life

“Forty?!? Oh, Lordy!”

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

Well, it’s here.

Like the proverbial “Monster At The End of This Book,” my 40th birthday has crept up on me, regardless of my attempts to pretend it isn’t happening by ignoring that it IS happening..

Image result for the monster at the end of this book

Alas, the pages are turning…

I’m not really much of a person who “fears” aging. Truth be told, I’m pretty darn excited to have made it this far. I mean, when you think about it (oooh, the condensed version sounds SO exciting!), I’ve survived cancer (“the good kind,” LOL), two rounds of congestive heart failure, devastating loss, blah, blah, blah, and I really have no frickin’ idea how I’m still alive. In my youth, I was in Lord-knows how many car accidents (including a head-on collision)…and, to top it all off, I survived growing up in the 80’s, where things like seat belts were NEGOTIABLE. I am not someone who has survived by any kind of “admirable” grit and fortitude; I am someone who has survived by the sheer grace of God, an inherent sense of humor, and a strong (STRONG) family and spousal support system.

My mental battles have been far greater than my physical ones, and if anything was ever going to take me out, it has always, always been that. My brain, were it not for my spirit, would have killed me a hundred times over. When God said He would send us a Comforter, when He promised us His Holy Spirit, He did it knowing that we as a human race are intrinsically nihilistic, bound for self-destruction, and completely anchorless without His Presence in our hearts. I have Jesus in my heart. I have His Holy Spirit, and I have that peace that comes from knowing that He hears me. I’m not just shouting random things into an empty universe. My heart is heard, my soul is comforted, and I live another day.

That sentence could sum up my 40 years on this planet.

The need to be heard by humanity is massive. We all just want to be heard. It’s why I, and millions of others like me, write or blog, or jump on social media. We want to be heard, and we want to be validated. We want you and the world to recognize that we’re here. We have a voice.

It’s when people stop feeling heard…when they cry out, but no one responds…that the light flickers out of their soul…

There are days when I force myself to remember that I am always, always heard. I am always validated by the grace of God. It’s a theme that’s repeated in what I write, because it means so much to me. This world makes me feel overlooked…I question my worth. Do I matter? Am I making any kind of a difference? Is there any eternal impact in the work that I do, whether it’s on the job or in my home?

I feel as though my footprint on this earth is very, very small…

I don’t say that to pander for compliments. I say that because I think a lot of people feel that way, and I’m not alone in questioning my impact. I’m not abnormal in wondering what ripple I will leave on the ocean of the universe. We all want to leave a legacy, and we all have a story to tell….We all have a story that SHOULD be told.

I’m fascinated by biographies in short form. I’m fascinated by stories told by the elderly, by stories of days gone by…I’m fascinated by history, and the threads woven in the tapestries we look back on in their completed form, even as we weave new ones of our own. I’m fascinated by the colorful people I’ve met that NEED to write a book, but feel as though they’re not interesting enough to do so. EVERYONE is interesting!! I’ve never met a person that didn’t pique my interest in some way.

I think part of why I write is because life is INTERESTING. It’s fascinating!!!  People don’t always see it, but when you combine perspective, vocabulary, and the freedom to wrote, you can paint a picture that makes what seems dull, shine brightly.  You can make what seems dark point directly to the sunshine. The challenge in writing about those times is not to focus on the drama of the story; the challenge is to focus on the triumph as you come out of that drama. You make yourself write more about the positive than the negative, and in doing so, you bring the glory of God into that “dark night of the soul.”

And then, you have the victory.

So, I’m turning 40. It’s inevitable. I can’t stop it, and I’m not sure why I even want to. I mean, what good is it, to whine about something as non-discriminatory as AGE? Everyone ages!

Image result for everybody poops

(Yes, I just put that book there. It’s a classic!)

I’ve been a brat about this whole “birthday” thing. Like, REALLY. Image result for birthday divaI wanted a party (is that selfish?!? I threw myself one for my 30th, LOL. but that’s an ENTIRELY different story), but my family isn’t big on parties, and my husband isn’t big on birthdays in general. Money is tight, and we live in the “real world,” where lavish events are just not in the vernacular. And in my head (and okay, I blabbed incessantly to my poor husband, because he married me and he knows how much of a Brat I can be), I was super-pouty and dejected about it (I’m admitting this not for you to say, “aww, poor Cassidy!” but for you to realize that I. AM. A. JERK.), to the point that I was like, CRYING during praying about it one day. I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. For some reason, I decided to internalize all of this as some kind of proof of a terrible rejection of me as a human being.

