The Day I met Hallie…

Posted on December 22, 2011 by Joy

(I began writing this on Tuesday evening (the 20th) only hours after meeting the newest edition to the little Green family. I have since struggled with whether or not to post it. It is an up close and personal look at my heart and that feels scary.
After several of my friends who don’t know Chris and Katie said that it would give them a better understanding of the whole situation, I decided to share it.)

Hallie Lynn Green entered the world via c-section on Monday, December 19th, weighing in at just under 5 lbs. and 18 inches long.

Those of us who know and love this family were unsure what to expect. Buckhead Church was on high alert all day as we waited for updates. The air was somber as there were so many uncertainties.

No one anticipated that Hallie would enter this world the way she did. She truly is a miracle. The only way I can tell you about the experience (through my own eyes), is by writing Hallie this letter.

Dear Precious One,

You are so strong. There were many expectations set for you and you have exceeded them all! You are so amazing!

I had the honor of meeting you today.
You are beautiful.
You are a fighter.
You are light in a dark world.

I, along with so many others have been praying for you since we first knew of your existence in your mother’s womb.

I spent many days praying for a miracle, that the doctors were wrong, that God would show off by defying all odds.

I prayed that you would be healthy and whole.
I pleaded with the Father for what I thought was the happy ending.

He had other plans.

You are a miracle, Darling. You are tangible evidence of a God we can’t see, but trust is there. You are the product of faith lived out.

As I looked at your perfectly round head that fit in the palm of my hand, I marveled at this tiny masterpiece that God had knit together. How silly of me to think that my plans were better than His! How utterly foolish to pray anything other than, “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

His ways are not my ways, little one. I can say with great certainty that He knows the end of the story.

At times I want to turn the book to the last page so that I am not surprised by the ending, but that is not how the Master works. The story unfolds as it’s happening and He is never surprised.

Let me tell you a little bit about your mommy. She is one of the bravest women I have ever known. She has shown us all what unconditional love really means. From the beginning, her faith never wavered. She has been a testimony of faithfulness, trust, selflessness and grace.

She trusted the Father implicitly. As her belly grew and people would ask about gender and due date and all of the things they tend to ask a perfect stranger, your mom would smile and say, she’s a Christmas baby.

She has an immeasurable amount of strength and courage. It is evident, my darling, that you too have an immense amount of courage and strength. Thus giving you the nickname “Little Fighter.” That’s what we call you in our house. The boys came up with that name. I think it’s perfect.

I couldn’t get too far into this letter without telling you about your daddy too. He has been strong for you, your mom and your sisters. He has exuded confidence in the promise of God’s word. He has documented, through some amazing pictures, your development in your mother’s womb. He has prayed for you since your conception.

It is not without difficulty that your daddy has walked through this. Men, by nature, are fixers. He could not “fix” this. He could not ensure your safety, he could not plan further than the 24 hours in front of him. He could not protect your mommy’s heart from the uncertainties of the day.

So he did what he knew he could do. He provided a safe place when your mommy needed to cry. He offered stability in the midst of uncertainty. He trusted God with a child that he knew was His to begin with.

There have been many, many tears. These tears encompass the entire emotional spectrum. Disbelief, anger, sadness, acceptance, happiness, confusion, lack of understanding…the list goes on and on little one and it will continue to grow.

Here is what I know, at the end of the day, the Father’s hand has never left you.
As I sit here pouring out what has been so difficult to verbalize, I ask the Father for wisdom and discernment. I ask Him to guide me in the coming days as I selfishly wish for a “Hallie update” every 5 minutes. I ask that He help me when I don’t know what to say, not to say anything at all. There is often times understanding in silence.

You are a blessing, Precious One. A gift. A beautiful example of what God can do when we listen and accept His will for our lives. You’re mommy has taught me so much about what real faith looks like. For that, I am eternally grateful.

There are people on this earth, those who will never meet you or your family and yet they will be in heaven because of the impact that your life has already made.

As I close this letter, I am listening to the rain hit the leafless branches on the trees, as it pours from the sky. I believe that God acknowledges the heaviness of heart in different ways. I would like to think that today, He is showing me in a very tangible way, that He is acknowledging mine.

Love and Light,

Bless ‘er heart

Posted on November 21, 2011 by Joy

Ah, the South… there is no other place like it.

We have beautiful skies, changing seasons that turn the trees into shedding masterpieces and roots that go as deep as their branches grow high.

