The holidays always seem like a mixed bag to me. At Bible Study this past week, we were asked to share some Christmas memories from our pasts. Other than my younger married years, predicting Christmas was impossible. At the home for girls where I lived as a youngster, Christmas was about carols and company. This was where I first learned about God coming to earth as a baby. It was a joyous time! Many a Christmas Eve found girls being picked up by family or friends to share in a small gathering. Mine was no different. My father came a few times to bring my sisters and me to wherever he lived at the time. I dreaded these times with him. All that was good and lovely seemed to get drowned in his drinking, with smoke from his cigarettes swirling around our heads. I usually went back to the girls' home with a headache and stomach-ache.
After Dad took us girls out of the home for good, he became a Jehovah's Witness, and eliminated Christmas completely from our home. One of his wives demanded that she be able to have a tree, so for a while, a Christmas tree was up all year long. He conceded, as long as the tree didn't signify Christmas on December 25.
I was able to celebrate some Christmas's with Gram and Grampy at their home, and those were the best times! Gram never drove a car, and Grampy wasn't a Christmas shopper, so imagine my surprise when I came out of my room on Christmas morning to find money all over the tree! Grampy said if I could name the president's, I could have the bills. I named them all the way up to Andrew Jackson! I just loved how Grampy teased me with a twinkle in his eye.
Later on, as I was a homeless teenager, I would take whatever was given me for my December birthday and either sell it to buy presents for Christmas, or I would simply re-gift the items. I poignantly remember a Cabbage Patch Kids doll sent to me by my sister, Robyn, from Japan. Robyn was stationed there for over a year. When I told someone at work what I got for my birthday, the bidding wars began for my doll. The Cabbage Patch craze was over the top that year, and hardly any could be found at the stores. This doll was still in the box, with Japanese writing and a Japanese birth certificate. I watched as the highest bidder clutched the doll and headed to her car for the holiday break.
As we all looked around our table at Bible Study this week, we were amazed at how many of us were struggling. A few months ago, we had decided to find a family to help for the holidays this year. Since that time, family after family has been faced with hardship. One couple is counting the days when they don't need to drive around in their car to get warm. The heating bill was just too high to pay. Another family is dealing with job loss. One single grandmother is searching for a way to raise her grandchild while burning the midnight oil at work. Hours at work have been cut back for another woman. We have a "senior saint" who is still waiting for senior housing. We all shared a laugh as one person piped up, "The joke was on us!", remembering the day when we were all prepared to share in buying gifts for a family less fortunate.
There was no bitterness in our laughter, and yet, we wondered what we could possibly give this year. I thought back to my time of re-gifting. Christmas is the time of year we want to give - but so often we get bogged down with the shopping, the stores, the empty bank account, and in our family, even the lack of food can get discouraging. What could I possible re-gift this year? It hit me like a ton of bricks!
Jesus was the gift. Yes, the Magi brought him presents, but He, Himself was the gift to the entire world. I have received that gift by faith in His sacrifice on the cross. I will walk streets of gold one day. I'm going to have a mansion in heaven and be in His presence for all eternity. This is the one thing I can re-gift, which will never lose it's value and will only cost me a few minutes of my time. Jesus is beautifully wrapped in the books of the Bible. He is on every single page, from Genesis to Revelation. If I could just give one Bible this year to one person, it would be the most valuable present I have ever re-gifted.
No matter what your budget or your plans this year - perhaps in your travels you might offer a smile, and encouraging word, a personal testimony, and then leave someone with God's Word with the miracle of Christ's birth highlighted for them. I plan to go through my New Testament and personally highlight each verse which points to the plan of salvation!
Dear Heavenly Father,
Please prepare a stranger's heart to receive Your gift through me. I have no plan - no one in mind - just a desire to share you. While it may be easier to lay Your Word down in some public place and hope it reaches someone, please give me courage to carry this gift with me until You show me who to personally give it to. Thank you for Christmas, and for wanting me to re-gift the present you so freely gave to me!
In Jesus Name...
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Pressed Down, Shaken Together
Holidays always cause me to reminisce about childhood memories here at Gram's home. The excitement and sense of love and happiness permeated every corner of this lovely home. A few days before, we would begin cleaning and dusting the house. When Thanksgiving came, the good dishes came out of the hutch, the turkey was in the oven and knocks began at the door. Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade would be in the background and we would all stop from time to time to watch the various floats go by (my favorite was Snoopy). In poured the family - aunts, uncles and cousins. It was not unusual for there to be twenty to thirty of us in the home as grandkids brought their own young children in latter years. We kids would find places to talk and play while the women rolled up their sleeves, smiling and sometimes giggling in the kitchen together. Grampy would be home from his annual 'hunting' trip (he was relentlessly ribbed by his hunting buddy's that he never once shot a deer), his big grin evident at the head of the table. Card tables were draped with tablecloths and pushed against the long dining room table, and we all finally sat down to pray and thank the Lord for family, friends, and another year together. After the meal, the football game was turned on and everyone lounged around the living room, some quietly playing games, others lost in conversation. It was serene and peaceful, and my young heart would nearly burst with joy at being with my family again.
Last Thanksgiving, a few of us remained around the table with my little Gram. How things had changed! Gram was tiny and frail and all of us kids were parents and some were grandparents themselves. Family times were now spent at other homes, with other traditions. I felt joy well up inside me as I looked around the table at the people I loved so dearly. Meredith, my daughter Shelli, and I were the ones in the kitchen. Paul and the boys spent time in the living room with Gram. Though things had changed so very much, there was a bond, with Gram at the center of our Thanksgiving. She had asked us all to write down four things we were thankful for. When Gram's turn came, she was thankful she was an American, as well as having lived a long, healthy life, and was very thankful for a new little great-grandson who was born on her birthday just a month prior. Our little band of eight bowed our heads in thankfulness to the Lord.
When Gram went to heaven in January, I knew things would change. I almost dreaded the holidays coming up. I didn't want things to change, and I still miss her so much! I figured the kids would go to their dad's and I could just sit on the couch with my bathrobe on, watching the Macy's parade. Little did I realize as the year unfolded, that God would bring friends and 'family' into my life in such an abundant way!
After Gram passed, I found a place to work in which I am able to bless the elderly every day! Though my physical limitations prevents me from doing the things I used to be able to do, I work for a family owned business which allows me to excel in other ways. Each life I am able to touch is a blessing to me! God brought Christian women into my workplace to encourage and bless the office just by walking through the door. Most mornings, we greet each other via text messaging and share an encouraging thought or a verse to start the day. My little girl is able to minister to the elderly in nursing homes regularly by singing, dancing, hugging and loving the dear people who sometimes have no one who cares. God brought amazing friends into our lives this year, in a way that has never happened in my prior 43 years!
Yes, I am still a struggling single mother. There are days which seem to flatten me physically and emotionally. I desperately miss my Gram and Grampy so much, especially when the bittersweet memories of days gone by crowd in around the holidays, but I am blessed beyond measure. All I have to do is look around me and see the blessings of new found friends and 'family', and I am brought to my knees in gratitude for the way the Lord has provided!
Grampy used to quote verses all day long. They were a comfort to me, and I never tired of listening to him. He was my hero, the love of my little life back then. Over time, as he quoted scripture in day-to-day conversation, they began to 'stick' in my heart. One verse which he quoted often comes to mind today as I look around in awe at all the Lord has done:
Luke 6:38
Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.”
Grampy used to describe this verse as a box of cereal. You can fill the box to the top, but if you shake it and press it down, you can add even more! Each time you shake and press, there is room for more and more blessings to be added! Imagine the blessings God has for you, pressed down, shaken together and running over!
It is almost time to start getting ready to go. I thought I might just putter around the house today with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and feel sorry for myself, but my 'family' wouldn't hear of it. We are going to a place of warm embraces and boundless love. The kids will hear laughter and fall on their pillows with wonderful memories etched in their minds. Memories that will comfort and bless them for years to come. It just doesn't get any better than that!
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you so very much for memories! Help us all to savor each moment we have with loved ones and friends, for these memories will be engraved in our minds to comfort us when life inevitably changes. May we not look back to the past as the 'best days', but may we look forward and delight in what is here and now. There are times I succumb to deep loneliness, wondering how anything will ever be the same again. I thank You for Your comfort in the valleys, and Your reminder that there will come a day when we will have a family reunion that will last forever! In Jesus' name...
Last Thanksgiving, a few of us remained around the table with my little Gram. How things had changed! Gram was tiny and frail and all of us kids were parents and some were grandparents themselves. Family times were now spent at other homes, with other traditions. I felt joy well up inside me as I looked around the table at the people I loved so dearly. Meredith, my daughter Shelli, and I were the ones in the kitchen. Paul and the boys spent time in the living room with Gram. Though things had changed so very much, there was a bond, with Gram at the center of our Thanksgiving. She had asked us all to write down four things we were thankful for. When Gram's turn came, she was thankful she was an American, as well as having lived a long, healthy life, and was very thankful for a new little great-grandson who was born on her birthday just a month prior. Our little band of eight bowed our heads in thankfulness to the Lord.
When Gram went to heaven in January, I knew things would change. I almost dreaded the holidays coming up. I didn't want things to change, and I still miss her so much! I figured the kids would go to their dad's and I could just sit on the couch with my bathrobe on, watching the Macy's parade. Little did I realize as the year unfolded, that God would bring friends and 'family' into my life in such an abundant way!
After Gram passed, I found a place to work in which I am able to bless the elderly every day! Though my physical limitations prevents me from doing the things I used to be able to do, I work for a family owned business which allows me to excel in other ways. Each life I am able to touch is a blessing to me! God brought Christian women into my workplace to encourage and bless the office just by walking through the door. Most mornings, we greet each other via text messaging and share an encouraging thought or a verse to start the day. My little girl is able to minister to the elderly in nursing homes regularly by singing, dancing, hugging and loving the dear people who sometimes have no one who cares. God brought amazing friends into our lives this year, in a way that has never happened in my prior 43 years!
Yes, I am still a struggling single mother. There are days which seem to flatten me physically and emotionally. I desperately miss my Gram and Grampy so much, especially when the bittersweet memories of days gone by crowd in around the holidays, but I am blessed beyond measure. All I have to do is look around me and see the blessings of new found friends and 'family', and I am brought to my knees in gratitude for the way the Lord has provided!
Grampy used to quote verses all day long. They were a comfort to me, and I never tired of listening to him. He was my hero, the love of my little life back then. Over time, as he quoted scripture in day-to-day conversation, they began to 'stick' in my heart. One verse which he quoted often comes to mind today as I look around in awe at all the Lord has done:
Luke 6:38
Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.”
Grampy used to describe this verse as a box of cereal. You can fill the box to the top, but if you shake it and press it down, you can add even more! Each time you shake and press, there is room for more and more blessings to be added! Imagine the blessings God has for you, pressed down, shaken together and running over!
It is almost time to start getting ready to go. I thought I might just putter around the house today with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and feel sorry for myself, but my 'family' wouldn't hear of it. We are going to a place of warm embraces and boundless love. The kids will hear laughter and fall on their pillows with wonderful memories etched in their minds. Memories that will comfort and bless them for years to come. It just doesn't get any better than that!
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you so very much for memories! Help us all to savor each moment we have with loved ones and friends, for these memories will be engraved in our minds to comfort us when life inevitably changes. May we not look back to the past as the 'best days', but may we look forward and delight in what is here and now. There are times I succumb to deep loneliness, wondering how anything will ever be the same again. I thank You for Your comfort in the valleys, and Your reminder that there will come a day when we will have a family reunion that will last forever! In Jesus' name...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Don't Miss the Promises!
What has God asked you to do that you are putting off? That was the question posed by my pastor this morning from the pulpit as he relayed the message from the first chapter of Haggai. The children of Israel were building homes for themselves since returning from exile, yet their consensus was that it wasn't the right time to rebuild the temple. Though they were doing all the other right things, God's instruction was not their priority. "You have sown much, and bring in little; You eat, but do not have enough; You drink, but are not filled with drink; You clothe yourselves, but no one is warm; and he who earns wages, earns wages to put into a bag of holes." (Haggai 1:6) And yet, "I am with you," says the Lord. (vs 13b)
I needed that message. I believe God has prompted, encouraged and made it clear to me to write about Him through many years of my life. When my heart is not right with God, I stop writing. It seems that nothing comes to me naturally in my times of drought. Since my writing is about my relationship with the Lord, it doesn't seem appropriate for me to ever put my thoughts down to share if I have not first approach Him in humble and earnest prayer. What's the cure for an arid, barren soul when creativity and joy elude me? Go back to the beginning - the first seeds of the dream and find out what has stolen my joy. Without fail, I can always trace my lack of motivation to something in my own heart that isn't right with my Savior.
I have been reading over and over again in the Old Testament about the Israelites straying from the Lord. He raised up prophets to bring warnings to them, and usually the warnings went hand in hand with an alternate promise for restoration and blessings as well. It all hinged on the choices they made next - not that "works" impress the Lord. There's nothing we can do in our lives to make Him love us any more than He does right now, and on the flip side, there's also nothing we can do to cause Him to love us any less. No, but the Israelite's actions in response to the prophets' warnings or blessing would reflect the condition of their hearts.
As I was reading this scenario repeatedly in the Old testament in my devotional time, I really wondered why the Children of Israel couldn't seem to get excited about the promises of God. At the same time, I have had to ask myself that same question. In my own life, when I get so overwhelmed with the immediate issues and needs in my own little world, I tend to skim over the blessings promised in the Bible, become hardened to them or worse - I secretly wonder if His blessings are for other, better people. I miss His love and grace all too often as I focus on my own achievements or lack therof as the catalyst for all that He has already offered to me in His Word. In reality, He is still living in me, with all the power of the Holy Spirit. When I secretly struggle with Him over control of my life, my ears become deaf to His love and promises - just like the Israelites.
Picture your Father, standing in front of you with a beautifully wrapped gift containing the thing He has personally chosen for you - something He knows will bring joy to your heart! Now picture Him as he watches you set the gift aside without unwrapping it to walk out the door with your head down because you know your relationship with Him has grown cold! The promises are still as bright, but your heavy heart has made you indifferent and distant.
So the question is - what has God asked you to do that you aren't doing? More importantly - why aren't you? I'm so thankful that I receive the blessings that come from obedience to His prompting when I sit down to write! Writing is not only a gift God has so graciously given to me, wrapped up in the beauty of His love - it is also a gift I can give back to Him! When I can meditate on His promises as I pray for grace to obey, I am whole. You have a purpose that is unique to you, and it is a gift from the Lord. Go back to the beginning and find that joyous seed in your soul. Remember the dream placed in your heart long ago that just won't die? Dust yourself off, take hold of His hand and allow Him to breathe His promise to never leave you as He equips you to do the thing He created you for. What are you waiting for?
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank You for your promises. May I never allow the noise, worry or frustration of sin to drown out Your gently whispered promises. When You chose to describe Yourself in one word, You chose the word love. Please help me to remember that You, in your lovingkindness and mercy, have drawn me to You. Though I will never comprehend the depth and height, width or breadth, please keep my heart soft and my ears open to all You have to say to me. Please help us all to put aside whatever hinders, open our ears to Your calling, embrace the gifts You are offering, and then offer them back to you as we seek to do Your will. In Jesus name...
I needed that message. I believe God has prompted, encouraged and made it clear to me to write about Him through many years of my life. When my heart is not right with God, I stop writing. It seems that nothing comes to me naturally in my times of drought. Since my writing is about my relationship with the Lord, it doesn't seem appropriate for me to ever put my thoughts down to share if I have not first approach Him in humble and earnest prayer. What's the cure for an arid, barren soul when creativity and joy elude me? Go back to the beginning - the first seeds of the dream and find out what has stolen my joy. Without fail, I can always trace my lack of motivation to something in my own heart that isn't right with my Savior.
I have been reading over and over again in the Old Testament about the Israelites straying from the Lord. He raised up prophets to bring warnings to them, and usually the warnings went hand in hand with an alternate promise for restoration and blessings as well. It all hinged on the choices they made next - not that "works" impress the Lord. There's nothing we can do in our lives to make Him love us any more than He does right now, and on the flip side, there's also nothing we can do to cause Him to love us any less. No, but the Israelite's actions in response to the prophets' warnings or blessing would reflect the condition of their hearts.
As I was reading this scenario repeatedly in the Old testament in my devotional time, I really wondered why the Children of Israel couldn't seem to get excited about the promises of God. At the same time, I have had to ask myself that same question. In my own life, when I get so overwhelmed with the immediate issues and needs in my own little world, I tend to skim over the blessings promised in the Bible, become hardened to them or worse - I secretly wonder if His blessings are for other, better people. I miss His love and grace all too often as I focus on my own achievements or lack therof as the catalyst for all that He has already offered to me in His Word. In reality, He is still living in me, with all the power of the Holy Spirit. When I secretly struggle with Him over control of my life, my ears become deaf to His love and promises - just like the Israelites.
Picture your Father, standing in front of you with a beautifully wrapped gift containing the thing He has personally chosen for you - something He knows will bring joy to your heart! Now picture Him as he watches you set the gift aside without unwrapping it to walk out the door with your head down because you know your relationship with Him has grown cold! The promises are still as bright, but your heavy heart has made you indifferent and distant.
