A Baby Saves the World, Glory to God For a Baby!

My desire for this blog has always been that it be a place for me to write about my thoughts and feelings as I experience them, whether they be with regard to the present or the past, or the future for that matter, and for me to be able to write here often, hopefully everyday. 

It's so frustrating to me that I can't seem to pull that off. I'm doing good if I can write here once every few months. I don't know why that is. Back when I was multiple I had an alter named Secret whose job it was to make sure that the rest of us never told anyone what was happening to us ~ never exposed the secrets of the cult abuse ~ or even that there was any cult abuse, never mentioned anything about Harry's abuse, never revealed the fact that I was abused by my mother as well. 

Now that I'm no longer multiple and Secret has been integrated and is a part of the whole that is me, I've done all the things she tried to keep me from doing. I've revealed all those horrific secrets and exposed them for what they are ~ lies from the Enemy. I mean, they really happened to me and they were appalling and shocking, but their purpose was to pervert my understanding of God and to make me believe that He could never love me and would never receive me as His child. I don't know why they would expend so much energy and effort on one child, but in point of fact they did. But it didn't work. 

It didn't work! God's grace and mercy triumphed over Satan's evil designs, and for that I am forever grateful to God.

So, this day after Christmas, this is what I want to say:

                                  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS!!!

Hope Was a Child Named Wordsworth

Hope. The Bible says about hope, "Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us."~~Romans 5:5, NLT

That really means a lot to me, given it's only been the last five or so years that I had any hope. Harry stole any hope I could have had when I was very small with his abuse and threats. It was progressive, happening over a period of months and years as his abuse continued ~ never-ending, unremitting, always present, larger than life, always in my face, slapping, mocking, defiling, shocking, taking my breath away, suffocating, strangling my hope ~ until it was dead, gone from my life, and I was left wanting to be dead myself. I tried suicide nine times, and almost succeeded a number of those times, not realizing that God had placed in me an alter named Wordsworth, whose job was hope, and whose job was to keep me alive until my own hope could be restored once again.

I don't think I'm done writing about this. It's already taken me a very long time to write this tiny amount. My excuses are innumerable: getting the details worked out so that Mom's long-term care insurance actually kicks in and starts paying; I'm actually doing some artwork; I'm reading lots of books; I'm on Facebook far too much; I'm watching way too much TV, yada, yada, yada, etc., etc… The first two ~ Mom's insurance and my artwork are probably valid, but the rest? Nope! So with that said, I'll leave this topic for another time…

The Terror In a Book. But Who Knew?

I'm reading a book called Switching Time by Richard Baer, M.D. It's the true story of a woman with MPD (now called DID in the DSM V, but I've never liked that designation for it; MPD is a much better descriptor for the disorder), and it's written from the perspective of her treating psychiatrist (he's the author). At the time this story was written (1989) she had seventeen separate personalities. 

The reason I'm writing about it here is because, as I'm reading, I find myself being triggered by things I read on almost every page - something I had no idea would happen when I began the book. It turns out that Karen 3 (the main alter/core personality) and everyone else in her system of alters were victims of ritual abuse, along with all the other unspeakable things that were done to them by the father, grandfather, and other relatives and friends. The only one who didn't actually abuse her/them was the mother, but she did absolutely nothing to protect Karen from the people who did abuse her, and she did abuse her verbally and emotionally. In addition, in the portion of the book that I've read thus far, the mother's behavior suggests she was aware that the father and the grandfather were abusing Karen - which makes her inaction on her daughter's behalf more than simple neglect or denial (the mother denying to herself that Karen was being abused despite any evidence to the contrary). If Karen's mother knew she was being abused and chose to do nothing to stop it - no matter the reason - then, at least for me (my opinion, for what little it's worth), her inaction was criminal.

The other thing I'm discovering as I read this book has to do with issues of trust. While it took several years for Karen 3's various alters to be able to fully trust Dr. Baer, they were able to do certain things right from the beginning that I've never been able to do with any therapist no matter how long I've been seeing him or her. What I'm referring to is in the area of talking about sexual matters, and specifically, using the biological words for sexual body parts. I can't even say those words by myself or with my doctor - and I've been seeing her since 1992. I trust her about as much as I trust anyone in areas concerning my health, but even so, I can't talk to her about sexual matters, even after all this time.

