I've always hated conflict. Confrontation scares me. So the idea of approaching someone who is confrontational in order to manage a conflict straight up freaks me out. But that is what I have to do tomorrow: I have to confront a fellow manager in order to successfully manage a particularly difficult conflict. Oy.

It would be so much easier to "get it off of my chest" by complaining to fellow employees, managers, etc. But the Bible clearly states that if we have grievances against each other, we must approach each other in love to try and resolve the issue. The only problem is that this is SUCH a scary thing for me. I think that this is because growing up, confrontation and conflict resolution always happened in a very heated, defensive manner.

Now I'm not saying that it's not good to seek counsel, because wise counsel can be a good, good thing! The line gets crossed, though, when we move from truly seeking counsel to gossiping about an issue. The line there is so thin, the shift is so subtle, but the change in heart is so obvious. It is when we move from desiring to solve an issue in love to condemning out of self-righteousness. And self-righteousness, condemnation, and gossip are three dark, twisty things that I have been DESPERATELY trying to root out of my life.

So I have to face my fear. I have to confront the conflict, head-on. In love. Being as wise as a serpent and as gentle as a dove. It's a delicate dance between kindness and cunning that's terribly tricky, but I'm going to try. Because I know that if I don't, I'll wish I had. And I know that if I do, my efforts will be blessed.

I feel as though each time I revisit this page, it's with a word of apology because I have spent so long away from it. But I can't apologize this time, because there is SO MUCH I have been accomplishing lately that I can't even begin to feel bad about not blogging. I think perhaps I'm beginning to feel really, truly comfortable in my own skin, which helps me feel as though my contributions to the blogosphere, few and far between though they may be, are enough.

Right now I'm sitting in Mojo Coffee in Goleta, taking a short break from my thesis. Working on my thesis this past week and a half, while living with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, has given me some real insight into what it takes to accomplish a big goal. At first it felt insurmountable. But now, as I've been working on my thesis, chipping away at it bit by bit, it feels completely under control. And I've come to realize the deep truth of that timeless question and its accompanying answer: "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time."

Truly, each time I have made the choice to sit down and work, I've felt like I'm taking a bite of my elephantine thesis. And each time I walk away, I feel as though I can see it getting smaller, more manageable, and I can see the end in sight. It strikes me how this is so true of every goal we try to accomplish in life: the only way to manage a dream or goal the size of an elephant is to take one bite, one step, at a time.

I think this is true of relationships, too, and especially my relationship with God. I can't expect to "feel" like I know God all at once. It comes from little choices along the way, little steps taken in an attempt to get closer to Him. Each small step taken is one step closer than we were before, and nothing can take that progress away. The beautiful thing about God is that He honors each step we have taken toward Him. We never have to try to "get back to where we were before." We just have to make the choice to continue our journey toward Him, take a few more steps, and we suddenly realize that we already are right where we were before.

So just like the work I've done on my thesis, I'm going to keep on picking up where I left off before, trusting that Jesus will honor me as I keep tottering toward Him like a baby learning how to walk. And eventually, as I keep on keeping on, those steps will get stronger until I find that I'm walking with God, not toward Him, with the sure steps of a seasoned traveler. And the God that I wanted so badly to know? I'll find that He is no longer an abstraction, but closest friend, walking step by step with me down life's winding road.

I've lost a friend...and I don't know why.

There are a lot of things I can handle.  There are a lot of things I probably put up with that I shouldn't.  But one thing that absolutely KILLS me is being spoken to in a disrespectful manner, and for me, that includes having curse words directed at me.  

Now, I don't mean to say that I can't handle the odd expletive tossed in a conversation in the heat of the moment.  I can, and a lot of my friends do.  But when someone systematically curses about me, my thoughts, my actions, or at me, I just shut down.  At that point, I can't even HEAR the person because the cursing is so painful for me to hear.

I have a friend who chooses to curse.  I have handled it just fine over the past two years that I've known this person.  But he never cursed regarding ME until just recently, and when I asked him not to, he blew a gasket.  

"I will not be censored," he said, as if I were trying to strip him of his right to free expression.  That's fine.  Express yourself all you want, but don't expect me to listen when the object of your curse words are me, my thoughts, and my actions.

Why is cursing so important to some people?  Have I seriously just lost a friend because the right to curse is more important than a friendship of two years?  And more disturbing to me is this: Have I been so blind as to not see this person's true colors these past two years?  Have I really not seen the part of him that finds it acceptable to repeatedly hurt a friend by using language that is offensive and cutting?  What does that say about ME?

I will say one thing: I'm going to be much more careful now about the people I share with, the people I let into the deep parts of my life.  Because finding out that the person who you thought was your friend is actually capable of scrapping an entire friendship because he values cursing over you is almost too much to handle.

Tagged

My friend, Katie just tagged me in her blog to photograph myself, just as I am right now. No primping, no lip glossing, and as Emery says, no bump-it.

This is what I look like first thing in the morning.  Amazingly, I don't look like a terrifying, sleepy beast even though I have yet to drink my coffee.  

