In Her Brokenness to Stand Alone, She Found Her Freedom

I have a special bond with nature.

I admire it probably more than I should. I drive the same route to work, to church, to town just about every single day and there’s one piece of nature that I can’t help but think about and admire as I drive. In the middle of an open field, the field surrounded by a multitude of trees and a creek and houses as a fence around the barren area, stands one lone tree.

I love lone trees. I enjoy watching them throughout the seasons. I relish in their beauty in the fall, and feel a tinge of sorrow for them in the winter. Oh, I know all the trees that surround this tree and the open field will all lose their leaves as the snow approaches but this lone tree loses them obviously sooner than the others. The limbs no longer reach upward toward the heavenly skies but jut out in a random array of mangled twigs and gnarly branches. It is not a pretty tree by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s loneliness is a haunting beauty that one can’t help but wonder about the “life” it’s lived.

But to stand alone.

Standing alone is a brave task.

It’s this standing alone that brings me to this post today.

Have you ever felt alone? Like no one could understand you? Like no one wanted to understand you? You stand alone in an empty field, barren and broken.

The tree I like watching through the seasons reminds me of myself. We all go through our own seasons of growth and we go through our seasons of dying off or feeling alone and we suffer loneliness and brokenness in this life. But often, I feel like that tree and believe no one could ever truly relate to the events that have taken place in my life.

I’m also reminded of a story which took place in the bible thousands of years ago. Jesus and His disciples had been walking along ministering to people over the course of days, weeks, maybe even months at the time of this story. Their feet, possibly bare, and wearing flimsy sandals at best, had traveled over dirty roads, dusty pathways, and rocky terrain. Their feet and the feet of Jesus were possibly scarred from injury, possibly wound infested, but most definitely dirty and smelly at the introduction of this story.

As found in Luke chapter 7, here the story goes as follows:

Jesus had been invited for dinner at the home of a Pharisee (one of the traditional Jewish people, and a religious leader of the Jews). As the dinner was about to be served, Jesus reclined at the table in wait for the meal. In comes what the bible describes as a “sinful woman”. We don’t know how she was allowed into this Pharisee’s home or if she had crept in quietly, unbeknownst to the men gathered there. But she had heard that this Jesus was here in this home and she had made her way to Him for one purpose.

To wash His feet.

But it was the woman who received

the best gift that night.

She knelt at Jesus’ feet and we are told she brought her alabaster jar of perfume (alabaster is a fine white material used to carve ornaments and jars into). This jar contained the woman’s perfume, possibly the perfume she used in her sinful life. Some commentaries deduce that this woman was a prostitute or “woman of the night.” She had seduced many men with her charm, her appeal, her looks, her perfume. And yet, this woman thought she could bring that alabaster jar and anoint the feet of the Messiah, the Savior of the world. In fact, she brought to Him all she had to offer. She had no riches, no fame, no true reason to believe Jesus would even see her, let alone greet her with a holy kiss or warm compassionate embrace.

Still, she came to those dirty feet of the Master.

And as she knelt, she began to cry over His feet. We aren’t told why she cried, but we can believe that she cried out her sins to the Man who knew her sins already. He knew her sinful life and loved her unconditionally. The woman then used her hair which should have been put up and covered, as was customary, to dry her own tears from Jesus’ feet, kissed his feet, and poured her perfume over them.

The Pharisee, indignant, asked himself how Jesus, this self-proclaimed prophet, one who could see into the future and knew things a simple man or even a religious leader did not know–surely this Jesus knew that this woman was sinful and should not be near such a religious bunch of men. She was not allowed to associate with such people; surely Jesus knew her sins and her lifestyle. How on earth could He allow this woman to touch Him, let alone become so intimate and close to Him?

We pick up in verse 40 of chapter 7.

⁴⁰ Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

⁴¹ “Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. ⁴² Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

⁴³ Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.

Jesus then goes on to speak directly to the Pharisee, keeping His eyes on the woman, comparing the woman and what she offered versus what he had offered.

“Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. ⁴⁵ You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. ⁴⁶ You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. ⁴⁷ Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

⁴⁸ Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

And again, to the sinful woman, Jesus replies,

“Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

This woman. How dare she! How dare she come into this Pharisee’s house and act the way she did in front of his guest! How dare she bring her sinful perfume used to lure men into lust and pour it out over Jesus, this religious teacher!

Yes, how dare she.

I love this woman. I’ve been this woman. Oh, I’ve never lived her lifestyle, but I have been reduced to my sinful nature and have hit rock bottom before the Lord. I have made mistakes and committed my own sins that Jesus has forgiven me from. And if the truth be told, I’m still a sinful woman. I sin likely daily. Whether it be my attitude or my thoughts or my actions, I know I’m far from perfect in the eyes of the “religious leaders” and in the sight of God. But still, I come. Like this woman, I come and bring whatever I have to offer at the feet of Jesus.

