Christmas ponderings

The sky was full of sun on Christmas in Portland, Oregon. I woke up to the smells of coffee and sweets in the kitchen. My kids were all around the tree, waiting for grandma and grandpa to come. Auntie Sara was pattering in the kitchen and the dog, Leo was sitting patiently for present time.




My sister, Cari, woke up in the birthing center on Christmas. My new niece was born just 2 days before. My nieces Trinity and Kiara, and my nephew Skyler were home with dad, anticipating the arrival of mom. My brother-in-law made waffles and readied his kids to pick up mommy on Christmas morning. My sister brought life to my world, when death was all around. Her eyes were so full of hope when she had baby Aurora, which it spilled over into me. My little sister is my best friend, and I love her intensely.



Somewhere else in the States, my step dad was doing Christmas. Not sure where or with who. He told me that he would not be alone on Christmas, but did not tell me who he would be with or where he would be. I am assuming he spent it in Gilroy with his children and my half brother, Micah. Micah, the youngest of our blended family is torn between two families, his dad’s children and his mom’s. We were raised with Micah, but there is a definite distance between us of years, experience, belief and perception. I love him with a deep love that cannot be given or shown, as he and I are not close.



In Texas my brother, Eric, went into work. His wife and children were to spend Christmas without him. I am not sure what they did or how they compensated for daddy working. I have never met my niece or nephew and do not really know my sister-in-law. My brothers got married and had kids in the hardest time of our lives, and have not had the ability to go to Texas to see them. I see pictures and read posts on Facebook about their lives. I wish I were closer to my brother. He is just three years younger than I, but was only married 5 years ago. Most of his twenties were spent in school and the military, while I was raising 3 kids and learning how to be a mom. I love him dearly and hold him close to my heart.



My biological father has not spoken to me in almost 5 years. He has this notion that I did some harm to my brother, so he tells my aunts, and that I need to apologize to him. I am not sure why I should apologize to him for harming my brother, but my brother and I are building a relationship as married adults, who love each other and each other’s families. The last time I spoke to him was at the opening of my restaurant, when I, for the first time, told him he needed to take responsibility for the mistakes he made as a father and stop putting them on me. He told me to f**k off and walked out of the front door. I have not seen him or talked to him since. Not even when my mother died, the mother of his children was he able to humble himself and call his daughters to give us condolences. I am not sure what he does for Christmas. He has my brother and his kids to spend Christmas with, he has his step daughter that he adores to spend Christmas with, but 7 of his 9 grandchildren he does not even speak to. Christmas is my dad’s favorite time of year. Like my mom, it was the season that made them into saints, full of love and joy, they both meticulously crafted Christmas into a memory that would turn into a legacy for their children to carry on. I love my dad, and can’t understand why he does not love me in return. I cannot comprehend a man who cannot get past his issues to have a relationship with his grandchildren. It is if I lost my dad 5 years ago.



My mom is resting this Christmas. She was not making dozens and dozens of cookies for all the events she has and attends. She was not wrapping gifts or setting up her collection of nativity scenes. She was not getting her feelings hurt that her kids were all spread out and not at her house on Christmas. She was hurt that no one in her extended family invited her for Christmas at their house. She was not torn about going to her step children’s house, when her own children were not invited there. She was just resting this Christmas. Her worn body no longer had to carry the burden of guilt or shame or hurt or pain. She is resting with the One who is celebrated Christmas day. I love her and miss her.



I sat in the yellow chair at my sister-in-law’s house, this Christmas, pondering these things in my heart. I wonder how it has come to this; this place in my life where we are just floating, with no direction and no plan; trusting that somehow God is going to get us through this. I look around at my kids as they sit around the tree, oblivious of the struggles we face. Unaware of the depression their dad wakes up to every morning he does not have a job. Unaware of the battle I face every night I go to bed, unaware of the fact that we have only $9 in our unemployment account. They sit, patiently waiting for the shower of blessings that is about to cover them. I am blessed to be around family, who, have loved us through this. I am thankful that for Christmas, my mother-in-law gave us money for gas, so that we could be with them and my sister’s family.



There is an abundance of gifts under the tree. They spill out to the left and right of the tree with a circus of colors and sparkle that captures the eye. I made all of our gifts this year. I made things out of stuff we had around the house. Blocks of wood, old frames I painted, food I made, or recycled clothes made into something else. The abundance causes my husband to feel inadequate and overwhelmed. On Christmas Eve, when we watched my sister’s kids, at their house, we yelled and screamed at each other about that very thing. He spattered out how much he hates what Christmas has become and hates that he can’t buy gifts and hates that he is a 40 year old man, who has to depend on the charity of others. I yelled at him and told him that he is checking out and not engaging. I told him that it is not about him, that it is about our kids. He yelled back and told me that he is trying his best. He told me that he was suicidal and wanted to just be done with life, and now, at least he is just depressed. He kept saying, “I am trying my best. I am not even saying anything. I have not said one time this year how much I hate Christmas.” We stood in the kitchen of my sister’s house and he got teary eyed and said, “I am hurt by what was said about me by your family. I have forgiven them, but I know they think I am a lazy and worthless.” I stood quietly in the kitchen, with nothing else to say. I did not know my husband was in that state. He keeps it pretty well hidden from me, to ensure a level of stability in our home. My kids were unaware of our conversation that night. They have no indication of the level of intensity that goes on between Bill and me, in our attempt to hold our family together.



So Christmas morning, I sat in the yellow chair, processing the last year. We went from being homeless, to moving into a beautiful home just before Christmas last year. We spent Christmas alone for the first time in our lives, last year, and were blessed abundantly. My mom fought cancer; my sister got pregnant; my husband applied for lots of jobs and tried starting another business; my son went to public school and played on a winning football team; my middle son played football, coached by his dad; my daughter started to play soccer and I experienced some of the deepest healing of my life. My mom passed away, my sister gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby, my son went to a state championship game, Noah is finally learning in a way that benefits dyslexia, Carah finally has some friends that she loves and Bill and I are still married, after all the crazy we have been through.



We made it to today, Christmas. We made it! Paper started flying around the room, and I came back to the now of Christmas morning. My kids were excited about the gifts they had received and the thoughtfulness of people’s intent of how they gave. I began to open the gifts I had received and was delighted at the things that were now mine. I watched intently, as my family began to open their gifts, hoping they would like the things I made. They all seemed pleased and thankful for the time I spent making these treasures. We still had to go to my sister house and open gifts with them.



When we got to my sister’s house, a new baby sat on her lap. I felt overwhelmed at the responsibly of giving her the legacy of our mom. My sister opened the gift I had made for baby Aurora. It was a quilt. My mom always made baby quilts for each of her new grandbabies, but this baby would not receive that gift. I wanted to be sure that she experienced the same legacy that our other children had received. I was not as pretty or intricate as my mom’s quilts, but it was my best. My sister smiled at me and said she loved it. Then the other gifts were opened. My sister gave me my candlesticks, as she does every year; since she found out a tradition my dad started was not followed through on. She opened the frame I made for her with a pressed flower from my mom’s funeral and a page from the book of Proverbs, my mom’s favorite book in the Bible. The kids all opened their gifts with delight. Skyler and Trinity made their cousins a gift and Carah used her own money to buy them gifts. It was a sweet time of legacy and remembering. The kids went upstairs to play with their new things and Cari and I sat and talked. Our brother, Micah had sent an ornament for each of us, that was inscribed, “In Our Hearts Forever, Chris Schulte “Nana”, November 16th, 1952-September 11, 2011.” It was the last gift we opened, and it was the perfect way to remember her. She gave us all the legacy of Christmas trees and ornaments and cookies and family on Christmas. So when we hang the ornament on our tree, she will always be there, celebrating the legacy she gave us.



Merry Christmas

The Writer

Before my mom died, she gave me a book by Mitch Albon. I haven’t read it. I don’t spend much time reading books for pleasure. I am much too busy to do so. I have planned my life around spending free time with my kids and have been a martyr to the notion of free time for myself. When I do indulge in self satisfying activities, I scrapbook or make things for gifts or garden or redecorate my house. When I do read, it is usually the Bible or a book that has to do with my faith.


When my mom first ended up in the hospital, in June of 2011, my heart sunk. I had so many things I wanted to say to her and so many ends that were left untied. My step dad said the doctors did not want visitors and I was getting text messages from my youngest brother about her status. I live in the Central Valley, where the temperatures rise above 100 on a very consistent basis. It was Saturday and we were celebrated my son Noah’s half birthday. He was born in January and hated to have his parties then. As I was running around the house to get his party underway, it started to rain. It was an eerie feeling. The temperature was cool and it did not feel like it was supposed to. That is when I got the text from my youngest brother that my mom was in the hospital. It was as if everything in my world stopped and things were going in slow motion. I walked upstairs to my room, went into the bathroom and locked the door. I wept uncontrollably. When I was able to compose myself somewhat, I called my younger sister. She too began to sob. The eerie feeling swept over me again and I had a flashback of when my father left. I felt responsible for her then, and now with death looming over my mother, I felt responsible for her again.

