I received the best present I have ever gotten this Christmas. It was the first gift I opened Christmas morning and it brought tears to my eyes and I was totally engrossed in it, to the exclusion of all else. The pictures I just developed showed me that I missed my son opening some of his presents because I was so wrapped up in mine.
My daughter made me a book called "Notes from Mrs. ______ Class". It is a journal and inside she decorated it like a scrapbook with all kinds of quotes about teaching and cute little teacher related stickers. It is also purple, which is my favorite color. As I was flipping through all of the pages, looking at the cute cartoons, quotes, and stickers she included, I got to a page that said, "Past Student Commentary". She found some of my past students and wrote personal messages to me from them. I cried like a baby. I couldn't believe some of the students she found and what they wrote to me. It showed me that even though I don't always feel like I am making a difference, I really am. And not always where I expected to.
I can't believe she put so much thought and effort into creating this book of memories for me. It is truly a blessing I will keep forever and add to as the years pass. She is truly a blessing to me and I am so glad that God gifted me with the privilege of being her mother. I love her like no other and I am proud that I had a small part in her being the woman she is today. A woman of love, compassion, inner strength and beauty. I love you Itty Bitty.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Great Joy
I love Christmas. I was thinking aloud the other day with my husband about why I love Christmas so much. It was not a great thing when I was little. There were no family traditions to carry on, no Christmas story, no joy. I guess when I grew up and figured out what Christmas was about - true giving, it just struck something in me and I have created my own family traditions. I love the joy of the season. I love searching for the "perfect" gift to bring a smile to someones face. I love the baking. I love the get-togethers. I love how even people that may be not so nice the rest of the year are usually nice at Christmas. And I love that Jesus came to earth in the form of a human to save me. I know that Christmas is not really when Jesus came to earth. I know that non-Christians love to point that out as another inconsistency in their seemingly endless list of reasons why being a Christian is not for them. But it has nothing to do with the actual day and everything to do with the actual events. And I am sorry if people will not see that, or hear the words, or accept Jesus whose name, Yeshua in Hebrew, means Salvation.
For some reason this year, the Christmas story struck me anew. In Luke 2:10, the angel says to the shepherds "Do not be afraid, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people." Jesus did not come as salvation only for the Jewish people. He came for all people. When I heard those words from my pastor this weekend, I got chill bumps, as I realized the plan from the beginning was for all people. It wasn't changed when his own people would not accept him. God wanted all of us to know Him, wanted all of us to have fellowship with Him, wanted all of us to experience Jesus as the Salvation of our own personal lives. That is absolutely amazing to me. So thank you Jesus for being Salvation and for loving me and for sharing yourself with our world.
For some reason this year, the Christmas story struck me anew. In Luke 2:10, the angel says to the shepherds "Do not be afraid, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people." Jesus did not come as salvation only for the Jewish people. He came for all people. When I heard those words from my pastor this weekend, I got chill bumps, as I realized the plan from the beginning was for all people. It wasn't changed when his own people would not accept him. God wanted all of us to know Him, wanted all of us to have fellowship with Him, wanted all of us to experience Jesus as the Salvation of our own personal lives. That is absolutely amazing to me. So thank you Jesus for being Salvation and for loving me and for sharing yourself with our world.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Where Was God?
Recently I have been thinking a lot about my past life and why, after all of the abuse, I even believe in God. Many people don’t understand my faith and it is hard for me to explain why I know that I know God is real and He is in my life. Last night when I trying to go to sleep, this came to me.
Where Was God?
You may ask, “Why do you believe?” Where was God in the abuse? I will tell you where God was.
A principal that tried to find out where the anger came from. A man that would talk to me and not call home when I fought at school. Did he know it would make it worse? How did he know there were lies coming out of my mouth? “Everything is fine. I don’t know why I fight.” A glimmer of compassion that I was afraid to trust.
Another new school, the third in as many years. A teacher trying to connect me to something, giving me the responsibility of crossing duty for the little ones. A teacher that showed herself to be trustworthy. A teacher I turned to when being sent to stay with my abuser after the horror of the telling. A teacher I turned to when the betrayal and the overwhelming fright got too much. A teacher that told.
The CPS workers that were diligent. When I slammed the door in their face and would not let them in, they found me in a public place the next day. The friend’s father that said I should go with them. The words they had for me, “Your teacher is really scared for you and she wants you to go to the safe place with us.”
