I Wasn’t Raised in Church

Image result for church  This picture does not reflect my family. The only similarity is the number of people. We didn’t go to church. We didn’t discuss God nor open a bible in our house. We didn’t even hold hands. It was a big deal to even get a hug. We were rarely even in the same room together. So, no I wasn’t raised in church.

When I think about my first ‘experiences’ with God I can’t find much in my Memory Cabinet except a small black bible from my dedication to a Baptist Church during my toddler years. The excitement of a new Easter dress to wear is my memory along with the fear of walking to the front of the church to receive that tiny bible. This is the extent of my ‘church’ memories. Shortly after this my family was moved to a different state and ‘church’ became a strange word to us that did not frequent our home.

As an adult speaking with other Christians, one of my first questions in getting to know them is whether they were ‘raised in church.’ When getting close to God, the church setting was overwhelming to me at first and I’m more than aware of that trepidation when you can’t recite the books of the bible without looking. Or the overwhelming embarrassment when someone asks you a question about a verse or what a biblical name represents… these are all good things to know, but as a Christian that was NOT ‘raised in a church’, my heart tells me we should focus more on how that person associates with the books of the bible, or what that person is drawn to when learning the Word of God or what their name means in Christ’s definition and what changes are occurring for them in their lives.

There was another very visual memory in my Memory Cabinet that came to the front just a few weeks ago. I was in first grade and my teacher had paraphrased the story of Noah’s Ark to the class. She used the simplicity of the story to show that listening to instructions was very important, and she spoke of the Ark as if we all knew what it was. I pretended that I did, too embarrassed to ask because I had never learned how to play the fool well. It rocked me to the core that my classmates knew something I didn’t.

Now let’s not forget this was in the early 80’s so it was still acceptable to discuss biblical stories in the public classroom. A prideful straight-A student, I was mesmerized by her descriptions of the Ark, how all of the animals ‘listened to God’ and knew where to go to be saved from the flood and the determination and ‘listening skills’ of Noah. Why hadn’t I heard of this Ark before?

I went home excited and asked my Mom about Noah. I can still see her surprised smile beaming at me. “Well Noah’s in the bible,” she instructed me to ask my Dad about it. Because he worked odd shifts Dad was sleeping due to having the night shift rotation. I was not allowed to wake him, nor was I allowed to make a lot of noise, so my next thought was to find that tiny bible and read it. After noting that I wanted to read the story, Mom pushed her dinner prepping aside and quickly washed her hands. Then she stood in the middle of the kitchen as if summoning the bible location. After what seemed like forever she snapped her fingers and rushed to the coat closet by our front door and started rummaging in the boxes on the top shelf. The tiny bible was not found however a too-big-for-my-first-grade-hands King James bible was, dusty cover and all. I remember staring at her in awe and confusion as she shut the door to the closet and walked back to her dinner preparations in the kitchen.

I was in first grade. First grade in the 80’s, barely able to write the alphabet let alone read it. I had expected her to help me read it, how would I even find it? How in the world was I supposed to handle this? Determined like Noah, I decided to try. I opened the giant book and started with page one which consisted of maybe two words I could actually read. Anger welled up inside me while I stared into that giant book; frustration grew on top of my anger when Dad finally woke up and refused to help me find the Ark story. The response I heard from him that day was the beginning of a repetitious and vague answer he offered up many times after that, “figure it out yourself.”

So my first few times almost meeting God was stifled. I only gained frustration and anger and some disappointment. Through my childhood years I remember celebrating Easter by hunting for hidden baskets full of candy and toys, watching Peter Cottontail cartoons on TV, and begging my parents to hide the eggs just one more time.

Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times we used our good china and actually ate dinner together as a family. Christmas was pretty much the same type of celebration as Easter with gifts followed by a particular sadness when they were all opened and the magic of Santa seemed to dissipate. Soon after, my sister would retreat to her room, Mom would go back to the kitchen to finish cooking or cleaning and Dad would watch whatever sports was on the TV. No one ever spoke of the emptiness that was there, although I’m sure we all felt it.

