I tell him he can read it later when he’s older.

I tell him this is a book with some hard, grown-up stories.

Stories that are kind of sad.

That are not for little children.

I tell my seven year old son TJ that I’m writing these stories because I want others to know how I’m finding Jesus through tough times. And how Jesus is finding me.

I tell him I’m writing to encourage.

To let them know that Jesus is with them too.

That it’s okay to be sad.

When times are tough.

That God will always be with them.

No matter what.

“I want to read it,” TJ replies, as he munches on a chocolate chip granola bar after school from the backseat.

“You will, sweetie… You will…”  I assure him.

Behind A Flickering Screen

You know, friend, you have a lot to do with this book.

You know, friend, God put you here — behind a flickering screen — miles, miles away to come keep me company.

Because you are so, so close to my heart.

While I’ve been crying.

While I’ve been panicking.

While I’ve been struggling to breathe.  To write.

You’ve been here.

Even when I told you I decided at the start of a new year, I wasn’t going to write any more.

That it’s not worth it.  All this panic-riddled anxiety.  I was going to shut down the blog. And walk away from it all.

Until God brought to my mind, the apostle Paul.  In prison.

Just a few letters.  That’s all he could scrawl through.

Maybe that’s all I have left.

A few digital letters to tap to you. In the form of blog posts.

Lost in a sea of billowing blogs across the digital sphere.

Whenever I could make it front of the keyboard.

Whenever my heart dared to whisper.

You’ve been here.  Keeping company.  To journey with me.

With your stories.

His People

Your thoughts.

Some spoken as comments.  Emails.  Tweets at times or a few words left on Facebook.  Or linked-up in the Faith Jam.

Some shared in silence.  As you’ve read along with me.

And I know… Yes, I know… your unspoken prayers.

Each time you’ve come to my mind, I remember you in prayer too.

I couldn’t even reply to you, most of the time.  Even though I wish I could.  I wish I could sit here and type, and type, and type my heart out to you.

Still, God apparently chose us.

To journey alongside one another.

God spoke to me, through the words He once spoke to Paul the apostle — when He changed Paul’s plans and pointed him to Macedonia –

“Don’t be afraid.
Keep on speaking, do not be silent.
For I am with you… and no one is going to harm you,
because I have many people in this city.” Acts 18:9-10

You have been God’s people for me in this city — my journey through post-traumatic-stress –

A city of finding my voice.

Amongst the ruins.

Of broken revelations.

Of who God wants me to be.

To recover my full voice.

As it creaks its way out to you.

The Only Way

Since my last post the week of Easter, I’ve discovered God is changing my plans again.

I had to face the deadline of my manuscript for my book.

It’s been the third time — the third time — the publishers have so kindly extended the deadline for me.

But, the little girl in me has emerged, and I can’t put her away.

So, I made the awful decision in the past few weeks.

To kill my old book.

Because every time I’ve tried to resume the book the way I started it, I’ve gotten choked up with panic attacks.

I. can’t. write. that. old. book.

That book the old me dreamed up. I can’t go back the way I came.

I told my publisher, the only chance I have to write this book now — is to write it the way I’ve been able to write on my blog. To you.

The only way I can write is if I write it broken. With the little girl in me

A New Book

I told them that I wrote some new sample chapters — when I asked the little girl what she wanted to say.

This is what I have now (I sent her sample chapters).

This is not the old book.

This is a new book.

Written in my new voice.

My broken self.

I’m sorry I can’t do it.  The old book.

It’s okay if you don’t want it.

But, this is the only way I can write this book — if you still want it.

I want to write it.

And I think God wants me to too.

What’s At Stake

My heart stopped.

Because my editor said.

Yes.  I like it.

Do it.  Write it.

I’m sharing this important juncture in my journey.

To let you know.  The journey of faith may not get easier.

But, it gets deeper.  And the deeper it goes, the more of what’s at stake emerges.

You — Jesus in you.

So, I whispered back to Jesus in my hiding place.

I’m scared.

Help me.

To walk this little girl in me out into the world.

To join my sisters — and friends — as they walk out into the world — in their journeys of faith too.

Then, Jesus gives me a new prayer –

Don’t be afraid.

Run into the path of my words, for I will set your heart free.

Pray for Me

This morning, I open my screen of blank space.

I want to ask you to pray for me.

For my heart to grow in freedom.  I know it can’t be total freedom.  Because for me, it’s not coming this way — instantaneously.

Pray that I will have courage, during those brief moments my heart slips open.

For even greater courage during those other moments when my heart shuts closed with anxiety and fear.

As I take my steps to follow His voice, to write my new book.

And as you take your steps to write your story.  As you live it in your life.  I am praying with you too.

Together we can walk out into the world with Jesus.

I am going to try to make my deadline.

It’s due very, very, very soon.

I want you to know I’m not going away.  I will be back.  But, it may be quiet here on the blog a bit.

I’m going to be heads down again, trying to type as much as my heart allows me to.  Up until the deadline.

To see, if I can do it.  If it is time.

Grateful For You

Jesus is taking me on far beyond a book — to journey where I don’t know the outcome.

I know this is a journey of faith I must make — even if in the end, there is no book.

Because my heart — is what Jesus is loving Himself into — every time I dare to write to you through this book.

Because I love hearing your stories.

I fly to another place when I tremble with amazement and my heart warms with joy to hear how Jesus is journeying with you too.

It’s a shot of faith.  Everytime I hear your voice.  As it echoes His story in you.  It’s soul comforting isn’t it?  When we know we are not alone.

Jesus in you.

You in Jesus.

Together with you.

Through our words.

This is the place I try to find.

When I search my heart for new words.

Thank you for being the sisters and friends, who offer me safety to speak in that voice, that Jesus longs for me to call my own.

Without your words of grace, being present with me here this year — I would have never known the broken voice within me was anything worth sharing. It’s true.  You’ve changed my story.

You haven’t just done this for me.  Your voice touches others who stop by here on this blog — because reading your thoughts and journey in the comments and Faith Jam link-up, they find their voices too.

I’m grateful for the amazing community gathered here on this blog, that’s turned into a soul rest for me.

I’m grateful that you are here.

In the meantime, take care of that little girl in you.

And I will try — and learn — slowly — how to take care of that little girl in me too.