Because I was turning 40.

Because there wouldn’t be a party.

Because my friend at work just unfriended me and made a catty remark about it as she was sending me an e-mail about how horrible of a person I was.

Because my life is hectic and I spend too much time in my darn car.

Therefore, the universe hates me.

I am a terrible human being who does not deserve to breathe.

So, I cried.

A lot.

THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT GO THROUGH MY CRAZY BRAIN.

And this is why I am grateful to the Lord that He gave us His Holy Spirit, to knock some darn sense into me and to REMIND ME that He loves me, even when I’m being an idiot.

It was during the course of a commute where I was bawling like an idiot, praying, and driving, that I heard Jesus speak my heart:

‘Okay, girlie. Here’s a Kleenex. You’ve destroyed your makeup for work today, and it’s a good thing you keep a spare makeup bag in your cabinet. Now, if you’re done bawling like a lunkhead, here’s the facts about you, about 40, and about Me:

‘I love you. I like you. You’re an idiot sometimes, and this is one of those times. That’s not a rejection; it’s a fact. You know you’re being an idiot. Your husband has been nice enough to not tell you you’re being an idiot, but that’s because I made him smarter than you give him credit for. 40, like any decade, is the start of a new chapter, and look at how much changed in your last chapter! Enjoy this. Embrace this. You’re afraid that 40 means you have to change who you are? 40 just means you become MORE of who I made you to be. You get better at being you, because you learn better about Who I Am. You put away childish things, but that doesn’t mean you give away childish hopes. You stay you. There’s nothing to fear.

‘Turn the page, Love. I’m at the beginning of the book, and I’m at the end. There’s no “Monster at the End of This Book.” There’s only Me. I’m all there needs to be, and I’m on every page. Welcome to the next chapter.’

In that instant, where He spoke into my heart, I realized that it wasn’t 40 I was afraid of. It was rejection.

I struggle with rejection. It’s been a battle my entire life; I permanently feel like the kid that’s on the outside-looking-in, always shoved to the side, and wishing I could be one of the cool people of the world. Minor events in my mind meld together to become massive issues, and that’s exactly what was making my approaching birthday so darn depressing; I was looking at everything through rejection-smudged glasses, and my world was bleak. Jesus shone some light on the situation, and when I was faced with the truth of my feelings, I was shook.

In my minds’ eye, I saw the rejection I had been dealing with unfold like 2 pages of a book…I saw a sword come down, and slice the two pages apart. They were caught by the wind, and blew away…

This doesn’t mean that whoosh! Jesus swept in, and now everything is hunky-dory!

This means that I’ve gained some perspective on what has been dragging me down, and now I understand. It means I can shake off the funk of the mid-life crisis that’s been plaguing me, and of all of the thoughts of things I want to do but can’t afford (and don’t have time for). It means I can stop worrying about the footprint I leave on this world, and focus instead on the footprints He leaves as He carries me through.

It means that change is inevitable, but so is the solidity of His Word.

It means that I can still be “meh” about turning 40. I mean, c’mon, it’s 40.  It also means that although my knees quake when I research and find that biblically, 40 is a number defined as a period of testing (http://www.biblestudy.org/bibleref/meaning-of-numbers-in-bible/40.html), that I know I can reach out to find His hand is always there, ready to lead, catch, guide, and hold.

It means that it’s going to be okay.

It means that I, regardless of volume, intention, content, or melody, am heard by the One Who Never Rejects His Children.

And I am always His child…

Even when I’m 40.

Image result for happy 40th birthday

 

 

“Let Me Entertain You….” Or How About Not?

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

My weeks are crazy. I work full-time, I drive around 2 hours/day round-trip for my commute, and I try to run a livable household. I know that’s not anywhere near as crazy as some people’s lives, but it’s a full plate for me. I’m grateful to have my husband as a partner-in-crime, but during the week, we feel a bit like “ships that pass in the night.” It’s why we cram SO much into our weekends, and why my house stays messy. I’d rather make life experiences and memories on the weekend, then deep-clean my house. No kid ever grows up and says, “Gee, remember all of the fun we had while cleaning the house? Remember how much we LOVED a clean floor?”

