I've often said I wanted to just go back in time for one day.
Maybe a few different days along my timeline.
I wouldn't relive major moments, trips, or celebrations.
I would just want a do-over of a random Tuesday morning circa 1995 with four babies running around (and definitely Ms. Thelma by my side) or a Saturday evening circa 1979 in front of the fireplace with Mom rolling our hair for church the next morning while The Love Boat played in the background.
I'd even sit through a legal pad dinner circa 1985 just to have one more meal with my original nuclear family.
Did anyone else have those?
After a lovely meal prepared by mom, my dad would retreat to his room and return with the big yellow legal pad.
Our lists of offenses would be read off (there are no Miranda rights for wayward teens) and a plea would be entered. It really didn't matter what your plea was because if the yellow legal pad was there, you were guilty.
Your best option was a heartfelt apology and a hearty plea bargain.
After the agreement was reached, you signed your name and the contract went into Dad's top dresser drawer. You know the one. It has more IOU's than a Swiss bank.
Yep, I'd even sit through one of those.
I just want to have one Emily Webb day. You all know Emily, the heroine in Our Town who realizes what we all do just a moment too late. That by the time we realize how precious life is, how we should've treasured every moment, we've already missed it.
I can appreciate my strong upbringing, or my beautiful children, or even an incredible education. But only in hindsight.
I can't go back and fully appreciate in the moment, as it was happening.
And I've always wanted to.
But I felt like I'd entered a time machine last week.
Because I ran smack dab into 17-year-old self on the streets of Pascagoula.
We'll call her Sophie and not only did she LOOK like me, she sounded just like me as well.
In fact, I cut her off after the first three minutes of her well-rehearsed manipulation speech.
"Not only do I know you," I told her, "I WAS you."
Of course, the lithe blonde eyed this overweight forty-something woman with trepidation.
Yeah, um, right.
She borrowed my phone as she called her grandfather with some cockamamie story.
Check.
She played the victim as she explained how through no fault of her own she wound up on the streets.
Check.
She insisted in that drug-fueled rapid speech that she was completely sober.
Check.
Forget, there's nothing new under the sun.
There was nothing new under the roof of my van!
I don't like to engage in war stories. They do nothing to further the kingdom of God.
But this girl needed to know that I'd been there, done that.
So I shared a couple of stories.
The mask fell away from her boyfriend's face immediately.
He got it.
He knew that I understood.
Furthermore, he realized that not only had I seen past the game, I was still actually helping them.
You can always feel that little shift in the spiritual realm when that happens. The whole world appears just a little brighter for a moment.
Sophie was a tougher nut to crack.
She peeked out from behind her mask and quickly retreated back.
She's been running from me ever since.
I hardly know this girl and yet I know her completely.
Pray for her.
She needs an army of prayer warriors.
Monday, June 27, 2016
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Suicide
When someone commits suicide there are usually two distinct groups that emerge in the aftermath:
...the ones that have experienced similar turmoil firsthand and know exactly why someone could take their own life...
and
...the ones who cannot imagine what could be so bad, or how a person could be so selfish, as to take this "easy" way out...
I'm going to share my story in the hopes that BOTH groups will understand suicide a little better and that together we can fight this battle.
Driving home to Louisiana this week to take my mom to have a little minor surgery, I crossed the familiar bridge that goes into Krotz Springs. I've probably traveled over that bridge a thousand times in my lifetime, white-knuckling over half of them.
Quite simply, it was all I could do to not drive my car off the side of it.
I could never understand why.
The desire to drive off the bridge would completely overwhelm me and it didn't matter if I was happy, sad, sober, or high...from the time I could drive, bridges brought about a pounding in my heart so severe I'd literally hold my breath until I reached the other side.
Even after salvation, the feeling was there, albeit not as strong.
It confused me.
By then I was happy, healthy, and serving God.
So why was that still in the back of my mind?
It would finally become clear.
As a child I had nightmares about bridges. I also was molested. I believe that those two events were no mere coincidences in my subsequent battle with suicidal thoughts over bridges; however, even if I was an innocent victim when that door was opened, I later blew it off the hinges.
Sin and manipulation go hand in hand, and as a young teenager, I was well-versed in both.
When caught doing something wrong by my parents, I'd threaten to commit suicide to lessen my punishment.
I wasn't suicidal at all. Just conniving.
But life and death are in the power of the tongue and you can't profess something without it taking root.
Soon enough, the suicide battle became real.
Break-ups, failed projects, financial struggles...suicidal thoughts began to enter more freely.
Drug-induced states fueled the fire.
I wrote poetry about suicide.
I fantasized about it.
It was ALWAYS the last resort.
There were a few half-hearted attempts.
Less a cry for attention than a desire to "temporarily" die.
