Five Minute Friday: Still

*I never time myself for five minute Fridays.  I let the word lead me for however long it leads.*

I find that even with all the strides I have taken this year and how far I have come from where I was I am STILL me.  I STILL have the same under lying issues that I have always had.  I STILL struggle.

Some days, months, seasons even I struggle more than others.  This is that season.  The season when I have to push down even harder on all the things that try and push their way out of me.  All the unknown memories that tease me from the shadows.  The little girl trying to be heard, seen, remembered from behind her prison.  The little girl that has me clinging tight to a teddy bear at night.  

I push down hard on what is pushing up and burrow deeper into blankets and solitude.  Shutting myself off even when surrounded by people.  Closing in.  Walling off.

And the anger is there.  Anger at me. Anger at them (whoever the them is who feels too close to my walls, or let me down, or who makes for a good distraction from all the pushing that is going on inside.)  I don't lash out at most of them I just let it all reverberate inside of me.  Most of the time because I know the anger is petty and more of a me issue than a them issue.  

I STILL do all of this, but I am getting better at knowing and recognizing it.  Seeing it for what it is and acknowledging it.  I am also better at not completely hiding away from the world.  I am planning, and hosting, and not shaming myself for the internal pushing. 

I am working on showing up even when I want to hide away.  I am giving myself grace for when I can't force myself to show up.  I am working on giving others grace for their lack of understanding, and grace for the fact that some things could solely be my perception and not the reality.

I am STILL a work in progress.  Still working, still progressing.  

Still hurting, still wounded, still healing, still learning.

"Be still and know that I am God"

Psalm 46:10

I will sit in stillness and also IN my "STILL-ness" and know that God is God.  He has me in all of my stillness, no matter which meaning of still that I mean.  And I will let Him reign over it all.

Five Minute Friday: Dare

*I never time myself for Five Minute Friday. 

 I take the word and run with it where it leads for however long it leads me.*

Dare

I dare you.

I dare you to be brave.

To hold your head up high and wear your bravery like a cape.

Be the hero in your story;

The one who stands up and says,

 "NO MORE!"

To all the voices that try and keep you down.

Wrap that bravery cape around you tight.

Keep the cold winds of "less than" and the spitting rains of "unworthy"

From hurting you any longer.

All you have to do is

STAND UP!

Stand up and fight.

I know that you can do it.

You are braver than you think and stronger than you know.

I dare you to be brave.

I dare you.

Five Minute Friday: Whisper

"I stopped to see a weepin' willow

Cryin' on his pillow

Maybe he's cryin' for me.

And as the skies turn gloomy

Night winds whisper to me

I'm lonesome as I can be

I go out walkin' 

After midnight

Out in the starlight

Just hopin' that you may be

Somewhere a walkin' after midnight 

Searchin' for me"

I was eighteen, a romantic, and desperately wanting to be loved.  I would play my Patsy Cline greatest hits tape over and over again.  Patsy Cline is like a musical salve to a love sick heart.  This song was one of my favorites.  

Walking after dark was one of my great loves.  Especially after midnight.  This song may be to blame for my youthful stupidity for walkin' after midnight by myself at 18 and 19.  When I went to school in Kansas I would go out walking at night quite often.  There was a little park not far from the college that had this white gazebo that you could sit in.  It was fairly close to the town police station, so I felt it was safe.  And come to think of it, that park may have even had weeping willows in it, but that could just be a trick of time and failing memory.  

I would walk to this park on clear nights and sing this song to myself as I walked.  This particular refrain was my favorite part of the song.  When I was a young girl between 5 and 6 my school bus would pass by an old weeping willow.  That tree was comforting as we would pass by it.  I thought of it as "my" tree with its low hanging branches that were somehow both sad and protective looking.

As that little girl I always wanted to sit under that willow tree.  Even now as I look at the picture of one it is inviting.

Picture of a weeping willow in Washington State

As I walked I would sing, hope, and listen to the night winds whispering; they would tell me that somewhere someone was walking and searching for me.  

I was a hopeless romantic.  

*I do not condone women walking alone after midnight, or at night for that matter, because more than likely anyone you find at that time of night who is out searching for you would not have love and romance on their mind.*

Five Minute Friday: Nothing

I run the water and sink back deep into my white retreat.  The sound of the water fills my ears and its warmth encases my body.  I slide my fingers over the space that had held life and now doesn't.  I had only known it was there for a short time and now it is gone.

"Why did you even give just to take away?!"  my heart and sobs break.  "I told you I could not handle loss such as this.  I told you I am not strong enough for this!  WHY? WHY?!  I don't understand!"

The burgeoning life that was here one moment is now gone.  I went from being filled with someone to being filled with nothing.  Nothing is left.

I don't even know when it slipped from me; the life and the form it held. I just know it is no more.

