Battle Scarred

When a heart is broken it takes years to heal. When a dream is lost, it takes a miracle to restore it. When tragedy strikes, it changes your DNA. When hope dies, the world grows darker. And when injustice reigns, anger stirs.


I was once very judgmental of Abraham and Sara, who doubted God and brought Hagar into the picture. How could they doubt the promises of God? These great pillars of faith, stumbled in their faith as the years passed by. I used to wonder at notion of such character, trying to determine how they ended up in the Hall of Faith, when, in fact, they doubted God and tried to fix the problem themselves. Yet there they stand, thousands of years later, imbedded into every mind of the believer.

I sit here, scorned by some for my “discontentment” at my current situation. I listen to the encouraging words of staying the course and trusting God. I take them in; put them in the places they need to go. They don’t soak up like they used to. My sponge is filled with positive words and positive outlooks. There is really not much room left. My mind swirls. Life is unfair, unpredictable, and unbeatable.

I am a fighter, and so I fight my way through it, making the most of every situation. I look around and think, “I am content.” I am thankful for my family, health, our home, our things and my marriage. I am content in the circumstances I live in, the struggles we go through, the financial trials we can’t seem to be free from and the place we live. Yet, in the deepest part of who I am, the place that feels helpless and lost, I am angry; angry at the injustice, angry at the lost dreams, angry at the tragedies, angry at the brokenness.

I walk around this empty house of mine. No children are here, no sounds are being made. There are no minds to capture with knowledge, no mouths to feed and silence is what prevails. I feel lost and purposeless. My fingers fumble some papers in my kitchen; I put them in their place and organize my mess. I see my handwriting on lined paper and curiosity grips me. I open the folded paper and see the words, “Dear Mom.” The date is July 17, 2011. Do I dare read it? It was a letter I wrote to my mom and never gave to her. I have many of these letters in my drawer. Many words written to help me heal, help me process pain, without hurting her. I open up this found treasure and begin to read.

More silence. More depth. I sigh a deep sigh, taking in my own words, I read. I see my heart dripping off the pages in sincere attempt to share my heart with her. I ask the Lord, “why now? Why does this letter show up now? What are you trying to show me?” I hear the Lord say, “Grieve.” Grieve? I have grieved, I am done grieving. She is with you in paradise. I hear Him again, “Grieve, Teresa!”

More sighs, deep, intense sighs spill out of my mouth! What? I cannot comprehend the request. I immediately think about yesterday and how I lashed out at Noah for his teachers lack of concern for his students and how I hated public school and hated how he had ran ahead with his class and did not even enjoy his time at the museum or with me. I thought about how I wanted to cuss out Elijah’s coach for his behavior and how my patience with Carah has diminished. More sighs, more tears.

But wait, isn’t this blog supposed to be about losing weight and my journey to achieve my goal? How is it that I ended up here? Is this tied to my bondage? Is there a connection to why the weight clings to my body? More questions, more frustration. Renew my mind Lord, I pray. Change my perspective, heal me, do something!!!

I feel tired, I want to sleep. Depression looms overhead and I must find the strength to fight it. I must pick up my sword and fight. Fighting to stay alive, I finally see… I am content, but I am battle scarred and exhausted and want some rest. I am angry that the battle is still raging on and I cannot give in.

The world will not change. God will not change. Only I can change. I don't know how to. I do not even know where to start. My heart aches. I am thankful to be alive, I am thankful that I am here, now, today. My mind wanders to Hagar, to Sarah and I think about how hurt Sarah must have been feeling like God had forgotton her. How abandoned Hagar felt when Sarah scorned her. These wormen, battle scarred... They fought through, they accomplished all that God had for them.

I look at myself...I see the scars. I know where each one came from. Some were inflicted upon me as a child, some as a young woman, some as a wife, some as a mother. Still others are from fighting. Fighting for the promises of God. Fighting to get there, fighting to keep hope alive, fighting to push oppression back. I fight to keep my kids from battle wounds, and feel defeated when I cannot protect them. Self inflicted wounds scar my body as well. The times I beat myself up for not being enough.

Breathing deep, I stop at this place of wonder and try to spy another way, another path. I am torn. I do not want to do things my own way, like Abraham and Sarah; but I don't want to just sit and not move forward. I am frustrated, angry and scarred.

God saw Abraham for who he was and loved Sarah for all her faults, saw Hagar when she was invisible.… I am content in the knowledge that my God will walk me through and still see me as I really am.