“My soul is weary with sorrow;
strengthen me according to your word.
I hold fast to your statutes, O LORD; do not let me be put to shame.
I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.”
~ Psalm 119:28-32

~~~~~

Have you ever had to say goodbye to something old, even though you didn’t know if, how, and when the new would come?

Pull up a chair.  It has your name on it. Click to comment. We are among faith friends.

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“Let nothing disturb you. Nothing distress you. While all things fade away, God is unchanging.” Prayer of St. Teresa

I’m trying to type words onto the screen.

But, there is only blank space staring back at me.

If you’ve ever experienced anxiety — the kind that wraps around your heart with the cloak of stress — you’d understand how it can tether you back.

It keeps you silent.  

Keeps you in your home.

And on the hours or days you need to be with others, you may end up retreating from being seen. Or heard.

You are working hard.  You are getting things done.

But, you might feel like I do, unsure if things can really be different.

Whether you can really be known.

This is soul wearying.

A Place For You

Because you may have been hurt, like I’ve been — by words that wound you still — that made you regret that you shared.

Words that made you feel even smaller than how you’re already feeling.

Words that make you feel pressured to get over what you can’t get over.

Words that make you feel more alone, standing on the outside of where you want to be: belonging, loved and understood.

It’s then, at that moment, you and I chance upon a glimpse into our soul.

To the little girl inside us who is broken, feeling cast off and lonely…

To be continued…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…To catch a “Walking The Little Girl Out Into The World” & read the rest of the story – click here to join me over at DaySpring’s (in)courage site, where today’s post is published.

Take a virtual coffee break together and share your thoughts. I’ve turned off comments here, so we can all meet up there!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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“You see, there are two very different types of hope in this world.  One is hoping for something, and the other is hoping in Someone.” ~ Pete Wilson

How can we celebrate Easter when we are overwhelmed with everyday questions?

I didn’t see it coming.  I went to bed like I always had, ate dinner with my chopsticks and brushed my teeth just fine.

The next morning, I got dressed and drove into work as usual.  Logged into my account and started checking my emails.  I started typing.

Needles of pain shot through my wrists.  My fingers felt numb and tingly, like they’d fallen asleep.   Confused, I tried to mouse and click around.  My forearm started hurting even more.

My fingers refused to hit another keystroke.  

Two hours later, I found myself sitting in front of a doctor who specialized in treating work related injuries.

“You won’t be going back to work for a while.  You have RSI (Repetitive Stress Injury).  Might be carpel tunnel syndrome.  We won’t know yet, until you get some therapy.”

How long will I be out? I asked, thinking a day or two.

When it all was said and done, combining full and partial disability, my road to recovery took nearly three years.

Getting Better Or Getting Worse?

When I first started physical therapy, I was very optimistic.  I was determined to heal fast.  Take my meds, get my therapy, do my exercises and wear my wrist braces.

The problem was healing isn’t a linear process.

I was progressively hurting more week after week.  My pain extended to my upper arms, my shoulders, neck and even my back.  Was I just falling apart?

My physical therapist Tom educated me.

You’re actually getting better, even if it feels like you’re getting worse.

Tom drew a swirl of concentric circles on his note pad.

He said that healing is like peeling an onion.   He said that I had ignored the fatigue initially in my muscles so well, that it caused my body to compensate in other areas.

Pain, Tom explained, was a healthy indicator that my body was finally speaking to me.

My path to recovery was to swirl out first — to understand exactly how far my injury went.  Tom gently pointed out that as one muscle group got better, I would start feeling the pain in other areas that had been masked on top of the other.

I have found myself in the same condition for many Easters.

I wanted so badly to celebrate the joy of Easter Sunday resurrection, I ignored the layers of stress and unanswered questions from my everyday life.

The Saturday In-Between

Don’t get me wrong, I was filled with joy for Jesus on Easter Sunday, in praise and thankfulness for the sacrifice and love He poured out for me on Good Friday 2000 years ago.  I am always brought to tears meditating on the suffering our Lord endured emotionally, physically and spiritually by taking up the cross.  But, I was often heart heavy waiting to taste the power of resurrection in some difficult circumstances.

It seemed whenever I thought of Easter, I thought only of Easter Sunday — the celebration of resurrected life — or Good Friday — the death Christ suffered on the cross.  I never thought as pastor and author Pete Wilson points out in Plan B, of the Saturday In-Between:

“Saturday… It seems like a day when nothing is happening. It’s a day of questioning, doubting, wondering and definitely waiting…helplessness or hopelessness.

Is it possible that Saturday is actually a day of preparation?

… Saturday was the day God was engineering a resurrection.”

My One Thing

This year, I’m celebrating Easter Sunday with a lot of my story resurrected from my “Saturday” life.  Not in a way where everything has worked out. A lot of the questions I’ve been asking for a very long time haven’t been answered.

In fact, some of the problems I’ve asked God to solve haven’t gotten better.  But, I have learned one thing through my time in this extended season of waiting.

That one thing is this:  Jesus’ love continues to be one thing I can always say yes to.

In lieu of answers and resolution, I had to continually make a choice.  Do I let my pain and hurt shape my faith — or do I take my faith and run into the arms of Jesus?

This has been my greatest joy:  I have been able to choose love — because Love chose me.

I’ve been able to find when I couldn’t possibly wait any longer in dissonance and lack of closure — the love of Jesus continues to heal me, carry me and attract me to Him.  I can continue choosing to love God, love others, and pour myself out, even in weakness and imperfection.

All because Jesus loves me. Because of the cross.

~~~~~

I had given up hope of ever getting better.

Then I got up one day, not feeling any pain.  It left me, just as it came.  Suddenly.

It took me many years to get to that one morning.  I will always remember who got me through it. 

It wasn’t hope in recovery. It was hope in Jesus.

I don’t know how long our Saturdays will last, friends.

But one thing I do know, Jesus has walked that Saturday into eternity for us.

His love will never leave us and His love will get us through to our Easter Sundays.

He loves us all the way.

“The God of all grace,
who called you to his eternal glory in Christ
– after you have suffered a little while –
will himself restore you
and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”
~ 1 Peter 5:10

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How is Jesus speaking to you this Easter?

Pull up a chair. Click to share a comment. I’m wishing you a Happy Easter, friend.  And wishing I could enjoy a big hug together and we could talk and pray awhile in the quiet of this afternoon, as we step into Good Friday and journey to Easter Sunday together.  Together in Spirit, we’ll be standing fresh and tall — completely accepted and known — wrapped within the risen love of Jesus’ arms.  Just as we are.  I’m remembering the journey our Savior took 2,000 years ago carrying His cross, down Via Dolorosa, the way of pain, and how He is continue to walk the journey to carry our burdens on His shoulders for us today.  With much love and affection, Bonnie

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“Before the river runs away, I find the shelter in Your Name.  Jesus.” ~ Fernando Ortega in “Sleepless Night”

I remember what if felt like to be a little girl.

Sitting at the table of my desk.

Writing hard into the pages of my journal.

Because there was no other place for me to be.

No other place to hear my thoughts and seek some sort of answer in the silence.  My heart poured out in ink — like the first waters of spring trickling down through moss, rock, and dirt as you walk by and notice the trail is suddenly moist and soft.

I know now, that the door that closed me in the darkness of my bedroom wasn’t the only door that shut me into my aloneness.  

The door of my heart was where I hid behind, where I placed all my anxious thoughts and concealed them deep within.

So, that I could step out into this world with brightness, to smile, explore and find my way.

I needed a place to put away the things that felt childish, needy, and wanting.

I was ready to grow up, to find my place in this world.

I believed that was where Jesus wanted me.

