The Ugly Turned Beautiful Life

"God's Word was meant for 

the ugly life."  

~ Beth Moore from the study, "Breaking Free."

Can I just admit it? I live the ugly life. I live the sinful life: getting angry, prideful, jealous, bitter, depressed, and doubtful. I walk with emotionally tattered clothes and emotionally battered face. I am in need of God. I am in need of a Savior. I am in need of breaking free from the bondage that tells me

I'm a 

bad person

selfish person

that I

don't matter

shouldn't be here

don't deserve any good thing

I must break free from the bondage that the enemy holds over me. He does not want me to know

that I am

made in God's image (Gen 1:26-27)

blessed by God (Gen 12:3, Eph 1:3)

strong, courageous, successful (Josh 1:7-9)

a daughter of the King (Ps 45:9)

precious and valuable (Deut 12:30,31; Ps 106:34-39)

the focus of God's love song (Zeph 3:17)

(I've got a list, shall I go on?)

It's time. 

It's time I let God set me free. 

I may live the ugly life, but God knows I deserve more and He wants to give me more.  

I know I live the ugly life, but I also know that God is for me. His love is for me, for you, for all of us.

He is knocking on the door and I must answer. 

“I believe; help my unbelief!”  (Mark 9:24 ESV)

And may I suggest a song for your breaking-free journey?
Matthew West's, The Healing Has Begun
(just click on the title and it will bring you to the amazing song)

The Bedroom Addict

Even though "my bedroom" in the literal sense has now become "our bedroom," since I am now marriied, "the bedroom" has, for me, a history of being a dangerous and volatile place.

In my pre-teen and teenage years, I locked myself in my bedroom and cranked up the depressing music and sobbed in bed over some intense experience or another. In my bedroom I would cut my arms and other areas to release the pain. I knew no other language. In my bedroom I would hide from my mother, loving and supportive as she was; I don't think even the best mother in the world could have been "the good guy" in my life back then.

In college, my bedroom became more of a reclusive cave where self-destruction occurred. Out on my own, I didn't even have well-meaning-Mother knocking on my door asking if I was okay. I had a single dorm room and experienced the kind of depression that leaves you melting into the bed.

After college, after moving to a different state, moving in with my best friend, then moving in with my boyfriend-at-the-time, my bedroom still symbolized my hiding place, my place of unhealthy release and self-destruction.

Not until a few years ago after getting married and having my stepchildren live part-time with us did I realize the consequences of the bedroom and not until tonight did I realize I had a choice.

A few years back, Husband noted to me a couple of times that when I had difficult feelings I would hide in the bedroom for a while and that wasn't fair to him - or the kids. I thought this odd; no one had ever told me not to do this. Well, not since I was a teenager, but then I was self-injuring and it seemed obvious to me that I had an unhealthy habit. I knew, Mom knew. My therapists knew. My close friends knew. But I had stopped injuring years before and now my husband, who I loved more than anyone, told me that he wished I wouldn't hide so often.

I admit I felt angry. Who was he to take away my bedroom? Clearly, I couldn't break down in front of the kids, is that what he was asking me to do?

But as of last year, I worked diligently at not racing to the bedroom to sob and fall apart in the dark. And I even found myself comforting my husband, on occasion, who would do the same thing.

Tonight, I found myself in that old familiar place: the bedroom. And I found myself feeling those old familiar feelings. I looked around me and though the actual room was different, the feeling of hiding, the feeling of wanting to escape was the same. I felt ashamed. I was going through a rough time - today, it was brought on by the resurgence of a very bad medical condition that I thought I had under control. I was in a great amount of pain and on top of that, I felt angry. I wasn't sure who I was angry at so I just became angry at everything.

I felt angry that my body was in so much pain and no one could tell me how to feel better. I felt angry that I had kids and a husband out in the kitchen eating dinner even though Husband offered to take the helm of the ship and let me go in the bedroom and "rest" (I'm not sure Husband understands the metaphor of "the bedroom..." well, if he didn't, he does now after reading this).

But I did not rest. I laid there and cried quietly yet vehemently. I wanted my mom. I called my aunt, the closest thing to her, and talked with her for a while. My body pain calmed down and the conversation helped a little so I hung up the phone. I still felt bad, though.

And that was when this whole bedroom thing came into my head, how this has been a cycle since childhood.

And what have I just started listening to in the car? An audio Bible study by Beth Moore on "Breaking Free" from bondage of any kind - depression, addiction, anything.

Was my bedroom keeping me in slavery?

Suddenly, I felt a profound sense of sadness. Not angry-sadness geared at myself, but sadness over what God sees me doing.

I have been hiding from God.

Well, if you want to get technical, I've been hiding from "feeling better."

And the way to "feeling better" IS God, in my opinion.

Yet here I was, once again choosing the bedroom to hide in, to soak in my own self-pity and anger. How ungrateful I was.

