Worth a Thousand

Joy to the World!  It's Christmas time. 
Snow, lights, trees, candy, decorative cookies, carols, red and green, nativity, fat men in felt suits, family picture time;  must mean it's Christmas time. 
So where's my smile?

I can't fake it.  I'm not sad, but the joy that's shown on every one's faces is not showing on mine. 
Everyone has their holiday traditions.  Something that we pass down to our children so to establish with them a heritage, a history, a memory. 
I like my family now.  My kids are the sweetest and the best.  My husband is one of a kind.  I thought myself better than him when we met, but I was sorely wrong.  I see that now.  God has blessed me with this new family.  I would give my life for them.  I don't deserve any of them.

This morning I had the pleasure of making homemade chocolate truffles with a long time friend of mine.  Rachel and I don't see eye to eye on every subject; we've had our moments of heated debate, but we have a mutual pursuit of truth that keeps us together.  That and we love CHOCOLATE!   Truffles are not hard to make but they are extremely messy.  I must have washed my hands close to 8 or 9 times in less than half an hour.  Every truffle has to be hand rolled into a "ball-like" shape, and as the cooled chocolate melts in your hand (not in your mouth) it gets soft and leaves a pudding like mess behind.   Delicious as they are when they are finished, while you are in the thick of the process, you might begin to wonder, "Is this even worth it?"
When we were all done Rachel let me be the designated taster.  And oh baby, is it ever!

My support team from my Thursday meetings say that I shouldn't push myself so hard; "It's a process".  I'm in the thick of it now.  And I've started to look at my place in the world.  More specifically, my place in my family.  Inside a picture of smiling faces, my smile is absent.  A friend reminded me recently that a smile is worth a thousand words.   What is mine saying?  Picture time scares me now.  I didn't used to feel like this.  And I'm thinking, "This 'process' sucks".  I need to live my life now!  I don't have time for all this drama inside. 

Traditionally, my Mother always tried her hardest to make Christmas Eve a special evening.  Traditionally, it always fell flat because of Dad's attitude about it.  He wanted her to try, but he didn't want to try.  All he had to do was show up.  All he had to do was sit and enjoy all her efforts.  All he had to do was smile. 

My Dad has a process going on too.  It's been going on for over 25 years.  Now it's sort of stuck on rinse and repeat.  His father hurt him emotionally, and he's felt tormented by those memories ever since.   He's sought counseling.  He's sought to drown it with medication.  All his anger and discontentment with his job, himself, and his family was all part of that process.  He was so busy internalizing that no one that was around him understood what was going on.  My grandparents have both passed on now...and when I hear my Dad is having heart problems I wish he would just die too.  I figure my problems, my bad memories, and all that stuff that took away my sweet child-like smile, will just go down with him to the grave.
But my Dad still does not smile...

I always run away from "tradition" because of him.  I don't want to become a part of that family abuse statistic.  I'm a fighter and I refuse to let his destiny be my own.  I'm in a process, and my smile is a fake one sometimes; but I will never stop trying.
My new family tradition is to laugh, is to play, is to not let the stress of money and relationships (both past and present) take me away from those surrounding me that sincerely love and care.  Those little hands that reach out to me to hold them.  Those little ears that crave to listen to their night time stories.
And for my sweetest, who only wishes for my love and undivided affection, I will learn to live in the here and now.    For my God, I will try even harder to shove away my demons that spread disbelief, so to remember all that He had done and is doing now.  
 As for the pictures...let the smile find itself.  I'm no good at faking.

Christmas is not about keeping up with the Jones'.  It's about the beginning of an end.  It's about an answered prayer.  It's about how love came down from Heaven to grow up surrounded by hate.  That night, a new tradition was born.  And it is all part of a process.  (Isaiah 9:1-7)

Moving Forward...Powerless

"When we were children, we used to think that when we grew up we would no longer be vulnerable, but to grow up is to accept vulnerability.  To be alive is to be vulnerable."  ---Madeleine L'Engle

      I hope I do not sound redundant when I say that I am "moving forward", because I'm sure that I have already written a post or two that would suggest that same idea.  But there for awhile and recently (just last week) I felt like I was stuck and sinking deeper to the very spot where my life was standing.  The depression from those feelings kept me from writing and following through with my commitment to have a weekly update.  I consoled myself by saying that no one really checks it that much anyway.  It's old news, another fad, and my readers have moved on.  It (my story) was feeling like "old news" to me already.  A rut ..a sinking sand that I could not escape from.  All my struggling seemed pointless.  The outcome is always the same.  What did I think?  That my faith, my prayers, would actually change something?
I was afraid to be this vulnerable to you.  I was afraid you would question my character or my allegiance to God.  But in reality, these are questions similar to the ones that we all ask ourselves from time to time.  Many are just like me and too afraid of what others might think to actually voice them.  Questions like:
 Is there a God?  Or do I believe that there is because of the alternative option? 
Is the God of the Bible really as "loving" and "caring" as the majority would say that He is? 
If God is limitless, why does he seem "limited" to our decisions? 
And what is free will?  If the only inevitable option of our "free will" is to be enslaved to sin. 
How can we still call it freedom?

