Everything was spinning out of control. People in and out of my house all day. MY house. Most of them I knew, but everyone felt like a stranger. The air was so thick with grief that it became a challenge to fit myself into any given room and not feel claustrophobic. And then there was the crying. Wailing, actually. The kind of wail you hope you never have to hear again, because knowing the depth of pain coming from your mom makes your heart feel like it's going to explode from the mounting pressure inside. And the smell of busy women in the kitchen. Always the food.
Their solution. My arch-nemesis.
This was day 2. The first morning I woke up to my new reality. The reality where he was gone and my life was never going to be the same. Jennie and Lauren were still sleeping on my floor. Last night was a long night. My eyes stick together and I realize that even all those tears didn't wash away the black mascara residue. I think I slept. Then again, nothing feels right so I'm not really sure. The house is still in the early morning. Whispers, albeit faint are all I can make out. I emerge from my room. I just want to go downstairs. Maybe watch a movie.
Beth, you are up. How are you? Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?
All the energy I can muster up results in a small head shake. Wait, what was the question? Oh right, yes, I'm up. My dad didn't come home last night because he's dead. Other than the fact that I'm hollow inside, sure, I'm ok. Unless you can bring him back I don't think I need anything from you, thanks.
Sweetheart, you need to eat.
Still not saying a word I stare at them. Eat? Do you KNOW what just happened? I don't think I'm hungry.
What do you want, Beth. Eggs? Bacon? Cereal? We can run to the store.
I want to go back to sleep. Instead I move my feet a bit and find myself in a daze at the table. Now I'm staring at food. I look downstairs. There must be 20 people here. And everyone is staring at me. Waiting for me to take a bite.
It didn't take long before the house was buzzing again. Busy people moving too fast for me to follow. Others huddled together and cried. Being lost in the chaos for a bit was ok. But it didn't take long before the questions started.
How are you? Can I get you anything? You need to eat.
It made no sense to me why everyone cared so much about me eating. It wasn't going to change how much I hurt. It wasn't going to bring him back. It wasn't going to erase the image of his eyes rolling back into his head as he struggled to breathe. It wasn't going to change the fact that I was the one with him, and I couldn't save him. No, food wasn't going to help.
Nothing tasted good. Everything made my stomach hurt. Over the passing days my ability to leave the house or be alone in my room became contingent upon my eating. All of these people who had seemingly moved in at my mothers request just wouldn't let it go. I knew better than to disrespect these adults. And I certainly didn't want to bother my mom, for fear of hearing her cry again.
I smiled and said no thanks probably 15 times a day. It's not that I didn't want to eat anything ever, I just lost my appetite.
Finally I lost it. Kati was standing over my plate of eggs. I wasn't allowed to see my aunt from out of town if I didn't eat these eggs. I don't like eggs. I don't even feel good. She told me I needed them. I just can't do it.
Aunt Josy calls. She Had a fight with my mom and stopped talking to us months ago. But she was back! She was going to come get me and take me out of the house. I'm supposed to pick out an outfit for the funeral. I'm not wearing black.
Eat the eggs. You better hurry. Your mom doesn't want to see Josy.
I force yet another meal down my throat. It gets stuck in my esophagus and it's hard to breathe. I'm trying to hurry.
I eat just enough so that Kati will let me leave. I walk to the front room but there is nowhere left to sit. I see my aunt walking up the driveway. My heart races. And then I realize my mom is one of the people on the couch.
You're going to leave with her? Not unless she apologizes. I check out at this point and come back only to realize these women are having a full blown fight with only the window between them. So are you going? Huh?? Mom repeats herself and again asks if I'm going. I think I'm supposed to say no. I just stand there. I don't know what to do. My head starts spinning and my knees get wobbly and people are getting blurry.
I finally say no. I can't stop crying. Everything hurts. Why did Josy just leave? Again. My stomach starts pinching me and I feel it turn almost in a circle. I run to the bathroom so nauseous I barely make it before the eggs reappear.
I emerge but nobody seems to notice. 10 minutes later someone else tells me I need to eat something. I just want to go outside. I am too tired to keep fighting. A pattern emerges.
I'm not hungry.
They make me eat.
I feel sick.
It's been a few weeks. People are still always here. I get to go out a lot. Movies, the mall, to a friends. Most people treat me different. Some ask questions but most just say they are sorry.
I want to leave now. But she says I have to eat. I have nowhere to go. But I eat. And then I feel sick. And I'm so angry that nobody will listen to me. I don't want to be here. I feel a wave of nausea. I go to the bathroom but nothing happens. My stomach hurts so bad I can't stand it. I remember once having the flu and my aunt making me throw up. I try putting my hands in my mouth. I gag. I try it again. Gag a little harder. Again. And now that stupid food is gone. Out of me. My stomach stops aching as a flood of chills come over me. I just made that happen. I just made myself feel better for the first time in weeks.
The tactic worked. From now on, when people were fighting or making me do things I didn't want to do, I had a way to feel better. In my suddenly chaotic life I had control of something. As quickly as I had practically been orphaned, I had a secret solution. I choose what I eat. Or, what stays in my body after I eat it.
Fast forward 16 years. Similar scene- people everywhere.
Hey Beth, you're here. Are you ok? Need anything? Have you eaten? A flood of memories rush my brain. Why is this so upsetting?
I take a step back and begin to observe. Aunt Jeanne and Uncle John come and bring food. Karlin calls and says people want to sign-up to bring meals. Heidi starts cooking. Danny is asking me what I want to eat.
It's an obsession? Instinct?
I'm furious. And then God speaks.
