Legacy

It's been a year ago to the day since life came slamming to a halt with one phone call. 
I miss her. It's complicated.
I know she's with Jesus: whole, healed, simply stunningly beautiful. And I am anxious for the day when she will hug me in heaven and excitedly tell me all she's been doing and learning at the feet of her Great Love. 
This is the speech I was awakened at 5am to write the morning of Mom's memorial. (Although the ending of my speech may not make sense out of context, I went ahead and included it.)

"When I think of Mom- I think of the aching longing inside her to do great things for God. 
I visualize the way her hands waved, her foot wagged, and her eyes sparkled as they brimmed with tear, whenever she spoke of her passion to reach thousands with the message of God's love, redemption and grace. 
She dreamed big. She often grew discouraged: wanting to serve more, to be used mightily. In her struggles to reach the many, she did not always see that the great things begin with the individual. 
Jesus used five loaves and two fish to feed a multitude. Mom's "five loaves" stand here today as a testimony to beating the odds: we all love and serve the Lord. Statistics I learned from studying and doing youth ministry tell me that Mom did something right.
She did her best to pour into us and endow us with a love and passion for God. Her choices and sacrifices while raising us were often unconventional, sometimes misguided, but the desire to so what was right and to honor and follow God with abandon left and echo in all five of our hearts.
For that, I am personally, eternally grateful. 
I often doubt I make a significant impact in this world for Christ. But, when I grow to despair, I remember what I used to say to Mom- God is in the little things. He is interested in individuals. When you show His love to one person, you never know how that can change a life. 
Mom and I often had our best conversations about God through music. Sometimes I struggles in our relationship. But, we could bond over music. I would offer songs for her to hear and in that way I offered part of my heart. One of the last songs I played for her was one of my favorites, and she loved it, too. Matt Redmon's '"10,000 Reasons".
I'll never forget her face as she soaked in a new song. She's blast the volume, sit and listen, bobbing her head, closing her eyes, clapping an intricately, and listening to the lyrics: always trying to sing the chorus the second time it played.
We have provided the lyrics to this song for you in the programs. Pastor Bill will lead us as we participate together in one of her favorite past times.
Let's sing together." 

No Longer A Victim

It all started with the media fiasco of making it popular to talk all about domestic violence. I made the "mistake" of reading some of the "Why I Stayed" campaign pictures. Why was it a mistake? Some of those reasons were my own 6 years ago.

Don't get me wrong, if all the media attention can help one woman (or man!) gain the courage to seek freedom themselves, then this fad is all worth it. However, for me, it's been a constant reminder of something I'd rather forget. 

Prior to this, it was maybe every other month that the enemy of my soul beat me with the familiar abusive words and reliving the actions of a couple people in particular. If I happened to hear a joke or offhanded comment from someone about beating, raping, that type of thing (another soapbox for another day) it will sometimes trigger that mental track as well. 

I have been re-assaulted mentally and emotionally as Facebook was flooded with everyone informing me about domestic abuse and how desperately we need to make people aware! (It all reminded me of a classmate in college turning to me in the cafeteria, shocked, and sorry to inform me that most rapes are perpetrated by an acquaintance. I just forced a smile and nod while I was mentally screaming at her. I wasn't about to tell her how personally, multiply, I was all too aware. She'd already referenced non-virgins as "damaged goods" previously in the conversation.)

So, a couple of days of conversations revolving around what seemed to be the popular topic of abuse, I was in the shower, despairing, crying. I didn't want to be a victim again. I didn't want to relive my experiences randomly because it's the new buzz word. 

But then, God whispered to me: I am not a victim. I am not just a survivor. He has helped me to thrive. He showed me how far I have come. I have been rescued, and through the grace of God, this is all being redeemed into something beautiful. I told myself to stop whining about it, let God be the lifter of my head and remind me of who He created and redeemed me to be. So, I have been working on running to Jesus with these memories, release them in forgiveness, lifting my empty hands for more healing. 

I've debated on whether to continue keeping all of this to myself or not. I'm a normally private person. But, I have been reminded that I've thought many times that everything I experienced is completely worth it if I am able to help someone. Now I say it is more than worth it just to say "look at what Jesus have done." 

This morning I had a dream. A dream that would have normally distressed me. Not a memory, but it might as well have been. The difference in this dream? I felt, not despair and helplessness, but peace, joy even.

That has been my struggle the past couple of weeks, fighting anger and frustration because something that can still be deeply painful is now suddenly being talked about because it has celebrity status. I have not been believed and told I was stupid and should have known better and all that. 
I am not even 100 percent certain why I'm writing this blog. I'd much rather go on without everyone knowing these parts of my past. Maybe I'm just wanting to vent, which is more than likely true. Maybe I'm like everyone else: I just want to be listened to. 
But, it would be awesome if someone will be encouraged by this "venting". There is healing and hope even when memories come haunting. I am grateful that I am far from being the same person I once was. Most days I do not recognize the person I am in those memories.
I choose to focus on that.