Good - Things

Last night, I had yet another bizarre dream with meaning. After a very exhausting day of work and working on a class project, I unwound with an episode of the Good Witch followed by an episode of Stranger Things before going to bed. It was obvious, to me anyway, that elements of both shows made it into my dream – vodka, strawberry slushies, overwhelming, life-threatening fear, and Sam – well, a Sam-like character. It also had a Three Bears element to it.

To make a long and confusing story short, a gang was after me, and threatened to hurt me if I did not do what they demanded of me. I was terrified. I wanted so desperately to talk with someone.

The first person I sought readily agreed to come talk with me. He even left a meeting to be with me. However, as soon as we walked into his office, there were numerous people waiting to talk with him. It was obvious that he was distracted. He kept telling me to hold on while he dealt with one issue after another. He kept looking toward me to let me know that he had not forgotten about me, but the demands of so many others kept him from being able to give me his undivided attention.

Another friend walked by. She has been one of my dearest confidants. I told the man not to worry about it. I would talk with my other friend. She not only agreed to talk with me, but she was willing to go somewhere else so we could talk in private.

However, she only followed me a short distance. She was willing to be somewhat disengaged for my sake, but she did not want to go too far – just in case. I was able to share part of my story, but then someone else came along needing to talk with her. I could see she was torn. I could see the other person was trying to be patient and not disturb us, but the other person’s presence was enough to disturb the both of us. I told her it was okay. She could see to the needs of the other person. I would be okay.

As I continued walking down this long hall, I became further and further isolated from everything and everyone else. I soon realized I was in this empty, unused kitchen area. There were no signs that anyone ever came here. I looked around. There was empty space all around me. Even the walls and cabinets were bare. Nothing. I was all alone.

I felt so very alone. I sat, defeated, on one of the long benches and bent my head, sobbing. I needed someone to talk with, but I was so very alone. I felt empty, lost, scared, had no idea what to do.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another man walking toward me with briefcase in hand. It was obvious he had no idea I was there and he was simply walking by. However, when he saw me, he stopped and asked if I was okay.

I looked up and said no. I never even tried to still or silence my sobs.

He looked genuinely concerned. He asked me when I last cried like that. I told him I could not remember.

He set his briefcase down, walked up right behind me, grabbed the back of my head and kissed the back of my head. He told me that was a shame. Tears are good. They cleanse and heal the heart.

Then, he walked around the bench and sat down right beside me. Looking directly at me, he asked me what was wrong. I shared with him the whole, sad story. As I talked, his focus remained solely on me. He never took his eyes or his attention off me. This person, who is usually easily distracted, was fully present.

After I shared my story, he asked a simple question – what if I refused to do what they demanded I do? What then?

I said they might kill me.

He said, maybe they won’t. Then, he repeated Will Smith’s words about fear from the movie, After Earth.

After Earth - Fear is not Real: https://youtu.be/wSKzLtRzY78

I haven’t been able to get this dream out of my head. As I talked it over with God this morning, two lessons came out of it:

1. Remember how the me in the dream felt when those I needed were not fully present for me. If someone comes to me and is in need, BE FULLY PRESENT.

2. I may love the Good Witch because I want a Sam in my life. Part of the dream was wishful thinking that someone would look at me “the way Sam looks at Cassie.” The other part was a reminder that I already have that in Jesus. No matter how others may fail me, He will never leave nor forsake me. He will always give me His full and undivided attention. 

I often end my talks with God with “thank You for loving me.” Then, quite naturally, the Bon Jovi song of the same name pops into my head. As I contemplate some of the lyrics, I wonder if he wrote it as a love song or, if like the Song of Songs, it is a love prayer in disguise.

Bon Jovi, Thank You for Loving Me https://youtu.be/h6-Y1WIkaYY

I finally get it!

If, by chance, anyone reads this, please understand that this particular blog post is intended to be nothing more than a journal entry, something I do not want to forget. I am not sharing to any social media sites. I wrote in my journal already, but my hurried thoughts on paper are illegible. This is a lesson I cherish and hope to never forget. Therefore, I am going to write as if talking to Jesus. However, I am purposely leaving key details out so parts may not make sense. 

