Sleepless nights

My life has been consumed with sleepless nights.

Spiritual Warfare, meeting satan’s minions head on, as a child, in the dark, at night.

I have fought for years, trying to find the perfect rest of God’s peace. I still fight, as I write this at 3am, struggling to sleep. My mind wanders into places of hope and love, trying to find the peace, but I am awake with a vengeance, my body aches with restless motion.

Terror struck me in the dark, and I fought. Alone and wondering how to escape the realities of the nightmares, awake… in an unaided battlefield, no one taught me how to overcome.

Then I grew up, became a woman, a wife and a mother… and the sleepless nights persisted with a fiery, as I refused to allow my children to fight the same cold battle alone. So I walked the night in my home, praying and wrestling with the fear and anxiety the followed since childhood.

Still, more terror… 3:30 visitations from workers of darkness surround my home and I stay awake to battle. Not knowing the perfect rest that come from peace in my God, because I did not fully trust Him. I lay in bed, jumping at every sound and creak, every whimper my children made in the restful slumber. I suffer silently in the dark, fighting for peace.

The weight presses in and depression finds its way, but still I fight. I will not give into the terror, the fear of the unknown. Then my grandma and mom die in the same year and sorrow overshadows all of the joys and fears I possess. Not long after my father dies and sorrow looms a little longer. My exhausted body carrying the evidence of sleepless nights in physical weight, I struggle to lose. And then I break. My entire existence falls to the ground, like a tree struck by lightning, and a monstrous thud reverberates through my life.

I am a stump, a heap of broken flesh, on the ground, at the bottom. Nowhere to go, no more fight in me. I am shattered and torn from the life giving roots that sustain me. I cannot function and my life is consumed with sleep. I can barely move, my body is drained from life and all I can do is sleep to escape the pain of a childhood that stole my rest, in a place where I was not safe.

But the stump was not dead and in my rest, new life began to grow. New hope began to show and sprouts of joy overtook the stump until it was covered in growth. I was born again, into a place of healing and peace that I had never experienced before. I delighted in the reality that I could sleep, through the night, rest.

It was a time of bliss and wonder as fear no longer inhabited my life and anxiety fled from my atmosphere. But like most things in life, it was a season. A season I am afraid has ended, as my sleepless night persist again.

But all hope is not lost. In my sleepless phenomenon, I still have peace. I still experience rest. It is not that which my physical body benefits from, but my soul and spirit are at peace. I am finding a new understanding and definition of rest in these “new growth” sleepless nights. I find they are consumed with prayer, study, research, dreaming, hope and worship. Even on this sleepless night, I sit her, in the mountains, surrounded by God’s handiwork, listening to Julie True’s Healing Soaking music and reading Psalm 139…. And I am embracing rest. I resist the temptation to force myself to sleep and get up to find the rest. I am making every effort to enter into rest, Hebrews 4, so that I can experience the fullness of God’s glory.

So… I sit back, drink my Sleepytime Tea, and try to find the rest in the midst of my sleepless night. Knowing that there is purpose in it, knowing that “the darkness shall not hide from Him, that the night shines as the day; because the darkness and light are both alike to YOU,” Oh God. 

DANCING IN COLOR

I am watching Dancing with Wolves and am amazed at the repetitive content of history. 

 Two different races, two different worlds, two different languages, cultures, way of thinking.

They were divided by FEAR.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of different.

Fear of rejection.

Fear of losing one’s culture.

FEAR.

Today, it is no different.

We are faced with many different races in one country, trying to co-exist in a world that perpetuates HATE and FEAR.

My heart grieves at the notion that WE as a nation, a people have lost the FREEDOM to CELEBRATE and to LEARN the differences of other cultures.

I was told by someone, who is not my same race that I do not have a “right” to understand or learn about her culture. That celebrating and understanding that culture is somehow “racist.”

I was told that when I identify certain foods with a culture that I am “racial stereotyping.”

I am not learning a culture or celebrating the uniqueness of that culture… I am being “racist.”

