Meaning From Morning Memories

Every morning before the sun has even had a chance to cheer me on, I stumble into my peaceful little “prayer room” and write in my journal. For over twenty five years one of my strategies for sustaining my sanity has been to express my feelings in a carefully chosen notebook. Over the years, this exercise has metamorphosed into more of a letter to the Lord. In these daily communications, I write the brutal of what I am feeling, the honest, the vulnerable, the absolute real, but I do not leave the letter without including the grateful.

Every few years, I dig out my old notebooks and look through what I have written in the past. I am often amazed at the raw emotions that pour out on paper during certain times in my life. I am even more in awe over the time-after-time gratitude that follows these expressions of hurt, anger, frustration, confusion, etc. Once in a while, the gratitude for the situation will show up while I am writing the letter. At other times, it is weeks or months later. Trials I thought were hopeless to fix, problems that seemed insurmountable, hurts that were never going to ease and yet… here among these pages were statement after statement of “Thank You, Lords” proclaiming answered prayer according to God’s infinite wisdom. It is powerful to remember the “how” I got through some of these “floods”. It is comfort and reassurance. Thank you, Lord

I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of all your wonderful deeds. Psalm 9:1

Therefore, in honor of “Notice November” here are a few word-for-word “Thank You” snippets from my journal entries for the last few weeks.

• Thank you, Lord for words to write when I approached my computer without any.
• Thank you, Lord, that I know I will get over this pity party once I share it with You.
• Thank you that your kindness leads to repentance. I am sorry.
• Thank you, Lord, for listening
• Thank you for friendly people who wait on me at the grocery store.
• Thank you Lord, for writing and work yesterday, for getting lots of “little things” off my plate and for gym time.
• Thank you for honest, real, touching talks with friends.
• Thank you for putting up with my whining some days.
• Thank you Lord for shopping time and connections with people around me.
• Thank you For hugs
• Thank you for the sweet tween trick or treating at my door who said, “I know you. You used to read to us.”
• Thank you, Lord, for helping me develop “quick forgiveness” from the offense of yesterday
• Thank you, Lord, for flu shots and “nice days”.
• Thank you, Lord, for good family and friends and hope and direction.
• Thank you, Lord, for encouragement.
• Thank you, Lord, for the small comforts, joys, and pleasures daily. Please help me to notice even when I am sad.
• Thank you, Lord, for your mercy and grace- for your forgiveness as I fail and put others above You over and over again.
• Thank you Lord as yesterday was a battle- fierce and exhausting- You blessed me with strength, grit, and comfort- that kind I know comes straight from You.
• Thank you for still loving me and for allowing me the utter openness to tell You how I feel.
• Thank you Lord for those good days and for the days that teach.
• Thank you for the hard and scary part of anticipating the doctor visit on Tuesday that leads me to put my trust in You (all okay)
• Thank you, Lord, for reminding me during drama days, “Not my circus, Not my monkeys.”
• Thank you for the hidden treasures of yesterday like the song in the waiting room.
• Thank you, Lord, especially for knowing You, for the many times You have delivered me- even from my own traps, for changing and growing me, for being my Savior and so much more.

Dear Reader, Thank you for letting me share a small portion of my journal letters with you. I find such healing in writing and I am grateful to share my thoughts and feelings with those of you on the other end of this blog. You are in my prayers and I have thanked the Lord for you many times. Have a fabulous week. In His love and mine

The Healing Capacity of Story

Over the weekend, I attended an Author-Con Event. Elizabeth Smart was the first speaker. She told of the horrific events- the unimaginable trauma- that happened to her when she was fourteen. This was a story she could not hide from-not even after she was rescued. She could not erase it, ignore it, or pretend it did not happen, but she could decide what to do with it. She could write it, share it, speak before Congress about it to support important legislation that would help others who had been through similar experiences. She could start the Elizabeth Smart Foundation to help provide education to children about internet abuse, violence, and sexual crimes. She could be a correspondent on television shows that fight the victimization of children. She could speak all over the world sharing hope and encouragement and comfort. She could write two books and create a documentary using her life story as a source of inspiration. She could go on a mission to share her faith. She could get married and have 3 beautiful children. She could start a new venture to help women and girls learn to physically defend themselves against an attacker and it seems to me she has only just begun.

Elizabeth Smart did not regale the audience with tales of these amazing feats during her presentation. I only know most of it because I did some research into her adult life when I got home. What she has done and is doing is incredible. She really had no choice to hide from what had happened to her. The story was too well-known. It goes where she goes. Her choices lie in how she writes the rest of the story of her life. She gets to define that story. And so do I. And so do you.

