Bringing Light to a Dark World

It's not yet to February and already my year is beautiful. Blessed. Fulfilling.

There's this guy I met awhile back. We used to workout together nearly daily. He was kind, funny, a great help to me in getting stronger and more fit. And he thought my gym baby was cute too.

We became friends- making each other laugh at inappropriate times, making fun of objects that weren't on the ceiling, and pushing one another to be better.  He would tell me, later, that he loved when I would show up to class, that I brought a light.

Being a light is a way I'm frequently described- and it's a tremendous blessing to receive. I smile almost nonstop, I try to do unto others, and bring the laughter, of course. The thought of being a candle to someones darkness is one gift that led e to missions and nonprofit work. Lightness in the darkest of times, circumstances, and disasters servers others well.

So, back to this guy- his name is Peter and he's now my husband- he's my everything. God showed how much He loved me through introducing us. We always wanted to be together, we can talk for hours, or just sit together holding hands, valuing what we have. It was, very honestly, a love I had never felt, nor believed I deserved. When we were dating I kept asking him what his "catch" was- there had to be one, right? Men like this aren't real! I once even asked him if he was gay (not my proudest moment). He looked at me like I'd grown another head, and maybe I had in that moment.

Before we were officially dating, one of our longest conversations centered around dating, how neither of us were interested- too much BS, expectation, yada. So, obviously, we never saw anyone else after. He pursued me relentlessly- I had a bit of a commitment phobia. And finally, I began receiving his love. So, the two who never wanted to be married, and the one who never wanted children, got married-full package included.

And we went through some phenomenally tough times- my light went out. He never left my side. Still hasn't.

More recently, though, was the toughest of times. We nearly separated. Darkness.

Our marriage, however, has it's foundation on God. Neither of us wanted to be apart, but the struggles seemed to be getting too much. I talked to a couple of my closest friends, and my therapist. I talked to God nonstop, asking, knocking, begging to be shown the path back to Peter. I wrote a letter to him explaining that we were still the couple so many looked to. I don't just love him, I really like him, too! We've never had trust issues- we "get" one another to the fullest extent. We have had one BIG argument in six years. So...what the heck?

That letter served to break apart something deep inside. We went back to talking, being silly, being together. Being US. The light has returned- and it's brighter than ever.

I. AM. GRATEFUL.

Thank you, husband, for being my protector, my security, my laughter, the one who fights for me. There is no life without you. XO <3

Wondrous Suffering

A few weeks ago a beloved friend posted this to his Facebook page- and I'll admit, it's not left my mind since. I've thought so much on this I sent it  to another friend- much smarter, much more self intuited then me- to get his take on it. His response was perfectly beautiful, yet I could not quite pinpoint WHY this would not leave me.

I journaled some on it, looked deeper into the thoughts of various scholars, including Biblical ones, as to their take on suffering. The why, the meaning, the processing. Seriously powerful reading and information.

My life has embodied suffering. I don't mean falling down and scraping my knee- I mean deep, open wound, harrowing suffering. My  childhood memories aren't of laughter, stories, snuggling, safety. They are, rather, detailed remembrances of the death of my baby brother- whom I found dead in his crib; the anger, violence, fear of my parents splitting up, screaming vulgarities at one another, while us children sat in between crying.

Two incidents that forever changed me and the course of my life also happened at this time- I believe I was four, maybe five. When my father left, we- my two sisters, brother, and pregnant mother- had nothing. We lived in poverty- food stamps, welfare, raggedy hand-me-down clothes. For a period of time, we also lived without electricity- we simply did not have the money to pay the bill. We would boil water on the gas stove, mix it with the cold tap water, and we would all bathe in the same water.  We lived by candles and oil lamps- I can still smell them :). I did not understand everything at that time, but I remember a constant feeling of shame at school. And my mother trying to hold it all together...But one day, we arrived home, and the fort porch light was on. The. Light. Was. On. Electricity had returned. Who had paid the bill? Not us, we still could barely have food on the table. It was our community. They saw the great need, without asking or pausing for second thoughts, they came together to help our family. It's never left me. To this very day, my heart grows full and overflows to tears at the gesture. At that tender age, I understood the critical nature of community, of serving, of being selfless and unconditional when it came to those in need.

The second incident is not as sweet. Actually, it's scary, ugly, unsettling. Suffering, by it's ver nature, is relentless and unwavering. The strongest person placed under the weight of unrelenting suffering will seek a means- any means- to have a break, to not feel it, to escape- if only for a brief period of time. I still don't fully appreciate how my mother endured for as long as she did. But one night, she needed to stop feeling for a bit. So she drank- a lot. It was so scary, so sad, so full of defeat and pain. A friend cam ever to help- again, community not failing. We all made it through, the next day was filled with emotional conflicts nonstop.

