unpacking old bags

she was just a young girl when the other three girls showed up for a month-long visit. they were close to her own age. her mother called them her stepsisters. this was new information. what was a stepsister and why did her mother have three of them? and who was this other ‘momma’ the four of them referred to? was that her other grandmother?

Luggage Old
photo credit: pixabay

the girls’ arrival opened up the past, like old luggage surfacing at will after having been buried on purpose decades earlier. as the bags were opened and unpacked, the walls of the old brick farmhouse became privy to long held secrets. nothing would ever be the same. tensions flew between elder relatives. conversations were held in hushed angry tones while pointy fingers accused and placed blame. her mother and stepsisters were caught in the crossfire.

years had passed since that fateful visit. she hardly remembered any of it now, save for the trauma of her infant brother rolling off of the bed onto the floor. she’d spent the better of part of the past thirty years (the last five in earnest) trying to piece together the events of her mother’s life. she hoped to better understand why their relationship played out like it had. sometimes it helped to have understanding of the timeline of physical events to see the spiritual cause and effect – and vice versa.

clarity made it easier to forgive, to discard unreasonable expectations. the two went  hand in hand, both were necessary for emotional, mental and physical healing to occur.

it was time for another epsom salt bath, seeking more revelation. that was generally how it worked. the combination of the salt and soaking music opened up her vision like nothing else. holy spirit showed her stuff.

this bath led to a new ‘seeing’ of her mother. an old familiar black and white photo came to focus in her mind’s eye. she saw herself as an adorable toddler holding on to the edge of her pretty dress standing by what might have been her grandfather’s fancy car. in a moment, the little girl in the photo took on the face of her mother at that age.

this image of her mother was not easy to see. she was a little girl, vulnerable, born into a family of broken adults. she knew what happened to momma at that tender age. it was as though she’d been thrust into the part herself. she had asked to see what happened and here it was.

there were issues. momma’s own daddy was broken and drank a lot. momma’s momma was young and her momma said she was too young to be tied down with a baby and a husband. this piece puzzled her greatly. what was going on between this mother and daughter and why would a grandmother reject her little granddaughter? how far back did this root of rejection go?

her memory went back to a phone conversation she had with her momma on a lunch break walk. momma recalled their house in portland, sitting in the breakfast nook eating  with a view of mount hood out the window. she knew if momma remembered mount hood, she remembered other events, even if she didn’t speak of them.

back in the past, divorce proceedings took place in court. after that, her momma’s daddy took his little girl away from her momma across the country. she would never see her momma again. her heart was broken.

this explained in part why she had been unable to love. she’d been torn from her own mother when she was just a baby. that trauma alone kept her stuck emotionally. she’d had no tools to heal, no one to share her grief with. she got stuck there.

and then there were the letters. that is another story.

love your momma even if she can’t love you back.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe)

 

 

taking back the name

options were limited and none of them were good. she could run away, but to where and to whom? and who would believe the stories about what really went on at home? did anyone really see her? she felt like the invisible child, even as the oldest.

she heard a voice say, “no one would believe you anyway.” at the age of fifteen, she wasn’t certain who that voice belonged to, but it might be right.

on the outside, their family looked pretty much the same as the other farm families in the area. she never stayed at friends’ homes long enough to know what was real and what was show. one of the neighbor kids had a mini bike that he used to taunt their dog. clearly, there were problems there.

no one heard what happened inside the four walls of the house, or in the barn, or the fields. maybe other farm families were all messed up, too.

she only knew she wanted out. there was no safe place, no haven, no peace. maybe she could go to new york, become a model. anything was better than here. she moved out of the house the summer after graduation. it was too painful and chaotic to stay at home.

a couple years went by, along with a couple of moves and job changes. those were manageable even in her own instability. but then the call came. her mother was hysterical, not making much sense. then her dad got on the phone. something about him having an affair, them getting a divorce. it all blurred together, all the years of fighting, the strife, the fear, the abuse. all of it came spilling out. and it was too much.

now she simply wanted to disassociate and distance herself from all that identified her to the family. it was so broken, such a mess. it felt shameful. their family name was dishonored.

