Alone

       I sit here alone, deep in my thoughts
No one to enter, no one to exit
       Musings all my own
No one to listen, no one to see
       I'm in my own little bubble of my own making
No one to penetrate, no one to label
       It's not attention or self-pity I need
It's not sympathy or words of care coming my way
       You shake your head as if you don't understand
You roll your eyes as if it's enough
       You can't pretend to really grab ahold
You don't see what I see, you don't feel what I feel
       You aren't inside my head
You aren't the face of one who dreads
       The pity and helplessness all must paint
Have you forgotten that we are but dust?
       Have you remembered we all sin and we lust?
We each place our shoes upon our own feet
       And the paths that we travel, each other we meet
So, look down your noses and wrinkle your brow
       Your pity and nonchalance make me sad somehow
For you don't know a thing about loving someone
       For if you did, half the battle would be won.
I sit here in silence, I sit here in alone
        It's okay that I do this, my heart isn't stone
I have much to muse and I have much to say
       But the one thing I know is that it'll all be ok.

Addiction

       Addiction as defined by Webster's Merriam dictionary: a compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined psychological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly: persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful . Addiction is a not so famous topic of conversation, but in today's society, we have an onslaught of various addictions that all do not have to do with substance abuse. There are also psychological addictions as well as relationship addictions. To name a few: approval, fear,self-deprecation, wrong romance, etc.
        You may wonder what I might know about addiction. No, I am not addicted to drugs, narcotics, nicotine, or even alcohol. But I have seen what these things do to people. I have worked with several  teenagers who were gripped in the claws of this evil monster. I have seen first-hand how hard they fought, and some didn't win. I've also experienced my own sets of addictions, but this isn't about my own little confession series. My focus is to point out a need to help. To be a person who is willing to be honest and talk about what is eating at most of the people that are in our every day lives.
       I can't even begin to put a dent on this subject. It's very broad to say the least. I can try to describe what I see in my mind when I hear the word.

       I walk into the room, palms sweaty,
Pulse racing, heart beating like a drum
       I reason within myself, it's ok
No one will know because I'm good
      Just this once won't hurt me,
I mean, it's just ONE time, no pain...
      He reaches his giant hand towards my throat
Wrapping his claws around it til I'm suffocating
      I can't breathe, my face turns red
Then purple, then blue, he lets go
       But only for a brief moment...
In that moment, I find relief, I can breathe again
       Racing thoughts swirling, palpitations sounding
Words become a blurr, vision is lost
       I fall to my knees, beaten down, bloody and bruised
Each time becomes harder to get back up
       Anger boils over, denial takes over
In retrospect, I am the only one who can take control
       I look up, tears streaming down my face
This mighty monster will not win
       Addiction is his name. 

Bittersweet

       Falling asleep while standing still
Not afraid of what's going on all around
       Tears fall down like cleansing flood
Washing away all of the fears within
       Never leaving my side, standing true
Slow motion, robotic stares surround
       Ricocheting bullets fly o'er my head
Still no movement from within
       I stand this way for hours on end
Never moving, ever staring, always blinking
       Understanding will fall like the waves
Crashing all around, drowning all fear
       Eyes wide open, heart-beat like an ancient drum
The music is on repeat with numbing finger-tips
        Only remorse for ever caring what you think
Dead silence soon envelopes my sheer existence
      Echoing taunting reminders of what once was
I turn away and walk alone, ever wondering
      Trying not to really care, turning off my inner soul.

     

