Over the past 12 years, I have kept a prayer journal. Although I do not write as much as I used to, I still find it useful to look back and read letters from my past; to see what God has done.
The following are a few of my entries that I came across:
(All entries are undoctored, only punctuation was added.)
-------------------------
7-8-02
Dear Father,
I don't like getting old anymore. I want to stay young and fit forever.
There is so much pain and grief in this world. It's everywhere; sometimes "hope" seems snuffed out by it all.
Most of the time, I just want to talk to you about "crunchy peanut butter" just because I don't want to have to think about real issues: Like where is my life going right now, and will I ever talk to {deleted friend's name} again?
I don't want to write anymore right now.
-------------------------
7-18-01
Dear Father,
Thank you for your strength and joy and peace that you gave me yesterday. I pray, and I will pray, that everyday it might not just be the same but grow with increasing measure each day.
Thank you for all the many blessings: like air to breathe, the Holy Spirit, trees, people to love and to love me, and you, a room to clean, and stuff to dirty it with. Thank you for who you are, which amazes me. It seems every time I turn around, I discover another aspect of your nature/ways, and it's wonderful- to wonderful- to awesome for words.
Now Father, I ask for the courage and the wisdom to search out actively/excitedly, people to love and to serve that I might love and serve you more.
Thank you again. Amen.
---------------------------
5-4-03
Dear Father,
Forgive me for falling in love with my dreams -And cheating on my husband in that way. Forgive me for taking that word fidelity or adultry so lightly sometimes, just because of the culture that I live in. Father, forgive me for not seeking you in every way and at every moment. Forgive me for being envious of other people's lives and money and stuff that they own.
Thank you for revealing these things to me.
Help me to learn to love Drew more. Help me to discover him the way that I want him to discover me; and the way that he already has.
Fix me, Father. Fix me!
Make me how you think I should be.
I love you, and I thank you for your grace.
--------------------------
5-28-07
Dear Father,
It's been so long since I opened up your word to read it on my own. That can't be a good sign of where my priorities lie.
I just put [my daughter] to bed after feeding her. I held her in my arms close to my chest while she slept. Most of the time I feel so disconnected from her during the day with everything going on and [my son] demanding my attention. But for those moments of quiet time with just [my daughter] and I together, I feel so close to her; as if she were still sleeping and growing inside me. It's hard for me to let those moments come to an end.
I hold her close while she sleeps and I think to myself, with such satisfaction, "we are the same". It's a wonderful feeling.
I also believe it to be a big break through for that to be an honest thought and feeling from me now.
I'm trusting you ..deep breath - good night.
----------------------
6-3-07
Dear God,
Thank you for taking care of me today - and reminding me that I am not alone. I actually felt peace.
The day went by so fast. Everyday that Drew is off usually does though.
I still feel everyday incompetent to be a wife or a mother, but you are giving me the confidence that I need.
It's hard to forgive those that I feel are responsible for my low self esteem and lack of confidence; but each day is a new day with a new start and end for me- so it is for them too.
The effects are still felt for years though and it's hard to let go and learn something different.
Teach me, Father, to listen and believe only in you.
Sometimes I feel as if I should not ever watch T.V. again, or go to the mall, or go to see a movie. They all corrupt and pollute my mind- which bleeds into my heart. But then, I guess, I shouldn't even walk out my front door or go to the store to buy groceries...There was a man who was waiting for me and the stroller with [my daughter] in it to move today in the Wal-Mart parking lot so that he could back out, and he actually cussed at me- or the situation- saying "Damn it!" -What is that about?? The world is a scary and sinful place, and you have asked my family to live in it. So although we want to be separate from it with our purposes, we must be a part of it with our every waking being [yes, I wrote that...].
Tell me how you did it. Tell me that learning from you, "the perfect man", is not a lost cause for someone totally mortal and sinful like me.
Prove to me that you can take my messed-up life with the messed up past and make something completely useful and great out of it.
Please, I beg you. Prove it!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Someone push the Reset button
I hate routines and that hate leads me down a path of chaos and disorganization. And then worries breed inside my mind like bunnies. It's obvious that I can't survive with so much (another word for chaos) in my daily life. I make lists to unburden myself from the worry that I might forget about all that worries me.
"Cast all your cares on Him"
I don't think it is any big secret to tell you that I have been struggling with my faith lately. I don't even know why. There was no big tragedy that happened to me within the past year to spread doubt. I don't have any new "proof" against the faith to really speak of. On the contrary, I can easily ramble off the many different ways that God has intervened in my life and in the lives of those around me. Unexplainable circumstances that point me to believe in a loving and faithful God, who remains unseen but whose hand is seen in everything. Yet I still feel skeptical. My faith feels overcast, like it's stuck in a fog.
