To All Those Who Have Borrowed My Mother:

Gosh. It's a touchy subject. For everyone involved.



My mom is obsessed with kids. In my professional opinion, it has to do with her having such low self esteem and getting her self worth from children. It's unhealthy and I'm sure it stems from her having such a crappy husband and a ton of responsibility when she was growing up. Anyway.



My mom has had a number of kids that weren't technically her's live in her house, under her care. I will be the first to admit that my mom is not perfect. She's dramatic, (sometimes) judgemental, etc. But. She is a good mother. GOOD MOTHER. This is not an easy task. As any of us moms can attest to, being a good mom takes some work. A lot of work. Especially when there's not a supportive partner involved and you work full time while taking care of your parents.



The fact of the matter is this: There were times growing up when I felt that my mom cared more about other people's kids. I'm happy to say that I got over it quickly as I grew up, but it was there and something I had to deal with. There were double standards. I had to eat what she made for dinner, but for other kids, she'd make specific meals for them (even if it meant making 4 dinners). I had to work growing up. A lot. That wasn't the case for other people's children. I had to abide by her rules, I gave in to her guilt. I was well taken care of and developing nicely and now I know that those are the reasons why that sometimes, I got the shaft.



What is ironic is that now, years later, these same children of other people want to blame my mom. Or ignore my mom. Or pretend that she caused their issues. Yes, my mom is over bearing. Yes, she is dramatic. Yes, she talks a lot of shit. But the bare facts show that she loved each and everyone of them. She put herself out for all of them, those children of other people. She went to their sporting events, gave them money, changed houses to accomodate space needs. She fed them, protected them, and loved them as best as she could. And in the midst of all her faults, I can say that she is a GOOD MOM. Just because she may not have gotten to the children of the other people early enough does not mean that she didn't try. And she's still trying. She uses the phrase "my kids" still. I'd be lying to say it didn't bother me. But I also know that I'm blessed to have a mom that was willing to step up to the plate for other people's kids.

Holy crap, I'm almost 30!

So 29. TWENTY NINE. That's like thisclose to 30. THIRTY. Technically, I know I'm not old. My problem is that I remember sitting at my kitchen table during my senior year at OU with Meghan, talking about how much money we'll be making once we have real jobs, "even if it's just like $18k!" Irony strikes again. Obviously, that idea was wrong, but for once, I'm not complaining about being broke.

I've been out of high school for 10 years. I've been out of college for 6 years. I've been a mom for 3 years. Where has the time gone?

It seriously seems like yesterday that Krys and I drove down 13 with our heads out the windows, sporting sunglasses, while the rain pelted us in the face (at the time, we thought we were cool/funny - now I find that just plain uncomfortable and frankly, dangerous). I remember my first weekend at OU, walking uptown, free of parental control, wondering what the hell to do with myself. After what seemed like a really cool week later, I remember walking uptown after my college graduation, wondering wtf I was going to do with myself. Shortly thereafter, I remember driving to Charlotte with Krys and Amber, prepping myself for the "real world" in Florida. I met friends, became an "adult," had (too much) fun, and before I knew it, I was 25, able to rent a car legally. Next came Olivia, which is my greatest accomplishment yet (and will remain to be, until/unless I have more children, in which case they'll be pretty impressive too, I'm sure).

What happened to the times when I longed to be an adult? Isn't it funny how life works? I remember being so insulted by the label of "kid." I formed clubs, renouncing this label, working to show all the adults of the world how important and impactful we as "children" could be. Now, I'm constantly reminding myself not to "wish my life away" (a quote of my mama's) b/c time goes way too fast.

I've had some interesting birthdays. On my 10th birthday, my parents planned a huge surprise where the party started at my grandparents and moved to my house where they would unveil my new bedroom suite. Instead, my dad and grandpa got into a fist fight and the only thing I remember after that was my mom crying, and me crying, but in separate areas as to make sure we didn't make the other one feel worse. Then there was my 16th, which consisted of a surprise party by my mom, where a ton of people showed up only to be dead silent when I walked into the room. Already awkward enough at that age, it was ... well, it was something. 21. I remember that, but not completely (for obvious reasons). When I turned 23, it was my first birthday in Jax, and I didn't have many friends. I had escargo for the first time (not that bad, I'd probably eat it again if someone else paid) and hung out with people I knew from work (who were more than wonderful to put such an effort up for someone they knew so little about). Then the big one - 26. This was big for me because it was the first birthday I had as a mom. And contrary to my previous beliefs ("The fun part of my life is over once I become a mom!!!"), it was (and continues to be) my most favorite birthday ever. Not only could I celebrate MY years, but I could celebrate Olivia's life, which pretty much would have been impossible if it weren't for yours truly (and you are welcome, to all the future generations that my daughter will positively impact). Thanks to social networking (myspace) and some awesome friends (Chas and Amber), I had one of the most spectacular birthdays ever, even tho it mostly consisted of me sitting in my apartment, being a new mom, and welcoming old friends into our world (complete with a tampon for a candle in the cake that they brought - class, nothin' but).

