Remember the House that Built You

“I know they say you can’t go home again.  I just had to come back one last time.”  ~ Miranda Lambert (scroll to the end for a link to the full lyric video)

Last week I reflected on the lessons I’ve learned in the past years regarding the conscious decision to be happy and to allow God to lead us on our rightful and defining paths.  I also previously reflected, several weeks ago, on Miranda Lambert’s latest single, “Automatic” and the deeper meaning behind the lyrics. 

Today’s post is a combination of the two notions: a reflection on another number one country hit, and its emblematic, representative meaning of our personal roots embedded behind the captivating melody.

Yesterday while cooking breakfast—three scrambled eggs coupled with a piece of toast LOADED with peanut butter (never fails)—I was listening to the top 20 country countdown, and in between the number 1 and 2 hits was a replay and brief story of a popular hit from the past.  This time it was Miranda Lambert’s longstanding number one single, “The House that Built Me”—not only a song I love to sing because of its beauty but also because of its profound meaning. 

The song is a thought provoking, reflective appealing expression of the significance of one’s home.  While the house we often inhabit as we grow up can often be a scene of transgressions, turmoil, frustration, or annoyance, it is, most importantly, our safe haven and the place we live, learn, and grow in love. 

Home is the place we know will always accept us with open arms.  The place we can retreat to when life’s got us down in the dumps.  Our place to be comfortable.  Our place to ask questions and be inspired.  Our place to challenge dichotomous rules or statements.  Most of all, it is our place of upbringing engrained with unique and valuable lessons on life, love, hope, and faith. 

It is not surprising then, that when so often children grow up, move out, and explore college life and their nascent adulthood, that they end up retreating back home when life gets a little rough around the edges. 

But of course they do.  Home really is our Safe Haven (generally speaking). 

But what about the times when we lose or way? Times when we’ve grown lazy in our faith, forgotten to ask the Lord for His guidance, forgotten our foundational values, or essentially even forgotten who we are as unparalleled individuals? 

Home is our place to discover and continually re-learn and regenerate who we are and reinforce those very values we hold close to our hearts. 

But it’s not always so easy or painstakingly discernable.  We must look around and absorb everything around us.  Sit down, reflect, and take it all in—the sights, the sounds, the smells—the intangible implications and symbols hovering all around us. 

There is a specific line in Miranda’s song that recites how home allows us to rediscover who we are: “You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can.  I got lost in those old world and forgotten who I am.  I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing.  Out here it’s like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself…”

My own personal experiences have taught me that the house that built me has not only summoned sentimental memories but has also re-blossomed my very identity, temperament, and my faith; and I’m sure all of you can attest to this assertion. 

While it is not so much the physicality of the homes that we were raised in, the people we were surrounded by—the role models who significantly played a role in our upbringing and emergence into this big old world—are whom have built us into our very being.   

So whenever you might feel down in the dumps, lost, forsaken, confused, or simply in need of an inspiring reminder, take a little drive—or walk, or run—to the house (or houses) that you grew up in.  And always remember the House—the people, the values, the lessons—that built you.  Remember who you are, and shall you never be led astray. 
 

~Elizabeth
 

The following is a link to a lyric video of Miranda Lambert’s hit single:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_G5HoBtdLzE

Why I’ve decided to let go and let God… and why you should, too

I know what some of you might be thinking.  

Don’t worry.  This blog post isn’t meant to be a lecture about religion and why you should believe in God, or why my religion is the “right” religion.  I’m not one of your parents, or grandparents, or any other respectable elder who might otherwise do so. 

That’s not my style.  I don’t push and I don’t judge.  But what I will do is let you in on a little secret. 

I grew up in a large Catholic family and was taught to obey the Ten Commandments to the best of my abilities, learned how to pray the rosary at a very young age, received a catholic education all the way through high school, and even learned and memorized my favorite Bible verses.  

Right now, however, I am struggling to remember those Bible verses that I used to be able to ramble off without a second thought.  I’m struggling to remember the lessons inherently embedded in the stories and parables of the bible.  And this is really discouraging.  

Like many people, once college was underway, I fell off the religious bandwagon and jumped ship to the crooning college crowd.  I thought I was invincible and I didn’t need God in my life.  Part of it was due to peer pressure. I didn’t want to be made fun of for my strong faith the way that I was subjected to it in grade school and often times throughout high school.  I wanted to be “cool.”  

