"Let Go and Let God" ≠ "Life is Simple."

I'm learning about surrender. It's hard.

Well, I had the best birthday ever! On Sunday, the day of my previous post, a miracle happened. It was a miracle that restored me, renewed me, inspired me and humbled me. It was beautiful. It was just for me, from God. For my birthday. :)

My miracle came in the form of humans. A couple I know, who are active in various recovery programs, who live near me, responded with love to my quite desperate plea for help. They came over and listened and talked and helped me remember that I am a human and not a freak. They helped me remember the nature of God- that He doesn't want me to suffer, that he doesn't take pleasure in my pain. God is not a punitive God, even when I want Him to be! He is merciful, and He loves to be merciful. And, He loves to be merciful with me. They helped me gain a better understanding that addiction is truly a disease. They were so matter-of-fact, yet so compassionate-- a combination I need and appreciate.

Well, this couple was just what I needed. I'm so grateful for them. I knew they would be kind, but I didn't anticipate that they'd help answer so many prayers.

The husband offered to give me a blessing. Yes, please. I feel like the details are too special to share publicly. But, how it restored faith! How it renewed my heavy heart! Afterward, I felt forgiven, empowered, and so very, very peaceful. I felt remembered by my Heavenly Father. I felt acknowledged.

The next day, my birthday, the wife brought me a God Box. Have you heard about a God Box? Essentially, it's a box that you shut and you write something on a piece of paper that you want to give to God. The box represents God. You put the paper in the box through a slit on top. It's a physical symbol of Step 3, really. It's so good because it helps me SEE my commitment. And it helps me remember "Oh, yeah, I gave that to God already."

Here's my God Box!

It's all taped up to represent that once I give it to God, I need to let it stay with God.

I decided I needed to put something in the box. At least one thing. And I couldn't think of anything I was ready to give Him! Everything I could think of, I wanted to keep control of. Finally, I decided on something: My shift bid at work.

Every 6 months, my job does shift bids. Every employee has to participate. If you are ranked high, you'll get what shift you want. If you're not ranked high, you most likely won't, unless you happen to want a late shift. The early shifts go first. Well, even though I'm tempted to talk about the injustice of the ranking system (because there's a lot more to it than I've implied), I'll just say that it's really not fair to new employees. However, I anticipated that I would get something decent, based on the information I had been given in training.

Anyway, I wrote down "shift bid" on a piece of paper, folded it up, and put it in my God Box. I felt ready to give it to God and stop worrying about it. And every time I wanted to worry, I reminded myself that God will handle it. It's out of my hands. I can do nothing to change what the outcome will be.

Then today happened, and I found out what my shift will be. Everything I wanted was already gone. Nothing I wanted was still available. The information I'd been given in training was incorrect. I was given the option between crappy and crappier and I chose crappy.

As a single mother of two young kids who are in school but aren't quite old enough to stay home alone more than a few hours, it's imperative, in my view, that I have a good, early shift.

So much for giving it to God! I was so angry. How could He do this to me? He could have made it work out, somehow, for me to have a better shift. He didn't. He messed up here, surely. What's the point of turning my life over to God if He's just going to ruin it? I could have done a better job of this, surely (yeah, right, like I ever had any power here). Well, I figuratively took that slip of paper right out of my box, after I promised it to God.

I panicked.

It wasn't fair.

Like it's easy being a single mom with a great work shift, you know? I mean, it's already so hard. It's already so hard for my innocent kids. And now this?

God is amazing, though. All through my stages of panic (I even cried at work in front of coworkers when they asked me what shift I got. It just happened! Embarrassing!), He whispered to my heart. Finally, when I shut up my pride and let the legitimate grief live without my interpretation of it, I heard His whispers:

You can give this back to me.
I'm still in charge.
I will not hurt you, or your family.
I am still here.
It will all be okay.
Trust me.

And I remembered that God, my Father, does not delight in my suffering. And it occurred to me that giving my life to God doesn't mean that my life will be constantly sprinkled with fairy dust. No. It simply means that I have an ally through the hard times. It means I have someone to fight my battles for me, or with me, whatever the circumstance calls for. It means that I don't need to worry or fear. Letting go and letting God doesn't put me on the easy path. What kind of a God would protect me from all hardships? Letting go and letting God means I stop trying to fight, and win, alone.

I am at peace now. The shift does bring me sorrow. But, I am choosing to trust. A lot can happen in a month. Who knows what miracles God has up His sleeve for me in that time? Maybe I'll miraculously get another shift- you never know! Maybe not. Maybe I and my children will miraculously gain the strength to make it through another hard time.

I trust Him. I trust Him because I know His character. I see what He's already done with me, and it's amazing. About work, I am letting go, and letting God.

Living the Lies

I succumb. I succumb to the lies I've been fighting for the last something-teen years.

What I want is to be loved. What I want is to love. Why does sex feel like love for a moment? That is so unfair.

