praise – Overcoming odds, fulfilling destinies…

Sinking Sand, Lifting Praise

May 22, 2019May 22, 2019 Ami Beth Cross1 Comment

I’m stuck in a pit of mud, the dark thick kind that keeps sucking me in deeper and fuller into its abyss. My hands can’t move, my legs can’t kick. My mind is racing for a rational way out, to race to the top and surge my way up. I’m sucked in like a storm surrounding me without a name, no prediction of its force, only a gale force wind and black clouds closing in faster, my breath is gasping.

I move without motion.

Emancipated in a silenced fear that races through my inner mind that rages with a blank stare, I lie in silence.

I see her.

Her long blonde hair and gypsy green eyes tell me it’s ok. A small hand reaches out to my sinking appendage that can’t move from the blackness I’m covered in. “Help me!” My voice is but a sound of no accord as my throat is parched past the shadows that are covering my shoulders now.

Light will come, just hold on. Her song sings, loud and like honey to my ears.

Yet, I can’t.

I’m sinking fast and far, dark and smothered by the stretch my body is capable but that isn’t there. My muscles tense as I wage the war against the black smoldering slithering mess I’m in yet again.

I turn my eyes down as the love is undone. I’m not worthy, my life has surely become what it deserves to be-swallowed.

Light will come, just hold on! Her voice is getting more panicked. I know she needs me and my teeth push together making a sound that growls with the wind. Howling is coming as the breath of the sky shakes the leaves and makes ripples in the mud bath I’m lying in.

I’m sinking deeper into me. Faster into the demons of my past and the fear of my future that the weakness will always hunt me down and eat me up, piece by bitter piece.

My mouth is close to the murky substance that collides with me every night. The sick taste fills my buds before I can even feel it touch my palate.

You’re closer than you know. Her voice is a shrill now. Calling to the wind, begging for my mercy.

Closer than you know, she cries. Fight your way out!

My lower lip feels the cold taste of the earth as it starts its wage against me slowly etching its way toward my lungs, to fill them deep so I can no longer taste air and slowly drown in my own demise.

Fight, fight FIGHT! She is screaming now which is coming out in a singalong sonnet of her hope. Her voice rises with each octave that raises its plea. FIGHT, Mommy, FIGHT!

My lids close, my lips are covered and I dip my face in head first. I open my mouth and let it all in, the sin, the darkness, the feel of the rocks and debris fill my senses as the last thing I see before my eyes fill completely with the mud of my life is her long hair and gypsy eyes.

Lift up your eyes and see, Heaven is closer than you know! I hear in a symphony before my ears are filled with the murky death that is calling me to fall into. It’s not just a singular sweet honey voice anymore, it’s the orchestra of many. Five voices sing out in unison.

Come back! Fight! You’re closer than you know!

I succumb to it, fall forward and backward and wayward and deeply into what the demons in my head say I deserve. The last thing my ears penetrate is all of them; singing praises and a plea to God.

I know you’re there, come back! They bellow to the storm above, the shadows that are taking me away.

My lungs collapse. My body shakes with the faint air that’s left in me. My mind goes blank and all I see is the mud I’m encased in.

God are you here, I calmly ask? I let the mud in and then I’m nothing but motionless.

It’s dark here, silent. The fear is gone and the sleep is deep. Peace is on me and I’m walking on the mud now, yet it is a sea of blue not brown disparaging bleakness. I am still. And I am quiet.

But He is there reaching out to touch my hand and He grabs my heart to heal it from all my pain.

I’m there, where I thought I wanted to be. To be rid of it all, the torture, the fear, the sinking sand I was falling deeper into every night, even as I smiled and tucked them into bed, wasn’t this what I fell asleep to after night fall? The thought of it all ending here, me in quicksand, them okay without me being the burden I know I am.

LIFT UP! LIFT UP, LIFT UP.

I hear her, him and him and him and him. My head turns and my eyes open in the black of death and I shake with a fervor I haven’t felt in months. For, I don’t really want to be in this sinking mud, this really isn’t what I desire, for them to be at the top and me at the bottom of a deep grave I’ve dug myself into.

I’ve got to find a way out. To lift up.

By your spirit I will rise, from the ashes of defeat.

In your name I come alive. The resurrecting King, is resurrecting me.

By your spirit I will rise.

They are all signing praise songs. In my imminent death, they are closer now to what God needs of them, singing out a symphony of a pardon for my life.

My arms find their lift and I fight with every muscle in my body to find a way to the top, to fill my lungs with the air that He gave me forty four years ago. My legs kick, my torsor begs to rob my grave and give me another chance at Victory.

