Finding Joy

   "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope." Romans 15:13

  Joy. It's a concept that keeps coming to the forefront of interactions with others. This has been going on for a few weeks now. It is something my friends wish I could have. I know there are praying people interceding because right now, joy is far from my heart. Or is it? Is it as far away as I think?

   Lord? I know You are trying to show me something...teach me something. Help me see Your way in this because I am tripping over a three letter word that, to be honest, is terrifying.

  A very specific memory has also been brought to mind many times over the past month. In the grand scheme of things, it is such a little thing...

  It happened in middle school, a terribly awkward time of life. It's when the final verdict on your peer group was cemented and would follow you into high school. You know, the cool kids, the jocks, the nerds and the losers.

  There was a girl, one of the cool kids. She was tall, beautiful, smart and confident. I admit to being rather intimidated by her and, perhaps, a little jealous. I have no idea how I ended up walking home from school with her. It was unusual for someone like her to associate with the likes of me...somewhere between nerd and loser.

  When she invited me into her home I thought maybe, just maybe, this might mean things could be different. If she was my friend...For a brief and beautiful moment, I started to dream, to hope...

  She invited me into her bedroom after giving me a tour of the house. She showed me her makeup, jewelry, the posters on her wall and other things that are important to a pre-teen girl. It was all new to me.

  She opened a small pot of lotion, inviting me to smell the fragrance. Reluctantly, and under pressure from her, I put my nose up to it. She quickly shoved the jar into my nostrils, filling them with an overpowering, inescapable smell of sickly, chemical flowers.

  Stunned, I looked at her with tears in my eyes. She laughingly handed me a tissue.

 The tears weren't from the smell or clogged nostrils but she didn't know that.

  I didn't stay any longer but raced to the door to get my stuff and leave. She might have apologized once she realized just how upset I was but I couldn't hear it. I couldn't accept it. I just had to get away from her.

  So much for silly, girlish dreams.

  

  It was the same old story. People pretend to be your friend but only want to hurt you or want something from you regardless of the pain it might cause. And in my naivete I kept on hoping each time would be different. 

  But it never was. 

  Sitting here now, I can smell the lotion and feel the feels of a young girl's heart that broke a little more that day. Such a little thing. A prank of opportunity that happened a lifetime ago but it was just one more nail in the coffin containing the goodness of dreams, joy and hope.

  Denise, I can forgive you now. You didn't know the echoes of what you chose to do would haunt me for the rest of my life. You couldn't have known how broken I was already by the ways of the world and the monsters in the closet. You couldn't have known this black circle day was interwoven with a thousand others. You didn't know you were laying yet another strand of barbed wire. 

  And maybe I can be thankful she didn't know all this. That perhaps, she was spared such pain.

 I have never told a soul about that day. The shame was too great. Shame for being so gullible. Shame for even thinking my lot in life could be different. Shame for daring to believe it might be...

  I was so lost...blown about by the winds of despair and unutterable loneliness..

  But You found me, didn't You?

  Thank You, dear Lord, for bringing me peace today. The sharing has brought closure. 

  There's joy in being free to offer forgiveness no matter how long it takes. There's joy in being able to celebrate another's life; in being thankful for your own no matter how hard it's been. There's joy in the revelation of truth. There's joy in sitting here and offering it all up to the Lord.

  It's not the kind of joy that jumps and claps its hands, laughing. It's a joy that sits quietly on the soul, mind and heart, whispering terms of endearment and encouragement. 

  It is so beautiful...this joy that takes the labour of pain to bring it into being.

  

  

Process

   "Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God--this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--His good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:1-2

  I started with my own plan on how to tackle the incredible complexities of the grief weighing so heavily on my heart; to try what had worked before. Instead of individual pages, I started with the image in the centre: a self portrait. then divided the page into quarters. It sat, unfinished, due to my own reluctance to delve into the painful events of the past.

  Instead of writing the emotions down, I was led to draw lines connecting the four quarters together. Each line represents a link, a common theme between circumstances, events, or the toxic lessons repeated over and over again. You could say the lines are a dismantled ball of broken yarn.

  The black dots were added to represent specific events. An easy way to depict them without needing to delve into the memories of what had happened. That's not to say I wasn't reminded, but each dot required spending minimal time immersed in them. 

  But they needed permission to be part of the process all the same.

