when you open the door

We hadn't seen each other in about six years.

In that time, we'd spoken over Skype once or twice. They were good conversations, meaty and rich with sweetness. Yet, still, the times we even corresponded were few.

His life this year has involved giving a daughter away in marriage and seeing her move on, something he didn't experience with his first and oldest -- me. I've thought about the strain of his recent experience contrasted with the one that he lacked and empathy has risen in my heart.

We haven't had the idyllic father-daughter relationship through the years.

He moved away when I was young and our time together became splintered. As I grew older, so did our relationship.

I wanted to know things and was too afraid to ask. When we were together I wanted the happy and fun to last, so I resisted "going there" in deep conversation with him. I didn't want to risk how talking about the heart could affect our time together, making it feel uncomfortable. Eventually, I'd ask a few questions and attempt to gain some color to the foggy parts of our story, only to be met with resistance.

Back and forth we'd trade accusations through the years, mostly by phone because I'm not sure we were ever brave enough to talk face-to-face. We both probably wanted to preserve the sweetness of what little time we had together, yet we both had words we so longed to be said.

In addition to his two other daughters besides me, he has an adopted son just a year younger than mine. It's crazy to think we're raising kids nearly the same age, both in the throes of raising tween-age boy-men. We share a similarity and a bond of understanding, more than just biologically speaking, even though our worlds are different.

While he lives and works in a third-world country, he's in the States for several months to connect with the people and organizations who financially support him. His schedule is exhausting to fathom -- driving miles and miles across the country, sleeping in other people's beds, and living out of suitcases. They still have three more months of this kind of living and I can see the toll its taken on him already.

I could see the strain, not just sense it. 
And it's all because I said "Yes". 

When he offered to visit in between his traveling from here to there, I felt love swell in my heart. I was thought of and loved. I was wanted to be seen. Just knowing this was enough of a gift, even if something happened and we couldn't coordinate schedules.

Our time together would only be a few hours, yet it was more than we would have if he didn't make an effort and if I didn't accept.

In our communicating back and forth about schedules, I considered that perhaps he had a bit of fear and anxiety in seeing me and maybe even in simply reaching out to me. I've been welcoming on so many occasions, and yet there've been others when I've kept the door sealed shut. Would I open it this time? What would be the condition of my heart? 

I thought about what to do, wanting to make sure I didn't have expectations this time.

I wanted to fling the door wide open in love. I wanted to say, "Yes! Come!"

I wanted to connect. 
     I didn't want to think about the strain and the pain.

His second grandchild is expected to be born any week, or any day now, and I want him to meet the babe, and he will, someday. But that doesn't matter so much now. This was our time and I had a choice to accept and be grateful for what we were given. So I did.

After nearly six years apart, we had three hours together. Three precious hours.

Our boys interacted with each other as if they weren't strangers. I talked with his easy-to-be-with wife and got to know his now teenage college-bound daughter a bit. And though we hardly spoke to each other, I watched him from a distance as he played yard games with my groom and our sons. I saw him smile and laugh.

When he spoke, he was funny and reminded me of my groom's humor. I laughed a lot in those few hours and I imagine looking down on us, there were a lot of smiles.

Though we didn't exchange many words, we still connected. 
We shared the human emotion of joy and thanks for the gift of togetherness.

As he drove away, I wished we had more time together and I figured that's a good thing. We didn't cry or make a big deal out of the holes that still remain in our wounded hearts. Our time together was lighthearted and not at all heavy or uncomfortable.

(Tween-age boy-men have this way of distracting a person from being so serious.)

I awoke the next day nearly two hours later than I'd been sleeping of late and was awake in the night much less frequently than has been typical in this, my ninth month of pregnancy. I awoke with memories of my father's smile and laughter, and my heart felt full.

This is what happened when I opened the door instead of keeping it shut tight.

Boundaries are good to an extent and then at some point, they're just not necessary anymore. I needed (and perhaps we both needed) some time and space apart for healing to really begin versus trying to make it be.