There’s a church on every corner and if you go far enough South, a porch on every house.

For those of us from the South (at times affectionately referred to as the ‘Bible Belt’) or who have been here for any length of time, the phrase “Bless ‘er heart” is all too familiar.

Southern women have been saying it since the beginning of time.

There is no discriminating against genders. It’s just that “Bless ‘er heart” is used more often than “Bless ‘is heart” or “their heart” for that matter. Young ladies get called out far more than boys because it is assumed that boys will act out for the simple fact that they are, well, boys.

Girls, however, are held to a far higher standard. They must always give the appearance of a sweet, innocent young lady. This means never drinking directly from a bottle, always having a fresh coat of lipstick and never being caught in public with nail polish that’s chipping or messy hair.

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself while counting how many times my mom said this phrase while in a conversation about a gal in Alabama who had lost her way. Meaning, she was sleeping around, drinking too much, cussing like a sailor and seemingly enjoying it.

Conversations like these with judgmental Southern “Ladies” used to evoke anger. I would feel it rise up from the pit of my gut to the top of my throat.

Now, well, now, it’s nostalgic.

Immediately I am taken back to a time when I would spend Summers at my grandmother’s house in the deep South. We would sit on the front porch shellin’ peas. Well, I would be shellin’ peas while she sat fanning her face and saying, “This is the hottest Summer I can remember.” She said that every year and now my dad says it.

I called my grandmother “Mamaw”. She was not a “bless ‘er heart” kind of woman. She was a hard ass. She worked most of her life as a school teacher when segregation was the norm. Boy did she have some stories. If you knew what was good for you, you would not cross her. Everyone in town knew this. They called her Annie. Which was appropriate since her name was Annabel.

I loved to listen to her. I also had a healthy fear of her. Being the youngest of three girls I had seen what happened when my sisters disobeyed or talked back. It had to do with a paddle my dad had made when he was in a fraternity in college.

There is only one time I can remember her picking up that paddle with the intention of “wearing out my backside”. I ran and hid in a closet. I could hear her saying, “Joy Beth! You better get out here!” I don’t know how long I was in that closet, but by the time I emerged, she had cooled off and the paddle had been put away. She laughed and said, “You got away with it this time, but next time…”

I did not give her a next time. As Sally Mae would say, “That learnt me!” Sally Mae made the best cornbread and dressin’. If I close my eyes, my mouth waters as I can still smell and taste it.

Any who, back to the front porch on that hot Summer day…

My mom and aunt would be in the sitting room and the screen door was open. (It was always open in the front and the back of the house so that the non-existent breeze could move through the house giving us a false sense that it was cooler).

During that conversation there were “Bless ‘er heart’s” flying everywhere.

It usually sounded something like this, “We need to pray for Betty, bless ‘er heart, I heard her husband is sleeping around.” Or, “Keep Charlene in your prayers, she just can’t seem to lose weight, bless ‘er heart. She is bigger every time I see her.”

You get the gist. Now if you ever heard a double “Bless ‘er heart”, look out! There is no juicier gossip being said under the guise of a prayer request than that worthy of a double “Bless ‘er heart”.

An example of this would be something that resembled, “Poor Katherine! She drove to the city to have her hair done and they cut too much off. Bless ‘er heart, her face was not made for short hair. I’m not tryin’ to be ugly, but the color, oh, well, it will take weeks to look like anything close to a believable shade. She paid a lot of money too, bless ‘er heart. I hear her husband is not happy.”

Yes, watch out for the double whammy!

Mamaw would smile and look at me. We always had the kind of relationship where we didn’t have to speak to know what the other was thinking.

She would then say, “Joy Beth, why don’t you go pick up some pecans and bring them back here to shell, while I run in and refill my tea?”

I knew that she was going to tell the ladies to move to another room or talk about something else. Otherwise she would have asked me to refill her tea, stating, “Well your legs are younger than mine!”.
(I would have gladly done it. No one I have ever known worked as hard as my grandmother.)

When I came back with my bucket full of pecans there was no more talk from the other room. I could write an entire book just about my grandmother. She was an amazing woman. When she said something, that made it so. There were no questions asked.

I don’t know if she was guarding me from the gossip or if she herself got sick of listening to it? Either way, she put an end to the “Prayer requests circle”.

