Slice.

That's the word I used to think with every cut.

Slice slice slice.

It's been about a year since I last cut.  I am, more or less, free from the struggle which consumed my life for years.

But lately, life has been hard.  Too many things are going on.  I cannot stop my mind from its constant prattle, so many words screaming and turning every which way.  The only way to shut them up is with sleep.  Or to remain so preoccupied that I have no time to think.

Still.  Every once in a while, that urge to cut comes back.  Sometimes for no reason, other times because it seems like the only way I can feel in control.

Most of the time I don't give in.  Haven't given in.  But the...option, has been more prevalent of late.  Where I am right now, though, means to give in would be a very vital mistake.  It would lead me down a path I cannot go.

Realising this, I caught myself thinking 'I can do it when I'm in a better place.'  But I can't, can I.  This isn't something I can allow myself to turn to at every whim.  Not anymore.

I have hope that there will be a day I won't have any inclination to turn to the blade.  I know this will happen, because I know complete freedom is accessible.  It's not today, and it may not be something that will happen any time soon.  But it will.

For now, I just need to continue to look to Jesus.  To rely on Him for strength.  And wisdom.

Freedom will come with time.

Closure

That's what I need.  Closure.

It's interesting; the affect that the rain has on me.  With the weather cooling slightly (ha!), and the days of autumn are here at last, we've had the typical autumn weather.  Rain, clouds, sunshine, rain and sunshine, clouds but no rain...you get the picture.

I love the rain, the way the clouds look so bold and playful simultaneously.  I love the cool night air, the way it smells, dancing into my memory and tugging at things that I am trying so hard to forget.  But at the same time, I hate it all.  Because it makes me nostalgic.  It makes my mind swirl and spin even more than it already is.  It brings back so many memories that are both beautiful and bittersweet.

This means, of course, that I am thinking about her.  And everything that she was in my life.  How much she was involved in it, and all the little tiny details that make up so much of what I miss now.

You know, Christmas is my favourite holiday, and while I can't wait for it to get here, I also just want to skip over it altogether and not have to deal with the absence of her presence.  No more plum cake in the fall, no more homemade applesauce from her kitchen, no more getting up early in the morning to go over to her house to help prepare the food for the family dinner.  No more hearing her voice, saying things that still gave away her German roots.  No more anything.

I was away when she died.
I wasn't here for the viewing of the open casket. (Not that I would have gone anyways.)
I missed her burial.
I haven't even visited her grave, and it's been over a year.

I didn't see her empty shell after her spirit left this world to be with our Creator.  I didn't get that sense of finalisation to know, just know, that she is gone.  And it drives me crazy that I never will.

Living without closure is a hard thing.  Living with the absence of people you love is painful.  Not being able to tell people just how much you love them with words from your lips is terrible.

Make no mistake.  If you love people, love them freely.  Show them.  Don't just say the words.  Actions speak louder then words, and we all know that.  Speak to them, spend time with them, give them gifts, hold them, listen to them...do it all with full abandon.  I know to say that life is short is a huge cliche, but it really is.  David states in Psalms that "life is but a vapor."  And it is.  Why be afraid or ashamed to show how much you love someone?  Why?  So often we wish we knew where we stood with people, that we could be confident in their affections for us (friendship or romantically-wise), and while we hope and think the best, deep down we still feel unsure.  But if these people showed us all the time how much they loved us with the things they said and did, we would have no doubt in our minds.  So why don't we do this for the people in our lives that we love?  Show them our love for them so much that there would be no place for doubt in their minds, and they would know that we love them sincerely.

That's what I try to do.  Sometimes the things I say sound like flattery, but I really am just trying to show that person that they are better and more incredible then they think.  And what I say, I mean.  I won't let myself feel ashamed of being passionate about the people in my life.  I love them.

And that, is that.

Waiting

     In a culture that is so used to instant gratification, waiting is a hard thing for most people.  Waiting in line, waiting to load an internet page, waiting for our dreams to all suddenly come true...none of it is done patiently.  If we're needing an answer for something, we want it now and not later.  We don't seem to understand that sometimes - most times, even - waiting is a good thing.  After all, waiting means exercising patience, and we all know that most people could use more of that (myself included).