Several authors shared their life and writing journeys. The challenges were different and some of their obstacles I did not relate to, but in every story I heard a voice of grit, of encouragement, of healing and growth. I was uplifted by learning that none of them had experienced full fairy tale lives- none had escaped trials and/or trauma. These people were willing to share the raw of their story to help buoy up others who were in the midst of their own. They got me thinking about my own aspiration to use my redemption story to hearten others.

This fortification came at a time when writing the second half of my story has proven to be a menacing giant. I figured out one reason is because I would love it if my entire story went something like this: I had a challenging childhood, got married at a ridiculously young age, had three amazing children, got divorced several times, met Jesus as my Savior, lived in a log cabin for almost nine years, went back to school, became a teacher. The End.

But it is not where it ends. I want to declare that I never made another huge mistake. I never made a poor decision. I never made choices that would hurt my incredible kids. I want to keep the shame secrets secret. I want to hide the ugly parts. I want to say that I never disappointed the Lord after all that He had done for me. However, during this journey, I have found moments of pure-layer healing I didn’t know I even needed. I have found that sharing what the forgiveness and love of my Savior has done in my life with the hope of comforting or encouraging others has the capacity to help heal, even some of those parts that are still hurting me. I have received confirmations that encourage me to know that the Lord is helping others through the telling of how the Lord has gotten me through my own experiences.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.1 Thessalonians 5:11

So now it is time for me to depend on the Lord to help me slay my new Goliath. I have recently realized that I need the time to process and write what I have never written before (or told many people) slowly (not week by week) and that the second half of my story needs to be written as part of an entire book- not a blog –though I will continue to write the blog as well. I have a goal to finish a first run copy within the next 6-8 months. I would be so grateful for your prayers as I continue this blog and work on the book at the same time.

What is your story? I don’t think everyone needs to shout their story from the rooftops. However, sharing how you have come through the difficult times of your life as a comfort and encouragement to others could partner you in a share of their healing. God comforts us to be a comfort to others.

…who is comforting us in all our tribulation, for our being able to comfort those in any tribulation through the comfort with which we are comforted ourselves by God; 2 Corinthians 1:4

What is my story? I was never the same person after I accepted Christ into my life as my Savior. My every day became infused with hope and healing. Many of the hurts of my past were healed very early after meeting Him. Still, there are some issues that keep me among the walking wounded getting healed one chapter at a time. But I am, I have, and I will. Thank you, Lord.

Dear Readers, At the Author-Con conference, I learned that everyone needs what they called, “alpha readers or an inner circle” of supporters that keep them going. Thank you to those who have been that for me. You probably have no idea how your well-timed support has changed the course from “give up” to “go”. You have forgiven my mistakes (not just grammatical ones) as I learn (a big one was the password protected blog which caused confusion and seemed disingenuous to some- no more of those) and perhaps the time I sent out gift cards without explanation. While I thought it was a fun and silly way to say thank you for joining my Sonflowers and Soul email list, (check your spam if you did not receive the email gift card) some felt like I was paying readers to read the blog. I am sorry if I gave any of you that impression. It was never my intent. Thank you for letting me practice writing while still being there. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

 I will praise you to all my brothers; I will stand up before the congregation and testify of the wonderful things you have done. Psalm 22:22

Dear Lord, Thank You for each and every reader of this blog. I pray that You would guide and direct me in my next steps and give me the courage to write this book. Thank you for the healing you have given me since I have known You and the healing You have allowed me through the writing of this blog and please help me to continue on this vulnerable journey. In Jesus’ name, Amen

The Picture of My Father

I got married when I was 14 years old (more on this in a future blog). I did not “have to” and the proposal was not romantic. It went something like this, “We need to get you out of that house. Let’s get married.” I made such a monumental decision at such a tender age because I was desperate to escape a house where on my way home from school I would start planning how to get safely from my front door to my bedroom without my stepfather seeing me. My picture of the word “father” was that of an angry man in a sleeveless white t-shirt sitting on a green plastic kitchen chair waiting for me to enter and say or do anything that would give him a reason to unleash. I carried this picture of fatherhood for a very long time, even in my dreams at night, even after he died.

Before I tell you this part of my story, I would like to clarify my intentions. It is not my desire to vilify anyone. I don’t know the hurtful or damaging experiences that may have impacted the father figures in my childhood. As for me, I decided a long time ago to forgive them and make peace with this portion of my history. Nevertheless, in order to tell my story with truth and authenticity and to give you a perspective of what the word “father” meant to me during this time, I need to briefly describe my father experiences.