In return, I tag the following people:

Nicki

Hannah

Cameron

Shiran

Megan

Happy picture taking!

Jamie's story

This evening, my father drunkenly asked me if I would go with him to my sister, Jamie's 30th birthday party.  Normally, this wouldn't be a strange question.  But my older sister, Jamie (who practically no one knows about) has been dead since before I was born.

Nearly thirty years ago, my parents had their first child, a beautiful little girl with large grey eyes and perfectly porcelain skin.  About six months later, she was brutally ripped from their lives.  The circumstances surrounding her death are somewhat cloudy.  My mother swears that she doesn't remember exactly how she lost control of the car.  My father, however, is absolutely certain that my mom had a seizure while driving.  This, he explains, is how their beater car wound up skidding across the lanes of the freeway, northbound on highway 101 just after it crested the grade.  This is how the car became wrapped around a giant oak tree that no longer stands there.  And this is how my older sister died: a precious new life stopped in its tracks with a sick thud that left the windshield cracked and my parents' hearts forever shattered.

I don't think my mom and dad have ever fully recovered from the loss of their first child.  My dad still boils over with anger when he talks about it, but only when he has been drinking.  In the absence of alcohol, Jamie is bottled  tightly inside, a memory best left hidden in the darkest corners of his mind.  I think that this is why my dad has always struggled with alcohol, because it provides him with the release he needs to talk about Jamie freely: her life, her death, and the guilt that has followed him this thirty years.

My mom never talks about Jamie.  Then again, she never drinks.  Where my dad has found at least some manner of dealing with the loss of his first child (unhealthy though it may be), my mother has found none.  Instead, she keeps Jamie tightly wound inside of her, along with the guilt she feels regarding Jamie's death.  I'm not sure that she would ever admit to the guilt she carries, but it has poisoned every aspect of her life, including her relationships, her business dealings, and even her desire to be a woman.  When she lost Jamie, a switch was flipped off and everything that could have been my mother was turned off as well.  Where there was once an easy smile there is now an uncertain grimace, where there was energy and excitement now there is forced motion, and where a mother's giving heart once existed there now exists a gaping hole of need.

Given the circumstances of Jamie's death, I can't really blame my parents for their reactions.  My dad was unable to protect the first life he had a hand in creating, and my mother's unwise decisions on that day have defined her entire life.  I know that my dad blames my mother for Jamie's death, and although she has never said as much, I know that she blames herself.  I know this because Jamie was riding in a friend's lap instead of a car seat.  I know this because immediately after the accident, my mother in her hysteria admitted to having a seizure while driving (which she later recanted in hopes of keeping her license). And while she may try to put on a good show for me and the rest of the family, no mother could ever absolve herself of two such deadly mistakes.

The irreparable rift created the day of Jamie's death was like a fault line, and my parents were the tectonic plates: although there was no immediate quake, the pressure built between them over the years until something had to give.  That something was my parents' marriage.  After having three more children they divorced in 1994.  The official reason for the divorce was infidelity on my father's part.  But I know that they had already been unfaithful to each other for years, each having a torrid affair with the guilt that they put on themselves and each other, loving and encouraging the it until their shame and blaming was more important to them than the love they had for each other or their children.

Thirty years later, my dad is finally ready to visit Jamie's grave.  "A party," I ask him, "You want to give Jamie a party?"  

"Not a party," my dad admits.  "I just want to be there, to see her.  I wanted to go for her 21st birthday, but it hurt too bad.  I don't want to miss this one.  Will you come with me?"

I assure my dad  that I will be there with him on April 28th to visit my dead sister's grave.  He is overly grateful and kisses my hand over and over, refusing to let it go.  He is also drunk. 

While part of me is glad that he wants to do this, that he wants to move forward, another more cynical part of me wonders how long this newfound desire will last.  Probably until his buzz wears off and Jamie is safely corked inside again, along with the guilt, the shattered dreams and the anger he has carried this past thirty years.  Then again, maybe not.

Feeling the burn

The other day, I went to Equilibrium Fitness to see what their pricing was like.  The woman at the front desk asked me a couple of questions, and here's what followed:

EQ Employee: So what kind of exercise are you doing now?

Me: I hike a few times a week and go on walks. 

EQ Employee: Are you doing any kind of resistance training?

Me: Well, I usually hike up hills, if that counts.

EQ Employee: Well, you know, if you don't do any resistance training, you're not going to get any results.

Me: Well, I'm just not sure that I can afford one of your memberships, but thanks for the info.

EQ Employee: Well, it's all about where your priorities are.  

Me: I just don't think I'd be able to afford my rent if I got a membership.

EQ Employee: You just need to re-evaluate your priorities.  I'm sure you could fit it in.  And a lot of people here have trouble being motivated to work out alone.  We could help you with that.  

Seriously?  Seriously.  Was this woman even LISTENING to me?  It's really frustrating to be exercising consistently, eating well, and changing your lifestyle, only to have some high and mighty gym employee tell you that what you're doing isn't good enough. What a crock.