For those of you who haven’t grown up hearing this phrase, hopefully you will walk away with the not so secret knowledge that when a Southern lady is using the phrase, “Bless ‘er heart”, she might as well be saying a four letter word.

When ya gotta go, ya gotta go…Officer

Posted on November 4, 2011 by Joy

I was trying to explain this as he stopped behind my car, where I had pulled over to let my 3 year old…how shall I say…relieve himself.

(Go ahead, judge me. I deserve it.)

I was sure it would help my case that the police officer was a male, as he could empathize with my little boy’s full bladder and the fact that it’s actually faster to pull over and let him drop trou on the side of the road. As he walked over, I quickly began justifying my actions in the most ~~manipulative~~…I mean, logical and honest of ways.

“Well Officer, he hasn’t been potty trained for that long and when he says he has to go, you can guarantee, in less than 5 min., he’s gonna go. And, well, I told him to go before we left the house just down the road and he said he didn’t have to. I won’t make that mistake again! Next time I will MAKE him go before we leave! AND he doesn’t have his pants around his ankles…they are just below his cute little 3-year-old buns. I am blocking him as best I can! I’m sorry! I know I should have gone into the store and used the facilities, but you see, I am somewhat of a germaphobe and public restrooms make my skin crawl. And port-o-pots, well, I feel like sanitizing my hands after just looking at one!”

I paused long enough to breathe and then apologized profusely. Some call it groveling. I call it, not going to jail for indecent exposure and urinating on public property/grass (even if it was done by a 3-year-old)!

“I won’t do it again (knowing that I would, I would just pick a less traveled patch of grass next time), Sir! I’m so, so sorry! I have always been one to ask forgiveness rather than permission. I’ve learned my lesson!”

I noticed a grin start to spread across his face.

Cue inner monologue: “Oh no! He’s going to make an example out of me, I just know it! When the police station or DFCS calls Chris to come and pick up our child, while I’m sitting in a jail cell with a prostitute and teenager who was arrested the night before for public intoxication, well, I just don’t know how I will explain this to him?! There’s always a positive side. I’m wearing my “Be Bold” bracelet from church, maybe I can share with the gals in my cell! Yeah! It all makes sense now!”

About 5.3 seconds had passed without a word.

I looked down to see my son with his jeans now around his ankles. Thankfully his lightning McQueen underpants were pulled up! He was grinning from ear to ear up at the policeman.

Just then, my sweet boy exclaimed with utter delight, “YOU’RE A COMMUNITY HELPER!!!”

“That’s right, son. I sure am.” said the officer proudly.

He then looks at me and says, “Ma’am, that was quite an explanation you gave. You an attorney?”

“No, Sir.,” I replied.
“I’m a writer who loves photography and my day job is, Preschool Director… at my church.” (Ughhhhh, please don’t ask which church!)

By this time I was sure that my entire face was red and my chest was splotchy (this is what happens when I am humiliated).

He chuckled, making me feel even more inadequate as a mother and someone who cares for others children.

I couldn’t see his expression through the dark lenses of his glasses. “I have a grandson about your boy’s age. He loves to pee in the yard. I hated to stop your speech, seein’ as you were on such a role. Though it wasn’t necessary.”, he said.

“Really?! You have no idea…”

He interrupted, “I admire you for allowing your son to be a boy. Maybe next time you could avoid the grass right off a major road. Some people tend to frown on things like this.”

“Um, yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir! Thank you! I’m sure your grandson is a fine boy!” (Did I really just call his grandson a fine boy?! Shut up, Joy!!!)

“Have a nice day, young lady.”

“You too!” I said with enthusiasm while waving vigorously as he drove away. My child still standing in his underwear with his pants around his ankles said, “Mom, can we go now?!”

“Yes, Darling. Thank the Lord, we can!”

There are three takeaways from this story…

#1 ~ Talk less.

#2 ~ Never judge a mother letting her child go number one on the side of the road. Find out the circumstances. Then you can judge.

#3 ~ Don’t talk about others in a negative light, one day you may find yourself doing the exact same thing that made you think them absurd.

photo credit

When Cancer is no longer a Stranger

Posted on October 28, 2011 by Joy

I tried to think of a great title for this and well, that is the one I came up with. All of the others had profanity. I am mad as hell right now, as I write this. I figured when I calmed down a little I would regret saying the f word in a blog title or post for that matter. So, that’s that.

