The Vulnarabulity Fire

Who knew that hands placed upon me in a magnitude of grace that I could find so much peace… because when hands have been given in violence the abuse is always expected. But not today…there was only room for love! Join me in finding the acceptance we all desire to let go of the demons that haunt us to our core…

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

Hands upon hands were placed strategically upon me today at church as Pastor Kevin asked for those who are suffering any kind of turmoil to allow him to pray over them.  After I found the courage to stand up, which is of course somewhat embarrassing in its own right, I mean, who wants to say to the world, I totally suck at life?  No one.  But in admitting that we are in a place of need is when those in our army can truly go to battle for us.  So, I stood, my husband immediately followed as he always does to support and lead me, and then so did all the people around me in a beautiful echo of communion fortifying a will to pray against the forces that want to see me fail on the worst possible world stage possible.

As our pastor’s anointed prayer began I felt a community of touch all over me.  Now not many people know this about me, but if I’m not prepared to be touched I kinda freak out.  For a sparkly-pink loving girl, I knock out punch and a mean handshake.  Basically, I can mess you up, and I wish the reasons were simply because I am totally bad to the bone.  It actually comes from a place of deep sorrow that no person should ever have to endure.  It is a defense mechanism.  It is my survival tool to combat the evil touches that have precluded my youth.  But in this tender moment when the fighters around me took to battle, in prayer and laid hands on me, all I felt was overwhelming peace and love.  This being one of the great moments of my life.

I am a Christian.  A wife.  A mother, An author, A lover of compassion and uprising. I am deeper than most and speak what I feel when I can’t hold back.  I am also, a survivor.  Of sexual assault.

Like all too many women, I’ve been objectified, judged, and received unfair treatment due to my outer appearance.  I also know what it is like to be groped without consent.  Hands on me when I wanted to run, scream, and bellow for a savior from the depths of torrent this kind of situation poses. But…I didn’t.  I just stood still, not sure how to react, contemplate, to retaliate.  Mostly because, it was someone who I trusted, valued and loved deeply.

That is the core horror of my situation.  I trusted, loved and adored someone, and he stripped me of my innate belief principle because of a physical urge that my predictor could not control. Which ultimately drove me, the victim to seek control over my own life in extremely destructive ways.  I have literally lived in a cold, gray, prison for all the life I have memories of.  Despite achieving many astute and lovely things, my abuse has always been there, nagging, digging its claws into my self-esteem and pain point throughout my whole life.

I have starved myself in order to beg to the powers that be that I simply disappear.  For being thin and non-existent felt much better than real, honest and facing the truth of an unthinkable nightmare I was forced to live.

I have stuck a finger down my throat to regurgitate food I forced into my body feeling powerful and filled in a fleeting breeze of pleasure.  Then at the moment of the purge, I felt free of the physical delight of having food.  Free of a burden of plenties I believed that I did not deserve.  

I have drank too much and taken prescription pills to forget the moment I was in.  If I didn’t have to live in the “now” that usually produced images of black and white-hot and cold- with a vivid vision of safety and then ultimately, hell.

I have strived for success at any avenue.  If I commit to something, not only will I win, but I will prevail in the wildest of ways.  Winning, yes I know this well. For if I am perfect I am loved, right?  If i tell you I’m a best-selling author, you smile, If I tell you I’m a figure skater that performed in eight ice shows your eyes glisten, if I share that I’m an award winning public speaker, you accept me even more.  The horror of my core is pushed deeper, and I navigate through pain, lack of sleep, physical torture, so I can prove to you all.  That I am here successfully standing, but mostly that I am not deplorable.  

Because that is really how I feel deep inside.

I tell myself that I deserve the torture that I sentence myself to because ultimately I feel dirty, taken, and abused.  Worthless.  Innocence was taken without being asked and then tossed to the side without a second gaze. Abuse potentates self-harm, which produces insecurity and lofty images of distancing from all the things inside me that cry that I am worthy, loved and bountiful in His image.  God calls me by my name and reaches inside my darkness proclaiming a stake on lightness.  Yet all I see is bleak, darkness, that tells me I should hide my face, body, and reality of abuse.

I was reminded of a funny yet powerful expression of wanting to throw in the towel in the midst of the worst pain imaginable today talking to one of my girlfriends.  When I was in labor with my first son, having never experienced the threshold of pain in the form of every single fiber of my body being squeezed outside of itself, I was a bit despondent.  Unable to feed off of the numbing potion of an epidural due to a rapid first delivery, I was left to feel every single contraction of my introduction of Caleb into the world.  As my body seamlessly engaged what we know as “transitional labor” better known as the fire ring of the worst pain possible, I decided that I was done, I quit, love y’all but I’m out!  I wanted nothing of the impossible expectations of strength that was being expected of my body, spirit, and mind.  After a particularly horrid contraction that I was sure expelled my liver, spleen, and for sure bowels, I gathered my bag and walked out the door.  I was done.  Goodbye, I yelled as i waddled down the hallway of the labor and delivery floor.  “Where are you going?” My husband and the nurses chased after me in a panic.  I dropped to the floor with another one of those earthquake level contractions that cracks the world in half.  Picking myself up off the floor I declare to my audience, “I changed my  mind.  I’m good, I’m going home.  This isn’t at all what I thought it was going to be, and simply I cannot do it.”  I got about two steps down the hall and another blow took my breath away forcing me to realize, too late, sweetie.  You’re committed.  You have to deal.  Minutes later I gave birth to one of the greatest loves I could have ever fathomed possible.  God is so Good!  After we go through the fire we deem impossible is when we reap the greatest possible result.

An ah-ha moment came when I was describing in the throws of my counseling session how I had no idea how difficult it was for me at this time to fight the good fight.  I told counselor dude how I am a WINNER!  I overcome! It’s simply what I do.  But in this season of my life I find it next to impossible to set aside the crutches I’ve utilized my whole adult life, and as much as I am ready to accept the calling that God has CLEARLY placed on my life, I am stuck in the abyss of struggle.

He dug.

I went with him.

He asked me what my process, dealing with my inner child being abused has been like. And I stated what seemingly felt to be the obvious,

First I was in denial. …Nope, this didn’t happen.  It was just a bad dream.  It wasn’t THAT horrible.  I mean, girls have it way worse than me, right???

Then anger met me at her doorstep with hurricane force winds and power.  …I’M SO HOT WITH ANGER THAT I WILL BREAK YOUR HANDS IF YOU COME NEAR ME.  Okay, I still have a little bit of that in me, but the rage brewed, swelled and came out in the worst of times on the ones I love the most.

Now, I’m in the stage of vulnerability.  The denial has been dismissed the anger controlled and now I’m stuck in this boiling pot of reality, memories, and feelings.  No wonder I’m completely and totally stuck in a huge hot mess of yuck, struggle, and agony.

Because, in all reality, who truly wants to be left naked and open to the feelings and memories that haunt us in the deepest caverns in our heart?  Yeah, um, no one.

God will win, He will take the pain and use it to further the kingdom and minister to the countless women and men who have suffered as I, but first I have been called to go through the fire of vulnerability.  The chastise of truth, and the bellows of “why me, take me, free me from this torturous place, this barren land, and bleak future.  God, just come, PLEASE NOW!” That is the inferno justice of honoring our true self and feelings, where we have nowhere to run but into the arms of our Lord and Savior.  For none other has any kind of a shot at healing the brokenness, anger, denial, and raw pain of such an invasion.  Through it all I’m embracing the truth that He knew me before I breathed my first breath, and will take my last.  He has my purpose in the palm of His hand, and all I have to do is take it and run like mad to fulfill it.  

But first my friends, beforehand, I have to fight the fire of my vulnerability, heal, and prosper to the other side.   

I honor and pledge that I will overcome odds, to fulfill His greater destiny for my life, and I encourage you to join me in the same venture.  Because that is truly living, loving, and ministering to the highest of soaring levels.  Healing is imminent we simply have to go through His process to provide His greater purpose on our journey toward complete healing while growing us into the everything He has promised for us to be.