My mom is devastated. She's all puffy and pale and I just want to do something to help. I say the words I had loathed so much just hours before. Mom, have you eaten? I'm going to make you dinner, you need to eat.
16 years ago the desire to try and do something when feeling completely helpless had triggered a response that changed my life. My need for control of something quickly became the sickness that controlled me. It was so innocent in gesture; it was the downward spiral that waged a war on my mind and body an cost me more than I probably even know....
This is the start of how I became bulimic.
The start of my fear of food.
The gateway for the enemy and the root of my body struggles to date.
I've been trapped in a jail cell for 16 years. Losing my grandmother just gave me the key to my freedom.
It's about time.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Monday, May 30, 2011
A New Thing
I'm processing a lot right now. So many thoughts, feelings, revelations and hurts. I'm currently spinning in circles- in fact- I feel much like I puppy chasing its tail. Except that the tail is hope and I'm just lost.
It's hard to open yourself up. To be vulnerable with the people around you. Sometimes, it's a challenge to have that vulnerability with myself, to be truly honest in my heart of hearts. Last year in August, much of my world came crashing down around me. I picked up a few shattered pieces, dusted my self off, straightened my hair and didn't look back.
Avoidance. This is my status quo.
I'm trying a new thing. Starting it tonight. I'm going to, as my dear friend Christina would say, face the dragons. I thought I might try to slay them too, but in all honesty, the idea of fighting anything was so overwhelming I nearly lost my dinner. So.... I'm surrendering that. All I need to do is turn and face the dragons. Each one individually, I plan to look square in the eye. Then I will walk away for good as my Heavenly Father slays them for me.
Here goes everything.
It's hard to open yourself up. To be vulnerable with the people around you. Sometimes, it's a challenge to have that vulnerability with myself, to be truly honest in my heart of hearts. Last year in August, much of my world came crashing down around me. I picked up a few shattered pieces, dusted my self off, straightened my hair and didn't look back.
Avoidance. This is my status quo.
I'm trying a new thing. Starting it tonight. I'm going to, as my dear friend Christina would say, face the dragons. I thought I might try to slay them too, but in all honesty, the idea of fighting anything was so overwhelming I nearly lost my dinner. So.... I'm surrendering that. All I need to do is turn and face the dragons. Each one individually, I plan to look square in the eye. Then I will walk away for good as my Heavenly Father slays them for me.
Here goes everything.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Damaged?
So I grew up a long time ago. Like pretty early compared to most of the people I know. In the last few years I’ve come to be at peace with who I am, but what happened tonight made me question everything I believe to be true about myself.
1990 marked the 100th anniversary of one Orangevale Open Elementary. All I really remember is a parade and dressing up like a flapper. Or something.
I had forgotten that at the end of second grade the entire school participated in the creation of a time capsule. Until a month or so ago.
The messages started on facebook- it has been 20 years- time to open it up and see what we put inside. Soon came emails, reminders and then I had it in my calendar. Why not? It would be great to take a step back in time.
I was really excited to see old friends, and actually had a great time. I was not prepared for the aftermath.
To fully understand, I’ve got to start at the beginning.
My first day of kindergarten found me at Orangevale Open, bright eyed and excited to learn. I had several preschool pals making the journey with me, and I looked forward to circle time, show and tell and to wearing art smocks. Really.
My teacher was Jim. Yes, I called him by his first name- we all did. That was just how the school was. Casual, comfortable, friendly and like a family. Parents were very involved, and we all hugged each other. It seems normal to me, but I’m only now realizing what a truly special place it really was.
I remember crying on my last day of kindergarten, feeling so sad about leaving my beloved teacher. The irony was his daughter ended up being one of my best friends and later recalling how much I loved him became a pretty funny memory. The significance is really about how attached I was to a man. Even at 5 years old. I felt no fear in that.
Growing up at that school brought me teachers like Sally for First grade, Susie for Second, and an all time favorite, Pat for Third. Pat was a soccer player and broke her leg that year. I remember her being rolled in on her wheelchair with a cast to her hip. She was absent for a large portion of time, and a classmate’s mom filled in. That was the year I was in my first musical “The Perfect Fit”, and had my first singing solo as Morty the head elf. I tried out for the part in front of the entire class with no fear. There wasn’t much I was afraid of. Third grade was also the start of love notes and boys asking girls “out”. I’m pretty certain I got more than my fair share.
Fourth grade I learned about California history from Jill. That year I got my first pair of glasses and took my first timed math tests. I was in the new portable classroom. We ended the year as every other- the annual end of school trip to the river- Negro Bar. I think that may have been the first year of the bikini. It certainly was the year of sex ed and puppy love.
Fifth grade brought me my first torn ligament and first crush. Matt McKerras. He helped me with my books while I was on crutches. We passed notes, and once got caught by our teacher Jeanne. We didn’t get in trouble, one of many reasons that made her one of my favorites- even still. That year I understood the beginnings of the United States, and began my love of all things history. I also realized what a cool dad I had. On a overnight field trip he surprised the class and met us for pizza- on him. The boy crushing on me even told my dad he loved me. That was when I learned my face turns red when I’m humiliated.
Sixth grade brought me back to Susie. A strange year. I was fully obsessed with soccer and my friends. A born leader of the pack and a dynamic kid in any situation- I got more than my fair share of friends. I realized I could pass classes without really doing homework that year. I got braces and quit wearing the glasses. I went to my first concert that year- Billy Joel. We learned that year of the highly active parents desire to make the school a K-8. I didn’t want to leave, but I wanted to move on. After all, my home junior high school was literally across the street from my home. We ended the year with a week long trip to Yosemite. I thought I was in love, but then the summer began and the soccer field and telephone monopolized my time.
