Discipline & Darkness

With my first day of classes behind me, I can confidently say that I am not well disciplined. This online format of study is going to force me to get even more organized than I typically am already.

After not working for almost five years, I am not sure how I have managed to keep any sense of routine at all. I suppose that is another reason why volunteering is so important to me. It is as good for me as anyone. It gives some purpose and routine to my otherwise lackadaisical life.

I have somewhat of an idea of how things will flow the best for me. Now we all know that my plans rarely work out as I imagined. However, I still fall back to God being a supplier.

It's a little crazy to think I am a college student. This is really happening. Wow! I wasn't sure this day would ever come. In fact, I was certain it wouldn't even up until yesterday. So many times I thought about backing out. I felt completely incompetent and absolutely unworthy of the opportunity.

As luck would have it, one of my professors changed the syllabus last week and I missed it. So, I'm patiently waiting on a book that I must have and have read before quizzes on Thursday. That was the only thing I was obviously missing. Of course, there was a last minute trip to the store last night for some basic supplies that I needed to stay organized.

I am most definitely taking this journey because I feel God has called me to be prepared to walk with people through the toughest times of life. It wasn't my plan, wasn't the direction I would have chosen. After the first day, one thing is incredibly clear. I am going to grow through this experience. In just my short seven hours yesterday, I can already see areas where I need to pray more and have more grace.

Day two is going to be a long one. I'm hoping to finish all of my reading, presentations and videos today. Hopefully that will give me the next two days to turn in all assignments for the first week and I can end the week early.

Today is going to be long because my husband is leaving town. He won't be gone long. However, it's my first time to be alone here in the country. It's something I will have to get used to. He will eventually travel for work again and will have a solo trip home this spring.

It will be so different without him. He's the reason the lights get shut off at night. I know, I'm 39 years old and I'm afraid of the dark. Don't laugh! It's a bi product of living in complete chaos for so long. Darkness meant something bad was happening.

So, when he is gone, the lights stay on....all night long. When I don't have my big, protective man laying next to me, the place will be lit up.

Enough procrastinating! I have a stack of books to read and a list of lectures to watch.

The Start of a Journey

Here it is, the start of classes.

The next 16 months of my life will be dedicated to getting my degree in Christian Counseling.

I am scared.

Despite my previous thoughts, I did not drop my classes. It's taken a lot of prayer and a lot of encouragement, but the right thing to do was to move forward.

A wise woman has taught me that the Lord will supply me with everything I need to accomplish what He has called me to do. Since this wasn't my idea and something I very much feel called to do, I also have to believe He will take care of me through this.

The past few weeks have unraveled me emotionally. I know that I am facing two surgeries, with one coming in the next couple months. There will be vacations and trips back to Kansas that have to be made. There will be power outages and slow internet connections. There will be other priorities and church commitments.

It was with faith I made this decision and it is by faith I will go forward.

There is an excitement to know the end goal is only a short distance away. There's so much fear. Fear of failure, fear of time management, fear of imbalance.

While the end is already in sight, the commitment is far greater. It is a financial commitment which will take some time to payoff. I have no intention to go into a paying job once I finish, but we will be bound to the student loan for quite sometime.

At $400 per credit hour, we could not have paid for an entire semester plus books. We hate having debt. It will take sacrifice, but we hope to be paying 100% by the last two semesters.

I'm ready but I'm not.

I'm holding on to what I know. He will give me everything I need to do what He's called me to do.

Self Image

For many women, self image and insecurity are daily struggles. I've never been like those women. I'm not saying I'm better than or that I don't have struggles. I do. Just not this one.

Until now. 

I've never cared too much about what I looked like. Before I was married, I really didn't care. If someone didn't like me or how I looked or what I wore...pfft! I didn't care. It probably drove me deeper into embracing who I was and caring even less. It also made me more confident than the average person, which often came across as arrogance. 

Once I was married, it only mattered what my husband thought. 

I've always tried to embrace who I was. I've never been overly feminine. I could go into all the reasons why, but I've never felt much like a girl. I am ok with that. 

I'm also very introspective. So I've spent the past few months searching my heart and trying to understand why insecurity has been eating at me so often lately. 

Little things. Big things. Things people say. It's bothered me more the past few months. I find myself being more self conscious about how I look. 

I've even gone out without my hair done and without make up to prove that I'm not tied to those things or how I look. 

But there seems to be a sensitivity in me that is new. 

Maybe it's a biproduct of the past year. Maybe it's attributable to this massive hormonal shift caused by medication. I don't know. 

Maybe it's a lack of sensitivity from my husband. I know he loves me. However, he's not complimentary. He doesn't give positive feedback. 

I've always known this about him. He used to be, but he's lost that. It only occassionally bothered me before we moved. I think maybe it's a bit more noticeable since it's just him and I most of the time. 

Whatever it is, I'm ready for it to go away. I have enough stuff bringing me down right now. I don't need to add how I look to that list. 

A Stolen Loss

There wasn't any joking when I admitted that what happened with my brother has set me back.

My anxiety has been terrible this past week. More than once I've been awake at 3 am thinking about snakes under the house.

Flashbacks and memories are overwhelming. I never thought my PTSD was gone. But holy wow. My nightmares and time of being locked in flashbacks has increased exponentially. It's been hard on me physically and emotionally.

My anger toward my parents has come back. They are the reason my brother is who he is.

As I sit here watching a tv show, I'm watching this family fearing the loss of their father. It's a show. Not real. But I sat here crying. I could blame the hormones I take, but that's not the case.

When I love someone, I love them very deeply. Friends, family, my husband, I love them. Not the kind of love that slips off the tongue easily. Not the kind that is equal to a love of potato chips. When I love, it's straight from the heart, thoroughly considered and without reason.

That deep love is why being hurt is so deeply painful.

