I know that this won't be nearly as beautiful as it was before I got retarded and accidentally deleted it, but here goes:

I had just sent off an email to my dad, so naturally he was more on my mind than usual. Not that he isn't usually, he is because he's my favorite human person on this earth. Well, maybe tied with my two-year-old daughter, Joey...

Anyway, I had been talking about how he always trusted me to do what was right. He knew I'd been taught right from wrong, since he'd taught most of that knowledge. I guess he figured the rest was up to me.

And he was right.

I tried to never betray that trust, because I greatly appreciated the way my father treated me. He would talk to me when I was growing up as if I were his equal. Because of him, I try harder to understand my daughter and how she thinks and acts than I might have without his teaching.

He would talk to me about his thoughts and desires for my future. And he would run his ideas for his own future past me for my opinions and unfailing support. How humbling. I was maybe five when he started, maybe younger. He still talks to me about his college classes, and the business he wants to start.

I loved him always for the way he treated me when, like most teens, I felt so misunderstood, and so underestimated. The first time a boy spent the night with me, I might have been thirteen or fourteen. We'd had a birthday party that day (not mine, I can't remember whose it was), and I asked if Brian could just stay that night to hang out.

My father knew that Brian and I had dated for something like six or nine months a few years previous, and he knew that my breaking up with this wonderful and really HOT boy was, at the time, my biggest regret. He knew I was head over heels for this boy. But he said yes, believing in me and my ability to be trusted.

He had to work that night -- he wasn't even going to be there. Now, it's not like we had the house to ourselves or anything. My nosy younger stepsister was there, and her psychotic bitch mother. Also, my younger half-brother, who still lives with that bitch, I hope she isn't affecting his mentality!

But still, what father who knows his impressionable daughter is in love with a boy and doesn't know said boy himself, would say he could spend the night, knowing he'd be out to work untill after midnight! Also knowing that the stepsister would pass out around nine, along with her mom, and that the brother would be out before eight? More than three hours, his teen daughter and this boy would be alone? Everyone knows a virgin boy and girl could do it a million times in that three hours. Literally. Virgin boys can go what -- all of four seconds, two if you touch it first?!?

That night, when everyone had gone to bed but me and Brian, we turned on the tv and just lay in the floor together, watching and talking. No, seriously. For real. No kisses or anything, but it was very condusive to romance... You know that really cheesy position where the guy in on his back with his arms around the girl? She puts her head on his chest, and her hand next to her head? We were like that. For hours. I loved it.

Come on girls, you know I was hoping for a reunion, maybe even a lil smootchie. Alas, the reunion didn't come, partly because it would have been the first kiss for both of us, and we were both chicken shit. Anyway, we were totally uninterrupted, and by the time my dad got home, we had shut off the tv and he was laying on the couch. I was sitting on the floor next to him, and after all that time we were still talking. I'd just made us a couple of cheese sandwiches, and we were eating when my dad walked in.

He didn't even drill us! He just said it was late, and that we should get some sleep...

Okay the baby just got up from her nap, so I have to finish this in a bit ... sorry ...

Well, I had a really moving post about my dad on here, but I just screwed up and lost it while editing. I'm going to try to remember it, so if you're keeping up with this, stand by.

I am still reading "The Aventures of BiPolar Girl", and I continue to be inspired. She had posted many thoughts that I confess I have been carrying in my own head, and she talks in such a way that it makes me think of my own life and things that have happened over the last few years.

She makes it so that you can relate to her, even if you aren't that much alike. I love her stories! But while she inspires me to think, my growing closeness with GOD does as well. I have been listening to a lot of Contemorary Christian music lately. I find that it helps me to keep GOD in my thoughts. When all your music is about GOD's grace and blessing, you can't help but praise him for the ways he may have touched your life. I have a very close family member/friend who does not attend church or speak to GOD that I know of.

But there is this song, "The Potter's Hand" by Rachel St. James, that always makes her sit quiet for a bit. I think it makes her wonder about her choices. I don't know, maybe I only think that because that song is a huge reason why I am happy walking with GOD again.

Last year, I went to the Easter pageant at my brother's church, only because my sister-in-law (one of my best friends) was in it, and so was the oldest of their two daughters (consequently, my favorite person to fight with. We only argue about petty stuff, like the rules for Checker's, but she's seven, so she's just so spirited!). You know, it was a typical easter story... all about the death and resurrection of Jesus. But I was so touched when they played that song in the middle of the play.

