Sometimes Lyrics Annoy Me

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Hello everyone! I’ve been trying to sit myself down and right another blog post for the past week, but my brain has been kind of all over the place. I keep having little thoughts that turn into whole blog posts in my head while I’m at work, but then when I get home I just take a bag of chips to bed and watch YouTube. Not only that, but I’m struggling to write 10 things I love about my dad, which I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Not because I don’t love him, but because he’s a great guy and I love him as a whole so much that it’s hard to break it all down into smaller points. 

Well, here’s a thought I had at work a few days ago that I continued to rant out loud about while walking home each day. 

Music affects me. It probably affects everybody. Lyrics can make or break a song to me, and sometimes I hear a lyric that bugs me so much that I’ll start singing my own lyrics in it’s place. Unfortunately because I work at chain store I have no choice but to hear music that annoys me if it comes on. 

A few days ago the song Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie came on. When this song was first on the radio I didn’t think much of it, but after having to hear it a kajillion times the lyrics started sticking out like a sore thumb. One lyric in particular really bugged me. 

“And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket.”

I know, it’s not a bad lyric. It’s maybe weird, but not bad. Well, I really don’t like it. I’ve come to believe that the biggest blow you can give to the average woman’s ego is to make her believe she is not wanted, and the biggest blow you can give to the average man’s ego is to make him believe he is not needed. What does this lyric say? It compares the emotional attatchment to the (probably male romantic partner) subject of the song to the emotional attachment of a child to an old blanket. Wanted, but no longer needed. To most women this is probably fine. Not ideal but still okay, because being wanted even when we’re still not needed is almost comforting, even if the comfort is a bit bitter. What if this could be devestating to a man? Yeah, sure, he’s still wanted, but now he has about as much practical use and purpose as an old children’s blanket. 

It’s a small thing, just some pop song, but it has been making me think lately. 

Well, those have been my thoughts. Thank you for reading! God bless!!

Of Biological Inclinations and Rotten Produce

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Hey guys… I’ve been thinking some unconventional thoughts today… Some reeeeaaaaally out of the box thoughts. Like reeeeaaaaally out there in the far reaches of space where political correctness hasn’t been seen or heard of for a few billion light years. 

So, about a week ago I saw a post on Facebook which talks about a status update someone made. In the status update it is relayed that a woman and a man sat down to watch some TV together at the woman’s house after a date. Suddenly the woman’s dog jumped up on the man’s lap and the man pushed the dog off quite violently and snarled “I hate dogs!” The woman got up and told the man to leave. In this post it is revealed that the comments on the status update don’t side much with the woman, but actually assert that the woman should have warned the man about the dog. 

Then the person writing this post tells us that they made another status update that relayed the same story, but had the genders reversed. It is then revealed that most of the comments of that post once again do not side with the woman. Instead of saying, “He should have warned her about the dog,” they heavily chastise her. 

At the end of the post this person writes, “And this is reason (insert larger number here) that we still need feminism.”

So, my sudden thought today was that maybe, maaaybeee, juuuust maaaaaybeeee the difference in the responses from the commenters to each story was just a little tiny bit kind of almost perhaps in a sense sort of maybe justified? Even just a smidgen?

OKAY OKAY OKAY DON’T THROW YOUR ROTTEN PRODUCE AT ME JUST YET!!! Just let me explain myself first. 

We all think that it’s awful to hear of an adult harming a child, right? It’s always detestable to the masses. However, isn’t there usually a particular disqust that is felt and expressed when a child is harmed by his or her own parents? Sure, we don’t ever want to see an adult harming a child, but isn’t there something distinctly revolting when it’s a parent harming his or her own child. 

Why might this be? Well, I think it’s because there is an expectation for parents to be strongly biologically inclined to do what is right and beneficial for their own children no matter what. Anyone harming a child shows a lack of natural affection, but a parent harming his or her own child shows an exceptional lack of natural affection. And might I suggest that women are supposed to have a strong biological inclinations to be nurturing toward smaller, dependant creatures? And that men are not supposed to have as strong of a biological inclination to be nurturing toward smaller, dependant creatures? 