There is so much FEAR in the hearts of people, that we, as a people, cannot even enjoy the diversity and beauty and rich color of humanity that God created for us to be a part of.

In all areas, both sides, no matter how people spin it, or how history records it… Murder, death and war is all because of FEAR…. And the side with the most power, money, man power, and weapons wins… It has nothing to do with a color or race or culture. Rather it has to do with power.

We adopted a young boy from Rwanda when I was 12. He was exactly my age. My parents gave monthly to Compassion, so that he could go to school. The supported him until he was 21. They continued to keep in contact with him, even after our time of support was up. There was a war: tribe against tribe, black skin against black skin; rapes, murders, death, horror. It had nothing to do with color, race or culture… they were from the same place. It had to do with power, fear, and anger.

Justin, as we called him, lost his dad and 8 of his 13 brothers and sisters. He survived. He saw death on a level, I hope I never know. It had nothing to do with the color of his skin, but rather the HATE of one group of people towards another, of the same race and place.

HATRED AND FEAR KILLED 1,000,000 PEOPLE

That is what happened in our country with the Native Americans. They were afraid of the "white people" and they were afraid of the "natives." In that fear, we coin terms and propaganda to fuel that fear, which then turns to anger. On both sides there was murder of the other, in order to protect a mindset that hindered growth, friendship and community.

The soldier was named “Dances with Wolves” and he wanted to learn about this other race and culture. He took a risk, he went into the “enemy’s camp.” The Native American they called “Kicking Bird” wanted to learn about this other race and culture. He too took a risk and went into the “enemy’s camp.” Both were able to learn and grow and establish a friendship of trust and honor.

They valued each other and learned each other’s cultures, and CELEBRATED it. They did not condemn or steer away from the other. In fact, Dances with Wolves left some of his culture behind to become a part of his new friend’s way of life. He partook in the difference, he learned a new way, and he celebrated and mourned the loss with them.  It was a beautiful dance of give and take and celebrating the VALUE of HUMANITY.

It was what he called...

Many different kinds of notes blending together to make a beautiful symphony of music, that delights EVERY soul, without any FEAR, just PEACE.

In the end, Dancing with Wolves, learned, understood, partook, celebrated, enjoyed and lived within the culture. He embraced a way of life, different than his own, in the face of much hatred towards the Native Americans, took a risk and became an advocate for them. Kicking Bird, also learned the ways of the white man and trusted him with his family.

They loved him, he loved them....even though they were different.

We are a people, who judge an entire group of people by a small minority of people filled with HATE and turn it into BONDAGE of FEAR and ANGER. 

There is no justice in hurting one group because another group was hurt. 

There is no healing in demonizing one group of people, because of the IGNORANCE and VIOLENCE of another.

There is no HOPE when division is celebrated and no one has freedom to take a RISK in friendship of someone unlike us. 

May we, a people, bound up in FEAR, which leads to prejudice, racism, hate and death… learn how to dance in the harmonic sounds of DIVERSITY and LOVE… in a nation that has NEVER really learned how to DANCE IN COLOR.

Playing in the mud

Life is messy.

It is not a neat organized, well planned event.

No matter how well we fake it, present it, package it- it’s a mess.

It is messy in our childhoods, messy in our love lives, messy in marriage, messy in parenthood, messy in friendships, messy in extended family, messy at school, messy at work.

It is the way the world works. Broken, falling apart, always dying. There is no hope in this world that can fix the messes. No joy in cleaning up the messes.

My life is a mess. It has always been a mess. From the moment I was brought into this world. Parents, not long after marrying, barely hanging on. Yelling, screaming, fighting; my father’s unfaithful heart broke my mothers. Messy. Divorce, depression, fear; my mother’s broken heart began to break ours. Messy.

At a young age, my innocence was stolen from me. Messy. Trying to find love and acceptance. Messy Falling in love with the wrong person, at too young an age. Messy. Giving too much of myself away. Messy.