Please be inspired by the song that inspired this blog:

https://open.spotify.com/track/4ajsTrCAjWtUPLU6xCy4u4

/ / The Pain I Can Control / /

One of the easiest ways we deal with hurt, is to continue the cycle of abuse. And often times the one we chose to punish is ourselves. Join me as I dive into how this is just another lie we believe and the love we should encompass instead…

Ami Beth Cross1 Comment

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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 subsided 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 chose.  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, pain was given when I “messed up.” It feels all to0 ordinary to punch myself in the face, instead of accepting that as a human I will fail, yet 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.  He will release the burden of it all, and allow us to the monarch that we were predestined to become, what He designed in His image is ours for the taking, if we accept the 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 unconditional love.
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Stinky Face

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

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A note to my four children:

No matter what….

I will always love you.

Whatever comes your way, I’ll be supporting, loving and praying for you.

I am forever on your side, through your success and failure, I will always love you

Whatever you may become in this life is beyond my grandest imagination…

No matter the manifestation, I will be your biggest fan.

Your Dreams will become my own, and I shall fight when you are too tired to go to battle.

Love  always, Mom

Consider the infinite beauty of holding the perfect baby in your arms after a long arduous labor.  In that earth-shattering moment where you were physically connected just moments before, it is hard to embrace that they may embark on a life adventure that you didn’t foresee for them.

I’ve raised a son, he is eighteen, graduated third in his senior class of hundreds and he is absolutely one of the great love’s of my life born of my body, my heart, and my soul.

Caleb is currently at North Central University in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  In case you haven’t heard of this private university, it is known globally for its music pastoral program.  As a matter of fact, Prince himself utilized the high-tech studio on a regular basis to record and practice when he was still alive.  My boy dreamed, trained endlessly, but most importantly followed the calling on his life.  

For those of you who know my son, Caleb, he is a mere genius.  I can list his many accolades but to not seem prideful (because I’ll admit I am)  I’ll stick to the topic.

When Caleb came to accept Jesus Christ as his personal savior he was teaching himself the guitar.  Our family had recently experienced a second deviating loss of a sibling of Caleb’s within a short time frame. My boy lost two infant brothers back to back.  Two graves, two shoebox coffins that forced a young man who never felt emotion embarked on a chasm of eternal anger or possibly a God-given outlet.  Secretly I prayed for us all (to a God I had myself rebuked for years after leaving Him twenty years prior). Caleb found the wonderful and powerful outlet of music.  At the time he was in the Medical Science Academy at his high school that was acclaimed for producing doctors and engineers.  Both of which my boy could become, as a matter of fact, this kid could be anything he wanted to be.

One dark night as I did laundry, Caleb ate his dinner after a long night of leading the youth in worship at our local church he summoned the courage to declare his purpose to me.   

“Mom.”

“Yes, Caleb?”  I stated after putting together an impossible puzzle known as matching socks.

“I feel God is calling me to be a Music Pastor.”

Great pause took place in my heart.  Caleb could be anything, ANYTHING in this world, and succeed in that endeavor past the stars.  His IQ is off the charts, his ACT scores through the roof, and his writing ability clearly announces his feelings, facts, and heart in a fluid and concise manner.  In that, he wants to go into the ministry?  To make a menial living, and live a life of constant and at times unappreciated service.  I look over at my sixteen-year-old man-child as he eats his dinner prepared with love and sacrifice by his stepdad, and all I could see on his face was a look of concern, deeply wanting approval.

…Of what I’d say.  What I’d think, how I’d react.  All I could do was swell with a pride matched by one of the greatest of moments in my history.  For instead of focusing on money and stature, he was following a deep, intense, and at times very challenging calling on his life.  I could barely tether in my smile as I answer him:

“Son, do what fulfills you.  You can always make money, you can never get back a purpose not served.  God will provide if you follow your calling.  Don’t find yourself trapped by expectations of what you are supposed to be.  Be…Just be what you are called to be.”

He is studying music at a renowned school of worship in Minneapolis, Minnesota at this moment.

My second son, Cameron is gifted with visuals, behind the scenes talent, as the captain of the camera he has an acute artistic ability.  He has an eye for the camera and his ability makes me shiver.   His love for his family forces me to marvel as he offers me emotional comfort and wise words, I would have never expected from my own child.  Cam has been my confidant, my rock, and the one who I can always count on.  His ability has endless possibilities, past the confines of any insecurity that we all hold deep within.  

Cameron volunteers at his church doing the technical aspects that allow the service to rock out and is a leader in his youth group.  But mostly,  he meets the heart of the youth that look up to him, he joins with people where they are, he cancels plans that mean the world to him in order to minister to someone who needs him more than his “fun” plans coincide with.  My Cameron, my darling gift of a son has a greater purpose than I could have ever imagined.  I asked him one day, “what do you foresee in your future?

He simply answered,

“I don’t know yet, but definitely something in the ministry.”

I once saw him directing films in Hollywood, following his starlit dreams of fame and fortune.  Yet, God called my second son to be His and serve His people.

My two little one’s futures will transpire as they grow in the goodness and trials God has in store for them.  Although, my eight-year-old son Trasen already has a passion for the word.  After summer camp the pastor told me he begged to read his Bible with his flashlight every night before bed.  He also received the “Wisdom” award at Spring Hill Camp.

Lilia and Trasen shall see the magnitude of greatness they are called into in due time.

I’ve always read a children’s book to my kids called:

I Love You, Stinky Face.

At the beginning of the book, the mother tells her child, “I love you, my wonderful child.” ~But the child has some questions, and valid ones at that.

It tells a story of a child asking his beloved mother, would you still love me if….I’m something different than what you want me to be.

What if I’m was an alien, a one-eyed monster, a big ugly ape, or a skunk with a stinky face?
Would you still love me then?

The mother answers, I will love you and I will provide the needs you have no matter where they may take you.

The mama of the one-eyed monster read bedtime stories until his one big eye fell asleep, the ape she fed a banana birthday cake and the skunk she gave a great big bubble bath.  She met the child’s needs despite uncertain and unexpected circumstances.  I mean in all reality no one really wants a one-eyed monster for a child, but if I had one I’d love it with all my being.  It’s translated into an unconditional love that a mother can exude, the kind of love that transcends time, situations, and struggle.

After reading this book that is tethered and worn after four children worth of bedtime stories, it gave me great hesitation reflecting on my current struggles.

My oldest baby has grown up and he is making his way into the world as I’ve always dreamed he would.  All of God’s endless possibilities are at his footsteps.

 But as far as me…I feel left behind.

It spreads through a familiar feeling of abandonment; my greatest nightmare, my most abundant personal parental reality, as to this day…my father is absent.  And my mother…well it’s very complicated, to say the least.

Has Caleb abandoned me?   Of course not!  He has followed God’s gracious path towards the greatness He has planned for him.  Caleb has to find his wings, his greater purpose to fulfill all he is called to be.

But I’m home.  Without his beautiful song echoing throughout my home and my heart.

 Has he left me?  No.

Is he gone?  Yes.

Do you love me, God, even though I’m a skunk that needs a big ole bubble bath?

A one-eyed monster that needs help reading her bedtime story?

God says, YES my child I love you no matter what, in spite of your failure, disparage, or in times of deep loss.  Even if it is the healthiest kind, such as your adult son leaving.

Caleb is done being my child under my roof that I worked so hard to grow up, Cameron is on the brinks. I’ve found myself in the midst of what some call a mid-life crisis, having cut my hair and gaining fifteen pounds, and at times being tugged at to fall back on unhealthy coping mechanisms, I cling to God begging Him to not take His love away from me.  Even in the midst of not living up to what I know He has in store for me I’m contemplating how to figure out this new life, new dynamic, and major transition, I have to ask Him what if today I were a slimy green alien would he still want and love me?

And do you know what my Father in Heaven says to me?

I will always love you,

Stinky Face.

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A Decade Plus Five///9.11.01

Fifteen years ago, four planes crashed onto our soil and forever imprinted dread of this day in history. Many orphans resulted from this day, and after a message from P. K last night my heart says this…

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

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Fifteen seconds is all it took for me to awaken to the tragedy that was upon us on nine eleven, two thousand and one.  I shook off sleep as my family on the East coast bellowed through the unsettling phone lines, “we are at war!”

Torture struck.  The enemy took.  Evil seemed to prevail  that morning in New York City, the Pentagon, and later in a barren field in Pennsylvania.  I’m old enough to recall all of the horrors of that time, the constant media coverage that wasn’t enough.  Watching non-stop news coverage, made us feel more connected to what the lost and the survivors were going through after the twin towers were obliterated by terrorists.

