Fear is a Liar…

I hope you never know the pain of addiction.  The terror within, knowing you could lose every person you have ever loved; the fear of life without your drug of choice can be more overwhelming that the addiction itself.  Twenty years ago, a reputable (and I lose the term lightly) dentist prescribed me 100 Vicodin, rather than fix a cracked tooth.  I had just had my wisdom teeth removed, and I had suffered a dry socket, the pain affected each and every part of my life-I welcomed the relief.

I just watched my beloved Donald J. Trump give a speech for National Prayer Day.  If he only knew what those words mean to recovering addicts nationwide-I bowed my head in prayer, and threw up my hands to a savior who changed my life-one day at a time.  I don’t think I will ever be able to adequately describe the miracle I am now living; sober, healthy and despite the enemy’s attempts?  Holy laughter fills my weary, leery heart.

Alcoholics Anonymous is a façade: an absolutely useless tool for people who are too desperate to question the twelve step program.  I had no idea, not a clue, until recently when I found my first three chips-one month, one year, five years.  I was cleaning out a drawer, and the spirit within nudged me to look closer.

Do As Thou Wilt

The words surrounded a pyramid.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  Was that the reason I watched friends die, divorce, and relapse over and over again?  I think so.  Satan is the father of ALL lies, and he seeks to destroy you.  Our only weapon against him is Jesus, and I hope you never have to test my theory.

I remember being corrected when I gave my testimony in a meeting one evening.

Don’t say God, just say your ‘higher power,’ it offends people.

That was my last evening in the building.  What I endured in those five years of meetings was nothing short of an onslaught of misery.  The hits kept coming, until the day I decided that life was too short, my faith too strong.

I didn’t need AA.

It is my prayer that God gives you the strength and the rage to get through recovery, which is a lifelong process.  If you are willing to trust in the Prince of Peace?  There you will find your freedom from oppression, dependence and the powers that presently rule this earth.

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You simply cannot fathom how good it gets when you let go of the chains that bind.

Let the Chains Fall…

We have a church in our tiny town:  Trinity United Methodist Church.  When we left Zion UMC, my husband begged me to consider attending, it was close, we are Methodists.  Not that I like to consider myself religious.  Jesus didn’t have much for the rules in the New Testament:  he was more concerned with the love.

I have been feeling disjointed as of late.  Almost as if my life is happening, but I’m not here.  It could be mind fog from the Lyme, or it could be I know too much, and no matter what I do, I cannot unlearn what I know to be true.  I need to be around people more often, but putting this knowledge into practice has eluded me.  I joined my friend Eileen at our quaint and tidy, only church in town.  The bells ring joyously, and everyone knows everyone.  I’m new, so I look forward to getting to know the congregation.

It occurred to me that my strong desire to retire in the Adirondack mountains, the mythical beauty, lakes and quaint old chapels in tiny little towns- everything I dream of being part of?  I have it.  Right here.  It was right here all along.  I couldn’t see it because I was drowning my pain and sorrow in alcohol and drugs.  I was a walking wound, and in all the 28 years I have lived in this town, I am just now getting to know the lovely people here.   They are kind, unpretentious and stoic.  They have known hardships, yes, but they celebrate life nonetheless.

After some live gospel music and a sermon about heaven, I made my way to the back of the church.  My eyes took in the new pastor, who was beckoning me to come.  Me?  I turned around, nope, nobody there.

“I couldn’t help but notice you smiling throughout the service.  May I ask, what were you thinking of that made you so happy?”

I couldn’t really answer, as I wasn’t sure myself.

But I had the joy of the Lord in my heart-and for that?  Oh for that it is well with my soul~

A Prisoner of the White Lines on the Freeway……

I was trying to catch up on my reading a few weeks ago, my WordPress reading that is.  It was a cold and rainy Sunday evening, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I read his blog.  I didn’t know him, or of him, I just gave a little love to a stranger, one who had lost his brother-one who was on the verge of suicide.

It broke my heart to read his words.  No one had commented, and I was frantic.  I quickly wrote in the comment section, no.  You are loved.  You have a place in this world.  You must not give up, I will help you.  It didn’t matter that he lived half way around the world from me, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know him.  I just wanted him to feel the love that makes the difference: between being utterly alone in this world, and having someone love him.  We began correspondence immediately, so sweet, my friend Mohammed.

