familiar with what messages the secular media sends out, if only to be able to rebut the false notions that are presented. I was eager to see how House would frame the issue, though my hope that it would sent any message of redemption dwindled as the program progressed and the main character seemed to become more possessed than convicted.

To sum up the story (so I can finally reach the point I promised earlier) House makes a list comparing his victories to God, and another doctor on the staff who himself is no beacon of morality makes a comment that hits a nerve. He tells House that the reason he cannot believe in God is because that would mean he’d have to admit that he is not in control of everything, that he would have to believe that at any moment, God could exact his will and leave the good doctor paralyzed and incapable of changing the situation. In effect, he tells House that he would have to admit he’s been playing God and give up the power he’s assigned himself. And it hit me that this is a struggle we all go through when we begin to lean on faith, and for a moment I hoped that the character would realize the relief that would come of admitting it’s not all in his hands. But sadly, the story does not end here. It turns out that the “miracle” was actually nothing more than a fraud on the part of the 16 year old boy who in truth had herpes after engaging in pre-marital sex. House concludes that the boy is little more than a hypocrite and the other doctor makes the statement that appears at the top of this blog. That people falter, that people can have beliefs and still fail. Perhaps, not the redeeming message that one might have hoped for, but a start, nonetheless.

And - although it unfairly charecterized Christians - it got me thinking. How often do we really live up to what it means to be a Christian? How often do we behave in ways that diminish other’ perceptions of our faith or cast doubt on the strength of our convictions and then turn around and discuss God? We all fall short, but we still try to send out the message of hope and salvation to a world that is waiting for us to stumble, hungry for more material for late night skits. The example in House is a bit obnoxious and barely conceals it’s skepticism of Christians, but perhaps there is something to be learned from it. We have a duty to respond with love even to criticism and hatred in spite of the fact that we are incapable of leading the sinless life that Christ did. We have a duty to go beyond preaching to the choir and engage those who need better instruction than Oprah’s proselytizing about intolerance or redemptive messages from primetime dramas. We have a duty to admit that we are not perfect but to try our best to live the lives we should. To be an example. (If only it were as easy said as done!)

In admitting our shortcomings, I think, we better glorify a God that does not fail or fall short.

Is there a ONE? Buying into the Lie

2006-04-19T15:58:00.000-04:00

Everyday, millions of people are bombarded with ads for dating services such as Match.com and eHarmony. They all claim that their unique program can help you find the “one” you are “meant to be” with. With so many singles out there searching for their other half, it got me thinking. Is there really a ONE?

This week, I find myself home sick again, and at one o’clock this afternoon a soap opera that every woman in my family has watched religiously since before I was born, came on the air. The plot lines had barely changed since the last time I’d watched. The characters were still wrapped up in webs of lies and were scheming relentlessly as ever. They were all trying to rearrange their situations and did nothing short of manipulate every one around them so they could get back their one “true love.” In these endeavors, not a single character had any respect for marriage or regard for the truth. They were morally bankrupt to the extent that their driving force was only to reclaim a lost love no matter what the expense to other families. One character repeated the cliché “true love conquers all,” even though it was clear that if true love was what they saw it to be, it surely had failed them.

I remember growing up watching this show with my mom when I was just a little girl. I grew up wishing I could have a marriage someday like Bo and Hope, wanting for someone to come rescue me at every turn like John and Marlena. For those of you who’ve had the misfortune of watching “Days of Our Lives” or ever had the delusions that a soap-opera romance was possible, you know what I am talking about. And it got me thinking, that THIS is exactly what’s wrong with the world. We’ve somehow all adopted the soap-opera mind-set. Deep down, we all want the fairytale. Whether or not we’ve yet resigned to the fact that life is seldom like that, deep down we are all dreamers to some degree.

How many housewives sit home everyday watching programs such as this while their husbands are at work, wishing to themselves that their marriage had the passion or drama as their favorite soap couple? How many husbands are needlessly belittled or undervalued because they cannot live up to the hype that their wives are absorbing day after day? Forget about the Young and the Restless, whatever the age of these viewers, deep down they are all wanting for more, believing the lie that romance, passion, danger and adventure are all there is to life. And when they have to undertake the mundane tasks of preparing supper or washing the dishes or getting the kids ready for bed, their hearts are growing colder, their minds are wandering, their situation seems more and more helpless. These are the real Desperate Housewives.

No one ever told them that the honeymoon eventually fades into the lull of everyday life, that marriage has it’s share of suffering, that the 24-7 soap-opera romance is impossible once the realities of life set in. That’s why people take vows for richer or poorer, sickness and health, good times and bad. Because it won’t always be exciting or fun, it may sometimes be unbearable. Yet the plots of these daytime dramas don’t show that part. When the marriage gets tiresome, when the passion fades, it doesn’t mean it’s time to tackle the problems that have weighed it down, it means you’ve settled down with the wrong person. It means your spouse is not the one! And if you are with the wrong one, then the right one must be out there somewhere, and it’s your duty in life to make sure that you find that one. The vicious cycle goes round and round and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that few of the women who undertake this attitude in real life ever find true happiness. They will always want more. They will always think they’re missing something. They’ll continue to buy into the lie like a sick addiction.

So is there really one person out there for each of us? In a world as big as this, it’s hard to imagine that it’s possible, and it does seem like an awful lot of work, doesn’t it? I do believe that God has a plan for each of us and so I do think it’s possible that there is someone special out there suited for each of us, but I guess there is no real way for us to ever find out, is there? We can either make the most of what we have, or we will be fated to the circular path of Sammy Brady, trying, scheming, manipulating and lowering herself whenever necessary to get the “man of her dreams” which, I assure you, varies from month to month.

Life with M has its share of problems from time to time. Surely, there are days when it feels like a fairytale but there are still days that bring their problems and challenges, but that’s just life and part of the process is learning to get through the hard times and making the most of the good times. Thinking that we can be happy 100% of the time or that any impasse means it’s the end of a good thing can only bring pain and regret. And I’m not a big fan of either.

Surely, we all eventually must realize that there’s more to life than candlelit dinners, spontaneous getaways and long walks on the beach. Though those don’t hurt either… "Like sands through the hourglass..."

The Greatest Lesson

2006-04-14T13:21:00.000-04:00

Every now and then, I wonder: Where is my walk leading me? Where am I going and am I staying the course God intends for my life? There are times when it feels that I’ve drifted so far off track that there is no going back. There are times when I feel like I’m just standing still, too stubborn to care. And there are times when I feel like I’m walking so strong in my faith that the fiercest storm couldn’t move me an inch. But what troubles me most is the lack of consistency. And this is where I struggle.

Today is Good Friday, the Christian holiday that remembers the day Christ was crucified. We label it good because in fulfilling His destiny, Christ saved us. Earlier this week, we celebrated in rememberance of the Last Supper, when Jesus broke bread knowing that it would be the last time He’d be with His closest companions before facing crucifixion. Did Jesus wonder these same things that have occupied my mind today?

I think that we often overlook one of the greatest lessons of Christ’s journey to the cross. Though we spend Easter focusing on how Christ conquered even death to free us from sin, there is another story that I try and focus on. And it’s the one that is easiest for me to relate to most times, as I’ve certainly never had to bear any burden as great as His! It’s the fact that Jesus wept.

When Jesus prayed in the garden and asked God to let the cup pass from His lips, He too was shaken and confused. I’m sure He was thinking of how much He’d miss his family and friends. I’m sure He was somewhat afraid. Nevertheless, in spite of that moment of extreme honesty, when He poured out His heart before God, He immediately acknowledged that He would do His Father’s will no matter what. There are few of us that face difficult commands – though they pale in comparison to this - with such grace and less still who vow to do God’s will no matter what it means.

I wish I had the wisdom that I often lack. And I guess that’s all part of the journey for a Christian. Trying to walk as He did, trying to be strong and good as He was. But the sad reality is that we will all fail. We will all fall short.

But the good news is that it doesn’t matter, because Christ’s blood, which was shed on the cross, washes away the stain of sin on each of us, no matter how deep and dark that stain can be.

On Sunday, we will shout “He is Risen. He is Risen, indeed,” and I will remember that even our Perfect Savior had moments of doubt and despair. And I will trust that God will guide me through, even the difficult times. He’s certainly gotten me this far!

God's Grace...

Healing for a Broken Heart: More Than Words

2006-04-10T14:44:00.000-04:00

“Healing for a broken heart.” That - for what it’s worth - is the most common search that brings newcomers to my blog every month and has been ever since it was first launched. Ironically enough, it was my search for that very thing that prompted me to start this site back when I did. I thought then that if I could put all my rants and ramblings – however incoherent they can be at times - out there in one place for others to respond to, I would be able to sort through the confusion in my heart, I’d be able to unload some of the baggage of my past and leave it behind, regardless of the fact that it would undeniably be preserved somewhere in the blogosphere for others experiencing similar circumstances to stumble on from time to time. And in so many ways, it’s worked.

But the question I find myself asking is whether or not I ever really answered the question I posed for myself – whether or not I ever got it “all figured out.” And I realize now that there are seldom times when we really do have anything all figured out, but I’d like to say, it’s definitely given me some insights.

How many times has it been said that “time heals all wounds?” It’s the ultimate cure-all. Just wait, sit tight, have patience and time will take care of the rest. What about: “This too shall pass?” Is there a grandmother on the planet that hasn’t fallen back on this turn of phrase? But how many times have we heard it said and rolled our eyes before reasoning away as to why it didn’t apply to our specific situation? (“You just don’t understand…” / "It's easier said than done.") Was grandma really just trying to shut us up and force us to move on with our lives rather than cry in our coffee? Or was there actually something at the heart of what she was saying?

After countless failed attempts at happiness, relationships with shelf lives shorter than skim milk – long-distance, short-distance, hardly-any distance scenarios that never seemed to work out, going from fearful to fearless and back again in a matter of months, it certainly seems I’ve run the gambit and shored up for myself a wealth of life lessons before I found a way to make it work with the right person. And if I learned anything it’s that it takes a lot more than time to heal old wounds – though time is certainly a factor. It takes perspective. It takes wanting to be over the past, being ready to give it up and get back up again. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of prayer.

So maybe there really is no prescription out there to be found. Maybe the search terms entered will not yield anymore of a cure-all now than the clichés I referenced earlier. But sometimes, that's just life. And it’s like anything else. Some of us can fall down and get back up again without a whimper, others are more fragile and require some time before they can get back on their feet, and sadly there are some that fall and never walk again. But the key isn’t to just let time pass and rely on that alone to make all wrongs right. It’s to acknowledge that time has passed, realize what has changed and accept the things you can’t control, allow yourself the necessary time to grieve, but find the stregnth to carry on, to try and be prepared to fail again, and keep a positive outlook that - of all things and as corny as it sounds - there will be “a better day,” even if it’s not tomorrow. So even if it seems it only comes full circle to another list of to-do’s, another stockpile of comforting words that do not yet seem to apply, it may not matter at the end of the day, if it gets you through. One day at a time.

I’ve learned to trust God with the things I can’t control and take responsibility for the things I can. It’s been a long battle and I’ve fallen away more times than I can recall, but in the end - no matter what the outcome - I’ve something much stronger to fall back on than mere words, a source of comfort and strength more enduring than the most ancient of adages. And my heart goes out to those who stumble and fall, and find themselves broken, never knowing the enormous healing power of a little faith. I can only hope to share it in these feeble entries. And pray that those who search for healing will also find it.

I'm Not Sorry (Nan's Apologetics)

2006-03-31T10:05:00.000-05:00

After receiving a comment posted by an old friend on my last blog, I got to thinking… When I first started this blog, I meant for it to be a collection of my random musings on day to day things – a place to vent and share some of my “wit and wisdom” – and engage in what I love to do more than anything, which is writing. Initially, I’d started two blogs: one as a personal blog (Nan’s Rants) and the other as a Christian blog, which some of you might remember. As the year took some unexpected changes, it became very hard to divide myself up. Why did I want to pretend to be something I wasn’t by excluding who I really am from what I put out there for the world (or whoever happens to end up here) to see? Why was I willing to compromise? Who really cared if my blog exposed me for the believer, the hypocrite, the sentimental fool that I am?

Apparently, there were some people who did.

When I became a Christian – or shall I say, when I left my Catholic roots behind and understood completely what it meant to be saved – I lost a lot of so-called friends. Though they’d always known I loved God – based on whatever understanding I then had of Him – they decided that what I’d become was tantamount to having joined some cult or having been brain-washed. This was also the case when it came to my Italian family, who believed that I could not change my religion anymore than I could change my nationality. It was a little heart wrenching. I was still the same person. I still had my sensibilities and sense of humor in tact – or at least I liked to think so – I wasn’t harassing people on trains or holding signs in the street or doing anything out of character. I was simply sharing my walk with Christ. That was a little too much for a lot of people in my life to understand.

And so they gradually disappeared from the ranks of my friends and the true friends, who all along knew me as a person and understood my heart, stuck by my side. This is not to say that all my friends are Christians or conservatives or even (gasp) Republicans. I have had a lot of libs and dems and even atheists for friends. I have never based my idea of friendship on whether or not they support one party or another or oppose abortion or hate President Bush. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I reasoned. I refused to be intolerant – not even of the people who became intolerant of me.

I spent a lot of time managing two blogs thinking I had to be two people – thinking I had to please those people who didn’t share my faith. Thinking I couldn’t maintain my sense of humor or self if I included my reliance on God or prayer. I was wrong for doing so. For whatever it’s worth, this is who I am and it’s always been who I am. And I’ve been fortunate to enter into a community of bloggers who I can be real with, regardless of the judgment or criticism that often trickles in.

I’m not going to apologize for who I am and what I believe to anyone anymore. I’ve never asked anyone else to. I’m not going to close my mouth and refuse to speak what I know is true to keep anyone from judging me or challenging my beliefs. If that’s not the tough persistent – albeit sometimes argumentative - Brooklyn girl who swore to never compromise coming out, I don’t know what is.

This has always been me. And I’m not sorry.

Our Day in Court: A Voice for V

2006-03-23T11:39:00.000-05:00

The judge rubbed his temples and looked down at his desk intently, as though the resolution to the problem would somehow appear before him if he fixed his eyes long enough. "I just don't know that there is a solution," he said, finally, "it's obvious that there is no way to make peace between the two of you." M's ex just stared at the yellow legal pad placed before her attorney. I felt my eyes growing colder towards her and forced myself to break my stare. I felt like one of those people in the movies, who jump up in the courtroom and insist on being heard before breaking out into a monologue. It all seemed so stupid. I understood what the judge was feeling.

At the beginning of the hearing, M's ex's attorney claimed that M had brought this action without good faith, insisting that she and her client had done everything possible to avoid refusing his visitation a few weeks ago. She talked such a web of words that I - who knew the truth - almost believed her. It's not so much that lawyers lie, I realized, it's that they know just how to twist the truth to favor their clients. It seemed that she would be successful. And then M - who I've never seen represent himself before, though he's done so throughout this long drawn-out battle over his daughter - opened his mouth to speak. And everything he said, destroyed the web the ex's attorney had crafted. The judge found her guilty.

"Do you want me to put her in jail?" the judge asked M rather seriously. I held my breath. "Is that an option?" M said jokingly, before he said "no." "That's usually what we do in these instances," the judge said again displaying no amusement. I thought of how eager his ex was to have him thrown in jail when he called her to beg to see his child. Thought of what a lesson she would learn having to go through what she'd put him through. Thought of how hypocritical the whole system is that a woman gets to walk free when if M had done what she'd done, the cuffs would have been on him in an instant without so much as a question thrown in his ex's direction.

