Random thoughts from my journal…(Because confidence is needed to ride a horse, I’m been journalling a lot lately on what assertive looks like and how it differs from control. This is a just a random selection of those thoughts. I realize they aren’t complete yet and is here more as a reflection of where I need to grow as a person than as absolute conclusion.)
You need to use your assertive voice when telling the horse what to do.
My assertive voice? Really? Uhm.. I guess a squeaky “please trot” just isn’t going to cut it with Cowboy, huhn?
Nope. When you are assertive, the horse will trust you. If you are passive, the horse with jack with you. Your choice. Oh and visually focus on where you want cowboy to go, or he’ll pick his own path.
I thought I was just signing up for a fun escapist kind of hobby. I was wrong. She wasn’t kidding about Cowboy either. If I’m the least bit uncertain about what I want to do, he’ll totally jack with me. I love riding Cowboy.
This isn’t what I expected when I signed up for riding lessons. I really just wanted to escape the testosterone around me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my guys. Even so, being the only female in a house full of men gets overwhelming some days
Instead of just horseback riding, I’m learning about assertive vision. Which brings me to a bigger question really. What is the difference between being assertive and being controlling?
I believe there is a world of difference between a woman fighting for control and a woman fighting to survive in a lactose intolerant (patriarchal) society. I see it a lot. Men talking over women and women either fighting harder to be heard, or retreating into silence. I’ve done both in my life. I can also get fuzzy over the line between setting boundaries and controlling an issue, which leaves me all over the map in this equation.
When it comes to the dynamics of men and women it is usually said that men take and women give. It’s the age-old paradigm of relationships. The masculine archetype is assertive. Usually. But where does that leave the woman? Can she not be assertive also?
If the obvious answer is yes, women can and should be assertive, why is it then that when women are assertive they are accused of being controlling? Is there a false dichotomy that male assertiveness is good and female assertion is bad?
And in moments of found courage, where women do speak up why oh why do men say “Let your gentleness be evident to all?” For some strange reason that particular phrase spoken at the wrong moment brings out anything BUT a gentle response from me. My inner brat wants to shake her fist and run naked through a field just to spite them.
Not a gentle response to be sure.
Self destructive rebellion is not the answer.
Three months of riding lessons later, Cowboy and I get along really well. I prefer not to use stirrups when I ride and next week, I get to ride Prince bare back. I don’t have to go big when being assertive with the horses, just consistent. Consistency breeds confidence, confidence breeds a quiet assertiveness..
That or Cowboy is still jacking with me.
I’m not sure.
Added: June 22, 2011 — I’ve now ridden Prince (another horse at Jo’s barn) bareback twice. We even galloped yesterday, which I’ve decided rocks more than anything.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved, June 8, 2011
It’s been a year since my hysterectomy. I have a lot of mixed feelings about that. I remember the roller coaster of joy at having my health issues finally resolved vs the sadness and uncertainty of having my girl parts surgically removed.
I actually grieved for my uterus, pre-cancerous cells and all.
Weird. I know.
But true nonetheless.
What a difference a year makes. I’m healthier and happier than I’ve been in ages. My eyes are brighter, my hair shinier, and my step is usually upbeat – at least when I’m not tripping over invisible carpet bumps. I’m using my newfound energy to explore art, friendship, acting, and travel. I’m also finding new ways to eat right and get exercise. I’m on my way to living a better and longer life. I’m not moving as fast forward as I’d like – but I’m moving and that is what counts.
just found out today that the surgeon I was referred to and eventually made my permanent GYN,has been recognized by Castle Connolly Ltd. as not only one of the top doctors in Oklahoma, but in the United States as well. I’m happy for him.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved 5/31/11
Alice and Arnie O'Hara at their 50th Wedding Anniversary
“Finding out you have cancer is like going to sleep in your own bed and waking up in a boxing ring. You’re standing toe to toe with the heavyweight champion of the world. The crowd is looking on, you’re in your pajamas and you don’t even know how to throw a punch.” – Nicole Johnson Fresh Brewed Faith.