My son’s party started and my husband came looking for me. I told him what had happened and he graciously walked back downstairs to be the host. I was told that my mom had one week to live. I told my sister she had to come before it was too late. She lived in Portland, Oregon and driving 14 hours to Fresno was no easy feat with 3 kids under the age of 10. She got off the phone with me and began to pack for the unknown journey that lied ahead. I walked downstairs to engage in the party, but my heart was not in it. I felt angry and sad and confused and happy all at the same time. I wanted to scream and cry and run and hide all at the same time. It was that day that I started to blog about my journey of self discovery that was inspired by my mom’s sickness. I am still writing today.

My sister left early the next day and arrived at my front door, promptly at 7pm. We stayed up late talking about things daughters talk about when their young mom is given a week to live. We talked about our wounds and hurts and unmet expectations of our mother. We talked about the divorce of our parents and how it affected us as children and into adulthood. We talked about our own motherhood and being a wife. It was sweet and tender and real.

The next day we headed to the hospital to see mom. The few days that followed were intense. Sitting in the room with her was overwhelming. She looked worn and tired. She asked my sister and I to forgive her for things she had done, knowing and unknowing. She talked to each of us separately and shared her own hurts that we had afflicted her with. My mother told me that I was a talented writer. She told me that many of the things I had written had great power and influence, but was filled with hate and anger. She told me I should write in a way that encourages and inspires, which coupled with power and influence would change people and touch their lives. That night, I blogged for the first time, in a very long time, and have continued to do so.

My mother recovered, temporarily. She was sent home to do hospice care. I was asked to be a care taker during her process of death and agreed without any idea of the path I was about to walk down. During the process, I helped her clean out closets and organize files and create grandchildren books for her 4 kids, kids. I helped her separate the things she wanted to give to certain people and things she wanted to trash and things that were to go to a thrift store. In this process, my mother gave me a book. The book I referred to earlier, by Mitch Albom, was that book. She proceeded to tell me that this author reminded her of me, and how I wrote. She encouraged me to write a book and to continue to blog. She challenged me to finish a series I had started when I was 18 years old about Crailford Court. It all seemed untimely and overwhelming. I really did not care about writing a book and finishing a series. Yet it hangs over my head, this request, to write.

So tonight, I watched a Hallmark movie called, “Have a Little Faith.” It was based on a book written by Mitch Albom. It is a true story about his own personal journey of faith, after he was touched by 2 men, a rabbi and a pastor. Inspiring does not adequately described the message of this movie/book, as it stuck many chords in my soul that hummed a beautiful harmony. But who I am to think that my story can or will do the same? Who am I to think that my journey could inspire any? It surrounds me with a debilitating fury that causes me to sit at an empty computer screen, or worse the beginning of many could be books, that only have a beginning. I feel inadequate and become stricken with fear. Fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of the unknown. Perhaps I should read one of the books my mother gave me.

So I sit on my couch in my room, ready to write, but overcome with fear. So I blog instead, which is writing, ironically. How can I manage to write pages and pages for a blog, but only one page for a book? I want to jump off this cliff of adventure. I am standing on the edge, wanting to jump, but back up for fear of death. I need to just do it. Not look down, not look up, just run and jump! So here I go… ready, set……

Thanksgiving

In a country that lives in excess and glorifies vanity, I tend to be a skeptic about charity. I am the one that usually questions a person’s motive or reason for giving and believes that it is done more for show than from the depths of a person’s heart. I have historically been a cynic about the American church and the people in it and prefer to engage in church at coffee shops, homes and parks. And so wonder at the curious ways in which people give. It is supposed to elicit a response of thankfulness, which I have given to many, in this season of my life, yet I am finding that there is much more to being thankful than the simple gesture of saying, “thanks.”


I have experienced extreme trial and tribulation the last 3 years and thought, by this point, would have an even greater depth of cynicism and skeptism. Yet, in the very deep places of my being the exact opposite has happened. In the quiet abyss of my soul, a light shined, and all the negative views and beliefs I held, began to rise to the surface of my life. With it came pain, hurt, sorrow, anger, hate and abandonment. Followed by words I said in response to those emotional wounds, that then afflicted someone else with wounds. The trials put me in a posture of receiving from others, instead of giving to others, which pushed my face straight into humility. In the face of tribulation, I have had to trust others, instead of guard my heart from others, which hurled me right into vulnerability.

So, here I am, today, with all my innards exposed and on the chopping block- venerable, humble, weak, broken, and raw. I see things through different lenses now, hear words through a different filter and feel things with a certain tenderness. My experience has opened my eyes to thankfulness. I thought I knew what it was to be thankful. I was trained to say thank you when you received something from someone else, so in a Pavlov’s bell response would be quick to say thank you at the gesture of giving. However, I never really knew what true thankfulness was.

Thankfulness is not really about saying thank you when you receive a gift. It is not even gratitude for another person’s positive gesture. Thankfulness is something much more. There is a complete other paradigm that encompasses this word, that I am just beginning to see and understand. Thankfulness is rooted in the pain, the sorrow, the wounds and the hurt. I could never see that before, because my fruit bore anger and frustration and bitterness. I had no idea that that fruit was on my tree of thankfulness, taking up space where true fruit of thanksgiving should have been. It is in the deepest parts of our being that thankfulness takes root. This is where I discovered that everyone has some level of hurt or wound or disappointment or misconception. In the places where the world tarnishes the soul, that was created to be perfect, these foul things begin to take over places in our being. I thought that being a Christian and doing the right thing would spare me from such pain, but it didn’t. I thought that by following Christ, those pains and hurts would be uprooted and I would not have to face them again; only to experience more pain and disappointed on different levels. So out came the anger and frustration and bold expression of my faith without grace. Out came my tarnished version of the love of Jesus.

I was very thankful for life and for my family. I was thankful for the people who blessed me and loved me. But I was not thankful for the pain. I was not thankful for the people who hurt me and abused me as a child and adult. I was not thankful for the financial ruin or the circumstances that followed that. And I was not thankful for the slander and injustice that I experienced. I was not thankful when we were homeless or when my mom got sick with cancer. So out came the f-bombs and the rage and the uncontrollable fury of my deepest pain. It was as if a cap had been taken off my neatly controlled well of emotions and it exploded with an intensity that I could not even get a hold of. I am thankful for those who endured me during this time.

I watched a movie about Squanto and William Bradford and the friendship the 2 men established that led to our now worldwide famous celebration, called Thanksgiving. I have seen this movie before, but it struck me this time, that these men were thankful, even in their extreme sorrow and pain. Squanto had been taken as a slave, brought to Spain and sold to friars. He was given his freedom after 2 years and sent to England to another Christian man, who told him he would send him home to America. Squanto then worked for 2 years to earn his way home. When the time came, he sailed home to America, only to find his entire village, his family, gone. The nearby tribe told him of their horrible fate, small pox had taken the entire village. Squanto was betrayed by these European people and then lost his family to their disease.

William Bradford, on the other hand, was a European. He was an orphan who was taken in by the Separatist group and learned their faith. He was amongst the group who was persecuted and threatened. He moved to Holland to escape religious persecution. He was decimated against and could not find work; he was hunted by King James’ men to be killed. He left all he knew to come to America to worship God freely. He and many of the Separatists came on the Mayflower and became known as Pilgrims. They were filled with hope and joy, believing they could now worship God freely. But when they got to America, winter was looming and half of the group died before spring came.

Both had experience pain and betrayal; sorrow and loneliness. Squanto knew of their faith, from the friars and the man in London. William Bradford knew of the Native people through stories he had heard. The Massasoit Chief, who had taken Squanto in, had to coax him to meet with these Pilgrim people, who had built their village where his village once stood. He came and told his story, William shared his story. It was there that the 2 men overcame their hurt and began to learn from one another. Squanto taught these men everything he knew about surviving on the land and William welcomed him in his home as a brother.

When fall came, there was a great bountiful harvest. To celebrate the goodness of their Lord and the friendship of Squanto and his new tribe, the Pilgrims invited the Massasoit people to share in this harvest. They called it a day of Thanksgiving.

In the deepest part of his pain, Squanto had a heart of thankfulness. William Bradford, who could have lost hope, had thankfulness. Things did not happen the way they had hoped or wished for, yet they continued to live with a heart of thankfulness. So much so, that it overflowed into a celebration that is still being celebrated 400 years later. That is the kind of thankfulness I want to have. The kind that transcends hurt and pain and conveniences, the kind that leaves a legacy for my children and grandchildren and last 400 years.

I want to be a woman, who is thankful in the deepest, darkest and painful places of my life. I want to be thankful for my trials and tribulations, knowing that, not only is God perfecting my faith, but that he is using me for a purpose I may not understand, a purpose that changes the course of history, a purpose that touches the lives of many, a purpose that glorifies God.

That is what happened with Squanto. His pain, his sorrow, his slavery became the very thing that saved the Pilgrims. He knew how to speak their language, he knew their faith, and he knew the land they lived on in America. If he had not been taken as a slave, he would have died with the rest of his family, and the Pilgrims might have all perished that next winter. WE may not know or understand the things that we experience. It may be unfair and unjust. It may be hard and debilitating. It may seem overwhelming and unbearable, but we have to be thankful for the trials, trusting that our Lord has a purpose in it. May we be like Squanto and William, who learned to be thankful in the deepest places of their hurt. They were not just thankful for the harvest, they were thankful for so much more.

