tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83990623020140699642024-02-06T21:23:24.037-08:00When dreams become wordsI need a better title.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-62406636489363890282014-12-01T22:41:00.000-08:002014-12-01T22:41:04.396-08:00A short defense<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
The gospel as the "Good News" is a source of beauty. I am so tired of Christians thinking that therein lies all that is of value and that the gospel is a source of salvation for souls divorced of touching the physical, everyday life. I am so tired of Christians thinking that art is merely a vehicle, a means to an end, or a flourish to 'that which is really important.' Because that kind of mentality results in a faith that misses out on beauty. Beauty can be a source of the Good News. Art can be deeply theological -- it just requires more attention and thought than the pragmatic faith that so many Christians are used to interacting with.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-top: 6px;">
Beauty. Goodness. Truth.<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-top: 6px;">
How thirsty must our souls grow before we desire all three of these in our spiritual practices again? How fragmented must we become before we realize that we are missing out on holistic spirituality?</div>
</div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-5432044159203240732014-03-18T23:25:00.000-07:002014-03-18T23:32:41.218-07:00Relate.Ion.ShipsI gave up Facebook for Lent. The first week was really hard, and the first two days of that <i>especially</i> were brutal. Now it's more along the lines of a constant, quiet discomfort... I miss people.<br />
<br />
The first week, as I wandered from my bedroom to the living room, I couldn't help but think, "What did I do before Facebook?" I'm pretty sure I read and I blogged more. I had more space to be quiet and think. I think I also did my homework.<br />
<br />
As I arrived at this conclusion, I resolved that I would probably start blogging again with my new-found free-time. However, (obviously) that has not happened. Instead, I've been more present (I hope) with the people in front of me; have been learning how to navigate life without the instant, daily, hourly, habitual use of social media (although I get to check in on Sundays as a "feast" or a break from the "fast"); and have been either getting my homework done or finding more creative ways to procrastinate.<br />
<br />
Sort of like the end of a dating relationship, I'm finding ways to reclaim my time and fill it up. <br />
<br />
Although, all my romantic notions of being more artistically integrated have been mostly thrown out the window - with the exception of a few sleepy poems written in the fuzzy brink of a just-only-now-barely conscious state of being - by finals week. Oh finals...<br />
<br />
<b>You know it's finals week when you close out the library, and - given the choice between practicing good hygiene or finishing up that paper - you decide, "...my shower can wait."</b><br />
<br />
And, now, if you'll excuse me - my paper is waiting. And after that, bed. And in between the two, a shower if I'm lucky. Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-37772153199362574112014-01-13T01:56:00.000-08:002014-01-14T23:24:19.682-08:00New Beginnings - A Fresh Start on the Same Old Thing<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Here is a space for honesty. And a ramble in vulnerable processing.</i></div>
<br />
I'm six weeks into having a run with bronchitis and walking pneumonia...trying to make a good go at it towards getting healthy again. Comedy may role in threes, and the third time may be the charm; but I'm now on round five of antibiotics...hoping that this one works so as to avoid a weekend stay in a local hospital on pneumonia observation (complete with antibiotics via IV). In a weird way of doing math, this makes me realize: roughly 3 weeks ago I turned 28. And that is really what I want to talk about.<br />
<br />
The day prior to my birthday was wonderful: my roommate baked me a completely homemade angel food cake, and then we went to go see The Nutcracker Ballet performed by the Royal Ballet Company in London via a digital broadcast at the local AMC Theatre thanks to my super-thoughtful brother. Fairy tales and dancing.<br />
The day of my birthday was actually rather disappointing: all my plans fell through and I spent the day mostly alone or doing errands, trying not to feel depressed. A friend came to visit, which saved the day for me, and I later attended a Christmas party that night wherein my friends there sang "Happy Birthday" to me even though it wasn't my birthday party - which was a very nice gesture. A day of waiting.<br />
The next day, one of my best friends took me to see Frozen and we finished <i>that</i> wonderful adventure with a trip to the comic book store wherein I picked up a copy of <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> in graphic novel form. And that night, I had a party where I invited some friends to go out swing dancing with me. I had a total blast - felt absolutely special - completed with a friend of mine purchasing me some original Disney princess artwork offered by an artist at the holiday market hosted by the dance venue. Fairy tales and dancing.<br />
<br />
Perhaps even better, my lovely friend, Hilary, blessed me by opening and closing my birthday with messages of love. Her words blessed me as she pronounced, "28 is going to be amazing." And I don't exactly know why, but I wept because I felt like her words had prophetic power and I just knew them to be true. I believe that 28 will be amazing. It's the first time in I-can't-remember-how-long that I haven't resented turning another year older. I just believe that this upcoming year will have something amazing in store for me. And I am so ready to put all the heartache of being 27 behind me.<br />
<br />
So, in turning 28 I look forward to this wonderful year ahead with the hope of fairy tales and dancing.<br />
<br />
Which also leads me to this new year: this year 2014 - which I find to be such an aesthetically pleasing number. And although it didn't start off the way I'd envision (being sick and having to stay home, not even being invited to the party most of my friends went to, etc) I am still excited about the upcoming year and all of the potential for new beginnings and growth that it has in store.<br />
<br />
Of course, this does not mean that I get to start with a completely blank slate. I once heard that the problem with running away from your problems is that you take yourself with you. And as much as I'd like to forget that 2013 happened, the fact of the matter is that, well, I can't. Not right away, at least. And some things, like the passing of my grandpa, will always stay with me. But, I think that's okay because even in the pain, there is beauty. The pain is beautiful because it shows how much I loved him. It reveals that he was important in my life. And that I miss him even now. Love provides the beauty that redeems the pain.<br />
<br />
Considering the other pains, this is where I have the opportunity to move on. And by "move on," I mean that I can continue to heal from the wounding done to my heart. I wonder at the timing that the first crushing blow and loss of relationship happened the week of Easter...carrying through the summer with the blossoming of hope and loss of love...followed by the news of my grandpa's sickness...and then the loss of him as well...which carried me into Advent: a season of <i>anticipating</i> the coming of Christ. I am anticipating this return even as I anticipate the restoration of my heart and even as I <i>see</i> the healing of my heart. But it is slow going.<br />
Because forgiveness is slow going. And there are often hiccups along the way. Forgiveness is often a choice that must be repeated.<br />
<br />
Concerning the man who convinced me to give him my heart - the man who whispered to me the most beautiful dreams - who made me feel alive in ways I hadn't dared to hope for myself - the man who I fell in love with - the man who told me he wanted to marry me...the man who got his ex pregnant:<br />
I did the thing "you're not supposed to do" a couple months ago: I looked him up on Facebook. And I saw the picture of his newborn baby - the child he had with his then-ex who he told me he no longer loved...but who is now his wife. I saw the picture: I saw this precious, beautiful child. And my response was truly one of a hope of blessing for their future. I hope they grow into being the parents that this child deserves and needs: the kind that selflessly love one another. I wish them <b>joy</b>.<br />
<br />
What that leaves for me is the space and time to heal. The chance for my new beginning is like rebuilding a garden after the devastation of a storm that has uprooted trees, ripped apart the shrubberies, and turned the flowerbeds into swamps. It has and will continue to take time, work, effort, reshaping, tending, and a whole lot of God's touch in and around my life. And a whole lot of patience and gentleness as I learn how to trust again. God will deal with them: will tend them, prune them, and guide them if they let God do it. In a sense, they no longer matter in my life. What matters in my life is my opportunity for growth.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, growth comes from letting people go.<br />
<br />
A friend of mine shared with me a clip from Tyler Perry doing a skit from Madea. Aside from being hilarious, the draw to it were her words, "When people want to walk out of your life, <b>you let them go</b>."<br />
Most often, people don't tell you they want to leave - they show you with how they handle your heart.<br />
And those people don't need to be kicked out. Proper boundaries will let them decide whether they want to kick themselves out of your life or not. Proper boundaries leave room for those people to come back, but - as Madea put it - most of the time, the relationships those people offer are like leaves on a tree. The wind blows and they go this way, and then the wind blows and they go that way, and then the wind blows and they fall off and die. But they were good for a season, and the shade they provided was nice.<br />
<br />
I am still learning about letting go. I like to think that I am growing in my ability to set and maintain healthy boundaries. I watched a friend kick himself out of my life this fall because he could not handle being in a relationship wherein I called him to respect me even as he respected himself. And it was sad, but I let him go. And I feel stronger for it.<br />
I lost my best friend at Easter. The relationship didn't die right away, but it eventually became a sort of poison in my life. The sense of betrayal, disrespect, lack of honesty, and unwillingness to be vulnerable with me that I sensed from him led me to the eventual conclusion that this was a relationship that I no longer wanted.<br />
And I don't regret that.<br />
<br />
I still feel the pain of losing him. There are days when I very much miss my best friend - this man who knew me better than most and who was like a brother to me. I feel the pain of what feels like being ostracized from most of our mutual friends because I refuse to get on board with being happy or even "okay" with his choices. But this is my room for growth. This is where I start to learn about forgiveness - and how to practice that - at a deeper level. This is where I learn to pick up a rake and clear away the leaves that have fallen from the tree.<br />
Because, here again - he no longer matters in my life. And his choices show that I no longer matter to him. And, in a way, that's a good thing. He should be free to live his life and make his choices. And he has chosen to pursue what he thinks will make him happy and fulfilled without me in mind. And I'm not sure how to say this, but it is <i>good</i> that I do not dictate his happiness. So, it is time for me to grow. And it is time for me to heal. God will grow him, and tend him, and lead him as he allows.<br />
Perhaps justice isn't always a crushing vindication against our enemies. Perhaps justice is served for the wounded when they are able to grow into a space of joy and love for those who hurt them in the past.<br />
<br />
And I am excited when I think about this for myself. Because I still have some growing to do. But looking forward is what makes this a new beginning.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-19451444311596353832013-10-29T00:38:00.004-07:002013-10-29T00:38:52.545-07:00Who is God? (A Homiletic Reflection)<i><span style="font-size: small;">A week ago, I was given the exercise of answering the question "Who is God?" in only about 100 words. Written for the ear and not for the eye, this was my answer:</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
From the beginning,</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I like to imagine
God joyfully singing Creation into being.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Exuberant.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Joyful.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Full of love.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He is not the
inflictor of pain.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He is the only One</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
who truly
understands
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
what pain
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
is.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He is the only one
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
who can hold our
broken pieces.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And put us back
together when we are shattered.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because of love,</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jesus came.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This marvellous
God-man
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
lived a perfect
life,</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
died for our sins,</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and then resurrected</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
to defeat sin</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and death</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and our separation
from God.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The old ache</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
of our souls</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
defeated.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
God</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
as Holy Spirit</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
makes our souls
breathe.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
An energy</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
that moves like wind</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
so that</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
we inhale and exhale
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in mystery.</div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-54548894150640570902013-10-13T22:43:00.000-07:002013-10-13T23:08:00.609-07:00Dehydrated, Drunk, and the SpiritI think this is worth writing about. Because the working of God is worth sharing:<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Eyes
closed, I held up my cupped hands, filled with the hurt, shame,
wounding, grime, brokenness, and dirt - piled like a mass of
blood-soaked dirt and asphalt.<br /> <br /> "Pray after me: 'Jesus, take it.'"<br /> <br />
My mouth wouldn't let me fully repeat, but I think Christ understood.