I have some ideas about why this is such a difficult issue for me, but I don't know if the reasons I know about are the only reasons there are for why this is such a problem. If I'm going to be bluntly honest, there's a part of me that wants to be free of this, but there's another part that doesn't because I'm flat-out terrified.

So that's pretty much it, at least for the part of the book that I've read. Who knew reading a simple book would reveal so much stuff, though I suppose I should have expected it given that it's a true story about a woman who has MPD, and who was a victim of ritual abuse. But I didn't know that when I decided to read the book. I just bought this book because it was about someone with MPD. Oh well. I'm always open to learning new things about myself, and that's what's happening as I'm reading this book.

And on and on I'll read, and hopefully, on and on I'll learn...

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me...YES HE DOES!!!

I just realized last night that February 6th was my born-again birthday. I've been a Christian for 42 years. I don't know how I could've let it slip by. Getting born-again was by far the most important and best decision I've ever made, and probably will ever make. It's the one decision that affected my eternal destiny. At the time I didn't realize the import of it, I don't think, but now I certainly do, and I am eternally and forever grateful to God, and to my savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, God's Son, for loving me enough to die for me, for loving me enough to take the punishment for my sin. Oh my! Words can't express my gratitude… And the great mystery to me is that Jesus would love me at all, knowing the depth of sin in my heart. I just can't fathom that at all.

But He does, whether I can understand it or not! That's the weirdest, and yet the most wonderful part of the mystery. He loves me, even knowing my sinfulness!! I don't understand it, but I'm certainly not going to reject it. That would be just plain dumb!

Hope Destroyed, Hope Restored

I've been thinking about damages lately, the damage that sexual abuse does to a child for the most part, and in particular, the trauma that results from incest on a child. I wrote an un-mailed letter to Harry in a previous post (entitled "Am I Afraid of Anger, or Do I Get Angry At the Fear?", published Monday, May 27, 2013), where I told him everything I could think of about what his treatment of me during my childhood did to me, the damage that resulted, the terrible destruction that has been the result in my life. It has only been through the grace and mercy of God that I've been able to experience any kind of goodness and healing, and I'm extremely grateful for that.

In thinking further about this, I've come to realize that what Harry did that caused the most harm--destruction would probably be a better word--is that he stole my hope. His abuse was so thorough, so invasive and all-encompassing, that he annihilated any hope I might have had that my life could ever be any different. I think that's why I was so suicidal for so long, with nine suicide attempts over a period of about twenty years, eight of them while I was a Christian.

So what all of this means is that because Harry destroyed my hope, and because a person can't live without hope, it had to be brought in from the outside. God brought me hope in the form of an alter personality whose name was Wordsworth. She was eleven, and she named herself Wordsworth because she felt that words, both spoken and written, were the path to healing and wholeness. While she did write rhyming poetry, she didn't name herself after Wordsworth, the poet.

This is the first poem she wrote as herself, using me as a vehicle, in September of 1991. It's called Words:

     So many words in this wide world of mine.
     There must be a billion, three million and nine,
     Or maybe a trillion - I know not of more,
     But even a million's enough for a door. 

     Words full of laughter, of light, and of hope,
     Words that paint pictures for those who must grope
     Through darkness and longing 'til dreams become real
     And light in their tunnel means safety to feel. 

     Scrivening onward, word pictures I'll paint
     So others when thirsty won't give up and faint.
     Words will build true homes from castles on air
     Where laughter and rainbows take place of despair.

                                      S. A. Kuriakos & Wordsworth
                                          ©September 28, 1991

I've always liked this particular poem. It has a lilting feel to it, plus the first couple of lines sound a bit like Dr. Seuss.

