This morning I am feeling...like satan is trying to put me back in a casket God raised me from.
I've heard a lot of, "You are so broken, scarred, wounded...not well enough to realy live yet."
Wrong.
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
From a personal correspondence...
It's not polished. It's just true.
*******************
I've tried to be very "diplomatic" in what I've said and how I've said it because it seemed like the honorable thing to do. However, I think I need to clarify some things so folks understand where I am and can offer encouragement and support (or not) accordingly.
I am not Rob's widow. I was simply the woman married to him when he died.
My experience as "the widow" is not like most anyone else I know, and while I appreciate the deep compassion so many people extend, I simply cannot and WILL NOT do this widow gig.
We were one month from the divorce being final. I had known since early last fall Rob had decided he didn't want to come home.
Yes, his decisions hurt me. Yes, the failure of my marriage hurt me. But, when I grieve, I don't grieve as Rob's wife. I grieve as a woman who watched a lot of her life change dramatically in a year. I grieve the loss of family and friends that are no longer part of our lives. I grieve as someone who hates divorce and tried so hard to avoid it. I grieve for my children who only see a big black hole where their dad isn't anymore.
And, yes, for a long time all I saw was that hole, but I am not there anymore. If you notice, my pronouns have changed. I no longer us "we" or "us". It's "I" and "me". I am referring to life experiences less and less in relation to Rob and more and more as simpy life experiences. I've been to DC. Doesn't matter if Rob was there or not. *I* went to DC.
I am Jerri.
I am not the grieving widow of Rob Phillips.
I choose to define today, not be defined by the last year...or the 19 before that.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not...gloomy. If you think I am, talk to some folks who hang out with me, text me, or talk to me regularly.
Yes, I am still processing. I lived in an altered reality in Asperger's hell for 19 years. Having to figure out what was real and what was mirage, but I'm okay with that, and thankfully, I've been blessed with some amazing people to talk and walk me through it.
I'm learning a new life. Really, that is all it is. I've talked with several miltary friends who say coming back to the States after a deployment is relearning life. Moving from the country to the city is relearning life. The basics are the same, but the nuances and reality of logistics are different. That is it.
It isn't some deep wound or some glaring scar. It's simply figuring out the logistics and learning how to take care of the basics with new logistics.
And yes, some days it is hard. I went to sleep May of 2010 with a preteen happy to trust Mom knows virtually everything. I woke up June 2011 with a 14-year old who has a mind of her own and is trying to figure out how to use it in a productive positive way for God's glory. She is figuring out how to be herself and still honor me. I'm figuring out how to be Mom and respect her being herself. Not easy, but we are finding the laughter...and honest struggles...in the adventure. In some ways we are "growing apart". In other ways--deep ways--we are growing so much closer.
For those who are "deeply concerned", I do have a counselor. She's been great, one of my most wonderful supporters, and she keeps canceling my sessions because according to her, when someone 4 months out from the end of the year I've had is doing better on all fronts than people a few years out are hopefully doing, she sees no reason to see that person. And I tell her the same thing everytime--God is good.
And He is
And because of that...
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
And the Truth Will Set You Free
In the entire year I could not remember it being so dark. The pain had seemed an ever present torment for as long as I could remember. The dark was darker than it had ever been. It was harder to get on top of, and the "feeling good" didn't last...long at all. Every time I thought it was getting better, it seemed to get worse.
I couldn't remember the last time I had even had a good day, one where I didn't cry or feel my heart was being ripped out or simply didn't hurt. Every day hurt.
I couldn't do it anymore.
And I couldn't change it.
All I could do was go to God and be blunt. "You have to do something. I'd quit if I could, but I have two children depending on me. You have to do something to get me out of this hell."
A simple, but oh, so clear response as audible as my children in the room with me: "You have to tell."
The thought had crossed my mind multiple times in the last year, but along with the thought came chest pain, the inability to breathe, and deep soul sobs. With each wave of fear, I had declared, "I can't tell."
This time, I only asked, "Who?"
My dear friends Kenneth and Joy came to mind. Yes, I could tell them.
I went in my bedroom, closed the door, sat on my bed with my computer, and pulled up a new email. I had no idea where to start, how to word things, or what the end would look like. I simply had to tell, so I started.
Then I told them about 19 years of marriage that left more scars than I believed would ever go away. I told them details, things I had never told anyone. I would write, stop, breathe deep, keep writing...and cry.
I told them about the shame. I typed, fought the desire to vomit, laid in a fetal position on my bed, sobbed until I ached, and then got up and typed more.
Then I said it, the thing that had tormented me that I couldn't admit, that hurt me to my very core, the truth.
I typed:
"He...didn't...want...me."
