Parents, Part 2

We moved around a lot after I was born.  I don't know if that was true before that, but during my youth we moved at least twice a year.  Sometimes it would be close enough to remain in the same school.  Most often it wasn't.  Because of this, I didn't make friends.  There was no point.  

I did realize early on that my presence had a calming affect on my mother, and she would be less violent if I was there.  Actually, I don't think I realized it consciously, but I do remember deliberately going into the room when my younger brother was being beaten, even though everything in me was screaming to run and hide.  This seemed to lessen the damage for him.  It was all I could do for him.

I do know she especially hated my two brothers, though for different reasons.  I can't attest to her feelings about my older siblings because I was much too young to know.  I do remember several occasions where my younger brother would ask why she did this if she loved us, and my reassuring him that she didn't love us, and if he could just realize that, life would be so much easier.

In seventh grade I met the first of the adults in my life that could have been a parent figure.  Mr. Stevens was my teacher, and the first adult male I'd met that was not interested in me sexually.  No.  I was never raped.  You needn't go there.

As far as I can tell, Mr. Stevens just wanted to protect me.  He mentioned once that he wished he could adopt us, but his wife had an aversion to kids, and that was impossible.  However, his meddling did lead to our first abandonment.  By this time, my mother had already come to blows with my now-adult sister, and we were no longer in contact with her.  When my teacher decided to do his mandated-reporter duty and call the police, she skipped town and left us at school.  (She did try to pick us up on her way out of town, and it was only by forcefully holding my younger brother back that I managed to get her to leave without us.)  The "plan" was to confront her and have her work with a social worker to see the error of her ways.  As it turned out, she was forewarned and had packed each of us a suitcase and had planned to skip town.  Since I didn't jump in the car with her, nor allow my brother to do so, she went without us.  

After a visit to the sheriff's office to tell our story, we ended up staying with a church family until placement could be made.  This was my lucky break, and I was actually hoping for a great family when she showed up three days later and took us back.  No charges were brought, and we ended up staying in our home for the remainder of that school year.  We did have to change schools and were not allowed to see anyone who had known us before.  She also made me promise not to try to make contact with my sister for at least a year.  She gave me a sob story about being tired of fighting, and I made that concession for her.

By the time I reached high school I was quite independent.  I managed well with her rules, and a confrontation my freshman year actually got her to find my sister for me.  This was several moves later, and we were now in Oroville.  I remember the day my sister and older brother showed up at school to see me.  It was surreal.  I didn't recognize my brother at all, and I was somewhat awkward with my sister.  However, I was happy to have her back.

It was during that year that I decided I needed to get out of the house, and I convinced my mother to allow me to go to boarding school.  Because she was ultra-religious, and believed that freedom ruined children, she found a few like-minded boarding schools for me to choose from.  One was in California, one was in Utah, and one was in British Columbia, Canada.  Naturally, I chose the furthest.

This is where I met the Fournier's.  The boarding school did not have dormitories, but rather a series of large houses where students lived with a family.  I arrived in the summer, and by freak chance ended up with this family.  I had been destined to live with another couple, but at the last minute, they decided not to stay, and everyone living with them got divided up amongst the remaining families.

This is also where I came out of myself and decided that shy and quiet was getting me nowhere, and that I should really be outgoing and happy if I wanted friends.  This worked wonderfully, and I had the best year of my life.

The Fournier's treated me like one of their own.  They had three kids, and although I knew I wasn't really one of them, it was the closest thing yet.  They let me call them Mom and Dad, and for one year I pretended they were.  I know they did love me, and treated me with more care than the other students.  I know this because Mrs. Fournier wrote me the most beautiful letter at the end of the year, which I still have, and she HATES to write.  At least, she did then.

But time goes by, and at the end of the year, they decided to go be missionaries in Africa.  It was hard to see them go.  I stayed another 1/2 year at the school, but it wasn't the same.

Over the years I've looked them up a time or two, but hadn't found a trace of them until now.

Since coming of age, I decided my last chance was through marriage.  My sister's mother-in-law loves her like a daughter, and they seem to have a very close bond.  She's been in that family for many years, and although it took some getting used to, I think she has assimilated nicely.  I know it isn't the same thing, but it's close.  She has also found her biological father, and although that will never turn into a real father/daughter relationship, that connection has changed her (even if she doesn't realize it).

