The End of Numb

I remember the first time I found out about porn.  I caught him.
A newlywed with all her bloom and youth and tight skin pulled over energy and twitterpation... I turned into a different creature.  To say I was devastated would be a gross minimization.
Oh, how I FELT that discovery, how I lived it over and over again in my mind -the worst rerun in the history of TV Land.
I felt sure I would never go through it again.  I didn't know that porn was something that was less like a "whoopsie daisy" and more like the worst kind of blood-deep poison.
But it did happen again.
"And again and again and again!" to quote my favorite Uncle Willy (The Philadelphia Story).

I tried reasoning, shaming, bargaining, saving, preventing, more shaming... I OVER"loved" him.  Nothing worked.
I poured my entire self into the poison.
My life and obsession, my sole hobby... it was Danny.  More than anything, I wanted my marriage covenants to remain intact.  I wanted my family together forever.
I loved Danny.  I loved our marriage.
I understood his weakness, and gosh darn it ALL if I wasn't THE MOST PATIENT wife in the history of the universe.

Do you know how long you can last trying to compete with porn?  Oh, I think the answer is different for everyone.  But for me, personally, it lasted about 6 1/2 years.  At that point, I began doing recovery work.  I read the books, I found support.  I gained education.
I knew I was getting better because the devastation I felt all those years ago was beginning to dissipate.
He would come to me with disclosures (or I would fine evidence), and I shrugged.
Eh.
Meh.
Blah.
Whatever.

Then I would look at myself in the mirror and work on the only thing I had control over: ME.
I continued living with an addict.

I choose my marriage.  I choose my marriage to an addict.  But the only way I could survive it was numbness.

It felt like I was sitting on a couch, watching Groundhog Day over and over again... yelling at the screen, pulling my hair, but in the end... I was utterly powerless over Danny's actions.
The numbness made it go down easier.

Only.
There were certains in my house who weren't numb.  In fact, they were the OPPOSITE of numb.  They're impressionable, sensitive, and internalizing everything.
I watched tears stream down my daughter's face after an outburst from Dad.
"Because I did something bad," she sobbed.

I started realizing that for all the patience I had, for all the CHOOSING MY MARRIAGE I had done... the return, the truth... was ugly.  Facing seemed to feel a lot like heartbreak -something I had shielded myself against.

But the Lord has a way of providing us with what we need, even if we don't want it.
He provided me with truth: hard evidence that no matter how you sliced it:

Danny was not choosing our marriage.
Danny was not choosing me.
There was no real recovery.

I knew -though it killed me -that I couldn't stay.  I wouldn't stay.  Staying in a marriage where I was cleaving unto God and my husband (and fear, while we're at it) was pointless.
I married for ETERNITY.  Not time.  A time marriage made no real sense to me.  I was hell-bent on eternity.

But I could not force it on any other person.
And so the time came when that person had to go away because my marriage -though it began in the Temple -was something I'd feared since I was a child.
It was pointless.

To maintain my peace as a woman of God and a mother of three beautiful children (yea, THE MOST beautiful children), I had to sever ties.  I had to leave my marriage.
God was my guide.

It turns out that I can't live numb... primarily because "living" and "numb" can't actually coexist.
I'm not powerless anymore.  I'm not watching scenes go down at shrugging anymore.
I just can't!
I just can't!  SO MUCH.
Thinking of The Numb Place makes me feel so sad.  Reminders of The Numb Place make me feel sorrow.

I want to LIVE.  I want joy and pain and sorrow and happiness.
I want feelings to come into my body and I want to EMOTE them out: write them, scream them, sing them, talk them!
I want a marriage where my husband CHOOSES ME and LOVES ME and SEES ME AS AN EQUAL and REMAINS WITH ME INTO THE ETERNITIES.

I seal that desire with the death of my marriage.
I seal that desire with baptism by fire.
I seal that desire with love... my failing love of God and His unfailing love for me.

The future is alive, and in His hands.

(and as it turns out, I'm not the patient person I thought I was all these years.  In fact, I have no patience at all.  For anything.  Hello, Character Weakness.)

