Meanwhile reality sets in and the dreamer, neck-deep in a new marriage, job search and non-fiction writing project exploring tempting and taboo sexual habits and spiritual beliefs, has to sideline life to focus on the sad-but-true actuality of dementia symptoms in a middle-class, eighty-something, widow she calls the Gramma lady…

It’s strange being appointed the Power of Attorney for a woman who sometimes resembled a mother, sometimes a persnickety, Pentecostal matriarch, sometimes doting grandmother. I didn’t ask for the position but an unfortunate series of events brought me to the role. My Auntie Kathy, the Gramma lady’s second born, had been the Power of Attorney for years. I, an ignorant grandchild visited blissfully with the Gramma lady as often as I could after the passing of Gramps, the patriarch that we all loved. I wanted to be in her life, like I was in Gramps until the end of her days. I knew much of the fabric of me was woven by her hands, her hymns and her reprimands. She bathed me, fed me, held me when my dad worked too much and my mother partied too much. She sang songs about blood and power to me when it otherwise would have been a dark and lonely childhood. She told me stories of her daddy and a war I only knew from movies and her worn-out, re-told tales. She visited me when my father’s work took me thousands of miles away from the rest of my family. She took me in when my mother kicked me out. She watched my boys while I got high. She was the Gramma lady I took for granted.

And then by a miracle of grace, God, for some reason, reached through my addiction and got my attention. The first place I went after the alter, was to them, Gramps and the Gramma lady. And like always, they were there. He, with air sucked through his teeth and funny little jokes or tricks to make me laugh, and she with hymns and too many words and lessons about life and the past.

I was an adult, they were retirees and great-grandparents to my boys. They (along with another set of dearly loved great-grandparents) fed them when I was getting on my feet but too poor to feed them myself. They gave us furniture and life lessons and way too much food. They proclaimed the gospel truth of Jesus not only in word but in deed. They were good and faithful servants.

Then as this life does, it came to call. In a moment, which actually stretched painfully long, Gramps was taken in a beautiful but melancholy way, home to heaven, and the Gramma lady was left alone again.
See, she’d been alone before… we all know the story; her daddy went to war and she was left alone. I didn’t want her to be so alone so I went to visit as often as I could. I knew how loneliness rots away at the bones and soul and didn’t want that to happen to the lady who woke me up for school and was at the dawn of almost all my early days. So I visited. After our family moved a hundred or so miles away I called regularly and visited once a month. I helped with bills and ‘lifting things’ when I could and left the hard work to my auntie.

Then cancer came calling for auntie Kathy. Who knows why, but it did. She got it and her life was suddenly about surviving. She is still fighting but couldn’t manage the Gramma lady’s affairs and her own struggle to live. The three siblings agreed, or something like that, and they asked me to be Power of Attorney.
I accepted.

Now here I am. 40 years old and in charge of a tiny estate. I have no idea what to do or how this will play out. All I know is I pledged my life to God nearly twenty years ago and He wants me to honor my father and mother. For much of my life, this Gramma lady was the closest thing to mother that I had, though I resented her. Additionally, though he’s largely absent, I have my own father to consider in this matter. Anything left will be partially his to split with his brother and sister… and me, because for some reason they included me in the will.
But will there even be anything left? The answer, according to “experts,” lawyers and people who have been down this road is… NO. Nothing will be left to pass on.

Nothing!

These two saints; imperfect, Pentecostal, preachers of the gospel, that they were, because they were middle-class and uneducated in the high cost of elder care will spend their lifetime of earnings and retirement on assisted living care until my Gramma is dead or has nothing left. Then and only then will she be able to qualify for Medicaid, a nice way to say welfare healthcare for the elderly.

I don’t know anything about this and here I am trying to pay my Gramma’s bills, protect her assets (which isn’t possible) and get her moved into a safe place. What I’ve been told now from more than one lawyer is, if she lives, in the mentally deteriorated state that she’s in for a long time, all of her assets will have to be “spent down” to pay for her medical expenses. It sucks!

I understand paying your way, I do, trust me, I do. I’m Italian, we work. We work long, and we work hard and we earn our keep. I don’t have a problem with that, but it’s sad to me that … if she lives a long time, which I hope she does, they will have nothing of all of their combined years of ministry, work and service to pass on. No, I’m not money grubbing, I actually want to make my own way in this world, but I am sad that life comes down to this for the middle-class in America.

‘“Meaningless! Meaningless!” Says the Teacher. “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.’

Like the bible says, it is the circle of life, they’ll die, we’ll carry on, we’ll die, others will carry on… without hope it’s meaningless. But still… for all their hard work, it would be nice to have something, other than a medical or elder care facility bill at the end. I’ve talked to four lawyers, two friends and my most trusted confidant, not to mention countless individuals with ideas and input and there is nothing to do but spend her money until it’s gone, so that she can get on Medicaid (welfare). The alternative is to hope she dies sooner than later, sick, but it’s the alternative…

I can manage her bills and assets as responsibly and mindfully as I can, but there’s not much hope for the Gramma lady to have anything “left” for her heirs.

