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A False Dichotomy and Other Lies We Republicans Tell Ourselves

October 11, 2016 by anna Leave a Comment

We’ve only got two choices: Trump or Clinton. At least, that’s what everyone’s told us. “Choose from the lesser of two evils” they say. They’ve also told us that the only issue that matters is the Supreme Court Justice picks. If they truly believed that, they’d vote for Evan McMullin or Gary Johnson because, as I’ve noted before, there is little chance that Trump will keep any promises he’s made because he very likely has NPD.

Many Evangelicals believe that we are seeing the beginning of the end times and are folding their arms in resignation. But is giving up when the going gets rough really the lesson that we want to pass on to future generations?

“It’s always been between Democrat and Republican—it’s always been that way,” I imagine a staunch, grey- haired Baby Boomer explaining to me. And he would be right—almost—with the stellar exception of Abraham Lincoln.

The problem is, I’m a scrappy Gen-X-er and was taught by the Boomer generation slogans like “think outside of the box,” or “when the going gets tough, the tough get going.” So here’s the deal. If you don’t like the rules of the game, change them. And yes, I’m talking to you Gen-Xers and Millennials. It’s up to us. We’ve believed the lie that we have to play by the old rules of the game. But we don’t.

The problem is not that we don’t have a good choice, it’s that we’ve believed the lie that we can be lazy in our democracy—thinking that a good democratic republic doesn’t require massive amounts of effort and sacrifice to maintain. Do you think we just woke up one day after complaining about the unfair British rule, and suddenly had independence? I think not.

So let’s look realistically at our options.

Gary Johnson—Best option for Moderate Republicans, Independents, and Centrist Democrats.

The Good: He is currently polling as the highest of all three third-party candidates, especially amongst young voters. At this point, he has the overwhelming support of his home state, New Mexico. He is on the ballot in all 50 states. He has experience as a highly successful Republican Governor.

The Bad: He doesn’t know where Aleppo is and can’t think very well on his feet (probably thanks to all of his former pot smoking). Although personally pro-life, he believes the decision of abortion should be decided on by state, rather than at the Federal level (aka not pro-life on the birth end of things, but pro-life for the end of life and pro-life in quality of life for all).

To Learn more: https://www.johnsonweld.com

Evan McMullin—Best option for Conservative Republicans and Pro-Lifer’s

The Good: He worked in the Middle East in the CIA, as an investment banker for Goldman and Sachs, and served on the House of Foreign Affairs committee. He is unabashedly pro-life and truly conservative. He is on the ballot in 12 states.

The Bad: He has access as a write-in candidate in 20 states, and is on the ballot in 12. There is no spelling auto-correct on the ballots. If you are going to vote for him, make sure you know how to spell his name.

To learn more: https://www.evanmcmullin.com

Possible outcomes:

Evan McMullin could win his home state of Utah and the vote could go to the House of Representatives.

Gary Johnson could win his home state of New Mexico and the vote could go to the House of Representatives.

So what can we do? We young people are great at protesting what we don’t like, but are usually unwilling to put in the work that change requires. So here’s what we can do.

Register to vote. Today is the last day to register in PA.
Educate yourself. Know what is important and what you’re looking for in a candidate.
Spread the word and educate others (that doesn’t mean have a shouting match). Volunteer. Every one of those websites has ways that you can volunteer.
Petition. If you like Gary Johnson, but want more pro-life leaning Supreme Court Justice picks, petition.
Work at the polls. Make a homemade sign, talk to people knowledgeably about your candidate.
Send all of your friends in Utah and New Mexico information about the candidates most likely to win their state.

The point is, let’s stop complaining and work together to change the tide.

Filed Under: Politics

There is Only One Reason You Should Not Vote for Donald J. Trump

July 25, 2016 by anna 52 Comments

A few days ago, I resigned from my post as Republican Committee Woman in order to tell you why I, as a Moderate Republican, will not be voting for our newly nominated Republican candidate and the one thing you need to know if you are considering it.

For most Republicans, it boils down to the pro-life issue. Maybe you’ve felt the same way.

One of the most common sentiments I’ve heard from fellow disgruntled Republicans is, “I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don’t want to vote for either of them. I won’t vote for Hillary because she’s a crook and will choose a very pro-choice liberal Supreme Court Justice. At least with Trump, he’s pro-life and will choose a pro-life Supreme Court Justice.”

And this, I’ve found is the main reason that good, intelligent people are holding their noses and voting for Trump. The problem is, is he really pro-life? I’d say no and I’ll explain more fully in a moment.

My definition of pro-life is problematic because I believe that it means to encompass the entirety of life, not just the short unborn portion. And Trump has shown himself to have a high disregard for non-white, non-male lives. If you can’t think of any examples off the top of your head, I’ll be happy to supply a few (and in his own words too!):

He belittles and degrades women.
He promotes violence to silence dissension and makes personal attacks when questioned or criticized.
And most especially, he is blatantly racist.

But here’s the thing. Even if your definition of pro-life is defined as protecting the life of the unborn, you only have a 50% chance that Trump will live up to his word.

So why would I say he cannot be counted on to be pro-life by either definition?

Because Donald J. Trump has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). For at least a year now, psychologists have been warning people that Trump is a textbook case and to beware (NPD is very different from simply having narcissistic tendencies). However, they have not done a very good job of telling people why it’s the most important factor in deciding whether or not he is a viable candidate for our country’s highest office: decisions made by someone with NPD cannot be trusted.

If you are unfamiliar with what this particular personality disorder, please do your fellow Americans a favor and educate yourself by clicking here to learn about NPD. That is not a suggestion–click on it.

If you’ve ever lived with someone who has NPD, as I have, I would not need to tell you any of this. You would already know by the first time you heard Trump speak or by watching his children speak about him, that he has NPD. However, if you are like most people, you’ve not experienced this before (lucky you). NPD rules almost every aspect of the person who has it. Here is what a man with NPD will look like in office.

Emotions control the logic of a person with a personality disorder. People continually question Trump’s logic, but that’s because his decisions are made on his emotions at that moment, not logic. “In the study published in the Journal of Psychiatric Research, a team of German researchers used modern brain scanning technology to examine the brain structure of 34 volunteers…the authors of the study linked the presence of narcissism to increased activity in another part of the cerebral cortex that helps control impulsive behavior. This activity increase diminishes impulse control, and thereby increases the likelihood of poor decision-making in affected individuals.”–(see above link)

No, he is not just making bombastic statements to gain attention. Many of Trump’s loudest followers are people who love his quality of “saying what he thinks” and his screw-the-man persona. Unfortunately, this is no act. He really has little regard for others because he has little to no empathy. (see link on previous point)

He will change his mind and reverse his stances–over and over and over. This is one of the most terrifying aspects of this personality disorder. What’s worse is, we’ve already seen this happen on the campaign trail, but people forget because he’s so passionate about his current decision in the moment. And that’s the thing, a person with NPD believes exactly what he says at that very moment, but it may change in a week or a day or a month. And how does Trump get away with it? Attacking the person who points out the inconsistencies.

