Choices

   Thousands upon thousands are waiting in the valley of decision. There the day of the Lord will soon arrive." Joel 3:14

  So here I sit, with thousands of others, in the valley of decision. 

  I believe this is a prophecy relating to the arrival of Christ. It is referring to all the people who are deciding to believe or not believe He is the Son of God, the Messiah.

  But there's something about the idea of waiting before making any decisions that is reassuring.

  There's something about the idea of waiting.

  Right now, my wait is a time of reflection, of tempering my words, of allowing the Lord into the brokenness. Decisions made from brokenness aren't necessarily the best especially if it involves others. 

  Oh. 

  And in those words, the seeds of grace are planted. 

  But what does grace look like? Specifically in regards to the situation with my mom? How is grace to manifest or shape my part in all of it?

  I honestly have no idea.

  In my brokenness, my heart wants vengeance. It wants revenge. It wants to see her suffer with the same suffering she caused others.

  Yet, I know this is not the way of love.

  I need to stay in the valley a little longer, to allow the Lord to temper the anger, to refine it and purify it.

  Right now, grace looks like silence and not saying the hurtful things I want to say. 

  Grace is leaving her to the tender mercies of God.

  Grace is acknowledging that in her brokenness, she is not a safe person to confide in or share my feelings with. Grace is understanding she will never admit wrongdoing no matter what I say. Grace is realizing I cannot change a thing.

  Here's the thing about choices and decisions, there are always consequences. 

  If I choose to continue a relationship that was unhealthy without changing the infrastructure of that relationship, it undermines and destroys all the work God has done in my life. If I ignore His work and His truth under the label of duty and familial ties and return to the old ways, I turn away from Him. 

  It is a sacrifice I am not prepared to make. 

  Decisions made from a place of wholeness are decisions made from a foundation of love.

  This means loving myself, too.

  "Yeah, though I walk through the valley..." Psalm 23:1

  

  

  

  

  

Approach

     "Am I a God who is only close at hand?" says the Lord. "No, I am far away at the same time. Can anyone hide from me in a secret place? Am I not everywhere in all the heavens and earth?" says the Lord. Jeremiah 23:23-24

  There is great comfort in these words today. The God of mountains is the God of pebbles and stones. He is the God of new life and life passing. He is the God of the wind and tides, of storms and the calm before such storms. He is the God of the calm. 

  He is the God of everywhere and everything, including each letter I type, each thought that rises to the surface, each moment I share with Him.

 

  He is the God that dwells in the nothing moments between heartbeats. 

  I've been thinking about this a lot. I feel there is something significant about it but I haven't quite grasped what it might be. 

  Lord? What are You trying to show me?

  In the meantime, I saw my mom on the weekend. It was a short visit. Allan's scent still lingers even after all this time. It was a grim reminder of everything that had happened.

  We stayed just long enough to pick up my friend's scissors and have a brief chat. I didn't say much all the same. She, mom, did most of the talking. I left a Mother's Day card for her that simply contained a blessing, none of the mushy crap. Mushy is decidedly dishonest at this point in time.

  My friend had picked it out because the last thing I wanted to do was browse through cards celebrating the lovely relationships between daughters and oh, so wonderful, mothers. Lord, please, don't let me be bitter.

  My mom wished I would talk to her about why I had left so angrily the day Allan passed. She wished I would share my feelings with her.

  As I left, I told her I wasn't prepared to talk because I didn't trust myself to not be unkind and said I would write a letter.

  So I can. And will. I am grateful to have taken the time to write out the sequence of events around Allan's passing not long after he went home to Jesus. That way she cannot twist what I say or accuse me of "mis-remembering." I can also leave my feelings out of it because it is unwise to put them in. 

  It will probably take several drafts before I end up with what I want but that's okay. God is the God of the in-between spaces. 

  So, Lord, help me find the best approach. Be with me as I re-visit the pain of shock and grief.

  In Jesus' name I pray. AMEN!

  

Decisions

  "If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and He will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking. But when you ask Him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver, for a person with divided loyalty is as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is blown and tossed by the wind." James 1:5-6 

  Dear Lord, I am in need of wisdom. I feel like the wave, tossed, storming and unsettled. I seek to do what is right in Your eyes but am conflicted and confused by what this really looks like. Images of Jesus tossing tables in a righteous anger is at war with wanting to love my enemy.

  Help me find the clear path, in Jesus most precious name, AMEN.

  So what is stirring up the wave? 

  It's Mother's Day tomorrow. It has put knots in my stomach and a tightness around my chest that makes breathing difficult. 

  Lord? There's a fire of deep fury within my heart. It rages against the cruelty I witnessed last year. It rages against the maliciousness and spite and neglect and utter disregard of and for others. It seethes with boiling heat over the deceptions and lies. 

  Dear Lord, I ask You, what am I to do with it all?

  (There was a long pause as I waited for an answer. God is good.)

  You woke me this early this morning with the idea that the stone I wrote about a couple of days ago is anger. Is it anger that enabled the determination to do right by my step-dad when I saw the terrible condition he was in? Is it anger that gave me strength to override the one who was in control up until then? Is it anger that enabled me to thwart the continued abuse? 

  I know You were with me in those dark, terrible days. 

  Can anger become my armor?

  Yes. My armor and my weapon: my stone and sling. 

  David slew Goliath, who had mocked the Israelites and God for forty days. His righteous anger made him go far beyond his own fear. His trust in God made him fearless.

  I have to decide whether or not to reach out to my mom, and possibly even see her later today. She has some things that belong to my friend and I would like to get them back. Before I started writing, I was in a mess.

