Stripped

When I first started talking to my bf I was beyond surprised at how many of his friends I actually knew, and knew of me. Having come from a relationship where I was barely known off this was a whole new territory for me, and rather exciting. But as time went by I felt as if I wasn't accepted. It bothered me a lot. I would sit there for hours obsessing about why they aren't responding to me as I thought they should respond to me. In my mind we should have been able to call each other, and have girl talks, and confide in each other our struggles while giggling about how much the guys don't "get it". I thought I should be gaining sisters especially older ones instead of being in a room with people with whom I barely had much to say with. My expectations of them were high. I was coming from being the big sister, little sister, care taker, and listener that when I did get into this relationship my need for wanting a little bit nurture was awakened. A side of me that I didn't know existed because I was always on the giving end of it.All of the sudden I wanted a big sister someone with whom I can laugh, cry, share even just a little bit instead of being "strong". I have to admit I was getting a bit tired of the "strong" role. I wanted to be viewed as a human being, and not just a "strong" individual. As the days became months my expectations grew into disappointments, and some days resentment.I won't lie there were times my bf would tell me what a great conversation he had with XYZ and I had to do everything in my power not to roll my eyes, and soc him in the face. I started analyzing everything about me. Am I too churchy? Am I judgmental? Do I not wear the right type of clothes? Am I too opinionated? All of this slowly took a hit on my relationship with him as well, because I was convinced he didn't get it and he never would get it. There was a part of me that on days was mad at him for not understanding my side. Everything that I had to offer as an individual I kept throwing it out the window, because I didn't deem it as good enough for others.

I never not once stopped to think about the people who have accepted me with open arms. I pushed that aside,and ran after getting the acceptance of people who didn't show that much interest in me. Like I've ALWAYS done since childhood. From my aunts, to grandmothers, to my own father, and my ex. Running after them to win their approval and affection. To show them I was good enough to be considered by them. And each time I threw out of the window everything that I had to offer as an individual. By the time 25 came around I have practically stripped myself of everything. My life was high lighted by most of the negative things. I mostly saw flaws. And when I told people you just don't understand what I was really saying was "I want you to see it exactly as I do. Feel my pain...dislike this person for making me feel wanted". I'm glad no one has slapped me across the face as a response and said "No you don't understand, and stop spending so much time obsessing over the ones that don't want to be a part of your life". At this exact moment as I type away these raw words of exposing myself for who I really am. I'm not writing it in past tense of that used to be me. I am saying...right now....this very moment THIS IS ME. Someone who has stripped herself of everything GOD saw valuable. Someone who always ran after fixing the situation with a person who could care less about fixing anything. No I haven't found an answer, but I figure I should start some where. So I started with admission. I started with my words, and my only request is that people don't treat me differently because I was honest enough to say what was rooted deep within me.

The Wounds of Your Past

Few months back I posted this question on my blog concerning past hurts( Question). Today I browsed through the my devotional I stumbled upon this. Please read till the end.

Written by Bonnie Gray, The FaithBarista

Some of us grow up -- or end up -- soaking up the wounds of those we love. We may have found the inner strength in those moments to carry ourselves through. But, there will come a time to remember. There will come a time to heal.

I was standing in the toy store aisle. Frozen. I didn't know what to do.

It was going to be our last visit together, after my parent's divorce. But, I didn't know it at the time.

I was a little girl. My father wanted to buy me a toy. But, my mother didn't want me to return home with one. I wasn't supposed to take anything from him.

So, I told him I didn't want anything.

I was okay.

But, I wasn't.

Frozen

It's funny how the most terrible memories of the past can smooth out over the years to simply become a story you tell yourself. It's a familiar scene that unrolls every now and then. What he said. What I said. How the floor of the store shimmered under the gloss of florescent lights. How happy my little sister was, picking toys off the shelf, like she won the lottery.

But, I never realized all the emotions I felt at that moment could be frozen inside me.

I am learning that some of the stories that I've merely viewed as childhood memories are still live events -- behind the steel trap door of my heart.

No, I haven't buried them.

No, I haven't forgotten about them.

I've simply moved past them.

By being strong.

By surviving.

By growing up.

By depending on God -- in the sincerity of my heart -- to move myself further away from the little girl in me.

Who was afraid.

Who didn't know what to do.

But deep inside, that little girl is still there.

Deep where I've never had any need for fear, confusion or neediness, there is a part of me who very much alive: the girl in me who carries my father's wounds.

You can't see that part of me looking on the outside.

I certainly didn't.

Until recently.

The Right Thing

I started remembering -- the look in my father's eyes.

