I Miss Back When...

Time is running out for 2017. The clock is ticking off as we are only a few hours from midnight. And the ending of a year has always been a good time for reflecting on the past and looking forward to the future. The ending of this year has me wishing for times before. 

I miss back when I was little and my sister and I would play Barbies for hours on the blanket outside on the lawn. 

I miss back when I was in high school and hanging out with friends and still thinking that I would go to medical school and conquer the world. 

I miss back when I was in college and living in Seattle, “studying” for hours with my friend Jennifer and laughing about everything until we couldn’t breathe. 

I miss back when I first started my job and thought that I was the best SLP in the universe. 

I miss back when I first met my husband. I remember the long phone calls, the agonizing wait for the weekend when he would drive all the way from Wenatchee to see me, the excitement of dating and being together and learning about each other. 

I miss back when Amelia was a baby, smiley and sweet and snuggly. 

I miss back when I first became the momma of two. I miss seeing Amelia’s adoring eyes as she gently held her new sissy Emerson. 

I miss back when we were a family of four, thinking that we had it made and never even knowing what was just around the corner.

I miss back when Tom was here with us. I miss his crooked grin and the way he adored my girls. I miss his burping and farting. I miss him teasing me. I miss him bringing shoes to the house that I would always steal. I miss the gatherings where he was just there. I miss his motorcycle and his leather jacket and everything about him. 

I miss back when my grandma and grandpa were just through the field. I miss running through the tall grasses to get fresh berries or help grandpa or kiss grandma through the fence. 

I miss back when Clay was still alive. I miss hearing him call me “Sweet Pickles.” I miss play dates at Chuck E Cheese and the Bowling Alley and the mountain where he loved playing Gray Wolf. I miss our chats about drums and high school and the girls. I miss his sparkly eyes at my girls’ dance recitals. I miss his hugs. 

I miss back when my sister actually lived in Bremerton and I could run to her whenever I wanted. 

I miss back when we were the Duncan family. I miss my husband. I miss our family. I miss my girls having a dad. I miss our State Patrol family and our fire department family and our Cencom family. I miss thinking that my husband was a hero. I miss holding his hand, three quick kisses before we parted ways, the yellow roses he always bought me, having someone to come home to and talk to and love me. 

All of these back when moments? They all represent moments in time. Time that sucks away all too fast. Time that passes whether we are ready for it or not. And we find ourselves on a milestone of time tonight. As the seconds slip away, as the moments pass, we will all pause to think about 2017. To mourn its passing. To rejoice that it’s over. To mark the moments and their meaning for us. And then, as midnight strikes, we embrace 2018. 

The beginning of a new year symbolizes hope. Hope that the coming year will be better. Hope that we leave behind the bad of 2017. Hope that this year will be the best ever. 

The marks on the chalkboard are erased and we get to start over. Sort of. We walk into each year with the memories of the past. I am excited about the potential of a new year. I’ve made plans. I’ve written out goals. I’ve given a lot of thought to the year to come. But in the back of my mind, I think about my midnight. Another year without my husband to kiss me at midnight. Another year closer to being older. Another year of watching my parents age. Another year of watching my babies turn into young women before my eyes. My emotions swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. 

And then, in the midst of it all, I’m given the theme for the year for me and my prayer partner: Psalm 34:18  If your heart is broken, you'll find God right there; if you're kicked in the gut, he'll help you catch your breath. 

She and I often see and hear “Be still!” Catching our breath. Taking a rest. God is in this time with us. He was in all my back when moments. He walked me through all those years, the goods ones and the bad ones. And in the worry and angst of a new year beginning, in the sadness and heartache of memories past, He is there. Helping us to be still. Helping us to catch our breath. Walking us into the new year filled with hope! 

So, as the clock ticks towards midnight and you find yourself counting down the seconds towards 2018, pause and think about your back when moments. And then think about the hope that fills the new year! And know that our Heavenly Father is with you as the time gets small, and He’s already waiting in 2018 as we begin counting down that year! He’s there to celebrate with you in the good. And He’s there to help us catch our breath in the bad.