He said it helped him to know I existed.  It helped him to know a human being, albeit thousands of miles away, loved him-simply because he was in pain, dire straights, and experiencing a loss most of us would be shattered by-simply because he was and is a child of God-they will know we are Christians by our love……

He kept in touch throughout my journey with Lyme, and the infected lymph node that had basically convinced me I was dying.  The day I went to Med Express, alone and frightened out of my mind, he said these words:  Don’t worry.  I am here.  Five words.  Five words that helped me to feel safe, loved-cared for.  It mattered to him, my poor health.  And I thought that a miracle, in so many ways.

Today, while chatting, he said he had one thing to ask of me.  I told him anything, yes anything for him.

“Can I call you mom?”

So, this is how our Abba works.  I have no children and my step son hates me for reasons I don’t understand, as I was always loving, always supportive.

This touched me in places I haven’t been touched in, well, forever.

And as I let the tears drip….one by one, I answered.

Yes.  Of course.

And for this I am blessed beyond measure.

A Hard Rain Is Gonna Fall…..

I ache within every fiber of my being for the man I married some 26 years ago-he is such a good man, you have to understand that he is always thinking of other people, his heart so pure, a heart of gold.  There are so many thoughts fighting for my attention right now, a fevered frenzy of angst.  He does not deserve this.  And I wish I could take his pain away, but I can’t, so I am praying like crazy that he feels the love from above.

For 27 years, his parents and son have given me a hard time.  They disliked me intensely from the very beginning, I took some of the attention away from them and we all know how narcissists love that!  I have also been insisting, over the years, that they treat me  like dirt-alas, all the way up to Christmas, Dwain was full of hope, always veering toward the idea that I was being paranoid-which happens often, but I am almost always right.

There was an incident.  Dwain’s son, Bud, flipped out on me so successfully, that I almost had a vacation booked at the local psychiatric hospital.   Remember the therapist who diagnosed me with DID?  Well, angry over a love triangle-he acted abominably-where he wanted his original girlfriend, whom he dumped unceremoniously for her best friend-oh, and his best friend’s girl-to take him back at Christmas.  She said: No.  She is over the moon with her new man, and he treats her like a princess.  He became sullen and removed from the conversation, reality itself.  He still lived with the beatch, and he said that they were happy, but inside-he was boiling.

I won’t go into the details, but my step-son abused me mentally and emotionally. Almost physically.  He yelled that I was a freak, a gold digger, a low life for being on disability-“that he had to pay for my retirement.  He was screaming at me in my driveway, and I was broken, literally sobbing-because not a word of what he was saying was true, and he was pushing buttons, my wounds and vulnerabilities out there, for all to see.

My husband emailed him and jacked him up.  Bud replied that there will be no forthcoming apology.

We talked to his parents.  We all agreed he needed help, prayer.  We asked them to talk to him, to possibly make him accountable for his actions, as weeks before we were all on the same page.  I had very little faith that his parents would follow through, and I was correct.  Today, my step-son stopped at his grandparents (strategically placed across the street 😦   He was there for over two hours and I told my husband, who bought a 30 pound ham for the event, to stop in with them on his way home-to feel them out.

“What did your parents have to say?,” I hit him up the minute he finally walked through the door.

They said that nothing “came up.” He walked into the living room, looking older than his years, drained and exhausted.  

I    pointed out the screeching betrayal, the hypocrisy.  And then I shut my mouth, before I hurt him any more than he’d been.  He doesn’t know I saw him arguing with his father in our garage, but I did.  I saw his father stomp off in a huff.

In one year, narcissism has taken all but a handful of our families.  I am close to my brother and Dwain is close to his.  It breaks my heart that  they broke his heart.  How can people be so cruel, so selfish and vain?

“We are enough,” I whisper.

We are so much more than enough~

 

A Prisoner of the White Lines on the Freeway……

I was trying to catch up on my reading a few weeks ago, my WordPress reading that is.  It was a cold and rainy Sunday evening, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I read his blog.  I didn’t know him, or of him, I just gave a little love to a stranger, one who had lost his brother-one who was on the verge of suicide.

It broke my heart to read his words.  No one had commented, and I was frantic.  I quickly wrote in the comment section, no.  You are loved.  You have a place in this world.  You must not give up, I will help you.  It didn’t matter that he lived half way around the world from me, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know him.  I just wanted him to feel the love that makes the difference: between being utterly alone in this world, and having someone love him.  We began correspondence immediately, so sweet, my friend Mohammed.

