Full plate.

Okay, so I'm working on a metaphor here and I would appreciate your feedback. One of the concepts in therapy is that of Differentiation (click here for an explanation). I've used the idea of having a full plate that keeps getting stuff piled on it to explain to clients how they are taking on someone else's anxiety for them, or "By holding their anxiety, you are doing for them what they ought to be doing for themselves". Anyhow, if you have time, please read the following narrative and post feedback. Thanks!

The full plate: A metaphorical narrative.

Josie was a sweet person. She cared deeply about people that were in her life and hated to disappoint them. However, she was having some trouble because she was feeling pretty overwhelmed with stress. She was in college and now, in her second year, classes were starting to get a little tougher. Josie was having to study harder and lately her mom had been pressuring her about her friendships. Actually, she was pressuring Josie to spend less time with school and more time connecting with friends. Josie knew that her mom had never taken any college classes and considered it a waste of time. After all, she had done just fine for herself with just a beautician’s license and she knew that Josie was just putting on airs. So, when Josie came over to the house one evening, her mom launched into another lecture on how it was time for Josie to stop trying to get ahead and start taking care of what she was capable of becoming. Josie’s mom had always been a little critical and never had any problems telling Josie what she thought Josie ought to be doing. The problem was, Josie had made some mistakes in the past and in those circumstances, her mom had been right. So, part of Josie doubted herself and trusted that her mom knew what was best for her. Another part of Josie knew that going to school would give her more opportunities for her future. It was frustrating, dealing with the anxiety that grew from those feuding parts of herself. Her mom knew that she was struggling with those things, so she took some of her own anxiety and verbally dumped it onto Josie’s plate. Whew, now that she’d vented her opinion about Josie’s activities, her mom felt much better! Josie, on the other hand, left her mom’s house with her already full plate piled high with not just her worry and anxiety, but also her mother’s junk.

Josie tried to go about her routine; study for class, put in a few hours at work, go to school, clean up her apartment. However, she couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that maybe her mom was right. She called her boyfriend to visit with him about how she was feeling. Seth, Josie’s boyfriend, didn’t have a whole lot of sympathy for her. He told her that it was just another example of her mom trying to run her life. Besides, he was angry with her because she hadn’t called in three days. He told her that he couldn’t live without her and that she needed to check in with him so he didn’t have to worry about her. She knew better than to ask why he didn’t just call her if he was worried. Last time that happened, he’d yelled at her about how he did all the work in their relationship and he made her feel really guilty, so she just kept quiet. Seth did that a lot: take his own anger about things and twist their conversations so that the problems in their relationship were Josie’s fault, not his. He was angry and scared about his situation because he’d been laid off yesterday and this verbal exchange gave him the opportunity to take some of his anxiety off his own plate and put it on Josie’s. Once he did that, he felt a little better. Josie, on the other end of the phone line, looked at her already overflowing plate and began to despair. She could felt like she could barely handle her own issues and now, she’d let her mom and her boyfriend dump some of their anxiety on her plate, too.

Josie’s best friend, Georgia, asked her to lunch. Georgia sat across from Josie and commented on how full Josie’s plate looked. “How did you manage to get all that piled on there?” asked Georgia, good-naturedly. Josie began to explain, all in a rush, about her problems. Without realizing that she was doing it, Josie began to spoon all the excess from her plate onto Georgia’s. Georgia laughed and pointed out, “Jo, you’re trying to do to me what your mom and Seth did to you!” Embarrassed, Josie scooped it all back onto her own plate. Georgia told her, “I’m not upset, hon. I understand how overwhelming this must be for you, but let me show you a better way to handle this stuff.” Georgia called the waitress over and asked for some to-go boxes. When they arrived, Georgia asked Josie to tell her again about the issues she was dealing with. As Josie talked, she and Georgia moved the junk that Josie’s mom and Seth had dumped on her plate into separate boxes. Once she got the stuff off her plate, Josie immediate felt better. “But what do I do with those?”, she asked her friend, gesturing toward the Styrofoam containers. Georgia asked, “Does that stuff belong to you?” Josie caught on and laughed at her friend. “I think I get it now!” She and Georgia spent the rest of their lunch talking about Josie’s stress and Josie managed to not spoon any onto Georgia’s plate. Georgia said, “See, it is possible to deal with this stuff and still maintain a healthy relationship, like our friendship. I’ll always be here for you, but these are things that you have to manage for yourself.” They hugged and promised to get together again soon. As Georgia left, Josie knew she needed to drop off a few items with her mother and her boyfriend that she didn’t want to carry around any more. She would let them learn the same lesson she’d just learned about dealing with one’s own anxiety and issues.