My parents rarely watched movies with Christian undertones but when they did the movies were dated, sometimes gruesome, unappealing and the language used was hard for a kid to understand. Some were even black and white. There were times when I would come across something in school or in a book I was reading that would lead me to questions about Christianity, but my questions went unanswered or I got “figure it out yourself” so eventually I stopped asking.

I especially remember in fourth grade one of my friends called and asked if I wanted to spend the night with her the night before Easter. I was baffled that she would even ask such a thing. I believe I made her feel foolish because I hollered at her, “BUT TOMORROW’S EASTER!! DOESN’T YOUR FAMILY CELEBRATE?” There was silence on the phone and she quickly hung up with me. My Mom had asked why I raised my voice and after telling my Mom she laughed and said, “isn’t Easter really just another day?” Then insinuated further that I was really getting too old to celebrate the Easter Bunny. I still feel sad about that situation, wish I would have understood her desire to be with a friend who kind of understood the disappointment when her family didn’t. The invitation was eye-opening to me if anything. We are still friends today however we’ve gone down very different roads in life. Easter is still just a reason to have candy and a big dinner.

As I became a middle schooler I found myself dealing with my parents’ divorce, my sister being sent 1,000 miles away from me, moving into town where there was no where to hide, taken from 17 acres of roaming space to a tiny 2 bedroom apartment, hormones and approximately 700 new classmates. My beloved cat was sold with the house and land when the divorce was finalized and I felt as if I had nothing. My bike, my toys and about half of my belongings were sold too; my childhood was gone and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. At this point, the family I had been protected inside was completely dismembered and I didn’t have a relationship with God either. I didn’t even know I could.

A friend of mine invited me to go to her youth group at her church and I had always passed up the opportunity. At this point in my life church sounded boring and covered in rules and judgments. With the divorce of my parents I had a newfound freedom that I didn’t want to suffocate.

Eventually I spent the night with this friend and due to Mom’s ill judgment in timing of my pickup I ended up attending the youth group meeting. The meeting consisted of a handful of boys and girls in the basement / kitchen of a small church. We sat in uncomfortable metal chairs towards the back of the room. It was an interesting collage of kids, there was a jock, a nerd, a track star, a quiet girl and us. I had expected them to treat me like the new kid or question me about my ‘Godly walk’ but they didn’t. There was prayer and then the instructor asked how the last week had gone. The only thing I truly remember is while listening to the other kids talk I learned that the jock wasn’t just a jock, he was the first person I had ever met with dyslexia and the nerd actually tutored him so that his grades stayed up so he could play sports. I would have gone back and probably interacted more the next time, but my friend never invited me again.

As an adult who’s only been involved in ‘church’ about ten years now I probably only recognize 1/3 of the times God tried to open my eyes. Evil happens. Through distractions, anger, misunderstandings, and many missed opportunities. If there is one thing I was taught by God growing up it would be to always keep your eyes open. Whether the person in front of you is up or down, happy or sad, angry, etc. pray for them. Pray for open eyes, pray for Jesus’ interception. Pray they find that understanding and truth that they secretly yearn for. Pray for guidance when interacting with them, let them know you care. If you can’t or you are too angry or hurt by them, let it go, let God heal and pray from a distance. He knows the troubles. He knows the tribulations. We as human beings don’t always know what is best for us but He does.

There are moments in everyday that I am taught something new. Today I am learning that though there was a lot of hidden God in my past, He is with me now and I am a better person in Him.

There are so many children out there that are alone. Alone in a crowded gym, alone in a full classroom, alone with their artificial smile. Be the one to reach out, and reach out often. Don’t stop reaching out.

Advertisements

Will I Be Free?

