It is no secret that the impending 10 days will be difficult for me, nor why. But this morning, I was hit with another harsh reality that myself and my husband's family will be facing this holiday.
My sister-in-law is notoriously hard to shop for and she never appears to be happy with anything. Really, she's just not an overtly happy person. As I have done many times in the past, I hopped on my cell phone while I strolled through Macy's. I called my mother-in-law knowing she is my only solid resource when shopping for the family.
Upon answering, I said hello, how are you? and proceeded with small talk. After I explained what I was calling for and asked for suggestions, I was hit with a return question that instantly broke my heart. She said, "Who is this?" Reduced to a blubbering mess, fighting with everything I had to not burst into tears, I answered. "It's me, Monica." The dead silenced prompted me to explain further who I was.
A deep breath from me and I patiently waited while she "searched her brain" to assimilate who I was and remember her daughter's name. The next few minutes of her trying to get through the conversation felt like hours. A return phone call from her about 15 minutes later was much better, but she was still confusing her daughter and granddaughter.
The relationship with my mother-in-law has always been tense, but we can always manage to have kind and even sweet conversations. I have been in and around the family for over 17 years now. This was the first time I had ever had this experience. Before they had caller ID, she always knew who I was. Regardless of the tension, she has always called me one of her kids (even if her actions haven't made me feel like one).
It was a couple months ago, my husband and his brother began talking about how forgetful their mother was becoming. Not only was she becoming more forgetful, but she was beginning to over compensate for something amiss in her life by being incredibly sweet and needy. At Thanksgiving, my husband had to tell her repeatedly what our plans were and often multiple times in the same phone call.
Conversations between my husband, his dad and all his siblings brought us to the consensus that yes...something was wrong. That something has continued to get worse over the past month. And, I certainly wasn't thinking about that when I called her this morning.
I refer to her problem as "something" because there hasn't been any attempts to medically diagnose the problem. The problem could be a multitude of things, but it's looking more and more like Alzheimer's. But there's a general sense of denial about the problem.
After the phone call today, I don't think I can deny it. My heart is breaking over it. I'm not sure I'm ready to witness this firsthand through Christmas. I'm not sure my husband is ready for one more thing right now.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The First Step
When you have a problem, do you go right to the fixing stage or do you spend time trying to understand why the problem exists before the fixing stage?
My first step is understanding the problem fully. One of my biggest problems lately has been with prayer. I have failed to understand why we do it if God is truly sovereign. If God already knows, why bother discussing it? Much to my surprise, I woke up this morning to a full understanding of why I struggle with this. It's not the solution, but it the first step.
By being in church, this is what I learned by example about prayer:
1. You ask for what you want and if you don't get it immediately, you just keeping asking.
2. The more people you have asking for this specific thing, the more likely it would happen. If enough people weren't asking on your behalf, it might not ever happen.
3. It was ok to ask for whatever you wanted, no matter how outlandish the request might seem...even miracle size.
4. Occasionally, someone might be thankful that one of their requests was fulfilled.
5. The most important request was the first one you made, the request to be forgiven and accepted as a new creation.
Gosh, reading it now...it almost looks like the same thing I've learned from hearing fairy tales of genies that pop out of magic lamps. No wonder I was confused!
A few weeks ago, a very wise woman explained prayer to me in a different way. Ok, it's not genie-esk. Her explanation was that prayer is the relationship with have with God. My interpretation; prayer is a fancy word for just good ole' conversation.
That was easy enough to understand. But why was it still hard to get? Why was a conversation or relationship with God so difficult for me to grasp? And that's what I woke up understanding this morning.
Without a doubt, there are two things I have always struggled with my entire life.
The first is believing the intangible. To me, intangible is make believe and make believe is bad. I wasn't allowed to play as a child, leaving me with an impeded ability to believe what I cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste. I missed out on those developmental years where creative play, making it almost impossible for me to be ok with the intangible.
The second is relationships. I attribute this problem solely to my childhood. For obvious reasons, my parents didn't foster or encourage relationships with anyone. I think what's worse is that they didn't have a relationship with me, at least not one which would be considered anything close to ok to mimic with others.
It isn't that I haven't ever had relationships with anyone, I have. I have been with my husband for 17 years. I have one friend that I have been close to for 13 years. I now have several friendships that have been established since I've been in church. Honestly, I attribute the success of those relationships to the other person. If they hadn't given me patience, understanding and an enormous amount of unreciprocated love, I doubt they would have lasted.
Through trials and time, I have learned that I can have conversations with each of these people. I know most of the time, I hold back. I still have the fear that if I share everything or the really ugly, they will surely leave or judge me. It's just my natural instinct to withhold some information or not allow myself to be fully vulnerable. My husband, who has been with me the longest, would even tell you that getting me to open up to him fully is nearly impossible.
So, I finally understand why I am struggling so much with prayer. From beginning perception to not being ok with the intangible and dysfunctional relationship skills, I understand why it's so difficult for me.
Whew...that was a big first step that took a while to take. Now, how to fix the problem. I think that's going to be more difficult. The comfort of understanding the problem only gets me so far and I don't know what to do next.
My first step is understanding the problem fully. One of my biggest problems lately has been with prayer. I have failed to understand why we do it if God is truly sovereign. If God already knows, why bother discussing it? Much to my surprise, I woke up this morning to a full understanding of why I struggle with this. It's not the solution, but it the first step.
By being in church, this is what I learned by example about prayer:
1. You ask for what you want and if you don't get it immediately, you just keeping asking.
2. The more people you have asking for this specific thing, the more likely it would happen. If enough people weren't asking on your behalf, it might not ever happen.
3. It was ok to ask for whatever you wanted, no matter how outlandish the request might seem...even miracle size.
4. Occasionally, someone might be thankful that one of their requests was fulfilled.
5. The most important request was the first one you made, the request to be forgiven and accepted as a new creation.
Gosh, reading it now...it almost looks like the same thing I've learned from hearing fairy tales of genies that pop out of magic lamps. No wonder I was confused!
A few weeks ago, a very wise woman explained prayer to me in a different way. Ok, it's not genie-esk. Her explanation was that prayer is the relationship with have with God. My interpretation; prayer is a fancy word for just good ole' conversation.
That was easy enough to understand. But why was it still hard to get? Why was a conversation or relationship with God so difficult for me to grasp? And that's what I woke up understanding this morning.
Without a doubt, there are two things I have always struggled with my entire life.
The first is believing the intangible. To me, intangible is make believe and make believe is bad. I wasn't allowed to play as a child, leaving me with an impeded ability to believe what I cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste. I missed out on those developmental years where creative play, making it almost impossible for me to be ok with the intangible.
The second is relationships. I attribute this problem solely to my childhood. For obvious reasons, my parents didn't foster or encourage relationships with anyone. I think what's worse is that they didn't have a relationship with me, at least not one which would be considered anything close to ok to mimic with others.
It isn't that I haven't ever had relationships with anyone, I have. I have been with my husband for 17 years. I have one friend that I have been close to for 13 years. I now have several friendships that have been established since I've been in church. Honestly, I attribute the success of those relationships to the other person. If they hadn't given me patience, understanding and an enormous amount of unreciprocated love, I doubt they would have lasted.
Through trials and time, I have learned that I can have conversations with each of these people. I know most of the time, I hold back. I still have the fear that if I share everything or the really ugly, they will surely leave or judge me. It's just my natural instinct to withhold some information or not allow myself to be fully vulnerable. My husband, who has been with me the longest, would even tell you that getting me to open up to him fully is nearly impossible.
So, I finally understand why I am struggling so much with prayer. From beginning perception to not being ok with the intangible and dysfunctional relationship skills, I understand why it's so difficult for me.
Whew...that was a big first step that took a while to take. Now, how to fix the problem. I think that's going to be more difficult. The comfort of understanding the problem only gets me so far and I don't know what to do next.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Delayed Reaction
My life seems to always have obscure, off-the-wall things happening. I have learned to just accept it and rarely get too upset. Actually, I think my husband and I both have just accepted that strangeness is part of our unique lives.
There have been times my husband has gotten up to find a goopy mess of sugar, syrup and mustard on the stove. We often go to bed with the house nice and tidy, only to wake up with half of the decorations on the floor and books stacked three foot high in front of the back door. That's just a few of the silly little things that are our normal. Yes, there are some more bizarre rituals but I'll save those for another time.
Tonight I was sharing an experience from last week with a friend. I realized I've become so conditioned to accept the oddities that I forget to be upset when appropriate.
Last week, my husband had left to go work out and I was vegging. I heard the garage door open and possibly close. It wasn't uncommon for my husband to close the door before he walked into the house. He loves to let the dogs run into the garage. Half paying attention and half zoned out, I expected my husband to walk in any time.
The dogs were barking and prancing in circles, just like they would any other time my husband came home. I heard the door open to the kitchen, a very distinctive, squeaky metal turn. Again, the dogs barked and pranced excited. They never growled or acted any differently than normal. I heard the door close and assumed he had gotten sidetracked by something in the garage, still not uncommon.
I thought I heard the garage door once again and was now a bit curious. Instead of getting up, I called my husband. The voices in the background didn't phase me as I asked why he was in the garage. He said he wasn't in the garage, he was still at a friend's house and was five minutes away.
Without hesitation, I went outside the front door and stayed on the phone with my husband until he got home. My thought was at least outside I wouldn't be trapped in a sealed house with a stranger. With no shoes or coat, I could still run to a neighbors house.
My husband was home in minutes and searched every inch of the house. Once he was home, I was calm and had once again chalked up my experience to our bizarre life.
When I told my friend what happened, she reacted with such fear. She said it was scary and was scared for me.
I hadn't thought much about it after walking through the house and finding nobody. But, wow! Truly, it was scary. The idea that someone had nearly walked in my house while I was home alone was scary. Maybe my husband had left the garage door open and maybe it was a neighbor, but I don't think so. Some stranger had opened the door of my little home and threatened my security. Wow! I hadn't really thought about it like that.
Had I felt that fear the night it happened, I would have probably gone straight into anxiety attacks. Since it's been about 10 days, I don't feel that intense anxiety. However, I am re-evaluating my response or lack of to the strange things in my life.
There have been times my husband has gotten up to find a goopy mess of sugar, syrup and mustard on the stove. We often go to bed with the house nice and tidy, only to wake up with half of the decorations on the floor and books stacked three foot high in front of the back door. That's just a few of the silly little things that are our normal. Yes, there are some more bizarre rituals but I'll save those for another time.
Tonight I was sharing an experience from last week with a friend. I realized I've become so conditioned to accept the oddities that I forget to be upset when appropriate.
Last week, my husband had left to go work out and I was vegging. I heard the garage door open and possibly close. It wasn't uncommon for my husband to close the door before he walked into the house. He loves to let the dogs run into the garage. Half paying attention and half zoned out, I expected my husband to walk in any time.
The dogs were barking and prancing in circles, just like they would any other time my husband came home. I heard the door open to the kitchen, a very distinctive, squeaky metal turn. Again, the dogs barked and pranced excited. They never growled or acted any differently than normal. I heard the door close and assumed he had gotten sidetracked by something in the garage, still not uncommon.
I thought I heard the garage door once again and was now a bit curious. Instead of getting up, I called my husband. The voices in the background didn't phase me as I asked why he was in the garage. He said he wasn't in the garage, he was still at a friend's house and was five minutes away.
Without hesitation, I went outside the front door and stayed on the phone with my husband until he got home. My thought was at least outside I wouldn't be trapped in a sealed house with a stranger. With no shoes or coat, I could still run to a neighbors house.
My husband was home in minutes and searched every inch of the house. Once he was home, I was calm and had once again chalked up my experience to our bizarre life.
When I told my friend what happened, she reacted with such fear. She said it was scary and was scared for me.
I hadn't thought much about it after walking through the house and finding nobody. But, wow! Truly, it was scary. The idea that someone had nearly walked in my house while I was home alone was scary. Maybe my husband had left the garage door open and maybe it was a neighbor, but I don't think so. Some stranger had opened the door of my little home and threatened my security. Wow! I hadn't really thought about it like that.
Had I felt that fear the night it happened, I would have probably gone straight into anxiety attacks. Since it's been about 10 days, I don't feel that intense anxiety. However, I am re-evaluating my response or lack of to the strange things in my life.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tis the Season
I think my fingers needed a vacation from typing the funk of my life. It's not my fingers, it's just the way it is. As the months of the year pass by, I can look at this time of year with full anticipation that it will be hard and that is just the way it is.
My adult life seems to echo a similar theme of disappointment that was so evident as a child.
As a child, you might think the disappointment was concentrated on the gifts or lack of but it wasn't. Even as a child, I knew I desired something more than a trinket wrapped in shiny paper.
Don't get me wrong, not having special memories of Christmas gifts is a part of it. What child, what person doesn't enjoy receiving gifts? When I think about a small child opening empty packages or having nothing under the tree on Christmas morning, my heart breaks. So yes, my heart still breaks for the little me who was deeply scarred by the torment of Christmas.
What's the best part about receiving a gift? For me, it's the unspoken reality that the person giving the gift cares about me. Receiving nothing as a child was a chance for my parents to show me in a very real way that they indeed did not care about me. They said it throughout the year and proved it in big ways during the holidays.
As an adult, the same kind of disappointment settles deep in my heart during the holidays. I've said it before, but it's the time of year that makes me feel most isolated. The disappointment isn't in gifts or even in people. The disappointment is my life.
I watch friends plan and prep for parties with co-workers and friends. Now that I no longer have a job, there's no Christmas party. We (really me) have been unsuccessful in finding a place in any social circle, so there's no party with friends either. I'm also reminded of just how much my previous job filled the void left by my family.
I watch people plan for their children to come home from college or plan every last detail to make their child's Christmas wonderful. People I know are feverishly making plans to go from one celebration to the next, making the most of every minute with family. Even my husband is looking forward to the trip to his parent's house. There's none of that for me.
Literally, everyone around me has something to look forward to as Christmas approaches. Why can't it be that way for me? When will my heart ever be filled with something besides disappointment during Christmas?
I know Christmas is truly about the celebration of the birth of Christ. Most Christians will tell you that the birth of their Savior should be sufficient and there should be no disappointment. I'd say those same people have never gone through a Christmas without a family or knowing that their family doesn't care about them.
My adult life seems to echo a similar theme of disappointment that was so evident as a child.