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Again, I would appreciate feedback; therapeutic, grammatical or just informative.
-jeff

Magic glasses

Dear _____________,

While I was talking to you today, my heart hurt for you. You told me about all the things that were troubling you. You were scared and worried and overwhelmed. Despite your past experience of having lived through plenty of other hard situations, you doubted that you would come through this one.

It wasn't just one thing weighing you down, it was a series of misfortunes, as if Life had conspired to dump trouble upon trouble all at once in your life. All my reassurances fell on deaf ears. You weren't able to accept the viewpoint I was offering: hope, empathy and comfort. Things won't always be this way, I told you. But anxiety and worry drowned out my words to you.

You probably still can't accept it, but I wish that I could give you a glimpse of what I see in you. I wish there were magic glasses that I could let you borrow that would allow you to see yourself as I see you. I know your story, tales of resilience and overcoming impossible odds. Negativity has clouded your remembering, but I know the truth: you've made it through some pretty tough times, and you've done it with grace and dignity. You're stronger now that you used to be and yet you still listen to that doubting voice inside you that tells you that you're not good enough and that you deserve what is happening in your life.

If you could put on these magic glasses and see in you what I see in you, your self-doubt would evaporate like the morning vapors as the sun begins to warm the earth. I'm not being overly positive here, I've seen you handle adversity. There is a part of you that is capable of making those tough decisions and dealing with the outcome. There is a part of you that rises to each challenge. I won't pretend that it has always been easy, but the fact is that you are here and that you are surrounded by the evidence of your triumph thus far. So I wonder how you were duped into believing that what you are facing now is insurmountable.

With magic glasses, your self-confidence would be restored. Not an arrogance, just a surety that you are capable and resilient. I think these magic glasses would help you to see not just yourself as you really are, but it would help you keep the right things in perspective. You see, those voices that crowd you and try to shout you down are there for a reason. They serve a purpose; to help you and protect you from being hurt. But they've taken on more than their appointed role. They're trying to make your decisions for you, trying to force you to act out of your worry and anxiety. These glasses would help you to appreciate their input, but help you to understand that they don't have all the information.

Maybe that is why I can imagine having these glasses, these magic lenses that magnify your strength and beauty; because I don't have the voices of self-doubt to interpret what I'm seeing in life. I wonder, though, if you could imagine borrowing my glasses. Would you be able to see yourself differently? Would it make a difference in your life?

I remember the words of Winnie the Pooh to Christopher Robbin:
"If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”

Here is the secret; the magic that powers the glasses that allows me to see the strength in you is similar to the bond between Pooh and Christopher Robbin. It is relationship. But while theirs is a fictional story, it mirrors the reality of my relationship with you. I know that you have that strength and beauty in there because that is how I made you. When I breathed the breath of life in you, I placed a piece of myself in there. It may be true that you couldn't make it.... on your own... but if you could only see the YOU I see... it contains a part of ME, so I know that it contains all it needs to overcome the world, because I've already done it for you.

I love you.
-God

Anger

Dear Wal-Mart Pharmacy:

Tonight I was frustrated with you at a level I rarely reach. I came in to pick up a prescription that my wife had called to refill at about noon. I arrived at about 6pm and was told that the prescription was not yet ready. Incredulous, I asked why and got the brush off from the employee at the pharmacy register. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't control the order they get filled. I've noted that you're here waiting and we'll try to get it out shortly, if you'll please step over there (gestures toward a knot of other hapless souls waiting for their unfilled scripts)." Me: "I'm just surprised because it has been about six hours..." Cashier: "You can check with the folks at the drop-off if you like..." Me: "Would that help speed things along?" Cashier: "Probably not..."

