So, I decided to blog a little today. I wanted to post a status on Facebook, but then Facebook has the tendency to blow things up right or left with the smallest post. Am I the only one that has recognized this? I think not. So, on with my thoughts.Within the last couple weeks,maybe last week, time runs to together for me, so I'm never sure of time frames anymore, anyway, my point. I was putting groceries in the trunk of my car. I got paper bags that day, I prefer paper vs plastic, or yea, and the bag person did not know how to bag properly.It wasn't their fault, bagging is a lost art, nowadays all one has to do is put 3 items in a plastic bag, and you get 30 dual use bath room trash can liners. I'm shooting off on a rabbit trail, and will continue to do so many times before I finish this. Deal with it. I'm putting groceries in the trunk, and I casually said to the Lord, yes, I do this often. I said, "Lord, (that is Jesus by the way, not Allah, or Mohammad, etc.) Lord, I want removed any teachings that I have learned through the years that are not of you, incorrect doctrine." It was a casual but heart felt request. Not a loud prayer of Thee's and Thou's or shouting in the parking lot. You know what, I have seen the Lord answer and respond back to these little non-noticeable requests. Example: When mom was still alive and I was her caregiver, we used to watch a lot of Retro TV. Andy Griffith, Leave it to Beaver,etc. As I watched an episode of Andy and Barney, "I said, Lord, I miss living in that time, it was so much simpler.This age of time is so difficult." That was it, I said no more, and got up to do something else. Probably to shower and hit the hay. I did not think anymore about it. Fast forward to a women's conference.We went through the service, the speaker completed her sermon and proceeded to pray for those that wanted one on one prayer.  I went forward for prayer, and the woman of God prayed for me, and said "Thus saith the Lord- you were born for THIS generation, for a purpose, for My Purpose"  Within myself, I was tickled and  giggled- I knew this was from God. I immediately knew that this was relational to that nonchalant remark I had with Him during Andy and Barney. And I knew it was Him, because I had not shared that with anyone. But, Now, I tell everyone. 

Back to the my topic. I had forgotten about the request made while packing the groceries. Until yesterday.  Some things are being stripped regarding that prayer. I won't go into detail, but it has been a little uncomfortable. I like to watch preaching on TV and or internet. Maybe, it's a cop out. It's easier to listen to someone else teach you what they've studied vs doing the studying yourself. Yesterday, I felt the Lord ever so gently instruct me to get my Word out and He will teach me. That's not easy to do. We have pre-conceived ideas of what a text means, we fall asleep, we get hungry, we have to clean the house, take the dogs out, do laundry. get my drift? And this by no means is suggesting throwing out the Biblical standards in which I've strived to live my life by, nor embracing the New Gospel the world is so adamant about promoting. This is more of  a fine-tuning. Remember in the old days ( this generation will have no clue..lol) in which the TV had rabbit ears, and a program would come in, but there would be static and fuzziness? and we would move those rabbit ears and or add aluminum foil to "tune" it in til we could hear and see clearly? Yea, just like that. 

So, my first little nugget of the re-education of Z is,  I like a particular minister/ministry, which shall remain nameless. It has great preaching/teaching/instruction/music. It has correct doctrine. None of this goofy modern day "so spiritually minded but no earthly good"  theology. It is solid, biblical teaching. But...it is PRIDEFUL. So prideful in the fact they have solid biblical correct doctrine. PRIDE! It doesn't matter how right you are, if you are prideful about it, it is a stench in the nostril of God. I'm not talking about the kind of pride as in a "job well done." But, the kind of pride that is arrogant. the kind of pride that puffs you up in your "Rightness". That kind of pride has no LOVE. And what did Paul say in the 13th chapter of Corinthians.? Go take a read.  

Now, please- don't read my blog and say to yourself, well, I can skip Sunday School, I can skip Church. I'll study at home..that is absolutely NOT what I'm saying.What I am trying to say in my rather clumsy way is don't let pride taint your righteousness, because then it doesn't matter how right you are, you're wrong.

And as Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I got to say about that."

Much love
Z

Who do you see?

I haven't blogged since August 2014. I've just read those 2 blogs. I've healed a lot since that period. If you need to know what I've healed from, you need to go read the blog.

January. 2015..(I feel like Sophia Petrillo just typing that) BTW. I love Sophia.

Anyway, back to my thought. A new year. A new horizon set with unlimited possibilities! Z decided to hit the ground running. Z is going to take on the world!  Z pushed herself past the part that was still in process of loss! Z has tried to move out and past the comfort zone. Sometimes victory, sometimes failure. Z still has mush for brains! I realize this as I'm trying to get my thoughts out for this blog. But it's all good, I'm not quitting.

May 2015. I won't go in to all the details of the first 5 months of the year. I want to state the assessment of today. I'm still tired. The effects of life just don't roll off your back, even as you press forward. Pressing is hard work. I'm having to re-mold my life, but still maintaining. Does that make sense?  Along the same lines of the re-molding statement, someone asked me last night in response to a message I sent them, "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" I did not give a very glowing report- my face. My verbatim response was, "I see a tired face with tears streaming down and wrinkles around the mouth that always looks like I'm mad."  Message back this morning from same said person, "OK, WHO do you see?" I have yet to answer back, because I wasn't exactly sure, til I started this blog. I started this blog with a totally different subject in mind. And I will blog that one tomorrow. 

OK, Sophia, here goes - WHO do I see? I see a woman, who has a heart for God, and strives to live accordingly to His will. I falter at times, but I will not quit. I see a woman who is in a remolding, and not a remolding to be someone else. But a remolding of Who I am.  I'm firm in my resolution to not destroy the core of who God created me to be. God gave me my personality. 

