Life in the Dash Aug 10, 2007-2021

    Living in the "Dash" is a constant theme at most funerals, focusing on the significance of our existence between our birth and our death. What did we do with that little dash of time? Did we embrace it fully with all of its ethereal mountain tops, it's heavy-laden valleys, and all of the nuanced details in between? Did we love well and live well? Did we serve and extend grace? Did we fail and falter yet still managed to stand back up? 

    Well, today marks another "Dash", the end of an era, so to speak. Fourteen years ago, I stood on the cusp of a life long dream, about to take on a role, I felt destined to be in. I was going from Miss to Mrs, and I was thrilled. This was a dream of mine, and I was fully confident that the love and faith I had would carry through any heartache that would or could come our way. Obviously, it was not enough. Reaching fourteen years, you feel like maybe you've got this handled, especially since we had already lived a lifetime in those years. We had maneuvered through sickness and health, life and death, babies, discord, the seven year "itch", the decade milestone and everything else in between. I had done everything I knew to do to save and salvage until I had nothing left to give. Now fourteen years later, I am teetering on the cusp of something else, feeling angry and scared and rejected. Today is hard and hard to process. I am floundering in No-Mans-Land. I am alone but not fully and finally divorced. I am stepping in freedom, but still hurting from all that has been lost and crushed. I have a miniscule hope for a bright future, but am still wallowing in a past that defined me, shook me, broke me and built me. I feel like I have been ripped open and all that I thought I was is gone, including a lot of my identity. Things that are inherently me and that I hold dear are now fragile and fearful. So today,  I am having to face the ache that a broken anniversary brings. Today is a day to wonder why and why me. Today is my day to prove to myself that I can do hard things. Today is my day to be ok with not being ok. Today is my day to bravely let friends inside to see my hurting and vulnerable heart and let them whisper balmy words over my open wounds. Today is a day to push myself one more step ahead.

For all of you that gave me the space and grace to grieve today, for all of you that stood in the gap for me, and for all of you that remain in my corner, this weary heart is grateful for you and for being seen and understood today.

                        

Oh My Soul

    There is a song by Casting Crowns that I have not heard in ages until this past week called "Oh My Soul". As I was singing along, part of the chorus slapped me across the face and then proceeded to be on a repeat track in my mind for several days. It says, "There's a place where fear has to face the God you know..." Mic drop.

    This week I have had to face some really big mountains. Mountains that seem impossible, completely unjust, and utterly devastating. I have been grieving and cursing and venting and bawling. I have been reaching out to connect with other humans like a dying man in search of water in the desert because right now, it feels hopeless and completely out of my control. I feel like I am on this constant roller-coaster that every time I start to get a toe hold on my life, on my feelings, and on my emotions something brings a sucker punch to my gut, and for now it is too much, too hard to remember the faithfulness I have already been blessed with. So people have been graciously speaking hard, yet necessary, truths over me and to me and in the gap for me as I try to process all that is to come.  Honestly, I am struggling to get to the place where I introduce these fears to the God I know. There is something so intimate and humbling and nerve-wracking coming before the God of the universe and saying "This really sucks. I am tired of this constant battle. I do not see a way out, and I am super frustrated feeling like I am getting the short end of the stick. Where are You?". This whole process is taking everything I have and everything I have ever known about God to maneuver through this knowledge and pain. It is requiring the vulnerability with friends to ask for their love and strength as I bolster my own. It is compelling me to be gracious to my own body, soul, and spirit and to find things that speak life into my bones. It is requiring that I trust, even in the most unknown. 

    One thing, though, that is making all of this even more frustrating is that I have already been down the trauma road. I have already faced literal death and despair. I have already bawled and processed and been severely humbled. I have already showed my scars that bore witness to God's grace, mercy, and faithfulness. Been there, done that...for real. Yet, this trauma is different and purposeful and the result of other fallible human beings. It is making its own newly carved ruts on my soul, and these ruts require its own process, learning, and foundation. It is another fire for my faith to endure as my dross is revealed and removed. The struggle is absolutely real. 

 So to the fears that have shrouded my mind and heart this week, this is the place where my fragile mustard seed of faith tells you to move. This is where you meet the God I know, the God who sees me (El Roi), the God who provides (Jehovah-Jireh), the Almighty God (El Shaddai) and the God who is ultimately just (Elohim). This is where I go back to what I know and not what I feel. I know that God is good, faithful, and still God. May this Ebenezer be the mark where God shows up in unexpected ways. 

May it be so.

My Anthem for the week...

https://youtu.be/DjNZf878ISQ

Oh, my soul
Oh, how you worry
Oh, how you're weary from fearing
You lost control
This was the one thing
You didn't see coming
And no one would blame you though
If you cried in private
If you tried to hide it away
So no one knows
No one will see
If you stop believing

Oh, my soul
You are not alone
There's a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

'Cause you're not alone

Here and now
You can be honest
I won't try to promise
That someday it all works out
'Cause this is the valley
And even now
He is breathing on
Your dry bones
And there will be dancing
There will be beauty where beauty was

Ash and stone
This much I know

Oh, my soul
You are not alone
There's a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way

Let Him show you how
You can lay this down

I'm not strong enough
I can't take anymore
You can lay it down
You can lay it down
And my shipwrecked faith
Will never get me to shore
You can lay it down

You can lay it down
Can he find me here?
Can he keep me from going under?

