just one strand

fragile.
like an eggshell.
already I see the cracks forming. spreading.
and I can't stop them.

transparent.
like plastic. if only I were hard as glass.
then you could not bend me.
but perhaps you'd break me.

knotted like rope.
or two small fists.
not willing to unfurl myself.
it's too vulnerable. not safe.

lost.
in this mess.
how did it get so huge?
there was just one strand.
and then another.
and another.

desperate.
can't turn my back.
at least not fully.
can't love God and abandon love.
they don't co-exist.
unless I play by my rules.
but I won't.

fill me.
my cries feel empty.
but only You can change that.

You who gave breath.
who created with a word.
who saw beauty before it existed.
You who brought light into the darkest place.
next to you, there is only light.

only You can strengthen the fragile.
affirm the transparent.
undo the knotted.
find the lost.
save the desperate.

fill me Jesus. fill me God.
I lay my burdens at Your feet.

Tiny feet, torrential rain, and falling in love with Haiti.

Haiti Trip - September 4, 2011

J It's Sunday and we're going to a local Haitian church. Thank God I had the mindset to bring a skirt as the heat is stifling and it is a welcome break to jean capris.  We load ourselves into the truck, Rick, myself, and a lovely nurse southern nurse named Chelsea. We bounce along down the road and for the first time I thank God that I have small boobs. These ruts hurt!

We park near the church and as I get out of the truck I feel starkly white - hard not to when you are the only 3 white people in the street. The church is filled with people and as we walk through the archway into the courtyard, I can't help but notice those attending. The men are so sharply dressed - nice shirts and long crisp pants. The women are beautiful, flaunting all sorts of colours and bright heels and I wonder how these women can possibly walk in heels on these pot-hole-ridden streets.

We sit half in the sun and half in shade. Rick stands out as he is the only man in shorts, but he says he can't bear the heat in pants. A little boy comes up to me and shyly put out his hand to shake. He has all the charm in the world and I can't help but smile at his boldness. People start to spill out of the church - Sunday school is over.

We slide into the back row, trying to pretend that we are not the only "blanc" people in the church. Children stare wide-eyed and I smile and wave as they have no sense of what is appropriate. I can't help but stare myself - this church is very similar to the one that my church helped build in another part of Haiti. White walls, open arches, it is a beautiful church and I feel thrilled to be included in it all.

The service is in conducted in French, and I keep my eyes open during the prayers to make sure I know when they have ended. The singing is beautiful - especially that of the man leading the singers - his voice is deep and yet it soars up and above the other voices, trembling with passion, and I feel God's presence in this place.

We have to leave the service early, as Jay and the others need to be picked up from the airport. I opt for going with Chelsea, and the other missionary women to see the hospital and the work that they are involved in. You can make no promises in Haiti as to what time you'll be back and so I say goodbye to Rick and plan to see him sometime later.
...........................................................................

It's the afternoon and I have been trekking all over Porta-au-Prince with Michelle,  Chelsea, Wilna, and a little girl named Melissa. Melissa's not doing so well  - she was born with a heart condition and has been in the adoption process in hopes that she could go to the states and get a much needed heart operation. Haiti has no help for that here. Melissa is 2 years old and it's a miracle she's lasted this long. Wilna has been caring for her in the adoption process and is like a second momma to her.

The first hospital we went to was an experience. We parked in the courtyard, and took Melissa inside. The room we went in was lined with cribs and children of all ages with their parents sitting close by. Michelle went immediately to the far corner and picked up a tiny little girl- Lugena (not sure of spelling). She was so thin, her face resembled a little old man and yet Michelle was excited to see that this little girl had gained weight in her face. When I took her little body in my hands - yes my hands because she was that small - I couldn't believe how light she was. Her leg was the width of my finger and yet she was pushing on in spite of her set backs. Born prematurely to a mother who didn't want her and a father who dearly loved her but could not care for her  - this little girl had the weight of the world on her shoulders. And yet God had preserved her - and as I held her I prayed and thanked Him for giving her breath.

I felt as though I had an angel in my arms - like I was seeing a picture of who God was. Not in her frailness but rather her strength. And as I held her, and stroked her tiny feet and hands I was amazed at the details in her little fingertips and nails, and wrinkly feet. When her father arrived to hold her, I quickly handed her over feeling a bit like I was in the wrong - me a stranger - holding his little girl. And yet I knew that God had used me to pray over her, to pray protection and blessing over her life. And as I watched her daddy looking down at her I felt so torn for him - to love your baby but not be able to care for her - that must be the worst feeling.