So I waited. For 30 more minutes. Sitting there, waiting, I started brooding, which is probably not the best thing to do. Full of righteous indignation, I called Amelia to explain to her why I was not home yet.

Wal-Mart Pharmacy, I don't understand why you are unable to efficiently fill my scripts. This is the third month in a row that you have messed them up. I understand slow computers and poor communication between people when you're swamped with other issues. I get that you have bad days and grumpy employees and annoying customers. I will even grant that there are myriad complexities about pharmacies that I just can't comprehend. But how do you keep managing to screw it up? It is the SAME script.

I have two children who are type I diabetics. I'm not upset about the occasional mess up with a new cough medicine, but this is something we've been filling with you consistently for months. Is your computer system so complicated that you can't make a note in our file? You said you did, twice. Their diagnosis isn't going to change. They have an incurable disease, for which we have to purchase monthly supplies. Test strips for glucometers, insulin to manage their blood sugars. Because of our insurance, if you'll follow the notes you claim to have put on our files, you'll help us save $50/month on the test strips. Over the course of a year, we'll save enough on the test strips to keep our children alive with their life-sustaining medicine for another 10 months. You see why this is important to me?

Yet, for three visits over the past months, you have managed to make this process difficult. One month, you were out of test strips. That was okay, you said you'd reorder and call. You didn't call. We waited a week and then went back, only to find that they hadn't been ordered. A WEEK LATER! I know we are not the only family who needs test strips in the area.

The next visit, you overcharged us again and it took more time to straighten out. So can you understand why I was so frustrated tonight? To be concise:
- I want you to have the proper test strips on hand (because, you know, I come in every month to get them)
- I want you to have persistent, clear notes in your system that allow your employees to fill the scripts correctly and communicate with my insurance so that I am properly charged.
- I want some consistency with your service so that I can be confident that if I give you SIX HOURS to fill a prescription that I fill EVERY MONTH, you'll be able to come through.


Let's get this cleared up, k?

Sincerely,

-a frustrated customer.

Just being born

A while ago, I had a counseling session with a couple that made me evaluate myself. That happens a lot, you know. I think a good session works both ways, shaping the client and shaping the therapist. That is a good thing.

Anyhow, this client couple was in my office for a variety of reasons: marriage, communication, anger, infidelity, family of origin issues... you name it. Over the course of the hour, one phrase that jumped out at me was, "All I ever wanted to do was make my dad happy. Man, how I tried." I asked, "Did it ever work? Did you ever manage to please him?" The client thought about it and responded, "Well, he came to visit a few years ago and I think he was really pleased with what I've done." I may be reading too much into that reply, but what I *didn't* hear was very interesting to me. The client didn't say, 'My dad was proud of who I am' or 'He told me that he loved me'. He said that the Dad was pleased with what was done... What does it say about a person's identity to feel that one has to earn a parent's love? Part of me felt that the dynamic was all wrong. Perhaps that was just my adult sensibilities.

When I got home that night, all three of my kids attacked me when I got in the door. I had to beg them to quit hugging on me so I could set my things down and hug them properly. After bathtime, Ethan came running and stood on my lap (that is right, he was standing on my thighs). I made him sit down and said, "Ethan, I have a serious question for you. I want to know what you think you have to *do* in order for me to love you. (I put special verbal emphasis on the word DO)" Ethan thought about it for a minute and said, "Nothing. Just be born, I guess."

I don't know why any parent would want things to be otherwise. I'm glad that even at age 6, Ethan knows that he doesn't have to do anything to earn my love. He knows that I love him just because he is. I may get angry, I might be disappointed by his behavior or choices, but he doesn't have to *do* anything to make me love him and he is secure knowing that no matter what he does, he can't make me *not* love him. The same goes with Mary Hannah and Eleanor.

I believe that this is a glimpse into God's point of view that he sometimes blesses parents with: the gift of reminding us that he sees us much the same way we see our children. God loves us because we are his. Not only that, but he loves us much more than we can ever love our children. We had a role in creating our children, but God individually created each of us. Even more than that, he redeemed us, adopted us, sanctified us and restored us into relationship with him. We are greatly loved by our Eternal Father. How much more reason do we need to love others because they are loved by God just the same?

