You.
Yes, you.
A different you.
I would tell you how much I love you, but it would be wasting my time. You already know. I loved you to the death of us. A heartbreaking, slow, painful death. I would say that you broke my heart, but really I broke my own. And it hurt. Oh, did it hurt. But I don't have to tell you that. You know what a broken heart feels like, especially now. You know.
When I saw you, I don't know what I felt. Half of me wanted to run the other way, and the other half of me was thrilled that you were there. Yes, thrilled.
I don't believe in coincidence. I know that there's a reason that we were both there. And it was glorious. Being with you again, that was glorious. And so many other things.
I know that things can never be the way they were. I know that we can't pick up where we left off. I screwed up, on so many levels, and I know that that was the end. But apologizing to you, that healed a part of my heart that I didn't even know was still broken. I truly am sorry. I am.
Leaving you that night, that's a completely different story. If I knew how to cry, I would have. All the way home, I would have cried. I just wanted more than I got. But I'm grateful for what I had.
I believe in redemption. I believe in healing. I believe in restoration. I believe in ME. And I'm asking that you would, too. Please?
I love you. And you know. You KNOW.
Always,
Me
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Money
Money.
It can't make you happy.
Nobody talks about it.
Everybody thinks about it.
You can never have enough of it.
Money has never been a huge issue in my life. I admit there are times that I have worried about making enough, but it was more about what I wanted than it was about what I needed. I've always been comfortable. The bills have always gotten paid. Until now.
I am in some sort of transition in my life that doesn't make any sense. I took a job God asked me to take, only to lose it six weeks later. I'm now struggling to survive on minimum wage and something just isn't adding up. I've been questioning God for a while now, and I pray hourly for there to be enough money.
There it is again. The money. It's not about the job. It's not about God. It's about the money.
We started a new series at church this week called "Empty Promises". It's about idols and the things in life that take all your time, thoughts, and energy. My pastor made the point that things like money won't give you peace. And yet, I must be a really screwed up believer because it seems the idea of having enough money WOULD give me peace. It WOULD help me sleep at night. But would it really?
I don't know what God is doing in my life right now, and I don't know if I have enough faith or patience to please Him. But I do know that when questioned about the things that take all my thoughts, money is at the top of the list. If you're honest, it's probably on yours, too. I'm praying that God shakes me of this in the coming weeks. I pray that even though it seems that I don't have enough, I can learn that He is my enough. And that money doesn't matter.
Money.
Can it make you happy?
Can it change your life?
Will there EVER be enough?
I don't know the answers to these questions, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out.
It can't make you happy.
Nobody talks about it.
Everybody thinks about it.
You can never have enough of it.
Money has never been a huge issue in my life. I admit there are times that I have worried about making enough, but it was more about what I wanted than it was about what I needed. I've always been comfortable. The bills have always gotten paid. Until now.
I am in some sort of transition in my life that doesn't make any sense. I took a job God asked me to take, only to lose it six weeks later. I'm now struggling to survive on minimum wage and something just isn't adding up. I've been questioning God for a while now, and I pray hourly for there to be enough money.
There it is again. The money. It's not about the job. It's not about God. It's about the money.
We started a new series at church this week called "Empty Promises". It's about idols and the things in life that take all your time, thoughts, and energy. My pastor made the point that things like money won't give you peace. And yet, I must be a really screwed up believer because it seems the idea of having enough money WOULD give me peace. It WOULD help me sleep at night. But would it really?
I don't know what God is doing in my life right now, and I don't know if I have enough faith or patience to please Him. But I do know that when questioned about the things that take all my thoughts, money is at the top of the list. If you're honest, it's probably on yours, too. I'm praying that God shakes me of this in the coming weeks. I pray that even though it seems that I don't have enough, I can learn that He is my enough. And that money doesn't matter.
Money.
Can it make you happy?
Can it change your life?
Will there EVER be enough?
I don't know the answers to these questions, but I have a feeling I'm going to find out.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Blind
I quit my job yesterday. I don't think I've ever formally given a two weeks notice and actually quit a job. So I'm surprised at myself. And I hate change.
Two weeks ago I was offered another job, and though I originally passed, about a week later I randomly picked up the phone, called, and said I'd take it. Out of nowhere.
All signs except one point to taking the job. But I'm hesitant, still. A new environment, a big change, a different financial situation. All things I don't believe I can handle.
And yet God asks me to step out. He asks me to trust what He asks me to do, even though I don't know what's around the corner, and even though many parts of it don't make sense. It's blind faith. And it's scaring the life out of me.
