Sunday Scribbling - Nemesis

There are very few people in this world that I really don't like. Or ones that I thought didn't like me. Maybe I'm blissfully naive and there's actually a whole network of people out there that I have annoyed or made murderously angry with my bad habits of indecision, tardiness and overuse of my silly catch phrases like, "on the flip side" or "What were they thinking?" or "Seriously?!" There was one point in my life though when I knew I had a nemesis - someone who was out to destroy me and have me carted off by the men with a one way pass to the padded presidential suite of Hotel Nutso.

She was the designer we hired to help us draw up plans for our remodel a few years back. We'll call her Telulah (her name has been changed to protect us from any google searches that might connect her and her profession to my hometown - the last thing I need is a libel suit from this lady). Telulah came highly recommended from our friend in the remodeling business. He would hire her to design his addition if he was doing one. He warned us she was a bit "out there" but she was extremely talented.

She showed up for our first appointment and right away I knew she was different than anyone I'd ever met. She was petite and wiry (all the better to climb in your attic and check your rafter configurations) and had hair that was dark brown, blond and grey all at once. And the hair had a life of it's own. It didn't really flow down her back, it more spilled - not in the glorious heroine of a Harlequin novel way - but like someone tipped over my yard debris can after I had been doing spring pruning and branches were spilling out everywhere. The hair was coarse and wiry, like it gave up on being curly in any way years ago, but still just didn't want to lie flat. And so it seemed to go in all directions at once. She had a thin face that looked like it was barely wide enough to accommodate cheek bones. Her eyes were a bit buggy, with long, pale eyelashes. My daughter put it best - "Mom - I don't mean to be rude or anything, but she looks kind of like a witch would look if she was trying to look normal."

Indeed her birkenstocks and fleece vests and lilting soft voice had us all fooled at first. She took measurements, she listened to our ideas and excitedly added her own, she oohed and ahed over our garden and gushed about the potential for our little ranch to expand to meet our needs. We were sucked into her magical trance and before we knew it, we had a meeting to review preliminary drawings with her and were handing over a check for her to do the complete engineering and architectural drawings for our 700 sf addition. Her eccentricities seemed charming but harmless.

Further down the road, the truth started to emerge. Phone calls asking the same questions over and over again. Measurements needing to be taken again. Missed deadlines. Failures to coordinate with truss companies, my carpenter, the county for permits all just about drove me into a mental tailspin. On one particular afternoon when we had met at the county offices to submit the final drawings for approval so we could break ground and start the project, she was talking circles in ways that I swear had me closer to the mental edge of the cliff than I have ever been. At one point I looked at Brad and said, "I swear honey, you are going to have to do this and deal with her or I'm literally going to go postal here in the county offices and ruin all our lives because I'll be in jail for murder tomorrow." Thankfully the man knows a crisis situation when he sees one and he turned on the charm he uses daily working in a profession filled with the female gender and had Telulah back on the road to sane conversations and building permits within a few minutes.

I remember leaving that appointment and walking with Brad to the car and saying, "Why is she doing this to me? What have I done to her? Why does she hate me? She is driving me crazy! I just don't know if I can do this!"

In hindsight, I think that God used this woman to prepare me for the somewhat flaky and unreliable folks that were going to step into our lives in the next few months as we embarked on the building project. As my friend Dan says (he's a plumber himself), everyone in the construction industry is either mentally ill or chemically addicted to something. And I can say in no uncertain terms, that none of the contractors that came after Telulah was as bad as she was. As much as she was a nut job and a nightmare in some ways to deal with, she did do a phenomenal job on our plans and we had many comments from inspectors and contractors that hers were some of the most detailed and professionally done plans they had seen. So fortunately, my trip to crazyville complements of my nemesis, was worth it.

To read more about nemeses (is that the right plural?), go here.

The only thing missing was a glass of wine...

The further I travel down the path of this thing called "blogging" , I am amazed at how it shrinks the world around me.

Yesterday, I spoke to a young moms group at Laurel Community Church about the topic of guilt in mothering. I posted a few nuggets from my talk in yesterday's post just thinking it would be nice to share a few of the pearls of wisdom I gained in all the research for the talk. Imagine my surprise to get a nice comment from Devra Renner, the author of one of the books I used as a resource for my talk.

