I Am a Turtle

Ever since I took up the hobby of running, I have referred to myself as a turtle – slow and steady, but I always finish the race. Over the years, I have come to see myself as a turtle in other ways as well.

Not only do I run slowly, but I walk slowly as well. Rarely am I in a hurry to get anywhere.

My funny bone is still in its infancy. I laugh, but I am slow to get the joke. 

I may write well, but there is a disconnect between my head and my mouth. The conversion from thoughts to verbal words takes time.

I cannot get to the point of any story. I have a (sometimes) bad habit of getting to my point in a roundabout sort of way. 

As I have eluded to in past blogs, I am slow when it comes to committing to a decision. I have to weigh out everything, painstakingly think through all the options and consequences. Once I settle on a decision, I commit fully, but the process is long and tedious. 

Frankly, everything about me is slow. 

Last night, I had a two-part dream. I was rather upset with my baby girl, Bailey, for waking me up in the middle of a fantastic fantasy dream. After taking her potty, I hoped to pick up where my dream-story had left off. That happens sometimes. Unfortunately, not last night – at least, not in the way I hoped. 

Instead, I had a dream about turtles. As anyone who knows me knows, I love animals – almost all animals – even reptiles (except snakes – they are just plain evil). 

Without going through all the details of the dream, I found ten baby turtles. Had I had the means, I would have kept and raised them all myself. Unfortunately, I live with my dad and I am poor – even in my dream. My dad told me I already had a dog and a cat and I could not keep the turtles – not even one. I needed to find them all homes. 

There were two with whom I was particularly attached. They were inseparable and growing bigger and faster than their siblings. A friend was helping me find homes for these cuties. She made phone call after phone call for me – for them. 

Neither one of us wanted to separate the two special turtles. We wanted to find someone willing to take them both. Everyone wanted the smaller, cuter little turtles. No one wanted to take on the responsibility of both. 

My friend had grown quite attached to the two and decided to adopt them herself – but then she changed her mind. She loved them so much, but she knew she could not give them the care they needed and deserved. “They can live 50 years or longer. I love them, but I can’t make that kind of commitment to them, as much as I want to. They deserve better.”

So, we set off trying to find someone who had the means and desire to commit to them. We found the perfect person. As another person explained, “people from his country revere the turtle. Commitment for the care of turtles means something to his people.”

Then, I woke up. During my morning prayer time, I talked with God about both dreams. It became pretty clear what this dream meant for me. 

I am the two special turtles. They both represent a different part of me. 

Everyone who loves them wants to nurture them together because they see the value each gives to the other and neither would be the same or happy without the other. To break them up would be to kill them. 

Not just anyone can love these special turtles the way they deserve. Love is not enough. Care for them requires love AND a special kind of commitment. 

This man, the one capable of loving and caring for the turtles is a Godly man. He is not just a Christian by name, but he believes in and lives his faith. What makes these turtles so unique and special, requiring a unique kind of commitment, is everything true Christian values stand for – spiritual and physical purity, nurture, care, commitment. 

My study in my M.Div class – Theology and Witness of the Church Mothers – this week has been about the stories of Thecla, Perpetua, and Felicitas. All three women rejected the social norms of their day and suffered the consequences. A lot of our online discussion has been about how gender stereotypes still exist, and the struggles we face especially surrounding topics of modesty and civic engagement. We have had several discussions about sex and relationships. 

These discussions have forced me to think on and remember everything which make me different – both in society at large and even amongst my Christian peers. I’m okay with being different, but I often wish everyone else would be, too, and just let me be. 

This dream reinforces the fact that I am different, but my differences are what make me so extraordinary. Because I am extraordinary, it will take an extraordinary man to love and care for me.

Every time someone “encourages” me to start dating again, I inwardly scream and want to lash out. They don’t get it. They don’t get me. If I simply wanted someone to love, who would love me, that would be easy. I could join an online dating site and find just that. 