So, I choose to be thankful in the pain. I choose to be thankful in the uncertainty. I choose to be thankful for the places I have been and the roads I have walked on. For in these circumstances, I know that the Lord has a greater purpose.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Birthday Mom

  

My mom's favorite picture of herself.



The sun rose this morning, as it does every morning. Giving no thought of the new lives born, the lives lost, or the celebration of days remembered. The day began with birds singing and clouds moving. My husband got up to make coffee and read. It was like every other day that has screamed by me. Today, however, I am going to make a point to savor. I am going to notice the sun rise, listen to the song the birds sing and see what shapes the clouds are making. I am going to enjoy all the wonderful expressions of the people on this earth. I am going to make cookies and decorate them with my kids. I am going to look at pictures and laugh and cry.

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 59 years old. It still seems surreal to me that she is gone. I will, today, be thankful to God for her. I will remember the goofy things she did, the funny faces she used to make. I will embrace the words she said to me that brought encouragement and life. I will treasure the legacy she left for me and my siblings, and for our children, her grandchildren. I will savor the flavors she loved and let the sweet aroma of cookies and tea fill my home. I will value the journey she took to find Jesus. I will forgive her for not forgiving herself and give her grace for the times she acted out in hurt. Today, I will love my mom with everything in me.

I have flowers from her funera,l that I pressed, that sit on a shelf in my room. They are dead, but still possess the vibrant colors they had when they were alive. The pink and purple and yellow dance in the frame I have them in, even though they are not living. My mom is the same. She still possesses vibrant color in my life, as I look around my home. Everywhere I look I see her. I see her in the yellow tea chest she gave me for my 30th birthday. I see the glass and silver candelabra that she gave me on my 25th birthday. I see her in all the birthday cards she gave to me, that I have saved since I was 10 years old. I see her in the dozens of keepsake boxes I have for my life, my kid’s life and my husband’s life; as part of the legacy she instilled in her kids. I see her in the Nana blankets she made for my kids when we moved to Fresno. I see her in the baby quilts she made, and the comforter she made and the drapes she hemmed for me, for my restaurant. I see her in the books on my shelves, that she gave to me; some from my childhood, some from my adulthood. I see her in the dolls she made me, the bear she gave me when I was 6 months old, that I still have today; the cabbage patch dolls she saved; and my baby blanket she gave back to me when I was an adult. I see her in the recipe books she gave me, the apron she made for Carah and I, the cookie cutters she gave to me, and the tea cups she gave to Carah and I. I see her in pictures and jewelry and clothes that she blessed me with.

Today, I will cherish those things in my heart. I will not look at the things she didn’t do or did do that put hurt in my own heart, for those things have been healed and rest with Jesus in heaven. I will cherish all the pure motives of her heart. I will delight in all the words she wrote to me. I will listen to the music box she gave to me when I was 13 years old, that plays, “How Great Thou Art.” But mostly, I will remember that my mom has no more pain, no more tears, no more suffering. I will know in my heart that although my heart hurts and misses her, I will see her in eternity and she will be my sister and we will dance together, we will laugh, and we will be the way God intended us to be.

My mom hiked half dome when she was 50 years old. Yosemite was her most favorite place on the earth. We went twice a year when we were kids. She saw the little things of beauty in a place with such majestic wonder. When she hiked to the top, she noticed that the trees looked different, the sounds were different, and the flowers were magnificent. She always noticed the little things in life. She went to the top and accomplished a lifelong goal. I asked her if she was going to do it again, and she said that once was enough for her. She liked to be in the valley and camp and hike, watch deer, and enjoy the wild flowers and dogwoods. It occurred to me this morning, that her life reflected that. She was in the valley a lot and yet, learned to enjoy the things in the valley. She had a few mountain top experiences, I know, but she preferred to live in the valley. She learned to camp there, to enjoy the things that grew there, to love the wildlife there.



Mom loved Yosemite in the winter also.



I have spent most of my life trying to get to the top of the mountain of life. I have hated living in the valley. I wanted out, wanted up and wanted to see from the top and look down on the valley. Interestingly, my life for the last 4 years has been in the valley. We have lacked financially, spiritually, emotionally and physically. We have been hurt, falsely accused, beat down, demeaned, rejected, denied and forgotten. I had to learn to appreciate the flowers and dogwoods in my valley. I have had to learn to appreciate the food that comes from living here. I have also learned that it is not a place to live, but a place to camp, a temporary place of life that teaches us to enjoy life from a different vantage point. It is very natural and raw in the valley. Fires warm you, the smell of dirt is in the air, and the trees overhead create a canopy from the elements. I can live here now, in the valley, and enjoy life. I don’t have to have a mountain top experience. I can see brokenness as gift and not a curse. I understand the pain and value the tempering it brings to my soul. I can smell the flowers and pine and raw nature and enjoy it, instead of loathe it. I see the wild flowers that grow in the valley and delight in the colors and fragrances they bring.



Today I will remember that about my mom. I will remember that she valued the little things, and in her pain, in her journey, learned how to find beauty in it. Sometimes it was too much for her, I know, and those were the times she tried to climb up the mountain to get out. I understand that now. Today I will remember the summers we spent in the valley of Yosemite. I will remember the Thanksgivings we spent, in the valley of Yosemite. I will remember the time we spent the whole trip picking wildflowers and pressing them into our Encyclopedia. My mom kept those flowers. When I was making her memorial picture board, I saw them. Those flowers were over 25 years old, yet contained the colors and textures and uniqueness, as they did then. I believe that is what my mom was trying to instill in her children. She was trying to give us something to remember, something to value. Even in all her brokenness and hurt and shame, she was trying to teach us to smell the flowers, pick the flowers, enjoy them, and preserve them. I am learning that, even now.



May we all learn to enjoy life in the valley. May my mom’s life be a blessing to those who are broken hearted, broken and abandoned. For those of us who are on the mountain top, may we remember my mom’s life and make it a point to journey down the mountain to the valley, to see the things God has for us, only in the valley. And for those of us who have always been in the valley, may my mom’s life be an inspiration to you, that you can get out of the valley and have a mountaintop experience. One of my mom’s favorite songs was, “I’d like to stay on the mountaintop, just fellowshipping with my Lord, but I have to come down from the mountaintop to the people in the valley below, or they’ll never know that they can go to the mountain of the Lord.” 

 

Mom in Yosemite during the fall. Probably one of our Thanksgiving trips.



Not easily shaken

Many people comment on the life my husband and I live. There is a certain uncertainty of our life. An immenent discomfort in the road we walk on, for us and those who witness the experience of life we live. I have recently been commended for the way in which I walk. In the past I would have relished in such praise. However, today, in my state of complete and total brokeness, I feel it undeserved and wonder at the reason why a person would say such a thing.




It made me recalculate my steps, ponder at the words I have said, to give off such a notion of commendation.



I was crying out to the Lord tonight with so much heaviness, that I could barely comprehend the nature of what I was trying to say. Tears run down my cheeks and my eyes fog with the evidence of feeling less than.



I don't know what to do. Both Bill and I have thrown our hands up in the air and said, "We give up!" Neither of us has anything left. We do not know if we should turn right or left, go forward or backward, or just stay where we are. For fear of making the wrong turn, we sit here and wait. Waiting for something. Some sign, a phone call from one of the hundreds of jobs Bill has applied for. We are waiting for divine intervention of some sort. I sometimes feel like I am living in a fairytale land, hoping for my knight and shining armor to come and save the day. Then reality hits and He doesn't come. I am gleaning from the people around me, thankful for their generosity and compassion. Full of uncertainty and fighting hopelessness and depression, causes my body to ache. I sigh a deep sigh, as if to decompress the tension in my mind.



Yet the ground I stand on does not move. It is solid and as a result, we are not easily shaken. There are tremors all around us. Things crashing to the ground. Governments being infiltrated with coruption, churches selling out to the American way of life, families being crushed by materialism, lust and seduction... we feel the vibration of the enviroment, yet we continue to stand. And stand is all that we can do. It is all we have. When you have done all that you can... stand. (Ephesians 6) It becomes tiresome and our legs shake with exhaustion, but the Lord supernaturally sustains us, in ways that seem like a fairy tale. I wanted the happily ever after version of the story; the partic where there is no pain, just romantic bliss, instead of the reality part of the story. I know it sounds somewhat foolish and childlike, but part of me believed this was the life you got from following Jesus Christ. I am beginning to realize that happily ever after is meant only for eternity... Here, on this earth, we are just strangers, passion through, making the story full of adventure and suspense. We are in the part of the story that sucks... You know the part where Snow White runs for her life; or the part where Cinderella is servant in her own home; or the part where Sleeping Beauty is an orphan and has no understanding of her identity. That is us, now, on this earth. We are traveling in this life on our way to "Ever After." The end of the fairy tale story hapens when we leave this earth and embrace our first love, Jesus Christ. It is here that tears will no longer fall from my face.