I can’t wait to see where this new year takes us! And to make even more amazing back when memories! Happy New Year! May God bless you in 2018 and beyond! 

God Blessed the Broken Road...

My life is broken. Was broken. Has been broken. There are fractures and fragments of the journey that I have taken in this life strewn all over. Pieces of my heart and soul lay shattered along the reflections to the past. Life has been hard. And the scars that I have are deep and infected even at times, some not yet healed. But as I move forward in my faith and in my walk with Father God, the healing that is taking place can be looked at with wonder. 

This past week, another step of healing happened. The relationship that we have shared with Brian’s family has been tumultuous as best. It has been a journey of blame and heartache, shame and finger-pointing, anger and even questionable activity. I have often been left reeling from visits with them. I have attempted to involve them minimally and in a safe fashion to allow them to keep the connection to their grandchildren, but to also protect my heart and my children. So for a long time they got to attend dance recitals and that was it. A public location with family and friends where they could see the girls, give quick hugs at the end, and we could go on our merry way. We would meet in a public location for Christmas gift exchange. It was awkward and weird and always left my stomach in knots and my soul aching that this was how life had to be. Rather than all coming together for Christmas traditions with my husband and his loving family, we had been reduced to just trying to survive interactions underneath the strain of a suicide and some nasty fallout. 

Until this year. I have worked a lot on me and the journey that God wants me to take. This year when my mother-in-law texted back in November to pick a date to meet for our Christmas, I talked to the girls. We decided it was time to forgive and move forward. So, we planned a Christmas luncheon...in our home...and invited them to join us. 

Immediately, Satan went to work trying to derail this plan. My heart began to be unsettled. Things I hadn’t remembered about them were flooding into my memory. I received a card from a relative with what seemed to me like a warning. I began full on grieving the loss of my husband all over again. The steering pain in my heart like a festering wound that had the bandaid ripped off. Nightmares at night. Tears when I couldn’t sleep. The firm footing in my faith was slipping. I was questioning my decision to make this happen. I cried and lamented and prayed and asked Jesus to intervene. 

Then the day came. My house was cleaned and decorated for Christmas. My beautiful tree flowed and sparkled in the corner. The food was cooking and waiting for their arrival. They came. The anxiety melted away as we hugged and talked and ate and exchanged gifts. This visit was as normal as things have been for a long time. There was only love and peace and forgiveness. Some sadness at what things had occurred, and what things had become. Life was different. Brian is dead. His brother divorced. His niece and nephew young parents. And my mother-in-law’s poignant statement: This isn’t the life that we had planned at all, but we are making the best out of it. 

Yes! This! My life plan didn’t include my husband killing himself. It didn’t have room for an assault. It didn’t include losing my grandparents and my husband and Tom and Clay and so many others that I just thought would be around forever. It didn’t include the broken road that winds through my memory. But, the broken road that weaves its way through the tapestry of my life is my broken road. Blessed by God. He gifted me with so many amazing moments, so many wonderful people, so many memories that carry me through the times where all I can do is trip and stumble on the broken pieces. 

God blessed my broken road. Even in the moments that are horrible and terrible and bring me to my knees He was there. He was in every one of those moments, ready to carry me when I surrendered to Him and allowed Him to walk me down my broken road. 

Proverbs 3:6 in the Bible says, “submit to Him in all your ways and He will make your paths straight.” He takes the broken roads that we find ourselves on often and lends them. Replaces the bricks, recements the cracks, paves the bumpy ways. He blesses our broken roads and makes our paths straights. He always makes a way to take any situation and make good out of it. It may not feel good at the time, but keep walking. Keep grieving. Keep forgiving. Keep moving forward one step at a time. He’s there, waiting for you to trust in Him. Waiting for you to call out for help. And He blesses your broken roads. He makes your paths straight. He helps you find the message in your mess. 

My message in my mess.  None of us planned this journey we’re on. But we all need to trust, have faith, know that God is using it for our good. He is blessing our broken road. And we will continue to move forward and heal. Our days will be filled with peace and faith and hope and love. We will grow stronger everyday as we walk in His truth and His grace!

