Writing shame

I am afraid 

To share

My writing

With anyone

But especially 

Him 

This doesn't

Mean he's not 

Trustworthy

Safe

Or caring

It shows me that the 

Unsafety

Is inside

Me

Everything feels unsafe because 

I 

am

Unsafe

For whatever reason

I am not able 

To be myself

To anyone

Even

Him

Do I really need a reason?

Or can

I just be okay with knowing that how I am

And move on

I am more willing I write this 

Anonymously 

That share it with

Him

Why?

Shame

Dripping with shame 

For as long as I can remember

A year later

A year later, we can sit around a table together and dialogue, debate, joke and be serious. Behind-the-counter. No one's prescribing this, this is real community. Community that won't shun if we disagree, there is indeed freedom to disagree and encouragement to disagree. This is community that won't have to "replicate" and disband. This I community that says, "we've walked through garbage and trial and we can still stand by one another. Looking back, the dissolution of our church is actually a small part of this group of friends. Financial difficulty, surgery, surprise pregnancies, new babies. Disappointment and rejoicing. Despair and amazement. 

That God would provide a consistent group of friends who I look to as my sisters and brothers, my kids' aunts and uncles, is simply amazing to me. Losing these relationships was the biggest thing I was worried about a year ago. And to see the tender care with which God has dealt with me in this area makes me feel so loved and cherished.

I am remembered 

By God

I am prioritized

By God

I am loved

By God

I have three daughters. They are each different. Different than me and from each other. Different personalities and talents. Differently-shaped bodies. 

I have struggled very much with the body I was given. I have loved it, hated it, and abused it. I have coveted that I was given a short torso, full legs and a lumpy tummy. Now that I have birthed five children I have wider hips. 

Watching my children, I can't help but compare them. Not in a bad way, but side-by-side comparing one against another. One is more coordinated than the others, one is more graceful. One is stronger. One is a fast runner. One is very small for her age. Another is on the trajectory to be big for her age. The one who is big for her age (compared to my children who are small for their age)...my heart hurts for her. Will she be made fun of? Will she feel ashamed that she weighs as much as her big brother? Will she feel less-than because she has a round tummy and strong, capable legs? 

She doesn't feel those things (that I know of) right now. I feel those things for her, because that was my experience. 

I was less-than because of my size. I was ashamed because I was bigger than the boys on my soccer team. I was embarassed because I needed my dance costume altered. I was embarassed by my round tummy, early chest development and double chin. 

It's so easy to be critical of my daughter, because that's how my size was responded to. But they are all perfect, the way God made them. I eventually grew taller and leaned out. By middle school I was "normal". But I had taken on the identity of the "fat kid" and still felt different. Other. Less-than.

I am not that person, regardless of my form and I will not let my baby girl be that person, regardless of her form.

P.

I have a skin disease
A disorder
My body attacks itself

My skin make new
skin very frequently
It flakes
It itches

Dry
Red
Flakey
Ew

"Oh, what happened?!"
Strangers cry
"Did you burn yourself?"
The look of disgust

The aesticians ask
If it hurts
Then speak to one another
In a language I don't understand

I know it's about me

"Does it hurt?"
Yes
But I'm used to it
Yes

"No, it's not contagious"
You can't catch it
I don't understand
Why I have it

I
Wish
I
Could

In a way it's a
Metaphor
For my
Soul

I look thick-skinned
and funny
But it flakes off
Easily

Onto people I don't intend
Because they're not safe with my
Heart

And I bleed and ache
Twitch
and
Itch

Under the surface

Cover it
Soothe it topically

Been doing that for years
It's time for a change

The healing
needs to
come from
the inside

But maybe the
pain
will never be
gone

Maybe it's my cross to bear
To remind me of Him

Having this doesn't
make me better
holier
stronger

It makes me
weak
embarassed
dependent

Maybe that's okay

Just Normal People

"They're just normal people."

In her one-room apartment in her retirement community, my Grandma Evelyn started opening the first of many boxes of family history. She had spent much of her earlier years assembling endless family trees and organizing the information about her and her husband's lineage. She organized family reunions on Hood Canal. She discovered and confirmed our family's connection to the Revolutionary War and was active in Daughters of the American Revolution. They travelled to Virginia and even Scotland to visit gravesites and meet distant family members. She transcribed stories from World War II for Grandpa. She did it all without the help of the internet too, which is impressive in and of itself. 