  Anger that explodes is dangerous and harmful. I know this. It was a part of my life before Jesus.

  But, this anger, this stillness, this burning fire can be used, harnessed, so my aim is straight and true. For I fight against powers and principalities, not a person. 

  Lord, guide my words and actions this day.

  To Him be the glory! AMEN!

  It's time to slay a giant.

  

  

  

The Ask

 "Anyone who listens to My (Jesus') teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock." Matthew 7:24

  In the TV show, The House of David, David is given a vision of a warrior angel standing in a stream. The angel points his sword at the rushing water. David reaches in and pulls out a round, white stone covered with blood. It would later be a real stone, plucked from a real stream, and is the one that was used to slay the giant, Goliath.

  It wasn't much bigger than a golf ball. A small thing, really, but was enough to bring a giant down.

  I've been mulling over this for several days, about the power in something so small. 

  Rocks don't start off small. They begin as a mountain. Time, weather, wind and water gradually break them down and wear them away. Only the densest rock stubbornly refuses to turn into sand. That's what David plucked from the stream. A stone which had been rounded and honed by the elements until only the hardest part was left.

  Since the dawn of creation, God had known there was going to be a precise moment in time when a shepherd boy needed a particular stone on a particular day. It's mind boggling to think about how much time it took to wear down a mountain just so. All for an unlikely shepherd boy who would become king.

  I am in need of a stone to slay my own giant; the giant that was shaped by perception, history, and childhood fear. Like sandstone, layer after layer has built up over time. Forceful external and internal pressures have fused it solid and shaped it into a seemingly un-climbable mountain. 

  However, if I look closely, it is only sand and vulnerable to the forces of a storm.

  It is not solid rock. Not one bit. 

  I can see it crumbling. If I rub it with my fingers, it disintegrates. The grains of stand can be brushed off my hands or dispersed with a light breath. 

  God's Rock, the one on which I stand, is solid.

  My giant slaying stone is within. It always has been. It has been revealed by turning to Him again and again in the countless moments when the sandstone mountain looms large over my heart and soul.

  

  "Be strong in the Lord and in His might power. Put on all of God's armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil." Ephesians 6:10 -11

    And God's Word is my slingshot.

    AMEN!

Upwelling

     "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give You thanks forever." Psalm 30:11-12

  Grief is a funny thing. It has a way of laying silent until something random draws it out of the depths of your heart with an ache...a pain...that is sharp enough, deep enough to take your breath away. It sits in your chest throbbing hard enough to make your eyes leak.

  Grief is a funny thing. A car passing, music blaring with a song that twists and warps and fades with distance but those few measures, that one line...the ache starts singing it's own melody of loss and sorrow and, perhaps, regret.

  Grief is a funny thing. It has the ability to transect time and space, dwelling in the silence that only exists between the steady thump-thump of your heart. The same heart that was present when grief became part of your story. Thump. Thump.

  I spent some time organizing my closet on the weekend. It was time to pack away winter to make room for summer. Up on a shelf was my red, hand knitted kitty cat. He's sixty years old next Christmas and was starting to become unknit. I've made him clothes but like time, they've disappeared or simply disintegrated. My childhood sewing skills weren't that good.

  Since I had my knitting stuff out, I decided to make him a new outfit to protect the fragile cotton he was made from. The holes were repaired before he got his new finery put on. The sweater even has a pocket holding a brief biography.

  We were inseparable for many years. So much so, his face got loved off. A good friend of the family, Mrs. Morgan, gave him a new one. After carefully selecting buttons for eyes, I remember leaning on the farm house table watching the surgery. It brought Kitty back to life. That face, too, is almost gone but the button eyes are still holding strong.

  Mrs. Morgan was a country hostess. No matter what time of day or night we showed up, there would be hot biscuits and homemade jam on the table. It's the only time I remember thinking about being grown up, "One day, I will make biscuits just like Mrs. Morgan's!" Thump. Thump.

   It took decades to get them just right.

  Grief is a funny thing. And this is why I am writing tonight.

  It's Mother's Day on Sunday: an annual event where moms and kids celebrate all the good things about Mom...

  So maybe I can find some good things despite all the wrong. There were music lessons and instruments, riding lessons, band practices, a bike, trips, an education. That took time, money and commitment to get me there and back. I am grateful for all of it. 

   But gratitude is not obligation is it? Thump. Thump. 

   Neither is forgiveness. 

  And on the heels of that sentence, I will choose to forgive my mom. Whether or not I call on Sunday remains to be seen.

  Prayers are appreciated.

  My joy is in the Lord. In Him I will trust. AMEN!

 

Anointing

   "What are mere mortals that you should care for them?" Psalm 8:4

  We've been watching the first two seasons of The Story of David. While it may not be completely accurate according to Scriptures, it has been enlightening all the same. Being mindful it's not a hundred percent true and being mindful of what I already have read of this story, I find it's helpful to get a sense of the context of David's time. The history, the culture, the wars, the violence drive home the closeness to death the people and kings of the time lived in.

  I've found myself reflecting on the parallels of David's life and the life of Jesus. How David's story is a foreshadowing of what was to come many generations later. 

  But most of all, when Samuel, the holy prophet of God, anointed a shepherd boy to be king in Saul's place, it drove home how special this gift is. It was rare in those times. 

  God's anointing was reserved for only those chosen by God: kings, priests, or prophets.

 There's a saying, "Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely." Saul, the first King of Israel, was corrupted by the power of the throne, the victories he claimed for his own...he stopped giving the glory to God and instead placed the glory on his own shoulders. His need to protect his reign created a man corrupted by madness, paranoia and fear.

  The tv show says that God revoked Saul's anointing and gave it to David who would be the next king of Israel. I am not sure if this is scriptural or not. What I do understand is Saul's ego and pride eradicated the blessing and drove it out of his own heart, mind and soul.

  In the context of the Old Testament, being anointed means being given the gift of not only God's blessing, but His Spirit.

  Fast forward several generations and a young woman in a backwater town was anointed and chosen to be the mother of God's Son. Jesus is the game changer, the Redeemer, the bearer of a new covenant between God and His children. 

  Because of Jesus, God changed the rules. He doesn't pick and choose those He anoints. Instead He waits for us to invite His Son and His Spirit into our heart and lives.

  The gift that was once reserved for great kings, the holiest of priests and carefully selected prophets is ours...mine...because God has chosen us all.

  

  

In Practice

 "But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me...I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us." Philippians 4:12,14

  My friend and I just completed an Alpha course. It's good to think about what you believe. It was an opportunity to ponder and celebrate the ever changing self that comes through faith; through letting go and letting in all that is good and true.

  In coming to the end, I realized my own spiritual practices needed to be more consistent. There were several resources offered. The one my friend and I have started doing is through an app. It's called Lectio 365, produced by the same people who created the Alpha program.

  There are three opportunities throughout the day to tap into the app but I've only been doing the morning one. The teaching can either be read or listened to. I like to read and listen at the same time. It seems to sink in better that way. 

  It's also nice to have something to look forward to after waking up before getting swept up in the to-do's of the day. 

  Those ten minutes have made a huge difference in less than a week. I feel more centered and grounded in my faith. I need to view it as necessary as eating a good breakfast. This is more than creating a new habit, it is feeding my soul on a daily basis.

  I also didn't realize how much I was hungering for something like this or should I say, how much something like this was lacking in my day to day.

  But God is good. All the time. He knew exactly what I needed and provided it in exactly the right moment. He does that a lot.

  Lord, I thank You for the creators of Alpha and the Lectio 365 app. Bless them, guide them and guard them. In Jesus name I pray. AMEN!

  

  

A New Way

   "Unless the Lord had helped me, I would soon have settled in the silence of the grave. I cried out, "I am slipping!" but Your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, Your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer." Psalm 94:17-19

  My therapist patiently listened as I revisited the events of my step-dad's passing. So many moments have been forever seared into the visual memory bank. Trauma does that and when hyper vigilance is in full gear, it amplifies everything: the sounds, the smells, the environment, the slightest of changes unfold in slow motion. When the memory leaps up out the past, it's strong enough to erase the present. 

  Clinicians call it flashbacks. They can be utterly debilitating when your body stays in the present but your brain is reliving the past.

  I have an arsenal of tools I've used over the years whenever the flashbacks decide to appear. Mostly they help me come back to today. 

  It's taken some time to realize I have no control over a when a flashback might strike, but, by the grace of God, many of them have lost their power through other healing strategies. The memories are still there but they don't hijack my brain as often. For that I am most grateful.  

   Today's conversations led to a different approach. The other tools were about breaking free from the flashback and coming back to the present. Basically they slammed the book shut. Sometimes successfully. Other times not so much.

  The flashback memories are just one piece of a whole story. I think most of us can relate to reading a book with a scary part. Unless it is really scary, we all continue to turn the page to see what happens next. Our hearts may beat harder, our mouths may be dry, our hands may even shake a bit as we keep on reading. Nevertheless, we keep on going!

  A traumatic memory has already been written, unforgettably so. There were events leading up to it. There were events afterwards. Today birthed the realisation it's important to give space for further remembering or, at least, trying to remember what happened next. I am hoping it will enable me to find closure.

  We gave it a trial run. As my therapist and I explored a key childhood memory. (It's one that the Lord has been bringing to mind a lot lately.) So, stretching back through time and allowing myself to remain in the memory, I tried to remember what happened next. 

  I hit a wall of blank nothingness.

  Instead of giving up, I looked closer at the wall. The event had birthed a stew of overwhelming, confusing and toxic emotions. So fierce was the incomprehensible, emotional onslaught on a little girl's heart, it only left one option: shut down. It was the only thing Cricket knew would work to stop the pain.

  So even though I have no memory of what actually happened next, there is greater understanding. I can identify our feelings and validate them. I am able to offer comfort when there had been none. I can reassure both of us that we had no other option but to shut down. 

  This is good. This is a key to wholeness and wellness I've been missing. But most of all, instead of locking the flashback memories away in a box, they will be integrated into our, my, story.

  Just not too many in a day, okay, my Lord? This isn't easy.

  As for my step-dad, I can remember other things beside the shock-trauma over the state he was in...like his utter delight in having a Quarter Pounder with cheese for lunch. I can focus on the peace he found once he was hospitalized, clean, receiving pain meds and having his head wound cared for. I can celebrate that his childhood friends could finally see him and that his son was with him in his final hours. 

  I can be most thankful that through everything, I knew the Lord was there.

  Jesus, You are who You say You are...Comforter, Redeemer, Healer, Friend. Thank You for all You are doing, for all You have done. AMEN! 

  

Psalm

   "But in that coming day no weapon turned against you will succeed. You will silence every voice raised up to accuse you. These benefits are enjoyed by the servants of the Lord; their vindication will come from Me. I, the Lord, have spoken!" Isaiah 54:17

  I am God's child. He is my Father, my Abba. 

  He is truth and hope and love and all that is beautiful in this world. He is the joy that greets the rising sun. He is the peace that watches the waters ripple and wrestle with the wind. He is the wind. 

  He is the companion of sleepless nights and watchful days. His Word, His Son, are all I need to overcome the thief, the liar, the author of doubt and self loathing. But most of all, He will cast confusion aside and scatter it to the wind. He is the wind.

  He is my comforter. Like a soft down filled blanket, His feathers cover my heart and wrap my soul in shimmering, living, breathing light.

  I am not alone. 

  

  Ever.

  In the times when I feel unseen, He sees.

  In the times when I feel unheard, He hears.

  In the times when words don't come easily, He waits.

  In the times when I doubt the path I am on, He guides.

  In the times when I feel I've failed, He redeems.

  In the times when I don't understand, He teaches.

  When I am afraid, He is courage.

  

  With Him and because of Him, I become real, not some deceptive fabrication formed to appease, to please, to earn love. With Him, I find the strength to break out of the mold. Even when I crawl back into it because it is familiar, He offers a hand to climb out once again...and again...and again. Each time I become more real.

  His real.

  The need to lie falls away as grace heals the wounds that built the mold; as I forgive the builders and release them into God's hands again...and again...and again.

  And when the builders cry out to come back, I find the strength to walk away.

  I am a child of God. I am His. He is mine. Always.

  

  

  

Heavenly Whispers

  "He also asked, "What else is the Kingdom of God like? It is like the yeast a woman used in making bread. Even though she put only a little yeast in three measures of flour, it permeated every part of the dough."" Luke 13:20-21

  There's been a bubbling up, a rising up, of clarity. With clarity comes acceptance. With acceptance comes peace.

  My friend and I have been doing the Alpha course. It's been challenging and thought provoking but well worth doing. Last night was about sharing your faith with those who may not know Jesus. Most of my friends are from church. I don't go out much. Never mind the fact that talking with people I don't know is very difficult. But then I shared about the blog and how many people have read it.

  Writing these words is where my faith has been cemented. It's a record of God's healing and redemption. His patience and grace are documented, celebrated. It's also where I am challenged to be better than I am. But more importantly, it's a written record of the dialogue I have with my Lord and Creator. It's the foundation of our relationship.

  But most of all, it's where I become more and more like the person God destined me to be. It's only through Him can it be even possible. 

 Next weekend the Alpha group will spend Saturday together to learn about the Holy Spirit. I've been asked to host an afternoon activity. It will be an introduction to praying through art with time to spend working on individual pieces.

  In true, human fashion, I was nervous about it.

  My friend and I have also been watching season 5 of The Chosen. It focuses on the events leading up to Jesus' betrayal by Judas. It is powerful, beautiful and sad all at the same time. 

  Time and again, Jesus tells the disciples He will be leaving them. He repeatedly assures them they won't be left alone, that His Spirit will be with them...always.

  

  I have been discipled in the Art of Prayer. The art making has become a sacred act, carefully refined over thousands of hours of creating images before God. I have experience in helping others rediscover their creative abilities. God prepared the way for all of this to be in place. It is also a redemption story recorded over hundreds of posts.

  It's a great comfort. 

  As the ole gray matter ponders the events unfolding next Saturday and practices (aka prays) what needs to be said and how, I am left smiling. God has given me a dream, a hope, for the future. For the first time in my life I can see it, taste it and welcome it.

  The yeast has proved. All that remains is learning how to bake bread!

  Maybe tomorrow.

  

  I heard the best description of sin this weekend thanks to my pastor. Sin is everything that takes us away from love. 

  If you haven't ever done so before, I ask you, dear readers, to turn towards the Author and Creator of the purest love that ever existed. Let Jesus show you what that's all about. He's pretty good at it. AMEN!

  

  

On Happiness

 "So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won't be doing what your sinful nature craves. The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants." Galatians 5:17

  "But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Galatians 5:22-23

  The idea of happiness has been swirling around the ole gray matter lately. To the point that I thought I might do some visualization exercises similar to the kind of mental exercises athletes do before they run a race. They run it in their heads: imagining their stride, their breathing, their victory. 

  It seemed a good idea to close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to be happy without being afraid of it. It's perfectly understandable why happiness comes tainted with such fear. Life taught me it was a punishable offence. 

  So maybe I need to look into why it is this way.

  More importantly, I will ask the Lord who I need to forgive; the ones who taught me to fear the mere idea of being happy.

  Like the happiness felt over something I created when it was misconstrued as boastful pride. Those moments of silliness and laughter that were simply too loud to permit. The moments of feeling accepted only to find there was a cost to pay for such acceptance...

  Happiness was taken from me so it was easier to shut it down rather than feel the hurt or face the punishment it always brought.

  It's time to let that go. It's time to stop being afraid of the happiness rug getting pulled out from under me.

  So, Mom, I forgive you for hating my happiness. Brother, I forgive you for stealing happiness. Husband, I forgive you for crushing happiness on so many occasions. Monster of the closet, I forgive you for taking the happiness of safety from me. The other monsters who lived outside of the closet, I forgive you for using happiness to lure me in. Friend, I forgive you for dismissing anything I was happy about as being inconsequential.

  I give my fear to Jesus.

  Lord, I repent of shutting down my emotions; of running from them. I repent of believing the lie that happiness was not allowed. 

  Forgive me, my Lord, the One who has patiently shown me that happiness is the offspring of joy, of play, of delight, of community and celebration. It's the happiness found in quiet moments of seeking, of learning, of growing, of knowing a job is well done. Happiness is in creating something beautiful, or in the act of writing words that touch the heart. Happiness is standing in awe of all You have created and continue to create each and every day.