And he gave grace and mercy when I struggled out: "Take it."<br /> <br /> And like water and light, a blue spirit poured down into my cupped han<span class="text_exposed_show">ds,
lapping at them like a dog's tongue which drinks water - washing over
and over again like a wave because the stuff was sticky - stuck to my
hands like it was stuck to my spirit.<br /> <br /> "Now, ask Jesus give you what He wants you to have."<br /> <br /> This time, it was easier: "Jesus, please give me what you want me to have."<br /> <br />
Eyes still shut, I saw and felt love pour into my hands. Like red wine,
it pooled into my hands and filled them; it kept pouring, but never
over-flowing - like the burning bush that burned but was not consumed.
It seeped into my hands, through my arms, and into my body - warming my
soul. And I broke down and cried again because that was all I could do
at feeling such love and at feeling so whole.<br /> <br /> "What did you see?"<br /> <br /> "Love...pour down into my hands like red wine. It kept pouring and filling, but never overflowed."<br /> <br /> "New wine for new wine skins. I saw a dove over you."<br /> <br /> There's something about being filled with the Spirit... Thank God, for the gift of friends - for prophetic healers. <br /> <br /> I am realizing how dehydrated my soul has been.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"> * * * </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Some events this weekend have again brought the concept of forgiveness to a forefront in my mind and heart. More deep wounding coupled this time with what I was able to identify as spiritual attacks. What I came away with was this:<br /><br />~ Wounded people often hurt others.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">~ I am not perfect - it is in my nature to mess up, fail, and hurt others. My tendency is to want to see myself as blameless. Once seeing that I am flawed, my tendency is then to beat myself up for not being perfect. Neither of these are accurate views of myself.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">~ The only way I will be able to forgive others is to see myself as God sees me: not perfect, but perfectly loved and accepted because of what Christ has done on the Cross on my behalf. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Forgiveness will always be hard work until I am filled with the love of Christ. I'm not talking about intellectually knowing it, or feeling some sort of obligation to love others because God loved me so much that He would forgive and die for my sins.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">I'm talking about being overwhelmed with the love of Christ. Of feeling it to my core. Of being steeped in it, soaked with it, drenched to the point where I start dripping that sort of love, like wet footprints, wherever I go. I think that is what the biblical writers and the mothers and fathers of the Christian faith are talking about when talking about the transforming love of Christ.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">This is not even about feeling happy, excited, or blessed because I see the good things that God has put into my life (although that fits in). It's about simply <i>being</i> and being made aware of the love that God has for me. </span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Only in the safety of the love guaranteed by God can I allow myself to trust and love others. Because people are not particularly safe. Even with the best of intentions, we fail.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Only when I am saturated with the love of God can that flow out of me to others.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Only when I experientially realize and am empowered with the love of God will loving others, forgiving others, and walking in the footsteps of Christ in sacrificial obedience not feel like "work."</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">And, at this point, I refuse to move without feeling God's love filling my being. Because, at this point, to do any of that good stuff which makes me a "good person" or a "good Christian"* is out of my own strength - my own pride - and is empty in meaning, and draining to my being.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">So, my prayer has become this and I refuse to move without it: "Lord, show me how much you love me. Let me feel it that I may see myself properly before You and out of that love others."</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">I know I've been on this journey for a while, but I think I'm about to intentionally start a long process (expected further Dark Nights of the Soul included)...and I think it's going to be good.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">LORD, may it be.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">*Really, what does it even mean to be a "good" Christian? It's a useless, empty qualifier because only God is good. Our behavior does not make us good: only the redemptive work of Christ and the filling of the Holy Spirit within us makes us "good" before God.</span></span>Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-30517982468373502842013-09-16T00:34:00.000-07:002013-09-16T01:18:14.317-07:00Promiscuous WordsWithin the past 6 months, I was told by two men that they loved me - rather - that they were in love with me. Both of these men had expressed to others that they thought that I was the one whom they would marry. One I loved as a best friend, the other was a friend whom I fell in love with. Of those two men, one is now married and the other is engaged - and neither one to me.<br />
<br />
I wish I was making this up. Because, in my mind, this is the kind of thing that happens in movies, or TV shows, or books, or...soap operas. I suppose truth is the basis from where we get our fiction.<br />
<br />
It's hard because these two men were, in my opinion at the time, some of the "best men" that I knew. Each of them had some of the kindest, biggest hearts out of anybody that I knew. They were amazing listeners with quirks that stemmed from their unique personalities and interests. I pointed to them as exemplary characters among my engagements with other people. They each stood, at points in time, as a best friend.<br />
<br />
Allow me to clarify: there is no sense of conquest here. There is no sense of "men broke themselves for me." Instead, I feel a deep sense of loss, of betrayal, of sadness at seeing people whom I care for make decisions that I sense to be so unwise. I have lost relationships that served as bedrocks in my life. These were men whom I trusted, and whom I trusted with my heart.<br />
<br />
I think there is a tale of caution in here of how we use our words. I was promised love at a time that was too soon. When we are not careful in discerning when is the proper time to speak, we whore out our speech; we make promises that we do not realize we are incapable of fulfilling; we say things we do not really mean; we hurt others in our rashness; we say things that we later regret. And although we may be filled with all sincerity when we speak in the moment, time and follow-through (or lack thereof) either prove our character or make us look like liars.<br />
I say "we" because I also let my words run away before I think about them. While it is not always so terrible as above described, "Letting one's words run away with them" is not always as benign as it sounds, either. <br />
<br />
Professing love before the right time takes something of deep value and reduces it in meaning and does deep damage to the trusting and the unguarded. Our mouths become whore's mouths - promiscuously speaking of things that lack depth, connection and honesty under the veneer of something that is real.<br />
<br />
I do not mean to say that the relationships of those men lack authenticity. I think they lack wisdom. They rushed to tell me something just as they rushed into life-long commitments with other women. But, time will test and time will tell; and time will prove the depth of their words. And, honestly, I wish them well. I wish them marriages filled with blessing and strength. I wish them growth.<br />
<br />
Personally problematic for me is that I respected those men. I trusted them. So, when they spoke, I took them at their word.<br />
And for me, love is a deep thing.<br />
<br />
And it is a deeply painful thing to be told that a person is in love with you, that he has marriage in mind with you...only six months later to see him finalizing that offer with another woman.<br />
It makes it very hard to trust. And I find myself stuck there right now. I suppose, and hope, that it is only a "phase" - just a step in the grief cycle. Because, I do not want to be here the rest of my life - crippled at the inability to trust. But, I'm not really sure how one overcomes that either. It's not like I can just say, "Those men were some of the best examples of men that I had. They completely broke my trust and my heart. But I will continue to trust!"<br />
<br />
This has to be where the work of Christ comes in. And by "has" I mean "must." Only God can fix this. Only God can take my now suspicious, deeply wounded heart and restore it to a place where it can trust again. I really see no other options.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I am thankful. I am thankful at these - not bullets - cannon balls that I dodged. I would have willingly embraced them had Providence not intervened. I am thankful for the opportunity that I have to start doing self-reflection and analysis. These hard slaps of reality have me thinking about how I jump into and engage in relationships. This pain has sent me reeling back to my family, where I have experienced healing in familial ties and <i>there</i> found some excellent examples of beautiful, flawed, trustworthy men. I have inner work to do. I can be proactive. I do not have to sit and stay as a victim. I can also grow.<br />
<br />
And even if I remain single for the rest of my life, I will be a bigger person as a result. I will hopefully have more to offer. I can serve others as a wounded healer.<br />
<br />
And I thank God for that. And I suppose that's the promise of the Cross: that out of desolation springs new life. Spring follows the even the harshest of winters.<br />
<br />
In perusing through a book, I came across this text:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><i>Grief</i> should permit newness.<i> </i></li>
<li><i>Holiness</i> should give hope.</li>
<li><i>Memory</i> should allow possibility.<br />All three affirmations argue that life comes out of death." </li>
</ol>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">~ Walter Brueggemann, <i>Hopeful Imagination: Prophetic Voices in Exile</i>. Philedelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 132.</span><br />
<br />
So, let it be:<br />