If there is any silver lining, it is this… not for she who came before me, but for us, the honest, hard-working middle-class, who won’t be rich, but will hopefully have enough of a legacy we’ve worked hard for to pass down to our kids and grand-kids…

What I’ve learned is this:
1) ABOVE ALL… know where you’ll go when you die. Search your soul, your heart, your mind. If you’re confident and at peace, good for you. If not, try Jesus, He’ll give you a peace that passes understanding. If you want to know more, email me, I’m happy to share!

2) BUY LONG-TERM DISABILITY INSURANCE as soon as possible!! If my Grandparents had this earlier, they could have protected their assets from the dreaded Medicaid look-back period because they would have been paying to fund their own elder care! It’s expensive, it’s a bear but trust me… if you want to leave anything to your heirs, it’s imperative!

3) GIVE YOUR ASSETS TO YOUR LOVED ONES WHILE YOU CAN ENJOY THEM ENJOYING THEM! If you have kids or grand-kids doing right by God, you and their fellow man… don’t hold on to your things like a greedy tyrant, give them their stuff while you’re healthy enough to avoid the look back and offer them sage advice. If you’re building an estate to pass on, and you have heirs responsible enough and old enough to pass them to, make it a fair deal, but pass them on now…
This is only from my little tiny bit of experience, and I’m sure there’ll be more as the days pass by, but that’s what I’ve got for now. Take care of you now, for when you’re older, and pass on to them now what you want to when you’re dead…
I am open for anything and everything anyone has to share. Our family is neck deep in this dementia transition and spend down. It’s overwhelming and we’d appreciate all the wisdom and sage advice we can get!

Goals, objectives, resolutions… whatever you call ‘em it’s time to put up or give up! Some are gearing up for the best, most productive and successful year of their lives so far! These are the people I plan to be associated with this year and to that end I’ve made one of my biggest goals… to follow several people from different local gyms, studios and fitness facilities as they work for their health and fitness goals (more to come on that next week!). I believe this series will be one of the most rewarding goals I achieve this year, but I do not think it’ll be considered the loftiest goal I set...
I’m a goal oriented person and New Year Goal setting gets me giddy for weeks leading up to January and, though I don’t always attain all my written goals, I make commendable progress that I wouldn’t otherwise achieve if I didn’t have my goals written down.

Last year I approached my goals differently. Usually I write and post them where I can see them & read them every day, or at least quite often. I didn’t do that in 2017, instead I made my goal more of a directive. I wanted to “Settle down & Focus.” Whatever aspect of my body, mind, soul or spirit I was working on, I wanted to ask myself two questions and be able to answer “yes” to one or the other. The questions were:

Will this settle me down?
Will this give me/help me focus?

2016 had been a year of carefree living. My publisher went out of business so I lost my drive to get books out. I was still “choosing” a church in Wenatchee and didn’t feel connected anywhere. To avoid the loneliness of being single; I went out A LOT, I spent A LOT, I raced A LOT, I dated A LOT. It was a year of hedonistic pleasure and soothing the pain of The Leaving.

I knew, however, I was made for more than living carelessly for simple pleasures. I was made to honor God with my body, mind, soul and spirit. I was made to love and help others and serve my fellow man. I was made to write. I was made to be a productive member of society, not just a greedy soul looking for what the world can give me… I knew I needed to settle down & focus.

I didn’t not anticipate the settling down to happen the way it did. If 2016 was about living carelessly, 2017 was all about him. The Mountain Man. He who built me a snow cave and melted my heart!

I planned to put an end to seriously dating at the end of 2016. I was not opposed to it, I’d just spent so much time entertaining so many men (without sex of course!) that I was literally exhausted. Yes, their attentions and affections kept me from being lonely but it didn’t meet my need for a partner or companion, and the flirting, the figuring someone out just to realize they weren’t into me or I wasn’t into them and having to start all over again… or have two or three ongoing pursuits at the same time wore me out. I knew I wanted a life-long partner, I knew God made me with a companionable soul, but it was too much. I needed a break.

Just before I closed down my online profile I met a guy. He was nice enough, definitely had the physique, wit and personality I liked, but he wasn’t a Christian, a gym rat, or a hiker so there were too many things dissimilar that I figured it wouldn’t work out. We built a friendship on that mutual understanding. I’m not gonna lie, there was chemistry too so we were friends who also kissed, but that was it. Then somehow, maybe it was the because I had mentally prepared to settle down and wasn’t really entertaining too many other men, maybe it was because his cadence through life was something my feet could follow easily, maybe it was because no matter how hard I tried to shake him off, he still showed up in all his brawny, ‘simple-man’ glory that was so attractive to me, maybe it was that unbelievably amazing snow cave he dug out...

Whatever it was… Jeremy Worley somehow became me focus in 2017. In July we decided to settle down together for the rest of our lives! We got married, I moved onto the chicken farm and we have thoroughly enjoyed all the pleasures of newlywedding!! With the settling in came a whole lot of firsts and new revelations and filtering through our rubbish and salvaging treasures from our pasts. We’ve each had to let go of old news and bad habits and are learning how to honor what we once had, while celebrating this new life together.

My 2017 goal was to “Settle down & Focus.” I achieved it; even if it wasn’t the way I planned. I settled down with a partner for life. I focused on getting all three of my books in the Road to Love series re-published. I got my credit card debt paid off. I did try to make a career move into a job that filled my soul, but that didn’t pan out the way I wanted, so I’m currently job hunting, but what’s life without risk, right?!

