Category: Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew

A New Year’s Resolution Resolved!

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeFeatures by Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeFuel by Bindu Adai-Mathew, January 20133 Comments

By Bindu Adai Mathew

So one of my previous New Year’s resolutions (I just won’t admit to which year that was!) has been to publish. Well, truthfully, it goes beyond just being a yearly resolution but something I’ve always “dreamed” of doing.

Well, this is the year! My memoir “38 Candles” has been published to Amazon!

http://www.amazon.com/38-Candles-ebook/dp/B00AOY0RNC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357043233&sr=8-1&keywords=38+Candles

And I’d like to share the first chapter with you…

Chapter 1:  The Birthday Candles

The flames of 38 candles dance in front of me, flickering and twisting. The happy, smiling faces of my husband and Ava, my one-year old daughter, look on as they eagerly wait for me to make my wish and blow out the candles. I stare mindlessly at the candles, each a marker of a year in my life. So many candles! Are there really 38 candles on that cake? Is it even possible that I have celebrated that many birthdays?

I close my eyes momentarily, silently making my not-so-secret wish, and then breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with air. I manage to blow out all the candles (except a few) as my husband claps. Ava, sensing the excitement, quickly joins in, her tiny hands clapping enthusiastically…and my husband and I both momentarily pause, sharing a look and a smile, as we both marvel at how together we have created such a beautiful, perfect being.

After gorging on the vanilla cake with too much buttercream icing, my husband puts Ava to bed for her afternoon nap while I clean up. As I put the dishes away and wipe down the counter, I gaze at the cake, again troubled by the sheer number of candles on it. It truly seems unfathomable. In a feeble attempt to reassure myself that I have truly celebrated 38 birthdays, as I remove each candle, I quickly attempt to recall what I did for each birthday. Some birthdays 1…2…3…4 are probably forever lost in my childhood subconscious…5 was my first birthday in America, having emigrated from India just a few months earlier. I remember it vividly, probably due to all the pictures taken by my parents. Birthdays 6…7…8…9…10…11 are all a blur, and 12 was my first and only real birthday party with all my friends from school. It was also the year my mom told me that it would be my last birthday celebration. She patted her burgeoning stomach, reminding me that at twelve years old, I was about to be a big sister and far too old now to be having birthday parties…13…14…15…16…17…18 were probably all small family celebrations with a simple homemade birthday cake after dinner…19 was when my college suitemates surprised me with cake and a song at the end of the night after I was convinced they had all forgotten…20 was uneventful as well with nothing more than good wishes from all my friends. My 21st birthday was when my roommate and I watched The Age of Innocence starring Winona Ryder and Daniel Day-Lewis. At that time, it was much more appealing than celebrating it at a bar or a club. I ushered in my 22nd with friends having dinner and planning our life milestones (Meet my future husband at 24, get married by 25, and have kids by 27—I had it all planned!). My 23rd birthday was another evening spent hanging out with friends, followed by a lecture the next day from my dad about the fact that I was getting older and should consider going to India to look for a husband since I wasn’t finding one in the U.S. Birthday number 24 was spent with friends, discussing why Mr. Right still hadn’t shown up in any of our lives and how even my trip to India a few months earlier, which I dubbed as Husband Search #1, had been unsuccessful…25 was spent tweaking my life timeline (Okay, meet my future husband by age 24 26, get married by 25 27, have kids by 27 29.). It was also my first birthday in grad school and I spent it alone…26 was when my grad school friends threw me my first real surprise party…27 was spent with friends again, followed by another talking-to the next day from my dad on how time was running out and I needed to get married ASAP and should consider going to India again….28 was spent with friends, moping about still being single. After another unsuccessful trip to India a few months earlier (Husband Search #2), which almost resulted in marriage (another long story), I came back alone, this time vowing never to go back to India just to look for a husband…29 was spent recovering from another disappointing setup, followed by a cathartic shredding of the paper that detailed the dates I would be married, have kids, etc.,…30 was my amazing trip to Italy as I celebrated the “fabulousness” of my single life. It was my “I don’t need a man” trip…31 was spent busily planning my wedding (I met my husband just four months after my “I don’t need a man” trip to Italy)…32 was my first birthday after marriage where I had a surprise full course breakfast in bed…33 was lunch at Chili’s with hubby…34 was lunch again with just my hubby at Islamorada…35 was my second real surprise party, thrown by my hubby, followed by a weekend trip to Naples, Florida, in an ocean-front suite at the Ritz Carlton…36 was spent in a cozy hotel room overlooking Niagara Falls with subzero temperatures outside…37 was spent recouping at home with my mom and enjoying the birth of Ava just the week before…and now, I was 38!

