Never going back to church again would remain true for me until I began the process of getting married. I chose to take as much God out of my wedding vows and was never comfortable with being married in a church. Being married in a church was again something I did only to appease my future husband and his parents.
Each of these experiences were on my checklist of reasons why I would never believe in God. Yes, it was a checklist that I firmly believed kept me safe from ever having to change the way I thought about God or church.
The sermons on Proverbs came to an end, but the stirring inside of me was just beginning. The pastor talked directly to me from the pulpit every week, but I knew he could never get me to change my thoughts on God. Even though it was completely out of character for me to meet with a strange man, I had the need to meet with the pastor. I wanted an opportunity to explain why I could never believe in God.
I scheduled a time to meet with him and was ready to tell him why I felt God didn’t fit in my life. I was willing to listen to what he had to say, but was prepared to stand my ground. I had a solid case to not believe in God, so what could he ever say to change my mind?
Nothing!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Road to Salvation, Part 5
In upper elementary years, I became very curious about church. All of the kids at school talked about church. It was another way that I knew I did not fit in with everyone around me. Although I don’t remember the details, a friend of my mom’s took me to a Baptist church with her.
I wore the best clothes I had, which were stained shirts, pants with holes in them and shoes that had tape holding them together. I sat and listened, even though I didn’t understand anything that was said. When I returned home with activity sheets and bibles, my dad always took them away from me or made me throw them away. Every time, he warned me to not go again.
The last time I went to that church was Easter Sunday. The lady who picked me up gave me a purple dress and white shoes. I got to change before church started. I sat and listened to a story about Jesus. I didn’t know who that was, but I felt good in my pretty new dress. For one of the only times I can remember, I felt like somebody cared about me. Church was merely a background thought that day. The beauty of the day ended the minute I walked back in the door of my house. In his anger, my dad punished me for disobeying him. He destroyed the dress and threw the shoes away. My fear of being punished again would swallow any desire I had to go back to church.
During the same year, I developed my extreme distrust of people in church. My grandparents lived across the street from a Catholic church, where a Priest and Nun lived in a small house. My cousin, who had molested me for many years, often took me to a secluded area of trees in the church yard. The trees would hide the awful things he would do to me.
As he followed his normal routine on one day when I was nine at the church yard, I looked at the house that was only a few feet away. There my eyes were met by the Priest who was standing in the window watching every moment of what was happening. Only after our eyes met did he close the blind. As a nine year-old child, I never understood why an adult would not have stopped my cousin. My first and only thought, people in churches did not care about me.
It was an easy decision to make that day with all of my nine years of life experience that I would never go back in a church again.
I wore the best clothes I had, which were stained shirts, pants with holes in them and shoes that had tape holding them together. I sat and listened, even though I didn’t understand anything that was said. When I returned home with activity sheets and bibles, my dad always took them away from me or made me throw them away. Every time, he warned me to not go again.
The last time I went to that church was Easter Sunday. The lady who picked me up gave me a purple dress and white shoes. I got to change before church started. I sat and listened to a story about Jesus. I didn’t know who that was, but I felt good in my pretty new dress. For one of the only times I can remember, I felt like somebody cared about me. Church was merely a background thought that day. The beauty of the day ended the minute I walked back in the door of my house. In his anger, my dad punished me for disobeying him. He destroyed the dress and threw the shoes away. My fear of being punished again would swallow any desire I had to go back to church.
During the same year, I developed my extreme distrust of people in church. My grandparents lived across the street from a Catholic church, where a Priest and Nun lived in a small house. My cousin, who had molested me for many years, often took me to a secluded area of trees in the church yard. The trees would hide the awful things he would do to me.
As he followed his normal routine on one day when I was nine at the church yard, I looked at the house that was only a few feet away. There my eyes were met by the Priest who was standing in the window watching every moment of what was happening. Only after our eyes met did he close the blind. As a nine year-old child, I never understood why an adult would not have stopped my cousin. My first and only thought, people in churches did not care about me.
It was an easy decision to make that day with all of my nine years of life experience that I would never go back in a church again.
Road to Salvation, Part 4
Through the next month, I would begin to ask Kent about his own faith and start my mental checklist of all the reasons why I would never believe in God.
My entire life was filled with time after time of learning that the word God was bad, churches were awful and people in the church were better than me. While I know that seems extreme, I think it was a normal perception for anyone who had endured a life like mine.
As a young child, my dad was very outspoken against God. The seed he planted with me was, first and foremost, that there was not a God. If there was a God, then bad things wouldn’t have to happen to me. Even if there was a God somewhere in this big world, then he would never care about a little girl whose parents didn’t love her. Yes, those were the seeds he planted through his words and his actions. He was not afraid to prove his theory to me over and over.
It was not uncommon for people from “the church” to visit our house on the weekend. I would later learn that they were Jehovah Witness and Seventh Day Adventist, mostly. I grew up in a very church oriented town who boasts one of the oldest religious parades and celebrations each year. When the church people would knock on the door, we were all forced to hide in the stairway and remain quiet until they were long gone. If any of us didn’t move to the hiding place fast enough or dare to make a noise, we faced the wrath of my dad once the coast was clear.
In my early elementary years, we received New Testaments at school. To prove his point that bibles, religion and God were not allowed in the door of our house, my dad would take the small bibles from us as soon as he found them. He would take them and the bibles left by the church people to his shop and burn them. If he saw that any of us were particularly attached to the small book, he would force us to throw the book into the fire.
Neither my brothers nor myself saw the small bibles as anything more than a gift that someone had given us. My dad, however, saw them as a threat. It was difficult for any of us to understand how something that was given as a gift could arouse such hatred in my dad. But, we would follow his rules on this. It was rare that any gift would be worth the punishment of fighting for with my dad.
My entire life was filled with time after time of learning that the word God was bad, churches were awful and people in the church were better than me. While I know that seems extreme, I think it was a normal perception for anyone who had endured a life like mine.
As a young child, my dad was very outspoken against God. The seed he planted with me was, first and foremost, that there was not a God. If there was a God, then bad things wouldn’t have to happen to me. Even if there was a God somewhere in this big world, then he would never care about a little girl whose parents didn’t love her. Yes, those were the seeds he planted through his words and his actions. He was not afraid to prove his theory to me over and over.
It was not uncommon for people from “the church” to visit our house on the weekend. I would later learn that they were Jehovah Witness and Seventh Day Adventist, mostly. I grew up in a very church oriented town who boasts one of the oldest religious parades and celebrations each year. When the church people would knock on the door, we were all forced to hide in the stairway and remain quiet until they were long gone. If any of us didn’t move to the hiding place fast enough or dare to make a noise, we faced the wrath of my dad once the coast was clear.
In my early elementary years, we received New Testaments at school. To prove his point that bibles, religion and God were not allowed in the door of our house, my dad would take the small bibles from us as soon as he found them. He would take them and the bibles left by the church people to his shop and burn them. If he saw that any of us were particularly attached to the small book, he would force us to throw the book into the fire.
Neither my brothers nor myself saw the small bibles as anything more than a gift that someone had given us. My dad, however, saw them as a threat. It was difficult for any of us to understand how something that was given as a gift could arouse such hatred in my dad. But, we would follow his rules on this. It was rare that any gift would be worth the punishment of fighting for with my dad.
Road to Salvation, Part 3
As summer began, the pastor completed Acts and started preaching on Proverbs. I don’t remember what the topic was, but one Sunday I began to pay attention. The following week, we moved up a few rows. That week’s sermon was on another topic that felt very personal to me. The man sitting nearby who kept loudly proclaiming “Amen” was a little distracting and was the reason I used to move up even closer the following week.
The next week, the pastor talked specifically about alcohol and how it destroys lives and homes. Through the entire sermon, I became very aware that my eyes and ears were wide open. At times, it felt like the pastor was looking at and talking to me and me only.
How could he have known that I had watched alcohol destroys the lives of people around me? How could he have known that I had used alcohol as an escape in my own life? How could he have known that I had a cabinet of liquor at home that I was saving for the next time I didn’t want to feel?
