Brain washed, back flipping Christian.

Right now, on this day, and in this moment, I cling to the truth that I belong to Christ.

I belong to the living God.

He holds me.

He cherishes me.

He loves me with a passion and with a relentless love that transcends time and space.

I believe this so completely, I feel this so forcefully, that I find myself wondering how I can even begin know these things with such certainty.

Is it possible that after 7 years of attending an evangelical church, I have finally become a brain washed Christian, thoroughly and completely indoctrinated in the teachings of the church?

Or is the reality of my life in Christ breaking through in some new and profound way?

I suppose the answer to that question depends upon which side of the spiritual fence you either sit or reside.

Me?

I'm straddling the fence itself and because Christ is with me, I have all the grace and balance of an Olympic gymnast on the balance beam.

There is still residual grief over my mother's death and new life challenges have arisen for me this past week; but I cannot contain this quiet joy I feel inside and so, instead of crying, I do back flips with Jesus!

"Off Kilter"

At least once a day a friend will call and ask, "So Jerri, how are you doing?"

I always answer, "You know, I'm ok. Things are ok."

Yesterday I found myself wondering, what does "ok" mean anway?

It didn't take long for me to come up with my own answer. I don't know what other people think "ok" means to them, but for me "ok" means, "off kilter".

At this time in my life, everything seems wonky, a tad off; and so when people ask how I am, I tell them, "I'm ok."

I think whenever we experience loss, whether it is a loss of relationship or a loss to death, the balance in our world shifts and everything suddenly seems off kilter. We notice things we never noticed before and we somehow miss seeing the things we once saw with unfailing clarity....

The world changes somehow, and it takes time for our internal gyroscope to adjust itself.

This is how it should be, for the world is always a little less with every loss...and for a while at least, life itself should be just a little off kilter.

The Quotidian Mysteries...

Well, I've started a new blog.

Isn't that what a person does when they find themselves thinking too much?

My new blog is called, "Quotidian Mysteries" and here's how it's going to work.

Several times a week, I will post a question that I've been puzzling through. It might be a silly question like, "Why can't I tickle myself?" or it might be a more serious question like the one I've asked today, "How is it that Satan can bring his unholy self into God's presence?"

I'd like to invite each of you to stop by Quotidian Mysteries now and again. If you have any thoughts or ideas to any of the questions posted, I would love to hear your answers.

And in case you were wondering, quotidian means "everyday". I just love that word...it somehow elevates my very ordinary, everyday mind to sounding like it is something very special!

Ok then, without further ado, here's the link!

http://quotidianmysteries.blogspot.com/

It's time

My mother is dead, and all my excuses for being as fucked up as I am, have died with her.

At long last, my time to embrace adult maturity has come.

I must now take full responsibility for my own life.

I no longer have my mother to blame.

If my mother were alive, she would say, "It's about goddamn time Jerri!"

And I suppose it is time.

Time to forgive.

Time to let go and let God.

Time to discover a new way of being in the world....

Vomitus

***disclaimer***
Since my mother's death I've discovered a new penchant for spewing verbal vomit....

I need to be honest.

I'm not grieving my mother the way most daughters grieve their mother.

All of the sorrow, all of the anguish, all of the aloneness a woman/girl would ordinarily feel when their mother dies, I experienced years ago when my mother and I mutually decided to sever our relationship.

At that time, I was finished with my mother's verbal and emotional abuse. I had reached a place in my life, where I finally had the strength and the conviction that was necessary to ask my mother to cease and desist her attacks. I asked her to stop telling me that I was horrible wife, daughter, sister and mother. I asked if we could speak to one another with respect and kindness.

Her response: "I'm not going to fucking change for you or anyone else."

That was my mother. Blunt, to the point and unchanging.

Over a decade ago, I realized I would never have the mother I dreamed and longed to have. I also realized that because I had set healthier boundaries with my mother, I would no longer experience even the dysfunctional mother/daughter relationship we had previously shared.

I was cut off. Bereft. Motherless.

Some might say now, (and many actually did then) that this was/is no great loss; but for me, this was a huge and significant loss and it was one which I deeply and profoundly mourned.

And oh, how I mourned. It was a grieving process that took me several years to live my way through.

