Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Memorial Day!

Memorial Day weekend is probably no different in Fairview Beach, where I live, than any other part of the country...the official kickoff of summer. Only we live in a small (two hundred homes or so) "beach/water community" so it's like people are sitting with boats already attached to their cars, watching, waiting for the end of the grey, dismal and isolating cloud of winter to the bright, cheery and social sunny days of summer.

This Memorial Day was a little different for many of us though. An incredibly loved and well-known young man from our county lost his life this past year in Iraq. Sadly, just a few days before Christmas, as Job says in the bible "The thing we feared, came upon us" when one of ours was included in the 22 victims of the first suicide bomber to penetrate a US army base Mess Hall in Mosul, Iraq. Suddenly, the war was personal and what seemed like the entire county joined together over the next few days at prayer vigils and memorials for 20 year old Nicholas Mason.

So, before picking up all the trimmings for our own Memorial Day cookout, Julie (my daughter) and I paid our respects at the families memorial for their son carved out of a wooded lot on their property. A place where he loved to play now bears a headstone with a picture of Nick standing on the bumper of an army vehicle. His dad said he was singing something while behind him a cache of discovered weapons is being blown up. It's really an awesome picture. It was so hard to hold back the tears as we were warmly welcomed and thanked by Nicks mom & dad. I don't think any parent could not imagine themselves being in these shoes.

We went on to grab stuff for the traditional hot-dog and hamburger fest. OUr kids invited some friends over and it ocurred to me that two of the four young people who came to our house last night have been to Iraq, so it was hard to celebrate Memorial Day, without truly considering, probably for truly the first time, what this day was meant to be. As we laughed and enjoyed the conversation and stories, I couldn't help but think that we only have the freedom to celebrate because of the sacrifices of so many soldiers and their families in these relatively short hundreds of years.

It's hard not to feel helpless when you dwell on it too much. About a month ago, I stumbled on "www.soldiersangels.com" Guess I was looking for a way to support the troops and wound up "adopting" Rachel, a young female soldier stationed in Al Ramadi, Iraq. I was excited to get to know her and send her care packages, etc... but, admit to feeling a little tinge of panic or fear when she sent pictures of herself and her friends there with her. Laughing, joking around, celebrating a buddy's birthday, my God, they're just kids...you forget. Guess it's easier not to dwell on it or see these numbers on the ticker tape running across the screen on the news and not be moved. Her pictures definately make it more personal. She says she's probably going to be there til Christmas, I think. I pray she'll be going home safe.

Well, just wanted to share my thoughts on Memorial Day. And say "thank you" to Nick's parents. You gave it all! "Greater love has no one than this; that He lay down his life for his friends."

Friday, May 20, 2005

It's almost June and STILL Freezing!

What is up with this weather? It feels more like the North Pole than Virginia. Sitting here with socks & sweats with a jacket and I'm still cold. I don't think it's ever going to get warm. I was looking for something to wear to a wedding and gravitated toward the winter clothes. Just thinking about wearing one of those little chiffon-looking dresses gave me goose bumps. I haven't bought a dress, or worn one for that matter, in so long...they all look like nightgowns or lingerie. I asked a salesgirl if she had anything to go under this cute little blue jacket. She handed me a multi-colored silk camisole topped with 2 inches of black lace. As I'm looking around, I realize they all look like that. "Do you have anything that doesn't look like I'm wearing my underwear?" I asked her. "Not much." I think I've been out of the loop as far as clothes go.


Well, I'd hoped to post a continuation...or conclusion of the previous post. Learning about being defined by the messages of others helped me understand why I think the way I think and feel the way I feel. The best news for me was to realize through faith in Christ, I can move on from the wounds and painful messages of others...

Anyway...as usual, so much to write...so little time. We're leaving in the morning for New Jersey, so won't get back to it til Monday. Enjoy the weekend. Hope it warms up...til then, I'm

Still..."Freezing in VA" :)

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

What's Your Story?

If you read the previous post, you might have already figured out that the little girl in the story was based on my own experiences growing up. Explosive outbursts of violence with more than one of the step-fathers of our childhoods were pretty much the norm and caused more hellish and chaotic nights than it seems that kids (my brothers and sister) should have to endure.