In keeping with the theme idea, I gave myself a word for 2018: GROW! I want to grow in all areas of my life. I have my SMART goals written down and now that I’ve settled down with the Mountain Man and he’s given me a place to call my own, by his side, on his mountain, in the safety of his belief in me… I’m confident this year will be an astonishing year of growth for us both.

So cheers to a 2018 full of growth & success from the Chicken Farm to you!

It’s time to come clean, to confess the compromises to my principals and beliefs over the last couple years and admit to the consequences of my choices. It’s like the song “Slow Fade” by Casting Crowns: “It’s a slow fade, when you give yourself away. It’s a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray. And thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid, when you give yourself away. People never crumble in a day...” I didn’t set out to be in consumer debt again after working so hard with my ex-husband to get out of it. I didn’t set out to have an ex-husband. I didn’t plan to be dating in my late thirties proclaiming my boundaries publicly because our culture falsely dictates that hook-ups and friends-with-benefits are supposed to be normal not scandalous.

There’s a little known saying: “Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.” It’s a warning of sorts; the “little foxes” as they’re called in this Biblical passage are the little things that, over time, ruin us. The little foxes invade our thoughts, our relationships, our sensibilities and slowly eat away at the rich, ripe fruit we’ve tended to and watched grow. With stealth and cunning they sneak in and take and weaken and reduce our harvest. Little by little, day by day, without vigilance and accountability a luscious vineyard becomes a picked over field of lackluster fruit. Today, I look over a windy and battered vineyard that is my life and wonder... who have I become? I’m nothing like she who once was.

I know that life circumstances like mine lend themselves to a change in lifestyle. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it now; I’m blessed to have gone through this in the day and place we live. Had I been abandoned in a different time or country, I wouldn’t have fared so well. I have a job and community that supports struggling single women and doesn’t prey on them. I live a happy, comfortable, independent life that keeps me safe. It’s a good life I’ve been dropped into, but it’s different. I am alone; free and unfettered to and taste and see and hear and feel all that that I can... but also unaccountable. I don’t answer to anyone and, no one cares what I do with my time, talent or money... for me, this is the biggest little fox in the skulk.

Some people are loners and can effectively live and manage their vineyard on their own. While I am fiercely ambitious and motivated, I know that I am a companionable soul and work my vineyard best in fellowship. It’s not that I need someone to tell me what to do… no, no... I appreciate knowledgeable guidance but I’ll learn how to grow, water and nourish my fruit myself; that part I’ve got covered. It’s near the borders, where the creeping vermin sneak in, and in the bounty I have to share, where a companion, accountability partner, or teammate works best for me.

Let me explain…

If I am left to myself, yes, I want a vineyard capable of sustaining me, but so what if some of the fruit is consumed by pests? There’s still enough for me to live off of. Sure it’s not the best, it’s not the most, it’s not the smartest way to tend a vineyard but… who cares? As long as it’s enough for me, it’s good enough. But, add a partner to the mix, someone I know will also enjoy my fruit, suddenly I’m motivated to shoo those foxes away and build fences and borders to keep them out. Why? So I have more bounty to share with them of course! I have external motivation, someone else to give to, to share with. I have a reason to care.

It’s not the same as being desperate for a companion. I don’t need someone for my vineyard to grow. God has blessed me with a wonderful body, mind, soul and spirit. He has given me opportunity to grow good fruit. I do that, but there’s something about me that manages myself better when I know there’s someone else directly affected.

I lost my someone… my someones actually…

In the same amount of time that my ex-husband left, my kids transitioned from childhood into young adults, capable of making their own choices, quite independently of me. He didn’t want me. They didn’t need me. I, alone, was left to tend my vineyard, and the little foxes started creeping.

The biggest compromises came in the areas of finance and romance and it is in these two areas I must make my confession, but this is enough for now, confession is inevitable but it will wait a bit longer, just a bit...

During my Run Wenatchee 10K walk last Thursday, God painted the sky with bright, beautiful, brilliant brush-strokes of sensuous, sunset splendor. That sexy skyscape, coupled with a house blessing I was part of last Saturday, and a guest in a dark place that was invited into my home earlier this week, got me thinking about falling in love.

The greatest love story of my life started with a sunset and an invitation and a paradigm shift. It seemed insignificant at the time but now, it’s one of my most beautiful, treasured recollections. I’m drawn to beauty; in shape, in form, in color, texture, taste, smell and sound. Beauty arrests me. Even though I’m a mover and a shaker, when beauty strikes, even for milliseconds, I can catch it and hold it and remember it, reflect on it, recollect how it made me marvel in a moment.
That sunset was beautiful. That sunset seduced me and changed my life.
In that moment any doubt I had was gone. I knew… there was more.
He knocked. I didn’t let Him in, I simply, offhandedly acknowledged Presence. That day, from then to now is my love story. No one who knows me now seems to be able to understand how I could have been so different. But, I know what I was. I know the choices I made, the hurt and hate and brokenness inside me that I also perpetrated onto others. No one could help, though many tried. I was hopeless, helpless, and lifeless, on a crash course for ruining my life and taking precious cargo with me.
And still He knocked. Patient, persistent, passionate, pursuit. Day after day, week after week, month after month, opening my eyes to His wondrous deeds, mostly in the beauty of creation but also in His word and true followers. I fell in love, awestruck, heart-beating faster, "He loves ME" kind of love! Me? Me! When you feel gross, when you hate yourself and Someone noble, and good and honest loves you... it changes you, or at least, Love changed me.

