Category: Stella

stories of estrangement and our lost daughter, my best friend who has wandered away

Freedom From the Chains

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Stella, The Chef2 Comments

It felt like an old pattern repeating, I recognized the set of unhealthy steps each of us were taking. The best of intentions began the sequence, the middle is where things get muddled and messy. I realized where we were but didn’t know the right next move to change the progression, every option seemingly creating hurt. Stand up for myself and get honest about my hurt feelings could be reasonable options but when attempted in the past have furthered the problem. Remaining quiet and going along felt wrong as well, just another step in the unhealthy dance. I picked option three which was to let the hurt swallow me up and glue me to my couch, rob me of energy and thoughts about anything other than old pains and disappointments. Still more of the pattern. Then Sunday rolled around bringing church and I had to go because Chef needed me to bring him something and all my efforts to avoid were thwarted.

I walked in to the welcome area and this beautiful woman sitting behind a table jumped up and hugged me, even though she was in the middle of conversation with someone else. She doesn’t usually greet me that way, I don’t give off a “hug me” vibe. She stood up, reached out her arms and I went. Right inside the doors, barely made it two steps in.  A gift of acceptance that asked nothing in return.  I moved on to the sanctuary, found another friend who was busy scribbling notes. She shared that one of the songs from the morning felt like a prayer, she was preparing for the next service, said it was so powerful. I took it as a warning, the music is dangerous for a wall builder like me. Dropping my purse at my seat I went in search of another friend, one who could help with behind the scenes wedding food, one who doesn’t expect me to smile or carry on witty conversation when I am hurting. She gives me that gift while we serve, I asked for her help. I asked for help. A new thing for me. She immediately agreed, a 3 minute conversation with little details shared. She is a doer, someone who shows up and digs in. She understands brokenness, she understands that coming back is so much of the battle.

Services began, Chef was late as usual, too many people to talk to outside in the common area. He doesn’t avoid real conversation like I do. I sat alone as the music began, looking around for Janet, my touchstone when I am feeling lost. I remembered she was out of town, I considered what she would tell me. She would be proud of me that I came to church when I didn’t want to, she would make some comment about me talking to people. She would smile and mouth hello from her spot a few rows back. My ritual of looking for the safe friends around me, those who bolster me up and share their courage was another pattern. These are the healthy choices, the ones that can’t fix the other problems but change who I am and what I need. I had found other touchstones, more “Janets” in the women who worship around me.

The music began, that song surrounded me and entered my soul. I didn’t have a defense strong enough to ward off the message, God was determined to speak to me. I managed to hold off my tears, I made it through. Then my friend led us in prayer and one of our gifted musicians who oozes the Holy Spirit from his guitar and sweet voice began to gently sing parts of the song again. The tears began and I lost control. I sobbed in my seat, Chef held me, no idea what was going on. I cried, a catharsis finally. I opened my wounds at the altar, I allowed God to see into what I had been trying to cover up. I heard His promises. New pieces of a pattern began to emerge. After the service another friend rushed up to hug me, a sweet embrace to transfer some of my hurt, an acknowledgment that we carry the burdens of our sisters in this congregation. We are never alone here.

I am often a slow learner, I find myself hearing the lesson repeated but it doesn’t sink in until I am ready. Today I heard that I have a choice to feel victimized by the actions of others, that I can feel hurt or just know this is their dance. I can do the cha cha while they tango. I learned again that Jesus is with me in the hurt, beside me in my pain and He alone will heal me. These others in my life are not responsible for my feelings, not responsible for changing the patterns with me. Jesus will work on them as well, maybe one day we will dance together but not today.  Right now it is enough that I stepped away, came back to my foundation and allowed the grace of my faith community to minister to me in so many unique ways.  When I consider how to share the gospel, I think about the real meaning of that word, good news. I can’t ruminate on the bad news around me when I am surrounded by the light and grace of Jesus lived out in this faith community. The good news is that I have a savior who pursues me, stands beside me in the fire, heals me.  That saying, “Dance with the one that brought ya,” just might be biblical. Swaying to this song today, praising God for His faithfulness and His children who share their gifts with me. I walked into church hurting, I left rejoicing. Pattern broken.