It's not the first time but probably the hardest. I am reminded that along with all the other things my parents stole from me, they also took away every chance I could've had at loving parents deeply. Sharing life with parents. Good and bad. Caring for them in their aging years. I'll never be able to share moments of fear or loss or love with my family.

They've stolen all of that from me.

Lots of bad words come to mind right now. I'm angry. And a bunch of bad words wouldn't change that.

I'm angry. The people who should be there to comfort me and talk reasonably with me are the ones who cause the problem.

How do you ever fully recover from that?

No Family

Today I had one of those moments. One of those moments where I shook my fist at God in disgust and confusion.

They are rare for me.

I've come full circle.

When the dam broke, I blamed myself and internalized all anger. Then, as I learned about God's sovereignty, I was angry with God and blamed him. For most of the past four years, I've learned God's plan is always best and He can redeem it all. That he wasn't the author of evil. I didn't have anger toward him but learned to praise him for what He has brought me through.

But as I thought about my family today, I couldn't help but be angry. That anger was completely placed on God. The bible is clear that God created me, knit me together in my mothers womb.

Why?

Why did he give me to that mother? That family? Why not a loving family? Why not prints who wanted me? Why can there not not be redemption in my family?

God knows my heart. He knows my struggles. It's not a surprise to him that I occassionally break down and ask these questions. So, I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid to have those moments of letting him have it.

He also knows it is my deepest desire to be loved and surrounded with family. A desire I never had until I knew Him.

My little mind occassionally reaches a point where I can't reconcile those two things and I have no other choice but to let it out.

The past 18 months, I lived with this false reality that God had restored a piece of my family for me. I believed it was an answer to prayer.

I think many prayers were answered, but not the big one. Not the answer I wanted. After last week, I know the answer is no or not now. And that's hard to accept.

There were no tears. There wasn't much of a pity party. It was a questioning. Self doubt. What have I done to not deserve a family? I've got nobody. No blood relatives that I have a relationship with and it hurts. How could I not have times of feeling as though I'm not worthy or I'm being punished.

I'm thankful I don't have moments like this often. However, I'm glad I do because it opens the door for God to show me something bigger.

I Stood Up

I had a chance to speak briefly to a trusted friend back in KC about the situation with my brother. She offered me a different perspective that was incredibly profound.

By the way, this is why deep relationships are so vital for me. Without trust, without them understanding me, without a consistent stability and faith, I would never believe what they say.

After I explained exactly what happened, there was a brief silence. She knows how hard this is for me. She knows how difficult it is for me to once again require separation from my family and how alone I will feel in the weeks, months and years to come.

She said to me that I had to know exactly what I had done.

I did know or thought I did. I had angered my brother and put myself in an impossible position.

No.

As she went on to explain, maybe those things were true but there was a bigger truth that I hadn't seen.

She said I had done something that had never been done for me. I had done something that I had dreamed for years that someone would do in my life.

I stood up to my brother, an abuser and in front of his children.

This was the exact conversation that happened with my brother and in front of his family after he had finally stopped hitting his kids.

Me:  There is no hitting in my house.
B:  Oh that was me doing the hitting. *giggle* (I already knew this as I had seen it happen.)
Me:  I know and I said there is no hitting in my house. It isn't allowed and is unacceptable. We do not allow hitting in the house.
B:  I'll hit my kids when and where I want. They are my kids.
Me:  I said there is no fucking hitting in this house.

The kids heard. His wife heard. He heard.

I know in my brother's mind, he had the upper hand. He had spoken and that was final. However, my brother went and laid on his bed for hours too. Not sure why, but I have to think he didn't appreciate being told he was wrong.

And that is exactly what I had done. I had told him in front of four other people that he was wrong for hitting his kids.

Nobody ever did that to my dad.

My dad was a bit more restrained and never hit us in front of anyone, not even extended family. He had once. He hit me in front of my grandma when I was 1. The story she always told me was that I had gotten in his way and he backhanded me hard enough to throw me three feet back and smacked my head on the floor. My grandma didn't stand up to him but later told my mom that if she ever saw that again she would take me away. She never saw it again.

Obviously, my brother didn't have the same kind of restraint or he assumed that since I grew up in the same house then I had the same values and would be ok with it. I wasn't.

In front of my niece and nephew, I stood up to their abuser. I planted a seed that being hit and hitting children is wrong. If they've never know this before now, I hope they know now. I hope that if it happens again, they will know someone loved them enough to say no. I hope they understand someday that I loved them so much that I traded a relationship with them at a chance for their safety.

Don't mistake what I am saying, I am not a hero. A hero would have clobbered their dad and had him arrested on the spot. A hero would have done far more than have a verbal confrontation. A hero would have made certain it never happened again.

I'm not a hero. I spoke up and then placed my faith in hope. A hope that seeds were planted with all of them. A hope that it would miraculously never happen again. A hope that my painful loss would have bigger gains for my niece and nephew. A faith that our God is far bigger than me and can work in the most hopeless of situations.

When I was a kid, I didn't have any hope. I had a far fetched dream. We lived close enough to Oklahoma that we only got Dallas Cowboys games. I would watch on Sundays as the big huge guys would take each other down. My dream was that some of those big guys would come in and take  my dad out. That was it. The closest thing I had to stopping the abuse, a crazy dream.

I want my niece and nephew to have something bigger to hang onto than a silly dream.

I will never regret standing up to my brother. I do, however, regret not talking to the kids afterward. I wish I would have told them now that they should not be ashamed of what their dad has done. He is wrong and they have not deserved what has happened to them. That there is a difference between punishment and abuse. That they don't have to keep it a secret. That if it doesn't stop, they always have a safe place here.

Realistically, my abuse didn't stop until eight months ago. My dad continued the physical abuse well into my adult life and I am not exactly certain when that stopped. I do know that he continued the emotional abuse until I moved 14 hours away from him.

It took exactly 39 years to live an abuse free life. While I don't see my brother as a monster equal to my dad, I definitely don't want my niece and nephew to live in fear until they are 39 years old.

