So the more I read and study and think, the more I realize that Jesus is the key. He's the key to everything in Christianity, not that the rest of the Bible isn't interesting. It gives context. But the whole of the Bible, the whole reason for it's being is to point to Jesus. Since I've come to realize this, I've started re-reading the gospels. I want to refine my beliefs to what Jesus says. Not the old testament covenant, not the writings of the apostles. Just Jesus. All Jesus. So that's where I'm focusing.
Now I've known the story of Jesus since I was a little girl. I grew up in church and my parents read Bible stories to me from a very young age. You would think that at mumble mumble years old I'd know it. Right? Yet I keep being surprised by the new things I realize each time I read the Bible, and to find something new in the gospels is really quite surprising to me. After all, I know this story, I've heard it all my life. But to read something and have it hit me with a new meaning gets me all excited, so I have to share. So here it is:
Luke 19:30 - Go to the village ahead of you, and as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here.
Really? There's something new here? I've heard this, read this, and I thought internalized it's meaning YEARS ago. But today I realized something. What does it take to break a horse? A lot of work, it's not a matter of just hopping on and riding, you have to teach a horse to let you ride. And donkeys are WAY more stubborn than a horse, right? So what does it take to get a donkey to let you ride it?
So here Jesus is, hopping on a donkey that's never been ridden before, and there's no mention of it bucking, running around, trying to throw him. He doesn't just ride it a little either. He rides it into town, in a crowd of cheering and screaming people, enough to startle the steadiest of beasts. But it doesn't trample anyone, or try to run off. It LET Jesus ride. The very first time. No other man could have done this, but Jesus wasn't just a man. It just goes to show yet again, even a colt of a donkey knew that Jesus was special.
Showing posts with label Why I'm here. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Why I'm here. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Distilled Christianity
So I have this philosophy about getting down to the roots of Christianity. I'm trying to get rid of all the trappings, all the extra stuff that goes with the belief system that I follow, in order to understand what the core of Christianity really is. A lot of folks don't understand why, they think I'm taking something away from their belief system, but it's not about that.
People have been muddling up God's creation from almost the very beginning. The first documented proof is Genesis 3:3 when Eve adds the "don't touch" to what God said about the tree they weren't supposed to eat. He didn't say anything about touching, or climbing or rolling around in the fruit of the tree of life. Heck, according to the word of God, Eve could have picked great quantities of the fruit, made a body mask, and steeped herself in it. Not saying it would have been a good idea, but it would have followed the letter of the law.
Ever since then, people have been trying to put words in God's mouth. They add rules where no rules we given. Some of these rules might even have been good ideas in the beginning, I mean, if it helps you to resist temptation, then don't touch the fruit, just don't misrepresent the self made rules you live by, to God. And I make plenty of rules for myself, it's why I'm not on Facebook. I make rules for my life to help me follow the path I think I'm supposed to follow, but they're my rules, not to be attributed to God nor imposed on others.
The nature of religion is to add trappings, pomp, circumstance, to build an awe of not just God but all the things surrounding Him. I'm not sure why we do this, but I think it might be out of selfishness. By building awe around our belief system we build awe around ourselves. We self elevate, and that by itself is the purest nature of sin, putting self above God. In case you haven't figured it out, I don't really like religion.
I prefer to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. I believe God has had two contracts with humanity. The first, the contract of old testament, was based on rules and sacrifice. It lent itself to pomp and legalism. And it was impossible to live up to. The second contract between God and humanity is all about love and forgiveness. It's about Jesus's sacrifice and redemption of our sins instead of conviction for them. It's about accepting ourselves for who we are, knowing that we're loved by God DESPITE our fallen nature. So when it comes to core beliefs I throw out the old, after all, the real purpose of the old testament was to point toward Jesus coming. Instead I focus only on the words of Jesus, and make those the foundation of what I believe.
I'm not saying that's all I live by, after all I want to be the best me possible, but I need to distinguish between God's contract with all people, and the rules I have built for myself. My rules may help me to resist temptation, to overcome my specific struggles, but they are NOT to be imposed on other people. I try to judge myself conservatively, but be liberal in my acceptance of others.
You might think this a contradiction, but I see it as the example Jesus set for us. He was sinless, blameless, perfect; an example I can never live up to. But he associated with the worst of the worst, the poor, sick, prostitutes, the hated tax collectors, and he always dealt with them in love. The only time he showed anger was in fighting the trappings that had grown up around religion, and those who had instituted them.
So I look at the rules that I was taught growing up in church, many of them with their roots in the old testament. A lot of them are good ideas to aspire to, they may be a guide that helps me to live my life, but I have to be careful that it stops there and not let it color my opinions or acceptance of other people. I need to "live my best life" (thank you Oprah) but not impose it on other people.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Living with myself, in the present
I'm never here. Oh, I look like I'm present; I've learned to smile and nod with the best of them. But while the world passes me by I live an alternate reality inside my head. I'm always thinking about what I should be doing, or what I could be doing, or what I'm going to do, but very VERY rarely am I focused on where I am.
I also spend a lot of time thinking on what I'll do WHEN. When I loose the weight, when I have time to exercise, when my little girl is old enough to do whatever it is for me, and how I'll implement this project I have in mind to start 6 weeks from now (when I've already got 6 projects in various stages of incomplete). And I live in various fantasy worlds, how I would live my life if my American Idol/America's Got Talent auditions had gone differently, or what if I got around to writing one or more of the books in my head and got it published, or what if I was an artist who actually made a living creating... ANYTHING!
I wonder if it's part and parcel of the ADD. I've noticed this is particularly bad when I WANT to do something (usually want to make something, some project I've started) but I'm doing family things instead, and you know what? It's causing me to miss out on what's REALLY important. Ok, so potty training isn't glamorous, but if I let it be it can be plenty exiting!
When I can manage to focus on the present I realize, it's pretty good. I have a fantastic husband, an amazing daughter, and a job that leaves me enough free time to occasionally create things on the side (and it's a pretty interesting job too). Why can't I manage to be fully HERE more often? When I do manage it I find I'm more satisfied with the way things go and my evenings move smoother, perhaps because I'm enjoying time with my wonderful husband and fantabulous daughter instead of getting frustrated at all the things I'm not doing. But when I let my mind wander all I see is wasted time, wasted tasks, wasted effort.
I need to find a way to keep myself present, to keep from thinking that I'm wasting time at the very times I should be enjoying the most. So in an effort to focus on the here and now I've made a few resolutions (I would call them New Year, but I've actually been working on these for several months now).
I also spend a lot of time thinking on what I'll do WHEN. When I loose the weight, when I have time to exercise, when my little girl is old enough to do whatever it is for me, and how I'll implement this project I have in mind to start 6 weeks from now (when I've already got 6 projects in various stages of incomplete). And I live in various fantasy worlds, how I would live my life if my American Idol/America's Got Talent auditions had gone differently, or what if I got around to writing one or more of the books in my head and got it published, or what if I was an artist who actually made a living creating... ANYTHING!
I wonder if it's part and parcel of the ADD. I've noticed this is particularly bad when I WANT to do something (usually want to make something, some project I've started) but I'm doing family things instead, and you know what? It's causing me to miss out on what's REALLY important. Ok, so potty training isn't glamorous, but if I let it be it can be plenty exiting!
When I can manage to focus on the present I realize, it's pretty good. I have a fantastic husband, an amazing daughter, and a job that leaves me enough free time to occasionally create things on the side (and it's a pretty interesting job too). Why can't I manage to be fully HERE more often? When I do manage it I find I'm more satisfied with the way things go and my evenings move smoother, perhaps because I'm enjoying time with my wonderful husband and fantabulous daughter instead of getting frustrated at all the things I'm not doing. But when I let my mind wander all I see is wasted time, wasted tasks, wasted effort.
I need to find a way to keep myself present, to keep from thinking that I'm wasting time at the very times I should be enjoying the most. So in an effort to focus on the here and now I've made a few resolutions (I would call them New Year, but I've actually been working on these for several months now).
- I will medicate my ADD, not with sugar or with caffeine, but with actually ADD medications. I will find a schedule for these medications that works for me, a way that doesn't interfere with my sleep schedule (to often, occasional insomnia comes with the territory), and will manage those awake hours in a way that makes good use of the time (not in reading the entire WOT wikia yet again). If my current medication doesn't work for me then I will find a doctor who will work with me to find one that does.
- I will get up and move more. I may make use of my treadmill desk, I may go for a walk, I may take up running, or I may do something drastic and try to catch up on the yard work that needs doing around here! But I'll try to do something active starting maybe 2-3 times a week.
- I will no longer waste time shopping for stuff that doesn't make sense for me to buy. They're very pretty, but I already know way more than I ever needed to know about diamonds. There is no need for me to spend time browsing in stores that don't sell clothes in my size, so if you don't make an XXL or 16 you can expect me to cancel your store credit card, and just because I like your handbags doesn't mean I want to see all the cute outfits that I'll never fit in to so you can expect me to unsubscribe from your newsletter (I'll buy my handbags somewhere else, or better yet, make them).
- I've got to cut way back on sugar. Oh, I know I can't cut it completely out (my husband's cookies and cakes and bread are WAY to good), but I can cut out the Skittles and the M&M's (even the dark chocolate peanut ones) and try to pair my sugar with whole grain flour whenever I have to bake. I know I'm going to have some sugar, but I'd rather have one truffle from Godiva than a whole bag of Starbursts.