Jesus by Chris Tomlin and Ed Cash 

There is a truth older than the ages
There is a promise of things yet to come
There is one born for our salvation
Jesus
 
There is a light that overwhelms the darkness
There is a kingdom that forever reigns
There is freedom from the chains that bind us
Jesus
Jesus
 
Chorus
Who walks on the waters
Who speaks to the sea
Who stands in the fire beside me
He roars like a lion
He bled as the Lamb
He carries my healing in His hands
Jesus
 
Verse 2
There is a name I call in times of trouble
There is a song that comforts in the night
There is a voice that calms the storm that rages
He is Jesus, Jesus
 
REPEAT CHORUS
 
Bridge
Messiah
My Savior
There is power in Your name
You’re my rock and my Redeemer
There is power in Your name
In Your name
 
Chorus 2
You walk on the waters
You speak to the sea
 
You stand in the fire beside me
You roar like a lion
You bled as the lamb
You carry my healing in your hands

Happy Birthday Plum

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Mom, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

We were asked in our final small group meeting to answer the big question, “Why are you a Christian?”  As someone whose life is littered with messes and filled with hurts, my answer was that I just couldn’t live without my faith. My belief in God, in His redemption, in His grace, that gets me out of bed when I want to wallow, when I want to give in and give up. I keep seeking joy, finding my blessings in the midst of the pain because they are there, sometimes as difficult to spot as Waldo but my job is to keep hunting them out among the distractions. I am a Christian because my life would have absolutely no meaning, I would have no hope without the promises of God.

As I pondered my role as a believer, I began to see the similarities to my role as grandma. Without my sweet joy bringer, my Plum, I would linger on the couch, no need to make dinner or cookies or find the vinegar and baking soda for another experiment. My Plum carries the weight of my hope, I carry his as well. We delight in each other much as God must delight in His children. My whole body gains energy when I know it is time for Plum to be here, like I am coming our of hibernation. After too much “me” time ruminating on hurts, I rush to the bus stop to find purpose. He brings a flurry of his own activity and energy, rapid changes with each visit. Reading and math are becoming so easy, still we sneak in our pretend games when no one is around. I plan for Lego play, he has a handful of Pokemon cards we have to discuss. Next time I plan for Pokemon and he has his eye on the Play-doh, something he hasn’t touched in years. I can no longer anticipate where he will take us. I just follow and sneak in a kiss when I can.  I accept my role as snack provider, back up voice to characters he doesn’t want to be, and listener.

Six years ago today Mama’s water broke right upstairs from where I write these words. Stella was here, she was meant to be the birth coach. Chef ran around for garbage bags to put on the car seats, he needed a task. I drove Mama and Stella to the hospital, Chef took another car to go pick up Arrow.  We converged on the hospital, all ready to meet the one, the child who would unite this family, bind us all together. Mama had an unexpected C-section, nothing went quite as we planned, that is certainly the case since. Arrow and Stella have scattered, Mama struggled for a while to find her way, leaving the parenting of this babe to Chef and I for extended periods. We have stepped in and back so many times,  a real life hokey-pokey fraught with pain and distrust, wrong moves. We also keep asking for a fresh start, offering one. We are big on fresh starts. I think Jesus calls that forgiveness.

Loving my Plum has taken all of me, the nights we had to retrain him to sleep, the horrible times we have had to send him back when he was begging to stay. Many days  I don’t want to play mud, I don’t want to clean up the house again from another experiment. Then I flash to his delight and the mess making commences.  More recently his fascination with battling games where I am always assigned the bad guy and I always lose, even as I restructure the game to include my more peaceful philosophy, I am challenged to find that sweet baby that I held and sang to, rocked and looked at, always just looking at him. I still just watch him, he is so very expressive, I wait for his gaze to land on me, one of his knowing smiles to seek me out. I feel like God smiles at me in those moments, my soul rejoices. I hear the Hallelujah chorus, I know these moments are the point of it all, the reminder that grace and hope are sitting right here at my table. I keep learning that loving people, real people, is hard. It takes everything I have most days to be as forgiving as God wants me to be, to be as selfless as He asks. Plum reminds me it is worth the effort, the pay out is that singing chorus, the joyful soul when God says He is pleased with me.

Plum’s eyes shine when he smiles, those blue eyes that were my mother’s, his father’s, mine and now his. I looked into those eyes when they were my moms, seeking love and approval. I was disappointed. She looked back with her own brokenness, unable to give what I needed. I looked into those eyes of my son, his brokenness matching my own, we are connected so deeply that all efforts of his to reject it fail. I have looked into those eyes in the mirror, often seeing shame back. God has given me another chance to see us all through those same eyes, to see us as a long line of people who have hurt each other but loved still. People who can never be perfect but can show the love of God to each other with fresh starts and willingness to play even when we want to stay on the couch. This is our chance to see God’s redemption through those blue eyes. I accept.

Today is my Plum’s 6th birthday. He will have a party, get gifts, blow out candles.  One day he may realize he has always been the greatest gift to me. I am blessed to be his Gran. Thank God we still get to snuggle for book time at the end of the evening, that he still climbs on my lap occasionally. I crave those times when he surrenders into my embrace, when he allows me to just feel the warmth of him, smell his little boy scent as we ease into the night. Those are the times I remember the babe I gently put in the crib and then stared at, unable to look away from the miracle before me. I celebrate my joy bringer today and pray he never stops asking me to play even when I have to be the bad guy.  He knows my imperfections and loves me still, reminds me to surrender into the arms of my God who delights in my smile and watches with me adoration even when I have made a mess of the day.  He offers me a fresh start. He brought this child into my life, a joy bringer, my Plum, the greatest gift I have ever received, a child of grace. Happy birthday Plum. You are my favorite. I love you so very very much.