Thank you, Father God, for blessing my broken road. I’m thankful for every loose brick, every crack, every pothole. Because they have made me into the faithful person I am today. They brought me friends and family I never knew I needed. They gifted me a prayer partner to walk me through these messages. They granted me strength, in myself and in my children. 

God blessed my broken road. And He’s blessing yours too! Just look for Him and listen for Him! He’s there! Making your paths straight!

All the Small Things...

Sometimes, it’s hard to fit into this world. It’s hard to feel anything but small. When you think about the expanse of the universe, you are one single little speck in this massive place. Even in the context of your own little corner you can sometimes feel...invisible. There are so many people. So many distractions. So many things that fill the time and space and area surrounding you. Often, when Kristi and I are walking to a football game, people will just plow into us and Kristi will turn and look at me and say, “Am I invisible? Can you see me right now?” In the hustle and bustle of life it sometimes feels as if you don’t fit in the world. You’re too small to have a space. You’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 

Things happen in life that add to this idea. It’s not just a space issue. It can be a heart issue too. It’s a lonely world at times, and it makes it hard to navigate life when you are unsure of how you fit into the scheme of things. In conversations with people we can all agree that life is so hard. And when life is hard it can be overwhelming and isolating and downright scary. There are many thoughts that float through my head in any given day. “Why do I matter?” “How do I fit into this picture?” “Where do I stand?” It’s a hard place to be, but I find myself there often. The world is so big and scary sometimes. And when you are a person with anxiety or post traumatic stress disorder or even just someone who has troubles with runaway thoughts, it can be even more so. 

Today was one of those harder days for me. It started off with very little sleep and just sort of spiraled from there. I was ready to go home and crawl into bed around 9:00 this morning. But I adulted though the rest of my day to make it to the end. I dropped my kids off at dance and I had a few choices of what I could do. Go home and sleep. Go somewhere and drink. Sit in my car and be alone. I opted for a walk. So I went to one of my favorite places and walked slowly through the darkening woods. I made it to one of my favorite spots to stop and talk to my Heavenly Father and I stopped and stood there and began to cry. Heartfelt prayers left my heart and my soul as I rocked back and forth in the middle of my spot, singing praises to Him in my head as I cast all my worries and cares onto Him. He whispered for me to open my eyes and when I did and I looked up into the heavens and the picture above is the view that I saw. Expansive trees towering tall over me. The last bit of daylight peeking through the treetops. For a split second I was overwhelmed again with the thought of being small. Insignificant. Unimportant. Standing at the base of the towering trees I felt tiny. And then the following verse popped into my head:

Matthew 6:26 - Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

I am so much more valuable to my Heavenly Father than the birds. More than the trees. More than the hustle and bustle that so often has my head swimming and searching for a firmer footing and elbowing to find my place. 

I am not insignificant. I am not nothing. I am not unimportant. To my Father, to my God, I am His most important treasure. I am the light in the night sky. I am the center of those tall and towering trees. I am so important to Him that He has a plan to love and cherish and take care of me all the days of my life, and even beyond! I am His precious daughter and He loves me. Now and forever. Amen!

What’s My Age Again...

I find myself standing on the verge of the clock ticking to my fortieth birthday. I can’t believe I’m going to be forty! Just as I marvel at the apparent time warp that has happened when I stare back at the faces of my children who are no longer babies, but young ladies, I find myself looking backwards trying to figure out where the last four decades have gone.

Many people fret about turning the big 4-0. Getting older depresses them. They are faced with mortality. They are reminded they’re on the downward slope to the end of life. And I suppose it could be hard to think that potentially I have lived half of my life. If I’m lucky...

People have asked me for months now if I’m anxious about being forty. My reply? I am excited! A fresh start! A new decade filled with potential and possibility. My first decade was filled with camping and playing with my sister. My teen years were stressful as I navigated grades and relationships and being picked on for various reasons. I knew my twenties would be better but it was more stress from college and grad school. I was assaulted. My grandfather passed away. But I met and married Brian in my last year of my twenties. The thirties would be my decade! I had Amelia. And then I had Emerson. And then my husband killed himself. Life unraveled. I developed seizures. Blah. 