- And while I'm at it, I'm gonna eat more green. Not that I'm gonna eat a salad every day, but lately I've been so focused on making more room in the freezer that I've lost sight of what I should be eating. Don't get me wrong, it's nice that I've cleaned out a couple of ice cream containers, but I KNOW I'm just going to go out and buy more ice cream. It's satisfying to see more room for stews and meatballs and chili, but I've got to stop eating things just because they're there.
- And on that note, I've got to pay attention to what's just there. I've always been bad about mindless eating, so I have to find ways to clear stuff out, put it aside, make it plain that the bad stuff is not for me. Oh it'll still be in the house (I need the Skittles to bribe Talia), but it'll be somewhere that's designated for other people and NEVER in my office! I need to clear out my office snack drawer of everything except healthy snacks, really only nuts. I don't need chips or crackers or pretzels, and if I do need chocolate I need to make the effort to go get it from some other part of the house.
- So I suppose I need to create a stash of high quality chocolate that's not in everybody else's way (boy, this to-do list is growing).
- I need to wear REAL shoes when I go out, not just house slippers that I tell myself look almost like real shoes. I should probably not even wear tennis shoes most days, but I'm still working on that.
- I need to wear makeup. It makes me feel better about myself. I may have the most pared down makeup routine on earth (OK, I know I don't, that honor belongs to my mother), but that routine needs to exist (it hasn't for a long time). It needs to be something workable that I can maintain and do every day, or at least almost every day.
- I need to wear clothes that are right for me. Not that I'm going out and buying an entirely new wardrobe, but I need to stop falling in love with something just because it fits. I need to learn what colors work for me (after years of wondering I think I've finally figured out that I'm a "soft summer" though I have yet to really figure out what that means I should wear), and yes that means no more black. It doesn't matter that it's slimming, and worn by ninjas (can ninjas wear brown? purple?), and it's EVERYWHERE. Black doesn't work with my skin. I've known this for nearly 20 years (since prom dress shopping) and yet I still have black in my wardrobe. It's gonna have to go.
- So are the socks and underwear (and anything else) that have holes in them. It's not like I don't have enough socks and underwear (if I ever get around to folding laundry so I can find it). If it's holy and worn out and I can't mend it then it needs to go.
- And to top it all off, if I live in the present then instead of having my mind wandering, maybe I can use all that extra brain power to be more understanding of others. Starting with my husband and daughter of course, but I look back over the years at conversations I've had (or only had in my head) and way to many of them were me spouting off about stuff I thought I knew. I'm sure I've lost friends for it. Maybe instead of trying to convince everyone (mainly myself) that I know everything, I should be more accepting of what other people know, or need. Maybe I should recognize that I don't know it all, indeed as I get older I start to realize just how much I don't know, and maybe if I'm here, REALLY HERE, I'll start learning from other people what they know so much better than I do, about EVERYTHING.
Is that enough? I don't normally make resolution lists, certainly not around New Years. In the past I've laughed about New Years resolutions (even if I secretly made one or two to not keep on my own). Maybe that's another thing I need to change, but this list is long enough already. I tried not to put any absolutes in there. I know I'll fail (there will be dark chocolate peanut M&M's) but if I don't cut things out completely, if I only do as I should part of the time, it will still be an improvement over what was before. But then, I'm not thinking about what was before anymore.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
I'd love to have a career, now if only I could pick one
When you talk about ADD, the first thing I ever hear about is how it affects school, and I know it affected my school career, probably from day one. Prior to school I didn't know I had a problem. I wasn't hyper, and I didn't have discipline issues at home or in church, and there wasn't really that much expected of me. So I think it caught my parents by surprise when I had trouble in school right off the bat. And since I'd had no trouble prior to school, when I found out that I had ADD almost at the end of my scholastic career, I mistakenly thought, "Well, if I can just make it through this last semester or two it won't really matter anymore, and I've coped this far so I'm sure I can cope a bit longer."
But I'm getting ahead of myself. My post-school career was affected by my ADD LONG before I was out of school. You see, for some reason there's this silly practice of picking a major in college, and by picking a major you set your post-school career in motion. It took me eight years from start to finish to make it through college, not because I couldn't do the work (though I'm sure ADD slowed me some) but because I kept switching majors. I couldn't decide what I wanted to do with my life. Did I want to teach biology or music? Or would music performance be a better option, and if so voice or piano or some combination of the two? Opera? Pop? Christain? Popera? Or maybe I'd be a better painter? Would I work better with oils or watercolors? These are the questions I asked myself over and over. I couldn't maintain an interest in one thing for a full week, much less long enough to achieve a degree.
So finally I dropped out of school. Over the course of one year I worked 4 jobs, and then the next year I combined a fifth job with music performance on the side. Even once I went back to school my goal was less about finding a major that suited me, than finding one that I could just get THROUGH! It was during this time that my brothers testing for ADD led my mother to recognize that I had it, and while I didn't disagree with her assessment, I also figured I was so close to being DONE that didn't really bother to learn more or do anything about it. After all, I figured once I was done with school it couldn't cause me any more problems.
I couldn't have been more wrong. The longer I observe myself in daily life, and the more I learn about ADD, the more I am recognizing how it affects every aspect of my life. Even now, almost exactly eight years after I left school, I wonder almost every day what I should REALLY be doing with my life. What do I want to be when I grow up? Oh, I have a job, one I've written about on this blog before, that is pretty well suited to my ADD. I do it pretty well, or at least people keep paying me to do it, but none of my diverse interests have died down. I still have bursts of interest in fashion design, music, various branches of science, oh, or maybe I should be a writer, but what genre to write? SciFi? Fantasy? Romance? or maybe not even fiction at all?
The longer I'm in the workplace the more I know that no matter what I do, I need diversity. I can't do the same thing day in and day out. I've found that I don't get that at larger companies. The larger the company, the more specialized the position, and as a company grows and my niche becomes more well defined the more it chafes. That happened at my last job. I started out trying to write doc, help with QA, and support customers, but as the customer base grew so did the support related tasks, and eventually all other work was squeezed out. So I'm switching to a smaller company again, one where I get to have a finger in every pie.
... This post hasn't really gone the direction I intended when I started, but the more I read and learn about ADD the more I see that it does come with some strengths. After years of failures in school, to finally find that there is a place where I can use this to my advantage is a great lightening. I've recently been reading Delivered From Distraction by Dr. Edward M. Hallowell. He makes the point over and over that the most important part of treatment is not in minimizing the negatives, but in finding the positives. He maintains that every person has strengths, and as I think this through I'm starting to find mine. I haven't ARRIVED yet, but maybe I'm finally STARTING to treat my ADD.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. My post-school career was affected by my ADD LONG before I was out of school. You see, for some reason there's this silly practice of picking a major in college, and by picking a major you set your post-school career in motion. It took me eight years from start to finish to make it through college, not because I couldn't do the work (though I'm sure ADD slowed me some) but because I kept switching majors. I couldn't decide what I wanted to do with my life. Did I want to teach biology or music? Or would music performance be a better option, and if so voice or piano or some combination of the two? Opera? Pop? Christain? Popera? Or maybe I'd be a better painter? Would I work better with oils or watercolors? These are the questions I asked myself over and over. I couldn't maintain an interest in one thing for a full week, much less long enough to achieve a degree.
So finally I dropped out of school. Over the course of one year I worked 4 jobs, and then the next year I combined a fifth job with music performance on the side. Even once I went back to school my goal was less about finding a major that suited me, than finding one that I could just get THROUGH! It was during this time that my brothers testing for ADD led my mother to recognize that I had it, and while I didn't disagree with her assessment, I also figured I was so close to being DONE that didn't really bother to learn more or do anything about it. After all, I figured once I was done with school it couldn't cause me any more problems.
I couldn't have been more wrong. The longer I observe myself in daily life, and the more I learn about ADD, the more I am recognizing how it affects every aspect of my life. Even now, almost exactly eight years after I left school, I wonder almost every day what I should REALLY be doing with my life. What do I want to be when I grow up? Oh, I have a job, one I've written about on this blog before, that is pretty well suited to my ADD. I do it pretty well, or at least people keep paying me to do it, but none of my diverse interests have died down. I still have bursts of interest in fashion design, music, various branches of science, oh, or maybe I should be a writer, but what genre to write? SciFi? Fantasy? Romance? or maybe not even fiction at all?
The longer I'm in the workplace the more I know that no matter what I do, I need diversity. I can't do the same thing day in and day out. I've found that I don't get that at larger companies. The larger the company, the more specialized the position, and as a company grows and my niche becomes more well defined the more it chafes. That happened at my last job. I started out trying to write doc, help with QA, and support customers, but as the customer base grew so did the support related tasks, and eventually all other work was squeezed out. So I'm switching to a smaller company again, one where I get to have a finger in every pie.
With fewer people comes more responsibility as well, and there's a part of me that wonders whether this is the real reason I'm changing. You see, it's very stimulating to know that the buck stops with me. And with ADD it's the stimulation that counts. I know that in a small company I can't just pass all my problems up the chain of command. If it's going to be done, I'm the one who will have to do it. It's a frightening prospect to know that I can truly make a difference in the direction the company will take, but it's also empowering, and in a way that risk is also thrilling.
