Tears in the bucket

Growing up with an abusive alcoholic is like...



being a puzzle with missing pieces.

 You can ask everyone around you to halt and help you look for the missing pieces, but you'll never find them.   You fill in the empty spaces the best that you can, but you are always on a quest to find a better piece here or there, anywhere.    

ALWAYS ON A QUEST…

To cope with being the wife of an abusive alcoholic, my mom became a creature of habit.  She learned to control as many things around her that she could.  Almost everything in her life was out of control.  Routine gave the shambles of my mom's life something stable.  She could create it.  She could manipulate it.  She could master the discipline of it.   

AND MASTER THE DISCIPLINE OF ROUTINE...

SHE DID...

Every Friday night, while my father was hopping from bar to bar, my mom was at home washing toilets.   While my father was hopping from bed to bed and woman to woman, my mom was alone mopping the floor.

My mom was a hands and knees floor scrubber.  I can still see her hunched over on all fours methodically scrubbing with the old wooden scrub brush.  She would meticulously begin in the same corner of the kitchen every Friday night.  Back and forth she scrubbed.  She tried to scrub away her sorrows of wondering where her husband would be that night.  Who would be with him?  Would he make it home alive?  Would she get a call at 3:00 a.m. and have to pick him up from a bar, or a jail, or a hospital?  Would he come home at all?  Back and forth she scrubbed, constantly wiping the sweat from her brow.  Tears fell in that dirty old mop bucket.  Tears became the solution that cleaned our kitchen floor.  Tears drove my mom to wish her daughter a better life than she had. 

TEARS BECAME AN AVENUE FOR PRAYER... 

With each tear that fell in the bucket, my mom's heart cried out in prayer that her only child would have a better life than she had.  My mom's tears pleaded with God that He would somehow assemble the puzzle of my life that had severely damaged and missing pieces.  My mom prayed for rescue.  Escape.  Protection.  Guidance.  Help.   

EACH TEAR A PRAYER THAT THINGS WOULD BE DIFFERENT FOR ME.

Every Friday night, I think that old plastic bucket filled faster than it emptied.

  

AS TEARS BECAME PRAYERS...

PRAYERS BECAME HOPE...

My mom had a hope that my life would be better.  My mom had a hope that my broken puzzle could somehow be restored.    


MY MOM HAD HOPE, AND GOD HEARD HER TEAR-PRAYERS. 


 This is the life that my mom prayed for me.  Safety.  Love.  Faithfulness.  Security.  Strength.  Peace.  Tenderness.  Faith.  Light.

HER PRAYERS WERE HEARD...

AND ANSWERED...

THE TEARS OF HER OWN LIFE CAUSED PRAYERS OF HEALING TO FALL ON MINE...

THE TEARS IN THE BUCKET STILL CARRY ME...

THANKS MOM...

Good Morning Forty

Good morning, Forty.  I knew you would be here to greet me this morning. 

I've been thinking about our meeting for quite some time.  I always used to wish that somehow you would show up late for our appointment.  I wasn't really sure I ever wanted to meet you at all, but now that this day is here, I can quite see that you are actually right on time.  

Forty, I see that you have brought with you Second Chances and New Opportunities. Grace and Mercy have been my ever constant companions.  You should all get along nicely.  As we walk hand in hand ~together~ into today, tomorrow, the next day, and the next, I will remember the blessings and delights of my first forty years.  I will also remember the heartaches, brokenness, and disappointments.  All of the sorrow has shaped and formed me, and has grown me up to be content to be here ~on this day~ with you. 

Thank you for coming.  It is a mercy and delight to be here.  So many never get to see you, and for me you are perfectly on time. Forty, I embrace you. Let's journey forward and never look back.  Somehow, I have this distinct feeling that the best years are actually yet to be. 

Good morning, my friend.  

Good morning, Forty.  

Good morning.  

  

"Every day of my life was recorded in your book.  Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed."  Psalm 139:16

A Beautiful Grace

Certain words have a way of painting pictures in our hearts.

At the mere mention of one of these unique words specific emotions, images, and opinions are sparked. Our experience, in part, frames the conclusions and definitions we draw from these words. The word "father" is one of these such words.

When you hear...

FATHER. Do you feel warm and tender? Do you feel safe and protected? Does "father" to you represent wisdom and love?

Or when you hear...