2015 entry 1…a new year has opened a tremendous cave under my delicate feet. My set path is no longer established, my future is no longer set. What will be my first challenge?

What will be yours?

Can you climb over that tree that has fallen in your way? Will your feet slip out from under you while the earth quakes? Or will you risk it and jump off the edge? Will you find yourself screaming in terror or soaring into the clouds with only peace carrying you? Is there now a great mountain in the distance blocking your view, an ocean to swim with the waves lapping at your now bare feet, do you feel the sand? Do you have a cave, much like mine, to explore?

2015 entry 2… I feel the ground crumbling under my feet like little pods of life disappearing. My heart beat quickens as I scramble to grab hold of anything around me that’s stable – a fruitless claim.

My fingers clench the dirt as I fall, which decays as soon as my skin touches it. My attempts to save myself from this monstrous dark hole only grow more drastic as I reach, slip, climb, plummet…over and over and over again; until my reality slaps me, ‘there’s nothing left to hold onto.’ The walls of the cave start sliding past me as if they were moving and I was not. And then, only then, do I begin learning to fall gracefully.

My face is wet with hot tears and scorched by my own body’s temperatures. My head pounds against itself; tumbling now my knees are bloodied and scraped as are my hands…torn and twisted from my failed attempts to hold onto the past.

Only darkness surrounds me here. A darkness that has the most beautiful silence. My body lands on the cold, jagged rocks and my mind begins to race, a marathon of visions: pictures of people, memories, laughter, loving and hating and thoughts that I’ve held inside my mind for so long…particles here, traces there.

My most intimate memories.

2015 entry 3….the immense amount of pain searing through my chest is almost unbearable. Without my sight in this darkest of lairs I’m crippled. Pausing for a clear thought in my mottled mind I begin to utilize another God-given sense.

With dirt caked on my fingers like dried icing I am unable to feel any fine details. As I search my chest with my hands I parallel it with a small, feeble prayer to God… praying there is nothing impaled however I’m doubtful. Cooled by the elusive breezes of this cave, my skin is freezing to the touch though it begins to burn again, just a minute spark, then, a raging fire. The stinging is equivalent to a million honeybee stings focalized at my heart.

As I battle against panic mode, I scramble to my feet only to find a different excruciating pain. My legs refuse to hold me. Falling against the rocks a second time just brings me to fury. Out of anger I smack them ruthlessly with only frustration as my guide. Here I am in a hole with no light, no vision, pain coursing through my body and I’m smacking my legs as hard as I possibly can, defeated and desperate for some type of control. I need a sense of control.

I’m overtaken, bound and burdened. Feeling nothing now with my hands but only aching creases of skin from the continuous beating I lash on myself; my body becomes its own manager with no need of me anymore. It now owns me, paralyzes me, making its own choices and inhibiting my every movement. Shall I be weak and give in to its monstrous appetite or shall…I…fight… ?

2015 entry 4…streaks of tears burnt on my face like leftover whip marks. My aching legs burn from the suffering of my own beating. Flight or fight…I will always fight. I do always fight. This is what I do. And even now, this is who I am. For if I am not a fighter, I will for sure be nothing.

I begin to breathe. A new air is in my lungs. Sweet and salty, dense with moisture. Deeper and deeper, holding it longer and longer I begin to crave the freshness of it, like sugar on my lips. The stinging in my chest subsides as I realize the rapid pulsating of my heart was causing the pain.

MY.OWN.PAIN.

I seem to be pretty good at that. Injuring myself, so much so that the scars left in the wake are impenetrable. Though my skin is thick, my heart is inaccessible. I made it that way. Allowing the closest to see my vulnerability, that’s when I lost my grip. My life has been nothing less than training. Always training to conquer, to win, to succeed, to be accepted, to cause jealousy, to cause confusion, to make others doubt. To be all that I could be.