Forcing something usually ends up in even more brokenness.

I've seen this occur so many times on such a literal level. My groom reminded me of this when he and our son had set up the badminton net. He instructed Boy-Man to "slowly unravel the net and if it gets stuck, don't keep pulling . . . like you would usually do."

In opening the door and letting us be as we are, and our story as it is, I experienced joy and peace. I didn't need the holes to be healed. I didn't need the fairytale relationship I had longed for all those years.

In opening the door, I saw another human. 
We connected and it was good. 

Our time together wasn't perfect, yet it many ways it was. It was so good -- rich and sweet. And I'm so glad I said "Yes! Come!"

I no longer wish for the idyllic relationship I thought I always wanted.

Now I see that what we've been given -- though crackly and gravely in nature -- has been a gift. We've grown and will continue to grow in ways we never could've if we didn't have this kind of story.

Acceptance is the greatest gift of all.

In opening the door I chose to accept another frail and faulty human, and the story that was perfectly scripted for us -- as it is.

Stepping into Real life

Silk is soft and smooth, hand-pressed shirts crisp and wrinkle-free.

I remember the iron out every evening, the next day's clothes thoughtfully selected and prepared.

Practically everything in the house was an ornate antique of the Victorian era. It was a homestead handed down through generations. The walls reflected beauty and strength inside a brick facade that masked obligation.

I connect with the strong of the brick and the hot steam of the iron that hand-presses the wrinkles out.

Raised as a good girl, I followed the house rules: be polite . . . behave. I was seen and not heard. I didn't run in the house to keep the walls quiet and the precious dishes from rattling. I knew what it took to make my parents happy with me. And so when I found myself pregnant 11 days before my 18th birthday I had one thought: This wasn't supposed to happen to me.

Seated at the kitchen table with a heart full of heavy, my face would give way to the burden I carried. I was expected to find a way to iron it out smooth and I couldn't find the right starch to get the wrinkles out. I couldn't solve this problem, I didn't have a plan. A solution was presented to me and there would be no discussion. Though I stuttered and stammered in disgust, I wasn't courageous enough to choose life.

It was the threat of disconnection that weakened my strength. And the overwhelming concern for what my parents thought of me. I needed them and so the thought of losing them because of a choice I preferred not make was suffocating. I finally surrendered to what appeared as better for me when every bit of me raged with a knowing it surely wasn't right.

I made an appointment for the day after my 18th birthday, to get it done and over with and to make home life happy. This was never to be spoken about and having it taken care of outside of our town would all be to "protect" me; from what exactly I'm not sure, though I suppose perhaps the thought was shame.

I'd cry in my room for weeks, learning how to iron a regret smooth and tuck it away. It took awhile for me to learn how to fold that secret up tight. I'd try and wrestle it to the ground until eventually I ran out of fight. Ultimately, it would be shame that would find me and haunt me and scavenge my very life.

Always have a plan. That's what that moment in my story taught me. Because if I don't, someone else might have one for me. So I spent my days incessantly focused on the calendar, make-believing that planning creates a life. Shame was heavy and led me to a perfection-seeking way of life: always doing what I should, literally sucking what life remained in me right out of me.

Chasing a fabricated life would ultimately become so incredibly and overwhelmingly exhausting. Real would tug at my shirt sleeve and grab a hold of my leg. I'd feel itchy and get all squirmy as Grace whispered in my ear:

     It isn't natural to be all tight-lipped and wrinkle-free. Just Be.

I literally ached to get out of the straight-laced, buttoned-up, suffocated habit of a life that I'd created.

Today marks 16 years since that life inside of me was ended, the day after the one that marks when my very own began nearly three and a half decades ago. I think of how I have feared mistake-making all these years, how I've endlessly planned, ironed my days lifeless.

My story isn't pretty bow-tied -- I'm still in process. But I'm learning to appreciate the messy . . . the wrinkles . . . and to hold my plans loosely. I am learning to trust that every bit of my story has purpose, as I begin to unfold and let me Be. And, be flawed.