But here’s the kicker.

The woman came alone.

Like the tree in the middle of the field I described, she stood, rather knelt alone. Like the tree, exposed, this woman came to Jesus, knowing He knew her sin before she could even utter one word. Like the tree with gnarly limbs and ugliness in appearance, this woman came to Jesus broken and “useless” in the sight of men but was embraced as precious and even forgiven in the sight of the Savior.

And yet, she approached Jesus alone.

No one forced her to attempt this act.

She came alone.

And in her loneliness and vulnerability, she was forgiven immediately. Her faith in Jesus made her whole and worthy of His love and grace and mercy.

But she came alone. Standing alone is a brave thing to do. And this woman came to Jesus.

Alone.

 *Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

 

 

 

What You See Is Not Always What You Get

I have just finished reading one of two books I’m into these days. One is a book about finding your purpose and basically kicking fear in the teeth; the other is a book  called Boundaries by Townsend and Cloud.

My life coach lives and breathes by that book, among others, and recommended it to me when we first started our sessions. I read the first couple of chapters but never finished it. She suggested I try again and not to speed read, as is my tendency with books (I like to get as many books read in a year as I can and then share those results with my social media “family.”) But with this book I am really trying to take my time reading, highlighting and underlining and taking notes along the way. I am trying to slow down to take it all in.

As I finished reading this morning, I sat in my most comfortable arm chair, one I’ve written about before as being my comfort for days when I feel stressed, sensing the arms around me envelop me in a warm embrace. I feel safe there.

I rested in my favorite chair, worked on finishing up my once-hot coffee, now turning to a cool, almost cold beverage that I could barely swallow, and looked out my front picture window.

Across the highway, stands my neighbors’ house. The couple who live there moved in several years ago and the husband was one of my elementary teachers. The couple are both retired now and have much time to keep their lawn perfectly mowed all throughout the spring, summer, and fall seasons. It makes our lawn look like an episode of Hoarders (ok not that bad, but you get the picture–my husband and I both work full-time jobs so household work gets put on the back burner much of the time).

I looked across the country road to our other neighbors’ house, and their niche is landscaping. They have been neighbors to me and my family of origin for over 40 years. They have a multitude of trees, plants, shrubs, flowers galore, and they are both well into their 60s and 70s. They work hard every single day to maintain and keep their yard trimmed and well-groomed.

This home, I’ve been in several times in my life, as their girls were friends of mine growing up. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been inside their home. I know they have done home improvements and have created a unique space for themselves inside and outside their house. I can only imagine what it looks like now compared to what I remember from my childhood.

The first neighbor I introduced, well, I’ve only been in their house a handful of times and that was when I was really young. The people who owned the house before my former teacher and his wife were an elderly couple who had a basketball goal on their driveway and me and my dad and my middle brother would go play there from time to time. I only remember being in the house a few times; since the newest  owners, I can only imagine what the inside looks like.

That’s where this writing takes me today: does the outside match the inside?

I sat in my comfy chair, just looking out my picture window in the living room and across the highway to my neighbors’ house. What was it like inside these days? I can imagine it was a spotless and clean as they kept their yard–neat and tidy. I wondered if they sat in their living room, drinking their coffee, and after their quiet reading time, looked across the highway to our home. What would they imagine seeing?

Last summer, I made it my project to paint all the shutters on our house (that’s 10 to be exact). We live in a grey Cape Cod house where the white porch posts stand erect as they march across the front like soldiers fighting in a row in the Revolutionary War. Add two turquoise rocking chairs perched on either side of the front door, and on one side, an end table to match and you have my front porch. The shutters used to be a burgundy but I chose a more friendly yellow to paint them and freshen up our house a bit.

As I painted and listened to music, drinking an occasional sweet tea, I would have the opportunity to look inside the house, into one of our three windows on the ground level. There I would see our youngest son in the middle window, waving at me or asking me what I was doing.

I was trying to clean up the outside while the inside remained . . . well, not so tidy.

Don’t get me wrong . . . our house has it’s moments of being clean but with two boys and full-time jobs and with me and my writing gig, the house gets neglected more often than not.

So what would my neighbors see if they looked inside one of the three windows today?

The first window on the left would be my dining room/office. It’s where homework is done and writing gets written. Bills get paid here and books are arranged on one of two bookshelves in the space allotted as “the library.”  And I have MANY books. My husband frequently inquires about the elimination of books to create space for literature I see as really essential. However, how can I possibly part with any of my “babies?” I have tried over the years, but I never know when I will begin reading a book purchased years ago or if I’ll wish to re-read a book I have read more than once already. I just can’t seem to part with any of them.

The far right window, if the blinds were open, would reveal the master bedroom. It might find the television on with a football game playing or if in the evening, a popular and amusing sit-com. The bed would not be made and there would be a mountain of my clothes (right, I readily admit they are mine and my husband does not contribute to the  pile, but in my defense, I have a hard time deciding what to wear to work every morning–these are difficult decisions, you know?)

