So Completely

While Advent is like Lent in that it’s a penitential season, there is not the similar imagery of the desert during Advent that is associated with Lent. However, this year it has already come up a few times for me and we’re only on day three of the season!

As a desert rat, this imagery resonates with me in a variety of ways. I love the desert—and not just because snow is a rare thing. I think the desert is beautiful. Sometimes, it’s a beauty you must search for—it’s not always surface level. But that makes it even more beautiful, that you discover it under what many pass by without a second thought. It’s like a treasure that’s been waiting just for you. Other times, it is right there, obvious in its glory.

The day before Advent began, I took part in a virtual Advent retreat. One of the presenters shared how even in the most remote desert that gets next to little rain, like Death Valley, there are certain seeds that are buried deep in the ground. Their outer shell is thicker and tougher than just about any other seeds. These seeds don’t come out and bloom but once in a great while. It takes a significant amount of rain for these seeds to bloom. But when they do, it is a beauty like few have seen.

Then today, as I was reading one of the Advent reflections I’m working through this season, again, it talked about some of these seeds that don’t bloom very often in the desert.

These reminders of beauty being buried beneath the desert have been like a balm to my weary soul. Life has been hard, and not just pandemic hard. There have been things I’m struggling with that I would be struggling with during this time even without the pandemic adding more on top of it. I feel like I’ve been wandering the desert for some time, looking for the buried beauty and haven’t been able to find it. The reminder that is still there and just more protected has been reassuring to me during this time.

All that to say, this desert rat soul is appreciating entering into the desert imagery this Advent. While it’s not the normal imagery I pray with during the Advent season, I’m appreciating the change of pace this year. Which, for this list-loving, creature of habit, mostly A-type personality person, is surprising, but welcome. And my hope is that this Advent will be the rain needed to help my own personal desert bloom in a new way.

I’d be completely shocked if anybody other than me still comes and reads this thing. Which is fine, because it really only was ever a place for me to process and document happenings in my life; it was never about getting people to read the thoughts that come from this crazy brain of mine.

What a two years it has been since I last wrote. Since then I have moved to a new town in order to start a new job and had most of the first year of that new job take place during a global pandemic.

The new job was not something I was actively looking for. In fact, the first handful of times that they sought me out asking me to apply, I told them I would think about it knowing I was not really interested. But as time went on, their pursuit of me continued. After a few months, I basically laid out my demands, as it where–the things that would have to fall into place in order for me to consider the job. They met every single demand without any hesitation. So, that settled that.

So August of 2019 I started the new job. The first month I worked remotely because of how much notice I had to give to break my lease. I moved to a new town where the job is based at the end of that first month. And then about seven months into the job, the Covid-19 pandemic hit. A new job comes with a learning curve of it’s own, and then throw in a pandemic on top of that and the learning curve changes shape.

Honestly, the first year was good, even with the pandemic. I feel like I easily fell into the job without too much adjustment, although I’m still learning in some ways.

Moving was challenging in many ways. I moved 150 miles (one way) from the wonderful community of friends and support I had built over the previous ten years. But the stress and everything that comes with a move didn’t really hit until January. But a visit to a new doctor, getting back on some anti-depressant and anti-anxiety meds, has helped me with that.

Another help was making friends with some of my new neighbors. Even though I lived in the same apartment for the ten years I was in Midland, my neighbors changed so frequently that I never knew any of them. But the community here is a lot transient, and I moved into an apartment complex where most of the residents are older–there are very few college students and 20somethings in this complex. So I made friends with my downstairs neighbors and it’s been a God-send for a variety of reasons and I am very grateful.

Initially, the pandemic didn’t really change that much of my life. I was already doing a significant portion of my grocery shopping using the curbside pickup because I generally dislike shopping. Being in a new town with no local friends meant I wasn’t spending a lot of time out at restaurants or socializing. Over the summer I was still able to travel safely to see family a few times.

However, due to almost 1/3 of the staff in our office building testing positive in the last week, I had to change my Thanksgiving plans for next week. So, instead of heading to my Mom’s, I’ll be having Thanksgiving for one here at home. Which I know is the smart decision, but it still sucks.

So those are all the bigger updates from the past couple of years. Not that anybody is reading this. But it helps me to look back later and see what was on my mind at a given point in time.

Wash your hands. Keep your distance. Wear a mask. Stay safe, friends.

You’ve probably seen people post this on social media. “Me, too.” The intention is to bring more awareness to just how many woman have suffered from sexual harrasment or sexual assault/abuse.

I’ve watched these two words pop up on a large number of my friend’s preferred social media platforms. I haven’t been able to bring myself to post it for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I’m worried about how it will affect how others see me. I know that’s silly in so many ways, but it’s the truth. Mostly I wonder if people will believe me. I’ve never been the most attractive girl in a room. I’ve never been considered skinny. I’ve never been called pretty. I’ve always dressed very conservatively. So will they doubt that it could happen to an overweight, not-so-attractive girl who covers as much skin as possible? But I guess that’s one of the things that this movement is meant to do–prove that it happens to far too many of us. Even those that you would not think would be the “normal” target.