When Wordsworth introduced herself to me, what she said about herself was that her name was Wordsworth and her job was hope. What I didn't realize or understand at the time was that it was Wordsworth who kept me alive through all my suicide attempts. It used to frustrate me to no end that I couldn't seem to kill myself no matter how hard I tried. Turns out Wordsworth kept calling 911 on me everytime. Back then it used to make me steaming mad. Now I'm very grateful both to Wordsworth, and to God, for saving my life.

In retrospect I've come to see what an important role hope plays in our lives. I really believe that people can't live without hope--I've certainly found it to be true in my own life. So how do we keep people from giving up their hope in this crazy, mixed-up world we live in now? Seems to me the best way is to tell them about Jesus. I think that's the answer: Jesus Christ. He restored my hope, He healed me and is continuing to heal me, He's helped me to forgive everyone--including my father--who ever hurt me. Basically He's restoring my life. There's still work to be done, but I feel more and more like the end is in sight.

"And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us."~~Romans 5:5, KJV

I know God loves me, something I never thought I'd be able to say. I have the hope of heaven, also something in which I never thought I'd have any confidence. I'm growing more and more bold in talking about Jesus--me who has always been such a fraidy-cat. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting healed!! Thank you, Jesus!!

Yippee!!

Those Bossy Clothes!

I had to take my computer to the Apple Store this afternoon, because I managed to lock myself out of it - harrumph!! - and I couldn't figure out how to get back in. Fortunately the guys at the Genius Bar were able to easily figure out the problem and get me going again. While it was happening I was very upset, but in retrospect the whole situation was quite laughable.

As I was leaving the Apple Store I saw this advertisement at a store across the street that said, "Don't let your clothes be the boss of you," that started me thinking. My first thought was that if I were letting my clothes be the boss of me, I would dress very differently than I do. I thought that I would dress in a very feminine manner - even though I'm not exactly sure what that would look like, maybe low-cut dresses all the time. The thing is, low-cut dresses don't look feminine to me. They look immodest and kind of whorish. 

And then the thought occurred to me that by dressing the way I do now, never wearing dresses of any kind, always wearing jeans and baggy tops, not even wearing nice pants or slacks, maybe I'm letting my clothes be the boss of me indirectly. Hmm… Isn't that a fine closet of clothes!! Now that I've figured it out, I have to determine how to change it. 

Maybe I should leave that part up to the Lord, or at least what the solution is. Once I know what the solution is, then I can go about carrying it out… 

Lily Gets A New Home - And New Air!

Since I started moving my stuff into my new apartment, I've noticed that everytime I'm out there - at the Barrington Place complex, though not so much in the apartment itself, I'm tormented by thoughts and fears of being spied upon, like voyeurism, attacked and/or raped on the grounds of my new apartment complex, etc., etc. It's a constant battle to combat the fears, and I don't understand why it's happening. I've done the best I can to pray before making any decisions about where to live, and I prayed about moving to Barrington Place - if I should or not. It seemed like the doors opened and God made a way for it to happen when there was no way in the natural - I passed the credit check and they rented to me when I had no job.

So whether I'm supposed to be there or not, I am. It's too late to back out. I've signed the lease, signed it for a year. I asked Pastor Jack about it - why I would be encountering this kind of spiritual warfare - and he said that maybe God wants me to pray for Rancho Cucamonga. That makes sense. So I guess that's what I'll do!

I'm going to sleep there for the first time tonight, and I'm moving Lily there permanently as of tonight. The whole point of making this move now instead of later is because of the mold problem in my apartment in Irvine, and specifically because of how it's affecting Lily's breathing. It's been affecting her breathing for a very long time. I can only hope that her respiratory system isn't permanently damaged because I delayed for so long. I'm just going to have to trust in the Lord that she'll be all right. When I took her to the vet a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Peth said she's in very good health, inspite of her breathing problems, which surprised me and left me feeling quite relieved. However, that doesn't make the urgency of getting her out of my Irvine apartment, and into my new apartment where the air quality is better any less. So we will make the move this evening. It'll be fun to see how she reacts to the new environment in the apartment in Rancho Cucamonga.

Life is great and God is good!

