Nothing like a five hour nap to refresh a girl. I dreamed... but even my dream couldn't phase me. I fought back and that's what counts. It was a bunch of vignettes... and in one of them I thought about trust. This was one of the non-scary parts. You can't truly love someone if you can't truly trust them. That person can't truly be loved BY you... if you give them no reason to trust.

Another non-scary part of my dream was about cane. This part really happened to me in real life and even today I still chuckle. When I first came to Maui the first time I was fresh outta' college. I was a nanny to two really wild spirited funny little boys. The first time I'd ever even heard about cane burning it was from the boys. We saw black ask wafting from the sky. They explained to me that it was cane ash and that it tasted like cane. Umm. Eager to taste it... I grabbed some sugary goodness from the sky and put it on my touch. UGH! It tasted like ash. I started spitting it out all over the place. Pluee. Yuck. Gag. Grr.

Jonathan looks at me with a completely straight face. Michael nods too... according to the both of them, I'd just gotten a bad batch. SO, eager to taste at least SOME of that sugary goodness, I grab another big piece of that sugar from the sky and stick it on my tongue. BLEGH! It tasted like BLACK ASH! Michael and Jonathan had a fit of laughing. I, of course, have never put anymore black ash in my mouth. I couldn't believe that I'd been that gullible. Funny thing is.. in my dream everything seemed so real. I thought it all WAS real, even the scary parts... but for the life of me I swear I tasted black ash.

I had to take my car to Midas to get it serviced. For the longest time other cars have given my car and EXTREMELY wide berth. One minute a car might be right behind me as they pull up at a red light... but the minute the light turns green and I go... the car that was right behind me one second is about 4 car lenghts behind me before I can even blink. At first I thought that one or more of my lights might be out. Then BPG (Bipolar Girl) started to fear that maybe sparks or something were shooting out of my tailpipe. It is not lost on me that I'M the only person in the world who would think that but this is my world. I make up all the rules. I have a cute little 2003 Saturn Ion Quade Coupe. It has just over 13000 miles on it. I haven't driven my car enough for there to be anything wrong with it.... but why would knowing that ever stop me from worrying? SO... I took it in to Midas for a check. One the way into town I saw the hazy red smoke that could only mean one thing: THE ENTIRE ISLAND WAS BURNING! RUN!!!!

Uh. no.

Cane. Sugar cane to be exact... it's that time of year when they burn it. It's amazing that the people who live near the fields don't all have lung cancer.... but that raspy, plegmy cough... mmm... so VERY island style. Gives a WHOLE new meaning to "tiny bubbles." Ok. I'm joking about the plegm bubbles... but not about the cane burning.

When WILL she get to her point??? Wouldn't you like to know????

I have the day off and not much that I want to do other than   blog. So I've decided to be your tour guide to the island. All I've ever wanted besides some hot studly God-luvin' man to love and adore me... is to share my beautiful island with somebody who could really love it and appreciate it the way I do. And since there are no hot, studly God luvin' "mens"  anywhere 'round here's at the moment... I guess I'll share it with you all... my new blogmates. Short informative... blogs with links to cool stuff (at least I think it's cool) to follow... At regular intervals ALL DAY LONG. (Oh, joy! Aren't you lucky??)

http://www.mauivisitor.com/fast_sugar.html

Maui No Ka Oi!!!

Something major happened to me tonight.

I really understood something that I thought I had understood for years... but didn't. Forgiveness.

Not the shriveled up anemic kind of forgiveness that I extend to others. A lot of time my "forgiveness" is conditional. It often hinges on whether the offender has apologized to me, the offendee. I've found that without those two simple words, "I'm sorry" or "You were right" (ok, three words... five words max, as in "I was a butt head") go a LONG ways to greasing the wheels of forgiveness.

My forgiveness, by virtue of it's very shallowness, signifies next to nothing. What kind of Christian am I??? The kind who has issues with forgiveness and admits it. My forgiveness is not what I finally understand. I had a more profound lesson in forgiveness tonight and it's done something to me.

I've made no secret of the fact that I have struggled with porn. I never considered it a struggle until after I met Jesus.... before that it was a recreational activity. I've also not held much back about my nightmares, my incest issues, or my concern about my lurid thought life. Theophileous said something in a comment in my blog that started me to think. He said that we needed to stop hating ourselves. I agreed because I hate myself more than anyone ever has.

I mean c'mon. The thoughts... the porn... my overall pervishness. Again, I ask, what kind of Christian am I? The kind that stays home on a perfectly good Thursday night and masturbates with all kinds of images floating through her mind. AGAIN, I say that this wasn't a "struggle" until I met Jesus. Before that, this too, was a recreational activity. I've been doing it since I was 7 or 8 years old and it has always been a part of my life. Plus, I don't even know if I actually believe that masturbation in and of itself is actually wrong. I think that it is the images that play on the screen of my mind that push it into the category of "wrong." Since my blog is not of the argumentative sort, I don't say this to spark any debates about morality or how Christians need to pull the stick out of their collective asses. I tell my story in my words. *White flag being hoisted.

Usually after such a night I do one of two things: I either cry because I can't believe I've succumb once again, or I roll over and go to sleep like you'd do after any good engagement in a recreational activity. Tonight? My thoughts centered on my ex. Long story. Not going there. Background info for what happened after. After? I learned something. Instead of feeling the usual self-hate and condemnation I thought about something I'd taught the kids today in class. We were learning the lines for the Christmas play and we talked about how Jesus died for our sins. That whole John 3:16 gig.Yada yada yada. Pretty much everybody in the free world has heard it. Most people think "Big Deal." I don't think that but I've never fully understood that.We also talked about how God keeps his promises and that Jesus cannot lie.

