tomorrow.

This is it. (Again).

We're doing this whole "uproot your life" thing one more time and are currently less than 24 hours away from boarding a big old jet plane that's going to take us to America and our new adventure.

I feel like I should have more to say, but I think I'm just tired from all the packing, cleaning, throwing away, general madness that we've had going on. I wish I had a nice artsy picture of our suitcases for you like I did last time, but, alas I do not.

Our timing is a little better this time around, I think, since we were scrambling to get everything packed and ready the morning that we were leaving two years ago, whereas now, we're ordering Indian food and just cleaning the last few corners. Hopefully we can get a decent amount of sleep tonight, since we've got a good 24 hours of traveling ahead of us.

Pray for this little family, if you think about it. The flight won't be quite so easy, seeing as how that little bean baby that was in my belly is now a full-grown toddler that doesn't like to sit still. Also, we've got three flights before we're in that blessed place I call "home" and it's going to be lots of work getting there.

Catch you on the flipside, England.

See you tomorrow, America!

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dreams.

Watch out for giant spiders that crawl on you in the middle of the night.

 It's Sunday morning, and ever since I've had a child that wakes up earlier than I would like, I've begun to experience what life can be like on a Sunday morning before "get ready for church" madness starts.
There is time to sit and drink coffee and wander through Facebook, and think about things I don't normally have time to think about.

Like all of the dreams I once had, and the way reality has played out so different (but also aligned right up) than I thought it would.

I wanted to be a missionary in Africa for a good chunk of my life.
I'd go to missions conferences at church and soak up everything the visiting speakers had to say, and I could see myself there, living in a cave and telling people about Jesus. I wanted to live the rough missionary life--the one with no electricity, no modern amenities, no distractions from the reason I was there.
When I went to Panama and stayed in a hut in the middle of the jungle, and slept on a slatted wood floor, being woken up by monkeys and goats running underneath our house on stilts, I knew that I was in a place I could stay forever. I could see my life stretching out in front of me, and I was thrilled. The world wasn't big enough for me, and I wanted to go everywhere and live with everyone and love them.
So I went to Moody as an International Ministries major, telling myself that I wouldn't let anything distract me from my goal of going out and living in discomfort so that others could hear the gospel.

These babies were so sweet.

Obviously, things changed a bit. *wink*

I got married, and had a baby, and although I did move to a foreign country, it is a thoroughly Western foreign country and I'm not exactly living in a cave like I had planned.
In fact, I'm living on the knife edge between "desperation" and "enough", so much so that often my thoughts are consumed with figuring out ways to get just a little more, so that I can be just a little more comfortable.
I am distracted by things and this is the opposite of everything I ever wanted.

I definitely got bit about 2.5 seconds after this photo was taken.

I am an all-or-nothing kind of person.

In order to shape my character, I have to make the change all at once and cut the offending issue out completely. 

No "adjustment period", no "gradual change" because I'll just slip right back into that habit.

I wanted to be a missionary in a third-world country because I knew that if I didn't have the option of having something, I wouldn't want it as much, and I wouldn't be distracted from my whole purpose of being there in the first place. 

No nail salons around? Guess I don't really want a manicure that badly after all.

No electrical outlets? I don't need to blow-dry my hair.

No clothing stores? I don't need clothes that make me look skinny/fashionable/etc.

I shared the hut with this lovely and his parents.

I think a lot of this is coming up since we're getting ready to move back to America, the land of even more excess, and I am worried about who I am going to become. 

I know who I want to be, and I know who I am, and I don't necessarily know how to make the two match up.

Maybe it's copping out, to just ask for all of the temptations to be taken away, and maybe I'd still struggle with jealousy and covetousness just as much, but...but. I'll never know.

And I think I've got the word "failure" rolling around in my head for so many reasons.

Our society always raises up those people who didn't let anything (or anyone) distract them from their purpose in life, and I always wanted that for myself. To be so focused on what I was supposed to do that I didn't let anything get in the way.

So now that I'm here, worrying about cars and houses and furniture and Christmas presents, I just can't help but shake my head in disgust at how very far away I am from where I thought I'd be.

Not only that, but I'm leaving this "foreign" country where I thought we'd be living forever after only two years, and that kind of feels like a failure as well. 

