Loving those Addicted to Pills

I'm not quite sure that I would term this process I'm enduring a "crisis of faith."  Perhaps it is, rather, a transformative restructuring of what I believe. It's not that I'm going to stop believing in God, but I think I'm envisioning God in a new way.

I'm looking at the same information from a different perspective, I think.  Is it possible that what I've been taught and told all these years is just a mask of the reality of God...God which is so tremendous and unfathomable that as humans we struggle to fit God into a size and form we can interpret or believe.

It's all coming at me in bits and pieces, with no cohesive structure to the whirling thoughts.  I see a truth I can internalize, but it flies past so quickly, I'm not sure I've missed a portion of it.

What I don't understand is why I feel such anxiety about moving forward in discovery and enlightenment.  I've been so brainwashed to believe that any slight diversion from the mainstream is fatal.  And I keep thinking about the Patriarchal blessing that told me to watch carefully for the "coolness in my breast".  I don't want to wander into dangerous lands, but I don't want to stay forever in the foggy mist of inertia.

I can't go back to a 'where' I can't even remember.  And every time I take a step forward, I loose the ability to breath.

I know what I need to do...I need to open myself, body mind and soul, to the Spirit of God, and let that spirit permeate my being until I find clarity.  Now, the hard part...spending the time to get to the clarity.

It's been a while.  Things have been pretty good and I've been VERY busy.  But now I'm in a state of desperate panic, terrified that my daughter is failing herself.  She just can't seem to keep up at school and will have both A's and F's on her report card each grading period.  She is very smart, and completely distracted by her own interests.  I know this could serve her well in the future, but I'm so afraid she will set herself up for misery by not taking school seriously now.

I know my fear shows my complete lack of faith.  Over the past weeks, I have failed completely to pray for her.  I'm an idiot that this doesn't occur to me first.  So, there's solution number one.

Second, though, I want to look at why it scares me so to see her fall behind.  Is there some echo of my own childhood?  I know, with a little bit of encouragement, I could have been a straight A student.  I could have gone to a top university and been wildly successful.  But nobody really cared about my progress or success.  I did my thing, as best I could, and barely scraped by with "good enough" grades.  I don't want my child to have "good enough." 

I want her to be wildly successful.  Not for me, but for her.  I want her to know peace and happiness in a way I never could.  And I know, in my heart of hearts, her happiness will look nothing like the picture I have in my head.  I must let go of my version of her happiness and encourage her to find her own path. 

I love my child and she makes me want to be a better person.

It's so easy to blame the addict.  Who knows?  If he were just a regular guy, with no addictions in sight, I might still be 45 and stymied.  It's easier to blame him than think that I may have failed myself.  And when I read back, I know also that I put a lot of frustration and hostility upon his name...but the truth is, I do love him.  Especially days like today, when he is doing well, when life is going alone okay.  It is very easy to love him and I remember why I married him.  Now, if I can only make those memories rise up when I'm feeling anxious and angry.

Michael, I love you.  Thanks for loving me through it all.

I once considered myself a very passionate person.  I'm not talking about syrupy romance kind of passion.  I mean the relentless pursuit of a goal, the drive to completely master a field, setting goals and working toward them ceaselessly.  Addiction in my life has served as a layer of oppression so thick it has nearly destroyed all the passion in my heart.  I used to think I could anything I put my mind to.  Now I hope I can just get through the year.  Which is certainly a step up from the darkest days when I was happy to make it through each hour!

Living with addiction is seasonal.  Some seasons are hopeful and some are dark and gloomy.  Some addiction seasons are devastating and some are more tolerable.  I've been in those darkest seasons, where the whole world seemed to be caving in and I had no idea how I would make it through the night.  I've been through those seasons of profound lethargy where getting off the couch to go to bed required more effort that I could muster, so I sat numbly staring at the TV until the wee hours of the morning.  I've been through the hate and the resentment and the seething anger.  I've been through the depression and the sadness and the crying until there are no more tears.  I've been through the fear and the anxiety and the moments of terror.  I've been through the sunny days when everything seems right with the world and I live in the moment, just glad to be happy for a day.

I've tried not too look too hard at the big picture...it's too depressing.  I had such high hopes for myself, so much potential, so many plans.  A PhD...is that so much to ask?  I've always wanted to be a scholar, a professor.  I'm no closer now than I was 15 years ago, but at least then I was in graduate school. So many bad choices, so many stupid moves, so many lost dreams and failed plans.