He knocked. The pipe was in my hand, I considered my ways. I turned my steps toward him. I put the pipe down and opened the door… That’s my miracle, but really it’s more like a metamorphosis than a miracle, unless you consider slow, gradual change from a baser life to a better one miraculous.
That’s my story. That’s the life I laid down and this is the new life I live!
Like a guest into my home, and a lover into my heart, I let Christ into every part of my life. Like a Master craftsman, Mr. fix-it, house cleaner, and interior decorator all in one mighty saving package of grace and forgiveness, I’m letting Him work me over. Not because of fear or obligation but because of love and honor. God loves me, I love God. I want to honor Him because I love him.
The thing is His love cleans me, heals me, refreshes and renews me. I am better for myself, my family, my friends and my community because I want to show His kind of character and love to others. It is not always easy but it is never oppressive, restrictive or demeaning.  Drugs were oppressive. Addiction was restrictive. Hate, greed, envy were demeaning. His ways are good!
Even this lonely, little, life I live; as silly and insignificant in the grand scheme of things as it is… it’s such a good life! I love it! I traded chains for freedom, mire for mountains, oppression for goals, love for Love, Life for life. He loves me and gave me a new life so I give Him all of mine. And nothing and no one can separate me from His love!
He says: “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.” – Revelation 3:20
If ever you want to talk about my story, or God, find me and ask! I’m happy to listen and share!

Everyone who has spent a little bit of time around me hopefully knows a few things: #1) I love Jesus, #2) I love my family & friends, #3) I love most things fitness/movement related & #4) I love nerdy things like memorizing historical documents and scripture and watching scientific debates. It would be the #2 category that this particular blog falls into...

I love my family & my friends, I want them all to be happy and feel loved and not have to be alone. What this means is when I see an opportunity for friends of mine to connect with like-minded souls... I like to facilitate that connection in anyway I can.

I’m a wing chick!

I enjoy the role! I’m not cupid but a couple friends have scored a couple dates, I can’t say anyone has gone to the next level… yet but, there’s hope! There’s always hope where Love and Light are concerned! I thought I was a good wing chick until I watched Matthew Hussey’s video on being a bad wing chick… and it hurt my feelings! According to this guy, apparently I owe some of my boys and babes an apology for my crappy wing chicky-ness.

I apologize (and I sincerely mean it from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry if my wing chickin’ has been an epic fail for anyone, y’all know I love you and only mean to connect people that might not have otherwise met) I would like to take a moment to defend my honor and explain my motives.

Watch Matthew Hussey’s video to fully understand my defense: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATL01kP0Uh8

#1: The Houdini: OK here’s the deal, if you’re a girl and I’ve ever done this to you, that’s on you, you didn’t signal that you needed me to stick around and rescue you from a guy you weren’t interested in. Guys, trust me she knows what signal I’m talking about, we have a woman sense we communicate with. If you’re one of my guys, well... I figure you’re a grown man and can handle yourself, so find me later, and tell me what your signal is for next time.

Seriously though, I always thought my job as a wing chick was to facilitate a meeting. If I introduce two people and they seem to hit it off talking and I’m just standing there it feels weird. I feel like if I say anything I’m butting in and being rude, and I’m trying to connect you two, so it naturally made sense to me to find something else to do while the two of you talked. Apparently that’s more rude than butting in is, who knew!? I suppose this is something I’ll have to work at because to stay where I’m not necessary feels uncomfortable to me. Moving on…

#2 The overzealous cheerleader: Well, yeah I’m overzealous! Have you met me?!?! What am I not overzealous about? That’s just me, and I’m pretty sure everyone I choose to spend any significant amount of time with is a pretty awesome, amazing, positive, fun and cool person too. Why wouldn’t I tout their sensational characteristics or arms or eyes or intelligence or fitness level? Would it seriously be better to be like… “Hey, friend, this is my other friend, they’re OK… I guess. I mean, if you like people like that...” Nah! You want to hear me tell you something cool about them, right? Or is it stealing their thunder? Or even worse, making them look desperate? I really hope I haven't done that to anyone. Sorry if I have, and to anyone who felt like I was cheerleading for someone, they’re not desperate, they’re cool and you should talk to them to improve your own life and network if nothing else, I promise I won’t bail on the convo this time ;) And finally…

#3 The overprotective bodyguard: This is all I’ll say about this one. I am most definitely over protective of the people I love. Since moving to Chelan county I have invested time, energy, love and life into my community, my friends and my passions. The people that I know aren’t just friends, gym-mates, co-workers, fellow advocates, dance partners, running & hiking buddies, church compadres, etc. these people are pretty much my family. I love them! I want the best for them! … and if you hurt them, you’ll answer for it and… I am a short, feisty Italian and if you hurt my friends I’ll bust your knee caps capiche? :)

So, if you need me to wing chick, I am at your service! But, I’ve decided that I need to dial back my busy-bodiness and won’t initiate anymore connections ‘cause sometimes being a wing chick gets you into awkward situations and I’d like to not have any more of those.

