Another chapter

Last weekend, while listening to my church's service, I realized I am even more like Moses and his people.  Our pastor said that Moses and the Israelites were brought to the Jordan river to cross into the promise land.  There were scouts sent out beforehand, they all came back with doubt. This doubt spread through the people, and even though some thought they could make it, the doubt won out. God wasn't going to push them forward but needed them to learn to follow Him through faith. This happened through the arc of the covenant and the tabernacle pillars.  When the pillar of fire was present, the people knew to camp. When the pillar of clouds was present, the people knew to move. Much like I do as a teacher, God used the teaching method of overcorrection. For this method, when a student disobeys like running down the hall, the student is made to go back to where they started and walk back to their destination. God used this method with the two tabernacle pillars. When the people saw the fire, even in the middle of the day, they stopped and set up camp. When the people saw the clouds, even in the night or after a recent set up, the people would pack up and move on. This was building trust and teaching obedience.

Now, what does this have to do with my story? A lot, to say the least. I've told you that I'm a stubborn learner. I have to learn by doing, and usually by failing at first.  I have had many lessons, trials, that seem like I'm going through the same vicious cycle over and over again. I've had the same type of friendships come and go, same financial situations, same cycles of depression and anxiety, and so on. I cry out to God, "Why is this happening again? Why are you punishing me? I've been through this already, I've learned, I promise. Just stop it all."  Like many scholars have said, history repeats itself unless we learn from it. So I thought that was all I needed, was to learn from the situation, try a new tactic the next time. What I didn't realize is that I just needed to stop at my Jordan river. Every time I try to come up with a plan, start off on my own, or even let doubt take over, God sends me back out to the desert so I can try again. If I am going to get across my Jordan river, to my promise land, I need to turn to Him. Not just turn to Him for a couple of prayers, but stop and turn to Him in prayer until He says to go. I need to trust in Him completely that if He has taken me through this much, through years in my own desert, that He can move my Jordan River, and He can deliver me. It is time for my next chapter to begin, but this time I am starting it with Him!

He didn't say it would be easy

Since my dad's passing, my family and I have had our share of struggles: financially, emotionally, and spiritually. During all of this, yes I did get angry at God. What child doesn't get mad at their parent during a time of learning? I mean if my learning how to ride a bike or drive a car is any indication of how stubborn I am at learning, God definitely had his hands full with me.

However, during this time and because of a good friend, I found a new church. I church that is absolutely and completely different than anything I have every witnessed. It is huge! It spans countries kind of huge! I thought I would miss the small church but found comfort in our life groups and made friends there that have welcomed me into their lives. I was lucky enough to be able to introduce this church to my mom, who lives in Pennsylvania.  We were able to start attending church together online. I still had my hissy fits. I still became mad at God when it looked like everything was going wrong. But He never, not once, gave up on me. He was there for every prayer, every tear, through it all.

One particular trial had me at a breaking point. I was struggling in many aspects of my life. God led me to start reading "Battlefield of the Mind' by Joyce Meyer. I read this every day and prayed very hard for things to change. God placed me in a different school. God helped me with my anxiety and depression. God has helped me financially.  I'm not rich, I couldn't be with my career choice. Through others and job opportunities, He has provided each and every way. During these struggles, He helped me get over myself and my pride.  He taught me it was okay to ask others, including Him, for help.

This January, I was determined to come back to God, again. I started regularly attending online services. I worked on changing my thought processes and my prayer life. I am a work in progress, and will be until the day I am home with Him. However, I am loved. I am adored. I am His. No matter how many times I get angry and run away, He will be there welcoming me Home with open arms.  I can stumble and fall, and He will still love me. There is nothing I can do to stop His love; just as there is nothing I can do to earn it.

Thank you Father for all that you have done for me! Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for continually forgiving me and helping me to become the person You have created me to be.

Stumbling and falling

As the years progressed, I went through trials at work and began to fall into old habits. Church became something I just did on Sunday and every once in a while to help out at events. My anxieties and depression were controlling me and my life.  I never felt these feelings as much when I was busy with school, but once summers came I had nothing else to do but feel them.

A couple of years after I moved to NC, my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 skin cancer in his throat, my world fell apart.  One of the pillars of my family was struggling and I didn't know how to deal. I turned to the church, but I was so very angry at God. How could he do this to me, my dad, my family? Has He not seen all that we have been through to this point? Why was He punishing us? What did we do wrong?

My pastor, church, and Sunday school group prayed for me and my family. They prayed for God's will to be done. That just angered me more. I didn't want God's will be done if it meant that I would lose my dad! I wanted God's healing. I wanted those miracles that I saw on TV or read about online.

I saw my dad go through unbearable pain. I saw him endure surgery, procedures, radiation, chemotherapy, hospital stays, plus whatever homeopathic remedy we could think of to help him. I prayed and prayed, but no answers seemed to come. Scans showed that his cancer in his throat was gone, but he still felt bad. He was physically different. You could tell that he was in pain. Yet, I prayed for a miracle that he would be healed and be with us for many years to come.