No – I want more. I want someone worthy of this turtle. Not just anyone can fill that role. 

In this dream, God used a turtle to remind me how different and how special I am. He also let me know that there is someone out there capable and worthy of loving me.

I can wait. I am in no hurry. As I have often said, I will not settle. I can afford to wait for what I want because I am not afraid to be alone. I will wait for God to drop said man onto my lap. 

After all, I am a turtle. I know how to take things slow.  

Into the Echo

"Into the echo, we shout our dreams
Into the echo, we throw our hearts
Into the echo, we send our love
Into the echo, to the echo, into the echo
To hear it back.”

Songwriters: Billy Falcon / Jon Bon Jovi

Into the Echo lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Ole Media Management Lp

As it often does on a solitary drive, my mind replayed various scenes/conversations/scenarios – three hours of reflection. 

A few months ago, during my quiet time with God, He told me that I was very much in tune with my head, but not with my heart. Little by little, He has been chiseling away the wall I worked so hard to build around my heart, protecting it from any and all forms of attack. He has reminded me time and time again that I cannot truly live – I cannot truly know Him – if these walls remain. 

The simplest way to tear down the wall is to allow myself to fully be present in emotionally tough times – whether while watching a movie like Breakthrough or participating in a Donor Walk. Allowing myself to cry in public has done wonders to shine light back into and out of my once dormant heart.

There is still one truth I deny myself because the truth is too painful to own. So, I lie – to others, to myself, and to God. I do what I have always done – allow my head to tell my heart what to think until I believe it. This time, however, I see it for what it is – a bold faced lie.

During my church's district assembly this week, I grew increasingly excited by the prospect of me getting ordained at next year’s event. I even told my friends gathered at dinner that if I did, I would wear a dress. After all, this is wedding-day-big-deal. One friend offered to buy the dress if I agree to actually wear a dress. Two others immediately started Googling dresses and offering suggestions. Yes – this girl wearing a dress is a HUGE deal – but, so is getting ordained!

However, my excitement led to unanticipated sadness as I read the bios of the Ordinands. Every one of them had something listed under their name in bold print which I will not have – the names of his or her spouse and children.

As the processional began, I watched as each Ordinand filed in with his or her spouse proudly walking beside them. I envisioned me next year walking alone. I nearly had a panic attack. I could feel the flood of tears wanting to burst forth, but I fought it. I could not and would not lose control now. After all, no one knows the extent of my loneliness.

I did, however, text the friend sitting next to me. “Maybe I’m not ready to be ordained after all.” She assured me I would not be alone. I will have a ton of biological and church family gathered there to support me and cheer for me. I let it go. After all, how do I explain something I refuse to admit to even myself?

How do I admit that I am lonely? That no matter how many friends I have, how many people I can talk with, at the end of the day, I still go home alone. I still go to bed alone. I still wake up alone. 

I’m not talking sex or any sort of physical intimacy. I am talking about emotional intimacy, to have someone to share my day with – maybe even hold me as I cry – rather than turn to ice cream or a blog. Someone to share my life with – other than my four-legged babies. They used to be enough – until very recently – they were all I needed.

After assembly, I stayed in Houston to visit my sister. She and one of my nephews showed me an episode from a Netflix show called Our Planet. This particular episode showed how one bird of paradise prepares to attract a mate by cleaning his “house” and then doing this elaborate dance for her. (check out the clip here and prepare to laugh https://youtu.be/rX40mBb8bkU)

This led to a lengthy conversation about how God uses nature to teach us how we should live. She used this as a teaching tool for her boys about family values and how this world has it backwards – how girls go to such great lengths to attract boys, throwing themselves at boys, wearing inappropriate clothing – how sex has become so cheap and inconsequential – how boys should do more to woo girls –  how important it is for her boys to woo the right girl. It was a rather fascinating conversation. I am very proud of my nephews and how my sister and brother-in-law are raising them.

