I have been enjoying my best birthday ever. The blessings are endless. I thank each and everyone of you who have wished me best wishes. I am well loved. I have decided to share a piece I wrote about turning 60 years old today. I pray it blesses each who read it and may it give hope to those who are without hope that life can change for the better. I wish each of you the peace that passes all understanding. STRANGELY VICTORIOUS When I was young, I begged God for a different life. The pleading went on for years. I wanted to look different than the girl I saw reflected in the mirror. I wanted to feel different inside my soul. I wanted to live in a different house with a different family. I wanted a different life. I didn’t see a reason or future to live for. I felt ugly inside and out. I was broken beyond repair. I lived in lies and found peace only in my imagination. For many years I believed in the possibility that the people I lived with weren’t my real family. I held on tight to the dream that I was adopted. I was sorely disappointed when I saw a picture of my paternal great-grandmother; we looked like twins. That dream died painfully hard. From about the age of twelve until I got my driver’s license, I often took long, slow walks alone in neighborhoods near my house. Sometimes I walked for several miles; My only destination was to get as far away as possible from where I lived and still be home by dark. I was afraid of the dark. Inside or outside. It made no difference. There was no safe place. My favorite time to walk was dusk when children had been called to dinner and the streets were empty of cars carrying parents home from work. A silent hush fell over the neighborhoods at dusk. That was the hour of tranquility for me. That was when lamp lights glowed inside of the homes I walked past; Warm and pretty homes that I wished I lived in. I would envision joining the family of perfect looking strangers. I wondered what it felt like to live inside their perfect looking houses. I imagined I would have my own bedroom, and mod clothes, and Go-go boots. I would be an only child. I would be safe. I never dreamed of what the fathers were like in those homes. My focus was on the mothers I saw through the windows. I wanted the mother to be a bit like June Cleaver Mixed with some magic of Samantha on Bewitched, and a healthy dose of Lucy. My mother hated I Love Lucy. She said it demeaned women’s intelligence. She preferred the Honeymooners. I didn’t understand. She didn’t explain. I didn’t care anyway. I just wanted to have fun and laugh and be silly; But, that wasn’t productive. Or silent. My parents didn’t know laughter is the best medicine And that the seven dwarfs worked better when they sang. I learned that lesson late in life. I walked slowly in front of the homes I chose as perfect. I gleaned as much as I could from the sidewalk Of the ideal families with blooming flower gardens, lush green lawns, and sparkling clean cars in the driveway. I would go down on one knee and pretend to tie my shoe or pick up an invisible something. I lingered. I spied. I imagined the home was filled with love and peace and laughter and hugs. I never thought of conflict, chaos or violence. It didn’t occur to me other families had problems of such magnitude; Even families who lived in nice houses with shiny cars. No one spoke of such things. Ever. I wanted to have the courage to walk up to the welcoming porch and knock on the front door with the fresh coat of paint. I wanted the woman I saw setting food on the dining table to open the door wide and greet me warmly. I imagined she wore Evening in Paris perfume, though I had no idea what that fragrance smelled like; I’d only seen the pretty blue bottle as a give-away on game shows. With a big smile, this one dimensional mother I didn’t know would ask if she could help me. I would answer her with a sincere smile and pleading brown eyes, “Yes, please, may I try out your family for awhile? Mine’s not working out for me, right now…or ever.” I was desperate, but not brave. I never ventured near a front door. Though the world seemed peaceful at that hour, As if anything were possible, I knew that dream was impossible. I would move on slowly and reluctantly, stepping on every crack, Kicking stray pebbles into the clean streets. I hated it when I had to turn toward my street walking back to my imperfect house, with my imperfect family, reentering my imperfect life. Sometimes I stood outside of my own house and stared into the windows trying to imagine a different family living in that house. But, my imagination could never carry me there. I would force one foot in front of the other and open the door. I haltingly stepped back into the reality of my life; my family; my home. Sometimes I wanted to step back outside, dark or not, and Run to one of those perfect houses with no problems and Seek protection like a refugee. But, my fear of rejection from strangers was far greater than The fear of living with what I already knew. I guess it kept the illusion of perfection from shattering. I felt solitude during those walks, but I didn’t feel free. I didn’t feel free until I stopped searching for a different life. A different body. A different home. A different family. My freedom and peace came with acceptance of what was and the understanding of what could be. I changed. At forty five years old, I was worn out and tired. I was in and out of a wheelchair, Ready to die and fighting to live. I didn’t know peace. Though I had accepted Jesus as my Lord seventeen years earlier, I still lived in chains and lies from my past; I was a prisoner in my broken body. My days were spent in a chair. There were no more walks through neighborhoods, peering into windows searching for my perfect life. I couldn’t walk anywhere. There was nowhere to look but into the window of my own soul. That’s where I discovered me. Bit by bit Day by day I learned about the girl who sought peace, security, and comfort through imagining a different life. I stopped striving for perfection in myself, in my home, and in my family. I focused on pursuing truth. When I faced the truth of my past The chains fell away. That is freedom. It’s been many years since I looked outside myself to find peace and my place in this world. Today is my birthday. I am now sixty years old. It feels strangely victorious to say I have lived six decades. I can look back on my life and see that Through all the trials, loss, and eventual acceptance, my well of compassion has been dug painfully deep. The battles I’ve fought have made me determined to fulfill my destiny. I no longer desire a different life. I have learned to love and forgive the family I was raised in, as difficult and painful as it was. The fabric of my soul has been woven together with genetic threads, Quilted with generational blessings and curses. It is a part of who I am. That’s something I can’t walk away from. It is what makes me unique and who I am. I am blessed to live this life. I now see a whole and healed woman reflected in the mirror. I wear scars that remind me of valuable lessons learned. I no longer cringe at my mistakes and missteps. I don’t sit in grief of what will never be. Instead, I marvel at how God intertwines everything; Turning good and bad, loss and gain, into blessings. I’m grateful I didn’t give up. I have learned that others’ judgment and rejection of me doesn’t define who I am; it defines them. I no longer live my life based on others’ expectations; I spend the life God grants me each day seeking His will. My place is where God leads me. I am all His. I am blessed with a family who treats me With love, honor, and respect. I live with hope in my heart and healing in my soul. My spirit is alive with the power and strength of Jesus. I no longer wander through neighborhoods looking for a home. I live inside the glow and peace of my own home. Praise God, I am home.
Posted on: Thu, 19 Sep 2013 00:35:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015