So the question is - what has God asked you to do that you aren't doing? More importantly - why aren't you? I'm so thankful that I receive the blessings that come from obedience to His prompting when I sit down to write! Writing is not only a gift God has so graciously given to me, wrapped up in the beauty of His love - it is also a gift I can give back to Him! When I can meditate on His promises as I pray for grace to obey, I am whole. You have a purpose that is unique to you, and it is a gift from the Lord. Go back to the beginning and find that joyous seed in your soul. Remember the dream placed in your heart long ago that just won't die? Dust yourself off, take hold of His hand and allow Him to breathe His promise to never leave you as He equips you to do the thing He created you for. What are you waiting for?
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank You for your promises. May I never allow the noise, worry or frustration of sin to drown out Your gently whispered promises. When You chose to describe Yourself in one word, You chose the word love. Please help me to remember that You, in your lovingkindness and mercy, have drawn me to You. Though I will never comprehend the depth and height, width or breadth, please keep my heart soft and my ears open to all You have to say to me. Please help us all to put aside whatever hinders, open our ears to Your calling, embrace the gifts You are offering, and then offer them back to you as we seek to do Your will. In Jesus name...
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Did you know?
When you become a follower of this site, you can click on my 'Followers' icon to send me a message? I'd love to hear from you!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Healing!
It has been quite a journey in sharing my testimony for the first time like this! I am so blessed to be encouraged by those of you who have read and urged me to finish what I started. Thank you so much! "Meme" posted a comment at the end of my testimony, wrapping her arms around me in prayer. That is my desire for each and every person who seeks comfort and direction from our Father!
As I brought the history of my journey to the Lord each time I sat to write, I asked Him to give me the right words to show other hurting people the way to healing. Yes, there were times I reflected on some of the points illuminated in my posts and wondered, with a heavy sigh, how in the world a scraped and tattered person like me could be a vessel for the Master's use. The answer always came when the glory of my salvation, both earthly and heavenly, was solely evident in the amazing and unspeakable love of the Lord Jesus.
My story isn't mine, and your story isn't yours. If you have made positive and wonderful choices in the Lord for most of your life - that's His story, and His alone! If you, like me, strayed, worshipping in the idol of "self", running headlong into the darkness before He gathered you once again in His arms to carry you back home - that's also His story, and His alone! There is no true testimony without God being the One who has guided and completed the work He began, as the Author and Finisher of our faith. No matter how good or how bad we may think we, or our lives have been, all the glory belongs to Him! For who makes you differ from another? And what do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive it, why do you boast as if you had not received it? (I Corinthians 4:7 NKJV ) I am so thankful that we, as believers, will one day throw our crowns at His feet in Glory, because each and every story of every Christian is one of immeasurable love and grace!
So, yes, Meme, many of my posts were difficult and some of the memories were painful, but there is joy looking back, as the sustaining and deep Christian love of my foster family were woven through all the twists and turns - a true gift from the Lord. There is awe and wonder at His mercy and love, forgiving me seventy times seven. Peace wells up as I can look back and remember that He took all of my shame and guilt on Himself at the cross. The desire to produce much fruit comes as I reflect on the ways my foster family sheltered, prayed, and planted love in the hearts of me and countless others! All of these beautiful results of His grace shine through the fog of past hurts and sins.
More than anything, there is a purpose and a plan for each of us, and the opportunity to share what the Lord has done in my life spurs me on to love more, to reach out more, and to allow Him to use me as He repays the "years the locusts have eaten". If you are looking around at the desolation of your life, it doesn't have to stay that way. You may not feel you have enough strength to work toward something better. If you know the task is too much for you, then you're ready. You don't have enough strength to change, but He has more than enough for both of you! It is only when you give up that huge, ugly, heavy burden of 'being good enough' to God, that you can make real progress. Let it go. All you have to do is put it down and begin walking hand in hand with Him on the rest of your journey.
I wrote a poem years ago (ok, bear with me here - I was young). It's called:
The Locust Years
Driving one morning for coffee and quiet,
Dad's home with the kids, supervising the riot.
A weary young mother turns on the radio station,
And hears a pastor's words to his "on-air" congregation.
He speaks of the pain and the suffering heart,
Of those who sought God, then chose to depart.
He called them The Locust Years from Joel, in the Word,
Israel was desolate because they had forgotten the Lord.
The country was barren without wheat, barley or hay,
"Surely the joy of mankind had withered away."
She remembers her own years when in darkness she cried,
Tears of rebellion and drunkenness, hatred and pride.
Each new path she chose tore her out of His grasp,
Til His hand touched her heart through her newborn's tiny clasp.
The words filter through as the preacher explains,
"Return unto Me and I'll bring springtime rains.'
'I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten",
Yes, He'd mended her life, though so bruised and beaten.
Her own Locust Years left her heart as a desert,
Then He rained drops of sweet love when she gave Him her heart.
A blossom sprang forth, then a vine and a tree!
Soon a garden of life around her bloomed fragrantly!
Heading home, she found strength for her body and soul,
Life is just as it should be when we give God control. Elizabeth 1993
Dear Father,
Please use me as You see fit. May I always remember that I am Yours. Thank you for leaving the "99", so you could find me and bring back this little black sheep to Your fold. Thank You for Your promises in Isaiah (58:11)
The LORD will guide you continually,
And satisfy your soul in drought,
And strengthen your bones;
You shall be like a watered garden,
And like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.
In Jesus' name...
As I brought the history of my journey to the Lord each time I sat to write, I asked Him to give me the right words to show other hurting people the way to healing. Yes, there were times I reflected on some of the points illuminated in my posts and wondered, with a heavy sigh, how in the world a scraped and tattered person like me could be a vessel for the Master's use. The answer always came when the glory of my salvation, both earthly and heavenly, was solely evident in the amazing and unspeakable love of the Lord Jesus.
My story isn't mine, and your story isn't yours. If you have made positive and wonderful choices in the Lord for most of your life - that's His story, and His alone! If you, like me, strayed, worshipping in the idol of "self", running headlong into the darkness before He gathered you once again in His arms to carry you back home - that's also His story, and His alone! There is no true testimony without God being the One who has guided and completed the work He began, as the Author and Finisher of our faith. No matter how good or how bad we may think we, or our lives have been, all the glory belongs to Him! For who makes you differ from another? And what do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive it, why do you boast as if you had not received it? (I Corinthians 4:7 NKJV ) I am so thankful that we, as believers, will one day throw our crowns at His feet in Glory, because each and every story of every Christian is one of immeasurable love and grace!
So, yes, Meme, many of my posts were difficult and some of the memories were painful, but there is joy looking back, as the sustaining and deep Christian love of my foster family were woven through all the twists and turns - a true gift from the Lord. There is awe and wonder at His mercy and love, forgiving me seventy times seven. Peace wells up as I can look back and remember that He took all of my shame and guilt on Himself at the cross. The desire to produce much fruit comes as I reflect on the ways my foster family sheltered, prayed, and planted love in the hearts of me and countless others! All of these beautiful results of His grace shine through the fog of past hurts and sins.
More than anything, there is a purpose and a plan for each of us, and the opportunity to share what the Lord has done in my life spurs me on to love more, to reach out more, and to allow Him to use me as He repays the "years the locusts have eaten". If you are looking around at the desolation of your life, it doesn't have to stay that way. You may not feel you have enough strength to work toward something better. If you know the task is too much for you, then you're ready. You don't have enough strength to change, but He has more than enough for both of you! It is only when you give up that huge, ugly, heavy burden of 'being good enough' to God, that you can make real progress. Let it go. All you have to do is put it down and begin walking hand in hand with Him on the rest of your journey.
I wrote a poem years ago (ok, bear with me here - I was young). It's called:
The Locust Years
Driving one morning for coffee and quiet,
Dad's home with the kids, supervising the riot.
A weary young mother turns on the radio station,
And hears a pastor's words to his "on-air" congregation.
He speaks of the pain and the suffering heart,
Of those who sought God, then chose to depart.
He called them The Locust Years from Joel, in the Word,
Israel was desolate because they had forgotten the Lord.
The country was barren without wheat, barley or hay,
"Surely the joy of mankind had withered away."
She remembers her own years when in darkness she cried,
Tears of rebellion and drunkenness, hatred and pride.
Each new path she chose tore her out of His grasp,
Til His hand touched her heart through her newborn's tiny clasp.
The words filter through as the preacher explains,
"Return unto Me and I'll bring springtime rains.'
'I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten",
Yes, He'd mended her life, though so bruised and beaten.
Her own Locust Years left her heart as a desert,
Then He rained drops of sweet love when she gave Him her heart.
A blossom sprang forth, then a vine and a tree!
Soon a garden of life around her bloomed fragrantly!
Heading home, she found strength for her body and soul,
Life is just as it should be when we give God control. Elizabeth 1993
Dear Father,
Please use me as You see fit. May I always remember that I am Yours. Thank you for leaving the "99", so you could find me and bring back this little black sheep to Your fold. Thank You for Your promises in Isaiah (58:11)
The LORD will guide you continually,
And satisfy your soul in drought,
And strengthen your bones;
You shall be like a watered garden,
And like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.
In Jesus' name...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Testimony Part VI
This is part 6 of my testimony. The previous posts can be viewed below.
Relaying my testimony has been a time of reflection, bringing along with it the pangs of remembrance, and absolute awe that I am sitting here today to testify of God's amazing love! I was listening to Dr. Dobson's new radio program yesterday and his guest was a woman who had tried to kill herself as a young girl by lying on the railroad tracks after sinking into a deep depression after being raped. Her legs were severed and she still wanted to die, though she wasn't even sure whether there was a heaven or not. As I sat and listened, a realization washed over me that I have come through some deep floods, and I was as functional as I could be through the hard times, in my own human strength.
In my promiscuity as a young teenager, I had found myself at my friend's sisters son's one year birthday party. (Yeah, don't know if I could say that twice!) Donna's sister was a teen mom, and the drugs were passed around with the birthday cake. I was fourteen years old, and Wayne was away at the Army basic training. There were some military men that Eve was involved with, the youngest being 19. I had a "crush" on one of them, and he took me to the back room so we could be "alone". I felt special. I was only fourteen, and I was attractive to a grown man. One by one, the other three men came into the room, and, due to the drugs, I was "out of it", but conscious. To make a long, sordid story short, they took turns with me, cheering each other on. I didn't stop them. I heard knocks at the bedroom door, but couldn't answer. Eventually, everyone went home, and one of the men put me in the shower so I could go home to my mother. I don't even know how I made it home. Someone must have driven me. I didn't realize it then, but that event affected me for decades. I never looked back and thought they were in the wrong - I hated myself for allowing it. I was a child and they were grown men.
Now I realize how absolutely hopeless and vulnerable I truly was. I don't wish revenge on these men - I pray for their salvation and will rejoice if I see them in heaven one day. But - man, oh man - what a "number" it did to my soul! I praise the Lord that I don't need to carry that burden in my own strength anymore! It's not even on my back - He has taken it off my shoulders and I now know it's not a part of "who" I am anymore. It's in the past, and I can forget what lies behind and press on toward the mark! The reason I can give my testimony with transparency and revisit my past is only because I believe God can use me to help others who are imprisoned in a "present" which may be similar to my past. If you are reading this and carrying the guilt of shameful circumstances and sin, please bring it to Jesus! He loves you! He is waiting as a father waits for a child to ask for help. He will rescue you - I promise!
So where was I? In the hospital wondering what to do next. I had turned my back on the Lord and through a strange set of circumstances, found myself living in the "apartment" of my friend's ex-boyfriend. That lasted two days, and then he talked me into going over the road with him in his truck to New York. I did not know his past. I didn't know he was abusive to women and even his own children, to the point of locking his little girl in a windowless basement for weeks at a time, and strip searching her each day to make sure she didn't steal any pencils from school. This lovely girl was an adult by the time I met her, and she and I became very close. She was like a daughter to me, but didn't confide her childhood trauma to me until three years later.
He asked me to have a baby. I missed my kids, so I tried to have a child for him. I was at "rock bottom", missing my children and my husband. Through the course of a year, I had three miscarriages. I would writhe in bed as the loss of each baby racked my body with pain. I was physically bankrupt by the fourth pregnancy. Three months came and went, and she was still with me, growing and kicking. Six months, and she could live if she were born! Then, he became a man I didn't recognize. He began to threaten to take the baby as soon as she was born. I contacted adoption agencies because I realized that we were penniless without his support. My two sons had come back to me, and we were often thrown out of the house with no keys, cell phone or car. Eventually, he would find me and bring me back "home". I called my ex husband a lot during that time and asked him to take the boys when I was homeless. He was always there for them.
Late in April, 2005, my little girl was born! I had to give up on the dream of adoption for her, because he told me he wouldn't release her, and if I did, he would "get" her. She was a joy to me, even as he threatened, in fits of anger, to take her out of the country where I would never find her. I left and returned a few times until she was nearly a year old. By the time I was able to break free for good, my whole family had been hurt physically and emotionally by this man.
When Michael was fifteen, he was at a crossroads. He could very easily have slipped away from me to a place my love could no longer reach him, and I couldn't blame him one bit. I was once again living where I shouldn't be, and doing what I knew was wrong. He was at a crisis point in his life, and I contacted a Christian camp up in Maine to ask if they would allow him to go work there for the summer. As I said my good-bye's to my son, I prayed with an aching heart that the Lord would somehow give Michael a new, godly mother to come home to, and take us out of our environment. Within a month, I became very ill, lost my job and then my home. Boy, were my circumstances different when I went to pick up my son so we could go to Florida with family to "recover"! It wasn't exactly what I was expecting when I prayed for change, but my heart was thawing and I knew the Lord was guiding us.
I had visited my Gram in the hospital (she had just had a pacemaker put in - at 97 years old!) just prior to taking that trip to Florida. Gram tenderly quoted a verse to me from II Chronicles (7:14) "If My people, who are called by My Name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land." I couldn't shake that verse from my thoughts, and surrendered my life to my Father while in Florida! The peace, the fellowship of my little local church family and the joy was immeasurable! Jesus saw me from far off, and ran to me as I trudged, weary, up the dusty path back into His arms! I enjoyed the "feast" He put before me in the way of fellowship and Christian love which I had never known before!
Think you know the rest of the story? You're right, because if you are here in this site, you were directed here after reading my story in Guideposts! God allowed me to be here with Gram in her final days, in godly fellowship and quietness. He brought me back into the "fold" with my foster family. He worked out circumstances so my children could be immersed in His teaching and love - not only at home, but also at school! He silently urged me to write - and to keep writing when I wondered whether a soul was even reading. My writing became a love letter to Him - a sacrifice of thankfulness! I asked Meredith to pray - that God will receive the glory in anything I write.
It has not always been easy, and I have second-guessed whether I should be so transparent at times. I believe there are many out there who know the Lord, but have fallen away. They need to hear that the Lord can reach them wherever they are - all they have to do is ask Him to. Repentance means being sorry enough to change. God will help us change - He will work in us! I can't change on my own - and, oh, I have so far to go, but if I can just reach one person who feels alone - then God has worked out His plan through my writing.
Please trust Him. Please know He loves you. Please allow Him to change you. You will never regret it. You may have some hard things in your life, but the Lord will walk with you through the trials if you will only let Him!
Dear Heavenly Father,
I thank You for giving me life! I thank You that you can be trusted, even when nothing makes sense! My heart so deeply wants to reach those who are hurting. Please guide me, forgive me when I fall short, and comfort us all through the hard times. Thank You for Jesus, who stands at the door and knocks. All we have to do is open the door and invite Him in. It's so easy, and we make it so hard! My testimony is Yours. Do with it what you want, and may someone, somewhere, turn to you with all their heart. I don't want to run away from you ever again! Please keep me close - give me the strength to draw near to You, knowing you will draw near to me! I love You, Lord - help me to live out that love in my actions. In Jesus Name - AMEN!
Relaying my testimony has been a time of reflection, bringing along with it the pangs of remembrance, and absolute awe that I am sitting here today to testify of God's amazing love! I was listening to Dr. Dobson's new radio program yesterday and his guest was a woman who had tried to kill herself as a young girl by lying on the railroad tracks after sinking into a deep depression after being raped. Her legs were severed and she still wanted to die, though she wasn't even sure whether there was a heaven or not. As I sat and listened, a realization washed over me that I have come through some deep floods, and I was as functional as I could be through the hard times, in my own human strength.
In my promiscuity as a young teenager, I had found myself at my friend's sisters son's one year birthday party. (Yeah, don't know if I could say that twice!) Donna's sister was a teen mom, and the drugs were passed around with the birthday cake. I was fourteen years old, and Wayne was away at the Army basic training. There were some military men that Eve was involved with, the youngest being 19. I had a "crush" on one of them, and he took me to the back room so we could be "alone". I felt special. I was only fourteen, and I was attractive to a grown man. One by one, the other three men came into the room, and, due to the drugs, I was "out of it", but conscious. To make a long, sordid story short, they took turns with me, cheering each other on. I didn't stop them. I heard knocks at the bedroom door, but couldn't answer. Eventually, everyone went home, and one of the men put me in the shower so I could go home to my mother. I don't even know how I made it home. Someone must have driven me. I didn't realize it then, but that event affected me for decades. I never looked back and thought they were in the wrong - I hated myself for allowing it. I was a child and they were grown men.
