OVEREXPOSED

                          Anxious
                                   Sad
                                      Terrified
                                              Vulnerable
                                                           

March 3, 2012 found those emotions waging an epic battle for dominance in my shattered heart.  The volunteer clean-up crew made up of family, close friends and church acquaintances were hard at work photographing, inventorying and hauling off pieces of my life. The menacing dumpster sitting downstairs on the front lawn seemed like an unquenchable beast eager to take more from me than I wanted to give.  I tried to answer questions from multiple people and make 5-second decisions about what should stay and what should go without letting the emotions spill over and render me useless.  But the reality was that the place I had called home for almost 5 years was being systematically emptied before my eyes and I was on the verge of a melt down.

The previous 3 months had already pushed me to my limit.  I was still recovering from neurosurgery, then a layoff, depleted finances from both AND I was trying to adjust to the new job I had just started one week earlier.  The fire was the final blow.  I was raw and tired with burns on my hands and a sooty cough to constantly remind me of my desperate escape.  And then there was the smell.  It permeated everything - my hair, my clothes, my jewelry, my car - I couldn't escape it.  It was a trigger that took me back to a traumatic and jarring experience, one that I continue to relive in nightmares or at odd moments when I hear a siren or smell the sickeningly sweet, sooty, plastic scent that I thought was gone for good.

Despite how hard the "Job Special" has been to endure (I hope I don't have to experience more similarities to his tragedy.) the absolute most excruciating part was the loss of privacy. Watching people sort through the things that defined me made me feel violated and on display as if all of my flaws, quirks and weirdness had been painted in neon colors across my naked body.  As a staunch never-nude you can imagine how horrifying it was to feel like I was running around naked for the world to see!  Thankfully I lead a VERY boring life so there was nothing all that embarrassing to be discovered.  I did have way too many cases of green tea that my friends still laugh about, but other than my nephews being forced to photograph AND TOUCH some of my unmentionables there wasn't too much that was cringe-worthy.  And my nephews' PTSD not withstanding, the looks on their faces as they touched my lingerie make me laugh to this day, one of only a few good memories I have from that week.

It takes me ages to process experiences and then open up about them, and even then I am very choosy about what I share and with whom.  I needed help after surgery, I needed help as I waded through the scary world of unemployment and then I needed even more help to recover from the fire - a place to live, financial assistance, help cleaning up the destruction and help simply getting through the long days and lonely nights.  Obviously I had to work, so I dutifully drove to the office, put in my 8+ hours and drove to my temporary home, but the aftermath of my overwhelming need and overexposure was brutal.  As difficult as it was to lose control, being in a place of such vulnerability and at the mercy of so many others was gut-wrenching.  I did not handle it well and responded by withdrawing.  I intentionally disconnected in an effort to protect myself and regain some control. Had I not been living with dear friends I would have likely stopped talking to anyone other than co-workers.  

I was terribly angry at God and what I considered to be his cruel sovereignty.  In a span of 3 months my health, my wealth, my possessions and my sense of security had all but disappeared.  I lived in constant fear that what actually mattered to me the most, my family, friends and dog would all be ripped away from me next.  I tried desperately to maintain a positive attitude, to focus on the good things in my life, but the truth was I was suffocating and the only air available was toxic.  If I wasn't careful it would kill my soul just as it had almost killed my body.

Summer found me content only when I was at home with Zeus, enjoying the stillness of my remodeled apartment.  I had no tolerance for noise, commotion or the frivolity of life and my temper was out of control.   I just wanted to rest and be alone.  I stopped attending church, and the fact that no one really seemed to notice made it easier to stay home each week.  I stopped meeting friends for lunch or dinner; I quit calling  as often as I used to and I took days to respond to emails.  A few friends were concerned that I was suffering from depression, and while there may be an element of truth to that, I still say it was a severe case of overexposure, in my "professional" opinion.

Now that the cool days of autumn have arrived I've dipped my toe back into the social waters.  I'm slowly emerging from my self-imposed exile. I've attended a few parties recently, and even though I was the biggest dork in the room at least I went.  It's still hard.  I still feel removed from the world around me, but I'm trying and that's the best I can do for now.

I am grateful for so much and fully cognizant of the fact that my life could be a million times worse, and I have learned more than I could have ever imagined, but I'll post about all of that later. First I felt that it was important to honor the difficulties of these experiences; to be honest about the agony of the fight.  I may have walked away with a limp from wrestling angels, but in the process I found peace and an intimacy with God that I hope will change me for the better.

Beauty from Ashes

Earlier this week, after a long day at the office I stopped by my apartment to see how the renovation was progressing.  It was depressing.  The sub-floors were exposed, the appliances were all lined up in the dining area, the brick was hideously sooty and the walls were painted the wrong color.  The place I had called home for nearly five years resembled a shack and smelled of the fire that had displaced me and caused so much trauma and damage 5 weeks earlier.  

As I walked through my home a deep sadness settled over me.  I missed my space.  I missed my neighbors.  I missed my freedom.  Mostly, I missed my life. I exited through the broken patio door, frustrated and teary, wondering when my life would return to normal. The only things that remained from my former life were a few charred plants sitting forlornly on the bare, concrete slab outside. The pots were covered in soot, the once beautiful, flowering plants dead from the fire. Then I took a closer look and discovered a plant growing in one of those pots, blooming with bright red flowers despite the odds.  Even more shocking was the realization that it was NOT the same plant that was there the day of the fire.  It was a plant that had I had killed three years earlier.  