I left church in the middle of Easter Services in 2010 and went straight to the hospital. I was in so much pain that I could barely breathe. An ultra sound revealed a mass in my stomach and I was referred to a surgeon. It wasn’t until three months later that we were able to ascertain without a shadow of a doubt that this mass was benign (not cancer). In the gap between finding the mass and the surgery and test results I felt like I had to be strong for my kids, so for them I’d make promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. Telling them I would be fine and that everything will be okay seemed the faithful mother thing to do.
Secretly, for 90 days, I prayed, cried, pleaded and bargained with God. Sometimes, not knowing can be just as scary as knowing.
I have several friends walking through that right now, and all are in my prayers.
I walk these steps with more men and women than I can count. My mother in law was a 45 year breast cancer survivor before she went home to be with the Lord at 86. We have many other friends and relatives who are now celebrating years of remission.
We have also lost my beloved father in law (Dad) to cancer in 2008, our aunt to leukemia in 2007, another aunt to breast cancer in 1994. My best friend from college Amy Jo died from cancer in 2010, she was 44, leaving behind a mother, a brother, and a teenage daughter. She is missed. I do not know why some people recover and other do not. All I know is that, the only absolute found with cancer, is the absolute faithfulness of Christ. It is his faithfulness that get’s all of through one day at a time.
I walk with and support friends who have cancer or their children have cancer or a spouse or whomever as a prayer partner and friend. That is a gift and a privilege I pray I never take lightly.
For every one of my friends who walk this path, my heart hurts. However the test results come back or how high or low the numbers during treatment, know that God is faithful and promises to be with us each step of the way. In each case, we are reminded to look not to the left or to the right, but to keep our eyes focused on Jesus.
This video is the edited for You Tube version of Nicole’s Video Sketch on Stepping into the Ring. It is a hopeful, honest, and inspiring piece. I know many women who gain inspiration from it and so I’m offering it here.
Please note that this is edited and the full version can be seen on her DVD. For anyone of you locally who would like to borrow this DVD to see the full sketch, please let me know. Or if you’d like to purchase more of her heart-felt and inspirational messages, please see her web page.
Tomorrow I will introduce you to a friend of mine named Barb Boswell. Barb is a breast cancer survivor who has written two books and who travels and speaks at women’s groups across America sharing her experience, strength and hope in Jesus Christ.
If you are a cancer survivor, would you please let a word of encouragement in the comments below? Thank you.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. No goods or services were received in exchange for this endorsement. I only share resources that I myself find helpful and inspiring.
My inner critic is a poltergeist of a child. Loud. Demanding. Mean. Constantly afraid of coming up short, she whispers lies and rules so burdensome that no one can stand under her weight. Not even me.
I try to shut her up with an early afternoon pina colada while on our cruise and she just complains about the hour and questions the appropriateness of drinking so early with people she barely knows. What would they think?
Truthfully?
I am too busy enjoying the cool coconutty goodness in a tall glass to pay too much attention to her. I even keep the cute pink paper umbrella as a reminder that I do too know how to be free once in a while. And then as if to spite her, I glue it to the very center of my art journal page just to prove a point.
Grace abounds
Life is a journey
I can be at home in my own skin
even in the middle of the sea
surrounded by strangers.
——-
It feels good to be back y’all. Thank you for allowing me to take such an extended break. I needed time way to allow my spirit to be nourished. I’ve learned a lot while I was away. You’ll notice that my page format has changed. Rather than fighting what feels like a wilderness of change, I’m learning how to not only embrace it but truly live in it. I’m looking forward to learning the difference between “good” and “vastly great.”
“Naked and on
my knees, years of good enough
were callously stripped away
an angel took mercy
and held my hand
…fear not my love
‘good’
was merely insulating you… from
vastly great.”
– Kristen Jongen, “Growing Wings”
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. April 23, 2011
Our Savior Lutheran Church has agreed to move forward with a capital campaign. After that, a loan and after that a call and breaking ground for a new learning center, worship center and satellite location.
I’ve been asked to be on the Campaign Committee. What a thrill.
I’ve also been asked to help with something I can’t tell y’all about yet — let’s just say, it’s amazingly fun.
Spring is my busy season and with so many things juggling in the air, I need to let go of something. I need to unplug from here for just a little while. I’ll be back after Easter, I promise.
