A grateful heart is quick to give you perspective, mindfulness of blessings received, and a faraway view of what you don't have.
My lot from God viewed from a place far from God is bitter, sad, lonely, hopeless, and useless. Unfortunately, I am sad to inform, this is where I have been living: away from God feeling sorry for my lot.
I wish I could write a more positive post. I wonder if I am in the wrong to share these hard and broken feelings. I am waiting to write something inspirational, and because I have nothing inspirational to write, I've written nothing.
I cry most days and no one knows or sees me.
I feel I can't share that anymore because you're tired of feeling sorry for me.
I don't blame you. I would too.
I am currently hating my hair. It's in a stage where it is too short to style and long enough to stand up and look bulky. I am struggling not to shave it all off because I felt and looked better that way than with the hot mess I have now. One of the things I miss the most of my bald head is that it was my clear "she has cancer" sign. At the time, it was the thing I hated the most. People would stare and immediately know I had cancer. It made me different and I hated it. Now, I miss it. (I will tell you right now that I don't understand many of the things I am feeling and I am aware of how crazy they sound, so bare with me.) Now people in the street look at me and are not filled with sympathy for my ordeal; they are filled with pity for the regrettable encounter I must have had with my hair stylist.
I miss people being able to see my hard through my bald head. Now, I look like a normal person on the outside, if you consider having no breasts normal. I can be viewed as flat-chested I suppose.
I am far away from normal, but I don't look it anymore.
My husband has a hard time remembering. He sees me and still thinks of me and treats me like my old self. He expects me to be able to do the same things. He expects me to have the same mind.
I warn him over and over not to trust me. "Don't trust me to remember to do 'x'. Don't trust me to know how to do 'x'. Don't trust me to have the strength to do 'x'." Me not being able to do everything I put my mind to is uncharted waters for my husband. When he is feeling neglected because it's been a week since the last time I served him dinner and I have been leaving the girls alone with him to go lay down, I have to remind him I'm too broken by the time he comes home. Sometimes, I am broken from the moment I wake up, and I have to pretend I can do this thing called living. Sometimes, I feel dying would be easier. Some days, I feel nothing at all. Nothing! Just a numbness I carry quietly and alone.
And then I came across this quote:
“If your life is broken when given to Jesus, it may be because pieces will feed a multitude, when a loaf would satisfy only a little lad.”
The person who shared it on Facebook said it was an Elisabeth Elliot quote. I googled it and it wasn't. She wrote a newsletter reminiscing the quote from a chapel leader in her college. Here are a few portions of the letter that hit me hard.
"The portion assigned to me each day is precisely measured by God, not only for my good (although it may appear quite the contrary) but also—let me not forget—for the good of all the others whose portions He is allotting. My cup may have a bitter taste. Shall I suppose, then, that my Father either has had nothing to do with choosing my portion, or that He is not dealing with me in mercy and grace? Such thoughts are from our ancient foe who seeks to work us woe! It is the Lover of Souls who hands me the cup of suffering, giving me the priceless privilege of learning a fellowship with Him which can be learned in no other way."
I need to do a better job at living with purpose.
I can't keep viewing my lot as random.
Elisabeth wrote: "No matter how monstrous an evil may have been perpetrated against us, both by intention and act (think of Joseph’s brothers’ treatment of him!); it is mysteriously transformable into great good by Him who is Lord of the Universe and my Redeemer. It took Joseph’s suffering to accomplish God’s will for Israel. The sufferer himself became the redeemer for his father and his hateful brothers. They meant it for evil. God meant it for good."
I am moving to Panama city April 16, 2017.
The move has given me mixed emotions, has contributed to my numbness feelings, and has made me feel my life is on hold. We have no idea what our life there will look like, no idea what we will do to earn a living, how I will care for a house, homeschooling, and my freelancing job. We have no idea of anything but the wonderful fact that we will live next door to my mom and sister.
I pray that God can use us there, strengthen our faith, give us community, ignite in us purpose and spiritual awakening, and bring us closer to Him.
I pray He can use my lot the way He did Joseph's, that He may use me in my current state even if I am not inspirational. I ask these truths can permeate my soul and make me say:
"Whatever my lot You have taught me to say 'It is well with my soul'."
My lot from God viewed from a place far from God is bitter, sad, lonely, hopeless, and useless. Unfortunately, I am sad to inform, this is where I have been living: away from God feeling sorry for my lot.
I wish I could write a more positive post. I wonder if I am in the wrong to share these hard and broken feelings. I am waiting to write something inspirational, and because I have nothing inspirational to write, I've written nothing.
I cry most days and no one knows or sees me.
I feel I can't share that anymore because you're tired of feeling sorry for me.
I don't blame you. I would too.
I am currently hating my hair. It's in a stage where it is too short to style and long enough to stand up and look bulky. I am struggling not to shave it all off because I felt and looked better that way than with the hot mess I have now. One of the things I miss the most of my bald head is that it was my clear "she has cancer" sign. At the time, it was the thing I hated the most. People would stare and immediately know I had cancer. It made me different and I hated it. Now, I miss it. (I will tell you right now that I don't understand many of the things I am feeling and I am aware of how crazy they sound, so bare with me.) Now people in the street look at me and are not filled with sympathy for my ordeal; they are filled with pity for the regrettable encounter I must have had with my hair stylist.
 |
| This is what I think people think happened when they see my hair. |
I miss people being able to see my hard through my bald head. Now, I look like a normal person on the outside, if you consider having no breasts normal. I can be viewed as flat-chested I suppose.
I am far away from normal, but I don't look it anymore.
My husband has a hard time remembering. He sees me and still thinks of me and treats me like my old self. He expects me to be able to do the same things. He expects me to have the same mind.
I warn him over and over not to trust me. "Don't trust me to remember to do 'x'. Don't trust me to know how to do 'x'. Don't trust me to have the strength to do 'x'." Me not being able to do everything I put my mind to is uncharted waters for my husband. When he is feeling neglected because it's been a week since the last time I served him dinner and I have been leaving the girls alone with him to go lay down, I have to remind him I'm too broken by the time he comes home. Sometimes, I am broken from the moment I wake up, and I have to pretend I can do this thing called living. Sometimes, I feel dying would be easier. Some days, I feel nothing at all. Nothing! Just a numbness I carry quietly and alone.
And then I came across this quote:
“If your life is broken when given to Jesus, it may be because pieces will feed a multitude, when a loaf would satisfy only a little lad.”
The person who shared it on Facebook said it was an Elisabeth Elliot quote. I googled it and it wasn't. She wrote a newsletter reminiscing the quote from a chapel leader in her college. Here are a few portions of the letter that hit me hard.
"The portion assigned to me each day is precisely measured by God, not only for my good (although it may appear quite the contrary) but also—let me not forget—for the good of all the others whose portions He is allotting. My cup may have a bitter taste. Shall I suppose, then, that my Father either has had nothing to do with choosing my portion, or that He is not dealing with me in mercy and grace? Such thoughts are from our ancient foe who seeks to work us woe! It is the Lover of Souls who hands me the cup of suffering, giving me the priceless privilege of learning a fellowship with Him which can be learned in no other way."
I need to do a better job at living with purpose.
I can't keep viewing my lot as random.
Elisabeth wrote: "No matter how monstrous an evil may have been perpetrated against us, both by intention and act (think of Joseph’s brothers’ treatment of him!); it is mysteriously transformable into great good by Him who is Lord of the Universe and my Redeemer. It took Joseph’s suffering to accomplish God’s will for Israel. The sufferer himself became the redeemer for his father and his hateful brothers. They meant it for evil. God meant it for good."
I am moving to Panama city April 16, 2017.
The move has given me mixed emotions, has contributed to my numbness feelings, and has made me feel my life is on hold. We have no idea what our life there will look like, no idea what we will do to earn a living, how I will care for a house, homeschooling, and my freelancing job. We have no idea of anything but the wonderful fact that we will live next door to my mom and sister.
I pray that God can use us there, strengthen our faith, give us community, ignite in us purpose and spiritual awakening, and bring us closer to Him.
I pray He can use my lot the way He did Joseph's, that He may use me in my current state even if I am not inspirational. I ask these truths can permeate my soul and make me say:
"Whatever my lot You have taught me to say 'It is well with my soul'."
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