This Bumpy Road
On the bumpy road of life there are many things that can hold us back. I think the fear of how people interpret the truth about how we feel is one of those things. Written words often come with what some believe to be “hidden messages” . Writing can seem passive-aggressive, when in reality, if you could be in the room with the writer, often times its an emotional, heartfelt compilation of the life events they feel convicted to share, even if its not shiny and pretty the way we would all like our lives to be. Sometimes, the comments, emails and criticism I get from my social media pages, my blog and my shared journal entries are due to lack of facing the ugly truth that we are all human.
Sometimes I just screw up. I am more than willing to admit that. Sometimes, I am misinterpreted, and sometimes I am convicting in what I have to say. (most of the time I have no idea about this one) I do not set out to hurt anyone, betray trust or cause conflict. I just write what is on my heart. Prayerfully, emotionally and sometimes with great reservation . With that, I have some things today that are on my heart, that I want to share with you, and its the hard stuff.
On April 27, I was doing my thing at work, and I got a message. My parents wanted to see my husband and I. Right away. I knew something was amiss, yet I was trying not to panic. After work it was revealed to me ( by a gross graphic picture- thanks dad) that my dad had a tumor at the base of his esophagus. It was most likely malignant, and it was the cause of his heartburn, inability to eat much of anything, and unrest. Taking cues from dad and his AMAZING ability to keep his cool, I responded with “So where do we go from here?”
Where we ended up is where I stand now. Dad has been in the hospital for 3 days. He was malnourished and dehydrated. He hasn’t shared an actual meal with us for weeks. He has lost a ton of weight and is weak. His spirits go from great to super low, and his body is just out of whack. Chemotherapy and radiation are over, and he is in that re healing process, where you have to heal from your treatment to have the tumor removed.
It apparently is a whole thing and I guess we are just supposed to deal with it.
Except what I really want to do is scream. At the doctors. At God. At my family, my church and this entire world. MY dad cannot be going through this. He. Just. Cannot.
He is the one they call when they need something. He is the one that gives and gives and gives of himself until there is nothing left. My mom is suffering while she watches her husband of 43 years whither away physically and mentally. It is taking its toll. My biggest question throughout this entire process?
Where is everyone?
Where are you family?
Where are you church?
Where are you friends?
Where?
Why does my mom go for days without hearing from anyone except the 5 of us that call her everyday? Why is no one offering to bring a meal, mow the grass, pray in person or sit on the patio and talk? What has happened that has changed us so much in the last 20 years that my parents are literally in the fight of their lives and they are left on their own for the most part?
My husband and I have been members of the same church our entire married lives. I have been there since I was 8. I was expecting more.
My dad has 6 siblings. I have over 30 first cousins, not counting spouses and their children. I was expecting more.
My parents and my brother and I have many friends. I was expecting more.
I expect too much.
I sit here with my Bible open, my prayers jumbled. I sit here thinking I would like to walk away from all of it, yet knowing I won’t. I am angry, hurt, frustrated. I am tired of feeling like I have to live up to the expectation of everyone else, when very few are willing to do the same for me.
My dad being sick is inconvenient for us, too. We have jobs, children, grandchildren, responsibilities. We did not plan on spending our summer this way, and neither did he and mom. But this is where we are, and this is where we will be.
Dear Church Ladies….with article
A couple weeks ago, I contributed to this website with a letter to the ladies of the church….I love womens ministry…and I really feel the need for it more and more. Follow the link HERE I hope you enjoy my letter and understand I really mean it with all my heart.
Dear Ladies in Church,
I often wonder what it would be like if we all saw ourselves as equals, like Jesus did. I dream of a day when Women’s Ministry is a priority for all of us, fellowshipping with one another and praying together. I have a picture in my mind’s eye of a room full of women of all ages, worshipping and loving, just like we are supposed to do. I see an empty seat and worry about where YOU are tonight. Are you spending this evening alone? Are you so wrapped up in television, socializing or working that there is no time for your church family? Are you hurting, feeling lonely and afraid? Is there something we need to know, something we can help you through? I miss you on an evening so full of fun and grace. I really wanted to share my story with you, and to hear your story. I want to know your triumphs as well as your tragedies. I want to hold your hand when you need it, and lean on your shoulder when I need to.
