I don’t think the two are supposed to be linked. Forgiveness is an act made being fully aware of what is being forgiven. Being able to forgive while remembering, knowing, it’s hard stuff. But it also means that if/once forgiveness is truly given, the memory does not cause strife, but serves as guidance for the future.

I posted the above on a friend’s Facebook page, in response to her status update.  It’s made me pause to consider where I am, and where I was.

Forgiveness is a difficult thing for me.  There’s a myriad of reasons for this, but it boils down to fear and security.  Many of the issues in my marriage, I believe, were compounded by my inability to truly forgive.  It took years to understand what that word means and how it functions… then longer to put it into action in my life.

 

Yesterday I cleaned our bedroom and bathroom.  I cleaned our bedroom and bathroom.  On my knees cleaning the floor, taking the windows apart and cleaning them with bleach.  I spent at least three hours up there… and I’m not done.  I still need to take apart the window in the bathroom, apply wood polish to the bathroom cabinet, clean the mattress heater thing, and pick up a few odds and ends which are floating around.  I’d like to take the curtains down and clean them – but I don’t think that’s going to happen since they are probably dry clean only.

I still have a nice long list of things to clean and disinfect.

The last couple of days I’ve been feeling disconnected in the Mommy world.  I blame the waiting.  It feels as though it will never happen, which makes her unreal, which means that part of me is ready to move on to the next thing in life.  Today, I’m right back on track.  She’s been active throughout the day, which always helps, and chatting with Mom … and trying to waddle up the street in SF.  Oh yah – I’m pregnant!  A friend of mine just let me in on her pregnancy and now it’s all over with.  The Mommy-ness is back.  I’m in the zone.

Last night, I shared with Mark about my disconnectedness.  He asked how long it’s been since I’ve seen a baby on TV.  You see, I can’t help it.  I watch a birthing video and turn to mush.  I cry.  I laugh.  I can’t wait for labor and delivery.  I can’t wait to share that experiance with my husband.  I can’t wait.

Even thinking about it gets me there.

I need to go clean something.

It’s like waiting for any big event in life (well, really, marriage was the only other event in my life remotely close to this).  Knowing that once it gets here, everything changes.  There’s no going back.  Things will change.  … and I can’t wait.  I can’t wait to meet her.  To touch her.  To know her and be known by her.  To understand that love that parents talk about.  The kind that is different than anything else.

I didn’t accomplish anything in my early 20’s and most of my mid 20’s.  It wasn’t a fear of change, as much as a belief that there was no such thing (as true change).  Apathy.  It’s a terrible place to be in.  It’s like having the desire and skill to paint, but no hands or feet to hold the brush.  It’s there. It’s so strong that it’s about to brust from under the skin – but that skin is like an armored truck.  Eventually, the fighter gets weary and the body continues on it’s way.  Snatched.

I’m glad that part of my life is over.  It is part of the reason I am looking forward to 30.  I can finally shead my 20’s and kick them off like sandles at the beach.  There’s no need to carry them around anymore.  Toes and sand go well together.  I’m not a 20-something year old.  I haven’t felt like one for a while.  Just like waiting for the baby, I’m ready to move on to the next step.  Patience has never been my strong suit.

Sunday, Pastor Larry referenced some guy who was teaching… something.  The details aren’t important (are they ever? heh).  This guy took a water jug and put as many big rocks in as he could.  Then asked if it was full.  To show it was not, he took sand and poured it in.  Then asked if it was full.  To show it was not, he poured water in.  His point was that the big stuff must be dealt with first.  If you poured water in first, then it would be full of water, and the rocks or sand wouldn’t fit.

I feel like I’ve spent a bulk of my 20’s dealing with water and sand.  milk. I want to switch to solid foods. I want some rocks.  Hell, I want some bolders and I want them now!

So I’ve started a list of “resolutions” for my 30s.  At least one of them involves husband participation (ball room dancing lessons), which will make it a bit difficult to achieve.  I’m hoping that in the next year he’ll warm up to the idea.

Anywho – time to pick up Mark from BART and start dinner.  Ciao.

