Two Weeks Before Christmas

Six months prior to the phone call, we moved five-hundred miles away from the only home either of us had ever known.  It was a miracle that Ironman was home that day.

THAT DAY...

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

Little Girl and I always took Daddy lunch to the office, but today he was home to answer the call.

THE CALL THAT CAME...

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

((RING))

It pierces my soul to remember the moment...

((RING))

The moment I slipped...

((RING))

Slipped from found to lost...

"HELLO?"

Why did he have to answer?  Maybe if he wouldn't have answered?

CRACK!!!

Our family table fractured under the weight of Ironman's fist.  I burst into tears without knowing why.  I groped and pleaded in the instant darkness for the reason my heart was twisted up where my toes reside. 

"MOM'S BEEN IN A CAR WRECK."

"IS SHE OKAY-  IS SHE OKAY?  IS-- SHE-- OKAY?  WHOSE MOM?  WHOSE MOM?  MY MOM?  YOUR MOM?  WHO!?!?"

My words hung in the air like a dense fog.  Seconds were a lifetime.

"MINE." 

Ironman's voice faded.  He could scarecely inhale enough oxygen to get the words out.  He dropped the phone.

"SHE'S DEAD."

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

DEAD...

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

His words deafened my ears.  There was no more sound.  I fell to the floor.  Breathless.  Face on the ground, my body heaved in sobs.  Time stopped. 

TIME STOPPED...

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

I realized we were now the family we never thought we would be.  Suddenly, this sort of thing DOES actually happen to us.

TO US...

TO US...

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

Robots made phone calls.  People came.  Dinner arrived.  Robots packed bags.  Robots boarded a plane.  The plane ascended.  Pain descended.  Strangely, we were soothed by the twinkle of Christmas lights glittering on the rooftops of houses.

TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

Memories are frozen in time.  Still and serene.  Numb peace.  Forever changed.



TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...



Thirteen years ago today...



 TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...



We will never forget...



 TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

Manger

Souls drown in sin's ache.  

Trough cradle.  Grace's altar.

Heaven's bridge LOVE makes.

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

A few thoughts about Thanksgiving and a poem...

Today I am guest posting for my friend Jermaine Lane.  Jermaine has an INCREDIBLE testimony of God's provision and healing.  Make sure you read his story when you stop by HIS BLOG.  You will be blessed!


For the month of November, Jermaine has been sharing his poetic gift with his readers.  As  part of his "Poemvember" (a month of poems) posts, Jermaine asked if I would submit a piece.  I was completely honored, and gave him my submission on November 1st.   I found out at the beginning of this week that my poem would go "live" one day before Thanksgiving. 


On the day before Thanksgiving, kitchens begin to fill with succulent aromas, homes are tidied and decorated, and joy is stirred as families look forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas.


BUT...


MY POEM HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THANKSGIVING.  It's actually a bit heavy.  I got to thinking that most people probably won't want to read such a serious poem during this wonder filled time of year.

THEN IT HIT ME...

It hit me that first and foremost, GOD'S TIMING IS NOT MINE.  I got to thinking about the many people who hurt and struggle during the holidays...and struggle deeply.  Depression is at an all time high this time of year.  Maybe some who will "find" my poem will be blessed to read of my struggle, surrender, and, ultimately,  freedom?   FREEDOM...


Is there anything for which I am more thankful?   


FREEDOM.


Absolutely not.  Even more specifically, FREEDOM from the image I had of myself.  FREEDOM from the image that, perhaps,  I had created.   My poem is about TRANSFORMATION and FREEDOM.  And the more I think about it...

MY POEM REALLY IS A *THANKSGIVING* POEM AFTER ALL...






Happy Thanksgiving to you, and thank you for taking time from your busy life to read my heart ramblings.  May you sense HIS gifts in your life and be touched by HIS presence.  Blessings to you!  





"MIRROR"

I stand before the glass.

Haunted.


The reflection is a stranger.


I slide quivering fingers over the slick smooth form touching cheek, mouth, eyes.