Training exercise

This week should be pretty exciting for me and for my co-workers and for some kids who come from some hurtful backgrounds. I recently accepted a job working for New Horizons, a company which works with families and children who are either at risk for all sorts of legal, physical, and emotional problems or have already experienced them. Specifically, I'll be working as part of the direct care staff at the Audrey Grace House, a residential treatment center for troubled adolescents.

As part of our training, the staff of AGH spent some time at the Ranch, in Goldthwaite, TX, another of New Horizon's facilities. Early in our training, the instructor, Randy Fry, led us in an exercise that was designed to give us some perspective into the lives of the kids we'd be serving. He asked us each to take a sheet of paper and tear it into three smaller pieces. On each slip of paper, we were instructed to jot down a person, place or thing that was important to us, personally. Nobody shared what they wrote down, but we were further instructed to stack them in order of importance. Silently, we each weighed our connection to the person/place/thing on each slip of paper and sorted them accordingly. Then Randy said, "Now that you have listed and sorted the three things that are most important to you, take the third most important thing, crumple it up and throw it away. Imagine that it was ripped from you." We each did as we were instructed, crushing the slip of paper into a wad and tossing it into the middle of the circle of chairs. "Now, you've lost that important thing, but what if your next most valuable thing was also taken away from you? Throw away your next paper." Slowly, we processed the implication of what Randy was saying. Several of us hung on to our papers, the weight of what they represented in our lives holding us back. "Go on, throw them away, " said Randy quietly. When we'd all tossed our crumpled treasures in the middle, he instructed us to do it one final time. "Now, take that thing that is most important to you and throw away too." As each of us considered the person/place/thing we'd written on the slip of paper, the paper became more than a paper, it was a real thing. It represented, for most of us, a spouse, a parent, a child, or a relative. We sat in silence for a few moments. Then Randy said, "This little exercise that we've just done is what happens in reality for most of the kids that come to us. They have had their homes, their families, their treasures all ripped away from them. It is understandable that they are scared, angry, fearful, resentful. Most people have a hard time seeing the kid underneath their acting out behavior."

We spent a while processing what we were feeling during the exercise. For me, I'd had a bit of a dilemma trying to select what three things were most important. I have three children and a wife... those are four things and I only got three slips of paper. On one of the slips of paper, I'd written the name of my son, Ethan. I had decided to let him represent all three of my kids because he has been the child who has, until recently, demanded so much of my attention because of his diabetes. When it came time to crumple up and throw away that slip of paper, I couldn't do it. Intellectually, I knew that it was just a piece of paper and this was just a training exercise. Emotionally, I was experiencing a shadow of the pain and hurt that losing him, losing any of my children, would bring. The thought occurred to me then, in the middle of the exercise, that because of his medical condition, the possibility of losing him was more of a reality than I'd like to admit. All it would take is a lapse in our vigilance with his diabetes and he could be in a coma within a day.

The point of the exercise was to help this group of staff, who will be working directly with hurting kids, develop empathy, an ability to see past their anger and acting out and to love them. It was a good exercise.

Keep the Audrey Grace House in your prayers as we begin a journey with this new facility.

God, be with the staff as you bring these kids into our circle of influence. Give us eyes to see them as you see them. Use us as your arms to comfort them, your hands to guide them and your voice to encourage them to grow and prosper despite their trauma. Be with the kids and help them to be responsive to the love that we have to offer them. So many of them have developed a hardness, a shell meant to protect them from being hurt or disappointed yet again. Bless the work of the treatment center as we help the kids to learn about themselves and learn to function at home, at school. Heal the hurts and let your grace and mercy abound, in their lives and in ours. Shape us into the instruments of your love and mercy, as we have received them from your Son.

As I lay dying

DISCLAIMER: This post may be disturbing to some. Reader discretion is advised


So, many of you know that I work as a hospital chaplain a few nights a week. In that role, I have been present, in the room even, with families as their loved ones have passed on. Sometimes, it happens quietly, as those assembled share stories and memories. The machines that monitor the patient’s vital signs display numbers that continue to fall until the only sounds are gentle sobs and hands rubbing on backs, offering comfort in grief.