Little by little, since that moment almost nine years ago when I vowed to do whatever it takes to fix me, you have been chiseling away at the stone built up around my heart. I had come so far, but, apparently, I still had/have a lot of work to do. Recently, You told me I didn't know my heart as well as I knew my head. I didn't know what that meant.

I had no idea what you meant. Then, even more recently, a snowball effect began to occur. Others in the educational realm of my life have made the comment that they have noticed that disconnect, that I still have work to do, but that I'm teachable.

I was called a snot by a woman in the church. She was kind of kidding, but not really. She was referring to my tendency to get so busy and so wrapped up in my own world that I shut others out. Ouch!

Then, the reading for class this week - the Cappadocian Fathers - Gorgonia - she representing marriage as it should be. What? That? Could it be? The reading sent me on a whirlwind of jumbled thoughts. I was missing something, but what?

Then, I crashed. I had gone back old habits of going, going, going until I burned out and had no more energy to do anything. I had been neglecting my Sabbaths. Three days of sleeping late, doing as little as possible, and thinking. What was I missing?

I carried these thoughts with me on the drive to my counseling apt. After two months, only You would know to schedule it at this precise moment. Man, I am in awe by You.

As we talked, it started to come together. She called it what it is. Surprisingly, it didn't phase me. Somehow, I knew. Had the roles been reversed, I would have seen it just as clearly. I wasn't angry or shamed or anything like I had been before about the other thing. This seemed so obvious and matter of fact.

We talked a lot about my issues with the Catholic Church. We talked about the reading. She asked what I was most drawn to. I was drawn to what submission is really all about - what a marriage could look like and be when both partners are drawn to God first, when You are their first love and first priority - what a beautiful partnership that could be. I was in awe. I had no idea. I was wrong. I had such a skewed idea of what love was, what it was supposed to be. I had a messed up belief in what a good, Christian wife was expected to do and be. I had it all wrong.

She asked me how I felt about myself, looking back. I realized I was okay. That girl was doing the best she knew how with what she knew at the time. She was so wrong, but she was trying her very best.

My counselor asked me what I felt now. I had no idea. It was all still a jumble, but I could see all the pieces of the puzzle. They just weren't coming together yet.  I know now that wasn't love - not the way I tried to love, not the way Brad treated me. I realize now what love does and what love does not. But there was still something I was missing.

I was flabbergasted all the way home. I knew You then. I have always known You. How could I ever think You would expect that of me? And if I did truly believe that was Your definition of love, how could I possibly have loved You? Why would I ever have wanted so desperately to please You?

What was I missing?

On into the afternoon, the question still plagued me. Then, the pieces all started to come together and the answer became clear - my childhood, family, the Catholic Church, marriage - in all of it, I learned in one way or another that I was different, which translated into my head that I was wrong. If I was wrong, that meant that "they" were right, which means what "they" tell me must be right. So, if I want to be right, I should do what "they" tell me. I should be who "they" tell me to be.

The problem is, "they" weren't right.

Childhood - being me made me different, unlikable, unlovable
Family - we never talked. My mom and sister were strong, outspoken. I was not like them. We never talked. I learned that I'm not a normal woman, not strong or desirable.
Church - priesthood, abortion, annulment - we've discussed those issues ad nauseum - unspoken lessons that I was less-than because of my gender or by simply being alive.
Marriage -  to be a good, Godly wife and prove my love to my husband, I needed to submit to him, no matter what

No wonder I never wanted to date or get remarried after divorce. It wasn't about Brad - it was about marriage - what I thought Christian marriage was - no different, actually, more of a prison than secular marriage.

Now, I see I was wrong. But, what I still didn't understand was why, out of all those things, I never had to work through my issues with You?

I wrote a book to help me get over the childhood stuff. It took me years to get over the jealousy I had of my sister. It took talking candidly to a receptive and understanding Priest to help me get over the injustice I felt at the hand of the Catholic Church. It's taken me all this time, and I'm still working, on getting over the marriage. Why did I never hold You responsible? Why was I never angry with You?

Because I never blamed You. I blamed myself. In that instant, You gave me the greatest gift. You told me that there is nothing wrong with me - and there never was. You made my heart smile with those words.

