I wished I was a Unicorn

As a round-faced little girl, I wore large hair accessories, oversized bugs bunny t-shirts, multi-colored glasses, and neon wind shorts that hiked up a little too far in the middle (a Little Miss Sunshine look-alike). This was one of my favorite outfits…

My biggest dream was to be a unicorn. (Don’t tell me you haven’t ever thought of the awesomeness of being a mystical creature.) There were 2 reasons why I loved unicorns. First, I wanted to live in the universe that was printed on my Lisa Frank folder. Second, I saw the unicorn as the essence of perfection. It was the most beautiful creature I could imagine.

I wanted to be a beautiful creature.

I was already aware of the comparison between my roundness and that other skinny atheletic girl. I already knew how to see her as pretty, and me, as not. I knew how much my family adored me. But even then, I wanted to hide my 8 year old body with big t-shirts. How, at such a young age, was my body already a source of insecurity? Seems so shocking to me as an adult to put into words what I was feeling. I had already labeled myself as ‘not good enough’. 20 years later, that label is still with me.

So the next thing to say is that the media is at fault.

That the women on the magazine covers showed me a near impossible standard. That the Disney movie love story was only a half truth (When the Beast changed into a prince, I bet his temper didn’t). That every ad geared towards women is to make any and every aspect of our lives better because we don’t measure up. All of these things, I do think, could be to blame. But media is a fairly new develpment, in terms of how long humans have been on this planet. I think that something else has been going on much longer.

Brokenness.

There doesn’t seem to be an age in which women stop feeling insecurities. There doesn’t seem to be a weight in which I say to myself, “Now this will do.” From times when I’m at my thinnest to glowing with child, I still viewmyself as that little round faced girl, awkward in her own skin. But what if this all comes with the territory of following in the footsteps of Eve?

Instead of telling ourselves we’ll be content when we get to that certain weight, that certain age, that boyfriend, that husband, postchildren, postdiet, we instead tell ourselves that we may never be content because this body is not our own. Our own imperfections are really reminders that this world is not our home. What was imperfect will one day be made whole again.

What a crazy thought, that every time I see my childbearing stretch marks, I remember the hope that I have in Jesus’ return.

The disclaimer with this is, as creatures made in God’s own image, of course we should strive to view ourselves as lovely as He sees us.

But for those times, when we are standing naked and helpless, dear sisters, remember that we will never be whole on this earth. For one day, through God’s grace, we will be made complete. Humiliation will have no room to breath.

When words heal

I begin this with a disclaimer…

my husband told me to do this…

end of disclaimer.

There are nights when I feel alone, all I can do is write. As the words go from my mind to the paper, it’s been let go. I am beyond thankful because I know where that peace can only come from. And He is my only constant.

As a product of the Disney princess 90′s , I believed that marriage was the answer to feelings of loneliness and heartache. I just knew, that when I found a sweet man to marry, I would finally find someone who could fill my empty void.

Reality: I found a sweet man who will never completely fill my empty void.

Because he’s not God. I can’t blame him.

God never promised that to me. Instead, He has anointed me as His child, given me a deposit of the great Advocate, that will help me better understand that God’s creation is not yet healed. This is the answer to brokenness. But one day, He will make amends.

I want to share a song that I recently wrote during one of those empty-hearted nights. I see this song as a representation of any woman’s hurt when she and her sweet man see each others brokenness and for a night, cannot find the energy to make amends.

Here I am, once again. The rage within me burns

I feel like a monster emerging from depths below

But its only a frightened girl wandering

Angry at your pride your eyes turn to haze

You are overwhelmed so you look away

Your emptiness and confusion is tangible

The fears and doubts I hold too dear

They multiply with each dropping tear

I fight the urge to run away, to test and

see if you would come follow me anywhere, any way

Amidst the sorrow, amidst the pain

What can keep us safe

He said His grace is sufficient for thee

God, please heal me

Face to face, man to woman

We see the battle wounds we have each afflicted

Be careful little mouth what you say

His heart you are holding in your hand

Amidst the sorrow, amidst the pain

How can we keep ourselves safe

He said His grace would be sufficient for thee

God, please show me

Father, come heal me

I pray that you are blessed by my words and that you will depend on our Heavenly Provider because His grace is sufficient for thee.

(There is a song by Sara Groves entitled “It’s Me“ that inspired my own writing. check it out.)