He said it helped him to know I existed.  It helped him to know a human being, albeit thousands of miles away, loved him-simply because he was in pain, dire straights, and experiencing a loss most of us would be shattered by-simply because he was and is a child of God-they will know we are Christians by our love……

He kept in touch throughout my journey with Lyme, and the infected lymph node that had basically convinced me I was dying.  The day I went to Med Express, alone and frightened out of my mind, he said these words:  Don’t worry.  I am here.  Five words.  Five words that helped me to feel safe, loved-cared for.  It mattered to him, my poor health.  And I thought that a miracle, in so many ways.

Today, while chatting, he said he had one thing to ask of me.  I told him anything, yes anything for him.

“Can I call you mom?”

So, this is how our Abba works.  I have no children and my step son hates me for reasons I don’t understand, as I was always loving, always supportive.

This touched me in places I haven’t been touched in, well, forever.

And as I let the tears drip….one by one, I answered.

Yes.  Of course.

And for this I am blessed beyond measure.

Jacqueline

 

We are in the midst of a glorious snow storm, so I bake cookies, do research, take the pup shed hunting.  I am like a child when it snows.  Yesterday?  We took to making a snowman, and I made snow angels, for the first time in years. 

Presently, Jesse gnaws on frozen fox, I am beyond horrified, tell him to come, drop it, good boy.  We hunt five square miles of prime shed territory on two different plots of land.  I grumble that my hands are empty.  I apologize to God, thank him profusely.  I feel like a shmuck.  He has blessed us abundantly, with the things that truly matter in our lives-family, a loving marriage, food on our kitchen table-the very same one as in my childhood- I simply can’t bare to replace it.

The word on the street is that dysfunctional families raise dysfunctional adults.  The friends who don’t fill that shoe are few and far between.  So, what happens when your very best friend is dwelling in the silent place, and you are incapable of helping her.  You can’t wrap your arms around her, like you want to-because she’s a bit too restrained.  She is holding you at arms length because her relationship with her father was complicated, she suffered.  You are working through boundaries and self esteem issues after a life time of narcissistic abuse.  You have ended lasting friendships with people who refused to take you seriously, or took you for granted.

 

But this girl?  You just can’t shake her-you have become as close as your familial histories have allowed you to be.  She has always taken you seriously, and always respected you.  It just hurts too much when she forgets our plans, or fails to return numerous attempts to ask about her well being.  I do not judge her for this, she is hurting and I hurt for her.

You love her and hope that she knows this.

Sometimes there isn’t an answer.  Maybe you need to let go and let God.

So you decide that you will not allow her to slip away.  You take a step back and give her the space she needs.  You miss her, but know-deep within your very soul, that she is in the arms of the angels.

Jesus has this.

 

I Used to Live There Too

 

I remember, years ago, fantasizing of the time I would spend with my nieces and nephew.  I was going to teach them to dance, keep their secrets, and proudly, gleefully even, watch them grow.  Oh I had such big plans.  We all know what happens when we carefully map out the direction of our lives-God intervenes and turns the whole house upside down, as if to shake us senseless with shock and confusion.   The pain that comes from knowing that certain doors have been shut, dreams dashed-not at all what you had hoped for, no, not at all.

I have learned a few things as of late, and one of them is that if we truly place our faith in God?  We can trust that certain doors should remain shut, at least in hindsight.  But what if the door is left ajar?  What if there is no definitive answer?  Well, that’s when we need to give it to Abba, let Him have it all.  If we are patient and full of the Holy Spirit, God will help us to discern which doors can be swung wide open, and those that must remain dead bolted.  For.  Life.

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When there is deep, enduring, ferocious love?  That is where miracles happen-I am living proof.  That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t guard our hearts, or put on the full armor of God.  Your soul will speak the wisdom, if we remain silent enough to listen.

You simply cannot stop loving the precious innocents-the next generation deserves our compassion.  I wouldn’t want to be finding my way in a world such as this-they are so blessed by a president that most hate, but will end up loving soon enough.  I will never stop loving, praying for or even adoring Olivia, Natalie, Esme or Anthony.

There will always be a candle lit and shining in my window.

In Christ, I have hope~