I remember when I was in my early twenties and I was so terrified that I was going to miss something...that life would pass me by and I was going to miss it...sometimes I think my worst fears have been realized.  Now, I'm 45, and feeling like the windows of opportunity for me a slamming shut at a rapid rate.  Is it too late for me?  Can I be a scholar?  I'm I capable of being a scholar?  Have I wasted too much time?  Too much time living in the devastation of drug addiction?  Can't I just pick up and move through it?  In spite of it?  It's harder than it looks.

I imagine it is a lot like trying to pull yourself out of poverty.  Sure, it's possible, but the minute by minute reality of life makes it very hard to keep moving forward.  It's hard to think prosperity when you live in a dumpy neighborhood.  It's hard to study medieval monasticism when you have laundry to fold and homework to help with and an addicted husband to be anxious about.  (I often think that he's probably under the impression that he's not hurting anyone with his addictions, not realizing that using or not, his addictiveness creates a state of unending anxiety in my life--for this reason alone I wish I had never married him).

You see, even when I want to think about my own aspirations, if there is any possibility that I can achieve my dreams, I get sidetracked into yet another conversation about living with addiction.  It is all encompassing and it suffocates passion. 

That does not mean that there is no hope for me.  It simply means that if I am to realize my dreams, it will take a whole hell of a lot more energy and commitment than it would for some.  Do I have what it takes?  I don't know.  Right now, trying to hard to do and be and know, I have a hard time figuring out what I should do.  I want to know everything, but changing topics every week leads to mastery of absolutely nothing.  I know, it's all because I'm a slow reader, right?  If I read faster, I could be smarter and know more.  Yeah, that's the ticket!

And writing, who wants to write against a deadline?  I like to write stream of consciousness, but it is not terribly lucrative.  I am a good writier...but I usually have to push myself quite hard to write...even when I'm getting paid to do it!!!

Time to stop making excuses, take a shower and read a book.

Thanks for listening.

I sometimes consider transforming this blog into something more mainstream.  It is certainly creating mostly of stream of consciousness writing...but why would a I do such a thing?  Does anyone really care about what I have to say?  I do have a column in my local paper, but it is mostly community activities.  I do indulge myself with a paragraph or two of mind dumping, and even this I sometimes have to dig for.  It is hard to force myself to write.  I write best in a groove...I can write well on demand, but I don't at all enjoy it.  I've considered scheduling writing time, but that, too, would be far too restrictive.  Why is it that I struggle to do what I need to do just because I'm not in the mood to do it?  Human nature, I suppose.  Perhaps a lack of self-discipline?

Thank you for accepting my ramblings...whoever you are.
Blessings!

Sometimes I get in a funk that I just can't seem to kick.  It paralyzes me and makes me want to gorge on comfort food.  It's like there is this noise, this staticky rage that blocks my brain from being able to think.  It makes me want to sleep all day and watch stupid TV all night.  I just want to crawl into a ball and disappear.

My husband has been taking a lot of meds over the past couple of months.  Whether these meds are medical justified or not, I have no idea.  He's lied to me so many times over the years, I can no longer even begin to try to sort out the reality from the falsehood.  I'm so tired of trying.  I'm so tired of working so hard and feeling like I'm doing it all alone.  I'm so tired of never knowing who he will be from one day to the next.  I'm so tired of the way I feel around him...I feel sluggish and inconsequential and thick.

I want to be able to pick up and move on in spite of him.  I want to be the same energetic, positive, proactive person that I am when things are well with us.  Instead, on a day like to day, when I have a whole day to get things done, I end up feeling like I'm slogging through mental mud.  I guess what I feel is depressed.  I'm so sad that I am stuck in a marriage with a guy who has no courage and no strength.  I know how much trouble and pain it causes to get out of a marriage like this, and I am simply not up to it.  I'm just tired of wishing he would change.

Things were so good 6 months ago.  I had so much home.  Amazing what a few months of living with a drug addict can do to a person's outlook.

I've been trying to hard to believe in my marriage, to be committed to my marriage, that I have veered from my chosen path. I had even stopped listening to Irish Music. But it doesn't take me long to get that aching in my gut again...that longing for a place and a perhaps a time that eludes me. Problem is, this longing pulls toward a place completely in-congruent with the life I live here.

