I posted a rant post last night, part of my personal therapy, I suppose. A few hours later, I pulled the post, feeling like I was at the prom and had just discovered the back of my dress was tucked into my pantyhose.
But today, I put it back.
And here's why.
One of the support groups that helped me get well has this saying "sharing our encouragement strength and hope". That's why I started this blog. To tell my evolving redemption st0ry and to have a place to post my aha! moments. Like I've said before, I am redeemed, and I cannot shut up about it.
So I had said from the start that this blog would have no rants. That I would get my shit togther offline and tell y'all about it later. I made an exception last night, and I have decided to let it stand. My reason for leaving a post up that makes me look like I have my prom gown stuck in my pantyhose? Jealousy.
Jealousy?
Yeah. Let me explain. I received an email from someone I care about, a girlfriend I've known for a little over a year telling me basically "don't call me I'll call you I can't stand being around you anymore because you have everything I want and I'm so jealous I just can't stand it anymore."
I actually didn't feel angered or hurt by this. I felt a profound respect for her. Because I've been there. And mercy is contagious.
I believe there are two kinds of jealousy.
Envy-which says the only good in the world is the good I do not have therefore I will stew in resentment and misery
Desire for more-which says I really want what they have enough that I will get honest with God and another human being about my desire and I will do whatever it takes to have what I desire, one good choice at a time.
So that's why I tattled on myself. Let the rant stand. Because I wanted to show that living alive to pleasure received through the senses and committed to enjoying my man and being enjoyed by him for life sometimes isn't easy. And really, most of the time, the problem is between my two ears. My own thoughts. My own attitudes. My own choices. Something can happen that rocks my confidence, and then I open my own mouth in griping and helpless tantrum anger and make the situation oh so much worse. Which is what I did last night. Chuck Swindoll said "perfectionists are people who take pains—and then give them to other people." Sigh. Raise my right hand. Yep. Here I am exhibit A.
So what happened?
What choices did I make between my fit of woes at 10:30 last night and 9am this morning?
Well, I made a few good choices.
I got honest with God, myself and another human being.
I spilled out my wrath onto the page and asked a few of my girlfriends to read it and pray for me. God, that's what I love about online community. Someone is awake and online somewhere at 10:30pm. I even did what might seem risky or downright foolish. But when desperation trumps pride it's amazing what you'll do to get well. I called my Mom. At 10:30 at night, I called her. I knew they'd be awake, and they were. Eating popcorn and watching a movie with Beloved Child. I told her, "Mom, I screwed up and I want you to pray for me. I had sucky nonexistent boundaries and so I spent what was supposed to be dinner with my husband talking with my mother about my office which I had gone to the salon in a valiant attempt to ignore. Because I didn't want to think about work this weekend. It's totally my fault. You did nothing wrong. It's my deal. I just want to ask you to pray for me because I am really mad at myself for not speaking up. Because I know you and I know you know wives and mamas need Grandma babysitters for a reason. And if I had said "Mom I really want dinner with just my husband tonight" you would have whisked Beloved Child away and bought him a burger on the way to your house. But I didn't. And I'm really mad at myself." "Is your husband mad at you?" "NO! It's me. It's my dumb choice and it's me who's angry at me. Will you pray for me?" And she did. Then she said "you can go have fun tonight. You can forgive yourself. You can do that."
My sweet girlfriend who was awake at 10:30pm and online sent me the sweetest email that said, "Quote >>
And when I'm angry at myself in close proximity to Delighted Husband, it sounds like I'm angry at him. But I'm not. I'm angry AT myself NEAR him.
<< Quote
I hear you. I'm so sorry that the conditioned "yes" response escaped your lips! BTDT. I feel your pain tonight, I really do. You'll do better next time!!!"
It meant the WORLD to me. I began to feel like "Hey Miss Girl. Snap out of it. Forgive yourself. Your unforgiveness toward yourself is hurting your husband. Get off the cross! Somebody needs the wood!"
I walked over to the microwave where I have this little quote from The Message. "Bridle your wrath, cool your pipes. It only makes things worse."
So I crept back to bed. Snuggled up to Delighted Husband and whispered an apology into his shoulder blade. "Did you really have a tantrum and talk all mean and angry, honey? I thought it was just a bad dream."
Ack!
Thus began a second helping of humble pie. My sincere apology. I began to pet and stroke his hair. And with every happy murmur he made, I felt my tension release. I forgave myself my little boundary boo-boo. I forgave myself for my fit of anger towards myself. I can be so mean to myself. And it makes me so mean to the people who love me. Shit rolls downhill.
Why am I telling y'all this?
Because I want you to know that the love I have with Delighted Husband is real. And sometimes hard work. And anything good I have. Anything good I have to share with y'all is mine because of the grace of God, the love and support of some healthy loving friendships, and my one good choice at a time.
Don't be jealous of my life.
Go build your own. One good choice at a time.
I'm just a regular girl who has made a series of good choices and has been humble enough to backtrack my bad choices and let myself be loved in spite of them.
Nobody (besides yourself) will be happier for you than me. Because I will know how much it cost you. And I will celebrate you and respect you so much. Every little victory matters so much.
Lordy! I hope this comes out right. I'm afraid it might sound uppity, but there I am with my prom dress tucked into my pantyhose and there's nothing haughty about that! (smile shaking head rolling my eyes) What I am trying to say is I love y'all, and I want you to be well. Almost as much as I want my self to be well. And I've recieved so much love from this online community. So much support for my halting steps toward good choices. I feel it's the least I can do to tattle on myself and let you know how your love and prayers have made such a difference in my life and marriage.
If this made any sense to you whatever, please have mercy on me and let me know. A girl likes to think she didn't bare her pantyhose for nothin! (laugh)
Love,
SW
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Touch-Beauty-Love
I had the hardest time thinking of a title for this one so I'll just tell my story and see if a title presents itself.
I sang on the way home from work today. Happy songs. Thrumming beat that felt like joy. I sang angel of harlem and i sang it just for a friend of mine who I know loves this song. Zooming down the freeway, I moved my arms like a forties USO torch singer and enjoyed myself so much.
As soon as I got home, I ran in the house to kiss Delighted Husband and then dashed off to my neighborhood salon. I love the lady who owns the salon and she loves me back. Which is why I felt comfortable dashing in unannounced and asking for an impromptu do. "Five minutes, no problem" she said.
I sat down in her chair, swigged my icy cold bottled water, savored my atkins almond joy, and waited. Within five minutes, I felt her comb sliding along my scalp, giving her a good look at just how long it had been since I'd taken my sweet self in for scheduled maintenance. It had been too long. But life happens. "He-looo. You no been here long time. I so happy see you. You want same? Same roots? Same highlights?" "Yes, darlin'," I told her, "same is great. same is perfect. give me same."
