Long time, no sea

Seems like forever ago. February. Why I thirst for this earth is far beyond me still. I long to rest in the Glory of God Himself. We get lost in ourselves. Spend time contemplating others, but in light of what they are in our life. Not them as a person, standing alone, with no opinions or comparisons placed on them. No past encounters with them to hold us back. We fail to treat ourselves in this manner as well. It is difficult for me to blanket everyone in the trenches with myself. As if I were the scum of the earth, but every one else is inherently good. An expectation of others that I for one don’t realize is just as difficult to deal with as laying in the trenches with me. I spend so much time on my life and on me it’s heavy. God becomes quickly second place and the current issue first at hand. One ridiculous mess. I am nothing but humbled. Finishing well. Just to finish well. It seems so simple. To finish this race of life well. Battered maybe but on the other side of here, battered is forgotten. Like tasting a rainbow while riding a unicorn, but beyond that still. I concern myself with how many “friends” I have or how much weight I will lose. What food will I eat or how to raise the future mini-mes. So consumed with myself, and yet He will stay with me here. When I’m crawling on the floor because I can’t walk any more. In the middle of the night when death seems to sting the most. Why should anything else matter? When in the end, He is everything. Why would I choose daily to seek anything else. To make simple decisions so complicated and selfish. Love God, Love others. Forget how to love others, and just love them. I concern myself so much with how others around me need me to behave. The pillar of strength for an old friend, the cool new girl to new friends, Jesus to mcg friends, love of their life to a wonderful husband. But what of God? What am I to God? Sometimes He is so large I lose sight of the man who is Jesus. The Jesus that holds me in the moments when I can’t speak. Or the hymn He sings in my hear when I can’t seem to cry. The calm in my rage. My Jesus, who has healed wounds that were gaping, leaving me breathless. How I have felt His hands stitch my heart back together one scar at a time despite my fight against Him. How easily I forget. He treats me as if I didn’t place the wounds in His feet, His hands. As if my sins were not poured out on Him on that Cross. So many make little of the Cross. Treat it as mundane. I do it myself. Treat it with no respect no worship. What a Jesus we have. To have already forgiven my pride, arrogance. My advocate. How it breaks my heart for those who have no idea who He is. Who walk as if they would know His face standing before them. I pray I will. I pray He continues to move my heart. To save me daily from the wretched flesh I am in. I deserve to die His death, and yet He paid it all. How GOOD He is to me. I do not deserve such a loving, perfect, everything as Jesus.

Murdered Son

Jon Mark McMillan

You set us up above all the stars
You set us on a high place by where you are
While we were dead you made us your friends
And scattered our debt upon the wind

Glory to One
God’s murdered son
Who paid for my resurrection

Once from the dust, once from the grave
Daughters and sons from the ashes you’ve raised
And hidden our faults even from your own face
And scattered our debt upon the waves

Glory to one
God’s murdered son
Who paid for my resurrection
Glory to One
God’s murdered son
Who paid for my resurrection

Glory to the one who
Who overcame in death
Glory to the one
Who paid for my offenses
Glory to the one

Once from the dust
Once from the grave
Daughters and sons
From the ashes you’ve raised
And hidden our faults
Even from your own face
And scattered our debt upon the waves
And scattered our debt upon the waves

Image

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Objective

There is always some small part of me that tries to stay objective to my past. Like I am observing a strangers life and determining the next motion or if a specific occurrence should invoke an emotion and if it is o.k. to feel that emotion. I try not to take it personal. I am unsure how to feel differently or directly for that matter. To allow myself to feel anything for a longer period of time than the objective part of me will allow. Music brings every emotion out of me lays it in a pile on the floor. No organization, no system just everything all at one time. It feels as though no matter what the song is there is a period in my life that just drowns in the words. My memories begin to run together. Before I realize what is happening colorful pictures of suffering and joy play behind my eyelids. My personal screenplay. I could stay for days. I suppose that is why I may listen to one song repeated for days. It’s as if I am buying the tickets to see my favorite movie of all time. Only it is usually a sad film, a suffering film. But I can’t seem to get enough of it, until all of a sudden my objective side decides it is time to grow up and numb myself again. Sad that only music releases the pressure enough to obtain a level of sanity until the next screenplay is repeated for days.  Always the past, never the present or future. My life now is so different from the life I have lived that sometimes I am unsure if it really exists. As if every moment before this was some sort of sad love song with torture written in. I honestly do not understand how to behave in this new reality. How to treat joy or examine it. It is all very difficult to comprehend. And marrying the past and present do not seem logical most days. So I don’t. I keep them separate causing more destruction in the present because of the destruction of the past. I do not know how to treat people. Or how to love anyone including Christ correctly. I feel as though most days I have crumbs left to give anyone, and that decision is usually the hardest. Who will that crumb feed today? Myself, my husband, my God, my friends? And as selfish as I am it usually becomes myself. Even if it appears as my love is for others, it is all for the love of self. Honestly I get tired of being so selfish. To the outside world it seems anything but. Even to the point of seeming self sacrificing. Even now I am unsure that statement is true. But then again I am only being objective…..