Pathways

I don't always recognize when the Lord is speaking to me, so sometimes the same message will be sent repeatedly over a small time span.  It's a sort of padded 2x4 across my soul.
I hear it the first time and say, 'oh, how nice' (90-year old Granny-style).
I hear it the second time and say, 'what a coincidence, I JUST heard that same message not moments ago.'
I hear it the third time and say, 'wait a MINUTE.'
I hear it a fourth, fifth and sixth time and say, 'Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, gotcha, Lord.'

And then I thank Him and really start processing and listening to the messages sent my way.
Alicia needs a lot of obvious communication.

I read a post on Glennon Melton's blog about pathways, and I loved it.  At one point, I was teary-eyed because it resonated so well. She spoke of just living in the unbalance of it all, and I love that.  I love that my boundary with sleeping next to Danny is so fluid right now.  Some nights I feel safe, and some nights I don't, so my boundary is simply that I'm falling into the unbalance and going daily with my gut.  Reading her words helped me to embrace the messiness of this journey and be brave enough to say, "At this point, I'm going to make decisions day-by-day, fully acknowledging and accepting this mess and where I'm at in it."  I rested in Glennon's prayer that we not be proud or shameful.  She says:

Don’t become proud that you are further along than many travelers or ashamed that you are far behind others. Your position on the path relative to other travelers has nothing to do with your strength or stamina or wisdom or cunning. We are all in different places because we all have different entry points to the path. Where you are and where everyone else is along the path is none of your concern or business. Let that go. You are exactly where you are supposed to be, always, and so is everyone else. The portion of the path you wake up to today was written for you. Everyone is EXACTLY where she is supposed to be. You are not your own or anyone else’s path-planner. You are just a traveler. You just keep moving. Trust the Path. Follow in the footsteps of a billion other mighty travelers who have walked and run and crawled the path before you. Fear not. Carry On, Warrior.  

I took it to heart, felt the truth and loveliness of it, and then I set it aside and drove up to Utah with my friend.

We hadn't been driving but ten minutes before she related an experience she'd had while hiking.
She spoke of two miles' worth of ankle-deep sand, the effort it took, the difficulty it caused.  Once she made it through the sand, her path intersected with a group of hikers who had been on flat land.  They were fresh and had more energy, and though they were in the same place on the path, my friend was exhausted.  She related what she'd learned in that moment... which is almost exactly what Glennon had said.  "We are all in different places because we all have different entry points to the path... You are exactly where you are supposed to be."

Coincidence, right?

The next morning, I had the rare and amazing opportunity to wander around Temple Square by myself.  As a lover of anything and everything from the past (especially Pioneerish), I can never have enough time on Temple Square.
It's been months since I've felt true joy -that soul-filling joy that comes in random, unprecedented ways... when you see a breathtaking sunset or drink deep from humid, late summer monsoons.  Between recognizing that I hadn't felt joy in a long while and finding myself dwelling on how content I'd be with death, I begin to recognize that depression has taken hold on me.
And as I wandered through Temple Square with no companions that next morning, I snapped a picture of some fragrant blossoms and found that the joy that had eluded me for so long was quietly... THERE.  It wasn't overwhelming, but it was scrappy.

I entered the Temple, and there the message was powerful.
Pathway.
Journey.
You are where you are.
And that's where you need to be.

God spoke with me about my own journey and His will for me.  I basked in the architecture, the beauty, and the scene around me -filled with many, many people!  Some sat alone and wept profusely.  Some sat together and beamed.  Some sat alone and beamed. Some sat together and cried.  Some laughed, some smiled, some prayed.
I exiled myself to a corner to pray because apparently, I can't trust myself to NOT people watch long enough to let the Lord try and commune with me.
And boy -did I need communion. 

A few hours later, I sat at the bottom of Ensign Peak with my brother and his new someone.  We began hiking -something I've always wanted to do but never had the chance -living in flat land and now having a few children who make regular hiking, well... impossible.

But with no children or flat land in sight, I was able to hike.  It burned and I wanted to puke because I've never hiked before and I'm currently going through inordinate amounts of stress.
God spoke to me.
Be where you are.  It's okay.  Don't worry that people are passing you.  Don't worry that people are resting.  Just worry about listening to your body and progressing. 

And realized... GOD had been speaking to me all along: through Glennon, through my friend, and through his temple ordinances, and through the solid rock DIRT I kicked up with my worn out shoes. 
Alicia, LISTEN!  This message is for YOU right now in your life.  I have sent it repeatedly so you won't miss it.  Listen! 

