Be Still. Taste. See.

A personal trainer named X taught me a  significant lesson a number of years ago.  Prior to our first session, I was already intimidated by her name.  "X" conjured up images of a super intense trainer that was going to put me through the ringer!  X turned out to be a petite Chinese lady with a quiet demeanor, and she kept repeating to me throughout our workout session that I needed to be more still.  After being taught for years the importance of breathing in through the nose and exhaling audibly through the mouth, she corrected my technique by telling me to breathe deeply but to quiet myself.  It was more about mental/internal control and exertion versus an external release of energy that actually diverted the effectiveness of each movement.

Each of my birth experiences was different, though I had all three children naturally.  I learned to still myself in the midst of the pain and how to get through the unbearable moments by focusing on the fact that it wasn't going to last forever.   Relaxing versus tensing up made the biggest difference in getting through each contraction. Making too much noise at the height of the pain actually diminished the effectiveness of pushing through it.  With baby #2, I learned how to gently sway through the contractions and it got me through baby #3's labor too.  In not being afraid of the pain but being still through it, I flowed with my body instinctively, knowing what positions were best and finally squatting to deliver my baby into my own hands! 

After flailing around for the last month, feeling desperate in my situation, vulnerable and  emotionally overwhelmed, I felt the steady hand of God gently quieting down my spirit.  Through messages at church, timely Scripture verses, being upheld through prayers, and encouraging friends, I got still.  And gently, the Holy Spirit began to whisper to me words of love and wisdom, guidance and assurance, lots and lots of affirmation.  The peace that passes all understanding, that guards your heart and mind (Philippians 4:6-9) set in.  I had started keeping a Praise and Prayer Journal as an act of faith that God would respond to my prayers and as a testimony of His great faithfulness.  Writing down things I was thankful for first and recording the answers to prayers for myself and others became thrilling.  God is moving, and it snowballed - there's so much to be thankful for, so much He does in our lives that might go unnoticed unless we take a closer look.

Throughout the last week but especially over the weekend, I felt myself in a cocoon of peace.  The Lord had started speaking to my heart on Friday and continued with key parts throughout the weekend.  One was that my "widow's mite" offerings were significant to Him, and that He had my needs covered.  No worries about how, what, where...  

On Thursday, a friend offered to pick me up on her way to our local homeschooling store.  I hadn't had the opportunity to go since the store's hours were limited and usually when I didn't have access to a car.  I had limited funds and knew I would have to buy our full curriculum over the course of the next month or so.  As I perused the items in the store, my friend wandered over to ask what I was planning on using this year.  When I showed her our Math, she said she already had it and would give it to me.  The Language Arts books, she already had and wasn't using.  Handwriting and Art, she ended up giving me most of the items we needed for school!  I spent $17.00 at the store but had hundreds of dollars worth of curriculum by the end of that day!  Through an e-mail sales alert, I was able to get our Science at 33% off.  That had been on my prayer list for the last few months, and God provided what we needed!

Suddenly.   Something that had been put in motion by the generous heart of a dear friend increased to a miraculous release of the means to a vehicle for me and the kids.  Only God could pull together in a peaceable manner, in the midst of such a crazy season, the paperwork and way for everything to come together that I drove away with a car today.  There's no way I expected that at all.  Yet.  It happened in such a reasonable and practical way, that actually set the stage for more things to fall into place for the future for me and the kids.  All I can say about that right now is that God truly works on behalf of those who remain open to Him.  He hears His sheep's cry - and 'tis so sweet to have Him as the Shepherd of my life!  I'm awed by His love and His tender care.  And I am so grateful to be back in this place of walking in such an intimacy with the Lord.  I feel like I've finally found my way back to the garden of sweet fellowship with God that I used to enjoy.  Somehow, when I got married, I lost my way.  I still walked with the Lord, but not to the degree of closeness that I had previously.  There had been such a closeness, a oneness that I felt with God, His presence so near, His voice so much more clearer, His Word I hungered for - it's something so familiar that I almost took it for granted until it changed so drastically.  Draw near, experience how close He is.  So very, very close.  

The Real Me

I was dancing alone in front of the mirror in my room,

something I used to do all the time.

And this song came on.

It exposed my heart.

To those invited to read this blog,

I know you see behind the painted smile.

And I'm glad.

Though I'd rather not be so broken and messy,

God is at work in my life.

He'll fix things, for His glory. 

The Real Me by Natalie Grant

Foolish heart 

looks like we're here again
Same old game of plastic smile
Don't let anybody in
Hiding my heartache
Will this glass house break?
How much will they take before I'm empty?
Do I let it show, does anybody know?

But You see the real me
Hiding in my skin
Broken from within
Unveil me completely
I'm loosening my grasp
There's no need to mask my frailty
Cause you see the real me

Painted on
Life is behind a mask
Self-inflicted circus clown
I'm tired of the song and dance
Living a charade
Always on parade
What a mess I've made of my existence

But you love me even now
And still I see somehow

You see the real me
Hiding in my skin, broken from within
Unveil me completely
I'm loosening my grasp
There's no need to mask my frailty
Cause you see the real me

Wonderful, beautiful is what you see
When you look at me
You're turning the tattered fabric of my life
Into a perfect tapestry
I just wanna be me

Time Heals Nothing...

Time alone heals nothing.

It's what you do in that time that can bring healing.

I heard this today, and it clicked.

For years, I've been hearing, "It's in the past.  Stop dwelling on the past.  Just get over it."

From my parents who wouldn't acknowledge that their actions,

especially related to abandoning me while I was in labor with my first baby,

were damaging and mean.

From a spouse who kept making choices I disagreed with,

 that kept placing our family in an even more precarious position 

each time he made decisions on his own.

The best predictor of future behavior 

is past behavior.

I've heard that.  It makes sense to me.

It seems that those who continually excuse their behavior dismiss this idea.

I also thought that enough time had passed,

that twenty years of walking with the Lord equated to me being healed

of things I'd hardly ever shed light on.

Many things have been dealt with in my life.

I've aggressively pursued opportunities to deal with some of these issues.

Yet there are areas that are still in process.

