Why Dance?

I've been questioned this last week by a few as to why I obey some of the rules laid down by my husband that are without reason, simply done to be mean, out of anger. In fact it has set off a debate back and forth by some who I know, a fairly quiet one since they are sensitive to me, but still a debate.

Let me share my thoughts today. There are some rules I obey that I know are "wrong", as in wrongly imposed, a violation of authority. But, I obey them, not out of submission to anger or cruelty, but out of my own integrity. I can chose to submit myself by choice to this not because of who he is, but because of who I am. Then I am not defeated, but standing intact. Still dancing in the storm.

Why do I still dance? Because I have realized a few things as I have gone round and round this cycle over the years. Yes, this time is a rougher time with these unfair rules, but truth is still truth. He may make rules, but he can not stop love nor prayer. His hate will not cause others to hate me. His devaluing me will not cause others to see me less. His rules will not stop people from praying for me. So, even under these rules, I still dance. He can not bind my spirit.

I used to think he could. I used to think that how he saw me, all people would see me. I don't any more.

He forbid me to work at school; yet on Friday, he was shocked when I phoned him from home. "You're not at school?!"

No. I am obeying.

I will obey, but he will not win my heart by brute force. He may enforce a "perfect life" for himself, but he will not force my heart. I was built for and respond to gentleness. Yet what enables me to dance in the storm is knowing I am loved. God loves me with perfect gentleness, unrestrained delight, and a deep tenderness. He values me, not because I in myself am valuable, but because He set His value on me. In a value given to me, not earned, I lift my head and smile. I am loved. I am a daughter of the King. He can not take that away from me.

Only on a Sunday - A Point for Consistency

I thought we would get away without anything to write about this Sunday. I thought I'd have to pull something from the past, but no. We actually made it as far as home with well-behaved children today.

Then it happened. It just had to. I was laying across my daughter's bed in my Sunday clothes resting after helping her change. She looked down at my legs. "Mommy,why do you wear those things (hose) on your legs?"

"Oh, I guess to look good."

"Hmm... Then maybe you should wear them on your hands and arms, too. Because if you don't, and people see your arms, they will know you don't have tight skin."

Thanks, little daughter. I needed that!

Looking for the Sunshine

Ha! There isn't any. It's that fine spring rain this morning, not wet enough to be inside or carry an umbrella, but wet enough to smell wonderful!

My world is not all right. Not full of sunshine and smiles. But there is a quote that says "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but about learning to dance in the rain."

My storms keep coming, so I've become good at dancing in the rain. Today, I went for a walk in the rain - a light, spring rain. I've walked in downpours before, dancing and splashing in puddles. (Kids have a one up on us - it's fun!)

There are moments of sunshine. Good things in the midst of pain.

News that a decision I strongly objected to may be able to be changed - after weeks of thinking it was too late, impossible... after weeks of looking up at God and telling Him that if He made the worlds with His word, He can step in here. (not a family decision, but something else)

My tulips bloomed. I love spring. I love its awakening beauty. I just hate the pollen! But after years of allergy shots, so far I'm doing fine this year. I had to go off all my allergy meds because it was making my heartbeat race, but I'm doing fine.

The birds are singing while I walked this morning.

My kids are more peaceful, and my son is smiling.

My daughter is sweet. She just is. She likes to take care of me, and I find her little touches so special. Sweet.

I went for a long walk this morning in the rain, even ran a little while. Love walking in the rain.

I'm beginning to dance again. The wounds are crusting over, beginning that first stage of healing. They will open up again. We will cycle through again. I don't have the hope of an end to this all, but I have the hope one has when you realize I have survived another round, and I'm still dancing.

It might be raining, but I'll just dance in it anyway.

And enjoy those brief moments of sunshine. Little things like the birds singing and my neighbor's iris's blooming. Worms wiggling on the sidewalk. The wind in my hair.

Two Opposite Truths

Can two things which are opposite be true? My rational side objects to this. I actually have a rational side - dry, rational, evaluating, sometimes humorous, rational. It is just in hiding, a bit overshadowed by my emotional side which has not stopped crying for a week.

But I think they can. Opposite, but true.

We say this to ourselves, to others, and there is truth in it. God is enough. He is all I need.

It is true. He is who He is. Amazing. Big. One who made the heavens and the earth and Who sits enthroned above them, yet intimately acquainted with all our ways. Who knows our thoughts before we think them. He is able to meet our needs, yup, even those emotional ones, in ways we don't even think about.

It isn't true, too. He isn't enough. God, who in Himself is in a relationship, created us for relationships. He designed us for this. He put us in relationships - family ones, friends, church, people. He made us for this. And when those relationships are not as they should be, there is pain. Even God's fullness does not take away the pain of relationships broken or hurting. He isn't enough.

