I do

Silken petals spilling over my hand
Jewel-encrusted metal peeking out beneath
With a deep breath for strength
I take one step forward
Into a new life
With you.

The drama of
Planning, anticipating, accommodating
The weariness of
Writing checks and checking lists
The nervousness of
A young bride and her devoted groom
Is all put to rest
In one moment.

I do.

I do promise to love you,
Even when
Your shirts are left on the kitchen floor
The open peanut butter jar has a fly in it
The horror movie you love gave me nightmares
The checkbook is nearly empty
And all of the chocolate is gone.

I do promise to show my love for you,
Even when
My fibro flares and I don't want to be touched
I bring my work troubles home with me
I don't feel like it
My emotions are out of control
And all of the chocolate is gone.

I do swear I won't leave you
Even when
The roof springs a leak
The toilet backs up
The cars are both out of gas
My overactive fears urge me to run away
And all of the chocolate is gone.

I do promise to forgive you
Even when
You forget to say "excuse me"
The bathroom is a mess
I'm the only one eating leftovers
You forget I don't like mushrooms
And all of the chocolate is gone.

I do promise to ask for your forgiveness
Even when
I ask too much of you, really
I forget your promises
Dinner is burned/undercooked/cold (because I can cook if it's not for you)
I impulsively buy things I shouldn't
And I blame you for all the chocolate being gone.

And when we face trials
Our pasts come to haunt us
Wintery depression settles in
Health fades into pain
Loved ones pass away
Jobs end and new ones escape us
Friends betray or just forget to care
Our children, or lack of them, ravage our hearts
We forget, for a moment, how to love each other
AND ALL OF THE CHOCOLATE IS GONE...

I will still love you
I will still need you
I will still be here for you
I will still give myself to you
I will still belong to you

I promise you this.

I do.

A Stronger "Thank You."

Every day I go swimming
Pools of salt water that start a deep jade
You point out the flecks of brown and blue
Then the pools shimmer, spill over
Into translucent drops
Picking up smeared colors
As they drain.

Yet like the bottomless pit
The pools never stop refilling
For each day we dive in again
And watch ourselves drown

"It wasn't like this before"
You say.
"I don't understand why."
I say.
"It'll get better in time."
We say.

But it hasn't yet.

There are many reasons why the pools can't
Just stay intact, whole, sparked instead of soaked
We can come up with so many
Like life in general;
Like pressures of techtonic plates
Shifting us into new worlds, new lives,
Letting the magma beneath rumble to the surface;
Like something mysteriously gender-specific;
Like the weather.

The one credit of nearly drowning every day
Is that you appreciate what moments of life surround death;
You holding my hand
You trying to absorb the pain
You daring to change my direction
You encouraging, reassuring, giving me courage to fight
You attempting, daily, to save me.
You never running away to save yourself.

The English language needs a stronger sentiment than
"Thank you."

Whispers in the Moonlight

Opals spill from Heaven in wavery lines
The reflection of the Sun reflects on your cheeks
Sparkles of silver, blue, green, and possibly purple underline
The dimples you declare don't exist
The soft lines declaring your sense of humor
The sweet lips that curve in warm greeting

And I melt

If this was an oceanside beach I'd hear the tumbling of white-foam waves
Opals scattered among broken shells and starfish searching for their mates

If this was a forest I'd hear treefrogs singing sweet soprano notes
As they declare the warm night perfect for yet another sonata

If this was a balcony on a tall city skyscraper I'd hear the calls of so many
Cars as they say hello, goodbye, and I hope to never see you again.

But this is just a simple lake, a simple country, a simple September date
A simple girl, a simple guy, and a simple thought in each head

So as your hair shines a deep ruby in the moonlight
And your face glows in the coolness of a sweet summer night
I will remember this night I began to fall in love with you

And melt.

This Chocolate Bar is not a Lifesaving Device

My security has been threatened recently from many fronts. My job situation in the spring is up in the air with no safety nets surviving the storm of economics and my insane schedule. My health has thrown me a few curve balls that I'm somewhat managing. "Bob" is probably getting annoyed with my emotional swings, although he's being quite the trooper about it. I was shown some very powerful examples of how I may not be the personality type I thought I was--which may not mean anything to most people, but when it places me in a category that I don't find flattering in people, it was rather shattering. Add in the usual stress of two jobs, big projects lying uncompleted, and a cat who apparently feels a little abandoned himself, and I'm reeling.

