BarefootandBucketFree

Monday, April 6, 2015

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Lucky

To Lucky: Thank you for being a gentle creature on my journey. You have taught me so much since we first started working together.

From you I've learned that asking for what I want and need while respecting another's desires is always possible if I open my heart to listen with calm strength. And I've seen time and again how guilt keeps me from asking for what I need and from taking care of myself, and in turn limits my world. Thank you for holding up a mirror to me in the moment.

You've been a living example of massive strength restrained for the sake of relationship. And your willingness to enter into yet another relationship with a human - to trust me - after being left to die is humbling, inspiring, and deeply gratifying. You've preached the Gospel to me over and again.

From the first time I walked in the round pen with you - not knowing how I would get you to move, to our last encounter where I got you all prettied up in record time and led you out for a walk - we've come a long way...I've come a long way. It takes a strong heart to receive true affirmation and accept oneself. You've helped me take the next step in my journey.

I love that you showed me what you wanted and needed and gave me the space to understand you. It's okay to not know...to be a learner. You were a kind, patient teacher even amidst letting your desires be known!

Thank you for our last encounter - it affirmed my intuition and our connection. What a gift! I'm listening!! Sometimes - perhaps more often than I've noticed - the process really.is.the.point.

Lucky, saying goodbye to you has opened up a well of grief that I've carried many miles. When I removed your halter and watched you walk through the field, other goodbyes that were taken from me washed over my soul, and I'm beginning to feel a deeper letting go. My heart smiles as I imagine seeing you again later this summer, rejoicing in the difference of this goodbye.

Lucky I'm so glad that you were still standing that day long ago in the woods. I hope that your retirement is filled with lush green grass, many frolics through fly-free fields, some tasty grains and of course, a few sugar cubes!

P.S. Lucky, I am the lucky one!!
P.S.S. I secretly hope you'll be like Strawberry one day...and be bestowed with a new name AND wings!!!

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Accepting our children, accepting ourselves

First, let me say thanks to each of you for taking your time to read and respond. I truly enjoy a good conversation about something that's so worthy of words - our children. I've taken a few days to let my initial feelings of nausea to subside, but I read the post again and there's more vomit at my feet. Harsh, but my response nonetheless. I'm well aware that the author's words touched on pain in my own life and bring about a bigger reaction for me. So, I reply with fear and trembling because I am fairly aware of my own shortcomings as a woman and mom, and the ways I've failed my daughters already are numerous. Yet after I read this post on a friend's page I really wanted to hear what others thought about it and find my own voice on the matter.

That said, though I believe this author to be well meaning (we really are all doing the best we can), I think she is way off base.

Here's why:

The very title of the article seems to reveal the author's mind/heart. “Godly emotions...” Apparently some are godly and some aren't, and she's the one who lets her daughter know which are and which aren't. It seems that there are certain emotions that are godly = tolerated by mom, approved of, acceptable. There are others that aren't, and those must be controlled (put religiously under the guise of “self-control” so it seems so “Christian”). What if instead, her mom received her little girl in all her emotions and gave her a safe place to feel them? Certainly this is what we see in the Psalms! See Cry of the Soul for a great read on our emotions and what they reveal about the heart of God.
The way she goes on to say that her daughter was “emotional from day one” and again refers to her as “the most emotional little girl...” reveals a very real, though subtle, layer of contempt. I also think that teaching your little child (she's only 8 at the posting of this article...) “to place her hand on her mouth and quiet down” IS teaching your child to stifle her emotions AND it is another layer of contempt. “Caly was a living illustration of this verse, her little soul an exposed and ransacked city, completely overrun by her barbarian emotions” - and to use the Scripture to compare her little daughter to...yikes – that disgusts me because it appears so “spiritual” but smacks of self-righteous religion! There seems to be a disdain for children and their emotions and a lack of understanding of their needs and development in our society – and I would say all too often, in the Evangelical Church. Being a parent is HARD and our kids constantly hold up mirrors for us to see ourselves if only we're willing. Often...ok, always...our parenting – at least at first – stems from the ways we were raised. The author mentions that her mom was helping her stay focused on her goal of teaching Caly self-control...I imagine that the author received (and still lives by) the same sort of treatment of her own emotions. Our needs that were met and left unmet are right before our eyes when we have a baby – and we ALL have unmet needs cause we live in a broken world. If we have the eyes to see this, God will lead us on an incredible adventure of healing – painful, yes, but oh so worth it!
The parents decided when Caly was “overreacting”. That's dismissive in it of itself. Who am I to say that someone else is overreacting? Maybe there was a lot more going on for Caly than her parents knew – since she cried so much “from day one”...there WAS a reason...a NEED. In my opinion, her parents were there to provide a space for her to feel what she was feeling, and to figure out why/how to meet her needs. Instead they told her to be quiet, not overreact, respond how they think is acceptable – ie. “ask kindly, play cheerfully, stop crying...”. Telling someone to “play cheerfully” is like saying – Stop feeling how you are, stop being who you are at this moment. You are too much. You are not acceptable this way. Be happy. Be content. Be “self-controlled.” I would NEVER want this woman as my friend. Could you imagine when you're hurting, in pain, disappointed, etc. and your trusted friend says, “Hey get over it. You've cried long enough. Just put a smile on your face.” In essence, that's what she said to her daughter. AND she was effective in changing not only her daughter's behavior, but I would argue that she helped her daughter clearly form a false self – a good little “Christian” girl who now makes her mom and dad look so good. I would bet that she has all these “godly feelings” and “godly behaviors” because those are the very things she knows will garner her parents' love, acceptance, and approval – the very things God intended parents to lavish on their children. She is a little girl and should be finding out if she likes dancing more than horse back riding, living out her God-given passions in a safe environment so that she can become who GOD created her to be...that would be living for His glory.
So much of this is about the mom NOT about what's best for the child. It seems that she wants her child to be a certain way instead of accepting who she is. The Gospel sets us free to be all that He made us to be through a radical acceptance of who we are...to me, this article is imprisoning of the human spirit. But read this quote from Fully Human, Fully Alive :

“Wherever you are in your development, whatever you are doing, with a strong affirmation of all your goodness and good deeds, with a gentle understanding of your weakness, God is forever loving you. You do not have to change, grow, or be good in order to be loved. Rather, you are loved so that you can change, grow and be good.”

Now that sounds like a wonderful premise from which to relate to our children and ourselves!
If her daughter was “emotional from day one” why didn't she find out why? Babies and children cry because it's their only/best form of communication. It was her job to find out what her daughter needed and then meet her needs as best as she could. “All behavior is an attempt to meet a need.” Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids. Tantrums included. I'm not saying that kids get to scream, hit, yell, stomp their feet, etc. in the middle of the grocery store while we stand by and do nothing. The method may not be a good one (ie. hitting sibling because she took sister's toy), but if we don't address the underlying need (smaller child feels powerless, needs safe situations in which to to express her power, and tools to appropriately deal with bigger people ), we've missed our job as parents. See the work of Becky Bailey, Hand in Hand parenting, Laura Markham and Scream Free Parenting.
I agree that we need self-control, but she made it an “obedience issue” with a young child! So if her daughter “overreacts” she's now disobeying her mom and dad...yowzas!!! It seems that this momma doesn't know what's actually age appropriate. Also, self-control is a fruit of the Spirit of God at work in our hearts. I just am not convinced that this little girl has born this fruit at such a young age. Maybe, but doubtful. Fruits grow by trees being nourished – healthy soil, enough sunlight and water, key nutrients, very wise pruning (which doesn't come in the form of putting your hand over your mouth until you can smile instead of cry – in my opinion!). Furthermore, you don't see any trees straining themselves to produce fruit. And her parents strained to produce this fruit - “behind that solid wall – which was arduous to build...” They just grow and produce fruit in due time. Are there tools we can learn along the way – certainly! But only God can change hearts...and that's where self-control must come from – our hearts – the center of our being with God loving us. Perhaps self-control comes from being loved, accepted, listened to, understood, seen for who you are, delighted in, honored, empowered...by God and those humans that He gave to be His eyes, hands, mouth, and feet (certainly the Spirit at work in our lives).
This author is being held to a higher standard because she's posted this online and presents herself as an authority. So now many other moms will follow suit...and I feel that this is an injustice because it leads to more wounded children...and parents.
Sadly I could go on about this article – it seems standard for so much of the church these days – and that's so disappointing. We're raising up disciples of emotional and relational disease (which necessarily means spiritual as well...). I would love for this woman to read some of the work out there about the brain and connection, attachment and developmental needs of children. Christians should be at the forefront of the discoveries in neurobiology and how they point to the beautiful design that God made for parents and children. Sadly, it seems that many are too busy raising up good little children – read: children who do the “godly” things because their parents give their love and approval for those behaviors – but who have little to no emotional intelligence. See Daniel Goleman's work on EQ and Dan Siegel's work on parenting and neurobiology (The Whole-Brain Child, Parenting from the Inside Out).
Finally, let me say that it's taken me a while to get my thoughts written down because I know what it's like to have the sense that I have to have it all together before I can speak...the very way the mom dealt with this daughter is the way I've learned to deal with myself and I'm still fighting to accept my own voice.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The long way home