Shortly after this, Jeremiah,my baby brother, passed away. Unimaginable suffering- still difficult to comprehend.

And the suffering did not stop, or seemingly ease up, from there. I've survived emotional, physical, psychological, sexual, abuse and manipulation. I was brutally raped, held hostage in his home for nearly nine hours as he violated every piece of my body- my middle son is the result, incredible child. I developed eating disorders, abused alcohol, used-and severely hurt-many men, I became overly competitive and perfectionistic, I was a gross control freak, I lived my life my way and readily ignored anyone who tried to invest in me. I was lonely, miserable, living in fear and shame- and said  in my suffering because I believed I deserved it.

Dichotomously, I also volunteered and served nonstop, too. The lessons of old never left me, and i was adamant about being engaged in community, giving all I possibly could, letting others know they were valued and worth investing in. Confusing.

I prayed for so long, to a God I was certain had left me behind, to help me change, to understand why i was acting this way, to- if there was ANY way possible- let me get paid to volunteer. It was a long journey  to answers and understanding- but that journey taught me the beauty of suffering.

It sounds farcical, doesn't it? Beauty and wonder in being torn apart in all manners?? But, that's what happened. I ssssllllooooowwwwly- slightly slower than snails pace- began making changes, but seeking to understand the WHY of the behavior. I started getting involved at church, in groups, telling my story. The telling of my story began a seismic, all encompassing shift.

I began to understand that suffering opens doors to purpose, to deeper community, to freedom from all the crap. The walls I had solidified and reinforced began to come down, I began to embrace the childhood I had lost, the unwanted acts of sex and violence that I had been forced into, I had my eyes opened to the fact that I could change the legacy of my children- I could break patterns, I could show them a different life, better outcomes.

I fell in love with the beauty of suffering because it led me to the person who I was created to be. And I love this girl.

Suffering is snot of God, but it's often who we blame. Nothing the happened to me was an act of God, they were all acts of broken humans living in a fallen world. At my weakest, I was in the darkest pit of despair, depression, self loathing, bitterness I'd ever encountered- it was after the birth of my middle son. I was gathering laundry, the baby had finally fallen asleep, I went to step down tot he basement to start yet another load of clothes- and I fell. From the tip-top all the way down- and I lost my shit. I was ugly crying, cussing God out, saying vulgar things I'd never say to another human, all the while surrounded by poopy baby clothes. And I sat there for a bit just crying, it was all I could do. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was done doing everything alone all the time- caring for two young boys. I was done. Kaput. Defeated. As i got still, preparing to pick up the mess and continue on, a voice inside said "remember this exact moment." It made no sense, and to be frank, I out loud replied "fuck you."

But it was that moment, the moment where all my guards were down, I knew I had no control, I was exactly myself- not pretending to be anyone else because I was alone. The moment I let everything go and got totally real with myself, my emotions, with God, with life, that I embraced every part of my story, my journey, my suffering, my hurts, my disappointment, shame, and fear.

My true community appeared, those who were unhealthy fell away. I began to figure out who I was and what my purpose, intentions, ID in Christ, my actual self was. Tings began to make more sense as I began to listen and understand the WHY of pain.

I was invited to share my story in many forums, I began to help change the lives of women who had endured so much and had lost hope. I began to seek mentors and others began to seek me. Redemption. Beauty.

Here's the thing: we ALL encounter pain and suffering. It's not if, but when. And what I've learned, what I continue to learn, what I base the mission of my nonprofits on is this- pain and suffering are transformative tools used to go into this world and help others. And that's the beauty.

Glennon Doyle Melton says this: ..."run toward your pain, let it be your fuel"..."the warrior knows that heartbreak is the map that will lead to purpose and tribe." (my paraphrasing).

Wondrous suffering, indeed.

The Wordless Headstone

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed. -Natalie Clifford Barney, poet, playwright, and novelist (31 Oct 1876-1972) 

Allow me to preface this by stating that I know many of you are still waiting for Nepal ohs-has, views, and posts. These have been neither neglected nor forgotten. There are still some things I am personally wending, reflecting, processing,  and working through; but, more importantly, there's some very cool behind the scenes work in the making currently that we are not quite ready to let loose yet. So, please, forgive the delay. 

This post is about here, life in these United States. We've been under some weighted, pressing matters of late- and I...well, I a still trying to locate the big girl pants that allow me to adultly deal with such issues (I'm still looking, btw). 