I'm learning to step into {Real} . . . into life.

And that this is my worship.

 

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new

He writes to me that he remembers my birth.

And love wraps His arms around me and shades any doubt I ever had. Covers it.

Feelings of unworthiness. Or forgotten. Or given up on. They flitter away.

Love covers my naked heart standing bare and the beauty of it all is remarkable.

I was anticipated, longed for, and I am remembered. 

Thirty-three years ago and a few more children in between, and he still remembers me.

Though I hurt him and hated him and was hurt by him, he remembers his wanting me. I'm astounded at this.
And yet, as a mother I know it to be true. A parent doesn't forget.

It isn't anger or fear or hurt that he shares. It's simply love.

For years my father and I wrestled our disappointment for how things were between us, and we flip-flopped in our want for relationship. We longed for togetherness, yet the hurt was so painful there were times when we almost couldn't stand the thought of one another.

Though I threatened it time and time again, and time and time again I let time and space come between us, I could never truly give up. And neither could he.

When He lives inside of us, He doesn't let us give up -- 
     There is always hope.

What we share as father and daughter might not look like what I always hoped it would. Today I think it's better this way. And therein lies the miracle. The beauty.

The peace between us is hard fought. By Him.

We didn't do anything wrong for all those years to be a battle. It's just how it went.

He has purpose our story. I trust this to be true.

There are miles between us and yet our hearts are close. We share Him. And we see Him in each other.

For years, all I wanted was an apology. And now, all I want is peace. None of what was said or done matters. We're just two imperfect human beings made beautiful.

I prayed He would help me to love him even though I didn't know him.
As it turns out, that prayer changed everything for me.

He showed me His love for me and I saw His love for him.

It's remarkable how He shows up in us. 

I wonder how anyone can ever doubt His power when a strangled relationship becomes smooth and peace filled.

When what was once fiercely raging becomes beautiful calm, how an anyone deny Him?

Unwrapping this gift of Grace over and over, and over again. And giving thanks for this life.

And how He makes all things new.

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how story really does matter

I remember how I felt when I came back Home.

The fear was indescribable, and yet it was most certainly there. It whispered to me that maybe I hadn't changed as much as I thought I did. And that maybe I would notice the hurt still in my heart.

Growing up with the circumstances that I did was challenging. Painful. And most of all, confusing.

I wanted to get away and run from my story. 

No one seemed to understand me, and yet the truth is that I didn't let anyone in my heart anyway.

The women who I spent a handful of hours with this week don't know how nervous I was to be with them. How, I get chatty when I'm afraid. And really, it's because I don't know how they will receive me. I worry I'm not who even I think I am.

I don't remember much about 15 years ago. Maybe I do and I just don't want to.

So much of me is less confused and more accepting of my story. Yet, I don't want to go back to those years and let them define me.

How can you, really? Let time be frozen and memories of what once was be the definition of today? It's not fair.  

Sitting there chatting with these women, I began to relax and consider that perhaps they were nervous, too. Because we've all lived a story that has grown us.

We aren't who we were then. We were only just beginning.

So I began to consider that our being together was more of a getting-to-know-you party. To me, revisiting those years didn't matter as much as visiting the heart of who we are today.

Life has its challenges. And our story-lived influences our steps.

I wanted to know who these women are today. We call ourselves friends and I can't help but to think that our conversation today is so much more meaningful than it was back then. How could we have even said friend back then when it was so superficial? I sit there thinking Today matters more to me than Yesterday and I want to dismiss the memories.

Yet, I suddenly realize that because I knew them then, I trust them more than if I never knew them before.

And I see right then how story really does mean something. 

I consider that maybe we all did some growing together the other day. That all our years of story meeting up with today is what growth really is about. And how friendship understands this.

My heart aches for the pain she feels. When I ask how her dad is and she shares the truth of their severed relationship, I think of my story and my dad, and I just want to weep with her.