Now that I am confronted with my mother's physical death, I find that there are new things to feel, to release and to grieve. I wasn't prepared for this new sense of loneliness, or the finality of death's abandonment. Nor was I prepared to relinquish the hope which I have guarded in my heart all these years.

You see, as long as my mother was alive, my hope for reconciliation was alive too. My hope that we might one day embrace one another in love and peace, must now be laid to rest. If I grieve, I think it is this one lost opportunity, that I grieve the most.

I believe that God is in the resurrection business....and so, I trust in Him that even this dead and lifeless hope may be reborn, transformed, and made new!

Right now, that's more than enough to get me through the day.

When a life crumbles

***disclaimer***
My mother's death has left me musing...

Today, I feel as though my life is crumbling into little tiny pieces.

Right is left, and left is right. Up is down, and down is up. No rhyme or reason, and nothing feels right.

And yet, on some level, I know that everything is just as it should be. Somehow, I am able to relax into my own brokenness.

There are people around me, who love me. People whom I trust to protect the fragile pieces of my being which lie scattered like forgotten cookie crumbs at a child's tea party.

I know that my church family has covered me with their prayers and therefore, the winds of life cannot blow my crumbling soul to the far edges of the earth.

I know that even now, God himself, moves among my broken pieces, lovingly caressing the rough edges of my grief; and when the time is right, he will restore me.

There is no reason to fear.

Everything is as it should be.

Mother musings....

***disclaimer***
My mother's death has left me musing.

A bad mother wishes for good children.
~Spanish proverb

I look at my children and I see so much good in them.

They fuss and worry about little things like the ants in their ant colony....and whether the betta fish is lonely.

They are kind children.

I do not wish for "good children" because I already see so much goodness within them.

I don't believe this necessarily makes me a good mother; but if the proverb above is to be believed, then at least I can rest easy in knowing that I am not a bad mother.

I am a better mother to my children than my mother was to me.

This is not a judgment, but rather it reflects what I believe to be the fulfillment of a hope nearly every mother feels in her heart.

And that great hope, is that we mothers will love, inspire, and equip our children, so that they might achieve even greater things in their own lives. By greater things, I do not mean wealth, status, and fame.

By this, I mean that they will have an increased tenderness for the earth and for one another.

By this, I mean that they will know the freedom of true forgiveness and that they will live forgiving lives.

By this, I mean that they will know what it is to love with a relentless and abiding love.

By this, I mean that their lives will be characterized by mercy and peace.

I think if I were to die today, before the light left my eyes, I could look into the faces of my children and know that these things are already being fulfilled in their lives.

This is what I wish my own mother could have seen before she died.

In spite of all that passed between us, and in spite of all that should have passed but did not.... I think my mother would have found a little joy, and some measure of peace, in knowing that the seeds of goodness which she planted in me, have grown deep and healthy roots.

Reflecting upon both my mother's life and her death, has helped me to better understand what it is that I most desire in my own living and my dieing moments.

In life, I hope to be less afraid and more loving.

And at my moment of physical death, I pray that I might look upon the faces of my loved ones, and that our eyes might become like mirrors, endlessly reflecting the eternal love we have shared between us.

I wish you peace

I was already sound asleep when the phone rang.

My Father, with whom I haven't spoken in three years, called to tell me that my Mother had died.

The first words out of my mouth were, "Oh, I'm so sorry Dad."

His final words as we ended our call were, "I love you, kid."

I doubt that my mother's death will change things between us, and I no longer hope for reconciliation as I once did.

It is enough for me, that at this particular moment, we connected as two caring people are meant to connect.

Perhaps I expect too little; but maybe, just maybe I've learned to treasure the little things.

Either way....

........ Mother, I wish you peace.

Bully Pulpits....

I've been reading a book entitled, "The Contrarian's Guide To Leadership", written by Steven Sample.

In this book, Sample uses a phrase which I have found to be both delightfully funny, and oddly thought provoking.

What phrase is this, you ask?

Well, there are many such phrases in Sample's book; but in this instance, the phrase I am thinking of is this one: "the bully pulpit of the American presidency". (If you desire to know the context in which Sample uses this phrase, you will need to obtain your own copy of the "The Contrarian's Guide" and read for yourself.)

"Bully pulpit"....

All morning long those two words have resonated within me. I've found myself remembering my own experiences and reflecting upon those moments throughout my life where I was forced to listen to the thoughts and opinions of others. I've also reflected upon the ways in which I've made use of my own "bully pulpits".