Losing my good grip on my identity was probably the hardest blow. It's helping to illuminate some issues I've been having with adjusting to being with Bob, so that does have a solid benefit. My independent and co-dependent issues have been clashing hard. I work very well on my own--the flexibility of having little "overhead direction" allows my creative side the room it needs to roam about and still get things done, even if they are done differently than other people would do them. Being part of a couple, adjusting to nearly constant compromise, collaboration, and teamwork, has been very challenging. I love having someone to share things with, who can and will help, but it's hard dealing with not having as much "creative license" as I'm used to. It's hard to figure out when I need to push for more equality and when I need to just pick up the slack (because it's usually me who perceives there is slack, anyway, whether there is or not). It goes back to the issue of before--having needs and wants, not sharing them, and then getting upset/angry/worried/scared when they're not met.

When I'm feeling insecure, though, what do I do? Lately, eat chocolate, cry on people, and contemplate ways I can escape from everything and be safe (albeit alone and lonely). After a little while, I get distracted, the feelings fade, and I'm back to pushing through the week, encounter high stress...and then the cycle starts all over again.

What I'm doing is literally insane. I'm doing the same thing, treading water, and expecting it to eventually solve the problem (considering the currents I'm caught in, that's not going to happen). I'm subjecting the people around me to torrents of emotion that probably make less sense than a week of severe PMS (and no, I'm not hormonal that I know of). This is not a recipe for anything more than mere survival and testing the perseverence of the people around me.

My big problem is that I am avoiding the giant lifesaver in front of me, one I've known about this whole time, that has been willing and able to carry me through the seas and onto dry land again. Why I've avoided it, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe because it's not as tangible as the sea I know so well. Maybe because I'm stubbornly believing I can get through this through dry humor and patience; I don't want to admit I need more help after everything I've already taken. Maybe because I'm afraid of what it'll cost to take the way out. I may be forced to change, to give up some things I want so badly to stay in my life.

Could I still make it through the next two months without the lifesaver? It's possible, but given where I'm at, I'm not sure I can last that long. I'm almost positive my friends and family won't last that long. It's time for me to swallow my pride (that I can survive anything), take a chance on the safest bet around, and let God save me again. He made me. He gets it. He doesn't mind my insanity. He'll listen and give me peace again.

So, okay, God. Stick on the water wings. I'll wear them with pride. My Daddy bought them for me. :)

Risky Behavior

Getting a tattoo from a "beginner." Texting while driving, irregardless of age (in Missouri, it's only illegal if you are under 21). Bungee jumping with your dentures in. We could make a list stretch on for miles over risky things we do, but probably one of the riskiest ones would be far down on the list despite it being one that we humans do every day. Talking to other people.

Sure, there are obvious ways our words can get us in trouble. Telling a cop he should spend less time chasing our car and instead chase donuts. Sassing back to a teacher when she asks that we stop pulling our classmate's hair. Using certain derogatory words around people of other ethnic/racial groups. From the time we were children (and for some of us late-bloomers, teenagers), we have learned that you just don't say certain things. For the most part, this is good--respect is such a rare commodity these days (and yes, I'm starting to sound like my grandparents already and I'm still in my twenties). In some cases, though, not saying something is more harmful than we could ever imagine.

Although I have gotten better at constructively criticizing those around me when I need to, I recently discovered that this is a skill that still needs work. Case and point? My very serious romantic relationship with a guy I'll name "Bob." I haven't been that honest with him lately, mostly because I'm still figuring out when I need to say something and when I need to keep quiet. To be safe, I've been keeping quiet a lot...and that led to a repressive emotional blowout full of sobbing and a chucked Kleenex box (to my credit, I was alone in the room at the time and I just threw it at the tabletop). It was a lot of little things, really, things that didn't really bother me that much. Added all together, they created feelings of resentment, disappointment, pain, and fear. I knew I was feeling insecure, and was able to share that with Bob, but I didn't understand why, especially when I had conquered most of my past ghosts.

