Back Again...

Here I am, again! Once upon a time, a few semesters ago, I began a blog for English 110 and vowed to blog even after the course was over. Well, as you can see it's been just under a year since my last post. Notice I said post and not visit. I have been a visitor to my own site and logged in a few times to view the 'Stats' of those reading my posts (Flirting with Chemistry is still the top choice). I've been surprised and almost encouraged to start writing again but as usual I come up with that lovely excuse of not having enough time to do so. Hogwash! I have time...if only I would quit browsing what others write on Facebook. Some call this stalking (I used to be one of those addicts). Now, thanks to my Sophomore Seminar, Emerging Technologies, I refer to my saviness as RSS Feeds that keep me connected to family back home. Sounds more sophisticated if you ask me. Deep down, I know it's my fear of failure and what people will think when I misspell a word or the punctuation makes it hard to read or someone may get offended or worse yet someone will judge my heart wrongly and once again I fall into the trap of caring too much about other's acceptance rather than my own reflection of what God made, a daughter He will never forsake. (Dang that was a long sentence!) I guess, either way you look at it I'm back and ready to try again. Just like always, I have to be pushed. So, here is a 'Thank You' to my SSM instructor for making her students blog (and God for using her to push me back into writing). Now, maybe I'll make that mark I talk about and dream about or I'll just go about with hope and courage to keep writing with all my heart, regardless of judgment.

One question remains. The question I always ask once I've written a blog and ready to post. Do I have the boldness to link it to Facebook? Well, if you're reading this then my 'Stats' will likely say your journey originated from FB but your identity is anonymous unless of course you are brave enough to 'follow me' (which is off to the right). Honestly, I would be honored and encouraged if you did :) Either way, happy reading!

Voice of Passion: The Other Side of Me

Sabrina, Aerial, McKenzie, Morgan and Mason (my five teenagers) address me as Mom aka Momma Storms with several adoptees. Over the years, my children have murmured a few other aliases in which I’m quite certain I have earned however, deemed inappropriate for public disclosure. To Steve, my husband, I am Andrea. Again, I’m certain I have earned additional names from him as well (some permissible and some not so beneficial). Extended family and friends call me Andi; any will suffice. I respond to many pronunciations. It’s nearing two years since I had lost the identity of who I am as me; not as a mom or wife, but as a woman with faith. My identity crisis was the product of loss in my reflection and by whose definition. The journey began and little did I realize the drive would be the ultimate road trip of my life.

I no longer recognized the woman I had become. On the surface, I had it all and did it all. Inside, I could not breathe. The silhouette of darkness suffocated my vocal chords while the intonation provoked a multitude of voices deliberating in my head. Confusion hindered my stride as I no longer could dance with rhythmic balance of truth; the lies had cadenced with harmony. I vanished into reverie at eighty miles an hour and sought a destination beyond the white picket fence of confinement. Metallic green blurs measured my vigorous effort to escape what felt to be death by submission. Silence screamed, “Let me out! Remember me?”

I was the renegade playing with fire and ice hoping the stiletto hadn’t pierced my heart beyond repair. Serenity was lost and my search for the state of euphoria became music to my ears. An open road and wheels driven by a free spirit with the accompaniment of a passenger of the highest power was the only place I found a hint of peace, a familiar place of solitude. As a child so many years ago the musical vibration would rest my dreary eyes as my body would melt with grace and submission to the well being of my soul, I could no longer hear the voices. In these moments I could feel me and love me. Unconditional love of my heart was unified and I could breathe. However, my vision held little relevance therefore the perception defined others often fogged my reflection and sent my free-spirited soul on many journeys beyond the parameters of what truth lay within my heart. Eventually, I became numb.

After several months facing remnants of traumatic events, the pain was too much for the masquerade of balls. I could no longer run, I could no longer hide and I certainly could no longer dance. The conviction was enough to remove the blinders of who I had been hiding. Although I could see, feel, breathe and walk, my voice had been tainted and the fear gave way for judgment. I was judged based on the unveiling mask of sins committed through years of battle. I lost my freedom and the right to appeal. The tongue can be a fire ready to devour any who cross the path of a woman scorned. My silence had been broken but not tamed; forgiveness is now the journey I seek.

