Choices

So I logged into Facebook. The first thing that greeted me was a picture of a big beautiful ring cut in one of the exact styles I liked back in the day when I tried rings on. The connection didn't hit me right away though. I was more inclined to be reminded of one of my oldest friends who's birthday is today and who's hand and ring looks identical to the one in the picture. However, on second glance on seeing the next picture of the collage...

It's those second glances that get you.

On second glance it was revealed to belong to one of my fellow interns of last summer. One out of four of us in the whole group of 30 some girls that were of the same culture and one of the 3 of us with the same color hair. As a matter of fact, we looked very similar and acted very similar - same hair color, same tiny build, similar mannerisms. We hadn't spent a tremendous amount of time together but we had connected immediately when we did.

So there she was engaged. Good for her!

And then I saw him. It wasn't really him... but it looked like him. It was a guy in ministry (or at least I think he is) that was older that had a haircut bordering on the older side that towered over her in the pictures that had a beard. Perhaps most unforgivable was that obstinate button down shirt and khaki pants. And she looked bright and happy with her arms flung around him... just like me for ever so briefly... briefly as in like 3 weeks. I began rousing from my stupidity after that though it would take much longer to fully see everything objectively. For me... it was a response to finally being "loved" after years of wanting someone else to love me... it was a response to thinking I could make people happy and be doing the right thing for a change if I responded to the wooing of a guy in ministry. Of course all those reasons are wrong and stupid but half the time you don't know yourself well enough to know your own reasons when you're growing up. I sure didn't until I looked back later. That's part of growing up. That's why I feel confident saying I'm older now. I stop and think about stuff now and overanalyze my reasons before doing something major. I learned. You have to learn from your mistakes to grow up.

But for a second staring at her in the picture... I saw his look transferred to the other man's eyes. I cringed. I panicked. I wanted to reach out and rip her away.

And then I realized what I was doing and shook myself. I'm not much for judging people and here I was doing it. I'm also not much for sticking my nose in people's business. And here I was contemplating it.

So I shook myself and scolded me hard and moved along to the piles of coursework waiting for me. Oh yeah, wherever he is... I find it ironic that now we're split I'm doing courses through the Bible school he though so highly of. Like he wanted me to go but be sure and be engaged first to him. Like it made you something special or something. Ok, I'm being too harsh... what is my problem?

So I shake it off and go back to the jungles of blurry text thanks to a light fever. Stuff like this happens all the time when you're a survivor. In order to be a victor, you have to choose. Choose to move on. Choose to let go. Choose to stop and pray instead of wallowing.

So today in this new normal I'm choosing to turn away, to work on forgiving (again), and focus on something else - like the Spirit of God which we're studying currently.

It all comes down to a choice. What will you choose?

The Ghosts in the Closet

9.13
Best I can reckon it was bringing out that piece of furniture that brought the ghosts out.

So yesterday I had to get out a piece of furniture that hadn't been used for awhile... and although I was getting it out for some really special people that my family and I absolutely love... I guess the reason we bought it in the first place was enough to give me nightmares. We bought it right before they came for them.

But I was getting it out for a happy occasion. So minus snapping at my sibling when they came in with something... I thought it was all good. We had a great time. Around 12:30am we called it a long day and parted ways for the night. As usual that old surge of not wanting to go to bed - that subconscious fear of something be it of sleep disappearing as soon as my head touches the pillow, being alone with a thousand suppressed wonderings and being forced to toss them out or nightmares - came on. It always does. It's the weird new normal. New as in a year and a half or so. Maybe it started before that when I struggled through insomnia in high school. But the uncertainty and my inability to trust fully the way I should... well it ended up escalating into this phenomenon of not sleeping for a good long while til exhaustion hits. The new normal.

Eventually I slipped into that elusive sleep.

9.14
wee hours of the morning...
Then the dream came. The dream crisscrossed my favorite dream with my worst nightmare. It started with me getting something I always wanted, or at least beginning to get it maybe, and then really, really, really probably getting it... and then it took a wrong turn and tail-spun into the nightmare - the nightmare of so many: of receiving abuse at the hands of someone you trust. It was so impossibly bizarre and yet so disconcertingly realistic - the very trees in the neighbor's yard were correctly placed. I had dreamed of the incident re-occurring in one way or another again, but never like this. Never someone I trusted so much.