As a child, you might think the disappointment was concentrated on the gifts or lack of but it wasn't. Even as a child, I knew I desired something more than a trinket wrapped in shiny paper.
Don't get me wrong, not having special memories of Christmas gifts is a part of it. What child, what person doesn't enjoy receiving gifts? When I think about a small child opening empty packages or having nothing under the tree on Christmas morning, my heart breaks. So yes, my heart still breaks for the little me who was deeply scarred by the torment of Christmas.
What's the best part about receiving a gift? For me, it's the unspoken reality that the person giving the gift cares about me. Receiving nothing as a child was a chance for my parents to show me in a very real way that they indeed did not care about me. They said it throughout the year and proved it in big ways during the holidays.
As an adult, the same kind of disappointment settles deep in my heart during the holidays. I've said it before, but it's the time of year that makes me feel most isolated. The disappointment isn't in gifts or even in people. The disappointment is my life.
I watch friends plan and prep for parties with co-workers and friends. Now that I no longer have a job, there's no Christmas party. We (really me) have been unsuccessful in finding a place in any social circle, so there's no party with friends either. I'm also reminded of just how much my previous job filled the void left by my family.
I watch people plan for their children to come home from college or plan every last detail to make their child's Christmas wonderful. People I know are feverishly making plans to go from one celebration to the next, making the most of every minute with family. Even my husband is looking forward to the trip to his parent's house. There's none of that for me.
Literally, everyone around me has something to look forward to as Christmas approaches. Why can't it be that way for me? When will my heart ever be filled with something besides disappointment during Christmas?
I know Christmas is truly about the celebration of the birth of Christ. Most Christians will tell you that the birth of their Savior should be sufficient and there should be no disappointment. I'd say those same people have never gone through a Christmas without a family or knowing that their family doesn't care about them.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Junk Drawer
Let's face it, we all have them and they typically look like this:
The good thing is that the drawer stays closed unless you reach that point of desperation. Out of sight, out of mind...right?
This is much what it's like inside my head most days and probably what I look like to the people around me too. There's an array of stuff in there all the time and it would probably scare anyone to step inside. I can get what I need, when I need it most of the time. It might not always come out exactly when or how I would like it to, but I can usually make myself functional. In fact, most of the time I can make myself look so functional that people would never know I have a problem.
There is one upside to the specific illness I deal with. There is something inside me that puts it all together and allows me to look functional on the surface.
The truth is that mental illness has little to do with intelligence in my case. Those close to me might forget that sometimes, especially when they see the less functional sides of me. Even in a diminished mental state, my organized system is still functional and capable of maintaining. An outburst, misunderstood action or just not seeming like myself isn't a reflection of my inability but of my ability.
When there's so much junk in the drawer, it's hard to remember that it's all very organized in there somewhere. So when I look like this:
...it's just me, my humanness, my brokenness, in my pain and striving to understand myself and accept myself.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Christmas Cards from Hell
Admittedly, today was a little stressful but I wasn't feeling overly depressed or anxious. That is until I got home and opened the mail.
Amid the ads and propaganda was a small Christmas card. The return address from my hometown, which I understandably refer to as "Hell." My heart pounding and tears filling my eyes, I opened the envelope.
The envelope contained a small, innocent Christmas card. "To wish you all the joys of a MERRY CHRISTMAS Season" was printed on the inside, followed by an impersonal signature..."Grandmother Grandfather H-----d.
Christmas cards from my family had tapered off over the past few years and last year, I received none. This card reduced me to an angry mess almost immediately.
It wasn't the cold, impersonal signature that made me angry. This set of grandparents has never been overly loving or warm. My grandma is an incredibly submissive wife to my overbearing, berating grandpa. While I've never seen him be physically aggressive with her, I have seen him abuse her emotionally at family gatherings. Not a huge stretch of the imagination considering what my dad is like.
Some of the past cards have included an invitation to Christmas dinner, but this one did not. It is truly one of those cards you get knowing you are just on "the list."
What angered me was that stabbing reminder that I do have family members. Even more aggravating was that their beloved first born child is the reason why I cannot have any contact with any of that family. Their son!
That ignites a whole string of thinking and emotions for me. Do they know their son is the reason I cannot be near my family? Why do they think it's been five years since they have seen their oldest grandchild? Do they even wonder how life is for me, do they even care?
Why have they never been loving or showed really any sense of genuine care for me? They have grandchildren they have shown genuine interest in, but not in my brothers or myself. Was that because my dad didn't allow them close to us? My mom never liked them, but I never understood why. Was it her that didn't allow them close?
It's easy to consider my hometown as a place similar to my perception of hell when I think about the evil I faced in my childhood. The face of evil took several forms in my life, but notably in the face of my dad. My dad who was the product of these two people.
Do they have any idea just how evil their own son is? Do they have any clue about all the things he did to his children? Do they know he beat his children, raped them, forced them into prostitution, forced drug use on them or haunt them as adults?
My heart can't fathom it, but my mind has to ask....Are they the reason he is evil? Do they bare some responsibility for what he became as an adult? My life is severely altered as an adult because of how I grew up. Is that his story too?
Do NOT for one second think that I am somehow searching for a reason to excuse his behavior. I have NEVER stepped into that depth of dysfunction just because it was done to me. But I have to wonder. Could the Christmas card I'm holding look innocent, but come from the origin of where my life went wrong?
I really do hate that a Christmas card can kick me back down into my out of control emotional spiral. Please bottom, hurry fast!
Amid the ads and propaganda was a small Christmas card. The return address from my hometown, which I understandably refer to as "Hell." My heart pounding and tears filling my eyes, I opened the envelope.
The envelope contained a small, innocent Christmas card. "To wish you all the joys of a MERRY CHRISTMAS Season" was printed on the inside, followed by an impersonal signature..."Grandmother Grandfather H-----d.
Christmas cards from my family had tapered off over the past few years and last year, I received none. This card reduced me to an angry mess almost immediately.
It wasn't the cold, impersonal signature that made me angry. This set of grandparents has never been overly loving or warm. My grandma is an incredibly submissive wife to my overbearing, berating grandpa. While I've never seen him be physically aggressive with her, I have seen him abuse her emotionally at family gatherings. Not a huge stretch of the imagination considering what my dad is like.
Some of the past cards have included an invitation to Christmas dinner, but this one did not. It is truly one of those cards you get knowing you are just on "the list."
What angered me was that stabbing reminder that I do have family members. Even more aggravating was that their beloved first born child is the reason why I cannot have any contact with any of that family. Their son!
That ignites a whole string of thinking and emotions for me. Do they know their son is the reason I cannot be near my family? Why do they think it's been five years since they have seen their oldest grandchild? Do they even wonder how life is for me, do they even care?
Why have they never been loving or showed really any sense of genuine care for me? They have grandchildren they have shown genuine interest in, but not in my brothers or myself. Was that because my dad didn't allow them close to us? My mom never liked them, but I never understood why. Was it her that didn't allow them close?
It's easy to consider my hometown as a place similar to my perception of hell when I think about the evil I faced in my childhood. The face of evil took several forms in my life, but notably in the face of my dad. My dad who was the product of these two people.
Do they have any idea just how evil their own son is? Do they have any clue about all the things he did to his children? Do they know he beat his children, raped them, forced them into prostitution, forced drug use on them or haunt them as adults?
My heart can't fathom it, but my mind has to ask....Are they the reason he is evil? Do they bare some responsibility for what he became as an adult? My life is severely altered as an adult because of how I grew up. Is that his story too?
Do NOT for one second think that I am somehow searching for a reason to excuse his behavior. I have NEVER stepped into that depth of dysfunction just because it was done to me. But I have to wonder. Could the Christmas card I'm holding look innocent, but come from the origin of where my life went wrong?
I really do hate that a Christmas card can kick me back down into my out of control emotional spiral. Please bottom, hurry fast!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Hidden in a Snow Globe
This morning I was reminded of a conversation I recently had with a friend. She couldn't fathom how a true Christian could get depressed when all they needed was Jesus. I understand her argument that God should be enough no matter what the situation. Living as if that is absolute truth is more difficult than it is to let those words fall from your lips. In fact, I have come up against many Christians who don't believe depression should ever be an ailment of other Christians. So NOT true!
Thinking through that this morning, I had the little voice inside me reminding me that there are real reasons for the way I feel. Becoming a Christian only made things like Christmas more difficult. Becoming a Christian meant I had to look at everything in truth and stop hiding in the dark. Christmas time is one of those things that had to be kept in the dark, so that it didn't threaten to bring me down like it is doing now.
I know I've mentioned a little bit in the past about what Christmas was like for me as a child and to summarize, it was never good. It was always a time of pain, physically and emotionally.
Someone asked me the other day if there were things from my childhood that I remembered about Christmas that were good. Yes, but no was my answer.
I went several years with some extended family to the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass at their church. I absolutely loved the warm, decorated church. My favorite part was the music. It was my chance to sing the Christmas music that I knew from school. Obviously this was back in the day when it was still ok in a small town school to sing about Christ.
It was still impossible to hold onto that joy for longer than the 60 minute service. The priest was the one who had witnessed my cousin molesting me and failed to stop it. The other downside was that the same cousin would always find a way to molest me shortly after arriving home from the service.
Somewhere along the way, I received a gift of a snow globe. In the glittery snow sat a manger scene and it played O' Little Town of Bethlehem. At the time, it was just a song I knew and knew I liked. The manger scene inside wasn't about baby Jesus at all. To me, this was a very real picture of a mother and father who loved their baby so much that they could do nothing more than stare intently. Because of the song, I knew it was somehow associated with Christmas.
Whether my heart was broken or I had been beaten and assaulted on one my dad's rampages, I could look into my snow globe and see what it would be like if my parents had loved me. My dad tried many times to take that snow globe away from me, causing me to learn to hide it well. I used to think he didn't want me to think parents were supposed to care like that. However, now I think it represented a God that he hates.
The last time I saw the snow globe was one night over Christmas break as a teen when I had been savagely beaten and raped. I desperately stared at the baby, wishing to be in the presence of two parents who loved me. Without any warning and in the blink of an eye, my dad grabbed the snow globe from my hands. He took it to the front steps and smashed it onto the sidewalk.
It's not an exaggeration to say I was devastated. It's also not a stretch to understand how the constant evil in my life could possibly be wreaking havoc with me today.
It's easy when you aren't a Christian to keep everything in the dark pit, locked up and unexposed. But being a Christian has forced me to crawl in that pit and expose myself to what is really true. I know that the end goal is to emerge from the pit, living with a new truth...exposed and unashamed of what was, looking forward to what is and will forever be.
Until that day, it's a constant fight in that pit. I believe it's a battle, a spiritual battle. Either give up and walk away from the truth or stay in the pit and fight it out until I can get out. Do what's easy or do what's hard. It's getting harder to do the hard thing. I said it last night and I'm learning it's more true everyday. I cannot do this by myself. By myself, I will lose the battle.
Thinking through that this morning, I had the little voice inside me reminding me that there are real reasons for the way I feel. Becoming a Christian only made things like Christmas more difficult. Becoming a Christian meant I had to look at everything in truth and stop hiding in the dark. Christmas time is one of those things that had to be kept in the dark, so that it didn't threaten to bring me down like it is doing now.
I know I've mentioned a little bit in the past about what Christmas was like for me as a child and to summarize, it was never good. It was always a time of pain, physically and emotionally.
Someone asked me the other day if there were things from my childhood that I remembered about Christmas that were good. Yes, but no was my answer.
I went several years with some extended family to the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass at their church. I absolutely loved the warm, decorated church. My favorite part was the music. It was my chance to sing the Christmas music that I knew from school. Obviously this was back in the day when it was still ok in a small town school to sing about Christ.
It was still impossible to hold onto that joy for longer than the 60 minute service. The priest was the one who had witnessed my cousin molesting me and failed to stop it. The other downside was that the same cousin would always find a way to molest me shortly after arriving home from the service.
Somewhere along the way, I received a gift of a snow globe. In the glittery snow sat a manger scene and it played O' Little Town of Bethlehem. At the time, it was just a song I knew and knew I liked. The manger scene inside wasn't about baby Jesus at all. To me, this was a very real picture of a mother and father who loved their baby so much that they could do nothing more than stare intently. Because of the song, I knew it was somehow associated with Christmas.
Whether my heart was broken or I had been beaten and assaulted on one my dad's rampages, I could look into my snow globe and see what it would be like if my parents had loved me. My dad tried many times to take that snow globe away from me, causing me to learn to hide it well. I used to think he didn't want me to think parents were supposed to care like that. However, now I think it represented a God that he hates.
The last time I saw the snow globe was one night over Christmas break as a teen when I had been savagely beaten and raped. I desperately stared at the baby, wishing to be in the presence of two parents who loved me. Without any warning and in the blink of an eye, my dad grabbed the snow globe from my hands. He took it to the front steps and smashed it onto the sidewalk.
It's not an exaggeration to say I was devastated. It's also not a stretch to understand how the constant evil in my life could possibly be wreaking havoc with me today.
It's easy when you aren't a Christian to keep everything in the dark pit, locked up and unexposed. But being a Christian has forced me to crawl in that pit and expose myself to what is really true. I know that the end goal is to emerge from the pit, living with a new truth...exposed and unashamed of what was, looking forward to what is and will forever be.
Until that day, it's a constant fight in that pit. I believe it's a battle, a spiritual battle. Either give up and walk away from the truth or stay in the pit and fight it out until I can get out. Do what's easy or do what's hard. It's getting harder to do the hard thing. I said it last night and I'm learning it's more true everyday. I cannot do this by myself. By myself, I will lose the battle.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
My Road Block
While looking at Christmas lights tonight, I realized something very important. Just because I am struggling to put one foot in front of the other right now, there are people who are not. There are people who solidly place faith in prayer and are not currently wrestling through what they believe.
I know some amazing prayer warriors. They will be on their face in prayer over every request brought to them and over things they've yet to know.
It seems almost hypocritical to ask anyone for prayer when I'm struggling with the act of it myself. Not only that, but I'm such a mess that I don't know how to summarize what I need right now.
You know that feeling you get when someone taps your shoulder because you are standing in their way? That's exactly what I was feeling tonight as I thought about all of this.
The truth is that I'm living day to day in a pretty dark world right now, emotionally and mentally. I physically don't feel well with some inner ear problems going on and my adnomyosis acting up. I crawl into bed every night with a fairly grim outlook on life.