Which takes me right back to feeling restless and displaced. Does it ever go away? Will it go away if I find the place where I'm supposed to be? Right now, admittedly, my only place is with my children. But eventually, I will have to follow my soul yearnings.

D&C Section 163: 3 b.  Above all else, strive to be faithful to Christ’s vision of the peaceable Kingdom of God on earth. Courageously challenge cultural, political, and religious trends that are contrary to the reconciling and restoring purposes of God. Pursue peace.

COURAGEOUSLY CHALLENGE CULTURAL…TRENDS THAT ARE CONTRARY TO THE RECONCILING AND RESTORING PURPOSES OF GOD.  Cultural trends like hatred, fear, prejudice, being snotty to your neighbor, thinking you are better than someone because of what their wear or what color their skin is.  Cultural trends like LIVING LIVES FILLED WITH ANGST…growing up in a world, in a community, in a school system, in a church, in a family…that does not teach us the skills to move beyond…the skills to cope.

How many of you spend most of your life feeling like you’re making it up as you go along?  Why does every new parent feel like they have to reinvent the wheel?  Why don’t we learn how to solve our differences in church, where peace is the goal?  Why can’t I tell you what I really think without fear of being ostracized, pushed out, disapproved of, disliked, rejected?  Because church is full of humans.

I want to tell Eric that I don’t want my kids in his car because he drives too fast and too erratically.  I want to tell Meghan that I don’t want her chaperoning my children in youth activities because she has had to harden herself again teens for her profession and has no compassion or empathy or kindness left for mine.  I want to tell Phyllis that I’m tired of her hostility against any idea or comment that vears the slightest from the ‘way we’ve always done it.’

But I don’t tell them, because I’m afraid.  Because after 45 years, I still feel like I don’t have the communication skills and the coping skills to get my point of view across without yelling or getting really angry or running away.

Part of this is that I haven’t really worked the 12 steps.  I haven’t really figured out what I am in control of, and what I am not.  I don’t really have a sense of my own self worth…my right to interfere where my children are concerned, the validity of my opinion.

Part of this is living more than half of my adult life with an addict, someone who has a disease that makes them lie.  After enough years of trying to guess if you’re being lied to, you start to doubt your own perceptions, your own sense of reality.

I’m so tired of wondering what mood my husband will be in.  I’m tired of living with the anxiety--with never knowing from one day to the next if he will be clean or if he will be under the influence of a chemical.  I don’t know from one hour to the next what his personality will be like, what his mannerisms will be like.

It’s not that he’s dangerous or abusive or negligent.  It’s just that I never know who he will be when I come in the door, or after he’s been home for an hour or so.  I’m tired of living with the constant subtle anxiety of being unsure…there is no sure footing, I can’t count on him, he’s inconsistent and he lies.

 The sermon I want to give, the reassurance, the interpersonal skills I want to impart, all seem to disintegrate in the face of the reality of my own life.  How can I possibly convey hope to you when I feel so hopeless?  How can I tell you to find a new perspective, when I’m so entrenched, paralyzed with my own?

It’s true.  He’s never been violent.  He doesn’t fool around.  He always brings his paycheck home.  He cooks and does the dishes every day.  By all accounts, he appears to be such a wonderful husband… except that it is emotional hell to never know who he will be… how his voice will sound, whether he will be mellow or hyper, whether he will be moody and withdrawn or overly animated, what his mannerism will be like. 

Part of marriage is knowing you will live with the same person, security in the daily assurance that this person will always be there, the serenity of knowing the other person so well you can anticipate their responses and finish their sentances.  I don’t have that.  I can only believe he doesn’t really want to be clean and sober, he’s not willing to do whatever it takes to get there and stay there. 

I know he believes he can handle it…but he can’t.  He doesn’t.  He is a complete failure at handling it.  And he has no idea just how devastating it is to live with the daily uncertainty, the daily anxiety, the daily unknown.  Those days when he is clean, are not sufficient to let me recover and regain my strength for the next day he is medicated.  So, every day I lose a little more of who I am, of my self-worth, or my sense of mental and emotional security in my home and in my life.  Every day I draw away from him a little more until suddenly I realize there is a chasm between us and I don't have the skills to build the bridge.

