I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~

I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

RAW

Those who attack you.

Those who mock you.

Those who cull you.

Those who control you.

Those who label you.

Do they represent you?

Or, do they represent themselves (in some form)?

Mental Enslavement.

The Great Awakening (‘Freedom of Thought’), was designed and created not only as a backchannel to the public (away from the longstanding ‘mind’ control of the corrupt & heavily biased media) to endure future events through transparency and regeneration of individual thought (breaking the chains of ‘group-think’), but, more importantly, aid in the construction of a vehicle (a ‘ship’) that provides the scattered (‘free thinkers’) with a ‘starter’ new social-networking platform which allows for freedom of thought, expression, and patriotism or national pride (the feeling of love, devotion and sense of attachment to a homeland and alliance with other citizens who share the same sentiment).

When ‘non-dogmatic’ information becomes FREE & TRANSPARENT it becomes a threat to those who attempt to control the narrative and/or the stable.

When you are awake, you stand on the outside of the stable (‘group-think’ collective), and have ‘free thought’.

“Free thought” is a philosophical viewpoint which holds that positions regarding truth should be formed on the basis of logic, reason, and empiricism, rather than authority, tradition, revelation, or dogma.

When you are awake, you are able to clearly see.

The choice is yours, and yours alone.

Trust and put faith in yourself.

You are not alone and you are not in the minority.

Difficult truths will soon see the light of day.

WWG1WGA!!!

Q

I was up all night, but sleeping all the same. I have a recurrent dream: I am driving from one end of the country to the other, in several feet of snow-I get lost, I am frightened-I can’t make it to the person on the other side. The person who needs me is there, they are counting on me, I can’t fathom letting them down. Last night, the nightmare du jour was the children laying at the bottom of Gloria Vanderbilt’s pool at Biltmore Estate.

https://images.app.goo.gl/bMYf1RFevUbXvreX6

My mission? To save the babies. I was not successful.

This is how anons around the globe are feeling right as we speak. We have been prepared, normies have not. I walk from room to room, asleep yet awake-fumbling for my weed I hit the wall. I go down on my knees, I break before Jesus. My golden retriever comes to my side. Funny, I know I wasn’t making any noise-he is an incredible comfort.

Today the force of what is truly happening around the globe hit me full in the face. My PTSD triggered by an insensitive asshat, I don’t want to be making it worse. Try as I might I just can’t leave it alone. I want to make myself suffer, because they are suffering. For the first time in a very long time I self harm.

NO! NO! NO!

I will not allow the ignorance of others banish me to the kingdom of Naught. I have spoken nothing but the truth since word go-the mocking and hurtful behavior will not bring me down. Not this time, because God needs me to be present, fully aware of my surroundings. There is work to be done as the hands and feet of God-once we overcome the shock and despair? That is when you’ll see change, that is when you’ll see miracles. Pray for the medical professionals on the front lines.

If you need help, please reach out-I will try to have the information and phone numbers in tomorrow’s blog. There is no shame in grief, no shame in a broken heart. We are with you.

I hereby declare a bloody war on the next person who tries to fuck with one of His children. I will cut a bitch.

If I have to, that is.

This Shit Ends Today

I don’t like writing on this subject as I don’t relish speaking ill of my narc, and this despite what she has told innumerous people-I can only imagine the horror. I learned long ago not to engage in any attempts at honesty with the flying monkeys that hover about-they don’t want the truth-it doesn’t fit the family dynamic.

I mean, you’re the loser, right? You’re the one who belongs in a psychiatric ward because they have to tell people that you’re bat shit crazy in order to render you a mental case, not to be believed. That is what a covert narcissist is-these are the unstable geniuses who specialize in manipulating even the feistiest of souls.

I would like to address the stalking issue with my narc. I see you, following-then unfollowing. I want you to know that I do not spend one millisecond thinking about you-lurking will only bring you heartache, as the only way to help other victims is to speak on the matter.

And, speaking on the matter I leave you with this.

I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

The Still, Small Voice

If I could give you one word to the wise when it comes to getting sober, it would be this-

Every day you don’t take a drink or pick up is a miracle.

And where do miracles come from?  God, of course.  Jesus.  Just writing His name soothes my soul.  I’m not preaching, I am stating fact.  If there is anything you need to be a success, it is your relationship with your Lord and Savior.  You may balk, thinking what does she know?