I continued to lay there, but instead of ruminating inside of my head, I spoke aloud to God. I asked for his forgiveness for my ingratitude, my anger, my turning to old addictions such as secluding myself (yes, isolation can become an addiction).

I realized that even if we had 50/50 custody and even if each of the kids was 100% emotionally stable and even if their mom was on her feet and a positive influence in their lives and even if Husband and I rarely yelled or got angry and even if this...and that...

Even if...even if...

I'd still be complaining about something.

I go to church and approach the altar for the Lord's Supper with outstretched palms and head bowed in humility. Yet I live at home with a mixture of anxiety and anger and try to control everything and everybody and still resort to hiding in the bedroom.

Before I continue to put myself down, let me share the good news. The good news is that there is The Good News. And that is: God is in the dark places, too. He is in the bedroom, in every place of hiding. He is especially in the dark places. He was in my teenage bedroom watching sadly as I treated myself so wretchedly; He was in my college dorm room where I sobbed into the bed, and He was in my bedroom tonight, reminding me of His Word:

"For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength" (Philippians 4:!3)

And I thought of this song, In Me, by Casting Crowns. 

Cause when I'm weak, You make me strong
When I'm blind, You shine Your light on me
Cause I'll never get by living on my own ability



Isn't that how I've lived my life? Seeped in the New Age world, convinced that I could control everything, that I could make "good energy" surround me, that all power and ability were right in my hands.

How different I feel now. Yet, obviously, this newbie still needs reminding:

I will never get by living on my own ability.

"Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding" (Proverbs 3:5)

I thought about all the years I got by on my own, with no help from God (or so I thought). I thought of all the times He was there without me knowing it. I thought about all the times I fell and He brought me back up.

I chose the bedroom all those years.

As I lay in bed, seeped in the dark of the oncoming evening, I said, aloud:

"Lord, I choose You."

Audience of One ~ (Part Two) ~

A week later and part two of this two-part series now goes up. My apologies. But I do not apologize for the many spiritual revelations that have been laid upon me. I am bathing in grace and gratitude.

So, what happened two weeks ago at our mid-week Lenten service to remind me so much of that January essay? What broke me down to my very core after service as I sat sobbing to God in my car?

Weeks earlier, Pastor had invited me to portray Mary, mother of Jesus, in the Lenten dramatic reading. I was so honored and eager to dust off my greasy and underused acting wheels. I brought the pages home and glanced at them with baited breath. What would I find? A dramatist had written this monologue for Mary and for a contemporary woman - the topic was God never forsaking us and how this woman and Mary, both, had buried their children. Both women, of course, felt like God had forsaken them. God showed them that He had not.

I read the contemporary woman's monologue with interest, impressed with how dramatic it was. Wow, I breathed after reading how she described finding her baby dead from SIDS. That is some dramatic stuff.

I eagerly turned the page to Mary's part.

And what I found was one highlighted paragraph.

My jaw dropped. I read the lines. They were powerful, but the actress inside of me balked, "what can I do with this?"

Thankfully, I immediately recognized the pride and arrogance in that statement. Pastor had chosen me to portray Mary and I would do as good a job as I could.

Still, though, as I put the papers back on the counter, I felt this nagging I want more. I want to show them how good I can act.

I went to bed with conflicting emotions. I knew that I had it all wrong. I had stopped acting a decade before because, even if I didn't know it, God knew that my priorities were out of whack. I depended on those flowers and compliments too much. The sincerest You did wonderful seemed to define me.

I thought long and hard about it as I laid in bed to go to sleep. I would accept the meager paragraph of Mary's. In fact, I would rejoice in portraying her. Yes, I could feel myself becoming more at peace with the situation the more I thought about it and the more I put it into God's hands.

Heal me from my pride, O Lord, I prayed. Thank you for keeping me humble even when I trip over my ego-inflated head. 

The next day I happened to be moving the papers to another part of the kitchen. And it was then that the most amazing thing happened. Husband and Stepdaughter13 were both in the room and I looked up at them with wide, unbelieving eyes. I looked down at the papers again, then back up at them.

"What?" they both inquired. I must have looked like a dope with that goofy and confounded smile on my face.

I explained to them both how I had only found one small paragraph of Mary's to read and how that, at first, had disappointed me, but how I had decided to do my best as Mary and to glorify only God, not myself, in my portrayal.

Then I shared the real amazing grace:

I stumbled upon a paper that had stuck to the others. It held a whole page of highlighted Mary lines. And what the lines said pulled on my heartstrings. They were of a mother crying out to God...her Lord...yet her son...why have you forsaken me? Have you forsaken me?

She tells of how Jesus had been by her side all of her life...and now she was by his side, looking at his wounded side, watching him die.