38.

38…38…38…The numbers echo in my head like the rhythmic chiming of a grandfather clock.

38.

Just twelve years from 50. I cringe inwardly as I also realize that I am now officially closer to 50 than to 25.

The irony of it is that to twenty-somethings and teens, I am “old,” an almost forty-something in their eyes. But to the forty-somethings and older people, I am still relatively young, a summer chicken (as opposed to a spring chicken) with her whole life still in front of her.

As for me, I still look at myself and life through a twenty-something’s eye.

But it’s not the number that haunts me…well, at least not just the number, for it is a reminder—not only of what I’ve done each year of my 38 years – but more important, it is a reminder of what I’ve not done.

I think of the career woman I am not. The career ladder I never quite climbed. The six-figure income that I’m still shy of…and worst of all, that deep sinking feeling that at 38 years old, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I think of the one argument my husband and I have had over and over again about his desire for me to go back to college to get a different master’s degree, something that I have been determined to put off until I figure out what I am meant to do with my life.

Most of all, I think of the 400-plus-page manuscript stored on my computer hard drive, the one that I finally completed after 10 years of just talking about how I wanted to write a novel. After years of procrastination, a lack of discipline, and countless distractions, I knew the time had come to just do it. So finally, using every spare moment on weekends and evenings, I finally made time to write the novel I had always known I was meant to write, certain I was destined to be on the New York Times bestseller list. I completed it just before Ava was born. But now that same novel, post rejection by several agents, remains untouched on my computer hard drive, on the brink of being shelved and forgotten somewhere in cyberspace.

38.

For the rest of the day and into the night, the number hangs over me like a black cloud. It rings in my head over and over again, like a death knell, reminding me that time is running out.

Whole in His Holiness

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeBytes by Bindu Adai-Mathew, Mind Body Spirit ConnectionLeave a comment

Go to fullsize imageBy Bindu Adai-Mathew

Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Friend. Employee. Aren’t there times when you feel like there are so many pieces of yourself that you give away throughout the day that you feel as though you have nothing for yourself, much less God? Since becoming a wife and especially after becoming a mother, between work and my family, I often feel like I am being pulled, tugged, twisted, and yanked in so many directions…and while at times I have no idea which direction I’m headed, the only thing that seems clear is that I’m further and further from accomplishing my personal dreams and goals.

I recall the person I dreamed I would be by this age. Married. With Children. That part doesn’t seem surprising. But yet even after marriage, for several years, I didn’t recognize the person that stared back at me in the mirror. The medals and trophies that line up my parents’ living room, tokens of a bygone era of accomplishment, now lay tarnished amongst my current reality—the reality that the person who was once voted “Most Likely to Succeed” by her graduating class now seems anything but successful and accomplished. Often I felt I was no better than one of the statuettes I had won in my earlier days. Like them, I was tarnished. Stashed away in the corner. Forgotten. Stuck in the past. Old. Hollow.

Somewhere, somehow, I had gone missing…in my own life.

But as JMathis reminded us yesterday…we are “missing no longer.” Despite our pasts, our wrong mistakes, how we’ve been wronged, God knows us. He knows every hair on our head. He knows our pasts, and He knows our future.

Once I realized that no matter where I was…in a good place…in a bad place…all that mattered is that I get my focus back on God. It is while basking in His light that chases the shadows of lies away, that illuminates the truth that was there all along. When I focused on that rather than my own life and my own mistakes, doors that remained shut slowly began swinging open. Regret began melting in my heart, and I could once again start living my life, believing that I was right where I needed to be. I was right where God wanted me to be. Soon my “wrong” turns weren’t so wrong.

Even recently an open door now seems to be shutting. And while I waded in self-pity for a few days, I soon straightened my shoulders and began looking around for my next open door. For I know the truth.   God promises us blessings and a future.  For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11.

Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Friend. Employee. Child of God. All these are fragments of me, but it is the latter than makes me truly whole. It’s the latter that allows God to fill in those gaping Holes, piecing everything together, making me Whole in His Holiness.

Are You a Heckler…in Your Own Life?

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeBytes by Bindu Adai-Mathew, Mind Body Spirit ConnectionLeave a comment

View ImageBy Bindu Adai-Mathew

Are you a negative person or a positive person? Do you look at the glass and see it half-empty or half-full? Until a few years ago, if you had asked me those two questions, I would have readily answered that yes, I am most definitely a positive person. After all, I’m always encouraging my friends. Yes, I’m that friend—the friend my friends call when they get discouraged or frustrated with life. The friend whom they can say anything and everything to without fear of being judged. The friend who will tell them that things WILL work out and actually sincerely believe it will.

Until one day I was talking to a friend about a particular tough situation I was going through and even after she encouraged me, I replied that “yeah, it’s probably never going to work out.” She seemed surprised by my negativity and shook her head and said, “I didn’t realize you were such a pessimist.” It was my turn to be surprised because I knew I wasn’t, and I immediately delved into a diatribe of how I wasn’t actually believing that it wouldn’t work out but explained how I only said that more as a way of protecting myself in case it didn’t. “You know, I just don’t want to be disappointed…just in case” I replied. She shook her head unconvincingly back at me. I know I sounded like a pessimist, but I knew I wasn’t so I tried to explain it further. “You know…hope for the best, but expect the worst.” She shook her head at me again. I wasn’t going to win this one, I realized and let it go.

But then a few hours later I caught myself with a string of negative thoughts. Nothing ever changes. Why do these things always happen to me? I have the worst luck.

And then later again, more negative thoughts. There’s no point in even trying. Man, life sucks. Why can’t I do anything right?

The funny part is I didn’t actually believe these things. At least not on a conscious level. But yet I still thought them. So what was that about? Just a momentary frustration? A blip? Or was it a reflection of what I truly did believe about myself or my life?

No…and then I realized what it was…I was just a heckler in my own life.

Hecklers…you typically hear them at events like comedy shows and sport events. You hear about them in the news when there’s a political press conference or speech.

Out of curiosity, I looked up the word to see the “official” definition, and the dictionary defined a heckler as a person who shouts a disparaging comment at a performance or event, or interrupts set-piece speeches, for example at a political meeting, with intent to disturb its performers or participants.

Interesting concept, isn’t it? That we can be hecklers in our own lives. But doesn’t that describe what we often do to ourselves in our every day lives? We taunt ourselves, telling ourselves like, “You’re an idiot!” “You can’t do anything right!”

Maybe that heckling is a result of past verbal abuse…or maybe it’s out of insecurity…or fear.  However it started, it is probably now more a habit than anything. It may seem innocent enough…after all, it’s only in your head.  But make no mistake…words do hurt. And you’re only hurting yourself.

Think about it. What are your fears? Speaking in front of a group?  What is it you would like to do that you wish you could do if you only had the guts? And when you actually think about doing that very thing, what thoughts go through your head?

Take some time today to listen to what you’re actually telling yourself on a daily basis. Because even if you don’t believe those words, you’re still listening to yourself and those words will eventually have an impact.

As much as we all love to get encouragement from other people, we often have to be our own cheerleader. And often, believing in yourself and believing in positive things about yourself is often the first barrier into achieving our dreams and enjoying our lives.

You Are What You Believe

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeBytes by Bindu Adai-Mathew, Mind Body Spirit ConnectionLeave a comment

By Bindu Adai-Mathew

It was 1994 or 1995, and I was glued to the television screen as I watched Tracey Gold share her struggle with anorexia. At the time, I, too, had been struggling with an eating disorder. Like most people who are going through an emotional/psychological struggle, you often feel alone and feel like you’re the only one going through it. But as I watched Tracey, I was surprised that she, a Hollywood celebrity, could share my feelings of inferiority and feeling “just not good enough.” Now that I’m older, it seems silly as many of us have come to think of many Hollywood stars as the most narcissistic and insecure people.  But at the time, her thoughts, feelings resonated with me…that is, until she said, (and I’m paraphrasing) that you really never completely heal from an eating disorder…how it’s always with you…and how, like many addictions, it’s something you’ll battle for the rest of your life.