The pastor’s words became very real to me that day. I don’t think I heard or made any connection to God. I knew what he talked about came from the bible and thought I would find every word he said in the bible. I didn’t understand then that a sermon wasn’t just a reading from the bible.
Because I was not familiar with church, I also thought the people standing on the stage were the children’s church leaders. It made sense to me that they gathered there and left when the children’s church was dismissed. Of course, I later learned that was the choir.
The next week, the pastor talked specifically about alcohol and how it destroys lives and homes. Through the entire sermon, I became very aware that my eyes and ears were wide open. At times, it felt like the pastor was looking at and talking to me and me only.
How could he have known that I had watched alcohol destroys the lives of people around me? How could he have known that I had used alcohol as an escape in my own life? How could he have known that I had a cabinet of liquor at home that I was saving for the next time I didn’t want to feel?
The pastor’s words became very real to me that day. I don’t think I heard or made any connection to God. I knew what he talked about came from the bible and thought I would find every word he said in the bible. I didn’t understand then that a sermon wasn’t just a reading from the bible.
Because I was not familiar with church, I also thought the people standing on the stage were the children’s church leaders. It made sense to me that they gathered there and left when the children’s church was dismissed. Of course, I later learned that was the choir.
Road to Salvation, Part 2
We arrived just after the greeting time and were able to escape the uncomfortable handshakes with all of these strangers. Nobody seemed to notice us sitting in the back row and we were more than ok with that. While not much stood out to me that day more than my own uncomfortable feelings, I can remember one of the songs so very clearly. Here I am to Worship. It had a beat that would stick with me and a message that I wouldn’t understand until much later. I would find myself later that day downloading this catchy new tune I had heard.
We managed to escape the church that first Sunday with only one lady talking to us. She had a warm, friendly face. We took the coffee mug she handed us and the literature. The coffee mug went to my office and the literature went in the trash. I had sat through a sermon, I certainly felt no obligation to read what she had given me.
The next day, I received a call at work from Kent. He said two men from the church had come by and left a bag of cookies. He said the men were nice, but didn’t share much more. I was incredibly glad I had chosen to work late and missed them all together.
Because the church experience wasn’t completely awkward, we decided to go back the following week. The pastor was preaching on Acts and Kent seemed to enjoy going. I would keep to myself during the handshakes and avoided all contact and conversation with everyone. I but mostly fidgeted in my chair hoping nobody would make eye contact with me. Kent seemed to be getting what he thought he needed from going each week.
For a few months, we began to grow more and more comfortable in the back row. I, on the other hand, was going merely to appease my husband. I didn’t pay attention to what was being said, rarely shook anyone’s hand and genuinely didn’t care to be sitting in church each week. I even made sure that Kent never put more than two dollars in the collection plate each week. And, while I love singing, I didn’t care to join in with everyone as they sang. To me, this was still just a phase my husband was going through and I was biding my time waiting for him to be done over it.
We managed to escape the church that first Sunday with only one lady talking to us. She had a warm, friendly face. We took the coffee mug she handed us and the literature. The coffee mug went to my office and the literature went in the trash. I had sat through a sermon, I certainly felt no obligation to read what she had given me.
The next day, I received a call at work from Kent. He said two men from the church had come by and left a bag of cookies. He said the men were nice, but didn’t share much more. I was incredibly glad I had chosen to work late and missed them all together.
Because the church experience wasn’t completely awkward, we decided to go back the following week. The pastor was preaching on Acts and Kent seemed to enjoy going. I would keep to myself during the handshakes and avoided all contact and conversation with everyone. I but mostly fidgeted in my chair hoping nobody would make eye contact with me. Kent seemed to be getting what he thought he needed from going each week.
For a few months, we began to grow more and more comfortable in the back row. I, on the other hand, was going merely to appease my husband. I didn’t pay attention to what was being said, rarely shook anyone’s hand and genuinely didn’t care to be sitting in church each week. I even made sure that Kent never put more than two dollars in the collection plate each week. And, while I love singing, I didn’t care to join in with everyone as they sang. To me, this was still just a phase my husband was going through and I was biding my time waiting for him to be done over it.
Road to Salvation, Part 1
In the spring of 2007, Kent and I were faced with the reality that we were in financial ruin. As a planner, I went the route of finding a way out of the mess. Kent, who had never been strong in faith but was a believer, turned to God.
Although we weren’t sure how to crawl out of the hole we were in, Kent was very firm in his belief that we needed to go to church. He told me to pick a church and we would be going the next Sunday, the week after Easter. I was certain that going to church would not fix our problem, but agreed to give Kent what he wanted.
With as little as I believed or knew about church, I could not understand how sitting in a church building on Sunday morning would change anything that was happening in our lives. It was just a building. In fact, I looked at church as only a building and religion as just something people do.
At Kent’s request, I searched websites of churches in Lee’s Summit, not really knowing what I was looking for at the time. I stumbled onto the Summit Woods Baptist Church website only because it was at the top of the search list. Once on the site, I found the “My First Visit” section. Of all the information on the page, the sentence that stuck out like a neon flashing sign was “Don’t worry, we don’t ask our guests to stand up or do anything to cause attention!” That’s all I needed. Next Sunday, we would walk through the doors of Summit Woods Baptist Church.
I spent the entire week trying to convince Kent that we did not need to go to church. I explained over and over that churches were all bad and that the people in them would never welcome us. It was with great reluctance that I agreed to get married in a church and I had spent almost 10 years avoiding another visit to any church. Since I took responsibility for where we were at financially, I felt an obligation to do what Kent had asked. So, off to church we would go.
Although we weren’t sure how to crawl out of the hole we were in, Kent was very firm in his belief that we needed to go to church. He told me to pick a church and we would be going the next Sunday, the week after Easter. I was certain that going to church would not fix our problem, but agreed to give Kent what he wanted.
With as little as I believed or knew about church, I could not understand how sitting in a church building on Sunday morning would change anything that was happening in our lives. It was just a building. In fact, I looked at church as only a building and religion as just something people do.
At Kent’s request, I searched websites of churches in Lee’s Summit, not really knowing what I was looking for at the time. I stumbled onto the Summit Woods Baptist Church website only because it was at the top of the search list. Once on the site, I found the “My First Visit” section. Of all the information on the page, the sentence that stuck out like a neon flashing sign was “Don’t worry, we don’t ask our guests to stand up or do anything to cause attention!” That’s all I needed. Next Sunday, we would walk through the doors of Summit Woods Baptist Church.
I spent the entire week trying to convince Kent that we did not need to go to church. I explained over and over that churches were all bad and that the people in them would never welcome us. It was with great reluctance that I agreed to get married in a church and I had spent almost 10 years avoiding another visit to any church. Since I took responsibility for where we were at financially, I felt an obligation to do what Kent had asked. So, off to church we would go.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Rethinking
I have spent the last two days unfolding yet another piece of my past. It's like pulling gym clothes out of a bag and unfolding the pieces one by one, not knowing what kind of mess you will find.
One of the hardest parts of the unfolding is trying to reform my way of thinking about life. Around each corner, I find yet another place where I come face to face with what I previously thought was real with a light shining on the truth. Most of the time, what I thought was real and what is true are two completely different things.
If you had asked me throughout my life what my childhood was like, I would have been completely honest with you. I had good grades, I was happy, my dad was mean and I had a cousin who molested me. I may have not shared the part about my cousin so willingly, but that is exactly what I said and believed about my past.
On August 3, 2007, a light began to shine in my life. That was the day I accepted that I was a sinner and that the only way to eternal salvation was through Christ. Little did I know, another light would soon begin shining in my life. The light of truth shown brightly on a past that was dark and hidden.
The box I had neatly packed all the truth of my life in was bursting open. Everything I knew as real was changing day by day. I didn't have a choice, I had to rethink and reform every thought I had about my life.
For me, that was like thinking the sky was green only to find out after 32 years that it was in fact, blue. That kind of thinking is difficult to change and at times, feels impossible. It's hard to know something one day and be told the next that it is all wrong.
