Happy "New"!

It's my first post of 2011! To be honest, I've been doing a whole lot more reading then writing. It's been great to hear about everyone's thoughts about the New Year, resolutions and goals, dreams, hopes, and reflections. It's been so inspiring and encouraging that it's kind of left me at a loss for my own words.

When I was hopeless and jaded, the New Year was nothing but a turn of the calendar toward another string of empty days. I didn't count down with excitement. I thought I knew what was coming.
My paradigm has shifted a lot since finding hope again, but the idea of a man-made calendar writing so many choices for people still bumps me a little bit. I suppose there is still this part of me with a foreshortened sense of the future - an urgency for the immediate - that begs a resolution every day, not once a year. Life's unpredictability makes it necessary for us to live each day to the fullest, not coasting on toward the next major milestone where we'll start over again.

On the other hand, I'm touched by God's heart toward mornings and beginnings. My God is a God of the new. God brings about the sunrise after the darkest of nights. The colors are among the most vivid and awe-inspiring in all of creation. It's as though it's His way of displaying the full splendor of His new day. The rainbow after a storm - colorful and vibrant. (It's a DOUBLE RAINBOW!!!)
I love to see the things that make my kids' mouths drop open in wonder. Most of them are things that are new and surprising and beautiful. Their faces reflect the Father's heart. My God loves new things.
And while He makes no guarantee of my tomorrow, He does promise that a New Year will dawn as long as the Earth remains.

"For as long as Earth lasts,
planting and harvest, cold and heat,
Summer and winter, day and night
will never stop."
(Genesis 8:22, The Message)

So I thank God for another year and for the opportunity to experience a New Year. I'm in awe that there is still breath in my lungs... I honestly never expected to live to be 30 years old. I'm so aware that each day is on loan to me, and while I don't always act it, I understand what a huge responsibility that is.

While I'm not at all a fan of resolutions, I do resolve to live each day on purpose. Gone are the days of being chased along life's current in a sleepy stupor. Last year I got to test out my new legs. I'm almost ready to run.

I also have some goals for this year - physical, emotional, spiritual:

I want to hear God's voice for my family - whether or not we home-school, whether or not God wants to add to our family, etc - and see His plan come to pass this year.
I'd like to get 300 pages down on a book by year's end. Considering I still have no concrete ideas for this book, this will be a miracle.
I'd like to add fasting to my spiritual practices.
I have a goal to read through the entire Bible this year, cover to cover.
I'd like to meet some physical health goals, including improving my flexibility and participating in a few races/runs.
I want to knit a pair of socks.

I'm writing these and other goals down in the front of my Bible, so that at years' end, I can see where God has taken me and what He's helped me accomplish. I'm interested in what others' goals are, so if you'd like to post a link to your blog entry or jot a few down in the "comments" section, that'd be fun. I'm excited to see where 2011 will take us, and I'm filled with peace knowing that no matter what victories or trials we encounter this year, God is truly in control working His greater good in to every situation.

Love, love, love
Emily

this year

I have drafts for about three different posts in the queue, but I can't seem to bring myself to finish them right now. Timing, I guess, because I've been avoiding writing about what's truly on my heart.

I didn't want to write it because it's not really all in the "spirit of the holidays". In fact, some days I'm having trouble seeing the silver lining at all. I know it's there, though. That presence of the Lord that radiates through the darkest personal moments. Sometimes it takes faith to see it.

My whole life, the beauty of this season has been tainted by a dark hand of fear - a threat or realized pain from a person in my past still refusing to let go. Our birthdays are a day apart, which he always said made me some kind of special. He had a habit of ascribing great meaning to the meaningless. So in the joy and anticipation of parties and friends and presents, I always had to deal with what would be taken from me instead of given. Any more, he is a menace - quickly losing his power and throwing a tantrum because of it. God has given me back my voice and choice to resist. God has given me friends who understand my situation and rally in the tough times. It's no longer a war I fight alone, but with an army by my side, so the enemy looks smaller and smaller every year.

Still, there is the act of faith. "Faith without works is dead" (James 2:26) speaks to letting our hands do the talking when we talk about faith in God. I think, though, that part of those "works" can be the daily walking out of what we cannot see or touch. As one who faced debilitating depression, I know it can be as simple as getting out of bed, showering, and getting dressed. Faith that the day holds more than the pain inside. Faith that God has a purpose for these moments, even the seemingly insignificant, and that His sovereign power is working out a masterpiece with all of the shattered pieces.

I still wake up heavy with the memories of this time. I still struggle with fear as the sun sets in the evening. I still take practical precautions to ensure that my family's safety is secure. Until this person has a "Road to Damascus" experience or dies, I will most likely always have to be proactive during this time.