     I recently was hired for a second part-time job.  This was a great thing for me! ...At first.  After working at the place for a week or two, I discovered that a few of my coworkers are not as straight as an arrow...if you catch my meaning.  Finding this out has made me question as to whether or not I should really stay at this job and continue working with these people.

     Now please, please do not misunderstand me.  My questioning of if I should stay or not is not based on the individuals themselves (they are nice people, for the record), but whether or not I want to subject myself to the more underlying spiritual issue that is associated with their way of life.  Because it is a spiritual influence on them.

     I woke up one morning and suddenly questioned as to if I should stay with this job or not.  I was confused and conflicted about my reasons to stay or go.  So I called up some family members and told them what was going on, asking them to pray for me.  Along with this, they offered up their voices of wisdom, helping me to continue to see things from a logical standpoint in regards to a decision, should it be left up to me to make.

     Suffice to say, that was about a week ago, and I still don't know what I should do.  Of course I'm not going to be rash and quit because that thought is still on my mind.  My first and foremost desire is to make the decision that is right.  The decision that God wants me to make.  Either to stay and be a light to all of my coworkers, knowing that Jesus will be my strength and keep my mind and spirit protected; or to leave because I need to protect my spiritual health.

     The point I'm trying to make, is that I'm waiting.  Waiting to hear an answer to my question, and for confirmation if I'm not entirely sure of what the answer is.  I am staying where I am and waiting for direction.  I have found myself at times, thinking things out logically, and coming to conclusions of my own as to what I should do.

     But then I have to remind myself: wait.  A decision doesn't have to be made right now.  Perhaps the lesson in all of this is to be content with waiting and not knowing.  Sometimes I'm good at doing this when it comes to things in my future that I don't know about (like where I'll be in five years), but for things that affect me in the more immediate present, I still have to learn to be completely content.

     And even so, perhaps the answer is in my waiting.  Stay.  Right now, I need to be at this job, and I need to be around the people who are a part of it.  So until I hear differently, or get a clear answer, my place is to remain right where I am.

Re-Learning

Funny how much things can change in such little time.  But then, I know that.  I have known that.  The longer I live, the more aware I will be of that fact.

Sadness is now more of a threat than an actual fact.  I know it has potential to seep into my life again, but I'm not letting it.  I know how dangerous it can be for me (mentally, physically, spiritually) if I give in to it too much.

A couple of weeks ago I prayed and fasted for 24 hours.  I actually had the chance to do this, since I wasn't working, and could afford the luxury of not eating.  (Working a lot and sleeping little and no food is not a very wise move, so being able to fast isn't often an option.)  There was something in my life that I needed to pray about, to surrender over to God, and the best way for me to do this was to fast.  And pray.  A lot.  So I did.

It must have been a while since I last prayed and fasted, because even though this fast only lasted for 24 hours (a short fast in my mind), it had its affects.  I broke through some barriers that I was facing.  I started praying again.  Literally and sincerely.  Not just a quick one liner here and there, because 'hey, I don't have any energy and things aren't going well, so that's all I've got God!'  But a good chunk of time being spent in prayer for both myself, and a couple of other people.

Since then, I've been able to pray with a more earnest heart.  Not always wanting to or meaning what I pray, but doing so because I really do desire to grow closer to Jesus.  It's been too long since I've sought Him out with all that is within me.

And I'm reading my Bible at more significant times.  Instead of every night before I go to bed, right when I wake up in the morning I put on worship music (something I've always done anyways), and read a Psalm.  Which may not seem like a lot, but even just getting in a quick verse or two the very first thing in the morning makes all the difference.

I'm re-learning to talk to Jesus throughout my day.  To remind myself to bring Him glory in all that I do.  To not get upset over the small things that won't matter in the end.  To be grateful for what I already have.

And most importantly, to remind myself of God's faithfulness to me, and all that the grace He's given me in my life.  Because I know where I would be without Him.  And where I am with Him, is infinitely better than any other place.

Reminders

Ever since she died last year, I've been in a funk.  Down.  Semi-depressed.  (I say semi, because while it is a form of depression, it is not as serious a form as the depression that I struggled with for 3 years.)