And here I sit, more broken than I ever thought was possible. Conquered by my personal agonizing torture. With the shade drawn now only naked walls are exposed. No light, no vision, no guidance, no goal. My focal point is gone.

I am here. Here..alone. Where should I begin?

2015 entry 5…My mind flies back to better days. The warm sunshine on my face, the heat of the sun driving me on. The greenest grass, the pleasure of my most loved people surrounding me. How did I get here?

Where am I? The darkness is almost surreal to me. Life hidden in the shadows as I strain to see any daylight above me. My eyes are useless, a shield that is no longer capable of protection. Feeling the rocks around me as I sit, I wonder how far is this depth I am in? I can feel a cool breeze from maybe the North? Or South? I cannot even remember my exact location before falling.

Where am I? There is a mossy substance covering my throne of rocks. My tears have dried, though my clothing is glued to me. My hands are torn and wretched from my dirty manicure. Traces of blood I can feel rendering a new skin on my body. One protection taken, a new protection born. Blood. How much blood have I lost? Am I still bleeding anywhere?

Searching my body with my hands it’s hard to tell whether I am still bleeding or it is just dirt from the fall. I am filthy head to toe and bruised, I can definitely feel the soreness. Covered in a thick layer of mud, I find myself laughing. An unbelievable temptation of my over-stimulation and confusion.

How did I fall?

2015 entry 6…After laughing maniacally my blood that remains inside is pumping faster now and my thoughts grow clearer. I don’t know how I fell into this disgraceful pit, all I know is I am here. Surely my loved ones will search for me, surely someone will look for me.

I must do what needs to be done. Without sight, the darkness intensifying around me, I finish ripping my clothes to bandage my known wounds. Trying to stand, I feel streaking pain in my legs and hips, like lightning striking my entire being. I breathe in deeply, between the powerful blows, as I use my touch to feel around me.

Taking a small step to feel my surroundings, the walls are as cold as ice. But I sense a bit of warmth, maybe just from my own heat.

I’ve got to get out of this place. Glancing up again, praying for sunlight or a trace of any light source, I’m tortured by the darkness. Pain seething into my inner warmth I crumble once again. Fallen, broken on this jagged rock. My will is weak, my strength has disappeared, and all I can do is rest. Rest would be good, considering the amount of blood I’ve lost to this tragedy.

I will rest.

2015 entry 7…I take my last bit of torn clothing and wipe the remnants of tears and dirt from my eyes. Even they are battling me to open. Does everything have to be such a chore?

The darkness is still with me; encircling me like sharks next to a dying victim of failed machinery. I close my eyes, squinting and forcefully closing them as hard as I can, mustering a few tears for their weakened and troubled little muscles. The dryness decreases and they decide to surrender, willingly obliging and opening a bit easier now.

Not sure why I even need my sight. A part of human nature I suppose, thinking that to waken my will I must use every ounce of my being. My eyes being the first and, typically, the most important. However in this darkness, I find no strength in them. A short prayer to my God, the God that is supposed to be with me through thick and thin. God, please give me what I need. I send up prayers carefully these days; for He grants many prayers, though in His way not ours.

Now my next feat, stand on my feet. Analyzing my bandaging abilities I’m certainly impressed by my quick-thinking yesterday…or however long ago that was. The blood flow had stopped on the major cuts and I had managed to create a type of bandage AND stabilization for my knee, without even being conscious of it.

Knowing the knots, bruises and dried blood will wash away and heal with time, I also know that scars remain forever. So gently this time, I forge through my blindness and bring myself to a standing position. It hurts, but this time it’s just thunder. The lightning bolts have left this storm.

2015 entry 8… with my feet firmly under me I’m washed with confusion. Pondering where I am, the reality of possibly never seeing light again brings me to tears once more. I frown at myself, my weak, pathetic spirit. Today is a new day, well, if it is even daytime.

