Jesus loves me, this I know...

Hello friends! Once again, it has been a while since I have posted anything. Part of me is inclined to apologize for this, but I won't. As I have mentioned, this year has been particularly rough for me. My hope is that this post will continue to shed light on what I have been going through and, more importantly, the ways that God has revealed Himself and His truth to me through it all. That being said, I have  been taking time to process a lot of hurt, trauma, and grief. The more I work through it, the more I want to write about it and the more comfortable I am to do so.

Since my desire to blog and ability to post has been heavily dependent on my healing process, I want to take this post to talk to you about my actual healing process and more about what I am healing from.

Last October, a pastor and professor of mine asked if I believe that God could heal me. I, of course, said yes. He then asked me if I believed that God would heal me. Again, I said yes, but it was something that I had not really thought much about and I honestly struggled to believe. I thought about it off and on, but didn't give it any intense thought. I knew what the Bible said was true, even if it didn't feel true to me at the moment. More or less, I tried to busy myself rather than face my doubts and questions.

I don't really like this picture. In fact, I'm not sure
why I still have it. Regardless, I think it shows a lot
more than a goofy girl. I was cheesing it up,
but the bags under my eyes tell a different story -
the real story.  (Feb. 4th)

Fast forward to February, my life looked very different. I was one month out of an abusive relationship; trying to make sense of my life; confused about my purpose; trying to cope with all the manipulation, control, and abuse (of all kinds) that had taken place in a matter of two hellacious months. In addition, I suffered what was most likely an early term miscarriage (which I'm sure you could gather was not conceived in a loving way). Even so, I felt more love than I knew possible for the little life inside me. I also felt an immense fear for both of us. I was alone. My family did not know what had been going on, and to tell the father would be detrimental. Abortion was never an option, and the thought of giving my baby to another person for adoption brought me to tears. The pain of the actual miscarriage was physically almost unbearable. For several months I was in denial. I told myself I had an unusually  bad period despite the physical symptoms of pregnancy, the "gut feeling," and the overwhelming love I had experienced along with the high likelihood of conception. Only recently have I been able to come to terms with what I'm sure actually happened.

Coming out of all this, I did not question whether God would heal me. I just knew that He wouldn't. I believed He was capable and that He healed other people, but not me. In my mind, I had messed up far too much for God to even consider using me and I was broken beyond repair. This mentality kept me stuck in a place of utter hopelessness. I started working retail full time primarily to pay my bills, but it kept me busy enough that I wasn't focusing on how broken I was. That got me by for a little bit, but then I started having panic attacks and migraines that I knew were a direct result of my abuse, past and present, compounded into one horrible mess that I had not dealt with. Crying yourself to sleep and showing up to work smiling is one thing, but going in the stockroom crying and hyperventilating while you're on the clock is another. When it got to this point, I knew that something had to change. I needed outside help. This was a whole new low for me.

I sought help from a professional counselor. About the same time, surprisingly, my full-time schedule had actually accommodated more time for me to go to church than my part-time had. For the first time, I was able to join one of my church's small groups on Wednesday nights. Not a whole congregation, but a place where I can sit with 10-ish people and begin to tell them where I am. As I have slowly began to open up to them, they showed me love and understanding - not the rejection I was so sure of receiving. Despite the way God worked out my counseling and small group, my doubts remained. Yes, these people seem to be showing me love, but does God?

Around the time of what would have been my due date, I was sitting in the pew at church thinking about all that had happened and how I got to this point. I was still wrestling with the concept that a perfect God could love a very imperfect Me. My thoughts were interrupted by the cry of a baby. My eyes instantly filled with tears. Wishing and hoping that somehow my thoughts could be relayed to my little nugget in heaven, I thought, I love you so much, I wish I had the chance to tell you. 

I don't remember how it all went down. It was kind of an explosion of thoughts, but the end result was this: I never saw a bump, much less kissed a nose, and I'll never get a craft from school or hear a single "I love you mommy," yet I still love him. For all the queasiness and exhaustion and extra trips to the bathroom, I loved him then and I love him now. Not because of anything he did or didn't do, but because he was mine - even for just a short period of time. God does not love me based on what I do or don't do, He loves me because I am His. And as much love as I feel for my little guy, God's love for me is even greater. That's a lot for me to take in. It's everything I need to know to help me not only know, but to even understand to some extent the way God loves us - His children.

I don't believe that true and lasting healing is possible without living from a solid trust  in the love and care of God. It has really only been withing the last month that I have started "living loved" (shout out to Lysa TurKuerst). I'm still confused. Even today I got the shakes and started to get a little panicky when I saw someone who bore too much of a resemblance of my ex for my liking. I'm still trying to move on and figure out how to make this positive, how to help other people through this experience, how to forgive, and how to give God glory in the middle of my hurt. I still have a ways to go, but for the first time since all of this happened, I have a glimmer of hope. Nothing overwhelming by any means, maybe a glimmer the size of a mustard seed. But I suppose that's really all it takes.

"I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord." 

-Psalm 27:13-14