There were two full-out attempts that didn't succeed only by the grace of God.
Then my life changed.
The drugs were gone.
The depression was gone.
I was serving God.
Yet I still panicked a little going over bridges.
And sometimes, especially after a fight with one of my loved ones, those suicidal thoughts were still so strong.
A decade in the wilderness didn't do much for my relationship with the Lord.
I was, at best, a lukewarm Christian. One with his hand to the plow.
And the house that had been swept clean was getting filthy again.
Then came complete surrender.
And another house cleaning.
I let go of everything. Guilt, anger, hurt, resentment...
Some of those things I'd let back in.
But some had never left the first time.
I was feeling free indeed.
And then my husband and I had a small spat over something so insignificant that I can't remember what it was.
I walked outside.
I remember thinking how glad I was that taking a pill hadn't been my first thought. (For years it was and I hated that. Realizing that was a spiritual battle had been the first step to overcoming it.)
But just then a car came by and the urge to throw myself in front of it was so strong that it literally dropped me to my knees.
In that instant, I understood.
It was a spirit of suicide and it had been with me almost my entire life.
The dreams, the bridges, the thoughts, the attempts...it all made sense.
I immediately spoke to the spirit, "In the name of Jesus, I rebuke the spirit of suicide in my life. You have no place, you have no rights. You have to leave."
There was no show, no commotion...just a quiet conversation between me and what had sought to destroy me my whole life. What came in through sin done TO me but grew in power by choices I made on my own.
There was no evidence that it left right then.
But I had faith.
So I moved on and didn't even think about it again.
Until the next time I went over a bridge.
And nothing happened.
NOTHING.
It wasn't until I reached the other side that I realized the gripping fear or even the slightest inkling to veer off was gone.
I realized then that I had lived with a spirit of suicide almost my entire life.
I knew that the bridge nightmares were planted by the devil as well.
And I understood why, even in times of joy, there was always that little nagging thought. Especially when I encountered bridges.
Suicide isn't something people like to talk about.
Loved ones left behind are angry and confused.
Those contemplating suicide are lost in a myriad of emotions.
They either don't talk about it or they talk about it so much that no-one wants to hear anymore.
We must recognize suicide for what it is, a tool of the devil to destroy lives. An evil spirit trying to take lost people out of this world before they are saved and to take Christians out so that they cannot spread the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Satan is no respector of persons either. He will take out ANYONE he can. All he needs is someone to open the door.
And those doors can be opened easily...unforgiveness, guilt, shame, anger...you can be a victim of wrongdoing and still open the doors to sin by harboring anger and hate in your heart.
Desperate situations cause desperate thoughts.
Desperate thoughts leads to desperate actions.
We need to guard our hearts, our thoughts, our minds.
We need to pray for those who are struggling, particularly with depression.
And if you, or someone you know, has suicidal thoughts or tendencies, you need to rebuke the spirit in the name of Jesus.
As always, I can be reached by private or public message in the comments section below. Feel free to send prayer needs or to ask questions.
No-one should suffer in silence.
Because there is always hope.
On that I will claim to be an expert. Because I was sure that my life was completely hopeless and would never, ever be okay again.
Yet, here I am today with a heart so full of joy it literally feels like it could burst open.
Though the sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning.
It might still be night for you, but morning is just around the corner.
Throw open the curtains!
...the ones that have experienced similar turmoil firsthand and know exactly why someone could take their own life...
and
...the ones who cannot imagine what could be so bad, or how a person could be so selfish, as to take this "easy" way out...
I'm going to share my story in the hopes that BOTH groups will understand suicide a little better and that together we can fight this battle.
Driving home to Louisiana this week to take my mom to have a little minor surgery, I crossed the familiar bridge that goes into Krotz Springs. I've probably traveled over that bridge a thousand times in my lifetime, white-knuckling over half of them.
Quite simply, it was all I could do to not drive my car off the side of it.
I could never understand why.
The desire to drive off the bridge would completely overwhelm me and it didn't matter if I was happy, sad, sober, or high...from the time I could drive, bridges brought about a pounding in my heart so severe I'd literally hold my breath until I reached the other side.
Even after salvation, the feeling was there, albeit not as strong.
It confused me.
By then I was happy, healthy, and serving God.
So why was that still in the back of my mind?
It would finally become clear.
As a child I had nightmares about bridges. I also was molested. I believe that those two events were no mere coincidences in my subsequent battle with suicidal thoughts over bridges; however, even if I was an innocent victim when that door was opened, I later blew it off the hinges.
Sin and manipulation go hand in hand, and as a young teenager, I was well-versed in both.
When caught doing something wrong by my parents, I'd threaten to commit suicide to lessen my punishment.
I wasn't suicidal at all. Just conniving.
