Flashback Friday - Washed and forgiven

Today I'm taking a trip back to a time when I wandered down a slippery slope and needed to return to the love and cleansing only Jesus could provide.

The need to be wanted shouted strongly in my head and heart, so loudly, in fact, that as a new born Christian it still lead me to do foolish things.

I went back to a habit of chatting with strangers on the computer and even on the telephone. I was able to convince myself that it was okay to play with them, even sexual type games, as long as it never became real. I rationalized that doing so would keep me from seeking out true physical pleasure. I even told these men that I was a Christian and would not become sexually involved with anyone but the man who would be my husband, and then only after we had married.

One of them, a twenty nine year old who lived in Las Vegas called himself sincity as a screen name. That should have been enough to send me running in the opposite direction, but instead I was drawn to his dominating style. I was still longing to be submissive to something greater than myself, and this got confused in my mind as the need for a man who would take control of me.

We lived out a fantasy via keyboard and telephone, although with God's hand protecting me even then, I would only pretend to do some of the things he would ask of me. I found myself more anxious to get home to his phone calls than I was to read my bible. Though I knew I was walking a dangerous line, following down a road that felt wrong, I never stopped attending church or the Tuesday bible study.

We spoke about meeting in real life. I could go there for a visit. Perhaps we would marry for that would have been my preference. There would be no physical contact until that time. Plans for traveling were discussed, words of love were exchanged and the games continued.

One night he was angry that I had not obeyed him and called at exactly the time he had asked me to. Then he said that it would never work between us, for he would eventually want children and I did not. My heart was broken once again, and I found myself begging him to reconsider. His silence was like sticks and stones cast open my open wounds.

I would call but he would not answer. One morning, he finally picked up the phone.

“When you have a broken heart, you go talk to your best friend” I said to him. “What am I supposed to do since you're my best friend, but also the very one who broke my heart.”

What he said in reply was the wisest advice he could have offered, and it must have been the Holy Spirit speaking through him, so unlike him were the words.

“Go talk with the women at your bible study. Tell them everything. They will help you.”

“I can't” I answered. “I feel dirty and ugly and wrong. How could I? I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” he said firmly “and you will.” With that, he hung up the phone. Those were the last words I ever heard him speak.

I knew I had to do as he had said. And I realized with a start that it was Tuesday. That very day I would have to face my friends and admit to the games I had been playing in secret. I was dirty and had to ask God again to wash me clean. Had I gone too far from His forgiveness?

I walked into the room where the women met for bible study, pale, and with dark circles rimming eyes that were swollen and red. I didn't have to say anything at all for them to know something was wrong, terribly wrong.

“I need to talk to you all.” I began. “I need your help.” I began to weep and could not continue as sobs moved through my entire being. The women gathered closer around me. They passed the box of tissues. They rested hands upon my shoulders. They waited. I cried. They waited, with great patience, never once saying the “get on with it.” I would have expected. They waited and prayed quietly in various tongues. They waited.

“I feel” I began again “so dirty and so wrong and so far away from God. And I know I have to tell you and I hate myself right now.”

“Go on, we're listening.” said Rebecca.

I told them about the games I had been playing, how I tried to convince myself it was okay, how my heart had been broken.

“What feels the worst is that I turned my back on God and what I know is right, and that I kept it all a secret. I kept coming to church and meeting with you, but never said a word about what I was doing. I think I knew all along that it was wrong.” I began sobbing again, but could feel that much of the pain had already decreased.

“You just did the right thing” said Peggy, another of the ladies who had been guiding me, mentoring me. “When we confess to God and to each other, He is faithful to forgive us. I'll bet you are already starting to feel better, right?”

I had to agree. “How did you know?” I asked.

“We all fall short of what God wants from us” Peggy said. “All of us, in one way or another. You're not as alone as you think you are.”

