Pain and bathroom floors

Last night I was sitting in between two incredible friends, Sister-Warriors, listening to the raw-gut-wrenching-truth-teller, Glennon Doyle Melton. At one point she was talking about the day she found herself shaking on her bathroom floor. She was explaining addiction, but it was coming from someone we already loved on the other side of her uglier parts of addiction (so yeah know, we actually paid to listen to her). She was the addict who chose herself for the sake of her kids. I couldn't even fathom her being the self-described "bridge burner" that I could see and feel in the depths of some of the darkest pains of my soul. Because I have lost a lot to addiction. Not my addiction, but others. And when she discussed lying on her bathroom floor, I could see someone I love dearly doing the same; instead of lifting their head and feeling their own heartbeat and choosing to walk in their own brave courage, they kept lying there. And I've tried so desperately to make them want to get up. I have enabled, convicted, forgiven, turned a blind eye, denied the problem, and recently I have found myself mentally kicking this person on the bathroom floor because by God, maybe it was just high-time for some tough-love.

I wanted to leave at this point due to the sudden emotions that I had been categorizing carefully, trying to identify, looking at and and supposedly releasing. Really, I think I have been on a two week long shame-spiral. I have felt disconnected, fatigued, frazzled, volatile---it takes a tremendous amount of energy to avoid really sitting in and with your pain, oh and you have to see that your pain as valuable and as painful as someone else's to get off your shame-spiral.

But then she said something about the addict's shame. How scared they were of pain and of love. And in that moment I couldn't deny that we had more in common that I realized (my person and me). I have spent the better part of the past year learning how to recognize the little girl inside who just needs (and deserves and is worthy of) love. So I sat on Glennon's bathroom floor (clearly, we can be on first-name basis since I have been in her bathroom). I sat with my person. I sat with myself. I sat with Glennon. I sat with my two dear friends that I was sandwiched between during the event. We all sat there in silence, in love, in compassion, in pain. I think this is the truest example of what I will forever now envision "tough love". Because we are tough. Weak people hate. Weak people don't forgive. Weak people lack compassion. Weak people plow through and kick and push down the pain. True toughness looks still, looks long, looks around, sees it all and still chooses love.

Which leads me to what happened next. I got a text from my husband telling me that one of the single-most-early-in-marriage-Spiritually-influential persons we knew just confessed to manslaughter.

I have to pause here. Take some deep breaths. Let it sink it. Sit in all the pain that that single statement brings on...on me, on my former brothers and sisters, on the community, on Christianity in general.

All I could picture was my core group of kiddos that were in my own flock as their Children's Ministry leader. I hurt from their childlike perspective. I hurt in a way that took me right back to Glennon's bathroom floor. But, this was the kind of hurt that really just made me wanna close my eyes to it all and never get up again.

I didn't sleep much. I threw my phone (damn social media) at some point and flopped across my bed and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed.

The Bible is full of great men and great nations who fall down. Like, a lot. And yet here we are in 2016, armed with every known Bible story, SHOCKED. Wait, I thought miracles stopped with Jesus and the humanness of humanity only applied to the Israelites and Pharisees? After I kicked the ever-loving-crap-mentally out of my friend-who-did-a-very-bad-thing (the him I knew so well would've wanted and expected nothing less of me), after I cursed the existence of lust, bad choices, good intentions, deception, lying, mental illness, blah, blah, blah, after I cried out to God (for like the 2,222,222 time on behalf of this entire situation), I thought of David. A very beloved man of God, who did a very stupid, very selfish, very painful thing. And it was murder. And his was intentional. I don't know (and don't want to know) if my friend's actions were intentional or not. Truly, who he had become at that point of his life is so far from the man I knew that I cannot even conceptualize. What I do know is that sin is sin. Intended sin and unintended sin (I have 5 kids, can I get a what-what for every time I have heard "I didn't mean to....") hurts. It hurts us. It hurts others. It hurts God. My sin, your sin, his sin, again my sin. Hurts.

