Currently listening to:
As I've continued reading on in Desmond Tutu's, "Book of Forgiving," I've made a conscious effort to highlight the word "free" every time it pops up.
Free, freedom, freeing -beautiful words. Words I want in my life.
About a year ago, I was aching over some family stuff -hurting over the choices a loved one was making. I love them so much, and I was watching them make some crazy choices... I think what hurt most of all was knowing that the choices they were making were pulling them farther from me. They'd already been pulling away, and I was missing them as it was.
They were actively pulling away.
One night, it was hitting me hard. The ache hit hard. I couldn't sleep, and I just started praying. Tears flowed. I can't say whether I cried or prayed myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up and rolled out my yoga mat. I sat in silence, my eyes closed. I created some space in my mind, and as I did, I felt God speak.
"That which we seek, we shall find."
Yes.
Simple.
God always speaks to me like that.
My loved one was finding the life he was seeking, and I have the power to seek my own truth and stand in it, even if I sometimes shake, even if I sometimes fall, even if I scare others.
Benjamin Franklin said he spent his life seeking truth, and I feel like most of us are out there doing the same thing.
John Jaques penned what became the lyrics to "Oh Say, What Is Truth":
Oh say, what is truth? 'Tis the fairest gem
That the riches of worlds can produce,
And priceless the value of truth will be when
The proud monarch's costliest diadem
Is counted but dross and refuse. ...
Then say, what is truth? 'Tis the last and the first,
For the limits of time it steps o'er.
Though the heavens depart and the earth's fountains burst,
Truth, the sum of existence, will weather the worst,
Eternal, unchanged, evermore.
Truth and freedom seem -to me -to be synonymous. Freedom is truth, Truth is freedom.
Forgiveness pals around the same block.
As I've delved deeper into Tutu's recommended meditations, journaling exercises and stone rituals, I've found forgiveness and some miraculous healing.
A dear friend of mine recently said she feels like having a relationship with Christ reminds her of the "kissing scene" in Hitch where Hitch tells his buddy, "you go 90%, let her go 10%."
God goes 90%.
The work I've been doing has been my 10% and over the weekend, God showed up 90%.
It was breathtaking.
I was able to release pain I didn't even know I was holding. Was it while I was journaling? Or meditating?
No.
Though I believe both practices are key healing tools.
It was because I was seeking.
I was journaling, praying, meditating, seeking. And then I was living. Showing up for life, for my messy house and busy kids. Showing up for my health as best as I could.
And in the middle of the showing up, a miracle happened.
An unplanned, unscheduled organic miracle.
And today, I feel the serenity of freedom.
Showing posts with label Truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Truth. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Monday, September 18, 2017
Tutu and My Little Warrior Woman
I watched Wonder Woman last Thursday and cried because of so many right reasons. Thursday was the 4th day of this new cleanse I'm doing.
I've never done a cleanse before, and I think as part of working my Step 7 (humbly asking God to remove my character weaknesses), God has basically just targeted everything I used to scorn and mock and brought it front and center into my life.
That means I'm gluten free too, folks, in case you're keeping track.
As I began this cleanse, hoping to give my intestines space from irritants and give them a spa day to heal, I was terrified.
I use food for comfort and fun and rewards.
Today, I'm one full week in and the effects have been really hopeful. For the last two years, I've only felt let-down by my body, as if it had lost the ability to heal and was only trekking downhill toward knee replacements and pain-pill popping. But one solid week in, and my body is responding really well. My joint inflammation has been significantly reduced, and I've sluffed off some (what I think is water) weight. I feel light, in every sense of the word.
Darkness and heaviness are exiting stage left.
A few days into my cleanse, God reminded me that last summer I read Desmond Tutu's, "The Book of Forgiving." (affiliate link) It comes with meditations and journaling exercises that I avoided last year, but this year, God said, "It's time."
I've taken full advantage of this cleanse by exercising at least 20 minutes per day and making my daily morning meditation practice non-negotiable.
God is calling on me to HEAL MORE. This is shoulder-to-the-wheel healing time.
In order for me to heal fully, I need a safe space. I can create my own safety -something I didn't know 7 years ago. Right now, I've added some definite boundaries in my life because I can cleanse for weeks and forgive 70 x7, but if I'm not safe, I will never fully heal.
Because My Little Warrior Woman comes out and won't sleep. I can't heal unless she's asleep.
When I'm not safe, she comes out. She fights. It looks and sounds like control when she comes out. I try to manage the level of pain that's inflicted on me and my kiddos. I fight, I shield, I protect.
She's my mini-wonder woman.
I love her.
BUT
I can't HEAL with her on the warpath. She only comes out when I'm in unsafe territory, and this means for me to walk the path of healing, I gotta get OFF the battlefield. Create my own safety instead of waiting for the enemy to stop firing, if you know what I mean.
So last night and this morning, I did. Boundaries set, battlefield in the rearview. My Little Warrior Woman is sleeping now.
Healing can commence.
As I've delved into Tutu's "Book of Forgiving" for the second time, I'm really just pleased all over again.
I'm not good at forgiving. I'm really not.
This book has given me a "HOW" behind the whole entire process without an ounce of shame. Nowhere in it's pages are the words, "You were raised with a Bible in your home and you don't GET THIS?! You must be an idiot."
Over and over, Tutu affirms that forgiveness isn't easy, sharing his own experiences and those of his loved ones.