He does not have the ability to take counsel. How many times when people asked Trump from whom does he seek advice, did he say himself? And it seems pretty easy to see that Trump felt forced by the Republican Party Salvagers into choosing Mike Pence as his running mate. Did you see his lackluster RNC speech for Pence? People have the idea that Pence somehow make all of the rough edges of Trump okay because deep down they believe that a man who was so successful in business will make a great leader. In the business world, self-promotion for self-serving reasons is a must. However, the president is supposed to make decisions that may be self-sacrificing for the greater good. As a person experienced with NPD, I know that will not happen–no matter who your VP is. That brings me to my next point.

He will do what is in his own self-interest before anyone else’s. He claims to speak for America and fancies himself our champion, but what has he done for anyone besides himself? You can’t go by what he says, so let’s look at what he’s done for others where he’s received no personal benefit. Hmm…that was quick.

Look at who Trump idolizes to know what he wants America to become. In the past, he’s publicly praised and admired both Vladimir Putin, and Kim Jung Un. If you want to know more about Putin (whom I’ve followed politically since I was a teenager) I recommend an informative book called, “The New Tsar: The Rise and Reign of Vladimir Putin” by Steven Lee Meyers. The title is pretty self-explanatory as to why Trump idolizes him. And the relationship with Putin is already getting scary. Russia has already taken responsibility for leaking the DNC e-mails. And then there’s the money. ” ‘Russians make up a pretty disproportionate cross-section of a lot of our assets,’ ” Trump’s son, Donald Jr., told a real estate conference in 2008…” (WP)

So what is a person who loves their country and is aware of all of this supposed to do?

Inform people and suggest a more sane option.

Although my solution is not perfect, and if I am going by my “whole life, pro-life” definition, the most pro-life candidate (looking at all policies), is Gary Johnson. I am in no way a Libertarian, and generally detest many Libertarian stances, especially when someone quotes Ayn Rand’s “objectivism,” as a legitimate social/economic strategy *eye roll.* However, Johnson and Weld were both Republican Governors and still retain many of their more Republican stances. (Ideally, I’d rather see Weld as the Presidential candidate). And the cool thing is, this time around, the third party candidate has a shot at the presidency. But there you have it.

“Vote your conscience…”–Ted Cruz (Lol)

Filed Under: Politics

The Best, Worst, and Most Thought-Provoking Books I Read in 2015

January 15, 2016 by anna 2 Comments

Best

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Beauty, depth, and hope from darkness: I believe those words best sum up this book. I don’t want to say too much if you’ve never read it, but it is probably my favorite book of the year. The characters are memorable, humorous, and realistically multi-dimensional. Probably a big part of why I enjoyed this so much is because I live with a devoted Catholic, an Atheist, and an Agnostic. Come to think of it, I suppose it sounds like the beginning of a joke. Anyway, it’s a terrific book that you should read. And as a friend of mine encouraged me, “…it gets bleak, but the payoff is worth it.” He was right.

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

I thought this would be a good ole fashioned mystery, but no, it is much more. This book really takes the lead for memorable narration. Throughout the book, there are several opinionated narrators, all trying to tell their part of the mystery of the missing Moonstone; essentially, a delightful play in perspectives. The first narrator is an elderly steward for a wealthy family who is rather old fashioned in his view of women, and seems to find all of the answers to life’s perplexing problems in the pages of “Robinson Crusoe.” The next narrator is the prudish churchwoman who has a way of always being right (at least in her mind), and has plenty of hellfire and damnation tracts on hand to give to any sinful passersby. Having known a handful of people like her throughout my life, it made me cringe and laugh simultaneously to think that the author must be basing her on someone he knew. It’s really a wonderfully written book with delightful characters, oh, and a lovely little mystery.

I know why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

I always had her book on my to-read list, but it was hearing of her passing that made me want to read it this year. What a poignantly told story in a uniquely moving voice (both in the narrative sense and in the literal sense). I listened to this as an audiobook so that I could hear Ms. Angelou’s rich voice telling her own story and I’m so glad I did. There were so many well-written phrases, and unique ways of describing events. Her story is one of struggles, of beautiful moments, of harsh realities, and childhood innocence. If you like listening to audiobooks, this one is a must.

Measure of a Man: From Auschwitz Survivor to Presidents’ Tailor by Martin Greenfield

As the title explains, the book is about a Holocaust survivor who immigrated to America to become one of the most highly-sought after tailors in the US. Who knew that making suits could be so interesting? I certainly did not. Mr. Greenfield is quite the character and has an engaging way of telling his story. It’s definitely worth a fun, fast read.

Worst

Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

I need to first say, that this is not a bad book; quite the contrary, it is so well-written that I had visceral reaction. I believe that if I were a different person who did not grow up surrounded by so much Fundamentalist hypocrisy, and did not have a family filled with wayward children, I might have liked this book. But, I don’t and I didn’t. In a handful of places the book was simply boring. The characters, with the exception of two, were flat and two dimensional in some ways, and oddly deep and three dimensional in other ways, making one feel that either the whole book is the author’s sloppy attempt to shove her beliefs on the reader through an Uncle Tom-like narrator, or it is masterfully crafted to show the unreliable narrator’s own pious blindness toward himself and parts of reality. I tend to think it is the latter.

It is a memoir written by an aged Congregationalist pastor, John Ames, to his young son before he dies. The tale ultimately centers around a wayward young man that Pastor Ames, who speaks often of forgiveness, refuses to forgive. In some ways, I appreciated the glaring hypocrisies of the pastor, able to judge and point out the speck in another’s eye, while glossing over the plank in his own, but it was also far too familiar, too realistic. The only true Christ-like character in the story is the pastor’s wife, who I found to be intriguing, mysterious, and hardly in the story. The wayward young man I also really liked. He was, for all his many faults, honest with himself.

**SPOILER**

So when, at the end, the pastor forgives the wayward man without asking forgiveness for his own sin, it was too much for me. I finished the book with a sour taste in my mouth. But perhaps one that was supposed to be there?