Nope.

So, my house is messy, but my heart is full, on the weekend.

During the week, however, it’s a different story (okay, my house is still messy, even during the week). During the week, for me, I’m up at 4am, off to work by 5:15, in my office by 6; I leave at 3, get Rico from school at 4, try to come up with something for dinner (and cook it, unless I just say “to heck with it,” and feed him peanut butter sammies), and I’m usually in bed by 8. The days kind of blur together, and I know that’s common.

When I get home from work, there’s this feeling of absolute hectic panic that sents in. What am I making for dinner?!? What groceries do I have? WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THIS CHILD GOING TO EAT?!?!?!?!? Meanwhile, while I”m assessing the supplies, Jericho is throwing a three-ring circus in our little living room, complete with occasional yells of, “LOOK AT ME, MAMA! LOOK AT ME!!!!”

Sometimes, I stop everything and I take a look at the chaos he’s created. His little imagination is the greatest gift, and I love to see where his brain takes him.

Sometimes, I can’t stop (raw chicken, anyone?), and I have to yell back, “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t! I’m making dinner.”

Occasionally, this conversation upsets him or makes him angry; usually, he just keeps repeating himself incessantly until I finally am able to stop what I’m doing, and give him my full attention.

One thing I really wanted to stress when becoming a mom, was that I never, ever wanted to be too busy to give my son what he needs in life. If that’s a hug, if that’s a cuddle–I always wanted to be able to stop the world and give him that gift. I wanted to be present for every single moment of motherhood. It didn’t come easily to me, and I always wanted him to know he was more important than anything or anyone in my life.

Medically, that hasn’t always been the case. Whereas some women are physically just made to be moms, I’m pretty sure I’m not one of them. After I had my daughter, I went into heart failure. I did the same thing with Jericho (though not nearly as badly). 4 years after having Hannah, I had issues with fibroids, scar tissue, and an abdominal wall fusion that required major surgery. A few months after having Jericho, I had 2 different procedures to get rid of my evil gall bladder. This was followed by a complete hysterectomy (again, scar tissue and fibroids) and a thyroidectomy due to thyroid cancer. Being without a thyroid has been the most challenging part of my entire convoluted medical history; the fatigue, combined with the emotional imbalances that come when you don’t have a thyroid to regulate your hormones, have made things difficult. David has really had to jump in more than anyone realizes, to keep our son well-cared for when I literally cannot get out of bed.

I’ve done really well since earlier this year; earlier this year, I wound up with mono, which meant that I spent a lot of days coming home from work, fumbling through something quick-and-easy for dinner, praying for David to just get home from work, and then going to bed at 6pm. Maintaining that level of fatigue is nearly impossible, and it took some pushing for me to get the right diagnosis with my PCP. Once we knew what it was, and that it wasn’t thyroid-related, David & I both took a breath. Had I been that tired on what was looking like a permanent level? We had no idea what we were going to do.

So, gradually, I’ve felt better and better, and now, I’m back to my “normal” post-thyroidectomy self. My levels are good, our house is still standing, and our child is happy….

Unless I can’t stop everything and pay attention to him.

On Wednesday, Jericho wanted me to hold him for a while. I started to say, “just let me read the paper,” but stopped mid-sentence, picked him up, and put him on my lap. The fact that he WANTS me to hold him, has an expiration date. I’m aware of it more and more, so I take the hugs whenever I can get them…unless raw chicken is involved.

Yesterday, he was running amok in the living room, and wanted to me to come and watch him. I was making dinner and dealing with raw chicken, so I told him that I couldn’t come into the living room. He was frustrated, but I explained that raw chicken is disgusting, and that I was up to my elbows in grossness. His fascination with gross outweighed his frustration, so he acquiesced to my instructions to “stay in the living room!!!”

This means that he promptly came into the kitchen to watch the rest of my food prep.