They all placed a hand upon me and prayed that I would feel the forgiveness of the Lord. They prayed for strength for me to remain pure in His sight. They prayed that I would continue to seek His will, and His will alone. Only then did they begin their scheduled lesson for the day.

My journal entry that night began:

“Dear Father, let me not be too proud to admit when I have made a mistake. I can only be in error when I have stepped away from Your will. When I handle things the wrong way, it's from bad choices I've made, and the blame is mine. Let me remember that, and not be disappointed in You. My connection with you seemed broken, not by Your hand but mine. You don't turn away, ever present. But you allow me the power to choose and I chose to step down a slippery path. Faster and faster I slid, each step moving farther in the wrong direction. You watched. How much did that hurt You? How can I say I'm sorry, Lord? As You welcome me back to Your arms.”

I truly did feel cleansed by the tears and confession and my sleep that night was deep and warm, wrapped in the love of the forgiveness of God.

"Come now, let us reason together," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Isaiah 1:18 NIV

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Flashback Friday - Rite of Passage

This week Jo said:

This week's prompt is ALL GROWN UP. You can take any direction you like with it, but here are a couple of ideas:

The time it dawned on you that you were one of the grown ups
The moment you first felt like a mother (or a father)
A personal rite of passage

As a girl just growing into womanhood, I carried my mother's disappointment. I was the youngest of three children and the only girl and I knew I was not the pretty little thing my mother had hoped for when she dreamed and waited for a female child. I wasn't a popular, social insect, fluttering about. I was smart. My mother gave me credit for that, and urged me to continue to excel in my studies. Smart indeed, but smart girls didn't have boys knocking on their doors, not the cute ones anyway. So smart, and fat and ashamed, I made friends with others who didn't fit the mold which was deemed correct at the time.

One day in an attempt to appear normal (where normal meant being like the majority of other girls at school) I put on makeup and a necklace that I had just found while out shopping with a friend. My mother came home to find me in front of a mirror, looking at myself from various angles, trying to find some pleasure in what I saw.

Maybe it had been a particularly rough day at work for my mother. Maybe she had just seen some pretty little girls my age gathered happily somewhere. Whatever the reason, the sight of her obese daughter trying to look better triggered an explosion that may have been building for years. All of the bitterness and disappointment erupted in a few violent moments. She grabbed the string of beads around my neck and pulled, hard enough to break the strand. Beads flew about the room. Using the fingers of one hand she attempted to wipe the makeup off of my eyes.

“You don't need this stuff” she said, her voice loud and harsh. “Why bother with jewelry or makeup? Why bother?”

I was trembling as she grabbed hold of my tee shirt and continued in this new, frantic voice. “What difference will it make?”

She slapped me across the cheek. I hardly felt the blow as I spun wildly in the sting of my mother's next words.

“No one will ever want you anyway!”

This was a rite of passage that lead me to many years of searching for the very thing my mother said I would never have, the approval of man.

Thankfully I discovered a loving heavenly Father who is teaching me that His approval is all that I need. Part of growing up is realizing we do not have to allow things from the past to continue to shape our lives.

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Flashback Friday - Dad

Jo's suggested topic for today's Flashback Fridays is siblings and I was planning to write a story about my mother's 5 uncles who all told the same jokes... but I'll save that for another day.

Here's Dad about 25 years ago

Today my heart and my prayers are focused on my 84 year old father. For many years he has suffered with various degrees of dementia that have led to other physical issues, like lack of balance that left him unable to walk. For more than a year he has lived in a care home, steadily declining.

October 2008 at my nephew's wedding weekend

Last fall, when he was wasn't eating, he was given a feeding tube to ensure nutrition, but still allowed to have ice cream, pudding and any other soft foods he would accept. Eventually he began choking and aspirating even small spoonfuls, so all feeding by mouth was stopped.

My mother, while in the midst of her own health battles spends time at the care home each day, sitting with the man she's loved for more than 62 years. The pain of watching him slip through her hands over the years is beyond my imagination. The process of grieving for someone lost in dementia is ongoing.

