my story – Page 7 – The Welcome Home

Springtime came…

I smile as I look back and recall a blog entry I wrote on the 22nd of March called Springtime… seasons. At the end of that post I wrote: “… And I can truly say that God has had the sweetest surprises in store for me following some of the seemingly most barren seasons. Praise the Lord. He only does all things well. May I never take this for granted.”

Additionally, in that post I included the lyrics of a song Spring Time’s Comin’ that’s surely become even more meaningful to me since that post was written — because just two weeks later I opened the door to receive a package someone had sent to us. I could not have known on that day that the Lord, indeed, had a marvelous surprise right around the corner.

Remember the lyrics to that Spring time song? “…Right before your eyes, God has the sweetest surprise, all the new things He has planned to colour your world… Spring time’s comin’.”

As I looked at that package, I wondered what could this be?!? I even called my husband to tell him a package had come – mostly bcz he is the one who receives packages more often than anyone else here in our home. I thought it surely must be a business related package. But, oddly, it was sent by UPS from UPS. Strange. And so, the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I opened the box… dug through the zillions of packing chips to find another box. Open it, open it, he exclaimed! And as I opened the box I saw a letter… three pages… and I began to read… Wes, still listening…

Again, remember the lyrics to that Spring time song? “…Right before your eyes, God has the sweetest surprise, all the new things He has planned to colour your world… Spring time’s comin’.” Well, right before my eyes God did have the sweetest surprise… After reading the first page, I turned to the second…. what?!?!? Itinerary?!?! *Our* names?!?! What?!?! Then, a book: Hawai’i!?!?! What!?!?! Then turning to the third page… what!?!?! We’re staying here…?!?!? Omygoodness, this must be a joke… how can this be?!?! Who could have done this wonderful thing?!?!?! How can this be?!?!?

“…Right before your eyes, God has the sweetest surprise, all the new things He has planned to colour your world… Spring time’s comin’.”

Now that dream — that wonderful dream — is part of the beautiful collage of memories we have. And it is, undoubtedly, one of the more beautiful memories of our whole life – truly being the best and longest time we’ve ever spent alone together. It was a dream – but better – a dream come true.

Later we would have confirmation that all that was contained in the package was indeed true and was for real. Emails from Aloha For Reals gave more confirmation (and more questions… more what in the world?!?!? more how can this be!?!?!). It was then that we began to dream… and that’s when I wrote that post A new start and an old dream.

Weary of the winter, grieved over disappointments and misunderstandings, lost in wonder how to put life in proper perspective and move on from trials and failings… Springtime came and with it the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

As I wrote, while we were in Hawai’i, we asked the Lord many times: why are we here? why have You so blessed us in this incredibly lavish way? Well, initially, we saw the great blessing of just being there – the beauty, the brightness, the warmth, the aloha!, the joy of being alone and in love, the peace and quiet, the rest… but then I began to see God’s great message written everywhere we went: God is not without witness! God preserves a witness – He preserves a hope and a future. Beautiful, fragrant flowers growing in tens of thousands of acres of lava fields gave witness to this great and precious truth: God is not without witness anywhere! And… thus: in my life, springtime came. I’ll share tomorrow some more things the Lord showed me there and when we returned home. More significant to me, with each passing day, is the fact that God was demonstrating all winter long, all through the early Springtime, He did have a marvelous plan for us… and it wasn’t just that wonderful trip – it was that, and more.

More of that song again:

It’s been a long hard winter, Spring’s long overdue…
Icy wind, cruel and bitter has chilled hope out of you,
you want to look ahead, but your heart’s so full of dread,
you can’t see the subtle changes in the air…
Spring time’s coming…

On the heels of a Winter wind, balmy breezes
will blow across your garden again,
the seeds of hope you’ve planted,
are alive beneath the snow, the blooms are yet to show…
this season will end.

Spring time’s coming, after the winter wind.

I know it’s hard to imagine that Spring’s on the way…
With the trees brown and barren and the skies so gray —

Right before your eyes God has the sweetest surprise
All the new things He’s prepared to colour your world…
Spring time’s coming.

As long as heaven and earth remain
God promises the seasons will change
Spring time’s coming.

Mother’s Happy Day 2011

To my precious children… how strange it is to be apart from you this day. How interesting that the Lord would, in His wisdom, goodness and mercy, have us to be a million miles apart on this day. But as I have held you in my heart from the day you were born, so also, I hold you in my heart this day. And I am missing you terribly.

