Days 128 - 133

Post date: Nov 7, 2016 1:25:42 AM


Touch. The ultimate control. I choose whom I touch and who touches me. I remember being an 8 year old little girl. I was wearing a white flannel nightgown with little pink and purple flowers. The collar and wrists were lace. I went in my mom's bedroom to give her a hug and a kiss goodnight. She didn't want to give me one. In fact, it wasn't a fluke. It was the last time she hugged or kissed me in my youth. I remember the rejection. It was then my bubble was created.

Growing up, I didn't let people touch me. I was a very hugging sort of person. I hugged everyone, yet winced when they tried to hug me. I would make comments about not wanting them to invade my personal space or they were too touchy-feely. I didn't show public displays of affection with my boyfriends. I would hold their hands, but rarely would I let them touch me. Touch was too intimate. Something I didn't understand.

I remember when my daughter was little and she wanted to hug me. It was so hard for me. I had to make myself let her hug me. She didn't understand how broken I was. She didn't understand how terrified it made me. She just wanted a hug.

I've started to hug and kiss my children more. I watch as a couple of them totally reject and wince at this gesture. It is new to them. It is strange. It is unlike me. But I'm not going to stop. I owe them a lifetime of meaningful hugs and kisses. I want meaningful hugs and kisses.

It's funny how thinking one is in control actually strips you of what you truly need. Contact. Love. Affection. Meaning. Intimacy. Respect.

I got to thinking today, about all the holidays I hate. I've colored Easter Eggs with my kids twice in their lifetimes. My mom always had to do it, because the kids would make too much of a mess. She would color so many eggs, that the thought of doing more seemed wasteful. We never had an Easter Egg Hunt. It was always something she controlled. Never got the kids Easter Baskets, again, my mom did that. It was something I always wanted to do, but felt it was wasteful to give them so much candy and stuff.

My mom loved to give my kids stuff. It always made me feel like less of a person because I couldn't afford to get them nice things. They got new things from my mom and Goodwill stuff from me. That's all we could afford.

Thanksgiving has always been stressful. Last year, I ended up in the emergency room after having a panic attack. My mom was over and I felt so judged. In previous Thanksgivings, I would offer to cook food, but mine was never good enough. I would bring food over, but she would never put my food out. It would sit on the oven. Not good enough to be served. She would always make comments about how filthy my house was. It got to the point I didn't want to clean my house, because then she would never want to come over. This Thanksgiving, we are going up into the North Georgia mountains to go horseback riding and eat Thanksgiving Dinner in a nice restaurant. No stress. Just me and my family. I'm so excited. If that doesn't work, we will do something as a family.

Family is important. We have started individual family councils with each of our children. It has been amazing. We talk about what is expected, what needs to be done, and they pick punishments we agree to. I feel we are coming together as a family.

NONE of this would have been possible 134 days ago. I was too angry. Too bitter. Too broken. Too lost.

I am eternally grateful to my loving Father in Heaven, who has pulled me out of darkness and set me on this path.

I am grateful to be in His hands. My life is His. I willingly offer it up to Him.

Today, was Fast and Testimony Meeting. This is the testimony I bore:

Yesterday, I woke up and in my morning prayer, dedicated the day onto God. I asked Him to make me the best person I could be. In the afternoon, I looked in the mirror and saw all my grey hairs and decided to dye my hair. Now, as I work at a Catholic school, I'm pretty conservative with my choice of hair dye. In fact, I had picked Honey Brown. Now, I love burgundy hair. I always have, since I was young, but I was playing it safe. I dyed my hair Honey Brown and when I washed it out, my hair wasn't honey brown, it was burgundy.

This is what it means to give your life to God. He takes the things of your life and makes them amazing. He knew the righteous desire of my heart, that to have burgundy hair, and well, He made it burgundy. He took the ordinary and made it fantastic. Turning your life over to God doesn't mean you lose sight of who you are, it means you have someone who knows you and only wants the best for you, on your side.

Now I know this seems silly, and yes, I checked the box and the tube, both said Honey Brown. I followed the directions exactly. Here's the thing, NOTHING is impossible with Heavenly Father. So why did He care about the color of my hair. Simple. He LOVES me. He wants me to find joy. While having honey brown hair wouldn't have made me sad, I would have looked in the mirror every day and thought, why couldn't it have been burgundy. Such a simple thing.

Heavenly Father wants you to turn your life over to Him. What he can do with it, is SO MUCH BETTER than what you can do with it. Start with a simple prayer, in your own words, something like this: "God, my life is in your hands. Take care of it. Help me to be the person YOU know I can be."