A road of familiar paths traveled by my reflection, God’s perception, is the open road to forgiveness. Consideration of others perception is that of humility and unconditional love for not only me but for those who saw me when I did not. I am not deaf to truth nor am I blind to truth. Music may define the pace in which my heart beats but my eyes and ears are privy to one reflection of who I am.  I am SAM and SAM I am. Sam is the acronym of Sabrina, Aerial, Morgan, Mason and McKenzie, the seeds God entrusted me to care for, fertilize and water. There will come a time when harvesting is the witness to fruits worthy of repentance. Repentance leads the path to forgiveness. The reflection of who I am is by the grace, mercy and most of all truth set forth and defined by God, my father. My children are seeds that I have bore, truth in God’s word is the fertilizer I shall raise them with, honor and love will prune their hearts and their flight will be the harvest in which fruits will be evidence of my repentance. I am forgiven daily, a hundred times over, according to the way in which I forgive those who have pierced by heart and strong held my chords. My passion falls within the grace and mercy I seek by giving praise to the One who has pulled me out of the pit when wreckage was the only vision I had. I will praise Him in every storm and take refuge in the music that feeds my heart. I may fall but I will not break. I am unbreakable, silence is not.   

I am a woman who will play rough yet guide you through darkness with her eyes. I am a woman who loves to dance as if everyone is watching but cannot see. I am a woman of fire and ice. I am a woman who walks with the aroma of grace and breathes with a rhythmic fall to a bed of roses. I am a woman crippled by shattered dreams with an overwhelming fear of acceptance. I am a renegade on the journey to escape the law of conventional ways. Surrender or submission all begins within the heart, my heart has walls built with the mortar of pain and suffering however, by prayer I am a woman with wisdom by perseverance. I am a woman passionate after God’s heart, my reflection and not your perception.

A Dying Heart

Drifting and swaying as the eyes grow weary I cast upon my prayer list the request of returning home, where my heart remains. A place where judgment is tolerable and happiness blankets the fear of facing life burdens is a place in which only home can provide. Safety and security against dreary and weathered lines of age are the arms that catch this fallen heart. The return to childhood memories and a mother’s comforting reality check becomes the antibiotic required of home sickness.

An age old recipe, created among the ancestors, possessing vaporized steam, bouillon scents, a dash of salt and a hint of honey mixed in a small bowl while patience and love simmer hours within the paisley and flower printed crock pot warms the soul as laughter and orneriness awaits the remedy yielding a bulk of unconditional heart healing. Viruses linger among the ill as the shattered heart requires the gentle touch of a mom’s caress.

A walk down Viking Lane accompanied by the biggest fan provides reminiscence of whom and where dreams began. Once seen as jailhouse walls and confinement to life’s ambition, the school of Hard Knox trained and schooled the young to persevere with pride, gain victory within loss, hold steadfast to truth, live as if tomorrow was not promised, allow heartaches to mold love, sing as if the whole world wanted to hear, cruise with pouring rain and opened sunroofs, laugh with all and dream the impossible. The home of the Vikings, Huntington North High School is a stomping ground in which friendships, mentors, acquaintances, and even bullies defined the parameter of a foundational lifeline; a home where hearts were built.  My mom is my biggest fan, even today; twenty years post.

A small town comprised of corn fields, flat land, and farmers alike welcome the drifters as they cross mile markers lessoning the gap between years gone by and the very roots in which the drifter ran from. The roots of heritage, family, is the road I travel today in hopes of mending ties and finding the Viking within; a woman who lost sight of dreams once attainable. Though I ran years ago and sought out comfort in the wrong classrooms, I embrace the humility of reaping what I have sown and will never cease in praying for the one way road trip home but for now I will walk with my daughters with perseverance and the hopes they will see me as their biggest fan, the mom who gave it all up for their safety and security.