Opposite, but true.

There is the obvious relationship here which is broken. My husband has little relationship to me right now, wanting to hurt me, critical and sarcastic. Strange to me that I look back and think that a week ago right now, he was rubbing my back and neck because I was feeling feverish and sore. That was last week Friday night. This is this week. That sudden change still blows my mind, but we are used to it.

Then there are others. He forbid me to talk to people who are special to me. Ones who chose to walk with me through the mess of my life. See, my husband made the decision to do that, and he's regretted it since. I was not what he wanted, too damaged for his liking, and he has spent the last several years telling me that often. If he had a choice, he would walk away. Then there came into my life a couple who decided to walk with me. They could have walked away many times. There was nothing tying them to me; nothing forcing them to stay. Many times, I tried to get them to go away, but they didn't. When I hurt them, they forgave me. They prayed for me when I didn't even want them too! They showed me what God was like - He loves despite me. He doesn't demand perfection before He loves me. They told me I am loved and valuable so many times that I actually began to believe it. And I love them.

I miss them. I've done nothing wrong. They've done nothing wrong. We have not had an argument and are not talking. But, out of anger and out of delight in making me hurt, my husband forbid me to talk to them.

I miss them.

I was in church this evening, and the man speaking decided to show some pictures. He's a short guy, so when he meets tall men, he takes his picture with them. Now he has a collection of these pictures, and whenever he wants to make people laugh, he pulls them out. He pulled this collection out this evening to show his newest one - a man who even when our friend stood on a chair, he was shorter than him! But in his collection of tall men was a picture of one I am not allowed to talk to. For no other reason than to make me hurt. To take away my supports.

I buried my head down into my Bible when the lights came back on and studiously read Deuteronomy. Line after line of battles and division of the land I read, focusing my thoughts on it so I would not cry. Halfway through, there was noise outside, and I was needed to go tell kids to go back to their rooms, so I quietly left.

I stayed outside in the entry of the church. Rested my elbows on the window and stared at the grey sky, tears running quietly down my face once again. Looking up. Silently crying my hurt out to God who does hear.

I'm ok, because God is enough. And I'm hurting because God isn't enough. We are made for relationships.

I'm eating occasionally now. A little bit here and there. Not much. This evening in church, two women looked at me and drew their breath in, "You've lost weight?!" and "You look exhausted!" So I tried to smile. I can not tell them because it is a small group, but they know. I'm still dropping weight. I'm down to weight I haven't been since... well... since I had mono in college.

I went grocery shopping after I put my kids in bed this evening. I walked and walked looking for food and for snacks that I and my son might eat on the trip.... nothing. Everything I saw turned my stomach. Chocolate made me heave at the smell. Salty things the same. Not even milk or anything make with milk. Nothing. I walked away with a few things for my son, but nothing for me. I still can't eat. I do now eat a few bites at supper, but only that. They immediately cramp my tummy up, and run straight through me.

I'm sad. Too sad to eat.

But God. He has a way of sneaking up on us when we're curled in a ball sobbing. And He did tonight. I don't even understand the language church was in tonight - not yet, not when I am too hurt to try to listen. But in a few songs, there were English subtitles. One said something about God our intercessor.

And I heard that. I turned my face up to the Lord.

Let Me pray for that one.

And the tears settled again to sniffles. What I've focused on first this week have been the things that affected my children the most. Their computers, the trip, general peace... because I care for them. I have gone head to head in pleading with my husband about things concerning them most.

This other restriction, I have not mentioned. It didn't affect them as much. It hurts me.

I know Hebrews. He who ever lives to make intercession for us.

So I rested. There are only two restrictions not overturned. I will question one when I get home if things are ok. But this other one, I'll let Him carry that. And while I wait, I'll be busy proving the first of the two opposite truths - God is enough. While tears still fall over the second truth.

Cycles

Today is a better day. It is better enough that one would begin to hope.

But....

When your life consists of cycles, endless circles that go around and around, when the wheel begins to swing 'round to the other side, do you hope? Or do you just take a breath and hang on for the ride back 'round again?

It is not that I am not thankful to be coming out of this intense anger time. I am. Very thankful.

But, it is more a matter of heal what you can, bandage up wounds, rebuild what safety you can in the hearts of my children, get a little rest, and be prepared for the next cycle. It's coming again.