So, am I dreading forty? No way! I am loving my life where I am in this moment. I am strong in my faith. I am dependent on my Heavenly Father for my needs and dreams. I am losing weight and feeling good and in the best shape of my life. My girls are happy and healthy. I have worked on my heart and forgiveness and moving forward with life. I am repairing relationships that were important to me at one time in life. I am happy and getting healthier. I am navigating through life feeling good. 

My blog has been about honesty and transparency. I have shared the good with the bad. So, in the spirit of being honest, I will share that as I move closer to my birthday that the feeling of excitement is still there. I am wide-eyed with anticipation that I am moving into a new decade that will be full or peace and love and hope and faith. But there is a feeling of sadness and heartache that is threatening to creep in and cloud out the joy that is in my heart. 

I am going to be forty. And with all of the excitement there is also a sometimes overwhelming sense of sadness. I didn’t think that I would be entering my midlife alone. At the end of my grandparents time together, they were celebrating their sixty-seventh anniversary together. A lifetime of love. That’s what I wanted. As I walked though my twenties I saw the time ticking away, my opportunity for lifetime love sucking away like the sand of time. I was overjoyed when I walked down the aisle towards Brian and the timeline to my lifetime of love started. 

When he died, the turmoil surrounding his desth tore me in two. I was now without the person who promised to love me forever. But he was also a monster that I didn’t recognize anymore. Sadness. Anger. Heartache. Apathy. Devastation. Relief. It’s hard to grieve when you don’t know whether to be sad or angry. 

These feelings are right at the surface as I stand at the halfway mark to life. I have ended my first half of life in turmoil, but also in victory as I have navigated through the process of healing. I am starting the last half in a place of peace and contentment, but with sadness creeping in as I start this journey alone, without my earthly life partner. I am so blessed with friends and family and people who are amazing and incredible and so supportive. The people reading this post, and so many more, have walked my little family out of the darkness with the help of Father God. And for these people I am so grateful. 

I miss my husband. My heart breaks and the tears sit right on the edge waiting to brim over and fall down my cheeks. I wish I was starting this next phase of my life with my partner. With the father of my children. With the one that God picked for me to start my family with. And then I remember that same God that picked Brian and started me on the path to the end of these first forty years. He has a plan. There’s a path for me. There’s a plan. I am right on track where I am supposed to be.

So, on the eve of my birthday, I am thanking Father God for the plans He has for me. For the lessons that I have learned. For the message in my mess. Every step I took in my first forty years has been directed and perfected by my Heavenly Father, to prepare me for the next forty years. I am so grateful to Him, grateful to the people who have walked beside me and in front of me and behind me thus far, urging me to continue. Cheering me on through the times I have struggled. Waiting for me to walk out of the fog and the darkness. 

So, happy birthday to me! The birth of a brand new decade. A brand new part of life. A brand new opportunity to serve my Lord and Savior. A brand new chance to try again with the things I struggled with before. Another chance to love and be loved. The beginning of a new life path gifted to me by God. Another chance for healing and moving forward and coming into the person God is growing me to be. More time to grieve and grow and gift others with my story and my testimony and my message. I can’t wait to be forty! I can’t wait for all God has in store for me! 

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord...

Letters to You

I have always processed stuff by writing. Not like in a diary or in a journal. Blogging mostly happens lately. When I was younger I would write myself letters of things I was having a hard time with. I would write and write and write and then fold the letters in my pocket and carry them around with me. Any spare moment I got to myself I would read the letter over and over and over. I would squeeze my eyes shut and think and then read some more. I would work through things and then at night I would read my letter. And then I would go to sleep and dream. I don’t know if it was helpful or harmful but that’s how I did things. 