She knows I am hot-natured, and I had been dashing into my house and out of my house, pausing just long enough to kiss Delighted Husband hello, kiss Delighted Husband goodbye, and change out of my fancy work duds into some running shorts and a t-shirt that I wear to the salon because I wouldn't care if they got hair color gel on them. She'd seen me literally jog into her salon and ask her if she could do me, so she knew I was hot. My sweet hair lady, brought a fan over to my station, a nice tall pedestal fan that swishes back and forth, planted it right in front of my chair, aimed it at my flushed and sweating-at-the-temples face, and turned the fan on high. Maker of Heaven and Earth, did that feel good! "Thank you sweetheart!" I looked at her with a smile that reached my eyes.
She ran back "behind the curtain" which could be a post unto itself. It's so Wizard of Oz how the Sacred Prophets Of Hair dissapear Behind The Curtain into The Sacred Unseen Place and come back bearing the Sacred Oils Of Transforming Power and Beauty. Looking at it like a sociologist, I feel like I woke up in the Egyptian exhibit at a museum. And who wouldn't want to feel like that?
I was touched by what came next. Happy and wired and rushed as I was, having just dashed in from the 95 degree outside world, I was hyperaware of my skin, my hair and my overall awareness of touch. Which is why the Sacred Oils of Transforming Power and Beauty, which for me were a cold white gelpaste that she paints on the roots of my hair. Oh my God, y'all it felt SO GOOD. My sweet hair lady brushed cold paste all over my scalp.
the power of intent. I felt how much love and care was in her touch. You can tell.
Remember that "kids say the wisest things" email that circulated a few years ago where the little 8 year old girl says, "never let your mom brush your hair when she is mad at your dad". Remember that? Well, the exact opposite is true. When my Sweet Hair Lady works on my hair, I can tell that she cares. Not just cares about doing a good job but cares about me. She enjoys watching me feel better.
Delighted Husband and Beloved Child are hungry. And we can't go to dinner till my hair is done and I get home to pick them up, so I tell Sweet Hair Lady this and ask her for a second dryer and round brush so I can help. I dry and style the front of my hair, SHL dries and styles the back. We look like a sitcom. Two laughing girls trying to hurry my hair dry as soon as possible.
By the time she is done, I feel like the belle of the ball. Sweet Hair Lady's mother, who also works at the salon, speaks very little English. But her smile is genuine. "You look like movie star!". I smile back and toss my head. "I feel like movie star!" I say. I leave them an extra big tip and rush out the door.
I sang on the way home from work today. Happy songs. Thrumming beat that felt like joy. I sang angel of harlem and i sang it just for a friend of mine who I know loves this song. Zooming down the freeway, I moved my arms like a forties USO torch singer and enjoyed myself so much.
As soon as I got home, I ran in the house to kiss Delighted Husband and then dashed off to my neighborhood salon. I love the lady who owns the salon and she loves me back. Which is why I felt comfortable dashing in unannounced and asking for an impromptu do. "Five minutes, no problem" she said.
I sat down in her chair, swigged my icy cold bottled water, savored my atkins almond joy, and waited. Within five minutes, I felt her comb sliding along my scalp, giving her a good look at just how long it had been since I'd taken my sweet self in for scheduled maintenance. It had been too long. But life happens. "He-looo. You no been here long time. I so happy see you. You want same? Same roots? Same highlights?" "Yes, darlin'," I told her, "same is great. same is perfect. give me same."
She knows I am hot-natured, and I had been dashing into my house and out of my house, pausing just long enough to kiss Delighted Husband hello, kiss Delighted Husband goodbye, and change out of my fancy work duds into some running shorts and a t-shirt that I wear to the salon because I wouldn't care if they got hair color gel on them. She'd seen me literally jog into her salon and ask her if she could do me, so she knew I was hot. My sweet hair lady, brought a fan over to my station, a nice tall pedestal fan that swishes back and forth, planted it right in front of my chair, aimed it at my flushed and sweating-at-the-temples face, and turned the fan on high. Maker of Heaven and Earth, did that feel good! "Thank you sweetheart!" I looked at her with a smile that reached my eyes.
She ran back "behind the curtain" which could be a post unto itself. It's so Wizard of Oz how the Sacred Prophets Of Hair dissapear Behind The Curtain into The Sacred Unseen Place and come back bearing the Sacred Oils Of Transforming Power and Beauty. Looking at it like a sociologist, I feel like I woke up in the Egyptian exhibit at a museum. And who wouldn't want to feel like that?
I was touched by what came next. Happy and wired and rushed as I was, having just dashed in from the 95 degree outside world, I was hyperaware of my skin, my hair and my overall awareness of touch. Which is why the Sacred Oils of Transforming Power and Beauty, which for me were a cold white gelpaste that she paints on the roots of my hair. Oh my God, y'all it felt SO GOOD. My sweet hair lady brushed cold paste all over my scalp.
the power of intent. I felt how much love and care was in her touch. You can tell.
Remember that "kids say the wisest things" email that circulated a few years ago where the little 8 year old girl says, "never let your mom brush your hair when she is mad at your dad". Remember that? Well, the exact opposite is true. When my Sweet Hair Lady works on my hair, I can tell that she cares. Not just cares about doing a good job but cares about me. She enjoys watching me feel better.
Delighted Husband and Beloved Child are hungry. And we can't go to dinner till my hair is done and I get home to pick them up, so I tell Sweet Hair Lady this and ask her for a second dryer and round brush so I can help. I dry and style the front of my hair, SHL dries and styles the back. We look like a sitcom. Two laughing girls trying to hurry my hair dry as soon as possible.
By the time she is done, I feel like the belle of the ball. Sweet Hair Lady's mother, who also works at the salon, speaks very little English. But her smile is genuine. "You look like movie star!". I smile back and toss my head. "I feel like movie star!" I say. I leave them an extra big tip and rush out the door.
Friday, June 27, 2008
SW rants
Oh my God.
I cannot believe I did this.
Do yall ever have this thing where you get around your mother and you just revert to a nine year old and say "yes" when inside you are screaming "no".
I had a hard week at work.
Hard.
I wanted to get geared up to think/have/do sex this weekend.
So right after work, I went to the salon and got all dolled up. It was so good for my self esteem. The whole scalp massage, getting beautified thing was just wonderful. I put on a pretty dress, touched up my makeup and generally looked like a million bucks. I felt so gorgeous when I got home that I blogged about it. I have a half finished blog post saved in my drafts.
