Stolen Identity

*Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment. - Ecclesiastes 11:9b (NIV)

People often tell me to follow my heart.  And so often I don't.  I know that I tend to be a people-pleaser, which is SO bad in some situations.  I think about Pilate who could have released Jesus, but instead pleased the chief priests and sent him to be executed.  Or Nicodemus who was so afraid of what people might think that he came to Jesus in the darkness of night to learn more about Him.  Following my heart sometimes means following a way different than what the crowd may think or even what one person might think of me.  

For the longest time, I have abandoned many of my passions.  It was all because I followed what my mind and those around me were telling me, rather than what my heart was longing for.  I gave up dancing because I was told that I didn't have the time, and that it would wreck havoc on my knees, and that I needed to devote myself to one thing.  Now, I miss it like crazy and I'm worried I may not be able to dance as well as I used to.  I stopped playing the flute for the longest time, not just because it had lost the fun, but because the people around me were telling me that it was useless to be a music major if I wasn't going to do it as a career, and even when I was merely playing in band, I stopped because people told me it was taking up too much time and that it would take me away from my studies.  My grades in english classes have always been decent, but never extraordinary.  However, my LOVE for writing flourishes when someone gives me the chance and doesn't kill me with pointing out every grammatical error ever made.  I stopped reading because I didn't read fast enough.  I stopped cooking because someone told me I did it wrong.  I stopped sewing because someone told me my stitches were uneven, but wasn't willing to help.  I stopped writing music because someone told me my chords didn't move smoothly and correctly.  

By allowing others to tell me what to do and what not to do, I lost sight of who I am.  Perhaps I am wrong, but by conforming to others' expectations, I disregarded my embedded expectations for myself.  I no longer followed my passions, rather I followed what others perceived to be my passions.  Yes, my sad story.  Don't worry, there's a happy ending.

However, by realizing this over the past six months or so, I've begun to make adjustments.  I'm choosing to move closer to home, where family can be a priority.  I'm choosing to go to a school where I can break out the flute again and enjoy music for what it is.  I'm choosing to dance, as long as my body allows me to.  I'm choosing to read what I want and write when I feel like it.  I'm choosing to live out my faith in a real and radical way.  I'm choosing to follow my heart...those passions that God implanted in me the day I was born.  I'm not ignoring others, but merely acknowledging that I have a heart to follow...And one day, God will judge my choices.  But I think He would prefer it this way...

Follow your heart.  One day you'll be judged.  But don't allow your identity to be stolen by conforming to who others want you to be...

Wishful Thinking

Wishful Thinking

            She peers into the door of a first grade class, watching the children as they color.  The teacher has asked them to draw what they want to be when they grow up.  The children gleefully held up childish pictures of astronauts and ballerinas.  Some held up pictures of classrooms where they hope to teach, and others held up pictures of pets they hope to cure and take care of.  In the corner of the room, a girl with wide-hazel eyes and pigtails held up a picture of a house.  Next to the house were a family of three with a swing-set and a big tree with a tire swing and a big, blue arrow pointing to the slightly taller stick-figure.  The picture was advanced for a six year old child.  The teacher walks over to the child shaking her head.  The lowered eyebrows express the teacher’s disapproval. 

            “Emily, you were supposed to draw what you wanted to be when you grew up,” the teacher says.

            “I did,” the girl says cheerfully. 

            “Okay.  Then tell me what you want to be when you grow up.”

            “I wanna be a mom.  Can’t you tell Ms. Evans?”  The girl seemed so innocent in her request, as she points to the taller stick-figure.  “That’s me, and those are my kids.  Lizzy and Elliott.”  

*****

             I was the secretary of the Estacada Elementary school.  Each day classes were held, I worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon answering the phone and emails, handing out visitor’s passes, and making the coffee.  Instead of teaching children how to read and write, I taught parents how to write legibly and behave like adults.  Instead of a classroom I had a wooden desk outside the principal’s office with a computer, phone, calendar, and stack of “sick” notes.  I was only the secretary.  But working in a school gave me a bit of flexibility.  The evenings were mine to spend as I wanted. 