The lapse of time has brought a new freedom to me…and with it I’ve climbed inside the darkness and am beginning to cohabitate well with it. Darkness as a friend was not something any motivational speaker would lecture, though I can feel the darkness in every cell of my body. I think this new friend may be a blessing in disguise, because who knows how terrible my wounds actually look, or how muddy and creepy this dungeon of mine may seem to average eyes.

Stepping forward, my fear and weakness left in my footprints behind me. I embrace the dungeon as if it were a new lover; caressing the walls and memorizing every crevice in the rocky floor. The miniscule sounds tickle my ears with a hint of flirtation. The poignant smells turn from musty to manly to salty to sweet and back again as I venture further down this path.

2015 entry 9… allowing the muddy walls to lead me, I follow as blindly as I did when I could see. Reminiscing to visions of my life prior to this I understand now that I knew not where I was going then. I only had a perception of where life was leading me. I was so understandably wrong. I thought I was normal. An average, everyday gal with a normal job, a normal family, and normal aspirations. These walls are more real to me now than my whole life was before this moment. I skated through my days on average wheels. Being forced to venture into these unknown surroundings only bring past realities into truth, and they were not pleasant.

This new path may be my friend, may be a teacher or a lesson, or may be my killer. Only God knows why I’m even up and moving around. I astonish myself with this crazy odd ability to survive, even when I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to. The fall had torn the very best of me… the appeal I had had since birth was surely gone and would forever be scarred. I will never be the same.

My feet just keep moving, as if minds of their own. The walls seem to be dryer than when I first touched them. The further my invisible leash leads me, the less moisture I feel. Still in complete darkness, though no longer in fear, I continue to make the journey without my sight. I’ve had only myself to converse with since the fall, and the discussions have been a hell of a roller coaster ride. My feet on the ground, my eyes viewless, and all of my previous life’s boundaries disappearing; murky walls and misleading odors replace the senses I once trusted.

2015 entry 10….. further into the depths of this hole I’ve found that it opens to a cave of sorts. When my voice reverberated back to my ears I knew this new dwelling had grown. There are hints of bent reflections though nothing above me to permit them. A shimmer in a dark corner gains my focus and I’m thankful to see something… anything. Although I’ve become comfortable in my darkness, this vision now even as small as a pencil shaving has delivered a hope inside of me. Hope is an odd feeling at best. I amble towards the pencil-shaving sized reflection slowly and hesitantly, unknowing if it is real or if I am imagining this. My imagination has been silenced by this newfound situation, creating a trust in God that is scary and liberating at the same time.

The shimmer of light has bent to a radiant violet color. And I continue towards it. Glancing above for the reason of this light I see nothing and lay my faith with God.

My feet are sore but carry on as if nothing could stop them, they too are enlightened by this treasure. The ground below is warmer and not nearly as moist. Walking has become easier now as I am one step closer to hope.

2015…entry 11 My weak ankles tighten as I sludge through the mixture of mud, dirt and rocks beneath me. My shelter becomes warmer the closer I get. My skin reacts to the warmth as if a loving hand was stroking the fear away.

Gaining clearer perception, my treasure glistens in the hidden light as my heart matures into the muscle it was born to be. The beats are powerful and real, as if I hadn’t felt them before now. Painstakingly, my hope carries me closer as my shell of a body conforms to the agony of movement and the ability to hope.

So close to my imagination I beg for no tricks, only treats. I begin to realize that the pencil-shaving was merely a rock, or more of a mineral. In my previous endeavors this would have been a mere rock to cast aside and pay no attention. Though now as my pupils adjust, a lustrous and rich violet hypnotized my entire being.

My eyes though tortured and naked drank in this innocent vision; fulfilling a craving inside that just became known. My heart beats to the same rhythm. My vision is clear and crisp. Something I considered may be lost from me forever.

The violet colored quartz is smooth to the touch as I knelt beside it. Careful not to disturb this precious gift, I caress it gently, sliding my worn fingertips across the sharp edges. A tear dwindles at the corner of my eye, joyful in nature, because I can now see.