A few stand out quotes I wanted to share from the first chapter.
Speaking of Christ, he states:
That quote struck something in me -I'd never, ever thought of Christ's scars in that way. He showed his wounds and scars. Healing demands that we show them, maybe not publicly but we must face them. We must speak them. That's how forgiveness starts... by simply looking at the truth of what happened to us and bringing it into the fierce light of truth.
At the end of the chapter, there is a beautiful poem in which we find the words:
I have ben practicing the recommended mediation in the chapter -it is helping me to visualize forgiveness in a way that I feel is helping me to spiritually create it, even though I haven't physically done it yet.
Tutu also includes a "Stone Ritual" at the end of every chapter. He recommends selecting a stone to use while reading and working through his book. I chose to use a hunk of rose quartz because it's pink.
And I like pink a lot.
Pink and sparkles.
I bought a sparkly journal just to go with my journey through this book. As Tutu says, it is my own "book of forgiving."
I've never done a cleanse before, and I think as part of working my Step 7 (humbly asking God to remove my character weaknesses), God has basically just targeted everything I used to scorn and mock and brought it front and center into my life.
That means I'm gluten free too, folks, in case you're keeping track.
As I began this cleanse, hoping to give my intestines space from irritants and give them a spa day to heal, I was terrified.
I use food for comfort and fun and rewards.
Today, I'm one full week in and the effects have been really hopeful. For the last two years, I've only felt let-down by my body, as if it had lost the ability to heal and was only trekking downhill toward knee replacements and pain-pill popping. But one solid week in, and my body is responding really well. My joint inflammation has been significantly reduced, and I've sluffed off some (what I think is water) weight. I feel light, in every sense of the word.
Darkness and heaviness are exiting stage left.
A few days into my cleanse, God reminded me that last summer I read Desmond Tutu's, "The Book of Forgiving." (affiliate link) It comes with meditations and journaling exercises that I avoided last year, but this year, God said, "It's time."
I've taken full advantage of this cleanse by exercising at least 20 minutes per day and making my daily morning meditation practice non-negotiable.
God is calling on me to HEAL MORE. This is shoulder-to-the-wheel healing time.
In order for me to heal fully, I need a safe space. I can create my own safety -something I didn't know 7 years ago. Right now, I've added some definite boundaries in my life because I can cleanse for weeks and forgive 70 x7, but if I'm not safe, I will never fully heal.
Because My Little Warrior Woman comes out and won't sleep. I can't heal unless she's asleep.
When I'm not safe, she comes out. She fights. It looks and sounds like control when she comes out. I try to manage the level of pain that's inflicted on me and my kiddos. I fight, I shield, I protect.
She's my mini-wonder woman.
I love her.
BUT
I can't HEAL with her on the warpath. She only comes out when I'm in unsafe territory, and this means for me to walk the path of healing, I gotta get OFF the battlefield. Create my own safety instead of waiting for the enemy to stop firing, if you know what I mean.
So last night and this morning, I did. Boundaries set, battlefield in the rearview. My Little Warrior Woman is sleeping now.
Healing can commence.
As I've delved into Tutu's "Book of Forgiving" for the second time, I'm really just pleased all over again.
I'm not good at forgiving. I'm really not.
This book has given me a "HOW" behind the whole entire process without an ounce of shame. Nowhere in it's pages are the words, "You were raised with a Bible in your home and you don't GET THIS?! You must be an idiot."
Over and over, Tutu affirms that forgiveness isn't easy, sharing his own experiences and those of his loved ones.
A few stand out quotes I wanted to share from the first chapter.
Speaking of Christ, he states:
He must also have been able to obliterate the signs of the torture and death he endured. But he chose not to erase that evidence. After the resurrection, he appeared to his disciples. In most instances, he showed them his wounds and his scars. This is what healing demands. Behavior that is hurtful, shameful, abusive or demeaning must be brought into the fierce light of truth. And truth can be brutal. In fact, truth may exacerbate the hurt; it might make things worse. But if we want real forgiveness and real healing, we must face the real injury.
That quote struck something in me -I'd never, ever thought of Christ's scars in that way. He showed his wounds and scars. Healing demands that we show them, maybe not publicly but we must face them. We must speak them. That's how forgiveness starts... by simply looking at the truth of what happened to us and bringing it into the fierce light of truth.
At the end of the chapter, there is a beautiful poem in which we find the words:
"...I am bigger than the image you have of me.
I am stronger.
I am more beautiful.
And I am infinitely more precious than you thought me.
I will forgive you.
My forgiveness is not a gift that I am giving to you.
When I forgive you,
My forgiveness will be a gift that gives itself to me."
I have ben practicing the recommended mediation in the chapter -it is helping me to visualize forgiveness in a way that I feel is helping me to spiritually create it, even though I haven't physically done it yet.
Tutu also includes a "Stone Ritual" at the end of every chapter. He recommends selecting a stone to use while reading and working through his book. I chose to use a hunk of rose quartz because it's pink.
And I like pink a lot.
Pink and sparkles.
I bought a sparkly journal just to go with my journey through this book. As Tutu says, it is my own "book of forgiving."
For the first "Stone Ritual," I held my rose quartz in my hand for 6 hours (it ended up being seven on account my sleeping through a few of those hours) in my non-dominant hand. I did that yesterday and then answered some questions about it today.
