Sometimes God calms the storm.
Sometimes He calms the child.
Sometimes He expects the child
Sometimes He calms the child.
Sometimes He expects the child
to know when to get out of the rain.
Showing posts with label trials. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trials. Show all posts
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Firestorm Days
I don't know what else to call it. It's the kind of day when everywhere I turn I seem to get hit. Usually, I reach the end of the day in tears and exhausted. However, tonight I'm neither in tears or exhausted. I'm just pondering.
About a month ago I had a heavy shelling day. There were several crying spells--fat, hot tears that burned as much in my heart as they did on my face. A few episodes of overreaction and raised voice. A long phone conversation helping me get perspective, and that was all by mid-day. By the time I fell into bed, I felt like a failure for handling the day so badly, losing my calm, letting things get to me, and misdirected my anger and frustration.
That evening I wrote an email to the friend who helped me get perspective and said:
Where did I feel I got hit hardest?
What hurt me? Why? What power was there in the words or actions that affected me? How do I keep from giving that power next time?
How can I react better? If I reacted in misdirected anger, what/who was really the target? How could I have dealt with that better?
If I overreacted, how could I have reacted better? Do I need to ask forgiveness?
If I did get mad or hurt, is there an action or words that triggers those reactions every time? If so, how do I need to address it so I control my reaction instead of being controlled by the circumstance, words, or act?
A lot of times my rough days are simply my not choosing responsibility to make them better or to protect them. Frankly, it is over more that I don't protect them than anything else.
For instance, one of the things that really frustrates me are people who have talked to me once or twice--or not at all--in the last two months, read my blog, and assume they have enough information to make judgments or offer advice on my actions, my family's health and coping, or --more specifically-- how well I am handling things are not.
This happens on a weekly basis, and on a weekly basis, my blood pressure goes up.
I really don't understand how people think a thirty or forty minute phone call or maybe two calls over a period of two months gives them any insight into what our home is like, and I would think folks would realize if they have known us for years and was shocked when Rob and I separated because there were lots of things we never shared, there is a novel of information I'm not going to put on my blog for public consumption. I keep thinking surely they realize that they have the equivalent of a few frames of in an epic movie. However, based on those few frames--or in the case of one person, nothing at all--they want to give advice or pass judgment.
Did I mention my blood pressure goes up?
So, my pondering tonight is what to do with this particular type of shelling because I'm tired of it getting to me. I need to find a response that fits within my belief system and my boundaries, and sometimes that is the hard part--setting boundaries that don't make folks happy.
The honest truth is my thoughts go something like this: "You don't know what is going on in our home. What makes you think we need your advice in the first place? What gives you the idea that simply reading my blog makes you any more informed than any other reader out there? And if you are going to ask a question, have the courtesy to listen while I answer fully without hearing only what you want so you can have an excuse to drop in what you want to say. If you really just want to tell me what you think, could you save me time by putting it in an email so I can skim it and hit delete?"
Sound horrible...or honest?
So why don't I say that? Because I might hurt someone's feelings. Because they might get offended. Because they might not speak to me anymore.
But, if I associate conversations with them as the equivalent of being blasted by so-called friendly fire, do I care if they talk to me again? What am I trying to save? If I cringe when I see their number on called id, what is the point of worrying if they don't call?
Usually, I just quit talking. It doesn't matter if I talk. It quickly becomes apparent the person is not actually listening to me or only listening to what they want to hear. In such cases, I end up wasting time I could be using for purposeful things and hope I mumble "uh-huh" and "m-hmm" at the right moment so they think I am listening instead of making a grocery list in my head. This is being nice?
What if I were just honest and said, "You know what, I appreciate your call, but really, I feel good about where we are and how we are doing. If I need you, I'll call."
Or just drop the whole diplomatic thing like I did last week when someone called and went right into criticizing choices made concerning Mom's health and care. The woman was about three sentences in when I firmly said, "I have had a long day, and I do not have the mental energy or the remotest interest in explaining our choices to you, not that it is your business anyway. I need to go now." And, without giving her a chance to reply, I ended the call.
The reality is people are always going to chime in with opinions and advice. Unless one becomes a hermit, it is unavoidable, but I truly believe I can control my response to them and even choose to stop the invasion in an area they have no right to because they have not chosen to know us well enough for the liberties they want to take.
While I try to always respond with a kind tone and kind words, sometimes a perfectly controlled response is simply, "You don't have the right to give advice about this," or something simpler. "I don't want to talk to you about it."
Yes, I've made some folks mad. Amazingly, I still feel no guilt, and I will probably make others mad. I'll let you know if I feel guilt then, but I'm not expecting any, so don't hold your breath.
The fact is there are parts of my day I have no control over. I can't control whether my mom remembers me or not. I can't control sniffly noses or broken toys. I can't always control what will make me incredibly sad in an instant. There are things I get hit with daily that I cannot prevent or stop, and there are some that I can. I just have to take responsibility to think through ahead of time what I will do when those situations come, make a plan, if need be write it down so I don't have to "think" but can mindlessly follow the script, and then act accordingly being firm in my choice of reaction.
The right or peace-bringing reaction doesn't happen on accident. It takes honesty about what bothers me and sometimes why. It requires me to think through things and take responsibility for myself and my family. No, sometimes my choices are not popular, but my goal isn't popularity. It's peace.
