It isn't me

So there's this song
It gives me goosebumps when I play it on my IPod
And it makes me want to cry.
Because I wish for this daily.
Him and I being normal, able to talk to
and relate with each other.
But Alas....
I live with a sad man, a mad man
A man who is always sad and always mad.
About everything.
For years I tried to fix it....him....me....Us....
The sadness...the madness.
Played the codependant wife until
I became sad and mad myself.
Lucky for me that Alanon and my faith
converged together at the exact same moment
in time to save me.
Thank You Jesus!
I wish the same could be said for him.
He is not saved and doesn't want to be.
Sad and mad define him.
I don't want any more secrets or half truths.
But the Sad man is afraid of that word.
Truth
The truth scares him, I think.
Life scares him.

He like to blame others for minor and or slight infractions.
A lost baby blanket is cause for an arguement
and much upheaval in our household.
Blame will be placed on everyone but himself.
And when it comes to light that he may have unwittingly
had a part in the disappearance of said blankie
there will be no forth coming apology.
Oh, he'll say sorry...quickly and in a snarky manner.
But he won't mean it because he never is sorry.
He'll continue playing his word game on his IPhone
Not looking at or acknowledging me
As I tell him that he was being mean
By his passive/aggressive comments and accusatory tone

as we were searching for the grandsons blanket.

We'll go to sleep, again, not talking about 

Or bringing up the current issue that is between us.

How freeing would it be to be able to live with and love

And talk with your spouse of 30 years?

We've never been able to do it, him and I.

Never.

I once made a romantic dinner for two

Had the kids at a sitter and myself all gussied up

House cleaned, candles lit, music playing

Just waiting to surprise him after work.

During dinner, I made the mistake of telling him 

about the fear I've always had of him leaving me.

My honesty made him angry and he left me that night.

Said he couldn't live with a woman who didn't trust him

enough to never leave her.

Do you get the incredible irony of that situation??

I learned to stop being honest with him.

I saved all my hurts and sadness and truths 

and shared them with my best friend instead.

It didn't help the marriage per se, but it helped me.

But this song makes me ache for what we don't have.

Don't get me wrong, I love this man.

Just wish we had the ability between us both 

to be real and honest and truthful.

I'd like to pray together, make decisions together

Go to church together, confide in each other.
I wanna laugh together and tell each other our secrets.
I want us to heal and get well together.
I want joy and happiness and dreams coming true.

I mean what the hell are we doing after 30 years together?

Why can't we have it all?

Why does it still have to be so hard?

Why can't he be happy? Why is he mean?

Why can't we just be happy together?

How come he thinks it's me and I think it's him?

What the hell!

Enough

I've got stacks of books to read and stacks of journals to go with them.
And I never seem to get around to doing either....reading or journaling.
I've got dust bunnies under my feet that are larger than dust bunnies should be.
Laundry needs doing, need to run to the market, yard needs to be raked.
Grandbabies come again today at noon and the cartoons must be watched
and the baby must be played with even if I am too tired, or too busy.
Not complaining...I realize I am blessed beyond my own comprehension.
Just never seems to be enough time to get things done around here.
Most of the time I don't even have it in me to blog.
I need to finish parts 3 and 4 of why I left church but I don't want to any more.
Suffice it to say that church was boring and I hated it
from the time I was 14 until the age of 48.
Then all hell broke loose in my life.
And at the end of that breaking, Jesus Christ Himself showed up.
He redeemed me and forgave me and showed me a better life than the one that I was living.
And I grabbed on to Him with both hands and won't ever let go again.

That makes it seem like it was all wrapped up nice and tidy but it wasn't at the time.
Maybe some day I will fill in the blanks of this story about my transformation.
But for now, other things are calling for my attention.

So, again, I will say that I'll blog when I can
Maybe I'll even figure out how to be not so hard on myself
because things aren't getting done as I would like.
I'm playing with my grandaughter and watching cartoons with my grandson.
And for today, I am going to say that that is enough.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Gone from church-Part 2

Not going to church on Sunday meant that I could sleep late.

I was thrilled.
Being a teenager and being able to chose not to go to church was empowering to me.

No more listening to the priest talk about the church needing more money as he preached to us in a tailored to fit Armani suit.

I kid you not.

Perfectly coiffed and sprayed hair. Just like that old Dallas football coach.

Him drinking that chalice of wine while his eyes rolled back in his head, wiping his mouth with that starchy cloth.

Only the priest got to drink the wine because he was holier than the rest of us.

Or so we were led to believe.

We were discouraged from reading the Bible.

We were told that only a priest could interpret the word of God.

They wanted us in the pews, dressed up, quiet and reverent.

Making it a sin to ask questions. Or eat a mint on the way to church.