I've heard from numerous people that 30s are fantastic. Supposedly, you're more secure as a person - socially, financially, professionally, spiritually, etc. I have my fingers crossed that all that is true for me. But let's back it up - technically, I'm 29, not 30. I still have one year left of my 20s... what to do with it.....

When I first thought about this question, to be honest, I thought I'd have a lot of things on my "Things To Do Before I'm 30" list. Surprisingly (and wonderfully), I feel complete. I don't feel like I missed out on anything. Isn't that incredible?

I made it through high school and somehow escaped my parents' crappy marriage for the most part unscathed. I graduated from OU. I moved away. I moved back. I have a great job. I have the uber most awesome kid I know (that came from ME). I have a spectacular boyfriend (even tho I like to complain about him). I have a fantastic support system that a lot of people lack. I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve all of this, but I believe that for the most part, I earned it. Life is hard. Life is not fair. Life is not what we think it will be. But opportunities are there. Hard work does pay off. Karma is a bitch, but only if you're a bitch to karma first.

I can't say I've been perfect. I can't say my life has been easy 100% of the time. I can say that I worked my balls off for what I have and the things that fell into my lap without planning turned out to be blessings after all. I'm proud to say that I have made decisions (some very hard decisions) that have allowed me to have a stellar life, to accomodate my basic needs while continuing on the amazing journey that has been my life.

I think everyone has a book they should write. I don't know anyone that doesn't have a story to tell, a miracle to talk about, an incredible series of events that should be documented. And thinking back on my last 29 years, I am lucky - uniquely blessed.

When I was around 7 years old, I remember sitting in the laudrymat parking lot in my mom's car, creating my long term plan (yep, psycho since birth). I wanted to be 5'6, 125 lbs, blonde, professionally successful, independent, and family oriented. At that point, I had no idea what life would be like - or what I was capable of. And yet, ironically (in a good way), I am all the things I planned on being - independent; professionally successful; not bad looking (altho anymore, that means a lot less to me than it did back when Barbie played a major role in my life); family oriented; and most importantly, HAPPY. I really am happy.

I'm not thrilled that times goes by so quickly - it's nice to just savor those moments sometimes, ya know? But I have no complaints. I have bills. I struggle with balancing my professional life with my personal life. I miss living near my friends. I think my family's a ton more crazy now than when I was 7. But all in all, I've done a damn good job. Look out 29, here I come!

White Trash Mom

This is the book I'm currently reading by Michelle Lamar. I'm not a fan of the title, but the principles inside sounds pretty good. Basically, it's a book bucking the idea that moms should and can be perfect. We should look great, be professionally successful, head up the PTA, and always have time for date night w/ the significant other. My first thought is that even though this topic interests me, I've not fell for this crazy image of what a mom should be like. Or have I?



"You're not a bad mother if the school has to call you because your kid has a negative balance for his school lunch account. You're not a bad mother if your kid is the last one picked up from school. You aren't the only one who feels like you are a bad mom if you don't have your kids signed up for ten different sports and a language class (or two)." Hm. One time, my babysitter picked up Olivia late from preschool and I still haven't gotten over the trauma. The school sent a letter home to me saying that if it happened again, I'd be assigned a fee. Then I cried, reflecting on my short-comings ("If only I could be a full-time mom, this wouldn't have happened!") If it were someone else in the situation, I would be convinced that they were being way too hard on themselves and that technically, it's not a big deal. But it IS! At least to me. Maybe I do fall into the trap of the image of what a perfect mother should look like...

The thing is - I'm going to fail. I'm not going to be the best mom. I'm not going to be the best partner, friend, or worker. Shit happens. What I need to remember is that I'm trying. I really am trying. And sometimes, that's all you can ask for.

Why does my head hurt constantly?

Lately, I've had a daily headache. It's not a migraine (thank God), but it's a constant throbbing. Alllll daaaaaayyyy looooonnnnnnggg. Monday-Friday. Weird how it goes away on weekends (I'm thankful for the break tho!).