One that immediately jumped to my mind was the "bully pulpit of parenting". Now, I don't like to bully my children; but the sad reality is that many parents do bully their children into submission.

I like to think that I'm more creative with my bullying than some parents, but in the end, a bully is a bully regardless of their tactics.

Another area where I have been known to make use of the "bully pulpit", is within my own marriage. How many times have I railed upon my own husband? How many times have I tried to control his behavior and to manipulate his thinking? If I am honest, than I must admit to doing this more times than I care to admit.

I suppose at this point it might be helpful to know how I define a "bully pulpit".

Well, a bully pulpit is traditionally defined "as a public office of sufficiently high rank that it provides the holder with an opportunity to speak out and be to listened to on any matter".

I would simply extend that definition to include not only positions within public office, but positions within any organization....family, school, church, ect.

The primary problem I have with bully pulpits is that they neither empower nor convert. The sense of power experienced on the bully pulpit is illusory. The conversion demanded from the bully pulpit, even when achieved, is also largely illusory. (Plus the fact that bullying is just morally reprehensible on so many levels.)

And yet, on some level, the bully pulpit does work. Why else would it be so commonly employed in our government, business/social institutions and personal relationships? As a society, we can even derive pleasure from observing the antics of those standing at a bully pulpit. The American Idol auditions are a good case in point.....

So, let me just tie all this up by asking you, where are your bully pulpits? What do you gain by using them? What do you lose?

Me?

I think I gain but a little and lose far more.

Fear and loathing

How do you feel about God?

How do you believe God feels about you?

Have you ever asked yourself these questions?

I have.

For much of my life, I have feared and I have hated God.

What's more, I have always assumed that these feelings were mutual. I never really bought into the idea that God loved me; but then again, maybe that was simply too horrible a thing for me to even try to imagine. After all, God loved Jesus, and just look what happened to him!

I learned early in life to inextricably link pain and suffering with love. As a result the whole God/Jesus thing didn't really appeal to me much. Their love seemed inextricably linked with pain and suffering as well; and as I have later learned, it is, but just not in the way that I had previously believed.

Yeah well, I could ramble on but American Idol begins in about four minutes; and although I'm somewhat loathe to admit it, I am an American Idol fan!

So let me just wrap this whole thing up the same way I began by once again asking:

How do you feel about God?

and,

How do you believe God feels about you?

Don't answer the way you think you should answer. This isn't about how you think you should feel, or what you've been told you should feel. This is about discerning real and meaningful answers to some of mankind's deepest and most abiding questions....

Just think about it.

How do you really feel about God?

Why not begin there?

The ache of a sorrowing day....

My Winged Soul

mixed media canvas~j. N-L

Today has been one long ache... a day filled with soul-ache, heart-ache and head- ache.

When the ache began to numb my being, I stood in our backyard and endured the needle cold prick of pelting rain on my face and arms. It felt good to remember that I am in fact, alive.

Standing there next to our towering fir, I listened as the whipping wind blew through tree boughs that have endured far more than I, and I recalled this poem from my youth.

Oh so beautiful and easy to read....

THE ARBOUR
Anne Bronte (1820-1849)

I'll rest me in this sheltered bower,
And look upon the clear blue sky
That smiles upon me through the trees,
Which stand so thick clustering by;

And view their green and glossy leaves,
All glistening in the sunshine fair;
And list the rustling of their boughs,
So softly whispering through the air.

And while my ear drinks in the sound,
My winged soul shall fly away;
Reviewing lone departed years
As one mild, beaming, autumn day;

And soaring on to future scenes,
Like hills and woods, and valleys green,
All basking in the summer's sun,
But distant still, and dimly seen.

Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath
That gently shakes the rustling trees--
But look! the snow is on the ground--
How can I think of scenes like these?

'Tis but the frost that clears the air,
And gives the sky that lovely blue;
They're smiling in a winter's sun,
Those evergreens of sombre hue.

And winter's chill is on my heart--
How can I dream of future bliss?
How can my spirit soar away,
Confined by such a chain as this?

Heck yes!

***Snippet from a late night conversation with my 15 year old teen daughter as we watched Death Cab for Cuties on SNL***

"Mom, you really like these guys?"