I was planning my route to spend some time with an old friend from college. Her and her family live roughly only 4 and half hours from us and we, as a family, had been over to visit a few times before. I knew the address and remembered the country landmarks to look for to find her house. However, when I was mapping it all out, my disaffection for everything routine kicked in; I decided to take a different route. Mapquest told me that it would get me there to the same place, and without paying for toll (bonus!). So I was all set. (So I thought...) What I didn't plan on was driving in freezing rain and ice with wind speeds that constantly made me question if I should stop the car to take cover in a ditch. Not to mention the "state highways" were not clearly marked and appeared more like a country road or something more residential. To top off the long cold wet drive, a fog started to creep in right as I came up to the unknown (to me) back way to my friend's house. Six or seven hours from the start, we arrived our destination. I was tired, I was grateful that we were there finally, but mostly I was frustrated with my stupid personality that told me that an already good plan needed to be completely redone. All of this trouble, risk, and time wasted because I thought doing something different would make me feel better somehow. I thought it would make the trip more exciting and less brain numbing. As I was traveling, I wished that I had left my brain numbing trip as it was.
I guess I could say the same about my faith. I took my focus off Christ because I felt neglected and unimportant to other believers, and ultimately to God as well. I felt like the Bible had become "old news". I sought out ways of creeping away from the world of holiness and things that would set me apart from the "world". I still wanted to have my "in" to what God wanted, but I also wanted my freedom to experience. I think it's fair to say now that I've created this spiritual fog. Now that a majority of me wants out of it, it's too late. I can't see past the end of my nose.
It's the new year, but it's still playing the same tune. Does a day that the calender resets mean that anything can?
"Cast all your cares on Him"
I don't think it is any big secret to tell you that I have been struggling with my faith lately. I don't even know why. There was no big tragedy that happened to me within the past year to spread doubt. I don't have any new "proof" against the faith to really speak of. On the contrary, I can easily ramble off the many different ways that God has intervened in my life and in the lives of those around me. Unexplainable circumstances that point me to believe in a loving and faithful God, who remains unseen but whose hand is seen in everything. Yet I still feel skeptical. My faith feels overcast, like it's stuck in a fog.
I was planning my route to spend some time with an old friend from college. Her and her family live roughly only 4 and half hours from us and we, as a family, had been over to visit a few times before. I knew the address and remembered the country landmarks to look for to find her house. However, when I was mapping it all out, my disaffection for everything routine kicked in; I decided to take a different route. Mapquest told me that it would get me there to the same place, and without paying for toll (bonus!). So I was all set. (So I thought...) What I didn't plan on was driving in freezing rain and ice with wind speeds that constantly made me question if I should stop the car to take cover in a ditch. Not to mention the "state highways" were not clearly marked and appeared more like a country road or something more residential. To top off the long cold wet drive, a fog started to creep in right as I came up to the unknown (to me) back way to my friend's house. Six or seven hours from the start, we arrived our destination. I was tired, I was grateful that we were there finally, but mostly I was frustrated with my stupid personality that told me that an already good plan needed to be completely redone. All of this trouble, risk, and time wasted because I thought doing something different would make me feel better somehow. I thought it would make the trip more exciting and less brain numbing. As I was traveling, I wished that I had left my brain numbing trip as it was.
I guess I could say the same about my faith. I took my focus off Christ because I felt neglected and unimportant to other believers, and ultimately to God as well. I felt like the Bible had become "old news". I sought out ways of creeping away from the world of holiness and things that would set me apart from the "world". I still wanted to have my "in" to what God wanted, but I also wanted my freedom to experience. I think it's fair to say now that I've created this spiritual fog. Now that a majority of me wants out of it, it's too late. I can't see past the end of my nose.
It's the new year, but it's still playing the same tune. Does a day that the calender resets mean that anything can?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
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)
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)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Haunted by Good Feelings
I really hate myself sometimes.
It's guilt, yes, that makes me feel that way, but there's something more that leaves me helpless and trapped: My smile. After I have "repented" (momentarily) and realized my fault in the delusions with other women that I sought to carry out a a fling with, I still carry the shame of enjoying the memory of it.
I like the fantasy, otherwise why would I create it? But it's not the fantasy that I am talking about. I liked the women that I fantasized about. I liked the feeling that they gave me while they were around. I liked how good it felt when they gave me their attention. It was powerful. It was memorable. And the memory of it still feels good.