The middle window would open up to a view of my catch all room for laundry. Yes, it’s also the living room, but we seem to make it a room without a view. We excuse the piles of clean clothes folded, ready to be put away by the fact that we don’t get visitors or have parties of people coming in the front door for an evening of entertaining. We just live so far away from town that if we engage in social activities, they are with our friends in town and not in our country home.

I cleaned up the outside, but the inside was still a mess.

That’s how our lives look from time to time. Clean on the outside; messy on the inside.

From scripture, we see the time to anoint a new king of Israel. Samuel, saddened that the Lord would not allow Saul to be anointed, hears from the Lord that he is to go to the house of Jesse of Bethlehem to anoint a son of that man to become the new king. He was to “fill [his] horn with oil and be on [his] way” (I Samuel 16:1 NIV). When Samuel arrived the house of Jesse, he was to sacrifice a heifer and tell the household that the Lord that he had come to anoint the new king.

As the sons of Jesse were examined by Samuel, the Lord rejected each one. Samuel, in his confusion as to where the Lord was guiding him, heard God say, “Do not consider his appearance of his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (I Samuel 16:7 NIV).

Samuel asked if these men were all Jesse had to offer; in response, Jesse tells him there is one more son tending the sheep in the fields. When the last son arrived, Samuel noticed “he [David] was ruddy, with a fine appearance and handsome features” (I Samuel 16:12 NIV) even though he was the youngest.

The other brothers looked more kingly than the youngest brother, but God saw David’s heart and knew what David would look like as a king. He knew David from the inside out.

Does God know me from the inside out?

The answer is “yes”. Whether you are a believer or not, God knows you so intimately; more than you think you know yourself.

So, you can try to clean up the outside, but if the inside is not tidied up, God still sees the inside of man. He knows not only the outward appearance but

He Looks at the Heart.

What are you trying to hide today? What are you trying to fix up on the outside but your inside is falling apart? God sees our faults and loves us just as we are. We don’t need to fix the inside before we invite Him in.

We just have to open the door.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

The Stolen but Redeemed Gift

My boys used to love the games at Chuck E. Cheese–heck, my husband still does! See, what they liked, beyond the fun and the challenge of the games themselves, was having the machines spit out tickets for how well they’d done on the game. They then earned as many tickets as they could with the money they’d been allowed and would take those tickets to a counter where they’d been eyeing that prize their friends would envy them for–as opposed to the plastic spider ring they actually could get.

Those tickets–that’s what’s been on my mind this week. I don’t recall what the tickets actually say, but I’m pretty sure they say something like, “This ticket can be redeemed for–”

So they serve as a form of money–or payment. We hold on to those tickets like they are gold and pick up stray ones we see on the floor that someone has dropped, unknowingly, without care on their part. What’s the ticket worth? Yes, I know it’s just a piece of paper that we use in a gaming exchange for prizes, but I can’t help but feel we all have that one ticket that means more than anything to us.

To me, that ticket was my childhood innocence. I didn’t know how much that ticket meant until it was taken from me. And the boy who took it–didn’t give me a wonderful prize of love or affection. Instead, he stole my innocence, joy, self-worth, and control. His way of “paying” for my exchange of my ticket was not how I would have dreamed of redeeming my prize. In fact, there was no valued “prize.”

I want that ticket back.

I want to take back the moment he forced me to become vulnerable to his urge. I want to take back the feeling of knowing what he was doing–all that he was doing–was so wrong. I want to take back my ticket of knowing that what he was doing TO me was not the way I wanted or deserved to be treated.

I want that ticket that takes away the feeling of being an object of pleasure.

I want that ticket back!

But he stole it from me.

And he stole it from my husband.

He took my ticket and didn’t give me a beautiful prize in exchange.

BUT–

I want that ticket back.

I want to take it back and have it REDEEMED by a loving, gracious exchange.

I know–I WANT to know–that Christ HIMSELF–can take that ticket of my innocence and can Himself REDEEM–“regain or gain possession of something”–in exchange for HIS purchase of ME. Christ REDEEMS us–“frees us from captivity by payment” by His death and resurrection.

Colossians 1:13-14 claims this truth:  “For HE has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves, in whom we have REDEMPTION, the forgiveness of sins.”

Christ paid the ultimate prize for me—He redeems me.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

The Robin and My Relationship with Jesus

Relationships are a funny business. Some last for what seems forever; others remain only for a season.

And with those relationships, come the memories–both good, and sadly, the bad–those lingering memories last longer than time itself. Those memories include fun times of silliness and inside jokes, along with stories that only the individuals in the relationship can truly appreciate and re-tell or re-live with authority. If you would indulge me for just a moment or two of your time, allow me to share with you one such relationship which I treasure close to my heart–and how a story shared between two people transformed my thinking and relationship for eternity.