Sometimes the way to find peace on firestorm days is finding peace within myself in a calm moment, so I already know how to diffuse the fight before it ever starts.
About a month ago I had a heavy shelling day. There were several crying spells--fat, hot tears that burned as much in my heart as they did on my face. A few episodes of overreaction and raised voice. A long phone conversation helping me get perspective, and that was all by mid-day. By the time I fell into bed, I felt like a failure for handling the day so badly, losing my calm, letting things get to me, and misdirected my anger and frustration.
That evening I wrote an email to the friend who helped me get perspective and said:
"I guess, it was just things coming at me faster than I could respond to well. I know that firestorms like that prepare me for the next time, and I will respond better next time. Firestorm days are hard, though. They just are."They still are, but I was right. I handled today better than I handled the day a month ago, and the next time I'll do even better, but I won't handle it better by simply crawling into bed and feeling sorry for myself for having a lousy day that beat me up. Instead, I look at the elements of the day.
Where did I feel I got hit hardest?
What hurt me? Why? What power was there in the words or actions that affected me? How do I keep from giving that power next time?
How can I react better? If I reacted in misdirected anger, what/who was really the target? How could I have dealt with that better?
If I overreacted, how could I have reacted better? Do I need to ask forgiveness?
If I did get mad or hurt, is there an action or words that triggers those reactions every time? If so, how do I need to address it so I control my reaction instead of being controlled by the circumstance, words, or act?
A lot of times my rough days are simply my not choosing responsibility to make them better or to protect them. Frankly, it is over more that I don't protect them than anything else.
For instance, one of the things that really frustrates me are people who have talked to me once or twice--or not at all--in the last two months, read my blog, and assume they have enough information to make judgments or offer advice on my actions, my family's health and coping, or --more specifically-- how well I am handling things are not.
This happens on a weekly basis, and on a weekly basis, my blood pressure goes up.
I really don't understand how people think a thirty or forty minute phone call or maybe two calls over a period of two months gives them any insight into what our home is like, and I would think folks would realize if they have known us for years and was shocked when Rob and I separated because there were lots of things we never shared, there is a novel of information I'm not going to put on my blog for public consumption. I keep thinking surely they realize that they have the equivalent of a few frames of in an epic movie. However, based on those few frames--or in the case of one person, nothing at all--they want to give advice or pass judgment.
Did I mention my blood pressure goes up?
So, my pondering tonight is what to do with this particular type of shelling because I'm tired of it getting to me. I need to find a response that fits within my belief system and my boundaries, and sometimes that is the hard part--setting boundaries that don't make folks happy.
The honest truth is my thoughts go something like this: "You don't know what is going on in our home. What makes you think we need your advice in the first place? What gives you the idea that simply reading my blog makes you any more informed than any other reader out there? And if you are going to ask a question, have the courtesy to listen while I answer fully without hearing only what you want so you can have an excuse to drop in what you want to say. If you really just want to tell me what you think, could you save me time by putting it in an email so I can skim it and hit delete?"
Sound horrible...or honest?
So why don't I say that? Because I might hurt someone's feelings. Because they might get offended. Because they might not speak to me anymore.
But, if I associate conversations with them as the equivalent of being blasted by so-called friendly fire, do I care if they talk to me again? What am I trying to save? If I cringe when I see their number on called id, what is the point of worrying if they don't call?
Usually, I just quit talking. It doesn't matter if I talk. It quickly becomes apparent the person is not actually listening to me or only listening to what they want to hear. In such cases, I end up wasting time I could be using for purposeful things and hope I mumble "uh-huh" and "m-hmm" at the right moment so they think I am listening instead of making a grocery list in my head. This is being nice?
What if I were just honest and said, "You know what, I appreciate your call, but really, I feel good about where we are and how we are doing. If I need you, I'll call."
Or just drop the whole diplomatic thing like I did last week when someone called and went right into criticizing choices made concerning Mom's health and care. The woman was about three sentences in when I firmly said, "I have had a long day, and I do not have the mental energy or the remotest interest in explaining our choices to you, not that it is your business anyway. I need to go now." And, without giving her a chance to reply, I ended the call.
The reality is people are always going to chime in with opinions and advice. Unless one becomes a hermit, it is unavoidable, but I truly believe I can control my response to them and even choose to stop the invasion in an area they have no right to because they have not chosen to know us well enough for the liberties they want to take.
While I try to always respond with a kind tone and kind words, sometimes a perfectly controlled response is simply, "You don't have the right to give advice about this," or something simpler. "I don't want to talk to you about it."
Yes, I've made some folks mad. Amazingly, I still feel no guilt, and I will probably make others mad. I'll let you know if I feel guilt then, but I'm not expecting any, so don't hold your breath.
The fact is there are parts of my day I have no control over. I can't control whether my mom remembers me or not. I can't control sniffly noses or broken toys. I can't always control what will make me incredibly sad in an instant. There are things I get hit with daily that I cannot prevent or stop, and there are some that I can. I just have to take responsibility to think through ahead of time what I will do when those situations come, make a plan, if need be write it down so I don't have to "think" but can mindlessly follow the script, and then act accordingly being firm in my choice of reaction.