Now I realize how absolutely hopeless and vulnerable I truly was. I don't wish revenge on these men - I pray for their salvation and will rejoice if I see them in heaven one day. But - man, oh man - what a "number" it did to my soul! I praise the Lord that I don't need to carry that burden in my own strength anymore! It's not even on my back - He has taken it off my shoulders and I now know it's not a part of "who" I am anymore. It's in the past, and I can forget what lies behind and press on toward the mark! The reason I can give my testimony with transparency and revisit my past is only because I believe God can use me to help others who are imprisoned in a "present" which may be similar to my past. If you are reading this and carrying the guilt of shameful circumstances and sin, please bring it to Jesus! He loves you! He is waiting as a father waits for a child to ask for help. He will rescue you - I promise!
So where was I? In the hospital wondering what to do next. I had turned my back on the Lord and through a strange set of circumstances, found myself living in the "apartment" of my friend's ex-boyfriend. That lasted two days, and then he talked me into going over the road with him in his truck to New York. I did not know his past. I didn't know he was abusive to women and even his own children, to the point of locking his little girl in a windowless basement for weeks at a time, and strip searching her each day to make sure she didn't steal any pencils from school. This lovely girl was an adult by the time I met her, and she and I became very close. She was like a daughter to me, but didn't confide her childhood trauma to me until three years later.
He asked me to have a baby. I missed my kids, so I tried to have a child for him. I was at "rock bottom", missing my children and my husband. Through the course of a year, I had three miscarriages. I would writhe in bed as the loss of each baby racked my body with pain. I was physically bankrupt by the fourth pregnancy. Three months came and went, and she was still with me, growing and kicking. Six months, and she could live if she were born! Then, he became a man I didn't recognize. He began to threaten to take the baby as soon as she was born. I contacted adoption agencies because I realized that we were penniless without his support. My two sons had come back to me, and we were often thrown out of the house with no keys, cell phone or car. Eventually, he would find me and bring me back "home". I called my ex husband a lot during that time and asked him to take the boys when I was homeless. He was always there for them.
Late in April, 2005, my little girl was born! I had to give up on the dream of adoption for her, because he told me he wouldn't release her, and if I did, he would "get" her. She was a joy to me, even as he threatened, in fits of anger, to take her out of the country where I would never find her. I left and returned a few times until she was nearly a year old. By the time I was able to break free for good, my whole family had been hurt physically and emotionally by this man.
When Michael was fifteen, he was at a crossroads. He could very easily have slipped away from me to a place my love could no longer reach him, and I couldn't blame him one bit. I was once again living where I shouldn't be, and doing what I knew was wrong. He was at a crisis point in his life, and I contacted a Christian camp up in Maine to ask if they would allow him to go work there for the summer. As I said my good-bye's to my son, I prayed with an aching heart that the Lord would somehow give Michael a new, godly mother to come home to, and take us out of our environment. Within a month, I became very ill, lost my job and then my home. Boy, were my circumstances different when I went to pick up my son so we could go to Florida with family to "recover"! It wasn't exactly what I was expecting when I prayed for change, but my heart was thawing and I knew the Lord was guiding us.
I had visited my Gram in the hospital (she had just had a pacemaker put in - at 97 years old!) just prior to taking that trip to Florida. Gram tenderly quoted a verse to me from II Chronicles (7:14) "If My people, who are called by My Name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land." I couldn't shake that verse from my thoughts, and surrendered my life to my Father while in Florida! The peace, the fellowship of my little local church family and the joy was immeasurable! Jesus saw me from far off, and ran to me as I trudged, weary, up the dusty path back into His arms! I enjoyed the "feast" He put before me in the way of fellowship and Christian love which I had never known before!
Think you know the rest of the story? You're right, because if you are here in this site, you were directed here after reading my story in Guideposts! God allowed me to be here with Gram in her final days, in godly fellowship and quietness. He brought me back into the "fold" with my foster family. He worked out circumstances so my children could be immersed in His teaching and love - not only at home, but also at school! He silently urged me to write - and to keep writing when I wondered whether a soul was even reading. My writing became a love letter to Him - a sacrifice of thankfulness! I asked Meredith to pray - that God will receive the glory in anything I write.
It has not always been easy, and I have second-guessed whether I should be so transparent at times. I believe there are many out there who know the Lord, but have fallen away. They need to hear that the Lord can reach them wherever they are - all they have to do is ask Him to. Repentance means being sorry enough to change. God will help us change - He will work in us! I can't change on my own - and, oh, I have so far to go, but if I can just reach one person who feels alone - then God has worked out His plan through my writing.
Please trust Him. Please know He loves you. Please allow Him to change you. You will never regret it. You may have some hard things in your life, but the Lord will walk with you through the trials if you will only let Him!
Dear Heavenly Father,
I thank You for giving me life! I thank You that you can be trusted, even when nothing makes sense! My heart so deeply wants to reach those who are hurting. Please guide me, forgive me when I fall short, and comfort us all through the hard times. Thank You for Jesus, who stands at the door and knocks. All we have to do is open the door and invite Him in. It's so easy, and we make it so hard! My testimony is Yours. Do with it what you want, and may someone, somewhere, turn to you with all their heart. I don't want to run away from you ever again! Please keep me close - give me the strength to draw near to You, knowing you will draw near to me! I love You, Lord - help me to live out that love in my actions. In Jesus Name - AMEN!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Testimony Part V
This is Part 5 of my testimony. The first four parts are listed in the previous posts.
As I ended the last post, I signed off with the glow of the earlier joyful days. It is so bittersweet to remember the days of a new baby and a marriage I was madly in love with. I finally had a family. I finally was loved and belonged. My husband, while quiet, showed me every day that he was committed to me and our little girl. Each smile, each time her tiny hand reached out for us, we melted. The three of us grew together and life was a dream come true.
We were in church every time the doors were opened. My husband, Mark, would lay in bed next to me and tell me how happy he was. I was so joyful in the Lord, and felt like a "real" Christian for the first time in my life. I don't know why I just couldn't stop the nagging fears and feelings of insecurity from invading my perfect world.
The first time I had a classic "panic attack", I was about thirteen. It went hand in hand with my descent into the dysfunctional relationship I had with Wayne. I distinctly remember being in the car with a woman counselor who I was in a one-on-one discipleship program with. All of a sudden, I felt that I was going to be sick. I didn't know what to do, she opened the window so I could get fresh air, and drove me home. As soon as I was alone, the feeling of panic went away. This panic developed into a phobia driven lifestyle, which would plague me for over two decades.
The first few years with my new little family were wonderful, and yet, I was still debilitated with social anxiety and intense jealousy of my husband. I was so afraid he would leave, I sometimes pushed him away and was suspicious of everything he did. I began to have irrational fears of being in crowds and public places to the point of having to leave the church services a few times during the message to go into the bathroom and splash water on my face. I couldn't go out to dinner or be in a mall without being near an exit. I was so thankful for the grace of God, yet I hated myself for being so weak. The Christianity I lived back then was one of duty and guilt - not because of the teaching at my church, but because of my inner battles and sense of self-loathing. I translated my own disgust with myself to God's view of me, and I just kept working harder to be good enough. The burden I lugged around in my fear-filled frame was eventually too heavy for me to carry.
When my baby Shelli was five months old, I had my first miscarriage. I didn't know I was pregnant, and as the nurses wheeled me into surgery for a D&C, one let out her secret to the other one that she had just learned she was pregnant. Her face went white when she realized I was losing a baby, and I comforted her by telling her I didn't know I was pregnant, so it was ok. Inside, I was aching. John, my pastor, and Gram and Grampy's son came to the hospital that day. I loved him so much for that! I don't think he every realized what that meant to me that day when everyone else acted like it was just a bump in the road.
A little over a year later, God blessed me with my little baby Danny. He grew to be such a delight to me and his father! Every day with our two little children was such a blessing. We grew as a family and went through the first tooth, first day of school, first little league game and first girls' sleepovers. Still the panic and jealousy pervaded my inner soul. Still I worked as hard as I could to be the best Christian possible. I worked hard at being the best, the prettiest, the thinnest until one day, the world came crashing down. I had two little children and I was under 100 pounds due to starvation. I was admitted to the hospital to gain weight and for a complete mental "breakdown". Ten weeks later, I was released. Embarrassed and angry at myself for losing the control I thought I had, I forged on, battling my weight and my inner demons.
As I worked at "arriving" spiritually, I nagged my husband to join me in my quest for perfection, begging him to pray with me and to be a better man. He worked tirelessly night and day as a police officer and I kept the home fires burning, but was scattered and unorganized, secretly belittling myself for not being a good cook, a perfect housekeeper, a supermom. On my quest to earn God's approval, I determined to read through the Bible in less than a year. The first time I read it, I gave myself "brownie points" for accomplishing my goal in only five months. I constantly compared myself to others, either chiding myself for not measuring up, or letting my pride get in the way if I thought I "did" Christianity better than those around me.
The second time I read the Bible through, I was sitting in my chair, absentmindedly rubbing my round belly, pregnant for the fourth time. Shelli and Danny were four and two years old. Finishing the chapter, I stood up and immediately began to hemorrhage. Bent over in pain, I ran to the bathroom to get a towel, called Mark and rushed to the hospital. The ultrasound showed that the baby was ok, and the bleeding subsided. The next day, we went for a second ultrasound and were told the baby had died sometime in the night. My options were to wait for my body to "deliver" the baby in the next week or two, or to go in for a procedure. My belly was full, and the baby was gone. I wanted the baby out. The surgery was scheduled, and I fell asleep to the anesthesia with tears coursing down my face. The next moment I was awake and led to a chair to sit for a while. My hands reached down to my flat, empty belly. Mark came in, knelt and put his head on my lap and cried. Over the next few months, we turned completely to the Lord, and I praised myself inwardly for handling everything so well. My faith grew and yet my concept of grace was still so wrong
Graced a year later with baby Michael, our miracle, life was busy and we were blessed! I did my best to be a great mom, and the kids grew. We built a house out in the country, Mark worked hard to provide for us, we became foster parents, and I threw myself into helping kids who needed to know they were loved. I created a "Welcome Wagon" for new kids entering the system and became president of our area Foster Parent Association. We took in adoption babies, and became an assessment home, helping to place kids with the right foster parents. We had kids ranging from 2 days old to fifteen years, with our own three children lost in the crowd. Our marriage became strained, and we began drinking to "destress" at the end of the day. I began taking my panic medicine, and went to my room when things became too overwhelming. When the foster kids were home with their parents and our own children with with their grandmother, Mark and I drank to get drunk. We couldn't keep up the facade of the perfect family and marriage any longer. We stopped going to church and fought each night behind closed doors, plodding along and accomplishing what we needed to do during the day to get by.
I heaped more and more on our plates, trying to be good enough, then blamed, accused and resented my husband for having nothing left for me at the end of the day. We sold the house and moved back to our old town in an effort to make life easier. Then the end came. I filed for separation because the fighting was too intense and I couldn't live with all the pressure I had added to our marriage. There were angry confrontations. Mark moved out on Christmas day. The foster children moved on. I had failed everyone, and Mark was awarded temporary physical custody of the kids in the first court hearing. Shelli and Danny wanted to be with their dad because I was an angry, out of control mother they didn't recognize. Michael left after I packed his backpack and gave him a picture of me to carry with him. I was broken. I wanted to die.
I called Gram and told her I had nothing left to live for. She called Meredith and they brought me to her house. I sobbed, trying to tell them I had no future. All my energy spent to be perfect had made me emotionally and physically bankrupt. Meredith pleaded with me to realize that this was not "the end". Nothing they said meant anything to me. My kids were gone and I was utterly alone. They brought me back home where I was met with an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I was admitted and was kept there for ten days. During that time, I walked the halls a hundred times a day as a caged animal might. I could barely breathe. There was nothing waiting for me when I got out. I didn't even have a ride home. My sister called to encourage me, and I told her she was dead to me because of her honesty regarding my impending divorce. I severed every relationship and burned each bridge my family tried to build for me.
Dear Father,
I didn't realize it then, but you were there, walking those hallways with me, willing me to live, to turn to You, to give you my pain. I don't understand Your mercy and Your patience, and there are no words to thank You for Your love through it all! Dear Lord, these words have been so difficult to write, and only You were there in the midst of all the chaos, loving us all! God, Your grace is truly amazing. Thank You for giving me new life so I can look back and testify to Your love through it all! In Jesus' name...
As I ended the last post, I signed off with the glow of the earlier joyful days. It is so bittersweet to remember the days of a new baby and a marriage I was madly in love with. I finally had a family. I finally was loved and belonged. My husband, while quiet, showed me every day that he was committed to me and our little girl. Each smile, each time her tiny hand reached out for us, we melted. The three of us grew together and life was a dream come true.
We were in church every time the doors were opened. My husband, Mark, would lay in bed next to me and tell me how happy he was. I was so joyful in the Lord, and felt like a "real" Christian for the first time in my life. I don't know why I just couldn't stop the nagging fears and feelings of insecurity from invading my perfect world.
The first time I had a classic "panic attack", I was about thirteen. It went hand in hand with my descent into the dysfunctional relationship I had with Wayne. I distinctly remember being in the car with a woman counselor who I was in a one-on-one discipleship program with. All of a sudden, I felt that I was going to be sick. I didn't know what to do, she opened the window so I could get fresh air, and drove me home. As soon as I was alone, the feeling of panic went away. This panic developed into a phobia driven lifestyle, which would plague me for over two decades.
The first few years with my new little family were wonderful, and yet, I was still debilitated with social anxiety and intense jealousy of my husband. I was so afraid he would leave, I sometimes pushed him away and was suspicious of everything he did. I began to have irrational fears of being in crowds and public places to the point of having to leave the church services a few times during the message to go into the bathroom and splash water on my face. I couldn't go out to dinner or be in a mall without being near an exit. I was so thankful for the grace of God, yet I hated myself for being so weak. The Christianity I lived back then was one of duty and guilt - not because of the teaching at my church, but because of my inner battles and sense of self-loathing. I translated my own disgust with myself to God's view of me, and I just kept working harder to be good enough. The burden I lugged around in my fear-filled frame was eventually too heavy for me to carry.
When my baby Shelli was five months old, I had my first miscarriage. I didn't know I was pregnant, and as the nurses wheeled me into surgery for a D&C, one let out her secret to the other one that she had just learned she was pregnant. Her face went white when she realized I was losing a baby, and I comforted her by telling her I didn't know I was pregnant, so it was ok. Inside, I was aching. John, my pastor, and Gram and Grampy's son came to the hospital that day. I loved him so much for that! I don't think he every realized what that meant to me that day when everyone else acted like it was just a bump in the road.
A little over a year later, God blessed me with my little baby Danny. He grew to be such a delight to me and his father! Every day with our two little children was such a blessing. We grew as a family and went through the first tooth, first day of school, first little league game and first girls' sleepovers. Still the panic and jealousy pervaded my inner soul. Still I worked as hard as I could to be the best Christian possible. I worked hard at being the best, the prettiest, the thinnest until one day, the world came crashing down. I had two little children and I was under 100 pounds due to starvation. I was admitted to the hospital to gain weight and for a complete mental "breakdown". Ten weeks later, I was released. Embarrassed and angry at myself for losing the control I thought I had, I forged on, battling my weight and my inner demons.
As I worked at "arriving" spiritually, I nagged my husband to join me in my quest for perfection, begging him to pray with me and to be a better man. He worked tirelessly night and day as a police officer and I kept the home fires burning, but was scattered and unorganized, secretly belittling myself for not being a good cook, a perfect housekeeper, a supermom. On my quest to earn God's approval, I determined to read through the Bible in less than a year. The first time I read it, I gave myself "brownie points" for accomplishing my goal in only five months. I constantly compared myself to others, either chiding myself for not measuring up, or letting my pride get in the way if I thought I "did" Christianity better than those around me.
The second time I read the Bible through, I was sitting in my chair, absentmindedly rubbing my round belly, pregnant for the fourth time. Shelli and Danny were four and two years old. Finishing the chapter, I stood up and immediately began to hemorrhage. Bent over in pain, I ran to the bathroom to get a towel, called Mark and rushed to the hospital. The ultrasound showed that the baby was ok, and the bleeding subsided. The next day, we went for a second ultrasound and were told the baby had died sometime in the night. My options were to wait for my body to "deliver" the baby in the next week or two, or to go in for a procedure. My belly was full, and the baby was gone. I wanted the baby out. The surgery was scheduled, and I fell asleep to the anesthesia with tears coursing down my face. The next moment I was awake and led to a chair to sit for a while. My hands reached down to my flat, empty belly. Mark came in, knelt and put his head on my lap and cried. Over the next few months, we turned completely to the Lord, and I praised myself inwardly for handling everything so well. My faith grew and yet my concept of grace was still so wrong
Graced a year later with baby Michael, our miracle, life was busy and we were blessed! I did my best to be a great mom, and the kids grew. We built a house out in the country, Mark worked hard to provide for us, we became foster parents, and I threw myself into helping kids who needed to know they were loved. I created a "Welcome Wagon" for new kids entering the system and became president of our area Foster Parent Association. We took in adoption babies, and became an assessment home, helping to place kids with the right foster parents. We had kids ranging from 2 days old to fifteen years, with our own three children lost in the crowd. Our marriage became strained, and we began drinking to "destress" at the end of the day. I began taking my panic medicine, and went to my room when things became too overwhelming. When the foster kids were home with their parents and our own children with with their grandmother, Mark and I drank to get drunk. We couldn't keep up the facade of the perfect family and marriage any longer. We stopped going to church and fought each night behind closed doors, plodding along and accomplishing what we needed to do during the day to get by.