No one has tried to woo me in – well – I can’t remember the last time a male tried to woo me.

I DO NOT in any way, feel sorry for myself because of this. The fact is, I have not put myself out there to be wooed. I know full well that I am an amazing catch – even if I rarely wear makeup and dress like a boy so often that the thought of me in a dress is such a hot topic of ongoing conversation. I know someone would be unbelievably lucky to win me over.

These were my thoughts while driving home from Houston. Now, before I continue, I must add this disclaimer – I am about to get real – honest – with myself. However, these revelations are too new and too raw. I do not and will not talk about them with anyone other than my therapist right now. This blog is mostly for me and I know very few people read it – which works to my advantage most of the time – especially right now. If I thought certain people would read this or if I thought those who do read it would pester me about it, I would never publish it. If you are reading this and you insist on asking me anything about it, I will lie and deny. So, please do not ask a pastor to lie. Simply take this for what it is – my “therapy blog” – working out my emotions on “paper." My publishing it in this blog is not an open invitation to engage me in dialogue. 

Lies that I tell myself and everyone else:

Lie:

I have no interest in getting married ever again.

Truth:

This was once true. After my divorce, I hated all men. I thought they could be friends and acquaintances, but deep down, they were all driven by sex and could not be trusted. Men were evil. I believed marriage was a scam and I refused to ever even consider the possibility.  

Then, I met some good married men – men who showed me what a God-fearing married man acted like and what an equal partnership looked like – nothing like I had known. It was refreshing. Still I wanted none of that for myself, preferring to be alone.

Then, God told me to get to know my heart as well as I know my head. The truth is, I do want to fall in love and be loved again. I do want someone to share my life with.  

Lie:

I’m a loner and better off on my own.

Truth:

There is a hint of truth in that, but I don't want it to be all true. I hope I'm not better off on my own.

I am a loner, and as an introvert, I do require a lot of alone time to recharge my batteries. But I also think I have a lot of love to give and I believe the right person would get me. If an introvert, he, too, would need space. If an extrovert, he would probably be okay doing some things without me, giving me my much needed space.

Brad and I hardly ever did anything together. We lived two separate lives. I want to do things differently if given another chance. However, that does not mean I have to go from one extreme to another. I think there could be a happy medium.

Lie:

I’ve been on my own too long. I’m too set in my ways.

Truth:

I have been alone a long time, but I am not too set in my ways. My life has changed so much over the past few years. I've had to readjust several times since moving back to Texas. I can readjust again given the right circumstances.

Lie:

I don’t have time to date.

Truth:

This is a convenient truth – a truth I control. We make time for what matters most to us, right?

Lie:

I have no interest in dating.

Truth:

Well, this is true. I have often said that if God wanted me to find someone, He’s going to have to drop him in my lap or make me trip over him because I am not looking. This is very much true.

The deeper truth is that I secretly hope that God does drop that man in my lap or make me trip. Just because I am not looking does not mean I would not let myself fall.

All these pieces came together as I listened to the Bon Jovi song, Into the Echo. I have heard and sung along to this song a zillion times. However, this time it was personal. It speaks to my growing sense of loneliness.

When I made the detour for the beach this past Monday, arriving late to district assembly, I stood along the shoreline staring out to sea. I had a deep desire to scream out over the waves, but there were too many people present. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At the time, I couldn’t explain why I so desperately felt the need to scream, but after I heard this song, and played it over again, I understood.

"Into the echo, we shout our dreams . . . we throw our hearts . . . we send our love . . . to hear it back.”

Click here for: Into the Echo lyric video

Serpentine Belt

A friend once asked, “Once you commit, your all in, aren’t you?” I answered with a simple nod of my head. I admit, it takes a great deal of emotional effort on my part to commit, but once I do, as my friend suggested, I am ALL in. 