Drudging through day after day without having anything hopeful to hang onto is tiresome. But am I just standing in the way? I don't necessarily mean am I just a roadblock that needs to be removed from life...or maybe I do. In keeping this mostly to myself, putting a smile on my face when I'm anywhere near most other people, am I standing in the way of truly allowing people to help?
Outside of trying to talk through some of what is going on with me, what could anyone really do to help? Aren't I just another waste of time that never gets any better? Or is the very thing I struggle with really the answer?
Can the thing I need the most to save me from this awful dark place be found in prayer? Not prayer from me, but prayer from others. Am I being a roadblock by not pursuing help in this spiritual battle? How do I hold onto something I struggle to believe if I don't have a firm grip on those who do?
I don't have the answer to any of those questions. However I rest firmly in knowing this...I cannot do this alone. Without help, I will never be able to merge from this darkness.
I know some amazing prayer warriors. They will be on their face in prayer over every request brought to them and over things they've yet to know.
It seems almost hypocritical to ask anyone for prayer when I'm struggling with the act of it myself. Not only that, but I'm such a mess that I don't know how to summarize what I need right now.
You know that feeling you get when someone taps your shoulder because you are standing in their way? That's exactly what I was feeling tonight as I thought about all of this.
The truth is that I'm living day to day in a pretty dark world right now, emotionally and mentally. I physically don't feel well with some inner ear problems going on and my adnomyosis acting up. I crawl into bed every night with a fairly grim outlook on life.
Drudging through day after day without having anything hopeful to hang onto is tiresome. But am I just standing in the way? I don't necessarily mean am I just a roadblock that needs to be removed from life...or maybe I do. In keeping this mostly to myself, putting a smile on my face when I'm anywhere near most other people, am I standing in the way of truly allowing people to help?
Outside of trying to talk through some of what is going on with me, what could anyone really do to help? Aren't I just another waste of time that never gets any better? Or is the very thing I struggle with really the answer?
Can the thing I need the most to save me from this awful dark place be found in prayer? Not prayer from me, but prayer from others. Am I being a roadblock by not pursuing help in this spiritual battle? How do I hold onto something I struggle to believe if I don't have a firm grip on those who do?
I don't have the answer to any of those questions. However I rest firmly in knowing this...I cannot do this alone. Without help, I will never be able to merge from this darkness.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
I think I can, I think I can...
Nope...my little train can't.
I might be reaching the point of desparation in the daunting task of pulling my butt off this downward spiral I am in currently. It isn't that I'm afraid of being depressed or that this is something new to me.
Most years, I'm standing on the other side of January 1st thinking, "whew I made it." The holidays are always difficult. With the exception of last year, I don't remember ever having an ok Christmas for as long as I can remember.
Last year was unique, which I think could be making this year even more difficult. This time last year, I was wrapped up in a friendship that offered me something I had never had. The whirlwind activities of November and December filled my mind and heart with a block from the normal slope of emotions.
This year there is no buffer and now I also am left to grieve what was lost with the end of that same relationship, adding even more emotion.
I am TRYING, I really am. I feel like I have to reassure myself that yes, I am doing everything I can.
Even music isn't working right now. I have tried to listen, but the words can't seem to wiggle around the walls that keep them from penetrating my head and heart. Listening intently to songs which have taught me or spoke deeply to me at one time only bring me to tears now as I can't register one bit of it.
One of the songs I go to in the worst of times is Third Day's "Cry Out to Jesus." Because I'm struggling to understand or believe in prayer, even my go to song isn't working. There's nobody to cry out to when you don't believe anybody is listening. So, I just cry.
I absolutely hate feeling this way. I hate being a depressed, anxiety filled mess going into each night, wondering if daylight will come or if I'll step into another day of darkness.
I might be reaching the point of desparation in the daunting task of pulling my butt off this downward spiral I am in currently. It isn't that I'm afraid of being depressed or that this is something new to me.
Most years, I'm standing on the other side of January 1st thinking, "whew I made it." The holidays are always difficult. With the exception of last year, I don't remember ever having an ok Christmas for as long as I can remember.
Last year was unique, which I think could be making this year even more difficult. This time last year, I was wrapped up in a friendship that offered me something I had never had. The whirlwind activities of November and December filled my mind and heart with a block from the normal slope of emotions.
This year there is no buffer and now I also am left to grieve what was lost with the end of that same relationship, adding even more emotion.
I am TRYING, I really am. I feel like I have to reassure myself that yes, I am doing everything I can.
Even music isn't working right now. I have tried to listen, but the words can't seem to wiggle around the walls that keep them from penetrating my head and heart. Listening intently to songs which have taught me or spoke deeply to me at one time only bring me to tears now as I can't register one bit of it.
One of the songs I go to in the worst of times is Third Day's "Cry Out to Jesus." Because I'm struggling to understand or believe in prayer, even my go to song isn't working. There's nobody to cry out to when you don't believe anybody is listening. So, I just cry.
I absolutely hate feeling this way. I hate being a depressed, anxiety filled mess going into each night, wondering if daylight will come or if I'll step into another day of darkness.
Friday, December 2, 2011
For Me
The title simply put is exactly why I have continued to write, even though it wasn't my goal when I started. I wanted a place to come to see the ups and downs of my life. A place to easily find the best of times to hang onto while wading through the worst of times.
That's still the case, but even with all I have written I can't seem to dig myself out of the current downhill slide. Wrestling with all things bible based is not a new thing for me. In fact, it's usually where I've learned the most about myself and about God. But this time is different.
This time there is an internal battle brewing inside me like a civil war in my gut and far different than what I've experienced in the past. In the past, I might struggle through a particular time, subject or hurt for a short amount of time, bouncing back after some time to calm down or think clearly.
Not this time. There might as well be a double solid brick wall between me and the bible, the church and especially God.
I don't want life to be like this. I truly do have enough to struggle through. I wish someone could tell me how to fix this mess so that the distance between me and all that is right can be closed again.
That's still the case, but even with all I have written I can't seem to dig myself out of the current downhill slide. Wrestling with all things bible based is not a new thing for me. In fact, it's usually where I've learned the most about myself and about God. But this time is different.
This time there is an internal battle brewing inside me like a civil war in my gut and far different than what I've experienced in the past. In the past, I might struggle through a particular time, subject or hurt for a short amount of time, bouncing back after some time to calm down or think clearly.
Not this time. There might as well be a double solid brick wall between me and the bible, the church and especially God.
I don't want life to be like this. I truly do have enough to struggle through. I wish someone could tell me how to fix this mess so that the distance between me and all that is right can be closed again.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Slipping Away Again
Now is the first day of December and I can already feel another Christmas slipping away from me. My string of A-Z problems are once again threatening to let all the holidays fly past without being able to see experience any joy.
It's been several years since I've been able to decorate my house. I start with every good intention, but quickly get sidetracked. Most years I'm barely able to throw a wreath on the wall and the stockings on the mantle. As I covered before, I don't even have a mantle this year.
Yes, the little holiday bug has burrowed into my heart. Not in a Scrooge-like way, but in a way throws me into the depths of depression.
My husband has tried for many years to change the holidays for me. But, I've decided that might be too big of a job for one person.
Watch the movies or listen to the music...holidays are times of joining together with family and friends. Historically, neither as been true for us. It's a time when we find ourselves more isolated because everyone around us is celebrating in their realms of tradition.
Christmas time for me is void of all warm-fuzzy memories with family. But the older I get, the more I realize how many pieces of my tattered heart still break over what never was and what can never be. I will never have a mother who anxiously awaits my return for the holidays.
Not that it's perfect, but my husband has a family who loves him and cannot wait for him to visit during the holidays. I know how badly he wants for me to have that with his family, but it's just not so. It is such a bittersweet time to be with his family at Christmas. The love they share, even in their own dysfunction, is amazing. I love seeing them all together and the love they show to each other. It makes me smile while tears threaten to drown me inside. It's not my family. Although some have tried to include me, the tight knit family makes it impossible to ever feel fully included.
Since it is only the first day of December, there's still time. But, I know part of what lies in the days ahead and I fully expect the whole month to pass me by. Given the spiritual state of my life, there's not even a shred of hope that things will somehow end differently than I suspect.
It's a dark place to rest when the world around you is moving at a steady pace amongst twinkling lights and even the true reason for celebrating escapes from your heart.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
You Just Don't Know
Today I heard several people commenting about suicide. They had the typical responses to the word that many people don't understand.
People tend to believe suicide is a selfish choice made by a person who just didn't understand how to find the positive in life. They make comments about how awful it is for that person to have done "that" to their family.
I have come to the conclusion that those people have lived blessed lives in which suicide has never filtered through their thinking. How wonderful it must be to have a life that has never offered such a deep hurt to bring a person to that permanent solution.
It's personally hard to hear those comments knowing how I think and what I have been through.
Let me say that I have lost friends and family members to suicide. I have never felt as though they were selfish. In fact, I have been heartbroken for them that their life had taken them in that direction.
It is only honest for me to say I often feel the same way. For the past several years, I try to make a point to share appreciation with those who care about me. Always because I am appreciative of what they have done in my life, but also because I never want there to ever be any question. If day comes when I truly cannot handle my life any more, I want those people to know they did what they could and they are never to blame.
Because I have spent a lot of time thinking through this for myself, I can honestly say that I believe those who take their lives are victims of suicide.
There has never been someone take their own life who doesn't have any problems. They are sick people who aren't able to get through that illness. Some live with depression or chronic physical pain and others have made mistakes which they feel are unforgivable. Some people live without any hope that their lives will improve.
Regardless of the situation, the truth remains the same. The person has an illness and often untreated. I believe it is the illness which drives them to take their lives.
In my case, I have an illness which statistically reads like a life long battle with years in therapy and not being able to lead a life that I had dreamed of having. There is a good reason why insurance companies refuse to offer life insurance to people like me. The risk is too high.
I have seen great depths of evil and often feel as though I can't possible go through another painful event. There are even times I want to offer a way out for those who take care of me. It only takes one blow up with my husband to drive me to want to allow him to spend the rest of his life without having to deal with me.
There are times when I feel like a walking open wound and that there is no way out of the mess I am in. My parents didn't want me and only saw me as a burden. It's easy to think the rest of the world would feel the same. It isn't a selfish act that would drive me to do it, it is the illness that keeps me down.
The truth is that unless you have been down that path, you really can't say anything about suicide. You just don't know how deep the pain was nor how dark the place where they lost their fight.
People tend to believe suicide is a selfish choice made by a person who just didn't understand how to find the positive in life. They make comments about how awful it is for that person to have done "that" to their family.
I have come to the conclusion that those people have lived blessed lives in which suicide has never filtered through their thinking. How wonderful it must be to have a life that has never offered such a deep hurt to bring a person to that permanent solution.
It's personally hard to hear those comments knowing how I think and what I have been through.
Let me say that I have lost friends and family members to suicide. I have never felt as though they were selfish. In fact, I have been heartbroken for them that their life had taken them in that direction.
It is only honest for me to say I often feel the same way. For the past several years, I try to make a point to share appreciation with those who care about me. Always because I am appreciative of what they have done in my life, but also because I never want there to ever be any question. If day comes when I truly cannot handle my life any more, I want those people to know they did what they could and they are never to blame.
Because I have spent a lot of time thinking through this for myself, I can honestly say that I believe those who take their lives are victims of suicide.
There has never been someone take their own life who doesn't have any problems. They are sick people who aren't able to get through that illness. Some live with depression or chronic physical pain and others have made mistakes which they feel are unforgivable. Some people live without any hope that their lives will improve.
Regardless of the situation, the truth remains the same. The person has an illness and often untreated. I believe it is the illness which drives them to take their lives.
In my case, I have an illness which statistically reads like a life long battle with years in therapy and not being able to lead a life that I had dreamed of having. There is a good reason why insurance companies refuse to offer life insurance to people like me. The risk is too high.
I have seen great depths of evil and often feel as though I can't possible go through another painful event. There are even times I want to offer a way out for those who take care of me. It only takes one blow up with my husband to drive me to want to allow him to spend the rest of his life without having to deal with me.
There are times when I feel like a walking open wound and that there is no way out of the mess I am in. My parents didn't want me and only saw me as a burden. It's easy to think the rest of the world would feel the same. It isn't a selfish act that would drive me to do it, it is the illness that keeps me down.
The truth is that unless you have been down that path, you really can't say anything about suicide. You just don't know how deep the pain was nor how dark the place where they lost their fight.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Not Quite the Same
It's almost 10 PM on Thanksgiving day and I've yet to do anything more significant than shower. I wasn't sick, not physically anyway. The reality of the season kicked my butt today and rendered me useless.
Most years, we make a whirlwind trip back to Kent's parents just to eat lunch. The last time I saw any of my family on a holiday was over five years ago. Since then, it's always been hard to visit Kent's family. They live minutes from mine and not seeing my niece's and nephew's is painful.
This year we thought we would try to avoid the emotional drag of the Thanksgiving weekend by traveling to Branson. We have a little cabin that we just love, nestled away from all the traffic and crowds. The cabin has everything we need to feel at home.
Kent made some amazing chili and cleaned up the kitchen. I watched the Macy's parade without seeing much of it, losing my focus to what was really in my heart.
The overwhelming loneliness that settles deep in my heart this time of year had taken hold even though I had tried to run from it. No family to celebrate with. No real progress in the hardest parts of my life to be thankful for this year. Not even turkey, dressing or homemade pie.
I do have things to be thankful for this year. However, I am thankful for those things all the time and not just on a day which draws you to thankfulness.
The truth is that having no children and no family and so many issues that I must live in a self-protective bubble doesn't get any easier. And....it only gets more difficult through Christmas.
My holiday funk this year just happens to hit me as my spiritual life is feeling rocky at best. All the while I have to try to produce an outward smile to make those around me comfortable.
The past few years I have gone into this time of year seriously wondering if this would be the last time I would feel this way. I don't think this year is any different. I can't help but think that even if I tried, I'd still be hit with the same problem next year.
I've been accused of being overly negative. How can it be negative if it's exactly what's in your heart and that honesty comes pouring out? Oh well, that's another post for another day.
I sincerely hope your holiday was filled with family, friends and good food.