"Is God good?"
I started attending a Christian support group for various addicts working to overcome their vices.  After one of our weekly meetings, I started in on this discussion with a friend.  The conversation started about my relationship with my Father and how we would know whether we finally had forgiven someone or not.  Then it somehow bled into my depressive thought life of what was happening now.  But my friend was the one who stated the question for me, "Is God good?"  I said, "He is, because His very nature defines the word.  But does His definition match mine?"   What is good to me might not be "good" at all.  I eventually just asked for prayer (suspicious that might not actually help) and resigned myself to believe that all my questions concerning God's goodness and authority could be considered just another language barrier. 

     I wanted someone to yell at.  I needed a face to put my anger with.  I wanted someone to blame my disappointment on,  for my trauma, my cruddy childhood, and the stench that it left behind.  Because what I want is to be happy and content.  Reviewing my past makes me furious!  I would rather just forget.

    I had a significant dream while I lived in the dorms at college.  It was about a man, who would eventually kill me. He never told me that it was my inevitable outcome, but I knew it was true.  I had plenty opportunities to run and hide.  That was what he wanted me to do.  He left the door open, and I was free to leave.  But where would I go?  Where would I hide that he would not find me? 

He looked like an ordinary man (white, middle-aged, bald, athletic build).   Yet there was something ... He was different. 
He wanted me to run and I ran for my life. 
After he caught up with me again, I told him that I wasn't running anymore.  I didn't want to play his game, and in reply he asked me, "How do you want to die?"  I tried to think of some place full of people so they would know what he was.  I was no longer afraid of dying.  My spirit had been crushed, and I was finally letting it go. 

I awoke to silence as I floated overhead of an empty movie theater.  Down in front, I could see a mangled broken body folded in the red upholstered seat.  It had been mine.  I felt nothing for it now.  I felt nothing.
Another man who looked similar to the one who had put me there, sat down next to the twisted limbs that had been mine.  And diligently, tediously pieced the body back together till it looked functional and recognizable again.  Then he breathed into me, and we walk out together.

It wasn't long until the first man caught up with me again.  He was a constant threat to my life and I thought also of those that were around me.  He would always catch me.  There was no where I could go.  It was happening all over again.   What had changed?

   I was traveling in a car with a few friends from school.  We were going on a weekend road trip out of state.  They all thought that my fear was ridiculous.  They attempted to console me by saying, "How can this man find you in a moving vehicle?  Look!  There is no one there.  There is no one on the road with us.  Relax."  I wanted to believe them, but down deep I knew they just didn't understand.  
Suddenly, the door of the backseat where I was sitting ripped off, because it had been opened at such a high velocity.  I heard someone in the car say, "Go faster! Now!  Speed up!"  But there he was.  Both hands clung to the door frame with the rest of him flapping in the wind.  Nothing was stopping him.  And I really hoped it would this time. 
I didn't want to die.  I was afraid. 
I screamed out for help as he climbed inside and clawed for my skin.  I yelled to the driver for HELP!  The driver turned around, looked at me, and smiled.  It was the man from the movie theater.  The smile on his face told me that I didn't have to be afraid anymore.  And I felt peace knowing that he was still there.  

Forgetting is impossible, if I am to love and honor my parents.  Going "home" for the holidays to be with family reminds me of this.  My Dad wants to hug and kiss me.  He wants to pretend that everything is alright, and I just want to spit in his face.  I consider it a victory enough for my Christian values, if I am able to bite my tongue long enough to let him push away my hair to kiss me on the cheek.  I suppose if he asked, I would offer him the other as well.  But don't ask me to like it.  Don't demand that I enjoy it or cherish it.  I can't do that. 

If love means that my heart must let go of all the pain and believe his hypocrisy again.  I guess I have a long way to go.  If forgiveness means the same, then I guess I am damned to remain unforgiven.  I can control my voluntary actions, but I am powerless to change my heart.

Here I sit waiting on God.
I need Him to teach me that love is not an emotion.  I need Him to teach me to take one day at a time.  I need Him to fix what's been mangled and broken.  I need Him to remind me that I can't change the past.  I need Him to help me let it go.  I need Him to hold my hand as I walk through this process.   And I need Him to remake my heart again...  and again... 

and again.