But I also know that the Lord is in the details, having orchestrated this whole trip, this is His doing and it is marvelous in our eyes. I genuinely rest in complete joy and assurance that you are in the mighty hand of the Lord: that He has blessed, redeemed, equipped and filled you, each one with His Holy Spirit and that none can pluck you out of His hand. I am comforted that you are competent beyond my comprehension and blessed beyond my greatest hope and vision for your lives. I am, above all women, most blessed.

I pray that I might be to you even a particle of the great joy and blessing you are to me. I pray to be even a glimmer of the hope you are in my life and I pray to be even a shadow of the good things the Lord has done, and will do, in and through you.

So, this mother’s happy day 2011, I ache missing you — often picturing each of your beautiful faces. And I once again thank you for the great privilege it is and has been to bear you, to care for you, to pray for you, to know you and to look forward to the days ahead for each one of you.

Thank you all for your patience with me, for your forgiveness for my many failings and shortcomings – for my shortsightedness and distractions. I sincerely thank you for your forgiveness. Thank you for the encouragement you have been both for me and to me. Thank you for bearing with me in the recent past as choppy waters have flooded my life/our lives, actions and thoughts. I’m grateful to you, each one, for standing with me all these years… but most of all for the honour it is and has been to be your mama.

I praise the Lord for the opportunities of your lives… and for the undeserved, immeasurable and inestimable blessings in mine.

And… yes, you can go open your gifts. God bless you more and more. Happy mother’s happy day to each one of you.

with love and thanks,
mama

And ye know in all your hearts and in all your souls,
that not one thing hath failed of all the good things
which the LORD your God spake concerning you;
all are come to pass unto you,
and not one thing hath failed thereof.

Living Long

Living long. I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. I’ve been wondering to my self: what would I be doing today if I had been living long for the last thirty-some-odd years? What would I have accomplished or done differently had I been living long all these years of marriage and motherhood?

This train of thought is the sort of along the same track of thinking as the question: How would God have used me (or my life) had my whole life been yielded to Him? Where would I be today if my whole life had been yielded to Him?

So, living LONG — I don’t necessarily mean focusing on living a long life, or working at attaining a long life, but rather, living in such a manner as to daily consider the ramifications of decisions, consequences of choosing to do or not do something because of long term effects or results.

Thinking long means weighing decisions more carefully – choosing plans, activities, actions wisely and with forethought instead of simply thinking now – living in the moment – carried away in carefree living. O, there’s a place for spontaneity and light-hearted fun — but living spontaneously often has significant drawbacks and consequences.

Thinking long, changes the way we live – changes our daily living. Thinking long changes what we purchase, things we acquire, how we spend our time – and who we spend it with. Thinking long might mean that we choose to invest in something today — missing out on things we’d “rather” do or buy — because experience has taught us the consequences of neglect or inaction.

So you can see why I am mulling this over – a lot – these days. A couple more birthdays have passed in our family — milestones have been reached — time is passing so swiftly and my list of was going to do’s is much greater than my list of have done’s.

I could very easily talk my way out of these reflections – excuse my way out of the consequences or realities. I could (and with a measure of solid justification) explain away the lack of accomplishment, the lack of discipline or skill or whatever. But the truth is, much of the time throughout my motherhood years I’ve not had long thinking — I’ve not intended to live long — I’ve not keep an eternal perspective as a garland over my days or as a path for my feet.

Caught up in the dailies — and you know the dailies are *so* daily — in many areas, I’ve thought short. In many ways, I’ve lived short. In many instances, I’ve planned short. Instead of thinking LONG — I’ve thought TODAY. Instead of investing LONG — I’ve covered TODAY.

Now, at the risk of seeming to back-peddle, I do want to say that by the mercy of God, there are and have been many things — many times — many decisions that were made for the sole purpose of future benefit, future reaping, future provision. The consequences of not doing things one way or doing them one way have been strong motivators in mothering and training the children. Governed by “she will do him good and not evil *all* the days of her life” has been an extremely powerful and important “force” in my life.

I’ve sought to determine to live according to God’s Word — it’s governed my thoughts, decisions and actions… much of my life — but what about the times when that determination has waned or wavered? And what about all those times I thought short instead of long? What if, by faith, I had lived long? What if I, by faith, had not wavered when I chose temporal things instead of eternal things?

