Coming Alive

Now I'm no expert, actually I'm more of a jack of all trades (I know a little bit about a lot of things, which makes me great at things like Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit), but when things start to shift, I take notice.  And its now is one of those times!  Thank God!


Today, my girls and I went of a treasure hunt / adventure / walk up hill in 6 foot of snow with no shoes...ok that's going a little too far.  Actually, on the way back from our looooooong, baking, walk we were dreaming of snow and ice and all things wet and cool.  Yesterday, we kind of did more of the same, getting the body pumping, filling the lungs with air...ya know those things kids hate to do these days.  This sweaty stuff has become a habit and its great!!


As I prepared for a small get-together Saturday it hit me all of a sudden.  I was actually entertaining.  I was allowing people into my life and I was willing to step into theirs.  This is a miracle.  This means I'm out of my depression.  This means I'm alive again!!!


You see, it hasn't been that long ago that I couldn't seem to get out of the bed.  I walked around with chain of sadness griping my neck, slowly suffocating me.  Every ounce of energy I could muster up was used doing the basic things like working and brushing my teeth and faking my smile so I wouldn't have to answer the dreaded question "what's wrong?"  All I could see was the emptiness, the darkness that was in front of me.  There didn't seem to be a way out and the days were getting longer.  Hopelessness is a killer.  And at times, you wish it would just get on with the show already.  Gratefully, with that last little bit of energy reserved, I was able to pull the curtain cords.  This is not an intermission.  Show is over!


I've had a few people ask how I did it.  My response is, I picked one thing to do to show myself some love, that and therapy! For me that one thing was exercising.  Its been proven that exercise is a natural anti-depressant.  I didn't really believe that it would help, remember I was hopeless.  But it was all I knew to do.  It helped tremendously.  It relieved a lot of stress and anger I was holding on to and of course when your body starts to resemble a body rather than human sized jello shots, it helps your self esteem.  Strut!!


Next, I got myself back into school.  I am a goal oriented person so when I feel like I'm stuck and spinning wheels, it effects my overall well-being.  Yes, it is stressful but living off of excuses and remaining at the bottom of the totem poll is a lot worse.  It feels good to start climbing that mountain again.  Progress!!


Lastly (to date), I started loving myself.  Like, seriously, unapologetically, loving MY SELF!  All of me.  Not just the pieces I like but even the pieces I don't like.  (And no I have not mastered this, not even close!)  I'm working with a deficit in this area, so any amount is a start.  I closely monitor what's going on in my head, how I talk to myself.  The best way I've found to do this is listening to how I talk to my kids.  Would I say the things I say to myself, to my kids?  Would I used that tone?  Can I be gentle with myself?  So far, its working.  And it feels good.


I wonder sometimes if anyone knew the darkness I was living in?  Do I notice when those around me are enveloped in it?  Do I take the time to listen, to observe and help when I recognize it?


If you are reading this and it sounds all too familiar, might I suggest that you don't wait for someone to pull you out.  Seek help.  Talk with someone.  Swallow that big gulp of fear and reach out.  Start making small changes.  Start realizing that YOU ARE WORTH IT.

Six Year Old Wisdom

In lieu of Saturday morning cartoons we are watching Freaky Eaters.  The "lucky contestant" is addicted to cheesy potatoes (drooling) and as a part of her intervention, they roll in mounds of potatoes via forklift.  She is asked to pour industrial sized bags of scrumptious cheddar cheese on top of bushels of potatoes (drooling profusely) as she cries and cries at the eye-opening experience. Lovely's only response is "I just want to climb to the top of that mountain of goodness."  That's my girl!

That has absolutely nothing to do with this blog post but I thought it was hilarious!

Rewind 10 minutes and we are sitting in the floor hand in hand and she tells me that she doesn't want to climb trees anymore. Now this little girl is like flesh with dirt on.  She loves climbing trees and picking blisters off her hands. She has an affinity for all things gruff, seriously.  Right now she is playing with a football, practicing her grunts of intimidation.  But after falling yesterday she is afraid of getting hurt, and for good reason.  That experience kind of shook us all up.

