There is One Who Rescues Me

I am a writer.

I tell stories.

I would love to share one with you today, if you would indulge me.

I’m 44-years-old at the time of this writing. I have seen a lot in my life. I have met and known hundreds upon hundreds of people. But there’s one who stands out in my mind–my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Bryan.

See, my abuse happened between the ages of 8-10 and I hadn’t told anyone what was happening to me so frequently by a boy several years older than I. But I would like to believe Mrs. Bryan knew.

How? Because she read my story.

While in her class, we were given the assignment of writing our “book”. Now this book isn’t anything like what I just finished writing and am working hard at to publish. This was obviously, a children’s book, written by a child. We were to write a story, if you will, and take that story and put it on what was basically onion-skinned typing paper and staple that paper inside a cardboard-like material, and finally wrap that story in wallpaper, which provided the book’s cover. We were to illustrate the story as well. (A writer I am, an artist? Well, I am not).

My story was about a teddy bear in a toy store who wanted someone to buy him and take him home to love. Ironically enough, the bear’s name was Teddy (Hey, I hadn’t honed my creativity yet–be gentle). Teddy had 16 brothers and sisters (and oh my, the illustrations I drew to accompany this book? To draw 17 teddy bears on several pages? It was a sight to see, needless to say). One night, as the bears came off the shelf to play (remember, this is pre-Toy Story, so I am thinking I was pretty clever and ahead of my time), Teddy’s eye popped off.

The next day, a little girl and her mother came in the store and after gazing at all the teddy bears, the little girl wanted the one with no eye. She wanted the one who was damaged. She wanted Teddy. The managers and the workers didn’t see the imperfect bear but her mother did. Her mother told her daughter that she was not paying for a broken toy. With that, they left the store. Teddy was sad that the little girl couldn’t take him home.

At home, the little girl and her mother got into a heated discussion about the little girl’s expensive necklace because somehow, she had lost the necklace. She didn’t know where she had lost this precious item. Her mother told her if she found the necklace, she might buy the bear for her. The girl looked everywhere for that necklace and in fact, started doing chores to raise money to pay back her mother for the piece of jewelry, and perhaps buy the bear she saw in the store. She looked and looked and looked, but couldn’t find the necklace. She didn’t know where it was.

But Teddy did.

That damaged bear had found the precious necklace on the floor of the toy store and had put it on, in case the little girl came looking for him again.

And she did. She had earned enough money to buy the bear herself. She and her mother walked in the toy store and saw the bear with no eye. The little girl squealed with excitement to see the bear was wearing her necklace! Immediately, she asked the worker to get the bear down so she could take him home with her. When she got the bear home, she sewed on an eye for Teddy.

Cute story, huh?

But there’s more to my story than just telling about a children’s book written by a child many decades ago. It’s about a little girl who wanted to tell her story to someone, anyone, would listen. Mrs. Bryan listened to my story as I read in my little fifth grade voice. The plot line was simple, the pictures amateur at best, but hidden deep in that story was my story. My voice was hidden inside the bear and the little girl. I was Teddy so much because I felt like damaged goods and I was the little girl, trying to find a way for her mother to accept the bear, even though it had no eye and was imperfect.

Did I plan on the story being that deep? I would like to think I did. I would like to think that even then, I desperately wanted someone to find me, to listen to my story, and to hear me and what I had been going through with my childhood sexual abuse. I wanted someone to notice me, just like Teddy.

And Mrs. Bryan was my angel that year. She went on and on about how wonderful the story was. She never made me feel less than perfect in her eyes. She didn’t criticize the pictures; she didn’t judge the lack of depth in the characters; she saw a little girl writing her story and Mrs. Bryan praised every aspect of my little book. She saw beauty in the rough pages of that children’s book.

Here’s the kicker. For years, I have thought of that book. I have wondered where it was. Was it stashed away at my parents’ house in old memorabilia from my childhood or was it somewhere in my own home that I had never looked before? Where was that storybook? It was the single most significant item I owned that shaped me as a little girl who was hurting to having such a vision at that young age to become a writer, a storyteller.

I found that book.

And it wasn’t where I thought I would find it. Like the necklace, the book was in a place I never would’ve expected to discover it. See, my paying gig, my daytime job, is as a teacher of English. One of my students asked for a dry erase board. I keep those in one of my cabinets. As I went to the cabinet, I opened the door, reached down to the boards and sitting right there beside the container, was my little book. It was like it was meant to be found by me that day. Just like the necklace, the bear, and the little girl all reunited, so was my story and me.

