Hero

First, I must say, this is not a picture of Kame. (In case you were wondering) It was a drawing commissioned by a dear friend, and drawn by a cartoonist I know through a website called Deviant Art. You can find more of her fantastic artwork here.

The picture is titled "Blushing", and it's an illustration from my own fan-fiction story titled "Anger Management". It illustrates a joke between friends "You know, you're cute when you're blushing.", and represents the idea of an Author meeting her hero.

Hamato Leonardo (In Japanese families, the surname comes first), the mutant Turtle from the illustration, is the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a familiar title to those who grew up in the '80's and early 2000's. Far from the goofy pizza-munching comic relief of the original series, later episodes and the fourth TMNT movie portrayed Leo as a driven, skilled and strong leader, with a singular focus: Protect and lead his family.

Leo has been a hero of mine for a long time. I told my husband once that he has "nothing to worry about" because his only real competition for my affection is a fictional mutant. Although I was joking at the time, the truth is, Leo does represent much of what I love in Ken, and is deeply intertwined with my commitment to my marriage. My fictional hero serves as a fantasy to retreat to when life is difficult, but he's more than that. He's also a strong reminder of what's most important to me, and the reasons I fight against all odds to protect what I hold dear.

Confidence and optimism mark the Turtles' lives. No matter what happens, they believe in themselves and each other. They take responsibility for themselves and for one another. They are brothers. Singly, they wouldn't last a week in a hostile and often dangerous world. Together, they can face any threat.

My dream for my family is not so different from the Turtles' lives. We may never face alien invasions or psychotic government agents, but we do battle against doubt, against the every-day assaults of the deficiencies, real and perceived, in ourselves and in our lives. We worry about bills (I don't know a couple who doesn't), about our kids, about the future. We fight against despair, against the encroaching fear that our children will not live up to their potential, that we will fail them in some fundamental way. We worry that we will go hungry and homeless in our old age. We worry that we might not live up to our own fullest potential.

For me, that means I worry that I may never publish a book. I may never achieve that pinnacle of success, that goal I've set for myself. Born to climb, I may never reach the top of the mountain. For Ken, it means he may never find paid employment in the fire service. Discouragement looms large when you've poured so much in, and received so little in return.

The truth is, there are no guarantees in this life. Children grow up to disappoint their parents. Parents pass away without ever making it clear to their children how very much they were loved. Effort goes unappreciated. Dreams go unfulfilled, goals unmet, people feel unloved. Sometimes marriages and even whole families fall apart under the stress of every-day disappointments.

In cartoons and movies, when things look bleak, it's the hero's time to shine. Leonardo and his brothers have faced defeat more times than I care to count, and yet they return, time and time again, to face new enemies, new threats, new catastrophes. What makes a hero keep getting up and going on, time and time again? Where does he find the determination to never give up, the courage in the face of adversity?

I have come to believe that it is not the ability to hold up under pressure that makes a hero. It's not courage or a strong character that makes one heroic, though those things certainly help.

Every single day, we get up and go about our routine. Every single day we are faced with choices, decisions that must be made. I believe that it is in these choices, each singular decision, that heroes are born. While the spotlight often shines on the heroes who defeat the bad guys with some brilliant inspiration of strategy in battle, the strength to make those decisions comes from long exercise of daily choices.

My husband has been facing a difficult time recently. Losing over 100 pounds is not an easy task, and yet he had to, to protect his health. The specter of re-gaining the weight looms large. He has faced down discouragement and defeat... and yet he is in the process of climbing to his feet, to face the giants once more.

He's made mistakes. He's been knocked down, he's stumbled, and there have been times when he feels there's no more strength to get up again. Still, no matter how many times he's defeated, he refuses to give up.

He is, and has always been, my personal hero.

~*~*~

contentment

A turtle in his natural environment....
A cat's scratching tower.

Kame seems confused at times. While my cats studiously ignore their scratching post, he regularly makes himself at home in the little cave formed by the carpeted base, burrowing into the bedding as if he believes he deserves whiskers and fur. In a foreign land, he has made himself at home.

At times, marriage feels like a foreign place to me. I am, by nature, a loner. If I am subjected to constant company, even of those I love, for too long, I become crabby and stand-offish. Time alone is not only natural for me, it's necessary to my mental health. So why is it that, when I'm alone, I long for my family's company? Why do I miss my husband when he goes away, knowing he will return soon? Why do I seem to always be wanting something other than what I have? Why do human beings struggle with the simple concept of contentment?