 

Last night = conflict.  Conflict isn’t always bad, despite most people’s connotation of it.  It’s how we fight, it’s how we engage in conflict that makes it bad or good or simply what it is.  Mark and I are not good fighters.  We are trying to work on bettering our communication, but it’s a process.  We both carry baggage and it can be difficult.  The good part is that sometimes we come out with a positive outcome.  Last night was no exception.  It was a good outcome and if it carries through, I think it will make a big difference in our relationship.

I’ve been trying to “fall on my sword” in this relationship.  Accept everything, expect nothing, and be happy with what I’m given.  While in theory, it may sound good, it is not functional.  I have needs and I have desires.  Ignoring my needs and trying to change myself so that I don’t need them isn’t working.  I tried, and it just takes me deeper and deeper into a very bad place.  It doesn’t fix any problem, it only makes all of them worse.  I am who I am and while some things can be changed, others can not.  I need to know that I’m loved in a way that I understand.  I need to know that I am not alone in this effort.  I need to know that I’m safe.  That we’re safe.  That it’s ok.  I can logically tell myself that, but without the external supporting “messages” (verbal/nonverbal/physical/etc) I don’t truly believe it.   This is who I am, and I can’t apologize for it any more.

It’s amazing how perspective can change things.  A friend sent me an email (I referenced it in a previous post) and I was in one of those “places”.  I hadn’t responded until today and finally got around to it.  I reread it and took it very differently.  Amazing how that happens.

So off with my day!  I need to get my butt up and go to the gym first and foremost.  It all gets blurry after that, heh.

 

Does this too come from God?

All these things are swimming around in my head.  A baby is swimming around in my tummy.  Hum.  I’m going to ramble for a bit.

A friend of mine is just a few weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy.  Last Friday she delivered preterm.  A little boy.  Apparently there was a problem with the cord not transferring nutrients from the placenta.  While he was 27 weeks when delivered, his development was more in the 23 week mark.  Because of the cord issue they decided he had a better chance out here than in there.  The doctor believed that leaving him in the womb would be fatal within a day or two.

He must be so small.

I’m going to be in that part of the bay Friday and will hopefully get a chance to check on the parents and child.  It will be good to be there and get a chance to pray for him.  I don’t know that physical distance makes a difference in prayer… the bible talks about laying hands on people… but there is something human in the connection that makes.

My little one is doing ok, as far as I know.  She’s getting big enough that I can feel the smaller movements.  The shifts and turns.  It has become a comfort to feel her.  Talk to her.  To have her respond to me.  There’s so much that is tied to her.  Dreams that I’ve been having recently.  A dream that I had in the past.  Despite all that, my Mom reminded me this morning that all she has to do right now is be a baby.  To grow, stay healthy and be a child.  It was a good reminder and it eased my heart.

It’s been placed on my heart that her name has to mean strength.  Or something related.  So the search continues.

Yesterday was going to be an important day for the nursery.  Mark was finally going to put the crib together.  Sadly, a side piece had split in shipping and everything had to halt there.  I knew I should have unpacked the box when it was delivered.  I chose not to because Mark wasn’t going to put it together until that weekend (which was delayed, obviously) and I didn’t want to temp myself to find an alternate way of assembling the thing.  So now, I have to wait for at least a week for the replacement to come in.  Blah.  Yesterday I was quite annoyed.  Luckily it was rather short lived, heh.

I’m trying to grow as a person.  To be less selfish.  The most difficult area for me is my marriage.  To give and not have expectations of anything in return.  My husband has some needs, some issues, and other things which are yet to be classified.  I have to help/support/aide/etc in these things.  I have to give him what he needs without expecting anything back.  I can’t weigh my own input into this relationship based upon his output.  How is that managed?  How can I continue to pour out without being poured into?  If I perceive that my needs are not being met, can I, in turn, meet his?

The only way to do this, is to be poured into.  My only consistent source is God.  People fail.  They too have their selfish issues.  They forget to call.  They flake.  They make mistakes.  They don’t pay attention.  It’s just traits that make us human (and in that, they are beautiful).  If I lean upon God and allow Him to fill me, then there will be more than enough for me to provide for my husband.  More than enough for me to provide for my child.  More than enough for me to provide for whomever and whatever gets placed in my path.

