No special time like the present

What I love about Andrew is that he doesn't need a special occasion to make me feel special. No, he's not perfect. Yes, he messes up. But he doesn't wait for an anniversary to tell me I'm beautiful. He doesn't need me to get out of my PJ's to be attracted to me. He's seen me in my ups and downs and highs and lows and his love for me is always the same.

Love is easy. And then it's hard work. And he sticks around for both. Most importantly, he doesn't expect my love to be limited to him. He understands that true love mimics the love of Christ. Who better to show us how to love? God's love in me is so strong - I just want to burst. It only makes me love Andrew more - even when he lets me down. My love for Andrew is pure. Whole. Fulfilled. Happy.

Love in a crowd

Crowds remind me how terrifying it is to be alone.
And how wonderful it is to not be alone.
In that sea of people, I look up at him and am so thankful.
I am terrified to be lost in a crowd.
But if I'm lost with him, it's okay.
Hand-in-hand, anything could happen to us,
We could go anywhere,
As long as we don't lose each other, it's okay.

I'm realizing more and more that other people will come and go.
But he is my forever.
Parents age....move away.
Sisters have children - sooo many children.
Brothers get consumed with their career - their set schedule.
Friends find it's no longer convenient to hang out.
Jobs change. Churches change. You graduate.
Now it's just him and me and God.
We make a good team.

So many goofy moments.
And yet we SERIOUSLY love.
We give up ourselves.
We fight to resolve - not to win.
We pray together.
We fail together.
We problem-solve together.
He looks into a crowd, and he finds ME.
I look across a room, and I meet HIS blue eyes.

Didn't mean to block out the whole world.
Didn't mean to get lost in the crowd
Where those that were familiar become strangers
Didn't mean to stop caring what others thought.

I just want to lie down in his arms.
Close my eyes.
Whisper.
Tease.
Defy.
Tap his nose.
Be thoroughly kissed.
Stay there warm, secure, forever.

This whole world crowds around us,
But as he grabs my hand and leads me through my fears,
I know now that the most important thing
in the world to me
is my best friend.

The Age Disease

"I don't want to get older." I said this to my mom when I was four. Every year, the sentiment has remained the same. I like the year I am now. I don't want to be 5.

Isn't that how everyone feels? You cling through survival mode in your teenage years because you picture this state of perfection in your 20s. And then you hit twenty and your face clears up but the rest of you starts slowly decaying. So when did the perfection happen? Oh....wait.....it didn't.

It's disturbing to think we've all caught this disease called age.

I'm not even old. I'm actually pretty stinking young. And yet I've had a few selfish moments lately, wanting to tune out the idea of bodies breaking down....needing fixing....having arthritis in your 20s.

It's not the end. But it sure feels like the beginning of the end. It feels like this long road toward recovery. It feels like the kind of thing where a doctor will come to you later saying, "Oops. Looks like there's a complication."

I know he will do his best. I know it's out of our control. I just......you know how my sister really struggled with finding out she would have a daughter with down syndrome? It's because she never ever pictured having a daughter with disabilities. She was SO type A. How could anyone "slow" her down?

Shallowly, that's how I feel about marrying someone with a diagnosis that is the leading cause of disability in the USA. I don't love him any less. But I know he can't guarantee anything to me. He can't guarantee a successful treatment or a quick recovery. He can't guarantee there will still be a job waiting for him. He can't guarantee anything.

But even without this diagnosis, how much can either of us guarantee each other anyway? God is in control, not us. He knows. He allowed. He will carry.

This is ridiculous of course because other people have managed with the disease just fine. So I'm overreacting.

That's all we can hope for. God is not surprised by this diagnosis or this "age disease". Thankfully, this life is not our home.

Tomorrow's a new day.

Wrote a whole blog post about all my premarital frustrations.

And then I heard him laugh.