            I owned a cute, little house on Sixth Street.  I did all the landscaping; the small garden, stepping stones, and the little pond with a fountain were all the work of my hands over a couple short summers.  In the winter, the hill outside my back porch is covered in snow as well as the swing set left from the previous owners.  On snowy days, kids from my block rush over to ask to borrow my hill for sledding.  The kids would sled down the hill doing all sorts of tricks to avoid the swing-set.  Inside my small kitchen, I would have hot chocolate and marshmallows ready to hand out when they were finished in the snow.  The kids would knock the malted snow off their boots and lineup to receive their mug of hot chocolate and scoop of marshmallows.  After a few snowy days, I was widely known throughout the small town as the marshmallow lady. 

            Beyond my marshmallow generosity, no one knew much about me.  Staff Christmas parties were painful as I sat in the corner alone as people chattered and exchanged gifts.  I had grown up in Portland and moved to Estacada after graduating High School.  It was a short drive home for the holidays.  I took online classes through the Portland Community College, traveling back as little as possible.  The college had a teaching certification program that I was slowly making my way through. 

Working at an elementary school taught me most of what I know about kids.  I grew up in a small family that was rooted in a large family.  My mom and dad decided to only have two kids, but after complications with the second pregnancy, they decided not to try anymore.  My dad left my mom, sister, and me when I was three.  I don’t know anything about my dad except what my mom has told me.  I grew up without a dad.  I didn’t know the difference, until high school.

Unlike other kids who could skim by in high school without a job, I couldn’t.  I worked as often as I could as well as carried on a full load of classes.  I paid the bills and took care of the house while my mom was in and out of town with work.  My sister, who was two years younger than I was, led the life that I wanted.  She never had to work and she got all the boys.  Most nights, I knew my sister would be out with a guy she had been dating for a while off and on.  She could care less about me or mom.  I managed to get by and graduate high school.  Because I didn’t have the money to go to college, nor the grades for scholarships, I decided to hunt for work outside of Portland after high school.  Due to my work experience in high school, I was able to get this job at Estacada elementary school. 

By this time, I was a quarter of a century old, and I was still not doing my dream job.  I was not married and I didn’t have any prospects.  Estacada wasn’t exactly the place to hunt for the man of your dreams.  In fact, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find a guy around my age in Estacada.  Most men who grow up here begin working on the family farm right out of high school, if they even finish high school at all!  Needless to say, a man didn’t look like he will be in my near future.

On the holidays, I travel back to Portland.  I try my hardest to behave for the family gatherings.  I hardly get in the door before aunts and uncles overwhelm me with questions like “Are you married yet?”  I remain as calm as can be expected.  I don’t know if they realize where I work, but there aren’t many men lying around a small-town public school. 

The last time I went home for Christmas, I was twenty-four years old.  I had been having some severe abdominal pain and wanted to check it out so I made an appointment with my doctor.  The troubled look on my doctor’s face had me worried.  He immediately referred me to a gynecologist and I sat in Dr. Stevenson’s office within the week.  After numerous tests and visits to his office, we sat in the plain white examination room as he told me I had stage two, ovarian cancer.  I didn’t know how to respond.  It was as if my mind went blank.  Nothing else mattered at that moment.  I arrived back in Portland on Monday, January 26^th to receive a total hysterectomy.  As my doctor tried to explain what was happening, I zoned out.  My entire life seemed to be ruined.  Every life plan ever constructed by my hands went down the drain.  Apparently, my surgery went well.  I haven’t had any complications since.  The cancer is gone, but the damage remains.

