I M Perfect lady

Author: bjukuri

  • Play

    Weather that fluctuates between winter and spring, gave me some great insights in how we interact with the weather.  Weather arrives and we then get to decide our response.

    Warmer temps, melting snow and bare roads means biking!  

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    Too cold and windy for skiing….means, get your snowshoes on.

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    When the winds die down a bit and the temperature remains cold, take your skis and find a trail!  Bringing a friend along is a bonus!

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    The beauty on the trials is breath taking – nature showing off.

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    We had the moon in front of us and the sun behind.  Crisp fast tracks!  It was cold but invigorating in its sharpness!

    In early winter when our daylight hours are short, we take headlamps and head out!

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    The night time trails are enchanting.  The quietness surrounds us.

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    So, here is my take away.

    The more active you are the more you love the changing weather!  And, the more accepting you are with all its expressions.

    Weather is the leader and we follow its lead.

    What a great remind of how reality wins; but 100% of the time.

    In my old inactive days, I would want the weather to change and not be this way or that way.  I would argue with it always, somehow believing, IF I spunked long enough, it would change and be what I wanted it to be.

    There is some magic in accepting the weather each morning, just as it is.

    And, then deciding how you can play with it that day.

    Life isn't about what happens.

    It is all about how we respond.

    True empowerment is following the lead of reality.

    Being with What Is.

    No matter how it appears.

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    Each day we are asked to play!

  • Refuse to Accept

    Yesterday the act of refusing stuck with me.  How rarely it is actually used, especially by women. We tend to be the peace makers, the fixers, the pleasers and so we shy away from refusals in any form.

    At least this was the kind of woman I was.  

    I was actually queen of keeping calm waters.

    I know that I have almost PTSD moments when refusals are present. 

    The old habit of mine squirms uncomfortably as I resist being the peace keeper.

    It is hard to watch someone refuse.

    For, you know conflict is coming.

    Each person is trying to be heard.

    In the past, one of my bad relationship habits was silence. I would brood and give the cold shoulder.  This I believe was due to not knowing how to express myself.

    Not only express, but to stand by who I was.

    It is hard to be in a conflict when you are in conflict of who you are.

    I was a chameleon for so many years.  I would go the way of peace keeping.

    Whatever made the relationship flow better, that was the position I took.

    When I didn't have the tools for standing up for me, I grew silent.  

    Stormy silent.

    I would get mad at the other person, instead of expressing what was inside of me.

    Now, I am much better at conflict, and getting real good at refusals.

    I believe you have to have a firm image of who you are, OR who you are seeking to become, in order to stand opposed.

    What I didn't realize until yesterday, that this ability to stand against, to refuse and oppose, is not in everyone's tool box. That it is a bold move and one that looks courageous from the outside.  

     

    It takes knowing who you are, and even more importantly, who you are not!

    Refusing is the opposite of being a people pleaser and a pretend peace keeper. Cause if you are doing something just for the peace of it, more than likely it isn't what you truly would love to do.

    I also thought, that it will rarely be the ones in power to refuse inequality or unfairness.  What tips the scales of justice are the victims refusing to be a victim any longer.

    The powerless find their own inner power and refuse!

    This is a beautiful thing for me to watch happen.  I love this.  This is were my passion is.

    The reason I love my quilts that show my inner evolution is how I grew by refusing.

    Refusing to get back in line and to be silent.

    For in that silence, lays a soul unexpressed.

    My speaking out and being very open about abuse, is my refusal to be less than who I was born to be.

    Refusing is positive, when it used to stand by your truth.

    I refused to pretend.

    I refused to overlook.

    I refused to not embrace all of me.

    By refusing to neglect the darkest part of me, I was able to accept and love me as I am.

    There is no part of me and life that I refuse to accept.

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    Here is a quote I read at the Gala where I gave the keynote…

    "The people who have lost their parents and families due to abuse deserve the utmost respect and support. These people have risked it all to heal and stand up for the truth. These people are heroes and angels who hold a horrific reality for everyone else. They have suffered and escaped, and for that, I bow my head in reverence." Rythea Lee

  • Celebrate by Refusing!