The policeman that helped me tell a little bit of my story. He held my hand. He understood my mother. He told me he wanted to take me home to live with him because I deserved to be loved. He told me I was beautiful inside. He bought me a teddy bear and a strawberry shake. He gave me compassion at court where there was none. He saw the reality and he truly understood.
A judge that broke down my resolve to lie once again, to cover the horror and make it all go away. A judge that showed compassion to a frightened little girl.
The widow woman next door. The widow woman who knew Christ as her Lord and Savior. The woman my mother chose to baby-sit me after a court-order. The woman who took me to church day camp where I heard the news about a Father that truly loved me. Why didn’t my mother choose the other next-door neighbor or the neighbor across the street? Why did the woman say yes? Was it God speaking to her in a still small voice, telling her a child of His needed to see Jesus with skin on?
What about the friend I met the first day of church day camp? Our lives were worlds apart, yet she sought me out. What about her parents? They welcomed me into their home with open arms. They shared family meals, bible study, and most importantly, unconditional love. Why did they share their family with me? What caused them to open their hearts and their home? Why did they take me on family vacations? Why did they share their love with me? Why did they try to include my mother? Why did they forgive me my mistakes? In the chaos of my early teen years, they were always there.
What about the words that were planted by my youth pastor? He had no idea of the depth of my abuse, but he gave me words of comfort that stay with me to this day. “You have a Father that loves you.” “It wasn’t your fault; God did not want this for you.” “You will go through the fire and come out smelling like a rose.” “Your faith is not a feeling, it is a fact. God always loves you. It has nothing to do with how He feels. His love is a fact.” Where did he get those words? How did he know the right things to say to a broken child?
Church became my refuge in a crazy world. And then that was taken away. I was forbidden to go. Sometimes I would sneak out to go to church and then wonder about obeying my mother. With love and encouragement, I was directed to obey my mother, but keep God first and He would make a way. Eventually, I was allowed to go to church on occasion. Whether it was born of a selfish desire to get me out of the house or an inner prompting mattered not. I could soak up goodness for a short hour once in a while.
Then the darkness came. It totally engulfed my life. I saw no hope, no reason to carry on. There was no planned out idea of suicide, only the need to stop the pain. A friend, an alley, a piece of broken glass, blood… a struggle to get the glass away. A cop car cruised by where none usually did. Taken away in a police car, drowning in pain to deep to hold. A compassionate police man, holding my hand, waiting for the doctor. A compassionate doctor telling me it would be okay, they would help. My mother screaming at me, screaming at the doctor that I just wanted attention. A doctor standing his ground and telling her I needed help. The silent ride home. The hours-long drive to the hospital with the yelling over how selfish I was. The ability to resist the temptation to say I was sorry. The knowing I needed help. The in-take doctor telling her I needed to be there. The kindness of strangers on the darkest day, the day the pain from the past and the pain from my everyday collided through my defenses with a vengeance.
The day I heard about church camp. Could I go – not in a million years will she let me. The encouragement from the youth pastor to ask anyway. There was a scholarship, it wouldn’t cost anything. The courage to approach her with the request. Not believing -she granted the desire. The fear that it would be taken away. The weeks passing with no change of mind. The freedom, the learning, the love – the saving me experience of that week at camp. Hearing the words that have stayed with me all these years. “Why did this happen to me?” “Why not you? It rains on the good and the evil. What matters is what you do with it? Will you drown, or will you take it and help someone else?” The acceptance that I could do something more, that I was not bound by my past.
The phone call home telling of finding God and the sorrow for the things I had done wrong. I wanted to live differently but didn’t think I could there. Could I move? There was a person at camp that said I could stay with them for awhile, until I was stronger? The wonder of going home and finding out my mother planned a move to a small town where I could start over again.
The friend in the new place that took me to her church. The sermon on dreams. The calling on my life to help other girls - girls like me. The knowing it was a God given dream because it never wavered.
The friend from the past that saved me from a new hell. The man that rescued me from my father when I was sent back. The man that showed me what love should look like between a man and a woman. The man that loved God and respected me enough to say no when I asked for love the only way I knew. The love that gave me hope in later years, in dark days.
The family that took me on vacation for an entire summer. A summer of love, seeing new things, and finding the true meaning of family and forgiveness. A summer where I tried to show I was unworthy of such love, but they loved in spite of me. They looked beyond.
