Journal Entry - #3

I wrote this entry toward the end of last year...the situation, despite hope of change, remains the same. It's a hard thing...loving someone who's only return is a heavy dose of deep and aching hurt.

As part of my grade for a critical thinking class I took a couple of semesters ago, I had to keep a journal and write about various assigned topics. It was nothing special, just a writing exercise. But they are snippets of me and rather than letting them get shuffled around and lost, I thought I would post some of them on here...

Write about a bad habit, either of yours or that of someone close to you.

'Bad habits' evoke visions of something trivial in my mind. Like my daughter's thumb-sucking habit or my husband's nail biting habit. I wish all bad habits were one's who's greatest consequence were in the inability to scratch a good itch or who guaranteed yourself as a future patient to the local Orthodontist.

Tonight however, my mind is on habits that are far less innocent. Tonight, my mind is on my brother.

My Mom and Dad have both mentioned that out of all their five children, Matt showed great promise. He was one they saw as a child and thought would be very successful in life. Matt is 32 years old and living in a motel my parents pay for to keep him off the streets. He has no car, a minimum wage job he hates that is far below his abilities and has burned every bridge imaginable. He has lied to all of us, stolen from us and has held my parents hostage to witness the destruction and downward spiral of his life.

Matt is a drug addict.

Matt, the child with so much promise....

Despite being given every opportunity to succeed and for redemption and rehabilitation, he has managed to make a wreck of his life. One defined by bad habits, bad choices, vices and running away when things get too tough. With guilt I have many times pondered on the fact that Matt's hard road made mine easier in a way. I have still had to live through the hell of watching my brother destroy himself. But his actions helped shape my own paths of life. There have been nights I have cried, wishing more bumps in my own road of life if they could have meant my brother could have been clean. If he could have lived the life he should have lived.

I am just 18 months younger than my brother. I had a front row seat to watching Matt destroy himself. It took away any temptation in me put a toe on his side of the line. By the time we were both out of high school, Matt's bad habits included chain smoking, excessive drinking, gambling and every drug imaginable, he had done it or was doing it. I on the other hand had gone to the other extreme. Once in the ninth grade I took one puff off a friend's cigarette. That was the end of my foray into the world of vice. To this day, as a 30 year old woman, I have never drank alcohol, never done drugs and even chose to wait until I was in a committed relationship and married to have sex. Because of Matt, in part, I won't allow myself to have vice or addiction play even the smallest role in my life.

Not even an innocent morning cup of coffee or caffeinated beverage.

Matt has always been torn between loving me and hating me. I am after all his only sister. But I have seen him seethe at me as he growled "You stupid, goody-goody b*tch." I hated that he pigeon-holed me like that. Like the intention of my life was to make him look even worse. It wasn't. Never has been, never will be. I just couldn't bring myself to accept the risk of his mistakes for myself. As much as he struggles with hating me, in a way he helped mold me into the person he despises.

I am determined to make of my life what Matt wouldn't make of his own. To live and feel rather than numbly survive. To love the people in my life, not a chemical, not a feeling, not a high. To have goals for myself and work hard towards them, not wonder as I wander aimlessly towards the next hit what I could have done or been. The price was too high and I wish I could take it back; make it different. But out of all the heartache I have to say, thank you Matt, for helping me to take nothing in this life for granted. I owe you one brother.

She Did It!

My friend Beth told me I had to read this book. So I ordered it from Amazon and when I finally read it I was laughing out loud! It was like someone had been spying on my life and written a book about it! It's about "Four sisters, different sizes. Four sisters, early risers. Bouncing balls, climbing trees, tossing mud into the breeze..." Basically it's the tale of four, spirited sisters who were always getting into trouble and pinning the blame on each other....yes, it's a familiar scene here at the Young household!

With Justin in Georgia these past two weeks (and at least two more to go...) trying to get life set up for us there, it's just been me running single parent mode. Which with four, little busy bees is no walk in the park. (Not to mention I am trying to pack up my entire house in the process....) But I like this book because it reminds me that even if most days the kids are seeming to want to go all WWF on each other and I feel I can't take another minute of the bickering, that someday (hopefully sooner than later!) they will band together as sisters and know that despite their differences they can come together, create a united front and know the truly are sisters for life.