I stared at the blurred words while hot tears rolled down my face, and I read it over and over.
Really, that was what it all came down to.
He didn't want me.
It wasn't my hair or the way I kept house or my ironing or any THING. It was me. He didn't want me.
And I closed my computer, lay on my bed, and soul cried over nineteen years of truth.
I have no idea how long I cried. When I sat up, I opened my computer and finished writing the letter.
Four hours, ten pages, and a soggy pillow later, I ended the letter with:
The next day I woke up, went through the day, got to the end, and realized...it had been a really good day.
I texted Kenneth and told him. He and Joy rejoiced with me.
The next evening I texted, "Okay, that is two great days in a row."
After day three of my string of great days, I allowed myself to think maybe...possibly...
Then came the fourth day, and it was a great day, too. That is when I realized....
I wasn't sad. I wasn't fighting to be happy. There was real joy, and I wasn't having to fake it or fight for it. It was coming naturally. The smiles were real. The laughter was real.
The peace...was real.
And I knew it wasn't just a sunny time out in the prison yard before going to the cell again. I knew I was out of the prison...completely. I had been released from the dungeon and was in the sunshine. I was breathing, moving...living...hoping. I was also...
...sleepy.
In nearly eleven months I could not remember a time when I felt sleepy. I had been mentally and emotionally exhausted. I had slept to try to escape my thoughts, but I didn't remember when my mind had been so settled I could feel my body want to sleep. I don't think I have ever been so excited to be sleepy in my life.
I wrote that letter nearly three weeks ago. Since then I have...
...cleared the flowerbeds that previously brought me to tears.
...trimmed limbs (from ground level because I don't get dizzy standing on the ground) from several trees.
...assisted Anna as she redecorated the study and made it into a guest room.
...made a wonderful trip to Galveston and enjoyed the beach and churning water.
...relaxed....honestly relaxed!...with friends.
...enjoyed a house guest so much I really hated to see her go home.
...rejoined Habitat for Humanity.
...enjoyed time with my brother.
...laughed deeply.
...developed smile lines.
...slept.
...had one great day after another, and at the end of each one, I am delightfully sleepy. :-)
I couldn't remember the last time I had even had a good day, one where I didn't cry or feel my heart was being ripped out or simply didn't hurt. Every day hurt.
I couldn't do it anymore.
And I couldn't change it.
All I could do was go to God and be blunt. "You have to do something. I'd quit if I could, but I have two children depending on me. You have to do something to get me out of this hell."
A simple, but oh, so clear response as audible as my children in the room with me: "You have to tell."
The thought had crossed my mind multiple times in the last year, but along with the thought came chest pain, the inability to breathe, and deep soul sobs. With each wave of fear, I had declared, "I can't tell."
This time, I only asked, "Who?"
My dear friends Kenneth and Joy came to mind. Yes, I could tell them.
I went in my bedroom, closed the door, sat on my bed with my computer, and pulled up a new email. I had no idea where to start, how to word things, or what the end would look like. I simply had to tell, so I started.
"I do not expect you to have answers or…really anything. I just need to tell someone..."I told them about my struggle with God, not understanding Him, trying to figure out what trust and faith are all over again, feeling totally abandoned by Him for nineteen years, and yet, knowing He was faithful. Strangely that was the easy part.
Then I told them about 19 years of marriage that left more scars than I believed would ever go away. I told them details, things I had never told anyone. I would write, stop, breathe deep, keep writing...and cry.
I told them about the shame. I typed, fought the desire to vomit, laid in a fetal position on my bed, sobbed until I ached, and then got up and typed more.
Then I said it, the thing that had tormented me that I couldn't admit, that hurt me to my very core, the truth.
I typed:
"He...didn't...want...me."
I stared at the blurred words while hot tears rolled down my face, and I read it over and over.
Really, that was what it all came down to.
He didn't want me.
It wasn't my hair or the way I kept house or my ironing or any THING. It was me. He didn't want me.
And I closed my computer, lay on my bed, and soul cried over nineteen years of truth.
I have no idea how long I cried. When I sat up, I opened my computer and finished writing the letter.
Four hours, ten pages, and a soggy pillow later, I ended the letter with:
I hit "send", closed my computer, and put my head down. I was tired, and I needed to rest.And I wonder if I will ever not feel so completely destroyed, crushed, and shattered.Thank you for listening.Love you both.Jerri
The next day I woke up, went through the day, got to the end, and realized...it had been a really good day.
I texted Kenneth and told him. He and Joy rejoiced with me.
The next evening I texted, "Okay, that is two great days in a row."
After day three of my string of great days, I allowed myself to think maybe...possibly...
Then came the fourth day, and it was a great day, too. That is when I realized....