Self Inflicted Scars

As I sat in church on Sunday, I fought a flood of emotion. There was so much attention on the loss of the baby that it naturally touched on my own grief. Given the events of the previous week, I was already in high emotion before walking in the door. 

So I did what I do best, I shut down my emotions. There were no tears, nothing extra, just numbness.

It was too much. I'd been in high emotion for three days and couldn't function one more day that way. 

While sitting there, I reached down to scratch my arm. The light and angle was just right to see the scars imprinted on my arm.

They are always there, but I don't always see them. With the freckles and long sleeves, I forget they are there. Honestly, the freckles blend so well that I'm not sure anyone ever sees them. But they are there.

Sure, there are some from a variety of mishaps and abuse. But most of the scars on my arms are self inflicted. 

They are thin, shallow lines. Reminders of how I used to handle high emotion.

Yes, I was a cutter. 

It started as a teenager, slowed down in adulthood and then came back with a vengeance about seven years ago.

As a teen, I'd break something glass like a bottle and cut parts of my body that the outside world couldn't see. It wasn't for attention, it was for release. My world was chaos and I was in constant pain. The only thing that would alleviate the pain others inflicted on me was to hurt myself. 

I know it sounds crazy, but so is living the way I had to when I was young. I don't expect everyone to understand this behavior.

When the dam broke seven years ago, I was overwhelmed with pain and emotion. Cutting was the only relief I knew. 

Again, I don't expect anyone to understand what I am about to say. Most of the cutting I did from 2007-2012 was done in a dissociative state. Meaning I did it, but had no memory of it after because of dissociative amnesia. 

During those years of learning about and processing the suppressed memories, I easily became overwhelmed. It was more than anyone could handle. Flashbacks and reforming my understanding of my childhood was hard. It was probably one of the toughest things I've ever had to willingly put myself through. 

In those times of flashbacks and memories, I couldn't handle it. I wasn't equipped. My pain would push me into running, trying to get away from it and not understanding that I couldn't. 

It wasn't uncommon for me to take off driving for hours and be found at the lake by my husband or counselor/friend. They would often find me cut and bloody, crying and ready to go home. 

I can't emphasize enough that this was very normal for the abnormal life I was living. It also led to me not being allowed to drive for five years. 

The last time I did any cutting was early 2012. I started driving again on a limited basis in mid 2013. By the end of 2013, beginning of 2014, I was back to driving at my discretion. Then and now, I know when it's not safe for me to drive. Not that I fear those episodes, but I do still have insomnia and I understand it isn't always safe for me to drive.

As I sat in church looking at those scars, I was able to understand how important growth is to me.

This past year has and continues to bring me high emotion. It's one for the record books. I don't need to go over it all again. And I'm certainly not over it all yet. 

What happened with my brother was like a final straw for me. The cap for a long, difficult year. 

The emotions are certainly overwhelming me. I don't have anyone to help me process those in healthy ways. The pain is there and I don't want to feel it. I would give anything to relieve the pain.

I'm not sure what to do. However, I know what I won't do. I won't start cutting again. I won't start drinking or abusing drugs again either. That is a part of my growth that I'm not willing to let go of and take a step backward.

I have learned that the relief is temporary and the pain always comes back. It comes back and I have the added shame of the cutting. I'm not willing to go there. 

My scars are a reminder that I have begun to look to God more and try to self medicate less. 

Instead of self harm, I've learned to pray. Pray for comfort, for relief. Pray for healthier ways to let go of this overwhelm. Pray that this year brings some semblance of normalcy. Pray for what I can't change. Pray for protection from old ways of thinking and behavior.

Snowflakes and Quiet

Yesterday was Monday. The Monday after three weeks of hectic planning, doing and regretting. I wasn't motivated. Four extra people in my house for eight days means my house was a disaster. There was laundry to do. Christmas decorations to put up. But I couldn't touch it.

My day consisted of a pre snow trip to the store and a nap and heating up leftovers for dinner. I left it all be. I needed a day of peace to recharge my emotional battery.

Today, well today is different.

I woke up to severa inches of snow and it's still coming down.

It's beautiful and quiet and pure.

Emotionally, I'm still a mess. But the peace surrounding me gives me a bit more motivation.

There's laundry going. The Christmas decor is ready for the trek to the garage. The kitchen is back to normal. Pillows, blankets and board games are back in the closet. The bathroom is once again sparkling.

As I watch the snowflakes drift to the ground and listen to dogs snoring, I am struck by something very real.

I'm alone.

I'm happier when I'm not alone.

I'm extremely happy when their are children in my house.

It's a realization that I have come full circle. I know, it's not a knew revelation but when compared to my entire life, it's still relatively knew to me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not idolizing people or thinking that my happiness is somehow totally dependent on having people near me.

I am sad tht after eight months here, I'm still an outsider. I have a couple friends, but only one trusted female friend. This is still a new place and I'm struggling to fit in. I don't have a lot in common with the women here and I have nothing to share when they start talking about children or childhood or the people/things in the area. I'm not sure that's going to change. I think I have to prepare for a season of loneliness. I will say that I have a new respect for new kids in school.

Despite the really tough time with my brother and the disrespect and the lack of common courtesy, I enjoyed having my niece and nephew here.

I loved their presence. The times when they laughed and played games were amazing. Even the times when they fought and bickered and wouldn't quit picking at each other were wonderful. Having them here have my house a fullness that it is always missing. A little more cleaning, cooking, dishes, patience, it was all worth it.

We don't have to have a baby for our family to be complete, but our family feels incredibly incomplete with just the two of us.

I've always said I was not a kid person. I'll stand by that a bit. I don't like to be in masses of children. I'm still not cut out to take on 50 kids all at once. But my desire to have and raise children has never been stronger.

I happily trade watching snowflakes and the quiet for a house full of bored children or entertaining a group of friends.

