Why do I have to be normal?

I have never really led what you would consider a normal life.  As a matter of fact, I have not ever led anything close to it. Even though society has this ‘bubble’ it would like to keep me in, I just have a very difficult time doing that. I have always dreamed big, loved much and forgiven unconditionally.  I have also striven to learn everything I am interested in.  I am not afraid of deep water, snowy mountains or being alone.  I am terrified of people and their ability to hurt one another with just the smallest acts of carelessness.  However, I am not afraid of what they think of me at all.

These things have set me apart somehow.  Sometimes I swear I connect more to the universe than I do people.  I can look at the moon and literally feel it’s presence alone soothe me.  Yet, there are people that make me feel calmer or comforted but I am always hesitant to truly let them in to my heart.  I have many acquaintances as a result of this and the people I have let in, some involuntarily, don’t realize what a rarity it really is.  They don’t realize what it really takes for me to trust.

The normal thing to do here, would be to talk to someone I suppose, but I really feel like my life  is at it’s biggest risk when it is in the hands of others.  So, this is where I was stuck. I was hesitant to open my eyes to all the possibilities in my life because I always thought somehow, it had to be ‘okay’ with others to pursue it.  I was always under the impression that I had to include other people in my decision to enjoy my life.  Because I knew it would not be supported by those around me, not because they don’t love me but for lack of understanding why this was so important to me, I decided to ask God to just make the way.  He did.

I am not a quiet person, yet, I often did not speak how I really felt.  When people would ask how I was, I would always say, “Good!” Followed by something I was numbly blessed with.  I knew I had been blessed, but I just felt like I couldn’t tap into the spiritual end of things.  In other words, I knew I was blessed, but I just wasn’t ‘feeling’ it.  I wasn’t honest about my struggles or how alone I truly felt.  No one would understand, and no one really cared.  When I would give anything but that perfect answer, I would see a reaction I wasn’t fond of.  Pity maybe? I don’t know, but I didn’t like it.  So, I just quit being honest.  I still do this once in a while when I am struggling with trusting that specific person.

I felt God calling me.  I felt Him telling me that He had a plan for me and that the fear I was living in, was not a part of it.  He was calling me to more and I was totally freaking out!  So many times before when God called me, even though the blessings were great, the trials were exhausting and usually life threatening to me or a loved one.  I was hesitant in welcoming this calling and it worked… well, actually… okay, it didn’t work.

So, I went on this internal missions trip where we brought a VBS to a church whom desperately needed one.  We were fully staffed and had more volunteers than what we knew what to do with. During this missions trip, I was faced with some facts about myself.  I didn’t know myself, I didn’t like myself, and I didn’t trust myself.  This was a difficult thing to realize as I am a ‘leader’ of children, peers and loved ones.

During this trip, I experienced so many things, I was not prepared for.  I experienced unconditional kindness, patience, forgiveness, adventure, and encouragement.  I felt.  I know that seems so silly but I was used to up until this point, not being affected much by people outside of my immediate family. I was moved by them and their stories, but I had never been the direct recipient of these things.It changed me.  It was a confirmation from God that yes, I would be growing but for once, it wouldn’t make me wonder every day if I was going to survive it.  God had good things in store for me.

Sure enough, He blessed me.  I did a spiritual 180 and suddenly I was being faced with more joy than I had ever felt before.  I saw everything brighter, bolder, more beautiful.  The smallest things became life changing moments for me.  From a game of cards on the floor that lasted half way through the night, to grabbing an iced coffee at a little market down the road.  I could feel God breathing life into me.  I could feel his hands caressing me and telling me to just “Open your eyes.” which I did. Oh, how glorious everything seemed to be!

Smells became more aromatic, food tasted better, clothes were more comfortable and jokes just seemed so damn funny.  It was like God had walked straight up to me, bent down and  blew life right into my body. I had come to life.  I had changed.  It wasn’t like a camp high or mission high where you come home and it just slowly fades away.  This was a life altering, from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, change.