Anyway, I've had a TON of stuff running through my mind lately and I can't seem to zero in on a blog topic. I have a mental list tho - Death, Daddies, Mindless work vs Major Thinking work, my grandpa, Obama, Books I'm reading, Things I'd Do if I could Do Whatever I want... the list goes on and on. I don't think that I can focus just on one topic tonight, and so I'm just gonna wing it (you're welcome, I know you're totally interested in the workings of Billie's brain).

I am a moderate liberal. I believe that we should be able to have guns (in a legal way). It's not the people (normally) that get the guns thru legal means that are poppin a cap in people's asses, ya know? Personally, I've chosen life, but would never infringe my beliefs on someone else, especially regarding something so personal. I think that if I can have a baby without being married (sin as it is), why should I be able to tell homosexuals they can't be legally "together?" I believe in separation of church and state (after a lot of thought about this one). If my president was a different, opposite religion or belief than what I was comfortable with, I wouldn't want those beliefs to affect my rights. I think we need better educational systems, but I also think that parents should be doing a better job raising their children. I guess what bothers me lately is that these very right wing Christian conservatives that are anti-Obama, anti-healthcare reform, anti-anything to help out the normal, struggling Americans are often the same people that are preaching Christianity (or some form of faith). Don't most religious icons preach tolerance and love?!?! How can you be one thing in one form, but the opposite in something else? I think the issue with a lot of people in this category is their lack of exposure to the "have nots."

Before college, I thought I was raised in the middle class. I was wrong (as many poor people are - it's hard to know that you're poor when everyone else around you is just as poor). After being exposed to some of my friends from college's families, I've realized that I was actually raised as part of the lower class (it coulda been worse, let me stress that. I've always had a roof over my head, food on the table, and love). I guess what has really helped to shape my political opinion has been the experience of myself and the people that are closest to me. Disclaimer: I feel (delusional as it may be) that I'm well on my way to the "haves" section of the room, and so I, just like everyone else, does not want to pay my money that I work hard for to people that do not need nor deserve it. For the folks that do deserve and need help, I see it as my obligation (and right) as a fellow citizen, no, a fellow human being to ensure that I do all that I can to help meet the basic human needs of my fellow man.

I have more to say on this subject and once fired up, I could go for years, but let me leave you with this: IF I could do whatever I wanted without repercussions, one of the things on my list would be to make EVERYONE live a life (or maybe just a year) without priviledge. This means no help from family, to live in a place that doesn't see economic standing or status, to be purely, completely on your own for everything you may ever achieve. This includes a job with no healthcare, no babysitting discounts, no nice salary or working environment, nor parents footing the bill for higher education. After seeing how rough life can actually be, I can't imagine anyone truly thinking that keeping the rich rich and the poor poor is a good or fair or loving option.

I am her.

Over 2 years ago, I'd find myself sitting in the parking lot at the community center waiting for meetings to begin. On most days, I'd watch the preschoolers come gushing through the doors with parents trying to keep up. I always wanted to be one of those parents that were able to offer their child a well rounded daycare. For some reason, the "community center" has symbolized something really good in my mind - I mean, doesn't it sound great?!?! Community? Center? See what I mean?

Anyway, today after I picked Olivia up from her 4th day of school, we came flooding out the doors with her little legs carrying her as fast as they could go (she's still not the most balanced child so movement this quickly always looks a bit unsteady). As she ran down the sidewalk, with her mom in tow, trying to keep up, I had one of those moments where I find myself in the exact position I wanted to be in years before. Today is good.

Has it been 3 years already?!?!

Every year, there are a few dates that always make me reflect back on my journey as a mom - August 20th, Liv's birthday; December 20th, the day I found out I was pregnant; and the month of March, when I moved back to Ohio. Without fail, I always go back to the very beginning of when I found out that I was pregnant. I relive that day often, with every moment burnt into my brain. I remember putting my head between my legs when the doctor told me I was pregnant. I remember breaking my keychain trying to get in my car after the dr appointment. I remember getting lost in my own neighborhood because I couldn't see or think. I remember texting my friends, demanding that they leave their works immediately to meet me for an emergency. I remember going to Stephanie's house and crying on Jeremy as soon as he opened the door, unable to speak, just handing him papers. I think I remember every moment of that day. Lots of tears, confusion, and a spark of excitement (I bought the What to Expect When You're Expecting book that day, even with such shock, it's kinda hard to not be excited when you see what's happening, even though I was still completely terrified).