Glimpses of Clarity

      I've always been a misunderstood individual. Ever since I could remember, I was the quiet one. Most people thought I couldn't handle situations, and when all was said and done, not only did I handle them, I mastered them and surprised them all. There are times when I become frustrated because I just want people to see ME. But then, I have to remind myself that it's not all about me but them. It shouldn't matter if people see me. They should be seeing Jesus through my soul.
       Right after I had my youngest child, my health began to detiorate. Whatever was going around, I would catch and catch it badly. I became depressed about it because not too many people seemed to really and truly understand how alone I felt. Even when I had my gallbladder attacks and had to have it removed, I had people telling me this and telling me that. I really didn't get any support. Then earlier this fall, my arms began to hurt very badly. Then, it got to the point where it hurt to get out of bed in the morning. It hurt to walk, especially up the stairs. I would lay very still and just feel the throbbing all over my body, knowing something was wrong. I would close my eyes and will the pain away but it stayed...constantly. I didn't want to face anything.
       I began to wonder if possibly I had lymes' disease, and the doctor even wondered the same thing as she ordered tests. This was all before Thanksgiving. I remember when the phone call came that not only did I not have lymes' disease, I had some kind of auto-immune disorder and they were referring me to a rheumotologist. I made the mistake of telling some people because they filled me with fear. But "God is not the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." I have come to not only NOT fear this as I go through tests, and I have come to understand my body. I know when I've stretched my limits, and I have faith in a God who is the ultimate HEALER. Telling even the closest people to you can bring different reactions because they care and different people react differently. I don't write about this to seek sympathy. I don't write it to seek attention.
       Just a few seconds before I started writing this, I had a glimpse of clarity. For a brief second, I could see what I was going through. I have been through so much in 2012...I could almost say I went to hell and back and made it out alive. I've gone through a myriad of emotions and feelings. I truly believe there is a such thing as deadly emotions. I also believe that I am on the road to recovery, that I am healed. You see, God is writing my life's resume. I am going to be able to look back and see this great thing God has done. No matter what is found, I am on the road to recovery. I refuse to give up or be discouraged. I can always find someone else to encourage. I can always smile and love with a love only Jesus can give. My desire is that those who come into contact with me will feel true love, that they will feel the warmth of His embrace. These are my true glimpses of clarity....

I Once Was Broken Inside....

       I have these visions inside my head, the kind where I'm whole again and back to what I'm supposed to be. I have had some time to think and re-evaluate some things. I know that what has been going on inside of me has been going on for years. The dreams are re-occurring at the most inopportune times. I could go to bed perfectly happy and at peace in my heart and wake up in turmoil. I will begin to panic at the oddest times, and I begin to feel my world spinning out of control and find it hard to breathe and thoughts that are not my own begin to swirl faster and faster until I feel I could faint. These things are not of God. They exist and certain times of the year trigger these thoughts and feelings within me. Those around me just don't understand fully. Unless you've been where I've been, unless you've walked where I've walked, lived what I lived, you won't fully understand. Sure, you can be empathetic, and you can hold my hand and just be there for me in this journey, but not many know and understand these feelings completely.
       I understand that God is not the author of confusion. I understand a Satanic attack on the soul when I see it. Sometimes, when the feelings are there, when the tears won't stop falling, all I can do is go somewhere safe, fall to my knees and continue to cry out to God to help me, to heal me. Why do I write about this? Why do I make myself vulnerable? Maybe it's because there are others out there who feel the same, who understands the pain. Maybe I can help them. As I am helped this upcoming year, I will continue to blog my journey. I will relate my findings. As I seek God's face, as I become closer to Him, I will tell the world. Why? Because I was created to make a difference. I know that is my calling in this life. I was given a voice, a voice to be heard. I truly believe that my voice will become stronger and mightier this upcoming year. God is doing a great work in my life. One of my favorite verses to pray is, "This poor man cried and the Lord heard him and delivered him out of all his trouble."
       So, join me in this journey, my journey, and perhaps your journey. My prayer is that I might be a blessing to someone. That my courage to speak out will help someone else speak out and perhaps get help for themselves. I don't want any pity. That's not my goal. My goal is to help someone out there who is like a "voice crying in the wilderness."

