I have been doing lot of thinking and praying lately. I believe it is time to share some of the journey I have been on the last couple of years.
Life has many twists and turns, ups and downs. Those little ventures do not come without some form of joy or hurt. Sometimes baggage even piles up without the knowledge of the hauler. Baggage when unnoticed often causes severe emotional issues.
I want to say that I have had a terrible life – was abused, neglected, or unnoticed. But that was not the case. There was a lot of trauma. Trauma from a burn that covered a third of body at the age of five; trauma from constantly moving and cutting ties; not knowing where I belong or where I am from; trauma from a job that kept my family unstable in many ways. No, my life was not filled with drama, just trauma that impacted me in a way that I would have never dreamed.
After Bible School, so many things happened. Not a lot of events that were earth shattering, I just started questioning. With great knowledge, came lots of questions. Things in life just seemed to not be compatible. I was not satisfied. Christ was supposed to be sufficient and enough, but He did not seem like it. How could a loving God create a world of such hypocrisy? Why would He allow innocent people to suffer? What was the purpose of suffering? Why was it wrong to question? Why did I seem invisible? I had wounds that ran deeper than the Grand Canyon festering and I did not even know it. Those wounds were ugly and nasty. I was being eaten from the inside out and was unaware of it. Oh, I did notice it a tiny bit at a time. Church became a chore, but I still upheld my responsibilities and kept up appearances – did not want to upset anyone with the ugliness that was starting to surface. The world started looking a better and better as each day passed. They could live their lives anyway they wanted and would just bear the consequences of their decisions and keep going on with life. There were no judgment and quiet murmurs from people who “understood grace.” They lived without being condemned by people who should be their community. But they were condemned, at least I knew where I was heading if I died.
I moved from Wisconsin to Missouri to focus on going to school. The irony of the whole thing was – I went to a Christian to work on a degree that represents a gift from God. At first I tried to keep up the good little Christian girl attitude, went to a couple of bible studies, prayer groups, etc. But it still felt lack luster. I hated it! I do not enjoy fakeness and that was what I was participating in. I was a hypocrite. Not only was the ugliness and festering wounds in my heart getting worse, I abhorred myself even more for being fake.
Through all those things, I started getting angry at God. I became bitter and even quit walking with God. Why would I want to have anything to do with a God that seemed so cruel and unjust? Why would I talk with a God that allowed me to suffer so emotionally? Why would I want to be near people that seemed so beautiful but I was a dreaded, detestable, malicious, repulsive monster? I hated myself and hated God. Death seemed easier to handle than real life, at least the pain and suffering would end. But I was not suicidal, there was so much more I wanted to do and accomplish in life. Ending it seemed like a pansy way of handling things. I just stopped caring, I checked out of life. I no longer participate. I barely managed to go through the barest necessary motions of living.
I dreaded school, I hated life, and I could not stomach anything that had to do with God. Any thought of God, Christianity, or faith made me want to vomit. I was crumbling; those festering wounds had finally killed me from the inside out. I was angry all the time, sarcastic, biting, and no longer joyful. The whole world could have gone and flown a kite for all I cared. I just wanted out somehow! So, I turned to food. Bingeing became a way of life. Food can stuff back down emotion, right? Wrong! I hated myself, I gained so much weight. But I still kept stuffing. I got to a point where I could eat like a defensive linebacker; probably could have out eaten him. That was not working. So, I turned to shopping. I had to get clothing that fit properly, right? That helped only for a little bit. I would feel pretty for only a few minutes in my new outfit, before I started hating myself. I would get the bill and not like myself. Then I would binge to bury my emotions. Shopping brought little gratification. A vivacious cycle had already started. Binge, shop, receive bill, binge, shop, and on and on it went. Next, I turned to work. I had acquired debt from my vicious cycle. I should be responsible and pay it off. But then I worked and worked. Work became my life. It was easier to be at work where I did not have to think about my ugliness or the things I was trying to avoid. Yet, somehow I still managed not to budge in my debt or baggage. Work just became overwhelming and started wearing me down worse than my wounds. Sleep became the obvious concession. I would stay in bed. It was as if my pillow and the dark, solemn nether lands had me in their strong vise. Classes would skip by; work became a second thought; becoming presentable for the day was something that existed only in another lifetime. Even sleep turned sour. Soundless replays of nightmares, the inability to feel rested, and the inability to even sleep haunted me.