I once watched a documentary on YouTube called The Tiniest Girl in The World, which is about a girl whose growth was severely stunted. Her body from a purely objective point of view looks strange. In the comments it seemed that most of the women were praising her for being cute or beautiful, while it seemed that most of the men were saying that she just looked creepy. 

It seems to me that women are more likely to distinguish whom they will nurture and give affection to by how much someone or something resembles young offspring, and men are not. Men seem more likely to make such distinguishments based simply upon who lives in there household and who does not live in their household. Whom they are personally responsible for and whom they are not personally responsible for. 

And perhaps that is a good thing. Maybe it is good that the gender which has what is physically nessecary to bear and nurture infants would have a mind more suited to nurturing. Maybe it is good that the gender which would then be needed to protect and provide for the mother and child during times of very involved nurturing would have a mind more suited to protection. Not being overburdened by those whom he is not personally responsible for, so not to be distracted from the mother and child. Always being prepared that a threat could come, maybe in the form of an animal or a suspicious human. Perhaps this sounds primal, but I believe the primal stuff never really left us, and never really will. Maybe these are biological inclinations having nothing to do with social constructs, and therefore cannot be changed by trying to tear down social constructs. 

So, while it may show a lack of natural affection for a man to not instinctually want to nurture smaller dependant creatures, perhaps it shows an exceptional lack of natural affection for a woman to not instinctually want to nurture smaller, dependant creatures. 

Boy, I really went off on a tangent there. Okay, you can throw your rotten produce at me now. 

Your Words Matter

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Today I received a compliment from a man whom respect, and I realized something. I almost feel giddy when a man whom I respect compliments me. Even if it’s a simple, “Hey, nice dress.” It just makes me giddy. Of course I love it when women compliment me. It feels great to hear my female friends tell me things that they appreciate about me. It can really give me a boost when a woman I respect compliments me, too. But something about a man’s acknowledgement of my qualities is just so unique. 

I think it may have something to do with authority. I believe that God has given man greater authority than woman. Women do have authority, but if I am to keep true to God’s word and his order of things, which I want to do, I must acknowledge that at least on a spiritual level a man’s authority is innately greater. 

I don’t have a problem with this. In fact I am thankful for it. I do not envy the authority that my husband holds, and I am very grateful that he accepts the responsibilities that come along with his measure of authority. 

That being said, I shall go back to my original point. I simply love receiving compliments from respected men! It’s almost like receiving praise from someone higher up the corporate ladder at my place of work. Sure, it’s great receiving compliments from a peer at work. That’s very encouraging. But when someone who has more authority and therefore more responsibility takes notice of something I’ve done and says, “I’m impressed. Good job.” I become giddy. There’s something so gratifying about that!  

It’s almost like I get the feeling of… Oh dare I say it… “Senpai noticed me!” LOL I was steeped in anime and Japanese culture as a teenager…

Anywho, I just wanted to share that today. Men of God, your compliments matter. To those who acknowledge and accept your authority, your words really do have an impact. Sometimes that thought may be nerve racking, but I hope it’s also encouraging. 🙂 

God bless!

Anaisa 

…It feels kind of weird writing this freely. I hope I eventually get used to it.

10 Things I Love About My Brothers

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I am really beginning to enjoy writing more light hearted posts lately. I think I shall continue. I am the baby of the family, and the only girl. I have two older brothers named Josh and Erik, and today I will share ten things that make them grewt brothers.

10 Things I Love About My Brothers 

1. They have always protected me.

Whether from ominous threats or creepy admirers, my brothers have always been more than willing to step in and keep me safe. Wether by threatening to relocate an unwelcomed suitor’s testicles, walking me to and from school when a rumor was started that me and my girlfriend at the time were going to get jumped, or by offering to fight a then future in-law who didn’t take kindly to me at first, my brothers always have and I’m sure always will stick up for me. 