It has taken lots of time, but I have completely reformed what I believe about my childhood. Ask me, I'll tell you what I now believe the truth to be. Yes, I did get good grades and my cousin did moleste me. Yes, my dad was mean, but mean doesn't fairly depict who my dad really was. No, I was not happy. Yes, there is a lot more abuse and dysfunction than I ever thought possible.
Just as I have many times over the past two years, I am again faced with believing one thing but the truth being completely different. And, just like all the other times, I'm doing my best to rethink what I knew and let the light shine on the truth. It's once again difficult to accept truth over what I know.
Once again, I feel overwhelmed by having to rethink what I believed to be true. I hope in six months, I can look at this time too and be able to say, "When I finally accepted what was true, I was able to never be bound by that horrific memory again."
The beauty of rethinking and accepting what is really true is feeling the bonds of your heart disappearing. Oh, I long for that day once again.
One of the hardest parts of the unfolding is trying to reform my way of thinking about life. Around each corner, I find yet another place where I come face to face with what I previously thought was real with a light shining on the truth. Most of the time, what I thought was real and what is true are two completely different things.
If you had asked me throughout my life what my childhood was like, I would have been completely honest with you. I had good grades, I was happy, my dad was mean and I had a cousin who molested me. I may have not shared the part about my cousin so willingly, but that is exactly what I said and believed about my past.
On August 3, 2007, a light began to shine in my life. That was the day I accepted that I was a sinner and that the only way to eternal salvation was through Christ. Little did I know, another light would soon begin shining in my life. The light of truth shown brightly on a past that was dark and hidden.
The box I had neatly packed all the truth of my life in was bursting open. Everything I knew as real was changing day by day. I didn't have a choice, I had to rethink and reform every thought I had about my life.
For me, that was like thinking the sky was green only to find out after 32 years that it was in fact, blue. That kind of thinking is difficult to change and at times, feels impossible. It's hard to know something one day and be told the next that it is all wrong.
It has taken lots of time, but I have completely reformed what I believe about my childhood. Ask me, I'll tell you what I now believe the truth to be. Yes, I did get good grades and my cousin did moleste me. Yes, my dad was mean, but mean doesn't fairly depict who my dad really was. No, I was not happy. Yes, there is a lot more abuse and dysfunction than I ever thought possible.
Just as I have many times over the past two years, I am again faced with believing one thing but the truth being completely different. And, just like all the other times, I'm doing my best to rethink what I knew and let the light shine on the truth. It's once again difficult to accept truth over what I know.
Once again, I feel overwhelmed by having to rethink what I believed to be true. I hope in six months, I can look at this time too and be able to say, "When I finally accepted what was true, I was able to never be bound by that horrific memory again."
The beauty of rethinking and accepting what is really true is feeling the bonds of your heart disappearing. Oh, I long for that day once again.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Precious
That's the word that's been running through my head a lot the past 24 hours. Precious.
By definition, precious means cherished, feeling or showing fond affection.
We use precious to describe babies. They are cherished, have high worth, and are undeniably desirable.
But what happens to a baby when they are not cherished or not treated as though they have a high worth? I was one of those children. I was not precious in the eyes of my parents. By their own admissions throughout my life, I was a burden. To them, I was so far from precious.
I watched the movie Precious yesterday. It's based on a novel and is not a true story. Sadly, parts of the story could have been pulled from the pages of my life long book.
Precious was a teenage girl who was far from being cherished. Her dad raped her and she had two children by him. Her mother abused her physically, emotionally and neglected every need. She was a lost child. Precious was intelligent who received very little from going to school. She was HIV positive from her father. The other kids in the neighborhood bullied her and treated her like the outcast she thought she was.
There is so much about that summary that is familiar to me, eerily familiar. It's a familiarity that most people would not understand and others would use to judge me.
I've struggled for the past couple years with my mother's part of my life. She didn't teach me anything. She saw what went on but never bothered to stop it. She never protected me. She never treated me like the precious child I was born to be. But why?
After watching this movie, I think I may have another theory of why my mother hated me and walked away from every motherly responsibility she had.
The mother in the movie Precious talked to a social worker about why she hated her daughter. She wanted her husband's attention on her and her only. She saw the awful things that he was doing to her and she never stopped it. Instead, she developed a hatred for her daughter. She blamed her daughter for what her husband did to her.
Watching this scene was like listening to my own mom. Although my mom never said anything like that to me, I believe she could have. My mom is incredibly selfish person. She really never cared about anyone but herself. She wanted to be precious and cherished by everyone. She could not ever see beyond her own self.
It's possible that my mom was much like this mother.
If she doesn't ever find her way to repentance, I hope that God does ask her someday why she failed in every way to care for her precious child.
By definition, precious means cherished, feeling or showing fond affection.
We use precious to describe babies. They are cherished, have high worth, and are undeniably desirable.
But what happens to a baby when they are not cherished or not treated as though they have a high worth? I was one of those children. I was not precious in the eyes of my parents. By their own admissions throughout my life, I was a burden. To them, I was so far from precious.
I watched the movie Precious yesterday. It's based on a novel and is not a true story. Sadly, parts of the story could have been pulled from the pages of my life long book.
Precious was a teenage girl who was far from being cherished. Her dad raped her and she had two children by him. Her mother abused her physically, emotionally and neglected every need. She was a lost child. Precious was intelligent who received very little from going to school. She was HIV positive from her father. The other kids in the neighborhood bullied her and treated her like the outcast she thought she was.
There is so much about that summary that is familiar to me, eerily familiar. It's a familiarity that most people would not understand and others would use to judge me.
I've struggled for the past couple years with my mother's part of my life. She didn't teach me anything. She saw what went on but never bothered to stop it. She never protected me. She never treated me like the precious child I was born to be. But why?
After watching this movie, I think I may have another theory of why my mother hated me and walked away from every motherly responsibility she had.
The mother in the movie Precious talked to a social worker about why she hated her daughter. She wanted her husband's attention on her and her only. She saw the awful things that he was doing to her and she never stopped it. Instead, she developed a hatred for her daughter. She blamed her daughter for what her husband did to her.
Watching this scene was like listening to my own mom. Although my mom never said anything like that to me, I believe she could have. My mom is incredibly selfish person. She really never cared about anyone but herself. She wanted to be precious and cherished by everyone. She could not ever see beyond her own self.
It's possible that my mom was much like this mother.
If she doesn't ever find her way to repentance, I hope that God does ask her someday why she failed in every way to care for her precious child.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Bigger than the average bear?
After reading the post I wrote last night, a friend asked me why I was so afraid to share what is going on in my life.
The point she made was well taken. She said that it would help to know more specifically how to pray for me and I so appreciate that. She said that we all go through trials in life. Again, her point was well taken.
I know that there are worse things I could be dealing with in life.
No, the doctor didn't walk in the room and tell me I have a stage four cancer with a two month death sentence. So, I know there are way worse things. I know there are other things in life that require even more treatment and are more urgent.
My counselor uses the phrase "Bigger than the average bear." While I haven't been handed a death sentence, I do have a problem with minimizing everything to do with my current and past issues. She has really helped me to begin to grasp the magnitude of issues by continuing to speak truth about them.
To address the thought that we all go through tough times, I can fully appreciate that as I'm learning to not minimize every situation. For me, my issues are big because they spiraled out of control until they knocked me on my emotional and mental and physical butt.
I have been dealing with post traumatic stress for many years, although only diagnosed in the past 18 months. I did my best for over 34 years to not allow the PTSD to keep me from putting on a happy face and living my life without everyone around me knowing the struggles I went through, daily.
After several years, the PTSD wiped me out. I have gone months without sleeping more than a few hours a day. Flashbacks have put me in precarious positions at work, at home and even in public places. With those things alone, I feel fortunate to have been able to maintain a job and as many relationships as I have over the past few years.
With the most recent diagnosis and symptomology that has come with it, I cannot work. I cannot drive. I cannot be in busy, loud places.
So, to address the other point, I'd like to be able to say "just cause." I realize it is hard to be understanding when you don't know what it is that you need to be understanding of.