And it felt good.

I’m reminded of a parable in the bible that talks about a shepherd and his sheep. Let me remind you of the story:

“What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost”. (Matthew 18:12-14 NIV).

I’m also reminded of the story of the Prodigal Son. Here is the story.

A young man came to his father and asked for his inheritance. He was the youngest, having one older brother. His father gave him the inheritance which the young man squandered and spent recklessly. He was eventually found living among the swine. The man came to his senses and thought he could at least go back and beg for his father to allow him to live with the servants. The father, looking at the hillside, saw his son coming home. Instead of turning away from the young man, the father ran to him and treated him like royalty. (Luke 15:11-24 NIV).

I like these parables. They give me hope that no matter where I am, no matter how “damaged” I feel on the inside, the good Shepherd will come looking for me. Just as the little girl looked for the bear, the necklace, so does God go looking for us. In contrast, me finding my book without really searching long and hard for it, God knows exactly where I am and will come after me to save me and rescue me.

I had a friend recently ask what she should do with God because she had lost her faith in Him and wasn’t sure if she could get it back. I guess I have to direct her and you to these passages again. God will go after you, will go looking for you, will find you. Even if you don’t know you’re lost, like this sheep that wandered off, He will find you. All you have to do is be still and wait for Him. Just like the father in the Prodigal Son parable, your father is waiting to embrace you and welcome you home.

*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. Please feel free to follow me using your e-mail or the follow button on the right side of this post. Thank you for your readership and support. I am humbled.

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 . . .

What to Do While You Ride the Struggle Bus: She’s got a Ticket to Ride

I have to admit, I’ve been on the struggle bus lately. Getting up early in the morning, showering, picking out something to wear to work, driving to work, doing my job (I’m a junior high English teacher for my paying gig), coming home to find myself too tired to do much of anything, let alone write, well . . . it’s getting to me.

All I want to do is write.

Write for myself.

Write for God.

Write for friends.

Write for you.

So getting up to do my paying gig? Not something that gives me passion any more. It used to. I used to love teaching but the demands that are placed on us every year and now it seems each week and each day get more and more challenging to handle.

I wish my non-paying gig would start paying so I could resign from my paying gig. I wish more than anything that you would love my writing so much that I could write all day, reaching out to you, sharing with you, spreading a message of hope to more readers and to a much broader audience.

But I have my ticket punched. And it’s to ride the struggle bus.

What do I do as I wait for my writing to take off? I do what I have to do until I can do what I want to do. I work. I go to my job and give the best I can give until the next time I sit at a computer. I wait. I wait sometimes impatiently. I just printed off the first draft of my first book that I’ve been working on for the past year or so. 190 pages and 41,000 words to be exact. I want that book to take off so badly because I know my audience would learn about themselves and about God. That book has been a lesson on God and who He is and who I am in Him and I have learned more than I thought I ever could.

Writing that book has

stretched my faith,

stretched my learning,

stretched my belief.

It’s my life’s passion.

So other than work my regular job, what do I do as I wait? I practice. I try to write every day. Even if it’s not good. Even if it’s just me writing down random sentences that don’t connect and aren’t tied to each other. I write. I write every day. I have to keep practicing to keep my passion alive. I write for you.I write for myself. I write for therapy. I write to get my thought out. I write to heal. I write to laugh.  I write to see if there’s anything worth reading tucked inside me.

But I practice.

I share. I reach out each week to you, my reader, and hope I can share some positive truth about life with you. I show up each week with a blog for you to enjoy. To learn from. To make you think. To make you more compassionate.  To make you draw closer to each other and to God. But needless to say, whether I think the words I am writing are “special” enough or not, I show up and I share. I hope that you are able to share your truth with those in your life and with those you come in contact with daily. How can I share more with you? What would you want me to address? I’m not a bible scholar nor do I claim to know it all, but I know in writing my book, my bible has gotten quite a workout and now it’s tattered and torn around the edges. My bible has been beaten up and it stands the damage and lifts me up when I feel stuck and discouraged.

One of the verses I have been holding onto lately comes from Psalm 121:1-2

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.”

Another verse to encourage you as it does me throughout my struggling day is from Psalm 3:3 “But you are a shield around me, O Lord, you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.”

So as I ride the struggle bus, what do I do?