  But most of all, dear Lord, happiness is knowing that You are here. Always.

  Oh...now this stings...Forgive me for being jealous of the people who laugh easily. Forgive me for stealing happiness away from others in things I have said or done. In Jesus name.

  Lord? Thank you for forgiving me. I will ask You to continue showing me areas where this lie may still exist. Help me remain open to hearing what You have to say. 

  Teach me how to protect and guard my joy, my happiness, against the one who has had the power long enough. Help me stand against the ones he uses to do his work. 

  Joy and happiness are from the Lord. The enemy of my soul has no claim on them. Not any more. AMEN!

 

  

  

Burden of Light

   "Then Jesus said, "Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you. Let Me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light."" Matthew 11:28-30

  It's been a while since this verse crossed my path. I always imagine the burden of light as a gleaming sun. The kind of sun that glows gold after a storm and rays like holy swords pierce the clouds, bathing the earth below in brilliance. The light of the sun is a beautiful thing, weightless, yet powerful enough to traverse galaxies.

  Light doesn't weigh a thing. It can't be captured and put on scales. You can't feel it pushing you down. The only sign the sun has touched you is a warming of the shoulders, and perhaps the need to squint when it gets too bright.

  Winter seems to have been especially long and gray this year. March will begin to reveal glimpses of spring in a burst of brilliant warmth. Enough to have you standing in the driveway after coming back from shopping, grocery bags in hand, eyes closed and face turned upwards. The sunlight infuses a hope that winter is nearly over.

  Then it snows. Again. But that's March. She's a tease.

  So this morning I stand here, grocery bags in hand, and I look to Jesus. I am trying to understand what it means to surrender. Even thought the actual word, "surrender" doesn't appear in Scripture, the essence of it is captured in the idea of submitting or giving yourself to God.

  Or maybe I am overthinking this.

  Is it really as simple as putting down the grocery bags once and for all? Or better yet, give them to Jesus to carry?

  I suppose I have equated the idea of surrender as being defeated. Of living under an oppressor because that's the way of the world. The way I am most familiar with. The kind of surrender that enabled me to survive. 

  Maybe, (smile), I might have to surrender understanding the nature of Divine surrender because it is truly unfathomable. 

  Years ago, I was at a conference and they paired us up to do the falling back exercise where you are supposed to trust the person behind to catch you. They were a stranger so naturally, I could not do it. 

  Maybe another synonym for surrender is trust.

  And maybe that's what I am being called into; a deeper, fathomless, unrestricted, unbroken trust in the One who saved me. A trust that spans every moment of every day, not just the art or writing sessions. A trust that means I know one hundred percent He will catch me when I fall or better yet, carry the heavy bags or do something as small as untangle a gold chain.

  He will catch me when I fall back into old habits. He will catch me when the anxiety is too much to bear. He will catch me when a trigger sends me retreating from everyone. He will catch me when my poor, injured brain short circuits.

  You know why I know this?

  He already has. He always has. 

  Surrender to His perfect love is not about surviving, not when the Light of the World turns His face upon you. 

  So here I stand, grocery bags in hand, eyes closed, basking in a Light words cannot describe.

  The bags can be unpacked another day. I'll need help for that. Or maybe I will just give them to God because, in the end, what's inside doesn't really matter. At all...

  Yah. There's no maybe about it. Here You are, dear Lord. You can have them.

  

 

The Chain

   "The paths of the Lord are true and right, and righteous people live by walking in them." Hosea 14:9

  My friend left a gold necklace on the table this morning. It had a knot in the chain. Untangling chains has been a task I derive great pleasure from and it's never been any trouble.

  Out came the curved, needle nose pliers and a tapestry needle that makes it easy to manipulate fine chain. A half hour later, the knot remained, stubborn and determined to be unfixable. I tried breaking it, knowing it was easy to fix a break, but it stubbornly remained a well made chain.

  Rather than get frustrated, I decided to take a break. Time was running short anyways because we were going to a celebration of life for a friend's mom. 

  The knotted chain was set down on an envelope so it wouldn't get misplaced. The pliers and needle were left on the table beside it so they would be handy for the next attempt.

  When I came out of the shower, my friend thanked me profusely for untangling the chain of one of her favorite necklaces. 

  Let's just say I was stunned. 

  I had not untangled the chain. The knot had been clearly visible against the white envelope when I had placed it there. 

  I had to look at the chain to make sure there wasn't some sort of mistake.

  It was in perfect condition.

  My eyes were as wide as saucers because I had to admit it hadn't been me. Not one bit.

  In a half joking manner, as my brain tried to make sense of it all, I said to her, "Maybe...just maybe...God sent His angels to look after it while I was showering."

  Maybe He did.

  There was a large gathering at the church for a woman who was clearly and dearly loved. While the pastor spoke, I heard another Voice.

  "What happened with the chain this morning is what it means to surrender."

  Tears came to my eyes because I finally understood a crucial part of my faith. As much as I have surrendered to God through the art and writing, it has always been about my need and drive to untangle the knotted chains of my life.

  Not that any of it has been a waste or wrong. The hours spent in His presence have built a foundation of trust in a God who has been with me, led me, and held me through it all. 

  But it's time to fully surrender to a love I cannot fathom; the kind of love that will repair a knotted chain.

  Because He can.

  He really and truly can.

  

Aftermath

   "Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty." Psalm 91:1

  Lord, I need Your rest. I need Your shadow. I got poked by the umbrella.

