My Muse Called Joy



I’ve always believed that in times of joy my words leave like the summer turns to fall so fast I can barely blink.  Possibly due to the fact that I’ve had much less than happy times in my life than joyful ones.  That is why my words feel like the waves of the great Pacific Ocean. Over and over, forming stunning white caps of pain, struggle, and wreckage.  The muse has been many times over…sorrow, confusion, and abandonment.

Yet now, the sun shines.  A dark heart that is usually completely laden is light, lifted into the blue bliss that you see when you awake from a long slumber.  For me, this view is rare forcing me to find gratitude opposed to anger, aggression, and loss.  

Sunbeams blind me and in that, I cover my eyes yet still feel the peace of a thousand blue skies and sunlight mornings.  

So why have I found that I’ve lost my words in times of such rare…peace?

Searching through the dark basement of my cavern of vocabulary I find my Joy sealed in a box covered with cobwebs and fear of repercussions.  Afraid, I open it with more fervor than I’ve ever had.  I fear to see a contentment that I’ve never felt, yet kept at bay for fear of eternal repeats of the past pain I’ve felt.   I rip open the sealed box to the point of ache just to see inside.

As the brilliant yellow light filters into the dusk overtaking it, despite my reluctance, the dark cemented hole in my world implodes into a brilliance of light, color, ultimately manifesting into an array of my very best friends in the world.  In that moment they find me yet again…My Words….everywhere with open arms of need and an earnest to express more than just the sorrow I’ve felt, yet explode the joy I have inside me that now runs through my veins.  A brilliance that needs to implode the world as prophetically as my turmoil has.  My Joy comes to the forefront.  It takes away the darkness, with a glimpse of the sunlight on my face and in that the verbiage flows from me…that of…Acceptance.

Unconditional Acceptance:  Ten years in the arms of my gift in this life, my husband Alan has come to pass.  We’ve lived through the very best and the deepest of worst. Loved deeper and felt further than our minds could have imagined ten years past. Tonight he said to me, “Even though we had no idea, God was doing all of this far before we knew Him.”  Enough said.

Deep Acceptance of myself:  Flaws and all.  In’s and out’s.  Great things about me, and terrible ones, I can somehow now miraculously embrace.  The highs and lows of living with Bipolar Disorder can bring one to a place of confusion and ultimate self-doubt.  One of the gifts I’ve been given recently is to just rest.  Love me through it all. Highs and lows.  Ebbs and flows, God somehow produces greatness for Him and manifests in ways I could never explain.

Unthinkable Acceptance of Forgiveness:  Recently in my journey, I have been able to forgive things done to me that I could have never been set free without the power of deep intervention.  A darkness that has blinded me, incapacitated and imprisoned me for years, I’ve let it go.  I completely have allowed it to fly away from me a few weeks ago as several hands were laid on me in a union of prayer and healing.  Forgiving the trespassers against me has ultimately allowed the inner demons haunting me to be set free and allowing the Son to shine upon me in a way that I could actually see it.

Acceptance of things I can’t Comprehend:  Losing my two babies has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to endure.  My husband tells me I’m beautiful when I’m crying for them.  I take that in, as I will always mourn Jaden and Zac.  I accept the loss as part of who God intended me to be.   Yet in that, He has given me a gift of how to accept the beauty we are given after the storm.  For me, it’s a beautiful little girl with my eyes and dreams of her own past the stars.  I rocked her to sleep tonight deeply taking in the acceptance of the beauty of things I couldn’t understand as I stood at the gravesites of my lost baby boys.  But now I hold a gift I never dreamed I’d have.  A daughter.

In closing, I’ve been proven wrong.  Words can flow in times of Joy.  The author inside of me is always at work, banking each and every emotion, echoing hardship yet also unforeseeable beauty.  It’s all mine to keep and bring to life forevermore.  

My muse is life itself.  In all its many faces, in times of turmoil, but now…I proclaim a season of JOY!

Pieces of Glass



The glass is alway half full to me, no matter the circumstance, turmoil or besiege.  Until it cracks and spills the captive juice all over the place.  Then, it is nothing but a fallen hot mess.  Who is there to pick it up, the broken glass and shards of ice that pierce my skin?  

Alone, I tried so hard to figure this out.  Sinking deeper into despair I realized that I alone cannot figure out how to keep all of the tiny broken pieces together.  The ones that exist inside of us all.

I isolated myself.  I left the land of the living.  I clung to my writing, husband, and kids.  For that’s all I really need, right?

A cold February night one year ago told me that it is indeed not true.  For in my isolation,  I found a darkness that was unparalleled to most.  For humans are simply not meant to be alone, God deemed it so in the Garden of Eden.  In fact, He gave man woman and woman man to comfort, lift up, and encourage one another.  And that great man and woman grew into an empire of humans that would co-exist until…well…now.