Forgive me for questioning your motives; I just do not understand the great divide that has become between us as women. The most valuable things I have ever learned, I learned from the generation that is older than I am. There is so much to be shared, learned and loved when we gather as one. We have the power to influence our families, our church bodies and our communities. When we stand united through Christ, we can make such a difference in so many ways, and it starts right here, in our own churches. As women in the body of Christ, we all read the Bible, we worship together in our home churches, and we pray to the same Living God. We drop our kids off at Sunday school, and we hear the message each week, yet we are all so very much divided. I think upon further investigation, we will find we have more in common than we are willing to admit.
I am still praying for the day when all of our physical, political and societal differences can be put aside, so we can spend some quality girl-time together. I would love to drink coffee with you, splurge on chocolate cake and cry over our heartaches. I would love to be a witness to the great testimony of friendship and grace that only Christ can bring into a relationship like ours could be. I would love to walk into any church and know that I am accepted because I belong to Jesus, our most important common thread.
I will close this letter with this- I am missing the fellowship of women who laugh, love and live as fiercely as I do. I see them every week, as you do, and then they are gone until the next service starts. I feel as though I am missing something, and it’s something I have only had a brief taste of. Christian friendships among women are important, and fellowship and unity are part of that. I don’t want to be a part of a small clique; I want to be part of the women at my church. Most of all, I want you to be a part of your church too.
Angie Dailey
The Jekyll/Hyde within me
There is no amount of coffee that can handle a Monday like today.
Today, my dad starts chemotherapy and radiation, and it terrifies me. Every single horrible and worst case scenario that can run through my head has already done so, consistently over the past two weeks. I am so consumed with his situation that I am not functioning as a normal person anymore.
I just don’t care about much else.
For the first time in years I blew my top- at a co-worker, in front of customers and other employees. I picked a fight with my husband. I told the girl at McDonald’s not to call me “sweetie”- ever again. I slept part of the night on the couch, and I didn’t get up when my boys did this morning.
Wow Mr. Hyde.
Those are going to be some consequences, but I’m all, press on & keep swimming- (says that stupid little fish).
Is there anyone else I need to alienate, hurt, call out or pick a fight with? Poor undeserving people. I am better serving everyone if I just sit here alone and get this out of my head. So I shall try.
The Dr. Jekyll in me would like to have dropped to my knees and prayed the second I found out my dad was sick. Just grabbed his hand, moms hand and gone straight to my redeemer. My aunt would have thought I was crazy- my uncle would have poured me some coffee. Over the past two weeks it has been a blur of appointments and tests. I have spent more time with my brother in the past two weeks than in the past year. (weird since we live 2 miles apart)
Cancer is the devil.
But I am going to choose to use it as a tool. I know what you are thinking. I AM crazy, and that is OK. I will just validate it for you right now. Stick with me here- this is what I am thinking. If this is what it takes for God to get my attention then He has it Fully and Completely. If this is the path our family will take, then we will not take it alone.
I do not write this for pity, I write it in hopes that my frustration in my inability to do anything at all to fix this disease for my dad will give some peace to someone else who is feeling helpless. It really does stink that there is suffering in this world, unexplained to those of us who just do not understand. Yet, I also know there is a time for everything, a season for all of us. The human body was created to be imperfect. It cannot last forever. Stuff goes wrong, and although it is a test of my faith sometimes, I know God has a plan as always.
OK Mr Hyde- time for an appearance- I am angry, irritated and confused at the stupid things people say. I have heard a few cliche things that should be stricken from all vocabulary to the extent that sometimes I feel a replay of the tower of babble would be timely. Got something to say about this that is just empathetic? -BAM- you now speak Spanish. Want to tell me how sorry you are? BAM Chinese for you. How about the empty promise of ” Call me if you need anything?” BAM BAM…you get a new language no one has heard yet. Sounds pretty crappy, I know. Blame Mr. Hyde. He is out of control.