Why did I not finish the post and post it?
Well, I'm so glad you asked.
I cut my post short which I truly ache whenever I have to do it, because for me, when I have this beautiful moment and I write about it, I get to keep it forever. Oh and ya'll get to read it too.
So I cut my writing short. Stop mid sentence because. A week ago, I arranged for Beloved Child to go to Grandma's. I arranged for Grandma to pick up Beloved Child Friday night at 8 so Delighted Husband and I could have the evening alone together. Grandma is late. I call grandma and find that she is running late. Delighted Husband is starving. We were supposed to eat as a family before Grandma arrived but I am late from the salon since they gave me the royal treatment and I felt like a million bucks, but it was too late for dinner before Grandma.
So I call Grandma and wangle a way for us to hand off Beloved Child in time to have dinner as a couple. We agree to start driving toward Grandma and meet at a restaurant. I kiss Beloved Child and put his backpack in Grandma's car. Then Delighted Husband and I walk toward our favorite burger joint and Grandma says, "How about Beloved Child eat with y'all now and I just stay and keep you company?"
And what do I say?
Like an idiot, I say "yes".
OH WHY OH WHY DO I DO THIS SOMETIMES?
It's like Pavlov's dogs! I go into Obey Mother Mode.
With genuine friendly loving interest, Mom asks about my job.
I answer her questions.
Which means I spend the entire evening tallking about the job that I went to the salon to leave behind.
I feel increasing anxiety but I cannot pin it down.
Delighted Husband is now a bystander in my conversation with my mom.
THIS IS A REAL PROBLEM.
Eating dinner out is foreplay.
Pure and simple.
It works like this.
I get dolled up. It makes me feel good inside. I start to "own it". I start to connect with myself as a woman for who I am not as an employee who is valued only for what she can do. I start to feel gorgeous and womanly and beautiful.
Thus begins an entire tennis match of nonverbal flirting, all throughout the meal.
I think to myself, "I am so hot and you are so hot and I cannot wait until your hotness and my hotness collide."
and I make bedroom eyes at him.
and he makes bedroom eyes at me.
Waiters sense what is going on and begin to flirt with me in front of him.
All very innocent and appropriate. No hotel keys are passed on the table. But I get extra free drinks or special desserts or whatever because the waiter can feel the heat between Delighted Husband and I and they stand next to the fire and warm themselves.
All this happens nonverbally while Beloved Child talks about Astros or Nintendo or whatever.
Two conversations happening at once.
God, Delighted Husband is talented!
To Beloved Child he says, "Why yes, Lance Berkman did blah blah blah at the blah blah ballpark new record something something."
To me with his eyes only, he says, "I am going to tear your clothes off of you when we get home but first let me just enjoy looking at them."
Much eye contact and surreptitious lip licking takes place at our table.
It's hot.
and THAT is what was supposed to happen tonight.
But nooooooooo..... I went into obedient little girl mode. and ruined it all.
My Mom did nothing wrong. She didn't disrespect my boundaries.
I just didn't have any.
OHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I'm so angry at myself!
And when I'm angry at myself in close proximity to Delighted Husband, it sounds like I'm angry at him. But I'm not. I'm angry AT myself NEAR him. But who wants to fuck an angry woman?
Sigh.
Y'all wanna hear the lovely beauty salon post anyway?
I cannot believe I did this.
Do yall ever have this thing where you get around your mother and you just revert to a nine year old and say "yes" when inside you are screaming "no".
I had a hard week at work.
Hard.
I wanted to get geared up to think/have/do sex this weekend.
So right after work, I went to the salon and got all dolled up. It was so good for my self esteem. The whole scalp massage, getting beautified thing was just wonderful. I put on a pretty dress, touched up my makeup and generally looked like a million bucks. I felt so gorgeous when I got home that I blogged about it. I have a half finished blog post saved in my drafts.
Why did I not finish the post and post it?
Well, I'm so glad you asked.
I cut my post short which I truly ache whenever I have to do it, because for me, when I have this beautiful moment and I write about it, I get to keep it forever. Oh and ya'll get to read it too.
So I cut my writing short. Stop mid sentence because. A week ago, I arranged for Beloved Child to go to Grandma's. I arranged for Grandma to pick up Beloved Child Friday night at 8 so Delighted Husband and I could have the evening alone together. Grandma is late. I call grandma and find that she is running late. Delighted Husband is starving. We were supposed to eat as a family before Grandma arrived but I am late from the salon since they gave me the royal treatment and I felt like a million bucks, but it was too late for dinner before Grandma.
So I call Grandma and wangle a way for us to hand off Beloved Child in time to have dinner as a couple. We agree to start driving toward Grandma and meet at a restaurant. I kiss Beloved Child and put his backpack in Grandma's car. Then Delighted Husband and I walk toward our favorite burger joint and Grandma says, "How about Beloved Child eat with y'all now and I just stay and keep you company?"
And what do I say?
Like an idiot, I say "yes".
OH WHY OH WHY DO I DO THIS SOMETIMES?
It's like Pavlov's dogs! I go into Obey Mother Mode.
With genuine friendly loving interest, Mom asks about my job.
I answer her questions.
Which means I spend the entire evening tallking about the job that I went to the salon to leave behind.
I feel increasing anxiety but I cannot pin it down.
Delighted Husband is now a bystander in my conversation with my mom.
THIS IS A REAL PROBLEM.
Eating dinner out is foreplay.
Pure and simple.
It works like this.
I get dolled up. It makes me feel good inside. I start to "own it". I start to connect with myself as a woman for who I am not as an employee who is valued only for what she can do. I start to feel gorgeous and womanly and beautiful.
Thus begins an entire tennis match of nonverbal flirting, all throughout the meal.
I think to myself, "I am so hot and you are so hot and I cannot wait until your hotness and my hotness collide."
and I make bedroom eyes at him.
and he makes bedroom eyes at me.
Waiters sense what is going on and begin to flirt with me in front of him.
All very innocent and appropriate. No hotel keys are passed on the table. But I get extra free drinks or special desserts or whatever because the waiter can feel the heat between Delighted Husband and I and they stand next to the fire and warm themselves.
All this happens nonverbally while Beloved Child talks about Astros or Nintendo or whatever.
Two conversations happening at once.
God, Delighted Husband is talented!
To Beloved Child he says, "Why yes, Lance Berkman did blah blah blah at the blah blah ballpark new record something something."
To me with his eyes only, he says, "I am going to tear your clothes off of you when we get home but first let me just enjoy looking at them."
Much eye contact and surreptitious lip licking takes place at our table.