Lord, set a guard over my mouth. Let time and touch heal my heart: help me to trust. Help me learn to set proper boundaries. Let me see and learn from my mistakes. And forgive me, as I forgive those who trespass against me. Help me to forgive. Yes.<br />
<br />
There is a song to leave with. A song of promise, praise, and hope; sung at Tribe of Los Angeles; based off of Psalm 92:<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Hallelujah, Hallelujah.</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /> We will flourish like a tree.<br /> We will grow strong and green.<br /> We are planted by the water<br /> In the garden of our King.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Hallelujah, Hallelujah.</span></span><br /><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Hallelujah, Hallelujah.</span>Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-30075730820568952392013-06-10T22:55:00.002-07:002013-06-11T02:18:54.397-07:00Smoke SignalsIt's a strange thing to post such "personal" outworkings of my emotions in such a "public" sphere as a blog, I suppose. But I feel like, here, I have a quiet space all to myself. And I feel like I am heard, even if it's only one reader who peruses what I've put down. And I have this hope that it might offer some sense of encouragement should another person stumble across this who is going through something similar. (You, beloved, are not alone.)<br />
<br />
I guess, in a way, it's my experiment in grieving within a society that does not know how to grieve.<br />
<br />
I was told today at work, "Don't think about him. Don't let it get you down. Don't cry."<br />
I suppose that's supposed to be encouraging...<br />
<br />
* * * <br />
<br />
Only two days ago, I found out that the man I love(d) is planning on spending the rest of his life with another woman. It stems out of his concept of "making right" or "manning up" to his (not so distant) past mistakes. He said he loves her. A month ago, he had told me that he no longer had feelings for her - that he had moved on - and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He had asked me for forever. I told him it was too soon to ask me for that - but my heart had consented. He kept flirtatiously bringing it up, and I finally gave in - shyly, because it's a big thing to be asked for forever when you're logically know that it's too soon to be asked, but your heart has already said, "yes."<br />
<br />
My first time falling in love, I suppose.<br />
With the others, there had always been something nagging in the back of my mind - but with him...<br />
<br />
I feel like such a fool. So deceived. So abandoned. So very abandoned. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/0qc1d8BCtAU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(My friend found thi<span style="font-size: x-small;">s song. It</span> says it perfectly - <span style="font-size: x-small;">almost as if he'd written it</span>. And the artist is amazingly talented. How <span style="font-size: x-small;">there are so few <span style="font-size: x-small;">views and likes is beyond my understanding.<span style="font-size: x-small;">)</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
* * * <br />
<br />
It's hard when people continuously want to hear about the man who has made you so happy - but when he breaks you heart, they say, "Don't talk about it - you'll feel better." As if, not talking about him equated not thinking about him. As if I haven't developed the habit of having him on my brain and on my heart. (Maybe that's something to work on.) But, instead of being able to work through my feelings, I am shut up and shut out - not free to talk because people do not know how to handle the pain of others.<br />
And that's a shame.<br />
<br />
I understand that it's important to be professional. And I am trying my very best to do that. I am trying to leave my "baggage" at the door. But it's hard when people want you to be "fine" only two days after your world has been turned upside down.<br />
<br />
I feel so upside down.<br />
<br />
I thought I felt pain when I ended things with him a couple weeks ago (and I did). It was frustrating then because I knew that I needed to do the right, wise thing and let him go so that he could have the space to work out what he needed to do. I hoped he would do the right thing - for all parties involved. And even though I said I had to let the dream of "us" die - I was nagged by a lingering sense of hope.<br />
I felt as though my heart had been ripped out when I heard that he was thinking marrying somebody else after he had told me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But when I heard him answer, "Yes," to my question of "Do you love her?"<br />
...I don't know how to describe what I felt. I still don't. I just feel upside down.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
* * *<br />
He had told me that I loved him like Jesus.<br />
<br />
He had asked me if he could have me for "forever." He asked if he could keep me.<br />
<br />
He wanted to build me a house and a life.<br />
<br />
He had said that we were a "#1 Team." <br />
<br />
He wanted to take care of me.<br />
<br />
He told me that I made him want to be a better man without me even trying. <br />
<br />
He wanted to hold my heart. And he knew that he had it.<br />
<br />
He said he wanted me to be his best friend. He said I was his best friend. And he was becoming mine. <br />
<br />
He said that the way he felt about me was like he had felt with nobody else before...<br />
<br />
He said...he told...he wanted...he asked...he planned...<br />
<br />
And I wanted to be so good: for him and to him. I wanted to adventure with him, and serve with him, laugh with him, cry with him, even fight (and make up) with him. I wanted to support him and him me. I wanted to encourage him and him me. I wanted to make the world more beautiful with him.<br />
* * *<br />
* * * <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i2.tinypic.com/qo8wfb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="http://i2.tinypic.com/qo8wfb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
Two nights ago, when everything fell apart. When he told me that he loved her... <br />
<br />
I told him that I didn't want him.<br />
And that's mostly true, I suppose. I am still desperately in love with the man whom I fell for. I want nothing more than for him to follow through on doing the truly right thing and then for him to come for me...<br />
I wish he was here so that I could scream and cry and fight against him only to have him fold me into his arms and hold me as I cry...and then have him do the right thing even though it's so, very hard. Instead, I am left alone to scream into my pillow. Instead, he is convinced that doing the "right thing" is something which even text books in high school warn against. <br />
<br />
It's wishful thinking - I'm pretty sure of it. I do not think that he has that strength of character. And unless God works a miracle... Well...<br />
<br />
That's the problem with love songs and movies. <br />
<br />
I do not think that the man whom I fell for and the man who told two nights ago that he is in love with somebody else are the same man. <br />
<br />
It's a terrible thing, breaking your heart in front of the person whom you love and
seeing no response. I saw him flinch under my words and felt a sense of
satisfaction - but also a sense of instant remorse. It's a terrible thing to see yourself throwing verbal daggers at someone whom you love. I would have been kinder to him if I could have seen some reflection or ownership of the pain that I felt - the pain that he had caused. But I was not kind. I wanted blood. I wanted his heart to break and bleed like mine. <a href="http://legacy.esvbible.org/search/Romans%203%3A10/" target="_blank">We are all guilty</a>, in the end.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.bodomiklos.hu/img/mid/505/fustjelek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.bodomiklos.hu/img/mid/505/fustjelek.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<br />
I told him that he lied to me.<br />
But I'm not sure if that's true. He never verbally expressed to me with his lips those "three little words." He told my friend. He said it with his eyes. He drew pictures of hearts. He said it in the songs that he sent me. And I knew that he did. I do not know if he still does - or if he has consigned his pursuit of me off to the list of "things that never should have been done" with a deep sense of regret and guilt. But I believe that he once did.<br />
It's just hard to understand. I don't understand how in roughly a month, he could go from telling me that I had a face he would like to "wake up to every morning" to deciding to marry somebody else - somebody whom he had told me he no longer felt for. It's not that I think he lied to me so much as I feel like what he said or made me feel has been completely negated. And I do not know how to process that. I wish he was aware of his heart enough to be able to explain to me his actions. I wish he had fought for me - even fought with me. I wish he had tried to make this right. But he knew that there was nothing that he could do for my broken heart - so he didn't even try. And maybe that's because he'd made up his mind to give up before he even tried. I never had a chance.<br />
<br />
In the end, only God can fix this. And I am thankful for a God who brings healing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y6/internetz/SmokeSignals.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y6/internetz/SmokeSignals.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I told him that I don't expect I'll ever see him again.<br />
It's not that I <i>want</i> to not see him: I would love for him to fix this and for him to win me back. There is so much about him that I like - that I respected, enjoyed, and admired. But I expect that he has made up his mind. And if it was that easy to change - then I stand by what I said in not wanting him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4122/4819093836_50f699264a_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4122/4819093836_50f699264a_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
So, I'm just writing out my thoughts and trying to make sense of my heart; sending smoke signals up into the air - knowing that they probably will not be seen, but sending them up anyway.<br />
<br />
At least I know my prayers are heard.<br />
<i>God, my loss is so deep and so great. You are the only one who can fix this - who can hold all the pieces of my broken heart. You are the only one who can heal me. You are the only one who can redeem this - for me and for them.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> Lord, have mercy. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-71906771577072739062013-06-07T22:58:00.000-07:002013-06-07T23:15:22.298-07:00What it seems..."If it seems too good to be true, it probably is."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Be careful, be careful, be careful. Always be careful."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