Loving Who God Brings

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

I found this post I wrote 6 years ago about loving and leaving, filled with worry but also trust in God that the future would work itself out.  Looking back on those years, I see how we struggled in mighty ways, how we relied on our faith and the prayers of our community relentlessly. The following is that story, from November 9, 2010.

 

Several years ago, Chef and I went to visit a home that advertised a Border Collie mix in the paper.  We already had one who was hyper and we thought, wrongly, that getting another would give her someone to play with and burn some energy.  As we circled the area downtown, I became skeptical, it was getting rougher by the block.  What were we getting into?  When we found the house and approached the door, we were startled to see a mangy, dirty mutt tied up out front, eating rocks and barking frantically.  We tried to talk to the owner but she had no care or concern about the dog, couldn’t tell us much beyond the fact it was 10 months old and had been in 5 homes already.  This woman never got off of her phone.  Her small, dirty-faced, raggedy-clothed children wandered aimlessly through the duplex, unattended.  It wasn’t the dog we wanted but we knew we couldn’t leave it there either.  Without even a second glance from the owner, we untied her and put her in our car.  She shivered and shook, looked at us with distrustful eyes the entire ride home.  Chef dropped us off and went to work, probably feeling a bit relieved to have an escape from what was clearly a mess.  I just kept looking at this dog and at our other, oh so beautiful full-blooded one and thought, “Well, I can give you a home I guess but I just don’t really love you…I don’t even like you.  Your coat is ugly, it is so dirty and you are smelly.”

I set to work.  I bathed her and fed her and let her sleep.  We let her create a safe place just for her so the other dog didn’t bother her.  She began to fill out and we discovered that her hair shone, really sparkled.  I have never seen that on a real animal but it does.  She flourished in this safe place, knowing her food was steady, her bed was secure. She clung to me, followed me everywhere, I was proud to show her off.  One day we realized we loved her as much as the other dog, that all the nurturing back to health was falling in love time.   

Our story with Mama is much the same.  It just isn’t over yet.  We took her in for a night and she stayed for 10 months. She came with a just backpack, as she left it took 2 trucks and 2 cars to remove all of her belongings.  She came to us emaciated, broken down, scared and depressed.  We love her and when you love your children, you have to say no as often or more than you ever get to say yes.  I look forward to the day of saying yes, you can come back, we love you.

I have been blessed to love many pets but there will never be another like that one we rescued. I miss her still, my shadow, my sweet snuggler. I have two new beasts that I adore but my heart still belongs to that girl who needed so much nurturing to come into who she was and then gave back all that she had. Our friends and family have watched me invest the same amount of nurturing into Mama. They question the wisdom of getting involved again, many times I do as well. There are days when I am sure that I hate this child, I am so full of resentment, anger, frustration that I pray to never have to see her again. God ignores those prayers. He brought her into my life as surely as he brought my favorite pet. People aren’t so easily convinced that we have their best interests in mind, people don’t trust just because you give food and shelter. People just aren’t always lovable. I know this because I am so often not. Yet despite any efforts to protect my heart, I love this girl. The nurturing time long ago was falling in love time.

This young woman needs a mother, I long for my daughter. Neither of us are the one we would choose. We are each who God has provided. This week I am helping her plan a quick courthouse wedding, I am making food for the after party. Twenty excited phone calls a day asking about details, several lamenting the lack of interest from her mother, I can’t help but be reminded of Stella’s wedding that I was not included in. I am careful to ensure Mama’s mom has her rightful place, mine is very much behind the scenes. I know the hurt that comes from snap decisions about forever memories. Still, God just keeps throwing this young woman and me together, the seeds were planted almost 7 years ago. I look at how she has grown into a woman who truly sacrifices for her child, who tries so very hard to be the best mom. I see her doing it, all the hard stuff, telling him no as much or more than she tells my Plum yes. I see that she is maintaining her own home, feeding her child, attending parent-teacher conferences and acting as a real advocate for her son.

I don’t mean to compare Mama to a canine in any pejorative sense. I love dogs. And damnit, I love her. I let my actions tell her, I keep showing up with food and support, giving her a safe place for her emotions. I am trusting that God only asks that I love who He brings, He will handle the transformation into something beautiful. After all, I know He is still working on me. I am forever grateful for those who set aside frustration and anger and let me come back, time and again, as I grow into my own beautiful coat, shining with the love of Christ.