I know I should feel rotten because of that... and I do.
My husband and I were swapping stories around the dinner table when I recalled one relating to a friend of mine. Greta was the newbie at youth group when I decided to sit down next to her to make her feel welcomed. She was a 7th grader while I was a year ahead of her. I'm not sure why it meant so much to her that I was older, but it did and soon after she invited me to her birthday party. I hardly knew her, but I was not going to say no and make her feel inferior with me or with the youth group. Her parents were well off and had rented a couple of rooms at a four star hotel for an all girl slumber party. It was me, Greta, and about 8 other 7th graders - all of them overly giddy to have an 8th grader in their midst. I thought to myself, they really don't know me very well. But all the attention started to give me a big head after awhile. Especially any attention that I received from Greta's cousin.
Melissa caught my eye immediately. Everything she did, her walk, her words, her voice, made me smile. I worked really hard not to show just how crazy she made me feel while I was at the party. The night consisted of meeting at Greta's house, going out to eat, swimming in the hotel pool, and watching a pay-per-view inside our room. I remember that Melissa took a shower that night after the swim and then another again in the morning. Twice I saw her wearing a towel two and from...I was in awe of her beauty. She was a goddess to me. I wanted to talk to her more, but I had no words to say. It was easier to sit and just admire. It's because of this memory that Greta and I were never that close as friends. I was invited over a couple more times after the party, but all I could think of was her cousin. I would even ask about her inconspicuously, to see how she was doing. I explained to Drew that even now, I can't think of Greta or her parents without thinking about that party with Melissa there. And I smile at the thought of it. I know I should feel guilt and shame over it. But I don't. I still like the memory...I feel the same about it. What I regret is that I let something so small distract me from having a quality friendship with Greta.
She became collateral damage from my selfish attraction.
Many advocates for gays have stood up against the notion that anything should be able to "fix" them. They say that they are not sick, that there is no disease making them this way. I agree. It's not a disease. And no one can undo what has been done... We all have to just keep moving forward. But I stand before you now saying that I do wish to be "fixed".... most days. Some days I like being attracted to women. I like being different. "Normal" people seem boring and two-dimensional. But when those days pass to the next, normal is everything that I hope for. Sanity is what I pray for.
I am tormented by feelings that I know I should not indulge in and enjoy. How do I tell myself to not enjoy what is enjoyable?
A few months ago, I called up a friend from church and asked her if she could meet me to talk. I was feeling rotten and sharing these thoughts with other people has been my cry for help lately. Unprepared with any words to say, I told her that I just wanted to spend time with a friend. She was not satisfied with that response, and persisted to pry out what was bothering me. Feeling guilty, for calling her out there as if I was wasting her time and invading her space, I tried to explain what was going on. I hated myself. I saw my beautiful kids and loving husband and I felt so undeserving of them. I knew I had done things wrong. My thoughts were deceitful and my actions had been (in the past) following that same path. I wanted to beg someone to institutionalize me, just so my family might be spared from my insanity. My friend must have misunderstood, because she began to bombard me with advice and "what you need to do''s.
She told me that I should find a church that has more elderly people so I would not feel tempted as often. I shook my head at the notion that running away from it as if that would solve anything. Her advice just reaffirmed my feelings of failure. She tried to relate from a heterosexual level with my situation. She reminded me of my obligation to my children and spouse. My friend tried to assure me that everyone struggles with physical temptation to look at other people that are not your partner. "You just have to go somewhere else and look away." "Do it for your kids, just think of their sweet little faces and what that would do to them." By the time she was done encouraging me, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die from remorse.
What my friend failed to realize (besides the obvious misunderstanding of my emotional state) was that I am attracted to a gender of people, not just one person. I'm not trying to say that all women make me blush. I do have a man, whom I love, and I have a family that I love. But I just desire something more. That something is an experience with a woman. Although, not just any woman, I would still have to avoid an entire gender to be sure I was ridding myself of that temptation. Avoiding a gender that is your own... now that's what I call an impossibility.
I know, I'm a mess. I'm a wreck waiting to happen, and any other cliche that fits.
This is what it's like to be haunted by good feelings.
It's guilt, yes, that makes me feel that way, but there's something more that leaves me helpless and trapped: My smile. After I have "repented" (momentarily) and realized my fault in the delusions with other women that I sought to carry out a a fling with, I still carry the shame of enjoying the memory of it.
I like the fantasy, otherwise why would I create it? But it's not the fantasy that I am talking about. I liked the women that I fantasized about. I liked the feeling that they gave me while they were around. I liked how good it felt when they gave me their attention. It was powerful. It was memorable. And the memory of it still feels good.
