Sunday, November 07, 2010


It was one of those mornings when I went to church because I wanted to be there to support him. Very little of it had to do with God. In fact, I couldn’t feel God in the slightest until maybe the last five or ten minutes. I hate it when I feel like that. I look around at the people singing choruses, most that seem flat, and merely written for the sake of rhyme, instead for any glory to God, and can’t help but shake my head. What the hell are they going on about? And if they really do believe what they are expressing, what about these surfacy songs is speaking to them? By the end, I was able to hear something that felt God-like. It’s rare when TB speaks that I don’t experience some movement from God.
It was also one of those mornings (and turning into one of those days) when I really just want to sit in a corner and suck my thumb. Maybe hide under the Christmas tree. There were some friends of mine at church I hadn’t seen in awhile. Friends from when I was happier. Happy. Whatever. I was glad to see them, but it took everything in me to not turn around and leave. It takes so much effort for me to carry on a conversation with friends who aren’t friends as old as the hills or friends that aren’t brand new. The majority of friends are in the middle and it feels like trying to breathe underwater and focus on intelligent conversation the whole time—and doing my best to steer clear of the ‘So, how are you doing?’ question. I know it comes off as arrogant and snotty, but I couldn’t make myself sit with them. I sat on the other side of the church, by myself. I hate how it looks, knowing how I come off as better-than. Too bad it’s just the opposite. I swear I need committed.
Soon enough, church was over and I was out to lunch with two people I feel mostly like myself around. We were menu planning, so you know that helped! On a side note, just as some other added torture, God saw fit to put some of the most beautiful men in church today. Apparently, it was rugby church day. Even more apparently, I have a thing for rugby players. Fun combo. Friends you’re scared of, and gorgeous men that trigger all your other insecurity issues. Praise Jesus. Let’s sing that mind-numbing chorus one more time.
I called one of my best friends yesterday to wish her happy birthday. She asked how I was. I say I was fine. I swear I said it like I meant it. I even put in a cheerful note in my voice. Really. She paused for a second and then said, “Not so great, huh.” I love her, but I hate her. She should be a mom. She has the laser vision that knows exactly what you are feeling. With that one statement, she had me tears. The conversation came down to this. I feel powerless in my life. I am powerless in my life. Powerless against HWMNBN stopping loving me and leaving. Powerless against my family’s financial issues. Powerless against the decisions revolving around my nephew. I HATE being told what to do, and being powerless is the ultimate of life telling you what to do. Honestly, I don’t feel that there is anything I can do. Don’t really see the point of fighting it, there is nothing that I can control or change. The only place that isn’t true is work. Thank God for work!
And while I can’t control this gorgeous weather, I am going to go take advantage of it with a long walk with the dogs (despite Dunkyn’s diarrhea and this horrid time change).

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