The counselor rose to speak. "I'd like to be heard," she said before she was. She told the judge that she believed the ex was trying to keep the child from seeing M. Explained that she had let her know that "if she was looking for a counselor to manipulate, it would not be her," which ultimately led to her being fired from the case. The reason told to V was that the counselor "said bad words to her mom." "If any bad words were said," the counselor continued, "those were them." She told the judge that V loved M and was very happy spending time with the two of us and that the concerns the ex presented to her were unfounded. The judge seemed amazed. "A counselor just came in here and told me that one parent is trying her hardest to refuse visitation to the other," he said in the ex's direction, "it's not common for a counselor to come in here and say those things." It was then, I think, that he realized the complexity of the problem.

He reminded both M and his ex that they would have to deal with each other for 13 more years, given V's age. It hurt my head to be reminded. "That's a long time and a lot of money that will be wasted arguing in court," the judge said, "money that would be better off in a savings account for college." M's ex didn't raise her eyes. She just continued staring at the yellow legal pad that she'd been scribbling on so furiously during the arguments made by M and her attorney. Her eyes were glazed over but I saw not a hint of remorse.

How do you make peace with someone you are not permitted to speak to? I wondered, referring to the protective order that is in place until this summer. And then the judge did something unexpected, he decided to give V a voice of her own. He assigned a guardian ad litem to the case - an attorney to represent V and her best interests. "It's sad that it's come down to this," the judge said, "but it's the only thing I can think of unless you two can learn to get along." There was a long pause before he dismissed us. Perhaps he too was waiting for the moment that would have happened in the movies where the ex jumps up and waxes poetic in her apology and swears to be a better mother and stop the fighting. In reality, that moment never happens. It just ends with a small group of people filing out of a small courtroom quietly and passing each other in the halls without a word.

The counselor came over to M and me and gave us a gift for V. She told us that she thought the counselor ad litem would help M greatly and assured us that any other practitioner would be able to see the same things she saw. She wished us luck before she left. I felt sad knowing we'd probably never see her again.

"You realize you could have had her put in jail?" I said to M, half-joking, trying to lift the mood. "I know," he said half-smirking, "but if she denies visitation again in the next year, the judge won't ask me my opinion." I felt myself growing more cynical.

So it all amounted to a year of cooperation (hopefully) and a voice for V. I guess there was some victory in that. Peace would have been a bigger aspiration. The movie ending would have been a better outcome. Perhaps 3 years of law school will cure me of these false hopes. Perhaps, a Juris Doctor will cure me of being so naive.

Until then, there is still hope.

So a Laywer Walks into a Bar....

2006-03-15T15:10:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched a movie – a very very lame movie – entitled “A Murder of Crows,” which is pretty much about a lawyer with no morals (redundant?) who passes off a book about killing lawyers as his own and gets framed for the crimes when the book turns out to be true. The movie – a very very lame movie – had a few funny things to say about lawyers.

In any case, I’ve been a little distracted lately with work (strange, I know) and I’ve been in need of some amusement. So, I’ve undertaken finding as many good lawyer jokes as I can. We can all use a good laugh – and why not some self-deprecation? As I certainly will need to be used to hearing a few years from now. So, feel free to add on to what I’ve found here… and laugh, if you like. We can all use a little more love and a little more laughter. I’m spent right now and copying and pasting is all I can manage. Enjoy!

How do you help a lawyer from drowning?
Take your foot off his head!
………………………………………………
What do you call 5000 dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
A good start!
………………………………………………
What do you have when a lawyer is buried up to his neck in sand?
Not enough sand.
………………………………………………….
What is a criminal lawyer?
Redundant.
…………………………………………………
A Doctor and a Lawyer Were Attending a Cocktail Party
A doctor and a lawyer were attending a cocktail party when the doctor was approached by a man who asked advice on how to handle his ulcer.

The doctor mumbled some medical advice, then turned to the lawyer and asked, "How do you handle the situation when you are asked for advice during a social function?"
"Just send a bill for such advice" replied the lawyer.

On the next morning the doctor arrived at his surgery and issued the ulcer-stricken man a $50 bill. That afternoon he received a $100 bill from the lawyer.
……………………………………………………

You’ll Never Have to Go to Jail
A man who had been caught embezzling millions from his employer went to a lawyer seeking defense. He didn’t want to go to jail. But his lawyer told him, "Don’t worry. You’ll never have to go to jail with all that money.

And the lawyer was right. When the man was sent to prison, he didn’t have a dime.

……………………………………………………
What do lawyers do after they die?
They lie still.
……………………………………………………
Why do you bury a lawyer 600 feet underground after he dies?
Because deep down, he’s a really good guy!
……………………………………………………

What's the problem with lawyer jokes?
Lawyer's don't think they're funny, and no one else thinks they're jokes.
.....................

Glad I can still appreciate them!

God at Work (My Exciting News!)

2006-03-06T10:41:00.000-05:00

After being sick all week and being sent home from work Friday morning, I was feeling down. As I pulled the blanket up to my neck and laid down my heavy head, I focused on the coming days and thought of how wonderful it would be to spend time with M and his daughter, who he was scheduled to have for the weekend. My mind went back to the conversation we’d had the night before.

I’d asked him if he thought it was God’s will for us to be together and whether or not it could be considering he and his ex divorced. I told him that I loved him enough to want what’s best for him and that if there was any way he could make his family work again, I’d step aside and be happy for him and V. (Scary, but I really meant it.) M assured me that he’d tried everything he could and that I was his family now. I got online and started blogging about it, hoping to get some feedback on Christian remarriage. I hit the publish button and refreshed the page when the phone rang. It was M.

His voice was raw and I could tell he was distressed before he even finished the sentence. The sound confirmed for me what I’d feared all day. He wasn’t getting V. His ex decided to go against the court order and had called everyone in his family to let them know that M wasn’t getting his daughter. M had only one option – to go there with the sheriff and have her given to him – something he did not want his daughter to have to go through. He seemed resigned to the idea that there was nothing he could do to fix the situation. Considering everything he’d been through this past year – and all the underhanded things his ex did to keep his child from him, I felt really proud of him. I went back and deleted my entry.

The weekend wasn’t long enough, but it was quiet. We both moped around all day, talking about what V would be doing if she was there. This morning, I came into work with a headache, feeling a little defeated and down. M and I talked a little more about setting a date for the wedding and I went into work feeling calm but wishing I was someplace else. When I got to my desk there was a red light on the phone – a message that had been left on Friday morning, after I was sent home. It was the Dean of Admissions from the law school. I’d been accepted!

Had I been in on Friday, I would have known then. While I was home sick, God was at work.

In an instant, my day was transformed. From the depths of my doubt, I was completely thrown. I was overjoyed. Just when it seemed that God had forgotten and the future was uncertain, He was more than faithful. (I am so blessed.)

This should make planning our wedding a little harder, but at least now we’ll have a schedule to work with, at least some aspect of our crazy lives will be settled. And I cannot wait. I cannot wait to start law school. I cannot wait to marry M. And I cannot wait until all these custody issues are ironed out and V is no longer torn between the people she loves. We’ll be going to court in the coming weeks to try and settle this. I know it will be a long battle, but today reminded me where we need to put our hope. I know that in the spaces between that are filled with only worry and fear and doubt - when God seems silent – He has not turned away. He is working.

And I’ve no doubt that His work in this situation has only just begun.

And On and On the Battles Goes...

2006-02-25T12:07:00.000-05:00

"All's fair in love and war," but what about when a child is involved? Where do you draw the line?

After what was a wonderful weekend last week with M's daughter V, we had a week filled with phone calls from her telling us both how much she missed us and couldn't wait to be with us again next weekend. Then M got a call last night.

It was from the counselor.

For those of you who have followed this blog for a while, you might remember the extreme's M's ex went to, to try to keep him from seeing V. We had prayed and prayed and finally the judge allowed M to see his daughter with a counselor supervising. The counselor spent time with the 3 of us for 5 weekends and observed nothing but what she called "positive things." So she went to court last month and told the judge -- which was what led to unsupervised visitation and allowed us to have V last weekend at his parents -- and the judge was pleased. M's ex was not. She and her lawyer (M can't afford one and the court forced him to pay for her's) came into court with all kinds of lies about V being very distraught about my and M's relationship, about it being inappropriate for me to be around V, about M needing to be supervised, etc. The judge didn't buy any of it. It seemed that M had won.

Last weekend it seemed that the nightmare had finally ended and order was restored. V no longer had to sneak messages to M to tell me she missed me, she could get on the phone and say it herself. She was clearly happy - his ex had to see that. It seemed that the battle was over.

Until M got a call from the counselor letting him know that his ex had filed a complaint with her employers, accusing her of not doing her job correctly, of V not being able to communicate with her -- because V is "terribly distraught" about everything. (Which the counselor conceeded to us that she knows is a lie.) The court ruled last time that we need to check in with the counselor at the end of every visit V has with us (every other weekend) but now what will happen seems unsure. Fortunately, she has decided to stay on the case - in spite of the letter - until the next court date, to try to protect M from losing his visitation should his ex find a counselor sympathetic to her position. (She admitt that before she met M - from what his ex said - she expected him to be a rat and was surprised that he "had no tail" when she met him.)

And so the battle rages on, and what is at stake is more than "ownership" of an entity once shared in marriage, it's a little girl, who has more love than anyone I've ever met for everyone involved. How long will this continue and how many more times will this child be hurt before peace can be made?

I can only pray it will be soon.

Playing Mom

2006-02-20T14:13:00.000-05:00

On Friday, as I anxiously awaited the end of the day when M and I would go to his parents' house to have his 5 year old daughter V for the weekend, something someone said struck me. That day, a conservative talk show host referred to Hillary Clinton's infamous "I could have stayed home and baked cookies" speech and explained that raising kids was much harder than working 9 to 5. Being that I have no children of my own, I doubted the validity of that statement. Little did I know the coming weekend would make me rethink that rush to judgement.

Though I'd spent a number of Saturday afternoons with M's daughter, I was still nervous as to how the weekend would go. I never could have anticipated that I would spend 2 days and 2 nights with a 5 year old on my lap, glued to my hip, and in my arms.

Nor could I have anticipated that V and her dad would be playing tug of war with me the whole weekend. Arguing over what percent each got of me while we watched TV together, over who got to sit in the middle and over who I belonged to. (I never felt so loved.) Every night, we stayed up much later than V's bedtime playing games, watching movies, having tickle fights and jumping on the bed -- so late it made me wonder which of the three of us was the 5 year old.

Each night, V cuddled up in bed with me until she got tired enough for M to put her in her own bed, and each morning at approximately 7AM (!!!), V came and crawled right back into my bed ready to wake me up. She and M had a good time playing with my camera phone before she did so, however.

We went on the Metro, to the mall and to the toy store, spent time at an arcade, painted pictures, danced around the house and did each other's make up. I got so used to being with her that it almost didn't phase me when someone said to us at the mall "Wow, she's almost as tall as her mom." (Almost!)

The weekend was more than I ever could have hoped for. On so many levels and in so many ways, it really felt like the three of us were a family. When V announced that she loved me (which she said on a number of occasions and to various family members) as she snuggled up next to me on our last day together, I just felt so content and I knew that this time it would be much harder for us to say goodbye. (In fact, V was positive that she was taking me home with her -- something I'm sure her mother would have loved!)

Needless to say that Sunday night, I slept like a baby - though even in my dreams, I was sad that V wasn't with us. I don't think I was ever so exhausted or so grateful (in my whole life) to have a Monday off of work than I was today. When M called this morning, after I woke up after 10AM (drained beyond belief), he said, "So, do you still want to have children?" I said, "Yes, I'll just sleep all day while they are at school." "What will you do for the first 5 years?" he asked.

My reply?

"Cry."

Valentine's Day...

2006-02-13T17:20:00.000-05:00

Valentine’s Day: the day when every happy (or otherwise) couple has full freedom to flaunt their affections (or make up for their lack thereof) for their better (or not much better) halves. It’s also a day when greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers and producers of various singing stuffed animals make up for lackluster year-end sales by distributing (ad naseum) products that could make any grown woman cringe. It’s an excuse for a romantic getaway, a night on the town, even an "unpredictible" proposal. It’s an opportunity to show the person you love how much you love them. (The measure of which - mind you - will be measured in pounds of chocolate and stems of dying roses.) And a day for all those who are not in relationships – and desire to be - to curse the fact that Cupid ever sprouted wings.

Sounds cynical? That’s what life – and a number of love-less Valentines - does to you after a while, I guess. It’s also what has sparked the SciFi Channel to launch its “Valentine’s Day Sucks” Marathon. (And we wonder why Star Trek fans have such a reputation for being dateless little nerds? Way to expel that myth guys!)

Sadly, Valentine’s Day, for too many couples becomes a day to say and do the things we should be doing every day, year round. Fortunately, though, it is a great excuse to eat and buy CHOCOLATE - guilt-free. (I may be somewhat cynical, but I'm still a girl!) Maybe it’s not all that bad afterall…

This year, I have a lot more than chocolate to be grateful for. And it's not only on Valentine's Day that I remember that. It's nice to have a reminder though.

To all those out there who are miserable this Valentine's Day, have faith. Cupid's arrow may not have struck yet, but God is always in control. Trust me, I know. This comes from someone who's been boycotting Valentine's Day much longer than celebrating. And if worse comes to worse, there's always chocolate... and we can always use an excuse for more of that!

When I grow up...

2006-02-07T17:21:00.000-05:00

"When I grow up, I want to be..." Do you remember what it was? A doctor? An astronaut? A veterinarian? Truth be told, my list included an olympic gold medalist, a neuroscientist (not kidding), a lawyer or... a marine biologist -- who writes books (of course). And what was stopping us from becoming any of those things? As far as we were concerned, we could do anything, be anyone we wanted, right? Until we got our first credit card (mine was at 14) and realized we'd need something to help pay the bills, put food on the table... something a little more practical.

Growing up with the "mouth I had on me" as my father called it (referring to the fact that I never shut up), I was always told I'd be a politician. I didn't quite know what that was, but from the way my dad said it I knew that it was something bad. Given my tendency to always try to make him see the other side in every argument (for which I was always called "contrary") he eventually declared that "this kid" was gonna be a lawyer. I don't know how much that influenced the path I chose, given he was not in my life much when I was making these decisions, but it was not before long that I was mailing out my law school applications, ready to take on the world. Until I came to Washington D.C. in the Summer of 2001. Much in the way Jimmy Stewart's character in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" did, I fell in love with this place and knew it was where I belonged.

For 2 years, I've been working in government/public policy here in our nation's Capitol. I have the privelege to say that I work for the most influential Conservative thinktank in the country. As my workload increases and my tasks become more demanding, I only feel more empowered and proud to work here. Though this is a non-profit organization (which believe me, means there is no profit to be made), it has been the most fulfilling job experience I've ever had. Yet still, I can't brush aside my childish dreams and give up on going to law school entirely. Eventually, I'm sure I will, whether this year or next. But what about all those other dreams?

While I'm sure that in the physical state I'm in now I won't be winning (or competing for) any Olympic gold medals anytime soon, and that I won't be using my political science degree to operate on anyone's brains (I hope!), I still have always kept that desire of being a writer. Yes, my job has given me the opportunity to do a good deal of writing on environmental, energy and regulatory policy, but there is still that creative side of me that I've struggled to maintain while working in the policy world. Today, those childhood dreams came true for me.

This morning I got a call from an old professor of mine writing to let me know that he selected a play I wrote in college to be in his upcoming book - a sequel to "From the Heart of Brooklyn" (my hometown). I recall the play "The Interlude" vaguely, if only because I still can recall how my heart pounded when he stopped me after class and asked me to stay and perform it with him for his advanced class. I was so excited. In my thick Brooklyn accent, I shouted out the lines from where I sat. "Angelo what are you tawking about?" My professor put down his page more than a few times to wipe his eyebrow and laugh. He told the class that I was a promising playwright and I remember it striking me so funny because in all the writing that I'd published at that time (mostly poems and short stories -- and none in novels of any kind), none of them were plays. It's funny... how sometimes you forget your dreams, but they don't forget you.