In the coming weeks I have to learn to deal with the exhaustion of my momma, who by all rights is already exhausted. I have to work out my work schedule so I can be an asset to her. ( with a manager I already upset this weekend…) I need to be super patient with my kids who irritate me with their nonsense when I am emotional, I have to be focused when I am writing so I don’t drive all of you away. I need to be a source of strength for my dad when he feels weak, and in constant prayer with my husband so we can lift everyone each day for as long as it takes. I need to be bathed in prayer, understanding and compassion like never before. I would like to say I can suppress Mr Hyde from popping out anytime in the near future. However, I know better than to make a promise I am not sure I can keep.
I will leave you with this- this life is for real. I am for real. Just when your pants get comfortable something comes along and bunches them all up again. Just when you feel you are understanding something, something else you cannot fathom comes along. Just when you feel you have everything under control, God sends a simple reminder that you are never in control- that is what He is for.
Living in the BUBBLE
To ignite true change, you have to ignite something different, something fierce, something that makes you want to get up in the morning and be – different. Over the past few years I have been lighting these fires within myself, and putting them out as well. I have been reading lots of things that encourage me to slow down while listening to God speak to my heart, my soul. I have been taking things “Off the Beam” (#forthelove), putting my best “YES” forward (Lysa Terkuerst), and indescribably changing the people I am around, the things I participate in and the parts of the world in which I participate.
Easter Chance
The Easter eggs are all stuffed, sorted and bagged. Dinner is planned, a grocery list is prepared. Now it is time for me to sit back and pray for the days ahead. Easter is not an easy holiday for some. It is full of convictions, uneasiness and guilt. For those who do not attend church regularly it can be a day full of anxiety and worry. Do I have on the right clothes? Do I have the correct Bible? Am I taking communion right? Where do I give money? Do I have to give money? What if the preacher looks at me while he is speaking? Do I have to shake his hand? Are my kids being good in class?
I will spend the next couple days praying for those who are in this situation, because they need Jesus just like I do. They need to see the very best of Him, in me and my church. They need an encouraging smile, a hug, and a hand shake. They need a kind word, an invitation back and some love.
I keep hearing a derogatory term that describes those who come to worship on Christmas and Easter….and I find it offensive. I have been guilty of saying it before, and I am very sorry for that. Instead of labeling someone, something we are very good at, why aren’t we loving them instead? We pray for people we do not know all the time. We love people we have never met before. We touch the lives of strangers everyday- the opportunities are endless. Yet these people come into our churches, sit in our seats and praise with us and we give them nothing in return. They are coming TO US. We aren’t inviting them, encouraging them, searching for them. They just show up, because for some reason they know this day is more important than the rest. They know enough to bring them here. We should love them enough to make them want to stay.
This Easter week as we prepare to go worship with our people and spend time with our Lord, we should be praying for the right words and actions to reach out to someone new, to make them feel more welcome than ever. Our place can be their place. Our Jesus is their Jesus. We just need to make sure they see Him in us. We need to do what He would do and love them where they are so they can move on to where He wants them to be.
Have a very blessed and safe Easter.
Oh Mary…
I plan on spending a lot of quiet time this week. As I approach Easter and all it means, I prepare for the hustle of a hodge podge mix of family and friends to arrive on my doorstep for food, love and laughter. The kids will do their annual egg hunt- regardless of the weather, and we will be cleaning up from it for days.
In building for the busy weekend, I often think of Mary, and all she had to endure. From the first moment the Angel of the Lord presented himself to her, right up until she saw her son, risen from the grave.
That is the part of this incredible true story that I cannot get my head wrapped around. Jesus rising on the third day is a given for me- I have always believed it, always turned to it and always appreciated it. But Mary. She had to endure so much as his mother, so much that not even his human father could bear for her.
