Green Poison

Money is evil.

I’m convinced of this more and more everyday. It really sunk into me two nights ago as I was preparing my state income tax return, because Virginia is like the worst place for taxes that I’ve ever experienced (who thought up this crazy commonwealth idea, anyway?). It’s just that I stress over money far more than I should…I get uptight about it, and let it become a source of stress for me. I used to have a professional career where I really made money, and I bought what I wanted when I wanted. That was the problem. Because now I’m a student again, I’m barely scraping by, and I’m too poisoned by what once was to realize that I am blessed now with less, because now I can concentrate on the things that really matter and that eluded me before, like love and creativity. Perhaps God had to get me here before He could bring those things back into my life. There’s a thought.

Money is just evil.

Because there’s never, ever enough of it. And we become obsessed with it, because we allow society to push this materialistic crap of “whoever dies with the most toys wins” down our throats, and we buy into it. Literally buy into it. What begins as the harmless desire to have something nice for yourself now and then becomes this obsessive drive to always have more, more, more. There’s never enough of it. We work harder, we sacrifice our lives, and I can’t help but think that when we’re older, we’ll look back on all the things that we could have done but missed. Because we were trying to get more, and actually gained less.

So I’m trying to realize how incredible a situation I’m in, and forgetting about this green stuff in our lives called money.

Because it’s evil.

Tears and Circles

I cried this morning. I think the last time that really happened was over a relationship last summer. This time it was different. Less deserved in some strange way.

I took my fiance to meet my parents this past weekend. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while may remember from Christmas that my parents still live in the same house in which I grew up. I don’t go back often, because I hate that state, I hate that town, I just…I hate it. I hated it growing up, and I hate it now. But it’s where my parents, who have never done anything but love and support me unconditionally, live, and they never have any intention, to my knowledge, of living anywhere else, so I return on occasion.

This was odd, though, because I was back for two consecutive holidays. My family loves my fiance, she loves them…it’s really a God-thing to see how it works out.

Very similar to Christmas, though, as I spent the weekend in the house in which I grew up, I expereinced these amazing memories. Not the vivid flashbacks that came during Christmas, but still potent. Mostly childhood, some college memories. The difference begins with the fact that it is Spring, and so we weren’t stuck inside. My parents are heavily into landscaping and home improvement in their retirement years, and so we walked their small orchard and garden (which was much larger when I was young), and my fiance and I helped with a couple of projects that my parents had been unable to complete.

There’s the issue. My father’s health is deteriorating. His spine is actually shrinking. He receives disability income, and he is beginning occupational therapy now. The injections for pain have nearly stopped having an effect. But he has always been happy, funny, joking. Still is. But he asked me for help with something this weekend. He’s never done that before. He’s very independent, doesn’t need the help. But he asked me.

I didn’t help much around the place during my high school days, because I was a little teenage snob when it came to that (oh, how I regret that now). My mom used to always push me out to help Dad with stuff, and he knew I did it under coercion. By the time I was in college and had realized the error of my ways, I was never around to help. You know how college is.

I spent some quality time with my father this weekend. Thank God for that. But my fiance saw me tear up for the first time, because I can’t stand to see him in pain like he is. In my mind, he is still Superman, still invulnerable, still able to handle anything life throws at him. He’s still bulletproof in my head. And I am so thankful that I could be of help to him this weekend.

If you happen to think about it, and are so inclined, please say a prayer for my father the next couple of days, because he’s going to me working on a roof repair that he is too indpendent (not proud, just desperately clinging to independence) to ask for help with, and I can’t get back there to help him. I don’t want to see him get injured.

The other thing that really amazed was the incredibly happy memories that I experienced again this weekend. You see, I stopped calling that area “home” when I moved, because I hated it so much. But it occurred to me that that place, that piece of it, I love. As I prayed this morning, I called it “home.” And I didn’t mind. Not because I want to go back, but because that place is sacred to me in a way. My parents gave me so much unconditional love and a million happy memories there. Now, I am not far away from starting my own family. I want desperately to give my future children those same types of incredible memories. I pray that, somehow, He will enable me to do so. I wonder if my parents prayed that same prayer years ago. It has come full circle.

I cried this morning.

Sometimes that’s not a bad thing.


I’ve had several mornings over the last couple of weeks when I wake up and kind of have a, “holy crap, I’m getting married in 3 months!!!!” moment. That’s usually followed by a “what am I thinking????” moment.

One of my friends asked me a few weeks ago what it’s like, how I know it’s different, how I know what I’m doing. I had to think for a second, because up until he asked me that, I don’t think I had really unpacked that. I’m not sure I was sure.

I think love is this huge thing that we as humans can’t really comprehend the entirety of. Like God. Which stands to reason, because I John 4:16b tells us that God is love. He doesn’t have love or feel love, He is love. We can feel it and experience it, but I don’t think that as humans we’ll ever truly feel or experience what love truly and fully is until after this life.

So, because of that, love is different things for us at different times. I’ve been in love with people before, very much in love in a few cases, but what I feel now is completely different from what I felt then. I’ve the enthralling, all-I-can-think-about-is-her love. I’ve had the adrenaline-charged, heart-races-when-I’m-around-her love. I’ve had the I-can’t-believe-how-hot-she-is love. During those moments, those seasons of my life, that was love for me. It isn’t now. What I feel now is a peaceful, assuring experience, a knowledge that I not a whole person without her because she completes me so entirely. Completely different kind of love. Were the other feelings love? Totally. Is this love? Absolutely. This is deeper, though. I think it’s a maturity issue. This love, though, permeates me…it’s more pervasive. It’s a desire to “do life” with this person. All the little things. It’s a desire to grow spiritually, emotionally, intellectually with her. It’s a desire to live the adventure of life with her, to make our separate journeys the same journey, and look forward to that journey ending with God.

I think love changes as we mature, and I think that, the more mature the love, the closer it is to What and Who God is.

That being said, it occurs to me how much He wants to “do life” with me, how much He wants to be there and to be a part of this whole thing. How much He cares, and how much He wants my journey to end with Him also.

We can’t even begin to feel how much He loves us, but we see it symbolized in a relationship, in a companion, in a “soul-mate,’ in a marriage.

And ultimately, on a cross.

My history channel

I love funky blasts from the past.

I was procrastinating a term paper tonight by channel surfing, and I stumbled onto the new Dr. Who series on SciFi. I used to love the old series as a kid. My family was kind of into the whole BBC thing for a couple of years, and every Saturday night was Dr. Who. I was into the whole British sci-fi thing…I was one of the nerds that was totally stoked to see Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when it was re-released recently. My friend tells me I have the “geek gene.”

I think it’s because my mom was huge sci-fi fan when I grew up (she was, and remains today, a die-hard Trekkie). I was hooked from an early age. At 12 years old, I was reading Henlein and Asimov. In college I progressed to Anne McAffery, and a couple of years ago, Julie Czerneda. Now I’m more into the television thing. Farscape was the last real sci-fi series (by real I mean original and well-written) I’ve seen. But it’s really cool to see Dr. Who again.

Any other closet science fiction fans out there? C’mon, where my nerds at??

Okay, back to the term paper now…