The long way home...

Tonight my dear husband told me a story that led to a conversation we've had many times – especially as of late. Let me lead you down the path...

Last week a man - just a few years younger than me - died. I knew him as a child though I hadn't seen him in over twenty years. In many ways I never really knew him – what he loved, what made him cry or laugh, or what his favorite food was. But I spent time with him, played with him, and was around him throughout the years until we were young adults. That's the last time I remember seeing him. I heard several years ago that he had gotten into a relationship with a woman that was really bad for him and then he disappeared. No one heard from him – not his momma or his sister or even his dad.

Then he showed up two weeks ago – dropped off at the hospital – dying. No one knew he was dying. I'm not sure that he knew. Turns out he had a rare genetic disease his whole life and it was just discovered. He died within the week.

As long as I knew him, he couldn't speak clearly. I don't mean a lisp or a thick southern accent; as he grew older, it got more difficult to understand to the point of being uninterpretable for most people.

Turns out this disease impacted his muscles and his ability to speak. Had he gotten help when he was a kid, well, the ending would be different for sure, and I imagine the story in the middle wouldn't be so damn tragic.

This young man lived in shame, horrible shame. I think that perhaps I hadn't seen him in so long because he stopped coming around because of it. I would. I'd want to hide too. Shit, I get a blemish on my face and I want to cover it up with something. Imagine not being able to speak so that others can understand you, though you know what you're trying to say...though by this point, you believe you're stupid and no good. I never heard him say that – but do I really have to? Without someone fighting for you, helping you become all you can be, loving you, supporting you, telling you the truth, comforting you and not stopping until there are answers...what are you left to believe but that you are worthless? That's what we humans do.

Get this - No one ever took him to a speech therapist. No one. Ever. He was in his thirties when he died. Neglect? Contemptible. Denial by his parents that anything was wrong. You could cut it with a steak knife it's so thick. Do I fault them. Yes.

Do I fault the generations before them. Hell yes.

The denial has been so thick for generations. There's alcoholism, narcissism, lack of mothering and fathering, violence, passivity, sexual perversion...the list goes on.

This young man was the victim of the unwillingness of the generation before him to face reality and grieve all that had been lost in their lives, and then to take responsibility for the ways they failed the current generation.

Did he have choices? Yes. Yet he never had a fighting chance as my husband would say. He came into this world into a family without parents who would live in reality and fight for him. How could he could believe that he was anything but worthless when that's how he was treated? The fact that no one was ever brave enough to take him to a specialist - well, the proof is in the pudding.

