I have not been in such a precarious position of newness in over three years. New house, new people, new church, new room-mate, new housemates and so much chatter, and somehow there is also deafening silence. It is a struggle in the midst of this to let myself be my introvert-self. One-on-one coffee and chat is what my soul craves, and deep connection with Daddy, and for that, I need to have space. I struggle without specific space to call my own, but I think that is going to have to look different now. But Papa is good in any and all circumstances...
Five minutes on 'Beyond'. Go.
My dreams take me far beyond myself. My dreams both sleeping and waking. In my sleep I traverse relationships and continents and see faces and places and people who are crying out for prayer. China and Thailand are high on the list right now, and I can't explain it but I know I know that these people are longing for God, for the Daddy I love to fall in love with again and again. The prayers that spring from these dreams are desperate and raw and from deep within, from a place that has no words. I don't know what Daddy wants for these people, but He knows, and that's enough. Prayer echoes in eternity, and these prayers are a simple Amen, Amen, Amen to His heart. Some of the faces and relationships are people I recognise and know and love, and sometimes they are not. Always, I pray. Such nocturnal adventuring does not make for restful nights, so I long for sleep, and when I sleep I dream again and pray again and still find myself not rested, but building in energy and passion and am being filled anew with His Spirit.
Stop.
With thanks to Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Fridays. Won't you join in?
Dear Kate,
My prayer for you today is joy, and love, and friendship, and that you'll find people to hold you and understand you. Depression is a bitch, and the battle to break it is a tough one. I thank God for the green and yellow pills I take every day, but I remember too well the initial feeling of failure after my diagnosis, the feeling that I should have tried harder, as if the trying could fix it all. In a way, I know how you feel. Trying to balance the dark days and the panic and the anxiety and the obligation to work and do your coursework, and how that can make the thought of another day impossible. But equally, I know how isolated you probably feel, particularly if you don't have many people to talk to about what you're going through.
Please keep going. Please. You are precious, and loved, and not alone. The incredible thing that is Lovebomb will show you that. Take it a step at a time, and celebrate your victories. You woke up today. Celebrate that. If all you manage to do some days is breathe, then that's great. Celebrate that. I want to tell you that you are brave, that you are incredible, that you are loved. Please don't be afraid of asking for the help you need, and sod what other people think. This is about you. I (and I'm definitely not alone in this) can love you and pray for you from far away, and the people who love you close-to will support you through anything, particularly those you've had the amazing courage to talk to about what you're going through. You are incredible.
Don't give up. This will get better. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.
Stevey xx
This post is part of a Love Bomb Mission to send love to Kate, who is suffering from depression. Remind Kate that she is loved and join the mission: http://dropalovebomb.com/love-for-kate-mission
Friday is fast becoming my favourite day of the week, because someone (namely Lisa-Jo over at thegypsymama.com) tells me what to write about. The subject today? Catch.
Go.
What is it about your mama's words that catch on your heart so? The barbed-wire-word that catches on your skin and scrapes a little bit more deeply than nearly anything else. It cuts so deeply when she mentions the 'bit of podge' that's crept around my middle over the summer, regardless of the fact that I'm still a UK size 8-10. How can she not know how much effect she has? How has she not noticed the years of skipped-meals and self-hatred? The (whisper it) almost-anorexia? Her perception of self and beauty is so ingrained into the way I think. Whilst at university I managed to talk about it to close friends who held me accountable meal by meal when things got rough. It's a battle, still a battle and a dark, dark place to which I do not want to return. What I want to catch is Daddy's vision of me. I want to love myself because He shaped me and formed me, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made. There are those incredible words again. In-credible. I cannot believe them.
Stop.
There is something unexpectedly glorious about coming in from work, sitting in bed, eating chocolate and drinking a mug of cold milk, whilst all the other occupants of the house are asleep. That is all I have to say on the matter.
Remembering to do Five Minute Friday on the right day ftw! Last week, I was the second-to-last linky post, which is something. (I'm not sure what, but something.)So... Go.
I'm not sure I believe in ordinary. Which is interesting, because I don't think I knew that before I typed it. I don't think there is anything ordinary about any of us, because we are fearfully and wonderfully made. What in the world is ordinary about that? Rien du tout. The Daddy I know is everything and is in everything and every moment, no matter how banal or ordinary we might believe something to be. Doesn't that make every moment extraordinary? The fact that all things are inhabited by an all-loving and incredible DaddyGod robs anything of ordinariness. Or makes the ordinary extraordinary. I think. I am beginning to tie myself in knots. I do not have an 'ordinary' life. Things change (things fall apart, the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world - thank you, W.B. Yeats...), seasons change and Daddy is in all.
Um... Stop.
Five minute Friday, four days late. Standard. Go.So I have a friend who is falling in love. She longs to be loved, and cherished, and known, and so she is falling in love. With a man she terms a 'complication.' It is perhaps inappropriate to post on here the exact details of the complication, so I won't do it. What I will say, however, is how it breaks my heart that she cannot see that she is worth so much more than what this complication will offer her. I can speak truth to her, but it seems to do no good. She is beautiful and warm and compassionate and caring, but these qualities somehow carry no weight. Why are so many of the stunning women I know unable to see how incredible they are? The world teaches lies (and I learn those lessons too) and the gentle words that say we are fearfully and wonderfully made go unheeded. Stop.