Most mornings I wake up, and that sinking feeling of 'OH.  It's you,' greets me.  "You" referring to the sadness.

It's a hard thing, feeling sad all the time.  Colours don't seem to appear as bright as they used to be.  My mind is in a fog, and things don't seem entirely clear.  (In fact, the fog has been around so long, I've forgotten what it was like to live with complete clarity of mind.)  It takes more energy to express any kind of emotion, and anger always seems to be the most common one to appear.

I go through the days taking everything for granted.  Waking up in the morning.  Having a job.  Having some sort of awareness that I'm alive, instead of living like a zombie.  The fact that I'm healthy.  That I have a future.  I have people who love me and care about me.  So many countless things.

It's so easy to forget all that I have.  To forget how grateful I should be for everything that is in my life.  It seems especially easy to forget how far I've come, and the fact that all that I am today is because of the grace that God has given me in my life.

Sometimes I have to remind myself of it all.  To look back and see what has happened in my life as evidence that my God is real.  Because, I admit, there are times when I struggle with doubt.  When I'm further away from Him then I should be, and worldly logic begins to work in my brain, trying to convince me of the opposite of what I know deep down to be true.

But I know that He is real.  I know that I am alive today because of His hand.  That numerous things have happened in my life with no explanation other than that of the miraculous.

So, let me review several things now, as a reminder that, yes, Christ has saved me and given me unending grace.

 - I'm alive.  If it weren't for the prayers of many beloved friends and family, I would have long ago killed myself.
 - He is my provider.  Money came in way past the last minute for the fees of my DTS, and yet, He had it all worked out.  He even had the majority of it set aside years prior before any of the events took place that led me to that YWAM base.
 - I know what it is like to be free of depression.  I was prayed over, and delivered from something that had tormented me for years on end.  Freedom is attainable, and can be maintained.
 - I'm healthy.  Both mentally and physically.  I am no longer internally tormented by the darkness, and, while my body will always show the evidence of self-harm, it is something that I no longer resort to as a way to deal with the sadness.
 - He is always faithful.  No matter how many times I pull away from Him, or lose sight of the fact that He needs to be first in my life, He is faithful to me.
 - I am in good hands.  My future, no matter what it may contain, is planned by Him.  That means that no matter what happens, He has got everything under control.  And that is enough.
 - Grace.  Freely has it been given to me.  I know where I would be without His grace.  And I hope to someday be able to give it out as freely as it has been given to me.

There are so many things.  So many reminders.  When I stop and think about it, I'm aware of how much I have to be thankful for, how far I've come, how wonderful it is to be alive.  I need to take control of my thoughts, so that each day I will remember all that Jesus has done in my life.  Because He has done more for me than I will ever deserve.

But then...isn't that the point of unconditional love?

1

Has it really been a year?
One whole year?

How much has happened in such a short amount of time.
It feels like just yesterday you were still here.
But it wasn't.
Your spirit passed from this world 365 days ago.

I feel as if my world has taken a completely different turn since you left.
So many things have gone awry.
So many mistakes we've all made.

You prayed for us all.
Each and every one of us.
And it almost seems that because you aren't here to cover us with prayer, that so many mistakes have been made without your loving devotion.

My heart broke the day you died.
My eyes fill with tears every time I think about you.
And how I won't ever see you again.
Or hear your voice.
Or feel your hugs.
Or be the object of your prayers.

I wish I could have been with you the day you passed.
But I wasn't.
And that tears me apart.

How am I supposed to live?
I know I am.
But sometimes it seems to hard to want to try.
Knowing that I will never hear you again.
Or that future loved ones will never be able to meet you.

There is one thing I know.
That I was more than blessed to be able to call you family.
To have known you for as long as I did.
And to share memories with you.

And as painful as those memories are, at times.
I cherish them with all my heart.
Because it means I still have a bit of you with me wherever I am.

There isn't a day that passes where your absence isn't unnoticed.
My heart aches to hear you say my name one more time.
Just once.

I miss you.
You are in my heart forever.


"There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain goes on and on."