Devra co-wrote the book Mommy Guilt with her sister, Aviva Pflock and a friend, Julie Bort in response to their own experiences with the expectations and ups and downs of parenthood. Devra and I exchanged emails last night and eventually ended up on the phone with one another. I felt like one spoiled chick as she graciously answered my questions about the research for the book, her experiences as a mom, her career as a writer, social anthropology, Judaism and so on, and so on, . . . it was quite the phone call! The poor gal lives in the Washington D.C. area and I kept her on the phone until 10:30 pm my time. There's kindness for you! I felt like one spoiled little girl having my very own book club discussion with the author. The only thing missing, was the glass of wine! (Well, I'm not sure if Devra had a bottle open on her end . . . the way I talked her ear off, I wouldn't be surprised if she felt like she needed a drink when she hung up the phone.)

Devra was so gracious and kind and I'd like to give her and her website, Parentopia, a big bloggie shout-out and encourage all of you who are parents to visit it and take a look. Thanks again Devra, for the wonderful discussion!

Passin' up a ride on the guilt train . . .

Woo hoo! My talk is done and the women were so lovely and gracious. I spoke at the Laurel Community Church MOPS group this morning (mothers of pre schoolers) about mommy guilt and doing battle against it so it doesn't take over our lives. I'm so hopeful that they were encouraged to be more gentle with themselves when they experience feelings of guilt. For any of you interested, here are a few of the more interesting nuggets from the talk. And for my friends who aren't moms, some of this stuff is very applicable to ANY relationship that we might have feelings of guilt (spouses, siblings, parents, friends).

- Guilt is the generic label that we as women apply to the "stew" of our negative feelings. It's much more P.C. to say we feel guilty than to say we are angry, frustrated, confused, discouraged, grieving. These words, especially ones that might convey anger seem to carry a moral and social stigma if you're a mother.

- Calling these feelings guilt shifts the blame to ourselves rather than assigning responsibility to any one else.

- Ask a man about his feelings as a parent and he will rarely use the word guilt. It seems to be a word assigned to women and their relationships with other more than men.

- Women have been made to believe that their significance must come from one line of work or another. Trends in culture, media, and the voices of "child experts" have raised the bar of parenting (or any relationships) to such high levels it's difficult to feel successful and easy to feel guilt.

- The choices we make about big issues can cause us guilt. It's a blessing to have so much information about some of the decisions we face, but along with that can come feelings of doubt and inadequacy when we make decisions that are different than those of our peers.

- There is tremendous pressure that our decisions will make or break our children. Our western culture is very child-centered. Our culture has created an industry on telling mothers what they should do and apportioning blame for when they fail.

My basic advice to these women to fight the guilt?

- Name and own our feelings so the root issues can be dealt with. Why do I feel inadequate? Why am I angry?

- Give up the ideal of being a "Perfect Parent" focus on being a "Good Enough Parent". One that teaches our children that it's OK to make mistakes and models forgiveness.

- Recognize you are different, your kids are different, so your parenting (relationship) experience will be unique. Don't make parenting a competitive sport.

- Reject the conventional wisdom an d stereotypes of stressed-out parenthood. It doesn't have to be that way.

- Realize that kids will most certainly do things we don't want them to do. They come into this world with a little thing called "free will". It's not our job to control them, it's our job to teach them how to make their own good choices.

Over the past 12 years as a parent, I've found myself often drowning in those feelings of guilt that I just wasn't doing enough. With all of the outside voices of the culture we live in and my own insecurities, it's easy to get sucked into that parenting style. One of the things that has really kept me grounded is my faith and the promises that I have from God's word that I AM good enough and the answer isn't always to DO more. I read the moms the verses in Luke 10:38-42, the story of Mary and Martha.

Martha was consumed by the work that had to be done to host Jesus and the disciples at her house. Mary spent her time at the feet of Jesus listening to his teaching. Martha says what is in all of our hearts at one time or another (PARTICULARLY around the holidays), "Lord, don't you care?"

The great news is that he does! He wants to lighten our load, not add to it. A great message for young moms and for anyone.

Thanks to you all for your kind words and encouragement. It was a good morning - and yes - my head cold let go yesterday afternoon so I was able to speak this morning without having to stop and blow my nose!

The snot monster is in the building . . .

The Sunday Scribbling prompt this week is "hero". Right about now I could use one that will kick this head cold in the bootie!

