Webster defines rejection as the dismissing or refusing of an idea or proposal. I define rejection as an adult as anytime anyone tells me No. It’s really not anyone who tells me No. It’s anyone whom I have allowed to to enter the deep roots of my heart. The people that have enriched my soul. The people that have pushed me to break down the walls around me. The ordinary people who tell me No, carry no weight to my heart and I am able to roll their No off of me.

The word rejection carries its own weight. It carries the weight of years of childhood rejection. I can cognitively know that someone’s No, is not a rejection of me personally, but its hard for me to reconcile the No emotionally. Depending on the day and emotional state of my mind can determine how I am able to proceed forward emotionally.

Example: Once I asked for help, well asked may be relative. I wouldn’t say I really came out and asked for help, but maybe more implied I needed help. I needed help putting air in my tires, since the tire light had been on for sometime. I reached out-HUGE step for me. The answer I got was a step by step. Okay thats cool, I can do this. Well, that back fired, I reached out again and was given a NO, with  an added wait for a man to help me. The man  being my husband. Stop right there! Was it just suggested that I wait for a man… Yes it was! The emotional state in my mind that day snapped. I was reaching out to a Dad like man, but still, the words of hearing him say No, and suggesting I couldn’t do it spun my first thought of rejection into a different light. Lets just say, I may have snapped and let it be known, I didn’t need a man to fill my tires. It may have been frustrating but I turned my rejection into accomplishment- I filled my tires successfully.

I can look back on that situation and think how ridiculous that the No I was given was not to be seen as a form of rejection. BUT, I struggle to reconcile my rejected past with just a No, I can’t right now.

I can get caught up in delayed response to a text, that perhaps I put myself out there in a way that challenged the core of my heart. What the average person would never know is that I struggle to ask. I struggle to ask for someone to do something that is simple and definitely something that is challenging. And when the moment arises and I build up the courage to overcome the fear of rejection and ask… if the No comes I am filled with self doubt. Or if when I finally ask, there is no response.

A friend defined rejection as “deny access, to push away” The words “to push away” struck me. The non response, can feel like the push away- rejection. Again, the intellect part of my being can know its not a rejection, but the swirling childhood messages, that placed themselves and have taken root inside of me struggles to make sense of it all.

The words “I love you” They carry the weight of emotion, depth, and life. What happens when you say them and the words are not returned. What happens to the heart? The fear of that unknown is what keeps me in the captivity and inability to push forward to just speak the words. I feel more secure staying inside the protected walls I created to keep myself from being rejected even if deep down its how I feel. I want to say the words “I love you” I practice saying the words in a mirror, but when the moment arises, self doubt seeps in and the message that I will be rejected fills me. I then tell myself the moment isn’t right.

So what happens when I get a No, from someone that has deep roots of my soul. Initially, I close myself off. My heart, mind, and soul go through a process of trying to reconcile it and make sense of it all. I go from that initial rejection feeling, to telling myself I have to stop putting myself out there to them, to listening to the mind. The mind can be a terrible place. My mind circles the messages of “you are a failure, you are unwanted, no one will ever want you, you will make no one proud, you will never be enough” These messages and more start to grow stronger roots inside of me the longer my mind rests in those moments. Each form of rejection waters these roots. Until.

I wait for the day that these messages can be ripped from the root and no longer grow inside of me. But for now, I process through it. If I feel the weight of the rejection, I withdraw, I pull away, and then I open my Bible and flip through the pages of scripture where I have taped messages from people, that say “I am very proud of you, I love you, you are enough, or I will always accept your hugs” Then I search the scriptures for the words and capture Psalms 34:18 “the Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and he saves those that are crushed in spirit” And then Isaiah 43:18-19a “Forget about the former things do not dwell on the past. See I am doing a new thing” And as I allow those words to sink into me I can slowly bring myself back to life. Back to where I push myself forward and trust. Trust. Believe, that no matter what I am learning. It may take my lifetime to finally stop the messages of negativity and truly believe that I am enough, but I am determined that one day I will.
“Emotional abuse is just as bad as physical abuse. Worse! You can heal broken bones, you can’t heal a broken mind” Yes you or I can’t heal a broken mind, only God can. And I have to hold onto Jesus to heal this broken mind.

 

 

 

 

Today, is my dad’s birthday. My dad, would have turned 69 this year, but instead, he died at 34. He was just 34 years old. I have spent the last 35 years without my dad. As I reflect on this day, I do wonder about him. I wonder how much different I would be if I had him as a dad growing up. I wonder how he would have filled this wound inside of me. I wonder, would I have been as brave as I am? Would I have been as strong-willed as I am? Would I have been as afraid of affection as I am? Would I have called him “daddy” without cringing because it seems so weird to say that phrase associated with a dad. Would I have been a daddy’s girl, much like Peighton is to Matt? Would I have been more open to embrace a hug, and say “I love you” Would my heart not hurt so much…. If only. If only, is all I can live in because life changed shortly after his 34th birthday. What do I wish on his birthday? I wish I could remember his hugs, I wish I could remember him saying “I love you”. I wish I could remember hearing him whisper those words to me. I just wish I could remember him. All I can remember is him reading me Jonah and the whale before bed. And the next thing I remember he was ill. I watched him struggle to walk around his bed one morning. I remember when he was in the hospital and we sang “Jesus loves you” behind a curtain to his room. I remember the funeral home. I remember the cemetery.