The United States of America was United way past the vision I see of our beautiful country today.  Due to a force on our soil that brought us into instant unification through turmoil, of the worst kind.  The enemy declaring war and a momentary victory we had no knowledge of such horrors Pearl Harbor.  

People often ask me if I write to music and the answer is always, yes.

The strongest song that prevails is always, Oceans by Hillsong United.  

(Insert eye roll) I know all too well from my teenage sons this song is overplayed, and our youth is sick of it. In the black of night and abstraction of life, I find myself the most prolific listening to the powerful words as God moves my fingers and words flow like a river chasing the ocean.  

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My feet may fail and fear surrounds me….

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So I may call upon your name.

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For I am Yours.  And you are Mine.

For all of time God has promised us His love, His mercy, and His grace.  If we follow.  If we navigate our lives through His simple, yet meaningful instructions.  

Stay away from the fruit on this one tree.

Love thy neighbor.

Give the orphans a home.

Serve the less fortunate.

We constantly fail at these simple yet imperative commands.

God tells us that without Him, without our commitment to the depth we are all capable of, we are weak and the lowest of His people can be forever lost.

Tonight Pastor Kevin broke my heart.  Yes, I was the one  in the front mid center bawling my eyes out.  The big bleeding heart with my strong soul of a husband beside me.  And because we have the heart of God and of His children we both wept, held tight, and knew that greatness was about to take place.

As somewhat of an adult orphan myself,  I will answer the call (to help how I can) and pray that God will provide me someone willing to take me into their hearts.  Being an adult orphan is hard.  Birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, these times are difficult making me covet generations of families gathered around the table for a festive dinner.  I have created my own family and feel so blessed, yet empty of guidance and the love of an elder.  I believe in prayer, and I trust if I am faithful,  adoration will be mine a thousand fold.

As service closed and our entire church applauded the countless families up on stage, as they all proclaimed we did it all in love.  So many orphans now had families, so many parents now had children.  The circle complete, the need fulfilled.  How great is our God?

Alan and I shook with joy and love as we are blessed to have four kids of our own, serve in Journey Kids whenever we can.  But moreover, we lived through Nine Eleven.

We saw its wreckage and all the fatherless children it left behind because of a slaying that took place on our soil.  So, if you judge me for my patronize or respect for my flag, my grandfather stormed Normandy, and my God held tight all of those soldiers who took down flight ninety-three.  Respect is what I give, remembrance is what I feel. 

On the anniversary, we all hate to acknowledge because it makes us feel uncomfortable because four planes killed in excess of three thousand souls.  Also all around the world millions of children go home to a sick and small institution.  This breaks my heart and brings it all together this anniversary.  God calls us to minister to the weak and lonely and to honor the fallen in tragedy.


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A decade plus five later I was left a bawling mess at church knowing that so much is lost and yet, I am left…here for a powerful reason if I step up to the call on my heart.  I encourage all of us to join together to help.  There are so many children in the world that are hungry, lost, and cold.  But mostly lacking what we all need the most in this life….love.

What we are here to do is clear and the fruit of our commitment can be beyond our wildest of imagination;  if we only listen and commit to journey forward.

 

 

 

 

 

Chasm of Grace

I discovered yesterday that a poem of my mine hit the New York Times Best Sellers List 25 years ago…hours after I feared releasing this blog for fear of losing love due to an interrupt to succeed. Yup that is my reality. You don’t win you lose.

Ami Beth Cross4 Comments

When incarcerated, isolation is often used as one of the worst possible forms of punishment a criminal can receive.  Torture techniques include placing people in holes of darkness completely alone, depleted of any interaction with another person for extended periods of time to break the spirit of humanity.

Being alone can be more dreadful more than death.

When I became a full-time author two years ago I was on the precipice my greatest dream coming true.  When I was six years old I began writing anything and everything coming to my heart a rapid pace I would grab my pencil to put into expression my conflicted painstaking experiences.  Through the darkness of my tormented and lonely childhood, God gave me a precious gift, and a means to navigate unthinkable situations.

 

Needless to say having the ability to publish two books in fourteen months is something that I am very proud of.  My memoir ‘The Return to Happiness’ hit bestseller lists on Amazon, ibooks and Barnes and Noble, and Kobo.  MORE importantly miraculously,  my words have helped thousands and thousands of women all over the world giving a voice to the devastating grief of pregnancy and infant loss.  God once again used my torrent of torture to flow vastly into the form of words, yet this time healing others, not just myself.  What a magnificent God we serve.

But it wasn’t all celebration cakes and congratulations on Facebook, I faced the darkest time in my adult life while birthing my dream.

The first six months of pursuing my most coveted aspiration came with a lofty price that has the ability to haunt me until I meet Jesus.  I (unknowingly at the time) sentenced myself the most horrid punishment of maltreatment…isolation.

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I am the infante definition of an extrovert and a complete and total spaz. I thrive off of people, I love (most) everything about God’s people. The joy or sorrow in their eyes is my goal to discover the reason of either.  Two is always greater than one in times of celebration or despair.

As you can see isolation isn’t beneficially for anyone, especially for a person like myself.  Alone, sheltered, and wrapped up in my own fictional and nonfictional world I fell into the darkest depression and dependence on alcohol and prescription medication that I ever had faced.  Anxiety and depression have always taunted me as I have dealt with abandonment, abuse of the worst kind, a son diagnosed with a chronic illness at four and two back to back second-trimester pregnancy losses.  In prefacing that I have dealt with some mental health issues goes without strong merit.

I’ll never forget my first glass of wine.  A magnificent feeling overtook my mind and body, but mostly the pivotal escape from inner darkness and the child that always felt left behind is what continued to call my name to the lies of the bottle.  The girl who saw too much, the forsaken and tormented version of my inner child was sedated and finally left numbed.  It was the most intensely wonderful thing that I had ever injected into my body.  And I didn’t care if it was wrong.  I simply loved that I could not feel.

Labels kill the over achiever as floods wipe out the innocent.  I never wanted to admit my poison because I wanted so desperately to be loved.

I never became a raging alcoholic in those years of young adulthood.  Thankfully I never received a DUI, or put my kids or myself in danger, or lost a job.  People drink and it is widely acceptable even marketed as a way to overcome a really bad day.  I was successful in many of my areas that in enabled me to somewhat cover up my guilt with my many outlandish accomplishments (yup I’m that humble)  LOL.  A definite result of my distorted childhood was the need to please and to receive love, therefore, I was 110% or nothing.  If I was triumphant than I was loveable.

In that, it is pertinent I add a few of the prodigious things I did in my life before I drop the biggest bombshell to you all that I’ve managed to keep hidden for two years:

  • I wrote an award-winning poem at 16 and was published and hit New York Times Best Selling List in her collection of poetry, thus becoming a New York Time Bestselling author without even knowing it at fifteen.
  • I am the National Prepared Public Speaking winner for the state of Nevada and competed at a national convention in St. Louis, MO.  I can still recall the energy in my body as the electricity jolted me on the stage to shout to the world my words and voice.
  • I was a gifted runner with Olympic potential until I had a career ending injury at 16.
  • I was selected for a national band and played for 30,000 people including President George Bush
  • I learned how to figure skate at the age of thirty advancing so quickly I skated in an ice show 9 months later being the first adult to land a jump higher than a waltz.  Then I went on to perform in seven other ice shows in front of thousands of people.
  • I am a bestselling author of a memoir that will eventually be in the United Hospital System going home with grieving mothers who suffers miscarriage or stillbirth.
  •  I am the proud mother of six babies.  (Two in heaven) whose accomplishments mean more to me than an Olympic gold medal, and a husband who is my heart light.
  • I have a divorce that is healthy.  My ex-husband, his beautiful wife, her kids, and ours are blended.  We have Christmas, birthdays, and Easter, together.  We shield one another in the dark times and celebrate the joys in life.  They are my husband and my two children together godparents.  If anything happens to Alan and I, all my babies will be together in the best care I could ever imagine.