Most years, we make a whirlwind trip back to Kent's parents just to eat lunch. The last time I saw any of my family on a holiday was over five years ago. Since then, it's always been hard to visit Kent's family. They live minutes from mine and not seeing my niece's and nephew's is painful.
This year we thought we would try to avoid the emotional drag of the Thanksgiving weekend by traveling to Branson. We have a little cabin that we just love, nestled away from all the traffic and crowds. The cabin has everything we need to feel at home.
Kent made some amazing chili and cleaned up the kitchen. I watched the Macy's parade without seeing much of it, losing my focus to what was really in my heart.
The overwhelming loneliness that settles deep in my heart this time of year had taken hold even though I had tried to run from it. No family to celebrate with. No real progress in the hardest parts of my life to be thankful for this year. Not even turkey, dressing or homemade pie.
I do have things to be thankful for this year. However, I am thankful for those things all the time and not just on a day which draws you to thankfulness.
The truth is that having no children and no family and so many issues that I must live in a self-protective bubble doesn't get any easier. And....it only gets more difficult through Christmas.
My holiday funk this year just happens to hit me as my spiritual life is feeling rocky at best. All the while I have to try to produce an outward smile to make those around me comfortable.
The past few years I have gone into this time of year seriously wondering if this would be the last time I would feel this way. I don't think this year is any different. I can't help but think that even if I tried, I'd still be hit with the same problem next year.
I've been accused of being overly negative. How can it be negative if it's exactly what's in your heart and that honesty comes pouring out? Oh well, that's another post for another day.
I sincerely hope your holiday was filled with family, friends and good food.
Monday, November 21, 2011
All I Want for Christmas
...is a fireplace mantle.
I know that might seem like an odd thing to wish for, but maybe not when you understand why.
As you can imagine, my childhood was filled with trauma and pain. Each year I allowed myself to be full of hope, only to have it ripped away. My parents fulfilled only empty promises and left me heartbroken. They thought it was funny to take me to see Santa and let me excitement grow. On Christmas morning, I often found nothing for me or empty boxes filled with the echoes of my parents laughter as they watched my tears fall to the bottom. On occasion, I opened heavy, full gifts to find miscellaneous items for my brothers.
My grandma always hung stockings on fireplace for each of the six of us grandchildren. The other five had candy and toys filling their stockings. Because my grandma knew my dad would never allow me to keep candy or toys, she filled my stocking with apples, oranges and bananas. While it wasn't a complete disappointment, it still hurt. As a kid, I wondered why Santa wouldn't give me the same goodies the other kids got. However, it was better than nothing...never questioning and secretly crying in the corner.
When Kent and I looked at houses, I desperately wanted one with a fireplace. It wasn't that I wanted a fireplace so much as a mantle. I envisioned hanging stockings on the mantle for my kids, my husband and myself, filling them with everything wonderful.
I may not have been able to ever have stockings for children, but for 12 years I have been able to hang stockings for Kent, the dogs and myself. I fill each of the stockings and Kent fills mine. Without fail, we have been able to fulfill that deep-seeded desire to have a tradition which moves me further away from the many years of disappointment.
This year we won't be able to continue our tradition and it's difficult to accept.
Most of the house has been refinished since March of this year. It wasn't our decision to do the complete overhaul of the house, although it needed done. We were pushed into the decision by someone who hadn't considered what it would take to put back together. That person failed to take into consideration that we didn't have the finances to pay people to put the house back together once it was torn apart. We've gotten a lot done, but it's far from finished.
We had a few people help paint and do a couple miscellaneous repairs, but for the most part it has fallen all on Kent. He works three jobs and rarely has time to take on any of the many projects which are left. One of those projects is the mantle.
Our old mantle was ugly, but functional. It was ripped off the wall without any regard for when we be able to replace it. We found a mantle several months back. But the mantle is very low on the priority list, I mean we still don't have a bathroom sink installed in our 1/2 bath. So, it stays sitting in the box nestled in the back of the garage.
That silly mantle is a double whammy for me this year. It symbolizes wreck most of this past year has been and all the mess that is still undone in our lives or house. It also brings back some of those same feelings of disappointment that I've been keeping at bay for the past 12 years.
I don't care that the house remodel has tapped us out and there won't be much under the tree. My Christmas list consists of finishing the house with the mantle on the top of the list.
I know that might seem like an odd thing to wish for, but maybe not when you understand why.
As you can imagine, my childhood was filled with trauma and pain. Each year I allowed myself to be full of hope, only to have it ripped away. My parents fulfilled only empty promises and left me heartbroken. They thought it was funny to take me to see Santa and let me excitement grow. On Christmas morning, I often found nothing for me or empty boxes filled with the echoes of my parents laughter as they watched my tears fall to the bottom. On occasion, I opened heavy, full gifts to find miscellaneous items for my brothers.
My grandma always hung stockings on fireplace for each of the six of us grandchildren. The other five had candy and toys filling their stockings. Because my grandma knew my dad would never allow me to keep candy or toys, she filled my stocking with apples, oranges and bananas. While it wasn't a complete disappointment, it still hurt. As a kid, I wondered why Santa wouldn't give me the same goodies the other kids got. However, it was better than nothing...never questioning and secretly crying in the corner.
When Kent and I looked at houses, I desperately wanted one with a fireplace. It wasn't that I wanted a fireplace so much as a mantle. I envisioned hanging stockings on the mantle for my kids, my husband and myself, filling them with everything wonderful.
I may not have been able to ever have stockings for children, but for 12 years I have been able to hang stockings for Kent, the dogs and myself. I fill each of the stockings and Kent fills mine. Without fail, we have been able to fulfill that deep-seeded desire to have a tradition which moves me further away from the many years of disappointment.
This year we won't be able to continue our tradition and it's difficult to accept.
Most of the house has been refinished since March of this year. It wasn't our decision to do the complete overhaul of the house, although it needed done. We were pushed into the decision by someone who hadn't considered what it would take to put back together. That person failed to take into consideration that we didn't have the finances to pay people to put the house back together once it was torn apart. We've gotten a lot done, but it's far from finished.
We had a few people help paint and do a couple miscellaneous repairs, but for the most part it has fallen all on Kent. He works three jobs and rarely has time to take on any of the many projects which are left. One of those projects is the mantle.
Our old mantle was ugly, but functional. It was ripped off the wall without any regard for when we be able to replace it. We found a mantle several months back. But the mantle is very low on the priority list, I mean we still don't have a bathroom sink installed in our 1/2 bath. So, it stays sitting in the box nestled in the back of the garage.
That silly mantle is a double whammy for me this year. It symbolizes wreck most of this past year has been and all the mess that is still undone in our lives or house. It also brings back some of those same feelings of disappointment that I've been keeping at bay for the past 12 years.
I don't care that the house remodel has tapped us out and there won't be much under the tree. My Christmas list consists of finishing the house with the mantle on the top of the list.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Dry as a Desert
What would you say if I told you that I hadn't opened my bible in over a year? What would you say if I told you I hadn't been to church more than once or twice in over three months? What would you say if I told you that I rarely pray? What would you say if I said I had only limited involvement in bible study or church groups? Would you have a response? Would you shake your head and walk away thinking it was my problem to deal with? Would you discuss it further with a genuine concern for my spiritual life?
Chances are you would never know because it would be rare for me to share those things with anyone for fear of judgement. I mean how in the world could I call myself a Christian if this is how I live my life, right?
But guess what? All those things are true, brutally so. Do I think I'm really a Christian? I mean how dare I call myself one if I don't live like one. Honestly, I don't know. Maybe I'm not a Christian. I belong to a church, prayed the prayer to accept Christ as my Savior and truly do believe there is a God who loves me.
In fact, I am confident in that. Do I necessarily believe God is all that I have been told? Probably not, but that's why I don't consider myself a mature Christian. I suppose my confidence lies more in believing that God knows exactly how I feel right now.
Maybe it's just a phase people go through, I'm not sure. Nobody really ever talks about this part of being a Christian much, so it's hard to know if I'm the only person to ever feel this way or not.
My bible has been in a case floating from room to room and being tucked into places with the occasional dusting of the cover, but hasn't been cracked open in a year. In fact, it is a very nice study bible and I think it's been open maybe a dozen times in three years. I like to use the excuse that nobody ever explained to me how to use it. But the truth is more that I know what to do with it. I can open it to a page and read, but the words aren't going to make sense to me.
I can give you many, many excuses about why I don't go to church. I'm not sure any of them are valid enough to skip out for the past several months. If you know much about me, you might have some understanding of the constant battles in life I face. But it's a special kind of battle that usually starts on Saturday night and follows me into Sunday. I have more than a resistance to church. Repulsion is probably more like it. The few times I have gone have been absolutely fruitless and I was not able to take in one word of what was said and log it to memory...let alone apply it to my life.
The same is true for bible studies. This is probably the one area where I continue to show up even if I don't feel up to it or know it's not sinking into my thick head. It's rare for me to make it to the various bible studies around church, but I have managed to pick up some privately. I really do try in those times and continue to do so, but there seems to be a wall that just won't crumble for me.
I have left or just stopped going to any and all small groups I was once involved in at church. To show up for those only makes me feel like a hypocrite when I constantly bail on everything else. Why not be consistent, right? As much as I love singing and being in choir, I can't bring myself to go to that either. Why go when I'm not there on Sunday.
That brings me to prayer. I'm not convinced that prayer is of any help at all. If God is truly sovereign, then what place does prayer have in a Christian life? I wish someone would explain that to me. Why bother asking when God's going to do what God's already planning to do? What makes me think that my words or thoughts would have any influence over that? Well, I don't believe they would. Prayer is something I certainly don't understand and the common, "Do it because it's the right thing to do," answer doesn't really work for me.
Yes, my spiritual life is like a dry desert full of dust covered sand and the remains of what was once a growing land of trees and grass that has long dried up.
Don't get me wrong, everything I've written in the past I fully believe to be true. And, I don't necessarily believe God has left me. Although I do think I'm a million miles away and continuing to head even further. That brings this song to mind and I think is very fitting of how I feel right now.
Maybe I've left Him. Not because He had nothing to offer me, but maybe because I didn't know how to get what I needed. It's way easier to give up and move on than to figure out how get what you need.
Chances are you would never know because it would be rare for me to share those things with anyone for fear of judgement. I mean how in the world could I call myself a Christian if this is how I live my life, right?
But guess what? All those things are true, brutally so. Do I think I'm really a Christian? I mean how dare I call myself one if I don't live like one. Honestly, I don't know. Maybe I'm not a Christian. I belong to a church, prayed the prayer to accept Christ as my Savior and truly do believe there is a God who loves me.
In fact, I am confident in that. Do I necessarily believe God is all that I have been told? Probably not, but that's why I don't consider myself a mature Christian. I suppose my confidence lies more in believing that God knows exactly how I feel right now.
Maybe it's just a phase people go through, I'm not sure. Nobody really ever talks about this part of being a Christian much, so it's hard to know if I'm the only person to ever feel this way or not.
My bible has been in a case floating from room to room and being tucked into places with the occasional dusting of the cover, but hasn't been cracked open in a year. In fact, it is a very nice study bible and I think it's been open maybe a dozen times in three years. I like to use the excuse that nobody ever explained to me how to use it. But the truth is more that I know what to do with it. I can open it to a page and read, but the words aren't going to make sense to me.
I can give you many, many excuses about why I don't go to church. I'm not sure any of them are valid enough to skip out for the past several months. If you know much about me, you might have some understanding of the constant battles in life I face. But it's a special kind of battle that usually starts on Saturday night and follows me into Sunday. I have more than a resistance to church. Repulsion is probably more like it. The few times I have gone have been absolutely fruitless and I was not able to take in one word of what was said and log it to memory...let alone apply it to my life.
The same is true for bible studies. This is probably the one area where I continue to show up even if I don't feel up to it or know it's not sinking into my thick head. It's rare for me to make it to the various bible studies around church, but I have managed to pick up some privately. I really do try in those times and continue to do so, but there seems to be a wall that just won't crumble for me.
I have left or just stopped going to any and all small groups I was once involved in at church. To show up for those only makes me feel like a hypocrite when I constantly bail on everything else. Why not be consistent, right? As much as I love singing and being in choir, I can't bring myself to go to that either. Why go when I'm not there on Sunday.
That brings me to prayer. I'm not convinced that prayer is of any help at all. If God is truly sovereign, then what place does prayer have in a Christian life? I wish someone would explain that to me. Why bother asking when God's going to do what God's already planning to do? What makes me think that my words or thoughts would have any influence over that? Well, I don't believe they would. Prayer is something I certainly don't understand and the common, "Do it because it's the right thing to do," answer doesn't really work for me.
Yes, my spiritual life is like a dry desert full of dust covered sand and the remains of what was once a growing land of trees and grass that has long dried up.
Don't get me wrong, everything I've written in the past I fully believe to be true. And, I don't necessarily believe God has left me. Although I do think I'm a million miles away and continuing to head even further. That brings this song to mind and I think is very fitting of how I feel right now.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
You Tube
I am by no means technologically challenged, but putting together a music video slide show for You Tube was a challenge.
A little over a year ago, I put together a slide show to Matthew West's song "Broken Girl." Since the post date, it has been watched nearly 100,000 times.
The slide show is a personal collection of photos, including one of my baby photos and another recent photo of me. It was an easy decision to include those. You see, I believe I was born absolutely perfect and was meant to be a blessing to my parents. That was not to be the case with my family and various abusers making me a broken girl.
Admittedly, I am not a big fan of the actual music. However, the words are my life. Putting my pictures to these words was a way for me to tell the world that the shame of my abuse falls on the abusers and NOT on me. It was my personal admission that I did nothing to deserve it, nor could I have prevented it. It was my personal way to stand up and be counted as one of the millions.
The video has taken on a life of it's own or maybe a ministry. Several times a week, girls and women of all ages not only watch but leave comments. Some of them credit the song for giving them strength. Some of them are at their lowest point and they find comfort in knowing they are not alone. Some of them are searching for something to hold onto, they are searching for Jesus. Some of them come broken with the belief they will never be anything but broken.
Some of the girls have contacted me directly. I never think twice about reaching out to those girls and women. I always pray for them. I always recommend they reach out for help locally. There are times I even have to give out crisis phone numbers for those who mention suicide.
I have even been contacted by boyfriends and husbands who ask how they can best help their girlfriends and wives who have been abused.
