Study in Contradiction

Running

2009-11-11T01:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I still find myself running towards the lies. Believing that I am truly way down deep inside unlovable. People I love, that I deeply respect and admire have gone to ridiculous lengths to convince me I am in fact lovable.
Even on wonderful fanfreakintastic days I hear an echo of long ago and long since dead voices telling me I am a nasty selfish girl that no one really loves.
I hate that echo.
I've tried to drown it out, smoke it out, cut it out, sweat it out. I've tried to kill it with food and I've tried to distract it with shiny boys. But still the voice remains.
I've tried to silence it with loud angry music or the blaring TV. I've given it over more times than I care to count to a God that has shown himself as nothing less than gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. But still it returns. The echo, always there in the deepest part of the night and the brightest time of day.
You are not lovable it hisses and slithers. I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to stop attributing that echo of long ago voices from over taking me. I don't know how to stop from thinking, "Any day now. Any day they'll figure out that I'm a fraud, that I'm unlovable"

I hold my breath, waiting for the hammer to drop. For you to figure it out. I find myself terrified and tongue tied when I try to pray because I don't want Him to find out, or more so I don't want to remind Him how truly unlovable I am.
The contradiction is found in knowing it is a lie; but still believing it's true.

It's prideful, this obsession that I can truly be that unlovable. The idea that I can have information that God does not already know inside and out. The idea that I am beyond the redemption of a God that created the universe. This guilt is not well founded. This shame is not from God.
I'm just working through some things people. I'll be just fine. But sometimes this junk just needs to get out of my head before it drives me batty.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Pride
I was Afraid
Jesus

Knowing the Truth; Believing the Lies

2009-11-09T16:07:00.003-05:00

I'm reading Learning My Name by Pete Gall. It's a really intense book for me and I'm having a hard time reading more than a few pages.
I started it right after reading another really intense book and had to put it down. I just couldn't do it anymore.

But I dog sat this weekend and decided to give it another crack. At the end of the intro and each chapter there are questions to answer and reflect on. I'm only partly through the 1st chapter. Because I just can't push through this book. It's challenging my views on forgiveness, healing and redemption. I realized with a tearful start that I still believe a lie. Lies that had been tattooed on my heart for years I'm still finding them holding on in the deepest corners of my heart and mind.
I know they are lies. I know they are lies. But I still believe them to be true. I choose their sharp broken edges over the loving embrace of a God that has never harmed me.

The question was "What do you believe happens when God forgives you?"
I know what happens, I've read about it in the bible, what happens when you ask for forgiveness. I know the truth. But my mouth opened and out of it came this damn lie that He patronizes me, says "yes yes I know you'll try to do better, just like the last hundred times" Out of my mouth and the dredges of my heart came the characteristics and habits of people that have hurt me, lied to me, used me, abused me...and my very own broken and damaged character came out. That forgiveness isn't true, it doesn't exist. There is no redemption for this horrible nasty girl.
I can't even explain really what happened after that. I wrote and wrote and wrote in my journal. I prayed, I cried I begged for this to go away, these lies.
I know these are all lies. That no one, myself included is beyond redemption. I know that when you ask for forgiveness you are granted it immediately. But I don't believe it. I don't trust that it could really be true.

It's infected my relationship with God to the point of infecting my time in prayer with him. It's is a brick wall that I've built between us that I'm tired of ramming my head into. It's a battle that is raging that is whispering to me that God merely tolerates me and my antics because I'm useful to Him in some way. Which is the same battle that rages in my heart about my relationships with other people.
It's terrifying and reassuring, this realization that these lies exist along with my knowledge of the truth. It's terrifying that I can have known God for so long, that I have seen Him do amazing things and that He has delivered me from so many things but I still don't seem to trust that it's real. It's reassuring because at least I know the truth...which is someplace to begin.

Because I know, that we are all redeemed freely through grace. That it is not what I do, the tasks I accomplish, the words I do or do not say, the actions I have taken in the past or the actions I'm taking now that will earn me grace. It's free. Completely unearned and completely amazing. Now I just have to find a way to truly truly believe it and allow that grace to heal the scars the lies have left etched in my heart.

Romans 3:22-24
22This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, 23for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, 24and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Beautiful Idol
Thud of Grace
Still Broken

The Thud of Grace

2009-11-03T13:43:00.001-05:00

I read this here.
You have to read it. I cried. It was exactly what I needed today.

I often wonder how she felt.
Standing there, caught in her shame, there was no way to hide.
No chance of passing the blame – she was caught in the act.
No chance of getting out of punishment – these guys meant business.

But, so did He.

He already knew her. He knew her habits, her vices. He also knew her dreams. Her secret longings. Her desire to be beautiful and to feel beautiful. Yeah, he knew all about her. And he still loved her.

I often wonder how she felt; humiliated and scared out of her mind. Her eyes darting towards the jagged stones held by the hands of men – many of whom she had already met before. Many of whom she had already…known before. The cat calls and hissing of men and women in the crowd, the plea for justice in the form of stone against flesh, none of these could distract her attention though of this man standing next to her.

Majestic yet simple.
Fierce yet serene.
Jealous. Oh my, he was jealous.

A voice cried out, “Abba! We caught this woman having sex. Adultery! Fornication! It wasn’t even her husband! According to Moses, we should stone her.” The man, silently remembering his own indiscretions with the targeted woman, threw a furtive smile towards his friends. “What say you, LORD?”

Silence.

A few chuckled. She groaned inwardly. They had him now. All he had to do was mention this thing of…grace and they would have him trapped. She was a slut. A whore. A good-for-nothing piece of trash who gave away her body for a few scraps of bread and measly change.

Every one waited.

Quietly, he stooped down and wrote in the sand.

She braced herself for the first stone’s impact.

His voice shattered the silence, “Okay. True. She has sinned. But. Let the one with no sin throw the first stone.”

She closed her eyes, tears making rivers down her cheeks.

Thump.

One stone hits the ground with stunning finality. The man who dropped the stone, shoulders slumped, turns around and walks away.

Thump.

Another stone fallen; another man turns to leave.

One by one, the stones hit the dirt. The woman – was she amazed? Did she have the strength to stand under the weight of a sin forgiven?

Quietly, without much ado, the men left . Only One was remained.

“Where are your accusers? Did no one throw a stone?”

She managed a whisper, “No, LORD.”

He smiled. “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

I often wonder how she felt.

With the thud of grace ringing in her ears, did she dance? Did she sing?

Or did she cling to His hand? In desperation for love and acceptance, did she for the first time feel beautiful? Did she see her worthiness as far more than pearls as He gingerly wiped tears from her cheek?

I’d like to think she did a little of all of these. I’d like to think that humbled, she fell at His feet and wept the bittersweet tears of redemption. I’d like to think that when she was done, she finally felt what it was like to be forgiven.

To be free.

Climbing Aimlessly Over These Hills

2009-10-31T13:40:00.000-04:00

I kept hearing this song on the radio lately. But I hardly listen to Christian radio so I can't have heard it much. The lyric, "Whatever you're doing inside of me it feels like chaos" has been looping around and around in my head.
Because it does.
I've been chatting with God over the last several years about change. Change who I am, how I feel about myself, my physical appearance (as in getting healthy), how I treat others. I've begged him for passion and motivation to do something worthwhile, anything at all that isn't focused on my own comfort. He's patiently pointed out a few areas in my heart that needed swept out, cleaned out and purged. He's gently knit back together the shards of my heart I used as weapons against others. He's waited patiently through my tantrums and deafening silences and curled his arms around my stubborn turned from Him back.