Well, what ended up happening was that I came home changed.  God had taken all the craziness in my life, all the heartache, all the sadness, all the victories and celebratory moments and brought them together.  He made it so clear, I needed them to appreciate what He was giving me.  Another chance.  A chance to love unconditionally, to be patient, and to show grace even when I was hurt.  A beautiful spiritual hurricane was alive in me and there was no going back.

After we got home, this fire just got bigger.  I pursued life as never before.  With intent and purpose.  There was only one problem.  No one else was feeling what I was feeling in my heart and it seemed like I was losing my mind.  I was asked if I was going through a midlife crisis, if I was going crazy and if I had taken up drinking. It was so funny! The changes I had underwent were not experienced by those around me so naturally, they panicked a little… okay, a lot.

In embracing this new life, one person asked me, “Why can’t you just be normal?” It’s funny how the best I had ever felt, living fearlessly and confidently was the red flag here.  Didn’t everyone know that to me, THIS is normal.  This is how life was really intended to be… Alive!!!  It brought about a new question for me.  Why am I constantly trying to be normal for others to accept me? ‘Normal’ people bored me. Why was I trying to be accepted by normal people?

Well, I’m not and I am SO GLAD for it! By focusing on God and the amazing adventures that He has planned for me, I was blessed time and time again with the beauty of being alive.  I hit several walls that tried to knock me backwards, but every time, I was saved! I have been LOVING LIFE!  I continue to experience kindness, love, encouragement and all those things, and pretty much by the same people God used over the Summer.  So many seeds were planted in my heart and so many of them are already growing!  I love it!

Had I tried to be ‘normal’, I would have missed so many things.  Hikes, sunsets, sunrises, swinging on a rope, trips to the river, swimming in the lake, bbqs with close friends and amazing road trips!  I would still be missing them…  No thanks! 🙂  I choose life! I choose craziness and deep conversations.  I choose strolls through fields in the moonlight.  I choose coffee with a friend instead of a spotless house.  I choose laughing with my kids over trying to make them normal. I love late night texts and early morning visits.  It is different every day and man, it is so worth it.  My heart beats fast every time I think of some of these adventures.  They literally have changed everything for me.

My life will never be the same.  Thank GOD! 🙂   I just want to encourage you to take your life back as well, and stop trying to be NORMAL!!! You won’t regret it.  You will not regret choosing to LIVE rather than just exist! Living a godly life does not mean living a boring life. 🙂

Today, I am not going to edit or proofread this post.  Just going to send it as it came out!  I also am going to leave you with this scripture…

O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.  Psalm 34:8

Sigh… Love this word…

Thanks for reading!

Blessings!
Angie 🙂

If I could only find myself…

It’s not everyday that I go back in history to the child I was once.  To be honest, I wasn’t a child long enough to really go back there.  My days were forced.  I always had this crazy feeling that I was alone but not alone, if that makes any sense at all.  I remember being a small child and climbing our fence to the top board, closing my eyes and pretending that the wind was simply my transporter to another land.  I would feel tears stinging my cheeks as I begged into the wind, just for someone to love me.  I didn’t realize this was not normal back then.  I never knew what it was like to be the center of all the attention.  I recall being teased by my siblings that I was adopted and I completely believed it, because I knew I did not belong anywhere that I knew.

Going back a little farther…  As my parents separated, my 5-year-old mentality was just that. Terror gripped me with every second of the last day I was a child.  There was a fight.  My mom and dad were yelling at each other and my dad told my mom, she could not take his kids.  He was wrong.  I remember my mom picking me up and rushing out the door, and feeling like I was dying.  What was happening?  Was she really going to take us away?  Every second my mom ran away, my heart was begging her to run back.  My last time I saw my parents together and married, my mom was full of anger and determined to see her plan through.  My dad was sitting on the couch, a coward in my eyes.  Why was he not reaching for me?  Why was he not trying to keep me?  Why did nobody care that they were scaring me?