I wonder if people will even consider it sexual assault. Honestly, I’ve questioned that myself for the last 19 years. Was it really sexual assault? I allowed it to happen, so to speak. Mostly because I didn’t know how to say no. I had never received flattering attention from a guy before that point in my life. I definitely had never been in the position of having to say no before. Or in the position to say yes, for that matter. I guess I was more innocent and naive than I wanted to admit at that young age. If only I had been more confident and not so desperate for attention from a guy, maybe I would have stopped it before it got that far. Maybe, as it happened, I wouldn’t have been thinking in the back of my head, “You deserve this. You’ve been wanting a guy to pay attention to you, and this must be part of that.” How sad is it that I shame myself, when in all truth and reality, I was a victim. Oh, society, how you have screwed up so many women because of the way you feed into this idea that we bring it on ourselves.

The story, in short: I was in college. A guy in the dorm gave me attention. He flirted with me. Even when my friends, who were much more attractive, were around, he paid more attention to me. That was heady stuff to the one who was used to being ignored or was used to get to her friends. My friends warned me he seemed creepy, but I was caught up in the fact that I, the least-pretty of the bunch, the most overweight, the only brunette, etc, was the one he was paying attention to. I told myself they were jealous because they were normally ones to get the attention while I was ignored. Even the one time he knocked on my door at 3:00 am, drunk beyond comprehension, I ignored the warning signs. Then, it was the night. A bunch of us ended up in his room, hanging out with his roommate. After his roommate left, my friends started leaving. He invited me to stay and watch a movie. I agreed. He started making some moves. I said no. He persisted. I gave in. Not that I ever said yes, but more that I just quit fighting.

It wasn’t rape. It didn’t get quite that far. But it definitely counts in the sexual assault category. I wonder if I would have accepted some of the invitations that came after that night, if it would have eventually gotten to the point of rape. I’m glad I never found out. The irony is that he wasn’t the guy in the dorm we were all warned had a history of forcing himself on girls. Other than being considered creepy by some, most considered him a harmless flirt.

Like many victims, I have never told anybody. In fact, this is the first time I’ve admitted it anybody other than to myself. Heck, it was only last week when all the “Me, too” posts started popping up that I even admitted to myself that it was, indeed, sexual assault. Even now, 19 years later, I feel ashamed. I know that it was not my fault. Yet, that shame is still there. For the first time, I fully understand why people don’t always report assault. I have more sympathy for those whose assault was far worse than my own. And I’m heartbroken that the rape culture is still so prevalent, accepted, and even justified by so many.

I have no pretty bow to wrap this up with. Other than to say:

Me, too.

Well, three months since my last post is better than the usual six or so. I’m making improvements! Here are a few things worth noting about the last three months or so.

As you can see, I didn’t do my normal Advent countdown this last Advent. I had intended to, but God made it clear that I needed to spend time focusing on myself this time around, and I am so glad I did. It wasn’t the best Advent I’ve ever had, but it was nice to not have as much on my plate this time around.

I started exercising on a regular basis. It’s actually been longer than three months since I started this. A coworker of mine has been part of this group of women for many years. And for a few years she’s been inviting me to join. So, at the end of September I bit the bullet and jumped in. The only downside has been that it’s a 5:30am class. If you know anything about being a youth minister, you know that it requires a lot of late evening hours, so getting up that early has been a bit of an adjustment. But, it’s not completely foreign to me. I had a paper route for just under seven years as a pre-teen and teen, and was up at 5:00am, six days a week, delivering newspapers. My default is early to bed, early to rise. I’ve only gotten out of that habit because of all night classes in grad school and almost 11 years of full-time youth ministry. It’s definitely been slow progress, but I’m happy with the weight I’ve lost and how I’ve been feeling. And I really love the group of ladies who greet me with smiles and hugs every morning.

I welcomed a new niece into the family! My Sister had another baby girl on December 28th, which would have been our Dad’s 84th birthday. I haven’t spent as much time with them as I would like, but hopefully that will change soon.

The other big thing is that I changed jobs. I’m still doing ministry and I’m still at the same Church, but I did receive a “promotion.” Each diocese, and even in many cases, each parish has it structured differently as far as which job titles are responsible for what. Just because two people are both “youth minister” doesn’t mean their job is the same. In North Carolina, I was responsible for junior high and high school. Here in Texas, that same job title was only responsible for high school (or at least that was the case while I held the title). In some places, the Director of Religious Education (DRE) is responsible for the elementary aged kids. In my parish, the DRE is directly responsible for the adult programs, and then supervises the elementary coordinators and youth minister. So about two weeks ago, when the previous DRE retired, I moved up into her position. I’m loving the challenges a change like that brings, but definitely miss interacting with the teens on a daily basis. And, yes, my college kids have started calling me Dr Dre.

While it may not seem like much when I list it out, I feel like life has been full of big changes the last three months. And while I’m normally one who does not like change, I find myself excited about it at this point in my life and hope that there are more exciting changes to come.