I want to share a story with you. It’s a story about the difference between what I think is fair and what I have to believe (through faith only, not logic or feelings or emotion or justice) to be God’s plan.

It’s a story about how sometimes, in the midst of it all, I am too sad to cry, too angry to scream, too numb to pray and too lackadaisical to ask God for any input.

There is this girl. Her name is Elliot. She is beautiful and smart, kind and generous. Her entire life has been based on faith, the love of Christ and her family. She is married to the love of her life and with him, she has, two beautiful young children.

Elliot is a loyal friend. She is a follower of Christ…a daughter…a sister…a wife…a mother.

Then there is me. It is I who have spent the majority of my life living for myself. I ran from God and thought I could hide, but He always found me. Though it would be years of heartache and wreckage before I finally surrendered, God had a plan and still does. I emerged from my prodigal journey with many scars, but overall rather unscathed. I am married to the love of my life and with him, I have, two beautiful young children.

I am doing my best to make up for time that was frivolously spent. I am a follower of Christ…a daughter…a sister…a wife…a mother.

Elliot has a deadly form of cancer.

It is showing itself to be relentless in it’s attempts to ravage her body.

As of today it has spread to her lungs and liver.

Three weeks ago, her scans were clear.

She needs a miracle…

Elliot and I have been friends for more than two decades.
We went to school together, grew up in church together, played tennis together, had slumber parties, talked about boys and God and our parents together. She still talked to me when others wouldn’t because they did not agree with the way I was behaving. And though I’m certain she didn’t agree, she didn’t shun me.

I cannot help but ask, “WHY HER?!”

She’s done it right. She was a good girl who lived right. Why her?!

Lord, what are you up to??? It is through clenched teeth that I say, “I know God has a plan… He is still in control… He loves us more than any human ever could… In all situations give thanks… He uses everything for His good… His will, not mine…” and on and on my mind races through all of the scripture, quotes, biblical truths, that I have been hearing my whole life.

I don’t feel better.

This isn’t about me!

As I read Elliot’s latest update on her Caring Bridge site I began to feel sick to my stomach. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, pound the steering wheel (I was parked) or tell God how angry I was? So I did all of the above.

For those of you who just gasped at the thought of me actually telling God how angry I am, you are not familiar with the same God whom I, fall on my face before pleading for a different answer than the one He seems to be speaking, or at times clinch my teeth in defiance while reciting His word, yet truth does not (at times) ease the pain of reality. Other times I lift my face and hands to the sky in reverence and utter disbelief that a God like this could love a wretch like me.

Whether I am praising, weeping, laughing, quoting, sharing with the God of my understanding, He remains my only constant.

Here is an excerpt from Elliot’s journal entry titled “God is still in control”

“…Obviously this is not what any of us had in mind. But God is still in control. We are not supposed to have a spirit of fear, but truthfully, the speed at which this is moving terrifies me. I had a clear scan 3 weeks ago. My hope is still in the Lord, my healer. I am begging each of you to pound the throne of heaven and ask for a miracle.

When I was first diagnosed, one of my dear friends told me to claim Psalm 91. So I did. Last night as I lay in the hospital getting an EKG, I struck up a conversation with the nurse. I don’t remember exactly how we even started talking, but our conversation quickly centered around God. I looked at her with tears in my eyes and asked Where is God? She said, oh baby, He’s here. He will never leave you. And don’t you ever give up on him. Ever.”

I wish I could say that were I lying in a hospital bed, as she was, that I would soon after write a post title that resembled anything close to “God is still in control”. Maybe I would? Or maybe not?

So what do we do when God doesn’t answer our prayer? Or when He doesn’t give us the answer we want? What do we do when there is more than one path and we are not certain which one to take?

The Senior Pastor at our church just finished teaching a series called “When God?” The timing could not have been more perfect. I would encourage you, if you have ever experienced God in any way other than you think He is “supposed” to be (your very own genie in a bottle, who only comes out when summoned), to listen to Andy’s message. It can change your life… if you let it.

He talked about when we feel like God is one of these three things and what to do about it;

Inattentive
Uncooperative
Late

Here is the take away from each message.

Moving Forward

When God is…

INATTENTIVE
Your personal circumstances do not necessarily coincide with God’s feelings about you. God’s apparent inactivity in your life is not a reflection of his activity in the world. If it currently feels like God is inattentive, look back at what he has done for you and out at his activity in the world around you.