"When Jesus saw his mother standing there beside the disciple he loved, he said to her, “Dear woman, here is your son.” And he said to this disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from then on this disciple took her into his home." (John 19:26-27 NLT)

I almost cried at how emotional this monologue was. How emotional this hidden page was. I explained with wild emphasis and high-pitched excitement that I was sure that God had kept the entire monologue from me until I could fully understand my undertaking. I was not going to use Mary's dramatized words as a way to show my acting skills. I was not going to pretend I was up on a stage.

I would pray, ceaselessly and with gratitude, that I would glorify God with my portrayal. What a gift this extra page was. Not so I could puff around with a big actor's ego, but because I knew I could put my heart and soul into it and that was a gift God had given me - even as a young child.

So the service came and I took my place at the pulpit while the other reader stood opposite me with Pastor standing in the middle.

My hands grew sweaty and my heart beat a mile a minute. I felt dizzy. I looked across the congregation while Pastor talked and the woman read her words and I prayed.

Then, it was my time.

After the reading, I walked down to my seat. Husband asked if I was okay. I had shed tears during the reading due to the emotional content. Because I had felt Mary's heart beating inside me for just a minute and I wanted to do her justice.

Husband squeezed my hand and smiled softly, said I did a wonderful job.

I couldn't look him in the eye. I sat down and felt a bit winded.

Once service was over, a few more people approached me with kindness and gratitude. I tried to graciously thank them, but say it was all God's doing.

It just so happened that Husband and I had taken two cars because he had to pick the younger two up from Awana. So he and stepdaughter13 left in his car and I sat in mine.

For some odd reason, I sunk into my seat and kept my car dark. Sobs escaped as I felt my heart and head begin to yell at each other. I still felt a longing for compliments, for those flowers from high school plays.

It was an attack. An attack of the ego and the enemy both. And the enemy knew my weakest point:

I started to mourn the fact that my mother, who attended every play with devoted regularity, was not at this service.

And I missed her. I cried with inconsolable grief.

But I shook my head out of the fog the enemy had settled around me and realized: she had been there. She is with God; she can see everything I do. And of course she is proud of me.

But I still beat myself up for wanting the limelight, the praise.

Easy, I heard myself saying. You're still learning. 

So I am an addict. Once an addict, always an addict, I suppose. Alcoholics remain alcoholics, no matter how long they stay sober. It just means that they always have a weakness, a thorn in their side that makes them susceptible to falling.

An attention addict? A praise addict? I don't know.

I do know, however, that being an addict does not define me. I am not defined by my need - former or present - to feel praised by mankind.

For I know that
"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (2 Corinthians 5:17 NIV)

And, I strongly feel, that is all I need to know.

My identity is not an actress nor a writer, a wife nor a stepmother. Not even a motherless daughter or a victim of trauma.

I am a child of God.

And for God I live my life.

God is in the audience. He is the only One who is always in the seat, never leaving, never forsaking. God is my Audience of One. 

~

other Bible verses about addiction I have found helpful:

"The temptations in your life are no different from what others experience. And God is faithful. He will not allow the temptation to be more than you can stand. When you are tempted, he will show you a way out so that you can endure." (1 Corinthians 10:13 NLT)


"God blesses those who patiently endure testing and temptation. Afterward they will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. And remember, when you are being tempted, do not say, “God is tempting me.” God is never tempted to do wrong, and he never tempts anyone else. Temptation comes from our own desires, which entice us and drag us away. These desires give birth to sinful actions. And when sin is allowed to grow, it gives birth to death." (James 1:12-15 NLT) 

What tempts you? Big or small? 

Morning Roundup

I'm rounding up a good morning for myself; I'm rounding up God to create a good morning; no, I am rounding up my perceptions to see the glorious day God has made and be glad in it!

Morning Gratitude:

~ setting my alarm clock 20 minutes earlier this Lenten season to spend time with God in prayer, reaching out to Him.

~ the CD of hymns I listen to at this time, the quiet hums and choral rejoicing.

~ My cat happily patrolling the living room, sans dog, hopping up on my lap and padding around me.

~ Knowing today's weather will be in the 50s - a March miracle!

~ a good work site to go to today

~ good-smelling lotion and perfurme

~ the coffee pot going. I rarely make morning coffee unless I have enough time and I decided to have some and the percolating sounds remind me so much of waking up at my childhood home, my mom's coffee maker going, smelling the aroma wafting into my bedroom right off the kitchen. That was my alarm clock on some mornings. Sitting here listening to my own percolation sounds, smelling my own bean aroma, I thought back to those peaceful mornings and, while I miss my mom with a thousand aches, I smile this morning with her on my mind.

~ my morning snuggles with stepson5 every morning before he gets dressed, the feeling of his warm, just-risen-out-of-bed warmth

~ knowing stepdaugher13 is going to have a challenging day ahead (based on our conversation last night), but so grateful that she communicated to Husband and myself, instead of bottling up all the anguish as she normally would.