He is the source of my strength.  He is the source of my peace and my joy.  Perhaps not happiness, but always there must be a joy.

Recently two people from my past told me how different I am.  It wasn’t in a good way… at least, I didn’t take it that way.  I’ve grown up.  I’m not the free spirit they remember.  To quote one “we haven’t spoken in so long – it is not the Stina I remember, so carefree, – it’s like I’m reading someone else’s blog.”  The other was my ex.  When I told him I was pregnant we hadn’t really been caught up on each other’s lives.  I filled him in on the past year, including my miscarriage.  He said I wasn’t the free spirit he knew.

It’s not possible to avoid change (and it shouldn’t be avoided).  Change is good, in its own right.  What constitutes that change and its effects are what have the potential to be negative.  Growing up is good.  Being more responsible is good.  Experience is good.  But at what cost?  My carefree free-spirit personality was something I valued about myself.  It was a core to my personal identity.  It got me into trouble sometimes.  It caused me to hurt people sometimes (not intentionally).  But it was me.  It defined me and how everyone saw me.  It was how I coped with all of the crap that happened in my life.

If I don’t have to that cope… how am I?  How am I dealing with the waves that come at me without end?  The pains, the hurts, the disappointments, the death, the struggle.  Even the joys.  How do I process those if I can’t let them go into the wind from a green hillside?  How do I breathe?

Does this too have to come from God?

 

lovely. beautiful. perfect.

We’re house sitting for some friends while they are overseas.  This morning I woke up and dressed to walk over.  The fog was lovely. beautiful. perfect.  Ludovico Einadui’s Andare played as my soundtrack.  It was perfect.  beautiful. lovely.  The crescendos came at the right time.  Ending up the song as I reached my destination… just as the sun began to burn through the fog.

Exiting the house, Primavera came on.  The sun continued it’s work and the colors became brighter, crisper.  lovely. beautiful. perfect.  The leaf edges defined, etching themselves against the sky.  The song picks up around the five minute mark, right when I reached a busy intersection.  I had to increase the volume over the sound of the cars.  But it was right.  It was the push for a new day.  As everyone entered their lives, their work, their tasks.  Movement mixed with color and edges.

lovely. beautiful. perfect.

 

.

Last night was supposed to be a fun night. Difficult people make it difficult for me to enjoy myself. I couldn’t wait to get home. On the plus side, the first reminded me of who I do not want to become. The second of who my husband will not become. I say he won’t, because he is already pointed in the other direction. For me, I have the potential… as a wife, as a woman. I will not.

Now for prayer. I need the Lord to help me not be bitter towards one of them. The anger was so intense last night. I told Mark I haven’t been that angry at someone (besides him) in a very long time, heh. I was shaking, then I cried because emotion is energy and it must go somewhere. I wish it would go into breaking stuff (maybe noses in this instance) instead of tears, but I won’t allow that. So it has to go somewhere.

 

remember me

A friend of mine just landed a contract position for $62K per year.  I could do that.  I could do better than that.  For a minute I had the loud voice in my head yelling at me for going back to school and not staying in the work force.  I like working, I like being productive and I like bringing home a regular paycheck.  There are times when it’s difficult to remember why I made this choice and that it’s important to me.  Short term satisfaction isn’t enough anymore.  Life has to be more.  I just can’t accept the work, kids, die thing.  It’s just not enough for me.

Even with my ideals, it’s easy to be distracted by shiny things.  By the ability to take a vacation.  To go shopping.  To buy a new car.  It’s easy to desire these “junk food” things of life and hope they fill the void.  Everytime I chase them down, I’m not happy.  I look back longingly at the road not taken and wish I could go back.

I can’t let go.  I can’t give up.  I’m going to do this.

 

Tomorrow I am going to call Blue Cross and find out what our insurance says about counseling.  I’ve needed it for a long time, and with impending changes to our family… now would be good.  I have issues, I know that I have issues and they’ve affected my marriage and my husband (yes, there is a difference between the two).  I am tired of them, and like my weight, ready to see them go.