I'm glad I had a big imagination as a kid. I'm glad to know that just because I chose one path doesn't mean it's the only path. There's still so much possibility. That goes for you too, you know...

Decisions, Decisions.

2006-01-27T16:08:00.001-05:00

Making a decision and sticking with it – something so many of us find exceedingly difficult, but why? Why do we struggle with the simple yes’s and no’s and then agonize about whether or not we got it wrong after there is nothing we can do to reverse it?

“I ordered whole milk in my coffee, maybe I should have ordered low fat milk or skim! I’ll probably get fat now! Why didn’t I think of that before? But what if it tastes bad with skim? Hmm… maybe I should have gotten a small… Excuse me, miss…”

A simple trip to Starbucks in the morning can easily bring about this reaction - and on so many levels. I envy the girl who can go up to the barrister and rattle off something like, “grande green tea frap, no whip” (a past favorite of mine) without hesitation. That was me once before they stopped making it and indecision set in. I’ve faced Starbucks with fear and trepidation ever since…

And what about the real choices we must make in life?! Where to live, what to drive, what job to take… the list goes on. If we have this much trouble deciding what kind of caffeine fix best “represents ourselves as a person,” (sense my sarcasm?) how can we be expected to make a lasting decision on matters which carry far greater consequences?

Today I did. At approximately noon, I mailed out my law school application. After reviewing my personal statement countless times on end, I finally made up my mind to just mail it – and I did! And I’ve never felt better. (We’ll see how long that lasts!) Now I’ll just have to decide whether to accept or defer should they choose to accept me… but that can wait for now!

There is no relief like making up your mind and knowing you did everything in your power to make the right decision. Now, it’s in God’s hands and needless to say, I am much more comfortable with that.

Yeah. I could really go for some coffee right about now… how about you?

Fear. Doubt. Second Thoughts.

2006-01-17T17:41:00.000-05:00

And suddenly it hits you.

The old familiar feeling of panic that had for so long been absent comes racing back; anxiety, worry, fear settles in. With nothing gradual about its onset, you almost didn’t notice it was happening, but it has. It’s too late to stop it. And now all you can do is worry about the how and why of it all, as you try to figure out a way to slow the racing thoughts, to escape the nagging questions you haven’t yet begun to answer for yourself. This is the consequence of falsely believing you’ve finally made up your mind, that you finally know what you want.

But this is not about M.

This is about my other passion – or what has for so long been my passion – my desire to go to law school, and the reasons why I’ve put it off for so long -- and the nagging desire I feel to finally take it on and to redeem myself for all this waiting -- and the contrary advice of others who are able to pinpoint the doubts in me I still can’t bring myself to admit.

What do I really want? I thought I knew.

I moved from my native Brooklyn, NY to Virginia two years ago with the hope of making a life for myself here so I could get into GMU law school as an in-state resident (the only way I could afford to go). After various professional experiences in public and economic policy, on the Hill and off, I found myself time and time again toying with the idea of going. But there was always something in my way. Be it health concerns or issues, competing job priorities, financial concerns – something always kept me from following through with what I thought I always wanted… until a few days ago, when I decided that now was the time to apply.

Until a few minutes ago, when my boss sat me down and picked apart my vainly concealed reasons for wanting to go now. For fear that at 24 if I wait any longer, I’ll never be able to start a family at a young age, for fear that since I’m getting married, it’s time I get my ducks in a row, for fear that after spending 3 months in the hospital and being an endless disappointment to my family back home, it was time to vindicate myself and prove that I still have what it takes. And I admit – a lot of this decision has been motivated by fear, but it’s also motivated by desire… to do more with my life, to live up to God’s will, to do something with my education and not just give up and settle down. I’m so conflicted.

Now that I have M and I’ve overcome the obstacles that plagued me this past summer, I’m ready to tie up loose ends. I’m ready to take the next step. But is law school the logical choice?

There are just so many choices, still so many competing priorities. If I don’t do it now, will I ever do it? Is that reason enough to take that leap? I thought I knew, but now – in the words of someone I’ve quoted many times before – I’m not sure that I know what I think I know.

I wish I knew.

Besting Barbie?

2006-01-13T16:01:00.000-05:00

After a hectic holiday filled with much of the usual fare and the official announcement of my recent engagement to my family, I’m still recovering… The fact that I’m engaged has slowly but surely sunken in and now I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. Still, the nagging questions of when and where and how are all flying at me relentlessly. For example, I was asked by at least 3 people on the day after M popped the question whether or not we’d set a date yet. YET?!?! Do people usually set a date in under 36 hours?? Nevertheless – and in spite of whatever today’s current trends are - I’m taking this in stride and cautiously so.

So how does engaged life differ from dating life? Well, aside from having a notably large diamond ring that by far bests any other piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned in my entire life on my left hand, and aside from dodging the aforementioned questions, hoping I don’t blind anyone on the metro with my newest accessory, feeling a deeper attachment and security in my relationship with M, and having to tell and re-tell the story of our engagement to countless others, I’d say it’s pretty similar. :)

I must admit, however, that it is taxing. A recent rush of newly engaged co-workers has succeeded in putting every issue from dresses to rings to flowers front and center and making each of them entirely unavoidable. Not that I’m being evasive in anyway. I am - truth be told - a devotee of browsing TheKnot.com and WeddingChannel websites obsessively. I’ve also taken heart in the fact that I can now live vicariously through my rail-thin co-worker (the model) by clipping every gown I wish I were a foot and a half taller to wear and passing it to her each morning. It’s more fun than playing Barbie ever was!

But the real fun will begin this weekend… when I discover for myself what the infamous designer “trunk show” is all about. I’ve been informed to bring with me magazine clippings of what I’d like to look like. I’m wondering whether or not they’ll be amused when I show up with pictures of gowns fit for tall, waif-like women that are twice my height. I’m 4’10 1/2'” (and no one will deprive me of that half!) – but so what? That can’t be what I want to look like?! Who among us doesn’t want to look like a towering model? Forgive my dabbling in stereotype, but really now…

Though it was my nickname in summercamp for many years when I was younger (and probably the same height!), whether or not I’m ready for the role of Barbie quite yet is to be seen -- but Lord knows, I’m enjoying every minute of it. That is... until I see myself in blaring unforgiving pale white tulle. That will be another story… Stay tuned!

Match Point: Zero Love

2006-01-08T10:53:00.000-05:00

As one critic's review after another waxed poetic about the deeper meaning and depth behind Woody Allen's latest film "Match Point," I couldn't help being a little intrigued. Praised as being the director's best film in years and one that would fully demonstrate his nihilistic worldview, Match Point promised to offer up a look at life as nothing more than a series of events occuring purely by chance -- or better yet, luck. Critics were all too eager to jump on the bandwagon, praising the film for doing exactly that. Whether or not the film actually delivers - on any level - is another question.

Match Point is more than a story of supposed blind luck, it is a story of moral bankruptcy replete with underhanded and vainly concealed attempts to push its agenda on the audience.

Set in London, the film follows the undertakings of Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers), a struggling Irish tennis pro turned instructor who - as the narrator suggests - is neither good nor lucky. But his so-called luck changes when he takes on a student named Tom Hewett (Matthew Goode) and is introduced to his sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer) a rich socialite who is clearly determined to make Chris her own. However lucky Chris is to meet this woman, whose father practically buys him as a gift for his daughter, turning him seemingly overnight from a sweaty tennis instructor to a business man clad in a three piece suit, his luck seems to be cut short when he meets and is instantly taken by Nola Rice (Scarlet Johansson), Tom's fiance.

On nearly every level - not the least of which is beauty - Nola is Chloe's opposite and Chris' match. As a struggling actress from America, Nola hangs on to her diminishing dreams only to show other people that she can make it. Chris also has ambitions to rise above his circumstances (as he tells Chloe rather lamely, "I want to do something more with my life. I want to make a contribution") and in the two siblings it seems that Chris and Nola have found their way to the top. But would a writer/director as pessimistic as Allen allow these characters to have such luck?

Despite marrying Chloe and "making it" to the height of London business (thanks to Chloe's dad and his willingness to bring him into the family business), Chris continues a secret affair with Nola that began before his marraige and before Tom decides to give Nola the boot for another woman. Though Allen pushes and prods the audience to believe that the events that follow are merely a matter of chance, they are clearly a matter of choice.

On every level, Match Point is little more than a tease. Promising to deliver romance and passion, deeper meaning and social commentary, it fails on every count. The love scenes between Chris and Nola start off as enticing and provocative but are maddeningly cut short. Instead, Allen would rather show us a window and the snow falling outside, as though the weather mattered. The scenes are so contrived and tentative that it's impossible to ever discern whether Chris actually loves either of the two women in his life (or bed). All that is clear is that nearly every character in the film lacks a moral compass and that the audience is to believe that it's not Chris' moral repugnance that we should mind, but the sad "truth" that there is no deeper meaning to any of it.

Recalling the scores of reviews that promised the film would take sudden unexpected twists and turns, I held out hope that the film would redeem itself -- but there is no redemption in Allen's world. Where the film ultimately takes you is where you are reluctant to go, but unfortunately the reins are in the hand of a director bent on making a point that never really gets off the ground.

To say that the film leaves you cold is an understatement. While it may seem that Match Point is an artistic portrayal of the battle between love and lust (or in this case, greed and whichever), it is a film with no heart. It is not the world that the characters inhabit that is devoid of meaning or God or justice, it is the screenplay -- and it is a very showy and obvious attempt to push this worldview on its audience.

To borrow from the somewhat corny theme that is paralleled throughout the film... In this case, the point was served, but for this reviewer, it utterly failed to make it over the net.

Match Point is rated R for some sexuality

The Happiest Night of My Life!

2005-12-19T12:09:00.000-05:00

After what started off to be the worst and most difficult year of my life, I find myself wondering how it is at all possible that things have turned around to the point where I can honestly say I have never been happier. And the answer I get is the same that Michael gave me in his letter almost two months ago: God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you. Those words – the words of our song - were the backdrop to the happiest and most memorable night of my life: last night, December 18, 2005.

Michael and I ran off to the mall on foot to do some last minute Christmas shopping. We decided to split up for 45 minutes because I needed to buy him something (which, I, of course, showed him beforehand… because I am a child). After an hour, Michael and I met at our pre-determined location. I wasn’t nearly ready to go home, but was prepared to pretend given how sick he was. (Unfortunately, I still hadn’t got his cough medicine.) Fortunately for me, Michael said he needed 45 more minutes. I willingly agreed and we went our separate ways.

After nearly an hour, Michael returned and said he was ready to go home. We bought the cough medicine and headed back. I noticed that his bag wasn’t in his hand anymore but assured myself that he’d stuffed it into one of the pockets of his oversized coat. On the walk home, Michael joked about proposing (something we’d talked about many times in the past week) and kept teasing me by pretending to drop to one knee in front of the very poorly decorated spruce near the Ballston Mall. I was tired so I told him to knock it off so we could go home. Still, he stopped me once or twice to hug or kiss me or say something sweet. I started getting suspicious...

We got to the door of my apartment and Michael put down my bags to open the lock. He turned to me before opening the door and told me how much he loved me before kissing me again. My heart started racing. What could be waiting behind the door? He opened it. It was just my apartment and the little Charlie Brown Christmas tree we had decorated together over a month ago that was not even lit. I felt a little sad but was tired so I staggered over to the couch where Michael took off my boots and sat across from me. As we tried to figure out what to get for dinner, he seemed to glare at me. After he handed me a menu, he came over to my side of the couch and kissed me again and said, “I can’t wait to marry you.” I laughed and told him he was getting sentimental. I felt proud that I’d finally cracked him.

As I looked over the menu, I heard him turn our song on in my room. He restarted it 3 times and I assumed it was because I had left it on loop while jamming to my new Carrie Underwood songs earlier that day. He came into the living room and sat back down close to me. I asked him if he was ready to order, but he said he wanted to wait a little while. He continued glaring at me and looked straight into my eyes before telling me how happy I made him and my imagination started to run wild. He couldn’t possibly have done anything to my room while we were at the mall, right? We had been on foot and he surely didn’t have enough time to get back and forth. I told myself not to get carried away and risk disappointment again and just enjoyed the moment.

Finally - and after much coughing - Michael put his head down and asked if we could rest for a little while before we ordered dinner. He was sick – and asked so sweetly - so I agreed. We headed over to my room and when I got into the hallway, I could see that the door was almost closed (something I never do). From the crack in the door, behind which our song was playing loudly, I could see a yellow glow coming out of the room. I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart started racing again. I felt Michael nudge me gently, but didn’t turn around. I opened the door and….

I stopped breathing. I turned to Michael, who started to get on one knee and take my hands and I started to cry. It was a good minute before he reached for the ring and I just hugged him so hard and listened to the music. (Given that he is 6’5" and nearly a foot and a half taller than me, he was at eye level the entire time.) He reached for the box that was wrapped up in the penguin’s scarf and slowly opened it. I don’t know if it was from the fact that the ring was so beautiful or that it was so blinding, but this only made me cry more. “I want to take care of you for the rest of my life,” he said, before popping the question. I said “yes” but it must have been muffled by my crying, so he asked again. When I’d said yes a second time and returned to hugging him and crying into his shoulder (this time looking at the ring), the song ended. It couldn’t have been staged better if it was a movie, and I couldn’t have been more blown away than I was.

We sat on the floor for a while and drank the wine that he had poured. I couldn’t believe how happy I was – nor could I imagine how he’d managed to get back and forth to the mall 3 times in 45 minutes to set all this up – or how he’d been able to get away with putting a 7 foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of my room without my knowing it. In every way, it was more than a dream come true – just like Michael – and one that I will never EVER forget.

The most comical part, which I feel too compelled to share, was this morning - when I woke up and realized that I was engaged and discovered that in Michael’s rearranging of my room the night before, he’d made it virtually impossible for me to get into my wardrobe. I looked down at the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen and realized that it was mine, that Michael was stuck with me, and that this was the beginning of the best time in our lives.

And - for the 55th time since I'd become Michael's fiance- I cried…

I could not have been happier... It's hard to imagine I could ever be.

Decades Later, Kong Still Rules!

2005-12-15T15:03:00.000-05:00

What great force exists -- at least in the realm of cinema – that could make me end my two-month long hiatus from movie reviewing on this blog? You’d better believe that a 25-foot tall gorilla could do the trick! Yes, after more than 70 years, King Kong rules. And this time, he is bigger, better, and more consistently-sized than ever!

Set in the same time period as the 1933 original, Peter Jackson’s highly-hyped and well-intentioned remake introduces a score of new and impressively revised characters. The best of these – aside from the beloved, but equally doomed simian – is Ann Darrow, played by a haunted Naomi Watts who brings a tenderness to the role that the late Fay Wray wasn't able to convey. Rather than screaming loudly - which she of course does throughout the film - Ann interacts with Kong, who is able to express a great range of emotions, thanks to Andy Serkis who provided the emotions for Lord of The Rings' Gollum. No longer is Ann debased to merely being a blonde-bombshell and the object of desire for the great ape, she comes to be a loving companion and through the captured gazes exchanged between them, they seem to have a quiet understanding of each other.