But today, they fall, with unrelenting truth, they fall. They are, even now, as I type these words. So many emotions and questions and hurts that are left unanswered and undone. My heart is exposed... Cold water, canned food, no laundry detergent, no dishwashing detergent, no gas, no luxuries, not enough money to make it. Yet the Lord gives. He provides these little luxuries that we Americans are accustomed to and we are grateful. We can not pay rent, yet the Lord provides in ways that I did not expect or ask for. Every day I have to remind myself to take it one day at a time... to not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough worries of its own. (Matthew 6:34). I cry out to my Father in heaven, sometimes without words, only tears and sorrow. I pray in a way that seems pathetic, as I try to formulate words to say that express my deepest expression and cannot do so. The tears are not just for the lack we are experiencing, there is so much more. It is for the loss of our dream. It is for the loss of our reality, as we knew it. It is for the loss of loved ones, who have moved on to eternity or moved on in this life. It is for the lack we are experiencing in our souls-the holy undoing of ourselves. It is for the loss of hope we once had. It is for the pure pain of not knowing what to do....



And so I sit, waiting, quietly anticipating a BIG thing... a miracle. And not just for me and my family.... but for so many other people who are crying out, who are broken and waiting. Who are expecting their knight in shining armor to come and rescue them from this broken world. There is an eager anticipation, that is surrounded by caution. It is my way of protecting myself from making God my genie that does what I say, when I say; yet anticipates the promises that God has for me, in faith, without waivering... it is a delicate balance, that I strive to perfect. Standing on the rock of Jesus... not looking back, not looking forward; just closing my eyes and waiting for my Savior to say, "Come this way, follow me and I will show you the way." Until then, I will stand, not easily shaken.

Healing Rain

The clouds loom low today. Hovering over the ground in a dark embrace. I am in the midst of those clouds. I can smell them, see them, feel them all around me. It feels heavy and my steps are slow and weighted.

She is gone, my mother. Her body left here on this broken world, her soul and spirit embraced by the Savior of this world. I can no longer hear her voice or touch her face. I no longer have the hope of relationship I longed for.

There are so many questions sunanswered, so many words unspoken. There is suspense still hanging in the air, still wonder as to why. I feel like I just got into a good book and the best part of the book was ripped out, so I never know how the story ends. And so the weight of the clouds looms in uncertainty.

My mother was the joint in many of the relationships I had. Two seperate bones, with different purposes and functions, yet somehow she was able to join them together. I wonder what kind of pain will saturate the bones around my moms life... what kind of friction will occur without her seperating joint. I makes my heart hurt. I can not even put into words all the things that are consuming my mind. It is too much, too hard, too confusing, too painful.

I wonder what I am grieving more... the loss of my mom, as I know I wll see her again; or the loss of the hope I had? What am I grieving more... the loss of her flesh or the loss of memories that were not made and will not be made with me and my kids; Is it the reality that my step siblings will get the best of my dad and me, my sister and brother will once again be put off? Am I grieving because I feel like an orphan? No mother, my father has not spoken to me in 4 years and my step dad, although I know he loves me, has 3 biological children who beckon him to come without including Cari, Eric and I...

I am twisted and turned upside down... It seems I should be able to get back to life as normal... but it is not happening... I did not really talk to my mom the last year before she got sick, I always had the hope that our relationship would be restored and we would be close... that hope is gone. So many questions, so many holes....

I feel the clouds press down upon me... It is dark and gloomy and I am trying to break free. I am trying to establish a new legacy, a new way, a new family tradition... There is hope in that, but there will always be holes left in the place where my mom was supposed to be....

Perhaps the clouds will bring rain, to wash me clean from this grief and hurt. Perhaps the rain will wash away the stains of abandonment and anger and leave me clean and new. Perhaps the rain will leave the scent of new growth and new life.

I am hoping that is what the clouds bring...I am hoping I will be washed clean from hurt and anger and doubt and saddness.

Healing Rain fall on me...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31D2g7t5Bjs

my prayer

Death is all around me... I have never experienced it so much. The sorrow is unreal. The questions real and true. I have been around life most of my life. Seen people die mostly because of old age. Long lives of health and happiness lived and family around to celebrate that blessing. Recently however, I have seen lives cut short, to early to go home with the Lord. I have been exposed to disease and sickness the is from the pit of hell. It has become overwhelming to me. I am not sure what to make of it.

So here is my request, my desire to my Lord:

Father, the desire of my heart is to live. Not to breath in the air on this earth, but to live!!! To walk in abundant living with my family, to be a blessing to everyone around me. My desire, more than anything is to have white hair and wrinkles, to hold my great-grandchildren and be active and fit enough to play with them on the floor. I desire to grow old with my husband, to touch people's lives who need to feel your presence. My desire is to make a difference in my family line. To stop generational curses from continuing down my family. That is my desire, Lord, to leave a legacy of family and love and truth and health. May sickness and disease not touch my family, I curse it and command it to die, in the name of Jesus. May enviromental garbage not have a hold on my family, I ask for protection for myf family in the name of Jesus. You say we have not because we ask not... and so Lord, I am asking. This is my desire. This is my request. May the spirit of fear not touch my family and may love always abound. Lord, remove this shroud that covers us... it is not your way, it is not how we desire to live. Help us to make every day the best day, no matter the circumstances. Please give us favor and bless us in all we do. Please keep my kids safe and on the straight and narrow. In Jesus name, Amen!

The Abyss

And then it hit me... in the quiet of my home, I felt alone.
So alone. Not the kind of alone when no one is around you.
Not the kind of alone when you are all by yourself.
The kind of alone where you can be in the middle of a crowd and feel isolated.
The kind of alone where you can be in church with friends surrounding you and feel distant.
The kind of alone where you feel as if God has forgotten you.

When you get here, people tell you, you are not alone, I am here for you. They tell you scriptures and quote songs about God never leaving or forsaking you. When you get here it is desolate and quiet. It is black and white with no color. The sounds are white noises that blend into the atmosphere. It smells like death with a stale stench that lingers.

I am not this person. I am the happy, outgoing hospitality person. The one who always sees the bright side; the one who will gladly carry others burdens; the one who hopes and believes with everything in me. I am the one who listens and prays and fasts. I am the one who surrounds those who feel alone.

But today I felt it. The cold shoulder of lonliness. I wrote a poem when I was 19 years old that said, "Lonliness eats at me like acid from the tongues of hate." I was there once before. I remember. It was like this, only not as deep. I can not even tell you how or where it came from or how I got there. All I know is that I want out. I want out of the lonliness.

It is not to say that I do not have family or friends who love me and cherish me. They do and I am blessed. They walk besides me in great love to ensure I do not fall off the cliff. They hold my hand and sometimes carry me, when I am too weak to carry myself. I hate that they do that. Not because I do not value thier love, but because I can not do it myself. How does one become so weak? How did I become so broken and alone that I can not even carry myself? I am not that person. Or am I?

I desire more. I worship in obedience, hoping to be filled. I pray in obedience, hoping to be answered. I pray in the spirit, hoping to be heard. Where are you Lord? Where have you gone? I can not even sense your presence. I can not even hear your voice. I do not see, like I once did and I feel lost.

My mom asked me how my kids feel about her; are they okay, scared, worried? I told her that the older 2 boys pray for healing but are fully aware of what may happen if the Lord does not heal her. But Carah just believes. She believes God will heal her. There is no alternative, there is no other way. She does not grasp God not healing her. Why wouldn't he? She is fully experiencing the presence of God. She is physically understanding answered prayer in little things, like going to Disneyland. She prayed for months that God would let her go to Disneyland... and BAM... as I write this now, she is in Disneyland, all expenses paid with my good freind Charleen. So if God can do that, why not heal Nana? Her faith is strong and unrelenting and mine is dwindling. Her trust in her Jesus is sure and mine is waivering.

How did I get here? Let me stop and think......

I see a picture of me, standing on the shore of the ocean. The waves begin to come and hit me on my legs, over and over. Then they get bigger and hit me on my waist, over and over. Then they get bigger and start to hit me on my chest, over and over. I am trying to keep my footing, but the sand beneath me is moving and the power of the waves is forcing me to be off balance. Then the waves grow bigger and begin to hit my face. I am trying to stand and gasp for air and eventually the tide takes me. Into the dark deep sea. It is quiet and dark.

The waves of life.

So I am here in the quiet, alone.

I remember praying with someone once. I had a vision of being in the abyss of the ocean. Perhaps that vision was for today and not then. It was around that movie Abyss. The theme of the movie was to get to the deepest, darkest place of the ocean floor and see what was there. They had invented some sort of liquid oxegyn that they would breath in. They would put on their suits and this liquid oxegyn would begin to fill up their helmets. They would gasp and try to take the helmet off, because it felt as if they were drowing. They were, essentially, only the very thing that was drowing them, was going to give them air and fill their chest cavity up so it would not collapse under the pressure of the water.

Upon seeing this vision, initially, I remember hearing the Lord say that he was going to drown me. That I was going to feel the same way, like I was dying. But it was only so that I could go deeper. Perhaps that is were I am now. Being filled up with something new, that feels like death, but really is bringing about life. I am there... gasping, trying to take the helmet off, because I feel like I am going to die. But the Lord wont let me. Perhaps that is why He feels so far... because I am thinking... how could you just stand there and watch me die in this Lord, and worse, how could you hold my hands back to keep me from trying to save myself.