As soon as she said those words, something deep in me rejected her words immediately. I recalled the happy-go-lucky teenager I had been just a few years ago who was naturally thin, who never had to watch what she ate, who never really thought about food except when she was hungry. But somehow my insecurities and my narcissistic attempt at perfection eventually led me down a path, where, like JMathis, I began counting every calorie and focused all my thoughts on food, exercise, and watching the scale. This wasn’t me! This couldn’t be God’s plan for my life! As I heard Tracey share her thoughts about eating disorders being a permanent struggle, something inside me arose, and I said audibly and forcibly declared, ‘No! I refuse to believe that God can’t completely heal me to the point where I will no longer struggle with this.” I knew in my heart of hearts that God, if He wanted to, could return me to that person whose thoughts didn’t continually and obsessively focus on food and calories.  He had made the lame to walk and brought the dead back to life. He could heal me as well. I knew it, and I believed it.

It didn’t happen overnight…but praise God, He did eventually restore me to wholeness once again. He not only healed me, but he restored me to the point where food and counting calories were no longer an issue. At least no more than it was before I had started down that path. I knew later that moment where I knew and believed God could and would heal me was crucial in my healing.

AbbyA calls it self-talk. But what are you telling yourself about whatever body issues you are struggling with?  Do you believe healing and restoration are possible?

If not, I want to remind you that no matter how many years you’ve struggled, God can bring you back to wholeness.

Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed from that moment. Matthew 9:20-22

Swimsuit Season, Anyone?

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeFeatures by Bindu Adai-Mathew, Mind Body Spirit ConnectionLeave a comment

Go to fullsize imageBy Bindu Adai-Mathew

I have two words to make you completely cringe and cause the hair on the back of your neck to recoil in disgust: swimsuit season.

 Yes, those two words are powerful. As children, it evokes images of summertime spent gallivanting in cool water to ward off the scorching summer heat.

 As adults, it evokes endless hours of our stomachs twisting in knots and hands wrenching with worry as we try to figure out how to “undo” months of our bad winter behavior in a matter of weeks so we can be bathing suit ready.

 For those of you in your twenties, getting into that cute swimsuit might require cutting down on a few snacks and reducing your intake of junk food. (Sorry, I’ll try not to hate you!)

For those of us who are no longer in our twenties and especially those of us who have had kids, that means not eating. Ever again. Oh, wait! I take that back. We’re allowed celery and lettuce. Apparently, those are negative calories because the amount of calories it takes our body to digest those types of foods is greater than the number of calories that are in them. Somehow that gives us hope that we can actually start tapping into the gigantic fat reserves that have made their permanent home around our thighs and hips.

Got body issues?

Skinny. Fat. Average Jane. Supermodel Janelle. We all have issue with our bodies. You can put a group of 10 women in a room together, and their body issues will be greater than the number that are just in the room. Put them all in bathing suits in a room and their body issues will be exponentially greater.

Take me, for example. In a business suit, I feel powerful. Capable. Put me in a bathing suit, and I feel vulnerable. Exposed. The entire time I’ll be fidgeting with my swimsuit, tugging and pulling to make sure I’m completely covered and worrying about what someone else will think about my less than perfect body. And is it me, but why is okay to wear bikinis out in public when it’s not okay to wear our bras and underwear out in public? Aren’t they one and the same? Or am I the only prude who thinks so?!

For many of us, our bodies are our sore spots. But as experts tell us, our attitude towards bodies are often indicative of emotional and mental issues and scars.

 But I want to remind you that our attitude towards our bodies can also be a spiritual thermometer.

 How so? Well, even as early as Genesis, we can see a spiritual connection between God and our bodies. When God made Adam and Eve, the Bible says He made them after his own image. But Chapter 2 adds “25The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.”

But by chapter 3 of Genesis, they have sinned by eating the fruit from the forbidden tree:

7Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.

Isn’t it in interesting that they weren’t ashamed of their bodies before they sinned but only after?