While I was working on dinner, I found myself having one of those internal conversations with God: “Lord, I wish I had a clone. I wish I could take the time and pay more attention to him, but there is just so much work to be done.” I think my Mom-Guilt was in full play.  I mean, why am I working? I’m working because we’re broke. Why are we broke? BECAUSE I SHOP TOO DANG MUCH. Oh, and we’ve also had 2 million-dollar babies, periods of extended unemployment, one year with 2 mortgages (2008), and blah-blah-blah. We’re in debt. So are most Americans. I work to work on debt and to prevent more. I work to provide a future for my son. I work because I’m good at it, and I like it. I work for a lot of different reasons. The mom-shaming that is so exacerbated by social media is something that I simply do not have time to embrace. This is how I parent. Go parent your own way for your own child. I refuse to embrace the judgment ascribed by so many that do not work, or even by so many that do. We are a double-income family because we HAVE to be. Period.

But my conversation with God, though brief, really summed up a lot. I wish I had a clone, or maybe more hours, or maybe an assistant (HA!), or Rosie the Robot. I wish there was more of me (and less pounds of me). I wish I could be a perfect, always-present parent.

I am not.

And I felt God answer in His way, in His beautiful, gentle way, into the recesses of my heart: “You are a good mom. Your heart is always with your son. Even when you’re not paying attention to him in his way, you are paying attention to him.

It’s not your job to entertain your son.  It’s your job to care for your son.”

Consider me undone, Lord.

Sometimes caring for my son means I focus on making him a healthy dinner, instead of embracing the circus in the living room.

Sometimes caring for my son means I surrender to knowing that I can’t do it all, and to trusting the man God gave me to do more than he should have to do.

Sometimes caring for my son means I tell him, “not right now.”

I wonder how many times God has said the same to me? “Cassidy, My job is to love you…to care for you…not to entertain you.

My job is not to tell you what you want to hear.

My job is not to give you the material things you want (hello, iPhoneX!).

My job is not to make your life easy.

My job is to love you.

My job is to call you to higher things and higher thoughts.

My job is to draw you into Me, and for you to run with Me.

My job is to be your Bridegroom, and for you to understand what it means to be my Bride.”

Oh, Jesus….to be Your Bride…

Suddenly, all of the accoutrements of stress wash off, and I’m laid out before God. I’m reminded of my only job–my Only Job–even above being a wife and a mother.

My job is to love Him.

My job is to make Him the center of it all…the goal of my every day, the focus of my every moment. My job is to be for Him, above all others…and in that, everything else comes into alignment.

Regardless of the chaos of the day, the endless need to give attention to others, the rush, the pace, and the fatigue, He is my Center.

He’s not my “entertainment.”

He’s my heart.

 

 

Happy Birthday…

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / 1 Comment

Eleven.

You’d be eleven.

I Googled “things 11-year old girls like,” and the results made me smile.

Science.

Design.

Crafts.

Glitter.

I wonder what you’d like, as I do every year…

Time moves on, and we take our steps….

Leaves turn, and winter comes again.

Your brother changes every day; it’s going

So

Fast.

Every day with him is a gift that we

End with a hug and a

Prayer to the

Great God Who

Blessed Us…

The Great God Who

Holds you

Now…

He’s coming to the age where your story

Is told…

I’m not sure how we’re going to tell him,

But we will tell him how much we love you even

Now.

When the darkness comes….

When my soul is overwhelmed,

And when my heart feels every ounce of the memories that

Autumn Brings,

I remember the promises of my Savior…

I remember the promises of His Word…

I remember He loves me.

He loves you.

And I cling to the hope of seeing you again.

I remember the dreams He gave;

One boy, and one little

Red-haired

Princess…

Mine to hold

In eternity.

 

Happy Birthday in Heaven,

Beautiful Girl…

Your name means “Grace,”

And it is by the Grace of God

We live.

We hope.

And we love. KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

Former Friends, Forty, & Feet…

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

My brain has been in a whirlwind for the past 2 weeks.  There’s a multitude of things going on…Shall I outline it all, in the hopes that writing it all down, makes it all make sense?