And I know that it's not. I know that we're not crawling back to America with our tails between our legs, but that we're making the decision to move where we feel like we ought to be, but...but. The perfectionist in me is still crying out, "Can't you see anything through? Why do you give up in the middle of everything?"

And sometimes I just don't know how to keep her quiet.

It was so hard to get these two to sit still for the camera.

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two weeks and two years.

Oct. 31, 2010

So...it's been a few weeks since I've opened up this page and put words on it for you to read.
I don't know what that means.
As always, I am torn about how much time to dedicate to this, how much headspace I want to give up, and whether or not this is something I should commit myself to doing regularly.
There are lots of threads that are attached to this knot, so it's not as easy to untangle as you might think.
I'll get there one day.

---------------------

It's been two years since I looked out the window of an airplane flying across the Atlantic, and saw England waiting for me from the sky. 

Two years since Jameson was a baby bean in my belly, and I packed up all my stuff and my husband and filled that one-way ticket to the UK.

Two years since I cried myself to sleep that night because "what have we done?" and "I want to go home, but I don't know where it is."

Two long, quick, excruciating, overjoyed years.

The hardest years of my life, without a doubt.

The years that have brought the biggest blessing of my life.

I feel like I should have something more profound to say.

I remember back in those first few months, thinking, "I will not make it here for two years. I don't think I can survive."

I remember looking at the expiry date on my visa and thinking that date would never come.

But, as ever and as always, here we are. 

Two years later.

With bumps and bruises and struggles and wins.

I'm stronger and different, and it's a strange feeling to live in suspension for two years, but it's coming to a close soon.

And I wonder what little thing it is that I'm going to miss the most.

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distraction.

It's that time of year again, where the sun disappears and the sky is a resolute void of color, and I can usually be found hunched on the couch with a cup of tea in my hand, begging the Lord to give me a slice of sunshine just for a moment.

It is the time of fog that billows in to all of the nooks and crevices of my brain and burrows itself in, making it hard to think or accomplish anything, since I can't seem to keep myself focused long enough to actually follow through. Where I find myself fighting to just get-out-of-the-house and just-cook-dinner and just-go-for-a-run and just-stay-sane.

It is the time of distractions in the form of anything and everything:
--too many tv shows
--too many blogs
--too many chores
--too many moments

And sometimes the problem is that I know I need to sacrifice the little distractions in order to achieve the greater wellness, but it's hard.
(Which is so ridiculous, but it's true.)

I know that keeping up with fifty blogs about how to be a mom and keep your house clean and write well and look good and eat healthily is not actually beneficial, but in reality makes me neurotic.
But I do it anyway, because I don't want to be "left out" and maybe if I can just get my life together, I too, can look like those people and their nice lives.

I know that picking out every single lump and roll and line on my body does not motivate me to work harder and stop eating junk. But what it does do, is make me want to crawl back under the covers with the entire pan of brownies and just give up, because why even try anyway?

I know that comparing and wishing and desiring and hoping are not, actually, going to get me that perfect house/car/wardrobe/life. I know that "looking at everyone's highlight reel" is not reality and comparing it to my "behind the scenes" is a surefire way to make myself miserable, but I still find myself wanting that new purse that she got, or going on a tropical vacation like they did, or buying a new house like his.

And clearly the answer to all of these problems is to simply STOP with the frenzied pace and the million influences all plugged into my life.
But the sad part is that it's hard, because in a sick and slightly twisted way, I like these influences.
I like the few moments of dreaming of myself wearing all of the clothes on my Pinterest board, or imagining what I'll look like after working out five times a week and eating Paleo (never mind where my child will be during these four-hour workouts each day). It's like a rush of adrenaline and endorphins shot straight into the aching, empty part of my brain that can't see the sky outside my window but can see it on the screens all around me.

And I just want to be free.

Love.
Joy.
Peace.
Patience.
Kindness.
Goodness.
Faithfulness.
Gentleness.
Self-control.

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the have and have nots.

just a moment.

For the last few weeks, I kind of feel like I've focused on the ligher, more surface-y side of life.

The weekend chronicles, the ridiculous mom-wear that I sport, the random thoughts I have during massages...

But there's always something there, just simmering under the surface and I don't know what to do with it.

Jameson is nearly 13 1/2 months old. I should be far beyond the "adjustment" period of life with a child. My body has officially replenished itself of all the nutrients and things that Jameson took while he was growing. I've lost all the baby weight and a little bit extra. I should be back to normal.