The big answer I finally figured out with the help of two wise married women? I wasn't getting some of my needs met, mostly because I hadn't told him about them. I could figure out his needs really easily without being asked (hot meals, clean[ish] house, cuddle time on the couch, a listening ear, etc.) and even then I would keep asking and discover more things I could do to make him feel secure and loved. My needs weren't so simple to tease out, and even when he did ask, I wasn't good at revealing them. Part of it was due to fear that I would be selfish to ask for things/actions/services in return, that he wouldn't be able to or want to provide those things, or that I would be too much of a "bother" or considered a "high-maintenance woman." Another part of my silence was due to literally not knowing how to word the requests. I know, I'm a writer, an English professor, and I can't figure out how to use words effectively. Insert *facepalm* here.



By trying to avoid hurting his feelings and protecting myself from possible rejection, I turned myself into ticking time bomb of emotions. I kept up this facade of "I'm okay, I can take care of myself, no need to worry about me, just let me serve you and I'll be fine..." for the most part, but found myself eventually crying nearly every time I was with him. Insecurity bombarded me with thoughts of how he didn't really care, he was going to get tired of me and my drama, he wouldn't be able to deal with my requests, or (really ugly moment here) he was just going to use me and throw me away like others have done in the past. Yes, projecting past experiences onto Bob didn't help, but one of the core reasons was that I felt neglected and negated in some respects. Whose fault was that? Mine.

I needed to stop feeling guilty asking for things, especially the small things. No matter how tired, grumpy, irritated, or sick he is, Bob loves me and wants to take care of me. He needs to take care of my needs, to provide for me just as I need to be needed by him. I'm not his slave and I need to stop acting like it--especially as he NEVER asked me to be that!

Bob's reaction to this situation? Well, it was best summed up during a conversation where I tentatively (read: tiny little-girl voice) said, "So it's ok if I ask for that?"

"Well, of course! What, is this that new-age women's lib crap where you have no needs and are all self-sufficient?"

A little crass, but the point is valid. We, as women AND men, are NOT self-sufficient. Whether we realize it or not, we desperately need God and, second to Him, each other. If not, why were those the two commandments Jesus gave us? We are to love God and love one another. That means both give and take.

Honesty Part II: Masking the Appearance of Trouble

While in worship at the ACFW conference, I heard slight whispers in the crowd.

"Look at her--she's really into it!"
"I think she's one of those pentacostals or something."
"The song must really be speaking to her."

I know these ladies never meant for me to hear them. After all, by all appearances, I was completely wrapped up in the moments of worship. My hands were raised, albeit only at the elbow--I usually extend them higher during powerful songs, my face was uplifted, my body swayed side-to-side and trembled slightly, and tears rolled down my cheeks before splashing onto my blouse. As a singer on my Baptist church's worship team, I do often do all of the above (tears are pretty unusual, though) when the moment is strong and I'm enveloped in the world of praising and praying to my God. I stop caring that my Pentacostal roots are showing and that I'm probably moving too much for the comfort of my congregation. I just do as I'm led to do.

My appearance of being lost in a moment with God during the conference wasn't reflecting the truth. I wasn't that into the song--it was one that, while it was nice, wasn't truly affecting me. One hand braced around my middle, the other raised from the elbow, I was beseeching God for something other than worship. I was desperately seeking help. I was in serious, extreme pain.

Is she praying...or struggling with a migraine? How can you tell?

Living with fibromyalgia is a challenge beyond any other--random flares of pain, some of them intense enough to make me stop breathing or double over into a ball, happen without warning. I already knew my disease was going to be an issue due to the long hours in a car to travel to Indianapolis, sleeping in a new bed, not getting much sleep due to activities, and a lot of sitting throughout the day. The intense flare in the middle of worship, however, caught me off-guard. It was the strongest one I had had in over a year. The tears and shaking proved it.

Since it's incurable, I've accepted my fibromyalgia as my thorn in my side (a la apostle Paul). Since preventative medications don't work on my system, and I avoid pills as much as possible due to the risks of addiction and damaging internal organs, I'm left with pushing through the pain with the determination of a soon-to-be mother. It also means that I try to mask my pain as much as possible. There's not much anyone can do besides maybe put pressure on a trigger point or massage a cramped muscle into submission. There are very few people I know who would be willing to do this even if I had the gall to ask--and there are very few public situations where this wouldn't attract unwanted attention. Letting others know when I'm hurting gives me a label of "weak" or "delicate"...not the labels I want if I want to be able to serve in the ways I was made to do. No one asks a weak woman to babysit their children. No one asks a fragile person to cook a three-course Mexican dinner for a Bible study. No one allows her to play softball or help move furniture or carry in instruments or renovate a nursery. I can do these things, even if occasionally I pay for it with a flare or two. My life is a chance game, but I refuse to play it safe and let my malfunctioning nervous system win. So I hide the truth from even the people I love and who love me.

