A Letter to My Grandmother

This week, there were three women that died from cancer.
I only knew one of them well, but they all have family and friends that loved them dearly and miss them.
I was looking for a document, and I ran across a letter I wrote to my father's mother soon after I moved to Dallas. She had dementia and didn't know any of us anymore, but I wrote it anyway. I think I sent it to my dad to pass on the next time he went to visit her. I don't remember if she actually read it. I didn't see her before she died on my sister's birthday in 2015.
Even with how I felt about her, it hurt, and in light of these ladies, the pain came back, a little less intense than before.
Trusting God for His peace, seeking Him for joy.
Keeping this here to remind me to speak up, even if it's hard, because I might not get another chance.
This is my letter to my grandmother.

Dear Grandma:

I guess even my greeting seems strange to you, considering you don’t remember I exist. Well, I do, and though you don’t know me anymore, I will never forget you

The main reason is because I have your name. My first name is Jayme, named after your son, James. He and his wife Victoria chose to honor you and gave me, their second daughter, your first name as my middle name: Christene. They even spelled it with an “e” instead of an “I” like everyone else. As much as you might doubt my existence, please know I’m not making this up.

Honestly, you and I didn’t get along too well. When I was around 10, you spanked me with a tennis shoe because you thought I was stomping my feet. When I was in junior high, you said mean things to my family. And when I was 14, you almost killed my sister. You didn’t really say a lot of nice things about my mother, and it was painful to stay at your house during the summers of my childhood because I knew you didn’t really like us that much. 

This probably isn’t the letter you anticipated, but I don’t think we anticipated this type of relationship. I think my dad wanted you and I to have more in common than just our names, and I honestly believe he wanted my three sisters and I to know what it was like to have a grandmother that loved us. 

I’m not writing to be harsh – I’m writing to be real and honest. When the situation happened with my sister, I said some things to you that were disrespectful and rough, especially for a 14 year old. At that moment, I let go of my childhood hope for a grandma that had my back. I even wrote a trilogy of novels, and a character in the third book says to her grandmother everything I wanted to you say to you when I was that age. 

Yet, I realized at age 33, none of these sentiments matter anymore. The desire to please you – to even know you and give you a place of honor in my life – distinctly pervaded my thoughts for a long time. I wondered how I could get you to like me and show me grace. I hoped one day you would see my children and choose to love them in a way you didn’t love me. I wanted some kind of redemption, but all I can ask is forgiveness. 

The last time I spoke to you, I was out of line. I was rude and disrespectful to you as an adult. I apologize for my behavior. I meant my words, but my delivery was immature. I can’t change it, but I hope I am a better person now because of what I have learned since that time. 

Again, you probably don’t remember me, my sisters, or my parents, but I know we’ll never forget you. Our family dynamics were strongly and deeply affected by our interactions with you. You might be wondering why I took so long to address you, especially since you have memory loss now. Honestly, I didn’t know what to write or if I even wanted to talk to you again. Yet, it’s not about me, it’s about you. It’s hoping you can remember a little, at least enough to see both sides of the story and have more peace. It’s about you recognizing how God used you to motivate me, your granddaughter, to seek His forgiveness, your forgiveness, and truth. Thank you for being my grandma – I am who I am because of how you helped shape my character. Also, thank you for my dad – he’s really one of my closest friends and is a great man. Finally, thank you for my name, Christene, which means follower of Christ. I have been a Christian since I was 10, and I am grateful for his grace. I pray that you also have a relationship with him

I currently live in Dallas, Texas, and I don’t have long periods at home, but I think I can visit before the end of the year. I’d like to see you one more time without pain or anger on either side. I will be praying for you. 

Don't Be Me

We taught you wrong.

We allowed you to think it was yours. A justified entitlement.

It's not though; it's ours, and now we are no longer ourselves. We gave you permission to come into our homes, take what makes us unique, and wear it on display. We invited you in, and now when we ask you to leave, you get mad because we want to retain what makes us different. We want to remain and be celebrated for being ourselves, and you want to take it with you. I mean, you've been wearing it for so long - why can't you keep wearing it?

Here's why: when you're invited inside, the culture, the "other", of the inside has significance.
Outside the house, it loses its beauty.

But... can we take it back? Is it wrong to ask for it back? Is it wrong to snatch it off?

Whose fault is it?

I walk outside, and, in some ways, I lose what makes me "me". I get swept into a world that looks nothing like me, but I hear my voice singing around the corner. I see my style walking by me. I watch my rich skin tone make its way down the street, poorly replicated and sadly faded.

I want to be me, despite for many years of wanting to be you.
I don't anymore - I don't want to be you.
And even more, I don't want you to be me either.