I will accept where I'm at.
I will pray daily.
I will forge on with consistency, expecting to fall, expecting to climb, expecting the mess and living with heart.

And then I'll wake up tomorrow and do it again.

Fire

A few months ago, I was sitting in the Temple when I blessed to see in my mind's eye a block of fire.  The flames weren't wild and untamed, rather they were uniform, every angle of the square block plainly visible.  I could see myself walking toward the fire.  I entered it, and I did not thrash -I walked boldly, slowly forward.  As I did, my outer layers were burned away.  I emerged from the block of fire a shining, gleaming core of refined, precious metal.

I've often thought of that experience as I've traversed these past few months.  It was a direct message from God -sent before it was vitally necessary. 

These past few weeks have been so hard on me.  Satan is working overtime.  The Lord is making His awareness of me plainly seen -He HAS to, otherwise I'd fall.  I'd be crushed under the blackness of demons.  But God is in my life -in the details, in the decisions, in the dark of night when I'm alone, and in the brightness of day when three children look to me for validation and love.

His message is loud and clear, "I AM HERE AND I KNOW YOU INTIMATELY."
It matches Satan's exactly.

For the past few weeks, the message coming over the Sunday pulpit has been "Hasten the Work."  The Stake President is saying it, the Bishop is saying it, the Sunday School Teachers, the Relief Society teachers, and I hunker behind the piano or organ and think about what I don't have to offer.
I haven't been visiting teaching in months.
I haven't been as present for my Mom as I should be (she just had surgery on her knee).
The babysitter bathed my daughter and clipped her nails because I hadn't.
I've missed the birthdays of people I dearly care about.
I haven't sent a single package to my sister since she moved away.

The list of my failings goes on.

During these past three weeks, I have forgotten that I'm walking boldly through a block of fire.  I'm not stooping or bending or looking behind me to see if someone needs a casserole... my eyes are pressed firmly forward.  My spine straight, my shoulders back, my head up.

I can't help but feel that when the Lord sends his message of "Hasten" He is speaking directly to and about His people.  Baptisms are important, yes!  But coming fully unto Christ OURSELVES -that is hastening in it's finest form.

As I look around me, I can see many, many of the people I love dearly (but apparently forget to send cards to when they age a year) being refined with FIRE.  This isn't a slow process.  It is HASTENING.  The Lord is hastening His work and calling on His people to draw near unto Him with full hearts and purpose written upon their souls.
Many of His precious children are afflicted, and He issues an invitation to healing -His infinite incomprehensible Atonement.  The 12-step program and education on addiction have led me personally to it, line upon line.  I can choose to take it or to leave it. 
Taking it means fire.  Taking it means tears.  Taking it means burned off layers.

Taking it means LIVING.

A few months ago, a sweet brother stood at the pulpit and tied his pornography addiction into the message of his talk.
And there before me stood a MAN, a man on fire, a man shedding layers, a living breathing Adam -his progress hastening before my very eyes.

The Lord has a job for each of us to do, and He will prepare us in His precious fire, in His own precious time.

I can rest in the Lord, knowing that I am being hastened.
I have chosen to live.

Arise

**The winner of the necklace is anna belle!  Email me your contact info and I'll get it shipped out post haste.  I'll even use an English accent when I ask the post mastah for a stahmp**

I've always dreamed of attending the Salt Lake Temple. 

Thursday night, I was able to finally fulfill that dream.  With a belly full of Cafe Rio, my best friend on my right and my sister on my left, I went through a live session.  Oh, it was beautiful.  I saw so many things I'd never seen before.  I heard so many things I'd never truly heard.  And to be there with JUST women -my two favorite women -was priceless.  It meant so much to me.  I attended the Temple with the two people I feel safest with in the entire world.

At one point in the session, I was unexpectedly moved to tears as I was brought to a realization of how the Lord would have his sons accept his daughters.  The realization penetrated me to my very center.
My value as a daughter -the reverence in which my Father holds me -it settled into my heart deeper than it ever had before.

I can't put it into words -the Spirit doesn't speak like that.  I can only communicate to you that it DID happen and that I felt and heard it with my heart.