Another great thing about working for a small company is that we can be responsive to changes in the marketplace. A behemoth can't be turned on a dime, which can be terribly frustrating for someone who recognizes the synergy that goes into making a successful product. But when you can anticipate the direction a product needs to go and make those changes quickly, well, every little success can have huge effects. I think that's part of what makes people with ADD such great inventors and entrepreneurs. We can switch modes easily, or in computer speak (after all that's my industry) we have very low cost context switches.
Another great thing about working for a small company is that we can be responsive to changes in the marketplace. A behemoth can't be turned on a dime, which can be terribly frustrating for someone who recognizes the synergy that goes into making a successful product. But when you can anticipate the direction a product needs to go and make those changes quickly, well, every little success can have huge effects. I think that's part of what makes people with ADD such great inventors and entrepreneurs. We can switch modes easily, or in computer speak (after all that's my industry) we have very low cost context switches.
... This post hasn't really gone the direction I intended when I started, but the more I read and learn about ADD the more I see that it does come with some strengths. After years of failures in school, to finally find that there is a place where I can use this to my advantage is a great lightening. I've recently been reading Delivered From Distraction by Dr. Edward M. Hallowell. He makes the point over and over that the most important part of treatment is not in minimizing the negatives, but in finding the positives. He maintains that every person has strengths, and as I think this through I'm starting to find mine. I haven't ARRIVED yet, but maybe I'm finally STARTING to treat my ADD.
Monday, July 22, 2013
I would argue with a sign post
I love a good argument, er, discussion. There's a thrill to picking a viewpoint and defending it with every fact, every feeling, every bit of logic in your arsenal. I remember growing up I would have regular discussions, usually with folks much older than me, and usually about fine points in Christianity. Oh occasionally politics were brought into it, or what toothpaste was the best. But I was raised in the church, went to Sunday school every Sunday, listened to Moody radio and Focus on the Family, so church was really what I knew enough about to have an opinion. I would debate the merits of baptizing adults rather than infants, and immersion over sprinkling; a woman's place in the church; and I remember one mission trip in high school where I took on two pastors and the majority of the youth group over the topic of predestination.
It wasn't even really about being right. Oh there have been some folks who took a hard line attitude and tried to back me into a corner, you just can't back down from something like that. Mostly it's about the stimulation that allows me to focus all of my mental power around a point of view. That kind of focus doesn't come easily for the person who has ADD, so these arguments gave me the opportunity to construct my own belief system and to really understand why I believe what I believe. I get a thrill from listening to someone build a case point by point for an opposing view, and then taking each point and either knocking it down, or twisting it to show why it really fits my point of view better.
That kind of structure for organizing your thoughts doesn't come around every day. When I was in high school I joined the debate team thinking I would really enjoy it. I dropped out after one meeting. I couldn't wrap my mind about researching one topic to death, and then being arbitrarily assigned which side of the topic I could take. Oh, in most arguments I can see and understand both sides of the topic, but I can't really argue for something I don't believe. That need to believe in the thing I'm doing has caused me trouble throughout my career, from needing to believe in the music I was singing, to needing to believe in the people I'm working for and the product I'm supporting. Sometimes we end up having to do something we don't believe in, and I find I just never can do that as well.
The more I learn about ADD the more I realize that this desire to discuss... everything, isn't normal. It's part of the un-regulation of focus. I also need that thrill of proving my intellectual prowess. Not that I have to beat you down, but after years of feeling slow and stupid I need that acknowledgement that I am your intellectual equal, that I am worthy of the debate. One of the hardest things for me is to back down from a discussion, or to have someone unwilling to talk or listen to me. It's akin to yet another person saying, "you're not worthy of my attention."
Keep that in mind when you deal with the ADD people in your life.
It wasn't even really about being right. Oh there have been some folks who took a hard line attitude and tried to back me into a corner, you just can't back down from something like that. Mostly it's about the stimulation that allows me to focus all of my mental power around a point of view. That kind of focus doesn't come easily for the person who has ADD, so these arguments gave me the opportunity to construct my own belief system and to really understand why I believe what I believe. I get a thrill from listening to someone build a case point by point for an opposing view, and then taking each point and either knocking it down, or twisting it to show why it really fits my point of view better.
That kind of structure for organizing your thoughts doesn't come around every day. When I was in high school I joined the debate team thinking I would really enjoy it. I dropped out after one meeting. I couldn't wrap my mind about researching one topic to death, and then being arbitrarily assigned which side of the topic I could take. Oh, in most arguments I can see and understand both sides of the topic, but I can't really argue for something I don't believe. That need to believe in the thing I'm doing has caused me trouble throughout my career, from needing to believe in the music I was singing, to needing to believe in the people I'm working for and the product I'm supporting. Sometimes we end up having to do something we don't believe in, and I find I just never can do that as well.
The more I learn about ADD the more I realize that this desire to discuss... everything, isn't normal. It's part of the un-regulation of focus. I also need that thrill of proving my intellectual prowess. Not that I have to beat you down, but after years of feeling slow and stupid I need that acknowledgement that I am your intellectual equal, that I am worthy of the debate. One of the hardest things for me is to back down from a discussion, or to have someone unwilling to talk or listen to me. It's akin to yet another person saying, "you're not worthy of my attention."
Keep that in mind when you deal with the ADD people in your life.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Living With ADD
I've been planning to write a book about all the various ways ADD affects my life for some time now, years really. I notice something new and say, "Oooh, that should go in the book!" and may or may not make a note of it. So after several years of working, perusing, mulling over, and contemplating this book I've come to a realization... It's never going to be written. Probably because I have ADD.
But I still have this feeling that I have something to say about ADD, something that may help others that have it, but that especially help those of you who have a loved one who has ADD, to help you to understand a little something about what you're living with. And I think it's still worth sharing, even if this book is never completed. And I don't want to wait in getting it out there to people. I mean, even if I COULD finish this book, then I'd have to find a publisher, and get them interested, and convince them that other people would want to read this (which I don't really know whether they would or not), and that all sounds like a LOT of work for me. And really I spend all my time playing catch-up so I don't have time to convince people to read my stuff.
So I've decided instead to post it here, and you can read it or not. Hope it helps someone, but if not at least I'll have put it out there. So without further ado...
So the first thing you're going to say is, "This chick doesn't know what she's talking about, doesn't she know it's ADHD?" Well, I suppose officially it's all ADHD, but I never had the hyperactivity, so I'm writing about what I know.
Another thing I've heard a lot is "I know, you can't pay attention to things," but that's not it. ADD is about the inability to REGULATE your attention to things. There are some times I'm so distract-able that I'm doing 5 things at once (and none of them well). But at others I can get so tuned in to what I'm doing that I forget everything about my surroundings, which can actually be even more dangerous than distract-ability (more on this later).
So lets start with a little background...
My World Before ADD
I was a generally happy child. After the constant activity that was my older sister, I think my parents were a bit relieved to have a baby who WANTED to sleep in her crib and could play with dolls on her own for a whole ten minutes at a time. I was into princesses and long frilly dresses and doing my own hair. In most ways I was really quite typical. I also showed musical talent quite young, singing before I could talk and playing the piano by ear at age three.
To all appearances I was a bright and happy little girl, so I think everyone was surprised when very early on in Kindergarten I had problems completing the most basic assignments. I'd be set to copying a page (and a Kindergarten page is NOT a long page) of information, and in the time everyone else had finished I would have written a sentence. My parents and teachers thought I just needed help with motivation, so they tried everything they could to bribe and cajole me into working faster. I remember in Kindergarten we weren't allowed to bring toys to school, but someone had the bright idea that I should be allowed a SPECIAL toy, that I was only allowed to play with after I finished my work. I chose a red stuffed monkey that was a favorite toy (that happened to belong to my sister, I'm also a thief). I loved that monkey, and that led to a whole other saga where the monkey was stolen and then appropriated by the nursery class, and it must have been months before I got it back and then it was missing an ear. But I don't remember it making any difference to my work habits.
My "lack of motivation" continued and morphed into "needs improvement" in all aspects of doing my school-work. And that followed me throughout my school career. Oh, I don't think I was ever a real disciplinary problem. I rarely had any trouble learning the material, but I never could memorize anything, from spelling words to multiplication tables. In second grade I discovered I was a daydreamer. In third I found out I had an incredibly messy desk.
In fourth I was diagnosed with a writing disorder. I had trouble putting pencil to paper, but I got permission to give dictation to my mom who started typing all my papers. It was also in fourth grade that I was tested and found bright enough to be placed in the gifted program. Every once in a while you encounter a teacher who is truly excellent. I look back at my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Arnold, and I think she had more of an impact in getting me through school than any teacher up until my tenth grade English teacher. Oh, I had several good teachers in there (and some bad ones), but she did a very good job at noticing where I was struggling and helping me to find coping strategies.
My whole time at school was about coping with one thing or another, and I developed strategies for dealing with all kinds of assignments. I'm sure it didn't help that I showed flashes of "brilliance." I had an amazing memory for brain teasers and absorbed odd information like a sponge. By 5th grade I would write up little brain teaser tests and give them to my teacher to take. I look back at my audacity and wonder that they put up with me at all. I already "knew" I was smarter than my teacher. But that amazing memory had holes like swiss cheese, and I never knew where they would form. Sure I could remember where all the states were, but I couldn't spell their names, or remember their capitols. I could amaze you with interesting facts and I had a thorough understanding of what I knew, but there didn't seem any reason to what I could and couldn't learn.