But friends, what I am dealing with is "bigger than the average bear." It is for me and I know it would be for those who care about me as well.
For my therapist, I may fit a certain criteria for a diagnosis. My diagnosis may be more common than what I realize. My insurance company may know that I am a five digit medical code. I may be all those things and more in the medical world.
BUT, I'm still me. My mental disorder may be smacking me in the face right now, but I try my best to not lose sight of the fact that I am still a human and not a label.
You may still be asking why I am so protective of a diagnosis.
Even though it is a big part of my life right now, I am still struggling to understand the diagnosis I have been given. My husband, my counselor, and a couple friends are literally feeling our way through this process right now. We are all at a disadvantage in that none of us have the support or knowledge of others who have been through this same disorder.
The one thing that I think we all agree on is that the disorder is misunderstood enough that the general public has many misconceptions about it. I believe that we all agree that there may be a time and place to share the information pieces at a time with those close to me. But, now is not the time. A time when we all better understand will be an easier time to share.
I truely hate that I cannot share fully with those close to me. Not only does it put a strain on relationships, but it leaves me feeling incredibly alone.
To those close to me who may continue to ask the questions, please remember that no, this is not my forever. The same applies to you and the relationship I have with each person. No, this is not my forever and yes, someday I will be able to share the amazing journey God has taken me through.
The point she made was well taken. She said that it would help to know more specifically how to pray for me and I so appreciate that. She said that we all go through trials in life. Again, her point was well taken.
I know that there are worse things I could be dealing with in life.
No, the doctor didn't walk in the room and tell me I have a stage four cancer with a two month death sentence. So, I know there are way worse things. I know there are other things in life that require even more treatment and are more urgent.
My counselor uses the phrase "Bigger than the average bear." While I haven't been handed a death sentence, I do have a problem with minimizing everything to do with my current and past issues. She has really helped me to begin to grasp the magnitude of issues by continuing to speak truth about them.
To address the thought that we all go through tough times, I can fully appreciate that as I'm learning to not minimize every situation. For me, my issues are big because they spiraled out of control until they knocked me on my emotional and mental and physical butt.
I have been dealing with post traumatic stress for many years, although only diagnosed in the past 18 months. I did my best for over 34 years to not allow the PTSD to keep me from putting on a happy face and living my life without everyone around me knowing the struggles I went through, daily.
After several years, the PTSD wiped me out. I have gone months without sleeping more than a few hours a day. Flashbacks have put me in precarious positions at work, at home and even in public places. With those things alone, I feel fortunate to have been able to maintain a job and as many relationships as I have over the past few years.
With the most recent diagnosis and symptomology that has come with it, I cannot work. I cannot drive. I cannot be in busy, loud places.
So, to address the other point, I'd like to be able to say "just cause." I realize it is hard to be understanding when you don't know what it is that you need to be understanding of.
But friends, what I am dealing with is "bigger than the average bear." It is for me and I know it would be for those who care about me as well.
For my therapist, I may fit a certain criteria for a diagnosis. My diagnosis may be more common than what I realize. My insurance company may know that I am a five digit medical code. I may be all those things and more in the medical world.
BUT, I'm still me. My mental disorder may be smacking me in the face right now, but I try my best to not lose sight of the fact that I am still a human and not a label.
You may still be asking why I am so protective of a diagnosis.
Even though it is a big part of my life right now, I am still struggling to understand the diagnosis I have been given. My husband, my counselor, and a couple friends are literally feeling our way through this process right now. We are all at a disadvantage in that none of us have the support or knowledge of others who have been through this same disorder.
The one thing that I think we all agree on is that the disorder is misunderstood enough that the general public has many misconceptions about it. I believe that we all agree that there may be a time and place to share the information pieces at a time with those close to me. But, now is not the time. A time when we all better understand will be an easier time to share.
I truely hate that I cannot share fully with those close to me. Not only does it put a strain on relationships, but it leaves me feeling incredibly alone.
To those close to me who may continue to ask the questions, please remember that no, this is not my forever. The same applies to you and the relationship I have with each person. No, this is not my forever and yes, someday I will be able to share the amazing journey God has taken me through.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Has it really been that long....
It's hard to believe that it has been since September that I have visited this blog. My life has taken many twists and turns since I last blogged here. In fact, I have started a new blog where I share my thoughts about all that is going on right now. Sadly though, I can't publish those things for the world to see at this time.
While it's freeing to be able to share some of the chains that have held our hearts for years and years, there are times that the journey needs to be kept a little more private.
I've stumbled through the past few months, knowing that the struggle I face right now is not one that the general public would understand. It's so hard to feel like those chains are lifted when you can't share the truth with those close to you.
Not that I am alone in this journey. I have my loving husband, who loves me no matter what the issue. I have a wonderful counselor, who despite my best attempts to push her away, has stayed by my side and reminded me that "No, this is NOT your forever." I have a therapist, who also despite my best attempts to take other paths, always manages to prove he does know more than me. And, I have two amazing confidants who allow me to be mad, be confused, talk through my anxieties and continue to remind me that they love me and will not judge me.
I know there are others who care and who likely wonder why I withdraw from them or large groups of people. I can only hope and pray that when the time comes to explain to them the journey I had to take, they will understand.
To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to kill, a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance; Ecc 3:1,3-4.
The past two months, I have learned it's ok to fight for myself. Everyday seems to come with a unique fight. I've had to fight for rest. I have fought with insurance companies over my own standard of care. I have to fight the guilt of walking away from my job for now, daily. I have fought to understand. When Satan wages war against me every single night, I have to fight for my life.
I know I am learning lessons along the way. And, every once in while I get a glimpse of God. But, it's so hard to see, remember and hang onto those things when you are caught in the storm for so long.
Several people have asked what I need during this time. For so long, I really didn't know. It is only now that I know there are two things I desparately need get through this.
Prayer, lots and lots of prayer and not just for me. I need prayer for all those I listed above. I need them continue to stay healthy and strong, as well as steady in faith. It's taken a lot to trust each of them, but in God's timing that has happened and I know they are my foundation right now. I need prayer for so many others who care about me. Some of those people have been hurt, some may be confused by my actions. I need prayer that they will some day understand.
I need prayer for my family. None of my immediate family has a belief in Christ. My brothers and their families need prayer, not only for salvation, but also for healing.
The other thing I so desire and need right now are people who care to surround me and accept me. I struggle every day to understand and believe in God's love for me. Now, more than ever, I need those who care to show me that unconditional love of others does exist.
Not sleeping at night gives me plenty of time to pray for those around me. And yes, if you've gotten to the end of this entry, you too have been prayed for.
While it's freeing to be able to share some of the chains that have held our hearts for years and years, there are times that the journey needs to be kept a little more private.
I've stumbled through the past few months, knowing that the struggle I face right now is not one that the general public would understand. It's so hard to feel like those chains are lifted when you can't share the truth with those close to you.
Not that I am alone in this journey. I have my loving husband, who loves me no matter what the issue. I have a wonderful counselor, who despite my best attempts to push her away, has stayed by my side and reminded me that "No, this is NOT your forever." I have a therapist, who also despite my best attempts to take other paths, always manages to prove he does know more than me. And, I have two amazing confidants who allow me to be mad, be confused, talk through my anxieties and continue to remind me that they love me and will not judge me.
I know there are others who care and who likely wonder why I withdraw from them or large groups of people. I can only hope and pray that when the time comes to explain to them the journey I had to take, they will understand.
To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to kill, a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance; Ecc 3:1,3-4.
The past two months, I have learned it's ok to fight for myself. Everyday seems to come with a unique fight. I've had to fight for rest. I have fought with insurance companies over my own standard of care. I have to fight the guilt of walking away from my job for now, daily. I have fought to understand. When Satan wages war against me every single night, I have to fight for my life.
I know I am learning lessons along the way. And, every once in while I get a glimpse of God. But, it's so hard to see, remember and hang onto those things when you are caught in the storm for so long.
Several people have asked what I need during this time. For so long, I really didn't know. It is only now that I know there are two things I desparately need get through this.