Two weeks ago I was offered another job, and though I originally passed, about a week later I randomly picked up the phone, called, and said I'd take it. Out of nowhere.
All signs except one point to taking the job. But I'm hesitant, still. A new environment, a big change, a different financial situation. All things I don't believe I can handle.
And yet God asks me to step out. He asks me to trust what He asks me to do, even though I don't know what's around the corner, and even though many parts of it don't make sense. It's blind faith. And it's scaring the life out of me.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Friday, August 14, 2009
Fixed
Tonight I had a sudden, impromptu chance to visit a dear friend that I hadn't seen since her wedding nearly five years ago. I found her on facebook a few weeks ago (oh, technology) and was excited to finally have the chance to see her again. It had been too long.
We worked together when I was still in high school, and she was a little over my age now. Those were fun, carefree days that include more laughs, pranks, and strange occurrences than I can ever remember. My memories of her are very fond, and she is someone that has stayed on my mind through the years we haven't spoken.
She is special to me not only because of the fun times we shared, but because of the trip we took to hell and back together. The trip during which she held me, and held me down. She sat next to me (or under me, depending on how hard the day) while my mother lay in the hospital dying. She knew my heart, and she was the only one I would let hold me when I would finally let go and cry. She loved my mom, and she loved me, and that love has always stayed with me. Even through five years. Five long, hard years.
So when I saw her tonight, it was hard to know where to begin. Hard to know which stories to tell, hard to know which events were significant enough to share. Hard to remember what happened when, hard to describe how things felt when they happened. Hard to know when it went wrong, hard to pretend like it's always stayed good. Hard. Just hard.
As I thought about this tonight on my way home, I realized that maybe this is something that more people than just me struggle with. Wondering when it all went wrong. Wondering when good went bad, and when darkness fell. Wondering at what point I became no longer whole, but damaged instead.
I've been trying hard to fix myself lately. Doctors, medicines, changes in attitude and thinking; whatever it takes to fix me. A good friend recently told me that I didn't need to fix myself, because I wasn't broken. She said that I was simply learning and discovering and growing, and I just don't know how much of that makes sense to me right now. I know I'm not broken, But I'm damaged.
So when I wonder where it went wrong, when I could actually look back and see that everything in my life had gone wrong, I wonder how I can reverse it. How I can "fix" it. And that part...I know deep down that that part isn't broken either. It's dark, and it's hard, but maybe it is just damaged, too. Just like me. Maybe life is just a beautiful disaster, and maybe I wouldn't change a thing. Maybe it's made me who I am. Maybe it's helped God to change the heart He has given me. Maybe it's opened my eyes.
Maybe a lot has gone wrong, and maybe it seems like nothing is right, but maybe, just maybe I've done the best that I can. And maybe that is enough.
We worked together when I was still in high school, and she was a little over my age now. Those were fun, carefree days that include more laughs, pranks, and strange occurrences than I can ever remember. My memories of her are very fond, and she is someone that has stayed on my mind through the years we haven't spoken.
She is special to me not only because of the fun times we shared, but because of the trip we took to hell and back together. The trip during which she held me, and held me down. She sat next to me (or under me, depending on how hard the day) while my mother lay in the hospital dying. She knew my heart, and she was the only one I would let hold me when I would finally let go and cry. She loved my mom, and she loved me, and that love has always stayed with me. Even through five years. Five long, hard years.
So when I saw her tonight, it was hard to know where to begin. Hard to know which stories to tell, hard to know which events were significant enough to share. Hard to remember what happened when, hard to describe how things felt when they happened. Hard to know when it went wrong, hard to pretend like it's always stayed good. Hard. Just hard.
As I thought about this tonight on my way home, I realized that maybe this is something that more people than just me struggle with. Wondering when it all went wrong. Wondering when good went bad, and when darkness fell. Wondering at what point I became no longer whole, but damaged instead.
I've been trying hard to fix myself lately. Doctors, medicines, changes in attitude and thinking; whatever it takes to fix me. A good friend recently told me that I didn't need to fix myself, because I wasn't broken. She said that I was simply learning and discovering and growing, and I just don't know how much of that makes sense to me right now. I know I'm not broken, But I'm damaged.
