Saturday, December 21, 2013

When you feel too dirty for the Nativity to be for you

*Warning, there is some swearing in this post. *

Most of us have heard it, the nativity story, some of us dozens of times if not more.

The Christ child born of Mary in a manger while shepherds quake and angels sing.
Mary and Joseph chosen of God to bear and raise the King of Kings.

And it was asked for me to tell which of these people in the story spoke most to me. And the truth is they didn't speak, not even a whisper. They felt too far, too distant from me and my filth. They felt too squeaky clean.

I questioned my Christianity.

How could they not even whisper?

Without this birth, this baby, there would be no Savior.

A baby born to bear my sins.

I have heard it said by others that they have done and been and seen too much for God to ever forgive them.

This Christmas story leads to the Cross.

Where sinless Jesus took on our sins, bore our burdens, so we could be free/redeemed.

The Cross to the Resurrection.

I wrote once about the thorns of sin that I knowingly and willingly walked into:

"I look at my blood stained skin, the thorns dipped in red.  Suddenly they are not just my thorns, they are Christ's.  I have crowned Him in these thorns that I willingly walked into.  He suffered, bled His own blood, skin pierced by the thorns that weren't His own.  His glory forsaken, to be crowned in my sin." 

I realized tonight that I struggle so much with relating to the people in the Christmas story, because I have felt more like the shit filled manger.  Smelly, disgusting.  Guilt ridden knowing that I will pierce that baby with these thorns. 

So, I wonder if those people who think they are too shit filled for Jesus feel a lot like that; guilty for putting their thorns and crap on a baby.  Is it the manger story that makes the Cross of Christ so hard for our minds to bear? 

God reminded me tonight of something I think is often over looked.  At least I know that I have over looked it and that is this:

Before Jesus came to earth as a tender, sweet baby, He sat on the throne in Heaven where all of time was laid out before Him. 

He saw and knew exactly what thorns/sins I would crown Him with that day on Calvary, long before He lay in swaddling clothes.  And He still came to earth.  And He chose to come to earth in a manger.

I don't think that was an over sight on His part.

He was born in a shit filled manger, so that people who feel like I did can rest assured that He can be born in them too.

So I don't relate to a person in this story, I relate to the place.

Come be born in me again this Christmas, Lord Jesus.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

To the little girl in me

To The Little Girl In Me:

You scare me.  You are so young.  You are a thing that exists only in emotions and feelings.  You have no words for this writer's hand to scribe.  I don't know how to grow and give voice to a girl who cannot even speak. 

I know you are young, because I cannot remember a time when I did not steel myself to this world.  A time that I didn't know that emotions and feelings got you nowhere and that they were better off shoved down deep.  I can't remember when I didn't take life's jabs and pretend they didn't hurt; a time when I didn't equate bearing pain to being strong.

I see you there in the corner of myself.  In that place I do not want to look.  I see you in all your raw emotions: anger, sadness, fear - deathly fear, and the dark lack of words that surrounds you.

It is in you and your corner in which you hide that the monsters lie.

They lie there scratching like a thing behind a door.....scratching, scratching, scratching. 

It is you and the monsters that make me fear intimacy in all of its connotations. 

When you hid you took Intimacy with you.  You locked it up tight with you and the monsters. 

To free one is to free all. 

I don't know how to free you though. 

I get close to you and I hear you crying, I see your wordless darkness, I feel you cower into a ball, so I do what you couldn't and I run.  I run away from you, that place, that darkness that surrounds you. 

But my running isn't working.  Your cries are getting louder.  You want out of your darkened prison and away from the monsters.

I just don't know how to do that.  You taught me to bury the pain and burying the pain means that I bury you too. 

So little girl, I know you are there.  I just don't know how to pick you up and bring you back home so you can grow.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Tuesdays Unwrapped : The waiting room

It was snowing this morning.  Our first "real" snow of the season where it decided to stick and accumulate in the grass.  I had a 1:30 appointment for a CAT scan, so due to the snow I decided to leave early and give myself plenty of time to get there safely and register. 

The waiting room itself was just a little hovel of a space carved out of a wall in the hallway.  The furniture looked as though it had come from the 80's, maybe even off of a set from the Golden Girls.  Plastic faded mauve pink tables and metal chairs some covered in a diluted purple pattern and others in aqua green color.  Two tables and 7 chairs in all. 

A man sat in the corner to my left.  He sat there sipping his contrast while I tried to get 3G on my phone.  As we sat another man joined us on the right of me.  He had a stack of papers in his hand, I assumed they were forms to fill out.  He was only there for about 1 minute when he was called back for whatever procedure he was getting.

This hallway waiting room was not going to give me internet satisfaction, so I put my phone away in my purse. 

An older man and woman came and joined us next.  I had assumed they were a couple but he was actually her Father.  She carried her two bottles of contrast in with her.  They were very friendly.  We joked about how I felt left out since I did not get any lovely bottles of liquid contrast of my own. 

As we sat the Father told us it was his "baby girl" that he was here with and that he was totally healthy.  He had no aches and pains, lumps or bumps, not a thing wrong.  She put up her fists and told him that if he didn't knock it off he was going to have some pain in his head. 

He asked her if she had told her boys about whatever it was that she was getting a CAT scan for.  You could tell he was concerned about his baby.  She told him that only he knew, she didn't want to worry anyone until she knew what it was she was dealing with and if there was even a reason to be concerned. 

He joked again about being perfectly healthy for being such an old fart.  I told him I would gladly trade with him.  But behind his jokes I knew he was wishing he could trade places with her. 

It was time for the man in the corner to go get his scan.  The other two wished him luck.

It hadn't really hit me that this process would be concerning.  I myself have a lump on my neck of who knows what.  I went to this appointment with excitement, because maybe now this thing, whatever it is, will have an answer; a reason behind it.  It may even unlock the mystery of what has been plaguing my body off and on for the last three years. 

I thought about what it would be like to be on the other side:  Afraid of finding out the answers, afraid of what might come next. 

I tend to be a person who thinks of all the possibilities and then prepares myself mentally for them.  In this case I think I expect to hear it is just another anomaly, something that cannot be explained by medical testing. I have told myself that if it comes back with an answer, even the cancer kind of answer, that I will be okay with it, glad even, because it will be SOMETHING instead of nothing, again.

As I sat and laughed with and observed the people in the out dated chairs I started to wonder just how I would handle hearing that it was something.  Really, actually, something......  To be honest, I am not sure. 

