My Bouquet

preparing for my brothers wedding this week, my head has been a flurry of pinks and greens and decorations and flowers. yesterday on my drive home, I was talking to Jesus about the things I’ve done and thought these past few months. Things that bring me much shame and that are hard to talk about. I was listening to a worship set when I had a picture of me. I was a little girl wearing a white dress. And I was beautiful.

I was walking around with a bouquet of flowers in my hand and I would stop by a man, offering him my flowers. He eagerly accepted them and then I would move on to the next and the next. The men continued to take my flowers and I continues to offer them. But from person to person my flowers began to die in my hands. It was a bouquet of dead flowers. And with each new person I offered them to, I only became more and more sad, but yet I continued to offer my flowers away. When I was left with only one dead flower I stopped offering them away, because I felt like I had nothing left.

I continued to walk until I encountered God. Not Jesus or Holy Spirit but God. He looked upon me with such love, and pain for my pain. I looked up at Him and wept, almost like in those animated shows, where the eyes are so full of tears they look like large buckets of water. I had buckets and buckets of water falling from my eyes. I shook my head back and forth as tears fell, apologizing, saying I didn’t know, I didn’t realize what I had done until I had nothing left. He took hold of me any my one dead flower scooping me into His embrace, weeping with me. He still wanted my flower, even though it had died. He knew it’s value even in death.

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My Bouquet

The Wherewithal

I don’t have the wherewithal to stop doing the very thing that is PROMISING to kill me. I am dying in the middle of a battlefield because instead of accepting victory I keep running behind enemy lines. I keep getting stabbed. I am dying. And I don’t know where to go from here. The very thing I hate it consuming me because I don’t hate it enough to run for the hills.

Jesus help me run for the hills. Or just run to you.

 

The Wherewithal

In The Pain

Searching for Lucy, the kids dog, I stepped out onto the front steps. A sprawling entry way, covered in bricks and mums. The November mist kissed my skin and I looked up at the sky, the grey and black billowing clouds comforting in it’s consistency. I let out a whistle calling Lucy as I looked around me, knowing she hates the rain. The large, empty houses covered with fallen leaves left a peaceful yet dreary lump in my throat. I was overcome with emotion, words left unsaid, bad decisions finally catching up to me. Yet none of those things were the blow that my heart ached for. None of those things answered the pain that I felt.

Lucy ran up to me, but just out of reach. She hated being caught, she liked to be free and move on her own. I sighed, as she looked at me, and I looked back up at the sky. Every memory of the past few months coursing through my mind. Every shameful thought and action shrouded by the rain, hidden in the pouring rain. Looking down at Lucy’s baby blues, I found she was resolved and would only come in from the rain by her own free will.

I turned, and closed the door. And as soon as I turned the lock, Lucy came scratching at the door. Opening the door she came bounding in and I laughed a little at how stubborn she was, and was reminded a little of myself.

In The Pain

Politics Aren’t Personal..

No one is our enemy except the enemy himself and he has been defeated. Tuesday night i went to sleep with anxiety- for fear of what a Donald Trump presidency would look like for people who look like me, immigrants, refugees, LGBT, women, anyone different. Wednesday I woke up early and I didn’t even need to look- I knew Donald Trump had won the election. As i struggled to process and find out more information about what had happened- I was destroyed by post after post of Christian Trump Supporters mocking and telling people who were sad and at a loss to get over it- the decision had been made. For some people that same response can be seen similarly to telling someone who’s family member just died that they need to get over it- it’s already happened. Because that’s how serious this is for some people. Many times yesterday I fought back tears trying to understand what the future would hold.

Everyone has a different perspective, everyone processes differently, slower, faster, everyone grieves differently. But we can destroy people with our words that are fueled with fear if we don’t think about them first. We are not enemies with each other. Our friends and family members aren’t our enemy. The enemy is our enemy. So Donald Trump is the president elect. So we pray for the man and give Him grace. And ask God to heal people who have been hurt by his words, and to heal any supporters who are attacking others with their words. This is sad day for people who use hate as their ammunition. But for people who use love this is an opportunity for unexpected growth in healing, in the midst of turmoil and confusion.

Politics Aren’t Personal..

Sex and Candy..

Sex:

Today before I fell asleep, I had a flashback. I don’t get those very often but when I do, it brings back all the strange and uncertain feelings that I can’t pinpoint. It’s hard when you know your rapist. It’s even harder when you trusted your rapist. He raped me violently, but his words were gentle. I don’t think I can forget the sickeningly tender whispers in my ear as his forearm pressed heavy against my chest.

Candy:

Somewhere along the road I grew up to fast. I remember the moment but for the sake of others I’ll hold back. I was forced into an over sexualized childhood. Eager for attention, for love, to be noticed. My candy was a little bit bitter, nothing was very sweet. Somewhere along the way I missed out on childhood, on the gentleness of being loved and protected, valued and cherished.

somewhere at sometime something went wrong. and that cycle will kill me if I don’t put an end to it.

 

Sex and Candy..

Breathe Out..

I am exhausted right now. Debating between sleeping and just going the rest of the day on 3 hours of sleep. But my mind is so anxious with all the things left said. No, not unsaid, said. It’s weird when you open up and let people into the hidden places of your heart, the secrets that you don’t talk about for fear of being misunderstood. I’ve had so many conversations with people who overthought what I was trying to say that by the end of it I found myself more confused then when I began and they still have no clue what I was trying to say. But today that didn’t happen.

Today I spoke up, minced no words. I spoke my heart and was honest and unafraid. And it was so enriching. And no one tried to clarify what I was saying. It was just understood. And honestly it was a relief. And I felt like for the first time in a long time, I could breathe.

 

Breathe Out..