But this would not be a Peter Jackson movie without masterful special effects, CGI, and loads of action scenes. In that aspect, Kong more than delivers. Though a lot of the scenes occur at break-neck speed, and in spite of a few seams in the special effects (such as when the crew slides down the leg of a brontosauraus), this movie delivers some of the best and most dizzying action sequences ever put to film. A breathtaking battle between the giant gorilla (who holds Ann in his grip) and three T-Rexs puts the special effects in Jurrasic Park to utter shame. I'd see the film again just for that one sequence. And of course, Jackson throws in some (in my opinion, unecessary) creatures on Skull Island to stir things up. If you don't like bugs or fear them half as much as I do, consider closing your eyes for this part, ladies.

The storyline itself is much more thoughtful than the 1933 film, though there are many throwbacks and nods to the B-rate original. Still, I can't help but feel that this is a case of the artist being a little too close to his work. Jackson's affection for Kong is evident - especially in the buildup to the fateful final on top the Empire State Building - but at times, it borders on being too much. Though I agree with keeping the audience in suspense waiting for over an hour before catching a glimpse of it's star character, there are a lot of instances where details could better have been cut down (such as the extensive footage of the creepy, white-eyed natives who capture Ann as a sacrifice to Kong -- and, of course, the bugs).

Still, this is the stuff that great movies are made of: heart-pounding action, non-stop drama, and a romance that runs deep (on so many levels). And yet, it is also able to tug at the heart-strings (and tear ducts, in my case) quite a bit. To try to say more would be pointless. I highly recommend that you see it for yourself. Decades later and Kong still reigns, in the jungle and surely, this time around too, at the box-office.

There Really IS No Place Like Home...

2005-12-13T16:57:00.000-05:00

Given the tumultuous turn-out of our first holiday celebration back in Brooklyn, “New Yawk” together, it’s a wonder that M has not yet suggested bowing out of our traditional “7 Fish” Christmas Eve Celebration. Having brought my Virginia-born and raised beau to meet my loud Italian family last month was nothing short of a soap opera in which voices were raised more often than glasses – though admittedly, everyone, including M, seemed to be drinking more than is usual at our family gatherings!

Several heated arguments, one Soprano-style sit-down, much clicking of my heels to Dorothy’s “There’s no place like home,” and a partridge in a pear tree later, and I was ready to pack up and enlist us both in some sort of familial witness-protection program. And now, barely a month later, the time to return is at hand. Whoever coined the phrase “You can’t go home again” certainly knew what he was talking about on one level, but in my case was sadly mistaken. When you come from an Italian-American family whose roots have forever been in Brooklyn, NY (and worse still, "Little Italy"), you MUST go home again – if only for the handmade manicotti (a redundancy that no self-respecting Italian-American would make, but that I’ll use to demonstrate my point here).

Nevertheless, the time to return is fast approaching and as I reflect on all the cooking I’ll be doing over next weekend, I wonder what dramatics this year’s get-together could possibly bring. What could trump watching one of my sisters’ dates to Thanksgiving flirt incessantly behind her back (literally!) leaning over her as she ate to glare at the other? What could be more entertaining than watching my uncles Lou and Tony usher my father into the next room as though they were ready to make him "an offer he couldn’t refuse" when he spoke out of turn about a private matter? It’s hard to imagine - though I know better than to hope - that the holiday will go off without a hitch, but I suppose that as long as no dishes are intentionally shattered (as in years of Christmas past) – or that a certain someone doesn’t harass my grandmother to no end about the calamari being overcooked, the linguini and clams being too oily, or the artichokes being too dry – we will somehow survive.

Sadly, for my family, the true meaning of the Christmas Season has been reduced to post-holiday arguments about who bought who a cheap gift, who gluttonously took all the leftover olive salad, and who ate most like a "gavone." For all its humor, it’s still somewhat disheartening. And try as I might, I can’t help being reduced, year after year, to a disappointed child on Christmas morning as the sum of each year’s “celebration” amounts to little more than coal in my proverbial stocking.

But - all griping aside - this year, I’m well-aware of how much I have to be grateful for. Aside from the most important gift of His precious Son, whose birth our celebration should in all ways revolve around, God has given me a second chance, and in bringing M into my life, the hope of a family and someday, a home of my own.

"There’s no place like home for the holidays." – Perhaps, someday I’ll hear that song while leaning over my grandmother and a bubbling pot of sauce and we won't laugh and shake our heads in quiet resignation, but smile.

Waiting for God, Hoping for M.

2005-12-05T15:38:00.000-05:00

Over the time that’s passed since my last post, I came to realize that a lot of my doubts and frustration have stemmed from my obvious impatience with God. A lot of them also stem from the complications that M has been facing with regard to being able to see his daughter. Four months have passed now -- and God only knows what an eternity that must be to a five year old child.

For those four months, M has been waiting, and despite the fact that he is 24, this time has been no less excruciating. My prayers, seemingly unanswered, have begun to decrease, though the urgency of the situation has increased all the more. I keep telling myself that I have to believe that with God all things are possible. Yet, a solution to this nightmare seems so far off. I pray anyway.

Tomorrow morning, the court in Fauquier County will hear M’s petition and I will come face to face with the “ex” that so far has been little more than a name to me (aside from being the faceless girl who stalks my nightmares). After more than a month of waiting in hope of a pro-bono lawyer taking M’s case, and with little more than 2 hours left to the work-day, my hope that M will secure counsel before our 9:00AM court appointment is waning. It’s not that I doubt that God can do it, it’s that I doubt whether or not He will.

Although I realize that a lot of what is happening in M’s life is the result of his actions in the past, I also realize that M is the very sort of person one might describe as being “unlucky.” He just cannot seem to catch a break.

I’m fearful of tomorrow, though I know it would be better to enter into it with more hope. How long will we wait before God changes his ex’s heart? (If He chooses to.) How long will we wait before God moves in this situation? (If He chooses to.) At this point, even one more day seems like too long. But sadly, even if we put this all on God, it’s not, because it involves other people. For all we know, God may already have moved, but that doesn’t take us past the element of his ex’s free will to decide – or, in this case, the judge’s. It makes it a little difficult to believe that this is all in God’s hands when it seems that there are so many players who will determine M’s – and his little daughter’s -- fate.

I have to believe that all things will work together for good for both of them. But, when? Hopefully soon, when it seems that only a miracle will fix this situation... I ask anyway.

Facing my Doubts: Losing My Religion

2005-11-28T13:05:00.000-05:00

EIGHT years ago today, at about this time, I was a completely different person – body, heart, and mind. Today, I find myself down, distracted. On what for so many years was set aside as my annual day of mourning (read: excessive wallowing in self-pity) when I grieved the loss of the version of myself that I once was, today is little more than the otherwise usual, altogether typical, dog-eat-dog day at the office. I’m not thinking about the accident – not dwelling as I otherwise would. I’m merely taking in what is and what has been my life. Even still - and much like the Weight Watchers frozen meal that now sits in my stomach like a weight of bricks - so much of it is hard to digest.

I fear that I may be on the verge of losing the one thing I’ve held dear as a result of the accident and so many other obstacles I can’t yet bring myself to write about. I fear that I may be losing my religion, the very faith that sustained me through times of trouble.

Last night, when confronted with this admission on my part, M directed my attention to a passage in an old-time favorite C.S. Lewis novel of mine.

“Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be – or so it feels – welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so absent a help in our time of trouble?”

The trouble for me is that I’ve not reached out in desperate need in quite some time, it seems. Perhaps, I’ve grown so independent in these past few trials that I’ve ceased to see Him as sufficient. All that was magical and awesome about my faith seems to have faded. For whatever reason – probably a fault that is my own – my joy is gone. I am doubtful for the first time in a very long time.

Almost two years ago, I was hospitalized for a month after a failed attempt to correct my spine surgically. I become isolated and despondent. My Bible was little more than a decoration on the window sill aside my bed. My only prayer was that I wouldn’t wake to face another day of captivity on the unit. And then God bowed to my requests, to show me the error of my heart’s desire. I flat-lined. Having been given too large a dose of methadone, which I’d been overmedicated on for days on account of the pain, on the same day I felt too sick to sustain any interaction, when I’d called everyone I could imagine had the faintest desire to visit that night and asked them to refrain, my heart stopped; I stopped breathing. By what I could only then describe as an act of God’s grace, my sister, who had not received my message and decided to take the two hour-long drive to the hospital with less than half an hour before the end of visiting hours, found me in that state and alerted the nurses' station who sent in a crash team immediately to revive me.

In what I could only describe as the stuff of my darkest and most disturbing nightmares, I was woken to the bright lights blinding my eyes, the white masks, the feeling of needles prodding my arms and legs trying to open up any vein that might be salvaged. I can still recall the cold burning of the narcane that surged through my body as I screamed at the doctors to please stop to no avail, and the hours spent undergoing all sorts of probing tests to see how much damage the overdose had caused. During that entire time of lingering uncertainty, the only thing that seemed certain was that God had made me eat my words and that it was nothing less than a miracle that had allowed me to live to regret them.

For two years, that story was my main defense to anyone who tried to argue with me as to whether or not God, in fact, exists. But now, even that story fails to do more than bring back painful and haunting memories I’d rather leave to the past. I feel so cut off from God. I feel so uncertain, so much like C.S. Lewis describes, only I have no specific cause for grief. Perhaps the problem is that I’m feeling too much. M said that faith and God are not proved by feeling. Yet, I long to feel faith and hope and joy as I used to.

Right now, all I can feel is the brace on my back that digs into my ribs, the pain that runs sharp into my legs and dull into my feet, the minutes that drag on like hours and force me to be here when I’d prefer to be anyplace else. Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t feel at all. Still, I can’t help but let what I feel (or don’t feel, in this case) affect what I know. I can only hope (and I do think there is still some left) that whatever it was that has gone returns. But I can’t help but fear – it is me that has turned away.

When God has been so faithful, how dare I be so faithless? But however doubtful I've become, I still believe, He'll show Himself again somehow -- hopefully by more subtle means this time...

My Walk Has Changed

2005-11-16T11:43:00.000-05:00

This is my last week as a 23 year old. Nevertheless, because of how much pain I’ve been in as of late, I’ve been walking around more like an 83 year old. My grandma calls this “waddling” and I must agree, my daily walk has been a lot more like “March of the Penguins” than I would like.

In a week, it will be 8 years since the accident. Oftentimes, it seems like it was only yesterday that I was getting ready for my Sweet 16 when one random mistake – one split second – one wrong turn changed my course in life forever.

I still remember the way the rain felt against my face that morning. We’d been in such a hurry to get everything prepared for “my big day” – a party that my mom could scarcely afford but was determined to give me – that we never could have imagined that our haste would be so costly.

I had just gotten my nails done and was more concerned with examining them than helping my mother find her way to the hair salon. My two sisters were in the back seat and were carrying on loudly with my mother, who was lost. “Turn left.” “No, turn right.” “I’m sure it’s left.” “We’re gonna be late.” My mother quickly turned left, speeding through the rain, anxious to get me to my appointment on time. None of us saw the signs that indicated we had gone the wrong way on a three lane highway. But in a few short seconds that played on like hours, we saw the car speeding towards us, swerving between the lanes ahead of us and we all understood the terrible mistake that had just been made. I turned to the center of the car, put my hands against my sisters’ chests, fearful that they would come through the middle of the car, yet still, I could see what was about to happen. As if I had experienced it in slow motion, I felt the impact of the cars crashing, heard the metal crushing into metal, felt my head crash against the windshield. And then, everything went dark.

I opened my eyes and heard my mother and sisters screaming and crying. “Nancy, open your eyes. Look at me,” they yelled, but I could barely lift my head. I finally looked up and saw that the windshield was broken. Light was streaming in through the cracks that spread like a spider web through the glass. As I tried to lift my hand to touch it, I felt the pain rush down my neck into my back and down my arms and legs -- a pain that would stay with me for 8 long years, cause my confinement for 2 long months and ultimately result in a series of spinal surgeries that proved unsuccessful at helping in any way. In one moment, all of the things that I had come to love so much: cheerleading, swimming, softball, gymnastics, rollerblading, and simply running up the stairs, were taken from me. Worse than this, and aside from the physical changes I suffered, I lost my hope. I forgot God. I was angry and hopeless.

It has been many years since that accident and still I try to put the pieces back together of why it had to happen. The pain oftentimes seems so unnecessary. And I ask myself daily: What is God trying to show me through this? Though I still grasp for answers, I realize I have learned a lot. I’m older and wiser now, and though the pain of the past still follows me, there is not one step I take that does not remind me of how far I’ve come --all because of God’s grace, all because I am walking with Him. And I thank God for every step I'm able to take. My walk has surely changed, but I am stronger for it. And I am thankful.

Facing my Fears... Head-on

2005-11-07T17:24:00.000-05:00

Over the last week, I did two things that I swore I’d never do: cut my hair off, and drove a car.

Yes, it’s true. I have an unhealthy fear of driving and short haircuts. It all dates back to a couple of scarring childhood experiences: a shearing of mythic proportions at a salon named “Little Princesses” that cut my hair (which was down to my feet) up to my ears - and a head-on collision that left me physically damaged for the last 8 years.

Nevertheless, this past week, I faced those fears head-on (no puns intended) and surprisingly, neither was as horrifying as I’d imagined they would be. In fact, after both instances, I felt a lot better about myself and the world. I had done two things I could never have imagined doing and the results had been relatively successful. (I didn’t cry after either, and amazingly, no one was injured or killed!)

As I sat in the front seat of M’s Chevy, a location in a car I’d boycotted my entire life (even when asked to sit double-parked in case a policeman came– a cause of many a fight with my parents), I kept my foot pinned down to the brake and took a deep breath. “Take your foot off the brake,” M said patiently. “No,” I shot back. “Nan, you have to take your foot off the brake,” he repeated. “No,” I blurted out again, “I have to sit here for a little bit.” I sat waiting. “Nan, come on” M started again, chuckling a little.

Didn’t he realize what a huge deal this was? That I was taking my (not to mention HIS) life into my hands and doing the very thing I swore up and down for 8 years I would never ever EVER do? I had to laugh a little myself. “Will you say a prayer?” I said, turning to him, pressing down even harder on the brake, in an attempt to buy more time. “No, I will not pray about this,” M said, “You know, right now, God is watching this and He’s laughing at you.” He joked. We had a good laugh, but it brought me no closer to moving my foot in any way.

Eventually, I had to give up and take my chances at the wheel which had (perhaps too trustingly) been put in my hands. I let up on the brake and felt the car creeping forward up the road. I held on tight to the steering wheel as though it would fly away if I lost my grip. I felt like a little old lady moving at a snail's pace down the road, clinging to the wheel and turning it ever so slightly to stay within the lines. My first time, I made it up to a massive 25 miles an hour!

What? It was my first time!

On our second attempt, I was more poised. I felt more confident that the car would obey me and I didn’t freak out. Eventually, I got up to 50 miles an hour! There were no casualties! No small animals or children were injured, nor were any trees unnecessarily mowed down! I DROVE and I lived to tell about it.

Who ever would have thought?!

Certainly not me… though I must say that M did not seem altogether surprised. It just goes to show that a little faith goes a long way. In this case, a couple of miles, and as for next time… one can only imagine how far!

BLESSED

2005-11-01T06:35:00.000-05:00

“I keep asking myself why all of this happened,” the letter read, “but you see… I already know the answer. God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you.”

When M and I first met, that song was in my head constantly. We’d walk around together singing it everyday as though we were rehearsing for some upcoming performance. Never though, did I realize how true the words in the song would eventually become for us.

“Every long lost dream led me to where you are…”

I met M in the depths of a debilitating illness. My life had hit rock bottom. I had stopped praying, no longer trusting God’s faithfulness. I had no hope for the future. Suddenly, all the verses that I’d so often focused on about the promises “not for destruction, but for a future and a hope” seemed to return void. At a time in my life where it seemed that all was irrevocably lost, I found M.