2. It has always been a personal goal of their’s to make me laugh.

Sometimes it was just for their own amusement – like when they would try to make me laugh so hard at the dinner table that I’d squirt milk out my nose, or have to run to the bathroom because laughing so much made me have to pee – but other times it was because they genuinly wanted me to be happy. When I was much younger the older of my two brothers, Josh, had a particular performance that always made me laugh. He would pretend to be a dog who gets electricuted because he was chewing on a wire. It’s pretty morbid, but apperently he could always cheer me up when I was sad with his great comedic timing in his “Dog Gets Electricuted” bit. I’ve always been a bit twisted. 

3. They noticed my struggles, and remembered them. 

I struggle to keep up with regular day to day life, and I recently found out that Erik understood that. Not only did he understand it, but he had compassion for me because of it. Almost every time I have tried to do a full-time job I have had nervous breakdowns and became depressed. Sometimes dangerously depressed. About a month ago I was offered a promotion at my job, which demanded more responsibility and effort from me, and I accepted the promotion. My mother told my brother about the promotion, and he asked with genuine concern in his voice, “Does that mean she doesn’t have panic attacks because of work anymore?” I was so touched when my mother told this to me. 

4. They can lighen up just about any situation. 

My brothers are not too keen on conflict, so they sometimes handle conflict by totally deflecting it with their own special brands of humour. For example, one day some of Josh’s friends were having a very intense debate on Facebook, and he thought it was getting way too out of hand, so he left a single three word comment on the thread: “I like pie.” Those three words derailed the entire conversation, and before long everyone was discussing their favourite pastries. 

5. Josh is a man of few words.

You may have picked that one up from the previous point. Josh generally doesn’t speak much unless he feels something needs to be said. On top of that, he will only feel the need to say something if he truly, honestly believes it. I can always trust Josh to say what he means and mean what he says. 

6. Erik is a man of great volume. 

He is a loud man. Very loud. To this day my mom and I joke about what we called his “peackock impressions”. It was mearly the sound he made when he stretched, but we honestly thought it sounded like a peackock. His volume is also in his personality. He is often the life of the party, and he doesn’t even try to be. It’s just his natural personality. 

7. They taught me that opposites are fun. 

As I’m sure you also picked up from the last two points, there are ways in which my brothers are polar opposites. By sharing a home with these two very different personalities for about 18 years, I have learned to love seeing different people balancing out the social atmosphere. It’s quite fun. It’s almost enchanting to see a man of few words and a man of great volume enjoying eachother’s company. 

8. They care for those who are weaker.

Whether it’s a poorly treated pet or a child being bullied, my brothers hate to see somebody using whatever advantage they may have over another to abuse them. My brothers have leant their strength to those who have none left.

9. They defend my mother.

My mother is fostering two boys right now, and because of the disfunctional household they grew up in they don’t really understand how to show respect to people, especially not to women. They will sometimes say particularity hurtful things about my mom that sometimes really get to her. When my brothers are around they don’t tolerate this. They quickly put the boys in their place and in a way they defend my mother’s honour. 

10. Their eyes.

My brothers’ eyes speak volumes about who they are. Of all the people in my life who are truly special to me, my brothers are the only people apart from my husband whose eyes always catch my attention. Why? Because their eyes are full of sincerity. Josh’s eyes are full of gentleness. Erik’s eyes are filled with caring. They both have such genuine, unwavering, untainted compassion in their eyes. It has always caught my attention. 

Thanks for reading! I’m really enjoying writing these things! I would like to suggest that other women who have good men in their lives do something similar, even if it’s in a private journal. I’m really beginning to wonder if we women don’t always acknowledge the virtues within the men we love as much as we should. 🙂 (Actually I’ve wondered that since I was a teenager.)
God bless!