"Never trust too quickly."</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Love like that isn't real."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's an amazing thing, holding in your hand and in your heart that for which and for whom you've always wished and prayed - but never believed to be real. <i>Love</i> <i>like that</i> was in the fairy tales which moved my heart. Love <i>like that</i> was for <i>other Christians</i> or just <i>other people in general</i>, but not for me because I wasn't ______ enough. I had determined that my path was to be one of heart ache. And I didn't know why, but I had accepted it; determined to find the beauty there so that I could learn from my pain and comfort others who also found themselves in it. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've grown up, my life shaped by watching the breaking of relationships and hearts. I was always told as the moral of the story of my parent's divorce, "Be careful who you choose." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Almost every relationship prior, I've been terrified at the outset of him leaving. I'm not afraid of that anymore. I'm really more afraid that one day I'll wake up like Cinderella after the clock struck midnight - with all the magical, wonderful, lovely things gone - and a return to my soot and broken pumpkin instead. I keep waiting for my clock to strike midnight <i>because this seems too good to be true</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And then I am reminded in Scripture where God tells us that He is a God who gives good gifts. And I can't think of a better gift than a man who teaches me about the love of God in his pursuit of me. I am learning about how Christ loves the Church, how God loves Israel, how the Holy Spirit works in the hearts of men and women; in the way that he chases after my heart each day - beginning <b>every</b> <b>morning</b> when I wake up.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I am so grateful. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here is a man who speaks the language of my heart. And he doesn't shout it at me. He waits patiently and whispers and coaxes - like a horse whisperer. I am not afraid when my heart is with him. Lord knows I've tried pushing him away - flashing the <i>"I believe in _______"</i> card that so often pushes men away. But instead of standing rigid against me or saying, "Well, I don't - so bye," he replies, "I'm cool with that," and then I know that I am safe to actually talk about it with him.<br />
<br />
He says he's not eloquent, but he writes me the most beautiful love messages.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This man is a gift in my life. And he teaches me patience even as I make him wait. "Not yet," is becoming a phrase that I am learning to not resist or push against. Instead, I am joyfully waiting for when the time becomes <i>"Okay...Now."</i> I don't have to worry about fighting with him for my rights or my dignity as a human being. I don't have to worry about him trying to put me in a place where I am something for him to show off or otherwise follow around in his shadow. Here is a man, instead, who wants to partner with me; who wants to dance with me; who wants to adventure with me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I now legitimately understand how and why people write love songs. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I want to shout it from the rooftops: <span style="font-size: large;"><i>I've found him! </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I've finally foun<span style="font-size: large;">d him!</span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">God has finally <span style="font-size: large;">b<span style="font-size: large;">rought <span style="font-size: large;">"the one<span style="font-size: large;">!"</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've found him!</span></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I am learning also that some <span style="font-size: small;">good things are b<span style="font-size: small;">est kept close t<span style="font-size: small;">o the heart and treasured before being announced. Now is not <span style="font-size: small;">the time for <span style="font-size: small;">proclamation</span>. Now i<span style="font-size: small;">s the time for quiet b<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">reathing</span> an<span style="font-size: small;">d for storing things into my heart.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I started writing the above blog<span style="font-size: small;"> about a month ago, but I didn't publish it becaus<span style="font-size: small;">e I sensed that "Now" was not the right time. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I<span style="font-size: small;">t's amazing <span style="font-size: small;">wh<span style="font-size: small;">at can happen in a few weeks.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's amazing how the fairytale can flip. <span style="font-size: small;">In place of the dream<span style="font-size: small;">-<span style="font-size: small;">come-true is a void<span style="font-size: small;">:</span> a nightmare. And the nightmare is<span style="font-size: small;"> true. And just<span style="font-size: small;"> when you don't think it can get any worse - just when you think you can<span style="font-size: small;">'t feel any more pain tha<span style="font-size: small;">n you already do<span style="font-size: small;">...it does, and you do.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm not goi<span style="font-size: small;">ng to list details or tell any stories,<span style="font-size: small;"> b<span style="font-size: small;">ut I will say that <span style="font-size: small;">what <span style="font-size: small;">little hope I had yesterday ended with <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">hyperventilating</span>, sobbing, uncontrollable shaking, and freezing up.<span style="font-size: small;"> Last night, my stress culm<span style="font-size: small;">in</span>ated and I threw up befo<span style="font-size: small;">re going to bed - losing what little food I had been able to stomach eating. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">(I<span style="font-size: small;"> think that having to scoop on<span style="font-size: small;">e's own vomit out <span style="font-size: small;">of the sink is a<span style="font-size: small;"> special kind of low, b<span style="font-size: small;">y the way.)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">But the Holy Spirit is gracious to me<span style="font-size: small;"> - was a source <span style="font-size: small;">of comfort even then - bringing a God-given num<span style="font-size: small;">bness (a sense of peace, calm, and exhaustion) when my body went into shock (the first time), and finally bringing me sleep when I made it into my b<span style="font-size: small;">ed </span>after losing my dinner. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I woke up today not wanting to move, wanting to <span style="font-size: small;">spend the rest <span style="font-size: small;">of my life curled up on the couch with my cat<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">. But God, the <span style="font-size: small;">Creator of th<span style="font-size: small;">e universe and the Creator of my heart, know<span style="font-size: small;">s how to hold me. And He will bring me he<span style="font-size: small;">aling.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have friends who knew I needed to get out of my ap<span style="font-size: small;">artment today</span>. And although my heart is still aching, my body <span style="font-size: small;">feels numb and weak, and <span style="font-size: small;">I feel the threat of tears burning behind my ey<span style="font-size: small;">es - I feel better<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I h<span style="font-size: small;">ave clarity now.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As friends for two years,<span style="font-size: small;"> as someone who'd known <span style="font-size: small;">the brutal beating that my heart has repeatedly taken over the past two years - he knew that I was vulnerable. He knew that my heart was fragile. I tol<span style="font-size: small;">d him to take it slow<span style="font-size: small;">. I tried so hard to do the right thing - to protect and guard my heart. I tried to be <span style="font-size: small;">wise. I reminded him. I tried.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">But he didn't listen. H<span style="font-size: small;">e went afte<span style="font-size: small;">r what he wanted. And I fell for hi<span style="font-size: small;">m. Hard.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>He may have <i><span style="font-size: small;">felt</span></i><span style="font-size: small;"> love for me. I won't deny that. But, as <span style="font-size: small;">I learned in acting, feeling isn't enough - you have to <i><b>do</b></i> it. And his actions wer<span style="font-size: small;">e not <span style="font-size: small;">and continue to<span style="font-size: small;"> prove that they are not lov<span style="font-size: small;">ing towards me. In the end, sweet words and love songs weren't enough either.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">He promised me the world. He spoke my<span style="font-size: small;"> heart's language. But h<span style="font-size: small;">is poor, foolish choices have led him in a different direction th<span style="font-size: small;">an where he indicated that he and I would go</span> - cho<span style="font-size: small;">sing to <span style="font-size: small;">"do the right thing" by another woman and leaving me in the cold. I don't see that doing right by me and doing right by her would be mutually exclusive, but he has made his choice. He has a bill to pay for his previous choices. And I will not be the one to cover the cost.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am thankful. Thank God he was geographically far away so that he was<span style="font-size: small;"> not able to take anything <span style="font-size: small;">mo<span style="font-size: small;">re from me other than my heart (as if that was a small prize). And thank God that I got out sooner than later - because <span style="font-size: small;">I c<span style="font-size: small;">an<span style="font-size: small;">not imagine <span style="font-size: small;">the amount of <span style="font-size: small;">devastation</span> I'd feel if he <span style="font-size: small;">and I had progressed with a relation<span style="font-size: small;">ship furth<span style="font-size: small;">er tha<span style="font-size: small;">n wh<span style="font-size: small;">at we had started. I literally cannot imagine - because the dev<span style="font-size: small;">a</span>station that I feel now is borderline <span style="font-size: small;">overwhelming.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I went to bed last night feeling like my heart had been repeatedly st<span style="font-size: small;">abbed and then ripped out, leaving a giant cavity in my body where my guts had once been. I fe<span style="font-size: small;">lt like I was covered in my own blood<span style="font-size: small;">...and drowning in it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">On one hand, I feel very much like the victim - targeted as a prize. (<a href="http://jetrake.wordpress.com/2010/09/05/something-for-the-men/" target="_blank">This blog on the </a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://jetrake.wordpress.com/2010/09/05/something-for-the-men/" target="_blank">concept of dating as a form of hunting is really thoughtfu</a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://jetrake.wordpress.com/2010/09/05/something-for-the-men/" target="_blank">l</a>.)</span></span> <span style="font-size: small;">He asked me for forever<span style="font-size: small;"> before he was sure that he was able to offer me the same. But I am also a survivor. At least: I<span style="font-size: small;"> will be.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because, when it comes down to it (verb-wise) he did not love me. He
