identifiably and tragically changed

I've spent the last several days really doing some soul searching. Recent events drove this to a top priority level on the necessity scale. You know, when you sit and try to figure things out and you just can't wrap your brain around that thing? Certain situations have made me think so hard, probably over-thinking, but really trying to process what I'm taking in. It's almost as if the motor in my brain is overheating—I've fried everything just trying to figure this thing out. I've literally expelled all my energy, emotionally and mentally just trying to make sense of this thing.

I had a good long cry the other night. A trillion and one little thoughts ranging from "I'm a freak" to "what's for supper" to "I just don't get it" to "what did I do so wrong" to "why did A do this" and "why did B do that to "I could eat a donut right now". I know, right? Insane. There are times, I admit, when my brain just flails out of control. But these tears were accompanied with this feeling that I was sort of washing out some of the hurt; the rest will heal over time. It's been a while since I cried. (Which is kind of weird.) Sadly my emotions as of late come out via the anger channel. A sarcastic quip, or raised voice, or angry combative exchange of words. The emotion has to get out—I'd explode otherwise. But why yell at my kids when its not the kids I'm upset with.  Or why be angry when you're really just sad? So I cried. And I felt better.

Along with the tears came something which really helped more than anything. The truth. That moment when I was able to name the reason I felt the way I did. Tangled up with that, was also where I owned the responsibility for my thoughts, actions, and inaction. That equals some level of freedom for sure. Allowing myself to verbalize the truth or identifying the root of the issue also allows me to breathe. When that brief moment of clarity snapped for me, it helped this situation make a little more sense. I have to stop looking at why "so in so" does this or "so in so" does that. I have to look at me.

I can't hide the fact that events in life have led me to fashion this little "fortress of solitude" around my little heart. We all do it. It's safe. But for me, it's like I literally cut-off the lifeline to my heart. Nothing in and nothing out. Sometimes I feel like that little heart became cold, dead, and black. Is that normal? Well, I can't speak to what normal is exactly, but I do think it makes sense. I suppose after a person has been broken, you'd be crazy to think that they'd remain the same after being put back together. Look at Humpty Dumpty; all the kings' horses and all the kings' men could not put him together again.

 

My heart suffered a tragic accident. The recovery is taking for-ev-er. I've made great progress, but I've also run into many obstacles that set the recovery back a few steps. It's painful and incredibly frustrating. When will I be strong enough to forget? How can I define myself in other ways, without considering the accident? When will people realize that their cure to everything doesn't always make sense to me. What a completely frustrating and trying process. And what if I go through this refining process of sorts only to learn that I'm just part of the dross?

I have been identifiably and tragically changed. I'm not the same; I am the one that has changed. I'm not the same person I was three years ago, not the same person I was five years ago or even a year ago. If I recognize change in certain situations, it's because I have changed, not necessarily anyone else. And while the change is good in many instances, my change is also tragic by definition which speaks to the depth of those alterations. Healthy growth of the human heart and soul is desirable and recommended. With those healthy changes also come the not so healthy. But I'm sure it's safe to say that this is something all humans deal with. That whole "you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there ya have, the facts of life" thing.

So it's me that has changed and it's me that needs to make changes. It rests on me. Honestly, I'm just out of energy. Spinning my wheels in directions that I'm not meant to go in and on things that aren't a reality for me. I'm not done with this soul searching; there is still much to decipher. No, I don't believe that I'm a waste. I firmly believe that I am a work in progress and I have a lot of questions along the way. I'm not afraid to ask them and I'm not afraid to be honest. It helps me live this crazy life of mine and be who I was created to be!

It is nice to open my eyes in the morning and know that I'm not who I was yesterday, but I'm who I was created to be today. The junk from yesterday is gone, I let it go. That's the best I can do for now. Today is a new day.

When life hands you bananas…

...make a banana oatmeal almond smoothie, duh. 

I stumbled upon a recipe that I have been absolutely desperate to try. Finally was able to assemble the concoction this morning. Wowzer! This combo is absolutely yum-o-luscious. 