I felt that piece of stone fall from my heart. I have always told myself that there was nothing wrong with me just because I'm different, but my heart never believed it - the proof is in the choices I made. The only clear choice I have ever made is pertaining to You - I fought the injustices in the Church - not for my sake, but because I knew they were wrong about You - but I never fought the same way for myself because I believed they were right about me.

But they aren't - they weren't . There is nothing wrong with me - and there never was! :) What a wonderful and beautiful gift You have given me. Thank You!!! I love You. Thank You for loving me more!

I Am a Turtle

Ever since I took up the hobby of running, I have referred to myself as a turtle – slow and steady, but I always finish the race. Over the years, I have come to see myself as a turtle in other ways as well.

Not only do I run slowly, but I walk slowly as well. Rarely am I in a hurry to get anywhere.

My funny bone is still in its infancy. I laugh, but I am slow to get the joke. 

I may write well, but there is a disconnect between my head and my mouth. The conversion from thoughts to verbal words takes time.

I cannot get to the point of any story. I have a (sometimes) bad habit of getting to my point in a roundabout sort of way. 

As I have eluded to in past blogs, I am slow when it comes to committing to a decision. I have to weigh out everything, painstakingly think through all the options and consequences. Once I settle on a decision, I commit fully, but the process is long and tedious. 

Frankly, everything about me is slow. 

Last night, I had a two-part dream. I was rather upset with my baby girl, Bailey, for waking me up in the middle of a fantastic fantasy dream. After taking her potty, I hoped to pick up where my dream-story had left off. That happens sometimes. Unfortunately, not last night – at least, not in the way I hoped. 

Instead, I had a dream about turtles. As anyone who knows me knows, I love animals – almost all animals – even reptiles (except snakes – they are just plain evil). 

Without going through all the details of the dream, I found ten baby turtles. Had I had the means, I would have kept and raised them all myself. Unfortunately, I live with my dad and I am poor – even in my dream. My dad told me I already had a dog and a cat and I could not keep the turtles – not even one. I needed to find them all homes. 

There were two with whom I was particularly attached. They were inseparable and growing bigger and faster than their siblings. A friend was helping me find homes for these cuties. She made phone call after phone call for me – for them. 

Neither one of us wanted to separate the two special turtles. We wanted to find someone willing to take them both. Everyone wanted the smaller, cuter little turtles. No one wanted to take on the responsibility of both. 

My friend had grown quite attached to the two and decided to adopt them herself – but then she changed her mind. She loved them so much, but she knew she could not give them the care they needed and deserved. “They can live 50 years or longer. I love them, but I can’t make that kind of commitment to them, as much as I want to. They deserve better.”

So, we set off trying to find someone who had the means and desire to commit to them. We found the perfect person. As another person explained, “people from his country revere the turtle. Commitment for the care of turtles means something to his people.”

Then, I woke up. During my morning prayer time, I talked with God about both dreams. It became pretty clear what this dream meant for me. 

I am the two special turtles. They both represent a different part of me. 

Everyone who loves them wants to nurture them together because they see the value each gives to the other and neither would be the same or happy without the other. To break them up would be to kill them. 

Not just anyone can love these special turtles the way they deserve. Love is not enough. Care for them requires love AND a special kind of commitment. 

This man, the one capable of loving and caring for the turtles is a Godly man. He is not just a Christian by name, but he believes in and lives his faith. What makes these turtles so unique and special, requiring a unique kind of commitment, is everything true Christian values stand for – spiritual and physical purity, nurture, care, commitment. 

My study in my M.Div class – Theology and Witness of the Church Mothers – this week has been about the stories of Thecla, Perpetua, and Felicitas. All three women rejected the social norms of their day and suffered the consequences. A lot of our online discussion has been about how gender stereotypes still exist, and the struggles we face especially surrounding topics of modesty and civic engagement. We have had several discussions about sex and relationships. 

These discussions have forced me to think on and remember everything which make me different – both in society at large and even amongst my Christian peers. I’m okay with being different, but I often wish everyone else would be, too, and just let me be. 