Aftermath

We took my brother and his family to the airport Saturday. Not a day too soon and probably three days late.

I've obviously had some time to calm down from seeing him hit his kids. But, it's not over.

The few days following the incident were difficult and tense. We didn't talk about it and nobody could make eye contact.

My brother also spent a few hours on his bed. Not sure why. I have no clue if he had emotion about losing control or the confrontation. It doesn't really matter now.

If it had been cost effective, they would have been flown home that night.

There are a few things still resonating with me.

I don't regret my retreat to the bedroom. I was in a full blown PTSD episode and I would not have wanted my niece and nephew to see me in a reduced state. I do however regret the time lost with them. I also regret not addressing the issue with them. They had visible signs of shame afterward. They needed to know that they were loved by me regardless.

I do not regret the confrontation with my brother. No abuse in my house is a firm boundary. He needed to know that. My regret is that I didn't get physically involved when I saw the situation escalating.

My brother had shared several stories earlier in the visit of how he still beats the kids with a belt. My regret is not sitting him down then and letting him know that isn't normal and isn't acceptable.

My PTSD is not gone. I'd like everyone to think that it's almost gone, but it's not. A big trigger solicits a big response.

Under no circumstance is my brother allowed back in my house. We have a no abusers welcome policy here. He failed to apologize to the kids or us for his behavior. That solidifies that he still believes that it's ok to beat kids. That's not ok. That's not welcome here.

I'm left in an absolutely impossible position. I witnessed the abuse and heard the stories. I don't have a choice but to report him. This sucks. I know, I've done it before. I've only confessed that to one person since I made that call seven years ago. I don't know the outcome. Nobody could have ever known before now that it was me.

This time, there's no hiding it. It happened in a different state and I was a witness. There's no way to be anonymous to my family. As was the case last time, I have this emotional quandary of doing the right thing and the guilt of potentially breaking apart a family. It touches on so many issues in my life.

When we dropped them off, I didn't cry. Every visitor we've had, I've cried when they left. This time was different.

Talking with my husband later, I did cry a little. I wasn't sad they left, I was sad they came. Heartbroken.

If they'd never have come, I'd never have lost them...again.

Once my brother knows I've reported him, I'll never see the kids again. I know how that works. I'll probably never see my brother again.

This is a time when its ok to be all or nothing. Even if he didn't hate me afterward, I'd still not be able to have a relationship with him. I cannot allow toxic people in my life.

The reality is that dropping them off at the airport was more than saying goodbye to visitors. I was saying goodbye to my family. I had them in my life for such a short time and now they are gone again.

Emotionally, I feel orphaned all over again. The rebuilding from the past few years is gone. It's all gone.

We are exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Parts of the visit were good, but they were minimal. We spent a lot of money to fly them out here. We spent a lot of time watching them play on their phones and waiting on them. It's been hard and the difficulty isn't over.

I'm not sure I have what it takes or enough support to be back in this place again. My husband fears I'll become depressed again. He is a bright man.

Grieving Community 2

After today, I'm convinced this subject is worthy of more attention.

I have said it over and over and over again. The people here are different.

Walking into church this morning, there was a heaviness. It wasn't spoken. You could feel it and see it in people's eyes. A seriousness and brokenness that permeated the masses.

We started off Sunday school with a discussion about where we were from, our home. One by one, each person shared where in town or surrounding counties they were from. We quietly sat listening, knowing we were the outsiders.

Leesburg is our home now, but only for eight months. Not that it was the point of the lesson, but it reinforced the understanding that this community is a family. If I had to guess, I would say that 90% or more of the people here grew up in this or surrounding communities or have lived here for 20 years or more.

As the lesson came to a close, we learned the point was that our home is heaven. Our life here is merely the vehicle to our forever home. This led to a brief discussion about the loss of the baby. As the teacher spoke and became emotional, so did most others.

There's something incredibly powerful in seeing a grown man cry. It's moving and pure. I've learned that when a man cries, it comes from deep within and is not to be taken lightly and is more unexpected.

While I watched grown men and women wiping away tears, I couldn't help but consider two things. I first wondered how much emotion was spurred by the idea that this tragic loss could happen to anyone. A loss like this can drive people to hug their children tighter and praise God for the many blessings they've been given.

The other thing was just how deeply this family was connected.

Family is a relatively new concept for me. Even my previous church family was dysfunctional at best. I have never been a part of a family who's suffered loss and felt it collectively.

What I was seeing was all new to me. People, related only through Christ, experiencing a loss as if it was their own. It was their own. A member of their family is gone.

Later on, we sat quietly in the sanctuary. We watched people hugging each other, tears and consoling.

We are a part of this family, but we aren't. We don't know these people yet. They've accepted us, but we are still outsiders. So, we've been fairly removed from the emotion, services, visits, etc. Despite our hearts desire, we haven't been around long enough, people don't know us and we don't know them. We very much have an outsiders perspective. And that's ok, for now. It's allowing us to see the integrity and strength of our church.

Once the service started today, there was a time of prayer. Again, unlike anything I've ever seen. The elder took a knee at the big wooden cross and invited the church to join him. We'd never experienced anything like this and stayed where we were. It wasn't that we lacked compassion. It happened so fast and we didn't quite know what was happening.

Most of the church filled the stage and the isles. They knelt with hands on each other. Yes, I looked. Don't judge. I wanted and needed to see how this family had come together as one. One family, one body. At that moment, they held each other.

Although I had not seen it personally, I've heard stories of how the church family had been holding each other for days.

It's a beautiful thing to see and know. These people have embodied exactly what church was meant to be. I've said it before, these are imperfect people doing church how it was meant to be. The way we were called to be a church. They've embraced what Paul has directed us to be. They love God and love each other.

In fact, it's so overwhelming that as an outsider, it's incredibly easy to not feel worthy to be a part of them.

