of silent things

Here I sit. Lukewarm coffee and blinking cursor. And, as often is the case, I am not sure how to start. But writing helps immensely. It has always been cathartic.

............... 

And fifteen minutes later.....

So, it's pretty astonishing to me that there are things, like major things, about myself I am just now discovering. It also astonishes me how deeply one can bury something and how easily that "something" can rise, uninvited, to the surface. 

Here it is:

I have abandonment issues. I mean, I have lots of issues, but never would I have ever said that abandonment was one of them. 

It's true, so much of who we are as people is shaped in childhood. 

And sometimes your childhood is effed up. 

My grandparents practically raised me and my twin brother because my parents divorced before my first birthday. And when you're 21, having two babies puts a significant damper on the single lifestyle. 

Growing up, I would overhear stories, like my mom would often drop my brother and I off at my grandparents, then leave and not come back for hours, or even days. 

She went on, lived her life, put a baby up for adoption...

She was in and out of my life like a relative who visited a lot. 

It's strange, even now, she will see a picture or hear a retelling of a story from my childhood apart from her and say that she remembers it, too, but I have no recollection of her being present. I think guilt has an unbelievably remarkable way of allowing people to remember things differently than they actually happened. Because, the truth is something they can't accept. I would never have the heart to tell her otherwise. So, I leave her with her recreated memories. They are a comfort to her. I have a feeling she'd never believe me anyway. 

My dad was absentee. He tried to justify it once to me when I was around twelve. He just said, in a very matter-of-fact kind of way, "I thought you'd be better off without me." 

Huh, okay. And because of this, we aren't close to this day. Which is sad. It was also devastating to not be able to point out which man was "Daddy Mike" in a room full of strangers at Christmastime. 

And I thank God for my grandparents. I miss them. I shudder to think how I would have ended up without them. 

Things were stable for me until I was ten. 

My mom had remarried someone who was ten years her junior and ten years my senior. She got pregnant right away with a second set of twins. After the babies were born, they wanted to relocate to Northern California. 

She wanted to bring us with them. I didn't want to go. At all. Looking back, I can only assume that it was out of sheer selfishness that she forced us to go. She needed help with the babies. And she didn't want to be alone. 

I think I have honestly blocked out a lot of what happened to me that year. The year an already timidly shy girl lost her voice completely. The memories I do retain I wish I could somehow un-remember. I remember getting up on our own. I remember having to wear damp clothes to school and trying to dry them before the bus came by swinging in the chill of the morning air. I remember lying awake at night, terrified I'd hear the doorknob turn and the creak of the door again. Terrified of the darkness and the shadows and the man. I remember in the darkness disconnecting myself from my body and asking, no begging, God to just take me. I felt abandoned by Him, too. I'd listen to "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears and repeat the lyrics "Nothing ever lasts forever" again and again in my head and desperately hope they knew something I didn't. 

And then, without warning, we came home. And I was safe again and little by little found my voice, until I was brave enough to write a letter. 

And I carry those scars. And the blame that was eventually placed on me for being silent. And of others' guilt too hard to accept. 

....................

And so today, I can be overly-sensitive. And I'm a people pleaser. I struggle with emotional eating. When I feel like I may be in danger of being left or mistreated, I withdraw.  It's my defense mechanism. My feeble effort to somehow keep myself safe. I had never made the connection before. I see it so clearly now. 

And I continue to find my voice. To struggle and work through the shadowy places and listen as God brings about a purpose. {I am not defined by bad things that happened to me and neither are you}

And there is evil in the world, but it can never negate the beauty. 

Beauty for ashes. 

Words still being penned. 

Pages still to be written. 

Redemption. 

And I will not remain silent. 

The Ushering

November was ushered in quietly with rainfall.

Soft at first.

Then at some point during the night, I awoke to the sound of rain pelting the earth. There is something I find so comforting about listening to the rain. A peacefulness washes over me and I feel like I can breathe. Like really breathe deep.

This morning, dappled dewdrops shone like jewels sparkling in the sunlight. It was quite breathtaking in person. {the picture doesn't do it justice}

And I opened the front door and the blinds in an attempt to let it all inside. Because sometimes that's where the disconnect lies. On the inside.

Slow down. Breathe. Let the moments, hours, days, and months be ushered in softly with grace.

{And Life isn't about running from the downpours and wishing things away}

It's to be embraced, for all of it is a gift.

And I am feeling so thankful today. For rain, for new months, for grace, for family, and friends who are my family....

Burnt Autumn

It's the first Sunday of October. I am sitting on my bed, still in my pajamas, cat curled up in rumpled blankets next to me, and air conditioner whirring loudly, competing with the music that plays softly from my laptop.

I have a headache and woke up with allergies this morning. My head just feels somewhat foggy this morning, like my brain is still half asleep, but I digress.

It's 100 degrees at this very moment. When all I want is autumnal weather, we've been getting triple digits. I want to view the 10-day forecast and see 70's {okay, even low 80's would be acceptable}.