  • The dissolution of a long-term friendship  has led to difficulties maintaining a positive attitude.  As a fairly outspoken person, it’s increasingly difficult to not confront said “friend” regarding their demeanor. I have to trust God that truth will out…That being said, “truth” occasionally means that you piss people off, and I guess that’s what I’ve officially done.  Have I been a “good Christian” in how I’ve handled this mess? Nope (does the Silent Treatment count for or against me?!?). I’m hurt, I’m angry, and my eyes hurt from rolling them so hard. I’m almost 40, and this “act like you’re 17” crap is for the birds. And no, I’m not going to tell her about it—what good would it do? To pour out my heart to someone who thinks they’re never wrong? I don’t have that amount of time to waste.
  • Working with women is DIFFICULT (see #1). They’re catty, they’re mean, and they’re so, SO petty. I’ve been in a female-dominated industry for 18 years, and I’ve been both the Catty-B, and the victim of the Catty B. I’d like to think I’ve been on the receiving end of said BS more times than I’ve dealt it (because I generally dislike the confrontation involved—what good does it do? If someone hates you, telling them off about it isn’t going to make them like you any more), but that’s an easy thought to think. I can’t be objective in that thought, but I sure as heck can say that I’m in the thick of it right now, and OMG, I AM OVER IT. IF women would be kinder to each other on the job, men would have more respect for our work performance and authority. Instead, we shoot ourselves in the foot because we can’t keep our feet out of our mouths and our bitchery out of the office. Women need to build each other up, and cram this sanctimonious garbage where the sun doesn’t shine. Be nice, girls. Maybe someday, we can actually work together in PEACE.
  • The onslaught of stories of sexual harassment is a weight around my heart. Every. Single. Woman. Has a story to tell. Reading them is heavy…exposing our children to them is HEAVY. Hearing it all on the news is HEAVY. Since Mr. Clinton was in office, we have been subject to greater and greater exposure to sexual impropriety in the media. I have to wonder if purity is dead? “How shall a young man keep his way pure?” I don’t know anymore. How do I raise my little boy to respect women when even at 4, he is using words that by their very definition, sexualize? Thanks to a children’s movie that decided to use the word “booty,” I can’t get my son to quit saying “booty butt.” Sure, it’s funny…but what if he doesn’t stop? That’s a problem we have to quell NOW. As mothers, we are responsible for raising our sons to end the #MeToo in this world. We have to. We are the ones who can end it. Fathers, you are the other ones that can end it. Start with you. Start with respecting sex, with turning your eyes away when it’s inappropriate (women need to do that, too). Fathers, set the example of romantic love with your wife. Set the example of respect for her body. Mothers, set the example of respect for your husband. Turn off “The Bachelor” and shows that glamorize sexual behavior (I don’t mean to single out any show in particular, and in fact, I’ve never watched “The Bachelor.” I’m just gathering that from previews). Listen to the lyrics in songs—turn them off when they’re inappropriate. It’s a struggle for ALL of us, but it’s worth it. Sex is to be appreciated, bodies are to be respected, and WE need to restore purity by the grace of God, in our households. These are stands we have to take. I have to remember that IT’S WORTH IT, to turn off questionable lyrics when my Mini is in the car. Sure, I’m a grown-up, I can handle it, right? Maybe I’m jaded…but he’s not. My son is not. Let’s not callous our kids before their time (and maybe let’s collectively rethink what we’re so callous to, ourselves?).
  • Sometimes, we have to stand up for what’s right, even when it’s uncomfortable and in my case, leaves me paranoid for a solid month. That’s where I am right now. Yes, I am praying about it. I’m still paranoid. When you regularly deal with anxiety and something comes up to tip that cart just a little more in that direction, a small thing becomes a very BIG thing, and it’s an effort to not obsess about it.
  • I turn 40 next month. Why I’m having some kind of existential crisis over it, I’m not sure. The fact that I’ve made it this far is flippin’ amazing. While I’d like to celebrate by face-planting into some kind of elaborate pastry, I’m actually going to celebrate by getting stoned out of my mind. I’m kidding. Kind of. It’ll be the legal kind. 🙂 The day before my 40th birthday, I’m having the first of two foot surgeries, in an effort to finally end the years-worth of pain that’s really affected my life. I have tarsal tunnel/plantar fasciitis in both feet, so it will be nice to see that level of pain be taken care of. My goal is to be off of the pain meds as quickly as possible, so that I don’t ruin both Thanksgiving, AND Christmas (surgery #2 is the Friday before Christmas) for my family. Scheduling the surgeries in this way makes sure I don’t miss as much work as I would be, had I scheduled them any other time; I have to look at the financial impact over the social impact. I have to say, though, I’m a bit bummed about spending 40 so completely laid up, especially after I’ve seen (and been to) some amazing 40th birthday celebrations. I’m super-thankful my hubby and my parents are helping…and I’m thinking I can just snag JD with my cane if he gets terribly out of line, LOL.