“I think about the years I spent just passing through. I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you. But you just smile and take my hand - You’ve been there you understand - It’s all part of a grander plan that is coming true…”

M was in a similar situation. He had lost his visitation rights to his daughter and a great deal of his hope for the future. Having reached a similar conclusion about his life that I had, he too was ready to give up. In two separate devastating turns of events in both of our lives, our paths were made to cross. And together, we not only found the hope we had lost in God, but the desire we had lost in life.

“Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms…”

In a few short months, my life changed so drastically. It was as if I’d been reborn. Suddenly, everything in my past that had brought me pain seemed so worthwhile because it had brought me to this point. That was the same realization that M came to while he was in jail. “Everything I’ve done caused me to meet you, so I am grateful for all of it,” he wrote. I never thought I’d feel that way, but God proved so faithful to us both, and even as we were so faithless and doubtful, he blessed us so immensely.

“This much I know is true… that God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you.”

For where we’ve been and what we’ve been through, I am that much more grateful to be where I stand. I am blessed.

Time & Punishment

2005-10-28T18:09:00.000-04:00

It was half past twelve when I finally heard the door creak open. Weary of waiting, I’d retired to the couch with the hope that closing my eyes would keep me from endlessly watching the clock. Needless to say, it did not. The bright green numbers slowly and reluctantly increased at a measured pace and in my heart, a seed of doubt as to whether or not M would make it before the night was over began to grow. Before the door was fully opened and before he was completely in view, I sprung up to my knees, feeling so overwhelmed that I couldn’t find it in myself to stand. “I’m not in jail anymore,” M said in an excited tone, as though he needed to reassure himself of that fact. “I know,” I said, so overjoyed that I could barely speak. “Come over here!” I called out. And he did.

I don’t remember what ultimately caused us to break away from the embrace. Needless to say, it was quite a while before we did. As my heart filled up with an equal measure of regret and relief, being in his arms again felt so new and so familiar at the same time that I didn’t know how to let go. Suddenly, in a few quick moments that seemed to come so soon after such a prolonged absence, the world was once again as it should be.

Except that M had clearly lost a lot of weight, further justifying the nickname I once gave him when I called him “my little skeleton,” in spite of his 6’5” frame. I told him that although he did not retain his jumpsuit he’d done well to find something to be for Halloween (and life, for the time being)- he had more than lived up to his name. I suppose he’d missed me too much to be at all perturbed by that comment and I did well to supply him with some much needed nourishment as soon as we got past our initial greeting. His approach to the bowl of food I set before him was nearly as pronounced as his affection towards me and I sat quietly reading the letter he had scrawled so beautifully (though not neatly) on the back of some crumpled prison form.

“They clearly don’t understand how much I love you. If they did they’d realize this is cruel and unusual punishment,” I read aloud. The punishment we both endured had seemed so cruel, but we had faithfully served our time and now... we had all the time in the world to set things right. And after all that time and punishment, we were so thankful, we were so much stronger; it was so worth it.

Counting Down!

2005-10-27T11:30:00.000-04:00

In fourteen hours, the nightmare that has kept me from a solid night’s sleep in a little under a week will finally come to an end, but who’s counting? Naturally, I am – though neither my range of math skills (minimal) nor desire to calculate the distance between us time-wise (even less) is as vast as M’s. When we spoke a couple of days ago, he gave me the exact number of seconds it would be before we’d see each other again. I suppose when you have that much time on your hands, there’s not much else to do besides count it! Though the prospect of calculating the numerical timeframe of one’s confinement seems more like hell to me than prison… but that’s just me.

Ah, so now my (slightly less mathematical) countdown has begun and the waiting game drags on just a little longer, though regardless of how close in proximity midnight is, it still feels like a lifetime away. But just think… that absurdly large number that M arrived at is ever constantly dwindling down, even as I sit here typing. If only there was a way to fast forward through it! Nevertheless, there is patience in the waiting, and my faith that God will bring something great out of our unfortunate set of circumstances has all the more increased.

There are many lessons to be learned from this unsettling turn of events, patience and perseverance hardly among the least of these… and the soothing benefits of math (or internet sites that do it for you!), of course. Only 48,600 seconds to go, not that I’m counting or anything!

A Little Too Ironic

2005-10-25T12:17:00.000-04:00

In a turn of events that would be fitting for a late lyrical addition to Alanis Morisette’s “Isn’t it Ironic?” my boyfriend is now attired in a prison jumpsuit. Wasn’t it me who suggested only a week ago that we dress up as a cop and a jail bird for Halloween? Who knew that M would take that suggestion so literally?! This surely was not what I had in mind when I suggested that he inquire into getting a real prison uniform! Nevertheless, it seems that Halloween has arrived early for this couple, though I’ve yet to enlist in the police academy or any similar law enforcement training.

And while my boyfriend is far from dancing to the jail house rock, I’m looking forward to him getting in step – on the right path – soon enough. Surely, this will be a lesson to him that the next time he thinks to pick up the phone to call his ex-wife, he’d be wise to consider whether or not calling the police himself would be less time consuming.

Sadly, albeit my musing, this is no laughing matter. In fact, unsurprisingly, M was very sad on the phone this morning. Sounding more drained than I’ve ever heard him, he spoke hoarsely into the receiver, explaining that his new “bed” – a three inch piece of plastic mat cushioning him from the concrete floor – and a thin gray blanket which he finally received was somewhat of an improvement, though he did not sleep at all last night, giving us something in common.

“I wrote you a letter yesterday,” he said in a low voice. “I wrote you one too,” I replied, referring to one of the many notes I’ve hidden in various pockets of the leather jacket he left draped across my dining room chair. “Do you have it with you?” I asked, irrelevantly, trying to make conversation. (I’ve learned it to be better to ask these sorts of questions rather than those regarding the eating, sleeping, or showering situation!) “No,” he said, “It’s in my cell.” “How romantic,” I joked.

How many more sleepless nights will pass before he comes home? Whatever the number, one more seems like too many, but I wait patiently, and God knows, I thank Him everyday for sustaining both of us through this nightmare. I’ve never been so appreciative to have a bed and a blanket as I’ve been these past few nights. Funny what lengths it takes to make us appreciate the things we’ve so commonly come to take for granted.

After this situation, I don’t take anything for granted anymore. And isn’t it ironic?

Seeking Rest, Finding None

2005-10-24T06:59:00.000-04:00

I’m unraveling. As I sit here at my desk trying desperately to think of anything else, all I can do is hear his words repeating in my head. He sounded so tired, so sad. I asked if he’d been sleeping, as I’d been up till 5AM last night with a sick feeling that he was awake, he told me that they’d not given him a bed yet. He’s been sleeping on the concrete floor of a 20-foot holding cell for two nights now without a blanket, a small improvement from his first night of sleeping upright on a concrete bench. More than tired, he’s thirsty. At 4:30AM he’s given a pint of milk and nothing else to drink for the rest of the day, not even with the meals that he’s refusing to eat. Knowing how picky he is about food, I’m not altogether shocked. There is a sink above the toilet, he said, but unsurprisingly he finds that to be as appealing as the thin bologna sandwiches he won’t eat. He asked if I’d make raviolis for him when he gets home.

Yesterday was his ex-wife’s birthday. I wonder if she was happy knowing that the father of her child was spending his day dehydrating in a filthy jail thanks to her. How do you go from being married to someone to caring not at all for them? How do people just change like that? I’ll never understand.

I went to church last night and felt surprisingly joyful - joyful because I believe with all my heart that God will somehow use this for good. As I sang the words to the song, “and right now in the good times and bad, you are on your throne, you are God alone,” I reminded myself that God is still in control and I prayed that he would give M some comfort through this difficult time, when it’s difficult to find any at all.

When it’s obvious that M and I lack the power to change this situation in any way, shape, or form, it helps to know that ultimately, this is in God’s hands. I just pray these next few days will pass quickly. I just pray they’ll be some rest for M tonight.

When the Past Catches Up

2005-10-21T20:17:00.000-04:00

What happens when the present proves that the PAST really hasn't? When the skeletons in the closet not only fall out, but the ghosts come back to haunt? I suppose one finds themself in the quiet of their own mind, where I am now, wondering if any effort to make sense of it all will ever be worthwhile.

A few hours ago, I got a call letting me know that M is in jail. He won't be coming home for 15 days. I picture him sitting there in the quiet of his cell. I wonder if he's cold or hungry, what he's thinking, and if he's missing me. And I sit here, confined to my own prison, in this apartment without him, knowing he won't be coming home tonight, knowing that I won't hear from him again until next week, wishing his past wasn't catching up with him so quickly and so seemingly out of nowhere. Didn't we just agree to leave the past behind us? Maybe I was naive to think the past could ever cease to matter. Even if it's behind us, it still follows close behind. When will it cease biting at our heels?

M has a child and an ex-wife, and while he did everything he could to make his marriage work, and while he's done everything he can to move on with his life, the both of them will always be a part of it. No matter how much time has past, this is his present and it will also be his future. I've accepted that. But at times like this, when the past comes back to bite him and his ex-wife has done everything in her power to disrupt his peace of mind, it's hard to keep my own.

M's past is catching up with him. He's made some sore mistakes. He's suffered plenty. And now his suffering seems so pointless. All because he called his ex-wife's phone. All because he wanted to see his only child. She's kept them apart now for 2 months. We've prayed every night that God would change her heart. And yet, she showed up today in court and told lies to have him locked up. And who does she spite? She spites M, but in the end, she hurts their daughter more. How does a 5 year old put this all in perspective when I, a 23 year old cannot?

I try now to keep focused on the future. I try to look forward to the day when M will come back home, when he will be reunited with his daughter, when we will be beyond these problems from his past life. For now, all I can do is wait, and try to be strong for him. All I can do is pray and remember that tomorrow brings me one day closer, though the morning right now seems so very far away.

Letting the Past Pass

2005-10-19T11:59:00.000-04:00

If you go digging in a graveyard, you’re bound to unearth a skeleton or two. That was what came to mind last night as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling trying to turn off the images in my mind that have gnawed away at me ever since I insisted on hearing the details of M’s past relationships.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked me. “I need to know,” I insisted. But did I?

Regardless of whether or not I did, much to my eventual dismay, he willingly complied, and much to his, in true girl fashion, I proceeded to get teary-eyed and poorly feign indifference.

“Nan, what’s wrong?” he asked, as though he didn’t already have an idea as to why I’d become so quiet. “Nothing,” I lied in a tone barely louder than a whisper, “I’m fine.” That was it. The charade was over. And I wondered how many arguments have begun with those same seemingly affirmative words.

It was the beginning of a long night and three long days after in which I tried everything imaginable to avoid picturing my boyfriend gallivanting about with the women of his past. Like an insufferable and unending melodramatic soap opera which I could not turn off in my mind, I witnessed again and again far too many compromising situations -- and in the end all that was compromised was my newfound happiness. Sadly, I had brought it upon myself. M had given me what I wanted against his better judgment and I had successfully turned it around on him, and for three days all we did was tear up one another’s pasts until we were both so weary of it that it seemed like there was nothing left to say.

And it got me thinking… Why do we feel the need to dig around in the pasts of those we love when we know that in the end, all we’ll get is dirty? Why do we find it so difficult to allow ourselves to be happy in the moment or feel the need to cultivate evidence to justify our deepest fears? (We only end up blaming ourselves for overlooking them down the line should they come to pass.) We insist on playing Russian Roulette with our hearts and ultimately kill our joy. Why can't we get past our own childish curiosity when we know the details will only drag us down? In essence, why are we so often unable to let the past be past us?

Fortunately, M and I soon tired from our inquisitions and agreed to put this all behind us – where it rightfully belonged. As I lay in his arms and listened to him breathe, I realized that it did not matter who he’d held before. All that mattered was here and now. The rest was history. It always had been. The only way it would affect the present or the future would be if we let it. Now I acknowledged that and decided against it. And my joy returned.

Elizabethtown, Worth a trip?

2005-10-16T22:57:00.000-04:00

So I had this wonderful idea on Friday. Rather than attending a good friend's party, I decided to persuade my boyfriend to take me to see Cameron Crowe's "Elizabethtown" on it's opening night. What a sad sad mistake I made. Had I told him to take 20 dollars, crumble it up, and throw it in the street, he would have been more pleased with the night's outcome. It definitely would have been more entertaining for us both. But this is still a gross understatement.

I am not exaggerating when I say that Elizabethtown is by far the worst, most poorly made, ill-conceived, and badly written film I have ever seen in my entire life... possibly the worst film in the entire history of cinema. I never write about movies in my blog, but if I can prevent one poor soul from the two unbearable hours of misery I endured, I will be content with this post.

Never in all my years have I seen an audience so disgruntled by any film. Even the insanely drunk crowd behind us, who spent the better part of the night laughing inappropriately at how unfunny the film was eventually became angered as the film dragged on. The couple sitting next to us eventually ended up 5 feet further away from one another with their arms folded defensively across their chests. Whether it was a first date or not, it was clear that it would be their last. Yes, this film will definitely be the downfall of many would-be relationships. Of all the assesments of this film that I've heard, I have to say, my little sister summed it up best when I called her the next day, only to find out that I was too late and that she had already wasted her time and money seeing it, when she said, "For two hours, I wanted to kill myself. The ticket lady should have given us razor blades instead of tickets." Once again, a gross understatement.

Having made films like Jerry McGuire and Vanilla Sky, I had come to expect more from Cameron Crowe. But this was beyond ameteurish. It was plain torture. It called to mind the infinitely long Andy Warhol film of a fly sitting on a man's arm. I wondered if Crowe got some similar sick pleasure out of forcing us to sit there for 2 hours vainly hoping there would be a point to what we'd been watching. Sadly, the joke was on us. And there was really nothing funny about it.

I probably should not have admitt to my boyfriend afterwards that I had already read the bad reviews the film had gotten before we went to see it. "It was galling," "It was a spectacular disappointment," "It was a disaster of mythic proportions." Maybe that should have given it away? Nevertheless, I'd been convinced that the film was worth seeing if only to see my favorite elf, Orlando Bloom. Much to my dismay, by the end of the film, I, myself, was inclined to hop on an excercise-bike-turned-instrument-of-death in the way he did in the film. That would have been far less painful!

My prediction? By next weekend, this film will crash and burn much in the way the ridiculous giant bird in the memorial service scene did. Now THAT will be entertaining.

A Little Perspective Goes a Long Way

2005-10-07T12:29:00.000-04:00

We all struggle in our lives. Some of the daily battles we wage are harder to bear than others. Nevertheless, it is rarely comforting to acknowledge that there are others worse off out there. If anything, it makes us feel guilty for not having a better attitude about our own situations. “Not only do I feel bad that I’m upset about A, B, and C, but now I feel guilty that I’m feeling so down when there are people in the world who are going through X, Y, and Z.” For anyone who followed the coverage of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, you know what I mean here. The suffering of others all too often gives us perspective. Whether we benefit from it or not depends on how we approach our own situations.

I can still recall being a scrawny kid (ah, the good old days), sitting slouched down at the dinner table in front of a heaping plate of pasta and meatballs that was twice my size, hearing my grandmother tell me in a high pitched nasal voice how there were children “starving in the world” who would “die” for the food I was wasting. (I usually preferred this tactic to get me to eat my dinner above being told that my macaroni was growing hair – something that to this day still rings in my ears when I’m not feeling particularly hungry!) I usually gave in, begrudgingly shoveling forkfuls of pasta into my mouth, wondering how exactly the starving children of the world would benefit by my having eaten the food they would have “died for.”