1. Wait.

2. Work.

3. Write.

4. Show Up

5. Encourage

What is it you would like to read from me? What topics or discussions or ideas do you have for me to tackle? I would love to see your suggestions in the comment section on this blog site. I look forward to hearing from you.

Until then, I wait.

*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. You may also follow me thru e-mail or the follow button on the right hand side of this page.

Blessings to you all. I will rise . . .

God is our Comfort

When I write or read, I find myself in the same place in my house. With a house full of boys, finding quiet “me” time away from video games and wrestling matches and keep-away and the “natural” atmosphere of testosterone is a challenge to acquire. Being outside during the warmer seasons lures me out into nature and peace away from the “Mom, can you (fill-in-the-blank request)” demands. But when the temperature changes and I just need some rest and relaxation, my body somehow surrenders and sinks into my favorite overstuffed chair in our living room. In fact, the chair is where I enjoy taking my weekly Sunday afternoon nap. The cloth touches my skin with ease and the arms fit around me just perfectly. Combine that with my favorite throw blanket that portrays a lighthouse on the front and a cup of coffee and an ocean breeze candle, and I am home.

How do you find comfort? A blanket wrapped around you? A warm fire in the fireplace? A tub of ice cream? Oh, I know it’s a word that we “know” how to define . . . or do we?

Comfort is defined in the Merriam-Webster dictionary as, “to cause (someone) to feel less worried, upset, frightened, etc; to give comfort to (someone)” and “to give strength and hope to; to ease the grief or trouble of”. Perhaps you are in a constant state of worry or fear, need energy, hope—perhaps you are in a mourning stage of your life. I speak with survivors of abuse, particularly sexual abuse, often and they speak of grieving a lost innocence. The thought of ever finding that true comfort that does not have an agenda behind the “kindness” becomes a trigger into those haunting images. A hug from a sincere, safe friend, a compliment, an act of compassion from someone who really just wants to offer support often is received by survivors as a tactic to lure them into yet another dangerous and deceptive trap. They know no comfort without agenda.

But God offers comfort with nothing to gain and nothing to be expected. He simply wants to comfort you. He knows you hurt. He knows you grieve. He knows you worry and fear. And He offers comfort because He IS comfort.

In Psalm 119:50, the writer, David, reminds us of this truth as he prays out to God: “Remember what you said to me, your servant—I hang on to these words for dear life! These words hold me up in bad times; yes, your promises rejuvenate me” (MSG).

And the promise He gives is as follows: “He [God] heals the heartbroken and bandages their wounds” (Psalm 147:3 MSG).

This week, allow God to wrap His arms around you and comfort you.  Rest in His warm embrace. In His promises, we can find freedom through God, the Comforter.

 

TODAY’S PIECES:

• All scripture is the absolute truth.
• God wants to comfort you.
• He expects nothing in return.
• God’s promises rejuvenate and revive us.
• Freedom comes in His warm embrace of comfort.

 

Prayer: Thank You, Father, for coming to this earth to live among us and for dying on a cross to save us from our sins. Thank You, Jesus for being our comfort in trying times. Thank You for Your promises of comfort to our weary and tired lives. Allow Your Spirit to wrap us up and to wrap Your arms around us as a comfortable blanket and allow us to bask in Your comfort and in Your safe arms. We love You and all that You are. You are our comfort this day and we thank You for comfort. Thank You for loving on me today. Amen.

*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 . . .

 

Succomb to the Waves or Fight for My Survival

My name is Phoenix.

And I am a storyteller.

Can I tell you a story?

I’m writing a book. That bit of knowledge is not to make me seem bigger than life; on the contrary, I feel very humbled in the process. But writing of any kind, tears at the soul, eats at thoughts, devours energy. It is to be raw and real. For me, that’s how my writing feels to me, whether others get that sense or not. I write for me first and if an audience outside of me follows, reads, reacts, then I feel again, a sense of humility, not one of pride or boastfulness.

But in the writing comes a frustration level. As one of my favorite authors, Kaye Gibbons, once said, “People tell you to write what you know. I tend to write what I don’t know.” And the great poet and novelist, Dr. Maya Angelou, said, “I don’t wish to say ‘writer’s block’ because to say words aloud gives them power. Instead, I wish to say ‘I’m finding it difficult to write.'”

Well, there have been several instances this past week where I felt I didn’t know what I was writing and I was sure finding it difficult to write. So what does a writer do when they feel stuck?