  • As is wont to happen this time of the year, my anxiety/depression is a bit peaky. I’m in a (lengthy) season of feeling like the Lord is blocked off…like I can’t get to Him, and when I try, I’m too tired. He feels a million miles away, but I think it’s me that’s so far from Him. He never leaves, and I know that, even when I don’t feel His Presence. I feel like my heart is just crying out for some kind of Word, some kind of direction from Him, but I feel shiftless. Our church is getting ready to dive into the Song of Solomon study, and I’m ready for it. I need that revelation of the endless love of God, at a much deeper level. I find Him so much closer during worship, but when I’m in my 9-5 (or 6-3), I am so empty…It’s not like He’s hiding while I’m in my office or anything…I’m never insulated away from Him, but I feel like it.
  • One friend unceremoniously dumps me, and it sends me into a tailspin…whether that’s the definition of crazy or not, I’m not sure, but I know it’s had a huge impact on my life. It’s a Milestone Moment. I’ve questioned a lot of things over the past few weeks, and I’ve been reminded of several positives. I’ve also been taught/reminded of a few lessons:
    • My best friend in the universe has been my best friend since the 3rd grade. If I were horrible, Vinita would not be by my side through every good/bad/ridiculous stage of my life. I’ve several other friends that have been in my life for 10 years or longer. I rarely think about the longevity of a friendship as a proving ground for my moral compass, but it was recently brought to mind, and I’m grateful for those women that have loved me as I am.
    • This isn’t the first time I’ve ever had someone tell me I’m not good enough for them. I’ve been rejected before, for jobs, parts, etc., but never from a “friend.” When I got dumped by a guy (for the first and only time in my life), I spent 2 years in a death-spiral of depression. It’s been 20 years since that happened, and I would hope I would bounce back more quickly from rejection. Yet here I am, about a month after my dismissal, and I was so broken over it all that I’m  just now able to really write about it. I don’t anticipate a 2-year “death spiral” LOL, but I’m certainly impacted.
    • I don’t ever want to make another human being feel the way this person made me feel. I’m rethinking every aspect of how I treat people (including my husband who, let’s face it, gets the best AND worst of me). It’s a work in progress, but maybe someday, I will get it down pat. I just want to show the love of Jesus. That’s hard to do when you’re a jerk.
    • It’s also hard to show the love of Jesus when you’re stuck in the internal monologues of what you’d like to do to the person you’re angry with. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I haven’t imagined a million scenarios ending with me slapping the living daylights out of her or telling her off….but what good would it do? What would it do in the eyes of Eternity? It bears NO WITNESS to the love of Jesus. I’m struggling, I’m not going to lie—I can’t even look her in the eye right now (it’s mutual, don’t hang me), and God knows she won’t speak to me. I did try to engage, but all it took was one perceived slight and she was back to being a….Well, you get it. There comes a point at which you stop casting your pearls before swine…but you still have to show the love of Jesus…and I’m not sure how you do both. I’m figuring it out.  It’s selfishly worth it to put the work in, to figuring out how to show Jesus in a perceived no-win situation. I’ll get there.
  • Guys don’t do this. They don’t unfriend each other, and they don’t wax loquacious in the psychology of failed relationships (okay, at least not that I know of). Things like this make my husband crazy with me. They also confirm that yes, I’m occasionally nutso-pants, but he married me, so what does that make him?!?? I know it’s sexist, but I think guys get the easier part of mental health and of relationships. Women are waaaaaaaaaaaay too OCD in negative thought patterns (and maybe I’m a sexist troglodyte. I’m basing this solely on my husband and his miraculous/enviable ability to compartmentalize).
  • I want to ask for prayer, but I feel like I’m “that person” who is always surrounded by some kind of drama, and ALWAYS asks for prayer…like asking for prayer is just another way of saying that I’m broken, yet again. News flash, Cassidy—EVERYONE IS BROKEN in one way or another. We are all broken, and the beauty of life is watching Jesus take those pieces and make them into something/someone beautiful in His time. The process of waiting for His time? That’s the hard part…So in the waiting, I’m asking for prayer…Having 2 surgeries and basically being immobile for 2 weeks during the holidays, while trying to care for a 4yo (and having to rely heavily on hubby/family) is difficult. The situation with my former friend is difficult. This time of the year is—you guessed it—difficult, and my heart is tender. Please keep my doctor, Dr. Arnold, and her team in your prayers, so that my surgeries and recovery go smoothly. I am blessed to work a desk job that allows me to return to work 1 week after each procedure, so I am grateful for my job (I am!! SAY IT WITH ME!!!!!!!!!! I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY JOB!!!!!!!!). Please pray for David, Rico-Bean, and my parents, who are in their 60’s, and are willing to tackle caring for a pre-K boy that is VERY active. Pray that they have the energy they need!
  • Finally, never underestimate the beauty of worship, when it comes to focusing the mind and calming the heart, and in warming the spirit. I rediscovered Bethel Music on Spotify this week, and when my brain is a jumbled mess…when my heart is overwhelmed…I am grateful for people that make worship their life, and that share it with the world. We need it, desperately….I need it.