So why am I not?
Why do I still wake up in a fog, and still feel so exhausted at the thought of all the things to come?
Why is living such a difficulty, and why am I swallowed up in guilt about things so small that they shouldn't really matter?
Why does this darkness come in waves, and snatch away the good moments that I do have?
Why can't I just put a name and a face to this monster, so that I know how to fight it?

Part of me knows that some of this stems from where we live and the situation that we're in.
After so much defeat in England, I feel like I've kind of emotionally died inside a little, almost as a form of self-preservation. I've put up a lot of walls to dull the emotion so that I don't have to deal with the pain of failure and difficulty that we're experiencing.

I don't see the wonder in the rain anymore, or glory in a field full of flowers.
I don't find meaning in the wind, or dream about the passions that I used to have.
I don't do things just to do them anymore, because that takes energy that I don't possess.

And that makes me sad, because I know that I'm somewhat of a shell of who I used to be.
It's like living life in black and white and gray instead of the vibrant colors I used to see.

And I just want to heal.
I just want to be happy, and to laugh without it taking effort, and to be vibrant and passionate and bursting with life.

So I will keep moving. Keep living.
Keep waking up in the morning and taking deep breaths.
Because what else can I do?

--linking up with The Wiegand's

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scribbles and dots.

Out of focus, and beautiful.

Today has been...just one of those days.
And by those days I mean it has been just another day in this life that I'm trying to figure out and live in the moment of.

I went to the gym, found out I lost a pound, came home and ate 1/4 of my breakfast that turned out to be off. I just chalked that up to less calories and more weight off, but then I was hungry, so Hubs and I had a baguette and cheese for lunch and it was delicious.

Then I took a nap and slept for an hour, but it felt like five and I could have slept all day. I've been so tired lately and I just cannot figure out why. All the paranoid pregnancy tests I've been taking have been coming back negative and I'm exercising and drinking lots of water so it is not making sense to me.
Maybe it's still just being a mom.

I'm cooking toads-in-the-hole and roast potatoes tonight and I feel like I've finally succumbed to the English diet. Oil, bland palates, and potatoes. I mean, it tastes good and it fills you up, but there's just a little bit of American in me that dies every time I mix up a batch of Bisto.

There are words to be written, and bathrooms to be cleaned, and things to be sorted, and to-do lists to cross off and I just can't bring myself to do any of it.
That seems to be another one of the recurring themes around here--my inability to "get it together" and actually get things done.
I wonder if I'll ever actually grow up and be the responsible adult that I'm supposed to be.

--linking up with just write.

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when the American dream meets the British reality.

By the end of next month, I will have lived in England for a year and a half.

If we're honest, I really didn't think I'd make it.

I've spent countless nights crying with homesickness, begging my husband to "please, please, let's move home" and dreaming about the day that I'd be far away from this terrible little country.

But (you knew it was coming, didn't you?)
--in the last few months, it seems I've actually "adjusted" to life in the British culture, at least enough for the desperation to give way to a quiet routine of daily living. I'm sure becoming a mother has been an instrumental part in this: I have to get out of bed and out of the house for the sake of my son. We go to rhyme time at the library, and monster music at the children's centre, and meet up with other Mommas and their babies for the sake of socialization.

In the fray of adjusting, I've also come to realize an interesting distinction between the two countries, and I think it's something that made it so difficult for me to come to terms with this place for so long:

In America, we are told, "You can do anything you want to do, if you put your mind to it. Dream big, and the sky's the limit." We are taught that we can be famous athletes, movie stars, astronauts, scientists, writers, doctors--literally anything is open to us, if we want it bad enough.

In Britain, they are not told these things. People are brutally and bluntly honest about shortcomings and where yours are. If you aren't good at something, they'll make sure you know. Kids here are not taught that the sky's the limit, rather, they are told that there definitely are limits and maybe they'll surpass them, but probably not (so best not try).

As an American, this rubs you (and me) the wrong way. It is offensive, it is pessimistic, it is wrong. "Of course, I can do that," we gasp in horror as a Brit gives us an eyebrow raise. "I can do anything I want to!" Unfortunately, this isn't actually the case (even though we don't want to admit it). I will never be an Olympic athlete (even though I like to think that I might have had a shot if I hadn't quit figure skating). I will never be an amazing singer, and I might (probably) won't ever be a world famous author. In fact, I might not do anything with my life other than being a mother and a wife. I know.