I sometimes get angry with God for taking him from me. It’s hard for me to reconcile my loss to God’s greater plan. Yet, about 10 years prior to my dad leaving this Earth in the arms of the Father, he could have died, my dad would have been 24 then. Yet, in God’s great plan he saved his life and I am part of the result of God saving him. Just when life begins to want to overtake me and consume me, I have to remember that I was planned, I was wanted, by no one greater than the Father in Heaven, who loved me far before I ever loved Him. So that, even in the darkest of places that I may fall into I must remember that my Father in Heaven wanted me, loved me, and planned me for a purpose. I may not always like His purpose, but His ways are far better than my ways. And I must trust in His purpose.

Throughout my life, God has provided for me. From the very beginning, He put inside of me this heart that despite my circumstances and lack of parents, a heart that wanted those deep places of me filled. There are truly countless couples throughout my childhood to adulthood that were purposefully planted in my life. Some for a short period, others longer periods of time, and still others just floated in and out. Some I chose to let into the deep parts of my heart and some I let in a little bit, but I always let them love me. I always let them tell me the tough stuff. I always let them try to help heal my heart. I have always craved what having a dad and a mom would do for my heart. The craving for it seemed to get more intense and more needed the older I got. The older I got the less I could remember feeling loved, the less I could embrace a hug, the less I could cope with my past. The older I got the more I relied on self and not God. Why was that? Did I begin to lose faith or lose trust that God’s plan was good enough? I prayed as a child for God to pluck me from this life I was living and plant me somewhere safer. But that wasn’t a part of God’s plan. God’s great plan is still unfolding in my life. And I am rekindling the faith and trust in Him. Slowly, the hole in my heart is healing. This emptiness of an Earthly dad is slowly being filled because I am slowly letting it get filled. Letting it get filled with God as my Father, first.

My dad is my dad. He will always have my heart. He will always be a part of me, but I am learning what a dad can be to a girl. I am learning that I can let someone fill it for me. But I am also learning that my Father in heaven, who loved me first has orchestrated a plan and purpose far greater than I could have imagined. Even with accepting God’s plan of not having parents like everyone else, it doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. I am far from normal. I have fears. I have anxiety. I have insecurities that even though the void of parents is getting filled and they love me for me, accept me for me, and won’t ever reject me. I am still fearful that I won’t be enough because they really aren’t my parents. But I am trusting God. I am trusting that His purpose for their placement in my life will break down the walls of my heart. 

So on my dad’s birthday, 35 years after he passed from this world, I want him, my dad to know that you are always remembered, never forgotten. My dad is etched into my heart, as the man who captured my heart as a little girl. He’s the man who will never leave my heart, but the man I still try to make proud. I am just making room in my heart to love another dad. I think my dad would be proud to know that even though I closed myself off from letting people really in, that I am beginning to open up my vulnerable heart to love. I don’t think my dad would have wanted me to stay so closed off unable to let someone else be a dad to me. If my dad was the man, his family says he was… then he would want me to open up my heart and embrace the gift of dad and face my fears. Embrace the hug, and say what my heart feels.

Dad, I am sure Heaven is awesome! You have enjoyed it for what seems like an eternity to a little girl who just needed a dad. I can only imagine what Heaven is like. Do you get to sit and talk with Moses, Abraham, or ask the Israelites why they didn’t just trust in God’s faithfulness? I do wonder. But until my time on Earth is complete, I will persevere forward and seek God with all of my heart, soul, mind, and strength. And I look forward to the day I get to meet you in Heaven. Happy Birthday!

 

 

Sometimes my life just doesn’t make sense. And there are obstacles all around me pushing on my soul. And my faith. I think it’s still there.  That mustard seed of faith is fighting to stay alive. The sleepless nights makes my heart feel like it’s drowning. I can’t keep the emotions inside me in place. The walls I have built around my heart are beginning to feel claustrophobic. I just need to protect my heart. I just need to keep the heart safe. If the walls come down like the walls of Jericho came down, what then? What is going to happen to me? I keep fighting back the tears. I keep fighting back the vulnerable part of me. I keep fighting the feeling of being embraced, hugged, or  loved. I keep beating myself up. I keep pushing those feelings back down. I keeping tucking it all away. I keep repeating the statement in my head- I will disappoint. I will fail. I can’t be who I wish I could be. I can’t be perfect. The struggle within me is real. I am in a battlefield of the mind. A battle that can overtake my mind.

 

Hold me Jesus because the tears just want to flow right out of me. Come be my peace. Hold me Jesus because I am weak, but I am stubborn. I am afraid, but I can’t let anyone past the thoughts that consume me.