Prayer, lots and lots of prayer and not just for me. I need prayer for all those I listed above. I need them continue to stay healthy and strong, as well as steady in faith. It's taken a lot to trust each of them, but in God's timing that has happened and I know they are my foundation right now. I need prayer for so many others who care about me. Some of those people have been hurt, some may be confused by my actions. I need prayer that they will some day understand.
I need prayer for my family. None of my immediate family has a belief in Christ. My brothers and their families need prayer, not only for salvation, but also for healing.
The other thing I so desire and need right now are people who care to surround me and accept me. I struggle every day to understand and believe in God's love for me. Now, more than ever, I need those who care to show me that unconditional love of others does exist.
Not sleeping at night gives me plenty of time to pray for those around me. And yes, if you've gotten to the end of this entry, you too have been prayed for.
Friday, September 4, 2009
New Outlet
In walking around the past few weeks with several thoughts in my head, I finally realized that what better place than to put them than on a blog.
From a very young age, I loved writing. I wrote story after story throughout grade school of what I wanted everyone to think my family looked like. I wrote about how mom swiftly placed fresh squeezed orange juice on the table and headed back to tend to the eggs and bacon she was about to serve to us. We were all gathered around our beautiful dark, wood table as the rays from the sun kissed the tops of our heads. Dad only looked up from his newspaper long enough to shoot as a smile that contained so much love that it could carry us through the day.
Oh yes, my family was perfect in my own imagination.
In fifth grade, my ability to imagine a normal home life begin to fade and my creative writing quickly turned into a reality that was unacceptable. When my teacher gave the class an assignment to write about an after school activity, I doubt he was prepared for what I was going to hand to him. Although I changed the names in the story, what I gave him outlined a day in my life.
My teacher, who lived only a city block from my house, kept me after school. Paper in hand, he demanded that I explain to him why I failed to take the assignment seriously. In my attempt for someone to see my reality, I had failed and he was quick to show me. My teacher explained that my story was disgusting and if I wrote things like this, people might get the wrong idea about me and my family. He gave me until the next morning to repeat the assignment.
I remember so clearly sitting over a blank sheet of paper that evening and crying. I would not only never be able to write the truth, but I would never be able to tell the truth. I would never be able to tell anyone the reality of my life. As the routine of my home life played out that night as it normally did, I knew my life would never be any different.
Writing was one of the very few things that I enjoyed. I knew so young, in fifth grade, that if I wanted to write, I would have to write things that did not matter to me. I could no longer write creative stories, because it was too hard to know what was normal or not.
Once I reached high school, I was able to write for the newspaper and yearbook. That carried me through college and into my adult life. I was able to write, which I loved, but not let anyone into what my life was really like.
Today, I find myself sitting here still with the love of writing inside me. The difference is that I don't have to worry about what anyone says. I may not know what normal is, but I have nothing to hide from now.
From a very young age, I loved writing. I wrote story after story throughout grade school of what I wanted everyone to think my family looked like. I wrote about how mom swiftly placed fresh squeezed orange juice on the table and headed back to tend to the eggs and bacon she was about to serve to us. We were all gathered around our beautiful dark, wood table as the rays from the sun kissed the tops of our heads. Dad only looked up from his newspaper long enough to shoot as a smile that contained so much love that it could carry us through the day.
Oh yes, my family was perfect in my own imagination.
In fifth grade, my ability to imagine a normal home life begin to fade and my creative writing quickly turned into a reality that was unacceptable. When my teacher gave the class an assignment to write about an after school activity, I doubt he was prepared for what I was going to hand to him. Although I changed the names in the story, what I gave him outlined a day in my life.
My teacher, who lived only a city block from my house, kept me after school. Paper in hand, he demanded that I explain to him why I failed to take the assignment seriously. In my attempt for someone to see my reality, I had failed and he was quick to show me. My teacher explained that my story was disgusting and if I wrote things like this, people might get the wrong idea about me and my family. He gave me until the next morning to repeat the assignment.
I remember so clearly sitting over a blank sheet of paper that evening and crying. I would not only never be able to write the truth, but I would never be able to tell the truth. I would never be able to tell anyone the reality of my life. As the routine of my home life played out that night as it normally did, I knew my life would never be any different.
Writing was one of the very few things that I enjoyed. I knew so young, in fifth grade, that if I wanted to write, I would have to write things that did not matter to me. I could no longer write creative stories, because it was too hard to know what was normal or not.
Once I reached high school, I was able to write for the newspaper and yearbook. That carried me through college and into my adult life. I was able to write, which I loved, but not let anyone into what my life was really like.
Today, I find myself sitting here still with the love of writing inside me. The difference is that I don't have to worry about what anyone says. I may not know what normal is, but I have nothing to hide from now.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
All Things are Possible
Mark 10:27 says; Jesus looked at them and said, "With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God."
Friday night I learned a valuable lesson in knowing that what is impossible for me, is possible with God.
Many of you who know me, know that I have been struggling through some tough times including many months of sleeplessness. What only a few people very close to me have known is that my issues, accompanied with exhaustion, have at times kept me homebound with anxiety attacks. Fearful of triggering an anxiety attack in a group of any size, I have often chosen to withdraw and be alone.
Last summer, I had an opportunity to go street witnessing with a group. Although at the time I had very little anxiety, I wasn't sure street witnessing was for me. As time past and I heard several testimonies about witnessing, I began to feel very differently. However, I knew more recently with my anxiety problems, it would be impossible for me to go.
I went 32 years in life before anyone shared with me what it meant to be a follower of Christ. Even at that time, I had to ask someone to explain it. I have wrestled with the thought since then of, "Why didn't anyone share with me sooner?" "Why did someone not care about my salvation enough to share with me?" I married into a family of Christians, I have Christians in my extended family, and a handful of friends who have been Christians the entire time I have known them. But, none of them had ever shared with me the need for a Savior. It had to be God's timing, I know. I also know that I had to be a willing listener. And with my past and my journey, I do feel God has put in my heart the need to tell others.
This week, I was faced again with an opportunity to go with a group to hand out gospel tracts downtown. And again, I was faced with another week of high anxiety. I knew each time I was asked if I was going how badly I wanted to go, but how impossible it would be for me. Stranger upon stranger walking by and taking things from my hands....the very thought was horrifying to me. But, I agreed to go. There was a calmness inside that knew it would be okay but an unwillingness to let go of the fear and anxiety.
As Friday came, I picked up the phone several times to bow out, but never dialed the phone. I gave Kent every excuse not to go on the way, but went anyway. Each mile of the trip downtown was filled with a second thought and the desire to go back home.
My own fear and anxiety was about to make this the impossibility that I thought that it was. But as we walked to the Sprint Center, all of my fear and anxiety disappeared. Tract after tract after tract, my fear, my anxiety had all gone. It had been replaced with sadness. I saw myself and the first 32 years of my life on the faces of so many young people as they walked past. My anxiety was replaced with a desire to tell each one of them about a God who loves them so much that He gave His son for them.
It was impossible for me to go Friday night. It was impossible for me to not have anxiety or fear in a group of strangers standing outside a rap concert. It was impossible for me to hand gospel tracts to strangers. But, with God, it was all possible. With God, it was possible for me to know I was right where I should be, doing what I should do and without fear or anxiety. Only with God was it all possible and only with God did it happen.
I praise God for showing me that with Him, all things are possible.
Friday night I learned a valuable lesson in knowing that what is impossible for me, is possible with God.
Many of you who know me, know that I have been struggling through some tough times including many months of sleeplessness. What only a few people very close to me have known is that my issues, accompanied with exhaustion, have at times kept me homebound with anxiety attacks. Fearful of triggering an anxiety attack in a group of any size, I have often chosen to withdraw and be alone.
Last summer, I had an opportunity to go street witnessing with a group. Although at the time I had very little anxiety, I wasn't sure street witnessing was for me. As time past and I heard several testimonies about witnessing, I began to feel very differently. However, I knew more recently with my anxiety problems, it would be impossible for me to go.