Being the oldest grandchild in both family lines has advantages that I’ve been blessed to experience in my own life. Of course, there’s the “first” of everything . . . and the spoiling that comes from being first. But, I can’t say I remember enjoying those privileges because my cousins on both sides were only a year behind me in age. My middle brother is four years younger than I am and I’ve asked both he and our youngest brother if either of them recall the story I am about to share with you. Neither of them knew the story our grandpa told me–I guess I was the blessed one here for this special tale.

Our grandpa was a fairly introspective man, often spending his mornings awake before anyone, sitting in the quiet of the dining room, facing outward toward his favorite window, drinking his coffee, reflecting and praying. When we would spend the night, since I was the oldest and the only girl in my family, I got the comfiest sleeping arrangement of the grandchildren’s possibilities–I got the sofa, while my brothers got sleeping bags on the floor to “camp out”. From my place of rest, I had full view of our grandpa, his back to me.

On more than one occasion, I would rise from my comfortable blankets and go join him for cereal and milk or doughnuts and juice. Our grandpa loved us dearly and uniquely, and even more importantly, loved stories and loved Jesus. As a storyteller myself, even in those younger years, we created and allowed for a special bond between the two of us. I’ve often thought about this particular story he shared with me; it has embedded itself in theme and meaning so deeply over the years.

There’s an old traditional (Irish, I think) tale of Jesus on the cross and the robin. My grandpa treasured God’s nature and especially birds. I recall the tale as such: The robin, known for its distinctive red belly, legend has it, was originally completely brown when it was created by God. Jesus, beaten, bruised, bloodied–thorns forced into His sacred head, nails pierced into His compassionate hands, a stake driven forcefully into His mission-driven feet, a spear thrust into His warm and loving side–Jesus, dying on that brutal and cruel cross for our sins, still found peace and kindness for not only us, but also for the thieves on either side of Him. Legend has it that the robin came near Jesus where the blood drops ran down His face and cheek and began singing a lullaby of peace to comfort the dying Savior. As the robin flew closer to our Lord, the blood shed for our sins rubbed against the belly of the beautiful creature, allowing the feathers to absorb the moisture from Jesus deep within its soul.

I feel God speaking to me about this. Hang with me.

Oh, it’s a legend and it’s sweet, speculating how the robin got its red belly. I am readily aware that this is not biblical; however, I think God can speak to us all about our relationship with Jesus Christ. Two things have been given to me:

• Jesus comforts at all times, in all circumstances.
• The robin absorbed the blood into its daily living.

First of all, let’s consider Jesus’ role as The Comforter. In the gospels, it is recorded that Jesus hung on the cross next to two thieves, men who had truly been convicted of crimes against the law. One man mocked Jesus, while the other expressed his remorse for the crimes he had committed and asked Jesus, “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom” (Luke 23:42 MSG) and Jesus replied, with His forgiveness demonstrated, “Don’t worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise” (vs. 43).

Even as Jesus is breathing His last breaths, He is about the Father’s business of forgiving the seeking heart. And then in the book of John, it is recorded, “Jesus saw his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her. He said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that moment the disciple accepted her as his own mother” (Luke 19:24-27 MSG). Again, Jesus assures those in His care that they will be taken care of and loved on–comforting them in His discomfort.

The robin came to comfort Jesus and in exchange,

was comforted by His touch.

So that brings us to the robin’s role. Grandpa relayed the robin’s part in this play as one who comforted Jesus on the cross. But let’s look at how the robin could have such a deeper meaning for our own lives. The bird, changing in color from brown to red (the initial premise of the story), tells me the robin could represent Jesus Himself, taking on our own sins in His cruel death on the cross. He bore OUR sins, just as the symbolic robin bore the blood Jesus shed. But I think I’d like to see the robin as myself. Oh, not that I came close to God, the Son, on the cross. I would have likely been like the disciple, Peter, denying I knew my Savior–darn fear that overtakes me. But look at the details of this legend and why my grandpa shared it in the first place: the robin took on a different look after being in Jesus’ presence. It allowed the blood to cover its body, absorbing the new tone, the new covenant into its feathers and life and a NEW creature was created for eternity.

Wow, that’s good stuff there!

Whether we decide to connect the bird to Jesus Himself, taking on our sin or choose to have the robin symbolize our own lives, the message is still clear:

The robin came close to Jesus and Jesus’ blood changed it.

II Corinthians 5:17-18 proclaims this truth: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation” (NIV). The Message relates this truth as well, saying, “We certainly don’t look at him [Jesus] that way anymore. We look inside, and what we see is that anyone unified with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! . . . . All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him . . .” (MSG).

So, while my grandpa, my special best friend, shared a simple story with me those many years ago, that story has remained close to me, allowing me to learn more about myself and my sins covered by the blood of Jesus Christ. His call is for me to live as the new creation He gives me through His transforming forgiveness and grace.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

what life do i deserve? (“dear little girl”)

Dear sweet, little girl,

I hate that it’s taken this long to speak with you.