Maybe it's because I'm in a heightened emotional state, but I am more aware than ever of the valuable lessons to be learned from suffering. It's not lost on me that the very week I saw the blooms that I had killed burst through damaged soil with new life, is the same week that commemorates the death and resurrection of Jesus, the one who sacrificed his life for me only to burst through the tomb after three long days.  A beautiful symbol of Easter is blooming on my back porch. Beauty from ashes in a soot-covered pot.  I hope your Easter is full of peace and new life this year!     

The Year of the LORD’s Favor

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, 

   because the LORD has anointed me 

   to proclaim good news to the poor. 

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, 

   to proclaim freedom for the captives 

   and release from darkness for the prisoners, 

 to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor 

   and the day of vengeance of our God, 

to comfort all who mourn, 

  and provide for those who grieve in Zion

to bestow on them a crown of beauty 

   instead of ashes, 

the oil of joy 

   instead of mourning, 

and a garment of praise 

   instead of a spirit of despair. 

They will be called oaks of righteousness, 

   a planting of the LORD 

   for the display of his splendor.

Isaiah 61: 1-3

Forgiving on a Sliding Scale

I have a new hero.  Her name is Eva Mozes Kor.  Her family of six was sent to Auschwitz during WWII.  Her mother, father and two older sisters all died in the camp.  Eva and her sister Miriam survived because they were twins, and Dr. Josef Mengele needed twins for his genetic experiments.  At 6 years of age the girls were subjected to horrific torture in the name of science.  The man known as the Angel of Death visited her daily, but failed to kill her body or spirit. 

As I watched a documentary about her life, I was struck by her ability to eventually forgive those who tortured her, even Dr. Mengele.  One statement summed up her entire outlook: "There is a lot more to my life than Auschwitz. I don't think about it every day, but it has changed my life forever." 

My own life has been fraught with pain and trauma, most of which I kept locked inside for almost 40 years.  Like Eva, there is a lot more to my life than my past traumas, but they definitely changed my life forever.  And although my experiences pale in comparison to hers and those who survived the Holocaust, genocides, wars and various other forms of torture throughout the centuries, I've struggled to forgive the people who stripped me of my innocence, of my ability to enjoy a carefree childhood, of who I could have been.

forgive [fəˈgɪv]

vb -gives, -giving, -gave, -given
1. to cease to blame or hold resentment against (someone or something)
2. to grant pardon for (a mistake, wrongdoing, etc.)
3. (tr) to free or pardon (someone) from penalty
4. (tr) to free from the obligation of (a debt, payment, etc.)

I am capable of comprehending the various definitions, but I still find myself wondering.... What does forgiveness really encompass and how do I apply it to my life?  How do I protect myself while forgiving those who have wronged me? How do I forgive those who don't want my forgiveness, or those who aren't even sorry? How do I forgive the criminals when I cannot forget the crimes? How do I stop resenting someone from wounding me without denying the existence of the wound? Can I ever trust someone again after being betrayed or hurt? The only answer I have right now is: I don't know.

Oh, I find it easy to forgive minor hurts and insults. Who cares if someone cut me off in traffic, gossiped about me, spoke harshly or generally slighted me? I have an abundance of grace in those instances. But cut me just a little deeper and suddenly I'm doling out forgiveness on a sliding scale.  The deeper the pain the less forgiveness I can muster. 

One of the most practical definitions I've heard is this: forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you for hurting me.  I'm not there yet.  There is only one person I know who completely understands all of what forgiveness entails.  He knew that forgiveness is active and painful, but he faced it head on because he loved whom he loved (me) more than he hated what he hated (my sin): Jesus Christ, the most holy Son of God is my ultimate hero. Oh how I wish I were willing to love my offenders more than I hate what they did to me. Not just because I want to walk in obedience, but because I want to be filled with grace and mercy for my fellow travelers. I am finding that the road to forgiveness is paved with stones of humility. I must first recognize my own ability to wound and devastate others and seek forgiveness from Christ before I can offer it in return.  Only then can I forgive without reservation.

I know that I will always bear the scars of my wounds, just as Christ did, just as Eva Mozes Kor does, but I pray that those scars will not stop me from sincerely loving and pouring myself out to others. There are those who choose to live as victims forever, who stay in their own private Auschwitz, never finding freedom, peace and joy. They rot from the inside out, full of resentment and anger.  And then there is someone like Mrs. Kor who realized that physical freedom from the Nazis did not bring her freedom from the pain, she only found that when she forgave her tormentors.  

Obviously I have a long way to go in my understanding of forgiveness, grace and mercy.  I don't know much, but I do know a few things:

• Forgiveness is a process - it took Mrs. Kor 50 years!
• Forgiveness is not a denial of the truth
• Forgiveness does not erase the past
• Forgiveness does not deny or belittle the traumas we endure
• Forgiveness does not mean the offenders escape justice

Hopefully as I continue my pursuit of truth, God will grant me the ability to freely offer the same forgiveness I have been given. 

The View From The Top

Flying over Greenland April 2009

Now that I'm firmly planted at the top of the proverbial hill, I have to say that I'm actually enjoying it and do not plan on leaving for quite a while.  The ascent was painful and exhausting, the hill was steep and I was not always in the best shape for the climb.  But now, although my muscles are tired, they are stronger and all of the hard work of living and healing has finally begun to pay off.   The view is breathtaking above the clouds!

Several incidents this fall and winter reminded me of how quickly life can change.   My cousin drowned and miraculously survived; a 41-year old high school friend was killed in a tragic accident; my 30-year-old receptionist suddenly lost her 41-year-old-husband to a heart attack; a former co-worker overdosed and is on a ventilator, not expected to live.  Those split-second tragedies made me more determined than ever to absorb every detail of my life, live every day to the fullest and embrace what I've got before it's gone.  I don't want to take my health, my job, my friends or my family for granted.  I don't want to miss important moments because I'm too self-absorbed to be fully present for others.  If life is like hiking then I know that the descent will be much faster than the ascent, so I'm hanging on to experience every second of a fast and furious ride! 

