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Endings are the best (Pitch Perfect spoiler alert)

February 22, 2013 By 1 Comment

I’m sure you’ve realized by now that I am addicted to the movie “Pitch Perfect”. I love the characters, the conflict, and especially the music. At one point, one of the main characters, Jesse, is talking about movies and how the endings are the best part. I agree with him, at least when it comes to this movie.

I’m not even joking when I say that every time I get to the end of the movie, I have tears in my eyes. It’s kind of out of character for me, but it’s true. There is one thing in movies that you can guarantee will get me every time, and that’s father/daughter relationships.

Don’t get me wrong, I grew up with a wonderful step-dad, and had him as a strong male presence in my life (Still do, in fact.), but my “real” father was mostly absent. I never really got to know my dad because he didn’t put himself out there, and when I was old enough to take responsibility for growing our relationship, I didn’t. I was never sure that he wanted to get to know me, and so I didn’t press the issue.

Just as an example of where I came from, he called me the morning of my wedding to tell me he wasn’t coming. I found out later that he thought I had asked my step-dad to give me away. In truth, I asked my brother to walk me down the aisle because I didn’t want to cause conflict between my dads.

About ten years ago, his health started to decline quickly, and I made trips to see him each time he went into the hospital, but still never stepped out of my comfort zone to really learn anything about him.

When he passed away a few years later, I realized that there were a lot of things I wanted to know, and I had a lot of regrets. At that point, it was just too late. I couldn’t trust that side of the family to be honest with me, and he was gone.

So, you can see why I want to cry at the end of this movie when Beka’s father (whom she has butted heads with the entire movie) stands up, and with great pride on his face, yells out, excited for her triumph in doing something she loves. It makes me happy to know that her father is proud of her. It makes me sad that I can’t say, with any certainty, the same about mine.

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Writing Love

May 4, 2012 By 1 Comment

While trolling on Pinterest the other day, I saw a photo of a tattoo that I fell in love with. All it said was, “Love you, Dad”. The great part? It was written in her dad’s handwriting.

My dad passed away almost seven years ago, and we weren’t really close, but I still feel his absence in my life. When I saw the tattoo, I thought how wonderful it would be to do the same with my dad’s handwriting on my wrist where I could see it every day.

Since then, I have dug through boxes, drawers, my closet… Can I find anything from my dad that he signed? Of course not. Did I throw away any cards he sent me out of anger? It’s possible. Am I mad at myself for not being less angry and more organized? Absolutely.

I will keep looking, because I can see him, left arm curved at an unnatural angle, wrapped around a piece of paper, writing in his own unique way…very slanted to the right. And I always want to be able to picture that.

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Good Girls are just Fine

November 22, 2011 By 5 Comments

If you are polite, and you’re starting a conversation with someone, with anyone, you are bound to say, “How are you doing?” or some variation of that question. And, most likely, the person you are talking to will respond with something along the lines of, “Fine, thanks. And how are you?” That’s always what I hope, sometimes even pray they will say so I can respond the same, and we can all move on. I don’t say it out of fear or laziness. I say it because I’m a fixer. If you aren’t fine, I want to be able to help. I want to make you fine. But, and this is the tough part, I’m not God. I can’t fix your every situation. You can believe in me all you want, but I can’t heal what is broken in your life.

In reality, I don’t want everyone to pretend to be fine around me. I do want you to be able to open up with me and let me in. I just have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes all I can do is pray for whatever it is you need to get you to fine. I can’t heal you, but God can.

And when I say I’m fine, sometimes I am. And sometimes I’m not. But if I’m not, I probably won’t tell you because I don’t want to burden you with my issues. I always just assume that you have enough going on that you don’t need me to dump my garbage on you too. Besides, you aren’t God either, so it’s not like you can fix my brokenness.

I can honestly say that my strongest emotional triggers are my family and my two miscarriages. However, I got tired a long time ago of being told that if I put more effort into fixing my relationships within my family, they would magically be mended. Or if I had prayed harder and believed more strongly that God would have saved my babies. Or even that I should be so happy because my precious babies are in the arms of Jesus. Well, call me selfish, but I wanted them in my arms. My emotions have been discounted so many times as a lack of faith that I just don’t even want to hear it anymore and so I’m fine, thank you.

And just so you know, if we don’t really know each other, or we are in public and I don’t want to cry, or your life is at an amazing high, or my kids are in the room, my answer will always be that I’m fine.