It's all been very exhausting.
Now, now he's seemingly trying to show me that the healing is done enough for me to move. Take action. To let my direction determine my destination (Directionationism) and it feels like chaos. It feels paralyzing. It feels overwhelming to dream big and seemingly impossible dreams that to others might not be that big of a deal. But they are to me.
I've cleaned this old house. I've purged, cried, screamed, whispered and whimpered it all out. Now is the time to move instead of climbing aimlessly over these hills.
But I still feel so paralyzed and overwhelmed. I still am finding the habits of living based on lies so deeply ingrained and scarred on my heart hard to overcome.
So I shut down and shut up and try to not address it directly.
But if there is one thing I've learned about God, it's that he doesn't go quietly into the night. He's poking and prodding me to keep it moving.
When in doubt, when scared I try to stay very very still as if I can somehow disappear into the stillness. But God keeps stirring it up, my heart.

Some days I just don't know what to do with that. I don't know what next step to take. Some days I do, and I'm just so scared to take them.
A lot of days lately, I've just been sitting with it. Holding it in my heart and letting myself hope for something larger than this life. Something Heavenly.

Posts that may only slightly be related:
Some Days
Kind of Girl
Shut Up Just Sit Right Back

It's time for healing time to move on
It's time to fix what's been broken too long
Time make right what has been wrong
It's time to find my way to where I belong
There's a wave that's crashing over me
All I can do is surrender

[Chorus]
Whatever you're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos somehow there's peace
It's hard to surrender to what I can't see
but I'm giving in to something heavenly

Time for a milestone
Time to begin again
Reevaluate who I really am
Am I doing everything to follow your will
or just climbing aimlessly over these hills
So show me what it is you want from me
I give everything I surrender...
To...

[Chorus]

Time to face up
Clean this old house
Time to breathe in and let everything out
That I've wanted to say for so many years
Time to to release all my held back tears

Whatever you're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos but I believe
You're up to something bigger than me
Larger than life something heavenly

Whatever you're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos but now I can see
This something bigger than me
Larger than life something heavenly
Something heavenly

It's time to face up
Clean this old house
Time breathe in and let everything out
Sanctus Real Whatever You're Doing(Something Heavenly)

The Truth of a Thousand Lies

2009-10-30T08:14:00.003-04:00

My face has been in a lot of pain lately. Seems I have a bum tooth thanks to an almost 20 year old silver filling that is shifting and allowing decay to get underneath the it and into the nerve of the tooth. The pain intensified Thursday morning and it woke me up to seeing colors at about 3am.
I went to the dentist and got it all taken care of and was commended for the care I take with my teeth, brushing, flossing, mouth wash etc. Which was odd, because I was pretty much ready to stop flossing because I blamed the flossing for my bum tooth.

On the way to the pharmacy to fill my prescription I started thinking about why I thought it was the flossing that gave me the tooth decay, because it clearly isn't. I realized with a start that when bad things happen I blame the good things for them.
I don't think about my decisions to live on a diet of solely Mt.Dew. chocolate and high sugar fruity adult beverages. I don't think about the years I didn't brush my teeth a lot and certainly never flossed. I blamed the good thing, the flossing and the good habits I'm developing now. I automatically decided that I shouldn't even bother flossing because all it does is cause the decay to happen. It didn't occur to me without a lot of thought that the flossing only brought out the hidden decay that was already there, just below the surface. Decay that would have come out eventually even without the flossing.
I do that with a whole lot of things. I used to never wash my face and I rarely had acne. When I started washing my face I broke out so badly and it was super painful. So I stopped washing my face again. Until a friend told me that I was breaking out because the face wash was bringing all of the junk hiding below the surface of my skin out to wash it away. If I would just stick with it through the pain and break outs my skin would clear back up and I wouldn't have that much acne again.
I thought of that on the way to the pharmacy too.

I thought of how working out has caused my knees to hurt, my arms to ache, my head to throb and how I almost threw up after working out that one time. It makes me want to quit. Because I blame the working out. I don't consider all of the junk I've stuffed into my mouth for 30 years. I don't think about all the lazy days spend lounging in bed drinking soda and eating chips that caused all of this weight to be stressing my joints. I blame the good thing, the good habit for the current pain.

I thought about my relational baggage. How I blame every single less than exactly how I wish they could be fella for the shortcomings of the one I really want to be with. I don't think about the lies I was told, that have become so ingrained in my heart that I don't hesitate to believe them. Ugly. Fat. Worthless. Stupid. Unlovable. Selfish. I blame the fella. I call him shallow when that isn't really true. I seek out his shortcomings and orchestrate his downfall in my mind before he finds the truth of a thousand lies I've engraved on my own heart. I blame the fella for the intentional bad choices I've made in relationships, for the repercussions of such things.

I blame the good things to avoid dealing with the bad.
I thought this morning as I lay in bed nursing the left side of my wounded mouth about how surprising it is to me that I still believe these lies. The liars have been revealed. The truth is out, they were full of shit. But still, years have passed with me still believing their lies. I believe the slithery lies whispered in my ear in the dead of night.
Don't even try, you will fail.
Don't speak up about these things, no one wants to hear them.
It's his fault, not yours
You don't deserve this
They're better off without you

But I'm realizing that this is all the decay. The decay of a thousand lies told to me by the enemy and by people that should have loved me. The decay has always been there. It's always been just below the surface. Talking about it hasn't caused the decay it's only healing it. But still I dodge, deflect and demur. I blame the talking about it, the being open about it as what causes this pain.
So today I'm trying to remember, that the pain, the junk, the decay is not caused by the good thing. It's not caused by the moving forward, moving on, airing of the hidden lies. The pain is a sign that it's working. That the infection is being attacked and healed and that one day it will be as it should be. I'm holding on to the promise that mercy will come and wash all of this away. That in the end this interim pain and struggle won't matter anymore because it's the good that will come from it that matters.

I tried so hard
In spite of the way you were mocking me
Acting like I was part of your property
Remembering all the times you fought with me
I'm surprised

It got so far
Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me in the end

You kept everything inside
And even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be
A memory of a time when

I tried so hard and got so far
But in the end it doesn't even matter
I had to fall to lose it all

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Stephanie
Liars
Invisible

Change of Plans

2009-10-19T08:04:00.002-04:00

"Compassion is sometimes the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too."

Frederick Buechner

Especially when I have a way events will go set in my head it is difficult for me to change plans under the best of circumstances. I spend a lot of time thinking about how something will go, the conversations that will be had and my responses to any possible tension, conflict, whatever.
Even worse is when I have a set time that I would like to arrive. I hate being late, I hate it. I've had huge fights with dear friends about being late. My tendency is to just throw people out of my way and get moving already so we can get somewhere on time. The ironic thing about that is I almost always get places early, I panic about being late and leave way to early and end up cooling my heals for awhile until whatever I was arriving for begins.

