Tough Topic Tuesday

please pray for Jenny Bizaillion

Sent to me from several people. Posted on carepages.com/jennybizaillion

Feb 9 12:45 am

It is a surreal scene. A remnant of family and friends gather and hold on tight to the most tangible thing left-prayer. We get silent. Smaller pockets of prayer break out. More silence. Praise music fills the room. Addison Road's What Do I Know of Holy is what captivates our heart at this moment. Beverly is ministering to another family in the room.

Jenny is on the first floor undergoing a CAT scan.

People are praying all over the world.

God is not asleep. He is not dead. He is very much alive.

We are waiting for Jenny to get back from the CAT scan.

We will let you know as soon as we can.

Kayci is dancing.

Angels are among us.

God is here.

Tough Topic Tuesday

Really? A 31 year old, beautiful, young, full-of-life, mom, wife, sister, and friend gets pneumonia and is now fighting for her life? Fighting amputation? Fighting organ failure? Why? Why all the pain in this world?

I know the answer to that. It goes something like: broken world, less than Holy, not fully redeemed yet, or as Forest Gump would say, "S H*T Happens."

Sometimes the stories I hear just make my heart hurt. Not so much a tough topic Tuesday, just a tough reality Tuesday I suppose.

Last week a girl wrote me about one of her friends dying in a plane crash. 14 year old Libby Cooper, her older sister, and her father all died two weeks ago in Arkansas on their way to a basketball game. And like that, a mom and son were left with memories. And a friend of the family, Haley, writes to ask me what she is supposed to say to God now? She's only in 8th grade. How do you tell an 8th grader that it gets harder? That sometimes there are no words.

What do you say to God when everything is falling apart?

A book that really helped me deal with grief and anger is by a pastor whose son died days before leaving for college. This pastor was shocked at the anger and rage he had for God in the days following the accident. Then he was shocked at his depression and disparity. His sense of feeling lost and directionless. He was shocked as he dealt with the denial. And then shocked at his guilt as he began to feel happy and human again. As he dives into the steps of grieving, he realizes that in order to truly heal, he has to embrace everything he is feeling and he has to honestly be able to reveal those things to God. He is angry. This book is for those facing tragedy and find themselves wondering what to say to God in the midst of their hurt and anger. It's aptly called: Sit Down God, I'm Angry by RF Smith. For me, it was a life-changing read.

Another book?

The book of Psalms where David says, "How long will you ignore my cries for help?" "How long will we suffer?" "How long will the evil prosper?" "Oh Lord, have you not heard my cries for help?" The questions go on and on. They are real. Honest. Vulnerable. And full of raw emotion. David wants God to pay attention to his suffering. And some of the questions he poses for the Lord make me think he is past being nice, he wants God to show up and answer. NOW.

I will always remember one of the first Bible study groups Ryan and I went through as a couple. We each had to share our "story" and mine included the church I grew up in covering up an affair and firing my mom quietly because she knew too much. It then included a subsequent church who not only (we found this out after it was too late) notoriously fired their student pastors, but did so by asking them to pack their offices, leave the premise, and not allowing them to come back to say good-bye to their students. Needless to say, my family was very hurt by the people my parents were serving. And I was angry. Angry that people who were called to serve as pastors were using their power in such sad ways. Angry that the "good" people in these churches sat by quietly as their clergy did things in the name of God that were wrong, manipulative, and hurtful. And I was angry at God.

As I shared my story with this bible study group I said, "I went to college hating God. I really did. I hated the church and hated God and wanted nothing to do with it."

A girl in the group looked at me and with a fiery indignation and this little eyebrow raise she did with that made her look like an old school, goody-goody, teachers pet she said, "You did not hate God. You may have been mad at him, but you didn't hate him. You shouldn't say that, that is very extreme."

To which I responded, "But I did say that. I HATED GOD. I really did." Pretty sure I embarrassed Ryan and made the room tense and awkward. But seriously...

Woman... don't tell me who I can and can't hate! I know what was going on inside of my heart. I am not saying it was right or that it was satisfying or that it was the end of my story... but I am saying it was a part of my story. And let's face it, if you have a real engaging love-affair relationship with Christ, one day when the world hurts you, you are more than likely going to look at him and say, "why?" "Why didn't you come?" And if you are 19 and young and as passionate and emotional as I am, you will probably follow it up with, "I hate you!" and not eat for three days.

In the New Testament, when Lazarus dies Mary wouldn't even come out to greet Jesus. We don't know if she was hurt or angry or numb, but my guess is a quiet anger. So you're God? Then why didn't you come heal my brother? If you were there, she says, he would not have died.

Ouch.

Sometimes when this world hurts we get angry before we get sad. It's part of the process.

Jesus, if you would have showed up, he wouldn't be dead.

This World Makes Me ANGRY

Sometimes when this world hurts we get angry before we get sad. We get sad before we get numb. We get numb before we experience regret. We experience regret before we see glimmers of hope. We see glimmers of hope before our joy is restored. We see joy, little tiny bits of joy, sink back into our hearts and souls before we see restoration. And we see earthly restoration before we see Jesus. Heaven. Those who have gone before us. And the beautiful ending to a story that is often laced with tragedy and hardship.

Before we ever get to the place where there will be no more tears, only the Holiness of God's face, our journeys bear the marks of this broken world.

And today, I have been reminded that in brokenness, we often experience anger. Doubts. And sadness that can sometimes be overwhelming.

But then I read the description above:

God is not asleep, he is not dead, he is very much alive

Kayci is dancing

Angels are among us

God is here.

I think Jesus says, "I know you are angry, sad, broken, tired, scared, worn down, and bitter... but come to me all of you who are these things... I will give you rest. I will give beauty for ashes and strength for fear." And his promises are never ending. And they are real. They meet people in waiting rooms and bedrooms and airplanes. And all of a sudden, when you realize you are not walking through the valley of the shadow of death alone, the anger begins to quietly and effortlessly leave and the strength, HOPE, and yes, JOY of God steps in and replaces all the anger, hate, scared, bitter emotions we have.

Please pray for Jenny Bizaillion, her 9 year old daughter, and husband.

Please help Jenny's family raise the money to pay for her extensive medical care. You can donate to the tax deductible 501 c3 fund set up for her by clicking here.

(once on this page, click on donations, and in the special instructions page please include Jenny's name)

Can you help me raise $5,000 for her? That's my goal. Anything and everything helps.

Four Stories Worth Telling

Story Number One

A month ago I saw a homeless man in the busy, business-professional, restaurant laden area of my town. Since I am not actually in Dallas, it is a rare occasion that you see someone who is truly desolate just sitting in the parking lot of our suburban oasis. But there he was. Ryan and I thought he was dead. And honestly, we drove right past him at first. Along with all the other cars and people. There were men in suits and ties, soccer moms with minivans full of children, and groups of girlfriends who were shopping the strip mall behind us, and we all drove right by him.

He had the darkest black skin I have ever seen. He was slumped over in a wheelchair with his head flung over to the side. He was right in the middle of the Chick-Fil-A parking lot at the height of the busy lunch hour.

It didn't even occur to me to stop, we just did what everyone else did, we swerved around him.

And he did not move. To the world, this man was invisible. And by all appearances, he may have very well been in dead.

STOP

It only took a few seconds for God to speak sternly to me. "Open your eyes Jenny. What is wrong with you? He is a human. He is my child. Will you not even stop to check on him? How can you swerve around him like that? As if he is a fire hydrant or a dead animal in the road. Turn around. Take care of him. He is mine."

But God... Ryan and I have to meet the band in ten minutes at the church. We have a flight to catch. We have gear to take out of the trailer and merchandise to pack. We have a concert. Plus, seriously, he looks dead. He looks scary. He's right in the middle of the freaking parking lot... I might get hit by a car. And Annie is in the car. What if he has a gun? What if he jumps into the car? My stomach is churning just thinking about him sitting there. I can't turn around. He shouldn't be in the parking lot anyways.

My excuses were impressive. Legitimate. Numerous.

But God's voice was clear. Go back. Not optional. I shouldn't even have to tell you. STOP.

I told Ryan we needed to turn around. He said he knew. I got out of the car and for the first time in a very long time I was scared of a person. This man scared me.

"Sir? Sir? Are you OK? Sir, are you trying to get somewhere? Can I help you?"

He looked up. His eyes were drowning in a pool of tears and yellow poison. I have never seen a man as sick as this.

"I'm trying to get to the bus stop. I'm sick, I must have passed out. I'm sorry."

I could hear the shame in his very tired voice. I asked him if I could push him out of the road and asked where he'd like to go. He pointed to a parking spot away from people in the Blockbuster parking lot. I asked what he needed. Food? A ride? I kneeled down so I could look into his sick eyes. He did not scare me anymore. I felt a deep love for him.

He said he simply needed me to pray for him. "Just pray for me, that's all."

I can pray for you, but what about food? Do you need some food? Water? In my mind, prayer was not enough.

I went and got our Chick-Fil-A out of the car and he began to devour it. He told me he was homeless and on dialysis. He lost his job when his kidney's stopped working. Shortly after, he couldn't afford rent anymore and before he knew it, he was out on the streets. He spoke with simplicity. He was kind. Tender. Well spoken. Straight-forward and honest. He made me laugh when he said that downtown Dallas was too ghetto for he and his two best homeless buddies. So they bus out to the suburbs and spend their days in the parking lots of Starbucks and Barnes and Noble. That is, the days he is not in the hospital. He tells me his bus route and exactly how he gets to the hospital from where we are standing. He tells me the homeless shelters that he prefers. He has no family in town. They do not know he is sick and he says they can't help him anyways, they have all wasted their lives away.

"Just remember me and pray for me when you think about it. My name is Dexter."

"I'm Jenny."

You are my Friend Now

I grab both of his dirty hands. His fingernails are long and curled backwards. His hands are surprisingly soft. I tell Dexter that I live nearby and my church is nearby and that I will pray for him, remember him, and check on him. I hold his hands the entire time that I tell Jesus how I don't understand suffering, but that I know we never walk through it alone. I tell him I thankful for my new friend. I beg for healing, provision, and a chance to start over again. I feel Dexter's tears hit my hands. Ryan honks and motions for me to come on, we are going to miss our flight. I tell Dexter I am going to be gone for four weeks but that I will look for him as soon as I get home. He says thank you. And I leave.

I do not stop thinking about him for days. I ask Ryan if we can bring him home if we ever see him again. If we can drop Annie off with a friend, have some men from the church come over, and let him shower and rest in our house. Ryan says he thinks that would be OK. This is not the answer I expected from him. I am blown away at his compassion and conviction. We leave and spend weeks on the road and I ask my friends to please keep an eye out for him. No one sees him though.

I am only home three days throughout the entire month and search for him each time I am back. But I never find him. My prayers become fervent. God please let him be OK. Please let me see him again. I put a blanket in my car and hope that I will be able to give it to him next time. But next time comes and I don't find him. The month gets more intense and I forget about him.

Yesterday

We are running errands. Annie is fussy in the backseat. Ryan is exhausted and has to go get a rental van and trailer. I am trying to thaw out after a horrifically cold photo shoot the day before that left me feeling like I had pneumonia. We are driving by the bank and out of nowhere, in his spot behind the dumpster, there he is. Dexter.

I had forgotten about him. I forgot to be looking. I forgot to pray for him. My heart drops to my stomach. I feel sick. For so long I prayed for him and hoped to find him... but not today.

Seriously, this guy pops up at all the wrong times.

But I am his friend. I cannot drive by and pretend I don't see him (though I really want to) There he is, in his wheelchair, in the Chick-Fil-A parking lot.

Dangit, I am not in the mood to help. To befriend. To love. To give. Neither is Ryan this time. But we have to stop, we know we do.

And deep down I want to stop, but mainly I am afraid. What do I do with him now? Do I bring him to a shelter? Do I rescue him from the streets? What would Jesus do? What is best for him? A million questions rush my mind. I am really not sure what's next in our relationship. Do I simple say, "Yo Dexter! What's up my friend? Need food?" Or, "Hey, Dexter, you're still homeless. Awesome. I still have plenty of money." Do I take him home and give him Annie's bedroom or pretend that he doesn't have needs?

There is no handbook for this. There is just the command to love and take care of the poor. The orphaned. The widowed. And though I'm not sure if he is a widow, he is for sure poor and orphaned. Still, I have no idea what I am supposed to do. I just know I have to do something.

We stop

"Hey, do you remember me?"

"I'm sure I do."

"My name is Jenny. You're Dexter, right?"

His eyes well up with tears. "Yeah, that's my name. You know my name so I am sure that I know you." And he smiled.

I handed him the blanket that had been in the car for him and he wrapped it around his shoulders. I told him that the last time I had seen him he was very sick and I was so worried about him. I told him that I had been praying for him and looking for him. I told him he was a tricky little booger to find. And he laughed. I asked how he was feeling and how his treatments were going. "Dexter, what do you need today? Right now, what do you need?" He said the blanket that I brought him was perfect and that he could use some chicken nuggets. And of course, I can just pray for him, he says.

God gave me that question, it just came out. What do you need today? Because really, today is all I can really handle.

Ryan and I went through McDonald's and Ryan insisted we buy him a gift card. This makes Dexter smile. "Thank you so much, so much. Now I don't have to worry about meals right after dialysis. There's a MickeyD's right across the street." He tells me the shelters he's been staying in this week since it has been very cold. Last night he spent the night at the public hospital hoping to get some pain medication. He never got it, but at least it was warm inside. I asked him if Tylenol would help. He says he can only take one if he is in a lot of pain, but that it might be nice to have just in case.

I tell him I will be back. Ryan said we could give him our home phone number. "Dexter, if you need somebody you call us. Deal? If you need help, need a ride, if something happens, you call us. We will come if we are home. Understand? Deal?" He says deal and smiles his beautiful smile. In my mother voice I reiterate, "I'm not kidding, you will call me if you need anything, right? If we can be there for you?"

I get in the car and my heart aches.

Who holds his hand when he goes in for dialysis? Who remembers his birthday? Who brings him soup and puts him to bed when his stomach hurts so bad that he collapses in his wheelchair in the parking lot? Who tells him they love him and tells him to keep fighting? Who does he call friend?

Oh God be near to the lonely. To the broken hearted. Be the father to the fatherless. Whisper into my friend's ear when he walks through hell without a single person knowing his name.

A Small Move

Ryan and I left. I went home, left Annie in the car, and stocked up as much stuff as I could find for him at the apartment. Some of Ryan's socks. A pair of ski gloves (yeah, um, whoever we borrowed them from... you won't be getting those back). Tylenol. And three instant heat packs that my mom puts in our stockings for Christmas. And I wondered what on earth I would do with those things!?! I got a big sweater and a sleeping bag and a hat. I drove back to the McDonald's and he was gone. My heart sunk. This man is toying with my emotions. And my schedule. I feel annoyed at myself for caring, for getting so involved. Am I doing the wrong thing?

Annie and I went grocery shopping and on the way back, there he was, waiting for the bus. here we go again. He told me he was in the bathroom earlier and that my trip to the grocery store must have been perfectly planned so that I could meet him at the right moment. I showed him what I brought from the house and asked what he wanted and what he didn't want. His answer was anything that could fit in his backpack, otherwise, it would get stolen. He asked me if I had a few minutes so I could help him put the things in his backpack. This is a very small move, I realize, but it was a move. And right now I feel like God keeps asking me to take these baby steps into other people's lives.

His Story

I felt guilty, but I rejoiced in seeing a bag full of prescriptions with his name on them.

In my cynical world I was still conducting my own background search and trying to fish out the truth about this man and his life. Why? He is not a beggar. He has never asked me for any money. I am the one that stopped and asked him to talk to me in the first place. And he barely took my food the first time I offered it to him. He has only asked for prayer and chicken nuggets. He is not holding a sign, panhandling, doing anything illegal, or taking advantage of anyone. He is just trying to stay alive. Why is it any of my business to try and figure out if his name is really Dexter? Or if he really is on dialysis? Why do I not trust him? Why do I think it is important to make sure he is not lying to me? What is it about us that we feel like people somehow have to deserve our compassion and live up to our litmus test of poverty before we give them the help they need? I was disappointed at my skepticism.

Healthy caution is the result of living in a broken world. But sometimes we have to throw caution to the wind and just love. So what if his name wasn't really Dexter? What if he did something bad or made poor choices and that's why he is here? Would I withhold the socks and Tylenol and chicken nuggets? I am ashamed at the judgement I pour onto people.

I crammed the socks, hat, heat pads, and medicine into his backpack. We chatted for a few minutes like normal adults. As if I was not driving away to a warm house and he to a homeless shelter. I looked deep into his eyes and told him that I was so happy I got to see him today. He shook his head. I felt weird about leaving him like that, homeless and all. But I felt at peace.

Ryan and I cannot rescue Dexter.

Dexter is a grown man who must figure things out and make those huge decisions for himself. But Ryan and I have learned from Dexter that we can be a part of his story even if we aren't playing a huge role. We can just be there. Be his friend. Bring chicken nuggets. Find him in his posh parking lot watching the people pass him by. Hold his hands and pray with him. Get the Tylenol out of the drawer at home and meet a few of his small needs. We can do that much...

And for now, when I least expect it, God is asking me to open my eyes, stop being so consumed with my own world, follow his quiet promptings, and just do something. He is asking me to jump into other people's stories. And he is teaching me how to do that through a man named Dexter.

*This is story one of a four story series*

K Love Cruise

Pray for me, I had a real hard week at work.

Save your money and go on a K-Love cruise. Seriously. One of the most fun weeks ever. Vacation with your favorite bands? Midnight shows. Food. Food. Food. Beaches. Time with God. Worship. Beautiful sunsets. New friends from all over the country. It was perfect. A much needed break from the real world. Maybe I can get a cruise to give away to a faithful blog reader?!? Thank you K-Love and Premier Christian Cruises for a wonderful trip! And thank you to all the new friends we made on the trip who love and support Christian music. Each of you were a blessing to me.

... more pics to come

Therapy Thursdays

(This blog is not for the faint of heart... it said it was 9 pages in word. Yikes.)

I am sitting in Starbucks. It is 2:13 p.m. I have to be home in 47 minutes.

I did not do anything that I wanted to do today.

I thought Ryan and I would have a whole play day. We flew in late last night and fly out again tomorrow morning. Today I was going to get a massage. Maybe a pedicure. I was going to read a book. I am reading Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. I thought we would go see a movie. Crazy Heart is the movie I wanted to see. Eat a long lunch. And go shopping for bathing suits (we leave on our first ever K-Love cruise Monday morning! Thank you, thank you, thank you K-Love!).

But here I am in Starbucks and all we have done is eat lunch. Ryan had band errands that took him longer than he thought and we didn't get out of the house until 12:15 or so. We only have the grandparents until 3 o'clock and after eating and catching up on a few emails all I have left is an hour. No down time. No book. No Movie. No Shopping. No massage.

Sigh.

No massage.

A few years ago I would have been down in the dumps, angry, or just bitter at life after a day like today because it has not gone the way I wanted it to go. I would have been disappointed.

But now, after oh so many years of therapy, days like today are a bit easier to swallow because my expectations have changed. And our expectations play a huge role in the way we live or lives.

My Expectations

Truth is, my plans rarely work out. The expectations I have for my day, for certain people in my life, for the good guy to win, for my closest circle of family and friends to be happy and healthy, and for the world to work in tandem with my dreams rarely happens. Statistically my expectations have about a 95% failure rate! Seriously. Over the course of a lifetime I have realized that I am a dreamer with big plans, high hopes, ambitious schedules, and a penchant for wanting to self-indulge as often as possible. Mix that up with the fact that I forget about details like traffic, construction, clocks, lack of money, human error, set-up and tear-down times, getting stuck on the runway, less passionate people than myself and cashiers that might move extra slow and you have a recipe for a lot of unmet expectations and plans.

You have a girl who, for a very long time, felt like the precious free moments of her life (and the people who influenced those moments) were constantly letting her down. Constantly.

Nothing EVER goes the way I want it to.

A mean dog story

My counselor told me a story about a little girl and a dog. The little girl lives next door to this very cute dog. She wants the dog to like her so everyday she goes to the fence and tries to talk to the dog and pet him. And everyday the dog barks and barks. Growls and growls. Chomps and chomps. He is a mean dog. He does not like her. He did not like her yesterday. He does not like her today. And if the world works the way it usually does, this dog is not going to like her tomorrow.

Still, she presses on, desperate for the dog to be her friend.

And every morning she goes and sticks her fingers through that fence and every morning that mean dog is still very mean.

One day the dog bites her fingers off.

And she bleeds to death and dies.

OK. Well, my counselor didn't say that. I just thought it'd be funny if she died from the blood loss because of a mean stupid dog. But he did bite her fingers off.

Here's the question we have to ask though: Did she lose her fingers because of the dog or did she lose them because of herself?

A few years ago I told my counselor that she lost them because of the dog. He was mean. He bit her fingers off. He attacked her. He never would be nice. He wouldn't like the little girl no matter how hard she tried and he was to blame for that. That dog was mean and stupid and left the girl hand less. Bad dog. I hate dogs.

My counselor's response?

"Jenny, that girl lost her fingers because she refused to acknowledge reality. It was her fault the dog bit her. It was her fault that she was hurt over and over again everyday. It was her responsibility to make a logical decision about that dog and she refused to do so. So she lost her fingers. The dog was innocent. That little girl was completely to blame for what happened to her because even though she knew the dog was mean, but she refused to accept that as reality."

"Jenny, you are that little girl."

CRAZY

Ouch. At least she didn't call me the dog, right? Let me make sure you understand what I am saying because this theory makes HALT look like a kindergarten tool.

Albert Einstein defined insanity as, "Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

That means that in the story with the dog, the dog is not to blame; the little girl is. The dog was consistent. He was consistently mean and angry and violent. His behavior was typical. Should the dog be mean? No. Should the dog bite fingers? No. Is the dog a nice dog? No. But those are not questions that the little girl gets to answer or decide. The dog is being who the dog is... it's not her job, her right, or her Christian duty to make that dog nice. First you have to realize that. You cannot change the behavior of someone else. You cannot change the outcome of something or someone that is out of your control (i.e. your day, your companies decisions, or any human being).

So now she has a choice: Do I let the dog be? Or do I continue to go back to the dog, day after day, hoping that he has changed?

Well, Albert Einstein, and a whole bunch or really smart shrinks would tell you that by going back to the dog you are essentially exhibiting behaviors of someone who is in insane. That's not fun to hear is it? Your actions are INSANE. You are to blame. You are responsible for yourself and YOU are harming yourself... the dog doesn't have power to hurt you.

That's not Fair

I was so mad at this story. I was so mad at this shrink theory. I was so mad at my counselor.

I could feel myself getting angry as she looked me in the eyes and said, "Jenny, why do you keep going back to a dog who has consistently shown you they want nothing to do with you? This is not about the dog. It's not the dog's fault anymore. It's yours. You are the one that keeps going back. You are doing something insane. You are responsible for your own hurt."

When you are in real therapy, those are the kind of sessions that make you get back in your car and claw at your steering wheel, punch the seat next to you, scream profanity, and then drive to Taco Bell to gorge on something nasty and horrible for you.

Therapy is hard. It is the hard road. It is the high road. It is the road less traveled for a reason.

IT SUCKS.

Essentially what this lady told me was this: There are these people in your life who are consistently the same. Be it lazy. Angry. Mean. Or uninterested in you. People that don't love you the way you want to be loved. They are consistent, yet you keep hoping they will change. You keep hoping for a different outcome. You keep hoping their behavior will magically transform itself out of their love for you. You keep walking into these people and relationships with unrealistic expectations. You really think, deep down inside, that one day things will be different. And when they aren't, when the dog barks at you and tries to bite your fingers off, you get mad at the dog all over again and end up hurt. You are constantly hurt because you refuse to accept reality. Your expectations are based on your own faulty wishes.

So do you want this to be your life?

Creeping up to a fence every single day hoping that today you won't lose your fingers? Or will you accept these people and situations for what they are and change your expectations of them?

Changing my expectations was a very hard thing to do. And for so long it just felt unfair. BUT I WANT TO HAVE THE PERFECT DAY. I WANT TO HAVE THE PERFECT FAMILY. I WANT TO HAVE________.

It's not fair that they have the power to ruin everything!

I had to learn that they only had the power because I gave it to them. You give people power by expecting change instead of accepting reality. I wanted things to be better in my relationships but I did not account for the fact that the other party had to be aware of the same thing and desire it as well. I was walking to the fence waiting on someone to come that didn't exist. There was no willing participant on the other side, only me and my hopes that the person would show up. Instead, I usually met an angry dog. And I left sad and hurting that it was still the same old dog.

So one day I decided...

Today is the day I will not walk to the fence.

Today I will say good-bye.

And I stood and looked at the fence and felt sick to my stomach. I felt such deep loss that it hurt. And then I cried every tear I had in me to cry. And I started the process of mourning what would never be.

Today I will look at the little dog and I will hurt because I want that little dog to love me so bad, but I know he will not. I know he will only hurt me. So today I will not walk over to him. Today I will protect myself. Today I will pour my energy and heart and desires into something or someone else. Today I will let go of something I've wanted for so long, and it will hurt, I will mourn the loss of what could not be, but today I will not let the dog hurt me, because today I finally realize that HE WILL...

and there is nothing I can do to stop him except stop myself.

Real World Please?

If you've made it this far you might want to know what this practically looks like. You might also want to know how Jesus plays into this whole bit.

I had a friend confess to me that she hated Christmas. She said that every year her family just fought and she ended up screaming at people and becoming this person that she did not like. She hated Christmas because she deeply loved Christmas and had this dream of what the perfect Christmas would be like... her family was not it.

So you apply the dog story and the definition of insanity to the situation (whatever it may be). Has Christmas ever been what you dreamed of? No. Has your family shown any indication that they are capable of having a happy, healthy, joyous Christmas under one roof? No. Has history repeated itself? Absolutely. Well, unless everyone has a come to Jesus and go to a therapist moment, chances are this Christmas is going to be the same. That dog is gonna bite.

Just understanding that much sets you up for success. It is disappointing and it hurts and you might cry your guts out, but the first thing my friend has to do is accept the fact that unless a miracle happens (and miracles do happen... they're called hard work!), her families Christmas is not going to be what she dreamed of. Her family is inherently incapable of meeting her needs. So now the ball is in her court... will she go into the holidays hoping for something that is not going to happen? Having unrealistic expectations and hoping they will meet her needs even though they have proven they cannot? Or will she say good-bye to those dreams and accept reality?

Here is what she might say to herself: My family doesn't function well and this Christmas I will not expect anything to be different. If it is different then it will be a great, unexpected, beautiful gift. However, if it is not different, I will not cry myself to sleep and swear off the holidays and battle depression for the next three weeks because I know what to expect and I accept that. My family has shown what they can give me. And I will respond accordingly to what they are able to give; not to what I wish they could give. I will protect myself from my own unrealistic expectations. God give me the courage to be fulfilled by you and you alone. Give me the wisdom to stay away from the fence. Be my family when my family is not the one I dreamed of.

Disclaimers?

Yes, there are disclaimers. This does not mean you give up on people. This does not mean you get angry and bitter; writing the person off as a lost cause. This does not mean that you do not hope and believe that Jesus can change hearts, lives, families, relationships, and really crummy days where nothing seems to go write. This does not mean checking out and not investing into the people in your life. And it does not mean turning into an escape artist who withdraws into their own little world so that the world they are in can't hurt them. Those would all be pretty unhealthy things as well.

This is just the jumping off point for someone like me who lived with unrealistic expectations for a long time and did not even know it. This is a place where you can say... "Oh, maybe ______ will never change." Maybe I need to change! Maybe I don't need to get near an electric fence with a rabbid dog waiting to chew my fingers off! Maybe I should be more careful. Protect myself. Be wise about people's limitations. Maybe I should ask God to help me let go of some of these things I have always dreamed about but continually find myself hurt over because they never happen.

Starbucks

So my day wasn't perfect. It's 7:00 p.m. and I am just not getting a chance to sit down and finish this blog. Since I left off a huge rainstorm has come through Dallas and I was not able to pick up Annie and go get a bathing suit like I had hoped. And, Annie fell off the couch while I wasn't watching and landed on her head and cut her leg. And then, to top it all off, when I went to pick her up, apparently she pooped through a whole diaper, down into her pants and toes and onto the couch...

But I don't expect perfect days anymore. I don't expect normalcy. I used to. I longed for it. I hungered for it. I woke up and wrote down my list for the day and cried and cursed as the entire plan unraveled. And then I realized I was being insane. My life is chaos. It has always been that way and has not shown me any indication that it will not be that way....

So now I expect it. I roll with it. And I don't cry myself to sleep over it. I just look at that dog and say, "MEAN STUPID DOG I HATE YOU!!!" And then go on with my day. That dog's never gonna change.

But I can.

Cutest Alien Baby in the World!

Of course every mom believes their baby is the cutest baby in the world, even if their baby is scary looking. Like the scary baby episode of Seinfeld. Anyone?

Babies are like guys. They can be ugly, but the longer you are around them, the more their personality outshines their beer belly or hairy back or uneven nostrils that have nose hairs sticking out. A baby can have an alien head, crossed eyes, and constantly smell like a garbage can, but as soon as they say 'mama' and start with the cooing and gurgle noises they are no longer aliens; suddenly they are cute. This is a bizarre phenomenon, isn't it? Thank God personality trumps looks.

So her she is... my little alien baby. I'm going to send her picture into Regis and Kelly's cute baby contest this week (the winner gets $125,000 college scholarship and lifetime Gerber products which would mean Annie will be eating pureed sweat potatoes until she turns 18).

Will you help me pick out the best picture? Take the poll on the left hand side of the page and have your friends, family, and co-workers vote too! I need all the help I can get!

Picture 1

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Picture Five