I had to walk away.

I had to step back and do something different.

I either took a nap or read a book.

Now the book I chose was about writing, and about writing my story, so I’m not sure how helpful or how harmful that choice has been in getting away from my writing.

But my story begins today with where I was reading, not what I was reading.

I like the comfort of my living room couch and actually, my comfy overstuffed chair. I could read for hours there, cozy with my blanket and a good book. The arms embrace me like a loving father wraps his arms around his children. The arms wrap around me keeping me warm and content as I read (or sometimes write–I tend to be a writer in front of a screen more than on paper, but on occasion, that raw writing must come out, no matter how the task is accomplished).

Well, today, I was reading on the couch, as the chair didn’t seem to hold any interest to me. I have been reading Dan Allender’s book To Be Told, and I stated earlier, it’s a book about writing your story and the process behind the writing, and how God is to be our co-author of our story.

I took a break from my reading to look around the room. To come back to reality a bit before reading the next chapter or if needed, to take a much needed break and take a nap. I was trying to establish my surroundings and to sit with the truths I had just read about fasting and prayer in the telling of our stories. I’ve never been one to fast, so that chapter was a hard one to read and swallow, if you will.

The chapter on prayer hit home because as I’ve been writing my book, writing the prayers for each day’s devotional have been the most difficult to write, so hearing about how sincere and raw our prayers should be really hit a nerve too close to home, but it was something I know God gave me to read for my writing to become more real and personal. I need my prayer life to expand and become more personal. I need to share my innermost being with God in order for Him to obtain the glory He already has possessed.

As I looked around the room, I realized or was reminded of something about myself: I collect lighthouses.  I love lighthouses. I couldn’t tell you how many I have. (Well, I guess I technically could, if I took the time to count them all). I have some that look exactly like the actual lighthouses they represent and I have some that some artist created from his or her own imagination. I have pictures and paintings of lighthouses; I even have a book on lighthouses. My blanket I use to get comfy in my living room chair? Yep, it’s got a lighthouse and verse woven into the material. I have so many because there were several holidays where that’s all I got for Christmas from friends and family. But that was years ago . . . I’m due for some new pieces perhaps.

Years ago, before I was married (so this is like 17 years ago), my then fiance, now husband, invited me to spend a week on the Jersey shore with his family and extended family from Florida and Arizona and New York for a big family reunion that was desperate in the making. Of course I went, knowing that just being with him would satisfy my longing to be with him over any desire to go on a vacation. I didn’t know what to expect, as I had only seen the ocean one time in my life and that was when I was two, so I don’t remember anything about that adventure.

I was excited to go, also, because my fiance’s grandmother had told me about a lighthouse that we could go see. I love lighthouses, as I said before, so her exposure of this fact sent chills up my spine, as I was so excited not only to see and be on the ocean, but also to see in person my first lighthouse.

The day was one of adventure, because other than the trip out to Jersey, this was our first driving excursion as a couple. Listening to our GPS tell us where to turn, where not to turn, where to u-turn, made for an interesting trip and one that we laugh at to this day. We knew we were close but couldn’t seem to get to the lighthouse.

We saw a police officer directing traffic, as the traffic light we were approaching was not in working condition. We rolled down our window, leaned out the space and asked, “where’s the lighthouse?”

The officer looking at us with an incredulous look asked, “You mean the Barnegut light?” in his thickest Jersey east coast accent.  Of course we meant the Barnegut light, but we didn’t know the exact name or location of such a structure.

Hmmmmm . . . knowing the location of a lighthouse? I find that a little ironic since the lighthouse’s job is to guide sailor’s from the shoreline. And yet, we couldn’t FIND the darn thing.

We weren’t too far off the beaten path but needed to go a little closer to the shore to park our car and walk up the way to the light itself. As we walked closer, the more anticipation rose in my gut. I even got butterflies about seeing it for the first time. Would it be as big as I hoped? Was it a short lighthouse or one that spanned the sky? Could we go inside? Could we climb the steps to the top?

We got around the bend and there she was. A tall structure, and one that I had to lift my eyes to see clear to the top. It was a rusty red colored lighthouse at the top and a dingy white halfway down on the bottom and as we walked closer, the thought of climbing any steps to the top waned considerably. My fiance and I took several pictures, one where we stood at the base of the lighthouse and stretched our necks and our camera to the very top. We took pictures beside the wall where there was pertinent information about the light and what purpose it served and how it was now not in working order and hadn’t been for years.