  Tears were shed. Anger rose up. Bitterness came with its familiar biting-on-tinfoil taste. The burden of responsibility weighed heavy. Guilt, shame, regret, and a thousand other feelings I am unable to identify flowed out of my pen in the form of these small, black dots.

  It was both difficult and cathartic at the same time. It always is, in this sacred place of being. It's where my soul is free to be, to offer it all to God. I am so grateful for His gift.

  

  Where the lines crossed each other, I drew an X trying to illustrate the sparks that happen when the lines of trauma end up interacting. My therapist said it looked like barbed wire. I like that description. It's an apt one.

  When it was finished, I was exhausted because it is exhausting, feeling everything like this. It is the good kind of exhaustion that comes when a burden has been released. 

  Usually, I shut the book when a drawing is finished but this time I left it open. I knew there was something more to it that I couldn't quite grasp. Was it actually finished? Was there more to add? What are You wanting to show me, my Lord?

  It felt like a forgotten word on the tip of my tongue...

  I would walk away for a bit then return. What is it about this picture?

  This happened several times over the course of a couple of days.

  All of a sudden, I realized, this is not only a diagram of my personal ball-of-yarn grief, but it's what Complex PTSD feels like! This image was something extra special because I could show someone and they might begin to understand!

  It has also given me more clarity around the types of struggles I face every day when the barb wire triggers hit without warning. Perhaps, there's even some grace in that clarity and kindness and patience for when the sparks fly. And they do although I don't often know why. 

  Maybe that doesn't matter as much any more. Maybe all that matters is embracing this aspect of myself instead of fighting...hating...it so much. 

  Maybe it's more important to grab hold of the woman in the centre of it all and be okay with who she is.

  It's time. 

  It's time to stop believing the lessons which instilled nothing but self loathing. 

  I have a new Teacher and His name is Jesus.

  You know something else? I just realized all those small black circles are when I learned to hate myself. 

  Is that the foundation of what turns an event into a trauma?

  Maybe it is. Hmmm...that is very, very interesting indeed.

  

  

  

  

Come the Morning

    "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness," Lamentations 3:22-23

  My Jesus Centered Bible has some inserts to help God's Word become more relatable. It's lying open at Matthew 14 where the miracle of feeding the five thousand is recorded. I didn't decide to open it there but "random" happenstance has provided something special. The inserts are not something I read very often but, as always, the Lord directed my eyes where there is something He wants me to see

  The author of this particular insert says, "When we face challenges that expose our limitations, Jesus wants us to remember that He gives sufficiency out of His own "good treasure"--He's rich with it."

  Yesterday's storm of tears has quieted but, like the ocean, there are still currents of sorrow flowing near my heart and throat. For years, I've described grief like this as a ball of string made up of dozens of individual pieces or events. Each one is their own tether to the facets of unexpressed grief. Yet, they are all interwoven. When one piece gets pulled, others unravel and I end up holding a tangled, incomprehensible mess.

  That's what happened last night: an unravelling.

  While I was asleep, the Lord picked up the pieces and patiently wound it back into a ball.

  

  The last major unravelling landed me on a Psych ward. That's where I found a key to begin pulling the ball apart without the whole thing landing on my lap: four pages of paper, each with one sentence written on it. I started with "The wife of an adulterer." 

   It took three months to complete them because all I did was write down the emotions associated with each topic. Jesus sat with me through all of it so I was able to be honest and not hide behind the "polite" conditioning of my upbringing and culture. No one but He was to see them anyways. That makes it easier. Some things aren't to be shared with other people.

  I think this might be a technique to revisit. It might help unravel the complex feelings and damage done by narcissistic abuse. This is especially true when there has been more than one person involved. They are individual, yet interconnected. Just like the ball of string.

  I'll start with the key people in my life who were responsible for such abuse. Even though there are others, I will trust the Lord to bring them to mind as He sees fit. I'll let Him pull the strings as needed.

  And so begins the long, slow journey towards healing. I will trust the Lord to lead me into repentance, grace and eventually, forgiveness. That's all I want because only then will I be free and this ugly ole ball of broken string can find its way into the fire where it belongs.

  God is good. All the time. AMEN!

  

  

  

Dark Legacy

   "The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God." Psalm 51:17

  On the long drive home from my family Christmas gathering, I found myself faced with some stark and hard truths. I cried most of the way home, weeping for what could have been, what should have been. 