The right or peace-bringing reaction doesn't happen on accident. It takes honesty about what bothers me and sometimes why. It requires me to think through things and take responsibility for myself and my family. No, sometimes my choices are not popular, but my goal isn't popularity. It's peace.
Sometimes the way to find peace on firestorm days is finding peace within myself in a calm moment, so I already know how to diffuse the fight before it ever starts.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Life May be Hard, but I'm Still Okay
As some of you know, this is a hard season for me.
My husband and I separated at the end of June after nineteen years of marriage. Needless to say, that has been a trial.
On July 30th, my mom was taken to the ER with indications of a stroke. Three hours later, I sat in a conference room as images of Mom's lungs and brain revealed multiple large masses. We went from concerns of paralysis to a prognosis of weeks or months to live.
Since then, my life has been an insane rollercoaster ride.
The difficulties and pain are more than dealing with separation and an expected divorce or cancer and the concept of "terminal". They are the well-meaning friends who want to drown--I mean love you with Starbucks and let you listen--I mean talk all you want. The pain is the family members in denial, hoping for something...anything...that will make a difference. It is watching the person breathing just find, suddenly catch a breath and hold it so long you wonder if you just witnessed the last one...and then feeling sorry that it wasn't. It is learning to turn off the phone and the computer and feeling no remorse.
It is continuing to breath when the person you love so much is gone...or going...and it hurts so much that you are sure your heart will be crushed by the pain.
I know. I'm living it...and I'm talking about it...as openly and honestly as my heart and mind can allow. I am being open about what helps, what doesn't, and why. I'm sharing my honest feelings and thoughts...even when some of them are far outside others' comfort zones. I am rejoicing in hope...and being honest about the hard days. And I'm refusing to play a role for anyone. I'm taking it moment by moment as it comes...the laughter, the tears, the life, the death, the rejoicing, the grieving...and I'm finding it's okay...I'm okay.
If you or someone you know is in a hard place and needs to find refuge or share hearts, come join me at I Really Am Okay. Maybe you'll find out you are okay, too...or that you can be.
My husband and I separated at the end of June after nineteen years of marriage. Needless to say, that has been a trial.
On July 30th, my mom was taken to the ER with indications of a stroke. Three hours later, I sat in a conference room as images of Mom's lungs and brain revealed multiple large masses. We went from concerns of paralysis to a prognosis of weeks or months to live.
Since then, my life has been an insane rollercoaster ride.
The difficulties and pain are more than dealing with separation and an expected divorce or cancer and the concept of "terminal". They are the well-meaning friends who want to drown--I mean love you with Starbucks and let you listen--I mean talk all you want. The pain is the family members in denial, hoping for something...anything...that will make a difference. It is watching the person breathing just find, suddenly catch a breath and hold it so long you wonder if you just witnessed the last one...and then feeling sorry that it wasn't. It is learning to turn off the phone and the computer and feeling no remorse.
It is continuing to breath when the person you love so much is gone...or going...and it hurts so much that you are sure your heart will be crushed by the pain.
I know. I'm living it...and I'm talking about it...as openly and honestly as my heart and mind can allow. I am being open about what helps, what doesn't, and why. I'm sharing my honest feelings and thoughts...even when some of them are far outside others' comfort zones. I am rejoicing in hope...and being honest about the hard days. And I'm refusing to play a role for anyone. I'm taking it moment by moment as it comes...the laughter, the tears, the life, the death, the rejoicing, the grieving...and I'm finding it's okay...I'm okay.
If you or someone you know is in a hard place and needs to find refuge or share hearts, come join me at I Really Am Okay. Maybe you'll find out you are okay, too...or that you can be.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
I Don't Want to Be Here...Except...I Do
Seven weeks ago Rob moved out.
Eighteen days ago I sat in a conference room and stared at images of my mother's lungs and brain spotted with cancer.
When Rob first moved out, one of the hardest things were the "kick in the stomach" moments. Those were the moments that left me mentally or emotionally doubled over in pain, trying to catch my breath, feeling like another blow would collapse my already shaky knees. Such moments included finding a loose engagement picture when I moved stuff in a closet, putting away a book Rob had been reading to us as a family, and grocery buying for three instead of four. The hits came from unexpected places at what felt like the most vulnerable times.
Many phone calls and emails at those moments helped me find my footing, catch my breath, and recapture my hope. I learned to roll with those moments, to feel them, to accept them, to grieve them, and to let them go while looking forward and believing good would come. It took weeks, but I became good at taking what came at me while solidly standing on my feet...until yesterday.
Yesterday was spent seeking a solution to a seemingly hopeless situation.
The tumor in Mom's frontal lobe has left her paranoid, given to rage, and sometimes violent. Sunday there was an episode with my stepdad that required intervention by our hospice support and removal of my mom from her home. The only solution in the moment was to transport her to my home. However, there are concerns.
The simple fact is there are a lot of factors that are creating an unstable situation. Mom's meds, inability to regulate or filter her moods due to the tumor, her frustration, the deep grief she feels, and a lack of sleep work together to create a person who is wonderful when she's normal but possibly highly volatile when she is pushed even the slightest bit too far. Obviously, this is not going to work with my children in the home. Plus, she hates being here. She wants her own home, and she wants to be left alone. Due to her inability to think well all the time, this is not a viable option. Due to monetary issues, an assisted care facility or a full-time caregiver is not an option.
