Tag Archives: Sanity

Egomaniac with an Inferiority Complex

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Ever feel like you’re walking around inside out? Like people can see, not who, but what you are?

Or that you have a neon word glowing above your head?

I do.

For me, it could be any number of things over the years… alcoholic, people pleaser, bulimic, liar, gossiper, faker, cheater, doubter, wounded, hypocrite, quitter…the list is lengthy and it only gets worse.

What’s your word?

Did you immediately think of something negative?

Why do I turn into a “Nancy negative” (no offense Nancy) when it comes to self-awareness checks?

Is it because I’m humble? Hardly!

It’s because my ego gets the better of me and I begin comparing my insides to your outsides. I become fixated on the past, instead of focused on the future, while living in the present.

Humor me for a minute and let’s go another route.

What if, when I went out into the world, I walked around with a different list of words adorning my head? Words like…Believer, Redeemed, Recovered, Loved, Forgiven, Cherished, Treasured, Saved, Blessed, Beautiful, Capable, Wanted, Free, Worthy, Accepted…as I wrote these words, I read them out loud. It is amazing the tone, the energy, the transformation of thought from one paragraph to another simply by changing a few words.

Ladies, we are the worst about this. Be careful what you are speaking into the hearts and minds of your daughters, friends and more importantly, yourself.

May I encourage you to try a little experiment with me? Come on! It will be so fun!

Take a dry erase marker (or lippy, whatever works), stand in front of the mirror where you get ready every morning, and in the space (on the mirror) above your head, choose one word of affirmation.

Write the word on your mirror so that when you look at your reflection you will see truth.

I call it, “Affirmation in Action.”

My word right now is “Redeemed.”

I begin my day with that word in my heart and on my mind. I don’t give the lies a chance to one up me.

There is power in our words. Even those never spoken, but that we allow to take up residence between our ears.

If you’re walking around all day with a head full of negative self-talk, stop it.
No really…STOP! You are going against your purpose, everything that you were designed to be. You are deeming yourself spiritually useless.

Harsh? Yes.

I speak from a position of repeat offender when it comes to bashing myself. What I am encouraging you to do, I am doing myself. Work in progress, remember. I don’t have all the answers, I am just very persistent.

It begins from within.

What’s inside you can either tear down and infect those around you with the poison of darkness. Or it can shine, igniting the light in others that is within us all. For some of us only a spark remains, while for others a fire rages.

Here is my promise to you…for the next 7 days, I am going to pray for you. I would LOVE it if you would tell me your word in the comment section below. However, even if you don’t, God knows your word and more importantly, He knows your name.

The future is very bright!

Now…

What’s your word?

 

Let go…or be dragged

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While you’re reading this sentence, I want you to ball your hands into the tightest fist you can make. Come on, squeeze until your nails dig into your skin and your knuckles turn white.

Now…open your hands. Stretch them as wide as they will go. Ahhhhhh. Release.

Do you see the fingernail marks in your palms? Run your finger over the shallow indention that will soon fade.

Are there things in your life showing evidence of a struggle by the indention’s that your fingernails left behind?

For me to think that there was any other way to believe that I could hold on to what was mine without digging my fingernails in, was going to take a complete transformation of the mind.

This is exactly what is happening. It has been a slow, but steady process.

Have you ever seen a child hold a piece of candy that they were afraid was going to be taken from them? Especially chocolate. The tighter they squeeze, the more misshapen it becomes. At times even melting under the force and heat of their little hand.

What’s left?

A mess.

When I have tried to pry open the little fingers of my child when they are locked onto something they want, not only does the mess get all over their hand, but it gets on mine as well. The worst place being under the nails where it is so difficult to remove.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, I hope you can relate.

I have had to physically open my palms to the Father many times this week while in conversation with certain people who are making decisions in my daughter’s life.

I have prayed, “Lord, if necessary, bring out your spiritual crowbar and release my grip on this situation. Father the harder I hold on, the worse the outcome. The more I squeeze, the greater intensity of pain. Help me, please. I don’t know how to hold my child with an outstretched arm and open palm.”