But how did God respond to David's sin (or mine for that matter)? He brings accountability. He brings justice. He also brings restoration. Not the feel-good kind that obliterated David's sin and brought a husband and wife back together, but Solomon was one of my favorites (also became the wisest-idiot a time or two). How am I supposed to respond to all this hurt? And judging by the out-lash of my former community, it's a whole lot of hurt that isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

I'm gonna start by inviting my friend (yes, I still love him...just like I still love the aforementioned person who has poured more pain in my life than any other) onto Glennon's bathroom floor (Sorry, G...it's gonna get pretty crowded...but I'm starting to think that is the only way you'd have it). In my prayers, in my words, in my actions, I am going to invite God to help me unclench my fists, to open my arms, and to bow my head in humility and grace. Not because it's a reflection of what these people in particular deserve, not because it's a reflection of my toughness or holiness (or complete ignorance...hello...Vulnerability...yeah...no....damn...sigh...ok), but rather because I want to be a reflection of Jesus and the God I have chosen to serve.

I am going to pray for restoration for the whole damn lot of us. I am going to ask God for personal conviction. For a peace that passes all understanding. For pain to be sat with and left lying as opposed to being flung at each other. For a greater awareness of when the people I love are starting to slip and need accountability, support, intervention. For the capacity to still see them as people...as God sees us all.

And I'm gonna pray for Glennon to get a bigger bathroom.

Sleepwalking

In the Matrix, the main character starts having rumblings of realization. Initially, he runs from it. Eventually, it literally catches him and he wakes up to discover Reality. It takes a little while to process it all and to make sense of it all, but in the end he succeeds and subsequently has to face his role in reality.

Healing has been like that for me. Dreams---the really terrifying kinds---were my rumblings. I am pretty sure that I tried everything "known to man" to make them go away. Eventually, they caught up with me; ironically, my dreams are what helped me finally wake up. I have spent the better part of the last year processing and making sense of it all, learning to see the footprints of trauma, learning to re-define and re-frame my ways of thinking, and coming to terms with my role in reality.

Again the dreams have surfaced. I have learned that this is either my mind's yellow flag or God's gift of warning me (both?): slow down, take note, wake up.

It sounds so strange to be 39 and admit that I am just now seeing myself, my spouse, my children (they have been my other yellow flag---first glimpse of unconditional love coupled with watching them just be children: slow down, take note, wake up) as complete humans. Before, everything and everyone was so fragmented. My therapist would remind me that most of my childhood was fragmented so, of course, that would be my learned perception of the world (slow down, take note, wake up). Now, I have this new found vision. No longer do I only see the things that are all good or all bad; rather, I see them together in harmony. The perfection in the imperfection and the imperfection in the perfection. It is messy, clear, beautiful, ugly, mundane, astounding, terrifying, peaceful...I am no longer sleepwalking.

Sleep is truly healing. It gives our bodies the break it needs to grow, to repair, and to defend. Striking the balance of not-enough-sleep and too-much-sleep is, like all things in life, a fine line. Waking up from a good night's sleep is a gift. Waking up from a lifetime of fragments to the reality of whole-complete (I love this definition of complete: having all the necessary or appropriate parts)-entire-ability to perceive life, loved ones, strangers is beyond my ability to express in words...I am finally awake.

I am awake enough to realize that maybe my role in reality is nothing more than slowing down, taking note, and waking up. The gift of life---reality, with all it's painful beauty, is a blessing that I don't want to sleepwalk through anymore. I am awake enough to realize that the simplicity and complexity of my role is also a beautiful blessing. And for these things, I am eternally grateful, and in this moment I am completely awake.

Eyes Opened

So the Bible is full of many stories about healing. I was always fascinated as a child by the story of the blind man who had to have stuff (to include spit) put over his eyes so that he could see.