This dream reinforces the fact that I am different, but my differences are what make me so extraordinary. Because I am extraordinary, it will take an extraordinary man to love and care for me.

Every time someone “encourages” me to start dating again, I inwardly scream and want to lash out. They don’t get it. They don’t get me. If I simply wanted someone to love, who would love me, that would be easy. I could join an online dating site and find just that. 

No – I want more. I want someone worthy of this turtle. Not just anyone can fill that role. 

In this dream, God used a turtle to remind me how different and how special I am. He also let me know that there is someone out there capable and worthy of loving me.

I can wait. I am in no hurry. As I have often said, I will not settle. I can afford to wait for what I want because I am not afraid to be alone. I will wait for God to drop said man onto my lap. 

After all, I am a turtle. I know how to take things slow.  

Into the Echo

"Into the echo, we shout our dreams
Into the echo, we throw our hearts
Into the echo, we send our love
Into the echo, to the echo, into the echo
To hear it back.”

Songwriters: Billy Falcon / Jon Bon Jovi

Into the Echo lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Ole Media Management Lp

As it often does on a solitary drive, my mind replayed various scenes/conversations/scenarios – three hours of reflection. 

A few months ago, during my quiet time with God, He told me that I was very much in tune with my head, but not with my heart. Little by little, He has been chiseling away the wall I worked so hard to build around my heart, protecting it from any and all forms of attack. He has reminded me time and time again that I cannot truly live – I cannot truly know Him – if these walls remain. 

The simplest way to tear down the wall is to allow myself to fully be present in emotionally tough times – whether while watching a movie like Breakthrough or participating in a Donor Walk. Allowing myself to cry in public has done wonders to shine light back into and out of my once dormant heart.

There is still one truth I deny myself because the truth is too painful to own. So, I lie – to others, to myself, and to God. I do what I have always done – allow my head to tell my heart what to think until I believe it. This time, however, I see it for what it is – a bold faced lie.

During my church's district assembly this week, I grew increasingly excited by the prospect of me getting ordained at next year’s event. I even told my friends gathered at dinner that if I did, I would wear a dress. After all, this is wedding-day-big-deal. One friend offered to buy the dress if I agree to actually wear a dress. Two others immediately started Googling dresses and offering suggestions. Yes – this girl wearing a dress is a HUGE deal – but, so is getting ordained!

However, my excitement led to unanticipated sadness as I read the bios of the Ordinands. Every one of them had something listed under their name in bold print which I will not have – the names of his or her spouse and children.

As the processional began, I watched as each Ordinand filed in with his or her spouse proudly walking beside them. I envisioned me next year walking alone. I nearly had a panic attack. I could feel the flood of tears wanting to burst forth, but I fought it. I could not and would not lose control now. After all, no one knows the extent of my loneliness.

I did, however, text the friend sitting next to me. “Maybe I’m not ready to be ordained after all.” She assured me I would not be alone. I will have a ton of biological and church family gathered there to support me and cheer for me. I let it go. After all, how do I explain something I refuse to admit to even myself?

How do I admit that I am lonely? That no matter how many friends I have, how many people I can talk with, at the end of the day, I still go home alone. I still go to bed alone. I still wake up alone. 

I’m not talking sex or any sort of physical intimacy. I am talking about emotional intimacy, to have someone to share my day with – maybe even hold me as I cry – rather than turn to ice cream or a blog. Someone to share my life with – other than my four-legged babies. They used to be enough – until very recently – they were all I needed.

After assembly, I stayed in Houston to visit my sister. She and one of my nephews showed me an episode from a Netflix show called Our Planet. This particular episode showed how one bird of paradise prepares to attract a mate by cleaning his “house” and then doing this elaborate dance for her. (check out the clip here and prepare to laugh https://youtu.be/rX40mBb8bkU)

This led to a lengthy conversation about how God uses nature to teach us how we should live. She used this as a teaching tool for her boys about family values and how this world has it backwards – how girls go to such great lengths to attract boys, throwing themselves at boys, wearing inappropriate clothing – how sex has become so cheap and inconsequential – how boys should do more to woo girls –  how important it is for her boys to woo the right girl. It was a rather fascinating conversation. I am very proud of my nephews and how my sister and brother-in-law are raising them.