God has been so patient with me.

I should know by now that He doesn’t use a crowbar. He doesn’t use force. For if He did, I would be resentful. These are the times when He is very still and beckons my heart to meet Him in the quiet places (which are few and far between in my house).

He whispers to my heart, “Don’t you know she was Mine to begin with? Don’t you know that she is Mine still?”

“Yes, Father. But…What if…”

“What if, you trusted Me the way you tell others to trust Me? What if, you truly believed that I want the very best for your life and your child’s life. And though that doesn’t always mean comfort and happiness, you can rest in the assurance that you are greatly loved and adored by your Father in Heaven. What if, when you were afraid, you sought Me instead of relief through external methods? What if, every time you think of one of your children, you give them back to Me, once more, leaving the pen in My hand to write the chapters of their story? What if, you commit My words to memory so that when doubt floods in, it is absorbed by My truth and replaced with My peace that passes all understanding?”

This is how the Father speaks to my heart. This is the way he gently opens my fists tightly clenched in fear until my palms face the Heavens with fingers stretched as wide as they will go.

Then and only then, can He pour out His goodness, mercy and love. And there is enough that when it spills through my fingers, those around me benefit.

Bella, my Bella, belongs to God. Chris and I have worked tirelessly to lay the foundation and instill truth in her heart and mind. Our responsibility now, is to reiterate what she already knows. It is to combat lies with truth. It is to encourage, nurture and provide a safe place for daunting questions.

When I close my eyes and pray for my girl, I see the 5 year old explorer/princess/rock star. I see overalls and pig tails…I see somersaults on the grass and make believe castles in the trees.

I see more potential, beauty and promise than she will ever see. Isn’t that what we do as mothers though? We dream BIG for our girls and attempt to stifle the urge to project ourselves onto them while intercepting those who would cause them to believe that they are anything less than a child of The King.

Here’s the deal, I have to let go.

I must open my fingers and release the fist. I do not want my beautiful girl to have nail marks of any kind on her spirit, especially mine.

So when fear consumes my mind with thoughts of losing the control that I never had to begin with, my heart will respond with Ephesians 3:20-21“God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.“

What is beneath your fingers tightly clenched into a fist? What or who are you holding on to so tightly that they can barely breathe? Let go. The longer you struggle, the messier it gets.

Let go. Or be dragged.

The Maze of Ministry – Part 2

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In Part 1 of this post, I left you with a flashback from my childhood. (Sounds like a sentence from a shrinks couch, doesn’t it?)

These sentences are where we left off and where we will pick back up…
“And then it broke. Never to be put back the same way again. After all, with so much at stake, how could it be?”

When my parents decided to divorce, we, as a family, were suddenly and forcefully broken.
This is not a sob story about what happens to a girl from a “broken home.” So just hang with me here.

I was left questioning everything that had happened in my life.

I wanted to run.

So I did.

Without spending hours and thousands of words giving you details of the path I chose, I will sum it up this way;

~ I moved to another city and signed a modeling contract with an agency who immediately began bookings and photo shoots.

~ I discovered a drug that muted my mind and helped me stay thin.

~ I made a lot of money in a short period of time.

~ I was in breech of my contract for missing too many “Go Sees” and not returning my manager’s calls. They were able to use all of the pictures taken just days before without paying me a dime.

~ I began to spiral downward and burn through some serious cash.

~ I thought I was lost, but God still knew exactly where I was.

One night I woke up in an ER hospital bed, my wrists strapped to the rails while the nurses attempted to find a vain to start an IV for severe dehydration.

“Why am I strapped to the bed?!” I asked one of the nurses.

“You won’t keep your arms still enough for us to start a line, we may have to go in through your neck.” She responded.

“Wait. What?! No. How did I get here?! Why am I here?!” I said, confused and angry.

The doctor then walked into the room and said, “Why don’t you tell us? What have you ingested tonight?”

My designer dress had been cut right down the middle with surgical scissors. Apparently doctors don’t worry about preserving your clothes when they are trying to save your life.