This is where the bigger problem comes in. While flares rarely reach a 13-14 on the 10-point scale (ACFW conference was a 14), I do have 9s or 10s occasionally. I had one during a church service while sitting next to my boyfriend. I hid it for the ten minutes it lasted, gritting my teeth, regulating my breathing, clenching my fists, and praying hard. After the service, my boyfriend mentioned that he was really touched by how emotionally moved I was during the prayer--he had felt me shaking. Exhausted, I told him nonchalantly what really happened. The next day, he called to say that I am to notify him in some way any time I have a flare around him--using code words, whispering in his ear, something. The request confused me. "Most of the time there's nothing you can do, and knowing I'm in pain will only hurt you as well, so why do you want to know?" His answer came with a strong "duh" tone. "Uh, so I can be concerned?"

Knowing someone you love is hurting and being powerless to do anything about it is one of the most hopeless and devastating situations to be in, at least in my opinion. Being honest about how my body's torturing me makes me less of a friend/partner and more of a burden. If there is something he can do, I can understand telling him, but all the time? Does he even understand how often I go through these flares and pains? Isn't it enough that my fibromyalgia makes my life difficult--does it have to affect him and other people as well? I'm not opposed to letting people know I have the disease necessarily, but exposing the realities as they occur...that's terrifying.

I'm still struggling with my strong sense of independence on this one. I really don't know if I'll be able to go through with whispering his selected code word into his ear the next time my back spasms. I really don't know if I'll be able to reveal to others when I'm not shaking due to the movements of God or low blood sugar (a nice excuse, really, because you usually get chocolate out of the deal) but rather due to muscles tightening past normal limits. I really don't know if I'll be able to show the fear and anxiety in my eyes instead of closing them when I realize I'm not able to breathe for a few seconds. The answer to where boundary lines belong with this disease is out there, somewhere. I hope I find it soon. Before the next flare around my boyfriend, anyway.

Honesty 101

As someone who works at a highly-regarded university in the Midwest in the Communications department, you would think that I'm a fairly good communicator. Like I teach my students when we cover the communication cycle, there is always interference (otherwise known as "noise") that makes messages garbled, misunderstood, or just plain nonsensical. One form of interference that I have to deal with daily is my poor hearing. I often rhyme out words I hear and it's especially difficult for me to hear well in crowded/noisy rooms. Not being able to understand others, especially when the people around me seem to be doing just fine, annoys me to no end--and I get discouraged, uncomfortable, and tend to withdraw from the group. My problem-solving skills tend to focus on what I can change about myself to work with others, not have others shift to work around me. After all, we're supposed to love our brothers (and sisters) more than ourselves...so wouldn't that mean just dealing with the problems and only focusing on them?

Not exactly. By not communicating my needs, especially ones that aren't that big of an issue (for the most part, no one would begrudge me asking for us to move to a quieter spot. After all, if I can better listen to them, then I can minister to them more--it becomes a win-win situation for all.), I'm only hurting myself and my friends/family. Ignoring my needs and emotions will only poison my time with these wonderful people and make me less of a good support for them. I have to be brave enough to ask for help and prayer with my own issues...and be honest about what's really going on.

