Christmas time is the time of year where everyone goes about, so busy with their shopping and their things and their events. So busy with being busy. Everyone has a dab of happiness that has motivated that ‘pep in their step’. Everyone is looking forward to spending time with their families and then ringing in the new year. But really, not everyone feels that way. And everyone would include me.
This year has been the most challenging for me. Moving out, switching jobs often, trying to find some consistency. I’ve been sick since September, loosing my voice twice and fracturing my foot. This has been the hardest year since I got out of the hospital. Thoughts that I haven’t had in such a long time coming back to me for years. There’s such a brokenness and depravity that I have felt. A hopelessness that I am unable to put words to. Running to and fro looking for ways to sate my hungry, broken heart. The pull of the need of people around me. Lack in finances in every way possible. Disappointment.
I have hated this year with every fiber of my being. So when the time of ‘merry and bright’ comes around I honestly feel dark and gloomy. Because it’s been a dark and gloomy year. I don’t know how to let people in on my darkness. I don’t know how to ask for help, let alone receive it. I know it sounds like I’m complaining but it’s been a year of silence, of pain unspoken. Asking the Lord for a reprieve because I am physically incapable of moving forward, of setting any dreams or goals. The future is hazy and blurry and I cannot see. I’m more aware of my mistakes and my flaws and my shortcoming than anything else. Maybe I’ve taken on more than I can realistically handle. Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew or maybe I just went the wrong way. As a result i timidly await the Lords punishment for all of my mistakes and all of my flaws, even though I know that’s not His heart but that’s my experience.
This is the time of year where people just want to be held. Where they want to be affirmed and loved. They want to be around people who love them and encourage and appreciate them. As I sit in an empty, I attempt to call my spirit a little bit higher, out of the slimy dark pit I’ve been in, out of the places of brokenness and bareness that I have been living in. Not because it’s Christmas, but because I’m desperate to breathe again, to see and sing again. To smell the air, and allow the breeze to kiss my skin. Because 2016 has been so long and so relentless that I don’t think I can go any lower.
Psalm 34:18 ADONAI is near those with broken hearts; he saves those whose spirit is crushed.
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.
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.
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.
There comes a point in time when we need to restart, refocus. I’ve been so unfocused, so distracted the past few months. So burdened and so hurt. No words could express what I’ve been thinking and feeling. I just need to restart. Happy Thanksgiving guys- see you next month.
Build My Life/Letting Go
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.
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.
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.