The greatest thing about reaching the top of the hill is the way it has changed my perspective:

• I've stopped letting others' failures against me define me negatively
• This was huge for me.  For years I simply tried to stop any one's failures against me from impacting me in anyway, but ignoring the crimes, and I do mean crimes, against me meant that I had to deny a lifetime of experiences and how they shaped me.  Since all experiences define me to some extent, I'm intentionally looking for the beauty in the pain.  It has made a world of difference and let me grieve my wounds while emerging from the process stronger, kinder, gentler and more compassionate.  God is miraculously making something beautiful out of the evil.   
• I now understand the difference between arrogance and confidence and the latter has become like a  second skin, at least most of the time!  ;-)
• I am MUCH more comfortable in my own skin and no longer feel the need to pretend to be someone I'm not.  I shattered the mold others kept trying to force me into and it was the most liberating thing I've ever done  
• I'm taking advantage of the fact that I live in a country where a woman can spread her wings and pursue an education even if she never marries or has a family.  I am going back to school.  Phase 1 has begun and I am in the beginning of an 8-month professional certification course.  Phase 2 will begin in the fall when I begin work on my Bachelor's degree - God-willing.  I'm nervous but excited and proud of myself for finally overcoming my fears related to college 
• It's important that someone in this world need me and depend on me, even if it's just an adorable little Yorkie named Zeus! 
• My faith is my own.  It's strong, deep, rich and alive and I wouldn't trade the intimacy I've found in my relationship with Christ for anything in this world

Looking forward to enjoying this view for a long time to come! 

One Strand of Lights

There's always at least one Clark Griswold moment in my holiday decorating. Usually it occurs when one strand of annoying Christmas lights refuses to twinkle after being strung on the tree. All of that time and effort to carefully wrap the lights in between the branches, all of the anticipation of a beautifully lit tree and.......nothing. CLARK!!!!!!

This year began with a ginormous strand of broken lights in my life.  I'll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that things were messy and painful.  The darkness of that one little strand of lights began to eclipse the light of all of the others.  I was drowning in grief from hidden sorrow.  The unspoken story of my life haunted me and a deep fear that I would not find my way back to a fully lit life consumed me.   My faith suffered, my health took a nose-dive and I was worried that I would lose my job.  I was barely functioning.

I tried desperately to fix those tiny, broken pieces of glass, but I couldn't do it.  For a long time I wallowed in the depressing darkness.  But then I was reminded that light was living and breathing in me and would eventually triumph over the blackness.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."

This year when I put up my tree there was one pesky strand of lights that promptly quit working.  At first I focused all of my energy on making them twinkle, but then I gave up.  I sat and stared at my tree in disappointment.  I was focused on the unlit strand and what it represented to me when I finally noticed the other lights.  Their brightness was contagious and eventually I no longer focused on the darkness. 

Those little shimmering lights became symbols for me: of deeper faith, comforting hugs, intimate friendships, a family's laughter, my dog's snuggle, Maya's smile, life.  The list is unending.  Yes, there will always be broken lights, shards of darkness that try to steal the light, horrible memories, atrocities, deception, betrayal.  I refuse to ignore them any longer, I will acknowledge how they shape(d) me and choose to learn from them instead of fearing them.  The light Who lives in me will illuminate my path and overcome the darkness from the broken strand of lights. 

May the broken strands in your life intertwine with the light of Christ's life and unending, redeeming love.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Peace in the Absence of Answers

Why ask why?  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yH9KRFlRFI0

Do you remember those silly commercials?  They used to be some of my favorites.  Not because I'm fond of beer ~ I'm not and my virgin lips had never even tasted alcohol at the time those spots first aired ~ but I am a girl who never ceases to ask why.  It's an annoying and exhausting trait; if I'm not asking out of curiosity then I'm asking out of anger. 

Here's a sample of the random, completely unrelated questions that zoom through my mind in any given 10-minute period:  

• Why does Dr. Pepper make me so happy?
• Why does love hurt?
• Why am I so complicated?
• Why do people stop at yield signs but yield at stop signs?
• Why do evil people steal the innocence from children?
• Why, why, why, why, WHY?

Perhaps the endless questions explain why I'm so exhausted all the time!  For some misguided reason part of me has always believed that knowing the answers to all of my questions would bring me peace. I was wrong.  Some answers did bring peace, but many times they brought additional turmoil, heartbreak and even more whys instead. 

Ironically it seems that knowing the answers is sometimes more painful than not knowing them.  Yet, I'm driven to seek them anyway.  However, I've been burned often enough that I've learned to mix the answers with an abundance of grace, peace and wisdom, otherwise the knowledge can overwhelm, confuse and destroy my fragile sense of peace.

If you had a choice between learning why or experiencing peace, which one would you choose?  This is one question that has an easy answer for me.  Instead of torturing myself with the unanswered whys, I'd rather have peace.  That doesn't mean I will ever stop searching for answers, it means I will find a way to live with the difficult ones.  It means I will put my trust in God's wisdom even when the answers don't satisfy my curiosity or sense of justice.  Ultimately that is when I find peace.

A Snail's Pace

Usually when I see a snail I  walk the other way, all the while shuddering as I think, "People eat those things?"  Well now that I have a very curious puppy, walking away is out of the question.  Zeus loves all kinds of creatures, but he is especially fascinated with snails.  

