;Life

life__s_highway_by_alancross

i want to Live…

Yet,

i want to die.

Can i live somewhere in between?

i want to feel, yet,  i desire to be numb

Why can’t i just accept that life isn’t perfect, whether I’m numb or present?

Evil thrives in the presence of facades, yet, Grace illuminates through my Truth.

i like to keep my poison private, my beguiling friend, who binds and gags me.

Trying so hard to convince me to take darkness by the hand and pour another.

I want to Live because He died.  And oh what a waste it would be for me to exist hidden behind the mascarade of my lies.

The Truth has already set me free.

Through death, He Overcame

So that I may live my Life in the Light

;

My Life goes on, past the darkness and into Eternity.

Reckless Abandon of Joy

Shamelessly, I haven’t written in over ten months.  Blindly walking through a bliss that has followed me through the past sunup to sundown twenty four hour days of my life, my words have hidden up inside me like a treasure I was afraid to show to the world. Kind of like spring refusing to surface herself to the barren land, my gift has stayed on hiatus.  Why? Oh, why?

In times of lament, my power has been in my words.  Darkness bleeds from me and letters form sentences and struggle dances into the abyss.  Powerful, dark, intrinsic beads of life would flow from my essence, finding their way onto paper and flooding into the fight I would happen to be battling.  Yet, the past almost year, I’ve been silent from the world and found myself on the other side, truly in the sun basking warmth of the sun.
My muscles swelled from the fight of it all and my body caved into the goodness of a rest it had been brewing for forty-three years.  A season of contentment that quite frankly I deserve. Overwhelmingly, I welcomed her in, took care of her and danced the dance of acceptance as I encountered her.  But how do I reside with such after four decades of struggle and relentless pain? I took heritage in a season of time without my muse of sorrow, a sonnet trapped in a river that wasn’t chasing the storm, one that was flowing toward the sea.  Hoping for home, dreaming of sunshine and flowing into goodness. That is where I am, soaking up a life of smiles and a breeze in my hair that is warm and relentlessly faithful.

For, how do we reside in the quiet, when all we’ve ever known is noise?  How do we quiet the questions that there has to be a barren time coming, a cracked way at life that has to beacon a desert because that is simply all we’ve known.

The times of peace that have overtaken me have left me with a smile placated on my lips and a hug so warm you would want it on you for forever.  I sit here with a grin and a love so big you can barely imagine it if you’ve read my work. My words are usually heartbreaking and tainted with a loss so subtle yet powerful you cry at the mention of such.

I’ve been silent because I’m finally free and that in itself is heartbreaking.

Addiction, depression, anxiety, past trauma, guilt and a rampage had a deep home in me in the embedded places that should be kept for peace that only God can give.  Yet, I have hung onto it like the only casing I knew of life. I didn’t know how to live in contentment. It’s like I almost had to learn how to breathe again, walk forward, and see the orange and pink skyline that tells us it’s a brand new day!  When all you know is night, how do you accept dawn and welcome her warmth like the birds sing in praise to?

Songs have cascaded in my mind like, ‘I can’t write when I’m happy’.  ‘My gift is gone.’ ‘At least I had it at one time.’ All these statements have filtered in my brain as I’ve wasted many hours not writing while I have resided in the gorgeous foundation of a bliss that God says I should claim in me like the life He sacrificed for me. Today while visiting some of my blog posts from last year, by far the most difficult 365 days I’ve ever lived, it hit me.  I let my healing potion fill me up in the form of joyful ache, overwhelming cascades of syllables of a question, for why in times of pure bliss do they sit by the wayside?

In the times of joy, we need to find a way to shout it harder and faster than in the times we cry out.  We need to bleed it from our skin as if we had no more life to give. For that is the true testimony of what God really does.  He turns our darkness into light, our sorrow into joy and the pitfalls of life into a life raft that gets us to the other side.  

Through the shadows and ultimate breakdown of my life I have a story to tell.  Brilliance fought for me and God won a fight that I couldn’t do on my own. Now, I chose to shout from the mountain tops even more in times of triumph than in times of torture.  I couldn’t earn it, I didn’t do anything special, I simply relented. And in that, He changed me, turned my torrent into something spectacle that until now I haven’t been able to write about.  I am here, alive and brilliantly displayed for the world to see because God didn’t give up on me. No matter how hard I tried to destroy myself, He came after me, chased me down and did away with the grief I had defined as my life.

I see it, I don’t deserve it but grace doesn’t work like that, it seeks you out and finds you at your lowest to embark on a passage of truth and a voyage of greatness you have no idea exists in your life.  That’s where I’m at friends, and the vision from this side deserves more of my words than all of the wreckage my life has produced ever did.

Today, I find a reckless abandon in happiness, not sorrow, in joy, not grief, in love not anger.