Now, I did review the recipe, but upon further review, I did not follow it correctly—imagine that! I realized that I was supposed to cook the oatmeal first. I didn't cook the oatmeal. Oops. The directions said to add the ice last, but I read "pour all ingredients in blender" and didn't finish the sentence. When cooking, always read the entire recipe FIRST. I literally poured all ingredients in and well, nearly killed the blender. Smoke started coming out of the back and I thought to myself "huh, maybe I should turn it off?" Ya think? I guess I almost blew the motor which filled my home with a disgusting odor. I kinda made a mess too, slinging this banana creation all over the kitchen. Oh boy. But I did spare my clothing even though I was not donning a cutesy apron.

Having the recipe and following the recipe and two different things for me. How true to life is that? Extremely. The recipe for disaster is one that I'm very good at. I'm a pro at the cataclysmic! The recipe for the joyous? Ah well, I struggle with that. You know what makes me happy? Eating is one of those things that make me happy. But the older I get, the more obvious it is that I need to rehabilitate my eating habits. There's nothing wrong with food making me happy. Food is fantastic; I've always loved it and I always will. It's more what I eat, not that I eat. I've had fun looking for creative, fun, colorful, and health-full recipes.

This is a fun recipe I found and it's too good not to share. I can attest to the fact that the finished product was yum-o and semi-healthy. 

Banana Oatmeal Smoothie Recipe

 

Ingredients: 

• 2   whole Chiquita Bananas (best with brown flecks on peel) 
• 2   cups Ice
• 1/3   cup Yogurt - preferably Greek yogurt flavored with honey
• 1/2   cup Cooked oatmeal
• 1/3   cup Almonds 

Pour all ingredients in blender pouring ice in last. Blend on high for 30 seconds or until smoothie thickens. 

Nutrition Information per Serving: Calories 380; Total Fat 15 g (Sat 2 g, Trans 0 g, Poly 4 g, Mono 8 g); Cholesterol 5 mg; Sodium 35 mg; Potassium 690 mg; Total Carbohydrates 53 g; Dietary Fiber 9 g; Total Sugars 19 g; Protein 12 g. Percent Daily Value: Vitamin A 2%; Vitamin B6 25%; Vitamin C 20%; Vitamin D 0%; Calcium 15%, Iron 15%. 

 

Found the full recipe at http://www.chiquitabananas.com.

trying to find my voice (original 1.19.11)

i cried the night i saw it on Glee.  the story line definitely hit me-- i really hate it when that happens!  i've heard the song a hundred times before; always thought it was beautiful, but that particular night it was different.  i connected.  i shed a few tears and inside my chest, quietly buried beneath a tough exterior, my little heart broke into thousands of small pieces.

andrea sent Glee music to me for my birthday. during my regular commute home, this song began to play.  i turned the volume up as i recognized the music.  such a gorgeous melody.  a perfect marriage of beauty, tenderness, sadness and pain. i cried again.  the song just makes me sad, but it's an oddly beautiful sadness.

i've held so many dreams in my lifetime.  i remember a time when i believed anything was possible; the days of my youth where life seemed limitless!  so unaware.  my naivete gave me a constant smile;  it told me all people were good, things would always turn out right...  it was as if i had no idea of my own vulnerability and no clue that any danger existed at all.  oh how life really chews up our naivete, rips our innocence to shreds, and kills our dreams.

i don't write or talk much about my adoption.  some days, i don't think too much about it, but some days i do. the older i get, the more difficult it has become to communicate with people what i feel.  it's like a vast canyon that at times is filled with life giving water and other times empty and so dry, nothing could live there.  when i try to explain what i feel or what i think, i can't.   it's like being on an hunting expedition for the rare and hard to find words that may be able to describe what i feel inside. even if i did find the rare words and if i did speak those words, it would be as if i was speaking a foreign language to most.