Wilna was pregnant so we decided to use the opportunity at the hospital whilst Melissa was safely hooked up to oxygen, to get Wilna an ultrasound. We all shuffled into a small room that had been set aside for sleeping patients. There was no one in the section that we were and the beds were clean and it was cooler. Wilna lay down on the bed, and the nurse began to describe what we were seeing. If you have never seen an ultrasound - you should - as it is a beautiful picture of God's handiwork. And even though we could only make out shapes - the head, the legs, the occasional foot - it was amazing to think that God knew every inch of this little one in a way that we would never be able to know.

We left the hospital in search for another as they didn't have a bed for Melissa to stay overnight. With only a name scribbled on a piece of paper we approached the next hospital - St. Damien's. A guard greeted us with a stern look, and aggressive tone, and a gun in his hands. He didn't seem to want to let us in, and finally relented with the rule that only 2 of us could go inside. We parked and Wilna and Chelsea quickly took Melissa inside in search of their contact.

Michelle and I waited and got to know each other. I told her she was a refreshing glimpse of what it means to be a missionary and that I wanted to see more. Before long Wilna and Chelsea were back with bad news  - no room. Michelle got a heads up to try King's Hospital and so off we went. At time it had begun to pour. Before long we were driving in torrential rain. As we continued into the back roads, we passed people standing in lines with their backs to the building walls, trying to get shelter from the rapidly pounding rain. The streets were awash with mud. It was difficult to see the potholes as it they were covered in water and by this time it had grown quite dark. Occasionally we were forced to drive through rushing water, as it gushed down through the gutters and onto the streets.

We reached King's Hospital safely and managed to whisk Melissa inside and upstairs. We called out the name of the contact Michelle had and were directed to a kind-looking man who directed into a room . It was God's providence that just at that moment, on that particular floor, a nurse was wheeling an oxygen tank past our room. In Haiti - things never happen quickly. Wilna quickly spoke to him and told him that we needed to put Melissa on oxygen immediately. Three men in white coats who appeared to be doctors came into the room and began to assemble the oxygen tank. Before long, Melissa was breathing steadily again and her stats were back up to a positive level.

We sat there in the dark, the occasional flash of lightening lighting up the room, followed quickly by a crash of thunder. The lights were not working and so we made do, huddling on beds and chairs, all watching Melissa carefully. Me, a nurse, a beauty queen-turned-missionary, and an Olympic runner-turned-care worker. It felt a bit surreal.

Looking outside beneath our window, the streets were busy despite the flooded streets. Within a minute I watched a school bus, a man with a wheelbarrow, a motorcycle with 2 passengers, and a man wading and hold his pants up high, pass by. It wasn't a night to be caught outside. I was thankful for the protection of the building. Lights or not, it was safer to be inside. And it was warm as there was no air conditioner. After awhile the lights came on.

Michelle, Wilna, and I decided to go to Michelle to grab some clothes for Michelle and Wilna to spend the night, and meanwhile drop me back off. We headed down the stairs back into the rain and got into the car to drive back. But the car wouldn't start. The realization of how exhausted I was hit me and I wondered if there would be an end to this day. But Michelle was resourceful and picking up a big rock, hit the battery a couple times. After a few tries, the car started and I thanked God for this miracle.

As we drove down the dark back roads we slowed down as we waited for a truck in front of us to continue on. Looking to my left I saw a group of men lined up by a building and I suddenly felt very vulnerable in the confines of the car's backseat. I couldn't help but think about all the vulnerable women and children out there tonight in the rain and mud, fending for themselves against a male-dominating culture. I thought of International Justice Mission and the work they do in Haiti, uncovering prostitution rings and trafficked children and I prayed feeling evermore helpless in the face of it all. It seemed such an overwhelming problem. There is a part of me, that if I ever got the chance, would want to work in protecting women from this side of life. In helping them heal from the pain of it all.