I spent a lot of time thinking outside the box. I remember in sixth grade we were given an assignment to write and illustrate a book. While everyone else wrote a simple story, I wrote a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story about a girl who got sucked into the world of "The Wizard of Oz" (my teacher must have thought me seriously disturbed when she read the ways I killed off my main character).
I remember another incident in math when we were learning long division. There was a misprint in the workbook and one of the problems couldn't be solved (with what we were supposed to already know, we hadn't learned about remainders yet). I spent the entire class working on that one problem solving it out 10+ decimal places, but of course I hadn't paid a bit of attention to the lesson nor the work I was SUPPOSED to be doing. I was hyper-focused on that one problem because I KNEW it could be solved.
I'm sure there was no measuring the level of frustration I brought to my teachers. I continued to be a strange conglomeration of gifted, curious, creative and talented. I was an avid reader, but I was slow, SO slow, at EVERYTHING. I was constantly running out of time on tests, especially standardized tests. Completing homework assignments and projects took hours each night, all day some Saturdays, and Sunday afternoons after church. And yet, I managed to absorb most of the material, enough to scrape by at least.
I could paraphrase the Gettysburg address and understand what it was saying, but I couldn't memorize it. I could read and write poetry, but when I had to give a presentation or was in a play I was a nervous wreck because I could never memorize my lines. To this day I watch Inside the Actor's Studio and am in awe when they talk about memorizing what they need to know for each day's shooting. To this day the only thing I can memorize is music, and that takes a lot of work to remember even the simplest lyrics.
I forget what it was I was supposed to memorize and recite in tenth grade, but it's the only time I remember breaking down and crying in the classroom. I just couldn't do it. The teacher didn't understand, I had read over it what must have been hundreds of times, but it was simply an insurmountable task. We had to read some of the most depressing literature that year. I don't know how The Scarlet Letter and As I Lay Dying fit into the curriculum for impressionable teenagers (I certainly never plan on taking my mother's coffin on an un-refrigerated road trip in the middle of summer), but I do remember that Ms. Gilham taught us how to write. To this day I credit her with getting me through EVERY writing assignment from tenth grade through college exit exams. For a child with a writing disorder who was incapable of putting pencil to paper, I certainly do a lot of writing these days and it's all thanks to her.
So I made it through high school with mediocre grades, but with SATs that outshone all but the top handfull of students in my class.
Then when it came to college I seemed incapable of sticking to one major. I liked Biology and focused on that for a year, then switched to music where I excelled in theory, but made straight C's in voice (I had trouble memorizing arias in various languages), and I barely scraped through music history. So I switched to art, at which I was a complete failure before dropping out to work. I simply couldn't pick a major and go with it. One day I'd have a fantastic idea for a painting, the next day I'd have an idea for a great song, the next I'd be fascinated by the taxonomy of local flora. I could never settle for even a whole semester, much less long enough to get a degree. I also found that while all my friends were carrying an 18 hour course load, there were times when I couldn't even handle 12-15. It just took me so much more time to do anything and everything. I decided to drop out and work for a while.
So there I was, unqualified for anything, hopping from job to job and never staying anywhere very long (four different jobs in a year) and I knew I had to do something that would get me back in school with some direction. About that time my best friend graduated from Georgia Tech with a degree in computer science, and started making what at the time seemed like a fabulous amount of money (which sounded nice to me). But I still had to figure out how to get back in school, so I took a 10 month job in Americorps because I knew I'd have the educational stipend when I was done, and I'd HAVE to use it on school. My strategy worked. After a 10 month stint in Americorps I went back to school with a major in computer science.
I had a new strategy this time around. Instead of summers off, I was in school full time year round. I also found that if I was completely lost in any given class a few weeks into the semester, or if I thought a course had a completely overwhelming work load I'd just drop the course. This gave me a bit of cushion and allowed me to have a little extra time to manage my coursework.
It was also during this time that my little brother underwent testing for ADHD. As the psychologist diagnosed him and described what he was going through my mom said it hit her that he was describing me even more than my brother. It clicked for her that all of my seeming misfits, the trouble I'd had from the very beginning of school, could be traced to this one problem. Even though I agreed that her diagnosis was likely, I figured I was so close to finally making it through school that I never bothered to do anything about it. And I did finally make it through school. In only twice the time it took all my high school friends I graduated, and figured that since I was finally through with school this wouldn't have any more impact on my life. Right?
But I still have this feeling that I have something to say about ADD, something that may help others that have it, but that especially help those of you who have a loved one who has ADD, to help you to understand a little something about what you're living with. And I think it's still worth sharing, even if this book is never completed. And I don't want to wait in getting it out there to people. I mean, even if I COULD finish this book, then I'd have to find a publisher, and get them interested, and convince them that other people would want to read this (which I don't really know whether they would or not), and that all sounds like a LOT of work for me. And really I spend all my time playing catch-up so I don't have time to convince people to read my stuff.
So I've decided instead to post it here, and you can read it or not. Hope it helps someone, but if not at least I'll have put it out there. So without further ado...
So the first thing you're going to say is, "This chick doesn't know what she's talking about, doesn't she know it's ADHD?" Well, I suppose officially it's all ADHD, but I never had the hyperactivity, so I'm writing about what I know.
Another thing I've heard a lot is "I know, you can't pay attention to things," but that's not it. ADD is about the inability to REGULATE your attention to things. There are some times I'm so distract-able that I'm doing 5 things at once (and none of them well). But at others I can get so tuned in to what I'm doing that I forget everything about my surroundings, which can actually be even more dangerous than distract-ability (more on this later).
So lets start with a little background...
My World Before ADD
I was a generally happy child. After the constant activity that was my older sister, I think my parents were a bit relieved to have a baby who WANTED to sleep in her crib and could play with dolls on her own for a whole ten minutes at a time. I was into princesses and long frilly dresses and doing my own hair. In most ways I was really quite typical. I also showed musical talent quite young, singing before I could talk and playing the piano by ear at age three.
To all appearances I was a bright and happy little girl, so I think everyone was surprised when very early on in Kindergarten I had problems completing the most basic assignments. I'd be set to copying a page (and a Kindergarten page is NOT a long page) of information, and in the time everyone else had finished I would have written a sentence. My parents and teachers thought I just needed help with motivation, so they tried everything they could to bribe and cajole me into working faster. I remember in Kindergarten we weren't allowed to bring toys to school, but someone had the bright idea that I should be allowed a SPECIAL toy, that I was only allowed to play with after I finished my work. I chose a red stuffed monkey that was a favorite toy (that happened to belong to my sister, I'm also a thief). I loved that monkey, and that led to a whole other saga where the monkey was stolen and then appropriated by the nursery class, and it must have been months before I got it back and then it was missing an ear. But I don't remember it making any difference to my work habits.
My "lack of motivation" continued and morphed into "needs improvement" in all aspects of doing my school-work. And that followed me throughout my school career. Oh, I don't think I was ever a real disciplinary problem. I rarely had any trouble learning the material, but I never could memorize anything, from spelling words to multiplication tables. In second grade I discovered I was a daydreamer. In third I found out I had an incredibly messy desk.
In fourth I was diagnosed with a writing disorder. I had trouble putting pencil to paper, but I got permission to give dictation to my mom who started typing all my papers. It was also in fourth grade that I was tested and found bright enough to be placed in the gifted program. Every once in a while you encounter a teacher who is truly excellent. I look back at my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Arnold, and I think she had more of an impact in getting me through school than any teacher up until my tenth grade English teacher. Oh, I had several good teachers in there (and some bad ones), but she did a very good job at noticing where I was struggling and helping me to find coping strategies.
My whole time at school was about coping with one thing or another, and I developed strategies for dealing with all kinds of assignments. I'm sure it didn't help that I showed flashes of "brilliance." I had an amazing memory for brain teasers and absorbed odd information like a sponge. By 5th grade I would write up little brain teaser tests and give them to my teacher to take. I look back at my audacity and wonder that they put up with me at all. I already "knew" I was smarter than my teacher. But that amazing memory had holes like swiss cheese, and I never knew where they would form. Sure I could remember where all the states were, but I couldn't spell their names, or remember their capitols. I could amaze you with interesting facts and I had a thorough understanding of what I knew, but there didn't seem any reason to what I could and couldn't learn.
I spent a lot of time thinking outside the box. I remember in sixth grade we were given an assignment to write and illustrate a book. While everyone else wrote a simple story, I wrote a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story about a girl who got sucked into the world of "The Wizard of Oz" (my teacher must have thought me seriously disturbed when she read the ways I killed off my main character).
I remember another incident in math when we were learning long division. There was a misprint in the workbook and one of the problems couldn't be solved (with what we were supposed to already know, we hadn't learned about remainders yet). I spent the entire class working on that one problem solving it out 10+ decimal places, but of course I hadn't paid a bit of attention to the lesson nor the work I was SUPPOSED to be doing. I was hyper-focused on that one problem because I KNEW it could be solved.
I'm sure there was no measuring the level of frustration I brought to my teachers. I continued to be a strange conglomeration of gifted, curious, creative and talented. I was an avid reader, but I was slow, SO slow, at EVERYTHING. I was constantly running out of time on tests, especially standardized tests. Completing homework assignments and projects took hours each night, all day some Saturdays, and Sunday afternoons after church. And yet, I managed to absorb most of the material, enough to scrape by at least.