I know I should feel rotten because of that... and I do.
My husband and I were swapping stories around the dinner table when I recalled one relating to a friend of mine. Greta was the newbie at youth group when I decided to sit down next to her to make her feel welcomed. She was a 7th grader while I was a year ahead of her. I'm not sure why it meant so much to her that I was older, but it did and soon after she invited me to her birthday party. I hardly knew her, but I was not going to say no and make her feel inferior with me or with the youth group. Her parents were well off and had rented a couple of rooms at a four star hotel for an all girl slumber party. It was me, Greta, and about 8 other 7th graders - all of them overly giddy to have an 8th grader in their midst. I thought to myself, they really don't know me very well. But all the attention started to give me a big head after awhile. Especially any attention that I received from Greta's cousin.
Melissa caught my eye immediately. Everything she did, her walk, her words, her voice, made me smile. I worked really hard not to show just how crazy she made me feel while I was at the party. The night consisted of meeting at Greta's house, going out to eat, swimming in the hotel pool, and watching a pay-per-view inside our room. I remember that Melissa took a shower that night after the swim and then another again in the morning. Twice I saw her wearing a towel two and from...I was in awe of her beauty. She was a goddess to me. I wanted to talk to her more, but I had no words to say. It was easier to sit and just admire. It's because of this memory that Greta and I were never that close as friends. I was invited over a couple more times after the party, but all I could think of was her cousin. I would even ask about her inconspicuously, to see how she was doing. I explained to Drew that even now, I can't think of Greta or her parents without thinking about that party with Melissa there. And I smile at the thought of it. I know I should feel guilt and shame over it. But I don't. I still like the memory...I feel the same about it. What I regret is that I let something so small distract me from having a quality friendship with Greta.
She became collateral damage from my selfish attraction.
Many advocates for gays have stood up against the notion that anything should be able to "fix" them. They say that they are not sick, that there is no disease making them this way. I agree. It's not a disease. And no one can undo what has been done... We all have to just keep moving forward. But I stand before you now saying that I do wish to be "fixed".... most days. Some days I like being attracted to women. I like being different. "Normal" people seem boring and two-dimensional. But when those days pass to the next, normal is everything that I hope for. Sanity is what I pray for.
I am tormented by feelings that I know I should not indulge in and enjoy. How do I tell myself to not enjoy what is enjoyable?
A few months ago, I called up a friend from church and asked her if she could meet me to talk. I was feeling rotten and sharing these thoughts with other people has been my cry for help lately. Unprepared with any words to say, I told her that I just wanted to spend time with a friend. She was not satisfied with that response, and persisted to pry out what was bothering me. Feeling guilty, for calling her out there as if I was wasting her time and invading her space, I tried to explain what was going on. I hated myself. I saw my beautiful kids and loving husband and I felt so undeserving of them. I knew I had done things wrong. My thoughts were deceitful and my actions had been (in the past) following that same path. I wanted to beg someone to institutionalize me, just so my family might be spared from my insanity. My friend must have misunderstood, because she began to bombard me with advice and "what you need to do''s.
She told me that I should find a church that has more elderly people so I would not feel tempted as often. I shook my head at the notion that running away from it as if that would solve anything. Her advice just reaffirmed my feelings of failure. She tried to relate from a heterosexual level with my situation. She reminded me of my obligation to my children and spouse. My friend tried to assure me that everyone struggles with physical temptation to look at other people that are not your partner. "You just have to go somewhere else and look away." "Do it for your kids, just think of their sweet little faces and what that would do to them." By the time she was done encouraging me, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die from remorse.
What my friend failed to realize (besides the obvious misunderstanding of my emotional state) was that I am attracted to a gender of people, not just one person. I'm not trying to say that all women make me blush. I do have a man, whom I love, and I have a family that I love. But I just desire something more. That something is an experience with a woman. Although, not just any woman, I would still have to avoid an entire gender to be sure I was ridding myself of that temptation. Avoiding a gender that is your own... now that's what I call an impossibility.
I know, I'm a mess. I'm a wreck waiting to happen, and any other cliche that fits.
This is what it's like to be haunted by good feelings.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Created Unworthy
Manless I am nothing.
What purpose could I serve to God as an unmarried woman?
I'm not sure how to tackle this subject. Everyone has their own beliefs, even if contained within the same religion (in this case Christianity). The trick is distinguishing between man's contributions and God's absolute truth. I still don't think I can effectively cancel out my own experiences and the different ways my parents and teachers have influenced my thinking enough to see truth clearly.