I often get comments from people about how tough my job must be. “Man, I couldn’t do your job…” or, “How do you deal with being around death so much?” I usually reply something about how it can be difficult, but it has its own rewards. This is true, but each situation is unique. Some deaths really bother me. I hate the “failure to thrive” deaths on the maternity wards. Those are the worst for me. Next up are trauma deaths that involve an innocent party (mostly drunk driving ones). A lot of deaths that I get called for, I am able to focus my attention on the living. They are the ones that I am usually called to comfort. It is rare that the patient actually needs me. Most of the time, when I am called by the nursing staff because of an imminent death, the patient is so far gone that there is no interaction. I am called to comfort the family. That is a lot easier for me, interacting with the living. It is usually pretty emotionally charged and sometimes there are deep-seated family issues that pervade the room and stifle the grief, but those times are rare. All in all, I think I manage to walk a fine line between being emotionally involved myself and remaining calm and stable for the family. I usually manage to pull it off. I don’t lose sleep, but am able to climb back into my bed after being called out in the middle of the night with a peaceful heart, knowing that God used me to be his arms of comfort to a family in a crisis situation.

But last night, whew. I had a full fledged panic attack. It wasn’t even linked to any one experience, but I just couldn’t hold it back. First of all, I was really tired. It had already been a long day and I was getting ready to go to bed at about 2am (a typical bedtime for me, being a night owl). As usual, I went to check on MH and Ethan, to make sure that their blood glucose was in range overnight. As it turned out, MH was 70 (too low) and Ethan’s registered HIGH on the glucometer, meaning that it was over 600 (WAAYY too high). I woke MH up and gave her some juice and crackers to get her BG back up and woke Ethan up to have him check his ketones and drink some water. Then I had to stay up for another hour so I could check their numbers again. Anyhow, by the time I stumbled up to my bedroom, it was 4am. My mouth was really dry and as I lay in bed, I did that little trick to try and create some saliva in my mouth so I could get my palate to be comfortable. It didn’t work. It felt kind of the way it does when you have a cold or sinus infection and you swallow over and over trying to make things go where they should go, but you can’t get your mouth and throat to feel right. Am I making any sense? Anyhow, suddenly, I imagined that I was laying in a hospital bed, dying. Awake and aware, but unable to communicate that my mouth was dry. All my memories of seeing people in the ICU with tubes in their noses, BiPAP machines taped to their faces, mouths held open and gasping for breath as they struggled to get air into their bodies… they rushed into my head and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling terrified. My rational brain asserted itself and said, “Jeff, you’re not in a hospital. You can get up and get a drink of water.” But for some reason, I just kept lying there, waves of panic gripping me because I imagined myself with my hands in restraints in a hospital bed. Some patients get their hands tied down because they unconsciously pull at their IVs and tubing.

Again, I imagined myself as a person dying, tube in my throat, preventing me from talking or being able to close my mouth, the dryness in my mouth unbearably annoying and I, unable to slack the thirst, panicking. I couldn’t stop my brain from taking me into a scene where I was surrounded by people crying over me, but not really seeing or hearing me as I silently pleaded with them to get me some ice chips or water or something.

This lasted for about 5 minutes last night. I even sat up in bed and tried to get a grip on my overactive imagination. Finally, I was able to generate enough saliva to swallow and get my mouth feeling back to normal and the panic-y feeling went away. But for five minutes, it was terrifying.

Does this weird stuff happen to other people or is it a by-product of the hospital work? What do you think?

Thirteen

Thirteen is considered to be an unlucky number by some. In 1911, there was even a word coined to describe the fear that some people developed due to it's unlucky reputation. But I don't consider it to be unlucky. I'm not superstitious or anything, knock wood. In fact, 13 holds some pretty good memories for me.

For instance, when I turned thirteen, I asked for a Casio Databank watch for my birthday. It was SOOO cool. Not only did it have a calculator, it also stored telephone numbers. It even had a function to PASSWORD protect up to 10 telephone numbers. 'Cause, you know, a 13 year old has certain... sensitive... phone numbers he might want to... um... protect from... er... prying eyes who happened to have access to a device he wore on his wrist most of the time. Okay, so, in reality, it wasn't as suave and debonair as I first thought, but it was still a really cool (read: geeky) watch.