No one has tried to woo me in – well – I can’t remember the last time a male tried to woo me.

I DO NOT in any way, feel sorry for myself because of this. The fact is, I have not put myself out there to be wooed. I know full well that I am an amazing catch – even if I rarely wear makeup and dress like a boy so often that the thought of me in a dress is such a hot topic of ongoing conversation. I know someone would be unbelievably lucky to win me over.

These were my thoughts while driving home from Houston. Now, before I continue, I must add this disclaimer – I am about to get real – honest – with myself. However, these revelations are too new and too raw. I do not and will not talk about them with anyone other than my therapist right now. This blog is mostly for me and I know very few people read it – which works to my advantage most of the time – especially right now. If I thought certain people would read this or if I thought those who do read it would pester me about it, I would never publish it. If you are reading this and you insist on asking me anything about it, I will lie and deny. So, please do not ask a pastor to lie. Simply take this for what it is – my “therapy blog” – working out my emotions on “paper." My publishing it in this blog is not an open invitation to engage me in dialogue. 

Lies that I tell myself and everyone else:

Lie:

I have no interest in getting married ever again.

Truth:

This was once true. After my divorce, I hated all men. I thought they could be friends and acquaintances, but deep down, they were all driven by sex and could not be trusted. Men were evil. I believed marriage was a scam and I refused to ever even consider the possibility.  

Then, I met some good married men – men who showed me what a God-fearing married man acted like and what an equal partnership looked like – nothing like I had known. It was refreshing. Still I wanted none of that for myself, preferring to be alone.

Then, God told me to get to know my heart as well as I know my head. The truth is, I do want to fall in love and be loved again. I do want someone to share my life with.  

Lie:

I’m a loner and better off on my own.

Truth:

There is a hint of truth in that, but I don't want it to be all true. I hope I'm not better off on my own.

I am a loner, and as an introvert, I do require a lot of alone time to recharge my batteries. But I also think I have a lot of love to give and I believe the right person would get me. If an introvert, he, too, would need space. If an extrovert, he would probably be okay doing some things without me, giving me my much needed space.

Brad and I hardly ever did anything together. We lived two separate lives. I want to do things differently if given another chance. However, that does not mean I have to go from one extreme to another. I think there could be a happy medium.

Lie:

I’ve been on my own too long. I’m too set in my ways.

Truth:

I have been alone a long time, but I am not too set in my ways. My life has changed so much over the past few years. I've had to readjust several times since moving back to Texas. I can readjust again given the right circumstances.

Lie:

I don’t have time to date.

Truth:

This is a convenient truth – a truth I control. We make time for what matters most to us, right?

Lie:

I have no interest in dating.

Truth:

Well, this is true. I have often said that if God wanted me to find someone, He’s going to have to drop him in my lap or make me trip over him because I am not looking. This is very much true.

The deeper truth is that I secretly hope that God does drop that man in my lap or make me trip. Just because I am not looking does not mean I would not let myself fall.

All these pieces came together as I listened to the Bon Jovi song, Into the Echo. I have heard and sung along to this song a zillion times. However, this time it was personal. It speaks to my growing sense of loneliness.

When I made the detour for the beach this past Monday, arriving late to district assembly, I stood along the shoreline staring out to sea. I had a deep desire to scream out over the waves, but there were too many people present. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At the time, I couldn’t explain why I so desperately felt the need to scream, but after I heard this song, and played it over again, I understood.

"Into the echo, we shout our dreams . . . we throw our hearts . . . we send our love . . . to hear it back.”

Click here for: Into the Echo lyric video

Serpentine Belt

A friend once asked, “Once you commit, your all in, aren’t you?” I answered with a simple nod of my head. I admit, it takes a great deal of emotional effort on my part to commit, but once I do, as my friend suggested, I am ALL in. 

My vehicle is no exception to this personality quirk of mine. When my ex-husband and I went car shopping, I wanted this ugly blue thing simply because we could afford to pay cash and not have car payments looming over our heads. 

