Moments of Impact

Who's experiencing a dizzy, bumpy ride?

    Moments of Impact* (MOIs) are technically: Triangulated meta-dramas that determine relationship trajectory. It is when two or more individuals stand face-to-face cross-eyed. MOIs can either enhance or create havoc with close relationships, because my words and actions determine healthy bonds. I share four unsettling MOIs:

     MOI #1: I somewhat calmly (and hopefully clearly) share an insecure word picture with my caring and sensitive daughter: Imagine that your husband has two wives, and he favors one more than the other. You are the wife who feels less favored. Thus far, I feel like you are ignoring me, and I feel less favored compared to how you relate with..., and it hurts.

     MOI #2: Another statement tearfully but calmly shared with my oh so understanding daughter: I've shared with you before that somehow I rarely see your Instagram photos (because of the exclusive Apple regime). This long-distance grandma is missing my grandchildren's special moments.

     MOI #3: I share an insecure statement with three temporary cohabitants (actually, two were in-laws and I felt like the out-law): Three times in the last 24 hours I have somehow been left out of our planning. Then I am expected to know about the plans. Surely it is my fault, but it makes me feel stupid. What can I do to be in the loop?

     MOI #4: I share the following steady but tempered reply, responding to a family member's distressed, rapid-fire orders (can an 
I-44 flat tire create a dizzy and bumpy ride, with tense relational moments? YES!): Your orders are increasing my nervousness... I'm very glad you are with me, but you make me feel like an incompetent child... I need to think clearly, and it is impossible with bossy chatter... (OY! Yes, that is basically what I said). Let's first pray before acting during this stressful situation...

     My 11-day October trip, sharing lengthy rides, experiences, and grandchildren with in-laws and my daughter, blossomed with MOIs around every corner. I may be over-sensitive, but the motto, better to be safe than sorry rings true (especially because of my dysfunctional upbringing and heritage of denial). Words can rarely be taken back or forgotten, especially with family. In younger times, the statements above would have been reactive, expressed defensively and wantonly... or, worse yet, in aloof, passive-aggressive, Tug-of-War fashion. Family dynamics could be strangled... by my senseless insecurities.

     My preferred Moment of Impact "dance" is to hide. I am a peace-loving person. Hiding was impossible during a busy, adrenaline-spiked, sleep-deprived, people-filled road trip. I intentionally and prayerfully stepped out of my comfort zone to calm vulnerability.

     I did not demand to see immediate, selfish change (a/k/a using manipulative, hovering, Hitler or terrorist tactics). On the other hand, because we desired close relationship, we embraced clarity with patient trust, striving to motivate for clear communication (the fine line can be tricky). I am extremely grateful for extended, kindred-spirit family who embrace healthy peace.

     In retrospect, dramatic, tangible change is challenging to put a finger on. Did my expectations morph? It is a mystery. Somehow we all dynamically "danced" and teamed to fully embrace activities like: apple orchard and shopping excursions; diaper changes; bedtime routines (sharing treasured book-reading and bath-time opportunities); housecleaning and meal prep; house-, TV- and shower-sharing;  terri... ummm TREMENDOUS-two bedtime and church-going tensions; AND, complicated highway adventures.
   
     I gag on the (tart) Matrix "red pill" and conclude: Bumpy experiences precede relational MOIs, so remember to nimbly ride through the dizzy, winding chute... and pray for wisdom!

     Ah, hiding in my adorable grandson's safe tunnel is a most enviable relational approach!!!

     *The term "Moments of Impact" is masterfully portrayed in the movie The Vow, as well as the ideas of relational manipulation and motivation.

Sweet Mercy

     Just when I think I have life figured out, with illogical fears managed, I am blind-sided. Uncontrolled, unnerving, fright-filled circumstances enter my world and throw me into an emotional tailspin. I short-circuit as I encounter Friday evening, St. Louis, rush-hour traffic... accidentally exiting the main highway, lost and overwhelmingly afraid.