What if, by faith, I daily had a long or future perspective when making purchases, spending time, loving my husband, teaching our children, keeping our home, planting and gardening, reading books, watching movies, talking with family or friends, making plans…

By the grace of God, I’m determining to live long while He gives me life.

A new start and an old dream

Have you ever had a dream plan or a dream idea you’ve imagined so long that you actually hope it never happens — for if it comes to pass, then you’ll no longer have the dream to dream?

We’ve had such a dream… well, maybe better said, we long ago had such a dream. A dream that was actually a plan. I never noticed that because so much time had passed and that dream never materialized, I’d stopped dreaming about it and I’d even quit hoping it would happen.

In fact, until recently, I hadn’t even realized that I’d sort of stopped dreaming about most anything future. Not to sound morbid or even depressed, but I had just sort of stopped thinking: long — long as in long-term. Not necessarily hopeless or negative — my failing to think long term had just become sort of routine.

Then it struck me that I’ve not stopped thinking long term for our family, meaning our children, rather I’d simply rarely thought long term about my own life or the life of my husband and our long term goals/future.

This realization came about when I was recently filling out a weekly goals chart. [As an aside: my husband has us all filling out weekly on a printed sheet: our goals, schedules/routines. At the bottom of the monthly sheet, there’s a space for tracking 90 day goals and ‘year end’ goals. This has been extremely helpful to give us a visual record of how we’re spending our time — in addition, it’s been helpful not only for keeping all of us on track, but also to keep aware of what’s going on with each family member and all the various schedules.]

What made me realize I’d largely stopped dreaming or long term planning was the content of my “goals” for each category. They were so… hmmm, so blasé, so nothing — so trivial — not really goals at all. They were simply logical or probably results of still existing or still being alive at the 90 day mark or the year-end point. But as far as intentional and new accomplishments, I hadn’t been recording anything that would require new skills, new plans, new effort, intention or: dreaming!

When this stark reality hit me, I marvelled: when did I stop looking ahead? When did I stop planning ahead — I mean really planning ahead? When did I stop living long — thinking long term? ‘Scared me to realize I’ve just been sort of treading water — doing the needful things each day, fulfilling the tasks of the day — covering the basics with sort of a ‘check-box’ mentality. And then, the sobering reality washed over me when I realized I’d stopped dreaming.

This sort of introspection inspired me to look — really look — at the faces around our table and consider the lives the Lord has given me to nurture. Was I seeing them — I mean, really seeing them? Was I seeing my husband — really seeing him? And then I had to stop and ask: Lord, am I seeing You? Am I really seeking You, Lord — truly seeking You?

Acts 2.17 And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams…”

I’ve been asking the Lord to give me a new hope, a new vision, a new: want to! Not content with status quo — to not be content with lesser things — and to not assume my time here is short or unimportant.

Well, as the Lord would have it… He was working this discontent in me to show me my thoughts, to reveal these shortcomings. And, further, what I didn’t know was that a plan was in the works… and along with that, He was, and is, once again showing me that He cares too much to leave me where I was/am and wants me to not only be done with lesser things, but to trust Him, to obey Him, to let Him lead — that my fruitful days are not over, that my remaining years are not insignificant. Then, to think long, to live intentionally… and to dream.

And so, with my husband… I’m beginning to dream. I’ll tell you more later about God’s great provision in the midst of this new start. It starts with an old dream.

The Birthday Card

I received such a beautiful card yesterday. It was a birthday card — but yesterday was not my birthday — well, not technically, anyway.

But in a way, it was my birth-day, for twenty-five years ago yesterday I gave birth to our first daughter — third child, first daughter. As I look back, nothing and everything prepared me for that day. O, it wasn’t the gap between her birth and the birth of the son five years previous — though it was. It wasn’t that I knew I was to have a daughter — I didn’t know that; it wasn’t that I was surprised to be having a baby — though I was, initially — for I had prayed for years to have another baby — but years went by; no baby. I guess, in reality, what I was unprepared for was the absolute, astounding, overwhelming joy I experienced that day. The stunning joy and practical disbelief that washed over me at the hearing: it’s a girl… it’s a girl. Crying, I repeated the refrain, it’s a girl, it’s a girl. It’s a girl!

The Lord gave me a gift that day — a gift for which I was and am so undeserving. The inestimable value of the gift of that child remains to this day a mystery to me. The child I prayed for was not the child I received. You see, I didn’t then, and do not now, have the capacity to pray for such a gift. And so my request was insignificant compared to the answer I received.