UNCOOPERATIVE
While we have permission to ask God to remove our thorns, God has the right to say no to our requests. What do you do when God chooses to showcase his power on the stage of your weakness? Take no for an answer. When you do, God gives you something in return—sustaining grace. 2 Corinthians 12:9

LATE
When God is late in addressing your problems or answering your prayers, it can be difficult to know how to continue on in faith. But the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead offers a picture of hope in the midst of a hopeless situation. If you continue to trust God through your pain, he will eventually show you his glory.

My heart is heavy… my eyes are red and stinging from hours of tears…my head is pounding and yet my mind is numb.

I am not the one with cancer.

Feelings change with circumstances.

God does not change.

He is consistent, faithful, trustworthy, loving, gracious, all knowing and most importantly, never caught by surprise.

Now, in this moment, is when faith is tested.

It is when I must ask myself, “Do I believe God as well as believe in God?” Or does my belief only go as far as the expectation for a happily ever after?

*** If you would like to follow Elliot’s journey, please visit her Caring Bridge site to keep up with the latest information. In the meantime, we covet your prayers.

Why I lie to my kids

Posted on October 23, 2011 by Joy

I can just hear the inner monologue now…WHAT?! She lies to her kids?! What kind of parent does that?!

Um, just about every parent I know or have known.

Just the other morning, I dropped my son off in his class at church and he turned and said, “When will you be back?” “In just a few minutes” I said. (LIE!)

As his big brown eyes looked up at me, his little voice said, “What time is it now?”

“Almost 9 o’clock.” I responded.

“And what time will you be back?” he asked.

(By this time the line to check in was growing and our conversation had intrigued several who were waiting.)

“A little after 10:00 Darling. It won’t be long.” I said.

“That’s more than a few minutes!” he exclaimed.

Not knowing what else to say, or how to escape the trap in which I had just been caught, I pulled him to the side and knelt down so that we were eye level.

As my 5 yr. old pulled on my arm saying, “Let’s GO mommy! I wanna go to my class!” I knew I couldn’t miss this opportunity to keep it real with my youngest.

“You’re right, son.” I said.
“It’s actually going to be about 75 minutes.”

“Oh. Okay.” he said. And went running back into his classroom.

I was still kneeling on the floor when I looked up to see pity in the parental gazes coming from my onlookers. “It’s not as if YOU are always honest with YOUR children?!” I thought to myself in a very loud thinking voice. You know the one.

So, I head upstairs with my 5 yr old to drop him off at his class, still a little bewildered by the fact that my 3 yr old just called me out.

As I was waiting in line, a first time visitor was being escorted to the front so that she was able to drop off her child and tell them good-bye.

He runs into the classroom and I hear her say, “BY HONEY! Mommy will be back in just one minute!” (LIE!) I was thinking to myself, that kid will be lying on a shrink’s sofa one day explaining how it all started when his mother said she would be back in one minute and did not return for over an hour.

Photo Credit Freelance Folder

A little dramatic, I know! But I wanted to make her just as bad as I was. I wanted her to be a liar too!

Here’s the deal…this may seem like such a small thing to you. And for those of you still reading, hopefully this will make some sense.

It is a meaningless comment/exaggeration of the truth. UNTIL your 3 yr old calls you out on it!

It started a process of personal inventory. Which if you have ever done this, it is no small feat.

Instead of pointing at the lady in front of me and taking her inventory, which I knew nothing about, mind you, I was forced to look at myself.

What other things do I lie about?

Some of you will not have to be so introspective. For me, my sanity not only relies on this kind of honesty, it requires it.

Photograph : http://www.risesmart.com

I was a liar for a long time, so when I catch myself telling anything that even appears to be a lie, it scares me a little. If it looks like a lie, smells like a lie and sounds like a lie, well, it’s a lie.

Does this mean I’m going to tell my children all of the ridiculous things I did and poor decisions made while growing up. No. Does it mean that I will be one of those parents who says, “I never actually inhaled.” No. I don’t want to be that either.

SO, there is a fine line between truth and TMI.

What is it though?

No…really…I’m asking you…WHAT IS IT?!

I don’t know! I believe it depends on the person, the extent of the information and the age of the child.

Am I justifying my actions? Probably. I tend to do that when I want to feel okay about doing something that I’m not sure is okay to do.