      My thinking is waylaid. For uncountable minutes, dramatic and illogical phrases repeatedly fly from my hijacked mouth, including (but not limited to): Why did the #!* GPS send me this way? I will NEVER drive to Chicago alone again. I HATE this #!* nightmare, rush-hour traffic AND the #!* construction delays that put me into this #!* mess!!!! #!* #!*  #!*

       Many apologies if my unsavory, manipulative words hurt any eyes. From where, oh where, did they erupt? They are foreign to me, and fortunately have NEVER appeared in public. In the future, the worst my response will be is to assume the Lotus pose and mentally repeat "swear jar... swear jar."

       I am most likely over-reacting to my reaction. In my writings I tend to make things TOO and sensationalized. But on that particular day, at that particular moment, exhaustion hit me. After 3 full weeks away from home performing family ministry (with front- and tail-end visits to two treasured but deeply complicated, elderly aunts), and adding to that mix 2.5 weeks preparing for, welcoming, and following-through with our adorable newborn... naturally, life takes its toll (as did two Chicago toll booths) and I become vulnerable!

     AND THEN... top off the (enjoyably) taxing 3 weeks with a solo, unexpectedly complicated, forever drive home... welcome temper tantrum. I cringe thinking about my hissy-fit. I feel blemished and the neediest cockroach on this planet. I want to soak in a holy tub until my fingers turn to wrinkled prunes. I yearn to be exfoliated with a giant, holy Loofah until squeaky clean. For this overwhelming moment, "...every HOUR I need Thee" begs one revolutionary lyric tweak: "...every SECOND I need Thee." 

      That tearful and pummeling cell phone meltdown... with my safe, solid, saintly husband... is followed by a 3-hour, lonely car ride home. The cell phone rings twice, but I can't answer. I need clear thinking. I willingly, contritely, and humbly plead the blood of Jesus my Savior to cover my disturbed mind. I rewind to candidly meet with my God. His justice is balanced with undeserved mercy. I feel His extraordinary love.



My grandma's justice & mercy pin

      My dire grasp to touch God brings comforting relief; emotional decompression begins. I feel calmed. Where would I be without His sweet, saving, healing presence?

     Am I the most needy-ever follower-of-Jesus on this planet?!? This damaged Adult Child of an Alcoholic feels guarded and a lowly "cut-below." Childhood memories recall stinging and zinging parental tantrums, which research now indicates alters a child's mind (unless early, skilled therapy intervenes).

     Nonetheless and more-than-enough, I am saved from my humanity and undeservedly welcomed into Royalty. I fervently persist and tangibly segue to a comfortable Matrix mindset: Must I ever breathlessly run from, dodge, and sometimes be stung by grazing bullets? Haven't those bullets already stopped and dropped before a Transcendent Being? THE Royal, Holy, Effervescent ONE?

     Soulful and Skilled therapy time is over. Sweet mercy warmly embraces me... Ahhhh, thank God for a most extraordinary and righteous Bath Time.

     ...I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do... (Romans chapters 7 & 8)

      ...But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things--and the things that are not--to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord" (1 Cor. 1:27-31).

JUST a False Alarm! 12-19-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins



I claim the middle RED stocking

I hope that 12-21-12 isn't ringing alarms for anyone; but, speaking of alarms...

I wrote this post one very brisk morning, and on that particular day, somewhere in the back of my mind I heard sirens. My writing-focused mind barely registered the noise.

The sirens intensify as I am immersed in my galaxy. My awareness heightens and I realize: I hear sirens, they are really loud, and it sounds like they are right across the street... GET UP and look out the window!!

Sure enough, there are two large fire trucks across the street in front of my neighbor's house. After donning my warm puffer vest, I head across the street towards the trucks to chat with my know-it-all, retired neighbor. He is already in the thick of the action: Joe, what's going on? 

Joe replies: Someone called in about our neighbor's roof ...the caller thought the roof was melting... like a fire is in the attic.