Head is throbbing, nose is running, eyes are aching and I've just spent six hours straight at the computer working on my talk for Tuesday to a group of young moms looking for hope and answers to why they struggle with guilt. I feel inadequate, overwhelmed, frustrated and find myself hoping that another major storm might blow in and bring a tree down on my car so I won't have to go anywhere for the next week. I want to hide from their searching eyes and I want to really say to them - I don't know! I'm in this struggle myself and don't know the answers.

But God is good. He'll provide. He will heal. He is enough. I'm resting on that tonight.
He's the hero that will come to my rescue, just as he always does.

Good night friends.

Refreshed

Hello friends! Thanks for stopping by. There was a momentary panic last night when I tried to open my blog and all that showed up was code on a white screen. I switched to the Blogger beta thinking that might save me and - voila - it was back online. But I think something was screwy with my blog this weekend, so thanks for hanging in there with me.

It was a good weekend. I did get away, leaving the house at about 8:30 am Saturday and returning at about 5:30 pm Sunday. The time away was good. Good like a peaceful, cozy, warm fuzzy robe kind of good. The time was spent in quiet, freedom, peace, reflection, writing, thinking and relaxing. I started my morning downtown at one of my favorite places in Portland, the Saturday Market. It's a place my dad used to take me as a kid and I love the noise, the smells, the food, the sights of this magical place. It was a wonderful way to be inspired creatively for the weekend. I was able to share a lunch table with a delightful young gal who just moved to Portland from Michigan. She was one of the street musicians who gave the shoppers a lovely soundtrack to the morning. Visit her myspace site at to hear her and find out about her local gigs.

Then I had a great opportunity to chat with the husband of this incredibly talented photographer. I'm so excited to be on her email newsletter list and hopefully glean some new skills and techniques as I get more familiar with our camera. I bought this print in a card and just love it!

I walked uptown and spent some time browsing and shopping in Macy's (ack - I miss Meier & Frank) and Nordstroms. Came away with some bargains on Kenneth Cole & Liz Claiborne jewelry and it was bonus time at the Clinique counter. Unlike most times when I'm buying my basic Clinique supplies to get the freebies, I actually got a friendly and very helpful sales person. Usually, they turn their nose up at me when I buy the minimum amount, but this gal was a sweetie and I actually handed over my money with a smile because she had treated me so well.

The weather last week was a bit dicey here in the northwest, and another storm was due to come in on Sunday so I decided not to go too far from home for my night away. I stayed at this lovely little hotel in Lake Oswego and had a terrace off my room where I sat in the crisp sunshine of the afternoon and watched the sun drift to the water's edge in the late afternoon. (This is my self portrait on the deck of my room.) The hotel was older and the floors and ceilings carried a lot of noise, but it was exceptionally clean and the staff was very friendly and the view was lovely.

Within walking distance was a village of high-end boutique stores (fun to window shop), a Peet's Coffee Shop (good for a couple of hours of study) and some cool restuarants for dinner choices. Had a yummy tomato basil soup and salad for dinner with calamari appetizer and a glass of white wine. Read my book and just relished the time where the only words needed were "thanks" each time they brought food or filled my water glass.


In the morning I went for a long walk, worked for a few hours and then got myself cleaned up before checking out at noon. Had to attend a memorial service at 2:00 pm for a family friend so killed a little bit of time by driving to Tualatin's Bridgeport Village. Had my first trip to a Whole Foods Market and what an experience. Talk about sensory overload! So many choices for a quick bite to eat - about 4 different counters that you could order different kinds of food from. And the groceries - wow! So many choices and healthy options. And if that wasn't enough, back in the bakery was live music. I browsed incredibly ornate pastries with the Beatles' "Blackbird" being picked on a guitar and sung by a fellow sitting by the dinner rolls. What an experience!

For me, the memorial service in the afternoon was a lesson in how not to live my life. This man was remembered for being a "giant" in his industry. For loving sports, especially baseball and golf and for being an incredibly lucky gambler. Very little was said about his family and most people agreed, he was rude, insensitive and cold to most people. The phrase, "But that was just how he was," was repeated over and over. So sad. He wasn't one of my favorite people in the world, I'd agree he was usually cold and rude and brusque in manner, but very little was said about the tender heart he had for his kids and grandkids. It was good to see old friends and catch up with them, but I felt a little jipped out of an afternoon where I could have carried on the momentum from the weekend. I was the good daughter though, I made the family happy (my parents) and I think my presence mattered to the grieving family. Sometimes we just need to bite the bullet and do what's right, even if we'd rather do something else.