There are no good options.
Despite rolling things around and around in my mind and playing out different scenarios, I have no answer.
But that is not what slammed into me yesterday. All of that makes my brain tired, but it is only a puzzle with a solution I don't know yet. However, I will. My faith is strong. God has a solution. I haven't heard Him tell me what it is yet, but there is one.
All of that, while tiring, is okay. It'll work out.
That is not the kick in the stomach.
Last evening Rob brought the children over to spend time with Mom and be encouragers. I was looking forward to it since I have hardly seen them since Friday, and I miss them greatly. All was going well...so I thought, and we were getting ready for bed when Robert came to me.
"Mom, can we spend the night at Dad's?"
What?
"We want to stay at Dad's."
Why?
"We just like being there more."
"Well, you can call him and ask."
Robert did. Rob said yes, and they were on their way out the door...again.
And I was left feeling like I had just gotten kicked in the stomach, feeling like I just watched my fragmented family shatter.
The door closed, and I breathed. Sometimes that is enough.
Anna and I had talked before they left. She wasn't picking parents. She was picking peace.
Being with my mom, watching her sadness, was too much for two hearts already figuring out ways to heal. I understood.
"I don't want to be here." My mom's slurred words hit me in the back of the head like a slap.
I listened as Rob's car pulled out of the driveway and drove away.
I don't want to be here either.
I would rather be listening to my children laugh as I tucked them in bed and gave them tickles and kisses than to hear them call, "I love you, Mom," over their shoulder as they got into their dad's care to leave again. I'd rather read the book I bought than try to finagle finances so Mom can have good care that keeps her safe while still respecting her desire to care for herself as long as possible. I'd rather...
I'd rather be courageous than cowardly. I'd rather do the right thing...even if I don't like the high cost that goes with it...than to do the easy thing.
The fact is my children are fine. They love being with their dad, and they love playing with friends. I am the one feeling detached. I am the one feeling alone. I am the one feeling the weight of the situations, of being the fulcrum from which the balancing act seems to extend. Being the fulcrum hurts, and the balancing act rubs in ways I don't like.
No, I don't like being here either, but neither does anyone else trying to find their balance in the midst of the situations that keep us feeling off balance. Someone has to be here, though, in the middle, seeking solutions, feeling the weight, finding the balance. That someone might as well be me, and, maybe my being here will make it better for the wonderful people I love. If it will, this is where I want to be.
Eighteen days ago I sat in a conference room and stared at images of my mother's lungs and brain spotted with cancer.
When Rob first moved out, one of the hardest things were the "kick in the stomach" moments. Those were the moments that left me mentally or emotionally doubled over in pain, trying to catch my breath, feeling like another blow would collapse my already shaky knees. Such moments included finding a loose engagement picture when I moved stuff in a closet, putting away a book Rob had been reading to us as a family, and grocery buying for three instead of four. The hits came from unexpected places at what felt like the most vulnerable times.
Many phone calls and emails at those moments helped me find my footing, catch my breath, and recapture my hope. I learned to roll with those moments, to feel them, to accept them, to grieve them, and to let them go while looking forward and believing good would come. It took weeks, but I became good at taking what came at me while solidly standing on my feet...until yesterday.
Yesterday was spent seeking a solution to a seemingly hopeless situation.
The tumor in Mom's frontal lobe has left her paranoid, given to rage, and sometimes violent. Sunday there was an episode with my stepdad that required intervention by our hospice support and removal of my mom from her home. The only solution in the moment was to transport her to my home. However, there are concerns.
The simple fact is there are a lot of factors that are creating an unstable situation. Mom's meds, inability to regulate or filter her moods due to the tumor, her frustration, the deep grief she feels, and a lack of sleep work together to create a person who is wonderful when she's normal but possibly highly volatile when she is pushed even the slightest bit too far. Obviously, this is not going to work with my children in the home. Plus, she hates being here. She wants her own home, and she wants to be left alone. Due to her inability to think well all the time, this is not a viable option. Due to monetary issues, an assisted care facility or a full-time caregiver is not an option.
There are no good options.
Despite rolling things around and around in my mind and playing out different scenarios, I have no answer.
But that is not what slammed into me yesterday. All of that makes my brain tired, but it is only a puzzle with a solution I don't know yet. However, I will. My faith is strong. God has a solution. I haven't heard Him tell me what it is yet, but there is one.
All of that, while tiring, is okay. It'll work out.
That is not the kick in the stomach.
Last evening Rob brought the children over to spend time with Mom and be encouragers. I was looking forward to it since I have hardly seen them since Friday, and I miss them greatly. All was going well...so I thought, and we were getting ready for bed when Robert came to me.
"Mom, can we spend the night at Dad's?"
What?
"We want to stay at Dad's."
Why?
"We just like being there more."
"Well, you can call him and ask."
Robert did. Rob said yes, and they were on their way out the door...again.
And I was left feeling like I had just gotten kicked in the stomach, feeling like I just watched my fragmented family shatter.
The door closed, and I breathed. Sometimes that is enough.
