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Feb 23

Good morning, Father.
It really feels like it’s been longer than one day since my last post. Father, please forgive my achy heart, with its roots watered by too many salty tears. My heart feels like it is begging for comfort and solid support, but I know that the only true stability lies in YOU, Father. I thank you that my female heart has never experienced a time when I have been surrounded and supported by other female hearts — seemingly the “norm” for my gender. I thank you for bringing me through 45 years of life, never having anyone reliable enough to lean on. Father, this isolation HURTS, but it has made me stronger — it makes me lean only on YOU. I thank you, Lord, for what you HAVE provided — 3 awesome sons grown into good men, an awesome daughter who REALLY needs someone that SHE can lean on, a friend across the country who warms my email box each week with her words, and a husband who truly desires to serve you. Thank you for keeping my heart warm inside, with a nice heart-fire glowing, so that anyone I come in contact with can receive the hospitality of YOUR love, rather than the stinky garbage bags of my life’s circumstances. Thank you for making me a sisterless sister to ALL, spreading your joy through my eyes and my smile and my words. You are awesome, Father. 🙂

 
1 Timothy 5:1-5 ERV

Don’t speak angrily to an older man. But talk to him as if he were your father. Treat the younger men like brothers. 
Treat the older women like mothers. And treat the younger women with respect like sisters. 
Take care of widows who really need help. 
But if a widow has children or grandchildren, the first thing they need to learn is this: to show their devotion to God by taking care of their own family. They will be repaying their parents, and this pleases God. 
A widow who really needs help is one who has been left all alone. She trusts God to take care of her. She prays all the time, night and day, and asks God for help. 

 
Father, I truly do appreciate how you’ve used adverse circumstances to make me stronger. Still acknowledging this, Lord, and still accepting your will for me whatever it may be, I cry out to you in my weariness. Help me to speak these truths, get them off my heart and LEAVE them at your feet, an offering to you upon your altar:
My example of a “father” is one who uses my body — beginning while it is still in diapers — to pay his debts to other men, then to use it to satisfy his own lustful desires.
My example of a “mother” is someone who tells me not to cry, for it upsets her.
My example of a “sister” is one who is much, much older than me yet directs abusers’ attention away from herself by pointing them MY direction instead.
I don’t have any real examples of a grandparent, a brother, an aunt or uncle — all of whom existed but were absent in my life, existing far, far away — as were my other biological sisters.
And now, Lord, I am just WEARY, trying to support my husband and daughter these last several months by myself with NO vehicle, walking to the stores almost every day, spending countless hours pouring out everything YOU give me, Lord, in order to be a good wife and mother and yet still trying to do the work you gave me, building my websites and doing my art — at least one art card each day, so that I don’t feel I’ve abandoned my own heart.
I have been betrayed, yet I have refused to betray my friends or family.
I have been abused, yet I refused to be an abuser myself.
Everyone around me seems to be “a hurter” — but I refuse to hurt anyone.
Everyone seems to be pessimistic, yet you have created within me an incurable optimist.
 
I feel like a total and complete FOOL, Lord.
I have traded in everything of value in this life.
Please forgive me, but once in a while it is HARD to feel like I have anything to show for it.
Lord, I sincerely thank you that I can wash a load of laundry right now, although I cannot trust that I will even have a washing machine next week.
I thank you that I can blow my nose on toilet paper right now, knowing that in a week or a month I may not even own a roll of toilet paper.
I thank you for the shower I took today, surrounded by mold and a floor that is caving in, knowing that my “floor” next week or next month may be the floorboards of a vehicle.
Yet I haven’t owned a working vehicle in 11 months now — so even THAT seems unlikely.
I hurt, Lord.
It LOOKS like you love everyone else, but not me.
So I am confessing that, and letting it go.
I turn my tear-filled eyes to you, and I choose to reflect back to you your own LOVE in those eyes you gave me, Lord.
Do to me as you will, Shepherd.
I trust you completely.
Amen.

 

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