It was a really cleansing experience for me. The exercise also has you list people I would like to forgive and those I would like forgiveness from. I've been stuck on Steps 8/9 (making a list of all people we have harmed and become willing to make amends to them all and then go forward and make those amends) for over 2 years, and this book might just be the game-changer for me.
It just might.
God has led me to it.
I'm cleansing in so many more ways than one.
From my own book of forgiving:
#5) In what ways was carrying the stone like carrying an unforgiven hurt?
Carrying the stone is like carrying an unforgiven hurt because it hinder and binds me. There is a certain freedom in forgiveness that I can't access right now. I'm learning from resentments and anger, but only that I am anchored to a cause I do not believe in at my true core. And holding the stone was literally stinky, just like holding resentment is figuratively stinky. I am capable of carrying the stone, just as I am capable of carrying resentments and anger and victimization. But carrying the stone hindered my routine health and well-being practices (like dishing up food, interrupting my sleep, making it hard to open my water bottle, and messing with my bathroom time), and carrying resentments, anger and victim-thinking also interrupts the natural flow of my health and well-being. I've never known life -can't remember a time -when I had access to the freedom forgiveness and grace offer. I have said that I fear losing my freedom -facing bondage of any kind -but I live in the bondage of "hinderment."
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
With Love
I locked you all out for awhile.
It started out from a healthy place... really and truly. My blog was found by some folk who don't agree with the way I'm living my life, and I shut it down simply to stave off the crazy traffic surge.
"Forty days," I told myself, "A Forty-day break should do it."
During which time I committed myself to a 40-day yoga program (Baron Baptiste) and spent a lot of time re-centering.
The words from The Folks Who Found Me haunted me during this time. Because, see, they think I'm wrong.
I have a grave fear of being wrong.
I didn't realize how deep this fear ran until I was on the mat during those 30+ days (I didn't finish the program on account of family issues). As I moved from week-to-week, from position to position, I said to myself, "Alicia, you're doing this wrong."
Alicia, you are bending your knees and you shouldn't.
Alicia, you can't touch your feet and you should.
Alicia, your feet...
Alicia, your hands...
I would try to release tension, mind talk and my own schedule.
Even then, all I could do was, "Alicia, you're not letting go, and you should."
I know you all have an answer for me right now. I know that my "shoulding" is wrong, and if I had a penny for every person who said, "don't should on yourself" I'd have at least 20 cents.
As I stepped off my mat and went to my kitchen to eat and wash dishes:
Alicia, you're eating wrong.
Alicia, you're washing wrong.
Alicia, couldn't you be cleaner? healthier?
At work:
Alicia, you could be more efficient.
At the store:
Alicia, you could be saving money better, but you're not.
I have a deep-rooted fear that I'm going to live wrong, and isn't that silly? Because isn't living wrong a given? We ALL do it! We are all blessed with weaknesses that are our own uniquely carved pathways leading upward to God! And don't we know it! We feel EV.ER.Y step of that uphill incline!
Long story short:
The folks who found my blog took to a forum to discuss exactly what they thought about the way 'm handling things. And even after I locked my blog down, they shared screen shots they'd taken.
I have spent HOURS surrendering. And yes:
Alicia, you're feeling this wrong. If you really believed what you're living, their words wouldn't touch you.
Ouch,Self.
I can argue their points. I can. I could apply myself with fervor to their assumptions and perceptions, fight back! But you know what? Yeah, you know what, so say it with me, "It doesn't matter." They can believe what they want, they can say what they want, for it is given unto them. But one things that rang true time and time again was simply this:
My people are Love People.
They come together to heal and to share. They uplift, they strengthen. They say hard things to me, but never out of spite... only out of love. Christ lived the same way, saying hard things out of love. And we have to do hard things when we love ourselves.
Please understand that right now in my life, 8 hours of sleep, three meals, and exercise all in one day is VERY hard, but it is the LOVING thing for me to do for me.
The words spoken by The Folks Who Found Me were so hate-filled, so filled with sarcasm and contempt. It was that very hate that saved me.
There is no truth in hate.
There is no God in hate.
God is truth.
God is love.
I am love.
The Folks Who Found Me are also love, though they aren't feeling it right now.
I will say now that instead of unlocking my blog when I felt I should, I kept it locked out of fear.
Except for that one time when I unlocked it for 5 minutes and locked it again. I conquered fear for almost 5 full minutes!
Tonight, I'm logging back in from a place of love. My blog following is very small, my web presence inconsequential.
I don't want to be known or found or shared or loud.
I was a small, tucked away house-by-the-river, barefoot in the kitchen kind of life.
God wants me to share my life anyway. As soon as I could talk, I shared.
It's a painful thing and a scary thing and sometimes a much-hated thing, but I know how arguing with God goes...
So at the mercy of Him, I'm back.
There is a grand chance I'll be hit with more pain, more doubt and much more opposition.
But God is with me.
Namaste.
It started out from a healthy place... really and truly. My blog was found by some folk who don't agree with the way I'm living my life, and I shut it down simply to stave off the crazy traffic surge.
"Forty days," I told myself, "A Forty-day break should do it."
During which time I committed myself to a 40-day yoga program (Baron Baptiste) and spent a lot of time re-centering.
The words from The Folks Who Found Me haunted me during this time. Because, see, they think I'm wrong.
I have a grave fear of being wrong.