Now, Let’s get down to the business of Mary and Martha. If I had been Martha during Jesus’ visit, I would have been so incredibly annoyed with Mary. I would be verbally abusing her in my head while being super sweet to her on the outside (because everything is just fine, thank you.). And after Jesus left, I would have given in to my sarcastic side and let her have it. After all, it wouldn’t kill a girl to help out!

Instead of being calm and trusting in God, I take the burden on myself because my dishes and laundry and dirty floors are too little and stupid for God to worry about. He’s a big God, and has more important things to do than deal with me crying because I feel overwhelmed by the tasks I need to do as a homemaker. Instead, I just fail, day after day, all on my own. I can’t even imagine giving my to do list up to God…

 

So, how are you doing today, really? (Shoot me an email if you want. Be prepared for me to try to fix things. cassielovespj@hotmail.com)

How do you get your days on track? What keeps you from being overwhelmed with the mundane tasks?

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Exposed

November 15, 2011 By 12 Comments

Every day I wake up with every intention of being good. And by good, I, of course, mean perfect. Today is going to be the day that everything finally clicks. My house will be clean. My children will behave. My dogs will be trained. My husband will be proud to call me his wife. Jesus himself couldn’t do a better job… What? It could happen. All I would need to do is:

  • get and keep the entire house spotless all the time
  • never have laundry lying around, especially not in the living room
  • suddenly become an amazing cook
  • know just the right words to get my kids to understand and care about being good too
  • never yell or cuss
  • be patient and gracious and kind
  • make the dogs understand English so they can flawlessly follow my every command
  • potty train the puppy with a snap of my fingers
  • memorize the entire Bible
  • be the best teacher my children have ever seen
  • come up with a fabulous blog post every day
  • always be organized, never late
  • oh, and lose 75 pounds in my spare time

See? No problem. Except I haven’t figured it out yet. And every day that passes that isn’t “good” just reinforces in my head that I never will be, so I may as well stop even trying. Instead, I live my life feeling defeated, overwhelmed, and cranky. And each day, I despise myself a little bit more.

If only I could be ok with being ok. If only adequate could be enough. If I could be ok enough with the house not being perfect to actually enjoy the time with my kids. If I could stop hating how I look and feel long enough to find out what my husband thinks of me instead of what I’m afraid he thinks of me. If I could stop seeing the worst about everything and focus on the good, how much more pleasant my life would be.

When I was in first grade, special testing was administered to everyone to weed out the “gifted” kids. My mom was so proud when she opened the letter telling her that I had been accepted to the S.E.E.K. (Structured and Expanded Experiences in Knowledge) program. After all, my brother and sister had both been in the gifted program at a young age. That, in turn, led to needing to earn all A’s, take enriched and honors classes in junior high, and by the time I hit high school, I was burned out. My parents assured me it was ok to take “regular” classes. It was my friends, the ones in AP classes with prescriptions for ulcers, who very pointedly made it clear that it wasn’t ok to just be ok.

Those were my friends. They made me feel inadequate. Lazy. Stupid. My friends made me feel…less. That’s why I don’t need friends. I am just fine shut up in my house. I don’t need to meet you for coffee, or be invited to your jewelry party. I am perfectly happy at home…alone. Besides, I have plenty of friends on Twitter and Facebook who really understand me. Or who I can unfriend and cut loose on a whim at the first sign of disapproval. That way, no one will realize how often I yell at my kids. They won’t get the chance to be shocked at the state of my house because our “friendship” won’t make it that far. You’ll never know how often I mutter the “F” word. Yes. That one. The really bad one. It’s worth being lonely to keep from being found out…exposed.

What are you hiding? What have you given up to keep it hidden? Is it worth it?

 

 

 

 

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Am I a Good Girl in Hiding??

November 13, 2011 By 10 Comments

Today I received a book in the mail from a friend. In the envelope with the book were some handmade goodies, a few pictures, and a travel pack of tissues. The conclusion I’ve chosen to believe is that this book, Grace for the Good Girl, is going to make me cry. Probably a lot. So I’m going to read and blog and cry my way through it. I’m taking you along for the ride. Don’t worry, you can thank me later.

Let me start by saying this, I have always been a “good girl”. I got good grades. I aimed to please. I was never happy with less than perfection. That being the case, I was never happy. Along the way, there was always someone willing to overlook all the good, smart, funny, creative things I did to point out the one detail I missed. When I finally realized that I was never going to be “good enough” (whatever that means), I started throwing off my good girl cape. I was sneaky, devious even. Some acts were small, with little to no consequence if I was caught. Others were life-changing.