Home is where the heart is. Huntington, Indiana, a small northeastern town (my hometown), is the place where my heart remains. My heart is held by its residents; a mom whom has loved unconditionally, a sister whom carries my admiration, a step-father who diminishes the "step", a family of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents that fragrances the colors of my personality and the familiar faces and spirit of a Wal-Mart congregational reunion dwell within my veins and feed the oxygen needed to keep this heart from failing, until the next visit.

Reflection Piece on Blogging

Blogging to gain fluency, oh cool! For the first week maybe. There’s no doubt I have a passion for writing. The excitement of visiting old friends, pen and paper, was enough to ignore hurdles such as writer’s block and grammatically correct sentence structure (which I still suck at) but the initial fear of disclosure blogging would require was beyond most anxiety attacks experienced, thus far. Anonymity was not an option if I wanted to be judged and graded with all fairness involved, not to mention syllabus inclusion of warnings like “invading your own privacy”. Well, that just shot the excitement reunions typically bring; my writing had always been self-invading, therapy if you will. I desperately needed therapy, emotional release without edit or delete. 

Three weeks later, many hurdles cleared and many leaving scars, progress has been made; vocabulary bank expanded, awareness of audience upon the battlefront, and twenty-five (25) therapy sessions completed. Although therapy is considered as healing, regardless of which emotion was flowing during the hour (or 300 words), the victories fed the conquering while lessons from defeat fed the drive to persevere. I yearned for acceptance throughout this assignment and found comfort knowing there were eyes reading, I actually had an audience. Minimal comments were made throughout, source of discouragement on occasion; however the acceptance came from increasing “hits” on certain posts and from various areas, globally. They shared my fear; disclosure. Forty-nine “hits” in one day, now that is honor, one that often kept me from giving up.

Blogging has become a playground or a lab testing facility for me, as a writer. Tracking followers, disclosed or undisclosed, of writing styles and content is an asset I hope to define my strengths and weaknesses, those known and unknown. I suspect I’m not alone in this fear; Anne Lamott assures the journey of writing is far greater than a prize. This journey is far from over as it has been one of the best therapy sessions I have experienced, thus far. The desire to share my writings in hopes the reader could benefit are still strong and growing but expansion has also been made in that as well; large scale or small scale makes no difference now…if a smile, tear, or giggle produces from reading any of my writings, then I have succeeded, published or not.

Winding Roads, Dead End Trails...A Narrow Path Ahead (Ending)

The death of my grandma was the last trauma I could endure; no more façade of strength and courage nor the ability to continue showing my heart and its characteristics as I so enjoyed doing for 9 years. Those were the years I feared not to open my heart to many, but one in particular…my life was finally perfect (or so I thought). November 6, 2009 I was taken to the ER and released 4 hours later; many revelations came upon me that night. Too many to conjure up, chances of calm waters stirring in chaos is not one I care to surf right now. What I will disclose, or confess for that matter, my flight syndrome has always been a safety net I depend on. When all else fails, I am well past ready for take off! Sometimes, in this mixed up head of mine, I choose the wrong flight number, sometimes I do not but whatever the flight or destination at the time is my heart aching for someone to see me, just me…not the mom of five teens, or the woman who had 5 kids at 24 (all under 4), or the superwoman who ran a successful business, or a mom who started a Christian volleyball club, or a wife that continually learns submission, or a wife that wants to make everyone happy, but for once I would like to take this mask off and when I do take the mask off…here’s the scary part…I would like to be loved anyways. I don’t mean pretending to be a bestie or lover and then only to abandon me once again.

