Aaron's Birthday

Today is Aaron's birthday.  Aaron died from huffing (inhaling) propane four and a half years ago, the previous April.  He was eighteen years old.

Aaron died before he graduated from high school.  It was one month away.  He died before he and Alex, his girlfriend, could get married.  He died before he could go to college.  His life stopped before it ever really began.

Aaron became my nephew as did his older and younger brothers when my sister married their Dad.  They'd been married for eight years when this tragedy happened.  In all, my sister and her husband had seven children.  Four full time and his three boys as much as he was allowed.

It was hard getting to know Aaron.  He was a goofy kid.  He made jokes so you'd laugh and he made funny faces.  But one of his most endearing character traits were his hugs.  Every time he knew I was driving over to the house for a visit, when I pulled into the driveway Aaron would come running out of the house yelling, "Aunt Amy!"  I'd match his enthusiasm and enfold him into my arms as he did with me.

I believe that endearment gave us a special bond.  I have a special bond with each of my nephews and nieces that is tailored to just them.  They are individuals with individual ways of relating, loving and having fun.  It gives me great joy to spend quality time with them.

Today would have been Aaron's 23rd birthday.

Instead, it's a reminder that his rebirth as a Christian has taken place and he is with the Lord where there are no more yesterdays or tomorrows.  He will never age and he will never be without  the deep caring love of our Heavenly Father.

I wish I would have known about Aaron's huffing addiction.  All of his family members would have gone to any lengths to get him the help he needed.  But he chose to stay silent.  HE chose.

Lord, I pray for Aaron's Mom, Shawnda and his Dad, Dale and his Stepmom, Tina and his brothers and sisters that this day they will be comforted by Aaron's eternal resting place with you.  Help all of us to release the guilt we feel about not knowing or doing enough to help him.  It wasn't meant to be.  Remind us that Your plan is so much bigger and better than we can ever imagine.  May we put our hope and trust in you, not just today but in all the days forevermore.  In Jesus Name, Amen.

Being A Writer

Being a writer is not as easy as I thought.

Reading other people's writing is much easier.

Their thoughts seem to flow effortlessly across a blank page.

Their words seem to convey perfectly the message they want us to consider.

Writing.
 
Webster's Dictionary defines it as:
: the activity or work of writing books, poems, stories, etc.
: the way that you use written words to express your ideas or opinions
: books, poems, essays, letters, etc.

Hm.  That's a good definition.

I struggle with writing when I am depressed, anxious, tired, negative or feeling out of sorts.  Lots of people feel this way and struggle with going to work, getting out of bed or functioning in other ways.  I am no different.

The perfectionist in me wants to whip it out in record time so that people can be helped.  The realist in me knows it's going to take time because my story isn't easy to tell.  The inner child in me wants to control what parts of our story I share.  The adult knows it's all going to come out.

When God whispers a directive like He did ("Amy, I want you to tell your story to bring hope and healing to those who are still suffering), there's no denying everything will work out just fine. Even now He has provided:

a.  A new laptop as a gift from a friend so I can write my story.
b.  Access to Microsoft Office 365 (Office 2013 plus One Drive) from a friend.
c.  Friends with writing and insight to help and counsel me.
d.  A therapist and friends to cheer me on.
e.  A Mom who is ready to help with whatever details I might need.

I am a writer.
There is a plan.
I am submitted to God's will.

What more can I do?

Write.

Ice Cream

On my journey of using food to cover up uncomfortable feelings, I find myself indulging in a sweet treat more often than I ever have.  I don't know with any certainty what's behind it but I do have some suspicions.

Being a food addict is pretty easy to spot on a person.  Typically we are fat. Digging into the "why" we chose food is very easy - it has the least social consequences.  I might get stared at but I won't get arrested.

If I dig a little deeper into my ice cream fetish, I find these five truths:

1. As a child I remember eating special treats and enjoying them.
2. Our mom gave us money for the ice cream truck most of the time.
3. Our birthdays always had cake and ice cream.
4. When I was in junior high, my mom took me to Dairy Queen regularly for a strawberry sundae.
5. We were allowed to pick out frozen treats at the bar in our village.

As I grew up, ice cream became a staple in my food choices.  It tasted good and brought back good memories from a childhood I'd just as soon forget.  It attached itself to my feelings of scared and sad turning them into love and comfort.

During my late twenties, I lost a lot of weight.  Ice cream was not on the menu because it had sugar.  Sugar free ice cream was not as good tasting as it is today.  I missed it like I missed a good friend.

When I went off the food plan, one of the first food items I added was - you guessed it - ice cream.  You see, I'm not a big chocolate eater.  I never have been.  Maybe during hormone times of the month but no more than a couple of days.  

Vanilla and Butter Pecan are my favorite flavors.  Sometimes I eat Birthday Cake and sometimes I eat Moose Tracks.  But here's the thing:  Can I eat ice cream and stay in control of my consumption?  Or will I allow my inner ice cream child take control and over stuff me?

That's the question I have to answer and it's one I already know the answer to.  My adult Amy needs to do two things:

1. Decide who is going to be boss
2. Obey who is the boss

To put it simply, I am the boss.  I need to tell my inner child that yes, ice cream is yummy and fun to eat but too much of it will make us fat or sick to our tummy.  I will decide when and how much we can have and I want her to obey what I am saying because I am the adult.  If there is a special occasion we can discuss the amount but what I say is going to be the final rule.

Parenting my inner child is a very healthy step in recovery.  She had no one looking after her, no boundaries or limits and no one to keep her safe.  That's my job now.

And I'm ready to take on the challenge because I love her.

Quiet Soul

Have you ever had a day where you sit on the couch looking at the blue skies and billowy clouds thinking it would be nice to go outside and enjoy the weather?  So you sit there, daydreaming on the couch, about what you'd be doing outside.

Taking a walk, organizing the shed or maybe opening up a lawn chair and watching traffic drive by.  In either case you are doing what your psychiatrist and therapist want you to do.  You are getting out of the house and into the sunlight so that those positive endorphins can get a kick start and you'll feel better.

I've been working on going outside for the last 2-3 hours.  From my couch I can see the blue sky, the wind blowing the trees and the traffic driving by.  I'm thinking about my shed that needs to be organized which is good because I'm an organized freak.

But then something happens in the feelings department of  my soul.  My soul doesn't want to leave the safety of my home.  It doesn't want to be outside in the sunshine or in the heat.  It would rather stay inside and work on the computer or watch DVDs.  Why is that?

I don't feel depressed.  I'm not self-injuring.  I'm not abusing food.  I'm taking my medication as prescribed.  I slept for almost eight uninterrupted hours.  Nothing is worrying or troubling me that I can identify.  So why don't I want to go out and accomplish a task I enjoy doing?

Maybe I just don't want to.  Maybe I don't want to, today.  Maybe I will want to on another day.  It's not like winter and snow and cold temps are right around the corner.  I have plenty of time to get things organized.  Maybe I'm so used to "doing" that I've lost sight of "being."

Leading a quiet life is about being quiet, doing things quietly and maintaining a quiet spirit.  Even in the midst of noise, quiet can be achieved.  For example, I attend a large women's AA group.  When everyone is talking at once I can center myself in the quietness of my soul.  The noise doesn't change - where I bring myself does change.

The sky will be blue and the clouds will be billowy and the shed will be a mess for future days.  One day I will summon what I need to do that task.  Until then....

I will guard my quiet soul.