That was probably one of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever made.  For a while, I did feel invincible.  I decided I wasn’t going to let myself feel guilty for doing things devout Christians or Catholics might frown down upon.  But that didn’t last very long.  

For quite some time, I began feeling empty.  Up until recently I was often angry, jealous, bitter, lost, or cynical. Those are all pretty negative terms, and although we’ve all had our own personal bouts of pessimism, those feelings were becoming all too common for me.  

I was angry and jealous because I hadn’t yet seen success like many of my peers in their post-graduate lives.  I was cynical because I had one too many bad experiences in my relationships.  I was jealous because everyone else around me seemed to be incessantly happy, swooning and screeching and blabbing about their perfect little lives.  

And I started to hate it.  I really hated it. I didn’t want to be an angry person anymore.  And although I channeled that negative energy into my own form of humorous sarcasm, there was still something missing.  

While I had been told by many that my cynical humor was entertaining, I wasn’t sure if I took it as a compliment or not.  Why?  Because it didn’t change the fact that I had still actually morphed into a seriously jaded cynic.  

So, I decided to take my father’s long standing advice to make the personal choice to be happy.  Happiness is a CHOICE. It is not solely brought on by success or friends or money or relationships.  It starts on the inside.  

To make that choice, however, I realized I needed God on my side.  I began consistently going back to church, but I generally attended by myself.  I wanted to redevelop my faith in my own way rather than it quickly being shoveled back upon me.  

I needed time.  And my parents understood, despite the innocent efforts of my mother to weasel relative subject matters into our daily conversations.  I can’t blame her;  she just wants the best for me.   

  

I started to pray in little ways.  I am like my father.  I’d much rather take a few moments to reflect and ask God for the strength, courage, and guidance to make the right decisions throughout my day rather than devote a block of time for a rosary or a chaplet (although it really doesn’t take as long as you might think). 

There were times when I’d even ask my mother to help me pray because I don’t feel like I’m very good at it myself.  

I began accepting my current state of life and embracing who I was and the current career path I was traveling.  While I often grew frustrated and impatient, I kept holding onto faith that my success and happiness would come in due time. 

I had faith.  I had hope.  I trusted in the Lord.  

And that’s when it hit me.  My attitude and perspective had completely changed.  I was happy.  I was content.  Three months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to say that.  Today I can say that because I’ve decided to let go and let God lay out the path of my life.

I still have my doubts.  I still often grow wary and wonder if my decision to attend grad school was worth it. I worry that my ultimate goal to become a community college professor will even come to fruition. I worry what might happen if it doesn't work out.  But that's all normal.  I have God on my side when I need to turn to Him. 

My faith still needs a lot of work.  I am not perfect and I have a LONG way to go.  I want to crack open the bible and begin re-learning the morals that had once been expounded upon in my elementary and high school religion classes.  

So, for those of you who may feel “lost” in your current state of life, or confused, or jealous, or just completely numb or empty, perhaps you might like to let go of the steering wheel and allow God to guide your path.  “Jesus take the wheel” wasn’t a number one hit for nothing, right?  

It’s not giving up.  Rather, it’s having faith. 

 The choice is yours. 

“With God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26)

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3: 5-6).

~Elizabeth

Do cats even go to Heaven?

I’m sitting here in bed in the wee hours of the night, wide-eyed as usual and unable to fall asleep.  My baby girl, Sadie, an 8-year old golden retriever who looks almost as much like a yellow lab, is curled up below me at the foot of my bed.  I am sniffling and the sneezes are beginning to brew, but I don’t care.  

I am sure we have all seen the movie, “All Dogs go to Heaven,” one of which came out when I was not even ten years old.  I loved that movie, and I still get excited anytime someone mentions it.  If you haven’t seen the movie, I don’t have to explain much.  Just think about the title.  

This blog post isn’t so much about the move in particular as it is about the blessing of canines in comparison to the seriously annoying feline species.  (For any cat lovers out there, I apologize.  It’s not that I HATE cats, I’m just really not a fan).  My Sadie Baby is my very best friend and I love her to the moon and back.  She, as well as many other dogs, is a kind of therapy that nothing else can match.  Any dog lover knows exactly what I am talking about and I shouldn’t even have to explain such claims.  