Choosing When to Battle

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Plum, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

Insects and spiders are trying to take over my home. I don’t kill, instead I practice a catch and release strategy so it is possible the same damn spider is sneaking back in.  I am considering grabbing one of Plum’s Sharpies to start tagging my catch before placing it back out in the wild. Everyone else in the family shrieks when they see these huge spiders skittering across the floor, I get it, if it were a mouse I would be up on a chair myself. But spiders build intricate webs that I truly find breathtaking, OUTSIDE.  Thus, catch and release.

Earlier in the summer I moaned about the number of flies in our home caused by beasts who open the front door and stand in the space peering out, unable to commit. The flies also were welcomed in by a certain boy who raced out the back door towards the trampoline, a boy who could not be slowed by such a mundane tasks closing the door behind him to ensure our home not become the set for Amittyville Horror. Still, most of the flies are gone or at least slow enough even I can get them. The buzzing sound makes me insane when I am finally laying down to sleep. Okay, I do kill flies.

Unfortunately we have been invaded by a new insect, the stink bug. I wish it were a joke, a pun about Plum after he eats cheese or the beasts when they find feces from another species left in the yard and delight in rolling in it, covering their coat in this fresh new scent. Alas these bugs are real. Their primary defense is to emit a wicked awful smell if they are disturbed. Unlike a sneaky spider, these things fly in like a B-52 bomber, so loud, announcing they are ready to battle. They have confidence, they know they stink. I kill these too. I am not afraid to get a bit smelly to rid my home of fighter pilots who hide among the curtains and wait for me to turn out all the lights except the one by my bed. They rush in, a full squadron, land about my pillow and declare dominance. That may work in other settings but I protect my pillow. Catch and release, right into the toilet, a watery end to a worthy opponent.

Okay, I do kill. But not much. I really am non-violent but I am okay with confronting evil and protecting my family, my home. An inability to manage conflict doesn’t end the conflict. Avoiding problems doesn’t make them disappear any more than letting those bugs hang out in my home. They tell their friends they have a safe place, more come in.  They interrupt my sleep, torment my beasts, nibble on my clothes. Some disagreements must be faced in order to move forward.

The Old Testament is replete with battle stories. God led His people in righteous war, many other fights were not in His name. The challenge for me is to remember to ask God first, before I pick up any weapons.  Paul spoke beautifully about confronting evil, the true weapons I would need. He didn’t list guns or baseball bats, frying pans or even a flyswatter.

A Fight to the Finish

10-12 And that about wraps it up. God is strong, and he wants you strong. So take everything the Master has set out for you, well-made weapons of the best materials. And put them to use so you will be able to stand up to everything the Devil throws your way. This is no afternoon athletic contest that we’ll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.

13-18 Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out    Ephesians 6:10-18The Message (MSG)

Facing the disruptions in our life with these weapons, we recognize we don’t have to go for the kill. Accepting that it is critical that we confront the wrongs and seek resolution, we must first put on God’s armor. It does get heavy though, we are blessed to have many who hold us up. Some battles are as swift as catching the spider, some last many months, years. Much of life happens in the waiting, joy can be missed if we are only focused on the war at hand. Unable to read before I fall asleep, waiting for the next stink bug to attack, adrenaline interferes with my ability to calm and relax. Once the threat is removed though, I have to choose not to ruminate on the damn bugs who pestered me in the first place. I have to choose peace.  Actively lowering my blood pressure after washing my hands, ridding my body of the stench, it is up to me to let it go, at least for another night.

This season of stink bugs will end. Confronting evil is a constant, warring with insects may well be my preparation. An influx of mice hoping for warmth may well be around the corner. God help us. I will need more than armor for that.

 

Intruder

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Stella, The Chef, TravelLeave a comment

Drama wanted to come for a visit yesterday. I know this drama, once allowed in, it takes over my home, steals all of my emotional energy, takes my money, separates me from my husband, keeps me from sleeping. This drama knocks on the door, if I don’t answer, it tries to barge right in, uninvited, when my back is turned. I lock the doors, try to reinforce the boundaries, drama can be heard imploring for entrance through the cracks under the door. I call in help, ask for support. I need reminders that I am bigger than this, I don’t have to play host to this intruder.

Disengaging from the choices others make is ultimately a matter of survival for me. I know that I am a rescuer, my instinct is to always give my lifejacket away and then I risk drowning. In the past I have given my preserver to those not even in the water, those taunting from the shore. I was confused, I thought if I just gave more, ever more, we would have reconciliation. We would all swim together. I know differently now. Some people will just never stay in the water with me, not for long anyway. Maybe only long enough for me to think we are all comfortable, we are delighting in the same pool. Drama joins our swim party, the cycle begins again. Except I am just too tired to keep swimming, keep recsuing, keep interacting with drama. I am choosing to try new strategies. I don’t want to risk drowning anymore.