I’m told the best “cure” for getting through these things is this: Turn to our Heavenly Father, Pray, Fellowship with brothers and sisters, forgive yourself, place your burden upon Jesus and HE WILL LIFT YOU UP. During the happy years, the 9 of which I spoke of, I did just that. Maybe that is why God has chosen the past year to bring me to my knees. Now, I yearn to walk that same journey. I’m afraid to give it all I have. I know I am forgiven but do others know that? I need that acceptance again the unconditional love I felt from God. One thing I have learned is this, many will let you down in life, many will be friends you thought were true, many will hold your past against you, many will continue to do so. I’m afraid of the ones who could hurt me worse than anyone, the ones who spent the last year demanding that my “illness” was spiritually related. I have subsided to their truths in hope that maybe they are right. Maybe I am to blame; maybe just maybe I expect too much from the ones whom I thought knew me, just me. Baby step by baby step I test the waters, but the cage is full of wrath that belongs to God, not them. So I place the mask on and trust in God that he can still see my heart, know it is his, and pray one day, someday…someone will see just me, a little girl, a daughter who is doing the best she can to lean on Father #4.

Winding Roads, Dead End Trails...A Narrow Path Ahead

Winding roads and dead end trails became the paths I was accustomed to many years ago yet it wasn’t until my early thirties the discovery of flight syndrome became a daily battle of mine. Childhood friends, adolescent lovers and the façade of “besties” were definitive antecedents molding concrete walls while the guilt and burden chizzled the very muscle I was protecting. One may think confession is the tissue of healing and one may think what goes around comes around, like karma in tenth degree. The experience of both is yet another reason the shelling of my heart was essential as surely the next victim of my abandonment would stay for just enough time to gain full access; this pearl of mine was too precious and few were allowed. By the time my thirties came around, selfishness was a trait some would suggest however, they neglected to see the things produced by humility and silence; as it should be. Although I can’t remember the first time I exercised the flight syndrome, one particular moment in time I am able to vividly feel today at age 38.

For most, there comes a time in adulthood when the happiness of adolescence is too far gone to grasp, the fear of aging is quickly approaching and the identity crisis of who we are and what we have become outweighs the imagery of desire, passion and hope. Although most feel this devastation, not all can relate to the depths of which one can and does fall. For me, as usual, extreme measures were prevalent. Aside from the discovery of a 22 year old untreated depression, a relevant postpartum diagnosis, an 80lb loss in less than 8 months, severe panic attacks, another father down then a paternity test 18 years too late and the symptoms of peri-menopause shuttling in blurred vision, hot flashes and mood swings, I was just like the next person who experiences a mid-life crisis. The crisis when most will take a moment or two and regain their foothold, not me…too many expectations to uphold, it was not the time to fall or show the weakness stirring within. My children depended on me; the soft spot of a strict home. I yearned for their approval, still do.

Part A...

My Omelas and Yours?

A Respoinse to:

“The One Who Walk Away From Omelas”

By Ursula K. LeGuin

Intriguing, to say the least, was the antecedent feeding my strife to comprehend? In all honesty, my exhaustion of overload hindered my evocative nature of dissecting such literature therefore a battle within was prevalent as the deadline approached. The inner battles I face reside in the form of guilt, I hate guilt. I chose to persevere however victory is unknown or is it merely unseen?

Most obvious, Omelas is a place all humans can associate their minds and hearts to, however the location and identity of Omelas is left implicitly suggestive. Ursula leaves the reader with no limitations to the imagination yet reigns in the common grounds that feed all audiences; a place of belonging. Omelas possess characteristics of happiness and joy with minimal judgment of one’s source of peace and love. As diversity characterizes the human race, each of or inner desires may or may not be the same. Whether it be wishful thinking, a place of hope, a belief in something unseen, or a place we reside in now; Omelas is the portrayal of yours, mine and others sense of belonging.

Do you belong to a higher power leading your heart and soul to peace, joy and happiness or does the caged child toil within every battle? Who is the caged child to you? Is there forgiveness, judgment, mercy, compassion, love, or lack of any that dictate which side of the gates you belong? Do you go against the grain in bravery? What is the grain for you?

These are the questions I believe Ursula is enticing readers to explore; the answer she provides is that of belonging. I was impressed with the method in which she sought all beliefs which suggest multiple audiences.