And in the right time, God will help.

I just need to place things into His capable hands and trust Him.

Suffering

A post from my former Pastor in Georgia who is now serving the Lord in Africa.

If you've gone through your own difficult times and have suffered, 

maybe even have some deep scars, 

chances are good you know what it's like in the midst of pain 

to have people turn on you. Wow, what pain that brings. 

BUT, it's in the midst of "pain," 

tough times, depressing days, defeating news, difficult decisions, and discouraging times that we see God differently (if we turn to Him).  

As result of enduring pain, 

we change from being mere sufferers to wise counselors, 

valuable comforters, and actually become more like Jesus. 

After years of being in leadership capacities, 
I don't trust someone who hasn't suffered. 
The most valuable insights and wisdom I've ever received in life 

have never come from a novice. 

It comes from those who have scars, 

and by His grace and redemption, 

those scars are now stars reflecting God's gracious sustaining hand in their life. 

Don't run from tough decisions, heart-breaking news, abandonment, rejection, or hurt. As diamonds are made by pressure and pearls formed by irritation, 

so greatness is forged by adversity.

 Sound advice comes from God's Word and from those who limp, veterans of pain.

Parallels

There have been so many things coming full circle since January, so many parallel areas in my life (big and small) that I sometimes feel like I am living on multiple plains.

Or perhaps it's the best (or worst) of my analytical nature kicking in.  Hmm.

Example: my oh-so-cute-happy-40th-birthday nose piercing.  

I did it for me, after waiting more than 20 years to finally do it.  The healing was just about complete when my toddler bashed me in the nose.  Ouch!  Once, twice, too many times to count, the wound was reopened and the healing delayed.  He finally understood how sensitive Mommy was and has pretty much kept his hands away from my face.  The last few months have been fairly bash-free, but now the healing-delayer is me.  Make-up, over-cleaning, over-cleaning, over-cleaning keep irritating my piercing and it protests painfully.  Why oh why won't I leave well enough ALONE?  Because I think I'm helping.  That without my attention, things will get worse.  I do that A LOT.

This morning, my cute nose isn't so cute.  I had hoped to progress to a hoop, but I will now have to wait even longer.  Sigh.  And it's all my doing.  Doggone it.

The program I've been on since February really helped to streamline my life.  It required tremendous discipline.  This last week or so since I transitioned off of that phase to one with more choices has been sooo difficult.  My self-care has dipped dangerously.  I fluctuate all over the place. emotionally and otherwise.  I didn't shower for a number of days, but last night forced my self to bathe and indulge in a thorough spa experience. 

And I woke up sick.  It's sad that I associate stomach pains with my parents and ex, through the exorbitant amount of stress they bring me.  The stomach pains started after I had my first baby...interesting that the alarms sounded once another person was involved.  I've tolerated a lot in my life, but when things affect my kids, I get ferocious.

Since the birth of my first child, the Lord has been trying to get through to me how much He cares for me, how ferocious He gets when it comes to things affecting me.  I have kept Him at arms length, unable to receive that He considers me His precious one.  But our Lord is persistent and even more stubborn than I could ever be.  That message, sent in so many ways, has been trickling in and is producing a garden of hope in my heart.  

Freedom in God's Love

I've been reading/studying Malachi 2:16, the often referenced verse about God hating divorce.  It's been tossed into my face plenty of times...but has anyone ever gone deeper to ask WHY God hates divorce?

One article talked about the heartbreak God Himself experienced with the unfaithfulness of His people.  That He was provoked enough to press for a separation from them.  Another article broke down the elements of that entire passage - what was going on historically at that time and the lessons applicable to now.   

In my experience (and the experience of a number of ladies that I know), the burden/demand/effort/expectation/judgment has fallen upon us to "FIX" the situation, our marriages.  If we tried harder, submitted more, prayed fervently, encouraged, loved, twisted ourselves even more into a pretzel THEN the situation would improve.  I've been offered books to teach me how to be a better wife and even thousands of dollars worth of counseling to help me cope better and ultimately to cause me to change my mind that enough is enough.   

I'm not venting.  

I have seen God's hand move mightily on my behalf even in the midst of this current situation.  He hears my cry, loves me deeply, and shows me His tenderness.  I am awed by His closeness, the intimacy I am experiencing, the courage He gives me to face all of this openly.

The weird focus shifting of responsibility goes back to the Garden of Eden.  Adam remained silent as the serpent tempted Eve, though he was given the authority and responsibility from God.  He quickly pointed the finger at her.  

The word to leave and cleave was directed from the beginning to men; women by their very nature were already wired to do that.  I know all too well the pain that occurs when HE doesn't and won't leave the intimate company of his family of origin and choose to forge a new family system with his wife.

Finally, I received an answer to something that was a stumbling block to me since my wedding day, when I sat down recently with the pastor who performed the wedding.  In the ceremony, he gave a charge to the husband that I was his garden and that everyone would see how well he was cultivating/taking care of his garden.  Since being discounted, ignored, neglected, etc. was common from early in our marriage, the pastor's words bothered me.  Was it just a flowery saying for the ceremony?  Did he mean it?  And what was I supposed to do as the neglected garden???  I brought it up in our recent meeting, and the answer presented itself clearly to me:  I was to turn to the Lord and allow Him to take up the tender cultivation of me, now and forever His garden.  I was never able to see that before, so downtrodden and in despair.  Now my head is lifted up towards the Son, and my face radiates with the joy of knowing His love unhindered.  