I've heard so many stories of how this young couple have shown so much strength, grace and faith. I can't imagine. I've not been able to handle my losses that way.

Of the 10 babies we've lost, we've never held them, seen their faces and never said a formal goodbye. I know this fall, I didn't handle the two losses with anything more than struggle and questioning. I'm thankful this young couple has given this community a picture of what it's like to go through loss when your faith is strong.

This experience has certainly given us and even better understanding of who these people are in our community. It's given us a deeper respect for the strength and health of our church. And it's most definitely validated our belief that God has us in the right place at the right time.

Grieving Community

This town and community is small. Smaller than anywhere I've ever lived. Depending on the Internet source, there is 800-1100 people. It's unlike anywhere I've lived, not just because of size but because of the overwhelming sense of family and community.

There's downsides to it, there is anywhere. But the list is short. The list of positive attributes is far longer.

Everybody knows each other, especially those who've always lived in the area. So, when there is a loss...everyone feels it.

A few days ago, a local family unexpectedly lost their four month old baby boy.

The mother is the young lady who does my hair. I first met her when she was pregnant. I met her at church and several people recommended her to me. I've had the opportunity to talk with her a few times while in the shop. I don't claim to know her well, but one thing I'm certain of is that she loves her babies.

Knowing that, I'm certain the loss has devastated her and her family.

The loss has also hit the community. Restaurants, facebook, gas stations, doctors offices, it's being discussed everywhere. Every person I've heard talk about it has known some member of the family or been a customer at the salon.

It's a loss felt by everyone. Not in an "oh that's sad" way, but in a heartfelt sorrowful way.

Again, it's unlike anything I've ever experienced.

As with any unexpected struggle in life, people cling to faith or question their faith. I've heard both.

When an elderly person passes, we are sad but often take comfort in their faith, legacy and full life. When a child is lost, we often struggle to see God's plan or goodness. We question our allegiance to a deity who would take a precious baby. I'm not speaking for everyone. However, I've seen the most mature christians question their faith after a difficult loss.

Having lost unborn children, it's an easy trap to fall into. Our emotions become stronger than truth and we question.

Since I'm the newbie in town, this loss hasn't effected me the way it has others. I'm sad, but I'm more resigned to pray for my community and those who are hurting.

I'm obviously praying for comfort and peace.

There's so much more. God doesn't create a path for us that includes pin and suffering. We have it because we live in a fallen world. Every loss, every pain, God can redeem, restore and use for his glory. It's one of the many ways He shows us how deeply and personally he loves us.

So, I'm praying for God to redeem, restore and use this loss for His glory. I'm praying the faith of this family can be strengthened and an example for the lost who surround them and are also grieving with them.

I'm praying many blessings over this community as they move on from this loss.

I'm praying those near to the family will continue to provide support and comfort to the family in the coming days, weeks and months ahead.

My heart breaks in very intimate ways for this family and community. All I can do is trust God and pray. That's all any of us can do.

I'm a Failure

Socially. I fail. Failed. Failing.

It took a long time for me to transition into a social person. I used to require hours and hours each day of time alone. I didn't like crowds or groups. I never had a desire for relationships.

Then, I learned that beyond a relationship with God, we were designed to have relationships with others. It was a complete change for me. I slowly began to want relationships.

It was a tough road. I had to learn the hard way that friendships are best when formed organically and not rushed.

Over the past few years, I finally developed many friendships. Some surface, some intimate. Those deeper, intimate relationships are where I thrive.

I know I've said it before, but I've struggled here in Ohio. I've struggled to have patience and discernment.

A few months ago, I thought I was on the right track.

Our church has small groups and bible studies. I was participating in them and allowing myself to be vulnerable. It's what I believed I needed to do to develop relationships.

Backing up a few months ago, I made a huge mistake. I shared my heart, my concerns. I allowed myself to be vulnerable in a group of people who had so easily spoken their minds for months. I trusted.

The very next day and following week, I realized the horrific mistake of made. Without going too far into it, I'll say this particular situation got out of hand. It spread like wildfire and I quickly knew I was not in a group where it was safe to share my heart.

Honestly, that's not on them. It's on me. I got too comfortable.

I think by now, it's blown over with everyone except me. There's still fallout for me. I can't undo my natural instinct to withdraw. My ability to be vulnerable was injured and that isn't easily repaired. Despite my best efforts and prayer, I can't put myself out there right now.

That's painful. It's left me in this place where relationships are limited. I'm not thriving, I'm hiding. At church, I sit quietly beside my husband during services and studies. I don't initiate conversation. I head straight to the car the second it's over.

I'm fearful of saying the wrong thing, scared of vulnerability.

It all makes me very sad and lonely.

I know, I can't have it both ways. It's not possible. My desire to protect myself is far stronger than my need to relationships. Obviously. But it's painful. I know it's difficult for anyone to understand. The best explanation I can give is that you tend to self protect faster and more completely when you come out of deep childhood pain and trauma.

Here's a painful truth. I've failed in every small group I've ever been in since becoming a christian.

In the beginning, I failed because I wasn't healthy enough to function in a group of people. Then I failed because the sheer size of the group was overwhelming and again, I wasn't healthy enough. Then, I failed because the group began to fall apart. Then, I failed because we were leaving the church.

My success has been so minute that it doesn't count.

Coming here, I was excited for small group bible study. I was healthier and ready for the interaction. I couldn't wait for it to begin. But once again, I've failed.

We've discussed it and I've prayed about it. I can't return to our small group. It's incredibly painful. Not only because it's another failure, but because I so desperately need interaction with people.

I know I've disappointed my husband and myself and probably everyone who put effort into including us in the group.

But I just can't. I'll never be comfortable and I'll likely struggle with trust.

It's hard to admit. It's not an easy decision. These are all very nice people. Again, they aren't the problem.

