A New Zealand man was forced to make a terrible choice when his wife and son were trapped in a sinking car. He chose to save his wife, and their 13 year old son drowned.

Man had to choose: save wife or son

In the months prior to our wedding, J and I attended weekly pre-marital counseling sessions with our pastor. We actually covered this topic one week, and I was surprised to see that there is a Christian answer to this question.

Who would you choose if you were in this situation? What would you say the Christian answer is?

The handmade version may have more clout, but here’s one for the rest of us:

The only thing I can suggest is that they add a cursor (and perhaps a spinning Mac ball to make it super-realistic).

Get your own at ThinkGeek.

Sometimes I fear that there is something dreadfully wrong with me, because happy people piss me off.

Share a rant, and I’ll be there to defend you. Tell a sob story and I’ll run over with tissues. But gush on and on about how fantastic life is? Not only do I find you boring, I’ll eventually come to see you as an annoying scab whose very sight makes me want to vomit.

“Seeing you so happy makes me unhappy.”

I like to think that I’m a good person. I obey the law, practice good manners, and have high morals. So why can’t I stand these happy people?

Some call these people “refreshing” and “delightful.” I call them “tiring,” because spending an entire day with them really drains me of my own energy.

Admit it — you know these people too. People whose pure exuberance fills them with bouncy joy day in and day out. People whose Facebook statuses are only updated with feel-good messages. People who act like Jehovah’s Witnesses on crack.

On one hand, you question their sincerity and genuinity. No one can be that happy, you think. You look for a chink in their armor. You tell them that horrifyingly tragic story of the 12-year-old girl with no legs forced to turn tricks in order to pay for her brother’s open-heart surgery because the people of their village kicked them out on the streets for having a funny-sounding last name. Yes, THAT ONE which can bring any optimist to question, “What has the world gone to?” Except THIS person who responds with a hug and the perfect thing to say in this situation (which even I can’t dream up), in addition to the plans for a foundation dedicated to helping this poor girl and her brother, and all others like them.

The fact of the matter is that the world NEEDS people like this just like it needs its villains. And I can’t fault them for who they are, just as I can’t discriminate against people who like their coffee black, because that’s just how they were wired.

So for the time being, I will silently seethe, trying my very darndest not to jump up from my seat, grab ahold of their arms, and shake them while screaming, “STOP BEING SO HAPPY!”

Anyone care to join me?

As if the first time around wasn’t bad enough…

Lately I have been confronted by friends and family who asked me not to share so much online, FOR MY OWN GOOD.

The “inappropriateness” of my blog (and what I choose to share on Facebook and Twitter) was not only limited to the pregnancy and miscarriage, but extended to all aspects of my life. My relationship with J. My struggle with depression. So on and so forth.

I know that they are concerned on my behalf and only voicing their opinions because they care. But I could not help but be angered.

It may seem like I overshare, but believe me, there are A LOT worse things that I have chosen to censor. With every stroke of my keyboard that becomes public on the web, I am careful not to hurt or offend my friends and family.

“Sure, you may not be hurting us directly. But can’t you see that when you hurt, we hurt?”

This is a valid argument. However, please be assured that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. If anything, blogging is therapeutic and helps me get through those rough patches.

As for my future children reading this blog? I want them to read it! I want to them see what their mom was like, how she lived her life, and what the world was like through her eyes. Will they be embarassed or ashamed of me? That is a possibility, yes. But what child isn’t at one point in their lives? I would rather that they know the full, real ME.

Perhaps wearing my emotions on my sleeve for all to gawk at is a reaction to having been raised in a culture where showing only your best face to the public is held in such importance. My parents hardly talk about their lives, and even now, they choose to keep things from me and my sister. Do you know how sad it is to feel like you do not know your own mother and father?

This blog has not reached a status to have started receiving hatemail. However, whenever I get good feedback the following four words are always included:

“I love your honesty.”

You know what? I love my honesty too. Sometimes it can come across as being blunt. Something my candor can seem offensive, or even inappropriate. But if I can’t be honest to myself (because this blog is an extension of myself), who can I be honest to?

Posting will be light this week as I spend time with family.