Out there, somewhere, I believed Jesus was calling me –

to leave who I was,

so I could become who He wanted me to be.

But, now I’m hearing a different Voice speaking beside me…

To be continued…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…To catch a “Beyond Locked Doors: Jesus, Where Can I Hide?” & read the rest of the story – click here to join me over at DaySpring’s (in)courage site, where today’s post is published.

Take a virtual coffee break together and share your thoughts. I’ve turned off comments here, so we can all meet up there!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Sometimes it’s hard to know the difference between how you feel and where God wants you to go.

I’ve taught myself time and time again never to trust my feelings, but to trust in what my mind tells me is right instead.

This way of thinking has led me to get through enough bad times and to accomplish a lot in life. I’ve come to trust it.

But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s kept me from good times.

Not to say I haven’t had good times.  I’ve experienced amazing seasons of beautiful, moving times of happiness and contentment.

But, I’m talking about goodness from a place, deep in my heart, where I struggle with self-doubt.

Where I dare to dream of a different inner life — and I’m living free to pursue those dreams.

It’s where I struggle with feelings of unworthiness, even as I am grateful for all that I am and have — and I am thankful God chose to love me and call me His own.

Where I feel like I’m not quite good enough.

No Reason

I decided to tell Dr. P that I wasn’t going to look for my father.

There simply was no reason to do so.

I’ve already been without a father since I was seven years old.

What’s the point?

He never came back to see me.

Not even once.

Not one letter.

Not even a birthday card.

I’ve often secretly wondered if maybe, just maybe my father had fallen ill.

What if he had cancer — or something death threatening?

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t come see me all these years.

Around junior high or high school age, a social worker helped my family and I by insisting that we get some sort of child support from my father.

He started paying $100 a month.

$100 a month?

I did the bills and balanced the check book often.

What in the world can $100 do for me?  Is that all I’m worth to him?

Why wouldn’t he try to send me a little more, on my birthday?

I knew he wasn’t dead, because the checks kept coming.

I wanted to know more. But, I couldn’t ask.

The Last Time You Felt

“When’s the last time you felt this way?” Dr. P asked.

I told Dr. P I didn’t want to see my father.  I can do it later – after I’ve recovered my ability to write my book.

Hello, do you remember?  I thought to myself. I still have that contract hanging over my head.  That I don’t want to default on.  Like, I don’t want to miss this golden opportunity of a lifetime.

Let’s just put this on the back burner. I said nicely. (Let’s compromise) I just do not want to open this can of worms now, just as I’m beginning to finally, finally get some sleep.

“Well, let’s talk about why you don’t want to see him.” That was Dr. P’s response.

Arrrggh… I thought.  Sometimes, I wish Dr. P wasn’t so good.  The guy is relentless.

The interesting thing is, I’ve got this anxiety, panic attack physiological “shock” collar around me, so I know if I am unwilling to follow through on the therapy, I’ll have physiological symptoms to deal with.  So, in that sense, I am very logical.  I want to get well.  So, I go along with this line of reasoning, if only to get him off my case.

I just don’t want to.  Don’t have any desire.  Don’t feel any need to.

“When’s the last time you felt this same way?  Think back to the last time you said these words about your father.”  Dr. P prompts.

I Didn’t Want To

I close my eyes.  And think.

The morning after my father left, my mother asked me to come over to her.

She sat in the living, with our family photo albums pulled out, stacked on top of each other.

She told me, “Come here.”

She started opening up the photo albums, flipping through the plastic pages and pulling pictures out of pockets. The sound of film sticking to plastic tore through my pounding heart as memory upon memory were being ripped out of places.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sitting on my knees across from her.

“Start taking out pictures of him…” she commanded.  She shot me a look that told me I better not ask why.  ”I don’t want any pictures of (his legal name) in this house. Not one.  I don’t want to see his face any more.”

I don’t know why exactly, but, I didn’t want to do it.

It made my stomach feel heavy and empty all at the same time, seeing the missing gaps in photo albums I’d flipped through so many times in the living room, lying on my tummy, swinging my legs barefoot in back of me.

I didn’t want to take the pictures out.

But, she was already cutting up them up.

Into tiny shreds.

Just Fine

She made sure the shears cut straight into the faces, until there was no recollection of the images that were once there.

I held one last photo of my father, by the time we got to the end.

I paused thinking, Is there any way I could hide this one?

My mother looked up at me.

“What are you doing?”

“Do we have to cut all of them up?  Can we keep just one?… I’m not in this one.  You’re not in it either.  It’s just one of him.”

“Why do you want want to keep one?” She asked me.   A flicker of hope.  I thought of a good reason, the only reason that surfaced in my confused heart.

“So I’ll know what he looked like.”  I said it, just like that.

“Why do you want to remember what he looked like?” her eyes narrowed into me.  Her voice sharp as those scissors in her hands.”Do you wanna go live with him?…”

She got up and started marching to the mustard yellow phone, hanging on the kitchen wall. “That’s what it is! You like him so much, why don’t you go with him then.  Don’t live with me. Go pack your bags and I’ll just call him now. And he can come get you!”

“No, momma!  No!”  I screamed.  I bolted from where I was at, instantly flying into sobs, pleading for my life.  She had thrown me out on the porch before and threatened to throw me away to the orphanage that was down the street when I was younger.  I knew without a shadow of a doubt she’d do it.

It was there, as I slumped over crying in hysterics, ears hot and stinging from choking tears, my mother said, “Don’t you ever talk about your father again.  From this day forward, you don’t have a father.  With a loser like him, you don’t need a father.  Plenty of people grow up not having fathers.  It’s just like some people born with handicaps, without limbs.  People grow up and do just fine without them. ”

She paused to make sure it all sunk in, before she laid in her final words of warning.

“And don’t you ever complain about not having a daddy.  If you have any problems in life, it ain’t gonna be because of me and it ain’t gonna be because you have no father.  It’s gonna be because of you.”

Right then and there, I straightened up.  I stopped crying.  It came clear as a bell.

I don’t need a father.  I don’t have a father.  I’m going to be just fine.

Separated

I realized as I sat there, calm and strong, with tears all of a sudden stopped and no more, where my words originated from.

I realized I was still back there, reassured that nothing was wrong.  And I was just fine.

I didn’t need any comfort.  Nor any tenderness.

I just wanted to go on with the business of life and get back to a productive place – separated from my heart.

This is how I’ve lived my life.  Fine and functioning — but frozen.

And now Jesus softly whispers into my winter landscape,”Come out, Bonnie.”

Like Lazarus, wrapped up in shrouds of linen, Jesus is asking me to emerge from where I’ve forgotten myself.

Out of touch with my heart, I feel awkward.

Who wants to look all bandaged up, disheveled and unmade?

Unsure of myself – every thought and feeling feels unfamiliar.

Why can’t I be sure before I follow my heart? I want to wait until I’ve figured it all out and I’m all healed up right and put back together again.

But, it seems there’s no other way of finding my heart, other than to experience and discover the truth of it’s leading me, with Jesus right beside me.