So thanks for sending the good thoughts and prayers my way! I'd highly recommend that if you can, get away for a break now and again - even if it's only for a few hours. It's such a good way to recharge your batteries. Better than botox - that little line between my eyebrows - gone after the night away! And coming home is so sweet - Brad and the kids had made me a chocolate cake and were waiting with big hugs. Mmmmm . . . life is good.

Friday Flashback

The forecast this weekend is for rain (surprise *snark*) and wind (hmmm - could be interesting). In fact, one local weather forecaster is whipping himself into a frenzy about this "wind event" that could be coming our way. He's saying things like "damage" and "significant" in the same sentence. G-r-e-a-t.

This was the weekend that Brad and I had set aside that I could go away by myself for a little "me" time. I have two talks coming up in the next month, one for a young moms group and one for my Tuesday morning women's group and some writing projects that I wanted to work on. The original plan was for me to go to the beach, but the recent heavy rains and the forecast for more heavy rain has made me wary of going too far from home. So it's likely I'll stay close to town this weekend. Besides, all I really need to get some work done is a quiet hotel room ANYWHERE with a coffee shop nearby.

All this buzzing about a potential windstorm has made me thing about our last big windstorm here in Portland in early December of 1996. One of the managers at work was a real weather nut and he knew this was going to be a big deal so he sent us all home early that day. I went to pick up my daughter at daycare and remember feeling a few gusts that shook my little Nissan Sentra like it was a toy. By the time I got home, we had already lost power. I put little N. in her room with the blinds open and it was light enough for her to play while I rounded up candles and flashlights for the evening. While grabbing candles out of my china hutch, I watched a rickety portion of our old fence fall to the ground like it was made of popcicle sticks.

After a while, little miss N. started to get bored. "Mama - can I watch Cinderella?" I had explained to her earlier why we couldn't turn the lights on but she was only 2 1/2 and didn't really get that the t.v. also ran on electricity.

I patiently explained that we couldn't watch Cinderella while the power was out. "Why don't we have power?" she asked.

"Because there is a big windstorm right now sweetie. Look outside at the leaves blowing."

"Mama - can we ask God to stop blowing. I really want to watch Cinderella!"

It was a very loooooong evening with a toddler who just couldn't understand why God wouldn't want her to have electricity so she could watch her beloved Cinderella. The power was out until the next morning but we were the lucky ones. One of my co-workers lost power for five days.

I'm hoping this wind event is a little less extreme. I'm all for the excitement of extreme weather every once in awhile (as long as folks don't get hurt) but I'm going to ask God to keep the power on this weekend. Being alone in a hotel room with the lights out doesn't sound like much fun!

Have a great weekend everyone! Hold on tight!

Lessons from the October Blues

I realized after I wrote my October Blues post last week, that I had made a promise to you all that I wasn’t sure I could keep.

After spilling my guts about my frustrations with the firing of one of our pastors and my decision to confront church leaders on what I saw as a real failure to communicate in an honest, real and respectful way, I promised to share with you all what I had learned through the process.

To be honest, I feel a bit like I led you on. You see, from reading your blogs (my bloggie friends) and to most people in the world, if I make a list of the things I learned through this process, there will likely be the collective uttering of, “Duh!” in the blogosphere. The things I would share would probably be concepts that many of you learned long ago and you might wonder, “Sheesh! Does this gal live in the real world?”

Well, yes, I do live in the real world, and I probably knew many of these lessons before this experience but, like a lot of life’s lessons, and certainly the ones that God seems intent on teaching me in my life, I often need the remedial classes to really “get it”.

So here’s a few thoughts on what I learned/re-learned through this process:

Lesson #1 - It’s really hard to go against the grain of your personality, even when you know it’s a good thing. I think about this with people who suffer abuse or addictions. It’s so easy for those of us who are not living in that world to throw solutions their way, “Just leave him. You don’t deserve that. Just don’t smoke that. Just say no.” Easy. Makes sense. A no-brainer, right? But if your history, your life story wasn’t written that way, if your soul and being aren’t wired that way, it’s not that easy. I would say that my life story, my heart, my soul, my desire and drive in all I do is that everyone would just get along and we avoid conflict at all cost. I grew up in a home where I heard my parents raise their voices to one another – oh, let me see – maybe 4 times in 18 years. Now, I’m not naïve, I know they fought, they just never did it in front of us. My story is one of always seeking to have everyone just “get along”. Raised voices are like fingernails on a chalk-board. I hate conflict.