Challenging old patterns, making new choices of how to respond is not without consequences as well. Drama insists on being heard, taking the spotlight. The more I liberate myself, the stronger the pushback. Patterns want to remain. Every next step requires extreme care, considered maneuvering, much as a child’s first steps. I hold onto the wise words of friends, I tread slowly. I stop and ponder how to get back to safety. Yesterday my soul was screaming, “I want to go back to the mountains.” I gave my soul some attention, listened to the voice that was telling me danger lurked ahead. I can’t get on a motorcycle and escape my current situation, how can I regain the lessons from the mountains while still here with drama trying to create unrest?

When I looked at the valleys, the canyons of Colorado, I remembered how small I was and big God is. I was reminded of my little place in the huge picture, flowers grew without me. Water trickled from snow capped mountains to find rivers below. God has a plan that doesn’t require my lifejacket, my involvement in ensuring that all his seeds sprout, that all the snows melt and find their way home. Yes, the mountains, my soul whispered, remember what we learned there. We are a seed also, God showed us how to bloom.

Drama is going to keep knocking, this drama is going to grow. Protecting my fragile heart is my priority, rather than rescuing others from the choices they have made.  I can only pray they someday take their own trip to the mountains. Maybe then we will all swim and truly relish the water together.  For now, I’m focusing on all the pictures of my trip, listening to my soul and keeping my door locked.  Drama, you are not welcome here.

Dancing to the Rooster’s Call

On By LisaIn Faith, StellaLeave a comment

I heard the rooster crow, a faint call blending with the morning crickets and dogs snorting and snuffling as they battle over a ball. Cawing crows, distant traffic, another call of the rooster. As the morning came alive, I sat in the darkness and waited to feel the same. My body matched my desolate mood, the stress caught up, I struggled to move. My pelvis was out of place, once easily corrected with a trip to the doctor or physical therapist, now  progressively more painful as each day passed without insurance, no safety net to fix my brokenness. Afraid to make it worse, I allowed my body to stiffen, muscles to tighten, I hobbled back inside to refill my coffee. The rooster crowed again.

Stepping carefully, slowly around boisterous beasts, watching for any obstacles, my usual 3 minute journey took at least ten. Listening once more to the far off roar of a motorcycle, the call of a coyote, I tried to focus on breathing through the pain, wondered how to correct this misalignment, how things could have gone so terribly wrong. Blaming a God who knew I had no access to those who could help, anger simmering, I remembered I had lifted the huge jugs of water that created the problem in the first place. I knew better but was rushing. “Still, seriously, God, it was for dinner at church! I was being your servant and this is what I get?”  Personal accountability was no match for self-pity, my pain was too great. That rooster crowed, that damn rooster again.

The days following my displacement had grown increasingly dark, ever more isolated. More time in bed, barely speaking, hardly eating. I wasn’t writing, all thoughts consumed with my pain. That rooter reminded me I had been there before, I needed to wake up. That insistent call demanded I rise, acknowledge what was really hurting and get moving. The bed was too tempting for me, I had already given up a year laying there. Finally I allowed myself to cry, to tell God that it hurts, so much it hurts, to be missing my daughter. This pelvis that moves out of place because I gave birth to her now begs for attention, reminding me that I am a mother without a child. “Why God, why can’t you heal this brokenness, NOW? Why must we be so out of alignment, grown rigid in positions that only bring more pain?”  Shallow breaths, barely living, rather than exulting in the deep glory of shared triumphs?  “When God, WHEN has it been long enough? ”

The release of tears brought hunger, a renewed energy.  Walking carefully around the house, noticing my neglected life from just a few days of exile, I attempted a few chores, made a light meal. I felt looser physically, more connected emotionally. That night, God visited during my slumber. No longer able to hold myself stiff, away, careful, I jolted awake from the first deep sleep in days.  The jolt caused me to jerk, to cry out in the night.  The jerk popped my pelvis back where it is supposed to be. Finally relaxing a body held so tightly, pain nurtured like as it were my cherished child itself, I had let go into a deep sleep. God finally was able to wrestle control from me, to give me what I was seeking  yet fighting Him for. I wanted to dance, filling my lungs with the air of hope, the victory of promises kept.  I considered that rooster, calling me, wondering if I truly believe or just say that when times are good. I rose to seek out my morning call, to praise that faithful creature who rises before me with promises for a new day.

The rooster knew there will always be other noises to distract me, there will always be pain. I can’t count on a middle of the night jerk every time I mess up, I have to choose to stop doing things I know are wrong. I have to focus on what heals me, let go of things that destroy my health. I know that if God can take the time to deal with my stubbornness, my tendency to turn back to my bed, He is actively involved with my Stella as well. We each have our own roosters calling, asking us to believe, to rise up and choose a life of trust in Him. Today I listen to the rooster and praise God for His insistent pursuit of this willful child, sometimes turning a deaf ear to His calling. I know the rooster is asking me to rise even when it hurts. Hitting the snooze on the wake up call God has sent means I am at risk of over-sleeping, missing my life, missing the chance to see His light as the sun comes up. Another day, a new chance to give it up to Him and do my chores. I’m not fully healed, I’m still leery of a wrong move, but focusing on His voice, I send a glorious “Good morning” to the rooster, I dance in the darkness of my porch as I move to refill my coffee.