What is the right way to go?

What if this is all wrong?

What if I’m just imagining all this?

A Part of Ourselves

Jesus is whispering –

It’s okay.

This is how spring feels like to winter.

I haven’t forgotten you.

I haven’t forgotten you.

The original English word for Lent is “spring”.

As I walk into the last two weeks of Lent, into Easter, I’m sensing the Lord turning my heart towards spring.

Jesus is prompting me to step out in a new way with Him.

It’s so much easier to take care of everyone, tend to problems, of business and everything else that’s needed.

It’s easier to be strong and to not need.

To not feel.

We’ve been taught that our feelings are not reliable, so just throw them to the wayside.

Trouble is, there is a part of ourselves that we throw to the side too.

Let’s not take the easier path.

Let’s take the harder path — paved by the new ways of faith.

Let us take those feelings and bring them to Jesus.

Let us speak to Him as friend to friend.

And let us see, how Jesus can speak to us in a new way –

in the voice of intimate, loving confidante,

where He can take our tears, and show us where they lead,

where He can gently show us tenderness, so we can whisper all we’ve dared never to share,

so we can learn that putting our hearts first is a new way of letting Jesus love us.

The Way of The Heart

Lent is about denying myself the comfort of old ways — of living out of my control and my safety — to discover the truth of where I would go, if I allowed myself to only have one safety:  Jesus holding me.

This what I’m thinking when Dr. P prompts me to answer the next question.

“Now, I want you go back to the last time you were with your father…”

As I close my eyes, I’m wondering maybe… perhaps… the way of the heart is where Jesus is waiting for me.

To clasp my hand into His.

And begin walking back into the past.

So I can journey further than I’ve ever gone before.

So that I can be fully present.

With all of my heart.

On my journey of faith.

With Him.

Today.

…To be continued…

…For the Lord comforts his people

and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.

But Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me,

the Lord has forgotten me.’

‘Can a mother forget the baby at her breast

and have no compassion on the child she has borne?

Though she may forget, I will not forget you!

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.’
~Isaiah 49:13-16

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How is Jesus whispering “spring” in you?

How is Jesus prompting your heart today, to take the harder path in new ways — with Him?

Pull up a chair. New is not easy, especially when it comes to our hearts. But, you’ve definitely made this journey a kinder and gentler one, with your presence here.

Click to comment. Time stops for a bit when you share your words here..

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*** NOW, IT’S YOUR TURN — LINK UP IN THE FAITH JAM

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*Next Thursday’s 3/21/13* Writing Prompt: It’s the last two weeks of Lent. Lent comes from old English word meaning “spring”. Imagine Jesus whispering the word “spring” into your heart. Reflect and share the thoughts and feelings that flow from hearing Jesus whisper “spring”.

*Next Thursday’s 3/28/13 Writing Prompt: No Faith Jam. Let’s break for Easter.

Approach it any way you feel inspired! Only required ingredient: keep it real. Click here to learn more.

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Not every night.

Maybe one day out of the week.

Then, two.

That strung into three.

It started happening randomly.

There was no formula. I’d been doing the same things, feeling the same way, battling the same anxieties.

But, for some reason, the nights I’ve been able to fall asleep — and stay asleep — started emerging every few days or so.

I still have to take a light sleep medication. Ambien — it’s the price of admission, to even have a chance at falling asleep. And I can’t stay asleep too long. Maybe five hours on a good night. But, it is still 1000% better than what it has been for the past year — which has been insomnia for weeks that stretched into months.

If I had been able to sleep at all, it had been broken. Two to three hours spurts, interrupted by hot flashes. Anxious thoughts. Panic attacks. And on the nights void of panic attacks, I’d just lay there helplessly as the night poured out into the dawn, tired and dark as molasses, even though I was so exhausted, my eye sockets would ache and my bones throb with hurt.

Sleep continued to elude me.

This has been my life for one year.

Wall Papered Memories

But, three weeks ago — after my last post here on Faith Barista — I started sleeping.

I certainly wouldn’t have guessed sleep could return out of the blue. So out of context.

Dr. P and I have been working through one particularly traumatic memory in my life.

For the past three months.

This was a very deep and painful chapter in my life.

I was seventeen.

And as you can tell from my writing these few months, it’s made me incredible heart broken to relive it in the tehnicolor of heightened sensory that comes with a body and nervous system amplified by post-traumatic stress.

And I’ve felt so very, very lonely.

And overwhelmed with grief.

Dr. P tells me this isn’t me now, who is drowned out by these intense feelings of numbness and excruciating aloneness.

It’s seventeen year old me, who has been frozen and sealed off by wallpapered memories.

It’s the seventeen-year-old-me who had lived many lifetime’s worth of aloneness and fear — since she was four years old.

For the First Time

I haven’t been able to even get out of bed most days.

Even when I drag myself out to take a walk in the morning and enjoy intimate time in prayer with Jesus, I find myself going back to bed, as a place of comfort.

Until it’s time time pick up my kids.

Then, I seem to come alive for them. I play with them. I go to Target, drive to Costco, buy my groceries, help with homework, cook, read CJ stories in preschool voices and listen to TJ demo the features of his latest spaceship Legos.

Then, after they’re tucked into bed and the dishes are washed, I take my bath. I’ll spend some quiet time sipping tea, reading or listening to soothing music and reflecting on Scripture I’d read earlier in the morning.

And I go back to bed.

To brave the night once again.

Except this time, for more than a few nights thereafter, things were different.

I’ve been able to sleep. For the first time.

I was excited to tell Dr. P this one morning.

Maybe I’m finally touching the surface after tunneling through so much trauma.  Maybe my body is finally beginning its release through the memories that have been reignited.

It Is Now Time

Dr. P was very happy for me.

He tells me this is a big step in my recovery.

And we proceeded our therapy session that day, to process the remaining roots of the traumatic memory that we’ve been working through.

As I begin to gather my things at the end of the session, blowing my nose, and draining the last sips of my tea before I leave, Dr. P says it is now time for me to consider the next step.

What? I ask.

“It’s important,” Dr. P prefaces.  ”I want you to think about… reconnecting with your father.”

The dad I last saw when I was seven years old?  Are you kidding me?

I don’t think so.

“Just think about it… Talk to Jesus.  See what He says.” He prompts.

Just when I started sleeping again, you want me to do what?

Open a can of worms — to more emotional drama?

No way.

Nothing to think about there.

At least that’s what I thought…

Immovable Parts

The week before my next therapy session, my mind kept returning to a scene in the Bible where a man was lying next to the pools in Bethsada.

He was an invalid.

He could not move.

He could only lie there day after day, next to the pools that were rumored to grant him healing.  If he made it in first, when the waters were stirred.

But, somehow, he never touch those waters in time.

He was trapped there.

For 38 years.

Out of all the people who piled around the pools hoping for a miracle — lame, blind, handicapped and suffering — Jesus saw this one man.