Trust: A firm believe in the reliability, truth, ability or strength of someone or something
 
Her voice was melodic and well worn. I could tell, even without seeing her, she was at least a septuagenarian (in her seventies). She left a simple voice mail but her closing statement gave me pause...
 
“I trust I’ll hear from you soon.”
 
She trusted me. I know it was, like she is, an antiquated relic from bygone days, but it struck me. She trusted me.
 
With ADHD, simple things like calls are difficult. There’s nothing to “pin” the moment to. Fact exchanging phone calls are the worst… post-it and paper at my desk, notes app on my phone, Subway napkin on my counter, never sear the facts in my brain quite right.
 
But she trusted she would hear from me. What was it about the phrase?
 
Ahhhh, it was Jesse Collver in eleventh grade. Trust flooded back, setting my heart to beat wildly and calming my anxieties all in the same sweet memory. Full disclosure, I had a high school boyfriend and Jesse was not him. Also, I think it’s safe to say almost every girl in high school pined for Jesse – these facts may come in handy later, so hang on to them and follow me on a journey into trust.
 
The year was 1994 and the high school boyfriend (I later found out) rigged a survey allowing me to become a Natural Helper. I remember little about the group except for the retreat where Jesse became the definition of trust for the rest of my life.
 
All new Natural Helpers went on a weekend getaway to a lodge, in the middle of nowhere, to learn how to be better helpers. There was a bus ride and other workshops and food and girls like the gregarious Gwen giggling in bunks far too late into the night, but I only remember Jesse... and trust.
 
I trusted few people back then (or now if I’m completely honest). I knew people meant well but rarely followed through. Bad things had happened to me and people let me down. I trusted no one, but I watched everyone. Words and actions, over time, could eventually transfer a person into my “safe” category. That didn’t necessarily translate to “trusting” them, but at least I felt a measure of safety around them.
 
Jesse was safe, probably because he was precisely my definition of handsome and had never said or done anything to me to make me doubt the quality of his teenaged character. And there we were, a bus full of kids, in a wooden lodge in the forest… and we had to play a trust game.
 
It was simple; one person steps into the middle of a human circle and falls backward with arms across chest and eyes closed, the others catch. It was all fun and games to catch. I was well acquainted with catching what falls and trying to manage it. But when my turn came; I couldn’t fall back. I don’t know how many times I couldn’t fall but I remember the instructor coaching me to trust, prompting the kids to assure me they were trustworthy and still I couldn’t. Then Jesse made trust real.
 
He walked up behind me, this big, strong, safe young man; his heat, at my back, blocked out the noise and giggles and frustration building inside me. His nearness, his presence thrilled me. HE was at my back! HE whom I had admired from a far for a year and a half of high school days, which was pretty much forever at sixteen. He was with me. And he spoke…
 
Lips pressed gently to my ear; two hushed, warm words whispered… “Trust me.” His breath tickled and teased and pulled at my insides. My breath caught somewhere between in and exhale. In that moment, everything in me belonged to him. HE was trustworthy. I knew there was absolutely, 100% no way he would be there, if he intended to let me hit the ground. Heart beating wildly; I nodded. I would trust him. I crossed my arms, closed my eyes and fell… into arms at the ready.
 
That was trust. That is trust. To this day, when I think of trusting someone, I go back to falling into his arms. I don’t know how it would have played out had a girlfriend or boy with whom I had no secret affection or attraction to whispered to me. But it happened the way it did, and I know trust because of it.
 
My sweet septuagenarian trusted that she’d hear back from me, and though the facts of that call-back conversation lay scribbled on a bright yellow post-it I may soon forget, I didn’t break her trust.
 
“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it.’” From the moment I read this verse in Isaiah (30:21), I thought of Jesse at my back, strong and warm behind me, gentle and safe beside me, completely assuring inside me. I’m so grateful for this picture of trust and humbled to say I honestly trust the LORD this much. I don’t understand the circumstances of my life, but… I trust Him. He is my strength and my hope and my confidence. I trust the LORD with all my heart, mind, soul and spirit. May you also come to know something so trustworthy in your own life. If ever you want to talk about trusting Christ, I would be honored to speak with you!
 

I screwed up! I caused pain and for that I’m sorry but I learned an amazing truth about good men of honor. My paradigm has shifted, my mind been blown, and though there was pain I’m grateful for this new truth that I can walk in. It modifies my plan but it’s necessary in order to maintain my dignity in the eyes of the good men I want to get to know.
 
The thing is, the cardinal rule when analyzing data is that you “let the data speak for itself.” Never make the data fit assumptions, never mess with the data to rationalize theories; but that is exactly what I did because I wanted my plan to work.

Why my plan anyway? Why can’t I just leave love to chance or God or time or whatever? I’d like to say I think my plan does leave love to all of that BUT also takes into account some sad, sorrowful truths.