It's a Wonderful Journey

       Life is but a journey, a pathway, that we travel daily. Along this pathway, we face many obstacles and snares, pitfalls and road-blocks. It's how we choose to handle them that determines our destiny. I heard from a friend, that we used to be spirits before we entered this world and we were given the opportunity to choose our family to complete our mission. Now, I don't know if this is a fable or not, but I do know that we were placed where we are in this life for a specific purpose. Some of us were born into wealthy families and others, in the deep dark recesses of a jungle where human civilization can be found in, not really hours but, days. Almost 32 years ago, I was born into the Wetzl family as Elizabeth Ann Wetzl. Born to Joseph and Lillian Wetzl, I was the eldest of 3 children who were all 4 years apart.
       I have many vivid memories of being an only child, but one stands out clearly in my mind. Every morning after the breakfast dishes were finished, my dad and I would kneel down beside his bed and pray. My dad was and still is a prayer warrior, and God supplied all of his needs without fail. As a 4 year old, I remember becoming weary of this daily routine as I would rather be playing. I am glad that my dad was able to teach me, not just by words, but also by actions. I remember the day one specific prayer was answered, and my dad ran into the living room to tell me. He was crying, and looking back, I now know they were tears of joy. I remember he grabbed my little hands, and together we jumped up and down. As a little kid, this was amazing! My dad and I jumping and laughing and giggling together. You see, my dad had been out of work for quite some time, and at the time, my mom was the only one with a job. People were telling him to move where jobs were in abundance, but he stood firm in his faith and believed God would provide. God laid it upon several people's hearts throughout the months to do things for us. One deacon from the church bought us a dryer. Another man bought us groceries and formula for my baby sister. God never let us starve, neither did he allow for us to freeze in the winter. My dad never asked for a hand-out. All he did was kneel beside his bedside with his little girl beside him, and he told God all of his needs and believed he would provide.
       The job my dad received was a well-paying job with phenomenal benefits. My mom would work during the day, and my dad would work the afternoon shift. I have great memories of my daddy getting me ready for school and my mom tucking me in at night. My life seemed like a perfect set-up, and when my sister, Joanna, was born, I was even more thrilled to have a play-mate.
       Another huge answer to my dad's prayers probably stands out more in my mind today than any of the others. When I was 8 years old, I became very ill. It was towards the end of my 2nd grade year, and no one knew what was wrong with me. I would fall asleep in school and would come home and my mom would have to shake me awake for dinner. I'd then fall asleep directly after, and she'd have to wake me up for my bath and bedtime routine. I ran low-grade fevers, and I would complain that my body ached off and on. My parents decided to take me to the doctor, and I remember that day as if it was yesterday. My mom, as you know, was working; so, my dad took me. My little sister, who was then 4, tagged along as well. I remember my regular doctor was on vacation; so, they sent me to another doctor who in turn sent me to the hospital for blood-work. I was terrified of hospitals and even more terrified of needles. My dad was patient and he kept telling me what a "big girl" I was and that it'd be over before I knew it. We went home, but since my mom worked at the hospital, she was able to keep tabs on the blood-work. Then the call came that they wanted to admit me into the hospital. I became almost hysterical as my dad remained calm. At that age, I believed that whoever entered the hospital, not only had surgery but they also died. I'm sure my dad choked back the laughter as he assured me everything would be ok. We knelt and prayed for God to give the doctors wisdom in finding the truth in what was wrong with me. Those next couple of days were a blurr. They kept me in my own room as the doctors weren't sure what was wrong with me and decided not to infect anyone else.  My mom, at the time, was 8 months pregnant with my brother. She slept on a chair that folded out, and my dad and sister visited me daily. The doctors and nurses poked me and ran all kinds of tests only to find out that I had mononucleosis. I didn't understand what that meant, but my parents did. All that I knew was that I was exhausted all of the time. My mom would have to encourage me to eat and drink my fluids. I was sent home eventually with orders not to return to school. Thankfully, it was the end of the school year, and I wasn't kept behind. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere or do anything. The doctors told my parents that it would take months to recover, and that it would never fully leave my system. When I went back for more blood work a few weeks later, the doctors were stunned that they couldn't find any sign of the virus inside of me. They scratched their heads in disbelief. My dad wasn't concerned neither was he shocked as he knew in his heart that God had answered another one of his prayers. I was completely healed and allowed to play again without any worries.
        These are only bits and pieces of my spiritual journey, and oh, what a wonderful journey it is! I have so much to be thankful for today because of these memories. I truly can say that I am blessed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Last week, I wrote about the struggle through it all, but I also want to remember the good parts as well as they shaped me into what I am today. It's a wonderful journey, and I'm still on it!!!!!!!