Today is big enough

Nothing… I did nothing yesterday. No workout, no weights, no running. It was not planned or intentional, it just happened. My daughter stayed home from school and instead of tending to me, I tended to her. I love tending to her; it is how I was made. I have tended to my kids for 16 years in utter delight. It has been my number one priority. We wrapped gifts, snuggled on the couch, watched Christmas movies, made soup for dinner and took a nap. Once the boys started coming home, it was time for dinner. We had an unexpected visitor who stayed until 11:30pm and then it was already time for bed.


In the past these days would highly discourage me. I would beat myself up and allow guilt and shame to consume me. Not today. Today I have had enough of that. Today I chose to look at the positive, to keep my glass from getting empty. Today I looked at what I accomplished. I ate well; Cheerios, soup, corn bread, soup again, and wine. I would have eaten a little more; only, I need to go grocery shopping. I spent time with my daughter, just she and I. I cleaned house and decorated the guest house. Our guest was a blessing, we broke bread with him and laughed and talked about intense things of God. My husband was filled and it blessed me.

So this morning as I start a new day, fog still hovering, sun still hiding; I will not let the past haunt me. I will not even plan for tomorrow and what I am going to do. I will just focus on today. Today is big enough.

Weight Inside

I woke up yesterday morning at 9:00am; I didn’t want to get up; I was snuggling close to my baby girl. I crawled out of bed, dreading the first day of this journey. My heart pounding out of my chest, feeling purposeless, feeling angry and agitated, I got up and started to run. I ran to my neighbors house, walked a mile with her and ran back home; 2 miles in all.


I ate every 2 hours, Cheerios, protein shake, grape tomatoes, salad, strawberries, homemade corn tortilla, hummus and pasta and a cookie my daughter made.

I wanted to work out more. I wanted to do a workout video and weights, but the weight of life was too much. I felt angry and frustrated. I told my husband that is was time to move, time to move on. We have been in Fresno almost 11 years now and I am done. I am ready for change, ready for something to move.

Tears swell in my eyes as I feel the angry rise up inside of me. I am swelling with rage on behalf of my son, who has endured too much hardship. Too many times has he been belittled and beat down and overlooked. He asked me tonight, “Am I invisible mom?” Another award ceremony and he did not receive one. The kids that did do not have the stats or the college recognition that he does, yet, the coach, passed him by. I wanted to cuss the coach out and tell him to take his Napoleon complex to another school. I wanted to tell him that he is responsible for building these kids up, not tearing them down. He gave MVP to a player that was most definitely not MVP, and the kid who should have received it, sat quietly next to my son and said nothing. He too receives letters and visits from coaches. I wonder at how this could even be happening.

I came home and wanted to eat ice cream. Luckily we did not have ice cream. I thought, “Do I usually eat when I am pissed off and angry?” I quickly made tea. The flavor, Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride by Celestial, no sugar is necessary, and I sat next to my hurting son and sipped quietly. Both Bill and I gave him parental talks that usually include people like Tim Tebow and Ray Lewis in the examples of overcoming adversity. Bill told him, it is better to receive nothing in high school and play in college and the NFL, than to receive all the awards and never play again after high school. I went to bed scrolling through my phone for jobs outside of Fresno. Day 1 complete.

This morning, as I write, reflecting on my first day of working out and eating, I am trying to see how my emotions tie in with my weight, or if they do at all. I have determined that I feel burdened, lost and disillusioned. I feel irritated at the notion of hope and can’t see the future.

Day 2… I have not worked out yet. It is 9:30am. My daughter is home sick. I have been at the High School since 8am meeting with Elijah’s counselor. She blessed me. She spoke life into my son. I left him there, her hands, thankful I could trust her. I drove home and sat down at the computer. I have been writing for 30 minutes, my day is about to begin…

See Through...

I have lived a very transparent life. I believe that by doing so, it alleviates unnecessary pain. By showing the world my deepest and darkest places, there is really nothing that people can “find” on me that would destroy some false image I have created. I find it to be both extremely liberating and fundamentally challenging to live this way, but freedom has been the fruit of this lifestyle.


Yet, there is a dark gloomy shadow that hovers over me. In my most vulnerable state, I have still had to hide one painful truth; I am overweight. It is evident to the naked eye that I carry excess baggage, but in my attempt to heal from deep pain, I have learned to be comfortable in that excess. I have learned to love myself and have grown to have a positive self image. Years of unsuccessful attempts at weight loss have taught me that beauty lies within, yet, I am trapped in this flesh suit that I cannot escape from and it is affecting my health.

I have, through much prayer and many years decided to make my weight loss struggle public. To share the successes and failures of my journey. My goal is to blog daily and share the journey with you. I am hoping that this will help me to process why I have not been able to lose the weight, after years of trying. I will share whatever the Lord reveals, any issues I find along the way and emotions I encounter along this journey.

I begin today.

Today I am making goals, making charts and scheduling time for workouts. I will document all the food I eat and what time and what workouts I do. I will also be taking photos along the way.

My start weight is 248 pounds. The heaviest I have ever been. I have weighed 235 for the last 15 years and in the last year I have gained 13 pounds; a pound a month. I have also been diagnosed with high blood pressure, which, I am sure is attributed to stress and trauma as well as weight, and want it to be normal. I am not sure what my cholesterol and blood sugar look like, I am getting a blood test down next week.

My cardiologist suggested lap band surgery. I was mortified and freaked out all at once. What? How could I be a candidate for a surgery like that? I am, however, 100 pounds overweight and that is considered enough to warrant the surgery. I have decided to commit to 6 months of intensive workouts and lower my calorie intake to 1500 a day. This is not the first time I have done this. In fact, I have accomplished many things in my weight loss journey over the last 15 years; a triathlon, The Wharf to Wharf- 6K, training to run a marathon maxing out at 12 miles and limiting my calorie intake to 1500 a day. Each time I set my mind to a goal, I accomplished it and each one took a commitment of over 6 months and each time I attempted such a feat, I only lost a maximum of 4 pounds.

So I have become apathetic, discouraged and even angry at the results. I have had my thyroid tested, and other possible reasons as to why my body has not responded to my attempts to lose weight. Nothing was found.

So I told the Lord, I will do this for 6 months and nothing changes, then I may have to consider some medical help. I want to do this without medical intervention. So please pray that my body reflects who God created me to be and to respond to my attempts.

The Deep

There is no way to describe individual sorrow. No way to relate to others around us… Each has a deep that is hollowed out by the pain of life and penetrating reality. There is no way to avoid it; the pressure is all around, crushing like the depth of the ocean. I fall into the depth, into the abyss of empty wonder. Not fighting, not hoping; just falling into the nothingness and darkness of injustice and question. My heart feels as if it might burst from the environment around me. I fall deeper and deeper into this place. This dark place.


Yet, something inside of me knows that death is not imminent in the depths. There is provision for the overwhelming pressure; there is grace in the deep sorrow. I cannot escape what is down there in the depths. I cannot run from the truth. I know my salvation is in the deep. In the deepest cavern of my heart, there is light, there is something there waiting for me; as if this is where I was meant to be.

I am weak, not able to fight the drawing in; not able to run from the beckoning. I do not want to be here. It is too hard, too real, and too intense. The world has stopped and all there is, is me and the depth. I cannot face what is here. My heart beats, beats in rhythm, then stops; starts again; rages inside my chest. I feel a presence and cringe at what I might behold. My eyes tightly hold out the image, my body shrinking in defense, every muscle tight with fear.

Do I dare to open my eyes? Do I have enough courage to face what is waiting? I sit, as if a statue, hoping not to be noticed. I wait, for what, I have no idea; yet waiting is the time here. Patience is the minutes and perseverance is the hours. I want to yell. I want to scream and cuss and raise my fists. I want to pull out the promises and the words that kept me from falling here and demand answers for my pain. Instead, I curl up in fetal position, hoping this will all go away.

Then I realize that I am exhausted. My body aches from the fight, from the reality of feeling forgotten; I am done, too tired to fight, to angry to try. I want to be held, to be cherished, and taken care of. I want to experience goodness in the land of the living… but loss covers me like a blanket.

So there I wait. Not opening my eyes to see what is in the depths, not fighting, not even moving. My position is known, I am helpless, useless; all I want to do is hide. There in this unknown place, I wait. I wait for something and nothing and everything. A sigh leaves and my lips and I sink into the place where I lay.

Feeling sad, depressed and overwhelmed....
Wondering how I, a woman of God, can have such emotions... and the best part is the cussing... Whew have some of those been flying out of my mouth? Well yes Mrs. Beukers, they have...

Someone recently told me that I am not the same as when they met me. When I asked her about the changes she said that I am not so happy go lucky anymore. That I am not a ball of sunshine ready to give to everyone I meet, but rather sad and tainted and half empty.  A huge sigh released from my lips as I realized that not only was that true, it was something I myself had been pondering.

Where did she go, this fun woman? How do I get her back? Its like trying to do sancranized swimming to beautiful music, but forgetting how to swim... I forgot what it is like. I have had so much loss and hardship that I am permenately disfigured from the trauma.

Yet, it is not as though I have never experienced trauma or pain or trial. My entire life as a child taught me how to be positive and happy in the midst of pain and trauma. I learned how to find something to focus on that was positive or funny and that is how I survived. Disney was my something for most of my life and still the songs and movies bring joy to my heart. Something is not right now, something is missing in me. I can not tell you what it is, but it is as if my brain patterns were somehow altered and I forgot who I was.

This RAW life I try to live is a lot harder when you are not the happy go luck person you once were. It is harder to be real and authentic and uncensored. The vulnerability does not help my cause, it weakens it, yet I am constantly encouraged to go there.

I feel as though people expect me to be a certain way and I am not meeting thier expectations, even though I am no longer the woman I once was. I am wounded and grieved and hurting. I feel exposed and abused and taken advantage of. I am nervouse and anxious and fearful. I feel angry and betrayed and lack trust.

Where did this woman come from?

I lay her stripped down to the rawest form of myself. Ugly, hateful, miserable. I am exposed! I cry to the Lord and ask him to cover me with His grace, with His mercy, so that I can hide beneath His goodness. I am tired and full of pain. I want to go back to the time where things made sense and were methodically planned out. I want to be the mom that spent hours doing nothing but playing games and puzzles and reading books. I want my kids to stop growing.

I do not know how to be a mom of a teenager. I treat them like they are still 5 and 3 and hold them as tight as I can... but the Lord is pulling my hands off of them and I have to trust Him with them. I have to believe He is who He says He is... and that is the core of it all... Is He?

Is He the God who saves, the God who delivers us and provides for us? I have all these expectations of God based on what I have read in Scripture and was recently told that I feel entitled. I had to think about that. Am I someone who feels entitled? Yes I am. I do feel entitled... I am the daughter of the King of kings afterall.... is that wrong?

I read Psalm 138 this morning and verse 8 hit me between the eyes..."The Lord will perfect that which concerns me..." That which concerns me? He will perfect or complete that which concerns me? Not what concerns him, but what concerns me... What concerns me? What things are about me or in regards to me? My family? Life, long life without disease or sickness; my kids protection and well being and dreams; my husband, being married to him until death parts us; and death, not wanting to die young, but living a long, prosperous, healthy life. He will complete those things? He will perfect those concerns? Wow...

Am I misinterpreting? Is my God sincerly concerned with fears and desires. The very things that have transfigured me? Maybe this transfiguring is a good thing. Maybe my heart was deformed and through all of this He is perfecting it by transfiguring the deformity to perfect... Maybe I just need to change my perspective.

What do you think?

Rice Krispies

I found this as I was cleaning out my files, a blog I never posted about my little miss....

My daughter cried as I tucked her into bed this cold night. Her words were mumbled and quiet. I caught the tear in the light as it glistened and sparkled. I couldn’t help but see the beauty in her tears. My mind had not yet comprehended what the wet face reflected in her heart. She slowly said, “I am sorry, mama. I don’t want to make you upset.” I was bewildered at how my child’s tears could upset me. “What is it Pita? Why are you so sad?” Her words came out with a sigh of relief, as if she had just confessed some sin, “I miss Nana,” she said.


My mind lectured my soul for being too emotional to give her freedom to grieve. I knew she was holding it in. I knew the moment she held me hand and wiped my tears that she was going to be my caretaker through the process of losing my mom. I did not want her to be. I wanted her to grieve and cry with me, but her tender heart tended to my shattered heart. I felt, all too often, as a failure. A mother, who could not console her child, but had her child tend to her, was not a place I wanted to be. I have always been the nurturer, the caretaker, the protector and educator of my children, yet had not been able to do so in the last year. I asked her many times if she was sad about Nana, and she eloquently explained that it was not her time to be sad. She would dance for me and sing and be silly to try and make me smile. Perhaps the sadness I carried was too much for her to see. So my little Nita Pita did not grieve her Nana’s death.

“I miss making cookies with her and going fishing in her backyard. I miss making Rice Krispy Treats and gingerbread houses. I am going to miss her taking me somewhere special on my birthday.” Her words were thick and filled with conviction. She had memories of my mom that were beginning to come to the surface. “Can we make Rice Krispy treats tomorrow?” My hand touched her face and pushed the stray hair out of her face. “Yes, honey we can.” Her face lit up and she continued to describe in detail how the treats were made. Her words danced off her tongue and twirled around me, coming to life in my head. I pictured my mom in her kitchen, making these treats with her granddaughter. I saw my mom put an apron on my daughter and whisk around the granite to fetch ingredients.

Silence hung in the air and I realized my daughter had stopped talking. She too must have been in memoryland. I desired to know more, and reached into the depths. “Why now, Carah? Why are you sad now? Did something happen or trigger you be sad?” Her thoughts seemed to take her somewhere other than her room. She was silent for a while and her eyes blinked slowly. “I didn’t process it before. I just didn’t think about it, because I wanted to help you. But now I am thinking about it. I am thinking about all the things we did and all the things she is going to miss.” Tears flooded her face and sobs echoed in the room.

He words hung in the air and I thought about my Elijah playing in the State game and how she missed it. I thought about Noah overcoming his dyslexia and how she would be so proud of him. I thought about Aurora, my new niece and how she was not there for her birth. My sister posted on Facebook that she missed mom. I knew she needed her to be there and do the things she always did for her kids when they have a new grandbaby for her. I thought about my brother’s kids and how they will not get to experience the very things my daughter was crying about. This little girl was speaking in a way that was mature and methodical. Her heart had treasured specific things about her Nana and it was now bubbling over.

I prayed with her and hugged her goodnight. She couldn’t sleep and wanted to squish me. I capitalized on the time and made it “girl time.” We watched Enchanted and squished on the couch. She fell asleep on my legs and I carried her to bed. My breath was heavy and deep. Sighs weighed on my lips. My brain was tired, my heart aching. My body weary from sorrow and grief, I laid down on the soft mattress. I try to comprehend the way of my Lord. I try to learn how to live in this broken world. I do not know how to. I have no clue what to do, where to go or how to get there. I lay in my bed, my love besides me. I snuggle close to him and listen to him breath. I am thankful; thankful that he is breathing, thankful that he loves me and thankful we are still married.

I am learning how to be content, yet I want more. I want a full life with gray hair and grandkids. I want to see my kids live to be old and gray too. I want all of my kids and grandkids to be blessed. I want them to experience a life on this earth that is protected and blessed. I do not want them to have to fight the way we have fought. I do not want them to be tormented the way I am tormented. I do not want them to be afraid or worry or doubt. I hope that in the learning, I am changing the course of history in my family line. I hope that in the learning, my contentment spills over into my children and grandchildren. I hope that in the learning, I grow and the things that have cursed me, no longer have a hold on me or my family. I am learning to be content in the learning, content in the pain, content in the sorrow. I am learning to be content in the discomfort, content in the not knowing, content in the waiting. Yet, I am not fully content. I am learning to be thankful for my trials and tribulations, because I have seen the glory of God in my flesh. I have seen the blood of Jesus alive and real in my life, as healing overtakes me. I am thankful that my burden is becoming lighter and my yoke is becoming easier.

The little mounds of sticky mass melt into a blob of white. The spoon mixes the sticky mess into a mountain of what looks like snow. Little hands measure the crackling rice and it textures the white mass. Memories flood. New ones are made. The book my mom made for her grandchildren, before she died, lies open on the counter. One of the recipes she added in her book was for this treat. Carah reads the directions. Conversation steeps as we debate regular or mini M&M’s to add. Hands are slippery with butter to press the mixture into the dish. Webs of marshmallow string between hand and dish.

There on my kitchen counter sits a simple American treat. The simplicity frames our memory as it has become part of our family legacy. Lips no longer quiver with sorrow, but turn upward in sweet bliss that will satisfy both body and soul. We all enjoy the gooey bar in our hands as we sit around the fire. The grief is captured by the legacy my mom left, which will now become part of my family’s heritage.

Thankful for Rice Krispies, marshmallows and butter. Content in all I have and don’t have… Thankful this life is but a glimpse and we have eternity without the sorrow and pain and loss and fear…. Content as I bite into my gooey memory.