A couple of weeks ago we had a string of scorching days topping out at 108. One hundred eight! I remember having a discussion with coworkers about our lovely saucer magnolias outside our office which typically bloom in October. Their green leaves, instead of falling off before the blooms appear, were simply being burnt to a crispy brown.

I wondered how this would ultimately affect the magnolias. A week later, I had my answer.

They still bloomed. Amid the dead leaves, they bloomed.

And I don't know why this struck me as so astonishingly miraculous, but it did.

But that's exactly what happens, even with us. Sometimes, things just need to be thoroughly burnt up before the newness.

Sometimes, it's unseasonably hot {or cold, or whatever} but it's where we are right now. There are lessons to be learned here. Right here.

I have wasted far too much precious time wishing things were different instead of embracing my days.

I so want to learn how to embrace my days better. I don't want to wish my days away, or foolishly tell myself that, "It will be better when fill-in-the-blank."  Even the hardest of all days is a gift.

After all, it seems to be the hardest of all our days that have the propensity to significantly shape us. I know that it is the time in those long valleys that have made me the person I am today.

I also know that autumn weather will eventually arrive. It just will. The shadows lengthen and air chills.

The changing seasons. Beauty for the ashes. New things from the burnt places.

Grace for each day.

Where I'm Left

I was sweeping yesterday and as I emptied a dustpan full of debris into the trashcan, I just had this overwhelming thought. Like, if I could take all of my mistakes, every misstep, put all the sordid details down on paper, then crumple that paper up and throw it away, I would.

In that moment, I was so overcome with regrets and feelings of hurt and failure. There are going to be those moments, I think, where we just want to crumple all of it up and say to hell with it. And I think that is perfectly fine. At least it's perfectly honest.

And as long as I am being perfectly honest with myself, I also know that there is nothing I can do to change the past. It is what it is. I do not want to go back and relive the things I cannot change over and over again in my head. I've done that too often and it just robs your heart of peace and your life of precious time.

So where does that leave me? It leaves me with the here and now and the choices that are in the present. It leaves me with a God who loves me unconditionally and does not keep score of my mistakes. It leaves me with the assurance that even though I have to keep this paper filled with scribbles and tears and erasures that make up my life to this point, I do have the opportunity to open a new box of crayons. To add color to the lines and shadows, there lies the hope.

After all, it is everything on that paper that makes me the person I am today. I can't just throw it all away. There are no rough drafts in life. This is it. And some of it will feel shitty but life is a beautiful gift. I choose to remember that and will trust that in the end, it will be a masterpiece {even when I don't see His artistry in the shadowy places}.

So right about now, I'm picking up some sunshiny yellow...

**It has been a looooong time since I have written anything, friends. So this is it, after four and a half months, just a stream of thoughts quickly typed up, unpolished, but it's something. And I needed something today. Grace appreciated.

xo,

Jadie

Three Words

This time of year is notoriously hard on me. I tend to get overly emotional and sometimes feel depressed.You see, I miss my grandparents dearly. Time has not lessened that fact.

From the date of my grandfather's birthday on April 30, followed closely by their anniversary, and my grandma's birthday with Mother's Day always close in proximity, my heart is just a tender mess. 

I long for the times when I knew I could always go home. I long for a time where I felt I belonged no matter what circumstances spiraled around me.

I was dreading today. Like absolutely dreading it. I have a propensity to be thoroughly let down. No matter how much I try to lower my expectations, it never seems to be low enough.

I hit snooze a few times this morning. By the time I was coherent, I only had 20 minutes before my friends were supposed to pick me up for church. I was feeling uneasy. So much so that my stomach hurt.

So, I pulled the covers back over my head and tried to go back to sleep. When the mister arrived home from work, I decided to get up.

Both mister and the boy were asking me questions and talking jovially, but no one uttered the three words I was waiting to hear. Even if they felt forced or rushed, I would have been okay with that.

When the tears spilled and I couldn't stop them despite my best efforts, I decided to get dressed and go to work.

It felt good to get out of the house. After about four hours, I decided to head back home.

By then, the oldest was up. He asked me if I had talked to grandma. Clearly he knew what today was. I waited, but he never said the three words.

Rebellious hot tears slid down my cheeks. I didn't want them to see me cry. And at this point, I was honestly beginning to get angry. Like crazy mad. The kind of mad that stems from a deep hurt.

I mean, I am not by any stretch of the imagination a perfect mom. But, by golly, I have always tried my best. I work incredibly hard to provide for my family. And saying those three words wouldn't cost them a thing.

Exasperated, I left again. I drove across town and back again. I ended up at the Goodwill. I walked around until after the sun set and then made my way back to my car.

I sat there feeling totally sorry for myself. And I cried some more {I think I have cried more today than I have all year}. Then, some movement across the way caught my attention. I looked across the street. Under the Flamingo Antique Mall was a middle-aged woman. She was spreading out her blankets, shaking them with a flourish, and laying them on the concrete in the doorway.

I began to wonder if she was a mother, or if she had a family. How many beds had she made for her little ones, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for that matter.