I wasn't sad. I wasn't fighting to be happy. There was real joy, and I wasn't having to fake it or fight for it. It was coming naturally. The smiles were real. The laughter was real.
The peace...was real.
And I knew it wasn't just a sunny time out in the prison yard before going to the cell again. I knew I was out of the prison...completely. I had been released from the dungeon and was in the sunshine. I was breathing, moving...living...hoping. I was also...
...sleepy.
In nearly eleven months I could not remember a time when I felt sleepy. I had been mentally and emotionally exhausted. I had slept to try to escape my thoughts, but I didn't remember when my mind had been so settled I could feel my body want to sleep. I don't think I have ever been so excited to be sleepy in my life.
I wrote that letter nearly three weeks ago. Since then I have...
...cleared the flowerbeds that previously brought me to tears.
...trimmed limbs (from ground level because I don't get dizzy standing on the ground) from several trees.
...assisted Anna as she redecorated the study and made it into a guest room.
...made a wonderful trip to Galveston and enjoyed the beach and churning water.
...relaxed....honestly relaxed!...with friends.
...enjoyed a house guest so much I really hated to see her go home.
...rejoined Habitat for Humanity.
...enjoyed time with my brother.
...laughed deeply.
...developed smile lines.
...slept.
...had one great day after another, and at the end of each one, I am delightfully sleepy. :-)
Friday, June 3, 2011
When You Don't Know What to Do, Celebrate...You
I didn't know what to do. I had never done this before, and I had no idea what to expect. I didn't know who to ask because...well, frankly it's a rather awkward topic, not something that comes up in social gatherings or emails either for that matter, and I wasn't sure anyone else could really relate anyway. It was going to happen, though. It wasn't like I could avoid it. It would have just been nice if there had been some kind of directions, some kind of...something.
But there wasn't.
Sometimes a person just has to find her own way...and I did. And my way was to celebrate.
June 2 is a big day in my world. It's the day I changed my name. The day I made a covenant to love and cherish till death do us part, and the day I was reminded of how horribly wrong things can go.
Last year was bad. I didn't even buy Rob a card. It was so obvious that our marriage was coming apart. We weren't even sleeping in the same room any more. I can't tell you if we went out or if we really even talked. I think he bought me a card, but I can't tell you what it said.
Then came the 8 months I could have never imagined, and I went from preparing to be an ex-wife to being a widow with one late-night visit from the police, and suddenly, our anniversary was here again, and I had no idea what to do.
All I really knew is I have hurt enough. I could not take one more day of...hell. And really, that is what the last year has felt like. It has been a mental and emotional hell I would never wish on anyone, and I could not do another day of it.
It's not enough to know what one doesn't want to do, though. One has to determine what she DOES want to do, and I wanted to be done.
I wanted to be done with the rejection. I wanted to be done with figuring out what made him unhappy. I wanted to be done wondering what I could have done differently. I wanted to be done being....
No.
That's not true.
It's more than what I wanted to leave behind. It's what I wanted to embrace. It wasn't what I wanted dead. It's how I want to live.
I wanted to celebrate me. I wanted to just enjoy being me, with my gifts, my talents, my personality, my sense of humor, my...life.
So, instead of getting a bottle of wine and offering a toast "to us" and "the good times" and feeling like puking because of the hypocrisy of it all, I pulled on my overalls, got in my pickup, and headed to a Habitat for Humanity site. I spent the day with amazing people who filled my heart with smiles, fabulous memories that felt good to my soul, and laughter that still rings in my mind and ears. I learned some new skills, did what I do best [talk :-) ], and felt needed and wanted. I wasn't a widow or an ex-wife. I was simply Jerri, and that was enough. I didn't do anything amazing or anything. I just did...me.
And it felt good.
Last night I went to dinner with my brother, and then we went to see a midnight premiere that ended about 2:30. I had never been to a midnight premiere. This morning my sides are sore from laughing so hard, and I ended up sleeping until nearly lunch. Horribly irresponsible and impractical. I will definitely do it again.
It was a wonderful day. I laughed. I sang. I breathed deep, and I celebrated life. I celebrated...me.
But there wasn't.
Sometimes a person just has to find her own way...and I did. And my way was to celebrate.
June 2 is a big day in my world. It's the day I changed my name. The day I made a covenant to love and cherish till death do us part, and the day I was reminded of how horribly wrong things can go.
Last year was bad. I didn't even buy Rob a card. It was so obvious that our marriage was coming apart. We weren't even sleeping in the same room any more. I can't tell you if we went out or if we really even talked. I think he bought me a card, but I can't tell you what it said.
Then came the 8 months I could have never imagined, and I went from preparing to be an ex-wife to being a widow with one late-night visit from the police, and suddenly, our anniversary was here again, and I had no idea what to do.