I believed that life, was a fairy tale and that my prince would swoop me up from the messes and take me away to a castle far far away and all the messes would stay far behind me. My creative imagination captivated me and allowed me to live in Wonderland. My time there lasted only a year, but I found my Prince. His name is Jesus and he rescued me for the messes of reality.

In steps the man I was to marry. I was not attracted to him, I did not love him, yet the Lord told me he was my husband. I trusted my Prince and stepped into an adventure likened to Alice in Wonderland, falling down the hole into a place I could not even imagine in my mind.

For a moment in time, I felt safe and calm, brushing all the messes of my life under the rug. And for a time, a short while, we presented a clean, well-organized front.

The messes of my life and his, began to seep out from under the rug and our life became messy. In our most noble attempts to follow the Bible, trust God and believe Jesus, the messes of our lives created havoc in our marriage. Arguments, disagreement, words that can never be taken back. Forgiveness, repentance, washing our hands in the redeeming love of Jesus. Finding a way to live in the mess.

Not long after, children adorned our life and the messes from our own childhoods began to make their ways into our family. Fighting hard to keep the messes off our children, we became more of a mess. The arguing-refrained, turned into fear; the disagreements-kept quiet, turned into depression. Still the messes grew and grew in our little family. On a physical front, emotional and spiritual.

Trying to look good for church, we brushed the mess under the rug, smiled and waved at the perfect, plastic church people who maintained a clean, tight, organized life. Inadequacy wrecked our lives. At work, at home, as parents and lovers.

Then one day, as if a messenger from heaven came to deliver the message, hope came. The day was hot and miserable. The water was rushing form the hose and the kids were staying cool. Slowly the planter box filled up with water, as they played. I sat there, watching them slip and fall in the mud, laughing with a deep contentment. Mud flying everywhere, they giggled and slipped and threw the mess everywhere. Splats of mud smashed on the outside of the house, water spraying up into the air and spotting their dirty faces with hints of clean. Mesmerized by the beauty of innocence, wallowing in the mud, transfigured my mindset. Their joy spilled over into their us, thier parents, who threw off the image of clean perfection. We indulged in the simple wonder of contentment.

That was the day I began to delight in the messes. I began to delve into the messes. My vantage point was altered and the messes became an opportunity to play, to laugh, to be content. It was a life moment that would become my life motto. It was as if God was preparing me for the next part of my life. For not long after we encountered the messiest time of our lives.

Following dreams, losing dreams. Facing reality of poverty and loss. Insecure, angry, hopeless. Fighting, not arguing, fighting and yelling and screaming. Homelessness, fear, death. Being swallowed up in the abyss of grief, sorrow overtaking me. Oppression, continued poverty, more death. Guilt, shame, regret.

In the middle of it all, were my children. The ones I wanted to spare from the messes of this life. Standing right in the middle of it, my children experienced an indescribable mess. And, as if prophetic, I watched them play in the midst of it. The mess saturated their being, but it was just mud. It was just a time. The mess is still very present in their lives. It covers them from head to toe. But they have learned to find the joy in the mess, it is not debilitating. They have learned to be content in the mess, it has not destroyed them. They have learned to make the mess fashionable, and walk around without explanation of the mess.

In my attempt to keep my kids from the messes of this life, they were immersed in it. In my passion to give them more, the Lord reached down and showed me that “Life is the messy bits!” It is the stuff that defines us, that grows us, that shapes us. It will never be clean and tidy, it will always be a mess.

And so I delight in the messy bits of life. I find ways to play in the mud. I do my best to see things from the vantage point of my little children, who took the dirt of life and made it an adventure.

Life is a mess, but Jesus cleans us up. He wipes our faces so we can see, He cleanses us from the filth.  We will get dirty again, because this journey is long. But there is a promise that in eternity, the messes will no longer exist. Everything will be neat and clean and orderly as Jesus cleanses us from the filth.

Until then, I will trudge through the mud, finding new ways to play. New ways to make mud pies and mud baths and mud castles and mud art. I will embrace the reality that life is a mess, and I, I was made to play in it. 