It's hot.
and THAT is what was supposed to happen tonight.
But nooooooooo..... I went into obedient little girl mode. and ruined it all.
My Mom did nothing wrong. She didn't disrespect my boundaries.
I just didn't have any.
OHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I'm so angry at myself!
And when I'm angry at myself in close proximity to Delighted Husband, it sounds like I'm angry at him. But I'm not. I'm angry AT myself NEAR him. But who wants to fuck an angry woman?
Sigh.
Y'all wanna hear the lovely beauty salon post anyway?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Beauty That Nourishes
Fatigue is a powerful force and it takes something equally powerful to counteract it.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Beauty.
Delighted Husband and I have been working some long hours at our respective jobs. Both of us feeling a fatigue of unusual intensity. Fatigue is more than sleepyness or the sense of needing to sit down and catch your breath after an intense game of basketball. Fatigue is a bonewearyness of body and soul. This is what we're dealing with.
We arrive home and after sending one last important email I step away from the computer and walk with him toward the bedroom. We cuddle and he tells me about his day. About the stresses and strains of daily work life. I listen and blurt out sympathy and indignation. Our companionship is sweet. Two best friends sharing the victories and griefs of the day. Suddenly, he rolls on top of me. I blink in surprise. Then smile at what he says next. Then smile at what he does next.
Companionship, love, marital play all satisfied, hunger is the next need in line. He heads for the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal. That is one of the most adorable things about him I think—how Delighted Husband is pushing forty and still enjoys a bowl of colorful cereal with the unabashed gusto of a little boy. I prefer more substantial fare, and find the thought of sugary cereal on an empty stomach deplorable.
I doze and luxuriate until my stomach starts to growl. I close my eyes and remember waffles. I remember when my Daddy used to cook on the nights my Mama had to work late at her floral shop. That's right. I get the business owner bug honest. And her store was there to offer beauty and joy to women as well. What a heritage. So on nights Mama was working late into the night like Santa's elves to bouquet-ify an entire wedding party, Daddy would make waffles. Waffles. I hadn't had waffles in years.
I ambled into the kitchen, nearly stood on my head in front of the island cabinet, and dug out the waffle iron. While it was heating, I opened a box of whole wheat bisquicky stuff and whipped up a batch of waffle batter. I'm pushin' forty myself and my waffles are more carb-healthy than Daddy's but the thought still counts. I anoint my waffle with real butter and maple syrup—not even sugarfree stuff, the real McCoy—and take a bite. I swallow and sigh and think "God bless us all every one." I listen to my audiobook and savor the waffley bliss. By this time, Delighted Husband is in the gameroom playing Wii. The chirpy happy music and roaring car engine noise tells me he is off to the races with Mario Kart.
Having savored my waffle, I want something lush from the protein category. I know just the ticket. I whip up a batch of eggs the way Friend Dennis makes them. Spicy and seasoned just right with mushrooms and cheese. I remember the first time he cooked these eggs for us on the first morning of one of the vacations Friend Dennis and his Dearly Beloved took with me and Delighted Husband. I remember how special it was to have someone cook for me. Me the one who loves to cook being cooked for and how cared-for that made me feel.
And I feel cared-for all over again. Remembering the meals my Daddy and my friend cooked for me, I feel it and taste it all over again, and I feel nourished body and soul.
Such simple pleasures. Such beauty. And I experience the wonder of feeling nourished and satisfied instead of hungry and fatigued. Simple things will get you through, my friends. Simple rest. Simple play. Simple food. Simple love. Wow, do I feel better.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
After Glow
I'll tell you the same thing I've told all my girlfriends to whom I recommend scheduled sex and they wrinkle their nose and say "ohh but wouldn't that take all the fun out of it?"
Girls, I have walked into an evening of scheduled sex at many stages of arousal, desire, or lack thereof.
And I've never regretted it.
Ever.
I could tell you that making love regularly creates hormonal bonds with your husband, boosts self-esteem, and promotes an overall sense of well-being, ease, and satisfaction. But perhaps you'll understand it better if I tell you a little story.
It's 8:30pm and I have just been loved truly, madly, deeply and past the edge of reason. And now Boy Scouts are over and it's time to go pick up Dear Child. I groan, and stretch and peel myself out of bed. I'm looking for a little consolation prize so I decide to try on that cute little sundress that was too small the last time I tried it. It fits. Yeah, baby! This is just the boost I need. I glide out of the house pausing briefly to slip on some sandals.
I pull up to the door of the church and the scoutmaster who happens to be the pastor walks out with a smile and props his elbow on my drivers side mirror in a conversational pose.
"Wellll hellloooo!"
I give a quick little smile and beckon Dear Child into the SUV. Friendly Pastor will not be dissuaded.
"So how was date night?"
"Great!" I cannot suppress a smile.
"So where'd you go for dinner?"
I stammer, "Um, we, er, We had a picnic" I hope this is at least partially true. I think we ate something before we got busy. I could not tell you what we ate if my life depended on it.
"Ohhh a picnic! Great idea! Where'd you go?"
I feel the heat suffuse my face and know a blush is blooming over my cheeks. "Uhh, we had our picnic at home."
There is a brief tiny flash of recognition and Friendly Pastor draws back like he's been stung. He backpedals admirably with "Well thanks for letting Dear Child participate in our program! We sure had a fun time tonight!"
I smile a proper motherly smile and thank him right back. What I want to say but don't...
No problem, Rev. We wouldn't let him quit if he wanted to! We need the free babysitting!
Dear Son is hungry, so I drive him to Subway and I walk over to Starbucks to get a decaf sugarfree cinnamon dolce.
My walk becomes a saunter as I think of all the things I just did with Delighted Husband. To the casual observer, I am a thirtysomething housewife. A curvaceous soccer mom who shops at Lane Bryant. But I know I am a sex goddess. And Delighted Husband knows it too. I smile. Just feeling good in every joint of my body. I feel lithe and relaxed and absolutely gorgeous. Gorgeous is as gorgeous does. And gorgeous does. She certainly does.
Girls, I have walked into an evening of scheduled sex at many stages of arousal, desire, or lack thereof.
And I've never regretted it.
Ever.
I could tell you that making love regularly creates hormonal bonds with your husband, boosts self-esteem, and promotes an overall sense of well-being, ease, and satisfaction. But perhaps you'll understand it better if I tell you a little story.
It's 8:30pm and I have just been loved truly, madly, deeply and past the edge of reason. And now Boy Scouts are over and it's time to go pick up Dear Child. I groan, and stretch and peel myself out of bed. I'm looking for a little consolation prize so I decide to try on that cute little sundress that was too small the last time I tried it. It fits. Yeah, baby! This is just the boost I need. I glide out of the house pausing briefly to slip on some sandals.