I have weathered a ravaging storm and found myself on the side of peace after a life filled with a reckless kind of jolting agony that Satan loves for me to live in. I found the joy and now I will shout it from the mountaintops.  To speak the life Jesus has given me not just my cries, not only in my torment but to yell from my soul the gift of peace He has given me. He has gifted me the ability to tear down the barriers that held me back from fulfilling my grandest destiny.

As an author who lost her words because she was afraid of joy, take it from me, you have more to shout to the world in your times of praise to God after the storm than anything your defeat speaks to you.

Praise.

Glory.

My once Reckless abandon of Joy.

Isn’t that what the fight is for, and isn’t that what the final chapter should write?  Yes, resoundingly, and powerfully, yes, that is what this season of my epilogue should say.

Place Inside my Mind

You make me seek

you make me hide

you make me run

you make me find.

I keep running back

to the place inside you

where I know

where I glide.

The freedom to laugh

the place to be

found lost in your symphony.

I caress your lies

I hide your truth

the feelings I need to run,

the place to shun.

For in the high

I find my soul

screaming to go back to the darkness I control.

You make me dark

You make me whole

Lost in the sea

of forgotten destiny.

I fight you off

I beg your pardon

The love I ‘ve lost you’ve forgotten.

I beg you to take me away

Sweet grace tonight

To a place

You call my right.

To a place inside His matter.

Darkness,

You make me lie

you make me cheat

yet I have nothing without my savior’s feat.

God give me the strength to overcome

Pardon me, sweet grace

From Addictions

darkest treat.

Hallelujah

 

A soft voice

Singing in my ear…

With tears on my face

Forging permanent scars of torment

That won’t subside.

Singing away the darkness

Hopeful song, please…Carry me through

To the other side.

The angel voices above cry out

Hallelujah.

For in times of laden

We sing out…

Hallelujah.

To find a sound

That calms our storm…

Hallelujah.

My body pushed

My haven caved

A small one born

Without breath…I cry an aching

Hallelujah.

I hear the beautiful song

Echoing from the angel’s above

Hallelujah.

God’s beauty in the midst of my struggle

All has come full circle

For in all I’ve lost I have so much…

Hallelujah.

God’s Whisper to Me

joy-of-joy

You say Trust

Makes me strong.

I say Peace

Gives me strength.

You say, Faith,

Gets me through.

I say Fact

Makes me Stand.

You say, Love,

Is the greatest of all things

And I feel it abound

As I cry saltwater tears

In question…

Why me?

And you say

Strength suits you perfect.

This Beautiful Painful Struggle of mine,

Makes me question Your Trust

For me to be Strong.

And you say

Trust Me.

For Faith, Love, and Peace

Surrounds you.

And on the other side of turmoil

Beautiful Joyous Peace awaits

Only if you Trust.

I say

Your Strength must carry me to the other side

As Trust makes me Strong.

 

 

Sweep me Up

It started with a twinge of a memory. Perhaps something I saw on TV, on Facebook or a snippet of a flashback of my life. Subtle at first, like a swell of soft emotion beginning to wage its war inside my brain. But then, like a fury fast and strong it slowly yet swiftly overtook my every waking moment.

The feel of a long satisfying drawl of a sip of a delicate red wine slithering its way down my throat into my bloodstream was all I could think about. It overtook me that quickly, with that much force.

Apparently, I forgot. The wreckage such an interaction had on my life only months prior.

The life I had forgotten to live, the complete and total hell my life had become because of that very feeling I was craving now. The indulgence that I had given in to that nearly destroyed me and took me far far away. From all that I loved and all that ever loved me.

I found myself only remembering the fun I had with my so called “friend.” The escape from the rigors of life and the glory I mistook it for.

I couldn’t stop the pounding of my brain and the fight that was being waged against me. All the strength I had mustered over the past 102 days was lost, gone and impossible to find. All I wanted was one glass.

One warm satiating seamless glass of red potion to call my own.

I punished myself wondering how I let my drinking get so out of control to begin with. I mean, dang, I am a strong girl. Always have been. I’ve never been one for defeat, so where did it begin? Did I take Caleb going to college that hard? Or was it the culmination of a hard life lived, fought, and finally letting it defeat me? Why couldn’t I have risen above it all and never found myself at the bottom of the bottle. Ending in being admitted to Rogers Memorial Hospital that warm June evening months ago? How did it become this? Where I can’t even have that one glass of red wine that calls my name inside my brain like a dripping faucet I can’t shut off.

Drip, drip, drip.

Drink, drink, drink.

I seem to have forgotten how it overtook every aspect of my life. My ability to laugh with friends, enjoy serving my church as much as I do, and writing away my days without the aid of alcohol. I must have misplaced my memory of the wrecking ball of ethanol making me an emotional mess unable to complete a sentence without tears. The feeling of waking up in a pool of sweat at three am because the poison was fighting its way out of my blood like a fury that had to find a way out.