By my own admission, I am not a crier. Not only am I not a crier, I am hardly an emotional-er at all. I desperately want to be heard, but then my voice gets shoved down. I really miss communicating with Peter, but in the end it seems nothing arises from me other than nods and grunts- attractive, no? And it's odd, because I currently have three journals going, I talk to my therapist, and always my best friend...and yet....

So, today, after therapy, and another evaluation for Solomon, I was kinda on the edge of some unidentified emotion. My plan was to drop off a few cards, run a couple errands, give my girlfriend in her own battle a hug, and head home. But, when I stopped to comfort my friend, out of my mouth jumped words, major words, and we were code talking around her kids in the dining room. 

And then. I. Was. Crying. Well, we both began crying. But wet things began to stream from my face. I could not complete thoughts or sentences, I'm sure I sounded like a buffoon, but I cried. 

I left soon after and came home to journal, and clean, but mostly journal. As I was reading, the featured quote came into my path and it stopped me. It's too true. My life has been challenging in every possible way- which is why emotions and tears don't come easy for me. The past few months have piled on difficulties of every nature- and I've held it all in, bravely (read:stupidly). 

It is not brave to withhold from those who love, support, encourage, bold into you, and hold you whey can't hold yourself. It's selfish. Everything held in becomes a permanent engraving/tattoo somewhere in our body. It takes a tool- on relationships and on the physical body. 

I'm learning. I doubt I'll turn into a tear factory anytime soon, but today's experiences touched me in many raw places I've been ignoring. 

My life is spent helping others, traveling the world, finding their needs, solving problems. My heart breaks for and goes out to them- I literally dump all of my being into these folks in need. But, I a a folk in need- and Peter, Alex, Jonah, Solomon, Gail, Natasha, the list is endless. 

It's time for me to stop ignoring the tenderness and embrace myself and those I love most. 

Beginning an adventure

I absolutely LOVE adventure. For as long as I can remember, I've been a wanderlust, a seeker, a lover of things new, different. Bold experiences. I've traveled everywhere-nationally and internationally- alone, for the most part. I am not a tourist, however. I prefer to be away from common sites and areas. I seek the culture of my destination. Personal spaces and kitchen. Hole-in-the-wall dives of the best foot around.  I like meeting mew friends and getting dirty in the space by serving- it's my heart, purpose, passion.

Nepal is a place that I've wanted to be, and prayed about, for over 20 years. I've read and studied about it, looked at who knows how many pictures, consumed for hours the stories my friends have shared. I've had other opportunities that either didn't seem right or would fall through. It's an area where I have deliberately been patient.

The last few years have been years of faith for me. Listening, Trusting, believing, obeying. Taking care of my kids and their needs and challenges. Taking care of my health and new battles. It's all been well worth it, if at times exceedingly difficult.

So, to get an invitation to travel to Nepal with one of my NGO partners, and close friends, was truly unreal. I said yes, then I prayed, then talked to my husband. Things looked rocky- maybe it wasn't going to work out this time- and I was good with it! Calm, knowing that a promise was coming to fulfillment. We sought financial support and donations- which were answered in a huge way!! All dreamlike. Beautiful. And then- IT WAS HERE!! Time to leave.

Because I booked my flight after my friends, I left before and will arrive after them. My flight was to leave early on a Tuesday morning in November- Cincinnati to Chicago to Abu Dhabi to Kathmandu. Very simple. Flying a new airline with incredible reviews (Etihad). I had not slept for days before, but was determined to makeup for that on the long flight to Abu Dhabi.

On my first leg, I saw this gorgeous little girl. She was bright, being silly, enjoying the time. I grabbed a coffee, chatted with my oldest sister, and enjoyed watching this little girl play wholeheartedly at such an early hour. In Chicago, while catching the train to the international terminal, I ran into the same family. They had overheard me talking and asked if I was headed to Kathmandu- yes. They are Nepalese living in Cincinnati headed home for two months. So kind and willing to share places to visit, things to explore on my stay. More on this family later.

Waiting was brief before boarding to Abu Dhabi. I sat in my wonderful window seat, getting everything just right, taking in the other passengers, and the couture feel of the attendants uniforms. At the last minute, the seats beside me filled with an older Indian couple. I had taken my sweater off, which revealed my therapy tape, and this opened up a conversation about my shared medical condition with the husband. For the remainder of the flight we chatted, shared items, and got along incredibly well. It was a blessing, for sure.

Here, allow me to pause and fully appreciate Etihad Airlines. Service like no other. Meals fresh and very tasty, wine and drinks included, snacks, coffee, water. I have never before been full from flying- and it was phenomenal. Every need was met with kindness, every service standard well exceeded. I could not think of a better way to begin a lifetime journey.