When I was 21, my mother left for good.  She sent each of her kids a letter asking not to be contacted or looked for, that she was tired of being a parent and wanted her freedom.  At the time, my youngest sister was 11, and she was left at home for CPS to find.  Although this isn't true of all of my siblings, I have respected her wish and have not made contact.

I am married now.  My husband has wonderful parents.  I love them, and they love me.  I have no doubt of that.  And although they are my family now, the parent/daughter connection was never made.  There is nothing wrong with that.  I am not complaining.  They are wonderful people.

I probably shouldn't be writing this.  I don't want to hurt anyone, or cause embarrassment.

I've often wondered what it would be like to have that presence in my life.  That person you could always count on.  I don't even know what you would count on them for, once you become an adult, but I see how even grown people are with parents, and I know that relationship is special.

In the last few years I have been surrounded by people who love me fiercely.  I have no doubt that I am loved, and I have been extremely blessed by the quantity and quality of that love.

I am not suggesting that I have been slighted or am somehow worse off than anyone else.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I have had a wonderful life since becoming an adult.  

I am merely curious.  Like I said, this is something I think about often, and I knew I would write about it sooner or later.  Forgive me if I've hurt or offended.

Parents, Part 1

This post has been bouncing around in my head for a week now.  I spoke to someone a week ago on the phone whom I used to regard as the closest thing to a parent.  I've had a couple of instances in my life where that feeling was awakened, but this couple was definitely the strongest and closest I've ever been to having parents.

I'm not sure where this post will go, or how long it will end up.  It might have to be told over several days.  However, I do know that I should put in some disclaimers.  So here goes:

If you do not want to know any really personal details about me, you should not read further.

If listening to a person tell about their life makes you squeamish, you should not read this.

If you are a part of this story, and don't care to rehash the past, you should not read this.

That being said, this all started last week, like I said, when I got the call.  This is someone I recently discovered through Facebook, and have had FB and e-mail conversations with since then.  I really wanted to hear from his wife, even though I had no idea what I would say to her, and knowing that she doesn't like to write, I gave him my phone number, and hoped that she'd call.

He called instead, and it was wonderful to hear his voice.  I realized through the conversation that he and his family probably had no idea what an impact they had on my life.  How do you make something like that known?  It's too personal to share aloud, really.

So I've been thinking about parents, and what they mean to a person.  I think, even in adulthood that people are still connected to their parents.  I've known people, and heard stories from others, that have lost their parents early in adulthood, and even though they are grown, they still feel bereft, and lost for a time without that presence in their lives.

I know several people who are still quite close to their parents, and talk to a parent on a weekly, if not daily basis.

So what is this bond?

I lost my parents early in life.  They are not dead, although they might as well be.  My father left me when I was barely two, and from what I've heard about him, he is not someone I would want to know, even now.  My mother, unfortunately, did not leave, although I was probably around five when I realized she was not a nice person, and I did not have to like her.  This is one of my earliest memories.

My mother was abusive, physically and emotionally.  When I was around five, I remember being dropped off with my younger brother at an in-home daycare facility.  It could have been a babysitter, but I remember there being several other children, which is why I think it was probably a daycare.  It was just for the day, and to my knowledge was the first time I had been left in the care of another.  I had no family other than my siblings, but my sister, who is ten years older than I, usually took care of us, so I'm not exactly sure why we were left in this place.  Maybe my sister was in school.

I remember being terrified.  I was a shy child.  I know that is hard to believe for those of you who know me now, but I was.  Quiet, and shy.  New experiences scare me.  So I sat alone in a corner, and sucked on the crook of my elbow the entire time we were there.  As a result, I gave myself a hickey.  At the time, I didn't know what a hickey was.

When my mother picked us up, she was furious about the hickey.  She beat me quite thoroughly right there in the street because of it.  Not knowing what the big deal was, I could only decide that she was unreasonable, and not a nice person.  I think that moment changed my life.  Ever after that, I could distance myself from her.  Granted, she gave me lots of reasons to reinforce my decision.  I think kids are resilient, and they protect themselves in many ways.  She was a source of pain, and it seemed easy enough to detach and distance myself from that.

As I got older, this distance helped me.  I loved to read, and I would lose myself in the fantasy or fiction of other people's lives.  However, I also saw how other people lived, and I knew what I lived every day was not the only way.  It was not normal.  This knowledge along with the belief that my mother did not love me, and therefore I did not need to love her back, made it hard for her to get to me.  Sure, the beatings stung, but as they didn't seem to get her the desired affect, they grew fewer and less intense.