I went 32 years in life before anyone shared with me what it meant to be a follower of Christ. Even at that time, I had to ask someone to explain it. I have wrestled with the thought since then of, "Why didn't anyone share with me sooner?" "Why did someone not care about my salvation enough to share with me?" I married into a family of Christians, I have Christians in my extended family, and a handful of friends who have been Christians the entire time I have known them. But, none of them had ever shared with me the need for a Savior. It had to be God's timing, I know. I also know that I had to be a willing listener. And with my past and my journey, I do feel God has put in my heart the need to tell others.
This week, I was faced again with an opportunity to go with a group to hand out gospel tracts downtown. And again, I was faced with another week of high anxiety. I knew each time I was asked if I was going how badly I wanted to go, but how impossible it would be for me. Stranger upon stranger walking by and taking things from my hands....the very thought was horrifying to me. But, I agreed to go. There was a calmness inside that knew it would be okay but an unwillingness to let go of the fear and anxiety.
As Friday came, I picked up the phone several times to bow out, but never dialed the phone. I gave Kent every excuse not to go on the way, but went anyway. Each mile of the trip downtown was filled with a second thought and the desire to go back home.
My own fear and anxiety was about to make this the impossibility that I thought that it was. But as we walked to the Sprint Center, all of my fear and anxiety disappeared. Tract after tract after tract, my fear, my anxiety had all gone. It had been replaced with sadness. I saw myself and the first 32 years of my life on the faces of so many young people as they walked past. My anxiety was replaced with a desire to tell each one of them about a God who loves them so much that He gave His son for them.
It was impossible for me to go Friday night. It was impossible for me to not have anxiety or fear in a group of strangers standing outside a rap concert. It was impossible for me to hand gospel tracts to strangers. But, with God, it was all possible. With God, it was possible for me to know I was right where I should be, doing what I should do and without fear or anxiety. Only with God was it all possible and only with God did it happen.
I praise God for showing me that with Him, all things are possible.
Friday, March 6, 2009
A Father's Love
To say that I grew up in a home that was spiritually dysfunctional would be quite an understatement. My atheist dad went to extremes to prove that God did not exist. If I had any notion to believe there was a God, my dad was quick to prove to me that if there was a God, He would not love me because I was such a bad child. My dad would squash all belief in me by proving to me that if there was a God, He would not let such horrible things happen to me.
And why would God love me if my own mom and dad did not love me? That was the prevailing message for me throughout the years. As I heard so many people talk about God as a Father, I cringed as I thought of my own dad as my only experience with a “father.” My dad was mean, hateful and abusive in every way possible. It was easy for me to run as far and as fast as I could from anything “fatherly,” even God.
My perception of a father was one of pain and evil and deception. A father to me was not a protector and definitely not a picture of love.
For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. Psalm 27:10.
When I became a Christian, it was easy to see God as very opposite of what my dad had said He was. But, because what I believed a father was, I could not see God as a Father nor that He could love me. I just knew if I could not be good enough for my own parents to love, God could never love me either.
Soon after becoming a Christian, I was allowed an opportunity to become friends with a very grounded, Christian woman. She was incredibly open to sharing her faith, her trials and how her faith had gotten her through those trials. Her entire family welcomed me into their home. As the friendship grew, I started to spend more time with Jodi, Todd and Matt.
One day last year, I had planned with Jodi to make cupcakes with Matt and his friends. I remember sinking that morning to a low point of not feeling as though I could ever be good enough to be loved by a Father. As I walked to the door, I wiped away the tears and was resigned to just accepting the reality and went about the afternoon baking cupcakes.
As I watched Jodi helping Matt crack eggs, stir the batter and ice the cupcakes, I began to see a new picture unfolding before my eyes. Could I really be seeing a mother who loves her son so much that she includes him in everything she is doing? That wasn’t the picture of a parent’s love that I was used to.
Todd would soon call to let Jodi know he was headed home. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt as Jodi relayed to him that his dad was on his way home. Matt’s eyes lit up and there was a look of anticipation on his face.
Only God could have prepared my heart for what I would see next. We could all hear the garage door opening and Matt was becoming more excited. As Todd walked in, Matt’s eyes locked onto him. He walked over to Matt, giving him a peck on the forehead and immediately let him know he was so glad to be home. I listened as Todd told him how much he loved him and had missed him and thought about him throughout the day. I watched in awe as Matt’s eyes stayed locked on Todd. There was no other word to describe the look in Matt’s face, except love.
In that moment, God was painting a new picture in my heart.
I was seeing a father who loves his son unconditionally. There is nothing that Matt could do or not do to change that love. I saw in Matt’s face, in his eyes and expressions, that he knew his father loved him. There was no question; he knew the love and nothing else mattered during that moment.
The picture was like a lake view reflection of God’s love for His children.
It is with this experience and so many others I have been so privileged to see through the Arnold family, which has allowed me to rewrite my definition of what a father should be. I am finding many pieces along the way from watching a lot of parents and children now, and it helps me to continue building on the foundation of what a parent’s love is for their child.
Each day puts me farther away from the old, dysfunctional perception of what a father is and closer to what I believe God wants my perception to be. I know that God is preparing me to be able to accept that yes, He can love me that way.
And why would God love me if my own mom and dad did not love me? That was the prevailing message for me throughout the years. As I heard so many people talk about God as a Father, I cringed as I thought of my own dad as my only experience with a “father.” My dad was mean, hateful and abusive in every way possible. It was easy for me to run as far and as fast as I could from anything “fatherly,” even God.
My perception of a father was one of pain and evil and deception. A father to me was not a protector and definitely not a picture of love.
For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. Psalm 27:10.
When I became a Christian, it was easy to see God as very opposite of what my dad had said He was. But, because what I believed a father was, I could not see God as a Father nor that He could love me. I just knew if I could not be good enough for my own parents to love, God could never love me either.
Soon after becoming a Christian, I was allowed an opportunity to become friends with a very grounded, Christian woman. She was incredibly open to sharing her faith, her trials and how her faith had gotten her through those trials. Her entire family welcomed me into their home. As the friendship grew, I started to spend more time with Jodi, Todd and Matt.
One day last year, I had planned with Jodi to make cupcakes with Matt and his friends. I remember sinking that morning to a low point of not feeling as though I could ever be good enough to be loved by a Father. As I walked to the door, I wiped away the tears and was resigned to just accepting the reality and went about the afternoon baking cupcakes.
As I watched Jodi helping Matt crack eggs, stir the batter and ice the cupcakes, I began to see a new picture unfolding before my eyes. Could I really be seeing a mother who loves her son so much that she includes him in everything she is doing? That wasn’t the picture of a parent’s love that I was used to.
Todd would soon call to let Jodi know he was headed home. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt as Jodi relayed to him that his dad was on his way home. Matt’s eyes lit up and there was a look of anticipation on his face.
Only God could have prepared my heart for what I would see next. We could all hear the garage door opening and Matt was becoming more excited. As Todd walked in, Matt’s eyes locked onto him. He walked over to Matt, giving him a peck on the forehead and immediately let him know he was so glad to be home. I listened as Todd told him how much he loved him and had missed him and thought about him throughout the day. I watched in awe as Matt’s eyes stayed locked on Todd. There was no other word to describe the look in Matt’s face, except love.
In that moment, God was painting a new picture in my heart.
I was seeing a father who loves his son unconditionally. There is nothing that Matt could do or not do to change that love. I saw in Matt’s face, in his eyes and expressions, that he knew his father loved him. There was no question; he knew the love and nothing else mattered during that moment.
The picture was like a lake view reflection of God’s love for His children.
It is with this experience and so many others I have been so privileged to see through the Arnold family, which has allowed me to rewrite my definition of what a father should be. I am finding many pieces along the way from watching a lot of parents and children now, and it helps me to continue building on the foundation of what a parent’s love is for their child.
Each day puts me farther away from the old, dysfunctional perception of what a father is and closer to what I believe God wants my perception to be. I know that God is preparing me to be able to accept that yes, He can love me that way.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Don't Believe in God? Really?