I think it will be a lot like when I found out I was pregnant with my oldest only a month into my relationship with my husband.  I cried because I was happy and I cried because I was scared. 

I will be glad to have the results in the next 48 hours, because then I can move forward from there. 

Linking up with:

Tuesdays Unwrapped

Saturday, December 7, 2013

The last two weeks of life

My thoughts lately have been heavy and hemmed in by a foggy mist, which is why I have been silent so much.  I start to write, but the thoughts stay unfinished, so I have lots of start up posts and no actually postings. 

Since I haven't been able to get my words down well I thought I would share with you what I have been doing the last few weeks, other than the normal share of Momsabilities. 

Like most families in America we feasted on Turkey that last Thursday of last month.  This year was the first year since ever that we didn't have anyone over.  It was just our own little family.  In some ways it felt odd and not very "holiday-ey", but in most ways it felt wonderfully relaxing and freeing.  We were at our own discretion for when, what, and how we did or didn't do everything that day.  We were able to sleep in.  I didn't even have to make a pie.....and didn't.  It still ended up being a lot of work on my end and the majority of the kids decided to eat hot dogs versus the turkey and all the fixins I had spent the entire day making, but it was good, because no one was stressed out and everyone was happy. 
  I set out a snack bar for us to feast 
The olive monster strikes again.
 on while we waited on the bird.  Olives are a must, just so my husband can put them on his fingers as he has done every year since childhood.  *Note the array of papers spread across the floor with all the black Friday ads*

As I look at the food placed on the counter I can't help but be thankful for the fact that we have been blessed with a nice home, plenty to eat, and the ability to enjoy both. 

Of the few children that chose to eat the turkey none were happier that my ten year old, Kody.  He is a meat and potatoes kind of guy and so Thanksgiving dinner is right up his alley.  This year he was especially happy because he was allowed to eat the turkey leg,

Just like this.....................................................................

After dinner was finished and the kitchen put back in order I finally was able to sit down and look at the ads in the paper that had been spread across the floor.   I had not planned to go black Friday shopping this year, but there was something I had been wanting for one of the kids and Steve didn't want to go out and buy it on his own, so we did the un-thinkable and went out on Thanksgiving night.  We had planned to only hit that one store, but ended up going to 4 different ones.  What was supposed to be a short outing turned being a 4 1/2 hour production, but amazingly the only line we stood in lasted about ten minutes.  We pretty much got to everything after the big rush of people so all was calm and smooth sailing.  Plus I found a couple of really great deals for the Toys for Tots bin (or comparable charity) and was able to put a huge dent in my Christmas shopping.

This week following Thanksgiving has been a blur of flour, sugar, and butter. 

I agreed to make a retirement cake for a couple of guys in Steve's office and our church was having a Fast Friends Women's Party on Friday and we were supposed to bring a dozen cookies for it.  Baking for these events started on Tuesday.

I decided to make decorated sugar cookies for the church event, so on Tuesday I mixed my dough. 

On Wednesday I rolled, cut out, and baked the cookies.  I also made the marshmallow fondant for the retirement cake.

On Thursday I baked all three layers of cake and made three batches of white chocolate almond frosting. Then I frosted and filled the cake, crumb coated it, and let it set before picking up the kids from school.  After school I colored the fondant black, made buttercream transfers, and finished frosting and decorating the cake. The entire process start to finish took about  8 hours. 

Here is how it turned out............
side view of the cake

view from above the cake.

My camera doesn't show the details very well, but you can get the general idea.  The sub is pure marshmallow fondant.  The turkey leg eating boy up above loves all things military and happened to have a plastic toy submarine of the same model that I needed for this cake, so I used his toy as a mold (after washing it well of course) to make this one.  It is fully edible minus the toothpicks holding up the fin and fair water planes and rudder.  The people will pick it up in about ten hours from now.  I hope it is what they were envisioning.

Friday I made and colored the royal icing for the cookies for church.  I discovered in the process that I am going to need more tips of the proper size for piping.  I also decided to make and take Nordy bars along with me. *Sorry no pictures of those, but they are delish*

These are the finished cookies.  Again sorry for the picture quality and the way they are displayed.  I snapped a quick picture of them before I started to plate them to go. 

 The elf cookies are made from my ice cream cone cutter just flipped upside down.  They ended up with green hats, because I didn't quite make enough red frosting.  The frosty's never got their hats either because I didn't have enough tips for the black frosting.
The two santa's in the middle are made from a cupcake cutter turned upside down and the reindeer are gingerbread men also turned upside down.  *All of the repurposed cutter ideas were found online.....I am not that creative.* 

I just love the itty bitty cookies.  I made those out of the scraps of cookie dough that was left over. 

Doesn't that one reindeer look like he got caught in the headlights?  And that poor bitty reindeer never did end up getting eyes. 

After I had decorated all I felt I needed I let the kids go at it with the left over cookies.  Here are a few of theirs....
Karson 5 happily playing with his food. By the time he was done his mouth was completely blue from getting into my coloring gels.   My 11 year olds arm is next to him.  I love this lazy Susan that you can see on the right.  I put all my sprinkles and tools on it for easy grabbing as I am working, plus when they kids use it, it makes for less arguments since they can all end up reaching everything.

Katie, 14 made this sweet masterpiece.  She later added candy cane sprinkles around the edges of the frosting part of the cupcake.

Klara 8 did a fabu job on this sweet angel without any help or direction.  I think I have a future decorator on my hands.

Klayton 3 is very proud of his masterpiece.

Katie made this little happy marshmallow fellow while she was waiting for her turn at the cookies.

What have you been up to these last couple of weeks?

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Tree

The tree.

Somewhere deep inside of me is a tree.

For a long time I had no idea that it was there, growing.
I discovered it earlier this year when I read from Isaiah 61.

The version that I read had the word terebinth in the footnotes where it said 'oaks of righteousness'.

When I saw the word 'terebinth' my heart stirred. 

I did a google search and found a  website that had this to say about the terebinth tree:

"From the Hebrew root signifying “mighty” are derived several names which are usually translated “oak,” or “plane,” in our Bible. All of them, however, appear to stand for  trees remarkable for size and strength."

As I read this I wrote the following in a letter to my counselor:

Sometimes I can feel it.  I can feel this sense that I was meant for something great.  Not great by the standard of the world, but great none the less.  That God has this purpose for me that is great.  I just don’t know what it is yet or how to get there.  This feeling flits in and out of my life at varying times.  I struggle with the how and the when and the through of getting to that point.  Life just bogs me down.  I know that compared to the world that my life is cake, moist and filling in comparisons to the dry dust they are living.  This realization should be freeing, but it just heaps on more guilt for my inability to find joy. 