I knew I needed to express my disappointment and frustration with the events going on at my church, but it was like scaling a craggy, dangerous mountain to get beyond the thoughts of, “You’ll be labeled – troublemaker, complainer, divisive,” even knowing that I had a legitimate base for my concerns. There was fear of damaging relationships with people that I love and consider family. There was fear that I would be misunderstood, judged, demeaned or criticized behind my back. All things that may not intimidate stronger, more outspoken people, but things that sounded worse than a physical beating to me.

So, with strength and determination that came from my heavenly Father, my husband and I believe from the great lessons and months of support of my bloggin’ tribe, I moved forward in spite of the fears and insecurities. The lesson? It was hard, the outcome wasn’t what I really wanted , but I know in my heart that it was the right thing to do. I have no regrets and I know the next time will come just a bit easier with the seeds of courage that were sown through this experience.

Lesson #2 - I learned that I need to make sure that I raise my children to trust themselves and not be crippled by fear when they need to speak up, take a stand, or ask the important questions. Recently, my daughter was having some struggles with one of her soccer teammates getting quite critical and bossy with her during the games. I could see that N. was getting flustered and upset by the constant badgering. The mama bear in me wanted to roar and tell this bully to leave her alone, but the voice of experience (and maybe wisdom?) said, “Let her work this one out on her own.” I want my children to be peacemakers and examples of humility and service as I believe we are called to be, but I don’t want them to be doormats. Because of my personality and my upbringing, I need to be more intentional about encouraging them to stand up for them selves.

Lesson #3 – Even though you are incredibly passionate and convicted that your point of view is right and correct the powers that be, may not agree. If you read my first post, you know that my concerns didn’t get my pastor his job back (not that I was really expecting this). The frustrating thing now, is that even though it’s been over a month since I turned in my letters, no policies or procedures have changed to prevent the communication gaps from happening in the future. I had three meetings with the three “big dogs” of the church, but there’s been no actions taken in response to my concerns. I’m struggling a bit with the whole, “Well, that was a waste of time!” response. I KNOW it wasn’t a waste of time to write the letters and have the meetings, but it FEELS a bit like a waste of time at this point. I know it’s important though to speak up so that when they are ready to listen, there is a voice to be heard instead of just silence.

Lesson #4 - There is a big difference between being heard and being understood. I think this is a lesson I can use as a wife, as a parent and as a friend. How easily do I slip into the patterns of, “Just hear them out so they will go away.” I’m not implying that this is what the pastors did to me, just saying that if I had multiple folks coming to me with complaints this would be an easy pattern to slip into.

Lesson #5 – Relationships are hard. (Here’s where you all say, “Duh!”) Even the ones with those who share the same tenants of faith that you do. I’m so grateful for my church family, and yeah – I feel a bit betrayed, stung, hurt and angry about this whole situation, and it would be easy to cut and run to the shiny, pretty church down the street and start over with a whole new family, but - I’ve made a commitment to these people. They have heavily invested in my life, my husband’s life, my children’s lives, as I have invested in theirs, and I’m in it for the long haul. Just like a marriage – we will have tough times, we won’t always get along, there will be times when I want to wring their necks until their eyeballs pop out of their head because I feel like they just DON”T GET IT. But I love them. They are my dysfunctional, imperfect, geeky, frustrating, brothers and sisters and we are all so blessed that we share a faith in a God who can love us in spite of all of the crap in our lives. If the Mighty God, Creator of the Universe can put up with them and love them, why shouldn’t I?

Well friends, hope that didn’t sound too preachy or sappy (listen to me, can’t even share my own lessons without a disclaimer so no one is offended). I wish I could have just a bit of the salt and vinegar that runs through the veins of my blogie friend, Amber. Then I would be able to tell you, those are the lessons I learned and if you don’t like them, you can go to . . . Oh, there’s another lesson – next time, have Amber ghost write my letter for me!

Blessings all!

Sunday Scribbling - Morning

I had grand designs to write a brilliant fiction piece for this prompt, but the inner critic is on a rampage and has convinced me the story needs more work before it sees the light of bloggerdom. Determined NOT to miss ANOTHER Sunday Scribbling, I'll humbly offer this vanilla flavored, hastily written, safe, benign look at my recent mornings. And we'll hope the inner critic goes on vacation soon. Very soon.