10 Things I Love About My Husband

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Recently I enjoyed the lovely posts 10 Things To Love About Men, Love Languages, and about a month ago Men at Work. These posts have all got me thinking about the things I love about the men in my life, and so I have decided to write about it. :3 I shall start with the man I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with.  

10 Things I Love About My Husband

1. I don’t have to do anything to make him happy.

There are certainly things I can do to make him happy, but generally he’s pretty content with his life, and often whenever I do something that insights a joyful response from him, it isn’t anything I put any effort into. Like a smile. Just a smile can light up his world. It’s like everything turns into rainbows and gumdrops just because I smiled at him. 

2. He calls me Beautiful. 

Like it’s my name. He calls me Beautiful as if it’s a noun, and I am the definition of the noun. He calls me Beautiful as if I am the very essence and incarnation of the word. 

3. He treats me well no matter what mood he’s in.

I have seen a few men who treat the women in their lives according to their mood. Although I have not witnessed this to be the norm, I am still thankful that my husband isn’t like that. If he’s in a good mood he gives me hugs and kisses. If he’s in a bad mood he’ll give me hugs and kisses. If he’s in a good mood he’ll give me compliments. If he’s in a bad mood he’ll give me compliments. If he’s in a good mood he’ll be concerned with my well being. If he’s in a bad mood he’ll be concerned with my well being. He always shows his love for me no matter how he’s feeling in the moment.

4. He washes the dishes. 

He doesn’t grumble when he does it either. He just listens to music and gets the job done, without complaining about it even once. 

5. He’s punny.

Okay, I often get on his case for this, because in my opinion his puns are usually really lame, but deep down inside I find his puns kind of charming. I even think it’s charming that he’s always so pleased with himself after he tells a really dumb pun. He insists it was clever, witty, and funny. He will also have this really smug smile on his face after he’s told a pun that he thinks is particularity amusing and I think is particularity annoying… And God help me deep down inside I am charmed by that…

6. He loves the quirks of my personality. 

He tells me that I am perfect for him in every way. At first I thought he was just being all gushy and lovey-dovey, but with each passing day I see that he’s actually being serious when he tells me that. All the things I do that I think should annoy him actually make him happy. Like my sass. I can be very sassy, and my husband loves it. I can also be very awkward, but my husband loves that too! I also have sudden outbursts of various emotion, usually joy and excitement, and he even likes that. He says it keeps him sane. LOL

7. He qualifies my quirks as being special. 

When I giggle he’ll say, “Anaisa giggles.” Or when I kick my legs about (which is one of the forms of my outbursts of joy and excitement) he’ll say “Anaisa kicks.” As if everything I do is completely unique and special to me. Totally set apart from everyone else. 

8. He prefers reality to fantasy. 

He has never shown any interest in the sexual fantasies that the media tries to sell us. He scoffs at Victoria’s Secret adds and the larger than life pictures of women modelling LaSenza lingerie in the mall. There was a day when we passed by a booth that was selling art. I saw a life sized painting of a half naked woman, and after we passed it my husband said something along the lines of, “That was a nice stapler.” I looked at him and asked him if he saw the painting of the half naked lady, and he answered “No.” He looked a bit dumbfounded. I looked back and saw a small framed photo of a chrome stapler only inches away from the life sized painting that caught my attention. I knew for sure then and there that my husband was far more interested in me than any fantasy. 

9. His inner child is alive and well.

I got him a Star Wars Lego set for Christmas, and he had so much fun building it. Then after he built it, he flew his Lego star craft around the bed and shot laser things at his Barney plushes. He even emulated the sounds the Barney plushes would make upon being hit by lasers.  

10. He is probably among the manliest men I know, and yet he has quite the soft spot for his baby girl.

And his baby girl would be our bunny, Beatrice. My husband has such a strong and commanding alpha personality that he can strike fear into his boss without lifting a finger. But when he comes home he will melt into a puddle on the floor if our bunny simply rests her paws on his foot. And don’t even think of joking about Hasenpfeffer on a cold winter’s night, or you may find yourself out in the snow. He takes his baby girl’s safety and dignity very seriously. 