Hollow eyes stare.


I try to pull away hoping for escape from the thunder this glimpse has released in my soul.


Stranded.


I panic. I lunge.  I flail.
Arms move frantic to change the picture before me.


It remains.


I pause to look deeper.
Is this really me?  It can’t really be me.
Yet, this soul reflector has captured my being sure and true.


Without warning, a single stone hurls towards glass.
The sound deafening.  The mirror shatters.
I bend over shards hopeless to scoop them together, to protect, to reassemble.


My image is ten-thousand jagged fragments on the ground.


I curl in a heap of shame.
Confused, broken, lost in a tear river that flows over my ruin of impossibility.


To continue reading click HERE.

Unbeautiful Beauty

Depression is...

Dark.

Lonely.

Hopeless.

UNBEAUTIFUL...




For my entire existence, my life has been tainted by depression.  The ugly beast steals light and joy.  Security and worth.  Depression is a liar and a thief.


My alcoholic father was ravaged by depression.  The first eighteen years of my life were broken stumbles trying to survive it's effects.


My beloved, Ironman, suffered from a highly intellectual, introverted depression since he was a child.  Until recent years, we never understood that it was depression who was the thief.  We suffered from it's loathsome grip -off and on- for the first 17 years of our marriage.


After 37 years of life, I had no tolerance for the thieving beast any longer.  I wanted away from it's darkness.  It had dominated for long enough, and I was going to escape from it's claws once and for all.


Then it happened...

  
*I* fell down UNBEAUTIFUL's merciless slope into the deepest pit  I could have ever imagined.  The girl who *KNEW* she would *NEVER* be depressed was in the steely claws of depression's grip.  I was stuck... unable to move, breathe, live.  I felt like God had left me.  I felt hopeless.  I felt utterly and completely ALONE.


ALONE...

ALONE...

ALONE...


Then something BEAUTIFUL happened... 


My beloved who UNDERSTOOD the helplessness of depression tenderly and intentionally cared for me.  He spoke softly and gently when I would listen, and he prayed when I wouldn't.  He brought soup to me in my dungeon.  He washed my clothes.  He coaxed me out of bed to shower.  He wept for me and he wept with me.  He KNEW the prison I was in.  He KNEW my incapability to rescue myself from it.  He knew UNBEAUTIFUL.

HE KNEW...

HE KNEW...

HE KNEW...

Last week, I picked up a book by Alise Wright (and several other authors) called Not Alone.  It's a compilation of personal stories of those who have walked this road.  These are stories of those who KNOW.  They have been in the pit and are sharing their stories so you will know that you are NOT ALONE.  Catalysts of chemical imbalance, insecurity, alcoholism, divorce, adultery, anorexia, job loss, failure, faith crisis... have left these writers crippled and in the darkness of  UNBEAUTIFUL's grip.  In the same way my beloved understood where I was locked away, these writers also understood.  Deeper healing has found me as I have read the precious stories of these warrior writers.  Something of true BEAUTY has been unveiled in UNBEAUTIFUL.   

The book Not Alone: Stories of Living With Depression  edited by Alise Wright is available through Amazon.com

Promised Land?

The last six weeks have been stressful, heart wrenching, emotional...


TEARFUL... TEARFUL... TEARFUL...  


We are bone tired weary.  The truth is, in my naivety, I never imagined this transition to zap us of all our energies for so long.  I think it's probably the culmination of the last few...errr... let's say twenty years that has finally caught up with us.  On June 1, 2011 we entered our twentieth year of small church ministry.


TWENTY YEARS.


We've been tossed about, hurt, used and used up, taken advantage of, taken for granted, and we have given until there has been nothing left to give.


 NOTHING.  


WORSE THAN EMPTY.  


LITERALLY.


We have PURPOSELY given ourselves away...  

WILLINGLY, because we were asked...   

AGREEABLY, for the sake of the message.



THE MESSAGE...  THE MESSAGE...  THE MESSAGE...


