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

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