The Philosophy of Edith Stein by Dr. Antonio Calcagno

I was going into reading this book with little prior knowledge of the Catholic Phenomenologist (no, that is not a ghost hunter) Edith Stein. The first few chapters devoted to explaining her life as a Jewish Atheist Phenomenologist who converted to Catholicism, and later died in a concentration camp, were good. When it came to explaining her views of Phenomenology and the importance of the Catholic feminine, I was disappointed. Many times, the author used various words and phrases in other languages (German, Latin, French) without any explanation or clarification to their meaning or English equivalent. I did a good bit of translation throughout and was dismayed that a majority of his foreign language word choices held no greater significance than their English counterparts, so his word choices seemed to me, pretentious. For the most part, it was probably just my personal distaste for academic verbosity, and my inner drive for efficiency, that made me dislike the writing so much. There were many times where the author went the most roundabout way to make his point, I lost interest, had to start over, and then was able to summarize what he’d said in four paragraphs in three short sentences (then again, a true philosopher probably appreciates the nuance that I have no patience for). And as a book about the writings/philosophy of Edith Stein, and although referring constantly to her writings, there was a disconcerting dearth of quotes and little of her own writing included (plenty of which she did). Some of her arguments were interesting and thought-provoking, but I think another book, perhaps a translated version of something she wrote would be more beneficial to the novice reader of Edith Stein’s philosophy.

Most Thought-Provoking

Outside the Magic Circle: The Autobiography of Virginia Foster Durr

This book is an edited version of a recorded conversation with Ms. Virginia Foster Durr and I’m so glad that it is. Many of the beautiful southern idioms and colloquialisms come through magnificently, and her southern cadence is etched all over the pages of the book. She winds her way through the fascinating details of growing up in the impoverished and racist south, her school years, and her journey of how she turned from being a racist southerner to one of the foremost civil rights and incidentally, women’s rights activists, in the 1940-60’s. A terrific read and interesting perspective on all sorts of historical events.

Jesus Feminist by Sarah Bessey

This was the quintessential book to sum up my year of reading feminist literature. This was a refreshing, yet honest look at where the church is now, its interpretation of the Bible (aka its tendency to interpret through the lens of patriarchy), and the subsequent consequences. Overall, it is an encouraging call to men and women alike to change the church through love and grace, embracing all believers in their God-given callings, regardless of gender.

Filed Under: Book Reviews

Christmas…New Year’s Letter

December 28, 2015 by anna Leave a Comment

Each year, I have the best intentions of writing a Christmas update letter and every year, I sit staring at a blank screen, referring to our calendars and thinking to myself,“We did so much…” and “How in the world do I make a letter that doesn’t sound as exciting as a grocery list?” And, as you can tell from the prolific amount of Christmas letters you’ve received over the years (yes, that would be a whopping zero), I come up with no answer, shrug and console myself that there is always next year…

So Christmas has obviously passed (unless you’re Catholic), but the New Year is just around the corner and I have energy, so here goes nothing.

Where to start? I suppose it would be easiest to tell you what has not changed. Ethan is still Catholic and I am still a Catholic-loving Protestant. I still teach piano and voice lessons and accompany for two strings studios. Ethan is the CEO of Demme Learning and is a Township Supervisor.

In the early months of the year, Nick and Ethan took Tae Kwon Do at the YMCA until Ethan started traveling for work in the spring and Nicolas got a full-time responsibility in the form of a sweet little fur-ball that he named Aera (pronounced: Air-uh) because it sounded cool. After naming her, we found out the name means “Lion” in Hindu, which is exactly opposite of our dog’s loving personality, so we’ll say that we’re being hipster and named her ironically. For Nicolas, having a dog has been such a life-changer. He is so good to his dog and takes such good care of her. He’s really stepped up his game in taking responsibility in most areas of life. We’re so proud of him.

In March, my brother Philip came up to live with us while he decided what was next in his life. He’s currently enrolled in HACC while working full-time in the pharmaceutical industry.

Ethan and Nicolas also began a project to fix up this old car so that Nicolas will have something of his own to drive soon.

In school, Nicolas has found an affinity for all things computer, and loves his video production classes. He is hoping to attend the Lancaster CTC for his senior year if he can pass two tough classes this semester (Chemistry and Algebra).

In his spare time (hyuck, hyuck), Ethan trained for and completed a Half Ironman, a Marathon, climbed a 14,000 ft. mountain, and participated in the annual 100 mile bike ride for YSC (Young Survivors Coalition). You understand the laughter in the last sentence if you know anyone training for anything longer than a half marathon. Training takes up all the would-be fun parts of life. Example:

Me: What do you want to do this weekend?

Ethan: Well, I have to get in a long (choose two: run, ride, swim) Saturday and Sunday. After that, I’ll probably be wiped, so let’s just watch some TV or something.

Me: Woohoo (sarcastically).

As for me, for the first time in over four years, I began to feel better in late May. I still have setbacks on a weekly basis, and my new normal is not my old normal, but I’ll take it! In everyday life, this means that I’m able to sing again (yay!) and am able to be more regular with commitments and writing. It also means that I am slowly getting back to running races. This year, I completed the Mt. Gretna triathlon and accomplished my biggest goal, which was to run a 10k. My times were pretty slow for both, but I finished strong.

This upcoming year already promises to be a tough but exciting year. Nicolas will be finishing up his Junior year of high school, Ethan is running a very heated race for State Senate, and I will be starting back to helping refugee families get resettled in Lancaster after a four year hiatus.

So here’s to a New Year! God bless!

Filed Under: Personal

The What, How and Why of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome

August 20, 2015 by anna 3 Comments

“I’ve heard of Chronic Fatigue,” several people have told me. “That’s where you’re tired all the time, right?” They then proceed to tell me I should just get more sleep. I smile and think to myself, “If you only knew.” So here is my effort to bring people into the “know.”

It’s been 4 1/2 years since I got sick and I have a hard time trying to write about it. That’s right, this is the dreaded post about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, as it’s called in the UK). There are three reasons I’ve not wanted to write the following blog post:

No one likes reading/hearing about illness, especially when it’s chronic and can’t be “fixed.”
I don’t want my illness to define me.
I don’t like to come across as whining, complaining or wanting sympathy.

So why, you may ask, am I writing this post that no one wants to read and that I don’t want to write? Because I think it’s important to understand what CFS is, how it affects people that you may know, and what you can do to be a good friend to them.

How does it feel to have CFS?

Imagine you’ve just finished a half marathon that you didn’t train enough for (that’s the only thing I can compare it to from experience): you’re joints are aching and sore, your muscles are fatigued in the extreme and are constantly on the verge of cramping. Now on top of that, you have a very bad case of the flu, and you’ve not slept for four days straight prior to the race so you can barely keep your eyes open or think straight. You have a headache, and your heart is skipping beats every now and again. That is what Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is like a majority of the time. It’s painful, you’re tired, and you are painfully aware of how much dumber you are because you just can’t think clearly.

What is Chronic Fatigue Syndrome really?

