When I wrote this article in 2011, I heard from several readers who told me they appreciated it and how it encouraged them. I still pass it along to people today who I believe it may inspire.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
After moving to Long Island this year, so much had changed for me, and undeniable growth came with those changes.
Yesterday I decided to do something I loathe – shop. I haven’t had that “Christmas Spirit” for about three years now. In dealing with a death in the family, a divorce, a change in careers, and an illness a few years ago, I had been in limbo.
I no longer have the victim mentality that the world is unfair. I no longer feel defeat as life has thrown quite a few punches my way. I had written a poem during the most challenging time of my life that helped me see things differently. I had written that as I had been knocked down continuously from a storm, I could stand once again. I shook my fist at the storm and dared it to strike again. That was a pivotal time in my life.
I remember going through the storm frightened, scared and wounded. I was trampled as I had never been before. I thought I had nothing left inside. My self-esteem was extremely low. I was drained and weak. I had let someone beat my spirit down to nothing (about as close to death as you can get without physically dying). But the day I wrote that poem was the day I shed the protective cocoon that I had wrapped all my brokenness. I had hoped never to feel that pain again. Trying to escape pain, or pray it away, instead of asking, “why me” – I began to embrace the pain as a gift.
I had to see all of the tragedy that happened in my life all at once as something good. If you have ever been sucker-punched when you least expect to have your whole world fall apart, you know that seeing it as a good thing is quite a challenge. We fight against hardships and injustice most of the time, but fighting is futile when we have done all that we know is right- yet we suffer through circumstances beyond our control.
When I changed my whole perspective and took off my bloody cloak, and when I had looked at the horror of debris at my feet, I knelt and gathered it in my arms. There was nothing to save. I knew God felt my pain. I knew he cared. I began to take all of the broken things in my life and examine my part. I needed to understand how the brokenness occurred when I had done everything I knew that was right to my best ability. No, not perfect, but I did my best.
It was slightly different from feeling blameless and asking, “why me.” I had to dig through the rubble a little deeper. Beyond the outward things that everyone else could see, beyond even my heart. I knew that I have always had a good heart and genuinely cared about people – so much that I would sacrifice whatever I could for them. But what about caring for me? Did I ever care about myself? In Sunday school, I was taught to put myself last. Throughout church sermons, I had heard that we are not to think higher of ourselves than we ought. But that is where I got it wrong and took those words too far.
I had excused the first lack of respect from my ex-husband, and after a while, it became routine. I learned to excuse and accept bad behavior. I thought God would know my heart, and it would turn out okay because I was “doing what was right” in giving all that I had.
As I picked up the shattered pieces, I knew this was not the first time I had experienced pain, but this was the worst, and I did not want to experience it again. I lost monetary and sentimental things, but I lost myself more than that. How can people, male or female, lose themselves so completely? How do you get yourself back? A victim is always a victim. Who could change it if I expressed all that I had lost to others? I could blame the obvious and have many empathize with me, but what about what was not obvious – even to me? I allowed a situation where I was not taking care of myself. I still had a good heart, but what was that going to do (except put me back where I was all over again in the future). Would I become jaded?
All of a sudden, these little broken pieces lying at my feet began to shine and sparkle! I began taking each piece and polishing it, caring for it, and trying to make it new. I was amazed to see how the pieces started to fit together. As I put my heart into the brokenness around me, as I cared for the pain and focused on the shining gold that I was seeing – I saw that my pain was indeed a gift! I had lost everything, but the pain was mine.
Oh, I didn’t wallow in my pain. I did not carry my pain as baggage or my identity. I privately took my pain in my arms, and I loved it. I loved myself. I began to see my worth after feeling worthless. What I had was gold, and no one else could possibly understand. What I had was priceless!
I was dealing with more pain than just my divorce, but what I was learning about marriage is that here in the South, it seems we are brought up to believe marriage completes us. I was on a magnificent journey in finding that you must be complete before you can have a good marriage. Complete in Christ.
When I first married at 18, I had not had the time to grow up and experience who I was or would become. My life was not developed yet; I gave my life to my husband and children. I still had the same mentality with the following marriage – to give all of me to the person I loved. His friends became my friends; his family became my family. Life was about him, and I was so in love that I thought I enjoyed being the little woman, but this woman became smaller and smaller until she was invisible.
I have experienced healing and a major amount of growth in the last three years. After two years, I tried to date, but it never really got out of the starting gate. I realized that a relationship at that time was not where my needs would be met. My time on Long Island was not about me running away or starting over – I had been starting over already. LI was about me growing up, taking risks, and learning about confidence. It was about being brave and stepping out into this world. A friend of mine had a quote in a frame – “A ship is safe in the harbor… but that is not what ships were made for.”
As people are shopping for loved ones at Christmas time and going to Christmas parties, you would think I would get depressed once again. For three years now, I have not had my own home. I have shared rent or stayed with others, but I may be in my own home before Christmas comes yet again. I don’t have one stitch of furniture, but being in my own place is a gift! As much as I loved living with Mama after my Papa had died and staying with friends who truly cared about me, there is something about having your own place, even if it is an apartment.
I know that Christmas is hard for so many. This past Sunday, I saw a Christmas play in which Susan’s daughter Alex participated. One of the children sang lines to a song, “Being alone at Christmas is the saddest thing of all.” Three years ago, I would have had tears streaming down my cheeks. During my storm, I remember trying to visit churches a few times and hearing “family” or “marriage” preached about, which sent me flying out of the church doors in tears. This year, my face was beaming with pride as I watched Alex recite her lines in the play, hugged friends that I hadn’t seen for a while, and as I went home to my best friend’s house, where I am so grateful to be staying.
I have acquired gifts in abundance these last few years; each person and life’s lesson to come into my life is very special to me, but I will never forget the gift of pain, and I never WANT to forget it. It was that pain that gave me strength and wisdom. That pain that I thought was going to kill me taught me to really live.
Don’t give up hope if you feel that you are at your rope’s end. What we see with our small vision is not always what it truly is. What I thought was something terrible in my life became a valuable gift – an unexpected gift I will treasure all of my days.
God bless everyone during this Christmas season. Pay attention to all of the gifts placed at your feet.