I hope that is the case. I wish I could say, I believe this is the case... but I can't. I can only hope at this point... and there is not a whole lot of hope left inside of me. If it is the case... help me to stop fighting, and just breath in the very things that make me feel like I am going to die... If you promise me Lord that I get to go deeper with you... If you promise me Lord that it is for a greater purpose and that it is not in vain.

So I sit... in the quiet, typing... alone....

hoping to go deeper.

Believing

July 21, 2011


I am turning 37 in 2 days. I have seen a lot in those 37 years, hurt, loved, felt abandoned and rejected, loss…I have overcome a great deal to stand on solid ground and I have been wrong about a great many things. Mostly I have loved my Lord, who has walked me through this process of life. I am at a stage in my life, where life sucks. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be that person who looks at life with fogged glasses, yet in my attempts to clean those life glasses, I only seem to scratch them and mess up their alignment. So my eyes have a hard time beholding the beauty that is around me. Help me Lord Jesus, help me.

Yesterday was a hard day with my mom. In the past when I spoke those words, it was because she and I butted heads, or she did not meet my expectation, or I did not meet hers. In the past, I would tell my mom I was upset and she would tell me I was over exaggerating or that there was a miscommunication. Yesterday was a hard day with my mom, because for the first time in this process it seems she is dying. I have been told that she was for months, and I have not believed anyone. Not because I am in denial, but because I believe God is going to heal her. I believe my God can heal her. Becky shared a quote with me from John Wimber where he said that he would go to the hospital and pray for people and believe God would heal them, and they would die. But he kept on praying. And sometimes people would live, but no matter what the outcome, he was going to keep on praying. I am a warrior. I pray and fight and fast and pray some more. I have seen God move and defend and protect and heal and give. Recently, I have noticed that I am not a warrior; I am a broken, sad, grieving girl who feels like God forgot about me.

So I travel down my life road, wondering how I am going to make it. My mom’s body is deteriorating right before my eyes. Her face and eyes are yellow, her ankle and stomach are swollen. She moves slow and sleeps a lot. The hospice chaplain came to talk and pray with my mom. He was there about an hour and then left. When he left, my mom began to sob uncontrollably. I said, maybe he shouldn’t come anymore mom. She held me tight and said, “No, it is okay Teresa, he helped me today. He helped me to understand what is going on with me emotionally.” I took a deep breath to brace myself for what she was going to say next. “I am grieving,” she said and started to cry again. “I am grieving the loss of my family. I am going to leave them and I am grieving that. I don’t want to. I am not scared or angry with God, but I had this feeling I could not figure out, and it is grief. I am grieving the fact that I won’t be here for my family and my husband and my kids and grandkids.” I hugged her with a fierce embrace and a weight came upon me. I cried with her and felt exhausted. She asked me to come with her into her room and sit with her, and so I did.

About 5 minutes went by and she opened her dresser drawer. She handed me a pouch and asked me to open it. The pouch was pink satin and had a snap and zipper on it. I unzipped the pouch and pulled out a pearl necklace. It was beautiful. My mom took my hands and put the pearls in my palm. She said, “You are my pearl. You were like a piece of sand, rough and irritating at times, but God turned you into a beautiful pearl. Look at the luster and beauty that came from a little rough piece of sand. It is shining and smooth and beautiful, just like you. I want you to have them to wear or for Carah to wear when she gets married.” Tears welled up in my eyes… I want you to be there for Carah’s wedding I thought. I want you to be there. Grief weighed upon me at that moment. But there was more. Inside the pouch was a gold ring with a small diamond in it. It was the ring I bought for my mom for Christmas the first year I started working. I was 17 when I gave it to her. She said, “I want you to give this to Carah when she is 16, so she has something from me that came from you. I want it to be passed down so that she can remember me.” At this point, I was sobbing. I have only been an adult for 20 years. I had kids young so they could be around their grandparents and experience life with them. I expected my mom to live into her 80’s and even 90’s, giving me 30 or more years with her. I was expecting my mom to die when she had white hair and lots of wrinkles. That I can understand and process, this I cannot.

People tell me all the time, when I tell them that I believe God will heal my mom, “well what if He doesn’t?” I respond quickly with, “It is not my job to know if He is or is not. It is my job to believe, and so that is what I am going to do. Whether my mom dies in 2 months or 20 years, I have to believe that God will heal my mom, and that is all I have.” Some people think that I am in denial. The reality is that I am in faith. I believe God can, I believe He will. I have tried hard not to grieve. By grieving I feel like I am not walking in faith. I have tried to be strong and hopeful and positive. My mom handed me a beautifully decorated box with tea cups on it, when I put the pearls away. Inside was a tea cozy for a tea pot, her tea lid holder and a spoon from Holland. I pulled out a box that had a dazzling bracelet in there that sparkled with brilliance. My mom assured me of its monetary value and the value of the pearls. I continued to open neatly wrapped treasures in this box and unwrapped a baby dress that was mine when I was an infant. And finally, I came to the most valuable thing of all… a sewing pattern. It was the pattern my mom used to make me a doll when I was 5. She did not have much money, had me, my brother and was pregnant with my sister. I have the doll, still to this day. She sits in my baby doll cradle that has my name carved in it that sits in the corner of my room. I opened it up and saw the directions and all the pieces neatly cut out. She said, “I thought, maybe you would want it, so you can make a doll for Carah that matches.” Grief!

I was crying and told my mom thank you. She pulled me close and prayed over me. She asked the Lord to bless me and my kids, to give me life and prosperity. To help me overcome my hurts and to bring restoration to the relationships that are broken in my life with my father and brother. She asked the Lord to protect my family and blessed me in my writing. She prayed for my marriage and for my health. She blessed me.

It felt as if she was passing a torch to me. I did not want to take it. By taking that torch, I was taking on the responsibility of matriarch. I did not want to touch it. I want her to keep it. I want my mom to hold on to it. She is the matriarch in this family! I just lost my Nana, 5 years ago on my mom’s side and my grandma on my father’s side just passed away 2 months ago. I DON’T WANT IT!!! She hugged me and told me that it was going to be okay, this life is only temporary, and she reminded me. We are just strangers passing through. She called my daughter into her room and prayed over her. She prayed for her gifts and her purity. She prayed for her husband and her children that she will have one day. I was sobbing… Carah was overwhelmed and was trying not to cry. My mom gave her a box too. Inside was the tea cup that she had that matched one she gave me. She gave my sister and me tea cups that were different and she had the matching ones at her house. She told Carah that she can have it and do tea with me and think about her. Carah hugged her tightly and told her thank you and that she loved her. Carah came over to me and hugged me and said, “Are you okay mama?” I knew she was more concerned about me than she was about herself. I felt like a bad mom… I didn’t want her to worry about me. I wanted her to be in the moment with her Nana. But my daughter has seen me emotionally deteriorate this last year and has a deep concern for me. I told her I was and that she needed to focus on what Nana was saying. My mom continued to bless her and took Carah’s face in her too feeble hands and pulled her close to her and kissed her. Carah started to cry and told my mom she loved her. We packed her tea cup up and went into the living room. We sat down on the couch and my mom sat down on her chair and we all fell asleep.

It was emotionally overwhelming. I know that I am not the only person who is going through this. I know that there are a lot of people that have fought cancer, been around cancer, and lost someone they love to cancer. I know that my siblings and dad are experiencing their own grief. I know that death is a part of this life we live in… But I feel so abandoned by God right now. I do not hear Him, I cannot feel Him and I wonder if He is going to answer our prayers. I still pray, I still worship Him and I will always love Him, but I feel so far from His presence. I don’t know if I should grieve or not. It is upon me and I am fighting it.

 I believe my mom is going to be healed!

Legacy

It has been said that there is at least one person in our lives who inspires us, who challenge us, who mentor us to be the people we turn out to be. Most of the time it is in the tender places of our childhood, where our roots are shallow and tender. Other times it is well into adulthood when our solid oaks of who we are are transformed by a wack to the trunk and we are no longer the tree we thought we were. I have seen with my own eyes, lives shaped, changed, transformed by this journey of life. Some things so beautifully intententional, others devestating to the soul.

I have been hiding from life these days. Wondering at the place I am. Looking at the faces of my children, who are looking like men and a little woman. There are no toys on my floors, no cartoons to watch and no car seats to buckle in. I wonder if I will be that person who inspires my children. I wonder I will be the one who gave my kids the emotional and spiritual strength in who they are becoming. It is hard to be in this place. I can no longer hide our struggles from them. They know when there is no money and when we go to the food bank, or pretend to go camping in the backyard. They know that when their parents argue it is over the weight of not knowing how or when things are going to change. I watch their faces and hear them laugh and see them cry. I know they carry some of the burden and I want to take it from them. Mostly, I  feel blessed that they are near me, safe and protected.