Sounds like a horrible way to live, doesn’t it? Sure a heart locked up in a casket can’t be broken, but it can’t breathe either. It dies.
I love the t-shirt in the photo here. I actually own one. I first saw this shirt when I saw the Ken Davis video “Super Sheep.” at a woman’s retreat back in the 90’s. – I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. (Phil 4:13) We’re the sheep in the photo and if you notice he’s holding Christ’s hand – or Christ is holding his, either way – it’s a union. And there they go safely, fearlessly walking past the wolves and the lions of life. Wow what a visual. I have to confess I wore that shirt long before I ever believed it or even fully understood it.
I have walked through many doors with various him’s on my arm, but they were never the right one. Getting from there to here hasn’t always been easy.
My heart was wrapped rather tightly by the time I set a tentative foot into the life of churchdom back in 1993. Entombed in my career and my family it seemed to me that I was impenetrable.
The only “him” I was with, was me and my career.
I kinda thought that I liked it that way, but I didn’t really. Trusting only in yourself is a lonely existence.
My early years of church life became an archeological expedition of finding entrances, caskets, trinkets and pockets of light. The dig went slowly.
I can remember the first steps of simply coming to church and sitting in the pews, shaking violently. If my husband overslept and I had to go it alone, I was a basket case.
My husband became my him. I placed all burdens of peace, happiness, and safety on his shoulders.
As time went on, I can remember learning how to talk to people, going to bible studies, joining a committee (just one) and starting to feel peace. If I’m being honest, I trusted the building before I ever trusted the people.
And so the church became my him. (At least I was getting closer.)
There were nights when my husband and I would argue and I would put on my sneakers and run the 1 1/2 miles to our new church. The building was locked up and closed for the night, but I didn’t care. I’d just run through the parking lot, past the parsonage to the playground in the back. Breathless, I’d climb up the slide, sit in the tower and look at the church. I believed God was in that building and I felt safe. I’d stay there until the fear and loneliness subsided and peace settled in and then I’d walk home, leaving my him behind.
I hadn’t yet learned that God is present in more places than just a sanctuary, but it was a start. A beginning of airing out the dusty tombs.
Three years after we joined our church, we enrolled our children in a private Lutheran school. New challenges awaited and I was now dealing with several pastors instead of just my one. Their kids went there too. I hadn’t planned on that. It was time to learn a new level of trust.
Have I ever told you that I don’t like pastors? I liked mine, but taken as a whole, I wasn’t all that sure about the rest. This was going to prove problematic. More shaking. More fear. More dust.
I tested the waters many times by asking these men simple questions and then stepping back to see how they responded. Were they kind? Were they patient? Did they answer my question? Mostly yes. I dusted a windowsill and more light came through.
I did have some problems with a dad at the school who liked to pursue me when he saw me alone. I hate being hit on and I did not know how to handle it. I discovered that if I stuck close to the pastors, he’d leave me alone. I didn’t think about how it looked, I just wanted to be safe. And so
The pastor’s became my him. I was safe when I was with them.
I wasn’t intentionally making idols out of things or people. I can only relate it to going from water wings to the high dive in learning trust and walking with God. I’d learned about Philippians by then – I can do all things through Christ. Christ was supposed to be my him. Not me, my career, my husband, my church, or the pastors. While I knew that in my head, I didn’t know how to walk it out.
Until….
We were at a back to school pool party and I was afraid. There were dozens of people there and I knew very few of them. I was by then good at saying hello, asking a brief how are you and then bolting before I got dragged into a conversation. But this was a FOUR hour, fenced in pool party. I was trapped with a bunch of Christians and pastors. eek! I didn’t think I’d survive.
I’d prayed shortly after we got there that I didn’t know to trust him enough to find the strength to step out and be myself. Would he be there for me? What would it look like? How would I know.
Right after saying that prayer, I felt a voice deep in my heart that said “watch me.”
I looked around to see who might have said that and I spotted a couple arguing not too far from me. I wasn’t sure what the argument was about, but it looked intense. I didn’t want to stare, so I looked away.
Moments later she was gone and he was standing along the back of fence. His hands were grasping the bar at the top so tightly I could see the veins in his hands. His head was bowed. He was hurting and it showed. And he was praying.
