Kindled Gratitude

Fatigued and weary, I entered that room. Who knew “it” would become a place of worship? Who knew the God of all creation would flood me with His love. A midst the clamoring weights, a Presence that would break through the dark.

I was reminded of that ditch. How did I not die there? How did I crawl out? Why didn’t he kill me? What made him stop the brutality?

I was reminded of that barrel at my temple. What happened? Why didn’t he pull the trigger? What scared him away? How did I find the will to move?

And, so it went. Picture after picture…none scared me, none made me angry. I breathed, “Why me?” Not “why me”? as in why did such and such happen to me, but in “why am I still here?” “how did I survive, and others didn’t?”

Not everyone escapes

Not every suicide attempt is thwarted

I think of sitting at our dinner table speaking hard things, deep things…not the norm.

I think of sitting with my hubby…sometimes talking, sometimes silent.  Oh, the peace and tranquility…not the norm.

Even my daughter’s last days, last moments…final breath. In her room, on her bed. Me by her side as she took her final breath and her final heart beat still palpable on my palm. Yeah, NOT THE NORM. I think of My Grieving Friend who got “that call” and had to go identify pieces of her precious son. Of that Momma who got “that call” that her son had hung himself. Of that life that ended in a ditch with no one to say goodbye.

Psalm 106:7, “…They did not remember Your abundant kindness…” — Oh God, may I not take for granted Your abundant kindness. May I have a heart of gratitude as I recollect ALL that has been given to me; all that has been granted.

“…AMAZING GRACE, HOW SWEET THE SOUND THAT SAVED A WRETCH LIKE ME…”

May I continue to have eyes to see beyond the here and now. May I cultivate a heart of gratitude and NEVER, ever forget where I’ve been and where I’ve come from. Every tool has chiseled me into the person I am today. My story continues…

 

Expectant

To that new life that is being formed in your Mommie’s womb:

  • May I dream with you and believe in fairy-tale endings
  • May I believe that there is hope for the future
  • May I allow you to wear your rose colored glasses
  • May I laugh with you and cry with you
  • May I be silly and serious
  • May I jump in the puddles, bask in the sun or run in the rain…with YOU

Oh, that I may learn that you will have your own life journey. May I not taint it with my doom and gloom. But most importantly, may you know that you are LOVED no matter what♥

We anxiously await YOUR arrival🌺

Opened Wound

”I think she died as a consequence to xyz decision YOU made…” – – – Swoosh, the dagger was plunged! Expertly removing the freshly formed scab. The bleeding hasn’t stopped. Just when one thinks that there’s any semblance of healing, the questions and doubts come back with a vengeance.

Doesn’t this person know that I’ve dissected every step and decision made and agonized at the very thought that I might have missed something? Does this person not see that I would have never, knowingly harmed my baby girl?

”Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…” came, BUT I had already plunged deep, deep into the darkness of my soul. The fog descended, surrounding me with guilt and shame. Once again, the light and air, snuffed out; the wound opened and raw.

Castigating thoughts from without, joining hands with the thoughts from within.

Ragged Edges

Thinking it is a good idea to attempt something normal…familiar. Hey, they are safe. They love me and I love them. Venturing out of the home-made shelter to test the outside world, only to be thrown into spiraling thoughts that assault the mind with unending questions. How stupid of me to think it would be “ok”!

Everything has changed! It’s ludicrous to think otherwise. For sure, I am a totally different person. My ragged edges cut and hurt. Not an excuse, just a fact.

Walking on eggshells, I don’t do. My masks shattered by sorrow and pain…not apologizing for this! Filters annoy me. Primp and proper, I am not.

Being around me is incredibly difficult! The sharpness of my ragged edges cut and bruise. I think I’ll crawl back into my home-made shelter where everyone will be safe😢

Shame

“…I couldn’t imagine confessing the anxiety which whispered white noise in my ears. What would fellow Christians think about the black dog of depression often barking louder than the voice of God?…” ~ Steve Austin

I’m floundering. I don’t fit in anywhere. Too “holy” (haha!) for the world. Not “saintly” enough for the church. In God’s providence (yes, I still believe…) I came across Steve Austin on Twitter. No, no magical story, he “just” turned up on my feed. I’m not completely familiar with all that he proclaims, just this quote just hit me raw.

So, we don’t have a “home church”. Since we came to faith we have always “belonged” somewhere. Crazy how that high school mentality of belonging continues even as adults. Yeah, we don’t belong to the popular crowd…anymore. We are outsiders. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s tons of people that would love for me to be in their “group”. I’d be an amazing token to show off what God can do! Sexually abused as a child, raped, domestic violence, alcohol abuser AND now, the cherry on top, the death of her daughter to cancer. Can you read the BOLD letters on the billboard? But no, I’m just a used up, discarded “saint” that has disappointed the masses. No victory story here.

Just this Sunday we visited a church. It’s a small crowd of smiling welcoming people. Maybe this one? I thought. After service they were having lunch together. We were invited. I panicked. We rushed out. Once in the car, I felt “safe”. Where they mean and snotty? No! Far from that. But my brain went to all kinds of scenarios. Some, real and others, well, made up…I guess.

Back in my “corner” with thoughts of how messed up I am and wondering how in the world I got here. And, thinking this is how it’s going to be…sigh😔

I got this!

Hand me the gavel. Give me the whip. I got this! I’m an expert at wielding just the right blow. I know just where to hit. I got fifty plus years of practice. Don’t you know, practice makes perfect? My perfectionist self continues to wield the weapons until the perfect blow renders me “wilted and useless”.

It’s exhausting to be both the offender and the judge, but one word or phrase hits the brain and the onslaught unravels. How to stop the onslaught, is not an art I have mastered. On the other hand, laying it on hard and heavy, well, it’s so easy. I’m a natural.

”They must think…” “Yup, they are tired of dealing with me.” “Did they mean…?” And on and on it goes. You see, I not only got my own thoughts castigating me, I put words in your mouth as well. Cause I’m just talented like that.

I will isolate myself, AGAIN, cause this talent needs lots and lots of work. And, solitude, is the perfect environment for it.

Don’t worry…I got this!

Land Mine

Learning how to not get stuck in my Scrambled Mind and to accept my Brain Explosion Let’s just say, “I’m getting better at it”.

I guess I’m a sucker for punishment…I ventured into the black hole (FB). Yup, self-control went out the door. So, who knew there was a National Daughter’s Day? Is there “a day” for everything? Goodness, gracious! Post after “beautiful” post oozing with inspiration. Allow me to let you into my brain:

what?! seriously! did you have to post that? what if your daughter was dead? I know, I’m going to post a picture of my daughter’s gravesite with “Happy National Daughters Day” and see how you like it —- wait, hold on, what if my daughter was still alive? I’d probably be posting an oozing post as well. it’s not their fault your daughter died and their is still alive —- LOG OUT! No! Why? You’re being triggered. So! Sobbing I lay down and lick my wounds…

Land mines are all around me. I’m aware that some I step in by mistake. Others, well, I see them and step right in. Navigation system is so complicated. Short circuits here, short circuits there, but we continue…