I hate that it’s taken this long to give you a voice.

I hate that it’s taken this long to acknowledge your rights.

But . . . here we are. Decades creating a chasm of difference from each other. Years of losing ourselves in–well, ourselves.

Losing precious time that we both deserve to use for healing and restoration.

Losing energy in the fight against the demons that rage in our thoughts.

Losing our voice in the noise of confusion and despair and wrapped inside a time capsule, frozen and held captive just above and beyond our reach.

But . . . here we are. Finding each other. Finally seeing the other for what we were and are and will become. We will become whole again. We must become whole to conquer the enemy and fully become free from the tyranny we’ve allowed to reign in our minds for far too long. He must not win. We are the victors here, sweet little girl.

I want and need you to hear me on this; if you hear nothing else I claim for you, please believe this:

IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT.

Period. 

I know you want to find other reasons why you were abused and why didn’t someone stop him and what you could have done differently. The truth is . . . HE would not stop. The blame falls directly and entirely on HIM.

And in reality, even HE is not at fault. At the core, Satan himself is the ultimate enemy. He used the boy as his weapon of perversion to violate you.

And the boy fell right in line for battle of your mind, body, and soul. He DID make the decision to act on his sick and twisted urges and desires.

BUT YOU DID NOT HAVE THAT CHANCE TO DECIDE.

THIS WAS NOT YOUR FAULT.

HE was the one who made terrible, horrible, sinful decisions to use anyone he could find for his depravity and enjoyment and exploitation.  He would have found any unsuspecting girl to prey upon. But he happened upon you. And while I know you want to shame yourself for being vulnerable and naive, can I please offer this to you: You didn’t know any better. You were enticed and groomed and manipulated. You were not meant to endure his pleasure. You were not destined on becoming his victim. He chose those results and titles and roles for you to play. But the good news? Oh yes, dear one, there IS good news . . .

YOU GET TO CHOOSE FOR “YOU” NOW.

You get to choose what you will do with the hurt. You get to choose what you will do with the pain. You get to choose to wallow in pity or rejoice in survival. My hope is that you’ll choose to find strength in the fact that you were chosen by GOD to live HIS story through your own. But nevertheless, YOU GET TO CHOOSE YOUR PATH TO HEALING.

Because that’s exactly what you deserve.

You don’t deserve a life full of self-doubt, self-pity, self-loathing.

You don’t deserve a life full of wondering, wrestling, waiting.

You don’t deserve a life full of shaming, blaming, hating.

You deserve LIFE.

You deserve HOPE.

You deserve HAPPINESS.

You deserve LOVE.

You deserve FREEDOM.

You deserve to live in a daily renewal of your mind and spirit as you pour out your soul to the One who loves you and has loved you from before time began.

You deserve to live with joy and laughter and not a care in the world except to love the beauty that surrounds you in nature and in life and more importantly, the beauty inside of you.

Yes, sweet one.  YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

Your eyes speak kindness and compassion for others.

Your lips form a fragrance of lavish words that envelop those you love.

Your hands, gracious and delicate, hold beauty for a minute in eternity.

Your arms wrap around yourself for a gentle embrace that you so lovingly deserve.

Your skin is the velvet, so silky to the touch and envied by all, olive toned and bronzed with ease in the warm, radiant sun.

Dear one . . . YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. See it, know it, believe it.

You no longer have to hide behind a smile of lies. You can smile with peace now.

You no longer have to hide behind a wall of fear. You can face any fear you have boldly.

You no longer have to hide behind approval of others. You have been approved by God.

You no longer need to please others. You are the joy of your Father in heaven.

And He loves you so much.

He always has.

Yes, even in those dark moments. Even when the heat seemed unbearable. Even when you felt alone and scared.

Yes, sweet baby girl. God has always loved you. Even in the pain and the confusion.

Even when you’ve not loved yourself.

And He desperately wants you to love yourself.

WHY?

Because you are amazingly talented with gifts from the Father Himself.

Because you are a beautiful precious girl, destined to be a beautiful woman, inside and out.

Because you will grow to be a wonderful mother and wife who demonstrates love.

Because you have a genuine love and compassion for others. You always have and still do.

Because the world of hurting, lost people need YOUR encouragement and friendship.

Because you are unique and lovely and smart–and the world needs women like you.

Because . . . simply put, YOU ARE HIS DAUGHTER.

And little Phoenix, you will rise.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

behind those eyes . . .

She looks in the mirror and tries to see what’s behind those eyes

The tears that she’s held back, what she’s kept hidden, too traumatized.

It’s been so long ago, since she actually looked at that face

And as she lingers a bit longer, she finds she can’t erase

The haunting ghost, the one who resides deep within

The demon who clings to her and spews poisonous venom.