I was looking up the Isaiah verse about beauty for ashes and I got a glimpse of hope, of maybe there is more to my story than the bog I get weighed down in.  Here is the passage in its entirety:

Isaiah 61:1-3

Exaltation of the Afflicted

61 The Spirit of the Lord [a]God is upon me,
Because the Lord has anointed me
To bring good news to the [b]afflicted;
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to captives
And [c]freedom to prisoners;
2 To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
3 To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.
So they will be called [d]oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.
a.Isaiah 61:1 Heb YHWH, usually rendered Lord
b.Isaiah 61:1 Or humble
c.Isaiah 61:1 Lit opening to those who are bound
d.Isaiah 61:3 Or terebinths

There is obviously a lot in this passage that could speak to me.  But the part that struck me was the part about the oaks.  I haven’t really figured it all out, but the word that caught me was that in the translation I read it said “Terebinths” specifically.  Terebinths of righteousness the planting of the Lord.  Now this probably seems an odd thing to hone in on, but when I was first on the internet I used the handle of Terabinthia.  (A mix of spellings of terebinthia from CSLewis and Terabithia from the Katherine Patterson book.  CS Lewis derived the name Terebinthia from the Terebinth tree.  When I chose the name I had no idea it was a tree or an Oak, or any of the meaning behind the word.  But now I do.  I think there is a deeper meaning to it, and I am just kind of sitting and waiting for it to hit me. (February 9, 2013)

This has been sitting with me for the last several months.  About a month ago I decided to do a search to find the meaning of my name.  What I found took my breath away and brought the above to mind again as I once again have been finding myself wondering about the how's and the when's of who I am called to be. 

I had not expected to be surprised, I always thought that I knew my names meaning, (a beautiful song).  What I found out was that I was wrong.

Karmen: The Lord's vineyard (Israeli)  A fruitful orchard (Spanish)

Michelle: Who is like God? Gift from God (Hebrew) Like God (French)

Terebinth (Terabinthia): A mighty oak

Just as I was last February, I am still uncertain as to what it all means and how it will all play out, but it gives me hope.

As I have continued to read up on the Terebinth tree I have found that it is slow to grow, but once it grows it is a strong wood.

This tree inside of me, I know it is little still and slow to grow; but it is growing and it serves  a purpose, a mighty purpose.  Someday this little sapling will become a "mighty oak of righteousness, a planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified".

Here is a little more about the terebinth:
Pistachia terebinthus Seed - raw or cooked[177]. Sweetish[183]. It is sweeter and oilier than an almond[2]. An edible oil is obtained from the seed[117, 183]. The immature fruits, including the stems, are preserved in vinegar and salt. Known as 'atsjaar', they are used as a relish to accompany wines served during meals[183]. The fruit is about 7mm long and 6 mm wide, it contains a single seed[200]. Young leaves - cooked and used as a vegetable[177, 183]. A resin from the trunk is used as a vegetable and as a chewing gum[177, 183].

The resin obtained from this tree (see below for more details) is antiseptic, antispasmodic, cytostatic, expectorant and vulnerary[100, 238]. It is taken internally in the treatment of chronic bronchial infections, streptococcal, urinary and renal infections, haemorrhage, gallstones, tapeworm and rheumatism[238]. Externally, it is used to treat arthritis, gout, sciatica, scabies and lice[238]. It has also been used in the treatment of cancer[100].
Five Minute Friday

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

There shall be pie....FINALLY!

I have been telling my oldest that I would make an apple pie for at least a week or more. 

I bought a bag of apples at the store and planned to bake them into pie about ten days ago.....

On the tractor ride to the apples
then our family went apple picking at an actual orchard, where they were still in the trees on Columbus day.

Don't they all look so enthused?  Our oldest boy
opted to stay home.
The apples were HUGE!  And delicious.  I bought a kind I had never heard of before that are supposed to be good for baking.  

Picking apples from up high
The night we picked them I fried some up to put on top of pancakes with whip cream. Oh my geez they were so stinking delicious! 

butter, brown sugar, orange juice, and spices

All week long I have been promising to make them into a pie.  The ones I bought at the store all went bad and had to be tossed away.

My apple pie recipe is still packed away in a box somewhere in the garage, so I set about online looking up recipes.  None of them seemed just right.  My friend even emailed me a recipe, but since I didn't have all of the ingredients for that I struck out on my own.

I took bits and pieces of recipes and put them all together. 

The Crust:
2 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup frozen butter cut and cubed
1/2 cup ice cold water

The filling
7  apples peeled and cut in quarter inch thick slices (enough to fill the bag 3/4 full)
Place apples in gallon size bag with 1/2 cup orange juice and shake to coat apples
In small bowl mix 1/3 to 1/2 cup of flour with 1/4 cup packed brown sugar, 1/2 cup white sugar, 2 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp pumpkin pie spice, and 1/2 tsp nutmeg.  Stir to blend together.
Dump flour mixture in the bag with the apples and shake to coat.

Pour apples into crust
slice  1/2 cup stick butter (4 tablespoons) over top of apples
cover with pie crust, cut slits into top crust

Put tinfoil over the edges of the crust. Place in 425 oven for 45 minutes.  Remove foil and put in for another 15 minutes.  You can coat crust with an egg wash before baking for a golden color.


It is in the oven cooking as I type. 

After I put it in the oven I realized that I forgot to add in the butter pats to the apples. 

I had a little bit of crust left over and some apples so I put them in a mini pan and added some butter to that one. 

It just came out of the oven and Oh MY FLIP!!!! It is SO SO good.

Here is how the butter less pie turned out.

You definitely want to add butter.  It is good, but not as good as when it has

If it is as good as the mini pie I will let you know.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Laundry

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but on this five minute Friday I think they might just be worth a thousand minutes. 

Quite possibly even 1000 pieces of laundry.

As a mom of seven I get laundry.  Like, really get it.  I get lots and lots of it. 

This immense amount of laundry in my life can sometimes seem never ending and insurmountable. 

Wash, fold, put away. 




Will I ever be able to climb Mt. Laundrosuvius??
note the crazed eyes as the oxygen levels begin lower at these higher laundry altitudes.

But ..........
at the end of the day and the piles the little laundry trolls who make all of these mountains are totally worth it.
The youngest laundry troll.  Isn't he cute?!