Friday morning.
I knew I didn't have to go into the office so decided to sneak in 15 extra minutes of sleep - it wound up being 35 minutes and the morning was off to a rushed start. The young man was already up and greeted me with, "Mom - I learned a lot of stuff watching the news this morning!" How long had he been up? "Did you know you can live to 100 if you do Tai Chi?" Great. Milk. Waffles. Syrup. "Boy! Girl! Breakfast is ready!"

Everyone made it out the door to school and now it was time to relax. My first morning off with no husband, no kids, no responsibilities in weeks. Ahhh. Hot cup of tea. Morning Newspaper. Bliss. Phone call from a friend. Catching up on my favorite blogs. Watching the fluffy part of the news. Rachel Ray and her quirky show all about a guy's birthday. A quick trip to the church to drop off some photos and then lunch at my favorite salad and chowder joint. A great morning!

Saturday morning.
Sleepy - rising early after a late night visiting with my nephew and niece-in-law. They came for a quick overnight visit to spend a little time with us and the kids. They are my favorite houseguests! They are so helpful and love spending time with the kids and talking. Breakfast was yummy pancakes made by the Mr. with my favorite - crushed pecans in them. We were off early for soggy, windy, cold soccer games where I got to watch my kiddos shine as they both worked with their teams to push to victory. Both sets of grandparents, their favorite cousin and his fantastic wife cheering them on from the sidelines. The kids literally glowed with the praise and attention. It was an awesome site to see. A real morning of memories for us all.

Sunday morning.
A restless morning. The dog paced around early but didn't want to go out in the rain for a potty break. I was up early but still tired. Fell back asleep on the couch and dreamed high-stress dreams. The back in college, missing homework, looking for centerpieces for 75 tables for church event, scrambling to finish major writing project kind of dream. Woke up feeling mentally exhausted. Needed to be at the church to help set up and take pictures for a retirement celebration. A rushed morning and my daughter decided to act every bit of her "tween" self and flip me attitude about leaving them at home alone. I drove away in my car wishing for a relaxing morning where I could sip my tea, read the newspaper and watch the pouring rain from my living room instead of driving down the highway with knots in my stomach. Deciding that a cup of tea could be at least enjoyed on the road, I stopped at a grocery store with its own Starbucks inside. My $1.30 cup of tea was rung up at $1.75. Wrong morning to do this to Mama G. I gritted my teeth and in the kindest voice I could muster, I explained to the grocery store, Starbucks barista wanna-be I would NOT be paying $1.75 for one tea bag and some hot water. I think she recognized that look in my eyes that said, "Really - you don't want to mess with me over $.45 or someone's gonna have to face the wrath of one very cranky gal who's walkin' on the edge of control here!" She quietly looked down at the register and then timidly pointed to the sign which showed that a "tall" tea was $1.35. I figured the safest thing for everyone involved was to pay it and hightail it to the car, so the immediate threat of meltdown was averted.

It was on to the retirement gig where I was just off all morning. Only about half of my pictures turned out and I feel like a giant goofball walking around with a camera around my neck snapping pictures like I know what I'm doing and seeing the end result and thinking, my 9-year old probably could have done better. Grrrr. This was not a morning I'd want to do over again.

It seems in the phenomena known as "mornings" they are either really good or really bad. Why is that? Is there really no in between? Would I trade the good and bad in for a guaranteed "ho-hum" every day? Probably not. Because when a morning is bad, you at least have the hope that the rest of the day can get better. And when a morning is really good, the whole day is golden.

October blues . . .

So, my friends. Here we are. November 2nd.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Thanks to all of you who have been so kind to visit during the past few weeks when my blog posts were a bit moany and groany about how busy I was. And those of you who are still visiting even though there have been dry deserts between my posts. Thanks for sticking in there with me. And please know that even if I wasn’t commenting on your blogs, I was sneaking time to read them as much as I could.

But this is a new month. Things are slowing to a much more reasonable pace at work, with the kids and just with life in general. And I’ve missed this. I’ve missed writing about more than just what is on my calendar. I’ve missed doing the kind of writing that stretches me, challenges me and makes me honestly express what’s going on inside though the gift of words.