I pull up to the door of the church and the scoutmaster who happens to be the pastor walks out with a smile and props his elbow on my drivers side mirror in a conversational pose.
"Wellll hellloooo!"
I give a quick little smile and beckon Dear Child into the SUV. Friendly Pastor will not be dissuaded.
"So how was date night?"
"Great!" I cannot suppress a smile.
"So where'd you go for dinner?"
I stammer, "Um, we, er, We had a picnic" I hope this is at least partially true. I think we ate something before we got busy. I could not tell you what we ate if my life depended on it.
"Ohhh a picnic! Great idea! Where'd you go?"
I feel the heat suffuse my face and know a blush is blooming over my cheeks. "Uhh, we had our picnic at home."
There is a brief tiny flash of recognition and Friendly Pastor draws back like he's been stung. He backpedals admirably with "Well thanks for letting Dear Child participate in our program! We sure had a fun time tonight!"
I smile a proper motherly smile and thank him right back. What I want to say but don't...
No problem, Rev. We wouldn't let him quit if he wanted to! We need the free babysitting!
Dear Son is hungry, so I drive him to Subway and I walk over to Starbucks to get a decaf sugarfree cinnamon dolce.
My walk becomes a saunter as I think of all the things I just did with Delighted Husband. To the casual observer, I am a thirtysomething housewife. A curvaceous soccer mom who shops at Lane Bryant. But I know I am a sex goddess. And Delighted Husband knows it too. I smile. Just feeling good in every joint of my body. I feel lithe and relaxed and absolutely gorgeous. Gorgeous is as gorgeous does. And gorgeous does. She certainly does.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Recreation=Re-Creation (the healing do-over)
Oh! I feel all better today. And I want to tell you why, and how God did it, and how we helped. Because I think knowing this will help a lot of people.
The last week was kind of a blur. All of us at the SW/DH household coasted into the driveway on fumes. Empty tanks--emotionally, physically, you name it. And Delighted Husband and I knew we both had to work Saturday and we were just flatlined about it. Could barely fog a mirror at the thought.
I remember thinking "God help" and I don't even think it was that coherent. But God heard. And God knew exactly what to do. (this is one of my favorite things about Himself) God sent my friends.
One friend sent me an email that said essentially, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you. You're working too hard. It's fine for you to be excited about this new calling God has invited you to, but you have to honor yourself and your family with the pace in which you do it." Wise man. And Grace of God I did not let my pride get in the way of hearing him. And Grace of God I did not let my pride get in the way of hearing Him. Cause they were singin' a duet. No doubt about it.
Another friend called me to check on me. After a few hiccups and interruptions I finally started to tell him the story of the last few days and the condition I was in because of it. Frazzled. Tired. Excited, but with an increasing sense of fatigue that had started a feeling of lowgrade panic. He listened--patiently, sympathetically--telling me that he and his wife had been praying for us. Then he smiled (I could just hear it through the phone) and said, "You know us guys, we have this tendency, this need, to want to 'fix it'. And even though I've listened sympathetically, and I think you feel supported, I just have this male need to offer a suggestion. Can you humor me?"
Sure!
"What I think you should do, is play. And do something really special. And get the whole family involved. And later, after the kids are in bed, in your own inimitable way, you should love your husband and let him love you."
And folks that's exactly what I did.
I called Delighted Husband and told him I was planning a night of fun and recreation and I wanted to know where he wanted to go out for dinner. A nice dinner. He was a bit surprized by the recommendation. Surprized in a good way. I mean I could tell his brain hadn't even been on the "how can I reward myself tonight" trajectory. Ding! Score one for Friend Dennis.
"Uh, wow, hon. What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Oh, nice dinner. Any place you like. And by any place, I mean you don't have to pick a place that can accomodate my athletic training diet. I'm going off-plan tonight. And I'm not the least bit worried about it. I hardly ate any carbs or calories earlier today anyway, but that's not the point. The point is you can pick the place YOU want to eat, not the place that it is the most likely source for non-breaded lean protein. Easy, baby. What are you hungry for?"
And he named the restaurant.
Done.
"What else do you have in mind?" his voice is a bit lighter now. Hope is growing.
"A movie in the gameroom. Something funny and lighthearted with the kids, and lots of cuddles during and afterward."
"Oh? Great! We should have plenty of Netflix in the mailbox."
Friends, I am delighted to report that--after a delicious dinner of casual yummy decadent food--we snuggled into comfy chairs and comfy couches and watched National Lampoon's Vacation. The classic one. The kids had never seen it and I hadn't seen it since college.
We laughed ourselves to the brink of goofyness and beyond.
There is something so healing and intimate about laughter. Laughing together. And catching the eye of someone you love and watching them get the joke and enjoying their laughter more than you enjoy your own. We did that all night long. Eyes sparkling, kids giggling, guffaws and belly laughs from Delighted Husband and me.
It. was. wonderful.
And at the end, when the the closing credits rolled, and the first line of the song was sung,
We went dannnncin, cross the U. S. AAAAAAAAA, on that craaaazy king's highwaaaaaaaay
I got up out of my recliner and said,
"Kids, it's time to dance."
"Oh no Mom, really. I'm fine. You go ahead and enjoy."
(translation: you go right ahead goofy mother I am waaaay too cool for that)
Before I can form a reply, Delighted Husband says "Mommy's right. Get up and dance."
Groaning and halfhearted shuffling, they dance, as I am twirling and laughing round the room.
Next thing I know, Delighted Husband is laughing and taking them by the hand and leading them in a silly squaredance. I grab two wrists and join in. We make a meandering circle, first one way and then another, with Delighted Husband leading the switch in a sudden haphazard motion designed to keep us too goofy to try and be graceful. I am laughing at full guffaw. So is Delighted Husband. One dear child is still being a pill.
Whiney voice:"Daddy's pulling my wrist. He's going to pull it OFF! Waaah waah gripe gripe"
I keep laughing and hug him close and sing along with the movie, "Well if you were dannnnncin, your wrissssst would not get pullllllllled."
By some small grace, they got it. Dear Child shook and chortled with laughter while still enveloped in my arms. Their shaking shoulders under my hands were one of the sweetest sensations I've ever felt.
We continued our Goofy Squaredance of Love until the song ended and the credits ran out. We were all high from the endorphins of laugh. It was glorious.
Delighted Husband went straight off to bed because he has to get up pre 6am.