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photo credit: pixabay

for months, she thought of different name combinations that would work, thinking she would legally change her name. she never did. but she no longer identified with that family name. it was just too painful.

the pain got worse before it got better. years went by. people died. perspectives changed. and the big move happened. it was the hardest and it was the best. healing came, layer by layer. the more she cooperated with father god, the faster it went.

distance helped. she could be who she was now. no one was looking over her shoulder, and she no longer needed permission to fly out of the cage and be free.

her mother’s health waned, so there was the occasional trip home. the mommy wounds were deep. forgiveness didn’t come so easily; it was a choice of her will, and nothing else. she certainly didn’t feel it. so she just kept choosing it.

the daddy wounds were different. abandonment, neglect, abuse and blah, blah, blah. the list could go on and on if she let it. family members were getting old. people were dying.

and there was the truth that couldn’t be denied: father god had placed her with her parents. he knew what she could and would overcome. and he said he would cause it all to work for her good.

she and the big daddy talked about the earthly dad quite a lot. “i get that he’s never going be the father i would like him to be in this life. you get to do that for me. i’m good with it now. but, i would just really like it if he would take an interest in who i am and what I’m about. for a minute.”  daddy god didn’t say anything. she knew he heard, so she went on with what she was doing.

then, on a friday night, she missed a call from her dad while she was swimming. concern rose quickly. the only time he ever called was on her birthday. did someone die? was the family okay?

she called him back only to get a message saying his voicemail wasn’t set up. well, of course it wasn’t. she shook her head and tried one brother. he didn’t answer. she left a message.

mom didn’t answer. her voicemail wasn’t set up either. what was the matter with these people and their technology? she called her sister, got her voicemail, left her a message.

next she tried her son. he answered, but hadn’t heard anything. “hey mom, i’m always the last to know. they don’t even invite me to christmas until the same day.” they laughed. she promised to let him know if she heard anything.

she called the other brother. he answered. “i haven’t heard anything, so everyone must be fine.” sigh of relief. if he didn’t know, yes, everyone was okay. and the sister texted back. she hadn’t heard anything contrary, either.

this was puzzling. dad calls on a day not her birthday, doesn’t leave a message and no one is dead. something was at work. she could feel it.

the next morning, her father called her back, “hey, ******, i saw you called last night.”

“yes, i called because i saw you called me. you only ever call on my birthday, so i thought someone died. i was frantically calling my siblings, mother and son to be sure everyone was good!” he laughed, she laughed.

then he asked her the question she wanted to hear. “so, what are you up to, what are you doing? bam. there they were, the open-ended questions that gave her permission to share pieces of her life with the man she knew as her earthly father.

she answered him with confidence and gusto, pleasure and delight. as she shared the details of her life, she heard how full it was, how rich she was in experience, deep friendships, location and above all, fulfillment in her relationship with father god. he was the one who made it all work.

her dad’s initial call? it was a pocket dial. but not really. it was really a set up to answer her prayer and she knew it.

when they were ready to end the call, for the first time ever, she blessed him with words he had never heard before, “i bless you and i love you, dad.” “i love you, too,” came his response. she encouraged him. “stay in touch. you can call on more than one day of the year.” she knew she’d have to be the one to call, and that was okay.

she had released him from expectations he could never meet. father god would be what she needed when others simply could not. and it was all right.

in her heart, the family name became honorable once again. she took back her maiden name, and it was good.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe)

 

 

bittersweet beacon rock

it was a road trip day with intent. after an hour or so of navigating the winding road through the wild, untamed columbia river gorge, she arrived at the restaurant.

although he wasn’t with her, she felt his presence there. this was a place of promise and destiny for them. she did what she would’ve done if he’d been there: she mingled with the staff and discussed damage to the building by winter storm activity.

after a bit, she ordered lunch and watched customers file in for late breakfast and/or lunch. it quickly got busy and she did what came naturally, jumping in to hostess and help. the owner’s wife arrived and they visited, discussing tentative plans for the summer season. it was good she’d come today.

leaving the restaurant, she walked around the other properties that were linked to destiny. the wind blew hard and cold as it always did in the gorge. she was glad she’d dressed for it.

twenty minutes later, she turned into beacon rock state park. she paid the daily fee and headed out on the trail. light rain fell as she walked. she stopped as she recognized the place where father had dropped the rainbow in front of them just a few weeks earlier.

he began to speak. “this is a place of promise and fulfillment. stand on my word. stand on my promises. i never fail. ”

she took hold of those words and dictated them into her phone. they were rock solid when everything around her was shaking.

then she spoke to him, even though he wasn’t there. “we’ve walked this path together twice. today i walk it alone, but father said the next time i walk it we’ll be together again.”