Jesus asked him if he wanted to be well.

Then, Jesus asked him to pick up his mat.

The one he had been lying on for 38 years.

Pick up my mat.

What is the mat you want me to pick up, Jesus?

What realities have I accepted living with for my “38 years” so long, that they have become immovable parts of my identity?

Like the paralytic man who is chained to his place by the pool — how have I adopted ways of coping, managing life, relating, and surviving — that might be keeping me from healing?

Follow Downstream

From the very beginning, when it first dawned on me –

Bonnie. Your panic attacks aren’t going away.

What’s worked before — staying strong, reading more Scripture, praying more fervently, exerting more self-discipline, applying greater optimism — isn’t going to solve this problem.

From the very beginning, Jesus has been whispering one phrase into my heart, as I read this story.

You’ve rowed your oars upstream for oh so long. It is time to stop.

Follow the current downstream.

Are you afraid where will it lead ? You can be afraid with me.

Follow me.  Downstream.

Investigate.

Like the sun, faintly lit behind the fog rolling through coastal skyline, these words drew me to set out and seek a therapist to help me.

And now, here I am, one year later, asking –

Jesus, are you asking me to do what I’ve vowed I’d never do?

Are you asking me to look for my father, 36 years after the day he cried into my shoulders, and then drove off, leaving me with his tear choked whispers, “Say bye, bye to Daddy. Say bye, bye now.  Daddy isn’t coming back anymore.”

To be continued…

“I have heard your prayer;
I have seen your tears.
I will heal you.” ~ 2 Kings 20:5

~~~~~

How is Jesus prompting you to pick up your mat?

How is Jesus placing the word “follow” on your heart today?

Pull up a chair. Before you say a word, I want to thank you for praying for me. The prayers you’ve whispered for me, as I’ve come to mind, are being heard. I continue to think of you and remember you as I echo my prayers as well.

My social circle has been very small this past year. But I can see, by the trail of words & stories you’ve shared with me, this painful stretch of the faith journey has brought me greater & deeper acceptance than I would’ve believed. Thank you for opening up your hearts and allowing me to hear & see Jesus in you, as is.

Click to comment. You know I love hearing you share..

~~~~~

*** NOW, IT’S YOUR TURN — LINK UP IN THE FAITH JAM

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Faith Barista Jam Thursdays

1) I serve up a topic of faith, you write a post and link up (or simply comment).

2) Place the Faith Jam Badge in your post.  It’s a welcome sign for our community. Grab the HTML Code above. Thank you.

3) It’s a jam session, so visit the post before yours and drop a comment. You’re making a faith friend. We blog together to encourage each other.

TO LINK UP: Click the blue button below: “Add Your Link” (Subscribers: click here to get there directly).

*This Thursday’s 3/14/13 Writing Prompt: “Follow” (inspired by Faith Jam contributors Mandy and Debbie.

*Next Thursday’s 3/21/13* Writing Prompt: It’s the last two weeks of Lent. Lent comes from old English word meaning “spring”. Imagine Jesus whispering the word “spring” into your heart. Reflect and share the thoughts and feelings that flow from hearing Jesus whisper “spring”.

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Oh, love that will not let me go | I rest me weary soul in Thee |I give You back this life I owe | And in Your ocean depths its flow | May richer fuller be | George Matheson

I stared into the wall at nights in my bed as a little girl.

It was actually the moonlight slipping into the room, through the edge of the window curtains.

But, I looked at how white the light pierced into the paint.

Yet, it wasn’t so bright. Because my room was still swathed in the quiet serenity of the dark.

The patch of light would float softly along my wall, like the arms of a willow tree’s leaves reflecting onto the water, yawning ever so slightly in the gentle breeze.

It felt good to me somehow to feel lost in that gaze.

Because I wanted all my troubles to go away.

Because for a moment, I would forget everything — the things that had been said and the me-who-I-became when they were spoken. Even the dreams that I wanted to dream.

And as I nestled my cheek into the pillow, wrapping my arms and legs into the folding crevices of the covers, I’d scoot my way close to the wall, where my bed found its home parked in one corner of the room…

To be continued…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…To catch a “On The Days You Can Only Trace The Rainbows” & read the rest of the story – click here to join me over at DaySpring’s (in)courage site, where today’s post is published.

Take a virtual coffee break together and share your thoughts. I’ve turned off comments here, so we can all meet up there!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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what I saw, peeking at me

Where do you go when you are lonely? Where do you go when you feel all alone, but you want to be with someone who understands?

I was walking along the ocean shore.

It was cold, but I wanted to feel. Something.

Even if the winter waves blew sideways into me from the Pacific coastline, seeping through the yarn wrapped around my neck, I didn’t mind.

It tickled me around my wrist, right where the cuffs of my gloves moved up and down away from my coat sleeves, each time my arms swung out, in rhythm with my sandprint pace.

I’ve been holding on, for so many days.

Weeks really — that turned into months, the same way waves turn onto the sand so endlessly, you eventually lose count, if you stared into them long enough.

I’ve been holding on.

Too long.

Holding On

I’ve been holding onto to all the different pieces of my life –

My dreams, my hopes, my fears, my past, my future.

My strengths, my weaknesses, my memories and my prayers.

I’ve been holding onto –

People. People who tell me they are friends, but don’t have the strength to walk through the valleys.

People who did not love me. Even though they said they did. But, they only said so, to conform me to their expectations.

I took it all in. Since I was a little girl. And here I am now, a full grown woman, loved by her husband, children and friends.

I know this. I really do.

But, I have also lived this other life. Inside.

Unloved. For so very long.

Alone.

Sometimes, holding on takes you to the loneliest place in the world.

Where no one except myself would understand the pain of neglect.

But, what has been neglected doesn’t go away.

Lonely

You’d think it would.

Because if you tell yourself none of the things that move your heart and break it matters — that the only thing that matters is that Jesus loves you — you’d think it would eliminate the pain of things you don’t want people to know.

You doubt whether you have anything beautiful to offer — unless someone else says you do.

You question whether you are beautiful — because you’ve given your soul leftovers — focused on solving problems, avoiding conflict and orienting your life around safety.

Holding on.

That’s what I’ve been doing.

It’s not something I even understood myself.

Until now.

It’s overwhelmingly lonely when God leads you find that innermost place within yourself.

There’s the shock and disbelief that such a place in you even existed.

Just like the sandollar I found halfway covered in the sand that morning.

Deep Waters

The sea foam blew in clumps, crawling across the wet sand, like tumbleweeds across the Arizona desert.

As my thoughts turned heavy with the struggles of failing to write against the tide of post-traumatic anxiety and stress, I felt so utterly helpless against this season of healing in my life.

Never have I felt so arrested by what I want to do so badly, yet surrendered to the necessity of the difficulty of this journey.

Is there any place of beauty for me?  I whispered tearfully, as the weight of my burdens pressed in on me, against the beauty of God’s creation.

I stood there facing the waves, as the gray skies answered me in silence.