Depths of Loneliness

"Lonely people have enthusiasms which cannot always be explained.  When something strikes them as funny, the intensity and length of their laughter mirrors the depth of their loneliness, and they are capable of laughing like hyenas.  When something touches their emotions, it runs through them like Paul Revere, awakening feelings that gather intro great armies."
- Mark Helprin, Winter's Tale


It's been almost a year since she left this world.  And the pain of it all is still as fresh and close as it was the day I heard the news.  How can a year without her have gone by so quickly?

The above quote is one of the most accurate things that I've ever read in my life.  And it describes me perfectly.  There have been times this past year when I, or a family member, has told a joke, or something humourous has occurred.  It's funny.  We laugh.  I laugh.  But when others have begun to cease laughing, I'm still going.  I'm laughing as though whatever has been done or said is the most hilarious thing on earth.  Tears are coming out of my eyes.  And I can't stop laughing.  Not because I think it's so funny, but because I just can't.  In the midst of this laughter, there's a moment when I think I'll lose it.  Go straight from laughing to sobbing uncontrollably because the grief is so great.

I have never understood people who have dealt with the death of a close loved one, speaking about how they wanted to talk to them about something, or share something funny, and they pick up the phone to call them, only to suddenly remember that they can't do that anymore.  How can you mistake the fact that they are permanently gone?  That you can no longer see them, hear them, touch them, speak to them?

Yet...I have found myself in a similar mindset.  Not thinking, 'Oh, I should tell her that I have a job now!' but, 'I wish I could tell her I have a job now.  I know she would make it a point to stop by and see me.'  How I used to hate having family come to my work place.  Now I would give up anything to see her again.

I don't cry very often.  And I have never involuntarily cried.  Frankly, I don't see how that's possible.  You know how sometimes the wind is blowing against you, or your eyes are really dry from a lack of sleep, and your eyes start watering?  I have neither stood in such a wind, nor have my eyes been dry from a lack of sleep.  But these past few days, I have found myself standing at work, or sitting at home, and all of a sudden, a few tears fall from my eyes.  Tears, not watering eyes.  (I assure you, I can tell the difference.)  I do not understand how or why this conundrum is occurring.  It's a tad frustrating, and inconvenient.  But perhaps it is due to the fact that it is July, and the one-year mark is close by.  Perhaps.

I am tired.  Of so many things.  Of a heavy heart that is broken.  Of fighting sadness every morning when I wake up.  Of constantly remembering the day I heard the news that she had exited the world, and how I tried to be strong.  And failed.  And how I will never hear her call me "Aimee Joy" again.


"Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."
- C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Memories

I've always been fascinated with the brain.  How it functions, why smells and sights trigger memories, how we're able to think...it is utterly and completely intreguing to me.  If I ever had the opportunity to be able to learn or study or discover how these things happen, I would probably jump at the chance.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a really good memory. For example, at the end of my Kindergarten year, my teacher told me to tell my teacher for the next year what reading level I was on.  I told her I would, and for the entire summer, all three months, I remembered.  And then on the first day of first grade, when my teacher was going over all that we would be doing in class, and had gotten to the reading part, I raised my hand.  And when she called on me I told her, "My teacher told me to tell you I'm on level six."

Now, I haven't had very much interaction with children, but I feel it's fairly safe to say that little kids have the memory capacity of a gold fish.  They hear something and forget about it.  Or remember it, but not for a lengthy amount of time.  The fact that I was able to remember something for the entire three months of a carefree summer at the age of five, was rather impressive.  I think so, at least.

What's my point in all this?  I suppose I'm trying to give you an example to show how my memory  has been rather well developed.  So that you'll believe me when I say that I have a good one.  I will also give you proof by quoting a friend of mine.  Something he said after only knowing me for a couple of weeks, was "Aimee has the memory of an elephant."  Never has such an accurate statement been uttered in regards to what my memory is like.

There are things I remember from when I was five years old that I cringe about every time they come to mind.  (I was an evil child, and terribly mean.)  There are other memories that I am extremely fond of, and love to turn them over again and again in my mind when I recall them.  And there are memories that are extremely painful, and every time they're triggered by something I see, hear, or smell, it's as if the pain of them is just as fresh as the day those events took place.

