How chaos can order your life:

“Things don’t matter. Pictures don’t matter. I have my husband and my daughter and my Momma. That’s all that matters.”

She just stood there stunned, not knowing where to begin. The tornado had ripped her home apart and nearly taken the lives of the three that were there.

We had arrived to help them salvage what they could of their belongings and discovered that they didn’t have renters insurance. That meant that whatever we picked up was what they had to start over with. It’s hard to imagine (although I had tried before we arrived) what a monumental task it would be to pick through piles of a twisted broken house to try and find one little thing that might have survived. A ceramic jar here, a bed sheet there, a stuffed animal hanging from a tree limb; that was all we found at first. No one really had a plan. How could they? Just look for anything that is salvageable. For me it was: try and find something precious: a picture, a cherished trinket… something.

Finally after a few hours of finding just a few items that covered the bottom of a rubber maid tub, a plan began to surface: clear a path through the rubble, pick through a pile (lumber this way, scrap metal that way), throw away what is clearly garbage and box the rest so the family can sort through it when they are finally able to think. Our plan was to get the salvageable items centralized so we could cover it with a tarp before it rained again.

The woman couldn’t offer direction at all. She said all she did was cry when she went up to the house site. She sat on the tailgate of a friend’s truck and told her tale to her neighbors and family, probably a thousand times over. She needed to talk. I think maybe it’s easier for someone unattached to pick through the rubble. It did not devastate me to throw away a busted up fisher price toy. But what would go through her mind if she picked that up. Would she wonder if the baby had been there, would she have survived?

What do we do when storms rip through our lives? How do we pick up the pieces and keep moving? Right now this woman is surrounded by friends and family, but what about a month from now when all has settled down and she only has a few card board boxes full of her things to start over with?

All the family and friends could do was thank us and all I could say was: this is what I would want. If I had lost my home and my belongings, I would want people to come and help me salvage what I could. I have had other storms come through my life and it takes so long to pick through the rubble.

Where do you begin?

When storms rip through your peace of mind… when people have taken their last breath and their earthly shell lies under a mound of earth… when marriages dissolve with a few words and blots of ink on paper… when the one you vowed to cherish forever lies in another’s bed… when disease cuts deep and words cut deeper… where do you begin?

No one really has a plan at first. How can they? We just look for something salvageable. We grasp for something to hold onto… a child, a friend, a pastor…

How do you clear a path through the rubble of your life? How do you find the strength to move on? How do you not simply stand there in the rain beating your fists against heaven? How do we continue to believe that God is good when what we see being served up to us is unpalatable?

I don’t know what this woman’s life was like before the twister twisted her home apart. I don’t know what her priorities were but I know me. I know it is so easy to get my own priorities out of whack. I run here and there trying to get the laundry done and the bills paid and “pick up your toys” and “don’t leave that in the living room.” I seek to make order out of my life and I forget what really matters. I mow over the hearts in my home, trying to order my home. I never think that a storm could come and spread my belongings for miles and I would all of the sudden be ORDERED. “Stuff doesn’t matter. People matter.”

In the eye of the storm there seemed to be the MOST chaos and yet that is where the most ORDER was found. Her priorities became suddenly clear. When God rips all the clutter out of our hands a spreads it for miles, we look to see what is left and maybe, just maybe we can see what is important.

Then we can begin to slowly pick through the rest, throw away what is clearly garbage, and try and salvage what we now see is important. I think when storms have come our way, we NEED to have others to help us sort through the rubble. I believe those who have also endured their own personal storms offer the best wisdom. I don’t want someone who has never suffered to tell me how to recover from searing grief. Not that others cannot help. They can… they can sit on the tailgate and JUST listen. That is so very important.

It is important to let people in. There are those who would not receive any help and sometimes we are just like that. When help comes, don’t close the door on it. Let those who have endured storms help guide you. There is wisdom to be found there.

Picking through the rubble of your life will be a slow process. I have learned it’s best not to rush it. I have also learned that you can’t junk all the things in your past. It is tempting to believe that all is lost when taking in the whole scene but no matter how big the storm is, there is always something to salvage, even if it is simply that you are still living and breathing and able to keep going.

Centralize what you have left and preserve it, before the rains come again. They will come, I believe that God is moving us toward himself with the rain. Whether we bless or curse God, we press toward him during trials.

As someone who has endured trials, I see God using the rain to press me toward him. He uses chaos to order me and I know I have been fired and can see God’s purpose for the storms.