 ¹FOR ZION'S sake will I [Isaiah] not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest until her imputed righteousness and vindication go forth as brightness, and her salvation radiates as does a burning torch.    ²And the nations shall see your righteousness and vindication [your rightness and justice--not your own, but His ascribed to you], and all kings shall behold your salvation and glory; and you shall be called by a new name which the mouth of the Lord shall name.
    ³You shall also be [so beautiful and prosperous as to be thought of as] a crown of glory and honor in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem [exceedingly beautiful] in the hand of your God.
    ⁴You [Judah] shall no more be termed Forsaken, nor shall your land be called Desolate any more. But you shall be called Hephzibah [My delight is in her], and your land be called Beulah [married]; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married [owned and protected by the Lord].
    ⁵For as a young man marries a virgin [O Jerusalem], so shall your sons marry you; and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.
    ⁶I have set watchmen upon your walls, O Jerusalem, who will never hold their peace day or night; you who [are His servants and by your prayers] put the Lord in remembrance [of His promises], keep not silence,
    ⁷And give Him no rest until He establishes Jerusalem and makes her a praise in the earth.
    ⁸The Lord has sworn by His right hand and by His mighty arm: Surely I will not again give your grain as food for your enemies, and [the invading sons of] aliens shall not drink your new wine for which you have toiled;
    ⁹But they who have gathered it shall eat it and praise the Lord, and they who have brought in the vintage shall drink it [at the feasts celebrated] in the courts of My sanctuary (the temple of My holiness).
    ¹⁰Go through, go through the gates! Prepare the way for the people. Cast up, cast up the highway! Gather out the stones. Lift up a standard or ensign over and for the peoples.
    ¹¹Behold, the Lord has proclaimed to the end of the earth: Say to the Daughter of Zion, Behold, your salvation comes [in the person of the Lord]; behold, His reward is with Him, and His work and recompense before Him.
    ¹²And they shall call them the Holy People, the Redeemed of the Lord; and you shall be called Sought Out, a City Not Forsaken.                                                                                                                                                         Isaiah 62

I'm Tired, Lord help me in my desperation

The last week has been...difficult.

The anniversary.

The minefield of not only my emotions but the potential explosions from family members.  Last year, the family's behavior almost destroyed me.

This year, it was much, much quieter...to the point of being ignored.  Avoided.  They don't consider me in the inner circle of dealing with Mom's passing.

Oh well.  It's the pattern of this family.

In my current situation (irresponsible soon-to-be-ex with his head in the clouds living in another state and visiting my struggling with his health dad who lives in his own la la land) I feel very stuck. frustrated. and I am struggling to make sense of this life.

Where do I go from here and how do I get there?

My father has started with his criticisms.  I cannot stomach it, not as an adult who is doing her best to take care of him.  I won't tolerate his downward spiral of bad behavior - never have and never will.  It takes its toll on me.  And my babies suffer for me not being at the top of my game.  I'm weary. Sometimes desperate.  Today I drank for relief, after prayer.

Childhood was lonely except for my rich imagination.  I had my books and dolls.  In my teens I still escaped into books.

I got used to not having anyone else.  But it sure felt great to have a friend.  I have awesome friends now, but in the end no one can figure this out for me.  I have to walk this thing out.

I am so tired.  I don't want to mess up for my kids' sakes.  They deserve the best, and it breaks my heart  that they've already endured such a bad example of God's ways.  He's so not the author of confusion and craziness.  In taking them away from the madness, my desire is for them to see His Hand in the midst of all of this, His provision, His goodness and grace.

Lord please don't let me falter or fail.  Please let me be stronger, better, a good example for them.

I want God's best for my kids.  Their life should be about stability and fun and dependability and security.  For years I have been the one making Christmas and birthdays happen, often challenged by him and alone in it.  I've wanted to make every holiday matter, to make school rich and field trips fun.  When I run out of steam, they suffer.

My kids are so amazing!  Truly God's gift to me.  I long for them to have the happiest childhood memories, of tradition and warmth, a sense of history and family, their feet firmly grounded in God and walking closely with Him from a young age.

I've stood between them and my Mom when she couldn't control herself and took her wrath full on.  I've shielded them as much as I can from a foolish dad who puts them in crazy situations.  I haven't even scratched the surface about the precarious places/situations we've endured because of his choices.

By Your grace and goodness, Lord please let me step carefully, full of Your wisdom and guided by You.  Help me, God, for my children's sakes to make the best choices and forge a life of stability.  As You have helped me before, please help me again.  Be my Loving Dad and Nurturing Mom, My Guide, Shield and Protector.  My Lord and Friend, the Shepherd of my life and my kids' lives.

A Release of Emotions before the Anniversary

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my Mom's passing.

My emotions about it surfaced this afternoon as I was putting on make-up.  The memories of getting my Mom a job at the office I worked at and later letting her take over the care  of an invalid somehow started the tears.  Weird how grief manifests sometimes.

Then the realization hit. 

My Mom used to sequester herself away at home with no initiative to find outside activities.  I was the last child to leave the home.  She often complained about not having places to go, though she intentionally drove her friends away and refused to make the first move towards them.  She felt sorry for herself.   She resented my social life as a single woman.     

Though she wouldn't put forth the effort to make changes in her life, she looked to others to make the changes happen.  And it became our fault if she remained unhappy.

I remember how happy she was when she started working at my office, tidying up on a weekly basis.  I was glad that it worked out and that she had a reason to get dressed up and out of the house.  And when she suggested taking over for me towards the end of my time working with a girl in a body cast, I was glad to do that.  Her beaming face, filled with purpose...it was almost worth doing anything to see that face and experience the lightness in the house.  

But it didn't last, and I couldn't consistently be the one bringing purpose or meaning to her life.  The source of much conflict.  Numerous expectations. Demands. Consequences for not fulfilling them.

There's an insect or animal of some sort that after its young is born, they eat the body of the parent for sustenance and nourishment.

In my case, I'm not the parent.  But I recognize that pattern in my life.  From the time I was a child, my Mom depended on me for counsel, comfort and help.  I was supposed to make her feel better and anticipate her demands/expectations/needs.  Woe to me if I missed it.  Major problems came as I grew up and pursued my own interests, developed my own ideas and opinions, and was different from her.

Years of tug of war.  Wanting her acceptance.  Groomed to always consider her, I still had my own sense of self.  Nervous, never knowing when the outburst would come.  The angry arms striking, the hate in her eyes, disgust in the words she spat at me.  Years and years and years of this.  Up until a few months before she died.

I knew early on that I'd never be enough to make her happy and that I wasn't responsible for that.  Of course I didn't mind helping her and wished I could have done more.  But she required blood and all of me for sustenance, a price I wouldn't pay.  The cost was not having her approval or warmth for long, long, long periods of time.  She did emerge from the darkness to show her love at times, and I cherish those memories.  