A few weeks or so before her birth, I began to write down names…. O, the oft rehearsed list of favourite names came easily to me. But then one Sunday morning, during the singing of a hymn in church, a word in the chorus seemed to ring out so boldly to me: Grace… grace… God’s grace… Grace that will pardon and cleanse within… Grace… grace… God’s grace… Grace that is greater than all our sin. My hand resting on my round tummy — the baby moving within… I heard & sang the words: Marvelous, matchless, wondrous… infinite grace… freely bestowed on all who believe…

Grace… I stood there… praying: Lord, I prayed, if this is a baby girl, then one of her names will be Grace… and I will tell her about You.

So, you see, nothing and everything prepared me for the gift of the baby girl that day, twenty-five years ago. Space and time do not allow for the recounting of the ways the Lord has blessed me through the years in the gift of this ‘baby-girl.’ As I told her again yesterday, were it not for her, I’d never have made it through the years. I meant it: I don’t know how I’d have made it were it not for her. What she has given me, what she taught me, what she has been to me, I can never repay. Her gracious, tender, generous ways — her eagerness, thoughtfulness, industriousness and a host of other gifts all wrapped up in merciful loving-kindness carried me through motherhood.

Perhaps only another mother of many could understand the significance of what I’m saying here. I had this daughter’s loving support and help… year after year. Perhaps only a mother who tried to do to many things and had many things slip through the cracks will understand what I’m saying here. I had this daughter’s tireless encouragement. I had this daughter’s enthusiastic help. And then, perhaps only a mother who failed to stay focused, failed to keep priorities straight, failed to daily live in tender devotion to her children, will understand the gift of a daughter who remained loyal and merciful.

So when I opened that card yesterday… I cried. I cried with joy. I cried with sorrow. I cried with regret. I cried with thankfulness that God, in His mercy, has redeemed me, has restored the years the locusts have eaten, has given me new hope, new zeal, new passion, new eyes for motherhood… though I so often didn’t even see my lack, didn’t even grasp my blindness to so many things. I don’t know how the days will go… I don’t know how some sorrows will be corrected in life, I don’t know how some losses will be redeemed, I don’t know how some bitternesses will be sweetened, I don’t know how some brokenness will be mended — but I do know this — back when “my world” came crashing down around me and I wondered if I would ever have joy again; I wondered if we would ever smile again; a few things happened: the first, and most important was that God gave me a new heart. Sincerely, that was most significant.

But one of the other things that happened in those days, was that this daughter, this gift from the Lord, this grace in my life, stood by me. Stands by me still. Her encouragement… I can never repay. O, how I recall crying to her in those days — sorrowful that I had been insensitive to her, sorrowful that I so often didn’t see her — just saw what needed to be done. I sort of became such a perfunctory mother. This daughter helped me to see all this so clearly, so tenderly. I owe her a debt of gratitude I can never repay.

And so yesterday morning — undeserving, I opened the card — the birthday card — and I read the beautiful sentiment of gratitude, a gift from this daughter; this precious daughter, the wind beneath my wings… this gift of grace from the Lord. Marvelous, infinite, matchless grace.

I smile tonight… thankful to the Lord for the long journey. Regretful for some of the days behind me… but Hopeful for the days ahead. Rejoicing at what He has done. To God be the glory.

Happy Birthday ♥ sweet girl.

Birthday Princess

Today is not my birthday. Yesterday was not my birthday. The day before yesterday… was. Yet, I woke up yesterday expecting that it should still be my birthday – you know, treats, party hats and special treatment. I call this the birthday-princess mentality. It happens.

The birthday princess mentality is kin to other princess mentalities — you know, the date-princess, the shopping-princess, the napping-princess. You get the idea. It’s as if whenever some delightful thing/event/outing happens, it ought to continue happening, I mean, I am the birthday (or whatever) princess after all.

I woke up this morning to the reality of Monday, and like most Monday’s, I felt the night’s sleep was entirely too brief and the morning came far too soon. The morning was ushering in the day that held much to be done. I knew much was on the list of to-do’s — but I was still feeling too-special-to-work — and then came the nearly startling reality: What? It’s not my birthday?!?!

