Moments Worth Mentioning

2009 has been a year that I will remember as the year that I fell in love.  Maybe not in the romantic, your my soul mate kind of love… but definitely in the, I love my life kind of way.

As the clock struck midnight on December 31, 2008 I was with a group of people out in Atlanta.  Some were old friends, most were people I had met only moments before….  All of them would open up countless doors for an amazing year of love!  That group brought me to Atlanta.  That group brought me hundreds of new friends.  That group brought me to Buckhead Church.  It’s not coincidental to me that I started the new year with these people.

As January turned into February and February into March I met more people.  In April I signed a lease on an apartment in the city and fell in love with my new address.  With that new address, I was able to go out on a moments notice.  I had friends meeting on week nights for television shows, dinners on patios and entire weekends booked for this outing or that event.  I fell in love with always having something to do.

The spring and summer of 2009 was nothing short of a never-ending vacation.  I was discovering the city of Atlanta in a circle of friends that kept growing.  We had gatherings on boats and beaches.  We played volleyball.  We rode bikes.  We went to baseball games. We laid in hammocks.  We had cookouts.  I absolutely fell in love with the city and the people in it.

This past Fall I found an amazing group of girls and we now have weekly bible studies.  I also ventured into the world of church leadership and various ministry opportunities. I transferred my church membership.  I volunteered countless hours.  I found a peace in an area of my life that I have spent so much time trying to forget.  I fell in love with my church.

As winter crept up, I was taking a new position at work.  I was transferring offices.  I was being challenged and being recognized for the dedication and hard work.  I fell in love with the idea of having a career.

It’s so hard to not ramble on and on about the hundreds of things that I have been apart of in the last 12 months.  I’m not saying that the last year hasn’t had its moments of heart break and frustration…. but in the grand scheme of things, it has been a year filled to capacity with blessings and adventures.  Never have I had so many amazing people in my life.  Never have I felt to content.  Never have I ever been so in love!

Thank you to those of you who read this and smile because you know that you were apart of this…..  I love all of you!!

Do you have those days that you wake up, and before your feet even touch the ground, you are already frustrated?  Days that make you question yourself.  Make you doubt everything.

Today, I am not confident, not perfect, not all put together.  I woke up still angry, still on the verge of tears.  I am resentful and bitter….  all before I can even open a box of cereal.  And even more insulting is the fact that I don’t want to be any of these things.  I don’t want someone to have this much control over me.  Unlike every other relationship that has turned sour, I physically can’t run away from this one.  Instead, in less than six hours, I have to share a room with him and put on a happy face for the crowd.  Something I am sadly really, really good at.  I will then leave the party and continue on.  Nothing will be said.  He will never know how much he hurt my feelings this weekend.  Life will carry on.

If you were to strip away every layer of my personality, you would find, at the center of it all, the ultimate need to please people… to fix the hurt, to make everything right in the world.  As much as everything in my being is telling me to fix this, I just can’t.  I don’t know how.  My heart breaks in knowing the most important man in my life is also the most painful relationship that I have.

I want to have faith, I really want to have faith.  But today, right now, in this moment, I don’t know how to do that either.

Over three months ago I walked into a living room filled to capacity with complete strangers.  My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty.  I didn’t make eye contact with anyone.  I had walls built up so tall and they were so strong….Not to be torn down by anyone within 15 miles of that room.  I was a complete mess that night.

For the next 13 weeks I continued to go back to that living room and eventually the strangers began to look familiar.  The numbers dwindled to about 7 or 8 consistent faces and all of our walls slowly crumbled.  Our conversations included words like Forgiveness, Healing, Loneliness, Anger, Depression, Reconciliation and overall Survival…..  We shared our stories and boxes of Kleenex. Emotionally challenging doesn’t even begin to explain my last few months of Thursday nights.

Last night, we sat in that now very familiar room one last time.  There was cookie cake, genuine laughter and tears (that now meant something completely different).  It amazed me how far each and every one of us had come.  From the lady that couldn’t even hear the word “divorce” without tearing up to now being about to have a very in depth conversaton about moving forward with a smile.  And the guy who wept as he told us his unthinkable story who eventually became the class clown and one of the groups favorites.  We all grew, we all found some healing, we all found some forever friends.

The evening came to a close as all of us toasted to surviving the 13 weeks, and more importantly, to the endless possibilities of the future.

Saw this movie last night….  Its now one of my favorites!!  Great TRUE story.  Go see it!  =)

Oh December…. We meet again.  I don’t talk a lot about the thoughts that go through my head during this time of the year.  It’s a month that I truly have a love-hate relationship with and just find a way to get through.

As a kid, I loved the Christmas season.  It was always a big deal in our house.  Lots of family, lots of decorations, lots of excitement.  I have vivid memories of waking up to Barbie Cars, roller blades, and trampolines.  My parents had a way of making the season magical…. maybe in hindsight a little too magical.  But regardless, that all changed when I was in 9th grade when my parents got divorced.  Christmas became a high stress, high emotional event in which I was forced to choose sides.  It became a contest in which my mom and dad had to give the biggest and the best.  Somewhere in between splitting up Christmas ornaments and being shuffled around on Christmas day, the joy of Christmas left me.

Fast forward about ten years and I found myself trying to start my own Christmas traditions.  I vowed to put the hurt behind me and focus on the future….. I had my own family and wanted to find the joy again.  I chose a wedding date in December with the intention of being able to celebrate an anniversary during a month that had once been so painful.  We decorated, we celebrated, we decorated some more.  We had our own traditions.  For a few years Christmas became a fun time of year again.

In a few weeks it would have been my 5th wedding anniversary.  (Key word: Would)

Being that we got married a week before Christmas, the amount of “Our First Christmas” decorations were numerous.  We treasured those gifts and proudly displayed them each year.  During the aftermath of the divorce the majority of those decorations ended up in a box that became mine.  That box has followed me to my parents house, to Michigan and back, and to several other stops along the way.  Every year, as I put up my Christmas tree that box shows itself.  It is an ugly reminder of what was…. always appearing during a month that should have been another anniversary.  It makes December difficult.  I hate that box.

I can’t explain why I haven’t thrown it away, so I’m not going to even try.

It amazes me how much we are able to “box up” parts of our past.  We all have history that is painful and easier to stuff into a closet instead of dealing with it.  Over the last 10+ weeks I have been involved in a small group in which I have had to bring out that “box”.  I have had to dissect and analyze so many of the things that I had buried away.  There have been weeks where I walk away realizing how far I have come, and there are other weeks that have brought me to tears knowing that so much pain can be brought on by only opening up a box of Christmas decorations.

This past weekend, as I got out my tree and ornaments I found those First Christmas ornaments.  I sat and went though them one more time.  Remembering.  And then, with one swift toss, they were in a dumpster.  Never to be seen again.  Maybe I have found the strength to get rid of them though this class.  Maybe I have just had enough.  Maybe I’m just ready to move on.

It’s a blessing and a curse that I love tradition so much.  I want things to be perfect and get angry when anything gets in the way of my vision.  I hate that so many painful memories are associated with the Christmas season.  I hate that I grew up only knowing Santa and that Jesus was an afterthought.  I hate that I tried to fix the hurt by replacing it with something new.  I hate that December 18th will forever be a sad day.

But at least next year, when I go to put up my tree, I won’t have that box waiting for me.