So, what do I do?  I walk away?  I stay and muddle through?  I get into and work a program, get a sponsor, work the steps?  Take a pill and go to sleep and don't get out of bed for the rest of the year?

I wish someone who lives with an addict would find my blog and talk to me about, and let me learn from their experience, strength and hope.  I'm so tired of feeling so alone.

Home and family—these are my priorities. Everything else I do is in support of or secondary to these central priorities. Even, I think, my faith is a means of sustaining me so that I can sustain my family. Maybe I have this backward, but I don’t think so. The Lord placed me in this life, in this place, in this role and I just can’t help thinking that I’m here to serve him by being wife and mother, neighbor and friend. Or maybe I’m just writing words to fill the page and I haven’t a clue. Most days, this latter feels like it fits. I muddle through, picking things up and putting them down, random acts of busyness.

And maybe, just maybe, this too is part of the plan. Perhaps every day is a new test of endurance. It’s hard to be philosophical with a muddled mind. But what I’m sure of is that I do better with a full plate. It’s easier for me to function with clear tasks laid out. ADD? Maybe. Muddled brain? Certainly. I wonder if everyone feels this way and some people are just better at powering through?

Right now I’m seeking clarity…I’m seeking serenity…and I feel overwhelmed and lethargic. I have things I must do and I just want to sit and do nothing…though this too carries an air of aversion.

I live in this mild state of agitation and anxiety. Sixteen years on Prozac has not changed this fact. In my deepest heart I know there is a solution, but I’m too frightened or befuddled to find it. So I pick up my pen and I write, I file my papers and shuffle my stuff. I yell at my kids, apologize profusely, make love to my husband and sleep as much as humanly possible…I take my meds, avoid exercise, watch TV, eat junk and wonder why I feel crappy. It's just easier to do the obvious mundane task in front of me rather than go through the effort of create productivity.  I ruminate, procrastinate, participate, castigate and wish for more and better…when all along, I am responsible for my own circumstances. God alone is the source, but I am the channel, the recipient, the steward of all the blessings God places in my life or makes available if only I will reach for them. Instead, I think it cannot happen until the house is clean, the papers are written, the projects are completed…when all along it is the path that is paramount…the destination is secondary. The path I walk, the manner I walk it, the forks I choose, the state of mind I allow…these are my life. Life is the path. The destination is merely a detail, the final results is beyond this body and this world.

Even the milestones, the “if only’s” and “what if’s” and “when I finally’s” are an illusion of process that, like the rainbow, is only a reflection and can never be held, experienced, achieved except as a part of the experience of the path.

The path is not about progress, it’s not about getting somewhere...it's about being fully present on the journey. Here and now is all we really have and if I choose to destroy my present, with angst and resentment and regret, I cannot reclaim these days, these moments. When they are gone, they cannot be retrieved. So my choices, my attitude, my activities, all determine the quality of my present. I alone determine the quality of my present.

So you ask, what about circumstances? The path unfolds and sometimes we are given no choice, we must walk through the shadow or the chasm or the impasse of pain and sorrow. I believe in my deepest heart, that here, too, I determine the quality of my present t. Not by living in a state of unreality, by ignoring the pain or avoiding the struggle at all cost, but by the choices I make…I always have choices—how I respond, decisions I make, words I speak, how I use my time.

So, I create the quality of my present by choosing my response to the circumstances of my life and by determining the way I spend my time.

Stuff is a barrier IU use to shield me from choices I’d rather avoid. If my life is filled with stuff and busyness, I can redirect my focus onto the inconsequential, thereby avoiding the choices of attitude and activity. As longs as I can distract my focus, thereby avoiding the choices available to me, I can delude myself into thinking I am a victim of my circumstance, thereby circumventing personal responsibility for the quality of my present.

So, fear of letting go of stuff is a reflection of the fear I feel about acknowledging that I alone determine the quality of my present.

Furthermore, living with an addict, choosing life with an addict is a sublime and horrible distraction from the truth of person responsibility. Being a victim means I’m no longer accountable and in control of the quality of my life. Beyond immediate trauma, living the victim is the coward’s way of running from my own failure to choose a life of goodness, peacefulness and sunlight.

