I was just looking at some wedding pics of a good friend from high school that caused me to take a little trip down Memory Lane. I remembered how after graduation and moving to Chicago, I wrote her a letter bluntly admonishing her to love herself more. She was so depressed all of the time, and she seemed to loathe herself. I was honestly afraid that she was going to kill herself. So, I decided to show her some tough love and I told her that I had a hard time being her friend because she was always so hard on herself and I couldn't watch her do that anymore. I always felt bad about that letter, but I wanted her to know that she was amazing and that she needed to start seeing herself that way.

Well, I think she finally did. Her wedding photos seem to prove it. She and her husband went to Italy and had a small yet breathtakingly beautiful wedding. Michelle looked absolutely stunning and deliriously happy. She was more beautiful than I ever remember her being. But more importantly, the photos of her husband revealed an unabashed adoration for Michelle that made me cry. I realized that Michelle had learned what I had so desperately wanted her to learn: how to love herself. You see, I have learned that there is no way a man could love and adore a woman that loathes herself.

So, when I saw how happy Mr. Michelle was to have her in his life and how he seemed to cherish her, I cried partly because I was so happy for her, and partly for selfish reasons. I realized that I haven't gotten a taste of my own medicine. I haven't learned how to love myself yet. The proof is in the pudding: all of the men I have been in relationships with have never looked at me the way Michelle's husband looked at her. I have been taken for granted over and over again. I have never been cherished, and I don't know if I ever will be.

But perhaps there is something remarkably positive in this revelation that I can focus on. First of all, I see that there is room for improvement in terms of me being kinder to myself, despite all of the strides I think I have made in that area. So, I will strive to find even greater peace about me being me. Second of all, any time I feel like I have been cheated of experiencing true love, I will take it to God. Since I have always had a hard time believing that God loves me, perhaps He can reinforce His love for me by granting me peace every time I turn to Him about my dismal love life, as He has in the past. Then, once again, God is offering me a chance to learn how to fully rely on Him.

I guess I need to stop belly-aching and get on my knees!

This morning I woke up with some major health issues. My lungs hurt to breathe, and I started dragging my leg while my left side got really weak. I had a hard time thinking clearly, and I couldn't get words out very easily. I felt like everything I went through the first time I had that stroke last year was happening again, and it scared the shit out of me.

I emailed my professor and let her know I wouldn't be coming to class, made Jonas breakfast, got him dressed, and took him to daycare. I came home and started to cry, because I didn't know what to do. Who do I call? Who do I tell? If I called my mom, she would tell me to go to the emergency room, which meant I would rack up more medical bills. My brothers have their own lives and are busy. My friends wouldn't know what to say and would just feel awkward. I'm a single mom, and I am old enough to know that I am not anyone's problem any more. This was perhaps the moment where I felt the most alone since my divorce. I skirted the internet, trying to have some sort of interaction with someone, however superficial it might be. I looked through my contacts on my phone, desperate to find a listening ear that wouldn't be burdened with my state of panic. I just wanted to be held, I wanted to know that everything would be OK. I wanted to be reassured that God wouldn't take me before my time because He knows I need to raise my son.

I have had several blessings admonishing me to keep my body very healthy, otherwise there might be dire consequences in relation to whatever my condition is that has caused me so many problems. When I was younger and had my symptoms, albeit with more mild manifestations, I wasn't afraid to die. I was OK with God taking me. However, now I have a son that needs me, and I want nothing more than to be healthy and strong so that I can raise him.

So, I guess I have two ways of looking at this situation. First, I can feel sorry for myself and spend all of my time asking God why I had to have the health problems I have when I'm expected to be a good single mother, a good employee, a good student, a good friend, and a good family member. Or, I can look at this as an answer to my long-standing admonition to God to help me learn how to fully rely on Him. I think I'll choose the latter.

I suppose instead of skirting the internet or checking my contacts on my phone, I could have gotten down on my knees instead, which I eventually did. Feeling peace, I let my exhausted body sleep and I woke up feeling like I had nearly circumvented another debilitating stroke. Now, I will wash my dishes and pick up Jonas from daycare carefully, since I feel like I'm still not out of the danger zone. And tonight, I will pray for comfort before I go to bed, and God can give me another spiritual hug, even though a real one would sure be nice... I'm sure even God understands that.

Beauty From Ashes

This is a poem I wrote for my dad while I was on my mission. I decided to post it because I want to write about God's ability to create beauty from ashes, and this poem helped me to see the good that could come from losing someone I loved deeply.

Again, I take comfort in knowing that no one really reads this blog, so I don't have to give a disclaimer for how lame the poem could be. It came from my heart and helped me work through some heavy stuff.

Of all the hours I made my music in that empty upstairs room,

My greatest of achievements was my audience was you.

You thought silently leaning in the doorway of my sculpted tonal shades

Would leave you undiscovered, but your spirit was too great.

You always walked through life like that, tip-toeing into souls,

You used those neglected verbs of truth, in a language now unknown.

How we had grieved when the world lost your loved and noble image,

Then light came on a breeze of truth: those you loved now speak your language.

I remember how one day I sat, inside our empty home.

I couldn't stand to see your pen and lap-top, laid there by your phone.

From a desperate act of confusion, I stood in front and stared,

At a Barnes and Noble, thinking I would find you there.

They didn't have your Tao book, or "The Hiding Place",

All they had to give me was a memory of your face,

And how your wisdom seemed so tangible, lighting up your soul.

Truth comes through the window: I hadn't lost you after all.

Sometimes I am a captive, and shroud myself in black,

I am blind to my full treasury, seeing only what I lack.

But if I reach and dip my hand into fearless, lighted beams,

Truth, once again, tears down walls much weaker than they seemed.

Ashes trailed your chapter, by the burning pain of change,

With mournful, heavy lingering, in the absence of your page.

But now a wind of truth liberates me, and in awe I searched and found,

From ashes, divine beauty grows up from fertile ground.