As moms, we protect our children from as much as we possibly can. We fight for their rights, we protect them from the elements, other people, and sometimes themselves. We check on them in the night, making sure they are breathing and comfortable and warm. We drive past the school, making sure their car has been parked in its spot, slipping them gas money and fuzzy dice. We hold their hand in grief and sorrow at broken hearts and relationships. We watch them become parents, and grandparents, and we wonder where did the time go?
Mary watched her son perform miracles, always knowing that one day he would leave her. Not understanding how and maybe wrestling with the why, but always knowing. Then to hear the crowd chant “Crucify Him”, and watching them take him away. And right before he died, to hear him make sure she was taken care of, whoa.
I cannot imagine being Mary, arriving at the open tomb, knowing he was gone, then seeing him. The trauma of losing your child is more than one can bear, but then seeing him alive afterwards, what a shock. Then realizing who He really was. He was the Son of God. And He was the son of Mary. She had to stand in awe of Him, as he showed the hands and feet, and she knew it was Him. She must have been so joy filled, and yet so grief stricken. I am not sure how she even spoke to anyone. Her heart must have been so full.
This was her baby, whom she nursed, taught to walk, speak and love. He was a human for a short period of time, and He was a gift to her. She was worthy of such a gift, yet she probably did not realize how worthy until his resurrection. Oh to be entrusted with The Child of God. What an honor, and what pressure on her faith. Yet she didn’t bend, was not sorrowful. She did not regret any of it, just basked in the light of his life, as she celebrated with the others, that Jesus was whole, and alive, and He was going to return for us all.
The Things No one Warned Me About: Take Two
“Where are all the towels?”
Series: The Things No One Warned Me About: Take One
for Florida the day after his 18th birthday, I was stunned. The few
days I had to prepare myself were not at all enough. I soon found myself standing at the airport,
watching my baby walk through the security gate alone, and disappear around the
corner. My husband held my hand tight as
silent tears streamed down his face, and I sobbed and prayed all the way back
to the car. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t
think. I just couldn’t fix the ache in my heart that he left me. There was no
one to talk to about it, there was no one to comfort me. I felt so numb that my firstborn was just…gone.
He was gone. He left me, he left his dad, he left us all. He hadn’t even packed
up his entire room. He left almost everything behind. I think I went through the 12 stages of grief
in the following days.
married and out on their own. The one who left me has two children of his own.
Two kids still at home driving me nuts. Plans for all their bedrooms. I have a
notebook. With big plans. One day they will all be mine, and I will have a
pretty house with a guest room of my dreams, an office that is functional as
just an office, and enough book shelves to house all the books I have stored in
every odd place I can find. And maybe
even a room dedicated to baseball, if my husband wants a man cave, I can’t
argue that. As I make plans for this
space I keep going back to the one question from when my son broke his mothers
heart and flew off to a warmer place: Why on earth didn’t anyone ever warn me
about this part of my life?
mother never said a word. She and dad paid for our wedding, shipped our stuff
little by little, and called every day. They came to visit us once on the other
side of the country, and they supported us unconditionally. When my brother got married and had a child,
they did the same for him, and I cannot for the life of me remember seeing or
hearing my mother hurt or upset about any of it. But she had to be! Right?! Aren’t
we moms all wired the same way? Didn’t God instill in us the mother hen
syndrome, the right to protect, teach and love unconditionally? I am so
flabbergasted about the deafening silence I faced my peers, and mostly my older
mentors, provided for me when I was going through all of this. Total deafening silence.
a while I thought I was over reacting, like I was mentally unstable and it was
a “me” problem, not a normal momma problem. I was bursting into tears when I saw
his jacket. I was bursting into tears when I saw his truck in the driveway. I
was freaking out into a sobbing mess when I realized I didn’t need 6 steaks, I
only needed 5, because my son was in Florida somewhere without me or his dad. I
actually called out his name one morning to get him out of bed before I left
for an appointment. Seriously. I almost had myself convinced to get medication
for my inability to control my emotion and be normal. Really.