I shall walk the narrow path in efforts to gain the freedom God promised through the sacrifice of His child. His promise shall guide my path and when the trumpets sound in the last days, I shall then enter the Golden Gates of my Omelas, Heaven. Until then, I shall not seek joy and happiness with things of this world nor be lured in by the flutes of Satan or the darkness of his eyes as he is blind to my inner most love for my Father.

One Year, Your Reflection: Our Heritage

Marianna Grayston Monsey

Ayear has passed and the memory of Marianna Grayston Monsey lingers within our hearts. Forever shepherding our daily walk, her unspoken lessons of what it means to be a woman of nobility rests upon our heritage and dwells within our steps. Her life is the example each of us are left with, a goal and desire to be more like the woman who taught selflessness and devotion as a wife, a mom, a daughter, a grandma and a friend. Courage and strength, characteristics Marianna embraced without complaint, were the foundation of survival we, The Grayston women, could only pray to achieve. Trials, loss, separation and solitude inhabited her daily routine as silence and submission were the commands that brought her inner joy. As children and grandchildren we often wondered why or how she could persevere with such eloquence and grace; the blindness of her breakdown was a mystery without solution until God's promise was knocking upon her life. Eminent truths were unveiled during the last months, weeks, days and to the last moment of goodbye. Her childlike demeanor and free-spirited journey humbled the hearts of Grayston women; through confession and realization a mother and a daughter broke the silence. Granddaughters witnessed the phenomenon; a life's journey by choice and not by lack of understanding or worldly acceptance but rather the faith and hope of our Father's will and promise. Marianna chose to share in the sufferings of Christ so that God's glory could be revealed in a manner we would never let go of.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1COR 13:4-7

Although Marianna had the right to anger easily, to envy other women and seek acceptance among worldly guidelines, she chose forgiveness. Marianna kept no record of wrongs and was patient each time the sin broke her heart or shattered her dreams. Her intelligence was a gift many would boast upon yet she reflected no delight in such pride. The kindness went against the grain of rudeness earned; she chose to rejoice and remain in hope, faith and trust of God's protection. Marianna Grayston Monsey persevered through a life many women today would deem as a lacking self worth and merely a weak woman trapped in a life of dictation. That is simply not the case. The choices made exemplify a portrait of a Proverbs 31 woman; a wife of noble character. Her self- worth was found by knowing the acceptance she had in our God; her reflection and not the perception of others. Although she had many dreams hindered by circumstances there were a few in which came true. She cherished the gifts of angels, fantasized of flying her free spirit and giggled at the orneriness of clandestine flights. We, the Grayston women, kneeled in prayer for a bittersweet request. The battle of cancer was over and bonds of unconditional love were mended and her heart, mind, body and soul could take no more suffering. She sacrificed all entitlements with honor, grace and mercy. Her dream of having wings was granted October 8, 2009.