I felt even guiltier! Not only was I a wasteful child, ungrateful for the wonderful bounty of food set before me, but now I was consuming food that could have benefited those starving children in such an unappreciative manner. And even though it was not my fault that these children went hungry, and even though there would have been – at that time – no feasible way for me to remedy their situation, I felt badly. I almost felt responsible. In her effort to get me to appreciate my situation more, my grandmother had succeeded only in reinforcing my Catholic guilt, as well as getting me beyond my “scrawny” phase, neither of which I am altogether thrilled with as I sit here typing!

And it got me thinking… Why do we constantly feel the need to compare our situations to those of others? Does it make us feel better to know that we are unable to properly deal with our mundane problems when there are others out there with “real” issues struggling to survive? Perhaps it would if we realized that we are not ultimately in control of - though we are surely responsible for - our own lives. All too often, we are so busy worrying that things could not possibly get worse (as I did for far too many months before things turned around) that we forget that with God, all things are possible. We let our own doubts put limits on our God whose powers are limitless, and in the end we only limit ourselves, eventually trapping ourselves in self-defeating circular logic that ultimately becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Rather than looking at the devastation and destruction in other people’s lives and feeling more helpless and hopeless, perhaps we should look at our own lives. What terrible times have you gotten through that you thought would surely be the end of you? Instead of comparing your life to the lives of others (lives that will surely range from far better or worse, depending on perspective), reflect on where you were then and where you are now. In this, God’s faithfulness is truly demonstrated. And if God can get us through the “unsolvable” problems – self-imposed or not – that become such heavy burdens for us to bear, then how much more will He move to help those who seem beyond help, all the starving children of the world that don’t ever benefit from our cleaning our plates for grandma?

A little perspective goes a long way.

To My Friends...

2005-10-05T17:38:00.000-04:00

“I’ve been feeling very alone in the world,” I typed into the body of the email form before clicking send. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen any of my friends from back home in Brooklyn and in NOVA. Surely, we’ve all been very busy and I’ve allowed myself to become overly pre-occupied with work. I’m sure they have as well. But every now and then, I try to take the time to remind those people in my life how grateful I am for them. I fear that I haven’t done a very good job as of late…

As I scanned over the 700+ emails that filled my inbox – emails that I still haven’t gotten around to checking since I’ve gotten out of the hospital – I realized just how many people I’ve been fortunate enough to call friends over the years. Some, I haven’t seen in months. Others, I haven’t seen in years. Nevertheless, in spite of how many days stretch between us, I’ve continued to hold them in high esteem. I’ve never stopped to consider whether or not the friendship remains in the long silences between our communications. For me, it always has.

And it got me thinking. What is a friend? By definition, it’s someone you can turn to, who can shed light on dark areas in your life, who is there for you in your time of need, and who knows your heart. But I also think it’s someone you can go weeks or months or even years without speaking to and still retain a deep enough level of friendship that you can just pick up again at a moment’s notice. I hope I’m not mistaken. I probably haven’t been the best friend these days… but I haven’t given up.

Today I thanked God for you. I thought I’d tell you that. I hope this hasn’t come too late...

Life and Liberty are not enough!

2005-10-04T18:47:00.000-04:00

This is far from my usual post... but I've been working on this so much today, I feel compelled to put this out there... Please humor me!

As any basic history course teaches, our Founding Fathers identified three things to be the most intrinsic human rights: Life, Liberty, and Property. Yet, the US government has continuously undermined property rights under the guise of necesassary "takings." This is especially true with regards to the Endangered Species Act. If I asked you, on the face, whether or not you supported the ESA, you would undoubtedly say yes. Who wouldn't? Endangered species need protection, right? Being the lover of all things furry (or on all fours), I would have been inclined to give the same answer a few days ago. This is because few people know just how unsuccessful the Act actually is, (it has a 1% success rate!) and the high economic costs that are associated with it - particularly the punishment of private property owners.

Because ESA punishes landowners who are found to have rare or endangered wildlife on their property, it creates a perverse incentive for them to harm the very species ESA is designed to protect. Under ESA, landowners have lost millions of dollars worth of property because of the discovery of a single sand fly or rare snail! If you owned millions of dollars of property and knew that such a creature had set up a "habitat" on it, would you run and tell the government -- or would you squash it and hope you never get caught? What if the government were to compensate you for the lost use of your property? Or if you would be given funding from the government for protecting the species on your land and allowing it to remain? Would you at least be a LITTLE more inclined to let the creature live? This would surely be an incentive to landowners that would benefit species.

Sadly, ESA has made landowners the enemy of endangered wildlife and failed to provide incentives for their participation in conservation efforts. The Threatened and Endangered Species Recovery Act, which was recently passed by the US House is a step in the right direction -- but it doesn't do enough to protect property owners.

While I am far from a tree-hugging liberal, I am as concerned about the extinction of species as the next person. Rather than encouraging destruction through regulatory efforts and increased beaurocratic hurdles, the government should concentrate on creating better incentives... then it will reach its goal of protecting endangered species.

For further reading, see the 5th Amendment!

I'll Never Be a Walking Hanger

2005-09-29T18:09:00.000-04:00

The organization that I work for just hired a new Research Assistant who sits across from me. She is nearly 6 feet tall and looks as though she just walked off the cover of a fashion magazine. Actually, in some sense, she did. As she proudly noted on the day she first arrived, she just got back from modeling in Italy. This has been great for my self-esteem! Now as I hide in my cubicle, fearful that I’ll be spotted – “unskinny” and unfashionable as I am -wearing the same tired outfit I wore last week, I look upon a bookshelf lined with an array of designer shoes. Yes… she has practically turned her cubicle into a private backstage dressing room and I am fortunate enough to get a fashion preview – and taken down a peg - each and every day.

As I stumble in early every morning on my too-high Steve Madden high heels, I am greeted by the Manolo Blahnik’s that stare me down making me all too aware of my lack of style and my inability to afford it, by these standards. It would be easy to despise her if it weren’t for the fact that she is not only beautiful, but brilliant. She is 6 feet of libertarian ideology, which blends all too well with my conservative mindset, and all the day long I hear her engaging in drawn out conversations about her deeply held economic convictions. I assure you that the men in the office at which I work are all too eager to engage her in conversation, and who wouldn’t be? Beauty and brains make for a winning combination in this profession, and any, I would assume. Except modeling, perhaps, where brains are not necessarily mandatory…

Nevertheless, all of this has led me to question what our perception of beauty really is. Does beauty necessarily have to come prepackaged in a wiry 100lb frame? Does it have to fit a standard “type” as illustrated by the multitude of fashion magazines telling us how a woman should look? What is beautiful to me may be repulsive to another and vice versa, right? So why are we so hung up on Kate Moss’ cocaine addiction and why are the newest Gucci fashions still being paraded around on the runway by models akin to walking hangers? I can’t help but wonder… will the tides ever change? Or will I constantly feel the pressure to compare myself to images that I’ll never duplicate (without converting whole-heartedly to the pro-anna, red-string wearing, self-sacrificing, starvation movement).

Fortunately for me, my validation comes from one place alone, and that is neither my coworkers nor my bathroom mirror. God made me this way and like it or not (and I often don't), this is what I look like. Still, I see the room for improvement. (We are always hoping to improve ourselves though, aren’t we?) I suppose I can always ask the new RA to take me shopping with her… at least we can discuss econ as I try on clothes 10 times her clothing size! There is hope yet.

I may never be a walking hanger, but that doesn't mean I can't hold my head up when I walk, in however tired my attire may be...

Fight this Fight

2005-09-27T17:44:00.000-04:00

Anxiety comes creeping in again, and I can hardly keep at bay the tides that sweep me up in such confusion, and I can hardly swallow down the pain that rises in my throat till I am barely breathing. And there is no escape from this.

Spent so many hours counting down the clock. It's time to go, but I can't move. I'm paralyzed by this dissension, this overwhelming sense of desperation. So much without a reason. And there is no relief for me.

And I can't find the words to put it into. Can't bear to speak at all. Can hardly write. Can't help but to withdraw. Won't reach out now. I only want to be alone. For now. Just let me ride this out on my own.

Just let me fight this fight the only way I've ever done before. It's the only way I know. It's the only way, the only choice I'll ever choose. I am on my own again now, so let me fight this fight.

It's not your battle to lose.

A Better Day

2005-09-22T17:15:00.000-04:00

This too shall pass. How many times was this saying repeated to me over the past three months? Enough… and today, after what seemed like a lifetime of rainy days, the sun finally came out. I was more than content. I felt happy. It was a little scary.

As I sat over lunch with two of my best girlfriends this afternoon and listened to one of them speak on the event in her life that gives her the most hope, I realized that I had not really identified one for myself, though there are so many that have. During those dark days, it would have helped to remind myself about the times when God showed himself to be so faithful, though I was probably too stubborn then to have acknowledged them. I guess we all need a reminder every now and then!

Today, for the first time in a long time, my eyes and ears were really open. It rushed over me so quickly that I felt lightheaded. I am really blessed for the amazing people that have been brought into my life, people that I’ve known for years, people that I’ve only known for a few months, and people that I’ve yet to meet (like so many of you on here who bring a smile to my face with your comments and emails everyday).

When it rains, it does pour, but eventually the storm ceases… Now comes the calm... and I am grateful for the rain...

It's Not Easy Being Green

2005-09-19T07:35:00.000-04:00

After carrying on a three-day love affair with my sofa while I was sick this past weekend, I was finally well enough to leave the house. On route to church, M and I stopped off at Starbucks. I couldn’t wait to step up to the counter and in one breath rattle off “tall green tea cream frap no whip” - which I can now say 10 times fast without biting my tongue having ordered it so many times - But M ordered it before I had the chance. “I’m sorry, we don’t have that anymore,” said the voice from behind the counter. “What?” I said frantically, “What do you mean you don’t have it anymore? You mean like… ever?” I started to panic. “It may be back next spring,” the barista said with little sympathy. “Next spring?! Are you serious?” My eyes got a little misty. “Yes, I’m sorry,” she said, still holding the empty cup and pressing the black marker to it impatiently, “what would you like?” “Then I don’t want anything,” I said in a low and defeated voice, much like a 5 year old who didn’t get that pony she asked for, for Christmas.

M was unsympathetic to my dismay. “It tastes like they took all of the flowers from the garden in front of Starbucks and grinded it up into a drink,” he once told me after I forced him to sample my favorite green beverage. I almost didn’t forgive him for that… especially after the time he told me that it tasted like spinach, and I, as a result, tasted nothing but spinach until I got to the bottom of my clear plastic cup. Among other insults to my dearly departed, was that it tasted like GRASS. No it did not! It tasted like heaven… and now it’s sadly gone. Fall is officially here. I’ll have to wait another year before enjoying my favorite drink again and warding off discriminatory comments.

Kermit the frog had a point.

I haven't forgotten.

2005-09-13T17:04:00.000-04:00

“So, how is your boyfriend?”

The question was bound to be asked. “You mean from 4th of July?” I answered back, my voice dropping at the same speed at which my heart sunk. “Oh,” he said, in a voice close to a whisper, “I see.” “Yeah,” I said dryly, a little surprised and relieved that no tears had sprung to well up in my eyes, “We broke up four days later.” “You two seemed pretty in love,” he said not looking up at me as he spoke, perhaps waiting in case the tears did come. “We were.” “Then why did you break up with him?” he asked. “Actually, he left me,” I said, each word going through me like thread through a needle stitching me with the coarse thick thread of the reality I didn’t want to speak. “Wow, but, he seemed so smitten with you. You two seemed so happy.”

How long ago was July 4th that the memory of it is so far from me? As my coworker put it, this was the summer that never was for me, the summer that I once thought would be the best summer of my life. And yet, it never happened. At least not in the way I expected.

“I never want to see another firework again,” I said with a trace of sarcasm that vainly concealed my bitterness, and then laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “I hear you. I’m still in love with my first girlfriend.” I paused. “You can’t say that,” I reprimanded, “You’re married!” “Yes,” he replied, “but I never got over her.” “Bet your stomach would drop if you saw her enter a room then?” I asked, feeling as though I was conducting my own research separate from our organization. “Oh yeah, you never forget when you love someone like that.” I knew too well what he said was true. That’s when I decided I was doomed, and that the fact that my friendly coworker - who had scarce seen me since my final summer night with N - had helped me move my desk away from the window was a blessing because I wouldn’t be able to think about jumping out of it after that conversation as I surely might have.

Of course I’m only kidding. If anything, I felt OK after that exchange. I didn’t fall to pieces. I didn’t do the “girl-thing” and cry or get misty eyed reminiscing about times past. I didn’t even let myself remember. How much life can change in a couple of days, weeks, months, years, and yet not change at all.

When my coworker left, I settled in at my desk, facing the wall and the inside of the office. There on the desk, the same infamous post-it note I’d posted to make myself smile at any given moment back in May, “Remember to Cntrl+Click.”

I haven’t forgotten.

Looking Forward; Moving On

2005-09-12T14:27:00.000-04:00

If there was a way to go back into the past, there are so many things I’d change. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Would I go all the way back to the beginning? Maybe even back to before it started – if I could…

Sadly, there is no changing the past. Yet, all too often, we torment ourselves with thoughts of what should have/could have/might have been had we not gotten in our own way. Sadly, it’s too late; we already have. Sadly, the consequences will continue to play themselves out before us and there is no reversing them, though improvement is always a possibility if we are willing to work hard.

The past is little more than an abundant source of lessons, but we are slow to learn and when we realize our mistakes our inclination is to want to go back in time to correct ourselves – but we know we cannot. All we can do is try to set ourselves on better footing for the future and hope we will not trip ourselves up again. We probably will. The scars we’ll carry will be reminders. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better not to forget. If we forget, then we fall back into patterns that lead to the same end point. There's little use in repeating ourselves, but it's useful in some small way if we can see it that way.

I sometimes wish it didn’t take learning the hard way for me to actually learn, but it’s the hardest lessons that we remember most and what we derive from those darkest places that makes us that much more grateful when we again find ourselves in the light. I'm reaching for it this time. I'm looking forward. I'm moving on.

I am hurting; I am grateful.

2005-08-31T07:04:00.000-04:00

Words, lyrics, poems, pour out of me like music lately, and yet, I feel as though I can barely carry a tune on my own. Gone to me are the days when I sang for the worship team for the church across the street. Now it is little more than a brick wall that faces my apartment in the same way so many brick walls both real and imagined now stand in my way. Now, I'm just one of the 2,000 voices at McLean Bible's Frontline, and yet, it's in my time of despair, when I feel so anonymous, that I seem to hear my own voice so clearly. Why has there always been so much creativity in suffering for me?

I believe I've blogged on this before.

When I was younger, I remember the sounds of screaming - dogs barking, walls banging, dishes sometimes breaking - and I remember how I drowned it out only with the words I poured out on the pages of my notebook. Waves of creativity washed over me so often, it was a wonder that I was first published at age 10 and that the story that won my admission to Duke University's Creative Writing program at age 15 was entitled, "These Walls."

In this, my suffering is a blessing, even though it brings me back to such dark and deep places. I no longer feel numb. I no longer feel devoid of creativity. I am hurting.

I am grateful.

Couldn't Sleep...

2005-08-27T05:33:00.000-04:00

Don't usually like to post two poems in a row, but I woke up and had to jot this down... (freewritten again)
.....................................................................................

In The Wake of This
-------------------------------------
I wake and it's not to your face
though in vain I search the darkness
with slow heavy eyes
though I feel through the black of night
with numb unsteady hands
I will never reach you again, will I?
Your smile will never again wait
for me to wake
And in the wake of this
my heart beats like a funeral march
And I am dead without you
though you live and life goes on
for you so cruelly
I'm burried by the memories
heaped upon my shoulders
like so many handfuls of dirt
6 feet under, barely breathing
in this dark place I cannot sleep
If dreams could bring you back again
If the night could just take on your shape
and wrap around me like your loving arms
once did
I swear, I'd stay in darkness
I swear, I'd wish to never wake...