My thoughts were drawn back to the road as we saw a huge lake-like area looming ahead. Wilna put her foot on the gas, and as we skidded and slid our way through the mud I prayed that we wouldn't be stuck in this mess. By the time we got to the house, Jay was quite anxious to see me and I was tired, hungry, and exhausted. And yet in spite of those feelings - I felt more purpose-filled than ever. I had spent a day trekking around for someone else, being part of something I had no control over - the pending health of a little girl, and though at times it was scary, and new territory, I felt God's hands in the situation the whole time, using me.
I went to sleep praying for the others, who would be spending the night in a lonely, dark, hospital and prayed that Melissa would make it through the night.

Frizzy hair, bumpy roads, and falling in love with Haiti...

Haiti Trip - Sept 3, 2011

"My daughter, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding - indeed if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God." - Prov 2:1-5

My flight from Florida to Haiti could have gone badly were it not for a small voice prodding at my heart...

After lugging my suitcase down past the first couple rows on the plane, I realized quickly that the overhead bins were filling up fast. Sure enough, by the time I reached my seat, mine was already taken. After struggling back up the aisle, and squeezing past a couple disgruntled Haitian gentlemen, I managed to slide it into a small space. Walking back to my seat, I realized that there was a woman sitting in Jay's window seat. She had made herself quite comfortable and was doing her best to ignore us. Jay politely pointed out that she was in his seat and with much huffing, and a grim expression, she got up to accomodate. When we sat back down, Jay was at the window, I was in the middle with the woman beside me.

As I sat there, I began to wish that things hadn't started off this way, as I had hoped to make a friend on the trip. A small voice said, "Compliment her." I glanced sideways, looking for something to compliment. She was wearing a beautiful multi-colored scarf. Tapping her on the shoulder, I smiled and said warmly, "I love your scarf it's very beautiful." In an instant, her whole face changed. Her eyes lit up and a smile stretched across her face. She introduced herself as Memose. She was on her way to Haiti to see her family. As we chatted, she noticed I had my Bible out, and we started talking about our beliefs. She told me of her trust in Jesus and asked me about my work with Young Life. We were handed forms to fill out that were only in French. Memose helped me translate and fill mine out. After a time, she smiled and said she was going to sleep and to wake her up when we landed. I began to journal and pray for this wonderful woman who had just become a friend.

When we landed, Memose wished Jay and I well, and we said goodbye. It struck me how different the trip would have been had we sat in an uncomfortable silence, content to be strangers even as our shoulders touched.

..................................................................................................

I am standing in the Port-au-Prince airport, waiting for Rick to come back from seeing Jay off. Jay is going to Jeremie airport to see if he can fix the plane we came to Haiti to pick up. They are armed with a bag of tools, and a box of bottled water. They had hoped to transport a generator, but it will not fit and as a result I am guarding it.

It is quite humid. My hair has risen like a loaf of bread, despite my desperate attempts to pin it down. And so I have given up. I suppose I will be a sweaty frizzy mess for the most part of this trip, which is fine by me. Haitian men openly stare at me, speaking in creole, and giggling, and gesturing. Occasionally, one will stroll up, pointing to my bags and asking a question. I wave them away with a smile, and an "No, merci." I would probably stare too at a white frizzy-haired girl with a huge generator. I want to film but am shy to point my camera - it seems too personal. And so I wait, and pretend to look at my phone, while watching the people around me.

Rick comes back and we hop into a large cage-like truck with all our bags. We are on our way back to the missionary house where we will be staying. I feel a bit like a sack of potatoes - bouncing around the truck as we seem to aim for every pothole on the road. It's fun - kind of like four wheeling. We pass noisy crowds, and it appears that anything goes when it comes to traffic, from roaring ahead on whatever side you choose, to practically sitting on your horn every five secs, to packing as many people as you please on a tiny motorcycle. There is so much to look at - I can't seem to take it all in.

People line the streets, waiting for tap-taps (taxis), selling their goods - some just sitting in the heat. We pass a small tent on the side of the road with someone's foot sticking out of it. It seems impossible that a grown person could fit in there, but yet they have. Filming proves to be difficult, what with the cage, and the constant jerking and bouncing along but I resolve to do it anyway as I wanted to capture Haiti - and this is certainly Haiti.

