Monthly Archives: February 2014

Allowing Love

A journal entry from last weekend: 
 
I don’t want to be open and empty and beloved. I don’t want this life. Loving people – No. Being loved. Being loved. That I don’t want. 
Because… I have to accept it. Believe it. Trust that I’m not full of shit when I know I am. 
I AM full of shit. And deep inside I also know I’m… loved. 
Letting myself see and accept love, that I am beloved and adored means allowing the potential to be abandoned. 
If I let people see my heart, if I let my guard down, if I give my heart… will I be abandoned? Like I have been so many times in the past. 

 

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Past vs. Story

If you go back to the beginning of this blog (in April of 2013) I wrote about  my childhood and my families involvement with ATI and IBLP. The man who started and is still the president of those organizations is Bill Gothard. 
 
Recently there have been several articles calling attention to the abuse in these organizations and calling for Gothard’s resignation. 
 
I’ve stayed out of conversations about these articles for several reasons.
Bringing Gothard down as president of these organizations may be becoming a reality. But the truth for me is that he doesn’t control my life anymore. The only reason I want him to resign is for the innocent people involved now. But my past does NOT define my life now (my story will always be there but it doesn’t control me). I won’t be jumping up and down if he ends up being found legally guilty.
 
There will always be crazy religious programs and sources out there and there will always be people who are hurting and looking for answers in those programs/religions.
Gothard did not personally hurt me. My parents chose to be part of that program and accept everything he said. I could blame my parents but that is just still letting my parents have power in my life now. I am now an adult making my own choices and decisions and I choose not to let Bill Gothard, my parents or my past have power over me. 
 
While my past doesn’t define my life my story will always be with me. My story sneaks up and puts itself into everyday situations where I have to stop and go ‘hey! I’m not mad at you. You just remind me of my past!’ It’s a chance to recognize the truth about myself. I’m a broken person who is completely whole. In those moments I can sink into my past, feel what I was never allowed to feel, process it (talk to people who can speak truth into the situation), the whole time knowing I am not alone in this. I am loved. My story is for me to walk through now but my past cannot hurt me. My job now is to go back to my story (to my little girl inside me) and heal her.
 
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An IBLP seminar from the 1970’s/1980’s. 

Addict

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Pervert
Fake
Pretender
Addict

Shame
Anger
Lust
Pain

Good Christian girl
Self abuser
Sexual imagery
Painful reminders

Frozen by shame
Addicted to pain
Feel like a fraud
Hiding in anger

 


Truth

Today I want to wallow in my shit and the external things that are happening around me. I want to focus on myself and the pain and hurt. 

And then went through my emails. 

“Today, vow to press deeper into the true reality and nature of your Self and all things. Explore this. Loosen your attachments upon this world, and discover that which has no beginning or end, and is the source of true peace, freedom, and well-being.” – Jim Palmer

‘”Ignorant” used to be a fairly vague epithet, one that we often misused to describe someone who disagreed with us. Today, because it represents a choice, the intentional act of not-knowing, I think it carries a lot more weight.’ – Seth Godin 

That’s me. I don’t want to know (but I do) and I can choose to be ignorant today or just stop and realize the truth. 

This weekend my husband surprised me with a trip to New Orleans to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary (it’s crazy it’s been 5 years!!). 
Last night I stepped out of a restaurant on the edges of Jackson Square and was waiting for my husband when I heard violin music and it called me over to listen. 

I sat down on the steps in front of St Louis Cathedral and watched a man around his 20’s play the most beautiful music I’ve heard in a very long time. A minute later my husband joined me and we listened through several pieces. 

I’m not sure I’ve ever cried listening to music before. 

 

These are a few pictures from this weekend. 

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The hotel we stayed at. If you look back to last weeks post ‘Stories’ and read the story ‘dreams’ this picture captures part of that so well it was startling. 

 

 

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This artwork is in a small coffee shop off Royal Street. It caught my attention partly because of the names. 

 

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This cat was on the patio at the coffee shop of Royal Street. This shop reminded me so much of Taft Street Coffee. 

 

 

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St. Louis Cathedral in front of Jackson Square.  

 

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Last year we did a ghost tour (which actually contained a lot of the history of New Orleans). Many of the buildings have legends and stories of being haunted. People take this seriously there and some won’t walk on certain streets because of the ghosts stories. 

 

 

 


Stories

Over 12 hours yesterday 3 word pictures were impressed in my mind. 
 

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Process of healing

I feel God taking me by the hand and leading me to the next thing, the next pile of shit to sort through in my life. And I feel Him lead me right to the middle and sit down with me. Sometimes He pulls me down because I see what we are sitting in and I want to run. I feel Him with me, holding me, as He hands me item after item, letting me do whatever I need to. Hurl it out of sight (though it never actually leaves till I really deal with it) or hold it or hide it or cringe at or ignore it. 

 
And He never leaves me, never scolds me, never punishes, but He lovingly pushes things into hands to remember and deal with them. 
Sometimes we don’t make it through a pile when He leads me away to another one. 
Yet that pile of stuff, part of my story, is waiting and when I’m ready He leads me back to it, repeating the process, holding me and letting me work through the process, whether it’s letting go, grieving, getting angry, feeling emotions, seeing myself, holding my little girl in gentleness and grace. 
 
There is no rushing, no unloving pushing, no demands or punishing. 
 
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Dreams
 
I’m living in a house alone. 
 
In one scene I’m outside the house, there are a few houses in the distance and neighbor ‘kids’ or people running through my yard trying to get into my house. I try to yell at them but I can’t. I can’t talk, nothing comes out. The kids point and laugh at me, throwing object at me. 
 
Then I’m in the house with a friend and we hear something. My friend says ‘someone is up there’. I go into a foyer type room and look up. There are many floors with balconies and doors into rooms. Something or someone is going into and out of the rooms, shreaking in delight. I can see them but not clearly. 
 
Again I try to yell ‘Get down here!’ ‘Get out!’ but nothing comes out. I try again and again. Finally I get passed the fear and hear myself yelling. 
 
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“Papa,
I’m sitting in a lake of shame created over 25 years. I want to be free. I want to feel free. But I don’t want to be seen and I know I must. I must tell and speak of details and let my heart, who I was, be seen. 
Raw. Not pretty. Seen. 
I’m scared of reactions and of myself. The shame is yelling excuses at me. I’m feeling… trapped a little. This is You but everything in me is yelling to stop. 
‘Willing trembling heart’ is exactly what I’m feeling. 
I’m willing – but I’m scared. Hold me Papa.” 
 
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