Five Minute Friday

Sunday, October 13, 2013

We are more than the dust of others.....

* This is a repost, because I just feel like there is someone out there that needs to hear this.  If that person is you, please know that I am always available to listen.  You can email me at *

We are more than the dust of others.....

Oh  how I know that desire SO strong! ( The one where you want to spend the day in the blankets.) And in the blankets all those voices can fly at you and they are loud, so loud and you just push yourself deeper into the covers trying to hide from them, but really it is more of a burial than a protective covering, because you suffocate there, in your head. And it is so hard for the light to break through and you don't even know right then if you want it to, because it seems too bright.  And you fear it will expose the parts of you that you are trying to hide.  The parts that make you bad, defective, less than, worse than, unworthy of, unlovable, usable, hurtable, hurtful, bruised.

image from the Washington post
And in that place, that time, that moment, that cotton coffin is the only place you know how to exist in, because suffocating as it is, it still feels safe.  You can't hurt anyone, nor be hurt.  Your inaction feels the most responsible reaction.  You can't be destructive if you remain hidden, buried. You are safe from the world and the world is safe from you.  And you wish that death would come for you right then, so it would be done and you could be done.  And everything feels like it is too much and you are too much mess to ever be cleaned, because you feel that all you are is dirt.    And it feels like no one understands.  That they think you selfish or crazy, because you don't know how to navigate this hurtful world.  They don't understand how the hurts compound and how you feel as though you only magnify the hurting.  They don't understand that you just want to stop the hurt, you want to stop your hurt from hurting others.  They don't understand how all consuming the darkness is and how death does not feel so much as an easy way out but as an ONLY way out. 

Please know that I GET THIS!  I SO get this!  But I know that cotton coffin lids can be lifted and they don't have to be turned into stone grave markers.  I know this.  I know how hard and sharp and painful it all can be.  I don't think you crazy, I don't think you selfish.  I think you wounded, but wounds can be healed.  I don't think you dirty.  I think you dusty, because the dirt of others sin has blown up against you.  You are worthy of more so much more.  You are more than the dust of others that you have mistaken as your own skin.  You are good, even when your choices aren't.  The light is bright.  I know it takes adjusting to, but it doesn't illuminate those things that make you want to hide.  Those are the shadows, not the realities.  The light shines in and the shadows fade so that you can see the good things that the darkness hides.  That light you fear so much Oh that light you are blinking in, it makes you sparkle.  It reflects off of those things that are good in you and magnifies their brightness.  Things like STRENGTH, WORTH, TALENT, LOVE, COMPASSION.  And when those shine all the shadows shrink. 
I know this, because I know you.  I am you.  And if no one else speaks these truths to you I will.  I will speak this truth to myself, too.  I am more than the dust of others.  We are more than the dust of others.  That dirt that covers us is not our skin. 

Image Source

Saturday, October 12, 2013

It Is Good To Remember AKA How I Met My Hubby

As  promised in my last post, here is the blog about how I met my husband.


I was the ripe old age of 22, on the verge of turning 23 and felt like an old maid.  I was the girl who wanted to meet and marry my high school sweetheart, but no sweetheart ever materialized during high school and here I was five years out of high school with still no sweetheart.  Not only no sweetheart, but my last few tries at love had failed miserably.

I decided to give up on love, romance, and the hopes of a long term relationship and just have fun dating, so with that notion in my head I searched online and found a personal ads website.  PersonalAds2000 to be exact.  Very Y2K in 1998. 

I uploaded a blurry low res picture of me in baggy sweats, a ponytail, and holding up the teensiest little fish that one could catch on a fishing pole unless they had been fishing out of a goldfish bowl.  Although to be honest, my Aunt's gold fish were bigger than that sad little fish that I had caught. 
*I cannot find that particular picture.  Bummer.*

Along with the picture I added this poem:

Touch me - NOT with your hands, but with your soul.
 Hear me - NOT with your ears, but with your heart.
See me - NOT with your eyes, but with your emotions.
 Search for me - NOT because I am lost, but because without me, a part of you is.
Find me - NOT alone in a park, but within a crowd of people.
And that was all I put....oh I did also break the rules and write my homepage address on there.
*a homepage was sort of like a blog/scrapbook that was around before blogging was actually a thing.* 
That webpage has been lost to time and sadly you will never know how charming I must have been on it.  It was called Terabinthia's World (Terabinthia was my handle for the internet chat rooms I chatted I really feel as though I am dating myself here.....).  And the only thing that I can for sure remember what it said were the words, "there you have it, the jiffy lube of me"  or something along those lines and it also talked about my goals for the future and where I wanted to be later on in life. Literary GOLD was written there, I promise you!  Shame that it is gone. 

That little ad brought in over 200 emails.  Some I responded to and some were just your typical gross responses to a personals ad.  Out of those 200 hundred I met 2 in person.  I also met up with a guy who had his own personals ad that I responded to. 
You have to love the hair.  Notice that difference
between his fireman hair here and his Navy hair
in the wedding cake pics.  =)
The first person I met with I have blogged about before, but I fear I sound a bit shallow in that post so I won't link up to it on here. Let's just say that it was the most uncomfortable date that I have ever been on and could be a PSA on why you need to choose the people you meet and the locations you meet at wisely when it comes to internet dating.
Steve, my now husband, was the other guy that I met off of there.  I was also corresponding with some others, but those didn't last after meeting Steve.
Steve and I emailed each other back and forth for about two weeks before actually meeting.  I lived in Federal Way at the time and he lived in Bremerton.  They are about an hour apart from each other. 
Our reception at my parents house after our Justice of the
 Peace wedding. I had yet to hone my scrapbooking
skills here.
Our first date was on July 3, 1998.  He wanted me to feel safe, so we decided to meet at my Aunt's house in Gig Harbor, which was half way between the two places.  He came in met my Aunt, Uncle, Cousins, and my Grandma who was visiting.  Then we took my car and I drove, because again he wanted all of us to feel safe.  I think he even left his car keys and drivers license with my Aunt. 
I remember walking out of my Aunt's house when he got there and thinking, "WOW, he is really cute!  He will never go for me." 
We went and saw the X files movie, ate at Burger King, and then we went back to my Aunt's and laid in her yard talking for a long time.
The next day was the Fourth of July and my Aunt always had a big party, so I invited him to come.  He came and met the whole family and extended Micronesian family on my Uncle's side.  After that we were pretty much inseparable. Every free moment that he wasn't at the fire station he was at my house, or I was at his. 
Our baby pictures.  No one thought that Katie looked
like me then.  Now everyone says she is my mini me.
We were married in March of 99 and had our oldest, Katie, that May.  Whirlwind.  It was a whirlwind everything. 