"Uhhh heck yes!"

...barely audible teenage groaning followed, to which I responded,

"Hey, be grateful your mother loves Death Cab for Cuties, Seren and Jordan's mom has the hots for the twango bango of David Lindley!"

"Twango bango? Do I even want to ask?"

"No dear, no you don't."

*************
PS~ Don't get me wrong, I'm down with David Lindley. I can totally relate to the whole polyester/wild hair thing; but DCFC? Now they're just cute, cute, cute!

Death Cab Cuties!

Shhhhh!

Don't tell my husband, but I think I am in love with the entire band, Death Cab for Cutie!

I've been playing their cd, "Plans", nonstop!

What can I say?

Good music, coupled with great lyrics and played by this handsome foursome....oh man, I'm in love!

Now I know some of you will want to check this group out, if you haven't already. Sooo, guess what? Tonite's your big chance!

Rumor has it that DCFC will be the musical guest on SNL this evening!

Why not tune in?

You can bet I'll be watching...even if I have to prop my eyeballs open with toothpicks!

Living the love of Christ.

I was crossing through the church parking lot when I saw him.

He was middle aged, well groomed...he was the kind of guy I typically see walking in and out of our church.

In fact, he could have even been one of our pastors for all I knew.

And yet, as I walked just slightly behind him, I sensed that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Perhaps it was the hunched shoulders and the tightness in the lines of his body that were my first clues. Perhaps it was the way he looked around as if he wasn't quite sure that he knew where he was. He seemed disoriented, like a stranger in a strange land.

He arrived in the church lobby first. I was behind him as he approached the reception desk.

"Good morning." He says.

"My name is Mr. So and So. My wife, was just diagnosed with breast cancer and we will be undergoing a radical mastectomy on the 26th. Would you please add our names to your prayer list?"

In an instant, everything became clear to me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I wondered, "Ok, so now what do we all do?" ("We" being myself and the receptionist.)

Here's what I wanted to do.

I wanted to reach out and enfold that man in my arms. I wanted to hold him as a mother holds an aggrieved child. I wanted to physically comfort him. I wanted him to know that I literally stand in prayer with him and with his wife as they live through the enormity and the uncertainty that this kind of diagnosis inevitably brings. I wanted him to know that he, and his family are not alone.

Here's what happened.

The receptionist was warm, and gracious; but she didn't offer to pray with the man, or ask if he would like to speak with someone. She took down the information, and as Mr. So and So started to leave I almost felt a kind of panic rise up within me.

Shouldn't someone do something more?

I mean, why would a man physically drive to the church, go through the hassle of parking, and then walk through the torrential rain just to request prayer when it would have been far easier to simply phone the church with his request?

At that point, I knew that I couldn't let him leave without at least touching him. Yes, it sounds insane; but for some reason, I wanted to physically acknowledge that he was there, that someone had heard him, and that I would be praying. So, as he left the lobby, I followed him out and I called to him, "Sir, sir please wait a minute."

He stopped and turned, "Yes?"

"Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I heard you tell the receptionist about your wife's diagnosis."

And then I reached for his hand. I took his hand within both of my own and I said,

"My family will be praying for your family."

He smiled, squeezed my hands and replied, "Thank you."

That was it. The moment was over.

And yet, somehow I do not think that for me, this moment will ever be "over". It lives within me, as I hope it lives within him.

When people ask me what it means to live the love of Christ, these are the moments that immediately spring to my mind. Moments when I dare to reach out for the hand of a stranger, and when I dare to offer whatever it is that I have to give in that moment.

These moments may not seem like much. By and large, they are not grand gestures; but having been the recipient of moments such as these, I can tell you, they are enough.

Yes indeed, they are enough.

Spiritual musings and meanderings...

I've been thinking a lot these past few days about how God has redeemed much of the ugliness I've encountered, experienced and perpetuated throughout my life.

Events like the one I described in "Jesus Wept", are no longer painful memories from the past. Instead, they have miraculously been integrated into the person I have become. Integrated in a way that makes me more whole, more compassionate, and more loving. For that alone, I give thanks to God.

But wait!

Just when I think an old hurt has been wholly and completely transformed, God gently says to me, "Wait a minute, my sweet one. It gets even better, I have been holding this for you also." And then God shows me yet another way he has redeemed and restored my old pain with new joy.