I imagine seeing for the fist time would include intense images that would flood your entire being. And then there's the realization of how many things that were initially "felt" or "experienced" by the blind man's hands or body or mind were immediately confronted as his eyes took in the reality?

To see
To see truth
To see light

I imagine that there were many times he would've woken up and forgotten to open his eyes; he would've bumbled and bumped and blundered his way throughout the day because the darkness was all he had ever known. It had actually become comfortable. Walking in hyper-vigilance had kept him alive. Depending on his other senses, no matter how difficult, had gotten him to the healer.

Or did they hinder him?
Were they tools to bring him where he needed to be?
Right place, right time?
Did it even matter?

...Clenched eyes, held breath, high alert....
...Gentle tap of reminder...
...You Can See Now... 

Eyes opened, breaths deep, peace-in-knowing

Healing is a messy business. Rarely does it happen in an instant. And even after the process begins, I imagine that walking in the Healing...in the Light...in the Truth...is sometimes so intense that we find ourselves pushing it away.

Maybe I wish it was my fault?
Maybe I don't want to accept the humanness of those I love?
Maybe I still want to believe I am the broken one?
Maybe it hurts to see the truth through my childlike eyes my very own childishness?
Maybe I really have been bruised by the "footprints of trauma"?
Maybe those footprints are what make me beautiful?
Maybe they are the only thing that sets-me-apart?
Maybe when it's all said-and-done...just maybe...I'll still feel broken?

Maybe, all the maybe's don't matter?

Eyes opened, breaths deep, peace-in-not-knowing.
Eyes opened, breaths deep, peace-in-Knowing.
Eyes opened, breaths deep, peace in the realization that He loves me enough to heal me...me...even me.


...I Can See Now...
...Gentle taps of constant reminders...
...Open eyes, deep breaths, peace-just-peace...

To see
To see Truth
To see Light

Innocence lost---Voice found

I'm reading a book by Brene Brown (The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are) and in it she discusses the concept of authenticity. It was one of those chapters I thought I was going to easily breeze over because I am many things that fall under the heading: IMPERFECT, but not being authentic doesn't happen to be one of them. Actually, many would say that I am authentic-to-a-fault.

Well, she describes authenticity as living out the difference of who I am VERSUS who I THINK I should be. For "fun" I decided to whip out my therapy-homework-journal and make a list of all the things I find myself thinking I should be...after the entire page was scribbled across and the accusation of many sighs as I belittled myself for NOT being this and NOT being that, I realized that I bathe myself in shame every.single.day.

DEEP CLEANSING BREATH (also therapy homework)

Here's what I have come to realize. I was a victim. I was a victim at a very young age for many years. I have spent my entire life trying to run from that fact. I have a hard time with victims. Especially ones who use it as an excuse. So at the ripe-old-age of seven, when one of the first traumatic incidents occurred, I made up my mind that I would use every bad thing that happened to me to help others.

Let's pause. I was seven.

Seven.

After one of my therapy sessions I had to pull my van over and cry in a parking lot. That day I was crying for the four year old little girl who pretty much said goodbye to having a Dad for the rest of her life. That day will forever be burned in my mind. I've done many foolish things to fill his void. The most dangerous lie I have allowed myself to believe is that I didn't need him anyway. That I had a Father in Heaven, which is true, but He designed parents to be there. Present. Parenting.

So yeah, I've grown up thinking that I didn't need others because I was all I needed...because that was the safest way to live, right?

So at seven, when my innocence got turned inside out...I unpacked the abandonment of my father and the wrong-doing-sin-against-innocence of my then step-father and made a very cozy hedge of protection that I didn't even fully comprehend how impenetrable and strong it actually was until about 4 weeks ago.

I am going to *attempt* to share my journey towards healing and wholehearted living. Maybe it's because I still struggle with the fact that me, heatherHeather, is solely worth fighting for. Maybe this is still a wall I am trying to avoid climbing over because I truly cannot see my value, and I am still living in the land of "hustling for worthiness" (another Brene Brown concept).