As far as we can tell, nothing had changed in Eve’s body. Eve didn’t eat one too many mangoes. Neither did she have a kid, gain a bunch of weight, and then suddenly become embarrassed about the extra cellulite. The scripture is clear—her shame had a direct correlation with her sin.

What shame are you camouflaging under your skinny jeans or swimsuit wrap?  And I’m not talking just about your sin…I’m talking about what others may have done to you…because even if you are the innocent victim of someone else’s sin, the shame of sin can still transfer on to you…it can linger on your skin, eating away like a parasite at your self-esteem.

Whether we realize it or not, our bodies have a direct spiritual connection to God. Even the Bible is clear on the matter that our bodies are more than just flesh: 

19Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; 20you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body. 1 Corinthians 6

Today I want you to take a personal inventory of your own attitudes about your body. Maybe, like many of us, you have been indulging in one too many potato chips…if that is the case, resolve to treat your body more healthily this year.  Occasionally substitute that craving for potato chips or chocolate with some fresh fruit…like apples…or some sweet, juicy mangoes (Sorry, it’s mango season here in South Florida! )

It will not be easy, but be determined to take better care of your body this year. After all, if you have visitors coming to visit your home, wouldn’t you do some spring cleaning, tidy up the clutter, and spruce up the place?  Well, remember, according to 1 Corinithians 6: 19-20,  you do have a permanent guest of honor residing in your home.  Now that verse makes swimsuit season seem trivial in comparison, doesn’t it?

And even if your body is less than ideal, resolve to find your peace with it. Several years ago, I came to the conclusion that it was futile to fight my body. I was never going to be a supermodel so why was I bothering to hate and fight it so? I might as well accept the way God made me and do my best to take care of it.

Or maybe your negative attitude towards your body is the result of something horrible that happened to you a long time ago, and you’ve decided your body is pretty much worthless and not worthy of being treated well.

Again I encourage you to pour out your hurt to God. Isaiah 61:3 promises you who are grieving that God will trade you a  “crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.

Whatever you have been through or whatever has been done to you, you are not worthless. That is what Satan will have you feel and believe. But it is a lie. God can and WILL trade you your hurt and shame for beauty. He can heal you, and you can once again be a shining example of what He always intended when He created us.  After all, it isn’t just your body…it’s HIS.

My prayer for you beginning with today, July 4th, is that we inspire you this month to live and celebrate your life in spiritual freedom! Freedom from self-condemnation, self-hatred towards your body. We hope to connect those dots between the body-mind-spirit  that can encourage you to live your life to its fullest. Remember your true relationship with your body and with God is a reflection of your attitude and your heart…not the reflection of your dresser mirror.

God-Sized Holes

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeFeatures by Bindu Adai-Mathew, June 2011 (Men and Boys)2 Comments

By Bindu Adai-Mathew

For this past Mother’s day, I got flowers…ahem, actually, let me clarify…I got texted a picture of some flowers, accompanied with the words “Happy Mother’s Day” from my husband. I was in Houston with my daughter and we were visiting my family, specifically my own mother, for Mother’s Day weekend. When I got the text, I chuckled and called to thank my husband for his thoughtfulness. The next day when I arrived back in Florida,  I fell quickly back into my routine, and it wasn’t until the end of the week that it hit me that that my husband never gave me my Mother’s Day card or gift!

So one evening, I playfully approached him, hands clasped behind me as I trotted to him like he was Santa Clause dispensing Christmas gifts. “Hey honey, did you forget something?” I asked, coyly smiling.

He was completely engrossed in his computer but finally glanced up from the screen. I batted my eyelashes, flashing him all of my pearly whites.

“I forgot something?” he asked, smiling at my playfulness. But then he glanced back down at the computer and absently asked, “What did I forget?”

“You know…for Mother’s Day…”

He glanced back at me with a blank expression. Ahhh…nicely played, I thought to myself. His innocent act is very convincing. Internally, I was rubbing my hands gleefully together as I imagined all my possible gifts…perhaps it’s a cute outfit, a mani-pedi gift certificate, or ooooh, maybe it’s a nice massage!

But rather than rushing to the closet to pull out my nicely wrapped gift, he continued to sit on the couch, staring at me with a truly perplexed stare. “But I sent you flowers…”

“Huh? You did? I didn’t get any flowers.”  Had they been delivered to the wrong address? Maybe they arrived at my parents’ home after I left…no, my mom would have told me.