  However, when you've been groomed to utter compliancy, you end up becoming a flying monkey; an enabler who is incapable of standing up against the destroyer.  I don't say this to justify what happened, it's merely an acknowledgement of the truth.

  So I failed to protect my children from their father.

  And I abandoned them as adults. I abandoned them when my world collapsed. They were all grown up when the relationship with their father came crashing down. For this I am thankful, that I was able to travel the depths of madness knowing they were well able to care for themselves.

  But were they really? I don't know. We never talked about it.

  I wept some more because my children suffered because of my own upbringing. The one that taught me right from the get go that it was okay for people in power to do or say what they wanted. They taught me that abasement and submission were what I had to pay for kindness. But it wasn't real kindness, submission opened the door to a beast who tears your heart out and steals the innocence of childhood. Then it comes back for second, and third and dozens of helpings of all that is good in you.

  And you submit even more, hoping, this time it would be different.

  And later, the beast morphed into a spouse who made sure the training continued.

  Oh, my Lord, I didn't know any better...because nobody told me it didn't have to be that way.

  So I failed to protect my children from their father and inflicted my own emotional and mental damage onto their vulnerable and impressionable innocence. 

  Oh, God, it's all so ugly...

  You see, two of my children are step-children. I stayed with their father to keep them safe from the predators who had already made inroads into their young lives. I thought, with me, they'll be safe. But when you live with a beast called narcissism, nowhere is safe.

  Leaving it in the dust is the only option. But I couldn't take all the children even if I'd had the ability to leave. Which I didn't. 

  They weren't mine. I wasn't allowed to adopt them as my own for that very reason. There was no way he would have given me that kind of power. The beast doesn't share his possessions.

  Dear, sweet, Jesus, You have forgiven me of so much, can You forgive me for this?

  Please, my Lord, in Your mercy, please, take this millstone from my neck. It's too heavy for me to bear.

  

Patience

   "The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." Deuteronomy 31:8

  In preparation for my family Christmas celebration this weekend, I spent several hours in the kitchen preparing desserts. That's my usual contribution to such things. While measuring, mixing and baking, I listened to some more from Jordan Peterson.

  This time it was about being in a relationship with a narcissistic spouse. 

  I don't use this label lightly. It merely identifies the tactics of the one who would destroy us. 

  It was hard to listen to Jordan's description of what happens to the person who is at the mercy of someone who uses narcissistic tactics. It was almost as though he was telling my story, word for word, incident by incident. 

  Then he said, "And you know what he does when you are utterly and completely broken? He leaves." 

  And the iron band wrapped around my heart. Again.

  When we first started going out, the warning signs were there but because of the lessons learned in childhood, I ignored the red flags. I didn't know any better. I didn't know I could.

  It's rather sad but you know something? I am free. He is not.

  It's safe to acknowledge the enemy's trap goes both ways when all things are considered but, for now, my focus is on my own evolution away from the things that once held me captive; an evolution brought about by my Lord. He is the way out.

  One of the hardest challenges is keeping a victim mentality under control. I try and most of the time it's successful but every once in a while, I have to allow the victim voice to speak freely. Otherwise, it just simmers in the background. That's not healthy. Neither is allowing the victim voice to run the show.

  I just realized something, her voice is the sound of pen on paper or the click of keys. It's the sound of a paintbrush being swished in a glass of water.

  And I am guilty of shutting her out because to hear what she has to say is to finally admit I am one hurting puppy. Today, anyways.

  I suppose I am not the only one to ever ask God, "Why me?"

  And on the heels of that I know deep with my soul it's because there is a terrible evil in this world named narcissism. A creature that seeks to overpower and destroy anything that is good and innocent. All because the people that do its work are broken beyond belief and suffocated by fear. The only self worth they can find is in power and control.

  It's a battle only the Lord can win. If they choose His way.

  And out of the ashes of victimhood, I can find pity for them. 

  I just don't need to play by their rules anymore.

  

  

  

Obedience

  "If you keep My commandments, you will remain in My love." John 15:10

  "They (the scribes and Pharisees) tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people's shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger." Matthew 23:4

  There was another phone call. The arsenal of guilt and manipulation seasoned with a subtle fury was fully present. I am grateful for all the teaching. It has helped me become aware of what is actually being said, disguised as gentle and unassuming words. 

  The call was not an invitation to connect, it was an invitation to submit.