I think to the time when I was young. I was always so passionate, full of life and adventure. By the time I was 10, I wanted to be the first woman astronaught in space. By the time I was 12, I wanted to be the first female president. By the time I was 13, I wanted to be in the Olympics and break the world record for speed. By the time I was 14, I wanted to start my own business. By t he time I was 15, I wanted to be a business woman, who made millions of dollars. By the time I was 16, I was in love and didn't really care about much of anything. By the time I was 17, I wanted to be a missionary in Africa. By the time I was 18, I wanted to travel the world. By the time I was 19, I met a man, God told me was my husband. By the time I was 20, I was married. When the ring was put on my finger and I said, I do, I no longer had personal ambitions and dreams, I now had married ambitions and dreams. By the time I was 21, I had my first son and that began my journey of motherhood. I did not ever go on the adventures I had planned...just a different adventure.

Motherhood. I don't believe that was in my list... Wait. Did I know how to be a mom, could I be a good mom? The quest of determining what we were to do with parenthood, became the topic of most of my husband and my conversations. Would I be a mom, just a mom? No career, no path, no dream, just mom? Yes, I could go down that path. I could take one step at a time. I could feed and love and care for this little one. Then the next little one, then the next. I navigated through some deep waters with much prayer and trust in my Savior. I took one step at a time and fell and soared and tripped and ran. I was a mom. I am a mom.

I am watching my own mother navigate through her thoughts and assessing her life as she battles this wicked disease. I see her fight for what she desires and believes to be true. I have listened to her stories and seen the books she filled her soul and spirit with. I have watched her read the Bible and talk about seeing Jesus. I listen to her tell me about all the fond memories she has of her 4 children and the things we did. My mom was a career mom. She worked long hours and was mom when she could. She struggled to be the stay at home mom she wanted to be in the short hours she had with us, when she was not working. It was in the hours she was working were most of my bad memories come in. I believe that is why I had a hard time with my mom. She does not know or remember or was even a part of those times. Part of me holds her responsible for not being there for me when I needed her to be; and part of me understands why she was not there. I feel like the Lord has given me a gift in helping me to understand why my mom sees things so differently than me. This gift has given me grace and love for my mom that I have not had before. There are still many things we do not agree on, but I am willing to give them to God for His care.

And so, I think about my life and who has inspired me. Who has made an impact on my life? There are so many people who have gently nudged or shoved or even carried me down this river of life. My mom is one of those people who gave me gifts along the way, who I in turn hope to give to my children.

The word legacy comes to mind. It is not just an idea, but a treasury of people and things that make up who we are today. The books on my shelf, the cookie cutters in my drawer, the tea cup in my cabinet, the doll in the cradle, the candlesticks on my mantel.... have given me a legacy that I can pass down to my kids. Each item, each story, each person who impacted me, will also shape my children. It is with that hope that I believe I can and will be that person who inspires my kids. Because in reality it is not really just me who is inspiring and shaping them, but all the people who helped me be who I am today.

FREEDOM

July 4, 2011

Freedom... That is what we, as Americans, celebrate today, our country’s declaration of independence from oppressive government. Something I am extremely passionate about: Preserving this heritage for my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. I value the concept, the idea, the truth of freedom and liberty. Yet I am learning that true freedom is not something that can be held by a country, it cannot be written on a piece of paper, it cannot by turned into a law. Freedom is a transformation of the heart. It is the renewal of our minds. The former is just an expression of the transformation and renewal that happens with each of us individually. Even in this great country, the idea of freedom started with the journey of some very determined people who wanted the freedom to worship God, to live out the spiritual freedom they had experienced in their own lives… It was the manifestation of what was happening inside. Without it, this country is just another nation, where people fight for there own individual expression of freedom. That only breeds disunity and discontent among our fellow countrymen and woman. True freedom is where the Spirit of the Lord is. (2 Corinthians 3:17) When many people come together with the Spirit of God upon them it results in a people, a community, a nation and a world where there is unity and peace and love. No amount of politics, parties, conventions, meetings or world order can bring true freedom. “It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery,” Galatians 5:1. Everyonne in this world is a slave to this world. To the corruption of what this world has to offer, "So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery;  idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.  Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit." Galatians 5:16-25. We have to declare our freedom in Christ and take that first step with the Spirit of God.

This kind of freedom starts with me. It starts with you and then spreads to the next person, then the next, then the next, until an entire community is changed, then a city, then a state, then a nation, then the world. Even the good intentions of all the pastors and missionaries and clergy of the world cannot change the heart of people. It is in the heart that we must grasp for every morsel of truth and freedom we can get our hands on.

So what is it that we are trying to free ourselves from? Anything and everything that binds us to this world. Anything and everything that controls our thoughts and emotions that cause us harm or cause us to harm others. Anything and everything that keeps us from the love of a Savior, who died to gives us that freedom, in Him, to live eternally after we leave this wicked world. Anything and everything that keeps us from being a light, a life source to people who live in this world. Anything that is the leading of the flesh and keeps us from the being led by the Spirit of God.

I am one in chains. A woman who sits here writing about the very chains that keeps me from walking in total freedom. I am one who drags behind me the bondage of unforgiveness, anger, hurt, pain and fear. With every day that passes my fight for freedom continues…Fighting, unrelenting until the bondage is gone and I can stand with great resolve, in the face of the wickedness that tries to overtake my soul.

Yet, in my finest hour, with Braveheart qualities, and Joan of Arc passion, I still fall short of the freedom I desire. I realize that it is not I who can bring freedom to my spirit and soul. It is only the by the grace and love of Jesus Christ. It is in this place that I feel helpless, vulnerable, and spiritually blind. I have relinquished control of my own destiny and handed it over to my Lord, with great reluctance. I sense the danger, can smell the wicked stench surround me, but can see nothing. In this great surrender of my own will, I have to trust the God who breathed life into me. What an ironic disposition… trusting the very God who created me? Why would I not trust Him? Yet, part of me does not. There has been suffering and loss, I have walked through the wilderness, and that is why I wonder, can I? Can I trust a God that watched me go through such heart ache? A gentle tug on my heart reminds me that the Creator of this universe watched His son go through the greatest pain in history. Can I trust Him? Can I trust my God with my heart? I have no other choice. I have already walked down the road and failed… I have already yielded my sword in my own strength and suffered the battle wounds of fighting this battle on my own. I cannot, I will not walk down this road again. With all of my knowledge of the Word of God, in all my conversations with my Savior, in all of my gifts by the Holy Spirit, I still walked down the road of independence. The road that promised freedom from the past and hurt, but it was a religious sidetrack that got me only more scars, more hurt.

So here I am…blind to the road before me, unable to see what lies ahead. Not sure how we will pay our rent, buy food, pay for gas. Not sure if my mom will live or die, unknowing if I will ever speak to my father again. Unsure if I will ever be vindicated for the things that happened to me as a little girl. I am blind. I cannot see if my kids will do all that they have set out to do. I step into a world unfamiliar to me. Tasting, smelling and hearing the freedom that lies ahead, but so unsure of my next step. Will I fall? Will I go the wrong way? Is there danger ahead? It has paralyzed me. It is sucked the life out of me, it has stolen my joy. But no more!!! I will not let the blindness hinder me from being who God called me to be.

While watching a show called “Expedition Impossible” the Lord spoke to me about my spiritual blindness. There are 12 teams of 3, each going through intense physical and intellectual journeys to reach the safe place at the end of each leg of the race. There is a team called "No Limits" and one of the three men is blind. This man is no ordinary man. Before this game show, he climbed Mt. Everest, hiked, canoed and traveled to many places. Watching him and listening to him, I am amazed at his joy and passion. I watched him ride a camel and horse, climb sand dunes and mountains, repel down a mountain, kayak and trust his 2 other teammates. His teammates wear a bell for him to tune into to know where to go. I am amazed at how he delights in each challenge, seemingly enjoying the journey. That is the place where he and I differ. He enjoys his journey in the darkness and I am complaining along the journey in the darkness. In some cases, I will not even move. I will just sit and waste precious time. I have learned a great deal from this man. In his physical blindness he has learned to enjoy the journey of his life. I too, want to do the same. In this dark place, not knowing where I am going or how I am going to get there, I need to learn how to enjoy the journey. When it seems overwhelming, like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, instead of being overtaken with fear and anxiety, I need to get on my repelling gear and just keep on going….
( http://abc.go.com/watch/expedition-impossible/SH55126301?CID=google_sem_1 )

So today, I will tune my ear to the bell my Lord wears and take my first step to enjoying the journey of complete and total freedom!

Diamond vs. Cubic Zarconia

June 28, 2011


Jeremiah 31:25 “For I satisfy the weary ones and refresh everyone who languishes."

When I read this scripture, I thought what does my Lord mean “satisfy?” How does He satisfy the weary? I feel extremely weary and tired. Will He satisfy me? I know He can, but will He? I have felt weary for years now. Recently, it seems the weariness is greater and I wonder what does it look like or feel like to be satisfied in this place?