  Panic attacks are extremely unpleasant. The shaking, the tears, the gasping for air, the nerve ends firing like fireworks...Every single sense engages RED ALERT MODE. The smallest of noises are amplified a thousand fold. The tiniest of motions has you scanning the surroundings like a zebra looking out for lions. 

  It's primal. 

  

  I had to leave work. 

  One good thing about this is I finally understand what has been triggering these regularly occurring panic attacks.. 

  It's having to take part in a large, virtual meetings.

  It's not the meeting in and of itself. It's the constant motion on screen, the random changing of the image without doing it yourself and being prepared for the change. It's how it changes every time someone new speaks. It's watching a dozen or more people move about in a confined area.

  

  Part of PTSD is a constant monitoring of the environment. Everyone does it. It's part of our wiring but in my case, the wiring has been heightened. So every time the image changes or there's a movement, I do a full on, yet subconscious, threat assessment.

  Until the assessment system gets overloaded and simply sends out the signal to RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!! IT'S ALL LIONS OUT THERE! 

  And because there isn't really a threat, I end up a blubbering mess. 

  Primal brain can't understand logic.

  I am grateful to finally understand why these attacks have been happening on a regular basis. It means it's possible to come up with a strategy. 

  For now, I am home where it is safe, sipping a cup of Zen tea. Even though it happened a couple of hours ago, the nerves are still firing with a zinging feeling that travels up and down the ole body. It will take time to calm Primal down. Sometimes it takes a couple of days.

  

  A hot bath is in order.

  Writing helps, too.

  

Framework

   "I know the Lord is always with me. I will not be shaken, for He is right beside me. No wonder my heart is glad and I rejoice. My body rests in safety. For You will not leave my soul among the dead or allow Your holy one to rot in the grave. You will show me the way of life; granting me the joy of Your presence and the pleasures of living with You forever." Psalm 16:8-11

  Sometimes when you share things, other things rise up between the words, between the emotions, between the ideas. Good things. God things.

  I was sharing about the umbrella, the image of the bare ribs and handle I wrote about yesterday. I shared about how necessity taught me I had to make my own protection, my own comfort, my own safety. As I spoke of these things I realized there is far more to the framework than the grief it initially generated. 

  

  We also talked about the idea of being a victim, about living in the past and being trapped by it. I said that I don't live in the past, the past lives in me. It's why I need meds. It's why I live with CPTSD. It's why I get overwhelmed easily. It's why I retreat into smallness sometimes. Not by choice, but because it simply happens.

  It's all related to the framework of my life's experiences.

  But the Lord had more to say about it when the conversation was over. He made me smile.

  This same framework is also why I am the way I am...in good ways. In ways to be grateful for. 

  Fear of abandonment instilled a fearless curiosity to try new things, or learn new skills. Perhaps to prove my worth. Perhaps it was because I wanted to earn my keep. The why isn't important. The end result is unusual abilities that are far outside of the gender framework I was born into.

  It fills me with gratitude for not having the support I needed because of all the skills I now have. 

  In all the years of eggshell walking because of the need to anticipate, placate, or keep the peace, I learned to see the smallest sign when someone is hurting. It means being able to come alongside them so they don't feel so alone. I know what that feels like. I know what it looks like. I've seen it in the mirror often enough.

  In the Great Alone, I learned to create: to play music from the heart, to draw, to paint, to write, to knit, to sew, to build things. Most importantly, when I was literally on my own, I learned to pray using all of it. I learned to trust that God will get me through regardless of how painful the path might be.

  If I don't speak the language of relationship very well, it's good to feel assured that one day I will. 

  My life is being built around a new framework, a better one. Like any skill, it takes time to master. It takes practice and often a complete do-over.

  That's okay. 

  God has placed good people, trustworthy people in my life who will support my tentative efforts at living differently, living better. 

  To God be the glory! AMEN!

  

The Retreating

   "Now let Your unfailing love comfort me, just as You promised me, Your servant. Surround me with Your tender mercies so I may live, for Your instructions are my delight." Psalm 119:76-77

  There's this thing I do whenever my emotions run deep and high. I withdraw, retreat, into a profound silence that echoes with the memories of a solitary life. I don't always know what triggers the retreat. It could be something as simple as the scent of a man's aftershave, a touch, a look, that kicks this primal response into full gear.

  I guess it's a legacy of having to live small to survive.

  I don't speak the language of connection very well. How could I? I never learned how.

  While praying through art today, I came across the image of an umbrella. It was just the skeleton: bowed ribs and a handle. The protective fabric was missing. As far as its ability to protect you from the elements, it was utterly useless.

  As I pondered this, it helped me understand that my childhood had been lived within the framework of family and home that, based on all external appearances, was as it should be. I had a roof over my head, piano lessons, schooling, food on the table. But this framework was just a skeleton that required me to add my own layers of protection.

  The lessons learned in childhood were honed to perfection in a marriage that also was nothing but a skeleton of appearance. It was not safe. Not for me. Not for my children. I did my best to be the fabric of protection while wrapping myself in the fabric of smallness. Just to survive.

  In all of this there was no room for fears, or questions, or discussion. There was no room for emotions or needs or desires. To have any was a punishable offence.

  One spring morning on the farm, my ankle got pinned between the barn wall and a two hundred pound sow. It was because of my ex's careless handling of the animal. I thought it was broken.

  The hospital wrapped my ankle in white athletic tape so I could leave. The x-ray results weren't available until the next morning. When I found out I needed a cast, my ex's angry response was, "What am I supposed to do about it?" A cast meant I could not do barn chores.