been ignoring for a long time, I was sitting in my living room reading some of
the blogs I regularly visit, and it struck me- no one ever warned me about any
of this mess! Not any of it! The only
thing I ever was warned about had to do with infancy, and we are long past
those days. In fact, I would give my left arm and a days wages to go back there
some days. I couldn’t believe there was not one person who ever said anything
about anything that I needed to know.
there is such a thing. I had amazing grandparents who for the most part
grandparented me. I had an upbringing with hundreds of people around me all
influencing me in my thoughts, actions, and beliefs. I belonged to a decent
size church, was friends with the pastors’ kids and spent time with my youth
group. I watched all those kids before me grow up, graduate high school, go on
to college or marriage or whatever they went on to. I never once saw one of
their parents grieving their loss, their decisions, and their lives. Maybe I
missed the signs, or maybe I was warned but just chose not to listen. I just do
not recall anyone ever reacting like this in this situation, come to think of it;
I do not recall seeing anyone ever react emotionally to any situation of change
with their children, parents, family members. Not ever.
hidden reaction related to the bubble we all build around ourselves so that no
one else on the planet knows about our hurts, our fears or our real life
issues? Is this ultimate not sharing of “stuff” part of the big picture of
making sure everything looks like it’s all rosy and fun? Are we so worried
about what other people think that we are willing to risk not sharing our own
stories when we are hurting, when we are devastated by loss or when we are
getting a tough life education of our own? When Christ was hurting at the
temple, he made sure everyone knew he was angry, and why. If I am to be Christ
like, should I stay quiet about things I am experiencing, all the while knowing
that others behind me will experience the same craziness, and think they are
losing their mind as I thought?
wrenching, and dear reader it was, then wait until I tell you about all the
other things no one ever thought to warn us about as young women.
On the Subject of Being a Less Crappy Christian
This morning as I lay in bed, my mind kept wandering to something Jen Hatmaker says in her book due out in August…She has an entire chapter dedicated to church people and how to treat one another. It stuns me each time I open this book at how much her level of clarity hits me with each word. It has some super funny elements too, which I appreciate immensely, but I keep coming back to this one chapter, and it makes me think: How can I be a less crappy Christian woman? Is there a way for me to be above the influence of some of the crappy Christian women people in my life? How do I become a better example of Jesus, when I feel the hurt feelings, cranky looks and selfish comments that are rolling off the tongues of those whom I should be able to depend on most?
Its not easy being green, says Kermit the Frog.
Its not easy being a Christian woman either.
First off, most of the major church decisions are made by men, who in my opinion are never going to understand a womans heart- not truly. A man is a wild beast, connecting with God through wild ways and as I often put it, outside, dirty and down to the core of manhood. Before you click off of here let me explain…men are wild at heart, wild at soul. They are reconnected through nature and creation and the circle of life and all those masculine things that men love, even if its a secret and no one knows it. My husband loves our couch- we like being potatoes sometimes, but given the opportunity he is hunting, hiking, camping, gardening. He likes the natural way of things. It reconnects him to creation and God and whats good and pure and holy.
Women are emotionally bound creatures. We hurt more, we feel more, we love hard and we fall hard. We are more susceptible to other peoples situations and we are easier led astray (met Eve?) We aren’t stupid- we want to see the best in people-God-snakes in a garden. We are harder on ourselves than others, we are harder on God than others and we are tempted as much as others. We sometimes are so much better in an intellectual arena that our men are lost. And sometimes we see things in the midst of situations that men do not see because that is how God created us- “The Helper”.
This is where I feel like things get sticky. Partly because I have a lot to say, and partly because I love this newfound realization that if I speak the truth, and people do not like it, I can stand on the truth for what it says. So here goes. Women have been speaking for, martyring themselves over and proclaiming Christ since his birth. His mother did it. His aunt did it. The woman at the well did it. Joyce Meyers does it. Jen Hatmaker does it.
Mother Teresa, Women Of Faith, Proverbs 31 Ministries….I could go on all day.