Each cell of your body is made up of anywhere from 2 to 2,500 mitochondria. Mitochondria are the “energy factories” in each cell. They turn nutrients from food into energy and oxygen that powers each organ and muscle throughout the body. For a person with CFS, these mitochondria are impaired; thus, rendering their ability to absorb nutrients and thus, turn it into oxygen and energy, ineffective. That is why the entire body (including the mental capacity) of a person with CFS is affected: it’s starving for oxygen and energy! That’s why, on a daily basis, I and others with it, experience anywhere from 1-80 symptoms. Before I was officially diagnosed, the seemingly random symptoms were worrisome because they mimicked other, more life-threatening conditions. But after an official diagnosis and a few years experience, I’ve learned better to listen to my body and now only experience around 30-40 symptoms on a monthly basis.

So why can’t you just sleep a lot and overload yourself with vitamins? You can, and people have–under the supervision of doctors, of course–only to experience little to no benefit or relapses that left them worse off than before. Long story short, there is no cure, but sometimes those with CFS can improve over time.

If it’s incurable, is there anything to be done to manage it?

The best advice that I’ve read is that you have to stay within your energy limitations, eat healthily, sleep regular hours, and use graded exercise.

Many people who know that I still run and do sprint triathlons think that since I do them, I must not be too bad off. It depends on the day. And even when I do run/bike/swim, I go slowly and take lots of precautions. I don’t run nearly as fast or as long as I used to, but I do still love running. When I first got sick and tried to run like usual (not knowing what I had), I had heart palpitations, terrible leg cramps, and several times, almost fell asleep while running. It was crazy. Thanks to my husband pushing me to get a heart monitor watch, I learned to run by heart rate and by feeling (something I’d not done previously).

I also try to eat highly nutritional foods every day (and take vitamins for the elderly). Thankfully, I’ve always loved collard greens, kale, spinach, and the like, so not much had to change. I still have a weak spot for cinnamon Pop Tarts though…

Why do people get CFS/ME?

After finally being diagnosed as having CFS after one and a half years of testing in the Thomas Edison fashion, I wanted to know why. Why me? Why others? After lots of research and reading, here’s what I found. Let’s pretend there is a checklist of how to guarantee that you will develop CFS. Having one or more of the following increases the chances of developing CFS or some other chronic illness, dramatically:

Have one or more preexisting diseases that affect the immune system
Contract the Epstein-Barr virus (or Mono)
Be an over-achiever, or live under high amounts of stress for a prolonged period of time
Score a 3 or higher on the ACE test (I scored a 7)

It would be a miracle if I didn’t develop CFS since I can check off each one of those things (several more than once). The one that put me over the edge was contracting Mono while Ethan and I were visiting Russia in 2011.

The most eye-opening part of this journey was learning about the ACE test and understanding how trauma/stress affects the body. I encourage you to click on the link.

What important things am I learning?

Happiness always comes from within. Even though circumstances suck, and I awoke most mornings feeling worse than when I went to bed, I learned to look closely for the little beautiful things in life. As much as I ragged “One Thousand Gifts” by Anne Voskamp for the fluffy and distracting writing style, it was a helpful book in reminding me to always be thankful and noticing all the small gifts God gives.
It’s normal to grieve the loss of the self I thought I was. I am learning to embrace that my identity is not in what I do, but in who I am. It is a constant battle for me because I’ve always been a doer and a perfectionistic one at that. I have to be okay with a messier house, an overgrown yard, and having less energy to be creative.
“No” is a difficult word for everyone. I don’t know how many things I had to quit because I was just too tired and felt too bad. These were things that I really loved. But overall, it was freeing to having fewer expectations. Speaking of which…
Good friends hang around without expectations, others only call when they want something. There were so many times that people asked me to do something for them and I told them “no” with the explanation that I didn’t feel well enough. And after saying similar things to, “I’m sorry you feel bad,” they would many times end with “but could you still do this very quick little favor for me? It’s easy. It shouldn’t take long.”
It’s okay to ask for help. I suppose it goes along with being a doer, but I’m not good at asking for help. I’m still pretty bad at this one, but through necessity, I think there is slight improvement 🙂
Humility. This word takes on a whole new meaning when your brain and body are completely unreliable. I quit softball because I felt so badly during games and could not focus enough to know what was going on. I had difficulty playing piano because either my hands were arthritic or I would have days I could not focus enough to read the music. I was not able to sing much for several years because I was constantly sick with other illnesses. The most humbling part is constantly feeling stupid and knowing that I’m not that dumb.
Looks can be deceiving. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, “You don’t look sick to me.” I never know if people mean they don’t believe me, or that it’s all in my head, or they mean it as a compliment. For a long time, before my diagnosis, the only way that certain doctors believed me was that I ran a non-stop fever for three years. The picture at the top of this post is a good example. I don’t look sick, but I had a high fever, was dizzy and still had to hike the rest of the six miles down the mountain.

So there you go. Whew. I’m glad to have this post finished 🙂

Filed Under: Personal Tagged With: CFS/ME, graded exercises, mono

The Ugly Truth about the Church and Mental Illness

April 10, 2015 by anna 3 Comments

I’ve seen quite a few people writing recently about the subject of how churches are dealing with mental illness. They are good philosophical arguments complete with quotes from scripture and testimonials from people who struggle with depression. But what about those people that are bat-shit crazy? Then what?

I have always found it trite and academic when people in church debate Calvin’s theology of predestination. I was introduced to this theological point in Sunday school, during my senior year of high school. The idea is that God chooses some people to go to Heaven and others are simply created for destruction and eternal damnation. I could give you my theological/philosophical argument as to why I think that is incorrect, but I’d rather not. I’d rather you see it through my lens instead.

It’s easy to say you believe in predestination when your life is comfortable. It’s easy to ask those questions if your brother you grew up with wasn’t a schizo-affective disordered sociopath and believed by many to be destined for hell. It’s not difficult to believe in God’s creating and subsequently choosing certain people to hate, when its not your brother yelling commands to his demon army in the backyard at two in the morning. It’s easy to say yes, God chooses some to send to hell for absolutely no reason–just because.

It’s also enjoyable to debate Nature vs. Nurture, unless you’ve wrestled with understanding that line your whole life. How much is he really responsible for? And can I love him even if he’s responsible for all of it?

I’d like to take you through my personal experiences as a siblings of someone diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder (that’s basically bi-polar and schizophrenia rolled into one) and as a sociopath, and what the church’s role was in our lives.