We were the guinea pig class to pilot the Seventh grade addition. We had Judi and Pat for teachers. I loved music and spending time with friends. All through the years I’d mastered the art of turning down boys. No one peaked my interest enough. I won the role of Sandy in the play “Grease”. I was a good kid, surrounded by good friends, parents of friends who all helped each other out and I felt loved, secure and believed I would have a solid future attending Stanford University on a soccer scholarship.
The school and community I came from were one of a kind. My family lived close to the school and had kids in and out on a regular basis. Kids walked home with us and stayed until sports practice, or till parents could cone get them. We all knew each other well- parents and kids alike.
And it was that summer I became damaged.
Tonight I was in a cafeteria of people who knew my dad. Many of them mentioned him. Teachers told me they will never forget my family- the loss we suffered that summer. I heard from 4 people how much I look like my dad. I stood in one spot for most of the night while parents, teachers and old friends sought me out. I heard more times than I can count how beatiful I am. I stood with a group of guys as one revealed his childhood crush on me- to which another responded “which guy in our class wasn’t in love with Beth?”. I laughed and explained how glad I was to have made school so memorable.
I laughed.
I made lots of other people laugh.
I felt like I was ME again. Leaving my heart sank. We opened a moment in history and it exposed an incredible wound I had not even seen myself.
There were girls there who cried with me the night I watched my dad die. Girls who got me my first cigarettes and introduced me to the people who introduced me to pot. Girls who knew me *before*. And know the mess I became *after*.
I’ve changed a lot in the past several years. I always believed my changes were for the good. Tonight I realized they have not all been good.
I lost myself nearly 15 years ago. There are only a handful of people who know that, and until a few hours ago, I wasn’t one of them.
I spoke with my mom, who had decided not to go, about the experience I had. I saw myself through the eyes of many people long forgotten, avoided. I was struggling to articulate what it felt like. She and I both settled on the same phrase “before I became damaged” speaking in near unison.
The words hurt. I tell myself regularly I am ok with the loss of my dad. But I am not ok with the loss of me.
I’ve been listening to the song “Healing Begins”. No one lyric has ever felt more prophetic.
I’ve spent a lot of time and money to figure out what’s wrong with me physically. I think I have my answer: there’s a size six, fearless, life loving, kick-ass athlete inside of me. I buried her deep the day we buried my dad. I think I hoped to never feel that deep of pain again.
She is inside me kicking and screaming, begging me to let her out.
I’m not sure how.
But, this feels like a start. Acknowledging how hard things have been. How hard I fought to survive. Just how much pain I am really in, and understanding that it is years and years of abandonment, betrayal, abuse, blame, rejection and fear.
I’m not ok. Which is ok. I’m writing this here, because it’s going to take a long time to heal. It’s going to take a miracle to find myself again.
Lucky for me, I know someone in the miracle business. And here is where MY healing begins.
HEALING BEGINS
Tenth Avenue North
So you thought you had to keep this up
All the work that you do
So we think that you’re good enough
And you just can’t believe it’s not enough
All the walls you built up
Are just glass on the outside
So let ‘em fall down
There’s freedom waiting in the sound
When you let your walls fall to the ground
We’re here now
This is where the healing begins
This is where the healing starts
When you come to the broken within
The light meets the dark
The light meets the dark
Afraid to let your secrets out
Everything that you hide
Can come crashing through the door now
But too scared to face all your fear
So you hide but you find
That the shame won’t disappear
Sparks will fly as grace collides
With the dark inside of us
So please don’t fight
This coming light
Let this blood come over us
His blood can cover us
1990 marked the 100th anniversary of one Orangevale Open Elementary. All I really remember is a parade and dressing up like a flapper. Or something.
I had forgotten that at the end of second grade the entire school participated in the creation of a time capsule. Until a month or so ago.
The messages started on facebook- it has been 20 years- time to open it up and see what we put inside. Soon came emails, reminders and then I had it in my calendar. Why not? It would be great to take a step back in time.
I was really excited to see old friends, and actually had a great time. I was not prepared for the aftermath.
To fully understand, I’ve got to start at the beginning.
My first day of kindergarten found me at Orangevale Open, bright eyed and excited to learn. I had several preschool pals making the journey with me, and I looked forward to circle time, show and tell and to wearing art smocks. Really.
My teacher was Jim. Yes, I called him by his first name- we all did. That was just how the school was. Casual, comfortable, friendly and like a family. Parents were very involved, and we all hugged each other. It seems normal to me, but I’m only now realizing what a truly special place it really was.
I remember crying on my last day of kindergarten, feeling so sad about leaving my beloved teacher. The irony was his daughter ended up being one of my best friends and later recalling how much I loved him became a pretty funny memory. The significance is really about how attached I was to a man. Even at 5 years old. I felt no fear in that.
Growing up at that school brought me teachers like Sally for First grade, Susie for Second, and an all time favorite, Pat for Third. Pat was a soccer player and broke her leg that year. I remember her being rolled in on her wheelchair with a cast to her hip. She was absent for a large portion of time, and a classmate’s mom filled in. That was the year I was in my first musical “The Perfect Fit”, and had my first singing solo as Morty the head elf. I tried out for the part in front of the entire class with no fear. There wasn’t much I was afraid of. Third grade was also the start of love notes and boys asking girls “out”. I’m pretty certain I got more than my fair share.