All of those things I didn’t accomplish on my own. I once had a deeply rooted relationship with Jesus and loved my Lord more than myself.  When I left Him I still continued to soar, yet slowly crumbled deeper than the sky could lift me up.On the cliff of greatness in 2014 looking off into the sunset of finally becoming a published author I knew this would top anything else I had done in my life.  Yet I was only touching the surface of my journey back to God, deeply I was falling vastly into depression and drinking.  I was alone.  Because I chose isolation.  From church  from God, from friends. I was too busy building my business, writing my books, and well for lack of better words trying to drown my sorrows.

 

I ended up drinking myself into a horrible mess, dipping deeper and darker into depression.  I called a suicide help line one night.  I felt so lost, my dad had left…again….my past was ruining me, haunting me, nightmares made my turmoil happen over and over every night so I’d stay up all night working and numbing myself into a place where my sleep wouldn’t hit the stage of dreams.  The police came to my house at three am to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt myself, waking my husband up to attest to the fact that I wouldn’t kill myself was one of my darkest moments.  The fear in his eyes was enough.  Enough to find the inner will to fight the greatest storm of my life.

A week after I called the suicide hotline I hit it.  The cement wall holding the ability to crack my skull open and leave misery-drenched in the form of red, fluid that holds the breath of death, with no hope of reconciliation.

I decided to quit drinking cold turkey soon after a dreaded night to my realization that I wouldn’t have reacted that way if I had been sober.  I mean really, me in a screaming match?  Nope,  not reality, not truth, not the grace God has instilled in me.

The whole next day, horribly hung over, I laid in my bed alone, I covered the windows with the darkest of blankets and cried.  I shook with withdrawal symptoms and when my older boys got home from school I instructed them to come up as I had to tell them something.

They entered my room sorrowful from the sheer greeting of a black room and a clearly sick mom.  They had no idea my drinking had gotten out of control as I was  the master of deception.  Remember, if I fail I’m not loved.  It’s what my parents taught me.  What else would I know?

I told my boys that I had an altercation with our neighbors and some changes were on the horizon.  My oldest son Caleb said, “Mom you need to get involved in church.  You need community, I’m worried about you because I know you and this isn’t you.”  Caleb looked around the dark sullen room and my listless body still in bed at 4 pm with compassion and concern.

My oldest son Caleb said, “Mom you need to get involved in church.  You need community, I’m worried about you because I know you and this isn’t you.”  He peered upon the dark sullen room and my listless body still in bed at 4 pm with compassion and concern.

Yet the only thing that was was in me was anger.

Church?

God!?

A God who only took from me, who wrecked me taking my two infant boys, Caleb’s health, my innocence, my father?   The love I yearned for but never received from my mother.  NO WAY would I ever serve Him again.  I was so faithful in my youth and He still gave me nothing but adult years of suffering.

My children left heartbroken seeing their mother who was usually strong lying on a bed that had the stench of death.  The woman who they watched make dreams turn into reality was truly giving up.  I can’t even imagine the pain I placed on their young hearts.

Twenty-four hours after my last drink I went into delirium tremens (DT’s) which is a possible, fatal condition caused by severe alcohol withdrawal.  I write in more detail in my upcoming book about how this felt, but I can paraphrase and say it was like a nightmarish light show that was evil instead of in celebration. Streamers fell from the sky in a brilliance of color, but it didn’t feel like the fourth of July it felt like the end of life. I reached up to grab what seemed real only to see it dissipate in the confines of my pale  hands.  Rock bottom never looked so colorful and felt so regretful.

The next morning being the hypochondriac I am, I googled ‘hallucinations after ceasing alcohol’.  Of course,  every site said get yourself to an emergency room because you could die

Deep inside me,  I knew I didn’t actually want to go to be with the Jesus yet, so I had my husband Alan take me to the local ER.  Staff became serious extremely fast as I was admitted,  and I was placed on a “seizure” watch in fear that I could seize and die.

My initial fleeting moment of wanting to die weeks earlier could become a reality and in the grips of such deafening possibility of truth I held on like I had never fought in my life before.

I saw Alan.

Caleb.

Cameron.

Trasen.

Lilia.

Mostly I saw me.

My potential.  What I meant to people.

My smile.

My love, soul, gifts, and deep torment that can be used to gift those going through the same.

I fought so hard I felt like my hero Rocky Balboa after his fight with the Russian.  Beaten, yet ultimately blanketed with a title belt around my waist.

The doctors at that point recommended rehab for dual diagnosis depression and alcoholism, with  my pride fighting to hold me back…I went.

Being in a facility akin to the darkest of places a person can go was a creation within my being I wasn’t accustomed to.  Giving in to failure, not clinging to my success. I heard stories much more tortuous than mine.  I saw heroin addicts, suicide attempts, schizophrenics, deeply depressed people and severe eating disorders.

And in that my chains were broken, for we are all at the throne.  We all struggle no matter our life path.

All of the unlovely sat at the table we ate our meals at and we loved one another, while Jesus sat at the head of the table I actually felt Him and knew through His stripes we were healed.

Eight painfully beneficial days later I left and something on the last day during one of our group meetings we were told that seventy percent of us will relapse.  \

Seventy percent of you will fail.

In essence, that means thirty percent win this battle.  And I’m really good at winning, my prideful self-self-declared.

 

But instead of victory, this time,I became a statistic. One month later I was back.

I had become the seventy percent.

In the months that followed my second visit to Rogers Memorial Hospital, I rewrote both of my books that were crafted in a non-authentic clear-minded way.  I completely stopped drinking and went on this amazing adventure that a year later brought me back to my best friend, Jesus.

 

My son was insightful in giving me powerful words from the throne of God that we thrive when we have people rallying around us not trying to cope on our own. Two are always better than one.

 

We need each other to thrive, grow, prosper, and be kept accountable.

 

In this increasingly hard time in my life with my Caleb going to college and feeling like a quarter of my heart is in Minneapolis for the first time in a while I’ve been struggling.

 

God has called me to greatness, He has predestined me to write my story of addiction and childhood/adult abandonment and how I overcame impossible odds to find my destiny  Yet, first I have to arrive.

Again I stand at the brinks of a multitude of choices to deal with transition and the pulling question of which direction will I take?  Will I allow evil to spit the ugliness of sin on my face  or will I shower myself with the grace of a Savior filed with ultimate possibility?

In my young life abandonment meant if I wasn’t the picture of perfection I wasn’t loved.  In my mid-life my parents exude the same standard.  For I’ve been shown that if I mess up, or am less than righteous, love simply leaves.  It is gone, sometimes forever. That is why sharing this with you all is so hard for me.  For I am flawed, and so blessed to have you all hugging me and praying for me in a church that is anointed and blessed, yet if you know my darkness will you still offer me light?  This hasn’t been my history so it is hard to grasp that it could be my future.

 

And I do know that my bullet point of my greatest accomplishments mean nothing, yet I needed to state them for fear of loss.  Of love, fellowship, and YOU.  Each and everyone of you who meet my eyes on a weekly basis and pray with me when I leave the service to grab a tissue because I miss my oldest boy.  I love each and everyone of you.  And I pray you still love me, even though I’m flawed, gravitated toward forgetting, and a broken child of God.

 

My shame in the perils of escape through drugs and alcohol have defined me for many years.  Success that many will never see has also defined me for many years.  And the God in my soul says NO!  None of it matters, success or failure He accepts me and hugs me like the father I long for.

 

Jesus is the King and through it is well.  Simply put… it is well with my soul.

 

Friends, I will NEVER be perfect, but I will forever need love. In my life my idea of my perfections have been rewarded with love, and mistakes that are punished with the very worst form of torture;  isolation. And sadly, as this was done to me by my parents as a child and still as an adult, it was what I gave myself in 2014.

 

If I’m writing books or in rehab,  I’m flawed, ugly with shame and still have the ability to fall.  So many thanks to you to my new family at Journey Church. I even obtained the mentor I have been praying for through her testimony one Sunday at church, of her struggle of parental abandonment and addiction.  Since then we meet regularly, she keeps me accountable and Alan and I are attending our first life group with her on Thursday…

That is community!!  The essence of where two or more is gathered greatness is imminent.  Isolation provokes death for your soul and body, yet communion invites prosperity and more joy than we can conjure up in our minds.
The chasm of greatness brings me to the soaring cliff of stamina where we all have the ability to jump to the other side of healing. That we are forever free, falling into the hands of grace and eternal forgiveness.