Anna and I had talked before they left. She wasn't picking parents. She was picking peace.
Being with my mom, watching her sadness, was too much for two hearts already figuring out ways to heal. I understood.
"I don't want to be here." My mom's slurred words hit me in the back of the head like a slap.
I listened as Rob's car pulled out of the driveway and drove away.
I don't want to be here either.
I would rather be listening to my children laugh as I tucked them in bed and gave them tickles and kisses than to hear them call, "I love you, Mom," over their shoulder as they got into their dad's care to leave again. I'd rather read the book I bought than try to finagle finances so Mom can have good care that keeps her safe while still respecting her desire to care for herself as long as possible. I'd rather...
I'd rather be courageous than cowardly. I'd rather do the right thing...even if I don't like the high cost that goes with it...than to do the easy thing.
The fact is my children are fine. They love being with their dad, and they love playing with friends. I am the one feeling detached. I am the one feeling alone. I am the one feeling the weight of the situations, of being the fulcrum from which the balancing act seems to extend. Being the fulcrum hurts, and the balancing act rubs in ways I don't like.
No, I don't like being here either, but neither does anyone else trying to find their balance in the midst of the situations that keep us feeling off balance. Someone has to be here, though, in the middle, seeking solutions, feeling the weight, finding the balance. That someone might as well be me, and, maybe my being here will make it better for the wonderful people I love. If it will, this is where I want to be.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
In the Darkness
2:00 am. Middle of the night. I'm awake, laid out on the couch, finding words to put with the reality. I don't know why I am experiencing the darkness while others get to rest. All I know is I am here for a reason.
The darkness won't last forever, and eventually I will rest. For now, I am believing in the purpose of being in the darkness.
In my life, my marriage is in question, and my mother is facing her final battle. Doubts of our marriage's viability assail my husband. Cancer ravages my mom.
It is dark.
I do not know why this darkness has come to my family. All I know is I am here for reason. The darkness doesn't last forever, and at some point, I will rest. For now, I know God has a purpose...even when I do not understand...even when I cannot see...even in this darkness.
The darkness won't last forever, and eventually I will rest. For now, I am believing in the purpose of being in the darkness.
In my life, my marriage is in question, and my mother is facing her final battle. Doubts of our marriage's viability assail my husband. Cancer ravages my mom.
It is dark.
I do not know why this darkness has come to my family. All I know is I am here for reason. The darkness doesn't last forever, and at some point, I will rest. For now, I know God has a purpose...even when I do not understand...even when I cannot see...even in this darkness.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
All That Matters
I don't normally do this.
When I write personal emails or personal words of encouragement to people, I don't usually share them on my blog. After all, they are personal. This morning I wrote a personal email to the ladies who write the For Her column of The Christian Pulse. These are amazing ladies, and I am so blessed to serve with them. I have great respect for them, and I would never want to break trust with them. However, I feel part of what I wrote is for others, too, and since it is all God's, He can give it to whomever He desires. I pray it encourages and blesses you as well.
Always for Him,
Jerri
From my email...
The Word tells us that the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10).
Last night I had a dream my husband was involved in an affair, and although he made no real effort to hide it, no one would believe me. He was such a good guy, no one believed he could do that, and they all said I was overreacting and being paranoid. Now, I don’t know if the dream has some deeper meaning from God. I haven’t had time to ask Him about it, and although I know my husband is not having an affair, I woke up in a funk, sort of miserable, heart sick, and just gloomy. Exactly the way Satan wants me to be because when I’m like that, I sort of ramble around the battle field feeling and acting puny instead of putting on my armor and fighting the battle set before me.
After about an hour of this pitiful mind misery, I told the Lord, “I feel…”
When I was done, His voice came back to me, and He said, “How you feel isn’t the issue. Who I AM is the issue. I AM the one who loves you, and I AM the one who has all power. Whether your husband is having an affair or not is not the issue. How you feel about anything is not the issue. Whether I am faithful to love and bless you is the issue. Whether you trust me or not is the issue. If you trust me, rejoice in me for I have great plans for you.”
I don’t know what Satan is dumping on you. I don’t know how he is trying to discourage you or attack you today. What I do know is our God is higher than all that. What I know is our God loves you infinitely. What I know is when God is for you, it doesn’t matter who is against you.
Father, I lift up those reading this today. Give them joy in you. Give them strength to stand, and when they have done everything, enable them to stand. Give them a gift of hope where the enemy has tried to cloud them with hopelessness. Open their eyes to see your power and your character. Satan wants them to think you can't--or WON'T--come to their rescue, but you are already providing the solution. Open their eyes to see your answer because sometimes our vision is warped by experience, doctrine, and tradition. Open eyes to see your answer and your love no matter how wild and far-fetched it may look. Open their hearts, minds, and eyes to see and know the reality and power of your love. Thank you for the wonderful things you are doing in all these lives today. Be glorified in us. In the perfect and all-powerful name of Jesus I ask these things, Amen.
When I write personal emails or personal words of encouragement to people, I don't usually share them on my blog. After all, they are personal. This morning I wrote a personal email to the ladies who write the For Her column of The Christian Pulse. These are amazing ladies, and I am so blessed to serve with them. I have great respect for them, and I would never want to break trust with them. However, I feel part of what I wrote is for others, too, and since it is all God's, He can give it to whomever He desires. I pray it encourages and blesses you as well.