Back on the Steps

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, StellaLeave a comment

I sat on the steps in the jail pod and silently begged God to let me die. All means of doing so myself had been removed. I huddled in anguish,  shrouded in the utter devastation that had become my life. I was told my case would never go beyond the investigation, then never beyond the initial charges. When a plea deal was offered, I was advised to reject it, no way would a jury convict. But they did and I sat in jail, awaiting transfer to prison, the nightmare that had begun almost 2 years before culminating in separation from my children for 2 1/2 years. I was told I would be able to see them immediately, another falsehood. It would be six months before the prosecutor completed the paperwork allowing my transfer, a vengeful act to increase my punishment. I sat on those steps and begged God to let me die. Excruciating heartache suffocating me, I could no longer breathe on my own. I didn’t want air to fill my lungs. I rejected food, I wanted no nourishment, my soul felt already dead. I just wanted my body to follow suit. Alone on the steps when all of the other women housed in the pod with me had left for the one hour recreation time, beseeching a God that had surely already forsaken me, I cried out.

My children were 2 1/2 and 5 at the time. I had sang them to sleep each night. I never wanted anything more than to be a mother. No longer able to smell their sweet breath, to feel silky hair glide through my fingers, hear the tinkling melody of little voices, know the weight of a lap immediately filled when I finally sat down, I wanted to escape my body. My senses were empty without children to give them meaning. I had no use for me, without the role of mom. I wanted out. I knew my suffering, I could only allow in tiny fragments of thought about those of my babies before I struggled to hold onto my sanity. What if I just let go?  A God who would allow this all to go so horribly wrong surely could just help me finish the job, just end this now. But He didn’t. He met me on the steps, the lowest place I have ever been and lifted me up. He broke through my anguished pleadings with intrusive images of the footsteps poem. I sought to push it away, arguing with God that I was done, there was nothing left in me, I couldn’t stand, let alone walk. The story kept pushing through, remembering how Jesus carried the person when they couldn’t walk. God told me I was still worth carrying. He was carrying my babies as well.

I don’t remember rising from the steps. There was no miraculous healing. I struggled minute by minute to survive. Somehow I did survive, I took the next bit of air in. I read the Bible that was given by some church group that visits prisoners.  I cherished the time an older woman from the community was allowed into the pod to do a study with anyone willing. She was a reminder of kindness and hope, she was the face of Jesus when I couldn’t find Him anywhere around me. Other bits of light began to appear as community members wrote to me, holding my family in prayers. I never had a day without mail, faith in action as strangers made time to tell me I had value still, I wasn’t forgotten and I wasn’t being judged by all, negating the message I received outside of mail call.  I was a lightening rod for many guards who favored the punishment aspect of incarceration. I didn’t fit in with the general demographic of the other women, I had a Master’s degree, I was married, had a home, other inmates didn’t like outsiders.   Yet angels appeared in the form of correctional officers as well. Intervention by CO’s allowed me to have a job that kept me away from the fray and moved to housing that fit my temperament but not my classification, both actions that protected my time and person. These angels were sent by God, they were Jesus carrying me when I couldn’t walk.

Finally I was freed, we rebuilt our life. Reunified, our time was more precious, never taken for granted. We loved deeply, openly. I gave up all of me to be mom again, the sweetest name ever I was called. I thought our horror was behind us, we still had struggles ahead. Addiction and pregnancy during Arrow’s teen years challenged us all, but we battled and united together. We stayed together. Hours and hours of laughter filled our home, if not riches, if not fancy belongings. A high school trip abroad, college, an extra car all found a place in a budget that barely covered the house. I thanked God faithfully for my blessings, these children, and for picking me up from those steps. We no longer had to subsist minute by minute, we were fully alive.

I didn’t expect to ever be separated from my children again. I knew they would grow up, go out into the world but I imagined we would stay connected as they moved into their own lives. Arrow and I have mostly managed this, never out of touch for long, the string between us stretches rather thin sometimes but has not yet snapped in two. My sweet Stella though, gone. I feel many days like I am back on those steps, aching for my girl. I no longer am begging God to die, yet I plead with Him to intercede. How can we have survived that horrific time only now to be ripped apart, by choice.  Once again, I can’t get to her. I am locked away from her or she is locked away from me. I dream of her, I wake with a longing so deep I know Jesus will have to carry me through the day if I am to rise from my bed. I know angels appear in the form of friends who ask me to walk or give me nuggets of news they have gleaned. Minute by minute I survive until one day I can live fully again. I know Jesus will carry me today. I just wish He didn’t have to.

Jesus Freaks, Where Are You?