Flying into Abu Dhabi was breathtaking. The landscape below was versatile, vibrant in color, unexpected offerings. The airport itself was gorgeous, bright, spacious and welcoming. I was able to relax for a bit, catchup on a few things before boarding our final leg- to Nepal!! The views flying out are even more remarkable than those flying in:



Although only four hours, there was yet another full meal service- this one I could not finish. After things calmed down, I ran to the back and asked the attendants for a drink, which began yet another remarkable conversation. For an hour I stood in the galley getting to know these airline attendants, where they were from, their likes and dislikes- and, unfortunately- their newfound fears over the election of Donald Trump as president of the U.S. It was heartbreaking, and eyeopening. I felt honored that they shared so much with me, and enhanced an already incredible experience.

One of the greatest joys I had for this trip is that we are staying with a family who are friends. To be so well accommodated, to be shown around by such amazing people, to be cared for so well is beyond words. I knew I would be greeted with love the moment I stepped off the plane. The only trouble was- my phone was not working and I had no idea where to meet them! Remember that family I mentioned earlier? They took me under their wing, helped me locate my luggage, and was going to bring me home with them until I was able to locate Saroj- and I was so relieved and grateful. This kindness was genuine and overwhelming for an exhausted American. We got through customs, out the door, and what do I see?

When we got home, I was greeted as family. The night and day were overflowing. I had a bed ready, tea was made, and it was like I'd been known my whole life. Had the journey ended there, it would have been complete. Fortunately, it didn't.

Before Nepal...

I have hesitated weighing in on the US election. However, after reading posts, articles, and friend's personal accounts since the outcome, I thought I would share my own thoughts here.

As a Christ follower, American, and mission driven woman, I have always exercised my right to vote. It's a right not all have, a right women fought long and hard for, a right that can ultimately make changes- possibly. On the same side of that coin, however, is my very deep and personal belief that we live in a system of fallen and broken people, and my ultimate trust is not in any government, rather solely in God and His plans.

This election, more than any I've ever witnessed, has left a greater, deeper brokenness than I think most of us realized existed. It's polarized everyone regardless of economic status, gender, race, political party. There's a fear and hurt evoked, a tangible guardedness. Friends who I love and admire have made statements I never thought capable of escaping their mouths. Disrespect and vitriol are the norm, it seems. It's sad, very much so.

Here's the tough thing for me to comprehend- we are still who we were before we cast a ballot, right? I mean, in exercising our right to vote for who we personally believed was best to carry our nation for the next four years, did something inherently change about our character and core being? Because that's how we are treating one another. What happened to respecting and honoring differences, because that's who we are. Even the best of friends have differences in opinions, ins't that what makes us humans? What has happened that we are suddenly cast as a lump of human snotballs based only on who we voted for?

Entering the election, I held the same beliefs I do now. My vote is always for humans, for freedoms, for truth, for community, for helping, healing, equality. LOVE- my vote is always for love. And this election seems to have removed LOVE from the equation. A division foretold.

I've watched all of this play out from the very beautiful, peaceful, deep community of Nepal. And from this distance, 8,000 miles, I am hurting for so many and praying nonstop. We cannot change the election results, and frankly we created this- by choosing both candidates more than once. If we don't like the results, let's change ourselves. Let us be the one who stands up for the the wrongs we feel have happened. Let us lean further into our community, you know the folks you just loved and embraced a week ago? Let us direct our kids and family on WHY we feel what we feel and make a difference for the future. My friend posted this, and I love it:  


There's more to all of us than a ballot we cast. Let's go back to that, see what comes next before we knee jerk ourselves into lost friendships and bitterness. Let's remember the importance of acceptance and love.

I'm not the best blogger

I began blogging with great intention and focus on my journey- one that I consider remarkable and others consider incredible. And I love writing and sharing, but I have discovered I am not the best blogger. As I sit here, at this moment, in Nepal, with time to reflect on my journey here, the I realize this trip is the physical manifestation of why I began this blog. 

I am determined to be more consistent at this, share everything that has happened over time, all the changes- SOOO many changes- and the always upside of life. 

Before all of that, though. I am in Nepal. A place I have wanted to be for so very long. It's better than I imagined. The beauty, kindness, generosity, community. 

I am excited to share my adventure with you. 

A 

Rejection and the Christian Duplicity

Rejection- ouch. The memories that never depart. The driving force behind so many choices we make.

I am currently studying rejection from a Biblical/disciple aspect- the kind of study designed to help one understand, define, and overcome. And yet, still, the resonating sting of rejection is apparent daily.