Hidden Sorrow

You would think this time of year would be lifting this winter fog off my mind. Everything is greening, everything is warming, life is emerging everywhere. My bulbs and wild flowers are faithful to send up jade leaves, slowly unfurling.

There will be flowers.

My flowers come in seasons. First the Daffodils, then Primrose (we call them “ I love you” flowers- a cherished memory of courtship), quickly the Irises will don purple bonnets, and lastly the Daylillies and Canalillies will explode the yard with orange and yellow.

And yet with all this promise of visual food for my soul, there is a fog that lies heavy on my heart. It is strange that my grief consumes me even when I am not conscious of it. I wake up in the morning wondering: what is wrong with me? Am I just overwhelmed by the clutter that marks my calendar… the constant “hither and yon” of children and church and just ordinary responsibilities? Is it that undone task that is nagging at the back of my brain? Why can’t I button up just one simple thing in my life? Why can’t I complete something? I want to line all my accomplishments in a row and prove to the world or just prove to myself that I have finished SOMETHING.

As usual, I want to be more than the Special Chicken that I am.

I look again at the calendar. I know why I am foggy. The answer probably lies on April 8^th.

I don’t know exactly what time she died. I know it was after midnight on a Tuesday. It’s funny how: not knowing the exact date has troubled me. I know it doesn’t really matter but it has pestered me a little. I wonder if she lay there unconscious for hours as her breathing slowed and death drew near. I wonder how long the window of salvation stood open as she lay there un-rescued.

Salvation… that word nags at me too. I had saved my mother from death many a time. But I am not the one who saves souls, am I? I could save her from tasting the grave for a time but I could not save her from standing at the judgment seat. We all stand before the Lord someday.

They call us survivors. When they write out the obituary, they list the immediate (and sometimes the extended) family. The person is survived by… For years I felt like I was just trying to survive. I am finally in a place where I feel like I can actually live. It doesn’t keep me from wishing that she could have found a good reason to live. I still battle guilt that floods in for a moment and I pray to my God to swallow up my grief. He has swallowed up a mighty river before.

I met a woman once that called herself a survivor of suicide and she noted the difference between this kind of death and natural or even accidental death. I think that the difference is the human factor. It was not God’s decision to take. The person made the decision. Then there is the “if it was in human hands, then why couldn’t I have prevented it” factor.

After that, I met two more women who had lost their own mothers to suicide in the same year I lost mine. I wanted to reach out and comfort them. I wanted to clearly state the answers the Lord had shown me, and yet my grief still plagues me. It is not a paralyzing grief that shuts me down and incapacitates me (most days) but a hum in the back of my mind that seeks to distract me or make me seek distraction. I want to flip on the TV or really loud music that will drown out doubt and fear and uncertainty.

In the quiet, the tears slip out. I see my departed loved one in the soft notes on the piano… my sweet boy reflects his grandmother in musical genius. I knew this before she died. He carries on her song.

Within the silence I feel my grief loud and yet in facing it, I find a peace that surpasses understanding. Within the deafening sorrow, a light shines. I know this is not a worldly venture. It is a holy quest. I am not one who is ignorant of Holy Pilgrimage and so I press on.

Maybe I am trail blazing and other survivors of suicide will be encouraged to blaze their own trails through the valley of grief. Maybe this is just another Refining Fire. Either way, I am awed at the hand of The Creator on my life.

As the second anniversary of my mother’s death draws near, I feel another link in my chains of flesh broken, another layer is cut off my uncircumcised heart…

Model of Mourning

There are many kinds of grief. I have known many kinds of grief. I see people suffering under their own grief daily. Some embrace it, cling to it… make it their identity… refuse to surrender the burden to the ONE, the only one, who can carry it. Some suppress it, pretend it is not there. They suffer under confusion. Buried grief in the soul shows on the countenance of the face and is revealed through action… through our WALK.

I suppose in our culture, grieving is not a process we are good at. In any culture, mourning is not a process that will produce much of anything good without God. Without a place to take our grief, we are left simply trying to accept the reality of living in the fallen world. Without revelation from the WORD of God, we are at a loss to see any purpose or hope in our place of suffering.

I have a friend who lost her husband recently and she named her blog: Good Greif. That title strikes me two ways: First I chuckle at the thought of Charlie Brown’s exasperated phrase. Then I think, is grief good?

“Oh show me Lord the purpose for this grief that plagues me.”

That has been my cry for years. Well, it didn’t start out like that. It started out like, “Lord take this pain and grief from me. Help me… Heal me…” Then it turned into, “Lord show me the reason.”