i love finding quotes.  there are time when the words of others have the ability to give a good glimpse into what i'm feeling, but i can't even use the word formulations of others to articulate the feelings within.  i'm comforted by the reality that music speaks what words cannot and transcends any language barrier.  there are times the music tells the story far better the lonely words ever could.  victor hugo is quoted as saying "music expresses that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent."   oh to hear a melody, a meeting of musical notes, each note carrying a meaning of it's own, blending perfectly to tell a story that you could not tell or could not understand otherwise. 

in this song is a beautiful sadness.  a nostalgic reminiscences of moments past with the beauty of the dreams you once held compounded with the certainty that there are hurts in life--no matter how much you wish they didn't exist. and a reality that some dreams will just be that--dreams.

i haven't been able to sing in months. when i find my voice, this is the song i'll sing.  for now, these two communicate what i wish i could far better than i...

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
(But the tigers come at night)
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
(As they tear your hope apart)
And they turn your dream to shame

And still I dream she'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed

.
so,  i found a song that expresses some of what i feel inside. this particular song speaks to a quiet sadness inside, but it leaves out an important part of my story because my story isn't all sad.  there is a lot of happiness inside as well.  i'm not sure you can have happiness without sadness or sadness without happiness.   it seems the two are mutually dependent on one another.  i'm thankful that deep within my sometimes broken heart, there is not only a beautiful sadness but a healing happiness as well.

Rehabilitated Misery

Tired.  Just plain tired.

Ever get messages from God, clearly marked messages from God?  Of course, you may not realize at first, but later the pieces start fitting together.  You have that "A HA" of a moment when you realize that two paths converged and in their connection, you got a message. 

My message from last week started as friends near and far sent out notes of kindness and love to my family and I.  At first, it felt all warm and fuzzy, "I do have some really good friends."  But then I started seeing how they kind words from all kinds of friends, some who don't even know each other, started to come together to make a lovely little piece of art. 

It all started with part of an encouraging note from a friend:

"I tell you now that your ministry is where your misery has been. That same spot that made you cry and moan is where you can bring honor and healing to those who are touched with the same pain."

So, I did a little research.  The quote comes from TD Jakes.  And I found more…

"God takes the broken and the wounded and rehabilitates them so that they can be clinicians of healing and instruments of life. You want to know what to do with your life. You are stuck on the steps in a job that is not fulfilling, and you are getting older and want to do something that matters to you. Fulfillment is not always a matter of income. It means a lot when you can lie down at night and know that what you did today made a difference in someone's life. I tell you now that your ministry is where your misery has been. That same spot that made you cry and moan is where you can bring honor and healing to those who are touched with the same pain. This is the spot where your compassion will skyrocket, and you can help the next generation of victims to get out of their beds and walk."

"The challenge is to reach a place of healing where you can discuss what was once a silent frustration. When you can vent it, that frustration turns to wisdom. It is at that point that you reach outside of yourself and give to others that ministry come homes to you."

"There comes a point when you have received enough help that you are no longer on the critical list. The moment you can get up, it is good to do so. You can gain strength by helping others ... You will never become a minister as long as you lie in the hospital bed yourself. Get up and help someone else survive what you endured. There are so many people who need the bed you are in. You must give it to them and become a part of the solution instead of the problem. That, within itself, is a therapy."

So, yes, I'm experiencing a bit of pain in my life.  And I'm tired.  I'm very tired.

But my ministry- my service- could very well be where my misery has been.   I could potentially take what I've learned and use it to help others.  Not really a new concept, but it's difficult especially when you look at the word MISERY. 

I guess I've got a big choice to make.   Am I going to use my misery properly or abuse it? 

Misery can take you to a very dark place filled with anger and bitterness and eventually, hatred.   If misused, misery could kill anything and everything that comes in contact with it.  You can forget about joy and love and peace… misery will murder them.  It won't be a quick death; it will be a slow, painful, torturous death. 

But if one is able to harness the right energy and power, misery could change.   Misery could be rehabilitated.   Misery could be refocused and repurposed. 

My misery has been repurposed for ministry.   
Interesting…

Chaos.