But life and death are in the power of the tongue and you can't profess something without it taking root.
Soon enough, the suicide battle became real.
Break-ups, failed projects, financial struggles...suicidal thoughts began to enter more freely.
Drug-induced states fueled the fire.
I wrote poetry about suicide.
I fantasized about it.
It was ALWAYS the last resort.
There were a few half-hearted attempts.
Less a cry for attention than a desire to "temporarily" die.
There were two full-out attempts that didn't succeed only by the grace of God.
Then my life changed.
The drugs were gone.
The depression was gone.
I was serving God.
Yet I still panicked a little going over bridges.
And sometimes, especially after a fight with one of my loved ones, those suicidal thoughts were still so strong.
A decade in the wilderness didn't do much for my relationship with the Lord.
I was, at best, a lukewarm Christian. One with his hand to the plow.
And the house that had been swept clean was getting filthy again.
Then came complete surrender.
And another house cleaning.
I let go of everything. Guilt, anger, hurt, resentment...
Some of those things I'd let back in.
But some had never left the first time.
I was feeling free indeed.
And then my husband and I had a small spat over something so insignificant that I can't remember what it was.
I walked outside.
I remember thinking how glad I was that taking a pill hadn't been my first thought. (For years it was and I hated that. Realizing that was a spiritual battle had been the first step to overcoming it.)
But just then a car came by and the urge to throw myself in front of it was so strong that it literally dropped me to my knees.
In that instant, I understood.
It was a spirit of suicide and it had been with me almost my entire life.
The dreams, the bridges, the thoughts, the attempts...it all made sense.
I immediately spoke to the spirit, "In the name of Jesus, I rebuke the spirit of suicide in my life. You have no place, you have no rights. You have to leave."
There was no show, no commotion...just a quiet conversation between me and what had sought to destroy me my whole life. What came in through sin done TO me but grew in power by choices I made on my own.
There was no evidence that it left right then.
But I had faith.
So I moved on and didn't even think about it again.
Until the next time I went over a bridge.
And nothing happened.
NOTHING.
It wasn't until I reached the other side that I realized the gripping fear or even the slightest inkling to veer off was gone.
I realized then that I had lived with a spirit of suicide almost my entire life.
I knew that the bridge nightmares were planted by the devil as well.
And I understood why, even in times of joy, there was always that little nagging thought. Especially when I encountered bridges.
Suicide isn't something people like to talk about.
Loved ones left behind are angry and confused.
Those contemplating suicide are lost in a myriad of emotions.
They either don't talk about it or they talk about it so much that no-one wants to hear anymore.
We must recognize suicide for what it is, a tool of the devil to destroy lives. An evil spirit trying to take lost people out of this world before they are saved and to take Christians out so that they cannot spread the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Satan is no respector of persons either. He will take out ANYONE he can. All he needs is someone to open the door.
And those doors can be opened easily...unforgiveness, guilt, shame, anger...you can be a victim of wrongdoing and still open the doors to sin by harboring anger and hate in your heart.
Desperate situations cause desperate thoughts.
Desperate thoughts leads to desperate actions.
We need to guard our hearts, our thoughts, our minds.
We need to pray for those who are struggling, particularly with depression.
And if you, or someone you know, has suicidal thoughts or tendencies, you need to rebuke the spirit in the name of Jesus.
As always, I can be reached by private or public message in the comments section below. Feel free to send prayer needs or to ask questions.
No-one should suffer in silence.
Because there is always hope.
On that I will claim to be an expert. Because I was sure that my life was completely hopeless and would never, ever be okay again.
Yet, here I am today with a heart so full of joy it literally feels like it could burst open.
Though the sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning.
It might still be night for you, but morning is just around the corner.
Throw open the curtains!
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Constant Communion
The older you get, the shorter the time between middle of the night bathroom trips.
When combined my husband and I have accumulated over 100 years of life.
Which means there's a well-worn path between our bed and the potty.
Because I'm such a light sleeper I wake up every time he gets out of the bed.
And he wakes up because I have to move four dogs every time I get out of the bed.
Well, truthfully, I don't HAVE to move them but I do.
Because he's the pushover who lets them IN the bed at the hint of the slightest whimper.
He says they'll whine all night if he doesn't.
I say they'll get over it.
But I don't mind.
Because the truth is we both like the dogs being in the bed for vastly different reasons.
Sure there's the love and all but the truth is a little darker.
Remember our aforementioned ages?
He's older and gets quite cold at night. He claims his hands turn blue if they work their way out from under the corners.
I, on the other hand, sleep in a sauna.
Despite the AC set on 63 degrees (aside to the federal government: go ahead and try to regulate the ac units of menopausal women, I dare you!) AND a fan blowing directly on me, I still burn up at night.