~ my cat's little staccato calls to the birds and squirrels she sees out the window.

Prayer for today:
Now it is time to start the movement of the day. Lord, may I move to Your music. May I step into Your steps. May I smell the percolation of Your pleasing aroma. May Your Spirit percolate in me - all day. Through the morning's routine (which sometimes can be a bit hairy), through work, through my staff meeting, through our evening which includes confirmation, Awana, and mid-week Lenten services, and, finally, that afterward time when we must rush the kids to bed after such business. Lord, help me to walk slowly, to breathe slowly, to look and talk slowly. Help me be slow to speak and slow to anger. Let me be the person You call me to be this morning and every morning. And, Lord, thank You for rounding me up this morning. Sometimes I need You to tame me.

Amen.

Lay It Down

Crying tonight. Tears for the broken ones in my home, tears for the brokenness within me. Tears for the inability to help any of it, to fix any of it, to control any of it.

Grieve for the one in my home who blames God, the girl who thinks she is too broken and that God is too cruel, thinks the sight of blood lets the inflating balloon sigh.

I know that thought. It is buried inside my box of youthful sins that I want to keep under the firm earth.

I am weary tonight. I wish I had a girlfriend to talk to right now, but I don't.

But I do have my God. And so we will be talking in a short while as I lie down to go to sleep.

But before that, I want to share this song with you. Click on the link:

"Lay It Down"

While I can't figure out how to embed actual videos in this new blog format, please do visit that song. Visit those images.

Maybe the both of us can lay down these burdens for a while.

Audience of One ~(Part One)~

I initially wrote this on January 20, 2012 but never found the time to type it up as a blog entry. Something happened last night at our mid-week Lenten service, however, that directly related to this very topic and brought the whole thing once again toppling down upon my shoulders. I knew I had come across this topic before and so I looked back in an old journal and found this essay. I type it now in hopes of better explaining what happened last night. I will publish this entry alone and then write a "part two," if you will, explaining how the very same topic visited (haunted) me last night. 
Thank you for grace. 
 
I was a dancer as a child. I was a singer, too. And an actress as I entered my teenage years. I quickly learned, at an early age, the instant gratification of performance.

At summer camp between ages 7-12, I was in every talent show. I remember being 9 years old and people  humorously calling it "the Lisa Brodsky Show."

Because...

I played a flute solo. I sang a song, I danced a solo, I read a poem, I joined a dance ensemble.

I loved performing. I loved entertaining friends and family and, I admit, I loved the flowers and praise I'd get after every performance.

Particularly in high school when I got leads in plays such as "You Can't Take It With You" and many others, I fell in love with performing. People said I had "the acting bug."

Ironically, college theatre brought disappointment and disenchantment. I continued to perform in years to come, though, this time featuring in open mic's reading my poetry - my other love and talent besides acting.

My tumultuous 20s were peppered with many literary successes - both in performance and in the literary world, all of which garnered me praise from everyone around me.

Yet I did not feel fulfilled. I was still searching for that all-elusive, all-encompassing approval.

What I've learned about who I need to please, who I "perform for," since becoming a Christian has been a gigantic milestone in my life. I suddenly realized why theatre and I stepped away from each other: not because I was bad or wrong, but I did seek the wrong audience to give me an identity.

Those strangers in the seats couldn't tell me who I was. Even friends and family who attended every performance did not have the power to tell me who I was. Since I decided to follow Christ's ways, I've felt a distinct push away from the performing arena. Now when I try to go to an open mic, I don't feel that same drive to perform.

For a while, I walked around a little lost, blind, and confused. Why had something I loved stopped fulfilling me? I continued to read my Bible, my Christian living books, listen to my radio programs. The more I read, the more I realized that for all these years, I had it all wrong! I sought fame and attention. I thrived on the praise of others so much that I became an addict.

An addict of praise which drove my head down instead of pointing my eyes up.

I now know that I have only One that I need to please, perform for, answer to.

God is my Audience of One. And when I do things that please Him, the blessings I receive are far greater, far more fulfilling than any flower bouquet I could ever get after a show.

If I Could Be a Refuge (announcing big things)

sun appearing through clouds in Tegucigalpa, Honduras

Like so many things lately, I've meant to blog about this topic since Christmas, when the enormous gift was placed into my hands. But time got away from me; I became busy, busy, busy.

But my friend, Jennifer Dukes Lee, just announced that she is going to Haiti on a missions trip.

And, well, I have a somewhat similar announcement, but it needs backstory.

Husband told me he was getting me a fabulous Christmas present and that it would be only one, but the one would be worth it. On Christmas Day, he handed me the last present. I opened it and this is what happened (dare I show myself in video?):


http://youtube/ZsqNWHfi5Z4

Long story short, Husband had begun the application process for him, 13 year old SD and myself to visit the sponsor child, "D," whom I have sponsored for the past 8 years. She is now 12 years old. "D" lives in Honduras!