In his book, the Sacred Romance, John Eldridge basically said that everyone of us are in the middle of this huge 'epic'. He used the two little dwarves, elves...whatever those little guys in the "Lord of the Rings" are to illustrate: They'd just been through harrowing adventures and lost their beloved mentor when one makes the comment to the other something to the effect of "I wonder what sort of tale we've been dropped into?" It's like he just knew they were in the middle of something way bigger than themselves. The author then asks the reader; how about you? Do you feel that life is just a random series of circumstances and events or are we a part of a grander design, in the middle of an incredible story?

I guess I always thought that life was some random series of 'gloom' doom and bad "luck of the draw", karma or something. I remember saying on more than one occasion, "I must have done something bad in another life to deserve this mess." What the author went on to say is that we are molded or 'defined' by the messages of those closest to us. For me, right off the bat, my father's abandonment before I was even born handed down this feeling of insignificance & worthlessness. I mean if the father who conceived you didn't want you or love you, then why would anyone else? Along the way, my mom's own desperate quest for love & relationships became fiercely violent and abusive. Do you know what living in fear of explosive outbursts, that could suddenly and unexpectedly come out of nowhere, for no apparent reason will do to a kid or the adult that kid becomes? It develops a sort of "survival mentality" where you live fearful and distrustful of other people, always aware of a 'real' or percieved threat from another. You learn at a very young age, that you are not safe. Living with violence and the result of it brings such inconsistancy that you learn to compensate for the fact that there's really no on you can count on!

And that's just the childhood. All that stuff continues to grow and maybe you'll marry the same exact person and live the same exact life...or....you'll vow to live differently. Intend to stay married and live happily ever after. Boy is there a rude awakening! Quick! Many of us put way, way too much hope in a relationship. For me, never developing any sense of worth or significance left me vulnerable to the men in my life and subject to their reactions or approval. In other words, when they were pleased with me, life was good and I was happy. When they were angry, moody or abusive, it MUST be my fault, so life takes a nosedive. When you think about it, suppose the 'other' in the relationship never develops a sense of significance or worth either? What a mess! It's almost inevitable, you wind up feeling betrayed and disappointed. Where does that lead? Well, if you're like most, you wise up and really "see the writing on THIS wall;" there really is NO ONE you can count on. Anger, resentment, bitterness settle in and maybe not consiously, but as far as your heart is concerned, you make this VOW to never leave yourself vulnerable or trust again and maybe you don't leave physically, but, the protective wall of cynicism and sarcasm becomes inpenetratable. There is this picture I have of myself, when I worked in the beauty salon. It was halloween and I'm dressed as Wilma Flinstone, a big puff of white smoke in front of my face, from the cigarette I just took a drag of. A huge red sign hangs on the wall right behind me. In giant bold white letters it reads; S&%* Happens! What a perfect illustration of the resignation that this is as good as it gets and I'm powerless to change it.

The author calls this resignation a "loss of heart." Phychiatrists call it various forms of depression. We have more programs, medications and 'how-to' self-help manuals to deal with this stuff today than ever before and still the problem grows. He explains first that the "heart" is the very center of our being. It's where all of thoughts, motives, emotions and attitudes stem from. Its how we think what we think, feel what we feel. When the heart is deluged and crowded with all these abuses, betrayals, bad memories....all messages that we've allowed to define us, it can almost be tricked into believing that's who we are. BUT...in between, for every single one of us, no matter how bad life has treated us, there are these tiny sparks of inspiration sprinkled throughout our past. For me, it was a "mommom and Poppop" (grandma & grandpa) who I adored spending time with. Sometimes, in the chaos of our life, I'd wind up temporarily living with them. Poppop would rock with laughter when I would try and con them. I'd ask one for milk money when the other had just given it to me. My grandpa thought that was cute and I knew without a doubt, I delighted him. Mommom was stern and didn't laugh much, but there was something about her touch, her taking me shopping, laying out my clothes or walking me to school that provided a security I wasn't always used to. Later,in my high school years, there was a teacher, Miss L, who saw beyond the hooking school, coming to class high, the lack of participation and to my complete and utter surprise, took an interest in my life, encouraged me and remains a dear friend today.