He’s taught her to hate, to judge, to reject, to accuse

He’s taught her no one will love her, she’s broken and bruised.

She’s believed that she was the one who asked for the abuse

She’s believed she went looking for the boy she seduced.

The mirror doesn’t lie, she tells herself as she leaves

And it’s those lies she hears and wants not to believe

Please tell her the truth, that she was not the one to blame

That living this life of lies as her truth is living in shame.

Please tell her that she is loved, ever precious, the daughter of the King

And Jesus Christ holds out His tender arms to call her Redeemed.

Please tell her, before she loses herself in her self-hate

Please tell her so she can take a small step in freedom and grace.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

 

 

revealing my secrets I’ve refused uttering, releasing my ghosts

What’s that in your hand?

Throw it down!

You read that right. I said throw it down!

We hold on to “stuff” that really doesn’t matter. Like watching an episode of Hoarders, we see those who suffer from holding on to EVERYTHING, only to witness them turn physically ill from the horrible living conditions they’ve created and from distancing their friends and family as a result of their tightened grip.

What are we holding onto that makes us unhealthy, emotionally and mentally, physically and spiritually, and pushes our friends and family away from us? What are we holding onto that holds us back from a greater purpose?

As a survivor of childhood trauma, I have walked a path different than some of you. Words that were said, actions taken against me, inferences made about my self-worth as a result of the abuse have shaped the person I’ve become. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not claiming you haven’t had your own struggles or that my life events have been more traumatic than yours. I’m simply recognizing the results of what happens to us can shape who we become.

Several years ago, as I was trying to fall asleep for a nap, it was observed that I slept with my thumbs tucked in my tightened fists. I had never noticed it before. In fact, I argued that I had never done it before and my excuse resulted in claiming I was probably just cold that particular day. No, the observer stated. It had been happening for a while; it was only THIS time that it was revealed to me.

I recall the time of that conversation because I had just begun therapy with my first therapist for my anxiety during that period of my life. As I went to sleep each night, I noticed the “quirk” which just seemed to be a part of me that, at that time, I hadn’t connected to what I was working on in my therapy sessions.

I have to say–now that I’ve changed therapists, faced the details of my abuse, gone through much work to heal, and have taken steps to find freedom in Christ, I don’t sleep that way any longer. Better yet, if I start to clench my fists (usually the result of a trigger I’m facing), I realize the WHY behind it. Let me jump back into the Old Testament to the story of Moses for a minute to connect some dots God has drawn for me.

Here’s the backstory, found in Exodus: Pharaoh, the Egyptian ruler, had taken the Israelites–God’s people–captive. Moses, a follower of God, was asked to lead God’s people out of Egypt and captivity and into the Promised Land and into freedom. Moses, like many of us, kept telling God he was not good enough, not equipped for the task, not adequate for the job requirements. Yet, God kept pursuing Moses as the one He wanted to complete His great mission. God had a great plan for using Moses for what seemed impossible.

We pick up at the beginning of Exodus chapter 4:

 Moses answered, “What if they [the elders] do not believe me or listen to me and say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you’?”

² Then the Lord said to him, “What is that in your hand?”

“A staff,” he replied.

³ The Lord said, “Throw it on the ground.”

Moses threw it on the ground and it became a snake, and he ran from it. ⁴ Then the Lord said to him, “Reach out your hand and take it by the tail.” So Moses reached out and took hold of the snake and it turned back into a staff in his hand. ⁵ “This,” said the Lord, “is so that they may believe that the Lord, the God of their fathers—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob—has appeared to you.”

Moses excuses himself from the mission God set before him, saying, “the people won’t believe me–they won’t believe that You have sent me.” And God says, “Oh dear Moses, why do you doubt My power? Why do you doubt that I have great things in store for my people–for YOUR life? Just LET GO of what you’re holding onto and let Me show you what I can do if you obey.” That’s how I have felt lately as God has been challenging me to share my story of freedom with my world. But what is/has been holding me back?  I doubt anyone would really want to hear my story or need my story. After all, I’m just an ordinary person and there are so many more better equipped people to tell their story over my own. But, I can’t explain this urge. This “itch” if you will to be used by God in a crazy mighty way. I feel God wants to use me for a big purpose–His purpose. So . . . was I/am I like Moses?

Was I holding onto something as I fell asleep each night? Absolutely. For one, my triggers and nightmares from PTSD and the memories I was opening up about in therapy led to my “fighter stance” with my clenched fists at night. That first observation happened over six years ago. Night after night, I would fall asleep like that. Night after night, I prepared to fight in my sleep if needed. Night after night, I held on for dear life.