As I looked at the sea foam rushing up close to my boots, I noticed a flat of white protruding from the sand down a few feet, as I followed the waves receding into the ocean.

I stooped to look closer and took the glove off my right hand.

I dug my finger into the muddy silt-sand and began to lift a shell out its grip.

The tide had suddenly returned and I instinctively pressed it back into the sand, in fear of it being washed back into the ocean.

There I stood, with my fingers pressed into the water onto the shell, while the waves rose up into my ankles.

I let out a yelp and hollered like Huck Finn, as water splashed up, catching a bit on my face.

But, I kept my position.

And as the waters rushed past me and I felt the sea wrap its passing embrace around my ankles, His words came to me, as clear as I felt my breath warm my chest in that moment.

I see you, Bonnie.

I see you.

My heart ached with such a burning sorrow, that I knew it could only be Him.

It could only be Jesus, speaking into the deep waters.

Out of the Corner

I know the story where Jesus was taking me into, that very moment.

The Scriptures tell us that the crowds were pressing in on Jesus. To listen to the word of God.

Crowds were pressing in on Him.

But, Jesus saw.

Luke said that –

“Jesus noticed two empty boats at the water’s edge,
for the fishermen had left them and were washing their nets.”
~Luke 5:2

With all the crowds pushing in, eager to listen to His words, you’d wouldn’t think Jesus would notice something as insignificant as empty boats.

But, He did.

Jesus noticed –

– two empty boats,

– at the waters edge.

Jesus noticed even this, out of the corner of His eye.

Because He saw the fisherman.  Washing their nets.

The fisherman were done.

They fished all night. Exhausted and worn.

And there was nothing to show for any of it.

An Empty  Boat

Then, Jesus did the most amazing thing.

Jesus got into one of the boats.

Jesus got into an empty boat.

I don’t want to hold onto all these pieces anymore.

This is the cry I spoke, as I held onto the perfectly unbroken sandollar I pulled out of the sand, dripping with sea kissed tears.

Don’t be afraid, Bonnie.

Lonely, I see you.

Lonely, I love you.

You are who I say you are.

Beloved.

This is what I heard Jesus whisper to me, as I remembered what Jesus told Simon Peter –

“Put out into deep water, and let down your empty nets for a catch.”

Where is your deep water, friend?

Where are the places in you that feel lonely — empty, if you dare whisper it to me in confidence?

Jesus doesn’t need us to come to Him full.

Jesus makes His home in us, even as we are empty.

Simply because He loves us in those places where no one goes.

What Matters More

Yes, it matters that Jesus loves me.

But, to me right now, what matters more is that Jesus loves the lonely parts of me — and He wants me to step out into the world from those places — as I am too.

And so, I whisper this to you, as well.

Don’t wait until there is no more loneliness.  We don’t have to be alone before the brokenness recedes.

You are loved deep enough to be beautiful to Him right where you are traveling through.

I’m on this same journey, struggling to believe this to the extent where I can live from that place of faith, every moment.

But, I’m daring to live out in that place more, when I can.

This is after all, our testimony of faith — that Jesus is keeping company with us, in those very places.

So,

– when I’m tempted to say yes — when I really want to say no,

– when I’m tempted to push past what I’m really feeling, and tell myself it’s not important,

I bring myself to remember that sand dollar I found last week.

I stand against the crashing wave of living as I am — empty netted, but beloved — seen and noticed by Jesus.

And I say yes, to even the smallest movement.

And I say no, to the voices that tell me I’m not important unless I choose otherwise.

I want to bring all of me into the present — into the moment with Jesus.

All the places that are frozen, that I left long ago, I’m trusting Jesus is leading me back.

He’s leading me back, so that the lonely parts within me can walk out into the open, into this world.

Jesus understands this loneliness of the journey to travel back home, paved with brokenness.

He lived His life fully out in the open, because He was the Beloved.

This was His song, that has become our Easter.

On the days we feel tired, when we feel lonely — in Jesus’ arms, we become the Beloved.

This is our song too.

~~~~~

How has loneliness been a part of your faith journey with Jesus?

What words are Jesus speaking to your soul today?

Pull up a chair. Our conversations here mean more to me than you may know. I’m so grateful for your confidence.
Click to comment and share each other’s thoughts.

~~~~~

*** NOW, IT’S YOUR TURN — LINK UP IN THE FAITH JAM

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Faith Barista Jam Thursdays

I serve up a topic of faith, you write a post and link up (or simply comment).

Place the Faith Jam Badge in your post.  It’s a welcome sign for our community. Grab the HTML Code above. Thank you.

It’s a jam session, so visit the post before yours and drop a comment. You’re making a faith friend. We blog together to encourage each other.

TO LINK UP: Click the blue button below: “Add Your Link” (Subscribers: How has loneliness been a part of your faith journey with Jesus?/#jamlink” target=”_blank”>click here to get there directly).

*Last 2/21/13 Writing Prompt: “Jesus” (inspired by Faith Jam contributers Lisa at Lisa Notes & Lauren One Word 201).

*Next Thursday’s 3/14/13* Writing Prompt is: “Follow”. (inspired by Faith Jam contributors Mandy and Debbie. (*Update* No Faith Jam this week 3/7/13 — I’ve caught a nasty cold . We’re taking a break for another week & linking up next Thursday!)

Approach it any way you feel inspired! Only required ingredient: keep it real. Click here to learn more.

** Don't miss! ** If you are new to Faith Barista, I'd like welcome you here.Click to subscribe by email and get each post in this series served up hot and fresh directly in your mailbox.

Is anybody out there?

“Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” G.K. Chesterton

Earlier this week, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in over a year, since my whole world turned upside down.

I didn’t want to spend the morning in bed again, so I decided to rummage through my drawers for a set of matching black fleece gloves, the turquoise scarf that was soft and not too fuzzy, and that old backback I last threw into the corner of the closet.

I went through my pencil cup and found my favorite pen that writes smoothly from a wide tip point and searched the house until I finally found my camera sitting in the dark on a shelf, where I forgot I last left it.

It was foggy when I first started driving and my head was rushing tumbled with a cascading wall of thoughts to turn back.  But, I kept my foot on the pedal and I tried my best to reign my thoughts back where I wanted to go.

Even if it ended up raining when I got there, I told myself I’d do as I’d done when I was single.  I’d back up my SUV and sit in the trunk, with my legs propped up like my desk.  I’d sip my decaf cup of coffee and I’d crack the windows open a bit, so windows wouldn’t fog up with my breath.  Even if the raindrops blew in sideways a bit and the seats got pelted to one side, it wouldn’t matter.

I’d hear the rolling of waves, as foam crawled onto the sand.

I’d smell the sand after the sun baked the ocean into the land, as the wind carried its scent up into crags and crevices, into my breath.

I would look out into the large expanse of blue, gray and white.

And I would return to the place where my heart would always hear God, even when it felt like a house that was empty, except for the whispers of prayers.

This place was the ocean.