I am my father

I sit on this old blue couch which is a product of someone's castaway and my diligent cleaning. And I am a castaway - my father's castaway. He saw good in me, yes, but he also saw so much bad. So he scrubbed at me, over and over and over. He hammered the same points over and over. He ignored the 99% good that I did and narrowed in on the 1% bad. Every conversation was a test to see whether I measured up to his expectations. He usually had a comment or two that made me hate telling him what I accomplished.

As a 17-year-old girl, I vowed one thing. I will never be like my father. And I prayed regularly growing up, God, please change my father.

While my dad was focusing on my 1% bad, I was focusing on my dad's 1% bad. And I became my father.

How do I become my mother? How do I encourage, nurture, and only offer advice when asked. How do I let go of my criticism and trust people? How do I love unconditionally. How do I stay silent even when I know I am right? How do I stop constantly trying to teach people, and instead just be with people?

Why can't I stop ruining silly, fun moments with my fiancé? Why do I have to push him away the closer he gets to me?

I do want to change some things about him. I want to fix him. I want him to see every minor detail as being important - just like my father hammered into me.

But I love him. I love him like my father loved me. My father spent more time with me, trying to fix me. But he also spent more time with me telling he believed in me - I could be a great writer - I made him proud. Is it possible he made me a better person?

Maybe I need to take a moment to thank my dad for the 99% he did right in his little girl's life. Maybe I need to beg God to change myself just like I used to beg Him to change my dad.

With my dad's attention to detail, I feel empowered at work. But I feel handicapped in relationships. Instead of being my earthly father, I want to be more like my heavenly Father. My heavenly Father has the highest of all expectations, and yet he showers more love and grace on me than I will ever receive in an eternity from anyone else.

God, help me? I am so lost. How do I change everything about myself and yet still respect myself and others who don't measure up to my expectations?

Nervous

I look at my vacant left ring finger, and I'm nervous. And excited. But still nervous. It's such a big decision. It's sitting in front of him and agreeing to love him even when we had nights like last night. It's agreeing to disagree and to give up some of our personal space in order to be in each other's space forever. It's FOREVER. It's forever of loving him and sometimes loathing him. It's dying to self over and over. It's having a constant magnifying glass on my flaws that I live with just fine.

After this there is no turning back. I'm so nervous.

When the Enemy is Your Friend - Chapter Four

Chapter 4 (Thursday) – Day of the Murder

It was a party—a real one. No balloons and cake were present. Like most frat parties involving booze and girls, this party was no exception. Alyson felt nervous to be walking up to the large home sporting Greek signs that was pulsing with loud music.

“Hey, Bree, are you sure I’m invited?” she asked nervously, looking behind her shoulder.

Bree laughed. “Sweetheart, you’re so green--like you believe there’s a cop on your heels.”

“Could  there be cops?” Alyson asked her levelly.

“Relax. Kevin invited both of us. And it’s PG-13 rated. He wouldn’t invite us somewhere unsafe,” she assured her as they walked up to the front door.

Alyson was at least relieved that she had been able to drive herself. Her great aunt had surprised her by giving her a car as a Christmas present and had her two grandsons drive it from the dealership to U of W on Alyson’s second week back. The car was white and had flakes of rust on it, so it was by no means brand-new, but she insisted to her aunt that age didn’t matter.

“It’s my first car!” she screamed, thanking her profusely on the phone, and she hurriedly made her first trip to go to Wal-Mart and buy decals for it. She was more than happy to let Bree hitch a ride whenever she was heading out to Wal-Mart or the grocery store, because she not only enjoyed showing off her ride, but she also enjoyed Bree’s company.

After Christmas break, Alyson’s relationship with Bree had changed. Alyson’s popularity seemed to climb drastically once her first articles began to show in the school newspaper. Suddenly everyone wanted to be her friend, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“They just want to be your friend so they can get their story told,” Bree told her, sounding a little jealous.

Alyson raised her eyebrow at Bree and asked, “Do you want your story told?”

Bree snorted at the idea and said, “What kinda story would that be? A tragedy?”

“A drama. No, a tragic, fictional drama.”