Religion ISN'T The Answer

       For 31 years I have been in a world where man-made rules have surrounded my existence. I want to start this off by saying that finally, I am breaking free and talking about what so many of us find it hard to even talk about to ourselves. The truth of the matter is, so many of us have kept the blinders on our eyes and failed to step out of the "box." For as long as I can remember, I have attended church, and yes, church has been my life. I have vivid memories of being in Christmas plays and running around the church property with my friends while my parents helped in whatever was needed at the time. I would be known to sing whenever I got the chance, and I even taught myself to play the piano just so I could sit on the platform and play for the offering. I was allowed to join the choir when I was 16, and there were many adults who were jealous and thought I was just a child. I remember being loved by most everyone up until that age; then, it seemed everything began to change for me. I really don't think it changed, per say, except, I just became more aware of what was happening. Even as a small child, I did catch on here and there, but it didn't bother me for very long. I remember sitting in junior church and acting up, and the teachers up front calling me out and saying, "Elizabeth, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! I thought you would know better because your daddy is a deacon!" I remember looking at them as if they had two heads, but I soon forgot. I was often pulled into the office as a child and reprimanded and that very same phrase, although worded differently each time, was said to me. I let it roll off my shoulders because I was a kid and mostly didn't dwell on things.
       Like I said earlier, church was my life, my very existence. I knew nothing else, and everyone else who didn't attend were the "outsiders" or "lost souls." I was steeped in religion. My friends all went to church AND school with me. I was made to dress a certain way, talk a certain way, and my peers and teachers held me to a much higher standard than the average person. When I reached 16, I began to start feeling smothered. I didn't want to do what I was taught. I wanted a boyfriend and I wanted to listen to any music I wanted. I wanted to wear pants, but mostly, I wanted to be myself. For a while, I was living a double life. I had that boyfriend. My best friends and I listened to music we were never allowed to listen to before.
       One specific night in general, 6 or 7 of us were going out on church visitation. My best friend has bought a new tape of the Backstreet Boys, and we planned on listening to it and doing whatever we wanted. I talked the driver into taking me to my boyfriend's place of work just so I could see him. I remember the pastor's daughter was in the van with us, and looking back, I don't remember caring too much. Later on, all fingers did point to me in "threatening her" that if she told, we'd all know who tattled and she'd be "sorry." I really don't remember saying something like that, but what really got to me at that time was the pastor standing in the pulpit the very next Sunday and preaching about us!!!!!!! I was in total shock. No, he didn't mention our names, but the church was small enough that everyone knew exactly who he was speaking of. I remember the utter humiliation that coursed through my veins, and the feeling of dread washing over me as both of my parents looked at me in unison. I remember the turmoil that followed in the next couple of weeks over this one night, and we hadn't even really done anything wrong! All we really did was act like a bunch of teenagers, and the most we did wrong was go where we really shouldn't have gone during that time frame. I remember being pulled into this office and that office. I remember the adults in my life telling me how "disappointed" they were in my actions and that my current boyfriend was so wrong for me. All that did was push me further over the edge of NOT wanting anything to do with this stuff. Something held me back though; a gnawing FEAR that I could never launch out on my own. I was simply afraid of what people would think. I was afraid to just do what I wanted; and so, I continued down this path of trying to make people love me and accept me because I was the "good one who listened."
      I even chose the college I would attend because I wanted to make my parents proud. I thought if I mapped out my life and made them think I was sure of what I was doing, they'd be so happy for me and would continue to love me. I even chose the degree I wanted so everyone would be proud. Many times in my college days, I just wanted to leave, but I was scared and didn't know what to do.  There were many times my friends and I would hide so we didnt' have to go to church. I felt so lost in the crowd, and I tried desperately just to fit in down to the clothing, hair-do's and even trying out for singing groups. There was just one mold, and we were supposed to fit in that mold no matter the cost. I even turned down a romantic date one day just so I could be "noble" and raise money for "the bus kids to attend a Christian school."
       I am not proud of my attitude those days. I would walk around like I was on top of things, and I was fitting this mold to the ultimate degree. I'd talk about people behind their backs and roll my eyes in disgust at those who weren't "doing right." Yes, I still made friends, but I really thought I was at the pinnacle of Christianity. This continued into the first year of my marriage. I dared to look down my nose at the "fallen." I did not walk in love, but instead, I walked in turmoil. My life was a roller coaster of emotional chaos, of looking down on others all the while thinking "I had arrived."