2015…entry 12 Staring into this innocent rock of hope, I notice there are glimmering fractions of light shining through my tattered shirt from underneath. Puzzled and yet still consumed by the treacherous new feelings abounding inside, I slide my beaten hands under my shirt and carefully skim the source of my distraction. As if the pieces of hope were reaching out of my skin a shard of glasslike mineral protruded from my ribs. Though fear began to stealthily creep into my mind I continued to feel the wound, forbidding the devil to ruin this magnificence for me. The shard became more violet in color as if competing with the rock below me. Gently I placed my fingertip and thumb around it and it left my skin without a drop of blood lingering. I brought it closer to my newfound eyes and the reflection it shined back at me was not myself, it carried a memory of one of the worst events in my life, the climax of the event replayed on this insidious shard of memory; my subconscious captive was released right in front of my eyes, out of my own body. I gazed into it, amazed, cringing at the sight, tears falling steadily now as the memory brought the hurt and pain back to my reality.

My tears caused the shard to glow brighter as I watched the event to completion. And as one last tear fell into my hand, swabbing the edges of the memory, it faded as the shard faded and became nothing. The only evidence left was a small cut in the middle crease of my palm with only one droplet of blood escaping.

2015…entry 13 As I stared, mesmerized at my empty fingertips the overwhelming affect of my memory lurched at my insides. My heart felt as if it were exploding and the pain, excruciating. Unable to see through my tears, I ran my blistered fingers under my shirt to calm my aching chest. The desperate pleas to control my breathing only caused more panic and the realization of the memory caused sinister thoughts to penetrate my mind.

My mind’s eye focused on the crystalized memory that had replayed in it’s own fullness, and began attacking as a bully, penetrating all controls I thought I had. Anger and hatred welled inside and my tears turned from pain to burning angst. Without escape and without control I delve deeper into what only I could see inside. The lurking fears that had once entangled my past came back with a vengeance, and shared its passion with my present.

2016 entry 1… Unable to recover from the images reversing my progress, I stumble to my feet; reaching for anything of substance. The walls were again grimy and my body seethed of dirt and filth. The crystallized memories were tossed and fractured in front of me to relive and regroup and rebel. Panic-stricken, I grope my chest to be sure the pain of my breathing was still stuck inside me and the pounding of my chest had not opened a wound too big to heal.

Trickles of soured memories mixed and interacted with each other on the walls of the cave, creating the ultimate terror for me. With no more tears left to give, I scanned the cave with the small slivers of light from my memories and began to walk towards them. To walk through these events cast before me yet again seemed the only path to take. I had to get through this. Brace myself, deep breath, and here I go with little understanding of why. Faith in myself was all I had at this moment, and it was lacking.

 

 

Fix Me

I find myself hidden below the surface of what I’ve become. This shell of a person people see on the outside is only their perception. The words I express are not my own anymore. These people who say they love me have molded and shaped me to fit exactly the way they need me to fit, so that I fit into their little worlds without interruption.

I am lost somewhere inside, peeking out less and less often now; comfortable in my own shadows. Numerous opportunities to begin new journeys however fear overtakes me and I falter. Responsibilities, expectations, excuses, demands, epic failures… have brought you what you see before you today. Once a vibrant and stunning flower, my blossom has faded into the drifting current. A current with more ebbs than flows. Jagged rocks concealed just below the surface striking me with painful blows disguised as love. But I am just a shell. And my shell is shatterproof. Maybe.

I look to the skies, look to God for answers and only find myself looking back right now. This ugly shell that you’ve created. The once angelic face has drawn up like a raisin, the sparkle in my eye has faded to black, the wretched monster that was once under my bed is now in the middle of the street. As a result of your surroundings, the harsh and torturing world you secretly embrace, I’m swallowed and muffled in the belly of the beast.