And when she tells me how her groom has changed and I see the fear behind her eyes, I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her it's worth fighting for. All I want to do is encourage her because I've been there.

Story births understanding. It's how compassion grows. 

I think of the years of wonder I lived, knowing she felt like a sister and was such an important friend, and the selfishness I had that maybe she really didn't like me.

Truth was, she had her own questions and leaving Home was a choice she had to make. If I didn't know her back then, I wouldn't understand as much today.

And there it is again, the realization that story really does matter. 

When she came back to town and showed her daughters where her home was, her heart was welcomed with comfort and peace. Maybe she knew down deep that her story was necessary for where she is today. And that her returning was an important part it.

Truth was, she grew right before her daughter's eyes when she came Home to where her story began. Because growing heals us.

It happened to me when I returned Home, thinking I was all done with my own growing. Feeling like life was coming full circle and fear of losing all that I thought I gained, I realized that the returning part was the most necessary. It's the part in my story where I grew the most. It's when healing happened. The years away mattered, but only because of where my story began--the one that influenced the leaving part.

My willingness to be Home was a choosing to accept that All. Is. For. Purpose. and courage to trust was my worship.

Even when I didn't see it as such, I was honoring Him in my returning to where my story began. 

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tender

There's a tendency within me to beat myself up.

Reaching for acceptance of myself isn't my first thought.

Spitting and kicking at my inadequacies, I tell myself I should know better.

We've been around this corner an incredible amount of times, and yet I still struggle to do what I should do right.

Thinking each day is a goal toward perfection, I discredit my humanness and strive for better.

Always better. 

As though I'm a slab of meat being prepared for the fire, I strike myself over and over again--skin becoming thinner and thinner.

My rawness makes the fire of life sear me. 

What you say burns right through me. I feel every. thing.

He seasons these wounds to make a heart that's tender. 

I give thanks for this miracle. This love. This truly amazing grace.

Today's post is part of my friend, Lisa-Jo's fun challenge each Friday to 

     "Write for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... 

     Unscripted and unedited...

     Without worrying if it's just right or not."

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living toward healing

Nearly three weeks ago I wrote about the *freedom to forgive* and the premise was about my father. Courageously, I chose to See that forgiveness sets people free--the one being forgiven, and the one extending the forgiveness.

Since then, pain in my heart has been awakened. Band-aids have been removed and scabs have been exposed. The wounds remain as hardened, blistered sores.

I've looked with envy at the relationships of others and longed for what I don't have with my own father. I've felt left out, lonely. Lies have surfaced telling me that all I do is make a mess of things, when really all I try to do is right things.

I've seen how my fears of making a mistake and of people being mad at me, they both are directly tied to my hurt--of always feeling like I make matters worse with my family, and how what I do makes them turn their backs on me and shut me out.

The way I've had a compulsion for order and control, it's because of what I've lived. And I know to not make excuses--to *own* my part--and I know I should live differently; live with more flexibility and get over those hurts.

But I can't.

The hurt remains.

I can't make myself heal.
I can't just decide to make myself change and expect it to happen.
I can't make myself trust in a different way of living, and never fall back into the tendency to fear and question.

Seeing this, I recognized something I never had the courage to admit.
I am not just plain jealous of others.

I. Am. Mad. At God--my Father. 

I want to be like her. I want to live like he says I should. I want to be changed--forever. And I don't understand why I am not healed of all of this, yet.

For so many years I have known there is a better way of living, I've known what it is, and I've *decided* that I am going to make changes.

Folks say "just put your mind to it," and I've believed it. I've even surrendered to Him, leaned into trusting even this is *for purpose,* yet--the hurt remains.

Truth is, we can't sustain lie-living. It's a lie to masquerade as someone who I am not, and far too often I've lied mostly to myself. I can't just convince myself that I am healed. I can't just get over the pain in my heart.

I can't just say I forgive and expect change. It's a process--it's life lived.

People say I am too hard on myself. I hear that as I need to forgive my weaknesses.