Dear Child who finally danced asks me to stay in his room after tuck in "just to keep me company". He's not stalling to defer sleep. I can tell he really means it. I sit down on the Zepplin pillow in the corner of their room, and Dear Child crawls into his bed. I don't remember what we talked about, or if I even said anything at all. We were just happy and warmhearted, quietly breathing the same air in the room.
"I wish I could hold your hand."
"Okay, baby."
Dear Child scrambles out of the covers, wiggles down to the foot of the bed, lays his cheek on one hand and reaches for me with the other. I sit there, just breathing, calmly and silently, and hold his hand. I have to reach, and my delt starts to burn, but I don't care. My Alex P. Keaton too-cool-to-dance son, mumbles, "I love you mom" and falls asleep holding my hand.
The last week was kind of a blur. All of us at the SW/DH household coasted into the driveway on fumes. Empty tanks--emotionally, physically, you name it. And Delighted Husband and I knew we both had to work Saturday and we were just flatlined about it. Could barely fog a mirror at the thought.
I remember thinking "God help" and I don't even think it was that coherent. But God heard. And God knew exactly what to do. (this is one of my favorite things about Himself) God sent my friends.
One friend sent me an email that said essentially, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you. You're working too hard. It's fine for you to be excited about this new calling God has invited you to, but you have to honor yourself and your family with the pace in which you do it." Wise man. And Grace of God I did not let my pride get in the way of hearing him. And Grace of God I did not let my pride get in the way of hearing Him. Cause they were singin' a duet. No doubt about it.
Another friend called me to check on me. After a few hiccups and interruptions I finally started to tell him the story of the last few days and the condition I was in because of it. Frazzled. Tired. Excited, but with an increasing sense of fatigue that had started a feeling of lowgrade panic. He listened--patiently, sympathetically--telling me that he and his wife had been praying for us. Then he smiled (I could just hear it through the phone) and said, "You know us guys, we have this tendency, this need, to want to 'fix it'. And even though I've listened sympathetically, and I think you feel supported, I just have this male need to offer a suggestion. Can you humor me?"
Sure!
"What I think you should do, is play. And do something really special. And get the whole family involved. And later, after the kids are in bed, in your own inimitable way, you should love your husband and let him love you."
And folks that's exactly what I did.
I called Delighted Husband and told him I was planning a night of fun and recreation and I wanted to know where he wanted to go out for dinner. A nice dinner. He was a bit surprized by the recommendation. Surprized in a good way. I mean I could tell his brain hadn't even been on the "how can I reward myself tonight" trajectory. Ding! Score one for Friend Dennis.
"Uh, wow, hon. What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Oh, nice dinner. Any place you like. And by any place, I mean you don't have to pick a place that can accomodate my athletic training diet. I'm going off-plan tonight. And I'm not the least bit worried about it. I hardly ate any carbs or calories earlier today anyway, but that's not the point. The point is you can pick the place YOU want to eat, not the place that it is the most likely source for non-breaded lean protein. Easy, baby. What are you hungry for?"
And he named the restaurant.
Done.
"What else do you have in mind?" his voice is a bit lighter now. Hope is growing.
"A movie in the gameroom. Something funny and lighthearted with the kids, and lots of cuddles during and afterward."
"Oh? Great! We should have plenty of Netflix in the mailbox."
Friends, I am delighted to report that--after a delicious dinner of casual yummy decadent food--we snuggled into comfy chairs and comfy couches and watched National Lampoon's Vacation. The classic one. The kids had never seen it and I hadn't seen it since college.
We laughed ourselves to the brink of goofyness and beyond.
There is something so healing and intimate about laughter. Laughing together. And catching the eye of someone you love and watching them get the joke and enjoying their laughter more than you enjoy your own. We did that all night long. Eyes sparkling, kids giggling, guffaws and belly laughs from Delighted Husband and me.
It. was. wonderful.
And at the end, when the the closing credits rolled, and the first line of the song was sung,
We went dannnncin, cross the U. S. AAAAAAAAA, on that craaaazy king's highwaaaaaaaay
I got up out of my recliner and said,
"Kids, it's time to dance."
"Oh no Mom, really. I'm fine. You go ahead and enjoy."
(translation: you go right ahead goofy mother I am waaaay too cool for that)
Before I can form a reply, Delighted Husband says "Mommy's right. Get up and dance."
Groaning and halfhearted shuffling, they dance, as I am twirling and laughing round the room.
Next thing I know, Delighted Husband is laughing and taking them by the hand and leading them in a silly squaredance. I grab two wrists and join in. We make a meandering circle, first one way and then another, with Delighted Husband leading the switch in a sudden haphazard motion designed to keep us too goofy to try and be graceful. I am laughing at full guffaw. So is Delighted Husband. One dear child is still being a pill.
Whiney voice:"Daddy's pulling my wrist. He's going to pull it OFF! Waaah waah gripe gripe"
I keep laughing and hug him close and sing along with the movie, "Well if you were dannnnncin, your wrissssst would not get pullllllllled."
By some small grace, they got it. Dear Child shook and chortled with laughter while still enveloped in my arms. Their shaking shoulders under my hands were one of the sweetest sensations I've ever felt.
We continued our Goofy Squaredance of Love until the song ended and the credits ran out. We were all high from the endorphins of laugh. It was glorious.
Delighted Husband went straight off to bed because he has to get up pre 6am.
Dear Child who finally danced asks me to stay in his room after tuck in "just to keep me company". He's not stalling to defer sleep. I can tell he really means it. I sit down on the Zepplin pillow in the corner of their room, and Dear Child crawls into his bed. I don't remember what we talked about, or if I even said anything at all. We were just happy and warmhearted, quietly breathing the same air in the room.
"I wish I could hold your hand."
"Okay, baby."
Dear Child scrambles out of the covers, wiggles down to the foot of the bed, lays his cheek on one hand and reaches for me with the other. I sit there, just breathing, calmly and silently, and hold his hand. I have to reach, and my delt starts to burn, but I don't care. My Alex P. Keaton too-cool-to-dance son, mumbles, "I love you mom" and falls asleep holding my hand.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Ouch
My car was broken into tonight, ransacked and robbed.
No one was hurt.
We are all upset and creeped out and just generally ouched about it.
Prayer and comfort would be wonderful.
No one was hurt.
We are all upset and creeped out and just generally ouched about it.
Prayer and comfort would be wonderful.
Desire Purpose and Direction all Come Together
When was a teenager at youth missions training camp, one of the speakers said the following:
Someday, soon, all your desire, purpose and direction will all come together.
—Jim Graaf 1987
That was 21 years ago and I remember it—every word.
and here we are.
Those words seem especially, beautifully true today.
