Obrigado (gratefulness)

I have the coolest thing ever to share! As many of you know I've been staying with my Mom. As with most family relationships I think we fell into old patterns and for me, one of my greatest character defects of entitlement reared it's ugly little head...a lot. On Friday morning, she came into my room at 9:30 a.m. and said she could no longer live with me and that I had to get out NOW. I was totally dismayed, ticked off like you couldn't imagine and so enraged. I began packing my things, which was a disaster by the way and was gone within a little over an hour. I have to be honest and say I wanted to get high so bad I could hardly see straight. Praise God I didn't, it truly was because of God's grace. Anyway, I drove around aimlessly, crying, screaming, you name it. I don't have a cell phone, so I couldn't call anyone. I finally decided that I would have to sleep in my car and figure things out on Saturday. I drove to our church (and if you attend my church and are reading this, don't you dare tell anyone I did this) and parked in the back of the lot, crawled in the backseat and tried to sleep. Of course, I didn't get a wink, but decided I would go back to my Mom's the next day, ask to use the phone and take a shower. I showed up and she agreed to let me do that. My brother got on the Internet and tried to find emergency shelters and such. Okay, can I just add here that all two of them in the state of Colorado were closed until Monday. What do they think, people don't end up homeless on the weekends? For the love.

I made a few phone calls, and got a hold of two people. One, a dear friend, lives in Arkansas so me crashing on her couch wasn't a reality. She spoke the truth I needed to hear, which was that nothing at this point was beneath me and it was time to get off my a** and make things happen. I've been wallowing in self-pity for awhile in case you didn't know. We prayed together, I cried a lot and she just loved on me. She told me the two most immediate things I needed to do were to find a safe place to lay my head and get a freakin' job. The next phone call was to another friend from our church choir. She and her husband were literally walking out the door. I gave her the Reader's Digest version of what was happening and she said I could come stay for the weekend. They live up in the mountains in the most amazing house you've ever been in. It's called Selah Place, which means to pause and reflect. She asked me if I wanted to go to church on Sunday and then to a picnic. I said no to church, didn't really want to go to the picnic but said yes. We sat out on the porch and talked endlessly and again, she spoke God's truth which I so needed to hear.

Before I left my Mom's house on Saturday I sent out an e-mail to three or four friends from church asking for help. What you have to know is that during my active addiction, I hurt these people immensely. I have avoided my relationships with them out of fear (this is totally my issue and not theirs). I felt bad for sending out this e-mail but didn't know what else to do. I knew I had until today to find a place to sleep. Camping out in my car and peeing on public property is really no way to live. Back to the picnic part...

My friend T and I pull into the park for the picnic and in my heart I'm hating it. She mentions that it was a choir picnic and suddenly I felt better knowing I would see many friends who have stood by my side through more than anyone should ever have to. Truly, within 15-20 minutes a long time friend came up to me and said "So, how would you feel about staying with us AND I have a job I think you would be perfect for." She was one of the people I sent the e-mail to, but again was afraid I'd hurt her too much that her help wasn't an option. This was truly one of those situations I was glad to be so wrong!

I believe with my whole heart that when I prayed to God "Lord, I am willing to anything at this point. Yes, nothing is beneath me and yes, I haven't been focused entirely on you, but please, provide a way." His response was "My beloved child, I have been waiting for you to say that. What I will keep beneath you is a pillow in a house with a christian family. What I will keep beneath you is the strength of my wind to bring you through this storm. What I will keep within you is my never ending love. Wait and see what I have in store, wait and see my love how I will bless you." Never in my 31 years has the Lord provided a way so quickly. He's been so faithful to me time and time again, but I have continued to take it for granted. I think the journey of recovery has helped me so much in just being grateful. I can tell you, my faith has been small as of late and my doubt big.

God, you promised that if my faith was as small as a mustard seed you would move mountains for me. The mountain you just moved seemed insurmountable, impossible, and beyond what I thought you would do. I long to be a light in a dark place, to glorify you, to love you more and give you my best. Thank you for giving me yet another chance to do just that. Help me be the godly woman you desire, one full of gratefulness, full of joy and a countenance that reflects only you. Jesus, you truly are the one and only.

Obrigado dear Lord, obrigado (that's portuguese for gratefulness by the way).