I didn’t have a relationship with God to speak of. I grew up in a church with extremely flawed leaders, and didn’t understand what was so great about being a Christian. I just knew that the things I was going through were too small to bother God with. He was obviously busy dealing with things like war and poverty. I figured it served me right when I decided to have premarital sex only to get pregnant at 19. It was my own stupid fault when I lost the baby at nine weeks. If I had just been good, none of it would have happened. God would know that, and therefore I didn’t take my pain, loss, utter brokenness to Him. He was already there in my mind with an “I told you so,” just waiting.

It is always after I make one of those mistakes that I should have known better that I hide from God. I know when I’m doing wrong, and a voice in my head tells me that this time God is going to be fed up. Asking for forgiveness isn’t going to be enough this time, so I’d better get it together for real. My phantom takes over and rewrites who I “should” be or how I’m “supposed” to act.

But you know what? I don’t get it together. I sin. Repeatedly. When it comes down to it, I’d rather listen to gossip about you than invite you over for coffee. I like being alone. It gives me less opportunity to embarrass myself, or to hurt your feelings. Some days I cuss just because I don’t feel like God could possibly want anything to do with me anyway, so what difference does it make?

And then it all falls apart. That’s the worst. When I can’t cover my brokenness, and hide who I really am anymore. Those are the days I truly loathe myself because I have people who love me enough to be able to see (or hear or sense) that I’m not OK. The days I have to pour out the shame and the anger and the words that just won’t stop.

But there is good news. The day after that, I realize those people (and God) still love me. Dirty, broken, unworthy, imperfect me. And suddenly, the pain is worth it.

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We Can Make a Difference

September 9, 2011 By 1 Comment

As a Christian, premarital sex is a no-no. As the child of a woman who had her first baby as an unmarried teen, premarital sex is a no-no. As a girl with low self-esteem who though that after you had done it once there was no point in saying “no”, I became pregnant at 19. The fact that I miscarried doesn’t make teenage pregnancy less of a heartbreaking issue for me. I’ve always had strong feelings for girls dealing with being alone and pregnant, feeling like outcasts, with hormones more out-of-control than normal. I’ve always wanted to help, but wasn’t sure how. Then I “met” Miss Avis Ward on Twitter.

 

I don’t remember exactly how we met, but I am certainly glad that we did. Miss Avis is one of the most spirit-lifting, fun, caring people I have ever come into contact with. As if that wasn’t enough, she runs a home for pregnant teenage girls who would likely choose abortion, a safe haven to help them get through school, learn parenting skills if they choose to keep their baby, find adoptive parents if needed, etc. The girls are also taught life skills necessary to be successful adults in our society. Any teenage girl from any state in any stage of pregnancy is welcome at GeoVi’s Home for New Life as long as there is an open bed.

Where faith, hope and love abide for pregnant teens and their unborn babies.

“One hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove…but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.” —Anonymous

GeoVi’s Home for New Life

A 501(c)3 nonprofit charitable organization. Donations are tax deductible.

GeoVi’s Home for New Life’s Community Project is no longer a dream. GeoVi’s Home serves homeless pregnant teens and young moms. The founder is Avis Ward, who believes Community is World Wide. We were born to do life together. This is why Jesus Christ commanded us to love one another. The strong must help bear the shortcomings of the weak. We cannot sit and watch without reaching inside ourselves to give of ourselves.

So many of these children are unable to recognize real love. They are mistrusting and apprehensive when acts of kindness are given without any expectation of something in return.

“True love begins when nothing is looked for in return.”—Antoine De Saint-Exupery

 When they learn we only expect them to be teachable and learn what they need to have a brighter future than the one they’re currently living, they are utterly amazed.

Teen-Mobile is in this community and can branch out into other communities around the world. We are taking love to young mothers and their babies. (If you click on the Teen-Mobile link, it will tell you more about their community project.)

I can see that you’re wondering what on earth this has to do with you. Here’s the deal… Miss Avis is only one woman. She’s not a billionaire. She does have a huge heart for Jesus, and scared teenage moms. There are so many ways that we can help, even though we aren’t billionaires either. (Well, I’m not. If you ARE, might I suggest a hefty cash donation…?) First of all, monetary donations are greatly appreciated. I know not everyone can give money, so think about this… Last summer, I held a yard sale that was a miserable disaster. When it was over, I had an entire picnic table full of baby clothes left. A few weeks after the sale, Miss Ward mentioned on twitter that they were in great need of baby clothes for the home. You can bet I packed up those boxes of clothes and sent them to her. Not ready to give up your baby clothes yet? What about that half a package of unused diapers or toys your baby has outgrown? Or extra school supplies you don’t really need? Maybe you have a van sitting around that you’ve been thinking of donating somewhere. Wal-Mart gift cards are a huge help as they can be used to buy everything from toiletries to baby things to gas for the van.  I’d be willing to bet if you sent Avis an e-mail that simply asked, “How can I help?” she would reply with a list that would include something you could manage. If nothing else, prayers are greatly appreciated. (Bonus for you, praying is free!)