When we divorced, I wanted to pawn the car – and the payments – off on him. Unfortunately, the bank would not agree to our arrangement. I did all I could to get rid of her, but no one wanted her. Once I realized that we were stuck with one another (Rosie and I), I decided to see her as God’s gift and chose to love her and take good care of her. 

She is old in car years, and I have had more than one opportunity to trade up for free. I have turned down the offers, electing to remain faithful to the girl who has been through so much with me – and who has brought me home again. 

This past week, my dad and I discussed all the ways Rosie is beginning to show her age. Her shocks are squeaking. Sometimes it sounds like someone knocking on the door when I press on the brakes. And – last year, my trusted mechanic warned me that a belt would need to be replaced soon. He was surprised that she had as many miles on her without it ever having been replaced. I had just spent a lot of money fixing other things, and he knew I did not have the money for more repairs at that time. He told me the belt was okay for the time being, but I needed to seriously consider replacing it before too much longer. 

Since that time, she has taken me to Colorado, Nebraska, Tennessee, Arkansas, and countless miles in Texas.  However, I can now sense that before I ask her to take me on any more long-distance adventures, I need to take care of her needs. 

My dad informed me that this belt – something called a serpentine belt – is pretty darn important. Without it, she can’t run. That scared me. No one is offering me a new “free-for-me” vehicle, I cannot afford a car payment, and, I feared, I could not afford to fix something that important to her life. 

Either way I looked at it, I was screwed – or so I thought. 

At church the following Sunday morning, I asked a friend, who is a car guy, how expensive this fix would be. He said the part was very inexpensive and easy to replace. He offered to bless me by helping me if possible. 

Something that important being that cheap and easy? 

My Rosie and her needs got me to thinking about what Paul says in scripture about us being the hands and feet of Jesus. We all serve a different function in the body of Christ, but like a serpentine belt for a car, none of the parts matter – none of the parts can function properly (or at all) – without the resurrected Christ which holds us all together and gives us our power. 

I thought about the importance of the serpentine belt again last night at work during what is called a Donor Walk. There are so many things that are new to me in my chaplaincy and this, so far, has been the most rewarding and heart-wrenching experience yet. 

A donor patient is wheeled from the hospital room to the operating room. The family follows behind. I, as chaplain, brought up the rear of the procession. Hospital staff and any mobile patients and families line the halls to pay respects to the donor and the family. 

I could feel the solemnity immediately, but nothing anybody told me or could have told me could have prepared me for the walk. Staff – most of whom had never met the patient or the family – openly wept as they passed by, which made me weep. At first, I hung my head low, falling into old habits of ignoring the emotional triggers in order to hold myself together. 

Then, I remembered lessons from my class and ministry – sometimes showing my emotion says more to those I minister to/with than any words I could ever say. My tears matter. So, I picked up my head, looked the staff and others in the face, and openly wept right along with them. 

After the patient was wheeled into the OR, I had the honor of spending some time with the family – crying together, sharing, and praying. My tears mattered. 

All the parts of a donor body – useless on their own, without machines keeping it alive – serving in unison toward the same goal – life. Like my vehicle’s serpentine belt. Remove the belt, the entire car fails. Disconnect the machines keeping a donor patient alive, the body dies. 

One family mourns the loss of life – other families celebrate the gift of new life. One lives on through another. A new serpentine belt – a new body – new life. 

My friend told me replacing Rosie’s belt would be cheap and easy. The same is not necessarily true for the donor or the recipient. There is nothing cheap or easy about death, mourning, loss, surgery, transport, transplant, recovery, healing, new life. 

What made it easier (not easy) for this family was their faith. Their serpentine belt holding them together was Jesus. Their faith in their Savior, knowing where their loved one was going and who would be holding their loved one’s hand, kept them from completely shutting down and falling apart.  

In Love with a Broken, Lonely Mess

I met someone. I haven't met anyone so fascinating since Teddy came into my life more than ten years ago. His name is Johnny and he looks strikingly similar to a young Jon Bon Jovi minus the hair - although his scruffy golden brown locks sometimes curl below his eyes. 

I am in love with this youngish misfit. He came into my life quite unexpectedly and he truly is a hot mess - both in physical appearance and life circumstance. But I know he is an answer to prayer - a surprise - not the way I expected my prayer to be answered. In the words of Buddy the Elf, "I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!"