Isn't that how it works?  We try to follow our heart and we get hurt. We might try again and inevitably get hurt, again.  Somewhere along the way we make a resolve to just stop trying. We live life on auto pilot, doing the necessities but never really enjoying it. We put up defenses, lock the heart away and never allow ourselves to be heard or seen.  We don't do the things we love or are gifted at.  For adults, maybe the pain isn't from falling out of a tree but maybe it's rejection. Maybe it's critism.  Maybe it's not fitting into presupposed categories of normality. Maybe it's not getting too involved with people because they'll take advantage, or they'll not love you in return.  Whatever "it" is, it leads to a lonely, small, unfulfilled life.

I could have told my little Lovely that she better stay out of those trees, that she learned a lesson and that I'd tear her tail up if I ever, ever saw her in another tree again.  Besides she's a girl, Barbies are safer.  But that's not who I want to be and that's not who I'll raise my daughter to be. 

I want her to follow her heart, to keep trying even if she falls.  I want her to tackle the obstacles she'll face in life with vigor, learning as she goes.  I want her to experience all this life has to offer, the triumphs, the pain, the feeling of accomplishment and sometimes the agony of defeat.  I want her to face life and not run from it. To hold her head high but keep both hands on whatever limb she finds herself on.

But above all I want her to keep climbing..

I Hope You Rot..

And that, my friends, is what you call marketing.  Be honest, you were hoping to read bashing words, blood curdling tongue lashings, even.  What a trauma addicted society we live in...but that's a whole other post. (Note: I am too.  Like reading internet comments and watching the dung fly.. I'm working on it!)

Back to my point

All over my house I have this one piece of Scripture that is imprinted on various items.  Most of them were gifts given to me by loved ones.  I have coffee mugs, journals, plaques etc, everywhere with ps 46:1.  God is our refuge and strength.  Recently, I unwrapped a new journal with this on the front purposefully because I would use it to empty out some painful areas and the cover just seemed appropriate.  Before writing the first sentence I mulled over that verse.  Really?  Refuge?  What does that mean to me?  

The first picture that came across my mind was like a scene in the desert. (I have a vivid imagination, so bear with me) It's hot, like super hot.  I'm seeing oasis' everywhere.  Just something to cool me.  I'm so tired and can't walk another step, almost in crawling position.  I see a huge building in the distance.  Actually, I'm more struck by the shadow the building cast.  I think, if I can just make it to that shady part I can rest.  It's safe.  It'll shelter me.  I can lean against it and catch my breath.  

Refuge.

These past few weeks I've had a thousand little things and a few big things just knock the wind out of me.  Today, after getting my purse stolen and all the familiar feelings it brought with it, I had to run to my Refuge.  In the midst of being so vulnerable I needed to feel safe, protected, and at peace.  I could choose to get angry (ok I did for about an hour), I could be sitting here keeping vigil over my car, or I could think of a million things that could go wrong. Or I could sit here in the shade after having done all I know to do and just pray and trust.  

Or maybe I'll take a nap!

Happy Father's Day, eventually..

I remember those few awkward phone calls like they were yesterday.  Prolonged silence, as we were too unfamiliar with each other to enable a sizable conversation, followed by a hollow declaration of his love for me.  Then before exiting my life once more he'd ask if I loved him.  Without question I'd reply with a yes, knowing if I'd spare a moment to think, he would notice my hesitation and I'd have a split second to acknowledge to myself that I was being dishonest.  With slurred and mumbled words he'd say goodbye for another year or two and I'd resume life as if he didn't exist because in reality, he didn't. 

Growing up I repeatedly heard my birth story. Daddy really, really wanted me to be a boy. When the doctor handed him the swaddled bundle he announced, "here's your boy, we just cut him a little short!"  The first eyes that looked upon me were eyes of disappointment.  Every time I heard that story as a child I was reminded that I was not wanted.  I'm sure he grew to love me the best he could but couple that with him abandoning us a few years later, the thoughts of being unwanted and disregarded like yesterday's trash only solidified. 