I know everything about the disease of addiction, and I acquired the knowledge during a 12 year journey of recovery.  When first sober, after a stint that resulted in me in hospital, with a cop at my door.  I thought there was no hope, not a sliver of a chance that I could climb out of the pit of despair I had found myself laying in-the bottom, for me.  I had attempted to slit my wrists, and I did a crappy job of it-but I also threatened my husband with a knife over a bottle of wine.  I don’t remember doing this, but I sobered up just as he was telling the social worker, and I cried out-

“Why, why are you lying???”

Thing is?  He wasn’t.

I spent the night, escorted to the potty by a cop, and whatever they gave me knocked me out cold for twenty four hours.  I awoke to the sound of my husband pulling out of the driveway, on his way to work.

I called my boss, sat down and cried.

I was absolutely frightened out of my skull.  I searched the cupboards and found a big jug of wine.  I stood there, on the kitchen chair, and stared at this bottle of poison.  To this day, I believe that I would have taken a drink if it hadn’t been for one thing:  Jesus was carrying me.

I put down the jug.  Too tired to fight with myself, I ascended the stairs and crawled back into bed.  I slept a lot in the very beginning.  Sleep was my only safe space, and my body was working overtime at ridding itself of the toxins accumulated over my drinking career.  I lost fifty pounds, without trying.  I later found out that I should have entered a rehab facility, as I had gone cold turkey.  The withdrawal from alcohol had put my father in a coma some thirty years before.  The irony has never escaped me.

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There were horrible mood swings and a backlog of grief.  I absolutely hated the people that could have a drink and enjoy a night out.  For years I felt as if I was truly missing out.  Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t miss anything else-the hangovers, the guilt, the drink and dial-but I wanted, more than anything else in the world at that time, to be a normal person.

And that was it, wasn’t it?  The incredible self involvement us addicts are guilty of while using.

Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

The biggest slap in the face was realizing that not only did I put alcohol before my husband and family, but I put it before Abba.  Somewhere along the line, I forgot the nature of my sins.  I never stopped praying, but I was incredibly selfish and I regret that now.

So, my advice is this-

Take one minute at a time, and take each moment with God, not alone.

Without Him we are powerless.

With Him we are fearless.

There is hope, love, a future.  You are not a horrible person, and as it turns out?  Most alcoholics and drug addicts are incredibly compassionate and sensitive.  We don’t understand the lack of love in the world, it hits us harder than the average bear.  I was 56 years old before I realized that there was evil in this world.  I had no sense of boundaries, as often happens with children of alcoholics.  I truly thought that we were put on this earth to help and care for one another-it was a slap in the face to learn otherwise.

Two years ago I made a covenant between God and myself.  I promised Him I would never take a drink again.  I never promised anything to anyone, because I always fell short, always screwed things up.  So you can imagine I was pretty serious when I made this pact.

The miracle happened when I lost all desire to ever take a drink or drug again.

There is no shame in addiction.  None whatsoever.  It means that you leaned on a crutch like anyone and everyone else.  Food, gambling, smoking, drinking-gluttony is gluttony, anyway you look at it.  But it doesn’t matter in the end.  What matters is discovering what your personal kryptonite is-and then addressing the murderous pain it has caused you.  When you successfully process your grief, you won’t need a drink or a drug.

Stay strong.  Be a badass.  He has you~

 

 

Mad as a Hatter

The stigma of dementia saddens me, as those who suffer are the lovliest of lovlies.

Good evening. I don’t know how your week is going, but mine has been harrowing with a 90% chance of persecution and 100% chance of marital strife. That is all behind me now, but if you ever wonder how you became so strong, so tough? The answer is God allowed you to become what you were always meant to be-and that is-tough as nails.

As a victim of Narcissistic Abuse, I can tell you there isn’t a “crazy” cell in my body, sanity wise that is. Narcissists use projection to drive you to your limits, both emotionally and physically. My case was no different, but the anger that permeates my very soul slips out now and again-last night it erupted. Here’s how it began~

“You have anger issues. I mean it, Michele, you need to work on your anger.”

After I put back the pieces (my head had spontaneously combusted) and calmed down enough to grab a drink, it happened again. I finally gave up and went to bed. Why was I angry? Let’s just say that addicts have a way of pushing everything unpleasant to the bottomless pit of despair. We make our gravest mistakes by believing that a bottle of gin or a bag of coke will allow us to forget; my personal experience attests to the fact that you cannot run from grief. Everything you ran from will only intensify. By the time you get good and sober? A mountain of lament lay at your feet, and before you deal with anything you must address the pain.

