Home Again

It was almost like it wasn't in God's plans for me to meet with Him this week. My meeting day ended up being Thursday instead of Monday. My first try was to go to the prayer room at our church. I've been there before, but for some reason, I couldn't remember the code this time and none of the church secretaries knew it either. So, next, I decided to go home, but the maid was still there, so I just turned around in the neighbor's drive way. As I was pulling out of the neighborhood, I thought about our local library and that's where God and I finally had our little talk.

As I sat in the chair at the back of the library, all I could do was just sit. I honestly didn't know where to begin. After a few moments, I decided to start with my life verse in Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope." For the first time in a long time, I could finally believe that verse again. I could reach out, grab it, and hang on to that truth and promise. I thanked God for the plans He had for my life, all the past, present, and future plans and I prayed that He would help me learn to love those plans even when my life felt lost and out of control. I prayed for contentedness (is that even a word?) in my current station in life and to rejoice and find my happiness in my family and friends.

And then I decided to back up to verse 10: "..."You will be in Babylon for seventy years. But then I will come and do for you all the good things I have promised, and I will bring you home again." This was when the tears began to flow. Home. Where was home? I had lost my way. I had been in Babylon, in bondage, all these months because of my own personal dissatisfaction with my job. I had allowed this bondage to seep into every part of my being until it began to take a physical, emotional, and spiritual toll on my body, my life, and my relationships. I thought about this for a long time and then I did the only thing I knew I could do, and that was to repent.

A few months ago, when I was in the very middle of all this turmoil, my best friend showed me verses 12 & 13, "In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me." Back then, I read them, but I couldn't claim them as truth. I didn't want to believe it; I didn't want to pray; and I wasn't interested in looking for God at the time. But when I read those verses on Thursday, it was if God Himself was speaking to me. "Talk to me, Laura, and I will listen. Look for me with your heart - not your feelings - and you will find me."

And then, verse 14, "I will be found by you...I will end your captivity...and I will bring you home again..." Three times in that verse, God says, "I will." For the first time, I realized that none of the events that have taken place over the past two years had anything to do with me; they were filtered through the fingertips of God FOR me. To save me from myself! I found God, that day in the Christian bookstore, when I opened the Bible and saw, "The Lord hears His people when they call to Him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the broken-hearted.” It was the first day that I actually began looking for Him again. My captivity ended Thursday when God reminded me that I will never find true happiness this side of Heaven. My job won't make my happy, my husband and daughter won't make me happy, my friends won't make me happy....my happiness comes from Christ Alone and this is the piece that I began missing - the piece that eventually began fading - two years ago. Now, I certainly still have a way to go. Lots of improvement and changes need to occur, but I knew that I had finally found the missing piece.

Home. Full circle. Definitly not on the mountain top, but certainly no longer in the valley. Bon Jovi has a new song out entitled, "Who Says You Can't Go Back Home" and a few lines in the song are: "I was looking for something you can't replace/I was running away from the only thing I've ever known." When you've been a believer for a while and you've been raised in church and preached to all your life, the Bible, Jesus' love, and God are the only things you've ever known. And I was looking for satisfaction, joy, and fulfillment in something other than the only thing I've ever known. Home is where our life story begins. Home is where God continues His miraculous work in our lives to make us more like Him. You can always go back to God. You can always go home again.

Better than any Beauty Treatment

Hunter Tylo told People magazine that she relied on the power of prayer for strength. "If I'm having a rough day," she said, "I remember this psalm that says, 'Revive me, O Lord.' It really helps. It's better than any beauty treatment."

For Blank

I am going to admit something that I have never told anyone before. Actually, I had forgotten about it until it came to mind a few months ago and I distinctly remembered the moment. It was one morning before work. For some unknown reason, Alise was still asleep (which is very unusual for her). I had this urge to kneel beside my bed and pray. And I had this burning desire to pray, “Lord, humble me.” Oh, my goodness. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Little did I know at that time that God was preparing my heart for what He was about to do in my life. Soon after that morning, the road of my life began to lead from the mountain top to the valley and I suddenly found myself alone, scared, and rock-bottom. Disappointment, anger, and despair with work set in. The every day frustrations of trying to manage a family and a two year old daughter with what I felt at the time was minimal help and support became complete chaos and I got on the rollercoaster called emotions. I was high; I was low and I felt like I was being pulled by someone in all directions. It took a while for me to see my doctor because I really wanted to believe that I was okay. I was in control. I could beat this little emotional snap and eventually move on with life. But then I begin to see the strain it was putting on me with Alise. There was one day that I was discipling her for something and I spanked her with the wooden spoon. But something inside of me just wanted to keep spanking her again and again. Of course, I did not do this, but the thought scared me to death and I knew then that something just wasn’t right. The hardest part was telling my parents that I was on anti-depressants and going to a counselor. I just knew that my parents would be so disappointed in me. And then, just last week, while my mom and I were on our way to Canton, she told me that she thought I may have inherited some of my depression because my Grandmother may have suffered from it a little. I wanted to scream, “Finally!!” It’s not just me. I really am okay. I’m not going crazy or psycho! (notice how these are the drugs talking now!) And I don’t have to feel guilty about taking medication. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like it's okay to not be in control.