In a day when TV choices were few, I can remember the impact of programs and movies. Admiring the seemingly normalcy of TV families and couples. I know it was fantasy, but I remember it brought an escape and hope that people didn't all live like we were living. An English class field trip to see "Romeo & Juliet" left me with unforgetable memories. This passionate fairy tale about two lovers willing to die rather than live without each other motivated all the girls in the class to read every detail of the two young actors. We wanted so badly to believe it was possible. Then there's the old Shirley Temple movies...remember them? When the "Little Princess" found her daddy. When "Heidi" found her grandpa. When the "Little Colonal" got her parents back together...I could go on and on. BUT...my point? The author's point? Every one of us have these passions, desires and desperate need to be needed, wanted and loved. The "Loss of heart" that many experience today is the hopelessness when we conclude with resignation that beyond the struggles and lifelong search for what we say is dignity, validation, happiness or justice, this; is as good as it gets.

Where does that come from? Where did we get these desires in the first place? You were born with them. We were all born with them. God Himself created you with the incredible desire to be loved. If we're honest, we all are desperately attracted to stories of unconditional, fulfilled love. We're drawn to reconciled relationships and passionate romances. Some will never admit that no matter where we come from, how bad life has treated us, we somehow just know this is true, in fact, I remember seeing something on Oprah and hearing her tell a guest that she couldn't remember one good thing about her childhood. But..this woman makes her living on knowing what jerks and tugs at heartstrings. Did she just figure that out on her own? No, she had to first figure out what moved and inspired her own heart. Did that originate with her? No, she just didn't fall into some magical formula that worked to make her millions. Oprah is a gazillionare because we were created to be inspired and moved by love. BUT...He's also the ONLY ONE who can fulfill that desire...and we would rather look anywhere else but God.

So...how about you? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. What's your story. I know one woman whose life was consumed and defined by the haunting words of her own mother telling her she was ugly and unwanted. She has since reconciled with God, and realizes that her mom was mentally ill, merely hanging on by a thread with her own desperate struggles. What were your messages? How is your life defined?

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Old Cowboys Never Die

Haven't had much time to post, so I thought maybe I'd just add some old writings. "Old Cowboys" is a story that centers around domestic violence, and the cycle of abuse, which often seems to replay itself, even with the most valient efforts to live differently.

I'll warn you now, it's kind of disturbing, but I think it's worth sharing every once in a while because, unfortunately, this is the life that many children experience daily. Maybe even someone you know would benefit, since oftentimes adults caught up in this life of violence have a difficult time realizing the effect their own behavior is having on the children in their home. And...how much of an effect it will have on the adult that child becomes.

It's dedicated to Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. As a kid, I loved seeing them on TV. They'll never know how much.


ByMelanie Sita
The Oak console flickered to life. The little girl waited patiently as panels of red, blue and green one by one appeared on the screen. Wendy thought the beautiful bright colors looked more like a giant fan, but mother told her it was supposed to be a peacock. The fancy big bird meant the program coming on was going to be in color. She was glad. Mother’s husband had been late for dinner, so she'd probably get to watch it. A heavy mixture of cough medicine and Old Spice aftershave seemed to enter the room before he did. Wendy hated that smell, and the way his voice got louder as he talked. She was almost certain he'd been drinking. Nervous, Wendy slid closer to the screen. Maybe they'd notice.
"Get out of my face," he hissed as he staggered toward to bedroom.
Please. She thought, still staring at the TV. Please, mommy, leave him alone, she wanted to beg her mother, but didn't dare.
If only they'd get mad at her, she thought, at least mommy would be safe. "Don’t sit so close to that screen, it’s gonna hurt your eyes.” They could yell at her and forget they were angry with each other.
Wendy's mother followed him, arguing. "Please, don't," she pleaded silently. She could almost hear her thumping heart. Fury exploded in an instant. Trembling, her fingers struggled to turn down the volume just slightly. Inching closer, her eyes never left the TV screen as a lone deep voice rambled introductions. Strangely comforting, a huge cowboy, dressed in blue with squinty, but friendly eyes appeared. He was wearing a tall Stetson and sequined shirt with fringes. It was Roy Rogers. (continue)

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Bowling for Mother's Day!