Not much has changed. If there is something I need to process or get off my chest I still write letters. They’re just not to me. I will type something out and send it to my prayer partner to help me process. We talk and pray and listen for God’s voice and insight into the matter. It is so helpful for me to be able to write. When things are tough or I’m having a hard time with something, I am not the most articulate person in the universe. I lose my speech. I clam up. I don’t want to talk or vent or process. But then my prayer partner will tell me to write it out and send it to her. It’s almost as if I think no one is going to read it. The words often flow so easily onto the paper. Just like I was a kid again. 

That’s how I wish things could happen all the time for me. Talking to people is hard for me, especially when I have something big or important to talk about. How bizarre is that? I’m a speech therapist. My job is to talk and use my words. But when things get tough I don’t want to say anything. I once spent two hours sitting on my prayer partner’s couch saying nothing because I couldn’t make myself say the words that were in my head. So much hurt and anger and shame. How do you express that out loud?

I write. And there have been many time throughout my life and my journey on this earth that I wish I could have written a letter instead of talking or saying nothing. If I could, what are the letters I would write?

• I would write a letter to my husband, asking him why he made the choices he did.
• I would write a letter to my in-laws, explaining why I handled Brian’s death in the manner that I did. 
• I would write a letter to my parents, telling them I am sorry for everything I dragged them through. 
• I would write a letter to my rapist, telling him that I forgive him. 
• I would write a letter to myself, trying to work through everything that I have been through and telling myself that it’s ok to not be strong and it’s ok to not be fine. 
• I would write a letter to all of my people, thanking them for always being there for me. You all know who you are. I am surrounded by beauty and compassion and kindness. 

There are many more letters I would write. So much emotion across the whole span of this journey. Gratefulness. Anger. Happiness. Sadness. Joy. Bitterness. Peace. Anxiety. Calmness. A letter for so many people. For good reasons and for negative reason, all pieces in my healing process. 

But there is a letter that trumps any letter I could ever compose. It’s a love letter to us, from our Heavenly Father. The Bible is filled with letters to us. Letters guiding and directing us on this journey called life. Letters of love and admiration for His children. Letters of hope and peace in times of trials and tribulations. Letters from God, to us, for every occasion. There are sixty-six books in the Holy Bible. Sixty-six books filled with letters from God. Sixty-six books with page after page of letters to us from our Father. There are some amazing letters contained in those pages. Many of the letters that I wrote to myself started with bits and pieces of the letters from my Lord. Many of my blog posts share a letter from our Father. He loves us so. He wants the best for us. He wants us to find hope and peace and love and joy. He wants us to have faith in Him and to know that He is with us always. 

Letters from God. Do you have things you need to heal from? Do you have things to work through? Write a letter to the one you need help healing from. Write a letter to your best friend or prayer partner. Write a letter to yourself. Write a letter to me even. And then, when you are finished, open the Bible and read the letters from our Lord and Savior. His words are promises from Him. They are filled with love and light and promises! They are more fulfilling than any letter you’ve ever read!

Letters to You...from our Heavenly Father. 

“For God so loved the world...” John 3:16

Heavy...

Heavy...

Tonight’s blog post...

Another post about my weight...just to warn you! I just stepped off my treadmill for the first time since last Monday. I run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Last week I came home from a dentist appointment with Emerson and went to bed. And didn’t get up until Friday. And then it was only because I had to. I was super sick. So, two missed runs and a missed kickboxing class made for a rough run today. Having something up with my lungs didn’t help any. But I did it. And this was the topic on my mind my whole run. I really wanted to call this blog post “What’s My Weight Again?”, a parody of one of my favorite Blink 182 songs, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. So now you know the alternate title. 

When I was in high school I weighed 240 pounds. I remember exactly because we stepped on the scale in tenth grade PE and I was horrified. So ashamed. I was athletic but I didn’t control my eating. I would hide food. Sneak food. Spend my money on food. I was ashamed but not enough to do anything about it. 

