Relationships

I've fallen victim to one of my old nemeses: trust. I tend to take people I love at their word. I am not so naive to believe that everyone who says they care actually does, but when a years-old friendship is solidified, I feel that trust has been earned and I tend to believe the words spoken by those friends. I think most people would.

All the same, I am grieving the loss of what I thought was the one of the most important and significant friendships of my life. It isn't easy to let it go, but I must. The decision is not mine, but I would be fool to ignore the message. I wasn't cared for after all.

Tough Love

Sometimes we have to end one thing before a new thing can grow in that spot. This is one of those times. My marriage will end in a matter of days and I find myself standing at the edge of that car wreck trying to reconstruct how it happened.

I know, though...the scene is always the same.

I gave my very soul away...time and time again. So desperate to be loved that I refused to speak up. Refused to take a stand for the things that really mattered to me.

Pretty soon, there was too little of "me" left. I was suffocating.

I made the decision to leave. It's changed everything.

I can breathe again.

A repeat that still (mostly) fits today...

Ten things that my church family should know about me:

1. I grew up in a home where no one went to church regularly. A rough sort of folk, but very loving and full of humor. Nevertheless, I was very streetwise, due to my half-siblings' brushes with the law and drug-saturated lifestyles. I'm pretty "rough around the edges".

2. I am very distrustful of what I call "Pollyanna Christians". If you have Veggie Tale stickers on your mini-van and a fish-symbol Jesus sticker on your vehicle per family member, then I am probably not going to take you very seriously. 

This is my hangup, but I have found that some people declare themselves Christians and immediately enter another dimension where they suddenly refuse to admit to being human beings anymore.

3. I made a profession of faith at nine, after coercion, but at age 11, made the real decision to follow Christ. Showing a nine-year old a movie about the end of the world is guaranteed to get you a few converts, or at least to make someone pee in the church pews. I held my bladder, but blathered out some repeat of an offered prayer{only out of fear{not understanding what I was doing. By age 11, I figured out that becoming a Christian is a decision and I gladly made that choice and this time the prayer was my own!

4. I am happily divorced, meaning that my ex-husband and I are still friends. I have a son who's Black.

Meanwhile, I am remarried to a Dutchman. We're a true multicultural set!

5. I love to read, am highly emotional, and have a wicked sense of humor. I find humor in everything. Dark, wicked humor, too. You do NOT want me around at funerals, weddings, or births unless you want to be embarrassed.

6. I will lie to you. I will almost never admit when something is wrong. Something about being Southern means that I am to say "Fine" whenever asked how I am. I do this without question and without fail. Do not expect a real answer as I have been conditioned to lie!

7. Being an extrovert is tiring and I find that I have to little energy from entertaining my masses of followers to develop many true friends. Everyone thinks otherwise, though, so please don't blow my cover!

8. I left the church behind after my divorce. Each person I loved and left behind there had different views on my decisions, and while they have that right, it still hurts that they let their feelings about my decisions override their feelings about me as a person. It took over two years to heal enough to come back to a congregation.

9. I love to sing. I love to listen to music, I love to talk about music. I love music.

10. I happily CHOOSE to serve alongside you here at RBCC, but know that I am not your typical person.

February 3, 1971

You were given life and in a few years you would enter mine. You were my friend. You loved me. You changed me. You taught me how to love and I will never forget how you made me laugh, loved me through many, many tears.

Even though we took separate paths for a few years, we always found our way back to each other. I'll never understand why you walked that last few months in darkness and all alone.

I wish I could have reached you. I'll love you forever.

G.

If I could paint...

our friendship, it'd be an abstract painting full of the deepest shades of blue. Interspersed throughout would be brilliant bursts of yellow and the focal point would be off center to the right. There, would be a narrow black stain that smears from top to bottom. Immediately to the right, would be another slash of color--the same brilliant yellow before the usual pattern returned for most of the remaining canvas. The right side would fade to a midnight blue to show that I'd lost you.

A long time ago...

A friend of mine talks about thoughts for rainy days. It didn't physically rain today, but the complexities of love were on my mind. In the end, none of it is easy.

Looking back I see that I lived this pattern again and again.


Event: We were best friends and shared many things. In time I found that I loved him. He didn't love me "that way". My consolation prize? I got to be his buddy. He thought I should feel that to be an honor.


Lesson: I should have walked away. Instead I stayed. In the end, I was played.


(Repeat ad infinitum.)

It's no fun being on either side of unrequited love. It hurts to be loved and it hurts to be the one who has to finally have to say the truth.

No one wins.

I have been on both sides of the coin and I still cringe when I think of the one man who loved me more than life whom I had to turn away. I didn't want to, but I knew it was for the best. In the end, I was right, but that doesn't make me feel any better.

Then there are those whom I have loved and who, for whatever reasons were not able to love me in return--at least not the way I needed or wanted them to.

I have joked that the love of my young life liked me, but didn't love me and the love of my later life loved me and didn't like me.

Once upon a time, I thought I knew the perfect couple. At the time they WERE the perfect couple. They'd been married 20 years and would keep each other awake for hours talking. I knew that I wanted that kind of marriage. I actually thought I had that kind of marriage at one point.

A few years ago, I saw the wife that I had so admired. Her demeanor had changed and she was outright critical of the man she'd so adored in those late night conversations. Contempt had replaced contentment and I wonder if anyone is ever truly happy.


The movie had it right. Love is total agony.

It's a process...

Lately I have been feeling very alone. Not just lonely, but utterly alone. The best way I know how to describe it is that I feel like an alien. This feeling has always been present, but it's usually more in the background and it rarely rears its ugly head, but lately I have had to fight it with a vengeance. It's become exhausting.

Last night at church, I had an experience that I can only describe as a sweet communion with God. I am not one to talk much about that kind of stuff and to be quite honest, I tend to be very skeptical when others share things like this with me. People who "hear from God" and then tell me about it usually get a polite nod and a smile from me while I am thinking of how to escape from the conversation. Last night in the middle of singing our worship songs, I found myself singing with all my heart (and probably way too loud) and I was thinking of how glad I was to be there in the midst of my church friends. I remember at one point that I was holding my hands together as I was singing and I felt one hand tighten upon the other--like when someone reaches over to squeeze another's hand. I looked down for a second and I felt the presence of Jesus spoke to me and said, "Ge-Anne, I love you. I really love you. I love you more than your best friend and more than anyone else and no matter what happens to them, I will still be here and I will still love you."

I literally got chills when that message sunk in. Tears came and I soaked up this Presence and reveled in His love.

Prayer time was very special, too. Hearing people pray for me and for my family and hearing how they passionately petition the Lord on my behalf is one of the most humbling things  I have ever experienced. I find myself wondering why in the world would anyone care for me like that. I find it so easy to give love, but it's always hard for me to receive it.

Maybe it's because I am from the South where we're always saying "I love you" and calling one another endearing terms like "honey" and "sweetie". We mean it, too, but in a much more casual way than people from other regions do.

The service ended with communion, and even though I have attended this church for years, I hardly ever participate in the Lord's Supper because it just feels so weird to do this all alone. It's like eating out in a fancy restaurant and requesting a table for one. I feel like a loser or something, so I just avoid the whole thing most times. As I prayed last night, I found myself explaining to God how I wanted to take communion but I just felt weird doing it. No sooner than those words were thought, I heard a friend right behind me step out and say, "Come on with us. You're part of our family!"

I couldn't do anything but just cry in thanks to God for hearing me and for caring that much.

Again and again, God sent people to me to speak a word of encouragement or to just hug me. The last person to spend time with me was a really good friend--one of those kind of friends who can read me in a millisecond. I suspect it's because he's been where I am and he just knows. Last night I was able to say as much and he didn't deny it.

Over and over I have heard. "I am with you and I won't leave you." In my heart I know it's true, but what a blessing it was to have it made so very clear.

There's such a vulnerability in allowing people to love us. I find it so difficult. I feel very exposed and uncomfortable. I never know what to say or how to respond. I'm afraid of being hurt, of being used, and I am terrified of being forgotten or tossed aside. I'm trying to accept this with the grace in which it's being offered.

Pray that I can.

Worship

First of all, let me say that I am not a worship leader, nor do I hold any degrees in theology or church leadership or anything of the sort.

I just love to sing.

When I was 9 years old and hadn't been to church in years (since my former babysitter moved away), my mother suddenly began to attend a Southern Baptist church in middle Tennessee. I was on vacation with my former babysitter at the time and I remember not being at all happy with the fact that I would have to go to church when I returned. I attended services with the babysitter and her husband, but they were Methodists and I wasn't sure about this new "Baptist" thing. For those of you familiar with the Baptist denominations, there are many varieties and I wasn't sure if I would like Mom's new thing.

But go I did and the thing that I remember most vividly is the music. I was used to old hymns and Southern Gospel, but this stuff was fresh, new-sounding and had been re-arranged. This music really spoke to my 9-year-old heart. One Sunday, for the first time ever, I heard "His Eye is on the Sparrow" and I fell in love with the song and hoped that one day I would also sing it.

By age 11, I was really into music and I had bought a few LPs (For those of you too young to remember that term, I am referring to vinyl record albums, played on a turntable, with a needle. Go ahead and Google if you need to, I'll wait.) and I loved the Maranatha! Praise Series. Our choir did lots of praise choruses and I was often frustrated that the congregation was assigned traditional hymns to sing while the choir got all the good stuff!

That summer, I went to a summer Bible camp in Chattanooga and stood on a stage in front of my peers and sang "solo" for the first time. I couldn't have known that day that my life had been changed, but I did know that something very powerful had happened in those few minutes that I stood in front of those girls (many older than me) and sang "Seek Ye First". For the rest of the week, I remember girls stopping me to ask me to sing to them. I found it funny, and didn't take it too seriously, but the other girls who had gone with me reported this event to our choir director and from then on, I was a "singer".

Becoming a Christian was (and is) a process for me. I was scared by a movie about the end times at age nine and repeated a prayer at the altar at church. For the next 2 years, I soaked up every Sunday School lesson and Bible study session I could, but still felt like something was missing. At age 11, around Thanksgiving, I felt the need to pray and ask God to cleanse my sins using my own words and in my own way. This, I believe, was my true conversion.

Singing became the main way for me to worship. I was never great at daily devotions. I always felt weird praying aloud and reading the Bible is something that I did in spurts. Singing, however, was my way of communing with the Father. It still is.

For years since that summer day at Bible camp, I have had the enormous privilege of singing to thousands of people. I love to sing, and I am grateful for every opportunity to do so. It's a very personal thing, though. Even though I may be singing in front of hundreds of people, I don't really know they're there. Something magical happens onstage. I feel transformed into the soul of what I am singing and sometimes when I open my eyes, I am almost shocked to see that I am in front of the crowd.

Many of the most moving songs I have sung have not been in front of anyone--they've just been between God and me. One night, after a very serious surgery, I was depressed and alone. I felt like no one remembered me and that no one cared how radical this whole recovery was going to be. I was in a bad way. So, at 2AM, all alone in my house, I started singing at the top of my lungs. It was a very special moment because I knew then that God had not forgotten me...that I was never truly alone.

Music, both secular and Christian is a powerful force in my life. I have joked that one who knows me well enough can take one look at my current playlist and tell exactly what's going on with me, just from the songs that I am listening to. The other day, one of those friends even admonished me for my list in an attempt to cheer me out of the mood I was in!

When you are at church the next time and you see the person or the people who are singing up front or the person who's next to you with his or her eyes closed and who looks like he or she is completely in another place, marvel at the fact that it's most likely true.

Our pastor put it best when he said, "Music (worship through music) is the love language of God".

I think he's right!

Kindle Touch--Wow

Last year, I bought a Kindle and I really expected to love it. Not like. LOVE. I didn't. The machine had a great display and I like the features, but one thing really bugged me. I had to push a button to turn pages on the thing. That really annoyed me for some reason. I was already used to the iPod Touch and would later get an iPad for work, so this whole button thing just seemed annoying. A friend wanted a Kindle for her daughter, so I was happy to sell mine to her and to wait a bit longer. Now, a year later, I am a proud owner of the Kindle Touch. Now, this is what I wanted!

The touch input is a little slow. It's not going to respond like an iPad or an iPod Touch, but it's a READER, so I am fine with that. It took just a couple of minutes for me to get the Kindle up and going and I am loving it. Great job, Amazon!

Routine

I don't like being out of my daily routine. The holiday has come and gone and now I have four weekdays to fill. I have my day scheduled chock full with errands tomorrow--just the way I like it. I don't like downtime, probably because it leaves me with too much time to think. I crave human interaction and staying at home is just not healthy for me. My fondness for staying busy is something my Dutch relatives don't understand. They value downtime and staying at home with family. I like those times when there's harmony, but being home alone or with small children leaves me feeling very alone and disconnected. I wonder why?