Always for Him,
Jerri
From my email...
The Word tells us that the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10).
Last night I had a dream my husband was involved in an affair, and although he made no real effort to hide it, no one would believe me. He was such a good guy, no one believed he could do that, and they all said I was overreacting and being paranoid. Now, I don’t know if the dream has some deeper meaning from God. I haven’t had time to ask Him about it, and although I know my husband is not having an affair, I woke up in a funk, sort of miserable, heart sick, and just gloomy. Exactly the way Satan wants me to be because when I’m like that, I sort of ramble around the battle field feeling and acting puny instead of putting on my armor and fighting the battle set before me.
After about an hour of this pitiful mind misery, I told the Lord, “I feel…”
When I was done, His voice came back to me, and He said, “How you feel isn’t the issue. Who I AM is the issue. I AM the one who loves you, and I AM the one who has all power. Whether your husband is having an affair or not is not the issue. How you feel about anything is not the issue. Whether I am faithful to love and bless you is the issue. Whether you trust me or not is the issue. If you trust me, rejoice in me for I have great plans for you.”
I don’t know what Satan is dumping on you. I don’t know how he is trying to discourage you or attack you today. What I do know is our God is higher than all that. What I know is our God loves you infinitely. What I know is when God is for you, it doesn’t matter who is against you.
Father, I lift up those reading this today. Give them joy in you. Give them strength to stand, and when they have done everything, enable them to stand. Give them a gift of hope where the enemy has tried to cloud them with hopelessness. Open their eyes to see your power and your character. Satan wants them to think you can't--or WON'T--come to their rescue, but you are already providing the solution. Open their eyes to see your answer because sometimes our vision is warped by experience, doctrine, and tradition. Open eyes to see your answer and your love no matter how wild and far-fetched it may look. Open their hearts, minds, and eyes to see and know the reality and power of your love. Thank you for the wonderful things you are doing in all these lives today. Be glorified in us. In the perfect and all-powerful name of Jesus I ask these things, Amen.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Job's Friends Could Take Lessons
The clock tells me it is nearly 12:30 am. I've been sitting here trying to find a beginning place for this post for...a while. It seems that posting has been extremely difficult for several months. I have tried. I have started untold number of posts only to close Blogger without posting anything. Two posts actually went public before I deleted them. Mostly, though, I sit here at the keyboard and wonder what to say that isn't continually depressing and is worth your time to read. Often, I find nothing.
That is not to say my life has been utterly depressing this whole time. It hasn't. However, I will tell you honestly the last eight months make up one of the hardest times of my life. Sometimes finding words to convey the reality of life is simply impossible. There are facts that cannot be shared for various reasons, and there are emotions that words cannot begin to express. When that happens, what is there to communicate?
The fact is that for much of the last eight months I have hurt more completely than I ever thought I could. I have amazing friends who are ready to answer a phone any time of day or night, but it seems pointless to call when all you can say is, "I hurt." There were times I lay on my couch or my bed, and my body shook with my sobs. I had no words to even pray. I simply cried until numbness took over, and then I would lie there staring at nothing. I didn't think God had abandoned me. I didn't feel forsaken. I simply had no way to verbalize the pain or address the cause of the pain. So I just was.
When I could talk to my friends, I would tell them without doubt that God's promises are solid. He never lies, and in the end, joy and restoration would abound. However, I wasn't at the end. I was in the desert, and the desert is a hard place that humbles you. It leaves you on your knees, desperate, gasping. "In the future things would be great, but right now, I hurt so much I feel like I can't breathe."
Thankfully, my friends weren't like Job's. My friends are more like Jesus. They prayed with me, for me. They gave me funny cards, encouraging emails, Kleenex. They kept reminding me that the fire might be hell but I wasn't alone. They never doubted the promises either. No matter how things looked or what twists came, they never doubted the promises that God would fully redeem, fully heal, and fully restore.
When I got tired of the battle, they stepped in and battled for me. I would call or email, and instead of being bogged down with me, they would pray right then and there. I'd get prayers via email and over the phone. Sometimes I would get emails letting me know they prayed and the Lord gave them verses or revelation. Often, it was the verses or encouraging word the Lord had given me. They were in agreement with the Lord, and when two or more agree, whatever they ask for is theirs. I listened to some of the prayers or read some of the emails, and I thought, "I'm glad you're on my side."
I know I must have repeated myself a hundred times or more. It felt like it, but they never fussed. They listened, let me pour out my heart, treated it tenderly. One of the things they did that opened the door for me to talk to them is that they knew when not to talk. They had no answers. There were no answers, and they didn't try to offer any. Instead, they had compassion and the wisdom to not not offer cliches or empty advice. Sometimes they would simply say, "I am so sorry this is happening. I love you."
One of the things I marvelled at through out the last few months is the ability of those I hold so close to allow me distance. The desert has so many facets to it. It's a place where survival is foremost on one's mind, and most of the time, it is utterly miserable. One of the things I have learned about survival is without God, I won't survive, so when I go into the desert, I try to make my focus God. I try to spend quiet time multiple times a day. I journal. I read the Word. I pray. I allow my body and mind to rest. For nearly a month, I took a nap every day just to be mentally and emotionally at my best.