I went back to work soon after I fully recovered.  Seeing the kids play on the playground was torture.  Picking up sick children for the parents from the nurse’s office seemed to tear me apart.  I would return with tears strolling down my face as I gave the child’s hand to his or her parent.  Unruly parents bugged my core.  But I made it through. 

Spring came and so my gardening work began once again.  I was working outside the day the invitation arrived.  A baby shower invite for one of the staff was being held in a couple weeks.  Anger bubbled from within me as I ran inside the house slamming the door behind me.  I threw myself onto the couch where I had spent nearly six weeks of my life recovering from the wretched surgery that tore my childhood dreams apart.  I wondered how long this feeling would last.  This feeling of anger and resentment toward any young couples with children dwelt within. 

I was not looking forward to the approaching Easter holiday for the resurrection of the dreaded question from family members.  My mom and sister hardly knew about the hysterectomy, none the less to tell more people that I will never be able to have children of my own.  The house went quiet as I walked in for the Easter afternoon festivities.  I wasn’t sure how everyone knew, but they all did.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  Luckily, my grandma announced that lunch was ready and so the awkward silence was broken.  No one asked about it, but everyone asked how I was doing.  I replied “Fine.”  Not once did I mention my sudden urge for a child, to behold it in all its glory.  Not once did I mention that I wouldn’t mind the smell of the poopy diaper or the constant waking in the night to feed my child.  Not once did I mention my childhood dream of being a mom.  After everyone had gone their separate ways, my mom gave me an envelope on her way out the door.  Inside was two pieces of paper.  One was a letter that said:

My Dear Emily,

I know that things have been rough and I know I haven’t always been around for it all.  But know that I love you and I am here for you now.  Never lose sight of your dreams.  No matter what.

                                    Love Always,  Mom

            Behind the letter there was a piece of white paper folded in quarters.  I unfolded the paper to find my drawing.  My mom had kept my picture of me and my two invisible kids all those years.  Tears streamed from my eyes.  I wasn’t sure how it was going to happen, but I was going to help make my dream come true.  It may have been wishful thinking back then, but it isn’t today.  Just ask Lizzy and Elliott, who spend their snowy days sledding down the hill with the marshmallow lady, their mom, me. 

*****

________________________________

© Copyright 2011, Samantha Fomera

All rights reserved

Articles may not be printed in any “for profit” publication without further permission by the author. Articles may be freely distributed via e-mail, reprinted in church bulletins or in other non-profit publications without further permission. Please keep this copyright and Web Site information intact with copied articles.

Before I Die

I suppose this title can be a bit disturbing considering I am young.  But in fact, that is the very reason I feel the need to post something like this.  Perhaps that is when one should create a list like this, rather than after a life-death situation or crisis of some sort.  I don't know how much longer I am going to be able to live the way I want to.  I don't know how my body will affect me 10 years from now, none the less 5 minutes from now.  So, I've done this before on a rough day, but now I feel the need to put it on my blog as something concrete.  But these are the things I want to do before I die.

Before I Die...

• I want to learn how to paint.
• I want to learn ASL (American Sign Language).
• I want to write a book.
• I want to run a 5k.
• I want to dance on stage once more.
• I want to crochet a blanket.
• I want to graduate college & seminary.
• I want to decorate a cake...like amazingly!
• I want to be a pastor.
• I want to go to Africa.

So that's my list.  Of course, the rule I set for myself beforehand was that I couldn't have anything on there that truly depended on others to pull me through.  So my long to get married and have a child did not appear on the list.  Nor did I even include my want to go on a date or have a first kiss.  Sounds cheesy, I know.  My top thing that I want to do before I die is to absolutely spoil a grandchild.  Of course, that is dependent upon others so I opted not to put that on the list, but I can't tell you the impact it has been on my life to have a grandma who is present.  My grandma has honestly been the most influential person in my life.  (Sorry parentals!)  Between being a moral person and being a Godly person, she is a great role model and has been for me since I was young.  So, my want to be like her is only out of love to share what I was given.  