As the firemen walk the steep roof to investigate, a third truck arrives; they determine that what the caller actually saw was evaporating steam rising from the the frost-covered roof that looked like smoke. It takes three fire trucks and six firemen to determine...

... it is JUST a false alarm, which created sirens, three loud trucks, heightened senses, and even a required report.

...my senses were heightened every Christmas Eve as a child. Our family tradition was to attend a Christmas Eve service, eat goodies, and at bedtime anxiously listen for the rustling of papers or other noises as "Santa" prepared our gifts downstairs.

We waited forever, and all of those sweets and goodies made it feel like the Matrix "bug" was being sucked out of my stomach... in other words, my senses were really heightened. Normally around midnight, as I lie WIDE awake, Dad's, Ho, ho, ho! reverberated up the stairwell.

Immediately we 6 energetic children lurch from our beds to the living room. A stocking lay on each child's gift pile, so I know to head for the chair or couch with my stocking... (which I think was the red one). One year I received a combo radio/cassette tape player; that was cool. I loved Christmas.

As I look through my gifts, out of the corner of my eye I notice Dad, gulping a can of beer and Mom's concern. I experience sirens, bells, and whistles because... that look is coming onto his face, including his far-away eyes, slumped posture, and rubbery lips. He enters another galaxy, so to speak.

I approach Dad with one of my Santa gifts, and maybe ask him if he likes his gifts (anything to distract him from drinking); he smiles and we chat; I want him to be happy. I return to my gift chair; I failed... as he opens another beer can. I so want him to stop, because I know he has all of those scary signs.

I can't remember if chaos occurred that particular night... after we went to bed. Sometimes all of the signs appeared, but thankfully led to nothing. Nonetheless, figurative sirens rang, fire trucks arrived, and my mind anticipated the worst. It was unpredictable and random. I had no way of knowing whether it would be the real deal, or ... JUST a false alarm, storing another report in my memory banks.

I recently learned a few of the following less-known facts about alcohol. In, say, Bible-times the grape harvest occurred one time a year, and those grapes needed to last until the next year. Thus, the strength of alcohol was considerably watered down. It was common to have 20 parts water to 1 part wine. It was only on special occasions they might mix just 8 parts or 3 parts water to 1 part wine.

Comparing the alcohol content in today's average 2 glasses of martinis could equal drinking up to 21 glasses of Bible-time wine! Drinkers today quickly ingest considerably more alcohol, with just one glass.

More facts include: 1) During 2005-2010, 50 percent of Americans replied on a survey that they know someone (a family member or friend) who abuses alcohol or drugs. 2) During that same time frame, 52 percent of American 8th-graders say they have tasted alcohol.

Click the following link to a January 2013 CDC report with some stunning data: * Women who binge drink are potentially more susceptible to cancer, liver problems & brain damage  *  

FREELY digest these facts with no fear of being Matrix "bugged." Wishing you joyous, safe, happy-memorable celebrations as we approach Christmas 2012 and the New Year. 

Another thing for which I am grateful: My watchful neighbors

12-21-12's prophecies are JUST false alarms; the world will not end. My posts for tomorrow and Sunday are ready, and I CAN'T WAIT to post them!

Feel FREE to click the following link for a "refreshing" Christmas video: Unto Us...

Talking TURKEY! 11-18-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

Talking TURKEY!

In my last post, “Blowing Off Steam,” I refer to needing to blow off steam from time to time. The same steamy weekend we experienced the power plant uproar, we observed, with many others, a steaming road rage incident. It occurred at a busy Ozarks signal light. Scenes like that don’t occur on our side of town!

We were horrified as an irate 40-year-old stood nosehair-to-nosehair with a defenseless elderly man. The yelling lunatic had stopped his truck, in the right-turn lane of traffic, delaying other drivers. He was acting like a Clint Eastwood character, strong-arming the helpless man. As we drove past, he was using his body to push the driver’s door into his surrendering victim, grabbing the elderly man’s arms forcing them upwards. He definitely wasn’t horsing around.