went after pleasing himself. He did not fight for me, or respect me...or (ultimately)
treasure me. He KNEW that I was so very vulnerable, and he was not
careful with my heart. Intentions mean very little when compared with
actual actions. </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And t</span>his hurts. This hurts like hell. My heart has been <b>fully</b> broken. But I will heal. <span style="font-size: small;">I am already starting to heal.<span style="font-size: small;"> Each bre<span style="font-size: small;">ath that I take is a grace - is a breath t<span style="font-size: small;">owa<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;">ds restoration. I am not okay, but I will be.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I firmly and ful<span style="font-size: small;">ly believe that. That's why I am writing.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know what lesson to have taken out of this: I need a man who will
listen to me and respect me - acting in love to put the well-being of my
heart before his own wants... </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And now I have finals to go work on. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-8837252485212335262013-05-28T23:50:00.000-07:002013-06-05T01:21:43.582-07:00Just another broken heartI'm haunted by the words, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is."<br />
<br />
I thought I was different. I thought I found somebody who proved that my dreams were more than just dreams - that they could be a reality. And I was ready to say, "What cynicism the world is diseased with! I found the fairy tale. I found it to be true!" I was simply waiting for the high to wear off a bit so that I could have clarity to see that things like laundry still needed to be done.<br />
<br />
I found a man who helped me see the truth in all the love songs. Suddenly, those songs weren't just hokey, over-produced lyrics set to melody. They were real expressions of something that the heart could feel.<br />
I'd always said I wanted to be in a relationship with a person who made the love songs feel true. And I finally had that.<br />
<br />
At least, I thought I had that.<br />
<br />
Someday, I'll learn better about timing, I guess.<br />
<br />
And I know that even though I feel like I've been hit by a city bus, that I will survive this. Slowly, God and I will wade through the pain and He will help me walk again.<br />
<br />
I'm not afraid of having a broken heart. I know what it is to feel pain...<br />
I'm afraid of watching my dreams die. I'm afraid of hardening my heart because, honestly, this pain is exhausting.<br />
<br />
I don't want to believe, "If it's too good to be true then it probably is," because I believe in a God of miracles. I believe in a God of love - the Creator of love - the Sharer of love as part of His character. We, made in His image, get to experience and share that too.<br />
Love of all kinds.<br />
<br />
I believe that the Maker of the sunrise can bring love to my heart that lights up my life.<br />
<br />
But, oh God, in the face of watching <i>this</i> dream die, it's hard not to let go of the hope entirely.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DXs8Cv8U02k?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-23139005383204984002013-05-19T00:49:00.003-07:002013-05-19T01:07:43.219-07:00The God who Sees (me)In times of heartache, I often return to stories from Scripture for sources of comfort. Perhaps surprisingly, my first choice oftentimes does not lead me to a story of Jesus. A regular favorite of mine is that of Hagar:<br />
<br />
As a result of Abraham and Sarah not believing God's promise and thereby following God's plan, Hagar, Sarah's personal slave, is sexually used in order to produce Abraham a child. It was not like she had a choice in the matter - no more than she had any say in her body actually becoming pregnant. While I cannot condone Hagar's contempt towards Sarah for being barren, I do not see her poor behavior as justification for the resulting abusive nature with which Sarah treats Hagar (as if there is ever "justification" for abuse). As those of us who grew up in the Church hearing the story know, Sarah's abuse towards Hagar was so bad that Hagar chose to run away into the desert wilderness (surely not a place of survival) rather than remain within the "safety" that Abraham and Sarah's community represented. In case any clarification is needed, Hagar is still pregnant at this point in the story. So, in other words, a pregnant (vulnerable) woman chose running away into the wilderness as preferable to staying with other people who might otherwise protect her. (...Safety in numbers, right?) That's how bad this was.<br />
<br />
However, "The angel of the <span class="small-caps">Lord</span> found [Hagar] by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur." (<a href="http://legacy.esvbible.org/search/genesis+16/" target="_blank">Gen 16:7</a>, ESV) His resulting words of command, encouragement, and promise gave her the courage and strength to return home, bear the child, and the rest (as we say) is history (although a very messy one at that). (I also doubt that when God <a href="http://legacy.esvbible.org/search/gen+16%3A11-12/" target="_blank">promised</a> that her son would be the father of a great nation that she anticipated the [painful] way in which that would come about...but we seldom anticipate the curve-balls that are thrown as a result of living in this fallen, broken world.)<br />
<br />
That's all back-story. Now, here's my favorite part - the part I go back to again and again. Hagar, who has basically been otherwise shat upon by life, (pardon my French) marvels about her interaction with God:<br />
<br />
So she called the name of the <span class="small-caps">Lord</span> who spoke to her, “<b>You are a God of seeing</b>,”<span class="footnote"> </span>for she said, “<b>Truly here I have seen him who looks after me</b>.” (Gen. 16:13, ESV)<br />
<br />
In meeting with Hagar, God acknowledged Hagar's pain <i>which she had done NOTHING to deserve and in no way had "earned</i>,<i>"</i> showed her that He loved her, and also blessed her. He let her know that she (who otherwise did not matter according to society) was <i>seen</i> - that she (and her pain) were not invisible or ignored before Him. And there is such a great mercy in knowing that we are seen and cared for by the Creator of the universe. Hagar's understanding of God - her very name for Him - was shaped by the knowledge that He saw her and watched over her and understood her plight.<br />
<br />
I got curious about differing translations of the Genesis 16:13 and decided to look them up in a quick <a href="http://biblehub.com/genesis/16-13.htm" target="_blank">search engine-type-thing</a>:<br />
<br />
Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the LORD, who had spoken
to her. She said, "<b>You are the God who sees me</b>." She also said, "<b>Have I
truly seen the One who sees me?</b>" (NLV)<br />
<br />
She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: "<b>You are the God who
sees me</b>," for she said, "<b>I have now seen the One who sees me</b>." (NIV)<br />
<br />
Then she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, "<b>You are a God
who sees</b>"; for she said, "<b>Have I even remained alive here after seeing
Him?</b>" (NASB) <br />
<br />
Some of the translations present some her incredulously questioning if she <i>truly </i>just saw God. Others depict her stating (with what I imagine to be amazement and wonder) that she saw God. Throughout the statements and questions, there is a variance in how she perceived Him (or in how the interpreters of the text perceived her interaction). And I love the variance because I think it points to our range of responses when we see or hear God in our lives. (And sometimes this mix of responses elicits forth from the same person, from the same interaction...all within a few moments/hours/days following the interaction with God.)<br />
<br />
I love that God sees me in my pain - that it isn't just something that He glosses over. I figure that if Hagar can have a response of peace, then so can I.<br />
I also love the various translations because each brings out something about the mysterious, wonderful, life-giving, tender power that accompanies the times when God's fingerprints are so clearly left in the workings of our lives.<br />
<br />
So, thank you, God, for meeting me in the wilderness - for seeing me in my pain, and for sending your "angels" to let me know that I'm not alone.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-51836328882396024132013-04-28T17:02:00.001-07:002013-04-28T19:43:06.311-07:00Grief Shadows<div style="text-align: center;">
