Twang

Music is a big part of my self-care -I shouldn't wonder since it's been such a big part of my life.

Sometimes, though, I forget to listen to music that I actually like, and I plaster my life with classical music and soothing tones.

Yesterday I had a rough day, I was coming off of confessing to my husband.  He was at work, and I was home with a swirl of emotions (and hormones, it turns out -this baby has not left me with a clean slate to work with).
I had to go to the store.
But I couldn't seem to get off the computer.  I was shaking and checking the forum, wondering if all my wifeys would sort of kick me our of their herd (not that I'm somehow just one in a grand herd of cattle, but I can't help but think in cow terms preeeetty much constantly).
When I finally looked at the clock and realized I'd pushed it JUST about as far as I could, I packed up my two littlests and went to Wal-Mart.  It's a thirty minute drive, and it was really windy yesterday.

I had to speed.

Had to get milk.

And a new controller.  I can't BELIEVE I broke that controller.  I can't believe how much I rely on that stupid playstation.  It's like, if I didn't have Netflix, the world would somehow crumble!  Ugh, pathetic.

Oooomph, I can't believe I just backed over that stupid well thingy again.  You would think after living here for three years...

This day is so ridiculous.  I'm failing at it.  Failing, failing, failing,

Oh, smile and wave at the neighbor!  Hi!  I'm a nice person and so are you!

How DID the tank of gas get so low?  Oh well, I can't worry about that right now.  If I don't make it back in time, I won't be here when the bus drops my daughter off and this is HER day.  Her big graduation day.

I should have left earlier.  If I had it together, I would have.

Stupid Rascal Flatts.  I hate Rascal Flatts.

At this point, I changed the radio station to our very local station (ten miles away as opposed to 75) and Loretta Lynn filled my ears.
Hey, Loretta.
And peace came.  Happiness came.  Energy, strength, it all came pouring through my speakers, and my used Jeep Cherokee's front seat (which is loose because those are the kinds of cars I drive) bounced around as I shook my hips as far as my seat belt would let me.

Loretta's husband cheated on her.  A lot.  And she wrote a lot of songs about it.  A lot.  Youtube gives us, "Fist City" and "You Ain't Woman Enough To Take My Man."

Loretta Lynn is the one who inspired me before I "met" women like Rhyll and Colleen Harrison.  When I was in Victim Land, I would crank some Loretta and took her strength.
And yesterday, when I turned the radio station and heard my Loretta coming through the pipes, I knew there was no such thing as coincidences.
The Lord was telling me in such a personal way, "Here's some strength, girl."
I came home from that trip and had two piano lessons to teach, a house to clean, a cake to bake, inlaws to host... and I cranked my Loretta Lynn Pandora station and giggled at how applicable classic country is to addiction.
Everyone's cheatin'
Everyone's drinkin'
and these boots were made for walkin'

I'm so grateful for the Lord's tender awareness of me and my needs.  Oh, to be so aware of my own children!
On that note, Loretta is touring this year.  Think I can talk my main squeeze into a concert?  If not, I'll snag one of my wifeys with a taste for twang.

I just love this clip where the media asks Loretta is she's a feminist. Her answer resonates with me.  She's resilient.  Does that make her a feminist?  It just makes her honest and strong.  And, incidentally, it makes her one of my wifeys.
"Why didn't you just divorce him?" The interviewer asks.
"I loved 'im," she says.

Shoe's On the Other Foot

My husband came home yesterday, and when I asked him how his day went, he simply said, "I need to talk to you.  Can we sit down?"

Oh, pits.

He is working hard on Step 1 as he's found it in the book, "Clean Hands, Pure Heart."  Since doing so, he's had some realizations.  They keep bubbling up to the surface.  Two days ago?
"Two things, babe... I need to tell you two things."
And yesterday?
"Two things, babe... I need to tell you two things."

I trust that he's being as honest as he can right now.  I reached a place months ago where the sting and hurt of his addiction was taken away.  It was a miracle -a direct blessing from accessing the Atonement in ways I never had before.  I bore testimony of it from the stand (without going into detail, promise).
But yesterday's realizations combined with the realizations from a few days ago really added up.  It's a sign that my husband is making some strides -the fact that he's being so open and honest and willing to come to me and be transparent.

But I felt pain yesterday.  I told him as much.
"It hurts," I said, and not a tear escaped my eyes, "and I feel a panicked sort of fear of the future."
There's this side to my husband I never knew about!  I thought I knew about it, but I didn't -the things he's telling me, the realizations he's having -I'm taken aback.
Who is this guy?