The first young lady to ever contact me has stayed in constant contact with me. Through facebook, I have watched her life change dramatically over the past six months. She graduated high school, found a job, is headed to school in two months, began talking with her dysfunctional family and is finally in steady counseling. It has been amazing to see her life change and grow.
I'm not taking any credit for anything that has transpired from that video. I don't think I've changed anyone and I don't think I have done anything aside from posting the video. But it is amazing to watch God use a video or a song to speak to all the broken girls.
A little over a year ago, I put together a slide show to Matthew West's song "Broken Girl." Since the post date, it has been watched nearly 100,000 times.
The slide show is a personal collection of photos, including one of my baby photos and another recent photo of me. It was an easy decision to include those. You see, I believe I was born absolutely perfect and was meant to be a blessing to my parents. That was not to be the case with my family and various abusers making me a broken girl.
Admittedly, I am not a big fan of the actual music. However, the words are my life. Putting my pictures to these words was a way for me to tell the world that the shame of my abuse falls on the abusers and NOT on me. It was my personal admission that I did nothing to deserve it, nor could I have prevented it. It was my personal way to stand up and be counted as one of the millions.
The video has taken on a life of it's own or maybe a ministry. Several times a week, girls and women of all ages not only watch but leave comments. Some of them credit the song for giving them strength. Some of them are at their lowest point and they find comfort in knowing they are not alone. Some of them are searching for something to hold onto, they are searching for Jesus. Some of them come broken with the belief they will never be anything but broken.
Some of the girls have contacted me directly. I never think twice about reaching out to those girls and women. I always pray for them. I always recommend they reach out for help locally. There are times I even have to give out crisis phone numbers for those who mention suicide.
I have even been contacted by boyfriends and husbands who ask how they can best help their girlfriends and wives who have been abused.
The first young lady to ever contact me has stayed in constant contact with me. Through facebook, I have watched her life change dramatically over the past six months. She graduated high school, found a job, is headed to school in two months, began talking with her dysfunctional family and is finally in steady counseling. It has been amazing to see her life change and grow.
I'm not taking any credit for anything that has transpired from that video. I don't think I've changed anyone and I don't think I have done anything aside from posting the video. But it is amazing to watch God use a video or a song to speak to all the broken girls.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Another Song, Another Season
These past few days have been miserable, rainy and cold, but the worst is being stuck at home. The walls of this little house seem a lot closer together each day. As much as I hate it, I feel tucked away. Being tucked away safe and alone and yet the being alone leaves a wide open door for my heart and mind to wander astray.
Luckily, my insanity is broken with moments of profound thought or a song that sticks to me like glue. The past couple days, the song has been "Before the Throne of God Above."
I have a strong, a perfect plea
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me
My name is graven on His hands
My name is written on His heart
I know that while in heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart
No tongue can bid me thence depart
When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end to all my sin
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me
To look on Him and pardon me
Behold Him there the risen Lamb
My perfect spotless righteousness
The great unchangeable I am
The King of glory and of grace
One with Himself I cannot die
My soul is purchased by His blood
My life is hid with Christ on high
With Christ my Savior and my God!
With Christ my Savior and my God!
One with Himself I cannot die
My soul is purchased by His blood
My life is hid with Christ on high
With Christ my Savior and my God!
With Christ my Savior and my God!
Luckily, my insanity is broken with moments of profound thought or a song that sticks to me like glue. The past couple days, the song has been "Before the Throne of God Above."
I can't tell you where I heard this the first time, but the words have settled into my heart. The music fits like an old shirt that you can't ever throw out. And, it fell into me at a perfect time.
Having tried to explain why this song means so much right now might just be more difficult than I had previously thought it to be. Maybe the unspoken is a stronger statement than any words I could lay before you.
I could readily admit to all of the sin I have been embracing on a daily basis and happily so. I could tell you that I feel millions of miles away from God at the moment. I could tell you that my life is silently in an upheaval which only those closest to me see right now. I could tell you that loneliness has settled deep into my soul and I am living in a self induced drought. I could tell you that little in life has much meaning to me and that I constantly question if my life has any value.
Would you really care even if I did tell you all of that? I'm not asking if you would have empathy for me and where I am in life. But more so, would you care enough to step in, walk beside, not allow even the most persistent resistance to pull you away from the goal?
Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't. Most wouldn't want to jump into the depths of the deep dark hole which isn't your own, crawling out one step at a time. But this song, it tells me who would.
Now, if I could find a way to tear down the wall which stands tall and strong between me and the one who can.
Before the throne of God above
I have a strong, a perfect plea
A great high Priest whose Name is Love
Who ever lives and pleads for me
My name is graven on His hands
My name is written on His heart
I know that while in heaven He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart
No tongue can bid me thence depart
When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end to all my sin
Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me
To look on Him and pardon me
Behold Him there the risen Lamb
My perfect spotless righteousness
The great unchangeable I am
The King of glory and of grace
One with Himself I cannot die
My soul is purchased by His blood
My life is hid with Christ on high
With Christ my Savior and my God!
With Christ my Savior and my God!
One with Himself I cannot die
My soul is purchased by His blood
My life is hid with Christ on high
With Christ my Savior and my God!
With Christ my Savior and my God!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Oh Nuts!
I may not consider myself a picky eater, but I have learned to be one out of necessity. When you are allergic to so many things, you have to be.
Last week while I was having lunch with a friend, I ordered a salad with walnuts and asked them to hold the walnuts. When I got my salad, there was a bright, shiny chunk of walnut. I asked the waiter to take it back, which he did. Coming back with a freshly made salad was great, but his response wasn't so much. He didn't really apologize and offered the excuse that just a small piece had fallen in while it was being made. That small chunk could have caused me to spend the afternoon in the ER.
I often wonder why there are so many people without food allergies who are quick to dismiss those of us who do. It's not that chose to be allergic to any particular food. It actually makes life just a little more difficult.
Some of my food allergies are minor and won't land me in the hospital. I can eat avocado, but I can't let it touch my any of the skin on my face or I will break out. The same is true with strawberries. I love both of them. With both, I'll get a little itchy if I eat too much. Since I love traveling to Mexico, which is the home of guacamole, I'll gladly deal with the itchy occasionally. The same thing happens with cream cheese.
Other things pose a higher risk for me. It is a good thing I don't like bell peppers because I learned a couple years ago that I am allergic to them. Oddly, red bell peppers are worse than green. My tongue will swell and I will quickly not be able to breathe.
Swelling and not being able to breathe is my common reaction to shellfish and assorted nuts. Most of the time, kids have allergies that they sometimes grow out of as they get older. I'm just the opposite. I didn't have many of these allergies as a kid. I wasn't allergic to peanuts, walnuts, brazil nuts or hazelnuts 5-10 years ago. I also wasn't allergic to shellfish until about 12 years ago.
It was rare, but I used to eat shrimp as often as I could. It never bothered me at all. While eating it during a girl's night at Red Lobster, I started to feel a tingle in my throat and was short of breath by the time we left. I tried a few more times and had an even quicker response time.
I lived on PB&J as a kid. The only candy I used to eat had peanut butter in it. About 5 years ago, I started to notice that I couldn't catch my breath after eating a peanut flavored candy. Not long after that I had a similar reaction to hazelnut candies Kent had given me for Valentines Day. Finally, allergy testing would show reactions to peanuts, walnuts, brazil nuts and hazelnuts. Do you know how hard it is to safely eat a lot of foods with a peanut allergy? Several places use peanut oil for frying or add peanuts to sauces.
One of my craziest allergies is to latex. Latex gloves will make my hands turn red and swell. Even latex used in elastic bands sewn in clothes will cause a reaction.
Of course I have all the fun seasonal and plant allergies. Just about any flower will make me sneeze or take my breath away. Mold, grass, dust, etc. all do the same. Again, I didn't start having these types of allergies until I was 19.
Maybe the worst reactions I have ever had were to medications. I know this sounds contrary to how many people think, but I would love to be able to take medication for anxiety. The problem is that most meds used for anxiety I have tried and have an allergic reaction to. The same is true for most meds used as sleep aids and many, many antibiotics.
I guess I've learned to adapt and stay very alert to food. But, I can't help but wonder why I seem to be allergic to more things as I age.
Last week while I was having lunch with a friend, I ordered a salad with walnuts and asked them to hold the walnuts. When I got my salad, there was a bright, shiny chunk of walnut. I asked the waiter to take it back, which he did. Coming back with a freshly made salad was great, but his response wasn't so much. He didn't really apologize and offered the excuse that just a small piece had fallen in while it was being made. That small chunk could have caused me to spend the afternoon in the ER.
I often wonder why there are so many people without food allergies who are quick to dismiss those of us who do. It's not that chose to be allergic to any particular food. It actually makes life just a little more difficult.
Some of my food allergies are minor and won't land me in the hospital. I can eat avocado, but I can't let it touch my any of the skin on my face or I will break out. The same is true with strawberries. I love both of them. With both, I'll get a little itchy if I eat too much. Since I love traveling to Mexico, which is the home of guacamole, I'll gladly deal with the itchy occasionally. The same thing happens with cream cheese.
Other things pose a higher risk for me. It is a good thing I don't like bell peppers because I learned a couple years ago that I am allergic to them. Oddly, red bell peppers are worse than green. My tongue will swell and I will quickly not be able to breathe.
Swelling and not being able to breathe is my common reaction to shellfish and assorted nuts. Most of the time, kids have allergies that they sometimes grow out of as they get older. I'm just the opposite. I didn't have many of these allergies as a kid. I wasn't allergic to peanuts, walnuts, brazil nuts or hazelnuts 5-10 years ago. I also wasn't allergic to shellfish until about 12 years ago.
It was rare, but I used to eat shrimp as often as I could. It never bothered me at all. While eating it during a girl's night at Red Lobster, I started to feel a tingle in my throat and was short of breath by the time we left. I tried a few more times and had an even quicker response time.
I lived on PB&J as a kid. The only candy I used to eat had peanut butter in it. About 5 years ago, I started to notice that I couldn't catch my breath after eating a peanut flavored candy. Not long after that I had a similar reaction to hazelnut candies Kent had given me for Valentines Day. Finally, allergy testing would show reactions to peanuts, walnuts, brazil nuts and hazelnuts. Do you know how hard it is to safely eat a lot of foods with a peanut allergy? Several places use peanut oil for frying or add peanuts to sauces.
One of my craziest allergies is to latex. Latex gloves will make my hands turn red and swell. Even latex used in elastic bands sewn in clothes will cause a reaction.
Of course I have all the fun seasonal and plant allergies. Just about any flower will make me sneeze or take my breath away. Mold, grass, dust, etc. all do the same. Again, I didn't start having these types of allergies until I was 19.
Maybe the worst reactions I have ever had were to medications. I know this sounds contrary to how many people think, but I would love to be able to take medication for anxiety. The problem is that most meds used for anxiety I have tried and have an allergic reaction to. The same is true for most meds used as sleep aids and many, many antibiotics.
I guess I've learned to adapt and stay very alert to food. But, I can't help but wonder why I seem to be allergic to more things as I age.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Throw Them Hands Up
Why do people raise their hands in worship?
As a frequent concert goer, I have seen a lot of hands up in the air during worship. However, I rarely see it in my church. While talking with a friend recently, she commented that she was only able to raise her hands during private worship.
That comment swirled around a whole 12 hours before I decided I needed to dig a little deeper into this. I realized I had made a lot of assumptions about this activity, which may or may not be true and I wanted to know.
So, I did what any curious American would do. I googled it!
What I found was that some of my assumptions were correct, others were not.
I thought my church was a little stuffy on this. I'm not sure that was totally correct, but I found some information which might support why they seem stuffy. Evidently, raising hands in worship has been considered part of charismatic worship. And, charismatic has been labeled BAD because it appealed to emotions instead of intellect. In my church, plenty has been said about charismatics both directly and indirectly. I can certainly understand why people would be hesitant to throw their hands up and worship freely. Sad, but true.
Another thought I had which was only partially true was that the act of raising hands was a movement of the holy spirit in you during singing or prayer time. That might be true, but I found some specific guidelines while researching this topic.
Two-handed; hands raised, palms facing inward signifies the act of receiving. It is described as asking God to give or speak to you.
Two-handed; hands raised, palms facing outward signifies the act of standing in awe. This could also be a sign of surrender. It gives us a non-verbal way to say, "Hear I am, completely unworthy but I give myself fully to You."
One hand raised; palm facing outward is a sign of testimony or that you agree. It is also a way to show commitment.
It is hard for me to make the connection in all of these to being motivated solely by feeling.
Isn't it true that the bible states very clearly that we are to do all of these things? We are to ask God for what is needed through prayer. We are to surrender to God. We are to agree with the bible, if we didn't then we wouldn't be Christians.
Since I don't know the bible well enough, I doubt I would have found this without my dear friend google. There are actually scriptures straight from the bible which support this idea that it is ok to raise your hands during worship. In fact, I think it encourages it.
Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. Psalm 63:3-4
Praise the Lord, all you servants of the Lord who minister by night in the house of the Lord. Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord. Psalm 134:1-2
I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. Psalm 143:6
Therefore I want the men everywhere to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or disputing. 1 Timothy 2:8
Let us lift up our hearts and hands to God in heaven. Lamentations 3:41
For I lift up my hand to heaven and swear, As I live forever. Deuteronomy 32:40
Whatever prayer, whatever plea is made by any man or by all your people Israel, each knowing the affliction of his own heart and stretching out his hands toward this house. 1 Kings 8:38
Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy, when I cry to you for help, when I lift up my hands toward your most holy sanctuary. Psalm 28:2
Obviously, you can see what I see. It's stated many times, many ways in the bible. I ask, if it is in the bible, how can it be considered bad?
Here I am at my next question, the $1000 question. If you feel led to raise your hands during worship and don't, why? Are you denying the holy spirit because of what man says or your fear judgement in the world?
I may not know much, but what I do know is that the bible should be the base of what is true for you and me. I believe we should fear what the bible says we should fear.
So, after much research, reading and looking at what the bible says.....THROW THEM HANDS UP and worship God.
As a frequent concert goer, I have seen a lot of hands up in the air during worship. However, I rarely see it in my church. While talking with a friend recently, she commented that she was only able to raise her hands during private worship.
That comment swirled around a whole 12 hours before I decided I needed to dig a little deeper into this. I realized I had made a lot of assumptions about this activity, which may or may not be true and I wanted to know.