As a result of my conversation, I decided to do a little research on working out outside instead of working out in a gym.  Here are the pros and cons I discovered (besides the pros from working out in general):

Gym Pros - social interaction, all-weather availability, classes available, option of personal trainer.

Hiking Pros - decreased depression (b/c of the sun's vitamin D), more muscle groups worked (b/c hiking on uneven ground means you're constantly re-balancing, getting to muscles that machines don't work), more calories burned (hiking vs. treadmill), encountering the beauty of the outdoors, promotes deep sleep, promotes mental health & stimulation, FREE!

Gym Cons - icky smells, rude people, overcrowding, lack of equipment availability, costs $$.

Hiking Cons - lack of control over weather, potential to encounter wild animals, going alone could be dangerous.

When I look at the pros and cons in these lists, one of the things that stands out to me is that hiking is more than just exercise, it is an ADVENTURE.  People were not intended to be stuffed inside a smelly, crowded building in order to get the proper exercise.  We were made to enjoy the great outdoors and all it has to offer!

An added bonus for me is the connection I feel with God when I go on a hike.  Something about being outdoors and seeing the beauty that God has created makes my heart leap in worship.  I go outside, turn on my iPod to my worship playlist and get my exercise and worship all at once!

Additionally, there are other exercises that can be done outside besides hiking.  On a flat area of the hike, try adding some lunges.  Or once you get to a grassy plain, stop for a series of push-ups.  You can also increase your exercise quotient by alternating jogging and speed-walking (which I did this morning).  

Another interesting scenario: This week on "The Biggest Loser," only two of the duos were allowed access to the gym.  Everyone else had to work out in the outdoors.  Interestingly enough, the eliminated person was from one of the teams that had access to the gym. The contestants who worked out outside mentioned a few times that they were working "muscles I didn't know I had."  There was also mention of how nice it was to be outside, breathing the fresh air.  

Bottom line: You don't need a gym to work out.  We have everything we need if we only use our bodies, our brains, and the amazing creation God has given us!

That being said, here are some pictures from my hike up Madonna Mountain (aka Cerro San Luis) yesterday:   

Yes, I conquered THIS mountain!

Parts of the hike were daunting..

...but I made it to the top!

What a view!

Dear Jesus

Today was Carson's first birthday party.  I am constantly amazed at the gift you have given me and my family in Carson.  He is a beautiful, healthy little boy, and he seems to accomplish new things every day.  I'm proud to be his aunt.

It was so good to be with family and friends today, to celebrate the first year of Carson's life, to have a house full of people dedicated to watching him toddle around the yard and throw a ball.  It was simultaneously adorable and sad to watch him get frustrated and cry just as it was time to open his gifts.  And I almost died of cuteness overload, watching him eat the little cake I baked just for him, wearing nothing but his diaper.  It was such a treat, getting to be the official baker of his very first birthday cake!

But today was a hard day, too.  It's hard to say this, because today should have been filled with joy.  It was a hard day because I was reminded over and over of the dysfunction in my family, and especially in my relationship with my mom.  

Lord, you know how things normally operate: that I am the "fixer."  You also know how I've been struggling to get out of this role, to let the people in my family deal with problems in a healthy way instead of making excuses for them.  You have told me that it is more important to be the truth bringer than the peacemaker.  But this is hard.

Things haven't been right with mom for a long time, but I've never understood until now just how wrong things are.  I felt like I was hurting her, Jesus, even though I didn't do anything wrong.  Why?  Was it because I didn't spend my entire time making sure that she felt comfortable and included, like I normally do?  Or was it because she knows that things are wrong and doesn't know how to make them right? 

I have tried to make her understand that her choices have hurt me deeply, but I feel like she doesn't want to acknowledge the impact she has had on my life.  The people she brought into our home, the lack of support, the constant attitude of victimization, the lack of faith in our home, are all things that I have been trying to overcome.  Although I feel like I've made good progress, just being in the same room as her and seeing her awkwardness and her aloneness, and the constant accusation in her eyes make me feel like I haven't moved forward even a centimeter.

And when I read the beautiful, moving tributes that other moms write to their children, I begin to feel bitter.  I begin to want to accuse her, for not providing the home grounded in faith that I needed.  For bringing unsafe people into our home.  For not believing me.  For not caring about what happened.  For housing the very person who hurt me.  For trying to make me hate my father.  For teaching me how to be a victim rather than how to be a survivor.  For not being the kind of mom that I needed.  

I am so raw inside right now, Jesus.  My heart feels like it's been thrown out of a moving vehicle and is covered with emotional road rash.  I need healing for what has happened, and for what continues to happen in my mom's response to me.  I need hope for the road ahead, that You will continue the work you've begun in my family.  

Help me to remember the good things that You have done, so that I'm not overwhelmed by the bad.  Help me to claim Your promise that all things work together for the good of those who love You and are called according to Your purpose.  Help me to understand what it means when You say that no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived the good things You have prepared for those who love You.

I am waiting in Your promises, Lord.  I am trusting that You will show me how to act, how to love, how to forgive.  I am choosing to believe You when You tell me that Your eyes will be on me when my hope is in Your unfailing love.