And a few weeks after that video, we found out that we had been accepted.

Praise God! It was some of the best news of my life. Imagine: going to Honduras and meeting "D" and her family - people I've corresponded with for eight years. Back and forth, Spanish to English, English to Spanish, stickers sent, pictures sent, drawings sent. A little dark-haired girl growing up tall and leggy into a raven-haired pre-teen.

The journal that Husband got me in that video is proving to be a good process journal. I write in it my thoughts about going to a third-world country. That will be quite a life-changing experience.
But am I ready? I thought. Do I step so much outside of my comfort zone and step into a world I know nothing about? Wouldn't that be called presumptuous? Would "D" and her family look at us middle-class Americans and think we were uppity and rich? Suddenly, doubts plagued me. What if I contracted malaria? What if the dreaded traveler's diarrhea occurred by brushing my teeth with tap water (which can happen)?

Ah, you devil, I had to say outloud. Stop talking to me. I decided to listen to God's Word:


Isaiah 58:10 "And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday."

And haven't the poor and oppressed been placed on my heart so much more in recent months? Indeed, I wrote many blog posts about the need to reach out to the needy. The least of these have tugged on my heart for a long time. 
  
Psalm 10:14 “But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.”

There are so many things I want to tell "D." I am keeping a journal I want to have translated so that I do not pour a thousand words on the translator and overwhelm the dear girl.

I want her to know how much I think about her, how we all pray for her. I want her to know about the world I live in. I want to tell her how much God looks out for her and her loved ones. I want to tell her how proud I am of her for doing well in school and participating so cheerfully in church.

I want to hold her in my arms, this girl who calls me "Madrina," which  means "Godmother."

Think about that word: Godmother. In our culture, it means a person who the biological parents have entrusted their child to should they both die. In our culture, too, I think the "God" meaning of it has been all but erased.

Not so in Honduras. "D" and her family pray for my family regularly. They write how grateful they are for my love and prayers. They are so happy to love the Lord and that delights me. They trust me with their daughter and though I know I'm not the one who will raise her should her parents both pass away, I know that they look to me to be another "mother" who teaches her about God.

This trip is not just about the three hours we will be spending with "D" and her family. We are trying to find other volunteer opportunities and we doing some traveling. Just being in a third-world country that houses so many of "the least of these" will be a life-altering experience. I won't be able to encapsulate it in one blog entry nor will I be able to sum it up in a poem or essay. I think - no, I know - that I will be talking about this experience for the rest of my life.

We leave May 1st and return May 7th. But I know the journey is not confined to those dates. The experience will change me, grow me, mold me for years to come - hopefully for the rest of my days.

Lord, make me an Isaiah 25:4 woman:

“You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat. For the breath of the ruthless is like a storm driving against a wall.”

Dog Spelled Backward is God

You know when you have to hurt someone even though you know you are doing the right thing? There will be tears and anguish in this house tonight. But as parents, Husband and I must keep things calm and reassuring.

How do you tell your kids that the dog they have come to love is leaving the next day?

I haven't talked about Sam a lot on this blog. He and God haven't really overlapped. But I find myself grieved this afternoon because I know that, tonight, we are telling the kids the news.

Husband and I have searched long and hard for a better home environment for him. Sam is a fearful dog who needs a much different home than we are able to give him.

For the past year, our home has been full of kids throwing tantrums which include throwing things, yelling, screaming, fighting, pretty scary stuff.

Sam is already an "issue" dog. Sadly, he became so much moreso after almost a year with us. He is simply not thriving with us and Husband and I see that and we finally found a wonderful couple to give him a new home. He leaves us tomorrow.

I see what is coming. I see tears, I see grief. I see anger at us and confusion.

I see a 5 year old not really getting it until later, I see an 8 year old getting it more at bedtime, and I see an already angst-ridden 13 year old completely breaking down and feeling like her whole world is being taken away from her.

How do you protect your kids from this kind of pain?

Maybe you can't at all. Maybe that's the point.

My mother tried to shelter me from any pain I didn't have to feel. In doing that, I grew up emotionally stunted and unable to take care of my emotional needs.

I can't keep pain from these children.

See? I can overlap this into God:

God does not promise us that he can remove all pain from our lives. He does not say that we will never hurt if we follow him, if we love him.

Being a Christian does not exempt us from struggle.

Christianity is not for those who claim they need no help. Who have it all together. Who are not broken and needy.

Christianity is for the broken, for the down-trodden, for the weak. For in our weakest moments, those times when we feel the most separated from God, we are actually the closest to God.

When we bow in pain
God lifts our chin
to look at him
and in God's strength,
God's promise,
we rise -
a new creation.