The message that, both, Ironman and I are so completely passionate about... perhaps NOW MORE THAN EVER.  The message that no matter what you have done or ever will do, no matter what has been done to you, no matter your social status high or low, what you look like, or what you feel... that GOD IS COMPLETELY NUTS ABOUT YOU.  He loves you in your present shambles.  He loves you in your I-have-it-all-together-ness.  He loves you with all of your secrets, shame, pride, foolishness, arrogance, flaws, disappointments, failures, skills and the lack thereof.   HE. JUST.  LOVES.  YOU.


HE LOVES YOU...  HE LOVES YOU... HE LOVES YOU...



During the past twenty years, we have had many successes, failures, heartaches, and joys.  We have known the deepest of friendships as well as the deepest of sorrows.  We have tasted life, and have been ravaged by death.   It was heart wrenching, yet relief when God began His relentless pursuit to call us to move...  to move away from the only life our four children have ever known...  to move away from being independent and move in with family...  to move away from meaningful relationships, familiar people, a familiar town, climbing trees, corn fields, and ministry...


MINISTRY.


SIGH.


The internal struggle that I have had from believing we were called away from ministry has taken me by surprise.  I know that my value is not wrapped up in being a pastor's wife.  My value as a person, and my value before God has nothing to do with it, but I still felt a bit "stripped."  I even struggled with the name of my blog.  Would it be okay to remain "The Upside Down Pastor's Wife?"  A wise friend of mine heard my heart. He told me that I am a "veteran" and I will always be a "Pastor's Wife."  It is part of my story, and it will always be a part of who I am, so the name remains.  :)   I do believe that God is calling us to a time of REST, but when you are in the middle of the unknown about what is on the other side, it is humanly difficult to do.  Our faith and trust have been challenged to the core in this transition.  We know and believe fully that God has called us.  We scooped up our family, loaded our entire lives into a moving truck and a trailer, stepped into our "Jordan" and moved 1200 miles across country.  After five weeks, there are a FEW glimpses of the Promised Land.  To be surrounded by family and having the love and support of my parents and grandma has been priceless.  Our children have lived more life here in the past five weeks than they have lived in perhaps the last decade.  They have gone fishing, hiking, biking, explored creeks, swamps, and forests.  They've been collecting all of the hugs, kisses, and snuggles that Grammy and Papa Don have been storing away for them for months. Our kids have been breathing in the fresh mountain air and basking in the wonderful Colorado sunshine.


THE SUNSHINE HAS BEEN HEALING FOR ALL OF US...


Even with the strength we have received from the glimpses of the Promised Land, this past week I struggled with the fact that Ironman still has no job.  I half-heartedly asked God where our Promised Land was.  He whispered to my heart that sometimes the Promised Land looks differently than we imagine.  He spoke softly to me that this is indeed the promised land for my children.  As their mother, that should be "enough" for me... and it is.


WE HAVE SEEN "ENOUGH" OF THE PROMISED LAND TO KNOW WE STEPPED IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.



JUST ENOUGH...


We continue to wait and trust that what God has for Ironman and myself will soon be within sight.  Until then, we (try to) rest... we hope... we believe... that the message we so deeply believe in will again have an outlet to have a voice.  Until then, all God really wants from us is to SEEK HIM...TRUST HIM... 


TRUST HIM "ENOUGH" ON THE BANKS OF THE RAGING RIVER TO STEP, AND KEEP TRUSTING HIM "ENOUGH" TO CONTINUE WALKING THROUGH THE RIVERBED TO THE SHORE ON THE OTHER SIDE.

ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, THE PROMISED LAND IS ON THE OTHER SIDE.

"The Jordan is waiting for me to cross through.  My heart is aging, I can tell.  So Lord, I'm begging for one last favor from you.  Here's my heart.  Take it where you will.  This life has shown me how we're mended and we're torn.  How it's okay to be lonely as long as you're free.  Sometimes my ground was stony, and sometimes covered with thorns.    And only You could make it what it had to be."  (Rich Mullins)