I became a side-seat driver screaming orders to Jeff: Stop, Jeff! I’m afraid for that helpless man! There's gonna be a shooting if someone doesn't stop that crazy loco!!!

Clear-thinking, always-composed Jeff replied: Diane, there are too many cars for me to stop quickly. Just give me a second. I wonder if the one man is drunk.

Rather than stopping in the middle of the street, we wisely pulled into the Price Cutter parking lot, ready to phone the cavalry; but, fortunately, within just a few more scary moments the lunatic backed off. That 40-year-old must have felt powerful in his brave exchange.

My reaction that day reminds me of fear-filled times, of my inebriated, 6-foot Father angrily interacting with my helpless, 5’2” Mom. Maybe I internally over-reacted to “Road rage” Dad. He was unpredictable when he was slurring and warring with Mom. An important note, I NEVER ever felt that Dad would harm me. Much of my childhood was spent observing frustrated Dad's non-verbal cues, honing into his emotional state. Head-strong Mom was physically helpless, but like a train, she had a one-track mind. We never were able to logically talk about it. Ever. I received little hints from Mom like: We better not buy this because Dad might...

This week a devastating tragedy occurred in Midland Texas. A train rammed full-speed into a parade float. The parade was honoring our military service people. When the track's guardrails began lowering and the train's horn blared, the veterans' natural instincts kicked in, responding to save others, but there was too little warning. Sadly, the train ended up killing four of our brave military men. They survived war, but not the barrelling locomotive.

I survived my parent's war, but my 20's could have been a train-wreck. In November's "Hic, Hiccup" post I explained that alcohol's stupor felt very comfortable, but unbearable migraines actually spared me. For too many years I felt clumsy, in a sober, autrovert fog. If not for my sensitivity to alcohol, I would have learned to rely on it rather than my...Trainer... He is helping to develop my natural stride and teaching me my "voice."

Returning to our Ozarks road-rager, he certainly would not try to bully a train, ramming into it on purpose. Nnnnneigh to that thought. As a wise coward he knows he would be talking TURKEY!  Midland, Texas shows us that one-track trains are powerfully destructive. I still prefer to compare my free-will to a...

Another thing for which I am grateful: #7  Thanksgiving, which gives me many reasons to...sing!!

My next post will be the food prep Wednesday before Thanksgiving; it will, indeed, be a very busy day! Deo Volente.

Hic, hiccup! 11-11-2012

This is a somewhat progressive blog. Feel FREE to begin by clicking to my first post: Boologging Begins

In October's entry titled, Boologging Begins, I shared how scary it felt to blog, because I knew I would eventually share personal stories and feel exposed. For those of you who are familiar with The Matrix, I have opted to take..."the red pill." I will figuratively enter "the rabbit hole" and relinquish the safety of the matrix. I will be vulnerable and human...for a few paragraphs anyway!

After living in our small city for over 18 years, my husband and I attended our first Missouri State basketball game. We saw cheerleading bling, spotlights, and mega-advertising. Much more than occurs at my husband's private Christian university games. Memories of Illinois State University come to mind, attending my friend's swim meets. I also attended gymnastics meets to watch my high-achieving older brother perform all-around feats of strength and agility.

The year is 1973. I am a FREE-spirited, strong-willed [adult child of an alcoholic] freshman at ISU. I am a 2.5-hour drive from my parents and anyone who will tell me what to do with my weekends. My brother is an engaged junior and lives off-campus, so he is busy and far enough away to help me feel basically free. Woot woot! The photo below is the rambunctious Haynie Hall floor on which I lived my Freshman year. 

I was a vagabond between two floors because of my "W.U." roomie's hometown boyfriend who weekend-monopolized our dorm room

My floor is invited to a beginning-of-the school-year celebration with our brother floor in Wilkins Hall. I know very few people, and music is playing crazy loud. At first it feels uncomfortable as everyone is a bit uneasy. We plant ourselves along the sides of the room, like it is our mission to hold up the walls. Alcohol begins to flow freely and I taste one of my first beers. Yuck! It tastes rather nasty at first, but then begins to slide down the throat easily. I drink only one beer that evening, and it strongly affects me.