  The sad but funny thing is I didn't know I was allergic to athletic tape. When the nurse peeled it off, I had a rash from mid calf to the ball of my foot. It had been driving me crazy with the itching but I never said a thing to anyone. It was bad enough being injured and not being able to fulfill my responsibilities.

  The nurse was horrified and told me I should have taken the tape off! 

  In the end, it was just a bone chip, albeit a very painful one. While a cast would have made me more comfortable, I opted to simply wrap my ankle with elastic because the chores were more important...appeasing my husband even more so.

  There's something terribly wrong with this picture. Part of me knew it then. I definitely know it now. I just wish these lessons would get unlearned because it impacts my ability to trust others with my needs. And the great retreat remains my first go to. 

  It will take time to break the habits of a lifetime and I am getting better at it. But it's awfully hard to over-ride the survival mechanisms that are so automatic, I don't even realize it's happening.

  Lord, help me do better. In Jesus name I pray. AMEN!

  

  

  

  

  

The Critic

   "The mouth of the godly person gives wise advice, but the tongue that deceives will be cut off." Proverbs 10:31

  It's time to cut a tongue off. More than one, actually. They are the tongues that sing the songs of destruction. Their lyrics mock and belittle. Discordant harmonies serve one purpose: to make you afraid.

  As I sat in church, I started drawing measuring tools. A ruler, triangles, a set square and anything else I could think of at the time. 

  A tape measure was drawn as though the case was far away. The metal measuring part stretched back across the page, growing smaller and smaller as the rules of perspective were honoured. It was as though time was also being measured.

  Then I realized the tape measure wasn't mine. It belongs to those who taught me I could never measure up or be good enough. It's the tape measure that taught me I could never measure up or be good enough as a child, a daughter, a teen, a wife, and a woman. 

  Perversely, it also taught me not to be too good at anything because why would I even try to be the best? It was never enough. 

  The voice of the destroyer has a familiar sound. How could it be otherwise? It's the compounded voice of the one who raised me, who was a sibling, who was a spouse, a teacher, a culture, a gender expectation. And sadly, it is also my own. How could it be otherwise? 

  I never knew anything better.

  Even when the Lord set me free, their voices continue to be at war with the truth God was trying to have me believe.

  Today is the day these voices will be cut off, their tongue silenced. The only way to do this is to choose to forgive the critics, the judges, the cruel tongues whose voices echo across the years. So I will choose to forgive them. 

  I can thank the Lord for helping me find compassion for them. Their world is an ugly place.

  Then there's the hard part. Lord forgive me for allowing the critic's voice to become my own.

  He reminded me of my once four year old son and a little girl I was babysitting. The two of them were squishing grapes into the carpet, utterly silent, utterly enthralled by it.

  I've realized watching grapes explode was exactly the same as my sugar melting cereal bowl. I reacted just as my mother had with a cross "What were you thinking?" Forgive me Lord, for that.

  But then, when this same son wrote, "Welcome home, mommy, I love you" on the wall by the front door, I didn't get mad about it. How could I? We did have a chat about the wall not being the best place to write notes on. 

  Thank You, Lord, for forgiving me, for Your patience.

 It's time to put the tape measure that was never Yours back in the box. 

  I want to do better. I want to celebrate the giftings You blessed me with without shame or guilt or deception. But most of all, I want to learn to protect and nurture them without shame or guilt or deception.

  I want to live as the woman You created me to be and celebrate all You have made.

  Lord, hear my prayer! AMEN!

  As for the critic. I know its voice now. It's been a companion for far too long. It no longer has a place in my heart, my mind or on my tongue. Lord, I give it to You to do as You see fit. AMEN!

  

  

  

More to the Story

   "Give thanks to Him who made the heavenly lights--His faithful love endures forever. the sun to rule the day, His faithful love endures forever, and the moon and stars to rule the night. His faithful love endures forever." Psalm 136:7-9

  I woke up early this morning with a sense of urgency filling my being. For decades I've felt the need to do this painting. For decades I have put it off. Until today. I might put a bit of varnish on it once the paint has cured for a couple of days. It will make the dark and somber colours come to life.

  Creating art is always an emotional thing. To create is to bare your soul.

  This is the view I wrote about a few days ago as being the birthplace of faith; of believing there was something, Someone, greater than I. Painting it transported me back in time and while my eyes and hands worked away I listened to the heart of a twenty year old.

  Pat Benatar sang. People were laughing. The aroma of smoke filled the cool, spring air. 

  Mixed in with the awe and wonder was a sense of being utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Big night skies can do that sometimes. But, I also felt puzzled. How on earth did I end up at a party where I really only knew the man I was dating?

  The great "Not Belonging" whispered. 

  In hindsight I've realized I was living under a blanket of severe depression. My dad had passed away suddenly just before Christmas. With his passing, I was left feeling truly alone in life. 

  Truthfully, I was alone. 

  How can words describe it? How can words describe the ache? The hollow emptiness that comes when loneliness inhabits your soul?

  Yet, in the night sky littered with a billion stars, a ghost of a hope that someday, someone would love me for who I am. That I would finally find the place where I belonged.

  Maybe it was my twenty year old heart praying to the great Someone. 

  He answered my wordless prayer by being by my side without me ever knowing He was there. For decades, He waited until I reached the end of myself. A woman who had no more strength to fight through the suffocating and lifelong Great Alone finally learned His name.