When I "hunker down" like that, there isn't much time for email, Facebook, phones, or outside people. They are good support, but God is the only way through or out. And really, even the most amazing friends--and I have fabulous ones--can only be with you from a distance, but God is with you wholly. He is with you and in you. He understands what you can't put into words. He knows exactly what you need, and He is totally committed to getting you through the desert to a better place.
Thankfully, when the contact lessened, the commitment from my friends didn't. They gave me space to "hunker down" and God space to walk with me and to work in me. I'm sure more consistent updates--or updates at all--would have been appreciated, but they never claimed. They never pressured. They simply sent notes or left voicemail letting me know they were available when I needed them.
And I did need them. I still need them. They are my cheerleaders, my prayer warriors, the ones who hold up my hands when I'm weary, the ones who jerk me up by the collar and tell me I can do this, the ones who feed my heart and tend my spirit. They are the ones who know a well-timed, "I love you," can turn the battle. They also know silence is sometimes the best answer. And i know they are for me, with me.
They are my friends, and Job's friends who could have learned a lot from them.
That is not to say my life has been utterly depressing this whole time. It hasn't. However, I will tell you honestly the last eight months make up one of the hardest times of my life. Sometimes finding words to convey the reality of life is simply impossible. There are facts that cannot be shared for various reasons, and there are emotions that words cannot begin to express. When that happens, what is there to communicate?
The fact is that for much of the last eight months I have hurt more completely than I ever thought I could. I have amazing friends who are ready to answer a phone any time of day or night, but it seems pointless to call when all you can say is, "I hurt." There were times I lay on my couch or my bed, and my body shook with my sobs. I had no words to even pray. I simply cried until numbness took over, and then I would lie there staring at nothing. I didn't think God had abandoned me. I didn't feel forsaken. I simply had no way to verbalize the pain or address the cause of the pain. So I just was.
When I could talk to my friends, I would tell them without doubt that God's promises are solid. He never lies, and in the end, joy and restoration would abound. However, I wasn't at the end. I was in the desert, and the desert is a hard place that humbles you. It leaves you on your knees, desperate, gasping. "In the future things would be great, but right now, I hurt so much I feel like I can't breathe."
Thankfully, my friends weren't like Job's. My friends are more like Jesus. They prayed with me, for me. They gave me funny cards, encouraging emails, Kleenex. They kept reminding me that the fire might be hell but I wasn't alone. They never doubted the promises either. No matter how things looked or what twists came, they never doubted the promises that God would fully redeem, fully heal, and fully restore.
When I got tired of the battle, they stepped in and battled for me. I would call or email, and instead of being bogged down with me, they would pray right then and there. I'd get prayers via email and over the phone. Sometimes I would get emails letting me know they prayed and the Lord gave them verses or revelation. Often, it was the verses or encouraging word the Lord had given me. They were in agreement with the Lord, and when two or more agree, whatever they ask for is theirs. I listened to some of the prayers or read some of the emails, and I thought, "I'm glad you're on my side."
I know I must have repeated myself a hundred times or more. It felt like it, but they never fussed. They listened, let me pour out my heart, treated it tenderly. One of the things they did that opened the door for me to talk to them is that they knew when not to talk. They had no answers. There were no answers, and they didn't try to offer any. Instead, they had compassion and the wisdom to not not offer cliches or empty advice. Sometimes they would simply say, "I am so sorry this is happening. I love you."
One of the things I marvelled at through out the last few months is the ability of those I hold so close to allow me distance. The desert has so many facets to it. It's a place where survival is foremost on one's mind, and most of the time, it is utterly miserable. One of the things I have learned about survival is without God, I won't survive, so when I go into the desert, I try to make my focus God. I try to spend quiet time multiple times a day. I journal. I read the Word. I pray. I allow my body and mind to rest. For nearly a month, I took a nap every day just to be mentally and emotionally at my best.
When I "hunker down" like that, there isn't much time for email, Facebook, phones, or outside people. They are good support, but God is the only way through or out. And really, even the most amazing friends--and I have fabulous ones--can only be with you from a distance, but God is with you wholly. He is with you and in you. He understands what you can't put into words. He knows exactly what you need, and He is totally committed to getting you through the desert to a better place.
Thankfully, when the contact lessened, the commitment from my friends didn't. They gave me space to "hunker down" and God space to walk with me and to work in me. I'm sure more consistent updates--or updates at all--would have been appreciated, but they never claimed. They never pressured. They simply sent notes or left voicemail letting me know they were available when I needed them.
And I did need them. I still need them. They are my cheerleaders, my prayer warriors, the ones who hold up my hands when I'm weary, the ones who jerk me up by the collar and tell me I can do this, the ones who feed my heart and tend my spirit. They are the ones who know a well-timed, "I love you," can turn the battle. They also know silence is sometimes the best answer. And i know they are for me, with me.
They are my friends, and Job's friends who could have learned a lot from them.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Gratitude 4--In the Darkness
When life is rosey and all is well, it is easy to be thankful. Gratitude often gets lost in falling in tears. However, even in the darkness, the goodness of God shines. Even in my darkness, I am grateful...