It's unfair and infuriating and I can finally feel that. This is a precious time of celebration and giving and beauty in the simple things. This is a season of unity and the recognition of that common bond that spans color and creed and gender and social standing. And I'm incredibly grateful for what the Lord has restored to me. This is my first year home, whole, and happy in five years. I celebrated three birthdays in one treatment center or another, because of that pitiful manipulator.
This year, however, I got to enjoy my daughter's beautiful anticipation and my son's amazement that his friends from school would honor his birthday. This year, I get to live in the victory of the freedom and choices that God has given me as I celebrate the fact that I'm GLAD to be alive. I'm grateful for it.

It's another lesson in the bittersweet - in reclaiming that which the enemy stole from me, one calendar date at a time. But I don't have to do it alone, and that makes all the difference. As my counselor at Mercy used to say, "It's not the absence of struggle, but the presence of God in the midst." 

the Way out of fear

Recently I did an interview for a pretty big city newspaper. I believe strongly in what God does through Mercy Ministries, and on occasion I get the opportunity to speak on their behalf about my experiences. Often times, I'll share a bit about my past and what Mercy is doing to help girls who have been in similar situations. For my part, it's great to testify to what God has done in my life, to educate others about a strong ministry, and to offer hope to girls who may believe there is no hope left.

The article was published with very little identifying information about me, but I was still left with this very unsettled feeling deep down inside. There were certain inaccuracies in the article that nagged at me, but more than that, there was an air of truth to the entire situation that came blaring out in black and white. I'm glad to have given the interview, because I know that God is utterly unhindered by imperfection. At the same time, it's been hard to shake this trembling in the pit of my stomach.

It took a few days, but I was finally able to articulate what the sensation was about.
It was fear. Still, after so many years, the echoes of threats and orders to never tell resonate in the depths. That message was so deeply carved into the makeup of my thoughts, that even now, spilling "secrets" still triggers a knee-jerk fear.


Lord, I don't want to be afraid any more.

I tend to be analytical in my thinking - but analytical on a very basic level. I've learned so much from reverse-engineering enemy tactics, that it has brought validation and meaning to what so many of us have gone through. Please forgive the over-simplification of this trail of thought, but when God connected these verses for me, it made so much sense.

Here's the latest:

Fear is Satan's lock and key. Controlling, manipulative people have known this from the beginning of time. Dictatorships, political games, and even the rumor mill are all driven and perpetuated by the force of fear. Fear is what keeps us from speaking up, stepping out, and moving on. It's a paralyzing agent that binds up mind, body, and will. Fear is why I couldn't break free from my abusers - why I wanted to die. Fear.

I know that Fear is not from God. I don't think He can be more clear than Romans 8:15: "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship."


So if fear is not from God, then HOW to I get free from it?

Fear keeps us locked away - alone. Fear of rejection and abandonment for the vile filth inside of me kept me from meaningful relationships, especially with God. But the very presence of God is what drives away fear! See the strategy? If Satan can keep us in fear, he can keep us from coming into the presence of God - the very antidote for fear!

1 John 4:18 "There is no fear in love [God]. But perfect love [God] drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect (fully formed, mature) in love." (emphasis mine)   1 John 4:16 "God is love."

So, if fear is driven out in the presence of God, then HOW do I get into the presence of God?
When I learned the answer to this question, I actually got angry, because it is HOPE that brings us into the presence of God. 

Hebrews 6:18-20 "We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It's an unbreakable spiritual lifeline, reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God where Jesus, running on ahed of us, has taken up his permanent post as high priest for us, in the order of Melchizedek." (The Message)

Perhaps nothing in my childhood was more viscously attacked than hope. Hope is what kept me fighting, and fighting was not what my abusers wanted to see. As a consequence, I spent so many days and nights in fear that I eventually lost my grip on hope. Fear turned into a "knowing".  I knew I was going to die. I knew that no one was coming to save me. I knew I would be misused and hurt and controlled for the rest of my life. As hope broke, my heart slipped even further from the presence of the One who wanted so desperately to take that fear away. The hopelessness is what perpetuated into adulthood. The hopelessness is what almost cost me my life.

See, if Satan can steal our hope, he can keep us from entering into the presence of God where His love drives away all fear. As long as we remain in fear, we remain slaves to our enemy.

What do I hope in? I have hope that what God says is true. That everything will work out for good. That He will never leave me. That my future is secure. That God is good. I have hope that I will never be alone, and that this world is a shadow of the amazing, indescribable perfection that is to come. I have hope, because I believe that God really did send His Son to right everything that was broken.
That's hope.

