Tag Archives: friends

Share Your Best Blog Post | SFoxWriting’s Blog

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Share Your Best Blog Post | SFoxWriting’s Blog. What a great idea from a prolific blogger! Thanks SFox!

Busy here. Dealing with a health crisis along with the regular challenges of life. But don’t worry little blog, I am still working and praying through a new post for you soon. In happy news, the former best friend who hasn’t spoken a word to me in over a month is acknowledging my existence again. Things are broken, oh so broken. I don’t know if we will ever return to what we once shared. But some small piece of healing happened today, and for today it is enough.

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I have been abandoned.

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My closest friend trampled me and kicked me off to the side like so much garbage. The one I trusted and loved like a sister, who was supposed to know me, has hardened her heart. I never saw it coming. It hurts. A lot. Like a bad break-up or a death in the family. Sadly, I know this pain well. My dad left us a lot. Mother was emotionally distant. Close friends turned and either left or actively caused damage, time and time again, until I learned to stop trusting. I shut down. I lived in books and daydreams, and I poured my heart out in music. Until high school, when God sent some amazing, beautiful, wonderful girls into my life. This girl. While God sent the others only for a short season, this one stayed. We loved each other through some deep, dark, dangerous woods. And when we came out the other side hand in hand, we partied hard, good girl-style. We prayed, we worshiped, we sang. We took long drives, drank too much coffee, borrowed and lent, and we LIVED. We were life-long friends, and now, suddenly we’re not. Though this SHOULD hurt more than those childhood wounds, because we shared so much for so very long, somehow this loss is different. Instead of crumbling in, I find myself reaching out, not to replace her but to build naturally on existing friendships. We cannot be who we’re meant to be without other people. We cannot minister effectively unless we let people in. We have to take the risk, time and time again, or miss out on fulfilling our God-given purpose. And God has proven to me that no matter the hurt, no matter the betrayal, He is bigger. Though I grieve and wonder how this could have happened, what went awry, I have a strange peace that only comes from the Holy Spirit living in me. I don’t know if we’ll ever mend, and if we do if we can regain what we had, but I know that whatever happens she is in God’s hands. I am in God’s hands. They are the only hands that can bind this wound, the only safe harbor for my heart. Sister, friend, I will always love you, but if our season together ends for good, this time I walk forward with my head held high, trusting my Savior to lead and to heal.

Another page in our new chapter.

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Just some odds and ends for you tonight. Everyone seems to have finally adjusted, at least somewhat, to our new life here. There have been some bumps in the road:

1) Lost our insurance unexpectedly, which really put us in a jam when we had a serious medical issue come up.

2) My best friend of half my life, who held my hand and prayed me through some really bad stuff, and for whom I did the same; who is like a sister to me; who knows my secrets; with whom I have shared more laughter and adventure than probably any other person in the world, is not speaking to me. I really don’t know if the friendship will survive this time. I am praying and will fight for this friendship, and I think she will do the same, but I just don’t know.

And some unexpected blessings:

1) Husband is doing some contract work that is turning out to be a much bigger project than originally anticipated, which translates to more money for our family.

2) Reconnected with an old friend who had some very good news to share.

3) Got a small windfall that will help us get by for awhile.

4) Family relations are going better than I would even have dared to hope.

I am working on Part V of the Food for Thought series, but this one is the most painful and challenging yet, so bear with me. Also working on a short story and some other projects.

We made it.

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We survived the move in one piece, as did ALL of our belongings (as far as we know, will let you know for sure when we finish unpacking!) One child and one pet got car sick, but other than that things have actually gone pretty smoothly. The children love our new home and seem to be mostly adjusting well. Little one and I have been sick since we got here, but not deathly ill. Boy child thinks it is SO COOL that our living room has a bed in it.

There has been some crazy family drama, and I’m sure it isn’t over yet. I mean, I knew my family was crazy but we just got blindsided by this one. PSA: Legal documents should not read like a blog post. I wish I was exaggerating. I also wish I could just post the thing for you, but alas, I cannot. And then, when poor little one couldn’t stop throwing up, there were some damning things said, things that still give me chills, that I just cannot fathom as a mother, as a human being.