I believe that this world was created with a purpose. I believe that there was a grand design, a vision for Creation... and that somewhere early on, things went astray.

I believe that what we are searching for is the ideal, the perfection, the place where all the pieces align and everything falls into place.

I believe, if I don't give up, that my marriage will continue to grow, to heal, and to move in the direction of the ideal. I believe the plan is still in place, and that the world is still moving onward and upward. I believe... And so I will hold on.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

Hibernation

Recently, Kame entered a state of semi-hibernation. Three or four times a week, on the advice of our veterinarian, I dig him out from under his mulch and set him in his water pan so that he stays hydrated. He drinks deep, then immediately burrows back into the mulch. Though his odd habits and starvation diet worry me, his weight has remained steady and he seems as vigorous as ever.

There are times I wish I were able to hibernate. When things get difficult, when I'm not sure of Ken's heart, when my kids are fighting or Arek is having one of his legendary meltdowns, I want to pull inside my shell and disappear out of this world entirely. Sometimes I do "hibernate". I withdraw into playing inane games on Facebook, surfing the web, or searching out writing jobs that cost very little brain power, whatever it takes to numb the frustration and pain.

The holidays are a prime "hibernation" time. If the cold weather and icy conditions (dangerous for someone with a bum leg like mine) weren't enough to drive me underground, the pressure that comes with the holiday delivers a knock-out punch to my emotional equilibrium. I drive myself crazy at times, shopping with growing desperation until I feel everyone on my holiday list will be surprised and thrilled with the offerings I've gathered.

Why do I feel this awful, gnawing desire to please more strongly at this time than any other? Why is it so desperately important to get the "right" gift for my kids and husband? I could say it's because I love them and want them to be happy. That is a perfectly true and valid reason, but I feel as if there must be something more behind the almost-childish anxiety that drives me to surf the web obsessively, making lists and agonizing over a budget that always seems too small, particularly when it comes time to shop for Ken.

Ken's expectations are higher than my own at Christmas time. I grew up in a family where Christmas was a big deal, but the pile under the tree was often small. I learned young that while Santa brings some very cool gifts, kids like me don't get big-ticket items for Christmas. I didn't expect them then, and I don't now.
Ken grew up in a very different home. While his parents weren't millionaires, nor were they overly extravagant, he usually got what he wanted.

While it would be easy to accuse him of materialism, I don't think the conflict lies in the price of the gifts we exchange. Ken has never once tried to make me feel guilty for not spending "enough" on him. I believe that the pressure I feel comes from within, and its roots are older than the fifteen Christmases I've shared with Ken.

During Christmases past, my father would disappear into his room during the family celebration, refusing to participate. One year in particular stands out with vivid clarity. My siblings, all grown with children of their own, had gathered their resources to put together a gift box for Mom. It was an enormous box.

Mom exclaimed over the lovely gifts as she lifted each out of the box, impressed with their ingenuity and generosity. Finally, she took the final two items from that huge box. Tucked into a lonely corner were a bottle of cologne and a tin of Dad's favorite pipe tobacco, the only gifts for my father.

For the first time, I understood why Dad spent his holiday holed up in his room. He was hiding, avoiding the hurt and humiliation that came with being unwanted. He knew my mother's children wanted to please her. He never felt wanted... never felt loved.

Christmas is a time when Love came into this broken, hurting world. To feel loved... is it really such a terrible thing to expect that at this most joyous celebration we should feel loved by those who should know us best? Is it selfish to want to be included, to hope to receive some coveted trinket, to expect that something in that pile under the tree has your name on it, to know you've been invited to the party?

I think that wanting to feel loved is not a bad thing. Gifts are one way we convey affection, certainly, but the best way to feel love is to remember what real Love is, to invite the Babe back into His own party. For me, that means trusting Jesus to make sure my Dad knows he's loved as he celebrates Christmas in that shining City with the Lord Himself. It means letting go of the past and concentrating on creating happier memories for my children and their father.

For the sake of my marriage, of my family, it's time for me to come out of hibernation. It's time to acknowledge the hurts that have gone before, and to remember that this world is still broken, even today, and will remain so until the Babe returns in all His completed glory. It's time to look the brokenness in the eye and dare it to bite me, because this is Christmas Present and I am not going to waste a single moment of the joy of Here and Now regretting what is Done and Past.

It's time to celebrate Christmas.
This one's for you, Dad.
~*~*~

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
(Luke 2:11-14)