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Fire to the rain…

“I set fire to the rain, watched it burn as I touched your face,” Many regrets go unsaid in life. We hide them in our cobwebbed hearts behind love. I struggle some days to remember how much I am loved simply because of the hatred I have felt. How damage is lasting. Despite healing I feel as though part of me will always carry them with me. Despite throwing them into the flame. I did love them. I deny it, claim hatred and anger. Or I dismiss them altogether. It is not possible, and I wish to be a different person who can be honest with myself. If I can not express how much it hurt to someone else, at the least I want to admit the truth to myself. Of how much it hurt to lose everything including him. How it hurt when he said he needed a break. How scarred I am from relationships. The abuse usually consumes it. As if I have disassociated to the point that I only feel things separately. Abuse suffering one day, relationships the next. If I could just dispose of it all at one time. Rid myself of this plagued insanity of pain. Despite all of the suffering to look at it, I feel a weird sort of comfort. Because He knows everything, has seen everything. Knows the torture it has caused me. Yet as hard as I push Him out the door He refuses to leave me here. So He joins me instead. Lays in this misery with me. Protects me from hating what I have done to myself. Reminds me I am no longer Mara but Naomi. There is justice for me, there is grace for me. Not only for me but for them as well. And sometimes even if all I can do is cry, that is enough. Nothing else said He knows everything written in stone in my heart. My graveyard of sin, suffering, and death. I think I will stay here a while. Mourn the loss of matters left here. I am not alone, and that is enough.

“I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
Where it felt something die
‘Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time, oh, ohhhh! ” -Adele

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What it feels like

Considering my confusion. It seems like it has been on purpose. How can Christ lead me if I am consumed with the thoughts of myself. The preconceived notions of who I am. How I act. The very center of who it is behind the eye lids. How can He be my identity if I already have made my own. There are people coming in and out of my life. It’s painful. I thought they were permanent fixtures. Because they love Christ they were supposed to be permanent in my mind. It seems as though my perspective has been off for some time. It’s not really about me it’s much bigger. I have been so confused for so long, because I do not fit into my own mental image anymore. I am becoming a different person, a complete shift in identity. I have felt completely and utterly insane, trying to figure me out. I haven’t felt joy, but because I am creating my own work not doing the working given to me. It is an extremely long 12 inches. It takes me so long to figure out what the Spirit is saying. Like He is whispering, when I don’t have a hearing aid. I can’t rest because who could not knowing their own brain or heart. I have not been listening. He is creating His identity in me. I do not have my own identity, I have His. I am not going to have the same thoughts, or fears. I clinch so very hard to my fears. They protect me. From memories and nightmares. But He is trying to tell me that I don’t have to be afraid. He isn’t afraid so I don’t have to be. As much as I understand this mentally, my heart only sort of hears it. Fear does not protect me. It makes me the victim. Preserves the pain. Causing constant suffering by holding me in bondage. But courage is so hard to come by. “This is what it feels like to just fall apart, to be totally unglued, To find out if I accept my brokenness, I get more of me, I get all of you”. So this is what it feels like…