I heaped more and more on our plates, trying to be good enough, then blamed, accused and resented my husband for having nothing left for me at the end of the day. We sold the house and moved back to our old town in an effort to make life easier. Then the end came. I filed for separation because the fighting was too intense and I couldn't live with all the pressure I had added to our marriage. There were angry confrontations. Mark moved out on Christmas day. The foster children moved on. I had failed everyone, and Mark was awarded temporary physical custody of the kids in the first court hearing. Shelli and Danny wanted to be with their dad because I was an angry, out of control mother they didn't recognize. Michael left after I packed his backpack and gave him a picture of me to carry with him. I was broken. I wanted to die.
I called Gram and told her I had nothing left to live for. She called Meredith and they brought me to her house. I sobbed, trying to tell them I had no future. All my energy spent to be perfect had made me emotionally and physically bankrupt. Meredith pleaded with me to realize that this was not "the end". Nothing they said meant anything to me. My kids were gone and I was utterly alone. They brought me back home where I was met with an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I was admitted and was kept there for ten days. During that time, I walked the halls a hundred times a day as a caged animal might. I could barely breathe. There was nothing waiting for me when I got out. I didn't even have a ride home. My sister called to encourage me, and I told her she was dead to me because of her honesty regarding my impending divorce. I severed every relationship and burned each bridge my family tried to build for me.
Dear Father,
I didn't realize it then, but you were there, walking those hallways with me, willing me to live, to turn to You, to give you my pain. I don't understand Your mercy and Your patience, and there are no words to thank You for Your love through it all! Dear Lord, these words have been so difficult to write, and only You were there in the midst of all the chaos, loving us all! God, Your grace is truly amazing. Thank You for giving me new life so I can look back and testify to Your love through it all! In Jesus' name...
Monday, September 27, 2010
Testimony Part IV
This is Part IV of my testimony. The first three parts can be viewed below.
Today is a tough day to write. I have a dream to reach others and to be a blessing in the best way I know how, by writing and maybe even speaking one day. The economy has hit hard, and the future seems uncertain, with the good news I have been hoping for with my "day job" falling by the wayside. I am anxious about many things, and yet - anxious for nothing (Phil 4:6) Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. How curious and strange to look out at the darkened horizon with a blanket of peace over my soul! When I was approached today by friends at work about my 'closed door' meeting, I didn't really have any "good" news. As I felt that familiar choking feeling of seeing no real answer to all the pressing needs, I couldn't help but comfort my comforters with the belief that God is in all our tomorrows, and working all things together for good! What a great day! Thank You, Jesus! It is such a blessing to be able to write my testimony...His testimony of love and grace...
I came home at the age of seventeen. I wasn't the same kid who left to live with my mother when I was twelve. I was already promiscuous, having thrown myself into the arms of anyone who would make me feel special whenever Wayne and I separated. I had no relationship with either of my birth parents, and I was dieting, exercising and taking laxatives to achieve that perfect body. I was jealous, insecure, and bitter. I had no time for God, and less time for Paul and Meredith. One night, they asked me to leave, after finding some explicit "love" letters I had written to a boyfriend. I wound up living in nineteen different places in the next two years, sometimes on friend's couches or even in my car. I just drifted. I found drugs, alcohol and parties. I still remember the first time I tried cocaine, I was driving around with my friend, Tracy, and we were laughing because it felt like I was playing a video game. How I survived those years, I'll never know.
When I was fifteen, I received a letter from my father saying I would never have children due to a ruptured appendix when I was nine, which spread poisonous gangrene throughout my reproductive tract. I nearly died, and was kept in the hospital for a month and one more surgery. Now, at age 19, I had nothing to live for. I had only wanted to be a mother when I grew up. Now I was nothing. I wanted to die. I ended up in psychiatric day hospitalization program, in which a therapist eventually brought me to the city welfare department requesting that they put me on permanent psychiatric disability because I lost even the drive to communicate. I barely spoke. My heart could barely breathe. I didn't even know whether I still existed. I never went back to the welfare office to follow up on the request.
About that time, I began spending time with one of Gram and Grampy's grandsons. Being with him made me remember the wholeness of my childhood. One night he reintroduced me to that cute boy from the house that had hid me from my dad when I was twelve. I was completely smitten. He and I began spending all our time together and moved in shortly after. I was still battling my past (as I would for many, many years), and he would calmly put up with all the rage I threw his way. I got a pretty good job, and he became a police officer. He told me in no uncertain terms that I could no longer play around with drugs if I wanted to be with him. I gladly gave them up, but continued to drink nightly after I left my second shift job.
One day, one of my girlfriends from work asked me to go with her to the on site clinic to get a pregnancy test. She didn't want to go alone. I agreed, even though I knew I wasn't pregnant. It felt good to take the test and pretend what it would feel like to get back a positive result. A day or two later, we went back for the results. She was told her test was negative, and I was told mine was "very" positive. I was pregnant! I went back and told my boyfriend. He uttered an expletive and walked away. I went outside and began to cry on the stairs. A few minutes later, he came and sat down next to me, drew me into his arms and said, "We're going to have a baby." Just like that. I threw away the alcohol and the cigarettes, swore off soda and caffeine, and braced myself to tell Gram and Grampy.
At first, I just kept going to see Gram and help her around the house. My belly grew, but like a lot of first time mothers, I just ate everything in sight, so everything else grew, too. I kept waiting for her to say something. She never did, and I began to panic as I entered my fifth month. What if she rejected me? And Grampy - I knew I would break his heart! I would lose them for sure! I fidgeted and chewed on my pen as I sat down to write one of the toughest letters I ever had to put on paper. It took many tries and lots of rough drafts. Finally, I stamped it and put it in the mail. I had already given her my neighbor's number because we had no phone. Four days later, Sandy knocked and told me I had a call. Nervously, I trudged to her house. It was Gram, and she said one sentence, "We got your letter, we love you, and we want to see you."
Grace came pouring down from heaven washed over me in that very instant. I can only say that I had never known God's grace before that moment in time. I had only known Him as a righteous, controlling being who would never accept me because I was such a loser. Never before did I know that God would ever say to me, "I love you". God said it, and Gram was the messenger. My heart began to bask in His mercy that very day! "Heaven came down, and glory filled my soul".
Again, there is a pattern. Love. Where, oh where would I be without love? I have rejected it and even answered love with hate in the past. Gram showed me that love is love, no matter what the circumstances are. Love never fails! As I wrapped up a seventeen hour labor with a few last pushes, a new dimension of love broke through the veil of my soul as my newborn daughter was laid on my chest. She cried. I cried. And all was well. I looked at her that day and vowed never to break her heart. What high and lofty plans new mothers have! I determined in my heart that I would bring her up to know God - the right way. I had never been so complete. God had brought me up out of the fog and into a clear, new beautiful existence, with Him, with my baby girl, and with my new husband. How would I ever doubt Him again?
Dear Heavenly Father,
I sure wish I could put a period at the end of my testimony now. Remember how I talked to you all the time back then? Remember how I just wanted everyone to know You? I did love you then, but it was an immature love (am I so much more mature now? I wonder sometimes). Why do some of us run away from You when we know from experience that it's not worth it?! We can't hide ourselves, but somehow, we just give up. Again, I pray that You will keep me focused on you in the hard times, and yes, even in the good times. I love You, Lord. In my imperfect way, I love You, and I thank You for my life and my testimony! Please guide me as I continue on. In Jesus' name...
Today is a tough day to write. I have a dream to reach others and to be a blessing in the best way I know how, by writing and maybe even speaking one day. The economy has hit hard, and the future seems uncertain, with the good news I have been hoping for with my "day job" falling by the wayside. I am anxious about many things, and yet - anxious for nothing (Phil 4:6) Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. How curious and strange to look out at the darkened horizon with a blanket of peace over my soul! When I was approached today by friends at work about my 'closed door' meeting, I didn't really have any "good" news. As I felt that familiar choking feeling of seeing no real answer to all the pressing needs, I couldn't help but comfort my comforters with the belief that God is in all our tomorrows, and working all things together for good! What a great day! Thank You, Jesus! It is such a blessing to be able to write my testimony...His testimony of love and grace...
I came home at the age of seventeen. I wasn't the same kid who left to live with my mother when I was twelve. I was already promiscuous, having thrown myself into the arms of anyone who would make me feel special whenever Wayne and I separated. I had no relationship with either of my birth parents, and I was dieting, exercising and taking laxatives to achieve that perfect body. I was jealous, insecure, and bitter. I had no time for God, and less time for Paul and Meredith. One night, they asked me to leave, after finding some explicit "love" letters I had written to a boyfriend. I wound up living in nineteen different places in the next two years, sometimes on friend's couches or even in my car. I just drifted. I found drugs, alcohol and parties. I still remember the first time I tried cocaine, I was driving around with my friend, Tracy, and we were laughing because it felt like I was playing a video game. How I survived those years, I'll never know.
When I was fifteen, I received a letter from my father saying I would never have children due to a ruptured appendix when I was nine, which spread poisonous gangrene throughout my reproductive tract. I nearly died, and was kept in the hospital for a month and one more surgery. Now, at age 19, I had nothing to live for. I had only wanted to be a mother when I grew up. Now I was nothing. I wanted to die. I ended up in psychiatric day hospitalization program, in which a therapist eventually brought me to the city welfare department requesting that they put me on permanent psychiatric disability because I lost even the drive to communicate. I barely spoke. My heart could barely breathe. I didn't even know whether I still existed. I never went back to the welfare office to follow up on the request.
About that time, I began spending time with one of Gram and Grampy's grandsons. Being with him made me remember the wholeness of my childhood. One night he reintroduced me to that cute boy from the house that had hid me from my dad when I was twelve. I was completely smitten. He and I began spending all our time together and moved in shortly after. I was still battling my past (as I would for many, many years), and he would calmly put up with all the rage I threw his way. I got a pretty good job, and he became a police officer. He told me in no uncertain terms that I could no longer play around with drugs if I wanted to be with him. I gladly gave them up, but continued to drink nightly after I left my second shift job.
One day, one of my girlfriends from work asked me to go with her to the on site clinic to get a pregnancy test. She didn't want to go alone. I agreed, even though I knew I wasn't pregnant. It felt good to take the test and pretend what it would feel like to get back a positive result. A day or two later, we went back for the results. She was told her test was negative, and I was told mine was "very" positive. I was pregnant! I went back and told my boyfriend. He uttered an expletive and walked away. I went outside and began to cry on the stairs. A few minutes later, he came and sat down next to me, drew me into his arms and said, "We're going to have a baby." Just like that. I threw away the alcohol and the cigarettes, swore off soda and caffeine, and braced myself to tell Gram and Grampy.
At first, I just kept going to see Gram and help her around the house. My belly grew, but like a lot of first time mothers, I just ate everything in sight, so everything else grew, too. I kept waiting for her to say something. She never did, and I began to panic as I entered my fifth month. What if she rejected me? And Grampy - I knew I would break his heart! I would lose them for sure! I fidgeted and chewed on my pen as I sat down to write one of the toughest letters I ever had to put on paper. It took many tries and lots of rough drafts. Finally, I stamped it and put it in the mail. I had already given her my neighbor's number because we had no phone. Four days later, Sandy knocked and told me I had a call. Nervously, I trudged to her house. It was Gram, and she said one sentence, "We got your letter, we love you, and we want to see you."
Grace came pouring down from heaven washed over me in that very instant. I can only say that I had never known God's grace before that moment in time. I had only known Him as a righteous, controlling being who would never accept me because I was such a loser. Never before did I know that God would ever say to me, "I love you". God said it, and Gram was the messenger. My heart began to bask in His mercy that very day! "Heaven came down, and glory filled my soul".
Again, there is a pattern. Love. Where, oh where would I be without love? I have rejected it and even answered love with hate in the past. Gram showed me that love is love, no matter what the circumstances are. Love never fails! As I wrapped up a seventeen hour labor with a few last pushes, a new dimension of love broke through the veil of my soul as my newborn daughter was laid on my chest. She cried. I cried. And all was well. I looked at her that day and vowed never to break her heart. What high and lofty plans new mothers have! I determined in my heart that I would bring her up to know God - the right way. I had never been so complete. God had brought me up out of the fog and into a clear, new beautiful existence, with Him, with my baby girl, and with my new husband. How would I ever doubt Him again?
Dear Heavenly Father,
I sure wish I could put a period at the end of my testimony now. Remember how I talked to you all the time back then? Remember how I just wanted everyone to know You? I did love you then, but it was an immature love (am I so much more mature now? I wonder sometimes). Why do some of us run away from You when we know from experience that it's not worth it?! We can't hide ourselves, but somehow, we just give up. Again, I pray that You will keep me focused on you in the hard times, and yes, even in the good times. I love You, Lord. In my imperfect way, I love You, and I thank You for my life and my testimony! Please guide me as I continue on. In Jesus' name...
Monday, September 20, 2010
Testimony Part III
This is part three of my testimony. Parts I and II can be viewed below.
Wow, there is so much to say, and so much to pass over! I pray once again, as I relay former events that there is, well, a point. My story is just a story without the grace of God and His powerful salvation, both as I look back, and also reaching forward into all eternity. Jesus makes every life worth living. I can say that with all conviction, and pray that my readers will look inward and see how great a salvation He truly offers. If my humbled life was lived for this moment in time - to point even one wounded person toward the Father, then I do not regret a day of it.
Jesus said, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33
We are never promised that we will avoid trouble in this life, but knowing that He has overcome the world had changed my entire perspective!
Time alone at my dad's was tough, but the day finally came when my father told me I would be moving in with Gram and Grampy. Just as when my stepmother moved out, I could show no joy to him over this. I had learned my lesson before. When Lisa was still with us, Dad told us one day that we would be moving to Meredith and Paul's home "until we were 18". Paul was Gram and Grampy's son, and Meredith - well, Meredith had been a part of us since the day we moved into The Home years ago. I'm not even sure how old I was then, but I do remember repeatedly asking Dad, "Until we're 18?" I couldn't believe my ears! He had let us visit since we began living with him, but now we really never had to go back! We could be with people we loved so much, and who loved us, too! We would finally be a part of an honest-to-goodness family for the first time in our lives!
We weren't there long. Dad's birthday came and went, and I didn't send him a card. Lisa did. I saw her making it, but I just wanted him to be a character in some bad dream I had finally awakened from. It never occurred to me that I should wish him a happy birthday. Suddenly, he swooped down into our new, wonderful family and snatched us away in all his rage and anger. I hated myself for years for breaking up our family. The worst part was, we never spoke of it. Lisa and I whispered to each other to cry in our pillows on the way home so Dad wouldn't get more mad at us for crying. And so we once again lived out our isolated existence, with the memory of true love, a real mom and dad, and our secret desires unfulfilled..
Now, here was Dad again telling me I had to move out. I think I was eleven, and I moved into my haven of love once again. Gram and Grampy had been called "Mr. and Mrs. Beal" by me until that time. One day, Grampy took me aside and asked me if I would like to call them Grammy and Grampy, like their grandchildren. I eagerly said YES, and ran and told some of their grandchildren. The secret joy of belonging remained in my heart, even as the kids told me, "You can call them that, but you're not really their grandchild." I don't think kids ever really know how much they can hurt with their words. But now here I was - part of family holidays, get-togethers and their grandkids became my best friends and playmates. When we see each other now, we often talk of those days, with all the goofy and ridiculous circumstances we found ourselves in. I'm always so thankful to have had them in my life. The memories are wonderful!
Life was filled with school, friends, sweet slumber, and growing pains. I would go downstairs to Grampy's bookstore and listen to Christian kids' albums on the record player, and listen to Grampy talk about the Lord with his customers. In the evenings, the kids and I would play hide-and -seek or softball. I spent time in my room again - by choice. I was a voracious reader, and read everything I could get my hands on. Slowly, I was turning into a young woman, with my body changing faster than my years. I went to summer camp at the age of twelve, and everyone thought I was a counselor. I looked more like sixteen or seventeen then.
I even got to see my mother for the second or third time in my entire childhood. Lisa and Robyn had each gone to live with her eventually, and she came to New England to give a presentation for her job. She brought me with her, and I got to know her a little with Lisa right there. My father had previously said so many frightening things to me about her, that I got hives the one time she visited me at his home. He told me she would try to kidnap me, so I was always fearful whenever I was out alone. Now, seeing her as something less than a monster for the first time, and with much encouragement from Lisa, I agreed to give her a chance. My mother flew back to Virginia, and Lisa and I came back to Gram and Grampy's home until Lisa had to leave.
I guess my fahter began to stew about me having that visit with my mother, and he arrived one night with a State Trooper, telling me to get my things and that we were leaving that night to go live in New York. Somehow I was able, with Grampy supporting me, to tell my father I didn't want to go with him. It was the first of only two times I would ever stand up to him in my life. Dad called me a pig, and Grampy jumped up from his chair to stand toe-to-toe with him, telling him I was a girl, not a barnyard animal. Dear, peaceful Grampy. My hero. The trooper talked Dad into leaving that night, with the promise that he could go to the courts to get an order for Grampy to release me the next day. Lisa and I went to bed, and I listened to her soft breathing after I cried myself to sleep. I was so afraid. My faint heart just cried out, "Not again. Oh, please, not again!"
The next morning, a wonderful lady from our church came to pick me up to swim at her house. Her son was there. I thought he was the cutest boy in the world. He was three years older than me, and was somehow shy, yet "cool". I would find out years later that she had been hiding me at her house so my dad wouldn't find me as my mother hopped on a plane to come get me. When I got home, I was told my mother was taking me with her to live in Virginia. Lisa was there, so I was happy to go, though I looked back at Gram and Grampy with tears in my eyes. They were still my very own mother and father, and at twelve years old, I choked back the good-bye. I loved them so.