Anyhow, 13 holds no unfortunate connections, references or tidings in my mind. In fact, on July 6th, 13 will be a very happy number for me because it will mark the number of years that Amelia and I have been married. So, at the risk of being teased for my blogging, I present to you, my wife, and you, my readers: 13 lists of 13 things regarding 13 subjects that I spent at least 13 minutes working on so that 13 people might be impressed about the importance of this, the 13th anniversary of the date of my marriage to Amelia, which if pulled would destroy the world, the universe and everything in it.... whoops... wrong joke; seriously, I am thirteen times more determined to mention 13 exactly 13 times before I formally end this "thirteen" themed sentence than I was 13 minutes ago when I came up with idea for this love note to my wife of (almost) 13 years: Happy 13th, Hunny.

List the first: 13 things I love about being married to Amelia.
1) I love doing the dishes. Not all the time, not universally... but I love the fact that there is something that Amelia REALLY doesn't like to do and I can do it for her.
2) I love travelling with Amelia.
3) I love the clothes she buys for me so I don't have to shop.
4) I love playing board games with Amelia, even when my win/loss record for Boggle is 1/3 gajillion.
5) I love giving her massages.
6) I love snuggling and watching movies at home in bed with popcorn and M&Ms.
7) I love listening to her sing.
8) I love the fact that though she is probably vastly more intelligent that I, she still makes me feel smart.
9) I love how Am sticks her tongue out when she is really concentrating on something.
10) I love that she likes to scrapbook and has chronicled our life together over the years.
11) I love the memories we've made together.
12) I love the babies we've made together (!). :)
13) I love her tolerance of "Emery time", adding at least 30 minutes to any estimate that I give her of when I'll be through/ready/finished/home.

List the second: 13 phrases Amelia says
1) I love you, hunny.
2) Thanks for doing the dishes.
3) Come look at what I've scrapped.
4) The kids need new clothes.
5) Guess what Ele did today...
6) Pirate!
7) Nobody will play Boggle with me.
8) *sigh* I've got to get some laundry done.
9) (quoting the movie, French Kiss) "My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch."
10) (again with the quotes) "Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot."
11) Check your blood sugar.
12) What's for dinner? Shaddupandeatit.
13) I'm more comfortable than you are.

List the third: 13 items within reach of Amelia's bedside
1) The latest book(s) she is reading.
2) Tylenol, advil and at least three glasses that she's brought to bed but neglected to take to the kitchen the next morning.
3) M&Ms or some other candy.
4) The TV remote
5) Kleenex
6) (at least overnight 80% of the time) one of the kids, sleeping on a palette on the floor.
7) A flashlight
8) Massage lotion
9) A lamp
10) Decorative pillows that adorn the bed on the rare occasions it actually gets made up.
11) Debris from pockets that have been turned out when she's changed clothes.
12) Her glasses
13) Her hunny. :)

List the fourth: 13 things Amelia likes to do.
1) Travel
2) Watch certain movies in the background while doing something else
3) Scrapbook.
4) Spend time with good friends
5) Bake
6) Decorate (and eat) sugar cookies.
7) Spend quality time with the kids
8) Voraciously read.
9) Correct grammar. :)
10) Play board/card/dice games.
11) Be involved with meaningful activities: School supply drive; teaching Bible class, charity work.
12) Mixed Martial Arts.
13) Sleep.

List the fifth: 13 things Amelia doesn't like
1) Bad grammar
2) Doing dishes.
3) Working all the time so that she has no time to do other things.
4) Having a headache all the time.
5) The unfortunate reality that the laundry is never done.
6) Times when children's fussiness overextends her patience.
7) Diabetes
8) Milk
9) Late fees for library books.
10) The way in which it only takes 13 nanoseconds to messify a child's room she just spent hours cleaning and straightening.
11) Administrative bureaucracy
12) Nasal congestion
13) Not having her hunny at home.