I realize now that standing on my body to be elevated, to sacrifice my needs and peace in order to gain your own, to demand everything and not give anything, neglecting, stealing, letting me rot to get fat...these patterns are WRONG.  They were familiar enough refrains from childhood, so I participated in them in my marriage.  But the same me that had a sense of self that preserved me from childhood eventually emerged enough to say ENOUGH.  

And I don't raise my children in that same way.  I won't let them consume me to the point of my malnourishment nor will I extract my identity or purpose from them.  Only from God.  They are a big part of my purpose, but I am not them and they are not me.  

My sorrow melts into peace as I imagine Mom full of joy.  A year ago I held her, kissed her and whispered words of love before she departed.  I put my head in her lap and wept, and finally left her room.  The song "I Can Only Imagine" played on the drive home.  I'll never forget it.  One of the hardest days in my life,  but in perspective one of the best in hers.  

I think my processing these things, healing, letting go and growing will make her glad.  I am determined to be all that God has intended for me to be and to fulfill His purpose for my life.  

My Mom is at peace, fulfilled in every way in the presence of Jesus.  That makes me so happy.  My prayers for her peace have been answered.  Slowly I continue to process the damaged areas, allowing God to heal with Light and Truth.  Mourning lasts for a night but Joy comes in the morning.  The darkness fades, the illumination cleanses.  

I love you, Mommy.  I miss you.  I wish I could chat with you in Japanese - the loss of that connection is still so painful to me.  There's so much I want you to know about me, but in the many conversations we've had over the years, despite the difficulties in our relationship, I know that you knew me.  It's amazing when you think of the Bible studies we had together and how God swet up things so that you'd come to know Him.  I choose to hold on to your voice telling me how proud you were of me and let time erase the other words.  I have your letters urging me to be strong and courageous, to never give up, to continually challenge myself.  You'd be so happy to see me slender again.  I miss you, Mom.  When I sew or make something, you are still the first person I want to show.  I can't go into a Japanese restaurant yet because you're not there - that was our special time.  I know you tried to be the best Mommy you could.  Jesus, please step in and be the Mom I need until I see her again.  

Alone Again...Naturally

To think that only yesterday, I was cheerful, bright and gay,

Looking forward to, but who wouldn't do,

The role I was about to play

But as if to knock me down,

Reality came around

And without so much as a mere touch,

Cut me into little pieces

Leaving me to doubt, All about God and His mercy

For if He really does exist

Why did He desert me In my hour of need?

I truly am indeed, Alone again, naturally

It seems to me that There are more hearts

Broken in the world That can't be mended

Left unattended

What do we do? What do we do?                                                  

Know this song?  One of my favorites when I was little, probably at 7 or 8.  I remember singing along to the cassette and feeling the melancholy wash over me.  I've always been drawn to sad songs.  Another favorite song from childhood was a lesser known track on Debby Boone's "You Light Up My Life" album called "Micol's Theme," so very tragic.

Micol, there was a time for us

Long ago there was a time for us

When the fields were green and the sun was warm

and the days of love and laughter went on and on

But now it's changing, all around I see it changing

When there's nothing left, there's nothing left to say

The laughter dies, love fades away

...Now the days turned cold, all the love is gone

Loneliness. 

A familiar theme throughout my life. My earliest memories, being secure in my own skin but feeling always very alone. I remember at three, contemplating the world around me yet feeling somewhat removed from it. An observer. Influenced certainly from being displaced several times at that early age, sent to live my aunt when my mother went through periods of illness as well as the birth of my sister. Sent away to a cherished aunt who doted on me but not understanding why my own mother wasn't there. And the feelings have remained since she was never accessible to me for the rest of her life. The stage was prophetically set at that early age.

Loneliness. 

A faithful companion. I am not uncomfortable in its presence because I know it so well. I discovered a long time ago that God truly transcends even that place - He has walked with me in it. I've often longed for human companionship to banish that state but no longer expect it. God has faithfully communed with me there. The holes in my soul, He will make whole. In my frailty when I long for more or try to fill it myself and fail. My feeble attempts making messes, He gently comforts and heals. The holes in my soul, He will make whole. Until then, He is enough.

Adventures throughout history and all over the world were at my fingertips in the books I devoured as a child. Dancing with abandon in my room as a teen, escaping the confines of my life by flipping on the strobe light and losing myself in the music, comedy and tragedy, playing every role to an invisible but captive audience. A lonely graduation from high school, then having to figure out my life's direction, alone of course. Grace intervened and welcomed me back with open arms. God was with me. But still the same aloneness. 

Off to Bible school, I didn't know how alone I was until the first time I was invited into a group and saw how others lived. My experiences had been school, work, home, bank, grocery, shopping, always by myself. Driving here and there, chatting to God. Just me and God. But I started to wonder why I was always alone and wished for a real friend. Graduation from Bible school...oh the loneliness stung! Thousands of miles from home, not a face in the crowd. No celebratory dinners or proud smiles just for me. But the Lord sent His Word to me through the commencement address, the reminder of the priceless value of even a damaged Picasso and how He uses chipped vessels that have endured versus beautiful but fragile porcelain ones. Thank You Lord. By the time I boarded the plane to Africa, being alone was a matter of fact. Totally expected. I embraced it. 

Preparing for my wedding and even the wedding day...never expected the loneliness then. I pressed through it, pushed down the sadness like I always did. But the sorrow lingered. I tucked it away. 

Pregnancies weren't so bad, but the first moments of motherhood and the fragile weeks afterwards were tremendously lonely times. The pain from those days still brings tears. Abandoned by most of my family during the first birth, I had to figure out everything on my own. Then I lost my hair. First baby, bald head. Alone. Bad. After the birth of the second baby, a long period of isolation due to post partum depression - like screaming behind thick walls that no one could hear or penetrate. The hospitalization of my third baby days after birth in a strange new city. No friends, no family. Could a shattered heart ever be pieced back together? I held onto my little ones and pressed through it like I always did. It's the only thing I knew to do.