I was honest with him about how I was feeling, and he was willing to listen and apologize without minimizing, manipulating, or rationalizing.
"I now know that if I recall something and try to rationalize it away -try to think of reasons I shouldn't tell you -that is a sign I NEED to tell you, and I need to tell you as soon as possible."
When he spoke those words to me, I felt more respect for him than I ever thought possible.  The humility, the courage... I was in awe of the man on the couch next to me.
It made me wonder if I was as honest with him as he was being with me.

For some much-needed distraction, we turned on a television show I had selected -one I'd been wanting to watch with him.  The older two kids weren't home, so we indulged in a more grown-up show.
The thing is... I didn't check the rating.
What the EFF kind of rookie mistake is THAT?!  And yeah: it was awful.  Like: worse than anything I've ever seen.  Soft porn?  That's pushing it.  It was horrific unto me.
I jumped up from the couch, but our TV is too big for me to stand in front of and I didn't have a remote.
It was this rush of panic for both of us... TURN IT OFF, TURN IT OFF, TURN! IT! OFFFFFF!
"Sorrrrrrry," I said.
"Honey, did you even look at the rating?"
"No." I said as he clicked on the description...
"It's TV-MA."

The rest of the evening, he poked fun at me for it.
Our relationship sort of thrives on teasing, which may or may not be healthy.  I don't know.  What I do know is that I threw porn in my own and my husband's path.  That stuff is SEARED onto my brain.  I haven't watched much grown-up TV lately, and to go from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood to that?
Scarred.
Scarred for life.

As we crawled into bed (after watching something MUCH more appropriate), I curled up next to him, told him I loved him, and then told him I needed the couch -just some space to think.
I wrote, I prayed, I took care of a kid with a nightmare and nursed the baby.

My husband came out of our room with his shoes on.
"I'm going out for candy."
He's like a child.  with a license.  and a wallet.
"Want anything?"
"You know I do."
"I'll be back with a Brownie."
We're hopeless...

After he left, and all of the children were asleep I sat down to WRITE something I've felt prompted to write for a few weeks now: I need to write about my own lust issues.
I hesitate to do this because I'm scared.
I'm afraid of being a hypocrite.
I'm afraid of your rejection and condemnation.

But the Lord prompted me to write, so I WAS writing.  And smack dab in the middle of my typing, it hit me.

Oh.  My.

Something I thought I didn't need to tell him -something I had forgotten about, or shoved so far down in my brain I hadn't thought about in years -something I had convinced myself he didn't need to know because it would do more harm than good -his words about rationalization ran through my mind and at 1 am with a half-eaten brownie by my side I tore my way into my bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief that he was still awake.
"I need to talk to you."

What happened was over four years ago.  To sum up?  I sought lust hits from another man we knew personally.  There was never any physical contact, but there WAS a great deal to be honest about.

**post edit: I ought to mention here that the things I confessed and disclosed definitely NEEDED to be brought up with my husband, no doubts about it.  I don't feel comfortable giving specifics.  Maybe someday I will, but today just trust me: it's worse than you think.**

My husband's recent realizations have all been about women we know personally.  They've hurt me and they've stung and they've opened up a whole new can of triggers.  And to see that I had been guilty of doing exactly what he'd done that hurt me, and to have to come to the ONE MAN who had inspired me so much only that afternoon and HURT him...
I was even tempted to say, "Before I start, let me just say that I forgive you for what you've told me recently."
Manipulative, manipulative, manipulative.

By 2 am, we were both sawing logs -I was on the couch, he was on the bed.

This morning, I woke up to find I'd spilled my milk (because who eats a brownie without milk?) RIGHT onto my husband's PS3 controller and ruined it.  He woke up to me saying, "I'm. so. sorry. but..."

I didn't stop there, either.  It's 9 AM and I've already broken our can opener and tagged my husband's toes in the bathroom door.

Later on, I'm hosting a party in honor of my little kindergarten graduate.

And I feel I want to apologize to my fellow wives: I'm sorry I'm guilty of doing things that have caused you so much pain.  Though I was never fully addicted to porn, I was fully addicted to lust.
My addiction goes far beyond what you might imagine "typical" in a wife of an addict.  It began before I WAS a wife of an addict.

And though it hasn't been an issue in YEARS, and I can say with full confidence and clarity that my heart is new and changed, I'm still sorry.

I hope my husband won't bury his anger, hurt, or frustration toward me simply because he feels he has no right to it.

