Transition

I opened this blog to get away from Xanga.

I wasn't sure exactly what I would do with it, or how. I just knew that xanga wasn't really doing what it used to...

I thought this was the place, the feel of what I wanted.

But it isn't.

It's calm here. It's... not reflective. I've almost been trying to be something I'm not...

Yes, I think deep, and yes I love my God.

But I'm also loud. And funny. And colourful. And completely self depreciating.

And I do so love to laugh. I love to laugh with people.

I don't think this place invited laughter.

So, for the last couple of days, I've been playing around with templates and new names. I threw a couple around, but settled with one that I think explains things... me...my life... a little better.

So, head on over...the party is now officially begun...

Srsly?

I turned, um, thirty at the beginning of this year.

I'm ok with it now.

But I've been musing on it. It's a strange age. I'm in a juxtaposition of feeling a bizarre mixture of too old for some things, and not mature enough for others.

I don't feel 30. I still feel 19.

I'm the worship co-ordinator at our church. I'm a mother of six children, and a partner/wife of 13 years. My husband and I own three cars. We pay rent. We have bills. Responsibility.

But I still think it's fun to have sleepovers with girlfriends. I still find farts funny. I'm very rarely serious. Adam and I watch stand up comedians on youtube on a regular basis. I still want to flit all over the globe.

I'm finding it difficult to comprehend that people are actually taking me seriously now. I don't feel that I'm any more mature, really, than I was a decade ago. And yet, I also look at some dreams and yearnings that I have and think that I'm too old for those now. I've wasted time.

Two weekends ago, we had prophets at our church.

Mind. Blowing.

Adam and I were blessed to be prophesied over. I bawled.

One of the parts I have been meditating over has been that we (Adam and I) are called to work with Youth. The Lord spoke to me in such a way that He made me realise in my heart, not just my head, that His timing is perfect.

Joy!

My dreams and yearnings that are still so dear to me, are still God's heart for me. They will happen. I have not wasted years, I have not missed the jump. While I may think that I'm a bit old in years to work with my beloved teenagers, in my heart, I'm still right there with them... but with the added benefit life know-how.

I am not immature... I have a youthful heart.

I am not old... I have a wealth of experience.

Possibly TMI, but anyway...

The Lord blessed me in the chest area. Abundantly.

It's not something that I particularly enjoy about myself, not being a wanton hussy who shows them off at every available oppertunity.

However, that being said, a lot of people thank that I am, simply because of their size, which is unfair, as it's not something I can do alot about. I struggle to dress modestly. I do so to the best of my ability, however, you just can't help but notice them. They're kind of out there.

Earlier this year, I was accused by my husbands best mate (and his wife) of dressing provocatively around him and flirting with him. My own husband's first reaction was to bust out laughing, the accusation was just that ridiculous. The second was to snot the guy.

I had never been in J's presence alone the entire time I had known him. They were members of our small group, which was held at our place, and most of the time, I hadn't even brushed my hair that day, and hadn't even taken the time to change my clothes and freshen up for my own husband, let alone look provocative for someone elses.

I'll take this moment to say that C is as FLAT AS A TACK.

But there's no bitterness there, no sireee.

I won't go into all the details of how this deeply affected me, for days, weeks and even months, suffice to say it was all very confusing, humiliating and hurtful, there was a bunch of stuff said and we don't speak anymore. And they left the church the next day.

All of that was to preface this: I got a referal to a plastic surgeon about a month ago. When I gave it into his office to book an appointment, I was told he was not taking on any more patients this year, and wouldn't be looking at any referals until the new year.

I got a letter last week, telling me I had an appointment with him the beginning of February.

I'm not doing it because of what happened. I'll admit that the knee jerk reaction was to go out and get a loan to have the work done the very next day. But I didn't, because that would be doing something rather dramatic in the wrong spirit. This is something that I have been contemplating for many, many years. However, I can no longer find clothes that fit me without looking like a tent, I have permanent dents in my shoulders from the weight, my back is constantly sore, and I recently had a mole cut out of one , and the weight of them popped the stitches. I purchase my bras from England because you can't buy my size commercially (30K), and I pay on average $100 AUD a bra.

Over here, a reduction is classified as a medical procedure, not a cosmetic one, and therefore fully covered by medicare. (I love "socialised medicine" *cheeky wink* It works over here.) Yet, I'd put it off for years and years. However, it's become more than ridiculous. My husband is fully supportive (though a little sad *wink*) and he has been wonderful through the whole ordeal.

*shrug* The letter has made it all a little more real, I suppose. Don't quite know how to process it all. I know it's not going to make me a better person, just a more comfortable one.