On By LisaIn Faith, StellaLeave a comment

Years ago as my extended family gathered around my table for dinner, we had a heated discussion about the upcoming election. As the sole Democrat in the group, my lone voice was a lightening rod, the gang enjoyed my discomfort. I am often the odd one out in our family, values a bit to the left. They still eat with me. Jokes and barbs were passed with the bowls of mashed potatoes, and salad, platter of meat. While my candidate was not so respected at my table, my view was allowed and so was theirs. We all knew that whoever won, our country was still going to go on, maybe not exactly as we would wish, but imminent danger did not lurk. We trusted the process, the ability to share our opinions and the basic morality of the men who had reached this point. As a family of Christians who had begun the meal in prayer, we knew who we were called to be. We expected to be united regardless of the outcome, we understood our role in the political process. Prayerfully selecting the next leader, prayerfully supporting that leader, continuing the work Jesus asked of us.

My anxiety over this election season is growing by the hour. My family no longer debates with me, having abandoned their party at the presidential level. We are all dumbfounded, wondering where our fellow Christians are. Serious discourse has been replaced by lies, bullying, fear-mongering and violence-inciting hate. Jesus freaks, where are you? How can one narcissistic man mislead so many intelligent people, cause them to forget who they are? I struggle to not lose respect for my fallen brothers and sisters, I try to remember to pray that we all make it through this without a wall not just at our border but between us all. This is the work of the devil, spreading evil amongst believers, turning them away from the Word.

One man who has divided our country, spews lies and refuses to be accountable to those very words, who blames others, how did he amass so much power? Charisma, maybe? Timing? Finding the chink in the armors of the Democratic and Republican contenders alike, he managed to lift himself as the savior, the one who understands the needs of the little guy. He asked that we ignore what we see and feel and follow him. Don’t listen closely to what he says, stay away from reason and what we know, follow him. I know why he scares me, I have met his kind. I have suffered at his hands, have watched as an extremely intelligent young woman got pulled away and trapped by lies and misdirection. I lost my daughter to a narcissist just like him, a dangerous man who blames others, is explosive with his anger, is never ever wrong. There is no heathy discussion with him, we don’t share values like forgiveness and grace. He has built a wall. His hand on the button, he exploded our family with just one nuclear launch. We all sit in the devastation, wondering how we missed his rise to power, how we let him divide us. We can’t vote him out, wondering if his term will ever expire, we are left to pray to our God, the only one who can rescue us all from this horror.

Being estranged from my daughter is the most painful experience of my life. Being estranged from out allies around the world is even scarier. We have a guide book to tell us how to vote, how to proceed. What would Jesus have us do? Pass more potatoes, feed more hungry people. Invite more kids to the table and teach them to respect the voices of all who are speaking. Prayerfully, fervently beseech God for direction, ask if we need more hate in our world or if He really means that love your neighbor stuff. The future of our family depends on it.

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Waiting by the Water

On By LisaIn Arrow, Faith, Stella, The Chef2 Comments

The only thing tougher than sitting in my own wasteland is watching someone I love sit in theirs. I have wandered the deserts, been stuck in the sand, covered in grit, thirsting for water that was just out of reach. Paralyzed, lost, no longer trusting my instincts, the oasis ahead could be just another mirage. Staying in the desert is sure death, I have been close before. Sweaty, exhausted, unable to wander another step, I stopped, just stopped. This is when the river appeared, the goodness of cool refreshing water washing over me, the force of the stream removing grains of sand from my eyes, from my ears. Carried along by the current, I could rest. Glorious blue water, life sustaining moisture, now I could see life again, feel hope as I bobbed along. Croaking frogs, skittering insects, luscious green grass, surrounded by living, I was no longer searching for my own life. Out of the wasteland, found, rescued, washed free, renewed, I vow to never go again towards those sandy places. Still, I sometimes find myself a bit too far from the river, I can hear the wind howling as it blows the dunes. I know to turn around, danger lurks there. What to do then when my loved ones can’t find their way out?

I hate seeing my family struggle when I can so clearly see the way out. I see the water, call to them from the riverbank. My guidance ignored, unheard, sand is consuming them. Left watching from the shore, a witness to their struggle, I cannot share my water until they reach for it. Frustration mounts, it is so easy, just turn this way, hear me, stop choosing the desert, come to the water. I forget though exactly how hard it is to ignore my own will to wander, to ruminate, to wallow in my nothingness, searching for answers in all the wrong places. I walk until exhaustion forces me to kneel. Why do would it be easier for my family? They can’t learn from my journey any more than I have learned from the 40 years my ancestors spent wandering. How painful it must have been for my Father to watch.