"<span class="st">To <i>love</i> at all is to be vulnerable. <i>Love</i> anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="st">~ CS Lewis</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1014988/thumbs/o-PREJUDICE-NOELL-S-OSZVALD-570.jpg?6" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1014988/thumbs/o-PREJUDICE-NOELL-S-OSZVALD-570.jpg?6" width="289" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span class="st">I have come to the conclusion that grief exists as a shadow to love and beauty. While we may love something because we find it beautiful, I think that often a thing becomes transformed into something beautiful once we love it: like the transformations in the stories of the frog prince or in beauty and the beast. I also think that sometimes beauty and love work together - not one causing the other - but both working in and on the heart in a mysterious, confusing, simultaneous nature.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">And when that beloved, beautiful thing (or person) is taken away, lost, damaged, or hurt - our heart takes the beating. Because our hearts have become attached. In that beautiful, beloved person or thing, we get a glimpse and a taste of God's beauty - of the way that things were <i>meant</i> to be.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">Grief, then, acts as a testament to the worthy nature of that for which we mourn. Grief points not only to injustice and the sense that <i>this should not be</i>, but also points to <i>"that" was <b>good</b></i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">The last time I reflected like this was when my grandpa died and my world was rocked by wave after wave of heavy grief - because I loved him, and he was gone. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">* * *</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">I am angry. </span><br />
<span class="st">I never thought before that I would ever identify with the title of God as Judge. Although I'd never admit it, I subconsciously thought that the term was archaic. I did not understand it - because I am <i>good</i> and my friends are <i>good people</i>. Of my/our lack of goodness and the presence of pride and self-centered individualism in its stead, I am sure God will someday lead me to explore in a more honest way. But today, I am learning of standing before Him as Judge, <i>demanding <b>justice</b></i>.</span><br />
<br />
Today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and probably tomorrow, and the day after that, I stand before God angry at violent injustice. I am broken about active evil executed by <span class="st">a man against my heart's sister. I don't know if he was blind to how fearfully and wonderfully made she is; or if he saw how she had been crafted in the image of God and, filled with evil, decided to lash out. I don't know.</span><br />
<span class="st">But I am angry.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">It wasn't personal. He didn't even know her. But in violating her body as a woman, he violated my body, the body of my mother, my grandmother - the female body collective. It might not have been personal for <i>him</i>, but as a female, it was personal for <i>me.</i> And this isn't even about me. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">And I want to stand before God and scream for justice. I better understand the Psalmists because I, too, want people dashed against the rocks.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">And then, I reflect that Christ died on the Cross just for instances such as these. He died for rape, and bombings, and genocides, and theft, and assault, and racism, and institutionalized poverty; and for pride which leads <i>good</i> people to think, "Well, I'm not that bad..."</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">* * *</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">So, I stand in the shadows of grief, reflecting upon love and beauty; crying out for justice - and praying it does not fall upon me.</span><br />
<span class="st">Lord, have mercy.</span>Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-44366377613648328122013-04-21T14:33:00.001-07:002013-04-21T14:33:20.257-07:00All Chains BrokenI had a vision that I was half stuck in the ground - like a zombie
struggling to get out of the dirt, or like a person stuck in a hole of
deep-holding mud. Suddenly, the power of chains being broken swept over
me, and my inner self was freed. My spirit, clean, burst forth - swirling
and dancing up into the sky above my filthy, still struggling body. As
my spirit twirled in the air, the Holy Spirit swept and soared into me,
colliding and spinning me into an even stronger, more exuberant dance.
We turned back to my body, still gasping for freedom. My spirit peered into my
body's eyes, tilting my body's chin up before kissing and breathing life into the parched, dried lips of my
face. My spirit wiped away at the mud smattered across my body's
cheeks. Then, the Holy Spirit and I worked to free my body from the
ground - like restoring life to a body that was dead or near to dying.
My body was firmly stuck - although neither impossibly nor eternally so. My spirit pulled, and my body was willing, but also resistant. Finally, not sure where I was in the process of being restored and brought to life, my spirit - now alive and resting in the assurance of the work of the Holy Spirit for my continued restoration - entered back into my body. <br />
<br />
<br />
I'm not sure what that all means. And while I know that it toes the line of gnosticism, I also know that it's not. I just think it's significant.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-45012804417459595162013-04-21T08:00:00.000-07:002013-04-21T14:44:32.903-07:00Ghost Castle PirateLast night I had a dream that I sailed off the edge of the world in hunt of a giant octopus. The pirate king who captained the ship wanted me dead. His ghost castle (he was a ghost as well) was filled with poisoned tempting foods - like chocolate. Eating any of the food there would result in poisoning, death, and then belonging to the pirate king (slighlty remeniscent of the mythology of Persephone, Hades, and the pomegranate seed). But, I had resisted. At first he was shocked and disbelieving. Then, he believed - but he wanted me dead. He possessed an attitude of entitlement to me - but he could only "win" me as his prey through trickery. Thus, he decided to raise the stakes and take me on an adventure - sure where I would give into temptation along the way, die, and then be his.<br />
<br />
So, we sailed on his ship into a magical port and over the edge of the world. And while I knew in my sleep that I was dreaming, I still felt my heart rise to my throat and the thrill of a long, downward fall. I don't remember how we landed. I only know that we caught the beast who cursed us for the abuse worked against him. The kraken was made as a god among men, and we had deigned to capture him with nets and ropes. If the pirate king intended to kill the beast or instead to enslave his power, I do not know. Because then I woke up.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-176175179142204402013-04-17T02:00:00.000-07:002013-04-17T02:00:12.268-07:00Scratch-marksThere's something about having what (or whom) you love stripped from your life that leaves you feeling like clawing at the air.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward two weeks and people expect that because you're acting "better" that, naturally, everything must be fine.<br />
<br />
Oh, what a shock when the grief-wave hits again, complete with the undertow of anger. There's nothing like <i>that</i> to remind yourself (and everyone around you) that, no darlin', you're not "okay" yet.<br />
<br />
But, Lord-willing, Lord-providing, and Lord-carrying-your-brokenhearted-little-body-through-it-all, you're at least on the path to healing.<br />And the up-shot is that your wounds will help you better love people in the future when their heart is chopped up like yours has been. It's comforting to know that your wounds will someday bring another comfort. (It's a picture of Christ, isn't it?)Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-83295553475259821502013-04-15T02:07:00.002-07:002013-04-15T02:11:34.602-07:00TribeToday and yesterday (for reference, Sunday and Saturday) were surprisingly easy days for me. I woke up happy or at least neutral. The cloud of pain that has surrounded me - at times making it difficult to see - has been gone. I suppose that an honest conversation with people who love you (but who have still broken your heart) will do that for you. I suppose also that finally releasing the pain dammed up inside will do that for you too. After the torrential outpouring, my emotions are slowly subsiding. I don't think we humans are made to carry the pressure of that much pain. And when we dam up our emotions we damn ourselves. (No, I don't mean in a sort of heaven-hell sort of way. I mean that we destroy ourselves.) Again, this points to the necessity of being surrounded by loving community with whom we can be honest.<br />
(I know also that grieving comes in waves [or cycles] so I may end up wading through pain again, but I've accepted these past two days as a gift. My appetite has slowly returned and I've been able to sleep better. Now I primarily feel physically exhausted - as opposed to physically and <i>emotionally</i> exhausted. For that, I am thankful and simply await what the next day will bring.) <br />
<br />
It's hard to be honest. Especially about grief. I think it's because being honest about grief is dangerous. Going back to our society not knowing how to grieve, I think that society also does not know what to do with people who are in pain. "Feel better!" is an easy response. Instead of grieving with those who grieve, we try to throw band-aids on deep emotional lacerations, or we offer distractions and words of advice to "Don't think about it." We don't want to sit with those who hurt because we don't want to feel uncomfortable. We want life to be happy. So, we want others to be happy - especially if we do not understand why they are hurting. So, we further wound them by taking away their right to feel or by discrediting the validity of their emotions.<br />
<br />
Because when we are faced with the real pain of others, we must be real about our own quiet despair. We must be honest about the paradise that we do not live in. The hurting person before us serves as a mirror for our inability to be perfect - especially if that person before us is hurting as a result of our actions.<br />
The person who publicly grieves is not weak. The honesty of showing the broken and vulnerable places is an act of absolute bravery.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I didn't want to go to church tonight. I avoided it this morning, telling myself that I would go this evening. But as the hour approached, I felt my resistance deepening. I had spent the day reading about what it means to be the community of God and absolutely knew that I did not want to go to church tonight because <b>I did not want to have to be real with people</b>. But, I ate too many jellybeans while sitting on the couch and thinking over my desire to stay home and feel exhausted. I gave myself a stomach ache and thought, "Well, church has a free dinner. I guess I'll go and eat...I really should go anyway."<br />
I know it sounds like less than "Citizenship of the Month" quality character, but I think God takes and uses what we give Him in order to get us to where we need to be. And tonight, I needed to be at Tribe.<br />
<br />
Here's what Tribe was for me tonight:<br />