I turn off the water, but I can't turn off my tears, my hurt, my empty.

****************

Two weeks earlier

I hold the stick in my hand, the one that will tell me what my future holds.  Two lines.  Two.  My future holds you, an unknown yet suddenly deeply known person.  I want you. I love you. You are my future.

******************

Three days earlier

My sister and I sit across from each other eating lunch.  I tell her about you.  I also tell her about the spots of pink I have been finding.  I am trying hard not to worry.  I have spotted before and all has been well. This time doesn't feel the same though.  I rub my belly where you are growing and I tell you to hold on, keep growing.

*****************

One day earlier

I am bleeding, no longer just pink spots.  I am really scared for you and for me.  We go to the hospital. They do an ultrasound.  The doctor says he can still see you, but you look pretty low, not where you should be. He says not to worry, there is still a chance.  He gives me hope.  

******************

Earlier that morning

The bleeding is worse.  I go to the hospital for a follow up ultrasound.  The woman is horribly insensitive. She has no idea how much I already love you and hope that you are still okay despite the odds and the red, all the red that says you aren't.  She comes and she goes three times talking to her boss.  She isn't finding anything.  He makes her come back and look more because they had seen you last night.  She tells me how that doctor last night should never had said he saw you, now her job is harder.

She pushes down hard on your home that is my womb and the red rushes out and I curse her in my mind because I feel like she is pushing you out. 

"Wow, you really are bleeding aren't you?"

She is finally able to confirm my fears.  You are gone.  

"You can go get dressed now"

I can hardly see for the tears streaming down my face. I don't know how I find the strength to dress myself and walk out to the car. You are gone and with you the future that stick had promised.  

****************

Just shy of 7 years later

I still think about you.  I still wonder why you were given just to be taken.  I still love you.  You will always be someone to me.  The kids took to calling you pooh bear, the baby Mommy lost in her tummy.  So my Pooh Bear, my womb and my arms may have been left empty and filled with nothing when you left, but one day I will meet you and I will get to hold you.

Five Minute Friday: Mess

I have had a lot of changes, really good changes, taking place inside of me.  God has been working hard putting my broken shards into just the right places, but there are still some days when I am a bit of a mess. Today is one of them.  

God has laid on my heart that there is more work that needs to be done.  More things to remember and understand.  As those things start to surface it leaves me messy.  I am not fearful of the memories anymore, but they sure do leave me tearful.

He is also impressing on me that I am to start sharing my words with real people.  People whose eyes I have to look into and whose eyes look into mine.  Every time I have done just that old tapes start to play in my head telling me that now I have done it, I have shared too much, and they will be offended/ disgusted by my being.  I share and then I regret it, want to take it back.  He is showing me through this that my tapes are liars.  With each share I am learning that He is placing people in my life that I can trust to hold my heart and my eyes with care.

My little fledgling of trust is still timid. It is still learning, but it's wings are stretching, and like most fledglings it is a bit uncoordinated and messy.

Five Minute Friday: Crowd

*a factual fiction of a moment in time, which took more than five minutes to write*


She sat in the crowd not knowing if she fit in, but she was there and for now that would have to be enough. She looked around at the other faces and backs of heads in the crowd.  They all seemed to know something that she didn't; how to be comfortable in their own skin.  Some raised their arms up, others swayed back and forth, and others were crying - openly letting the tears stream down their faces.  As she watched the crowd she wondered what it would be like to feel emotions the way they did, integrated, mind and body both working in collaboration instead of being separate entities.

The man up front started to speak and the words broke through her observations and seemed aimed directly at her heart.  Her eyes stopped looking at the crowd and focused solely on the man.  She watched to see if he knew who he was speaking to, if he knew his words were aimed at her or not.  He spoke of freedom and of being whole and she watched his eyes closely.  He believed what he was saying.  She could see it in his face that he meant every word, but she still wasn't sure if it could be for her or not and then he looked at her. He looked right into her eyes and he talked about chains binding hearts; she felt as if her heart stopped beating and she held her breath.  Was he really speaking just to her, did he somehow know?  She felt visible, as if he could see through her eyes and into her blackened soul.  As much as she had hoped to be seen, this viewing seemed too exposing and she looked away.  When she looked back he had moved to the other side of the stage.  She was safe again.

When the man stopped talking he invited the hurting up to the front.  He offered healing.  She ached for that healing, but she knew what would happen if she let her feet take her up there.  Her body would be present, but her mind wouldn't be there.  It would be wondering what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to behave.  Her mind and her emotions would be frozen, because if anything came all would come and she would wash away with them and take everyone else with her.  So, no, no she would not move.  She would stay and watch as others went forward.  She would watch as they were able to let the waves wash over their eyes and hear as their sobs left their lips and she would wonder how they could do that, especially in front of eyes like hers that were watching, and how they could feel without being washed away by the feelings.