Jeremy was a sweet, pretty much perfect baby. He had curly golden locks, and big animated blue eyes. Life was good. Then, he began to talk. One of his first phrases was to call us, his siblings, “Dodo birds.” Not only did we realize that he was calling us names, we had no idea where he’d gotten that name. We looked it up and thought how strange it was that he was calling us extinct birds. How did he know about Dodo birds when we had never even heard of them? From there, the phrases progressed to “I hate you,” “everybody hates me,” “I’m going to kill you,” and “No one loves me, I’m gonna kill myself.” Writing this, I realize how odd it is for a child to say these things, but Mom said similar things at times, and we were all used to Jeremy’s dramatic nature, so didn’t think much of it.

By five, he’d already attempted to throw himself from a moving vehicle onto the highway (multiple times), tried to kill me with a knife, and when I talked him down, he turned it on himself before I wrangled it from him. Trying to strangle people was also regular occurrence, although I’m not sure if I can attribute that solely to Jeremy since I remember Mom doing that several times to me and we kids doing it to each other when we were angry.

Jeremy has never admitted to feeling guilty about anything, and I remember well, his satisfied smile at witnessing the pain of others. We knew early on that he had the uncanny ability to read people, but he only saw the negative. He was incredibly smart, but never understood most humor but especially, sarcasm. For him, sarcasm seemed a way for people to say the negative things to him and get away with it. Half the time, he was probably right.

It was around his sixth or seventh birthday that Mom found a crack-pot “Christian” child psychologist to evaluate Jeremy. Her first diagnoses were “sociopath,” “ADD” and “bipolar.” (It is not common nor recommended practice for anyone under 18 years of age to be diagnosed with the labels bipolar or sociopath). Her major caveat though, was a big one; it was most likely “demon possession.” So, I was ushered from the room to take care of my siblings in the waiting room, while the psychologist prayed over (exorcised) Jeremy.

After the session, Mom attested to the fact that Jeremy became angry and agitated while the woman was praying for him. She failed to mention until much later that the woman was holding him down on the floor while they prayed the demons out of him. Her final diagnosis? “There’s not much I can do for him.” At this point, I’ve not made it hard to tell that I find this ridiculous. Do I believe that people can be demon-possessed? In theory, yes. However, the Fundamentalist culture in which I was raised (ATI, etc…) was always far too quick to dismiss mental illness as a spiritual problem. That being said, I’ll continue.

At one point, my parents took Jeremy to a pastor in the Gothard inner circle who deemed Jeremy the worst type of fool: the “Steadfast Fool.” Again, the idea being, nothing could be done for him; he will go straight to hell if he doesn’t change his ways. No one considered the fact that maybe there was something terribly broken in his brain.

At some point, my parents sent Jeremy to live on a farm in Waycross, GA for troubled teens. He did pretty well there, because the one thing that showed Jeremy’s humanness was animals. He truly cared for them and did well taking care of them. He also learned the finer points of growing pot, what it feels like to be shot at close-range with a BB gun to the stomach, and how to make a tasty squirrel stew.

We went to visit him once as a family. Things were going well…until we turned off the lights to go to bed. I was thinking that maybe he really was changing for the better, when out of the darkness, he grabbed my arm and started shouting at me calling me a “fucking bitch,” etc. Nope, I guess I was wrong. Still crazy. Our relationship was another complicated piece of the puzzle that added an extra dynamic to the insanity, but I will leave it out for right now.

After the farm, Jeremy began a go-to-jail, come-home, go-back to jail, cycle. I think he was about 15 the first time he went to Juvenile Hall, but to be honest, my timeline is a bit hazy since there was so much other ongoing drama. I also don’t remember what it was that landed him there the first time, but I do remember the relief we felt. For the first time, I didn’t have to worry about him going crazy and killing us all in our sleep.

Once old enough, he went to jail mostly on assault and possession charges. Each time he returned home from wherever he was living, he had a different accent and varied vocabulary. After the farm, he had a thick hick accent and after a long stint in jail, he fused it with Ebonics which was an odd and interesting combination. He still speaks with a lesser hybrid of both.

Up to this point, can you see the role that the church has taken? That’s right. It’s non-existent— unless you count the shoddy exorcism attempts (which were not even connected to our churches). It is easy to avoid people that are messed up, weird, different. Jeremy is twenty-six, his brilliant mind is gone from years of heavy drug-use, his body is like that of a 70 year-old man, and he spends most of his time smoking and talking about his how he is “the Beast” prophesied about in Revelations. So what has the church done for him? Well, in a few of his more lucid moments, he says that he believes that God cannot love him or forgive him, and that his soul belongs to Satan (because he sold it to him in exchange for taking his sadness and anger from him). Jeremy still believes that no one loves him and that he is, in fact, likely to die and go straight to hell.

Most of my family takes no pity on him because they can only see the damage he’s done to himself and our family. They think that every stupid thing he’s done is his choice. And that’s the hardest part: loving someone with such severe mental problems and trying to sort out what was a choice and what wasn’t. Has he made bad choices? Certainly. Was he born with a problem? Definitely. Was there ever any help for him? I don’t know. But I do know this: he’s a human being who stills needs hope and love to thrive. It’s easy to hate him, to hold back compassion from him. My bones still remind me of our tumultuous relationship each time I sit in certain chairs or whenever a storm front is coming. The problem is, I love him and I’ve seen his humanness. I’ve seen the way he cares for animals. I know that he loves animals because they don’t judge him and they accept him for who he is: broken and crazy. I’ve seen the light of hope in his eyes when he decides to garden and make things beautiful. I’ve seen his sadness at thinking that he is unloved.

Jesus loved crazy (demon-possessed) people. They didn’t bring themselves to be healed—their families brought them or the family had already given up on them—and half the time, the crazy people came just to mock Jesus. But Jesus always had compassion on them. Aren’t the crazy ones “the least of these” that we are told to love and care for? Is it hard and sometimes on the verge of impossible? Yes.

I hold no animosity toward the church, and I don’t blame the church for wanting to hide its face from the ugliness that is mental illness. Many people within the church are unequipped to handle mental illness, and that’s okay. What’s not okay is ignoring the reality of mental illness and saying that it’s definitively a spiritual problem when it’s not.

So this week, as I’m trying to convince my dad that Jeremy needs to live in a personal care facility, it’s not because I hate Jeremy. It’s because I love him and I have hope that at some point in his life, he may be able to feel love.

Filed Under: Faith and Religion, Personal

Elias Crowe

April 8, 2015 by anna Leave a Comment

Part I: How Elias Came to Understand his Blood Heritage

Elias Crowe was one year, eight months, two weeks, five days, sixteen hours and forty-six minutes old (give or take a few minutes), when his mother was taken by the “big C.” That’s right; consumption. And although he had little knowledge of this, other than wondering where his Mum had got off to, he was quick whisked away by his grandparents to a tiny place in Wales called Llanon. They lived in a cozy but modest farmhouse, on the edge of a beautiful rolling moor, with a small brook (or “nant” as Grandpapa called it) cutting through the bottom of the property beside the sheep pen.