At 14 years of age I remember telling my sister that I wouldn't cry at our Daddy's funeral. She was ashamed at the thought and I knew I'd crossed the line by saying that but how could I?  It would be like an indigenous person mourning over a lost cell phone.  Fifteen years later my words proved true. The tears I could muster up were from an absence of pain. I longed to grieve as a normal child would over the loss of their parent. I think the fact that I couldn't was more tragic than the grief itself would've been. Ten years later I'm still learning how..

Today I visited his grave, the time of sadness came earlier than usual over this dreadful holiday weekend.  Usually I expend too much energy in trying to keep the lid on the box of pain until the holiday passes. But not today.  First I shed many a tear at my sisters headstone mainly because I miss her terribly but secretly I was trying to prime the pump, hoping that some tears could be shared with Daddy just a few feet away.  As soon as I read his name they evaporated. The familiar awkward silence enveloped me. I was angry, I was hurting, but like always, I couldn't tell him. The longer I stared at that plaque, I knew I couldn't keep it in another second.

Loudly I told him everything I ever wanted to say.  My tone grew more shrill, decibels increased, the language became more colorful and painted his marker like graffiti.  I was no longer a frightened little child but a grown, fierce woman, disgusted by the injustice and armed with knowledge greater than his lies.  I walked away satisfied that I'd finally stood up to the man who robbed me immensely, yet still void of what should be.  I felt vindicated.  It was bittersweet, but sweet still.

On the way home, as I sobbed with both hands gripping the steering wheel, desperately trying not to kill myself, I was waiting.  Waiting for God to do something, anything, like He always does, to comfort me.  I hate being emotional even though it's become my schtick recently.  I began to search my memory databank to find a good memory to calm myself. The search grew frantic as I was coming up empty handed and I kept thinking, "I can't blow my top now, I'm driving for Pete's sake!"

And then I heard the sweetest melody!  It's a song we serenade our youngest with.  I felt like a smitten school girl with her ear to the speaker when the DJ calls out her name. "This one goes out to my girl who's crying her eyes out..."

Just have a listen. Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. My daddy may have been disappointed but God considers me lovely!
http://youtu.be/8r92A7ndnZk

As I see it

No carefully crafted orator could adequately explain it nor artist perfectly capture it. It can only be examined by experience.

Somedays it seems as if your soul could gather it by the troughfuls and others only by a thimble. Maybe even at times you haven't a single thing to place it in but you watch it fall all around you, sprouting up joy and hope wherever it lands.

It's so powerful it causes you to sprint with legs moving so fast you are certain that if you were to jump even so slightly, that you'd be sure to take flight. And it's so stiffining, it leads you to dwell in the valley of despair, with memories thick like soupy air. You breathe them in hoping to one day exhale, light and free.

I know the joy and excitement of feeling worthy and useful. To be called and filled. To have a hope so secure. I also know the pain of moral failure. The embarrassment of stumbling head first. The vulnerability of exposure.

The deepest lessons arent learned by hearsay nor are they a contagion.  They are experiential, they are personal. Through it all I've learned without a single shred of doubt that He is here. He was always there. Smack dab in the middle of doubt and confusion and pain and sin, He was there. He was there.  Whether I was soaring or drowning, praising or cursing, embracing or fleeing, loving or hating, serving or disowning, He was there. 

I so needed to know that!

Straighten up!

This morning I woke up to the scene from Forrest Gump playing through my head. It was the part where Forrest and Jenny were being taunted by the bullies and if the brace wearing hero didn't run he was going to be beaten to a pulp.  There I was half asleep, cheering along with Jenny, "run Forrest, run!"  We rejoiced as we saw his braces break in slow motion wonder and he escapes his tormentors.

We all have a need for a "Jenny" from time to time. Someone to cling to, someone to cheer us on from the sidelines, and someone to hold our hands at dusk bringing comfort and peace.  But just like in the movie, there comes a time when we have to stand, even if it's alone. We have to take what we've learned along the way and actually apply it.  We have to lose the crutches because if we don't we will become dependent on them, never being healed, never moving forward.

I myself have created many crutches. I have a long list of go-tos.  When I hurt, I eat.  When I'm discontent, I pop onto Facebook or find some mind numbing show on the tube.  It's never ending, the things I use to medicate my hurting soul, but I'm learning again to not turn away from the One who can soothe it all, but to receive what I need so that I may not be dependent on any one or anything.

Life is hard.  Times are tough.  Crap happens and then more crap happens.  We make crap happen and then wonder why we are surrounded by crap!  It's scary and stupid and painful but we are instructed to:

So then, brace up and reinvigorate and set right your slackened and weakened and drooping hands and strengthen your feeble and palsied and tottering knees.  And cut through and make firm and plain and smooth, straight paths for your feet [yes, make them safe and upright and happy paths that go in the right direction], so that the lame and halting [limbs] may not be put out of joint, but rather may be cured. 
Heb. 12:12

In other words, put on your game face man.  You believe in the promises of God?  Well, believe them!  You had a setback?  Do it again! (Jer.36:27). Your body hurts?  But did you get out of bed?  Well then, praise God!  I could go on because I've said it all to myself.  My complainants exhaust my own ears. I wonder how God puts up with it.  I imagine it must be heartbreaking as a Father to watch His children struggle the way we do, not because we have to but because we choose to.  Think on that.  

"It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” C. S. Lewis

I'm tired of this round and round jazz. I never did like the merry go round as a kid and I'll be doggone if I'm gonna ride this thing as an adult.  Know what you want, plaster it on your forehead if you have to and don't settle for less.

So here's to diggin in, pressing on, and not settling!  

*drops mic, climbs of soapbox*

Stretch Armstrong

I feel like super hero tonight!  Not in the valiant, I just saved Gotham city again way, but in the Stretch Armstrong, elastic stretched so thin it's gonna break, sorta way.  I think that's a run on and on sentence but frankly, I'm tired tired to give two rips.

I did manage, however, to find five minutes of solace in the thick of it all.  The throne room has become my sanctuary.  No, not that Throne room.  The out house, the john, the can, the whatever you like to call it so it doesn't sound as disgusting as it is room.

The breather begins with calculations of exactly how much line would it take to string up 3.25 children by their toenails.  Too much energy, not enough torque.  Plan B.  Duct tape.  How much to suspend them mid-way up the wall, just enough to see their feet dangle? Ugh, I only have a piece of a roll.  Hey, that's just enough to cover their mouths.  Bingo!  

Once the adrenaline wears off, more pleasant thoughts arise.

Like that quote from Mother Teresa, whom I am not.  Let me repeat..I am not!  See above.  You know the one where she says "I know God won't give me any more than I can handle, I just wish He didn't trust me so much."  Yea, that one, right outta nowhere, upside the head, instant humility.

Suddenly I realized that He has given me all of this.  These kids, how can He trust me enough?  Maybe it's because He knows I will be overwhelmed and have to rely on Him.  He has to be my strength when I am empty.  He puts those pleasant words in my mouth when I want to fly off of the handle.  He has given me a heart that prays daily to be a good mother and He gives me the opportunities to grow into just that.

I know that they won't always be in my home.  And no Lovely will NOT live in my basement forever and ever as she hopes to.  I can feel the emptiness of a quiet house that I know I will inherit someday.  God help me to cherish these trying times, duct tape and all.

Being Complete

I promised myself when I started this blog that I would not use it to vent.  I lied!  I think I can do this in a tactful tone or at least I will try.

On multiple occasions I've had to defend my relationship status, which is non-existent.  My close friends can breathe a sigh of relief now!  It seems that just answering the question "are you seeing anybody" is no longer sufficient.  It's usually followed by a barrage of additional questions that for some reason demand answers.  Avoidance is not an option.  Inquiring minds want to know.  The public deserves, has earned, a right to now every detail about my private life.  When did this come about?  When did boundaries become an obstacle to climb?  

After several encounters like this I sometimes walk away quite wounded.  I'm tired of hearing that I'm not complete without a partner.  I don't like feeling insufficient because I choose to be single.  (Ok my tone is elevating, I should probably wrap this up)  Just know that walking this line is not easy and the commentary from the sidelines only makes it painfully slower.  I'd be more appreciative of encouragement and occasional pat on the back than the digging questions and sly looks as if everyone has me all figured out.

In other words, just let me be.  That's it.  I just want to be.  Just as I am. Be.  Without trying to change me.  Be.  And at the end of the day, I think that's all anyone wants.  I believe that just as I am, I am complete.  I am complete in Christ.  

I could elaborate all night on this but honestly I'm tired of even thinking about it or giving energy to it.  I wish people would be more respectful of boundaries, convictions, and life choices. That's all. 

Oh and FYI, I'm not a man bashing, bra burning, vegan feminist.  Ok, maybe I am a feminist, but just barely!

The Replacements

Today I had to take a road trip to a town just a hop, skip and a jump away from my home.  No big deal, I love road trips.  I love to just float down the highway with a little less traffic, let me mind go where it will and then be brought back to reality by the thousands of questions my kids come up with along the way.

Little did I know this journey would involve a trip down memory lane. Our destination took us down back roads that once carried me to the best fishing spots on that side of the county.  I remembered the banks of the various creeks and rivers we passed, my heart longed for the simplicity of those times and the company I was with.  Love was real then.  Heartbreak was a myth.  The future was unknown.  Time seemed slower and life was certainly not overwhelming but soaked up little by little.

I'll admit, it hurt.  It still hurts.  Life today was not what I intended for it to be back then.  Ocassionally you have to let dreams die I guess.

A few hours later, on the second half of today's journey, I was reminded of one of God's promises.  As I laughed and carried on with people whom a year ago did not even exist in my circle, I could see Truth manifesting itself before my eyes.  Without even knowing, my church family soothed the pain of the previous hours, not in some super spiritual prayer-soaked revival fest, but just by sharing themselves and their time. They are becoming a part of me and taking up residence in my heart.  I am forever grateful for the addition.

I'm learning that whatever we sacrifice, God replaces abundantly.  I may not always see it immediately, but He is always faithful.  That's been a hard lesson to learn but the peace it brings is worth the effort.

I can hear one of my old Pastors now singing "I wouldn't take nothing for my journey now..."  It's been hard, I've made mistakes, but I'm still here and I'm still learning.

"And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life."

Matt 19:29

  

Beauty from Ashes

This time last year she slammed the door, never looking back, not even once.  She hoped into that truck in hopes of starting again, building new memories to replace the terrifying ones.  I plopped on the couch and rubbed the leather to try to soothe the pain of losing my baby girl as if she'd been ripped from my womb.  

For once I couldn't help her.  I was so buried under my own tragedies, I couldn't even acknowledge hers.  I failed her. I failed myself.  All I could do was pray.

Months and months of fear, heartbreak, anger, denial, and more prayer passed.  God didn't step down and remedy the situation but He sure revealed the error of my ways.  What started out as pleas to make her see her faults turned to begging Him to help me be a better mama.  I can't do this alone.  I can't love her the way she needs to be loved.  Please, please change me.  And He did!  It took me running to Him constantly.  I had to use that cliche "what would Jesus do?"  I had to bite my tongue nearly in two at times!  Soon trying conversations turned to deep conversations.  Rude remarks turned to shenanigans.  Punches turned to back rubs!  Just kidding!

Today she sits beside me knowing she is loved unconditionally.  While she was gone she made choices that forever changed her life.  Right now she is cuddling the most beautiful consequence of her actions but it won't always be easy.  But to look at her face, full of light and love.. I never thought I would see that face again.

Sometimes God uses what most people would abhor but I was taught to respond with love.  I could have turned my back on her but I would have missed out on the wonderful thing God was doing.  Oftentimes we are so caught up in the rules and everything is so black and white, right and wrong that we dismiss little miracles.

I'm sorry but if I'm to err, I'd rather err on the side of love..

I'm gonna make it!

Today I need hope. As I plunder through my thoughts spilling out here, I hope I find it.

I just got home from the E.D. which has become my home away from home since September of last year.  This time it was shortness of breath. Last time it was shortness of breath.  The time before that was "oh my God I'm dying."

Today I was told that my symptoms would remain with me for the rest of my days.  I cried. I cried in the X-ray room. I cried in my regular room. I cried on the way home..

I don't think I've mentally dealt with my diagnosis since it was handed to me last year. I have these blisters all over my lungs that pop causing my lungs to collapse repeatedly.  Since my surgery, which involved removing part of my lung and scraping what was left so that it would scar itself to my chest wall so it doesn't collapse again, I've been left with nerve pain and bouts of shortness of breath and pain that mimics a collapsed lung.  There, for everyone who didn't know the details!

No one wants to hear that their quality of life will always be diminished.  So I didn't listen back then.  Or at least I couldn't process it.  Today I started to absorb it but I simply refuse to believe it. (This is where my stubbornness comes in handy!). But after lying in bed for two days or becoming completely exhausted or dizzy after doing to most simplest of tasks, I figured its time to face the music.

Maybe it won't get better.  But I do know dwelling on the fact that I have corroded lungs that like to go on vacation from time to time won't improve my situation one bit. I know limiting myself only depresses me.  I know that lying around waiting for the next catastropy is robbing me.  I also know that even if this one day proves to be the end of me, I will go out with a blaze of glory. 

It's a game changer.  While processing all of this crap I glimpsed back at the last 6 months since my sentence was handed down.  What have I done with that time?  A bunch of B.S. Is what I've done with it.  What if my expiration date is not decades away like I've planned it?  Will I then look back and say the same about my time spent?  I sure hope not..

So here's to one more wake up call.  Here's to another declaration to get my act together.  Here's to life!  Here's to hope. And here's to believing that all is not lost! 

Teachable Moments

I love those moments when the teacher becomes the student. Especially when I get to learn from my kids. Parenting really is a mutual learning experience. If you've not had the opportunity to learn from a child, I will gladly let you borrow mine.  If you pass an extensive background check, oh, and I'll  need a copy of your driving record and a blood sample, of course!

While researching this stupid lung thing I've got going on, I read a quote from a lady who's experience is much like mine.  At the end of her story she said "I find comfort in knowing that God chose me for this journey.  I will trust Him."  Those few words carried me until I got home and climbed into bed.  When my Raven got home she knew something was amiss.  So discerning that child is.  A bit winded, I explained what was happening but assured her it would be ok soon.  Because it's always ok, soon.  With much concern, she kissed my forehead.  She's so compassionate too.  Gosh!  I honestly don't know how they've turned out to be so wonderful.  As she was walking away I noticed her tears.  Fear.  I know it's a part of life but no child should ever live in fear. Ever.  And then it happened.  She reminded me..

I asked her to lay down beside me.  She looked intently into my eyes.  I could have lingered right there.  Rarely do we get those quiet moments.  I began to tell her that there is nothing wrong with being afraid, or sad, or angry or any other emotion that might surface when we go through hard times.  As a matter of fact, I'm a little scared too.  What matters most is what we do with those emotions and how we cope.  (Yea, I know it kinda sounds like I know a little something - I'm just winging it like everybody else!)

I began to tell her how I cope or how I like to think I do.  I told her that I pray. But if I were to be completely honest, I might ask for help but then carry the burden best I can until I almost kill myself with the weight of it.  I try to be my own savior.  In this moment I knew my words, my charm, would not be enough.  I was crumbling, she could tell.  There was only one thing to do.

Together me and my little girl crawled up on Big Daddy's lap.  We let Him hold us.  We let Him run His fingers through our hair.  We sat confidently.  We enjoyed a moment of peace.  We knew that no matter what we were feeling or going through, He was big enough.  He has to be big enough.

I didn't have to say much after that.  Her dry cheeks were answers enough.

Somehow along this journey I had forgotten how simple it is...  Lesson learned!

Happy Fat Tuesday! Joyeux Mardi Gras!

Its here!  The last gluttonous day before the season of lament and refrain for the Orthodox Christians or the end of an explosive party for all those nasty sinners down in N'leans.  I think I'll pass today on a king cake, been trying to cut back since I've become quite the porker since Thanksgiving.  My drug of choice is sugar, in any form, so I'm currently in rehab.  Maybe I started Lent a few days early.

Twelve years ago I was in the thick of it all, down on Bourbon street, drinking in all the sights of humanity gone wrong.  Honestly, I had a blast!  I don't think I could stomach it now, however.  I'm a new person with new convictions and a new outlook.  But I have the memories and trust me, some things just can't be unseen! 

I'd have to say, of all the horror, the most damaging was what I encountered down in the French quarter in front of St. Louis' Cathedral.  Within ear shot of this architectural beauty was a growing roar of voices.  As we turned to leave the quarter the procession was ushered through a pair of bulging barricades.  People on either side were hurling insults at each other as well as passerbys.  Me included.  On the left, conservative Christians clinched signs of protest.  On the right, liberals had their own signs in response.  Some where quite funny!  But there I stood in the middle.  Their shouts said I was going to hell.  Their signs said God hates fags.  Their actions said they hated me too.  I can still see the red faces screaming at me, their hands flailing about with pointed fingers.  Were they right, I asked myself.  Anger answered with a big ole "screw 'em."  But the pain still lingers, the tension still suffocates.

What I needed that day was not a pointed self-righteous finger.  I needed someone to be Jesus.  I needed someone to climb across that barricade, run up from behind me and do an about face looking me straight in the eye, never breaking gaze.  I needed someone to grab my arms securely but not forcefully.  I needed to be so startled that I could only stare intently at this face that is so uncomfortably close to mine, to watch the creases of his mouth slowly open.  I needed to feel the tension of waiting for eternity between the syllables of the only three words I needed to hear.  Each one cutting deeper and deeper, sapping the strength I had to stand, rendering me helpless and empty. 

I. Love. You.

Little did they know, I would give my heart to The Lord three years later but it wasn't because of their fear or insults.  It was because someone shared the Gospel with me and assured me of God's love.  It is God's kindness that leads us to repentance.  Maybe that's something we could all give up for Lent.  Exchange judgement for mercy.

Behold, I do a new scary thing!

I skipped Church!

I know, I know, it's a terrible travesty.  But I did.  And I felt enormous amounts of guilt and bags full of questions.  You see, I'm a trooper.  I'm the militant who won't allow such delinquency.  I just don't understand why I couldn't scrap myself off of the bed to slide into my khakis and pop collars with my spiritual family.  So I sit here trying to make sense of my lack of sense.

Maybe it's the dread of experiencing a Holy God and understanding that I am so far from the standard.  Maybe it's being surrounded by people who know me too well and I'm entertaining perceived judgement that doesn't really exist.  Or maybe it's more like a story I read years ago written by a local parrishner of a catholic dioses.  Maybe it's all three..

I remember sitting in my OBGYN flipping through magazines trying to pass the time, being shuffled from one waiting room to the next, when I came across this young lady's experience of missing God and His explanation to her abscence.  It went something like this (and I'm paraphrasing to the extreme), she was once so devoted, so involved, so consumed but her spiritual life had become so devoid of meaning and full of discontent.  After a season of wandering, scheduling conflicts, and finally dropping out all together, she decided to slip back in hoping to regain what was once so fulfilling.  Upon return to Church she was unable to secure her regular seat and was forced to sit behind a large beam that obstructed her view of the pulpit.  She quietly asked God why she had to sit there where she couldn't see, why did her view change.  She felted a response in her heart.  "You moved, I didn't."

I get it.  I do.  But my question (among many) is how does one get back?  It's like being out in a huge field and realizing that you're lost.  You look around and it's all the same amber hues with no hint of direction.  You spin around in a complete 360 and there's still no clue of which way to go.  Panic arises, your deepest fears begin to play through your mind, and you begin to pray for direction.

As I look back over my spiritual life, I notice that I've been here before, several times in fact. It brings a great calm reviewing all of times God guided me even when I couldn't see what He was doing.  Holy surprises!  Dropping a book in my lap at just the right time, sending the right person who'd listen to my longings and questions and wrestle Scripture alongside me, haphazardly sending me places that felt like home even if only briefly.  These are but a few examples..

Some would say it's best to get planted, to fall into lockstep and never question.  Just do what you see, do what you're told and stop your excuses.  But this is my journey, this is God's story unfolding in my life.  It's unique, it's scary, it's Divine and it's indescribable.  And it's just what I asked for.  A constant prayer in my life, I feel, has brought this on.  Maybe a frightening, bottom falling out from under you, journey is just what this wandering heart needs to stay bound to Him.


"Lord, never let me be satisfied, always leave me hungry for more.."