My Chasm of Grace

Beyond blessed , I wrote a poem 26 years ago that was asked to be in an anthology of poetry that hit New York Times Bestseller Lists. Little did I know when I wrote this blog blog the other day that this had occurred. I wanted to reveal my real self, my struggle and my accomplishments to show how great our God is in in the midst of both.

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

When incarcerated, isolation is often used as one of the worst possible forms of punishment a criminal can receive.  Torture techniques include placing people in holes of darkness completely alone, depleted of any interaction with another person for extended periods of time to break the spirit of humanity.

Being alone can be more dreadful more than death.

When I became a full-time author two years ago I was on the precipice my greatest dream coming true.  When I was six years old I began writing anything and everything coming to my heart a rapid pace I would grab my pencil to put into expression my conflicted painstaking experiences.  Through the darkness of my tormented and lonely childhood, God gave me a precious gift, and a means to navigate unthinkable situations.

 

Needless to say having the ability to publish two books in fourteen months is something that I am very proud of.  My memoir ‘The Return to Happiness’ hit bestseller lists on Amazon, ibooks and Barnes and Noble, and Kobo.  MORE importantly miraculously,  my words have helped thousands and thousands of women all over the world giving a voice to the devastating grief of pregnancy and infant loss.  God once again used my torrent of torture to flow vastly into the form of words, yet this time healing others, not just myself.  What a magnificent God we serve.

But it wasn’t all celebration cakes and congratulations on Facebook, I faced the darkest time in my adult life while birthing my dream.

The first six months of pursuing my most coveted aspiration came with a lofty price that has the ability to haunt me until I meet Jesus.  I (unknowingly at the time) sentenced myself the most horrid punishment of maltreatment…isolation.

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I am the infante definition of an extrovert and a complete and total spaz. I thrive off of people, I love (most) everything about God’s people. The joy or sorrow in their eyes is my goal to discover the reason of either.  Two is always greater than one in times of celebration or despair.

As you can see isolation isn’t beneficially for anyone, especially for a person like myself.  Alone, sheltered, and wrapped up in my own fictional and nonfictional world I fell into the darkest depression and dependence on alcohol and prescription medication that I ever had faced.  Anxiety and depression have always taunted me as I have dealt with abandonment, abuse of the worst kind, a son diagnosed with a chronic illness at four and two back to back second-trimester pregnancy losses.  In prefacing that I have dealt with some mental health issues goes without strong merit.

I’ll never forget my first glass of wine.  A magnificent feeling overtook my mind and body, but mostly the pivotal escape from inner darkness and the child that always felt left behind is what continued to call my name to the lies of the bottle.  The girl who saw too much, the forsaken and tormented version of my inner child was sedated and finally left numbed.  It was the most intensely wonderful thing that I had ever injected into my body.  And I didn’t care if it was wrong.  I simply loved that I could not feel.

Labels kill the over achiever as floods wipe out the innocent.  I never wanted to admit my poison because I wanted so desperately to be loved.

I never became a raging alcoholic in those years of young adulthood.  Thankfully I never received a DUI, or put my kids or myself in danger, or lost a job.  People drink and it is widely acceptable even marketed as a way to overcome a really bad day.  I was successful in many of my areas that in enabled me to somewhat cover up my guilt with my many outlandish accomplishments (yup I’m that selfish).  A definite result of my distorted childhood was the need to please and to receive love, therefore, I was 110% or nothing.  If I was triumphant than I was loveable.

In that, it is pertinent I add a few of the prodigious things I did in my life before I drop the biggest bombshell to you all that I’ve managed to keep hidden for two years:

  • I wrote an award-winning poem at 16 and was published and hit New York Times Best Selling List in her collection of poetry, thus becoming a New York Time Bestselling author without even knowing it at fifteen.
  • I am the National Prepared Public Speaking winner for the state of Nevada and competed at a national convention in St. Louis, MO.  I can still recall the energy in my body as the electricity jolted me on the stage to shout to the world my words and voice.
  • I was a gifted runner with Olympic potential until I had a career ending injury at 16.
  • I was selected for a national band and played for 30,000 people including President George Bush
  • I learned how to figure skate at the age of thirty advancing so quickly I skated in an ice show 9 months later being the first adult to land a jump higher than a waltz.  Then I went on to perform in seven other ice shows in front of thousands of people. 
  • I am a bestselling author of a memoir that will eventually be in the United Hospital System going home with grieving mothers who suffers miscarriage or stillbirth.
  •  I am the proud mother of six babies.  (Two in heaven) whose accomplishments mean more to me than an Olympic gold medal, and a husband who is my heart light.
  • I have a divorce that is healthy.  My ex-husband, his beautiful wife, her kids, and ours are blended.  We have Christmas, birthdays, and Easter, together.  We shield one another in the dark times and celebrate the joys in life.  They are my husband and my two children together godparents.  If anything happens to Alan and I, all my babies will be together in the best care I could ever imagine.

All of those things I didn’t accomplish on my own. I once had a deeply rooted relationship with Jesus and loved my Lord more than myself.  When I left Him I still continued to soar, yet slowly crumbled deeper than the sky could lift me up.On the cliff of greatness in 2014 looking off into the sunset of finally becoming a published author I knew this would top anything else I had done in my life.  Yet I was only touching the surface of my journey back to God, deeply I was falling vastly into depression and drinking.  I was alone.  Because I chose isolation.  From church  from God, from friends. I was too busy building my business, writing my books, and well for lack of better words trying to drown my sorrows.

 

I ended up drinking myself into a horrible mess, dipping deeper and darker into depression.  I called a suicide help line one night.  I felt so lost, my dad had left…again….my past was ruining me, haunting me, nightmares made my turmoil happen over and over every night so I’d stay up all night working and numbing myself into a place where my sleep wouldn’t hit the stage of dreams.  The police came to my house at three am to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt myself, waking my husband up to attest to the fact that I wouldn’t kill myself was one of my darkest moments.  The fear in his eyes was enough.  Enough to find the inner will to fight the greatest storm of my life.

A week after I called the suicide hotline I hit it.  The cement wall holding the ability to crack my skull open and leave misery-drenched in the form of red, fluid that holds the breath of death, with no hope of reconciliation.

I decided to quit drinking cold turkey soon after a dreaded night to my realization that I wouldn’t have reacted that way if I had been sober.  I mean really, me in a screaming match?  Nope,  not reality, not truth, not the grace God has instilled in me.

The whole next day, horribly hung over, I laid in my bed alone, I covered the windows with the darkest of blankets and cried.  I shook with withdrawal symptoms and when my older boys got home from school I instructed them to come up as I had to tell them something.

They entered my room sorrowful from the sheer greeting of a black room and a clearly sick mom.  They had no idea my drinking had gotten out of control as I was  the master of deception.  Remember, if I fail I’m not loved.  It’s what my parents taught me.  What else would I know?

I told my boys that I had an altercation with our neighbors and some changes were on the horizon.  My oldest son Caleb said, “Mom you need to get involved in church.  You need community, I’m worried about you because I know you and this isn’t you.”  Caleb looked around the dark sullen room and my listless body still in bed at 4 pm with compassion and concern.

My oldest son Caleb said, “Mom you need to get involved in church.  You need community, I’m worried about you because I know you and this isn’t you.”  He peered upon the dark sullen room and my listless body still in bed at 4 pm with compassion and concern.

Yet the only thing that was was in me was anger.

Church?

God!?

A God who only took from me, who wrecked me taking my two infant boys, Caleb’s health, my innocence, my father?   The love I yearned for but never received from my mother.  NO WAY would I ever serve Him again.  I was so faithful in my youth and He still gave me nothing but adult years of suffering.

 My children left heartbroken seeing their mother who was usually strong lying on a bed that had the stench of death.  The woman who they watched make dreams turn into reality was truly giving up.  I can’t even imagine the pain I placed on their young hearts.  

Twenty-four hours after my last drink I went into delirium tremens (DT’s) which is a possible, fatal condition caused by severe alcohol withdrawal.  I write in more detail in my upcoming book about how this felt, but I can paraphrase and say it was like a nightmarish light show that was evil instead of in celebration. Streamers fell from the sky in a brilliance of color, but it didn’t feel like the fourth of July it felt like the end of life. I reached up to grab what seemed real only to see it dissipate in the confines of my pale  hands.  Rock bottom never looked so colorful and felt so regretful.