His death highlights the sins of this particular family – the whole family has the same way of living – denial. Denial that has left quite a legacy. There's debilitating anxiety, depression, sexual abuse, rape and that's just scratching the surface. The rest of the family is still alive – I suppose you could say that – they're not dead physically. But one has experienced such great loss that shame keeps her in a vicious cycle of addiction, another works non stop while fighting bouts of depression, still another still has flashbacks from being assaulted by a family member. There's more. And there's a lot more that I don't know.

And still that generation (and some of those in the current one) isn't talking about reality. They'd rather act like victims than find their courage, face their failures and seek forgiveness.

I'm really pissed about it. Why do I care? The young man that died is my cousin.

Part of me says, how can I be so hard on these people? But then I stay in reality and I face my own grievous failures and I remember.

I wept again tonight as my littlest one said that when I yell at her she's afraid and wants to go away from me and as my eldest said that she liked being a baby because she wasn't yelled at then.

I prayed, we prayed that God would end the sins of the generations with me – that they wouldn't pass to the next generation. But every time the pain of my past comes shooting out of my mouth like daggers into the hearts of my children, I see it passing like poison to the next generation.

Mercy.

You see, I've been so deeply wounded by the failures of these people that I'm still working it all out and now my children are hurt by my own failures. I hope that the sin is less this generation (my children) than the last (me).

Still, more mercy.

Where is God in all this? Why doesn't He come quickly? Why did He not intervene for my cousin? Why didn't He intervene for me? Perhaps He did and I cannot see. For me, part of the pain of walking with God is being in a relationship with someone who waits for someone/something to die so that He can bring about resurrection. Yowzas!!!

Tonight my husband and I just held each other and cried over the sorrow of this world and the longing for Yahweh to finally make things right. He seems to sit on His hands and wait, to take the long route when there's urgency and a much shorter way. He doesn't seem to mind the long way home.

For me, for my husband, for my children, we're following the Rabbi, taking the long way home (Bebo Norman)...not by choice as much as by design; this is the path laid before us if we choose to live in reality, and we do. And I pray that my children do too.

And so we climb and take the switchback, fail, fall in our sorrow, seek to make things right, get up again, climb, stop and take in the view before heading round the next bend. We cry for mercy, and find it in the views we never would've had on a shorter route.

As for my cousin, well, I imagine that he is having conversations with the saints - expressing all that has been in his heart but he couldn't say - as they sit around a feast that delights their senses and fill their hearts to overflowing.

Amen. May it be so. Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

A Day-mare a day keeps the joy away

My littlest one said that the back of her legs hurt today and yesterday. Maybe it's just growing pains. She had a low grade fever. Oh shit, what if it's leukemia? I pride myself on being healthy. What if she has cancer and I couldn't protect her from it? What would I do? Well, I wouldn't take her to the hospital because if it was cancer, they'd want to hook her up to all sorts of machines and crazy medicines that might just kill her little body. I'd take her to my doctor in FL and come up with a plan. She and I would go to the Gerson Institute to learn about their therapies. I would research every other alternative to help her body heal. But in the process I would risk being jailed for being a "negligent" parent. The fear of having her taken away from me - either by cancer or by a medical or government organization - becomes real. When I have these "day-mares" (I am wide awake, they can happen any time of the day), my body and mind are in the story. It's reality. Until I can find my footing again. Often I need to check in with my DH and let him know what's going on so he can be a stable voice amidst the chaos of the terror I'm in.

This isn't a one time scenario. This happens all.the.time. Maybe the story is a little different, but the plot is simple: something happens to a daughter or myself and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. I feel powerless and terrified. Sometimes the terror that comes upon me is violent - the stories are too horrific to write. I feel them in my body. I feel the panic, the powerlessness, the terror. And I don't know how to stop them.

I've had therapy. Lots. Including exposure therapy. That was intense. But I still have some of the same damn symptoms though they're not (at least right now) as overwhelming as they were a couple of years ago.

I've done healing prayer. I've cried out for help so many times my throat is sore from groaning and my eyes should be emptied of tears. I've asked. I've listened (maybe not as well or as much as I could.)

I've read books. I've journaled. If it's there to do and isn't too crazy, I've done it or have it on my list to try!