In the early years of my childhood, I was raised in a non-instrumental Church of Christ. Many of those congregations were as opposed to instruments being brought past the church doors as they were to see a woman approach the podium to speak. Women were allowed to teach Sunday School for the children under the Junior High ages only. They could also study together in women's Bible study groups. I noticed these obvious disadvantages that girls had within the church as a child, but I would never have dared to question the established rules that God himself had set in place. My Dad had made it clear to me that women had only one place, behind a man. Every Christian I knew seemed to simply confirm this belief.
God was my purpose. I held on to my life for Him and not just because of Him. I believed I was cursed, worthless, and a living burden to my family, especially my father. I lived for God and Him only. I had to hold onto a belief that He needed to "use" me for something. I believed that He could make me usable. As a girl, the possibilities seemed limited.
My Mom worked outside the home as a nurse. Even though she worked, my Father depended on her to have a warm dinner and a clean house waiting for him everyday when he arrived home. And somehow she made it happen. My Mom never prayed when my Father was present. She stayed in her place very naturally and appeared content to do no more. I, on the other hand, felt like I was living up to my Daddy's harsh words, as I was screaming on the inside for something greater. Women seemed like no more than drones. I guess I should have felt honored to be God's drone, but if I had this love for Him with a desire to do so much more, how could I keep silent? Why would He demand that from me?
Why were women so much lower than men?
I was told it began in the garden when Eve was deceived. Yet didn't Adam eat from the same tree as well forcing him to face death and punishment? My Mom was not much help in answering these questions, but she did assure me that there were things we could do for God, even if not in a position of authority.
The super-sized congregation that we had been attending had a split. Apparently, someone snuck a guitar into their Sunday School class and it didn't go over well with the elders. This sparked a controversy over Biblical elements like I had never seen before. My parents decided to go with the "splinter church", the instrumental church. They called themselves Disciples of Christ and many things were different there. Beyond the worship style and songs dramatically changing from classic hymns to contemporary music heard on the radio (I even remember hearing "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton on one occasion), there were wives serving communion with their husbands. That was an amazing sight for me, but I still wondered if they were doing something wrong. I had never seen a woman take part in anything like that before. I began to suspect that it might just be because their husbands were there with them that the ladies could be allowed to do something like that. One thing was becoming clear though, I needed a man if I wanted to do anything of any real magnitude for my Lord. I wished I was a man all the more because of this.
Was there anything good about being born a girl?
If men were so wrong about a ridiculous rule making piano playing a sin, even if done for the right motives, then why couldn't they also be wrong about their beliefs of a woman's place in the church?
Later, I dismissed this as wishful thinking.
In Junior High and High School, my youth minister inspired me like no other had before. He never knew it, but I made him my own personal role model of Christ for my life. When people told me to be like Jesus, I had a picture of my youth minister running through my head. I wanted to be just like him. I would sometimes give little mini sermons in my room to my mirror, and I noticed how much they sounded like him. That was a good thing. If I had a career choice I would have gone to college to be a youth minister. Aside from a job in the music industry, preaching was my dream. I had so much to say, and I really believed I was good at it too. But if no one could accept me because I was woman than what good was that gift? It was a wasted effort, just another pipe dream.
One Sunday morning during invitational song, I went forward to dedicate my career to the Lord's service. I knew that no matter what I would not be happy unless I was working directly for God. I noticed that we had a woman as the head of our Children's Ministry department at our church and even though that was not my first choice, it was something. I promised in front of the whole congregation to pursuit a college degree for the purpose of Children's Ministry. That was not what I wanted to do...I wanted to speak to adults. That was what I was good at and all my speeches were aimed at an older audience, but again, I knew it was useless. No one would be willing to listen. I was just a girl.
While at Bible college, I discovered a cool couple. Priscilla and Aquila were wife and husband. More importantly they were an example directly out of the Bible of a woman working in a more of a spotlight position than her husband.
I was inspired by the knowledge of this little "hiccup" in the female submission teaching of the Bible. Still, I was confused at where the line should be drawn and where it could be pushed back.
I genuinely thought I needed to be married to be truly useful to God's ministry within the world. If I were to go at it alone, I assumed that I would not be taken seriously. When I met Drew, we had many conversations about venturing to the mission field. Unfortunately, as it turns out, it's harder to start a life in another country once you have another person to take care of. The mission field would have to wait again.