Fourth grade I learned about California history from Jill. That year I got my first pair of glasses and took my first timed math tests. I was in the new portable classroom. We ended the year as every other- the annual end of school trip to the river- Negro Bar. I think that may have been the first year of the bikini. It certainly was the year of sex ed and puppy love.
Fifth grade brought me my first torn ligament and first crush. Matt McKerras. He helped me with my books while I was on crutches. We passed notes, and once got caught by our teacher Jeanne. We didn’t get in trouble, one of many reasons that made her one of my favorites- even still. That year I understood the beginnings of the United States, and began my love of all things history. I also realized what a cool dad I had. On a overnight field trip he surprised the class and met us for pizza- on him. The boy crushing on me even told my dad he loved me. That was when I learned my face turns red when I’m humiliated.
Sixth grade brought me back to Susie. A strange year. I was fully obsessed with soccer and my friends. A born leader of the pack and a dynamic kid in any situation- I got more than my fair share of friends. I realized I could pass classes without really doing homework that year. I got braces and quit wearing the glasses. I went to my first concert that year- Billy Joel. We learned that year of the highly active parents desire to make the school a K-8. I didn’t want to leave, but I wanted to move on. After all, my home junior high school was literally across the street from my home. We ended the year with a week long trip to Yosemite. I thought I was in love, but then the summer began and the soccer field and telephone monopolized my time.
We were the guinea pig class to pilot the Seventh grade addition. We had Judi and Pat for teachers. I loved music and spending time with friends. All through the years I’d mastered the art of turning down boys. No one peaked my interest enough. I won the role of Sandy in the play “Grease”. I was a good kid, surrounded by good friends, parents of friends who all helped each other out and I felt loved, secure and believed I would have a solid future attending Stanford University on a soccer scholarship.
The school and community I came from were one of a kind. My family lived close to the school and had kids in and out on a regular basis. Kids walked home with us and stayed until sports practice, or till parents could cone get them. We all knew each other well- parents and kids alike.
And it was that summer I became damaged.
Tonight I was in a cafeteria of people who knew my dad. Many of them mentioned him. Teachers told me they will never forget my family- the loss we suffered that summer. I heard from 4 people how much I look like my dad. I stood in one spot for most of the night while parents, teachers and old friends sought me out. I heard more times than I can count how beatiful I am. I stood with a group of guys as one revealed his childhood crush on me- to which another responded “which guy in our class wasn’t in love with Beth?”. I laughed and explained how glad I was to have made school so memorable.
I laughed.
I made lots of other people laugh.
I felt like I was ME again. Leaving my heart sank. We opened a moment in history and it exposed an incredible wound I had not even seen myself.
There were girls there who cried with me the night I watched my dad die. Girls who got me my first cigarettes and introduced me to the people who introduced me to pot. Girls who knew me *before*. And know the mess I became *after*.
I’ve changed a lot in the past several years. I always believed my changes were for the good. Tonight I realized they have not all been good.
I lost myself nearly 15 years ago. There are only a handful of people who know that, and until a few hours ago, I wasn’t one of them.
I spoke with my mom, who had decided not to go, about the experience I had. I saw myself through the eyes of many people long forgotten, avoided. I was struggling to articulate what it felt like. She and I both settled on the same phrase “before I became damaged” speaking in near unison.
The words hurt. I tell myself regularly I am ok with the loss of my dad. But I am not ok with the loss of me.
I’ve been listening to the song “Healing Begins”. No one lyric has ever felt more prophetic.
I’ve spent a lot of time and money to figure out what’s wrong with me physically. I think I have my answer: there’s a size six, fearless, life loving, kick-ass athlete inside of me. I buried her deep the day we buried my dad. I think I hoped to never feel that deep of pain again.
She is inside me kicking and screaming, begging me to let her out.
I’m not sure how.
But, this feels like a start. Acknowledging how hard things have been. How hard I fought to survive. Just how much pain I am really in, and understanding that it is years and years of abandonment, betrayal, abuse, blame, rejection and fear.
I’m not ok. Which is ok. I’m writing this here, because it’s going to take a long time to heal. It’s going to take a miracle to find myself again.
Lucky for me, I know someone in the miracle business. And here is where MY healing begins.
HEALING BEGINS
Tenth Avenue North
So you thought you had to keep this up
All the work that you do
So we think that you’re good enough
And you just can’t believe it’s not enough
All the walls you built up
Are just glass on the outside
So let ‘em fall down
There’s freedom waiting in the sound
When you let your walls fall to the ground
We’re here now
This is where the healing begins
This is where the healing starts
When you come to the broken within
The light meets the dark
The light meets the dark
Afraid to let your secrets out
Everything that you hide
Can come crashing through the door now
But too scared to face all your fear
So you hide but you find
That the shame won’t disappear
Sparks will fly as grace collides
With the dark inside of us
So please don’t fight
This coming light
Let this blood come over us
His blood can cover us
Saturday, February 6, 2010
God uses UPS too?
Sometimes the best gifts come when you least expect them. Actually, they seem to make for incredible surprises and always arrive right on time. Tonight I got a gift. That out of the blue, totally amazing, just what you needed even though you didn’t know you needed it kind of gift.
My oldest friend in the world is Nicole. She’s actually several months younger than me, but we’ve been friends since the day she was born. We were bald babies together, spent summer afternoons soaking in the pool or running around like banchees at the park. Our parents have been dear friends since high school, the sort of friends who end up being family. Nicole and I grew up in different towns, went to different schools, and spent many years nit seeing each other more that 2 or 3 times a year. The miracle of our second generation friendship is that we have a keen ability to pick up each time exactly where we left off the last. A few years ago I went on a cruise with a bunch of girlfriends- I stayed a couple extra days in San Diego with Nicole, just catching up. Last summer she cane and spent an afternoon with me after I had surgery- just because. And a couple weeks later I watched her walk down the aisle and become a wife. She’s the kind of friend I’ll probably never speak to every day- but she’s the kind that will be in my life forever.