For now I work with horses. They help me to be in the moment. They're partners in re-wiring my brain.

I long for the trauma to be resolved. For my waking moments to be dreams - good stories with happy endings, with hope and peace. Laughter and lightness seem to be so fleeting; oh, how I would welcome them as steady companions if I could.

But I'm not there. I'm still not convinced that my daughter doesn't have leukemia. I realize that it's a bit (ha!) hypochondriacal. But I came by that honestly. Maybe I will write a story with these plots and characters and let it work its way out through me. There are great authors who must be working something out - Pat Conroy and Jodi Piccoult come to mind.

So what if something horrible was wrong with my little one - what then? My heart would shatter. So much of what I believe about life would be proven - yet again. And honestly I just wouldn't want to go on. So many dreams of growing old with her. So many hopes. So much laughter and life lost. That would be too much. And yet there's something in me that feels that I know that pain already and is drawn to it like a moth to light.

It's like emotional cutting. Through the stories I let some of the pain out and those old buried memories can speak. And my brain feels "normal" - can't be too happy around here...no, no, wouldn't want that?@! Oh if the rewiring could just speed up a little bit!! I want to be happy, not even absent from pain, but simply not drawn to it.

Today was a good day. Perhaps it was almost too much for my brain to handle, so I sabotaged it through moments of terror.

Truthfully, I don't know. Just not clear what is going on and what to do. My only Hope seems to have left me or just doesn't think that I need rescuing as soon as I do. Tomorrow will come and have it's day-mares of its own.

Screw it.

For now, I'm going to finish making cocoa oat balls and enjoy the moment.

Welcome to me on the inside.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

A heart's cry

Something about the start of a new year that gets me writing again. I hope that this year I'll write more than the last. To be fair last year was full of transitions - moving to Asheville, DH starting a new job, starting homeschooling, moving to a new house, meeting new friends, looking for a church…and on and on. I get overwhelmed easily and that was just enough to overwhelm me!

We are getting settled in many ways - it takes time of course, but what is taking a long time is finding a church. The reason for that is that we've taken many Sundays off - we've gone hiking, stayed in our pjs and had family time, slept in, worked on projects, read and journaled. What's also true for me is that I've taken time off church because I feel out of place at church. Around the time we moved to Asheville I really took a break from God. I mentioned it in a previous post - that I always let God off the hook and make excuses for him and now I really needed to know if God was going to come for me. Something happened in me that I stopped making excuses (I stopped telling myself what I "know" is "true" and let myself simply feel what is true for me). Those two things are not the same and I long for my knowing to not merely be an intellectual act, but a gut level, soulful, all of me kind of knowing. The kind of knowing that is said in the book of Genesis when Adam knew his wife Eve - the most intimate kind of knowing that is possible this side of Eden.

So, I quit church. I quit a lot of things Christian. They annoy the shit out of me. All of the lingo, the praying, the answers. I'm done with it. And I'm done with Christians like that. Spare me that bullshit. If you're not real and you're just going to talk about praying, fasting, Scripture memorizing, "being in the Word", having quiet times, serving, blah blah blah…but not you and your life and how that impacts your relationship with God, then I don't really want a relationship with you. I've stopped trying in many relationships - not just with God, but with several other people. It's been so good for me to give up the illusion and the crushing weight that "if it's to be, it's up to me." It comes across as narcissistic, savior mentality - and I see that. I see how my family of origin was a perfect place for that to be my role. But I quit! Because underneath that is a weary woman, and a terrified and alone little girl who just want to be loved and enjoy life. It's this part of my heart - my self - that needs an encounter with the living God. It's also this same part that is so angry and says, "Fuck you!" Yeah, can't say that to many Christians - that I drop the F bomb on God on a regular basis these days. I do have friends tho that recognize the worship in my agony - the offering who I am and where I am to Him. All I have after all is me - this crazy mixture of experiences, emotions, thoughts, desires and dreams. He already knows, so I might as well be honest. So, I've been being more honest with myself, others and Him.