List the sixth: 13 places Amelia has been with Jeff
1) Rome, Italy
2) Kress, Texas
3) North Platte, Nebraska
4) London, England
5) Plainview, Texas
6) Denver, Colorado
7) Enid, Oklahoma
8) Cloudcroft, New Mexico
9) Paris, France
10) Lubbock, Texas
11) Eindhoven, The Netherlands
12) Kaiserslautern, Germany
13) Innsbruck, Austria

List the seventh: 13 jobs Amelia has performed (for fun or for profit)
1) Wife
2) Mother
3) English Teacher
4) Burger King worker
5) Bible class teacher
6) Classified Ads sales star
7) School Supply Drive coordinator
8) Retail sales manager
9) Office Supply store worker
10) Youth Minister (I was only the front man, Amelia did lots of the behind the scenes support work)
11) Editor
12) Graphic designer
13) Supermodel - seriously... ask to see her portfolio

List the eigth: 13 Memories I have of our wedding day
1) Heat (It was July 6th in Texas, after all)
2) The Sherriff looking for the escaped prisoner.
3) Corn Dog breath
4) My best man and little sister, in collusion, supergluing the ribbons tying the rings to the pillow so they wouldn't come undone easily.
5) My nephew stowing away in our getaway car, forcing us to drive back and dump him in the parking lot.
6) Losing my breath at the sight of Amelia entering the room.
7) Writing our own vows and having Amelia try to insert my promise to continue to love her..."In floorings and in wall coverings"
8) Rikki Lane fixing us a "to go" basket because neither of us got to eat at the reception
9) Being skinny *sigh*
10) Tuxedo mix-ups
11) Phil crying during the ceremony.
12) Using Dad's ring during the ceremony (mine was stuck on the pillow, remember?)
13) The kiss

List the ninth: 13 pictures of Amelia I happen to have on my hard drive right now.
(it was easier to upload the pics and insert a slideshow here of 13 pictures)



List the tenth: 13 gifts I wish I could give Amelia
1) A trip to the Great Barrier Reef. I know this is on your bucket list
2) A new wedding ring (with some sort of insurance against accidental loss)
3) A operating budget at work. I know you would do even more amazing things, given the resources.
4) A surprise party with all her favorite people from all the corners of the world.
5) A cure for Diabetes
6) A lifetime supply of Reese's PB Cups
7) All the cool scrapbooking toys she wants.
8) A house to decorate and live in.
9) Maid service
10) A new(er) vehicle
11) A laptop
12) Extra time in her day so that she can do what she *wants* to do.
13) A trip to San Antonio with her favorite husband and kids. (1 out of 13... whew).

List the eleventh: 13 hats Amelia wears at work
1) Assistant Manager
2) Web master
3) Receiver
4) Stocker
5) Cashier
6) Accounts Receivable
7) Opener
8) Closer
9) Graphic Designer
10) Special Order Clerk
11) Bible imprinter
12) Underpaid, under appreciated employee
13) Special Events organizer
(Yes, I know that other people work there, too... but Amelia is pretty amazing with all the hats she wears there.)

List the twelfth: 13 things Amelia does in a typical day.
1) Showers
2) Checks the kid's blood sugar and administers insulin
3) Cooks a meal
4) Works an 8 hour (at least) day.
5) Mixed Martial Arts workout
6) Reads to relax
7) Laundry
8) Runs to Wal-mart (sometimes multiple times a day)
9) Organizes some extra-curricular activity (bible class, scrapbooks, plans for the kids to do something, etc)
10) Wears cute socks
11) Checks her email/facebook/jde95f.blogspot.com :)
12) Tells me, "I love you, hunny."
13) Falls into bed, exhausted but able to read just a few chapters in a book.

List the thirteenth: 13 Web links that Amelia likes (and you might enjoy, too)
1) http://www.failblog.org
2) http://www.facebook.com
3) http://www.theonion.com
4) http://www.aes.acu.edu
5) http://www.hulu.com
6) http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com
7) http://comics.com/pearls_before_swine/
8) http://www.aslpro.com
9) http://graphjam.com/
10) http://www.jdrf.org
11) http://www.acu.edu
12) http://www.bartleby.com/
13) And a good way to round out a list of 13s, a list of websites and the theme of love: (CLICK HERE)

So, as you sit and wonder what possessed you to read such a long post... as you ponder what possessed me to compose such a mash-up of lists... know this:

I LOVE AMELIA. With all I have, with all I am... for the past thirteen years and for a lifetime to come. Happy 13th, hunny.

-jeff