#1) I’m looking for a partner to share my life with and this will be my third marriage. I am not going to be that woman with five husbands and the one I end up with won’t even be one I’m married to. This is it. I have NO margin of error.
#2) We live in a society with a 50% failure rate at marriage… that doesn’t even count broken relationships where love once was that never make it to marriage.
#3) In the evangelical Christian culture, divorce is humiliatingly higher than the overall average population.
I believe if I seek a partner the way it’s being done in our society now, the way I’ve done it before, I’m going to fail again. It needs to be different. I thought my plan was a near-perfect way to avoid the pitfalls of feeling in love and falling in love without rationally thinking it through.

I don’t want to fail at love again, I want the next time to be the last time. While I love The Middle for being able to do what I want, when I want with whom I want, I don’t want to be single and searching any longer than necessary. I don’t want to be alone. Thousands of good, kind, loving men just in my local area don’t want to be alone either. I’m a quality woman that wants the best in a relationship and so do they. There’s no point in messing around for years to find “the one” when there are literally hundreds that are suitable. I figured the best way to save time would be to be a quality casual date for guys right now and get to know several good guys at once.

My theory made sense to me... condense the men into the shortest amount of time possible, see whom I am most compatible with (knowing no one will be 100% compatible), take time to maintain my individual identity as I continue to heal, and when the time is up… see how it plays out with the most compatible guy of whomever is there, rinse and repeat, as needed until one gets me in the boat. The plan provided time, because I KNOW I’m not ready for a relationship right now, but not too much time so that I end up becoming a woman of such independence that I’m not going to want to share life with someone but will rather want them to do life my way.

I still think the intention behind my plan is good… but the execution neglected to take into consideration a trait inherent in the hearts, minds and souls of the best kind of men. I’d like to call it jealousy, and then ask any good men reading this to hang on before you defend yourself against the word. That’s one of the things I learned; good men will try not to call it what it is. Men of valor live by a code of honor and the way we throw the word jealousy around now, it is not an honorable trait. When we think of jealousy, ideas of possessive, angry, insecure, controlling jerks come to mind. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about righteous jealousy; it is so mind-blowingly different. It’s actually a beautiful thing now that I’m letting the data speak for itself. So beautiful. An honorable trait, a godly trait. One to be desired in a good man. One to be respected as I continue to date.

Let me explain this good jealousy as I’ve seen it play out over these last five months…

I’ve intentionally studied and watched men I identify as the good kind. Are they prefect? No, but they are so amazing that I am in awe at their acts of noble strength, kindness, courage, humility, service, support, protection, activism and involvement. These men, the good men of the world, know better than we women can understand, the heart of a good man and how pure it is despite the secret insecurities and mistakes they may make. They are real-life heroes as opposed to the bad guys. Bad guys are evil, vile perpetrators of bad stuff. Good men take pride in humbly, faithfully protecting our world from them, in big things like military service and small things like assessing the people around them to identify any possible threats and walking on the street side of the road to protect those they’re with.

They know they’re not perfect but they also know they make an active choice to be a good man every day. In the context of dating what I’ve observed in my, and my single lady friend’s dating adventures, and from the lives and words of others is that a good man is willing to meet and date a quality causal woman until it breaks the code of honor. What I’ve observed is that there comes a point when a man believes himself to be a suitable partner, the kind that would love and protect the woman they’re dating and something inside them can no longer be cool with quality casual. Either it must change or end because… jealousy.

They are good men, they know what they can offer and have no intention or desire to compete with anyone, who in their opinion, wouldn’t be the best option. These good men I write of are sure of what they are able to provide. It’s not insecurity; I feel like it’s the exact opposite, righteous jealousy, is assurance they are the best for me and an intolerance to be compared to someone else.

What I think I’m realizing is that good men in general appreciate the opportunity to show a woman they are dating who they are, what they do, think and feel in a non-competitive arena. Be sure of this, if they’re into a lady enough, they will, um … “fight” for their opportunity because they believe they’re the best (and it's honestly kind of humbling to be the object of that kind of desire). BUT it’s disrespectful and dishonorable of me, if I choose to identify myself as a dignified woman, to purposely put them in that position (although if they know they're the best for the lady they should fight for her if they believe she's misguided in her attentions). That’s where I screwed up.

I’m not dating losers, neither are my friends. These are good, kind, honorable, respectful men and one after another this same aversion to quality casual dating appears. The data speaks, I must listen. My plan must be, and has been altered. If I want a good man, I must give good men the opportunity to reveal themselves to me within an arena of undivided time and attention. NO that doesn’t mean I’m having a relationship! NO that doesn’t mean my plan or timeline changes except that there is only one good man I’ll be doing fun stuff with at a time. It scares me because, honestly, I think it’ll be much harder to hold my emotional and physical boundaries because, for me, familiarity breeds comfort and I’m a creature of comfort. But I think the change must happen in order to maintain my honor in the eyes of good men. So, I screwed up, I learned how beautiful righteous jealousy is, I am giving one good guy at a time undivided attention and I must now ferociously guard my heart to be sure I don't slip and fall in love but still stay the course and find rational love that makes sense.

If you’re over 30 and reading this and have never been sexually assaulted or molested, congratulations, your likelihood of being offended is significantly reduced. Most sexual assaults go unreported but we know 44% of victims are under 18 and 80% are under 30. Also, boys and men are far less likely to ever report an offense… but, and this is my opinion (with a little bit of statistical data to back me up) they’re offended as often, only usually at a younger age or by a same aged peer so that it is perceived as a playtime activity instead of rape or molestation. This means our youngest, weakest and most vulnerable are the ones most likely to be offended.