The next morning being the hypochondriac I am, I googled ‘hallucinations after ceasing alcohol’.  Of course,  every site said get yourself to an emergency room because you could die

Deep inside me,  I knew I didn’t actually want to go to be with the Jesus yet, so I had my husband Alan take me to the local ER.  Staff became serious extremely fast as I was admitted,  and I was placed on a “seizure” watch in fear that I could seize and die.

My initial fleeting moment of wanting to die weeks earlier could become a reality and in the grips of such deafening possibility of truth I held on like I had never fought in my life before.

I saw Alan.

Caleb.

Cameron.  

Trasen.  

Lilia.

Mostly I saw me.

My potential.  What I meant to people.

My smile.

My love, soul, gifts, and deep torment that can be used to gift those going through the same.

I fought so hard I felt like my hero Rocky Balboa after his fight with the Russian.  Beaten, yet ultimately blanketed with a title belt around my waist.

The doctors at that point recommended rehab for dual diagnosis depression and alcoholism, with  my pride fighting to hold me back…I went.

Being in a facility akin to the darkest of places a person can go was a creation within my being I wasn’t accustomed to.  Giving in to failure, not clinging to my success. I heard stories much more tortuous than mine.  I saw heroin addicts, suicide attempts, schizophrenics, deeply depressed people and severe eating disorders.

And in that my chains were broken, for we are all at the throne.  We all struggle no matter our life path.

All of the unlovely sat at the table we ate our meals at and we loved one another, while Jesus sat at the head of the table I actually felt Him and knew through His stripes we were healed.

Eight painfully beneficial days later I left and something on the last day during one of our group meetings we were told that seventy percent of us will relapse.  \

Seventy percent of you will fail.

In essence, that means thirty percent win this battle.  And I’m really good at winning, my prideful self self-declared.

 

But instead of victory, this time,I became a statistic. One month later I was back.

I had become the seventy percent.

In the months that followed my second visit to Rogers Memorial Hospital, I rewrote both of my books that were crafted in a non-authentic clear-minded way.  I completely stopped drinking and went on this amazing adventure that a year later brought me back to my best friend, Jesus.

 

My son was insightful in giving me powerful words from the throne of God that we thrive when we have people rallying around us not trying to cope on our own. Two are always better than one.

 

We need each other to thrive, grow prosper, and be kept accountable.

 

In this increasingly hard time in my life with my Caleb going to college and feeling like a quarter of my heart is in Minneapolis for the first time in a while I’ve been struggling.  

 

God has called me to greatness, He has predestined me to write my story of addiction and childhood/adult abandonment and how I overcame impossible odds to find my destiny  Yet, first I have to arrive.

Again I stand at the brinks of a multitude of choices to deal with transition and the pulling question of which direction will I take?  Will I allow evil to spit the ugliness of sin on my face  or will I shower myself with the grace of a Savior filed with ultimate possibility?

In my young life abandonment meant if I wasn’t the picture of perfection I wasn’t loved.  In my mid-life my parents exude the same standard.  For I’ve been shown that if I mess up, or am less than righteous, love simply leaves.  It is gone, sometimes forever. That is why sharing this with you all is so hard for me.  For I am flawed, and so blessed to have you all hugging me and praying for me in a church that is anointed and blessed, yet if you know my darkness will you still offer me light?  This hasn’t been my history so it is hard to grasp that it could be my future.

 

And I do know that my bullet point of my greatest accomplishments mean nothing, yet I needed to state them for fear of loss.  Of love, fellowship, and YOU.  Each and everyone of you who meet my eyes on a weekly basis and pray with me when I leave the service to grab a tissue because I miss my oldest boy.  I love each and everyone of you.  And I pray you still love me, even though I’m flawed, gravitated toward forgetting, and a broken child of God.

 

My shame in the perils of escape through drugs and alcohol have defined me for many years.  Success that many will never see has also defined me for many years.  And the God in my soul says NO!  None of it matters, success or failure He accepts me and hugs me like the father I long for.

 

Jesus is the King and through it is well.  Simply put… it is well with my soul.

 

Friends, I will NEVER be perfect, but I will forever need love. In my life my idea of my perfections have been rewarded with love, and mistakes that are punished with the very worst form of torture;  isolation. And sadly, as this was done to me by my parents as a child and still as an adult, it was what I gave myself in 2014.

 

If I’m writing books or in rehab,  I’m flawed, ugly with shame and still have the ability to fall.  So many thanks to you to my new family at Journey Church. I even obtained the mentor I have been praying for through her testimony one Sunday at church, of her struggle of parental abandonment and addiction.  Since then we meet regularly, she keeps me accountable and Alan and I are attending our first life group with her on Thursday…

 That is community!!  The essence of where two or more are gathered greatness is imminent.  Isolation provokes death for your soul and body, yet communion invites prosperity and more joy than we can conjure up in our minds.
The chasm of greatness brings me to the soaring cliff of stamina where we all have the ability to jump to the other side of healing.  That we are forever free, falling into the hands of grace and eternal forgiveness.

Courage Forward

A letter to my oldest son who is on the brinks of leaving home and going to college. Join me as I give him my ten tips that I have learned when I was in his shoes.

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

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To My Oldest Boy,

After turning forty nearly two years ago, I found myself completely perplexed as to why people find such a milestone to be a negative impact on their lives.  I mean, I felt like I was chasing a lifelong dream of becoming an author, had a beautiful marriage, wonderful children who were equally making their dreams come true, and still felt and looked super young.  I just didn’t get the whole hating on forty thing…

But what I’ve discovered your last year in high school, Caleb, is that it isn’t an age that  manifests itself as a presence, yet a moment such as you graduating high school that can carry such a heavy burden.  This has truly been a year of reflection for me~yet also a year of beautiful discovery.  I’ve pondered your eighteen years as if it were a test I was studying for or a book I was researching to write.  It was as if I had all of a sudden woke up out my  normalcy to discover that “normal” was about to change, BIG TIME.  I would no longer have all four of my babies under one roof.  But more so, I wouldn’t be apart of your everyday life.  I mean, come on, that is a GIANT pill for a mother to swallow.  Letting go is the ache of the heart, the impossible filtration of the mind, and the awkward pull of the universe.  People have struggled with letting go for as long as God has had us walking this strange place called Earth.

Trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I am old enough to have a child heading to college, I;ve come up with ten things that I think you should take with you.  So here are my top ten things you should experience in this next exciting, personal roadmap years of your life:

  1. Play football in the middle of the night.  You just need to do this, no questions asked.  Find some friends, an empty field, a pigskin, and go for it.  You’ll laugh more than you know possible.
  2. Take a road trip to somewhere you’ve never been.  Cram yourself in a car (safely of course) and take off with your best of friends.  Laugh, play the music way too loud and discover a new landmark that you would have never seen if you hadn’t followed your life’s calling to go to another state to attend college.
  3. Talk to someone new.  One of greatest I things I admire about your dad is that in college at our Intervarsity Christian Fellowship Thursday night meetings he would find a person he didn’t know every week, and talk to them.  He would make them feel welcome, blanket them with the comfort of fellowship.  Because this is what it’s all about, right?
  4. Courage forward.  Find someone who is insecure but has no reason to be and point out all the brilliance they exude.  I know you will find this because I have taught you so.  Hug a classmate who has had less than you in this life and buy them lunch, or heck something more.  Take a person in need into your heart and fill them with all the love I know you have to give.
  5. Branch out of school and church.  You have to expand your circle more than just the Christian bubble that you will be cocooned in.  Meet people that are different from you and learn from them.  God brings us His people that need to  be ministered to that are often times not found in church or chapel.  Look at Jesus and the company he kept, blessed, and eventually saved.  Those are the people who need us more than our awesome Christian brothers and sisters.
  6. Run far away from judgment and legalism.  One of the greatest regrets I have during my college years was a legalistic, judgemental call I made in the name of God.  Shame on me for not being a bridesmaid in my sister in law’s wedding because she was marrying a non-Christian.  That is not my conviction to place and it is not our job to guilt people into God’s kingdom.  It is our calling to love.  That is how people will see Jesus through us. 
  7. Fall in love.  Fall in love with friends, mentors, pastors, teachers, parents, and anyone who may need your love on them like the air we breathe. Some of your life long friends will be met in the years to come.  Enjoy every one of them and relish every time you say, “I love you, bro.”
  8. Call home.  Yes, this may sound self-serving (and maybe it is, a little…) but the reality is you have this huge prayer and love chain residing in your childhood home that would love to hear all of your adventures.  Your youngest sibling, Lilia, will be almost 8 when you graduate college.  EEEEEkkkkkk.  I know you want her to have your stunning influence all over her heart.
  9. Take a class that you have absolutely no interest in.  You never know what you may get out of it, and how God may use you through the experience.  It’s always good to try new things throughout your entire life.
  10. Journal, journal, and journal.  One of the things I value the most in this life are my journals.  I know I’m a writer, but even if that is or isn’t your life’s path, writing your life journey is POWERFUL!  Not only does it help you filter through what you are going through in that moment, it is also your story to look back on.  Your history, the memoir of God’s remarkable presence in every step of your walk you were meant to take.