I realize that writing a bulleted outline for a blog is a bit excessive. At some point, I need/want to become disciplined enough to write on a daily basis…if I want to make this work, I have to pour into it consistently. Besides, when I wait too long to write, I wind up with a 2500-word tome that no one has time to read, right?!?!?!?!?

Thank you for your patience with my writing and my rants…and most of all, thank you for your prayers. Life is hard, but when there is fellowship…when Christians come together and lift each other up, life is a joy. I am so grateful to share that joy with you. You’re a blessing in my life, and a reminder that God’s people are GOOD. ❤

*When you’re friends or family members of a writer, and you KNOW they’re a writer, you have to know that at some point, they’re going to write about you, good or bad. Names have not been named, no slander has occurred, and no one may be held responsible for the contents of this piece. It’s ridiculous that I actually have to say this, but this world is looking for any reason to be a victim. You don’t get that from me. 

Not Like the Movies (AKA, Why Rosanne Barr Can Never Be Liam Neeson)

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / 1 Comment

 

Ever want to drop a drink on a 6’4,” 300lb overgrown gorilla, and be able to live to tell the tale?

Like, why can’t we just knock people out and walk away, like they do in the movies??? Every now and then, life should just work that way.

Every now and then, you should get a free pass, to take the swing and drop the drink…the Free Pass to knock the rude gorilla out on his rear. Someone should hand out the occasional Free Pass to be Karma, Incarnate.

Sigh.

Of course, this means that someone would eventually take THEIR Free Pass and knock ME out, but I almost think it’s worth the risk (KIDDING!!!).

Anyways,  violence is not the answer…

But sometimes?

Hmmmm…..

The Bible says to “bless those who curse you.” That sounds pretty easy, until you have to live it. Although it’s much more fun to lie in bed and think of all of the amazing insults you could throw back at a person, it’s not what we’re supposed to do, regardless of what we WANT. I’d much rather slash someone’s tires or put sugar in their gas tank. But that’s not very Christian-like of me, now is it?

Image result for not very christian of you

Just because we’re Christians, doesn’t mean we don’t get angry. It doesn’t mean we don’t shoot off our mouths, think stupid things, or act like idiots sometimes. I’m guilty of this as a wife, as a mom, and as a person. I certainly have one heck of a temper. Learning to keep it controlled is a lifelong struggle, and I think I’ve seen one too many action movies where Revenge goes off without a hitch, to fully understand the consequences of when we act out our anger.

In my head,  I see myself as Mel Gibson or Arnold Schwarzenegger, when in reality, I’m probably more like Roseanne Barr….and I don’t see anyone casting her in the lead role of “Taken #10” (maybe they should!! It might be scarier, to see the suburban Baby Boomer go all “Snapped” on a Bosnian cartel!!!!).

Image result for liam neeson meme

In my head,  I pour the drink on the insulting gorilla and walk away, head held high, basking in the glory of my liberated female bravery.

Image result for grown up temper tantrum

In reality, my anger grieves the heart of Jesus,  and shows a lack of faith. He fights our battles, right?

Sigh.

Darn it, Jesus.

Why You gotta be so RIGHT?!?!?! (stomps foot…pouts…throws toys)….