I have huge gaps in my memories, so it's hard to say when and how things changed, but I do remember a few things.  My oldest siblings were all between 8-11 years older than me, and were out of the house before my memories start to solidify.  I remember the night my sister being kicked out, for the second and last time.

I have to note here that I will forever be grateful for my sister.  She looked after me, and was my primary caregiver for as long as she lived with us, and for many years after she would do everything in her power to protect me.  I attended a conference recently where a respected neurologist talked about the studies that have been conducted on touch with small children.  He showed the effects of positive touch and negative touch with a series of MRI scans of the brain.  It turns out that children who receive only negative forms of touch or no touch at all have stunted brain growth and development.  A scan of two brains, one normal and one from an abused child showed that the brain size of the abused child was actually much smaller in size than that of the child considered to be living in a "normal" loving home.  I have no doubt that it was her care in my early years that allowed me to grow, thrive, and become who I am.

To be continued....

How do people become?

I attended a multicultural conference yesterday to fulfill a requirement for school.  It was not a conference I would have chosen to go to, and I was not looking forward to five hours of discussion on why and how we should be more culturally aware.

When I arrived, I was early enough to get a great seat on the isle, close enough to have a good view of the speakers (my eyesight isn't what it used to be).  Since I was early, I also got to watch the staff and the speaker setting up the podium.  The speaker, Dr. Shawn Ginwright, is a professor of Africana Studies at San Francisco State University.  He has written several books, and worked extensively with urban youth, trying to find a way to reach these kids in their own space, and give them options.

The speech was really good.  But what struck me the most was watching him set up.  He brought his 11 year old son, and it was interesting to watch their interactions.  What must it be like to have a father who is "famous"?  To know your dad has published books, has been asked to speak all over the state, or possibly the country, and to have people recognize him and ask for his autograph?

More importantly, how did he, Dr. Ginwright, get to this place?  How did he achieve this success?  What is his story?  Was his dad a professor, and he just following in his footsteps?  Was he the first in his family to graduate college, and now he's a Ph.D?  In minority groups, that is not an unusual circumstance.

Then I looked around at the group of people who had come to hear him speak.  It was a hugely diverse group since it was a conference on multiculturalism.  What were their stories?  How did they come to this place in time?  How do people become who they are?

And I realized that I am fascinated by culture, but more than culture, I'm fascinated by people and their stories.  Everyone is unique.  Everyone has a story.  So many have overcome something in their lives to become who they are.  Diverse cultural backgrounds make these stories interesting.  Culture is the color in the portrait, so to speak.

I want to know!  What is your story?  Was there a pivotal experience in your life that changed you, that changed who you ultimately became?  Or were there a series of life experiences that sculpted your life slowly into what it is?  Do you float atop the waves going where the current takes you?  Or do you sink your legs in and try to direct the flow?

Stories are what make us all human.  Stories are what bring us together.  Ever since I learned to read I've devoured written stories.  Now, though, I am curious to know the people in the stories.  There are so many unknown lives, and what could be better than telling your story?

Success

The more I read about people who have succeeded in business, or in life, the more I know that it is not what you know, but who you know, that matters.

There have been success stories of people starting with nothing, and from nothing, and clawing their way to success with only their ambition to drive them.  However, most of these individuals, when they tell their stories, have someone they admit to having helped them achieve that success if only by believing in them, loudly and persistently.

Every book, or article, I read on the subject of achieving success in business advocates finding a mentor.  How does one go about finding a mentor?  Have I written about this before?  It's a subject I think about constantly.

There was a time when I think I could have achieved much through blind ambition.  However, when I parted ways with my ex, a lot of that ambition seeped out of me.  She encouraged me more than I ever appreciated until it was gone.  She believed in me, loudly and persistently.  It wasn't blind praise, as much as an honest belief that I could achieve anything I put my mind to.

I do have many people who love me.  This does not discount that love in any way.

When I had my son and slipped into the depression I spoke about earlier, even what little ambition I had left dried up completely.  It was disheartening for me to be so apathetic, yet I couldn't find a way out of the apathy.

Now the old ambition is creeping back in, and I feel driven to achieve something more.  It is something I think about often, which is why I started this blog, and why I have been reading everything I can find on the subject.  I've always wanted to be a business owner, and that alone is the best part of what I do now, but I've never had a talent or skill I felt was marketable on my own.  Now, though, I have many ideas, but no idea on how to make them happen, or if they are even realistic or achievable.