The one thing all of these ladies have in common- Jesus and their profound love for Him. Everything comes back to Jesus for us, or it should. The money, the decisions, the curriculum’s, the choices on how we handle infidelity, abuse, addiction, homelessness, hunger and brokenness. It all comes back to Jesus. As a child of God, how could I be expected to sit by and let the men in my life do everything, when I know I should be moving and shaking? I’m not.
What?
I am not expected to sit back and let the men in my life, in my church, in my community do everything where anything is concerned. I work as hard as my husband. I love as fiercely. I cry when he cries, I laugh when he laughs, and I mourn when he mourns. I also pray with him, for him, around him ,without him. Without him? Yes, without him.
I am his helper, but I am also me. I have my own relationship with my savior that is seperate and above my relationship with my husband, or anyone else. I read His words, I serve Him. I pray to Him, I worship Him and I beg Him for forgiveness. I wake up in the morning and ask Him to make me better than I was yesterday.
I do not want to be a crappy Christian. I do not want to judge harshly, love with condition and walk away from someone because they make a mistake. I do not want people to be intimidated by me because they are afraid of what I might say or do or how I might react. I want people to be real with me, so I can be real with them. I want the people in my church to be less crappy.I want to know I have the opportunity for forgiveness and redemption, because that is what this walking with Christ is all about. I want to know if I do something stupid, its OK, because i am human, and we do screw up from time to time ( or a lot in my case) I want people to ask me about me, before making a judgement about me on the basis of a mistake or what someone else has to say.
I want to be less snarky and more sincere. I want to be genuine and free to praise, worship, lead, teach and love like Jesus did, because with Him, I got this.
When the going gets tough, the tough get Coffee
This morning I relish in the thought of the new found friendships I have been forging over the past 10 days. Friendship can be so hard. I am a hard friend, I know that. Maybe high maintenance, I am not sure. But I do know this- I get tired, I get cranky and sometimes I don’t want to talk to you at all.
I go through phases when I do not understand the loneliness I feel. I do not want to know how to communicate that loneliness, because the people in my life expect me to be perky, happy Angie. Full of adventure, life and always doing something. Running here, going there. Lets not disappoint the people.
This week I am jealous of people and all of their things they are doing. Amazing things. While I sit here at this computer with the less than 100 people who may (or may not) be reading this wondering if my words matter to anyone. I have a friend traveling for a new opportunity that I think is going to steal her away from me, probably for good. I have an associate who just picks up and goes- whenever she wants, because her life is like that- financially stable and able to go at a moments notice. I have a friend with an amazing career- loves what she does, and isn’t afraid of doing it. I have a member of my family that lives super close by- and I never see her because she is always already doing something cool.
I work in a retail store, I process freight, I smile and sell things to people they do not need. I show up, get my small paycheck, come home. I do not usually give that place a second thought when I am home. I went to college. I got my degrees. I have an Associates in Horticulture and a Bachelors in Soil, Plant, Environmental Science. And a whopping student loan debt that is only going to go away when I die. I love being at home. I love taking care of my family. I love writing. I love my chickens.
It is so easy for us to compare our sometimes humble existences to those of people we think are far more worthy for what they are doing. I’ve not been blessed with some things because God knows I can’t handle it. I have been blessed with children, grandchildren, the ability to write, the ability to communicate. I have been blessed with tenacity. Tenacity sometimes gets me through the days when I miss my friend, days when I wish my hubs could stay home, and days when the church people are being judgemental. (Yep I went there)
Some days, like today, I have to choose to be sane. I have to choose to not cry. I have to make a to do list to make sure I eat lunch and drink water and walk the dogs. I have to occupy myself with prayer, perseverance, and most of all prayer. 🙂 I have to make an extra pot of coffee and find the potato chips because their crunch makes me smile. I read in Proverbs about the woman and remind myself of my goals…then I flip over to the woman at the well because I identify with her struggle with self esteem better.
When the going gets tough, the tough get coffee. And pray for the words to type, that they are humble, true and encouraging, even if they only say- hey – you are not alone. I am insanely wigged out some days too, and it’s OK, because only Jesus was perfect.