I'm hoping my husband will continue. He also needs the interaction. It'll be tough to send him out the door every Sunday evening. It'll be a reminder that I'm a failure. It'll be a time of loneliness.

My prayer and deepest desire is that I can trust and be vulnerable and these walls can be let down. I know I've taken a few steps back. I hope overcoming this, like any setback, will bring me out more confident and healthier on the other side.

I'm a Fraud

I've laid here crying for three hours. So much emotion. 

To be fair, my husband suggested I call one of my trusted friends who know the score and talk through this. 

I can't. I'm absolutely too ashamed. I have children in my house and I couldn't protect them. They got hit and it reduced me to a pile. I thought my brother had stopped this, but I was wrong. So very wrong. He's a child abuser. Still. I completely misread him. I'm ashamed of it all. Hanging my head and embarrassed to admit it to anyone. 

My embarrassment doesn't stop there. I'm obviously not as healthy as I thought. One confrontation with my brother and I was thrown back to childhood. As my tears drenched my pillow, my body shook uncontrollably. A constant replay of so much trauma shot through my mind and body. 

Not since we moved have I had a PTSD episode quite as violent as this one. I had no control over any of it. I was stuck in a distant time and felt each blow. The really crappy part of PTSD is that I feel the physical pain for days. The memory is so strong that I will physically ache and even bruise in the areas coinciding with the memory. 

The mind is a powerful thing, but memories exercise the most control. 

I don't know how things will be once they leave. Right now they are tense. I don't know if the PTSD episodes will subside. I've not been triggered so heavily here. 

It's left me in a position where satan has won. 

All that I have felt and thought for the past few months has come full circle. 

All the lies have become truth. 

All the truth has now been questioned.

I'm not having a crisis of faith, but a crisis of life. 

For the first time in a long time, I don't feel worthy of the air I'm breathing. I failed. My house is no longer the safest place I know. It was. It was the only place I'd never been triggered and never seen any abuse. That's simply not true now.

Mostly, I feel like a fraud. I was getting ready to start school for counseling. A degree that would teach me the best ways to walk through trauma with others. 

I just can't. I can't adequately handle my own stuff, so I don't think I can handle others stuff. 

Either I read God wrong or satan has won this too. On Monday, one week before the start date, I'll be dropping all of my classes. 

If I can't keep children safe in my house, then I have no business walking with others. 

It's the end of a dream. Another way my past has rendered me useless. 

My dad told me not that long ago that he would always have control in my life. He was right, he does. As much as I've tried, I can't seem to live any other way. 

It Finally Happened

I'm currently laying on my bed, door shut, shaking uncontrollably and crying.

I'm done. Ready for everyone to leave. I've been triggered and am ready for this to be over.

We could hear the kids fighting from the front room. It's what they do and have done the entire time. I won't say it's ruined the trip, but the fighting, immaturity and bad moods have certainly made it not so enjoyable.

Anyway, my brother went to tend to the kids and I could hear him hitting them. I lost it. I drew the line. Told all of them hitting was not allowed in my house. It's our house and that's a boundary to be respected.

My brother obviously got mouthy and I was having none of it.

NOBODY walks in this house and acts like my dad. I won't tolerate it.

I don't even know what to do. I'm so incredibly angry and upset. Its not exhaustion, it's anger.

I haven't enjoyed much of this visit and that's just honest. I've tried. I've pretended. I've lied my way through it.

I have tried my hardest to make the most of it, but I'm extremely unhappy with the whole thing. It's not a selfish unhappiness. I'm not unhappy cause I haven't gotten my way.

I'm unhappy because these people don't love me back. They don't respect me. They don't know me. They don't care.

My Feet Ache

Feeding six people is a lot of work. There's prep and cooking and clean up. I honestly don't know how people with large families do it. I'm sure there's a routine to it that I can't develop in a week. 

I'm not complaining. It's a wonderful kind of aching feet. I wouldn't trade this time for anything. 

It's easy to see the true character of a group of people when you are feeding them. 

Sad to admit, but I'm not overly proud of the manners of my family. 

I'm not complaining, but making observations. 

My husband has been absolutely perfect during this week. He's done dishes and taken care of laundry when I just needed to sit. 

My nephew is a typical teenage boy. He's not very engaged in what's going on around him. However, anytime I've asked, he's jumped right in and helped. He's taken care of most of the trash. 

Now let me share my observations. 

As a general rule, there hasn't been much help beyond that. Dishes are left on the table or cabinets. Nobody has offered to help with meal prep. There has not been one thank you. 

It's easy to see how our childhood has infiltrated this family and it makes me sad. 

Even when we go out for meals, there's no appreciation. Everyone orders with a "Give me your..." and there's not one thank you muttered. 

That's hard for me and I have bit my tongue a lot. 

Again, I'm not complaining. It's an observation of my parents influence on this group of people. 

I'm not at elevating my status above anyone. However, I do see the good and positive influence in my life and how I have changed since initially moving away from them. 

It does make me understand why my parents thought I acted like I was better than everyone else. It wasn't because I did, but because I acted different than them. I became more like my husband than them. 

How crazy is it that I see growth in myself during meal times when my feet are aching and my back hurts. 

I know by Saturday night, I'm going to miss these meal times. I'm going to miss the tired feet and crazy schedule. 

My Complex

It's worth starting this off with a reminder about who I am.

I don't have your typical self esteem issues. I don't get hung up on how I look like most women. I don't place value in physical aspects of me. I'm fairly confident in who I am and what I believe. I do not see myself as an attractive woman at all. As I've said before, I very much see myself as the fat, ugly person my dad expected me to be. It's not a struggle, it's just the way I am.

Rarely do I have issues with body image and when I do, they are usually a direct relation to my relationship with my husband.

I never ever alter the value of me based on social media or what others think of me. I don't compare mysef to others. I don't use social media as an indication of how well I am like or disliked nor how people feel about what I have to say.

That being said, I think social media may have played a part in a recent emotional hiccup.