It didn’t take long for my blood work to come back and show a list of things in my system that didn’t belong there.

When the doctor came in and read off the list, his next response was, “Damn druggies. As soon as that IV bag finishes, you’re gettin’ the hell outta here to make room for someone who really needs this bed.” I had od’d and come very close to loosing my life.

It’s interesting how differently you are treated when the medical professionals helping you, discover that the damage is self inflicted.

There are many examples of this type of chaos happening within a span of several years.

I chose to elaborate on this one story because this is a clear example where God rescued me from myself, in a way that I would not recognize until much later.

No one was in the waiting room to take me home. I didn’t even know how I got there. The person in registration said that several people had brought me in and said that they didn’t know what was wrong with me, but to save my life. They paid cash and left.

I knew then who it was.

I was shocked that these individuals would risk being caught to save my life. I was surprised they didn’t just let me die as I had heard stories of them doing with others who didn’t know when to stop.

(For those left wondering…the answer is yes, I had to take a taxi home in an ER gown and heals. Although I’m pretty sure I went barefoot, which totally grosses me out to think about!)

Do I blame my parents for this behavior? No.

It may have manifested itself in a different way were they still together, but I now know, with all certainty that I would not be who I am today without the hell I willing walked through years ago. I was fortunate, God always had His hand on me, protecting me, only allowing me to go so far.

The journey came to a crossroads when I sat down at a bar table with an undercover officer. I started talking to him and he asked what I was doing there. “What do you mean?” was my response.

“You don’t belong here. Get out while you still can.” He said, with a serious certainty on his face that I had never seen from anyone.

He drove me home that night. On the drive, I vividly remember staring at the yellow line in the center of the road. I thought about what my mom had told me when I needed to focus on something other than feeling carsick, “Focus on the yellow line and you’ll be fine.” She would say.

I had been traveling a road with no yellow line and it was time to refocus.

I called my dad the next day for the first time in months, told him I was alive, but scared and didn’t know what to do. He advised me to put everything I owned in garbage bags and come home that day.

I had a friend who helped me pack a u-haul and just as darkness fell, we began the six hour drive to my dad’s house.

I had not slept in more than 72 hours, so when I arrived, battered and bruised, I slept for a couple of days.

Three days after I had left, the house that I would frequent was raided and everyone inside was arrested (or so I was told). The amount of items confiscated had the potential for a hefty prison sentence.

You would think that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. There was much more to come, but that’s a story for a different day.

I was having coffee with a friend yesterday and we were talking about a different part of my story. She said, “That must have been when you hit your bottom?”

“No.” I said. “I had lots of bottoms.” I declared my bottom when I threw the shovel down and began climbing out of my self made burial ground.

I knew many who were not so fortunate.

I attended more funerals before age 20 than most people, other than a pastor will attend in their lifetime. Why I was not one of them, only God can tell. He has the final say and fortunately, He now holds the pen.

I like to read and listen to the writings of Jud Wilhite. He has said, “None of us were made to be made much of. We were made to make much of God.”

God was not surprised by anything that I did. He knew that more than a decade later I would have the irrefutable desire to work with women and girls, equipping them to make decisions that would lead them down a path much different from my own.

He knew that instead of gaping wounds, I would one day have beautiful scars that told my story and that there would be no shame.

In attempts to make much of myself, I failed miserably. I can see with clear eyes that it’s all about pointing to the Father and making much about Him.

Check out these incredible resources written by Jud Wilhite.

Also, explore the community he has created called People of the Second Chance Here you will find many stories that you can relate to and who knows, you may even decide that you want to tell your own story of second chances. You can follow on Twitter @POTSC

Secrets are to Sickness as Openness is to Wholeness

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A follow up to Yesterday’s Post that my daughter wrote.

I have received enough mixed reviews about Bella’s post that I wanted to follow up with some clarity and insight about why I let her post on the blog.

First of all, Bella is doing great! She is happy, excelling in school, has several close friends and studies scripture more than I do.