So, I do. And yet, the pain is so deep; I don't have the tools to plunge it all out.

I've told my Father that I want to be healed...I long for reconciliation...I don't need apologies...and I've chosen to forgive.

So much goodness has come into my heart as a result of these choices.

Beauty has bloomed.
Walls in my heart have shattered--I've literally heard them crash.
Chains have unlocked and I've {begun} to live in Freedom.

I believe in surrender. I believe He is worthy of our trust.

But I also believe that He allows pain for purpose, we can't just decide to rid ourselves of it--He has to do the rest; He has to finish the story as He designed it.

I've tried to make the healing happen by my own, and I can't.

Beauty is seen more magnificently on the darkest of canvas. My understanding of this is in the most personal ways of my heart.

He stands-in where my imperfection lives. 
He fills the gap--heals and makes whole. 

And in the mean time, I trust that He uses all for purpose, including my pain and strangled relationships.

I am not sure I want to give my Father another day with my heart. And yet, He's the keeper of it.

When I am honest with Him that I am mad He hasn't done what I think He should have done in me by now, He looks at me with Grace. He lets me feel that way.

Thank you, Father, for all of this. I lean into Truth: All. Is. For. Purpose...even. this. 
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Gratitude for {Grace}...

...the Boy-Man's tears over his Poppy being called into work...

...and the understanding that washes over him when *truth* is told: people are being helped by this sacrifice of time...

...neighbors sharing practically a *boat-load* of blueberries they spent time picking...

...strength for a long run...

...football season and something *fun* to talk about with my groom...

...a *free-ish* family vacation from points-saved during work travel...

...imagining loving a four-legged creature...

...a connection with grace-lovers...


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Five Minute Friday :: Older

It's Friday--*Freedom Day* from my perspective; a day in the week to remind me that perfect is not the goal. And nor is even getting close to it. So I live and breathe and soak in the freedom-to-be-me, just as I am now.

I'm joining several others in heart-sharing. Carve out a space {even if it's a paper napkin}, and play along, for Just. Five. 

Today's prompt:

*Older*

GO

Though I'm older doesn't make as much of a difference.

Time doesn't do the healing on its own. 

Seeing the truth in this is painful. I think I made time out to be an idol of sorts.

Hearts are wounded raw, struck and beaten with words.

We turn to time--flying away into it and taking cover from the storm.

When we think enough time has passed, and when we think we're older now and we have grown, we step out with brave feet. We walk the path toward each other and exchange a few words, only to find that time has been a band-aid and the wounds have been scabbed over.

Quickly, we retreat back into the caves of time.

The reality that just because I am older now and still the pain remains, makes me realize that healing only comes from Him. 

I trust there is purpose in it all, and I remember that only God knows what is best. Just because we think we should be ready, doesn't mean we are.

Wounds are deeper than the surface and as they become older they sometimes grow even deeper, though sometimes they heal completely.

I can only hope that there is purpose in growing older and the pain still remaining, at least for now. 

Though it appears as though there will never be true healing--relationships restored as though never broken--I know His promises are true.

Someday when I'm even older, this side of Heaven or not, there will be wounds no more.

STOP.

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free to forgive

It's not about loving him because he's your dad or your father, or because he's your husband or your best friend. Or loving her because she's your momma or your mother, or your sister {who you may not even know}.

Love is a choice; an action.

It's realizing that he's worth loving because he was worth creating. It's realizing there's this big, ginormous Purpose living inside of him, and her, and you.

I'm astounded at this today. This Truth sets me *free*...to love my father because he was worth being created--not because he's my father.

This is freeing because he hasn't been my dad.

He wasn't there for me when I fell off my bike and skinned my knee.
He wasn't there for me when the boy's hurt my heart.
He wasn't there when I learned how to live bruised from choices--
He didn't even know about those choices.

My father didn't walk me down the aisle at my wedding,
and he wasn't there when my son was born.

At some point my father chose to move away from me and move on. 

Yet, the Truth is that my Father knew what He was doing when he chose this man as my father.