So, I did what any curious American would do. I googled it!
What I found was that some of my assumptions were correct, others were not.
I thought my church was a little stuffy on this. I'm not sure that was totally correct, but I found some information which might support why they seem stuffy. Evidently, raising hands in worship has been considered part of charismatic worship. And, charismatic has been labeled BAD because it appealed to emotions instead of intellect. In my church, plenty has been said about charismatics both directly and indirectly. I can certainly understand why people would be hesitant to throw their hands up and worship freely. Sad, but true.
Another thought I had which was only partially true was that the act of raising hands was a movement of the holy spirit in you during singing or prayer time. That might be true, but I found some specific guidelines while researching this topic.
Two-handed; hands raised, palms facing inward signifies the act of receiving. It is described as asking God to give or speak to you.
Two-handed; hands raised, palms facing outward signifies the act of standing in awe. This could also be a sign of surrender. It gives us a non-verbal way to say, "Hear I am, completely unworthy but I give myself fully to You."
One hand raised; palm facing outward is a sign of testimony or that you agree. It is also a way to show commitment.
It is hard for me to make the connection in all of these to being motivated solely by feeling.
Isn't it true that the bible states very clearly that we are to do all of these things? We are to ask God for what is needed through prayer. We are to surrender to God. We are to agree with the bible, if we didn't then we wouldn't be Christians.
Since I don't know the bible well enough, I doubt I would have found this without my dear friend google. There are actually scriptures straight from the bible which support this idea that it is ok to raise your hands during worship. In fact, I think it encourages it.
Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. Psalm 63:3-4
Praise the Lord, all you servants of the Lord who minister by night in the house of the Lord. Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord. Psalm 134:1-2
I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. Psalm 143:6
Therefore I want the men everywhere to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or disputing. 1 Timothy 2:8
Let us lift up our hearts and hands to God in heaven. Lamentations 3:41
For I lift up my hand to heaven and swear, As I live forever. Deuteronomy 32:40
Whatever prayer, whatever plea is made by any man or by all your people Israel, each knowing the affliction of his own heart and stretching out his hands toward this house. 1 Kings 8:38
Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy, when I cry to you for help, when I lift up my hands toward your most holy sanctuary. Psalm 28:2
Obviously, you can see what I see. It's stated many times, many ways in the bible. I ask, if it is in the bible, how can it be considered bad?
Here I am at my next question, the $1000 question. If you feel led to raise your hands during worship and don't, why? Are you denying the holy spirit because of what man says or your fear judgement in the world?
I may not know much, but what I do know is that the bible should be the base of what is true for you and me. I believe we should fear what the bible says we should fear.
So, after much research, reading and looking at what the bible says.....THROW THEM HANDS UP and worship God.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Little Red Couch
Do you have that place where you can go to get away without getting away? That place where you can clear your mind, where you find rest for your body, mind and soul?
I have one of those places. If you know much about me, you might understand why a place like that might be hard for me to find. I don't have one at home. I don't really have one at my church, where I volunteer. I don't have a childhood place I can revisit.
Last Friday, I was able to spend several hours in my place. Well, it isn't exactly "my" place because I don't own it. But, it's my place of rest. It's like a comfy little corner of the world where I can spend time hidden away from the heaviness that sits on my shoulders.
On occasion, I get to spend several hours camped out on a little red couch at a friend's house. Yes, it's a comfy little couch. However, it's more than the couch that makes it a place of rest for me.
To start with, nothing awful has happened on, around or anywhere near that room. That creates a sense of safety which allows me to relax.
It is always quiet and calm, giving me all I need to catch a much needed nap. Just beyond the couch, I can get lost in a variety of mindless activity.
There is a little ground squirrel that comes to the door and peaks in, usually gnawing on a nut or berry as a snack. I like to think he's a little jealous of my comfy hiding place.
Depending on the season, there are a variety of plants or flowers to look at. Now, it is dried orange and gold leaves rustling across the roof or patio.
The experience doesn't just give me rest, it refills my emotional bank which tends to run on empty. There is something so rejuvenating about spending a few hours on that little red couch.
I'm not sure where your place is, but I encourage you to visit there soon and often. We all need to refill our banks, especially as we face the busyness and stress of holidays.
I have one of those places. If you know much about me, you might understand why a place like that might be hard for me to find. I don't have one at home. I don't really have one at my church, where I volunteer. I don't have a childhood place I can revisit.
Last Friday, I was able to spend several hours in my place. Well, it isn't exactly "my" place because I don't own it. But, it's my place of rest. It's like a comfy little corner of the world where I can spend time hidden away from the heaviness that sits on my shoulders.
On occasion, I get to spend several hours camped out on a little red couch at a friend's house. Yes, it's a comfy little couch. However, it's more than the couch that makes it a place of rest for me.
To start with, nothing awful has happened on, around or anywhere near that room. That creates a sense of safety which allows me to relax.
It is always quiet and calm, giving me all I need to catch a much needed nap. Just beyond the couch, I can get lost in a variety of mindless activity.
There is a little ground squirrel that comes to the door and peaks in, usually gnawing on a nut or berry as a snack. I like to think he's a little jealous of my comfy hiding place.
Depending on the season, there are a variety of plants or flowers to look at. Now, it is dried orange and gold leaves rustling across the roof or patio.
The experience doesn't just give me rest, it refills my emotional bank which tends to run on empty. There is something so rejuvenating about spending a few hours on that little red couch.
I'm not sure where your place is, but I encourage you to visit there soon and often. We all need to refill our banks, especially as we face the busyness and stress of holidays.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Senseless Dribble
My head is full of it today...senseless dribble. For many people I know, that would indicate a loss of focus and frustrate them as they robotically tried to move from task A to task B. For me, it's a vacation. It's that much needed break from the seriousness of life, fretting over the psychologist appointment or numerous other things.
What's running through my head is that endless stream of questions in life that don't quite make sense no matter how long or hard you look at them. I'm not talking about why people park on a driveway and drive on a parkway. I'm taking a step much deeper than that.
When was the last time you saw a young man walking around with his pants down past his butt? Oh goodness, where to even start with this one. First of all, I have to admit that I am not one of those judgemental people of this act even though I don't care for the look. I am simply amazed by it. How in the world do these kids keep their pants on and walk? They do it with what looks like complete ease. I've never seen any of them struggle to keep their pants on or walking with a limp. Another thing I find amazing is that the cold winds that whip past their hineys don't bother them. I would love to see the day they figure out that it just wasn't that "cool" after all and they have just shown the entire town their underwear.
While I'm on the topic of children's styles, another fad that has stuck around far too long is the emo. Where is the world did this one start? Was some kid living in black everything and decided, dude I think I'll stay like this? I understand the depressed world of teenagedom. But guys painting their nails black and wearing eyeliner is outside my realm of understanding. I wonder if someone actually manufactures studded dog collars for young girls or it there's a bunch of dogs missing their collars. I would wonder about them living in darkness with deep depression. But most of the time, I see them in large groups laughing and having a good time. Am I the only one who wonders when this fad will be over? Walking through Wal-Mart on a Saturday night often feels like I'm stuck on the film set of Night of the Living Dead.
Ok ladies, have you ever wondered who started the shaving trend that has never stopped? Thinking back to my grandmas, I don't think it was a hugely popular trend back in the 1930s to 1950s. It seems that era may have missed it. They didn't fret over hairy legs or armpits. Sadly, one of my grandmas could grow a fuller mustache than my grandpa. But who decided this wasn't ok? My mindless musings lead me to the idea that it might just be one of these big companies who makes billions of dollars each year on shaving gels, creams, and lotions or the myriad of special razors created just for women but look just like my husband's Gillette razor. Just a disclaimer, I am in no way advocating that women including myself stop shaving.
Oh if the insanity of it all had just stopped there...
The genius mindset of those who run our country make rumbles about charging more for insuring an overweight person. I understand that being overweight causes increased health risks which could cost the insurance company more money. I wonder how people would be able to afford the higher insurance cost and the higher cost of healthy food. I think everyone would agree that an apple and handful of grapes is going to be much healthier for you than a can of fruit in heavy syrup. But the canned fruit is half the price of the fresh. Where do they plan to break the circle here? I'm not a politician, surely they see the problem here, right?
While I'm on the topic of politicians, why is the public so hard on them for doing stupid things? I do stupid things everyday. I'm not in a position of authority any more, but when I was, I still did stupid things. Now I didn't text pictures of body parts to people I didn't know, but I still did stupid things. For the scale of my life, they were pretty big in size. But why do you think we condemn them more than we condemn one another or even ourselves? I wonder if we do that because we idolize them or place unrealistic expectations of perfection on them.
That brings me to my final senseless thought of the day....(well maybe, depends on how long I stay awake)
Since I do believe God created all living creatures and dogs are living creatures, then my summation is that God created dogs. I wonder what He was thinking when he created little dogs who are low to the ground with long, white hair. As much as I love my little Shih Tzu, he is a full-blooded grunge factory. He rolls around in the grass and leaves like it's some kind of mud bath, tracking every bit of it in the house. Did I somehow misunderstand his lineage and he's a descendant of pigs? And let's get back to the long, white hair for a minute. He loves running through rain puddles. He turns green after the grass has been mowed. His little paws are brown all the time after running through the dew. Yes, he loves the mess a whole lot more than the shower. Why couldn't all little dogs be made in black or dark brown?
I suppose it's time to get back to reality and leave the dribble behind, but it was a nice break while it lasted.
What's running through my head is that endless stream of questions in life that don't quite make sense no matter how long or hard you look at them. I'm not talking about why people park on a driveway and drive on a parkway. I'm taking a step much deeper than that.
When was the last time you saw a young man walking around with his pants down past his butt? Oh goodness, where to even start with this one. First of all, I have to admit that I am not one of those judgemental people of this act even though I don't care for the look. I am simply amazed by it. How in the world do these kids keep their pants on and walk? They do it with what looks like complete ease. I've never seen any of them struggle to keep their pants on or walking with a limp. Another thing I find amazing is that the cold winds that whip past their hineys don't bother them. I would love to see the day they figure out that it just wasn't that "cool" after all and they have just shown the entire town their underwear.
While I'm on the topic of children's styles, another fad that has stuck around far too long is the emo. Where is the world did this one start? Was some kid living in black everything and decided, dude I think I'll stay like this? I understand the depressed world of teenagedom. But guys painting their nails black and wearing eyeliner is outside my realm of understanding. I wonder if someone actually manufactures studded dog collars for young girls or it there's a bunch of dogs missing their collars. I would wonder about them living in darkness with deep depression. But most of the time, I see them in large groups laughing and having a good time. Am I the only one who wonders when this fad will be over? Walking through Wal-Mart on a Saturday night often feels like I'm stuck on the film set of Night of the Living Dead.
Ok ladies, have you ever wondered who started the shaving trend that has never stopped? Thinking back to my grandmas, I don't think it was a hugely popular trend back in the 1930s to 1950s. It seems that era may have missed it. They didn't fret over hairy legs or armpits. Sadly, one of my grandmas could grow a fuller mustache than my grandpa. But who decided this wasn't ok? My mindless musings lead me to the idea that it might just be one of these big companies who makes billions of dollars each year on shaving gels, creams, and lotions or the myriad of special razors created just for women but look just like my husband's Gillette razor. Just a disclaimer, I am in no way advocating that women including myself stop shaving.
Oh if the insanity of it all had just stopped there...
The genius mindset of those who run our country make rumbles about charging more for insuring an overweight person. I understand that being overweight causes increased health risks which could cost the insurance company more money. I wonder how people would be able to afford the higher insurance cost and the higher cost of healthy food. I think everyone would agree that an apple and handful of grapes is going to be much healthier for you than a can of fruit in heavy syrup. But the canned fruit is half the price of the fresh. Where do they plan to break the circle here? I'm not a politician, surely they see the problem here, right?
While I'm on the topic of politicians, why is the public so hard on them for doing stupid things? I do stupid things everyday. I'm not in a position of authority any more, but when I was, I still did stupid things. Now I didn't text pictures of body parts to people I didn't know, but I still did stupid things. For the scale of my life, they were pretty big in size. But why do you think we condemn them more than we condemn one another or even ourselves? I wonder if we do that because we idolize them or place unrealistic expectations of perfection on them.
That brings me to my final senseless thought of the day....(well maybe, depends on how long I stay awake)
Since I do believe God created all living creatures and dogs are living creatures, then my summation is that God created dogs. I wonder what He was thinking when he created little dogs who are low to the ground with long, white hair. As much as I love my little Shih Tzu, he is a full-blooded grunge factory. He rolls around in the grass and leaves like it's some kind of mud bath, tracking every bit of it in the house. Did I somehow misunderstand his lineage and he's a descendant of pigs? And let's get back to the long, white hair for a minute. He loves running through rain puddles. He turns green after the grass has been mowed. His little paws are brown all the time after running through the dew. Yes, he loves the mess a whole lot more than the shower. Why couldn't all little dogs be made in black or dark brown?
I suppose it's time to get back to reality and leave the dribble behind, but it was a nice break while it lasted.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A New Turkey
Yesterday, I went shopping for the first time in probably 10 months. It wasn't grocery or necessity shopping. It was the kind of shopping that you carefully drop sacks in different rooms as you go so that when you are finally in front of your husband the sacks are minimal. I don't do that kind of shopping often, as you can see. Not because I don't have a job and therefore have no money, but because I just don't like it.
When I was shopping yesterday, I spent a lot of time carefully choosing new fall decorations for my house. Maybe the overhaul of the house has driven me to want to be a little more festive. One of the things I bought was a cute little turkey made of pine cones and sticks. Cute, yes! Necessary, no!
While I was in the shower this morning, I started to think about how I very unnecessary that little turkey was. There are other things I could have spent the $6 on and things that could be used for more than a month each year. If it's possible to have buyer's remorse over a $6 stick turkey, I was definitely in the middle of it.
As my ADD mind often does, I began to wonder off in a different direction completely. Why do I do most of my thinking in the shower? Am I strange? Why is it that I can focus there better than any other place?
It's because the shower is a place I like to be. Aside from the obvious for this germophobe, it's a relaxing place and I can clear my mind.
I think even as a child, it was a place to clear my mind. I was not given soap or allowed to use my parent's soap or shampoo. Standing under the hot water allowed me to feel like all of the leftover ickyness from being molested and raped by family members and strange men was washed away. The water beating down on my head created a barrier between me and the chaos lurking outside the door.