I didn't realize how deep this fear ran until I was on the mat during those 30+ days (I didn't finish the program on account of family issues). As I moved from week-to-week, from position to position, I said to myself, "Alicia, you're doing this wrong."
Alicia, you are bending your knees and you shouldn't.
Alicia, you can't touch your feet and you should.
Alicia, your feet...
Alicia, your hands...
I would try to release tension, mind talk and my own schedule.
Even then, all I could do was, "Alicia, you're not letting go, and you should."
I know you all have an answer for me right now. I know that my "shoulding" is wrong, and if I had a penny for every person who said, "don't should on yourself" I'd have at least 20 cents.
As I stepped off my mat and went to my kitchen to eat and wash dishes:
Alicia, you're eating wrong.
Alicia, you're washing wrong.
Alicia, couldn't you be cleaner? healthier?
At work:
Alicia, you could be more efficient.
At the store:
Alicia, you could be saving money better, but you're not.
I have a deep-rooted fear that I'm going to live wrong, and isn't that silly? Because isn't living wrong a given? We ALL do it! We are all blessed with weaknesses that are our own uniquely carved pathways leading upward to God! And don't we know it! We feel EV.ER.Y step of that uphill incline!
Long story short:
The folks who found my blog took to a forum to discuss exactly what they thought about the way 'm handling things. And even after I locked my blog down, they shared screen shots they'd taken.
I have spent HOURS surrendering. And yes:
Alicia, you're feeling this wrong. If you really believed what you're living, their words wouldn't touch you.
Ouch,Self.
I can argue their points. I can. I could apply myself with fervor to their assumptions and perceptions, fight back! But you know what? Yeah, you know what, so say it with me, "It doesn't matter." They can believe what they want, they can say what they want, for it is given unto them. But one things that rang true time and time again was simply this:
My people are Love People.
They come together to heal and to share. They uplift, they strengthen. They say hard things to me, but never out of spite... only out of love. Christ lived the same way, saying hard things out of love. And we have to do hard things when we love ourselves.
Please understand that right now in my life, 8 hours of sleep, three meals, and exercise all in one day is VERY hard, but it is the LOVING thing for me to do for me.
The words spoken by The Folks Who Found Me were so hate-filled, so filled with sarcasm and contempt. It was that very hate that saved me.
There is no truth in hate.
There is no God in hate.
God is truth.
God is love.
I am love.
The Folks Who Found Me are also love, though they aren't feeling it right now.
I will say now that instead of unlocking my blog when I felt I should, I kept it locked out of fear.
Except for that one time when I unlocked it for 5 minutes and locked it again. I conquered fear for almost 5 full minutes!
Tonight, I'm logging back in from a place of love. My blog following is very small, my web presence inconsequential.
I don't want to be known or found or shared or loud.
I was a small, tucked away house-by-the-river, barefoot in the kitchen kind of life.
God wants me to share my life anyway. As soon as I could talk, I shared.
It's a painful thing and a scary thing and sometimes a much-hated thing, but I know how arguing with God goes...
So at the mercy of Him, I'm back.
There is a grand chance I'll be hit with more pain, more doubt and much more opposition.
But God is with me.
Namaste.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
This is Water
Tonight in Group Therapy, we were shown a really amazing video.
It contains a lot of truth -truth that applies to my recovery right now. To be present, to connect, to be vulnerable and stop objectifying others around me... that is healing.
"You always have choices," says my sponsor each time I call her.
I always have choices.
Always.
It contains a lot of truth -truth that applies to my recovery right now. To be present, to connect, to be vulnerable and stop objectifying others around me... that is healing.
"You always have choices," says my sponsor each time I call her.
I always have choices.
Always.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
I Don't Know Stuff
They say we're living in The Information Age.
But I really think we're living in The Answer Age.
Everyday I'm bombarded with answers! They blow up my facebook feed, headlines, even my phone line.
Stay at home as a mother.
But don't. Don't stay at home.
Let babies sleep, but wake them up. Make them take naps -no wait, DON'T.
Wear pants to church! But also remember that you should absolutely NEVER wear pants to church, and there's a bunch of meme pics of Elder Holland to back it up.
Give cake to gays! But for the love, don't EVER bake a cake for gays.
There's answers for addiction, for relationships, for marriage, for parenting, for lifestyles!
A few days ago, I began to be bothered. NOT by the insane amount of answers being shoved into my face at any given moment (because we all know you don't have to be online to have someone have answers for you!) but because I felt stupid.
STOOPID.
In the sea of answers, I seem only to be on the receiving end.
And that must mean -by default -that I am stupid. Right?
All right, so that's a false belief, but before you diagnose me and give me an answer, please just listen for a few minutes...
I don't have the answers to addiction. I don't have the pathway down. I can't sit here and type out what you should be doing or shouldn't be doing or what to tell your Bishop or which boundary you need. I can't laden you with comforting answers or set you on a path or put you on my back and carry you down my path, expecting you to see the RIGHTNESS of it all as you observe.
Because all I have is questions.
Through this whole thing, I've resigned myself to a few unchangeable truths in my own life.
In the past week and a half, I have bit laid out flat with all kinds of stuff that makes me mad at God, one of which being my brother and his wife who suffered through 7 years of infertility and the eventual loss of their second child to a heart condition have now lost a baby at 20 weeks gestation.
Twenty weeks of development, not only of her frail body but of her parents' hopes and dreams, her older siblings hopes and dreams... gone. Just very, very gone.