“Remember…the text…I texted you flowers!” he stated matter-of-factly.

Now it was my turn to give him the blank stare. “Seriously?” I asked, hoping he’s kidding.

Apparently, he was not.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled half-heartedly like it was no big deal that he neglected the mother of his only child on Mother’s Day. He focused his attention back on the computer screen. As I stared incredulously at him, I momentarily imagined using those cyber flowers he texted me to beat some sensitivity into him.

I can’t help it. I know it sounds petty to whine about not getting a gift…but to be honest, I was really looking forward to some small (or not-so-small token) of recognition for my daily sacrifices as a mother. Unlike my birthday, where just by virtue of being born, I am remembered and honored, I feel like I’ve EARNED my Mother’s Day recognition.

Yep, that’s right for all you moms with teenagers…you heard me. In the 20 months that I’ve had a child, I feel very deserving of my mother’s day card and gift. In my defense, my 20 month old toddler finally started something early—her “terrible 2’s!”  So yes, in recognition of still not sleeping through the night, in recognition of the tantrums, all the personal sacrifices we moms have to make, I felt quite deserving of this Hallmark and FTD Florist-sponsored holiday.

I really wasn’t expecting anything big, but I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel valued. Even a card would have been nice. Okay, maybe not just a card…but a card with a giftcard in it would have been nice. Or cash. I would have taken cash.

An avalanche of feelings threatened to overwhelm me as I stood there, mouth open, in dumbfounded stupor, knowing my husband could so casually and so off-handedly brush off this once-a-year day like it were one of those pseudo-holidays like National Polka Dot Appreciation Day.

I began to feel undervalued…unappreciated…and unloved.

Not wanting to start a fight over something so seemingly petty, I forcibly reminded myself of what  a wonderful husband I do have.

After all, when he proposed, he whisked me off to Catalina Island and proposed to me water-side. For a significant 30-something birthday, he surprised me with a surprise birthday dinner with 20 close friends, followed by a trip to Naples with ocean-view rooms and room service.

Yes, I reminded myself through gritted teeth, I have a very good husband. He helps me with our daughter…he even occasionally helps me clean the kitchen or load the dishwasher…and he doesn’t complain that I only end up cooking twice or less a week. I have a good husband.

My anger dissipates, but others feelings remain. The God-sized hole in my heart opens again as as I battle feelings of insignificance.

All because of a Mother’s Day gift (or more accurately, a lack thereof).

But it’s not the gift. It’s the God-sized hole that no matter how many wonderful things my husband does, he’ll never be able to fill. That hole is a like a black hole, always sucking everything in like an industrial vacuum, like negative energy… but never quite satisfied.

As I stew in self-pity, I begin to recognize the quiet, empty place. I’ve been here before. In my youth. During my 20s. Even after marriage.

But it is this quiet, empty space where God speaks to me, reminding me…

I am reminded of a friend who lost her dad when she was only 12. Losing him at such a young age had left her with her own God-sized hole in her heart. She blames her poor choices in men, her desperate need for love on her attempt to fill that void that her father left.

How ironic, I thought. All I could think of was how having my dad around was the cause of my problems…his bi-polar like personality, coupled with his short temper, left childhood scars that I’m still trying to overcome and compensate for as an adult.

My friend blames her father’s absence on her God-size hole while I blame my dad’s own personal issues as creating mine.

And then there’s the other friend. She had a good father. She didn’t lose him at a young age. In fact, he is still healthy, and they remain close. But the kind of unconditional love he showered on her made her long for that same type of adoration and devotion in her marriage.

Even AbbyA described the hole in her heart left by the dad whom she adored but was often very busy :  I spent a lot of time over the last year and a half longing for and wanting to be some of those individuals. I felt like they somehow “got more” or were on the “inside.” And, I was on the outside.

God showed me that despite our background, our experiences, we are all created with God-size holes in our hearts. We try to fill it with other things. Some people chose materialism…some chose drugs…and many of us chose the opposite sex. We pin all our hopes, our dreams, our expectations on our significant other’s ability to fill that hole.