I Feel...

I feel hopeful.

I feel a spring in my step.

I feel like dancing.

I feel grateful.

I feel more centered.

I feel anticipation.

I feel blessed.

I feel perspective in my life.

I feel love.

I feel clouds lifting.

I feel like Sarah once again.

Good Things to Come

Grateful

I am grateful when people unite rather than divide. Life is tough enough without humans as a whole trying to rip each other apart. I don't follow politics very closely. However, there are two members of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or Mormons as we are nicknamed, who have come into the political limelight. I have been nauseated as I have read about how they, despite any redeeming qualifications, would never have a chance in politics solely because of their 'weird' religion. I have listened to a Mom tell me her daughter was dismissed from a 'Christian' school solely because of her Mormon beliefs. I myself was ridiculed and picked on in high school by a group of 'Christian' kids because of my Mormon beliefs. I had a friend of another faith tell me she loved a certain song about Christ's love, but was told she couldn't sing it in church, however wonderful it may be, because it was written by a Mormon musician. Another friend, who had a deep and abiding testimony of Jesus Christ, was told she couldn't teach at a Christian Preschool because she is a Mormon. I had a man from another church come into our sacrament service once and tell the entire congregation that if we didn't follow him to his church we were all going to Hell. And the tales go on....

Being a Mormon takes a thick skin sometimes. At one point the United States government had an extermination order sent out against people of our faith...in the land of religious freedom. In the land where those same people who were left to be scattered or massacred had fathers and grandfathers who had given their lives in the Revolutionary War so that they could secure the freedom to worship according to the dictates of their own conscience. So I get having to have a thick skin. Those who are truly converted don't do so out of convenience, but rather a burning testimony of truth. Being a Mormon takes a lot of dedication and yet we do it because we love our Savior, Jesus Christ, and we love our Father in Heaven. It is so frustrating that the entire center of our belief system is focused on the true gospel of Jesus Christ and yet people claim we are not Christians. A love for our Savior is central to our beliefs and yet we are damned to Hell in the eyes of some. It is so disheartening to be so misunderstood by so many people who claim themselves to be 'Christians'. Over the years I have kind of built up a little shell with 'Christians.' Ones who will really like you until they find out you are a Mormon and then look at you like the devil. Ones who claim to be one thing with their mouth and another with their actions.

So tonight I am grateful for a recent interaction with a true Christian. I was in a place where I was struggling with a relationship with my brother. I was hurt and angry and peace was far from my heart. I felt I was carrying with me a wound that would never heal. Then to my rescue came a post from Justin's cousin, Keira, on her blog.

Keira, who is Catholic, shared with me a prayer that was meaningful to her and it really calmed my soul and helped to bring peace back into my heart and helped me to set a different course in my mind in regards to my brother. I was so touched by Keira sharing that piece of her heart and soul and by sharing her faith. I was grateful that in that moment that religion wasn't a dividing line. But rather another bucket at the Savior's well in which I could draw cooling relief from.

I know in my heart that God loves all of His children. I know we are all brothers and sisters to our Savior, Jesus Christ. I was so grateful for Keira, for getting it. For sharing the good instead of spreading the bad. For lifting the burden of another, as Christ would have. Her faith helped motivate me to live mine more fully and I am grateful for that. Grateful that in a world full of divide, there are people who still seek to unite and encourage and share. Thank you Keira, you touched my heart.

The Prayer of St. Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.

Georgia Fall

As I sweep my floors and listen to Dixie Chicks this morning I am almost transported back to Georgia. I can see my linoleum in my old kitchen, smell the fresh, Georgia Fall air wafting through the screens and mixing with smells of chocolate chip pumpkin bread baking. I can practically feel through this overcast Oregon morning the light reflected down from clear, cloudless, blue, Southern skies. I have missed so many things about the South. Things that at one point I almost had to put out of my mind so that I could embrace my present. But knowing that we will be back in Georgia this Fall fills my heart with a slice of home like you can't imagine.

Love This...