I could give you a list of the things that grieve a person, but I don’t have to. You know your own heartache. Even if you have buried it deep, you know that you hurt. If you take a moment, you can probably identify that you have buried.

As for me, my grief and my season of grieving did not begin when my mother took her own life. That is the time when most would agree is the appropriate time to grieve. No, my season began when I realized that I had I had suffered trauma as a child and that I had an open wound in my soul. I spent a long season learning how to grieve what I had lost and pour out my burden on the Lord.

I think that is the point of transforming a worldly sorrow into a sorrow that brings salvation. It is all about WHO we are pouring our grief and heartache and pain on. I go back to Lamentations and to David the author of about 73 Psalms. The object of the lament is ALWAYS the Lord. If David was a contemporary song writer, he would have been writing some SAD songs. Like most song writers, he was working through his grief through his craft: music.

As a young person, I was always drawn to sad songs, so I suppose it makes sense that I would be drawn to the Psalms. But unlike the worldly way of broadcasting our misery so others can commiserate… relate to our suffering, the Psalmist’s grief provides what I think is a model for mourners.

David was suffering different kinds of grief. He was persecuted and pursued. He mourned the tragic death of many Godly men. He grieved over his own sin and the consequences there-of.

I think that is how my grieving happened. I grieved over wrongs done to me and senseless tragedy and then I grieved most bitterly over my own sin and the people I had wronged.

David poured his lament out on the Lord and yet in his grief, he was doggedly committed to the idea that God is good. Even as he accused God of forgetting about him, David reminded himself of the truth.

Psalms 13:1-6 says For the director of music. A psalm of David. How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? (2) How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? (3) Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; (4) my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall. (5) But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. (6) I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.

Do you think God has forgotten you? Do you wonder how long this season of suffering will last? Cry out to the Lord in your grief. Remind yourself that it is God who saves you. God has unfailing love for you.

I think we are so afraid to say what we really think to the Lord. I think we are afraid to admit to God that we don’t think he is coming to our rescue. Let me tell you, when you tell God you think he is not coming to your rescue, you can bet he is going to prove you wrong. That moment of confession is the moment God will whisper to your heart.

I was speaking with a friend who is suffering with depression recently and I asked her if she was crying out to God and placing her burdens at his feet. She said that all she could really manage in the way of prayer was: HELP! This morning I chuckled when I was going over some of my favorite psalms. I saw one that begins with the word: HELP.

Psalms 12:1-8 For the director of music. According to sheminith. A psalm of David. Help, LORD, for the godly are no more; the faithful have vanished from among men. (2) Everyone lies to his neighbor; their flattering lips speak with deception. (3) May the LORD cut off all flattering lips and every boastful tongue (4) that says, "We will triumph with our tongues; we own our lips—who is our master?" (5) "Because of the oppression of the weak and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise," says the LORD. "I will protect them from those who malign them." (6) And the words of the LORD are flawless, like silver refined in a furnace of clay, purified seven times. (7) O LORD, you will keep us safe and protect us from such people forever. (8) The wicked freely strut about when what is vile is honored among men.

Is it true that EVERYONE lies and faithful men have vanished from among men? Well, no, but that is just where David was at. He was oppressed and pouring out his frustration on the Lord. He even used graphic words to tell the Lord that he wanted those fools to SHUT UP! I can even hear David saying, “Well they were like…. And I am like… well God says he’s gonna get you cuz he is ALL for the under-dog!”

This last part of this model of mourning is VERY important. Whatever your lament begins with… and whatever you pour out before the Lord, it should ALWAYS be directed at the Lord and it should always end with either a statement of the goodness of God or praises to Him.

The place we deposit our lament…. the receptacle of our cares is the Lord.

Psalms 55:22 says Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.

What good does it do to pour our cares out on people? They cannot change your situation or bring peace to your conflicted soul. If they are believers it may serve the purpose of reminding you of the goodness of God or the promises he has for you in your situation. But the FIRST place we lay our burdens is on the Lord. He may give you people in your life who will help you carry that burden but all the solutions come from HIM. We need to remember that: all GOOD things come from God. He is the one who sustains us.

If you have hidden the word of the Lord in your heart, most likely, by the end of your lament, there will be a ray of light in your soul. Just the simple act of heart-felt confession of your burdens to the Lord can turn your negative attitude into an attitude of praise.