That summer we went on a family vacation, after he and my mom moved houses. It was a wonderful time, but you could see that my dad was dealing with a lot physically and mentally.  I had stopped going to church altogether. I was mad at God. He had left me, left us alone to deal with all of this.

When my dad passed later that summer, I could barely function. I went through life in a cloud of depression. I faked my way through the day because my students deserved a good teacher. I came home, empty and exhausted.  I went back to counseling before I went back to school.  My counselor had is work cut out for him. I read many books on Heaven and how to deal with grief. I knew what to do, but I wanted it all now. Through many sessions, he and my counselor after him, helped me to deal and grow in my grief.  God had brought me both of them, as they were faith based counselors.  I didn't know any of that at the time I signed up. They helped me take off the lenses of grief and see some of the bigger picture. Through these sessions, I began to realize that my prayers for my dad's suffering to end, were answered. He may not physically be with me, but the unbearable pains and treatments were over for him. He was whole, healed, and happy at home with our Heavenly Father.

These counselors helped me to see that it was okay to get help. Taking medication for a mental illness is no different than taking medication for a physical illness.  For years, I had been a hypocrite on this matter.  I advocated for everyone else and for mental illness, but not for myself.  I let the daily (usually more than once a day), anxiety attacks control me. I let my depression take hold of every aspect of my life.

After a very difficult first holiday without my dad, I went on medication.  Finally, without fighting my anxiety and depression I could see all that my friends and coworkers were doing to help me. I could see God again through their acts and through their love and friendships.  I am so very thankful for my friends that sat and talked with me about nothing at all, about everything, about my grief, and showed me their unconditional love. I am so thankful that God blessed me with the friends in North Carolina that I have prayed for, for so many years. I am thankful to my friends that I have back home as they were my rocks. I am thankful that no matter how angry I got at God, He was there. I am thankful that He never gave up on me. I am thankful that He was there for every tear that I shed, even if I refused to acknowledge Him.

Taking my first steps

I was a typical teen. Rebelling in my ways against my parents. They held strong with their structure around me, lovingly gave out punishments, and made sure I didn't just know that they were there, I felt and saw it too.  We talked a lot. We argued.  We laughed. Yet, I retreated into myself.  I felt that know one would every understand the thoughts that I had, the feelings of craziness that I felt, and the self-created, mental prison where I lived.

I don't know what made it happen, but I remember the sadness coming in and setting up house. There are so many reasons why one can become depressed, including chemical imbalances. I was too full of pride to listen to my parents and talk about what I was feeling. I was too full of pride to decide to ask for help.  God was a distant figure. I left Him behind when we left our last church. I prayed still with my family, but with an exception to a couple of prayers, my prayers were empty.

With my depression, came my anxiety. I began to let depression and anxiety define me. I let the anxiety take over to make everything "just right". If my things were moved, or changed, I would have a fit. I was the sad girl who would write poetry about being sad and angry. I didn't really fit in anywhere at school.  I wasn't into partying; I didn't like going out and doing lots of things. I was far from popular. I had people I called friends. I also had this inability to be able to tell if their feelings for me were the same.  I always felt that my friends were on the verge of being mad at me, calling off the whole friendship, or thinking that my friends never liked me at all. I retreated farther into myself.

I let my depression take over so many things, my love of reading, my joy of being outside in nature, my relationships with my family. My parents fought hard for me. They never gave up, never showed a difference in their love for me.

How I dealt with my depression changed when my younger sister and brother were born. I wanted them to have the love that I had from my uncle (he passed away when I was almost 5).  For them, the world would be full of love, adoration, and of people of whom they could trust. I always wanted to be there for them. I wanted to be a good role model for them. I started to fake my way through life better, hiding all of my feelings. However, I wasn't as good with faking it as I thought. In my mind, no one knew I was sad.

When I was in college, my facade crack.  Through some friends, I realized that I needed help with dealing with my depression and growing anxiety.  I was starting to have major anxiety attacks.  Luckily, my campus had a free counseling center and I learned that it was okay to say no to others and yes to me. I learned to take time for myself and I learned some great coping strategies.

I dealt with the symptoms and starting to become me again.  I started to become loving again. I was less angry. There were still ups and downs, but I started to "get on track" to my life goals.

When I moved to North Carolina, to fulfill one of my dreams as a special education teacher, many of those feelings, fears, and depression came rushing back. It wasn't the job. I was just alone. I had no friends. I just went to work and came home to my empty (literally and figuratively) apartment.

That year was a trying year for sure.  My mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Thankfully it was not cancerous but the hardships that she and my family went through were a lot.  I went back to counseling to deal with my feelings and learn how to cope through this situation. It didn't help like it had in the past.  I would leave the sessions feeling empty and hopeless.