It was there that they lived very happily and quite unremarkably for five years. Each day, when he was old enough, Elias went to school, gaining friends and good marks from his teacher. Each night, Grandpapa would tell Elias stories before tucking him into bed. These were wonderfully fantastic tales about the olden days of knights and damsels, and of animals and dark men who lived in jungles far, far away. So it was no wonder that one night, as Elias slept, he began to dream of a beautiful, lush jungle inhabited by beautiful large beasts. He kept above them by swinging on the vines, but watched the large cats skulk below him and the colorful birds scatter before him. In his dream, this seemed like hours upon hours of pleasure, but ended abruptly when the jungle ended at a large stone wall. The top of the wall was as high as the highest tree, and stretched as far as the eye could see to his left and right. Am I not lucky to be right in the middle where there is an opening in this wall? Elias thought to himself (as people so often do in dreams).

And into the large opening he went. It took much longer to get through the wall than he’d imagined it would. It was much more of a tunnel than a wall. As he walked through the dark tunnel, he noticed that his feet were wet and very cold. He looked down to see that he was walking through an icy stream running through this tunnel. He looked back at the jungle, but somehow the wall had closed. He made his way out of the tunnel, and had to squint until his eyes adjusted to the overwhelming whiteness surrounding him. He was high up on a paved hill, overlooking a vast, open valley below him, that rose up into a string of cloud-covered mountains. The ground all around was frosted with a light snow, but because this was a dream, he was not cold, but simply in awe. He began to make his way down the path to see where it led, but stopped when he saw children playing not far away. He watched the children play, all dressed in grayish white, their skin the color of snow. They were playing but their faces remained slack with boredom and they were silent. And while Elias was pondering the oddity of these things, he spotted a small figure walking towards him down the path he’d just come. To his surprise, it was his school friend Henry. As he drew close, Elias was startled at Henry’s eyes. Where there should be only one pupil, Henry had a second small one beside it: like a small bird’s eye interrupting the colored iris. Henry did not speak but continued to draw closer. Elias backed away, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the other children walking towards him, their eyes like Henry’s too. Elias ran, the children ran after him, and from over the children’s heads came a large black, faceless shadow. “Your soul is mine,” the shadow pronounced in a calm and breathy tone. It came close to his face, a shadowy hand came toward his eye and as it touched, the shadow recoiled and disappeared.

Elias awoke. He’d sweat through his sheets. He stood, and as he did, he saw that his Grandpapa was sitting in the chair near the door. “You met the stealer of souls, did ye not, boy?”

Elias nodded his startled and confused little head.

“A frightful one isn’t he?” He asked again.

Elias nodded again, shivering to think of that cold, faceless shadow that had touched him.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d meet. Your time has been long in coming. So long in fact, I thought you might not be your father’s son.” Elias thought he might possibly still be dreaming, so he pulled up his wet sleeve and pinched his arm. No, he was most certainly awake.

Elias sat back on his soaking sheets and his grandpapa walked over to him and put a hand on his damp shoulder before promptly removing it and wiping it off on his pants.

“Elias, my boy, you’ve just met your foe and you’ve just seen the true faces of those he’s robbed. Did you know them?”

“One was my friend Henry but it was not Henry—his eyes were wrong.”

“That is what Henry looks like in truth. And it is your blood heritage to find his stolen soul and the souls of others and restore them to their rightful owners.”

“How do I do that?” Elias asked, still feeling both confused and terrified.

“Your dreams, of course.” His grandpapa said with a chuckle. If Elias had been older and sarcastically minded, he would’ve thought, Of course, it only makes sense. To which he would’ve meant exactly the opposite. But Elias was not older, and in fact, still only a sweet naive child, so he nodded his head bravely, knowing very little what all of this meant.

“Your dreams will be trials that you must overcome to find the lost souls. It will be difficult and you must be brave whenever you close your eyes in sleep.”

“Grandpapa, can’t you come with me to help me?”

“No Elias. I did the same as you when I was no older than you are now. But when you are ancient as I am, you no longer dream such dreams. As I guided your father, I will guide you as I can whilst you are awake, but you will be on your own in your sleep.”

For the remainder of the night, Grandpapa explained many ways for Elias to find and rescue the children’s stolen souls. He listened with his brave little heart and his mind was saturated in trepidation.

“You are a soul seeker now, Elias Crowe,” Grandpapa so named him.

Filed Under: Short Fiction

On Forgiveness

January 8, 2015 by anna 1 Comment

Some things are easy to forgive, and others, well, you can’t forgive because it feels too good to hang onto the hurt. At first, the anger feels good, like a fire burning inside you. It gives you strength, energy, fuel for living.

But slowly, that fuel of anger burns away your happiness, it incinerates your joy. You focus on the person you hate, who’s wronged you. You cannot stop feeling hurt and angry. And without knowing it, you become like the person you hate and refuse to forgive.

Wait long enough, and that hurt and anger becomes depression. A yawning hole in need of something to fill it. So you try things. You smoke, you drink, you try sex and drugs. You turn up the music, turn on the TV to drown out the thoughts always screaming in your mind.

You find these things give you a moment of rest, of happiness. But it never lasts. And the more you’re drawn into those things, the more they swallow you up until those once pleasurable things no longer bring an ounce or moment of happiness.

You’re stuck.

Long ago you convinced yourself that you don’t need anyone else. You push people away, telling them that it’s none of their business. But deep down, you want them to keep pushing past your walls to prove that they care about you. How much pursuit is enough?

You have the choice to be miserable and let the person you can’t forgive ruin your life, or you can let them go. The thought of them hangs on you like heavy, wet clothes. Every movement you make, they come with you. The idea of them makes you sick, but you won’t take off those old clothes. You need them because you think they’ve become who you are. So what can you do?

Forgive them. They don’t ask for it or even acknowledge that they’ve hurt you. They may only care about themselves and they may wrong you all over again.

But you know what? They’re just doing what you did for all that time. They are filled with that same anger, that same hurt, that same sadness that’s eaten them alive because somebody did the same thing to them. They take out all of their hurt on the people around them who care about them most—just like you do.

Can you forgive someone for making the same choices that you did?

Maybe you can’t do it on your own. Maybe you need someone to show you how it works. Ask the guy who forgave the whole world—you, the person that wronged you, the person that wronged them—to show you how to do it. Jesus is just waiting until you’re ready. Can you accept his forgiveness for the wrong you’ve done in order to forgive that person who’s hurt you?