My parents were divorced around the time I was in kindergarten. I don’t remember my dad before this time and after we moved away, only one word truly encapsulates our father-daughter relationship…absent. I can’t pretend to understand all the reasons he was not there. I just know he was gone and it was my mom, my brother, and I migrating from apartment to apartment for several years after that. The only visit I remember was on my eighth birthday. He showed up with a brand new red Schwinn bicycle with a white woven basket on the front. I don’t really recall being much interested in the man standing on the porch talking with my mother. What I do remember was how excited I was about this bike and the newfound freedom it represented. I jumped on and took off, trailing the streets as far away as I dared to ride. When I returned some time later, the man on the porch, my dad, was gone.

My second father experience was more painful at the time, though very short-lived. After a few years of being single and struggling, mom remarried. I was so excited to have a dad, live in a house, be a traditional family, have a new life. My expectations for happiness were high and dashed quickly as I discovered that this man’s hopes and desires centered around my gorgeous mother and the two children he already had. My brother and I were irritants, intruders, did not fit in the dream he had for a wonderful life with our mother. My picture of a father went from mostly blank to blots of hurt and rejection and sketches of a small girl never good enough. The marriage lasted just short of a year and we were on our own again.

I have to take a deep breath before drawing for you a picture of father #3. Please don’t give up reading though. I promise it gets better. When I was 12, my mother began experiencing a variety of health challenges at the same time she met a man who seemed like an answer to an easier way for us. He was much older that my mother. He had a small house, a decent job and a strong desire to marry her, so she did. This time, however, was different for me. I was not going to go into this relationship with high hopes or open arms. I showed up closed and defensive. I was angry and sought out trouble at home and school.

It is hard for me to tell if this stance saved me in those days or could have been made better if I had been different. I can only relay that this man was the kindest man you would hope to meet when he was sober, but finding him sober was limited to a few choice hours in the early morning. After that, he was drunk. The alcohol held a strong and vicious hold on him that would plague me from the day we moved into his home. These were days and then years that were filled with, at first, fear and then resignation, fists and fights, and filthy words and accusations being spoken to my innocent 13 year old girl self. These days included attempting to come to my brother’s aid using a broken whiskey bottle, running away from home for four days , getting caught, and put into a juvenile detention center, and a suicide attempt. One night I called the police and asked them to take me to someplace safe, however, back in those days these requests just weren’t taken seriously. Nothing was done. “Unsafe” “Unprotected” “Dirty” “Beaten” were some of the words that framed the picture I was developing about me and having a father.

When I was 25, I invited and believed Jesus as my Lord and Savior and was introduced to God as my Father (I promise to fill in the blanks in future blogs), I embraced this new world whole-heartedly with all the blessings of having a Savior who forgave me, a Lord who loves me, a Redeemer, Comforter, Shepherd, Friend, Teacher, and much more. What I could not get a hold or be thankful for was God as the Father. Everything I knew about fathers did not cause me to embrace God in this way. In fact, it frightened me.

It was almost a year later, that I went to visit my new in-laws. My husband decided to take a nap and as I walked down the hall to go into the kitchen, I noticed my father-in-law in my husband’s old bedroom. He was tenderly covering his sleeping grown son with a well-worn quilt. I stopped…touched and mesmerized. In the next few years, this same father-in-law would teach me much about a father’s love. For example, one day we were in the mountains chopping wood for our stove and I left the group and walked up an isolated trail. I was grieving the loss of someone close and just needed a moment. Suddenly around the wooded bend came my father-in-law. He was carrying a large cotton jacket. He did not say a word, just put the jacket over my shoulders, and left. The idea that he would search me out to perform this small act of caring and comfort was incredible to me. I was beginning to get the picture. Could this be a taste of what the ultimate Father’s love for me was like? Over many years, this man never stopped being there for me, showing his unconditional love to me and our family, helping, protecting, and teaching me, even after his son and I were divorced, he did not stop loving me. I was so blessed to have this man come into my life and begin to change the picture I held about God the Father.

Now, I realize not every one has the privilege of having a fabulous father-in-law to help fill in those empty shapes where a loving Father should be. This example was very helpful to me towards understanding why God as our Father is such a gift. It helped me to realize His protective, just, all-in, unconditional, compassionate, thoughtful, dedicated, and above all love nature. However, with prayer and the study of His Word, those of you who, like me, did not grow up knowing that special father love, can also grow a heart-picture understanding of who He is. Psalm 68:5 says that God is “Father to the fatherless.” I believe this and am grateful.

In conclusion, I must say I have come to appreciate my childhood history. I would not want to change it. I am now thankful for the lessons I have learned from all of the father figures in my life- lessons of forgiveness, “what not to dos”, and how to have compassion for other children like me in similar situations. I will also forever be grateful to the wonderful fathers I have been surrounded with throughout my adult years, especially the one who helped me to see a clearer picture of my ultimate Father.

Please scroll down to click “The Ultimate Father-Study” as a mini-companion study that accompanies this blog if you are interested. Thank you all for joining me! Next week a lighter subject about “bling”. I love you all.