I could paraphrase the Gettysburg address and understand what it was saying, but I couldn't memorize it. I could read and write poetry, but when I had to give a presentation or was in a play I was a nervous wreck because I could never memorize my lines. To this day I watch Inside the Actor's Studio and am in awe when they talk about memorizing what they need to know for each day's shooting. To this day the only thing I can memorize is music, and that takes a lot of work to remember even the simplest lyrics.
I forget what it was I was supposed to memorize and recite in tenth grade, but it's the only time I remember breaking down and crying in the classroom. I just couldn't do it. The teacher didn't understand, I had read over it what must have been hundreds of times, but it was simply an insurmountable task. We had to read some of the most depressing literature that year. I don't know how The Scarlet Letter and As I Lay Dying fit into the curriculum for impressionable teenagers (I certainly never plan on taking my mother's coffin on an un-refrigerated road trip in the middle of summer), but I do remember that Ms. Gilham taught us how to write. To this day I credit her with getting me through EVERY writing assignment from tenth grade through college exit exams. For a child with a writing disorder who was incapable of putting pencil to paper, I certainly do a lot of writing these days and it's all thanks to her.
So I made it through high school with mediocre grades, but with SATs that outshone all but the top handfull of students in my class.
Then when it came to college I seemed incapable of sticking to one major. I liked Biology and focused on that for a year, then switched to music where I excelled in theory, but made straight C's in voice (I had trouble memorizing arias in various languages), and I barely scraped through music history. So I switched to art, at which I was a complete failure before dropping out to work. I simply couldn't pick a major and go with it. One day I'd have a fantastic idea for a painting, the next day I'd have an idea for a great song, the next I'd be fascinated by the taxonomy of local flora. I could never settle for even a whole semester, much less long enough to get a degree. I also found that while all my friends were carrying an 18 hour course load, there were times when I couldn't even handle 12-15. It just took me so much more time to do anything and everything. I decided to drop out and work for a while.
So there I was, unqualified for anything, hopping from job to job and never staying anywhere very long (four different jobs in a year) and I knew I had to do something that would get me back in school with some direction. About that time my best friend graduated from Georgia Tech with a degree in computer science, and started making what at the time seemed like a fabulous amount of money (which sounded nice to me). But I still had to figure out how to get back in school, so I took a 10 month job in Americorps because I knew I'd have the educational stipend when I was done, and I'd HAVE to use it on school. My strategy worked. After a 10 month stint in Americorps I went back to school with a major in computer science.
I had a new strategy this time around. Instead of summers off, I was in school full time year round. I also found that if I was completely lost in any given class a few weeks into the semester, or if I thought a course had a completely overwhelming work load I'd just drop the course. This gave me a bit of cushion and allowed me to have a little extra time to manage my coursework.
It was also during this time that my little brother underwent testing for ADHD. As the psychologist diagnosed him and described what he was going through my mom said it hit her that he was describing me even more than my brother. It clicked for her that all of my seeming misfits, the trouble I'd had from the very beginning of school, could be traced to this one problem. Even though I agreed that her diagnosis was likely, I figured I was so close to finally making it through school that I never bothered to do anything about it. And I did finally make it through school. In only twice the time it took all my high school friends I graduated, and figured that since I was finally through with school this wouldn't have any more impact on my life. Right?
Monday, April 22, 2013
19 is so young!
I keep seeing the images of a 19 year old hiding in a boat, and I can't help but think of what 19 is. He must have been so scared. I think of his mother who can't believe what he's done, and I think, what if my daughter grew up to do something so un-imaginably awful. I wouldn't believe it either. My baby! All I would want would be to hold my baby and comfort her. I feel for his family, for his victims, and victim's families. But especially for his mother.
Nineteen is so young, and I think back to the year that I was 19. I was so messed up. I was lonely, so lonely that I prayed for a boyfriend, any boyfriend, just because that had to be better than being lonely. That was the year I learned it's better to be alone than with the wrong person. I dated two guys that year. The first was, a nice guy. Benign really, but I wasn't the right girl for him any more than he was for me. Then I dated the abusive egomaniac. I remember at 19 telling myself that I really must be something wonderful if he wanted me so much he would try to force himself on me. It took me a long time to realize I was special on my own.
Nineteen is so young. He must be so scared. I have no idea why he did what he did, what he was thinking, what he thought would happen. But I understand being 19, and young, and confused, and scared and I pray for him, and his family, and his victims, and their families. I pray for the wisdom of law enforcement. And I pray for all the other 19 year-old's out there. We've been there.
Nineteen is so young, and I think back to the year that I was 19. I was so messed up. I was lonely, so lonely that I prayed for a boyfriend, any boyfriend, just because that had to be better than being lonely. That was the year I learned it's better to be alone than with the wrong person. I dated two guys that year. The first was, a nice guy. Benign really, but I wasn't the right girl for him any more than he was for me. Then I dated the abusive egomaniac. I remember at 19 telling myself that I really must be something wonderful if he wanted me so much he would try to force himself on me. It took me a long time to realize I was special on my own.
Nineteen is so young. He must be so scared. I have no idea why he did what he did, what he was thinking, what he thought would happen. But I understand being 19, and young, and confused, and scared and I pray for him, and his family, and his victims, and their families. I pray for the wisdom of law enforcement. And I pray for all the other 19 year-old's out there. We've been there.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
What it really means...
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about Christianity and its various denominations, and what it really means to be a Christian. So many denominations have split and split again, all over fine points of theology. I think that's sad. Churches are splitting over little piddling bits of theology, when we should be focusing on the things that unify us. So I've spent several middle of the night feedings lately pondering what it REALLY means to be a Christian.
I told my cousin Jim about my conclusions. His response, "Yeah, that's what happens when you start thinking theology at 3:00 in the morning, you throw out half the Apostle's Creed." Still he listened. Jim's fantastic, and he needs new lungs, so go help with whatever you can (www.jimhenrymedicaltrust.org).
So when it all boils down to it I think all that's really required to be a Christian is to believe in the first half of the Apostle's Creed. Not even the whole thing! Not that there aren't plenty of important theological issues that aren't covered here, it's just that they're not core to what it really means to be a Christian. You can come down on either side of many theological discussions and I don't think it has any impact on the core beliefs of Christianity. So what does it really mean to be a Christian?
1. I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.
Yes, this is core to Christianity. I have to believe in God, and that he made everything. Doesn't really matter HOW He made things. Whether He did it in 7 days or 7 millennia and whether He created everything as is or used some sort of directed evolutionary process doesn't matter. What matters is that He did it. That's not to say you can't believe strongly in your opinion of His methodology, but all that's core belief is that He did it and it was good.
2. I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord.
This doesn't take any belief at all. Jesus was a historical figure, this is verifiable fact. If you're gonna believe in God the Father, then he has to be father of something, so it makes sense that Jesus is that son. There are a lot of prophecies that point toward Jesus, and that He was God's son, so it follows that if God is, then you're going to believe Jesus is His son.
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary.
Does it really matter how Jesus was conceived? Really what does it matter whether the body that bore his human form had ever known a man? Not saying it wasn't miraculous and all, but God made the whole world, I don't really find one virgin birth that significant. Not that I don't believe in the virgin birth, I do, I just don't think that it really matters in the big scheme of things so it's not worth arguing over.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.
Again, historical fact. The most miraculous thing here is that Jesus kept a good attitude through it all!
He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again.
Doesn't matter where He was those three days. For that matter, the rising again is just a symbol of God accepting Jesus's sacrifice for our sins. What matters is that He accepted it, not how he showed that acceptance, so again even the rising from the dead is not a required belief for Christians.
3. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
Ok, so it makes sense that Jesus is in heaven with the Father. I'm not sure it's required believing, but I think you could make a pretty good case that Jesus just hanging out in the world wouldn't be in keeping with God the Father accepting his sacrifice, so I'll give you this one.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
Really? It'll happen whether I believe in it or not. His judgement stands whether I believe in its validity or not. Yes, I believe He's coming, but I think it would be really self-important of me to think that my belief in His judgement has any impact whatsoever.
4. I believe in the Holy Spirit,
This goes along with God's omnipotence and omniscience. Yep, gotta believe that God is with us all the time.
the holy catholic Church,
The church exists whether I believe in it or not, and whether you call it "catholic" or just a group of Christians doesn't matter. However you can be a Christian and live as a hermit somewhere, so you don't have to actually participate in the church in any way shape or form.
the communion of saints,
I don't even know what this means. Is it that we commune with other Christians (see hermitage) That we take communion? (don't see how that's required either) I figure if I can't understand it then I can't very well claim that its belief is core to what it means to be a Christian.
5. the forgiveness of sins,
Well, this one's kind of gray to me. The whole point of Jesus's sacrifice is that it allows our sins to be forgiven. But outside of my own self-importance it doesn't really matter whether I believe that my sins are forgiven or not. What matters is does God see fit to forgive them. And I should live my life the same way whether I believe my sins are forgiven or not, because if I believe they're all forgiven what's to stop me from just going out and sinning all willy-nilly. That being said, if I didn't believe that my sins were forgiven, then I might be likely to point to one sin that I committed, throw up my hands, and give up. I don't think that's what God wants us to do, so I think it's important that He gave us hope, a reason to live on and do better. So I say forgiveness of sins is a core Christian belief if only because it allows us to start anew every day.
the resurrection of the body,
Um, this happens after I'm dead. Really I have nothing to do with it whether I have a body or not after I die. Not core.
and life everlasting.