All I really knew is I have hurt enough. I could not take one more day of...hell. And really, that is what the last year has felt like. It has been a mental and emotional hell I would never wish on anyone, and I could not do another day of it.
It's not enough to know what one doesn't want to do, though. One has to determine what she DOES want to do, and I wanted to be done.
I wanted to be done with the rejection. I wanted to be done with figuring out what made him unhappy. I wanted to be done wondering what I could have done differently. I wanted to be done being....
No.
That's not true.
It's more than what I wanted to leave behind. It's what I wanted to embrace. It wasn't what I wanted dead. It's how I want to live.
I wanted to celebrate me. I wanted to just enjoy being me, with my gifts, my talents, my personality, my sense of humor, my...life.
So, instead of getting a bottle of wine and offering a toast "to us" and "the good times" and feeling like puking because of the hypocrisy of it all, I pulled on my overalls, got in my pickup, and headed to a Habitat for Humanity site. I spent the day with amazing people who filled my heart with smiles, fabulous memories that felt good to my soul, and laughter that still rings in my mind and ears. I learned some new skills, did what I do best [talk :-) ], and felt needed and wanted. I wasn't a widow or an ex-wife. I was simply Jerri, and that was enough. I didn't do anything amazing or anything. I just did...me.
And it felt good.
Last night I went to dinner with my brother, and then we went to see a midnight premiere that ended about 2:30. I had never been to a midnight premiere. This morning my sides are sore from laughing so hard, and I ended up sleeping until nearly lunch. Horribly irresponsible and impractical. I will definitely do it again.
It was a wonderful day. I laughed. I sang. I breathed deep, and I celebrated life. I celebrated...me.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Gratitude 41--Thankful Again
"Is this ever going to get better?"
It's a question I've asked dozens of times in the last year. Once again yesterday morning the words tumbled from my mouth. It had been a rough two weeks when getting on top of the pain and confusion had taken more effort than usual and the "ups" weren't nearly as up as I had hoped, and they had not lasted very long.
I stared at Ann Voskamp's book on my coffee table. One Thousand Gifts. I had not made it to a thousand, and I couldn't remember when I had blogged about my gratitidue. In the last six months there had been so much pain and loss, and my gratitude was over such insignificant things such as hitting the green light when I was running later than I had intended or thanking God that dishes left in the sink did not make the world come to a halt. Petty things. Nobody really wanted to hear those.
But, they were my life preservers. They were the things that kept my head above water when I felt like everything else was caving down. They were...important to me.
The house got to hopping, and the thoughts were lost.
This morning I woke up to an email from a precious new friend a world away.
I considered the prison I had been in, the one I struggled with for 19 years, and the key God was giving me out, the powerful message He was sending, not just for the struggle of the last two weeks but the truth of a lifetime.
An hour later my friend Lisa sent me an email telling me what the Lord spoke to her when she prayed for me yesterday.
"Jerri, do you get how much I am reaching in or how much I want to get you out? Grab hold of me. I am the answer."
I get it, Lord.
Thank you...for reaching in...for not letting go...for being here...now...with me...
And thank you for...
961. Anna's creativity--the newly decorated guest room is stunning
962. The ability to paint and redo the guest room
963. Robert's piano playing....my word...
964. Tracy...a world away but so close to Your heart whose courage to share Your word with me blesses me more than words can say
965. 111
966. Sweet texts that give me a smile...especially right before I go to sleep
967. Brian Hearn, who always sees the anointed side of me
968. Painting with a Twist
969. Vanesa Stenberg...I could write a novel
970. A good night's sleep
971. Scott helping with the ceiling fan
972. Rae and her huge heart
973. Facebook
974. Tina Cox and the others at my insurance company
975. Val Roach, who sees and understands and has incredible patience
976. Lisa Buffaloe, who calls from Idaho because she can't sit with me here
977. Snipers
978. Amelia the Brave, who likes the same things I do
979. Morning moments with Robert
980. Mowing yards
981. Karaoke
982. Forney Fire Department
983. Forney Wallgreens
984. The Cavalry
985. A new book
986. Confirmation
987. Giving thanks
988. Ann Voskamp
989. Coffee with sugar
990. Sharilyn reminding me that healing is in progress, stay on the trail
991. Wendy and friend love. Really.
992. John--NP0s, C-collars, non-rebreather masks, and re-inflating my ego
993. Anna's signature--"Singer, Actress, and All Around People Lover (That means YOU)"
994. Danny and Paige Granberry and the light being on for us
995. LDS church teaching people to serve and being the feet and hands of Jesus...even to those not in their church
996. Men's groups who trim limbs and fix floors
997. A REALLY GREAT DAY
998. Lori Moore and her prophetic encouragement
999. Being a blessing
1000. Being "a saint"
1001. Kenneth and Joy Jordan
1002. Texts from Kenneth
Me: We had a really great day.