That is modeled in Psalm after Psalm begins like: My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me. Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me. I said, "Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest—(Psalms 55:4-6)

And end like: But I call to God, and the LORD saves me. (17) Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice. (18) He ransoms me unharmed from the battle waged against me, even though many oppose me. (22) Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall. (23) But you, O God, will bring down the wicked into the pit of corruption; bloodthirsty and deceitful men will not live out half their days. But as for me, I trust in you. Psalms 55:16-23

Even if that truth we cling to is just a small morsel, it is a crumb on a trail that will lead to the abundance of God. David grieved the persecution he suffered and yet his morsel of truth was that God will sustain those who cast their cares on Him. That tiny flame of truth can spread into a circle of flames that will surround you in even the darkest moments on the path.

Even if all we can manage to say to the Lord is: HELP. We have begun the practice of crying out to him.

I am so good at coming up with my own feeble solutions. I will spend hours of my day trying to work things out and yet fail to spend one MOMENT of my day crying out to the Lord: HELP! I have come up with charts and strategy and all kinds of my own solutions and yet now I see that when I seek the Lord for answers, all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Whatever kind of grief you have, follow the model in scripture: Take it to the Lord, pour out your HONEST heart cry, and then remind yourself of a tiny bit of truth from scripture. Then you can watch that truth grown and swell in your heart until it crowds out the lies.

Lamentations

I struggle with writing words about painful experiences. Are we not supposed to dwell on the positive?

Philippians 4:8 says Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Why broadcast my pain and heartache to the world? Has not the Lord healed me? Is there a basis for grieving in the bible? If so what is that basis?

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 says There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: (2) a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, (3) a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, (4) a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

Weeping, laughing, mourning, and dancing… What is appropriate? When is the season? What does it look like to mourn? When does mourning turn into brooding? When does grief turn into bitterness?

My mind turns to the “greats” in the bible who mourned… the ones who poured our their grief before the Lord… the ones who lamented great tragedy and yet their hearts did not turn from the Lord.

Jeremiah was called the “weeping prophet.” He wrote a series of poems which are now called Lamentations. He grieved his own personal tragedy but more then that he grieved the fallen city of Jerusalem. He grieved the fallen condition of the heart of man. Yet through it all, he remained in the posture of a man who knew that all of the things the Lord did were GOOD.

The city was broken and yet that is what had to happen. It had to happen to make a way for the ONE to come and restore man to true communion with God.

I believe every tragedy we experience in our lives are making a way for God to move. Every heartache we experience is making a way for God to reveal himself to us or someone else. When I see God moving in someone else’s life, I STILL SEE GOD.

When I experience pain and heartache, I have a choice to make. I can either become bitter and resentful toward God or I can make the choice to believe that God has a plan and a purpose for my pain. The refining fire is painful most of the time but the purpose of the fire is to bring out the best in me.

What about you? Do painful circumstances in your life make you press in harder toward the Lord to try and get a glimpse of his hand in it OR do you dwell in your grief and become distant from the one who would show you the way to TRUE peace?

Where is the line between heart felt cries to the Lord and bitter lamentations?

2 Corinthians 7:10 says Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.

Godly sorrow recognizes that salvation comes from the Lord alone. Your sorrow, your pain over wrongs done to you should lead you to a place where you recognize that all men have evil veiling their good hearts and that evil is no respecter of persons. Evil does not seek out the guilty… evil seeks to destroy the innocent. The turning point comes when you recognize that you have evil in your own heart and that your sin is no different from the sin that the person who wronged you has committed. This Godly sorrow LEADS to repentance.

If you surrender yourself to the process and believe the LORD wants to heal you, you will see the Lord’s hand on your life.

Worldly sorrow is a perpetual carousel of replaying that grief over and over again. To dwell in that place without the purpose of seeking the Lord’s hand in it… to stay in a place of asking whys but not wanting to hear the answers…. That is a path that leads to death.

Do you want to hear why God allowed pain in your life? Do you want to know why the innocent suffer and evil men seem to prosper on this earth? Do you want to know why, if God is loving God, why does he not simply make everything RIGHT again? Do you want to know why followers of Christ seem to be dealt a double portion of grief?

Do you truly want the answers to these questions?

There ARE biblical answers but if you are drowning in a worldly sorrow, you probably do not want to hear the answers. Godly sorrow seeks to find the true answers to those questions rather than wallowing in a sea of bitterness and self-pity. And yet even in seeking the answers, there is still pain.

THAT is why I write about painful experiences because you need to have permission to ask the hard questions. God is not scared to hear your cries… any of your cries… He wants you to seek the truth in this place. He wants you to press into the hard stuff so that you can be healed. He doesn’t just want you to sweep it under the rug.