My plan of staying out of a relationship made God laugh I think.  I do remember at one point having a choice to make, because I knew that Steve wanted commitment and I wanted fun.  I can remember hearing very clearly God telling me to "choose Steve". 
There have been times when I have questioned that voice and my decision, because let's face it marriage can be hard.  HARD with all caps.  The kind of hard where all your breath comes out in the saying it and the D at the end is loud and harsh:

And this marriage has been that at times, for both of us.  Trust has been mishandled, misplaced, and abandoned on both sides in various ways and to varying degrees.  But we are still here, working through those hard spaces.  Sometimes it can feel like a belly crawl army style through the mud kind of working at it, but even that slow crawl has moved us forward to today.

It is good to remember how we came together, because that gets lost in the hard and the hurts much too easily.  It is good to remember how his early emails made my stomach butterfly and how he would drive me back home on the freeway going 45 miles an hour just to make the time last longer and it still felt too fast.  It is good to remember, because honestly I fear that I forget too easily.

the whole family 14 years and 2 months after that first date.
taken 9/12

Thank you Karmen for suggesting that I do this and for helping me to remember.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Ramblings and Pointless Dissertations

I was reading through the comments on another's blog post the other day when my eye stuck on a comment that had my name attached to it.  I thought to myself, "Hmmm, when did I comment on this?"  Then I looked a little closer and saw that the name was definitely Karmen, with a "K", but there was no tell tale M. behind it to make it mine.  There was another Karmen with a K out there reading a blog that I also follow.  Well, that was just too intriguing to leave at that, so I clicked on the name and it led me to her blog.  Unsurprisingly I found that she is a writer, fun, and funny to boot.  I mean really with a name like mine I hardly expected anything less, ;) .  Finding another white girl (I only mention race, because Carmen's of other races is not all that uncommon) named Carmen with a C even is not very common in my experience, I have only met two other white Carmen's in my 38 years.  To find one with a K, is well, I guess the same as the C's.  When I bought paint for our house the owner's daughter was a Karmen.  And in fact his Mother was best friends with my husband's Grandmother (talk about a small world).  And now this Karmen, so I did the only logical thing and started following her blog and let her know that another Karmen was out there reading. 

So, why am I telling you all this?  Because today she posted about You've Got Mail the movie.  I left a comment about how that is one of my favorite movies and how my husband and I met online and did the whole "you've got mail" thing.  She said I oughta blog about that.  Also, there is a discussion beginning on how Tom Hanks character should have bought Meg Ryan's character's bookstore so that she wouldn't have to lose her business. (That was her daughter's question at the end, "why didn't he just buy it for her since he could".)  Well, of course me being me, I had to take that to the deeper level and write a small dissertation on how that would not have been a good idea, etc. 

Really, I think I wrote a whole paragraph on how she did not need to be rescued by him.

Sometimes I really wonder if I just don't get out enough, because why does it really matter, and who really needs to read my over analyzed thoughts on fictional characters and their love and business lives? The answer to that is probably no one.

You are now probably REALLY wondering just why I am sharing all of this with you and the short answer to that is, because I plan to write about how I met my hubby like she suggested and figured it never hurts to have a little backstory before actually getting to the story itself. 

Okay, maybe this particular little backstory has been a bit painful to read.  Maybe the almost pointlessness of it is starting to cause a slight headache to begin to form above your left brow, but if you got nothing else out of my jabberings tonight you can at least thank me for introducing you to this other cool Karmen . Just click on her name to go check out her blog. 

*Disclaimer, these ramblings tonight are the direct cause of exhaustion and a nagging headache of my own, so if they are not altogether that coherent you will have to forgive me.  But do come back to read about how I met my man, because that is worth reading.

Friday, October 4, 2013

When the memories are happy and hard

My Cousin Tom died this summer, unexpectedly of a heart attack in his sleep.  He was only in his fifties. 

As my Dad told me over the phone I sank hard to my stairs and sobbed into the receiver.

Tom working on our kitchen counters
"What? This is impossible, I just talked to him the other night. This can't be real."

My kids watched me sobbing from the living room.  They wanted to know what had happened, what was wrong.

"Tom, grand-cousin Tom is dead."

We all cried as the harsh reality of the words sank in.
Tom showing Kody some shooting skills.
Grand cousin Tom, the one who took Kody hunting and shooting.  Who had him spend the night and do 'guy' things together.  The one who took Kalen on the Santa motorcycle run just last Christmas. The one who took the kids who were big enough on motorcycle rides around the block.  The one who loved my kids and me and all of the family without end.  The one who had rebuilt our bathroom when we found mold had taken hold in the wall.  The one who was always their when you needed him. 

Tom took this picture of Kalen at the motorcycle Santa run
When I moved from Washington State to Connecticut in the Spring I knew that losing a family member might happen before we got back home.  People are aging and it was a definite possibility.  I never suspected that it would happen so soon and to one so young. 

I am making split pea soup today and the memories of my cousin are flooding my eyes with salty waters even as they bring happy smiles. 

He would have hated this meal.  His hatred of peas was well known.  It was the only food he would not eat.  Any kind of pea with any kind of preparation.  Last time I made it he chided me on facebook about it.  This time he isn't here to tease and that is hard.

I have only happy memories of my cousin Tom.  They go all the way back into my earliest ones.  I miss him so much, but I am thankful for the good he brought to me and my family.  I can hope that someday I will get to see him again.

As I eat my soup tonight, I will think of him and smile.
Tom and Kody have always had a special bond. 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

An Invitation to Trust (Tell His Story & Imperfect Prose)

When I was 9 years old I had a tea party for Jesus and my stuffed animals.  I set the places, laid the crackers and cheese, poured the water, and we all sat around in a circle; except for Jesus, His spot was empty.  I didn't expect Him to join us really, I hoped, I asked, I kept eyeing the crackers and cheese to see if He was eating some while I was unaware.  The plate stayed full and the spot empty. 

I was 9 years old and incredibly lonely.  My parents worked 14 hour days, we lived in a business district with no friends in which to play with, and I desperately wanted Jesus to come and sit with me.  I knew He was in my heart, but I wanted to see Him, to know I really mattered enough that He would show up for a child's tea party and eat crackers and cheese.

Last week in church Pastor told us how in Jewish tradition they would pray with their arms held out like someone waiting for them to be filled.  It is an invitation for God to fill your empty arms. 

