The Wound & The Knife

Have you ever had an abyss-like wound that you wonder if it will ever heal? You placate, analyze, and apply the salve of the day only to discover you have been treating a different kind of wound? It has been 40 years and you worked hard trying to get that thing under control. You almost had it fixed. Things were getting better and you didn't really think about it much. Then something happens that not only rips it open but uncovers another part you didn't even know was there.

I had forgotten when it even started because I was so young. She was younger but she was different. I want to believe that she had it worse but looking back I think I was made to believe that. She must have learned to play the victim to get her desired attention. I remember the first time I witnessed what she had been doing. She would tell Mom a lie about me to get me in trouble or diminish me. When I attempted to defend myself Mom told me to stop lying. We were 7 and 8. I didn't know how to fix it. I was so shocked that Mom didn't believe me. There was nothing I could do but take it. I remember considering my options. I could catch her in a lie but it would require witnesses and that was hard because my only witness would be my older sister. Mom always believed her but she didn't really like me. I could lie too but deep down I knew that was wrong. I believed my Sunday School teacher and the pastor when they said lying was wrong. I knew I didn't want to do something so blatantly sinful, even at 8. The only tool I had at my disposal was to distance myself from her, my little sister.

I would have vivid daydreams and made plans to tie her to a chair and tape her mouth shut just so I could have a chance to tell my side of the story. They were so satisfying to think about. Equally bad or worse than lying, I knew I was trapped. The only thing I could do was withdraw. I knew she wouldn't stop. She never apologized or showed any remorse. If anything she seemed very pleased with the results. When no one was looking she was nice to me and we would play together as we always had. In my naive childish state, I would think we were friends again and everything was fine. It wasn't.

As time passed I withdrew more. I decided my parents were stupid if they could be fooled so easily. If they were stupid then they couldn't be trusted. Even when she was caught all they did was feel sorry for her. She made sure of that. If I attempted any kindness somehow it got twisted. I remember Mom being upset I was so helpful and kind in other places but not at home. By that time I had given up. It was too hard to deal with being a teenager, 100% taking care of myself emotionally, and fighting my little sister to make sure what she said about me was the truth. At home, I was angry and felt trapped. By my junior year of high school, I was really struggling and my parents tried really hard to help me. It was the first time my father listened and believed me. But then she really exploded and engaged in some dangerous behavior. I was on my own again but it was nice while it lasted.

Inside, I knew I was a kind person who cared a lot about others. Outside, I was too scared to open up for fear of judgment but still desperate to connect. College was spent trying to figure out what was going on with me. I was desperate to understand how people worked, why I felt like this, and why my parents didn't like me I majored in Psychology. I started working with troubled teens in a treatment center and looked into doing social work. It didn't last but the desire to figure it all out remained. I tried going home for a short time but it didn't work. I was expected to behave and conform to this person they thought I was. After being away for 5 years at school it felt like returning to a dystopian reality where everyone had drunk the Kool-Aid but me. She was there and still very much playing the victim. The fits and vitriol had amped up. Now she had a daughter, the first grandchild and I was very much the enemy. To survive, I would have to give up my family. 

Fast forward 25 years and I see it more clearly now. When I was a child, it never occurred to me she was lying when I wasn't around. Just like a well-worded news headline, she probably got very good at slanting the truth well enough that it just became reality to them. I am not sure we will ever be able to unweave the lies. It feels like starting over in some respects with these relationships. A big part of me will always feel like no one wants to have a relationship with me because I am all those bad things I was told as a child. I know I am not. I know who I am and I have worked very hard to get here. I still struggle with it.

Last month my parents discovered that she had been taking money out of different accounts. The low end estimates are around 400k. They were devastated. Financially they will be fine. Emotionally, they didn't see it coming. It has forever changed the landscape of our family. The wound that I thought had scarred over had a knife plunged back into it.

You see, I had done as I was told. I eventually gave in and believed she was the victim. I believed she needed extra attention and help. That is what my parents saw and believed. That is what they told me she needed. Pushing the idea that she was anything other than that got immediate backlash from both my parents and siblings. Any praise or attention I received was either diverted with more grand victim behavior or emotionally attacked directly by her. I figured out that for everything to be okay for me or the family I needed to be something that I was not. I knew long ago that for my family to survive living in the same town with her I had to allow them to see me a certain way and they could never believe anything other than what she wanted them to believe. Any attempt at anything beyond that was met with emotional outbursts, mood swings, and manipulation. My leaving was the best thing for everyone, or so I thought. It never occurred to me that she would target anyone else. My leaving only preserved me.