Kenneth: *clinches fist with arm outstretched then pulls to his side* YESSS!
1003. Temperatures in the 60s
1004. Learning the in the hard places
1005. A good van
1006. Text messaging
1007. Emails from all over the world
1008. Infinite gifts
And thank you for sharing and rejoicing with me.
Blessings to you as you enjoy YOUR gifts.
It's a question I've asked dozens of times in the last year. Once again yesterday morning the words tumbled from my mouth. It had been a rough two weeks when getting on top of the pain and confusion had taken more effort than usual and the "ups" weren't nearly as up as I had hoped, and they had not lasted very long.
I stared at Ann Voskamp's book on my coffee table. One Thousand Gifts. I had not made it to a thousand, and I couldn't remember when I had blogged about my gratitidue. In the last six months there had been so much pain and loss, and my gratitude was over such insignificant things such as hitting the green light when I was running later than I had intended or thanking God that dishes left in the sink did not make the world come to a halt. Petty things. Nobody really wanted to hear those.
But, they were my life preservers. They were the things that kept my head above water when I felt like everything else was caving down. They were...important to me.
The house got to hopping, and the thoughts were lost.
This morning I woke up to an email from a precious new friend a world away.
Hi JerriI woke up this morning thinking about you and God gave me a picture. So, here goes: I woke up and started praying for you and God gave me a picture of Paul and Silas in prison. Although the bible doesn't fill the story out you could imagine them thinking about the unfairness of it and wondering why? how? where is God in this? But the bible doesn't say that. It says that they sang praises to God and miraculously the prison door burst open and they were set free.I feel God is saying you are in a prison of emotional hurt and pain brought on by all you have been going through. He wants you to sing praise to Him and not ask why? What have I done to deserve this? how long? where is all the support? He wants you to praise Him and HE will miraculously break open that prison door. It doesn't say in the bible how long they were in prison before the doors broke open. Thats the tough bit. Its also not a logical solution according to the world. But in faith, Jerri, despite what you feel, by an act of your will, start doing it, even if you don't feel like it.
Praise Him.
Confirmation from a world away.
And a reminder...and a love note.
"Jerri, I so want you out of this dark place that I am telling you again. The key is praise. I'm not condemning you for forgetting. I know the darkness can obscure the light, so I'm sending the answer again because I want you free. I want you out of the prison. I'm fighting for you...reaching out to you...in this with you."
Wow.
An hour later my friend Lisa sent me an email telling me what the Lord spoke to her when she prayed for me yesterday.
"I keep thinking about Paul and Silas..."I laughed out loud.
"Jerri, do you get how much I am reaching in or how much I want to get you out? Grab hold of me. I am the answer."
I get it, Lord.
Thank you...for reaching in...for not letting go...for being here...now...with me...
And thank you for...
961. Anna's creativity--the newly decorated guest room is stunning
962. The ability to paint and redo the guest room
963. Robert's piano playing....my word...
964. Tracy...a world away but so close to Your heart whose courage to share Your word with me blesses me more than words can say
965. 111
966. Sweet texts that give me a smile...especially right before I go to sleep
967. Brian Hearn, who always sees the anointed side of me
968. Painting with a Twist
969. Vanesa Stenberg...I could write a novel
970. A good night's sleep
971. Scott helping with the ceiling fan
972. Rae and her huge heart
973. Facebook
974. Tina Cox and the others at my insurance company
975. Val Roach, who sees and understands and has incredible patience
976. Lisa Buffaloe, who calls from Idaho because she can't sit with me here
977. Snipers
978. Amelia the Brave, who likes the same things I do
979. Morning moments with Robert
980. Mowing yards
981. Karaoke
982. Forney Fire Department
983. Forney Wallgreens
984. The Cavalry
985. A new book
986. Confirmation
987. Giving thanks
988. Ann Voskamp
989. Coffee with sugar
990. Sharilyn reminding me that healing is in progress, stay on the trail
991. Wendy and friend love. Really.
992. John--NP0s, C-collars, non-rebreather masks, and re-inflating my ego
993. Anna's signature--"Singer, Actress, and All Around People Lover (That means YOU)"
994. Danny and Paige Granberry and the light being on for us
995. LDS church teaching people to serve and being the feet and hands of Jesus...even to those not in their church
996. Men's groups who trim limbs and fix floors
997. A REALLY GREAT DAY
998. Lori Moore and her prophetic encouragement
999. Being a blessing
1000. Being "a saint"
1001. Kenneth and Joy Jordan
1002. Texts from Kenneth
Me: We had a really great day.