If you don't believe in God, please watch these videos and explain to me how this happens.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/28340481#28340481
(So far, nobody has died and only a few remain hospitalized a day later.)
http://video.maycontainnuts.com/video--amazing-car-crash-survivor--357.html
(Not even a scratch on this guy.)
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/flatpages/video/seattletimesvideo.html?bcpid=1543292770&bclid=1543290205&bctid=5337338001
(Nobody seriously injured.)
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/28340481#28340481
(So far, nobody has died and only a few remain hospitalized a day later.)
http://video.maycontainnuts.com/video--amazing-car-crash-survivor--357.html
(Not even a scratch on this guy.)
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/flatpages/video/seattletimesvideo.html?bcpid=1543292770&bclid=1543290205&bctid=5337338001
(Nobody seriously injured.)
Friday, February 6, 2009
Believing in God, but not the Bible and in evolution??????????
In all my sleeplessness, I've had my eyes opened to a whole other world of after hours television programming. But on occasion, I find something that catches my interest. After listening to Pastor Ryan give a very moving sermon on faith last Sunday, I was anxious to hear the interview last night on Nightline with President Bush on his "Unshaken Faith."
President Bush's Unshaken Faith
http://abcnews.go.com/Video/playerIndex?id=6422409
The interview is a little over 11 minutes long. At about 8 minutes into the interview, President Bush is asked about his belief in the bible. His response about the bible being true, which was a "probably not" left me shock. He goes on to say that you can have faith in God but believe in evolution. As a newer christian, I was left wondering how that works. Is it not the bible that tells us who God is? Is it not the bible that explains creation? How can you have it both ways? What exactly is the object of your faith if you believe the bible is only a collection of good stories that you can get a lot from?
I hope you will take the time to watch the interview. I've heard it said many times over the past eight years that our President Bush was a strong christian. While I am not questioning his belief in God, I do question the message he sends which to me contradicts the "strong christian" label.
President Bush's Unshaken Faith
http://abcnews.go.com/Video/playerIndex?id=6422409
The interview is a little over 11 minutes long. At about 8 minutes into the interview, President Bush is asked about his belief in the bible. His response about the bible being true, which was a "probably not" left me shock. He goes on to say that you can have faith in God but believe in evolution. As a newer christian, I was left wondering how that works. Is it not the bible that tells us who God is? Is it not the bible that explains creation? How can you have it both ways? What exactly is the object of your faith if you believe the bible is only a collection of good stories that you can get a lot from?
I hope you will take the time to watch the interview. I've heard it said many times over the past eight years that our President Bush was a strong christian. While I am not questioning his belief in God, I do question the message he sends which to me contradicts the "strong christian" label.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Biblesta
Biblesta - A festival or celebration of the Bible.
At barely 2,000 citizens, my hometown of Humboldt, Kansas displays their love of Christianity with a day long celebration called Biblesta.
Biblesta has been held on the first Saturday of October for 51 years. The day is filled with entertainment for everyone.
One of the most unique parts of this celebration is a parade. The parade is filled with marching bands, Biblical floats, children and adults carrying scripture based banners and more. The floats all designed using scripture are worked on for months by churches and community groups.
Throughout the day, several musical groups perform a free concert. This year the main group will be 33Miles.
At the end of the celebration, the town holds a bean feed for citizens and visitors.
Next weekend will be the first time I have been to the parade in at least ten years and the first as a Christian. I'm looking forward to seeing the celebration in a new light. I'm looking forward to seeing 33 Miles in concert again. I'm looking forward to sharing the experience with a friend.
If you ever get a chance and won't mind a two hour trip, I would encourage you to attend just once. It is a unique experience that isn't found everyday or everywhere.
http://biblesta.com
http://www.iolaregister.com/Local%20News/Stories/Biblestacentersonfunpraise.html
Originally posted 9/28/08
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Mother's Love
I have been very blessed over the past nine years to have the unconditional acceptance and love of my friend Tina. Through good times and bad with an unconditional acceptance I had only known with my husband. She has stood by me, even when she disagreed with me or my actions. I could only describe this as a sisterly love and one I had never known before meeting Tina. A love I never accepted before knowing Christ.
Being close to Tina has introduced me to so much I had no other way to know or see. Through watching Tina's relationship and interaction with her mother, I have been able to see how loving and caring functional mother and daughter relationships work.
I have also been able to see unconditional love of a child by watching Tina's family grow with the birth of each of her children. It has been amazing to see Tina's bond to her children and especially her little girl. Another picture of how truly beautiful a mother's love for their daughter can be.
When each of Tina's children were born, when each birthday party, so many times, I got just a glimpse of the love of a grandmother for her grandchildren. How wonderful it has been to see such a healthy relationship between a grandparent and grandchild and the sparkle of love in a grandmother's eyes.
A month ago, Tina's mother was diagnosed with cancer. I've watched Tina's response to her mother's condition. While I don't understand how she feels because I don't have the same relationship with my mother, I see how the unconditional love becomes even stronger in trials.
As Tina's mom continues to fight for her life through the spreading cancer and other complications of her condition, all I can do or any of us can do is pray. Pray that Tina could have the time she needs with her mother, pray that God would comfort the family, pray that God be with Karen, just pray.
Through the pain of seeing someone I care about hurt and the prayers, I cannot help but see the most beautiful gift. A mother and daughter who both know the love of each other and the love of God.
I will continue to praise God for their love of each other and pray for God's comfort and healing for all of the family.
Originally written on 8/29/08
Note: Just days after this was originally posted, Karen Dolbeare lost her short, yet valiant fight against breast cancer. She has returned home to be with her heavenly Father. Though her earthly family has grieved the loss, she is living her eternal life. I pray that her passing from this life will draw those who love her dearly to the Lord so that they too may have eternal life some day.
Being close to Tina has introduced me to so much I had no other way to know or see. Through watching Tina's relationship and interaction with her mother, I have been able to see how loving and caring functional mother and daughter relationships work.
I have also been able to see unconditional love of a child by watching Tina's family grow with the birth of each of her children. It has been amazing to see Tina's bond to her children and especially her little girl. Another picture of how truly beautiful a mother's love for their daughter can be.
When each of Tina's children were born, when each birthday party, so many times, I got just a glimpse of the love of a grandmother for her grandchildren. How wonderful it has been to see such a healthy relationship between a grandparent and grandchild and the sparkle of love in a grandmother's eyes.
A month ago, Tina's mother was diagnosed with cancer. I've watched Tina's response to her mother's condition. While I don't understand how she feels because I don't have the same relationship with my mother, I see how the unconditional love becomes even stronger in trials.
As Tina's mom continues to fight for her life through the spreading cancer and other complications of her condition, all I can do or any of us can do is pray. Pray that Tina could have the time she needs with her mother, pray that God would comfort the family, pray that God be with Karen, just pray.
Through the pain of seeing someone I care about hurt and the prayers, I cannot help but see the most beautiful gift. A mother and daughter who both know the love of each other and the love of God.
I will continue to praise God for their love of each other and pray for God's comfort and healing for all of the family.
Originally written on 8/29/08
Note: Just days after this was originally posted, Karen Dolbeare lost her short, yet valiant fight against breast cancer. She has returned home to be with her heavenly Father. Though her earthly family has grieved the loss, she is living her eternal life. I pray that her passing from this life will draw those who love her dearly to the Lord so that they too may have eternal life some day.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Peace
You’ve come so far,
To save me.
You’ve tried so hard,
To wipe away every tear.
You’ve fought so hard,
To keep me close.
You’ve come so far,
To give me what I need.
You’ve tried so hard,
To lead me in the right direction.
You’ve fought so hard,
To never let me go.
I’ve made you cry.
I’ve made you hurt.
I’ve made you retreat.
I’ve made you question.
I’ve made you not trust.
I’ve made you sad.
I’ve made you mad.
Let me cry,
Don’t love me any more.
Let me cry,
Don’t give me any more.
Let me cry,
Let me go.
Don’t hold me tight.
Let me go,
Peace.
To save me.