As we neared the car, I remember looking at the very fence that would soon be my secret getaway and it seeming so tall.  Following it down to another fence that led to my grandmother’s house.  I remember panic setting in as I realized we were leaving my grandma as well! (Technically, she was my great-aunt but we called her Grandma) She was my security.  She was never afraid to tell my parents when they needed to get a grip.  She taught me arithmetic and read me short stories that she took time to write, just to share with me. She told me never to cry unless I planned on doing something about it. She was tough and witty and always looked clean and pressed even when she was troubled.  She took care of people, even when they were dying and there would be no return.  She was bold, and intelligent and oh, how I admired her. I loved her, even when she made me hold lava soap on my tongue for sassing her. I asked my mom if I could just go to Grandma’s house. She didn’t speak at all. I received my answer when my mom set me down and guided me into the car. The answer was, “no”.

Heading down our long driveway, I watched out the window through watery eyes, just waiting for my mom to turn the car around.  Instead, she made a left turn toward town.  On the right, as the car accelerated, I saw the home of my Kindergarten teacher.  She was my comforter, her and her husband.  They taught me to churn butter and reminded me that Jesus would one day be my best friend.  My parents never talked of Jesus, so it was doubtful to me.  I listened all the same though, because everything she ever promised me, always came true.  She was honest, and loving and she believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.  I loved to sit on their couch and run my hands through the pelt that was from Mr. Herbst’s first hunting trip after he and Mrs. Herbst wed. They asked me to come along anytime they did chores and welcomed my presence for any task they might be doing.  It was where I first learned to ride a horse. I remember the smell of Mr. Herbst when he would come in from working outside and how he would always smile at me, even if his arthritic fingers were bleeding from his work.  He was strong and kind and always willing to teach me new things.  I quickly saw my chance and asked my mom if I could please go to Mrs. Herbst’s house.  Staring forward, completely unaware of my voice, I was pretty sure she had already forgotten I was in the car.  Reflections of trees and haystacks strobe past my window, hope lost.

That’s all I remember from that day.  As a matter of fact, that is the last memory I have until a barbecue quite a while later where we met my mom’s future second husband.

It was a warm and sunny day and the air was filled with hickory scents of smoked meats and Summer.  My mom, who seemed unusually happy, was just visiting up a storm.  I think we may have lived in this home but I can’t remember.  I just remember trees and fence and house.  Somewhat of a secluded little prison of sorts.  When introduced to this man, he invited me to sit and talk a spell.  He asked me questions about assorted things, like how old I was, etc.  Just as I started to relax a little, he pulled me close and whispered into my ear. “You wanna know a secret?” He asked. “I don’t like children.” He said it very casually and just as I thought he may be joking, he slid me off his lap and stood to join the adults.  Within a year, he and my mother married.  It turned out, that he proved to be quite the liar as he obviously did like children, just in a terrible way.  He and my mom moved back into the home that my grandfather (technically, great-uncle) had built.  I was so glad to be near my grandma again and even more happy that we would be living there forever so I would never have to leave there again!  At least, that was what I thought.

But we did leave there, as my mother and grandmother could not see eye to eye about the new addition to our family.  She never ceased to voice how little she liked our new ‘dad’.  It was exactly the chance he needed, being out from under the scrutiny of our grandma and before long, our step dad showed his true colors.  Slowly, life began to drain from our family.  We moved to yet another home and my brother who could not stand to be home, moved out of our home and into our father’s home.  My mom was gone more and more storing up funds for a future in the Idaho mountains where we would become self-sufficient and have an amazing life! I remember very little from these days, other than abuse, riding my blue Schwinn bicycle with the glittery banana seat up and down the road, and the lady that lived at the end of our street that allowed us to sit inside with a cup of hot cocoa until the bus arrived.  I think she knew. That I was broken, I mean.  She always seemed to hug me just a little bit longer.  It was numbing.  The more people tried to love me without actually helping me, seemed to only make things so much worse.  I spent most of my time in class, daydreaming and slowly slipping away from the surroundings I had no desire to be connected to.