As a Christian, and a mom, I feel a deep need to make a difference. While premarital sex is against my religious beliefs, grace is not. Everyone deserves a second chance, and I’m pretty sure that pregnant teenage girls are included in “the least of these”.

***I am not being compensated in any way for this blog post. I approached Avis about writing it because I believe she is doing great work, and I wanted to spread the word. You are under no obligation to make any sort of donation. However, donations are tax deductible.

Filed Under: I Give, I Hurt, I Live, I Love, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

My One Regret

August 28, 2011 By 4 Comments

Six years ago today I got a phone call. I was sitting by my phone, waiting for it to ring. When it finally did, I didn’t want to answer. I knew what was coming, and I wanted to put it off. The only problem was that this call was my last chance. There was no way to push it aside.

When I picked up, my sister was on the other end. They had moved a phone from the nurse’s station into my dad’s ICU room. He had been on a ventilator. I don’t remember for how long this time. He had been in and out of the hospital for years with heart problems, Crohn’s Disease, Diabetes, etc. But this was different. This was it. I knew that as soon as I hung up the phone they were going to extubate him (take out his breathing tube). They had already told me that he couldn’t breathe on his own. This would be my last conversation with my father.

When I say “conversation”, I use the term very loosely. With the ventilator, he couldn’t actually talk. I don’t remember exactly what I said to him, but I know I told him repeatedly that I loved him. What I remember the most is the feeling and the voice in my head telling me to pray with him. I ignored it. I hadn’t had a close relationship with my dad. I probably couldn’t tell you five facts about him if you asked. I don’t know how he felt about God, and I wasn’t comfortable enough in my Baby Christian skin to just do it.

Pretty soon my sister took the phone back. She assured me that he wanted me to know that he loved me too. Maybe he did. I don’t know. I like to think so. I guess now it doesn’t really matter. Deep down, I will always feel like I let him down, like I let God down.

I don’t know how long he survived after we hung up. I don’t know if he’d made peace with his past, asked for forgiveness, and “saw the light”. I don’t know his favorite color. Or his favorite meal. I know he loved John Wayne movies and Louis L’Amour books. Those facts, a few pictures, and these eyes are all I have left of my dad. That and the guilt.

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Thanks for the Freedom…and the pony rides

July 4, 2011 By 2 Comments

As many of you know,my uncle Harold passed away last week. I know most of you didn’t know him, love him, and look up to him like I did, but I think that you would if you ever had the chance to meet him. You never would have known by looking at his bright eyes and inviting smile that he lived through active duty in three wars and was one of Montana’s first Green Berets. He was handsome, sweet, and that man could tell a story like no other. Anyway, on this, our Independence Day, I want to share with you his obituary. It’s because of men like my uncle Harold that we can still celebrate this day. Pay attention to the dates, and you’ll notice that he joined the Army at age 15. (It was a lot easier to lie about your age in 1945 than it is now.)

Harold LeRoy LeMond      Harold-Bottom Left

Harold LeRoy LeMond

Born in Butte, MT on Mar. 7, 1930
Departed on Jun. 25, 2011 and resided in Elma, WA.

Harold "Lee" LeMond was surrounded by loved ones when he passed away on June 25, 2011 in Bremerton, WA. 
Harold was born March 7, 1930, in Butte, MT.  His parents, Elva Harris Owens and Emmett LeMond preceded him in death.
Harold grew up in Choteau County, Montana and entered the U.S. Army Air Corps in 1945.  He was a veteran of WWII, Korea and Vietnam.  He was a combat infantryman, a linesman, an armed forces radio announcer, a recruiter, and finished his service as a proud member of the U. S. Army Special Forces team known as the "Green Berets".  He spent 22 years serving his country in duty stations in Japan, Korea, the Philippines, Germany, Vietnam and various cities around the U.S.  He retired after spending two tours in Vietnam.  He was a member of the Army basketball team and enjoyed skydiving in both U.S. and international skydiving competitions and demonstrations.
Harold retired to Tacoma and became a project manager for an industrial security firm, securing contracts all over western WA.  He later bought his "piece of Montana", where he lived for several years running grain elevators for Cargill.  He settled in Elma, WA, and wintered in Yuma, AZ.
Harold was known for his many great stories, his love for family, children and animals, his bright blue eyes and dancing feet.
                           *                         *                           *

