Life Outside

   "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love Him." 1 Corinthians 2:9

  God is good.

  All the time.

  It's funny, how what you know can suddenly become something you understand. There's been a great deal of understanding as of late. It's almost as though the Lord has preselected the videos I have been watching. It seems the right one always comes across my path at the right moment. Who knows, maybe He has, or at least guides me in the right direction. True to His way, He lets me decide if I watch it or not.

  I am most grateful.

  But knowledge without wisdom is empty.

  So I need to know how to use what I've learned because the cage I've stepped out of is inside my mind and body. And because the primal, survival part of my brain has been running the show for so long, it's going to take time to help it understand it's not needed until it's actually needed. Like when a bear attacks or something like that.

  Right now, it sees bears absolutely everywhere and is acting accordingly. 

  And my brain responds by affirming, "Yup, there are bears everywhere and one might attack you in your bed so be aware and ready to run." 

  

  I don't think a simple, "Stand down, soldier." will be enough.

  Or maybe that's it. Three words to calm my soul. I like the idea of calling my survival brain a soldier because it's only tried to do what a good soldier does: serve and protect.

  Maybe I am angry with her, too. She didn't do a very good job...and now she's overcompensating for her failures.

  That's not really fair, is it? 

  Because bears can wear disguises: mother, husband, brother, friend, doctor, boss...

  And that is a hard lesson.

  The bears are real after all.

  Dear, sweet Lord Jesus, help my inner soldier learn to assess a situation before going full on battle ready. Help me discern what is real and what is not and grant me the wisdom to act accordingly. In Your name I pray. AMEN!

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Deception

   "In my distress I called to the Lord, and He answered me. Deliver me, O Lord, from lying lips, from a deceitful tongue." Psalm 120:1-2

  If I am to embrace truth and honesty as core values, it means I must let go of lying. You see, the lying lips and deceitful tongue have been my own. 

  I've been lying to myself for a long time, convinced it was the right thing to do. It's what kept me small.

  There's a long list of self-deceptions disguised as "doing the right thing." 

  There's an even longer one disguised as humility.

  It's why confusion ruled. Truth has been at war with untruth. And as long as I believe the lies told to me either by someone else or by my own admission and acceptance, the cage exists.

 Justification is a slippery slope. Lies are easily justified when they come disguised as normal, the way things are, the way it needs to be, the way it is expected to be. 

 And as long as I play by the rules passed down by the generations before me, the grand deception continues.

  I am tired of living in the swirling turmoil of lies disguised by words like duty, obligation, compliancy, gratitude, submission, obedience, and loyalty. These are good qualities when God is involved but when the father of lies twists them into chains, they are punishing and cruel. These shackles are tightened even further by guilt and shame and politeness.

  Perversely, it feel disloyal to embrace the truth! But who am I being disloyal to?

  I've been thoroughly conditioned, enough so that I picked up the lies and carried on conditioning myself to only think of myself through a lens of dishonesty. Truthfully, it was the only lens I knew.

  Now, that's not necessarily true...smile...it's the only lens I looked through. Even though the Lord has been holding a new one up to my eye for a long time, now. 

  I guess I though I didn't deserve it. I'm sorry, my Lord. 

  Three days ago, I cried out to the Lord that I had no idea how to live outside the cage. There is a great deal of thinking to be done about what life on the outside means. Creating a piece of art might help to explore this new territory of finally being at home in my own skin. 

  Cricket is giggling in the background, "It's about time!" And she does a little, joyful spin.

  Forgive me, Lord, for the lies, for thinking You have been lying to me. Thank You for showing me the error of my ways. Thank You for the courage to look, not only in the mirror, but into Your heart. 

  

  

  

Out of Hiding

 "Can anyone hide from Me in a secret place? Am I not everywhere in all the heavens and earth?" says the Lord. Jeremiah 23:24

  I have a confession. No sense in hiding it. I am angry.  

  A friend shared a poem she had written. I am deeply honoured whenever she is willing to share her heart with me. More often than not, her words speak the truth of my own heart. We are kindred spirits in many ways.

  In the poem, she talked about her infant self, lying in a crib. The bars were a prison where she lay, forgotten and cast off. 

  Both of us are children of adoption. We have often talked about the impact it has had on us even though we were mere infants. Being adopted has a cost to the adoptee, even if the home is a loving one.

  I am angry for the abuse she suffered from her adoptive family. It was horrific beyond imagining. 

  I am angry because we, she and I, were both chosen by a family wanting a child.

  Only to be raised as though we were never worthy of that choice. 

  It's a debtor's prison with no way of earning enough to ever break free.

  I am angry because it has taken so long to finally see the bars of my own cage. Yet I am still being asked to step back inside. 

  It goes by many names, this re-entry...being the bigger person, being forgiving, being the stronger one...duty...responsibility...

  I simply can't do it any more. The cost is too high.

  And I am angry because I feel so crappy about not jumping back into the cage.

  Because I don't know how to live outside.

  

  I am angry because my friend is dying.