Time in the desert hurts. I don’t want my family to hurt, I want them to feel refreshed, to play in the cool water, listen to giggles as they splashing about. I want to rush ahead to joy, they are still in sorrow, aching in the emptiness of the after, not believing it is really a time of before. Hurry, hurry, over here to the river, I find myself shouting encouragingly. I think it sounds more like impatience, criticism that they can no longer find their own way, to their granule encrusted ears. I kick my feet in the water, splashes demonstrating how rejuvenating it is over here on the river edge. They hear me mocking them, judging their struggle. The desert changes my words, distorts my message. I long for them to come and play, to drink deeply, to know the water is so close. They have to discover for themselves.

Watching, waiting, lonely without them to frolic in the spray, I can’t save them, I also have to be careful not to get too close, pulled back into the desert myself. The distance between us feels likes forever, how long before the crescendo  f waterfalls guides them to me? I yearn for shared joy, laughter filling the air, delight as the sun warms us but doesn’t burn.

Unable to speed the wanderings, the seeking, of those I love, my soul waits, begs the One who guided me home to show the way. “Now, quickly, please, I miss them so, ” I plead. “Look around child, you don’t swim alone. The river is brimming with others.”  Yes, now I see friends also in the river, some seeming to have just arrived, particles of sand still  evident as they emerge from the first immersion, dunking under again, again, drinking in the glory. Others have been here longer, contentedly floating along. I notice also that wives are here without husbands, children are playing without parents. I don’t see whole families playing, parents keep looking over their shoulders, just as I do. I see now we are all waiting for someone to join us.

Water poured out in the heat of the desert quickly evaporates. I realize the truth, each has to accept the offer, has to stop to drink slowly, carefully, give in to the Guide who holds the canteen.  I will  play in the river today, celebrate joys, laugh with the family around me. One day soon we will splash together.

Ropes and Lights

On By LisaIn Faith, Stella, The ChefLeave a comment

Remember that old movie Poltergeist? I barely do and I am sure I have it all mixed up but I keep hearing the odd little woman tell the little girl to go to the light.  My Chef told me more details, said the woman knew there was peace and serenity in the light. She didn’t believe the child could come back into this world.  The parents instead attached ropes and went in after her, drug her back from the demons and saved this child. I think my story is filled with friends who have attached ropes to pull me back AND shouted at me to go toward the light.

I was given the opportunity to let go of a major church responsibility, to free myself to mourn. This is kindness, this is grace. I received an email from my so very wise pastor reminding me to  go towards the light. The choice is mine to wallow or accept the challenge to pull myself out of the demon filled depression and find a flicker of hope. The choice is always mine. I chose to maintain my schedule, tug on the ropes of those who are pulling on me. I answer calls, emails, I eat some lunch. Food is toward the light for me. Interaction is toward the light for me.

My friend from college who can assess any situation in my life because she knows all the players and she has a razor sharp mind, found the joys. She highlighted the positives. She met me in the mud but tugged on the ropes to pull me out, making certain I knew where the hopes were.

My chef who has tiptoed around me now for days because I am not very pleasant keeps bringing me food and orange juice and lets me lay on his lap. He deserves a gallon of peanut butter chocolate chip caramel ice cream, if such a thing exists, and big bricks of cheese. (We don’t have dairy in our house as Plum and I can’t tolerate it.) He is gently pulling me back to the light with his constant love. This is grace.

Depression lies, tells me to stay in the dark with the demons, tells me the ropes will never be strong enough to pull me out. It tells me the light will burn me. I have believed those lies before. I stayed stuck in the dark, ignoring all the friends who threw lifelines, all who tried to connect until they slowly went away. Now I can see I actively pushed myself in further, back then I thought I had no part in any of it. Depression lies. What feels like great passivity is, for me, rejecting ignoring throwing away the lanterns the candles the glow sticks offered, with great force. Turning away into the darkness. Choosing sadness, unwashed hair, smelly sheets, choosing to wallow. Depression tells me it fells better there, it is easier there. Depression lies.

At 52, I have come to accept that I am not going to have one of those easy lives that some may be handed. I am never going to be rich, I won’t be posting pictures of all my children and grandchildren for each holiday around a grand piano or a grand oak tree. I won’t be running races or winning awards, I won’t receive a retirement package. My life has had many trips through the darkness, many chances to choose my path back. It gets easier, finding the light, each time I do it. Accepting help, listening to the calls of friends is finally  becoming habit. Trusting their voices, instructions, insights, wisdom when I can no longer see.

Challenge accepted, life. I am in this for the long haul. Knowing it will never be easy, knowing any day could hand me heart ache, I am still going to look for the light. I know where that will take me, towards hope, little shining bits of hope. As elusive as fireflies in late summer or stars in a cloudy night sky, I just have to trust the light is there and start walking. God’s light never burns out, never leaves me alone. As I turn towards it, slowly move in that direction I find the glow grows bigger. Bigger, always big enough to warm me with hope. Peace and serenity might be a stretch.

Photo credit to Pastor Pat Sleeth, fisher of men, women and the rivers of the northwest