When I left for college I actually lost weight my first year. I remember weighing 220 pounds as I entered my sophomore year. Still not where I was supposed to be but I remember feeling good about myself. I was walking and riding my bike around campus. Eating better. I was feeling good about myself. I dressed a bit more skimpier. I wore short skirts showing off my legs. I found shirts that I loved. Then I went to a party. And was brutally assaulted by more than one man. Over the next seven years I ballooned from the 220 I was so proud of. By the time I walked into my first WeightWatchers meeting I weighed 341. I had already lost 20 pounds on my own. I worked hard and got my weight back down. 

I met Brian. We fell in love fast. He proposed. Moved to Bremerton. We made wedding plans and the day that I got married I stood at the altar in my wedding dress weighing 220 pounds. I felt beautiful. I felt healthy. I was so proud. Two babies later and time a period where my weight rose above 300 two more times and losing it again in between. Then Brian killed himself. 

My first thought? I shouldn’t have lost weight. I shouldn’t have gotten back to 220. Bad things happen when I get skinnier. I got raped. I met Brian. Bad things happen when I become more tolerable to men. That number - 220 pounds - weighs heavy on my mind. The PTSD feelings surrounding that number gives it a life of its own. I cannot weigh that ever again. I need to pile on the layers of fat to protect myself. If I keep myself disgusting, if I keep myself obese, I won’t be a victim again. I’ll be safe and protected. 

I am nearing that 220 mark once again. I am eleven pounds away. My last weigh in showed me to be 231 pounds. And I can already feel the anxiety and fear building. So I turn to writing. And I’ll turn to God. 

The photo below on the left is me at my heaviest, or at least close to it. I was hiding behind food. Hiding behind the pounds. The girl on the left was full of heavy things. Fear. Sadness. Hidden secrets. A soul that was cracked and bleeding. Flashbacks of trauma and assault. Anger. Confusion. Pain. So much hurt. So much doubt. So much just wanting to die. Just wanting to feel safe and protected in a world that had been shattered to pieces. And then seven years later, I took charge and took the first few steps to healing. To stopping the cycle of weight gain. To finding who I could be. 

When I met Brian I was still on my initial weight loss journey. He was loving and accepting. He knew I was working on me. My weight didn’t bother him and I was looking and feeling so good. The day I said “I do” I was back down to 220. My magic traumatic number. And then just a few years later, Brian was gone. And something that came out in therapy was the damn number. Why did I let myself get down to 220 pounds again? Brian found me attractive. I wasn’t at a point where no one would find me attractive so I opened my heart and let someone love me and then he died. 

That number has become a panic for me. A moment of anxiety. I don’t want to be fat. But I need to figure out how to not be fat and not see 220 on the scale again. When I think about it I am full of fear. I’m full of doubt. I’m full of terror thinking about what might happen. What will happen if I weigh 220 pounds again? 

I posted the two pictures side by side for a reason. I don’t ever want to be 361 pounds again. And I’ve done a great job of not getting that heavy since then. But I also don’t want to be 220. 220 is just a stopping point between here and my goal. I cannot put so much into just a number. Nothing bad happens at 220. Nothing bad is going to happen. Those two events were just a coincidence and I can make it past that number on the scale. 

I have invested so much time and energy into finding out who I am, there’s no turning back with this. I will overcome the trauma of that number. I will get closer and closer and then blow right past it on my way to reinventing myself physically. I am excited about who God wants me to be in my health and exercise. I will not be a victim. I am a survivor. I am a fighter. And I am not going to be chained to a number on the scale, no matter what that number says. 

God has a message just for me, just for this situation: Isaiah 43:19 says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

See? He is doing a NEW thing! In me! This 220 hangup that I’ve had for a while? This is not part of His plan for me! He has more! So much more! And He needs me to blow through 220, and give all of my fear and worry and anxiety to Him. To have faith and trust in His plan. To cast all my cares upon Him. To know He will walk with me side by side through the rough parts. He’ll cradle my head in His arms as I cry tears of heartbreak. He’ll place His hands on my shoulders as I walk through flashbacks and night terrors. He’ll hold my head in His hands and glue all of the pieces back together as I work through the healing work that needs to be done surrounding this. 