It's nice to think that we have a reward coming for all of our believing, but really God's well within his rights to do whatever he wants with his creation at any time he wants to. Do I believe that I have a soul that will live forever? Yes. Do I believe that you HAVE to believe you have a soul that will live forever in order to be a Christian? Nope.
I look at this list, really a very short list, and I hear Christians quibbling over immersion vs. sprinkling, predestination vs. free will, wine at communion vs. te-totaling. It makes me very, very sad. Here we are claiming to love each other, and love all the people, but we can't put down our harsh words and focus on what really matters. So instead of one Christian church we have all these denominations, and the ones that are the most similar are the ones that spend the most time throwing stones!
I'm not saying I don't have beliefs about anything other than the basics. I certainly have no problem with the idea that God created the world in seven literal days (after all, if He's going to create adult people why not create an adult earth, complete with rocks that include a fossil record). And I can make a case for infant baptism (Acts 16:33) but I feel better about "dedicating" myself to raising my child to know the Lord, and she can be baptized when she's ready (and I pray that she will some day be ready). I really don't give one flying whoop whether you baptize by dunking or sprinkling, but moisture makes my hair frizz up so I completely understand someone wanting to use as little water as possible!
My point is, none of these issues are worth the time we spend arguing over them! The church's focus should be on outreach, not on internal squabbling and beating itself up from the inside.
I told my cousin Jim about my conclusions. His response, "Yeah, that's what happens when you start thinking theology at 3:00 in the morning, you throw out half the Apostle's Creed." Still he listened. Jim's fantastic, and he needs new lungs, so go help with whatever you can (www.jimhenrymedicaltrust.org).
So when it all boils down to it I think all that's really required to be a Christian is to believe in the first half of the Apostle's Creed. Not even the whole thing! Not that there aren't plenty of important theological issues that aren't covered here, it's just that they're not core to what it really means to be a Christian. You can come down on either side of many theological discussions and I don't think it has any impact on the core beliefs of Christianity. So what does it really mean to be a Christian?
1. I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.
Yes, this is core to Christianity. I have to believe in God, and that he made everything. Doesn't really matter HOW He made things. Whether He did it in 7 days or 7 millennia and whether He created everything as is or used some sort of directed evolutionary process doesn't matter. What matters is that He did it. That's not to say you can't believe strongly in your opinion of His methodology, but all that's core belief is that He did it and it was good.
2. I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord.
This doesn't take any belief at all. Jesus was a historical figure, this is verifiable fact. If you're gonna believe in God the Father, then he has to be father of something, so it makes sense that Jesus is that son. There are a lot of prophecies that point toward Jesus, and that He was God's son, so it follows that if God is, then you're going to believe Jesus is His son.
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary.
Does it really matter how Jesus was conceived? Really what does it matter whether the body that bore his human form had ever known a man? Not saying it wasn't miraculous and all, but God made the whole world, I don't really find one virgin birth that significant. Not that I don't believe in the virgin birth, I do, I just don't think that it really matters in the big scheme of things so it's not worth arguing over.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.
Again, historical fact. The most miraculous thing here is that Jesus kept a good attitude through it all!
He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again.
Doesn't matter where He was those three days. For that matter, the rising again is just a symbol of God accepting Jesus's sacrifice for our sins. What matters is that He accepted it, not how he showed that acceptance, so again even the rising from the dead is not a required belief for Christians.
3. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
Ok, so it makes sense that Jesus is in heaven with the Father. I'm not sure it's required believing, but I think you could make a pretty good case that Jesus just hanging out in the world wouldn't be in keeping with God the Father accepting his sacrifice, so I'll give you this one.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
Really? It'll happen whether I believe in it or not. His judgement stands whether I believe in its validity or not. Yes, I believe He's coming, but I think it would be really self-important of me to think that my belief in His judgement has any impact whatsoever.
4. I believe in the Holy Spirit,
This goes along with God's omnipotence and omniscience. Yep, gotta believe that God is with us all the time.
the holy catholic Church,
The church exists whether I believe in it or not, and whether you call it "catholic" or just a group of Christians doesn't matter. However you can be a Christian and live as a hermit somewhere, so you don't have to actually participate in the church in any way shape or form.
the communion of saints,
I don't even know what this means. Is it that we commune with other Christians (see hermitage) That we take communion? (don't see how that's required either) I figure if I can't understand it then I can't very well claim that its belief is core to what it means to be a Christian.
5. the forgiveness of sins,
Well, this one's kind of gray to me. The whole point of Jesus's sacrifice is that it allows our sins to be forgiven. But outside of my own self-importance it doesn't really matter whether I believe that my sins are forgiven or not. What matters is does God see fit to forgive them. And I should live my life the same way whether I believe my sins are forgiven or not, because if I believe they're all forgiven what's to stop me from just going out and sinning all willy-nilly. That being said, if I didn't believe that my sins were forgiven, then I might be likely to point to one sin that I committed, throw up my hands, and give up. I don't think that's what God wants us to do, so I think it's important that He gave us hope, a reason to live on and do better. So I say forgiveness of sins is a core Christian belief if only because it allows us to start anew every day.
the resurrection of the body,
Um, this happens after I'm dead. Really I have nothing to do with it whether I have a body or not after I die. Not core.
and life everlasting.
It's nice to think that we have a reward coming for all of our believing, but really God's well within his rights to do whatever he wants with his creation at any time he wants to. Do I believe that I have a soul that will live forever? Yes. Do I believe that you HAVE to believe you have a soul that will live forever in order to be a Christian? Nope.
I look at this list, really a very short list, and I hear Christians quibbling over immersion vs. sprinkling, predestination vs. free will, wine at communion vs. te-totaling. It makes me very, very sad. Here we are claiming to love each other, and love all the people, but we can't put down our harsh words and focus on what really matters. So instead of one Christian church we have all these denominations, and the ones that are the most similar are the ones that spend the most time throwing stones!
I'm not saying I don't have beliefs about anything other than the basics. I certainly have no problem with the idea that God created the world in seven literal days (after all, if He's going to create adult people why not create an adult earth, complete with rocks that include a fossil record). And I can make a case for infant baptism (Acts 16:33) but I feel better about "dedicating" myself to raising my child to know the Lord, and she can be baptized when she's ready (and I pray that she will some day be ready). I really don't give one flying whoop whether you baptize by dunking or sprinkling, but moisture makes my hair frizz up so I completely understand someone wanting to use as little water as possible!
My point is, none of these issues are worth the time we spend arguing over them! The church's focus should be on outreach, not on internal squabbling and beating itself up from the inside.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Chick-fil-A, don't'cha just love it?
I've been paying attention to all this Chick-fil-A controversy. I have a long history with Chick-fil-A, so naturally I sit up and listen whenever I hear them mentioned in the news, or in conversation. I've found that they are neither the paragon of virtue nor the bastion of evil that everyone seems to make them out to be, but like every company out there they have their good points and their bad points. Which outweigh the others I don't know.
I started working at Chick-fil-A at the front counter when I was 16, and continued working there off and on as school allowed for a little over five years. When I first started working there the operator of the store I worked at had two stores, but within a year of my starting he left the store I worked at and went on as operator to other stores. His assistant manager became our new operator. It's worth mentioning that the corporate office at Chick-fil-A likes to keep tabs on what's going on at their stores. All stores are owned by Chick-fil-A, not somebody at the store, and Chick-fil-A has pretty stringent rules about who can become an operator (the equivalent of owner/manager at most franchises) of any store. There may be a very small handful of independently owned stores still out there, but Chick-fil-A stopped granting such franchises years ago, and the few that remain were grandfathered in.
Our new operator held the store together through some really rough years. Shortly after I started, the main anchor store in the shopping center closed. And over the next few years anchor stores came and went, but were gone more than they were there. We also had the unique benefit of being near where several corporate executives lived, so they would often stop by the store to "check up on us" quite frequently. It was at this point that I came to recognize the misogynistic attitude of the corporate office at Chick-fil-A. It's worth noting that a new operator was a divorced woman. When I started working at this Chick-fil-A store it was the closest one to my house, but by the time I left I actually passed three Chick-fil-A's to get to this one. As more stores opened up in the area they naturally cut into the business of the pre-existing store.
One store was within 3 miles of ours. It is debatable whether so many stores in the immediate area would have been approved had the operator at our store held any regard or received any respect from the corporate office. During this time the store was both remodeled and major construction was undertaken to install a new playground. Instead of corporate recognizing that difficult situation, we were expected to grow revenues as if we were still located in a busy shopping center with little competition in the area. Despite hard times remain profitable, even though we didn't achieve the revenue growth dictated by corporate.
Instead of recognizing the achievement of holding the store together in adverse circumstances, win a new super Wal-Mart opened in our shopping center the store was taken away from our operator and given to a new operator. This demonstrates the utter lack of respect that the Chick-fil-A corporate office had for our operator.
Yes Chick-fil-A is closed on Sundays, but it is far from the Christian work environment that you might think. For one being closed on Sundays does nothing for orthodox Jews or Seventh Day Adventists. Sure, I worked with plenty of youth pastors who enjoyed the freedom to work two jobs and the assurance that came from knowing that their schedules would never conflict. But I also worked with those who were mentally unstable, had superiors who cursed like sailors, and others who displayed misogynistic behavior including leaving white flour hand prints in inappropriate places on the navy pants of female employees. I had my butt pinched once (he got slapped) and was hit on repeatedly. But with very few exceptions the customers were worse than my co-workers.