My husband is wonderful! I hope you enjoyed reading about how wonderful he is! 🙂 

God bless!! 


Repentance or Expulsion?

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Dear Church,
Today I shall speak on a touchy subject. I have been reading all sorts of articles, opinions and arguments about an often offensive question, and today I will share my thoughts on that question. Should practicing homosexuals be allowed to be church members?

Well, a lot of Christians don’t like to mention this, but some scriptures may suggest a very politically incorrect answer to this question. 
1 Corinthians 5:9-11

“I wrote to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people— not at all meaning the people of this world who are immoral, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters. In that case you would have to leave this world. But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people. What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? God will judge those outside. “Expel the wicked person from among you.””
‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭5:3-12‬ 

“But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving. For of this you can be sure: No immoral, impure or greedy person—such a person is an idolater—has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things God’s wrath comes on those who are disobedient. Therefore do not be partners with them. For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret.”

These are hard scriptures to swallow. Many Christians want to be totally inclusive no matter what a person’s sin may be, which they should be. Invite the sinners into your midst and break bread with them. That is exactly what we should do. However, once someone has accepted Christ as their Lord and Saviour, and becomes part of the Church, they must not remain unrepentant. We, my brothers and sisters, must not remain unrepentant, and it is not right to be forever tolerant of those who do when they bear Christ’s name. 

So, with all the hullaballoo about wether or not gay couples should be allowed to be choir directors, what do the scriptures suggest? I would say the scriptures suggest they should not. Neither should unwed couples living together be in positions of spiritual leadership. Nor should pastors who lie about which pockets everyone’s financial offerings end up in be overlooked. It’s quite simple, and quite hard. I have often found that God’s ways are the simplest to follow, but the most difficult to obey. 

I know it’s difficult to obey, because I had to do this myself. When I was struggling with homosexuality I felt convicted to step out of the congregation for a while. No Christian told me to. In fact, when my church attendance came to an abrupt stop my parents were confused and concerned. They knew that I was trying to have a secret relationship with another girl, but they never even considered expelling me. However, I felt it was necessary. I felt that I shouldn’t be in the midst of other believers while I was refusing to repent of my sin. Thankfully I eventually did repent, and now I can attend church with the freedom that Christ has given me. 

We are the body of Christ. So, we must ask ourselves… Are we being like a cancer to the body of our Lord and Saviour by the way we live our lives? If so, what must we do to stop this? Is it the answer to remove the cancerous cells? Will we ever be able to welcome them back in?

I really want you to think about that. My brothers and sisters, think about that. Think about that image. Are we being like cancer to our King? I will think on this, too. I’m sure I still have some cancerous ways in my life. 

Thank you for reading my blog. I hope your life is enriched by my testimony. I hope your flesh is challenged by it. I hope your spirit is uplifted by it. I hope your relationship with Christ is given greater affirmation by it. 

God bless you and keep you. 

Deepest regards,

Anaisa Simpson

Embarrasment and Confusion: Part 2

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A while ago I wrote a blog post that revealed a rather humiliating moment in my young life. Well, now I have another, and in is one, the humiliation isn’t even the worst part.

When I was probably six or seven years old, a male family member who was about three years older than me wanted to kiss me. (I shall call him Dave.) No big deal right? Lots of kids had that one time in their lives when they were curious about kissing, and decided a family member like a cousin or a sibling who’s around the same age would be fine to explore that with. Well, I didn’t feel that way. I was always baffled when I heard other girls on the playground asking “Who was the first boy who ever kissed you, and brothers and cousins don’t count!” Because this experience counted in my books. I tried coming up with excuses not to kiss him, one of which being that someone might see us. So he invited me into a closet for privacy, and in that moment I panicked. I made the excuse that I couldn’t kiss him because I couldn’t see him in the dark closet, and then I left. I retreated to the opposite end of the house and avoided him for a while. 