 

Beacon Picnic table
photo credit: jane doe

 

she kept walking and as she did, the pain in her heart intensified. shaking her head, she asked father, “why is this so hard?” his answer surprised her. “you chose to take a stand, and in that, you upgraded your own vision of yourself.”

she walked for a while then began singing along to adam levine singing ‘lost stars.’ she felt the absence of his arm linked through hers and the tears came quickly. the lyrics were more poignant than usual.

‘God tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young,
it’s hunting season and the lambs are on the run, searching for meaning…’

father continued. “you have chosen to upgrade your level of relationship by requiring full partnership and equal leadership. this will bring the balance you desire and what you both need to walk in and manage what i have for you.

an upgraded relationship means giving up what you settled for in the past. it doesn’t mean you’re giving up on the person – it means they have to choose to come up higher to walk with you where you are.”

she listened, processing as she walked, sang and cried. upgrades are costly. old, stale ways have to be discarded for new effective methods of communicating, relating, showing mutual respect and honor. paying the price means we let go of false safety, comfort and security.

certain things require change. possessing promises is one of those things.

she changed the music over to the verve performing ‘bitter sweet symphony.’ this chorus fit the bill today, too.

‘i’m a million different people from one day to the next,
i can change, i can change, i can change, i can change.’

she put that song on repeat and listened to it all the way home. then she spoke to him in the spirit. “come up here. your leadership is necessary. we have to be in balance.”
she’d felt him so close to her all day. and everywhere she looked, she saw his pickup. wasn’t that always how it was?

she prayed as she drove. she saw the vision first, throngs of men standing at attention in the cloud of witnesses, then gave the direction out loud, “men in the cloud, pray for the men on the ground.”

what followed quickly shifted her view from her own circumstances to that of her country. she saw a great gigantic rug being shaken out across the country, shaking out the lethargy, shaking off the passivity, shaking loose the men so they’d be free to step back into their positions of leadership in family and in country.

when the men are strong, the families are strong.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe)

men in the cloud

she met the other woman on facebook.

father god brought them together. before too long, they were sisters and prayer partners. the deep in each of them called out to the other.

they messaged often but talked on the phone seldom. life was busy.

father connected them at pivotal moments. they moved mountains together in prayer.

one sunday morning, they prayed over their homeland.

holy spirit showed them their country in the 1960’s, describing the effects of the war on their nation.

this war was different than previous wars. the attack of the enemy more strategic, centered on the destruction of family.

spirit went on, showing them white chalk outlines of footprints in each place across the land where a man had been pulled out of position. they were everywhere.

so many men never returned. and no one filled those vacant positions.

the men who lived to tell were not themselves when they came home. they were broken in every way: emotionally, mentally, physically.

all  were traumatized by war, with remnants of death, destruction and unimaginable loss hanging from them like heavy weights they couldn’t shake off.

some men grieved silently, others outwardly. many could not function at all.

no one had the knowledge to make their fragmented souls whole again.

it was a turning point for the country.

the women prayed together, and each went on with their day.

later, holy spirit showed her the vacancies with the chalk outlines again.

he showed her that the missing men were now present in the cloud of witnesses.

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photo credit: pixabay

then he gave the directive. it was clear and out of the box.

“speak to the men in the cloud. tell them to return to their previous positions all across the country. they must occupy those places again and pray from those places.”

it was a new level of engagement with heaven.

she did as she was instructed.

the men in the cloud moved into their former positions.

they pray for the men who are alive now, today, in this time.

our men are becoming strong again.

when the men are strong, the families are strong.

(copyright 2017 jane doe)