My flesh wants to just be held, held tightly so the tears can flow out of me. But the rest of me fights it. The shame I feel inside me, consumes me. Shame put on me from the trauma. I can come into the presence of my safe place and be filled. I can be filled, loved, and I can connect. But when I leave, I fight the hug, and I can’t even whisper “I love you” back. I can’t find the vulnerability inside my soul to say it back. And then I walk out the doors of this safe place broken again because I have failed. I failed to say what my heart feels because I am afraid. I am afraid to be exposed. I am afraid that I will be rejected again. I am afraid I will lose again. But when I leave and I can’t say it I have failed yet again. I have let another opportunity slip past me. I have allowed that moment to come and go and I think if I let to many more pass by that this safe place I have begun to create will disappear. They will walk away because I am not capable of trusting them. I am not capable of letting go of the pain and letting God and them seep into the crevices of my heart to heal me. To help rewire my brain. To take the negativity that consumes my innermost thoughts of myself and rewrite the stars. I need to rewrite the patterns of my heart. I need to rewrite the messages of me.

So hold me Jesus and let your peace fill this broken being . Allow me to let you fill all the parts of me. God, I fall to my knees knowing only you can save this heart. Only you can fill this part of me. Help me to abide in you. I can hear you say to me “abide in me” I want to… I want to abide in you.

Take this thorn from my side and release my heart from the tension that consumes me. Allow me to open myself up. Push the boundaries of my soul. I want to let go and let you in. I want to trust that you haven’t left me in the wilderness alone. I want to believe you have a plan and purpose for me and that your will can be done. Help me to trust my safe place. To trust there is nothing I can do that will hinder, disrupt, or destroy that place that is causing my heart to open and expose itself. I need to break free from the bondage that holds me back, so that I can feel safe, loved, and free. And that I can hear that voice that tells me “everything will be alright” I will be alright, maybe not the same but I will be alright…

 

Am I enough? Am I strong enough, faithful enough, smart enough, sassy enough, good enough, pretty enough (why does that even matter to me), athletic enough, confident enough, or perfect enough. Am I really enough? Am I enough to be a mom, a daughter, Christ follower, or a wife. Most days the “ Am I enough” circulates through my head. And the answer to all those “am I enough” is NO! I am not. Too many years of hearing the words of ruining everything, being a disappointment to all, or merely working so hard to earn love, be loved, feel loved. A feeling of inadequacy fills my soul. A feeling of being damaged goods. A message that God must have made a huge mistake when He chose to create my innermost being. My safe place was a soccer field, running, or any athletic task. I have lost my safe place. I have lost the drive to feel safe and secure in what once rescued me from life. How have I lost it. I let it slowly slip away from my grasp. So now when I look at that safe place I don’t see the same girl who once dominated the safe place. I see an old, broken, deteriorating girl, who can’t fight through the pain and the messages. The messages that could never penetrate through my mind, heart and soul, it now shakes up my core and I sit in the corner of despair knowing I am a failure. Knowing I am not enough. I am just a girl who once was and that girl is forever lost into the distance. A girl who needs to find that fighting, sassy, stubborn, and determined being who let no one push her down. But the darts of words flying at me have worn me down. Are we sure God didn’t make a mistake with me? How can I know that God didn’t make a mistake? Most days of late make me feel like I am wandering the desert like the Israelites. Why am I wandering? Is it from my disobedience? Is from my disbelief? Have I lost who God is to me and now He has me wandering aimlessly around in the desert?

So why did the Israelites wander for 40 years? Well, they were filled with disbelief and disobedience, even after being witnesses to God’s miracles and provisions. But… God is all powerful and so why didn’t He just wipe out the whiners? And then allow the rest to enjoy the Promise Land. I wonder. 40 years! Did He really need to take 40 years to refine and purify them.

Isaiah 48:10 “See, I have refined you, though not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction.”

Is God with me in the desert? Am I just wrestling alone in the desert? Or am I wrestling with God,  like Paul wrestled with God praying that he would remove the thorn from him? But what was God’s response? 2 Corinthians 12:9 “My grace is sufficient for you” So I have to believe God’s grace will carry me through the desert. I must believe if God brought me into the desert, He will carry me through it.

Isaiah 43:2 “when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze”

The thorn that consumes my heart has taken me into the desert of wandering. Did God slowly take away my success of my safe place, so that when all was stripped away, all I had left was this thorn that would break me to look to the God who sees me?

I am on a journey. A Journey that will take a lifetime as I scavenge through the Bible. It’s a huge undertaking. But the answers to my wandering are only found in this book. Am I really enough for God, for people… Can I really believe I am enough. Can I believe that God can take this broken girl who is wandering the desert with an extremely annoying thorn and bring her back to freedom.