Oh, my soul
You are not alone
There's a place where fear
Has to face the God you know
One more day
He will make a way
Let Him show you how
You can lay this down
'Cause you're not alone
Oh, my soul
You are not alone

Source: Musixmatch

Big Feelings

     Anyone who has known me for longer than 15 minutes has to know that all of my feelings are BIG. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I love quickly, deeply, and without reservation. We meet as friends and end as family. Hugs are my currency and prayers anchor my connections. I hoard a lot of books, but I hoard people and friendships even more. The Biggest Heart and Most Tender-hearted are the only awards hanging on my walls. My heart is the filter thru which I do all of my life. It is a swinging door that also allows BIG hurts in. I feel my pain on multiple levels. Rejection cuts to the core of my soul. So this season of hell that I am in, I am feeling pains I have never felt before, on levels I never knew existed. I know this pain is not necessarily unique and not new per se but nothing can prepare you for its devastation. Most people have no idea of the entirety of this particular divorce story, but it has absolutely shattered me and left me broken. I hate looking weak and this new level of vulnerability is daunting. I want to be healed and whole again, and I have some small hope that one day I will be. Still, the way forward is frightening. I know I have to actually sit in this dark pain to process it, but I hate it and I do not do it well. Every fiber of my being is pulsing like it is on meth to DO SOMETHING. Do anything to distract myself. Focus on others' pain. Fill my time. Eat the good stuff. Discover something I can control. Find anything to fill this void. This. Hurts. Too. Much.

    I am not blaming God at all, but He is calmly listening to a head and heart full of angry and caustic words that I am hurling His way. I have grieved and lamented the loss and death of dreams before,  but this is different. This grief has more triggers, more nuance, and leaves me at the mercy of other people's decisions. In the midst of my own darkness, I have to help my daughter find her own space and way to grieve and process this too. So today, I am feeling the weight of the injustice of it all. There is no winning situation. There is no way that I will come out unscathed. There is no way that I will not feel the rejection with every step. There is no way but to walk thru this fire. To every event there is a season and there is a time for crumbl cookies and Hallmark movies and creative crafting and screaming lyrics while alone in my car. For today though, the season is for hot, angry tears from my eyes and loud, heaving sobs from my soul as I sit in this pain with all of these big feelings. 

Exodus 14:14 "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." May it be so. 

Life In a Decade

   Ten years ago today, I was neck deep in cells and smells and tears. I was clinging to my faith and fighting off the darkness of death. Everything was out of my control. I had no idea what my future held or how my life would turn out. All I had was my hope that God was still good and faithful and in control as God. Fast forward a decade and today, I find myself again clinging to my scarred faith and fighting a different sort of darkness. Things are still so much out of my control, and I am still holding tight to the hope that God is still good and faithful and still God. 

    This should have been a big year, a big deal, and I should be celebrating and marveling at how far God has brought me. TEN YEARS ALIVE!!! Ten years marking the milestones with my baby girl!!! I should be writing a new anniversary post and recalling my past Ebenezers to reminisce about how He brought Joel 2:25 to fruition in my life. I should be living life to the full. Instead, I am struggling, surviving, and separating. I have been ushered into a club I never thought I would be in... The (soon to be) divorced spouse club. A club that is full of different kinds of survivors whose scars are rarely visible. A club that breaks my heart and brings me to my knees. Now and again, I have no idea how my life will turn out after this particular battle plays out. I have no idea how God will redeem this time and journey, or how any beauty will come from these devastating ashes. I have no idea how well I am parenting, as I balance healing and persevering and forgiving. I just have NO idea except that this 100% SUCKS!!! I hate that there is this club (but grateful I am not alone), and I hate being forced to choose between multiple things that I hold dear. I hate the guilt and sadness that come with every step in this process. I hate the changes and having to let go of things I never thought I would have to give up. I hate watching my daughter having to navigate a middle ground. Mostly, I hate the old demons that have reared their ugly head trying to validate all of my fears in the midst of all of this turmoil.

   

    Ergo, here I am trying to recall and remember all that I do know to be true. The verses that bolstered me then, are building me up today. The songs that gave my story a voice are also now singing this new chapter. The friends and family that stormed heaven's gates then, have now stepped into my muck and mire and are marching me forward again. New friends have joined my tribe as they wrap me up in words of truth and love. Holy ground now looks more like bunco nights, salon chairs, garage sales, tin can mailboxes, Crumbl cookies, breakfast dates, drive thru lunches, and a circle of friends that hold me as snot and tears pour down my face more often than not. This is what life in a decade looks like for me.