1. That broken hearts heal.
2. That Truth is still truth no matter how the circumstances look.
3. That His plans are good, and no matter what happens He can do great things with it.
4. That His love for me isn't dependent on my "keeping it together" and walking through this perfectly.
5. For people who have walked this road before me and stand along the way with an encouraging word, large hug, and a tear on their cheek, too.
6. For people who say, "Yeah, it is hell." And they don't minimize how hard it is.
7. For warriors who stand over me when I'm eating dirt on my knees trying to get my footing again.
8. For the ability to pray.
9. For friends who
--hug me while I cry,
--immediately get off the phone with one look at my face as I stand at their door late at night,
--pick up the phone when they've already fallen asleep,
--tell me it's going to be okay...and believe it
10. That God can restore anything.
11. For the faith that God has it under control and it really will be okay.
12. For the peace that this may not be what I expected, but God is not at all surprised.
13. That I can still sleep well knowing I'm a beloved daughte of the King, who is her Father's delight and the joy of His heart.
1. That broken hearts heal.
2. That Truth is still truth no matter how the circumstances look.
3. That His plans are good, and no matter what happens He can do great things with it.
4. That His love for me isn't dependent on my "keeping it together" and walking through this perfectly.
5. For people who have walked this road before me and stand along the way with an encouraging word, large hug, and a tear on their cheek, too.
6. For people who say, "Yeah, it is hell." And they don't minimize how hard it is.
7. For warriors who stand over me when I'm eating dirt on my knees trying to get my footing again.
8. For the ability to pray.
9. For friends who
--hug me while I cry,
--immediately get off the phone with one look at my face as I stand at their door late at night,
--pick up the phone when they've already fallen asleep,
--tell me it's going to be okay...and believe it
10. That God can restore anything.
11. For the faith that God has it under control and it really will be okay.
12. For the peace that this may not be what I expected, but God is not at all surprised.
13. That I can still sleep well knowing I'm a beloved daughte of the King, who is her Father's delight and the joy of His heart.
Friday, September 28, 2007
The Blessing of Clouds
This morning the Lord woke me up early enough to see the sunrise. As the light began to creep into the sky, the shadow of clouds could be seen. Sometimes that does not bode well for a sunrise. However, today, as the sun hit the clouds, the light diffused, and the sky was covered with rich purples and pinks.
As I watched the magnificent display, I was reminded that white light that is invisible to us is made evident when the clouds diffuse the light into its elements. The clouds actually make it so we can see the light.
Often we use clouds as a metaphor to describe hard, sad, or troubled times. We consider them the things that hide the fun or joy of life. As Christians, we refer to them as the trials in life that “try to hide the sun (Son)”. If anything tries to distract us from Jesus or keep Him from being obvious as a huge mass of warm fuzzies, we declare that thing to be a cloud, and it is met with our contempt.
The clouds serve purposes, though. Clouds, for all the metaphorical misery, are blessings. Clouds have the ability to take invisible white light and show off its colors. In the same way, the trials and dark spots of life have the ability to show the various facets of God. In the hard places, the painful moments, and the crushing attacks, we find God to be a strong tower, loving Father, and mighty warrior. At various times circumstances accentuate His mercy, His love, His discipline, and His passion. Without them, He would become the sun in the desert--an aloof object so far away that it is primarily irrelevant and taken for granted, often times seen as cruel and overbearing in what it takes in relation to how little it appears to give. Isn’t that really what law without expression of love is? Overbearing? Cruel? Demanding? Destructive?
Presently, my backyard is starting to see the beginning rays of the day. The sun has risen above the clouds, and its rays are spilling into the neighborhood. The light is glorious. It always is. Sometimes the clouds remind me just how much.
All text and artwork Copyright © 2007 Jerri Phillips
As I watched the magnificent display, I was reminded that white light that is invisible to us is made evident when the clouds diffuse the light into its elements. The clouds actually make it so we can see the light.
Often we use clouds as a metaphor to describe hard, sad, or troubled times. We consider them the things that hide the fun or joy of life. As Christians, we refer to them as the trials in life that “try to hide the sun (Son)”. If anything tries to distract us from Jesus or keep Him from being obvious as a huge mass of warm fuzzies, we declare that thing to be a cloud, and it is met with our contempt.
The clouds serve purposes, though. Clouds, for all the metaphorical misery, are blessings. Clouds have the ability to take invisible white light and show off its colors. In the same way, the trials and dark spots of life have the ability to show the various facets of God. In the hard places, the painful moments, and the crushing attacks, we find God to be a strong tower, loving Father, and mighty warrior. At various times circumstances accentuate His mercy, His love, His discipline, and His passion. Without them, He would become the sun in the desert--an aloof object so far away that it is primarily irrelevant and taken for granted, often times seen as cruel and overbearing in what it takes in relation to how little it appears to give. Isn’t that really what law without expression of love is? Overbearing? Cruel? Demanding? Destructive?
Presently, my backyard is starting to see the beginning rays of the day. The sun has risen above the clouds, and its rays are spilling into the neighborhood. The light is glorious. It always is. Sometimes the clouds remind me just how much.
All text and artwork Copyright © 2007 Jerri Phillips
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