One day, the little girl met a boy blindly at Cracker Barrel. Little did the little girl know that her life, would be forever changed by this lunch date. The little girl was to meet a boy dressed in khakis, button down shirt, and he would have glasses. This is how the boy described himself. The little girl knew this could describe about any boy that may walk in the doors of Cracker Barrel, with exception of some boys who look rather elderly. The little girl with her brown, chin length hair, pink shirt and khakis, waited impatiently for the moment of truth. The little girl had never met someone for a blind date before. She had talked to the boy on the phone and he seemed harmless. In walked a boy, just as he described and their eyes instantly connected and they both knew immediately. They were who they were meeting on that warm November day. The blind date turned into a meeting of hearts.

The boy seemed to be up for the challenge of dating this little firecracker girl, who would argue just for the sake of not always agreeing with him, to compete in every athletic sport they ventured out into, even if the little girl had never played the sport. The little girl’s motto was “whatever you can do, I can do better”. The little girl had spunk and the boy had confidence that the little girl had never seen before. He was so confident, it was like he was never wrong. He infuriated the little girl. She just once wanted to prove him wrong. They were quite the pair. One thing the two had in common was they loved each other despite their stubborness.

The little girl found love… love she never thought she would find. The boy is the one she still runs to, the only one she dreams of, the one who holds the key to her heart. The boy isn’t perfect, but they are perfect together. The boy accepted her and has loved her. This boy was worth the wait. He was worth it all. The little girl could never imagine what kind of adventure they would have, but she knew he was worth it. The boy, was simple. He had a way about him that complimented her need to feel important. And the little girl pushed a safe boundary inside of the boy, that had kept him from taking chances in life. The little girl had an edge of risk taking inside of her, fearless of consequences, took no account of risk. The boy was full of keeping track of “what -ifs”, missed out on the life of risk taking. The little girl’s whole life had been one big risk taking adventure. So this boy and this girl, loved madly, cared deeply, and became united as one in marriage.

This boy and the little girl found something in the other that would complete them. Two hearts joined as one to begin the adventure of marriage and all that it would entail. Many people weren’t sure if they would make it. But through it all they pressed forward because through it all the boy had her heart, he was the only one she belonged to, he was the one the little girl ran too. The boy and the little girl learned to hold onto each other and reflect on on how far they had come. They  had built a life together. They had endured one surprise pregnancy after another, the death of their infant son, financial stress, juggling raising kids with little support of family, along with family drama from the outside. The little girl still quite broken inside, but pressing forward with this boy to raise their kids. This boy may be her biggest challenge all while being her biggest fan. He pushes her, inspires her, tests her patience, yet is there waiting for her when life is overtaking her. He is the forever boyfriend. The boy is who taught her to love, the boy is who she trusts, the boy is whom she still loves. The boy accepted her “as is”, a work in progress. And the little girl is a work in progress, she is a little girl still fighting her way through life, trying to figure out who she is. The boy is her constant. He is the other half of her heart. United hearts never to be broken.

And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Colossians 3:14

Do you think it’s easy? Do you think I don’t want to run to you. Like a little girl runs to her dad when her heart breaks. Or like a little girl runs to her mom when she has scraped her knee.  Do you not know that I want to run and tell you “I love you” and give you a big hug and just rest in the warmth, of that embrace. To run to you for you to put my broken heart back together.  I do. I truly do. I just can’t. It’s a fight. It’s a struggle. I can see myself running to you. But these mountains. There are mountains to climb. Mountains of emotions. Mountains of rejection, scars, damaged goods, a mistake, and at the top of that mountain is a wounded little girl. These mountains take strength, time and perseverance. The climb is real. The climb is exhausting. Most days I just want to give up. Most days I just want to push those emotions, feelings back down below the surface. Below the surface where they didn’t hurt me, where they didn’t feel like a volcano ready to explode. But I can’t. The layers of emotions inside me keep slowly creeping up. Its exposing my heart. Its revealing the weaknesses in the bolted door of my heart. But when I open myself up to embrace the embrace… I can live in the memory for days. It fills my heart. There is a freedom in your arms. A freedom to let go, let  barriers down, and just embrace love. But that fear creeps in and the door slams shut.

It’s a heavy door I can’t open wide. I can crack it open. So I can peek through. Peek into the moment. I can sit still, close my eyes and imagine myself running with tears in my eyes to you and whisper the words “I love you” But it’s a fight, a struggle. Keep pushing me. Please just keep pushing me. Don’t give up on me. Each day, I struggle is one day closer to being able to  break through. Will you still be there when I am ready? When I am ready to open and break down the bolts holding down this closed door. I need to know that you will be there waiting for me, waiting for that moment. I need to know you will still be there despite all the scars, thorns, and bruises that make up me. Waiting for me to escape the chains that hold me back from feeling the sweet embrace of love of parents.

I need you to keep pursuing me. I need you to keep pushing me. I need you to because I want to one day walk in your home and sit on a couch and listen to your heartbeat and feel a sense of security, knowing I am safe, I am loved, I am wanted, I am yours. I need you to keep telling me that you love me, that you are proud of me and that everything is going to be okay. The little broken girl inside of me needs to connect, needs that embrace, needs to feel secure, needs to feel safe, and needs to be reminded that you will be there. The little girl inside me fights itself. The little girl inside of me has always been a fighter, she doesn’t know what else to do but fight. She isn’t used to being embraced. She is used to protecting herself, not letting her guard down. She is used to being brave and strong. But the little girl deep inside of me doesn’t feel so strong and brave anymore. She is tired of fighting. She is tired of being on the defensive, she just wants to be loved and feel safe.

It isn’t easy walking around feeling unsure, but it also isn’t easy unlocking the door to my heart to accept the love, security, or worth of parents. I crave that feeling. I want to embrace that feeling. I want it but I can’t overcome the unworthiness I feel in my heart to deserve such love. I am always feeling I am not enough. I am not a good enough Christian, I don’t have a good enough faith, I am not a good enough person to deserve such love, or I am just not enough. I am not enough because I will fail, I will disappoint you, or that I will not make you proud of me.

My mind is always racing. I find myself going for runs to escape. To escape the process of healing from the inside out. I have taped notes and letters in my Bible to remind myself what love is, who loves me, and what makes me special.

Romans 8:28 “All things work for the good of those who love Him and are called according to his purposes.”

Despite our brokenness, God is the potter, who earnestly seeks to turn our wounded hearts that are fixed on Him into a cracked but solid being that rests in the embrace of the unconditional love from our Father. A father who wants what is best for His daughter.

Somedays, I am sure all that Jesus wants from me is to sit on his lap and hold me, but its not that I can’t stay still, it’s that I can’t be embraced. I can’t accept the love. Even though, nothing can separate me from the love of Christ. Fear of failure, fear of disappointment, fear of losing those I love, my inability to to say “I love you” , nor my inability to embrace the sweet, secure hug of a dad or mom, nothing will cut the cord attached to my heart that links me to Christ. It’s an adventure. It’s a process. It’s a journey. 

God is for me who can be against me. God doesn’t make mistakes. Even when my mind tells me I am a mistake, I am unwanted, I am not worthy… Christ still died for me and loves me. I must bathe myself in these words. I must memorize God’s word, so that my heart can heal from the pain it feels inside. God is love. God loves me despite it all. God has been by me through it all. God has a plan for me. God has a plan to take this wounded beyond repair, broken and damaged heart and turn it into something special. Even when my mind, heart and soul are ready to give up, there you are Jesus reaching out your hand. Sometimes your hand annoys me. Somedays, I wish you would give up on me. But you keep chasing after me. I can never run , where you can’t find me. How beautiful to be that wanted. God of the universe pursuing me, wanting me… wanting to shape, mold and repurpose me for a plan greater than my imagination. I must hold on tight as you chisel away at my core. I must trust you and know through it all it will be well with my soul…

 

If I could write a letter and one you would receive it I think I would write something like this…

Dear Dad,

You were taken to soon. Too soon for me to know the kind of dad you would have been to me, and I am only left to imagine what a dad would have really been for me. Perhaps, the night time terrors as a kid that caused me to run and hide wouldn’t have happened, or maybe the different forms of abuse I endured throughout my youth wouldn’t have occurred. I feel like you would have provided a protection of my heart and given me a safe place to lay my head. My mind wanders often seeking to remember who you were. I am left to wonder. Would you have showed me compassion, would you have been the protector of my heart, would I not feel such an emptiness because you left my life at an age that I needed you most. Of course there were so many things you missed out on. And so much more I am left to wonder what you would have said to me, Would you be proud of me? Would you be at the finish line of a race to give me a hug because you are proud of me? Would you have been at my soccer games excited to watch me play? Would you have wanted to walk me down the aisle and my wedding? Would your shoulder still be a safe place for me to rest my head? Would I have gone to college because you were there encouraging me to get an education? Would you have been the tender father that my heart needs? So much is left to the imagination. Instead of being an emotional being I was left to stuff it, suppress it, and mask it. I wasn’t to talk about you. I was left at times in a hard place stuck between wanting to show emotion and trapped into the mindset that I can’t. If I was emotional, I wasn’t being a brave, strong girl. Emotions were not acceptable. Is that the kind of dad you were?

I look around at your family as I grew up and everyone would say how much I look like you. I look like someone I don’t know. I look like someone that your family deeply loved, respected and thought so highly of. Your nieces and nephews adored your fun personality, athletic ability, frisbee talents and always comment on your intellect. I look in the mirror and I don’t see how I am like you. It’s been a huge weight for me to carry. I don’t see myself, as intelligent enough, athletic enough, talented enough, or pretty enough for you to be proud of.  Would you really be proud of me? How can I ever know you were proud of me? I do wish I could see you one more time. I do wish I could remember more of those days when you were around. I wish I could hear you read Jonah and whale to me again at bedtime. I am amazed at what I do remember, but I just wish I remembered more about you. God, saved you one once from the gunshot wound, why wouldn’t he save you again for me? Why wouldn’t he? I needed God to save you. I needed you. God took the hero of my heart. And all I can do now is wait for the day when I can see your face again. Why can’t this be just one bad dream? I sometimes wonder if you will just walk in through my front door… what would I do. Would I recognize you?

Dad, saying the word is even foreign to me because I don’t have one. I have been left with an emptiness and void inside me. Dad, where were you  when I needed protecting, where were you when my heart was broken, where were you when I was abused, or where were you when I needed a hero. I was left to fight my way through this world and its been difficult. What I wouldn’t give to feel your face and hear your heart beat again. I want to be where you are, but I can’t. I have to let you go. I have to place you in a part of my heart, where the pain won’t keep hurting me. I have to trust that you would be proud of me and that you loved me unconditionally. I have to believe in God. I have to believe God is good.  I have to believe God has a greater plan for me. I must trust that this hole can be filled. Dad, I have to let you go, but it’s so hard to let you go. Letting you go is like letting a piece of my heart go. It’s not easy letting it go. I pray that as I let you go that God will fill in the broken places of me. My heart will never be the same. Dad, I wish you could send me a sign… I just need to know you are proud of me.

The conversation. The investment. The presence. The security. The little girl a teenager entered in a new beginning. She opened herself up for a moment. She opened herself to receive love, conversation, and security. What did that moment look like…

One day, in high school  the little girl drove to the house of a couple. She typically would go there for dinner. But this day, she had received word from her mom, in way of a letter. The letter destroyed her heart. This letter and its words would be impressed upon her heart for eternity. She would in time memorize its words. And as she grew older it would be the words of this letter that would stumble her, self doubt would creep in, its in these words that she would find her self-worth. It was a powerful letter. Her heart was cracked open. So she went to their house early, and only the tendered hearted man, that the little girl had grown fond of over the past year was home. He was sitting on the couch reading. The little girl, crushed to the core. The tender-hearted man noticed she was fractured. The little girl, he referred to as “little one”, he motioned her over to the couch he was sitting on. She grabbed, the soft flannel blanket and opened herself up. She approached the couch, snuggled in next to him, and rested her sweet head on his chest. She lay quietly listening to his heart beat, as he wrapped his arm around her. She was safe. The words still playing in her head, but she was safe in the arms of this tender hearted man. She was for a moment in a place where the words couldn’t hurt her. It was a moment. It was a breakthrough. No tears came from the little girl, but she stayed in that moment of silence. The man asked no questions, he just held her as she rested her head, heart and mind and embraced the moment. The tender hearted man stroked her face, leaned down and whispered in her ear “you are safe, you are loved, we are here for you, little one”. The little girl’s eyes welled up with tears when she heard those words. For just a moment the words of her mother’s letter disappeared from her mind and she was filled a little, by his words.

The moment came and went. She opened up for a moment and before she knew it this special couple announced they were moving away. They took the little girl aside after dinner one night to tell her. The little girl was broken. She put on a brave front, she embraced it with her strong spirit, all while deep inside she felt abandoned.

The little girl would think back to that moment with the tender-hearted man, where she made herself vulnerable, but she closed back up. She became afraid to open up. She still craved that feeling. So she would re-play that moment in her head. She replayed it to remind herself of how it made her feel. How safe the feeling was. Vulnerable but safe. She clung to that moment. It was that moment that she craved. It was an iconic moment for the little girl to realize, this embrace of love, the tender moment is what a real, fleshy father would look and feel like. One day… maybe one day she could reopen that broken, abandoned heart. Maybe one day she will be able to again feel what the embrace of a father will feel like.

The little girl cherished this special couple. She never lost connection with them. Each visit was a sweet reunion. The embrace of the tender-hearted man, filled her heart. Each visit was also still bittersweet. She loved them, but she was still left afraid to open herself up again. 

The little girl would again open herself up, but it wouldn’t be for a long, long, long time. The fear of abandonment consumed her. She felt if she opened herself up again, she would be abandoned. After all, her dad had died, and her mom rejected her.  Of course, there was good that came from them moving, but the connection she had made, the progress that had occurred, and the breakthrough moments that came about soon vanished over time. The little girl tried hard to rekindle that relationship, but couldn’t and she soon just gave up. She gave up on the hope that she would ever fill the empty void within her heart. She allowed the words of her mother’s letter to penetrate into her mind and mentally defeat her. The words told her she was not lovable, not worth anything, a disappointment, and unwanted.

The words of the letter would invade her mind.

“you have been the most miserable daughter a person could ask for. Unfortunately, when I thought I couldn’t have anymore children, I asked God to please let me have one more, unfortunately I had you… My prayer for you is: I hope you will always be miserable and that all your children will make misery on your life… your father would be disappointed and not proud of the daughter you are”

These are the core words of the letter she would recite day after day. All the little girl hoped and strived to become one day, stopped at that moment. The little girl listened to those words.These words began to define her. The little girl allowed these words to seep into her. The little girl found the strength to pick herself up from those words and drive out to where her dad rested. She slowly walked out and found his grave. On his grave stone, the little girl took her jacket and covered her mom’s name off of the stone. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the name. She sat there silently for a moment and then she pulled out the tattered letter and read it to her dad. Tears welled up again in her eyes as she read the words her mother had written. She paused at the end and listened. She waited patiently, wishing her dad would give an audible voice from the ground to reassure her, that he was indeed proud of her. Silence, no voice, nothing. The little girl slowly, laid her body down onto the grass that covered the casket that his body lay in 6 feet below. Her ear pressed to the ground. What she wouldn’t give to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat again. What she wouldn’t give to feel what it would have been like to feel his arms around her, to hear him say to her the words of the tender-hearted man “you are safe, you are loved, I am here for you, little one” But all the little girl heard was silence. Silence and an emptiness inside of her is what filled her soul. Her dad was gone forever. And her mind would be eternally tormented by messages. The little girl, just stayed in that moment… She just laid there on that grass and let the tears slide down for cheek. After a little bit of time, the little girl peeled herself off the grass, dried her tears, kissed her fingers and pressed them on grave stone where her father’s name plate was and the little girl leaned back down to the grass and whispered to her dad “ one day, I hope to make you proud, I love you” She stood back up, picked up her jacket that was still covering her mom’s name and walked back to her car. She reached her car and sat there in silence. She took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. She inhaled all those feelings, with each inhale, she pushed all of her emotion deep inside. Then she would exhale. Exhale out the memory of what could have been. Exhale what should have been. The little girl pushed that moment away. She wanted to suffocate that moment, so it would die off and she could just put one foot in front of the other and be the brave, strong little girl everyone wanted her to be.

Would she ever be able to escape the words of the letter? Would she ever be able to believe that she was truly loved, wanted, or feel the sweet embrace of security in the arms of a father and a mother. Would she be able to embrace that sense of security, love, and break through the barrier of those words? Would those moments boil to the surface? Would the little girl ever face her rejection, her fear, or her need to feel loved?

Mutter, Mama, Mum, Madre, Mom, or Mommy are some of the names young kids learn to call the one who gave them life or the one who becomes a mom to you of way of just being what has gone missing, astray, or has been absent.

A mom can be your hero, your inspiration, or the one you aspire to be. Her love is unconditional, she is the warm embrace, the one who pushes you, and the one you confide in. A mom can be your confident, the one who teaches you about life, who sacrifices for you, or the one who is just there for you. A mom is something different for everyone.

A mom can also be absent. She can be manipulative. She can be selfish. She can make her love conditional. She can be hurtful. She can push you away. She can put you down and place messages in your head that aren’t true. She can deplete your heart of hope.

As a mom our words are powerful, they can weaken the heart of a child or they can encourage a child.  Words of a mom, can take root inside the heart of a child. Words can break and heal. Words can destroy and words can admit wrong. But the words of a mother sink deep into the soul of a child because they are words of a mom. A mom, who we think is for us, not the one to push us down.

I am a mom. But what do I know about being a mom, nothing. I have been a mom for some 15 years yet I have been going through each day, week, month, and year never knowing what a mom could truly be. I pray everyday, my past doesn’t reek havoc on my kids relationships. I have things about me that are odd because in my mind I am parentless. I have neither a mom, who wants me without strings attached or dad that I can ever remember.

Strings attached: a strand complete with my every failing, a strand of my need to say what she wants, a strand of stripping everything away that is me, a strand of admitting I am awful daughter, a strand of knowing love comes with conditions, a strand of her power over me, a strand of my incompleteness, and a strand of knowing nothing I do will be good enough for her, a strand of my constant disappointment to her, a strand of blame, and a strand that reminds her of all she didn’t want. These strands wrapped together created a rope. A rope that wraps itself around my body. The rope constricts me, the rope strangles me, the rope attached to a cinder block drowns me. This rope is what I see everyday when I look in the mirror. I see each individual strand that makes the rope one solid, fierce and powerful method of wearing me down.

I dream of the day that I can look in a mirror and not see the rope wrapped around me. I dream of the day that I can be free of the pain of being a disappointment, failure, or a reminder of what wasn’t wanted. I hope for the day I can see myself through different eyes. Maybe one day I can be confident, strong, loved, complete, or accepted. Maybe one day I will be known for who I really am. Maybe one day I will be able to face the reflection in the mirror and not see all that I am not. I can hope for the day when this rope made up of many strands will no longer keep me from being free. But for now I am entwined in this rope.