Filed Under: Faith and Religion, Personal, Prose Tagged With: alcoholism, Anger, drug addiction, forgiveness, forgiving the unforgivable, How to forgive, the forgiver, vices

The Best, Worst, and Most Thought-Provoking Books of 2014

January 2, 2015 by anna Leave a Comment

BEST

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

The epitome of BEAUTY. If I had to say what kinds of stories delve deepest into my soul, it is this story: redemption through great suffering and sacrifice. I read the unabridged version and I’m so glad that I did. Before reading it, I had several people tell me to just skip the endless chapters of historical narrative. Never. Not only was I immersed in the history of the time period which in turn gave the fictional story much more depth, but Hugo’s observations were oft times interesting, cynical, and witty. If you’ve ever wanted to know more about the battle of Waterloo, convents, or the sewer system of Paris, this is the book for you 🙂

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

What a wonderful thriller. The writing is fabulous and the characters so real, it’s hard to put this book down. And that’s saying something, since I grew up watching the Hitchcock movie over and over. Honestly, I would recommend both. Great book, great movie. The best part was, I got this book for a dollar at a library sale. Win.

Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt

It takes a truly talented writer to be able to tell you about his miserable Irish childhood and make you laugh and cringe all the while. He does such a wonderful job of capturing his childhood understanding of God, school, sickness, death, and hunger and bringing you through that into his young adulthood. His writing is sarcastic, witty, and beautiful in a dark way.

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand

This was my final book of the year, because I wanted to read it over Christmas break. And boy did I save the best for last. Hillenbrand does a terrific job of weaving the bigger historical picture with the life of Zamperini. Warning: once you begin reading this fast-paced, masterfully-written book about the crazy life of Louis Zamperini, everything else in you life will be put on hold (eating, sleeping, etc…). You must read it. It’s just that good. Beware.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

When I was 16, a woman at church warned me about how horrible a book it was. It was about a really dysfunctional family who went to Africa as missionaries and failed miserably. With the memory of that awful review always staying at the back of my mind, I decided to read it if I ever found it. As luck would have it, I found it at the same library sale as other books on this list. The writing is fantastic and at times, poetic. If you have traveled or lived in a foreign country, or especially if you are a child of a parent with a personality disorder, you will identify much with this family. It is a wonderful book in that it is dripping with harsh, ugly and sometimes beautiful truths.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

After reading “American Gods” last year, and although not liking the story but appreciating his writing and imagination, I decided to give him another go this year. I’m so glad that I did. He is a masterful storyteller and oh so delightfully creative. This book kept me enraptured, enchanted, and constantly guessing as to where this tale might be going. I was mostly wrong. Yay!

The Way of Kings: Book One of the Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

I know that loads of people hate the fantasy genre. I do not. However, I do concede that there is an overwhelming amount of crappy fantasy and a dearth of good fantasy writers. But Sanderson, is where it’s at. This guy is it. This series is it. If you have never before read fantasy, don’t start with this guy and especially not this series because you will forever after be disappointed even with some of the other big names.

Worst

A Thousand Gifts by Anne Voskamp

In case this is your favorite book in the whole world, you may stop reading now. I have gotten much flack from the female Evangelical Christian community about my views on this book, but I do not apologize for my opinions.

The point of the book is great. She has some good, relevant and deep points. But getting to those nuggets of wisdom is a trial akin to swimming through a murky lake at night with your eyes closed. It’s almost impossible to stay on track. Why? Bad writing. Lots of people argue with me that she’s being artistic or poetic. I love poetry. I love art. No, this is an extended edition Hallmark card. Let me quote you a passage (and no, I’m not picking the only one or even the worst of the bunch—I simply opened the book and pointed to a page).

“I slam upright, jolt the bed hard, hands gripping the cotton sheets wild. There’s a halo of light by the door. I breathe, heave breathe. There are stars…My chest pounds hooves of a thousand stallions running on and away, the universe outside the window holds—the one stuck through with stars—and I breathe, I breathe.”

Did you like this writing? If so, read the book and enjoy. But here’s the thing. No, I don’t like fluffy, lacy writing, but it’s more than that. This book somehow rings partially false and makes me ask the question, what is the point of being a writer? Is it not to tell truth? It’s strikes me that she’s trying to hard to impress readers with the truths she’s discovered, but leaves some of the darker truths unexplained or ignored. I sense an underlying depression or sadness that may be helped but not fully cured by moment-by-moment thankfulness, but is never acknowledged. Thus, making the sincere acknowledgement of God’s graces to us, seem slightly Pollyanna tinged. Then again, I could be completely wrong.

Death Be Not Proud by John Gunther

This is another book that rang false in a very sad way. This is a book written by a father about the last years of his son who is dying of a rare brain tumor. From the point of view of experimental medical practices in the 1950’s, it is fascinating (who knew that doctors experimented with mustard gas to shrink tumors?). However, from a personal point of view of John Jr. (the son), the book is extremely lacking. If John Sr.’s point was to simply chronicle the medical journey of his son in the most sterile, detailed way possible, then he did his job well. As the reader, I know John Jr. was witty, very bright, and had a promising science career ahead of him, but that was all. I could not help but wonder if the father who was writing the book, was unable to bring himself to write personal moments with his son because it was too difficult, or were they non-existent? My theory is that either the father, the son, or both, lay somewhere on the autism spectrum and thus, had a difficult time identifying emotions in play. The most personal moments of the book lay at the end written by the ex-wife and mother exploring the idea of loss, death, and sadness. Overall, I came away with a hollow feeling.

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

After reading her previous best seller last year (see review) and being disappointed by the story itself, I thought I would give her another chance. Nope. If I thought the last one was bad, this one has even more drinking, drugs, and an even more fatalistic ending than before. So here’s the moral of the whole long story: the only thing that makes this wretched life worth living is the need and desire for beauty. Or as Dovstoevsky so eloquently put it, “Beauty will save the world.”

Most Thought-Provoking

Girl at the End of the World by Elizabeth Esther

This book really got me thinking about what it was like being a woman in a cult. As I read her honest account, it brought back memories of the fear of eternal damnation, the trying to always be perfect, and the ridiculous standards for women made by men. If you grew up in fundamentalist church or cult, you might really find this book not only interesting, but encouraging.

Bonheoffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas

This is a wonderfully written autobiography that weaves history, faith, family, and the endless search for God, oh yeah, and Bonheoffer’s part in it all together. It is a large book that asks large questions and delves deeply into the heart of Bonheoffer’s faith. It is not a light read, but it is a must-read.

Filed Under: Book Reviews

A Look Back (on our 8th anniversary)

December 16, 2014 by anna 2 Comments

Today is my 8th year wedding anniversary to Ethan and boy has it been a great adventure.

Some people know our “how we got together story,” but if you don’t, I’m going to indulge myself by telling you (because I’m biased and I think it’s a great story).