So here goes . . . (excuse me as I climb back in my saddle, pick up the reigns and click my tongue at my creative self with a “giddy-up” old girl . . .)

I’m glad it’s November. October is my least favorite month of the year. A close second behind September. They are both crazy busy, but the difference is that October always seems to bring heartache and sadness with it. It started back in 1986 when my first serious boyfriend broke up with me in October. I spent a good portion of the month depressed, sad, angry and feeling very un-loveable. I was a freshman in college, still trying to find the me that was freed from the stereotypes of high school and overwhelmed by the new adult realities that lay before me. It was a bad month for me. Eventually the young fellow and I reunited, only to break up again the next October. Again, more heartbreak, sadness and tears as I realized this was it, he really wasn’t the “one”. (Happy sidenote: The fellow ended up marrying one of my best friends and we keep in close touch with them. They are so dear to us and I’m so thankful that we kept our friendship through everything that happened when we were young and stupid.)

There have been car accidents in October, lay-offs from jobs, and a fatal illness that took my Grandmother a few years ago. Nope – not a real fan of October. When I turn the calendar on September 30th, the superstitious British girl in me wants a drawer-full of good luck to ward off the October bad mojo.

But, I’m not a girl who really believes in luck anymore. I’m a girl who believes that a loving and powerful God watches me, protects me and walks beside me through the hardships of life no matter what month they come in. I’m his precious child and He’s never closer to me than when I’m hurting and crying out to him for help.

This October – the trial – de jour was one I didn’t see coming. (Okay – don’t know enough French to say “of the month”. Tara of Paris Parfait – maybe you can help me with this one?) This one hit me in the gut like a surprise sucker punch. I spent the month working through the news that my church was “releasing” (aka “firing”) a pastor that had played a significant role in my ministries. The letter that announced this decision was a frustrating example of not considering the needs of the audience when written and left me feeling like my parents had just told me my brother was moving out and now could I please pass the potatoes? What the heck?

This pastor had served faithfully for 16 years and was being let go because of philosophical differences, not a moral failure or even not meeting the requirements of the position. The announcement came at the end of a “state of the church” letter and in my opinion, the brief sentences offered just did not honor this man’s (or his family’s) sacrifices over the years. I would have expected my reaction to be, “Bummer – but I know he’ll be fine. Not my problem. He’s a great guy, extremely gifted, talented and passionate about ministry. He’ll find another job." That should have been it. But no; this news gnawed at me, kept me up at night, brought me to tears on more than one occasion. I just couldn’t get away from the intense feeling, that as the church, God’s church, we’re just not doing this right. There’s has to be a better way. A way that honors the authority of the senior pastor to choose the staff he wants but a way to express to the family of God – this is painful, and it’s okay to feel that pain, acknowledge it and honor the decision without dishonoring anyone’s service to God.

So came intense times of prayer, talking with God, writing letters, re-writing and re-writing letters and finally getting up the courage to send the letters to the senior pastor, executive pastor and chairman of the elder board. Now, think for a minute friends. I’m a ½ breed proper English girl with a mother whose mantra was, “Don’t make a fuss.” This was so out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t even find my comfort zone on the map! To make matters even more challenging, during the month I was invited to have follow-up meetings with all three of the “big fish” to talk about my concerns. As a gal who has chronic leaky eyeballs, these meetings were a challenge to keep rational, stick to the points in my letter and not just yell, “You’re all just being really mean!” It was during this time that I wished I could have the super-powers of draining my tear ducts before meetings so I could come out feeling like an adult and not an adolescent.

Well in the end, the pastor is still “released”, I felt like I was listened to and even “heard” on a certain level by the powers-that-be, but I’m still not convinced that the true heart of my concerns were understood and will be addressed so that policies and procedures are in place to make sure communications that go out to a mailing list of 1800 will be reviewed to consider the audience to which they are trying to reach. I guess only time will tell. It was an exhausting process which seems silly – it wasn’t like a life-threatening emergency or me losing my job, but for a gal who hates making waves, it felt like swimming across an ocean.

Well, this post is getting pretty long, so I think I’ll save the rest for tomorrow. I wanted to talk about “voice” - how the events of the past month have influenced what I think and how I feel about my voice as a woman, as a professional, as a follower of Christ, as a human being, as a writer, but I don’t want to scare you all off on my first real post for weeks.

Thanks again to those of you who have encouraged me over the past few weeks. You are all such a blessing to me!