Back to my gift. Let me preface with the fact that this has been an incredibly tough week for me. I have been feeling really discouraged and alone. I’m struggling in my home with feelings of hurt. And tonight I just wanted to be alone in my room- finally get some peace and just rest. Well, life doesn’t really ask me what I want, and clearly God had intended a very special reminder of his tender love for me. Had it been a great week, tonight would have just not been the same.
I was getting ready to leave and saw the UPS truck out front. At 7:00 mind you. My roommate got very excited and knew that he was bringing her new camera. Well he had two packages. One was her camera, the other was for me.
I was so confused! I knew I had not ordered anything recently, certainly nothing from Barnes & Noble. I opened the box and there it was: Living Gluten-Free for Dummies!
I looked at the shipping label. To me, from Nicole. My oldest friend. God used her in a time of weakness to show me His grace and provision. Out of the blue she thought of me. God must gave put me on her heart. And I am truly blessed.
I’m just SO in love with the Father and thankful for the constant reminders of how big He really is.
Thank you, Nicole. Thank you, UPS guy. And mostly thank you Jesus. I would be list in so many ways without you.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Guardian
Last night I had my dear friend Lisa over for dinner. I had expected for it to be a time of connection and laughter, for just catching up and enjoying life together. Obviously our Father had some bigger plans.
Last night I recieved a gift. And although it was from my friend, I knew in my spirit that it was inspired by God. Lisa has been a part of my journey for many years. She knows of my pain and of my triumph. She has held my hand through difficult choices I’ve made, encouraged me in moments of confusion, and had prayed for me more faithfully than anyone else I know. It’s safe to say that Lisa truly knows me. She loves me. And I am incredibly blessed to have such an amazing friend.
In the past months, I have confided in Lisa about my struggles in becoming healthy. She knows how depressed I became while coming to terms with having Celiac Disease. She asks me the tough questions, like if I am tempted to fall back into unhealthy coping skills. She was one of the few honest friends who helped me understand how frustrating I was to be friends with when I chose not to acknowledge my ADHD. She was honest when I hurt her feelings and when I let her down.
Last night after our dinner, where Lisa tried my gluten free pasta dish with no fear, she gave me a card and a package. I opened the card and read the small piece of paper included. It talked about the meaning of my name, the Hebrew context.
The meaning of the word my name is derived from means the following: house, shelter, home and family. I read it and could not stop crying as I connected the recent visions I’ve received to the deeper meaning of my name. It was like confirmation of my purpose.
Next I read the card. At the end it said “May you never forget the moment of your divine commissioning and may you always hold fast to the promises God has given you surrounding this. He has called you a GUARDIAN, and that is forever what you will be. Lives will be changed because of your presence, your touch, and your love.”
Again, cue the tears.
Finally I opened the box. In it was the best gift ever. A WillowTree figurine named “guardian. Love and Protect thee, forever”.
I saw the sweetness of God in this gift. I have seen so many WillowTree figurines over the years- with each one causing a secret desire to have one of my own. I would always tell myself: someday you’ll be a mother and then you can have one.
I was wrong. I have one now, a reminder of His amazing grace and provision. I’m in awe.
The woman sitting on the Rock, holding the promised baby in her arms, eyes closed singing softly to bring him comfort. It’s a vision of me.
And I have a friend who believes with me. For this gift, I am truly humbled.
Last night I recieved a gift. And although it was from my friend, I knew in my spirit that it was inspired by God. Lisa has been a part of my journey for many years. She knows of my pain and of my triumph. She has held my hand through difficult choices I’ve made, encouraged me in moments of confusion, and had prayed for me more faithfully than anyone else I know. It’s safe to say that Lisa truly knows me. She loves me. And I am incredibly blessed to have such an amazing friend.
In the past months, I have confided in Lisa about my struggles in becoming healthy. She knows how depressed I became while coming to terms with having Celiac Disease. She asks me the tough questions, like if I am tempted to fall back into unhealthy coping skills. She was one of the few honest friends who helped me understand how frustrating I was to be friends with when I chose not to acknowledge my ADHD. She was honest when I hurt her feelings and when I let her down.
Last night after our dinner, where Lisa tried my gluten free pasta dish with no fear, she gave me a card and a package. I opened the card and read the small piece of paper included. It talked about the meaning of my name, the Hebrew context.
The meaning of the word my name is derived from means the following: house, shelter, home and family. I read it and could not stop crying as I connected the recent visions I’ve received to the deeper meaning of my name. It was like confirmation of my purpose.
Next I read the card. At the end it said “May you never forget the moment of your divine commissioning and may you always hold fast to the promises God has given you surrounding this. He has called you a GUARDIAN, and that is forever what you will be. Lives will be changed because of your presence, your touch, and your love.”
Again, cue the tears.
Finally I opened the box. In it was the best gift ever. A WillowTree figurine named “guardian. Love and Protect thee, forever”.
I saw the sweetness of God in this gift. I have seen so many WillowTree figurines over the years- with each one causing a secret desire to have one of my own. I would always tell myself: someday you’ll be a mother and then you can have one.
I was wrong. I have one now, a reminder of His amazing grace and provision. I’m in awe.
The woman sitting on the Rock, holding the promised baby in her arms, eyes closed singing softly to bring him comfort. It’s a vision of me.