Friday I was going to a book reading by my house. Before I got there I needed to go to West Chester and pick up my friend Claire, who doesn't like to drive at night. I left work late because I was fussing with my hair in the bathroom and reapplying makeup (because I may or may not have an awkward and obnoxious crush on the author that was speaking). I was frustrated because I made myself late. Traffic was annoying because it was raining during the drive from work up to West Chester. It's really only about 30 miles total but traffic makes it take the time of about 50-60 miles, especially when it rains.
I had in mind I was going to pick up Claire, run to my house to pick up said authors book that I forgot at home and then head to the venue all by 630 so I could get good seats. Logically speaking I knew that there would be plenty of good seats to be had but I was all wound up about it in my head.
I was also worrying about money, because I'm totally broke. I mean, I'm not broke but the amounts of funds I have to vicariously spend frivolously is less than zero. Which is fine and my bills are being paid but owning a house by myself is expensive and hard and it's just catching up to me lately. So I was calculating and budgeting and wrapped up in my little world during the drive up to West Chester.

As I drive up the exit ramp to Union Centre I see her. The woman standing on the ramp holding the sign, "Homeless and Hungry. Anything Will Help" I immediately thought, "I don't have anything lady I'm flat ass broke" But I felt bad because I like to help, I know that even a smile and a kind word might help but this womans belly would still be empty and she would still be homeless. So I smile at her as I drive by and try to move my mind on to the subject at hand, budgeting, getting to the venue on time, what I was going to do the rest of the weekend. But my heart wouldn't move on.
My heart started telling me that even as broke as I am I am one of the richest people in the world. My heart told me that I had a car, a house, clothes, heat, family and friends that if I really needed it and was in trouble would bail me out no questions asked. I had food in my cupboard, my stomach was bulging with the results of our pot luck at work. My heart told me that my schedule, my plans, my idea of how things should go that evening was wrong. That I shouldn't be so worried about getting somewhere 30 minutes before an event starts that I sacrifice compassion for someone else. My heart sounded a whole lot like my God.

I turned to look behind me as I switched lanes to prepare for my turn and I saw it. The crock pot, still warm, filled with homemade rigatoni from the pot luck at work. But I immediately dismissed the idea because in order to give her rigatoni I would need a container, disposable silverware, time, energy and motivation to give it to her. All of those things I was running short on. But God reminded me again of how rich I was, of how much I had, and how a little inconvenience on my part wouldn't kill me. God reminded me that whatever I did for the least of these I've done for Him.

So I call Claire, and ask her if she has a container that she would be willing to not get back. She did. I stop at her house, spoon the rigatoni into the container elated that it was still so warm. We stop at a gas station to pick up utensils and we head back to the 75 overpass. I obviously can't drive down the off ramp, so I park on the overpass and jump out of the car. I realized I had two umbrellas in my car so I grabbed one of those. I walked down the overpass and up to the woman still holding the sign and said I had food and an umbrella for her. We chatted for a second, hugged, then I walked back to my car. I was damp, my carefully straightened hair was starting to frizz and I'm pretty sure my eyeliner was smudging. But the turmoil was still. My heart was calmed.
I told Claire that I was pretty sure I wasn't going to actually enjoy the evening until that task was accomplished, because how could I?

Even now I wonder where that woman is, what she's doing, if she's safe and warm. I wonder what else I could have done. I know that what I did was good enough but it doesn't feel good enough. It doesn't feel good enough to me that there are people that have no homes when I have a large home for just one small person. It doesn't feel right that people are starving when I'm eating myself to death. It's not comfortable, this knowledge of poverty in the world.
I get caught up in my everyday life, I get distracted and inward focused and I may even forget for a little bit that this other world exists because I'm so cozily ensconced in my world. I'm not saying that we should feel guilty for what we have, but maybe we shouldn't hold on so tightly to it when others have nothing.

It's not comfortable, living in this tension between how I wish the world was, how I wish the world worked and what is actually happening. I'm grieved with the knowledge of what is wrong and the knowledge that it will never be truly right until we're reunited with our Father in Heaven. I long for that day.

Matthew 25:35-40
35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

37"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

40"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

Picking

2009-10-15T11:45:00.002-04:00

A simple conversation, not on the phone or face to face, leads me to spend days picking at the wound that I never let heal.

Just for a moment I'll think, I'll pretend it could be right. Maybe if I just pick at this corner the rest of the wound will remain sealed up tight.
No matter, it all comes undone with a whisper of the dream, with a hint in the deepest dredges of my heart of the dream that goes unfulfilled.

I know it happens, that it will happen, every single time. Yet I can't stay away, like a moth to a flame. The cliche so overplayed and melodramatic yet it fits this melodrama raging in my heart so well.

It's exhausting, this constant vigilance, to not long for it so deeply, to not look at it to closely, to not want the dream so badly. This longing that finds me in the deep darkness of the night when I sleep, when my defenses are down.
It finds me waking to the shrill alarm clock, stumbling into the cold bathroom with tears on my face.

How long? How long? How long will it be until this is healed, until I stop picking at the wound I don't let heal. How many more moments will there be when my breath catches in my throat at the very thought, the very hint of a life spent, I can't even say.
It's to much, to hard, to painful to imagine it without the possibility of it becoming true. This hope is foolish to hold on to, it is to much.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
I could never be your woman
Wrap Me Up
Today This Ends

Impossible possible

2009-10-12T22:29:00.003-04:00

It's hard to imagine that a year from now it could all be different. That the clothes I wear will be smaller and the space I take up will be less.
It's like I'm still refusing to believe it, this direction I'm trudging in.
I can hardly believe that I will be able to consistently make good choices, choices that are good for me and not just everyone else, choices that propel me down the path that God is clearly illuminating for me. Me.

My gut instinct is that I'm being selfish, focusing on ME. I know I'm not. I know that the foundation of anything that I do must be my own capacity, health and most importantly my very own personal relationship with Jesus. Because if those things are limited than what I can accomplish, the distance I'll be able to go is limited.
It seemed so vain, sitting alone in that little room with the Dr. Man talking about goals and what was happening down to the cellular level in my body. It felt weird to even be talking about my body, because I have put a lot of time and effort over the years into, at best, ignoring it and at worst abusing it. It was mortifying for him to ask me what size pants I wore, and then terribly self-centered to tell him in a halting and not really believing it can happen voice the size pants I would like to wear (which is less by exactly half by the way).

I felt like I was giving all the wrong answers to questions that had no right answers. I felt dumb because I've buried my head so deep in the sand about what and how I eat that all my food tastes like dirt. I had wound myself up so tightly before Dr. Man called me back into the little room that I was needlessly defensive and antagonistic. Because I was so primed and ready for a fight that I picked one just to relieve some of the tension (I do that sometimes, most likely I've done it with all of you). It felt strange that I wasn't met with cruel words belittling my very existence (which has been the case with oh so many Dr. Men before), but that rather I was met with encouragement, attainable goals and a warm and genuine smile.
I wasn't prepared for that.

This journey of melodramatic weight loss is being lived out so much more internally, in my heart and my head, than I was really prepared for. I'm being confronted by this idea I have of myself that is not based anywhere in the realm of reality. I'm finding the cruelty I so fear coming at me from the mouths of others is really only living in my very own heart. I'm hearing the whisper that it isn't supposed to be this way, that I am not this person I've talked myself into believing I am.