The ability to stop the cycle of abuse. The strength to walk away when it got too much. The knowing that it was not my strength that kept me from repeating the mistakes. The knowing that God would be there when I had nothing left.
So where was God in my life? He was in the principal, the teacher, the neighbor, the friends, the youth pastor, the police, the doctors, the moves, the strength I found, my heart that sought to understand…
He saved me in a ways that I know, and ways that I do not yet understand. I know that I know that God is real and He loves me enough to put all of those lives into my life. He is there in the mess and cares about the details. I love Him because He first loved me, and He showed me that love through His people.
© krt / 12-5-07
Where Was God?
You may ask, “Why do you believe?” Where was God in the abuse? I will tell you where God was.
A principal that tried to find out where the anger came from. A man that would talk to me and not call home when I fought at school. Did he know it would make it worse? How did he know there were lies coming out of my mouth? “Everything is fine. I don’t know why I fight.” A glimmer of compassion that I was afraid to trust.
Another new school, the third in as many years. A teacher trying to connect me to something, giving me the responsibility of crossing duty for the little ones. A teacher that showed herself to be trustworthy. A teacher I turned to when being sent to stay with my abuser after the horror of the telling. A teacher I turned to when the betrayal and the overwhelming fright got too much. A teacher that told.
The CPS workers that were diligent. When I slammed the door in their face and would not let them in, they found me in a public place the next day. The friend’s father that said I should go with them. The words they had for me, “Your teacher is really scared for you and she wants you to go to the safe place with us.”
The policeman that helped me tell a little bit of my story. He held my hand. He understood my mother. He told me he wanted to take me home to live with him because I deserved to be loved. He told me I was beautiful inside. He bought me a teddy bear and a strawberry shake. He gave me compassion at court where there was none. He saw the reality and he truly understood.
A judge that broke down my resolve to lie once again, to cover the horror and make it all go away. A judge that showed compassion to a frightened little girl.
The widow woman next door. The widow woman who knew Christ as her Lord and Savior. The woman my mother chose to baby-sit me after a court-order. The woman who took me to church day camp where I heard the news about a Father that truly loved me. Why didn’t my mother choose the other next-door neighbor or the neighbor across the street? Why did the woman say yes? Was it God speaking to her in a still small voice, telling her a child of His needed to see Jesus with skin on?
What about the friend I met the first day of church day camp? Our lives were worlds apart, yet she sought me out. What about her parents? They welcomed me into their home with open arms. They shared family meals, bible study, and most importantly, unconditional love. Why did they share their family with me? What caused them to open their hearts and their home? Why did they take me on family vacations? Why did they share their love with me? Why did they try to include my mother? Why did they forgive me my mistakes? In the chaos of my early teen years, they were always there.
What about the words that were planted by my youth pastor? He had no idea of the depth of my abuse, but he gave me words of comfort that stay with me to this day. “You have a Father that loves you.” “It wasn’t your fault; God did not want this for you.” “You will go through the fire and come out smelling like a rose.” “Your faith is not a feeling, it is a fact. God always loves you. It has nothing to do with how He feels. His love is a fact.” Where did he get those words? How did he know the right things to say to a broken child?
Church became my refuge in a crazy world. And then that was taken away. I was forbidden to go. Sometimes I would sneak out to go to church and then wonder about obeying my mother. With love and encouragement, I was directed to obey my mother, but keep God first and He would make a way. Eventually, I was allowed to go to church on occasion. Whether it was born of a selfish desire to get me out of the house or an inner prompting mattered not. I could soak up goodness for a short hour once in a while.
Then the darkness came. It totally engulfed my life. I saw no hope, no reason to carry on. There was no planned out idea of suicide, only the need to stop the pain. A friend, an alley, a piece of broken glass, blood… a struggle to get the glass away. A cop car cruised by where none usually did. Taken away in a police car, drowning in pain to deep to hold. A compassionate police man, holding my hand, waiting for the doctor. A compassionate doctor telling me it would be okay, they would help. My mother screaming at me, screaming at the doctor that I just wanted attention. A doctor standing his ground and telling her I needed help. The silent ride home. The hours-long drive to the hospital with the yelling over how selfish I was. The ability to resist the temptation to say I was sorry. The knowing I needed help. The in-take doctor telling her I needed to be there. The kindness of strangers on the darkest day, the day the pain from the past and the pain from my everyday collided through my defenses with a vengeance.