A meal of fellowship. Eucharist. A warm welcome after I'd been gone for a long time. Worship sung in harmony and wild abandon. Hugs. Smiles and joking with kind eyes and gentle touch. Dogs running around. Stomping feet. Clapping Hands. A wine glass knocked over and broken. A drum circle. A violin. Quiet listening. A kiss on the cheek. Holding hands with fingers interlocked. Prayer. Honest hearts. Conversation over washing dishes. Blessing.<br />
<br />
A dear but recent friend approached me after the service and asked how I was doing. I told him, "Tired."<br />
"Tired?"<br />
"Yeah, weary."<br />
"Tired from not enough sleep, or tired from a week of shit?" asked the saint.<br />
I told him, "Both."<br />
And then we really talked.<br />
<br />
<br />
I went back to Tribe last week after a year of being gone because I knew it was the place that was safe for me to go and be shattered - and have that be okay. I went back to Tribe tonight, because I knew I needed to be there, because I ate too many jellybeans and gave myself a tummy ache, and because last week another saint asked if I'd be returning. I told him, "Yeah...I mean, maybe."<br />
<br />
Tribe lets me be a stray cat that wanders in and out of the warehouse where they meet. Tribe welcomes me with open arms, open hearts, and plates of food. Tribe never asks me of anything other that I come and simply <i>be</i> - knowing that when I get to a point where I am able to contribute, I will.<br />
I've been asked if I'll be coming more regularly, and I say that I'm not sure. And I'm accepted. <br />
<br />
Tonight, as I walked to my car, a man chased after me in the parking lot. "Hey!" He said, "I didn't get to introduce myself to you." We exchanged names and he asked, "Will you be back next week?" "Yeah!" I replied, "Well - wait - no. I'll be in Memphis." He rocked back, "Say whaaaat!?" We laughed and I asked him, "Are you a regular attender?" "I'm working on it," he answered. "Oh, how long have you been coming here?" (With the exception of last week, I haven't been to Tribe in about a year, so I figured it was a fair question.)<br />
"Tonight is my first night."<br />
And those are the kind of people who make up Tribe.<br />
<br />
And somehow, I am one of them.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-24990943043428108902013-04-13T03:40:00.000-07:002013-04-13T03:47:03.139-07:00Leaks*I sat in a small wooden boat on the shore near the edge of the sea, watching the tide roll in. Huge waves crashed in on themselves, sending up sprays of water that angrily hissed and roared each time. The water crept nearer, somehow maintaining the deceptive appearance that it had not reached me until, before I knew it, I found my small craft lifted by the inky black underneath and now surrounding me. My heart skipped a beat as panic and adrenaline shot through my body. The water surged around me, pulling at my boat like fingers. And my boat shuddered in return, fighting the force of the water, but too rickety to keep the sharp pokes at bay. Slowly, leaks sprang. With no bailing devices, I did the most natural thing possible: I tried to stop the leaks. I crammed the ball of my foot into one crevice while jamming my fingers into other dribbling pools. I'd been swept up in a surge that I dared not lose myself in, but my only floatation device was failing me. I did not have enough fingers or toes or hands or feet. Each leak gave to a spurting geyser, like a bleeding artery.<br />
Finally, in my desperation, I called out for help - *<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm not going to fake it and pretend that I've been sleeping well for the past week, or pretend that I haven't lost my appetite. I have trouble sleeping, and grief has left me with an almost perpetual sense of nausea. I've spent much of my time hoping for distraction, trying to focus on the work that I know that I need to be doing. If there ever was a way to break me, this week has been it. And yet, in my brokenness, I've finally been stripped of the ability to mask my pain enough so as to fool most people around me into thinking that I'm okay.<br />
<br />
I've always been one to wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I don't really like it when my pain shows (refer to previous post about "Hilary Bean..."). I've tried to hide that I'm hurting, but the pain has shot through like water bursting through a poorly constructed dam - finding chinks and cracks in the seams so that I've practically been oozing. Finally being this tired has left me in a spot where all I can say is, "No, I'm not okay." And there's something amazing in that. Because from that spot begins a conversation or a journey in honesty. Granted, I don't want to wallow here; but there's something remarkably freeing about not trying to be so "strong" - as if I didn't need anybody around me to love, hold, and support me right now.<br />
<br />
I have always made it a goal to be honest, but I cheat that standard when I am not fully honest so as to "protect" others from what I perceive to be something that they could not handle (usually, my emotions). But if we are called to tell the truth in love (another Scripture reference from some place in the Bible that I'm way too tired to look up), then I must balance the two. <br />
I tell the truth in a manner of love. Telling the truth is a way that I love. I love, ergo I tell the truth. Knowing the truth, further allows me to know and be known - and to love. With this as context, I now share some wise words that I was told tonight, and which I hope to add to and shape my journey in becoming a loving truth-teller:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="userContent">"Verbalize what is true. Don't verbalize what is 'safe' or 'comfortable' - verbalize what is true. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="userContent">(When you don't, that's what gets you into trouble.)"</span></span></div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-27999335279240782782013-04-11T12:49:00.003-07:002013-04-16T10:27:39.528-07:00Because Hilary Bean said I could...and that I should(Get ready for some train-of-thought writing.) <br />
<br />
I wonder what it would be like if glass could bleed.<br />
When we hurt, we say that we feel "broken," "cracked," or "shattered." I feel like all that's left of my heart is a pile of broken bits - tiny shards of glass. For some reason, the pile sparkles like diamonds. The picture doesn't quite make sense to me, because I know that my heart is an organ...and if anything it's red.<br />
<br />
Glass is sharp - especially when it's broken. It's something that we're careful to stay clear of because we know that it will cause us pain - that it will make us bleed.<br />
<br />
But what would it be like if glass could bleed?<br />
<br />
Would the shattered pile of crystals slowly turn blood red? Would there be an oozing puddle - something to clean up aside from the broken sparkly bits?<br />
<br />
<br />
My friend wanted me to write again. I told her, "I can't. I'm blocked. And when I'm not blocked, all I generally have is pain."<br />
And she told me that was okay.<br />
And I am thankful for that. Truly thankful. Because, Lord knows, I have enough pictures and words in my head to fill a page right now. <br />
<br />
<br />
I think we have trouble with grieving in our society. And I wonder if it has now become the responsibility of the artist to be the funnel for that emotion. I am putting my pain onto the page, or the canvas, or on stage so that those in the audience can be swept up in it. Sharing my pain allows them to feel theirs. We all feel together. We all cry together. We are all washed clean together.<br />
It's a strange idea about being baptized in tears, and I wonder if it's slightly heretical. (I'm studying theology, after all, so this sort of thing matters.) But, looking at other claims in the Bible where the writer points an ugly finger at God (perhaps a theologically inaccurate finger at God), and seeing His response of gracious love, maybe my metaphor is "okay."<br />
<br />
I've been praying a lot to God lately. It goes like this, "What the f*ck?" I figure that if God can handle a whole book of Job and several Psalms, He can handle my prayer. And I am thankful that He does. And I figure that if the Holy Spirit intercedes for me in my groaning (or in my simple, three-word prayer) then God can understand what I cannot fully express but can only hint at when I raise my fist in the air and shake it at Him in my pain. Really, it's not my fist that I'm raising - it's my heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
Art is a strange thing. For it to be good, it has to be honest. That's what good communication is. And while I've so desperately wanted to write, I've been afraid to because of my desire to protect others. If this is uncomfortable to read, just think how it feels to write it. I don't want you, my dear reader, to be worried about me. And yet, as a human being, I want to be cared for. Maybe I do want to raise some concern.<br />
There's a passage that comes to mind. I don't remember where it is, exactly (kinda like the one I referenced earlier about the Holy Spirit). But it has to do with bearing one another's burdens. What does it say when I refuse to let my family (extended beyond genetics) help me carry this burden? I say that I'm doing it out of protection for them...but let's be honest: I'm doing it out of the desire to protect myself. I don't want to be seen as broken. I want to be the girl with the smiling face - the girl who makes people laugh. I don't want to be the girl who has trouble walking because her (metaphorical) legs were just taken out from underneath her - who is now having trouble breathing after having the wind knocked out of her. (My view, as I gaze up into the sky from the position of lying on my back is of deep, dark, rolling clouds, by the way.) I don't want to tell people that my world <i>right now</i> is a hellhole of brokenhearted pain.<br />
I would rather struggle under the burden of a broken heart, wrapped up in the smothering sheets of my pride. But that's how they lay people in tombs. And I want to live.<br />
<br />
So, here I am: following the advice of one famous writer: "Writing is easy, all you have to do is bleed all over the page." I have a lot of pride.<br />
<br />
Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner. And what the f*ck.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-17518730234778802192013-01-17T18:18:00.003-08:002013-01-17T18:18:42.006-08:00Irony and CritiqueJust a small thought on the power of art - it has an ability to function as a mirror, confronting us with our own ugliness in a way that shatters our formerly held perceptions without breaking us as individuals. (Or, perhaps it does break us - but it does so in a way that we subtly allow, even if we're not aware of it.) In the breaking, art pushes and hopes for something better.<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">That being said...</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">We say that people are not for sale, but what