I love my Drew. He has helped me discover strength in myself that I never thought existed. And although I have regrets of not making it to Thailand, liked we discussed so many times before, I have been a witness of God's ability to use us and our love for people right where we are. Drew has always been fine with me as an equal in ministry. So even if I know now that in fact, I did not need a man to be useful to the church, I don't resent my decision to marry. If I hadn't married, how would I have the confidence to take the necessary steps? God knows what he is doing. He knew what He was doing when Drew and I were brought together. Things don't go smoothly all the time, but we both have a connection to service for God's kingdom that makes us stronger. Every time we follow that "leading", seeing someone in need and jumping at the opportunity to help, it brings us closer. I feel a little more whole inside. I can tell that he does too.
I still spend time, on occasion, wishing that I had some kind of public forum to tell others the Gospel. I could fight for my position in the Biblical food chain if I wanted to. But why? I'm not sure I would be accomplishing anything for Christ by shouting "Hey! Let me Speak!" I'm not giving in or giving up. As I stated before, I don't have this all figured out on what's right. I am happy to know that God doesn't look down on me because my gender, the way that many men in church do. I am thankful for strong female examples in the Bible. I am thankful for the progress that the American nation has made in this area. I still believe that there is a line though. I don't know where it is, but I hope we don't make all the extremists correct by crossing over it.
Moral of the story:
Be Thankful for what God has given to you. He is good at what he does. .. ALL he does
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Next Post: Haunted by Good Feelings
What purpose could I serve to God as an unmarried woman?
I'm not sure how to tackle this subject. Everyone has their own beliefs, even if contained within the same religion (in this case Christianity). The trick is distinguishing between man's contributions and God's absolute truth. I still don't think I can effectively cancel out my own experiences and the different ways my parents and teachers have influenced my thinking enough to see truth clearly.
In the early years of my childhood, I was raised in a non-instrumental Church of Christ. Many of those congregations were as opposed to instruments being brought past the church doors as they were to see a woman approach the podium to speak. Women were allowed to teach Sunday School for the children under the Junior High ages only. They could also study together in women's Bible study groups. I noticed these obvious disadvantages that girls had within the church as a child, but I would never have dared to question the established rules that God himself had set in place. My Dad had made it clear to me that women had only one place, behind a man. Every Christian I knew seemed to simply confirm this belief.
God was my purpose. I held on to my life for Him and not just because of Him. I believed I was cursed, worthless, and a living burden to my family, especially my father. I lived for God and Him only. I had to hold onto a belief that He needed to "use" me for something. I believed that He could make me usable. As a girl, the possibilities seemed limited.
My Mom worked outside the home as a nurse. Even though she worked, my Father depended on her to have a warm dinner and a clean house waiting for him everyday when he arrived home. And somehow she made it happen. My Mom never prayed when my Father was present. She stayed in her place very naturally and appeared content to do no more. I, on the other hand, felt like I was living up to my Daddy's harsh words, as I was screaming on the inside for something greater. Women seemed like no more than drones. I guess I should have felt honored to be God's drone, but if I had this love for Him with a desire to do so much more, how could I keep silent? Why would He demand that from me?
Why were women so much lower than men?
I was told it began in the garden when Eve was deceived. Yet didn't Adam eat from the same tree as well forcing him to face death and punishment? My Mom was not much help in answering these questions, but she did assure me that there were things we could do for God, even if not in a position of authority.
The super-sized congregation that we had been attending had a split. Apparently, someone snuck a guitar into their Sunday School class and it didn't go over well with the elders. This sparked a controversy over Biblical elements like I had never seen before. My parents decided to go with the "splinter church", the instrumental church. They called themselves Disciples of Christ and many things were different there. Beyond the worship style and songs dramatically changing from classic hymns to contemporary music heard on the radio (I even remember hearing "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton on one occasion), there were wives serving communion with their husbands. That was an amazing sight for me, but I still wondered if they were doing something wrong. I had never seen a woman take part in anything like that before. I began to suspect that it might just be because their husbands were there with them that the ladies could be allowed to do something like that. One thing was becoming clear though, I needed a man if I wanted to do anything of any real magnitude for my Lord. I wished I was a man all the more because of this.
Was there anything good about being born a girl?
If men were so wrong about a ridiculous rule making piano playing a sin, even if done for the right motives, then why couldn't they also be wrong about their beliefs of a woman's place in the church?
Later, I dismissed this as wishful thinking.
In Junior High and High School, my youth minister inspired me like no other had before. He never knew it, but I made him my own personal role model of Christ for my life. When people told me to be like Jesus, I had a picture of my youth minister running through my head. I wanted to be just like him. I would sometimes give little mini sermons in my room to my mirror, and I noticed how much they sounded like him. That was a good thing. If I had a career choice I would have gone to college to be a youth minister. Aside from a job in the music industry, preaching was my dream. I had so much to say, and I really believed I was good at it too. But if no one could accept me because I was woman than what good was that gift? It was a wasted effort, just another pipe dream.