At some point, the loneliness in marriage and disconnect from God seemed too topsy-turvy. I wanted to be intimately close again to the God Who had always been there for me in the shadows, the only Light to ever penetrate the gloom. As I drew nearer to Him, the dawn started to emerge in my soul. Weights lifted off of me, literally. The things that promoted destruction in my life had to be let go of to embrace the things that produced life. Today, I am faced with navigating many changes for me and for my children...and there are still moments of loneliness. But as always, the faithful Presence of God is so near. And He has sent dear friends to help. I ask Him into the dark hours and try to at least address it in some way. Even a flickering candle penetrates the black.

Preference

Isn't it the norm, especially near the beginning of a relationship, for the couple to prefer one another?  To have eyes first and foremost for the partner in the relationship?  

That disappeared rather quickly in the months leading up to the wedding, though I ignored the signs.  Slowly but steadily bumped, bumped, bumped on the priority list.  One on-time airport pick-up and then running late to not checking the time and my having to take a bus.  Christmas mornings with gifts I ended up buying for myself, and one when I stopped doing that and there were no gifts.  Birthdays, many many many with barely an acknowledgement.  Forget Valentine's Day and anniversaries.  If I didn't make the effort, nothing happened.       

One that bothered me the most was regarding dancing.  I love dancing, and during courtship he was a great partner, seemingly proud to hold me in his arms whatever the dance.  After that, I had to coax or even plant myself in front of him...and along came the critiques.  Many corrections and the eradication of dancing for the fun of it.  When he taught others, he shooed me away into the other room versus using me as his demo partner.  The rapid dive in dancing attentiveness mirrored every other area of our lives.

No spontaneous affection.  If I didn't hug, there weren't hugs.  If I didn't kiss...if I didn't initiate anything affectionate, then it didn't happen.  No hand-holding, no reaching for me or cuddling.  And no spark in the eye for me - I refused to acknowledge it from early on but couldn't ignore it because there was a definite warmth and extra pizazz whenever he spoke or was around his mother and sister.

The Lord has reassured me time and time again of the spark He has in His eyes for me, the delight and pleasure He finds in me, and the regard He has for me.  That communication has sustained me. 

You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
You shall no more be termed Forsaken,
and your land shall no more be termed Desolate,
but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her,
and your land Married;
for the LORD delights in you,
and your land shall be married.

and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,
so shall your God rejoice over you.

Isaiah 62:3-4, 5b

I'd like to know what it is like to be cherished. preferred. to be considered and regarded.  Outside of my Heavenly and earthly Father, I have never experienced that through a man.  I thank God for both of my Dads being constant in their love for me.  I embrace the healing taking place in my heart and look forward to rebuilding towards wholeness, that I'll never again accept the damaging type of pseudo-love into my life again.  The chain of inconsiderate, neglectful men in my life is broken NOW.  By God's grace I will give and receive His kind of love.  Amen.

Thoughts Sparked From A Book

I read a review for a book that intrigued me and checked it out here in Virginia.  Within a few chapters, I found myself filled with dread...a much more emotional response than I ever remember having to a fictional story.

On a fairly ordinary day, a woman is abducted by a stranger and taken to live way up in the mountains.    Her identity is taken away.  Her success and career no longer matter. There are many new rules governing her life now.  She ends up having a baby with her abductor and is tormented by his treatment of the frail child.  Though there are moments of calm and sometimes enjoyment in her captivity, they are few and quickly erased by the horror of her new reality.  She seizes an opportunity to slay her abductor and flees.  In the process of rebuilding her life, working with a therapist as well as the police who are trying to figure out all the details of the abduction, she discovers that her life was not what she thought it was.  There had been break-ins and previous attempts to abduct her, which she had dismissed at the time.  Her boyfriend had been unfaithful with her closest friend.  Family members had worked against her professionally, tearing her down.  But the worst was her discovery through the police investigation that her mother had set up the kidnapping.  Unforgiveness for a childhood mistake as well as jealousy and competition were the reasons behind this horrific betrayal.  As she's being taken away to jail, the mother insists that her daughter drop all charges to protect her name and reputation.  The daughter walks away.

Yikes.  Obviously my story is different.  But there are many similar elements.

In several chats I've had with a close friend whose husband left her, a startling word came up several times.  Numbness.  I know that word too well.

In my experience, there was so much conflict, discomfort, lack of agreement and upheaval from the time of the wedding that eventually I shut down.  We couldn't walk into Walmart without an argument breaking out.  He insisted on a purple shower curtain (his favorite color).  I acquiesed but protested when he wanted a dark green trash can for the bathroom (his second favorite color).  They didn't look good together.  He claimed that I was already limiting his creative freedom.  What about what I liked or wanted?  I primarily cooked Asian style food with a lot of vegetables, and he suddenly claimed an allergic reaction to all things soy related.  From food to recreation (football season took top priority in all activities) to how I looked, there was constant pressure to yield to his way.  He hated my shoes.  He made disparaging remarks and yucky faces when I put on make-up, especially my signature red lipstick.  My belly ring disgusted him.  And there was the refrain comparing me to his sister...  The two of them had a private club.  Inside jokes, telephone calls at all hours of the day to discuss the most mundane details of their day, making plans for the two of them with me as a tag-along.  My first time in NYC (their hometown), we spent the day going to obscure places so that his sister could get chicken wings and fulfill other whims.  Along the way, they pointed out that Broadway was a block over or that Central Park was across the way...  I was promised shopping but somehow there never was time for it.  Even after I slipped down subway steps, the aimless walking continued until the evening when we ended up back at her apartment.  I was in too much pain to walk up the four steep flights of stairs, so they left me in the car for over an hour while he "quickly" looked at something on her computer.  All this the first few months of marriage.  But the patterns continued.

(Almost twelve years later, I still have not seen any of the sites in NYC though we've been up north numerous times.  He wanted to take our daughter into the city, but I said I had to get the tour first.  Again and again he wanted to take her for a visit to his mother's and into the city - my stipulation stood.  He never planned a trip for me.  Finally, I agreed because I didn't want her to miss out.  This year, a promise to take our daughter to Paris popped up out of the blue.  Another trip that will never be except that I will give it to myself.)