And so the next three years of my life had begun in Virginia. I was just out of sixth grade, and now began attending school at a progressive, new-age school which encompassed both junior high and high school, in Arlington. The teachers were called by their first names, we could smoke, walk around barefoot, and were never reprimanded for not attending class. I got a job in the school cafeteria, but began to skip work because my teachers would come through the line and ask where I had been. I didn't even see one of my report cards, and now my mother was shut up in her room after work. If she was told I was truant, she never said anything to me about it.
My sisters and I would walk a mile to a fabulous youth group at a local Baptist church. There were a ton of teens and youth leaders, and we went on field trips in the summer. While I was resentful of my mother, and still aching from a rocky childhood, I loved going to church. I was in the junior high group, and began to get rides from some of my youth leaders on late nights after church. Wayne, one leader in particular, began offering rides all the time. He talked of love and played music for me. He was in his early twenties. We had an all-nighter for New Years, and by morning, I was lying on the couch, with other kids draped exhaustedly around the room. I felt Wayne behind the arm of the couch, and he began stroking my hair. On the way home, he kissed me. Frightened, yet somehow thrilled, I pretended I knew what I was doing. The little child in me cried out in fear, but just as I could never stand up to the other adults from my past, I did not stand up for myself with Wayne.
As time went on, Wayne got closer and closer, asking me to skip school to be with him, and telling me dirty jokes, asking if I knew what he meant. I pretended I did. There was no attention at home, and Wayne used to take photos of me, telling me how pretty I was. The day finally came when Wayne made his move. It took me many years to call it what it was - rape. As he began to try to get intimate, I told him he was hurting me. He warned me that girls who don't go through with it the first time, never will again. He told me I would become a lesbian, so I allowed him to do what he wanted, and then curled up in pain later that night. After that, Wayne and I practically lived together. I went to school in eighth grade a total of only a few weeks. He dropped out of Bible college and became a security guard. I felt that I should marry him because I knew only married people were allowed to do what we were doing. I still thank God that I never became pregnant during that time.
Soon, he began hitting me when he was angry with me, telling me that I was so stubborn, I made him "lose it". I was fourteen and he was twenty-two. Abuse became part of my life once again, and I sank deeper into a state of black hate and rebellion. When I was fifteen and basically a jr. high school drop-out, he joined the Army, and came home for me after basic training. He was moving to California and wanted me to run away with him. My mother protested a little, but I went anyway. She never tried to get me back.
We brought an immunization record with us to Las Vegas and tried to get married. I didn't look old enough, so Wayne found a call-girl, falsified the immunization records, and they brought the marriage license back with them to the motel I was waiting in. The call-girl's name was Jessica, and kept saying, "Praise the Lord" over and over again. We drove to the Little Chapel of the Flowers on July 19th, 1982, and got married with the fake license. Then we drove down the street to the A&W for a root beer float. I tried to make him some eggs for our first "married" breakfast, and he tipped the plate onto the rug and said, "You know I hate runny eggs."
Wayne was stationed in Monterey, California and I would sit outside his classes as he learned the Russian Language. He was a Russian linguist with a top secret security clearance and a teenage bride. When I wasn't waiting outside his classes up to eight hours a day, I was alone in our apartment, or getting beat up when he was home. I began secretly trying to figure out what I could sell so I could get a ticket out of there. This went on for two years, with me leaving a few times. Once, his parents came to visit and saw my black eye. They bought me a plane ticket to go live with my sister, Robyn, who was in the Marines in Chicago by then. He sent me a bus ticket back to him. Finally, when I was seventeen, on New Years' eve, I made a collect call to Paul and Meredith from an airport. He had just left me there. They brought me home, and once again, I was with my family, back where the love of God always brought me when things fell apart.
Are you beginning to see a pattern? I just look back in awe sometimes when I think of how God always brought me back from the brink. How His love was working my life out to be brought into His presence, His peace, His secure, everlasting arms. How do I know there is a God? I look at my life, and how could I not know? Yes, I was becoming a callous, angry young woman, but I was also that quaking little child who needed Jesus to hold my hand and draw me up into His lap. He did that through the powerful love of my Gram and Grampy, and Paul and Meredith. If not for them, I would have never known that I was worth anything. I would never have known love. I wouldn't be here today with a lump in my throat, remembering how they prayed for me and allowed Jesus, through them, to embrace me.
Dear Heavenly, Holy Father,
How can I say thank you for bringing me out of the darkness? How can I worship you for all You have done? Why did I reject you so much in my life? How deep and perfect Your compassion truly is! May You guide me as I write about You, and may people read this and glorify You in their own lives. I know we can all look back and see You everywhere if we're willing. Let us not focus on the pain, but rather on the theme of Your love through it all! Please help me as I continue on. In Jesus' name...
Wow, there is so much to say, and so much to pass over! I pray once again, as I relay former events that there is, well, a point. My story is just a story without the grace of God and His powerful salvation, both as I look back, and also reaching forward into all eternity. Jesus makes every life worth living. I can say that with all conviction, and pray that my readers will look inward and see how great a salvation He truly offers. If my humbled life was lived for this moment in time - to point even one wounded person toward the Father, then I do not regret a day of it.
Jesus said, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33
We are never promised that we will avoid trouble in this life, but knowing that He has overcome the world had changed my entire perspective!
Time alone at my dad's was tough, but the day finally came when my father told me I would be moving in with Gram and Grampy. Just as when my stepmother moved out, I could show no joy to him over this. I had learned my lesson before. When Lisa was still with us, Dad told us one day that we would be moving to Meredith and Paul's home "until we were 18". Paul was Gram and Grampy's son, and Meredith - well, Meredith had been a part of us since the day we moved into The Home years ago. I'm not even sure how old I was then, but I do remember repeatedly asking Dad, "Until we're 18?" I couldn't believe my ears! He had let us visit since we began living with him, but now we really never had to go back! We could be with people we loved so much, and who loved us, too! We would finally be a part of an honest-to-goodness family for the first time in our lives!
We weren't there long. Dad's birthday came and went, and I didn't send him a card. Lisa did. I saw her making it, but I just wanted him to be a character in some bad dream I had finally awakened from. It never occurred to me that I should wish him a happy birthday. Suddenly, he swooped down into our new, wonderful family and snatched us away in all his rage and anger. I hated myself for years for breaking up our family. The worst part was, we never spoke of it. Lisa and I whispered to each other to cry in our pillows on the way home so Dad wouldn't get more mad at us for crying. And so we once again lived out our isolated existence, with the memory of true love, a real mom and dad, and our secret desires unfulfilled..
Now, here was Dad again telling me I had to move out. I think I was eleven, and I moved into my haven of love once again. Gram and Grampy had been called "Mr. and Mrs. Beal" by me until that time. One day, Grampy took me aside and asked me if I would like to call them Grammy and Grampy, like their grandchildren. I eagerly said YES, and ran and told some of their grandchildren. The secret joy of belonging remained in my heart, even as the kids told me, "You can call them that, but you're not really their grandchild." I don't think kids ever really know how much they can hurt with their words. But now here I was - part of family holidays, get-togethers and their grandkids became my best friends and playmates. When we see each other now, we often talk of those days, with all the goofy and ridiculous circumstances we found ourselves in. I'm always so thankful to have had them in my life. The memories are wonderful!
Life was filled with school, friends, sweet slumber, and growing pains. I would go downstairs to Grampy's bookstore and listen to Christian kids' albums on the record player, and listen to Grampy talk about the Lord with his customers. In the evenings, the kids and I would play hide-and -seek or softball. I spent time in my room again - by choice. I was a voracious reader, and read everything I could get my hands on. Slowly, I was turning into a young woman, with my body changing faster than my years. I went to summer camp at the age of twelve, and everyone thought I was a counselor. I looked more like sixteen or seventeen then.
I even got to see my mother for the second or third time in my entire childhood. Lisa and Robyn had each gone to live with her eventually, and she came to New England to give a presentation for her job. She brought me with her, and I got to know her a little with Lisa right there. My father had previously said so many frightening things to me about her, that I got hives the one time she visited me at his home. He told me she would try to kidnap me, so I was always fearful whenever I was out alone. Now, seeing her as something less than a monster for the first time, and with much encouragement from Lisa, I agreed to give her a chance. My mother flew back to Virginia, and Lisa and I came back to Gram and Grampy's home until Lisa had to leave.
I guess my fahter began to stew about me having that visit with my mother, and he arrived one night with a State Trooper, telling me to get my things and that we were leaving that night to go live in New York. Somehow I was able, with Grampy supporting me, to tell my father I didn't want to go with him. It was the first of only two times I would ever stand up to him in my life. Dad called me a pig, and Grampy jumped up from his chair to stand toe-to-toe with him, telling him I was a girl, not a barnyard animal. Dear, peaceful Grampy. My hero. The trooper talked Dad into leaving that night, with the promise that he could go to the courts to get an order for Grampy to release me the next day. Lisa and I went to bed, and I listened to her soft breathing after I cried myself to sleep. I was so afraid. My faint heart just cried out, "Not again. Oh, please, not again!"
The next morning, a wonderful lady from our church came to pick me up to swim at her house. Her son was there. I thought he was the cutest boy in the world. He was three years older than me, and was somehow shy, yet "cool". I would find out years later that she had been hiding me at her house so my dad wouldn't find me as my mother hopped on a plane to come get me. When I got home, I was told my mother was taking me with her to live in Virginia. Lisa was there, so I was happy to go, though I looked back at Gram and Grampy with tears in my eyes. They were still my very own mother and father, and at twelve years old, I choked back the good-bye. I loved them so.
And so the next three years of my life had begun in Virginia. I was just out of sixth grade, and now began attending school at a progressive, new-age school which encompassed both junior high and high school, in Arlington. The teachers were called by their first names, we could smoke, walk around barefoot, and were never reprimanded for not attending class. I got a job in the school cafeteria, but began to skip work because my teachers would come through the line and ask where I had been. I didn't even see one of my report cards, and now my mother was shut up in her room after work. If she was told I was truant, she never said anything to me about it.
My sisters and I would walk a mile to a fabulous youth group at a local Baptist church. There were a ton of teens and youth leaders, and we went on field trips in the summer. While I was resentful of my mother, and still aching from a rocky childhood, I loved going to church. I was in the junior high group, and began to get rides from some of my youth leaders on late nights after church. Wayne, one leader in particular, began offering rides all the time. He talked of love and played music for me. He was in his early twenties. We had an all-nighter for New Years, and by morning, I was lying on the couch, with other kids draped exhaustedly around the room. I felt Wayne behind the arm of the couch, and he began stroking my hair. On the way home, he kissed me. Frightened, yet somehow thrilled, I pretended I knew what I was doing. The little child in me cried out in fear, but just as I could never stand up to the other adults from my past, I did not stand up for myself with Wayne.
As time went on, Wayne got closer and closer, asking me to skip school to be with him, and telling me dirty jokes, asking if I knew what he meant. I pretended I did. There was no attention at home, and Wayne used to take photos of me, telling me how pretty I was. The day finally came when Wayne made his move. It took me many years to call it what it was - rape. As he began to try to get intimate, I told him he was hurting me. He warned me that girls who don't go through with it the first time, never will again. He told me I would become a lesbian, so I allowed him to do what he wanted, and then curled up in pain later that night. After that, Wayne and I practically lived together. I went to school in eighth grade a total of only a few weeks. He dropped out of Bible college and became a security guard. I felt that I should marry him because I knew only married people were allowed to do what we were doing. I still thank God that I never became pregnant during that time.
Soon, he began hitting me when he was angry with me, telling me that I was so stubborn, I made him "lose it". I was fourteen and he was twenty-two. Abuse became part of my life once again, and I sank deeper into a state of black hate and rebellion. When I was fifteen and basically a jr. high school drop-out, he joined the Army, and came home for me after basic training. He was moving to California and wanted me to run away with him. My mother protested a little, but I went anyway. She never tried to get me back.
We brought an immunization record with us to Las Vegas and tried to get married. I didn't look old enough, so Wayne found a call-girl, falsified the immunization records, and they brought the marriage license back with them to the motel I was waiting in. The call-girl's name was Jessica, and kept saying, "Praise the Lord" over and over again. We drove to the Little Chapel of the Flowers on July 19th, 1982, and got married with the fake license. Then we drove down the street to the A&W for a root beer float. I tried to make him some eggs for our first "married" breakfast, and he tipped the plate onto the rug and said, "You know I hate runny eggs."
Wayne was stationed in Monterey, California and I would sit outside his classes as he learned the Russian Language. He was a Russian linguist with a top secret security clearance and a teenage bride. When I wasn't waiting outside his classes up to eight hours a day, I was alone in our apartment, or getting beat up when he was home. I began secretly trying to figure out what I could sell so I could get a ticket out of there. This went on for two years, with me leaving a few times. Once, his parents came to visit and saw my black eye. They bought me a plane ticket to go live with my sister, Robyn, who was in the Marines in Chicago by then. He sent me a bus ticket back to him. Finally, when I was seventeen, on New Years' eve, I made a collect call to Paul and Meredith from an airport. He had just left me there. They brought me home, and once again, I was with my family, back where the love of God always brought me when things fell apart.
Are you beginning to see a pattern? I just look back in awe sometimes when I think of how God always brought me back from the brink. How His love was working my life out to be brought into His presence, His peace, His secure, everlasting arms. How do I know there is a God? I look at my life, and how could I not know? Yes, I was becoming a callous, angry young woman, but I was also that quaking little child who needed Jesus to hold my hand and draw me up into His lap. He did that through the powerful love of my Gram and Grampy, and Paul and Meredith. If not for them, I would have never known that I was worth anything. I would never have known love. I wouldn't be here today with a lump in my throat, remembering how they prayed for me and allowed Jesus, through them, to embrace me.
Dear Heavenly, Holy Father,
How can I say thank you for bringing me out of the darkness? How can I worship you for all You have done? Why did I reject you so much in my life? How deep and perfect Your compassion truly is! May You guide me as I write about You, and may people read this and glorify You in their own lives. I know we can all look back and see You everywhere if we're willing. Let us not focus on the pain, but rather on the theme of Your love through it all! Please help me as I continue on. In Jesus' name...
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Testimony Part II
This is part two of my testimony. The previous post is part one.
As I sit at my keyboard, getting lost in those childhood memories, I can now view them from a godly, grown-up perspective. My life was my life, and I can look back and thank the Lord for His hand through it all. There are some things in my past that still make me misty eyed and wistful, wondering how different my life would have been if certain things had not happened, or if other things had. I know that I know that I know - that nothing happened which God didn't allow, and that my story can touch other people's hearts and help them release the pain of past devastation's to God. There is peace, forgiveness, and power available to every single hurting person who will give all the shattered pieces of their hearts to God. He will take anyone "as is". And so my story continues...
I have already written, in Gram's blog, www.97yearsofblessings.blogspot.com, about the events that happened after they left The Home. Things were not the same. A sadness settled on my tiny shoulders like a large cloak of lead. The sun wasn't as bright, and the laughter seemed empty. Although I had put my faith in Jesus, I didn't know how to give him my hurt. My father began to visit more frequently, bringing with him his new wife. Within a few months, they removed me and my two sisters from The Home one very terrifying night. My father had dark brown eyes, black hair, and a very deep voice. I felt like I could faint in my shoes whenever that face and that voice became angry. He and my stepmother brought me to the Beal's house the night he removed us from the only home we ever knew, and the joy of that night was almost too much for my happy little heart to bear.
After a short time, my sisters and I moved into my dad's apartment, where life seemed good. We saw the Beals' pretty often, and my stepmother laughed and joked with us. We though she was the prettiest woman we had ever seen! Dad was a toy salesman and surprised us now and then with little toys from his boxes. We all ate together as a family at the table in the kitchen until one night, my dad told my sister, Lisa, that she ate like a pig, and banished her to the bathroom to eat on the toilet. Lisa could no longer eat with the family. Then, my sister, Robyn, who was eleven by then, began getting regular beatings. One day, Dad was hitting her so hard on my cot, she wet herself. In her humiliation, she had to apologize to me in front of him for getting my bed and shoes wet, and was forced to sleep that night under my soiled blankets. Our stepmother began to only speak to us in angry, hour long outbursts in which we would have to maintain eye contact as she screamed and yelled at us for not washing her hairbrushes the way she wanted, or for overlooking a spot on the dishes that we washed each night. We were dragged out of bed to wash every single dish in the house when we failed to live up to her expectations.
Soon, we learned that Robyn would be moving in with a cousin of our mother's. I secretly wished I could do something so bad that my dad would send me away, too, but I was too afraid to do anything wrong. After Robyn left, Lisa and I were told one day that we would have to eat in our room because Dad and Maum couldn't stand the sight of us at the supper table. They bought us a child-sized table and chair set, sent us to our room, and permanently shut the door. We were not welcome in any other room in the house after that, except the kitchen, to make our own meals, and the bathroom, after Maum was finished getting ready for work in the mornings. We would lie in our beds, waiting for her to leave, and then come out and get ready for school. Dad stopped working and generally slept late every day, so we made sure we wouldn't wake him up.