I have been talking about counseling for a long time.  I haven’t done it.  Why?  Part of it is that when things are good – they are good.  Why fix it if it ain’t broke?  When things are bad, it’s difficult to think, difficult to move.  Difficult.  It’s during those temperate times that I can make my move.  Luckily those are getting more and more frequent and I accredit them to my recent leap into school.  I’ve discovered that I can breathe without the world falling apart.  Now if I can just use that for good and not afternoon napping!

Today I feel good, physically.  It makes me nervous.  My symtoms should continue until early August and I’m afraid that my day may be my nightmares coming to life.  I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want it to happen again until I had horrible dreams.  Dreams where my hands were covered in blood and my cries were almost inhuman with the depth of their grief.  I don’t understand this part of me.  I frequently close doors to myself in such a manner that I deny their very existence.  I think it’s a defensive maneuver as it’s something I’ve done since my teens.  I can’t deal with all of it, so I won’t deal with it at all.  If I can detach myself and clinically view something, then I can … can what?  Take a course of action that is logical?  Except I don’t.  I don’t act.  I sit with my head in the sand and hope someone will save me from the storm and feed me fruit and chocolate.  In many ways I am like my Mother, in many ways I am not.

Time for my walk.  It’s chilly today, I’ll need a sweatshirt.

 

self idenity

A few weeks ago AJ brough up “the name for yourself, in your own head”. Who am I – to me? Am I Christina? Christie? Stina? Chrissy? Not to mention the silly nicknames, like Monkey Princess. Does one define me more than the others? Or are they all a little bit of me? I used to pride myself in my faceted personality. Each “me” would fit for a situation or a social group. Each was just as much me as the others, whole and complete within itself and in tandem.

The past few years have been, well, let’s call them exploratory. Some good, some bad. In that exploration there was oppression – which is, in away, exploratory in the newness and the experience of it. After that road trip, I have been slowly understanding and redefining who I am. I’ve been coming to terms with that and accepting myself in a way I don’t know that I ever have. It’s interesting – as I return to my roots, I have found that some of them no longer apply. They were me, but now they are not. However because they were, they are, and are therefor, historically, my foundation.

One example would be my flirtatiousness. Is that a word? Well, spell check says it is – good for me. I used to be a huge flirt, but it wasn’t flirting, it was just ME. How I interacted with people, male or female, was the same. I guess it was flirting. I’ve discovered that my behavior towards people has changed and that I would no longer classify it as flirting. Is it maturity? It is marriage? All? None?

In my acceptance of me, is a new ability to identify tendencies in my person which I want to change. My apathy. My jealousy. My resistance. My submission. While resistance and submission may be used for good, I have not used them so… at least not frequently. Being back in school has also helped in some amazing ways. My English class addresses a variety of subjects, from education, to psychology, to social standards, and general acceptance of humanity. These subjects have forced me to examine myself and my behavior.

I do not want to lay there while the crows gnaw out my eyes.

I love my husband. I have made a choice to love my husband despite emotion or situation. I made a choice when we started dating that I would not be unfaithful. I made a choice to walk away from temptation, run if needed. I made a choice to let love and friendship reign. I made a choice, and it’s been quite a few years now – and I have not failed in those choices. If I can take pride in anything, it should be that. Those choices are some of the most important and impressive choices of my life. While I may struggled, I have not failed.

I am learning to walk. In the past I run and I fall. Those were the only two options for me. Run. Fall. That’s it. I am learning to crawl before I walk. Walk a ways… I haven’t quite gotten to running. Honestly, I am a bit fearful that I may allow old habits to resurface. In order to be solid and steady in my path, I plan on walking until running happens on its own, without my gear shifting.

I desire people. I will not be afraid of them. I will accept and appreciate the fear, but I will not allow it to control my actions. At least that’s the plan. It’s a work in progress.

God is a difficult one for me. I long for that relationship. Am afraid it’s not there. That fear makes me question my salvation. Like my husband, it’s a choice for me. God is a choice and I think that is how He must deal with me for a while. If truth exists, then I will keep falling into it. It is impossible not to. The taste will be beautiful and my tongue is out letting the rain drops land upon it.

Hello world. I am…