Those first 4 months in Jacksonville were eventful, to say the least. I wasted no time in prepping for the future, imagining what the heck was going to happen to my life. At the time, I had been through a rough year and a half and finally felt like I was getting back to normal when I got knocked up. It was like never-ending trauma. In March, I moved back to Ohio and lived with my college roomate and her husband (rent free). Although I appreciated their generosity and affections, it was an uncomfortable stage of life for me. To go from living on my own with my own space and successful career to starting over in Ohio, a place overrun with corn fields and SNOW, shacked up in an extra room in my friends' new house was less than ideal. That summer, I was so hot, SO HOT. I cried a lot because I felt fat and ugly and was unable to swim due to lack of private beaches and my insanely huge body (I don't really care much about swimming, but when you're carrying an extra 50 lbs in the dead of summer, anything that would take some weight off and allow me to cool down seemed like HEAVEN). For what seemed like eternity, I lived in Columbus but drove to Dayton daily for work. I had transferred here with the same company I was with in Florida, only to find out that not only was I demoted, but I had lost my insurance and paid time off... Not the type of info I was looking for at the time. The day I applied for Medicaid SUCKED. I sat in the office of Job and Family Services, the only white person, alone, pregnant, confused, scared, and humiliated. I had a college degree with a decent job - how did I end up there? Eventually, I started getting interviews with other companies. My favorite position was with Modis, and IT Staffing firm based out of Jax, but with a remote office in Columbus (irony). I went through 3 interviews, stuffing myself in my nice clothes, trying my best to hide my baby bump (who's gonna hire a pregnant lady?). After the 3rd interview, I learned that I did not get the job and it was around that time that I gave up on believing the things would somehow work out.

I kept trying, however, and eventually landed a job with the American Cancer Society that allowed me to live in Athens, close to my family (the purpose of moving back to OH) and work from home (an incredible opportunity for me at that time). I took a pay cut, I moved into a tiny, run down apartment, but at least I was stably employed with my own space. I worked hard on getting Olivia's room decorated and set up. Jake and I would spend evenings in there folding her clothes, smelling her baby stuff (Jake did that, not me, so that he could get used to the scent of a child), and dreaming of when there'd actually be a kid to put in that crib! We'd lay on the couch, watching Law and Order, with Jake's head on my belly and Olivia kicking him from inside (shoulda known then that she'd be a handful!). Eventually, the day came for me to go to the hospital to be induced. As I packed up our stuff, I was so... indecribably ready. I had money saved, a job that would allow me time off, my own place, baby equipment EVERYWHERE, and most importantly, I wanted to be free from those extra 50 lbs (it made doing simple things extremely complicated - I couldn't fit ANYWHERE!). I sat on my porch, throwing the ball for Jake, informing him that he'd be staying in Glouster with my family while I went to have this kid that would be bunking with us permanently from here on out. I called Stef to tell her I was going to the hospital. I looked around at my apartment for the last time as just me, Billie.

I showed up late to the maternity ward at O'Bleness (typical of me). After setting me up in a room, they started the pitocin, thinking that by the same time that next night, we'd have our newest addition. Instead, it was 48 hours later when Olivia finally made her appearance. During labor, Amber, Meghan, and my mom stayed with me, feeding me ice chips, rubbing my back, holding my hand, and watching all of the disgusting stuff that happens to a woman giving birth. I know that no matter what happens in life, I'll ALWAYS appreciate them for being with me during the most important moments of my life. When they finally decided to perform a c-section, I was terrified. My mom came into the operating room with me, but for those first few moments, I was there alone with the nurses. I remember begging them to tell me that everything would be ok, and instead of positive assurance, I was met with the loudest, most deafening silence I've EVER heard. They strapped down my hands and put a curtain under my chin so I couldn't see or move (I'm claustrophobic, so that part REALLY sucked). I hadn't taken Lamaz, so instead, I sang a commercial jingle (Beep beep, dot com, shop for cars online) over and over and over. After what seemed like forever (and a joke from the dr about "oh, you thought it was a girl???"), they showed Olivia to me, holding her up on my right side. All I could do was cry. Immediately, all of my worries, frustrations, anxiety vanished. All I could think about was holding that tiny being, name still unknown. My mom cut the umbilical cord and my friends stayed with Olivia to make sure that she wouldn't be switched (I watch too much Law and Order, I know). When they finally took me to my room, they brought the baby out immediately. I was in awe of her. She was so tiny, so perfect, sooooo tiny. When she was born, the discovered that she was Polydactyly. Normally, anything abnormal grossed me out, but this time, it seemed like such a miniscule thing that I didn't even notice until the nurse mentioned it. That night, I couldn't sleep, I just laid watching her, wondering how I could've produced something so precious.