It was time to leave, the healings were over, the crowds dispersing. She left wondering if she would ever learn how to go about being whole.

Five Minute Friday: Hero

The theme of needing/wanting a hero has come up in my words before.  More than once even.  I have been on a search for a hero my whole life, but I have begun to realize that the elusive hero isn't going to come.

I am heading off to a women's retreat with my church this weekend.  To tell you the truth, a big part of me wishes that I weren't.  I have been fighting myself about going since they began talking about it.  It is not your  typical retreat, they call it Encounter.  We are going to encounter God.  There are actually quite a few rules attached with going.  Rules that make this rebellious heart want to break them all.  I haven't even left yet and I already feel fenced in, corralled. 


On Wednesday night we had a pre-retreat meeting to discuss what to bring, what not to bring, and what to expect.  My group leader talked about how if we are open to Him we will grow so close with God this weekend.  Can I tell you how much I wanted to run right then.  Intimacy with God, should be every Christian's dream right?  Nope, not me.  Not even with God. 

I mock myself a little about this, because hello! this is God we are talking about Karmen.  He already knows every intimate detail that there is to know about me, He is not the one who is going to be learning anything new.   Since I knew this, I know it is not God knowing me that I fear as much as it is knowing what it will unlock inside of me.

Our group leader spoke of how as we go through life we pick up rocks and garbage along the way that we shove in our packs as we go.  This weekend she said is designed to help us unpack a lot of that stuff. 

Part of me wants that more than you can imagine, but another part of me is very afraid of holding those rocks in my hand.  There is a well spring of anger attached to those rocks and I think if I pick them up that I am just as likely as not to start hurtling those rocks at God like a child throwing a temper tantrum and there is no telling who or what might get caught in the cross fire.

You are probably wondering what all of this has to do with "Hero".  I don't know, other than maybe I am still looking for one.

Five Minute Friday: Encouragement

I wrote this today in response to my friend's blog post in her comments section.  It just spilled out of me.  I share it with you, because as much as it was for her it is also for you.  The you who wonders why you bother to write.  The you who is knee deep in mess and hurt or maybe even so deep in it that you feel as though you are drowning and the mess and the hurt is gurgling up inside of your throat.  The you whose life is going well and good and you share from that space of joy and happiness.  The you who isn't sure that what you write really means all that much.  It is for all of you, because all of you have a story.  All of us have a story.  Sharing your story makes my life better.

In response to Why Words Matter 

I have been pondering the why a lot as well. My why is because the words need spilling. I fill and I fill and they need a place to empty out to. It is also to know I am not alone and to let others know the same. It is one thing to tell the story of from here to there tied up neatly in a bow, but it is quite another to tell the story of the getting to the there; the being in the midst of it deep and never fully knowing if there is even a place, but hoping that it is and that you will find it.

It is a deep bravery I think to tell this story, because it is now and in the moment. It is an opening of all that is raw and holy and messy and sinful and pouring it out like an offering upon an alter. Your writing is a place where other cave dwellers can meet for community around the bon fire of your words and find acceptance and grace and to say "Yes, somewhere, someday we will come to the mouth of the cave and find the light shining beautiful into our blinking eyes."

It is a place where those outside the cave can say "We are out here and we will wait for you, it exists, this there is real and when you make it we will rejoice along with you for the journey."

Oh friend how I love you and your words and your blinking in the light of there and for the days of caves and darkness and for being a bon fire for others like me to warm ourselves around.

You are cherished friend.


Keep sharing your words fellow bloggers.  Keep being a warm fire for others of us to warm ourselves with.  If you are in a cave of depression, shame, loneliness, anger, hurt, or any other hard thing, keep sharing.  If you are outside the cave taking in the wonders of light keep on sharing.  All of your words, all of your stories, they encourage me. 

Joining in for FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY

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. 


                           REPEAT!

                                            REPEAT!

                                                    REPEAT!

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?!

 

 



(Way more than) Five Minute Friday: Mercy

*Not a true story, but a story of truths.  This is what came out for Mercy*

She sat in the bay window, her knees pulled tight to her chest.  She was clothed in all gray: light gray stretch pants, long and loose cable net sweater, and socks that scrunched up around her ankles.  Her attire matched the color of the sky outside.  She hugged her knees closer and rested her chin upon them.  She watched as raindrops zig-zagged their way down the window. 

A man's voice spoke from behind her, drawing her back into the present and out of the watery world before her.  She didn't want reality, she wanted to wash away like those raindrops.

He called to her again.  "Mercy.  Mercy.  Can you hear me?"

Her name was Mercy and the irony of her own name and his question did not escape her. 

As she slowly turned to face the voice her own mind asked the same question, "Mercy, can you hear me?  Mercy.  Mercy?" , but she wasn't speaking to herself.

She raised her eyes only long enough to glimpse today's intruder. 