For someone who never lived with neglect from their parents, you might not understand my thinking that hot water alone would cleanse your body. Soap was a luxury item in my house and used only by my parents. We weren't given shampoo or even washcloths. We weren't allowed to have toothpaste or a toothbrush. If we brought a toothbrush home from school, it was used to clean the bathroom. All this was "normal" for me. I was living on my own when I realized that it was not only ok for me to brush my teeth, but it was expected.
A shower was also a luxury in our house. Showers were only allowed about once a week for me. If I tried, I could get in, rinse off, get out and get dressed before my dad caught me. Sometimes the hot water provided such a break from the outside world, that I just didn't care what I would face if I got caught in the shower. My showers often ended with me laying in a beaten lump on the bathroom floor, cold and crying.
Looking back, that covers just a tiny, little bit of the deplorable living conditions I lived in and through. There were no cute or pretty things and there were no calm places to think clearly. There were no ways to avoid feeling filthy and no way to hide from the face of evil.
And there I found it. My little mind had brought me back full circle to my cute turkey. My $6 turkey had become a necessity to remind me of where I stood. I no longer live in those deplorable conditions. I no longer live in fear that my shower will end with a beating. I can have toothpaste and soap, lots of fruity smelling soap. I can have a $6 turkey to sit on my table for a month every year. Those little things remind me of the big thing. I am thankful for the things I do have and that I have a time in my life when I do not have to live without those things which are necessary to survive.
When I was shopping yesterday, I spent a lot of time carefully choosing new fall decorations for my house. Maybe the overhaul of the house has driven me to want to be a little more festive. One of the things I bought was a cute little turkey made of pine cones and sticks. Cute, yes! Necessary, no!
While I was in the shower this morning, I started to think about how I very unnecessary that little turkey was. There are other things I could have spent the $6 on and things that could be used for more than a month each year. If it's possible to have buyer's remorse over a $6 stick turkey, I was definitely in the middle of it.
As my ADD mind often does, I began to wonder off in a different direction completely. Why do I do most of my thinking in the shower? Am I strange? Why is it that I can focus there better than any other place?
It's because the shower is a place I like to be. Aside from the obvious for this germophobe, it's a relaxing place and I can clear my mind.
I think even as a child, it was a place to clear my mind. I was not given soap or allowed to use my parent's soap or shampoo. Standing under the hot water allowed me to feel like all of the leftover ickyness from being molested and raped by family members and strange men was washed away. The water beating down on my head created a barrier between me and the chaos lurking outside the door.
For someone who never lived with neglect from their parents, you might not understand my thinking that hot water alone would cleanse your body. Soap was a luxury item in my house and used only by my parents. We weren't given shampoo or even washcloths. We weren't allowed to have toothpaste or a toothbrush. If we brought a toothbrush home from school, it was used to clean the bathroom. All this was "normal" for me. I was living on my own when I realized that it was not only ok for me to brush my teeth, but it was expected.
A shower was also a luxury in our house. Showers were only allowed about once a week for me. If I tried, I could get in, rinse off, get out and get dressed before my dad caught me. Sometimes the hot water provided such a break from the outside world, that I just didn't care what I would face if I got caught in the shower. My showers often ended with me laying in a beaten lump on the bathroom floor, cold and crying.
Looking back, that covers just a tiny, little bit of the deplorable living conditions I lived in and through. There were no cute or pretty things and there were no calm places to think clearly. There were no ways to avoid feeling filthy and no way to hide from the face of evil.
And there I found it. My little mind had brought me back full circle to my cute turkey. My $6 turkey had become a necessity to remind me of where I stood. I no longer live in those deplorable conditions. I no longer live in fear that my shower will end with a beating. I can have toothpaste and soap, lots of fruity smelling soap. I can have a $6 turkey to sit on my table for a month every year. Those little things remind me of the big thing. I am thankful for the things I do have and that I have a time in my life when I do not have to live without those things which are necessary to survive.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Big Hands
The past two weeks have brought a whirlwind of traveling and stirred up a restlessness that has settled into the depths of me. I cannot shake the feeling that I need God to change something in my life or inside me so I can move forward. It is possible I need the big hands of God to reach down and open the door of the cage I'm sitting in.
Faith that will happen eludes me and I have to remind myself of another time God moved in big ways. Ways which were so noticeable that it was undeniably God who was responsible.
Maybe the most recent was through our accident. It wasn't until the case was closed in court and through insurance that I felt I could share more openly about it. Not that I had anything to hide, but I think I first needed to see if God would show up in the last hour or not. Hey, I'm not afraid to admit my sinning heart tests God.
On May 27, 2011, we set off fumigators in our house to kill off spiders that our remodel had irritated and attracted. Since we had to be out of the house for three hours, dropped off the cat at a friend's house, loaded up all three dogs and headed to Sedalia to our favorite home improvement store.
Headed down 50 Hwy, Kent was driving and I split my focus between the dogs and texting or facebook. I was completely oblivious to the road ahead of us. I wasn't worried about anything. Kent was driving and he always takes care of me.
I remember being on facebook and hearing Kent say, "Oh No!" I remember hearing that sound your brake pedal makes when you slam on it, followed by the loud crunch of metal hitting metal. The next few seconds were a blur, which quickly ended with me watching us headed for a ditch full of water. I had enough time to brace my hands on the dash as we landed in the ditch and water splashed over the truck.
Immediately, my head started to sting in a painful way and I wanted out! Kent had blood on his forehead and was frantically searching for phones and paperwork. My door wouldn't open and it is a good thing because I later saw that is where the water was coming in the truck. I checked on the dogs, who were all ok but scared.
After I crawled out of the truck, a man checked my eyes to make sure there was no obvious injury. The next 30 minutes would include being checked by EMTs, questioned by an officer and taking in all that happened.
An older man had stopped in the middle of the fast lane to turn. Kent had switched to that lane to avoid hitting another car who turned the opposite direction. He did not have time to slow down. Realistically, he was going to hit one or the other. It was a dangerous corner on a 65 mph highway with no turn lanes.
My husband has amazing driving skills, but I believe God worked through him that day. Kent only hit the corner of the car, but hard enough to flip the car over on it's top. We went across another lane of traffic without hitting other cars. We landed in the ditch with the drivers door opening just barely onto solid ground.
The man in the car was ok, shaken up, bruised and sore. Kent had a scratch on his head which we are almost certain happened when our cockapoo jumped from the front seat to the back. Kent was sore for a while, but said bracing the steering wheel had given him a little security. None of the dogs were injured.
Since this conversation is one-sided, I can admit I was not wearing my seat belt without fear of being shamed which people were quick to push on me afterward. During the first impact, my head hit the windshield. During the second impact, my head hit the sealing and my body was shook up.
It has taken me a while to feel like the effects of the concussion are going away. I think the mental effects will last a while longer. To hear a brake pedal being mashed to the floor has never been more traumatic.
Several doctors visits and days later, the problems were just beginning. The insurance company was a huge problem for us. They could not get the needed paperwork to process our claim and to date, they have never talked through the accident with Kent. The lack of follow through with Kent led to his ticket being deemed non-disputable.
The insurance company did contact us two months later to state that the medical bills for the other man were about to exceed our limits. Since he was still being cared for with nagging whiplash injuries, we were told that our out-of-pocket portion could be up to $50,000.
The ambulance ride for him was $34,000. Medical bills for his two hours of being checked out at the hospital were $27,000. Doctor bills for reading tests and dismissal were $31,000. The day of the accident medical care resulted in over $92,000, pushing our $100,000 accident limit. By the time he visited his primary care and received treatment at the VA, there was an excess of what our insurance would cover.
Because Kent's ticket was deemed non-disputable, he would have to appear for court in September. We had hired a lawyer, but he was unable to change this. Kent would have to go to court for improper use of a motor vehicle in inclement weather resulting in major loss. The possible outcome on that ticket for that particular county was up to $5,000 in fine and court cost, possible community service and loss of driver's license with mandatory driving school.
Here is how we saw the big hands of God do more than we thought possible and at times when we had almost given up.
1. The other gentleman walked out of the hospital and we all were alive. It was a miracle that we all survived.
2. Injured, I too was still alive. My body stayed in the truck and it landed in just the right spot that kept water from getting deep inside the truck.
3. The dogs were not injured.
4. Our insurance company settled under our limit with the man. He and his son are Christians, offering much compassion and mercy for us. They were the ones who negotiated with the hospital and doctors to lower the medical bills.
5. In court, Kent's ticket was changed to an improper registration of a motor vehicle which was not a moving violation. The ticket was a minimal fee.
6. Through all of this, we began to see our church as family as they cared for us through all of this.
Through every step of that accident, I can look back and see the ways God protected, intervened, softened hearts and made the impossible be ever so possible and real.
I hang onto that today as I sit here knowing God will need to show up again because I am sitting face to face with the impossible.
Faith that will happen eludes me and I have to remind myself of another time God moved in big ways. Ways which were so noticeable that it was undeniably God who was responsible.
Maybe the most recent was through our accident. It wasn't until the case was closed in court and through insurance that I felt I could share more openly about it. Not that I had anything to hide, but I think I first needed to see if God would show up in the last hour or not. Hey, I'm not afraid to admit my sinning heart tests God.
On May 27, 2011, we set off fumigators in our house to kill off spiders that our remodel had irritated and attracted. Since we had to be out of the house for three hours, dropped off the cat at a friend's house, loaded up all three dogs and headed to Sedalia to our favorite home improvement store.
Headed down 50 Hwy, Kent was driving and I split my focus between the dogs and texting or facebook. I was completely oblivious to the road ahead of us. I wasn't worried about anything. Kent was driving and he always takes care of me.
I remember being on facebook and hearing Kent say, "Oh No!" I remember hearing that sound your brake pedal makes when you slam on it, followed by the loud crunch of metal hitting metal. The next few seconds were a blur, which quickly ended with me watching us headed for a ditch full of water. I had enough time to brace my hands on the dash as we landed in the ditch and water splashed over the truck.
After I crawled out of the truck, a man checked my eyes to make sure there was no obvious injury. The next 30 minutes would include being checked by EMTs, questioned by an officer and taking in all that happened.
An older man had stopped in the middle of the fast lane to turn. Kent had switched to that lane to avoid hitting another car who turned the opposite direction. He did not have time to slow down. Realistically, he was going to hit one or the other. It was a dangerous corner on a 65 mph highway with no turn lanes.
My husband has amazing driving skills, but I believe God worked through him that day. Kent only hit the corner of the car, but hard enough to flip the car over on it's top. We went across another lane of traffic without hitting other cars. We landed in the ditch with the drivers door opening just barely onto solid ground.
Since this conversation is one-sided, I can admit I was not wearing my seat belt without fear of being shamed which people were quick to push on me afterward. During the first impact, my head hit the windshield. During the second impact, my head hit the sealing and my body was shook up.
Several doctors visits and days later, the problems were just beginning. The insurance company was a huge problem for us. They could not get the needed paperwork to process our claim and to date, they have never talked through the accident with Kent. The lack of follow through with Kent led to his ticket being deemed non-disputable.
The insurance company did contact us two months later to state that the medical bills for the other man were about to exceed our limits. Since he was still being cared for with nagging whiplash injuries, we were told that our out-of-pocket portion could be up to $50,000.
The ambulance ride for him was $34,000. Medical bills for his two hours of being checked out at the hospital were $27,000. Doctor bills for reading tests and dismissal were $31,000. The day of the accident medical care resulted in over $92,000, pushing our $100,000 accident limit. By the time he visited his primary care and received treatment at the VA, there was an excess of what our insurance would cover.
Because Kent's ticket was deemed non-disputable, he would have to appear for court in September. We had hired a lawyer, but he was unable to change this. Kent would have to go to court for improper use of a motor vehicle in inclement weather resulting in major loss. The possible outcome on that ticket for that particular county was up to $5,000 in fine and court cost, possible community service and loss of driver's license with mandatory driving school.
Here is how we saw the big hands of God do more than we thought possible and at times when we had almost given up.
1. The other gentleman walked out of the hospital and we all were alive. It was a miracle that we all survived.
2. Injured, I too was still alive. My body stayed in the truck and it landed in just the right spot that kept water from getting deep inside the truck.
3. The dogs were not injured.
4. Our insurance company settled under our limit with the man. He and his son are Christians, offering much compassion and mercy for us. They were the ones who negotiated with the hospital and doctors to lower the medical bills.
5. In court, Kent's ticket was changed to an improper registration of a motor vehicle which was not a moving violation. The ticket was a minimal fee.
6. Through all of this, we began to see our church as family as they cared for us through all of this.
Through every step of that accident, I can look back and see the ways God protected, intervened, softened hearts and made the impossible be ever so possible and real.
I hang onto that today as I sit here knowing God will need to show up again because I am sitting face to face with the impossible.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Too Afraid to Grow Up
My decision to become a Christian was followed by at least a year of complete frustration. When I decide to fully embrace something, I want to...no, I need to know everything about it. That knowledge is what makes me feel successful. If you know anything about the bible, then you know you know very little. You can read the bible over and over, but find that there is still more to learn.
Many times I heard new Christians referred to as "babies." I think about 2 Corinthians 5:17, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. A baby is a new creation. A baby knows nothing and depends on all the grown-ups to teach and model the correct ways to live. I think that is the same picture of a new Christian.
Even though it took a while, I finally accepted that I was just a baby in the big Christian world. It was ok to not know the bible stories people referred to and to be completely lost in bible studies. Over the past year, I have learned that the unique obstacles of my life have kept me in the "baby" phase of Christianity a while longer than other newer Christians.
Over the past month, I have started to notice things about myself. I think they are comparable to the moments when a baby realizes they can crawl around and are no longer dependent on their parents for mobility. Yes, I have been experiencing those moments when I see that I have some knowledge and am not fully dependent on those around me for everything. Yes, I have learned to crawl.
Maybe I knew this a while ago or maybe I had just thought about crawling and decided it was too scary.
That is right, I am afraid to admit I am growing up. All I have known in life is that once you grow up, you get abandoned. You get left to do and learn everything by yourself. That is a scary way to live. It is reasonable for me to think that if I admit that my faith is growing, then I will be abandoned to then wrestle through life alone.