One Sunday morning during invitational song, I went forward to dedicate my career to the Lord's service. I knew that no matter what I would not be happy unless I was working directly for God. I noticed that we had a woman as the head of our Children's Ministry department at our church and even though that was not my first choice, it was something. I promised in front of the whole congregation to pursuit a college degree for the purpose of Children's Ministry. That was not what I wanted to do...I wanted to speak to adults. That was what I was good at and all my speeches were aimed at an older audience, but again, I knew it was useless. No one would be willing to listen. I was just a girl.
While at Bible college, I discovered a cool couple. Priscilla and Aquila were wife and husband. More importantly they were an example directly out of the Bible of a woman working in a more of a spotlight position than her husband.
The New Testament references to Priscilla and Aquila make it clear that, despite the male-dominant culture, Aquila was not the leader and Priscilla his assistant. In fact, of the seven times the two names are mentioned together, Priscilla is listed first five of those times (Acts 18:18-19, 26; Rom. 16:3; 2 Tim. 4:19). Because it was the custom to list the husband’s name first, this reversal indicates Priscilla’s importance in the minds of the New Testament writers Luke and Paul. It also indicates that Priscilla was not teaching as a secondary partner under the ‘covering’ of her husband’s spiritual authority. If there were a universal spiritual principle requiring a woman to be subordinate to the teaching authority of the man, Priscilla would not have been referred to in terms indicating either her equality or her prominence in the Priscilla-Aquila teaching team. ---(Internet Source: http://bible.org/article/aquila-and-priscilla-1-corinthians-1619)
I was inspired by the knowledge of this little "hiccup" in the female submission teaching of the Bible. Still, I was confused at where the line should be drawn and where it could be pushed back.
I genuinely thought I needed to be married to be truly useful to God's ministry within the world. If I were to go at it alone, I assumed that I would not be taken seriously. When I met Drew, we had many conversations about venturing to the mission field. Unfortunately, as it turns out, it's harder to start a life in another country once you have another person to take care of. The mission field would have to wait again.
I love my Drew. He has helped me discover strength in myself that I never thought existed. And although I have regrets of not making it to Thailand, liked we discussed so many times before, I have been a witness of God's ability to use us and our love for people right where we are. Drew has always been fine with me as an equal in ministry. So even if I know now that in fact, I did not need a man to be useful to the church, I don't resent my decision to marry. If I hadn't married, how would I have the confidence to take the necessary steps? God knows what he is doing. He knew what He was doing when Drew and I were brought together. Things don't go smoothly all the time, but we both have a connection to service for God's kingdom that makes us stronger. Every time we follow that "leading", seeing someone in need and jumping at the opportunity to help, it brings us closer. I feel a little more whole inside. I can tell that he does too.
I still spend time, on occasion, wishing that I had some kind of public forum to tell others the Gospel. I could fight for my position in the Biblical food chain if I wanted to. But why? I'm not sure I would be accomplishing anything for Christ by shouting "Hey! Let me Speak!" I'm not giving in or giving up. As I stated before, I don't have this all figured out on what's right. I am happy to know that God doesn't look down on me because my gender, the way that many men in church do. I am thankful for strong female examples in the Bible. I am thankful for the progress that the American nation has made in this area. I still believe that there is a line though. I don't know where it is, but I hope we don't make all the extremists correct by crossing over it.
Moral of the story:
Be Thankful for what God has given to you. He is good at what he does. .. ALL he does
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Next Post: Haunted by Good Feelings
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Acceptance- The rest is up to...
"Acceptance" comes easier when people see with their hearts and not with their eyes.
I don't want to be rich, but I wish I was comfortable. I don't need a house full of elegant furniture and designer clothes, but I want to be able to entertain company of those that do. I don't need a great career that is more fun than work, but I want to make my dreams a reality. I don't need to be in a class higher than I am, but I want to feel contentment.
I need to learn acceptance.
As a teen, watching the unbelievable relationship between my parents, the role of women in the world looked less then appealing. I saw my Mom as weak and overly emotional. I read in the Bible that women were to "submit" to man's authority. To me, the word "authority" and my Father's tyranny were synonymous. I continually shied away from that scripture. I had a hard enough time submitting to God's rule over my life. Submitting to an angry out of control man did not seem like the correct thing to do. The Bible must not be talking to me, I concluded.