Often when we're listening to worship music (my little ones love kids worship music, so amidst my hiatus from church, I get a steady dose of worship music that leads me to all sorts of confessions) I'm arguing with God about how what they're singing isn't true or it's just easy answers and I want something real, something of substance (this is where artists like Andrew Peterson and Jill Phillips are gifts!). Much the same as I questioned if God is as loyal as a shutzhund (look back a couple of posts), I've found questions (and accusations) rising up from within me that won't go away - as long as I don't shut them up with some "answer". I'm finally validating my whole experience and staying in the painful and terrifying place of not knowing if God will ever heal me, speak to me and make me whole, "answer" me. The questions I have for Him are raw - full of pain - and real - based on my life (and others') experiences. And the problem is that without "answers," there can be no relationship. There is no sense of safety and trust. I trust that He is big enough to handle my doubting, questioning, accusing, raging, worshipping heart. But I don't trust that He will spare me - or my children - from the experiences I fear most. Come on, Job says that He brought upon him exactly what he most feared. Uh, how am I, who has had trust broken in the relationships that were meant to be safe, supposed to rest and trust when that is what I can count on coming to me? I'd like to think that those things that I fear most have already happened to me and so I'm done with that - no more heart ripping, soul screaming, gut wrenching hard things for me and my little family. But I'm not that foolish.

So I rail against Him. I rage. Ignore. Give Him the finger. Cry. Weep. Long. Beg. Ask. Fear. Wait. Live each day not knowing if or when healing will come. Today the pastor preached about the snake being lifted up and Jesus being lifted up on the Cross…how the Cross is the place we find healing. Well, I have given up - not on the Cross - but on my looking at the Cross, my seeking after Him, after healing, after wholeness. No more praying, reading, journaling, therapy…my healing hasn't come. I still have trauma symptoms. I still have crazy flashbacks. My brain is still in trauma a lot of the time (BTW - this makes parenting just a wee bit more difficult!) I'm angry about it. I'm just pissed off that all of the times I have fallen on my face weeping, begging, asking, longing for Him to come and say the word, just a word and I would be healed…He hasn't. You see, I don't doubt His power or ability. I don't accuse Him of being impotent. I accuse Him of looking on while unfathomable evil is committed against so many and He chooses to do nothing. I blame Him for the fall out in our lives. He could intervene; shit, He could answer prayers to change hearts. It seems that all too often He doesn't. So I'm left with a lot of pain and a God who sits back and waits. So I quit. It's up to You. If You want to heal me, then heal me. And if You don't then I can't promise that we'll be very close. Cause my healing means that I can rest in You, trust in You, and finally know that You are good even in the midst of horrific tragedy. If You don't want that for me, then what.the.hell.ever.

While all of this goes on, I'm still trying to point my children to God; so deep, rich worshipful music is our teacher. As I put the wee ones to bed last night, I turned on one of our favs - Fernando Ortega's song "Jesus, King of Angels" - and cried. I cried because I can't with a whole heart sing what he sings, and I long, long, long for it to be the song of my heart, the cry of my soul:

"With all my heart I love you Sovereign Lord. Tomorrow let me love You even more. And rise to speak the goodness of Your name until I close my eyes and sleep again."

Longing to "rise to speak the goodness" of His name,
Kristie

Go here for a worshipful 4 minutes: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wOhVh2bct8

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Is it just me? That is the question I pose to thee?

So often I read and listen to other people's voices – what do they say, think, feel? Do other people feel what I feel? Think like I think? I lived with so much invalidation that I thought I was crazy. People were angry but told me they weren't. I felt hurt and sad, but I was told I shouldn't be (it was the “you're too sensitive” line). I was scared but was told there was nothing to be afraid of (oh, were they soooo wrong!). It's as if I lived in a world where the reality that I experienced was the opposite of the world of everyone else. Like Pleasantville – wasn't that the movie where Jim Carey lived in a bubble town and was basically brainwashed but had a sense that something was awry? Yeah, that's it except my experience was far from pleasant. But the brainwashing – up is down, right is wrong, forwards is backwards, hurt is pleasure, pleasure is bad, caring for my own needs is selfish, caring for those who were supposed to be the caregivers is my job – that I know well. I grieve that it has taken – and still takes – so long to see clearly. Sometimes I just get so tired of fighting and it's easier to believe the lies.