I was not connecting with anyone. Friends said they loved; my parents say what was going on but were helpless. People were not allowed to mention God or prayer around me. It irritated me. It felt as if I was covered with South American Army Ants that were taking me piece by piece any time they were mentioned. I wanted nothing to do with Him. I tried cutting people out of life while still trying to live my life. I felt as if Albatross was warmer, friendlier, and less isolated than I had become.
When I was finally past my crashing point, I contacted a counselor. I knew something had to give with my life and it was not going to be me. A few days later, I was dragged out of my bed by a secretary to talk with a Dean on campus. Quitting was not an option. I was so close to achieving my dream. Becoming a teacher and getting a college degree was within my grasp, yet quickly disintegrating before my eyes. Those first few weeks of counseling were painful and dreaded. I did not want to talk. I was not willing to go into the deep, dark regions of my heart. I have always avoided them, why would I start now?
But I was starting to have anxiety attacks. They were quiet attacks, with a lack of fanfare, but traumatizing at the same time. Flashbacks and memories that were buried for a lifetime came crashing down smothering me. I did not know what to do with them. How do you deal with the flashback of doctors scrapping dead skin off your chest at five? Or the memory of seeing partial limbs and exposed muscles of adults in the same physical therapy as you were? Or the screams of grown men, that had infected burns? Hospitals terrified me and left me shaken to the core. The smell of antiseptic sent me spiraling. But there were other things. What about the fact I felt worthless and abandoned because my dad left for Desert Storm that week? Maybe if I had been special enough or important enough my daddy would have chosen me? Uncle Sam’s claim on my father’s life had no understanding in a child’s heart. All she knew is she needed her daddy but he left. The only way of dealing with these is to work through them. Allow the memories to come back. That is when my anger started pouring out. I hated God! He allowed this! What does He have in mind for my life? Had I not suffered enough!?!?! Why am I repeating this? Does not living through it once count for anything? Why was there a need to grieve? Where were all these tears coming from? When will I stop crying? I had already cried five oceans, but there were still more tears. I felt as if I had lost out a lot during my childhood – like it was ripped away from me before I even had a chance to enjoy it. One the day I was burned, reality slammed into me. I was never the same. I felt I had to be strong. Other around would be taken care of before I would consider myself. Seeing pain and agony in an adult’s eyes as they were caring for your burn was more than I could bear at an early age. With every fiber of my being, I learned to control my tears, pain, and fright. I could not impose more on them. I had to be strong. I had to be an adult.
It still took time to deal with all this. I wanted to avoid it. But when it is smacking you in the face, there is only so much ignoring you can do. I started to learn to see myself in a different light. I started to laugh again. They were pitiful laughs by “Shasta Laugh Standards,” but it was a start. I started attempting to spend time with my friends. But God was still a painful topic. He allowed everything. He had a plan and purpose for it. He did not bother to ask me if I was willing to be dragged on the path He was set me. He obviously did not love like He said. In my heart of hearts, I knew He did love me, He kept me alive. He provided for me in many ways. But I still felt abandoned by everyone and everything in my life.
My biggest desire in life was to be loved and cherished. But I felt worthless and unlovable. How could anyone love me? I have a nasty scar on my chest with an even nastier scar left on my heart. My worst fears were to be unloved and abandoned. Those have happened. I felt abandoned in many ways and most were unintentional. I was supposed to trust people? Are you kidding me? Why? They leave you. They hurt you. Didn’t they see I was a dreaded, detestable, malicious, repulsive monster? I felt like I was constantly exposed. Nothing was hidden. But people did not see that. They saw past all that. They saw who God created me to be.
