in the midst of metamorphosis

doors. Life is like a series of doors and hallways leading towards, away from, and in between the rooms they guard. I've heard all of the analogies that say : when one door closes, another opens every closed door has helped make you into who you are you suppose that you are the lock...but you are the key  love opens the doors into everything* but, honestly, doors intimidate me. What awaits me behind them? Are they entryways into rooms where I am at ease? filled with objects that support who I am? where I am comfortable to walk in my own skin? I have walked through a variety of doors in my lifetime. Some were perfect for that time, some were wrong from the start, and others were like Cinderella's stepsisters trying to force that beautiful slipper that brought the promise of a different ( better? ) life onto feet that were created for a separate path. I wanted that room. I thought that I needed that room. Life though, she had another plan for me but that didn't e...

I desire open, honest, and nonjudgmental communication from all people and all views and all ideas. The words of my posts are simply my own thoughts on how the church* can fully be operational in Love. Suicide. It is all over the news this week. again. And every time, my thoughts are the same : why do we have people around us who are hopeless? We are supposed to carry the very essence of Hope within us, so what are we , The Church, doing wrong? For starters, we are not acknowledging mental illness. I know this firsthand. (You can read about our family's struggle with mental illness and acceptance here ) We question the validity of science, and the exact causes of depression and anxiety. Science is not the enemy here. The enemy is our flagrant stubbornness to recognize the truth of many studies performed by those more qualified than I. We offer our thoughts, opinions, and prayers, and little else in the way of actual help. Do I believe in the healing power of positivity...

Rejection formed a lot of my earliest thoughts about my worth, and it was from that atmosphere that people pleasing was birthed. I didn't know my truth. I simply knew theirs, and adjusted who I was accordingly. I accepted their thoughts, their opinions, their words about who I was, and I swallowed it all, deep within me, until I was all those people. and none of them. an inaccurate representation of who I was created to be. Two years ago, I felt the shift coming. I knew that change was on the horizon, but it was hazy, unclear. Still, I welcomed it with open arms. I journeyed into my known and my unknown, into my remaining masks and my authored identity, into who I thought I should be and who I was created to be. It was here that I quieted all other voices. It was here that I removed all that was hindering my sight. It was here that I shifted my priorities, smashed my idols, surrendered my self, and gave my all, to sink, unhindered, wholly, into Love's heart.  It was compl...

**Warning- this post contains adult themes/images** ********************************************************* Freedom. Acceptance. Family. Belonging. Camaraderie. Pride. Love. Anticipation. A deep knowledge of who they are, of being firmly rooted in that, and living from that steadfast place. Home. Open. Honor. Togetherness. Peace. Respect. Identity. Transformation. Wholeness. Laughter. Excitement. Being one. Overcoming. Fun. Lightheartedness. Freedom. I felt so much acceptance there to be exactly who I am, to be free to be the person I was designed to be. I know my identity. I know who I am. And yet the struggle to live that way, completely me, is overwhelming. The sting of rejection, of abandonment, is real and painful. Being enveloped in that atmosphere gave me a renewed sense of the overcoming spirit that is within me. I can do this.  There is a wide, wide world out there just waiting for me to live in it fully, as me, the real me. That may take me to pla...

I first published this in May of 2013. A lot has changed in that time. A lot has stayed the same. There are updates at the end of this post. One of my daughters is on a daily SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) or, in layman's terms, an antidepressant. She was diagnosed with the main dish of Anxiety Disorder, with a side of depression. I can joke about it now - and she can too - but it hasn't always been that way. . We first encountered it years ago. At the time we sought church-based counseling but nothing else in the way of help for her. She was so young that I just couldn't imagine putting her on a medication. I had a hard time even accepting that she might have a mental disorder. We got through that time - barely - and went on without it rearing its head again. But when it resurfaced three years ago, it did so with a vengeance. This time, I was better equipped myself to deal with it. There was no hesitation. We immediately saw a doctor, got a prescrip...

You may wonder what that is behind me. Let me introduce you. It's my closet. I take it with me wherever I go. Like Superman, I walk in, then reappear in costume. I have a lot. Too many. So tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet. . There's some old ones shoved way in the back. They haven't been worn in years, but occasionally make their way to the front. They taunt me. I did my best to do them proud. I failed. . There are worn ones. I wear them often. They don't fit me, but they do fit other's ideas of me. Grudgingly, I put them on and become what they want me to be. Each time, I lose a little piece of me. I hate them. . There are fancy ones. The good ones. Reserved for times where I need to impress others with who I am, or who I think that I want to be. I keep these separate. In my mind that somehow makes them better. They're not. . There are tight ones. Constricting. There is no flexibility, no room for growth, and change, and newness, and creativity. ...

At the beginning of this year(2010), I heard someone speak about the Golden Buddha encased in plaster (google it if you don't know the story). This post details my struggle to rid myself of my own plaster encasing in order to be the me that I was always intended to be.   Year after year. Layer upon layer. It continues to build up. More, more, more. Outsiders contribute some, with their demands, expectations, thoughtless words, rejection. More, more, more. I can't help but add to it myself, in a hopeless attempt to preserve the vulnerable core. More, more, more. The plaster shell is rock hard. It has to be. How else will I protect myself? Inside, I hide, unsure if the real me even wants to venture out. What is waiting for me? The unknown can be frightening, intimidating. If I stay here, I have a chance at protection, at anonymity. But, locked inside, I am growing weaker, emaciated. I want to kick out, break loose, take off these bindings, tear down the wall...