So in shielding these kids from the pain of what life can bring, isn't that stealing their own opportunity to bow in pain, bow to God?

I know the pain of tonight is going to happen. But Husband and I have to share the news in the right manner as well as lean on the strength of God to help us through.

Without God's hand to help us, we merely hop over obstacles; we never get through them. We hop over, we avoid, we distract.

But we never face it in the face. We never face the enemy in the face and say,
Get out of here. You do not tell me who I am; I know who I am. 


I am on God's team. 

The enemy tells us we can just hop over the tough times. We need not deal with it.

God holds our hands and urges us to walk through the obstacles...all the while knowing God's promise to never leave or forsake us.

So I say this prayer for my family tonight:

Lord,
I pray that Husband and I take your hand, O God, and that you lead us through this difficult time. We know if we teach the kids to simply hop over icky emotions and situations, they will never learn that you are their ever-present companion -- during the hard times and after.
I pray that 13 year old stepdaughter does not take this as another abandonment, another reason to pull back from us, from you, God, to retreat to her own bedroom and self-destruct.
This house is so full of pain; enter into it, enter into us and create in us a clean heart.
Infuse us with your presence, your comfort.
As a nurturing parent holds his or her child and coos,
"there, there....it's okay....this will pass...."
bring us close to you
and say those words. 

Amen.

Praise to the Provider (hint: it's not me)

Out of control.
I think that is the scariest phrase I am grappling with lately.

It has recently become clear to me that I have been trying to get control of everything.
When I can't control something, I get crabby and snippy and obsessive.
I make lists.
I can't sleep because I'm thinking of 10,000 things that I need to get done, that I need to tell person X, person Y, and person Z.
I make myself ill.
My stuttering problem has resurfaced. Usually it is so minor, compared to childhood, and only I notice it. But since the New Year started, the awful stammer that once plagued me so horribly has returned with a vengeance.
My temper is short.
My angry words are quick.
My eyes become teary at any moment.
I'm easily triggered by past difficult events.
I forget everything.

The train wreck started with losing my keys. It was the week I was horribly sick with stomach issues and went to two emergency doctor appointments, missed two days of work and went to the ER late one Thursday night. That weekend, while recovering, I realized I had lost my entire keychain; many important keys were on that ring.

The next thing to happen was my car accident, February 10th. I drove home from work on the sunny, cold afternoon (snowing a little) and, while driving down the rural highway, I slid on a patch of ice. My car spun and slid into the ditch and flipped on the left side. The car was totaled; I was spared.

That woke me up. I knew that God was telling me something. I knew that God was showing me something, pushing my face into something that I just couldn't grasp:

I couldn't grasp the concept that I had this insatiable need to grasp control.

Couldn't I notice the obsessive list-making I did every single day? I would make lists of things I wanted to get done, no matter if I knew I would get them done or not. Just seeing it written out on a piece of paper made me able to breathe again. The obsessive list-making was a comfort. Didn't I see that it was hurting me?

I hurry, hurry, hurried through the mornings, rushing the kids through the routine because I was afraid of being late for work - another out of control feeling. What had I written about hurrying? Didn't I remember that hurrying makes us hurt?

So the accident happened. I realized I had to wake up to what really mattered. I had to see how little I needed to really be happy. I needed my God, my family, my loved ones. I couldn't control everything in my life. Bad things happen to good people. Car accidents happen on the sunniest of days. Ice can appear on the driest of roads. Lives are saved in instances where they should've died.

But who dictates the should've? I've said that a lot while describing my accident: "Oh, I should've died in that accident; it was that bad. The car flipped on its side and was totaled. I shouldn't be alive."

Really? Am I the one who decides that? Is there a person somewhere with a list of who gets to live and who should die? Who should prosper and who should suffer? Do I actually think that I would be here if I wasn't supposed to be?

Do I actually think my surviving that accident is an accident, itself?

I'm coming to this realization as I write this, folks. It's a spontaneous learning experience. I do not call those shots. You don't, either. None of us do. You can see where I'm going with this...

The Almighty Father has the control. The "God of Parting Waters....God of Falling Bread" is in control. God is the one who calls the Shoulds, the Cans and the Great Is.

And the Great Is in my life is the fact that I am alive and I now see that God wanted that and that is why it is.

I also think God wants to use that experience as a wake-up call.

Well, maybe I need a bigger alarm clock...

In the days following the accident, Husband and I found out various horrible financial facts. A dozen things came down on us at once and the fact is is that we have to dish out a heck of a lot of money in the next few months and leading up to tax time.

After the weekend "high," coming off of the accident where I felt such gratitude and joy at my life being spared, feeling my faith renewed (or so I thought), I was hit in the face with these sudden debts that threatened our "secure" existence.