Today, we did something I haven't done in years and years. We went bowling! and dinner at the Olive Garden in the outdoor cafe section. What a beautiful evening! Couldn't have had a better Mother's Day even if it DOES take me a week or two to recover. (This 50 year old body doesn't bounce back as easily as it used to:)
Happy Mother's Day to each and every mom who stop by!

Not sure if this will work, but, I'm going to try. We were taking camera phone pics at the Olive Garden.

I know I can paste my pics from FLikr right in the Blog. Just can't figure out how. If anybody knows, could you help?

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Pink, Cookies and Other Differences

Wow!!! The "Bennett blog" has, to use his own words, "wacked the hornets nest."
"Why?" was one question that immediately came to mind, but...thanks, Ashley, you thought of it first. His answer? He reaches out to particular people. So...I'm guessing he expected the response, but, I gotta tell ya...just "reading" all the tension sends me back to the safety of my own 'blog'

Hmmm...I don't know if I've been called to reach out to a certain group of people. I have thought about it before...not exactly the best time to do a lot of meditating on it.... in front of about 100 women. At a retreat in New Jersey. I'd been invited to lead the music after sharing a little about myself on the first night...unfortunately, the "Pink-Cookie lady" went first. I call her that because her ministry began when she got the idea of having a cookie social one night a week at her house. She invited all the women in her neighborhood and it just grew. (mine began when we begged and groveled with the same folks who used to come to our house to party) Oh...and the pink part was because her favorite color, plus everything she had, was pink.
I could feel my heart sink as the "pink lady" began sharing about her life. She said she'd been the 'apple of her daddy's eye' She told the story of how she just loved riding in her dad's pink cadillac. He was so proud of her. In fact she and her sisters all knew they were so special to their daddy, he would comb their hair. The beloved little girls to leave would leave their shoes out at night...and he'd clean them.

It got worse. Flipping around a huge poster, she shared that the knight (that's what I said...a life-size pic of a guy in a suit of armor) was the young man that would "ask for her hand." Taking her to a real castle, he got on his knees....but...guess what? He didn't warn her, so she wasn't dressed like the princess she always dreamed of and...This" she shared, "would be one of the first of many disappointments ahead."

"Was she kidding?" I thought. I met the father of my third child in a bar, after too many drinks. Besides a son from my first marriage, I was the single mother of a newborn at home. I just didn't seem to do anything the 'right' way. This woman was the epitome of perfection. Was this some kind of joke? By the time it was my turn, I felt totally inadequate.

"You know what?" I asked the women when it was my turn. "If I was God...and you oughtta be real glad I'm not...but, if I was. I'd probably send me to people I could relate to... maybe...to 'rehabs, recovery centers, physciatric hospitals, PRISON...but, no...where does God send me? To the most terrifying place imaginable...a room full of "church ladies."
They laughed. Why'd they laugh? Because half of them knew what I meant. They were scared of 'church ladies' too...and didn't consider themselves to be one of them. Anyway, after I shared my own daddy story...or...lack of daddy story...or too many "daddies" story, I sat down and wondered how in the world God would work this out. We seemed to come from different planets; me and the "Pink Cookie Lady" speaker.

I realized alot about myself that weekend. First of all, how much I still had to work out. I could probably take nails scraping slowly across a blackboard than someone...a grown woman... talking about how precious she was to her father. I was there to lead others in openly worshipping God, when to be honest, I could feel the critical hairs standing on end and the proverbial arms beginning to fold. When the Pink Princess brought out a...a...."tierra", sheer panic set in. We were to pass it around the room after wearing the dainty little crown, representing our own 'princesshood.' "God, you've got to be kidding!" I prayed and sweated it out, but thank goodness I was passed over.

Our differences were so extreme that it was difficult to see the point of our leading this thing together. She began to tell us all about her dissent into darkness when her "knight" wasn't as willing to clean her shoes or do some of the other things her daddy did to make her feel so special.

Give me a break. Good grief, how would she deal with having a father who'd leave before she was even born? How about the violence, chaos and other wierd things a parade of men would add to her childhood? I wondered how she'd have dealt with unfaithfulness, rejection and abuse, not to mention years of a crushing, chronic illness....and.... Wait a minute. What was I doing? Letting my blasted pride run rampant, that's what! Yep...I learned more about what was still lurking in my own heart than I really cared to know. Suddenly the Pink Cookie lady described how resentment and anger deepened with each new disappointment. Unable to overcome festering bitterness, her life became gripped by a paralyzing depression.

