My heart hurts this morning. I’m scared and I feel lonely. I could keep quiet and not share this, yet I feel nudged to do otherwise.
I know truth versus my feelings.
I’m not alone. I have a God who is already in my tomorrow and faith does reign over my fear.
I long for something relationally different, yet I am never alone. My God has never and will never forsake me.
Keeping my vulnerability under wraps is me believing the lies. It is me not honoring who I am to save another’s discomfort. It is me not being me.
I do live in gratitude and seek a path of surrender and trust.
Still, I am afraid of unknowns. Sometimes my most honest prayer is a “Lord, please help me with my unbelief.” I know you are there but I’m often not sure that our definitions of “okay” match. I need help trusting that your “okay” is far better.
I lived through a corrective heart surgery at 9 months of age that was a glorious medical miracle. My childhood was shaped by my Grandmas mental illness. There was a stroke that I “shouldn’t have survived”. A divorce that left me reeling. Daddy’s battle with Alzheimer’s. So much more.
I am here.
For whatever reason, I am here.
I am deeply compassionate toward those suffering with mental illness as a result of those childhood years.
The love of and for my family (immediate and extended) is abundant, genuine and solid.
My friends are a balm to my heart. They surround me with accountability, support, love, laughter and insight. They are my framily.
That stroke taught me lessons that nothing else could; it gave me a whole new lens to see with.
That divorce. It sucked. From those married years I have the best two children; glorious beyond anything I ever prayed for. Perfectly imperfect yet perfect for me. An ex-spouse who is my best friend and a growing up me.
Alzheimer’s. I learned to truly find joy in the journey. Daddy and I. Healing, laughter, tears and so much love. Precious memories made all while the memory thief was hard at work. Irony at its best.
Grief taught me…everyone’s path is experienced differently. For me, guttural crying and rolling around on the floor until your bones ache was part of the path. No need to be sorry. It’s my path to travel.
….although your heart physically aches and hope might seem beyond reach, the sun will rise again, one day. In the meantime, let it rain as long as you need rain.
…your experience is normal for You. If and when a plethora of people are feeling concerned, take heed, don’t be afraid to seek help. Medication, counseling, church….find your support and dive into it free from shame.
Always lessons learned. Gratitude sought. Love expressed. Faith over fear reached for.
Here I remain, human as human can be.
In this moment God, I am lonely. My heart hurts. I am afraid. Help me be a light and glorify your heart in the middle of my fear and solitude. Help me love you deeper. Help me strengthen my faith. And please hold me tight. I know there are gifts in this part of the journey too.
Well, well, well….it’s a high probability that the offer on my home and my momma’s property will be closing on Friday.
I’m focusing on not getting stuck in the ‘what if’s’, the ‘should’ve, would’ve, could’ves” and the regrets.
I am ALL of the feels. I have lived here for the majority of my 47 years. This place is and will always be, ‘the farm’, to my family and I. This is hard. My heart feels torn in a million directions.
Meanwhile, I’m studying for the two tests I must take and pass to be under LPC candidacy supervision and then likely I will have more changes coming.
My kiddos are going through their own stuff and I want to be the best Momma I can be for them.
I feel afraid, I feel like I want to lapse into a state of frozen or helpless, both of which are NOT who I am.
Change is hard, right? It’s an inevitable part of life and I am trying my damndest to embrace it with joy and a sense of adventure while not denying the hurt of it all and the loss of certain dreams.
This morning the verse that I have kept in my heart since 2012 has continued to resonate loudly in my spirit. “So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locusts has eaten, the crawling locust, the consuming locust and the chewing locust, My great army which I sent among you.” Joel 2:25
I have a big ole habit of trusting the process and of trusting God in hindsight. Now it’s time to let go and trust with the everythings. Outta my hands.
You don’t know the name of your own daughter when she is standing in front of you although you have been her Daddy for 52 years; the place you have lived for 6 months feels like a foreign land; you can’t see well because of a degenerative eye disease and your hearing is severly diminished. You believe (because your thoughts are so haywire), that everyone is out to get you and no one should be trusted. The one person you do trust has turned into two of the same person and you don’t know which one is the ‘good’ one. You are given a piece of chocolate that you love by a kind woman you generally like, but you can’t eat it because you are 99% certain she has poisoned it and you don’t know why she wants to hurt you.
Every conversation, every whisper, every sound is overstimulation and reminds you that there is a conspiracy in every corner. All of this…and yet, there are some very real cognitive processes and heartfelt feelings going on.
You quiet just a bit because of the medicine that was rubbed onto your neck to help calm you but now you feel sick and anxious for a time. You allow the kind woman that you generally like to kneel down beside you and hold your hand. You soften but you are still frightened, and your heart is racing as is your mind. “Is she safe?” you ask out loud. You allow her to stroke your forehead and listen to her soft words to you…although they are gentle, they are just a big clump of jibberish. Tears roll silently down your soft, wrinkly cheeks.
Then…you come to life for a moment in time. You tell the woman that you are nearly blind, can barely hear, don’t know who to trust and are scared ‘they’ are going to hurt you. You ask her why your brain is damaged too. You tell her that you have lived a good life, you have done things right…now here you are and there is nothing you can do to help yourself.
What does the woman say? She tells you that you are safe, that she loves you and that she does not know why this happened either. She holds your hand, lets you lean your forehead into hers and she prays out loud for you. She thanks God for your life and she asks him to hold you close through this often horrific journey. She asks God to allow her to provide comfort for these people on their journey, for in giving that comfort, she recieves her own healing.