I was confused and asked God what it was exactly he wanted me to see. Surely not this. I mean this was horrible. The next thing I know this man – the praying one – is in the kiddie pool with my kids playing and laughing and talking to us. He spent the rest of that afternoon talking to people, playing with the kids, calling swim races, going off the high dive and just having a blast with everyone.
Did his pain suddenly go away? – I later learned no. His wife had left him just a few months before. His pain was deep. But what God did do for him is lift him above it enough and strengthen him enough to make the best of the day. He prayed in the midst of pain and fear and God responded.
They walked through that day together.
When God said “watch me” — he meant watch what I can do when you let me be your him. Take my hand – I won’t let go.
Does that mean I’ll never be hurt, or have my heart-broken? Or be afraid? No. It does mean however that I have a hand to hold that will lift me above those circumstances and strengthen me as we walk through them together. I don’t have to keep my heart buried in some tomb. It is redeemable. And it’s stronger than I think.
Christ in me (and you.) – the hope of glory.
The post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved. No goods or services were given in exchange for the videos and items discussed here.
In order to better see where I’m going, I find it helpful to remember where I’ve been. January has been such a month of remembering for me. I’m always in awe at God’s merciful grace during a rather graceless season in my life; a season where I came THIS close to throwing it all in and calling it a day. –
I can remember feeling hopelessly alone and forsaken of God. I felt disillusioned, disgusted, and disappointed in everything – only to find out that my hope had been placed not on the one who tore the curtain (Matthew 27:51), but rather the ones who hide behind them. I had learned far too much, far to quickly and as disheartened as I was by that, I was even more heartbroken to realize that I myself am no better. I looked great on the outside, but inside hid the bones of dead men.
The bones were those of the church. They belonged to the men (pastors) who would not let me join their churches when I was a child. It was in their denial of my requests that I built my walls of protection and sought to prove them wrong. In my anger and hurt, I’d built an altar in my heart to their approval. Every time the bones screamed out for attention and healing, I poured on a salve of sweetness and honey hoping to silence them.
Those bones rattled with a deafening noise that manifested itself in physical shaking and panic attacks. I suffered for years with pastor-phobia – especially if they were dressed all in black. As time went on, rather than face the bones and seek God’s healing hand, I found myself becoming disgusted by the very men I was terrified of and yet I continued on with my painted on smile and false kindness. I erroneously believed that it was these men that held the life blood of my salvation and when discovering that those that had disapproved of me all those years ago, lived no better lives than I, the holes in my heart filled with rage and the bones began to shake.
I had become a liar. You can’t really love or serve people you are afraid of, no matter how hard you try. I wanted to believe I was a nice person, full of mercy, love, kindness and grace but I had grown to hate the very people I felt called to serve. The paradox was killing me. The day finally came when I could not contain my pent-up rage and rather than be honest in it, I blew up on a sweet bystander.
It was then that I knew that I needed help.
Up until that point, I thought my motives to be pure and of God. I was a little off on that perception. It was really heartbreaking for me to discover that I hadn’t jumped into ministry to serve God, I’d gotten into ministry out of my own selfish need. I needed to belong. I needed to prove “them” wrong. To me, the little girl no church would allow to join, being a paid staff member in a church was like winning the lottery. I’m in! — Take that you hypocrites.
Never once did it occur to me that this was an issue of my heart and never theirs. Live as they may, rightfully or wrongfully; full of Grace or full of bones themselves, they are neither my problem nor my cure.
God silenced me for two years after I blew up in that church office. In that silence, he gave me music. In that music he taught me how to pray. In those two years he also gave me new friends, and a new hope in Him. A hope that doesn’t rely on anyones approval but his.
While I am no longer a paid church worker, I am today pursuing His will for my life and his heart in my soul. Once I opened the door to my internal tombs for his healing touch, I’ve found that he’s opened doors I never dreamed possible.
I’ve held several funerals for those bones over the years, and I’m sure there will be more. In the meantime, I’d like to share one of the people and the songs that pulled me through. — While my breakdown occurred in 2004, I actually had discovered The Gaithers back in the 90’s and fell in love with Mark Lowry. I’ve never met him and yet when the time was right – God used his voice (among many others) to speak to my heart.