Time to evaluate, think through where the safety net failed here, and be ready for those things in the future. Time to try to figure out what was the trigger this time, and see if we can avoid that next time. Time to look and think about ways to diffuse a situation, and be ready for next time. Time to take a breath, but not relax. To rest, but not sleep. It's coming again. We won't know when, but it is coming again. The cycle turns endlessly. I could even sit down and predict the path of the next few days... anger, silence, relaxing, coarse humor, a few small acts of kindness, relative normalness, some great gestures of "gifts" or appeasement, normalness, growing irritation, tenseness, grumbling, and again explosive, unreasonable anger. Round and round we go.

I am just not sure I want to ride.

It is back to the question of what is enough water under the bridge. I posted about that before.

Today, I'm thankful the cycles is turning, yes, but I am not very hopeful. Too tired to be hopeful. I don't trust him. I turn my eyes up to God, and I trust, but the questions sit in my eyes, "Father, when will You respond? How long? Do You see us hurting here?" I know He sees. I know He does. I just want Him to hold my eyes. Let me see You. See me. See. The God who sees. This was Hagar's name for God when she was used, misused, and rejected. Alone in the desert with her son that she loved. Needing to protect him, and unable to. It was not her fault the choices that were made to create him. She could only do as she was told. She cried to God, and He answered. Then she gave God a name. The God who sees.

See me now.

I feel like one who has survived a storm; and now, standing in the destruction following it, I stand bewildered. Voices surround me saying different things. Some voices are silent, choosing to think it is not a big deal, I'll address it later. Others are absent. Others themselves shake their heads wondering.

My parents phoned me and suggested I think about separating from my husband. Others have, too. Others suggest that I just submit and become "better" and he will stop.

Today, I'm overwhelmed. I survey the devastation and question like those who live in a hurricane zone, "Is it worth rebuilding?" My heart looks like a mass of scars, one laid down on top of the other. Whip lashes, some open and still oozing, lashed across others, some partly healed, some angry red scars, and some faint white lines of old wounds. I don't always recognize myself when I look in my eyes in a mirror. Where is the smile? Where is the laughter without tears in the shadows? Why are the shadowy pools growing deeper and deeper? Who am I becoming?

Today, I'm overwhelmed. I lay in my bed this morning on my tummy, reading aloud from my Bible. Whispering verses aloud to myself. Praying the verses back to God. Saying them aloud to myself. This is what I believe. This is what I believe about You. I don't feel this right now. I feel stunned, hurt, bleeding; but this is what I believe about You.

Crying out to God, my Father, to pick me up, to hold me, to still my heart to hear Him. Crying simply for the storm to stop, to be sheltered so I can hear His voice. Heal me. Give me rest. Find me. Put Your hand under my chin and tip my face up to meet Your eyes again. Quiet me.

Interesting to me that at different times, I call out to God differently. When my husband hurts me, when he tells me I am worthless and damaged and unlovable, I struggle to talk to God as Jesus. It hurts. I turn and call out for my Father. Yet, when there are troubles with my dad, and I feel unsafe there, I struggle to pray, "Father....". It shouldn't be. God is not as man. But it is.

I'm stabilizing, begining to start the healing time.... but... the cycle continues.... the question is only how long? How long until the next time?

On the what is happening side - my husband changed his mind and is letting me go with my son on his trip. That is good. He is briefly talking to us at times - as brief as he can, but without total disgust in his voice. He has not taken away my computer again, but I have not given him that chance, either. I keep it out of sight. But he is not calm. He is only beginning that process towards things being ok.... He has the tools to use to solve conflict - he teaches others them - but he doesn't use them. He hasn't learned forgiveness and restoration in practice, only theory. It is back to waiting until enough water has gone under the bridge. The problem is I'm running out of water.

There is Something to be Said for Repetition

A few weeks ago, when there was trouble here, a friend told me, "remember Eph.6". Just remember that - to stand strong in the full armor of God. I laughed. I listen to memory verses in one grade, and they are studying Eph. 6, so it was not like I would be able to forget. I was in today, teaching, but my one student was taking a test, so I listened to memory verses again.

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the full armor of God so that you may be able to take a stand in the evil day."

Seventeen times. The eighteenth was home with chicken pox. Seventeen times.

Be strong. I guess there is something to be said for repetition!

One Word

Today, I have my computer back, and turning it on, I saw something.

Do you ever have something you see, and it makes you smile? Sometimes just one word. Today, I smiled. One word. It brought a smile to my face this morning.

That, and being prayed for today. Another person asked if I wanted to pray with them. I said no. I was too emotionally worn out to sit and put my thoughts into words and pray with someone. But another person prayed for me, not asking my permission, not expecting that I pray, too.

