Through My Eyes

Why write this?  Why?  There are so many people writing memoirs. Isn’t it getting over done?  I mean really how many of these can we read? Will it ever get old?  The answer to these questions… well at least to the last question is a very loud NO!  I believe it to be no because we all have a story to tell and really want to tell it and to be heard. If you think about it or have any knowledge of time before cell phones, computers, televisions and technology you would know the thing to do was to sit around with people and talk.  I say this smiling because I know how silly that sounds.  Yes they talked with each other face to face looking eye to eye and telling stories.  Stories of their day, stories of their lives, stories of their parents and grandparents lives.  They passed these stories down from generation to generation.  It seems we are losing that but what remains is the desire to tell these stories.  We don’t want them to get lost.  So we write.

What I find so wonderful about telling our story is the opportunity to come face to face with ourselves.  Getting to know ourselves can be frightening.  I know, I hid from myself for years.  I finally found myself in my room 6 years ago.  I had shut myself up in there as much as possible.  Though with 4 children, a husband and house to take care of I didn’t have much time to wallow in my fears, depression and anxiety but attended to it as much as possible.  God met me there, in my room.  I didn’t know I was looking for Him because I thought I had found Him already. We had  initially met years before and I thought we were good.  He was good, I was not.  I was broken.  I was a lifetime of brokenness encompassed in a distorted Christian persona.  A common answer to a common question, “How are you?” I would answer, “I’m fine” proceeded with a huge smile and a nod of my head to affirm my words.  The crazy thing about this is that most of the time I believed it.  Don’t get me wrong, there were times I was coming out of my skin screaming in my head and still answering, “I’m fine,”  huge smile and the head nod.  It worked most every time.  I was the best pretender.  This grand show was mostly for one person.  I desperately needed her to believe all of it, so her world wouldn’t fall apart. Yes, if you haven’t guessed that person was me.

I am ready for the real me to be seen and heard.

His Eyes

God sometimes takes our face in his hands looking into our eyes wanting the attention of our heart.  When we look into the eyes of God we are not looking into a face of anger nor does he have a furrowed brow. When we look into the eyes of God we see we see ourselves. We see His love.  In His eyes we see ourselves the way God sees us, unbroken, healed and whole.

-Adapted from my Pastor.

Love for My Sister

You’ve been created unique and wonderfully different that anyone else.  Even science proves it in your physical characteristics like your thumbprint and the complexity within your eyes.  But more than this is your heart.  The way you love and care for others.  People are drawn to you, I am drawn to you because you have a beautiful gift that you don’t keep to yourself but give to others.  This gift is love and acceptance.  You have so much to give and you do so freely.  I’ve seen the sparkle in your eyes, laughing lightly drawing people to you by the warmth of your smile.  It is beautiful.  Your abilities though may seems similar to others are your own.  Like the way the way you apply paint to a canvas, pencil to paper, the thoughts and time you take researching for just the right creativity a share with the world. These things are unique to you.  You have been purposefully created.  You are beautiful my sister.  I love you.

Katrina Campbell

In Search

This afternoon I find myself searching for a place to write without distractions. A place where I’m not necessarily alone but not in sight to where I can be sought after. I’m sure this time and place will not be free of interruption whether by phone call, text or glide.

Before I begin my search Paul suggests a park I’m quite familiar with though I have no clue to it’s name. It’s always bothered me that it is void of a bathroom. It’s located between a housing tract and a six lane fwy. A tall chain link fence hidden by tall trees and bushes is the only thing between the fast moving cars and a wandering child. I’ve been here many times with my own children.

I parallel park between two cars. Something I’ve become quite good at living in our rented condo for the last two years. The parking there is ruthless. On our evening walks Paul and I see the evidence of miscalculations of drivers either overestimating or underestimating in parking. In some cases we wonder how a person might maneuver their car out that is pinned an inch between two cars. I always imagine a car with the ability to turn all four tires 90 degrees and pull straight out.

I walk past the children playing at the playground. I purposely turn my chair away from them. I don’t want to give the wrong impression to whomever may be watching. Why I think this way I’m not sure. Overly self conscience possibly, suppressed childhood memories or my own judgments of other people I’ve imposed on myself. Who knows. So instead I find myself facing guys playing basketball. I can’t win. Oh well. I’m not staring at them anyway. Let them think what they want. I am here to write.

The sound of the fwy is noisy but I don’t mind. I actually find it quite soothing. I like to close my eyes and just listen. It sparks a feeling of adventure. I normally explain this by telling about my travels with my grandma, which I absolutely loved. At this moment I’m thinking it must also bring back the feelings I had driving away from where I temporarily called home, never to return again with my mother the traveling Gypsy. She was always searching to find where she belonged, where she would be happy. We did this often with no resolve, at least a couple times a year as I was growing up.

One of the towns we lived in for a few years was Susanville. In this town was a place we liked to go called Hobo Camp. Here we laid our blankets on the rocky red dirt that posed as sand. A mountain stream quickly flowed through, slowing slightly in the center allowing us a place to cautiously swim from one bank to the other. Large boulders sit firmly on top of each other forming a flat ledge above the water perfect for jumping or diving.

As usual I’ve gone way past my initial thoughts. So regarding “Hobo camp”, the word Hobo came to mind along with other descriptive words like nomad and vagabond to describe my mother and I never thought of myself as homeless. I suppose it was because we always slept in someone’s home. Their home became my home momentarily anyway.

I am settled now in my chair I brought from home under a shade tree ready to write. Pen and paper in hand. I allow myself to get lost in thought, scribbling down everything I am thinking and feeling, searching to express myself. Looking up I notice the sun is setting. I am puzzled by time and how particular it is. Why sometimes it stands still and sometimes it flies by like in this evening. All the children have gone home. I still hear the echos of their voices on the playground. I envision them sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner looking forward to no school tomorrow due to Labor Day Monday. The guys are no longer playing ball. Everyone has left. I am alone with the sound of the cars. My phone jingles, awakened by illuminating light accompanied by vibration. I have received my 1st interruption. A welcomed message from my hubby. It is time for me also to find my way home.

God’s Love For Her

God you created her,  Jesus you died for her,  God’s Spirit lives in her.  These things are what gives her confidence and self-esteem.   These are wonderful things. These things are incredible actually.  The God of the universe, the God of everything created her and was purposeful in doing so. He was there in her mother’s womb carefully knitting her together speaking His truth and writting it on her heart. He smiles with pride as He looks at His masterpiece.  His eyes fill with tears overwhelmed with love. This love never grows cold or distant but is consistent. He sees her life and knows her joys and sadness. He will be there every step of the way. He will never leave nor will He abandoned her.  He can do these things because He is God.  He is not in human form limited by space and time but greater than anyone can understand. Just think this God of hers is yours as well and loves you just the same.

Acceptance

She tried to gain the acceptance of Her. She did everything she could think of to make Her happy. It worked for a little while. She noticed the One She loved was falling short and was causing Her to become angry. Wanting the One She loved to have Her acceptance as well She helped pick up the slack. She did everything She could think of to make Her happy. She was dumbfounded that this made Her angry still. She became very hurt by Her. She realized She could never do enough to gain Her acceptance. She became very sad and then angry because all She wanted was Her love and acceptance.

He said come to me. I will carry your pain. Unlike Her I can truly love and accept you. My love for you is unfailing. There is nothing that can ever separate you from my love. My love for you is patient and kind. My love for you is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. My love for you is not irritable and it keeps no record of being wronged. My love for you does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. My love for you never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

He said come to me, you can trust me for I truly love and accept you.

Who am I?

Come along with me on my journey.