Looking through photo albums of a past reunion she mumbles, "They're just normal people." 

Lots of names and dates. Trees and lists of kin. Landowners, laborers, surveyors, pioneers, even slave-owners. Families, large families of seven or more children. John, Robert, Evelyn, James, Sarah, Thomas. Babies and young children who didn't survive their childhood. Women dying in childbirth and husbands widowed. 

If anyone is from an American family, it's me. 

Our roots were originally from Scotland but this continent has been our home for almost three-hundred years. My ancestors presumably fought in the Revolutionary War and probably fought their kin during the Civil War, or known at the time as The War of the States. 

But still, normal people. Nobody stands out as a great war hero or politician or businessman. Normal people living normal lives and doing what's expected to support themselves and their families.

In an age in which people are all special and "destined for greatness," this is the story of a normal family. One branch in a huge oak tree that eventually led to me. 

The disease can be the cure

Can it be 

That the thing of which I am

Afraid

May help me?

I am uncomfortable around people

Particularly men

Which is okay

But the "cure" isn't 

"Never be around dudes"

That just intensifies the fear

But the cure might be

"Have healthy friendships with dudes"

Learn that some of them are 

Trustworthy 

My husband

My friend's husbands

My family 

Disordered relationships 

The goal isn't avoidance

But

Discernment

Please God 

Allow healthy friendships

With all

Husband

Girlfriends 

Safe dudes

Iceberg

Cold as ice

Hard as a rock

No emotion

No love

No fear

A lot under the surface

A lot you cannot see

A lot I cannot see

The water is warming

Melting my heart of ice

The emotion I've pushed underwater

Is overflowing

I thought I could skim the surface 

And survive

But God won't let me 

Skid by

By my own work and will

His will is that I would be known

And I am not afraid

For He is with me

The iceberg is melting

Global warming

Is real

It started with one person 

But now 

In His grace 

I will melt for all

To

See

I have many dreams and ideas, aspirations and inspiration. For as many ideas as I have, only a sliver get off the drawing board and into real life.

I have wanted to start a school, like a developmental play group. I drive past buildings for sale or storefronts in a strip mall and think that'd be a good location for my school. As we've done more homeschooling, the idea has changed to be more homeschool-oriented. Maybe not developmental playgroups but mentoring or counseling the homeschool mom and helping with ideas for teaching. I do are that I would need significant years of homeschooling under my belt to be taken seriously, and to even have the time to do that. Who am I kidding? I have  a not-even-18-month-old! This is like millennia away. 

I aspire to write. What, I don't know. Fiction, "Religious", Bible study, memoir? Who knows? 

I aspire to paint. I'd love I learn how to make beautiful art.

The difference between a child and an adult is that a child dreams, but an adult does. I learned that recently. Yes, I am an adult but frequently with the mindset of a child. I don't want I make decisions and be held responsible. I don't want to speak my mind and be judged. I don't want to be myself out of fear of being wrong. 

I want to be an adult, and I am learned to do just that. I have something to offer this big scary world. Maybe it's just my mind. Or my hands to serve. But I am an adult, not a scared child who is allowed to dream but not actually do anything.

My only question is, how can I "do" and not just dream when I need significant experience and years under my belt? God is clearly saying "wait". Dream, practice, do. He is saying, I will tell you when to do, but until then, wait and run in place. 

I was so afraid

To lose

My friends

My comfort

My home

But He provided

A year ago

God called us out

Not knowing what

Would happen

Or where

We would go

I was certain

I would lose

My friends

My community

My safe place

But He provided

To watch others

I was sure I would be

Forgotten

Misunderstood

Shunned

But He provided

My comfort

Came from Him

My strength 

Came from Him

My heart

Relied on Him

He showed me

I relied too much 

On others

Not on Him

He showed me

I was comforted 

By others

Not Him

But he didn't leave me

Forsake me

Forget about me

He provided

A year later

Life is different

But a lot is still the same

I wasn't 

Forgotten

Misunderstood

Shunned

I was 

Treasured

Validated

Comforted

By Him