I Go On... (freewritten)

2005-08-26T09:46:00.000-04:00

Excuse me while I backslide
but you don't pardon me
from the images that haunt my dreams
and fill up my nights endlessly
the empty spaces in between the days
once occupied by you
Aside from stay awake, what can I do?

Told me I was too destroyed
still, I'm moving steps ahead
after every leap back,
after every misstep,
after everything you never said.
And I'll get there if I try
was never one to give up anyway
was I?

Forgive me for caring too much
for wanting more for you than I did me
sorry my foolish love was not enough
I gave you my heart carelessly
And though you hold it in your grasp
everyday your face, your voice, disappear for me
a little more
each day brings you closer towards
the past for me
I'm already yours.

Excuse me while I move on
you may think it's just pretend
someday you'll realize what you gave up
though I'm now lost, it's you that loses in the end.
And though the loss is all I feel
there's much more to believe in
Just give me some more time to work it out
I'll get past this point of grieving

My heart doesn't hear but my head knows
you're already too far gone
and I'm backsliding constantly... yet, somehow,
I go on.

Back to Life

2005-08-24T09:32:00.000-04:00

I lost the month of July. August is nearly gone to me. The summer that once promised to be the best summer ever never was. I saw none of it. It passed me by. And though I was content to escape the DC summer heat, I lost precious months that I can't ever get back. Fortunately though, I can move forward. And I have.

Somehow, I've managed to claw my way up out of that dark place I found in July and fell so deeply into in August. Though the healing comes slowly, it comes, and that's all that seems to matter. What a difference a little bit of hope can make. I guess the saying is true - that it only takes a little spark to start a fire. And even when the pain flares up and the tears fall - as they surely will again - it will not be extinguished.

The scars I've gained along the way may never be gone, and I may always be haunted by the memory of certain things, but I'm living; I'm breathing. Life goes on, and though it went on without me for a little while, I take comfort in knowing that while I've lost so much, I've also gained, and now I'm part of it again. And while that may seem minimal at best, it's something to hold on to.

And I do.

Wrong Lesson, Nancy

2005-07-28T17:50:00.000-04:00

“So what lesson did you learn from all of this?” he asked, pressing his fingertips together and leaning forward as though to pray.
“Not to ever let anyone get close to me again?” I shot back without looking in his general direction.
“Wrong lesson, Nancy.”

I smirked. Something about the sour look that stretched across his face when I said this made it seem all the more amusing to me, though on some level, I was entirely serious. Perhaps, I’m becoming cynical, or maybe I just choose to see things as they present themselves to me. And why shouldn’t I?

Why do people always assume that there is only one lesson to be learned from any given situation? Doesn’t perspective factor in anywhere into the assessment of an issue or experience? When did we start taking the value of our own unique perception for granted?

Perhaps, on some subjective level, he was right. Maybe that wasn’t the primary lesson or immediate response I should have given, but if it was my ultimate conclusion was it necessarily wrong simply because it differed from his? Wrong or right, some things are true whether you choose to believe them or not. Even so, can anyone ever really convince you of your own mind? (They can surely shed a little light.)

As I struggle to let go of the past, it keeps its hold on me. Who can tell me to forget it and move on before I’m ready? (Many have.) Yet, because my response has not been an immediate abandonment of all I’m feeling ("OK, I'm over it - Thanks!"), I’ve been perceived to be “dwelling.” I’m simply dealing. I’m simply recovering in the only way that I know how – as best as I can. And while I've been fortunate to have so many people looking out for me, in the end, it can only happen when I'm ready. (As I've been told.)

Shaken as I may be, I’m still aware of my own strength; I still have faith – that hasn’t changed, though the reminders have been helpful. I’m still the same girl and I still know my own mind (however crazy I may be at times). It’s my perspective that needs changing, and I know that time – and God - has quite a way of taking care of that. Eventually the tears will stop, the pain will subside, and the lesson – whatever and however many there may be – will have been learned. In the meantime, I’ll be learning.

The Logic of "I Love You; I'm Leaving"

2005-07-27T10:18:00.000-04:00

"I love you. I just can't be with you." How many times have these words been uttered, and how many poor heartbroken souls have grappled with them? But to what frequency or degree of honesty has their logic really been questioned or considered?

What kind of Love allows the option of leaving? The answer came to me suddenly this morning as I lay in my bed wondering whether N was equally disturbed by the loud noises coming from outside our building. Knowing his morning routine so well, I knew he was undoubtedly awake, though no longer here with me. There is only One form of love that provides an Exit Option, and it's the form that people are often most comfortable with: Love of Self. In many ways and for many reasons, this can be chalked up to Self-Preservation.
"I love you, but I can't take this anymore," which can be broken down logically to:

Desire to avoid conflict/Desire to ignore painful issues > Love for the beloved

Desire to protect self from getting hurt > Potential that beloved will be hurt

But is that true Love, when we know that love is not supposed to seek its own? What good is Love that is "unending" if the end result is that we leave behind the people who love us most to their own devices? Is that Tough Love or is it Counterfeit?

Undoubtedly, there is a great deal of pain one must take upon themself in administering any brand of Tough love, and where Self Love trumps Love of Another, a hedonistic approach will ultimately be preferred - one in which pain is minimized for the Absent lover and consequently maximized for the lover left behind. The equation - and results - becomes tougher on all parties involved. But how do you really quantify Love?

"I know he still loves me, even though he left me," I said as I gripped my knees with both hands and looked into his eyes as though I had all the confidence in the world in what I was saying.

"I don't know that you know what you think you know," he said.

This was Thinkspeak, undoubtedly designed to rob me of my conviction in the matter or to force me to question my own assumptions, however ill-conceived or comforting they might be to me. I just stared coldly back. I did not realize then that he was only applying cold logic to what I'd said. I decided to revise my statement, "I know he loved me as much as he was capable of loving another person." He seemed satisfied with that -- though I'm sure it's only because in the end he got me to admit on some small level that N's love was tainted or that I had been deceived. (A hollow victory, if you ask me.) Still, his words followed me long after our time together had ended and gnawed at my vainly concealed discontent throughout the night.

Why did I need to believe that N had loved me or might love me still? What purpose could it serve any longer? Was it a matter of a pride -- needing to be reassured that I had not been deceived? Was it a matter of having something from the past to hold on to -- a time to look back on and say "I was really loved?" (Surely for me, that is no small matter.) Or was it just a means of avoiding the unalterable truth: that in the end, whatever the logical breakdown or equation, N left me. Logically speaking, given the end result, saying he still loved me was little more than a parting gift. Maybe that's what I've been avoiding. Has my faith in his love become a poor justification for my own love? In any case, the further I break it down, the more I realize, that justified or not - and whether or not I ever have it "all figured out" - nothing changes. If all I have left is the Love in my heart, I have something, and what have I to lose by clinging to it? Peace of mind maybe? But that's a whole other equation... and I'm weary of logic this morning...

Sometimes, there is no sense to be made. Sometimes the only logical choice is to hold on to what is real for us even when there is no justification -- until we better grasp the truth. Eventually, we'll lose our crutches, and hopefully when that happens we won't be crushed by the weight of them when we fall... we undoubtedly will again. At least I'll do so knowing that I fought to hold on -- as illogical as that will surely sound to anyone who hasn't loved with utter disregard for their own heart. The love I have, unrequited as it may surely be, is still my own. There's strength in that.

Everyone Leaves

2005-07-26T02:15:00.000-04:00

Everyone leaves, even the tears run
down my face, tracing the paths your fingers once made
leaving no retribution, they wash nothing away.

And yesterday's words pale to emptied intentions
poured out in pages you've crumbled or lost
and your withheld confessions and misplaced affections
are depriving no one but you...

(And these lines that cut so deep,
these scars that are clinging to me,
are the only thing honest
And I'm not afraid of the truth.)

Don't need to drown you down, or search for peace of mind
at the bottom of every empty bottle
not even in the shattered glass is there salvation to be found
though I can't remember the taste of you now...

Soon I'll forget your face,
the touch of your skin, your pale green eyes
and the words that you whisper again in my head
will all be replaced
by broken memories, by unkept promises,
the lessons derived from your poisoned truths,
the unintended lies

Poured myself out for you to see
can't say you don't know what you left behind
Sorry I was too broken for you,
and too content to drag you down with me,
too weak, but too willing to make your demons mine

And after all of this...

And after all is said and done...

Nobody stays,
that's what I told you once
(you were mistaken)
Everyone leaves...
Even the tears run.

The Way It Is

2005-07-22T19:29:00.000-04:00

If I’ve learned anything in my 23 years of life, it’s to never be surprised. When you let your guard down to the point that something another person can say or do can shock you, you know that you’ve missed a step somewhere along the way. How often do we project our rationale onto other people and expect that their thinking follows the same operating principals we live by only to wake up and realize that we’ve had it wrong the entire time? We rack our brain over and over again trying to figure out “how” someone could do something they’ve done because “we would never” do it, but we fail to realize that their abilities in this area might differ from our own. How often have we been thrown by the actions of others because our feelings clouded our ability to really perceive them or our hoping against hope has led us to the delusion that we can really “change” another person? I guess the frequency of incident isn’t as relevant as whether or not we’ve learned from them.

You cannot ever expect to get an orange from an apple tree. That is what I told my mother today as she went off on another long and drawn out tirade regarding my father about how “shocked” she was by his recent behavior. I wasn’t shocked at all. Sadly, I’ve come to expect certain things and it appalls me that after 20+ years, she has not accepted the way he is. (She is still reaching for oranges.) Instead, she chooses to tear herself up, wondering “how” and “why,” while all the while it’s been clear that whatever the reasons are, that’s the way it is. (This is why I chose to forgive him today.) There are certain things in life that we won’t like – certain things that will tear us up regardless of whether or not we accept them willingly – but the important thing is to make peace with those things, to realize that we are in no position to argue with “the way things are,” and to resign ourselves to making better choices.

Choices are that which we have control over and it’s those very choices that define – or destroy – our lives, if we let them. Choosing to accept is not always the easy choice – nor is choosing to forgive that which we cannot understand – but it’s in our hands, and it has the potential to set us free from the chains we place upon ourselves and give us a peace we would not otherwise find.

To love another person you need to really see them. To accept someone for what they are you need to really know what they are. Yet, at the same time, you can’t take anything for granted, because – as I’ve learned – things in life can come along to blind us or distract us from certain truths. I’ve accepted certain things; I have hope in my heart. There is peace in that.

A Lesson Upon Waking

2005-07-19T16:06:00.000-04:00

The rain was crashing down again outside the window, but the world outside would never be the same. I’d been given new eyes, and the nightmare that so abruptly, and almost accurately, materialized, took shape in everything surrounding me, to the point where there was nothing in me, nothing in my life, that it didn’t touch.

When I got home from the hospital on Saturday night and saw the blog that I’d last posted, it sent a cold chill down my spine. I’d never imagined when I wrote that Friday morning - a week and a day before - that by that night, before I could even close my eyes to sleep, the world would change in such a similar fashion - only this time, I wouldn’t have the red blanket to draw near to - though I found myself reaching for it so many times in the night over the course of my stay. Something about that color, that blanket, that reminded me of the full red moon I witnessed unlike any we had ever seen before, that recalled for me how cold my skin had been against the chair up on the roof and how soft it felt against my legs. In one instance, those nights were lost to me, and even though I couldn’t see the sky for so many days, I knew it would never be the same sky again, that nothing would ever again seem as beautiful, and the fact that I was unable to get outside did not matter as much as the fact that the world I knew had disappeared, much like a dream upon waking, in spite of what a wonderful dream it had been.

We often can’t control our dreams, but when we sense that we are dreaming and anticipate that we’ll be woken, we cling to the images, we try to stay longer (as I did this morning), and it’s seldom our fault when we wake and the dream is lost and we cannot remember. Sadly, in life, there are choices we make; we can choose, whether it’s our intention or not, to shatter the very dreams we build, if we try to hold on too hard. I wish that I had believed those words when I first heard them, and while wishing does precious little to turn back time, I learn from them what I can now, I carry them with me; I don’t forget.

Is it EVER Really "Different?"

2005-07-07T06:32:00.000-04:00

When does the past cease to be a lesson? The correct answer is never, but all to often, we forget to remember that. Why do we feel the need to define every relationship as being "different," anyway? How many times have we used this as the end-all excuse in trying to explain away our feelings or justify feeling a way that others may not understand? "I'm telling you, I can't explain it, but THIS time, it's DIFFERENT." Who are we kidding anyway?

I suppose that if I knew the answers, I wouldn't be writing this blog. Most likely, I'd be richer than Oprah and selling more self-help books than Dr. Phil, Joel Osteen, and Rick Warren put together. But although we don't profess to know all the answers -- well, most of us don't, but this is Washington and there are many people here who firmly believe that they fully grasp the truth -- does that mean we shouldn't ask the questions?

How many times have we really taken the time to examine the pieces of our shattered pasts? Have we really considered the causes or extracted the necessary lessons we should have learned? Or have we been content to repeat them, believing that eventually we'd learn our lessons, resigning ourselves to the notion that we really only learn the hard way anyway?

Sad to say, but true, this is often the case, and it is often this willingness to forgo deep "dwelling" over the past that safeguards us from becoming cynical in the face of new possibilities. "This time it really WILL be different." But has there been change? Have we really come away from the past with anything of substance to aid us in the present or possibly carry us through to the future? Or have we accepted the vicious circle that our lives have become, throwing ourselves without caution into relationship after relationship in the hope that eventually the madness will end?

I'm learning daily that love is a rollercoaster with downs as intense as ups, and that, no, it does not get any easier. Whether we accept how clueless we are, or are convinced that we have it all figured out, we are still being educated. Only now, we risk being proven wrong or foolish -- but do so in favor of extracting all the joy we can from the moment, because the moment may be all we've got and is the precious little we can really hold on to.

Why do we - who've healed after having been hurt - continue to play Russian Roulette with our hearts? Probably because the pay-off is so great -- and the game is so exciting.

Isn't that what it's all about anyway?

Moo-ving up In My Career

2005-07-06T20:09:00.000-04:00

Just when it seemed that my professional creativity was going the way of the dinosaur, along comes a project that not only re-energizes me but allows me to do what I love to do more than anything – write, more specifically, blog! – in a professional manner. And, better yet, it involves moo cows, which anyone who knows me knows I LOVE!

While the issues surrounding energy, the environment, telecom, and regulation may not be entertainment to everyone, I’ve certainly found it amusing to some degree. In what other job have I had the opportunity to sit and ponder jokes about barn-yard animals that might make for a witty analysis of “milk order marketing mandates?” Wasn’t that fun to say? Say it with me now…

So today - unlike the family farmers who stand to be crushed by this regulatory burden - it was very easy for me to see the glass as being half-full -- especially now, as I await the posting of my very first blog to the organization’s website! You know you want to read it… I mean… what could be more exciting than USDA regulation concerning regional pooling and pricing provisions? For me – only having the opportunity to employ an abundance of milk and cow-related puns – and “publicly” call government rule-making “stupid!”

On days like this, I love my job.

iPod in Pain

2005-06-30T14:45:00.000-04:00

After waiting one month for it to arrive, I have finally joined the cult of NOVA yuppies who ride the Metro and wander DC fashioning the tell-tale white earbuds that fill their heads with streaming music. I am now a proud iPod owner, and aside from the fact that my ears are clearly too small to accommodate these earbuds (clearly made for giants only), and the fact that listening to music is not only a source of constant entertainment, but physical pain for me, I am very pleased.