But that was a day I will never forget.

And a year later, we did climb steps to the top of a lighthouse–one that we saw on our honeymoon. This lighthouse was on Hilton Head Island, in South Carolina and we did in fact climb 119 or so steps inside the lighthouse and walked on the outside of the light, watching the boats come in from the day into the harbour below. The lighthouse was not as tall as the Barnegut Light but it is by far one of my favorite places. It’s candy cane colors radiate as the light itself and serves as a marking point for tourists and shoppers and visitors alike.

Why lighthouses, Phoenix? Well, there’s a picture I saw years ago of the base of a lighthouse and the waves crashing around the bottom. I’ve loved this picture and lighthouses ever since this picture crossed my path.

Look at the picture closely. There is a man, the lighthouse keeper perhaps, standing in the doorway. While we can’t see his expression on his face, we see he is out of the structure itself as the waves crash all around him.Perhaps the man is quoting this scripture: “The Lord is my light and my salvation–whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life–of whom shall I be afraid?” This verse and this picture have stuck with me on so many fearful occasions. See, I live with anxiety and depression so when the anxiety is high, I have to remind myself of this painting and of the verse that I shared.

We have nothing to fear when God is our everlasting lighthouse. And with that light, Jesus goes on to tell how WE are to be the light to others. In His sermon on the mount, Jesus declares for and to us:  Matthew 5: ¹⁴ “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.¹⁵ Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”

Not only is Jesus our light, but also we are to be the light to the world. How brightly is your light shining? I know mine grows dim so I remind myself in this story I share with you that my light must shine for the world to see. I must trust my very life to Him Who gives me light, a hope, and a future. To share my story, I must shine for the others to see.

*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 Answer is in the Howling Wind

In two days, I will turn another year older. Yeah, so . . . Ok, I have no problem admitting my age. I want to be mindful of each year and take each year as it comes. And I have no shame in telling my age. Really. I just don’t want to proclaim I’m any older than I already am, as my brothers like to tease and add on about ten years to anyone who asks about their only dear sister. But alas, I am content being the age I am at any given time. I’ve always been content–a little surprised at times, but nonetheless, content. So what year am I headed for? How old WILL I be in two days?

44 years old.

Yes, I’ll be 44-years-old in two days. (And no, this is not some self-cry for attention through birthday greetings, it’s just a fact that goes with my thoughts for this week’s post). As I consider what 44 will be like, I can’t help but think it will likely be much like 43 was or like 42 was, although 43 has been quite a year of high anxiety levels and self-discovery that have been the result of hard work in recovery and self-reflection to finding betterment toward my wholeness and freedom.

And as I end this 43rd year of my life in a few short days, I have the questions I’ve been asking all my life ringing in my ears: Am I doing God’s will? Am I living in His perfect will?

(Oh, the theologians are sitting up straighter now.) But I’ve got news for you:  it’s not that deep of an answer.

Sorry to burst your bubble with this truth I’m about to reveal.

Today, I decided to go for a little drive to a bookstore to get some books I’d been eyeing and some that had been suggested to me in recent weeks. The closest big bookstore, where I was fairly certain would have at least one of my titles, is about 45 minutes away from my house. Not a long drive, but enough that I could enjoy the scenery and get away from my country home for a bit alone. Even though the temperature was a whopping 93 degrees, I felt the need to pop open the sunroof and roll down the windows for my drive. (I was extremely grateful for the hat I brought along . . .).

Have you ever rolled down the windows? No, I mean, REALLY rolled down the windows? Ever become so mindful and present in your senses surrounding that decision? Ever give up because it was too windy and roll them back up, even a little? I didn’t. Not today. Because I was able to recognize how I wish God would speak to me about His will.

Like the wind that came through my window as I drove.

You know that kind of wind?

The wind that smooshes your nostril in so you can barely breathe.

The kind of wind that whips your hair into your face so you feel the sting.

The kind of wind where your eye has to close a bit, just to see better.

THAT kind of wind.

Oh, people talk about God talking to them in the quiet of the early morning or in the still dark nights. I don’t want a whisper.

I WANT A HOWLING, RUSHING, ROARING WIND!

I want to KNOW that I KNOW that I KNOW God is speaking to me!

I want the kind of wind that smacks me in the face so I can’t deny it was God.

I want the kind of wind that I can FEEL on my skin.

Should I quit my job? YES. NO.