You stare at me in amazement. Shocked when I can actually bring myself to speak. And I speak the words of Jesus, praying that you will hear me this time. God, shine your light on me again. Take me away from all of this sin. Dry my tears so my skin doesn’t harden, break my shell so my voice can be heard. Please God, just a tiny crack.

This ugliness, this distasteful world haunts me day and night. I want so much more but have no idea what I need. Show me a genuine heart of gold so that I may find hope again; these people here have lost their souls, their hearts are rotted and their love is cold, oh its so cold, chilled to the bone. Fix me.

Today I’m a broken soul with many jagged rocks. Waiting for God’s direction, impatiently.

Webs

On this gorgeous autumn day I actually took a second out of my busy schedule to see the sights. Taking a short stroll, yes this season is such a blessing from God. Glancing off in the distant hills of my town, my eyes smile at the colorful trees, and I realize how truly amazing nature is. Brilliant reds, calm yellows, bursting oranges… speechless. Inhaling a deep breath of crisp fresh air I focus in on a spider web nearby. Mama spider is exhaustingly busy spinning her egg sack. Drifting back to my pregnancy days, when carrying my bundles in my belly, I remember all of the aches and pains and exhaustion having to physically work for extended amounts of time. This mama spider just continues on, continues to work, no pauses or break times.

Why? God made her strong. And not only her, but He intricately created her to do just this, and to entrust in her the ability to use her gifts to create such an amazing home for her babies, an alluring web to outlast the cold of winter, so that her babies can eat when born, and it all comes from her body.

The web is stunning. Each strand laid perfectly in line to cross in exactly the right places. Knowing instinctively which strands she shouldn’t touch. Like our lives really… as I travel down my own path / web, jump the hurdles, turn the corners, climb over the hills; I find sometimes my feet stick to certain sections, just like hers.  And yet somehow we both know, as long as we listen to our Godly instincts, which sections will hold us down, which paths are right, and which ones we could be stuck to forever.

We gain strength and confidence as we move further through our webs utilizing our Godly natural instincts. Listening to God does not always involve the Words of the Bible. As a spider, God speaks to her through her spirit, her God-given instincts and purpose. She can’t read the Word, but knows it by heart. She, as a creation AND her own creation are breath-taking. Awesome little creatures… maybe that’s how God sees us? His awesome little creatures !

Today I am just one of God’s many awesome little creatures, always astonished with His creations.

Newness

I’ve decided to blog. I just had the craziest notion to do it, so here I am in a new world called… drum roll please… blogging. It brings the feeling of opening a beautifully wrapped present with the anxiety and excitement of what is inside. What IS inside me? And does anyone want to hear what I have to say?

Most days I am a mom, however not so typical. My husband and I are raising the little rascals to be strong in all aspects: emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically. For what’s to come of this world we’ve brought them into will surely turn its mask to evil at any given moment… this is why we raise them the way we do. They are perfectly normal little guys, a handful for sure, but I’d rather have my hands full instead of ‘half-empty.’

Eight hours of my day I sit at a front desk, wondering when my next assignment will drift my way. I used to have the greatest job, a job that let me venture out of the norm, with challenges and trust from the administrators; but because of twisted politics and gentle back scratches I had to jump ship, yes while it was sinking. And here I am, struggling to keep my sanity and drowning in boredom. Some days I’m super busy, but lately I’m just voicemail.

So as you can imagine, my mind wanders down many paths in this stimulation-free zone I’ve found myself in. Like right now I’m wondering if I should even put my name on this blog site, if those who know me will read and love it, or hate it, or judge it… kind of tough putting yourself and your thoughts out there for everyone to see (visioning an orange with its peeling taken off).

WordPress recommended I introduce myself in my first blog; uhhh… I think I will just give you one puzzle piece at a time 🙂

Today I am a quiet, bored employee, while my mind piercingly screams , LET ME OUT OF HERE!

Continue reading