       Then, 8 years ago, everything came crashing down around me. I was 9 months pregnant, and it was a Monday morning that reality began to smash me in the face. I was 23 years old, married, living far from home and about to give birth any day. It was a Monday morning, and that day is as clear as this day in my memory. We had people knocking on our door telling us our house was no longer ours but the banks. I remember being in shock. That day dragged on as I was utterly humiliated to the nth degree as people came in and out, helping me pack my belongings. At the day's end, when I was sitting in my in laws living room, I thought I was going into labor as contractions rolled in steadily. It was just the stress  coursing through my body, and as I began to relax, I cried myself to sleep. My own husband became distant as he was struggling within himself as well. I just remember thinking that I was humiliated and that everyone had turned on me in an instant except my own dad and mom. My own sister even was extremely mad at me. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up and make this all a terrible nightmare, but the next 4 months, I'd wake up and the reality was still there. The sharp ache in my heart, the sinister feelings welling up inside of me were very real.
       I became very angry at everyone. I was angry at God as well. True love hadn't surfaced yet. I was broken down and embarrassed as I had fallen very far off my pedestal of my own making.  People who I thought were my friends began pointing fingers and saying nasty things to me. We ended up moving to where I currently live, and I remember for the first 6 months, constantly looking over my shoulder, being jumpy and afraid of my own shadow. I was broken to the very core of my being, and I trusted no one, not even my own husband. No, he never hurt me, but my mind was playing tricks on me, and I kept thinking if I leave him first, he can't leave me.
       The sweetest thing kept us together, our first child, Charity Joy. I wanted to give our family a chance. For those first 6 months, some chains began to be broken off of me. I would cry every single time I'd go to church. Josh and I went through marital counselling. Most every day it was just me and my baby, and we'd go out and about, walking everywhere as I tried to figure out who I was inside. Layer after layer started to fall off of me, and God began to do a great work inside my heart. I began to learn to love again. By the time I was pregnant with JW, so much had changed inside of me for the good.
       Just this past summer, more chains around me began to be "hammered at" as me and my family went through another loss. The very church that had a huge part in the healing of my family, marriage and being was shaken to the core. The college I attended was shaken to it's knees as well. The "great people" in our lives who we looked up to were being taken out and the walls of our "fortress" began to crumble. As I look back on these past months, this past year in general, I see God working in a miraculous way! On New Year's Eve, as I brought in 2012 with my dad and mom, I claimed and prayed that this year was a year of new beginnings in mine and my family's life. Between losing my job to moving to another location and now losing our church and even great people who influenced us, I see a light far brighter than I could ever imagine. I see more chains being broken away from this religious mind-set. So many people followed a man only to have his empire crash and burn. There are a select few of us who see the truth for what it is and are diligently seeking God's face, but I know in my heart of hearts that this time, Josh and I will not follow man or an organization but God Himself. We, as humans, begin to crumble if we base our lives around a man or an organization because people fall; they falter and make mistakes. There is only ONE God....we aren't HIM. There is only ONE God....the pastor isn't HIM. Who are we to make rules and regulations for people just so they can serve God? With those rules set in place, we aren't really serving our God but instead we are serving that man and his ministry. About a year ago, I stopped serving a man. I began to pull away from everything in the church because I realized I wasn't doing it for God but for man alone. I sat and allowed God to tell me what was right and wrong in my life. Today, I still am on that path. The Holy Spirit lives inside of me, and He, alone, can tell me what's right and wrong as long as I stay in the WORD and listen to the "still small voice."
       I have come a long way, but I have NOT arrived. I have no business looking down on other people, whether their race, religion, etc. We are all equal at the foot of the cross. I still am guilty of looking at people and having my own opinion, but I am much faster at recognizing it and asking God to forgive me. I refuse to be steeped in religion anymore, but I choose to follow God. Man is but human and will make mistakes. God is who HE says HE, and I will follow HIM. I have lost alot of friends already, but in the end, it's me and me, alone, who will stand before our Saviour. God isn't finished with me yet, and there really is more to my story of my spiritual journey. Josh, I and the kids are on a new path...a path to spiritual freedom and victory. I will raise my children much differently than me, and they will grow up knowing that it's better to serve God and not man. Religion isn't the answer. The true and only answer to this life is: JESUS.