Should I consolidate these debts? YES. NO.

Should I participate in this group? YES. NO.

Should I start this program? YES. NO.

Should I speak to that person about ________? YES. NO.

I don’t even care the answer. Just an answer would be nice. And a clear, evident answer would be perfect.

But God has never spoken to me like that. Not through a whisper. Not through a howling wind. So, how do I know if I’m ever in God’s will?

Well, the only thing I can figure is that my husband may be onto something. He may be right. (Shhhh. Don’t tell him I said that . . . LOL). He says we make wanting and knowing God’s will too difficult. While there a few verses in the bible that talk about the actual will of God, the simplest verse comes from I Thessalonians 5:16-18 that reads:

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

1. Be joyful always. Am I always joyful? Or am I living a miserable life, full of pity parties and sorry charlies? I want my life to be full of joy, where I embrace the joy of my friends, my family, and my God in all things given to me on this earth.
2. Pray continually. Let’s be honest. Am I praying continually? Perhaps I’d have more whisper or howling wind moments if I spent more time in prayer. And to pray “continually”. That doesn’t mean, “when I’m in crisis” or when I’m having a particularly down day. That means pray all the time. I want my prayer time to increase exponentially over the next year and grow even more the year after that.
3. Give thanks in all circumstances. Did I read that right? In ALL circumstances? God must’ve had a typo there, right? Nope. Give thanks in all things, in all circumstances, in all events and situations. Boy, that’s a tough one. But if this is “God’s will for me . . .” I had better be on it if I want to follow His will for my life in Christ Jesus.

So, it’s just that simple. Wait a minute! I guess God DID speak to me through that howling rushing wind because the ride to the bookstore and back, I was thinking how this piece would come together for you–for me–for us.

God, speak to us in Your own special way and allow us the privilege to know You more.

*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 . . .

Speaking Your Truth–Inside and Out

Ever wish your mouth would say what your head and heart were thinking? Maybe you’ve always said what you think and you’ve said what you feel.

I haven’t.

Now, I know those reading this who know me might find this truth impossible.  True, I do have an opinion on some issues and can express that opinion fairly clearly and many times, with intensity. But I’m talking about my internal voice versus my external voice. And they do not always match up.

Until recently.

I’ve been working with one of my mentors on improving my life and the lives of those with whom I interact. I’ve been learning a lot about myself and about how I have related to others throughout my life. I won’t go into all the details but let’s suffice it to say that I’ve been living some areas of my life in a way that is only hindering my growth in this life of mine.

Recently, I had been asked by someone in my life to join a large group of people for an afternoon dinner time. I really didn’t want to go. I was exhausted from my weekly job, and honestly, just wanted to go home and have my husband grill hamburgers for my own little family of four. I wanted a nap and I wanted my own time in my own space. But I’ve always given in to this person and knew I would again, if something didn’t change. Between guilt trips and passive-aggressive actions and words, I knew giving in was my only option. But thinking about and engaging with others and attempting to be social on that day just simply was not appealing to me. It felt downright wrong.

So, I declined.

Sounds like no big deal, right? Oh, but friends, it was a BIG deal for me to have my internal answer match my external response. HUGE!!! I don’t think I’d ever been able to experience that match before and it felt great to say what my needs were and not feel guilty about it. The person on the other end of the invite? I’m sure she was hurt; I’m sure she was upset with me that I didn’t agree as I always had, but honestly, I couldn’t live my life trying to please others. People pleasing is an addiction. And because of my abuse background, I’ve spent a lifetime in that addiction. It was time to take back my own life and live it for God, not for man.

I was reminded that this concept of internal and external responses had a biblical reference as well, which made my decision even more impacting and significant. Jesus Himself talked about our words and actions matching up. In Matthew 5: 37, He said, “Simply let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’, and your ‘no’, ‘no’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one” (NIV). I know the passage refers to oaths and swearing on your oath, and by God. But I have to believe God is also saying “let your answer verbally be what your heart, mind, and soul believe from the inside. Have them match each other, otherwise, you’re lying to the other person, to yourself, and to God.”

So, that day, my world changed. It became a free living experience that I intend to build upon. My internal and external must match up in order to become true to myself and free in Him.

*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 . . .

 

One Slice of My Life to Take Care of “Me”

Just Breathe.

That’s what I keep telling myself this week as this day has been coming closer and closer.

Just Breathe.

It’s what I will repeat over and over again as the day marches on without my permission.