Sometimes I wish that I didn't have such a good memory.  Because really, why do I want to remember how rude and mean I was to that little girl when I was five?  Or how rude and mean I was to that other girl when I was 13?  Or even yesterday?  Or other memories, of sins that I have struggled with, and how one thought of that can recall images and whatever else that may have been associated with it to mind.  That I have been trying for so long to forget and erase, but it just hasn't happened completely.  Or how stupid I was in middle school, and cried over a boy who didn't like me.  Or the drama of losing my best friend because she believed the lies of someone else.

I guess if I had a choice, I wouldn't give up how efficient my memory is.  I won't lie and say I would keep all of my memories.  The ones of past sins I would gladly give up.  But for the most part, even the ones that make me cringe every time they pop up, I would keep.  Because if anything, those help serve as reminders of who I used to be, and no longer am.  They are there to show me what not to be like.  And similarly, the good ones remind me of what kind of person I should be.  The result of what my life is like when Christ is at the centre of it.  And the painful memories, in their own way, remind me that I am alive.  That despite the pain and heartbreak, life is glorious, wonderful, and a blessing to behold.

Perhaps it's because I'm a writer, and I love words, but my memories - even the bad ones, I suppose - are things which I hold very dear.  They are a part of me.  They do not define who I am in this very moment, but they are the shadows of past events and situations that have helped or hindered the person that I have become today.

Because of this, I protect my memories.  I share them by writing them down, but usually in a journal which my eyes are the only ones privy to reading their records.  Or, depending on the person and situation, another pair of eyes may have the chance to read them.  Though, this hardly ever happens.

Sharing my memories...even the ones that aren't so private...is a big thing to me.  To share something that is so personal, so a part of who I am, is a huge sign of trust.  I am making myself vulnerable.  I am sharing this moment with you that was heartbreaking to me.  Or extremely exciting.  Or incredibly impacting.  Whatever it is, sharing it with you means that you, in some way, are special to me.  And I trust you enough to open up in such an uncharacteristic way.

Of course there are memories that are just little stories from my past.  These are the ones that I'm probably more willing to share with people, because they're more like stories, than life-defining moments.  It doesn't mean that I'm going to volunteer at any time to tell these stories.  There has to be a purpose in sharing them.  (Not an extremely in-depth purpose, like, "here, have a story that relates to this life-changing situation that we were just talking about."  It could just be we were talking about childhood mishaps or injuries, and "here, have a story about this mark on my finger that will permanently be there for the rest of my life.")

Memories are like bits and pieces to a puzzle.  The whole of them make up who we are as individuals.  For someone to share a memory with you, it is as if they are handing you a puzzle piece.  A piece that will bring you one step closer to seeing the true, complicated, messy, wonderful individual that they are.  Treasure that piece, that memory that they've chosen to share.  It's one of the most honouring things a person can choose to do, when they open up, and reveal who they are.

All or Nothing

I laid down to fall asleep around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning.  As I was reaching to turn my light off, I began to feel that familiar internal restlessness I've felt so often during the nights of these past few months.  I sighed, knowing it was going to take a while for me to fall asleep.  Because that is always the result when it comes to  this type of thing.

I did, however, make it a point to call on Jesus as I laid down, getting in a comfortable enough position to try to fall asleep in.  More and more often these days, while it's not been easy to say an actual prayer, I am able to whisper "Jesus, help."  And because He is faithful to the end, that is usually enough.

I once again uttered these words.  But that disquiet, that internal restlessness, was stronger than usual.  And, as usual, I didn't know why this was happening.

Instead of trying to force myself to fall asleep, I began to think about different things.  Letting my thoughts ebb and flow as they willed.  I did not want to force them to go a certain way, for that would have certainly kept me up longer than I was already anticipating.

It wasn't long into this process, that I began to think about a conversation that I had started with a friend via communication over the interwebs.  In one part of my reply to this individual, I spoke about surrender.  Something that was once so familiar to me.

There was a time in my life...right as I was beginning to follow God's will for the first time in my life, actually...that was completely and totally focused on surrender.  The spark, if you will, that was the first act of surrender in my life, was to give up the things that I had clung to for so long.  Things that, while I did not necessarily use them, were my security blankets and accompanied me to all places.  The razor blades that I used to cut myself with.