Healing Captive

"O, God, who frees the captive, do not liberate this carnal slave for freedom's sake. For I will surely wing my flight to another thorny land. Break, instead, each evil bond and rub my swollen wrists, then take me prisoner to your will - enslaved in your safekeeping. O, God, who ushers light into the darkness, do not release me to the light only to see myself. Cast the light of my liberation upon your face and be thou my vision. Do not hand me over to the quest of greater knowledge. Make your word a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. O, God, who lifts the grieving head, blow away the ashes but let your gentle hand be upon my brow. Be my only crown of beauty. Comfort me so deeply, my Healer, that I seek no other comfort. O, God, who loves the human soul too much to let it go, so thoroughly impose yourself into the heaps and depths of my life that nothing remains undisturbed. Plow this life, Lord, until everything you overturn becomes a fertile soil. Then plant me O God, in the vast plain of your love. Grow me, strengthen me, and do not lift your pressing hand until it can boastfully unveil a display of your splendor."

These words have been my life song for over a year now. I can say with profound certainty that my God kept his promise to grow me and strengthen me. He has reminded me of promises he made and that for many, it is time for them to come to fruition. Not all of them are happening in the manner I envisioned, but nonetheless, God and I are going further still to reach them. I love the picture of God's hand gently pressing my brow, bringing me comfort and still, breathing life into a masterpiece. His touch entails so much.

Just for today, I will feel the warmth of God's embrace and know that I am a display of His splendor.

PRESTON!

My friend, it was good to hear from you. When you reply to a post on the blog, it goes through a modification. I am able to reject or publish, so your comments may become public. I would like to find out where you are, as I have searched to no avail. Please, if you're reading this, leave a comment with your current contact information. I will read it and then reject the comment, so as to leave your personal information between us. I will always love you too, and no, you weren't a dipshit, we were just young. I'd love to catch up. Give your family my love. Look forward to hearing from you.
Lisa

Thanks Mr. President

"Gee, thanks for the autographed baseball Mr. President. I'll sell it on E-Bay and use the money to buy gas to get to my little league games."

My Prayer

First, I want to express my gratitude about something. This past week, I've received a number of e-mails, both personal and private, from friends reminding me of their love, their pride over my growth, and general well-wishes. It's hard to see change when you're the one changing, so the outside perspective has been a tremendous encouragement and frankly, God's voice communicating audibly. I have been fortunate in my life to have some close and intimate friendships, all of whom have made me a better person, all of whom taught me something unique. So, to you my friends, thank you for hanging in there. And to you, my dear God, my cup overflows again and again.

My mind feels like a toll road these days. Lots of passing thoughts, heartstrings being pulled this way and that, emotions rising to the surface. I feel a sense of connectedness to myself and to what God brings up. Some things I have to put back on the shelf for the time being, while other things I am so much better equipped to handle. Many relationships within my family are sitting on the shelf. I feel fear around confronting my own anger and hurt. This is a primary feeling related to my Dad. He's computer illiterate, so I don't worry about him finding my blog! He can't even set a digital clock! It's actually a part of him I find endearing. Anyway, several months ago he and I had our own OK Corral-Tombstone type experience...we just weren't on the same side. I said things that were down right appalling and insensitive. I was heartless and didn't express any measure of gratefulness for all my father has provided for me. I can't say that growing up with this man was easy, fair, or without abuse. My Dad, for reasons still inexplicable to me, has never been able to fully own his past actions. While I ranted that I had moved on, forgiven him and no longer focused on the past, I continued to lie to myself. Deep down I was resentful and my fury raged just below the surface. An event with my son a number of months ago, triggered my anger and sent me over the edge.

Let me paint a picture for you. I grew up in a christian home, divided, but christian. My Mom strove to please God, please others, and love both my brother and I for the both of them. My Dad, a policeman, was a wonderful provider, but emotionally distant from his children. His anger tormented much of my childhood. That being said, I am blessed to have been given many of their individual strengths (weaknesses too). My Mom is tenderhearted, wickedly smart, and faithful. My Dad too is equally intelligent, quick witted, has a passion for words and their composition and loyal to the end. Even in the heat of the moment, I never cussed at my parents...sometimes in front of them, never to them. Well, that went down in flames at the OK-Corral. I let them both have it, my Dad bearing the brunt. He hung up on me, which just furthered my incensed state. Ladies, envision the scene from the movie "Divine Secrets Of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood" where Sidda and her Scarlett O'Hara-like mother are slamming the phone down on one another, screaming, yelling and certain all the fault lied within the other person. That was us. Since that conversation my father and I have spoken only once. It's been six months. Shortly after our argument, I learned he had congestive heart failure and was in the operating room having a quadruple bypass surgery. I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to be the daughter he longed for. I wanted to help, to fix it, and make the hurting stop. None of that happened and while my longing was there, I was simply unable to apply it.

