False Identities

Ever since I was a little girl, I used to imagine what marriage would be like.  I would make up an elaborate scene in my head, where even though I had no friends, someday, my husband, my best friend, would find me, and see me for who I really was, and love me.  Sometimes he took the identity of one of the N’Sync members, and sometimes he was some character I created in my head.  But because I let the world define me even back then at the tender age of 10, it never ended happy.  In my own fantasy, he always left me, hurt me, cheated and then left, or abused me.  (Self-fulfilling prophecy much?)  

 

I always acted so strong, like words didn’t bother me.  That I didn’t care what others said.  But the truth is.  It stuck with me, and as I internalized it, refusing to let anyone see me cry, it began to define who I was, even at that young of an age.  I never believed myself worth love.  I believed the lies spoken into me my entire life, and assumed them as my identity.  Ugly, fat, worthless, stupid, dumb, airhead, freak, geek, loser, idiot, boring, nerd.  In turn, I wore identities that weren’t necessarily bad, but don’t really belong as being the sole identifier of someone.  Some examples: girlfriend, writer, singer, music major, diva, bitch, cold-hearted, geek, valley girl.  I did this in an attempt to hide myself from the world, afraid to death that they would see the “real” me, convinced that the “real” me, were all the lies I believed.

 

I sat talking with a friend, telling her how much I don’t desire marriage.  But she said something that really stuck with me, and I realized she was right.  She said, “That’s great, but just make sure that its not because you believe your not worth marriage, and afraid to hope for something you don’t believe you will ever have.”  The truth?  I have never believed myself worth it.  Not really.  As a daydreaming  ten year old, I started believing the best relationship I could ever hope for, was one that had a horrible ending for me.  When my bad relationships came along years later, that felt normal to me.  Something I felt I deserved deep down in my core.  Every cruel word, every bruise, the feeling of settling and in turn being settled for.  In some sick way, it felt right.  It felt like what I had come to believe was what was in store for me.  I didn’t see Christ, I felt only pain, but in the pain was a comfort.  The feeling of familiarity as my expectations had been met.

 

But love.  Love isn’t like that.  And while I have no idea how I get to a place of believing that, maybe that’s the point.  Maybe I’m not supposed to on my own.  Maybe I’m just supposed to look up, and my heart will naturally heal by the power of the one who loves me unconditionally.  The one who died for me, who chose me and continues to do so in moments when any human would have thrown in the towel.  The one named Jesus Christ.

Plea To The Lord

(The following is a written prayer to God.  I was sobbing through a good portion of writing this.)

 

Don’t let me go.  Don’t even let my hand go for a second.  Hold me tight.  I am but a child, curious, and prone to walking in the wrong direction, distracted by the shiny things of this world, by the lies of the world, consumed with a culture that is entirely about worshipping me.  But I wasn’t created to worship myself, and I feel sick.  I feel sick because I was created for so much more.  But I’m afraid.  I’m afraid and I don’t know why.  I don’t know how to be this person who you would be proud to call your daughter, and sometimes the weight on my shoulders is too much. I can barely walk a foot without crying out for your guidance and support.  I was not created like the rest.  I was created weaker.  And they say you do great things with the weak ones.  So I bid you to use me how you will.  But please, don’t let go.  Guide my every move my every thought.  Less of me, and more of you. Please Lord.  Because it saddens me that I am physically unable to live up to who you created me to be.  I need you to mold me, to show me how to be her.  I need your promises daily to remind me that I am worthwhile, that I am beautiful, that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  So quickly the lies come to eat at me when I take my eyes off you for even a second.  And they devour me and eat away at me, until I am this broken mess on the floor covered in tears and pain.  