I felt like I had made my escape from that prison of  religion.

As soon as I stopped going to church, I pretty much stopped believing.

Now somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I still believed in Jesus.
I believed when it was his birthday cuz that meant gifts for me.

I just didn't bother to give Him the time of day the rest of the year.

I mean what had He ever done for me??

In High School I saw those girls sitting at the corner table in the cafeteria.

We all knew who sat at the table. The Jesus Freaks.

I didn't want to talk to them or know them. 

Walked right by that table with a sideways glance and a smirk.

I felt sorry for those girls always sitting together and talking about Jesus.

They weren't the popular girls.

Course neither was I, but at least I wasn't a Jesus Freak!

I left off with that Jesus guy back in 8th grade. 

Who were these weirdos?? Why did they have to bring their Jesus to school?

We didn't have a SYATP event at our High School.
At least not back in 1980.

Back then it was just that cafeteria table that most of us avoided like the plague.

At the time I felt better than them. Smarter. More hip.
After all, I had boyfriends and they didn't.
I had clothes that were in style. I could tell that they did not.
I hung out with the middle crowd, went to parties, football games and prom.
What'd they do on the weekend? Retreats and youth groups and church?

And I laughed at them all behind their backs, being Jesus Freaks and all.

Of course not to their faces...I may be mean but I'm not a monster.
Or at least I wasn't a monster then.
Or rather I didn't think I was being a monster.
That didn't come until later.

Leaving Church-Part 1

I turned 51 in September.
Was born and raised Catholic.
As a teenager my mother gave me and my siblings the choice
to continue going to mass or dropping out of church altogether
after we had made our confirmation in 8th grade.
All 5 of us chose to leave the church.
Never to return...to the Catholic way of life...ever.
Out of the 5 of us, only 2 of us are regular church goers.
My sister and I are now Lutherans through marriage.
One sister goes to church with us on occasion and one sister passed away,
And our brother has defected from the entire family.
We've seen him twice in 30 years.
But I digress.....

What I remember most about going to church
was the Priests sermons about the church needing more money
or they were about us being guilty and sinful and unworthy.
The rest is a blank.
13 years of going to church   Every. Single. Sunday.
And all I ever felt was bad and sinful. And bored.


What I remember most about church was people watching.

There was the lady that wore the big hats. She sat in the front row.
We called her the Easter Bonnet Lady.
And she was always late for services.
She had a retarded adult son who acted up on occasion...
Church was a little more interesting when he would show up.

There was the lady whose son died in Vietnam.
She lit candles for him every Sunday.
They were situated on a small table up front, in the corner
in front of the Statue of the Virgin Mary.

I always wanted to light one for my Aunt who passed away when I was six,
but  mom never let me.
Found out later you had to pay to light one of those candles.
Go figure....the Catholic church even wanted your money to light remembrance candles.

I do remember some of the women's names probably because they rhymed:
Merle Berle and Shirley Hurley and Connie Ronney

I remember Mrs. McWilliams always looking so perfect.
Coiffed platinum blond beehive, fur coat, black pointy toe high heels
Her husband dark and swarthy with his hair slicked down and oily.
Their 4 young girls all quiet and somber; carbon copies of the mom
Except the oldest, who unfortunately looked just like the dad.

My Mama singing Let there be peace on Earth along with the congregation
and me embarrassed cuz she sang it too loud!

I didn't learn to love Jesus in the Catholic church.
And the Catholic church never told me that Jesus loved me.
Church for me as a child was all about guilt and sin and money.
Nobody ever looked happy leaving church.
The entire congregation was as somber leaving as they were upon arriving.
Reverent, hushed voices, heads bowed, no talking or laughing.
We got a baleful glare from our mom for fidgeting too much
after sitting on the hard wooden pew for what felt like hours.

We were not allowed to eat an hour before Mass.
One Sunday I found a mint in my pocket and ate it in the car
on the way to church. My mom had a fit.
"You better hope that an hour goes by before you take communion"
she yelled at me. I watched the clock that whole church service.
If I didn't take communion I knew that I would be damned.
I squeaked by with no minutes to spare!
Exactly one hour had passed since I had eaten the dreaded mint.
I was tied up in knots watching that clock.
What if I couldn't go up for holy communion??
My family would walk up the aisle to receive holy communion without me!
The whole congregation was going to be aware of my sin!
What was gonna happen to me?
Oh the shame of it!!
It scared the crap outta me.

I remember going to confession on Saturday nights.
You had to go to confession once a month if you wanted to
take communion on Sundays.

It felt like a dark broom closet.
Only with burgundy velvet curtains and a folding chair.
The Priest on the other side of the screen sounded to me like he was bored.
I would say "Bless me Father for I have sinned"
And the priest would say- "Go on...."
What's a sin to a child of 8, 9, even 10 years old??
I never felt like I had sinned. I felt like I had to make something up.
I used to tell the priest that I had fought with my brother and sisters,
That I had disobeyed my mother, and I had, probably.
But even at the young age of 8 or 9...I would wonder why that was a sin.
I mean a SIN!!
C'mon....We're talking sin here....What was so bad about what I had done?
I hadn't stolen anything, or killed anyone. I didn't even know what coveting meant.
What child needs to go to confession??

The priest would tell me to pray 3 Hail Mary's while holding my rosary.
"Go and sin no more, my child". Sin no more? Huh?
I'd kneel and look around at the other people kneeling in the dark church
on a Saturday night and I'd wonder how many Hail Mary's they'd have to pray.
Some people knelt there longer than others...They must've really sinned.

I remember going to Midnight mass on Christmas Eve.
It sort of felt holy because the sky was dark and I'd look for the star of wonder
in the night sky. The air was frosty and I remember being cold.
I also remember the year my little sister threw up in the pew.
Tissues started coming at us from all directions.
We were whisked away from the church before the service even started.
And I remember being happy cuz I was tired...it was midnight after all.

I remember going to Sunday school with the nuns.
I don't remember learning anything from them.
I was scared of them. When my mom dropped me off I cried.
Mom had told me stories of how the nuns had smacked a ruler
across her hands when she had misbehaved in school as a young girl.
The nuns that taught Sunday school were old,  and I'd sit there
and wonder if this was the nun who had hit my mom with a ruler.
I kept my hands hidden, just in case.

I left the church at the age of 14.
Because it meant nothing to me.
Nothing.
I was relieved that I didn't have to go back.
And I didn't... until 35 years had passed.

Not until the day I burst into flame....
When the Lord Himself called out to me.
Said He wanted to talk to me.
Said He wanted to save me.
That I could rest in His arms
That He knew I was tired
And He knew that I didn't want to cry anymore.
But I still did.

I cried for days.
I mean Jesus Christ had just spoken to me....
Who wouldn't be scared and crying???
I thought I was losing my mind.
Normal people don't go around hearing the voice of God.
Do they?


http://addiezierman.com/?p=2586

I am not alone

I'm lonely.
I miss female friendships.
My BFF works so much and I rarely get to see or talk to her.
I feel a loss, an ache, an emptiness that is hard to describe.

I don't have seasonal affective disorder.
Fall and Winter are the times that I usually come alive!
The cooler weather, changing leaves, heartier foods
The smells, the decor, the holidays; it energizes me.

I feel this loss in the area of friendship.
Companionship, a Kindred Soul friend of sorts.

So I sit here and wonder to myself...
Am I gonna just sit here and mope about this?
How does one go about procuring new friends?
Where does one find these new friends?

In the middle of a personal season of stillness and quiet
Where do you suppose I should look?
The song "What a friend we have in Jesus" just came to mind.
And while that is all true and good
That's not what I'm talking about here.

I want someone who I can talk to, who's available to listen
Someone who gets me....the way I think, the way I am.

The irony is not lost on me here that what I'm looking for
 is what I have every Tuesday night at my 12 step meeting.

But I want that and more.
I want a group of  friends that I can talk about Jesus with.
My sister and I go to a Bible study every Thursday.
We are the youngest 2 people in the room by 20 years.

Dare I call them older folk stodgy old poops? Yes. I do dare.
I can see that they are comfortable in their faith
They are comfortable in their faith without question.
They are comfortable not knowing the answers that I am seeking.
I think my questions make them uncomfortable.
I want more from a Bible study than what is rote.

I wanna talk and study and ask questions about Jesus.

I know that I am not alone in the asking of these questions.
I am not alone in the wanting to know the answers.
There are other women bloggers that also are asking questions.
And most of these women bloggers are finding answers.
Through their faith. Through their daily readings. Through Bible study.
Through reading each others blogs.
Through believing in themselves and each other.
Through their voices.
Through belief that who they are is enough.

That God loves them just as they are, without question, without fail.

And the same is true for me.

Loved, just the way I am, without question, without fail.

And I am not alone in wanting to ask questions of Jesus
And I am not alone in wanting the answers from Jesus

And it's ok to be alone with myself while I wait for these answers.

And to trust that I am not alone, not really.

I can hear the word patience being whispered to my soul.
As if God himself is telling me to have patience.
And maybe that's all this is....me being too impatient
Feeling like I've been set on fire...
Like I must have all the answers I need right now!

When being alone to think and ponder without distractions
Is the thing that is really gonna help me in the long run.

Quiet contemplation of Jesus and his teachings
Instead of burning down the church with my soul on fire.

Mmmmm...oh...see there? All of a sudden the pieces start to fit together.

"God’s putting together all the pieces of the puzzle and He’ll fill what’s still missing with His peace." ~Ann Voskamp

I'm not lonely or alone.
I'm in His presence and He is teaching me to wait on Him.
In his timing, not mine.
Patience, patience, patience.
Even if my soul seems to be on fire.

Grace

Sundays church sermon was amazingly good.
Pastor Eric talked about the Martha and Mary story.
How Martha was sooo busy being mad at Mary for not helping her
that she failed to realize that it was Jesus sitting at her table.
How does one forget that fact?
That JESUS, in the flesh, is actually sitting at your dinner table?!
Well, shit!
He's not in the flesh, but I do that all the time, don't I??
Forget that He's there.
I forget to say Grace, to act graceful or even grateful.
I forget to say Thank you for the food I'm about to eat,
I forget all the time that Jesus is the invisible guest
That He sits at our dinner table every single day.
And Oh, look! There's me, acting like a Martha...
All pissy or fuming or aggravated about something.
When I should be grateful and thankful or at the very least
not acting pissy with a house full of children and grandchildren all getting ready to sit down to eat Sunday super together.
And lookee there!! Reread that last sentence will ya?
Look what I have!
* A house- with a roof, walls, electricity, indoor plumbing, appliances, clothes, furniture
* 3 Grown children- Healthy, happy, employed, living close to us
* 2 grandchildren- and another one on the way
* Food- bought from a store, stored in a full pantry, or kept in a fridge, and cooked on the stove
* Sitting down to eat Sunday Supper together, as a family
* Sitting down
* Eating
* Family
* Supper- and breakfast and lunch and snacks and desserts
* Sunday-getting to worship as we like, at the church of our choice

Look at all those things that I have to be grateful for!!!
How dare I act pissy or aggravated!
Do I not know how grateful others would be to have what I have?
Do I always have to be so ungrateful, so ungraceful all the time?

I told my husband that I think Pastor Eric is an actual Apostle.
I can truly see Jesus shining out through his eyes.
The way that he delivers a sermon is amazing.
The way he can make me think about the way that I conduct myself in daily life.
How un-Jesus like we all really are- even when we think we are acting holy.

I want to find a sign like this to hang in my dining room.
Right above the table.
Right where I can see it.
Every single time I sit my ass down to eat I can look up
And be reminded to not only say grace but to feel grace.
To allow more grace and gratitude into my life
To remind me to give my family members more grace
To love them all with Gods grace.
To be grateful for it all.

Praying for perfect

The chatter in my head never seems to cease and yet I've noticed that I'm only posting once a month.
How's that possible I ask myself??

There is so much that I process through my brain on a daily basis it's hard to imagine NOT writing it down just to get it out of my head!
I need to more disciplined I tell myself.
I should write in a notebook all day...jotting down whatever thought crosses my mind.
I'd fill that sucker up in a day!
When it comes to blogging I feel like a slug.
It's so hard to get started then it becomes awkward and difficult to make the sentences make sense. Does that  make sense?!
I suppose I'd have a bigger problem if anybody was reading this, but Annette doesn't stop by anymore and I'm not sure why.
To me this is more like a PC diary.
I should be grateful that I am able to write whatever I want to without being concerned that someone might read it.
Oh sure, I'd love some feed back but the writing is so poor and my thoughts seem so scrambled that I think whoever reads this would be like-
"Um Sweetie? Don't quit your day job."
No worries there! My day job is babysitting for my grandkids! HA!
I tried posting every day for 31 days that one time in October of 2012.
That was the Blogging for 31 days of  (fill-in-the-blank) that I did with the Nester.
I chose 31 days of Prayer.
Ran outta things to pray about in the first ten days!!
Well for Heaven's sake!! If a body can't blog about praying everyday for 31 days what's got me thinking I have anything to contribute on a regular basis?
Praying is something that I think is supposed to come naturally.
Aren't we supposed to be praying every day anyway??
Well sure! in a perfect world!!
Most days I forget to pray AND to blog.
With this 50 year old brain of mine I've been forgetting a lot lately.
Like lunch dates with friends, going to coffee with my sister in law, returning phone calls, blogging!!
Feels like my short term memory has been wiped out..... The slates clean!
So I'm going to try and post more often.
We'll see how that goes.
This post alone has taken me an hour to process, correct my grammar and type!
But hey!! practice makes perfect, Yes?!
OK then I'll pray for perfec......NO!!! Good Lord! What am I saying??
Maybe I'll just try to blog when I can and pray when I remember to pray.
How's that ?? That ok?
That's perfect.