Recently we have seen many snails on our morning walks.  Just today we saw a large snail sporting an intricately designed, brown shell.  I was shocked at how beautiful it was; it looked like it had been hand decorated by an exotic henna artist!

For a few moments I stood distracted as I admired its outward beauty and tried to keep Zeus from tormenting it to death.  But it wasn't long before I grew bored because I knew that wasn't the real snail.  What I wanted to see was the slimy, messy, unattractive but infinitely more interesting snail with little antennas and funny eyes.  I wanted to see what was inside that fancy shell.

As we stood quietly our patience was rewarded as he slowly began to emerge.  He looked both ways several times, twitched his antennas and finally exposed his vulnerable body to the elements AND to my dog.  Of course, Zeus was eager to play with his new "friend" and scared him back into his shell almost immediately.

I always thought that everything about snails was slow, but boy howdy when that little fella felt threatened by the giant, eager puppy blocking his path he retreated faster than the speed of sound!  I stood giggling for several more minutes as he repeatedly emerged at a typical snail's pace and retreated like a speeding bullet at the first sign of Zeus.  Each time he was scared back into his shell he became slower to emerge and quicker to retreat.    

Finally I made Zeus wait off to the side so the snail could breathe.  Once he felt safe enough to begin traveling again I watched as he made slow but steady progress toward the giant shrub that he was intent on destroying.  My landlord may have preferred that I let Zeus scare him away but I just couldn't do it, because in observing that snail, I observed myself. 

I am a lot like that snail.  It takes a very long time for me to poke my head out and see if it's safe.  It's an agonizing process and requires much patience from those who are curious about what's on the inside.  If I feel safe once I'm "on the outside" I make slow and steady progress toward my humble goals.  Sadly I often destroy good things in a continued effort to protect myself when I feel vulnerable, but unlike the snail I specialize in self-destruction!  Once someone or something scares me I retreat more quickly than that snail, speeding bullets have nothing on me.  I am quick to protect the vulnerable, slimy, mess hidden inside.  I paint, pad, clothe and generally use my shell to distract people from the real me, and I fall into that pattern over and over again.

To be fair, the shell is necessary at times.  It doesn't do much good for me to always play the martyr or to live as a victim.  Yet exposing the truth of myself is risky because I can easily get hurt, even by people I trust, or especially by people I trust.  But it doesn't change the fact that I want to live without fear when I'm outside of my shell; to do my work, love my friends and reach out to those in need.  I want to expose the real, slimy mess of my life to people who will help protect me from the harsh elements so I don't suffocate or shrivel and die inside of myself.  The only way I find the courage to try again is when I remember that God loves the real me more than the shell.  In exposing myself to others I'm really exploring who I am and letting His love and redemption transform me into the woman He always hoped I would be instead of a shell of her.

So now you know, I'm a slimy mess, slow and awkward.  Maybe by admitting that it will give those around me freedom to expose the truth about themselves, because as I've discovered, living in a shell is kind of like living in my own little prison.  It might be pretty but it's still a gilded cage.

 

Little Blue Demons

True confession ~ there was a time when I believed that The Smurfs were little blue demons. Of course I also believed that Satan was encoding secret messages in "secular" records (I went to the seminar), that Bill Gothard was right (cough, cough), AND that Armageddon was imminent, er, well imminent anytime between 1988-2048, guess the jury is still out on that one!

Sigh. All of that sounds ludicrous to me now. I cringe red-faced when looking back at the misguided zealot I was. How many people were wounded by my unfair criticisms?

Yet I still know many, many people; sincere, kind, warm, compassionate friends and family who believe those same things or at least the 21st century equivalent of them. Still, I refrain from judging them because I've matured enough to know that I'm not right about everything although I often tend to believe I am wiser and more enlightened than my fellow travelers. ☺

It's easy to forget that we are all navigating our way through a confusing landscape of morality. It took many years for me to learn that I don't have to compromise my deep convictions and spiritual beliefs to embrace humility, grace and kindness. Sometimes I forget that or feel insecure and threatened by someone else's differing viewpoint and react by spewing harsh judgments. Perhaps it's easier to focus on the "little blue demons" in others than the ones taking up residence in my own life. 

These days those annoying blue characters are things like pride, selfishness, entitlement, lack of mercy, loving poorly. Basically they are my own negative character traits, I no longer worry about everyone elses because mine take so much time and energy! So even if we passionately disagree about matters big or small, I will try to respond in kindness without compromising what I believe to be true. Now if you'll excuse me I want to watch an episode of The Smurfs before it's too late, what with Armageddon and all.

Pat Robertson Does Not Represent Me!

I saw the news alert yesterday afternoon. A 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Haiti, far, far away from my cozy office in Stone Oak. I was too busy at work to take the time to check into the story further, but once I did I was stunned. I'm always overwhelmed at the damage an earthquake can cause, especially in such a short amount of time. I understood President Obama's sentiment when he made the following comment in his statement earlier today:

"for a country and a people who are no strangers to hardship and suffering, this tragedy seems especially cruel and incomprehensible."

Many people who walk in much more conservative circles than I have voiced their disbelief that our President would categorize this disaster as cruel. Others, like Pat Robertson, immediately looked to blame the very people who have literally crumbled under the weight of this disaster. And it makes me angry and ashamed to be so horribly represented by those who share my faith.

This is a time for action, not semantics and theology lessons. I am fairly convinced that during his earthly ministry Jesus would have immediately responded with love AND action. He would not have stopped to consider if the words used to describe such incomprehensible devastation were appropriate, because ultimately there are no words that can describe the physical and emotional devastation that occurred. He would have understood that the suffering feels cruel to those in the middle of it. Neither do I believe that he would have tried to claim that a "pact with the devil" cursed millions of people and led to a natural disaster in the poorest nation in our hemisphere.