Many studies have been done on how children develop and the way their minds work. It is said that a child 6 yrs or younger does not have the ability to reason. Hence the phrase, “7 is the Age of Reason.”

There is a great article titled “The Truth About Lying” and in it, the author says,
“From about age 4 on, children lie for many of the same reasons adults do: to avoid punishment, to gain an advantage, to protect against an unwanted consequence, and even to boost self-esteem. Youngsters, like adults, sometimes lie to demonstrate power, to maintain privacy, or to protect a friend. When a child lies, she is essentially trying to change a situation, to reconstruct things the way she wants them to be. (Hmmm, at times I still do this.) There is a developmental progression to lying.

Helping your child develop morality and responsibility for his actions over the long haul is the goal…
Model the behavior you expect to see in your child. (I thought I was doing that?!) This sounds obvious (YES, it does!), but it involves monitoring when and how you lie — not an easy task (NO, it isn’t!). If we want to foster a trusting, self-regulating child who cares about his own welfare and that of others, we have to do it the hard way: by being trusting, self-regulating, and respectful adults.” (Ouch!)

Why then, you ask, did I take the time to reason with my 3 yr old? Well, because I think he deserves to know the difference between a few minutes and 75.

All children are different. Mine was content hearing an explanation.
Do I recommend this when he is in mid tantrum. Nooooooooooooooooooooo. But when he is calmly asking for an explanation, I’m going to give him one, whether an “expert” tells me he understands or not.

So, I leave you with no answers today. Only questions.

What are the lies you’re telling your kids and where’s the line?

Just to make you feel better and not leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth and that befuddled look on your face. To get us started, here are a few of the lies that I can remember telling my kids in the last week (give or take a few days).

What I said:
Play land is closed today (at McDonald’s)
What I meant:
There is no way you are going to play in there! Ew. I’m sure they don’t crawl through all of those tunnels and clean it once a week. I wouldn’t.

What I said:
Mommy is going to take a break and have some quiet time for a few minutes.
What I meant:
Mommy is going to go upstairs, close the door, take some deep breaths while listening to songs on Pandora, none of which will have rhymes about counting or the alphabet.

What I said:
We will go outside in 10 minutes.
What I meant:
When I finish what I am doing, then we will go outside. I’m not sure how long it will take.

What I said:
Mommy is going to run an errand. It will only take a minute.
What I meant:
You’re going to stay here with daddy while I get in daddy’s car (instead of the minivan), roll down the windows, open the sunroof, turn up the music and sing at the top of my lungs while driving around the neighborhood.

What I said:
No honey, this is special mommy chocolate. Boys don’t eat this kind of chocolate. It’s only for girls.
What I meant:
I don’t want to share this chocolate with you. I made a special trip to Whole Foods to buy the good stuff (translation: 70% cacao and imported) and you don’t know the difference between this and a Hershey bar. Besides, I have given up alcohol, so I should not have to share my chocolate.

What I said:
It’s bedtime!
What I meant:
It’s been a really long day and you didn’t take a nap. I know it’s an hour early, but since it’s getting dark earlier, you don’t know whether it’s bedtime or not and I want some “me time”.

Now, do you feel better about yourself? You should. I have a lot of work to do! No wonder my children have no concept of time!

Wrestling demons…

Posted on October 18, 2011 by Joy

Ever have one of those dreams that wakes you from sleep with a racing heart and rapid breathing, grasping in the darkness as if you are fighting something that isn’t there?

That is how I woke up this morning. Shaken.

Maybe that’s one of the consequences of having a past where darkness was prevalent?
OR
Maybe it’s one of the blessings?

I haven’t had one of these dreams in a long time, but when I do, a couple of things happen.

I am taken back to a time where I felt utterly lost and fear was my guide.
I reach for Chris and confirm what is real in this moment.
I pray.

There was a time when these sort of dreams were very disturbing to me. In attempts to gain a new perspective, I asked someone who I respect a great deal, what I should do with this feeling that tends to shadow me throughout the day?

This was her response, (as my mind remembers it anyway),

“Where it can be scary to wrestle with demons, especially those from the past, it is a good thing. It reminds us of where we have been, how far we have come and what God has done for us that we could not do for ourselves. Do not look at these dreams as a negative thing. Ask God what He wants you to do with it. Thank Him for life as you know it, today, in this moment. Thank Him for your present reality. And then live. We cannot allow fear to paralyze us when the Creator Himself has called us to life.”