Instead, it's slowly sinking in that I am a cherished child of a big God that has a call on my life to do things in His name. It's finally occurring to me that I wasn't created just to be a punching bag in any way, not even by my own hands.

It was hard to imagine even just a year ago that I would ever truly believe that the promises I read about in scripture truly apply to me even at my most damaged. It seemed impossible that the God I loved and longed for other people to know truly cherished me. Because I put on him the junk of people that are not God and believed that was all there was. But now, I can barely recognize the girl from even just a year ago, let alone the angry sad girl of so many years.

So I'm trying to remind myself, that even though I can hardly imagine that in a year I could wear pants half the size I wear now, that I could have a sustainable habit of eating and living, that I could have so much more capacity to live out the call on my life, even though I can hardly believe it could be true, I know it can be. Because I look back on all the other impossible to believe things that have happened since I met God one scary grief soaked night on a balcony and I see that my God, my big God makes the impossible possible.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Some Days
Denise
Jesus

Love(ly) Things

2009-10-06T01:24:00.000-04:00

It's nice when people say unexpectedly nice things about you, and they don't necessarily mean to.
It's also nice to hear it via 3rd party about someone that you are still unsure of.

It's nice when you can have time with people just wandering around doing things. Even though it's awkward and sometimes a little sad the way you feel about that person, it's nice when both people are making an effort to make it work.

It's nice when you feel yourself tumbling towards the edge of a precipice and you take intentional steps away from it. Because you've fallen down that gorge before and there's nothing but broken and bleeding hearts at the bottom.
It's nice to realize that you've done it unconsciously, because that means it's becoming a sustainable life style instead of a begrudged survival skill.

It's nice for you to say that you support what I'm doing and that I can call you if I need to. Because even though I know it, it's nice to hear it.

It's nice to know that even though you were the first person I told, the first person I was brave with, the first person that pushed and shoved me out of my comfort zone that we don't only talk about that.

It's nice that you honor my relationship with God by not making fun of it, even though you don't understand it. It's nice that you ask me open ended questions about it without thinking that I'm going to kung fu baptize you at any given moment.

It's nice to see you happy, to see you thriving, to see you settled and calm. It's nice to know that it's ok to still be a little sad about it though.

It's nice. This life. For all the melodrama and worries, for all the exhaustion and discomfort that comes with living on a limb I would have never chosen for myself...it's nice. This love(ly) life.

For Pete

2009-10-05T09:31:00.002-04:00

They always say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Why do my feet feel like they are made of lead?

Lead like the way my feet feel when turning to move in a new direction, lead like the way my head feels at the bottom of my stomach.
Turning a fully loaded freight train on a dime would be easier than changing my life at this point. The fear is overwhelming and the other side of that wall I've built is blank, unknown, and terrifying.

Dread is the lead that holds me down. I'd rather not know some days, I'd rather not find out that life could be better than it is at this very moment. If I knew, but still didn't move than I would only be giving myself another reason to hate myself and the life I feel trapped in.

My head is the place that all of this happens, the location I cannot escape as it follows me everywhere. My head is the table around which conversations are had, where irrationality and putrid streams of condescension are flung like confetti. The wall lives there, trapping me in my own quick sand.

I know it can be better, I can see that it should be better. I'm getting glimpses of that life, of that way of living open and free. Windows are being built in my wall so I can see the beauty of a life fully lived. But the windows won't open, and I still feel so trapped here, behind the wall I built to protect that is becoming the source of the pain.

They always say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Why do my feet feel like they are made of lead?

Irrational

2009-10-02T23:03:00.002-04:00

I have found it almost completely impossible to cope with life right now. My capacity to relate and process over stimulating life this week dropped like a rock to the bottom of a very deep and dark cavern.

Work was busy, my life group sabbatical has officially come to an end and my terrified first steps onto the path towards health happened this week. It was a week that every night was filled with a commitment when all I really wanted to do was crawl in bed in flannel pajamas and pull the covers over my head. It was a week of dreams that I remembered and haunted me throughout the days.
It was a week of nothing terrible, nothing dramatic except for the irrational thoughts pinging around my melodramatic head.

But then I would think about how ridiculous I was being, wrapping myself up so tight in this little drama in my head. This would lead to me berating myself for being selfish which started the whole loop again. It got me longing for the luxury of a breakdown.

Quick, name this movie!

"You gotta be rich to be insane, Hol. Losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle class."

It was very very easy to swing into the land of irrationality and cop a squat for a nice extended visit with old friends.
I've had lofty goals for this week of what I want to get accomplished, none of which happened.
But tomorrow is another day. At least that's what I keep telling myself, that and at least tomorrow is a Saturday.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Lady Cramps
Facing the Strain

Lady Cramps

2009-09-30T08:49:00.002-04:00

I worked out with HT (hot trainer) last night. It wasn't as bad as I imagined it would be, as is true with most things it seems.

HT had me working out so he could observe my endurance, posture and core strength. He said I did good and had good habits in everything, which was news to me.
At one point I was sitting on the floor doing some ab exercises, trying to hold my core in and not fart (what?) when my abs cramped up. So I stopped and had a conversation that went as such:

Me: "Youch! I have a cramp!" (pant pant pant)
HT: "That's not good, is it a dehydration cramp or a um....er...uh...lady cramp?"
Me: (Trying to contain my laughter and not make out with HT on the spot) "It's an 'I don't have any abdominal muscles cramp'"
HT: "Oh. Ok then" (blushes)

If possible HT got a little cuter and more endearing.
He said that I have a good base of habits and endurance and he's going to give me jump start work outs to do at least 2 other times a week. Those will be adapted as my strength and flexibility increases.

Friday I'm meeting with a Dr. at the gym who will do my body metrics (or something). He'll be measuring my BMI, my active and resting metabolism and how many calories I burn at rest (which is that the same as metabolism? I don't know). I'll be meeting with him once every 6 weeks to track the progress of increasing my metabolism and decreasing my BMI (which every time I type that I think poop...you know BM. Anyone? Anyone? Oh never mind)
Dr Man will give HT the clinical side of what's going on with my body and HT will use that information to help me establish a functional and sustainable nutrition and exercise plan over the next year.
Also, I will not be posting my weight, just so you know. Some bloggers have done that but I'm a little to vain for that. Is that good or bad? I don't care.
But I'll try to give updates on weight/inch loss if possible every 6 or so weeks when I meet with Dr Man.

So here we go. I'm going to be melodramatic and awkward about it just in case you didn't know me at all and thought things were always non-dramatic and simple with me. Also, I can't believe I typed fart and poop in the same post....

Turn and Face the Strain

2009-09-29T13:32:00.004-04:00

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same

Inevitably before any major change I exert a great deal of energy talking myself out of changing. It's not that I dislike change, because I like it, a lot, in theory and in others.
I find change revitalizing and energizing, I enjoy being challenged and stretched, pushed and shoved out of my comfort zone. I love change, when I'm looking back on it in the review mirror, or even out the side of it when I'm already in it.

But change is like the first tentative squealing steps into an ice cold pool in the biting January air. At the beginning I will do everything up to and including throwing myself on the ground and beating my fists on the floor. I hate it.
Change, when I see it coming down the pike is stressful, I'm sure for you too. I don't know what to expect, I don't know what will happen, I wonder about what I will wear, what I will say, will anyone talk to me, how will I be ridiculed and made fun of. I worry, I fear.