FATHER. Do you feel distant and fearful? Do you feel nervous and defensive? Does "father" to you represent abandonment or pain?

When you hear...

FATHER. Maybe you feel something completely different than these two scenarios. Maybe you even feel a combination of both. Perhaps the word doesn't evoke any particular feeling at all, but I want to share with you why the word FATHER for me is a grace.

A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...

For the first twelve years of my life my earthly father sunk his sorrows in a bottle from bar to bar almost every single night of the week. He's been in more brawls than I would care to know about, most were probably over women. He wasn't able to hold down a job for apparent reasons, and he wrecked more vehicles than I could ever remember. I am quite certain that he cheated death. SEVERAL TIMES. I don't remember him ever being tender with me when I was little, and he certainly didn't make me feel safe or protected. My childhood memories include trekking off to bars and jails to retrieve my father. My childhood memories include watching my father physically hurt my mother, and include my father hurting me. I remember that when he was home, even in the middle of the most beautiful sunshiny day, our house was dark, and the thick heavy drapes were drawn on all the windows. I was instructed- sternly- not to make the tiniest rustle of noise. His skin wreaked of liquor combined with the stench of vomit. Yet the word "father" for me is a grace.

A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...

I think I've always known that a good father would be nothing at all like my biological father. When he broke away from the bottle once and for all, the only thing that changed was the presence of alcohol. Sadly, all of the other violent behaviors remained. Always hoping for the best in every situation, I still believed that one day I might awaken, and my father would suddenly be changed. He would realize the gift he had in my faithful, beautiful mother. He would realize the gift he had in me. He would be kind and tender, playful and caring. He might even show me how to hit a baseball, or take me on a bike ride. His eyes would sparkle and dance when I walked into the room, and he would be proud of me, his little girl. I never awoke to such a dream being fulfilled. Even still, the word "father" for me is a grace.

A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...

As a girl I cowered around men close to my father's age. Even as a teenager I feared my friends' fathers. When I was in elementary school, I was ridiculed by other children, because my father was the town drunk in a very, very small town. My father used to tell me that no man would ever love me. As a result of him mistreating me, I have always been plagued with deep insecurities. To cope, I looked for love in all the wrong places so I would feel approval, acceptance, and security. I was simply longing for a place to belong. Heaps of brokenness and shame buried me. My father was charming to everyone around us, but in the prison of privacy he threatened to take my life if I ever shared what went on inside our home. I believed him. I was silent. My own father should have shattered any positive image that I have of any and every father. But, the word "father" for me is a grace.

A BEAUTIFUL GRACE... 

As I look back on every single one of my formative years, I realize that I have a REAL FATHER who held and kept me. Maintained and protected me. Even though He allowed appalling things to happen to me, He did not allow those things to destroy me. Even when I strayed, He did not allow me to stray beyond His grasp. As a grown woman, layers of my own brokenness continue to be peeled away. Each undone layer brings to light pain along with new graces. My REAL FATHER directed me here, to this particular time and place, through the traffic and devastation of the circumstances of my life. Every hurt, regret, sorrow, mistake, and shame from my earliest memory until this very day, He has used to form and shape me, mold and seal me. He has whispered deep into my soul that *I* am *HIS* LITTLE GIRL. It is His eyes that sparkle and dance when I enter the room, because... He. Loves. Me. My FATHER loves me. He is my grace.

A BEAUTIFUL GRACE...

INDEED... 



All is grace...always grace,

 

She Drew the Roots

Yesterday, my seven year old daughter, Sunshine Girl, gave me a picture of a flower she drew.  I praised her for her picture, and then thought about the eclectic mix of  artistic flowers I've seen over the years of working with kids.  There have been hundreds, perhaps even thousands of floral renditions, but Sunshine Girl's picture was slightly different than the myriad of others.

SHE DREW THE ROOTS.


When I was a classroom teacher, we studied the anatomy of a flower in fourth grade science. I instructed my students to include the root system in their diagrams, but Sunshine Girl wasn't drawing a diagram for science.  She was creating art.  She drew the flower exactly how she thinks about, feels, and sees it. Sunshine Girl included what is forgotten and hidden to most of us.  She included the MOST IMPORTANT part.  The Roots.


UGLY.

DIRTY.

MUSTY.

DARK.

ROOTS.



THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF A FLOWER IS *NOT* IT'S BEAUTY.