Wait a minute…why would anyone not choose the highest quality of their present? Because with personal responsibility comes effort. Responding peacefully is difficult; detachment is a hell of a lot of work, speaking kindly does not come naturally to me. The pain is familiar and there is a twisted security in the familiar, regardless of the damage to sanity.

Does this mean I choose to surround myself with stuff, bury myself in the inconsequential, cling desperately to the pain of victimization, all to avoid taking personal responsibility for the quality of my life?

This, indeed, appears to be the case.

What do I do with this information? I must still file my papers, pack away the decorations, sweep the floor, do the laundry. I must still write the article, manage the database, advertise the business, serve the snack, help with the homework.

What do I do with this information?

I have two major issues in my life.  The first is that my husband is a prescription drug addict.  The other is that my 14 year old daughter is gay, or at least is exploring the idea.

The problem I'm finding is that there seems to be no resources for someone like me, who always wants to look in a book to find answers to life's big questions.  Maybe I'll just have to write a couple of books myself.  Now, if I could only get some publisher to send me a book advance...that would be idea!

I think it was Christmas today, but I'm pretty sure I missed it.  My incredibly sweet and gentle mother-in-law died three days ago, so we packed up Christmas as best we could, and drove to NJ.  We've been staying in my sister-in-law's basement, where my mother-in-law lived for the last 8 years.  My husband, of course, has completely disintegrated.  The addiction he has barely kept at bay this year, has come flooding back and he has been completely looped for two days.  I am so pissed off!  I lost someone I loved, but I don't get to medicate away my feelings...neither does anyone else here.  He has no right...he has no business.  I'm so pissed for being abandoned yet again.  And when I see it through the eyes of his sister, it is really clear how deep in denial I've been these past 6 months.  Then, of course, I look for someone to talk to and all those regular resources seem not to exist at all.

Am I really all alone in this?  Does anyone else in the world understand?

Even my faith seems to be stretched to its limits.

When I started this blog these many months go, things were going so well for me...I was positive and hopeful...or maybe I was Deep Sea Diving in De Nile?  I don't know about then, but I know that my husband is still as profoundly a drug addict as ever.  I'm beginning to believe it will truly never end and I am going to have to come to terms with it.  And I have to find a way to detach so that his stumble does not have to mean my spiral.

I just wish there was some sort of a meeting for co-addicts in this area.  I made a very feeble attempt to start one...hit a speed bump and my resolve completely dissolved. 

So, now I'm pissed and pissy and not sure how to handle it.  I wish someone would find my blog and start interacting with me.  I could use some support.

I can't seem to stop being angry at him...for being sick?  But it's always something...one thing right after another...an injury, a kidney stone, a migrane, another injury, a muscle spasm.  It just never ends.  He does have legitimate, doctor diagnosed issues, but ALL he does is take pills...never exercise or physical therapy or changes in diet...just pills...I'm just about ready to scream!!!

And then I start to feel really bad, because I know he is miserable...and then I get really pissed because he's not doing anything about it...and then I feel bad because I wish he was feeling better...and then I feel so cheated because our whole life revolves around his pains and spasms and drug interactions and on and on and on.

I'm so sick of it!  I know, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse...but how could I know that there would be SO much more sickness than health...SO much more worse than better?

This feeling of chronic low-grade anxiety and resentment is familiar to me, although I had a long break from it.  Bottom line is I'm pissed to have it back!

I'm so angry and I don't know what to do with it!!!!!

Oh God, won't you please bring someone into my life who understands...someone I can correspond with...relate to...a shoulder to cry on...an encourager...

Please, won't someone find my blog...I feel so all alone out here...like no one else in the world understands what it feels like to love a prescription addict.

I’m so completely up into my husband’s program…I’m drowning in anxiety and anger.  He’s so completely in denial and I am so completely pissed off about it.  He has a neck spasm that has been plaguing him for almost 6 weeks, and he won’t do anything about it!  It really pisses me off!  He won’t get any medical care/massage/chiropractic/physical therapy that might actually solve the problem, he just keeps throwing pills at it.  What’s worse, he is still gaming, which I am sure is the source of the pain to begin with.  Why won’t he listen to me?  He’s had a couple of relapses, taken way too many painkillers, and he’s convinced his recovery counselor that they aren’t really relapses…or some such bullshit.  I am so angry!  When does it end?

