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!

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

Burning Basket

  "Beware of false prophets who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves. You can identify them by their fruit, that is, by the way they act."

  Since Tuesday's post, the image of the light smothering basket has been forefront in my heart and mind. It's a far better metaphor than a cage. The upside down basket contains the light of a life that has been covered up for decades. But no more. 

  Beams of light shoot out from between the weavers and stakes forming the sides. It starts as small, pencil sized rays. The light scorches the basket where it leaks out. It starts to turn edges black before they ignite and glow. There isn't any flame, just the red, glowing, consuming brilliance. It dances its way along anything that it can consume, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Ash flakes from the disintegrating basket drift upwards on the heat from the fire within.

  The more it burns, the more the light coming out grows and grows until the basket is nothing but a pile of burnt remains illuminated by an uncontainable light.

  It's a prayer and a promise in imagery. 

  It's often said that our faith is the light we carry but I think the source is far deeper than that. Our light is also the life the Lord breathed into our being. It only shines brighter with the Lord fanning its flames, breathing on it anew for His glory and delight.

  I've often had bonfires in my back yard, burning yard trash over a couple of days. The second day's fire rarely requires a match. It only needs the ashes stirred up to expose embers that have been smoldering overnight. Some fresh fuel and patient blowing and the flames to burst into life.

  My fuel is a battered, cracked and stained old basket. 

  

  I've also had a bit of an epiphany about today's verse as well. I thought Jesus was talking about church leaders when He spoke about false prophets. But it's bigger than that.

  There are wonderful people who have the gift of prophecy, who speak God's love and life over someone. 

  False prophets are those whose words bring death and destruction. Not literal death, but death to dreams and hopes and the gifts God gives all His children. They do not serve God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit. 

  They build baskets. They slap something over the gaps when even the smallest ray of light dares to shine through. They rarely work alone. Basket builders know each other's handiwork and will take over  construction and maintenance with delight. In fact, they seek out people who are already inside of one. It makes their job much easier.

  And we also seek basket builders when we think that's where we belong. So dear Lord, this morning I offer a repentant heart for having looked to basket builders for my identity. Forgive me for not looking to You. In Jesus' precious name, AMEN!

  "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine! Let it shine, let it shine, all the time!" 

  A long forgotten children's song has taken on a far richer meaning. 

  Then there's another verse, "Don't you go and (blow a puff of air) my little light!" 

  AMEN to that!

  

  

  

  

  

  

Of Rocks, Lamps and Baskets

   "You are the light of the world--like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand where it gives light to everyone in the house." Matthew 5:14-15

  

  Sunday was an especially difficult day. The tears and grief kept coming in waves. It started in church the moment the worship music touched my soul. 

  Our pastor opened her teaching with the scripture about listening to the teaching of Jesus and following His ways from Matthew 7:24. That way our house, built on a foundation of bedrock, will be able to withstand the storms.

  My pen did what it does...and this image was created. I didn't really understand the significance at the time. The grief was overwhelming. To be fair, I've spent the last several days writing a letter to God about everything that happened in the last month of my step-dad's life. As of today, it's over twenty-three pages long. 

  Up to this point, it's simply been a record of events as they unfolded; a timeline to help me keep track of everything. Since I was in stress induced, hyper-vigilant mode the entire time, there is a lot of detail. And I am grateful for this survival mechanism. Writing it down is laying a foundation I can stand on in order to move forward.

  It's something I needed to do, to cement events firmly into my brain. It's about validating the experiences as well as building trust in my own senses and perceptions. For far too long, the effects of gaslighting have caused me to doubt so much. Having everything written down gives me ammunition to overcome those who would try to deny the truth. 

  Today my therapist asked the question, "If the Lord was talking to you now, what would He say about you?" It was near the end of our session and was a logical question in light of everything we'd discussed up to this point.

  I thought for a bit and with a cheeky grin said, "I am pretty freaking amazing." 

  Both of us laughed. I tapped my head, "This brain of mine is special. It's smart." I went on to talk about high school, about graduating with honours without having to try. There might have even been scholarships but it was more important that I didn't make people feel bad about themselves. 

  I confess to making fun of those who used all their smarts to succeed in school. (God forgive me for that.) As children, we only do what we've been taught, don't we?

  Then the bomb dropped..."It is important to not make mom feel stupid." 

  And all of a sudden my heart understood what putting a basket on my light meant to my life, my experiences, my choices, my behaviours and my mental and emotional health. I understood the damage of gaslighting because gaslighting now has a recognizable shape. It's a basket used to suffocate the light of someone else.

  And I crawled under it time and again because it was where the illusion of safety lived.

  As I sit here, metaphorically kneeling on the Rock of my faith, I hear the storm of echoes. The words said, which directly and indirectly infused my life with "THE RULES." But, hey, rules are made to be broken aren't they? Especially when the authors of those rules are the need for power and control, jealousy, cruelty, shame, blame, guilt, and the heavy, heavy burden of false responsibility.

 It has to be the ugliest basket ever made.

  I no longer want to hide under it even though it has provided a false sense of safety. It's not really safe. At all. Lord, fill me with resolve to never, ever, ever crawl under it again. In Jesus name, AMEN!