My blogs are generally based on my real-life experiences. This one is no exception–someone made me super-angry. Like, break-a-beer-bottle angry….like, “I wish I Knew PEOPLE,” angry.

They made me the kind of angry where I had to force myself to walk away, and I was actually (wait for it)….AT A LOSS FOR WORDS.

Aaaaaannnnnnggggggrrrryyyyy.Image result for angry

And I spent the better part of the other night, thinking of ways to stealthily ruin their life. 🙂

Finally (duh, Cass), I prayed about it, & Jesus said, “bless those who curse you,” which loosely translates to, “shut up, Cass”.

Seriously, though, He got me. He’s right (again, DUH, CASS). We bless the haters. We bless those who hate. Bless those who hate us. Bless those people, and pity them, because the world they live in is sad and dark to them, and to everyone around them that gets sucked into their vortex of misery. And I foolishly let them suck me into their vortex last night, and cast their shadow over a beautiful evening.

Foolish.

I really am my own worst enemy, more often than not. I think that’s pretty typical of the human race, though–if we’d get out of our own way, and Let Jesus Handle Our Business, we’d be so much better off. I know I would be.

I know this woman at church who is nothing less than a stick of dynamite. Like, she’s maybe 5’2,” very petite, and has that kind of natural “blue steel” presence when she looks at you. You KNOW she knows Jesus–not like, “hey, yeah, I love Jesus.” Nope–Mona is a legitimate Friend of God. She’s an armor-bearer, and is the kind of woman you want in your corner when you have questions. She said yesterday that she will tell you the truth, and not many people like her, for it. Man, I need those people in my life. I don’t like hearing it, but when it’s said with true intention and love? You can’t deny it. She caught me in the middle of writing this, and told me about how she used to be “that” kind of person. She said she was the kind of person that would take on the gorilla in the room and knock him the heck out with one punch, if she got good and mad.

I don’t even care about the logistics of that–I believe her.

She told me about the love of God, and how it washed her anger clean…When you look at Mona, you wouldn’t think, in a million years, that she could ever have lived that life. She radiates peace and determination, she prays with purpose and intention. I believe she knocks out spiritual gorillas, for sure, but to think of her tackling them in person, in a bar? Man-oh-man, how the love of God can change a heart!!!

Goals, man.

I’m not the same person I was at 21, or at 25, or at 35. I’m a continuing work in progress that doesn’t always make the best decisions. I let my emotions get in the way, and I waste my time obsessing over things that I can’t change. I don’t let Jesus do what He needs to do, either for other people, or for myself…I can do a lot of things, but I can’t fix ME, or anybody else, so I should stop wasting my energy, trying.

I want to have the kind of trust that lets me not just physically walk away from gorillas, but mentally walk away. I don’t want to have the “I Could Have Saids.” I don’t want to lose sleep over things that are that stupid and wasteful. I have better things to do.

I have a better person to learn to be.

I should spend my time on that…and maybe, with one better person in the world, there will be one less gorilla hulking in the corner.

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“Push.”

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

Push.

Shove.

Break Through

Deal with the hatred

But keep pushing.

Pushing is how you got here….

Pushed from your mother’s womb…

Breaking through to life…

Breathe.

Confusion breaks like a gray cloud over the city,

But you push on

And those that don’t understand

Say they do

But they never can

And you push on.

On the ground,

Cattle call

Sounds familiar as history recalls

Gathered off and carted off

Your anger has teeth.

FearLeadsToAngerLeadsToHateLeadsToViolenceLeadsToFear

The cycle

Perpetuates

Systemic

Failure.

Those that control

Are not controlled

And change must come

If pushing leads to break through

If breaking through

Changes history

That has yet to be made…

They look down from their podiums

Wide-eyed and afraid

Afraid not just of you

But of the truth you represent

Of the truth that you

Push

Past

Their

Borders.

Telling the truth means

Changing the game

And opening the doors

To the Boys’ Club

Don’tAskDon’tTellYouDidn’tSeeAnythingBut

I

Can’t

Breathe.

Push.

Shove.

Break Through.

I stand in unity.

I stand for change.

I stand for peace…and I stand for

Conversation.

Action.

Answers.

I cannot understand,

But I will listen to you…

I will push with you.

Change WILL come.