That on top of a few other, "are you KIDDING me?"s has brought me and my depression to a place where I'm sort of just moving through it all, not reacting or feeling like myself, but moving from appointment to appointment -gratefully overwhelmed with doing so I can't be overwhelmed with FEELING.
God has given me too much to do because He knows if I weren't doing, I'd simply be in bed, covers over head.
That is ONE thing He's let me know.
"Just keep going forward," He said to me when I asked Him if my schedule was too full. Ahhhh, HE filled it for me. My gift of having things to live for.
But as I got ready for work on Tuesday and felt anger toward Him for not letting me know WHY our family is suffering in so many ways, a good friend a few states away (I think you know her as Jane) sent a poem my way that read:
"I SHALL know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now. "
~Emily Dickinson
My answers lie where Emily's lie: in heaven. Even reading that poem minutes after shaking my fist to the sky, I found God giving me my #3 truth all over again.
I KNOW, Alicia. I KNOW, so don't worry so much. Just keep asking questions.
My days are filled with me content to not know enough to participate in online arguments, happy in my question quest, but reserving the right to let God know how irritating it is that He keeps so much to himself even though I truly know what a beautiful gift it actually is.
Not all beautiful gifts are 100% irritation-less.
(*cough* kids *cough*)
But abandoning a world where I insist on having answers has freed me.
There's no pressure anymore.
There's only a world of exploring questions and asking God for my own truth.
I won't wear pants to church, but will you?
I would totally bake a cake for a gay couple but don't hold an opinion on your answer to the same situation.
I let my baby sleep, but would you?
I can't walk you through this path of addiction. But I can tell you that God has walked me through it. And sometimes I pretend He sings songs to me... songs about calling and answers.
I smile each time I hear the line, "and if you court this disaster, I'll point you home."
What? Me? Court disaster? Please...
(By the way, it's 8:30 in the morning, and I'm currently dealing with the stench of burned milk. I forgot I let the burner on, okay? It happens.)
This is me coming to acceptance with not having answers and owning that THAT doesn't make me -by default -shallow, dumb, stupid, or clueless.
It makes me free.
But I really think we're living in The Answer Age.
Everyday I'm bombarded with answers! They blow up my facebook feed, headlines, even my phone line.
Stay at home as a mother.
But don't. Don't stay at home.
Let babies sleep, but wake them up. Make them take naps -no wait, DON'T.
Wear pants to church! But also remember that you should absolutely NEVER wear pants to church, and there's a bunch of meme pics of Elder Holland to back it up.
Give cake to gays! But for the love, don't EVER bake a cake for gays.
There's answers for addiction, for relationships, for marriage, for parenting, for lifestyles!
A few days ago, I began to be bothered. NOT by the insane amount of answers being shoved into my face at any given moment (because we all know you don't have to be online to have someone have answers for you!) but because I felt stupid.
STOOPID.
In the sea of answers, I seem only to be on the receiving end.
And that must mean -by default -that I am stupid. Right?
All right, so that's a false belief, but before you diagnose me and give me an answer, please just listen for a few minutes...
I don't have the answers to addiction. I don't have the pathway down. I can't sit here and type out what you should be doing or shouldn't be doing or what to tell your Bishop or which boundary you need. I can't laden you with comforting answers or set you on a path or put you on my back and carry you down my path, expecting you to see the RIGHTNESS of it all as you observe.
Because all I have is questions.
Through this whole thing, I've resigned myself to a few unchangeable truths in my own life.
1) I really don't know anything which doesn't make me stupid -rather, it sets me free.
2) God knows everything.
3) He doesn't tell me everything, and I reserve the right to resent Him for it now and then instead of handling this truth how I feel I'm "supposed" to (which is to stuff my anger down and go to church. Now I shake my fist to the sky and go to church which is different because my stress level has gone down. Follow? No? That's okay. I barely follow and I'm living it).
In the past week and a half, I have bit laid out flat with all kinds of stuff that makes me mad at God, one of which being my brother and his wife who suffered through 7 years of infertility and the eventual loss of their second child to a heart condition have now lost a baby at 20 weeks gestation.
Twenty weeks of development, not only of her frail body but of her parents' hopes and dreams, her older siblings hopes and dreams... gone. Just very, very gone.
That on top of a few other, "are you KIDDING me?"s has brought me and my depression to a place where I'm sort of just moving through it all, not reacting or feeling like myself, but moving from appointment to appointment -gratefully overwhelmed with doing so I can't be overwhelmed with FEELING.
God has given me too much to do because He knows if I weren't doing, I'd simply be in bed, covers over head.
That is ONE thing He's let me know.
"Just keep going forward," He said to me when I asked Him if my schedule was too full. Ahhhh, HE filled it for me. My gift of having things to live for.
But as I got ready for work on Tuesday and felt anger toward Him for not letting me know WHY our family is suffering in so many ways, a good friend a few states away (I think you know her as Jane) sent a poem my way that read:
"I SHALL know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now. "
~Emily Dickinson
My answers lie where Emily's lie: in heaven. Even reading that poem minutes after shaking my fist to the sky, I found God giving me my #3 truth all over again.
I KNOW, Alicia. I KNOW, so don't worry so much. Just keep asking questions.
Truth #4:
I have no answers for you. I will respect you enough to let you tell your own story and find your own answers while simply sharing my story.