My doctor—a lovely brilliant psychiatrist who has taken care of me for ten years—told me this week that I'm the poster child for recovery from abuse and depression. Her comment surprised me as I was just in for a routine med check I didn't expect to talk about the last ten years, just the last 6 months. But she said it and after a brief flash of shyness I smiled, because I knew it was true.
Then she asks me if I'm writing a book to tell my story because I should.
I tell her yes I am and that I have also been writing a blog for over a year. She smiles and says 'creating a high quality blog takes a lot of work and creative energy' and 'you've worked really hard for this. you should be really proud of yourself'.
I paused and took a deep breath and looked in her kind intelligent eyes and said "Healing is its own reward. But I do receive your affirmation."
We part with smiles on both our faces.
I beam silently all the way to the car. Pausing briefly to stand in the office building lobby and remember all the times I have walked past this lobby to her office. Twenty times at least, ten years with every 6 month med checks and a few extra if I was having a bad episode. I think of the meds I no longer take because I no longer need them. I think about the maintenance meds I do take and how gratefully even keel I am now. How good my normal is. And I start for a split second to tear up with sentiment then I say 'no, this is all about celebration' and I stand there silent and hug myself inside and tell the woman inside of me how proud I am of her. I hear Himself whispering love in my thoughts"Baby girl I am so very very very very very very proud of you." I think of all the times I wanted to give up and didn't. And I smile with joy that can find no words.
I want to jump and cheer like my team just won the Superbowl, but there is a solemn feeling that keeps me from doing so. I think of all the horror and grief I waded through to get to this point and solemn joy seems the appropriate response.
I start to call some of my dearest friends to share the moment, but I close the phone and wait. I have such a profound sense of this being a moment just me and God. I walk to the car and then decide it's time to call Delighted Husband. He's been with me for many years of my journey. Our conversation is brief and affectionate. His pager goes off midsentence and we part with quick iloveyou's.
I have the feeling that something momentous has happened and I feel the urge to do like they did in the Old Testament and build an altar. Pile up some stones and scratch out a plaque that says, "Here God did something for me." Something tangible. So I ask Himself what do I do seeing as how piling up boulders really isn't an option for me. He says, "let's go shopping." So Himself takes me shopping at Target looking for something special to remember this day. "You'll know it when you see it" he says. I go straight to the lingerie department—my natural habitat—but nothing feels particularly "it". I feel led walk over to the athletic section of the store and I pick out 4 adorable colorful jogbras and a matching running skort. A size I couldn't fit 6 months ago.
And I remember for a split second how remarkable it is that celebration and rewarding myself does not automatically equal food. And I grin at this private joke and say to Himself in a teasing tone of voice, "Show off!!" because he really has shown off his power in me.
Someday, soon, all your desire, purpose and direction will all come together.
—Jim Graaf 1987
That was 21 years ago and I remember it—every word.
and here we are.
Those words seem especially, beautifully true today.
My doctor—a lovely brilliant psychiatrist who has taken care of me for ten years—told me this week that I'm the poster child for recovery from abuse and depression. Her comment surprised me as I was just in for a routine med check I didn't expect to talk about the last ten years, just the last 6 months. But she said it and after a brief flash of shyness I smiled, because I knew it was true.
Then she asks me if I'm writing a book to tell my story because I should.
I tell her yes I am and that I have also been writing a blog for over a year. She smiles and says 'creating a high quality blog takes a lot of work and creative energy' and 'you've worked really hard for this. you should be really proud of yourself'.
I paused and took a deep breath and looked in her kind intelligent eyes and said "Healing is its own reward. But I do receive your affirmation."
We part with smiles on both our faces.
I beam silently all the way to the car. Pausing briefly to stand in the office building lobby and remember all the times I have walked past this lobby to her office. Twenty times at least, ten years with every 6 month med checks and a few extra if I was having a bad episode. I think of the meds I no longer take because I no longer need them. I think about the maintenance meds I do take and how gratefully even keel I am now. How good my normal is. And I start for a split second to tear up with sentiment then I say 'no, this is all about celebration' and I stand there silent and hug myself inside and tell the woman inside of me how proud I am of her. I hear Himself whispering love in my thoughts"Baby girl I am so very very very very very very proud of you." I think of all the times I wanted to give up and didn't. And I smile with joy that can find no words.
I want to jump and cheer like my team just won the Superbowl, but there is a solemn feeling that keeps me from doing so. I think of all the horror and grief I waded through to get to this point and solemn joy seems the appropriate response.
I start to call some of my dearest friends to share the moment, but I close the phone and wait. I have such a profound sense of this being a moment just me and God. I walk to the car and then decide it's time to call Delighted Husband. He's been with me for many years of my journey. Our conversation is brief and affectionate. His pager goes off midsentence and we part with quick iloveyou's.
I have the feeling that something momentous has happened and I feel the urge to do like they did in the Old Testament and build an altar. Pile up some stones and scratch out a plaque that says, "Here God did something for me." Something tangible. So I ask Himself what do I do seeing as how piling up boulders really isn't an option for me. He says, "let's go shopping." So Himself takes me shopping at Target looking for something special to remember this day. "You'll know it when you see it" he says. I go straight to the lingerie department—my natural habitat—but nothing feels particularly "it". I feel led walk over to the athletic section of the store and I pick out 4 adorable colorful jogbras and a matching running skort. A size I couldn't fit 6 months ago.
And I remember for a split second how remarkable it is that celebration and rewarding myself does not automatically equal food. And I grin at this private joke and say to Himself in a teasing tone of voice, "Show off!!" because he really has shown off his power in me.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
School Issue Resolved
I had a long, productive, encouraging meeting with the Superintendent of the School District today. PhD and everything. I left the meeting with a deep sense of relief and resolve. She apologized for everything the school had put me through and assured me that she would make sure it would not happen again. I believe her. I could have pushed a little further and asked for an apology from the offending parties at the school, but I chose to heave a sigh of relief and let the school year go and let my mind sink into the relaxation mode of Summer. Summer has its own challenges trying to keep bright little minds busy while I am working. But y'all, I have a deep sense in my heart that the war with the school is over. Praise the Lord. Thank you all for your prayers. I knew you'd wanna know as soon as I had news.
Love,
SW
PS I am SO relieved! Oh my God. I have a crinkly green bag of new books from Barnes and Noble and an icy cold sugarfree decaf cinnamon dolce from Starbucks callin' my name. Oooh. Good for the soul.
Love,
SW
PS I am SO relieved! Oh my God. I have a crinkly green bag of new books from Barnes and Noble and an icy cold sugarfree decaf cinnamon dolce from Starbucks callin' my name. Oooh. Good for the soul.