“Agreed. So how about we don’t tell that story and I’ll just be your friend, huh? After all, you had the equipment all along to make yourself popular. You just needed the right…advertisement.”

“Enter, Bree,” Alyson guessed.

“Ta-da!” She said humbly, accepting the acknowledgment. Now she was looking at Alyson, her eyes flush with excitement and pride.

“You look great. How do I look?” she asked breathlessly, looking to Alyson like she was drunk with the idea of getting drunk.

“You look…gold,” she said awkwardly, surveying her roommates shimmery gold dress and pumps.

“Gold? That’s your idea of a compliment?” she reproved, making Alyson feel like the pupil once again.

“Were you looking for a compliment?”  Alyson asked with a bit of mock innocence.

Bree huffed and shook her head in exasperation, pushing Alyson ahead of her through the door. Her head immediately began bobbing with the music, and she removed her evening jacket to make sure everyone got a good look at her.

“Dang, girl,” one guy said, while another guy whistled at Bree. She smiled and tried to act like she didn’t notice their reactions.

While they were still in the front entrance she narrowed her eyes at Alyson. 

“Do I need to keep an eye on you in here?” she asked.

Alyson shook her head. “You insisted that I must experience at least one frat party. It doesn’t mean I have to drink or get into trouble. I’ll be careful.”

“I wasn’t asking if you would be careful! That’s exactly what I was afraid of,” Bree huffed again. “I can see I’m going to have to do some introducing.”

When they entered the dance floor, Alyson was surprised. She had no idea that Bree knew so many college guys.

“I don’t know them all,” she insisted after introducing Alyson to her boyfriend Kevin and some of his buddies. Then she teased, “But I know most of the cute ones.” Alyson suspected she was enjoying the feeling of being so knowledgeable in comparison with her freshman roommate. She could see it in the way Bree looked at her when Alyson was clueless about something. Alyson blushed when she walked past a couple that were openly making out and looked away in discomfort. Bree rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What did you think Frat parties were all about?” Bree teased her, holding Kevin’s hand lightly and giving him a peck on the cheek. He grinned over at Alyson, and Alyson felt slightly pleased that he was acknowledging her now that she was dressing differently. Bree also seemed less embarrassed to bring her along when Kevin’s buddies wanted to hang out. It was like they held a new respect for her. Well most of them seemed to respect her, but Alyson noticed that a couple of his friends eyed her body a little disrespectfully. Bree said something else then, but Alyson could barely hear her over the music.

“Oh! Allie, you have to come over here. I know you won’t approve of the drinking, but it really is a fun game,” she said, dragging Alyson over to a game of beer pong, where opponents basically played each other into a drunken stupor. Alyson hung back in shyness, but Bree and Kevin charged ahead into the body of pumped and cheering college students. When Alyson quickly lost interest in the game, she decided she might as well just leave the party and wait outside.

“God, what am I doing here?” She asked herself as she breathed out the cold air on the porch. This was a dumb idea.

“Party too hot for you?” asked a deep voice from behind her. Alyson jumped with a start and the breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you Jake.”

He was looking at her funny, and Alyson suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Have you been drinking?” she asked her editor.

“Naw, just a couple. Nothing to get me wasted,” he insisted with a bit of a slurp. Even as he drew closer, he was staggering slightly, and Alyson felt like recoiling from the smell of his breath.

Alyson turned away to look out into the night as though something interested her out there. She wasn’t sure how to act around drunk people. She knew, according to Bree, that some people were funny drunks and some were mean drunks. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what kind of drunk her editor was.

As she hugged her arms to her chest, she realized she needed to do something. She needed to draw a line for herself. How far was too far? Had she crossed her own line? It wasn’t about what people expected anymore. Alyson knew people expected her to get silly drunk tonight and go home with some guy who wouldn’t remember her name in the morning. People expected her to cheat if she didn’t get good grades and it was considered normal for her to pursue a guy aggressively if she liked him. This was all typical for a 19 year old college-girl. But somehow, Alyson didn’t want to be the normal, average girl. She wanted to be above the expected. She wanted to stick out in a good way and not let people’s perspectives, conservative or liberal, govern her decisions. She knew she didn’t want to end up like her parents, but she also didn’t want to be exactly like Bree. She wanted a balance between the two. Was that possible?