Tired of the fighting and wanting to feel a part of a family, I tried to become like his in order to be accepted.  A few years ago, I finally came to the realization that I'd never be "in" and stopped trying.  The criticisms were always going to come no matter what I did. 

The numbness is kind of similar to the Stockholm Syndrome to me.  When you get worn out and down by the stress and discomfort of the circumstances you're in, you have to find another way to cope.  You convince yourself that perhaps the other way isn't so bad.  Maybe the treatment will be better if you go along with it versus fighting against it.  But doing this makes you numb.  It robs you of your autonomy.  As a living being, things can be buried for only so long before surfacing.  Waking up in your life, as jarring or uncomfortable as it can be, is good.  Being a full participant, cognizant and honest are necessary.  I've missed the vibrant me that surfaced for brief periods before going back under the gloom.  I like her.  A lot.  I've missed the curvy, spunky girl that hid for years under the weight of unhappiness and neglect.  I'm not afraid of living anymore.  I'm no longer apologetic for being expressive me.  I'm a goofball.  Romantic.  Both practical and whimsical.  I like sparkles and dressing from different eras.  False eyelashes and bright lipstick.  I'm quiet and reflective, passionate and fiercely loyal.  When the weight started coming off this January (60 pounds as of now!), I recognized the long-hidden me again.  And I must say, I think she's lovely.

Finding Refuge in My Father's House

I'm sitting in the living room of my father's home, pondering this life.  The children and I have been here for a week, and it has been a welcome reprieve from the pressures/stresses/frustrations of the same-old, same-old mess. 

I thank God for the various gigs He provided for me in the last two months - they've enabled me to purchase the necessary summer items for the kids as well as the money for our trip needs.  Yet it is beyond maddening that there is no additional income coming in while he waits for an offer.  The waiting time in previous years lasted 19 months and  this current one is coming up on two and a half years.  Out of eleven and a half years, seven have been with steady employment with benefits.  The rest of the time...living below the poverty level.  I've worked very hard to shield my children from the underside of this level of living, BUT I can hardly stomach that they've been exposed to this when it is a matter of continual bad choices versus necessity that's dictated the circumstances.  I guess that people revert back to what is familiar and comfortable to them.  The kind of lifestyle my former spouse and his family members seem comfortable living is opposite to what I find appealing and acceptable.  For example,we lived for a year in his sister's house where the front door was inaccessible and the main bathroom didn't function.  To gain entrance, you had to go around to the back door or down concrete stairs to the basement. To shower or use the facilities, we had to go all the way to the basement, two floors down from the bedrooms.

My father would never let things like that linger - he is a man of action who takes care of things immediately.  And in his home, I feel taken care of and that our needs are met.  I feel safe and secure.  Untroubled for now. 

I don't know how the next few months will unfold and what the future looks like.  I am trusting God to slowly fill in the picture and direct me.  That my kids and I will live in a peaceful, tidy home. Stable. Secure.

 

No cursing, yelling neighbors. No more dysfunctional bathrooms and gross kitchen cabinets you wouldn't put food or dishes in.  No more welfare and rude cashiers who rub your face in it when you present your food stamps card.  No more tolerating poverty and barely enough. No more messy, careless living.  Not for me and for my children.  ^"I will say of the Lord, He is my Refuge and my Fortress, my God; on Him I lean and rely, and in Him I [confidently] trust!" Psalm 91:2

Shifting Sand

1.  He had a degree and a decent job when he asked her to marry him.  Then he decided that he needed to do other things and left the job, dabbling in this and that.  The addition of children did not hinder his wandering from scheme to scheme, temporary this and that, this master of his own destiny.  No health insurance.  Dodging bill collectors. Bankruptcy. Foreclosure. Baby number one and two, moving around and around, no plan or preparation.  The imminent arrival of baby three.  Her family is angry. disgusted. frustrated that he doesn't see his irresponsibility and selfishness.

2.  He had a degree and a decent job when he asked her to marry him.  Then he decided that he needed to do other things and left the job, dabbling in this and that. The addition of children did not hinder his wandering from scheme to scheme, temporary this and that, this master of his own destiny.  No health insurance.  Dodging bill collectors. She has been diagnosed with an incurable disease and has maybe a year or so to live. He is angry and in denial, incapable of responding to or providing for the immediate needs she has as her condition rapidly deteriorates. Her best friend's husband installs the safety bars and does the work to protect her.  Her children are lost in their grief as Dad has checked out and Mom struggles...her speech is now slurred, her body in constant pain, and she worries about their future. Her family is angry. disgusted. frustrated that he doesn't see his irresponsibility and selfishness.

These scenarios are a picture of my past (#1) and the possibility of my future (#2), but neither are actually about me. 

Ironically, the angry family members in scenario #1 are my mother-in-law and my husband.  The man is my sister-in-law's husband. They are outraged at the behavior and choices of this man.  How dare he put her and the children through this mess? What about their future? Where will they live? How will he provide? Yet, the mismanager of my own household has walked an eerily parallel path. 

The couple in scenario #2 are new friends about 10 years older than me.  That cannot be me in a decade, still living this shaky lifestyle.  I refuse to allow the prophetic image of scenario #2 to occur in my life.

I was just like the dutiful wives of the fellows in the scenarios above.  Supportive. Encouraging. Seemingly content to put my needs/desires/preferences on the back burner. Except that the damage and destruction in every area of our lives became impossible to ignore. If I continued on as the long-suffering wife of this foolish man, then perhaps the accolades of the proper Christian wife would continue to be mine. 

Whatever. 

I would rather have a righteous life with a heart undefiled before my God, no matter the external judgments or pressure.  