So when I would lie in bed and dream about the life my family and I would have back in America once we got out of here, it would be full of nice things--the dream house, great jobs, happy kids doing lots of fun extracurricular activities, weekly date nights, a church that allows us to use our gifts and minister well. When I compared that dream to our current life in England (and the prospect of a future here), it looked about as gray as the sky I was living under.

It is only in the last few weeks that I have really come to terms with the fact that it is okay to just live. In fact, sometimes it is better to just live where you are at, than to dream about a future you might never have. For so long I got so caught up in the dream of our life "back in America" that I forgot to put anything into the life I was currently living in England. I'm sure that I wasted opportunities, missed friendships, and generally put a damper on any positive thing that I had going for me over here--and even though that is a natural and normal part of adjusting to life in a new culture, it's still not something I'm proud of.

I spent so long bemoaning the practicalities of the English, and pitying them for their inability to dream of anything more than a quiet house in the country, that I failed to see the positive side of things. They are generally content in the lives that they lead (I mean, most are. I am making pretty sweeping generalities here). They may not tell you that, with their semi-constant complaining, but they are. Their lives are familiar and what they know, and they are all right with that. They don't feel bad for not being something greater. They do what they do, and they do it well. This is something that I have probably never done, and it is kind of, (but not really) ironic to me that God has made me live in a place that is the very definition of "blooming where you're planted".

Now, I know that there are two sides to every coin, so before I get hate mail from all the British dreamers out there, let me remind you that I am simply remarking on a side of England that I have not wanted to appreciate, but now do. I have found myself with a certain fondness for this strange, backwards country. This is slightly terrifying, because I can't hate it with a passion anymore and wish myself back in America. Yes, there are moments nearly every day when I think about how much I miss my country, but recently, this has been countered by a tinge of sadness when I think about leaving what we have invested here.

This is the birthplace of my husband and son, and it is a country that will always be a part of me. It has helped refine me in many areas, and opened my eyes to the fact that there is more than one way to live life and look at things--not wrong, just different.

Any other citizens of the world care to share your opinions?

I mean, he's the best part about England.

Peace at last.

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the return.

Ah, England. We meet again.

We've been "home" for almost a week now, and I am happy to report that we are pretty much settled back in and the jetlag is nearly out of our system. There are a million and one things that I need to work/think/pray through after our trip to America, and I am sure that they'll come out on here in time.

We had an amazing visit with so many amazing people, and I am just now processing how blessed I am, and how much support I have, even when I feel like I am in a very lonely place. It's interesting to see how God has given me the most incredible friends and family, and how I have not been able to find anyone similar in any of the places I've been. Seriously, I have been given the cream of the crop, and I am so happy about it.

Jameson was such a trooper during the whole trip--even the 10 hour plane rides where he had an ear infection and a cold. He was a rockstar baby, and people were constantly telling us, "Your baby is so well-behaved, and he is SO beautiful!" We would just smile and say thank you, but inside I was going, "I know, right? I got the best one."

He loved, loved, loved meeting his family in America, including 7 new grandparents (that's right folks, 7. We churn 'em out young in my family. Haha) including his great-great-grandma and 2 new aunts.

He also got to meet his godparents (outside of the womb), and the church family that has been loving on him and praying for him since he was the size of a poppyseed inside of my belly.

We had a dedication ceremony at church that was perfect, and exactly what Hubs and I wanted.

We got to celebrate my 23rd birthday at Spaghetti Factory, where I gorged myself on gluten-free pasta and wine, and laughed hysterically with my family.

Christmas was wonderful, and Jameson was spoiled beyond belief. We literally had to bring an extra suitcase back with us, that's how much stuff we picked up.

I put on at least five pounds from gorging myself with Mexican food, In-N-Out, Chick-fil-a, Starbucks, Panda Express, and so many others that when I think about them I just get hungry.

It was wonderful, and the perfect five weeks, and we didn't take nearly enough pictures (but I'll try to start taking more since I got a CAMERA PURSE for Christmas from my amazing husband!!!).

I am sad to be back here, but I am also glad to be in my own space, working towards a new goal of going home to the States for good. For now, I am trying to soak up the time I have here, because I know that there will be things I'll miss when I leave.