A theme in the dream was no commitment. "Zilch" as my grandma would say. Just empty half promises and raising of hopes. That's fairly normal too nowadays it seems. Action yet no commitment or empty promises with no action to follow it up. The new normal. 

The day goes on. 

7pm
Someone messages me and wants to share their current hard situation. Why? Because apparently it reminded them of my life and story. And it was like, thanks... but no thanks. Like on the one hand I'm glad I can help but another part of me wishes I never had to have gone through this jazz and be the first thing people think about. So I say a few things. But I don't really know what to say - like there's so much and yet it could be  taken so wrong. Decide to pray before giving any more advice. This is the new normal. 

10:42
Movie is paused. Check messages. Another change. I'm getting used to changes now.#thenewnormal

It's my boy that isn't mine. He wants me to know he's taking an internet break but if I need him here's how to reach him. I don't need an explanation. I get it. It's one of those moments impossible to understand by the public. On the one hand, I'm so proud. We talked about this awhile ago and so it's probably for the same reasons. One of which isn't just being tired of negative people on FB. I'm happy he's fighting. The dragon is going to die someday. Maybe it'll be soon. Through and with God, the battle may eventually be won in this lifetime. On the other hand, I'm let me know and told me how to reach him. That he actually cares enough to be around if I need him. That's the way this crazy friendship works. It can go awhile without talking - but if one of us needs something. Well, we know where to go. And it's perfectly normal. the constant normal for once... On the other hand, it's bittersweet. I'm going to miss them. I always do. But I'm used to it. I can foresee I'm going to talk about them too often and people are going to fuss about it. They don't understand that talking about a loss makes it almost seem like the person's closer in a far away sort of way.

It's a life I'd never choose on the bad days... on the good days I would. Good as in I feel good. Not necessarily the situation. But everyday I know with a clear certainty that this is the life I'm meant to live. No matter what. This is how God meant it. This is for a reason. Everything. Love and losing. Happiness and agony. Life and death. And so resting in that fact it's ok. Deep down where it really matters, it's ok. It's not always on the surface. I complain. I don't like this new normal. I don't like complications and pain. I don't like being different. But really, despite all my complaining, it's ok. Because God arranges life. He never does anything without a purpose. He knows. And that's really enough. Maybe it's so it can help someone or maybe it's to grow me more into His image. It's probably more like both.

So do I love this new normal? Not really. But would I trade this life for another? Maybe I'd like to, maybe in the moments of weakness when I wake up shaking inwardly from yet another nightmare I'd be tempted to. But would I? No, because this is the one God planned out and gave me. And no matter what you say, I won't change my mind on that. He's got this. I asked Him to. And even if I didn't, He's sovereign. So yeah.

Here's to this new normal.

You're going to hear me roar....
You held me down but I got up.
Already brushing off the dust... 
I see it all. I see it now...
Dancing through the fire
Cuz I am a champion." - "Roar"

"Why me? Why us, God?" - When it all falls apart

"You may think that I'm just fine. 
How could anything ever be out of line?
I take my time to set the stage
Make sure everything's in place.
Even though I've got the lines rehearsed
A picture only paints a thousand words." -  "Behind the Scenes"

Sometimes it's so weird.... the very idea of a dream dying is so painful it becomes unthinkable. I force myself to think of it, to come to grips with it, because I fear not coming to grips with it. It's as though in this painful, mixed up, unpredictable world I have a great need to know what my reaction will be. As if I think what I should say or do enough times it will actually turn out.

Funny how a girl like me should have so much trouble facing the dying of a dream. Me, that stared death in the eye so many times. That has seen the finger of mortality touch those I love best exposing the physical weakness of the strongest soul.

I'm even warned that this dream is going to die unless there's some major miracle.

And I keep forcing myself to think through what I'll do when it all falls apart finally.

Oddly enough it is oftentimes here where we are left on the precipice that saw or is to see the demise of our low no matter how high mortal dream that we grow angry with God. Oh how many times have I been guilty of this! How incredible, when one steps back and thinks about it, it is to shake one's fist at and question the One Great Almighty. The One Who, unlike us, is not limited by time, space, circumstance, bias, selfishness, and impure motives. He alone knows what was in eternity past. He alone knows what time will span. He alone can see eternity future. Only God our Savior can care deeply enough to have planned our lives without an ounce of impure intention.

Bowed down, humbled at this thought I can face the very possible demise of my beautiful dream better. I am still an artist who feels the torture of seeing one's chief work, so many cherished hopes of great things centered on burned before one's eyes. I am as yet not fully transformed though by and by I shall be thanks to the Master Artist. That is the hope, the stay, the reward - in short the reason to keep plodding even on the most miserable days. Knowing I am a part of His work, the greatest Artist's piece, is enough. I am His masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10). And that my friends, fills me with hope.

Well the demise of my dream did not come today after all. It was instead another piece of news. So unexpected in fact my mind is reeling and my soul even more so. No doubt it will make it's way onto this blog as well once I have regained enough ability to think if only rambling trails in the hope of making sense of it.

But even still, or rather because of it, I see how powerful, big, and omniscient God is and I am humbled and repentant for ever asking, "Why God, why me, why us?"

A Road Little Traveled - A New Trail on the Journey

This journey is rarely easy, always requires faith, guts, and God. This particular meander requires love, many jolts of reminders from God, lots of faces, vulnerability, courage, and a mustard seed of faith. My part of this journey is actually really easy. It's just being willing to be faithful to a calling and be a voice, a shoulder, a prayer warrior.

So, I need to write about what I don't want to write about. I need to tackle the hard subjects. Yes, I've covered hard subjects - abuse, violation, relationships, self-confidence issues. But the whole reason I started this blog was because I was struggling with accepting the fact that an unexpected dragon had managed to creep and then rear it's ugly head into my safe, beautiful world. The dragon's name was...

Pornography

There, I actually typed the word. Typing the very word is so difficult it took me months.

Hide in the fairy tale... 
The old man dying...
Jekyll and Hyde in the fairy tale...
This is much more frightening...
See the new man and tear the veil
See the old man dying...
- "Hide in the Fairy Tale" by Theocracy

I lived in a fairy tale. It was gorgeous. I was an innocent child with big wide opened eyes. I hadn't learned that sometimes it's better to look through mere slits of eyes with tunnel vision (albeit now that I do know that, I rarely do it). I had a great family. A mom and dad that loved each other. Friends that talked about the Lord freely with me. A couple of times I was even promised a fairy tale ending.

Two kids in a fairy tale out to prove the world all wrong armed with trust, honesty, belief and love. It was blissful.

Then along came a dragon.

A dragon we couldn't flail.

I saw my hero fall. And another hero. And a couple heroines. And another hero. And another.

I got tired of sitting on the sidelines. So I went on a hunt for a balm, a remedy, a sword. Even an old rusty broad sword would do in my desperation. I wasn't even sure what a weapon capable of stabbing this monster would look like. But stumbling in the dark seemed better than sitting idle on the sidelines.

I'm done with mediocrity. I'm done with running. I'm done with being told there's nothing I can do. I'm done with the sweet but condescending idea that I'm too small, too sweet, too innocent that I've been fed, as much if not more by myself than anyone else.

So here's to a little girl without much of what resembles the usual type of sword. But she's got God and a passion and a few battered heroes. Here's to David and Goliath. Here's to impossibility. Here's to sending out a few words into the big broad unknown of the internet. Here's to the less glorious sounding trenches where the fighting actually takes place. Here's to late night searching and good days. And after the good days have turned into nights when the curtain closes and the actors crash with tears streaming down their faces. Here's to broken dreams being remade.

Someone once explained it thus - there is a vase and it's gorgeous but if you put a candle into it the light would not be very visible. However, once the vase is broken and glued back together with some cracks and holes in it the light is extremely visible. It's even beautiful in a unique way.

So here I am. "Lord, use me." I will be more faithful to face this particular growing pain in this blog along with the others. My prayer - that some sort of balm and a few answers may be stumbled on. This strand of the journey needs to be explored as much as the others. So here goes... it will be slow and painful. I may lack the courage to talk about it on here often, but I pray and I research and I stay ready for the next chapter in the journey.

Here's to finding comfort, healing, courage, faith, and answers. Here's to standing strong and never giving up. Here's to finding the beautiful in the broken. Here's to beautiful vases crashing on the pavement, being bathed with glistening tears, resurrecting into very different but vastly more impacting beautiful things.

I'm Don't Have an Eating Disorder... I just Skipped Lunch

Our society sometimes seem to have a paranoia about eating disorders. Be on the thin side, skip one meal, and you find yourself accused of being anorexic. And I'm very grateful for the effort to bring eating disorders and image issues to the fighting forefront. It's helped save a lot of people.

But there's those others of us.... that don't dare admit we have issues for fear of a label. I mean we're the good girls, right? We're dependable and great friends and respectful kids and never skip Sunday school.... Or maybe we don't even know we have an issue because we associate disorders with being able to see every rib and being pale and making yourself throw up. Or maybe we are that girl and we just don't know it.

However it is, let's admit it. Even if we don't have a disorder so to speak, our looks still get to us. Despite all our preaching otherwise about inward beauty and how God looks on the inside, let's face it: our looks get to us. 

Call us stupid; we'll hit you with our books. Call us lazy; we'll hit you with a wet dish. Call us bad cooks; we'll put a pie in your face. But our looks.... well we will slap you. But then we'll look in the mirror and believe every word of it whether we ever admit to or not. Our confidence is so weak in that area. Most of the time it's the first confidence to go under trauma. It's an established fact that under stress people lose confidence as they're faced with impossible choices and unexpected losses.

And let's face it - something about stress messes with the majority of girls' conception of self-image. Maybe there was a big test and you skipped a few meals out of adrenaline and cramming. Or maybe there was a family issue and you couldn't eat. Then from sheer necessity it falls into an everyday habit. And then you call yourself "fat" or "in need of shedding a few pounds" or maybe you actually like your body for once.... and it becomes a choice. Something you barely think about and yet a choice nevertheless. 

Let me illustrate. Confession time. *deep breath* Life was coming together. I was growing up. It was all good. And then it couldn't have wrecked worse if life had been a train and gone crashing against a rock wall. The situations hit at the core of who I thought I was. Suffice it to say there were multiple aspects of life falling apart and specifics are still too painful to talk about except around midnight with a close family member. But I didn't have time to process or grieve or come up with plan Z.  Adding to the stress, I had a nightmare of a professor. From a straight A student to trying to barely cling to an A-. Nothing was right. If I went by the syllabus he didn't like it. If I didn't go by the syllabus he didn't like it. I was too vague; I was too specific. I gave too much summary; I didn't give enough summary. It came time to file for graduation and I didn't have a clue what came next. What I thought I'd always do I decided I could not bring myself to. What I really wanted looked impossible. What I thought I'd always wanted I wasn't enthusiastic about. But hey, that's just life. Anyone can handle that.  Except life had just spiraled dreadfully out of control and I didn't have times to deal with it for reading Romantic Era poetry and cramming for finals so we wouldn't have to pay the thousands of dollars college enrollment fee again.

So I stopped eating.

I didn't have time so I skipped a meal here or there.
I was busy. I forgot to eat.

And then when tragedy hit, I didn't have time to deal with pain. But you have to grieve somehow. If you don't, your body will do it for you. My body decided to start gagging every time it tried to eat. Even pork chops, my favorite meal. I tried force feeding. It didn't work. Like I said, if you don't take the time to cry your body will do it for you.

Needless to say the various situations had shaken me to a core. Beforehand I'd been growing in confidence as one thing after another fell into place. Not arrogant. Just sure of myself in a quiet sort of way, secure in the feeling that I could see God working one step at a time. College was scary. College courses kept being passed. College social life was like nothing I'd ever experienced. God blessed me with many friends. Travel had always been daunting. I got to fly. But as graduation ticked closer and closer without a clear plan and my inability to really think straight my confidence plummeted. Like most girls I'd always criticized my own looks. Not anything major. I just had always picked on this or that.

And then one day I happened to catch a glance at myself in the mirror. I was always too busy to look on a daily basis and it was really a fluke that I'd caught a glimpse then.

What I saw made me look again.

For the first time in my life I didn't have a "stomach." I was flat where I was "supposed" to be flat and curved where I was "supposed" to be curved. For the first time since I was 14, I saw an hourglass.

I can't explain the boost of confidence that surged through me at that moment. The pain was too bad to express it; the stress too time consuming to. But right there in that moment I felt pretty. In the middle of a falling apart world I couldn't save, something about me was right. At least I could face the chaos with a pulled together front, even if the inside was disintegrating.

I stopped feeling bad when I couldn't eat or forgot a meal.

And that's where the trouble started.

Because eventually we can eat and we have enough time to eat. We just don't want to. Maybe we feel guilty to eat because we think we have a few too many extra pounds. Maybe we're too lazy to workout and skipping lunch has a similar effect. Regardless, let's get to the point of this - insecurity. On some level we're insecure. So we find it, or try to find it, in our bodies, in the looks cast our way, in the compliments, in the flirty conversations.

But that security will always leave you empty.

Trust me. I'm still empty.

I'm only full when I turn to the proper Source. It's not enough to just recite trite comments to ourselves about how "God looks on the inside" or "real men only care about the inside." Face it, the problem isn't where others look. It's where we look. Are we looking at the superficial, the transient, the fleeting? Are we only caring about the flitting comments about the short lasting appearances? Don't get me wrong, hearing we look good is  good for us. But peanut butter despite it's high level of protein isn't enough to live off on more than a literal level.

While it's important to view yourself as beautiful because God made you that way, it's also necessary in my experience to tell yourself your good at other things too. Find something you're confident at. Sure, make jokes about your stupidity.... but remember you have that diploma. You know Aunt Jenny's pies are better than yours, but remember yours are still pretty good. Yeah, your friend has a new boyfriend but you were special enough for that other friend to invite you to a movie for a great girls' night out. Learn to find the encouragement and uplifting praise all around you - even if it's just stumbling over a weedflower and saying, "Thank you for thinking of me, Jesus!" I know I'm being simple here, but I mean it.

But most of all.... we have to go to the Source of all confidence. The Source of life. The Source of love and acceptance. We have to love Him. We have to put Him first. And then nothing else matters so much, hurts so much. (need triple) It's baby steps. He'll guide us through. We can't put Him first by ourselves. But one turn and He'll meet you there. Turn, cry out, and He'll be there.

This isn't an easy battle. Nothing happens overnight. We didn't get here overnight. I'm still fighting. Choosing to be hungry when I'm really not. Choosing to eat three meals a day even though I know just skipping one would keep me a few pounds lighter... (yeah, I gain weight weird. ;P) But if the choice is never things will still change - just in the wrong direction.

Why I'm Dry

No, I'm not a true typical overly zealous Bible belt type... nor a prude... nor a goody two shoes. I have my share of pitfalls and bad ideas and mess ups.

Being dry and being perfect are two different, very different things.

I'm dry not because I'm good.
I'm dry because of the kids.

I'm not what you'd call "good with kids." In other words, I'm no good at scooping up random kids, showering them with kisses, and make them giggle "their heads off." But one on one in an informal (aka no one's watching) environment we can get on well. I have several kids I dearly love and they return it. With the ones I connect with, it's like they view me as another kid but respect me all at the same time. So I get to see the G.I. Joes and dogs and first knives and high heel shoes and earrings and tobacco and boyfriends and... yeah...they show me things and play games like I'm a kid on their level and yet my stamp of approval or disapproval means a bit more than a peer...maybe even just on a subconscious level I love every minute of it. So shhh... don't tell them how old I am. ;)

I used to say I had to abstain from alcohol because it'd kill me. It probably still would just cuz I'm wired unusual like that. But scientifically I can't prove it anymore unless I drank and killed over, which isn't entirely improbable. That's beside the point though. In the latest GF (gluten free) news world, it's now proven that not only wine but hard liquor is "safe" for celiacs. Yeah, you can just go ahead and drink the hard liquor without me. I'd never feel safe swallowing anything that originally came from gluten no matter how "fermented" and "dissipated" the gluten particles may have been proven to be. But since the jury's in on it, I can't use health as a reason anymore.

But that's not why I'm dry. I'm not saint and peer pressure would get to me eventually probably. Maybe not.... but maybe so. Maybe at a party with close friends I respect and love a lot. Maybe if I especially wanted to become one of their close friends. Maybe to avoid being derogatorily called a "goody two shoes" by those few I count my best friends. Because I'm weak like that. And because when it's late and you get a bunch of people together and your mama ain't there to get her heart broke.... maybe a lot of us do a lot of things we wouldn't do otherwise. But it was never the "bunch of people" that got to me. It was when my closest friends, my family in all but blood, the type of people I'd bleed and suffer and die for... when they think something's ok, or they're doing it... that's when I have a tendency to try to rationalize and give in.

But I'd still stay dry probably. Because the motivation is huge. It's like those kids that wear purity rings and can't give in as long as it's staring up at them from their finger.

I stay dry for the kids. For all the ghosts of kids.

It was a big party and everyone was having one too many. Oh, trust me it  wasn't bad. No one was drunk, not even tipsy... yet. It was in somebody's house, at 5pm - the sun was still out, and the whole family was involved. I'm a good girl. :p It felt strange being the only "clean" one. I could tell it was making my friend feel bad. Health always makes people feel sorry for you and that's the last thing I wanted. In order not to draw attention to myself, I reached for my favorite "drink" - a vanilla creme soda, a "baby" drink. So? It tastes INCREDIBLE! Yeah, gluten free living keeps your inner kid alive; everything you find something new it's awesome.

It happened to be a very nice, certified GF, organic, vanilla cream soda. Which of course means it comes in a brown glass bottle. Ring any bells? I got it opened and closed my eyes to better savor the first sip. I try to stay off sugar and live healthy so this was a real treat. Besides, did I say I discovered vanilla cream soda less than a year before? Yeah, it was a complete and utter novelty.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing confronting me was a little boy with bright eyes. Bright Eyes and I were good friends. We play together and giggle loudly and climb in tree houses. I'll never forget the next moment.

"You drink too?" There was shock in his eyes, disappointment not concealed in his little quavery voice.

It didn't matter that his parents had it in their hands. Or that everyone besides the two of us would have some before the night was out. It mattered that I had it in my hand.

In sheer shock, I responded that no, I was drinkin'... I hope I comforted him somehow. But the dart was thrown. It pierced us both. For a moment I wasn't who he thought I was.

There's another kid too. A kid I never met. A girl that was my mom. My mom's always been against her family drinking. She doesn't judge anyone. It was just a standard set for her kids as long as we were under her roof. But she doesn't say it like another rule. It's come out a couple times that at family events people would get drunk... that there were friends... that's she's seen enough of the block to know and understand. And once, just once, it came out that one of her uncle's would get drunk and hit on her a few times. That there was something in his eyes when he'd look at her body...

I don't judge others who drink. I've had enough friends argue that the Bible speaks against drunkenness not drinking that I won't touch the subject with a ten foot pole. Who argue that they're sure they have enough self control to never go over the proper amount, whatever that is. Who argue that you can overcome a family background, gene pull and all, with the proper amount of self control. And to some extent I admire people that can actually deny genetics, deny culture, deny a proven addicting substance and succeed. A hearty round of applause to you! (No, I'm not being sarcastic at all. I hate sarcasm mixed with serious... unless you're whole serious essay is presented from the sarcastic viewpoint.)

It took me awhile to come to my decision, because quite honestly some of those arguments have been presented to me well and logically from very close friends. For myself, I choose to stay dry for the kids who seem to pop out of the woodwork.... the ones that peer over banisters and walk by innocently at just the wrong time and just happen to be standing there when so and so just happens to get drunk.

I don't drink because of the kids.
Because no six year old boy peering over the banister unnoticed should see his mom walk in a crooked line while popping risque, albeit mild, jokes. 
Because no sixteen year old girl should be hit on by a family member she loves surrounded other family members.