I am in a foreign place… A place of letting go, giving up, sitting back, resting. Not because I don’t want to fight or can’t fight, but because I am learning that it is not my fight; it is the Lord’s. For so many years I have yielded my sword, built up walls, created kingdoms, and established boundaries, all in the name of God. I fought against the spirit of religion, the lies of the enemy, the generational curses, the governmental bondage, and the systems of this world. I have been successful in most of these areas. I have established a reputation of kicking ass and taking names. I have built a kingdom that has my stench all over it. I set boundaries up to keep people out and to stay safe. I did what I was supposed to do to be a “woman of faith.” Yet, yet… it was all in vain. All of it was a façade of Churchianity and Christianese. All of it was manmade, man directed, man appointed crap. And so, now, at this place I see that I am weary from building in vain. I am tired of getting no return on my investments. Psalm 127:1 says, “Song of Ascents, of Solomon. Unless the LORD builds the house, they labor in vain who build it; unless the LORD guards the city, the watchman keeps awake in vain.” So what is it that the Lord built in my life?

My marriage was built by God and my family- Elijah, Noah and Carah. The Lord built that house in us. All of our decisions and all the things we built outside of our family we merely surface changes to the actual structure built by God. I wonder at how I got to this place. Believing I was building alongside my Lord, only to realize I was building without Him. And that is when the weariness set in. Fighting, fighting, striving, grasping. Ironically, I was noticing all the “other” people who were building in vain and pointing my finger at them in discontent. I would pat myself on the back and say, “Good thing I am not like them!” And in a lot of ways I was not like them. I was not building the same kind of building they were building. I was building one that was more humble, lowlier… or at least that was the appearance. I pointed out religious nonsense and lies and wondered how people would build such things, when all the while I was building up a strong tower of “faith” and “righteousness” that was holy… right?

Well that is where reality set in. I was building the right stuff. I was just using the wrong tools and the wrong materials. It is like showing the world the diamond you made by your own hand…only it is not a diamond at all. It is a Cubic zirconia, the cubic crystalline form of zirconium dioxide (ZrO2). The synthesized material is hard, optically flawless and usually colorless. Although it looks like a diamond, is flawless, is beautiful, and sparkles with great intensity… It is still just a synthetic copy of the organic, timeless, true diamond that can only be created by the hand of God in the deepest darkest places of pressure and heat and time. It cannot replace the true original creation. I became a master builder of the synthetic. Like cubic zirconia, it has value and is the strongest competitor to the real thing. I prayed and fasted, ministered the gospel, fed the hungry and cared for the orphaned and widowed; because I am supposed to, right? Or was I? Of course we are all commanded to do those things, it is right the in the Bible. But that is where most Christians get tangled up in the manmade mandate of Christianity. It is not that we are not supposed to do those things, we are. What I am getting at is the heart of it. What is the material made of, what are the tools we are using? In reality the most important thing, the foundation of our buildings is Jesus Christ. And while he was here on this earth, He was not concerned with the mandates; He was only concerned with LOVE. How do I love my people, how do I love the sick, how do I love the lost, how do I love the downcast, the wicked, the rebellious. Jesus loved. He said, “The greatest commandment is this; LOVE the LORD your God with all your heart, mind and soul and love your neighbor as yourself.”

So the tools are love. In that space, Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, while Martha reprimanded her for not helping “build” what was needed. Jesus said that Mary had chosen what was better and it would not be taken from her. (Luke 10:38-42). Martha was doing what was right, but Mary was doing what was best. Martha-cubic zarconia; Mary-diamond. Both beautiful, both valuable, but one is synthetic and one is authentic.

I have been Martha, building the good stuff, serving, laboring, and preparing for my Lord. But now the Lord is requiring I sit and be satisfied by His glory. I made myself weary, the sorrow of life made me weary, and the pain of suffering mad me weary. And I hear the Lord say, I will satisfy you. And so I am learning to rest and be satisfied by my Lord ALONE. “There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; 10 for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from their works,[a] just as God did from his. 11 Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one will perish by following their example of disobedience.” Hebrew 4:9-11

Thank you Lord for satisfying me when I am weary and teaching me to rest in you and not labor in vain.

Collision Course

June 24, 2011


The roads converging…bracing myself. It is no wonder my chest tightens with anxiety. I feel as if my skin is crawling… Respite Lord, that is what we need. Will this never end? I think, “What are we doing wrong? What could we do better? What did we miss? It is as if one bomb after another after another explodes. Is it just me? How many other people are experiencing this mayhem of the soul? How many other people are tormented by the past and fear the future?

I feel the rumbling of the present coming near to me. All at once the present circumstances and realities are converging right now, right at this moment. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! All I want to do is scream! I have no control, no way of changing the outcome. It is. Just a present time.

I was told today that I have to respect my parent’s wishes, even if it means no more doctors, no more alternative treatments, no more of anything. All my parents want is the hope of healing or the reality of death. That went right to the heart with a sharp piercing pain I was not ready to behold.

I was also told today that my other parents (Bill’s parents) sold their house, that they have lived in for 40 years. They have not bought another house and are staying in their motor home until they buy one. My husband fell into depression instantly when he heard his dad in the background say there was a lien on the house due to our restaurant failure. My heart felt heavy with burden and anxiety at the thought that my lost dream has not only cost us 100’s of 1000 dollars, but also my in-laws!

My children are growing and sharing their disapproval of our current financial situation. My husband said he felt betrayed, trusting God in all things and the end result total destruction. His heart stopped all dreams in this moment tonight. I do not know what just happen, all I know is that in this place of feeling like he let his parents down, AGAIN, something changed in my husband. I do not know how it will manifest. I only know my husband is broken, crumbled on the floor, beat down. I want to hold him and help him, but I am on the floor besides him in a very similar state.

Every little morsel of joy is savored and cherished. I hold onto my kids with a tenacity that will not end. Reminding them that this too shall pass…only I barely believe this myself. Holding on to my little mustard seed of faith, my body aches with anxiety. It is revolting in response to the roads colliding. It feels as if shrapnel from the collision and explosion have entered my body… and I know there are more collisions to come. Help my Lord, Help me!

Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick , but a dream fulfilled is the tree of life. Proverbs 13:12
Please Lord, redeem, restore, rebuild. Please Lord... come and rescure us from this hardship!

The graveyard

I wrote this on Friday, June 3, 2011. The next morning was when I got a phone call from my little brother that my mom was in the hospital and might not make it...I never came back to it, until today.  It is not finished... but is Part 1 of this intimate journey of healing I am on... It will be continued.

June 3, 2011


I have come to this place, this gloomy place. It looks like a graveyard, marked with crosses and adorned with flowers. My heart hurts. I can feel the death all around me. I smell its fearful fate. I look around and see so many graves imprinted with my name. So many parts of me I have buried. So many times I have been here. But I have lingered here longer than I have ever before.

My footprints are still fresh in the ground at the grave next to the one I am standing over. It is never a labor to come here. The graves are already dug. The grave stones already marked. I am alone, or so it seems. There is no joy here, only regret, pain, fear, suffering...it lingers in the air as a stale stench that burns my nose. I want to run, but am beckoned by this hole calling for me.

I once thought these graves were dug for my life...but in my frequent visitation to this yard, I now know they are dug for the death to those things inside of me that cause destruction to my life. In this death I see life in my soul, in my flesh, in my spirit. The wind shifts and I smell the fresh earth, bringing me back to this place where I stand. I want to get the hell out of here, I want to run, but the quiet pull of freedom keeps me still.

What is it... why am I here again? What is dying? that I have to bury?

I look up and see a man standing on the other side of this chasm...I tremble at the thought that someone else is here. HE is holding a shovel, hands dirty, deep eyes. I turn my gaze to the empty hole in the ground. The range of emotion overtakes me and tears flow down my face and drop into the hole beneath me. One by one they fall until there are no more.

I am mourning.... the loss... of the deepest part of me that has defined my being. I ponder the intensity of the pain, the burden of others. I am lost in this place, trying to find my way. Wondering how I can get through it, when it will be over. In my thoughts I see, in my heart I hear. I must take a breath, I must breathe in with deep conviction of truth. So I come back to the grave to bury the contents of the tears. I open my eyes and see new earth before me. The hole is covered, the cross is at the foot and the fragrance of the flowers fills my nostrils.

I did not fill the hole. I stand and ponder this process. The only thing I came to do was let go of the part of me that did not belong, grieve the loss, rejoice in the freedom this death brings me. The sun is setting and the orange glow reflects of the cold stone that protrudes though the earth. I walk to read the inscription of the stone that is capturing the sunlight. It reads “Untimely death.” The earth trembles beneath my feet and I shutter at the thought. Below those words is my name, written by the hand of a child. There is no cross here to mark this death, only cold stone. It is not shadowed by the cross and adorned with flowers. It is the part of me that I shoved into death and buried in order to survive in this world. The part of me I denied.

My heart feels constricted, panic overtakes my mind. Breathe, breathe, breathe. A deep sigh comes from my lungs and I am able to rest, for a moment. There is a shovel leaning on the tree that shadows this place. My heart embraces this truth, I must unearth her! I must set her free! This part of me that is decaying must be raised from the dead. Frantically I grab the shovel and start to dig. With fervent ambition I dig and did and dig. The deeper I go, the more intense the emotion that consumes me. I am dirty and sweat is dripping from my brow. I am getting tired, I am in pain. I hit something with the shovel. The sound echoes in the hole and surrounds my head. My hands ache from the perpetual motion of digging. I am weak and shaking. Breath comes from my mouth and clears the dirt from the words... I relinquish. I do not want to know what it says. A shadow falls on the words and I cannot make out what it said. In this dark hole of death, as the sun sets, the man who was one before me, stood over me, looking down into the this place. “Open the box,” He spoke almost in a song. I can no longer stand as fatigue saturates my being. I cannot and will not open this box! Why did I do this? Why did I come to this place? My hands tremble from pure exhaustion, yet he beckons again, “Open it…”

The deep waters..