Oh be careful little fingers what you type…

I have caught my sweet little 3 year old’s eyes looking up at me amidst conversations, soaking in every word and breath that is exhaled from me. It’s endearing, except when I realize what has just come out of my mouth…

“Oh yes, he is very much still in his terrible 3′s. Whining and complaining ALL the time.” (said with a roll in my eyes).

That’s when I look down and see his precious face.

He can already feel shame.

Lord, forgive me.

Social media has been like a fast food restaurant. It is fun, quick, and easy to do. It feels like we are treating ourselves with something special and junk foodie (because we deserve it after a long hard day). But late in the day, we begin to feel the effects of the ‘unfooded’ food that we ate. And we feel empty, hungry and sick, all at the same time. The next day, we’ll want more.

Social media has also become a dumping grounds for all things ‘high’ and all things ‘low’. All things ‘hurtful’ and all things ‘truthful’.

I have observed a few within a precious group of people. What I have read baffles me.

Teachers, do you really hate your job? And do I want you teaching my children if you do?

Before I go on, I must say that I have seen many men and women adore their job and students. ‘Teachers’ is not meant as a generalization.

I have full understanding of how exhausting it must be. To be in charge of the education of a child, including the pressure of parents, administration, family life.

I have been saddened by many posts from teachers whom I adore and respect. My heart would break even more if I were to see my own sons teacher speak of how much she dreads the week and only looks forward to the summertime. Why would I want that person to remain my son’s teacher? 

Now, with that said, my first response to someone asking me about being a mother, tends to be a complaint…”oh, I’m tired; the boys are exhausting; i’m sick of cooking; I need a vacation”.

While all of these things may be true at the time, they are not ALL the time. However, even if they were, ALL the time, it IS where I am. 

There is in deed a time for expression of hurt and tire. It is important for our sanity. This is why I enjoy writing this now. It’s freeing.

But where is the line between complaining for complaining sake, and seeking truth. I hope I’m the latter.

I pray that I will wake up tomorrow with immense joy. I pray that you do, as well.

Just Serve Him

Serving is easy…if you like the person at that time.

Whenever I was younger and lived at home, I watched the relationship between my mother and father. They never yelled, except if it was from across the house, requesting for brownie batter. I’m sure they must have had disagreements, but by the way my mom served my dad and my dad respected my mom, you would’ve never known.

When I was a new wife, I had difficulty with expectations. These were not reasonable expectations thus the reason for them not being met. After all, I’m quite sure that I have not met expectations placed on me. After a long week of what felt like a tsunami of emotion, fine one day then outraged the next, I called my mother on the phone. Through whelps of tears, she heard my cry for a longing to love and to be loved, despite the imperfections. At the end of our conversation, I was retold wisdom that, 5 years later, chants in my head daily: “Serve him”. Such simple words. Such a powerful act. So healing.

Now it really isn’t that hard to serve my husband, even when I’m downright mad at him. It’s quite simple: He’s adorable. But for some reason, even though my children are adorable, it seems much harder to serve them with a joyful heart.

I often feel guilt and shame for not liking my children at times. There are so many women that long for a child of their own. I find myself praying for a reminder of what a joy it is to be mother. And God consistently answers those prayers with times with an overabundance of laughter and sweet little boy kisses.

Because of my children, I grieve the loss of myself.

Because of my children, I have found something much more important than myself…serving them.

As I write, the needy “Mooom!” yells from the other room remind me that I am now called to a higher calling. To serve and adore more of God’s creation that He began within me. A blessing indeed.

There is much joy found in serving others. You tend to forgive and adore the other for being human, just like yourself.

I’m beginning to slowly understand the humble Servant who came before me, and only within Him I find complete peace.

Words of Stone

Stones hurt whenever you get hit by one…It doesn’t take much to throw them.

I recently saw a bumper sticker that read “Eve was framed”. My first reaction was laughter. But the more it sank in, I felt called-out. 

Ever since women justly fought and rightfully won the privilege to vote, it seems that we, meaning women, have also “earned” the right to degrade. I’m sure this has been happening for generations. Maybe I’m more keen to it because I now consider myself one.

It is rare to meet with women to talk bodly and lovingly about their husbands. Why is it that we expect our husbands to respect us, all the while, we castrate them with our words. Overflowing them with put downs and comparisons to other seemingly better husbands. Why is it okay for us, but not for them?

Husbands are not the only target. 

I have seen a pattern in myself. When I am down, envious, expectations unmet, it feels good to wish the same upon others who seem to have it better. How awful sin is. 

But, I have also found, that if the same happens with the other, my heart hurts for them. The goodness of the Spirit breaking through my sinfulness. 