But I don’t sleep with that same tension now. Why? Well, for one, I have an amazing therapist who has believed me and my story and has been so supportive, even praying for me and being available as I’ve needed her in particularly anxious times. For another, I’ve allowed my husband a bit of insight to my worries and thoughts about believing I’m unlovable and have allowed him slowly to draw closer to me and show me what true love actually looks like–and that HE is one of the GOOD GUYS. And yes, my family all now know about the abuse and the secret I’ve kept from them for over three decades. So, now I feel more free to allow God to use my story to glorify Him.

But the best reason why I don’t sleep that way is because . . . ready for it? I wrote my abuser a 9 page letter at the end of this summer. I told him all the things I thought about him, how what he did to me (and yes, I wrote out the details of the abuse) had affected me in such a destructive and paralyzing way, that he had trapped me for so many years . . . and now? Now, I would not allow him to have that power over me. He had taken too much from me and had stolen too many years from me. So . . .

I forgave him.

Yep, that’s right. I forgave him and let him go. I released my grip from him. I threw him on the ground. He never got the letter; my therapist and I ripped it up in her office after she read it aloud. But as we tore the papers, I could literally feel my grip releasing and God taking my hand to lead me to greater purpose in FREEDOM!

God is going to use me and my story. I know He will. He promises to use the brokenness to show others the way to His freedom. But first, I had to let go.

So again, I ask, “What’s in your hand?” Throw it down and see where God wants to take you into His grace, redemption, and freedom. For me, I just want God to use me as He guides me to tell my story for others to hear His truth.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

 

 

when brokenness is all you have

Oh the weather outside is frightful . . . no, seriously. It’s subzero temps combined with blowing and drifting snow . . . less than “delightful,” that’s for sure. And as I’ve been home with my family today, I’ve been thinking on what God wanted me to write . . . but I don’t want to force the writing. I never want to write “just because it’s Tuesday” or because I feel it’s been too long since the last post. I mean, I do have a goal of writing twice a week and really craft my writing with purpose, but if God doesn’t guide it, I don’t want to write it. (Hey, I should put that on a t-shirt or–EVEN BETTER–A COFFEE MUG!!! SCORE!)

But as I’ve watched weather reports and paid attention to the white-out view from my front window, I can’t help but think of warmer climates. And with those warm, fuzzy thoughts comes stories and memories made with my family in the summer months on the beach.

I’m definitely not a “looker” in a swimsuit and I don’t body surf or boogie board (I save those for my husband). I’m not one who enjoys digging into the sand on my hands and knees, feebly attempting to get ONE darn bucket of sand to stand alone as our “castle.” (Again, I encourage my husband to participate in that activity with the kids.) But, I do love the beach. I love the sun on my face, the sand between my toes, the sound of the waves crashing the shoreline. The enjoyment I get watching my family bond is something I can’t really begin to describe. A good book, a drink, my family–all is good in the world.

I’m reminded of one special summer in South Carolina. Oh, they’re all special, but this one seems to stand out to me because, if memory serves correctly, it was the kids’ first time in South Carolina. We have one kid who loves history and the Civil War era, so of course, Charleston was on the agenda; the other kid? Well, he loves horses, so we found a horse ranch for him to ride a horse. And . . . of course, GOLF for everyone!!!

The particular day that stands out to me was when the kids were trying to find as many shells as possible (and of course, we had to take them ALL back to the condo with us to clean off to give to family back home)! Our youngest though, didn’t quite get the concept of what a seashell actually was. He kept bringing us bottle caps or other “debris” in his little pudgy hands, only to have us remind him that what he was bringing was not the loot he should possess. After multiple attempts, I had hoped he had given up and gone back to getting back to his dirty, gritty fun, digging in the sand. I closed my eyes, knowing my husband was on “kid duty” for a bit while I rested. Next thing I heard was the thumping, flopping of that familiar walk from our little guy.

As water dripped on my sun-tanned skin from his hands, he held out his treasure.

“Here, Mommy.  I got these for you.” As I opened my eyes to his proud, cheesy grin, I saw what he had gathered.  Shells. Actual shells. But not whole shells. Broken pieces of what used to be a complete shell.
“Oh, honey, these are broken. Have Daddy help you find better ones.”

He turned to his dad, and held out the pieces, asking, “Daddy, you fix these?”

I looked at my husband in humility, and realized, as my brother, a pastor, would say, “There’s a sermon in here somewhere.”

“Isn’t it funny how we do the same thing to God? We bring the broken pieces of our lives and ask Him to fix them–to make them whole again?”

When we bring the pieces of our lives to Him–

WHEN . . . Yep, that’s right. We have to choose to bring all we have–and sometimes, brokenness is all we have–to God and allow Him to shape, mold, restore what we’ve brought to Him. God doesn’t expect wholeness in order to come to Him; there’s no way we could ever repair our own brokenness.

So, I’m reminding myself–quit trying.