Then I saw an elderly woman next to her. She was setting up her blankets next to the other lady. I mustered up some nerve and took out all the cash I had in my wallet, although it wasn't much, and crossed the street.

I greeted the first lady uneasily and handed her some bills. She thanked me. I walked over to the elderly lady and did the same. She looked at me with big, gray eyes that were quite similar to my grandmother's and mine {I always marveled at the fact that my eyes resembled my grandmother's even though we didn't share the same DNA}.

She took the money, but didn't have much to say. She seemed confused by my presence, her eyes carefully studying me. She wore an oversize pea coat  and men's tennis shoes that were at least four sizes too big for her. I noticed that she wore a wedding ring and a dainty watch. I again wondered about her family. How many babies did she raise? Why was this sweet woman on the streets?

Cici, the name of first lady, said that she watched out for the older one. After all, she had said that there was word of a rapist in the area, and the older one had been jumped before by some juvenile delinquents.

Suddenly, my pity party seemed so insignificant. I wasn't alone. I wasn't on the streets. I hadn't been beaten up by anyone. I have so many people who love me. The mister and my boys, even though they can act like selfish assholes sometimes, love me even if they have a lousy way of showing it. Let's face it, we can all act like assholes sometimes.

And as I walked back to get into my car and drive to my home where it is warm and safe, the three words that occupied my heart, the three words that I think I really needed to hear today were not "Happy Mother's Day," but the reminder to LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

So, at the end of this day {which I am glad is coming to a close}, I have a headache and swollen, red eyes along with the reminder to live a life of love and that is always done best when there aren't any expectations.

On the eve of my grandma's birthday, a woman who demonstrated what sacrificial love looked like with her every day actions, I am  grateful for the impact she had on my life.

And tomorrow, until my tomorrows are no more, is another day to practice loving one another.

Easter Eve

It is Easter Eve. I walked up to the cross atop Mount Rubidoux this morning and came home in a pensive mood. I took some time to ponder on this Holy Saturday.

And sometimes this world is too noisy. Harsh. The older I get, the more introverted I become. No, really. It's true.

And sometimes we need to be silent.

It was the eve of the Sabbath. The others had fled in fear. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus retrieved Jesus' body, wrapped it, and laid Jesus in a garden tomb. The tomb was sealed.

And what of that Sabbath? What of the disciples and their dismay? I wonder if Jesus' words came flooding back to their memory. He told them that they would weep and mourn while the world rejoices, but their grief would turn to joy.

I wonder if, in their devastation, they thought he was a liar. Because how could joy replace this grief? How could anything good, anything redemptive, ever be birthed from death?

And we know what they did not. We know how this story ends.

So tomorrow, I will put on my pretty Easter dress and when someone says to me, "He is Risen!" I will reply, "He is Risen, indeed!" And I will sing hymns and songs of praise.

But, I will not forget the dark, Black Saturdays where we struggle with all of the in-betweens of this life. Where in the darkness, in the waiting, in the doubting, we come to find a faith birthed out of grief.

You see, there is no other way to get from Friday to Sunday with all of its revelry, than through Saturday.

Of Rain and Roots

I told the mister that rain was coming. You see, I like to check the weather forecast via the internet several times a day. I check out the current weather, tomorrow's forecast, and even take a peek at the ever-changing ten day forecast.

So, after the drizzle early Tuesday quickly dissipated, the mister, while running errands together, would look at the sunny sky with fluffy clouds and say things, like: "Boy, I'm sure glad it was going to rain." {lucky for him, I can appreciate a snarky sense of humor}

But we needed the rain. I needed the rain.

So let’s know Him; let’s strive to know the Eternal.
    As surely as the sun rises, He’ll come out from His lair.
As surely as the rains come each year—
    those spring rains that drench the earth—He’ll come back to us. Hosea 6:3

And I had so many plans to dig deep this Lent. And, per usual, I end up feeling like a failure because I don't. 

After church on Sunday, I took Mason outside for a walk. We looked at the flowers and the bricks. We came to a mature tree that had some leaves on the ground. I stooped down, Mason's hand in mine, to pick up one of the leaves that had fallen and was taken aback by the roots of this particular tree. The root system was a jumbled mess of a mass of roots with roots above the ground, beneath the ground, and overlapping every which way. 

And I immediately thought that I was like this tree. I saw these wayward roots as a woven tapestry of grace.

Because my life isn't always rooted in Him like I need it to be, like we need the rains to sustain us. My roots don't always grow straight down by the streams. They are not always established. They are a mess.

And it's messy, this life. It speaks of the grace we so desperately need. And sometimes I just clumsily feel my way through it and end up back at the surface when I should be digging deep. Going low to the places that matter. But, there is still life in the learning and growing, and such beauty in that tapestry of grace.

Some time during the night, I woke up to the sound of rain. It was the rain in which I was waiting; the rain my heart was anticipating. It was such a lovely sound. I sleepily smiled and mouthed, "Thank you."

To me, it sounded like grace.