An invitation.   

An invitation to trust that God will show up, that He will fill that which is empty.  It is a figurative letting go of that which you are holding in order to make room for the filling. 

It is an invitation of trust.  You are trusting God and not yourself. 

I have held onto much.  Too much.  I have filled myself up and have been afraid to let it go.  I have been afraid that my life would be that empty chair, that I would make space and He wouldn't come.  (I am not talking about salvation, that I was sure of.)  Figuratively, I would always be that lonely girl eating cheese and crackers on her own.

At church when the Pastor suggested that we hold our arms out as we prayed I realized just how hard of an action this was for me.  It seems so simple, "Just open your arms up, woman!" I told myself.  "Just do it, why is this so hard?".  I didn't know why it was hard, just that it was, but I did it anyways.  I opened my arms up and they were filled with a quieting peace.  I let go of that tiny bit of control and He filled.

That was on Wednesday.

On Friday, I went to talk to the Pastor about things I have been holding onto and that hold onto me.  The last time I talked to him he suggested that I read a book by Neil T. Anderson called "Victory Over Darkness".  I had read it and figured we would talk about that, but the conversation went another way.  Pastor brought up great points that made me think.  When I came home I had forgotten to say some things that I had wanted to say, so I emailed them to him.

A big theme of the book is that we are a new Creation in Christ.  I have never understood that statement.  I mean I understand it conceptually, but not experientially.  I have been a Christian since 3 and so this is what I wrote that afternoon: "... in the book he mentioned a lot about the before you knew Christ and the after you knew Christ...that whole new creation concept.....  well, I have ALWAYS known Christ, so not only is there not that feeling of difference, but everything that has happened to me or by me has always been done while in Christ, so it almost makes me angry when he brings that up so much in the book and I am not sure why anger is the emotion that comes up in it but it is."

This was his reply to that: "What I want you to discover is that though you have made mistakes since being in Christ, THAT is who you ARE.  When things happen when we are young, it shifts how we see ourselves moving us into deception about who we really are.  Even when one becomes a Christian young, if how they see themselves becomes contorted by the lies of the enemy, they will still act in ways that do not reflect who they really are.  It is like if a prince is kidnapped and is raised by paupers, he IS a prince but he lives like/acts like a pauper and does not access the riches due his true place in life.  THAT is what has happened to you.  More than anything I want you to get (I mean REALLY GET) who you are REGARDLESS of what you did or what was done to you.  How do you think you can do that?"

Honestly, I had no idea just how I was going to do that.  I gnawed on it in the back of my mind all afternoon.  Then that evening the prompt for that week's Five Minute Friday was truth.  I had no idea what was going to come out in it, I just sat and wrote.  As I wrote the answer to his question came.  I need to stop holding onto all the how's, the why's, and the lies and just walk in that truth that was staring me in the face.  The ones I had read about in the book, the ones I have heard about all my life but have never been able to feel, see, or believe for myself. 

I need to realize that the spot at my table might have been left empty, but the reality is that Christ has set a spot for me at His table with so much more than crackers, cheese, and water. I need to be the one to show up.  It is showing up at His table, not mine, that feeds a hungry heart and comforts a lonely little girl.

It is His truths I need to follow.  They are what will lead me to the table not the lies that left me  torn and bleeding in the brambles .  I need to turn and walk in who I am in Him.  I don't want fear to keep me sitting at my own little table staring at an empty chair just because I am afraid that His invitation somehow wasn't really meant for me.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Truth

*I can already tell you that this will not take a mere five minutes. *

The truth of it...of it everything...I desire the truth.  I speak about it. Write about it.  Write about its opposite, the lies; the ones that whisper, howl, and hide in the dark corners of my mind.

But when it comes down to it, how much truth do I really want, because when you know the truth you have to make a decision.  A decision to accept it or a decision to reject it.

I am sitting here in this moment with truth looking me square in the face, calling out to me and now I have to choose what I am to do with it.

These lies that blow about me and churn inside of me that tell me who I am and who I am not, they have been held up to the light of truth.  The light that spreads like fire and burns out the infection and causes me to make a choice.  The choice to believe the truth or reject it.  If I believe it then I must act on it.  If I reject it I do so at my own peril.  Or do I believe the truth and choose yet the other option of still holding onto the lie.  Do I hold truth in one hand and the lies in the other?

I think of the dwarves in the final Narnia book.  The ones who were so afraid of being deceived by anyone that they sat in their own darkness, one of their own making.  We have had enough of apes and of lions, the dwarfs are for the dwarfs they would say.  They were so afraid that because they had believed the lying ape that the truth of the lion would prove to be just as much of a letdown.  They made a blackened prison of their own because they chose not to choose either and thus chose themselves.  And in doing so created a new lie of their own making.

I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to sit in my own fear built prison just because I had been so duped by the lies that I am scared to believe the light of the truth for the fear of being 'duped' again.  I don't want to be left scrounging around my manure covered hovel of darkness because I am saying "Karmen is for Karmen" like the dwarfs were for the dwarfs. 

I am standing with the truth in my right hand and the lies in the left.....the choice is mine to make. 

I look at them both squarely.  I know where the lies have led me and I know where indecision will leave me, so I let go of the left and I move forward in the right, because it is the only choice where TRUTH is leading.

Five Minute Friday

Thursday, September 26, 2013

I am from.......

I am from the land......
where the skies are the bluest blues when the mountain is "out".
where gray skies and raindrops feels like stepping into home.
where sharp white mountain peaks lay backdrop to green forests and abundant waters.
I am from the childhood home......
where Mom drives and Dad directs.
where it took 9 years for me to come and make my Sister, sister.
where LOUD is common, but laughter is too.
I am from the now home......
where my offspring are plentiful.
where marriage is being painted out on a canvas of forgiveness set on an easel of hard.
where messes are made and loud is heard but love is here as well.

I am from God.....
who promises beauty from ashes.
who loves me because I am, not because I do or do not.
who runs to embrace the one who ran away.
I am from......
deep hurts that bring deeper graces.
crumbling walls and rusting armor.
everything and nothing and all that lies between.
* I started this as a link up with another blog but after I wrote it I realized that I did not follow their format, so I am not linking up to it, but thought I would share it anyways since I already wrote it. And since I wrote it I will share it instead with Emily and her Imperfect Prose Community.


Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Mommasauras Rex Strikes Again

It is 9:18 a.m.   I have been up for 3 hours already.  It started off fairly well and typical. 