about our identities? In buying things to define us, what have we sold
ourselves to?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/gAg3uMlNyHA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-87522045534137054202013-01-10T21:06:00.000-08:002013-01-10T21:10:28.591-08:00HowlMy heart feels more comfortable out in the frigid weather than
in the cozy warmth of my apartment tonight. Out there are howlings and
gusts which thrash about. Out there, the weather wants to fight - and my
heart wants something to push against other than my ribcage. Out there,
my heart resonates with the weather on what it means to feel frustraed
as my body literally pushes against the wind.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling this song tonight. I don't like all the lyrics, but this
is where I'm at. Listen to the music - not necessarily to the words, but to the sound that the words make. Between the wind and this song is maybe where
you'll find me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gH2efAcmBQM" width="560"></iframe>Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-43645862880998010002012-11-30T18:05:00.000-08:002012-11-30T18:05:02.021-08:00After a break: Why Beauty MattersAs of tomorrow, my brother will have been married for two months. It was a lovely wedding which, aside from all the special moments afforded when one's only brother gets married to a wonderful woman, I had my own special breakthrough. I met a man who was a friend of the couple (a mentor and photographer during the wedding) who I got to talking with. He asked me about my dreams, plans, and interests and then encouraged me to start blogging about my passion: beauty (perhaps more specifically, the theology of beauty).<br />
<br />
I've put it off because I've been "busy," (truly - grad school is keeping me on my toes) but it's stayed in my head as something I truly want to start doing. Tonight, I ran across something that captured my attention so much that I simply couldn't wait any longer to blog. So, tonight, I offer something blog-worthy: why I think beauty matters.<br />
<br />
Beauty matters.<br />
It matters because it gives us hope and courage. It gives us something to fight for when others don't believe in us. Beauty matters because it restores our humanity.<br />
And here is a video that proves me right:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8OcQ9A-5noM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Be Blessed.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-78545093737051176162012-10-23T19:34:00.000-07:002012-10-23T20:45:17.707-07:00From within my Ribcage Fear is immobilizing and perfectionism is an insidious disease - stemming from the greater evil of pride. A constant "I can't" results in failure. True, "I can't" when I won't even allow myself to try.<br />
Perfection is unobtainable. So, instead of "the best" I will strive for "my best...considering my circumstances." I will not beat myself up for failing to be as good (or better) than everybody else. "Everybody else" is not living my life - I am.<br />
Perhaps, this may be an area where "Goodenough" becomes a worthy goal. A steady reliance on the familiar and a refusal to risk the new, masked by excuses unworthiness, results in a stagnant, stale life. One might say it's a life void of living. In this way, relaxing welcomes adventure. Humility realizes my weaknesses, celebrates my strengths and then says, "Let's do this."<br />
<br />
If faith is action, then I need to step out. If I truly believe that God is guiding my path and leading my steps, then I need to move. Fear of failure is really indicative of a lack of trust in the One who calls Himself the Good Shepherd, Loving Father. If I believe, then I need to be open...<br />
<br />
So, here I am: learning to face my fears, willing to trust the Love I say I believe in, facing the suffocation offered if I let fear and perfectionism rule my life - daring what it means to breathe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://blackbirdletterpress.com/Kathryn/2008/breathe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://blackbirdletterpress.com/Kathryn/2008/breathe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(something beautiful that I found)<i> </i></div>
<i>breathe</i>, paper cut out instalation, by Kathryn Hunter<br />
<span class="style8">Lineage, 2008<br />
Alfred C. Glassell Jr. Exhibition Gallery, Shaw Center for the Arts, Baton Rouge, Louisiana</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="style8">Check out more of her work at: </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="style8">http://blackbirdletterpress.com/Kathryn/2008/2008.html </span></div>
Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-18595387110130398982012-06-27T02:38:00.001-07:002012-06-27T02:38:38.676-07:00Last night. Three dreams.I think the post title pretty much says it all: last night (rather, this morning) I had three dreams. The first two weren't all that important, but mostly amusing, so I'll include them:<br />
<br />
1. I dreamt that I made a rather large mess. I'm not gonna get into the details, but cut to the chase to say that since I was responsible for it, I had to clean it up. For some reason, there were gypsies around me, watching me clean. I was doing a good job, working hard, and the progress was showing. All I could think was, "Great - I'm going to get grabbed." *sigh* (I guess that "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" marathon from a couple weeks ago leaked into my subconscious.)<br />
<br />
*And then I woke up.<br />
<br />
2. I fell back asleep and dreamt that I was at a friend's wedding. (I didn't actually go to the wedding in reality.) I was sitting at a table at the reception and found out that some other friends of mine who are dating had just gotten engaged. (In real life, they're still just dating - I checked on Facebook.)<br />
<br />
* And then I got an annoying phone call that was thankfully short enough for me to fall back into a deeper sleep.<br />
<br />
3. This time I dreamt that I was at a wedding on a beautiful, sunny day. The caliber was something along the lines of "FlashMob" combined with a theatrical musical. Everybody was on a large, outdoor stage before hundreds (if not a thousand) people. The groom and pastor smiled and waited on the stage that was covered with large bouquets while the bridesmaids and groomsmen stood alongside, singing and dancing (something like a choir or group of Motown back-up singers). Everybody was there - except for the bride. But that really wasn't an issue because the performance on stage was going so well (everybody was well entertained) and we knew that she'd be there soon. I was running around backstage, coordinating, I guess. We had her dress ready for her to change into when she arrived in brown skirt suit. For some reason, during the change-off, I started thinking about the day I found out that my grandpa died. I had an ear cuff that I lost at my grandparents' house while sleeping on their couch. In my dream, I finally "remembered" where the cuff had fallen under the couch. I was able to see it so clearly...and I wanted to get it back so badly. It hurt how much I missed my grandpa. A woman next to me sensed how I felt and asked me, "Are you lonely?" I answered, "Yes." (I was lonely for my grandpa.) She told me, "Try not to think about it."<br />
<br />
*And then my alarm went off. And I still missed him. And I cried.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-72902018583409067972012-06-16T16:53:00.002-07:002012-06-16T16:53:46.451-07:00Like iridescent bubbles<br />
<div class="statusUnit" style="padding: 10px 0px 15px;">
<div class="tlTxFe" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Two nights ago I dreamt that from my grandparents' home, I was able to see a view of the valley filled with beautiful, giant, iridescent bubbles. I told my grandpa, who (for some reason) snapped at me and hurt my feelings. He felt bad and offered to take me on a ride through the orchard on his old jeep. It was his way of apologizing...<br /><br />And I woke up missing him. It'll be two years ago that he passed away in July. I think that there are some wounds that never fully heal.</div>
</div>Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-15343823127689766422012-03-08T15:51:00.001-08:002012-03-08T16:00:11.232-08:00Walk with me.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nkibjIxGtI0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<br />
It's an interesting thing - often when people find out that I'm in seminary, they think that I must have it all together. That I have all the answers. That I'm some sort of Super Christian.<br />
<br />
But the truth is this: there are days like today when I am caught by a strong nagging doubt in the midst of otherwise enjoying (dare I say "worshipping?) God. The interruption comes something like this - "Is this <i>really</i> what I <b>believe</b>? Is this <i>really</i> the <b>reality</b> that I accept? Is this <i>really</i> the <b>Truth</b> that I believe in? Am I <i>sure</i> that it's not some sort of <b>fairytale</b> that I've <i>bought into</i>? This <b>Jesus</b>...<i>really</i>?" Blindsided by my own doubt, I am left stunned and feeling as if I'm standing on spiritually wobbly legs.<br />
<br />
Yet, in those moments of introspection, I answer with a (shaky), "Yes." Because that <i style="font-weight: bold;">is</i> what I believe. And the more I self-examine my beliefs, the stronger that "yes" becomes (thank God). There's something to be said for having reason - after all, I am a reasonable creature (and by that I mean I have the ability to reason). Logically speaking, I can understand how the gospel could sound absolutely crazy - but I have seen and experienced what could easily be called acts of mystery. Acts of the spiritual. I call them acts of God.<br />
It comes to this: my <b>faith</b> is not contingent upon having all the <b>answers</b>. I am learning. I am growing. I stumble, but God extends His hand to me and lifts me back up. I am walking down a path on a spiritual journey through life. So are you.<br />
So, let's journey together.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399062302014069964.post-86755858535145256822012-03-05T15:39:00.000-08:002012-03-05T15:39:41.585-08:00Some things, I just can't fully explainIt feels muggy today - like a storm is waiting to blow in - with quiet stirrings while the wind blows through the trees and plants. Not all of the plants speak, but the ones that do whisper in shushing sounds as the heat pushes down. Even the light feels filtered and still - like the blue sky is masked in a thin gauze made of clouds.<br />
And I can't fully explain it, but somehow it all resounds with how my spirit feels today.Becka_Bohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08410509925864768518noreply@blogger.com0