    So, ten years ago I got a new immune system and newish body, and today I am heading toward a new chapter, new title, and new beginning of freedom that I did not know was possible. 

May the Lord do immeasurably more than I could ask for or imagine in this next decade of new life!! 

These links are my current anthem songs...

https://youtu.be/ZErLEnRNfbE

https://youtu.be/johgSkNj3-A

Eleven Years Down and a Lifetime to Go

Eleven years. More than a decade.

It sounds weird and feels different in ways I cannot quite describe. This past year has been so very dark and heavy and just plain sucky. There have been times that the battles I have faced this past year were just as wearisome as the ones dealing with chemo. Then there were the times I couldn't remember my own mantra or the lessons I had already learned. There were times that felt (and still feel like) they will never get better, never get back to normal. 2021 was looking so promising like a beacon of hope and change, and so far I am not impressed. However, this year has also shown me in so many ways how good God continues to be. His promise to me of Joel 2:25 continues to come to fruition and that has never been more apparent than this past year. My battle, my hurts, my anger, my grace, my humbling, my redemption, and my entire journey has brought me to some incredibly holy places. This year has claimed so many new warriors to the cancer battle, and my heart has been burdened for each one. Every time I heard the news of my nephew, my friends, my friends' kids and moms, my heart broke as the remembrance of those horrific words overwhelmed my soul. I grieve because I know all that will be lost. I weep because I dread the pain and sickness that will come. I speak grace and truths because I know the confusion and anger that will find its way out.  Then I pray because I know I serve a God that is good and faithful and still God. I serve a God that is big enough to handle the anger, frustration, doubt , and swearing that weaves its way into the heart of the warrior. I serve a God that can heal and do immeasurably more than I could ever ask for or imagine.

So on this 11th anniversary of my own diagnosis, I am thankful for the place I have been put. I am thankful for how far I have come, and for the incredible mission field before me. Finally, to all of you who stood in my gap, who held my arms up in battle, who wept when I wept and rejoiced when I could rejoice, who showed me the hands and feet of Jesus, I continue to thank God for you too.

The Ball and The Button

    Today is the 21st day of the 21st year of the 21st century, and also a day that hits closer to home for me. Six years I have been lamenting, toiling, praying, believing, stepping forward to only get knocked back and then compound it by the year that shall not be named... and here I sit. As I reflect and mark this day, I am reminded of the analogy of grief as a ball inside this box we call life. 

“'In the beginning, the ball is huge,' Herschel said in a tweet. 'You can’t move the box without the ball hitting the pain button. It rattles around on its own in there and hits the button over and over. You can’t control it – it just keeps hurting. Sometimes it seems unrelenting. Over time, the ball shrinks — but every now and then, it still hits the button. Maybe you see someone who reminds you of your loved one. Maybe a certain song plays on the radio. Maybe it comes out of nowhere. For most people, the ball never really goes away,' she said in another tweet. 'It might hit less and less and you have more time to recover between hits, unlike when the ball was still giant.'"

    If there was ever an analogy that fit with 2020, this is it. My 2020 was no exception. My year was no more remarkable than others. My grief, although it maybe different, was and is still grief, and it has reared its ugly head more times than I can count, moreover, in ways that I have not expected. I will be the first to admit this past year was not my finest. It was dark and heavy and mostly defeating. I kept losing sight of my Anchor. I kept taking back the anxiety and fear that I had just laid down. I kept heeding old lies about my worth. I settled for mediocrity because it was a known quantity when everything else "normal" was gone. I stepped back to avoid confrontation and let hurt be a banner. I had given up land that I had already staked a claim in.... yeah I was definitely not winning. Then looking back over the year and trying to recount my fruit (aka blessings) I really struggled to remember the good. It took me scrolling through my pictures to remember that EVERY SINGLE MONTH something good happened. Good things that I had forgotten because the darkness of the everyday had overshadowed their memory. 

So I write this post bearing my vulnerable heart on a white screen to share that 35 years into this life, 30 years into faith, almost 11 years as a survivor, and 6 years as a broken down woman and the struggle is as real as ever.

BUT GOD. 

Because of his grace and mercy, I was yet again privy to some incredibly holy moments that helped to shrink my ball of grief. Moments that filled my cup to overflowing and gave me the strength to face another day. He gave me a new niece, Phoenix, who has stolen my heart♥️ and reminded me of His goodness. Because of His love, I have been humbled as friends became family and I was witness to them stepping up to help when things got rough. Because of His awesomeness, I have an incredible relationship with my sister and a brother that I adore. Even more, I still have the best family a girl could ask for, a family that moves to fill the spaces when I lack , a family that brings laughter in the mundane, and a family that knows me and loves me regardless. 

On this day full of feelings, not only as an anniversary but also as a new chapter of uncertainty in this world, I cling to my sometimes mustard seed sized faith and hope for miracles. I am restarting the work of healing and attempting to let go of the chains and lies that have bound me. I seek to worship in this storm and remember that God is still good and faithful and most importantly still God.

May 2021 be the cleaning and refreshing and renewal we need.