June 17, 2011


“He reached down from heaven and rescued me; he drew me out of deep waters.” -Psalms 18:16

Thank you Lord, for rescuing me from the deep, dark places of my heart. Thank you for giving me hope, by setting my feet on solid ground, so that I do not sink into the quiet abyss of pain and suffering; into the deep dark corners of the unseen heart of depression and hopelessness. Thank you for reaching out your hand to me. To me, this broken woman who is trying to BE all I want to BE and think I should BE.

I wonder how we get to the “deep waters” that consume us. How do we get to the place of needing to be rescued by the Living God? We are all there, or have been there, in some way in some capacity. I wonder how many of us have pushed the hand of God away and told Him, we can do it on our own; or even worse, I would rather drown. I have been in the place of almost drowning, the place of wanting to give up, because I became to weary to tread water. It was at that place, when death was upon me that I knew the only way I could live is if I stopped treading water and let my Savior save me. He watched me intently; to be sure I did not drown, as I stopped trying to do it on my own. And just as I began to sink into the dark deep waters, the Lord reached down from heaven and rescued me.

He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me” Psalm 18:19

Once he rescued me, He brought me to this place that looks a lot like freedom; open and big and filled with love and joy and peace. Not because he had to, but because He wants to; because HE delights in me. The creator of the universe delights in who I am. He delights in who he created me to be, flaws and all. The concept is something most of us desire. This unconditional love that covers a multitude of sins is overwhelming and is hard to grasp. All we have to do is receive it. Just open our hands, let go, begin to sink and receive the love our God has for us.

So here I am Lord, STANDING on solid ground, in this spacious place. Things look different, smell different, and feel different. It feels very dry and I am a little wobbly in this place, but I am determined to live here. I am determined to live under the shelter of your wings, so that I do not have to build my own fortress, to protect me. In my vulnerable state, I will trust that you will protect me.

I breathe a deep cleansing breath and look out to this spacious place where I now stand… I move my legs and take my first step.

Jesus Wept

Wednesday, June 15th


The emotions are high. Feeling as if I am coming out of my skin. I have been here before. This all to familiar place of anxiety and lack of control; feeling overwhelmed and uneasy. I need help! I want to call every person I know to help, but then pull back and remind myself I need to go to my Father in heaven first. Then I sit quietly trying to talk… and the air is silent. I hear Him tell me to breath; sit on His lap, put my head on His chest and just breath. So I do. I it so hard to just sit and listen to the heartbeat of God. I want to run and conquer and take over territory, so my mom will live. But my Father holds me tight, to keep me still. It reminds me of what I used to do with Elijah. He was so active that in order to get him to bed at night, we would have to use brut force to hold him close to us, to keep him still long enough, so he would fall asleep. I am picturing that with me and my Father.

Yet even in the quietest places of my space, I feel as if my soul (emotions) are in control. I want my spirit always to be in control, yet there is a constant battle that rages between my soul, flesh and body… My emotions are usually the last part of me that has control… My spirit and flesh war more than my soul… My soul usually takes a back seat and watches the other two parts of me battle it out. That is because I trained it to do so. I go into full bore William Wallace mode when I am hurting and it keeps the emotions down.

Recently, however, that side of me is fighting for control as well… I went outside when some things were said about my mom’s healing and started to cry. Then I got angry, then I wanted to go off… I felt overwhelmed again!

An in a very loving voice, I heard the Lord say, “Jesus wept.” “I know Jesus wept!” was my response. And then the Lord said it again. I was trying to figure out what that had to do with me… and the Lord reminded me that Jesus, His son, had the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, yet he still wept. Jesus knew he was going to raise him from the dead, yet he still wept. In the most powerful man on earth, was a soul. A soul that became overwhelmed with emotion of the thought of his friend being dead, and so wept. I felt amazed at this insight. He wept, not because Lazarus was dead! He wept, because he had deep emotions about his friend’s death… even in knowing he was going to raise him from the dead!!! WOW!!!

I am now, trying to embrace this emotional overload of reality that keeps hitting me in the face! So Lord, help me feel, not to the point of a total meltdown, but to the point that is heathly and helpful and real… Amen

Letting Go

Monday, June 13, 2011

Letting go…

I hold on, tight, to everything I love. I don’t want it to slip through my fingers. I love my husband and hold him very tight, very close to me. My children are my heart and I squish them and hold them, as much as I can, as long as they will let me. I hold on to my extended family and love them, sometimes from a distance, but deep inside my heart.

This morning Elijah went to summer school at the local high school. A sophomore, my baby is a sophomore. The time has flown by and I am not sure where it went. He looks so confident, so sure. He is in a new environment, new town, new surroundings. I want to hold on to him. Keep him at home and home school him until he graduates, but chances are I would be writing this same thing 3 years from now about letting go. It is so hard. I want to savor every moment and I am nowhere near him. When he gets home from football or school, he gives me a 10 minutes lowdown of an 8 hour day. He is becoming a man and I have to let go so that he can walk all the way down the road to adulthood.

These are the moments I wish I had more kids. These are the days when my heart beats out of my chest in agony of having to let go. I ponder these things and wonder why I don’t want to let go. Where is the root of this? I wonder if it has to do with letting go of my dad when he and my mom were divorced. Maybe it has to do with letting go of believing my parents would get back together. Maybe it is letting go my siblings when I got married and left home when they were still young. Maybe it has to do with letting go with my father, who I try to make have a relationship with me. Perhaps it is letting go of the hope of being close to my extended family. Could it be letting go of the anger I had for the person who stole my innocence and then denied it. Or maybe it is letting go of the pain I have felt for so long. Maybe it is the pain that chiseled and defined me as a person. I have had to let go of that false identity and learn all over again who I really am.

The hardest thing I had to do so far was let go of my sister. I always had to protect, and encourage and inspire and push. Or did I? I had to let go of feeling responsible for her and just being her sister. I have an amazing relationship with her, but have had to learn how to redefine my relationship with her, hands open, instead of hands clenched.

So I hold tight, since so many things were taken out of my hand, without my consent. So many things in my life were ripped from me, leaving scars on my hands. I do not want to do that to my kids, my husband. I want to love them with open hands, open arms, so they have the freedom to be who God created them to be. I let go, because they belong to God, everything I hold tight to, belongs to God.

And now I am sitting here, wondering how I am going to let go of my mom. Learning how to let go of the control I think I have in her healing, in her health. I am a fighter and so believe that if I fight hard enough, I will conquer the cancer. But I am learning that it is not my fight. All I can do is pray, lover her and surrender the rest to God.

Funny, today my devotional was called “Letting Go is Hard.” Hmmmm…


Letting Go Is Hard


I am the LORD your God. You shall have no other gods before Me. Exodus 20:2-3


What are you needlessly holding on to so tightly today? Corrie Ten Boom once said that she learned to hold on to things loosely because it hurt too much when God pried them away. There are many things in our life that we get attached to: our work becomes our identity, our homes become our personality, our children become our goals. Sometimes it is hard to know who we were before these things came in and took over our lives. Where do I end and these things begin? When God challenges us on our priorities, it is difficult to truly understand what He is doing.


Because I work in the ministry, it gets confusing at times to separate my walk with the Lord from my work in the Lord. Recently, I have fallen in love with the plans of a ministry that truly helps people and honors God. I received His promises and His revelation of how to get the ministry started. Then, out of the blue, I had the sense that He wanted me to give the ministry to someone else to do. He used me to get the ministry going, but now He wanted me to let it go and not feel that I must do the work for Him. It was hard to let go because that ministry had become a key part of my life. How do you let go of something that God placed in your heart to do, so that you can honor God by not doing it?


We have to remember that nothing is ours. We are just stewards entrusted with the Master's gifts. Our calling is to be obedient. Our hearts are to have nothing above Him, including His ministries or His children or His blessings. These things become little gods in our lives if we are not careful, because even they can be all-consuming over dedicated devotion to Him. We are to align ourselves up with Jesus, to rest at His feet and to have a relationship with Him. Jesus wants you, not what you can do!


Lord, thank You that You don't want my attention divided. I am sorry that I fall in love with the blessings You have given me to a point of missing Your will. Help me to walk in Your paths and stay in step with Your call. You have given me everything I have and I give it all back to You. Be glorified in me, Lord. I know I can't let go on my own, so I will pray for Your guidance. May I be an open vessel for You, only allowing what You desire to flow through me in whatever timing You want it to flow. Thank You for reminding me that nothing that I own is really is mine: work, family, accomplishments, possessions. It is all Yours. I look around me this moment and think of all the blessings You have provided, reminding myself that none of it is mine to keep. Father, I just want to be a faithful steward of everything You have provided me, offering it all back to You in some way. Show me how I am to do that today. I want to use what you have provided me to glorify You. Amen.


Original source: Daily Disciples