As I stepped out on the sand, shiny with the surf high, into the air wet with winter morning spray, I found my voice remembering and asking Jesus –

You once heard me whisper a dream.  Will you hear me this time again?

Deep Waters

I want to bring you back with me — to a story I recounted to myself two mornings ago, as I wandered, looking for rest in my soul.

It was just a couple days from Valentine’s Day today and God brought me back to another chapter in my story — how in my thirties, I believed I had the gift of singleness.  Not because I didn’t want romance or a husband.  But, out of sheer logic.  I just hadn’t met anyone who had been “The One”.

Today, I’d like to share this post with you – as we are, each of us, journeying to those places deep within us that are still waiting to be loved and to be cherished.

Even with a husband who loves me completely, those places within me are still whispering dreams, that I honestly wish would stop calling for me.

Because these are deep waters, where only Jesus can venture and where only He can recover.

Life seems so much easier, so much simpler, if I had no more dreams left to remember.

But, Jesus is saying –

These dreams are meant for you, even if they have been broken.

Because even though they can’t seem to be repaired in this moment — even if for very long —

I am standing in the midst of them, to whisper to you  –

I love you.

The Dream You Dare To Whisper

If today you are making that return to those tender places in your heart — don’t hesitate to open up the parts of yourself that are still waiting to be touched back to life. To remember and to honor the you who Jesus loves deeply and will not forget.

Because when Jesus remembers the dreams you were meant to live, though it seems they are so far removed from you today, He remembers your pain.

And He honors it with His arms of love.

Surrounding you.

Protecting you.

Even if no one else can hear or see it.

Jesus does.

And He loves you.

Completely.

Just like Ruth never expected she would find a Boaz while gathering leftover in the fields for Naomi, you are not forgotten.

You are not overlooked.

The dream you dare to whisper in private — God hears.

Like Ruth, you are focusing on the gathering — the work that’s right in front of you. You get up and lie down, faithful to encourage those around you, being thankful for the spiritual provision you find everyday.

Among my purpose-filled days as a single, there were sometimes deep, long nights, when the ache in my heart tore down into my gut. In those moments, I wondered if I would run into someone, the way Ruth stumbled onto Boaz’ fields….

Never Been Kissed

I don’t know if dogs and cats dream of getting their first kisses, but one thing’s for sure, humans are different.

I remember wanting my first kiss so badly, I thought I was going to die waiting. I did not want to get to college and be the only girl on campus whose only kiss was her bathroom mirror.

Luckily, despite my mother’s best efforts and my propensity to like books and play in the orchestra (the cool kids were in band and track-and-field), I did get my first kiss before donning cap and gown.

The kiss was just as magical and dizzying as it appears in the movies.

But, it wasn’t true love.

Not for him, anyways.

It was a bummer. The box for My First Kiss was checked off the same year as Dumped For The First Time.

Missing The Boat

Some people talk about not kissing anyone until they’re engaged, to end up marrying the first person they kissed. Real fairy-tale like.

Too bad, I always thought.

Why didn’t God have the first guy I fall in love with be my husband?

It was the first of many why-questions I’d start filing secretly away.

Many years passed. I could never find the magic of that first kiss again.

After some time, I grew up and got smart. I stopped believing there was “The One”.

If I missed the boat with “The One”, then I’d rather just be by myself and God.

It’s just you and me, God.

I liked it just fine.

There was enough to keep me kingdom forward and connected with people. Eight years fly by when you can serve with abandon, lots of friends to make and enjoy.

Then, one day, I met him.

He Was Different

Unlike other Christians guys who always stayed behind the lines of just being “friends”, he was different.

He wrote me digital letters every day for a month. Then, he asked me out on a date. Not to grab a bite to eat. A date.

In line for a flick, we found out our #1 favorite food was pizza and we both loved coffee. We couldn’t stop talking and we were laughing even though there were no jokes being told.

I decided to put out the “No Kissing” edict. My last kiss was many annual moons ago. I didn’t want to kiss any more frogs.

Three months.

That’s how long we’d have to date exclusively before we could kiss.

He was smart. He smiled and nodded.

I didn’t make it past six weeks.

The kiss I received that day under a willow tree was the best kiss ever. It felt like my first kiss.

It didn’t bring me back to my kiss at seventeen.

It felt as if I had never been kissed.

… Until that moment with him.

Turn Back Time

If you’ve ever stopped believing that anything could be new again, God’s perfect timing can turn everything back to the first time.

The impossible happened that day we first kissed.

God became a lot more powerful than I imagined.

~ He works in mysterious ways we can’t explain.
~ He stirs and rearranges our hearts, when we’re not looking. When we don’t think anyone else is home, except us, He makes a space for love.

~ He is more capable than cupid, more magical than the most beautiful of fairy tales.

A Kiss To Your Soul

I’m old enough to understand that nothing lasts forever.

But, there are some things that happen only once, that remind us that there is eternity in our hearts.

The one I call my husband was him. He was brought into my life, even though I gave up looking for love.

God knows what you may have given up on.

The One who knows you can bring a kiss to your soul, like the one you’ve always longed for and forgotten about.

Mine came through a person, but remember, God is not limited by our ways.

Why didn’t God have the first guy I fall in love with be my husband?

… So that I could believe in miracles again.

~~~~~

“And as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, So your God will rejoice over you.”~ Isaiah 62:5

~~~~~

Where are your thoughts today on Valentine’s Day?

Do you need to believe in miracles again?