  I learned very early in life to pick up on the subtleties of voice and facial expressions. It is a survival technique survivors of any type of chronic abuse develop in order to survive. It is mastered to appease those who seek to maintain power and control. It becomes an ingrained instinct and second nature.

  That's what I am fighting. Ingrained habits are the hardest to break free from. This instinct was born out of fear.

  As a child, it's the fear of abandonment which is actually the withholding of love. 

  As an adopted child, it's the fear of being given away. 

  When my ex would come home from work, I could tell within seconds what his mood was.

  It's called eggshell walking.

  Did you know eggshells are good for the garden? Roses especially.

  Oh, how I love redemption. I love it especially when the devil's dirty tools turn into keys.

  God is using an ability that kept me in my place to teach me what it means to be free.

  I had a discussion with my therapist about what it means to be obedient to God as opposed to the kind of obedience demanded from the authority figures in my life. 

   A long while back, I needed to get some groceries. It was a task I disliked immensely so it kept being put off. All of a sudden, the urgent need to "Go now!!!!!" filled every bone and sinew in my body. I threw on my runners, grabbed my purse, jumped in the car and raced off to the store.

  Where I parked, a woman was sitting and weeping in her car. I watched her for a couple of minutes, gathering courage to reach out to a stranger. I had my own reasons for doing so, too. 

  "Are you okay?"

  We chatted briefly. I offered to go for a coffee but she turned me down. That's okay. I was a stranger, too.

  Years before, I was in her place, sitting in my car weeping...hoping someone would knock on my window and speak to me. I desperately wanted some sort of human connection.

  No one did. 

  But I got to do it for someone else in pain.

  I often wonder what would have happened had I not obeyed. Did God have a back up plan? Or was I it? Maybe He will tell me the end of the story when I see Him some day. Maybe I'll even meet her again.

  Obeying God is done through choice. It is a place of blessing, not imprisonment. It is a place of hope, not suffocation. It is a place of truth, not lies. 

  Obeying God is a journey into a living, breathing, life giving life. 

  Now, if I could only get better at it...smile.

  And AMEN!

  

  

  

  

Winter

     "For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under Heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

  A foot or more of wet, heavy snow fell in the quiet hours of the night. It's most unusual for this time of year. The snowblower was good to go and fired up nicely but it was hard slogging all the same. The wet snow kept plugging the chute as the temperatures climbed. It simply took a bit longer to clear the driveway.

  They are calling for rain so the snow won't stick around for very long. It usually doesn't when it comes this early.

  Autumn was late so it is strange to see the gold and amber leaves of the neighbour's silver Maple tree dressed in white.

  It has caught me off guard a bit. There are still some beets in the garden waiting to be dug up. I pulled a few a couple of days ago. They were roasted and eaten. I never knew beets got sweeter after the frost kisses them. They don't taste so much like dirt.

  I had planted the beets for my friend who enjoys them. It's something I am learning to like. There's an amazing Thai soup made with golden beets which is now a keeper recipe. 

  

  Now there's something to think about...frost also kills. Tender greens cannot survive being frozen. Morning Glory leaves turn to soggy spinach at frost's first caress. 

  The harder the first frost strikes, the more brilliant the autumn colours. This year there was more crimson on the trees than I've seen in a long time. It was the kind of spectacular that takes your breath away. While I know the trees aren't dead, they put their life on hold until the warm, lengthening days roll in and the cycle starts all over again.

  So maybe the frost that strikes our hearts can also do different things. But, unlike Morning Glories or trees, we can choose the ending.

  Do we allow it to kill the life and light within? Or do we allow it to help make our life and light shine more brightly?

  

  Years ago I was listening to a friend rant about her ex husband. It was a regular thing. Her bitterness and anger coloured every word. Frost had touched her soul in the form of a broken marriage.

  She paused for a breath and opened her mouth to continue. I interrupted her, "Why do you hate him so much?"

  She closed her mouth and paused, this time for a few minutes. She looked at me with a surprised expression, "Because it's easier!"

  She stopped talking about him and began the difficult task of sharing her pain. 

  It was like spring had finally come into her life.

  I'll never forget that moment. 

  Living with hatred in our heart is like being swallowed by a winter that never lets up. Nothing can grow or bloom or bear fruit. While there may be a season of needing to express such feelings, it can only be with one purpose in mind: to move through and past it. 

  I am grateful to have a God who is always there regardless of what I might say. Honesty is the spring rain that fosters new growth. AMEN!