And I have a friend who believes with me. For this gift, I am truly humbled.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dinner with Purpose
Dinner invitation. Themed food. Creativity. New friends.
This night had the makings of something incredible! But, in all of my highest expectations, I could have never dreamed what would transpire- or that one evening would be catalyst for total transformation!!
Kristen is a newer friend. She’s a member of Flood and if her involvement in recent awakenings is any indicator- we have an incredible friendship in the works…
She invited me to her parents home for dinner. I know Ron and Terry and love them, so I was thrilled to be able to go. Kristen emailed me ‘details’ about the dinner later in the week. Here were her words:
Hey there lady.
Just wanted to give you an update on Saturday’s dinner: people are meeting at my parents’ house at 6:30.
Also, I think I told you that we’re having what my family refers to as a “passover dinner,” but here are the details again. My mom is making the main course, but everyone who comes is in charge of bringing one food item (an appetizer, dessert, or drink) to share. This item should be symbolic to you- representing your feelings about 2010. Interpret that however you want and have fun!
See you on Saturday,
Kristen
Well, interpret I did. I decided to make a salad that represented my hopes and dreams for the new year.
It was made with baby greens, jicama, tomatoes, carrots, red bell peppers, cucumbers, cranberries and a homemade dressing. And of course, each of the parts had symbolism.
Base: baby greens.
I chose baby greens because they are the opposite of what I have become. I feel like the last few years have depleted me of my energy, fight, and really, every thing with purpose. I have become like iceberg lettuce. I do believe, however, that despite my current state the Father sees me as mixed baby greens, because He sees me through the Son. I hope that this year I start to see myself as rich, nutrient filled, colorful and healthy- just like those mixed baby greens.
Now, in reality, this salad is enough. It does not need anything else. But, in my boldness I asked for more.
Topping 1: cucumber.
Cucumber is cool, used to soothe tired eyes and has a refreshing property. I want that kind of year- one of rejuvenation.
Topping 2: carrots.
Carrots are known for improving eyesight. What I need is vision. Not the physical kind, though improvements there would be welcome as well. Historically, He speaks to me through dreams and visions. These pictures provide me with guidance, and help me know where I am going. Really they function as a compass- it shows me where I am lining up, and I know when I am off course. I need vision. I’m list and stuck in the past and I need to know where I am going.
Topping 3: red bell peppers.
Hot, fire, passion, and sweetness. I am a passionate person by nature, but amidst my derailment I have lost this too. I used to be passionate about SO many things, and now I feel apathetic to most things. I want renewed passion- something setting my soul on fire, something that propels me into greatness!
Topping 4: jicama
Jicama has an ugly exterior, but a sweetness inside. I have let myself become soft on the outside, easily bruised and sensitive to hurt. I’ve also hardened my heart. I’ve pushed my friends away and isolated myself in an effort to protect my spirit. I desire to become more like the jicama- tough flesh, but soft and sweet heart.
Topping 5: tomatoes
Tomatoes have always perplexed me. I think they should be vegetables, but they are a fruit. I don’t understand this, and I certainly do not like it. This is symbolic of many things for me- a deep need to understand things that don’t make sense to me. I am struggling with my reality of living with Celiac Disease. I don’t understand it and therefore can’t find peace with it. I am hoping thus changes.
Dressing: lemon + olive oil + garlic
Olive oil is a protectant, the lemon is fresh with an astringent property and the garlic is good for the blood. My dressing represents me at the end of the year- clean, fresh and soft.
Absence of topping 7: croutons
I can’t have croutons. I am tired of having to watch other people eat things I can’t, things I miss. So I omitted a classic topping, purely to make my life easier.
There you have a complete salad. If everything represented became a part of my life this year I would be blessed beyond belief. But, I have a gracious Father, who’s Son has allowed me permission to approach the throne boldly. So, as I kneel before His Majesty, I put one more thing on my salad. The icing on the cake if you will…
Topping 6: dried cranberries
Cranberries are sweet, and have a bite to them. They add just a little extra to the salad, a taste of goodness you don’t really expect. To me, the cranberries represent a partner in life, a husband. This is something I have been waiting patiently and prayerfully for. I would really like to meet him soon.
The dinner for me ended up being life changing. The process I went through on my own prior to dinner- preparing my symbolic food and figuring out how to share it- brought all of my emotions to the surface. I’m generally a fairly open person, but in the past year I’ve become emotionally recluse. I have a hard time asking for help and sharing when I am really hurting. I sort of reverted a bit to a younger version of myself, the one that perfected the half smile that said I’m just fine.
Well, at this dinner my floodgate opened. I shared, really shared about my struggles in dealing with my new illness, and all of the issues that came with it. I made my self vulnerable. And I was ok.
In fact, the response I received from the dozen others around the table was the part that really changed my life. People started asking me questions, and sharing their own stories. I was encouraged, and it inspired me. The love I felt that night was overwhelming. The shaking in your boots and crying while laughing kind of overwhelming love.
I am allowed to be myself. And my CD is not an inconvenience to those who truly love me. Humbled. In awe. Thankful.
This night had the makings of something incredible! But, in all of my highest expectations, I could have never dreamed what would transpire- or that one evening would be catalyst for total transformation!!
Kristen is a newer friend. She’s a member of Flood and if her involvement in recent awakenings is any indicator- we have an incredible friendship in the works…
She invited me to her parents home for dinner. I know Ron and Terry and love them, so I was thrilled to be able to go. Kristen emailed me ‘details’ about the dinner later in the week. Here were her words:
Hey there lady.