The next few days were filled with flowers, visitors, learning, and sleep. It's amazing how birth can just take the life right outta ya (haha). I enjoyed the nurses, I learned to change a diaper, I finally named her (after 3 days of indecisiveness). The day we went home, I didn't really want to leave. It was so comforting to have those nurses close for those middle of the night feedings and to answer any questions I might have without making me feel like an idiot. As a volunteer wheeled us out of the hospital, I was disappointed to find Olivia's first breath was a smokey one, thanks to the smoker next to the hospital exit (I'm still bitter about this - and it just adds to my reasons to quit smoking). My mom drove us to our house to pick up a few extra supplies. While there, I put Olivia in her crib and was AMAZED at how tiny she was. Everything I'd been waiting on had finally arrived.

We spent the first 3 days at my mom's house. Those days weren't my favorite, so I mentally skip over that part. Once we came back home, I was too scared to drive for the longest time. Thankfully, I had stocked up on supplies pre-baby and wasn't forced to go to the store for another week. Our first time in WalMart, I felt like a crazy person, trying to control myself from yelling at people that got too close ("Don't you see there's a baby here?!?!").

I remember the Notts coming to visit and me forgetting how to work a bottle (I was nursing so I don't think I'd used a bottle yet) and how embarrassed I was when Roger had to show me how to work the bottle's nipple. I remember the nights of crying, the 3rd night especially when I finally gave her a binky (who knew what trauma that would later cause). I remember sleeping on the couch a lot with her on my chest during the days. At night, I eventually gave up on trying to stay awake throughout the night for her to nurse and finally succumbed to sleeping in a recliner with her (it allowed me some sleep which was much appreciated). I remember hiding in the closet when her umbilical cord came off and watching Ryckman dispose of it. I remember seeing my Jax friends via webcam for the first time with Olivia. She was 5 weeks old on her first airplane to visit her Florida family. I let the flight attendent take her to the front of the plane to show her friends while I settled in (later thinking of how easy it coulda been for her to take off with my child!). I remember Stef and Jeremy trying to help soothe her during a crying fit or 2 during that visit. I remember how impressed and pleased I was that she slept through a manicure and pedicure during that visit. I remember the first time she rolled over - I wasn't even in the room! I'd ran back to my bedroom for something, leaving her and Jake on the floor. When I returned, she was upside down and backwards... I still wonder if Jake somehow moved her. :-) I remember putting her in her bouncy in the bathroom with the tub running because the noise soothed her.

That first year, almost 2 years, we remained in our tiny apartment, the three of us. I remember being frustrated at times, but those memories are fuzzy. What I remember clearly is playing outdoors, eating new foods, singing and doing crazy dances, knowing that if she was older, she'd be totally embarrassed by me. Our family was complete, even though it was only me as the parent.

The last year has been a whirlwind. Olivia has started daycare and will be going to preschool in September. We've moved into a bigger house, aquired some additional pets, and Rick. She's walking, talking, dancing, screaming, running, jumping, singing, and being a typical 3 year old.

So 3 years and nine months later, here I am, happy, successful, loved, not so terrified, and comfortable with my life. There was a time or two that I didn't think things would work out, but I'm happy to say that I was incredibly wrong. Sometimes I read www.truemomconfessions.com and see that people often post on there how they were scared to have a kid and after reading all of the complaints by the parents, they're even more terrified or just completely against reproducing. If there was one thing I could say to those people, or anyone that is/was/will be in a situation similar to my own, it would be that sometimes, the best things are the most challenging things and that nothing worth anything comes easy.

Happy Birthday Olivia!!!

Faith

This is an exerpt of a letter I'd recently written to a friend.