I've spent the last couple years whining to my friends and my spouse. I whined to God the most. Oh Why am I in this position? Why do I have to deal with this 'evil' attraction all the time? Why didn't YOU stop my Father from doing those things to me? Why God? Why can't I just be a 'normal' woman? Why do I have to feel like scum around other ladies? And WHY won't you take this from me?
A few of my friends showed me the door after hearing about all this, but most of them told me that I'm not all that bad. They said, "Kayt, you are making this bigger than it is..." But I thought I should think myself cursed because I though the Christian world would reject me...if they only knew. If they would reject me, then how could I accept me?
The fact is... women are physically not as strong as men (generally speaking - not every man is stronger). Women have a specific role to play in relationships...this is true too. So does a man. And it is also true, according to the Bible, that I must submit to my husband's God given authority. It also says that Drew should love me like Christ loves the Church (Jesus gave His life as a demonstration of that kind of love).
My Dad messed up his portion of the relationship, but my Mother (in her weakness) held on to God's promises and was faithful to do her part no matter what. .....Perhaps she was stronger than she appeared.
Whether I am lower class my whole life.... Whether I get cancer and all my hair falls out ...whether my husband dies in a tragic accident...Whether 'love' doesn't seem to last in our marriage....Whether a hurricane blows away my newly purchased home... Whether I never finish my degree and owe my student loans for the rest of my life... Whether I never witness my influence changing someones life for Christ.....
I need to learn acceptance.
If this is the life I have been given, and it is. I must learn to move away from what others might think is right for my life. God tells me all I need to know. He loves me.
The Pity party is over. The struggle inside to make the right choices might never go away. And I'm done wasting my prayers asking for an end to this struggle. I am learning to be content in my circumstances. Whether God-made or man-made, it doesn't matter at this point. It's done. There will be no rewrite. I am here, and this is what is happening now. All my fighting, screaming, and clawing about it...just makes me selfish and crazy.
I am learning acceptance.
I don't want to be rich, but I wish I was comfortable. I don't need a house full of elegant furniture and designer clothes, but I want to be able to entertain company of those that do. I don't need a great career that is more fun than work, but I want to make my dreams a reality. I don't need to be in a class higher than I am, but I want to feel contentment.
I need to learn acceptance.
As a teen, watching the unbelievable relationship between my parents, the role of women in the world looked less then appealing. I saw my Mom as weak and overly emotional. I read in the Bible that women were to "submit" to man's authority. To me, the word "authority" and my Father's tyranny were synonymous. I continually shied away from that scripture. I had a hard enough time submitting to God's rule over my life. Submitting to an angry out of control man did not seem like the correct thing to do. The Bible must not be talking to me, I concluded.
I've spent the last couple years whining to my friends and my spouse. I whined to God the most. Oh Why am I in this position? Why do I have to deal with this 'evil' attraction all the time? Why didn't YOU stop my Father from doing those things to me? Why God? Why can't I just be a 'normal' woman? Why do I have to feel like scum around other ladies? And WHY won't you take this from me?
A few of my friends showed me the door after hearing about all this, but most of them told me that I'm not all that bad. They said, "Kayt, you are making this bigger than it is..." But I thought I should think myself cursed because I though the Christian world would reject me...if they only knew. If they would reject me, then how could I accept me?
The fact is... women are physically not as strong as men (generally speaking - not every man is stronger). Women have a specific role to play in relationships...this is true too. So does a man. And it is also true, according to the Bible, that I must submit to my husband's God given authority. It also says that Drew should love me like Christ loves the Church (Jesus gave His life as a demonstration of that kind of love).
My Dad messed up his portion of the relationship, but my Mother (in her weakness) held on to God's promises and was faithful to do her part no matter what. .....Perhaps she was stronger than she appeared.
Whether I am lower class my whole life.... Whether I get cancer and all my hair falls out ...whether my husband dies in a tragic accident...Whether 'love' doesn't seem to last in our marriage....Whether a hurricane blows away my newly purchased home... Whether I never finish my degree and owe my student loans for the rest of my life... Whether I never witness my influence changing someones life for Christ.....
I need to learn acceptance.
If this is the life I have been given, and it is. I must learn to move away from what others might think is right for my life. God tells me all I need to know. He loves me.
The Pity party is over. The struggle inside to make the right choices might never go away. And I'm done wasting my prayers asking for an end to this struggle. I am learning to be content in my circumstances. Whether God-made or man-made, it doesn't matter at this point. It's done. There will be no rewrite. I am here, and this is what is happening now. All my fighting, screaming, and clawing about it...just makes me selfish and crazy.
I am learning acceptance.
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