After a while, we turn right and continue up a road - if you can even call it a road. Piles of rocks, and gravel line the sides. We pass goats meandering along as if they haven't a care in the world. No owners in sight. The rocky slopes have trails that start with gravel and transform into grassy paths, with trees, and bushes, and the occasional cow blocking the trail. We then start up a steep hill until we reach a yellow house with a large gate around it. We drive up to a precarious spot, and then our driver, John, backs in. I sigh with relief when we stop - surprised that the generator, suitcases, Rick, and myself managed to somehow not go tumbling down the hillside.

.........................................................................

I'm sitting on the porch of the missionary house. It feels exotic as you can see for miles - mountains, crumbling houses, trails, and loads of gated houses. It is as hot as ever and the house is filled with fans. It walls are brightly coloured and it has an open feel to it. Rick and I decide to walk up the hill to see our surroundings. I grab my camera and we are off. The place is a photography paradise - tons of old crumbly mansions everywhere and I think back to former explorations of old buildings in the states - these ones put those to shame. We pass gates strewn with flowers, vines creeping up and over to hide these massive hidden houses.

We make friends with a small goat. Rather - Rick terrifies it and I take pictures. It settles down and seems to like the attention. On our way back, a young Haitian woman pops out from behind a gate. We say, Bonjour, and Rick struggles to form some sentences. Before long, a whole family of Haitians are standing before us, smiling shyly, and greeting us. It is not two minutes before the girl asks me, "Facebook" - I reply with surprise, "Oui" and I promptly write down my fb name. She gives me hers and we smile as if we are best friends. We exchanged a few more broken English-French sentences, and Rick and I wave goodbye and promise to visit again.

..............................................................................

I'm in my room, prepping to go to sleep. It's a decent sized room with two beds. I have thoroughly checked both for bedbugs and it appears that the one on the far side has potential and so I leave that bed for Jay. My room has mosquito nets and fans so I feel safe for the night. It's been a full day. It's always strange to start off a day in one country, spend the afternoon in another, and then the night in yet another. Jay is spending the night in Haiti. Sadly, the plane engine is toast and they will have to find a new one. We're at loss for what to do - but tomorrow is another day and I am confident that God will work it out. 

Brushing shoulders with God

There is something incredibly powerful about the feeling that you have just brushed shoulders with God. At the surface you may appear unchanged--unmoved--save that small smile that has begun to creep across your face. But underneath the surface your emotions are quivering with the sense that something beautiful and powerful has just crossed your path.

I had the privilege of this honour recently during a conversation with a Christian Blind Mission donor who called in because God had been tugging on her heartstrings. At first the conversation seemed that it would just be another "call in, give a donation, thank you, God Bless you, farewell." But I was invited into something much greater. This particular donor--Marion*--told me that she was moved to give to Christian Blind Mission because she knew what it was to be legally blind and then partially blind. Now before you start thinking what's wrong with that sentence--I'll tell you that you probably presume I meant partially and THEN legally blind. But just wait a minute--this is the magic of Marion's story.

Marion shared with me that earlier in her life during a medical examination something had happened that had caused her to lose her vision completely. A few years later she was visiting her friend who was going through a very difficult time. She was led into her friend's house as she could not see at all, and was sitting down beside her friend. At this time she had been praying fervently that God would grant her sight because she wanted to be able to help her friend through the mourning process--specifically she wanted to write some cards for her friend who was too distraught at the time to do so. Marion had a firm belief as she was praying that God would grant her sight back to her.

As only God can do---He answered this prayer. Marion told me that after she prayed this at her friend's house her sight came back completely in one of her eyes (I think it was her right but I'm not completely sure.)Talk about a modern-day miracle! Praise God! Marion informed me that though she is 87 now she has enough sight to be able to drive back and forth from her friends' houses. At this point I was reminded of that story in the Bible where Jesus rubs mud in a blind man's eyes and heals him. Jesus makes the statement that this was done so that God may be glorified. When I mentioned this to Marion--she was thrilled to reply that God has been glorified in a huge and powerful sense as she has shared this story whenever she felt compelled to do so.

Marion then asked if I wouldn't mind hearing another story that truly spoke of God's glory. By this time I was so enthralled--I would have been happy to sit at this wonderful woman's feet and listen for hours. But listening on the phone seemed like the next best thing...