However, Chick-fil-A's not a den of iniquity from top to bottom. It has it's redeeming qualities. For starters I worked my way from front counter through pretty much every position in the store, and ended up marketing manager. Chick-fil-A taught me about work ethic and team work, oh, and how to filet chicken. We weren't located in the highest end neighborhood, so this particular Chick-fil-A gave opportunity to some pretty underprivileged folks, and a pretty diverse demographic. I particularly admired one family that had escaped from some South American dictatorship, and all the women in the family worked at Chick-fil-A. It certainly opened my eyes to a variety of circumstances and what can me accomplished with hard work. Lots of folks have heard of Chick-fil-A's Winshape scholarships, but Chick-fil-A has a college scholarship program available to all employees who work a certain number of hours (I don't remember how many). No, it didn't pay for an entire semester, but every little bit helps.
And let's not forget the best thing about Chick-fil-A. I met my husband when we both worked there in high school, and we had our wedding catered by Chick-fil-A years later (by the same operator we both worked for).
Chick-fil-A's probably the only fast food place I could work at and still eat there. In fact, up until a few years ago I still ate at Chick-fil-A at least once a week. I eat there less now not because of any aversion, but simply because I eat out less than I used to.
So no matter what Dan Cathy says, his principles are not pervasive throughout Chick-fil-A, and what he does with his money is his own business. That being said, Chick-fil-A is a privately held company, and I don't know what percentage Dan owns I don't know, but I'm sure its significant. Some part of every dollar spent there is going to trickle up to him eventually.
Not to long ago I realized that in living in a capitalistic society one of the ways we vote is by what we buy. It's a big part of why I drive the car I drive, and buy the frozen pizza that I buy, and Dan Cathy has the right to vote the way he wants as well. It's up to you to decide whether a vote for scholarships and Sundays off outweighs a vote for Dan and misogyny. Or if you just care about the chicken.
I started working at Chick-fil-A at the front counter when I was 16, and continued working there off and on as school allowed for a little over five years. When I first started working there the operator of the store I worked at had two stores, but within a year of my starting he left the store I worked at and went on as operator to other stores. His assistant manager became our new operator. It's worth mentioning that the corporate office at Chick-fil-A likes to keep tabs on what's going on at their stores. All stores are owned by Chick-fil-A, not somebody at the store, and Chick-fil-A has pretty stringent rules about who can become an operator (the equivalent of owner/manager at most franchises) of any store. There may be a very small handful of independently owned stores still out there, but Chick-fil-A stopped granting such franchises years ago, and the few that remain were grandfathered in.
Our new operator held the store together through some really rough years. Shortly after I started, the main anchor store in the shopping center closed. And over the next few years anchor stores came and went, but were gone more than they were there. We also had the unique benefit of being near where several corporate executives lived, so they would often stop by the store to "check up on us" quite frequently. It was at this point that I came to recognize the misogynistic attitude of the corporate office at Chick-fil-A. It's worth noting that a new operator was a divorced woman. When I started working at this Chick-fil-A store it was the closest one to my house, but by the time I left I actually passed three Chick-fil-A's to get to this one. As more stores opened up in the area they naturally cut into the business of the pre-existing store.
One store was within 3 miles of ours. It is debatable whether so many stores in the immediate area would have been approved had the operator at our store held any regard or received any respect from the corporate office. During this time the store was both remodeled and major construction was undertaken to install a new playground. Instead of corporate recognizing that difficult situation, we were expected to grow revenues as if we were still located in a busy shopping center with little competition in the area. Despite hard times remain profitable, even though we didn't achieve the revenue growth dictated by corporate.
Instead of recognizing the achievement of holding the store together in adverse circumstances, win a new super Wal-Mart opened in our shopping center the store was taken away from our operator and given to a new operator. This demonstrates the utter lack of respect that the Chick-fil-A corporate office had for our operator.
Yes Chick-fil-A is closed on Sundays, but it is far from the Christian work environment that you might think. For one being closed on Sundays does nothing for orthodox Jews or Seventh Day Adventists. Sure, I worked with plenty of youth pastors who enjoyed the freedom to work two jobs and the assurance that came from knowing that their schedules would never conflict. But I also worked with those who were mentally unstable, had superiors who cursed like sailors, and others who displayed misogynistic behavior including leaving white flour hand prints in inappropriate places on the navy pants of female employees. I had my butt pinched once (he got slapped) and was hit on repeatedly. But with very few exceptions the customers were worse than my co-workers.
However, Chick-fil-A's not a den of iniquity from top to bottom. It has it's redeeming qualities. For starters I worked my way from front counter through pretty much every position in the store, and ended up marketing manager. Chick-fil-A taught me about work ethic and team work, oh, and how to filet chicken. We weren't located in the highest end neighborhood, so this particular Chick-fil-A gave opportunity to some pretty underprivileged folks, and a pretty diverse demographic. I particularly admired one family that had escaped from some South American dictatorship, and all the women in the family worked at Chick-fil-A. It certainly opened my eyes to a variety of circumstances and what can me accomplished with hard work. Lots of folks have heard of Chick-fil-A's Winshape scholarships, but Chick-fil-A has a college scholarship program available to all employees who work a certain number of hours (I don't remember how many). No, it didn't pay for an entire semester, but every little bit helps.
And let's not forget the best thing about Chick-fil-A. I met my husband when we both worked there in high school, and we had our wedding catered by Chick-fil-A years later (by the same operator we both worked for).
Chick-fil-A's probably the only fast food place I could work at and still eat there. In fact, up until a few years ago I still ate at Chick-fil-A at least once a week. I eat there less now not because of any aversion, but simply because I eat out less than I used to.
So no matter what Dan Cathy says, his principles are not pervasive throughout Chick-fil-A, and what he does with his money is his own business. That being said, Chick-fil-A is a privately held company, and I don't know what percentage Dan owns I don't know, but I'm sure its significant. Some part of every dollar spent there is going to trickle up to him eventually.
Not to long ago I realized that in living in a capitalistic society one of the ways we vote is by what we buy. It's a big part of why I drive the car I drive, and buy the frozen pizza that I buy, and Dan Cathy has the right to vote the way he wants as well. It's up to you to decide whether a vote for scholarships and Sundays off outweighs a vote for Dan and misogyny. Or if you just care about the chicken.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
4 years, 5 doctors, where are we now?
Four Years.
That's how long it's been since my husband and I decided we were ready to start our family. We actually made the decision earlier, at his cousin's wedding. I remember lying in bed with him in the hotel that night after the reception. Talking. We always lie in bed and talk. It's the place we go to solve the worlds problems and our problems. It's hard to be mad at each other when you're wrapped in the other's arms, faces inches apart. It's intimate, both physically and emotionally. It's hard to fight in this position, and easy to cry. But there was no fight this night, nor any tears. We'd been married a year and a half, and loved our time together, but thought it was time to invite someone else into the family. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't apprehensive. We couldn't agree on much about names, we both vetoed the other's favorite girl names. I didn't know if I would be a good parent, but I knew I would try.
Five Doctors.
I knew heading into this there were problems. One doctor had suspected I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and had told me that I probably had never ovulated on my own. So when I went to her to tell her we were ready to try I was VERY surprised at her plan of attack. She wanted us to try on our own for a year. This seemed like a total waste of time to a person who'd been told only a year before that she probably didn't ovulate on her own. But we tried. For a year. And nothing happened, just as I suspected. So I went back and we tried fertility drugs. Three months I spent on Clomid, with migraines so bad I would come home and go straight to bed crying. I couldn't stand light, I couldn't stand movement. It's really hard to get pregnant when you can't stand for your husband to touch you.
So I went back, a glutton for punishment. She told me that sometimes women with PCOS need to loose weight before they can get pregnant.
800 Calories.
She suggested I try Weight Watchers or South Beach. I tried both, and gained weight on them. She insisted that weight loss is as simple as calories in & calories burned. I started out at about 1000 calories a day, but when that didn't have the results I wanted, I slowly found ways to cut down. 100 calories for breakfast. 200 calories for lunch. Maybe a 100 calorie snack in the afternoon, and a small dinner. I never got below 192 lbs. I went back to the doctor to tell her my results, and she accused me of lying.
So I found a new OB/GYN. This one was nice, but completely out of his depth. He suggested I try a reproductive endocrinologist, so I started looking for one. Of course our insurance didn't cover any much closer than twenty miles away, so instead I found a local PLAIN endocrinologist. On our first visit I told him my ultimate goal, to have children. He ran a great many tests. It was during this time that I adopted a new weight loss plan called "give the doctors all the blood they want." It was not unusual for me to give 11-12 vials of blood every few weeks, and for a few months I saw this doctor quite often. After a while I began to feel that tests were being run with little or no definitive results. So I sat down and specifically asked this endocrinologist if we were getting any closer to anything that would result in me being able to have children. His answer surprised me. He said, "I suspect you have PCOS, but if you want to know for sure then you should probably see a reproductive endocrinologist." I looked at him like he had two heads. He had told me pretty much what I knew when I started seeing him.
I felt like I'd just lost 5 months of my life, and we were no closer to having children than we were when my doctor accused me of lying to her. Then, upset, I went to see my chiropractor. Not for fertility issues, but she's given me good advice in the past, fixed my TMJ and we'd discussed in passing that I was trying to have children. We discussed how I was getting nowhere fast and she said that she knew two doctors, not specialists, but they focused on hormonal balance. I decided I was faced with two paths. I could drive twenty miles to a fertility specialist and use the brute force method of getting pregnant. Or I could go a more natural and hopefully gentler, closer, but also more expensive (not covered by insurance) way.