So you totally called me out on the not telling you about Jesus thing – this is a hot topic for me (and always has been). My faith is … unsteady, to say the least. Here’s my story:

I was raised in church. My mom and her side of the family were devout, old school Christians (totally anti-alcohol, my grandparents weren’t advocates of dancing, rest on Sundays, etc). I went like 3 years (literally) without missing Sunday school. I went to church Sunday mornings, evenings, and Wednesday nights. I read the Bible 3 times before I finished high school. As I got older, I taught Vacation Bible School classes, played the piano for worship, led the singing, did the “special music” (which consisted of me singing church songs into a karaoke machine), anything and everything (we had a small church so volunteers were few and far between). Eventually I grew resentful of having to do so much for the church without “getting much back in return” (meaning that there was nothing to engage anyone of my age group – mostly b/c I was pretty much the only one in my age group). My family constantly reminded me that I was “different” b/c I was a child of God – which is fine, but when you’re in the midst of puberty, the last thing you want is constant reminders of how you’re different and will never fit in. I rebelled in high school, and then got involved in the Navigators on OU’s campus. They were an awesome group that exposed me to the freedom found in Christ. Instead of church being something that listed out what I couldn’t or shouldn’t do, it became a wonderful reminder of how to fully experience life. That lasted for a while, then I started hanging with some less than well behaved friends and that kinda went away. As much as I loved and appreciated my walk w/ Christ, I liked to fit in and party even more.

During college, I fluctuated between longing for a relationship with God and wanting to just have a good time. Occasionally, I’d venture up to Galbreath Chapel to have some alone time w/ God (I cried a lot there, ashamed of myself). I felt guilty a lot of the time and decided that I couldn’t have any kind of good relationship with God because of my less than Christian-like behavior. While I was in Jax, I struggled still. I went to Celebration Church sometimes… I remember my first mother’s day in Jax, I cried during the whole service b/c I missed my mom so much. Throughout my entire life, guilt has played as much of a role as faith. To me (for the longest time, anyway… I’m getting better at things now), guilt and faith went hand in hand…

When I got pregnant, I was totally at a loss. I felt guilty, pissed, GUILTY (for being such a bad person, for bringing a child into the world to have a slut mom, for shaming my family, etc….). Throughout my pregnancy, I taped the verse (Jeremiah 29:11) to my fridge and read it daily “For I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I started going back to church, trying to get myself straight before I had a kid. One of my biggest focuses at the time was to get forgiveness - from God, my mom, myself… One day, I just decided that it wasn’t fair to me or my future kid to NOT forgive myself, which is when I decided that Olivia’s middle name would be Grace. Serves as a nice reminder, ya know?

When I moved back to OH, I struggled with EVERYTHING. Moving back to OH, no home of my own, no secure or family friendly job, no partner, no idea of what the hell was happening SUCKED. I ended up reading a lot in the New Testament (can’t remember book/chapter) about Faith. I thought if I studied enough, prayed enough, hoped enough, things would work out and be easier for me. After what seemed like my 10,000^th job interview that I didn’t get, I gave up. I became resentful and apathetic. “If God isn’t going to help me, then I guess it’s up to me.” Ironically, just now as I was searching the internet for the chapter I used to read all the time, I came across Hebrews 11 (39 These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. 40 God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.). So I guess I’m not the only one that’s felt screwed in their faith.

Anyway. Present day. I think about God and my faith (and lack thereof) A LOT. I take Liv to church occasionally, but I find myself questioning things more often than I used to. A virgin birth? Really? I also think that my view on God has been a bit disturbed due to the fact that I was raised thinking that God was here to PUNISH me (not to be my friend or give me true freedom, as I now think is more true than just being the Punisher). Not to mention that the comparison between my relationship with God should be similar to that with my dad (which my dad is a total asshole) didn’t seem right to me. Soooo. I guess I just didn’t mention it to you before b/c I didn’t really know what to say. Plus I’ve always been paranoid about talking to other people about such things, since I definitely don’t have all the answers nor the behavior that reflects those beliefs.

I’m reading a book (slowly) called 12 “Christian beliefs” that can Drive You Crazy. They consist of things like “Give your problems to God and you won’t have any.” Mostly stuff that I was raised hearing – and although it sounds true and good, God doesn’t automatically fix your life so easily – we have to work for what we get. I guess what I get confused about is … it has to be a team effort. God can’t just control everything we do or everything that happens to us – He loves us enough to give us freedom of choice… Just seems like a complicated relationship that I don’t necessarily feel like I deserve (told ya, I still struggle w/ guilt a lot). Another thing in that book is something about how many people think that they must change their behaviors before they’re able to have a good relationship with God (including me) but that’s not necessarily true. If we start working on cultivating the inside of us and our relationship with Christ, the behaviors will eventually follow (which makes sense, but again, not something I’m sure I could do, or want to do, or know how to do….).

So there ya have it – the history on my Walk with Christ. I will say that I really enjoy hearing your discoveries that you find in your journey – keep updating me (you make me think, which is good)!