The big issue? Fear. I'm afraid I'll lose my friends, my family, because I'm too needy or demanding or something like that. After all, it's happened before. By not being honest, though, I'm not encouraging a real relationship with these people--just empty or superficial shells of friendship and fellowship where I can't trust the person (and maybe the God within) with my vulnerabilities. A recent two-day talk with a very close friend about some serious miscommunications really drove this point home. I was so afraid of hurting her (because I knew how sensitive she was) so I didn't confront her appropriately with the results of some of her actions. Instead, I hid the pain and the discomfort, pretending to be my usual bubbly self. When I got to the point where I couldn't hide anymore, I nearly washed my hands of the relationship and ran away. Part of it was because I couldn't bear to witness the effects of my words on her. Part of it was because I didn't know how to tell her that I was angry and felt like I couldn't trust her sometimes. She meant (and still does mean) so much to me that I didn't want to risk losing her, but as I've learned recently, it's not a bad thing to be angry. Anger is a positive emotion--it's what you do with it (kill, vandalize, hide in the corner) that makes it a negative thing. After all, even the only perfect man who ever lived got angry (John 2:13-22). We did talk things out, and while I never expressed my feelings of betrayal, I think she got the point. If she didn't...I'll soon know.

Jesus commanded us to love one another (John 13:34). Part of love is being honest (1 Cor. 13:6). We can't hide behind fear and think our silence and crossed fingers will make everything better eventually. We have to be brave.

Daisy Love

I love you
I love you not
I love you
I love you not
A child’s game made to predict a choice
Of whether someone’s love would be given a voice
Searching for acceptance, forgiveness, and security
In the plucking of petals full of nature’s purity
Maybe it should be concerning, this turn to God’s inanimate creation
Instead of to the people designed to love in every nation
Why is it that we leave our hearts up to chance
Instead of trusting others in life’s tumultuous dance?
Again, the children have discovered the key
To why we have lost so much faith in “we”:
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But your words will ever more hurt me
Bruises and cuts will heal
But words can steal
Our joy and peace
Hope is decreased
And when you’ve spoken and slammed me to the floor
My soul is crushed, my heart cries, “NO MORE!”
1 Corinthians 13 sounds more like a joke
Or some fantasy a romantic fool wrote—
Do we mean that word posted above our door,
Or is “love” something we have mixed meanings for?
Love means sacrifice—not always fun or easy
Love is not about what would best please me
Love means not grumbling when the lady ahead in line
Has to re-run her debit card for the thirteenth time
Love means not deliberately looking away
When a veteran with a sign needs food for the day
Love means confiding, not screaming to the world other people’s wrongs
Understanding that some lives really are like sad country songs
That what we really need is someone to listen, to encourage, to know
That the sinful person we are has great potential in Christ to grow
But when we love only with great hesitation
Saying that we are far above or different than that person’s station
And rebuke them with so much ill-tempered consternation
Are we destroying our Savior’s reputation?
He Who is in us is reflected in our words and actions
So what does the mirror show of our transactions?
When I haughtily describe a Brother’s mistakes
Does he see Jesus in my frowning face?
And when I look down on other people’s sins,
Is that God’s light shining from within?
When my comments online are scathing and unrefined
Is it “God loves you” or “I judge you” written between the lines?
Our country has given us the right of free speech
But do we use it to love or only to preach
How the world should acknowledge that I am always right
And getting behind me is the only solution in sight?
In a place called the land of the free and the home of the brave
Everything comes at a cost and few stand up to save.
Trusting in a human is like plucking a flower
You’re taking a chance in fallible power
Will what you find be worth the trouble and time
Or will you soon murmur that sad children’s rhyme?
It’s not the human, but the God in them we should trust
Loving them anyway, correcting gently when we must
Knowing that God’s love in a person’s heart
Doesn't make them perfect, but gives a good place to start
Changing the chant when others look our way
Showing them how God can teach us to say
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you

Passionate Devotion

It's no secret to those who get to be around me for even just a short while that I'm a very passionate person. I love a lot of things, and I pour myself into them. My time, money, energy, creativity...you name it, it's in there.

Kind of like the chemical composition of some processed food...only I don't think I cause cancer.

I adopt a church family and suddenly I'm there all the time, taking care of babies, baking pies, dashing off trays of danishes, crooning worship songs, and catching fly softballs (well, I try, anyway). I take on teaching classes and I'm bringing in treats, buying DVDs of documentaries to show (Netflix isn't that reliable around here), and even agreeing to meet with students on the weekends or talk them through tough paper problems in the late evening hours (I've stopped the 1am conferences mostly out of respect to a promise I made to a friend about erecting and policing boundaries). As a babysitter, I can't leave a sink full of nasty dirty dishes behind, even though I didn't contribute to them while making the kids' dinner. I've even scrubbed tile grout on my hands and knees while the children were sleeping because it needed to be done. Passion...and insanity..are intrinsic to who I am as a person.