                                      cassie and baby

This is a picture of me riding Baby. She was Uncle Harold’s pony, and by far the most exciting part of visiting him at his place in Coffee Creek, Montana. I was a little city girl who  always wanted a horse, and he would take me outside, set me up on her back, and let me be a country girl. He was the kindest man I’ve ever known, and no one will ever be able to take his place in my heart.

You are missed, Uncle Harold. Thanks for the freedom and the pony rides.

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And then I cried…Again.

May 29, 2011 By 8 Comments

I haven’t blogged lately. It’s not because I don’t have anything to say, or can’t come up with a topic, or even because I haven’t had time. I’m just so tired of crying, and I know I won’t make it through this post without tears. However, I feel like maybe if I get it all out there, I will feel better.

As you all know, I’ve been training hard for a half marathon for several months. I’m a step beyond terrified of running this thing, but I was slightly calmer because I had a friend to run it with me, and my family to cheer for me at the finish line. A few weeks ago, my friend who was going to run with me found out she had to reschedule a sizeable oral surgery, and they scheduled it for the week of the race. When I found out, I cried for her because they have already drug this ordeal out for so long, and I want her to finally feel better. And then I cried because I’m so afraid to run this on my own. What if I’m not strong enough? What if I haven’t trained hard enough? What if I prove to all of you who have been so supportive of me that you were wrong and I can’t do it? It haunts me.

You’ve probably also heard that my husband just got promoted a few weeks ago. I am so proud of him, and I was prepared for the long hours he would be putting in until things settle down. I even started as his admin assistant last week. (The current admin is about to go on maternity leave.) I was working in the office on Wednesday when his kitchen manager came in, set his keys on the desk, and told us he was quitting. No notice. He didn’t stick around so PJ could make a plan. He just left, and when he left, he robbed me of having my husband at the finish line. That’s right. Not only is he working even longer hours now (16 yesterday), but he doesn’t get to come on vacation with us. I pretty much cried all the rest of the day. Wednesday was a major tear-fest. I was so glad when it was over.

Add to all of that my dislike of driving, my lack of time to continue training, a 10 hour drive to Idaho,  four upset kids, disappointed friends…I’m spent. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I can’t seem to make it through a day without sobbing at least once. I will manage it all somehow, because really, what choice do I have? It’s what I do. But I don’t want to. Just this one time, I’d like for everything to just run smoothly and be easy. I want to get my own way.

I guess at the end of the day, I’m just another selfish human.

Filed Under: I Complain, I Hurt, I Live, I Love, I Run Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Grrrrrrr

March 6, 2011 By 3 Comments

I am so frustrated! I feel like I am stuck and can’t get past this wall.  My running endurance has hit a plateau, and it makes me crazy that I’m not running longer and farther.  I really don’t care about running faster at this point.  I do care that I set a goal for myself, and I’m slacking.  I absolutely talked myself out of finishing this run.  If I can’t manage 4 miles, how am I ever going to make it 13.1 miles??  I know I shouldn’t let this get me down, and I have plenty of days to do a better job, but this stinks today.

I mapped a new route for today. The loop I had been using went past my house at the half-way point. It made it really hard for me to keep going instead of just stopping at home.  Today is the first time I ran outside my neighborhood.  I think the reason this is so discouraging to me is that the first half of my run was AMAZING. I made great time (for me). I felt good. I was feeling pretty positive about it.

Then I turned around and headed toward home. My run went downhill as soon as I started uphill. This wasn’t a big hill, meaning it wasn’t steep, but it was looooong.  I managed to make it to the top, but I was having trouble breathing, and suddenly felt very discouraged.  When I started walking, the tears started, and I just couldn’t make myself run anymore.

On a good note, I came home to a great friend who let me sob like a big baby, then made me laugh, and followed up with dark chocolate trail mix. She also let me soak in a hot bath. Then she used homework as an excuse not to cook dinner and lost points. Lame. ;)

I know that I will want to go out and try it again tomorrow. I also know how horrible my success rate is when running two days in a row. Another irritating point for me.

I guess I will see how my legs (and my ego) feel in the morning and take it from there.

How do you handle discouragement and set-backs? Any advice on how to up my endurance?

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