  I haven't done this painting before because I didn't believe in my abilities. The inner critic planted in my heart has left a legacy of self doubt and confusion. To finally see the memory manifested just as it has always been in my mind's eye is to be so incredibly thankful. 

  I have a God Who Never Fails. 

  The victory is His.

  The victory is ours.

  

PS. The related post was written on Feb. 14, 2026

  

   

The Secret Silence

   "Even Death and Destruction hold no secrets from the Lord. How much more does He know the human heart!" Proverbs 15:11

  I was given the task to begin looking at my childhood with the focus of finding Jesus. This is not an unfamiliar practice and has already brought great healing from some of the most traumatic events in my life. Finding Jesus in those memories has redeemed these things into places of great comfort.

  It doesn't erase them. It doesn't mean they don't still cause me pain but, now, interwoven with the darkness is a light beyond imagining. There's a joy, and a fathomless upwelling of gratitude in knowing I wasn't as alone as I believed at the time they happened.

  Come back in time with me to a holiday; the kind of holiday where a feast is prepared for company.  A padded table protector is placed on the formal dining table, hidden from sight with a tablecloth that only sees the light of day for such a feast.

  The good dishes are pulled out of the china cabinet. The special silverware is unwrapped from its protective felt storage bags. The crystal is set out according to the proper etiquette of table setting as passed down through generations of women.

  As soon as the table is set, a child sits down. Not because she is hungry. Not because she can't wait for the turkey to be carved. She sits there, still and quiet, utterly fascinated by the play of light and sparkle that only silver and crystal can generate under the light of a chandelier. 

  Everywhere she looks there are dancing prisms and rays of brilliance. She is utterly delighted and filled with a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty before her.

  She is chased away from the table, a critical comment made about her appetite and greed.

  She slinks away, silently, because she knew the chaser would not understand. Somehow the world was just a little duller, a little darker away from the table.

  Another table. Another meal only this time it was a solitary breakfast. A bowl of cereal floated in milk. The sugar bowl was on the table beside her. Left unattended, she put her allowed spoonful of sugar on the cereal. Grain by grain, the sugar melted as the milk seeped into the dry. The sparkle of the sugar vanished as milk drowned it. She couldn't resist repeating the experiment with spoonful after spoonful of sugar poured out with delighted anticipation.

  You can guess where this is going. The parent came into the kitchen, furious that I though I should eat that much sugar. The breakfast bowl was snatched away and the sugar crossly scraped into the sink. "Such a waste!"

  The magic vanished. And a shame that should not be moved into a heart that knew it could not share the world she saw in a bowl of cereal.

  I never minded the arduous task of polishing the good silver. Being able to release the light from beneath the choking tarnish made it a joy. 

  I think of all the times I've been utterly enthralled by the play of light and shadow. They were always secret moments, a place of being alone, being still, with the beauty I might find. Even if is in something as small as a pebble. 

  In these countless memories, the teeth and fangs of other, darker, secrets would vanish. 

  And that's where Jesus was. He was in the light. He was in the joy and peace I found in seeing the world in a way that I instinctively knew was different. And for those around me, unfathomable.

  In spite of everything that has tried to chase me away from the Light, this gift of seeing the world differently has never vanished, never been suffocated. Maybe that's because I kept such a treasure a closely guarded secret, just for me.

  Only now I can say, for us, for Jesus and me.

  

  

Carried by Hands I Cannot See

   "Won't you ever stop blowing hot air? What makes you keep on talking? I could say the same things if you were in my place. I could spout off criticism and shake my head at you. But if it were me, I would encourage you, I would try to take away your grief. Instead, I suffer if I defend myself, and I suffer no less if I refuse to speak." Job 16:2-6

  God is good. All the time. He chose this verse for me today and that last line...that last line...is the cry of my heart.

  

  I've had to speak to my mother. She fell and broke her wrist. In one conversation, she asked if I could come down this weekend to look after her. I told her I would think about it.

  

  It took a couple of days to give her my answer. This weekend was unavailable because I had previous plans. She twisted the story line saying she had never asked me to come this weekend; that I had misunderstood. 

  Gaslighting sucks. For a moment, I believed her.

  However, after our initial conversation, I wrote down what she had said so I could refer back to it. It's part of learning to trust my own mind. Writing everything out enabled me to see the guilt tripping, the manipulation tactics and recognize them for what they are. Those words on a piece of paper became a powerful shield against poison darts.

  Moving forward, I will do this for every single conversation we have. 

  Not that having any sort of a conversation will get us anywhere. 

  Instead, I give her to God to do as He sees fit despite the harsh words I long to speak. To avenge Allan. To treat her as cruelly as she treated him. I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel these things. 

  I choose silence because it is the greatest weapon I have.

  I am at peace about my decision not to go. 

  Had the events of this past summer never happened, I would have. And an upwelling of grief floods my eyes. God used the passing of a good man to lift the scales from my eyes. I see her for who she is. 

  "Walk on," Allan said to me. His last words. They bear repeating over and over again, these two words with the power to break chains.

  Not that it was an easy decision. It was a hard won battle to break the patterns of a lifetime, to disentangle myself from the guilt and self doubt that comes with making decisions. I am so grateful for the support of good friends and a trusted counsellor. They helped me find my way out of the confusion that is so much a part of interactions with her.

  Confusion is not of God.

  I will try my hardest to find the resting place of clarity and truth and wisdom. Guilt, shame, false responsibility, debts of gratitude and the weight of a duty that is not mine to bear cannot stand before God. 

 Note: Today's title is a recently released song by Josh Groban. It "suddenly" appeared in my friend's Youtube feed. God is good. All the time.