This goes double for me in relationships. I pour who I am into my serious relationships. I call, send texts, write emails and mail off cards (just don't expect one on the "normal" days, like birthdays or anniversaries, because I can't seem to remember those obvious ones). The investment I make into these relationships involves money, energy, and an extreme amount of time and caring. I give people my heart as though it was that crappy tootsie-roll wannabe candy people on floats throw out during homecoming parades--with near-complete abandon and way too much trust. It's no wonder, then, that my heart ends up trampled and damaged on a fairly regular basis. I want to believe people will treat me the way I treat them...and since we're all humans, it's going to involve mistakes and disappointments. Lately I've been learning that someone I gave my heart to really didn't deserve it...and the consequences for this choice are still somewhat affecting me.

We're going to need to buy stock in Scotch tape on this one, folks....

The simple solution, at least for future avoidance of this painful problem, seems to be to just guard my heart with jealous abandon and stop giving it away. In fact, it's even Biblical--we are supposed to guard our hearts so that we aren't influenced by Satan's attacks and seductive promises.

Not too bad of a job, but even the National Guard gets a day off once in a while.

Still, for me to not invest myself in something I care deeply about, whether it be my career, my friends, my family, my faith, my relationships...it's just not me. God created me to be a person who loves, and loves deeply. Guarding my heart is fine, but closing it off to where I don't give of myself anymore...that's not an option.

So what am I supposed to do with this incredible spirit of devotion and passion within me? If I trust other people with it, I get hurt. If I trust only myself with it, I lose the blessings I receive from my successful interactions with others...and I waste the gift that it is. It rots on a shelf, the opportunities for sharing long gone and now nobody can receive anything beneficial from it. There doesn't seem to be a safe path...or is there?

Enter God. It seems so obvious, but it is also what I forget the most. God is more wise, powerful, loving, and gracious than anyone or anything in the universe and beyond. He sacrificed so much for me so I could have this relationship with Him. He wants my heart, my passion, my devotion, and it's not a fallible human relationship on His end. He will NEVER mistreat or mishandle the gift of my love and devotion...and the benefits of giving everything to Him are unending and truly amazing. God will guide me through the brambles of life, showing me where and whom I need to love...even if it may hurt. No matter what, God will always love me. I need to say that again. No matter what, God will always love me. If He is holding my hand, I can make it through the pain and strife in this frail human life. He's never going to let me down, betray me, or suddenly decide that He just doesn't have feelings for me anymore. I'm safe with Him. I can trust Him.

For once, there won't even be the awkwardness that always comes with my gigantic-sized hands--everything fits perfectly. Now if this could only translate to when I go shoe shopping....

I've had a burning desire for nearly all of my life to be a wife and a mother. I know God has given me the ability and temperament to be pretty darn good at both. For right now, though, I'm accepting that it's just not God's plan. He has things for me to do that I can do better as a single woman. All my projects, the ministries I'm involved in, the jobs I hold that help so many people--they all need time and attention that I would have to (and want to) give to a husband/family. In a way, it's hard for me to do this, give up fighting for this dream. In another way...it's incredibly freeing. The guilt, confusion, pain, and disappointment that comes with shattered dreams is only hindering me in what is a truly joyful existence. Instead of jealousy watching my married friends be held and loved by their husbands, I will be happy for them...and happy that I don't have to deal with twice the laundry and weird video game obsessions. If God grants my dream someday, I will joyfully accept the glass slipper and cry tears of happiness down the aisle. If not...then I will joyfully accept my independence and relax with a "perfect" husband that no mortal man can ever compete with.

So today I will use my passionate devotion to work on a few projects for my church, perhaps revise more of my novel, and maybe even finish the final storyboards for a children's book or two (and, of course, finish my grading/teaching prep for the week). Watch out, world...I'm going to love you. :)

Held in Heaven

If you asked me if there was one thing I could change about how my relationship with God works, most days I'd probably say that I'd like to have regular, face-to-face conversations with Him where I could ask questions and get (hopefully) straight answers. That this sort of reduces the need for faith...well, that's an unfortunate side effect. Lately, though, my heart has been changing my usual answer to that "genie wish" question. I want some cuddle time with Jesus.

Squeeze as tight as you like.