From there, surrender overwhelmed my life like a wildfire.  I began to surrender my life completely over to Jesus.  Trusting Him to handle things in His time, in the manner in which He saw fit, to provide a large amount of funds for me to attend the Discipleship Training School that He was calling me to attend.  Of course, through a series of incredible occurrences that were obviously controlled by God, the funds were supplied, and I was able to take part in something that changed my life dramatically.  (That, dear readers, is another story for another time.)

However, despite God providing what I needed, that didn't mean I stopped the act of surrender.  For surrender is something that should be in our lives for as long as we live.  The big things and the little thing.  And I was slowly learning to make surrender a habit.

On a daily basis - usually in the morning - I would pray and surrender things to God.  I know I didn't have to go through the verbal act of praying them, so long as in my heart and spirit I was sincere in my surrender.  I prayed these thing out loud, more for my benefit.  To remind myself that these things were placed in God's hands.

Usually I would pray something to the effect of "I surrender my life to You.  I surrender my thoughts, my words, my actions, my heart, my emotions.  Help me to place these things in Your hands and not take them back into my own."

It's been a long time since I've made myself mentally aware to surrender my life to God.  And I realised that, when thinking about this conversation.  I mean, I have known that I haven't been surrendering things to God. That there have been many things that I've taken into my own hands, tried to fix and mend on my own, without the help of others, or help from my Father.

So as I laid there in the early morning hours, struggling with the restlessness, I faced my only option.  The option that I should have faced from the very start.  The one that I should have never given up.  Surrender.

I began to pray, asking Him for help.  Thinking about the pains and heartaches that I've felt so often these past nine months.  Trying to fix them, deal with them on my own.  Failing and letting depression slide back in to my life, and not fighting it, because in the midst of heartbreak and unfamiliar emotions, I needed and wanted something near me that was so familiar.  And then letting it get to far, and not knowing how to break myself free from it.

So I gave it all up.  I surrendered it all back to Him.  The pain, the anger, the grief.  My weaknesses, my pride, my inability to do anything without Him.  Memories, loss, a broken heart.

There's still a lot that needs mending.  And much time for healing to take place.  As well as constantly reminding myself that I need to surrender things to Him.  No matter how much I want to hold on.

It's either all...or nothing.

Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine’s Day.  A holiday that is celebrated by couples, [generally] despised by singles, and taken advantage of by the marketing industry to push their products on the public.  Some people who may be on the more bitter and cynical side of things may even refer to it as “singles awareness day.”  Because of these things (and really, mostly because of the latter), I’d like to put in my two cents worth on why I’ve grown to both appreciate and celebrate this holiday.

I used to not like Valentine’s Day.  I didn’t hate it with a passion, as some individuals appear to do, but I did lean more towards the view of ‘Boy, this day sucks.  What’s the point of it?  Can we just get it over with already?  Oy.’  It wasn’t until I learned the true history of the holiday that I began to change my view.

See, back in the third century, there was a priest called Valentine, who hailed from ancient Rome.  During this time, the reigning emperor was Claudius II.  Claudius II was, like most other Roman Emperors, very invested in his army.  Because of this, he outlawed marriage.  Why?  He believed that men would make better soldiers if they weren’t tied down to their wives and families.

Valentine, though, believed Claudius’ law to be unjust.  He continued to perform marriage ceremonies for young couples in secret.  (It is even thought that he also helped Christians to escape from torture and imprisonment.)  However, he was soon caught, thrown in jail, and sentenced to death.

The story gets a little murky from here, but it is said that when Valentine was in prison, he met and fell in love with the jailor’s daughter.  Then, on the day he was put to death, he left a letter behind for her.  He signed it, “From your Valentine.”

The history of Valentine’s Day is the story of a hero, one that stood for his beliefs, as well as love.  So my cause for celebrating it is because of the person it honours.  Not for the marketing, not for the romantic aspect, and certainly not for the awareness of my single-status.  Rather, for the bravery and inspiration that St. Valentine showed in his life.

Even so, there can even be other reasons for celebrating this day.  It's all about love, right?  It doesn't even have to be love in the romantic sense; rather, the love for friends, for family, or even for life.  In this case, we can refer to the Bible on the true aspects of love.