Just wanted to give you an update on Saturday’s dinner: people are meeting at my parents’ house at 6:30.
Also, I think I told you that we’re having what my family refers to as a “passover dinner,” but here are the details again. My mom is making the main course, but everyone who comes is in charge of bringing one food item (an appetizer, dessert, or drink) to share. This item should be symbolic to you- representing your feelings about 2010. Interpret that however you want and have fun!
See you on Saturday,
Kristen
Well, interpret I did. I decided to make a salad that represented my hopes and dreams for the new year.
It was made with baby greens, jicama, tomatoes, carrots, red bell peppers, cucumbers, cranberries and a homemade dressing. And of course, each of the parts had symbolism.
Base: baby greens.
I chose baby greens because they are the opposite of what I have become. I feel like the last few years have depleted me of my energy, fight, and really, every thing with purpose. I have become like iceberg lettuce. I do believe, however, that despite my current state the Father sees me as mixed baby greens, because He sees me through the Son. I hope that this year I start to see myself as rich, nutrient filled, colorful and healthy- just like those mixed baby greens.
Now, in reality, this salad is enough. It does not need anything else. But, in my boldness I asked for more.
Topping 1: cucumber.
Cucumber is cool, used to soothe tired eyes and has a refreshing property. I want that kind of year- one of rejuvenation.
Topping 2: carrots.
Carrots are known for improving eyesight. What I need is vision. Not the physical kind, though improvements there would be welcome as well. Historically, He speaks to me through dreams and visions. These pictures provide me with guidance, and help me know where I am going. Really they function as a compass- it shows me where I am lining up, and I know when I am off course. I need vision. I’m list and stuck in the past and I need to know where I am going.
Topping 3: red bell peppers.
Hot, fire, passion, and sweetness. I am a passionate person by nature, but amidst my derailment I have lost this too. I used to be passionate about SO many things, and now I feel apathetic to most things. I want renewed passion- something setting my soul on fire, something that propels me into greatness!
Topping 4: jicama
Jicama has an ugly exterior, but a sweetness inside. I have let myself become soft on the outside, easily bruised and sensitive to hurt. I’ve also hardened my heart. I’ve pushed my friends away and isolated myself in an effort to protect my spirit. I desire to become more like the jicama- tough flesh, but soft and sweet heart.
Topping 5: tomatoes
Tomatoes have always perplexed me. I think they should be vegetables, but they are a fruit. I don’t understand this, and I certainly do not like it. This is symbolic of many things for me- a deep need to understand things that don’t make sense to me. I am struggling with my reality of living with Celiac Disease. I don’t understand it and therefore can’t find peace with it. I am hoping thus changes.
Dressing: lemon + olive oil + garlic
Olive oil is a protectant, the lemon is fresh with an astringent property and the garlic is good for the blood. My dressing represents me at the end of the year- clean, fresh and soft.
Absence of topping 7: croutons
I can’t have croutons. I am tired of having to watch other people eat things I can’t, things I miss. So I omitted a classic topping, purely to make my life easier.
There you have a complete salad. If everything represented became a part of my life this year I would be blessed beyond belief. But, I have a gracious Father, who’s Son has allowed me permission to approach the throne boldly. So, as I kneel before His Majesty, I put one more thing on my salad. The icing on the cake if you will…
Topping 6: dried cranberries
Cranberries are sweet, and have a bite to them. They add just a little extra to the salad, a taste of goodness you don’t really expect. To me, the cranberries represent a partner in life, a husband. This is something I have been waiting patiently and prayerfully for. I would really like to meet him soon.
The dinner for me ended up being life changing. The process I went through on my own prior to dinner- preparing my symbolic food and figuring out how to share it- brought all of my emotions to the surface. I’m generally a fairly open person, but in the past year I’ve become emotionally recluse. I have a hard time asking for help and sharing when I am really hurting. I sort of reverted a bit to a younger version of myself, the one that perfected the half smile that said I’m just fine.
Well, at this dinner my floodgate opened. I shared, really shared about my struggles in dealing with my new illness, and all of the issues that came with it. I made my self vulnerable. And I was ok.
In fact, the response I received from the dozen others around the table was the part that really changed my life. People started asking me questions, and sharing their own stories. I was encouraged, and it inspired me. The love I felt that night was overwhelming. The shaking in your boots and crying while laughing kind of overwhelming love.
I am allowed to be myself. And my CD is not an inconvenience to those who truly love me. Humbled. In awe. Thankful.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Missing
I consider myself to be a pretty positive and energetic person. But, sometimes I go through a phase of the journey that feels really still. In the quiet moments, when I allow myself to dwell in the sacred spaces I reflect on my life and all of it's special moments.
Lately I've been feeling low. Blue. Not like myself. 2009 has been a particularly difficult year for me and maybe I'm just tired. But I WANT to be filled with joy. That is who He created me to be.
As I fight these feelings and struggle with my own thoughts I find myself remembering things of the past, and missing them. Many of them are petty. But, they are my feelings. I mostly miss writing- my outlet and connection to the spirit. I figured maybe if I write everything down I can let it go. Move on to the future, to my dreams and passions. Here goes...
I miss being a kid. I'm feeling overwhelmed with responsibilities and challenges and I want to go back to living at home and getting allowance. Babysitting. That was a good job.
I miss being a soccer player. I battled for years to let that identity go, but I miss it. I miss tournaments, trophies, my face in the newspaper. I miss being REALLY good at something. I miss my muscle tone. And I miss thinking about soccer and not having my mind flooded with images of my dad dying on the field during practice. I miss my dad.