Kenneth: *clinches fist with arm outstretched then pulls to his side* YESSS!
1003. Temperatures in the 60s
1004. Learning the in the hard places
1005. A good van
1006. Text messaging
1007. Emails from all over the world
1008. Infinite gifts
And thank you for sharing and rejoicing with me.
Blessings to you as you enjoy YOUR gifts.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Reaching
There are limbs drooping low and scrubbing the shingles of my roof. They need to be trimmed.
In my children's bathroom is a hole in the floor where the linen closet is supposed to be. Three months ago I had a slab leak repaired. In the midst of everything going on, I have not had time to frame, drywall, tape, and paint it.
He is a senior pastor in his church, wants to know what he can do to help out. I tell him about the limbs and the floor and the heavy stuff I need moved in the backyard. He nods, tells me they are praying for the children and me, and doesn't call back.
We are friends of two decades, and he thinks I need to be in church. I'm in sin because I don't sit and listen to sermons every week. When he leaves, he comments that I need to get someone out there to remove the limbs from the roof.
It is a bad day, a painful day, the engulfing kind. I text, "Can you meet for coffee?" She would love to, but she has singles group and doesn't want to miss it. I should come. They are talking about how much God loves us, and it would be good for me to hear.
Oh, I hear.
I hear a lot.
I hear the contruction business owner who tells me he can't help with the bathroom repair because he isn't comfortable coming to the house of a single woman who "has no covering" but is happy to give me the name of a competitor.
I hear the friend who tells me how I need to depend on God and then says I should ask my church about having someone come trim the limbs.
I hear the woman who is "always here for you" but is so busy with various church activities that she can't find time to get together or even call me back.
I'm listening to the people who tell me I need to hear a sermon, read a book, get a worship CD, or take a class because I need to hear that God cares and is always here for me. At least some of the people have the courtesy to buy the book or CD for me. That is thoughtful and considerate.
Yes, I'm listening, and I'm taking notes.
If God ever allows me to be on staff at a church or allows me to have my own ministry, I want to do outreach, not just missions in other countries but right in my own backyard.
I want a list of the single parents, not just so I can plan vacations or parties for them but so my church can be the applied husband/father or helpmeet/mom for that family.
A single mom or widow should not have to call a prefessional to get handyman jobs done. Since when is the church so busy with meetings, Bible studies, and social agenda that no one has time to mow a yard, clean a sink trap, or drop off a meal?
And what about men who are trying to figure out school, meals, and girls’ hormones? What about those dads? Where are the spiritual moms who are also concerned with helping buy that first bra or explaining pads and tampons because of the first menstrual cycle or listening to a broken heart because "that boy" Dad can't stand still hurts when he's mean to tender heart? Who is helping by giving a favorite recipe Dad can use to make cookies for school or offering to pick up a child from school when he/she is sick?
And what about men who are trying to figure out school, meals, and girls’ hormones? What about those dads? Where are the spiritual moms who are also concerned with helping buy that first bra or explaining pads and tampons because of the first menstrual cycle or listening to a broken heart because "that boy" Dad can't stand still hurts when he's mean to tender heart? Who is helping by giving a favorite recipe Dad can use to make cookies for school or offering to pick up a child from school when he/she is sick?
Who do these people call at 2 am when their child’s fever is running 102 and they realize they are out of ibuprofen? Who makes them soup, drops by with a movie and pizza for the kids and sends the parent out the door for a much needed break? Who makes sure they have birthday cakes or that special party?
It should be people in the church.
Jesus never meant for the church to be a self-contained four-wall entity. He meant for it to be the helpmeet and husband on earth that God is in heaven. He never meant for us to need to hear a sermon or a Bible study to know God loves us. He meant for it to be obvious in the way we treat each other.
I want to know who the widows and widowers are, and I want them set into families who check on them, make sure they are eating, give them a place to go on holidays, drop a card in the mail for special days, talk to them regularly, find out if they have heat/air, if their basic needs are met.
It is an abomination to God that we can build bigger and fancier buildings for “worship” when His people who walk in those buildings are doing without basic needs. God is not a God of grand buildings but a God of great love.
He is not about seeing how big we can build
but about how far we can reach.
Because the world is reaching.
...reaching the end of their rope...
...reaching the end of their faith...
...reaching the end of their strength...
...reaching the end of their belief prayer makes a difference...
...reaching the end of hoping someone will actually care and reach back to them.
The limbs are still rubbing my roof.
The bathroom floor still has a hole in it.
I still feel utterly alone and am more disillusioned by the church than ever.
But I’m sure the right sermon will fix all that or the right Bible study or the right worship CD or book or….because after all, I just need to HEAR AGAIN that God loves me and is always there for me.