I often think of that room Lisa and I shared, and realize now that God had provided a little "haven" for us, away from the hate and anger that plagued my parents. I felt safe in that room with Lisa. We quietly played, shared stories, listened to Bill Cosby on our little Mickey Mouse record player, and crawl into bed together when the night just seemed too frightening. Lisa and I lived like that for nearly two years. I already knew the heartbreak of losing my "real" mother and father, and thought nothing could ever break my heart again, until the age of nine, when I was told that my dad was sending Lisa away. She said good-bye at school one day, and the next day, I walked to school alone. I came home from school, and my dad said, "I left her outside at the church down the street. I hope someone comes to get her," and then he watched me cry my heart out. My stepmother embraced me, and soothed me that night. I still wonder why she was so tender that night, and see it now as another gift from God. I don't know how I would have made it through the agonizing realization that I may never see my sister, my best friend, the love of my life again, if Maum had not cradled me in her arms that night, letting me pour out my heartbreak.
Life alone, shut up in my bedroom began to make me angry. I did pray, but my mind would scream hateful things to God. I knew He was there. I knew He could have prevented all of this pain from happening. I felt that He just didn't care about me. God so loved the world, but forgot there was a scared little girl alone in her room day after day, week after week. When summer came, I was told to leave the house a daybreak. I couldn't come home until dark. The days were long, and I spent them at the local park, watching other kids there with friends and parents. No one talked to me, and I didn't talk to them, either. I felt invisible. At home, at school, at the park, and to God. My anger and rage were slowly building.
One night, my stepmother left. I had heard screaming and crashing as I lay in bed, but that wasn't anything new. When I got up to go to school the next day, our TV was on the ground outside their three story bedroom window, and shampoo bottles and other toiletries were strewn all over the street. When I got home that afternoon, Dad told me she was gone. I tried to look upset, but inside I was hopeful that Dad would be happier without her there, but then he began to have bouts of depression and spent day after day sitting in the living room in his underwear in the dark, singing, drinking and crying.
Through it all, I had times when I could be with Gram and Grampy, and spent weekends and times in the summer with them. These were the moments when I knew God loved me. They spoke so confidently and loving about God, I couldn't help but bask in the joy of His presence. It seemed to be everywhere in their home. I would curl up on Grampy's lap as we watched Hogan's Heroes after supper. He would watch the show, and I would lay my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat and the sound of his breathing and laughter. I would once again follow Gram around the house, talking with her about anything and everything. She was so beautiful to me in her worn house dresses and slippers, cutting up apples in the kitchen, putting her "kerchief" on for rides in the car, giggling over something silly as only she could do. There was a peace and a sense of belonging with them that was like a soothing balm to my blistered and charred soul. I didn't feel like that invisible nine, ten or eleven year old awkward girl with the bushy eyebrows and the scratchy knees. I was their girl, and I was wanted.
As I look back, I see these times as redemptive days. Life at Dad's was dark and hopeless, and yet God, in His wisdom, brought me into the light of His love at just the times when I felt like my soul was about to plummet off a steep cliff. He knew that I needed to see His hand in bringing me back to Himself through the love of the only parents I knew. He showed me, by their example, what it means to be a true child of God. Grampy quoted scripture often in the course of his day, counselling people downstairs at his Christian bookstore, or even in conversation with me. Those verses became a part of me. They helped me through the dark days.
And so, I once again give my testimony as a picture of God's light, searing through the blackness of despair. He still amazes me!
Dear Heavenly Father...
Thank You so much for keeping me safe as a child! Thank You for giving all of us glimpses of You through even the most hopeless times. Oh, God...Your love is so perfect, and so pure, I am humbled to realize how much you love me. Please help me to exalt You as I testify of Your compassion through the empty and lonely years! And please help others to heal. In Jesus' name...
As I sit at my keyboard, getting lost in those childhood memories, I can now view them from a godly, grown-up perspective. My life was my life, and I can look back and thank the Lord for His hand through it all. There are some things in my past that still make me misty eyed and wistful, wondering how different my life would have been if certain things had not happened, or if other things had. I know that I know that I know - that nothing happened which God didn't allow, and that my story can touch other people's hearts and help them release the pain of past devastation's to God. There is peace, forgiveness, and power available to every single hurting person who will give all the shattered pieces of their hearts to God. He will take anyone "as is". And so my story continues...
I have already written, in Gram's blog, www.97yearsofblessings.blogspot.com, about the events that happened after they left The Home. Things were not the same. A sadness settled on my tiny shoulders like a large cloak of lead. The sun wasn't as bright, and the laughter seemed empty. Although I had put my faith in Jesus, I didn't know how to give him my hurt. My father began to visit more frequently, bringing with him his new wife. Within a few months, they removed me and my two sisters from The Home one very terrifying night. My father had dark brown eyes, black hair, and a very deep voice. I felt like I could faint in my shoes whenever that face and that voice became angry. He and my stepmother brought me to the Beal's house the night he removed us from the only home we ever knew, and the joy of that night was almost too much for my happy little heart to bear.
After a short time, my sisters and I moved into my dad's apartment, where life seemed good. We saw the Beals' pretty often, and my stepmother laughed and joked with us. We though she was the prettiest woman we had ever seen! Dad was a toy salesman and surprised us now and then with little toys from his boxes. We all ate together as a family at the table in the kitchen until one night, my dad told my sister, Lisa, that she ate like a pig, and banished her to the bathroom to eat on the toilet. Lisa could no longer eat with the family. Then, my sister, Robyn, who was eleven by then, began getting regular beatings. One day, Dad was hitting her so hard on my cot, she wet herself. In her humiliation, she had to apologize to me in front of him for getting my bed and shoes wet, and was forced to sleep that night under my soiled blankets. Our stepmother began to only speak to us in angry, hour long outbursts in which we would have to maintain eye contact as she screamed and yelled at us for not washing her hairbrushes the way she wanted, or for overlooking a spot on the dishes that we washed each night. We were dragged out of bed to wash every single dish in the house when we failed to live up to her expectations.
Soon, we learned that Robyn would be moving in with a cousin of our mother's. I secretly wished I could do something so bad that my dad would send me away, too, but I was too afraid to do anything wrong. After Robyn left, Lisa and I were told one day that we would have to eat in our room because Dad and Maum couldn't stand the sight of us at the supper table. They bought us a child-sized table and chair set, sent us to our room, and permanently shut the door. We were not welcome in any other room in the house after that, except the kitchen, to make our own meals, and the bathroom, after Maum was finished getting ready for work in the mornings. We would lie in our beds, waiting for her to leave, and then come out and get ready for school. Dad stopped working and generally slept late every day, so we made sure we wouldn't wake him up.
I often think of that room Lisa and I shared, and realize now that God had provided a little "haven" for us, away from the hate and anger that plagued my parents. I felt safe in that room with Lisa. We quietly played, shared stories, listened to Bill Cosby on our little Mickey Mouse record player, and crawl into bed together when the night just seemed too frightening. Lisa and I lived like that for nearly two years. I already knew the heartbreak of losing my "real" mother and father, and thought nothing could ever break my heart again, until the age of nine, when I was told that my dad was sending Lisa away. She said good-bye at school one day, and the next day, I walked to school alone. I came home from school, and my dad said, "I left her outside at the church down the street. I hope someone comes to get her," and then he watched me cry my heart out. My stepmother embraced me, and soothed me that night. I still wonder why she was so tender that night, and see it now as another gift from God. I don't know how I would have made it through the agonizing realization that I may never see my sister, my best friend, the love of my life again, if Maum had not cradled me in her arms that night, letting me pour out my heartbreak.
Life alone, shut up in my bedroom began to make me angry. I did pray, but my mind would scream hateful things to God. I knew He was there. I knew He could have prevented all of this pain from happening. I felt that He just didn't care about me. God so loved the world, but forgot there was a scared little girl alone in her room day after day, week after week. When summer came, I was told to leave the house a daybreak. I couldn't come home until dark. The days were long, and I spent them at the local park, watching other kids there with friends and parents. No one talked to me, and I didn't talk to them, either. I felt invisible. At home, at school, at the park, and to God. My anger and rage were slowly building.
One night, my stepmother left. I had heard screaming and crashing as I lay in bed, but that wasn't anything new. When I got up to go to school the next day, our TV was on the ground outside their three story bedroom window, and shampoo bottles and other toiletries were strewn all over the street. When I got home that afternoon, Dad told me she was gone. I tried to look upset, but inside I was hopeful that Dad would be happier without her there, but then he began to have bouts of depression and spent day after day sitting in the living room in his underwear in the dark, singing, drinking and crying.
Through it all, I had times when I could be with Gram and Grampy, and spent weekends and times in the summer with them. These were the moments when I knew God loved me. They spoke so confidently and loving about God, I couldn't help but bask in the joy of His presence. It seemed to be everywhere in their home. I would curl up on Grampy's lap as we watched Hogan's Heroes after supper. He would watch the show, and I would lay my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat and the sound of his breathing and laughter. I would once again follow Gram around the house, talking with her about anything and everything. She was so beautiful to me in her worn house dresses and slippers, cutting up apples in the kitchen, putting her "kerchief" on for rides in the car, giggling over something silly as only she could do. There was a peace and a sense of belonging with them that was like a soothing balm to my blistered and charred soul. I didn't feel like that invisible nine, ten or eleven year old awkward girl with the bushy eyebrows and the scratchy knees. I was their girl, and I was wanted.
As I look back, I see these times as redemptive days. Life at Dad's was dark and hopeless, and yet God, in His wisdom, brought me into the light of His love at just the times when I felt like my soul was about to plummet off a steep cliff. He knew that I needed to see His hand in bringing me back to Himself through the love of the only parents I knew. He showed me, by their example, what it means to be a true child of God. Grampy quoted scripture often in the course of his day, counselling people downstairs at his Christian bookstore, or even in conversation with me. Those verses became a part of me. They helped me through the dark days.
And so, I once again give my testimony as a picture of God's light, searing through the blackness of despair. He still amazes me!
Dear Heavenly Father...
Thank You so much for keeping me safe as a child! Thank You for giving all of us glimpses of You through even the most hopeless times. Oh, God...Your love is so perfect, and so pure, I am humbled to realize how much you love me. Please help me to exalt You as I testify of Your compassion through the empty and lonely years! And please help others to heal. In Jesus' name...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Testimony Part I
I've said it before. I'm no one, or at least I used to be before grace washed over my obscure and cloudy existence and I became, in an instant, a princess. The daughter of the King of kings and Lord of lords. I have not sat down to write or share my testimony until now because I know the scarred and unsteady bricks that make up the path from "there" to "here". As I dawdled in my office, sitting down, then standing and distracted by my own uncertainty, I came across a book that belonged to my foster parents. It's a little hardcover devotional book titled Forget Me Not, which must be well over a hundred years old. There is no copyright date that I can find in the pages. On the front inside cover is a colored drawing of a basket of flowers (I'm guessing they're Forget-Me-Not's), and a verse. Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He shall bring it to pass (Psalm 36:5)
I know I'm not anything close to what I want to be in Christ, but I also know He gave me a testimony of deep and complete redemption. I have no right to keep my story to myself. My past does not always - or even usually - portray a life of which I am proud. That's not the point. I was saved from myself, and for the glory of God. If you find that I am not the perfect example of your idea of who a Christian is, I can only reiterate that we are all saved by grace. And so my story begins on a winter day in New England, 1966...
I was the result of a botched contraceptive attempt. My mother already had two daughters, Robyn, who was just turning 3, and Lisa, a little over a year old when she and my dad tried not to have me. I would find out the details later in life when each of them told the story of the pregnancy that wasn't meant to be. Mother, laughing. Dad, raging.
My parents were never married, and Robyn, Lisa and I were in a strained home environment. Both of my parents discovered shortly after my birth that they couldn't live with each other and since neither of them wanted to care for us girls on their own, they found a group home for us to live in. My mother told me many years later that she had considered a much larger home in Massachusetts, but was wary of how all the kids were directed by bells. Bells for rising, eating, bedtime. She also told me that she had two requests for God when she dropped us off - keep us safe, and keep us together. Once good-byes were said, my mother moved to Washington, DC, and we didn't really hear from her much after that. I was eight months old the day she left.
My earliest memories were of love and laughter at the Boylston Home for Girls. I remember being in a crib, bathing in the old claw foot bathtub, curling up in bed for nightly bedtime stories and prayers, helping whoever was baking cookies in the pantry, and racing around the three story Victorian home with my sister Lisa, in stocking feet. And, oh, the love. I just remember being so very, absolutely, madly in love with "Mister", who would later become my very own foster dad and renamed "Grampy". Mister and I would drive in the car together. He would take me to the "wholesalers", and would fill the cart up with all kinds of food for the Home. Missus, (later my foster mother, renamed - you guessed it - "Gram") was my friend and playmate during the day, but when Mister was home, I only had eyes for him. Meredith was there as a staff member, and she loved us all as only a mother can. I used to hope she would sit down next to me on the couch in the TV room, because if she did, I might be able to lay my head in her lap and she might absentmindedly curl my hair around my ears as we sat together. It was hard getting a spot next to Meredith because all the girls clamored for her.
Memories of the Home for me were warm , bundled up in childhood joy. Some girls came and went, but there was a core family of girls who were there for most of my seven years at the Home. There were some warning signs along the way that may have cautioned an older, wiser child that things were not always going to be so easy, but in my mind I was a part of a big, happy, loving family. The pain I had over seeing kids at church with their "real" parents, or my secret, embarrassed scribbling of Mother and Father's Day cards to Missus and Mister went away after a few hours. The saying that we were "all family in God's eyes" seemed to overshadow the certainty in my heart that we really were, honest to goodness family. Things were "right" until a little voice deep down told my tiny heart that it couldn't last forever. And it didn't.
I was seven when my world came to an end. Mister and Missus, now called Mr. and Mrs. Beal to us girls, were leaving. I knew somewhere they had tried to prepare us for that day, but I couldn't remember them saying it would be so, well, soon. They were saying their good-byes, and I was a brave child, not allowing myself to cry. Mr. Beal picked me up and hugged me. I can't remember if Mrs. Beal hugged me, but I'm sure she tenderly told me, "Love is for keeps". Once they were out the door, I quietly crept to the Music Room and watched the car back out of the driveway. Only then, did I begin to sob, "Mr. Beal, Mr. Beal, Mr. Beal", over and over again. I couldn't think of any other words. I loved Missus, but he was my hero. I watched until they were out of sight, and my heart felt that breaking, aching, heavy wrenching that only comes when it is acutely broken. Though I never felt the loss of my own parents, the sting of this perceived "abandonment" in my immature life was the first experience of many which would begin to form a muddy, black coating on my heart.
What I didn't know then was that God was working all things together, for my good, and for His glory.
I just love Psalm 10:14 But You have seen, for You observe trouble and grief, to repay it by Your hand. The helpless commits himself to You; You are the helper of the fatherless.
This blog is titled "Healing the Locust Years" because of God's promise in Joel 2:25 "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten..."
God has repayed my trouble and grief, and He heaps blessing upon blessing daily as He repays the years the locusts have eaten!
As I dawdled here in the office, wondering whether I should attempt to write my testimony and whether I would be able to even make sense as I try to bring glory to God, I flipped to the September 14th entry in the little Forget Me Not devotional. It reads: The Lord God will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded (Isaiah 50:7)
Dear Heavenly Father,
You know I want to bring glory to You. I don't know what to say, or how to say it sometimes. Please bring blessing and hope to others who may be reading this. You know there is so much more to write. Please direct me in writing only what pleases You, and may I remember that even the hard things can be used greatly by You. And oh, Lord, keep me humble! In Jesus' name...
I know I'm not anything close to what I want to be in Christ, but I also know He gave me a testimony of deep and complete redemption. I have no right to keep my story to myself. My past does not always - or even usually - portray a life of which I am proud. That's not the point. I was saved from myself, and for the glory of God. If you find that I am not the perfect example of your idea of who a Christian is, I can only reiterate that we are all saved by grace. And so my story begins on a winter day in New England, 1966...
I was the result of a botched contraceptive attempt. My mother already had two daughters, Robyn, who was just turning 3, and Lisa, a little over a year old when she and my dad tried not to have me. I would find out the details later in life when each of them told the story of the pregnancy that wasn't meant to be. Mother, laughing. Dad, raging.
My parents were never married, and Robyn, Lisa and I were in a strained home environment. Both of my parents discovered shortly after my birth that they couldn't live with each other and since neither of them wanted to care for us girls on their own, they found a group home for us to live in. My mother told me many years later that she had considered a much larger home in Massachusetts, but was wary of how all the kids were directed by bells. Bells for rising, eating, bedtime. She also told me that she had two requests for God when she dropped us off - keep us safe, and keep us together. Once good-byes were said, my mother moved to Washington, DC, and we didn't really hear from her much after that. I was eight months old the day she left.
My earliest memories were of love and laughter at the Boylston Home for Girls. I remember being in a crib, bathing in the old claw foot bathtub, curling up in bed for nightly bedtime stories and prayers, helping whoever was baking cookies in the pantry, and racing around the three story Victorian home with my sister Lisa, in stocking feet. And, oh, the love. I just remember being so very, absolutely, madly in love with "Mister", who would later become my very own foster dad and renamed "Grampy". Mister and I would drive in the car together. He would take me to the "wholesalers", and would fill the cart up with all kinds of food for the Home. Missus, (later my foster mother, renamed - you guessed it - "Gram") was my friend and playmate during the day, but when Mister was home, I only had eyes for him. Meredith was there as a staff member, and she loved us all as only a mother can. I used to hope she would sit down next to me on the couch in the TV room, because if she did, I might be able to lay my head in her lap and she might absentmindedly curl my hair around my ears as we sat together. It was hard getting a spot next to Meredith because all the girls clamored for her.
Memories of the Home for me were warm , bundled up in childhood joy. Some girls came and went, but there was a core family of girls who were there for most of my seven years at the Home. There were some warning signs along the way that may have cautioned an older, wiser child that things were not always going to be so easy, but in my mind I was a part of a big, happy, loving family. The pain I had over seeing kids at church with their "real" parents, or my secret, embarrassed scribbling of Mother and Father's Day cards to Missus and Mister went away after a few hours. The saying that we were "all family in God's eyes" seemed to overshadow the certainty in my heart that we really were, honest to goodness family. Things were "right" until a little voice deep down told my tiny heart that it couldn't last forever. And it didn't.
I was seven when my world came to an end. Mister and Missus, now called Mr. and Mrs. Beal to us girls, were leaving. I knew somewhere they had tried to prepare us for that day, but I couldn't remember them saying it would be so, well, soon. They were saying their good-byes, and I was a brave child, not allowing myself to cry. Mr. Beal picked me up and hugged me. I can't remember if Mrs. Beal hugged me, but I'm sure she tenderly told me, "Love is for keeps". Once they were out the door, I quietly crept to the Music Room and watched the car back out of the driveway. Only then, did I begin to sob, "Mr. Beal, Mr. Beal, Mr. Beal", over and over again. I couldn't think of any other words. I loved Missus, but he was my hero. I watched until they were out of sight, and my heart felt that breaking, aching, heavy wrenching that only comes when it is acutely broken. Though I never felt the loss of my own parents, the sting of this perceived "abandonment" in my immature life was the first experience of many which would begin to form a muddy, black coating on my heart.
What I didn't know then was that God was working all things together, for my good, and for His glory.
I just love Psalm 10:14 But You have seen, for You observe trouble and grief, to repay it by Your hand. The helpless commits himself to You; You are the helper of the fatherless.
This blog is titled "Healing the Locust Years" because of God's promise in Joel 2:25 "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten..."
God has repayed my trouble and grief, and He heaps blessing upon blessing daily as He repays the years the locusts have eaten!
As I dawdled here in the office, wondering whether I should attempt to write my testimony and whether I would be able to even make sense as I try to bring glory to God, I flipped to the September 14th entry in the little Forget Me Not devotional. It reads: The Lord God will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded (Isaiah 50:7)
Dear Heavenly Father,
You know I want to bring glory to You. I don't know what to say, or how to say it sometimes. Please bring blessing and hope to others who may be reading this. You know there is so much more to write. Please direct me in writing only what pleases You, and may I remember that even the hard things can be used greatly by You. And oh, Lord, keep me humble! In Jesus' name...
Monday, September 13, 2010
Time for Testimony
It has been an incredible week of ups and downs, as my last post indicated. I'm so thankful I can say that I was able to sit down with the 'someone' I referred to in my last post that had let me down. Normally, I rarely address these kinds of issues with the person who has hurt me. I do one of two things (or both). I swallow the hurt, and end up resenting the other person, or I talk to everyone but that person, about my hurt. God has really been speaking to me about this! I knew this person and I had a meeting, and I prayed with all my might on the way to the meeting that I would be able to speak up in love. Isn't God just so wonderful to answer our heartfelt prayers?? Long story short, I was able to lovingly tell of my hurt and feelings of being let down at a moment when I had reached out. We talked briefly about this, and God was so gracious in allowing healing by way of that person's apology, and my acceptance and forgiveness. Let me just say, the miracle to me wasn't my ability to forgive (this time), but I was just so amazed at how God had prepared the other person's heart to understand the hurt. I don't know about you, but when I am approached about something I have done that has hurt someone else, my first reaction is one of self-defense. I'm just so thankful that the time we spent talking about tough things was in a spirit of love on both sides, just as it should be.
I know some of you have read a little about me in the September issue of Guideposts. I do think it's time for me to begin giving my life's testimony in this blog, and my next post will begin with part one of my testimony. It's fine to read all the other entries, but if you don't know what brought me to this moment in time, it doesn't really have as much significance to you.
Elizabeth
I know some of you have read a little about me in the September issue of Guideposts. I do think it's time for me to begin giving my life's testimony in this blog, and my next post will begin with part one of my testimony. It's fine to read all the other entries, but if you don't know what brought me to this moment in time, it doesn't really have as much significance to you.
Elizabeth
Monday, September 6, 2010
Even As God, For Christ's Sake, Has Forgiven
How do I begin? Where do I start showing my kids that the life I led hiding from Christ is in the past. It's over. I gave up myself and gave in to God. I have been clinging to His life, freedom and joy for over a year, now. It's not like it was before, in the 15 years of "following" when I had self-imposed rules and little inner joy. Christianity was a burden to me before. I wanted to do the right thing, and did what I thought was right pretty consistently (in my own estimation), but I just didn't have that love relationship with Christ. The light bulb hadn't yet come on. My viewpoint when I was a younger Christian agreed with the what I heard this past Sunday on a well known televised religious program. A young woman spoke of her pain because she thought God was always mad at her (because of her shortcomings and failures). She finally "got it" when she realized He wasn't "mad", He was "madly in love" with her. The chains of guilt and self recrimination fell off and she moved forward in joy.
Oh, I still have my moments. Would I be human if I didn't? I bask in my new understanding of God's amazing grace and unfailing love, and I'm so thankful for His everlasting arms! I have a tendency to forget the past, because I know I am one hundred percent forgiven. Guilt over the sin which has been laid at the foot of the cross is a tool of Satan. I refuse to be bound by or identify with who I was back then until...
My kids remember me "when". They still hurt over the choices I made. I come crashing down to earth when I hear the blame in their voices (well, one child in particular, lately). Anyone who knew me then and knows me now, knows I have completely changed. But the kids...they still suffer because of the instability I forced on them as I dragged them along on my quest for things that never satisfied. Things I thought would help only hurt. Promises to give them a better life only left them unsure and empty. They were the ones who were unwillingly strapped into the emotional roller coaster. It's all now a part of the big, ominous thing called a "childhood". You know, the word that people use as a reason for all their successes or failures in life.
I reached out for help the other night. The situation seemed dire, and emotions were raw. My past was relentlessly thrown in my face by one of my kids, and we needed help fast. I didn't think we would make it through the night with things on the course they were headed. This child was raging, defending his wrong behavior. The excuse? Why should he follow my rules when I so miserably used to break them myself?
I needed to sit down and talk with my child about forgiveness. I needed to ask for forgiveness in an angry setting in which my past was once again the source of all the problems we were facing. I also needed to forgive my child for not forgiving me, if that makes any sense. I know I have been forgiven by God, but I don't expect my children to have that supernatural attitude of, "Well, Mom is sorry, so we'll put all that behind us now." Though I don't expect their hearts to automatically have that spirit of love and understanding, I know the beast of an unforgiving heart will devour their souls and destroy their peace of mind. I am no stranger to that beast. I used to be in the same position, hating my parents for too many painful years. I hurt for my kids because I know forgiveness is one of the toughest choices anyone has to make. Some would say it's impossible. With God all things are possible. But how do we get from there to here?
The people I reached out to said they would pray. They promised to call the next day to check in, then they forgot. I was adrift. I felt that God was prompting me to see this situation with my child as something I could no longer keep to myself. It was for my child that I cried out for help. When no one came ,it hurt. A lot. I prayed that God would show me what to do next. And He did.
I picked up the phone and called someone I had lost touch with years ago. She and I were pregnant together back in the day. We used to have "play dates" and take the kids to the beach. We went to church together many years ago. I knew she, of all people, would tell it to me straight. When we talked on the phone I simply told her I needed to talk. She told me to come on over, and said, "That's what friends are for." I was able to tell her all that was troubling my family, and how I needed to learn how to help my kids heal. She let me talk and listened, and after it was all on the table, I waited to hear whether she, too, would condemn me for my past. I should have known better.
I left this friend's home with a new sense of peace. "We all have our troubles", she said. She didn't minimize the damage I knew I had done, but she did tell me that we all mess up. We're all in this together, so to speak. No one is perfect. She urged me to go back to my child and express the love and remorse for how I had hurt him. She reminded me of the havoc hormones can wreak on teenagers, but also agreed with me that he needs to express his frustration more appropriately. She said, "I don't have a lot of answers, but I want you to know I'm here for you". What true friend can offer more than that?
Why did I feel that this was a good topic for my post? Because I know I'm not the only one who is facing something like this. I want to "be here" for people who need a place to go when they feel like misfits in the traditional Christian world. People like me can feel lost and out of place amidst the Christian "lifers" who have never divorced and have never had their children blame them for their disastrous decisions. Sometimes the very place we go to find God's acceptance is the place that condemns us for becoming who we are today - sinners, saved by grace.
I can't promise that your kids, or others you have hurt will forgive you. I can't promise that you will be welcomed back into God's family with open arms. These things are important, but we can walk on in victory even if the harmony and love we desire is elusive, because of one thing. God is on our side. He loves us more than we could ever imagine and has blanketed us with Christ's righteousness! There is nothing we could ever do to take that love away, and we're always one honest prayer away from forgiveness and harmony with Him.
If God be for us, who can be against us?
Dear Heavenly Father,
Again, I thank you with all my heart for Your love. I pray for my children and those I have so desperately hurt with my selfishness! Help them to turn to You with their pain and allow You heal their hearts. I ask You to keep me from hurting them in the future, by Your grace and with Your help. Please also keep my own heart from being tainted with a spirit of unforgiveness toward those who let me down. Allow me to continue to love and be patient, even as You are compassionate with me when I let you down. May I remember that we're all in this together! These requests I lift up to You, in Jesus' name...
Oh, I still have my moments. Would I be human if I didn't? I bask in my new understanding of God's amazing grace and unfailing love, and I'm so thankful for His everlasting arms! I have a tendency to forget the past, because I know I am one hundred percent forgiven. Guilt over the sin which has been laid at the foot of the cross is a tool of Satan. I refuse to be bound by or identify with who I was back then until...
My kids remember me "when". They still hurt over the choices I made. I come crashing down to earth when I hear the blame in their voices (well, one child in particular, lately). Anyone who knew me then and knows me now, knows I have completely changed. But the kids...they still suffer because of the instability I forced on them as I dragged them along on my quest for things that never satisfied. Things I thought would help only hurt. Promises to give them a better life only left them unsure and empty. They were the ones who were unwillingly strapped into the emotional roller coaster. It's all now a part of the big, ominous thing called a "childhood". You know, the word that people use as a reason for all their successes or failures in life.
I reached out for help the other night. The situation seemed dire, and emotions were raw. My past was relentlessly thrown in my face by one of my kids, and we needed help fast. I didn't think we would make it through the night with things on the course they were headed. This child was raging, defending his wrong behavior. The excuse? Why should he follow my rules when I so miserably used to break them myself?
I needed to sit down and talk with my child about forgiveness. I needed to ask for forgiveness in an angry setting in which my past was once again the source of all the problems we were facing. I also needed to forgive my child for not forgiving me, if that makes any sense. I know I have been forgiven by God, but I don't expect my children to have that supernatural attitude of, "Well, Mom is sorry, so we'll put all that behind us now." Though I don't expect their hearts to automatically have that spirit of love and understanding, I know the beast of an unforgiving heart will devour their souls and destroy their peace of mind. I am no stranger to that beast. I used to be in the same position, hating my parents for too many painful years. I hurt for my kids because I know forgiveness is one of the toughest choices anyone has to make. Some would say it's impossible. With God all things are possible. But how do we get from there to here?
The people I reached out to said they would pray. They promised to call the next day to check in, then they forgot. I was adrift. I felt that God was prompting me to see this situation with my child as something I could no longer keep to myself. It was for my child that I cried out for help. When no one came ,it hurt. A lot. I prayed that God would show me what to do next. And He did.
I picked up the phone and called someone I had lost touch with years ago. She and I were pregnant together back in the day. We used to have "play dates" and take the kids to the beach. We went to church together many years ago. I knew she, of all people, would tell it to me straight. When we talked on the phone I simply told her I needed to talk. She told me to come on over, and said, "That's what friends are for." I was able to tell her all that was troubling my family, and how I needed to learn how to help my kids heal. She let me talk and listened, and after it was all on the table, I waited to hear whether she, too, would condemn me for my past. I should have known better.
I left this friend's home with a new sense of peace. "We all have our troubles", she said. She didn't minimize the damage I knew I had done, but she did tell me that we all mess up. We're all in this together, so to speak. No one is perfect. She urged me to go back to my child and express the love and remorse for how I had hurt him. She reminded me of the havoc hormones can wreak on teenagers, but also agreed with me that he needs to express his frustration more appropriately. She said, "I don't have a lot of answers, but I want you to know I'm here for you". What true friend can offer more than that?
Why did I feel that this was a good topic for my post? Because I know I'm not the only one who is facing something like this. I want to "be here" for people who need a place to go when they feel like misfits in the traditional Christian world. People like me can feel lost and out of place amidst the Christian "lifers" who have never divorced and have never had their children blame them for their disastrous decisions. Sometimes the very place we go to find God's acceptance is the place that condemns us for becoming who we are today - sinners, saved by grace.
I can't promise that your kids, or others you have hurt will forgive you. I can't promise that you will be welcomed back into God's family with open arms. These things are important, but we can walk on in victory even if the harmony and love we desire is elusive, because of one thing. God is on our side. He loves us more than we could ever imagine and has blanketed us with Christ's righteousness! There is nothing we could ever do to take that love away, and we're always one honest prayer away from forgiveness and harmony with Him.
If God be for us, who can be against us?
Dear Heavenly Father,
Again, I thank you with all my heart for Your love. I pray for my children and those I have so desperately hurt with my selfishness! Help them to turn to You with their pain and allow You heal their hearts. I ask You to keep me from hurting them in the future, by Your grace and with Your help. Please also keep my own heart from being tainted with a spirit of unforgiveness toward those who let me down. Allow me to continue to love and be patient, even as You are compassionate with me when I let you down. May I remember that we're all in this together! These requests I lift up to You, in Jesus' name...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings...
It's so wonderful to feel the closeness I have with God, and have that certain peace when all is well, or sensing His presence as I bask in His love. I love the rush I get as I look at all creation around me and know I'm the child of the One who made it all! I can't even describe the thrill I experience as I walk through each day, knowing He is walking with me. And who can resist catching their breath at an answered prayer, an unexpected blessing or a dream come true? Nothing compares to the feeling of being loved by the Father.
(Are you picturing a fragrant field swaying in the gentle breeze as butterflies dance around the blossoms? Good. Now listen carefully, and you'll hear the sound of the screeching brakes of an 18 wheeler just before impact. That's it, right there. Now read on, and you'll find the real topic of this post.)
Well, today, I feel like I'm in this alone. I feel the weight of my guilt, the pressure of my future, and an emptiness deep down that I just can't put my finger on. I had thought that by now, I would have been able to begin some kind of full time ministry for God. I yearn for it, yet I know I still have so many shortcomings - how could God ever use me? I don't know what the future holds and I wonder if my deep down desire to reach others was just a pipe-dream. I feel like God will never choose to use me as a writer, a speaker, a friend. I feel like I'm not as good as I should be. I feel afraid. I feel uncertain. I feel alone. I feel, I feel, I feel.
I can't say I'm sitting here typing with a great big "eureka" waiting to jump out at you. I didn't even feel like writing today, but it's a weekend, and that's usually the only time I can set aside any time for myself. My little one keeps poking her head in, laboriously reviewing her current thoughts over and over again, as only a five year old can do. I have a million and one things to do each weekend, and even more now that my kids start school on Monday. I'm trying to figure out how to pull a rabbit out of my hat with the week's menu and school lunches. I have also waited until the last minute to buy school supplies. I'm trying to add two plus two and come up with fifty in my bank account. The car is nearly due for an oil change. The kids are packing old notebooks into last year's backpacks when all their friends have new. I'm eyeballing my daughter's sneakers wondering if a jaunt in the washer will make them look brand new. I'm thinking not, or as the kids say, "Yeah....no".
What a gray, bland, perfectly blah day on the one hand. One the other hand, it's a fidgety, anxious and panic-riddled day filled with worry for the kids, the future, the bills, the car. You name it - if it's negative, it's marching through my brain with all the force of an armored tank. There's no stopping the endless parade of fears which methodically tear holes in the blanket of peace draped over my mind by last night's devotions.
As even my prayers today were telling God all that was wrong, I was hit with a sobering thought. While it's normal for any of us to feel discouraged by the weight of our burdens, it's not normal to pile burden after burden up on our backs and grimly march forward inch by inch, if we have a relationship with God. I think that may have been where I began to slip away. Not only did I try to carry the weight, I began lugging it down the path of my own choosing, by my own strength. It's as though I resented God for letting the tough things come into my life, so somewhere deep down, I said, "Fine! Obviously I have a rotten life ahead of me (look how rotten the past has been), and God isn't helping any, so I guess I'm on my own."
It began by having a few drinks at night. My disease made me shake uncontrollably at times and I couldn't sleep more than a few hours each night. For me, the alcohol was a sedative which eased my symptoms. I didn't even know I had Graves at the time, I only knew that I couldn't stand another moment living in my trembling, jittery skin.
After a while, I had to drink just to get through the evening. This lead to depression and searching for a new anti-depressant every few months. The doctors were great, or so I thought - they gave me pills to help with the panic and anxiety I had begun to feel. I started taking the pills with the alcohol to enhance the effect of both. I have fuzzy memories of one night over ten years ago when the kids were spending the night at their grandmother's, in which my husband kept shaking me to wake me up. He kept yelling for me to stay awake because I stopped breathing each time I passed out. I could barely focus on his words. The next morning, we both vowed we wouldn't drink again. By evening, we hopped in the car to buy a few more.
This memory elbowed it's way through the thoughts of doom and gloom parading through my consciousness today. As I said, I was sobered (no pun) to realize that it's days like these which can make us or break us! If we have enough moments where we shoulder our own fear, hopelessness and anxiety, eventually we wake up one day and wonder how in the world our Savior became someone we consider our enemy.
Jesus said, "Come unto Me, all you who labor and are heavy-ladened and over-burdened, and I will cause you to rest - I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me; for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest - relief, ease and refreshment, and recreation and blessed quiet - for your souls. For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good) - not harsh, sharp of pressing, but comfortable, gracious and pleasant; and My burden is light and easy to be borne.
(Matthew 11:28 - 30, Amplified Bible)
I do feel a little better after writing down my honest, if discouraging thoughts. I have determined to share the ups and downs of the past and present with anyone who might find a glimmer of light in their own circumstances as they read mine. I don't have the answers, but I know Who does. Even on the days when I feel so overwhelmed, I am reminded not to live life based on my feelings. My feelings will tell me I'm talking to a brick wall when I cry out to for my Father to carry the burden that is too heavy for me. Worse yet, my feelings will lead me to stop talking to Him altogether because I can't begin to understand His purpose through many of the trials that daily overtake me. I will feel like quitting. I will feel like He doesn't understand what I'm going through. I will feel that if I don't fix all my own problems, they'll never go away.
I need to remind myself to table all my troubling thoughts and doubts, go to His Word, and allow Him to remind me of the truth. I'm well past the day when I questioned whether He was real, or whether His Word was good and faithful. On days like these, I need to draw closer. He never said it would be easy. He said He will never leave me or forsake me. By His grace, I will humble myself and let Him take that dark, oppressive bundle off my shoulders.
Now you can picture that lovely field with butterflies flitting from blossom to stem!
Dear Father,
I'm so sorry I took Your perfect gift of hope that was today and made it into one of despair, wrapped up in my own miserable viewpoint. I'm not going to go on about my guilt over that. I know it's not what You want for me. I'm so grateful for Your patience! I thank you for the gift of hope that will be tomorrow - pure and clean, already waiting for me. I'm amazed that Your mercies are new every morning! Please help my trust and faith in You to be new each morning. It's a blank slate. A new start. A wonderful opportunity to believe! God, You are amazing! It is with Jesus' help, and in His name I pray...
(Are you picturing a fragrant field swaying in the gentle breeze as butterflies dance around the blossoms? Good. Now listen carefully, and you'll hear the sound of the screeching brakes of an 18 wheeler just before impact. That's it, right there. Now read on, and you'll find the real topic of this post.)
Well, today, I feel like I'm in this alone. I feel the weight of my guilt, the pressure of my future, and an emptiness deep down that I just can't put my finger on. I had thought that by now, I would have been able to begin some kind of full time ministry for God. I yearn for it, yet I know I still have so many shortcomings - how could God ever use me? I don't know what the future holds and I wonder if my deep down desire to reach others was just a pipe-dream. I feel like God will never choose to use me as a writer, a speaker, a friend. I feel like I'm not as good as I should be. I feel afraid. I feel uncertain. I feel alone. I feel, I feel, I feel.
I can't say I'm sitting here typing with a great big "eureka" waiting to jump out at you. I didn't even feel like writing today, but it's a weekend, and that's usually the only time I can set aside any time for myself. My little one keeps poking her head in, laboriously reviewing her current thoughts over and over again, as only a five year old can do. I have a million and one things to do each weekend, and even more now that my kids start school on Monday. I'm trying to figure out how to pull a rabbit out of my hat with the week's menu and school lunches. I have also waited until the last minute to buy school supplies. I'm trying to add two plus two and come up with fifty in my bank account. The car is nearly due for an oil change. The kids are packing old notebooks into last year's backpacks when all their friends have new. I'm eyeballing my daughter's sneakers wondering if a jaunt in the washer will make them look brand new. I'm thinking not, or as the kids say, "Yeah....no".
What a gray, bland, perfectly blah day on the one hand. One the other hand, it's a fidgety, anxious and panic-riddled day filled with worry for the kids, the future, the bills, the car. You name it - if it's negative, it's marching through my brain with all the force of an armored tank. There's no stopping the endless parade of fears which methodically tear holes in the blanket of peace draped over my mind by last night's devotions.
As even my prayers today were telling God all that was wrong, I was hit with a sobering thought. While it's normal for any of us to feel discouraged by the weight of our burdens, it's not normal to pile burden after burden up on our backs and grimly march forward inch by inch, if we have a relationship with God. I think that may have been where I began to slip away. Not only did I try to carry the weight, I began lugging it down the path of my own choosing, by my own strength. It's as though I resented God for letting the tough things come into my life, so somewhere deep down, I said, "Fine! Obviously I have a rotten life ahead of me (look how rotten the past has been), and God isn't helping any, so I guess I'm on my own."
It began by having a few drinks at night. My disease made me shake uncontrollably at times and I couldn't sleep more than a few hours each night. For me, the alcohol was a sedative which eased my symptoms. I didn't even know I had Graves at the time, I only knew that I couldn't stand another moment living in my trembling, jittery skin.
After a while, I had to drink just to get through the evening. This lead to depression and searching for a new anti-depressant every few months. The doctors were great, or so I thought - they gave me pills to help with the panic and anxiety I had begun to feel. I started taking the pills with the alcohol to enhance the effect of both. I have fuzzy memories of one night over ten years ago when the kids were spending the night at their grandmother's, in which my husband kept shaking me to wake me up. He kept yelling for me to stay awake because I stopped breathing each time I passed out. I could barely focus on his words. The next morning, we both vowed we wouldn't drink again. By evening, we hopped in the car to buy a few more.
This memory elbowed it's way through the thoughts of doom and gloom parading through my consciousness today. As I said, I was sobered (no pun) to realize that it's days like these which can make us or break us! If we have enough moments where we shoulder our own fear, hopelessness and anxiety, eventually we wake up one day and wonder how in the world our Savior became someone we consider our enemy.
Jesus said, "Come unto Me, all you who labor and are heavy-ladened and over-burdened, and I will cause you to rest - I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me; for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest - relief, ease and refreshment, and recreation and blessed quiet - for your souls. For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good) - not harsh, sharp of pressing, but comfortable, gracious and pleasant; and My burden is light and easy to be borne.
(Matthew 11:28 - 30, Amplified Bible)
I do feel a little better after writing down my honest, if discouraging thoughts. I have determined to share the ups and downs of the past and present with anyone who might find a glimmer of light in their own circumstances as they read mine. I don't have the answers, but I know Who does. Even on the days when I feel so overwhelmed, I am reminded not to live life based on my feelings. My feelings will tell me I'm talking to a brick wall when I cry out to for my Father to carry the burden that is too heavy for me. Worse yet, my feelings will lead me to stop talking to Him altogether because I can't begin to understand His purpose through many of the trials that daily overtake me. I will feel like quitting. I will feel like He doesn't understand what I'm going through. I will feel that if I don't fix all my own problems, they'll never go away.
I need to remind myself to table all my troubling thoughts and doubts, go to His Word, and allow Him to remind me of the truth. I'm well past the day when I questioned whether He was real, or whether His Word was good and faithful. On days like these, I need to draw closer. He never said it would be easy. He said He will never leave me or forsake me. By His grace, I will humble myself and let Him take that dark, oppressive bundle off my shoulders.
Now you can picture that lovely field with butterflies flitting from blossom to stem!
Dear Father,
I'm so sorry I took Your perfect gift of hope that was today and made it into one of despair, wrapped up in my own miserable viewpoint. I'm not going to go on about my guilt over that. I know it's not what You want for me. I'm so grateful for Your patience! I thank you for the gift of hope that will be tomorrow - pure and clean, already waiting for me. I'm amazed that Your mercies are new every morning! Please help my trust and faith in You to be new each morning. It's a blank slate. A new start. A wonderful opportunity to believe! God, You are amazing! It is with Jesus' help, and in His name I pray...
Monday, August 23, 2010
Lessons From Camp (Part 2)
I was a little nostalgic as I raced through the dining hall. Teen-age girl staff members were shouting at the top of their lungs from the kitchen.
"Last call for dish pit!" a cheerful voice yelled out.
The dining hall staff scrambled to find the last of the pots and pans, clanging big metal containers into the deep sink. The wash girls looked comical, wearing aprons and rubber gloves that reached their upper arms. Everyone was working. Most of them were singing along with a praise CD that was playing in a boom box precariously perched on top of a shelf. They, and I, had just cleaned up after over a hundred hungry campers, families, and adult staff. Peas were scraped off the floor, leftovers were deposited into the 'pig bucket', hundreds of plates, utensils and cooking pans were washed, dried and put away. This work was repeated three times a day. The median age of these staff girls was 16 years old.
I couldn't help it. My eyes grew damp as I listened to their voices lifted in song as they swirled around me, eyeballing the waterfront and the promise of a few hours to bask in the sun. This would be the last time I would serve in the dining hall. It was time for me to pack up the car. Life would be different when I returned home to the 'real world'. In the real world, there would be discord and complaining. That would be even before I left for work in the morning! I yearned to live in a world where each day was spent with others who lifted praises to God, even in the messiness and long, tedious hours of life.
I thought back to the day in 1992, when we pulled up to the hotel room on the camp grounds. I was 25 years old. We had never been to Living Waters before, but had read in a brochure that they offered a Police Retreat. My former husband was a police officer, and we had booked the weekend well ahead of time. What we didn't know was that I would lose another baby, well into my 2nd trimester, the week prior to coming to camp. We decided not to cancel, though the trauma of that loss was only days old. We also didn't know that I would have physical complications for four solid months after the surgery the doctor performed to remove the baby. Had I lost the baby even a week later, I would have had to deliver her naturally.
I was in pain. My milk had come in. My body still believed there was someone who needed nourishment. I had to wait for two days after the time we found out the baby wasn't alive before I could have the surgery, and I numbly floated around the house caressing my full abdomen, feeling like I was a walking graveyard. I loved that baby.
As my husband unloaded the car, I made my way to the bed, and pretty much stayed there the whole weekend because I was hemorrhaging off and on. I did pray, and I thanked God for providing a place for us to be alone with each other. "Grammy" was watching our two preschool children so we could get away. There was no blaming of God - just questioning what He meant in all of this. I cried out to Him in agony. I will never know why until I get to heaven. My baby would have been 17 this year.
Now, at 43 years old, I was watching these 16 and 17 year old girls joyfully live out each day. I thought of my own lost child, and wondered if she might have been with me, had she lived, working alongside the others.
Still reflecting, I went to the laundry cabin and visited with Pearl and Virginia. I grew to love the time I was able to be with these Senior Saints, folding sheets and towels as we enjoyed each others' company.
We began to talk about our children. Pearl, now in her seventies, spoke of her sons. Then she told me a story of a baby she had lost, and shared the dream she has of what life might have been like if her little girl had lived. Virginia, age 84, also spoke of her own miscarriage. Back in her day, she had to bring the baby to the doctor herself. When she asked the doctor to tell her whether it was a boy or a girl, he simply told her that she needed to stop thinking about it. I relayed the details of the loss of my own little baby, and the memories that surfaced while at camp.
We three women, decades apart, shared a common bond. Relief washed over me as I realized I wasn't the only one who marked the years and told myself, "She would have been two, or five, or ten this year". Miscarriage leaves unfinished business in each mother's heart - no matter how many years pass. A reflective silence filled the room as each of us visited our own day of anguish. There was a comfort in remembering our little ones, and knowing, without words, how deep that love went. On some level, it brought about a sense of peace and yes, even joy.
Camp was not the real world. To me, it was more real. We were all free to be ourselves in a way that wouldn't be accepted any other place. We could let our guards down and show ourselves, warts and all. There was a love and understanding that was so desperately missing in the day to day grind outside the camp's sanctuary.
Leaving camp for the last time, honking the horn and wildly waving, I determined to wake joyfully each morning, letting others around me know I loved them. I pray often that God will give me the grace and ability to be the same "me" that I was at camp. The young voices dancing around me lifting up songs to the Lord are now replaced with the ungrateful demands of a hurried and impatient crowd. I can no longer spend time basking in the comaraderie and wisdom of my older friends around the washing machine, but I cherish the sisterhood we were able to share. These, and many other lessons will remain, cherished in my heart.
Dear Father,
Thank You for the experiences and people you send my way to teach me more about Your amazing love, protection and grace. May I not hoard your blessings and peace. Help me to allow You to shower others with your love through me. I thank you ahead of time for your grace on the days when I fall short.
In Jesus' name...
"Last call for dish pit!" a cheerful voice yelled out.
The dining hall staff scrambled to find the last of the pots and pans, clanging big metal containers into the deep sink. The wash girls looked comical, wearing aprons and rubber gloves that reached their upper arms. Everyone was working. Most of them were singing along with a praise CD that was playing in a boom box precariously perched on top of a shelf. They, and I, had just cleaned up after over a hundred hungry campers, families, and adult staff. Peas were scraped off the floor, leftovers were deposited into the 'pig bucket', hundreds of plates, utensils and cooking pans were washed, dried and put away. This work was repeated three times a day. The median age of these staff girls was 16 years old.
I couldn't help it. My eyes grew damp as I listened to their voices lifted in song as they swirled around me, eyeballing the waterfront and the promise of a few hours to bask in the sun. This would be the last time I would serve in the dining hall. It was time for me to pack up the car. Life would be different when I returned home to the 'real world'. In the real world, there would be discord and complaining. That would be even before I left for work in the morning! I yearned to live in a world where each day was spent with others who lifted praises to God, even in the messiness and long, tedious hours of life.
I thought back to the day in 1992, when we pulled up to the hotel room on the camp grounds. I was 25 years old. We had never been to Living Waters before, but had read in a brochure that they offered a Police Retreat. My former husband was a police officer, and we had booked the weekend well ahead of time. What we didn't know was that I would lose another baby, well into my 2nd trimester, the week prior to coming to camp. We decided not to cancel, though the trauma of that loss was only days old. We also didn't know that I would have physical complications for four solid months after the surgery the doctor performed to remove the baby. Had I lost the baby even a week later, I would have had to deliver her naturally.
I was in pain. My milk had come in. My body still believed there was someone who needed nourishment. I had to wait for two days after the time we found out the baby wasn't alive before I could have the surgery, and I numbly floated around the house caressing my full abdomen, feeling like I was a walking graveyard. I loved that baby.
As my husband unloaded the car, I made my way to the bed, and pretty much stayed there the whole weekend because I was hemorrhaging off and on. I did pray, and I thanked God for providing a place for us to be alone with each other. "Grammy" was watching our two preschool children so we could get away. There was no blaming of God - just questioning what He meant in all of this. I cried out to Him in agony. I will never know why until I get to heaven. My baby would have been 17 this year.
Now, at 43 years old, I was watching these 16 and 17 year old girls joyfully live out each day. I thought of my own lost child, and wondered if she might have been with me, had she lived, working alongside the others.
Still reflecting, I went to the laundry cabin and visited with Pearl and Virginia. I grew to love the time I was able to be with these Senior Saints, folding sheets and towels as we enjoyed each others' company.
We began to talk about our children. Pearl, now in her seventies, spoke of her sons. Then she told me a story of a baby she had lost, and shared the dream she has of what life might have been like if her little girl had lived. Virginia, age 84, also spoke of her own miscarriage. Back in her day, she had to bring the baby to the doctor herself. When she asked the doctor to tell her whether it was a boy or a girl, he simply told her that she needed to stop thinking about it. I relayed the details of the loss of my own little baby, and the memories that surfaced while at camp.
We three women, decades apart, shared a common bond. Relief washed over me as I realized I wasn't the only one who marked the years and told myself, "She would have been two, or five, or ten this year". Miscarriage leaves unfinished business in each mother's heart - no matter how many years pass. A reflective silence filled the room as each of us visited our own day of anguish. There was a comfort in remembering our little ones, and knowing, without words, how deep that love went. On some level, it brought about a sense of peace and yes, even joy.
Camp was not the real world. To me, it was more real. We were all free to be ourselves in a way that wouldn't be accepted any other place. We could let our guards down and show ourselves, warts and all. There was a love and understanding that was so desperately missing in the day to day grind outside the camp's sanctuary.
Leaving camp for the last time, honking the horn and wildly waving, I determined to wake joyfully each morning, letting others around me know I loved them. I pray often that God will give me the grace and ability to be the same "me" that I was at camp. The young voices dancing around me lifting up songs to the Lord are now replaced with the ungrateful demands of a hurried and impatient crowd. I can no longer spend time basking in the comaraderie and wisdom of my older friends around the washing machine, but I cherish the sisterhood we were able to share. These, and many other lessons will remain, cherished in my heart.
Dear Father,
Thank You for the experiences and people you send my way to teach me more about Your amazing love, protection and grace. May I not hoard your blessings and peace. Help me to allow You to shower others with your love through me. I thank you ahead of time for your grace on the days when I fall short.
In Jesus' name...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)