Hopefully, more regular posting will start to occur, thanks the the new schedule that I have us on. We'll see how it goes.

Love, love.

C

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that one time

So there was that one time that I was going to do this thing called "NaNoWriMo" and write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.

There was also this time where I was going to lose the last ten pounds that I gained while I was pregnant with Jameson baby.

Not to mention that one time where I was planning on making sure that our house stopped eating most (if not all) processed food, and bought more fruits and vegetables.

Also, that time where I was going to play with my baby every day, and read him lots of books so that he would have a higher IQ to serve him better later in life.

And then, that time where I was going to start being a better wife by not nitpicking at my husband, and just being pleasant and biting my tongue when I thought I was wrong.

Oh yeah, there was also that time where I joined that one manic-lady's website about keeping your house clean and organized, and she sends you a million emails a day so that you get to practice tossing clutter out of your inbox.

And I just remembered, that time where God and I were going to really carve out some quality time together, and I was going to read my Bible daily and start journaling again.

But then, there were all those other times where the sun stopped shining, the baby wouldn't go to sleep, all I could find to eat was cereal, I couldn't come up with a plot line, and I didn't have enough energy to get off the couch, let alone clean my house.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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time.

I guess it's time.
I'm sitting here, in my living room on a thursday afternoon while the sky is blue and there is sun shining in through my windows, and I'm trying to realize that spring is coming and this is symbolic in more ways than one.

Since I've always been honest on here, I guess there is no reason why that should stop being the case now.

We've been living in this country for just over five months now. 

We arrived with eight suitcases on a freezing and rainy November 1, and since then, life has consisted of working through each new day that has been thrown at us.
When we first arrived, we were empty of things, but full of hope. We had literally stripped ourselves of our possessions and brought with us what we could carry, along with the baby growing in my belly and the belief that this was going to be the place for us.
We were finally going to put roots down, settle in, and make a life for ourselves. We had the promise of a job with a good-looking outcome for Hubs, the knowledge that I could work anywhere I found myself, and the belief that soon we would be able to start "moving up" in the world.
No more cockroach infested apartments, or budgeting until we were blue in the face.

Reality check.

The job was not what it first appeared to be, and although we held onto it's promise for so long, it has recently become clear that there is no way it is going to work.
I lost all but one of my clients, not due to anything I had done, but simply because business models are changing and I didn't fit in anymore. Not only that, but I am now in my third trimester, and finding clients only to tell them that I will be taking six months of maternity leave after the baby is born, is not really ideal.
This country is expensive, with hidden fees and other things lurking around different corners, and somehow we did not find out about it all until we got here.
This is a different place, one that I don't really fit into all that well. I'm so much more 'American' than I thought I was, and although I have found friends, I am struggling to be myself and have that be okay. I find myself holding back, and taming myself down in order to fit into the landscape, and although this is okay, it means that no one really knows who I am and likes me for it.

I have been angry at God for a long time. 

I felt like He had clearly led us to this place, obviously opened doors and allowed us to walk through them.

My spousal visa came through in three weeks, which is nearly unheard of. 

We had the promise of this job, and security, and the opportunity to make a life somewhere we thought we wanted to be.

We got pregnant with our baby at exactly the right time so that all of the tiny little dreams I had worked out.

This was supposed to be it for us.

I felt like God gave us the promise of these dreams, and for all intents and purposes, it looked like they were going to be fulfilled.
Now, five months later, this is not the case.
And to be honest, I've hesitated to share with anyone about it, simply because I didn't want to put up with the pitiful looks, and the nice "Christiany" sentiments comparing us to Job or listening to "Footprints in the Sand" being quoted at me.
I'm not trying to be sarcastic or offensive, these things are comforting in the right time and place, it's simply that this situation can't be fixed with a nice, neat answer.

In fact, all I've got right now is this:

"So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." [Matt. 6:31-34]

I've read this passage at least fifty times.
But look at it. Really look at it.
What's the promise?

God knows what I need. 

If I seek after Him, He will provide for my needs. 

Today.

And that's all we're given. No promise for tomorrow.

In fact, I'm told to not even look at tomorrow, because I've got to focus on getting through today.