30 years ago, as a true GenXer, I had blamed my problems on my parents. In therapy, I worked through my feelings for my parents and what my childhood had caused. I had accepted that my mother didn't like me and my father was indifferent. I was okay knowing they would never know the real me. I knew who I was and that was enough. My husband loved and knew the real me. He accepted me in all forms, good, bad, and ugly. It is still my favorite thing about him. I had rebuilt my life and had friends, family, children, and purpose. We spent 20 years living far away and only had to deal with home once or twice a year. It was never 100% pleasant coming home but we had adapted. 5 years ago we moved an hour away. We were all older. 1 hour was close enough and far enough. My husband and I made plans to basically lie. We decided that as long as we made statements in front of everyone and to her directly she was so much smarter, better, and anything we could reasonably get away with saying we were going to say. It wasn't going to hurt anyone and it meant the drama would be minimized. Despite that, we all felt like outsiders but at least we weren't being directly attacked. It was as good as it was going to get and this was all I was ever going to get from my family.

But now, it has changed. It was an expensive lesson but they saw her. They truly saw her. It has been over 40 years, but they finally saw her. I wasn't anywhere near it. There is no chance for her to blame it on me. Now I have to find a new dressing for the freshly opened wound. I am better at wound care than I was in my early years. This time I have the tools I need already on hand. I also know how strong I really am.

I don't know what will happen to my family. They haven't ever had to deal with this type of pain or loss with someone so close. They are still reeling. I am looking in my toolbox to repair this wound and heal. I hope this is the last time that I see that knife.

I Need A Space

 Do you ever feel crushed? So pressed in on all sides you can't breathe? I felt like that 15 years ago when I first started this blog. I feel like that now. I thought it was because I didn't have my husband with me while I tried to raise three very young boys. I thought it was because something else was claiming his time as its own. I thought it was because we had no money and we needed so many "things". I was wrong then and I know I must be wrong now. 

As I push and pull myself through one of the most difficult times in my life I realize I am doing the same things I was doing then. Because this time my husband isn't out of the country or going to war. This time we have plenty of money but still seem to have none. This time I have three almost grown boys figuring life out some times dangerously and a husband that chose another career by which he is consumed. Looking back at that moment I can see that now the only difference is I have experience.

Not experience with hard moments or doing them any better than I do them. I am still the same weak sinful creature falling on the floor, crying out for it to stop. Crying out that she can't take anymore because she can't. Screaming internally for more strength, more time, more something to fix these trials. Anything, she cries, anything to make them stop. But they do not stop.

How did I get through last time? God brought me friends. Friends that led me through, led me to comfort in Christ, brought me to every little moment I needed to survive.

This time it is harder and I do not have those friends. I don't know where to find them. I do know where to ask and where to seek help. This is my new prayer for the moment. My idols are huge but my Lord is enormous, without end. I pray I can find comfort here.

Psalm 51 - Have mercy on me,[a] O God,

    according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
    blot out my transgressions.
2 Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
    and cleanse me from my sin!

3 For I know my transgressions,
    and my sin is ever before me.
4 Against you, you only, have I sinned
    and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
    and blameless in your judgment.
5 Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
    and in sin did my mother conceive me.
6 Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
    and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=psalm%2051&version=ESV

A Huge Gift in a Small Package

She came to me when I truly needed her.  I was a junior in college, drowning in life decisions.  I had no idea what to do with her.  How to train or feed her, even what the law required regarding dogs, I was clueless.

It didn’t seem to matter.  She needed me as much as I needed her.  She lost her family to the coyotes on my father’s farm.  She only survived because she was the best at hiding.  Then she was too cute not to take home.

She taught me about separation anxiety and fear.  She chased down cockroaches after the bug guy sprayed and growled just when I needed her to.  She growled viciously at just the right person despite her short squatty legs and 24 lbs of mostly fur.  She made me get out of bed to walk her and feed her when I wanted to sleep too long.  When I didn’t want to care I couldn’t forget about her.  She saved me in inches every day from sinking too low.

She never begged for too much attention.  Just a little tummy scratching then she would settle in at the end of the couch.  She slept on the edge of my bed until his feet got in the way.  After 4 years of just us she took to him so well, mostly. 

He insisted we get another dog.  She never liked other dogs until we brought home this one.  She didn’t really have a choice.  Dancer, a self appointed Goddess, insisted she was boss and after 3 days of talks, she agreed.  The discussion went something like “I pin you to the ground by your throat and you agree, ok?”.  Dancer came with her own issues but it seemed to work for them both.  Their quirks worked together for all of us.

Despite a fear of little hands she dealt with the birth of 3 boys in 5 years well.  They learned that the old dogs didn’t' play but would steal their food given the chance.  The dogs learned that baby spit up wasn’t bad and little kids dropped snacks.

She took visiting dogs well as long as they didn’t play with her.  She only ever played with one dog and never did again when we lost Dancer to painful arthritis at age 11.

Since then we have had many dogs in our lives.  A few moves, a major career change, and a long deployment later she grew weary.  Her back legs had lost sensation, slowly getting worse.  The wrong step could paralyze her but living in a crate 24/7 is no way for any dog to live.  I watched carefully every time she stepped out the door for 4 years.

Her muzzle was gray and she could no longer hear people coming to the door.  She couldn’t chew her food because her teeth had mostly fallen out and it hurt to turn her neck much but she still seemed happy to be here.

Then she no longer could no longer make it outside for bathroom breaks.