Just Breathe.

I keep telling myself I must move forward and do this task today–for myself, no one else.

Just Breathe.

Reminding myself to breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, breathe in, hold, breathe out . . .

Just Breathe.

Today is just another day in my life and I will make it through another day.

Just Breathe.

When I want to hold my breath and refuse to give in, like a toddler in a tantrum.

Just Breathe.

What I’m doing today is taking care of “Me” when all I want to do is avoid and ignore.

Just Breathe.

Breathe, Phoenix. This day will come and go, just like yesterday, just like tomorrow.

Just Breathe.

*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 . . .

in the stillness, You speak

In the quiet of the early morning, I lie here awake

Thinking of the path You have promised with me to take

I find a strange peace when through the silence, I hear You say

“Child, take my hand and let me lead you even though you’re afraid.”

I trust you almighty God and want to hear

There is no reason–no reason at all to fear

The mission You lead me on, I know you are near

Take my hand and light the path so I can walk in the clear.

*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 . . .

Discovering strength in shallow and intertwined roots

Trees seem to have taken over my writings these days.

I can’t help it. For some reason, I’m seeing so many analogies and stories that relate and connect between the beautiful trees in God’s perfect nature and to my own life that I just have to share what I’m learning. (Plus, I’m on vacation this week and am surrounded by not only the Great Smoky Mountains, but also the beautiful trees among the trails and peaks and valleys–whereas, my house is somewhat void of such magnitude and plentiful greenery.)

My family had decided to travel up the mountain into an area called Cade’s Cove. From what I can gather, this area was a plantation or settlement of pioneer people who found peace at their homestead in this amazing valley in the Smoky Mountains. Many buildings from that time still stand and tourists drive into the cove just to enjoy this trip back in time and the hopes of seeing wildlife on their journey.

Once you reach the visitor’s center, you can get out of your car, take pictures, hike, have a picnic, etc and enjoy the sunshine from between the branches of the vast trees. You can hear the birds chirp in a fresh way and find yourself humming along in tune with the water flowing from the mill nearby.

Now, this week, we did drive that trip into Cade’s Cove, but our sons were too enthralled with technology (and we didn’t choose the fight the battle so we could enjoy nature). So my husband and I got out of the car on our own, just to walk the pathway up to a few buildings and then down by the creek to take some pictures, just the two of us.

And then I saw this particular tree.

The roots were hard to avoid as they protruded from the ground and the walk was unsteady to get to the edge of the path. I took a picture of the roots, and at that time, wasn’t really sure why, other than it was just aesthetically interesting from this amateur photographer’s perspective.  

As I’ve looked back on my pictures I’ve taken, some posted to my Instagram or Twitter accounts, I have been drawn back to this picture in particular. Why? Why did I feel the need to take THIS picture at THIS angle? Well, I was thinking I had heard something or read something about redwood trees, and although this is obviously not a redwood, the story and the facts of the redwood apply to this picture as well as my life right now.

I researched and found that for as tall as the redwood tree gets, the roots are not as deep as you might think. We assume the bigger the tree, the deeper the roots (ok, I assume that). But it’s not the case with redwood trees.

“The root systems of redwoods are very shallow. The roots grow no deeper than about ten feet and yet they support a tree that is the height of a football field. It seems impossible but in reality, the roots of the redwood tree graft and interlock with the systems of the trees surrounding it, creating a vast interlocking root platform. This prevents the toppling of even the tallest and most massive trees when soil layers become fully saturated and soggy during prolonged flooding” (http://bit.ly/1PWs3GE).

AND

“Redwoods reach their incredible height because they grow very close to each other. Redwoods are always surrounded by other redwoods! Because the 100 plus inches of annual rainfall leaves the soil with few nutrients, the trees rely on each other for their vital nutrients. Only redwoods have the strength to support other redwoods” (http://bit.ly/1PWs3GE).

How does this apply to MY life? To YOUR life?

• We need each other’s support to survive.
• We need each other’s support to thrive.
• We need each other’s support to find strength. (sorry, I couldn’t think of a good rhyming word that meant “strength”–strive, maybe. LOL).

Bottom line: whatever you’re going through (for me, it’s personal journey of healing from childhood abuse and trauma), YOU ARE NOT ALONE. We need each other to lean on to survive the journey, to grow in our healing, and to find strength in our weakness.

• You need me.
• I need you.
• We need each other.
• We 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 . . .