No matter what plans of mine have fallen through... God keeps his promises. He promised to forgive me... that was the whole point behind 3:16

WHAM! It hit me between the eyes. Forgiven.

I am forgiven.... for ever horrid little perverted thought (and I DO mean perverted by most people's standards)... for everything. I'm forgiven. My body started to shake and I started to cry. Forgiven. How'd my own personal forgiveness garner a higher premium than His? My forgiveness of self is irrelevant. I've known and understood so many things about him... like how he loves me... how he is my father... even how he died for me.... but I didn't really get it until tonight. No matter how I feel or what I think... my belief in Him overshadows it all. I believe that he forgives me... has forgiven me... will always forgives me because he promised that he would. I've always believed it... but I've not really understood it. Not in a believe believe kind of way.

I spent the next 45 minutes or so praying in an unusual way: I prayed for just about everybody I could think of. Usually my prayers are Laurel-centric but not tonight. I honestly had a desire to pray for people beyond the boundaries of my bubble. I also prayed for all the folks that I've met here on blogstream and thanked God for the kindness and sense of community that is being established. And then I sang. I started to sing loudly and clearly. My housemate is out... and when she is I sing like there is no one listening but God. I have a beautiful voice but I don't like singing for other people. People sometimes come upon me singing and remark about how beautiful my voice is... but I am happiest when I can be alone and sing loud enough for St. Peter and all the other guys in the Apostle Possee can hear me. I've been a Christian for close to 13 years now... but it was only tonight that I understood... I mean REALLY understood. Forgiveness. I would rather have understood it sooner rather than later... but I'll settle on later rather than never. Forgiveness.

*Laurel gets down off her soapbox and slides it back under her bed to be retrieved on a later occasions.

Ever since I was a child you could always tell my mood by the appearance of my room. Discounting the junior high school years when stuff just HAD to be all over the place... I lean towards messy and cluttered... .but when I'm sad or depressed my room takes on a whole different face. It's like my laundry basket threw up all over the place blowing chunks of dirty laundry all over the place. The bed doesn't get made. Papers are all over the place. Most of the flat surfaces are so buried I doubt that they even exist. The dust bunnies under the bed actually GROWL and the monster under the bed can't get past all the junk to actually do anything to me. He has to get past my depression and that's not an easy thing to do.

Likewise, when my mood is up... my room is so clean the Queen of England would eat off my floor. The dust bunnies get skinned and fricassed... and are served up on a platter by the monster under the bed who had been impressed into serving me at my beck and call. You should see him in his tux. Trés chic.

Today my room is clean. Last night before bed I just had to clean. Not a full clean... but clean enough to see most of the flat surfaces. Most of my clothes are hanging in the closet where all good clothes should be...

The state of my room indicates the state of my mind. It always has. I went from a solitary melancholy little girl to a solitary melancholy old woman... but tonight my room is clean. My mind is clear and I feel good. I've stepped out of my bubble long enough to read a bunch of blogs today and while I may be the lone figure looking silently on... I've come to like this place. It makes me want to clean my room. I might just open the door of the bubble and let folks visit.

I had my happy on all morning. I woke up put my feet on the group and gave a sincere, "Thank Lord" to my  main man. I looked in my mirror and smiled. I read comments on my blog and smiled. I smiled when I was at the beach and the really cute blonde surfer smiled at me. He smiles at me when we meet. The waves crashing on the waves made me smile... I could go on... but I think this love fest will start to nauseate people.

I had my smile on all the way until about 7:30. I was in my classroom before school started. Mrs. C, Holly, and Devon (two second grade girls)... come to my screen door. "Ms. G. We caught a cane spider right outside your door! Wanna SEE it??" I said a definite, "NO!" What I really wanted to say was, "When bloody hell freezes over" but you can't very well curse at 7 year olds. But I nearly changed my mind when they opened my door and advanced. Holly had her hands cupped and extended towards me. So what do I do???

I  RAN. Yes, I, a 37 year old trained professional educator ran from a 7 year old holding a spider! It never dawned on me that she'd follow me. I went through the kitchen only to be followed by this little menace. It didn't seem to phase her that the kitchen area was off limits to regular students. Malicious bug touting fiends were no exception. She caught up with me in the auditorium. Two other staffers were blocking my way. She thrusts her hands up to my face and opens them. I saw the thickest black spider I've yet to see... and I did what comes natural to any yellow-bellied spider fearin' trained professional educator: I SCREAMED! Talk about losing ALL credibility... I have a very shrill girly scream like the ones in the horror movies right before the dumb woman wearing high heels in the middle of the forests falls and gets killed.

Worse part of it all: it was the Vice Principal's ear that schreaked in.

When I stopped screaming... Holly started busting out laughing. The spider wasn't real! Mrs. C had put her up to it. I kid you not I almost wet my pants... which would have been the last thing a trained professional educator would have wanted to do. *please know that I'm joking with the professional stuff. .Not that I'm not... just that it just seems so stupid that this would get to me so badly. When all the smoke had cleared I laughed my head off too. It WAS funny and it DID jive with my bizare sense of humour.

Of course... earlier that morning I'd found a centipede in my classroom... so I really wasn't in a critter mood. I sprayed it with RAID. It didn't kill it... so I opened the outter door, grabbed the broom and played hockey with it until I could get it out of my room. More spiders (not cane) were found in our room... and at the end of the day when I was sitting down to do paper work a really big pincher bug comes crawling out of my stack of papers. "I'M DONE" I say to myself and proceeded to get my highly trained professional butt out of there. None of the other teachers, including the one whose class joins with mine, have this problem. And of course, the spider incident is all the talk in the 2-4 grade classes. Oh... the creepy crawly horror. Now? All I can think about is payback.