When my dad actually came to pick us up on weekends, he was so focused on his own life, that rarely did he reach into ours.  We saw him as the victim in the situation and never wanted to hurt his feelings.  Regardless, he hadn’t saved us up until this point.  Why would he save us now?  There was no point in burdening him with the specifics of what was happening in our lives.  My dad had moved back into the home our grandfather had built and when he left for work, or whatever he was doing, I would sneak out to the fence, climb to the top board and cry.  I just wanted someone who said they loved me, to save me.  I wanted someone to see my pain but I didn’t know how to tell them.  I talked to the animals and they didn’t mind.  They didn’t cry, make excuses or even try to explain things.  They surely did not tell me they loved me only to hug me and leave me right where I was.  They always listened.

At school, they did a special class about ‘Good touching vs. Bad touching’ and I learned that I had been experiencing bad touching for quite some time.  It was easy to recognize and just like they told me, I said, “No!” and told a safe adult so they could protect me.  My mom was in the shower and my step dad had taken advantage of her being indisposed in the room literally next to my bedroom.  I told him “No!” and after he smacked me so hard that my ear rang, he left the house.  I was so encouraged by his response to leave me alone, it was easy to tell my mom.  I told her exactly what the school had told me to.  “He has been touching me in a bad way!”  I burst into tears, so relieved it was over.  I saw shock in her eyes which gave way to fear, which led to anger.  She pulled on her robe and went outside to confront him.  I ran into my room to watch out the window but when I couldn’t see them anymore, I started to pack my things.  I had a life-size, stuffed, mountain lion my brother had given me, that I cherished.  He was my confidante and my best friend in the whole world.  I promised to come back for him.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and sobbed at the thought of leaving him.

That Summer, we all moved to Idaho together.  The abuse stopped but hope did not return me until one day, I fell asleep in a hammock, quite a distance from our new home which was still in the process of being built.  I had blisters from peeling logs without gloves on, even though my mom had told me to wear them.  I had the first book from the Narnia series on my chest and I awoke from what sounded like a tree falling right by my head.  I sat up expecting something terrible to be happening around me.  Instead, a swirl of leaves blew all around me lying in that hammock and I could feel goosebumps rising on my arms as my hair blew around my face.  There was a hill that climbed up right behind where I lay.  It was covered in beautiful birch trees, releasing gorgeous leaves in the fall that reminded me of fire.  Those same leaves were swirling around me and up the hill in such an odd way that I thought I was dreaming and had fallen into a Narnian stupor.  The blisters on my fingers however, convinced me otherwise.  My hands stung like mad and I became startled.  I began looking all around for the cause of the crashing sound, but found nothing.  I looked up the hill only to see where the new leaves had created a soft pathway.  Trying to get out of the hammock, I was not quite the master of this yet, I fell onto my hands and tore one of the blisters open.  Man, that hurt!

I was distracted again though.  What was that sound?  I hiked up the hill to notice a strip of trees that were blowing steadily while the others just twitched their leaves in the breeze.  I walked farther into a little meadow that I had never even considered entering before.  The trees circled it but where the creek went through, there was this really strong breeze  that was able to pass through.  A mound nearby was catching my eye and soon the crashing sound no longer even mattered.  When I neared the top of the small hill, I felt the breeze even stronger.  It was soft and high and wonderful.  I closed my eyes and all I could hear was the sound of peace in my ears.  You know, that sound you get when you put earplugs in and everything just seems so far away.  I don’t even know how long I sat there.  All I know is that when I heard a whistle (our call out to each other if out of earshot) I opened my eyes and realized for the first time I had been crying.  My cheeks were wet and cold and I felt like something familiar was happening.

We moved back to Oregon that following year, just our mom and us girls.  We left many things behind, including my hill with the breeze, which I had grown so fond of.  It was okay though, because we would come back, I remember thinking.  We didn’t.  We did, however, move in with our aunt and uncle, the sister of the step dad we had just left behind and were reminded every day of the life we would never be able to entirely forget.  My aunt told me once when her daughter expressed concerns of how her husband looked at me, that I needed to not encourage him by sitting too close.  It didn’t change anything.