I must accept the reality that birthdays are a once-a-year deal. Regrettably, it’s only once a year the birthday princess can wear her tiara (and get away with it). At Claire’s the other night (on my birthday) I was looking over the displays of barrettes and hairbands and noticed a beautiful diamond tiara. Setting my handbag down and adjusting the tiara on my head, I whispered, psssssst, to my husband and daughter in another part of the small shoppe. They were amused. They did not buy me the beautiful tiara.

I knew at that moment I had few precious hours left to be the birthday princess. Even still, no tiara.

Just to clarify, I’m not talking about the princess complex (though I think we all occasionally have, or suffer, the princess-complex from time to time). The princess-complex is that overarching need to be found desirable. The desire to be the darling — the center of attention. Or, maybe for others (and I’m not referring to this either), the Cinderella complex – you know, the strong need/wish that someone will come rescuing from whatever oppressive/poor/neglected/unloved current plight — that surely there’s a prince out there that will make all the troubles of the world go away and life will be convenient, rich and effortless.

No, the birthday-princess mentality is much simpler that all that. It’s just the delight in being made to feel special for the day. The normal routines are sort of set aside. Maybe that’s why it’s so fun. Sort of like dressing up, eating fine foods at a fancy restaurant – eating a delicious meal you don’t plan for, shop for, cook or clean up after. For most of us, it’s not real life — for most of us, the other side is more our daily life — you know, the planning, cleaning, washing, cooking, serving and cleaning up the kitchen afterward. So it’s the sweet stuff that makes for the birthday princess dreams.

In reality, some of us can’t really take too much of the birthday princess pampering. I know it’s usually way too much for me to have the extra attention — to be on the receiving end of the service. Even more, it’s hard for me not to keep doing or want to keep doing chores.

Our daughter, Kathryn, prepared the most delicious meal the other night for my ‘family birthday’ dinner. So many delicious foods – she made beautiful hors d’Oeuvres, salad, roast and baked potatoes; the softest fresh potato rolls… Omy – sooo good! And to finish the meal, she served a delicious dessert. She’d even gotten flowers!! She made the whole birthday meal look and taste beautiful — it was all delightful. And as if that weren’t enough, she also prepared an exquisite birthday breakfast for the whole family here the next morning — that was in addition to a birthday coffee and a special birthday dessert made for our church meal. All the while she was preparing to go out of town for a couple of weeks — but that didn’t hinder her generosity.

I loved watching her work/create all the different dishes. Though she often shooed me out of the kitchen, I found it so hard to stand by and just watch. So, whenever I could, I washed a bowl or scrubbed a pan… trying to shadow her as she cooked. She told me, no, no, no… it’s your special day – you’re the birthday princess!

And then it dawned on me: Yes! Yes, I was born to be a princess. But I was also born to work.

And I’m so glad.

Springtime… seasons

The lacy green leaves are slowly appearing and daffodils are beginning to bloom around the old willow tree. Isn’t it an awesome wonder: Every year, every passing season, has its marvelous reminders of the lavish mercy and everlasting kindness of the Lord. May I never take this for granted nor think it not majestic.

Passing through many seasons in thirty-three years of marriage, I so hope I never again take for granted my husband’s care and thoughtful gestures. You know, it’s something we all do — take for granted things that are or have been long present with us. We assume things will continue just as they have… and then an illness, an accident, a tragedy occurs and that once steady, once forever, once ‘always there’ part of our life is taken away, lost, given away — whatever.

I was reading a long, detailed obituary this morning — a recounting of the life of a beloved wife, mother, grandmother. A story of a stranger, yet after reading her obituary, a friend. I began to think of different things I might want to write about my own mother; things I might want to write about my husband, my children, my friends. All filling different spaces, memories, needs and seasons in my life — yet, do I take them for granted? Do I tell them today the things I might be called upon to record in tomorrow’s obituary? Might I never have another season with them?

My husband has the music player beside our bed set to play a few songs for me to hear when he wakes me up each morning. He’s carefully chosen such encouraging music for me — I’m so blessed and inspired by the music — but, really, it’s the words I hear that linger in my thoughts and set the tone of the morning. Like prayer and God’s Word… the music stays with me, greatly inspiring me for the day.

Ever mindful of just what I need, lately he’s included a song that’s been particularly encouraging to me. It’s called Springtime’s Coming, sung by Kim Hopper ( The Hopper’s are Southern gospel singers). Interestingly, I actually only really like a very select few Southern Gospel groups and wouldn’t ordinarily choose this particular one, but there’s something particularly beautiful and instructive to me in the one song he’s chosen for me. I can’t find a clip to post, nor can I find the lyrics to share with you. But here’s my attempt to share it with you. It goes something like this… I’m sorry to not have the beautiful music for you.