He sat in the only chair in the room; legs crossed, a notebook and pen poised and at the ready.  He was younger than most.  Her eyes caught his for only a second, but that was a second too long.  It was too much exposure and she turned again to face the window.    The rain was still dripping but the spell was broken, reality glaring hard about her.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"I want you to tell me why you are here."

"You know why I am here."  She wasn't going to make this easy on him.  She never made it easy for anyone.

"I want to hear it in your own words." 

"I am here because life sucks, the world is scary, the fear and the anger tear at me all day long and I can't take it.  I have no where to release it all and so I tear at myself, because I am the one I am most angry at." 

But none of that came out.  She just sat in silence and instead pulled a sleeve up over her arm showing him it, because that arm spoke louder and bolder than any words ever could have.

He was fairly new at this job.  He had seen other arms, other patients, but none like this.  He worked hard to cover his shock at the depth of pain revealed in this showing of skin.  He didn't know how she was able to touch it.  The skin was a dark purple, all of it and swollen.  Deep scratches and scabs broke through the purple in telling lines. 

"Why?" It was all he could muster and he wasn't sure if he said it with the professional flatness he had been taught to use.

He hadn't.  The concern seeped through the question.  Her ears perked, because she heard it, the concern.  "He really is new," she thought, "or is it that he really might care?"  Either way, the slip of his heart dropped her guard enough that she allowed words to slip out.  "It is who I am.  That is me inside and I wear it out.  I wear my insides out and no one likes that, so that is why I am here.  I am here because I show my honesty and it is too honest."  Her hand pulled her sleeve back down over her hurts and anger.  That was the most anyone had gotten out of her in a long time.  This speaking honesty instead of acting it out was tiring and frightening.  She slipped from the window and moved to her bed.  Climbing inside she turned away from him and pulled the covers up close around her.  "Can we be done now?"

"Okay, but I will be back soon.  Thank you for showing me."

Five Minute Friday: Worship

Worship

I stand on Sunday mornings and sometimes I sing and sometimes I just listen.  Sometimes I just don't have it in my to open my mouth.  I prefer to hear the other voices, because that sound is holier then trying to force my own voice to join in.

Sometimes when I sing or listen it touches a place deep within where emotions sit.  And I choke them back.

Worship is hard, because it is intimate.  I struggle with intimate, so I struggle with worship.


Worship is beautiful, because it leads to deep places in our souls. 

 

 

Five Minute Fridays (Rest)

Rest:

I want to hear the rest of the story Lord.
I want to hear it told to me like a Bible story in childrens' church.
I want to see those water color pictures of my life painted on white background.
I want the felt cut-outs on the brown background telling out the story of where I have been and where I am going.
I want it laid out in chronological order:
"In the beginning God created Karmen, and she was good in His sight."
I want to see that my wandering has purpose, Your purpose.
I want to see that promised land that You have said is waiting for me.
I want to know that I am a girl after Your own heart like David's heart was.
I want to be told where my lion's dens, fiery furnaces, and crosses are and be told how I lived through them by your devine G.R.A.C.E.
I want to see it written out in print, so that I might read it over and over again.
I want it to be read to me whispered quiet at night as I lay in bed:
"And God's hand was upon Karmen"
I want my story to be Your story. 
I want to know that I become that terabinth tree that you have emblazened in my heart.
I want to know that these seeds grow in me and that I don't stay just a sapling.
I want my story to end with:
"And Karmen followed Him all of her days."
I want to be able to rest in the hearing of the rest of my story.

Image from google image search for terabinth tree.


rest plural of rest

Verb Cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh oneself, or recover strength. Remain or be left in a specified condition: "rest assured".

Noun An instance or period of relaxing or ceasing to engage in strenuous or stressful activity. The remaining part of something.

Synonyms verb. repose - relax - lean - lie noun. repose - remainder - pause - remnant - relaxation

Five Minute Friday "Home"

Home

Home, that all elusive place I hope to someday get to.  The place that my soul cries out for when all goes dark and I am left in sea of swirling darkness.  Home.  I want to go home.  And I am trying so hard to find the path there.  To journey to a place of healing where I know I am safe and loved and protected.  That is my internal search for home.

Home.  A physical place that I am in limbo on.  I sold mine/ours.  Living in the in-between.  Waiting to move not knowing what home will look like on the other side.  Much like my current internal home status.

Waiting.  Searching. Longing.  Home.  Please God, LET ME FIND HOME!  I need it.  I was not made for living this homeless life.  I need to know that there is more.  That there is peace and comfort and safety.  Security.  Love that doesn't leave.  I need to know I can stop the hiding.  I need a place where I am at peace with my self, my family, my world, and with You. 

I need a place to call my own.  I am tired of wandering this desert of searching.  My feet are aching for my Promised Land, MY own home.
linking up with Five Minute Friday