I'm reserved. (not as much as I used to be, just ask my friend Peggy.) I love my initial of my name "Z". I like that it's not ordinary.  I love humor. In 7th grade, when the class was assigned an essay on any subject of choice, mine was on The Marx Brothers. My favorite Stooge- Curly. :) I'm sarcastic. I like words. I'm not confrontational, until I get pushed. I'm smart. I'm analytical. I have common sense. I do not let just anybody in my inner sanctum. One must earn that right. I'm a giver, BUT..I have given so much to so many, that it's shocking when I'm on the receiving end, and you know what? It feels good. I'm not a forceful personality. I tip toe around others as not to cause extra strife and stress. (that part of me I'm trying to change, lol) I like quiet. I like peace. I like stability. When I don't have those 3 "likes" in my life, I suffer anxiety. The anxiety part of Z?  Z don't like it. 
 I try to see others point of view..until..until..it comes to God's doctrines. I will not change my mind on that. Deal with it. If it's being judgmental, then take it up with the Judge.  I'm not a johnny on the spot kind of person. I like preparation, in all areas known as Z.

There is more to Z. Layered. But that is the beginning reflection of me. So in answer to your question, Sophia? That is the beginning of Who I see. And I like that reflection.


To be continued...in more ways than one. 

They Say

They mean well. Who ever they are. They, for the sake of this blog, are articles written by the experts regarding my life experience right now. They inform me of the 5 stages of grief. All grief differs, but yet it is the same. Sounds like inane rhetoric to me, but yet, I totally understand the concept. How does losing my mom compare to others losing their mom? or dad? Some state that the grief of losing a child differs from the loss of a parent. I will accept that fact as truth, because I have not been there, nor do I want to be. Some say it differs because of the age of the of the loved one. In my case, it does not. My grief is not alleviated based on the fact my mom was 84. I've heard all the standard phrases."She lived a full life"...I know that. "She spent her last years happy with the grandkids"..I know that. "She was old"..I know that. "She had no quality of life stuck in that bed". I would say I know that, but I don't know that. She and I had sweet moments of laughter while she was in that bed. There was quality, but not in the perception of others from the outside looking in. For instance, when I fed her oatmeal for breakfast, and she wouldn't eat it as fast as I liked for her to, I looked at her, and asked," You don't really like oatmeal, do you?" And she replied back not skipping a beat, "I don't like it, but I'll eat it." Then the laughter from the both of us. Our quiet times at night, when we would get tickled at really nothing at all and just giggle and giggle with her sweet little toothless smile. When I would kiss her cheeks and forehead, and told her she was the best mom I could have hoped for, and she said, "Why, thank you". Quality.

I grieve for what was, not just for the last few years of my care of her . I grieve for the 6 year old me, who's mom took care of the the multiple relentless itching chigger bites behind the ears, by washing and applying the stinky medicine, all the while I squirmed and cried, as she yelled at me to sit still. The same 6 year old that enjoyed a delectable snack of crunchy dog food, and mom would have to hide it from me. I grieve for the 10 year old, who's father was in a awful car accident,with severe brain injury that devastated our little family of 3. But my mom sheltered me from the fallout of the situation of the hospital visits, and the lack of money that was heaved upon her. I grieve for her care when I never had to share the words, but she knew, when a male family member who was a child molester, molested me, and she kept me away from him from that day forward. It's a lifetime of love and care from my mom that I grieve, not just love and care I gave to her for the last years of her life.

My grief, I'm finding, is like a sore that is scabbing over. And then along comes a situation, or a comment, which is not meant to hurt, it's not bad or good, but nevertheless, it rips off the scab..and I'm left bleeding and hurting. So, I'm left with applying the ointment of tears, and trying for another day of living my life, without my mom. I wish "they" knew what to do for that.

Hit and Hurt

Ok..so, like, Z is new to this Google Blogger..so bear with me..

I never know when it's going to hit and hurt. This evening "it" was as I was attempting the task of a dog hair free clean bed.As I was headed up the stairs to my bedroom, I had in my hands the colorless white, queen size Downy fresh sheets. Ok, ok, they weren't Downy fresh, they were Purex lavender blossom fresh. Purex is within my broke-now budget. But, to be honest, I would still buy the Purex over Downy.
M.A.S.H - the good old 4077th, 70's show was on the t.v. The retro station. The shows I have watched through my entire life are now retro. I like retro and vintage, as it pertains to home decor and furniture, but not when it pertains to my life span. How quickly 55 years have vaporized into the past. Ho Hum.
 Anyway, in between watching Hawkeye Pierce and putting 5 lavender blossom smelling pillow cases on my 6 pillows, ..I figured out I was one pillow case short. I headed to the linen closet in my bedroom, opened the bi-fold door, and took a look at the massive stacks of linens. Ahhh, there we go..all of the folded white ones within eye range. I grab the first one, pull it out and open. I'm "Hit" with a lump in my throat a "Hurt" in my chest, and a tear down my face. As I'm looking down through the tear, I see my mom's "not quite finished" embroidered pillowcase. She has had it in her chest of drawer for years. Or as my mom pronounced the word, chester drawers.  I don't know why she never completed it. I turn around behind me to her hope chest. I push open the lock button, lift the lid, gently slip the pillowcase in, and close the lid. Grief is the IT, and it hits, I know not when, and it hurts. And I welcome it, and yet I hate it. Welcomed, because it reminds me of the fact that my mom was real and lived and was loved. And yet I hate it, because it reminds me of the fact that my mom was real, lived, was loved, and is gone.