My Dad called my Mom's house this weekend (I'm staying with her short-term). You must know, he's been the best grandpa you can imagine to my kids, especially Garrett. He phoned to talk to him. It happened that my Mom, Garrett, Kelly (my older brother) and I were all fat and happy on the couch. My Mom says to him that I'm there...dead silence (he's on speaker phone). You could taste the tension. My Dad worked his way around the family and spoke with them all, but, he would not speak to me. After he hung up, my Mom shared that his health is poor again. I said out loud "Dad could die and our relationship may never be healed." What is startling about this is that my father could live with that. He's so angry and bearing this grudge, that passing into the afterlife without making peace is reasonable. I want to puke when I think about that. So much has come into perspective. My Dad doesn't get high marks for his fathering skills, but I don't get them either in many of my past behaviors. The degrees of separation between us are really small. I let him financially support me as a way of making him pay. That was my punishment so to speak. I thought "fine, you'll never say you're sorry or admit what you did. You can pay financial penance to me." When I first realized what I was doing, I chalked it up to addict behavior. I was embarrassed and yet, glad I'd realized my part. Real change begins when we own up to our stuff. I moved on from there to realize my Dad will likely never change. I can either accept that or not. Either way, I ought never be prevented from my own change.

My heart hurts in the silence. I don't know what to say to make it better, help him see the changes in me. I don't know how we can or will move past this. I can't bear the thought of losing him and him not knowing how much I love and respect him. I feel so sorry for my part. Making amends is part of the process, living our amends goes on for a lifetime. My prayer today is that time not slip past, that my pride dissipate, and peace be found.

The healing balm of Gilead is a part of my life today. I pray that the balm be soothing to the hurt for my Dad and I.

Try

"We recognize the need for change. Our disease involved much more than using drugs, so our recovery must involve much more than simple abstinence. Recovery is an active change in our ideas and attitudes." Basic Text, pp 53

When I first got clean, I didn't recognize the need for change. My family did. My friends did. In fact, I think everyone around me recognized how close I was to death and that something had to give. Otherwise, they would all be attending a wake. I don't mean to be melodramatic, but truly, that's where I was. I rarely share about what it took to get the process of recovery started. I'm not ashamed of it (I think it's a common story), I just don't talk about it much. One night, I overdosed. I remember nothing. My Mom has replayed the story again and again and it's frightening. I woke up, naked on a hospital bed with an IV sticking out of me neck and Nurse Ratchett coming at me with this nasty black solution. I don't recall the doctor or nurse being particularly loving. I can't imagine that I was a nice person either. Next step, the Whack Shack. It took forever (19 days) to detox and it was the most miserable time of my life. God gave me the presence of mind during this time to recognize the matter was life or death and today, I was being given a choice. He opened the doors for a treatment center and the rest of my life began. Deep down, I thought treatment would cure me. After all, who spends that kind of money to gain nothing? I was a "perfect" student, completed all my assignments on time, participated in groups, even went to aftercare. I left after three months and felt like a fish out of water. I bounced around from fellowship to fellowship. During rehab, we took the druggie buggy to this NA meeting. I hated it. The people were nuts and certainly didn't fit into my suburban lifestyle (frankly, they scared the poo out of me). The message was "do or die MotherF*****) and that's not my style. Anyway, I vowed never to return. During what I consider my alien period, guess where I ended up? Guess which group became my home group? Ha!

It was in that small, stuffy room that God revealed that my problem really wasn't about the drugs. It was so much more. I was spiritually bankrupt. This rocked my world. I've always gone to church, had a heart for God, and practiced my spirituality in a religious way. This furthered my shame (at the time I believed you couldn't be a christian and an addict at the same time. See a few previous posts, the cleft in my mind was vast...good thing God is bigger). I knew that all this provided a false sense of security and that I had let my broken relationship with a Higher Power (who I believed to be punitive and plain pissed off at me for being so imperfect) only tap into the surface of my life. This was my huge recognition for real change (or at least the start of it. The subject of reservations kicked my ass later on and provided yet another catalyst for change). I believe this is where God stepped in and helped me begin to change what I believed about Him and what I believed about myself.

Today, and everyday I'm able, I ask myself what lies I'm telling myself. Sometimes it's that I'm not pretty enough, skinny enough, able enough, or that not paying my bills will result in zero consequences. When I see those lies for what they really are, I can change - or better yet, try. I haven't become spiritual overnight, or found some secret to unlock the mystery of God. I just try to cultivate a relationship with Him that works for me. It's based on grace, prayer, and the belief that He always has my best interest at heart. Some days are better than others. Some days I feel connected and in harmony, other days, well, I don't.

So, what can I do? For starters, beware of riding the high horse or I'll be swimming in manure before my next breath. I can share, I can listen, I can try.