I guess I'm still struggling. Still struggling with belief, with doubt. And really, belief and doubt are the same thing. Doubt is a belief that something isn't true. And which one's right? Doubt or belief?

I can tell you this. Belief feels better. I like it more. It's lighter but stronger; sweeter and brighter.But I sometimes wonder if believing my doubts instead of doubting my beliefs would take away the heaviness of doubt, you know?

The truth is, I'm not going to do that. The truth is, my beliefs are so deeply rooted that I must hold strong. I am straying for a season, but I will return.

I thought I'd already returned. Addiction is so confusing. It makes me wonder about myself. It makes my doubt not only my beliefs, but my feelings. Do I really love God? Do I really love my family? Do I really want Eternal Life?

Somehow, I have done something to let Marsha in. Somehow, I have invited her into my kitchen and she is cooking for me. I don't remember doing this. I don't know how she got here. I don't know what I did to bring her back, and I don't know what I'm doing to keep her here. I don't know how close together slips must be in order to count as a relapse. I don't want a relapse. I want freedom.

Tomorrow is my birthday! I have this thought that my birthday is a good chance to start over. Maybe I can be 33 and never talk to Marsha the whole time I'm 33. Maybe I can be the best version of me while I'm 33. Maybe I can say, "the last time I indulged/acted out/gave in/whatever was when I was 32."

Satan makes bad look good. He mixes bad and good together. He takes good and twists it so that it still looks good. Like, he makes sex feel like love. He makes sex feel like acceptance. What I want is good! What I want is love and acceptance and to be important to somebody! Marsha tells me she can offer me that and even though I know she's lying, I believe it sometimes.

I did some really stupid things this morning. I sent a message to a man on Facebook. I wanted to manipulate him, like the old me used to do. I hate that that's a part of me. I hate it. But it IS! It is!

It's not that I want to manipulate. It's not that I want to use men. What I want is love and security. And when a man is kissing me, guess what? I am the only thing in the world for him at that moment. I become the most important person to that person. That's a lie, but that's what it feels like. It feels like temporary and safe and beautiful love.

I am sick! I am so sick. Addiction is like a tumor. It spreads its poison through the soul. Sometimes the tumor shrinks and the poison stops coursing through, and you think you're recovered. You think you're addiction-free. But then, suddenly, it grows again. Bigger than before. More deadly than before.

There is a cure. I believe that there is a cure. Many say "once an addict, always an addict." Many addicts say addiction will never be cured. I don't believe that, I don't agree with that, I know Jesus. I know some of the things He's capable of. If he can cure blindness, He can cure addiction. If He can cure a boy of a lifetime of devils and mental illness, He can cure addiction! Will He? Will He for me?

I don't know. I know that if He will, I must be willing also.

Addiction is a disease. I know I just compared it to cancer, and I hope that I have not offended anyone who has experience with cancer. But I really do find them similar.

Church started 20 minutes ago. I don't want to go. Not after my choices this morning. But I'm going. I'm late, and I am not clean, but I am going.

Coming Out of the Dark

I have been in a foggy darkness the past few months. It has become darker and foggier progressively, until, finally, I reached this place of imprisonment. Stuck. Hopeless. So fearful.

I had a therapy appointment today after a long time of no therapy. I expressed my self-loathing. I expressed my feeling of being stuck and trapped. All I want to do is sleep. All I want to do is nothing. When I think of doing something productive, I emotionally hyperventilate because if I do that one thing, then I have to do EVERYTHING that I have been avoiding.

So my therapist helped me recognize that I have reverted to an all-or-nothing way of believing. So, for your reading pleasure (heh), here is where my thoughts have been lately:

My house is such a mess! I haven't prepared for my calling! My kids haven't finished their homework! I still haven't done the laundry! I haven't taken out the trash, made my bed, cleaned my room, limited time on Facebook, emailed my missionary brothers, done my visiting teaching, paid my bills, returned the movies to Hollywood (that I've had since October!!!!), spent enough time with my kids, paid my babysitter, prepared music pieces for my choir, apologized to the cook at work for being a jerk to him, taken my kids on enough outings, taken the dog for a walk, prepared something for my piano students, cleaned the bathroom, organized the bookcase, worked the steps, decided a lunch menu for work, worked on a budget, etc., etc,. etc! I haven't done anything. I am clearly and unavoidably and completely a failure.

And it's all one. It's all one giant duty that I have to do. Therefore, if I do only one of those little things, I still haven't done anything, because it's all one, and I still have that one giant duty to fulfill. Therefore, when I think, I'm going to take the trash out, I suddenly realize that if I do that, then I have to do everything else I've been failing at. And if I don't, then I fail, so taking out the trash is stupid. Because then I'll try but fail, and to fail without trying is better than to fail with effort. Right? It makes so much sense to me! I know it's a wrong way to think, but it's how I feel, and I believe it, and it seems right. It's also why taking out the trash feel so very overwhelming. It's one tiny thing, but not with my all-or-nothing faulty perception. Committing to take out the trash feels like the same thing as committing to do everything else. It's too big. I can't do it all and so I can't take out the trash. It feels correct!