Crazy enough, there is one thing that I've wrestled with for years.  I finally came to terms with it, and then it came up again last night.  This Scripture from 1 Timothy 2...

"A woman should learn in quietness and full submission.  I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner. But women will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety." - 1 Timothy 2:11-15 (NIV)    

Alright, so a woman should be quiet in church...that's the usual perception.  BUT OFTEN the last verse of the paragraph is completely ignored.  And this is what strikes me.  A woman is saved through childbearing?!  So, I have to have a kid in order to be saved?!  Somehow, I feel something is wrong with this idea.  What about women who are barren and cannot physically have a child?  What about women who aren't in a place in life where they can afford a child?  What about single women?  

I've known many single women who have become pastors.  So I struggle with that sentence.  I don't know.  Maybe at that time they needed a population boost.  I don't know?!  Haha.  But, either way, I'd still love to have a child...or more.  I want to adopt too.  But still.  That is a long way off.   

Either way, the list stands as is.  I suppose with all that is available these days, technically I can have a child as a single mother, but I suppose I've always seen a husband in the mix.  For now, i will work on what I can do, as there is much learning to to be done.  Who knows what the future may bring?!  Or if I will ever do half of the things on my list.  But I know that God is with me through it all.  And that I have an amazing family and a couple close friends who are there through thick and thin.  (Thanks!)  

Story to Come?

Okay...So I thought I was done here, but I have another thought.  I was completely caught off guard tonight by something someone said, but I should have known it was coming due to a dream I had last night.  And my guess is that it will be made into a story of some sort, which will honestly be the ONLY way you readers will figure out what I'm talking about.  Anyhow, I really can't say much more or else the cover will be broken, but I'd thought I'd mention that sometimes the things that catch us out of the ordinary are the things that help make the day extraordinary.  Good night!  

2+2=5. I'm Convinced.

I'm convinced it is such!  Well, that's kind of how I feel after talking to my rheumy.  My vitamin D levels are normal.  That's a good thing!  My blood tests came back normal, except for my RA factor (which has been abnormal).  My RA factor was 17 this time compared to the 20 and 19 during previous testings.  So, technically it went down!  :)  Oh, AND my x-rays came back normal.  I feel like all is going pretty well.  My doctor however thinks otherwise, which is actually good since I'm still in pain.  

He wants me to have a bone scan, to check further for inflammation.  And he also wants me to start on this med that is an anti-inflammatory, which should help with the pain I'm experiencing.  Wahoo.  Stuff to help with the pain.

No matter what, I still feel like I'm swimming upstream.  I feel like my doctor may be trying to prove that 2+2 equals 5.  He seems convinced that it is rheumatoid arthritis, and I'm hoping and praying that he can't prove it.  Though, to an extent, I wish I had some sort of concrete evidence for the pain I'm experiencing.  Some sort of validation that I'm not making it all up.  Some days are better than others; and some days I can do more than other days.  However, those days that are better don't mean that I am better.  I wish I had some sort of time frame, like with the z-pack...you take the antibiotic for five days, and then you're "most likely" better.  If you aren't better, then you call your doctor.  Unfortunately, I'm not experiencing this with the pain I'm having.  And I wish there was more that I could do or show to give that confirmation.  It would be easier on ALL my relationships with other people, whether it be family, friends, or even professors. I just seem to be struggling with this whole concept of having something that can't be proven by blood work or x-rays.  So, perhaps the bone scan will show something.  

In the meantime, I'll wait in the realms while 2+2 is proven to equal 5.

Swamped

Have you ever felt like the world was crashing around you with all that you have to do?  I call this feeling - swamped!  To the left, you'll see what most people think of when the word swamp is said. I think the picture and my feeling differ slightly...so NOT MUCH!