In my darkroom of aloneness,  I realized that I was suffering because I encased myself in a world that was existing without community.  I was lost, angry, and hurting with no one to wash my tears away.  For the first time in my life, the glass half full looked dull and empty.  I no longer cared if it broke, because in my isolation everything was shattered to the core.  

Two years ago plus some, I did this very imprisoning act to myself.  Thinking that becoming a full-time author on the brinks of greatness was enough.  Flowing toward dreams of grandeur I locked myself into a cave of creativity only to fall to my knees without communion.  For in my words, I was tormented by my own demons.  Words came, but that was all, as I was found bleakly alone.  

A stark winter’s eve almost a year ago, I was called home.  Out of isolation and into a tribe of people who I’ve come to love and adore deeper than I could have ever imagined in my backlash of anger on a life that I didn’t choose.  For we truly don’t know what we don’t know.  Through the depths of the grand moment of finding my true purpose as an author, God called me back to an even greater calling to serve a true purpose as a child of His once again. The pastor,  Kevin spoke of a prodigal son.  Pastor Jordan sang the lights dimmed so I could cry freely.  In that moment on a still frozen night, I answered the calling.  That no matter how far away I had been, how much damage I thought I had done with my hot mess of broken glass of half full liquid, God was greater, a Healer, anticipating my return.

You see, I had left God, for longer than I’d like to admit.  A decade plus some, which was enough time for two of my four children to be influenced by a life far from God.  Plenty of time for me to have seen the light again after many life experiences had left me listless.  The loss of my two infant baby boys, back to back.  Yet, I still remained cold.  Angry, held off by the idea of letting go of control.  For in surrender bad things can happen to us, right?  A lack of a tight grip on our lives can lead to the most ungodly persuasions imaginable.  A road I wasn’t willing to travel again because my life had dictated to me that when I gave up my stronghold I was left with pain and invasion.  There was NO WAY I wanted to go back to the place of a small child who had no say in the turmoil that surrounded her.

Then the ice crackled and time warped into one giant explosion of love.  The sun came up through the clouds and color shunned darkness and  I had no other choice but to see what was in front of me, a beautiful Love that I once saw as a trap.  God called me home almost a year ago, through a story of a boy who left home under the most despicable of circumstances; yet he came home.  In the midst of prayers, fasting, love and fortitude I found my way back.  Having no idea the magnitude coming back to God would have on my life, I plunged in head first.  The healing that would take place, the justice it would serve to the open cunning wounds of my past has been an explosion in the sky, a beauty foretold in the pre-destined book of my life.

The people I was called to meet, them serving me, and somehow, me making them smile from time to time, has served as a deep testimony in my life.  As the anniversary of my one-year reunion with Jesus approaches all I have to say is thank you.  Thank you, God, thank you, to my family that never gave up on me, thank you church, and thank you to my new friends who have lifted me up more than you know.
Mostly, this half full girl deeply states a year later, I am 100% completely filled up after a year in your embrace of love.  Here’s to the next explosion of grace and far past the desire and predestination of God’s goodness on all of our lives.  The ride has just begun, for in the eyes of God, our glass is nothing but a great reflection of Him far into eternity if we let it be so. No matter how many times He has to put all of our pieces back together again.

My Launch Point

Abandonment of any kind can shake the human heart to the brinks of a combusting earthquake. When the loss of a parent can be filled with someone who needs you just as much as you desire them, AMAZING possibilities transpire. Join me on a miracle journey that will leave you spell bound at the power of faith.

12783536_1735157353396883_5710071028105993335_o In my pursuit of seeking freedom, love, and acceptance it came to my attention that I had not spoken my deepest of desires into existence.

Six months ago I made it known to my God that I needed a mother and father figure who would take a presence in my life and the lives of my children that could provide some semblance of consistency.  I knew it was possible for God to provide me with my deepest of needs, because, I had seen this kind of thing happen in my life many times.  But, not recently in my years of rebellion I had chosen to shut out the unconditional reaping of love that can flow from a pure heart that is raw and unhidden.  In my anger, I blocked out a possibility of change, for in the state of aggression I took a stand against forgiveness and eventual joy.  I lived in that place for far too long, but not any longer my friends.  Anger and denial is no longer a resting place for my heart.

This summer after my oldest son, Caleb came home from a mission trip he shared with my husband and I that our testimony is encouraging youth across the globe.  He went on….”I fasted, prayed night and day that my parents would come back to God.  I ached, cried, felt your distance, and now you’re running back into His loving arms, is a blessing to all the people I have the ability to speak to.  I give them encouragement that their parents can find God in the black of this world.  That anything is possible through Him.”  My son never gave up on me, even when I was intense with the fire of distrust and furry, and neither did my God.