The bathroom floor still has a hole in it.
I still feel utterly alone and am more disillusioned by the church than ever.
But I’m sure the right sermon will fix all that or the right Bible study or the right worship CD or book or….because after all, I just need to HEAR AGAIN that God loves me and is always there for me.
And yet, I have never felt so alone, and I wonder how many other people are out there who feel the same way but can't tell the difference between man and God and when abandoned by the former give up on the latter...
...because they never see Him reaching...
...because they never see Him reaching...
Friday, May 13, 2011
I Need
I just got a solid reprimand from a friend of mine. We've been friends since junior high, and we love each other...Sometimes love is hard.
Today he asked me how I would feel if I saw someone hurting badly, someone in need of help, but I could do nothing. He knows how I would feel. He knows that is my nightmare. He then said, "Jerri, I'm looking at you, and I can't help."
And he hates it.
Me, too.
It is a hard thing to feel like I'm looking out a glass window and there is no way to let anyone in, and I'm afraid to try to let anyone in because I'm afraid they will walk in and immediately start trying to clean things up and make it presentable according to their standards...according to what their life circumstances are...or what ours used to be...who I used to be. And all that does is make me add another lock to my door and draw the curtain a bit tighter on the window.
Thus, the reprimand...with a confession. "I don't know what to do. Tell me what you need."
What do I need?
I need someone who will let me lean on them and cry without their trying to fix it or make me feel better or in some way make the tears stop. I need to lean on someone who will let me cry until I simply have no more tears
I need to be held close so I can melt...without having to worry about someone's agenda.
I need someone to sit with me and listen while I pour out my heart...as tangential and wandering as it may be.
I need people to quit telling me, "You need to..." when they obviously have no clue who I am or what settles my soul. Starbucks is just an overpriced cup of coffee in a loud environment with uncomfortable chairs. Coffee from a thermos outside under the stars is a lot cheaper and far more soothing to the soul.
I need a day on the water where I am only along for the ride and don't have to think.
I need a friend who likes what I like. It is really pretty depressing to fish, camp, kayak, hike, play pool, paint, and...alone.
I need to not hear, "You just need to get laid," anymore. Really? There are people getting laid all the time who are utterly miserable. Nameless sex would really make me feel better after the complete rejection I have felt since long before Rob left? (I will stop there. The next few sentences were...perhaps more honest than any of us really need.)
I need to breathe, not just breathe and get through the day or the situation or the moment...but breathe...and not feel like I'm holding my breath waiting for the next knock on my door in the middle of the night or the next person who isn't going to be talking to me but doesn't tell me that or explain why or the next person who just wants me fixed so they can feel better. I'm tired of holding my breath.
I need to just be touched...and for it to be okay...and not to feel like I have to be guarded because someone is going to question my motives or morals because I like the feel of a touch. Today someone touched me on the back. It was one of those I'm-here-and-I-don't-want-to-surprise-you-or-hurt-either-of-us-if-you-move kind of touches. Solid. Safe. Innocuous. Even with the intense situation we were in, I felt my whole body respond. It was like the gasp of air its been wanting. It wasn't sexual. It was just...what I had been needing.
I need to get out of the eggshell realm. I'm tired of people being afraid to move or breathe or touch me because they might make me think of something sad. I'm tired of people being afraid they will say or do the wrong thing. The reality is at some point we all say or do the wrong thing...even in "normal" life. We hurt people's feelings, say things that are filtered in a hurtful way, act selfishly, or try to help and end up hurting. That is the normal course of human beings. Yes, I'm raw, and that leaves a bigger chance of injury. Yes, I'm going to remember, be sad, cry, hurt beyond words, and even lash out in anger...I will also laugh, smile, thank God, and apologize...because sometimes it isn't about you, and I really am sorry. I am also pro-relationship, and if I trust your heart, I'm going to work it out with you. I need you to have enough faith in me to believe I will trust your heart and value you enough to walk through the pain for our friendship. Besides, my greatest sadness is that I don't feel I have anyone who wants to be close to me, that it is easier for people to stay on the other side of the window instead of coming in, moving laundry off the couch, and sitting with me...even if that is sitting in silence on the floor.
I started to say I need some alone time. Except when I am alone, all I see is the void and what isn't anymore, and I sit there, stare into the darkness, and feel overwhelmed by the loss. And, honestly, I'm alone all the time. What I need is someone who is courageous and unafraid of building in a void, and I need them courageous enough to build *my* new world, not theirs, and sometimes that will mean doing things they've never done. Sometimes it'll mean doing things neither of us have ever done...and finding the adventure exciting...even if the end result isn't what we expected.