They had these three girls dance to it while it was played, and it wasn't really dancing... more like sign language in beautiful motion. When the girls left the stage, I was in tears, and as the play resumed and continued, I cleared up and kept watching the show. As the play approached it's end and they did the scene of the Crucifixion and the main officer in charge of the death of the Son of GOD had a monologue, his voice broke as he spoke of what he realized that night when he went home.

He said that after a crucifixion, they would just go home and wash away the blood before they had dinner with their families. But this time they didn't feel the same. This wasn't just a job. In the background, the other gaurds fell to their knees before the dead, hanging body of Christ and bowed their heads as in the forefront, the guard who'd been speaking struggled through his tears to get his lines out. His voice broke and he forced himself to get through his part, but I was amazed at this man's tears. He was moved to tears when he spoke of the sacrifice of Jesus! And I was moved by his obvious faith.

That weekend I went all three nights that the play showed, and then I rented The Passion of The Christ. I remember when they showed how Jesus was strapped down and beaten. As his back and sides were ripped apart, I cried like an infant with a full diaper and an empty stomach. I felt sick with guilt for the way I was sure I could never be that selfless. He just lay there, taking it. Feeling so full of pain as his body was ripped to shreds... I felt so relieved when I thought the beating was over. They undid the straps, but wait! They merely turned his weak and bleeding body over to resume the beating!

I sat crying, and I was moaning, "No, No, Please, No." I cried for his pain, but I also cried for the way it was done. He didn't say, "Save me, my father, I cannot do this!" No. He cried out in the depths of his pain and suffering, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."

And he was so generous for our sakes in his prayer. We all know when we do something wrong. We feel guilt when we've been immoral or just plain mean, right? We know what we are doing. But Jesus said, "Father forgive them." And everyday I say, "Father forgive me," but I am also saying, "Thank you, O Holy One, for sending your Son to die a hideous death while he was innocent, so that I wouldn't have to while I am always guilty. Thank you. I love you, Almighty GOD."

I've been reading a blog on this site that is called "The Adventures of BiPolar Girl." I went back and started at the beginning so that I can get to know her a little before I just go crazy keeping up with her life.

Hmmm, does that sound silly? I don't know her, so I'm reading her journal to get know her before I read her journal? Hmmm. Well, anyway, she was talking about this guy that she was with and how she loved him but he married someone else because he was creeped by her strong faith in Christ. I find her stories so inspiring, she tries so hard to be upbeat and cheerful in spite of her trials, and let's just say she's having a bit of a rough time ( and I think that might be understating things!).

But her thoughts on her other guy got me thinking about Richard, my ex, and how things were so bad at the end, but for some reason I still loved him, and I was miserable with him for more than a year before I finally said ok, no more. He's the father of my toddler, and I remember we left him in December, 2004. I remember my brother's New Year's party (start of 2005) and how I went into her room to kiss her as the ball dropped. I kissed her, but as I stood there, drunk and gazing at this precious sleeping child, I was overcome with loneliness and fear.

What was I going to say when she said, "Why don't I have a daddy like everyone else?" What could I do when she got old enough to say "I hate you! You took me away from my daddy!" I was on the floor crying in silent anguish, unable to stop, and afraid to really let go of my pain. She didn't deserve to wake up and see her mother fall apart... I was still on the floor when my six-year-old niece came and found me. She held me and whispered, "It's okay. I still love you. And Joey (my daughter) loves you. You are her mommy." I might have gone back to him just pretending it was the best for her, just because I was twenty years old and on my own for the first time. And TERRIFIED!

But then my sister in law came and said to me, " You can do this. You don't want his drugs and his lifestyle to affect her. You will be the kind of mother who raises a child open to the truth." And I want you to know BiPolar Girl, if you are reading this, that when you are down, you can do it. Stay upbeat, and continue to witness for the lord. He will be there for you, as it seems that he has been so far.

I have been so blessed this year by the lord and every day I am giving thanks for His forgiveness and His grace. My blessings came with some hard lessons about my life and the people that I'd surrounded myself with, but I couldn't be happier now. I find myself in the arms of a man who loves me, and my daughter's going to be two in about six hours. She's growing and she's healthy and happy. Ryan (my fiance) is healthy and happy, and I am SO SO happy! I have never regretted leaving my husband last year, but I find myself rejoicing that God was there in the sidelines and saying, "This misery is not where I wanted you. Get Out!" I love God for giving me the things that he has so graciously put in my life, but I am truly thankful for the things he's taught me this year, and the relationships I have in my life. I have cut off contact with so many people that just brought trouble and drama into my life, and I miss the contact and the companionship, but I am learning not to miss friendships that were never real. I am learning in my newness with God, that His is a friendship that IS real, that He is always there for me, and for that knowledge, and that security, I lift my hands in praise.