Right now, I've got to go shopping.  I need to buy a cake mix and a PS3 controller.
And a box -a BOX -of brownies.

I do so love you all.

Chemistry

  

via retronaut

A lot has been going on recovery-wise in my life. 

It's little things like having the guts to say something like, "No, I don't think we should spend $60 on tinting windows in the car... let's use it for _______ instead."

And it's big things like saying, "Your honesty is great, but I'm hurting right now.  I'm feeling a lot of fear and I'm going to sleep on the couch."

My husband has such a good heart.  He really, truly does.

I can see it in little things: the absence of drama, the offer to sleep on the couch himself (no, but thanks anyway... Alicia actually REALLY likes the couch) the presence of teasing laughter, making music together (not THAT kind...)

And I can see it in big things: his transparency, words spoken from the depth of his soul... so moving and loaded with emotion that he buries his head into my shoulder and weeps.

There's chemistry between my husband and I.

Physical attraction was the main pull in our getting together -the lust was so strong that at one time or another, either of us thought of calling it quits.  The lust was overpowering, and we basked in it when we were together, but when there was distance between us and our heads had time to clear, we freaked out over it.
To end our relationship would have been the easy answer.
But there was something THERE that always, always stopped us... it was a strong undercurrent, it was stronger than lust, stronger than anything mortal or measured.

It is there still, but it's moved up -no longer content to be an undercurrent.  It's pushing against the lust.

It is strong... stronger than I ever imagined.

My prayer is one of wonder, "Father, what can WE be?  Together, functioning in harmony under thy law, what can we become?  Help me feel, help me taste, give me a glimpse..."

There's a fine line between being grateful for the good and yet distrusting it, almost as if I'm waiting for the next cycle.
Because there's always a next cycle.
And I have my own cycles that I'm dissecting.  

And we are both so full of fear, so ruled by it.  We're scared of the future, scared of rejection, scared of anything debilitating, almost completely unaware that fear is in itself the MOST DEBILITATING sickness there is.

For so long, we've functioned under dysfunction.  It became a safe place for us.  I was comfortable to be a martyr to the cause of marriage.  He found sanctuary in his cycles.
Stepping outside that bubble of comfort has be proved to be the hardest thing we've ever done.  We're not doing it together, we're finding different tools to do it, and we've given up trying to show the other how to do it.

And every so often, every sweet so often, one of us will hold the other of us in pure vulnerability.  And as tears stain our weathered faces, the undercurrent buoys our mutual chemistry.

Through it all, our chemistry has never fully died.
It's incredible.

My husband has a good heart.
I have a good heart.

God, use us. 
God, prepare us for use.
God, help our unbelief.

Patterns are Gifts

  

via retronaut.

(I'm sorry, but does that picture just slaughter you?  The women von Trapp!  The very ESSENCE of patterns!)

I haven't been feeling well at all.
My body is suffering some after effects of having my baby.  This last week was a physical battle.
I emailed my sponsor about how NICE it's been to be overwhelmed with regular life rather than porn addiction stuff.
At the tail end of a week of crud, I woke up yesterday with a headache. One child was throwing up, the other has finally come down with his annual bout of croup (I thought we had avoided it this year). I don't normally get headaches.  I laid down and rested, hoping it would fade.
It didn't.
My poor baby girl had to be put down so often, and she would cry... not fuss, but cry.  Real, wet tears would run down her red little face, and when I could I would pick her up and hold her tightly to my body.
"You are loved," I would coo to her, almost teasingly -because it's so adorable to see a baby so upset, "I know you think you're not, but you are." She would literally CLING to me, one hand pulling my hair, the other gripping my shoulder.
I'd kiss her tears from her cheek, rock her, talk to her, ad inevitably have to put her back down again.


I had empathy for her emotions.  I feel that so many times.  Tears streaming down my face, a heavenly hug and a "you are loved" message...
Only to be set back down in the same situation... only to cry tears again.

On Tuesday, I taught piano lessons to a girl I love very dearly.  She's quiet, but she's sort of, well, deviant.  She's the kind of girl who would pull a fire alarm, just for fun. (and she actually HAS.)  I love it about her (probably because I'm not her Mom?) and what I love even more is how shy she is.  Quiet, shy, and bad to the bone.
She, in very fact, weaseled a way into playing her songs perfectly without ever really memorizing the names of the notes.  She tricked me for a few solid months!  When it came out that she didn't know her notes, we spent a few grueling weeks relearning. To her credit, it didn't take long.  She's a quick learner.
Yesterday, I put a piece of music in front of her.  It was absolutely riddled with sharps, flats, and natural signs.  The song just LOOKED like a mess.
She sighed.  Because she's too shy to say, "UUUUUGGGGHGHHHHH! SERIOUSLY?!?!"
To her, the music looked impossible.
It was overwhelming, too much to take in.