I miss having my brother around. The last few years have been so tough- choosing not to see him until he got help. Questioning myself everyday if I made the right decision. I miss him making fun of me. And calling me with girl drama. And, I miss being needed, depended upon. I don't miss his rage. But I miss his heart, the place where God dwells.
I miss speaking French. I miss Paris, and the Eiffel Tower. I miss my dedication to learning and to being fluent.
I miss old friends. The ones who have moved away. The ones who know my soul. The ones I love. The ones who made me who I am today.
I miss my long hair. I still can't believe I cut it off. That I was so inhabited by the fear of finding out I had cancer and loosing my hair from chemo that I just cut it all off. That way it was my choice. I miss the long strands of sun-bleached blonde. I miss messy knots on the top of my head on Saturday mornings.
I miss gluten. I hate having an auto-immune disease. I loathe it, actually. I miss eating regular food. I miss not having to ask about every ingredient before I can eat anything. I miss feeling like everyone else. I don't miss being sick all the time.
I have lived an incredibly full life. I am nearing the end of my 28th year (omg. I'm almost 28. That's late 20's right??) and I have had more opportunities in that time than most folks do in a lifetime. I've had more love, more laughter, more crazy moments than I can even recall. I want to be able to look back and smile. To remember how amazing my dad was- knowing half the reason I'm still not married is that I had the best example of a man that there could be. I can't WAIT to meet the one who WILL measure up! Mostly, I think about how much I'm like him, about how I'd love to know what heaven is like, and hear him say "I love you, Beth" just one more time. But, days like today I just feel sad. I feel the loss. With holidays just around the corner- I'm feeling stuck in reverse. And I do not want to be going this way.
When I think about the gifts that God has given me, I think about the things I hear most often form friends around me. I'm fun, enthusiastic, passionate, encouraging, honest and joyful. I think in these moments where I feel defeated and stagnant I am letting the enemy win. Defeat is not a fruit of the spirit. So I don't want it.
Lord- I just want to crawl up into your lap and have you hold me. Fill me with your visions and light and wipe away my tears. Comfort me and heal me, and refine my character. Let this time not be in vain. Pull me close and whisper your peace. I ask for abundant favor and joy. Restore me. Let me be more like your son with every passing day. You are good. Don't let me forget this.
I'm missing the old me. Or, maybe these are just anticipation pangs for the new me that is emerging.
Lately I've been feeling low. Blue. Not like myself. 2009 has been a particularly difficult year for me and maybe I'm just tired. But I WANT to be filled with joy. That is who He created me to be.
As I fight these feelings and struggle with my own thoughts I find myself remembering things of the past, and missing them. Many of them are petty. But, they are my feelings. I mostly miss writing- my outlet and connection to the spirit. I figured maybe if I write everything down I can let it go. Move on to the future, to my dreams and passions. Here goes...
I miss being a kid. I'm feeling overwhelmed with responsibilities and challenges and I want to go back to living at home and getting allowance. Babysitting. That was a good job.
I miss being a soccer player. I battled for years to let that identity go, but I miss it. I miss tournaments, trophies, my face in the newspaper. I miss being REALLY good at something. I miss my muscle tone. And I miss thinking about soccer and not having my mind flooded with images of my dad dying on the field during practice. I miss my dad.
I miss having my brother around. The last few years have been so tough- choosing not to see him until he got help. Questioning myself everyday if I made the right decision. I miss him making fun of me. And calling me with girl drama. And, I miss being needed, depended upon. I don't miss his rage. But I miss his heart, the place where God dwells.
I miss speaking French. I miss Paris, and the Eiffel Tower. I miss my dedication to learning and to being fluent.
I miss old friends. The ones who have moved away. The ones who know my soul. The ones I love. The ones who made me who I am today.
I miss my long hair. I still can't believe I cut it off. That I was so inhabited by the fear of finding out I had cancer and loosing my hair from chemo that I just cut it all off. That way it was my choice. I miss the long strands of sun-bleached blonde. I miss messy knots on the top of my head on Saturday mornings.
I miss gluten. I hate having an auto-immune disease. I loathe it, actually. I miss eating regular food. I miss not having to ask about every ingredient before I can eat anything. I miss feeling like everyone else. I don't miss being sick all the time.
I have lived an incredibly full life. I am nearing the end of my 28th year (omg. I'm almost 28. That's late 20's right??) and I have had more opportunities in that time than most folks do in a lifetime. I've had more love, more laughter, more crazy moments than I can even recall. I want to be able to look back and smile. To remember how amazing my dad was- knowing half the reason I'm still not married is that I had the best example of a man that there could be. I can't WAIT to meet the one who WILL measure up! Mostly, I think about how much I'm like him, about how I'd love to know what heaven is like, and hear him say "I love you, Beth" just one more time. But, days like today I just feel sad. I feel the loss. With holidays just around the corner- I'm feeling stuck in reverse. And I do not want to be going this way.
When I think about the gifts that God has given me, I think about the things I hear most often form friends around me. I'm fun, enthusiastic, passionate, encouraging, honest and joyful. I think in these moments where I feel defeated and stagnant I am letting the enemy win. Defeat is not a fruit of the spirit. So I don't want it.
Lord- I just want to crawl up into your lap and have you hold me. Fill me with your visions and light and wipe away my tears. Comfort me and heal me, and refine my character. Let this time not be in vain. Pull me close and whisper your peace. I ask for abundant favor and joy. Restore me. Let me be more like your son with every passing day. You are good. Don't let me forget this.
I'm missing the old me. Or, maybe these are just anticipation pangs for the new me that is emerging.
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