Mom has discussed with doctors and nurses that his condition will not reverse. He will not become more aware, or grow stronger. He does not talk or interact with anyone. His face shows signs of nothing but despair. Throughout our lives, he always said that if he was ever in this type of condition, he would rather not live. So Mom has chosen, with great courage and sorrow, to release him. She is letting go.

As of mid day today, no nutrition will be provided, simply hydration through his feeding tube. He has strong vital signs and the dying process could take a week, or two, or longer. Only God knows, and now Dad is in His hands.

Rick and I had planned tavel south to visit in a little over a week, so I should be there to say goodbye. I pray for boldness, to whisper in his ear about the love of my Savior that he never met. I pray that Jesus breaks down the door to his heart and introduce Himself. I pray for peace to surround us all as the God of all comfort wraps His loving arms around us.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13 NIV

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Flashback Friday - The First Meeting

Jo at Mylestones has started a great new feature called Flashback Fridays giving us the opportunity to take a journey to a time in our past.
This week I'm sharing my first face-to-face with my beloved after God had forged our connection online.
My bags were packed; plans were made for my mother to drive me to the airport. It was the night before my flight, and there was nothing left to do but talk with Rick on the phone and sleep. I was excited, but also nervous and listening yet again to fear and doubt, words that were not coming from the mouth of God.

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“What if you decide I'm too ugly” I asked “I'm scared. I'm sure of God but not sure of me.”

“Why don't you take a tranquilizer or sleeping pill if you have one” he said. “You need to get some rest tonight and not worry so. Unless you develop Elephant Man disease overnight, there is nothing to worry about.”

Somehow his words and the time we spent in prayer together soothed me and I was able to get a little bit of sleep. I rose ready to face whatever the Lord was about to do.

When my mother was dropping me off at the airport, she asked “Are you going to come back married?”

“Maybe so” I answered, not wanting to admit that we had already planned for that.

“Will you call when you get there, to let us know you're safe?”

“Of course I will Mom, and don't worry.” A quick hug and kiss goodbye and I walked into the airport terminal and a new beginning.

Once the plane had reached cruising altitude I did what came naturally. I pulled out my journal and began to write:

“It is so bright up here in God's light. Surrounded by the light this morning on the first part of journey. But.. I have had His light around me for weeks now. I am so sure of Him, in a way I had not previously felt.

Oh my precious Father, what new words can I find to praise You? How to best let Your name be glorified? Let Your light shine through me, Lord, for every living soul to see Your reflection in me.

I ask for guidance this morning Father, trusting that You will lead me where You want me, but not quite trusting myself. Let me not chase after my own desires, but continue to seek what You desire of me.”
The time spent in prayer and reflection soothed my spirit. Stashing the journal back in my carry on, I was ready for the plane to land and to walk into the arms of the man who waited for me.

I stood in the immigration services line with my passport, thinking it odd that Canada was a foreign country. When I was called to the desk, the officer asked me “What is the purpose of your visit, business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure. Definitely pleasure” I replied, while thinking “and about my Father's business”

The officer stamped my passport and I was free to retrieve my bags when they came around on the carousel. The two suitcases were bulky and hard to handle and I felt foolish for packing so much.

One more line to wait in for the customs agent, who simply took my declaration card and said “Welcome to Canada” and I walked through the doors to find Rick, wearing the hat he said he would wear so I would recognize him, just in case he looked different than his picture.

After weeks of imagining what it would feel like, I was held tight in his embrace. Then he whispered very clearly in my ear “a hundred and ten percent, baby.”

I remembered his words to his pastor when he had asked Rick how he could be so sure I was the right woman for him. “I'm 99 percent sure now. When I meet her at the airport I'll be a hundred percent sure.”

“Hundred and ten, eh?” I laughed, feeling every bit of apprehension drain from my being. I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be, at last.
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