I'm claiming my 30th year as a year that I get healthy. Because I'm not healthy. Not even a little. I hate the idea of having to get healthy because it means changing some deeply ingrained habits and thoughts about my physical self.
For so long I felt like a pile of poop on the inside. Ugly, unlovable, undeserving of grace and kindness. I felt, well honestly I felt like I knew that at any moment the world would come crashing down on me and those that I admired, that I loved and longed to love me would wake up and leave because I felt so disgusting.

Since I fell in love with Jesus and began following Him God has been aggressively and at times painfully pursuing all the fragmented pieces of me. He's been stitching me back together and showing me in unimaginable ways that the way I used to feel on the inside was a damn lie. He's shown me that just because something is said to and about me doesn't make it true. He's brought people into my life that speak God into my life and his truth into my heart. It has been 5 years since it began and 2 years since I started cooperating with the work God has been doing.
I still fight the urges to remember the poison that used to live inside, when I'm stressed or tired I will still believe that I am worthless and ugly inside and out for at least a little bit. But my insides are recovering, they're feeling better and more stable.

I'm ready for the outside to match the inside.
But I still fight. The weight is an old friend, something that has comforted me through food and laziness. It's given me a convenient excuse to not take risks, to not engage relationships both platonic and otherwise. The weight has been my barrier against the world, everything and everyone in it.
I'm terrified and rationalizing that it's just not that bad I can wait a little longer, it's not a big deal. It's exhausting, annoying, inconvenient and it makes me feel crabby most of the time.

Tonight, it begins in earnest. I signed up with a personal trainer, a one on one wiping the floor with me personal trainer and certified nutritionist.
I'm afraid I'll fail, that I won't lose anything, that it won't make a difference, that I'll sabotage with chocolate peanut butter Reeses Pumpkins and Big Macs. I'm afraid I'll look stupid, that I'll get hurt somehow, that I won't be prepared for what happens, that I won't have the discipline and so on and so on.

But I'm turning and facing the strain. The strain that comes in changing everything.

Dirty Girls Ministry

2009-09-15T13:41:00.003-04:00

I stumbled across Crystal through Anne Jackson .
I generally follow the rabbit hole of the internet through all sorts of random connections and a lot of them end up fizzling out after only a few weeks. But I love what Crystal Renaud is doing. She is boldly stepping out in faith and beginning a ministry called Dirty Girls Ministries (DGM) on the topic of women addicted to pornography.
DGM is a Christian anti-pornography ministry created to help women who struggle with pornography addiction.
There are tons of resources and support out there for men that are dealing with addiction to porn but only a few for women. She is speaking from her own personal addiction and deliverence from pornography and it's been amazing to watch her journy from across the world wide interweb.
Check out the links below and support her on the journey God is calling her to. Pass the information along to women you may know that are struggling under the stifling weight of addiction to pornography; let them know they are not alone in their struggles.

The mission of Dirty Girls is to:

-Bring awareness to the porn problem among women today
-Show struggling women they are not alone
-Demonstrate hope for recovery from this addiction
-Explain that the Bible and Jesus have the answer

DGM offers recovery groups, coaching networks, resources and prayer support for women with this problem.

Visit DGM.

Read Crystal’s personal blog.

Follow DGM on Twitter.

Stiff

2009-09-14T12:40:00.002-04:00

I hurt my back yesterday, somehow or another. So to change positions or move to much causes waves of pain to shoot through my lower back and upper legs.
I was telling Kevin, our friendly masseuse that it only hurt when I changed positions, that as long as I stayed still the pain was duller, more manageable. He replied, "Well that isn't anyway to fix the problem"

My natural state is to live life like that. To change positions, to move forward or sideways or even backwards causes ripples of pain or discomfort to wash over me and I freeze, unwilling to move and cause anymore discomfort.
If something awkward would come up I would just hold my breath and hope that whatever it was would just go away. I've done it with money, with friendships, with men, with housekeeping and yard care. I've buried my head in the sand when I've heard funny noises while driving my car, which resulted in the repair being so much more costly than it really needed to. I freeze and call it procrastination or indifference, but it's all the same. It is all me holding myself in one stiff position to avoid the pain or discomfort that comes with change, any change no matter how slight.

But I can feel it starting to change. I can feel the stiffness of my emotional and relational joints loosening up stretching after a long winters nap. I'm still stiff, and I'm still inclined to just stay still, say it's not a big deal and find a nice spot on the beach where I can bury my head.
It's hard and often exhausting work re-teaching my body what food it needs, it's uncomfortable and tear inducing to be straight forward about things that before would have been dramatically discussed in private and decisions made out of speculation instead of the truth. It's terrifying to speak things out that I need and want. It's overwhelming to fight the slithering voice that tells me not to be pushy and tells me that the only response to my speaking out will be hatred and condemnation.
I, at times, will find myself gasping for air as I relearn how to breathe, fighting back tears at the relief that my words and actions are not meant with the condemnation that the lying slithering voice warns me about.
I'm still learning that I'm a worthy girl, a girl that deserves to be spoken to kindly and that deserves to be part of a community of people that I so admire. I'm still learning that I'm a girl people love and that it's ok to ask them for help, that they desire for me to ask.

It hurts still, but I'm learning that the moving is lessening the sting and eventually this stiffness will be gone, I just have to keep moving. Because to bury my head in the sand, to not move forward with the change God is calling me towards will only end up costing me more than moving forward costs.

Disturb Us, Lord - 1577
A Prayer by Francis Drake

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves
When our dreams have come true
Because we dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the Waters of Life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery:
Where losing sight of land
We shall find the stars.

We ask you to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push us in the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Learning to Breathe
Share your Darkness
Hidden Scars
Sober

That is so gay

2009-09-13T08:37:00.001-04:00

I don't hate a lot of things. But I HATE it when people say something is so gay. HATE.IT

There have recently been a rash of PSA's going around about saying that's so gay, and I was in a room with someone the first time they saw it. Their response? That is so gay!
Here is one example:

I HATE it. Please don't do it around me, I HATE it.
Have you got the picture yet?
I would like to say that I'm not trying to get all preachy on you but I don't really care if I am. A pastor at a church that I follow through multiple staff members blogs and twitters (tweets?) posted a tweet the other day that said he was considering unfollowing someone because their avatar was so gay. I clicked on the link and it was a picture of a pair of socks. Socks. Last time I understood the definition of gay it did not include a pair of socks.
I immediately unfollowed that pastor because seriously?
I mean I understand that he was joking, I understand that a lot of the people that say "that's so gay" are joking and not thinking about what they say and what it means, how it impacts people around them. I understand that those sentiments are true of words and phrases other than "that's so gay".
But stop. Just stop.