By showing love to fellow Christians, we will be known for this love (John 13.35).  Love is patient, it is kind, it rejoices in truth, it believes, hopes, and endures all things, it never fails, and it is the greatest thing of all (1 Corinthians 13).  Through God's love, we are called His children (1 John 3.1).  And when we're perfected in love, our lives will be absent of fear (1 John 4.18).

So, my dear reader, I hope that the history of this day has given you cause to look fondly upon it, rather than despise it for whatever reason(s) you may have.  Celebrate it in honour of the life of a man who lovingly served; or, celebrate it as an opportunity to show our love to the people in our lives whom we appreciate.  And maybe, even take this one day, and pointedly decide to serve others with love...and then continue serving even after this day has passed.

Noise

       Americans are known for their inability to stand silence.  Most have some kind of background noise going on in their everyday lives, such as music, the television, or even constant chatter.  They do this because they're scared of what the silence may bring.  It depends on the individual what exactly it is they don't want to face.  For silence, you see, means no distractions.  It means that we are forced to listen to our own thoughts, and take whatever may come with their onslaught.

       More and more, I have found myself trying to stay distracted.  Constant music playing, watching show after show, having my thoughts occupied by the shallowness of the repetition of a song, or something else that will keep me from thinking too much.  Although, thinking too much is not what I fear.  Thinking itself is what I wish to prevent.

       How is it that she's been gone for over six months, and it's still as painful as it was the first day she left this world?  Why does every single thought I have eventually bring me back to the memory of hearing about her death?  And how can that one memory make me hurt so much?

       I don't go about my days with every little thing triggering a memory of her.  Rather, I'll be thinking about something completely unrelated, and through a series of one thought leading to another, it all ends up back to that day.  It makes me despise being able to remember anything at all.  I'd forget so much, if I could.

       No one ever talks about how painful death is.  They say that we find peace with Jesus, because we know that our loved ones are with Him.  This is true.  I know without a doubt that she is with Him.  But they leave out how painful it is to try and withstand the absence of their presence here on earth.

       My heart feels as though its been torn to shreds, and will never heal.  Sometimes I'll be doing fine, and then in a moment when my mind is not occupied, it comes rushing back at me.  She's gone.  Forever.

       So why do I do this to myself?  Why do I allow myself to keep such a painful memory on the surface of my mind, instead of burying it deep enough to where I won't recall it so often?  I don't know.  Maybe because I feel that the pain is necessary.  As if I need to remind myself that death is real.  And there's no way to escape it.  And that the older I grow, the more I'll see it in my own life.

       Maybe the only way to get used to death, is by surrounding myself with it.  Placing myself in a position where I'm forced to stare it in the eye, and see others go through it constantly...perhaps this will help me to understand better.  How, I don't know, but it seems as if it's the only thing that will help.

       I'm not terrified of growing old.  I welcome it.  It's the fact that I'll see those I love around me, leave me, just as she did.  And having to go through such an ordeal more than just once...I'm not sure if I can handle it. I'm barely holding myself together these days.  The only thing preventing me from going mad with grief, is all the distractions I force upon myself.  Perhaps it is not healthy to keep myself from thinking too deeply about anything, but it is what I need to survive right now.

Fear

I can't even begin to number the times at night when I've laid awake, wishing I could fall asleep, but instead am kept alert by the chaotic noise in my head. Or the times when I've turned out the light and I'm on the verge of falling asleep, when fears begin to overtake my mind, and I'm jolted to reality. Even worse, I have to turn the light back on because the fear is too great.

I don't know what to do. For seven long years, the same fear has more or less haunted me on a consistent basis. There was a time of several months when it seemed to no longer be an issue, but that was a couple of years ago. It has since returned, and recently, grown worse.

There are different kinds of fears. Irrational, those based off of past negative experiences, and the those we have due to our inability to escape what exactly it is we fear. The one which has embedded itself deep within me falls into the very last category.

Among the human population, there are two fears. Death, and public speaking. Did you know that the latter is feared more than the former?

Death is what I fear most. The awful thing about this fear, the very thing that could drive a person mad because of it, is that it is inescapable. People who fear social interaction, heights, germs, etc., have ways of avoiding such things, even if their methods are extreme. But to fear something that will inevitably happen, is a horrific thing.