So I walk around asking others if I am okay. You know, loveable, wanted, accepted, desired, worthy. The irony is that as long as I give my power away by asking everyone else that question the answer is no. But when I stop to sit with myself and listen to what I think, feel, want and need, I find that indeed, I am okay. I am loved and I am loveable (okay, so I don't have this settled in my soul, but I have experienced being loved and delighted in enough that I can hold onto those experiences to remind me what's true). I have deep brokenness and wounds that paralyze me more often than I'd like. And I am self-righteous, proud and angry. Yet when I sit with others in the stories of their lives, I'm also compassionate, passionate and humble (if you can claim humility at all, then I have a teeny bit in that I am a little willing to receive and learn from others). It is true of me that I am willing to have open heart surgery on a fairly regular basis...if you know what I mean. The kind of surgery that peels off the layers of gunk to get to the real heart – the one God gave me – not the one I've so meticulously crafted.

But mostly I'm afraid to let you see me – both the mess and the glory. The power I give others to reject me – define me and tell me I'm worthy of love – is tremendous. I'd like to say after so many years of therapy, a few healing prayer conferences, and countless books on healing trauma that I am further along on this journey of self-acceptance, of standing firmly in my own skin with the knowledge that I am deeply, profoundly loved. But I'm not where I want to be. They say awareness is the first step...I say great, let's move on to living it! Neither is patience one of my virtues – yet! Having compassion on myself does not come easily – I tend to whip myself like horse trainers who know no other way to get a horse to move. But whipping a horse only breeds fear – not cooperation, not choice, not love. I fear even now as I write that anyone who reads these words will see right through me, judge me, criticize me, or perhaps even worse, evoke my shame by calling me sweetie, hon (OMG I HATE that one!), or some other name that comes across dismissively. The truth is that I'm terrified of being vulnerable. Being vulnerable – especially with my heart, my voice – has so often meant being alone, not responded to (definitely not delighted in), and therefore, ashamed...there must be something wrong with me that no one is paying attention to me. Right? Hmmm...WRONG! My boundaries were so often violated as a child and young person that I am still learning what's appropriate to share and what's not. I'm still learning what feels good to me and what doesn't. And in this I am vulnerable and I can feel shame oh so quickly. It's like I take my clothes off and I'm standing there in my bra and underwear and you're fully clothed looking at me with shock and horror. Only I didn't know that I took off my clothes. Or that taking off my clothes is inappropriate. Or maybe it's just that I don't know what it feels like to be clothed and connected. Connection so often meant being violated, enmeshed, overridden. And I long for true connection – life giving, honoring, respectful, mutual – open hearts and honest feelings with other human beings. I was made for that.

At the same time that I write these words speaking of my fear of vulnerability, of being seen, exposed, of being found less than and unloveable, I can tell you that the only reason I can write it is because I have experienced profound acceptance from my husband and a few dear friends along the way. They have loved me, seen me, delighted in me, encouraged me, told me the truth, wept with me, laughed with me, held up mirrors to me. They have been my family – a safe place to fall and occasionally jump with joy (oh, I want more of this!). I have taken off my clothes with them – been vulnerable and writhing in my shame – and they have gently covered me with the warmth of gracious love and acceptance. Without these ones who have loved me, I couldn't tell you the truth about me – I'd still believe the lies.

The truth of me for now is that I hold all of these experiences - and sometimes I live out of the lack and other times I live out of the abundance of love. More often scarcity and her lies still prevail, but I've felt a new wind blowing since we moved to Asheville.

I sign off with these words that stir hope in my soul from the song

Beautiful Things by Gungor:

"You make beautiful things out of the dust.

You make beautiful things out of us.

You make me new. You are making me new."

Out of the dust she rises,

Kristie