Imagine a place, a workshop, where the master works diligently to create something that he’s dreamed up.

Can you see his face light up when his dream comes to life before him?

He’s shaping the face, the hands, the feet. Every detail is intricate and precise. Exactly the way he imagined it.

He loves his creation and can’t wait to present it.

There is one problem… he has to choose the perfect route for the new creation to travel.

The new creation can only enter the earth on one path.

He searches hearts and minds with diligence until he knows the path.

The creation is complete. He kisses the final product. He adores his creation.

It’s time to let go.

Picking up his creation, he sets it on the perfect path.

The receivers are ready. They’ve waited a long nine months for this moment.

His creation enters the world, loved by the creator first, and most.

His creation is also loved by the receivers.

It was difficult for the creator to let go of his dreamed up, imagined, adored creation.

He has great plans for his creation. He hopes that his creation will stay on the path.

The masterpiece is you.

The creator is God.

God created every one of us this way, intricately, detailed, and exactly how he desired us to be.

He loves us more than we could imagine.

He longs to be with us.

To set us free.

I stood there, on the top of the mountain, with enormous peace.

Someone was walking toward me.  As the man walked closer and closer, I realized it was Jesus.

He asked me to give Him all of my scars.

“List them, one by one,” He said.

We sat down, they presented themselves as name tags, and I listed them…

Lonely,

Scared,

Misunderstood,

Different,

Shy,

Timid,

Weird,

Ashamed,

Empty,

Used,

Disposable, 

Replaceable,

Plain,

Homely,

Average,

Quiet,

Single. 

Jesus put his hands out and lovingly asked for all of them.

They had attached themselves to me, all over the place, as “Hello, my name is…” sticky name tags.

I plucked them off, gathered them into a pile,  and then handed them to Jesus.

He walked to the edge of the cliff and threw the pile into the air.  The name tags disappeared.  Gone.  Forever.

Walking back toward me, He was smiling.

He asked me to promise that I would never climb down that cliff in search of the scars.

Eagerly.

He told me that the ruler of this world is set to destroy me.  He told me that the scars will only hold power over me if I allow them to.  Don’t let them stick, He said.  See yourself as the beautiful creation that you were when I knit you together, and always will be to Me.

He put his hands out again, and welcomed me into His embrace.  He told me He loved me, and called me His sweet child.

As he let go, and walked away, He whispered “Live in Freedom!,” to my soul.

Deal.

I shall.

Until we meet again.

Sincerely and Eternally grateful,

Yours truly.

I have so much to say, yet I can’t find the words.

I’m experiencing new emotions.

The file folder opened, and the feelings drizzled onto my clothes.

My waxed shell won’t allow them to enter in.

I’ve plucked them off of my clothing, I’ve picked them up off of the floor, (like confetti pieces after a party), and I’ve studied them on a slide under a microscope.

Perplexed.

They don’t even have names yet!

They’re trying to change me. I can feel them tugging on me, pleading with my weaknesses. They’re telling me to give in to sadness, and enable their hindrances.

I’m being persuaded to sleep. Often.

They dance around when I do nothing. It makes them happy.

They tug at me when I think clearly, and make progress. It makes them angry.

I manage to scoop them up and quickly shove them in the jar. Lid on tight. No oxygen.

Deceitfully, I’m convinced that was wrong.

“Let them out!”

“See what they’re capable of. You’re strong enough. You can survive anything. Alone.”

Immediately, they’re on my clothes. Piercing the shield I thought was secure.

Once they’ve entered, my mind gives in.

I am numb.

Renovating my mind, they annihilate my accomplishments.

“Goal: destruction” is written on the white board at the front of the room they’ve overtaken.

Chaos. Menacing. Tornadoes.

In the midst of the twisted storm, my emotions suddenly settle. My eyes are drawn to the cause.

Lovingly, the cause speaks to the emotions that have overtaken my mind. He tells them to leave. He tells them I’m loyal. He tells them I belong. He clears them out of my mind.

The cause remains, yet is now unseen.

The emotions are gone.

My mind is clear. Focused. Driven. Wise. Strong.

I’ve conquered the emotions, with help.

I’m aware of what they look like now. I’m no longer perplexed by them.

Their deceit has been exposed.

I’ll remain hopeful that they’ll stay away, even though I know they may return.

I’ll be ready next time.

Stronger. Armed with wisdom. Free.

For some reason I’ve been drawn to watching testimonies on YouTube lately.  So, I guess you could say I’ve been inspired to share mine.  I’m a bit too much of an introvert to send a video to YouTube… but maybe someday I’ll surprise you and become a one hit wonder! Ha ha.  Just kidding.

Kinda.

It’s always so hard to start this kind of story.  A story within a story, that becomes THE story.  Right?

I grew up sleeping in on the weekends.  Most weekends.  We had neighbors in New Baltimore who had daughters the same age as my sister and I.  They invited us to church a few times, probably more. I vaguely remember visiting a place where everyone seemed to walk lighter, and wore permanent smiles.  They spoke of Jesus.  I did not know who that was.