The Childhood That Wasn't, And the Self-Pity That I Can't

Every once in awhile I begin to reflect on my life, sometimes not such a good idea, and when I do that I realize some of the things I've lost. Things like the ability to feel and act in feminine ways, the ability to have a relationship with people in general, and with a man specifically, plus I never had a childhood. My innocence was stolen before I was even born.

I don't want to get bogged down in self-pity, but sometimes I feel sad because there are some things I can never get back, some things I'll never get to experience. While there are some things that God can replace, heal, and/or make up for, there are others that are irreplaceable. Certainly God can heal my inability to have relationships, especially in the area of relationships with men, and He can heal my problems with femininity, though I don't quite know how--but I guess that part isn't really my problem. But I'll never be able to have a childhood now. That's been robbed from me forever, and that's the part that hurts the most.

I think I'll just have to give the hurt, and the fact that I can't ever get it back, and that it was stolen from me, and how much it bothers me, and everything else about it to God. Because feeling sorry for myself  doesn't help me at all. It just holds me back and hinders my progress, and it makes me depressed and sad, and I really don't need that. I have too much to do all the time to get bogged down by depression and self-pity.

So that's what I'm going to do. I'll give it all to God. He's much better at dealing with all that heavy stuff anyway. Plus, if I give it all to God, then He'll have the pain and the worry of it all, so it won't bother me anymore--at least that's the idea. It might sound simplistic, but I've found that it actually does work most of the time, and the times when it doesn't work, it's because I'm missing it in some way. Because God's Word always works, and He always keeps His Word. He always keeps His promises, and He's always faithful.

"But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him."~~Hebrews 11:6, NKJV. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."~~Hebrews11:1, NKJV.

"Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him for He cares for you."~~I Peter 5:6-7; NKJV

 I don't really care that much if God exalts me. All I'm really interested in is pleasing Him. That's all I've ever wanted is to please God.

Anyway, that's about it. God is good, all the time!!

He's Not a Monster, a Monster He's Not!

Wow. Just wow. 

I saw Jeff today. I had asked him to read my post about our last session. You know, the one where he said that breasts were used during sex for creation--an idea with which I heartily disagree, especially when it concerns sex with children. He said other things that made me angry as well, but that was probably the most egregious of the things he said.

Anyway, the first thing he did at the beginning of my session today was to thank me for my honesty--for being honest about feeling angry at him for last session. And then he asked me to forgive him if anything he'd said last time had hurt me in anyway. I was so surprised that my mouth almost fell open. He's the first therapist out of the thirty-nine or so that I've seen over the years who has ever, ever actually had the humility to apologize for something he said or did, and I didn't even have to ask him to, and he never once told me that I was angry about it because of transference, thus absolving himself of any blame in the interaction. He just took responsibility immediately. Wow! Just wow!

It was a new and different experience for me. I didn't know how to act! I wonder if it'll ever happen like that again? It let me know that maybe I can trust him. I'm still afraid to talk about the icky stuff, but at least I know that he's not as scary as I thought he was after last session. He felt like a monster after last session.

So maybe he's not. I'm so glad! I didn't want to have to change things, and now I know that I don't. Yippee!!

The Mysteries of Moving and Thermostats

I started moving in to my new apartment this afternoon. I took one of my drawings and hung it on the wall in the diningroom, and then I ran two loads of laundry, a load of underwear and a load of socks. The socks are still drying as I'm writing this. I took a couple of boxes from my storage space and emptied them. One of them had glasses and the other had china. From now on I'm going to go to my storage space and take a few boxes with me before I go to my new place. 

I met my next-door neighbor while I was there. I was trying to haul some boxes up the stairs just as she came out of her apartment, and she offered to help me get them inside my front door. Her name is Brenda, and she seemed very nice.

I took a bunch of pictures while I was there, and I tried to figure out the thermostat, but was unable to. I got it going enough to get the temperature down to 77 degrees (it was 84 degrees when I got there), and set the time correctly, but that was the extent of it.

I'm supposed to write 500 words, especially since I didn't write anything yesterday, but it's after midnight and I have to leave for therapy by 9 am tomorrow morning, so I don't think I'm going to make  500 words today. I think I'm doing good to think up as many as I've written thus far.

I'm so grateful to God for all He's done for me! I managed to make it to the bank and get the cashier's check, and then get to my storage space and get some things out, and go to Trader Joe's to get some orange juice and go to the market to get laundry soap--all before going to Barrington Place to sign my lease!

So now it's time to go to bed…

Thank you, Jesus!!

God's Goodness In a Move

I'm moving. Yes, I found a new place to live, or at least it's new to me. Yippee!! It's located in Rancho Cucamonga, which is located in San Bernardino County. I'll be signing the lease and getting my keys on Friday (this is Tuesday).

It's a cute place, and it's better than my current apartment in every detail. The rent is lower and it's a larger place by about 400 square feet. It has one bedroom plus a loft space, which I plan on turning into an art studio. The bedroom has a walk-in closet, and the bedroom and the loft both have ceiling fans. It also has central heating and air conditioning. The loft has lots of windows which can all be opened, so the light is wonderful and I can keep the air fresh, which will be good if I'm painting in oils or using pastels, plus it's a large room, which will be good for spreading out. 

It also has a full-size washer and dryer already installed in the unit, so I won't have to rent them. The kitchen has all the appliances, including a gas stove, and granite countertops. And it has it's own private garage right below the apartment. I won't have to share a garage space with anyone anymore, which means I won't have to deal with people leaving the garage door open when I want it closed anymore! Thank you, Jesus! God is SOOO GOOD!!!

I've been looking for a place for a couple of years. I had looked at this complex before, when I first started looking. It's called Barrington Place, and I really liked it the first time I saw it. What attracted me to it the first time was this same floor-plan; they've named it the Kensington - the one bedroom plus loft. The only reason I didn't jump at it back then was because the rent was a little too high. It was lower than what I'm paying now, but with Lily-rent, etc., it would have been within about twenty dollars of what I'm paying now. But when I checked back over the weekend they had a Kensington renting for almost a hundred dollars less than what I'm paying now, so I decided I'd better check it out. 

There was only one other place that I was considering, on the outskirts of Riverside, that was as nice as Barrington Place is. That complex didn't have any loft-type apartments, but they had a lot of different two bedroom floor-plans. The apartments were very nice, and the rents were good as well, but I finally decided I wanted the loft. I've been wanting a loft-type apartment for a very long time, years even, and now my wish is coming true. 

As I said, I'm planning on making the loft into an art studio, and then I'm going to set myself a goal of doing some kind of art in that studio everyday. I already have quite a number of unfinished projects that have been sitting around for a long time, plus I have a lot of ideas for projects that I've been wanting to make, also for a long time.

Mostly what I'm hoping for is that I'll be able to break through whatever emotional barriers have kept me from being able to work and create. If I can do that, with God's help, of course--I wouldn't want to do it without Him - then I'll be unstoppable, with all the glory going to God!

Five Hundred Words Per Day

Five hundred words per day. I found this Facebook group called "My 500 Words". It's a closed group that's designed to help writers become better and more disciplined at their craft. It's closed so you have to ask permission from the group administrator to join. It's stated purpose and goal, to quote, is:

My 500 Words is a 31-day challenge designed to help you develop a daily writing habit and become a better writer.

You're supposed to write your five hundred words and then post that you've done it on the My 500 Words Facebook page, so you can get encouragement from other writers participating in the project as well. You can write about anything you want, and you're not supposed to edit it as you write. You're just supposed to let the words flow.

So here I am, writing my first five hundred words, and, while it's taking me a very long time to write them, at least I'm working at it. It usually does take me a long time to produce a blog post, and I'm wondering if that's part of the reason why it's difficult for me to write.

I went to a really cool thing at church tonight. It was called "Comedy and the Constitution", and it was definitely hilariously funny, while being very serious at the same time.

And then I wrote this not-very-good poem:

           Five Hundred Words

Words and letters spilling out
Tumbling through the littered spout
Onto the paper, must needs make sense
Though sense is but a wall to one so dense. 