The past few weeks, I have grown increasingly fatigued and had no idea why. I sleep plenty, maybe too much. Is that the problem? Is my sleep indicative of a deeper psychological issue? Is it my diet? I am eating well and losing weight, but I still lack the nutrients from fruits and vegetables which I know my body needs. Is it my medication? Between the thyroid pills and antianxiety pills, I could be suffering from chemical lethargy. Is it the job? I love, love, love what I do at the hospital, but it is exhausting - the constant movement and interaction with people is energy consuming for this introvert. What is going on? Why am I so dang tired all the time? What's the resolution?

As I lay on the floor in dark silence, my go-to breathing prayer failing me, I plead with God, "Why? Why am I so freaking tired?" That is all I wanted to know. Why? No answer came. 

On my way home from work that same day, I cried out to God again. "I feel like I'm always on, even when I'm taking a day off, even when I have nothing to do." Sigh. How do I go about turning myself off? Getting rid of this constant tension in my neck and shoulders?

I feel the pressure of our church BELLS challenge. How do I live a questionable life? The things which relax me the most, the things I've always seen as my outlet, escape, AND ministry are my words - reading, writing. However, these activities do not challenge me to be in relationship with people. I feel like I am trying too hard, and at the same time, not trying hard enough. What is the solution?

Then, I met Johnny and it all began to make sense. My heart felt lighter. I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed than I have in quite a while. I felt happy - a renewed sense of purpose, drive, and motivation.

Today is April 1st - let me clarify that this is no April Fool's joke. However, Johnny is not real, at least, not in the flesh and blood - I can experience him with all my senses real. He is a figment of my imagination, but fully alive in my dreams. 

A missing piece of me, which has been dormant since Teddy's death, was brought back to life last night. I was beginning to think that I didn't have another story in me. Maybe this gift of fictional storytelling began with Andrea and Jessica and ended with Teddy and Abbey. I still have Aaron and Ellen, but that story is still too raw, too real, and neither one of them have spoken to me in over a year. Even when they did speak, their story still seemed forced. I think it is still too raw for them as well. 

When I woke up from my dream about Johnny, I knew it wasn't a typical dream. Sometimes, I dream what is on my conscious or subconscious mind. This dream was different. Sometimes, God speaks directly to me in dreams. This dream was not like that. It was real. It was alive. It is active even now that I am not dreaming. 

This is how my first two novels were born - as a larger than life, more real than real dreams. The main characters came to me in dreams and give me the basic outline. I get the fun job of fleshing out their stories with them. They even tell me their names. I tried to change Johnny's name. I mean, that's a little too on the nose - looks just like a young JBJ and has his name??? I tried on several names, including JBJ's real middle name. He didn't like it. He said his name is Johnny and that's that. 

Now, I do not have, nor have I ever had, a mental delusional disorder. I know perfectly well that these characters are not real. They are merely a figment of my imagination - a part of my creative process. I treat them like they are real while I am writing their story and, I must admit, I mourn their loss when the story is finished - but I digress . . . 

After the birth of my characters, they become a part of me, living inside of me, speaking to me until their story is complete and immortalized on paper. I never expected to meet anyone else. I surely never expected to fall in love again, but I did last night. Johnny is a mess - a broken, lonely mess, but I am head over heels in love with the man and I cannot wait to get to know him better. 

What is most exciting is that as tragic as his beginning is, I already know how his story will end. 

So, how does Johnny answer prayer? Simple. God reawakened a real piece of who I am - what makes me different - questionable. I was making the BELLS challenge too difficult. He wants nothing more than for me to use my gifts - whether at church, work, or sitting in solitude on my computer. He has not called me to be something I'm not. He simply wants me to be authentic in who He created me to be - wherever I am and whatever I am doing. 

Before the dream, the Steven Curtis Chapman song, Do Everything, has been stuck in my head:

"While I may not know you,
I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long

As you do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you,
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
Tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every little thing you do."

That's the point - that's what matters. Thank you, Jesus, for Johnny, and what he means to and for me.