People prayed for me. This I knew for sure – without the prayers of people praying for me, petitioning God on my behalf – I would be nowhere. When I had come to terms with my anger, I was just hurt. Hurt does not go away easily. It lingers like a bad smell or taste. I still wanted nothing to do with God. But I was slowly warming up to Him. I knew I needed Him but I did not want Him interfering with me on a constant, daily basis.
At the end of the semester last spring, I got MONO again. Joy of joys. The summer I had planned working to try and finally pay off my debt did not happen. But my cycle of stuffing had started diminishing slowly. I found other ways of handling my emotions and anxieties. My daddy flew out to Missouri and drove me back to Arizona. My dad was there for me when I needed. He really did care. Then he drove me to all the places I mentioned moving to after college. That act alone started soothing an aching heart. My heart had begun to heal. I spent the summer baking, cooking, wandering around town, and laying by the pool. Nothing to it. But it was something my soul needed – an escape. I needed to get away from the life I was living and I did. I still was not talking with God. Sunday morning worship was painful. It reminded me of what I was trying to abandon. I was reading through a book titled, “Your Scars are Beautiful.” My scar has given me so many lessons, fears, and triumphs in my lifetime, but it was still something I touched with a ten foot pole. My best friend sent me a book called “When God Write Your Love Story.” I read it. Why not? All I did was bake and swim. But my heart was definitely warming up. I did not glean an ounce of a romantic relationship advice from the book. What I learned was that God loved me truly and He loved me deeply. He went through hell just to make sure that I could one day live with Him in Heaven. What we experience here on this earth, is only to shape and mold our character. Nobody likes diamonds that have not been cleaned and shaped. Same thing with gold – it must be purified. I was being cleaned.
The heart has a delicate nature. It takes time for hurts and aches to surface; time to work through and unpack baggage. And time to heal. My journey is far from over and will not end. Time is a four letter word that is the most needed. I want to say that I have amazing faith and will no longer deal with anything but I know I will. I can say that I finally came to my absolute end. I could no longer keep fighting and wrestling with God. I just did not have it in me anymore. I had to give in. I had to give up. I had to go to God. Even that was rocky at first. Once you have been hurt, you are leery of dealing with the same person. They may hurt you again. You may not want to deal with them. Past experience may sometimes dictate knee jerk reactions to common situations. I have had to work through those. Life happens. It is rough and painful, yet at the same time beautiful. There is no way to know what will happen or where you will be taken. But I know this. My life has a purpose and plan. I may not know what it is, but God does. And at this point in my life – that is all that matters. Faith takes years to grow. And it does not grow in the calm peace of a greenhouse, but in the rough patches in life. It is ever constant, yet changing. That in itself is amazing. It grows and can change. It does not have to stay stagnant.
Life has a way of impacting people differently, even if they go through the same experience as you. Each person has their own journey and their own path. No one’s is the same. God has different purposes for all of us. If He wanted us to be the same, then He would have made cookie cutters. Our scars or baggage are meant to be shared. They are lessons we have learned and grown through. We may not understand the reasons for them, but that is not ours to understand. God knows exactly what He is doing. But it takes faith to trust that He will finish what He started in our life.
I wish I could say that I came out of my depression ready to kick life in the butt, but I cannot. I learned that time is one of our most precious commodities. Faith does not need to be a huge mountain to be affected. And I am more loved and cherished than I realized. The entire time I thought I was abandoned I was being carried through the storm. And the storms will always be there. But I have a God that will take care of me. The desert I wandered in so long was lonely and thirsty. It was not a pleasant place to be, but I needed it. Baggage should not pile up and wounds should never be allowed to fester to the point of killing a person. But that is what happened in my life. It was easier to ignore and not deal with issues. But God in His time saw to it that I unpack my bags and learn how to communicate with others. All it took was one tiny, baby step at a time. Sometimes you need to learn to crawl before you can walk. And just as a baby falls down then they are learning to walk, so will you fall down as you learn to walk with God. I certainly have. But you get right back up and keep walking. God is always there guiding you.
1 comment:
Thank you.
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