We as human beings need to touch and be touched (although how much and to what degree varies widely). Babies can die if they aren't loved on enough. I'm a very touchy-feely person and adore hugs. I get a few each Sunday during our church's meet and greet...but there are times I need more than just that. I need a cuddle. When I was dating a guy, I practically glued myself to him on the few times I was able to see him because I was so desperate for that kind of safety, love, and security that comes with cuddling and hugging, holding and being held. Now that I'm single again, it's hard to find someone willing and able to be a cuddle buddy. I do have a teddy bear I still sleep with every night partially for this reason (and it keeps me from flipping over and squishing my cat at 3am).

This photo should be just as endearing and cute if she was in her thirties.

Still...cuddling with an inanimate object just isn't fulfilling enough. Sure, Beary Michael is a great listener and hasn't complained once, but he also gets thrown to the floor and ends up burning his fur on the heat registers (ever see a white bear with brown stripes?). He fits perfectly within my arms, but I can't remotely fit in his. I need something, someone, alive. My cat might work, but he's not remotely a lap cat (more like a proximity cat...he'll sleep with me occasionally and usually is in the same room, but rarely ever on my lap). So...my options are pretty much limited to humans now (especially as I'm no Brittney Spears and DO NOT find a python's squeeze remotely comforting).

Hugging humans is great...except for finding good situations for doing so. Most of my good friends who would qualify for cuddle buddies are extremely busy women...like me. :) I feel guilty talking to them on the phone for half an hour when I'm upset. Asking for even a five or ten-minute cuddle session seems absolutely ridiculous. Besides, finding opportunities or appropriate places for such sessions is even harder sometimes than finding someone to do it with.

Two is company...and this is just *WRONG*. If you have to put on nametags before cuddling, it's not a good cuddle. It's creepy (especially if you noticed some of those hands are on butts). Not cool.

One solution to my need for this kind of affection has been gifted to me in the form of children. I babysit for a couple of girls (9 and 11) while their mother is overseas. I've known the family for years, and am close to the girls anyway, but over the past month of babysitting after a three-year hiatus, I find myself becoming extremely affectionate towards the girls. I tussle their hair, tickle ribs, give hugs, and kiss their foreheads goodnight as I put them to bed. When we sack out to watch a movie, they usually curl up on the couch with me, letting me stroke their hair or trail my fingers up and down their arms like my mother used to do to me when I was sick as a child. They miss that female touch...and I'm more than willing to share in such moments. I want to be in their shoes, but can't. I can, however, live vicariously through them.

Someday...this will be me with my own daughter instead of a borrowed one.

Still, when their mother comes back next week, when school starts, when they are finally old enough not to really need a babysitter (which will happen all too soon), I'll be left without my two adorable cuddle buddies. God, in His infinite wisdom, put me in a church that already has a good smattering of babies and several more on the way. Babies. The perfect solution for a woman who needs physical attention. They need to be held and they hold onto you. They adore and love you (as long as they don't realize that they want their real mothers more at the moment) without judging...and think rocking to sleep is one of the best things in the world. What a coincidence--so do I.

Go on, baby. Make my day.

Still, I can't always grab my pastor's daughter from his wife's arms and carry her off for cuddle'n'fun time whenever I'm needing it. She's growing up...and her mother rather likes having her daughter around her (go figure). Even if God blesses me with a husband and a family of my own someday--which He may not, and for reasons I know are for the best for me and my ministry to others--I still won't have unlimited access to the kind of peace, comfort, love, and tranquility that comes from sweet hugs and being held/holding others. The world doesn't revolve around my desires (although if it did...wow. Talk about a huge blessing and a huge mess all in one :) ). That's why my deepest genie wish is for cuddle time with God. Omnipresent partners who are infinitely kind, loving, forgiving, giving, patient...it's the perfect situation. God can soothe my soul in the relationship we have now, and does on a daily basis. Many days, though...I want to be held by my Creator, have Him stroke my hair, and just love me in one of the most powerful ways I know. I think I'll spend at least half of my eternity in Heaven in that position. :)

Until I get to those bejeweled gates, though, I'm still looking for those cuddle partners, people made in the image of the One I love more than anyone else who can minister to me until I see Him face-to-face. Any takers, apply immediately.

Soon, God...soon.