For so long I lived wrapped up in the *should* of loving him and haven't felt love toward him--I didn't have a reason. He doesn't really know me and I don't really know him. Where would we begin with all these miles and years between us?

Still...my heart tugs and pulls toward this man. 
And it's His Spirit who speaks to my heart, nudging me to choose love.

I'm really, truly beginning to See that this man--my father--has issues, too.

My father hurts.
He cries.
He aches inside.
He waddles in his beliefs and in his trust of God.
He wonders.
He wails.
He tries too hard, sometimes.
He gets mixed up.
He feels lonely.
He feels like a failure, sometimes.
He feels shame.

Like me, my father also needs Grace to live Free.

I find freedom when I cling to Truth that God placed us each in each other's life in the most intimate of ways, *For. Purpose.* .

This man met my mother and together they became my parents. Served up with the role to guide and nurture me at such a young age and lacking in maturity, God stood in the gap for them. Their relationship dissolved in hurt and I became intertwined among those feelings.

God still knew what He was doing--even in my parents weakness'.

Both of them continued their own story and I wasn't everything.
They began to live for more than me.

I began to live for more than them. 

I wondered for years why my father *gave up* on me.
Why did he move away?
Why did he choose another path that seemed to detach from mine?

Now I See that my father was created for more than me.
He is following what he believes his calling is, for Today.

In the process of living, our hearts haven't abandoned each other. Thoughts of each other still surface and love is still between us. And the thoughts we have of each other--the love--it was placed there by God, alone. In maturing we now live for Him alone, not each other.

It's a choice to respond to the promptings of love placed inside of us. 

When pain darkens the door of our heart and we're reminded of the ashes that remain from something that once was or could be, it's hard to See beauty. It's hard to seize it and rest in it. But when we do, we catch a glimpse of perfect love inside of us--and we begin to understand the wonder of His Amazing Grace.

I chased after forgiveness in the process of growing up, always trying to perfectly forgive--believing it would change everything. I didn't *know* forgiveness Then, like I know it Today, and hopefully Tomorrow I'll know it even more. And it's true, it does change Every. Thing.

What I know Today is that God loves us just as we are, and by choosing to forgive I am wrapping my arms around Grace who says You matter...no matter what.

This *choosing* love is my worship.
And my father's choosing to move on in his story is his worship.

What freedom we have!



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when the pain is our worship

I've been Seeing - truly understanding - my Father uses *all* for purpose.

He is truly that big and that good to *bloom beauty* and use *all* parts of our story.

It's freeing and brings true joy to see this truth.  There is purpose for pain and it is beyond us.

To heal, it is necessary to spend time in the past and to honor God's presence in the story.

This is our worship.

He wants us to *See* His Grace.

There's a bigger Story that He wants us to be a part of.

And, looking out into the future with Hope is our worship.

He wants us to *Trust* Him.

When we stay in the past and don't focus on the truth of how God can use it *all*, or how He can weave the ugly into our story and create beauty, we might miss out on so much...

Joy...
Empathy for others...
An opportunity to make a difference and be a peacemaker...
Freedom...

So. Much.

Walking through the pain helps us learn how to trust our Father, and lets Him wrap His arms around us and give us His peace.

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how your past collides with your future...

There is no condemnation.  Just. Love.

Still, though, there is pain.

Two words stick with me and follow me into marriage.  And like the vine that chokes everything in my garden, they threaten my very life.  Yet, they won't win.

My. Past.

The Man-Boy is still the boy-man who loved me [back then] without conditions.  He still loves me without conditions.  Yet, the past collides with our Today and sometimes I am reminded of the wound it made back then.  There is still a rawness in the heart.

God can fix this.  I know.  And yet, He has allowed the memories of what I told the Man-Boy {about my past} to stick to his heart and his mind.  That Story I shared stuck like super-glue.

Though I've [thought] I'd recovered from the pain [and I did], the realness of its impact on my life is overwhelming.  It wasn't just *me* those choices affected.