From a very young age, Bella has been hungry for knowledge. Not necessarily the kind of knowledge that books can bring. More of a spiritual hunger that can only be fed by the Father.

She has been writing for years. She wants people to read what she has written in dark moments, in hopes that it will encourage them to bring their thoughts and fears into the light.

It’s one thing for me, at 35, to talk about what I went through years ago. Those things that were once wounds are now beautiful scars that serve as a reminder of God’s grace, unconditional love and faithfulness.

It’s quite another for my 13 year old to express with transparency, the road she has walked.

Here is what I know and what I have spoken into Bella’s heart since she was very little.

Secrets = Sickness
Openness = Wholeness

Does this mean that it is okay to verbally vomit to every passerby in hopes that it will be helpful? No! It’s about having self awareness and pure motives when sharing your journey.

If the post yesterday made you uncomfortable, good. The fact that one girl would share a page in a chapter of her story in hopes that thousands of others who suffer in silence would be encouraged, then it was well worth your discomfort.

Comfort does not bring about positive change. It never has.

When deciding which one of Bella’s writing’s to post, we agreed that this was the one.

She has written about crushes on boys, the beauty of nature and random thoughts that a girl thinks about. Those are well written, but she wants to make a difference in the world.

She wants to positively impact the lives of others. I will not hinder her quest or discourage what I believe to be a desire planted by God.

I am her biggest advocate. My prayer, as her mother, is to have all things point back to Christ (bad or good). That she will see the hand of the Father always on her and ever present in her circumstances.

I love that she knows that this earth is not her home because she is a child of The King. Treasured… sacred… born to be blessed.

She is the most amazing 13 year old I have ever met. I am honored that she lets me into her world. As I pray for guidance from the One who knows her best, I will not silence her voice.

Restless

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Here I am again…in the corner…head in hands…asking God, “What’s the point?”

This time it’s not physical crouching, with the seam of two walls against my back, it’s a mental corner.

I am no stranger to this restless place made up of questions, irrational emotions, irritability, and self pity.

There was a time when I would have walked into my closet, closed the door, sat on the floor, and in the dark, through my sobbing, begged God to help me feel something other than pain.

I don’t go there anymore. Not to that place.

I have seen and felt God move enough to trust that once invited in, His hand will be on me.

And yet, that doesn’t help the waiting or lessen the emotional toll that this season of the mind takes on the one enduring it.

What does one do in this place of unrest and discomfort?

For me, I must look back at the faithfulness of my Savior.

I must not forget all the times that He has rescued me from seemingly impossible circumstances.

I must rely on the promises He has made in His word.

I must cling to the hope that Christ has given in this tumultuous life.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

And… I must wait. Sometimes in silence, sometimes in stillness, sometimes in uncertainty.

Trusting that, though silent, God is here with me.

He goes before me, making a way in the wasteland.

He stands beside me, as my advocate.

He walks behind me, so that when I want to turn and run, His face is all I’ll see.

He leads me through a story that is all part of His plan.

And though the words don’t always make sense, when the chapter is complete, I know with great certainty that I will look back and see His sovereign grace. 

A Stranger in my Own Skin

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Have you ever felt restless…almost like you’re allergic to your skin?

If you have, you know what I’m talking about and you probably just became a little uncomfortable recalling that feeling. If you haven’t, try to imagine thousands of ants crawling on you… beneath your skin.

I had all sorts of “isms” that I used for years to cope with the feelings and happenings that I wasn’t sure how to walk through or even sit in, for that matter. They worked really well…until they didn’t anymore.

So here I am, almost 9 years later and have learned to meet life on life’s terms…mostly.
My dad called the other day and just like every time he calls, when I answered (thanks to caller ID), “Hey dad.” He responded with, “Hey, My Joy! How are you?”

My reply, “Do you want the honest ‘how much time do you have, cause this is gonna take a while’ answer or the generic, ‘I’m fine, how are you?’ to avoid discussing what’s really going on answer?”
To which he replied, “Let’s try the honest answer.”