I talked to a friend the other day about Pete Gall's book My Beautiful Idol and a particular section of the book that touched me deeply. I wrote about it here. It was about a worship leader at a church in Colorado that was struggling with being a gay man. When I got done talking to her about it she said that was one of the first times she'd heard of a gay person being in a church, let alone participating in one. Which made me really sad. She said it made her sad too that she didn't hear about it more.
Sometimes, it seems like all believers want to do is define sin. Is it important to define sin? Absolutely. But I have not been briefed at the door of any church about my gluttony, my hypocrisy, my pre-marital heterosexual activity. Yet we feel the need to define for someone that probably already feels lost, alone, and quite possibly shamed by their own family that they are sinners. That phrase also can imply that we then are not. Because WE'RE allowed, in all of our heterosexual sin to participate and find a home church. Because we only are tempted by members of the opposite sex we're allowed to be in the club.
But we better make clear to the man that loves other men and the woman that loves other women that they are less than and dirty.

So for me, when this pastor posted so flippantly about someones "gay avatar" and that avatar was socks I was so deeply offended. I gasped.
I try not to be offended to much but this deeply offended me. I know that to some of you I might be overreacting but I just don't care.
Pastors especially are rejoicing in the souls that are touched through their ministry, the volunteers whose lives are changed and how deep of an impact they are making with those that they serve. Yet so flippantly we throw out the phrase "that is so gay" as if it isn't deeply offensive to many people gay and straight.
As if somehow they are the one people group that don't deserve a place to come where they can belong before they believe or behave. As if they are the one people group that don't deserve to have an unabashed love affair with the one that created them and loves them exactly how they are, that desperately longs for his children to be reconciled to him through Jesus.

Could I be taking it to far? Probably. I'm not even trying to get into the "is being gay a sin" issue. I don't really care to get into that, that is better debated and blogged about by other people more studied than I am. All I know is that one little phrase, tweeted so randomly and thoughtlessly is online now and that little tweet is speaking for a church that is doing so much good in the world.
It's admirable to serve tangibly in large and small ways, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, start schools and hospitals overseas and to bring together a community. But everything we do, not just the things we do in public, during corporate church activities is either inviting people to Jesus or driving them away. Every word that we speak and action we take. Myself included.
I just had to get that off my chest.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
I'm so Offended
My Bow isn't Pink
I get the feeling I'm not supposed to talk about this

I blame Kim Kardashian

2009-09-12T20:04:00.003-04:00

(I actually had to google her name to make sure I was spelling it right.)

The other day I'm at the gym doing this ab machine thingy and feeling pretty good about my progress so far. I'd been dedicated, disciplined, it had been DAYS since a fast food french fry had touched my lips. I weighed myself, and while I knew it was irrational I was a little disappointed I hadn't lost oh say a hundred or so pounds in the last week. I know I know, it takes time, persistence, blah blah blah.
But I was feeling strong and limber, pumped with all the adrenaline doubling my time on the elliptical machine had brought.

But I digress, I was on an ab machine thingy. I was feeling pretty good, I was feeling confident and strong, I was SMILING at strange boys coyly. (ugh)
Then on the jumbotron in the downstairs free weight area I notice there is a news ticker. So I start reading to distract myself from the ache that was growing in the sides of my abdomen. Then on the video an image of Kim Kardashian pops up. Apparently she has gotten a "new bikini body". Because her old one was hideous and only about a million guys wanted to date her instead of a billion.
They had a snippet of her talking about losing 15 pounds to finally make if from a size 6 to a size 2. She just felt so unhealthy and out of shape that she just had to get that 15 pounds off, and while she may still have a ways to go she's working on it.
Well whoopty freakin do Kim Kardashian.
Ok ok, I realize, that's really petty and dumb for me to say, and normally I can control it but I sat there and all of my energy and confidence was deflated. I suddenly was so aware of every roll and bulge that my shirt was doing a poor job of covering and all I wanted was to find the closest mumu and McDonalds drive thru and put an end to this ridiculous charade of trying to get healthy.
Like I said, I realize I was overreacting, but I've been thinking about it a lot since then. Especially considering I decided to finish a book this morning instead of going to Urban Iron like I swore I was going to.

I generally am a take responsibility for your own actions (and heck I even try to take responsibility for other peoples sometimes) but I am just constantly amazed at how affected I am by those types of things. I'm amazed at how easily the thought, well you'll never be a size 6 so you should probably just give up and stay a size 4bajillion. I just hate that. Even more, I hate that it is still such an influence in my life. Isn't that worry supposed to be for teens and pre teens? Shouldn't I know better by now? I'm a grown up, I'm pretty sure I am anyway. I have a mortgage apparently that makes you a grown up.
I know that it's not just me, and I know that it's not just women. But I have been just so surprised at how affected I was by Kim Kardashian finally overcoming her obesity and losing 15 pounds.
I know I know, it's Hollywood, I shouldn't judge myself by their standards, I shouldn't strive to look, talk, think, act like them. I know.

But sometimes, the crazy in my head overtakes me and I just don't know how to get it out.
So here I am, several days later and I still haven't let fast food fries grace my lips. I went grocery shopping today and didn't buy anything chocolate or to terrible for me. (Although I lingered quite a bit at the brownies....)
I'm not trying to be a size 6, I'd settle for sizes I can easily find cute clothes in without wandering into the woman's version of the big and tall section. Even though I'm trying to get healthy to get healthy and be more productive and active, sometimes, sometimes I think the deeper longing is to feel beautiful at all.

I blame Kim Kardashian, even though I know she isn't perfect. Even though I know that she has her problems, flaws and imperfect relationships.
Even though it isn't fair, I blame her. Because sometimes, it's so much easier blaming someone else then taking responsibility for the mess I've gotten myself into.

Posts that may only be slightly related:
Sometimes
Learning to Breathe
Some Days
Kind of Girl
Straw

Top 10 9/9/09

2009-09-09T21:07:00.003-04:00

I got this idea from Amy Beth over at Ministry so Fabulous!

Apparently I can get a little serious on here. At least that's the word on the street. So in an effort to look on the bright side of life (in writing) I think I'll start posting Top 10 lists. Because 10 is more even than 9 and it soothes my OCD soul.
They could be about my day, any day, people, places, things...pretty much any noun. Mostly good, a few interesting things about the aforementioned nouns.
Here's my Top 10 for today.

10: Had a wonderful lunch outside with Katie and some fun people at work. Laughter and much merriment lightened my cranky pants mood

9: I closed 10 open issues at work today. Only 127 more to go....

8: My kitchen is still clean and organized. Funny how once the flow improved and it made more sense where everything went I was more inclined to put it away when I was done. Who would have thought?

7: I got gas for under $2.30, lovely

6: Had a lovely time chatting on gmail with Katy. I don't get to talk to her nearly enough.

5: I watched the new Dugger episode and I really like Michelle's new hairstyle, I think it's the bangs swept to the side that does it for me. (and no I don't care that a TV show made it on the list, it will happen often)

4: I stumbled across Ikea Heights via Young House Love's blog. There are only 4 episodes, watch it. Now. Also, check out Young House Love if you haven't already. They are awesome and I love checking out their DIY projects

3: Day 9 of not eating anyplace that has a drive thru (Chipotle is thankfully excluded from that!) Day 2 of no soda. I just keep chanting, I think I can I think I can.

2: I discovered I really like pinto beans. Who knew?! I really like them in my Chipotle chicken bol. Yum!