The past five months have been about God whittling away this entitled part of me, and putting it to death. It means that He is taking all of my desires, be they selfish or not, and simply giving me one day at a time to live through. He is meeting my most basic needs, and He is forcing me to accept the fact that this is all I am allowed to expect from Him.

I hate this.
I don't understand the ultimate reason or purpose that God allowed us to come here and find ourselves in this situation.
I can't pretend to be happy and joyful, when inside there is still (it's much smaller, but it's there) a part of me that screams, "Why can't I have this? What is so wrong with wanting this or needing this that You won't just let me have it?"

However, there is a light at the end of it all, and even though it's small, it's there.
My husband and I have never been so happy or strong in our marriage. Life is becoming pure, in that we have so little, that we are truly learning to indulge in such small moments.
My son, my son, is growing and is healthy inside of me, and I get to meet him in such a short amount of time and finally hold the baby that I ached over for so long.
I so appreciate the incredible people that God has allowed me to find. The close friendships that I have are truly unique, because I have yet to find one like them in another country, and I now realize just how amazing the people are who love me despite knowing me completely.
We are still surviving, and still making it through each day, incredibly.
Although some days I wake up, and it feels like there is no way that we're going to make it, we always do. And one day at a time, we're continuing to get through this.
I don't know how we are, but we are.

And so that's it.
I've avoided coming here for so long, because I wasn't ready to hash this out on a public forum, and I just wasn't ready to be completely honest about my life.
Maybe I'm still not.
However, the window is open now, and maybe sometime in the future I'll be able to open the door and let all twelve of you in.
But for now, this is what I've got. 

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family

My lovely cousin Kati flew into London on Sunday, and we got the chance to spend almost 36 hours with her before she hopped on a bus to Swansea, to visit some old friends from her semester abroad there.

It was beyond amazing to have a family member here in this crazy place with me, and we were a pair, the two of us.

I am (feeling) hugely pregnant, and she was jet-lagged, so poor Hubs had to deal with two loud, tired Americans wandering London.

It was wonderful. 
Here is some photographic proof.

Outside Westminster Abbey, before we went in for the Sunday service, which Kati and Dave both dozed through.

No judgment.

Tower of London, and what the weather has looked like ever since I got here.

This Starbucks is so sentimental, cause it's one of the first places Hubs took me the first time I came to England to visit him.

I dragged the two of them around until we found it, and then I made them take pictures of me in front of it.
Someday I'll be that skinny again.

We went to Kings Cross in search of Platform 9 3/4, and we found this...A plastic picture of a brick wall while they do construction on the rest of the station.

Boo.

Love.

They're so cute.

We had such a good time, and it was so nice to be with someone who knows who I am, and who's been with me since...I was born, really.

Relaxing, and freeing, and a much-needed break from daily life.

Not to mention that she brought packets of ranch dressing, enchilada sauce, and the cutest baby items I have ever seen.

Love you, K!

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contentment.

My days are spent remembering this:

While living in this:

Maybe the weather's starting to get to me, and I'm starting to get my S.A.D on, maybe it's a combination of pregnancy hormones and homesickness, but whatever it is, I am lacking contentment in a big way.
My self-centered, selfish human nature is whispering in my ear that I deserve more than this.

A trip to a sunny island shouldn't be so out of the question.

Getting a manicure, or a hair cut, or a massage shouldn't be such a big issue.

Going out for a nice dinner shouldn't be "not an option".

And even though I know it's not true, I've got the devil on my shoulder doing his best to make sure that I feel like I'm lacking just enough to make me want to turn and run.
If you know me, you know that I struggle with making comparisons, and looking at what other people have and finding what I don't.
It's a thorn in the flesh, and a big issue, and something I struggle through daily.
And I'm going to be honest and say that I'm struggling a lot right now.

I hate the weather.

I hate not having a car and being confined to places within walking distance.

I hate going to the grocery store and seeing nothing familiar and trying to figure out why it's called bicarbonate soda and not baking soda.

I miss being surrounded by people that know me, and know who I am, and are comfortable with that so that I don't have to modify my behavior to be accepted.

I'm tired of introducing myself and feeling like an outsider as soon as I open my mouth.

There is this, and there is so much more, but I won't go on, to spare myself some dignity.
I don't have a "happy ending" note for this, other than I am at the end of my rope, and trusting that God will take it from there.

Prayers, encouragement, and hamburgers are appreciated.

-C

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