“I’m restless! Like, the down in my soul kind of restless. Not the, I’m bored, I need a change of scenery restless. Do you know what I mean?!”

“Yes!” he said. “I know exactly what you mean!”

I proceeded to tell him about the past few days and that after the boys had left for soccer that day, I sat down on the hardwood floor, leaned my back against the wall and just acknowledged the way the floor felt beneath me and the wall behind me. It was solid and definite. There was no argument about it’s existence. Anyone could see that it was there.

There are times when nothing in this life gives that assurance.

As I glanced up through the windows of our front door, it took me back to December 2007. I was 7 months pregnant with our youngest and our 1 year old was in respiratory distress at Children’s Hospital. After the third day in the hospital, I came home to take a shower in my own bathroom and attempt to rest. After walking through the door that chilly December day, I collapsed in a pile in this same spot, looked out through the windows of this same door, at a grey winter sky, and wept.

When I say that I was weeping, I mean, it was so far beyond the ugly cry. It was with my entire body…shaking violently. I didn’t care that snot was mixing with tears and running into my mouth and down my face or that my cheek was pressed to the hard floor. All I could pray between sobs was, “Help me God. Please help me. I have no control over my child’s health…or this growing baby in my belly…or my daughter’s anxiety about pretty much everything. I’m so weary. You’re going to have to help me…please.”

This time, almost 4 years later, I closed my eyes and said, “Lord, I want to know you more than just better. I want to know you intimately. I want to seek you with perseverance and determination. I long for the continuous assurance of your presence. My spirit has a hunger like I have never known.”

My dad’s response was, “This is a really good thing.”

“WHAT?!”, I said. “How can this be good?! I feel like I’m going to implode! It feels as if my spirit cannot be contained any longer by this imperfect shell encasing it. I’m not even sure I know how to pray. Most of the time I either say the Lord’s Prayer or something along the lines of , ‘God, thank you. Thank you. Thank you for being so good to someone as undeserving as I. Amen.’”

SIDE NOTE: It really helps that my dad is a life coach. (a.k.a. An expert at not only talking people off the ledge, but giving them clear direction once they reach safe ground.)
I had not quite reached my ledge, but I was inching closer by the hour.

The summary of his advice to me was this…

  • The desire to seek spiritual nourishment is from God. It doesn’t have any negative connotations.
  • He put this longing in us from conception…a hole of sorts. Some people don’t recognize it or rather, they choose to fill it with other things. But it is never satisfied and seems to grow larger the longer it goes unfilled.
  • There is only one thing that can fill up that hole. (This is where you insert that perfectly timed answer. “I know, I know…God.) Of course that’s true, but there is so much more to God than the fact that He fills a void.
  • As a follower of Christ, the deeper we go, the feeling sometimes is, the less we know… the farther away the finish line looks. This is not a bad thing. We will never know everything there is to know about God until we get to heaven and maybe not even then!
  • Find a place to be quiet. Relish the silence. Even if it’s for 30 seconds and wait for God’s voice. You don’t have to say the perfectly scripted prayer. You don’t have to go down your checklist of sins or wants or anything else. Simply, be present and listen.

Henri Nouwen wrote, “The real “work” of prayer is to become silent and listen to the voice that says good things about me. To gently push aside and silence the many voices that question my goodness and to trust that I will hear the voice of blessing…that demands real effort.”

In the words of Mother Teresa, “Before you speak, it is necessary for you to listen, for God speaks in the silence of the heart. Give yourself fully to God. He will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in His love than in your own weakness.”

Here’s the deal…I have 3 very active children, a husband who I adore, a job, along with a multitude of other things that justify me never taking the time to find a quiet place and listen for the voice that completes me. It’s a choice.

Today, I choose to take the time out needed, however much life allows, close my eyes, unclinch my fists and open my palms to the heavens (the explanation for that is another post all together)  and bask in the silence while just being in His presence.

Is it difficult for you to be still, much less quiet?
 No matter what stage of life you’re in, we will always have restless times that
prayerfully will only last moments instead of hours or days. 
How do you combat those times of restlessness in your own skin?