My days are filled with me content to not know enough to participate in online arguments, happy in my question quest, but reserving the right to let God know how irritating it is that He keeps so much to himself even though I truly know what a beautiful gift it actually is.
Not all beautiful gifts are 100% irritation-less.
(*cough* kids *cough*)
Truth #5:
I used to have answers. I used to give advice and hand out "HERE'S THE WAY" tickets. And sometimes letting go of that makes me feel dumb.
But abandoning a world where I insist on having answers has freed me.
There's no pressure anymore.
There's only a world of exploring questions and asking God for my own truth.
I won't wear pants to church, but will you?
I would totally bake a cake for a gay couple but don't hold an opinion on your answer to the same situation.
I let my baby sleep, but would you?
I can't walk you through this path of addiction. But I can tell you that God has walked me through it. And sometimes I pretend He sings songs to me... songs about calling and answers.
I smile each time I hear the line, "and if you court this disaster, I'll point you home."
What? Me? Court disaster? Please...
(By the way, it's 8:30 in the morning, and I'm currently dealing with the stench of burned milk. I forgot I let the burner on, okay? It happens.)
This is me coming to acceptance with not having answers and owning that THAT doesn't make me -by default -shallow, dumb, stupid, or clueless.
It makes me free.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Guilt
A couple of months ago, I got mad at my husband. I didn't hold back.
My pattern has always BEEN told hold back. If I really, truly told him how I felt, it would hurt him. I didn't want to hurt him. When he was hurt, he acted out. He mismanaged that hurt. I couldn't handle the GUILT that came with hurting him. So I would walk away, shove my emotions deep down and then come back.
In short: I was too scared, too full of fear to be fully honest with my husband.
I thought I was being Christ-like and sort of applauded myself for being so skilled at managing my temper.
I scratch my head at that logic now...
My husband did something addiction-related that was not okay with me. And when he told me about it, I didn't shove anything down. I wasn't scared. I told him EXACTLY how I felt.
I was so mad there wasn't any room for guilt.
In fact, the guilt never came! It didn't come afterward when he yelled at me. It didn't come after THAT, when I felt like a third person observer and realized just how messed up our dynamic was. And it didn't even come after that... when I excused myself from our current marriage and took a figurative taxi cab to a safe room with only my name attached to the address.
It still hasn't come, and I'm amazed. As concerns my decision to be done with our marriage, I don't feel guilt.
But yesterday, I guilt about something else, something addiction related.
A few days ago, before my husband left for training, he told me that lately I've been mean. It isn't like me, and he misses me.
I've mulled that over since he said it.
No one has ever called me mean. At least, not since I was living at home with 5 siblings and MIGHT have taken Easter Candy from the smaller ones who couldn't hurt me.
I phoned a friend who has walked this path before to work through some of my emotions, the greatest of which is anger. I told her I was mad.
She said (I'm quoting her directly), "Good!"
Good.
Good?
Isn't anger bad? Isn't not Christ-like?
Enter: Guilt.
I made dinner and read scriptures with the kids. I did dishes (PS: this isn't very normal for me to do ALL of this in one night, so I have to put it in the story somehow so you'll all be amazed that I made dinner, bathed the children, read scriptures, said prayers, AND did dishes! all in one night!) and the thought came to me as clear as day.
Why haven't I been mean before? Before recently?
Why NOW? The sealing covenant I made has been shattered repeatedly, stomped on! I have been pushed aside time after time after time for other women in the name of fantasy. And THROUGH IT ALL, I worked harder to be seen! And I was not seen.
I birthed children through all of this. I invested and invested and invested. At times, I was confessed to daily. And did I cry? No. Did I get angry? No. Did I tell him how I really felt? Only after I hit a breaking point after a few YEARS. And even then, I wasn't mad. I was just sad.
Isn't that ODD?
There is something WRONG WITH THAT.
There is something wrong with the fact that I was never mean. The natural woman would be! The natural woman would be angry and probably mean about it all. Does that mean it's okay? I don't know. Probably not. But natural? Oh heck yes!
And it SHOULD be that way. Women SHOULD be upset when they're pushed aside for something else, something superficial and insatiable. Women should FEEL their true worth and value in the mess! They should not only know they are enough but feel it as well.
It wasn't until I felt it -TWO short months ago (nine years into the messity-mess) -that I got mad.
This anger is new to me. It's coursing though me and confusing me.
My friend who rejoiced in my finally feeling it, encouraged me to write a letter to my husband -an angry letter.
What a good idea! I went through my day yesterday and tried to compose one in my head, but something stopped me.
It was GUILT.
I can't feel angry. I can't say *this* or *that*. It isn't Christ-like.
Today, I will work to surrender my guilt. Today I will hit my knees and ask God to please take it so I can let loose my unfiltered anger, and if I do act in such a way that displeases God, I will make amends. But for now? It needs to come out before my entire soul, both body and spirit, become ill.
The fact of the matter is this: I have felt and endured betrayal and haven't been angry about it.
THAT isn't healthy or natural or doing anyone (except the addict) any good at all.
Finding a healthy way to channel my anger is going to be a new journey -a new challenge -a new discovery.
In the meantime, I'll keep two songs on repeat.
(the lyric video using texts is so safe. The official video is pretty... well, let's just say it didn't do much for improving my anger.)
