Stumbling Towards Perfect

I have this theory that every one of us is born with missing pieces of our soul.  Throughout our lives we pick up different pieces - experiences, relationships, careers, hobbies - in the hopes that the piece fits and we become one step closer to whole. But sometimes we pick up pieces where the shape fits but it is obvious when we look at the color and pattern that it isn't supposed to belong there. I think it's especially this way with mental illness and addiction. There are so many shapes that match but they aren't right. In fact, if you leave them in place, you'll never be able to complete your soul.  Alcohol to take the edge off. Getting drunk by 4pm on a Tuesday. Hooking up with people you don't actually care for just because you're lonely or bored or, truthfully, just desperate to fill that empty spot. Smoking marijuana, snorting cocaine, popping oxycontin, xanax, ativan. Inappropriate behavior that hurts innocent people who didn't even know you a...

The other day a package, sent to me, from me, was delivered to my home. Except I didn’t actually send myself anything. So I had no idea what it was or who would send it or why they would. Inside was an anonymous note referencing Avery and The 19 Days and I’m not including the note because the sender went through great lengths to remain anonymous and therefore I’m respecting that and no one will be able to scrutinize the handwriting. Because it isn’t really about trying to figure out who sent it. It’s about allowing yourself to just feel loved and cared for. In this case, allowing myself to just feel loved and cared for. Because the truth is, I’ve been craving that for a long time. Years and years, really. And I kind of forgot what it was like - to just receive. To just accept. To just think about how someone, somewhere, thought about me and said, “I think she’d like this.” So they took out their money and purchased something that was perfect for me when they could hav...

I think we need to talk about the desert. Real talk. As a Christian, we've heard this story a thousand times. The Israelites, God's Chosen People - special, marked, loved, cared for - were exiled into the desert where, although not ideal, God took care of them. We learned how daily God performed miracles just for them! He made manna (bread) fall from the sky so they could eat and he brought water out of a rock to quench their thirst! But they weren't thrilled about it. They whined. They complained. They felt they deserved more. They forgot to say thank you. And, as every good Christian girl and boy does, we reacted in shock! How could they not see their God providing for them?! How could they be so ungrateful? How could they lose faith in their great and holy Father? How could they forget who He was and how much He loved them? We would never act like that! We would learn from them! We would not let down our God with our short memories of who He is and what He p...

Based on evidence from radiometric age-dating of meteorite material, the earth is about 4.543 billion years old. I am 46. By this point in my life I have slept away at least 15-years, but it's actually probably closer to twenty. If I remain healthy, I have about thirty good years left, but I still have to sleep. If I were to be honest, I would admit I have spent the majority of my life in a state of reaction to someone or something else. I am not exactly known as a trailblazer or a leader. I will happily pass the leadership baton to someone else and let them decide what my life should look like. Where should we eat? You decide. Where should we vacation? You pick. What should holidays look like? I guess I'll just deal with whatever you come up with. I have always had these grand plans to pick up and move to someplace quaint and quirky, fall in love with a man who was much more level-headed and rational than I, and have a bunch of kids that would be the pride of my heart....

I'm on the front page of the base newspaper, a bulky Kevlar helmet on my head, even clunkier military issued glasses on my face, frozen in time next to a 4-star general. I'm showing him the results of my target practice. He's smiling, proudly. All the bullet holes in a tight circle in the center. I look bored. It was raining. I was woken up extra early, before any of the others. Placed on an old school bus painted drab brown-green. Or maybe it was green-brown. It was so long ago. It's hard to remember the details. I sit directly behind the driver. Alone. I didn't know who I was with. I didn't ask. They didn't offer. We drove in the dark. Stopped. Exited. I stood waiting with two other strangers dressed the same as me. Someone pointed. The three of us, strangers to each other, walked away. I found the perfect spot up on the wooded hill. Covered in camouflaged face paint - the most make up I'd ever wear on my face, covered my body in t...

Growing up, I avoided my dad whenever I could. I'd slink around corners and sit quietly in rooms wanting nothing more than to stay undetected. I'd avoid looking him in the eyes or speaking directly to him, preferring someone else to do the talking while I observed from a safe distance. I was scared of my dad. Deathly afraid at whatever outburst was about to erupt. My dad was impatient, short-tempered, angry. He saved his best self for his friends. I got the just stay out of his way and don't make him mad.  The most common words from my Dad were shut up , be quiet , and don't make me come up there . I could relax when my Dad wasn't home. My stomach would turn into a tight ball of nerves the second I heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires coming up the drive. I was fourteen years old when I learned my father was an alcoholic. I knew he always had a can of beer in his hand while mowing the lawn, but alcohol was not kept in our home. (Except for a bot...

I once met a young man and we got to talking. He made me laugh. We exchanged phone numbers and started getting to know each other. We were out to lunch when I realized this wasn't someone I was interested in moving forward in a relationship with. He had stated his goals and what he wanted out of life, as did I. What we wanted was too different. It was as simple as that. I thanked him for lunch, he wished me well. I tried to end a different relationship when it was obvious that one wasn't working. He got angry. Felt disrespected. Called me selfish. Called me a lot of other names, too. It was about as opposite a reaction I ever could have imagined. He stood across the street from my house on the sidewalk. Just staring. I closed the curtains. I called the police. What is he doing? Standing there. Is he threatening you? No, he's just standing there staring at my house. Is he yelling? No. He is standing across the street. On the sidewalk. Staring at my house. Where...