I don't know why I have this fear. I know I can pinpoint when it first began, but even that doesn't explain its reason. Over and over I've tried to analyse the basis of this issue. But over and over, I have no clue, no leading, no hint as to its cause.

I know what I may do, in accordance with the Bible, so as to expel fear of any kind from my life. I know that if I do what it necessary, than it will be a foolproof form of action. However, I also know - due to past experience - that if I try to fight fear, then it often grows worse. Perhaps it is the case of something getting worse before it gets better, but perhaps not.

I don't want to have a worse case than what already exists as a cause of this fear. Panic attacks; most happen at night. I'll be sound asleep, then wake up suddenly, think 'I am going to die someday,' hyperventilate and feel extreme terror, then fall back asleep a minute later. Should panic attacks occur during the day, I am able to curve them enough so they won't be very bad, but I've no control over them at night.

This is what prevents me from sleeping at night. I am back to the point where I have to wait until I'm so tired I am no longer able to keep my eyes open, before attempting to fall asleep. Any sooner, and the terrors begin to grow.

I'm at a loss. I know things can't (and shouldn't) continue this way. My humanity wants to try to find a rational reason and explanation for all of this; to logically find the cause for this fear. If this were possible, it would help explain things in a clearer manner, and possibly lead to a solution of approaching and dispensing of this fear.

However, even if a solution was attainable by logic, morality tells me it's not the proper way to go about it. The proper way is through being perfected in love (see 1John 4.18). Only then will my life be absent of fear. And I know that. Getting to that point will be very difficult and complicated for me. Which means a great length of time. And honestly, I don't know if I will be able to last that long.

The nights grow longer and darker. At times it seems as if the light will never appear. And I wonder...is it really worth being here? Then in an unexpected moment, His peace washes over me. I am then reminded that I must continue to fight; for even though I've been given this life to live without first being asked, and I'd much rather it wasn't so, there's Something far greater at work. A battle of good and evil is constantly being fought. We each have a part to play, a side to choose. I must make my choice and do all that I can. My time will only last so long, and I mustn't let it go to waste. So help me please, to do all that is right. Not because my head believes it so, but because my heart says it to be so.

Without A Voice

Last night I was placed in a situation of confrontation. We'll skip what it was all about, because that has nothing to do with the purpose of this post. However, the reason why I bring it up, is because when one is placed in a position of conversation, both talking and listening are things which must take place for it to be successful.

While there were many moments of silence in which I was given ample opportunities to speak during this confrontation, I did not speak at all. You may wonder why I did not do so, when given the floor (so to speak), and all attention was on me. I was asking myself the same question. I had the opportunity, the attention, the silence...and yet for the life of me, I could not bring myself to speak.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has experienced the terror of wanting to speak up, to voice a suggestion, opinion, to say what needs to be said - only to find the words running through your head, but not coming out of your mouth. And the pressure of wanting to speak up just continues to grow until you feel like you're going to explode into a million pieces from the inside out, yet still no words come out. This was happening to me, and I found myself questioning 'Why?'

Why, when I'm around people with whom I am very familiar, do I find myself stuck? It happens (and is more understandable in this regard) when I'm around people that I hardly know; but why with individuals that I've known all my life?

Well, being the person that I am, I found myself analysing the situation, and why I felt the way I did. After a bit of time, I discovered the reason. Past experience.

Not through repetitive occurrences, but times when it's happened often enough, interactions with one or more individual(s) has left me impaired. What I mean, is in the past, there have been times when I've been speaking to someone, only to realise that they either are not listening, don't understand, or have shown disrespect in some form or another. Because of the frustration that I've experienced through these encounters, it keeps me from wanting to repeat the discomfort. And thus, my inability to speak up - despite how much I may want (or need) to - keeps me from saying what I should.

And now here I am, in the early hours of the morning, wracking my brain in trying to think of a way to speak up. Because in this situation, I have to, as it is still unresolved. But how do I go about doing so? I was told that an e-mail is not allowed - and for someone like me, who is able to communicate much more clearly through the written word, this restriction makes things difficult.

It's a difficult thing to have a voice, and yet not find the ability to use it when you should.