You’ve tried so hard,
To wipe away every tear.
You’ve fought so hard,
To keep me close.
You’ve come so far,
To give me what I need.
You’ve tried so hard,
To lead me in the right direction.
You’ve fought so hard,
To never let me go.
I’ve made you cry.
I’ve made you hurt.
I’ve made you retreat.
I’ve made you question.
I’ve made you not trust.
I’ve made you sad.
I’ve made you mad.
Let me cry,
Don’t love me any more.
Let me cry,
Don’t give me any more.
Let me cry,
Let me go.
Don’t hold me tight.
Let me go,
Peace.
Letting Go of the Old, Accepting the New
During the first 18 years of my life, I had only one goal. Survival.
At age six, when other young girls were playing with dolls and learning to write, I was making sure my two younger brothers did not go hungry. At age 11, when all my friends were enjoying slumber parties, I was babysitting every weekend just to have enough money to replace mine and my brothers’ hole-filled socks. At age 17, when everyone in my class prepared for college, I was planning an escape from the hell of mental, physical and emotional abuse I was living in.
Every day was a race, not really knowing when the end would come. The only thing that was certain was that if I wanted to survive, I had to rely on nobody but myself. Not only could I not trust every adult figure in my life, but I lived in complete fear of them all the time. Every focus in my life was based on fighting to protect myself and being self reliant.
I learned very early in life that I would have to find a way to meet even the basic of needs. Since I never experienced it, I can only imagine that loving parents sacrifice and strive to not only meet the basic needs of their children but give them as much as they can. Love, compassion, understanding, comfort and guidance were luxuries that my parents could obviously not afford.
Being so self reliant and going without knowing or feeling love and comfort gave me a very unstable foundation to begin a life with Christ on.
After so long of only depending on myself and then many years of adulthood trying to maintain control of my own life, how could I believe that I was truly not in control or that I did not have to rely solely on myself? I wonder sometimes if I am the only person who ever struggles with that.
I have been given amazing guidance on this, but I just do not know how to let go of those things. It’s like giving up that old pair of shoes that have a hole in the toe and smell bad, but they feel so comfortable that you can’t stand the thought of throwing them out. How do you come to the point where you know it’s time for them to go? And, what about the fear that you will never have another pair that feels the same?
Even though it has not always felt this way, I believe the experiences of the past year have truly blessed me. So many times, I have been brought to my knees and felt pain that was real and unbearable at times. Each time I have emerged from the darkness understanding more than the last time that I could not have made it through without relying on Christ.
I don’t know if I will always struggle with this. However, I can say that I do believe that I don’t have to do it on my own. This struggle or the next, this moment of happiness or the next of fear, I know I don’t have to do it alone.
Originally written 8/13/08
At age six, when other young girls were playing with dolls and learning to write, I was making sure my two younger brothers did not go hungry. At age 11, when all my friends were enjoying slumber parties, I was babysitting every weekend just to have enough money to replace mine and my brothers’ hole-filled socks. At age 17, when everyone in my class prepared for college, I was planning an escape from the hell of mental, physical and emotional abuse I was living in.
Every day was a race, not really knowing when the end would come. The only thing that was certain was that if I wanted to survive, I had to rely on nobody but myself. Not only could I not trust every adult figure in my life, but I lived in complete fear of them all the time. Every focus in my life was based on fighting to protect myself and being self reliant.
I learned very early in life that I would have to find a way to meet even the basic of needs. Since I never experienced it, I can only imagine that loving parents sacrifice and strive to not only meet the basic needs of their children but give them as much as they can. Love, compassion, understanding, comfort and guidance were luxuries that my parents could obviously not afford.
Being so self reliant and going without knowing or feeling love and comfort gave me a very unstable foundation to begin a life with Christ on.
After so long of only depending on myself and then many years of adulthood trying to maintain control of my own life, how could I believe that I was truly not in control or that I did not have to rely solely on myself? I wonder sometimes if I am the only person who ever struggles with that.
I have been given amazing guidance on this, but I just do not know how to let go of those things. It’s like giving up that old pair of shoes that have a hole in the toe and smell bad, but they feel so comfortable that you can’t stand the thought of throwing them out. How do you come to the point where you know it’s time for them to go? And, what about the fear that you will never have another pair that feels the same?
Even though it has not always felt this way, I believe the experiences of the past year have truly blessed me. So many times, I have been brought to my knees and felt pain that was real and unbearable at times. Each time I have emerged from the darkness understanding more than the last time that I could not have made it through without relying on Christ.
I don’t know if I will always struggle with this. However, I can say that I do believe that I don’t have to do it on my own. This struggle or the next, this moment of happiness or the next of fear, I know I don’t have to do it alone.
Originally written 8/13/08
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Where was God?
One of the obstacles I felt I had to overcome before I became a Christian was to accept that nearly everything I had been taught about God was incorrect. I found out very quickly that obstacle was not one that could be overcome in a day and accepting that it would be a process of learning and growing would be most important.
The thing I struggled with and still do at times is where was God? Where was God through all the years that I was a helpless child? Did God have a presence in my life at all?
Growing up in the home of an Atheist, exposure to church, the bible and God was very limited. When there was exposure, it led to untruths about God and the bible.
There were opportunities, but I was sheltered from them. When I did get exposure, my family always countered with what they wanted me to know as truth. They were very quick to tell me that if God was real then bad things wouldn’t happen and bad things wouldn’t happen to me. I was made to believe that if there was a God then he wouldn’t love me because I was a bad child. It was repeated over and over that the bible was a book that was written to make people feel better about death.
There are a countless number of times that we were forced to hide in the basement when the “bible thumpers” rang the doorbell on a Saturday afternoon. And, the bibles that were left on our porch were quickly destroyed by burning them or using the pages in the bottom of bird cages.
My hometown has a biblical parade every October. I was not allowed to participate rarely allowed to attend. When I was able to attend, I never understood. I didn’t understand why there was a giant whale with a man in its mouth. I didn’t understand the pretty float with the cross and John 3:16 written on the side. I didn’t understand the man in a robe that drug a giant wooden cross.
When I was in grade school, a friend of my parents was able to take me to a Baptist church a few times. It was truly my only exposure to church until I was in my later teen years. The women at the church were so nice to me. Several of them would take turns cleaning me up and making sure I was taken care of while I was there. On Easter, one of them brought me a new dress and shoes.
The same year I was given a snow globe for Christmas. It had a manger scene in with the gold and silver sparkles. I didn’t know what the significance of a baby in a manger was at the time. What I did know was that watching the sparkles float around the baby for hours was an escape from the reality of my life.
When I was younger, a neighbor gave me a gift. It was a children’s bible story book. I read some of the stories and looked at the pictures. There was a picture that I grew very fond of. It was of a woman who was picking up a child from a river bank. I didn’t understand the story, but I would go to the picture during really bad times and dream of a woman picking me up and caring for me in the same way.
My parents were very much against me having the story book. I did not know why at the time that they were so against it, I just knew that it was a gift to me and I wanted to keep it. Many times I found the book in the trash can and dug it out. Each time I would become more enraged and get more creative with where it was hidden. As a teenager, I was unable one day to find the book. I was positive that it had finally been taken from me for good.
Many years later after I was married, I returned home to visit on a weekend that my parents were having a garage sale. There in a pile of items for sale was the bible story book I had lost so long ago. I did get the book back, but had to purchase it from my parents.
One day last summer, I carried up a small box from the basement that holds all physical memories of my childhood. Exhausted from the constant struggle of trying to answer the where was God questions and accepting the truth, I fell onto the box and cried. I cried out to God to show me that even in all the untruth I was given that there was something to show He was there with me even then.
At the bottom of the box, I found the bible story book. The outside was filthy from having been thrown in the trash. The spine had a prominent clean spot from the price tag used in the garage sale. But as I opened to the familiar pages, I found the same comfort I had found as a child.
I may still struggle with the hard questions. But I do accept now that as a child, God did have a presence in my life. I am so blessed to have the reminders to hold onto when the obstacle still seems too big to overcome.
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