But that’s the thing about God-sized holes…only God can fill them.

My prayer for each of you is Ephesians 3:19: May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

Don’t Be a Lady in Waiting

On By femmefuelIn Best of Bindu Adai-Mathew, FemmeFeatures by Bindu Adai-Mathew, June 2011 (Men and Boys)Leave a comment

By Bindu Adai-Mathew

It was 1998. Friends ruled the local channels, and Sex and The City ruled cable television. The Internet was still taking the world by storm and just starting to change our lives. Email, surfing, and cyberspace were becoming everyday terms, and cell phones were just beginning to replace pagers. Oprah was nowhere close to retirement, and Michael Jackson…well, he was still weird…weird, but alive.

I remember looking at the world around me, and realizing much had changed since I had graduated high school and college.  And yet, in many ways, nothing had changed at all…at least not in my life.

I was in grad school at the time, living on my own in my own apartment in the Dallas suburb of Denton, a small college town.

On the outside, I seemed to have it all—a beautifully furnished apartment, a brand new sports car, all the freedom, all the free time I could have ever wanted…but on the inside I felt lost, dazed, and confused regarding my career and my purpose in life. I also had this vacuum of emptiness. Emptiness that longed to be filled with a relationship, complete with romantic candlelight dinners and the promise of a happily ever after.

A constant question mark seemed to loom over my head. When was my life going to start? And by start, I mean, when was I going to finally meet someone?  And not just any someone…The Someone.

This was not how I had planned my life. I was 26. Back in the 1990s, that means you were supposed to be married, engaged, or dating someone.  And I was not alone. I had six close girlfriends. All single…all just as confused, frustrated…waiting. Waiting to find the One. Waiting to Get Married. And Determined Not to be Happy Until One or the Other Happened. I was beginning to live my life like a Lady in Waiting.

Flashforward to 2011, and I’m on the phone with one of those six girlfriends, all of whom, by the way, are married. Before either of us had kids, we talked almost every day on the phone. After her first child, our conversations decreased to a one or two a week. After my daughter was born, they decreased even more. After her second child was born, we have snippets of conversation whenever we can catch a break. But that doesn’t hold true just for our phone conversations, we realized…it seemed to hold true for everything. Time for baths, cleaning the house, and even cooking all suddenly seemed like luxuries rather than something we no longer had a right to.

What were we complaining about in our twenties, she asks me. I can hear the exhaustion and exasperation in her voice. I have no idea, I reply with a laugh as I recall the ability to watch a movie through its entirety. Heck, I even remember having time to go to the movies! We were so stupid not to realize how good we had it, she says. Tell me about it, I reply. Together we breathe in a deep sigh of regret. Why didn’t anyone warn us back then how life just got tougher and more stressful after marriage and kids?  Oh, they warned us, I reminded her. There were plenty of married women and married women with children, encouraging us to enjoy our lives. We were just idiots and didn’t listen. Hindsight is always 20/20.

How ironic…we were finally at the place we had always wanted to be…and what were we doing? Lamenting, missing what we once had…

What I wouldn’t do to be able to jump into a time machine, march up to the second floor of Pace’s Crossing Apartments, and slap my former self back to reality, Moonstruck-style, “Snap out of it!”

Hindsight is always 20/20. But I realize, it doesn’t have to be. As I’ve been on the phone, my 1½ old has been tugging on my leg incessantly. I finally glance down, and she raises her hands and  “eeeehhh—ooooohs” like a monkey, begging to be picked up. I guess the lesson is enjoy whatever stage you are in, I remind my friend. One day, we may be tugging on our kids’ legs, begging them to stay and spend some time with us. Just the other day, I was holding this toddler in my arms as an infant.

Enjoy your lives, ladies. Whatever stage you are in. For our lives are like as James 4:14 says, How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.

And that especially goes for you single ladies, particularly to those of you who are living your life as “Ladies in Waiting.” I’m not trying to stop you from wanting, dreaming about a relationship. I just want you to make sure you don’t allow that desire, that dream to stop you from living your life in the meantime. Because I know how those feelings can gnaw on your insides, further hollowing out the emptiness in your gut. You think there’s only one remedy for that emptiness…only to find out years later, it was never really about a boy.