And this brings me to my blog title.  Was there EVER a movie titled “All Cats go to Heaven”?  No.  If there was, it obviously wasn’t very popular.  

Now, I know that there exists some Disney movies or children’s cartoons that have portrayed dogs as villains just as much as cats, but I will generally stand by my most biased claim that cats are… well, bitches. Ironic, however, is the fact that “bitch” is a 12^th century name denoted to a female dog.  But let’s just disregard that notion.

I was talking to my friend, Gabriel, today and he asked me for my opinion on cats.  My response that I wasn’t a fan was received with delight in the fact that we both shared the same aversion toward the feline class.  

Besides the adjectives he listed that they are gross and boring, Gabriel was very adamant about how sneaky cats can be. 

“I hate sneaky in all aspects.  I would rather fight a bear than have something sneak up on me and bite me.” 

“You got bit by a cat?” I surprisingly asked, although I’m pretty sure I have at one point or another as well.

“Oh yes.  Such a Demon cat.  It hated people,” he replied.  

It was quite the light-hearted conversation, and although I’ll admit to petting a cat if it’s there, they really are just no fun. Here are a few reasons why:

1. They hate water.  Who the hell wants to take their cats on summer vacation if they don’t’ want to swim  with you? C’mon.

      2. They don’t fetch. Combine this with number one. 

3.  You can’t take them for walks.  Holding them on the walk does not count either.  Walking my dog daily (in the warm weather) helps to keep me in shape.  I wouldn’t have the same motivation if I had a cat. 

      4. You can’t wrestle with them like you can with average-sized to big dogs.  They’re pussies.  (Technically this isn’t even a bad word.  Microsoft Word’s thesaurus lists four different synonyms for cats: pusses, pussycats, kitties, kittens.  Case in point. Need I explain further?)

      5.They just sit on the couch and stare—either out the window all day long, or at you.  It’s creepy.  And boring.  Sadie’s random tail-chasing antics are by far better entertainment than a cat with a fierce expression that screams “I will cut you.” Or scratch, or claw, or in Gabriel’s case, bite.  They’re just moody little brats. 

       6. Their litter boxes stink after a few days. 

              7.You can’t really play with a cat.  Teasing cats with a ball of yarn is not a definition of “playing” in my book. You should re-evaluate the “fun” in your life if this is a source of consistent entertainment for you.  

       8. While dogs go beyond the call of duty, have unconditional love, and are "man's best friend," cats to many people are just entitled, or so goes their mentality.   

I could go on forever but I think we get the point.  It’s not that I really hate cats.  They can be endearing… sometimes.  I guess I’d prefer a kitten over a cat, but once they’re full grown they’re just not even cute anymore.  

If you’re lonely and considering buying a pet, just do the right thing and get a dog.  They’re the most loyal companions and play-mates.  Cats are not. 

“Cats don’t go to Heaven.  Cats go to Hell.”  ~As said by my mother, Mary Sue.  

I will now kiss my baby girl good night and hope these allergies don’t wake me up in my already fitful sleep.  

 Happy Thursday. 

~Elizabeth

The seriously annoying problem with incessant stomach gurgling

We’ve all been in that common, yet embarrassing, situation before where our bodily functions take complete control and can’t even be silenced by super mental powers.

You know (no, not flatulence), when you’re sitting in a painfully silent room full of students, classmates, patients, or coworkers and your stomach rumbles as loud as a diesel engine.  It’s as if your belly is harboring a pterodactyl just screeching and clawing to get out.

Okay, so perhaps I’m exaggerating just a tad, but this is EXACTLY what it seems like in my case. 

I’ve never been legitimately diagnosed, but a friend once told me he thought I had Borborygmos, a condition involving audible and excessive abdominal sounds.  After perusing the internet for some time, Web MD had me convinced that was surely my problem.  

So today when I was helping supervise ACT testing in a room so utterly silent it was brutal, the somersaults in my belly were definitely distracting the poor students.  My God, belly, just SHUT UP.  

Even if I am not hungry, my stomach screams an angry language of its own.  So I’m sure you can imagine it’s elevated intensity when I actually am famished. 

And the crappy part? There’s nothing I can do about it! No amount of water, deep breaths, or hand-over-belly gestures can hide or silence this angry, imaginary creature rolling around inside of me.