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Complicated

The Holy Spirit has been on my case so speak. It’s been hard realizing I am not as tough or as great as I think I am. Humbling is not as much fun as it is necessary. This is a complicated tangled matter indeed. I realized that I am wasting the time that Christ has given me for His Glory. He set a specific time aside, for me to heal. To walk through terror and crumble, to be healed by His hands. So I am no longer the hero, He is. There are certain situations in my life I refuse to deal with. So I run, hide, and avoid as much as I can. I am angry and bitter. For a long time through this process, I felt as though I was being forced to look at this torture. Only to be tortured more, satisfied by being defeated somehow, and angry about it. Sometimes you only get one statement out of a message that makes such a profound impact that it shifts a perspective. It really was not even part of the message, just a side note. “The Holy Spirit protects me from the torture of those memories.” I live as though I am in a constant state of torture, not realizing the whole time that I am safe. I am guarded, cared for. He protects me from the full weight of this madness. I only remember images in glimpses. Why would that be? I only allow myself to feel for so long, but is that truly only a self defense trigger. Have I been given gifts to protect me. Certain personality traits that were weaved in my mothers womb containing the very fibers to survive such tragic circumstances? Am I part of this bigger picture that I so vaguely see? Life is complicated. I do not know the intentions behind my intentions. I am judgmental, and inwardly harsh. I am swimming in contempt, not only for me, but for the people I love. I choose what they can handle, what they can’t. What they are capable of and what they lack. I measure them by me, and instead of seeing how deprived I truly am and am in desperate need for the gospel, I tear them apart. Stand proud of my suffering. He placed this on me because you could not have handled this. “You can not stand at the foot of this ocean.” I use it as ammo to hurt my husband, myself, my relationships. I refuse to heal. I cleave to this anguish. And for what? What purpose is it serving. How is it helping me. It destroys not only me but everyone around me. Sometimes I get fragments of what love should be. How sin has distorted my life. Not only others sin against me, but my own against myself. How quickly we forget. I do not understand His Grace. I do not understand Him. I only pray He would remove the lies from my heart so I could see clearly. How truly ungrateful I have been. Always asking Why Me? But the Gospel is not fair, as I was reminded this past weekend. Jesus did not get what He deserved, he freely accepted and took what we deserved. A life without Him, a life void of the Spirit, and true joy, the Wrath of God because of sin. I am not sure how I will be carried through this. How the other side of torture looks. But from here, it looks very uncomplicated. I pray it comes quickly.

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Issues

I’m sure we all have some sort of issues about life. These are just mine. Things I pray Christ will change in my heart. Things I can not change on my own, not for lack of trying. My husband wants me to write a book. It would be a tragic sort of story. I’m unsure of the ending. Mainly why I have yet to begin writing it. Maybe if I just get certain thoughts out when they are there it will build a foundation for the book. Unlikely but maybe. Issues of the day. I see her as weak. Not a specific her, but several hers including myself. She lies to me, but pretends that it’s not a lie. Probably believes it to be true herself. She isn’t my savior although she claims to be. I never put her there. She put herself there. If I idolized any woman it wouldn’t be her. I see her as weak. She has suffered. Suffered more in the last two years than her life I feel. She comes off as snobbish, rude, selfish, unattainable. I lack compassion for someone I once considered a friend. A close friend. She heard bits and pieces of my story. Not even the hard issues. She ran for cover. Pretends that she isn’t doing anything “I’m telling everyone no” so strange that “everyone” consists of only specific people that you choose to ignore. It’s fear I am sure. Afraid you will catch the abuse disease. You already have it. Abuse isn’t only sexual you know. And you, how pathetic. What kind of excuses can you give me. You have your own issues? I have overplayed that excuse for you. Your weakness brought so much of my demise. I harbor the most anger for you. The previous is shallow anger masking the anger of you. As much as I love you, I hate you all the more.  Your excuses come to deaf ears. What I possibly see that can be your excuses only cause my anger to swallow all the good memories of you.  Were there any? Blinded by hate already. Your weakness drives this bus of madness. I stand at the foot of this sorrow filled ocean because of your weakness. A three way discussion on the grown up bus. One is hatred, other love. The grown up that is me can not make them equal, and hatred wins again. She has a right to be angry, but not hate. How to end this argument with myself? Just inject some Jesus? Anger takes off even more, and part of me trembles that I would be angry with God my Savior. He knows how this ends. I do not. I do not pretend to. I would just like a breath of fresh air. It’s always the same…… Issues

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