Husband became very discouraged at our circumstances and I joined him in the sorrow festival. Oh Lord, we cried together, why are you doing this? Haven't we been good? Don't you love us?

All right, maybe we didn't ask those exact questions, but I know that's what our deepest heart-parts echoed.

But the first work day after the accident - that Monday - I returned to my obsessive list-making. The new financial burdens made me write out various budgets in the five or ten free minute intervals I had during the work day. My lists started getting more detailed and refined. What was once to-do things became to-say things. I felt if I didn't write it down on paper, I would forget everything. It became so severe that I had anxiety attacks over not having that "magic notebook" containing those lists. And when we figured out one financial burden, another one kept popping its ugly head up and landing in our laps.

Really, Lord? I must have cried as I hunched over my tiny notebook, scribbling away. All these financial burdens, the fact of needing a new vehicle, all the insurance hoops, plus all the stress that comes with having three traumatized stepchildren going through a very difficult adaptation to living in a more stable home. Plus trying to rehome a fearful dog whom we love and adore, but know needs to be in a different home in order to thrive.

It's too much, I sobbed into my pillow one recent night. My body clenched, my fists clenched, my toes curled.

One morning last week, I sat in a Wendy's and I decided to journal about all the struggle I felt. I felt compelled to look up what Jesus said about worry in the book of Matthew:

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life^?
    “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew: 6:25-34 NIV).

I wrote the following in my prayer journal:

"Do we add a single hour to our life by worrying? No, we take AWAY hours of our lives by worrying. Hurry makes us hurt, says Ann Voskamp. Hurry makes haste which makes waste. I waste hours of my life by worrying. How can I doubt God's provisions for me? My LIFE was spared last Friday afternoon! 
Lisa, how much more important are YOU than an automobile! 
God saved ME - He will surely provide me with reliable transportation to and from the work He has appointed me to do. 
I feel a shift since pondering those Matthew verses. I was feeling very defeated with the money and now with the car and all the items I've lost over the past weeks...and doing all this, I know God is revealing to me my insistent, sinful need to CONTROL everything and everyone. 
Lord, I'm stopping the controlling. You are the One in control. I bow to Your will. 
I turned a corner while writing this, while reading what Jesus said about worry. Yes, I've read all those verses before, but they have new meaning now. 
May I never doubt. May I never forget the transformational power of God's Word."

That afternoon, things turned around. I was put in a difficult position at work and I intentionally let go of the need to control it and I went into it happily, relying on God to assist with the difficult parts. And I got through it with flying colors.

A few items I had lost were found the following afternoon. Not my coveted keychain with very important keys, but rather a phone battery I desperately needed as well as a rosary a friend gave me to give to a very special person (a story I have yet to tell on this blog - I will, promise! The draft is in the works).

As soon as I laid the gauntlet down; as soon as I unclenched my hands and held them out empty, the struggle lessened.

Did all our financial burdens disappear? Absolutely not. We are still in serious trouble.

BUT amazing blessings happened this past Friday, the week anniversary of the accident:

The rental car company I was dealing with had exceptional customer service and I had joyful interactions with the people there, ran into a woman who also lived in my small town and we found out we both have girls in 7th grade. We had a great talk. I also discovered through friendly conversation that she was trading in the very type of car that Husband and I were looking to purchase with the insurance money. I received good advice from her. The young Vietnamese man who drove me to my auto body shop to pick up the FREE rental car the owner was giving me (because he knew me and had worked with me a lot before - quite the blessing, yes?) was exceptionally polite and kind and we shared wonderful conversation, talking about our families, his coming to the United States not long ago, my writing, how I've come to the conclusion that struggle can be beautiful...we delved into deep topics for a 25 minute car ride in rush hour. I felt blessed to have such a soulful exchange and when I arrived at the auto body shop, I felt like I was bidding a friend goodbye. The auto body shop owner, as I said, gave me a free rental until I got my new car. I was overcome with astonishment at the blessings of that day. None of the icky things disappeared, but I opened my eyes, my heart, and my hands and I saw so much beauty and goodness.

I saw God is in control and He should be. I have no business trying to control everything around me.

I'm not saying I will simply coast through life making no decisions; I am saying that I no longer rely on my own understanding.
I do not have the power I thought I had. I'm not saying I am powerless, but I know now that God is the most powerful. He is the only provider I can count on.

"And God will generously provide all you need. Then you will always have everything you need and plenty left over to share with others" (2 Corinthians 9:8 NLT).  

Lord, it seems I must give my life to You over and over for I have not learned the lessons I need to learn. They come to me and then they leave. Realizations settle in, but I return to my prideful and ego-driven ways. I know the Truth of You and then I rest and believe the world's falsities  I am human, Father, and I know that You know that and love me despite and because. You knew I would get it wrong so often; Jesus knew we would get it wrong so often - that is why He died on the Cross.