This particular song was actually written by one of Bill Gaither’s daughter’s. It say’s a lot. Enjoy.
“I’ve seen a lot of crazy things done in your name. I know the tricks behind the magic show. I’ve almost thrown the towel in a time or two and walked away from everything I know….”
Have you ever had days where you just feel touched by God? I don’t have them often, but when the creator of the universe wants to touch me – he does it with such flourish that I cannot help but know he see me. I’ll give you an example. I like to spend time in my gardens, watching butterflies and birds make their way. I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of Oklahoma since moving here 18 years ago. The sky just goes on forever and most days I can see a hawk or an eagle if I’m lucky. The clouds are large and white and look like cotton candy just waiting for me to reach out and touch them.
I feel closest to God when I’m in my gardens. It’s there that I spend most of my time talking to him. I was having a particularly rough go at it one day and was spending a large amount of time just pouring my heart out. Feeling that I was being sucked down into a negative state of mind, I decided to start thanking him for the blessings in my life. I rattled off my family, my friends, the birds and wildlife in my yard. As I looked up to comment on the beauty of the sky I talked about how much I love the expanse, and the clouds. Except that one cloud God, that one looks like a monster’s head, I said and I shivered.
Without warning, the clouds began to shift and the monster head disappeared and became something that looked like a lamb. In a state of total shock I asked out loud, “Is that you God?” and again the clouds shifted and revealed a hand.
Show off.
I giggled for days.
When the creator of the universe wants to dazzle me, he makes it intimate, and he does it with subtle flourish. Why not? He is an artist after all.
I have times and seasons where I really do wonder if I’m doing the right thing, on the right path, or if I’m even seen. I’m really not one of those women who is content to stay behind the scenes and work unnoticed all of the time. Not that every day should be my own private Oscar celebration, but still – sometimes I need to see small snippets; some kind of reassurance that I’m heading in the right direction. Don’t we all?
If you cannot relate to that statement, please let me come check your pulse. Everyone needs those small moments of acknowledgment or thanks at least once in a while and if you don’t – well then I believe you might be lying to me or even to yourself. That or you’ve bought into the lie that not needing affirmation is a sign of strength. It isn’t. It’s a sign of self-reliance and tells me you’ve isolated yourself to such a point that your relationships are dried out. And maybe your own spirit as well. No one is an island. Whether we are capable of admitting it or not, we need each other.
I’ve been second guessing myself lately. This whole going back on stage, learning stand up and improv, auditioning for movies and plays and commercials, and interviewing agents is a scary deal. I’m not a kid anymore. I find the irony of officially joining SAG at 46 years of age both funny and frightening. I’m a mother now, shouldn’t I be doing something more respectable? I caught myself making a plan B. Well if this doesn’t work out, I could always go back to school and become a nurse.
Where does that thought come from? Is it fear? Self Reliance? The desire or need to hang on to an assured ending? That’s why I remembered Second City not that long ago. I did the same thing to myself when I was 22. Remember? I chose the safety of a data room and guaranteed income over my dreams. I did the same thing when Ringling Brothers came to town. I had a chance to audtion and I chickened out.
Not that I was wrong to do that, after all I met my husband that year, but still Plan B doesn’t get me where I want. Plan B is always about safety, lack of risk and is loaded with fear based choices. Plan B doesn’t come close to leading me into being the woman I always wanted to be; Fearless, strong, interdependent, and full of purpose.
I did what I’ve learned to do which is pray and ask God for direction or okay a sign maybe. I can’t tell you what he did, I’d be a little embarrassed actually if you knew. But he did something so closely tied to SC that I cannot help but know that I’m seen and yes, I’m on the right path.
You might say he moved the clouds that were distorting my vision and revealed again the endless sky of possibility.
And you guessed it, I’ve been giggling for days.
2011 is a new year, ripe with possibility for all of us.
While we have the gift of life, it seems to me the only tragedy is to allow part of us to die – whether it is our spirit, our creativity or our glorious uniqueness. Gilda Radner
Deana O'Hara - Speaker, Comedian, Writer 