1: Day 9 of my 6 week workout resolution. I went to the gym with Beth from church and went 20 minutes running on the elliptical, did ab work and about a million abductors (I think?) on a machine and almost fell over in front of some sweaty dudes when I got up. I'm sore and I've never sweated so much intentionally in my life. But I'm doing ok with it so far. Although I'm finding that I'm disappointed I'm not already a size 2 but whatever. (Hearing how Kim Kardashian worked so hard to lose 15 pounds and went from size 6 to size 2 certainly doesn't help...)

So those are 10 things about today. Now I'm off to finish the 18 Kids and Counting episode. It's Jame's birthday and he's getting a bike!

But I'm still broken

2009-09-04T14:13:00.002-04:00

A few years back Justin gave me a few books he had to read for seminary. I filed them on my shelf with a million other books that I want to read but never make time to read.
Last Sunday, in a fit of organizational OCD I rearranged my bookcase and set all of the books I've never read or finished on one shelf (organized by category). I decided that I wasn't going to buy another book or set foot in another library until I had read them all. I picked up one book at random and it was Brokenness by Nancy Leigh DeMoss

Here's the blurb from Amazon about the book:

We tend to think of brokenness as being sad and gloomy and downcast, never smiling, never laughing or as being morbidly introspective, always trying to dig up some new sin to confess. Some have the image of brokenness as a sort of false humility, where we're continually putting ourselves down. Nancy Leigh DeMoss tells us that God's idea of brokenness is not a feeling, it is not an emotion -- it is a choice we make. When we have humbled ourselves before the Lord in brokenness, then He will lift us up.

All the while I've been hearing and inclining my ear more and more to something God has been whispering to me about for quite awhile. This book killed me. It just killed me. It has been one of the steps along the way of a new facet to my relationship with God and it's been really intense; can't even really describe it intense. Random people have showed up in amazing ways and confirmed (in the exact words God had been whispering to me) what I had felt going on and the conviction I had been feeling from God. I tried my best to hide from these conversations but they sought me out in the middle of the night sometimes.

I finished the book pretty quick and began reading, Learning My Name by Pete Gall today. I had read his first book, My Beautiful Idol, which I wrote about here, before and loved it. It changed a lot of my perspective on going first in confession and hard prayer requests to make way for others that were scared to share.
Right off the bat I could tell that this book was right in line with the Brokenness book and the convicting theme of late that I've been getting from God and through all sorts of conversations, blogs, sermons and other random venues. I just can't believe (except I actually can) the way that God has orchestrated all of this.

I don't do well with intense. I joke and dodge, defer and demur to avoid the hard stuff. Especially if it's a sustained period of intensity I just shut down and shut off. I become deadened to the intensity as if my very survival depends on it.
Which, isn't that just so dramatic? I mean, I never used to think I was that dramatic but it turns out I sort of am.

There was a line in the preface where Gall speaks about how sometimes he's surprised he's still broken. He repents, confesses and goes on and sins no more but is still surprised that he's broken. It was one of those moments when I realized that I'm surprised I'm still broken too.
Broken seems to me to indicate something that needs to be fixed, something that needs to be repaired because broken in bad, it's less than. But one of the things I'm still chewing over from DeMoss' book is that; "When we have humbled ourselves before the Lord in brokenness, then He will lift us up."

I'm surprised when I finally stop pouting and stomping my feet and work to address something head on that I'm still broken. I know intellectually that I'm still broken, that I still need Jesus just as desperately when everything is AOK and going fine, but emotionally it just really surprises me sometimes that I'm still broken. Because to me broken means something bad, something dramatic and awful. But I'm trying to relearn that it isn't just that, it's a humbleness that isn't self-loathing and a submission that isn't opression.

It's amazing to me how deep this seemingly superficial conviction is going, I'm surprised every day at how God is moving in this. I've been filled with a renewed sense of awe at the way God moves and works and how deeply He loves us.

LORD, not to us, but to your name give glory, for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness Psalm 115:1

May God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ give you grace and peace. Jesus gave his life for our sins, just as God our Father planned, in order to rescue us from this evil world in which we live. All glory to God forever and ever! Amen.
Galatians 1:3-5

Fear

2009-09-03T02:54:00.001-04:00

I spend a lot of time afraid. Afraid of killers, afraid of letting people down, afraid of money, time management, conversations, social interactions, anything. I call it worry, concern, ambivilance most of the time but God has realy revealed to me that most of those other words are just nicknames for fear.

I'm afraid of looking silly, afraid of making a mistake, afraid of giving the wrong answer to questions that don't even have right answers. I'm afraid of suceeding and afraid of failing, I'm afraid of committment and I'm afraid of being alone.
I'm afraid to let you know that I'm afraid because I don't want to hear your rational explanations for why I shouldn't be afraid anymore.

My fear is familiar. It's comforting. But it's empty.
I don't want to be afraid anymore.

You came near when I called on you;you said, 'Do not fear!
Lamentations 3:57

The LORD is on my side; I will not fear.What can man do to me?
Psalm 118:6

Proud

2009-09-02T12:40:00.003-04:00

I have such difficulty discussing what it is that I need from people. Support, words of encouragement, anything.
I hope and hope that they'll guess, that they'll just know; which rarely ever happens.
When I accidentally bump into getting my hopes and desires met I rejoice because they have gotten it right. But then we slip back into the mundane daily ins and outs of relationships.

It's not their fault. It's mine.
I'm a proud person that almost demands perfection from myself. Perfection that isn't attainable, perfection that I know isn't even true. My natural position is oh it's ok it's alright. Even when I know it's not true. Even when it's the last thing I expect from other people.

I've been feeling God moving on that. His hand heavy on my heart to address not only that but other specific things. It's so scary.
In a brazen moment of bravery I asked someone to pray with me (over several weeks time) that God not lift his hand. That he keep on me and at me because my natural evasive response was to oh it's alright it away. It has been a heavy few weeks for me filled with more tears than I knew I had left, and I'm sure it's not even close to being over.

I had a conversation last night that I did not want to have. I didn't want to tell this person about my worries and concerns. I felt silly for not being this put together girl. But I did it; and it was fine. Just like I knew it would be.
I'm still praying that God doesn't lift his hand. I would love it if you would pray for that too.
In the mean time, my margin in life is going to drop significantly. I don't know what that's going to look like but I ask for your patience.
God is calling me to something and I'm terrified to move and I'm terrified to not move. All I know is I have to move over this wall of perfectionism and hiding that I've built my life behind.
I hear the other side is worth it.

Learning to Breathe

2009-09-01T01:15:00.001-04:00

Shoulders down, head back, chest out, breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I don't breathe. When things are stressful and make me uncomfortable I hold my breath. Because I can control it.
I alone decide when I breathe. Doesn't matter what you're doing or saying I choose when to inhale and exhale.

I hold myself just so. Shifting and diverting the uncomfortable gazes and conversations that challenge me. Breathe Breathe Breathe Breathe. I hold my breath; like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. Fists clenched by my side, neck, arms, legs; all tensed and ready to flee if it's to much, to intense, to direct, to honest.
Clearly it is socially unacceptable to just run screeching from every uncomfortable situation. So I hold my breath. I withhold my breath.

For so long I've held myself just so. Rigid and unyielding, not breathing, unmoving. I'd bring up how T-Rex's have bad sight so if you don't move they can't see you, but Stephanie would make fun of me (which I secretly love). If I don't move, don't even breathe then you won't notice me. You won't notice the awkward girl that while so desperate for you to see her longs to just be invisible and unnoticed.