Uncovering My Heart Shaped Nesting Doll

I have been told that unexpected responses to a patient visit may signal some sort of personal baggage left unchecked, some buried emotion requiring healing. Ever since learning this lesson, I look for clues as to when my moment may come or what scenario will trigger this catastrophic learning encounter. Mine took me by surprise today.

But first, I want to take a step backwards. God works that way - as a line from Danny Gokey's new song, Haven't Seen It Yet, says, "[God] had the answer before [I] had the problem.” He knew this moment was coming and He began preparing me beforehand.

I start most of my shifts at the hospital with 5-15 minutes of solitude - centering myself and focusing on God, inviting Him into the shift, to walk before me into each room, to walk with me where He wants me, and to live in me to guide my actions and my words.

On this particular day, I was having difficulty centering myself. I lay on the floor in the dark and began again and again with my breathing prayer - breathing in the Holy Spirit and exhaling all the junk on my mind - until I was focused on Him. I asked the Holy Spirit to speak to me, to tell me what I needed to hear. He spoke, and although I heard, I did not understand.

He told me I am very much in tune with my head, but not my heart. What, exactly, does that mean?

I, like the thinker I am, over analyzed this revelation. Okay, I do know exactly what I think, but struggle with my emotions. Sometimes I'm unsure if what I feel is really what I feel or what my head is telling my heart to think. But I've come so far. I mean, I can cry now! I can hug now! I can share my story and be fully present with people now! Doesn't that count for something? I no longer shy away from emotionally hard situations.

Yet, the fact remains that when it comes to people or situations with the power to hurt me, my head still overrides my heart. This is when the waters get murky and I know I am not as familiar with my heart as I am with my head. Still, I recognize this, right? So what am I not getting? How do I change this? How do I become as acquainted with my heart as I am with my head?

I could have analyzed this to death, but I realized that doing so is wasted energy. If I ask, God will show me. So, I gave this quandary back to Him and forgot about it for a while - until this morning.

Shortly after arriving at work this morning, I received a vague page to go to one of the floors. I was told the patient has kidney failure and the names of the patient's nurses. Did they want me to see the patient? Did the patient die? Did the nurses need the chaplain?

I found out what I could about the patient on the network then went to talk to the nurses. The nurses informed me that the patient just found out that the condition was terminal and was waiting for the doctor to come talk about hospice care options. I asked why the patient did not qualify for a transplant. I was told it was because a patient must be sober for at least six months to qualify.

Armed with all the initial information I needed, I made my visit. However, the patient did not want to talk with me. After our brief visit, I relayed what I could to the nurses, and returned to the office to prepare for the day.

As I thought about the yellow tint of the patient's skin, I saw Brad sitting in that hospital room, wearing that hospital gown, face and eyes turned yellow, knowing he was going to die and why. I felt a panic attack coming on.

For the first time ever, I managed to stop the attack before it took full force. I immediately set my self-care plan into motion by texting my church leadership team for prayer. I then made an appointment to see my hospital mentor to talk through what I experienced. I also prayed for myself and prayed for Brad.

As I prayed, I realized what I had texted the leadership - how, although I am not in love with him, I still care about Brad and feel somewhat responsible for him. I know full well that I am not responsible for him - not now after eight years divorced - not even when we were married. Still, that feeling lingers.

My head fully and completely realizes that I am not responsible for Brad. Should he ever find himself in this scenario - should he give into his addiction rather than doing what is necessary to save his own life - that is not on me.

My head gets it. My head believes it. My heart, on the other hand, still feels the weight of responsibility for the vows I made to him.

Now I know what one of my hospital visit triggers is, but I have no idea what to do with this information. I hope this is where my class and my mentor can help.

In the meantime, I know I need to sit with this for a while instead of sweeping it under the rug. I will trust that God will continue revealing things to me, bit by bit, layer by layer.

It's like the song says,  "It's like the brightest sunrise waiting on the other side of the darkest night . . . [I] just haven't seen it yet." Danny Gokey - Haven't Seen It Yet

Hello, Renee, it's your heart here. Thank you for taking me out of the box, but just like your Russian nesting doll, there's more of me hidden inside. Keep opening me up!