We all want, at our core, to be known and accepted. We want to be vulnerable, transparent, honest- and loved anyway. The worth and value we come to place upon ourselves, and ultimately others, begins at conception- which is also when the battle with rejection begins.

I have lived a lot of life at my age- which I am proud of, for the most part. But reflected in this truth is the acknowledgement of the life I lived trying to be liked and accepted. And that isn't pretty. In dealing with rejection, many behaviors become alarmingly obvious in their glaring attempt to become more liked, loved, fit in...accepted.

For me, those behaviors were sometimes self harming, too. Unhealthy relationships with men I could fix, false friends, needy relatives. Seeking to numb through a drink, working out, keeping busy, even volunteering. Lying, manipulating others, imitating behaviors. Moving- over and over and over. Exhausting, all of it.

Here's what it's supposed to look like, right?

The issue with that is- we are human. Rejection hurts- hell, sometimes we are the objects of intentional harm at the claws and scratches rejection is all about. 

The greatest rejection I have endured in this life has been at the helm of those claiming to care the most: 

• the parent who, as a medical provider, blamed me for the rape I endured 
• the "best friend" who used me up, many times, until he "fell in love", stopped contacting me and-not only did I not get invited to the wedding, I never even met the bride
• the other "best friend" who I cared for unconditionally- even though I did not agree with her Swinger lifestyle- who, in jealousy, falsely accused me of inappropriate behavior and cut me off
• the well respected friend who wasn't right for the position I was offering, and after telling him so, cut off all communication, betrayed my trust and confidence
• the family members who have repeatedly lied to me, taken money and other items, cheered for my failings- yes, delighted in them even, betrayed myself and my children for years on end, and still expect me to "be there" when the need is greatest
• the over decade long abuse, rape, and molestation that was known- and not once stopped.

Just a few of life's greatest ouch moments. Why mention them? A few reasons: the greatest common factor in each of these instances- all of these folks claim to be Christian. All of these instances involve people I trusted with my most treasured life moments, thoughts, successes and failures. And they all reflect the deepest scars I wield. 

Undoing rejection takes so much time and devotion to face it over and over until it's conquered, laid to rest, and the strength intended is gleaned. So simple to type, an Everest effort and obstacle to execute. Yet, it can be done- and should be. On the other side, as with all great adventures, lies the truth and substance we are, in fact, designed for.

Purpose. 

I recently read Open by Andre Agassi and it is filled with his brilliant story of decisions made while under the oppression of fear and rejection. Incredibly powerful, this book. A few quotes knocked my heart and soul into gaping truth and openness:

  "...God isn't anything like your father...God is the opposite of your father. God isn't mad at you all the time. God isn't yelling in your ear, harping on your imperfections. That voice you hear all the time, that angry voice? That's not God."

“Andre, I won't ever try to change you, because I've never tried to change anybody. If I could change somebody, I'd change myself. But I know I can give you structure and a blueprint to achieve what you want. There's a difference between a plow horse and a racehorse. You don;t treat them the same. You hear all this talk about treating people equally, and I'm not sure equal means the same. As far as I'm concerned, you're a racehorse, and I'll always treat you accordingly. I'll be firm, but fair. I'll lead, never push. I'm not one of those people who expresses or articulates feelings very well, but from now on, just know this: It's on, man. It is on. You know what I'm saying? We're in a fight, and you can count on me until the last man is standing. Somewhere up there is a star with your name on it. I might not be able to help you find it, but I've got pretty strong shoulders, and you can stand on my shoulders while you're looking for that star. You hear? For as long as you want. Stand on my shoulders and reach, man. Reach.” 

“Hate brings me to my knees, love gets me on my feet.”

And this quote, of greatest impact:

“Remember this. Hold on to this. This is the only perfection there is, the perfection of helping others. This is the only thing we can do that has any lasting meaning. This is why we're here. To make each other feel safe.” 

In those few quotes I rediscovered the truth I have always carried, buried inside:  God is not man; those who truly care won't change us, but build us up and carry us; love wins; perfection is in doing for others. In that perfection is the defeat, eternally, of all fear and rejection. 

In my hurt, fear, and rejection, I have found and honed my purpose and calling. I have been blessed with a man, initially atheist, who loves me with unrelenting fervor, undoing the "Christian" lies. The truest best friend, Gail Stanforth, has never betrayed me, lied, or hurt me. She's propped me and held my hand when I didn't know that I could hold anything anymore. My family, while not biological, is real, strong, honest, and full of value and worth. My adventure are new, my perspective alive, future bright. 

It is for you, too.