I spent a year and a half on the bio-identical hormone replacement therapy. I won't call it wasted time. We found that I had an underactive thyroid (no wonder I couldn't loose weight) and now I'm free to not obsess about food and I've lost twenty pounds. I'm healthier than I've ever been, but after a year and a half and still no sign of a baby (and a job change that resulted in better insurance) we agreed it was time to try the brute force method.
27 days
That's how long it took the fertility specialists to tell me I was pregnant. Of course it wasn't that simple. I'd been hurting for five days, and knew something different was going on. Horrible pains in my abdomen and lower back that would wake me up at night, or keep me from being able to sit at my desk during the day. When they came on there was no rest, no sitting, no lying, and no bending or stooping; just slow pacing in circuits around the house, sometimes for an hour or more at a stretch. On the few occasions I was stuck in meetings when an attack came on I would be completely unable to concentrate. I left meetings shaking and barely holding back tears for the pain. So when I went in for the blood test and mentioned it to the phlebotomist, and she said, "Well that's good, sounds like something's going on, you wanna talk to the doctor?" I said sure. I can handle pain. I don't exaggerate (I had someone at work ask) and I can work through almost anything and still be productive. I wasn't expecting a pity party or anything, but I did expect to be taken seriously. So when the doctor (it's a group, and I haven't seen this guy before) studied my chart and came in and told me that this was probably just PMS cramps and I haven't had them for 5 days before because my ovaries hadn't been working in the past, but normal women whose ovaries work go through this every month; I was a bit skeptical. Because I swear if normal women went through this every month we'd have a LOT more voluntary complete hysterectomies! I promise!
Still, I was reasonably prepared for them to come in and say the test was negative. They said they would call me with the results, but I wanted to stick around and find out, and they said it would only be an hour or so, and I'm not normally at work until 10:00 anyway. So I waited. She walked by and said the results are coming in now, and then I waited a while longer and wondered what was keeping her. She was in with the doctor, who was as surprised as I was when he heard I was pregnant, after just assuring me that I almost certainly wasn't.
3 weeks
That's how long I was pregnant before I miscarried our child. Our first child, the one I've been struggling to have for over four years. I keep telling myself we've made such progress. This is the first time there's been any evidence that I could conceive. I should be jumping for joy at the potential, shouldn't I? But I can’t find that in me. I’m raw, torn; I feel like my emotions have been tied to the back of a pickup and dragged down a gravel road. I find myself staring into space with an expression on my face, horrified, like I’ve just witnessed a gory murder. Well, I’m partially right.
1 miscarriage and I'm devastated.
That's how long it's been since my husband and I decided we were ready to start our family. We actually made the decision earlier, at his cousin's wedding. I remember lying in bed with him in the hotel that night after the reception. Talking. We always lie in bed and talk. It's the place we go to solve the worlds problems and our problems. It's hard to be mad at each other when you're wrapped in the other's arms, faces inches apart. It's intimate, both physically and emotionally. It's hard to fight in this position, and easy to cry. But there was no fight this night, nor any tears. We'd been married a year and a half, and loved our time together, but thought it was time to invite someone else into the family. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't apprehensive. We couldn't agree on much about names, we both vetoed the other's favorite girl names. I didn't know if I would be a good parent, but I knew I would try.
Five Doctors.
I knew heading into this there were problems. One doctor had suspected I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and had told me that I probably had never ovulated on my own. So when I went to her to tell her we were ready to try I was VERY surprised at her plan of attack. She wanted us to try on our own for a year. This seemed like a total waste of time to a person who'd been told only a year before that she probably didn't ovulate on her own. But we tried. For a year. And nothing happened, just as I suspected. So I went back and we tried fertility drugs. Three months I spent on Clomid, with migraines so bad I would come home and go straight to bed crying. I couldn't stand light, I couldn't stand movement. It's really hard to get pregnant when you can't stand for your husband to touch you.
So I went back, a glutton for punishment. She told me that sometimes women with PCOS need to loose weight before they can get pregnant.
800 Calories.
She suggested I try Weight Watchers or South Beach. I tried both, and gained weight on them. She insisted that weight loss is as simple as calories in & calories burned. I started out at about 1000 calories a day, but when that didn't have the results I wanted, I slowly found ways to cut down. 100 calories for breakfast. 200 calories for lunch. Maybe a 100 calorie snack in the afternoon, and a small dinner. I never got below 192 lbs. I went back to the doctor to tell her my results, and she accused me of lying.
So I found a new OB/GYN. This one was nice, but completely out of his depth. He suggested I try a reproductive endocrinologist, so I started looking for one. Of course our insurance didn't cover any much closer than twenty miles away, so instead I found a local PLAIN endocrinologist. On our first visit I told him my ultimate goal, to have children. He ran a great many tests. It was during this time that I adopted a new weight loss plan called "give the doctors all the blood they want." It was not unusual for me to give 11-12 vials of blood every few weeks, and for a few months I saw this doctor quite often. After a while I began to feel that tests were being run with little or no definitive results. So I sat down and specifically asked this endocrinologist if we were getting any closer to anything that would result in me being able to have children. His answer surprised me. He said, "I suspect you have PCOS, but if you want to know for sure then you should probably see a reproductive endocrinologist." I looked at him like he had two heads. He had told me pretty much what I knew when I started seeing him.
I felt like I'd just lost 5 months of my life, and we were no closer to having children than we were when my doctor accused me of lying to her. Then, upset, I went to see my chiropractor. Not for fertility issues, but she's given me good advice in the past, fixed my TMJ and we'd discussed in passing that I was trying to have children. We discussed how I was getting nowhere fast and she said that she knew two doctors, not specialists, but they focused on hormonal balance. I decided I was faced with two paths. I could drive twenty miles to a fertility specialist and use the brute force method of getting pregnant. Or I could go a more natural and hopefully gentler, closer, but also more expensive (not covered by insurance) way.
I spent a year and a half on the bio-identical hormone replacement therapy. I won't call it wasted time. We found that I had an underactive thyroid (no wonder I couldn't loose weight) and now I'm free to not obsess about food and I've lost twenty pounds. I'm healthier than I've ever been, but after a year and a half and still no sign of a baby (and a job change that resulted in better insurance) we agreed it was time to try the brute force method.
27 days
That's how long it took the fertility specialists to tell me I was pregnant. Of course it wasn't that simple. I'd been hurting for five days, and knew something different was going on. Horrible pains in my abdomen and lower back that would wake me up at night, or keep me from being able to sit at my desk during the day. When they came on there was no rest, no sitting, no lying, and no bending or stooping; just slow pacing in circuits around the house, sometimes for an hour or more at a stretch. On the few occasions I was stuck in meetings when an attack came on I would be completely unable to concentrate. I left meetings shaking and barely holding back tears for the pain. So when I went in for the blood test and mentioned it to the phlebotomist, and she said, "Well that's good, sounds like something's going on, you wanna talk to the doctor?" I said sure. I can handle pain. I don't exaggerate (I had someone at work ask) and I can work through almost anything and still be productive. I wasn't expecting a pity party or anything, but I did expect to be taken seriously. So when the doctor (it's a group, and I haven't seen this guy before) studied my chart and came in and told me that this was probably just PMS cramps and I haven't had them for 5 days before because my ovaries hadn't been working in the past, but normal women whose ovaries work go through this every month; I was a bit skeptical. Because I swear if normal women went through this every month we'd have a LOT more voluntary complete hysterectomies! I promise!
Still, I was reasonably prepared for them to come in and say the test was negative. They said they would call me with the results, but I wanted to stick around and find out, and they said it would only be an hour or so, and I'm not normally at work until 10:00 anyway. So I waited. She walked by and said the results are coming in now, and then I waited a while longer and wondered what was keeping her. She was in with the doctor, who was as surprised as I was when he heard I was pregnant, after just assuring me that I almost certainly wasn't.
3 weeks
That's how long I was pregnant before I miscarried our child. Our first child, the one I've been struggling to have for over four years. I keep telling myself we've made such progress. This is the first time there's been any evidence that I could conceive. I should be jumping for joy at the potential, shouldn't I? But I can’t find that in me. I’m raw, torn; I feel like my emotions have been tied to the back of a pickup and dragged down a gravel road. I find myself staring into space with an expression on my face, horrified, like I’ve just witnessed a gory murder. Well, I’m partially right.
1 miscarriage and I'm devastated.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Why you so Whiny?
Those of you who knew me when I lived in Baltimore are familiar with the newsletter that started out "The Complaint of the Month" and became "The Complaint of... Whenever." For those of you NOT familiar with my "Complaints" they were a forum through which I could express my satisfaction, or more often dissatisfaction, with life, the universe and everything.
That being said, a blog is not a place to post monthly, heck if I do that y'all will wander off and never return. Don't worry, with age comes a whole new level of corochityness. I may not post daily, but I'm sure I'll post plenty often enough. So I guess I better get on with it.
That being said, a blog is not a place to post monthly, heck if I do that y'all will wander off and never return. Don't worry, with age comes a whole new level of corochityness. I may not post daily, but I'm sure I'll post plenty often enough. So I guess I better get on with it.
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