I hate social media. The only reason I post ever on Facebook is for one of two reasons. One is that my friends and family will know what's going on in my life. The other is for religious reasons. That's it. I typically don't rant or rave, maybe on occasion. I don't enjoy looking at Facebook much either. I don't tweet and I use Instagram only to filter photos. I so don't use facebook to air grievances or dirty laundry or fight with my spouse.

A couple weeks ago, I had my hair cut and dyed. My color turned out darker than expected, but I liked it. I've dyed my hair dark before. I've also straightened it before. Although I don't often.

The stylist straightened it and I posted a photo on social media.

I had an unexpected response. I rarely pay much attention to likes or comments unless they deserve a thank you or other response.

This picture, it got a lot of attention. I didn't expect that. It was all complimentary.

The sentiment was that my hair style was different and beautiful. It was just a style to me. I still saw the same person. But my friends were adamant that it made me look like a new person.

At first, I was flattered. I rarely get compliments on how I look. So, I was appreciative.

However, I started to develop a complex.

Did I look that bad before? Had I needed a change? Was it so much better?

Honestly, I thought it was too dark. When it's curly, my face looks pale.

I tend to not wear my hair straight. I have naturally curly hair. It's not always been that way. My hair was bone straight or wavy until 1999. When I got pregnant the first time, I had my hair cut short and permed. I was sick and didn't want to mess with it. It never went back straight and has gotten curvier since. So, I'm more inclined to go with its natural curl.

I've been wearing it straight a lot the past few weeks. If I lok so much better, why not right?

I kind of hate. Not my hair. The response. I hate that it's made me feel even more naturally ugly. I hate that the general population can make me feel uglier than I already do. I didn't even know that was possible.

I know that nobody set out to intentionally make me feel this way. They were all trying to be encouraging. Collectively, that wasn't the case.

Really, it's not my usual MO, but I'd kind of like someone to tell me it looked better before.

Isn't it crazy how one picture on social media can have such a profound effect on how you think or feel?

Yikes!!!!

Where to start...

First of all, I think I'm getting sick. I've been fighting chills, cough, tired and achy body. I still have 4 1/2 days left, I don't have time to get sick. I'm hoping that returning home tonight and getting a good nights sleep in my own bed will help.

I'm mentally and emotionally worn out. It's a constant up and down.

There's an underlying emotional high that just is. I have my family here and that makes me happy.

But...

There's difficult stuff.

Hard stuff doesn't scare me. I have/do/am/can walk through crazy tough stuff with other people. It's entirely different when it's your own stuff, your own family.

Something has happened, something terrible.

My parents have spent concentrated time convincing my little brother that my middle brother is the primary reason I left the family.

As I've said before, my middle brother has some major problems. He was severely abused and has residual problems because of it. You don't come out of a home like ours unscathed.

Is he a bad guy? Yes. I cannot be around him. The last time I was left alone with him, about 8 years ago, he went into a rage and beat me. Being around him with others present causes high emotion in me and not positive emotion. Our relationship is toxic. I've accepted that. I've forgiven him. I understand him in ways he may not understand himself. I love him, but I cannot be around him.

He is NOT the reason I left the family.

My little brother has a growing resentment toward him because of the blame that's been placed on him.

I can't. I can't let him continue to believe the lie.

It breaks my heart and scares me.

There's no fear in being honest.

The truth is that my parents left me before I knew I needed to leave them. My mom hung up on me when I told her I'd become a christian and was being baptized. She never called again. Never. Symbolically, I had left the family. I'd broken the family circle of darkness. Technically, I'd left the family but she's the one who severed contact.

I have and can tell my brother that. That's not going to be sufficient.

He can't blame our brother. Hating our brother is wrong. His anger is misplaced. I want him to understand he's not to blame and to know that our brother is the way he is because of abuse. He can't help himself. I hate saying this because it implies that I believed I deserved sympathy at one time. But, there is sympathy for my brother. He's unhealthy. He's been broken by evil. He lives in brokenness and doesn't understand he needs help.

There's so much I don't know how to explain. How do I tell my little brother that him beating his daughter is what cause the dam to break for me? How do I tell him that the dad he hunts with is a rapist and child molester? How do I tell him that his kids Meemaw is a child abuser and neglected her children?

None of that would be a huge surprise to him. Except, he's either locked it away or still lives in the reality that those are all normal things.

I did both. It was all locked away. However, it took me 6 years to understand and believe that it was all wrong.

I'm stuck in an impossible position. It's not about me being right. It's not about vindication. It's not about anything besides truth. I don't want to cause any more harm, but truth needs to become real in this family.

The lies have permeated our entire family. So many that nobody knows the truth. Lies upon lies upon lies. They are being passed onto new generations.

It hurts. This may be more difficult than having no contact with any of my family.

I don't know what to do and fully believe I'm going to screw it up.

Please pray for me. Please pray for truth.

I don't want to lose my brother again and know my influence ends on Saturday and my parents' begins again on Saturday.

New Year Goals

I don't do resolutions. I think they are lists of ways to fail.

However, I do have a few goals for this year.

Some goals are our goals and some are mine.

1. School. I will have to go four semesters to get everything done and to get all the counseling classes that I want. I should graduate in May 2016. I have to stay focused. My personality bent will drive me to work hard and expect a 4.0. I know that's a great goal, but have to maintain balance so that school doesn't become the only thing in my life. Goal:  balance.

2. Finances. This is our goal. We want to save more money each month and pay off the car. We know it's feasible. We know in the near future, we want to adopt. We want to have more savings and a larger house. Goal:  budget money.

3. Prayer and bible study. I have grown in spiritual disciplines, but I want to develop better habits. I want to keep a list and spend concentrated time on it each day. Goal:  grow spiritually.