The choices I made Then affected Today.  They followed me and became a part of our together-story.  And there's purpose in this.  I hold on tight to this Truth.

I trust in the beauty-making through our story - first of life lived apart, and now more than a decade in - life lived together.

There's so much to say about all of this and maybe I'll write more over time.  But, the most important thing is to first pause, and then remember.  Not out of condemnation - out of Truth.

Yesterday is a part of Today.  Your past collides with your future.

He resurrects Yesterday's choices blooming them into Today's radiant beauty.

He makes beauty from ashes.  All. Is. Grace.

We must remember.  Yesterday's choices are a part of our Story.

How we respond to Yesterday and live Today is our worship.

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Healing

After we confessed our role in what mess was created through our choices, my friend and I became willing to talk about it, Grace rolled into our lives and healing began.

In our journey of reading through those yesterdays as part of today’s story, my friend found a note that she sent to me that revealed such truth and hope…

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Maybe we pushed ahead of God in hopes of becoming friends so the past would disappear.

I created so much pain for you and me. 

I did something that I never wanted to do, which was even think that someone who was involved in a relationship was available.

I didn't want to think about it, let alone live it.

God worked for good.

You understand better about temptation and how much you have to work at your marriage to make it a solid one. And I have learned more about waiting on God, and letting Him fill my empty space and aching heart.

Do you ever wonder what would have become of us if we had met some other way? Just the two of us and *this* not in the middle...

I don't have any answer to the fact that your husband will always be the reason we met. 

It's a struggle for me. I want to put that reason behind me and just move forward to getting to know you.  I don't know how.

God will help us if we ask. 

It is hard to imagine life past this point where our past does not get in our way, but God can clean our hearts. Only He can. 

It's funny, getting your email gave me a sense of relief. I've been looking for relief, but never finding it. As it turns out, you were the only one who could give me that relief and we turned away from each other and tried to ignore it. 

This situation was blocking my relationship with God. For a time it seemed like I was doing okay. And then God pointed out this dark corner of my heart and said, Not so fast…what about this?

Did I listen? No, I just went on thinking it would work itself out, maybe disappear. It didn't. 

God can wash it away. We just need to keep working at it and praying about it. 

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Forgiveness created peace and allowed for healing. 

He did work it out. On His terms. And in His time.

The friendship we share today means the most to me because it's a story of redemption. It didn't come easily and our own fears almost stood in the way of what was in store for us.

Through a series of honest (yet difficult) exchanges - like Open Heart Surgery - we began to heal. And it only happened by our own choice to receive the gift He provided in the healing...

We honored Him as we uncovered His gift of healing.

He can do so much in us, through us and with us. And, He has! 

Through the years our friendship has blossomed. 

Like a rose, what we share has taken time to grow. And we couldn't rush it.

Ten years after the painful admittance began to uncover our wounded hearts, a story of grace is evident in the friendship we have been given, and it is one of my biggest blessings. It prepared me for my marriage, and so much more. 

What God gave us is so beautiful and I am humbled - daily - to be touched by Love through what He gave us in this friendship. 

I know I am loved through this friendship.

I know I am accepted as whole and freely me. 

I am honored to be on my knees for my friend and to cry for her.

I am humbled that God would use my own imperfect life to touch hers.

Our friendship become what God wanted for us. For Him. 

It really is beautiful. And so important.

Still more to come...

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This is the fifth in a seven-part series on friendship and grace.  

1. Purpose In The Story 
2. Washed Away 
3. All Things New
4. God Answered 

when even I cry

As I write, the words flow so smoothly.  So easily.  It's my heart that's found them.  The Lord who guides them.

And when I read them, my goodness how the tears well up.

It's not my writing.  Please don't look at me.  Look at Him.  The Maker and Creator of all - the One who gave me these words, this heart and this courage.

I join you in the weeping sometimes.  And I, too, see Him.