Later on, when I was about eight years old, strange feelings started to surface. I still can’t remember how this occured, but I have a vague memory of laying ontop of Dave and kissing him. I remember feeling dominant and powerul. What a strange thing to occur in the heart of an eight year old girl. Later on a friend of Dave’s came to visit, so he went downstair to hang out. I remember going downstairs and staring at Dave. I had seduction in my eyes. Oh yes, you read that right, an eight year old girl was trying to be sexually seductive. Suddenly Dave’s friend glanced over at me while I was intensely staring Dave down, and realizing that he glanced my way I snapped out of it. Where power, dominance and seduction had been growing, shame suddenly took over. Deep, unbridled shame. I have never felt such shame before or since. I went upstairs and wallowed my shame, and sank into the horror of my lustful heart.

I think that what terrified me the most about this, was that I was eight. My body was not fully developed. It was not fully capavle of sexual arousal yet. The lust I felt had next to nothing to do with my body. It was purely in my heart. How devestating that was to discover.

Thankfuly many years later when my husband and I were getting pre-marrital counseling we chose a lovely Christian counselor who saw the need to touch on this subject. I remember her quoting Matthew 19:14, from the King James version I think. “Suffer not the little children.” I cried. In fact I’m tearing up right now. It took me a long time to accept that I did not have to carry that shame. This lovely counselor helped me to see that through Jesus own words. 

Anywho, that is all I shall write for now. God bless you and keep you. 

Embarrassment and Confusion

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Hello everyone. I don’t write much any more, but recently my friend Ufuoma dropped me a line and gave me some encouragement. She’s really good at that, you know.

Shortly after Ufuoma called me back into the world of WordPress, I read a post on the AskTheBigot blog, guest written by a woman named Moira Greyland. It is a deeply personal story of horrific suffering. I am so humbled that she allowed so many people to share in the deepest pains of her past, and I suggest that you read it too and offer her your support. Sharing her story has brought some more pain into her life, because it’s a story that even some of her friends didn’t want to hear. But please, I request if you find yourself also feeling edgey after reading her story and don’t have any good or kind things to say, please be thoughtful and consider how hard it must have been for her to share it.

Anyway, after reading it today, it got me thinking of some of the parts of my past that I’ve been wanting to write about but never got around to. I think it’s because I was still bitter about a lot of it. I also think it’s because it eventually revolves around sexuality. Again. I really don’t want people to think that I’m obsessed with sex and sexuality, but if I come off that way, please understand the reason behind it. I did not go searching for sexuality to become a huge part of my life. It was pretty much thrown upon me, and because I think that physical touch is my strongest love language, it really effected me.

My story is not nearly as awful or shocking as someone like Moira Greyland’s story. Compared to her’s it’s actually quite tame and common place, but still holds profound relevence in the course my life took.
When I was in either grade one or kindergarten there was a boy in my class whom I will call Dustin (for privacy purposes). My first impression of Dustin was that he was compassionate and charming. I confided in him that I couldn’t ride a bike yet – I still used training wheels – and he declared that bikes are for babies. Training wheels are where it’s at. He made me feel a lot better about being behind the other kids in that regard. Naturaly, I considered him a friend immediately. He was a nice kid and continued to charm me. Unfortunately I don’t remember much of that. I remember sharing bananas and peanutbutter with him, and I vaguely racall that he didn’t get offended when I wanted to play with my barbies while playing with him. But other than that, my main memories of him are either confusing or sad. 