This isn’t just any ordinary tummy rumbling, which we all know is embarrassing in and of itself.  I seriously might as well be walking around with a damn warning sign on my head regarding my inner and clearly audible tummy sloshing.   

Ah, so embarrassing.  And, even though most people have experienced this at one point or another, this is a constant, daily struggle.  Laughable, but definitely annoying…

Some people think it might be a side effect of my inability to burp (Go on, get a good laugh. I really CAN’T burp.  Never have once out loud in my post-infant life…).  So, it makes sense, I suppose. Kind of? 

You can imagine the hilarious glances that come my way (we’ve all gotten them) when people are in hearing distance of my inner pterodactyl screaming for attention.  And, trust me, you don’t have to be real close.  Wall-to-wall in a quiet room is still perfectly perceptible. 

We all know it can’t be helped, so why is such a condition so awkward and embarrassing?  Maybe it could be mistaken for flatulence, which then, would really suck.  

I guess our quirky bodily functions are something we’ll just have to laugh about.  After all, it makes you, well YOU, and me, ME!  

Happy Hump Dayyyyy 

~Elizabeth 

Early March, Winter Blues

"In my imagination, hell isn't fiery and hot. It's experiencing the Winter of 2014 for an eternity. #arewedoneyet"

That was my friend, Hannah's, Facebook status this morning, and it perfectly describes my attitude toward this ridiculously cold and dreadfully long winter.

It is March 3rd, two weeks away from the spring season, and it is still bitter cold outside.  Two degrees to be exact (at least early this morning it was).  Not to mention, it's Monday morning, so I'm already in a not-so-chipper mood.

I set my alarm at 5:30am to allow plenty of time for my normal morning dilly-dally and to ensure I was out the door by 6:45am.  The coffee was already in the pot ready to be brewed, my clothes were lain out the night before, my lunch was made, and then my coffee mug was filled.

So, you can probably imagine how ornery I was when I still didn't make it out the door on time.  You know, how you somehow incarnate a fire-breathing dragon when nothing goes as planned, and even your parents know not to say a word in between each heavy-breathed, surly sigh every 5 seconds.

Not to mention, I hadn't previously warmed up the car, and my driver door was frozen shut.  And when I fell right on my butt on the frozen ice after trying to force-pull the door open, I already wanted to turn in for the day.

"I am so over this stupid weather!" I screamed out loud from the icy cement, hoping I didn't wake the neighbors, as I sat on my side rubbing my now-sore bum. (Insert pouty face and whiny groan...)  I slowly made it to my feet to pry the frozen door open, and I had exactly 13 minutes to make it to Airport High School for the day's sub job when it normally takes about 17-20 minutes.

"I hate being rushed" I thought.  "Thanks a lot, Michigan."

Alright, I know it's no fault of my own that I couldn't get it together on this practically sub-zero Monday morning.  But this winter is really putting a damper on my mood and my energy.

This winter is really toying with our emotions.  Monroe Public Schools have had record-breaking weather closings (where was that when I was a kid?? And, don't even get me started on how that's seriously hurting my part-time income as a substitute teacher) in between hopeful bouts of nearly 40-degree days.

I've done a pretty good job of staying positive all winter and not letting this crazy weather get me down, but today, I've just about had enough.  I need some sunshine and vitamin D in my life!  Supplements and sugar-packed energy drinks can only do so much.

Let's hope that when spring officially hits in a couple of weeks we'll be able to bear the weather without freezing our butts off.  It'd be really nice to wear jeans and a light jacket, and, maybe even some flip flops if it's not too muddy.

But first, let's try to make it through these next couple of weeks.  Chin up, head high, and keep on truckin'!

~Elizabeth

Why should AGE dictate personal success?

This morning I was scrolling through my Facebook Newsfeed as I often do when my body is still trying to muster up the energy to roll out of my comfortable Queen-sized bed.  This time, however, was a little different than usual.  

I stumbled across several friends’ statuses referring to upcoming birthdays (particularly the age of 25) and the fact that specific goals or accomplishments have not yet been reached.  I suddenly stopped and remembered when I felt exactly the same way just months ago, and there are days when I still do. 

Quarter life crisis?  Perhaps… 

Society has socially constructed a realistic timeline for when individuals should be reaching particular milestones in their lives and, for the most part, I think we’ve all generally tried to follow the timeline in this game called LIFE.  