He wants you to hate injustice and seek to expose lies and proclaim truth.

That is what I am here to say: There is a wealth of injustice in the world. The truth is that God is good and he wants to heal you.

Lamentations 3:18-26 So I say, "My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the LORD." (19) I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. (20) I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. (21) Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: (22) Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. (23) They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (24) I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." (25) The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; (26) it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

The Chapter Closes

Bones remember what the heart does not

I have to pause at this spot

The spot that I have tasted pain

Drown in pools of tears that rain

The echo of a song not sung

The image of beloved one

Whose hand forever slipped away

On that fateful, tragic day

A day not very long ago

When will these tears cease to flow?

The epic tale, this chapter closed

Marked the fork in the road

My loved-ones earth journey is now done

They reached the end on race they’d run

In this gruesome, bloody war

Dirt stained hands wanted more

We wanted all to make it out alive

No one dear to up and die

And yet this chapter’s tragic twist

Tries to pull me into abyss

Of sleepless nights and guilty days

Turning from the lighted ways

It tries to drag me into night

Or from this battle to take flight

Do I want the fate of those?

Who tried to fight our forever foe?

Can I withdraw from the fray?

Just be “normal” as they say?

I know I didn’t start this fight

Does that justify my flight?

Or do I have to stand and fight?

I don the armor of the ONE

I know the war’s already won

But in this battle, here... today

Could just go either way

Behind the armor, my body quakes

I shiver… I pray I do not break

I grab hold of the only weapon known

To smite the enemy it’s shown

To uphold the weary one

That’s what the WORD of God has done

I mediate on it everyday

I try to walk in the WAY

I know I can only cling

Of His GRACE I boldly to sing

And his praises loudly ring

Trauma Part 2: When everyone does NOT make it out alive

We were not like other people who go about their business day after day and feel safe and secure when they lay down to sleep at night. No… we were fighting for our lives.

I remember the day I realized that there was something out there that wanted to claim my life. I remember waking up the next morning, feeling the pain in my broken ankles and realizing that this was serious… that this is a matter of life and death.

Recovery for me was not optional. I had no desire to drag my children through the same roller coaster I went on with my own parents.

The other women I met in recovery had the same issues I had. The things that tripped us up were different but the reason why we stumbled through this life was the same. We all believed that we were worthless. There were days when we grabbed hold of the truth but most of the time, we suffered under lies. All of us knew Christ. That was the easy part… it was discovering what our value is as a follower of Christ that was hard.

Everyone of us operated under this lie differently. One would put on airs and tried and display her value as being better than others, in an effort to convince herself that she had worth. She put others down to try and feel valuable. But at her CORE she felt worthless.

Another would try to be invisible. She never felt herself worthy of anyone’s attention. She would work tirelessly to help others, never expecting to receive even a word in return. No amount of work felt good enough for her, she felt she always had to do more. At her core she felt worthless.

Yet another would timidly try and assert herself. There was a tiny, birthday candle of hope that she had something to offer the world and yet it seemed each time she wanted to do something… something meaningful, it seemed someone was trying to douse the flame… snuff out her light. She wondered why she even tried. At her core she felt worthless.

What does this lie do to a person in the dark of night… when the lights go out and the house is still? It wears away at the soul… When there is no truth going in, the lies just multiply. Every mistake, every criticism seems to just confirm the idea that we are not valuable. When I mess up again the lie whispers: “See you messed up again… you can’t do anything right… you’re never going to amount to anything”

We fought the battle together. We told each other truths. Some days we screamed it at each other. Some days we screamed at the enemy. Some days we screamed at God. Some days we cried together.

It was the day they cried alone that claimed their lives.

Each one of these beautiful women believed the lie and took their own lives. They euthanized themselves like a mangy ole stray that no one wants is put down at the local pound. Like garbage that is incinerated they torched their flesh in the flames of self-harm. They were the ones that fell in this gruesome battle. This battle that rages inside our heads… inside our souls…

The battle goes on in our homes, our schools, our workplaces… our churches.

They are the victims of the enemy’s evil plot to snuff out the lives of the people who have so much to offer the world. They are the ones who did not make it out alive.

My mom didn’t make it.

My mother was a pianist. It is her music I miss the most. I crave her song. Not just the songs she used to play… but the way she played them. She played them soft and meditative. She sang softly along.

She sang, “You are my hiding place… you are the one who fills my heart with songs of deliverance… Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in you. I will trust in you… Let the weak say I am strong, in the strength of the Lord…”

I wonder…

Did she believe those words… or were they just something she sang? Or did she believe it one day and forget it the next?

Yes… I grieve. Yes I weep.

I cry to the Lord, “Why?”

“I have battled the SAME lie. Why was I the one to make it out alive? Why did I survive and not her?”

I know the answers and yet I still ask. So I ask, “Where is your glory Lord? Where are you in all this?”

The still small voice answers my why:

“Because you are going to walk through this with me and there are those who are not. They are walking through this alone and you are going to show them the way… the way to me.”

OK Lord… There is a RAY of hope in this valley of death.

First, I have to state the harsh truth: A person can be saved eternally and yet not know how to truly rest in the Lord. A person can believe in Christ and yet not believe Christ. A person can call themselves a Christian and have hope for their eternal soul and yet not have any hope for their life on earth.

That is not what Christ called us to.

Here is another truth: I made it out alive, not because I’m “better” or “stronger” or anything like that. I made it to this spot on the trail solely because I allowed the Lord to carry me through.

That is where God’s glory shines. It is truth that shines through the gaping holes in my soul… the jagged edges of pain and heartache that have the warmth of God’s peace shining through.

How can I have swallowed so much loss and grief and not be simply a shell of a person or drowning my pain in substance abuse? Because God is the master healer. Because God is my provider. Because God is not afraid to be my Wonderful Counselor and hear all my heartache and grief.

Everyday I pour out my cares on him and he carries them. When I go to my Mom’s house and see her night gown STILL hanging behind the door, when I read her words on paper… the words of a tortured soul…. I cry out to the Lord.

But this is not just about surviving. No. Don’t you go there… dear reader. This is about all those painful places in which you and I choose to press into the Lord and find that he has something more for us in life than just surviving. He has a fountain of joy and peace for us in this place.

I look at my children through different eyes. I look at the world through different eyes. I see people in a whole new light.

When someone snaps at me at the grocery store, I don’t get offended or hurt. I try to imagine the pain that they push down, that erupts in angry words to a perfect stranger. When I see a woman who is callously hurting her family to follow her own path, I try to imagine the damage that brought her soul to this place where she is blinded to her family’s pain.

I try to remind myself that we are all in the painful place of having to circumcise our own veiled hearts of the sin that besets us. AND it is a painful place. A place where we have to admit that we cannot achieve perfection and can only hope to walk in the strength of the perfect ONE… the only ONE who never sinned… and came to free us from our own sin.

I see the world through his eyes now. I see the world with GRACE in my heart and LOVE on my arm.

Because you see there is another in my life who didn’t make it out alive.

He never hurt anyone. All he ever did was bring healing to those around him. He even brought a man BACK from the grave and yet he went to the grave scorned and hated… battered and bruised.

Jesus Christ didn't make it out of this world without first tasting death.

And yet the grave could not hold him, because the grave had no power over him. He walked into glory on his own two feet with nail scarred hands.

He gave his life willingly, so that we would not have to surrender our souls to hell. We do not have to surrender our souls to torture either. He has conquered death and the GRAVE and that’s the TRUTH.

I stand on this side of the trauma of losing my mother and other beautiful women to suicide to tell you that this EPIC tale DOES have a happy ending, when you are standing hand in hand with the resurrected Christ. You may feel you are standing alone… a survivor of suicide but if you are standing with Christ, you are NOT alone.

If you are tempted to succumb to the same lie that tells you, you are worthless let me talk to you more on the topic. Read about it here… I have more to say…

http://heisthepotteriamtheclay.blogspot.com/2010/11/broken-and-contrite-spirit.html

and here:

http://heisthepotteriamtheclay.blogspot.com/2010/11/is-there-any-good-in-my-heart.html

and here:

http://heisthepotteriamtheclay.blogspot.com/2010/11/part-3-glory-hidden-glory-restored.html

Trauma

Why are we drawn to epic tales of people battling in scenarios of life and death; people who are fighting for their lives, fighting to bring criminals to justice, fighting to bring peace to their wounded hearts?

Life is precious. Truth is worth seeking out.

I recently read a post from the blog of a person who has experienced life-altering trauma. I have always felt this woman’s words deeply and related to her view of God and the world. Now, after hearing her story, I understand why. It seems to be the same for many kindred spirits in my life. I find out that the person has experienced trauma and have pressed hard into the Lord.

There are others who experience the same kind of things and have allowed their hearts to go cold. They have separated themselves from the pain and from God.

Not me.

I have the raw edge in my soul that always threatens to capsize my peace. No smooth edges here. Oh, I think, wouldn’t that be nice… nice to know that all this suffering has produced a happy ending. Nice to know that the epic tale ended where everyone made it out alive and well.

Everyone did NOT make it out alive.

We have had many casualties along the way. That truth keeps the jagged edge in my spirit. Today I wear armor. Other days I lay on my bed and weep. My reading today produced a funny quote from a woman named Jennifer Rothschild, “underneath the warrior’s armor, you’ll find a chicken…”

Yep that’s me. I’d like to think my internal constitution is worthy of the armor… that the person behind the shield has the heart of a warrior, rather than the heart of a chicken. But I don’t. It took me years to want to even walk through this life with hope, much less engage the enemy in battle.

But I remember the ones we have lost along the way.

And so I take up arms.

So many days I think, what am I doing? Why do I think I am worthy to take up arms? I know exactly what I am made of… exactly how IMPERFECT and flawed I am. I know all my own weaknesses.

But I do know my source of strength.

It is easy to sit here in the quiet place and pound out words that I hope will impact you in your own quiet place. It is easy (now) to find a quiet moment in my day and listen for the voice of the Lord… seek it out in his WORD. That part of the trail is packed and hard from my footsteps. I know it well.

But to put myself out there… face to face with those women I so long to impact, that is a little harder. It’s a bit more real… it makes me feel my raw edges more. It takes a lot more faith.

I have had the opportunity to do this only a handful of times… and I love it. I love speaking a message of hope to women. I do. I love the women that seek me out after I speak… the ones that have tears in their eyes… the ones that timidly share a tid-bit of their own story. They are the ones that make it worth it to put my heart on the line… to be raw and real in front of perfect strangers.

If my story impacts one person… if my life inspires one woman to press in harder toward the Lord, than it is all worth it…. It is worth the pain I have endured.

I was filling up the car a few weeks ago and I heard an ambulance go by. I immediately began to tear up. This is something I have noticed that I tend to do when I see or hear and ambulance and for the first time in my life I realized why.

Some of the most traumatizing experiences of my life involved the ambulance in our drive-way. After all these years, my soul remembers.

And here is where I pause…

This is the challenge about what I have been called to do. I need to write about those experiences, because people need to know that God can bring healing to the broken places in our life. The fact that I HAVE received healing there makes me resistant to even bring it up again. I have this amazing sense of PEACE around the most painful memories I have.

There was a time when I resisted drudging up the memories because the pain was too great for me to bear. The fact that it was too great to bear was the reason why it had to be brought into the light. I could carry it no longer. I needed my mentor and more importantly my Lord to help me through that pain.

That is why I tell my story to you. Because you need to know that God can take a person who is battered and bruised… scuffed and scarred… and turn their story into a glimpse of glory.

The Lord’s glory is revealed to us at the point where he interacts with his people. When he comes down to me and you, it is ALWAYS good. It may not be pretty or happy and it probably will not be clean. It will most likely be messy and raw and real, but it will be GOOD.

I am reminded that when God made the way for me, it was messy and raw and real. I mean, what is messier than a barn? If you think that barn Jesus was born in is cute and cozy and warm, you’ve never been in a barn. The only reason I can think that the woman allowed herself to duck into the barn to deliver our Lord is that she didn’t want to drop that baby on the STREET. She didn’t want the WORLD to see her back side. At the very least she could shut the door and let her husband be the only one to see what’s under her dress.

Even if the inn keeper kept the barn clean, he probably only did that once a day. Let me tell you, even if the stalls had been cleaned and laid with fresh bedding, the smell of animal dung still remains. The environment is anything but sanitary. People in that day didn’t know about germs but no midwife would have ever dreamed of delivering a child where animals were kept. The only place I can think of that would be WORSE than a barn might be an outhouse.

The birth of Christ took place in real messy, raw place. He came to real people in difficult circumstances. Jesus’ parent’s marriage was not tied up nicely with a bow, thanks to him. They took a lot of slack, no doubt. Who knows how many people turned their noses up at this family, when they went to worship at the temple? I imagine, Mary’s circumstances didn’t feel too glorious when she was changing diapers and cooking over a hot fire. Jesus didn’t grow up on ambrosia and angel dust. He grew into adult hood on real food and momma’s love.

God has a habit of picking the most unlikely candidates. I used to not really understand why. Why would God pick someone who has no formal training past high school and who has the constitution of a chicken to tell people about him? Why not pick someone who has taken college level theology classes? Why not pick the courageous… the person with little or no scars? Why?

The reason God picks the most unlikely candidates is that he wants his glory revealed. If I could do it on my own, no one would see him. They would see me and my credentials. They merit my skill to the training I received.

I, however, didn’t make it to college. I barely made it through high school. I had seen things I should have never seen by the time I was 8. Although I have a supernatural peace around the events, the memories still sting when they come to mind…

~

I heard my Mom banging on the bathroom door. “Russell! Russell, open the door!”

My bedroom was across from the bathroom. I opened my door to see what was going on. Mom shooed me back into my room. I heard her talking to my Dad through the bathroom door. I heard a bump against the door. I didn’t understand what was happening. I tried to deduce what I thought it was. I had heard my parents argue a lot but this was different. Mom sounded panicked.

Then I heard my mom on the phone with the emergency operator. She told them that she thought he was passed out. I was scared. My heart was racing. Was Dad having a heart attack? I heard Mom yelling at him. She kept asking him what he took. Then I heard the sirens. I heard Mom talking to the paramedics. I heard the paramedics trying to talk to my Dad. I never heard my Dad’s voice… Was he dead? Was he dying?

Then I peeked out of my door again. They were wheeling the stretcher out the door. I remember that my Dad was in his underwear. No pajamas… no robe… just going out the door, undignified. I remember thinking that was what it looks like when you die and about the thing people say about wearing clean underwear…

I don’t remember anyone talking to me about it but I know they did. I don’t remember relatives or church people being there. I’m sure they were. I just remember me and my brother and my mom. I remember discovering that my Dad was not who I thought he was. My Dad was very withdrawn and I didn’t really know much at all about him. I remember at this age assuming that he was like Dads on TV and then realizing that he was nothing like that.

Over the next few years there were other suicide attempts... other times when the ambulance was in the drive way. One time I remember that mom rode with the ambulance to the hospital and left me and my brother standing in the drive-way as it drove off. ALONE. I remember a neighbor, who had been standing in her driveway, walking over to ask what happened. Could she do anything? No, we were fine.

I see it in my mind’s eye. My brother probably reached a hand over to touch my shoulder to reassure me. He was always so strong. I wasn’t crying but I did not FEEL strong. I thought: this is pretty embarrassing. The ambulance came to our house WAY too often. The neighbors must think this is really bad.

~

I didn’t know then that it WAS pretty bad. It occurs to me now that me and my brother really were alone. My parents were both mentally unstable. We had other people in our life who cared for us and nurtured us but we didn’t have the ones that really mattered. The people who were supposed to be helping guide us through life, couldn’t manage to live their own lives.

How is it that the trauma stays in our bones, even when our hearts have found peace? Will I ever stop crying when I hear sirens? I know my personality helps me empathize with hurting people. I wonder how much of the trauma I endured helped shape my personality.

Would I be stronger if I had not been scared? Would I be empathetic? Well my brother endured the same trauma and yet he is not an empathetic person… He is a hardworking, driven person who doesn’t seem to be affected by much at all. On the outside, he seems to be a very strong person.

I am NOT strong. I stand on the foundation of the rock but I am a puddle. I am as all my sculptures are, on the rock… but I am not fired. I remain soft, pliable… crushable. I remain vulnerable.

Behind the armor I am still a little girl, terrified the enemy will claim the lives of the ones I love.

I am terrified I will scar my own children, just as I was scared. And so I press into the HOLY ONE, pleading for redemption… for transformation. EVERYDAY. Everyday I ask him to fired me, to make me strong.

And the answer comes again today as it has all the days I have asked for this: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2Co 12:9)

1Co 1:27-28 says: But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. (28) He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are…

How can I argue with HIS plan? How can I continue to mourn the things I lost when God’s purpose, all along, was to make me into who I am today?

Someone who is STRONG will not rely on the strength of the Lord. Someone who has all the answers will not go to the Lord for answers.

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. (2Co 12:9)

Lord if, in my weakness, I may glorify you. Let it be so… If the trauma I endured served to make me who I am today, then I praise you for it… I praise you for the sirens and the hospitals and my parents who could not cope with life. I praise you for their bad decision and my bad decisions. I praise you for the time I spent wandering in the desert. If just ONE person finds their way back to you, through my story… If just ONE person breaks free from the slavery of their sin to follow you… If just ONE person’s life is touched… one person mind can grasp ONE of the truths you have shown me… it was all worth it…. All the heartache and sadness was worth your glory and your truth being revealed through this VERY humble vessel. Through this real, messy, raw wounded girl, comes the truth that God is good despite what your limited sight can see.