Blessings and Love

I was raised in a home where, no matter how much or how little we had, blessing others was a given. The belief was if you blessed others, then you'd be caught up in a storm of blessings. I can see the point to that, honestly. After all, I was taught that you never knew when you'd be entertaining unawares.

This is the problem though: so many people are preaching to others about how their religion is the right one, yet so many have forgotten about the blessing without conditions. And when it comes to entertaining angels, have they stopped to think that the homeless man or woman may be that angel, but what about the fact that your child could also be that angel? I know people who become so wrapped up in "serving" the church and community that they forget that they can serve their gods by being dedicated parents, too. The homeless man deserves your respect just as the elderly couple in your church do, but...so do your parents, grandparents, children.

I know people who profess their religion, but don't live it. They gossip ferociously about the woman who shows up to Sunday services in a disheveled state, but they don't see that she has worked the night shift at a job she hates, but still shows up to thank her God for his blessings. These same people will give their time to the community events, but skip their kids' football games because they "don't have the time." They will offer to mow the yards or shovel the driveways of the elderly people in their church, but can't be bothered to do the same for their parents who live a block or two away.

As humans, we need to practice the faith of being good to everyone. After all, who is to say that the angel in your life isn't your mother, your son, your spouse, or your grandparent? Blessing others isn't a hard thing to do. But we are so determined that it is about blessing the people outside our family/friend units. We forget that they need to be blessed, too.

See that is the cool thing about love and blessings: they multiply when you give them away. But it multiplies tenfold when you bless those you love. They don't ask for too much too often. Sometimes it is simply a phone call to see how they are. Or maybe it is a couple of hours cheering them on. Or maybe even taking a plate of baked goods to them and visiting for an hour or so.

Why do we find it so hard to bless the world, but we forget the people in our families who need the blessings as well? What if when you get to the gates of wherever you're going after you die and you discover that the only religion needed to enter that space was one of blessings and love?

Little Girl, Big Dreams Lost

My mom sent me this the other day:

I cried because I feel like I'm letting the little girl, who had such big dreams, down. She was determined to get out of that "one horse town" and become somebody. She was going to make a name for herself and change the world. I wanted to make a difference and I'm feeling like I haven't done half of what that young girl hoped for. Her dreams were so big...she wanted to write books and make a name for herself...to be her own woman, independent and strong. She didn't want to need people. She wanted people to be in her life because she wanted them there, not because she had to rely on others.

It's funny how Life can take our hopes and dreams, twist them around, and make them seem impossible. I mean, c'mon, I don't remember wanting to be a princess. I wanted to marry a man just like my dad. I was gonna be a woman just like my mom, except with the addition of the writing thing. I was going to have a big house in the woods with 5 kids and 20 dogs. My author name was going to be HUGE! 

And this is where I feel like I'm disappointing that little girl in the big farmhouse who had dreams of making her way in this world. My muse has left me and I have no idea how to start writing again. I'm afraid I will never write another word in any of my works in progress. And if I do finish a book, publish it, etc., no one will ever want to read it. My anxiety and fear take over and I can't catch my breath.

A while back I wrote a quick poem/story about searching for the little girl who was still inside, suffocating on the lack of dreams the adult version refused to believe in. I cried as I wrote it because I had laid all of my dreams aside for others. I pushed everything aside in order to make sure others got to pursue their dreams.

 I do remember her: she splashed in mud puddles, danced in the rain, played in the fields, sat under a willow tree and dreamed of the future. I still see her idealistic idea of what love and relationships looked like and how they lasted forever.

The adult version is so far off from that little girl's dream. The craziness and monotony of life has a way of stripping away the rose hue that colors our world as children.

Maybe it is time to go dance in the rain again, splash through a mud puddle without worrying about ruining my shoes, and believe in that forever love. (I'm told it exists!) And get back to dreaming those BIG dreams again! Maybe even make a few come true!

Surviving...

The last two days have been way more emotional than necessary. See, my beautiful, amazing, and brilliant roommate moved out yesterday. We had discussed the possibility of this happening, but that doesn't mean it didn't rock me to the very core of my foundation.

One of the things I admire, respect, and love about him is his devotion to his family. And let me tell you, what I know of his family...well, I can see why. They are the best of the best. And that is why he moved out...his family needed him.

I cried. I raged. I bitched at the gods that I hold holy. I simmered. I fell apart. I vented. I moved my stuff into his old room. I figured things out...sort of.

But the most important thing of all had been avoided...talking to him. You'd have to understand my esteem issues to know my thought process. Fortunately for me, he does. He gets me like no one else. As I simmered and was prepared for him to say "Goodbye", I finally worked up the nerve to confront him and his words to me? "This is not goodbye!" And he repeated it as often as I needed him to until I finally started to believe it. See, in the two years that we've been friends, we NEVER say "Goodbye". It is always "See you later." But my mind jumps to the worst...like always. We hugged. I cried. He held on when I was ready to let go and he promised me that this would all work out. We'd be okay. Not "You'll be okay." Not "I'll be okay," but "We'll be okay."

© Sitha Suppalertpis

Diesel and I spent our first night on our own last night. He spent his night crying and not knowing how to deal with moving into a different room. However, I got to spend my morning, snuggling up to him and thinking about the next step from here. We've got time. We've got breathing room. We've got this. No matter what, I know we've got this.

I'm discovering that I am a survivor. I know it might not seem like much to you, but it is everything to me...it means I am stronger than I ever thought.

And loving someone means letting them go so they can deal with what they need to deal with. It's being the rock for the one who has been a rock for you all this time. It's trusting that he will walk through his fire and come through it stronger than ever. 

We will survive this. We will thrive because of this. This will only make us stronger people and better friends. When I tell you that he is the best part of my life, I'm not exaggerating by any means.