  Lord, show me how to live. Create in me a new mind. In Jesus Name I pray. AMEN!

  

  

  

Six Words

  "What sorrows await the world, because it tempts people to sin. Temptations are inevitable, but what sorrow awaits the person who does the tempting." Matthew 18:7

  "I love you. I really do."

  My mom left this message Saturday evening. 

  Her words have fallen on my heart like a stone.

  Maybe she does. God knows.

  However, recent events and revelations makes me very cautious. 

  She's never said this before, unprompted. It's always been in response to my, "I love you, mom." 

  It feels like bait.

  Her message put me back in the boat named Confusion. This morning, my hand is reaching for the hand of Jesus to help me get out again.

  You see? I want to believe her. But what would it mean if I did? What actions are required on my part, if any?

  Is she asking me to come back to the way things have always been? Is she asking me to be small again?

  Am I being asked to forget everything and carry on as though nothing happened?

  I can't do that. Not when the truth of who she is and what she is capable of has been revealed by God.

  Truth has set me free and no matter how prettily the boat has been decorated, I don't belong there.

  

  Nevertheless, the boat's crew are singing a sailor's song of obligation and duty and responsibility. 

  Who am I kidding? It's a full on orchestra!

  The bass drum is beating a rhythm of self doubt. 

  The strings are plucking a lecture for the audacity of my silence.

  The brass blares, "Just who do you think you are, anyways?!"

  The woodwinds whistle nasty names.

  I am tired of hearing the music written by my mom.  

  However, God is good and He gave me a heart of kindness.

  A smidgen of grace drowns the song out because I can't help but wonder, what song plays in her head?

  It doesn't mean I have to call her back. 

  She is in God's hands now.

  

  

Mourning Coffee

   "The heavens are Yours, and the earth is Yours; everything in the world is Yours--You created it all." Psalm 89:11

  It is an early morning. The sun is shining through the kitchen window, bathing me in its warm light. Breakfast has been eaten. A cup of coffee sits on the table and emits a pleasant aroma. I like coffee. Always have.

  Cricket would waken occasionally, go downstairs to the kitchen and crawl up onto Dad's knee. She would get a few sips of his last cup of coffee before bed. I don't know what woke us but that occasional, nightly cuddle with Dad was special. 

  She used to run down the driveway when he came home from work.

  "Daddy! Daddy! Can I drive?"

  He would stop the car, open the door and we'd climb onto his lap. He'd let us "drive" the car up the driveway. It was so magical. It filled our heart with joy and laughter. 

  I'm thinking I need to explain the use of the terms "us" and "we." It's a language of validation, not separation. Cricket is me. Her story is my story but for now, it feels important to acknowledge the experiences she had. It's my way of saying, "I hear you." Truthfully, I kept her under wraps for a long time. Especially the hard stuff.

  It's nice to be reminded there were some good moments in childhood. Simple moments. Mostly, it was with my dad. 

  He passed away suddenly when I was in my late teens. It was long ago but it seems like yesterday. I find myself missing the safety his presence created for Cricket.

  One of the things that came up in learning about narcissism was the question, "Do they know what they are doing?"

  The answer is yes. 

  The cruel things my mother said to me never happened when dad was around. She knew better. She also knew they were mean. Otherwise, why not say them when he was in earshot?

  I never told my Dad any of it. Nothing about the sexual or physical abuse. Nothing about mom. Because I believed all of it was my fault. Predators, the physical or emotional kind, are good at making sure their victims take full ownership. They place the burden of responsibility for the things that are done or said squarely on the ones they hurt.

  And I believed I would be accused of lying. How could a child combat adult authority?

  Cricket, love, it was never your, our, fault. 

  When I first saw my step dad lying in bed, during those first, few precious minutes we had together, I had a vision. I saw Jesus standing with His hands on either side of Allan's cancer wrapped head. The Lord's head was bent over and He was weeping. 

  I was so grateful to see Him there.

  It's hard, knowing mom knew exactly the harm she was causing, not just to Allan, to Cricket as well. She chose to do it anyways. 

  And Jesus wept for all of us. 

  Even her.

  

  

  

  

  

A Day of Thanks

  "We will not be influenced when people try to trick us with lies so clever, they sound like the truth. Instead, we will speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ." Ephesians 4:14-15

  That's what I want. To be more like Christ. I want to know truth but I also want to be able to discern when I am being lied to. For far too long, the truths I've been told were lies masquerading as truth. It's hard not to grieve. Cricket has been very chatty over the last little while, bringing up the memories that forged the cage that defined how we were supposed to live, feel, think and sneeze. The bars are thick and cold, coated with rust but strong enough to break the heart and soul of a child.

  Jesus has broken the lock and the door is opened. We have stepped out but the cage is still there, behind us. It hasn't vanished yet. There's nothing I'd like more than to see it crumble into dust. 

  Metal doesn't break down over night.

  Perhaps it might be a day to give thanks for what has been achieved in the last little while. 

  I have learned a lot about narcissistic abuse and the damage it does. It's helped me understand Cricket's memories and why we remember them in the first place. There's a theme, a repeated pattern, of betrayal, being blamed for having feelings, and countless times when fear stepped in to silence any questions or complaints or even needs. The times when we needed help the most were moments of punishment.

  It happened in my marriage, too. Not just in childhood. But then, I'd already been groomed to utter compliancy. He chose me, not because he loved me but because he could control me.

  I am grateful that marriage ended a long time ago.

  It's hard to be grateful for a death but without my stepdad's passing, I would not have seen the truth about the one who raised me. I am still reeling a bit, trying to understand how anyone could be so utterly cruel. It's good to know my stepdad is with Jesus, now, and free from the pain of cancer and the hurt inflicted by the one who was supposed to love and care for him.

  I am grateful for taking the time to explore what creates a narcissistic person. It's very sad. This knowledge wraps the anger with pity. 

  They hate themselves so much that the only way to feel any sort of worth is to demean, hurt and control others. Their charm and sociable personalities make them a favorite of gatherings. It's the mask they wear in public. The people around them are their mirror because they can't look at their own reflection. They are unable to apologize because to do so means admitting fallibility, weakness or a mistake.

  And yes, they are cruel. It is a source of joy, the pain they inflict, because it means they are powerful.

  Thank you, Lord, for helping me recognize the source of such evil. 

  I am thankful that no sin is too big for the Lord to forgive. 

  I am thankful for the ability to ask for His forgiveness when He shows me the error of my ways.

  The term "flying monkey" came to light this week. It's in reference to the Wizard of Oz and the wicked witch who controlled a flying monkey army. She forced them to do her bidding. 

  I have been a flying monkey. In my marriage. It was a hard pill to swallow but I can't beat myself up for it. I didn't know any other way to be but submissive, dutiful, and respectful of my husband's demands. I thought I was being a good wife. 

  Lord, forgive me for being a flying monkey. Help me make amends to those I have harmed, especially my children.

  I am thankful for clarity; for seeing things the way they were and are. Deception has failed. The author of lies has failed.

  I am thankful for being freed of the confusion that has been a constant companion. Although, it would be nice to get the words that haunt me out of my head.

  I am thankful that despite the harm that was done, hatred isn't part of my story.

  The grief will pass. In time.

  Thank you, Lord, for new life. AMEN!

  PS. In case you were wondering about the sneeze comment, Cricket learned to smother sneezes because any other kind was too loud. This is really bad for the sinuses and can damage them. Nevertheless, NO NOISE THAT WOULD DRAW ATTENTION TO YOU IS ALLOWED was a RULE.

  Oh....that's an interesting revelation. It wasn't about the noise at all. It was about being the centre of attention and not the narcissist. Even if that attention was as brief as a sneeze.

  Oh, my Lord, this ole cage has a lot of bars! But one has crumbled to dust today. Praise Jesus!

  

  

Behind the Veil

  "As was the custom of the of the priests, he (Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist) was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and burn incense." Luke 1:9

  I found myself amalgamating a couple of stories in thinking about Zechariah. It is in stark contrast to the one where Jesus overturned the tables in the courtyard of the same temple Zechariah had entered decades earlier. While there's no mention of them in Z's brief part in the story of Jesus, I bet they were there.

  There's only fragments of lessons learned about the temple itself. There was the public courtyard, the inner courtyard, stairs leading to the entry and a veil that guarded the door. The same veil Jesus tore with His crucifixion and death.

  

  I've been listening to Jordan Peterson a lot over the last little while. His YouTube teaching is life giving and affirming for someone working to break free of the cage narcissistic abuse creates. That's where the temple comes into play.

  

  I imagined walking into the courtyard. It is full of salespeople pitching their livestock, nearly perfect for the slaughter. If one isn't quite perfect, they have another, more expensive animal. The money lenders are loudly encouraging people to borrow money at criminal interest rates. It is the only way the desperate sinners could buy the ram, the calf, because a little pigeon could never wipe away the sins they committed. 

  Can you hear them? The lies? The guilt laid on thick? 

  The judgement?

  Can you hear the chaos of a thousand voices, each trying to be heard?

  But I am a believer. I have no need of livestock.

  The inner courtyard is an oasis, free from the stench of animals and crowds of people. There's still noise. Priests praying loudly, trying to outdo each other in holiness.

 

  But I am a believer. I have no need of such overt displays of righteousness.

  I climb the stairs towards the veil. I can hear the Lord calling to step into His sanctuary. I pull it back and step into the coolness of the shade. Silence is the only sound. 

  I enter into the stillness of my birthright.

  Because I am a believer and belong in this place of intimate conversation and connection. Where could be better but to be with the Lord, the Creator of all things, who breathed life into my mother's womb. In the stillness I feel Jesus wrap His arms around my soul and peace comes.

  It's a peace that will need protecting. It will require learning to speak a new language: the one of unbreakable boundaries. It will require forgiveness and repentance. It will require time to break the bars of a cage that is still very much a part of my life.

  But best of all, behind the veil I experience joy because I left the money changers, the liars and the thieves behind.