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.