Maybe not, maybe I am finally making good on that promise I made to that sweet, innocent, terrified little girl while she was lying on her bathroom floor in the fetal position...head reeling, tummy twisted, being choked by anxiety...begging God to pour the blood of His Son around her and her mom and brother for protection...maybe I am cashing in all that pain...hoping and praying that my story will in fact help someone else.

I guess, in true life's fashion---only time will tell. Most likely it's a bit of both.

I will admit that giving a voice to that girl...is more empowering that any wall I have ever created in my mind.

Permanency

Today Spider-man and I counted down the days to the long anticipated "ADOPTION DAY".

13...thirteen days.

The fact that he threw his arms around my waist and breathed a heavy sigh of relief illustrates the tremendous change that has overcome our Little Man since the termination hearing. I am still baffled by his reaction that day. He promptly burst into tears and after several minutes of all of us crying with him he exclaims through spit and snot, "Now I can't marry Mermaid". I don't know if any of us have ever laughed so hard? He's been fine ever since he has realized this means a lifetime of sibling connectedness to his "love". Permanency looks and feels good on all of us.

Normally, just as I had with past court dates, I'd be breathing deep, making mental notes, preparing for things that are always subject to change. But this month I have a different date circled on my calendar.

7...seven days.

In seven days I go back to the dermatologist to have a lovely little tumor in my leg removed. A few weeks ago, after a big fit on my husband's part I went to my PCP. She got me into a dermatologist by the end of the week. That kinda freaked me out, but I didn't really give much thought until the day of the visit. They cut it off and sent me on my way saying don't worry unless my phone rings from them in a week.

My phone rang in one week and one day.

So I'm going in seven days to have a wide excision; I'm praying they can get it all and have some answers sooner than my two week follow up stitch-removal.

Pre-Adoption, Pre-Foster, Pre-Failed-Adoption Heather would have seen this coming a million miles away. All happiness and good things in life are rewarded with loss, pain, suffering. I had conditioned myself (I guess?) to associate good times with rug-ripping bad to follow. But these last two years, I have lost that person somewhere along the way? She drowned in the intensity of all that is required to just-survive-today.

Then she started training for a 100M trail run. And she learned real fast about the importance of "staying in the now". Otherwise it's miserable. Too much. Overwhelming. And then there's the beauty of the pain that is learning to be danced with, the running alongside astounding views, and the breathing it all in beside incredible people (ain't no peeps like my trail peeps).

And something clicked.

Or maybe it was the huge throw-down that I had with God? And He has revealed Himself and proven His goodness---despite it all---to me over, over, over, over.

But something has definitely clicked.

So now I am anticipating good news? Not living in constant fear? Barely even having to push negative thoughts aside? But that kind of scares me. It makes me feel as if I am not being humble enough? Maybe too assumptive? I have the same struggle with *knowing* I can complete my first 100M without ever having toed one step beyond 32M.

I won't be completing the 100M that I've been training for. I will still have stitches. I can't even start. It kind of makes me sick. A DNS (did not start) is so much worse in my mind that a DNF (did not finish). Explains a lot about my personality. Ugh. Anyhow...what I CAN do is go serve the others who can start it and hopefully pace my dear friend in for her last 16 miles.

No matter what happens in seven days...I know that UNEXPLAINABLE MOUNTAINS were moved for the two children who will legally become ours in thirteen days to have even graced our doorstep. And then to have remained. And then...despite it all...it all ended up just as it should.

So, I guess I just have Faith. The kind that's had to walk through fire. I can say that trusting Him with my life is much easier than trusting Him with my babies. If I'm being honest, that's the only time I find myself in a dark hole. I don't want them to worry, to see me weak, or to lose feelings of safety and permanence.

Because let me tell ya, permanency looks and feels good on all of us.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love." Jeremiah 31:3

Ain't nothing more permanent than that...