It goes without saying that at this time, I am very much regretting having pierced my tragus a year ago. For those of you who do not know what a tragus is, calm down, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m referring to my inner ear - the cartilage that extends from your face to where your ear begins – supposedly, the most painful part of your body to pierce. (It has continued to hurt ever since I got it.) If you don’t believe me, I dare you to try it, or better yet, squeeze your finger nails gently into both sides of the cartilage and see how much of that you can tolerate. I kid you not. In any case – I clearly digress – given this, you can only imagine how uncomfortable it has been for me to jam these super-human-giant-sized earbuds into my ear every five seconds when they fall out. In fact, my tragus – which is now nearly purple from the abuse it’s put up with since I got my iPod - has been the cause of many a conversation with random strangers on the Metro who’ve inquired about how I manage to comfortably use earbuds given my obtrusive piercing. Obviously, I don’t manage. It’s horrible.

Nevertheless, I love my little turquoise iPod -- little and compact, just like me. Every so often, I spot another iPodder who gives me a nod or a smile and I wonder how I managed to get by before becoming a member of this digital music fraternity. Every so often, I spot some poor misguided soul, still stuck in the past, wearing huge earmuff style headphones and holding a 5lb CD player in their hand, and wonder when they too will be enlightened. As I wander through the streets of Arlington, Virginia, blasting The Used or listening to the lead singer of My Chemical Romance scream his freakin head off into my ear, I am content to have a soundtrack to my life.

I’ll be more content, however, when my new (midget-sized) earphones come in next week. Hopefully, before my tragus falls off! Either way, as long as the song remains the same, I’m sure I’ll be content…

…<3

Loster than Lost... AGAIN

2005-06-23T13:29:00.000-04:00

As anyone who knows me knows, if I were to walk outside of my apartment, close my eyes, and spin around three times, I would probably not be able to find my way back to the door. For these and other reasons, I've often considered investing in a portable GPS tracking system, and have taken heart in the fact that I don't now, and never will, drive.

God knows that I've been on many adventures that involved being lost. (I wasn't nicknamed "Lassie" for nothing!) I mean... who could forget "trekking cross-country" from New York to DC (I'm not too good with maps either!) with Re a couple of years ago? It's still hard for me to not to laugh when I think about how many times we accidentally found the same ditch somewhere in Virginia (I'm still not sure where) 3 times! Or how we stopped 5 cars and asked for directions, each time getting more hopelessly and irevocably lost. My favorite instance, however, had to be on the morning we headed back.

Re and I had been lost for some time by this point, and being that I don't drive, I was content to go through a Pottery Barn catalog (imagining I could afford anything in there) while she tried to figure out where we were going. We stopped a couple of strangers who actually had great directions. Re spoke to them -- she seemeed to know what they were talking about by the way she was nodding her head in between her intermittent giggles that she is seldom able to control when she's nervous -- so I just continued circling and checking off items in my catalog. When the couple left, Re rolled up the window and drove off before turning to me and asking, "Where do we have to go?" I, of course, had no idea, and must have been so preoccupied that I didn't realize how bad what I'd say next would sound. "Didn't you write it down?" she asked frantically. "Write it down? What do I look like?" I blurted out. Fortunately, after being "on the road again" for so many days (being lost in the same 5 mile radius of our Crystal City hotel), Re was prepared for this from me and instead of fighting, we laughed and mused neurotically until we found another couple to give us directions, that we ultimately used... to get more lost.

The memories from this trip were not far from my mind on Tuesday when, much in the same fashion, my inability to drive or pay attention to directions, caused me and my best friend Em to get loster than lost -- ironically, in the same 5 mile radius of Crystal City that Re and I spent 3 days navigating.

Em and I were on our way to a cookout. Em was starting to get cranky as she always does when she is unbearably hungry, and I, of course, had no clue where we even were. After driving through the winding and inexplicable maze that is Crystal City, we gave up and decided to go home before it got dark. Little did we know that on the way home we'd somehow end up in Prince George's County (famous for having the highest murder rates in DC), North Capitol, and almost in Anacostia (another stellar area). Nor could we have imagined that we'd finally find our way back to Arlington, only to miss our exit and end up in Springfield, Virginia. Unfortunately, Em was not as amused by my directional/attentional deficiences as Re was, but that did not stop me from laughing about everything from the way in which Em locked the doors everytime a car with six people pulled up alongside us blasting gangsta rap, to the blinding lights in the tunnel which caused me to put my sunglasses on in the middle of the night. No, sadly, Em was not amused, and as we drove deeper and deeper into the ghetto, suddenly my sense of humor started to wane as well -- up until our car was filled with toxic fumes from the gas leaking out of a beat up, stripped down chevorlet riding along side us, when I announced that we should look on the bright side, noting that we hadn't spontaneously combusted.. yet.

Fortunately, we escaped unscathed, with no bullet holes or muggings to mention. Sadly, Em never got her hamburger or beer that night, but what she did get was a lesson: NEVER EVER EVER assume that Nan has the faintest clue as to where she is... EVER.

Perhaps investing in that GPS tracking system isn't such a bad idea afterall...

...<3

EBay Listing: My Life, Good Condition, Slightly Used

2005-06-20T10:44:00.000-04:00

In spite of my Tiffany jewelry and Coach bag and wallet (none of which I actually purchased myself), I've always considered myself to be a girl of simple means and tastes (OK, so maybe not with clothes!). But with regards to the so-called "finer things in life," I can honestly say that I've never been known to be materialistic. Yet, in 2 short days, I've learned: In spite of whatever preconceived notions you have about how much you have, it's a strange and scary thing to sit down and look at the things you value, only to realize of what little value they really are.

Yesterday, I found out that I lost my editing job (aka my livelihood). This job was the only reason that I was able to keep my [$400k] apartment [that is being ripped out from under me as Ballston slips further and further into its imaginary role as MANHATTAN] and not move into a cardboard box on the corner of Fairfax Drive when my rent was raised by $200 in April. This would also explain why I've been able to live in such a great little corner of Arlington while working a public policy/non-profit (aka I make no money) job without slinging plates anymore at the local pub and grille, as I did before. And it got me thinking... how much does the value we assign to the things we value translate in the outside world?

So sadly, yesterday, after receiving the upsetting news, I set about to search my apartment for anything of any value that I might be able to sell on EBay. Very sadly, the list of things worth value included some antique vases that I'm not permitted to sell should I wish to remain in the family, my Apple iSight which I no longer need now that X is out of the picture (now filed under EBay Listing#...), and... well... that pretty much sums it up! As for things that I've bought and do not want, the list falls short at a poorly chosen John Mellencamp CD (what was I thinking? I know!) and a Velvet Revolver CD I recently bought but was unimpressed with. Yeah... that should NOT be too helpful in regards to making rent.. huh? Do you think anyone would want to buy X's old t-shirt or a stuffed frog I won at a street fair?

So, as I continue to examine the contents of my very humble little life, I realize that although I do not have all too many possessions, the things I value are those that others would not appreciate...

And that gives me a much greater appreciation for the things I have...

...<3

Bella's Monthly Quotes (2)

2005-06-19T22:26:00.000-04:00

For those of you who followed my previous blog, you'll recognize this as my monthly update on the ridiculous exchanges I've partaken in over the past month (I've taken the liberty of separating them into neat little sections this time):

WOST PICK-UP LINES OF THE MONTH and OTHER FLIRTATIONS:

"You're not a princess! You're a Queen" - some weird guy at Legacy (NY)

"T-I-G-E-R Tiger! Rarrrrr!... Cat eyes" - some weird guy at the Georgetown Waterfront - who was actually serious!

"If you didn't come up here tonight, I was going to start knocking on doors on the 2nd floor asking for sugar."

"You have a boyfriend? Sorry you have that problem. Let me know if there is anything I can do to fix that for you" - at the Georgetown Waterfront

STATEMENTS MADE BY MEMBERS OF JENN'S FAMILY AT HER GRADUATION PARTY

"Dance with him! He likes big-breasted women" - eloquently put by Jenn's dad

"When you dance, it's like, You are shaking everything." - another of Karim's insights

"Cyn, I think Nan's more Arabic than us" - Christina commenting on my belly-dancing

RANDOM INSIGHTS

(on Coldstone Creamery)
"Nan, seriously, it's so good, I want to lay down and roll around in it," - Em
"I want to wash my hair with it." - N

(on driving)
"This guy's riding my @ss like he's getting paid for it" - Em, with another of her well-put driving observations

(on pedestrians)
"What are they crossing the border?" -Anonymous

(on the row of 6 beauty marks I have trailing from my face to down my shirt)
"Oh, I see where this is going." - N

(on affectionate behavior resulting from alcohol consumption)
"She's not drunk, she's amorous" - a stranger at the Wine Festival

(on shoes)
"Right now my pinky toe and my big toe feel like they are being held for questioning... 'I swear I don't know anything'" - me to Em on our hunt for the perfect shoes (see "Footing the Bill")

(on dinner)
"Em, dont be 45 minutes late this time, otherwise I really will eat my shoes and then we'll be running around 3 malls this weekend looking for new ones."
"Don't you eat during the day?"
"No. I'm trying to save up for the mall(s)."

(on inside jokes)
"I love the Alien"

"That's why I make the big bucks!" - :/

BEST ADVICE

"Nan, seriously, you really need to learn to draw the line"
"Yes, I clearly need lessons!" - an exchange between Jenn and I after a night that has been banished from my memory
(The follow-up statement a few days later: "Isn’t it sad that after everything that happened this weekend, I’m most inclined to write about my shoes?!")

"Be careful. I can't tell you to be good, but I can tell you to be careful" - My grandma (Ma) before I got off the phone with her to go upstairs to Nick's

CNTRL+Click!

Footing the Bill

2005-05-30T14:45:00.000-04:00

As the saying goes: "If the shoe fits, wear it." So today, after much resistance, I reluctantly strapped on my new beige sandals that I swore I'd burn before I'd ever wear again and stepped out for the first time this weekend. You see, this is how girls are, we search and search for the perfect shoes - much in the way we do for the Perfect Man - and then, we succumb to the sad reality that they do not exist - or that they are not all they were cracked up to be - and end up paying dearly for our inadequate misjudgment. In the case of my beige strappy sandals, my pinky toe bore most of the burden.

So today, in my most uncomfortable new addition to the corner of the closet set aside for the shoes I'll most likely never wear again, I set out to not one, not two, but THREE shopping malls in search of the next "great pair." Now, this is not to say that I did so blindly. I, of course, had M to lead my way – and, much like my stance on relationships, I knew exactly what I was looking for.

My love affair with these shoes started much in the way of old time movies. They caught my eye a while back and I was filled with deep regret after having walked away from them. So for the past three days, M and I set out on a state-wide manhunt (shoe hunt) in search of the Steve Maddens that had captured my heart not too long ago.

With so many desperate singles turning to the Internet for hope, why did we not try the computer before we decided to set out on such a long and hard fought journey –in stiletto heels?

To make a long story short, after trekking across Fair Oaks, Tyson's Corner, and Dulles Malls, M and I resigned to her parent's house where we undertook a world-wide (Web) search for the shoes that had eluded us all weekend. And there we found them. They were, of course, at a much higher price, but I suppose there is a high price for everything in life.

Today, my feet paid mostly.

Playing Games (Breaking all the Rules)

2005-05-18T14:48:00.000-04:00

As little kids, we loved playing games: hide and go seek, Chinese manhunt, spin the bottle (maybe loved that one a little too much), freeze tag, etc. As we became older, we found other ways to enjoy ourselves, yet, even so, we never learned to let go of the game-playing.

Take for instance the infamous 3-day call-back rule. Heaven forbid that a guy should call a girl he likes BEFORE the 3 day waiting period! He’d be called “obsessed,” “desperate,” or other unkind words that I will not state here. While this rule may work for guys who are not altogether interested - allowing time for whatever they said to gradually be forgotten, thus making it easier for them to sink back into oblivion - girls have not fared so well. Not only do we have 3 excruitiating days of anxiety when faced with the prospect that we’ll never be hearing from our latest prospect again, but our sick imaginations are allowed to run wild: “He lost my number,” “My cell phone must have gone out of service when he called,” “He just didn’t want to leave a message,” etc. Who are we kidding anyway? This in itself also leads girls to do stupid things like start up a national MANHUNT so they can find out exactly what went wrong. "Maybe I shouldn't have signed up for the Do Not Call Registry... what was I thinking?" Poor things.

Has "He's Just Not That Into You" helped our situation or worsened it by reinforcing these self perpetuating myths?

Interested guys are also the victim of this self-imposed torture, which causes girls to think that if the guy doesn’t DISOBEY the rule it means they aren’t interested. And there are even guys out there (Dare I say it?) that think if a girl doesn't call THEM it means they don't want them to call either! This, in turn, can lead them to forgo calling, which brings us back full circle to one party or the other behaving badly. If he calls too soon, he likes us too much. If he doesn't call soon, he doesn't like us enough. If we never hear from him again, he clearly is searching to the ends of the earth to find our misplaced number or it is time for us to change phone companies because Verizon CLEARLY is conspiring against us! So no matter what a guy does, he is basically wrong, right?

Who started this nonsense anyway? I’d like for someone to give me THAT person's number!

Yet, while we all know about the immaturity and stupidity surrounding the 3-day call-back rule, have we abandoned it?? In my case, we’ve embraced the NEVER call-back rule, which may make me unfit to even be writing (or ranting) about this!!! Maybe it’s something that makes us feel younger, you know? A 30 year old might feel youthful and carefree playing these games; it may show him that he’s still got his stuff. ((SWOON)) I’m so impressed…

If there’s one thing I’m tired of right now it is traditional GAME playing. If I wanted to play a game, I would go in the closet and take one down... not prey upon some poor, unsuspecting, and otherwise naïve male and draw him into this web of contradictory relationship rules where he ultimately loses. Why are we all so keen to just accept these rules without questioning? (We didn't even accept the rules in our childhood games!) So much for adult non-conformity!

Aw well, I guess that makes me a rebel. I’m just breaking all the rules, aren't I? ;)…

Lost Soles RIP

2005-05-16T14:51:00.000-04:00

Maddens, Steve, 3 years-old, survived by loving partner Nunzia who took great care in repairing numerous injuries even when crazy glue was required, will be sorely missed. Remains have been scattered at Union Station.

I am not superstituous, nor do I believe that Friday the 13th holds any special powers. However, on this Friday the 13th, I had the WORST luck.. when I was parted from the most loving sole(s) I've ever known... my favorite black strappy sandals!

For 3 years, and in spite of any new emerging trends, I refused to trade my beloved sandals for more modern models. Year after year, twisted ankle after twisted ankle, I crazy glued the straps back on and strutted around in them as though they were Manolo Blahniks. Some of my fondest memories include sitting at the Inner Harbor watching X glue my shoes back together before we could go to the aquarium... and then gluing them again in front of the aquarium when we were too late to be allowed admission. Black cat or not, these black shoes had nine lives.. and promised to have more. What went so tragically wrong?

Well, on Friday, as I walked towards the train (I was headed back to NY for the weekend) just minding my business, I suddenly went flying out of my shoes as the entire top tore off. Aside from the fact that I was mortified to have soared out of my shoes in such a crowded arena, I was devastated that the long journey I had walked in those shoes had come to a bitter and unexpected end. We would neve take another step together... what a sad realization.

Standing there, mouth open, wearing only one shoe and being watched by the many people who witnessed me go flying (as gracefully as an ostrich), I begrudgingly opened my bag to remove my uncomfortable 6 inch black heels - my only other black shoes - which will now have to fill.. err, replace.. those shoes... hard shoes to fill, in any case. I bitterly crammed my abused feet into the inferior taller replacements.

Sadly, I dropped my beloved, departed sandals into the garbage pail at Union Station as I continued on to my destination, hoping that no one witnessed this improper burial as I hobbled onward at new and terrifying heights, clacking all the way...