Springtime’s Coming

On the heels of a Winter wind, balmy breezes
will blow across your garden again,
the seeds of hope you’ve planted,
are alive beneath the snow, the blooms are yet to show…
this season will end.

Springtime’s coming, after the winter wind.

I know it’s hard to imagine that Spring’s on the way…
With the trees brown and barren and the skies so gray

Right before your eyes God has the sweetest surprise
All the new things He’s prepared to colour your world…
Springtime’s coming.

As long as heaven and earth remain
God promises the seasons will change
Springtime’s coming.

My husband gave me this card some years back for our anniversary… Many seasons have passed from that anniversary to this day. And I can truly say that God has had the sweetest surprises in store for me following some of the seemingly most barren seasons. Praise the Lord. He only does all things well. May I never take this for granted.

CSA: Risk Telling the Story

Telling stories of your yesterdays bores some people, encourages some people and inspires some people — embarrasses some people, too. I know, many times through the years, I’ve witnessed the reactions women have when some woman opens her mouth to share her story. I’ve seen it when I’ve shared my story. They’ve heard it all before and they’re weary at the thought of having to hear it ah-gain. People totally write other people off when they’re weary of hearing their stories.

Sadly, as some poor woman begins to utter the first sentence of her story (again), her audience, as if cued to do so, glazes over. They seem to go into auto-pilot as they remain in their chairs, appearing to be listening, but really they’re mentally rehearsing their to-do lists, mentally reorganizing their craft drawers, mapping out their gardens or surreptitiously inserting an earbud to listen to their latest iTune download. And sadly, though it might not seem like it, she probably sees all this, I’ve seen all this.

But she tells her story. Again. I’ve told my story. Again.

This past week in our Sunday Meeting, a brother was sharing the culmination of seven year’s of prayer regarding a matter he’d been dealing with and how the Lord worked so mightily and so mercifully in his life and on his behalf. And then he shared a most encouraging and instructive admonition. And it was this: when someone’s going through something, when someone’s dealing with something, listen to them — listen to their story — even if you’ve heard it all before — even if you’re tired of hearing it. Listen to them… because even if it is tiring to hear the story again and again, the person telling the story is still going through the trial — still dealing with a struggle, a heartache, a sorrow — whatever. You might want to just move on… but, truly, if they’re still in the midst of a trial… they’re not moving on yet. And if you hang in there with them, then when the trial or the storm passes, you will be able to sincerely rejoice with them.

To ignore them or to apathetically check out as they’re talking is just as bad as saying: “Been there, Done that” when a person describes something they’re facing. The been there, done that phrase is really so selfish and disrespectful — though meanness or disrespect is not intended, it feels that way to the one sharing the story.

And so it is with the woman who is telling her story – in this case, about CSA. Especially if it’s just recently that she’s begun to risk revealing her story – her past – and her experiences because of it. It’s a terribly risky thing to do – the telling of the story. Because, by now, she’s faced the truth, she’s risked not being believed, she’s risked being harmed (further), she’s probably told on the perpetrator, she’s come out of the shadow of silence and shame and now she’s daring to be vulnerable with her hearers. Maybe even again. And again.

In the telling of her story, she’s risking judgment – real or imagined. She’s risking ridicule – real or imagined and, further, she’s risking her own feelings, her own suppressed memories, suppressed anger and fear coming to the surface all over again. Those things feel real — not imagined and the risk is real — not imagined.

What she doesn’t know going into it is how the Lord is using the experiences in her life in the lives of others. What she doesn’t know is that God is so big — so great — so merciful — that because He never wastes a thread, He can and will use what she’s gone through — what she’s going through and He will continue healing, working and reworking in her so that her life reflects His glory.

We rarely see that our sphere of influence is much greater than our sphere of acquaintance and the story we’ve told today, in a roomful of seemingly apathetic hearers, just might have fallen into the tender ears and heart of a sister who has a story she’s afraid to tell. The telling of the story may be just the encouragement she needs to muster the courage to tell her story.

If just one sister is helped, then the risk was so totally worth it.
If just one woman is helped by these CSA blog entries, then it’s all been worth it to me.