I am tired of women being unkind. I am tired of receiving and being apart of gossip. I am tired of blaming others for what I knowingly choose to do. I will take ownership of my sin. I will continually pray for a peaceful tongue.

Dearest Eves, we were not framed. That was ours to claim. But more importantly, God has overcome.

Little Elena…

As a little girl, I feared, nay dreaded, growing up. I imagined that as I grew, I would lose a part of myself at each milestone.

In Kindergarten, I would lose my mom…

In puberty, I’d lose my innocence…

In High School, I would have to drive alone…

In College, I would lose my home…

In marriage, I would lose my Daddy…

With children, I would lose my body…

Strangely enough, my fear of the change was much more than the change itself. The things that I had indeed “lost”, was not a loss, but a new understanding, a new knowledge, a new wisdom. God’s grace has been with me throughout them all.

There has been a continual battle within myself. A battle with the fearful and innocent Little Elena.

My husband and I decided to move back to the city where we grew up in. We had always longed to be home, have the same people surround our children, that surrounded us. This has been a true blessing.

But, seeing the same people who knew me as a 5 year old, a 10 year old, a 13 year old, an 18 year old, has brought some challenges. I imagine that I am still viewed as Little Elena.

I had always felt guilty, embarrassed, for having an easy life. I didn’t have a close relative die tragically, I didn’t have abusive boyfriends, I didn’t have a transforming experience in which I decided to be baptized, I wasn’t much of  a rebellious teenager. But I always felt a deep rooted pressure. The pressure to be spotless. I felt like I was being robbed of being able to safely make a mistake.

Enter college.

I was finally at a place where I could make a few mistakes. I never got into deep trouble, but stupidity followed me. But behind, before, above, and below was, once again, God’s grace. I praise God for prayerful parents.

When people have told me, “Oh wow, I didn’t know you struggled!” my heart aches. Not because a feeling of being misunderstood, but because I am not doing my job of speaking the truth in love. This is where my embarrassment was aroused from having an “easy life”. I wasn’t aware of this feeling until I came back home. Until I had to look my past in the eye, and then tenderly embrace it.

Little Elena, now big girl Elena, still feels like she is little Elena. But, I have taken that little girl along by the hand. Her innocence is no longer embarrassing to me.

And I’m beginning to really like her.

 

Because of my Grandmother…

Before I begin, I must make a confession, then, an apology.

I am proud.

Not proud in the sense of having pride for my country. Not proud of my family’s heritage, which in deed I am. Not pride in what my gender is and what we’ve accomplished.

But proud, in the most awful of descriptions…I sometimes think I am better than others.

Now I take this leap of faith, not knowing how you will now think of me. Maybe you will roll your eyes and click the ‘X’ on the top of your screen. Maybe you will be angry with me, or for me. Maybe you will smile from ear to ear because of a newfound relief that you have found another one who is a sinner. In any case, I trust that your judgment does not matter…And for that, I am thankful.

With that confession, I ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness from those who also blog, use pinterest to create things you may not create, post pictures of your kids on facebook, gossip among friends, skip church to sleep in, read ‘People’ magazine as a guilty pleasure, say you feel ugly just to get a compliment from your husband, only recount the bad things in your day to get apathy. I ask forgiveness from you, because I have found pride in not being you. When in fact, I have done everything you have done, if not more. And maybe much worse.

There is reason for my confession and apology.

Now you know who I am. Well, maybe at surface level. However, I am tired of being at surface level. I am near 27 and have been hit with a wave of, “Who was I? Who am I? I don’t think I like it.” I have been told that this is normal. But if you know me well enough, I DO NOT like being normal. That is one of my downfalls and ‘upjumps’, if you will.

Because of that, I want to find the answer to these two questions. Reconcile them, and in constant prayer, move forward. Within this method of writing down words and having other people read my vulnerability, is where I will begin this process.

I don’t see myself as being courageous. I giggle and turn bright red in the face of confrontation. My Grandmother, Oneta, was the essence of courage. Until the day she died, she had zest for life and wore highheels. Underneath her spunk, she had an inner drive that had been rooted in quite a little temper as a child. Inspite, and despite of this drive, she was kind. She spoke the truth in love.

I want to be her.

I keep a bottle of ‘Ponds’ lotion on my dressing table that my mother gave me and my sisters the week after my Grandmother died. She used it every night before she went to bed. Even if I don’t use it every night, I open it, smell it, remember her face, and am inspired.

And here begins the words from my heart. I pray that you will be blessed, as well as I.

grace,

Elena