Archives for posts with tag: my story

I was fresh at university, nineteen years old, when I had to get a surgery. It’s a weird surgery my mom is convinced is for those who hang out on their computers too long, called a Ganglionectomy. Basically they removed a cyst from my wrist that was making my fingers move on their own in a painful kind of way. Anyhow, not the point.

So I had this surgery, and then, everything sucked.

At the same time of this surgery, I was dating this guy I’d say was my first real boyfriend. He was obviously handsome, and hilarious. But I had this surgery and after puking up all the anesthetic, I got a call from him on my navy blue Nokia cell phone.

“I can’t see you anymore. You’re marriage material and I can’t do that right now,” he said. Read the rest of this entry »

Oftentimes I look at my life as though it were a storybook. Those who know me, know this well. What you may not know, is just how often I look at your life, and think of it as a storybook as well. At first, that might sound terrifying. Perhaps it should sound scary, but maybe, just maybe your life looks a whole lot better than you give yourself credit for. Read the rest of this entry »

“I would sit in the back of those cars. Whether with my cousins while our fathers went into little town pubs to drink for hours, or it were those Baseball Scouts to do the same- me staring at my worn, sweat and blood stained glove, all those men staring at that booze. I sat there with a glove or cousins, but while they would go and drink, I couldn’t help this weighted feeling; I were really all alone.” She hap hazardously slinks back into that chair and gulps in air trying not to cry. She’s got worn out eyes full of love, four kids, and a tiny frame though she’d tell you she’s built stronger than she shows. She is Fifty-Eight years old, Beautiful as time, and my mother. This, is Karen.

“I could run faster than anything. They’d say to trick the other side and run to shortstop, but I wouldn’t care to stop. I’d make it a homerun every run. I was a good ball player and they knew it. By the time I was fourteen, those scouts had licked their lips at my talent, and came running without respect and full of greed or lust of the game. I’d try my hardest for them, I really did.” She’s nearly staring directly at the sun, and I see she’s nothing but confidence; Baseball was always her game. That slinking begins again and she looks dead at my soul, “But you know Dee, they weren’t nice. They were so mean. They’d work me hard all day long, and Jesus never meant for it that way. Children are meant to laugh, and to love in the game. I’d leave that red dirt diamond without breath and blisters pulsing the palms of my hands. To sit in the back of old cars while they’d go in and drink. I wasn’t built for that, and it’d take me five years being scouted for the big leagues before I’d really know it.” I sit there and watch her as she seemingly floats through time. She had always been the wild one, searching for fun in every corner of life. But she was also the peacekeeper, learning quickly to become a human mat rather than compassionate woman God had created her to be.

See her Mama Joyce was better than gold, her Grandmother Ethel worth more than diamonds, and Uncle Harold the best protector a young girl could ask for. They’d spend their time with her, love her, and seek her out to show her how special she was. Though it wasn’t much time, she would always know those three were on her side. Of course she knew her brothers and father loved her, but it was these three who grew her foundation in love. But she’d always look to please everyone more; a game you can’t handle or control. When her Mama got too busy managing the farm or the other four kids, Karen would be left in her little tomboy body to find her own thing to do. And so she’d spend as much time as she could with her uncle, her grandma or those wild quarter horses.

Karen loved a good adventure from birth I’m sure; wind in her lashes and dirt underneath her toes. With a wide open sky and farm fields like oceans long, Karen could find fun in her own little world. But a wide open world would come crashing to the ground when her grandma died of heart stroke and then her uncle of heart attack. Like that they were gone, and no amount of pleasing people would them back.

“And when you’re in grade five, you don’t realize what is happening. I didn’t realize what was happening to me. It was as though without consent, my body stopped eating and I’d found some kind of resolve where there was none. I couldn’t control the death of my grandma or uncle, and I couldn’t talk with anyone about it. I’d gone to Sunday School class but why would a loving God take two of the very few people who mattered to me? I didn’t know how to cope, and my inability to heal from it turned into anorexia. And no, nobody would ever know. Mom was pretty busy which I don’t hold against her, and the only other two people that mattered most were gone. At such a young age I’d come to terms with the lie that I would need to manage alone.” And alone she’d wander through school. Sure she’d hang with the boys to play ball or stick up for her sister when she was being bullied, but again she’d find herself alone, wandering and so uncertain of life and its purpose with her.

By the time Karen was out of high school and into nursing, she’d finally give up baseball. “Those scouts were relentless and killing my love for the game, I just knew it was time to get out,” she said. We sip on Starbucks and I take some time to thank her.

I’d never spent time like this with my mom, just hearing about her. She was always so consumed being the best mom she could be, we never sat down just like this.  I take another sip and she presses forward to the part I’m most afraid to share. It’s like recalling the worst nightmare you’d ever dreamed. But she says if it could point anyone to understand that while the church often sucks at representing Christ, the all-loving, redemptive power of Christ remains the same. “ People could never change or taint the character of Christ in my eyes, regardless of what people do. Christ came to love not the healthy, but the sick, and I was pretty sick,” she says. “He came to love us while the world remains in sickness… from the choices people make even against me, he came to set me free.” She places her weathered hands on one of her millions of worn out bibles and looks passed me, tears seeping through her peace-filled grin and all.  “So I’m going to set aside fear of opinion and humble myself to the hope of Christ for all. I’m going to share my story Dee.”

But I get ahead of myself; nursing school isn’t anywhere near her finding true faith in Christ…

And so, we move to the attempted murder. {And I take a second to remember to breathe}. Stay tuned for part two of This is Karen.

 

Here’s the thing about story; they’re going to need to be real. Once you’re ready not to dramatize your life but rather put Christ on display through your life, write me a little story. Let’s celebrate what Christ has done for you. Click here to start.