While all of this was going on, I kept wondering what in the world had I done to deserve this? What sin did I have in my life? But as I said before, God was silent. I got no lightening bolts; there were no answers. As honestly as I can say, I don't believe I was "paying" for the consequences of outright sin in my life. I truly believe that God was in (and still is) in the business of making me more like Him. And yet, I wonder, why use my emotional state? Why use something like depression? Pride is a serious thing and I believe it was because it was the only way God could get my attention to the severity of my problem. I had to hit rock bottom. I had to be broken. I had to lay face down in the valley. I had to start over.

I still have a way to go. God and I are finally on speaking terms again, but our relationship is still strained. I find myself turning to His word once again and saying short prayers like "thank you God for blank." Period. I will admit that I haven't whole-heartedly repented; I just discovered His truth this week and I need time for it to sink in. But for those of you that want to rush the repentance process, God and I have an appointment this coming Monday. I have the whole day to lay myself upon the alter of sacrifice. To repent. To say, "thank you God, for blank."

Children of Hope

I was reminded this morning of my own short-sightedness and the blessing of a Father's everlasting love. Our church sponsored the "Children of Hope" this morning during our regular worship time. The group is made up of about fifteen children from ages of about 4 to 10, that come from foreign countries such as Uganda, Africa, and Asia. They sing wonderful praise and worship music, some of it in their own language (the words were on the big screen, so we knew what they were saying). They are all orphans that have lost their parents to AIDS, war, or some other tragic event. As I strained to understand what they were saying, because some of the children had a strong dialect, I finally understood what "Jesus loves the little children of the world" meant. What it must be like to not be able to see gender, race, or ethicnity. But that is exactly how God sees us. We are all equal and precious in His sight! Since I have had Alise, my heart has softened to children who have lost their parents, been orphaned, or simply been abused our abandoned. Oh, how God's heart must grieve at the world's harsh affects on His precious children. Sometimes it's easy to ask how could a loving God allow such horrible things to happen to His children? How could He allow a small Africian boy witness the brutal murder of his own father? But that's just it. Because of His wonderful and never ending love, God saved us from ourselves. Not from the harshness of the world, but from the destructive behavior that drives our actions and motives. "Let the little children come unto me," Jesus said. Now picture a child of every gender, race, and ethnic group sitting at the feet of the Savior. That is what's precious in His sight.

Time

Now I wish I had done a better job with my “journaling medicine.” Maybe a spoonful of sugar would have helped. It’s been hanging there like a dark cloud above my head…something else to do. Should I or shouldn’t I? Do I really need to? Today I decided that I could.


I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like sitting in your favorite restaurant, not really caring that you’re there, staring at the menu and just not being able to make a simple decision about what to order. It’s like staring at your computer at work and just bursting in to tears for no apparent reason at all. It’s like just wanting to sleep all the time and just wishing the world would go away. But yet, somehow, someway, you find that inner strength that you just knew you didn’t have anymore, to get up, pull yourself together for the sake of your child and husband and head off to the shower to let the water mix with the tears of failure, defeat, and utter despair. It’s hiding the tears with makeup and a new hair style to cover the brokenness inside. After all, the show must go on. It’s called: rock bottom and nobody knows you’ve hit it but you.


The first time I knew that something was wrong was when a friend at work told me, “Laura, something is wrong with you. You’re just not yourself. Maybe you should go to a doctor.” She upset me so much, that I ran out of her office and said, “I don’t want to hear it!” For the next several months, my emotions were like a roller coaster, literally. I was up – way up – and then something would happen at work, shatter my world, and I would come down – way down. The second time that I knew something was very wrong was when I missed a day of work simply because I couldn’t get out of the bed. I didn’t even call in. I just didn’t show up (not like me at all!). That was the day I wanted to run away and never come back. I couldn’t concentrate at work and most days I spent it crying into my keyboard. Eventually, I went back to my friend’s office and said, “I think something is wrong with me. I’m just not myself.” She smiled at me and asked, “Do you want me to make the call?”


That day seems like ages ago. There have been plenty of doctor’s appointments, medication and counseling. All of this has taken place over a period of about six months and, for the first time in a long time, I can say that today I finally feel like myself again. But that is just for today. Only one person knows what tomorrow will be like.


I wish I could say that I have been a strong Christian through this season in my life. We hear it preached to us all the time about how we’re suppose to draw from our faith and trust God during trials like these. Sometimes, that’s easier said than done. I simply didn’t have the desire or the will to do that. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to think about Bible verses and I certainly didn’t feel like God was carrying me. If I felt anything, it was desertion. All I still want to know is, “why?” I may be crazy, but not crazy enough to think that the answer to that question will come on this side of Heaven.


The neatest thing that I have learned about God so far through all this is that He is a very patient God. One of best blessings He gave me was time. Time to cry, scream, kick, yell and cry some more. Time to tell Him, “I’m mad at you! Why did you do this to me? How could you?” I never once heard from Him during that period of nearly two months. I got no replies; no condemnation; no reassurances or answers to my outbursts. Nothing, but silence. I became like a worn-out two year old throwing a tantrum. Eventually, I chose the silent treatment, too. And when everything was quiet, it was then that I heard the knock on the door of my heart and the gentle whisper that said, “Laura, it’s time. It’s time to move on from this place.”