In those moments, I think the Holy One touches me in an eternal way that I do not fully comprehend, but am somehow still blessed to experience.

Do you suppose that God is ever finished redeeming our old hurts?

I'm not so sure that he ever is/does; and I for one, take a strange comfort in believing that God continues and will forever continue to manifest his eternal redemption of my own life's drama and traumas.

Believing this makes me less fearful somehow,
.....less fearful about what has happened in the past,
........less fearful of what could happen in both the present and the future,
...........and oddly enough, less fearful of my own powerlessness to prevent any tragedy, past or present, from befalling either myself or those whom I love.

Scripture tells us that love casts out all fear; and I think that I am finally realizing that this is exactly what God's perfect love has been waiting to do for me my entire life.

So, tell me! This enquiring mind would like to know!

What's God been up to in your life?

Jesus wept~part 2

I think it is profoundly important to understand that each person is on a spiritual journey.

It is not up to you, or me, or any particular church to dictate what that journey should look like, or how it should be undertaken.

God meets each one of us right where we are. It is up to him to choose both the moment and the way in which he reveals himself to us.

Scripture tells us that Jesus himself stands at the door knocking. He waits for our invitation to enter. He is a respecter of persons.

I believe Jesus weeps when we cause one another harm by imposing our own spiritual beliefs upon one another. In essence, we wound Christ also, since scripture is clear that what we do to/for the least of our brothers/sisters we do to/for Him as well.

Yesterday, I shared an early church experience that was hurtful to me. I do not believe that any one of the eight women at that table meant to be hurtful. I think they were simply too unprepared and too inexperienced to deal with someone like myself, who was so unchurched, so afraid, and so desperate for a deeper sense of community.

They weren't sure how to embrace me in my own unbelief; but Christ does, and he did. Ultimately, Christ redeemed even that moment in my life and he continues to do so in ways that are still new and surprising to me.

So my brothers and sisters, I beg of you, let each of us individually, and collectively as the body of Christ, be a respecter of persons.

It isn't necessary for us demand or to push back one another's eyelids in order for anyone of us to see the "light". That's the Holy Spirit's job.

Nor should we fear the tough questions or one another's unbelief. Jesus never did. He never did, not once.

One thing Jesus did do though, is Jesus wept. I can testify to this truth because yesterday morning, Jesus wept for me, just as I believe he wept for each of those women who sat so restrained and aloof from me all those years ago.

Yes, that much I know.

Jesus wept.

Jesus wept~part 1

Here's a snippet from a kitchen table conversation I had yesterday with a young mother, who is now 9 months into her new life, recovering from methamphetamine addiction.

"I don't know how to say this without offending you, but I don't really believe in this God or Jesus business"

My response: "That's not offensive, that's being honest. Just keep being honest."

As I lay in bed thinking about this conversation, I remembered back to a time when I was two years sober. My family had just begun attending a Christian church in our neighborhood. At that time, I knew a little about God and Christ and I was curious to know more; but I wasn't particularly interested in being saved.

Truth be told, I was a little more than pissed off with God, but that's blog fodder for another day.....

Anyhow, one of the outreach events sponsored by the Women's Ministry at our church is to hostess a Holiday Dinner for women. Being "new" to the church, I was invited to attend, which I did.

Here is a snippet from that evening's conversation:

"So Jerri, " says a beautifully groomed woman in her mid 60's, "you're new to our church?"

"Uhhh yes, yes I am." I replied, ever articulate and woefully underdressed.

"It's always nice to welcome new Christians to our Holiday Dinner and to our church family." she responded.

"But I'm not so sure I'm a Christian." I replied.

All conversation at our table ceased. Eyes turned to fix on me, as our hostess queried, "Do you believe Jesus was the son of God?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Do you believe that Jesus lived, died on the cross for your sins, and rose again?"

"Actually yes, I do believe that."

"Well then, you are a Christian."

"No." I said softly. "because I'm not sure that I want either God or Jesus in my heart right now."

Mouths dropped, eyes were averted, conversation was immediately directed away from me....and none of it returned to me for the rest of the evening. Although I was not asked to physically leave the table, it felt as if I had been. At best, I became invisible; at worst, I became the giant pink elephant no one wanted to talk about, or to acknowledge in any way.