I believe that.

I also believe that we are fighting against something far greater than our memory of a troubling event.

We are fighting the master of darkness.

Okay, I know, it sounds dramatic and a little hokey if you aren’t a big fan of the bible and what has been sprinkled throughout about powers unseen…good and bad.

And maybe I’m still half asleep, but I cannot help but look to God’s word in times like these and the passage that consistently comes to mind is this one;

“And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels. Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own.” Ephesians 6:12 (The Message)

For those of us who grew up in church it read something like this;

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (New International Version)

I don’t remember ever hearing this passage from a church pew.

Maybe it’s because I wasn’t always paying attention or it could because IT FREAKS PEOPLE OUT!
There are few pastors who are willing to talk about the hard things and not just focus in on the wonderful, uplifting parts of the bible or the verses that talk about giving them more money.

This is one of the many reasons why I love my church.
I could walk in today, recall that which I have said here to any one of those who I consider leaders within the church and instead of looking at me like I have 3 heads, they would guide me through it in a way that I could understand, not downplaying the reality of this spiritual realm that most of us walk around completely oblivious to.

I don’t enjoy those nights when I fall asleep and wrestle the darkness.
I am however encouraged, as it reminds me that I must exercise my spiritual muscles.
Though the battle is already won, the fight is not yet over.

Even a Girl Like Me

Posted on September 24, 2011 by Joy

JCP-9884 I am amazed daily by the truth that God can and will use a girl like me…scarred and wretched. But on the mend.

I grew up a P.K. You know…Preacher’s Kid.
I was pretty darn “holy” and “good” until around age 13. With boys, hormones and the fact that I was filling out my bra, well, things changed.

I began to dream of living somewhere other than my small town. No one ever left that town! They grew up and worked for their dad. They all played the same part and I wanted to break away. I didn’t know exactly what that looked like, but it wasn’t to stay there and be a naive trophy wife! (No offense to arm candy. It just wasn’t for me)

So I set out on this quest to really “live”. You could not have prepared me for what I would encounter on this journey. I would not have believed you if you had told me the compromises I would make and lack of self-respect I would wear.

Yeah, I know you want all the gory details, but you’re going to have to settle for the abbreviated version and a decade jump forward.

After surviving a beating from the world. You know, that place where I wanted to “live” so much?! I had limited choices as to where to go next. So I finally surrendered.

I know, I know, surrender sounds like giving up. For me, it was not until I surrendered that I found true freedom.

I had grown up hearing about God. Heck, I’d been hearing about Him since the womb! The big Being in the sky, passed the clouds, waiting for us at church on Sunday? “Who is this God and why did I need to pursue a relationship with Him?!”

Little did I know, He was silently pursuing me.

At age 25, after getting knocked up, beat up, locked up (not necessarily in that order), abusing my body and mind through choices that I never thought I would make, getting divorced and growing sick of hearing myself ask, “Why am I even here?!”, I had to find a God that I could relate too.

You know, One who didn’t care if I was used and broken. One who would say, “In Me, you find rest…safety…eternal security.” I needed to be redeemed.

Did He even exist?

I am still seeking, but He shows me everyday, in tangible ways that He does in fact exist. He more than exist. He is working and moving in ways that completely blow my mind.

God willing, on October 19th, I will celebrate 9 years of sobriety. Not just from alcohol, but from many other substances and ism’s that I used to numb the pain.

When the substances, food, shopping, whatever, stopped working and the love of my life sat me down and encouraged me (through a pretty harsh reality check) to admit to myself that I was a hot mess and he was not going to join the “pity city” that I was trying to create, things began to change (slowly).

So, here I am, just turned 35, which I considered geezer age just a few years ago. And the most miraculous things have happened. The craziest of which, being that instead of waiting for a door to open, God has knocked down a wall.He is using my story of shame, in ways that I never thought possible.
I am doing workshops, radio interviews and talking to women from all backgrounds of life. I was the girl who hated other women! Now, I support them in their struggle. WHAT?! Only God.

Only a God who has been in the trenches with me… the bars and back alleys (don’t read into that) and bathroom floor at 4 a.m. and then turned me into a mother of 3, wife to a stud and a productive member of society. Only that kind of God could use a girl like me to bring others back to Him.

People want real…they want scarred…they want hope…even from a girl like me.