Marion told me that few years before God gave her eyesight back, she was in the hospital giving birth to a child. It was a complicated birth and the child died. The doctor told Marion's husband that he didn't think Marion would make it. Marion was unaware of all this as she was in such a bad state medically. She was in the hospital bed with the nurse beside her when suddenly she saw Jesus walk into the room and up to her bed. (Keep in mind Marion was legally blind at this time.) She couldn't see anything else but she could see Jesus. She said he had such a face of compassion--she was overwhelmed with the sense of His love for her. Marion said to the nurse, "Tell my husband Jesus is here for me and I'm going to go with him." Immediately after she said this, Marion heard Jesus say, "Not now my child, not now." And at this he backed away and left the room and everything was dark again. Soon after this Marion recovered and a few years down the road had the incredible experience of regaining partial sight.

Now for the skeptics out there--I pray skepticism doesn't keep you from believing these incredible miracles. Marion said she doesn't share this story with just anyone but that she really believed that to see Jesus you have to fully believe that He is the Son of God--that He is real.

Marion then asked if she could pray for me and for a few moments we sat in God's presence and spoke with Him out loud. It was truly an amazing experience both during the conversation and after.

I confess I struggled to write this because I left it for a couple days. But I was re-inspired today after a phone call conversation with a donor who just really needed to hear God's incredible love for her. After praying for her I had the sense again that I had just brushed shoulders with God. I have realized through both these experiences and a lifetime of seeing God move, that whether you are the one doing the praying or being prayed for---God will show up on both accounts in a powerfully provoking way.

God bless you today and I encourage you to seek God out--to ask Him to show up and speak to your heart. And if you do--I truly believe He will.

*Marion gave me permission to use her name in telling her story.*

uncomfortable with my own limitations

I got the opportunity to visit a place/organization in Toronto known as L'Arche. It is a collection of group homes run for people with disabilities. I work for cbm (an organization that provides aid to disabled people in developing countries). Cbm HR decided we needed to get out there and experience the joy of meeting people with disabilities so that we understand the core reason for why cbm is run....

To preface this--my aunt Hilary is very involved in a group at her church of people with 'disabilities' and is always saying how full of life they are and how she loves that they are so genuine and open to who you are as a person. there is no sense of status with people with developmental disabilities--it doesn't matter who you are as long as you have community with them.

Personally I have never felt comfortable around people with developmental disabilities and I attribute this purely to the gap of the unfamiliar and my own selfish tendencies to stick with what I know..I will elaborate more on this in a moment.

When we got to L'Arche we had the opportunity to watch a couple videos showing the stories of 2 of the core group members. As I watched I got this sense of --this is a world I would like to live it--where beauty is so evident in people and the power of living out of your vulnerability and loving others out of your vulnerability is so rare. Our world is so wrapped around self-consciousness and the idea that we have to live up to others' expectations that we are drowning. We are so chained to our perceptions of what is appropriate as far as social norms go and what is normal--we study how to look like everyone else but how to rise above others. how to fit in but how to give ourselves statuses. And all these thoughts came just from the videos before we even met the people.

At 7pm we went upstairs to the community worship--a chance for people from all types of faiths and walks of life to come together and celebrate and bless each other simply with our presence. tonight we celebrated in Jewish fashion the new year. I can't remember the terms but that was the essence of it. We sang hauntingly beautiful songs about God and shared bread and apples and honey together. At one point people got up and danced and it didn't matter whether they were in a wheel chair or whatever --they had the freedom to get up and celebrate--no self conscious inhibitions to hold them back. i watched them and thought to myself of the awkwardness I would feel to put myself out there like that and I was envious of their beautiful freedom.

To elaborate on my limitations that I mentioned earlier...I found myself sitting next to a lovely petite woman named Ellen. She was in her 30's and had twisted in her chair towards me the whole time and was moving her hands around alot. I felt so trapped by my lack of knowledge of her--how to tap into what she liked, what she meant when she touched her finger to her cheek, what she was feeling---all this I craved to tap into and I found myself drawn by this desire to really know her. at the same time I was conflicted by feeling uneasy--my social norm tells me to catch someone's eye and smile and talk to them and i found it difficult that she would not hold eye contact. i felt my smile was forced and I saw instantly that I was the 'disabled' one unable to just talk to someone freely without focusing on the physical...what to say? I had no idea and felt so uncomfortable at my lack of knowledge. this thought made me realize why people don't invest in people with 'disabilities' . its because we are confronted so drastically with our own shallow tendencies and limitations that we often let that pass to the "dedicated individuals who have found their passion helping people". ..