"But look," I said, hopefully reaching out and pointing to the music, "Don't look at it like that -look at the pattern.  Watch..."
I played the song for her and pointed out the pattern it followed.
"Now you try..."
And she played it almost perfectly.
"Now what do you think?" I asked.
"Better," she nodded.

Now the music didn't look impossible, now it made sense, now she could DO it.

The most recent CES Broadcast was given to young people both married and single aged 18-30.  Since I fall into that category, I went.
It was one of the most awkward experiences of my life.  I was the only married person there, and I fairly RAN away when the broadcast was over because they were about to start eating waffles and flirting, and I REALLY didn't want to be That One Married Chick standing in the back of the room with her waffle while her younger cousins made goo-goo eyes at the recently returned missionaries.
So I high tailed it home.
But despite the weirdness of it all, I was grateful I went for one reason.  Elder Walker talked about one scripture that I swear I've never seen before, though I know I have:

D&C 52:14

"I will give you a pattern in all things that you may not be deceived."

Addiction is NOT of the Lord.  It is a tangled, overwhelming mess of flats and sharps and natural signs... it seems impossible.
But PATTERNS are of the Lord.  The cycle of addiction is a gift
The Lord has given us all -both the addicted and the one loving and/or living with the addicted -patterns to save and spare us from deception.

Becoming aware of these patterns has given me the opportunity to protect myself.
I am safe.  I'm not longer being picked up, held and rocked and put back into the SAME situation.  Do I still cry?  Well, yes.  Of course I do.  But I'm not in the same situation, and that gives me cause for joy, even if it means I'm farther away from my husband. 

I've been feeling prompted to post my rights, my self-care list, and my boundaries.
You'll soon find them right up next to my story and contact information.

This is a hard thing we're doing.
It's so hard.
It's unspeakably hard, and it's filled with anguish.

The very least we can do is find safety for ourselves.  Because like it or not, real life is just around the corner. Kids will puke and cough up lungs and cry for hours on end.  The visiting teachers will want to stop by.  The phone will ring.  The boss will call.  Food will need to be made at some point.  Laundry will have to be washed.
LIFE will have to be LIVED.

With my boundaries in solid place, I am giving myself permission to truly live.
I'm giving myself permission to be faithful and find joy.
I'm empowered, safe, and alive.

Despite the puke on my shoulder, I mean.

Best Friend Fights

  

via retronaut.com

My daughter has a best friend.
This best friend has a very strong personality: always pushing (literally PUSHING) to be the leader, always insisting on doing it HER way first.

"She always makes mad faces at me," my daughter said, "I don't want to play with her anymore."
"What do you think you should do?" I asked.
"Talk to her and tell her that I don't want mad faces made at me anymore."
"That sounds like a good idea to me," I said.
"But I can't," her shoulders fell.
"Why not?"
"I'm scared, Mom." she looked so helpless.
"When we do things that scare us, it makes us stronger."

A few days later, she came to me again.
"I talked to her, Mom, about the mad faces."
"Good for you!  How did it go?"
"She told me that I should give her 100 chances to make mad faces if she wants."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Yucky."

Last night, per tradition, I asked the kids over dinner their favorite and least-favorite parts of the day.
"My favorite part was when my best friend got in trouble for climbing the fence."
"What?  Why was that your favorite?  Isn't she your friend?" I asked.
"She still keeps doing all those mad faces and always has to be the leader all the time."
This is where my (super protective) husband stepped in.
"If she keeps making those mad faces, just tell her you don't want to play with her anymore... just say 'I want to be your friend and I like you, but you can't treat me like that.  If you want to be my friend, you can't treat me badly.  If you treat me like that and keep making mad faces at me, I'm going to go play somewhere else.  You don't get 100 chances to be mean. I can find new friends.'  Bad behavior is not okay."

Two nights ago, my husband worked about 10 hours.  He then came home and went to fulfill his calling for over and hour and then was again called out.  He came home tired, and as he went to bed I gave him a quick head's up.
"I'm reworking and refining my boundaries, so tomorrow I'd like to go over them with you."
"Why are you redoing them?"
"I felt it was time."
I could tell he wasn't totally thrilled, but he said, "okay" and went to bed.

Yesterday we were barely able to squeeze a conversation in.  Indeed, we started it and I had to leave, so we continued it while I was in the car (cell phones are amazing).  The conversation finished later that night.

I told him my boundaries were about ME.  They were about keeping ME safe.  They aren't punishments or offensive weapons.  They're my safe place.
I started by reading him my rights (reading my rights to a cop? the irony is not lost on me).
I then read my self-care list to him.
And then I delved into my 11 boundaries -a few of which he was aware, a few of which were new.

When I was done, he asked a few clarifying questions. He pushed back a little -insisting that a few of them were a little harsh.
"Talk with me before you enforce it.  Don't just go taking sex off the table without talking it out with me.  It's not fair that you hold all the cards when it comes to sex..."
He paused.
"Of course there's always a chance that I could be stuck in my senseless addict brain when we talk... in which case, you gotta do what you gotta do and ignore me if I'm being a d-bag."

I asked him to be brutally honest about a few things I'd been concerned about.
And he was.
He hugged me, thanked me for sharing with him, and then we ate dinner.

And that's where he told my daughter to stand up for herself, to not be complacent with mistreatment.
At least, that's what her mother does when her live-in best friend starts making mad faces.

Boundaries are not an addiction thing. 
Boundaries are a healthy human experience.
 

I Always Knew Fear Was a Witch

“Masked figures from the “Wilde Jagd” Christmas folklore festivity in Salzburg, Austria. These festivities originate through the Perchtenlaufen custom, a period when the fearsome witch Perchta, who envies happily married couples, roams the villages. Processions of horribly masked figures armed with sticks and clubs meet throughout the festivity to chase the witch away.”
- “Masks, Face Coverings and headgear“, Norman Laliberté, Alex Mogelon, Fortune Monte

I have a realistic fear of rejection.

I know the women my husband has seen look nothing like me.
I've seen what they look like.  And because I'm a normal, sane wife I look in the mirror and fear the future because of what I've seen.

If he likes THAT, then what is he doing with ME?  What does my future look like with HIM?
He will never want me.

My fear of being rejected by my husband is deep-rooted.  It is OH so deeply rooted.  Weeding it out is proving to be one of the single most monumental things I've ever done in my young life.  LABOR -pushing a fully formed BABY out of my body is miles of easier.  Miles and miles.

Because I was afraid of being rejected by my husband, I

• let him tell me what outfits I look best in
• let him take care of any and all finances so I wouldn't disappoint him
• let him choose the movie
• and restaurant
• began working out excessively
• bothered to reapply lipstick (who does that?  Mary Kay consultants aside) (PS: I live nowhere near a city so IF someone around me is wearing lipstick, their chances of reapplying it are slim to none.  I'm not trying to discredit anyone out there who reapplies lipstick.)
• began to fear what others thought of my opinions (see second set of parathensis, above)
• read about a million books on how to be a better spouse
• created a dozen ULTRA creative baskets full of goodies JUST for him and things he loves
• [insert roughly 153 sexual-triggery things I became willing to do even though doing them was way out of my comfortably, happy place -which, as well all know -sex should be]
• tried to keep my house spotless (I failed, miserably)

I was determined to be perfect.

Rejection is one of my CORE fears when it comes to this.  I will say that I've quit doing a lot of the bullet-pointed things I used to do, and that's good.  That's progress and that's healthy!
BUT
I will also say that I DO STILL FEAR.

And when that fear of rejection is triggered by a beautiful woman, whether in person, online, or on a Cosmo (ugh, Cosmo)... it cracks open the door to crazy in my brain.  Satan steps in and directs the rottenest most awfulest symphony.
Fears swirl inside my brain and I go from wondering if someone will break into my car while I sleep to wondering if my baby will die of SIDS to imagining a tornado hitting our house!
Oh, the debris! The howling wind!  THE HORROR!!!!!!!
 Have I planned my own funeral?  YES.  How many times?  Um, I'm not saying.
It's not a fun place to be, my brain.  I wonder why Satan likes it so much.  Because he's a fun hater?  

Right now, I feel and strongly believe and have actually felt my Father in Heaven reassure me that
YES
I CAN live a life without a nagging fear of rejection.

The how is my next step. 

HOW do I live a life without fear?

Patience in Safety

I'm safe.