Tea Time with God

Sleepless nights are familiar to me. I have never been one who has had a consistent sleep schedule or pattern. When sleep evades me, I try to write. To process the reality of my lack of ZZZZZ’s. As a young child I was usually tormented. Dreams that had me strangled or dying. Waking up in a panic and screaming for help, only not words or sound could leave my throat. Helpless, I learned to fight at a young age. I learned to be vigilant in how and where I slept. If anything, that became my pattern. The ability to wake at the slightest sound.

After I married, I fought long and hard to overcome. I was on my way, until my first child was born. Checking on him several times throughout the night to ensure his safety. It heightened as our second son was born. I would walk the halls, pacing, trying to tire myself, all the while praying for protection for my children. Then, as my baby girl was placed in my arms, I started ten long years of insomnia. Sleeping no more than 4 hours at a time, my fear controlled me and I was a wreck. I gained weight, had panic attacks and suffered from deep depression.

I am a great actress and learned how to hide those unsightly things from those around me, but they soon began to torment me in the silent moments of the night. I had to break free and so, started a long journey to recovery. I had to determine the root, the cause and effect. I had to overcome the fear from the root and then I had to learn to trust the Lord. Trust. Trust my God. A whole new can opened, that took even more years to unpack. More depth of insight to understand. Lots of pain, lots of tears, lots of fear.

So here I am. Twenty years later. Up at 4am, unable to sleep. I am wiped, exhausted, yet I am covered with peace, a gift I never had before. So I welcome the open eyes to explore my Father’s heart. I lay in bed, praying, realizing that fear is not upon me. I pray, for my children, my husband, our finances, our direction. Tossing and turning hoping I will soon be weary from the thoughts and fall back to sleep.

I glance at the time and see 5:17am. Still awake, still tossing. I start to pray some more. I start praying for my oldest. The one who endures great adversity. I dialogue with the Lord about the journey. My heart starts racing in my chest, I start to breathe hard and before I can catch it, rage fills my being. I feel overwhelmed with anger and I want to scream. I start to tell the Lord I am angry, as if He doesn’t know. I share my heart and my frustration, tell him what I desire for my son.

He listens. I can actually hear Him listening. Peace surrounds me, but does not penetrate my heart of rage. “What is it that upsets you the most?” His voice echoes with serene perfection. I ponder. I wonder. I start to bubble up with tears. What is it? Is it the pain my son has had to endure? Is it the discrimination? The unfair treatment? Maybe the curses spoken over my son by unhealed, wounded people? Perhaps the fear that it will break him and I failed. Then it hits me. I sigh, “It’s not that I am angry because he has had to endure trials, I am angry because I do not have control to keep it from happening. No matter how hard I try, no matter what steps I take to protect him, I can’t control the situation.”

“Awww,” I hear the Lord say. “You are upset and filled with rage, because you don’t have control.” Of course I argued with Him that that was not the case. That I was more upset that my son was getting hurt and I couldn’t protect him from that. I usually don’t take what the Lord tells me without some sort of rebuttal. I cannot fathom the notion that His answers to my deepest and most painful issues usually are answered in short, one or two sentence answers. In fact, that make me mad too. Like this answer.

Essentially He is telling me that if I relinquish control, I won’t feel rage. I will not be as frustrated and I will be able to rest in His presence. That resting in Him will secure my peace and peace will help aid in sleeping through the night. I toss and turn some more, frustrated at the concept of control. THAT’S IT! I am getting out of bed! I can’t sleep anyway and now I am fired up.

I walk downstairs and put on the pot of water for tea. I stir inside. Brew with intensity. I hate not being in control. I hate it. I will use that powerful word too. I despise the concept. Yet, and that is a big YET… I know that the choice between God being in control and me being in control is not even a comparison. I know that God’s way, God’s journey for us, God’s purpose is perfect. He sees the beginning and the end, and I just have a little puzzle piece of my life.