When I saw the look on Jamie's face, I knew it well.  "Just like his mother," said my husband.  The look of sheer confusion and frustration. When he started fidgeting with his arms and running his hand over his head, I knew the tears could fall at any moment-- he had had enough.

The game began at 8:30am on Saturday morning.  The boys were so excited for this their very first basketball game.  Uniforms- check.  Shoes- check.  Deodorant- check (thanks, mom.)  So they had not had enough sleep the night before the big game, that's was okay.  They were ready!

Whistle blows and they're off!

Running up and down the court, trying to dribble, not double dribble, but just dribble.  Trying hard not to travel and trying not to have every pass stolen... it was a difficult first game for the boys and their teammates.  Nearing the end of the 3 quarter, I saw the look on Jamie's face.  He was tired, but it was more than that.

Oh the chaos!  You see, he had two coaches in front of him coaching.  He had the well meaning referee behind him every step, gently instructed with that ear piercing whistle.  To the right, the loud fans from the other team.  To the left, the mom, dad and fans from his team.  From ever angle, there were voices loudly "speaking" to Jamie-- echoing throughout the gym. Even though he knew the coach's voice, he still had others shouting "Pass the ball!" and "Dribble!" and "Rebound!" and "GO!" and then the fans from the other team cheering for point after point.  Not to mention, the other team always in his face, right there every step on the court not wanting him to do what he wanted to do.  Do you know how overwhelming that is? 

I thought of this in my own life and began to twitch.  When the chaos sets in when you just get so frustrated at everyone telling you what to do.  Your body begins to crawl with frustration and you'd just as soon run out of the building then do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. Obviously, I don't play basketball, but I do know what it is like to have so many voices shouting out  to me.  I don't want to listen to all the voices who think they know what I should do, I want that one voice who knows what I need to do.  I want to hear my coach and noone else.  There is only room in my head for one voice and all the rest is a major distraction. Does life ever feel that way for you?  You just reach the point  where you want to scream "SHUT UP!" so you can just hear the one voice you have been training with all along.  You need to hear the coach, he's got the plan.

I'm sure with time and lot's more practice, Jamie will learn how to focus on his coach's voice.  With time, he will be able to drown out all the background noise so the coach is the only one he hears.  With time, the frustration, confusion and even anxiety will subside.  With time, he won't notice the voices of distraction.

I feel like Jamie did that Saturday morning.  I've tried so hard to focus, and hear the words of the Coach.  I just know he's there and he's giving me the game plan, but everyone is so loud.  I can't hear Him over the crowd!  I need more practice.  I need more time focusing on the voice of my Coach.  If I can't hear Him, there is no one I'm going to be able to succeed in this game.   

Stop. Focus.  Listen.  Deep breath.  I've been training for this! I can't let the impending chaos and the empty voices of distraction send me running for the door.

"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

(Really?  I'll have to think about that quote.)

Copyright ©  2009 brokensidewalks

I'M JUST SAYING

Often times, I find that I am afraid to speak my mind.  Many people in my world speak their minds regularly with no regard to how those hearing will feel.  So I’m giving myself permission to say a few things I’ve wanted to say and choosing not to filter as heavily as I usually do.  



“What do you do when the infection hits you, when it takes over? Do you do what you're supposed to and take your medicine? Or do you learn to live with the thing and hope someday it goes away? Or do you just give up entirely and let it kill you?” 


Surely your answer would be “Take the medicine, of course.”    I mean, you can live with a hang nail or a bad haircut, because you know with a little time, it will resolve itself.  You can even live with a broken toe.  Odds are there would be no cast, just time to heal.   But what if it was your heart or your brain?  What if it was an infection in your leg or hand?  You’d want those things taken care of right away.  Your way of life would be dramatically changed without the use of either legs or even one hand.  And the worst diagnosis would be, if you don’t take the medicine and do what you’re supposed to do, you will die.

I think many times we try to find other cures—treatments the doctor didn’t mention.  Example:  Let's say the doctor tells you that you have diabetes.  Your reaction is to insist that it’s something else and you choose not to participate in the treatment.  What could happen?  Seriously?  The DOCTOR tells you what it is and gives you treatment options, yet you think you know better than he does?