Pull up a chair. I’m here at our table at the cafe, later than usual, but I’m so glad you’re here.
Click to comment and read each other’s thoughts.

~~~~~

*** NOW, IT’S YOUR TURN — LINK UP IN THE FAITH JAM

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Faith Barista Jam Thursdays

I serve up a topic of faith, you write a post and link up (or simply comment).

Place the Faith Jam Badge in your post.  It’s a welcome sign for our community. Grab the HTML Code above. Thank you.

It’s a jam session, so visit the post before yours and drop a comment. You’re making a faith friend. We blog together to encourage each other.

TO LINK UP: Click the blue button below: “Add Your Link” (Subscribers: click here to get there directly).

*Today Thursday’s 2/14/13 Writing Prompt is: “Love”. (It happens to be Valentine’s Day on our faith jam… what better way to be present with each other that day?)

*Today’s 2/21/13 Writing Prompt: “Jesus” (inspired by Faith Jam contributers Lisa at Lisa Notes & Lauren One Word 2013.

Approach it any way you feel inspired! Only required ingredient: keep it real. Click here to learn more.

** Don't miss! ** If you are new to Faith Barista, I'd like welcome you here.Click to subscribe by email and get each post in this series served up hot and fresh directly in your mailbox.

Photo Credit:  Photobucket.

I had come to a place where my new normal looked nothing like it did before.

I was someone who was walking through post-traumatic stress. But, what kind of life could I live now, while I’m in recovery?

I had been going to a mommy-and-me class with my three-year-old once a week since fall last year.

And I had started the class immersed in the silent chaos of anxiety attacks that could happen any time during the day.

I kept to myself and hardly spoke to any of the mommies — except for a “Hi” or casual “How are you?”.

I was there to hang out with CJ, which was the only reason why I even signed up to be there in the first place.

This mommy-and-me class was the one time a week I could lavish undivided attention on my second born — uninterrupted for a big chunk of time — to do crafts, paint, play and sing songs together. Without the need to clean up the mess or hurt myself trying to think up creative crafty things to do.

Because you see, I’m not so crafty. At all.

But, this class makes up for this.  All the supplies are laid out for projects that are age-appropriate and parent-kid proofed. We simply walk in with our hair a mess, clothes crumpled and homey-looking. Every week offers a different theme, matched up with a round-robin of theme-inspired activities to enjoy with our child.

So, for the entirety of last year’s classes, I did not interact much with the other mommies, simply because I’d be either holding myself together (barely) or afraid that at any moment, the social demands of engagement would just be too much.

But, as the new year was approaching, I felt moved to brainstorm a small list of small movements I can take in the new year.

These were so small, I even hesitate to write to you about them.

Small Movements

These movements seem so pitiful ordinary and so simple, it makes me feel embarrassed to even confess that I even put them on a mental list.

These movements seem so insignificant, confiding in you about them seems to validate how very frail I’ve become.

But, I know this feeling is my broken self speaking.

This voice I’m having to speak in feels small and insignificant.

And that is exactly the reason why I must bring this part of me into the light. Here with you.

Because the easiest thing to do is to silence the parts of ourselves that feel timid and unsure.

But, I’m learning those are very places in our souls Jesus is longing to touch and bring back to life — so we can find our place in this world.

I told you about one of those ideas that started to emerge into my thoughts, the way honey first drops thick and heavy into a cup of hot tea:  clearing the clutter from my drawers.

Even though from the outside, you’d never think time capsules of papers and momentos were stuck in transit, sitting in the dark of a closed space.

But, let me tell you first about another idea that began to float to the top, like faint sweetness that warms your mouth as you taste that first sip of honeyed tea, before you decide it needs a second stir with your teaspoon.

I thought to myself, I don’t know how long God will hold me in this place of tension and dissonance.

Is there anything I can offer to Christ in this place of prison?

Smallest of Ideas

My thoughts drifted to the cold iron bars of a cell darkened by chains and the murky damp of isolation. Paul the apostle. So on fire for God, so much passion to go beyond bounders, and what an orator he was, drawing crowds in the great cities of the Roman Empire’s gilded age.

Yet, prison was where Jesus sent Him. Out of all the places God could have sent Paul, that was where he was to remain. He could not go where he wanted. Even the last days of his life were spent no further than his front door, for he was confined to house arrest.

And what did Paul do when he was imprisoned? Nothing, except write a handful of letters to a small number of people. Very short letters, if you think about it– compared to classics written by men who were free to roam in the city squares, like Sophocles and Homer.

But, Paul wrote from where he was at — when he could write — if at all.

And so, this smallest of ideas floated to rest on my heart.

What small movements could I make — if and when moments of the fog lifts — even if the sum of them amounted to nothing at all?

Being Present

If there is anything I’ve learned in working through trauma — and re-living it with Jesus — it’s this:

Being present is everything.

I decided I would try to talk with someone in my mommy-and-me class. And I would listen more than speak. Because I can’t sustain too long a conversation.

I chose to trust that Jesus was present in me.

I chose to trust that by simply being present with someone, I was bringing Jesus to them.

I didn’t need to do anything.

I didn’t even need to say much of anything (I can’t. Which if you knew me in real life, pre-PTS, you’d know was killing me!)

I chose to believe the smallest movement I make to be present would be bringing Jesus in me to light.

Now, before you think I suddenly rose from the grave and was free from my ailments after this prayer, let me tell you quickly and right away.

No.

I was raccoon eyed, pale-lipped, joint-aching exhausted, dragging my what-not-to-wear self to that first class of the new year.

Only One

I did not feel inspired in the least bit as I stood there, dizzy from a night without much sleep.

A mommy looking very tired stood near me.

So, I asked her, “Hi, how’s it going?”  I didn’t even remember her name (I had to look at her name tag).

She smiled widely, eyes coming to life, “Great!… How are you?”

“Oh, I’m hanging in there.  I’m very tired.”  I smiled weakly.  I noticed she had a limp in her stance.

“I noticed you were limping a bit.  What happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”  She shrugs her shoulders and smiles some more. “I just slipped down the stairs.  It’s so stupid.   It’s just bruised.”

“Oh, that must have hurt…”  I grimaced.  ”Does it bother you at night?”

“Actually… It kinda does…”  She confides.

“When you’re not feeling well, it can get worse at night.”  I offer.  ”It’s so distracting… Makes it hard to sleep.”

“That is so true…” She whispers.  ”It’s terrible.  I haven’t been sleeping…”

And so, for longer than I would have predicated, she tells me about her doctor visits and how it’s more than a bruise.  How stressful it is to try and go to physical therapy, all the while, feeling pain every time she has to run up and down the stairs.

I listen and I nod because I can hardly breathe freely myself.

Then, we both laugh about how insane it is, to have the hardest job in the world taking care of our kids as moms, without time off for sick days.

This was the only one conversation I could sustain for that day, so I didn’t think too much about it.

I thought, If this is all I’m able to do. One small conversation.  Dude.  My life has become a shadow of what it could be.

But, just as I think this, I hear another woman comment in a circle of moms chatting off to the side.

“Oh, man. When I’m depressed, the most important thing for me to do is to stay away from people who are depressed.  No thank you.”

“Totally.  I just want to surround myself with happy people,” agreed another.

That’s when I knew.  The conversation I just had means more to the heart of Jesus than what I thought to be true.

Room For Small

The world does not have room for small.

But, Jesus has made His home in you and me.

You and I hold one of the greatest gifts we can offer to another person.

We can be present –

– as we are,

– whenever we can,

– however we are able to.

Because the smallest movements are not measured by impact, numbers or even duration by Jesus.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.:
~ Hebrews 11:1

In Jesus eyes, the smallest movements we make by faith — believing Jesus is making them with us — brings Him the deepest pleasure and holds immeasurable worth.

Jesus sees the weight of your faith by the expense you’ve expended to exercise it — the hardness, the fear and even the doubt you put on the line, to carry it out.

Make that list of small movements, friends.

Write it down and don’t let anyone tell you it’s not worth anything.

Not even when that person is yourself.

Because Jesus is taking that list, reading it with great compassion and He’s making it His.

With you.

“Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put
and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury.
Many rich people threw in large amounts.

But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a fraction of a penny.

Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.
They all gave out of their wealth;
but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had…”
~ Mark 12:41-44

~~~~~

What are some small movements God’s put on your heart?

Pull up a chair. When we share, we are present with each other, a gift of faith and friendship in the moment.
Click to comment and read each other’s thoughts.

~~~~~

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