So when I wonder where it went wrong, when I could actually look back and see that everything in my life had gone wrong, I wonder how I can reverse it. How I can "fix" it. And that part...I know deep down that that part isn't broken either. It's dark, and it's hard, but maybe it is just damaged, too. Just like me. Maybe life is just a beautiful disaster, and maybe I wouldn't change a thing. Maybe it's made me who I am. Maybe it's helped God to change the heart He has given me. Maybe it's opened my eyes.
Maybe a lot has gone wrong, and maybe it seems like nothing is right, but maybe, just maybe I've done the best that I can. And maybe that is enough.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Still Holding On...
I paced back and forth through the room, angry and broken and screaming. Every few minutes I would stop and fall on my knees, and cry out and plead. I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. So I know that you couldn’t, either. My heart is intertwined with yours, and yours with mine, and it has been that way for a while now. You worry about me, and I used to tell you not to, but I don’t do that anymore. Because I worry about you, and if you didn’t let me I would get mad. So when your life is falling apart in front of our eyes, my heart breaks with yours. That’s just how I work.
I’m falling apart/Barely breathing/With a broken heart/That’s still beating
It was halfway through my day of tears and loss of hope that something occurred to me that should have occurred to me weeks ago. There was no way you were going to take this step alone. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t let me be there with you, that you would be your independent self, but when I told you that I took the day off to be there, you didn’t argue with me. That surprised me. I don’t know if the idea of me being next to you that day was more for you or for me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just so glad you let me be there.
I knew I looked like hell when I came to ask you if you were sure. I know I probably looked like hell that morning, too. Coffee in hand, here comes the test of true faith. We threw things in boxes, we joked and we tried to do anything we could to keep from breaking down. And when you walked into his room, into the room where you have laughed and cried and rocked and read and been filled with more emotion than any heart other than a mother’s can hold, and you started looking for what you needed to take, I knew that it was over. I had to look away from you because the pain written all over you was so blinding that it hurt my eyes. I was strong enough through that one to let you break, and kiss you on the cheek when you were done. It was going to be okay.
I’ve known for a long time that you wouldn’t be able to walk out the front door without completely losing it. That’s what I saw in my mind when I knew I needed to take the day off. And you did. You lost it. And we walked out the door, and we walked to our cars, and I had to turn around. I had to face the other way. Because I broke for you, and I didn’t want you to see. I got in line behind the moving truck, and you led. And we drove. And we cried, and we drove.
“Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours but God’s. You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the LORD on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed.”
When we got there, you were excited to show me the house. You asked me over and over if the house was ok. It’s perfect, for what it is. When everything was moved in, when it was over and done with, that’s when I needed you to let me hold you. And you did. Just for a moment. And we sat, and we cried and we questioned, and all I could think of was redemption. It’s just within your reach. And my love for you seemed to grow by the hour.
If I lay here/If I just lay here/Would you lie with me and just forget the world
The conversations we had at lunch were conversations that God put in place before either one of us were created. He wants you to know how loved you are. He wants you to know how much you’re worth, and how you deserve much greater things than you could ever even imagine. He wants you to know that the mistakes, the heartache, the regrets, and the guilt are not things that His children are supposed to have. He wants you to put them on Him, instead. He’s holding you. Stop fighting his embrace.
Getting in my car and leaving you there was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I knew I needed to go, but the very idea of the pain that was coming to you was not one that I could tolerate. I told you that God would break your heart open, and as you are finding out, it is some of the worst pain that you will ever feel. But it’s necessary. And so difficult to watch from the outside.
The good news? It will end. You will be ok. It will not be dark forever. The bad news? You have to stare straight into the face of God to get there. And deep down in my heart, I know you eventually will. You just have to do it on your own, and it has to be your decision. And for me, that is the hardest thing in the world. I want you to have everything, but I am not the One that can give it to you.
So I stand by, and I wait. And I am not patient, but I wait. And I pray, and I cry. I cry for you, and I cry with you. I cry because I’ve tasted freedom, and I can’t share it with you. I cry because I can see how close you are, and I so badly want to run to you and push you off the edge. But you have to jump on your own.
Just so the world can watch you fly…
I’m falling apart/Barely breathing/With a broken heart/That’s still beating
It was halfway through my day of tears and loss of hope that something occurred to me that should have occurred to me weeks ago. There was no way you were going to take this step alone. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t let me be there with you, that you would be your independent self, but when I told you that I took the day off to be there, you didn’t argue with me. That surprised me. I don’t know if the idea of me being next to you that day was more for you or for me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just so glad you let me be there.