But I am not blameless here. I admit, I have trouble seeing the log in my own eye here, but I have been praying through it and God has been showing me some of these eye-logs of mine and beginning to slowly ease them out. He’s also really working in me on leaving others’ splinters in His hands.

Husband has found a contract position that may or may not offer benefits starting next month. If they don’t he will only work there until we can find something better.

I am exhausted. I still don’t know how we’re going to make this work, but for the time being it is working. Sort of. It kind of has to, for now. Had a nice outing today and seeing family and friends all this week while we work on getting settled.

When it rains, it pours.

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We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

‘Cause what if your blessings come through rain drops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not,
This is not our home
It’s not our home

‘Cause what if your blessings come through rain drops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near

What if my greatest disappointments or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise

Blessings, Laura Story

Moving day is tomorrow. The car won’t start. Mom and I are fighting. A lot. I’ve had a headache for four days, and we’ve had a cold snap here that has made my arthritis more painful than it’s been in several years. Husband had a job interview that may or may not work out, with no other interviews scheduled thus far. And there is not nearly enough chocolate in this house. What great opportunities for God to show Himself.

But today, a Pagan friend asked me to pray for her. Wow, what an incredible and totally unexpected honor! I am truly filled with joy and hope.

And now we wait, we pray, we believe, and we hope.

Essential Fridays Linkup

Now I See.

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And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

A part of God’s plan for our family became clear today. A tragedy struck an old friend last night. Soon, because of the eviction, we will live close by to help ease their suffering. Obviously I’d rather have a better reason than eviction, but I am glad and grateful that we can be there in time to bring some holiday cheer.

to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified. Isaiah 61:3

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Food For Thought, Part II

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The girl I was would not recognize the woman I am. She would find me repulsive and mystifying. She would think me crazy, and would turn away from me in disgust. At my sickest, I often ran my fingers over my bones, mesmerized by their shape. I felt frustrated and angry at myself when I could only feel part of a bone, when stupid, ugly flesh, even organs, got in my way. I pinched and poked and wrapped my bony fingers and hands around parts of me, trying to gauge their size and create new unrealistic goals. I saw fat girls, some who were actually overweight, but most of whom were probably healthy or even too thin, eating ice cream or mashed potatoes. They repulsed, mystified, and confused me. WHY would they do that to themselves? Didn’t they know how disgusting they were? I could not imagine liking myself, appearing happy like they did, while eating like THAT, looking like THAT. I am truly, deeply ashamed of how judgmental I was. It pains me to remember these cruel thoughts, and to think of the friendships and opportunities I missed out on.

Oddly enough, some of my closest friends were very heavy. Their attitudes and behaviors confused me, but their genuine friendship, their true beauty in spite of their weight, their acceptance and love for ME,  softened my heart and my thoughts. These girls showed me the love of Christ in the way I most needed it, and that love and joy for life overshadowed anything physical. When we were together, we laughed. We prayed. We studied. We shared secrets. And we ate. I let my guard down and began to trust, and to eat. And when we were together, eating wasn’t so bad. When I was alone later, assessing the damage, it wasn’t as bad as I’d previously believed it would be. It was still unpleasant, but it was not Anathema.

Even though I was beginning to heal, I was still very, very sick throughout my teen years. I would frequently black out when I tried to stand. I’d lose feeling in my feet and legs. I was always cold. At one point, my hair began turning grey. I felt high when my blood sugar got low, and I liked it. The goal of my bedtime workout session was to push my body until it literally could not go anymore. Then I’d claw my way into bed and do whatever exercises I could, lying there, until I literally could not move. At some point early in high school, as I started making friends, I began to see that there was something wrong. And over time, I knew I needed help. I had no way to get it, but I knew that if I kept on living the way I was living, I was going to die.

Food For Thought, Part I

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Every crumb that entered my body consumed me. Every morsel occupied my entire mind before it entered my mouth. Every calorie crowded out the important and the mundane. Every bite required atonement. To live was death. To think about anything real was pain. So I stayed hungry and focused on that. I thought about what I could see and touch: my legs, my stomach, muscle definition and hair and what I could pinch and where and how much. I believed somewhere deep inside that if I could just shrink down small enough, I’d be invisible. And if they couldn’t see me, they couldn’t hurt me. If nobody saw me they couldn’t punish me for crashing through glass walls. Not my parents, not my peers. If only they couldn’t see me, they would just leave me be.

Clinical anxiety is largely misunderstood by those who have never experienced it. An undercurrent of anxiety ran through my consciousness every waking moment. When I had nothing to worry about, my brain would find something. As I went through puberty, the changes in my body became an easy target. I was an early bloomer, and so went from a socially awkward child to a socially awkward adolescent who stood a head above her peers and whose developing breasts were, therefore, at eye level for her pubescent male peers. I went from being a target who could hide behind her books and stay out of the way, to a giant target with acne and frizzy hair with nowhere to hide except in giant tee shirts and hoodies.

I obsessed about my weight and measurements. I weighed first thing in the morning, then over and over again throughout the day, before and after anything I thought might affect my weight by even an ounce. I measured various parts of my body morning and night, and replaced my tape measure frequently in case it stretched out with use. I studied nutrition, gleaning everything I could about what nutrients we require to live and what different ones did. When I ate, I ate things that I thought would not make me gain weight (this was of course the most important criteria), that would help me not starve myself into blindness or hair loss, things that were supposed to be good for my skin and nails and kidney function. I had an extremely strict, very limited diet and all kinds of tricks to stick to it without being found out. I had a trove of tricks for staving off hunger as long as possible and distracting myself from the pangs.

I tried to induce vomiting a handful of times, but no matter what I tried I physically could not do it. I’d gag and gag, but never could get anything to come up. So I gave up on that traditional method of purging and turned to over-exercising instead. I’d sneak in reps of different exercises throughout the day whenever I could get away with it, in addition to my regular after school session and my more private, secret hour-long session before bed. I researched the most effective ways to burn calories and fat. Towards the end of middle school and entering high school when I had been suffering from this disease for several years already, I got careless. I was finally making some friends, and some of them began to suspect and to worry. So I had to reevaluate some of my strategies. If I was making friends and spending time with them outside of school or church, that left me with less time to sneak in exercise and more encounters with food to navigate my way through. But I found that as I began to make some real friends, missed sets and reps bothered me less.

I would read about actresses and supermodels who were taller and thinner than me and think dammit, why can’t I get below x weight and y body fat? I’m just not working hard enough. I don’t have enough self-control. I’m not a REAL anorexic. But I realize now, I just am not built to get that thin. I have hips and broad shoulders, and no amount of diet or exercise will change your bone structure. But even when I could feel my bones, even when some of my unrealistic, unhealthy goals were met, it never satiated. It was a competition, I was losing, and that was unacceptable.

Those friends I mentioned earlier, the ones who began to worry and suspect, they accepted me and liked me for who I was. They were real friends, my first. God used them, among other things, to begin to rebuild my shattered self esteem. Through those friendships, He began to show me His love. Some of the goals, preoccupations, and lies began to slip away, just a little bit at a time. When I went away to college, the health center offered free counseling. I’d known for about a year that I needed help, but I had no way to get it. In college, away from the stresses of home, I found the courage to finally begin the healing process.

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Essential Fridays Linkup

“Heart Sisters”

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When I was three years old, my mother needed to raise three babies with no job, no family nearby, and a transient husband. She also suffered from a slew of medical issues. She needed help. Right around this time, a family friend’s sister lost her husband. She had nowhere to go. We had a spare room. Our family friend wisely put us together, and her sister and three-year-old niece moved in with us. So now our family consisted of two mothers, sometimes a father, and four children under the age of four.

Ellie fit in seamlessly with my siblings and I, and we grew up as a close-knit sibling group of four. We did everything together: vacations, family portraits, holiday celebrations, the works. And Ellie’s mother, Nancy, became fast friends with my mother and like an aunt to us kids. She and my mom shared the load equally whenever my dad left, each acting as a parent to all four of us. When Daddy lived at home, he treated Ellie as one of his own and she called him Daddy. Family meetings and discipline included all four children.

At some point, we decided we needed a special term to describe our relationships because, in our limited experience, there just didn’t seem to be a fitting term. “Oh, so you and your sister have different dads?” “Yeah, and different moms too. But nobody’s adopted, and we all live together.” Those discussions drew a lot of confused looks. So we coined the phrase “heart sisters” and “heart aunt,” terms of endearment we still use as adults. But mostly, we’re just a family, no modifiers needed.