There are times I have been prayed for, and it is as if someone laid their hand on my head and blessed me. Without wanting to sound odd, I still say that. Inside me there begins a change, a slow warming or a quiet stilling when I am prayed for, but even more so when I hear the prayers. True, I know people pray for people, and God does listen. He does answer those. But there is something about spoken and heard prayer. It is like a blessing. From other people's faith, I draw strength. Someone used to tell me when I could not trust or believe when I was going through a rough time, "Let me believe for you." And I did. I hung on because someone else believed until I was big enough to believe myself.

Today, I could face God because someone else could talk to Him when my heart was hurting too much to look up just then.

The interesting thing thing about being prayed for is that people usually do it when they are leaving. Then they leave, and you are left there - face to face with God. A stillness.

So today, I wouldn't say God and I are talking. I'm too exhausted to talk. But, I'm sitting still.

Another Morning

I'm posting right now just to let you all know that I am here, alive, survived another night and am looking at the morning. It is a rainy, blowing morning, which is fine. Suits my feelings today.

Rough night. Really rough night. I tried to talk to my husband. It didn't go well. Another long list of things I am not doing and reasons why I am warped and damaged. I eventually went to lay down, but I lay a long time just still in the night, not sleeping. My tummy hurt severely. I was at a awards night for my kids last night, so I ate a brownie and a cup of coffee that was given to me. Mistake. Not easy on my tummy at all.

But this morning, someone prayed for me. If you knew me, you would hear a breathing out of tensely held breath. Being prayed for - one of the things I am deeply missing in being cut off. I mean, I know I am being prayed for, but I miss hearing it. I miss that. And this morning, to be prayed for - it was good. It gave me enough internal stillness to make a small step. I cried for awhile, in the dark when I was alone, sitting there crying to God. Just crying. No words. But then, I got up and decided to go have a cup of tea - with lots of milk and sugar. Tea might make it down. It's gentler than coffee. Then I had another one. My one student did not show up today because her glasses broke, so I just sat. Drinking tea. Sitting. Breathing in the quietness. Resting.

Now I am home again. I need to get things done. Housework, things. But I thought I would write. Right now, I'm hurting, probably more than before. I feel like my life is in pieces, broken, with no real hope of then ever being whole. I feel like I am again sitting in an empty house with the curtains drawn tight with the broken pieces of my life around me and no real clue as to how to put them into a whole. I am not sure what the whole would look like. But today is a quiet hurt, almost numb, but not exactly, just still. Just feeling blank today, hurting.

Tonight, my kids have a musical. My husband will not be there, so tonight I get one night without him surrounded by a community of people where I feel safe and loved. Tonight should be ok.

On Line!

Hey! I phoned my husband and told him that my son needed the computer back on to do a school project. So he gave me the password to his, but he forgot it, so he gave me the one to mine. Yipee! I'm back on-line, and able to access things I needed.

But, I changed the password again. I was told that it might make him angry. It might. But, it is mine, not his - given as a direct gift to me by someone who told me to write. And, I am not going to be so stupid as to leave it where he can see it for a very, very long time. Tonight, it will be hidden and stay that way.

Long talk with my parents this afternoon. More about that later.

No Change

Another day. Another day the same as the one before it.

My son went home with another family from school last night. He has often been at their house when we've traveled. Their son and he are part of a tight group of four boys. They have five kids, and their mom is someone I trust, whom my son trusts, too.

He wanted to go with them because he couldn't handle coming home right then. He needed a safe place. I let him go, grateful that there was another family to step in.

And then I sat on the steps of the school in tears. I want to care for my son. I want to protect him. He's mine. He's my first, my oldest, the one most like me. I delight in this boy. He is my son. And I couldn't care for him. I needed to let him go to another mom to talk, to feel safe, to sleep and rest. I sat in the sun shivering, trying not to cry as moms walked by. I wanted to be there for my oldest, and I couldn't.

I'm doing ok, sort of. I'm hurting. But there are moments, when my husband is not around, that the hurt lifts enough or I bury it enough to smile and enjoy some things. Still under it all, is a deep, bleeding hurt. Like a river running underground, it makes the smiles shallow and threatens to break through at any minute. I'm not eating. Not really at all. Nothing. I can't. I can bury the hurt, but it comes out somewhere, and this is where it is coming out. I haven't ate anything but water since Saturday night. Someone made me promise I would at least drink soup, but I am not. I can't. My tummy holds my tears that drip unseen when I have to smile while I'm hurting, and there is just no room for food.

I woke in the night again last night for an hour or so. I tossed and turned. Then, suddenly, I knew I should pray - aloud. So I did. I sat and prayed aloud for cleaning of my house, for God's peace to come. That was all. Then I tossed and turned again until I slept once more.