Drip, drip, drip.

Drink, drink, drink.

My memory must have faded out the part where I had to quit my life just to find my way back again, where I had to sweep myself up into the majesty of staring completely and utterly over. Three months of rediscovering what it was like to take it all in with a clear and beautiful mind. I may have lost my gift of writing words during that time, but I regained all that God has intended for me to be.

I saw the bottom of a glass of wine tonight, I lost the wage, but won the perspective I needed to gain. Why did I forget? Apparently I needed to be reminded of all the risks that go with giving in to such.

Clarity. Stumbling gave me this. As crystal as the sea as crisp as the fall air. I want to love, live and see the pride in all of your eyes as you take in the brilliance of my clear eyes as I tell you I’m sober.

I never want to lose that, even when I lose at winning.

So this is where I beg God to sweep me up into His living and forgiving arms. Where I ask Him to give me the courage to once again overcome the most impossible of odds.

I c

hose to begin tomorrow at the top of 103 days not at the feet of my demons that call me back to the bottle. For one slip never made us invisible in God’s eyes before why should it now? That is what the bottle of red wine would want me to believe, that I’m lost again and I should stay that way. I know that isn’t so, and in that I grasp Grace’s hand and dust myself off and know my fortune is in my God not lost in the fall.

The Pain I can Control

images (2)

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With an array of stunning colors exploding from the small of her wrist to the top of her shoulder I was left staring at a random stranger’s arm in the grocery store.  

Vivid blues, met a stunning red sunset, with the peak of a storm followed by a grey outbreak of a lightning blaze.  After gawking for far too long, she met my eyes and silently asked me, why are you staring at me?

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, I proclaimed, “I love your ink.”  

A smile overtook her once strained face and then she responded, “why thank you.”

The tension subsides and all that is left is two middle-aged women in the produce department chuckling.  I proceeded, “tell me the story of your tattoo.”

She glistened with pride and love as she drifted off in a deeply moving memory.  

“It is the story of me, my life, my loss, and the fact that I eventually will prevail, thanks to God’s grace.”

Amen, sister.  

“Indeed, you will.”  Is all I had to say.

Engaged to the point I didn’t even realize there were annoyed people trying to get by us en route to the perfect broccoli head, we moved out of the way of the busy supermarket.

She continued, “I live with chronic pain.  Every day I ache all over no matter what medicine I am given, it doesn’t touch the pain.”

I’m brought to my knees by her words, as I have experienced pain in my life, but not to that degree.  Not like the nagging, anticipating, debilitating torturous pain she had spoken of.  

I pointed to the inner part of her upper arm, where a bright orange and yellow monarch butterfly transcend time, and yes, pain.  “I love this.”  I touched the butterfly and goosebumps immediately encompassed my entire body.  “Yet, I’ve heard that this part is the most painful to tattoo.  My husband has a full sleeve and he said that the underarm is the most painful.”  I smiled at her and stared into her stunning green-blue eyes.

“I don’t mind because it is a pain that I can control.”  Her magnificent glance drifted as her hand reached the inner part of her arm where the butterfly was in flight.  “My pain I didn’t choose.  But the burning of the tattoo gun is something that produces beauty when it’s all said and done.  And that I control.”

My chance meeting with this woman greeted me with a revelation that truly shook me to my core.  Although I do not live with chronic physical pain, I do live with chronic emotional agony, that haunts me from my past.

Dreams when I’m sleeping often leave me shaking, terrified, and restless.  
They identify as a horror film replaying in my mind as my body tries to sleep.  Vivid recreations of hands on me and lashes carried out that I did not deserve, yet was made to believe that I did play out.  There are times I wake up in the morning depleted never wanting to fall into “Dreamland” again for fear of what nightmare may await me.  So in my waking hours, it seems fitting to give myself what I think I deserve to be punished for.  Yes, I inflict pain on myself, much like the burning of the tattoo gun, I try to engrave on my being a picture of something that can make sense of it all.  A pain, that I, in fact, can control.

But why do we do this to ourselves?

 

  • We cut our own flesh with a razor blade
  • Force a finger down our throats to vomit up the food we just ate
  • We drink too much
  • Take drugs
  • We lie, steal, and cheat
  • Spend money we don’t have
  • We smoke
  • Starve our bodies of food in fear we are fat
  • We blow up in anger when a trigger point is pushed
  • Commit adultery
  • We run ourselves ragged trying to prove that we are in fact good enough

 

We are broken inside so the immediate response is to inflict on our bodies and minds, the pain we think we can control.  