My body doesn't know any different anymore. I've held myself just so for so long that it's become the norm for my body to go into those poses. It sometimes is more natural for me to hold my breath than to inhale and exhale.
I feel protected, comforted by those poses. Because I don't want to look foolish. I don't want to breathe to heavy. I don't want the way I stand to expose the girl I see when I look at myself.

Trying to relearn how to breathe; how to hold myself naturally, in a way that strengthens my body instead of adding pressure to these weary bones is hard. It's a locomotive that's been chugging along and full speed ahead for 20 years. Stopping it is hard. Learning to breathe the way my body needs me to is hard. I've been holding my breath for more than 20 years.

I'm trying to move past the appearance. The appearance that this is easy working though this issue that God has made clear to me is a spiritual one and not just a physical one. It's not easy. It is really hard and really painful. I cried 5 times tonight, ugly snot all over my face cried in front of a roomful of women that I didn't know (and one I did). I couldn't stop.
The muscles stretched and I broke. Again and again. I broke. The hurt I carry around my waist and on my thighs was mad that I dared bother it. The anger I've rested on my hips and chin is just to much it has to go.

I see through closed eyes

2009-08-31T03:06:00.001-04:00

I'm dog sitting this week at a fancy house with a fancy master bath. The shower is delectable and large with frosted glass all around.
I was in the shower this morning and I heard a click, then a crash. I tried to look through the glass to figure out what happened. No surprise, I couldn't see anything.
The glass was frosted and cloudy from my showers steam. I had to open the door and walk through in order to see that the dog had busted down the doors to the massive walk in closet.
Every morning, no matter where I am, I open my eyes and I can't see well at all. Not until I put on my glasses or put in my contacts. Then I can see clearly.

Why then am I so surprised that I see through closed eyes? I've been pretty silent these last few days via phone, twitter and facebook. I was pouting. I was mad.
Mad about my weight, mad about my job, mad about complete strangers and everyone I'd ever known or thought about before in my life. I was slipping back into angry girl mode and dammit I liked it.
It was comforting, that killing rage. That idea that it was justified that I be that angry. That it was ok for me to deflect any and all responsibility for my physical, mental and financial health on the "idiots" of the world. That none of it was my fault, that I was simply a victim of circumstance.
Because that's who I used to be. I was angry and angry was an addictive bed fellow. Without realizing it I closed my eyes, turned up the volume of the TV and stuck my fingers in my ears. Lalalala not my fault. Lalalala I don't want to hear it.

Discipline, self-control, never have those two been the main words associated with my name. Never has that been more evident than in the last week.
But then I stopped. Stopped talking, stopped typing, stopped chit chatting. I muted the TV, I took some long walks with two very big dogs and I read my bible for long hours. I didn't read anything that sexy in the bible to be honest. I'm reading through the bible in 90(ish) days and I was stuck in Exodus/Leviticus. But I sat and read it even though it wasn't all sexy.
I was disciplined. I read even when I didn't want to. I read the next assigned task even when I didn't feel like it.
I've done it before, I've done it begrudgingly and with a lot of anger in my heart. But this time I just did it. I didn't think about it to much I just read. Out loud, on the patio, in my car (while parked)

I stopped eating. For almost a day. I waited until I was hungry, until I didn't want to eat because I was bored but because I was hungry. I didn't eat until almost 7pm.
(Yes I realize that isn't healthy to do all the time, but I really needed to understand again what hunger was, because I am rarely the girl that waits until she's hungry to stuff her face)I chose carrots over Twix, I put back the little debbie.
All of this was after shoving fistfuls of food hand over fist into my mouth to the point that I couldn't even breathe.

I don't see my life clearly. I honestly don't have the faintest idea how to begin to. But I'm trying. I don't see myself clearly. I'm hateful to myself and I'm wounded the deepest by my unforgiveness of my own shortcomings.
But I'm trying.

I long for the days that I'll see through opened eyes. For the time when I'm reunited with the one that loves me so perfectly and deeply.

When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.

1 Corinthians 13:11-12

Cracked Sometimes

2009-08-30T01:38:00.004-04:00

Sometimes it feels like the cracks are just spackled over poorly and painted with bright colors.
Sometimes this new normal still feels like I'm a stranger in a foreign land.
Sometimes it seems that I only make the cracks worse, picking at them and prying the edges back.

Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday; the blow to the chest, the very breath being sucked from my body. Cracked. Fissured. Broken.

Sometimes the crack sits like a lump in my throat waiting to break open again. Sometimes I stand still, thinking if I just don't move the crack won't affect me, us, anymore.

I brought it up to you. The crack that we share. I finally told you that sometimes I'm still so angry about it I can't see straight. You defended him. You said it was a mistake. You said I didn't understand.

Sometimes I think I'm the only one that can still feel this crack. That I'm the only one that can see the discoloration of the brightly colored touch up paint.
Sometimes I wonder if my staring at the crack is keeping the crack from healing completely.

Some days

2009-08-29T01:04:00.001-04:00

Some days I don't want to be brave. I don't want to fight the good fight and I don't want to see the best in people.
Some days I want to kick, scream, spit and curse my way through life and hole up in my room all by myself.

Some days I want to eat whatever I want and not constantly be seeing my big fat cheeks bobbing up and down out of the corner of my eye. Some days I wish it was as easy as slicing the rolls off of me.
Some days it's really rough inside my head because I'm so cruel and unwilling to see reason when it comes to my own flaws. Some days I talk myself to the edge of a cliff with all the hate speech I slop over my heart.

Some days I feel so far from the girl I want to be that I can't even see her anymore. On those some days I'm so overwhelmed that I just shut down, shut up, and shut myself off from those that can speak to who I truly am.
Some days I feel so tempted by the girl I used to be. The angry sad girl that spent so much time angry she didn't know she was so sad. Some days.

On those some days I walk around like nothing is wrong, because as much as I know for a fact it isn't true some days I feel attempting to be perfect and flawless will almost make it true. Some days I feel the plastic smile straining to the breaking point and I just don't know how to get out of this pattern.
Some days I duck, joke, demur and slide my way out of conversations about my shortcomings, because to come up short is like a death I don't want to live.

On these some days I cling desperately to the idea that it is not supposed to be this way, it's not. It's not supposed to be shut up alone and dark. It's not supposed to be strung out on food that my body doesn't need. It's not supposed to be dodging and deflecting it's supposed to be community and friendship lifting each other up.
But some days the thunder cloud is to black and thick, the cranky pants are to tight and I retreat into the arms of a box of debbies and a triangle of greasy pizza.
Some days I feel like so much of a failure I'm surprised you will even still speak to me.

Most days I'm ok. Most days I see the light at the end of the tunnel I see the good despite the bad. But when the some days come, I feel like I'm suffocating.

By the time you read this the some day will have passed. I will have wiped the grease from my lips and wiped the tears from my eyes. I'm sorry that I don't tell you these thing, I'm sorry that I find it paralyzing this idea of coming clean and shaping up into a healthier shape. I'm sorry that it makes you mad that I can't come tell you these things and the tears in your eyes that day are still imprinted in my mind.
I can only promise to try to do better.
Some day.