4. Church. This year, I had a setback. I allowed myself to be vulnerable and honest only to recoil when I failed. It's still eating at me. I still have walls. I still haven't committed to being fully engaged again. I hate it. Participation is key in my growth. I can't get over the hump. Out of everyone involved, I'm the only one still having a tough time. I'm not holding onto any ill will at all. I'm just not able to move beyond the walls, not capable of being vulnerable. Goal:  pray for the want to, the desire to not be so protective of myself.

5. Pray for my family. I tend to see my family as a lost cause or God's problem. I realize how badly they need salvation. I'm not there with my parents yet. I know that acceptance is something that I cannot control. I can petition the Lord for Him to soften their hearts. Goal:  pray consistently for salvation in my brothers and their families.

6. Health. I need to have two surgeries this year. I don't want either. I fear surgery. Having the surgeries will make me feel better. I Know losing additional weight would do the same. Goal:  trust God in all things.

7. Relationships. I have and am struggling with this. I don't have much in common with people around me. They are sweet and kind, but I'm incredibly lonely. My social butterfly heart isn't thriving here. I've tried with a few people and failed. Socially, I don't really fit. I'm praying, but am not sure what else I can do. Goal:  continue praying that I would find everything I need in God alone.

8. Celebrate. This year is a big one for us. I turn 40 and he turns 50. Neither of us are excited about growing older. I'll be honest, we had huge plans for parties with friends and family. That's not going to happen now. Birthdays had become these difficult days that were more about stuff than creation. We need to see our value in Christ and celebrate the lives we have been given. Goal:  find ways to celebrate each other and the life we have together.

I am sure there are more goals we need to set. These are the most important at this time. None of them are going to crush me if they are failures. However I know that success will bring greater joy in my life. That's motivation enough to stick with them.

Salon Imperfections

Y'all know salons are breeding grounds for gossip, right? Salons in super small towns, well they just know everything and everybody and everything about everybody.

A couple weeks ago, I spent a couple hours in our local salon getting a fabulous new style. During that time, I also learned more about the people in the town than I ever cared to know. More specifically, I learned more about the people in church than I thought possible.

I'm not a spreader of gossip, so you're not going to get any juicy tidbits here.

However, I was delighted to learn that my church is absolutely full of imperfect people.

Don't get me wrong, I never believed that the people were sinless or completely perfect. But with only a few exceptions in my personal experience, they have seemed a little more perfect than christians I've met in the past. It wasn't from anything they said, just how well they came together and how beautifully they do church.

It's a compliment and not a backhanded one either. These people do church so well. They admit it's taken time and pain and prayer to get where they are.

I've had the opportunity to take visitors three times. Each time, the sentiment has been the same. Everyone is so nice. Everyone seems to like each other. The minister is just a regular guy. There's no intimidation, no separation of class.

My past churches didn't do church very well. One had so many changes that it struggled and the people failed. I think they've probably improved with time. The other we didn't attend long, but also had a pastor change and growing pains.

This church, been there done that and came back again.

While the minister is young, the church is solid. There is a fair mix of all ages. The preaching is true to the Word. The music is a good mix of new and old. They genuinely want people to get involved and I've not seen an overwhelming sense of self promotion and ownership.

As newbies to the church and area, we've had a few people do an excellent job of making sure we are ok in that. We've needed that. It's been hard and we've needed that kind of care. They've gone far beyond our expectations.

You can see why it's easy to say they do church more perfectly than we've ever experienced.

I'm not going to lie. Tucked away in my heart and mind, I've questioned if maybe it was a little too perfect. Keep in mind, I don't know many people well at all. I see them come to church, love each other and God and that's it. I can assume they are broken people. They don't act like the broken people I've previously seen in church, but I can make that assumption.

Given my background, it doesn't take long in getting to know me that you see my brokenness. It's a big part of my life, can't hide it. So, it's also easy to feel like the most or only broken one in a group. I don't put on a mask when it comes to that. I don't want to. Christians and non christians alike need to know the greatness of God and that church is exactly where broken people belong.

So sitting in the small town gossip palace, I had the lives of people put on display. The good, the bad, the ugly and the really ugly.

My assumptions were correct. These people aren't perfect. Id rather have learned that from them, but it quieted those questions about whether I fit in there.

Those people who do church so perfectly...

Well, they've learned the beauty of church in the midst of their brokenness. They've learned to love each other despite their struggles. They've learned to embrace the Holy Spirit and to accept and offer grace.

These imperfect people know the value of church and have become a family. It's beautiful and I love it. I love them.

Under My Roof

They finally made it. Something I've prayed about and planned for since we moved has finally happened. My brother and his family are all here. Right this minute, they are sleeping after a long day of travel.

The flights went well. My niece did ok. They had a delay in Minnesota because the plane had to be de-iced.

We ate at Youngs Jersey Dairy. That place is good home cooking. Then we made the trek to our house. My family was quite surprised by how hilly the land was, how rural the area was and how comfortable we are in the country.

We got them here and they rested. The early morning flight and time change was effecting them all.

I had a crockpot of chili and a variety of desserts. I'm a feeder. There's an odd sense of satisfaction to have my family in my home and feeding them. It's wonderful!

I'm doing my best to live in the moment and not dwell on things. We hit some uncomfortable family conversation, so I quickly diverted us.

We have a few crazy days coming up.

Saturday, we are headed to Amish country. Sunday, I am praying we are all headed to church. We will head to Dayton to the Air Force Museum and Clifton Mill afterward. Monday, we are driving to the Rock N Roll HOF, staying the night in Canton and going to the Football HOF.

I don't want to think past that because we will be in the last half of their stay.

While I'm exhausted, I'm happy. I love these people and I love having them here. i just saw them briefly at Thanksgiving, but this is different. Don't tell anyone, but I might have wiped away happy tears the second I saw them walking toward me at the terminal.

This is my family. My only blood relatives that are in my life. I've fought hard to have healthy relationships with them and it's still a work in progress. Patience, prayer, forgiveness and love have won this fight.