A Song for Sunday: "Masterpiece"

Heartbreaks, a bittersweet sound

Know it well It's ringing in my ears

And I can't understand

Why I'm not fixed by now

Begged and I pleaded

Take this pain but I'm still bleeding"

I'm still looking for a full-time teaching job. I'm still dealing with pain of cutting ties with family members. I'm still crying at nights sometimes, trying to escape the pain of my broken heart. I don't understand sometimes why I'm not fixed by now. I am still bleeding, but I don't want to be.

"Heart trusts you for certain
Head says it's not working
I'm stuck here still hurting..."

My heart trusts in the Lord. I run to Him for comfort. But my head does tell me at times that it's not working, because I am still hurting. I feel alone at times, like God may have turned His back. 

"But you tell me....

You're making a masterpiece

You're shaping the soul in me

You're moving where I can't see

And all I am is in your hands.

You're taking me all apart

Like it was your plan from the start

To finish your work of art, for all to see.... you're making a masterpiece"

This mess of a life is somehow your masterpiece. The miracle comes not in the removal of pain, because it's still there. It comes in the grace that You are walking with me through it. You are taking my life all apart and it's painful, messy, and I don't like it. But it's all part of Your plan, even though I may not understand. Somehow you are working all of this for good. Somehow you are making me a masterpiece. 

"Guess I'm your canvas
Beautiful black and blue
Painted in mercy's hue.
I don't see past this,
You see me now,
Who I'll be then,
There at the end
Standing there as....

Your masterpiece"

The canvas of my life does not look so beautiful to me right now, in this moment. Somehow I am painted in Your mercy and to You, it is beautiful. Because you see beyond right now, beyond this moment. You see me and who I will be in the time to come. You see me at the very end. I can't see that. 

This song "Masterpiece" by Danny Gokey reminds me of who I am in Christ. How He sees me. Beyond the pain, beyond the mess, I am His masterpiece. It also reminds me of a poem from Corrie Ten Boom, which I will include here. 

“Life is but a Weaving” (the Tapestry Poem)

“My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me.

I cannot choose the colors

He weaveth steadily.

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow;

And I in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper

And I the underside.

Not ’til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the weaver’s skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;

Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those

Who leave the choice to Him.”

― Corrie ten Boom

I am merely the work, He is the worker. I am the tapestry and He is the master weaver. I forget so much sometimes only He sees the upper, the finished product, while I see only the underside, full of tangles and knots. The underside looks ugly, like one big mess. And I think how in the world does God use this? But God sees the finished result, the upper part, and how it all comes together to make a beautiful pattern He has planned. 

No matter what comes your way in this life, rest in this. That you are still His Masterpiece. Even through the pain, the hard nights, and the mess of a life. He is working in you still. Keep trusting and don't always listen to your head. He is moving where we can't see and He is shaping us. Always. 

A Tale of Survival

I survived.

Sometimes barely.

But I did.

It's difficult to put into words what it's like to grow up with someone who deals with PTSD, is an alcoholic, and exhibits many narcissistic behaviors. Someone who is one of the most anal, type-A, crazy people you will ever meet.

But I'll try.

You know what it's like?

It's being told that you make up things, that you lie. They deny their part in things. If they can't remember, it didn't happen. If you remember it, then you're crazy.

You argue with them. You get mad. You cry. It gets you no where. So eventually....you stop. And they win. And you hate that. But it's just easier.

It's not knowing what character of the person will walk through the door. It's bracing yourself for the absolute worst, but hoping for the best.

It's screaming matches. It's yelling. It's covering your ears at night to try to drown out the noise.

It's the answering machine telling you he will be home late, because of work. But it's not because of work.

It's never measuring up. Never being good enough for them. It's trying over and over to win their approval, but never getting it.

It's being manipulated. Coerced. Tricked. They play with your emotions like it's a game.

They throw around the word love and offer fake praise when they want something from you. And if you don't give it to them, they throw out the insults once more.

It's them never being able to own up to their mistakes, their poor choices. They are always the victim. Always the abused, but really they are the abuser.

It's being accused of things you never did or said. It's the mentality that it's their way or the highway. And honestly, you start thinking the highway doesn't look so bad.

It's trying to get you to be the "middle-man" and place you in positions you don't want to be. It's trying to get others fighting over issues they think is important. It's pitting family member against family member.