6:15 Crawl out of bed, stagger downstairs, begin cleaning the kitchen I was too tired to deal with last night.  Turn on Pandora to Veggie Tale praise songs.

6:30 Wake up Jr. High students.  The boy has a migraine.  Give him meds, water, send back to bed for a few minutes to see if it helps.  Girl needs a shower.  Continue cleaning. 

6:45 Wake up Elementary kids, because they didn't finish their homework last night. Continue cleaning.

7:15 Try and get Jr. High boy up and moving.  No Go still migraining.  Give Jr. High girl 15 minute warning.  Still cleaning. 

7:30 Jr. High girl, "What are you doing!?!  GO! GO! GO!  You should be ready by now!" dishwasher is going now.  Move onto the old time popcorn machine that has been on the counter for a week and a half.  When was the last time this thing was cleaned anyways?

7:45 Help elementary girl with homework, scrub popcorn maker, remind boys to get ready. 

8:00 Elementary girl needs shower.  Screams down the stairs that someone did something gross in the toilet and it is NASTY.  Tell her to use my bathroom then.  Not looking forward to kids bathroom duty.

8:10 Gag at gross mess left in kids bathroom.  Scream about how they will have to start cleaning the toilet with toothbrushes if this continues.  (The Mommasauras Rex is beginning to rear its ugly head.)

8:15 Kids yell from downstairs that their baby brother smells like he pooped his pants.  Mommasauras growls.  Run tub, get said smelly boy in tub.

8:20 Tell older elementary son to put on socks and shoes as I come down the stairs.  He says he doesn't know where they are.  Mommasauras Rex ROARS that they are in the same place he has found socks for the last three days, why can't he just look?  Why does he have to fight about everything?!  Mommasauras Rex growls as she changes kindergarten boy who wants to wear the same clothes he wore yesterday.

8:25 Go upstairs and get the now smelly good boy out of tub.  Growl as he complains about what he is wearing.  "JUST PUT THEM ON!!!!!"

8:30 Roar about how the house looks, the grossness of the toilet, growl about toothbrushes and cleaning said toilet again.  ROAR ROAR ROAR

8:35 Leave for school with neighbor kids whose Mom also looks like she has had a Mommasauras Rex morning.  Roar at neighbor kids when they don't listen to their Mommasauras. 

8:55 Come home.

9:00 Get on facebook.  Vent.  Calm. 

9:15 Blog about the Roars.  Hope the day gets better. 

9:40  Get off the computer and start over a little less dinosaurish.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Saturday and Sunday Synopsis

I woke up not feeling great.  A sinus infection was taking root and I was trying to ignore it.  I was planning on going to a garage sale that a friend from church was having, but I ended up not making it there.  I also wanted to go buy some tweezers to tame that growing uni-brow back into conformity, but that didn't happen either.  Instead I stayed home and dyed my full on gray roots back into a more youthful shade.  Hubby ended up being called back into work, so it was me and the kiddos.  As I was almost done drying the fresh dyed hair with a towel and shaving instead of plucking the beastly brow I heard it.  A crash.  Followed by yells of "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!" coming from the other side of the bathroom door.  My 3 year old had spilled orange juice that he wasn't supposed to be drinking all over the floor and on my laptop as well. 

My sick head left little room for patience and I shooed them all out of the room with some overly loud words and harsh tones.  I cleaned the mess, made the bed, dried off the laptop and hoped all was well. 

When I tried to use my laptop a few minutes later nothing happened.  It would not turn on. I tried plugging in the charger, nothing still.  I tried again and again.  Nothing and nothing.  I set it down, told myself to let it sit longer, it would work.  I laid down.  15 minutes later I tried again.  Nothing, no glimmer of hope. 

I lamented on facebook, asked for prayers for my laptop.  (I know of all the heartache and hardships in this spinning crazy world I put my laptop on the priority of prayer. Shameful, really.)  Then, I sobbed, not a dainty tear or two, but gut wrenching sobs for a dead laptop, words of my own only saved to it, loss.  I sobbed and prayed and apologized to God for caring so much about a piece of technology.  Then I decided I needed more sleep, sleep should help buffer the loss a little.

I dozed in and out as children kept meandering in and disrupting the slumber.  My kind oldest daughter came and asked if she could make lunch for all so I could sleep.  Bless her.  I dozed over the cacophony of lunch being made, served, and eaten down the stairs.  I dozed some more after the full bellies quieted a little. 

Then I had a strange dream.  It was short and it woke me with a start.  I dreamt I was leaning down, picking a beautiful flower from a garden that sat beside a white house and below an open window.  As I picked the flower a strong and frightful wind blew past my ear.  The wind was cold and its breath was evil.  It made me jump in my sleep.  As I awoke I heard a silent voice ask if the frightening wind that blew around the flower had made the flower any less beautiful.

I am still processing that image, wind, and question, along with its possible meaning.

Not long after that hubby called to say he would be coming home soon.  I told him about the laptop.  As I was talking my Kody boy who is ten grabbed it and handed it to me.  "Look Mom, it is working."  He had gotten it to turn on.  I told him people must have been praying, because I had tried five times with no luck at all.  He beamed, because in his mind he had 'fixed' it.

Hubby came home and we went shopping so I could buy a dress.  We were going to a wedding that night and I only had fancy ball dresses and summer dress in my closet.  Nothing evening wedding appropriate.  Still feeling sick, but powering through I worried about if I would find a dress in time.  I rarely have shopping success and shopping failures can break me.  I knew I was already raw with sinus, so I prayed for something to fit and not make me look like a circus clown.  I found something in the second store I tried and it was half off.  Thumbs up God, you rocked it!

Home and then to the wedding.  So beautiful.  The reception was a blast.  Visiting, free ice cream bar with an ice cream truck pulled beside the building.  Friends.  Wedding cake.  Great time. 

Came home spent an hour with the kids then went back out because we were all dressed up and wanted to spend it out together.  I could not make up my mind what I wanted to do or where to go.  My poor husband.  As we drove my behavior and indecision became more erratic.  I told him I felt drunk. He told me I was being weird.  It continued to escalate.  We came home after choosing burger king for a soda and sandwich since I never ate dinner before the wedding.  The food was gross.  I regretted the decision, but I ate it anyways, because maybe I needed solid food in my stomach.