The pot starts to hum. I walk over and pour the hot water into my cup. The bag of black tea and spices starts to permeate the clear water and steam rises from the cup. I let it steep. Waiting for all the flavors of the contents to transform the water in to a flavorful beverage. I sweeten with honey and add some mild to soften the bitterness of the essence. I wait for it to cool and begin to write. I can smell the sweet spices and can almost taste them before the liquid ever touches my mouth.

“That is you,” the Lord says to me. “You are the water. I created you, pure and undefiled. I made you flexible and transparent. Able to change with your environment. You can be so cold that you are hard, like ice. Your can be so hot, that your structure changes you and becomes steam. You can be lukewarm and put a bad taste in people’s mouth. I want you to be extremely hot and extremely cold.

 When you are extremely hot, you can receive from me and take on the flavors and aromas of my character, like your tea. When you do, I will add grace and mercy, like the honey to make life a little sweeter. Then I will add some love and joy to soften the flavors, so it will be more palatable for those who think I am too intense of a flavor.

 

 

 

When you are extremely cold, you bring hope to a dying world. You are refreshing and lifesaving. The water is you and the pieces of ice bring a fresh perspective to a cynical world. Cold water calms the overheating of rage and anger and bitterness. It brings life to those who feel like they are dying in the dessert. It holds hope for those who thought all was lost and they would just die, alone in the emptiness of their hearts.

Either way, it is I, who controls the outcome. Not you. I just want you to be. Just be transparent and able to reflect me. Be available to be cold and give refreshment and hope or hot and bring mercy, grace, love and joy.”

A yawn escapes me. I sip on the tea and look at the time. 6:51am. The sun is rising and shedding light on the earth; much like my Lord rises to the occasion and sheds light on my heart. I process, wonder how I can let go of the control I have. Tell the Lord I don’t know how.

I can almost see Him smile when He says, “All you have to do is trust me.”

I take the last sip of my tea, water stained with color. I exhale. The rage has left my heart and the beating of my heart slows down. The scripture I learned as a child enters my mind:

“Trust in the Lord, with ALL your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In ALL your ways acknowledge him and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5 & 6

The journey of hope and healing...

Saturday, June 4th


My brother called me this morning and told me that my step dad was in hysterics and falling apart. My mom has not been eating or drinking and can’t sleep. The tumor has exploded in her body and all of her systems are shutting down. My brother told me that she probably has only one more week to live.

I cannot even begin to tell you the range of emotions I am feeling. I am angry and sad, hurt and confused... There are so many factors involved in my relationship with her and I am brokenhearted. I do not do sadness well... only anger... thanks to my "spiritual midwife" who pointed that out. I can control anger and so when I am sad or hurt, go there... I do not know how to be sad or hurt. I have been experiencing a lot of hurt these days and I am deeply emotionally jacked up. It is as if someone took the cap off the well and now everything I have controlled for all of these years is gushing out with uncontrollable intensity.

I love my mother deeply. I always have. I wish I was closer to her. I wish I could share my heart with her. Sigh

I am telling you these things because you are all close to me in some capacity. I need you to help me through this...in prayers, in words, in just being next to me. I do not know how to mourn; I do not know how to grieve. I am not sure what it will look like. So let me apologize ahead of time for any abnormal behavior I may exhibit in this process.

I am the strong one in my family... I have said for years... but am learning that this is not my identity. I don't know what my identity is, and is learning who I am in Christ. It is a process, and I might flip flop like a fish out of water in this place.

Please give me grace, please.