As a Christian, I am commanded to follow the example of Christ. Period. Politics and theology are better served in a different time and place. Although I cannot travel to the site of the disaster I can give money and supplies to the reputable charities tasked with providing aid. Please, if you have the means consider making a monetary donation. If you believe in the power of prayer, please offer your prayers, laments or groans to the one who can make something beautiful from the ashes.

Here are a few of my favorite charities:

http://www.compassion.com/

http://www.samaritanspurse.org/

14,000 Days

Sometimes a day seems soooo looooong and sometimes it seems shorter than my mother. But in reality time doesn't move faster or slower depending on my mood. It stays the same. Tick-tock, tick-tock, 60 seconds makes the big hand move, 60 minutes makes the little hand move and before I know it time has run away from me and the day has slipped into a memory. Over 14,000 days so far and only God knows how many more are to come.

When I was younger my faith was kind of like my ticket to immortality, a way to be assured of an endless supply of days. Of course, it was also the best way I could think of to avoid all of that fire and brimstone the preacher was always talking about, but I digress. There's a popular CCM band that sings "Take me to the other side, cuz I wanna live forever" and I'll admit that living forever in heaven sounds pretty great. No pain, no suffering, mansions and streets of gold. Who would turn that down? It's just that focusing on the "living forever" part kind of misses the point of living NOW. And no matter how long or short the days, I'm still in the "now and the not yet" part of living. I haven't graduated to heaven yet, and BTW I'm perfectly fine with that!

There is still so much to learn before I am finally complete, and while I'm growing toward the woman God intended when he first imagined me, I'm still SO. FAR. AWAY. Salvation is much more than my personal "get out of hell free card." For me it has become more about reconciliation to my Creator; more about a vibrant, passionate and intimate relationship that quenches my dry and thirsty soul and awakens my numb heart to the experience of living. In him I live and move and have my being - what joy I get from a living, breathing relationship with Christ! It's amazingly beautiful to contemplate the mystery of reconciliation. But, part of reconciling involves looking back, which is something I normally eschew.

Popular culture tells us to never look back, to never stop thinking about tomorrow. But I've learned that the process of looking back, although painful, is helpful in determining why I do things the way I do, good or bad. I'm not talking about simply remembering, I'm talking about a serious in-depth examination of life. Many people never do this. They live convinced of their "rightness" about every issue or opinion, and try to convince everyone else of their "rightness" too. They live to control or fix others instead of themselves. Hm, I wonder how I know that? Ha! Now that I've decided to move beyond that kind of thinking I'm experiencing serious growing pains. Yet, time and time again the pain of examination leads to complete freedom and reconciliation with my Creator.

I've come too far to stop now, and I'm determined to complete this process and see where it takes me, no matter if I have 1 or 14,000 days remaining.

Brainless Conversations with God

Earlier this week when I hopped on the scale to check my progress in this never ending battle with the bulge I was SHOCKED to see that I had gained 3 pounds. Excuse me??? I've been living on rabbit food. I've been avoiding "bad" carbs. I've erased the word sugar from my vocabulary. I've been walking 4+ miles faithfully almost every day. I've been paying an arm and a leg to workout with a trainer who causes me physical pain. I've been really good, and I haven't cheated!!! How in the world did I GAIN 3 pounds???

At this point a rational person would have stopped and calmly considered the situation, but I chose "crazy, psycho woman mode" and decided that the Almighty and I needed to have a chat about how unfair all of this was.

Really. BAD. Idea. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And thus began another of my brainless conversations with God.

Me: I'm confused! I'm doing everything right. Why did I gain 3 pounds?
God: silence
Me: Do you think you could help me out here? I'm really trying!

God: silence

Me: You WANT me to be fat, don't you? You really don't care that I'm trying so hard, do you? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? Because this is a really cruel way to do it!!!
God: silence
Me: Why are you doing this to me???
God: silence
Me: Fine if you don't want to help me then I'm done. I'm tired of trying. If this is all I get then why don't I just go have a slice of pizza? If I'm destined to be fat anyway I'm going to eat what I want. So there.
God: silence
Me: Whatever. I knew this would happen anyway. Since I'm supposed to "give thanks in everything" let me just say thanks for all of your "help". Hmmffff.
God: silence
Me: Finally snapping out of "crazy, psycho woman mode" thinks, hmmmm, maybe I'm retaining water. When was my last cycle? Oh. Blush. That's it. I really hate PMS. God?? I'm really sorry please don't strike me dead. Thanks.

God: No problem, and you're welcome...

Yes, I know what you're thinking - "Watch out for lightning" and believe me I am! Sigh, maybe when PMS is no longer in my vocabulary I'll get it right. I sure hope so, I'm tired of being an idiot....

Tripped Up

There are many things in life that have "tripped me up" over the years, but sadly nothing so much as my own clumsiness. So guess what I did today? Yes folks, I tripped.............going UP the stairs. Now I would LOVE to place blame on my heels and extra long pants, but that wouldn't be fair. The honest, embarrassing truth is that I'm a klutz, plain and simple. And if you've spent much time with me at all, then you probably recall seeing me stumble while trying to do something as complicated as say, walking, which I've only been doing for about 38 years. I'm really hoping my walking skills improve with age.

Now, I've also been known to trip going DOWN the stairs. When I was 22 I was leaving the office in a hurry and once in the stairwell I tripped and fell down the last 5 or 6 stairs, breaking my leg and damaging my knee in the process. To this day my knee still bothers me and my leg still aches when the weather gets funky. You've probably noticed me rubbing my knee and randomly commenting on the impending rain I'm sure is coming because my aching tibia told me so.

As shocking as this may sound, I tend to be a cynic..... That's one reason I'm usually so careful going up and down the stairs in my apartment. I'm convinced that one day I will trip and fall and lie dying in a crumbled heap on my floor and none of my family or friends will realize that I'm down for the count. Of course, I know that my co-workers would notice my absence so there is a slight chance I would be found before making my way to the pearly gates. But just in case I would hope that if you don't hear from me for a few days you would assume I have tripped, again, and desperately need your assistance!

But seriously, as I tripped on the stairs today I started thinking about all the other ways I've tripped on life's journey. The countless times I've hurt people in my clumsy attempts to love them are cringe-worthy. Same with my failed attempts at vulnerability and intimacy. And worse, the thousands of times I've tripped while trying to stay on the narrow road of my faith. I know I'll make it to the finish line but I fear I will be limping instead of running! Thankfully God's grace is abundant for one like me and I know that when I trip and fall I am not alone, He is still with me and will help me get back on my feet again. I may have a few bumps and bruises but I will persevere and hopefully grow a little wiser in the process. I'm so thankful for God's grace in the midst of my clumsiness and I'm thankful for family and friends who help pick me up when I've tripped yet again!

Resting in the Mystery

Sometimes I long for the idealism of my youth. Everything was black and white, right or wrong. Shades of gray were unacceptable because I had it all figured out, you know - life, faith, the reason for living, etc. I thought I knew so much! Ummm, yeah. Not any more. Now I really am smarter and know that, well - I know VERY little. And for that I owe all of the credit to God. He has done a stellar job of deconstructing my ideals, and much to my chagrin he constantly escapes the box I try to keep him in. Darn it! If he would just be who I want him to be.... At least I can be thankful for the fact that he is more interesting and gracious and compassionate than how he was presented to me. He is more. He is beyond definition. He is mystery.

The past several years have found me finally resting in the mysteries of faith instead of trying to figure them out. And although there is nothing wrong with ideals and honest questions, for a long time I found myself wrestling with theology, and worrying about whether or not I was a Calvinist or Arminian more than just believing God and taking him at his word. His word became less about him and more about the various doctrines or opinions of others. It was a very limiting and legalistic way to live and view the world, sorely lacking in grace and love.

Now when I'm confused or find myself striving for answers I'll never have, I seek quiet and stillness. He always shows up and makes his presence known to me. He moves me with beauty. He loves me with compassion. He loves me with himself! He delights in calling my name ever so quietly. He speaks to me through his word. He is Immanuel. He is with me. He is. His mystery dances with truth and I no longer try to tear them apart or analyze and dissect them, because God knows I hate it when others do that to me! And as I've I've begun to expose the deep wounds of my heart to his love I've discovered that there is healing and hope, I've discovered that I can rest in his mystery.

"I'd forgotten who I was until I stumbled through my history. I came to life because you were there." Without a Clue, by Matthew Perryman Jones.

"Take me to a place where love can mend these wounds, where mystery can dance with truth, and the broken soul finds refuge......lead me to a place where beauty dwells." Refuge by Matthew Perryman Jones.

Great Expectations

I had such great expectations when I was young. Expectations of how my life would play out and of who the characters would be.... how many children I would have, how wonderful my husband would be and how perfect I would be as both a wife and mother. (Yes I know, a very idealized view, perhaps almost as idealized as the single lifestyle is by married folks........grass is always greener!) Those expectations were formed in my ultra conservative private school and on Sundays as I was bombarded with the message that they were the nirvana of womanhood. Now that those worthy goals have been shattered by reality I find it hard to keep believing that doctrine.

In the pain of accepting both God's and my own choices for my life I cringe when the church teaches that there is no higher calling for a woman than M&M: marriage and motherhood. What does that mean for me, a single and childless woman? The very teaching implies that my life has less value because of my romantic failures and broken body! I'm smart enough to know that the doctrine is a lie but it is so deeply embedded in my soul, and in the soul of the church, that sometimes I live like I still believe it, especially because M&M are the only two things I ever really wanted. Therein lies the problem.

Lately I've been asked repeatedly how I deal with the disappointment and loneliness without extreme bitterness. After one friend asked a variation of that question her husband wisely asked "what makes you think she has?" Nailed it. It's definitely a roller coaster for me, some days are good and some days are very, very bad. As I contemplated the question I remembered the countless nights I've cried myself to sleep; the numerous times I've awakened to the sound of silence, keenly aware that I will not be hearing a baby's cry (who wishes for that right?); or the thousands of times I've arrived home to an empty house with no one to share the dailiness of living. The cold, hard fact is that there is no one who cares about the mundane things in my life like whether or not traffic was terrible; if a patient yelled at me; if I had a delicious lunch; or....you get the idea. Every day I arrive home and face the reality that no one is there for me in the little things, and it's in the little things where I'm the most lonely, and the most susceptible to bitterness.

Today my personal challenge (can't worry about tomorrow's challenge) is to let Christ transform my life into something of value because of who he is. To invite him into the pain and disappointment, into the loneliness and heartbreak instead of denying that they are present. That's a risky proposition because being honest about the excruciating loneliness means that I must be vulnerable to God AND to those he has tasked to love me. Many people are uncomfortable with gut-wrenching honesty or authentic expressions of pain, most just want to "fix" the problem (me) and move on. Thankfully I have found a few people who seem to enjoy the challenge that is me, and actually try to love me when I'm impossible and support me when I'm sad. Each time they do I see a little more clearly how deeply my Savior loves me. My prayer is that as I find peace and healing, I will love those friends as purely and support them as selflessly even when their great expectations give way to reality.

Irrational Fears

Could you drive across these bridges?

I couldn't! Just looking at them causes me to hyperventilate. I'll ride in a gondola, suspended by a tiny, steel cable to the top of the tallest mountain in any given country, but put me on a tall bridge and I can barely control the panic I feel. I'll take a glass elevator to the top of a skyscraper without a thought, but steep bridges send me over the edge, or at least I'm afraid they will.... Yes, I have an irrational fear of tall bridges. It's probably post traumatic stress from so many years of riding with my grandmother in the mountains. She took those hairpin curves at speeds I'll barely drive on the highway. Something about looking over the edge and seeing only air makes me nearly pass out.

The fear is getting worse too as San Antonio groans its way into becoming a bustling metropolis. The former construction zones at the 281/410 and I10/410 interchanges have given way to huge overpasses with tall bridges. Every day I speed my way under the newly built concrete ramps on 281 lest they topple over with me underneath, then I thank God that I don't have to drive over them because that would be much worse.

My niece loves to tell the story of the time I took her and her siblings to the coast and we had to drive over the tall bridge connecting North Padre Island and Corpus Christi. In order for me to cope I instructed the 4 children to remain silent, then I turned off the radio and held on to the steering wheel for dear life. The kiddos thought it was funny and kept giggling as I fought back tears and tried to breathe normally. The laughter escalated each time I asked them to be quiet. Finally, at the point of near hysteria I barked at them to "shut up!" Kaitlyn laughs with delight each time she tells that story. Of course, I feel terrible for setting such a poor example, but then I was panicking and afraid that four of my favorite people (plus me) would meet their maker after plunging to their deaths into the Gulf of Mexico.

Just yesterday I felt the same panic as Serina and I were driving home from the mall. I would have taken San Pedro Ave to Woodlawn, all to avoid the bridges, but the highway is faster and I wasn't driving so I found myself covering my face in fear and peeking out to see how much longer it would be before I could breathe again.

That scenario has been repeated many times, with many different people and each time I feel like the biggest dork ever. I'm a logical, intelligent (usually) person. I KNOW that the bridges will carry even my weight, but they are so tall and narrow and people drive WAY too fast. All I can see is a car careening over the edge and crashing to the highway below and it terrifies me.

Since I am a woman of deep faith the question begs to be asked: Why am I afraid when I know my life is in the hands of my creator? I'm guessing it's because a car careening off of a bridge symbolizes how I feel about my life: OUT OF CONTROL. I'm technically driving but I'm not really in control. God is. I can steer and brake and try very hard to stay on my chosen path, but God will take me where he wants me to go, even scary, hurtful places. I know this and it scares me and infuriates me all at the same time. His approach is often wild and unpredictable, which is disconcerting. Not that he hasn't proven himself to me time and time again. His love created me. And when I was fallen and could not get up, he sacrificed his Son so we could reconcile. Obviously he has the best intentions toward me. But despite his goodness, I see through a glass darkly and being out of control isn't comfortable so I try to avoid it.

How do I reconcile God's love and goodness with my fear of really bad things happening? What if my car DOES careen off of a tall bridge and I meet my maker in a smoldering heap? Does that make God less good or does it simply mean that the fall interfered with the original plan? Do I REALLY believe that I could do a better job if I had ultimate control? Those are questions I'm still struggling to answer. Even though answers come slowly the process of questioning has deepened my faith in who God is, and knowing him despite his silence has brought unfathomable peace to my tired soul.

I guess it's time to let faith conquer my fear, which means I'm going to have to start driving over those tall bridges with my eyes wide open. I'm fairly certain I'll survive, although I may end up with a bleeding ulcer before it's all said and done. Just remember, if you happen upon a maroon Saturn driving about 20 mph, please don't tailgate me and whatever you do PLEASE don't honk as that will startle me. Just smile and remember that I'm learning to trust and will eventually speed up to 25 mph!

BREAKING NEWS!

STRESSED BILLING MANAGER ACCEPTS BETTER OFFER

Here's the scoop. Last Friday I received a phone call from a friend. She had spoken to a doctor who was looking for a new Practice Administrator. She told him about me. He and I spoke on Friday night. His partner called me later on in the evening. We all agreed to meet at the Starbuck's on Blanco and 1604 on Saturday at 3:30 pm. I arrived at 3:15 pm. At 3:45 pm I still did not see the doctors. I paged them and discovered that there are 2 Starbuck's at Blanco and 1604. In that instant I discovered that it is possible to be lost even when it looks like you're in the right place....(I'm sure there's a spiritual analogy there but I'm too tired to delve into it!) Anyway, I drove to the correct Starbuck's and met the long suffering doctors.

We talked for 1 1/2 hours and discussed their practice style, software, staff and all of their expectations. Most encouraging to me was how comfortable we were together. Both are easy to talk to and friendly and have chosen to practice at a slower pace in order to offer their patients the best care. Also, the lead doctor is a man of deep faith. He leads ACTS retreats through his church, performs at least 2 medical mission trips a year and prioritizes his life in the following way:

1. GOD


2. Family


3. Work

By Sunday afternoon I had a very nice offer including 4 WEEKS OF VACATION. Yes, you read that right 4 WEEKS OF VACATION!!!! Do you KNOW how happy that made me??? 4 WEEKS OF VACATION!!!! I would actually be able to visit Laurie in Europe and go on mission trips all in the same year!!! Happy, happy, happy!