But it's wrong.

And today my therapist helped me so much to see the lie. And she helped me with a plan. And today I am going to do just a few of the things I feel I must do in order to be a successful, worthy human. And I'm going to feel dang good about my accomplishment.

I'm breaking the cycle. No more telling myself self-defeating things. No more calling myself names. No more self-loathing all because I didn't eat the bananas before they went bad. I can't jump to the top of the mountain in one leap, but I can and I will reach the top step by step.

I'm excited to get out of this fog. I can turn on some lights in the dark; I don't have to live in darkness. I'm outta here. I hate it here. Sometimes it's easier in the dark; sometimes it's comforting. But I'm sick of it and I'm better than this.

Marsha, I no longer need you. I only need God.

Your Faith Will Make the Morning Come

Just a song that I dig so much, especially now. This man is truly talented!

Don't cry, don't cry though hope seems gone.
Don't cry, This battle still can be won
And all these tears, that blind and cloud your days..
Will fall to the ground, your bitter fears will fade away.
Hold on, until the journey's end.
Hold on, this broken heart too will mend
Reach out, I'll come and take your hand
One day, Your darkest seas will lead to promised land.
Hold on, let it pass you by ;
Hold on don't quit, you've got the angels by your side
Your heart is strong enough to see this battle won
Your faith will make the morning come.
Don't cry, I'll see this journey through
Don't cry, I'll cross through storms to find you
And carry you home, to never go away...
To rest from the storm, and find a joy that passes healing to the pain.
Hold on, let it pass you by ;
Hold on don't quit, you've got the angels by your side
Your heart is strong enough to see this battle won
Your faith will make the morning come.
Your faith will bring the rising sun.

Courage After Cowardice

Usually, I post links to my blog on my Facebook page when I write a new post. I will be doing no such thing with this post. Too much shame.

I wasn't going to even write this post. But I remember how grateful I am for my own honesty when I'm reading through some of my old posts. So, I post today. I post today for myself, for later.

I have been struggling with Marsha, my addiction. "Struggling" is a weak word for the battle I've been fighting.

It's too hard.

And, I swear, no one gets it. I swear, no one understands. I go to PASG meetings and everyone is doing so great. And I feel like the black sheep at addiction recovery meetings. I feel like the odd one out. I feel like a patient with an illness at a hospital, and everyone who was there when I got there is healed now. And I feel like I keep watching patients come in and - yay! - they're like me! I'm sorry they're like me, but the company is nice. We relate, we are as sick as each other. But then they get better, and they leave. And I am so happy for them- genuinely happy- but I'm also even more aware of how long it's taken me to heal. And I'm like this veteran of illness. People come and go and I'm still here. And I feel a little freakish in the hospital. I am ill and this is a place for ill people, but everyone else gets better. I don't fit in. If I, sick, don't fit in in the hospital, then where?

And where are my nurses and doctors? They've all given up on me because I should be better by now. They can only do so much.

I have been slipping. I have been indulging. I have been finding temporary comfort and reprieve in Marsha's arms. Life is too big and Marsha promises to fix it. And she never does.

I'm afraid that people will say this serves me right for having a season of doubt and questions. And maybe that's true. The doubt I have experienced was a darkness of sorts. But I have been honestly, earnestly seeking. And, yes, all this doubt and darkness and life's too-big-ness and my fears and anxieties and feeling so very, very overwhelmed at all my failures have culminated in a slip. Or two.

I woke this morning drenched in shame, and cloaked in regret. Marsha lied again. Brought me to the place where she promised relief, and left me stranded. Relief wasn't there. Only regret. Will I ever learn?

Well, now what? I could sulk in shame and regret. I could fold under the weight. I could pout and moan and wonder "why?" I could retreat and isolate- and, oh, I want to. But I have a choice here. I had a choice yesterday. I had a choice between courage and cowardice, and I chose cowardice. Today, the choice repeats. I can't go back and undo what I've done. I can't choose courage for my yesterday. And it would have been better for me to have chosen courage yesterday because now that moment is gone, and I will never retrieve it. I can never choose courage for that moment. But this moment is here. And I can choose courage today. I can choose to stand, to shed the shame and regret by repenting, and by forgiving my own self. I can choose now to courageously turn back to God. The cowardly thing to do would be to hide, or to throw my hands up and say, "forget this! I can't do it. I give up." The cowardly thing to do would be the easy thing to do. I could so easily step into a relapse. I could easily step into the depression that begs my attention. Tempting. The courageous thing to do would be to accept every moment in my past, including the recent moments, and move. Move. Go. I will go. Today, I will stand and begin another journey. I will not stay in this gutter. I will not lie down. I will pick up my weapons, which I dropped when I surrendered to my enemy, and I will march forward.

In the words of Allison Krauss: "A single battle lost, but not the war."

I stand. I fight. I will not die.