When I was 9, we rented a home from a family friend.  I remember feeling so excited because the homeowner was so nice to us and always seemed to be genuinely interested in us. I secretly had always hoped he would be our dad, but it didn’t work that way.  My mom was a hard worker and at that time, focused mostly on trying to get back on her feet.  We rarely saw her and even more rarely communicated with her about anything other than chores and trouble.  It was not exactly the life we were expecting, but who knows what life will bring, right?  The great part about this house, while it being in town was a great downfall, there was a school right down the road, where you could climb these high metal stairs and sit up on the platform where the wind whisked through from the positioning of the buildings, creating somewhat of a tunnel.  I would just sit there with my eyes closed and let the wind blow me to another place.  A place where I was free but wanted.  Every chance we got to go to our dad’s, I would run out to the fence and just breathe.

This is a part of my childhood I avoid revisiting often and to be honest, life didn’t get much better in many areas for a really long time.  However, the years since this time in my life are a completely different story! Have you ever heard the song by Miranda Lambert, ‘The house that built me’?  Here you go!

Well, that is such a picture into how I used to approach my pain.  If I could just go back, somehow and see something I missed in my memories that would allow me to heal.  Well, let me tell you a sad story.  The house that built me, wasn’t a house at all.  It was several houses, most of which I can no longer visit.  All of them have both good and terrifying memories.  Additionally, those houses didn’t build me, they are just the locations that these things happened.  I have never truly felt at home.  Not once in my whole life have I ever felt that the house I lived in was the house I was going to remain in for the rest of my life.  Maybe it is partially because I grew up moving and even after I was on my own, I kept on moving.  I don’t know….

What I do know is that I have always found a way to make wherever I am, where I am supposed to be in that moment… Wait, let me rephrase that… What I do know is that a way to make wherever I am, where I am supposed to be, has always been given to me.  It’s not a pain-free life.  As a matter of fact, this is just the bold print in the first chapter of the book of my life!  Every day, I am faced with the passing of my life.  I don’t like to call it my past as much as passing, because these memories are still very alive and clear in my mind.  They affect my choices, my preferences, my parenting, my relationships, and my walk with Christ.  All of these things matter, but what REALLY matters is the fact that no matter where I was and no matter what was happening to me, at every turn, I was given a place to climb up closer to my Lord and feel the wind blow all my burdens away!

Obviously, God is everywhere, and does not depend on hills, or stairs or even tall wooden fences to be close to us.  Many times I have been on the floor, on my knees, lower than low and felt Him heal my heart, but there is just something about getting outside of your routine view of things that truly make you see, you are not alone and the One who loves you CREATED THE WIND! He washes all your tears away. EVERY time you cry them, He is there, just waiting for you to surrender them.

My entire life has been surrounded by signs that God was there.  From being a 14-year-old 120 lb girl, hitch hiking across the state and making it not only alive but unblemished to being a mom of a child with cancer and from waking up after a night of partying in another state at the age of 15 to being the wife of a meth addict.  I see Gods hands in every single one of those moments in my life… but I didn’t always see them when I was going through them…

Many times, I was pulling hair, sobbing, vomiting, shaking with fear, anxious and flat-out depressed.  I was worried about what I could not control and refused to hand over what I knew I was not even meant to.  I was angry and sometimes mean.  Self destructive and venomous toward those who had hurt me.  I refused to be weakened by life and was DAMN PROUD OF IT!!! I was proud… proud of a life that continuously tried to destroy me and I was single-handedly going to kick the living shit out of it.  It does not take a genius to see what this led to.  Yep… I kept being broken.  I kept falling under attack.  I kept trying to deal with everything that had ever happened to me on my own because I KNEW THE ANSWERS!  Then why in the hell was I so miserable?  Let me tell you why…

I refused to see God’s hand because I couldn’t fathom that He was there and that He loved me and that He hugged me and STILL LEFT ME THERE!  I couldn’t face this because He is God! Isn’t He supposed to be the One that saves me?  COME ON!!! Doesn’t the bible say Jesus loves me?  I had heard it!  It wasn’t news to me, I just didn’t BELIEVE IT!!!  I was pissed and scared and confused.  I had no more trust to give!