Saturday morning, I sat in a class at The Togetherness Conference and the same feeling overtook me... the degree in which I felt it was lesser, but it was unmistakable.  The Lord was telling me something.  It was a direct message from Him.  I mean, it was Maurice Harker speaking, but it was the Lord communicating.
"The men will rise up," Maurice said.

It isn't that women are better.  It isn't that men are better.  It is simply that the sons of God must and will rise up to meet and care for the daughters of God.

The Lord wants his daughters to be SAFE.

Last night, I realized that despite my husband's recovery efforts I still don't feel safe. 
My husband has risen up more lately than he ever has, but all I can do is watch.  I can't invest.  I can't shove down my trauma and exchange it for gratitude. 

I can wait for consistency in his rising up.  I can sit and watch him rise again and again and again.
Heavenly Father has helped me find a place of safety... a place where I can rest and watch.  It's calm and there's no crazy train.  There is only serenity in my safe place.
My husband has not offered me such a place.
When and if he does, My Father in Heaven will speak to my heart -just as the Spirit did Thursday night -and I WILL KNOW.  I will know. 
And when that happens, I will make a merge between my celestial safe place and my earthly safe place.

In that moment, I will witness first hand a son of God rising.
At least... that is what I dare to hope.  If that hope is not realized, I can find serenity, safety, and solace in my celestial surrender.

An House of Merchandise

I've been thinking about John 2.

In this chapter, Jesus went to Jerusalem for the Passover.  He found people using the temple for personal financial gain.  They were buying and selling.

I love verse 15.  "And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the temple..."

I believe if this case were taken before a modern-day court, they would classify it as "premeditated."

Christ's "driving out" actions were not an automatic reaction from the scene He found before Him.  They were meditated.  He witnessed a scene and methodically began forming a solution.  He didn't just immediately kick and scream and yell.  Can you imagine the thoughts running through His mind as he made a scourge of small cords?  His eyes were busy, His hands were busy, His mind was working.  He knew what He had to do.

As a farm girl, I love the phrase, "He drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep, and the oxen."  Ask me if I know anything about using cords to drive cattle.  Go ahead.  ASK.

To stand in the midst of a herd of any kind of living anything takes guts.  It does.  To stand in the midst of a herd and take charge?  It takes a whole new level of guts: grit, courage, spit, fire, fearlessness.
Picture dirty jeans and dust on your boots, sweat on your sunburned neck, a breeze on your long-sleeved Wrangler shirt, a WHIP in your hands.
You are commanding.  You are confident.  You are on a mission to move.

The Savior made his scourge, and He moved the herd.

As I thought about the Savior moving people, I thought about the place.  It wasn't in the corrals west of town where I usually move herds... it was IN the Temple.  I thought of my home temple.  And then I thought of my body.
My temple... the one created by my Father.  The one I can't seem to reign in when it comes to chocolate.  The one who created and birthed three glorious children.  The one who has given up four wisdom teeth, two tonsils, and -as of Saturday -one toenail.  It's scarred.  It's stretched.  It has healing power and limitless capacity to learn. 
It is HOLY.

But there are merchants selling temples.  There is a billion (probably trillion) dollar porn industry.  There is prostitution.  There are sex shops and strip clubs and Victoria Secret.  There are lingerie shops.  There are graphic, awful, illegal practices going on with bodies.

This horrifies me.  HORRIFIES me.
It's bad enough that it's happening, that it's spinning out of control, but worse still is that it has permeated the walls of MY home, MY body, MY marriage.  My intimate and personal places where I should be in control have been desecrated, defiled, demoralized.

I move beyond being horrified and start to feel something far worse: numb.
I start to feel numb and hopeless and dark.

And in those moments, I will picture My Brother making a scourge with small cords.  I will picture Him taking it and standing in the midst of the darkened, secretive, huddled herd... and with His word and cord will He drive them OUT of the Temples.
With His cord will He stand at the foot of holiness and command the greed and the glitter and the grotesque...
"Take these things hence."

The Savior is the Savior.
He will drive herds with grit.
And I will be his part of his scourge -I will be one of those small cords.  Shaking off the shackles of shame and fear as I become an instrument in his hands to cleanse!

Porn is Godless.
It's table turning time.