Well, enough about my 4 WEEKS OF VACATION!!! The doctor asked me to pray about the offer and I told him I would do that and make a decision on Monday. By Monday morning I was a nervous wreck. The offer just seemed too go to be true and having been burned so much lately I could find NO peace. I got a pep talk from Laurie and then called the doctor to accept the position. Do you know what he said? He said, "Praise the Lord! I prayed about this and told God that it was all in his hands. I am the kind of person who wants the best for everyone so even though I want what is best for my practice, I wanted you to make the best decision for you." At that point I start crying. I'm slightly overwhelmed that someone who doesn't even know me would put my best interests above those of his own.

So yesterday I resigned. My boss told me that I would leave a huge hole...that I had built the business office from nothing and no one can replace me...that I was an investment...that she was sad. Then she offered my position and a much higher salary to another employee 5 minutes later. So much for being an irreplaceable investment! I don't blame her, my news was a huge shock and she has a business to run. I have no bitterness and no regrets and I will leave on good terms. I learned a lot and will miss many of my co-workers, but I have to admit I will not miss working in a closet and dodging vagrants and rats on the 2-block hike to my car!

My last day is July 17. Then I will be enjoying some of my favorite girlfriends for a weekend retreat. I plan to head to the beach or Laity Lodge for a few days the following week so I can chill out before beginning my new job on July 28.

Thanks to everyone who has prayed for me, offered advice or just listened to me whine. Hopefully I will get back to my old self once I begin my new job and have 4 WEEKS OF VACATION to look forward to!!!

Tonight

Tonight I am tired. Tired of caring. Tired of trying. Tired of dreaming. Tired of working. Tired of bothering. Just...plain...tired.

I'm worn out from hoping, and worn out from loving, and worn out from living. Figuring out how to live in this world is exhausting. It's draining the life and soul from me. I'm...worn...out.

Sometimes I wonder why everything has to be so hard. Hope seems fruitless, and people seem cruel, and life seems uninteresting and lonely and pointless. Maybe tomorrow my hormones will be stable and the world will be happier. But not tonight, no tonight is dark and bitter, and my heart is sad, so sad that I cannot even find my tears. Tonight the journey is killing me. Tonight I am angry and disappointed in God and myself and others. Tonight I am selfish. Just...plain...selfish.

Even as I type these words and give legitimacy to the emotions and anger and disappointment mingling in my heart, I feel ridiculous. I feel ridiculous for thinking my life is hard. It really isn't. I feel ridiculous for expecting God to make things easier. I feel ridiculous for not being grateful that he made me a fighter. I...feel...ridiculous.

I feel guilty for not being able to see through the lies that I have embraced. I feel guilty for not being able to cope better than I am at this very moment. I...feel...guilty.

When I face these moments, when I stare down into the pit of despair and decide if I will jump in or jump over it, I feel the heaviness crushing my heart. These are the moments when my choices will either strengthen or weaken my faith. These are the moments when I will decide whether or not I will believe though I cannot see. These are the moments when I will choose whether or not to cement my faith in God's truth or in the enemy's lies. These are the moments when I beg God to help me believe because I am incapable of doing so on my own. These...are...the...moments.

Tomorrow is another day and although the disappointments may be bitter I am comforted. I have hope. I have peace. I have truth. I have love. I have God. I have Jesus. I have the Holy Spirit. I have a future. I have a promise. I...have...faith.

Fragile

Sometimes I feel so fragile. Like a wounded bird trying desperately to flutter her wings and soar high above all of the turmoil in this world. Lately I have been overcome with sorrow at how flawed humanity is, how deeply flawed I am. I find myself grieving old wounds and examining events in my life that I would rather forget. In an effort to hide my fragility I inadvertently hurt those I love the most by slipping into a hard demeanor and refusing to be open and vulnerable.

People who tell me they love me, people whom I would wage war to keep in my life have tried to encourage me. They have loved me, spoken the truth and been present when I have tried to hide. And even though I cannot imagine my life without them, I still find it difficult to let their love seep into my bones.

Then there is the matter of my faith. I wish I could live what I profess to believe, that God actually loves me just as he finds me, in all of my messiness. I wish I could remember that his love really is better than mine. Sometimes the experience of his love is so obvious that I can wrap myself up in it like a warm blanket and just rest. But most of the time I find it difficult to accept that I am actually lovable without performing, so I find myself doing things to try to gain his approval, hoping that he will reward me by infusing me with his love and answering yes to some of my petitions. And if the reward I want doesn't come or I don't feel loved, I assume that I have failed, he loves me less than others and I am unworthy of anything better.

Slowly, VERY slowly, I am chipping away at the walls I have erected around my tender heart and replacing the lies I have embraced with the truth that God thinks I am worth fighting for, even though I've never believed that to be true. I am involved in a very intense prayer study based on the teachings of St. Ignatius, and through this study I am learning more about God and more about myself every day. St. Ignatius would probably say that this sorrow I feel is a consolation (gift) because it is leading me into deeper intimacy with my Creator. All I know is that even though the process is excruciating and I am more aware of my humanity than ever, I feel deeply connected to my Savior and strangely peaceful. So even though I have been a bit more contemplative than normal and more sensitive, I'm okay. I'm finding my way and learning how to live in this new skin. I'll close with my favorite line from an Andrew Peterson song that is on repeat in my CD player:

All of my life
I've held onto this fear
These thistles and vines ensnare and entwine
What flowers appeared.

It's the fear that I'll fall
One too many times
It's the fear that His love
Is no better than mine.

But He tells me
Just as I am
Just as I was
Just as I will be
He loves me, He does
He showed me the day
That He shed His own blood,
He loves me, oh He loves me, He loves me He does.