So, my son, as I drop you off in two weeks at the doorstep of your next adventure, and I travel back to find my new normalcy, please take with you,  my heart, my words, and yes my blogs.  No, just kidding, my life experiences, that in essence have always existed to share with you and your siblings.  My ventures as well as yours, are meant to grow, root and propel the remarkable people you will encounter in times of greatness and in moments of struggle.  My sweet oldest boy, that is what life is all about.

 

I love you always and forever,

 

~Mom

All of My Sacrifice

We find our whole world in upheaval by one singular moment in time altering the axis of our normalcy. Dealing with such situations has proven tough for me, no matter the occurrence, or for lack of better words, change totally stinks!

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

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Major life changes have a way of doing funny things to you.  We’ve all had to deal with the swift change of the winds as it rises the shifting tides in our life.  For some reason, the stirring up of the norm creates a strange response in the human brain.  More like a plea that sounds something like this: “Wait, slow down God, I was fine before.  I actually liked the way things were going.  I WAS COMFORTABLE…Wait, what, this is really going to happen…no!!!!!!”

Then we find our whole world in upheaval by one singular moment in time altering the axis  of our normalcy.  Dealing with such situations has proven tough for me, no matter the occurrence, or for lack of better words, change totally stinks.

As many of my readers know, my oldest son is going into the world in three weeks.  This new journey called…college.  But the strangest thing I have to wrap my mind around is that he is going there without me.

I mean this is a crazy concept, right!?  For real, how can my child, my baby, my flesh and blood, the tiny little creature that formed inside my body and made me love more than I ever knew how to love….leave me?

I’ve spent the past year of my life trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my oldest of four babies here on earth will be flying into the next.  Even though it has seemed like miles away as I’ve processed the idea of him leaving, I’m faced with the fact that his impending departure has turned into…now.  

We all deal with the idea of major change in different ways.  Some people crumble into the fetal position and cling to the past, some turn to a new outlet of social ties to help them through and some eat too much ice cream…I’ve done all of the above plus more…

  1.  I’ve cried.  A lot.  Probably to an embarrassing degree.  When I took Caleb to NCU for an audition for a music scholarship, encompassed in the next home that he would eventually have, I couldn’t stop the cascade of tears pouring from my eyes.  I felt like I was in a relay race handing the baton off to the next leg in the chase.   
  2. I’ve rejoiced.  My son has made me more proud than I could have ever dreamed.  While this past year he has pulled away and I’ve clung to one last hug, he has shown me that he is ready to make his impact on this world.  He is capable and ready to walk out my door and into the amazing journey that awaits him.  As I’ve rejoiced in the man he has become I have to pause and know that he will take with him all that I have given him.  Even the smallest of lessons like how to not ruin your clothes by putting them in the dryer on “hot”.  I’ve smiled a lot this past year rejoicing at all he was and the magnificent, intelligent and capable creature he has become.  
  3. I’ve tried to hold on.  I’ve pushed myself on him, wanting more, begging, hoping he would give me what I needed.  But in the midst,  I was missing the lesson that people never give us all of what we want but most importantly, what we need.  People innately fail us, yet, God gives us what we need.  Yet the one last glance, one talk, one hug I longed for came to me in the simplest of forms, in sparkles of hope and rejoice, and not all from Caleb himself.  His friends blanketed themselves around me this past year.  Sharing with me tales of how my boy impacted their lives. The smile that placated their faces as they spoke of him truly showed me the love my son is giving the world.  Yet, every interaction with my boy somehow felt like a “last” until I realized that instead of goodbye, this next season in our lives as mother and son is a new hello.  It is indeed a brand new beginning of a bright change in our relationship.  I’ve done my duty, now he will do his.
  4. I’ve learned to let go.  Every time I’ve watched him leave this year I’ve imagined it being when I drop him off at college and he walks through the doors of his new exciting life. I know it sounds ridiculously dramatic, yet, it has felt all too real to me.  To have one less child at the dinner table, to not be a part of his every decision, his undertakings, successes,  and failures.  I’ll never forget one of the most tender moments I’ve ever shared with my son.  When he 10 years old, after fighting 6 years of type one diabetes we shared a very powerful moment.  He was mad.  Angry, sick and tired of needles, finger pokes, highs,  and lows.  And so was I.  He melted in my arms and told me how frustrated he was with the failure of his body.  I held him tight and proclaimed that I was really mad as well.  Then we cried together.  Probably the last time I’ve seen my son shed real salt water tears.  I wanted him to know that life isn’t always perfect and that is okay, we receive ebbs and flows, joys and sorrows and to feel them is the presence of God, for this is all He has intended for us…the challenges and the blessings.

Yet as a mother my mind has drifted to a question as my son leaves me~who, now, is going to wipe away his tears?  

Letting go is the hardest thing to do.  No matter the instance.  Saying goodbye is brutal, echoing a heartache that makes one fall to their knees begging for a remarkable pardon from the feeling of absence.  Yet I know deep in my heart that he will always be with me.  For how could he not be?  He is and always will be one of the four greatest parts of my mind, body, and soul.  That’s called being a mother, and it doesn’t cease when they graduate high school and move on to the next phase of their lives.  

On Caleb’s graduation invites,  I had captured the scripture, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11

It seemed fitting.  Yet, now I know who this scripture was really for…and that was indeed, me.  God is telling me that I will be okay, my boy is ready to fly, and I am so ready to watch him soar!  My Lord is comforting me in saying that Caleb leaving is a gift of promise not a burden of goodbye.  I’ve made mistakes and made promises I couldn’t keep.  I’ve let him down, yet I’ve given him all of me.  All of my sacrifice, my word, my lessons, my laughter, my work ethic, my mind, my servitude, my earnings, and my blood, sweat and tears.  I’ve given it all.  We love and breathe and provide everything thing for our children, and then we receive the greatest prize ever, a child walking into the world with promise, hope, and dreams of a future.  The tricky thing for me this past twelve months is finding how I will fit into this new world.  Yet God has taught me that life is a cycle of giving, nurturing, loving, teaching, losing, falling, winning, and finally letting go.

If you see me in the months to come beaming with joy and pride, or glossy eyes missing my boy know that I have done my job, and I may need a hug…

Please enjoy the song that inspired this blog post…Empires by Hillsong UNITED!

 

The Everything​ that Holds Me Back From Your everything.

When God tells us to let go we hold on tighter. Is that the root inside us saying that we are afraid of excellence or is the enemy burning us of our greatness as he only has a last ditch effort-or both? Follow me as I find out…

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

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Your Grace Abounds in Deepest Waters~ Hillsong United

Last night I had the privilege of seeing one of the greatest worship bands of all time on the last leg of their US tour.  As I danced, sang, and worshiped my heart out at Hillsong United’s Chicago finale concert I was brought to a place I haven’t been in a long time.  A place of complete and total surrender.  Because grace is not deserving  of  the abundance  God gives and can be perplexing, so we shun it because it simply doesn’t make sense.  Yet I’ve had the privilege of  receiving God’s grace first-hand several times in my life.  First, as a wandering young adult who could have chosen loss yet somehow someway chose a life  changing life.  (Through that, Grace brought me one of the greatest joys of my life to this day.)  Second, as a young adult who could have vanished at the hand of my own hand with an eating disorder that left me thin, depleted, and not as in control as I thought I was.  Third, as a middle aged woman still longing for love and seeking it in all the wrong avenues, through a mind-numbing state.  Doing so after a life of abandonment and loss of two infant baby boys in the span of 18 months.  This time a clear liquid found in a bottle saying it was my friend and my escape, I clung to.  Sure felt like grace at the time, yet it brought me nothing but sorrow, emotion of the evil kind, and so much devastation.  That is where the true forgiveness came.  When I was at my deepest darkest lowest cavern, Grace was with me when I wasn’t with it.