There are days I wonder if I could just run away from life. Could I just pack up and flee this place. Escape the pain, but thats what I have tried to do all my life. Escape, flee, and run away from it all. I am trapped, confined and restricted to live in this valley. To live in a valley that I haven’t figured out how to crawl out of… a valley. A valley that traps me. A valley that surrounds me with echoing messages that makes my mind spin. One day. One day I won’t have to fight so hard to ignore them. One day I won’t have to protect my heart from the pain. One day I will be free, it may not be today, but one day I will be able to open the door and new echoing messages will fill me and I will finally be free. Today isn’t that day but I can hope for the day…

“you killed my dad” words uttered by a four-year old child in the bumpy car ride home. Words that came from the commotion of the car. What spurred on such words. Where in the world did the words come from. As silence permeated the car, no one could have imagined the weight and depth  those four simple words would have on that four year old child for the rest of her life. Words that pressed into the minds and hearts of those in the car and words that would forever be brought to the forefront on this girl’s face everyday for the rest of her life.

A few months earlier, her father had died unexpectedly, but rather quickly. As each day passes the memory of her father slowly fades away from her mind. Some memories are more like flashes. She has to work hard to really  remember some memories and others she has to deciefer what is real and what is a dream.

Flashes of wandering a building proclaiming that her dad was Lazarus and Jesus would come wake him up, just like the Bible talks about in John chapter 11.  The faith of a child. We often refer to the faith of young children… how they are able to believe so innocently.  And just like that she believed in the words written in the Bible. Words that would later become a distant memory and words that would make some adults feel sorry for her, be empathetic, or maybe some wondered about the lasting impact this single event would have on her. The casket was open. You could see her father’s face, his perfect face laying in there peacefully. His now cold body, lifeless, but peaceful lay in the casket. He appears to be sleeping, but in reality life has left him. As the night drew to a close, and the crowds of people had disappeared from the halls of the funeral home. All that was left was a little girl, with her big brown eyes, long brown hair, staring off, watching intently as they closed the casket that her father rested in. She let out a scream of terror and needed one last peek at her father. She bolted for the casket, the lid lifted and she leaned in placed her hands on his cold face and kissed him, not goodbye, but see you later. As the funeral director slowly sat her down, she again sat still as the casket began to slowly shut and that kiss, that embrace would soon become a distant memory. It would fade out of her mind as each day passed.

Her father was not Lazarus, Her father would not be coming back to her. All she would have left would be memories. His body lay on the grounds of an old cemetery, where his grave was once marked by a water faucet. The water faucet could be seen from the road. Whenever they would drive out that way she would look for that symbol of her dad. Years would pass and never once did she get to visit her father. He was just gone and the house her parents had started crumbled around her.

Years passed and the little girl began to drive and so she would drive out to that cemetery and look for the water faucet, sit on the grass above his body and talk to her father. It was a one sided conversation, nothing like the burning bush with Moses, but she would share her heart with her father. She longed to feel his face, see his face, hear his voice, feel his embrace, or look into his deep brown eyes. She longed to be the daughter he loved and wanted. She envisioned that from the gates of Heaven her dad has been watching her grow up. Perhaps he has been a part of her world from a far away distance. Has her father seen her heart break, has he been there in her moments of triumph and despair. Has he witnessed her will to persevere despite the brokenness within her heart. Has his heart broke for her as she as raced through her childhood years  looking to be loved, to feel loved and to embrace love, but only to find she isn’t lovable.

Those four words still haunt her “you killed my dad” Words that flew out of her mouth at four years of age. Words that are pressed within her heart, mind, and soul. Words that her mother reminds her of daily. Words that strike deep into the bones of her body. She finds it hard to pick herself up everyday and face the outside world knowing the extreme pain her words have caused her. Somedays she can pull her head up and walk with confidence and other days her heart is heavy and downtrodden. She walks a thin line of feeling alone , neglected, unwanted, unloved, and hopeless. Her strong spirit dying off each time she has to face her pain. A time came in her youth that she grew tired of facing the pain and she stuffed it. She pulled herself together, dug deep and placed every emotion, every feeling, every weakness, anything that would remind her or make her fearful and stuffed them deep down inside of her inner most being. She chose to no longer deal with the pain, but to act like it didn’t exist. And there is where it sat, it stewed, it formed, it grew, and it became powerful.

The little brown eyed little girl grew up. She married, she had kids of her own, but the pain she had stuffed so long ago began to fester. He began to take root. He began to fester, take root, wrap itself around her vulnerable little heart and penetrated deep into her. It penetrated so deeply, she couldn’t keep from thinking about it, focusing on it, or knowing how very broken she was becoming. She was indeed broken, scared and alone. The masked pain and stuffed feelings were finding their way to the surface and she could no longer hold back the emotion, she had fought so hard to keep locked down. She was having to face the pain and suffering head on and it was scary. It consumed her. The childhood nightmares returned, the loss of sleep began to take root, migraines began to form and her heart kept fighting against itself. She attempted to embrace the feeling of being loved, embraced by  people that saw her like one of their own kids. But she struggled to embrace the kind words, the hugs, the laughter, the embraces, and the “i love you’s” She wanted it yet couldn’t bring herself to crack open wide enough to accept it. Would she ever be able to open herself up enough to let them in and love her for her. To love her and be this missing piece. Would she be able to let go and let God heal her heart. Would she be able to accept the gift and embrace the moments without regrets…