When I became a CASA the one hard limit I had was that I could not, would not, should not be on a case that involved sexual abuse. Because of my past it didn’t seem safe to my emotional well-being to go there. The idea of a child, young girl or boy, young woman or man being offended sickens me, actually almost makes me ill. I do not understand it. And so, because of my own assault and the yucky feelings it festers up, I have largely been like most of the good population and completely, utterly and nearly entirely avoided the subject. My hope, was that if I pretend I do not see it, it would go away.

But it will not, and if we, the good people of the world, sit quietly by, or silently participate in the abuse by pretending it’s not there, it and the symptoms of an unhealthy-sex crazed society will get worse.

The problem is too big. There is nothing any one of us can do to stop it. The crimes too vile. The evil will prevail, there’s nothing we can do… or is there? What if we talk about it? What if we castrate offenders... because statistics dictate that most offenders are repeat offenders, and by repeat I mean one offender can have dozens to hundreds of victims? Or what if we kill them? Why don’t we make prosecution harder if we all agree it’s so heinous? Why do so many repeat offenders go untried or reported? Because they look good and prey on the ignorant and innocent.

We picture offenders as these dark, dirty evil monsters, if they were all like this no one would have a problem taking care of them. But most of the ones that get away with most of the abuse are unassuming: babysitters, neighbors, brothers, sisters, playmates, fathers, coaches, boyfriends, grandmas. Sick huh? We don’t want the devil to be someone we like, let alone someone we love. Because if evil wraps itself in a smile, who can we trust? Who is good? Who is safe? What has the world come to?

My goal this year in my writing is to do something to bring attention to it. I can’t make it go away by myself but I can stop closing my eyes to it. My offender didn’t go away. My silence was out of fear, of him, sure, but more than that out of fear of not being believed. I was young, full of drama and maybe dressed inappropriately, who would believe me? Better to say nothing than to be humiliated. Then when I was brave enough to stand up to him… too much time had gone by, the statute of limitations saved him. He was safe and I was scarred.

So yeah, evil smiles. Good looks away. I look away no more. I do not know what to do. This will be a process for me as much as way to bring awareness. I do know I’ll take special interest in figuring out what we, the good people, can do to stop it and what we are currently doing to condone it, because I think there’s power in us uniting against evil. I think we’re more likely to do something together to stand against sexual abuse than the bad guys are to stop themselves.

As Gia’s Secrets prepares to see the light of day, I prepare to stand against the most heinous evil I have ever looked deep in the eyes. I can’t stop it, you can’t stop it, but together maybe we can do something about it!

If there is one thing I have learned through this whole Leaving business it's this: Good men are EVERYWHERE, they just fly under the radar because that's what good guys do and they deserve some recognition!
I cannot and will not own parts of The Leaving that aren't mine to own but there are things I realize I could have done better. Apparently I won't get the chance to do it better in that relationship but I believe in redemption. I will do what I can now and someday I know I'll love again and I'll get to do it better then!

I was given a book days after he left called Love and Respect. At the time it was like having an EMT come up and kick me in the gut after I'd just been run over. I was wounded, confused, afraid and alone and instead of consolation I got a list of all the things women do wrong with speaking to their men. As I am a voracious reader, I gobbled it down, looking for anything to explain what I did wrong to cause the man to leave. I can't say the book answered the particular questions that caused his decision but it did describe things I could be better at. All women, in fact, could be better at.

See here's the thing. I, like most women, expect men to be good. And most me are. Do we pat them on the back? No! We point out when they aren't good, when they mess up, when they lost their cool. There are millions of things they do right but those things go unnoticed, unappreciated, and uncelebrated because that's what they're supposed to do.
We take for granted the good they do, the way they watch out for us and how their strong presence is the comfort and solace we seek when our stupid emotions are out of control. No, we don't want them to fix it but we expect them to be there to shoulder our storm and hold us while we cry. They are good men and we forget to tell them that. Or maybe I'm the only one that did.
That's the part I recognize I own, I have disrespected a good man and I have taken for granted the good things he did, I expected it but didn't recognize it the way I should have… this goes for my dad and other important men in my life too, not just him.

Does confession fix my life? No. But redemption feels good and if I can't do it over, I can at least start doing it better. November is a perfect time for it. All over Facebook people are posting what they're thankful for, it's a wonderful FB tradition I've participated in for years. This year will be no different but I'm going to incorporate my desire to honor the good men of the world.

If you're one of the good guys in my life... be prepared to be thanked. If you're a women confused by my desire to honor none but men, I understand, it's not every woman's cup of tea but I ask you to not bad-mouth or question my desire to honor them but instead be thankful for people you're thankful for, man or women. Happy November y'all!