Andrea L. Storms

10/8/2010                                                                        

It's almost a year...I miss you...I love you...you are here

A year is sneaking in, much has happened and all has not been lost.  The loss was severe. She loved the man unconditionally, without ridicule, submitting her desires to a man that had no respect for anyone than himself. Why did we all try to gain his acceptance? Its been a year and she holds my heart more now than ever. Her character has been the strength carried me through. It opened my eyes. I thought I saw the right path in those last few months, I thought I saw her want more, I thought I saw regret. What I did see was she began to realize she was not crazy, all of us loved her, we all wanted to know the Grayston history. She missed her family all those years. Did he ever let her see them? I don’t remember ever seeing the Grayston side, other than visiting many landmarks that laid their foundation, the beginning of Huntington. The Graystons were the one of the first families to settle. Isabella traveled many seas to reach Huntington. Did you know even back then the townspeople thought they were better and made many judgements on others. Is that the history of Huntington? Just weeks before Marianna’s death, I began to see much more. There was no doubt in me the story she told was true, of course I thought it to be “How could he not considering all this woman has submitted to?”…I was wrong, she saw him through His eyes. I have never seen anyone in that way. Her one on one was never broad casted nor was it declared but rather through the years instilled in the Grayston women, by example. Her life is a reflection of Him. Why did I not see it til then? I knew the heart was there and the gentle, kindred spirit. Judgement was never a trait she entertained, regardless of the overwhelming amount placed in front of her, or directed at her. She was judged daily, weekly, yearly and broke. She took refuge within, what appeared to be “crazy” factors, delusional words, off topic comments, historical lessons 101 that many did not follow, I did. My heart hurt for her all those years. I was afraid too. How did she do it? Brushing it off on a the “weakness” of women in her generation (boy was I wrong). There was not weakness, it was a product of finding acceptance where it mattered, in Him. She was a woman of grace, eloquence, nobility and what it means to truly love unconditionally. She has been gone a year now (in a few days) and although my heart hurts and wishes I could say just a few more things to her, I knew she had all she could take and so did He. It was her time, He gave her time to say goodbye without any distractions, no judgement, no ridicule, just time to be her….a woman whom she forgot existed, or was it us that forgot? It was  difficult to hear the second guessing of who she was and what was ok as that man took all she had with no remorse. Marianna, Grandma, I miss you! I miss hot and cold. I miss the nights of register heat. I miss the non chalant defenses we shared. I miss the stories we snuck in. I miss the times when I saw you. I hold onto those moments. I hold onto the years. Most of all, I hold on to the example you set for the Grayston women, unconditional love and the acceptance of one is the ticket. I have your strength, I have your will, I have your grace, I have your ability to submit, I have your love, I will never let go, I shall honor. I will see the only acceptance that matters. I will fulfill our shared dream. I pray I honor what you would want. I will break the silence, with respect. I will carry you in my heart now and always. I will let your example lead my journey. By the way….I know you are here. I feel your presence and your strength holding me. I miss you. With all I have.

Debt and Credit, Confident or Not? (CONCLUSION) (full response begins 2 posts prior)

Generally speaking, the article contained an overall accurate “surface” description of installment debt and revolving credit and the role it plays in everyday life, however, I found many areas of this article to be misleading by the omission of a few necessary details that would help the reader in conformity of its main objective: “How To Guides:” This is money we are talking about so if an organization is held to a position of monopoly and the general public places confidence, as defined by Merriam-Webster[1], then shouldn’t Yahoo!Finance provide a few more details when claiming definition to a commodity that is a “fact of life”?

Today’s economy is a reflection of similar circumstances and characteristics encompassing The Great Depression era yet with Baby Boomer’s as leader that will soon retire only to find instant gratification was passed on the their children who, along the way, lost the concept of where to gain self worth and now hindered so much that total avoidance of debt appears to be the best strategy in managing credit based on a false meaning of confidence. Statistics show, we, all generations, are experiencing yet another era of depression. This time around: cash purchases, large or small, possess limited feasibility (cash on hand has become nearly obsolete) and the ability to gain funds or purchasing power through installment debt or revolving line of credit, both in which are necessary instruments in today’s economy, has become nearly impossible. Era’s discussed within this essay have displayed a total avoidance of debt and credit as well as the rebellious proceeding generation embracing both debt and credit, responsibly beyond the means of their income yet molded the industry of financial planning It appears the economy is a reflection of several imprudent decisions on all levels (i.e. individuals, partnerships, corporate and government), including Yahoo!Finance.



References

Celent. (2003, December 4). The Baby Boomers Prepare for Retirement. Retrieved October 4, 2010, from Celent Reports: http://reports.celent.com/PressReleases/20031204/BabyBoomers.htm

Merriam-Webster, Incorporated. (2010, October 4). Confidence. Retrieved from Merriam Webster Dictionary: http://www.merriam-webster.com

Yahoo! Finance. (2010, October 4). Personal Finance How-To Guides: Yahoo! Finance. Retrieved from Yahoo! Finance: http://finance.yahoo.com




[1] Confidence: faith or belief that one will act in a right, proper, or effective way