but this is the key thing..the stirring in my heart that made me want to not just accept my limitations but challenged me to look for other places to meet wonderful people like this and tap into their giftings, their joys---this stirring I believe is evidence of Christ in me...Jesus was drawn to the blind, the lame, the poor, the widow---He had a real joy reaching into people's hearts and celebrating in them. And I want that. I truly do.

reminiscing...

wow...I came back onto my blog to add copy and paste a entry from my facebook page because my last post was pretty depressing and I started reading back through old entries and peoples comments and it's like I had forgotten this side of me..this part of me that loves writing and expressing myself and pouring out my thoughts about my relationship with God. it's different from writing in my journal--those are more specific. but when I start writing online it's like my thoughts are tripping over themselves to get out of my head and it's so incredibly freeing. it is so cool to read back over these memories that I'd forgotten happened. its funny I forget actual events easily but when I read my entries I can remember exactly how I felt and usually where i was in my life when I was writing that. anyways all this to say that I have been firmly reminded of this love for writing and I am not going to let this blog fizzle out again. I still have much to say and want to glorify God as much as I can with my words...

God designed you with intention

I was scanning through some msn articles and found an article titled "How to always look amazing in photography". this could be good I thought seeing as most of the times I consciously try to pose in photos--it doesn't really work well... so I'm scanning through and I find this quote:

"Be proud of your freckles, goofy teeth, or big ears—they're what make you unique. When you're comfortable with yourself, it will always shine through. But hey, if all else fails, Photoshop!"

What a contradictory statement!!! Culture tells us to be proud of our bodies and features unique to us but if we don't like it then all we have to do is tuck, and pull, and pinch, and color our faces on a program and voila---a whole new you. Only it isn't you at all--more an "idealized image" of something you think you should resemble.

You know when you walk into the mall and you pass the makeup counter and it looks as though the saleswoman has turned her face into a paint pallet by applying everything she is selling on her face. my sister has these big beautiful green eyes and I remember one time she went and got her eyes done for prom and came back with this "hooker" look. I told her as much and though she didn't care much for my advice I found myself annoyed because her natural beauty was being hidden behind this fake "idealized" beauty.

my husband likes me best with no make up on. it doesn't seem to make a difference to him although to me sometimes it's a vanity thing. even tho I buy the cheap walmart stuff that doesn't do anything for your face, it's like this silly security thing that I can't even explain or justify. I wonder if guys are shocked when they meet girls that they've seen through facebook that look nothing like their pictures. I've heard brides say they don't want to wear much makeup because when they wake up in the morning their husbands might not recognize them.

I am writing to any girl/woman that I know because I KNOW that we are faced on a regular basis with images that are unrealistic photos of normal, healthy, beautiful girls/women. This statement telling us to be proud of our features but if all else fails to photoshop is a load of crap.

God designed you with intention just like he designed that gorgeous sunset or string of mountains. He knows everything about your body and loves everything about you. He knew exactly what he was doing and is incapable of making mistakes in his creation. In high school I spent alot of time frustrated with my figure--I would look at other girls and think why God could you not shape me like them. But God knew all along what he was doing when He created me--my personality, my figure, my small chest, you name it. And guess what--after all this second guessing my looks and wasting time day dreaming of what I could look like---God brought my husband into my life. Jay is not the type to settle--he has high standards and knew exactly what he wanted in a girl (ask his sister--he had specifics). And wonder of wonders--I fit right into his concept of what he wanted in a wife. If God had granted a sudden change in my looks I could have had a completely different life...but thank God that He knows better than my silly requests.

But before you go thinking that it took a guy to make me feel confident I'll have you know that I met Jay when I wasn't looking for anyone. I was pursuing an avid relationship with God and falling in love with him for the first time and finding fulfillment in that....when you know who you are in Christ---loved and valued and beautiful and you believe it---you find a confidence that will not be shaken. sure you have your moments here and there when you go back to your previous way of thinking but you have to consciously stop and as my friend jules reminded me---take every thought captive (meaning bring it before God and ask him--is this true--what I think about myself?) and God will give you discernment.