The ROOTS are the lifeline.  The ROOTS are the anchor. Without a healthy anchor fingering down into the soil, the plant that yields such beauty cannot be nourished and cannot survive.



HIDDEN. FORGOTTEN. ROOTS.  

TENDED.  MAINTAINED. PROTECTED. 

PRODUCE. SPLENDID. BLOOMS.

Sunshine Girl's picture got me to thinking about my own roots.  Are my roots gripping and spreading deep into the soil around me to give me the best spiritual anchor as possible?  Am I even planted in the right soil for the best nourishment as possible?  I believe that what you are planted in, spiritually speaking, is what you will produce.

"May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous LOVE. And may you have the power to understand how wide, how long, how high, and deep HIS LOVE really is."  Ephesians 3:17-18

Notice what the blossom on Sunshine Girl's flower is.  A heart.  A heart represents LOVE.  Not only did her picture reveal roots, it displayed LOVE.  May your roots travel, spread, finger, dig, anchor, and weave deep into the rich soil of God's...

I LOVE YOU~ REALLY AND TRULY~ NO MATTER WHAT

...LOVE, and may you well up with a beauty that will burst forth and blossom from the uncontainable life and nourishment you receive from that truth.  BE HIS LOVE TO OTHERS. 

I am thankful for the picture gift of my seven year old to remind me of these truths, and for that reason, I am so glad SHE DREW THE ROOTS. 

Worse Than Dead

I am looking at the farmer's field 

          outside my bedroom window.  It's springtime, and there is a substantial amount of green popping up daily in the field.The field is also covered in a blanket of brown stalks that wave when the wind whisks them.These straw shafts are the evidence left from a once fruitful wheat harvest. The green is beginning to seize the brown. The green is healthy. The green is lush.The green is life. The green is weeds. 

THE GREEN IS WEEDS.

Weeds.

Weeds.

  

Weeds. 

They, themselves, are strong healthy plants.  Left unattended, they will overcome the entire field.
   

STRONG-GREEN. 

FALSE-LIFE. 
 

As the field stands, there will be no more TRULY healthy life.  Sure, a few kernels of wheat could have fallen to the ground during the harvest last July or August, and a few new plants might sprout up bearing fruit from those seeds, but with the vast amount of green taking over, the new life will eventually be choked out. The fruit, if any, will not reach the full potential of the original seed.  The abandoned field is rendered useless for bearing new growth.   

IT'S WORSE THAN DEAD.  

It's a breeding ground for false life. The weeds will mature and go to seed. As the wind whips through swollen pods and puffs, it will carry the weed seeds into other fields and begin to fester growth there as well.   

As the field stands...  

As the field stands...  

As the field stands...

This ground needs to be BROKEN. This green needs to be turned up by it's roots and set free from the soil to which it clings.  This brown needs to be turned under to create room for new growth. 

Broken.  

Broken.  

THIS GROUND MUST BE BROKEN. 

BROKEN.  

READIED.  

PREPARED.  

SOFTENED.   

Soil must be tendered for the seed to bed, and for new life and growth to begin. 

HEALTHY-DEEP. 

BOUNTIFUL-GROWTH.  

  But first, the ground must be broken.... broken..... broken..... 

In my own life, times of brokenness have facilitated my deepest growth. There are times when I have been overtaken by weeds-  STRONG-GREEN.  FALSE-LIFE.  -just like the field outside my window.  Something had to be broken to bring freedom from the alien roots in my life.  SOMETHING had to be broken.  

ME. 

The truth of the matter, though, is that It hurts to be broken.  It hurts to have roots rip and tear away from the soil in which they have grown deep and comfortable, but... 

PAIN ALWAYS HAS A PURPOSE IN GOD'S SOVEREIGN HANDS.  

ALWAYS.     

Do not fear being broken, my friends.  Instead, fear NOT being broken.  Surrendered sorrow has the capacity to cement you to JESUS if you walk transparently through your pain. Whatever your journey, humbly trust Him.  

Trust Him.

Trust Him.

Trust Him.

... and bring on that plow.  

"The sacrifice You desire is a broken spirit.  You will not reject a broken and repentant heart."  Psalm 51:17

"Because your heart was tender and you humbled yourself before Me when you heard what I spoke... and wept before Me, I truly have heard you."  2 Kings 22:19