That school year, I was lucky to be supported by a teaching assistant, substitute/school parent, and instructional coach.  These women showed me compassion, friendship, gave support, and lots of prayers. Through the school parent and teaching assistant, I found a church.  It was very different than the Protestant and nondenominational churches I attended in my youth. Here I learned that God did love me. God adored me. God forgave me. It was at that church that I came back home to Him. It was at that church that I was baptized. To them, I will always be thankful.

The beginning

I am blessed to say that I was born into a family of love.  Both of my parents had struggled their whole lives to feel love, to be loved unconditionally, and to be cared for by someone.  These struggles paved the way for me to live in the most loving household that I know. If we said "I love you" once a day, we probably said it thirty times a day. We knew not just by words that we were loved, we knew by actions.

My parents' struggles in early life and adulthood, led to a protection around me. I knew what it was like to have a safe place. I knew what it was like to have a home.  I knew what it was to be adored, loved, and cared, and not because of things I did. I had all of this because of who my parents were and just because they loved me so.

It was outside of this home, this safe place, that I felt the first pains, fears of inadequacy, and where I was given my first scars.  Sadly, these were all by the same people that did this to my parents.

Even before I was born, some of these people proved that I was unwanted by them. Telling my mom to get an abortion.  When I was born, yet another girl in my mother's family tree, I felt resemblance of pains my mom went through as a child.   I was the unwanted, second rate granddaughter.  When I was at my mother's childhood home, I would relate to Cinderella growing up because I was the one to clean as my cousins played.  I was the one that was "lucky enough" to be invited that I would have to do "my part" to show my thankfulness. I would feel like how I was treated was my fault. I would try to hide all of it from my parents. When the truth came out, we would break away from the family.  We would later forgive and try again. The scars never truly healed. I never let them in again. I often wonder if I did the right thing but not letting them into my life.

I was not wanted on either side of the family.  I was the sixth grandchild on the other side, my father's family tree.  At the time, I was only the second granddaughter. But I was the outcast from my first breaths. The product of a second marriage in a very Christian household, I was frowned upon.  I was being punished in front of my face by the love given to all of my cousins and my older siblings.  These pains, and how I saw my family treated by "family" over the years, led me to be mad at God. Christians tell me, and showing me, that I was not good enough for them or for their God.

As I grew up, my family reconnected with old friends, people that had been a second family to my Dad. I felt love and companionship that I had not felt with anyone outside of my small family for years. We joined their church.  We became family.  At this church, and in this family, I gave my heart to the Lord. I remember feeling so loved, so adored.  Over time I saw how some were being favored within the church. I learned that all families have their hurt and disagreements. However, I remember when this "family" gave up on us.  I learned that arguments and disagreements end friendships. I learned that there was no forgiveness in the church, within family, or within any relationship.

My parents made up for the lack of love that I had elsewhere with the in the love and attention that are home was filled with.  If it were not for them, I do not think I would be able to fathom the love that God has for us. If it were not for them, I don't think I would have ever come back to God. It took me years in my adulthood to realize that God's love and relationship with us, is like that of my relationship with my parents. I could do wrong, but I will be forgiven. I could disagree, but still be accepted. I could be different, think differently, and be loved.  Nothing that I do or have done, earned my parents' love; the same with God.

I am so very thankful for my parents. I am thankful for what they have showed me. I am thankful that they never gave up on me. I am so very thankful that they showed me the Love of God in their home and taught me through His Word.

I am thankful to my God for blessing me with my family and showing me a glimpse of His great love for me. I am lucky to call myself not just the daughter of my loving parents, but also the daughter of the ONE, TRUE KING!

I never wanted it

I think I most identify with Moses when he is telling God that he is not good enough, that he can't speak the words correctly, that someone else can do the job better.

"Moses said to the Lord, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”

13 But Moses said, “Pardon your servant, Lord. Please send someone else.” (source: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%204) 

 Like Moses, I have argued for many years that I don't want to share my story. I don't think anyone will want to hear it. Why would anyone want to hear it? There has to be someone that has it all together, someone that hasn't been broken to share their story. But over and over again this has come to mind, "What better to show the light of God then the broken pot?"

I went to an event "At the Well" a couple of weeks ago, when I wrote on the back of my program some thoughts.  I tend to do this a lot. I write to get the words out because if I don't, I feel haunted by them. They play on repeat. I have written for years, mostly poetry and some short stories. Nothing at all like the beautiful things written in Psalms.

The event had charms that represented the journey of each of the remarkable women sharing their stories. I wrote "What should be my charm? If something were to represent the journey that God took my through, what would it be? Is there a charm for excuses? When am I going to stop making excuses like Moses, and just share my story? Each story matters. Each story can be used to glorify God and to bring someone to Him for the first time. So just step up and get out of your comfort zone. God did not create you to be a creature of fear, to let that fear be your god! He created you in His image and to put no other God before Him. So say goodbye to the fear, let it all go, and step up to share your story!"

My writing changed from focusing on me to focusing on how my story can be used to glorify God. It changed from focusing on my excuses to telling myself to basically just "get over it and do what you are suppose to be doing."

So here I am, trying to turn my rambling mess into a story.