Or let’s say the DOCTOR gives you this diagnosis and you turn around and blame the doctor for being a terrible doctor and allowing you to get diabetes.  Pay no attention to the fact that you’ve never exercised a day in your life- even though the doctor hounds you EVERY visit; you drink soda and eat every sugar laced piece of anything you can get your hands on 24/7—even though the doctor has repeatedly asked you to exercise and try a healthier diet.  But YOU’RE RIGHT!  This is so not your fault! Stupid doctor.

The burning question for me is how does this translate to the church?   What does the church do when an infection hits?  Does it just ignore the infection and hope it goes away or does it give up, consenting to a slow, painful death? 

In all seriousness, in many cases, there is a minor infection in a "leg" or "hand".  These are things that are painful, but with the proper treatment, healing can occur.  But in the direst instances, the infection is in the "brain" and the "heart" of the church. So in the minor and the dire, what is the choice of the church?  Does it:

a.)  follow the Doctors treatment plan?

b.)  ignore the illness or live with it, hoping it goes away?

c.)  or does it give up entirely and let the illness kill the church?

Unfortunately, what I have observed is this: the church first ignores.  And when the illness doesn’t go away, it then starts throwing blame around. After all, this is so not the church’s fault!  Right?

I’m convinced that the Doctor does know what he’s talking about.  Regrettably, we think we know better.   We don’t care what the Doctor says and we could care less about His possible treatment for the illness.  We’d rather ignore the minor infection.  But when we ignore the minor we risk it turning into a major infection that puts the church’s life at risk.

This happens over and over again because the church doesn’t want to listen to the Doctor.  It’s easier to ignore the problem or to just lay blame and talk it to death than participate in the treatment.  I often imagine and chaotic scene where members of said church are standing around looking for something, yet they don’t know what.  Bewildered, with shrugging shoulders and confused expressions- “we don’t understand!  How did this happen?” And when they can’t figure out the answer, the very next question is “whose fault is this?”

Prayer is not our first response.  If prayer is a response, sadly it’s a vague minute prayer whispered in a panicked hurry, forgotten about almost as quickly as it was uttered. Forgotten because the next conversation comes up regarding the issue of “How did this happen?” and “We need to get to the bottom of this.” Of course you must throw in your opinion.

I’m pretty sure the Doctor’s orders are very clear in many instances.   You want to know why there is an issue?  Funny thing is, we know Who to talk to and I’m not talking about a one minute- one sided obligatory “conversation”.  We surely better be seeking Him minute by minute; non-stop.  And it may behoove us to stop talking.  The more frantic we become, the louder we become and the less likely we are to actually hear God speak.

Basically, if there is an infection, you might want to shut up and listen to the Doctor.  You may not know the answer and you’re way of treating the infection may just kill you.  And ignorance is not bliss no more than the infection will magically disappear because you ignored it. But be sure that blaming someone else for the infection will not heal the infection.  It will probably race the minor to a major in a matter of seconds and your chances of survival just plummeted.

I’m just saying... that's my opinion and I'm sticking to it.


2 Kings 20:12

 1 Some time later Hezekiah became deathly sick. The prophet Isaiah son of Amoz paid him a visit and said, "Put your affairs in order; you're about to die—you haven't long to live." 

2-3 Hezekiah turned from Isaiah and faced God, praying: 
      Remember, O God, who I am, what I've done! I've lived an honest life before you, My heart's been true and steady, I've lived to please you; lived for your approval.   

And then the tears flowed. Hezekiah wept. 

4-6 Isaiah, leaving, was not halfway across the courtyard when the word of God stopped him: "Go back and tell Hezekiah, prince of my people, 'God's word, Hezekiah! From the God of your ancestor David: I've listened to your prayer and I've observed your tears. I'm going to heal you. In three days you will walk on your own legs into The Temple of God. I've just added fifteen years to your life; I'm saving you from the king of Assyria, and I'm covering this city with my shield—for my sake and my servant David's sake.'" 

7 Isaiah then said, "Prepare a plaster of figs."   

They prepared the plaster, applied it to the boil, and Hezekiah was on his way to recovery. 

8 Hezekiah said to Isaiah, "How do I know whether this is of God and not just the fig plaster? What confirming sign is there that God is healing me and that in three days I'll walk into The Temple of God on my own legs?" 

9 "This will be your sign from God," said Isaiah, "that God is doing what he said he'd do: Do you want the shadow to advance ten degrees on the sundial or go back ten degrees? You choose." 

10 Hezekiah said, "It would be easy to make the sun's shadow advance ten degrees. Make it go back ten degrees." 

11 So Isaiah called out in prayer to God, and the shadow went back ten degrees on Ahaz's sundial.

Published... well kinda sorta

I wrote this back in July following a difficult life experience. I submitted it last month to an online magazine and they posted it. Thought I'd share it if you'd like to read it:

Curled Up With Jesus

I spent the day curled up in the lap of Jesus. As I listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat, and the soothing rhythm of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took- I found the comfort I was desperate for. I’ve never been so close to him before and for that I am very ashamed. Of course, the reason that led me to the lap of Jesus leaves me ashamed as well. I ran there. I ran away from a problem that was so huge, there was nowhere else to go and I found myself wishing that I’d run there every day in either my happiness or my sadness.

I’m sitting at the feet of Jesus now. I’m listening to him speak—I seem so small here, yet significant. His left hand rests lightly on my head and I can feel his electricity full of love and compassion. He’s smiling at me, tears in his eyes. I am mesmerized by his face. The sound of his voice is as calming as the aroma cookies baking in the oven. The sound of his voice drifts in and out of my head, steadying my heart. His tears sparkle in the corner of his eyes and occasionally one runs down his cheek. He is happy that I’m here. He’s been waiting a long time for me.

I sense that there is so much he wants to say to me. His words, however, are not rushed and they are gentle. He stops speaking audibly and there is a beautiful silence that I recognize from my youth. When I close my eyes, I am standing outside in the woods behind my childhood home and there isn’t a soul around. The wind is gliding through the leaves, rustling them slightly. The sun has peaked through the tallest trees, hitting every other leaf on its way down to me. I’m overwhelmed as it seems as if the trees and rocks and the wind, the stream even… they all speak in their own way. I breathe deeply, inhaling the life that surrounds. Aware of my dream, I open my eyes again and I look at him curiously. I know what he’s saying, yet his mouth isn’t moving and no sound is coming from him. As I look into his eyes, I know what he wants me to know. Pleasant and frightening at the same time. He has always been with me, he has always spoken to me—somehow I lost my way.

We’re audibly talking again. As he speaks, he moves his hands. I talk with my hands, too, but this is different. My eyes fall on the wounds—I can see them and all of the sudden I am overcome with guilt and shame as I’m fully aware that those are my wounds. What have I done? Why am I here? I don’t deserve to be this close. The pain that led me here pales horribly in comparison to his pain. I begin to weep. Sobbing. Deep, guttural sounds that frighten me even though I know they are coming from within me. I am so unworthy.

But something really beautiful is happening now. He’s picking me up. He lifts me to his chest like a father lifts his injured child. Yet he does it with such ease and strength. His left arm is behind my back and his right arm under my legs as my limbs fall heavily over his arm. My head falls against his chest and I’m still sobbing. I can’t hold my head up. He cradles me and I feel like a small child. The electricity is palpable and then I hear it…

He begins to sing to me. It’s the most beautiful song I have ever heard. I am completely broken in the arms of Jesus and he’s singing over me. His warm tears have rolled from his beautiful face, landed on my face, and mingled with my tears. They fall one by one. With each note he sings and with each tear that falls, peace slowly begins to surround my brokenness. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. I’m safe here. I’m loved here. I’m forgiven here. I don’t want to leave.

Copyright ©  2009 Melissa Meador Wilson