    The question is… what did I get myself into? The answer is I'm still not quite sure. I Should have hopped in my car and road-tripped it over to visit my cousin who was only here for her baby bro's wedding. I should have done the family thing but my boys were not keen on the drive and, you know what they say, idle hands are the devil's playground...
    I wrote for a while then let my hands be still. Scarlet and Rusty's story is hot and I love it but, as with all the love stories in this series, there is a social cause I'm trying to bring awareness to. This story's social cause is childhood molestation and its tough to write, turns my stomach and gets me angry. That, coupled with the fact that I use the Pomodoro Technique when I write lends itself to frequent breaks from the story. Sundays are my day off of social media so… I checked in on a favorite new past-time of mine… “missed connections” on craigslist!    
    Calm down before you get all upset, or concerned I was not looking for myself. It's strictly entertaining. With that said I have no problem with online dating but I assure you if the time comes to go there I will not be using craigslist, no offense to anyone who does, but that's a little too redneck even for me. (And yes, as a planner I already have the time to start dating online planned out... if that whole 'real-life' dating thing doesn't work out for me in its due time)
    Anyway I LOVE the missed connections on  craigslist. I first found out about them after the leaving, but before the moving because of a morning radio spoof on my commute into work. Before then I had no idea how entertaining craigslist can be. These precious posts, written in a moment of hope or desperation were totally cracking me up. Since then I find great joy in surfing all the major craigslist city sites for missed connections. Some are creepy stalker-ish. Some are obviously people who are way too into themselves and are convinced a random person they don't know would remember the red shirted person that looked their fine a** up and down at the Texaco! My point is they are simply adorable and the words written in passion deserve to be read and appreciated.
    Yesterday, I looked through them again, hitting the local section first, because you never know what kind of local love connection can happen over a craigslist missed connection. There is an ulterior motive for reading them too, someday, I will write a craigslist missed connection love story. I have it mostly roughed out in my brain, just need to get the words out. But I digress… back to my story, I bet you're expecting me to say I found me in a missed connection aren't you? Wouldn't that just be ironic, the one person NOT looking for themselves but simply appreciating the words and passion finds herself the center of one of them. Yeah, well that's fiction, it didn't happen. What did happen is the point of this comeback post. I exhausted the local missed connections and I remembered a conversation I recently had with someone who also peruses the craiglist personals. I promise I have NEVER looked at them except the missed connections… before yesterday that is. But you know, I was bored, I needed reprieve from a particularly hard scene I was writing and I am single and officially calling myself available now so I did a really dumb thing and I looked at more than the missed connections.
    Again… I should have driven the car to the cuz! I should have looked at Seattle or New York's missed connections but no, I looked at local personals. I justified it to myself by calling it research though and to prove I was “researching” here are my findings so it doesn't seem too depraved or desperate of me to be snooping around on craigslist's personal section. Here's what I found: women are a lot less likely to post an ad than men, sorry guys if you're looking for your honey on CL she's not there, but there are a handful of women in their 50s looking for love... Men outnumber the ladies approximately 3 to 1 and most of them want a picture of you to know it's not a spambot, mmmmhmmm. Also, strictly platonic is a lie. I'm pretty sure no one knows what the word actually means, which for the record is, “a non-sexual connection” I think people think it means they don't have sex on their first “platonic” meeting or something like that ;).
    Now comes my situation… it's about time after all these words, yeah?! Here's the story (and it's true I promise). I was looking in the m4w and had surmised that these men are pretty much all cheaters looking for a “sex kitten,” “partner in crime,” “something discreet,” or looking for someone who wants a daddy, so ewww! BUT, I'm writing a story with an infidelity theme in it and these posts are fodder for my fiction!
    I put an ask out on FB and got amazing feedback from cheaters of all ages, genders and socioeconomic backgrounds (as based on my FB friends). What I learned from those interviews are cheaters cheat for a multitude of reasons but their mindset is completely different from mine. I am a serial monogamist. By nature, by nurture and by my choice of faith I don't have the slightest desire inside me to have more than one intimate relationship. It's not me, it's not how I operate. I guess, until I did the interviews I sort of supposed everyone was like-minded. Sure, people cheat but it's a thing that happens that causes guilt or conflict internally or is otherwise deemed “wrong” by the cheater. That's not really so and it was shocking to me to learn this.
    It was another paradigm shift. How had I come 38 years and not realized some cheaters, dare I say most cheaters, like to cheat and get something out of it and think of it in a completely different way than I ever have? I am in no way, shape or form interested in changing my choice to be monogamous. I like, I want, I need to believe in having a soul-mate, a one and only lover that I'm free to express my deepest secrets to unabashedly. But this other way of thinking, fascinates me even as it is unsettling to my sensibilities. I want to understand it.
    There I was on craigslist in the middle of multiple cheater posts, just waiting for my email. So… I emailed and I got responses. And that's where I'm at. I'm not entertaining any of the cheaters, I'm simply asking open-ended questions to understand why. And they like to talk as long as it's anonymous, which for me it's not because they know I'm a writer writing a book that deals with infidelity.
    What I should have done differently was invented an anonymous email for myself instead of using my author one. I should have looked at posts in other far, far away cities, I should have waited until I have my gun rights back in case any creep comes after me now because it's slightly scary to be dialoging with people I know NOTHING about. But all in all, I am floored, confused, unsure how their mindsets can be so different. I guess it makes me sad for the partners if they are monogamous… more than sad it breaks my heart for them. It hurts so bad and I don't think the hurt can be translated in a way a cheater mindset would understand. It is a topic I'll continue to research but never participate in.
    And that, ladies and gentlemen is the situation. :D