    Today is "International Women's Day" and one of their themes is "Be Bold For Change".

    I looked up the word Bold, to see what its expectations are.

    "(of a person, action, or idea) showing an ability to take risks; confident and courageous."

    Being bold means taking risks and being confident enough to start out.

    I don't believe you have to have the whole route planned; but you do have to know what you want to change.

    Change can be small.  

    And, we each are defined by what is bold for us.

    My bold may not be bold enough for someone else OR too bold and too risky for others.

    I didn't start out where I am today. 

    My first step was shaky and timid; but with great resolution.

    I knew what I wanted, and hoped to accomplish.

    My inspiration was to do differently than the women who, I believe, failed me.

    I was going to be the change I wanted to see in the world.

    Which meant, I had to take risks and be bold.

    I wasn't confident, but I was courageous…just to take the first steps.

    I had to be willing to enter into conversations and confrontations without a known exit.

    Nothing was off limits.

    All was to be examined and faced, as well as accepted.

    I had to be the woman I thought my mother was.

    Morals and values with the fierce determination to up hold them, no matter what or who I had to walk away from.

    I signed up to be for bold change against violence.

    Here are the categories beneath it.

    educate youth about positive relationships
    challenge those who justify perpetrators and blame victims
    donate to groups fighting abuse
    speak out against the silence of violence
    be vigilant and report violence
    campaign for the prevention of violence
    abstain from all violence, physical and otherwise
    volunteer your help at a local charity
    recognize coercive control and redress it

    I have been doing most of this.  

    The second line, "Challenging those who justify perpetrators" may mean family, friends, colleagues. 

    It means taking a risk and speaking out.  It could mean losing a relationship as you challenge someone.

    Typically, it will not be standing face to face with perpetrators but, rather questioning those who stand with them.  These perpetrators do not act alone. They always have a defensive core around them.  Who are you standing with?

    Being Bold For Change, means being an active risk taker.

    I listened to Rob Bell speak of The Third Way

     

    What I got from this, is that there is another way, besides turning the other cheek in passivity or retaliating with an eye for an eye.

    I see the third way for me, was to step out of abusive relationships. Instead of me being the one to suffer the consequences of their dysfunctional or codependent behaviors, I was the one to take my power back.

    He made reference to Roza Parks.  How her refusal to be part of something, was her third way.  I agree.

    I have been refusing to be part of the abuse cycle that has gone on for generations in my family of origin. I am the Roza Parks.  I refused, and be damned the consequences.

    I did draw a line in the cement.

    I am unmovable.

    That is what I believe we need, to end the longevity of abuse.  Someone has to stop it.

    Refuse to be part of it…willingly or unwillingly.  It has to end with you.

    Take the risk and just refuse.

    The energy and momentum that happened when I stopped giving my energies to the cycle of abuse, is quite remarkable. 

    My inner changes, explorations, self-empowerment, and self-worth rose with each refusal.

    You first have to know what you refuse to do.

    It isn't often what you support, but rather what you will no longer stand for. 

    And, in my case, my inner self was so weakened by years of denial, I didn't have an ounce more to give to the cause of dysfunction.

    And, yet there seemed to be an untapped source of boldness towards not letting the abuse by my father define me.  As well as an unlimited supply of courage to stand by victims and myself.  

    Standing up for myself in front of my mother was my greatest achievement…in refusing to agree as she justified her actions.

    Again, abusers are someone we know 95% of the time. 

    Will you be bold enough to challenge your relationships?

    When was the last time you refused to participate by disagreeing?

    Being Bold for Change is a way to celebrate International Women's Day.

    Refuse!

    I looked up the definition of Refuse.

    "Indicate or show that one is not willing to do something.  Indicate that one is not willing to accept or grant."

    What we fail to appreciate, is that we agree by not refusing!

    Refusing, is where new energy flows.

    I refuse what does not empower!

    That's being badass!

    Refusing is an empowering action!

    Women rise by refusing to agree with what insults their souls!

    Happy International Women's Day – I celebrate by refusing!

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  • Until you are Perfect!

    Here is what I noticed, it doesn't take perfection and you will still be successful.