I have so much homework and preparations to make this week.  Next week is going to be CRAZY!  Even more so than this week.  And I'm not looking forward to it.  I hope that it goes better than I feel it will go, but this week has quite a ways to go before I'll be ready.  I feel like I'm in the middle of a swamp right now.  The mucky water.  The dreary trees all drooping into the water.  The green that lays on top of the water.  The foggy scene.  And possibly a rain coming soon.  Doesn't that sound like a place you want to vacation to?!  

I'm sure all will be fine.  But I'm stressed out.  This is the place I was hoping to avoid amidst all of it.  Even with giving up FB, I still can't seem to find enough time to get everything done.  This whole fatigue business is taking a toll, not to mention the whole ear/sinus infection I had this week.  It's hardly 10pm and I'm already considering bedtime after arising from bed after 10.5 (almost) solid hours of sleep.  I'm getting tired of being tired.  Doing one thing out of my day can drain so much energy.  It's hard to remember how much energy a shower can take, none the less GROCERY SHOPPING!  If I go grocery shopping...that is ALL I do that day.  It drains me.  By evening, I'm just ready to sleep.  That's all my body wants to do.  (Unless insomnia kicks in.)  

But, I'm swamped and fatigued.  I feel I've been swimming upstream and the race will only get harder.  I just hope I'm able to handle the challenge!      

FBYTG+30 23 Days Left Countdown!

Can you believe?!  It's April already!  I feel like this time has slowly passed, but it seems like yesterday that I saw that blue border and lil "f" in the corner of the page.  Easter is just around the corner...by like, 3.5 weeks, but I figured I'd give you a "23 Days Left" update.  :)

So, the YTG part has really fallen off the face of the planet.  My initial fear in giving up FB for lent was that I would fall towards YouTube to pass the time.  I didn't want to get myself caught up in that mess, so I opted to give it up too.  What I've learned, though, is that I was not terribly active on YT in the first place, nor have I really missed it other than for listening and looking up Christian songs.  (I know, seems like a lame reason to miss YT, but it's so true.)  So, I'll admit.  I've totally ditched that part.  The Google part is different.  I know that I gave up Google to avoid researching my health.  Honestly, I have not googled anything in regards to my health since Lent began.  I have used Google to look up information needed by myself or others, but nothing in regards to my health.  Thus far, a success...in a weird way.  

The FB "urges" are fewer and farther apart.  I still think about it often.  But, I don't feel the need to get on.  I don't hit the Bible app very often on my phone, but I have found a new game app that I am enjoying in my spare moments when I have nothing to do.  Not quite the same, but it is a mindless game that helps me to relax.  :)  

As for the trust issues that I've been working on...I'm glad to say they are moving along nicely.  If you know me, like seriously know me, you should know what this implies.  If you don't know me...well, you don't need to know.  ;)

I must say that the +30 was the most successful portion and most rewarding portion...for about the first 3 weeks of Lent.  I've been slacking the past week.  I've had a migraine this week along with this mess of sinus, throat, raspy voice stuff.  At first, I thought it was just a cold.  But the sore throat came, and it seemed more like strep throat.  Then my ear began to hurt.  This kinda freaked me out because I haven't had an ear infection in years?!  Amazingly enough, I had an antibiotic called in, so whatever it is...it should be going away.  Fibromyalgia plus whatever this is...NOT FUN!!!  But whatever?!  I hope it goes away soon.

ANYWAY...I've slacked this week due to being sick.  I will certainly get better. I miss that time with God.  I think it really kept me sane.  And I seemed to be flyin' through the Bible.  I got through Job and Romans (with some pretty good study) and part of Proverbs (which I might actually be beginning to enjoy) in the three weeks I had stayed caught up.  I've learned quite a bit about myself through that time, as well as the time spent away.  Needless to say, I miss the time!  

Other than that, I really don't have anything else right now.  I feel like death and dying, but wanted to give you an update while I was still awake.  Alright...perhaps bed soon will be an order!  Night?!  :)