"For God so loved your broken heart 
He sent His Son to where you are 
and He died to give a reason for the world.
So lift your sorrows to the One  
Whose plan for you has just begun...

Maybe the reason for the pain  
Is so we would pray for strength 
And maybe the reason for the strength 
Is so that we would not lose hope 
And maybe the reason for all hope 
Is so that we could face the world  
And the reason for the world 
Is to make us long for home "


("The Reason for the World" by Matthew West)

This long blog entry can be summed up in the following verse from 2 Corinthians 1:3: 

"All praise to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the source of every mercy and the God who comforts us. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When others are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us."(NLT)

That is what I want this winding, talkative blog entry to be to you: an account of how God comforts me in my trouble so that I can comfort others, so I can spread my story, these Dove Chronicles. Read the last line of that verse: when you are troubled, I want to give you the same comfort God has given me. Because this is real. I am a real person, living a real life, having real problems, and coming face to face with my own humanity and weaknesses -- yet in my belief in the Lord, I am made whole. 

Not sure about how you fit into this concept? 
Just look to His Word:

"May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God" (Ephesians 3:19 NLT). 


What else can I possibly add to that?

Be Mine: Thoughts on a Christian Valentines Day (the day after)

I have been insanely busy; so busy that I was not able to post my Valentines Day post on the actual day, so busy that Husband and I have scarcely read the Bible of late, so busy that I almost got myself killed in a car accident as my car careened out of control and slide into a ditch, tipping on its left side. 

I was busy. Then I almost died. And I stopped the busyness enough to say Thank You to the Lord. I had come away without a scratch. It was a total miracle. My car was 95% totaled.

Now I'm back to being busy again. Isn't that an awful thing? I owe my life to God (not just in general, but quite literally last Friday afternoon) and here I am being busy again and going through the motions again and sinning again. 

Wednesdays are hard for us. I had to take my 8 year old stepdaughter to a doctor's appointment WITH her mom (Lord gave me grace) and then we had to scarf down dinner and Husband took 13 year old SD (stepdaughter) and I took SD8 and SS (stepson)5 to Awana. 

The devil loves to attack us on the days we bring the children to their religious education. We get snippy and crabby; the kids act up and I drop the younger two off at Awana and feel like the worst parent in the world.

Isn't that what the enemy wants me to think? I feel guilty that we don't read the Bible with the kids, that we don't bring God into our lives more. I know this is an area God wants us to grow in. But is God saying I am a failure as a stepmother? Absolutely not - that is the enemy talking!

God loves me. He knows I have a long way to go in the patience department. He knows I am susceptible to the devil's mocking and ruining. But the Lord is always there, speaking in my ear over and over: you are loved. You are loved. He speaks what He told His Son:

 "You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased." (Mark 1:11 NIV)

You are my beloved daughter, He tells me. With all your imperfections, with you I am well pleased. 

Isn't that amazing love? Love is what I want to write about now in this post. I want to post the "essay" I wrote about faith and Valentines Day. I had to get the other stuff out first, though. Below is my Valentines Day post. Enjoy. 

****************************************************************

When I was nine years old, a boy gave me a box of candy for Valentines Day and I fell for him in my nine-year-old-way. Okay, it was more of an obsessive way. Thus started my search for the elusive “perfect love,” the idea of the prince in shining armor who would give me roses and candy every Valentines Day and save me from all distress. During my teen years, I exchanged love letters with a boy and doted on the handwriting, the smell of the paper, the whole exchange process in the school hallway. Cloud Nine seemed too low for me; I was on Cloud Twenty. I thought that was real love: being on such a high that you can’t think straight, reading those letters over and over again until I could recite them.

            Not until I was married did I receive the best Valentines gift a man can ever give me: not candy, not a rose. My husband introduced me to Jesus and the love, mercy, and forgiveness that comes with Christianity.

            My yearning for a Valentine-kind of love was not all that different from the love I found in Christ. In fact, I now know that God is the only one who can provide me with unconditional love – no strings attached, no hidden agenda. Jesus is my knight in shining armor. He is the only one I can count on because his kind of love can never fail me. Jesus’ kind of love will always surround, infuse, and ignite me. What a difference that is from my nine-year-old-love where I yearned for that boy to show me attention, to look at me in the hallway, to give me another box of candy the following year. And do you know what? He didn’t. That boy decided I was too much of a pest and “dumped” me. I was devastated, heartbroken for the first time at age nine.

            Now? Now I love Jesus who I know will never “dump” me. He made the ultimate sacrifice for me, for us, and he wants us to love him in return. God even gave us a love letter – the Bible! I do read that love letter over and over, like those letters written to me in high school.

            The Apostle Paul even calls us a “love letter from Christ” in 2 Corinthians 3:2-3

“You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.” (NIV)

Happy Valentines Day, Lord. Be mine always.