At age 18, we graduate high school and are expected to either move on to college, trade school, or right into a job.  Between the ages of 21 and 24, we are expected to have a degree or certification, applying for jobs in our specified career path, or moving up in the job we landed right out of high school.  Then comes the ages of 25 – 30.  And by God, if we’re not in a serious relationship, engaged, or married, earning a steady income with baby number 1, 2, or 3 on the way, there’s something seriously wrong with us. 

 At least that’s what we’ve been brainwashed to think.  

That is why when I was approaching the big TWO-FIVE this past November, I was not a happy camper.  

My family was gathered around the table singing “Happy Birthday” to my twin sister and me, each of whom had our very own cake: homemade peanut butter and walnut brownie cake for me, and double-layered vanilla cake for sis.  Wide-eyed and bubbly as ever, you better believe Amy was ready to blow out those candles.   

Then there was me: still and stoic with a slight upward grin to the left, trying like hell to look delighted.  When my mother approached me later that night after all our guests had left, she asked me what was on my mind.  

“Look around, mom.  Nearly every single one of my peers has a full time job or is well into their career.  Marriages among my graduating class are spreading like wildfire and everybody’s popping out babies.  My own twin sister has an excellent job, a house, brand new car, and a serious relationship.  And here’s me: single, broke, jobless, and still living with mommy and daddy.”

“You’re in graduate school sweetheart!  You’re getting a Master’s degree!” 

“Yeah, knowing my dream career may not even come to fruition,” I said bleakly.  

“So, you’re on a different path.  A challenging one,” mom explained.

“More like a quarter life crisis.  I feel worthless,” I responded.  

I am sure you can imagine how the rest of the conversation unfolded, much like they always do every now and again.  For a very long time (and I still have my days), I was extremely depressed, and I’m sure my negative attitude was bringing down my friends and others around me.  I felt like people were judging me because I hadn’t yet reached my point of success.  

If I had a quarter for every time I heard people (strangers and acquaintances alike) ask, “Are you the nurse?!” and then ask in a seemingly patronizing way, “Well, what are YOU doing with YOUR life?” when I told them “no, that’s my sister; I am still in school” I could drop out of grad school and I’d be rich.

Perhaps I’d been over-analyzing such inquiries that were otherwise innocent in nature.  But, for those people who feel like you’re experiencing a quarter-life crisis, I can definitely relate to you.  It sucks. It really, really sucks.  

But here’s what I’ve decided.  I don’t like being depressed all the time.  I don’t like comparing myself to other people.  It turns me into a nasty, negative bitch.  I finally decided I am going to be happy.  

Yes, I am 25 years old. Yes, I still live with mommy and daddy. No, I don’t have a lot of money, but I’m also not going to punish myself or be a hermit in my room.  I’m going to go out with my friends—because, let’s face it, I have an AMAZING, eclectic mix of friends—and spend money on unforgettable experiences.  I know not to get carried away, but I also know I can’t take money with me when I die. 

 Who knows, maybe I’ll die tomorrow.  Do I want to go to my grave knowing I was a stubborn, overly-cautious, lonely, and depressed person?  Absolutely not! 

Here’s what I know:  I have the REST OF MY LIFE to work (as do all of you).  I have two or three more semesters of graduate school, and I am determined to land my dream job as a community college professor.   If not, I have faith that something will work out, and until then, I don’t want to worry too much about it anymore.  It’s too stressful!  Why get all worked up when tomorrow hasn’t even happened yet?

 So, I’m going to try like hell to maintain this state of mind.  And for all of you who feel like you’re in this particular rut, you should adopt this way of thinking, too. It’s a challenge, but it’s doable. It’s a CHOICE. 

So, is this really a quarter life crisis? Unless we’ve experienced a tragedy or hit rock-bottom, I guess it really just depends on our perspective.  And I’ve decided I want to maintain a positive perspective.  

Our time will come. With hard work, determination, patience, faith, and support of our loved ones, our time will surely come.  So take a good, hard look at that socially constructed timeline of success, and kick it right in the ass. 

The choice is yours.  Embrace your personal path, and be happy with it.  Life is too short to be angry all the time.  And nobody wants to be around a Negative Nancy, a Debbie Downer, or a Hostile Harry.  

Trust me, I've learned the hard way. 

xoxo ~Elizabeth