That was my first experience of table fellowship.

I left church that evening wondering if I would ever find a place to belong. I left wondering if I would ever experience a God like the one I had heard described in Sunday sermon after Sunday sermon. I left wondering if I would ever be welcomed again at God's table.

This morning as I remembered that evening, I imagined myself huddled under that table crying. I felt abandoned, small...rejected. And Jesus came to me. He crawled under that Holiday dinner table and knelt down beside me. He offered me his hand and then he cradled me in his arms.

"Forgive them Jerri, for they know not what they do" he whispered into my hair and then Jesus wept.

Jesus wept.

Mystified and confused and resisting.

Something has been stirring within me these past few weeks.

I feel as though I am being pulled on an inward journey which I am resisting. I am afraid.

There are places within my heart where I still experience incredible brokenness, insecurity and fear.

In the past I have made several forays into these secret places of my own heart. I have found that for me, these journeys are necessary when I desire to confront and to heal my own woundedness.

Right now however, I don't feel the woundedness or the shame which ordinarily compels and fuels such an inward journey.

Why then must I go?

All I want to do is to hide. So I do.

I hide from myself by engaging in mind numbing activities. I do things like watch too much television, read books and blogs ad infinitum, and take long naps. Out of the blue, I've developed a voracious sexual appetite, and of course, let's not forget my other appetite which is equally voracious and has me eating until my eyes pop out and my stomach is numb.

In, and of themselves, none of the things listed above are bad; but when used to escape, to avoid, they each become unhealthy for me.

I know all of this, and yet, the knowing makes none of it easier.

Eventually, I will tire. I will cease to hide and I will consent to begin this new inward journey.

Perhaps then, I will once again find the peace that has been so absent within my own spirit these past few weeks.

Right about now, some of you are probably wondering, "What in the hell is she talking about?"

My answer?

I don't know; but when I do, I'll be sure to tell you all about it.

Word Association

1. Virus = kiss of death
2. Poop = release
3. Smart= ass
4. Agent = secret
5. Wrap = veggie
6. Brass = balls
7. Waste of time = 40 Year Old Virgin
8. Suspicious = lies
9. 360 = degrees
10. Dummy = ventriloquist

I don't remember where I found this random word association list.

I'm not sure why I'm putting it in my blog either.

I must think that this is a perfectly suitable piece of blog fodder, and worthy of a Monday morning post, because here it is!

Yeah well, I suppose it beats listening to me rant about my disappointment reading Bohnhoeffer's book, "The Cost of Discipleship". There must be something seriously wrong with me, because after 58 pages, I'm bored to tears and not grooving on Saint Bohnhoeffer's exposition of "cheap grace".

Maybe I'm just not "mature" enough to understand...that was one person's take on my disappointment, hence my sarcasm I suppose.

Putting my sarcasm aside, I think the problem here lies more with timing than material or maturity.

So maybe I'll just put the darn book away and read something juicy.

Any recommendations?

Imagine....

What do you suppose would happen if our ability to control and to manipulate the tiny details of our lives were suddenly taken from us?

What if we could no longer work, or feed ourselves, or use the toilet without assistance? What if we were suddenly forced to allow others to wash our clothes, prepare our food, to brush our teeth?

Since we live within a culture that values people for what they do and for what they contribute, do you think that our core identities would be anything less than completely shattered?

I cannot help but wonder what would happen if I were suddenly "reduced" to simply "being"....

Do you suppose that once the rage and the grief had washed through me, I might ponder all of the ways I've struggled to be better than others, or at the very least to look better than others?

Do you suppose I might be surprised by the violence I have lived out in my own life, just trying improve my position in the world around me.

Do you suppose I might grieve the harm I have done just trying to feel better about myself?

....and yes, if I am honest, I must admit that in my efforts to control and to manipulate the world and the people around me I have committed acts (of violence) that have resulted in pain and harm to myself and to others.

Sometimes I try to imagine what kind of person I would become if I were completely free from the obsessions and the compulsions which drive me today.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like, if I were able to truly live in community and yet be truly free and truly at peace.

It is a mind blowing exercise to imagine such a life, such a world; and yet, somehow I know that I could not even begin to imagine such things if those seeds had not already been planted within me.

This gives me hope.

Hope for a better Jerri,
......hope for a better future,
.......... and hope for a better world!