The day I heard about church camp. Could I go – not in a million years will she let me. The encouragement from the youth pastor to ask anyway. There was a scholarship, it wouldn’t cost anything. The courage to approach her with the request. Not believing -she granted the desire. The fear that it would be taken away. The weeks passing with no change of mind. The freedom, the learning, the love – the saving me experience of that week at camp. Hearing the words that have stayed with me all these years. “Why did this happen to me?” “Why not you? It rains on the good and the evil. What matters is what you do with it? Will you drown, or will you take it and help someone else?” The acceptance that I could do something more, that I was not bound by my past.
The phone call home telling of finding God and the sorrow for the things I had done wrong. I wanted to live differently but didn’t think I could there. Could I move? There was a person at camp that said I could stay with them for awhile, until I was stronger? The wonder of going home and finding out my mother planned a move to a small town where I could start over again.
The friend in the new place that took me to her church. The sermon on dreams. The calling on my life to help other girls - girls like me. The knowing it was a God given dream because it never wavered.
The friend from the past that saved me from a new hell. The man that rescued me from my father when I was sent back. The man that showed me what love should look like between a man and a woman. The man that loved God and respected me enough to say no when I asked for love the only way I knew. The love that gave me hope in later years, in dark days.
The family that took me on vacation for an entire summer. A summer of love, seeing new things, and finding the true meaning of family and forgiveness. A summer where I tried to show I was unworthy of such love, but they loved in spite of me. They looked beyond.
The ability to stop the cycle of abuse. The strength to walk away when it got too much. The knowing that it was not my strength that kept me from repeating the mistakes. The knowing that God would be there when I had nothing left.
So where was God in my life? He was in the principal, the teacher, the neighbor, the friends, the youth pastor, the police, the doctors, the moves, the strength I found, my heart that sought to understand…
He saved me in a ways that I know, and ways that I do not yet understand. I know that I know that God is real and He loves me enough to put all of those lives into my life. He is there in the mess and cares about the details. I love Him because He first loved me, and He showed me that love through His people.
© krt / 12-5-07
Sunday, December 2, 2007
New Creation
For the past several weeks, I have been working on and thinking about what my life would look like if I moved away from the identity of an abused child. Here are my musings.
New Creation
If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!
I am a new person - clean, innocent, loved, full of promise, created for a reason.
The old has gone – but not the knowledge of what I have come from.
Put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.
I am a new self – restored, revived, regenerated
I seek to grow and learn; I gain wisdom and knowledge which I can turn to later.
Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness
I am created – thought about, planned for, worthy of love.
In abba father’s image, righteous, holy, blameless – making progress.
For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.
I am born again – not of sin, but through loving sacrifice.
The new birth is clean and pure, through the grace of the eternal God.
Buried with him through baptism into death, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.
I have a new life – the abused child was washed clean and given newness.
Like a butterfly on its first flight, I soar towards a new, beautiful life.
How will a new self feel?
I will be secure
I will feel safe
I will know I am saved
How will a new self think?
I will be caring
I will think compassionate thoughts toward others & myself
I will use my creativity
How will a new self look?
I will be peaceful
I will react with patience
I will live out my purpose
How will a new self sound?
I will be hopeful
I will sound happy
I will see the humor in my life
How will a new life be lived?
I will walk in freedom
I will live by faith
I will follow where God leads
© krt / 12-2-07
If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!
I am a new person - clean, innocent, loved, full of promise, created for a reason.
The old has gone – but not the knowledge of what I have come from.
Put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.
I am a new self – restored, revived, regenerated
I seek to grow and learn; I gain wisdom and knowledge which I can turn to later.
Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness
I am created – thought about, planned for, worthy of love.
In abba father’s image, righteous, holy, blameless – making progress.
For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.
I am born again – not of sin, but through loving sacrifice.
The new birth is clean and pure, through the grace of the eternal God.
Buried with him through baptism into death, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.
I have a new life – the abused child was washed clean and given newness.
Like a butterfly on its first flight, I soar towards a new, beautiful life.
How will a new self feel?
I will be secure
I will feel safe
I will know I am saved
How will a new self think?
I will be caring
I will think compassionate thoughts toward others & myself
I will use my creativity
How will a new self look?
I will be peaceful
I will react with patience
I will live out my purpose
How will a new self sound?
I will be hopeful
I will sound happy
I will see the humor in my life
How will a new life be lived?
I will walk in freedom
I will live by faith
I will follow where God leads
© krt / 12-2-07
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