The schemes and abrupt life changes, a sign I missed in the beginning of our lives together, have not ceased coming at me. The switcheroos. Never consulting me.  Our first apartment: we found one near work that was nice, then he decided to rent one further away while I was out of the country that was dirty and too small.  Our honeymoon was supposed to be in Paris, until he decided suddenly that he wanted us to go there at a later time.  He had no alternative plan, just this firm decision to cancel the dream, and we didn't go anywhere on our honeymoon.  Paris has never materialized. We went through the process of being missionaries with an organization working in Europe. After the process was nearly complete (a year and a half of planning/preparing), he decided that we should also go to Africa. My own experience as a missionary, the protocol in raising support, the commitment we'd signed didn't matter to his idea of "maximizing" our opportunity. Nothing can convince him otherwise when he gets an idea. He agrees to something until he decides something else.

It's interesting to me that the pressure "to keep our family intact," "to make choices that benefit the family," "to put the kids first" rests all on my shoulders. "I am destroying our family."

I say that the destruction has been happening for a long time. That every bad decision he made stepping right over me as I cried and pleaded with him to reconsider further damaged the stability and security of our present and future.  He's never honored the sacredness of unity in our marriage, bringing his mother and sister in as confidants from the beginning of our marriage. My requests for privacy were not respected.  They know everything about everything and have an opinion about it all.  He has been more intimate with them from the beginning than with me, his wife.  I would not have married him if I had known that he was already married to them - and I really mean that. He decides something, discusses it with them and gets their agreement, and then does it.  He really doesn't care whether or not I agree with it.  Soooooo, ultimately he is more married to them than he is married to me and I choose not to live like this anymore.  I will consult God about my life and my children.  Depend on Him. Live in peace. Live with honor. I will stand on the solid Rock that is God alone.

Control

The cut is deep, but never deep enough for me

It doesn’t hurt enough to make me forget

One moment of relief is never long enough

To keep the voices in my head from stealing my peace

Oh, control

It’s time, time to let you go

Perfection has a price, but I cannot afford to live that life

It always ends the same; a fight I never win

Oh, control

It’s time, time to let you go

I’m letting go of the illusion

I’m letting go of the confusion

I can’t carry it another step

I close my eyes and take a breath

I’m letting go …

There were scars before my scars

Love written on the hands that hung the stars

Hope living in the blood that was spilled for me

"Control" by JJ Heller

On the radio the other day, someone articulated my thoughts and feelings so clearly 

in a way I have never been able to express previously.

To have so much pain inflicted on you, 

to feel so out of control, so much pressure, so many demands... 

"be perfect. don't you dare cry. don't you ever fail or even appear to falter. how dare you have a need. you don't matter. it's all on your shoulders. fix it. you're responsible for everything."

Self-injury is an attempt to take control of the pain - which is there anyway, 

so much that you go numb.

It's a reminder that you're human and still capable of feeling. 

It's a bizarre source of comfort and relief.

It was first an issue for me in high school when my mother went from beatings 

to demanding that everyone in the family ignore me. 

They acted like I didn't exist. For months. That became years.

One time I knew I had gone too far with the cutting and thought it was the end. 

My body got very cold. 

An angel I'd seen once as a young child appeared at the foot of my bed, 

holding on to the rail and watching over me.

I looked away and rolled onto my side. 

A second angel, also from the earlier childhood experience, stood next to the bed. 

Somehow it communicated to me that they were going to watch over me, 

that I was going to be fine, and I drifted off to sleep. 

When I woke up the next morning and pulled back the towels from my legs, 

I was astonished to see the rapid healing that had taken place. 

Only a very faint scar remains, though I should have many.

Going through postpartum depression, 

especially the judgmental reproaches and abandonment of many closest to me, 

triggered a relapse. 

It's been eight years and I have not conquered this twisted monster in my life yet.

But I'm actively trying, 

gently but firmly working with myself to process the pains and find comfort in God. 

I don't feel as ashamed or try so desperately to cover the evidence, 

though it's not so obvious. 

No one knows the twinges of pain I feel as I walk about my life, 

running, dancing, jumping through hoops,

my feet ravaged by this compulsion.

For the first time in a very long time, I am wearing really cute shoes, 

showing love to the area that has suffered so much. 

A physical representation of a deeper healing taking place.

Leading Up To Matrimony

In order to unravel the mess of today, I have to go back to the beginning.  Back to the time when I was most fulfilled.  radiant.  joyful.  at peace.

I had found my calling and moved to Africa to work with an international organization.  Street kids became my best friends.  Elation at helping a woman get out of prostitution and attend school.  Teaching, laughing, having the adventure of my life.  I woke up every day with such excitement - I thought I'd be in Africa for the rest of my life.

Except there was a dark lining to the dream I was living.  Increasingly, I was being targeted on the streets.  A culture that ranks livestock above the value of women.  The perception that women from the West are promiscuous thanks to our movies and television shows.  I carried an umbrella as protection and had to regularly raise it to ward off unwanted advances.  Some who were bolder had to be shoved or smacked - anything to stand up against the threat.  Sitting in a cafe became unpleasant, as I was indecently propositioned if the person I was with left me alone for even a minute.  Public transportation became nerve-wracking (I was expected to make my own way around town).  One time, the van stopped taking passengers and took off with me, the fare collector waving a condom in my face.  I calmly prayed, pretended to be ignorant of the threat, and acted like I knew the crowd of people waiting at the next taxi stop.  In front of those witnesses, I boldy lunged for the doors and fought my way out.  Another time, the taxi driver forced the other women on board to get off while the men on board moved in closer to me.  It took me a moment to realize what was going on (I wasn't totally fluent in the language), and I suddenly leaped for the exit before the men had a chance to stop me.  Shaking, I tried to figure out where I was and make a plan.  Men thought that they could talk to me in the filthiest English words that they had learned, grabbing at me, trying to force me to yield to their vile intentions.  Anywhere I went.  The only reprieve (and a slight one at that) was if a man accompanied me.  I asked the leadership I worked with for assistance, and they denied me.  After all, their own wives and daughters traveled around the city daily and were "fine." Except that on several occasions, I had stepped in to stop a molestation on the streets of their daughters.  

The land that I loved had turned into a threatening, scary place where I felt alone and without help.  Certainly, God protected me in every instance and was there with me.  I have many stories of His hand in delivering me from danger.  Nevertheless, the strain and toll on me was real.  Something I minimized at the time, but I see how much these experiences influenced the next phases of my life. 