My pattern has always BEEN told hold back. If I really, truly told him how I felt, it would hurt him. I didn't want to hurt him. When he was hurt, he acted out. He mismanaged that hurt. I couldn't handle the GUILT that came with hurting him. So I would walk away, shove my emotions deep down and then come back.
In short: I was too scared, too full of fear to be fully honest with my husband.
I thought I was being Christ-like and sort of applauded myself for being so skilled at managing my temper.
I scratch my head at that logic now...
My husband did something addiction-related that was not okay with me. And when he told me about it, I didn't shove anything down. I wasn't scared. I told him EXACTLY how I felt.
I was so mad there wasn't any room for guilt.
In fact, the guilt never came! It didn't come afterward when he yelled at me. It didn't come after THAT, when I felt like a third person observer and realized just how messed up our dynamic was. And it didn't even come after that... when I excused myself from our current marriage and took a figurative taxi cab to a safe room with only my name attached to the address.
It still hasn't come, and I'm amazed. As concerns my decision to be done with our marriage, I don't feel guilt.
But yesterday, I guilt about something else, something addiction related.
A few days ago, before my husband left for training, he told me that lately I've been mean. It isn't like me, and he misses me.
I've mulled that over since he said it.
No one has ever called me mean. At least, not since I was living at home with 5 siblings and MIGHT have taken Easter Candy from the smaller ones who couldn't hurt me.
I phoned a friend who has walked this path before to work through some of my emotions, the greatest of which is anger. I told her I was mad.
She said (I'm quoting her directly), "Good!"
Good.
Good?
Isn't anger bad? Isn't not Christ-like?
Enter: Guilt.
I made dinner and read scriptures with the kids. I did dishes (PS: this isn't very normal for me to do ALL of this in one night, so I have to put it in the story somehow so you'll all be amazed that I made dinner, bathed the children, read scriptures, said prayers, AND did dishes! all in one night!) and the thought came to me as clear as day.
Why haven't I been mean before? Before recently?
Why NOW? The sealing covenant I made has been shattered repeatedly, stomped on! I have been pushed aside time after time after time for other women in the name of fantasy. And THROUGH IT ALL, I worked harder to be seen! And I was not seen.
I birthed children through all of this. I invested and invested and invested. At times, I was confessed to daily. And did I cry? No. Did I get angry? No. Did I tell him how I really felt? Only after I hit a breaking point after a few YEARS. And even then, I wasn't mad. I was just sad.
Isn't that ODD?
There is something WRONG WITH THAT.
There is something wrong with the fact that I was never mean. The natural woman would be! The natural woman would be angry and probably mean about it all. Does that mean it's okay? I don't know. Probably not. But natural? Oh heck yes!
And it SHOULD be that way. Women SHOULD be upset when they're pushed aside for something else, something superficial and insatiable. Women should FEEL their true worth and value in the mess! They should not only know they are enough but feel it as well.
It wasn't until I felt it -TWO short months ago (nine years into the messity-mess) -that I got mad.
This anger is new to me. It's coursing though me and confusing me.
My friend who rejoiced in my finally feeling it, encouraged me to write a letter to my husband -an angry letter.
What a good idea! I went through my day yesterday and tried to compose one in my head, but something stopped me.
It was GUILT.
I can't feel angry. I can't say *this* or *that*. It isn't Christ-like.
Today, I will work to surrender my guilt. Today I will hit my knees and ask God to please take it so I can let loose my unfiltered anger, and if I do act in such a way that displeases God, I will make amends. But for now? It needs to come out before my entire soul, both body and spirit, become ill.
The fact of the matter is this: I have felt and endured betrayal and haven't been angry about it.
THAT isn't healthy or natural or doing anyone (except the addict) any good at all.
Finding a healthy way to channel my anger is going to be a new journey -a new challenge -a new discovery.
In the meantime, I'll keep two songs on repeat.
(the lyric video using texts is so safe. The official video is pretty... well, let's just say it didn't do much for improving my anger.)
Monday, October 7, 2013
Simply Confused
Recovery has brought the miracle of simplicity to my life.
It's touched every faucet of my life. I cook with less ingredients. I use the oil cleanse for my skin care and have been able to literally DUMP all of my skin care products: no more moisturizers, no more cleansers. Birthday parties consist of a homemade cake mix (boxed, baby!), ice cream and a small gathering of friends and family. Birthday parties do NOT consist of invites (unless texts count?), any and all themes, any decor that can't be purchased on a whim from Dollar Tree... in short, Pinterest is NOT invited to my birthday parties.
With simplicity, life makes sense.
There's less information and more truth.
TRUTH was something that eluded me for years... probably because I was dead-set on the information track. I was in fixing mode, wildly running through the masses with my fist in the air, refusing to surrender.
"Never give up! Never surrender!"
Once I quit running.
Once I put my tightened, stubborn fist down.
Once I ran myself into the GROUND and couldn't take another step.
I surrendered. And God gave me truth.
This weekend, I was coming off of literally running wildly... I'd been working extra hours, fielding phone calls, sleeping erratically, and by the time Thursday night rolled around I found myself in what my good friend Gary Cooper calls, "an extremely awkward position."
(From Casanova Brown which I highly recommend. It's on Netflix and wonderfully devoid of triggers.)
After driving across town with three children... one pulling my hair, one with her feet where he head should have been and one yelling over the radio about his dreams of being a RED POWER RANGER for Halloween... I tried to unlock my front door.
But there was a moth in my face.