Her phone buzzed in her small carry-on purse, and Alyson wasn’t all that surprised to read a text that said that Bree didn’t need a ride home because she was going to stay with Kevin for the night.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jake asked her, clumsily trying to read the text on Alyson’s phone.

“No,” she huffed, annoyed by the kind of drunk Jake was. “It was my roommate – she’s apparently ditching me for the night.”

“Ditching you? Who would ditch you? You’re like, the awesome Christian girl. Everyone knows you,” Jake said convincingly.

Alyson paused. “What do you mean everyone knows me?” she asked.

“Why everyone knows you. All the guys talk about you. You’re like the virgin girl on campus,” he laughed.

Alyson’s face grew hot. “All right, Jake. You’ve had enough to drink tonight. I think I’m going to go home,” she said, feeling hurt by his impression of her.

“Aw, don’t be like that. You can’t blame a guy for being curious. I mean,” he burped, “you’ve been hiding under those skirts for so long. Little miss untouchable. And then, here you are. In a little black dress, and I just want to dance with you,” he said, reaching for her.

“No, thanks,” she said, twisting from his grasp and backing into the house. The assault of music found her inside and she winced when Jake stumbled in after her.

“Come on, Allie. Just one dance,” he said.

“Jake, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to regret what you’re saying in the morning,” she said crisply, facing up at him, her lips twitching angrily.

“Don’t be silly, I won’t remember what I’ve done in the morning. And you won’t either,” he encouraged.

Suddenly, amid the din of music and the pulsating, gyrating bodies around her, Alyson noticed something eerie. A boy was staring at her from the stairs. Normally she would have felt pleased by a boy’s attention, but the look in his eyes made her shiver instead. His eyes were angry, piercing her black dress and undressing her with his eyes. She thought she even saw him take a picture of her. Alyson instinctively covered herself with her arms and moved a little closer to Jake.

“Jake,” she prodded him, “Is that Max on the stairs over there?”

Jake narrowed his eyes and said, “What’s emo boy doing here? He’s not a Theta Delta Nu.” He turned as if to go reprimand him, but when Max saw him approaching he immediately disappeared. Jake grinned, turning around towards Alyson and said confidently, “That took care of him.”

Alyson was still looking at the stairs anxiously when Jake grabbed her waist and pulled her to his chest.

“Dance with me,” he whispered harshly in her ear, and Alyson felt like vomiting from the smell of his breath once again.

“Jake!” she cried, “Let me go!”

Jake ignored her cries and crushed his mouth against her lips, a tongue finding entrance in an unwelcome place. His beer-soaked breath exhaled into Alyson’s mouth and she felt like gagging. Alyson struggled to get an arm free from his strong hold and finally succeeded, only to immediately slap him. To Alyson’s horror, while Jake looked slightly stunned, he didn’t reléase his hold and in fact he only looked amused.

“I love how you just slapped me like that was supposed to hurt,” he quipped, not releasing his hold on her. Alyson would have welcomed any interference at that point from anyone who was willing to rescue her from this unweclome make-out session.

As if on cue, Lyla walked up to them and when Jake saw her narrow, angry eyes, he instantly released Alyson.

“Lyla, babe, I was just going to get us drinks,” he insisted. But a little smile was on his lips and he looked down and winked at Alyson.

Alyson expected Lyla to be angry with Jake, since apparently they were together, but instead she turned on Alyson, her eyes flashing and her teeth peeking out menacingly.

“Touch my boyfriend again, you little whore,” she spit out, “and I will personally cut off your hands.” Alyson sucked in a breath and knew instantly what kind of drunk Lyla was.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she responded angrily, “I was just leaving.”

As she weeded her way through the crowd, a couple guys from the frat blocked her path.