    We all want to wait until.

    I am not sure who we expect will bring Until to us, but we do have this idea about so many things.

    I can't ski until I am thinner, fitter, have the right outfit, am not scared of the hills, will be assured I won't fall, its warmer, colder, I have a friend, etc.

    I am here to tell you that I am the most imperfect perfect skier!

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    I don't fit the image of many skiers. Sleek, fit and fast with graceful agility to navigate the trails like the wind.

    I call myself a badass for falling at the end of the hill to stop.  I made it, and am proud to have done so.

    I am larger than most…and yet my largeness does not stop my legs from skiing!

    I am weaker than most, but gaining strength each time I head out.

    I am more timid and worried about the next hill; but I am brave enough to face it.

    I love that I don't fit the image of a skier, but skiing is what I do.

    I find the same on the bike. 

    I believe, that I am the one who will cancel out your excuses.

    I am older, with arthritic joints, heavy, and on the spectrum of getting into shape.

    I started out from the couch. Literally.

    Okay, I did have the past practice of yoga that had kept my body limber and somewhat strong.  But, I had lost a lot of my ability or maybe endurance, for outdoor movement. And, I had very limited confidence in being able to navigate hiking trails, hills on the bike as well as big miles, and then cross country skiing with hills etc.

    It was as if I was doing it again for the first time, but this time with a challenging body.

    Weight, age and body ailments were just a few of my hurdles.  My comfortable seeking mind, wasn't often eager to try and regain my youthful movements.

    So I started with and pretty much still maintain a body that appears very non-athletic.

    I feel I am the poster child (Lady) for the out of shape – yet I moving around like a fit person.

    The oddity on the trail!

    I love that I am the imperfectly perfect skier, snowshoer, biker and hiker.  And, I hope that my daring to step into a realm that is usually only for the fit, will encourage other imperfectly perfect ladies to join me!

    It is not about perfection.  My body moves just like theirs.

    What I even love more, is that I am okay with me. That it doesn't bother me at all, how I look as I am enjoying moving in nature. I feel that I have the freedom of the old, before I am really old!

    And, sometimes it makes me giggle. The images of how I must look when I on my back, skis in the air as I try and to get my skis off so I can get up. And, all I am really concerned about is getting back on my feet and back skiing.  How I move like an old lady, while feeling young at heart!

    I truly hope I inspire others whose minds have them waiting for Until. To let that go and just do it.

    Let's fill the trails with our perfectly imperfect bodies! It feels badass to go against the norms, to dare and not fit in.

    It truly is a shame, we believe the ideas of Until.  That it stops us from enjoying life to its fullest.  

    The more successful I am at each new outdoor sport, the less I notice my body and the more I concentrate on learning a new skill.  And, with each new skill comes a rise in my esteem!

    I hope that I will begin to see more and more imperfectly perfect ladies (and guys) out enjoying the trails. The trails don't care.  And nature surely doesn't.  

    Let's not wait until.

    For I am sure, that we die waiting for until. That life and adventure are with those who don't care!

    I wish I could share what it feels like to not care, oh the freedom it brings.  And, it allows you to enjoy the scenery and breathe the fresh air.

    We each get to represent a certain person and be that on the trail.

    It will encourage others to just be themselves and have fun!

    It is so much less stressful being the imperfect one!  Everything goes and there are no rules! What is not to love?

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    What happened one day on the trail, was I thought I am 'good enough' to be here. 

    So, what had to have been a previous thought, is that I wasn't good enough, fit enough, or athletic enough.  That I would have not fit in.

    Now, I feel like I belong on the trail. That I am allowed to be there. I am accepted.

    When, actually I have accepted myself exactly as I am. And, in doing so I fit in everywhere. It never was the expectations of others or whether the trail fit me.  It was all about how I saw myself, and where I was good enough to be.

    While I thought it took strength to be active, I am thinking it takes self-acceptance and love, equally.  You have to believe you are worthy of joy, play and new adventures!

    My heart is happy and filled with love, peace and joy – so there is no where I don't fit!

    If I had a wish, it would be that all could feel the freedom of self-acceptance. 

    That is so deep, you see the trail, the skis and and feel the experience, before even one thought enters about how you look.

    And, when you think of you you smile…loving your imperfect perfect self!

    The greatest tragedy is to wait until you are perfect!

     

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    (This quilt should be titled – "Hairpin"!)

     

  • I will Dare!

    Dare is my word for the year.  I wanted to dare myself to expand my life.  Being brave instead of being safe or maybe comfortable is a better word.  Fear seems to be the starting point to brave, and then I have to dare to begin.

    I looked up the definition.

    Dare – "Have the courage to do something. Defy or challenge someone to do something."

    "To have enough courage or confidence to do something: To not be too afraid to do something. To do something that is difficult that people are usually afraid to do."

    Having the courage to DO something, is often where life gets stalled.  Where it is easier to stay on the same trail, going around and around, instead of seeing what happens when you do the Hairpin Trail.

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    My biggest fear, was falling.

    Being out of control.

    Getting hurt.

    My body isn't comfortable with steep hills and that have sharp turns at the bottom, or the aptly named trail – Hairpin.

    I walked down the first hill, so I could see what was beyond it, and then put my skis back on.

    It was fast, very fast.  I was in the groomed tracks. I was in fear and going fast.  Not knowing how this ride would end. Could I stay in the tracks going so fast.  Or more could I stay on my feet!

    You are very present when in fear. There isn't time for future worries or past reflections. You are there.  Speeding down with the hair being blown back, eyes watering, skis singing as they speed over the snow!  Oh, and in my case, poles frantically dragging, trying to slow me down.

    As I approached the bottom, with the hairpin in my sights, I saw in an instant that the tracks disappeared into a banked curve of just snow.  I literally dropped to a squat and fell. I was done.  I was at the bottom! I wasn't injured…I had dared!

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    I dared to put myself outside of my comfort zone, and skill set. 

    I am not sure the hairpin will ever be part of my usual ski, but it taught me that I can do that which I feared.

    We then had to climb back up.  Uphills are as trying for me as down, and I have fallen more going up, than down.  With a bit of fear in me, we ascended. I made it with zero falls.

    The purposeful fall, is my way of controlling myself.  Perhaps bringing back control when out of control.  I bet we can purposefully Fall, when life gets out of hand. 

    When you add daring to your life, you bring in excitement and a new level of achievement, self-growth and esteem. You move yourself ahead into new territory.

    The long glides of no hills or very gentle hills are my favorite part of skiing, the meditative slow pace.  

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    But, my blood and person comes alive on the hairpin turns!

    I also believe that we mistakenly call being comfortable the goal in life. That we succeed where our lives are routine and assured.

    However, if we do not dare, our lives will become bland.

    I am sure at some point, our bodies will not allow much daring to go on; but while I can, I will Dare!

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  • Cage of Silence

    Silence is the least effectual response to sexual abuse, and yet the most widely used.  

    Silence keeps your world operating as if nothing happened.  Silence sits with fear and terror.  Threats, and just the natural ugliness of abuse, demands silence.

    Silence.

    No words.

    Truth sits with no sound.

    Which reminded me of this:

    "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" is a philosophical thought experiment that raises questions regarding observation and knowledge of reality."

    I wonder if most need to hear the sounds, in order to acknowledge the reality of sexual abuse?  That unless the accounts are spoken, IT didn't happen. 

    However, EVEN when someone speaks out, there is still doubts.  It is like telling about the sounds of trees falling, when they never have seen one with their own eyes.

    Do we literally have to witness abuse in order to accept it in reality?

    We use silence as the proof of incest and sexual abuse not existing.

    The silent children (adult children too) within the church are inadvertently painting the picture of purity; while being deeply wounded from abuse.

    Silence of abuse equates to no abuse.

    Without a verbal account, we tend not to believe.

    And even after a verbal account, most will not change their image of the abuser, to sexual predator.

    Those who break the silence have the job of convincing others that their abuser is a predator, and say not just a dad, or a church going man, a preacher, a uncle, a grandfather, a brother, christian neighbor, a family friend.

    95% of abusers are known to the family, and 50% are family.

    Breaking the silence, is to break the image our family holds about someone.  

    And, who will listen and believe such perverse familial abnormal behavior coming from those we know?

    And, further still, what if those who are listening are wounded too…and you breaking the silence, will open their own wounds.  Who wants to sit in the deep family legacy of abuse.

    Who wants to sort through all their relationships to see their contents, it is easier to shut the door on your voice.  To holler and demean you, shame and degrade, to shut you out, than to welcome decades worth of filth.

    Who really wants to know their family and love is laced with abuse. That the undercurrents and silent rage that is bottled up inside of them, has your truth.  

    Their silence is threatened by your speaking out.

    Their truth wobbles when another victim finds their voice.

    I am turned away from, steered clear of, and kept at a distance, and space is sought from me. It isn't because of MY story.  It is because they do not want truth to seep into their worlds.

    Silence keeps truth at bay.  

    Or, so they think.

    Silently more and more children are getting abused.

    Predators need your silence.

    Children look upon your silent face and believe, they are wrong.

    That grandpa or daddy isn't the monster they see.

    Your silent face speaks of their innocence.

    Surely an adult would break the silence of abuse.

    Especially one in the First Apostolic Lutheran Church.

    Who knows it is taboo for there to be sex before marriage, outside of marriage and with children.

    A woman who sits in church and speaks against all the sins of the world, surely would also keep a predator away from her family.

    A child watches your silence.

    And believes he is wrong.

    She feels wrong.

    Her fear is unjustified.

    Her terror a mixed up wire in her body.

    She is wrong.

    Your silence is God's Peace.

    Until.

    A small young girl sees what you see and breaks the silence.

    She says, Grandpa touched me.

    Your father is now confirmed as the monster you felt.

    Silence is an option.

    To stand with the little girl and speak out…or to be silent.

    I went with the little girl and the fear in my body.

    Into the unknown, but known.

    Towards the unpopular vote of naming the monster in our midst.  

    Breaking not only my silence; but all ties with those who stood by him; no matter their reason.

    Silence matters.

    Silence is powerful.

    Silence is what kept my father abusing for over 40 years.

    Or worse, knowing and doing nothing.

    Nothing that would stop abuse.

    Most will offer to me, that abuse is everywhere. Like you can't really find a relationship or church that will not have abuse within it.  May as well stay in a family of abusers, cause otherwise you will all alone.

    So far, I am not alone.

    Breaking the silence was an act of a little girl.  I just supported her words. I followed my body and its truth.

    She is my forever hero.She set me free, and broke my cage of silence.

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  • Be the Final Word

    When speaking out about abuse within the community of the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, I had intuitively knew it wasn't going to be welcome.  But over the past 13 years, it does continually surprise me, how quick they reach the state of unbelief, or how fast they are to minimize the volume of abuse in their presence. They want me to be the odd man out, the special exception; and certainly not the norm.

    Their need to isolate and condemn my family as being rare and abnormal among their whole healthy families is quite remarkable, when you look at how similarly we were raised and schooled in faith.

    I fit in, until I exposed the rotted underbelly of a strict religion.

    I also get being blind to abuse.

    It is hard for me to recollect my blindness, not seeing evil, and believing in the concept of the church and automatically giving credence that was unearned, due to being a member.

    I had heard yesterday, that religions are identities.

    Most identify themselves by their faiths.

    I am a christian, I am a muslim, I am a catholic etc.

    So, when I am telling them, that there is abuse among the members, it is as if I am accusing them. Personally.

    Having religion be your main identifier now seems odd to me.

    However, coming from the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, there was no Me. I was comprised of what is right and what is wrong in the church.  I was me as the church.

    I was better when I followed its teachings and Less when I didn't.

    I didn't own my hair, my reproductive organs, or my finger nails.

    I was directed in how I would navigate the world.

    So, when you take a person who is moved by the church, and I then attack what moves them, they will most certainly feel it personally.

    There is very little of their worlds that is not directed by the church. 

    Their whole being has been molded by the church.

    I again, know this by what was left to me, when I no longer believed in the religion I was constructed by.

    Very little of my life was untouched by the church.

    So, when I am stating that there is a staggering amount of abuse within, they are not wanting to know. They literally won't survive if the church falls.

    The goodness of the church is a must.  

    They have built a life upon it and are going to die in peace because of it.

    By reducing my family to a cancerous cell, they save themselves by saving the church.

    These staunch defenders, and unbelievers that abuse lives among them, will be the death of the spirit of the church.  Its insidious incest are rotting the core as they again sing praises towards heaven.

    There is nothing I can say or do that will open their eyes.  It will sadly, have to be personal. 

    What victims who were raised in this church know to be true, is that this unshakeable faith in the rightness of the church and its cleanliness is that our words about abuse will be doubted.

    This doubting, will be what drives us away.

    For that doubt about us, IS a confirmation that our abusers are not abusers.

    It costs them nothing to condemn my father.  It cost them everything IF this is pervasive as I believe it is.

    What is so unique about incest and religious abuse, is that it happens; but just not in My Family.

    They can see the sin of other; but not the sin that is in their own life, if you will.

    Perhaps their wanting to see what isn't there, is easier to see, than what is.

    When you are raised in abuse, how can you know abuse?

    It is the norm and not rare and abnormal.

    What was normal for me, was to not be connected to my body.  I lived, as someone said, about six feet behind it. 

    My normal was to not have a voice or a choice.

    My normal was to give control over to other.

    My normal was to disown my body.

    My normal was to not love me, enough for boundaries.

    My normal was to not say no.

    My normal was to put others first; always.

    My normal was that I was not present in my life. I, by myself had no discerning thoughts.

    I have finally become the rare and abnormal person in the church.

    I am now completely one with my body and emotions, and have the freedom to move and I am no longer under the churches control. I am not a cancerous cell; but a healthy one.

    Albeit scarred from 46 years I lived as a member of the First Apostolic Lutheran Church.

    The church did with my body, mind and soul as it needed to for its agenda. 

    I made the church by giving up my free will.

    I understand more than the Unbelievers and Defenders ever realize.

    I know that in order to hear me, their whole self will begin to shake and crumble. For, they were raised like me – a composition of what a christian aught to be.

    Do you know that I literally shook and had uncontrollable shakes when I first heard and knew that my father was a pedophile.  My whole world was falling apart. My family fell first and then my religion.

    The voice that will unravel your world most likely will not be me; but someone within your family.  A voice of truth; that will set you free.

    I used to see the church and family as a persona, separated from the individuals that made it.  It had value unearned. Now family is what each member brings to it. We are only as strong as our weakest member.

    You can place your value of the church on what you believe is not there; but what is there will be the final word.

    "When the bird and book disagree, always believe the bird." James Audubon

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  • Fragments of Similarity

    What is always curious to me, is when people come upon my blog and my writings about abuse within the First Apostolic Lutheran Church, rarely is there any concern.  More often there is righteous defense for its honor. 

    Here is a comment from yesterday about a blog back in February 2012

    Imperfect Lady Feb. 2012

    "I too grew up in the 1st Apostolic Lutheran Church. I, however, never once heard of abuse among any families from this church, and I know quite a number of people from the church. Sexual abuse is considered highly taboo within this church and culture; in fact, having sexual relations outside of marriage or before marriage is taboo as well. It is quite unfortunate that you experienced this from your own father. This was indeed a rare, abnormal occurrence. However, linking your perverse familial abuse with the church is really unfair and defamatory, as this personal experience of yours shows up when you Google the First Apostolic Lutheran Church. If you had been abused by other members within the church, it would be fair to defame the church; however, it seems you only have your father to blame."

    First, I love that my blog pops up when you Google the church.

    Secondly, I would love that my experience was rare and abnormal occurrence. However, over the past 13 years, all the victims that I have come in contact with, either by this blog or by my speaking out, have shown me that my story is not unique.

    What this person fails to appreciate is that I am not special, my perverse familial abuse is completely wide spread within the church.  Just because they themselves are not aware, doesn't make our experiences untrue.

    My experiences have been collaborated time and time again.

    Sadly so.

    When will the silent voices be the outrage and not the false honor of the church?

    I am breaking the taboo and speaking out.

    This person can no longer say they haven't heard of ANY, for now you have read mine.

    How naive it is to believe, that when a church declares it a taboo, that it would be so.

    While I can appreciate that they themselves have never heard about it among any families, they are not listening to me.  I am here to tell you it is so.

    The taboo is happening.

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    Often we cannot see the forrest for the trees.

    If you are born in captivity, would you be able to see the bars?

    This blog isn't for those who don't believe. It is for those who have been abused and feel like their story is indeed rare.  

    You are not alone.  

    I am here.

    It is not your fault.  

    May you find the strength and courage to walk free.

    To be the you, you were born to be.

    It is my hope that one day our voices can ring loud enough to collapse the pillars of this institution.  

    One voice is the start of making it shake.

    Having faith in the taboo not happening, is not as important as having doubts.

    Doubts are the first step to knowing.

    Wouldn't you rather know it is there, than to assume it isn't.

    Truth is, it doesn't need your faith against.

    Why isn't your first question, "What can I do to help the children, the victims etc?"

    Defending the church is most often the response.

    I get it.

    It is your way to heaven.

    If your way was littered with victims, it would be harder to believe.

    Losing your faith in the church reduces your chance at Heaven.

    Leaving victims to fight alone, is the consequence of your faith in the church.

    Our collective stories will never weigh more than your faith in a heaven one day.

    Surely mine isn't enough to cause a mustard seed of doubt.

    Believe if you must in the church.

    Just know, that the truth is sitting with you as you sing "Bless Be the Tie…"

    My blog, my story…echoes in so many lives, fragments of similarity.

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    May you have God's Peace.

     

     

     

  • All Truths.

    "You don't grow up missing what you never had, but throughout life there is hovering over you an inescapable longing for something you never had."  Susan Sontag

    "A fatherless girl thinks all things are possible and nothing safe." Mary Gordon

    When I hear a daughter speak lovingly or thankfully for their mother; I feel so cheated. 

    It is as if a huge part of living was kept from me.

    What I didn't know, was that when I worked through the abuse –  love wasn't behind the pain.  There really is no answer or conclusion, just the empty space.

    I know this may sound weird, like how would there be love behind abuse.

    Or even more parents.

    I feel cheated on not only the live relationships that were underlined with abuse, but in the natural grief when they pass.

    It is like we are parentless in our youth and then again in our adult lives.

    Estrangement is a very awkward land.

    Abuse, even more so.

    Abuse teaches us the opposite of love.

    And, so when the time comes to grieve, there is nothing to grieve.

    The naturalness of wanting to be near, closer, sharing, caring, is replaced with distance.

    When raised on abused love, you are left in the world upside down and backwards.

    First you have to get yourself right before you can love correctly.

    This new love doesn't flow naturally.

    It comes with baggage of PTSD and anxiety and codependency to name a few.

    Love that is free and open takes struggle to make it so.

    Although, the more I am loving of self and free to be me, the more I can at the very least bring in neutral energy.  Love without expectations or needs from me.

    I am reading a book by Anderson Cooper and Gloria Vanderbilt – "The Rainbow Comes and  Goes."

    He writes, "It's the kind of conversation I think many parents and their grown children would like to have, and it has made this past year the most valuable of my life. By breaking down the walls of silence that existed between us, I have come to understand my mom and myself in ways I never imagined."

    "I know now that it's never too late to change the relationship you have with someone important in your life; a parent, a child, a lover a friend.  All it takes is a willingness to be honest and to shed the old skin, to let go of the long-standing assumptions and slights you still cling to."  Anderson

    This dream or idea is also a place where there will be no comfort. For rarely, do the abusers get honest.

    It isn't about the slights I have experienced; but the lack of honesty that permeates the environment within abusive homes.

    How can there be a healing conversation when honesty is absent?

    I believe it would be easier to join a conversation where beliefs and thoughts were exchanged truthfully…than to place any hope in a conversation where my honesty isn't welcome and their's is withheld.

    I often feel it is my fault for demanding, needing, and wanting honesty.

    That I am asking for the impossible.

    Imagine love where honesty is missing? 

    Is that love?

    Perhaps the greatest loss in abusive homes is our lack of trust in truth.

    Who are you without your whole truths?

    The last conversation I had with my mother, I wasn't allowed to talk about her husband (my abuser) and her religion (the one that made his sins disappear). Which is why it was our last.

    She wanted to acknowledge it without acknowledging it.

    To bring it in; but not to own it.

    Another great loss, is that there is no place to dialogue it out.  

    There is no closure or place to try and understand.  

    Another vast vacuum where we are made to be alone.

    Here is what is weird.

    We are alone in the midst of abuse and then alone when we set boundaries.

    Alone seems to be our relationships with our family of origin in an abusive home.

    I would be just as alone inside, as I am outside.

    Good to know.

    What I would want the most is an honest conversation – deep and vast with boundless courage to understand all the nuances of abuse.  To have no boundaries into which we explore.

    I believe I have done this. 

    The depth of understanding ourselves, is how deep we can go with another.

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    Once you go deep, you can no longer live on the surface of life.

    And, love has to be deep enough to hold all truths!

     

     

  • Understand or Believe

    We are all born into a narrative; a story about the world around us. Seldom do we question what we have been taught and how we think. The story began before us and will continue through us, or change direction.  

    Byron Katie often asks, "Who would you be without your story?"

    Most of us are so embedded into the storyline, we don't even realize it is a story.  

    It may or may not be the whole story; but rather the parts our parents wanted to share with us.

    A water down version of their lives.

    Or, the picture perfect view, or what we now call the Facebook image.

    There are political narratives, religious narratives, personal and family narratives, the list goes on and on.

    But, what is the real truth in the world around us.

    Are we not all fake news reporters?

    Sharing somethings and being silent about others?

    Can we know the wide and vast truths of the planet?

    How much do you even know about another person?

    Their fears, dreams, goals, secrets, truths, loves, hates, challenges, accomplishments etc.

    We are demanding of others, to reveal their truths, while hiding behind our own.

    What I have discovered about myself, was that the narrative I was born into would have run smoothly and unchallenged by me, if a small child hadn't pointed out a truth I wasn't able to see; but knew.

    The truth of my father.

    I feared him; but had no narrative as to why.

    It was as if there were two narratives running simultaneously.

    One was about the mundaneness of life; the daily routines and surface level activities we all do.

    The other was the darker side of humanity.

    The combination makes for a much different narrative.

    Weaving together abuse and daily routines.

    What happens when you leave the story you were born into?

    Or challenge it?

    Who will exit with you?

    In a podcast with Rob Bell, he spoke about there needing to be a more compelling narrative, then the one that is most popular or in power.  

    For me, the more compelling was the truth of what is; reality.

    Reality for me, was by far more compelling than any other narrative.

     But it is rare to be a lover of reality. Most are into the narrative they were born into and will stay there until they die. They are not interested in leaving the comfort and ease that the storyline offers.

    Truth doesn't have to exist in your life, it is not a pre-requisite.

    The heroes journey, is one of self discovery. All are summoned; but not all answer the call.  Pain is often the invitation to the journey.  But, it is may not be more compelling than being accepted by family and friends. 

    The journey of exploring the narrative we are born into will often mean leaving or being shunned by, our old lives.  It is the dark night of the soul.

    Lent, I heard is for reflection.  Or to show restraint; by giving up something you love.

    I listened to a podcast where someone gave up their belief for Lent, by learning about another way to see God or not see him.

    How interesting would Lent be, if we all were to learn about another's life.

    To be introduced to another belief

    or truth.

    40 days of reflection upon a new side of what we don't know.

    Perhaps giving up our faith in our belief to entertain another faith.

    To see the world from their eyes.

    Setting aside our narrative to hear another's.

    What narrative do I need to hear?

    Or, what narrative do I refuse to listen to?

     Can I live a more compelling narrative than the one I was born into?

    If we all explored our own narratives to find the narrow spots, imagine how our world would change?  Be the change you want to see in the world.

    Reflect upon a side you can't understand or believe. 

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