I also heard about Jesus from my great-grandmother, through a pin that she gave me.  It was a small, rectangular shaped pin, white plastic with black lettering on it that said, “JESUS LOVES YOU.”

My five-year-old self asked my adoring great-grandma Hayes… “who is Jesus? and why does he love ME?”

Unfortunately, I don’t remember her answer.  Fortunately, I remember how she showed me who Jesus is during her lifetime.  She loved me, adored me, and delighted in me.  Her face would light up when she saw me, in a way that I never knew was humanly possible.  Probably because it wasn’t humanly possible.

I’m not sure how much I want to share regarding my life without Jesus.  That’s the tough part.  How much of my mess is worth sharing, you know?

I was searching for something, I just didn’t know what.

I knew I needed this something, I just didn’t know where I might find it?

I looked for it at school, in the acceptance of friends. I looked for it at both of my homes, from my parents, in unconditional love.  They provided it to the limit that all humans have.

I looked for it in men, in the form of adoration, captivation, comfort, and companionship.   They too, fell short, due to their limits.

I found it, when I was 22.  Glimpses of it, in new friends I met at church.  They were able to accept me for who I am.  They seemed to love me even though they just met me.  They didn’t care about where I’d been, or what I’d done.

It was then that I decided to believe God.  On my terms.

I demanded, foolishly, that this new relationship would be one-sided.  If I do what I think is necessary, he would meet me there.  If I did all the right things, he would protect me and not let anything bad happen.  If I marry this guy, because I want to, God was supposed to make sure it all worked out.  Nothing bad was supposed to happen to me, ok?

My faith was shallow. My terms were ridiculous.

My lesson: God loves me too much to work on my terms.

The person I married brought a suitcase full of skeletons from his closet.  As did I.

Our skeletons danced, and fought, and destroyed, and won.

We divorced.  I ran from the God I knew.  I made horrible choices for 10 years.  My choices were a shovel that dug a hole that was deeper than I am tall.   The hole I was standing in started to give way.

Instead of grabbing at the next relationship, hoping it would be the rope that would  pull me out, I grabbed the rope that was in that hole the whole time.  As soon as I placed my hands on it, I was out of the hole. It felt like a true miracle. No struggle. No falling back in. The hole was under my feet, filled back in. Solid.

I decided to open my heart to terms that were much less ridiculous.  For example, I was willing to obey.  I’ve learned that the rules are provided for our protection.  I knew I needed that protection!

My heart has been transformed.  Healing has taken place.  Some days it feels like the healing waters are raging, and some days they’re calm.  The waters seem to match my emotional state, day to day.

Most days, I feel peace.  Most days, I feel whole. Most days, I realize that God is all I ever need.

My goal in life is to love others. To see people the way that my great-grandma Hayes saw me – with delight in her eyes.  I know that I cannot do this on my own.  I learn this daily.

It is a process. I am a work in progress.

So, in a nutshell (the kind that the squirrels like to break open on my patio table and leave their remnants as some sort of gift to me), my “testimony” is on-going.

I’ve been broken, as we all are, and put back together.  Broken, and mended.  Broken, and healed.  You get the picture.  I hope.

The reason I am sharing this, is to give you hope.

No matter how much of a mess you’ve left on your patio table, God can put it back together.  Only, He will make it look brand new.  He will make you whole.

I hope that you take this to heart.  It is from my heart.

A gift.

For you.

Sincerely,

Annette

Have you ever hated something so much that you wanted to lock it away? You didn’t want to open the door because then it would be free?

It didn’t deserve to be free.  The lock was unbreakable.  It could not escape, in my mind.

This door that I have locked is well hidden, in my mind.

I stand in front of it with a masked identity.

The more I open up to close friends, the lighter the mask becomes.

As time goes by, the mask starts to fall off.  The elastic that used to hold it in place is now worn out. I have to hold it on with one hand.

Living life with one hand on my mask, and one hand on the steering wheel is getting difficult.  Risky.

In order to stop wearing the mask, I have to open the locked door.

I know that the memories that have fed my anger will bust through as soon as I turn the key.  They’ll fly past me too quickly.  I won’t be able to strangle them and punish them anymore.

The key is burning its impression into my clenched fist.

I’m fighting the urge to strangle the anger, or to set it free.

My mind takes me back to trauma’s beginning.  The day I locked the door…

It was cold, and scary.  We were crying, but no one cared.

We were huddled in the corner, avoiding the rage.

We found the masks in that corner.  We’ve worn them everyday since.

The rage continued for years.  Somehow, we were always protected.  It flew through the air, piercing it.  Never allowed to touch us.

We escaped one day, when we were old enough.

Hearts racing, we braced ourselves against the door.  She held it closed while I frantically entered the key into the lock, hands shaking.

The door has always remained, locked, behind us.  We thought we could carry on, leaving the memories there.  They’ve become so loud though.  They’re screaming to be set free.

I’m ready.

I opened my clenched fist.  I studied the key.  There was something inscribed on it.  Looking closer, the letters became clear, one by one.

“Let Go”

The key fit perfectly, and turned freely.

The door opened slowly, and a light shone brightly.

The room was empty.

The walls were freshly painted, white.

I stepped inside, and immediately released the pain.

The anger flew from my heart.

Forgiveness took its place.

Empathy: placing our feet in shoes that do not belong to us, so that we might know the needs of their owner.

This is a requirement where I work, providing wheelchairs and other mobility related items to people who need them.

While working, my feet have figuratively been in many shoes – shoes that couldn’t feel the feet inside of them, shoes that were worn from pacing back and forth in a hospital waiting room, tiny shoes that sat on the dresser next to an oxygen machine, and large shoes that have never stepped outside.

It’s an honor to wear these shoes. I’ve experienced such great heartfelt rewards that surpass all of the money that the world could offer.

A hero of mine, Mother Theresa, is the mother of empathy. She has provided “shoes” to countless people by loving them.

She answered the call to love her neighbor as herself, and she rose to every challenge that came with that call.

Mother Theresa, as Eric Metaxas describes in his book, “7 Women And the Secret of Their Greatness,” was an “extraordinary woman of God.”  She lived with the poor, sat with and brought health to the sick, provided shelter, education, food, and love for orphans.

She learned empathy and love by seeing her mother care for poor, the sick, and the orphaned. She said that she was able to see everyone as God saw them.

Is empathy something that can be taught? Or is it poured out, into our cups that overflow, onto those we are divinely appointed to be in touch with? I believe that both love and empathy are provided when we see people the way that Mother Theresa saw them!

Empathy & Love are best friends. They even wear the same size shoe! One is usually not found walking without the other.

Reminds me of a Father and His Son…

Confession: I don’t like hugs.

According to Gary Chapman, author of “The 5 Love Languages,” I am not the only one who dislikes hugs.

Another confession: This has negatively affected my children.

Gary Chapman explains that we all “speak love” to each other in different ways:

Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Quality Time, Acts of Service, and Gifts.

We tend to speak our love language to others, even when they do not interpret it as love.

We also try to, (and need to), receive love in the same way we speak it.

Wouldn’t it be great if babies entered the world with a little sticky note with their love language on it?  When we meet someone new, we tell them our name AND the love language we speak?

Well, here goes – my name is Annette, and my love language is Words of Affirmation.

I tell all of my kids that I love them, everyday.  I go on and on about how great they are, and how much I believe in them, and that I support them.  None of them speak this language.  One even tells me to stop, and gives me an eye roll!

Two of them hear me speak with hugs, one with gifts, and the other with quality time.

This is one of the most difficult lessons I’ve learned, and hopefully not too late.

Thankfully, I’m eager and determined to learn a few new languages. Quickly!

I had a conversation with a friend today.  We were sharing our hearts with each other, in a very raw/real, genuine way.

She asked me a question that I just recently learned the answer to…

“Why do I feel like I have everything I need, yet I am still missing something?”

I searched, and found, the answer to this question…

I explained to my friend that we are all trying to complete ourselves.  We think that a relationship will complete us, or children, or a better job, or a new house.  We achieve or receive these things, yet we still feel empty.

I found the answer when I was in the pit, the one I created when I was lost…

… We were created with that longing.

We will not feel complete until we surrender to it.

“It” is God.

I’ve heard this idea explained this way – we all have a “God-shaped void” in our soul.  Nothing else will fit.

Just as toddlers try over and over to fit the triangle shape into the only spot the circle will fit, we attempt to fill the void with the things we think will fit. (relationships, children, a better job, a new house, etc.)

We are a two-piece puzzle.  The only other piece that completes us is the One who created the puzzle.

A piece of my heart left on Monday.  It leapt right out of my chest, and tagged along with him, when I hugged him.

It was a loud hug.  It screamed silently, for strength.

I wanted to stop time, and rewind.  I wanted to replay the last 18 years right at that moment.

In.

Slow.

Motion.

I could see where we’ve been, but I couldn’t see where he was going.  That is what scares me the most.

His whole life, I’ve known and warned him about the potential dangers that lurked around every corner.

This corner is one I’ve never seen beyond.

I know I have to trust, seek peace, and try not to worry.

I know I need to rely on God, friends, family, fellow Army moms, and anyone else who offers encouragement along the way.

With anything that is new, navigating through the unknown is the hardest part.

Life keeps moving, even though I need it to pause.  My heart keeps beating even though a piece of it is in Georgia.

I know that peace will come.  It already has, in small doses.

I know that strength is at the ready.  I just have to cling to, and trust, the only One who can truly provide it.

Trust.

When I trust, I am strong.

Acquired: Strength