It's playing with your mind. It's emotional and verbal abuse. And sometimes physical abuse.

It's watching them crush the spirits of the ones you love. It's the hatred you see in the eyes of your family members and in your own eyes. It's seeing them take your family member's love and passion and making it die.

It's them not being there. It's them being absent when they are there. It's knowing that somehow they are disappointed in you, but you have no idea why.

And then you grow up, all confused and hurt and broken. And the cycle doesn't stop. The person is still like that. You find yourself like that at times and it makes you sick. You literally get sick.

You sit in your bed at night and the lies come back to whisper in your ear. His voice sounds so real and it makes your breathing heavy.

The images flash in your mind and things you wish you never knew have a hard time escaping from your brain. It doesn't matter if your eyes are open or closed. It's still there.

You wonder if anyone could truly handle all of this. If anyone could truly love you. Jesus, you know, yes. But a person, outside your family? You aren't sure.

You think to yourself, who would want to deal with this? Because you don't even want to deal with it.

You are broken and hurt. But you are restored and redeemed. God's Words bring healing. You cling to them. You run to Him each time the lies make their way into your head again. And you feel safe. Loved. Protected. You don't know what is going to happen in the future, but you are glad He is by your side through all of it.  The good days and the bad ones.

The days you forget all about it and go on with life. And the days you stare at the bath water like it can somehow solve your problems and drown you without you really trying. The days you laugh and talk with friends. And the days you secretly sob in your room plagued by the past.

So what's it like to have a PTSD, alcoholic, narcissistic parent? It's deep and dark depression. It's anxiety. It's panic attacks. It's night terrors. But it's also knowing how to cope with it. It's learning how to breathe when you feel like you are drowning. It's learning how to reach out to others.

It's sharing your story. To let people know...they can survive too. Because I survived.

A Song for Sunday: "Losing"

Is there anyone who did not get to go home because of you? Do you know what that feels like?

I do.

It was an accident. A terrible vehicle accident. I didn't mean to. I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't see him. But I ran into him.

And because of me, he didn't make it home that night. He didn't make it home any night after that.

Lights flashing. Sirens wailing. Police questioning. My heart stopping. The shock. The confusion. The pain.

I didn't even know his name. I didn't know him. But because of me, he is dead.

Some things are just too heavy. It's been almost 9 years, yet I still remember that day. I won't ever forget...

I don't like to talk about it. I would rather just bury the memory in the recesses of my mind. Tucked away, secret, not to come out. Yet from all that, I learned a valuable lesson in forgiveness.

The man's wife contacted my family a few months after it happened and wanted to speak with me. I didn't want to meet her. I didn't want to look her in the eyes. I was the reason her husband did not come home that night. I was ashamed.

I was told I needed to. That it would bring closure. I went only because my family pushed me to. I tried to make myself feel numb. She looked me in the eye and told me she forgave me. I had to look away. I don't think I even cried. She said she didn't blame me. I thought, well that's realllly nice, but I do. I blame me.

She handed me her husband's funeral announcement and I didn't know what to do. She shared with me about him and that it was just his time to go. I will never really know.

What haunted me at night was that he may not have known Jesus and I put him in his grave. It made me want to share with everyone about Jesus all the more. It also made me want to die myself. I used to ask God why He didn't let me die instead. I was ready to meet Jesus, I have no idea if he was.

The ability for that woman to forgive me after such a tragedy taught me so much. It made me more open to forgiving others who wrong me. Though it's not easy, they certainly didn't put someone I love in the grave. I did that and she forgave me. I didn't cry when she said it, but I broke down afterwards. I just couldn't take it. How could she forgive me? After what I did? It was too heavy.

But then again, how could Jesus forgive us? After what we have done? That is way heavy. I went through this journey of seeking forgiveness, but learning that I needed to forgive myself. I am still not sure if I am all the way there. But I know He died for this too. And maybe all that happened to teach me a big lesson in forgiveness. I will never know.

The song "Losing" by Tenth Avenue North comes on the radio and I sob. Because I am also called to forgive others. And it's not easy. It's really hard. And yet I know, that I am the one really losing if I don't forgive.

They may not say sorry. They may continue to do it. And yet I am called to forgive. 70 times 7 times. "Lord, give me grace to forgive them. For I feel like the one losing."

Losing Music Video