I know, I chose to stay.  I am choosing to be in this marriage.  I am a flaming co-addict and I HATE IT!  So, last night he comes home with more pain killers and gives me the bottle.  He wants me to be the pain killer cop, which always puts me in the nastiest of positions.  I’ve had this same injury, I did physical therapy for it, I did exercises, I got better.  He’s not getting better because he won’t do what he needs to do and I am so blinded with anger that I can no longer even be civil with him.

I know, I need a meeting.  I’m going to one tonight.  In the meantime, I’m so tied in knots.  I just don’t know what to do with my anger and my frustration and my fear.  The truth is, the second he has taken anything, legitimate or not, I know.  It’s the inflection of his voice, the way he laughs, his mannerisms.  I always know…after 15 years, you would think so.  And the second I sense the tiniest presence of meds, I get terrified.  What am I afraid of?  I’m not completely sure…abandonment?  Realizing that I am living my mother’s life--life with an addict?  I can’t seem to really connect with what scares me the most…or why I’m so scared…but I know it completely freaks me out.

My daughter is across the table from me, doing her teenage email/IM thing, and her presence keeps me centered in the moment, unable to dig deeply into my psyche…another job for another day?

My cranky old grandmother called me yesterday and we had harsh words.  I feel bad about it, but she has been doing this to people for decades, and has alienated just about everyone in her life. 

She called to tell me I SHOULD care more about my family and I SHOULD call more often and on and on.  Should I really?  

The fact is, I was going into this holiday with a light heart.  Now, 30 or so hours after that ugly conversation, I am feeling like complete crap.  I'm resentful and depressed. 

She has no right to judge me or to demand anything from me.  She has made her choices and my best efforts were not good enough for her.  So, she lives alone out in the desert and nobody cares anymore.  It is so sad when I life comes down to this.  She will die alone because she has run everyone off.

But I really want to know why it made me so mad.  I really despise my conversations with her and I dread talking to her.  I call her about once a month and that's about all I can tolerate.  Still, I feel bad that she lives so far away from all her family, but it was her choice.  She is stubborn and pigheaded and it scares me how much I can be like her.

I'm going on and on and it is not helping, so I guess I'll quit.  I don't feel any better...but at least I got a new entry in my blog.  I wouldn't want it to feel abandoned!

Cheers!

Do you ever get the feeling that you are just plain over extended? Sometimes, when I feel this way, I just want to quit it all, back out of every commitment and go take a bubble bath. It's not that I have a problem saying no, its that I don't WANT to say no. There are a trillion things in this world that I want to do. And they all take time. It's gotten so bad that when I DO have time, I can't clear my head enough to get anything done.

Time to step back, reinstate morning prayers, and take a few deep breaths. Then, go for it, because there is NO WAY I'm gunna slow down. I love be busy way too much!

Blessings!

It seems that no one has found my blog yet.  I could invite people to it, but I hesitate.  I kind of like the idea that my thoughts are hiding from the world.  If I wanted them totally private, of course, I would keep in off the net.  But one day someone will stumble across this blog and it might help them.  Until then, I write to sooth my own soul.

Why are addicts so damned stubborn?  My husband seems hell bent on destroying his body.  He's clean and sober now about 5 months, but he still treats his body with such contempt, feeding it crap, not exercising, spending endless hours in front of the TV or computer, that it is a wonder he is still functioning at all.  Even worse, it is so hard to be a co-addict and feel that I know what would help him, and he has no desire to listen to me.  I COULD TAKE CARE OF HIM IF HE WOULD ONLY LET ME!  

Sounds like I need a meeting.  Unfortunately, in the tiny town where I live, there is only one meeting a week, 7 pm, Fridays.  If something is going on and I miss it, it can be a very long two weeks.  Last weekend was Halloween...I have kids.  Weekend before was a church function.  Weekend before that was...and on and on.  

It is a good thing we don't need a meeting to converse with God.

The truth is, my life is better than it has ever been in so many ways.  And now, with my husband clean and sober, so many other things seem so insignificant in the light of the peacefulness in our home.

Our Lord God, who never will leave me or forsake me, has carried me farther than I ever thought possible...and we've only begun our journey!

Cheers and Blessings!

Hi Daddy,

I know we are very far apart in our political views.  I'm glad we live in a 
country where we can disagree and still love each other--where we can 
express differing views and not fear for our safety or well being...unless 
of course it leads to being disowned by our parents...