“As it is written: ‘Behold, I lay in Zion a stumbling stone and rock of offense, and whoever believes on Him will not be put to shame.'”  ~Romans 9:33:

Shame.  It comes it waves and it can wash over me faster and swifter than any tsunami that claims the land.  The sun sets and that is when it seeks me out the most.  When smiles fade and eyes list off to slumber is when it wakes me up from my hope of rest.  Shame speaks mountains yet God overshadows all with earth shadowing lights that blind our view of what we believe.  That is what I saw last night at the concert of a lifetime. With my teenage son, my eight-year-old son, and my husband by my side.  Lights come, rains pour down, and prophets sit and wait.  But if we cannot reckon our shame we are lost…in a sea of excellence made yet not received and that makes us simply a facade.  

This is me.

When I am sober, I am a force to be questioned by the enemy.  A force that God uses to move mountains and build bridges of struggle yet knowledge and peace of salvation.  I know the gift He has given me.

Yet I struggle so deep and far  into the past…

To numb the loss.

And my fear.

The pain I’ve suffered in this life.

I know what promise lies ahead for me, yet I fight them internally in a deep battle greater than all that has come before and will go into the sun.  Because that is what happens when the darkness is threatened.  I’ve overcome so much in my life.  Why is this addiction the most difficult so far?

I’ve overcome so much in my life.  Why is this addiction the most difficult so far?

Grace, what have You done?
Murdered for me on that cross
Accused in absence of wrong
My sin washed away in Your blood  ~Hillsong United

The cross has taught me to live.  At church this morning my pastor delivered a grace-filled message that ripped me open and left me tearful and broken.  I feel the enemy has been working my whole life to tear apart the very things Jesus can use, the gifts I have despite the struggle, or more so because of the struggle to serve Him better.  My pastor spoke of the fact that “I’m not judging you, that you should judge yourself.”  And that, “The enemy is going to barricade you inside your hell to hold you back when you have come to know Him.”

Yes.  And Yes.

Judging myself alone, I know the idol I need to leave at the altar.

Alcohol.  My bitter enemy and most pretty war that calls me king: and gives me false joy.

The enemy haunts me down: even though I rededicated my life to Jesus six months ago and was baptized in the warm waters of Wisconsin last week… indeed I’m being attacked.

Can I overcome, yes!~

Am I predestined for greatness?

Indeed, I am.

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.  Philippians 4:13

As the showcase of lights danced on and the bombard of music sold my soul and the cadence of song continued in my heart to call me home, I clung to the cross that has declared that I let go of the one last lie.

The last everything that holds me back from everything God has planned for me.

So tonight as I write to God, to you, to me.  I say this, that  I want more.

God has given me a promise of forever.  I want this to be it, a mercy seeking greatness that has been promised to me by my King.

Tonight my husband said something to me that moved barriers, “I need to hold onto the love that has been sung to me last night in the form of a voice so beautiful.  A voice that said to me this morning in the form of a splendor of a speaker that God is using on this earth in the form of the leader of our church.  Through the example our church used in a woman who bore her deepest soul on a stage that shown her every dark moment, yet draped in me all that I am and all that I fear and hurt so deeply.

As an author, many of you know God has called me to tell my story of childhood/adulthood parental abandonment, divorce, success, love, progress, and addiction.  After an extremely convicting Saturday night spent with one of the greatest worship bands of all time, and a Sunday morning spent with a Journey Forward pastor who calls out and loves the people of his church as God has called him to do, I am left feeling challenged.  To pierce through the dark and become all I am meant to become in spite of the enemy in the prime of my greatness.  Not the pain, abandonment, fear, and anguish that makes me want to numb my future greatness.

So, I encourage you all to fight hard and find your greatest purpose God has for you no matter the challenge you may deem impossible.  Join me in my journey as I say, my God,

I am Yours and You are Mine.

Enjoy the song that inspired this blog:

The Blood that took it all yet gave it all

Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

The new life is beautiful, really it is.  Raw emotion meets me at every corner and that isn’t a bad thing.  Things that had been dulled before are now bright, poignant and powerful.  

Life has new meaning, it encompasses more joy than it has…really ever.  Even before my first encounter with Christ because now in my 40’s I have lived enough life to know what to appreciate.  I don’t take a second for granted.

Or do I?

Two weeks of sobriety met me with open arms full of new experiences God had been bottling up for me to embrace when I was ready.  And I found that I was finally truly living.

But I found myself tired and not as “exciting” I was before.

Let us now check “before.”  

Was it real?  No.

Authentic?  Nope.

Guarded?  Yes.

A facade?  Absolutely.

So why?  Why did I fear the “me” of freedom and find myself wanting to run back into the arms of a crutch that came with a grim reaper knocking on my door at any given moment?

When I was living in the haze of an alcohol numbing existence I hated myself.

When i was living and breathing the life God had planned for me, I found myself…hating myself.

The core issue is….self-loathing.

But why?

To the average eye, I’m a successful author, loving mother, adoring wife and a smiley Christian who loves to serve and show up.  Peel away the layers and you’ll find a dark and much more grim picture.

 

I’m a fatherless daughter.  All because my dad had a better option.  I’m not  his “pick.”  

My mom and I have a very complicated relationship.  She is everything I’ve always wanted but something I’ve never had enough of.  

As much as I block out the pain of feeling like an adult version of an orphan when I look in the mirror I see both of their faces looking back at me saying,

“You aren’t good enough for us to love.  Therefore you are…unloveable.”  

The single greatest act of love I’ve ever experienced is being a mother to my six babies, four here on earth and two in heaven.  My heart bleeds for them, aches, grows, shines, and adores every breath they take.  So my question is if I feel such abandon for my own children how can my parents not feel that for me?

My conclusion is that I must not be good enough.

We give ourselves what we think we deserve.  If we “think” we deserve failure we will stuff that idea down our throats.  No matter the consequences or pain.  The result can be deafening to the ears and eyes of those that love the person who punishes themselves on a daily basis.

No one wants to turn to alcohol and drug abuse.  I know it is a bold statement and I may be wrong, but just as the over shopper wanders home with too many items or the over eater feels guilty after a meal went awry, or the gossiper said the wrong thing about someone they actually love, no one chooses a coping mechanism.  They cling to it.

I cling to a numbing fuel that propels me to pause and feel false comfort because in the darkness  I cannot bear to experience the feeling of unlove.

///Psalm 68:5///

Sing to God, sing praises to His name; Lift up a song for Him who rides through the deserts, Whose name is the LORD, and exult before Him.5A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows, Is God in His holy habitation.

Yet in the darkness can I truly feel LOVE?  We all know the answer is no, but why do I have such a hard time embracing the reality that God wants me, just me, only me.  Not me plus some antidote that has false promises of a better version of me.

I’ll tell you why.  It’s because if my earthly parents don’t want me, don’t seek me. Love me unconditionally.  Therefore I hate the version of me that I feel they hate.  I disparage all the good long enough to allow the enemy in to tell me that I’m not worth the kingdom He has promised me.

Do they hate me?  No, of course not.  But do they fight for me?

No.  They do not.

Does God fight for me?

Absolutely.

Is He perfect?

Indeed.

Is He all I need?  Of course.

But am I weak at knowing such?  Of course.  

Am I disillusioned as to what to block out and what to take in?  Yes!  Hence the draw to not only numb the bad times but also the overwhelming good ones as well.

I’m on a very precious journey that takes time, faith, and a lot of acceptance to venture on.  I have to accept the flaws of my past, including my heritage yet embrace the lineage of my future, which as we all know is pure perfection.

I turn away from powers that beg me to come to them, to take the loaded gun and point it straight at my head and pull the trigger.  

I hold tight to the blood that took it all yet gave it all, and a promise that loves me unconditionally and wholly no matter what.