Celebrate my "different"!
Allow my "other" to challenge, strengthen, and encourage you!
Let my "me" be regaled with cheers because my "me" makes you "you".
I'm not looking to separate; I am unique.
I'm not looking to discriminate; I am the only one of my kind.
I'm not looking to divide; I am fully me.
Be fully you.

"But this is fully me!"
No, this is you being me.
Don't get mad.
I get it.
I understand.
But give me back my "other".
I didn't invite you in to become me... no SWF here.
I invited you in to celebrate your "different",
To let you see my "different",
And to let you be "you", not "me", in relationship with dignity and value.

Please stop... don't be me.

Letting Go...

In the musical, "Phantom of the Opera", the main character Christine (who also shares my name) sings to her father's grave, wishing he could be there with her again. She has to come to terms with happy moments that won't be repeated, and her last line in the song is "Help me say goodbye." I've realized, over the last few weeks, I too need help saying goodbye. This school year has held some painful losses for me.

My friend Kimba is no longer who she was - lost in some ways to me for good.

I almost lost a friend by his own hand - the friendship we had now lost to become something different.

I lost my grandmother - my last grandparent - and any chance at reconciliation that went with her.

I lost my mom's old car, albeit involuntarily.

I lost the pictures from years of my life.

I lost the ability to focus in classes this spring.

And, for a few moments, I thought I lost my mind.

A friend wrote in a song, "Don't believe the fallacies of condemnation cause even green leaves change the autumn trees." Wasn't that my whole existence around what I saw as loss? All I could feel was guilt, condemnation, anxiety, and all I could see was haze, as though there was a perpetual cloud in my eyes and mind. Well, there was a cloud, and it was grief. In light of losing, I didn't stop to grieve. I didn't stop to say goodbye, and besides... who would I ask to say goodbye?

At the end of May, as I drove through Shreveport, LA, a place I remembered with fondness, my rose colored glasses lost their tint. I realized, for all my many nice memories of this place, many of my fears and addictions began there. I cried over the next hour as so many thoughts cam back. I remembered this is was the birthplace of fear for me: fear of failure, fear of being different, fear of rejection. It was the origin of my perfectionism and my depression. It was the introduction of sexual sin into my life, and it was the home of my insecurity. Reality is I lived all these years letting this one place affect my life and my decisions. I hadn't let it go.

Over the last couple weeks, I've been looking at pictures from high school, and the rosy tint of youth ministry is fading. The beginning of my feeling alone and not being good/pretty/skinny/popular enough was there, heightening the fears that began in Louisiana. I realized, as I saw all the smiles and remembered the good times, I still need to say goodbye. I hadn't truly let it go.

We wish the rose coloring was somehow here again, just as Christine sings to her long lost father. We want to remember those moments as beautiful or grand, but when we experience loss, we begin to see life as it really is, and we have to grieve the thing it used to be.

No, I'm not depressed, and no, I'm not saying all those moments were the worst ever. I'm saying I can see 2 things more clearly now:
1. God's hand is on every moment of my life, revealing his beauty and my depravity, and
2. All these events shape who I am now - a person that is grateful to be where I am and aware of my dependence on the Lord.

"Help me say goodbye," I asked the Lord as I drove through Louisiana on a Friday morning. I asked him for forgiveness and received it. I asked him to heal my soul and help me to no longer accept lies as truth. And now...?

I'm seeing things in a new way - literally, I got new glasses, and life looks clearer, sharper, and less scratchy. It looks this way spiritually as well. I can see the beauty and the pain of life and recognize the need for both. I am more aware of my need for the Lord, and the autumn leaves are changing to green. As I continue to grieve loss and let go, I see God bringing new life in its place.

I am moving into a new time. I believe this new season is the result of losing, grieving, and letting go. I'm physically moving into a new apartment with a new housemate. I am beginning a new season of ministry through music. I have a new chance to explore and endorse the arts community at DTS. Youth ministry will not be a strong pursuit right now, and I'm putting teaching to the side. I'm also letting go of a lot of expectations I have for myself as well as those placed on me by others. I'm letting go of fears that had dictated my life and addictions that are distracting me from truth. Not all overnight, but definitely and definitively.

Had I not moved to Dallas, despite my fear and cautiousness, I might still be living bound and enslaved to those lies. I'm grateful that God brought me here, knowing that freedom was in store for me. I'm thankful that God's hand is on my joy and loss, he is my comfort in my grief, he rejoices with me in my healing, and he is always there to help me say goodbye but never will be the one to whom I say it.

Habakkuk and Job

Death.
Loss of privacy and security.
Injustice.
Inhumanity.
Loss of innocence, idealism, and ignorance.
Lack of stability.

And that's just the last four months.

I turned 34 on June 13 (for all you Heroes Reborn people, ain't it great!), and my life ceased to look anything like I recognized from the past.

This summer, there was a dialogue that took place in a semi-public forum that caused me to question and solidify where I stand on race. I realized I could not sit idly by without being a proponent for change in my current environment. So, I chose to talk. Talk to whomever would listen and allow me to hear them in return. Yet, I don't know if I spoke up enough, talked to the right people, or even pushed back. I rallied for a cause, but I feel like I fell short in execution.

Then, Kimba went into the hospital. I've known this woman since we were 15, and she's totally ride or die. She's still in the hospital, and it rips me up because I'm not used to her not being strong, loud, laughing, and constant. I can't be that for her.

A friend from college didn't want to live, but he's still here. However, that didn't stop a distinct message from playing over and over in his mind. In August, it culminated in a message sent to me, and I did all I could. He's still here, but it hurts because he was my rock when I fell apart, but I'm unable to be there for him.

My grandmother passed on my older sister's birthday. I got the phone call as I walked out of a debate that questioned if the historical Jesus ever claimed to be God. Talk about an eventful evening. My last interaction with my grandmother was not good. I know she loved me, as long as she remembered who I was, but in these last couple years, after she lost her memories, I couldn't return her love.

Stories, thoughts, dreams, wishes, hopes, fears... written over time, chronicled by images. LOST. In the process of changing computers, I didn't take enough care for my pictures, and now they're gone. I didn't do enough to have a back up of a back up, and snapshots from early years disappeared overnight.

I went to the doctor three weeks ago. I sat there and listened as she said she didn't trust the positive ANA test that came back from my blood sample. Wait, what? Why don't you trust the people that do labs regularly? And why would you tell me you don't think the positive is right? And even more, why would you tell me that a positive ANA could mean lupus?!

Two weeks ago, my car was there... and then it wasn't. Just like that. Independence, mobility, a sense of freedom. A marker of being an "adult" taken, and a sense of security, stability, consistency, and familiarity erased from this season.

And in light of all this, I study Habakkuk.

Habakkuk asks God the questions that voice my heart right now.
He points out the injustice of life and wonders where God is and why He's silent.

On Tuesday, I honestly told the Lord I feel like my prayers are falling short, completely hitting the ceiling and bouncing back to me. I told him I don't understand how He can watch these things happen, even give them permission to occur, and just remain silent. In Habakkuk, the people of Israel did many things wrong, and God was done talking. He was sending the Babylonians, and that's what he told Habakkuk. So, I question what I've done, wondering if He's done talking and just sending the Babylonians.

Now, don't get it twisted. God had cautioned the people of Israel for GENERATIONS, not just once or twice before choosing to send them into exile. He had laid out the terms of the deal, so he had every right. Not out of spite, but because he loves them so much and is integrity - God had to keep his word. I don't know if God's been talking for a while, and I just haven't been listening. If so, I hope my ears are opened quickly!

I believe I'm being obedient in this season, seeking his purpose as well as becoming more like Christ. I believe I am loving, motivating, challenging, and encouraging the way He would have me to do these things.

So, if I am, then maybe I'm more like Job.

Job literally didn't do anything wrong, but He got all kinds of stuff dumped on his head. Lost his kids, his material wealth, and even aspects of his health because Satan wanted to prove God could not be sovereign and loving, just and gracious. However, Job recognized God didn't owe him an explanation, but it was for him to trust a sovereign God. After this realization, God restored Job's health and doubled his family and wealth, thus proving God is completely just and completely gracious, simply because he is God.

Both of these books of the Bible reflect the statement made by a hurting man who had a demon-possessed child. When he stood before Jesus, there was a dichotomy in his heart. There was nothing in life that would cause him to believe that anyone could heal his child. There wasn't any reassurance, any really hopeful moments, that indicated the boy would live life differently. But this father, in light of life's pains, stopped to acknowledge there was some hope and trusted in Jesus. He said, "I believe; help my unbelief". He had years of life with his son being attacked, and still there was hope.

I have to admit, though, in this season, I feel like nothing that's happening right now causes me to think that my prayers will avail much. Not much right now helps me think that the peace, rest, and even companionship that I hope for are coming to me. Part of me doesn't think I will live life differently, but, in light of life's pains, I have to stop and acknowledge my trust in the Lord.

And it's only been four months.

Habakkuk and Job asked the question, "Do I trust God when life seems imbalanced, unfair, or unjust?"
That desperate father answered, "I believe; help my unbelief!"