Then, Jesus came to life in me.  I had nothing left.  My husband and I were separated and God nailed me every chance He could get with the scripture I had in my head but had refused to accept into my heart.  God challenged me to no longer attempt to use Him like a genie in a bottle but as the KING and RULER of ALL THAT IS HOLY!  He breathed life into me and left me no choice but to acknowledge Him.  He said write me a story, and I threw my paper away.  He said give me your burdens and I held on as tight as I could.  He said let me love you and I yelled to Him, “I HATE YOU!”  …   Then, He went silent.  No longer did I receive comfort coming to Him because the only time I came to Him was when I wanted to see things done… MY WAY.  He stopped reminding me of His words and I found no comfort in anything I sought out.  I had no joy in anything I did.  I had separated myself from God, and He did not punish me.  His silence spoke volumes of a parent giving their child time to figure out that their parent is right.  I recognized it as I was a mother of four.  I saw it and for the very first time in my life, I actually saw God as MY FATHER.  He disciplined me, not with anger but with truth.  That without Him, I am TRULY alone.  I never really knew alone until this time in my life, nor had I ever known what LOVE really looked like…

I still live in this fallen world, and my life has never been easy.  But I am never alone and I never will be… We serve a Living God and His real name is Love.

~For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.  Jeremiah 29:11~

~He who does not love, does not know God, for God is Love.  1 John 4:8 ~

~The God of my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, My stronghold and my refuge; My Savior, You save me from violence.
2 Samuel 22:3 ~

~Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.   Matthew 11:28~

I pray that in your life, as well as mine, there will always be a place to climb and have your burdens blown away from you, until the next time, you will need to climb again.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Oceans (Where My Feet May Fail)

Lying on the frigid ocean shore, blinded from pain, I can hear the sea creeping closer. As I lay there, naked, helpless, cold and shivering, doubt seeps into the deepest parts of my soul and panic sets in. I can feel the waves licking at my body and my mind enters once again into that place of darkness. I am about to drown. I am going to die. I have nothing left to fight. The icy waters surround my head, swirling all around my hair and rushing into my ears. The waves retreat once again and I feel a numbness that is all too familiar to my heart. My heart… my heart. The waves rush all around my body, lifting it from the sand that once supported my weight. I can feel fragments of the sea, running through my fingers and violently calling me to the sea. “Your heart is broken… you are broken.” It whispers to me. “You are alone… alone.”

Suddenly a feeling of awakening comes over me. Alone? No, I can’t be alone because I am being called into darkness… darkness… which means there must be light… light. Air fills my lungs as the waves leave me once again on the shore. In the gray skies that once blinded me, I see a tiny sliver of light… My heart beats violently as my eyes take in the light, realization setting in. I can hear them, the waves, they are coming back for me. “Oh my God!”, escapes my lungs just as the waters roll fiercely over my body, and tries to consume me once and for all! “No!” My heart screams as my eyes peer at the light through the very liquid that intends to drown me. The light moves closer to me. I can see it shimmering through the waves that pound my helpless body. Feeling comes into everything it touches. Finally, my entire body is covered in water and in light. I feel my body begin to come to life, kicking, swimming, fighting! I am almost to the top. I can see the light shining above me and can feel the darkness pulling to keep me down. My fingers exit the waters first, my breath begging for release. As my face rises above the waters, only one name lays on my tongue and lips. Only One could shine such a Light… “Jesus!” I cry out! “Jesus!”

… Lying on the frigid ocean shore, I hear the waves of the sea in the distance. I hear my breath entering and exiting my lungs. I am alive… Thank God, I am alive! Rising to my feet, I look upon the ocean waters. The ocean seems so far away now. Fierce, powerful, and dangerous, but never as great as the light that controls it’s tides.

Peace and love to all who have been consumed and have seen The Light just in time. Light and Love to those of you who are still drowning. Jesus is the Name. Jesus.

Video

%d bloggers like this: