Outrunning the Rain...

I turned the key in the lock and we started down the stairs with the last bags of trash to take out. It had been thundering loudly while we loaded the last of my stuff in the car, and I was just hoping the rain would hold off until I was ready to go. I kept telling him that the coming storm was a sign; that maybe I shouldn't go. We walked to the dumpsters and threw the trash in, and right as we turned to walk out, we could hear the rain coming on the aluminum roof of my apartment complex. It was so close we could feel it. He took off running and so I followed suit and sprinted after him. We split when we got to his car yelling our goodbyes and me yelling a thank you and and I love you along with it. As I ran for my car across the parking lot, it was right as I jumped in and slammed the door that the rain hit. Huge, soaking drops falling hard and fast from the dark sky overhead. I sat for a moment and tried to take deep breaths, and then turned the car on and put it in reverse. As I headed for the entrance to the complex, watching the trees blow sideways in the sudden storm, my tears started to fall just as hard and as fast. It had been so long since it had rained, and this storm was a symbol of so much for me. It was so ironic, and so perfect.

I began my drive through Murfreesboro, not able to go more than fifteen miles an hour because the rain was falling so hard so fast. The water was collecting quickly on the roads, and visibility was next to nothing. I could hardly see from the tears falling from my eyes anyways. I was leaving my life. I was leaving the town I had lived in for twenty-one years, with no promises of return. I was leaving the apartment I had lived in during the hardest, most difficult (and yet beautiful) year of my life. So much had been learned here. My friends were right down the street here. And oh, had the rain fallen here. The storms I had weathered in this apartment were the some of the worst ones I had ever seen. So much pain and grief, and it was so hard to escape it. The winds had knocked me down more than once, and sunny skies seemed so far off. I had stopped sleeping well in this apartment months ago. The rain was perfect, because the rain was mostly what my heart saw when I lived at this address. I was ready for the rains to end. So I drove on.

Just as I was about to hit the interstate and head a county to the north, it suddenly stopped raining. The winds became calm, and peace was whispered into my soul. It was time to move on. It was time for a new life. A better life. It was time to take all I had learned and all the relationships I had built, and leave the rest behind. Though I know the rains will fall again no matter where I live, I had weathered these particular storms and come out on the other side a better, stronger person. I could move on now.

This first week in my new house has been hard. It's been lonely, and it's been new. There aren't friends to call that live right down the street, and there is no familiarity in anything. My comfort is found in the familiar, so this is stretching me in new ways. I'm learning to explore the unknown, because I don't really have any other choice. I'm learning to bask in the peace of living outside of the center of town. I'm learning to appreciate my five minute drive to work, living in an actual (HUGE) house, and living with people I have the pleasure of getting to know (even though I haven't seen any of them in three days). I don't yet regret my decision to grow up, and I hope that I never do. Yes it's new, and so yes it's hard. But I'll adjust. The best part is that even though it hasn't been easy, the sun has still been shining. I sleep all night, and my heart isn't heavy anymore. The storms that my apartment had held had attacked my spirit and burdened my soul. There is peace here; peace and sunlight. The rain has stopped, and it is well with my soul. For now at least :)

"It's the Fear That Keeps Me Wide Awake"

I've spent the last few hours packing my life into boxes so that I can put it all into a U-Haul tomorrow and move to the next county. To be perfectly honest, there isn't an ounce of my being that wants to make this move anymore. You see, I have this problem with making decisions. Decisions, especially big ones (but usually small ones too!), scare the hell out of me. I'm terrified that I'm going to choose wrong. I'm terrified that either I or someone else is going to lose in the end. I'm scared of this not being the next right step in my life, and I'm scared of what I might lose by leaving this town. To sum it all up, as I laid in bed last night trying to sleep, I reached the disheartening conclusion that I have not only let fear take up residence in my heart, but I am letting it rule my life. And no one should be ruled by fear.

Fear is something that I have been familiar with my entire life. When I was growing up, security was something that was rare. It was important that I always stayed on my toes when it came to what I said and did, because if I chose wrongly there would be consequences. And the consequences usually hurt. This instilled in me my fear of choosing wrongly, and so it has made me hesitant of choosing at all. I think this is unfortunate, because being an adult is about making decisions on my own. And so I lose.

When I was young, I feared adults and the pain they could inflict upon me physically. Not feeling safe with the people who were supposed to protect me the most from everything scary and unknown did more damage that I have ever chosen to realize. Now, a few years into adulthood, I find it hard to think of anyone as safe. Which gives me nowhere to escape to from the fear. It has caused me to be the most afraid of the people that I am closest to and should trust the most. This makes life very scary. It leaves me searching for security, and causes me to stay frozen when it comes to walking through life, for fear I may take the wrong steps forward.

All this being said, I think I'm tired of letting fear take the upper hand. It is robbing me of my life, and it is taking from me the ability to risk. I'm so afraid to let go that I cling with all my might. This isn't fair to me, and it isn't fair to the people who love me. I have to learn to jump, even when I can't see the ground. I have to learn to TRUST, which is completely foreign to me. I think I'm finally realizing that the entire world isn't out to get me. Maybe there are people out there who are safe, even though they may fail me from time to time. Maybe it is ok to take steps in a forward motion, and hope that Jesus will work out the details if I just follow His lead. Life wasn't meant to be lived in the same state of mind all the time. We're supposed to take adventures that are offered to us, even if it is simply for what we might learn along the way.

So even though I'm still questioning this move I'm making tomorrow, I hold tight to some advice I got from a dear friend just last night: even if this is the wrong decision, I will learn from it. Which in the end makes it the right decision. I believe that Jesus wouldn't let me make huge decisions that are the wrong ones. I believe that He's holding me in His hand, and guiding me along the way that leads to life. I believe He can deliver me from the paralyzing fear that rules my heart and my life. Fear is not of God. For "God did not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline". So may I learn to risk. May I learn to trust. And most importantly, may I learn to LIVE, confidently and free of the fear and lies that have plagued me for way too long.

Emotions Trapped Between the Threads

I am moving in a few days, and being the procrastinator that I am I just decided to start packing today. You see, packing for me was going to require going through everything that moved home with me last August that has been abandoned in my empty dining room ever since. No one but me knows why I have left these things abandoned for the last eleven months. No one but me knows the emotion contained in the full boxes that I haven't brought myself to yet touch. For the same reason, there is a five foot by ten foot storage unit just down the road that I pay rent on every month, full of things I haven't touched in two years. This may sound silly, but I truly haven't had the ability to go through this stuff. My things were dumped in these two places in seasons of confusion and pain that I couldn't face. They were placed there to be held until I was ready to deal. They contained emotion and memories that I refused to deal with and instead kept buried. Until today.

This morning at church the message was about healing from the pain we kept buried deep inside. The pain that no one knows about. Oh, the irony. Jamie, my pastor, used the illustration of trying to hold a beach ball under the water. You can hold it down and lay on top of it, but eventually it's gonna pop up and smack you in the face. Yep. And until healing comes, we live in fear and we live trying to control the pain we hide. Yep, again. I consider myself an expert in pain control. But how much easier would it be just to embrace healing instead? How much easier would it be to finally walk through my grief and my pain, and find the Light that heals? The Love that heals? The Truth that heals?

My mother died four years ago. And while it would be so much easier to say that I was over it a long time ago, I would be lying. I have run from grieving for so long. I have held onto the pain, I have held onto that stage of life, and even more inconveniently I have held onto everything that reminds me of her. I have boxes full of everything that causes me to remember, just in case I forget. Today, I think it might be time to let go. Today I realize that people are not contained in stuff, and neither are memories. My memories of when my mom was alive, my memories of happy times (and happy shopping trips) will not be lost if I let go of my material things.

So as I stood in my dining room this afternoon, going through the clothes my friends have been trying to throw out behind my back for years, I realize I am finally ready to let go. And I realize it's ok to let the tears come as I discover the clothes I was wearing the day my mom died, the dress I wore to the funeral, the sweater she bought me that Christmas, or the shoes that she wore before I did. It's ok to be sad, and it's even more ok to throw them in the goodwill pile. Because it's time to grieve, it's time to deal, and most importantly it's time to let go.

Waiting for Morning Light

It's been one of those weeks where I haven't ever felt more alone. One of those times where I can hear myself scream, but no one else seems to be listening. I often have a really hard time knowing how to express how much I'm hurting, and because of that no one can reach out to me. My car is forced to witness my mental break downs at the beginning and end of each day, because for some reason I find it necessary to hold it all together while I'm at work or with friends. I'm a fairly good faker. I don't find it difficult to pretend like everything is holding together well, and I can force myself to have a good time even when everything is crashing down. But it sucks. It sucks, it's not fair, and to be honest it's making me die from the inside out.

The other day one of my friends told me (as she listened to me fall apart) that it was ok if I didn't know how to let her help me carry my pain. That she was going to do it anyways. She said that there was a reason God had given me good, faithful friends that were able and willing to plead with me on my behalf to Jesus. That conversation inspired me to become willing to ask the four people I trust to please pray for me. And honestly, that's as far as I have gotten. I can't seem to grasp the truth that maybe we weren't meant to carry our pain on our own. That maybe there really are people who care enough to pray diligently for me and to slip little bits of light into my darkness. If that really is true, maybe I should open my eyes a little wider so I can see it. Because maybe sometimes all I need to know is that I'm not alone. Maybe all I need is a touch, or a word of hope. Pain is taking it's toll on me, and that is the honest truth. I just don't know how to express it. The louder I scream, the more I'm convinced that no sound is coming out. Can anyone hear me? Is there anyone else out there?

Jesus be near to me, and don't leave my side.
I'll sit here and wait for you, for I know You hear me cry.
The darkness surrounds me and I'm falling fast,
But I hold fast to the promises that are in the morning light.

My Heart Belongs to Two Blondes

As I was sitting at the stoplight begging it not to turn green just yet, I happened to glance at the thermometer on the Walgreen's sign across the street. Eighteen degrees. Too cold to play outside. It was going to be a miserable day. I could just feel it. There wasn't a single ounce of me that wanted to go to work that morning, and yet here I sat, one stoplight away. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I started pleading with God. I hated my job, and I wanted to make sure He knew that I wanted a new one. Fast. However, a new job isn't exactly what God had in mind. Our conversation went a little like this:
"HEY!!!! Shut up and listen to me!"
"God? But I hate my job! Don't make me keep doing it!"
"Would you just hold on a second?"
"Ok, ok. I'm listening."
"Joy, if you can hold on just a little bit longer, I've got something big for you just right around the corner."
"But Lord I can't do this anymore. I'm miserable."
"I know, but trust me. Just hang on a little longer."
"How much longer?"
"You'll see. Just hold on."
"Ok. Holding."
Inside, I was pretty much telling myself that God had until the end of the week to give me something, or I was giving notice and I was out of there. Little did I know that two days later my life at work would come crashing in around all of us, and we were going to have to bind together in order to pick up the pieces and learn to make beauty from ashes.

It's been six months since the cold February morning when I learned that the father of the two beautiful little boys I spend my days with wasn't ever coming home again. It's been six months on a roller coaster ride of emotion that I first observed and then later voluntarily jumped onto. I was blessed enough for God to have chosen me to be the one to walk through the fire with my beautiful and absolutely resilient employer, Erin. And honestly, blessed doesn't even begin to cover it. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I could have learned so much from being the only constant in the midst of pain and a struggle to survive. But I did. And I still am.

I'm pretty positive that we would all agree that the first two months were the hardest. Once the doubt subsided, the darkness set in. In with the darkness came confusion and the pain of loss. There was so much "Why?" and not many answers. It was through this stage of loss that I believe my compassionate heart crossed over the line of my original job description. It was in these months that I found myself not only holding crying children, but also holding a woman whose heart was breaking into pieces. It was such a relief once she realized that I was there for her, too, because she didn't have to hide the utter despair that so visibly plagued her soul. She became unafraid to let me see her break, and I was glad. My own heart broke for her and spilled tears down my face many nights as I got in my car to drive home. I, too, was asking why, and I, too, had so many unanswered questions.

I'm not sure I can tell you exactly when I realized that I had given this precious, broken family my whole heart. But as I sit back and look at it now, I can tell you that I love those boys and I love that woman with a fierce, protective love that I was not aware I was capable of. I would do anything in my power to stop any more pain and harm from reaching them. I would do anything in my power to show them the hope and unconditional love that is being withheld from them right now. My very heart shatters when I am holding a child who can't sleep because he wonders which parent, if any, will be there when he wakes up. Rage consumes me when I watch that baby sleep all day because he was too unsure of where he was last night to get any rest. It's not fair, and it never will be again. I hate it, and yet I have to trust that Jesus has this one, and He is holding them all in the palm of His hand. I have to trust that even though awful sin and darkness can enter in, it will be only light that shines back out through the cracks.

A week from tomorrow a judge will decide which parent gets to stake claim on the two precious little lives that are oblivious to the battle raging over their heads. A week from tomorrow the earth may fall out from under the beautiful woman that I have watched fight a fierce fight for the lives she brought into this world. I don't know what is going to happen. I'm praying for justice, and I'm praying for peace. What I do know is that whatever falls, I'll be there when it's over to help pull two beautiful, blonde-headed little boys out from under the rubble. I love them with all my heart, and the things they have taught me are worth more than words. I only hope that they can grow into strong, capable young men, without a doubt about whether they were ever loved. As long as they know that, my job is accomplished. My job, which by the way, I now love.

90 Degrees at Midnight

We're currently experiencing one of the longest hot streaks in fifty years. It's been over one hundred degrees for three days now and it's only supposed to get hotter for the next three. It's unbearable. Too hot to move, and too hot to breathe. Yet it's fitting for me. Outside it feels like I've moved to the desert, and so my body is now joining the place where my soul has been lying in wait for a while now. Desperately thirsting for water, crying loudly for rescue from the scorching heat.

It's been almost two months since I woke up on a Tuesday morning slightly convinced that my soul was suffocating. Somewhere in the craziness of sprinting through my spring I had dropped my compass and ended up wandering through the desert. The problem was that I had been ignoring my soul's thirsty cries for a while and so once I realized where I was, it was too late to turn around. I was going to have to walk through the desert. I was going to have to figure out how to get to the other side.

Now, I've never been a big fan of heat. I'm the first one to flip on the air-conditioning in the spring, and the last one to run the heater in the winter. Heat makes me unable to breathe. If there existed an underground city where it is always damp and cool, I'm pretty sure I'd take up residence there. But never have I realized how much more unbearable scorching heat is to my soul. How it feels to be desperate for a breath of cool air to flow into the holes that the heat has burned through my very being. I keep expecting to wake up one morning and be back where the nice, cool breezes blow, but I'm seeing that it rarely works like that. God allows us to wander blindly into the desert so that we can learn to rely on Him for a drink when we get thirsty, for shade when we get too weary to keep walking and need to rest, and ultimately for finding our way to the other side.

I am blessed to be aware of the fact that Jesus, too, has wandered through the desert, and so I have felt Him walking beside me through the entire journey. I am also blessed to recognize that there are people that Jesus randomly interjects into my journey, sometimes to offer me a cool drink of water in many different forms, and sometimes to carry me for a little while. And once I realized what a true gift these other people were, the load I was carrying in the heat suddenly became lighter. I wasn't meant to carry it alone, and often I wasn't meant to walk alone either. There is nothing in the world like a traveling companion. So even when Jesus allows me to be stranded in the desert, I'm learning that He never leaves me without the tools I will need to get out.

In this journey there is no easy way out. Sometimes the heat is so much I just have to lay down and let it blow over me for a while. Sometimes I get so thirsty that I find myself pleading with Jesus for just a little drink to get me through the next moment. I don't know how much longer I will be left to wander, and I don't know how much hotter it will get. But I do know that like the temperatures outside, eventually the heat will back away and there will be relief. Eventually my cries will be answered and I will again be able to breathe in the cool air. As for now, Jesus promises never to leave my side, and He is providing great resources to keep convincing me to keep walking.

Late last night as I was driving home, I passed a thermometer that told me it was still ninety degrees outside even though the sun had gone down hours ago. The heat is currently so strong there seems to be no relief in sight. So it goes with my soul. The heat continues to swell around me, and yet I know I will not be scorched. Just like the summer will end, I know I will find my way back to the cool breezes that keep my soul breathing. Meanwhile, I choose to take extreme measures to make sure I won't be reduced to ashes. I force myself to not be afraid to ask for a drink when I'm desperately thirsty, and I accept the fact that sometimes it gets too hot to move any further. So I wait. I wait, and I pray for rescue. Help is on the way.