That weekend, I was there at that retreat to lead others in worship to a God, who I loved and served because of His unconditional love. One of the greatest attributes I am able to share with others is the fact that God does not look on us as others do, but looks deep into our hearts. In other words, He doesn't compare us to one another...doesn't measure us by the standards we constantly hold each other to, yet, you know what? I was sitting there, doing just that! The Creator of the universe loved the Pink Cookie Lady wholly and unconditionally, yet, I viewed her through a hard heart that somehow felt her pain wasn't as valid as mine...or the things that brought this woman's world crashing down somehow shouldn't, concluding that her trials were piddly next to my own.

Yep, I learned alot that weekend. I learned that suffering is suffering. Hurt is hurt. The disappointment that would cripple the Pink Cookie lady, was no less painful to her than the abuse and rejection that brought me to a place where life didn't seem worth living. God had met us both in those places.

I finished the last music set and was thinking how despite the initial worrying, I was getting more comfortable....then suddenly..."Oh Geez, the speaker was wearing a "birthday cake" hat on her head. She had little gifts for everyone who celebrated a birthday that weekend. Though I have to admit, it was funny, I can't tell you how relieved I was it wasn't mine.

The further I get away from that weekend, the easier it is to see our differences were the very thing that many women were able to relate to...and more important the very thing that God used to touch their lives.

"I don't know if you remember me," one girl told me when I recently visited for another event in NJ."I've been clean ever since I heard your story...you know, what God did in your life"

"Wow, thanks for sharing that." I answered.

"Hey, and remember that Pink Lady? I loved her!!!"

"Yeah," I could honestly say, "Me too!"

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

"Unsubscribed"

I never get over the heebie jeebies of sending out these ministry newsletters. No matter how many people say they enjoy them. No matter how many people tell me they got them at a "coincidentally" perfect moment when life was falling apart at the seams. No matter what, I never, ever push that 'send' button with confidence that it's not going to somehow get to someone who didn't want or ask for it. It never fails, there is always one address in the list that mysteriously gets picked up from who knows where, snatched right out of cyber space and placed right smack dab in the midde of my address book. That's why the option for 'unsubscribe' is on the bottom of the letter... "as always, if you no longer want to continue receiving this newsletter, just hit reply with the word "unsubscribe" in the subject." Don't worry, it won't hurt my feelings....for long." It's a joke! I add the little "hurt feelings" part because I'm thinking...I'm hoping...I'm talking to friends.... I'm not selling anything...and I'm not trying to get them to do anything. I'll be honest I don't really expect to get a reply with "unsubscribe" in the subject. And when I do, I lied! It DOES hurt my feelings, daggone it :) Good grief, how am I ever gonna "turn the other cheek," when I can't get past "unsubscribe?"

Monday, May 02, 2005

Stunned by Grace

We went out to dinner the other night..to Carabbas...great food, wonderful friends...had a great time...but, once in the car to go home...Frank is quiet after commenting something about my passion. Uh, oh...Passion??? i realize, not the first time either, that I talk way too doggone much! I have a habit of doing that and then going over and over it in my head. Honestly, I really do try to be graceful, make a sincere effort to keep conversation uplifting, inspiring, I tell you what, it can go south in a New York minute.
Is this only me? And why is it? Well...I can only speak for myself as to why...sometimes I simply feel it's MY duty to fill an awkward silence. Other times, I have more insidious motives; I want people to get where I'm coming from, I want to state my case, defend my choices, display my knowledge, articulate my point, express my view. Starting to see a common denominator? This is probably the coolest thing about "blogging"; you get to see the words... before actually spewing them all over the place. But even then, I can look at what I've written and think "Shut UP MELANIE"

Blogs in themselves are our own thoughts and views expressed so all can see. I've been on a Christian one lately that has drawn a lot of people with, let's just say, very different views...mostly due to a kind of bizzare thing that would have never happened before blogging... a challenge extended to a well known celebrity who also happens to be a leader of this other view and has a blog of her own. While some try to reason their points with politeness and respect, others get downright nasty. Both sides. Stay on these things long enough, you can just sense the frustration...each side trying to find just the right words, make just the right argument that will suddenly change the hearts and minds of those who don't agree. It can 'bloggle' your mind!