At home I staggered in and up the stairs, oldest daughter asked how dinner was.  I flailed my arms wildly and told her in an unusual tone how disgusting it was.  At the top of the stairs she told me I was being weird.  Wide eyed and feeling trapped behind my odd behavior I agreed with her.  She asked if I was riding the "white pony".  I laughed so hard I slid against the wall and to the floor.  I told them to get their Dad, because I was feeling weird.  I felt drunk, but hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, not only that day but not in over a year.  Drugs, never. 

He came up stairs and I crawled into our room.  He took the dress off for me, brought me some pajamas and I crawled in bed, staring at the ceiling.  I told him my head felt swooshy.  After about fifteen to twenty minutes I came out of whatever that was.  Maybe the gross chicken kicked in.  I then of course had to post the weirdness on facebook before falling asleep.  I am that annoying person on facebook.  Sorry if you are one to deal with me.

In the middle of the night Steve woke me up with his dreams.  He was talking in his sleep.  Calling on the name of Jesus, then speaking tongues, distressed.  I awoke him.  He fell back asleep into the same dream, this time calling out Satan, screaming, more tongues.  I woke him again.  He was fighting a battle in his dreams. 

We both slept a little longer after that.

I woke up feeling more myself than I had gone to bed feeling, but the sinuses were much worse.  I was determined to go to church, because I just love it so much I don't want to miss what God is doing.  He seriously does something awesome every week at church.  Seriously, you should come check it out.  Always welcome, always.  Even sick like me in body, spirit, heart, or mind.  Jesus came for the sick, so I am gonna start showing up at His hospital as much as I can.

Church this morning was worth the stuffy nose and trips to the bathroom to blow it.  God's spirit showed up big time.  It was so present and there.  It was palpable.  Whenever that happens it reminds me of field of dreams; "if you build it they will come".  God's people 'built it' and He came.  I am not going to cheapen the experience with words to explain it, but if you weren't there today, you missed out. 

After church it was date day with the oldest and me.  She has been asking for one for a long time, too long, and today was the day.  We went to lunch where her burger got massacred.  The waitress noticed as she took the plate and the manager comped us her meal.  From there we went to the library (her choice), I slept in the car, because the sick was taking over.  From the library we went to the mall and then home. 

I crawled into bed and stayed there the rest of the day.  I slept and slept then got up to take some medicine my hubby bought me and a bath.  Now I am wide awake and so I type.  How was your weekend?

Friday, September 20, 2013

Five Minute Friday: She

It was a normal Sunday afternoon. 
My husband and I on our way to BJ's. 
That is when I saw her. 
She was running on the side of the road, just inches away from my passenger window. 
She was all sinew and bone with skin around it. 
Her running shorts and tank top revealing how little food she must consume. 
It was her face though, it was her face as she ran that still haunts me, more so than the food deprived frame. 
With each step forward her face contorted with pain. 
It was almost an agony. 
Yet she kept on running. 
She ran and I wonder what it is she was running from or hoping to run to. 
Five Minute Friday

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Tell His Story: My Sea Sickened Heart

I wrote this post last Saturday night and I posted it briefly Sunday night until Monday morning.  I feel that I have been called to be transparent, but I struggle with just how transparent that is meant to be. This piece is greatly transparent.  I took it down because I felt that maybe it was too much so, maybe sharing my struggles after sharing my victories would be too contradictory.  But I have changed my mind.  Our Christian walk is a walk.  When you are walking and moving you aren't always going to be standing on mountain tops and you aren't always going to stay in the valleys.  You are going to be doing both.  One doesn't negate the other.  Also, if we are unable to be transparent we give the false illusion that somehow we have it all together and that we don't struggle.  That illusion only helps to grow the lie that we are alone and no one else understands, or falls as low, or hears the howling winds and feels the salty waves hitting against them.  When we hide the hurts and the hardships we give foothold for darkness to grow and gather.  By being transparent I am going to choose to live in light and hopefully my transparency helps you to let light in too. 
*A warning that if you suffered at the hands of an abuser this writing may trigger some old hurts of your own.*


It is one of those evenings where the sadness sits ready behind the eyes.  The memories and the thoughts just float there behind the surface, like waves lapping at the shore.  One by one and all at once they come and bubble and I can feel their wetness spreading against the shore of my cheeks. 

Pastor’s words unknowingly bring fresh the childhood memory wished forgotten as I confess to him of recent actions.

And the feelings of being curse not blessing blow the waters into waves.

 “Look at what you do to me.” The memory echoes.

It all comes down to me.  Me doing this to him, that something in me is causing this that is so wrong and standing in front of me.  The man inside the memory is standing in front of me hardened and blaming me for the hardening.  I am sickened by the sight of it and so I do what I did the day it happened and I turn away with a pit in my stomach.  The nauseated feeling of being wronged but also somehow being in the wrong, because I know his words lie, but a part of me claims them as real. 

And the waves lap harder.

Blowing winds whisper loud that I am the cause of wrong, that I am curse, it is what I have been and always will be.

 “Know your place, this is what you are, who you are.” And these words on the wind whip at my heart. 

The waves and the memories are coming faster.

I am standing in the bathroom, walked into of free will.  All giggles on the outside as I watch him satisfy and relieve his aching manhood, the one I had refused to gratify, into the toilet.  Inwardly not knowing what to do, wanting to run but not knowing how, feeling guilty for not even trying. 

“You could have left and you didn’t, you could have run, but you stayed.” The wind blows harder still.

I close my eyes as the waves come crashing down one after another as these memories so freshly remembered are brought up by words of one and the actions of another and they wash over me.

Actions in which I stayed when I should have ran.  And the words of yet another asking if I did something to cause this, this new action, the one that brought up the same feelings as this memory.  I stumble to answer, because I don’t feel I did, but then again I cause this, this hardening of a man’s desire, so I don’t know where exactly the truth in the answer lies.

My mind and the waves wash up the time I was sixteen.  The time when the boy I wanted to love me most of all sat and touched all the places that his girlfriend wouldn’t let him, later to be cornered in a hallway, telling me that I am nothing.  I was just a ploy of Satan’s to cause him to sin and I had better keep it all quiet lest others know him as a sinner.

And those winds they blow even harder.

“Sin causer, your purpose, no running from that truth of who you are.”

The waves and the winds they keep on crashing, filling my little boat of hope and faith with doubt.
My Jesus though, He is known to walk on water, so I call Him in to walk on top of mine.  He scoops me up into His arms as I lean into Him and the winds quiet and the waves go calm.    I rest my sea sickened heart in His grace pierced hands.

*These winds are not the truth of me. I am a work in progress and there is progress being worked in me.  More on that to come later.*