I don’t want to be heavy. And I don’t want to be carrying the heavy burden and heavy chains of brokenness. I will walk through, one step at a time, one day at a time, one pound at a time. I will work towards forgiveness of my attackers, forgiveness of Brian, forgiveness of myself. I will eat right and run and kickbox and pray! Mostly pray! I will get past 220. I will love myself no matter what the scale says. I will trust that He has me, and my path, in His hands.

I Won’t Back Down...

Three times. Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” has played three times today at completely different times. The first time was in a preview for a movie that comes out in January. The second time was in the truck with my family on the way to the pumpkin patch. And the third time was in an episode of Gray’s Anatomy that I was watching randomly. I smiled as I started singing the third time, and realized that God had a blog post for me to write. So I left the TV on in the background and decided to get to work, knowing that He would lead me through the writing. 

I thought about what we could possible cover with this title. I thought about my weight loss journey. I tend to get in a groove where I do well, and then something happens. Last year, almost a year ago, I broke my foot. This year, I’m back on a good streak of losing weight, and Wednesday I was hit with what I’m guessing was the real flu. I have been so sick. Achy joints, headache, back pain, cough, stuffy face. I had been doing great with my eating and exercising routines. Suddenly I found myself wanting nothing but candy and fries, and missing a day of kickboxing and two days of running. My energy is still sapped and a couple hours out of bed st the pumpkin patch has kinda done me in. But I have goals to reach and I’ll pick back up with eating and exercise as soon as I am able to sit upright for more than an hour. I won’t back down...

As Gray’s Anatomy played in the background, I listened to the case that was on TV and smiled again. Another message from Heavenly Father. A man on the episode was having surgery on a kidney tumor. He was afraid. He didn’t want to have the surgery because he was worried about the risks and the complications. I have been told to search for a second opinion. To not just listen to the first advice that told me it was “no big deal.” So, for the kidney tumor part of my life, I won’t back down...

The next item on my agenda was to go through mail.  I had lots of mail to go through since it had been a while. In the pile of mail, I found a bill. A bill for Brian from over seven years ago for money he owed. I shook my head and closed my eyes and prayed for forgiveness and patience. And I offered a prayer of thanksgiving that Father God protected me from so much. I still owe on Brian’s debt. I’m still paying on things that he owes. But there has been so much more that I am not responsible for. So much more that I haven’t had to pay. And I am so grateful. I will continue paying down his debts and moving forward from my experiences with him. And I won’t back down...

As the evening wore on, I started to feel terrible. I am tired from the day and from being ill. I was feeling sick to my stomach being dragged into some of Brian’s mess once again. Just when I get to a point where we are content and maybe not thinking about him, something comes up. And as much as I’ve moved on, as much as I have grown and changed, there are things that happen that suck me back into thinking about him and his mess he left behind. This is exactly what Satan wants. He wants me distracted by this petty little stuff so that I don’t notice the hate and discontent that is growing in my heart. I don’t notice the feelings of yuck and sadness. It slowly starts taking over. And luckily, God has walked me through this before and I am more aware of how I feel and what they try and get me to do. So I pray. And I sing praises. And I wrote blog posts. I message my prayer partner. I lean of Jesus to get me through these moments. And I know that I am loved and taken care of and protected from my Heavenly Father. And I won’t back down...

In everything I have been through, in all the trauma and all the pain, in the heartache and anger God has protected me. He has helped me to stand my ground, to ground myself in Him and His word in the Holy Bible. He has helped shelter me from Satan and his attempts to lure me off of the path God has for me. And God will continue to help me through this life. He will carry me through the moments when I have flashbacks and memories of Brian. He’ll cradle me in His loving arms as I navigate the medical pieces of a kidney tumor and my other health concerns. He will guard and guide me as I walk this health journey and keep exercising and losing weight. 

In all of the things I meet in life, I know He is with me. Matthew 28:20 says, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." His promise to us that He is always with us and will never leave us. He is with me every second of every day. Walking me through the healing I need for my past, and also preparing me for the moments of my future. I know that He won’t back down, and He won’t let me back down either.