Our relationship began our very first day of college in our small orientation group. We were playing a get-to-know you game where each person has to take so many squares of toilet paper and tell that many things about themselves. Only, the reason for taking toilet paper was never explained ahead of time.

“I know what we’re doing,” Ethan blurted out in his bombastic way, and proceeded to take half the roll of toilet paper. I took three squares, still having no clue what was up.

As each person explained 3-4 things about themselves, Ethan rolled down his ream of toilet paper like a hard core couponer looking over a receipt, thinking she was overcharged. The bragging about himself went on and on. Let’s just say, I don’t usually dislike people automatically, but he was one of the handful in my life.

Let me take you back for a second and tell you the mentalities that we brought with us entering into college. I went into college distrusting all men and never wanting to date, or especially, marry. I would do my time, and go on my merry (single) way. Ethan went into college with the belief that women are meant to be led (told what to do) by men. I was a feminist, Ethan, a semi-chauvinist.

As college progressed, God softened my distrustful heart a bit and Ethan courted a girl for 2 years. It was an unhealthy relationship that slowly turned him into an egalitarian. And little by little it was coming to an end. And unbeknownst to me, I was one of the wedges in their relationship. I noticed more and more that his girlfriend would constantly give me the cold shoulder and had no idea why. Later on, Ethan shed a bit of light on it.

“I learned too late that if your girlfriend asks you who the prettiest girl on campus is, always say her.”

“What did you say?” I asked, unsurprised at his lack of girl knowledge. After all, he did grow up with only brothers.

“I said what I thought. ‘Anna Squires is the prettiest girl on campus.’”

“Never answer those questions,” I informed him with a smile and a shake of my head. “They’re traps. It’s like the ‘does this make me look fat’ question. That is also a trap. Never answer, but if you do, always give the answer they want to hear.”

So after the breakup, being a small school, rumors were spread and sides were taken. I never cared either way because being the individualist that I am, it was none of my business.

Towards the end of that spring semester, Ethan’s best friend Andrew died very suddenly. Ethan asked for prayer for Andrew’s family and for the first time, I could see that Ethan was trying hard to be strong and not cry and that he really cared about someone other than himself. I recognized the look in his eyes because it was the same look that I had. About a month after Ethan’s friend died, Mom tried to commit suicide and was in a coma for three days.

Summer came and went. Ethan was angry at God and trying to work through his faith, and I was trying to make things work at home with a Mom who was never quite the same. At the end of summer, he was resolved to quit wasting time and decide what he was looking for in a girl. It was his last year in college, so he wanted to make the most of it. He made a list—an actual list—with some very wonderful girls on it.

“And you were first on the list,” he later told me, “because you were beautiful, nice to everyone and smiled a lot. Shoot for the moon and all that.”

So the fall semester came, and Ethan asked for a haircut. I gave haircuts (I’m sure they weren’t great) to make a little extra money. He payed me and left me with 2 rubles because I’d told him of my desire to go to Russia one day. I thought that was very thoughtful, but no way was “him and me” ever happening. But just in case he had ideas about “us,” I would test him. No one ever passed this test. It was the let-me-tell-you-about-my-crazy-family test that made guys either feel sorry for me and try to rescue me or made them forever ignore me. I’ve given this test plenty because it scares people away like a charm. However, Ethan said, “that sucks” with an understanding look on his face. He wasn’t scared away and he knew I could and had always taken care of myself. Years later, we’ve come to understand that we both grew up with an abundance of similarities in our backgrounds—hence the understanding.

At the time, I was teaching music at a little school down the road and we had a Christmas pageant coming up. I had a dream several weeks before the play that the man I would marry would be there at the play. I woke up thinking what a weird dream that was because I was never going to get married. The night of the play came and before the play began, I looked around the room, the dream coming to mind. I saw no one at all that would interest me in the slightest. Whew. When the play was over, Ethan and my friend Kari came up to me. I swallowed, thinking Never will this happen, and said hello. But instead of just saying hi and bolting, he stayed for 2 hours and helped me clean up the church. He didn’t know this, but one of my love languages is acts of service (big time). When we finished, I couldn’t help but be blown away by his thoughtfulness.

Fast forward to January, when Ethan tricked me into going on a date. And let’s just say the date was hilariously disastrous. Have you seen the movie Hitch? It’s like that. We went to a coffee shop and ordered tea. He said he had to go to the bathroom and stayed in there for about an hour while I was left to sip my tea and look through some photos of a trip he’d taken recently. By the time he emerged, I had the pictures memorized in order. When he sat down, he looked at me and asked, “Are you okay? Your eyes look funny.” I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and saw that yes, my eyes were swollen. Apparently, I’m one of the handful of people allergic to a certain type of tea.

After a few more hilariously disastrous, adventurous dates, I found myself liking Ethan, but I was scared. I didn’t want to marry because I was afraid that I might have a marriage like my parents. I was afraid to lose my newly found independence. I didn’t think I could find a man with a will to equal mine. And all of my friends were against the relationship because of Ethan’s previous relationship. So we had the let’s just be friends talk. Basically, I told him that “we” were never going to happen. He smiled and was still nice to me. I’ve never had one of those conversations go so well. In his mind, he thought, “Challenge accepted.” In my mind, I thought it was over.

We continued to hang out and be friends, and slowly, I started to realize that I didn’t have to lose my freedom and that we were not our parents. I was still afraid to allow myself to trust someone, but he’d been perfectly honest with me as I had been with him. The night before graduation, we had the final talk. It went something like this:

Ethan (very nervous): I like you, etc….will you date me?

Me: “I’ve thought a lot about this and blah blah blah, pros and cons, you’re not at all my type, (sounding doubtful), so heck, why not? I’ll date you.”

And because this saga is far too long already, I’m just going to say, he loved me through my cold attachment issues while we were dating, and we both loved the freedom and complete honesty in our relationship. He got to be himself, and I got to be myself. To both our surprise, I was the first to say “I love you.” It totally caught him off guard, and he didn’t respond immediately. He was waiting until he proposed to say it, but I was tired of saying stupid things like “I like you a lot” when we both knew what we really meant. “I, I love you back,” he finally replied with a sweet smile.

We’ve been married 8 years today and I would not give up a single moment with this man. He is strong (inside and out), loving, thoughtful, gentle, intelligent, a lover of adventure, still likes to brag too much at times, is a joke stealer, and at times, shares my dark sense of humor. So, as I part, I’ll leave you with some of the loving things we say to each other that keep the marriage strong ;p

Ethan: Don’t worry. If you ever start gaining weight, I’ll just remind you that throwing up after every meal is an effective weight-loss tool.

Me: When I die naturally in my early 60’s, you need to remarry someone who doesn’t speak English so you’ll have someone to laugh at your jokes. And as long as you keep her green card valid, she’ll keep laughing until she learns English.