I serve and worship a God that is sovereign. He is for me, and He is just. He is faithful, and He is love. He is stability, consistency, and security. So, I continue to pray and seek the Lord. I continue to lift up these situations, speaking when it's time and staying silent when necessary. And I continue to ask God for help when I hope, but doubt; when I believe and have unbelief.

Quiet

"All I want is peace and quiet, but it never comes because I'm always there. I'm always thinking." Someone, who is moving from acquaintance closer to friend, said this to me recently, and I had to ponder the statement for a minute. Mostly because it made absolute sense and saddened me at the same time. The truth is as long as I'm around me, my mind doesn't slow down. The constant stream of thought: how can I fix all the world's problems today? 

It's really hard to turn your brain off when you're constantly concerned about things you can't control. Currently, I am walking through a season of troubling issues hanging around me. There's not a direct effect on my day to day life, but these issues cause me to stop and think regularly. As I explained one of the three situations I'm processing in a recent conversation, my listener's eyes just got bigger. When I asked why, the response was, "Because that's a lot!" You see, when your brain never shuts off, you don't get shocked, and when you don't get shocked, life becomes a list, a series of tasks, detached and disconnected. 

I didn't notice this until the AC in my apartment stopped working. It wasn't even the length of time it was out; it was the loss of hope I felt when it worked for 5 hours and then stopped. I was getting ready for bed, and I adjusted the thermostat. All I heard was the click as the temperature registered inside the thermostat, and then the unit just stopped running. Within moments I was laying on my bed with tears flowing. I just knew I would be able to curl up under my blanket and comforter and sleep in a cool room, and my one source of relief, and the first item I could check off my list in a couple months, just disappeared right before me. All the emotions that were pent up, dealing with the different major issues of my summer, came rushing to the surface, and I realized it was a lot. 

I am really good at being okay. I can keep smiling in light of and in spite of. I can get my job done, sincerely laugh with others, and be present with them in their situations. But I'm not good at peace and quiet... my brain doesn't stop processing when the last friend leaves to go home. Those issues that are a constant concern don't get checked off the list. They just get added to, and there's no room for emotional response because that's one more item in the list for me to process and fix. I can't take time to fix myself - when will I fix everyone else?! 

And that, my friends, is the issue. I literally can't fix anyone or anything else. I can't remedy anything because people still have the freedom to choose a remedy or a hangover. They can hear and heed or ignore and flee. I can be concerned and think all day long, but all I can offer is an ear and an opinion. So why am I constantly thinking when it's not up to me? Why am I processing through things that I really don't need to have on my list? Is my list really as long as I think it is? 

Don't get me wrong or misread this - there are situations that we have to think through because our next action will make a difference. However, my list contains items and issues from home. What can I do 12 hours away? How about the issues that occur at higher pay grades and behind closed doors? Or just the fact that I know NOTHING about HVAC... a list of stuff I can't fix.

Seminary doesn't exclude you from hurting, wrestling, processing, or fixing. It simply offers you remedies that can make the list shorter. It is not for the faint, but it is for the broken. It's not for the unyielding, but it is for the undone. It is not for creating silence, but it is for developing quiet and peace. 

No bow... and that's okay. 

I AM my sister's keeper

Right now, it's 5:55 AM, and I am listening to my youngest sister sleep. It's not really hard to miss as she snores quite loudly for most of the night. I, on the other hand, have not slept since about 3 or so due to being a light sleeper. I probably got 2 REM cycles in before I couldn't sleep through the noise anymore. This has been my trend since Saturday night. I'll go back to sleep in about an hour or so when I've finally reached an exhausted state.

My youngest sister was born with some brain damage, thus rendering her educationally and developmentally disabled. Over the years, we also discovered different life skills she would never have, such as driving a car or living on her own independently. She went through school, completed a certificate program through a local tech school, and even kept a couple jobs. Our family coped, compensated, compromised and sometimes coddled our way through the last thirty years.

Treya was diagnosed with schizophrenia at age 22, and it came out of nowhere. One day, she just wasn't the same anymore, and it scared us almost to death. We were afraid it would actually kill her at one point. Since that time, her health has been a constant thought in my mind, predominantly because if something happens to mom and dad, she chose me as primary guardian. I'm up first.

I'm listening to my little sister, who we always called Midget, fight for her life every night. Since her diagnosis, Treya gained about 60 pounds. She was already a snorer, but now her weight, steroid-laden antipsychotic meds, and lack of really good, healthy sleep results in a lack of energy throughout the day and no desire to work toward a smaller weight. I listen, and I get concerned because when the noise stops, I stop and wait... will she breathe again? Her breaths are shallow and short, and I wonder... is that any better?