This brings me back to the subject of mentors.  If this is truly the secret for those born without connections, how does one go about finding a mentor?  And more importantly, how does this relationship work?  What does the mentor expect in return?

He's just not that into you...

I went to see this movie yesterday.  I knew there was a book written by this title that sounded interesting when I had heard about it, but I never got around to reading it.

The movie was LOL dumb!  It's basically about dysfunctional dating.  I actually did laugh out loud in the theater several times, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't in the appropriate places.

One of the relationships was a married couple.  The husband cheats, and the wife responds in a completely weird way.  But she did say one thing that struck me.  In trying to figure out how and why this happened, and she says "I used to be fun.  When he met me, I was fun."  I can totally relate to that.  She didn't even have kids!

I used to be fun.  Now, I'm a grouch.  What changes a person?  Is it getting old?  Is it being married?  Having kids?  Having a mortgage?  Is it merely a by-product of being too damn busy to keep everything straight?  When does one get to relax and be fun again?

Music

Music affects my mood.  When listening to an upbeat song, I am happy.  When listening to a sad song, I can be brought to tears.  When listening to a depressing song, I am depressed.  This can all happen in succession.  Talk about mood swings!

I know that I'm not alone in this.  Music is a powerful medium in our culture, which is probably why it is such a large industry.  Music touches us in a profound way.

I wrote a post recently about being cranky all of the time.  I was thinking about this in relation to the way music affects my mood, and I came to the conclusion that quite possibly I just need to listen to a steady stream of uplifting music!

Yoga Master

My husband set up our new Wii Fit this morning.  My son wanted to do some yoga, and I thought it would be a good time to get a little workout in, since I haven't done any exercise in...oh...2 years or so.

My son and I took turns doing the yoga poses.  We've been doing rudimentary yoga poses for a few years off and on, since I have a Yoga for Kids DVD, and the kids just love the funky shapes they can contort their bodies into.  

Wii Fit has several ratings it chooses for you based on how well you do the pose, and how still you can remain while balancing on one leg, etc.  The ratings are Yoga Newcomer, Yoga Novice, Yoga Trainer, and Yoga Master.  They have a few poses to choose from at the beginning, and add more as you improve your form and balance.

My son doesn't have great balance yet, so he'd consistently get Newcomer or Novice ratings.  Since I've taken yoga classes in the past, the trick for me was to remain as still as possible while balancing, and I would consistently achieve Trainer status.

Meanwhile, my husband was watching us do this from bed, and decided he wanted to give it a try.  He got up and went through each of the poses available and reached Yoga Master on every one!!  

I have to explain why this is so astounding.  My husband is clearly the stiffest person I've ever met.  I think he might possibly have the worst posture of anyone I know as well.  He is definitely not in good physical shape, and exercises even less frequently than I do.

Flexibility and posture are the cornerstones of yoga!  How could he be so adept at balance when he can't even stand up straight?  He slouches so much his spine looks permanently bent.  There has to be an error in the programming of this console!

Sabbath

I've been toying with the idea of keeping the sabbath.... again.

When I was a kid, we kept a Saturday sabbath.  The day was chock full of things we couldn't do, lest we break God's sabbath.  Therefore it was a day I dreaded all week long.  We kept the sabbath much like the Pharisees of the new testament.  It's no wonder I don't recall spending much time studying the parts where Jesus tried to lighten the burden.

Sunday was my favorite day of the week.  Sunday was a day of freedom!  Freedom from work, and freedom from God's oppressive rules.

Now I hang out with Christians that believe that there are no longer any rules at all.  Jesus came to fulfill the law, therefore all the commandments are "optional".  Everything is grace.  It does make Christianity easy!

However, I keep hearing a voice in my head repeating "the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."  For me, this means God is trying to liberate me from all the work and stress that I deal with all week long.  One day of rest would be oh-so-good for me!  One day of not worrying about work or school or all of the myriad things I have to get done sounds way too good to be true!  A day to do only things I enjoy.  A day to take a break and relax.  That does sound restful, and decadent.  That sounds like something I could look forward to every week.

I'm pretty sure my son would love a whole day with my undivided attention.  Or my husband, for that matter.  And I would have a day to enjoy family and friends that I never get time to see.  And I might get to do things that I LIKE to do, like making things, taking a walk, or reading a book just for fun!