In my personal journey, I know this coping mechanism all too well.  It is hard to give myself love and grace when I fail daily because, in the past, the pain was given when I “messed up.” It feels all too ordinary to punch myself in the face, instead of accepting that as a human I will fail, and God loves me NO MATTER WHAT.  He doesn’t desire pain for me, all he wants is me.

All God wants is all of us, encompassing our turmoil and the spinning thoughts of failure that blare through our hearts and minds.  As a matter of fact, He actually tells us that He will take those failures and pain from us and turn it into Gold.  He will release the burden of it all, and allow us to transform into the monarch that we were predestined to become, what He designed in His image is ours for the taking. But we have accepted His healing principle into our hearts, memories, and inner child.  

Broken, bleeding, depleted, drugged, drunk, too fat, too skinny, He doesn’t care.  He says in His Word that He has written our names in the palm of His hand and calls us His.  

God screams that He wants our pain, and He will control it.  All He wants for us is to accept His grace, love, and forgiveness.  If we are able to wrap our minds around that fact we will be able to stretch our butterfly wings out and fly as far into the sunset that we dream of.  

For, in inflicting a self-deprecating way of dealing with our demons, we push the love of Jesus further and further away, as the enemy perpetuates our painful memories, and tries to belittle our self-worth.  If we hurt our bodies and minds, due to past trauma, then the serpent wins and God’s love is left at the back door.

Fight the good fight, accept love, and give the pain you cannot control to our God who begs us to release it all into the black of night, for He is willing to take it on so we don’t have to.  That my friends is the gift of true and unconditional love.

//

 

 

 

 

Sweep me Up

It started with a twinge of a memory. Perhaps something I saw on TV, on Facebook or a snippet of a flashback of my life. Subtle at first, like a swell of soft emotion beginning to wage its war inside my brain. But then, like a fury fast and strong it slowly yet swiftly overtook my every waking moment.

The feel of a long satisfying drawl of a sip of a delicate red wine slithering its way down my throat into my bloodstream was all I could think about. It overtook me that quickly, with that much force.

Apparently, I forgot. The wreckage such an interaction had on my life only months prior.

The life I had forgotten to live, the complete and total hell my life had become because of that very feeling I was craving now. The indulgence that I had given in to that nearly destroyed me and took me far far away. From all that I loved and all that ever loved me.

I found myself only remembering the fun I had with my so called “friend.” The escape from the rigors of life and the glory I mistook it for.

I couldn’t stop the pounding of my brain and the fight that was being waged against me. All the strength I had mustered over the past 102 days was lost, gone and impossible to find. All I wanted was one glass.

One warm satiating seamless glass of red potion to call my own.

I punished myself wondering how I let my drinking get so out of control to begin with. I mean, dang, I am a strong girl. Always have been. I’ve never been one for defeat, so where did it begin? Did I take Caleb going to college that hard? Or was it the culmination of a hard life lived, fought, and finally letting it defeat me? Why couldn’t I have risen above it all and never found myself at the bottom of the bottle. Ending in being admitted to Rogers Memorial Hospital that warm June evening months ago? How did it become this? Where I can’t even have that one glass of red wine that calls my name inside my brain like a dripping faucet I can’t shut off.

Drip, drip, drip.

Drink, drink, drink.

I seem to have forgotten how it overtook every aspect of my life. My ability to laugh with friends, enjoy serving my church as much as I do, and writing away my days without the aid of alcohol. I must have misplaced my memory of the wrecking ball of ethanol making me an emotional mess unable to complete a sentence without tears. The feeling of waking up in a pool of sweat at three am because the poison was fighting its way out of my blood like a fury that had to find a way out.

Drip, drip, drip.

Drink, drink, drink.

My memory must have faded out the part where I had to quit my life just to find my way back again, where I had to sweep myself up into the majesty of staring completely and utterly over. Three months of rediscovering what it was like to take it all in with a clear and beautiful mind. I may have lost my gift of writing words during that time, but I regained all that God has intended for me to be.

I saw the bottom of a glass of wine tonight, I lost the wage, but won the perspective I needed to gain. Why did I forget? Apparently I needed to be reminded of all the risks that go with giving in to such.

Clarity. Stumbling gave me this. As crystal as the sea as crisp as the fall air. I want to love, live and see the pride in all of your eyes as you take in the brilliance of my clear eyes as I tell you I’m sober.

I never want to lose that, even when I lose at winning.

So this is where I beg God to sweep me up into His living and forgiving arms. Where I ask Him to give me the courage to once again overcome the most impossible of odds.

I c

hose to begin tomorrow at the top of 103 days not at the feet of my demons that call me back to the bottle. For one slip never made us invisible in God’s eyes before why should it now? That is what the bottle of red wine would want me to believe, that I’m lost again and I should stay that way. I know that isn’t so, and in that I grasp Grace’s hand and dust myself off and know my fortune is in my God not lost in the fall.