 

Every moment of pain, every tear, you created me knowing I would experience.  Nothing throws you off.  Nothing surprises you.  And you sympathize with my pain.  You too were an outcast, so when the lies of those days passed come, I know you understand.  So please, comfort me, please whisper in my ear your promises.  give me a desire to read your word that doesn’t quit and isn’t satiated by anything less than the words of your truth father.  Daddy, this world is making me sick.  So sick.  I am infected and I will one day die for what I have inherited.  Please, until then, use me.  Guide me.  Teach me.  Show me how to plant seeds.  I want to plant seeds across the world.  I want treasures in heaven, not of gold, but of souls.  Help me because this world is infecting me.  I am building castles in the skies different than what you would want me to.  Focused on myself.  I’m always so focused on myself.  Its killing me inside because I want this world to be saved dad, but my life does not reflect that which is my greatest wish.  Please dad, let my life reflect a life of a saint.  Break my heart if I don’t listen, if I choose my own path.  Give me a sense of urgency and purpose and put many people in my path. Please dad.  Provide the soil, and I will plant all the seeds that I am able.  Give me a desire to teach others how to plant seeds, stronger than my fear of talking in front of others.  Help me affect the world the way I was created to. 

 

Fame

“Do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not!” -Jeremiah 45:5.

I read this in an article I found from Googling about what causes christians to desire fame, after a super humbling journaling time with God, where it was revealed my motivation is fame. Soul-crushing but good.  I sat in my car tonight and my prayer was this:

“Keep from me the plans you have from me that I may stay humble. Do not reveal your plans but instead have me walk not by sight but faith alone, one day at a time. Teach me give me a desire to follow the spirit daily, to seek you in prayer daily.”

Disbelief

Disbelief strikes at the most inopportune moments sometimes.  That nagging voice that tells you there is no way the thing you have put all your hopes and dreams into is real and to stay at bay.  I am the rich, young ruler, but I just realized.  Its not my money, my possessions, or even my idols that I have the hardest time giving to God.  Its my heart.  The things I hold onto are simply symptoms that showcase the deeper issue of my fearful heart, my untrusting heart, my lack of ability to just love God.  I’m so scared, so afraid to fall.  I’m so afraid to wake up and hear the “Haha!  Loser!  Gotcha good that time!”

I put these hideous expectations on God, breaking both His heart and my own.  That is to say, because I have been let down many times before, I fear that God Himself will let me down, in this case, by not being real, and that I will have the delight of discovering it the moment I truly let go.  I remember when I was a kid, and the other kids would get bored of being around me and kindly ask me to go away for a while, so I would go and sit alone and ponder life and its meaning, often seeking refuge in the cool library.  Or even more recently, the images of my ex and I together, as his doubt about me was so clearly plastered all over his face.  All the signs were there that it wasn’t real for him, but I was blinded.  Blinded by love.  The same type of blinded love requested of me by a God who refuses to come and tell me in person that He is real.

What I wouldn’t give to be someone who casts away everything, and chases after Him.  But instead I remain on the sidelines.  I acknowledge Him, and thank Him.  But I’m frightened to approach.  I stay back while everyone around me seeks Him.  Its easy to mimic christianese, “Oh but Stephanie, God is worth the investment of your heart.”  I tell myself this, but still I do not budge.  I am standing on a ledge, and the entire mountainside around me is on fire.  Far below is a deep ravine, and above the ravine, floats God with arms wide open, beckoning me to trust Him and jump.  Instead I continue standing there, my feet deeply planted in the softened soil around me, as the sky becomes tinted orange and the air becomes blackened ash.  I find myself becoming increasingly dizzy, longing to fall.  All I have to do is fall and God will catch me.  “But what of the other times?”  A little voice says.  And so I remain in this desolating situation, refusing to be saved, refusing to move, frozen to the bone with fear and dread.

I don’t know if my fear of God being not real, or my fear that I’m not really His spurs me on more.  I spent my entire life being an outcast.  There is a reason outcasts are my favorite people.  I love them, because I know what its like to be in that place.  You seek love, acceptance, friendship, and you find none.  People think they understand, often unless you have spent time as an outcast, it is hard to understand how starving for love someone is, how even the tiniest morsel of love and affection can create in them either a desire for a ton more, or a fear that it won’t last.  I identify more with the latter.

After a lifetime of broken hearts and unkind words, here is this infinite being, who loves, endlessly.  But I hide from Him, because every time someone has said their love was endless in the past, those same people ended up trying to kill me, bruising me, hitting me, manipulating me into believing what they wanted me to believe and then using that to bring me even lower solely because they could, belittling me, using me, raping me, leaving me, hurting me, verbally abusing me, or just flat out deciding I wasn’t worth it to them. And they used the same beautiful sentences that God uses.  And that’s hard.  Its hard to lose myself to someone who claims the same thing that those who have hurt you claim.

And so I find myself standing at a distance, broken and needing love desperately, and unable to make myself just let go and fall off the ledge into God’s awaiting arms.  Everything around me is going up in smoke, and still I hold on, stubbornly planted, stubbornly unrelenting.  And so I continue to stay up here, and the doubt that God is good begins forming even though it has to be my choice that initiates me falling into His arms, as He will never force it.  And we both sit at an impasse, He and I, as my heart breaks.  And He stares right up at me, refusing to leave without me, His heart breaking in tune with mine.  As my tears fall, even though I cannot see Him, if He is truly who He claims to be, I know His must be falling in sync.

A New Endeavor; A New Struggle

I got a job with a really great company.  The job is in sales, and I have the potential to make an ostentatious amount of money. But I noticed almost immediately, that despite this happy news, deep within there was a sadness that wasn’t going to be washed away by the promise of a good life made by hard-earned Washingtons.  The sadness came from the realization within my soul, that instead of turning to God in thanksgiving and praise, I turned to the mirror for a quick cheesy grin and mental flex that even the Greek god Narcissus would have been proud of.  The key word there?  Proud.  As in pride.  As in, my enemy and I were facing each other, and I was allowing myself to be lured from the security of trusting god’s provision to the greed and false promises and lies of “self-provision” on the other side.

Self provision.  There is no greater illusion.  We do not provide for ourselves.  When you are broke and poor, it is easy to rely upon the Lord’s strength, as there is literally nothing else you CAN do.  But woe to the man or woman who comes into a good heap of money. How quick to forget the Lord’s promises it becomes.  How easy to become about one’s self.  About stockpiling as much as possible without giving a single care or notion to the thought of others.  Confession of my heart: as I sat, contemplating what I would do with my newfound wealth, I factored in several things.  I factored in the 250k I wanted to save for my own townhouse.  I factored in money for utilities, money for if my car broke down, and a nice emergency fund.  You know what I didn’t factor in?  1, I forgot to factor in what I will be paying Uncle Sam, as jail does not sound like a fun place to be.  2, and most importantly, I forgot to factor in tithing.  Let me reword that, just so the full brevity of the situation sinks in.  I forgot to factor in ten percent of my income (less than ole’ Uncle Sam requires) to the guy who provided everything so that He can use it to bless other people the way He has always blessed me.

Talk about selfish heart.  I confessed my heart to a friend who encouraged me with her own story of how God taught her to tithe and give willingly.  At the end of her story, she looked over and told me it was important to give with a cheerful heart, as you reap nothing if it isn’t given with cheerfulness and thanksgiving.  I wish to get to a place where I, like my friend, give to God in that same way.  I still struggle so deeply with this.  This is a current sin in my life.  Giving is hard for me.  There is something innately wrong deep inside my heart that makes it very hard for me to give.  This is something that has been there since birth.  When I was 3, I had a really hard time sharing my toys with other children when at preschool.  Like then, I am under this false precept that the money God allows me to have, like the toys that belonged to the preschool, belongs to me, and that I have a right to it.  A right to it?  A right to a blessing?  Wow.  if we go deeper into my heart, all of this stems from a desire to control something because my life feels so out of control.  I sit and hold back from God as a way of exercising some trifle amount of control in my life.  However, I don’t feel peace when I do so.  In fact, I feel the exact opposite.  Peace comes from completely letting go of control and trusting God’s hand.

I desire that peace.  I desire for my money to be seen as not mine but His blessing in my life that He has entrusted me with to bless myself but also and more importantly, to bless others with.  With prayer, and thanksgiving, coupled with confession of daily sin and reading of the Lord’s word, hopefully my heart of stone, will become a heart filled to the brim with love, overflowing and outpouring to others infectiously, that every action I take toward others would be an example and witness of the spirit of God.

Letting Go Is Hard

So.  I made a deal with myself.  No more contacting the ex.  It all began with how I spent the last ten minutes of 2013.  A friend pointed out the time at 10 til midnight at a New Year’s Eve party and let everyone know if there was anything they were dying to do before 2013 ended, to do it then and there.  Immediately my heart longed to say goodbye to him.

Him who for the past 3 and a half years I have had fantasies about reuniting with, him who I have clung to the idea of true love for, him who had walked out of my life long ago, leaving me with the remnants of my shattered dreams of what would never be for he and I.  Then reality hit.  This person moved on, a while ago.

Also, I have unsuccessfully said, “goodbye” several times, only to find myself later contacting him, hanging on his every word as if they were magical portals that could stop and even reverse time, and that when spoken, were spoken from the him of 2010.  I stopped myself half way through mentally writing out the perfect message that would both speak of the thousand ways my passion would always burn deeply for him and him alone and also set my heart free of the invisible, self-forged chains that tightly bound me to him, and I let the silhouette of my phone slip back into my pocket.  I decided the best thing I could do for myself in that moment, would be to, NOT contact him, and to continue this into 2014.

I wish I could sit here and say that after all this time of pining after the ghosts of my past, that I finally have found inner peace after finally agreeing to no longer try to keep up contact, but this sadly isn’t this case.  I find myself greatly wrestling with my flesh to simply not act upon the constant desire to text my ex, to see his special blended brand of witty and satirical tone as we converse back and forth about gaming and other cordial topics.

I had a dream the other night of him, and I found myself day dreaming and crying in the fetal position just yesterday because I missed him so bad, and because the idea of him coming back and realizing I was the love of his life was something I have secretly longed for with ever fiber of my being.  I never really dealt with the demons of my past.  I locked them deep inside my chest and agreed with myself to never let them out and to never let anyone in so they could never hurt anyone.

Unfortunately, that means I have also locked God out. God, the Creator of the universe, author of time.  Yes, He has also been locked out of my heart.  I wondered why I never develop feelings for any men except the ones I know I am in no danger of ever reciprocating my feelings.  The answer to that is pretty simple.  Which of course means I couldn’t see it and needed a friend to point it out.

Apparently, when you lock people out of your heart, it prevents you from being able to feel, from developing natural feelings, from being loved by someone who might actually be right.  Hm.  Oh.  Okay.  That makes sense. So I keep my heart locked up tight, and think I am saving myself.  Turns out, I am causing myself to cut myself off from truly receiving God’s healing love, from receiving the love of others, and from letting go of all the pain and truly healing.

So everything I thought I was doing to help myself, was actually counterintuitively destroying me.  All the potential friends I’ve kept at bay to prevent broken trust with a side of a broken heart?  Well, my heart still got broken, because the thing about people, is if you aren’t there, they kind’ve have other people they can turn to.  So I innately CAUSED the very pain I tried to avoid.  Go figure.

I know this is usually where people would wrap up with a final thought that redeems the whole situation by showing how to fix the issue, but this isn’t a past-tense post.  This is a currently-happening-not-quite-sure-how-to-go-about-fixing-it post.  Conclusion to follow once I figure it out just what that is.

The Battle Within

“I am ready for the road less traveled. Suiting up for my crowning battle this test is my own cross to bear, but I will get there.  Its never easy to be chosen never easy to be called standing on the front line when the bombs start to fall, I can see the heavens but I still hear the flames, calling out my name.”  -Katy Perry, taken from her  song, “Who Am I Living For?”

There is a side of me that desires God.  There is also a side of me that believes the lies, buying them by the dozen as if it were two for one coupon day at the market, and desires for far less than Him.  I’m awake enough to see the battle, and naive enough to care only about my own needs and wants and desires.  Sometimes, and this is a very scary thought, I often wonder who I will become at the end of it all.

I have this burning, raging battle inside of me that is constant.  I flirt with the dangerous side of the line that divides God and the world, just because that side brings more immediate happiness and faux joy.  Sin? I’m good at sin.  Sin is easy, comforting.  Sin is eating 4 extra cookies when you’ve already had 3 for the sake of, “Feeling good.”  I really love cookies, and I really love, “Feeling good.”  A person knows where they stand when they are in sin, except that the solid sandbar you stand in quickly turns to quicksand, and then you begin to descend, until your entire body is encompassed and you can’t see any way but down.  You continue to sink, further and further.  And this is where at times I will lie, in my sepulchre beneath the saint’s reach, built of broken dreams and selfish vanity.

There are also those times I find myself diving into my sins  to numb the world, to silence it for a little while, to lighten the burden of the target on my back as I wear my camouflage and walk among the dead. Standing among the dead is easy, because to them I am invisible for the most part. I don’t have to worry about them breaking down my walls, or breaking my heart.

The other side of me, that is to say, my soul, would throw everything aside to have the relationship Moses had with God.  The side that would give up everything if He asked it of me, for the sake of continuing to hear His voice, knowing my life was being guided by God and that my life had more purpose than to merely exist.  I know that I cannot live without God.  I tried it, and it is not something I desire, even when my flesh gives into the sins of the world.  I always come back to needing God, wanting God, recognizing that God is the one thing that my hope stems from, the one thing strong enough to grant peace where once there was chaos in my heart,to grant rest where I once was weary, to grant life where I was once dead to my sin.

Until the end of my life, these two within me shall fight to the bitter end, until the final breath has left my parted lips and life has gone out from me. my flesh and my soul, one self fulfilling, the other the daughter of the king.  I think Paul said it best.  “For what I want to do, I do not do.  But what I do, I hate.”  (Romans 7:15 NIV)

No-Go on the Audition Front

Hi Stephanie,

I submitted your songs to the guys and we are going to pass right now.  They liked your singing and so did I, but it’s not quite what we are looking for.

Thanks for coming by,

Joe (name changed for privacy purposes.)

 

I received this in response to a local band I auditioned for on Friday.  My prayer going in and coming out was, “God your will be done.  If this isn’t where you want me, don’t let it happen.  If it is, please open all the doors.”  All in all, I am happy with the outcome.  I gained valuable experience auditioning.  I don’t see it as rejection or a missed opportunity.  The way I see it is this: this was an amazing chance to stand in front of a stranger and sing and audition on the fly, and as a result, I came out of it with my head held high and ready to take my butt over to the next auditions.

My goal for my 27th year, is to begin creating the foundation for a life focused solely on Christ, that also has me chasing after the gifts I was given.  I shall finish writing and begin the long process with that.  I have come to terms with the fact I may self publish before I try looking for a publisher.  I wish to record a voice reel so as to be able to submit it for voice over auditions, and I also wish to record a cd, to be able to sell and make music, my way.  I want to find a local band to sing back up for to gain stage experience while trying to obtain these goals.  And I want to let go of the past, let go of my idols, and begin the long self-journey towards a healthier lifestyle, by allowing Christ to lead me there.

 

 

Frankly I Need to NOT Give A Damn

So, I spent the evening last night watching the ending of an old movie with my dad.  Gone With the Wind (if you couldn’t guess from this post.)  I found myself wanting to like Scarlett’s character, but just being plain unable to.  She had this strangely addicting mixture of absolutely fascinating and downright loath-worthy.  Despite my best efforts, I could not begin to understand, why this woman was so fascinating.  What had me up into the the early wee hours of the morning, with my eyes glued to the screen watching the beginning 3 hours later on my own after my dad had gone to bed, as one action after another made her absolutely deplorable in my eyes?

I searched within myself later and found out why.

It wasn’t the fact that Vivien Wood was a fantastic actress (which she was.)  It wasn’t the fact that Clark Gable’s rough around the edges character of Rhett Butler was super likable by comparison (though he was.)  Perhaps it was her actions?  Marrying her sister’s beau for money to save her beloved Tara?  Nope, try again.

For me, it was the heart wrenching way that despite having everything given to her, and a wonderful love story at the ready waiting to sweep her off her feet, she wanted someone else’s love story.  It was the way that this clearly, beautiful, strong, capable woman, put herself continuously at the mercy of a man who would never return her affections as he loved another, and at best would toy with her, unable to release her from his clutches fully, unable to commit to her as he never would.  It was the way she greedily wanted that tiny morsel, when she was showered with everything else the world had to offer, completely blinding herself form the beautiful love story waiting for her, desiring her.

In her, I saw myself scraping at the floor beneath the table, like a dog at my ex’s feet, waiting, and in my mind, it was because I love deeply, and that surely one day he would realize his error.  To quote a merwoman, “But who cares?  No big deal.  I want more..”  I do want more.  I want love.  Passionate love.  Crazy love.  Love that sticks it out through the worst of times.  The type of love that pursues you relentlessly when you have your eye on another prize, and continues doing so.  The kind’ve love that does walk out eventually, but not because it stops, not because it ever ceases.  Because it understands where your loyalty lies, and it is such a passionately jealous love, that it won’t be having any constant two-timing.

And if you are smart?  you don’t wait and, “think about it tomorrow.”  You throw everything aside and chase that love with bare arms.  You chase that love outside the mansion it leaves you to wallow in and onto the bridge it heads toward and wrap your arms around it and never let it go.  Why?  Because that love is worth more than anything else.  More than the air in one’s lungs, the ground beneath one’s feet, the wind in one’s hair, the sky above one’s head, more than all the gold, silver, copper, platinum and other precious metals combined.  More than comfort or even life.  It is that once in a lifetime love that makes all others shadow by comparison.  Makes all other loves that came before seem like merely the prologue in a good book, where people get an idea of the story before delving into the fleshy chapters and really get a taste of the meat behind those tempting pages.

(I speak of course…of the love of Christ.)

Instead of embracing where I have been at, and growing as a person, I have coveted the one thing God did not bestow upon me, and not to harm me but to be able to give me something better than that which He, Himself took away upon my request.  I am the woman, chasing memories in the breeze, disregarding all the beautiful gifts given to me in the process, disregarding what story God may be trying to write for me that I don’t even realize yet, as a sing my own rendition of O’Hara’s  lonely, bitter-sweet, sing-song tune, “Ashleigh.”  I want to let go, because God is the only love worth coveting in such a way.  All other love is wonderful for a time, and needs to be let go when the time comes.  And the time came and went a few years ago.  I do not wish to be the woman who doesn’t appreciate her own life story because she wants one tiny thing that God says no to.  I want all the things God says yes to.  And that means dropping all my idols on the floor, especially the one that I have held onto for the last 3 and a half years, and running into God’s arms the way my heart wishes O’Hara would have run after Rhett.

On Being Sick

Earlier this morning, I awoke to the worst hay fever ever.  I actually thought I was getting sick.  A friend asked why I was up so early, and so I told her, a combination of insomnia and possibly getting sick. Of course, being the good friend she is, she immediately went, “Awww.  :(”

I have to say, as someone who could definitely win a gold medal in sleeping at inappropriate times if it were to ever become an Olympic sport, (I have petitioned, but so far, no response – people don’t appreciate true sacrifice apparently..) that I actually wouldn’t mind being sick.  Being sick is always chastised as a terrible thing, but think about it, I could sleep all day, and its far enough from my birthday that I would be well by then.  I have come to appreciate sick days, where your greatest accomplishments are making soup and getting up to pee.  The sick even get encouraged by friends to sleep more.  “You got out of bed to make soup?  Are you ok?”  “You’re so sick!  Take it easy, you need to sleep and get well.”  Oh well, if you INSIST.  Sighhhh.