My vehicle is no exception to this personality quirk of mine. When my ex-husband and I went car shopping, I wanted this ugly blue thing simply because we could afford to pay cash and not have car payments looming over our heads. 

When we divorced, I wanted to pawn the car – and the payments – off on him. Unfortunately, the bank would not agree to our arrangement. I did all I could to get rid of her, but no one wanted her. Once I realized that we were stuck with one another (Rosie and I), I decided to see her as God’s gift and chose to love her and take good care of her. 

She is old in car years, and I have had more than one opportunity to trade up for free. I have turned down the offers, electing to remain faithful to the girl who has been through so much with me – and who has brought me home again. 

This past week, my dad and I discussed all the ways Rosie is beginning to show her age. Her shocks are squeaking. Sometimes it sounds like someone knocking on the door when I press on the brakes. And – last year, my trusted mechanic warned me that a belt would need to be replaced soon. He was surprised that she had as many miles on her without it ever having been replaced. I had just spent a lot of money fixing other things, and he knew I did not have the money for more repairs at that time. He told me the belt was okay for the time being, but I needed to seriously consider replacing it before too much longer. 

Since that time, she has taken me to Colorado, Nebraska, Tennessee, Arkansas, and countless miles in Texas.  However, I can now sense that before I ask her to take me on any more long-distance adventures, I need to take care of her needs. 

My dad informed me that this belt – something called a serpentine belt – is pretty darn important. Without it, she can’t run. That scared me. No one is offering me a new “free-for-me” vehicle, I cannot afford a car payment, and, I feared, I could not afford to fix something that important to her life. 

Either way I looked at it, I was screwed – or so I thought. 

At church the following Sunday morning, I asked a friend, who is a car guy, how expensive this fix would be. He said the part was very inexpensive and easy to replace. He offered to bless me by helping me if possible. 

Something that important being that cheap and easy? 

My Rosie and her needs got me to thinking about what Paul says in scripture about us being the hands and feet of Jesus. We all serve a different function in the body of Christ, but like a serpentine belt for a car, none of the parts matter – none of the parts can function properly (or at all) – without the resurrected Christ which holds us all together and gives us our power. 

I thought about the importance of the serpentine belt again last night at work during what is called a Donor Walk. There are so many things that are new to me in my chaplaincy and this, so far, has been the most rewarding and heart-wrenching experience yet. 

A donor patient is wheeled from the hospital room to the operating room. The family follows behind. I, as chaplain, brought up the rear of the procession. Hospital staff and any mobile patients and families line the halls to pay respects to the donor and the family. 

I could feel the solemnity immediately, but nothing anybody told me or could have told me could have prepared me for the walk. Staff – most of whom had never met the patient or the family – openly wept as they passed by, which made me weep. At first, I hung my head low, falling into old habits of ignoring the emotional triggers in order to hold myself together. 

Then, I remembered lessons from my class and ministry – sometimes showing my emotion says more to those I minister to/with than any words I could ever say. My tears matter. So, I picked up my head, looked the staff and others in the face, and openly wept right along with them. 

After the patient was wheeled into the OR, I had the honor of spending some time with the family – crying together, sharing, and praying. My tears mattered. 

All the parts of a donor body – useless on their own, without machines keeping it alive – serving in unison toward the same goal – life. Like my vehicle’s serpentine belt. Remove the belt, the entire car fails. Disconnect the machines keeping a donor patient alive, the body dies. 

One family mourns the loss of life – other families celebrate the gift of new life. One lives on through another. A new serpentine belt – a new body – new life. 

My friend told me replacing Rosie’s belt would be cheap and easy. The same is not necessarily true for the donor or the recipient. There is nothing cheap or easy about death, mourning, loss, surgery, transport, transplant, recovery, healing, new life. 

What made it easier (not easy) for this family was their faith. Their serpentine belt holding them together was Jesus. Their faith in their Savior, knowing where their loved one was going and who would be holding their loved one’s hand, kept them from completely shutting down and falling apart.