And I do NOT want to be spooning.
So the dogs do the spooning for me and I insincerely complain that we can't snuggle anymore because of them.
It works for both of us.
But we still wake up multiple times during the night.
At this time, I should mention that we are often together throughout the day and when we aren't, we touch base via phone.
Our ministry, our church, outreach, even the brick company we manage...we work together and are both involved in every aspect equally.
So we are in constant communication.
Including throughout the night.
I realized this the other night on about the fifth trip to the bathroom.
We were having some random conversation and it hit me.
We are in constant communion.
Even asleep, we are still so in tune with each other that a conversation ignites automatically the moment we awake.
And while this is great, it also saddened me.
Not because our entire marriage hasn't been this way. (Really, whose has?)
But because this is how our relationship with the Lord should be.
And it isn't.
For many people, including me.
Oh, don't get me wrong.
My relationship with the Lord is stronger than ever.
And I talk to Him daily.
Sometimes many times throughout the day.
But sometimes a few days will pass when I'm so busy working FOR Him that I ignore Him completely.
I just forget.
I know, though, what constant communion with the Lord is like.
I've been there.
Going to sleep praying, waking up in the middle of the night feeling your spirit praising the Lord, waking up refreshed and alive....fyi, no pharmaceutical could ever touch the sleep you get in the Spirit....
But I don't stay there.
I really don't know why, except that I just get so busy.
And I don't make time for the one relationship that matters most.
Father, I pray that I will learn to stay in constant communion with You. To go to sleep talking to You and to remain close throughout the night. To wake up praising You and to continue to talk to You throughout the day. Not just when I need an answer or have a request, but when I drive. Or laugh. Or watch a bird fly across the sky. Help me to see You in everything I do. In everyone I help. And in everything I see. When I start to wander off, draw me back in. Hold me tight so that I won't forget that I'm nothing without You and nothing I do means anything if I don't have You. Amen.
When combined my husband and I have accumulated over 100 years of life.
Which means there's a well-worn path between our bed and the potty.
Because I'm such a light sleeper I wake up every time he gets out of the bed.
And he wakes up because I have to move four dogs every time I get out of the bed.
Well, truthfully, I don't HAVE to move them but I do.
Because he's the pushover who lets them IN the bed at the hint of the slightest whimper.
He says they'll whine all night if he doesn't.
I say they'll get over it.
But I don't mind.
Because the truth is we both like the dogs being in the bed for vastly different reasons.
Sure there's the love and all but the truth is a little darker.
Remember our aforementioned ages?
He's older and gets quite cold at night. He claims his hands turn blue if they work their way out from under the corners.
I, on the other hand, sleep in a sauna.
Despite the AC set on 63 degrees (aside to the federal government: go ahead and try to regulate the ac units of menopausal women, I dare you!) AND a fan blowing directly on me, I still burn up at night.
And I do NOT want to be spooning.
So the dogs do the spooning for me and I insincerely complain that we can't snuggle anymore because of them.
It works for both of us.
But we still wake up multiple times during the night.
At this time, I should mention that we are often together throughout the day and when we aren't, we touch base via phone.
Our ministry, our church, outreach, even the brick company we manage...we work together and are both involved in every aspect equally.
So we are in constant communication.
Including throughout the night.
I realized this the other night on about the fifth trip to the bathroom.
We were having some random conversation and it hit me.
We are in constant communion.
Even asleep, we are still so in tune with each other that a conversation ignites automatically the moment we awake.
And while this is great, it also saddened me.
Not because our entire marriage hasn't been this way. (Really, whose has?)
But because this is how our relationship with the Lord should be.
And it isn't.
For many people, including me.
Oh, don't get me wrong.
My relationship with the Lord is stronger than ever.
And I talk to Him daily.
Sometimes many times throughout the day.
But sometimes a few days will pass when I'm so busy working FOR Him that I ignore Him completely.
I just forget.
I know, though, what constant communion with the Lord is like.
I've been there.
Going to sleep praying, waking up in the middle of the night feeling your spirit praising the Lord, waking up refreshed and alive....fyi, no pharmaceutical could ever touch the sleep you get in the Spirit....
But I don't stay there.
I really don't know why, except that I just get so busy.
And I don't make time for the one relationship that matters most.
Father, I pray that I will learn to stay in constant communion with You. To go to sleep talking to You and to remain close throughout the night. To wake up praising You and to continue to talk to You throughout the day. Not just when I need an answer or have a request, but when I drive. Or laugh. Or watch a bird fly across the sky. Help me to see You in everything I do. In everyone I help. And in everything I see. When I start to wander off, draw me back in. Hold me tight so that I won't forget that I'm nothing without You and nothing I do means anything if I don't have You. Amen.
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