"Daddy can't be with you anymore..." His voice stumbles. His head drops. I notice how straight his hair is parted to the side, as he crouches low.

I start to feel very nervous. It doesn't feel right somehow. Him. So low. So close. Too low. Too close.

"Daddy just... wants... to..." He starts to choke back tears. Swallows hard. Looks straight into my eyes. I see pain. He struggles to finish his sentence. Tries again. "Daddy... just... wants to... buy you a toy."

I can't tell you exactly what was running through my mind. But, I know how I feel right then and there.

Thickness fills my little body from the top of my head down, dropping down through the beating heart in my chest, to the bottom of my feet.

I feel trapped.

I don't know what is the right thing to do anymore. I am afraid.

What should I do? What will happen if I did one thing -- or the other?

Who will happen to him? What will happen to her?

What will happen to me?

Wounds

As I stood there at the checkout register, with my father pulling out paper bills from the wad of cash he kept in his pocket, I felt frozen again. Fearful for what would happen after my ride home in his olive green Nova with the peeling roof.

I didn't want him to pay for our new toys with his hard-earned cash. But, as he placed the plastic bag of toys into my hands and tried to reassure me, "It's gonna be okay... It's gonna be okay...", I knew it wasn't going to be that way at all.

I am learning that day I took that plastic bag was also the day I began to carry my father's wounds in my heart. These weren't wounds he inflicted on me. They were ones I saw opening up in him. These were wounds I tried to avoid by taking that toy back home with me.

These were wounds I wanted to soak up in me by my doing the right thing.

Things didn't turn out okay that day.

Even though I tried to do the right thing.

Stay Here

As I walked through this memory, with Jesus in the picture now as a grown up, I discovered a heart-altering realization.

I know, Bonnie. Jesus whispers.

I know this wound, Bonnie.

What do you want me to do? I ask Jesus.

You don't have to do anything.

But, what do you want me to do? I ask again.

Stay. Here. With me.

Please. Do s-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-g about this. I'm begging. I'm desperate to do something.

Tell me to do something about this feeling of restless helplessness. I want it to go away.

Let me. Stay here. With you.

"Why can't I just let old wounds die?" I cry out. Because they don't.

Wounds don't die.

But, wounds can healed -- if we make the choice -- to face them with Jesus.

Our tender Jesus is never closer than that very moment our wounds become alive. His love for our private feelings of helplessness and shame never surge deeper -- as He holds us with deep compassion, heart aching and hating every moment of our pain. Jesus hasn't forgotten our wounding. Jesus hasn't stopped loving us since.

Running Into Her

I don't know if this story I'm sharing reads like a foreign tale from a land you've never visited. There's a part of me that feels that I'm the only one. But, if perchance you find yourself like me -- running into that little girl in you who is feeling --

helpless,

restless,

trapped,

disoriented,

between the right thing to do -- and the reality of an overwhelming difficulty, painful relationship or heartbreaking loss --

I want you to know that I am right alongside you -- treading this water of perplexing circumstances that have placed you in front of your wounded self.

I am reaching out to you today, with a smile and many tears.

To say Jesus is next to you.

He is next to me.

And I want to encourage you.

I once believed the evidence of faith was having hope when the burden of carrying pain crushes our souls. But, I'm discovering faith is equally flowing -- maybe even more so -- when we can fall into the arms of Jesus when we do feel hopeless -- in order to know that the little girl in us can be safe and will be rescued.

For sure, this is path of faith and healing is hard and long. Especially for someone like me who has been so good at being adequate or at least, having plans in place to avoid otherwise.

Free to Remember

Is this such a time for you as well? Maybe like me, you find yourself unable to forget. Maybe like me, Jesus doesn't want you to forget. Jesus wants us to be free to remember --

the wounds we have carried,

the wounds we have survived,

the wounds we have kept hidden.

We can be free to remember, so that we can be comforted. And to comfort each other. He wants to say to you and me --

I know what you've carried.

I've loved you completely.

Even back then.

I haven't forgotten.

You can be with me.

This way.

Now.

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?

Though she may forget, I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
~ God, Isaiah 49:1, 6, 15

It's really weird I was driving around in the rain, talking to a friend of mine, and I realized how much I have changed. Now I'm not sure if this is a good change or a bad change, but it's a change. I've come to the realization that letting go of people has become a little bit more easier in my life than it was before.

Growing up I was always trying to fix a situation. Always making the effort to make sure it is kept together, but now I'm just whatever about things. It feels good in a strange way.

Simply put:
 Don't let what GOD has called you to do distract you from what GOD has called you to do- Brian Houston.