I'm on vacation from my everyday life - seminary classes, work, and learning to like Dallas, TX. I'm with my family in a timeshare condo sitting on a fold out sectional, listening to my little sister sleep, propped on pillows with a breathe right strip on her nose. I'm introspective, nervous, prayerful, wishful, upset, alone, and alert... hoping the noise doesn't stop, but wanting some relief. 

I can make suggestions while I'm here, and I can try to walk with her while I have the time, but the truth is I go back to Dallas in a few days a little fearful and still wondering. 

It's starting to get lighter outside, and Wednesday has already begun for some people. The rest of the family will stir in a couple hours, and I'll pray for enough focus to complete the homework for my online summer class. I'll laugh and smile, play with my niece and nephew, enjoy some time with my longest friend, and thank God it's only Wednesday. My oldest sister will arrive tonight, and she and I will share the downstairs with Treya. 

And I'll get a couple REM cycles in and then listen, praying for the noise to continue and for the strength to be there when it's my turn again. 

I love my sister. She laughs at all my dad's jokes, smiles at almost everyone at church, and constantly asks how you're doing. Her name is derivative of Estrella, which means star. She can light up a room, but don't think she won't burn red hot either! She loves music and all things Disney, and she's the baby - sometimes too much. We all love her and would die for her, but in the midst of all this, I have to remember one thing: I AM.

I AM is my sister's keeper. There is hope found in the arms of I AM because of all that he is. He is the healer, and he is Treya's refuge. She trusts the Lord, I believe, and desires to know him more. In light of that relationship, I AM is my refuge, too. I have to believe, in spite of my fear and concern, that God knows exactly what is necessary for Treya to be all he created her to be. He knows my part in her story, and he knows her part in his story.

Yeah, I'm nervous, especially because I have to acknowledge my parents are getting older. I'm a little scared because I'm carrying school debt and will be for some time, so what if she needs me sooner over later? Even more, what if something happens to me first? 

Yet, as Chris Tomlin wrote, "Be still, there is a healer...", "I lift my hands to believe again", and "you are faithful, God, forever". All these sentiments need to be a mantra for me, and my prayer is for that to happen. Fear, worry, and concern bombard in the darkness, but the morning always brings new hope and mercy. So, good morning, Wednesday. 

10 years ago...

"I have this huge desire for marriage.  I have this huge desire for a family.  I have a huge desire to minister to teens in high school.  I have this huge desire to travel.  I have this huge desire to sing in front of tons of people.  I have this huge desire to act.  I have this huge desire to make a difference in the world… especially entertainment.  I have this huge desire to coordinate an event so huge, the world will have to take notice of what God wants to do.  I have this huge desire to tell teens my mistakes so they don’t have to learn them the hard way.  I just… have such huge dreams in my head, and I don’t know how to make them reality."

I wrote this over ten years ago, when I began my season of Lost... pun intended.

I shared my life story recently with my spiritual formation group, and I realized a lot as I shared, or didn't share, aspects of my life. There are points I didn't bring up, but if you know me or read my previous entries, then you already know what I've walked through. I gave the seasons of my life TV show titles - Muppet Babies, The Cosby Show, The Wonder Years, Dawson's Creek, Living Single, Lost, and A Different World. Again, if you know me, you probably know where and when each season occurred. If you don't, it's not that hard to figure out.

Reading these aspirations in light of where I am and what I've learned about God's plan, I have questions now. Even more than making these dreams reality.... should they even be dreams? Should I even aspire for these things? Should I want any of these?

A few years ago, I was taught sin is allowing the "I want" statement and desires to dictate my life. Essentially, sin is me in the driver's seat, making sure I get what I want. Jesus tells us when we do this, we might actually get it, but it won't go with us when we die. These things here are our reward. But what do we do with those desires? They're there for a reason - biologically, there is support for marriage and family.  Intellectually, there is support for sharing mistakes and talking to a younger set of leaders so they can lead more effectively. There is also support for contributing to the entertainment industry because there is an innate need for creativity and expression, and humanity seeks ways to create aesthetic experiences. Egotistically, and completely full of humanity, there is support for wanting to make a difference and do something big in the world.

Of course, these are self-centered ramblings of a 23 year old girl that just graduated from college and is looking ahead at life. However, at 33, are they still self-centered ramblings, are they "pipe dreams", or are they still options that are available to me in the future?

This one doesn't wrap so pretty, guys, so no bow this time...

SN: I use the word struggle A LOT. Choosing to see life like my dad - challenges. Will I rise above or buckle under the weight of it all? That's why I'm here.