I wrote before that it's not always what happens to us, but how we view what happens to us. Hopeless is ultimately a misperception. That's the secret that the enemy works so tirelessly to keep from us! When we know the TRUTH, suffering actually brings hope. 


The mystery that undoes all of the plans of Satan is joy in the suffering. 

Romans 5:1-8 "And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. You see, just at the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly... But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

I don't have this mastered. But God's shown me the way, and that's a huge start. After all, it's the Truth that sets us free. ;)

hope in the asking

 It's indicative of my past, but I become distant and quiet when things get intense. I was telling a friend just tonight that I have turtle-like characteristics. Have you seen how fast a turtle can move? Not those giant ones, but regular old box turtles. 

When things are going pretty smoothly, I'm cruising along with my neck way out - interacting, committing, experiencing, and leading. 

But when things get crazy, it's like, "POP". The head goes in and the mobility comes to a screeching halt. 

Yeah, it's kind of like that.

Grief is hard. It's hard because it's one of those times when the healthy thing to do is feel all of those nasty negative emotions I try so hard to ignore. I've mentioned this need to get away from pain for fear that it will linger on forever. Learning that it won't makes the process no less uncomfortable - just perhaps less hopeless.

I've thought a lot about whether or not to share what I'm about to share. But this blog has been so much about my heart and journey and God in it, that to keep it to myself seems... dishonest. (This is a personal conviction and not a projection.) I write from the depths of my heart, and right now, this is pretty much what's in the deep of it. 

My husband and I have just recently gone through a miscarriage. Most people didn't even know that I was pregnant, because we kind of like to wait until the first trimester is through before we share. The news was a shock to us. We weren't planning on having any more kids at this point, because we're just so delighted (and busy) with what we have. But, as reality set in, a space was made in my heart for this new little one. 

At our first appointment, the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. The blood work came back with not-so-great results, and we were kept waiting for two weeks until a second ultrasound confirmed what we feared in the first. Little pea grew to about 7 weeks and then stopped. At what would have been about 12 weeks, we decided to let the doctor do a procedure to ensure that I wouldn't end up with further complications. All in all, it has been a heartbreaking and fairly traumatic experience. And I'm not going to lie, it's been faith-shaking. 

During the two weeks of waiting, I was in a fog of shock. To be completely honest, I didn't know what to pray for. I didn't know what I wanted. It sounds so strange, but I could envision my future with a new baby and without. And truthfully, I was terrified to ask for the life of my child and then be let down. I shielded myself from the hope that things could turn out alright. At the same time, this flicker of positive expectation would not die in me. 

I remember standing during the opening praise set at my Bible Study, my hands out in front of me and palms up toward heaven as though I were holding something. I couldn't sing, I could only stand in God's presence and be. I felt God nudge me to ask what I was afraid to ask. The Holy Spirit stirred in me to pray what I was afraid to pray. Hopelessness washed over me as I tried to steel myself for the pain of disappointment. More than anything, I did not want to be hurt again. 

God is gentle and good and persistent. I can't describe it, but in my spirit I heard Him say, "Just ask me". It wasn't accompanied by a promise, like "Just ask me and it'll be Ok". In fact, I had no peace either way about the outcome. But God was challenging me on my fear. He just wanted me to trust Him enough to ask. So in that moment, I prayed, "Lord, please let this baby live."

That's when the tears came. For the first time in all of the confusion and chaos, I collapsed before my God and let myself be vulnerable to Him. It was the first time I had really surrendered the situation to Him - and it came in the form of a request. 

See, as long as I was playing my cards close to my chest, I still had control of the game. Feigning indifference allowed me to say, "Ok God, whatever you think is best" in a very flippant and detached manner. It looks like faith. But it's not honest. It's the surrender of a conquered soul, not a soul won by love. It speaks to defeat, not faith.

In asking for what my heart truly wanted, I set myself up for hope. I chose to place a dream in the hands of my Father and fully trust Him with the outcome. I also set myself up for disappointment and heartbreak and loss. And it was really, really hard. 

Ultimately, I did not get what I asked for. I have no idea why. But honestly, seriously, I love my Lord as much now as ever. I trust Him, because I know that He heard me and He holds our future. We lost our baby, but I did not lose HOPE. And maybe that's the beauty for these ashes. Maybe my defeatist surrender would have yielded a cold distance between me and God. As it is, I can pound on His chest and scream my questions at Him, but I'm close enough that I can feel His warmth and He can wrap His arms around my soul and minister healing. 

Grief is hard. And healing from this loss will be a process. And God is right here with me.

Psalm 34:18

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.