Right now, I'm sitting alone in my two-bedroom house listening to Andrea Bocelli.  The breeze is floating through my kitchen window, teasing my no-heat curls. 
There is peace in my home.
There is a strong sense of peace in my mind.
My life is calm.

Three years ago, I was crumpled up on my bed feeling out of control and absolutely crazy.  I was angry at my husband.  I was sad in general.  I was jealous of everyone else and their marriages (or lack of marriages, honestly).  I was feeling fear of the future, shame for being a terrible mother, shame for being a terrible person.
I felt pressure to get information on addiction.
I felt pressure to get better -to simply STOP being angry and sad.
My life was chaotic and tearful.

What changed? 
I'm sitting in the same kitchen I had then.  I'm married to the same man.  We are parenting the same children (plus the tiny, cute, perfect, wonderful one we just happened to add a few months ago). 

What changed?

I CHANGED.

I maintain my brave, naked baby status.  I'm shedding all of my defense mechanisms -if they are not God, I do not need them.  I've abandoned the idea of earning my salvation.  I've stopped trying to save myself and my entire family.  I am not the captain of this ship.
I'm not St. Alicia.
I am no saint -except in the sense of belonging to a church titled "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints."
I'm not perfect, I'm not putting off that I am, I'm not holding myself to the standard of perfection, and I'm not holding you up to it, either.

Do you want to mess up?  Do you want to yell at your husband?  Do you want to peel potatoes all over your kitchen floor in anger?  Do you want to slam cupboards? 
It's okay.
It's okay to mess up.

I know that now because I am safe.
I'm safe enough and strong enough to let myself mess up.
Three years ago, I was scared to mess up.  I was scared to do anything that wasn't "right" by the standards of the books and experts.  I was in a constant danger zone, and I was unwilling to protect myself.

Like the uneducated tourist, I stood up tall in my canoe.
In the middle of the pond.
In the middle of a lightening storm.
And my Savior stood bravely by my side.  I didn't run to Him for cover and I hardly ran to Him for comfort.  My canoe rocked, rain thundered down,
and lightening eventually struck.

The education came after the lightening strike.  I learned important educational things (like what lightening looks like, how it reacts to water and humans, and why we should avoid putting ourselves in it's angry path) but I learned something far more valuable:
The Savior is there for me -to comfort, shield, protect, warn, love, and listen.

The water is so attractive.  I love the water.  It gives back -it provides me with entertainment, food, even pleasure.  I found that even after lightening struck, I wanted to go back in.  Yes, EVEN when there was lightening.  Even when it was dark.  Even when the water was dangerous and I wasn't safe.

I was always struck.
With each strike and each hurt, I would bury myself in my Savior's arms.  I would release only to bury myself in books.  I would educate myself.  I absorbed every new concept that kept me safer.
I built a thick-walled cabin where I could run when the lightening came.
My sanctuary!

After identifying lightening, I was more vigilant about avoiding it.  I became so aware, I even began to notice storms BEFORE they hit my water.  I could see them coming... feel their approach in my gut, see slight evidence in the change of the sky, and barometer.
I would hit my knees BEFORE the storm hit, climb into my cabin, surround myself with my hobbies, my music, yoga, hot chocolate, my copy of The Philadelphia Story, and I would wait the stresses of the storm out.

The water reached out of the storm and tried to fasten a hold on my cabin.
It succeeded once.  My Sanctuary made of wood became warped and damaged. 

Once again, I learned.  I turned to my Savior.  I turned to education, and I applied about three gallons of protectant to my sanctuary.

I had tasted the bitter pain of lightening -the suffering, the hurt, the awful helplessness.
And now I have sanctuary.
Now I am safe.

I have no control over the lightening storms.  I have no control over my water.  All I have is a worn, rusted canoe, my Savior, my cabin, and me.
The only thing missing from this picture is patience.

With patience, I can remain not only SAFE but SANE.  I need patience for the storms.  I need patience for the water.  I need patience to pair up with my serenity.

Staying safe is all well and good and wonderful.  Staying safe means I'm LIVING again -it means I've set aside the crazy-tourist-in-a-canoe lifestyle and adapted a more self-reliant life.  I've taken my safety and happiness into my own hands, standing up to the lightening even when it scares me... finding refuge in my Savior and my cabin.
But I'm not patient with the water.  If I can develop patience in my situation, oh how sweet will my safety be.

The Savior has calmed me and He has the ability to calm the water.
I have the ability and education to know how to remain safe.
The water has the ability to choose.
So do I.

And I will safely, safely wait.

  

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