I need someone...a group of some ones...to find me valuable enough to meet those needs.
And as I write this...as I force my fingers to write that last sentence...my heart is pounding, and I want to vomit...because what if no one does?
****I have chosen to write this post not only to express my needs, but for others...
...who have the same needs...and need someone to give them words...
...and for those who have no words but want to help...
For all of you, may God bless you...****
Today he asked me how I would feel if I saw someone hurting badly, someone in need of help, but I could do nothing. He knows how I would feel. He knows that is my nightmare. He then said, "Jerri, I'm looking at you, and I can't help."
And he hates it.
Me, too.
It is a hard thing to feel like I'm looking out a glass window and there is no way to let anyone in, and I'm afraid to try to let anyone in because I'm afraid they will walk in and immediately start trying to clean things up and make it presentable according to their standards...according to what their life circumstances are...or what ours used to be...who I used to be. And all that does is make me add another lock to my door and draw the curtain a bit tighter on the window.
Thus, the reprimand...with a confession. "I don't know what to do. Tell me what you need."
What do I need?
I need someone who will let me lean on them and cry without their trying to fix it or make me feel better or in some way make the tears stop. I need to lean on someone who will let me cry until I simply have no more tears
I need to be held close so I can melt...without having to worry about someone's agenda.
I need someone to sit with me and listen while I pour out my heart...as tangential and wandering as it may be.
I need people to quit telling me, "You need to..." when they obviously have no clue who I am or what settles my soul. Starbucks is just an overpriced cup of coffee in a loud environment with uncomfortable chairs. Coffee from a thermos outside under the stars is a lot cheaper and far more soothing to the soul.
I need a day on the water where I am only along for the ride and don't have to think.
I need a friend who likes what I like. It is really pretty depressing to fish, camp, kayak, hike, play pool, paint, and...alone.
I need to not hear, "You just need to get laid," anymore. Really? There are people getting laid all the time who are utterly miserable. Nameless sex would really make me feel better after the complete rejection I have felt since long before Rob left? (I will stop there. The next few sentences were...perhaps more honest than any of us really need.)
I need to breathe, not just breathe and get through the day or the situation or the moment...but breathe...and not feel like I'm holding my breath waiting for the next knock on my door in the middle of the night or the next person who isn't going to be talking to me but doesn't tell me that or explain why or the next person who just wants me fixed so they can feel better. I'm tired of holding my breath.
I need to just be touched...and for it to be okay...and not to feel like I have to be guarded because someone is going to question my motives or morals because I like the feel of a touch. Today someone touched me on the back. It was one of those I'm-here-and-I-don't-want-to-surprise-you-or-hurt-either-of-us-if-you-move kind of touches. Solid. Safe. Innocuous. Even with the intense situation we were in, I felt my whole body respond. It was like the gasp of air its been wanting. It wasn't sexual. It was just...what I had been needing.
I need to get out of the eggshell realm. I'm tired of people being afraid to move or breathe or touch me because they might make me think of something sad. I'm tired of people being afraid they will say or do the wrong thing. The reality is at some point we all say or do the wrong thing...even in "normal" life. We hurt people's feelings, say things that are filtered in a hurtful way, act selfishly, or try to help and end up hurting. That is the normal course of human beings. Yes, I'm raw, and that leaves a bigger chance of injury. Yes, I'm going to remember, be sad, cry, hurt beyond words, and even lash out in anger...I will also laugh, smile, thank God, and apologize...because sometimes it isn't about you, and I really am sorry. I am also pro-relationship, and if I trust your heart, I'm going to work it out with you. I need you to have enough faith in me to believe I will trust your heart and value you enough to walk through the pain for our friendship. Besides, my greatest sadness is that I don't feel I have anyone who wants to be close to me, that it is easier for people to stay on the other side of the window instead of coming in, moving laundry off the couch, and sitting with me...even if that is sitting in silence on the floor.
I started to say I need some alone time. Except when I am alone, all I see is the void and what isn't anymore, and I sit there, stare into the darkness, and feel overwhelmed by the loss. And, honestly, I'm alone all the time. What I need is someone who is courageous and unafraid of building in a void, and I need them courageous enough to build *my* new world, not theirs, and sometimes that will mean doing things they've never done. Sometimes it'll mean doing things neither of us have ever done...and finding the adventure exciting...even if the end result isn't what we expected.
I need someone...a group of some ones...to find me valuable enough to meet those needs.
And as I write this...as I force my fingers to write that last sentence...my heart is pounding, and I want to vomit...because what if no one does?
****I have chosen to write this post not only to express my needs, but for others...
...who have the same needs...and need someone to give them words...
...and for those who have no words but want to help...
For all of you, may God bless you...****
Sunday, May 1, 2011
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