Hm mm. My lips feel a little like I’ve had dental Novocain. I slur when I talk and feel silly, like I want to dance and don a fashionable lampshade on my head. My normal, measured composure feels amazingly carefree. Where are my inhibitions? I laugh…a lot and babble a lot; and have tons of FUN, until…I better RUN to the nearest toilet. Hi ho, hi, ho...a heaving I go. I don’t remember feeling that awful before. The toilet is my nasty friend for a while. I pull myself up from the ground, and my "friends" and I trudge to our dorm rooms for restful sleep.

Fast-forward to the next morning: My head is killing me! I feel lousy! Oh, my… maybe some food will help.

I stumble to dress, eat late-morning nourishment, and press on to my part-time job and studies. I repeat this FREEING weekend activity quite a few times my freshman year. I LIKE how FREE I feel when I drink and it helps me fit in with the crowd.

If you were able to peruse November's post titled The "Voice"... can you believe it? Like Father; like daughter. I now realize it is one of the predicted outcomes for a child growing up in an alcoholic home. I inherited my Dad's addictive nature, and I craved the allure of anything to numb my insecurities and make me feel powerful. I needed alcohol's loosened voice. I needed liquor for striving-to-be-outgoing, tongue-tied me...to avoid discomfort. I wanted to fit in somewhere, and the drinking crowd seemed most available.

Inebriated, I was quite gregarious. The saying, The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree rang true for me… I was becoming comfortable with denial. Sober denial was passed from my grandparents to my parent's generation, and alcoholism was passed from my Dad to me. I was a coward who needed alcohol to loosen up. I longed for deep, safe connection and recognition, and alcohol seemed to be an appropriate counterfeit. Complex, vulnerable relationship was beyond my comprehension, and forget any possiblity to understand the art of negotiation.

I remember my normally quiet, melancholy Mom’s negotiation tactics with a store clerk. I purchased a cool watch with interchangeable bands and faces. It was amazing because I could make it match any outfit. It prematurely died, and well-meaning Mom attempted to exchange it. Back then return policies were less accommodating than today's Walmart. The clerk said: You can’t return this watch...you don't have the receipt.

Mom’s veins popped and her voice tightened as she uncontrollably whinnied: My daughter saved her allowance plus used her birthday money to buy this watch. You’ve taken advantage of her with this cheap item. Surely you can at least exchange it!!! It broke too quickly!

Rather than calmly asking to speak to the manager, Mom attempted cartwheels and flips to make the helpless clerk feel sorry for us. We left with no new watch. My dire need to observe the art of calm confrontation and negotiation was hijacked by her outburst. I ascertained that: disagreement equaled acrobatic, emotional eruptions to manipulate.

Back to dorm life and morning-after hangovers. By sophomore year I have changed dorm floors, to a more comfortable floor. Denial D finally reached the grievous-to-me conclusion that weekend fun would have to take a back seat to my body's severe negative reaction to alcohol…it dehydrates my already dehydrated body creating migraine-like headaches.

I was grieved, because alcohol could have been my social crutch. I was relationally crippled and needed numbing. I wanted denial. How would this 2o-year-old be able to handle the awkward, stressful, adult world…sober? Migraines stole my FREEDOM!

Oh, my. Back to the safe Matrix, which I have, most definitely, exited. I have descended the long tunnel and plunged "naked" into the cesspool. The crane is lifting me, for healthful decompression time. I must stop being vulnerable, for now anyway.

In the next few posts, I hope to "chug-a-lug," along a more comfortable blogging "track"...  I plan to circle back to my 20s when I feel safe...

Gift #5 for which I am grateful:  Being FREED to learn my “voice.”

My next blog will be Wednesday, November 14th.  Deo Volente...  Click here to view a quick clip of "The Matrix" Blue Pill versus Red Pill