This morning, thinking...praying, meditating, realizing I was using way too much "I and me," which is way too much pressure. Went back to looking at Jesus, his reactions to people. Never argued, at least not with everyday people, only the religious. Can you just imagine? The leper, the woman caught in adultery, the blind guy, the woman at the well who was married 4 or five times, the horrible tax collector (not much has changed there, huh?), the thief on the cross, the Roman centurion, etc, etc, all their lives, so near, yet so outcast to the synogogue, branded unholy by the religious. Can you just imagine the surprise, no the shock...when the very ONE who fulfilled the very religion the religious claimed to represent did the totally unexpected? Arguing, rebuking, judging, condescending...that they could understand. That's what they'd come to expect from religion. But this strange, yet profoundly confident young rabbi seemed to delight in singling out the least likely, the isolated, the hopeless, the unacceptable, the unlovable, the unholy. Never once in those unlikely encounters did Jesus ask them to clean up their act and then He'd think about hanging out with them. He never tried to change their view of religion, or reason with their behavior. In fact, He didn't seem as concerned with their behavior as touching their heart. What a scandal it all must have been. He even had the irreverence...the audacity to address God as Father. Too personal...blasphemous, actually. The fear this must have instilled...fear enough to kill Him. And how did He react to this opposition? He didn't come up with pithy one-liners to try to prove His way was the right way, or even get frustrated when others refused to see His point of view, He didn't argue or defend Himself even when they spit on Him, crowned Him with thorns or put a blindfold on Him and hit Him in the face. He didn't protest or complain about His unfair treatment even when they nailed His hands to the cross and He hung there, bloody and beaten beyond recognition, alone, betrayed and abandoned. Sometimes in the familiarity of the crucifix, we gloss over the hideously mangled body of God in the flesh, the epitome of what His own creation was capable of? Yet, could crucifixion have just as easily entailed nailing the victims hands to their sides? Was it a coincidence or are His arms stretched out on that cross on purpose? Accentuating His invitation? "come," "all you who are tired and weary...come to me"


Oh, but, for those on the receiving end of His touch, to those who've accepted the offer, the invitation of His mercy...I can not only imagine...I do know how they must have felt.... So do others...

A brochure explaining a new resource center for women coming out of prison ends with a personal note by the founder. I never noticed it before. An ex-offender herself, she has closed the letter, "Stunned by His grace" I love it! The perfect description of another new friend who invited me to a luncheon yesterday. She's an awesome vocalist, the lead singer in a local, hometown band, talented enough for something more, but yesterday, I was moved to tears by the words she powerfully, yet humbly delivered "Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth, would seek to know my name?" ...vulnerably beautiful, still obviously reeling from the surprise that she should dare run into those same outstretched arms. I'm so glad she asked me to come.

We, in the "stunned club" are not the first, we won't be the last to realize this is no predictable and rote religion, but God turning the world upside down. There's nothing to argue about. The reality of His mercy is just too precious. Slave-trader Mr. Newton (can't remember his first name) was so moved by this unexpected mercy, we're still singing his words "Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me."

Still, I'm curious and read the blogs...the celebrity seems to have a lot of passionate opinions and vents a lot of frustration, particuarly with Christians. Yet, she makes an interesting comment about her born-again in-laws. (Hmmm...don't you love God's sense of humor?) She admits a rant over her mother-in-law's political stand. One in which she vehemently disagrees on. The mother-in-law lets her go on...then lovingly changes the subject. Her desire to love is obviously stronger than her desire to be right. The star doesn't even realize it's not her born-again mother-in-law she's drawn to, when she admits to being surprised that she likes this woman...Can't help thinking I like her too.

Once again, another argument on another blog about your truth, my truth, your way, my way...hmmm...should I post just one post....just one clever enough argument to prove that if the bible's truth isn't THE truth, if Jesus isn't the only way, than there's nothing to hold onto...the change in my life and all the other 'stunned club' members lives are built on an illusion...and...and...
Melanie..., just shut UP!!!! :)