CSA; I’ve never told anyone this before, but…

That’s how the stories usually begin… that’s how they usually come tumbling out of mouth of a woman sitting beside me. The story is actually prefaced with: Can I talk to you? And after I say, Of course, hot tears seem to well up in the eyes of the one who desperately needs to tell someone — someone who will listen, someone who will understand, someone who will care.

[ Because of something I might have shared there in a talk or because of the “safe-feeling” of the setting – maybe it’s after a Bible study, a Ladies’ Tea or at a Women’s Retreat – I think women know they can talk to me; they know I will listen, they know I will understand and they know I will care. What they might not know (or believe) is that not only will all those things be true, but I will also pray with and for them. I’m so glad for these opportunities. I marvel how the Lord’s continually brought to mind many women I’ve talked with over the years. And though I might’ve forgotten their name – I still remember their stories, I still remember their faces and still care that they shared their stories with me. And I pray for them. These opportunities are some of the ways the Lord has shown me that what the devil intended for evil, God intended for good — for my good and His glory. ]

And so, their story usually begins something like this: I’ve never told anyone this before, but when I was eleven (or what ever age) my step-father (or uncle or brother or neighbour or family friend, etc.) sexuallyabused me. I didn’t know it was sexualabuse at the time, but he told me not to tell anyone… and I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and I knew there would be trouble if I told anyone… but I can’t live with this secret anymore. This secret is killing me. I just can’t keep this in anymore.

Even if she told one person initially, she’ll usually remain pretty silent after that. Maybe only ever just hinting at a problem. Because the fear remains. And then shame moves in and brings along shame’s traveling companion: guilt. She wonders how could that have happened? And then she resolves, that will never happen again! But she remains silent. That silence lasts for years — creative coping mechanisms sort of carry her through; she learns to adapt to fear and insulates herself from further abuse… she becomes adept at stuffing her emotions, masking them or pretending they don’t exist. Lots of denial, lots of shame, destructive habits and character issues. Doubt and fear become second nature and, generally speaking, it will be a long time before a girl or woman will ever divulge what happened.

And for most of us, sooner or later, a breaking point washes over us and we find trust in someone and can finally say: I’ve never told anyone this before but…

And there’s some strange comfort in the telling. It’s not the same smug wielding of power that comes when a child says: I’m telling! to a sister or friend who took the last cookie or whatever. It’s a different — a freeing revelation — one that looks fear in the face and says: you cannot hurt me anymore. It’s one that takes that secret and blows it to pieces, saying: It’s out… the secret’s out. The secret isn’t secret anymore.

And after the telling… after the woman’s straightened herself in the chair, wiped her tears and has taken a deep breath, she looks up and, maybe for the first time, experiences a small bit of relief — knowing that : now someone else knows and now someone else cares — finally, someone understands. I totally understand. And, truth is, lots of “someone’s” understand.

At this point, I usually ask the woman (if she’s married) if she’s candidly talked with her husband about this. And, actually, such is usually the case — women have usually at least told their husband. But if not, I always suggest that’s the next person to talk with and I pray with her that by the grace of God, she will do that right away. I always feel like I wish I could somehow convey to a husband, in advance, hey, your wife’s got a very, very heavy burden to reveal to you… you already know deep down that she has some deep seated hurts – some wounds and scars that need attention and healing. And you’re going to need to be ready to bear this burden with her…but I don’t and so, with trust in the merciful Lord, I mentally give the matter to Him.

If the woman is not married, then the matter is wholly different — and prayer for wisdom and understanding is the first measure to take. And then, very special attention to working out with her, talking her through the revealing, through the facing of the truth — to parents or whomever is ‘responsible’ for her care.

In the end, I sure pray she will carry through and will be believed when she says, I’ve never told anyone this before, but…

CSA Fallout

Still drinking from my saucer ’cause my cup’s overflowed. And, in light of the horrific tragedy that’s befallen Japan, I want to say what I’ve written today is in no way meant to make light of that whole situation. Just wanted to make those comments before I continue writing today’s blog entry.

I want to write some more chapters in my CSA mini-series. I’ve dealt with the results, the unintended consequences or the results of sexualabuse through the years and here and there a thought or reaction will come up. It’s always unexpected, always surprising — but always there. CSA is always so right-around-the-corner. It’s always so right there. This is one reality only CSA survivors really understand. The reason I say this is the number of times I’ve heard (myself or from others) that was a long time ago, get over it. Can’t you get over it?