So scrivening onward, pushing pen to write,
Word upon word, sense will blight
But all else is dimmed save numbered lines
And thus are saved by five hundred times.

And on I write in salad's stead
Or steely march of soldiers' tread,
Sense or nonsense, makes no mind.
Just pump out words till all is fine.

So thus far it adds up to about 290 words, and by writing this sentence I'm at 306 words. I think I'll end it here. I'm tired. I think I'm doing pretty good even getting this far, which puts me right at 358 words. It probably seems kind of silly focusing so much on numbers of words, but I'm trying to meet this challenge, without getting too legalistic about it.

A Sense of Wonder

One of the many things about God that I find so amazing is that He has given human beings the capacity to experience and appreciate, as well as create, beauty. No other creature on the face of the earth has that potential, and I think that's at least partly what God means when He says we are made in His image and likeness. He gave man five senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Each sense can perceive beauty, and can participate in the creation of objects of beauty. God has given human beings the intellectual ability to create perfumes that are pleasant to smell, foods that taste good, art that is lovely to look at, and music that is beautiful to listen to, as well as material that is pleasing to the touch.

What I don't understand is how anyone can think that God doesn't exist, when all you have to do is look at the human body--at its incredible intricacies and systems and functions, from its smallest cells, to the organs that contain them, to the systems wherein the organs operate. And the whole body is greater than the sum of its parts, because it doesn't just function as an organism, but it functions as a living, breathing human being with consciousness and thought and free will, and the ability to laugh and to cry, to love and to hate, and to find meaning in life's events.

So the upshot of it is that everything about God is mysterious to me, but that's part of the fun of knowing Him--that I can never quite know Him. There's always some new aspect, some new mystery to uncover and discover about God.  

I Can Trust God, But Can I Trust What's-His-Face?

My session with Jeff last Saturday went all right, except for one thing. He asked me what I thought breasts are used for (I have a very hard time with that word, both saying it and hearing it, but I'll try using it here; I have to say that I'm feeling extremely nervous). When he said the word I started to shake and I wanted to tell him to not say that word, and then run from the room.

Anyway, I told him that they were used for feeding babies, and I was going to say that they're used so  men can get their jollies during sex, but Jeff kind of interrupted me and said that they're used for creation, only he used the actual word. He said, "Breasts are used for creation," and when he said that word he said it with a deep sonorous voice, and kind of drew the word out. It made me feel like he was imagining touching me. I've always had this fear that if I talk to a man about sex stuff, especially if I use the words of the body parts, then he'll get pictures in his head about me and sex. 

Aside from all that, they are not used for creation, at least partly because creation doesn't usually take place when people have sex. If creation took place every single time a couple had sex? There'd be a whole lot more people in the world. I don't think so. Mostly people just have sex. So mostly breasts aren't used for creation. They're used so men can get their jollies off of women during sex. And they're especially not used for creation when some jerk is having sex with a child! 

I recognize that my opinions, if that's what you want to call them, could just as easily be affected by my issues as anything else. But they are at least a little bit legitimate, probably with my issues thrown in to stir things up a bit. How much of it is issues and how much of it is legit I don't really know. What I do know is that now I'm afraid to trust Jeff.

That Hated Thing I Do

This year between Christmas and New Year's has been particularly difficult. I spent most of the day New Year's Day hitting myself. I was playing a new Solitaire game on my computer, and I kept forgetting one of the rules--over and over and over and OVER and over again. I couldn't stop playing it because I couldn't understand why I couldn't seem to remember that rule, and everytime I forgot the rule and made the wrong move as a result, I hit myself. Finally I had this thought that this was a solitaire version that I couldn't play--that wasn't good for me to play--and it was at that point that I was finally able to stop.