One day while I was playing at his house I was feeling lazy, and I wanted to lay down. He offered to let me lay down in his bed, and so I did. He asked me if I wanted anything, I declined, and he commented on how much he liked having me in his bed. He seemed really happy. Later that afternoon he told me to go down to the basement  with him. I agreed, and we went downstairs. Once there he told me to take my tights off. I remember him making it sound like it was a game. I did, and then he started to take some of his clothing off. At that moment his babysitter came downstairs looking for us, and upon seeing that we had been undressing together she asked what we were doing. I had no idea what we were doing, but once again Dustin made it sound like were playing a game. His babysitter told me to go home.

The next day my parents sat me down in our basement and had a talk with me. I remember them being concerned, asking me what happened the day before, and telling me that it’s not okay to do that sort of thing with boys. I remember feeling very uncomfortable and kind of upset with them, and I think my mom picked up that because she didn’t keep me long. After the talk was over I went across the street to play with a friend. She had a bunch of her friends over at the time and we all decided to play around in her parents’ camper. While we were playing my friend’s mom popped into the camper and started talking to me. In front of everyone. About the day before. She gave me what felt like a lecture about inappropriate behaviour, and then left us to keep playing. It may have just been a short talk, but it felt like a lecture, and I was mad. I felt violated. I felt humiliated. I was so mad. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that stopped being mad at her.

After that it wasn’t as fun to hang out with Dustin. I wanted to go home a lot sooner than before when he would invite  me over, and I didn’t want to invite him over to my house much anymore. One day while I was walking home from school he asked me to come over, but I refused. He insisted but I refused again and started walking towards my house. He went infront of me and stood with his scooter infront of the walk way to my house. He insisted that I come over, and when I tried to get around him he moved and blocked me again. Thankfully before this went on too long my mom approached the house, walking home from work. She asked what was going on. Dustin told her that he just wanted to play with me, and I told her that I didn’t want to play with him and he wouldn’t let me go home. She told Dustin to go home, and I don’t recall playing with him again after that. 

Later on, in grade three, Dustin moved away. We had a big figt before he left. I don’t even remember what it was about. I remember another friend was there too, and she used one of the strategies for standing up to bullies we were taught in school; she just got up and walked away. I didn’t though. I felt compelled to argue with him. I think I just didn’t like how he acted anymore, and I wanted him to know that. We haven’t spoken since. 

That’s all I’ll write for today. I planned to write more, but I’ll probably write more tomorrow. I have a lot more to tell. 

Thank you for reading and God bless.

(P.S. I can’t figure out how to use spellcheck with this thing anymore, so I apologize for any gramatical errors or spelling mistakes.)

Feisty

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Good day all! Let me begin this entry by telling you that my husband and I had a lovely visit with my mother yesterday, and during our visit we reminisced about years past. Hearing the stories of my childhood from my mother’s perspective delighted me so much that I have decided to share them with you here. 🙂

As some of you may recall, I revealed in my very first blog post ever that I was born with a complication called Gastroschisis, which required immediate surgery. What I did not reveal was how unbelievably stubborn and lively I was in NICU…

After the surgery the doctors put me into an induced coma for ten days, and after taking me out of the coma they probably expected that I would behave in a fairly weak and docile manner. After all, I had not yet reached the two week mark of my life and I had already experienced invasive surgery and a morphine induced coma.

Nope.

I apparently hated the respiratory tube they had down my throat, because I constantly tried to pull it out. I also seemed to hate the IVs, because I tried pulling those out, too. Eventually, at about five weeks I think it was, my mother walked into the NICU to see me with mittens on my hands, my hands tied to my chest, and my head shaven with a bunch of IVs sticking out of it. So, naturally my mom asked, “What did you do to my baby?” The nurses then proceeded to tell her that I had been pulling my IVs out and I wouldn’t stop. I nearly bled out a couple times. I guess I really didn’t like foreign tubes in my body and had no patience for them.

Later on after my respiratory tube was removed (by the nurses, not by me) my mother came into the NICU again and saw me laying quite content underneath a Winney The Pooh mobile. She asked the nurses how I’d been, and they told her that the respiratory tube sure didn’t damage my throat. My mother asked what they meant by that, and they informed her that I threw a fit any time the Winney The Pooh mobile was taken away so another baby could have it for a while. I would scream, and scream, and scream, and I simply wouldn’t stop until the Winney The Pooh mobile was placed over me again. Needless to say I got my way.