The CSA survivor wants to say, yes; the CSA survivor wants to think, yes; the CSA survivor wants to believe, yes. She may even think she has gotten over it. Then the fallout. The fallout comes in many forms – thoughts, dreams, rage, fear, panic — default reactions to situations that come up. Fallout.

World English Dictionary
fallout (ˈfɔːlˌaʊt)

— n
1. the descent of solid material in the atmosphere onto the earth, esp of radioactive material following a nuclear explosion
2. any solid particles that so descend
3. informal side-effects; secondary consequences

— vb
4. informal to quarrel or disagree
5. ( intr ) to happen or occur
6. military to leave a parade or disciplinary formation

Fallout. The unintended consequences the perpetrator leaves in the life of the sexuallyabused child. After the explosion of CSA, the particles have been blown so far and wide that the magnitude of the “fallout” may not be seen for a long, long time. O, there’s enough initial fallout to change that life, but the deeper consequences might not be seen (or understood) for a long time – those secondary consequences.

If you’re a CSA survivor, you’ll get this — maybe you haven’t until now. But after you read some of these examples, maybe you’ll have some ah-ha moments – maybe some pieces will finally “come together” and you’ll connect the dots between things that don’t ever seem to make sense. Maybe you struggle with reality. Maybe you struggle with relationships. Maybe truth. Maybe trust. Dot. dot. dot.

Maybe you’re saying: Wow, that’s me, I’m so all those things. Maybe those are some of the dots in your life. For me, I call these dots with no connections: Bridges to Nowhere. I’ll be going along and suddenly there’s a bridge to nowhere in my thinking, reaction or emotion — a situation comes up, a relationship issue presents itself, a thought comes to mind and suddenly there’s nowhere to go. No solutions, no trust, no natural or appropriate emotion. Emotional disconnects. Bridges to nowhere. Fallout. An emotional bridge to nowhere. Fallout.

I know I began asking questions when different things didn’t ever seem to connect. Why do I do this or why do I always think that? Compulsive about some things, indifferent about others. Disconnects.

There are lots of “disorders” or labels for these behaviours or reactions. Such disorders as: Depersonalization disorder, Attachment disorder, post-traumatic stress syndrome — just to name a few. I think when we finally muster the courage to tell our story, to tell the truth, to risk being vulnerable enough to tell what happened, we begin to travel on the road of healing. Telling on our abuser might happen first and then down the road we finally admit the need for help, and then get determined to ask for it, we can finally begin experiencing healing and understanding.

We come to a turning point when we can admit or acknowledge we have a problem or problems with our responses to things/people/situations. It’s then that we can resolve to make changes — to let the LORD work His work in us — to heal us as we yield to His work and redemption.

Connecting bridges to nowhere.

Over the years I’ve been so blessed to have the husband I have. I believe God sweetly and mercifully gave me the husband He did. He’s the one who will help me when the bridges to nowhere seem so true and the nowhere seems so real — the one who helps me connect the dots, so to speak.

Truth. I think that’s the most important matter for adult survivors of CSA — to face truth. Determine to think truth. Determine to perceive truth. Determine to believe truth. Determine to live truth. Determine to trust truth. These are big. These are big dots. I’ve come to understand and believe these are sort of the imperatives for “survival.” Over and over again deceit will creep in — and deceit is a big creep! Deceit will convince you to believe things you would, ordinarily, absolutely reject as false — but in that weak moment you give in and believe the lies.

Thus, rejecting lies becomes, or must become, one of the highest priorities for me (or for other women) to survive the fallout of CSA. Is this true? Is this what the Bible tells me? Is this from the LORD? Is this what the Lord says/thinks about me? Is this God’s clear plan for me? If the answer to any of those questions is ever, No, then I have to act on my resolve to answer/react with Truth.

Emotional bridges to nowhere need to become connected by, and to, truth.

I’ve made it my personal “mission” or pursuit to pick a Truth to stand on and, when faced with deceit, look for another Truth to connect to. Eliminating the concepts “never” and “can’t” are imperative. I must not say: I never do this right. I must not say: I can’t ever get past this. In faith, I can — through Christ alone who strengthens me: I can. I can love, I can trust, I can hope, I can rest, I can commit to this or that thing or person.

CSA causes an explosion and that explosion that’s hugely impacting and produces great fallout. Sometimes, years down the road, that fallout triggers seemingly unexplainable reactions — can an adult survivor of CSA overcome the fallout? In faith, I trust so. In Jesus, I believe so.