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Life's Little Lessons

"If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." – Emile Zola

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idenity

when there’s not a happy ending

As a little girl growing up, I watched the same sappy shows as many did about young damsels in distress raised by a jealous and wicked step mothers and the handsome princes that rode in on white horse to save them. The damsels’ needed defended, the prince’s needed to save, they both wanted to be loved and in the end, heroism trumped turmoil and life was happy and good.

Swoon.

Fast forward, I have discovered that the shows I watched growing up, the very ones I fed my children when they were small, romanticized turmoil and perpetuated victimhood.

“If you are in trouble, someone will come save you.”

That is, in fact, bullshit.

Sometimes there are very real and very hard circumstances that happen in life without a magic potion to break the spell. Tall towers are real, poisonous apples the same and people a plenty who are hurt and who inevitably hurt you. And you can wait and you can wait for someone to come in on the scene relishing their sword to defeat your captor but that rarely if ever happens.

Not in real life.

As a little girl growing up, I was abused off and on all the way up into just weeks before my wedding day. I know, we all have our sad stories but it’s an area of my life I’ve secretly tucked away because it’s just shameful and sad but I’m realizing that secretly tucking has done me no favors. I don’t know if it’s done anyone any good but I can’t go back and change that now. What I can do is make my peace with my enemies and come to terms with the fact that these things happened and no one stopped them.

I did not stop them.

No one came to my rescue. No one came barreling through the doors wielding a sword.

There was only my silence. The same silence that gave me the illusion things had never happened. Silence that told my enemy they were free.

I’ve realized over the last few weeks that one of my deepest desires and needs is to be defended. To be stood up for. And hey, if you won’t well then I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.

And to be honest, I’ve been angry that I haven’t been. I’ve been angry at God…where were you? Why didn’t you stand up for me? You knew I would struggle with my value and my worth for a very large part of my life so where were you loving and just God?

Silence.

I want to be worth someone’s time. I want someone to fight for me. To say that I am worth it. I mean, doesn’t everyone want these things? To know they are important. That they are seen and heard, holding great value and worth?

One day last week driving I heard these words, “You are very important to me.”

It was Jesus. His whisper, undeniable.

And I think of my grandmother Helen’s words as I was a small child sitting in her kitchen, across from her at the table as she tried to “save me”…

“Jesus died for you August. If you were the only person here, He would have still come and  died. Just for you.”

I tucked that memory away of my grandmother. I tucked it far inside myself with all my shame and tears and anger. It’s funny when and how things, how people, resurface.

Life might not always have the happy ending we are hoping for. Things might not work out the way we hoped but I believe with all my heart there is a happy ending.

Thank you Jesus for mine.

 

 

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fester 

I can feel it flowing through my veins. Toxins are trying to poison my soul. There are things that have not been talked about recently and I take the lack of initiation on any part, other than mine, poorly. 

The long and the short is this: I want to stop reaching becuase I want to be reached INTO and my “ I wont if you wont” attitude is seemingly costing me a great deal. Anger is festering. Communication has been waining and open to interpretation, which becomes a free-for-all for assumptions, which I know better than to make. 

I appears we are not on the same page and that feeling adds extra weight to my gut. I don’t know how we’ll ever move forward because at the end of the day, weeks later, here we are. Same ole. Same ole. Time and space have crept in and the hot water has slowly turned to not so hot at all. Nothing has really changed. Nothing has really been talked about and as much as I sit, telling myself, “Just focus on yourself. YOU keep moving forward,” there is this undeniable reality that I’m not the only one here.

We both are. 

So I go back to “Who am I?” 

I AM a communicator.

“If that is WHO you are, march yourself downstairs and communicate.”

Sometimes I really loathe the voice of reason and wisdom within myself.

And I do. I bound down the steps and plop myself in my chair and as much as I don’t think it is my turn or duty (which often feels like an obligatory noose) to continue to reach forward, I do. I initiate. I communicate.

“I think we need to talk.”

And there is agreement from both sides in this statement.

Not much is solved but we both walk away and doors are left opened.

I have a picture in my head of taking the doors of my heart off its hinges. I see myself throwing them into the flames along with our very dead Christmas tree that lays on the ground outside our house…watching it disintegrate into nothingness.

I don’t think my heart was created to find refuge in doors.

 

 

 

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