Wanty Wanty
(smile of mama delight and fond remembrance) That's what Dear Son used to say when he was a toddler and he saw something he wanted. It wasn't a demand. (you must get that for me now) It wasn't a request. (mommy will you please get that for me) It was just an unedited spontaneous organic expression of desire. (oooh!)
I have a lot to learn from that kid.
And sometimes baby talk is the best shortcut past all the doubletalk and backpedaling we grownups do in our heads.
So. When I saw this poster telling me that Sarah Groves AND Derek Webb AND Charlie Peacock will be pouring out their hearts in song ALL IN THE SAME ROOM??
What else can I say at the mere prospect of getting the poetwoman who sneaks into my secret thoughts like the tooth fairy and then writes perfect gems, the secret ingredient that makes Caedmon's Call sound so good, and the beloved ally who validated my experience as an artist and as a woman and invited me to reach out for more in both arenas and was good enough to show me how and all within the covers of a book called New Way to be Human and with his kind words and listening eyes when Delighted Husband and I met him at a show. My God. What else can I say, but "Wanty, wanty!"
I have no idea how Himself will meet this desire of mine. But I'm going on the record. You heard it here.
I have a lot to learn from that kid.
And sometimes baby talk is the best shortcut past all the doubletalk and backpedaling we grownups do in our heads.
So. When I saw this poster telling me that Sarah Groves AND Derek Webb AND Charlie Peacock will be pouring out their hearts in song ALL IN THE SAME ROOM??
What else can I say at the mere prospect of getting the poetwoman who sneaks into my secret thoughts like the tooth fairy and then writes perfect gems, the secret ingredient that makes Caedmon's Call sound so good, and the beloved ally who validated my experience as an artist and as a woman and invited me to reach out for more in both arenas and was good enough to show me how and all within the covers of a book called New Way to be Human and with his kind words and listening eyes when Delighted Husband and I met him at a show. My God. What else can I say, but "Wanty, wanty!"
I have no idea how Himself will meet this desire of mine. But I'm going on the record. You heard it here.
Something Changed Inside Me
I've found myself humming this song countless times over the last 5 days. Sarah Groves has this uncanny ability to say just what I want to say. Only I didn't know I needed to say it. Until I hear her say it, and it's like finding a piece of your self in the lost and found and needing, wanting, reclaiming, rejoicing all in a split second. God love ya, Sarah. I certainly do.
Monday, June 2, 2008
New Direction
Hey y'all. Remember when I said, "I wish there was a way for me to get paid to talk about love in all its forms, sex, marriage, healing, personal growth, and receiving all the joy our five senses have to offer." Well God is granting me the desire of my heart.
I'm gonna get to hang out with y'all a lot more often!
and I'm so happy about that!
Remember that husband I was giving some suggestions to when I got the g-spot giggles? Well, right after that, another TMB husband asked me, "are you going to be putting together a recommended toy list with best price links for us?"
and it hit me. Honest to God, I've been so busy with my current job that I forgot. I'm already a Liberator reseller. You know, I actually got the paperwork approved quite some time ago. I am a Liberator reseller. It's my heart to offer Liberator products at a discount with enough profit to make it worth my while. I've got the URL reserved, I just haven't spent the development time and money to do the site.
If y'all would join me in praying about this, it would really mean a lot to me. With my current job coming to an end, now might be the right time to bring the online store to life. I need wisdom and direction as I want to do what's right for my family. As far as I can tell, that means I continue to earn an income. It would mean a lot to me to earn that income by helping women and helping marriages.
Okay. That was Friday.
It's Monday afternoon, and I hardly know where to start, so I guess I'll start by saying Wow!
God was really busy this weekend.
So was I.
In less than an hour since I first posted this prayer need, I've received offers to help get the website started and orders for Liberator products before the first page of the website even goes live!
I remember from waaay back in the day when I did Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God Bible study, he said "pray, and then watch what God does." "God is doing a work and he invites us to join what He is already doing."
God is obviously doing a work healing women and awakening marriages and he is allowing me to tell my story and play a part.
(happy sigh) My God. {literally}
I'm continuing to work on the project management and writing the content for the new site www.sensuouswife.com. In the meantime, the site is forwarded to this blog. Can y'all please pray for a really good CPA who understands e-commerce? So far, everything y'all pray for, God has been serving up on a silver platter, so I'd be dumb not to ask for more!
Love,
SW
PS It means the world to me that I'll be able to work at home with the kids this summer. I'm so deeply grateful. Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement.
One more thing....
I'm still doing my old job for a while which means I'm working two jobs right now. Please pray for strength and protection and quality time with my family.
I'm gonna get to hang out with y'all a lot more often!
and I'm so happy about that!
Remember that husband I was giving some suggestions to when I got the g-spot giggles? Well, right after that, another TMB husband asked me, "are you going to be putting together a recommended toy list with best price links for us?"
and it hit me. Honest to God, I've been so busy with my current job that I forgot. I'm already a Liberator reseller. You know, I actually got the paperwork approved quite some time ago. I am a Liberator reseller. It's my heart to offer Liberator products at a discount with enough profit to make it worth my while. I've got the URL reserved, I just haven't spent the development time and money to do the site.
If y'all would join me in praying about this, it would really mean a lot to me. With my current job coming to an end, now might be the right time to bring the online store to life. I need wisdom and direction as I want to do what's right for my family. As far as I can tell, that means I continue to earn an income. It would mean a lot to me to earn that income by helping women and helping marriages.
Okay. That was Friday.
It's Monday afternoon, and I hardly know where to start, so I guess I'll start by saying Wow!
God was really busy this weekend.
So was I.
In less than an hour since I first posted this prayer need, I've received offers to help get the website started and orders for Liberator products before the first page of the website even goes live!
I remember from waaay back in the day when I did Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God Bible study, he said "pray, and then watch what God does." "God is doing a work and he invites us to join what He is already doing."
God is obviously doing a work healing women and awakening marriages and he is allowing me to tell my story and play a part.
(happy sigh) My God. {literally}
I'm continuing to work on the project management and writing the content for the new site www.sensuouswife.com. In the meantime, the site is forwarded to this blog. Can y'all please pray for a really good CPA who understands e-commerce? So far, everything y'all pray for, God has been serving up on a silver platter, so I'd be dumb not to ask for more!
Love,
SW
PS It means the world to me that I'll be able to work at home with the kids this summer. I'm so deeply grateful. Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement.
One more thing....
I'm still doing my old job for a while which means I'm working two jobs right now. Please pray for strength and protection and quality time with my family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