The writing isn't for you, you see - it's for me.  It's a way He's brought healing to my heart and courage to my life.  This worship humbles me.

a *seat* at His heart

With one knee on the floor and another perched like a chair, he sits.  This has always been his seat of comfort - where I hold him close, rub his back and pray the Lord's protection and guidance over him.

He sleeps late today on a day off from school and I thank the Lord, for I know he needs the rest.

Unlike the usual morning's when he's wide eyed for the day and practically running to his dresser to get himself dressed - excited for the joys of the day - today he searches for me.

I can see it in his eyes, he wants his seat - to be close to my heart.

"This child has wrecked me to pieces," I said to my Gram yesterday.  I tell her about the ah-ha moment I had last week while driving down the road - a moment of realization that God specifically intends to use children in the ministering of their parents - ministering healing, grace, mercy, love.  Most especially, I think He uses children to save their parents from the grip of chains that entangle their heart from the *mixed up understanding of love* that their story has written before they entered the world.

God does the saving, but He uses the children so deliberately - with such purpose.

As I speak aloud of this revelation, I *see* that God has purpose for my life in my mother's life, and my father's life.  And as difficult as it is sometimes to battle my expectations of them, that they should know better than me, or be wiser than me in certain aspects just because they are older, I finally see that He breathes fruit in me that provides nourishment - healing - that they can't get any other way than through their child.  He uses me.

The truth of this is so clear and my heart breathes a sigh of understanding - Jesus, a babe, saved the world; a world older than He, yet a world that was saved from themselves by a Child.

My own brokenness, anger, fear, resentment, bitterness and controlling nature is aware of how the gentleness of my own babe - gentleness that only the Hand of God could have placed in him - has touched my heart and my soul in the most personal, deep and remarkable ways.

It's like God reaches into my chest each time this child sits on his comfort stool of my knee and massages my heart like only a surgeon would, making it come back to life and beat stronger and steadier.

Oh, to be that close to God.  To search for His Son, and sit on His knee, have Him rub my back, caress my cheek, brush my hair with his gentle fingers and pray to the Father on my behalf.  To have Him whisper sweet love in my ear and tell me I am more than some thing, I am some one - some one important, with meaning and depth of purpose.

Tremors have come over my body and I don't understand them.  When stress of any form settles upon me, especially fatigue, the tremors become more pronounced.  The things I do become almost impossible - nearly debilitating.  I move slowly.  Tentatively.

This morning I comment out loud that my body just isn't functioning today.

The boy-man, the child God created to shred me in pieces, he speaks with wisdom - "Give yourself a pep talk, Mama."  And I know those are words he's heard someone else speak to him, perhaps a teacher.  I am amazed at how wisdom seems to cement itself in this child's brain when he hears it spoken.

He goes on to tell me that he tries {to give himself a pep talk}, and "it doesn't seem to work."

I tell him it does work when your eyes are turned to God and your pep talk is a reminder of the Truth.

When we remind ourselves that *He gives us His strength*, we really can do all the things He's called us to do.

He's so close and I'm nearly at His chest, feeling it beat, as I ask Him for strength to prepare this morning's breakfast, and He does provide that which I need at the moment.  The strength to provide.  The strength to teach.  The strength to find Him.

God provides our strength and He provides our freedom...He provides love and He provides salvation...
 
...Even through the littlest of these.

a thankful heart :: awareness

It came into my mind like a soft, gentle breeze that awakens the senses of lilacs in full bloom. I hadn't been aware until that moment and the sweetness was overwhelming.

This was truly a monumental awareness.

And here it is...I (seem to) no longer have an overwhelming concern with what they think. My parents that is.

And...This. Is. Huge.

I am feeling more free to be me and to respect my immediate family and our choices. Without giving immediate and focused attention in my mind on what my parents might think - about me...about my husband...about how we raise our son...

{Deep, full breath}

For the awareness of healing today, Father God, I am incredibly thankful...

How about you? What has come into your awareness lately that you have unwrapped as a gift and now bring to the Father's feet in complete thankfulness?