It is exciting to figure out that I'm not stuck in that "baby" phase any longer. For me, it's one of those....man this is so exciting I feel like I need to celebrate another birthday this year....exciting kind of times. You won't find me doing that though because of my fear of being left high and dry to finish growing up all alone.
So, maybe for now I can just be a toddler for a while. That seems a lot less scary. Yes, for now I think I'll stay a toddler until I have that moment when I realize it's time to walk instead of crawl.
Many times I heard new Christians referred to as "babies." I think about 2 Corinthians 5:17, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. A baby is a new creation. A baby knows nothing and depends on all the grown-ups to teach and model the correct ways to live. I think that is the same picture of a new Christian.
Even though it took a while, I finally accepted that I was just a baby in the big Christian world. It was ok to not know the bible stories people referred to and to be completely lost in bible studies. Over the past year, I have learned that the unique obstacles of my life have kept me in the "baby" phase of Christianity a while longer than other newer Christians.
Over the past month, I have started to notice things about myself. I think they are comparable to the moments when a baby realizes they can crawl around and are no longer dependent on their parents for mobility. Yes, I have been experiencing those moments when I see that I have some knowledge and am not fully dependent on those around me for everything. Yes, I have learned to crawl.
Maybe I knew this a while ago or maybe I had just thought about crawling and decided it was too scary.
That is right, I am afraid to admit I am growing up. All I have known in life is that once you grow up, you get abandoned. You get left to do and learn everything by yourself. That is a scary way to live. It is reasonable for me to think that if I admit that my faith is growing, then I will be abandoned to then wrestle through life alone.
It is exciting to figure out that I'm not stuck in that "baby" phase any longer. For me, it's one of those....man this is so exciting I feel like I need to celebrate another birthday this year....exciting kind of times. You won't find me doing that though because of my fear of being left high and dry to finish growing up all alone.
So, maybe for now I can just be a toddler for a while. That seems a lot less scary. Yes, for now I think I'll stay a toddler until I have that moment when I realize it's time to walk instead of crawl.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Should've Been a Cowboy
Not that I want to disappoint you, but this isn't going to be a tribute to country music. It's not an announcement that I will be trading in my flip flops for a pair of boots and learning to heard cattle or lasso a pig.
And, it's definitely not going to be an admission to a deep-seeded gender confusion issue...although it might seem like it. If you have heard my rant about this season of DWTS, then you would know where I stand on that subject. If you haven't, then I'd be happy crawl back on that soapbox another time for you.
The older I get, the more I notice a difference between myself and other women. It's as if my "girly" gene was left out, underdeveloped or possibly malfunctioned along the way. Sure, I have found a sprinkling of women throughout my lifetime who I could identify with on one or maybe two of my oddities, but never one who was a match on my non-girly checklist.
Most of the time, I am more comfortable sitting with couples or groups that tend to be a majority of men. It isn't because of an attraction to them, but they communicate on a level I identify with easily.
First of all, their communication tends to be short and to the point. My simple, ADD mind appreciates those style of communication. They don't tend to spend a lot of time discussing feelings or girly things, which is ok by me. Their conversations are often less people or gossip driven and more driven by the passion in their life. When the topic of conversation is their particular passion, then they spewing resource of detail on it.
Admittedly, I enjoy sports. I would rather watch a hockey or football game than go shopping. If you ask me about a sport, I'll tell you who my favorite team is which is probably one I've liked since I was a kid. Ask me about the playoffs and I'll probably know who is playing and have an opinion on who will win. Now don't ever expect me to talk about soccer cause that's one I can't get into.
I have found women who enjoy watching or playing sports. But I have never found one who enjoys it to the degree I do. I may seem timid, but not when it comes to bantering over my favorite teams. Many of the men I know enjoy a healthy season of fantasy football. Here is where I would like to point out that the good ole boys groups come into play, but I won't. Instead, I will say I am convinced that they do not allow women to compete because they couldn't handle being beaten by a woman. Enough said! Seriously though...my fantasy football team is 4-1 and leading the league by well over 100 points.
Men tend to have mechanical conversations. That isn't the type of conversation but the subject. When I was a kid, I would be more likely to pick up a hot wheel than a barbie doll. When my brothers really upset me, I would disassemble their toys until they would be nice to me and then I would reassemble them.
I am content listening to men talk about tearing something apart and rebuilding or fixing it. In fact, I find my husband's work with plane parts incredibly interesting. Since he rarely reads my blog, it's safe to admit that. I find it absolutely amazing that he tears into plane engines and refurbs fan blades and then those things fly overhead every single day. Now when he is talking, I must hide all interest so that he isn't prone to talking all the time about it.
Not only do I dislike shopping, I don't get all excited over a new purse or shoes. My closet is full of black, brown and blue with just a smattering of light girly colors. I don't care what I look like as long as I am comfortable. You could take my makeup and hairspray away from me and I would survive without a massive breakdown.
My favorite colors are blue and green but I tell everyone pink. I say pink not as a lie, but trying to convince even myself that there is a girly girl in somewhere inside me.
I don't cry much at all and certainly would never cry over a fluffy bunny or a baby. Baby's are precious little people to me, but I don't get all oogly over them. Seeing another person cry doesn't ignite tears of my own. Have you ever watched a group of women listening to a sad story or watching a sad movie? They cry in unison. That's ok, I'm not hating on them. That's just not in me.
All joking aside, I think I spent much of my childhood wanting to be a boy. In my life, boys weren't as abused. I also had this idea that if I had been a boy, I would be able to defend myself. Cause boys are tough, right? Maybe it was because I thought if I could be a boy and play a sport, then I would somehow be acceptable to my parents. That is probably what caused my refusal to carry a purse until I was in my 30s. Even now I'm not sure why I do.
Looking at all the evidence and I've only mentioned a few things, I would like to consider myself just a well-rounded person. But maybe the bigger picture is that I can be less "girly" and still be a girl. MAYBE it's more about accepting who you are and not making life altering decisions to make the physical appearance match part of what is inside. Just a thought!
And, it's definitely not going to be an admission to a deep-seeded gender confusion issue...although it might seem like it. If you have heard my rant about this season of DWTS, then you would know where I stand on that subject. If you haven't, then I'd be happy crawl back on that soapbox another time for you.
The older I get, the more I notice a difference between myself and other women. It's as if my "girly" gene was left out, underdeveloped or possibly malfunctioned along the way. Sure, I have found a sprinkling of women throughout my lifetime who I could identify with on one or maybe two of my oddities, but never one who was a match on my non-girly checklist.
Most of the time, I am more comfortable sitting with couples or groups that tend to be a majority of men. It isn't because of an attraction to them, but they communicate on a level I identify with easily.
First of all, their communication tends to be short and to the point. My simple, ADD mind appreciates those style of communication. They don't tend to spend a lot of time discussing feelings or girly things, which is ok by me. Their conversations are often less people or gossip driven and more driven by the passion in their life. When the topic of conversation is their particular passion, then they spewing resource of detail on it.
Admittedly, I enjoy sports. I would rather watch a hockey or football game than go shopping. If you ask me about a sport, I'll tell you who my favorite team is which is probably one I've liked since I was a kid. Ask me about the playoffs and I'll probably know who is playing and have an opinion on who will win. Now don't ever expect me to talk about soccer cause that's one I can't get into.
I have found women who enjoy watching or playing sports. But I have never found one who enjoys it to the degree I do. I may seem timid, but not when it comes to bantering over my favorite teams. Many of the men I know enjoy a healthy season of fantasy football. Here is where I would like to point out that the good ole boys groups come into play, but I won't. Instead, I will say I am convinced that they do not allow women to compete because they couldn't handle being beaten by a woman. Enough said! Seriously though...my fantasy football team is 4-1 and leading the league by well over 100 points.
Men tend to have mechanical conversations. That isn't the type of conversation but the subject. When I was a kid, I would be more likely to pick up a hot wheel than a barbie doll. When my brothers really upset me, I would disassemble their toys until they would be nice to me and then I would reassemble them.
I am content listening to men talk about tearing something apart and rebuilding or fixing it. In fact, I find my husband's work with plane parts incredibly interesting. Since he rarely reads my blog, it's safe to admit that. I find it absolutely amazing that he tears into plane engines and refurbs fan blades and then those things fly overhead every single day. Now when he is talking, I must hide all interest so that he isn't prone to talking all the time about it.
Not only do I dislike shopping, I don't get all excited over a new purse or shoes. My closet is full of black, brown and blue with just a smattering of light girly colors. I don't care what I look like as long as I am comfortable. You could take my makeup and hairspray away from me and I would survive without a massive breakdown.
My favorite colors are blue and green but I tell everyone pink. I say pink not as a lie, but trying to convince even myself that there is a girly girl in somewhere inside me.
I don't cry much at all and certainly would never cry over a fluffy bunny or a baby. Baby's are precious little people to me, but I don't get all oogly over them. Seeing another person cry doesn't ignite tears of my own. Have you ever watched a group of women listening to a sad story or watching a sad movie? They cry in unison. That's ok, I'm not hating on them. That's just not in me.
All joking aside, I think I spent much of my childhood wanting to be a boy. In my life, boys weren't as abused. I also had this idea that if I had been a boy, I would be able to defend myself. Cause boys are tough, right? Maybe it was because I thought if I could be a boy and play a sport, then I would somehow be acceptable to my parents. That is probably what caused my refusal to carry a purse until I was in my 30s. Even now I'm not sure why I do.
Looking at all the evidence and I've only mentioned a few things, I would like to consider myself just a well-rounded person. But maybe the bigger picture is that I can be less "girly" and still be a girl. MAYBE it's more about accepting who you are and not making life altering decisions to make the physical appearance match part of what is inside. Just a thought!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Gifts Are So Much Better
Every once in a while, I need to remind myself of the gifts God has blessed given me. Wading through the mounds of destruction that I seem to always be doing, it is easy to lose sight of the good things in my life. When I say things, I mean people.
To say I have gotten myself into a higher than average number of dysfunctional relationships is an understatement. That is why it is easy to give God credit for all the relationships currently in my life which are good and healthy. And it is fair to say that I have had a difficult time embracing the church body as family.
I think I have made it very clear that I have no relationships within my family of origin. That's right, not any contact with them. What is worse is that only now, in my mid-30s, am I learning what healthy families and what normal parent and sibling relationships look like.
God gave me two brothers by blood. My relationships with them have never been anything close to what I have seen as healthy or normal. There has been abuse and strain because of growing up in an abusive home. It is fair to say that I have lived a long time without knowing what it was like to have a brother.
Growing in faith, I have learned the difference between God given and God gifted. And, yes...there is a difference. It reminds me of James 1:17, Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
I have been gifted with an amazing brother in Christ. Whenever I share my thoughts about this with anyone, it brings tears of joy and now is no exception. Tears of joy aren't yet that familiar to me, but I know them when they come.
There is so much I could say about this person. My husband and I both consider him to be one of the most genuine and caring people we have ever met.
He is encouraging and usually at times when we need it the most. He is an excellent teacher, who is patient and is always willing to answer questions. He has a sense of humor, but also gets my husband's dry humor which hardly anybody gets. His friendship is valued by my husband but he sets a Christian example for Kent which makes a noticeable difference in his life.
He has a wonderful wife who is caring and warm. Her smile is contagious and such a blessing to know. I have seen her go through some difficult times and is an inspiration to me when I see how deep her faith is during those times. She was the first person to ever point me to the body of Christ when I so desperately miss having a family. I am so thankful for her as well.
Without going into a lot of detail, I can say this person has walked along side Kent and I both through some incredibly painful times and circumstances. He has been there for us when we needed to talk or just needed someone to treat as if we were any other person, putting aside the oddities of our lives. He has helped us in so many way, too numerous to count.
It is possible that God knew I would need to see and live with real examples of brother or sister-like relationships for me to fully understand the depths of the dysfunction I stepped out of by leaving my family behind. Only in comparing an unhealthy relationship to a healthy one truly opens my eyes to what God intended for me or wants for me now.
I am so thankful for the gifts God has given me. It is a gift I pray I never take for granted and I always remember the profound effect it has had on my life. I hope I am always grateful for all he has done and how he has allowed God to use him in mine and my husband's life.
To say I have gotten myself into a higher than average number of dysfunctional relationships is an understatement. That is why it is easy to give God credit for all the relationships currently in my life which are good and healthy. And it is fair to say that I have had a difficult time embracing the church body as family.
I think I have made it very clear that I have no relationships within my family of origin. That's right, not any contact with them. What is worse is that only now, in my mid-30s, am I learning what healthy families and what normal parent and sibling relationships look like.
God gave me two brothers by blood. My relationships with them have never been anything close to what I have seen as healthy or normal. There has been abuse and strain because of growing up in an abusive home. It is fair to say that I have lived a long time without knowing what it was like to have a brother.
Growing in faith, I have learned the difference between God given and God gifted. And, yes...there is a difference. It reminds me of James 1:17, Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
I have been gifted with an amazing brother in Christ. Whenever I share my thoughts about this with anyone, it brings tears of joy and now is no exception. Tears of joy aren't yet that familiar to me, but I know them when they come.
There is so much I could say about this person. My husband and I both consider him to be one of the most genuine and caring people we have ever met.
He is encouraging and usually at times when we need it the most. He is an excellent teacher, who is patient and is always willing to answer questions. He has a sense of humor, but also gets my husband's dry humor which hardly anybody gets. His friendship is valued by my husband but he sets a Christian example for Kent which makes a noticeable difference in his life.
He has a wonderful wife who is caring and warm. Her smile is contagious and such a blessing to know. I have seen her go through some difficult times and is an inspiration to me when I see how deep her faith is during those times. She was the first person to ever point me to the body of Christ when I so desperately miss having a family. I am so thankful for her as well.
Without going into a lot of detail, I can say this person has walked along side Kent and I both through some incredibly painful times and circumstances. He has been there for us when we needed to talk or just needed someone to treat as if we were any other person, putting aside the oddities of our lives. He has helped us in so many way, too numerous to count.
It is possible that God knew I would need to see and live with real examples of brother or sister-like relationships for me to fully understand the depths of the dysfunction I stepped out of by leaving my family behind. Only in comparing an unhealthy relationship to a healthy one truly opens my eyes to what God intended for me or wants for me now.
I am so thankful for the gifts God has given me. It is a gift I pray I never take for granted and I always remember the profound effect it has had on my life. I hope I am always grateful for all he has done and how he has allowed God to use him in mine and my husband's life.
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