I really feel for girls/women that get caught up in this concept of image control and making sure they are perceived a certain way when all along they are so hungry for affirmation and fulfillment and contentment in who they are. I went looking for some verses to back me up in my statements and these are some ones I found... God Bless...

Ps 139:13-16 (The Message)
Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
you formed me in my mother's womb.
I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
before I'd even lived one day.

Proverbs 31:30 (The Message)
Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
The woman to be admired and praised
is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.

1 Peter 3: 1-4 (The Message)
The same goes for you wives: Be good wives to your husbands, responsive to their needs. There are husbands who, indifferent as they are to any words about God, will be captivated by your life of holy beauty. What matters is not your outer appearance—the styling of your hair, the jewelry you wear, the cut of your clothes—but your inner disposition.
4-6Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in.

twisted

I hate being messed with. And I say it in this language because I am at the highest point of anger right now. One that will take me to its heights in the heat of my fury and spiral down afterward into a dark familiar depression. so to counter that and to counter any distractions I might offer myself as a temporary high, I am writing my thoughts out.

I hate the aftermath when God uses you in such a powerful way that you feel His love pouring through you and out onto someone's heart. I hate the way Satan slams you with his hardest deception after all this beauty has built up inside in such a way that it has exhausted you. and in the exhausted aftermath Satan covets the tiredness that has pooled at your feet and muddies it with difficult emotions that covert into anger. I was Jesus to someone today and yet tonight my words were twisted vile things that I purposely flung out fervently to match the anger I felt. I was so excited to share the amazing experience of God with my husband and when he was delayed in getting home suddenly I felt the victim & saw him as the perpetrator. or traitor is more like it. his friends became people I tell to f*** off and it is his beloved heart that I dug my claws into trying to be heard in my frustrations.

of course when frustrations are aimed at you from behind a cloud of fog you become startled and are quick to catch the ones that fall short and give them a new direction. but i warn all men when a woman calls angry and hurt do NOT play the innocent or coward because by then she has you convicted, found guilty, and just needs you to listen to your list of offenses. it does not matter that later on this whole argument will mean nothing you HAVE to listen & take it for what it is--a discharge of tired anger fired at you because you are the most loved and closest to her troubled heart.

before I get off on a tangent I will say that I know myself and I knew when I got home that Satan would use my emotions to make me angry and say things I will regret and that I declared exactly what would happen to my cousin, asked for prayer, and then went inside and immediately felt angry and frustrated. argh, I hate Satan's power to twist things. I hate it so much. so there's my vent. and after I have calmed down I will get back on and write about the beautiful way God used this shameful, bad-mouthed mess-of-a-woman this morning.

a new woman

it feels strange to lose one's last name and take ownership of a new name..the taking ownership part is made easier by the fact that everyone around you hands you that new identity on a platter--eager to celebrate your new identity as a married woman...but below the surface one may glimpse the frayed remains of a tug-o-war...intitially, the idea of taking the name Doner startled me because it felt as long the last British part of me was being stolen...the name Whitaker draws me to the roots of England--seducing me with its rich history and memories it chooses to associate with..the name Doner does not open those doors for me..rather it is as if I am looking through someone else's window at a series of stories that are not in any way tied to my own...at least that is somewhat of the feelings that came before marriage...

but now..now that I am married, I sense the beautiful realization that I am both a new and old woman..a new threshold has been constructed in the form of two rings, and I have chosen to rightfully step over it and embrace what is now mine..it is not always a beautifully balanced embrace--sometimes I find myself struggling to hold onto who I am in light of my family and who I am in this newly-found family..which traditions I choose to hold onto--which parts of me that only my mother knows that I will reveal to my new family...

there is a security in one's family--whether the closeness is present or not, the knowledge that one has been there in all the experiences and whether we were standing side-by-side in those experiences or at opposite ends, we were there together...and that is a lasting connection that brings a glorious weight to the name Whitaker and makes it so difficult to let go of.

but new thresholds offer new friendships and I cannot walk away from that knowing deep down I desire it...Jay is the bond between these two worlds that secures me like an anchor because he took the first step out of his world---it was not me in changing my name, but in his pursual of me, he gave his own name a new lens to look through..one that is eager to join hands and hearts with a new love...a solid love..
and as many were able to see the solidity echoed throughout our wedding day, so shall they see it in the years to come...in the days that a Whitaker woman knows herself for who she is at heart, and wills her husband to do the same.