My family never forgot me.  And my family is defined as who God has written it to be.  My husband, children, my ex-husband, his wife and her children, and many friends who rally around me loving and offering encouragement at every avenue.

But the lacking of a mother and father figure can be detrimental.  It leaves me feeling lost, stumbling through this bleak life at the precipice of fire without a shield.  It was the last missing puzzle piece to complete me toward my greater purpose.  

I approached one of our pastor’s wives at church one Sunday completely, broken.  I told her that I’m completely aware I’m not as loved as much my half siblings are, and it is torture.  A constant reminder that I’m not good enough.  I mean really, if your mom and dad don’t love you, then who can?  Because I’d sacrifice my life in front of the worst of the worst to save my children without a second thought.  She encouraged me to pray for God to send me a mother who could nurture a child and a father to love me unconditionally who isn’t of my flesh and blood but sent from our Maker who transforms our deepest of pain into possibility.  I took Mrs. Remus advise and I prayed for six months for a mom and a dad who needed me just as much as I need them.

I met her on the Sunday my husband accepted Jesus as his personal savior, hours before we were to be baptized in the warm waters of Lake Andrea.  A place my church calls Launch Point, where new believers or visitors can get plugged into the many facets  that’s Journey Church offers.  Alan, proudly presented himself at the footsteps of a dark haired beautiful women, with blue eyes of compassion and acceptance.  Her husband stood by her offering much of the same as i stood back more proud of my man that I had ever been.  Her eyes met mine, asking me if I knew who she was.  My face turned a bashful shade of red as I declared “no, I’m so sorry.”  Taking the awkward out of the situation she let me know she read each and everyone of my blogs, deeply enjoying them all.  I hugged her immediately allowing her to feel my grateful heart.

From that moment a deeply meaningful relationship took flight.  One that was pre-destined for the both of us to propel our deepest needs toward our greater purpose that our God has yet to transpire. The bond had already formed, deeper than I could have dreamed, and further than I could have pleaded for being an adult orphan crying out for a parental figure.

She read my words that poured from my heart and bleed from my soul, and I accepted her kind encouraging words as truth and unconditional support.  Something I have not had much of in this life from a parental figure.

One Sunday after Pastor Kevin Taylor spoke straight into my soul, past my flesh, and vastly into the fibers that make me, well me.  And I like most Sunday’s,I was left a big hot gutted mess.  There happened to be an alter call for prayer.  I couldn’t deny the truth that I needed prayer, hands on me, and love abound.  The first two people I saw were her and him.  Not a coincidence indeed.  

I broke.

They glued.

A storm gate of tears flowed from me.

They coupled them with love and mercy.

I opened up.  Told them of my demons.

They still loved me.

Okay, let’s back up for a second.  

The last part left me in awe

I gave them my truth.

And they loved me.

Do people like this actually exist?

They do, indeed.  They knew my darkest of secrets and still loved me.  Healing began to take place in the most remarkable was.

For I am not accustom to such unconditional love,  especially when it comes from my father.  That being one of my toughest battles.  Having four of my own babies I cannot fathom not loving them through all of life’s crazy ups and downs.  I laugh, bleed, cry, rejoice with them.  Every step of the way.  Yet sadly, I haven’t been gifted such grace from my earthly parents.  God says in that moment of abandonment that I am loved.

I am His.

I will be fortified, lifted up, in ways I cannot imagine.

Because that is the very power of salvation.  After being encouraged by a pastor’s wife to pray for someone to fill the deep void of a parent God surely met me where I was, I was gifted one of the greatest joys possible…

I long for a mom and a dad surrogate who I can lean on, love and laugh with.

And they possess a deep seated need for grandchildren.

A void filling a void.

God says, I’m closer than you could ever know, and I fill all of your emptiness with my grace and abundance.

I met June and Bill Pysto at Launch Point on a Sunday that forever changed my life, one that made my husband and I New.  

And the replenishing of fulfillment has exceeded my every desire for what I’d love to call family.  

In the spring, when the dawn of newness is upon us our great big blended budding family will join in joyous union on an adventure to Florida.  They’ve bestowed on us a generosity I’ve not seen.  A dream I’ve captivated in my wildest of closeted dreams.  We will be their guests in a plush and stunning land and our children will experience for the first time magic, the joy of…a launch point of their very own…the possibility of grandparents.  And I, one who feels like an adult orphan whose parents chose to not have me, may possibly have found what God intended.  A mother and father figure that will not forsake me in the the times of Joy or sorrow.

My Launch Point is taking off in the most miraculous of ways, because of simply praying, asking, and having that one thing that we are required to have; Faith.