And in my beaten stupor, I batted at it. It was pretty aggressive as far as moths go, and I ended up batting my arm with one hand and trying to put my key in the lock with the other hand. In one strong SWOOP I swatted one final time at the moth and JAMMED my key in the door.
And OF COURSE the key I jammed in the door was my work key that looks exactly like my house key except for the cute coat of glitter nail polish I applied (and apparently ignored).
The key wouldn't come out of the door knob.
I wiggled and jiggled and pulled and yanked.
And I prayed. I literally prayed for the Lord to open a door... not a figurative door, a LITERAL door.
My husband pulled into the drive way, freshly home from work. He pulled. I pulled. He got pliers and pulled HARDER and MORE.
And the key broke off in the lock.
I called our landlords who have the keys to unlock our back door (we never use it) because I knew better than to try any of the windows. I'm married to a cop which means ALL of my windows are LOCKED SECURELY AT ALL TIMES. In fact, I check them myself and have been even more vigilant in checking since some recent break-ins.
My landlord picked up the phone and told me he was very sorry but he wasn't anywhere near home and wouldn't be for quite some time.
I hung up my phone and sighed.
I wondered why bad things happened to good people.
I wondered WHY the Lord didn't just OPEN the door. I mean, I'm NICE. I even put my empty shopping carts back where they go in parking lots AND pick up litter. The Lord can do ANYTHING, this I know. The Lord loves me, this I know.
Surely, He wouldn't begrudge me this one small favor of opening my door.
I prayed again.
And while I prayed, my husband called to me from the side of the house.
The kitchen window I KNOW I locked was open.
I prayed for the Lord to open a door, and He opened a window instead.
It was a physical metaphor for my entire weekend where I found myself blindly and wildly running with my fist in the air, searching for information and answers amidst a sea of words and opinions.
When I finally gave up and sat back and remembered how different simplicity felt from confusion, I let go.
Truth came.
And life makes sense again.
I'm grateful for windows and broken doorknobs.
And key makers, while we're at it.
It's touched every faucet of my life. I cook with less ingredients. I use the oil cleanse for my skin care and have been able to literally DUMP all of my skin care products: no more moisturizers, no more cleansers. Birthday parties consist of a homemade cake mix (boxed, baby!), ice cream and a small gathering of friends and family. Birthday parties do NOT consist of invites (unless texts count?), any and all themes, any decor that can't be purchased on a whim from Dollar Tree... in short, Pinterest is NOT invited to my birthday parties.
With simplicity, life makes sense.
There's less information and more truth.
TRUTH was something that eluded me for years... probably because I was dead-set on the information track. I was in fixing mode, wildly running through the masses with my fist in the air, refusing to surrender.
"Never give up! Never surrender!"
Once I quit running.
Once I put my tightened, stubborn fist down.
Once I ran myself into the GROUND and couldn't take another step.
I surrendered. And God gave me truth.
This weekend, I was coming off of literally running wildly... I'd been working extra hours, fielding phone calls, sleeping erratically, and by the time Thursday night rolled around I found myself in what my good friend Gary Cooper calls, "an extremely awkward position."
(From Casanova Brown which I highly recommend. It's on Netflix and wonderfully devoid of triggers.)
After driving across town with three children... one pulling my hair, one with her feet where he head should have been and one yelling over the radio about his dreams of being a RED POWER RANGER for Halloween... I tried to unlock my front door.
But there was a moth in my face.
And in my beaten stupor, I batted at it. It was pretty aggressive as far as moths go, and I ended up batting my arm with one hand and trying to put my key in the lock with the other hand. In one strong SWOOP I swatted one final time at the moth and JAMMED my key in the door.
And OF COURSE the key I jammed in the door was my work key that looks exactly like my house key except for the cute coat of glitter nail polish I applied (and apparently ignored).
The key wouldn't come out of the door knob.
I wiggled and jiggled and pulled and yanked.
And I prayed. I literally prayed for the Lord to open a door... not a figurative door, a LITERAL door.
My husband pulled into the drive way, freshly home from work. He pulled. I pulled. He got pliers and pulled HARDER and MORE.
And the key broke off in the lock.
I called our landlords who have the keys to unlock our back door (we never use it) because I knew better than to try any of the windows. I'm married to a cop which means ALL of my windows are LOCKED SECURELY AT ALL TIMES. In fact, I check them myself and have been even more vigilant in checking since some recent break-ins.
My landlord picked up the phone and told me he was very sorry but he wasn't anywhere near home and wouldn't be for quite some time.
I hung up my phone and sighed.
I wondered why bad things happened to good people.
I wondered WHY the Lord didn't just OPEN the door. I mean, I'm NICE. I even put my empty shopping carts back where they go in parking lots AND pick up litter. The Lord can do ANYTHING, this I know. The Lord loves me, this I know.
Surely, He wouldn't begrudge me this one small favor of opening my door.
I prayed again.
And while I prayed, my husband called to me from the side of the house.
The kitchen window I KNOW I locked was open.
I prayed for the Lord to open a door, and He opened a window instead.
It was a physical metaphor for my entire weekend where I found myself blindly and wildly running with my fist in the air, searching for information and answers amidst a sea of words and opinions.
When I finally gave up and sat back and remembered how different simplicity felt from confusion, I let go.
Truth came.
And life makes sense again.
I'm grateful for windows and broken doorknobs.
And key makers, while we're at it.
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