We said goodbye to her a few weeks ago.  Addie was over 16 years old. I was pleased to lay her to rest at a friend’s farm.

I am not one who believes our pets go to a kind of heaven.  I do believe she was a gift from God that offered a kind of support and comfort that only she could give.  I am forever grateful for that gift.

I miss her.

A Creative Quick Fix

My creativity is languishing in the land of priorities.  Hence the blog posting once a month, or less.

I could complain or list my to do’s, but that is such a drag and accomplishes nothing but prolonged self-pity.  My struggles are small, tiny, almost non existent in the light of God’s glory.  Am I right?  I like a good perspective.  It brightens the view.

ANYWAY……here is where my creative outlet has been used in the recent (yesterday) past.

I have mad Lego skills.  Want to know how long it took me to put that “rocket ship” together?

4 hours

I could have kept going.  I think it needs blasters on top.  Maybe a robotic arm to grab bad guys?

It will be destroyed in 2 days.  Most likely by an alien attack.

The Middle Son

This last week he turned 6.

He was always on the chubby side.  Then he was just big.

He was born with a birth defect that we were told was a miracle.  A miracle that he had no lasting effects.  A less than 1% chance that he is now perfectly normal.

He likes to laugh.  He really really likes to make you laugh.

He is particular and passionate, equally.  When things are not in his particular order he passionately lets you know.

He still hates to give kisses.  He says he is allergic to girls, except me.

His imagination will wow and frustrate you all at the same time.

He would rather be funny than right.

He looks the most like his father.  He acts the most like his father.  He is shy and sensitive, easily hurt but unable to tell me why.  Just like his father.

I pray I do what God will have me do for him.  I am humbled by the gift that is my middle son.  Six years seem to have flown by while I was busy being a mom.

I would like to say I wish I could have cherished them more.  But it is their brevity that makes them precious to me.  How they are all squished between diaper changes, laughter, and laundry makes them more amazing.

Happy Birthday Alex!

Joy in Suffering

There has been much talk recently of trials and suffering.  As a world class complainer, I find the topic difficult to wrap my thoughts around.

Why can’t we just fix it?  Why does it have to be this way?  It must be my fault because this doesn’t happen to people who do it “right” or “better”.  I do not understand.

This morning I tried to explain 9/11 to my 8 year old son.  I couldn’t do it without tears.  The fear I felt that day came rushing back.  The memory of standing with co-workers watching the news in a large downtown area far away from home surrounded by strangers was overwhelming.  Trying to keep it together as I rode back with a gentlemen my father’s age across the deep south was difficult.  The man was born in Iran and fled decades ago because the same thing that happened that day in our country happened in his country to a much greater degree.  He understood what had happened.  He already knew what it all meant that day.

I am working on understanding and by working I mean praying.  I know seeing the joy in trials and rejoicing at my pain when the suffering is unbearable will not come from me.  It will not come from my heart.

It will be gift, a blessing.  To rejoice in God being glorified during tragedy, to embrace pain as a gift, as an opportunity is not in my nature.

10 years later many blessings can been seen.  The gifts shining against the backdrop of such pain makes them shine that much brighter.  Embracing my children that did not exist on that day and to count my blessings since then is overwhelming.

I pray I can look faithfully to God during trials, large and small.  I pray I can thank Him for His gifts even when I do not understand them.

Today I am thankful for brothers building memories.

I am thankful for father and son making memories.  Memories made not on my timeline but His.

Today I am thankful for brave men who run toward the sound of battle. 

I am thankful for the pain of that day and many since.  Those wonderful days have molded and changed me for good.  Not goodness from my own heart but goodness given to me by the only One who has any to give.

I pray it is the same for you.

Did You Miss Me?

 

I missed blogging. A LOT.  Life has been happening here with much to share.  School has started for us and God has put it before me that things must change.

Not drastic things, at least not in the worldly sense.  Things according to His purpose and His plan.  Last year I tried to answer my problems my way, not His.  I overwhelmed myself and although I sustained it for awhile it eventually crushed me.

I reasoned that I was trying some things out and I was good at this or that so it was easy to “fit” in to our lives.  My heart did not follow my head.

Now I am back where I was a year ago with the same problems but a new position. ON MY KNEES.  I am dropping some things and focusing on others.  The reward?  Peace and a joyful perspective.

So to recap a few things you missed I will share some pictures.  I also think the blog is looking a bit tired.  New colors perhaps?  I think so too.

Do these guys look bigger?  They sure do to me!

   

 

I did these for a friend.  She still has not received them yet but soon, I hope.

 

 

 

 

This is why I don’t get more projects done or blogs written.

 

 

          

This is why I by used furniture.

 

 

 

 

This is why my Blackberry is banned from all little boys and my camera battery is usually dead.

 

 

We are down to only 3 dogs!  I know, I know, that is till a lot to some but considering these 3 are calm and obedient it is a huge change.  I have not finished any quilts but soon I will have something to show.  I am in the process of finishing up 1, and 2 are closer than they were a month ago.  That is huge progress, for me.

Thanks for not abandoning me while my life sorted.  More later.