It’s always going to be a struggle for me, to find my way out of the sinking sand, but relying on the wrong crutches to help me walk is never going to bring me back to the top. I have to hold on to my King, who can defeat the ashes of depression and suicidal thoughts. He declares that as the mud doesn’t quite touch the fullness of my soul, it only delights in my demise. Loves me giving up, cheers me on as I give up.

Yet..God hears the voices of my army.

They are signing now.

And somehow I can hear them. Their tearstained echos find their way into the pit. I can hear them now.

I fight. I climb my way out and my head emerges from the pit, filled with debris and sticky mud that covers my milky white face.

She’s going to be okay! I see her long hair and gypsy eyes come dancing towards me.

His and his and his strong presence come running behind her. “Yes she is, baby, yes she is.” He says; my husband and the love that needs me

I grab their hands as they slowly lift me out with all of their might, pulling me from the trenches of a thousand pounds of mud.

Mommy!

Darling! My voice dances with hers as I know I belong with her and him and him and him.

It’s all I hear as I lift my voice in praise for a God who doesn’t want me to hide my face from Him as he has surely come for me-sent my family-my friends-and the sounds of Heaven to Praise a God that wants me here. Even when I cried out to fall into the sinking sand, He was lifting their voices in praise because I couldn’t.

They dry me clean and I hug her, and him and him and him over and over again, promising that I won’t fall so deep again. I may struggle, I may succumb to pain and call out in the depths of the night where I only hear their rhythmic breathing, but I vow to never fall into the quicksand again, but to lift my praise in times of despair.

Just as they have done for me, I will do for Him, for He loves me and needs me here to lift up the heavens and tell my tale of being an overcomer. A fighter, even when the quicksand of life beckons me to fall into it, I won’t for I have seen the cost is deep and my life is worth light and praising even in the despair of quicksand.

The Radical Underground

I dedicate this piece to my son Cameron, who is a leader in the radical underground movement. A group of people who make the reality of the spotlight shine its very brightest.

November 29, 2016November 29, 2016 Ami Beth CrossLeave a comment

13029648_772307906236924_2223564325859210780_o For anyone who knows me, you are fully aware that I am not a “behind the scenes” kind of gal. I love the spotlight. I’m not going to sugar coat it, if you give me a microphone in front of 30,000 people my endorphins would immediately fly through the ceiling and pop every single one of the balloons that were meant to drop on your heads at the end. I LOVE to skate in ice shows, write books for people to read, and give speeches in front of large groups of people. In conclusion, I love, wait no I ADORE the spotlight.

Reflection always takes place when you see your children take flight, into the person that they were groomed to be. Blessed to take part and pardon in God’s magnificent grace, I have watched my two teenage sons grow toward their purpose. My oldest son is me in every way when it comes to his ability to jump on a stage and truly own it. He loves to sing and bless the world with his gift of leading worship. He has preached, ministered to the masses, sang in front of thousands. He, like me, loves to be center stage.

My second son is the opposite and this is what gives me great pause and has inspired this piece. Someone recently asked Cameron, in lieu of his older brother singing, writing songs, preaching at church, living boldly in the arena of sight, what he did. Because in that person’s eyes, he doesn’t do much. For the work that Cameron does is not vivid to the naked eye. In this moment my Cameron lay silent, as usual, because that is what the underground does. They are the inaudible hero’s that create the formation of what is able to transform when the people like me set out to conquer the excitement of presentation.

The lights come on.

The music of background decibels magically meets the onlookers ears.

A book is edited perfectly, fixing all the errors of the author who brings creation onto paper.

A cover is designed with artistic impression that grabs at emotion in a manner that provokes readers to grab your book.

Back stage hands make it possible to know that exact moment to go on stage.

The perfect camera angle enables the stage hungry performers to articulate exactly what will capture the viewers to go with them where the story leads.

We don’t see them. They are miraculously invisible, and that is what makes them deeply and infinitely important. For, in essence, the availability of the show stoppers who have the ability to reach the masses cannot function alone. We are unable to perform in our God given talented ways without you; the background foundation that without all would not be possible.

To the lights person.

To the tech expert.

To the editor.

~Digital designer.

~Person behind the camera.

~Song writer.

You all deserve our applause and deepest of gratitude. For even if you seem like you are quiet and stand behind the lights and action, you are our rock.

As a profound team, we bring the Word of God and His promises into a light that can assimilate with the masses. Profoundly, we do this together. Not only the showman, or show-woman on the bright shining stage, but, side by side with the radical underground movement that supports the dream of bringing the love of God to the world.

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…

October 17, 2016October 17, 2016 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