I've also been fighting the War With the Bra (WWTB) more than usual over the last few days. This is a problem I've had for as long as I can remember, and I've named it the War With the Bra. The WWTB is where I'm constantly having to pull up my straps because they feel like they're falling off my shoulders. The feeling that they're falling off my shoulders fills me with incredible anxiety, and I don't know why, but the anxiety about the right side is higher than the left. I go through periods where the anxiety is worse, and I have to fight the battle even harder than usual, if that makes any sense. I can't just go without a bra because that produces even more anxiety, and I've tried to find one with straps that don't fall, but I've never been able to. I go through absolute torment with this, and I think it might be related to fears that someone might touch me, but I don't know, but I wish it would STOP. I'm so everlastingly exhausted and tired of it, and I hate myself that I have to go through it all the time.

The reason I'm writing all this out is because I have to see Jeff this morning and I think God is prompting me to talk about it (that's easy for Him to say!). Just the idea of telling Jeff this stuff fills me with fear and anxiety! But I know if I can get prayer for it I can get healed. So I thought if I wrote it out and then asked Jeff to read this before I got there, then it might make it a little easier for me.

This is probably the hardest post I've had to write, mostly because I wrote it specifically knowing that someone would read it, and baring my deepest secrets. I've never told anyone about this. All the other ones were written hoping that maybe someone might read them, and none of them were as intimate as this one is, and this one I'm telling my male therapist. It's just scary, that's all.

So I give this into God's hands, and Jeff's too, I guess. That's what trust is all about. I just hope he doesn't abuse my trust!

Such a Marvelous Mystery, Such an Amazing Gift!

December 25, 2013, Christmas Day

I've been thinking about Christmas and what it's all about for a couple of weeks now. It's the most amazing and mysterious thing that God would choose, would freely choose, to put aside all the privileges and glory and beauty-of-Holiness worship that being Lord over all the universe offers, and come down to earth in the form of a human being, a baby no less, to redeem mankind. 

I would think that such a transformation would be one of going from complete weightlessness (God is a Spirit) to one of assuming the weight of all humanity in one tiny body. And such a transformation! Not only was it from spiritual weightlessness to physical weight, but He went from having all the attributes of  spiritual and heavenly perfection to having all the attributes of physical and earthy imperfection--yet without sin. When Jesus was a baby, and then a child, and then an adult here on earth, he did all the things we humans have to do, whether we want to or not. He had to help his mom with the chores around the house and help her keep his younger brothers and sisters in line, he had to help his father in his carpentry shop, he had to go to the bathroom--however they did it back then. The only thing he didn't do was get married and have sex. If they ate beans when he walked the earth, beans being the fart factories that they are, then he probably farted! I don't intend any irreverence by that. I just mean that Jesus experienced everything, literally everything, humanity did yet without sin. The Bible says that he was tempted in all points the same as we are, yet without sin. 

"For we have not a high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin."~~Hebrews 4:15, KJV

That's how he can be such an effective intercessor and High Priest for us, sitting at the Right Hand of the Father. So he understands if we fart (for example) and as a consequence, feel incredibly embarrassed, because he felt the same way. (Don't mind me, guys, I don't mince words around here. This is my blog, so I can write what I want. We all pee, poop, and dare I say it, fart, whether we want to or not, and whether we want to admit it or not. There are those who would say that I could use nicer words, I suppose, but since this is my blog, it's my words. On someone else's blog they can choose the words. It seems to be okay with God, because the King James Bible speaks plainly as well. Check out I Sam 25:22, 34; I Kings 14:10, 16:11, and 21:21; and II Kings 9:8 for examples.)

But I digress. 

With all the commercialism that people so quickly embrace every year, it becomes all too easy to  completely forget about why we celebrate Christmas in the first place. Many people think the real meaning of Christmas is about family, and giving instead of receiving, and while those things are important, they only hint at its true significance. The real gift is much more specific: it's God's gift of Jesus Christ, sent to earth as a baby, born of a virgin, to save humanity from their sins. There is no better gift a person can receive, because it has eternal consequences, than Jesus Christ. All that's needed is to accept it by faith.

So I don't know if what I've written here makes much sense. I guess it's more train-of-thought writing than anything else, about how I see Christmas. I think I'm making progress. I'm not feeling quite as negative about it this year as I have in years past, so I'd say that healing is occurring.

God is good ALL the time!