Monday, June 6th

So here it is... my heart open... it is easier for me to write this down for all to read, then talking to people... so if I am not answering your calls, it is because I am too tired and emotional to talk... You know me, I love to talk... but these days I am finding I would prefer to stay in my house, in my room listening to birds chirp, and watching the clouds go by. I feel like I am forgetting people, so if I added you to this conversation after my initial, it is only because I am overwhelmed, not because I do not love you or you are not valuable to me. My mom is frail. She is holding on for everyone else, I discern, to be sure to say their goodbyes and to talk about things that need to be talked about. She seems peaceful, ready to go. Not fighting it, not angry. I can't help but think of all the times my mom is going to miss... She is not going to see my son graduate from high school in three years. She will miss seeing my Noah play quarterback this year. She will not be at my daughter’s wedding. She will not see my sisters new baby.... pain... so much pain... she will not see her grandkids grow up. My sisters kids are 10 and under and my brothers kids are 4 and 2. MY youngest brother is not married and has no kids... She will not see my youngest brother get married... sigh... she won’t be there for my stepdad when his parents pass away, as she will go first. This is so wrong, so crazy... I want to scream and yell... I want to fast and pray and put sackcloth and ashes on my head until she is healed... My understanding of things is being tossed around in a tornado, causing havoc and grief... What the HELL... why... Even in the hardest moments with my mother, even in the most painful areas in my heart that my mother inflicted, there was still a love, still a hope I help onto for complete and total healing and restoration for our relationship so that we could laugh together and go to tea together and takes walks together... but now that hope is gone. I WILL have restoration, I do, even now... but I will not get to walk it out in this life. I will not get to feel her flesh and touch her hair... Then I think, am I giving up? Do I not have enough faith for her healing? Have I just surrendered to what my eyes see and not what my spirit hopes for? Is it her time? Or has her life been cut short? I do not know... All I can do is cry... I spend half the night crying... I can’t read my Bible, don’t say much to God. I felt as if I had crawled up on Gods lap, put my head on his chest and just cried....this is the worst feeling I have ever experienced in my life... My chest hurts, my head hurts, and my body aches with sorrow... My mom said all she wants prayer for is healing and NO pain...That God would take her physical pain away... If you could partner in prayer with me, I would be appreciative.



Wednesday, June 8th

4am...

Awake, feeling overwhelmed...my chest aches with pain...I have to make sure I breath in deep to counter the aches...it is from anxiety. I have had these pains before, been rushed to the hospital before in fear, only to be told I am suffering an anxiety attack... I don't really know where that is coming from. Is it the fear of mom dying? Is it the sadness that is too overwhelming? Is it sorrow?

Today I met with the hospice lady with my mom and step-dad. She explained things and I took notes. She talked to my mom about code status... I heard what she said but asked her to repeat herself many times. Finally my mom said," Teresa I am not going home on full code. If the worst happens, they will not recessitate." The hospice lady asked me IF I could do it. If, worst case scenario, and her body is not healed, could I watch her die and not panic. Could I just sit there with her and watch?

I did not fully process the question...Here I am, a daughter of the God who created the heavens and earth. The God who raised Jesus from the dead. The God who gave power to his son to heal the sick, give sight to the blind, and raise the dead. Could I just let my mom die at 57, never to fulfill the long life, I believe God intended us all to live?

My mom told me this morning that she believed God would heal her body, but now, as she is sitting in the hospital, she is beginning to doubt her own faith. Wondering, do I not have enough? I sat there in silence, not knowing how to assure her or comfort her, as I too am questioning my faith. Then, as if God picked her up from her seat and dropped her in the room, a friend of mine stopped by the hospital. I did not tell her where my mom was and had not talked to her much other than Facebook. She came in, with her comedy central personality and began to minister to my mom in a way I wish I could. She talked about the very thing my mom had just spoken of… It was divine and poetic. She reminded my mom of the verse that says we need to labor to rest… in other words it is hard work to just rest. She reminded my mom that she only needed a mustard seed of faith and God would do the rest. She told my mom not to worry about how much faith she has or does not have, but to just rest in the knowledge that so many others are fighting on her behalf. She gave the analogy of Moses fighting and fighting in faith, by raising his hands to the heavens until he was too weary to fight any more. It was at that point that people raised his hands to help carry his burden to win the battle. She assured her that there were so many more people raising her hands in faith and hope and life. Then she gave me permission to do the same. To allow others to help carry my burden of faith and pain…and so my mom agreed to do just that… labor to rest.

There were so many things happening today, Tuesday, June 7th. So many roads colliding in my life. My mom told me I am an angry person and she wished I would not be so angry. She told me I am a talented writer and need to use it for God’s glory and not to destroy or devastate people, as I had done to her so many times… I usually get pissed off when she makes those kinds of comments, but today I was able to say what was in my heart without fear of rejection or denial. I explained to my mom that it was never my intent to devastate or destroy her, but rather share the pain of my heart. Apologized for hurting her and told her that in sharing my heart with her it came through a filter of pain and not attack. She told me specific things that had wounded her most by my words, very true things I had shared with her. I don’t really know if it was my speaking these things out in the open that wounded her the most, or the way in which I told her. She told me she understood and left it at that.

I read her some of my poetry, and began to read her John 14. More visitors came, and I left to give her some time. My sister and Tio Mike met me for lunch. He shared with us memories he had with my mom when they were kids. Kiara, my sister’s 2 year old daughter brought so much life, so much hope of the future. We went back to the hospital and my uncle spent one on one time with her, sharing his heart. My step-dad was setting up hospice at his house, so my sister and I just sat with her… talked with her… laughed with her. Her countenance lifted and she looked light-hearted, not so heavy hearted. She ate most of her meal; we took her for a walk around the hospital and massaged her hands and feet.

We talked about wounds and hurt and how it is real and affects relationships. How we all deal with hurt differently and that relationships deteriorate because of not understanding how that person deals with hurt or because they are protecting themselves from getting more hurt. There were so many things happening in the spirit that were changing and breaking and moving. Without even trying restoration was taking place, boundaries were being redrawn, hearts were being understood. My dad came back and my sister, Tio and I drove back home. I had been there most of the day and was emotionally tired… I am so thankful for my niece Trinity and nephew Skyler who are here for my kids, and I guess my kids are there for them too…

My husband, who is unemployed, trying to get this salsa business off and being the parent who is in the “life goes on” side of this, is running around registering Elijah for school, watching kids, doing laundry, dishes, and enduring the emotional trauma I bring. His heart is so for the things of God. How he interacts with God and my and the kids is shifting. If is a wonderful thing. Part of these roads all colliding in my life…

It is as if I am standing in an intersection on a road. Only there are not four roads leading there, there are more. One road is the journey of the healing of my soul, another is the transformation of my spirit, and another is the renewal of my mind. Then there is the business road, that looks pretty jacked up and broken; the financial road that is pretty bleak; the road of family; the road of marriage; the road of broken relationships; the road of healthy relationships; the road of pain and suffering; this new road of sorrow; the road of hope; the road of faith; the road of love…. All intersecting at one time, at the same place… I am bracing myself for what is to come when they all reach this intersection… I am hoping there is a reconciliation of myself, so that I can continue down just one road, that leads me away from this intersection, and that is the road of God’s promises…

So tired… I have been writing for an hour. My chest pains have subsided, my burden is lighter. Thank you all who help carry it. Your love and encouragement is a gift that I cherish.

June 8, 2011

Mom cried today...when the hospice nurse told her that watching her blood sugar was kinda pointless... I wanted to punch her and tell her to f-off... It is not pointless... so if she goes into a coma from high blood sugar, that is okay... urgh!!!

I told mom, that is does matter and I will watch it. She began to express some regret, which she had not earlier. She told my sister and me that she wished she spent more time with her grandkids... and was crying...

It was so eye opening to me... I realized at that moment that when I was angry at my mom for not showing up to events, it was not because I was a crazy, physco control freak... It was because I did not want her to have regrets... I did not want her to ever say the words she said today...

She cried herself to sleep... I hated to see that, but was thankful for her vulnerability to me...

Praise God for another day of life... I curse cancer in the name of Jesus and speak life into her pancreas, liver, lungs and limp nodes... Be healed in the name of Jesus mom... be healed...