I knew I looked like hell when I came to ask you if you were sure. I know I probably looked like hell that morning, too. Coffee in hand, here comes the test of true faith. We threw things in boxes, we joked and we tried to do anything we could to keep from breaking down. And when you walked into his room, into the room where you have laughed and cried and rocked and read and been filled with more emotion than any heart other than a mother’s can hold, and you started looking for what you needed to take, I knew that it was over. I had to look away from you because the pain written all over you was so blinding that it hurt my eyes. I was strong enough through that one to let you break, and kiss you on the cheek when you were done. It was going to be okay.
I’ve known for a long time that you wouldn’t be able to walk out the front door without completely losing it. That’s what I saw in my mind when I knew I needed to take the day off. And you did. You lost it. And we walked out the door, and we walked to our cars, and I had to turn around. I had to face the other way. Because I broke for you, and I didn’t want you to see. I got in line behind the moving truck, and you led. And we drove. And we cried, and we drove.
“Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours but God’s. You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the LORD on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed.”
When we got there, you were excited to show me the house. You asked me over and over if the house was ok. It’s perfect, for what it is. When everything was moved in, when it was over and done with, that’s when I needed you to let me hold you. And you did. Just for a moment. And we sat, and we cried and we questioned, and all I could think of was redemption. It’s just within your reach. And my love for you seemed to grow by the hour.
If I lay here/If I just lay here/Would you lie with me and just forget the world
The conversations we had at lunch were conversations that God put in place before either one of us were created. He wants you to know how loved you are. He wants you to know how much you’re worth, and how you deserve much greater things than you could ever even imagine. He wants you to know that the mistakes, the heartache, the regrets, and the guilt are not things that His children are supposed to have. He wants you to put them on Him, instead. He’s holding you. Stop fighting his embrace.
Getting in my car and leaving you there was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I knew I needed to go, but the very idea of the pain that was coming to you was not one that I could tolerate. I told you that God would break your heart open, and as you are finding out, it is some of the worst pain that you will ever feel. But it’s necessary. And so difficult to watch from the outside.
The good news? It will end. You will be ok. It will not be dark forever. The bad news? You have to stare straight into the face of God to get there. And deep down in my heart, I know you eventually will. You just have to do it on your own, and it has to be your decision. And for me, that is the hardest thing in the world. I want you to have everything, but I am not the One that can give it to you.
So I stand by, and I wait. And I am not patient, but I wait. And I pray, and I cry. I cry for you, and I cry with you. I cry because I’ve tasted freedom, and I can’t share it with you. I cry because I can see how close you are, and I so badly want to run to you and push you off the edge. But you have to jump on your own.
Just so the world can watch you fly…
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
November
When I came home and took off my sweatshirt, I noticed that I smelled distinctly of two things. Grease and cigarettes. Two comforting things. I knew it would be important to find something comforting after my unsettling evening; I hate coming home and regretting where I've been and what I've said. I tried hard to see past my mood, to deny the things bubbling out of me, but it wasn't with much success. Today just wasn't a good day. It's been a while since I've had a good day. It's November.
I have no idea how I'm going to stomach even the idea of tomorrow, even the idea of a family holiday. Every year I seem to get a little more disconnected, a little more unaffected. I wish I knew how many more years it was going to take before going home from work for a holiday weekend doesn't make me cry. I wish I knew how much longer it is going to take before I adjust to being alone on the days no one should.
There aren't words for how it feels to have no one to spend holidays with. So I have to take comfort in the familiar. In the feel of the cool winter air on my bare skin. In the sound of the traffic far away on a clear night. In the sight of the stars, shining with glimmers of hope. In the smells on my clothes, the smells of things that taste good and calm my soul. The peace is found there, in the tiny things found by my senses, and for that I am thankful. After all, it is the day to be thankful, right?
I have no idea how I'm going to stomach even the idea of tomorrow, even the idea of a family holiday. Every year I seem to get a little more disconnected, a little more unaffected. I wish I knew how many more years it was going to take before going home from work for a holiday weekend doesn't make me cry. I wish I knew how much longer it is going to take before I adjust to being alone on the days no one should.
There aren't words for how it feels to have no one to spend holidays with. So I have to take comfort in the familiar. In the feel of the cool winter air on my bare skin. In the sound of the traffic far away on a clear night. In the sight of the stars, shining with glimmers of hope. In the smells on my clothes, the smells of things that taste good and calm my soul. The peace is found there, in the tiny things found by my senses, and for that I am thankful. After all, it is the day to be thankful, right?
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