The word that was most often used to describe me was “feisty”.

In another entry I told the story of when I had to get stitches when I was a young child, and instead if displaying fear I was just pissed off. Well, apparently I got run over by a car once (because I ran across the street with out looking), and the poor guy who was driving the car got out and saw me laying on the ground. He immediately picked me up and ran me to my house (he lived just down the street from us so he recognized me) and even though I was crying it was not entirely for the reason he thought. Sure I was in shock, but mostly I was mad. I wanted to go back and continue playing with the sidewalk chalk with my friends, and now my mom was going to take me to the doctor’s office. Ugh! Talk about a fun sponge!

Then, when we were finally at the doctor’s office the doctor kept looking at my leg and knee. Come on, how many times did he really have to check my knee? According to my mother I kept complaining that it was going to be dark when we got home, and I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike after dark. That made me mad, too. Apparently the doctor asked me how my leg felt, and I kicked it up and down vigorously and declared, “Look, it’s fine, see!? Can I go home now?” And according to my mother I said that with a heaping helping of sass.

Oh, the memories. What was especially sweet about hearing these stories was that my husband was there hearing them, too. He has told me many times that he loves my sass and attitude – my feistiness – and he was learning that the attitude he loves so much is truly a deep part of who I am. Ah, what a lovely day that was.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as I much as I enjoyed hearing it. Thank you for reading my blog and God bless you.

Joy

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A lovely young lady whom I simply can’t say enough good things about just wrote a blog post about cultivating joy as part of being a godly wife, and I totally agree with her. That’s one of the things that my husband often mentions when he tells me things that he loves about me. He has said many times that he has never seen such joy in any one, and that no one has ever made him feel such joy as I have.

I have been called happy, joyful, bubbly and cheerful. Just this afternoon a customer at my place of work told me that she appreciated my cheeriness. In high school a friend of mine jokingly theorized that my brain must be made of marihuana, because he couldn’t believe that anyone could be so happy all the time. A few years ago at church someone told me not to lose my smile because it lights up the room.

Why then do I struggle with depression?

Oh yes, quite the sharp turn I just took there. Well, that’s what life is often like for me emotionally. One sharp turn after another. Lately I’m beginning to wonder if I’m manic depressive.

But what is the cause? Well, I believe there are a few sub causes that all fit under one main cause. I think the first sub cause is my attempt to justify each and every mood swing. I don’t like thinking that what I’m feeling might not be justified. I just want to feel. Unfortunately I do have to acknowledge when my mood swings are completely uncalled for eventually. I don’t usually do that though…

Another sub cause would be my tendency to destroy my own self esteem. When others see a minor slip up in me I see a landslide of failure, and I just continuously put myself down until I am convinced that I have degraded myself as much as I deserve.

Another sub cause is my habit of remaining in my basement suite by myself whenever I have free time. I am very protective of my alone time and am unwilling to spare any of it if I feel that even a tiny portion of it is under threat. This sub cause leads to another sub cause which is a lack of sunlight.

Basically, I am resisting correction, resisting mercy, and resisting relationship.

What major cause could all these sub causes fit into, you may ask?

Well, I’m trying to be the god of my own life.

I decide when my thoughts or behaviours should or should not be corrected or when they are justified.
I decide when I should or should not receive mercy.
I decide when people are allowed in my life.

I’m trying to be the god of my own life, and as a result the joy of the Lord is escaping my grasp. If I am to find the joy of the Lord again I must first accept that He is God and I am not, and begin living my life accordingly.

All glory belongs to God. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. I must behave in accordance with this truth. Then the joy of the Lord will be in me again. 🙂

Thank you for reading my blog. God bless you!!! 🙂