I was granted a reprieve in the midst of the trauma when a friend sent me an airline ticket to visit home for Christmas.  For me, the time back in the States was a blur.  I visited with family and friends.  I shared at churches about my work in Africa.  I told only a few close friends about the difficult side of being overseas but mainly emphasized the wonderful parts, which were true.  I was determined to complete my assignment, no matter the cost, though it felt comforting and safe to be back in the States, on even ground.  I always do what is expected of me.

I kinda fell into a relationship.  Totally unexpected, a friend of a friend who I'd known casually for a number of years.  He lived closest to me and became my ride to many social events and speaking engagements.  My trip back to Africa kept getting delayed.  He slowly moved closer.  I remember thinking, "Well, he doesn't disgust me."  He heard from God.  I acquiesced.  Figured I had another 18 months overseas to figure things out.  I was like a helium balloon without an anchor, solid-looking on the outside but empty within.  Drifting in my life.  Lost.  Caught up in a whirlwind of activity, emotions and expectations that I did not have time to fully process.

I returned to Africa still in a daze.  Things got worse there.  The guy turned up the intensity of his attention with telephone calls and e-mails filled with promises that I would be taken care of, safe.  Lots and lots of e-mails with promises of provision and security.  The head of the organization came to Africa, chewed out the local leadership for not protecting me, then asked me to continue my work in other countries, expanding my role, since I had been successful in fulfilling my job there in Africa.  Within weeks I was back home, got engaged, bought a dress (more about this in my next post), then back on a plane to E. Europe.   

The helium balloon that was me sat on a shelf when not in service.  I came alive when I visited with the Bible students, hung out with gypsies in their churches, and had a specific task to accomplish.  I remember passing the cutest wedding shops and thinking they weren't accessible to me.  I didn't question why I thought that way.  I thrived in serving God's goodness to others but lost my way in receiving it myself.  Helium-balloon-me returned to the States at the end of my service, deflated of my life purpose, now on a new course: matrimony.  Though I expressed my concern with the emptiness within me and how lost I was, the momentum of the "romantic" whirlwind carried everything along.  Many seemed enamored of the dramatic story.  There were no speed bumps along the way to check the rapid-fire developments.  I went along with everything, while starting a job in a crisis center and living back home with my Mom who immediately launched back into her "let's tear her down in every way possible and never let her forget she is unworthy" campaign.   

These are the circumstances leading up to my unfortunate wedding.  My heart grieves for how lost I was and my inability to step in to protect myself.  I didn't think I deserved more or that there was more for me.  And I lived with that belief for a very long time.

Mother's Day

A week ago. Mother's Day.  A day filled with emotion, expectations, expressions of love and devotion...and for some, a painful reminder of what isn't.

I thank God for my three beautiful children who are so generous with their affection and so giving of their love.  I try very hard to be the Mama they deserve, to make sure they know of my love and passion for them.  That I accept and really like them for the unique people they are and celebrate the gifts that they are to me.

A year ago.  I spoke with my Mom for the last time.  A year ago.  I flew home the same day she was released from the hospital.  I bathed her, dressed her and sat with her.  On Mother's Day, she had a list of errands she demanded I complete (a task I would have gladly done had she just asked rather than flinging a piece of paper at me in dismissal).  With my own children 2000 miles away, I endured yet another suffocating and silent holiday dinner. Her bitterness filled the room like a dense fog, making everyone else invisible.  Her disappointments, unmet needs, frustrations, etc., only could have center stage.

The following morning, I stepped out of the shower to the sound of her voice yelling for me.  She pointed to a chair in her room and commanded me to sit.  Then the berating began as she listed the history of my sins against her, starting with the most recent one:  I had not woken up early enough to make her breakfast.  She was starving.  I should have known that (after nearly 40 years, my mind-reading skills were not up to par).  How dare I selfishly linger and not take care of her?  An explanation that I had been up all night sick with stomach pains (a condition that she was aware of and seemed to occur with frequency when I was around her) was inexcusable.  I had committed yet another unpardonable sin.  Then the list continued of everything I had done to hurt her.  I had been clean moments before, but the crap was now being flung in every direction.  This could take hours.  And there never was any absolution.

So I stood up and walked away.  Stepped into my bedroom, closed the door and shook.

"What do I do, God?"

A major way that I survived my childhood was by reminding myself that one day I would be an adult and would not be forced to endure this any longer.  With a peace in my heart that God was with me and leading me, I packed my bags.  In the meantime, my mother summoned my father to her room and began playing the victim.  Had I come to visit just to attack her?  What had she done to deserve being treated this way?  He listened for a few moments and left for work.  She got up, banged around in the kitchen and made herself some food.

I quietly gathered my bags, went out the front door, and waited for a friend to pick me up.  I kept my promise to the childhood me to protect myself and not be forced to tolerate the unending deluge of condemnation.  It'd continue whether or not I was present;  there was no reason for me to cooperate or act as a willing participant.  Removing myself was the best response.

A month later she was in a coma.  I flew back out to visit with her in the hospital, hoping for a miracle and an opportunity to make peace.  She was responsive only one time, struggling to come to consciousness, squeezing my hand, tears running down her face, a sense of urgency as she tried to communicate to me.  I understood.  I forgive you, Mom.  Forgive me, Mom.

She is finally at peace, enjoying the presence of God.

I miss my Mom and the sweet moments that we shared when we could enjoy our relationship.  I've always loved her but also knew that the things she did and said were very wrong.  She was an amazing, gifted and beautiful woman who also tormented and hurt me in many unfathomable ways.  My life is not defined by her behavior, though it has had a huge effect on it, from which I am healing.  And I will not minimize or dismiss the gravity of what she did either.  My family, experts at the art of denial, may choose to canonize her.  I will honor her as my Mom.  With the understanding that she was a broken person who struggled a lot in her life.  I will continue to address the pain and damage inflicted by her and heal.  Because my children deserve a whole, healthy Mama who loves them unconditionally.  And I will choose to live free of condemnation.