It is my belief that all addicts are running from something. In my case? Years and years of bullying, emotional abuse and neglect-I simply couldn’t handle the truth which was no one can hurt and manipulate like blood. I consider it a miracle I found my way to the truth of the matter. Narcissists are good at projection (take a look at the DNC) and what they try and pin on you is a mere reflection of the rot that lie inside their souls.

In my family, my narc would wonder out loud at the fact that I was telling the God’s honest truth, which made me feel untruthful. Fact was? She has lied about everything under the sun, but mostly about me. Despite frequent and persistent attacks and accusations, God led me to the reality that I was not mentally ill. I had PTSD because of my abuse, which led to depression and anxiety of the nightmare variety.

So, after getting into it with Dwain-he came home three hours early, whilst I was cleaning. For the life of him he couldn’t understand why after a day of sweaty drudgery I wasn’t greeting him at the door in crotch less panties and chocolate pasties.

There. I said it.

My point being? I know what it’s like to be labeled a mental case when I know with every cell of my being that I am, unfortunately, saner than sane. I spent so many years just trying to breathe that I took life as it was dealt-nothing left over to create, become or dream. And then I met Jesus.

Having run a Dementia Unit for years, and then my own home health care business-I have a pretty healthy awareness of this population. First, may I say that my parents died far too young to develop the disease, as did my grandparents with the exception of my father’s mother who lived well into her nineties and remained as sharp as a tack. However, I do know what it is like to have your family member treat you as a stranger. The crippling feeling that your beloved doesn’t see you, let alone remember you. The terrifying feeling that all of your memories, your cherished time together-they are lost to you-forever.

Years ago my father was in hospital for pancreatitis. A severe alcoholic, daddy went into delirium tremens from alcohol withdrawal. He then slipped into a coma, my poor mother left alone to pay the bills and raise three children. Each and every day she would say, “You simply must go see your father. He’s your father.” I didn’t have the words to explain my terror, my flat out inability to see my best friend and biggest supporter hurting-in any way.

It turned out that my fears were nothing compared to what transpired with my first visit, after dad had come out of the coma. He was learning to walk, to say the ABC’s and speak again. His hair had gone white, he was terribly thin.

“Hello daddy, how are you feeling today? I’m so sorry I am only coming now…”

I was interrupted by his question: “Aren’t you the gal married to the Korean doctor?”

I explained that I was his daughter, his blood. I shared a few of our inside jokes, tried to get through to him in some way. His next words shook me core-

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I don’t know who you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Would it help you to know that dementia patients are much happier in general? They live in the moment, no worries, no fear. I enjoyed my time with these brave men and women, so much so that when I had to retire due to Chronic Lyme? A piece of my heart went with the loss. I simply adored my residents and clients. I took each death personally, especially my favorite ever client, Marta.

Marta was my best friend’s mother. She alone inspired me spiritually, creatively and emotionally-I was the benefactor, I was the lucky one. We liked to go on outings, she loved the Llamas at a local farm-we visited often. You see, Marta loved her animals-to the point of hurting for them, just like me, just like her daughter. When with her I felt understood, truly loved for myself and nothing else.

One day I picked up a stuffed Llama at a local gift store. Now, Marta thought her stuffed animals were real. She had this really big teddy bear, and if I was talking when I entered the room, she would SHHH me-the teddy was napping, don’t wake him.

She loved the stuffed Llama, even took him to bed with her. I often saw her cooing to, and comforting the little brown toy. So innocent, so pure, so what I had been missing my entire life. Her last stage of the disease was spent in a nursing home. To this very day I wish I had visited her more. The news of her death stung like poison.

And so it was, after my brawl with my husband, did I enter my bedroom to see-and not for the first time-that little stuffed Llama named Marta, head to the side in sympathy. I hung my head and cried like a child.

My Weapon of Choice…..

Scrolling through videos this morning, waiting for inspiration. This video caught my attention, and it is just perfect for the topic. What is your weapon of choice when the haters are getting you down? How do you escape the bullets shot in your direction? What do you do when cruelty and evil darken your door?

Of course, my weapon is the full armor of God. At least that is the first place I go…….for strength, love and compassion-wisdom, grace and peace. I
submerge myself in the scriptures, and there I find truth, a rare commodity in this day and age: but always on pointe, never changing-it comforts me to know that Jesus knows my heart, inside and out. I have faced challenges this past year that would break Hercules, yet I am stronger by the minute, so much so that I am not the same person I was mere weeks, months or years ago.

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He keeps me strong. On the straight and narrow. Do I slip up? Often. Does He forgive me? Indubitably.

And after I come out of my bible-induced trance? Why, I dance…..of course!

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~