“Hey, hey, hey, the night’s still young. ‘Sonly 11:00 baby. Where do you think you’re going?” One said, his words slurring.

“Let’s get you something to drink,” the other one said, slinging his arm around her shoulders and ushering her toward the kitchen. It took Alyson a good five minutes to shake them and convince them she wasn’t interested in drinking and that she really just wanted to go home.

“Whatever, we don’t need you to have fun,” one of the guys said and he let his beer slop onto the front of Alyson’s dress.

She headed to her car angrily, suddenly feeling ridiculous in her short black dress and stinking of someone else’s alcohol. She plucked her red earrings out of her ears as she walked, realizing afresh that doing something just for the sake of doing it was not always rewarding. There was no profit in the party she had just attended, she admitted to herself, but she’d made plans and gone anyways. A verse she’d read that morning came back to her, and she brushed it away quickly, knowing she’d taken matters into her own hands tonight. The verse read, “I know the plans which I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah something or other. Not important. God could put those plans on hold. Alyson was comforted to know God had good plans for her, but really, she just needed a little more time to figure things out on her own before she let God do all her planning for her.

Alyson was on the road by then, and was fumbling with the radio knob. It was 11:50 p.m. on November 6th. She couldn’t have possibly known what was coming, because at that moment she had her whole life ahead of her. She was sure that tomorrow her biggest struggles were going to be with unwanted acne, an insult from Lyla at the newspaper, or a B- on a paper.  Thinking about the issues that undoubtedly lay ahead was giving her a headache, and she watched the signs pass by her aimlessly, trying not to think about the pressures of the next day.

Suddenly she heard a scream, and it took her a few seconds to realize it was her own scream she was hearing. She jammed the brake to the floor and held her breath in terror as she felt her car speeding too fast, too fast to stop. She was trembling with relief when she realized her car had stopped in time, but she could not stop staring out her windshield in horror. What was that? It had to be what it looked like. Her two hands instinctively went to her chest and begin pressing her own heart back to life.

There was a body in front of her car. She was almost sure of it. But what was she supposed to do? Should she approach the body and see if she could administer CPR?  She thought she might remember it from that one emergency help class she’d had in the eleventh grade. Was it 30 compressions to 2 breaths? Or 15 compressions to 2 breaths? Or hadn’t they changed it now? Wasn’t it 5 sets of 30 compressions and then 2 breaths? She couldn’t remember for sure. She realized her hands were fumbling for her phone on the seat beside her, and she opened the car door as she flipped open the phone. She decided to check to make sure it was a body before she called 9-1-1. She threw the door open nervously, and left it open, the headlights flooding the still form before her.

“Hello? Hello! Are you okay?” She shouted as she ran toward the man in the road. He was face down, but although she saw no signs of wounds, she also thought she Heard him groan.

“Oh, God, oh God,” she kept saying over and over and found herself backing up slowly. Putting her phone to her ear, she began walking up the road past the vehicle. The gas station couldn’t be more than a mile down the road, could it? She picked up her pace, her tired vision suddenly sharp with wild adrenaline.

Why wasn’t it dialing?  She cursed, realizing she hadn’t even dialed, and with shaky fingers dialed 9—1--.

But something stopped her; it was the sound of an engine revving. Alyson turned around, and her frantic eyes suddenly filled with disbelieving anger.

“Hey! Hey, what are you doing in my car? Get out of there!” Two guys had jumped in her car and slammed the doors shut.

They’re going to run over the body, she realized with horror. They’re going to run over the body and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. She didn’t know whether she should run toward them or run away, so she stood frozen in place, instinctively covering her eyes as the engine revved. 3 seconds later, she realized she had heard no slam of tires against flesh, no sickening thud or tearing clothes. She peeled one hand away from her eye and sucked in a fast breath. The two guys were still revving the car, but the man in the road was starting to get up.

Backing up slowly, she flipped her phone back open and dialed 9—1—1. But she never got to send the call. She doesn’t remember his face, but what she does remember is that she backed into someone who was very much alive.

What happened next, she swears she does not remember.