Interesting perspective in this cartoon, having the wealthy, once again, 
pouncing on those with less, demanding that they further fill the coffers of 
the rich.  Like me paying 28% income taxes and the wealthy, because they can 
afford tax breaks, paying a mere 11%...and that is fair, how?

The saddest part is, in this country, the Kingdom of God is profoundly far 
away, because greed is the watchword.  Perhaps it is the American way to 
hoard as much money as you can...but when is enough enough?

When a corporation makes a hostile takeover of a smaller business to reap 
the profits, putting thousands of people out of work, and making a few 
people obscenely wealthy, at the same time, forcing families to live in 
abject poverty, that is the American way.  But is it God's way?

How can you be so adamantly in favor of supporting unchecked greed, when so 
many people go without?  Including your own daughter, who has no health 
insurance because she doesn't "qualify" for anything that costs less than 
25% of my income; or only has a home because her mother-in-law has been 
subsidizing her mortgage for more than two years.

Isn't it time we started living our faith, working toward the Kingdom of God 
on earth, even if it means that the ultra wealthy have to have a little less 
wealth?  Damn right we should spread the wealth around...feed the children 
who otherwise will grow up to become angry and violent, lashing out at the 
society that applauds those who can prosper, but leaves in the dust those 
who can't.

Is it enough to share the Peace the Jesus?  Or should we also share the 
wealth, prosperity, food, housing, education, health care, etc.  Yes, there 
are those who will take advantage...so what?  Isn't that risk worth the 
millions of people who will be given "life more abundant" as Jesus promised? 
Just how will the poor attain this life if we don't help provide it...will 
it magically appear in some paultry 'incentive rebate'?

Is it so hard for us to think beyond ourselves and seek to make life better 
for others, whether we like them or not, whether they deserve it or not?  I 
believe it is called grace and grace goes two ways...once from God to us, 
then from us to others in our world.

If this issue is all about spreading around the wealth, then yes, I'm all 
FOR spreading around the wealth.

There...I've spoken my piece and my peace.

It’s taken me weeks to get up the courage, but I finally wrote to the Department of Labor and told them I was no longer interested in receiving unemployment insurance benefits because I was choosing to pursue self-employment options.  This is my first week of being my own boss, without the fall back of the dole, and I’m way too busy to be worried about money.  It seems I work all day and night now.  I have to schedule in things like laundry and showers and time with my kids.  If it weren’t for the DVR, and its willingness to save a show indefinitely for me, I would never watch a television program…which of course would not be all bad.

So, what are those self-employment options?  I finally became a registered daycare provider and I have 6 children currently in my program.  I ran a new ad in today’s paper, so perhaps I can get a few more families involved.  I’m also starting a business called, “Datawork Professionals.”  I do freelance data, administrative and clerical work on a contract basis.  I work from home or a client’s office, and they pay only for the hours they need me every week.  So far, I have a few clients and things are going well.

Next week I have a meeting with the editor of the local newspaper to discuss my writing a weekly column about the happenings in and around Dryden.  I’m sure I’ll spend a lot more time writing that the money warrants, but that just who I am.

What’s next?  I file my DBA, I return the cans on my front porch, I transform the apples to home canned apple sauce, I plant the bulbs in the garden before the ground completely freezes, and I make love to my husband…because husbands need to feel loved and cherished…and men only seem to get it if you make love to them.

Ciao!

It was girl...genetically perfect...but the Lord called her home after only 14 weeks gestation.  I named her Lucy Grace.  And while, at the age of 45 I am profoundly grateful to not be pregnant...I wanted that late in life oops baby more than you can imagine.  So now the day comes and goes...and I say good bye to the dream that has passed beyond my grasp.

Blessings.

What is beyond outreach...in my neighborhood, in my church, in my world?

Inreach...is it a word?  If not, I hereby make it one.  Because I feel called, not to do outreach, but to do inreach...to reach in to my family, to my congregation, to my mission center, and rejuvinate the Spirit of God in the people around me, to rekindle the flame of faith in my family, to reach into their hearts, as a servant, a leader, a channel of the love of God.

My ministry... I do inreach.

The problem...is that I can't seem to get me out of the way...my business...getting it all done...keeping up with all the details...means there is no time to contemplate those little thoughtful things...that loose all meaning in retrospect...if you miss the moment.