But it also worries me!  How could I ever get all the work done in six days that now takes me eight?  I mean, I am ALWAYS behind; getting just enough done to get by as it is.  My to-do list is a mile long, and growing!  What happens when I take a day off?  Every week?  That thought is terrifying!

Hence, the toying...  It sounds like something I WANT to do, but not something I CAN do.  Does that make sense?  Who has that kind of time?

(Plus, I'm still battling the demons of my childhood and all the horror of what sabbath is or isn't.  But we'll pretend that has nothing to do with this!)

The Weather...

This is about nothing, really...  talking about the weather, so to speak.

Although we are experiencing some much needed crappy weather!  It feels like it's been raining for weeks, even though I'm quite sure that's not true.  We do need the water.  I read in the local paper that our lake/reservoir is so low that the city was planning on imposing further water rationing soon.  So, it is good to have the rain.  

Besides, there are moments when I love being socked in the house on a rainy day with the fireplace going.  Granted the moments flee faster than the actual rain.  Actually, the moment lasts up until I have to actually go out into the rain.

However, rain here means snow in the mountains, and the snow level got quite low last night.  Low enough that there was apparently a dusting in the neighboring town.  This also meant that both of my assistants were snowed in and couldn't make it to work.  They are both living farther up the mountain that I would care to drive for a commute.  This made for a hectic day!

I've spent the time since signing on to Facebook checking out the pages of old classmates, remembering, catching up.  It's been fun reading the blogs of those that have them.  Using it as an excuse NOT to do the homework I should be doing.

I have so many small projects going on right now I feel like I'm forever three steps behind.  I need to focus and complete one thing so I can feel like I'm accomplishing something!  I miss writing, even though I have nothing to write about.  We'll see how it goes this weekend.

Facebook

I went to lunch with a friend last week who convinced me to give Facebook a try.  I already have a myspace page, and I honestly can't stand myspace, so I didn't feel the need to get yet another social networking thing going.  However, I told him I'd try it so I could check out his page.

Yesterday, I finally signed up.  Before I could even figure out how to find him, another friend I haven't seen in years added me as a friend!  How do you people do this?  How could he have found me within minutes of signing up?  Ok, that was beside the point!

I found Russell, and added him as a friend.  He sent me some weird games I couldn't understand, and will have to come help me set up my page to get the most advantage from it.  

However, during the signup process, Facebook asked me where I graduated from school.  It didn't have the obscure high school I actually graduated from, but it gave me the idea to look for the OTHER obscure school I went to during high school.  This was a boarding academy in British Columbia where I spent a year and a half.  Without doubt the best year of my life.  I've often thought about the friends I made there, and where they are now, but a few feeble attempts at searching them down turned up nothing.

Several years ago one of the guys I went to school with found me and we exchanged e-mail for a little while before drifting away again, but that was the extent of my contact.

So I looked up the name of the school, and voila! so many faces and names!  People I thought to never see or hear from again, all in one virtual place.  Many of them have blogs, so I've been able to get a glimpse into their lives.  One even wrote an article about our disastrous camping trip that year! (http://www.summitpost.org/trip-report/408266/Beginners-Luck.html) This made me laugh like a schoolgirl!

I've been laughing out loud for no apparent reason all morning because of this!  It's been amazing!  I LOVE Facebook!

Piano Recital

Ok, after scaring everyone with the Facial Expressions post, I'll move on to something lighter!

My son had his first piano recital on Saturday.  I was very worried about the fact that he is notorious for getting stage fright, and bowing out at the last minute.  He could be completely excited about a performance or show, then freak out when it came time to go up on stage in front of everyone.

This recital was to be a small production of just a few of his instructor's students.  It was apparently not on the scale of her other recitals, which include students from other sources as well.  For my son, it was a "trial run" for the larger one coming in April.  As I said, I was nervous about his ability to perform at the last minute.

So after a week of practicing his piece until he knew it completely, a few "practice" recitals in front of parents, and then my assistants, we moved on to teaching him to deal with his fears.  We had at least two days straight of "what do you do if you make a mistake?" or "what happens if you get scared?" until we felt he was confident in his ability and response.

Then came the big day.  At the last minute I was reminded that I should invite his grandparents and aunt, as they would probably have been disappointed to find out about it after the fact.  So with very little notice they and we made it up to Newcastle for his recital.

I sat with him (the young students sat in a row near the teacher) while everyone came in, gauging his comfort level with the number of people in the audience.  There ended up being around 15 - 20 students and their parents, a larger crowd than I had anticipated, yet he seemed ok with it.  I told him he was number five in the line-up, and he counted as each student went before him.

When it was his turn, he marched up to the piano, played his piece, took his bow, then marched back to his seat.  He was quite proud of himself, but not nearly as proud as we were.  I think this is the first time he's been able to get up in front of a group and perform without quite a lot of fear, and sometimes tears.

This was an achievement for him, and I'm quite proud!

Facial Expressions

I've been paying attention to myself a lot lately.  Not in a "taking care of me" way, but rather in a noticing things about me way.

What I've noticed the most, is my lack of facial expression most of the time.  Maybe it's not really a lack, but more like a scowl.  I bunch up the muscles at the bridge of my nose like I'm worried about something, and the rest of my face is slack.  Even when I try to "lighten" my expression, all I can manage is a softening around the eyes that doesn't really reach any other part of my face.

What I notice even more is that I have this scowl right up until I start talking with someone about something that is interesting to me.  Then, I can feel my face soften, my eyes light, and my smile come more easily.  I FEEL the difference in my face, and in my body.  It's almost like my whole body is lighter.  I know there are studies that argue that smiles produce serotonin, which is a happy hormone, or some such.  

What I want to know is, is this something that happens with age, or am I really just cranky all the time?  I don't feel cranky, yet when I'm at home or working I sound cranky.  Is it my face affecting my attitude, or my attitude affecting my face?  How do I lighten up?  I'm way too serious for my own good!

End of Month Madness

January flew by.

January means tax time, and is usually spent in frenzied activity to get all of my information together in one place, catch up my bookkeeping that generally falls woefully behind around mid-year, and basically do everything but fill out my tax forms.  When I started 5 years ago, I would buy the tax workbook created specifically for my business, and go through every page, gathering and recording each bit of information.  I would begin this process in late November and work on it almost every evening until the end of January.

As I got better about knowing what information I needed to gather, I would start a little later and be a little more prepared throughout the year, until January became the mad-dash month to finish.

This year I didn't buy the tax workbook, since I figured I'd been through it enough times to know what needed doing.  Plus, I'd actually kept up with my bookkeeping throughout the year, and only had to do the year-end journal entries to be up to date.

I did my mileage report, my meal allowance numbers, the journal entries to claim the percentage of the home expenses, yet I feel like I'm missing something!  I was finished before the end of the month, and I actually did more prep work this year than last.  This makes me nervous!

After all of that, I let my daily food program entries pile up until I had to do them all yesterday to get them in before the deadline.

Sheesh.  With all of that paperwork in a month, I have a headache!

My Ministry

I had a strange dream last night.  

The setting was a gathering of Christians meeting together to hear speakers teach.

During one such meeting, the woman teaching the class was speaking on the do's and don'ts for God's followers.  The example given was high-heeled shoes.  She was explaining that heels were acceptable but stilettos were not.  Even though the heel-height was exactly the same, she was arguing that the shape of one heel was appropriate and modest, while the other was sinful.  In my dream, a young man was assisting her by showing an example of each.

(Don't laugh!  I know this seems like a ridiculous example, but I am quite sure that there are Christians that would agree with this thinking, and if not this, then something equally inconsequential.)

I challenged the young man to  explain why one would be acceptable to God, while the other was not.  Because of my arguments, he confessed that he had similar questions about photography. He had some implied nude photographs in his room, and he wondered if they were ok, since they didn't really show any private parts, or if they would still be considered pornography.  I started to tell him about the photography my husband does, at which point the leader of the group admonished us for being disruptive and not participating.

Then I woke up.

As I was waking, I had these thoughts in quick succession:  

First, I should take the young man aside, listen to his concerns, tell him my experiences, and let God do the rest.  

Second, that my ministry is about love and acceptance.  As much as I would love to be in a leadership role, speaking, teaching, or leading, that type of thing would only go to my head, so it is probably not God's plan for me.

Finally, I thought of all the unlikely people that I have already encountered that just needed to know that they were acceptable to God as they are, even with the crazy thoughts, strange histories, etc.  People that I would never expect to seek me out.

I know this is a strange thing for me to write about, but I've often questioned why I felt the need to become a Christian after all of these years.  I've also thought about how incompatible my way of thinking is with status quo of Christian beliefs.  I ALWAYS question the legitimacy of believing in something unseen.

Considering this unlikely set of characteristics, I've often thought about how God might use me.  Mostly, I come up blank.  I wanted to share this thought with you.