Quit trying to approach God WHEN I’m fixed–WHEN I’m “in tune” with Him and His word–WHEN I’m feeling “good enough”–WHEN I feel lovable. Quit. Trying. I need to approach Him at all times, in all circumstances,in all seasons, with any piece of my life, and allow Him to work His grace and mercy for my good. Sometimes, my anxiety takes over–let’s be honest–MANY times, my anxiety takes over, and the lie of Satan chimes in my head. “God doesn’t want you.  Not like this. In fact, He never really wanted you in the first
place. You are unlovable and no one could ever understand you, let alone your GOD.”

Friends, these are LIES!!! God, I proclaim YOUR truth this day. YOU ARE THE AUTHOR OF GRACE AND MERCY AND PEACE IN THE MIDST OF ANY TRIAL WE FACE.

Jesus Christ, YOU ARE LORD. You take our brokenness when it’s all we have to give and You make us beautiful, as You raise us from the ashes.

Several years ago, I was introduced to this group called All Sons and Daughters. Their song “Brokenness Aside” plays in my head often. I leave you with this amazing piece and promise:  

“I am a sinner, if it’s not one thing, it’s another

Caught up in words, tangled in lies

You are a Savior and You take Brokenness Aside

And make it beautiful–beautiful”

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

 

 

 

amnesia

Awakened from a deep sleep, drenched in sweat . . . heart beating so fast, thinking it was going to leap from my chest . . . muscles shaking from unsuccessful attempts to escape the scene. Distorted and fearful thoughts and mind racing too quickly to press the brakes and make it stop. Stomach twisted in knots, with no success in calming the anxiety rising to the surface.
2 AM . . . and no chance of returning to that nightmare. No chance to regain possession of my subconscious state of mind. No hope or desire to return to even the act of sleeping . . .

Ever have dreams so real? Nightmares that haunt you for days, even weeks? Sadly, the scenario shared with you is all too real for me–even now. The reality of how I woke up just last week still has me fighting the enemy from returning.

Having been diagnosed with C-PTSD is actually a surreal bit of knowledge. I never in my wildest dreams would have ever written that “label” in the repertoire of ME. And even though I am working through the flashbacks and the memories through prayer and counseling, I do hope and believe one day, I will have conquered the disorder through Jesus Christ. I don’t want the memories and the sins from my past to haunt me any longer. I want to forget them and put them to rest.

Oh, to forget . . .

There was a song a few years back called, “Amnesia” and although I found the song to be haunting in its own way–from one who sings of missing his love and wishes he could wake up with amnesia to forget about how things used to be–I often wish I could wake up with a bit of amnesia.  I wish I could forget all the stupid things I’ve done.  I wish I could forget all the stupid things done to me . . . I wish I could forget.

Because the nightmares would never come. I could sleep in peace.

But for now, I can’t–at least not when I am most vulnerable. I put on my armor to fight the battles during the day, but Satan wants nothing to do with my success at freedom, so he finds his way into my mind through my dreams, where I can’t fight.  But God–there it is again–those two little words–BUT GOD fights for me.

And HE forgets my confessed and forgiven sins! Isaiah 43:25 God says, “But I, yes I, am the one who takes care of your sins–that’s what I do. I don’t keep a list of your sins” (MSG).

That’s such GREAT NEWS!! That God CHOOSES to forget all our junk? Seriously? Praise GOD!

What do I do in the meantime? I pray. A lot. I seek the prayers of friends. A lot. I seek friends I KNOW will actually pray, and not just tell me what they think I want to hear. And I read. God’s Word. A lot. I study. I guard my thoughts and my mind as a treasured time capsule and find ways to allow God to penetrate the darkness that Satan has draped over me with my sins and shame and the sins committed through and connected with childhood abuse.

When I woke up, as I described earlier, I thought I had sinned in my sleep. That God couldn’t forgive that nightmare. I am learning there was nothing I did wrong–that Satan used my most vulnerable posture to attack me. So, I immediately sent a text to one of my prayer warriors. And when she got the text, she instantly began praying Psalm 91 over me, later called me to pray with me, and continues to pray for peace for me. I share part of that Psalm with you, praying over you, that you too find peace . . . and a bit of amnesia, if God allows that for you.

Psalm 91

¹ Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

 will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

² I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

my God, in whom I trust.”

⁵ You will not fear the terror of night,
    nor the arrow that flies by day,

⁹ If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”

 and you make the Most High your dwelling,

¹⁰ no harm will overtake you,

no disaster will come near your tent.

¹¹ For he will command his angels concerning you

to guard you in all your ways;

¹² they will lift you up in their hands,

so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

*Author’s note:  My name is Phoenix. I’m just a simple gal living a simple life for God. I’m a wife, mom, teacher, and writer/blogger. I want to let you know how humbled I am that you found my blog and chose to read the words God has given me this day. If you find this, or any other of these writings helpful or encouraging to you or someone you know, please feel free to share with your community/social media/e-mail, etc. I am willing to be used by God and welcome your extension of grace and encouragement.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .