Category Archives: Strength for the Journey

In the waiting room

08 Monday Jun 2015

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(Disclaimer:  I’m a grammar Nazi — except when it comes to Southernisms.  You will find that proper grammar is optional when I’m speaking Southern.  Expect more than one dangling participle in this blog).

When I graduated high school, getting a college degree gave you a leg up, and I was determined to get mine.  These days, a bachelor’s degree just puts you on a level playing field.  It’s just hard to forge a living without an education anymore.  Making sure my children have a college education is of utmost importance to me.  I believe in giving them every opportunity to start out on the right foot when they leave the nest, no matter what I have to do to get it.

By early 2009, student loans for my girls were piling up neck deep, and I was wondering how in the world I was going to pay them all. They were both nursing students at Liberty University, and I had no doubt they were right where they both were supposed to be.  I constantly prayed for God to show me a way where there seemed to be no way. If they were going to stay in school, and I had one more graduating high school soon, I had to figure it out — right quick like.  I was already working one full time, and three part time jobs.  I just couldn’t add another one.

My future son in law, also a student at Liberty, was looking for a job on campus so he could get free tuition.  He noticed there was an accountant position open and asked me why didn’t I apply. Interesting idea! Free tuition sounded like the most beautiful two words in the English language to me.

So I applied.  And I waited . . .  and waited . . . . and waited.  Being the super sleuth that I am, I found out who the accounting manager was and sent him a well worded email.  Still nothing. A month or so passed, and I sent him yet another intelligent, savvy email.  Finally a response!!  He simply said he was still looking over applications, but he would let me know if I’m selected for an interview.

So I prayed.  And waited some more.

When I found out I was chosen for an interview, boy was I was nervous — to the point of sweating, and I don’t sweat.  I hadn’t sweated since 2002 when I was in Thailand for a mission trip. But now my pits were making up for lost time.

In spite of my damp and most likely smelly underarms, I thought the interview went well.  Paul, the Accounting Manager, who like me, also didn’t seem to have an accountant personality, said he would let me know something soon.  Somehow, there was an immediate bonding between us. I felt good about it but was too scared to get my hopes up.

By the second interview, I realized Paul and I were kindred spirits.  He was a lot of fun and made me feel at ease.  There was considerably less sweating this go ’round! When it was just the two of us, I leaned in and said, “So tell me.  Who’s butt do I have to kiss to get this job?”  (I do NOT recommend this as an interview tactic!!!)  To my relief, he laughed.  This was already a good sign, because there is little more I enjoy than laughing.

While I was waiting to hear from Paul, I continued to do what I was supposed to be doing.  I went to work at all my jobs.  I cooked and cleaned.  I took care of my son and the girls when they were home.  I paid the bills.  Got my oil changed.  Went to church.  When you are in the waiting room, you just keep doing the next right thing, whatever that is.  Don’t stop swimming.  Don’t stop plowing. Put one foot in front of the other.  I was doing my part.  The rest of it was up to God.  He had to do what only He could do if I was going to move forward.

Whatever is happening, finding comfort in the Word always helps me.  King David was just a shepherd boy, tending his father’s sheep, when he was chosen and anointed to lead Israel. The youngest son of Jesse.  The least likely to be king.  But chosen nonetheless.

It would stand to reason that if you’ve just been anointed king, that there might be some sort of ceremony, or a parade!  Look at all the to-do over Prince William’s beautiful babies, and they’re just in line for the throne.  What would it be like to actually be pronounced KING of the land? But that’s not what happened to David.

I Samuel 17:15 says, “but David went back and forth from Saul to tend his father’s sheep at Bethlehem.”  

David went back to tending his father’s sheep. Saul continued to be king, even though David had been anointed.  There were no coronation festivities.  No big announcement. No even a crown. Not yet anyway.  He was forced to wait, and while he waited, he was faithful with what he’d been given to do.  He fought off bears and lions with his bare hands to protect the sheep.  He slew Goliath the Giant with a sling and a stone to protect the Name of the Lord. He was doing all he could do. It was up to God to do the rest.

The day finally came for David to be crowned King.  The Bible calls him “a man after God’s own heart.”  He wasn’t without fault, that’s for sure.  But he was patient while he was waiting for the next phase.

And the day finally came that I got the offer from Liberty.  I was proud to be a part of the accounting staff, and Paul was the best boss I could ever hope for.  I got that free tuition for my girls.  It was one of the best times of my life.

If you’re in the waiting room, be encouraged, dear friend.  It’s not the end of your story. Do all you can do.  Get your education if you need one.  Work hard.  Be the best employee you can be. The best friend.  The best neighbor.  The best son or daughter, husband or wife, father or mother. God can’t do your role for you, and you can’t do His.

I’m an accountant by trade.  And an aspiring writer. I find myself in the waiting room yet again, looking forward to the day where I can just write or speak.  In the meantime, being a numbers person pays the bills. I’m going to keep being faithful with what I’ve been given until such a time I’m given more. I’m going to be the best wife, mother, friend and finance director.  The waiting room really ain’t so bad.  I think I’ll grab a Cheerwine and a pack of Nabs, and have a seat.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!

07 Sunday Jun 2015

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I really didn’t want to write about being in the mental hospital. Not because I’m ashamed of it. Like I said, I’m not — even a little bit. Honestly, I kind of enjoy watching the look on people’s faces when I say, “Yeah, I checked myself into the nervous hospital for three days once.” They don’t know if I’m serious, and when they realize I am, they desperately search for the correct response (if there is one!).

Oh how nice! How was your stay? Did you make any new friends? How was the food?  

I suppose the best thing to say is, I’m sorry. I hope it helped your situation. I always laugh and say, don’t worry. I’m fine now.

The reason I didn’t want to share it was because I thought it was too much information. Those of you who know me are thinking, “Since when does Dee think she’s giving too much information?!?!” My daddy used to say God made most people with a filter somewhere between their brains and their mouths, and He must have left mine out. Although I may share too much about myself at times, I do try hard not to say things that might offend or hurt people. And I didn’t want to cause any further harm to anyone who had been in a similar situation, or loved someone who had.

But . . . I kept feeling this nudging in my heart telling me to write it. After I was finished, I knew someone, maybe several people, would write me and say they had been there in some form or fashion, and they would say they needed to hear that there was no reason to be ashamed. And mostly that they needed to know that God had not abandoned them in their crisis.

So I wrote it.

And I waited.

In no time, people began to write me. Some folks I knew, some I didn’t know. They said exactly what I thought they would say — that it helped them feel like God had not left them. I suppose they don’t know many people who would so openly share what most might be embarrassed about, and it made them feel less alone, and more like God loves them.

That, my friends, is the entire reason why I’m writing this blog. 

Folks, don’t be ashamed of the path it took to get you out of the valley. You don’t have to be proud of your choices. We all have done things we wish we hadn’t. You don’t have to tell every detail of those things. I do believe some things are best left unsaid. Especially if it hurts someone else to tell it. But telling your story takes away it’s power to hurt you later, and it might help someone to hear your journey.

This is what God says He does for us in 2 Corinthians 1:4,

” . . . (God) comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves received from God.”

What good can come from hard times if they don’t help someone when they’re going through it as well? How will people know they’re not alone if no one tells them they’re been there too? And they lived to tell it? In my hardest times, it helped tremendously to hear someone’s testimony of survival and God’s faithfulness.

From Day One, I’ve known what the purpose of this blog was to be. It was to encourage people, to tell my story. Just mine. Not anyone else’s. (Aren’t you glad if I know something about you that you don’t have to worry I might hang it out here for the world to read?!) This website is to be a place where you go to be lifted up, not beat up or beat down. You won’t get the latest news or political opinions. You’ll just get me, and a kind word to help you find strength for the journey.

You have a story, too, my friend. It’s your super power! You can use it for good or for evil. The choice is yours. I hope you choose to use it for good, to tell it when it will help someone else in their hour of need, to encourage someone that you made it, and they can too. Your story has the power to heal — both your broken heart and the hearts of other hurting people as well. Watch and wait for the opportunity to share. There is a whole world of broken people out there, just waiting for a kind word. Be a part of the solution. The answer is love  — it always has been and it always will be.

Remember that one time I checked myself into the nervous hospital?

03 Wednesday Jun 2015

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Before my life fell apart — quite publicly — several people have told me they used to think my life was perfect. (Excuse me while I go grab a tissue. I just snotted on myself.) Friends, no one’s life is perfect. We are all broken and in need of healing, just some more than others. If nothing bad has happened to you yet, you’re not old enough!

In the aftermath of the Dark Night of the Soul, I was in desperate need of healing. All of us were.  There was an inescapable void in my heart that told me God didn’t love me, that He had abandoned me in my darkest hour. I felt He had moved to Kansas and left no forwarding address.

Rock bottom hit in the wee hours of the night in August 2006. Somehow I thought it all depended on me, and if everything was going to turn out right, I had to be the one to make it happen. If someone had told me, “Dee, if you eat this shoe, God will fix it,” I swear to you, I would’ve eaten that shoe, Dr. Scholl’s inserts and all. I had looked under every rock, searching for help, and there were finally no rocks left to turn over.

My daddy’s funeral had been the week before, and I was simply exhausted  — mentally, spiritually, emotionally, psychologically and physically. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I needed to rest. To this day, I’m not really sure why, but it seemed to me the best thing to do was to check myself into the mental hospital.

I don’t remember much about the assessment process except this one question:

“Do you want to kill yourself?”

“Nope. But I wouldn’t move out of the way if a truck was about to run over me.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!  We have a winner!

Apparently, that answer will get you three days in the nervous hospital!

The only other thing I recall is being told I couldn’t keep the string I was using to keep my shorts up. I weighed 90 lbs, and that string was the only thing standing in the way between me and a citation for indecent exposure. I guess they were afraid I’d hurt myself with that string.

Here’s my string. Now please just give me a place to lay down for a while.

Not one circumstance had changed when I walked back out the door. I was faced with the stark realization that instant healing of this big mess wasn’t going to happen. If things were going to get better, it was going to be a slow, and probably continued uphill journey. One day at a time was my only choice.

I now know what caused me to hit rock bottom. Turns out:

I wasn’t all powerful.

I couldn’t do everything like I thought I could.

I wasn’t the Holy Spirit.

I couldn’t fix people, or apparently even help them.

There was a God, and it wasn’t me.

And worse yet, I couldn’t force that God to do my bidding.

Hello, Rock Bottom. Nice to meet you. I’ll be hanging out here for a while.

When you’re at the bottom, you have no place to go but up. It’s the reason I’m not one bit ashamed about the path it took to get me there. It no longer mattered how or why I was broken, just that I finally got to the place where God could fix me.

I’m a huge proponent of sitting under wise teaching. I’m careful about where I choose to be fed spiritually, and I’m grateful to have had the privilege of sitting under the anointed teaching of many godly men and women. One Sunday my pastor at the time, Allen Holmes, preached a sermon about John the Baptist that proved to be yet another turning point in my road to recovery.

John the Baptist was Jesus’ cousin, the one anointed to prepare the way for the Lord, the one who actually baptized Jesus in the Jordan River. Jesus was quite complimentary of him, saying there was “none greater.” How would you like for the Lord to say that about you? Highest compliment ever!

Yet somehow, John finds himself in prison. Not for doing anything bad, mind you. He wasn’t robbing the local 7/11, beating his wife, or texting while driving. He was in jail for doing what he was called and anointed to do by God.

Wait, what? 

John was confused. How do I know that? Because he sent a message to Jesus in Luke 7:18,

“Are You the One who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

In other words, Did I get this all wrong? If You’re the One I’ve been preaching about, asking people to repent and follow You, how come I’m sitting in this jail cell? This can’t be what You meant to happen! Maybe I got this all mixed up . . . 

Then came this sobering response:

21 At that very time Jesus cured many who had diseases, sicknesses and evil spirits, and gave sight to many who were blind. 22 So he replied to the messengers, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.23 Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”

Jesus was doing a lot of miracles for a lot of other people. But He wasn’t coming to rescue John. Jesus’s question to his cousin John was, “Are you still going to believe if I don’t fix it the way you think I should? Will you still love Me? Will you hang on to My hand or will you fall away?”

We don’t know how John reacted to that report from his messengers. All we know is they beheaded John the Baptist. Rescue didn’t come for him this side of Heaven.

Allen asked us the same question that fateful morning, was I going to keep trusting God? I knew I had a choice to make. I could be angry and walk away from all I believed to be true, or I could hang on, knowing I may never get out of this prison cell.

So I straightened my back, pulled up my bootstraps, and said, “Lord, I still believe.“

Some people receive an immediate rescue, but none ever came for me. Maybe God knew I wouldn’t change if He fixed it like I begged Him to, and Lord knows I needed to change. I don’t know why it took years, and I no longer care. I’m just thankful He DID rescue me from that prison cell. And I’m even more thankful that if He hadn’t, if He’d left me there, I made the choice that day to hang on to His hand, come what may.

My story wasn’t finished, and neither is yours. Get up, dear friend, keep walking, throw your shoulders back and say, “Lord I still believe.” As my sister always says, put on your big girl panties. You got this.

But if not, is He still good?

29 Friday May 2015

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If you had asked me twenty years ago if God was good, I wouldn’t have hesitated to say YES! Of course He is! I had no clue that I was basing my view of the goodness of God upon my circumstances. Somewhere along the way, I got the mistaken assumption that if God was good, bad things wouldn’t happen to me. And assumptions, even if they’re not factual, eventually become the basis of your belief system.

Let me take you back to the early 1990’s. All I ever wanted was to be a wife and mother, and here I was with two beautiful, healthy daughters and a son on the way. I got to cook and clean and raise children all day! Life was a dream come true! (Yes, I should have been a housewife in the 50’s). I lived where I wanted to live, in a small Air Force town in North Carolina, only two hours away from my family.

This particular night, I was sitting in a Bible study and my husband (at the time) passed out blank sheets of paper. He instructed us to sign the bottom of that paper if we trusted the Lord to write whatever He wanted on it. No questions asked. No fear of the future. Just hand it to Jesus and say, “Here is my life, Lord. Do with it what You please.” I immediately signed my name on the paper. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, who didn’t trust Jesus?!?!

My friend Kim was sitting beside me, and I noticed she was holding her paper, just staring at it. I felt indignant! I said (rather snidely, I’m afraid), “What’s wrong, Kim? Can’t you trust the Lord with your life?” She said, “Look at you, Dee. You have what you want. You have a husband and children. What if I sign this paper and I don’t get that? What if God doesn’t want me to have a husband or children?” I felt the wind go right out of my self righteous body. She was completely right. I trusted God because He was giving me what I wanted. How would I feel if I weren’t getting my way?

Little did I know, my misguided theology wouldn’t be corrected for many more years. You’d think I’d’ve gotten it straight then, wouldn’t you? Oh no, this one, she’s a hard headed little thing.

I had no idea that life was going to happen to me, just like it happened to everyone else. That I’d end up leaving that little military town I loved, I’d move to the Arctic Zone and freeze to death (if it’s below 80, I’m shivering), my son would have a tumor at 8 months of age, that although we would move back to NC, life would eventually knock me down to rock bottom. Before too many more years, I’d lose that perfect little family unit I thought I had, along with my church and my home. And I’d lose my daddy, the only man who had ever loved me unconditionally.

I didn’t know then that there would come a day when I’d pray constantly, “Lord, You said in Psalm 37:25, I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread. Please provide for me and my children.” Every day I prayed for God to give me new mercies. I needed Him for the next step, the very next breath.

I wonder what I would have done if I’d been handed that piece of paper during that stage of my life? God surely didn’t seem like a good God to me anymore. He seemed distant, far away. I used to be in His lap, but now it felt like His lap was full of other people, and there was no longer any room for me.

During this season of my life, my friend Joey told this story in Sunday School. He said someone dropped a glass, caught it just before it hit the floor, and said, “Whew! Caught it just in time! God is good!” Joey said to his friend, “What if that glass HAD hit the floor and shattered? Would that mean God WASN’T good? Isn’t God good whether or not your glass breaks?”

Time stood still in that moment. The Holy Spirit spoke to me in His still small voice as loudly as I’ve ever heard Him and said, “That’s what you think of Me, Dee. You think I’m not good because your life didn’t turn out like you wanted.”

Well, Lord? Didn’t I pray? Didn’t I BEG YOU to fix it all? Didn’t I study and quote Your Word? I did my part as best I could. My marriage still failed. My daddy still died. My children are hurting and I can’t fix it for them. You could have, and You didn’t. If I saw my children struggling, I would move Heaven and Earth and do everything in my power to help them, and You said You love my children even more than I do. Why wouldn’t you fix it for them, if not for me? 

No answers came immediately. Just the realization that I needed to dig deep and find a way to believe God still loved me. And He was still good.

(He did eventually show me He was with me all the time. But I’ll save that story for another day — give you a reason to tune back into the same Bat Channel, same Bat Time.)

If you’re wondering if God has forgotten you, if He is good, if He sees what’s happening to you, I promise you, He hasn’t, He is, and He does. Will it turn out the way you want it to? Maybe not. But let me leave you with my favorite C. S. Lewis quote from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe:

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver . . . “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course He isn’t safe. But He’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

Jesus Sent Me Flowers

27 Wednesday May 2015

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It was Friday evening, May 27. 2011. I’ve got a photographic memory for dates and numbers, by the way. Some details just inexplicably stick in my mind.

I had the brother of my heart, Phil and his girlfriend, Jamie over for dinner. (He’s no longer legally my brother in law, but divorce couldn’t take him away from me). I love cooking for people, and this time was especially good, if I do say so myself.

We had finished eating, and Phil and Jamie were having dessert as I started the dishes. I heard my phone vibrating and said out loud, “Todd Hall? What’s he doing calling me?” I answered, hoping he couldn’t hear my pulse hammering in my ear.

He said he was coming to town to see a movie, and asked if I wanted to go too. He’d already asked our mutual friends Jeff and Susan and they had plans, so he thought he’d see if I was busy. I thought, “Really? You’re straight up admitting your first choice didn’t pan out? Oh well, I’ll take it however I can get it!” I asked him if he’d had supper and he said he’d planned to eat popcorn. I volunteered the meal I’d just cooked. He wisely accepted. Oh yeah, I got you where I want you now, buddy. 

I laid down the phone and said, “Okay Phil and Jamie, nice to see y’all! Thanks for coming! Out you go!! Todd Hall just asked me to the movies, and I’m about to use my mad cooking skills to reel this one in!” (When you love people, you can shoo them out when you need to and they still love you back, ya know.)

I remember thinking several times, “Is this really happening?” I hadn’t been to see a movie with anyone but my ex husband since high school. What if I was doing this wrong? Am I sitting the right way? Do I smell good? What if I have popcorn between my teeth? I had been single for several years and was a self avowed man-hater. Oh I wasn’t good at this. At all.

Our mutual friend Susan had introduced us the year before because she thought we’d be good together. She promised me Todd was a great catch. Lord knows he was handsome, but what was inside mattered more to me. Everyone said Todd Hall was the nicest guy they knew. Great dad. Family man. Good Christian. Not one negative word, and you can believe I’d checked him out.

If I was ever going to have a man in my life again (and I was PERFECTLY okay if I didn’t), it needed to be someone who came with high recommendations from someone I trusted. I really wasn’t ready to go out with anyone when I met him, but during that year, we’d spent more time together, and I was ready to drop my wall a little bit and give him a chance.

Todd Hall made me re-think my man hatin’ ways. Maybe, just maybe, there was a good man out there who was single . . . .

He was the perfect gentleman that night — and that was very important to me too. When he walked me to the door, said goodnight and gave me a sideways hug, I simply prayed, “Lord, Your will, not mine.” God knew my heart more than I did, and He knew I didn’t want to trust anyone and get hurt again.

Two days later, I was teaching an adult Sunday School class. As I got up to speak, a man I didn’t know, and still don’t know, stood up and started to the front. He stopped at the podium, handed me a dozen yellow roses, and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t usually do this kind of thing. I don’t even know your name. I drive a truck and Friday evening as I was coming home, the Lord said to me,

Go buy your Sunday School teacher some flowers and tell her, ‘You’ve had a long season of thorns, but now is your season of roses.’

Let me tell you, it was hard to get my composure to teach. “Season of thorns” didn’t even begin to touch it, I thought. More like, “Valley of the Shadow of Death.” Oh how badly I needed to believe “A Season of Roses” was headed my way.

After worship, this same man came up to me and said, “I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone, but I’m assuming you’re divorced, and it hasn’t been an easy road for you.” I nodded and said, “To say the least.” He went on to say,

The Lord told me it’s a man. Your season of roses is a man. He’s giving him to you, the one He wants you to have, and I think you’ve already had a date with him.

Since no one really knew that, I was in shock for a moment and said, “Well, I did have a date Friday night. My first one since my divorce actually.” He said, “That’s him. He’s the one the Lord is giving you.” I asked him what time did the Lord tell him all of this, and he said “About 6:30.”

Not surprisingly, that was about the same time Todd had called me.

Like Mary did in Luke 2:19, I treasured this word and pondered it my heart. I kept it to myself because I needed to see if what the guy said was true. The Bible says in 1 John 4:1,

do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God.

For that reason, I waited a year or so to tell Todd about it — long after I was absolutely sure this man who gave me flowers from Jesus was 100% right. I remember Todd’s eyes were big as saucers as he said, “Jesus gave you flowers? This dude was talking about me? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Really? I said, “What was I supposed to say on our second date, ‘By the way, Jesus sent me flowers Sunday. And He said He was giving you to me. You’re the one! Don’t you feel special?!’ What would you have done if I’d said that?” He said, “I would’ve thought you were crazy, and I’d have gotten up and run out of PF Chang’s!”

Folks, sometimes it’s best to keep a word from the Lord to yourself for a while . . . even when you know the truth in your heart.

This is a picture of my roses that day.  Yellow roses will forevermore mean a gift and word from God to me.Jesus Sent Me Flowers

I’ve got his last name now. I love his kids like my own. My kids adore him. I’ve never had one doubt — never once thought maybe this wasn’t the right path.

Thank You, Jesus, for sending me flowers. For sending me Todd Hall and his whole family. Yes, there will still be valleys and hard times. But for today, I’m still enjoying my Season of Roses.

And it feels good.