The beauty of day dreaming. Some of the most emotional pitfalls I’ve had in my life were daydreaming about a life impossible to have. My life is truly a blessing. I know that I have so much to be grateful for. However, I’m an average person. Not exceptionally intelligent, not particularly attractive, not artistic or wealthy, just an average Jane. That may sound like I feel sorry for myself but I also don’t struggle with many anxieties or insecurities. I’m not saying I’m without them, just that they roll off my back pretty easily. As a little girl I had big dreams. I wanted to be a dancer, music always moved me and I could let myself get carried away with it. More than anything in the world I wanted to be a wife and mother. I guess I would say I was born conservative minded if you can claim it’s a trait from birth. I wanted the whole apple pie. My dream was for a romantic proposal with adoring onlookers sharing our magical moment. All of this followed by a breathtaking wedding dress made of virginal white silk, lace, and adorned with intricately placed pearls, chosen with my lifelong best friends, long lost mother and a mother in law who was so grateful her son chose me. As a young girl I had already chose colors and venues from castles to beaches. The whole event was very extravagant.

The first time I married I was a runaway ward of the state, 15 years old, and nine weeks pregnant. Those attending were myself, the babies father, his sister and the only judge available due to elections. The worn blue jeans and blue shirt begrudgingly wore was nothing compared to the awkward way I tried to hug my new husband instead of kissing him in front of the judge. Following the ceremony I headed to his sisters house while they left for work. My romantic honeymoon postponed for never.

The second time I wed I was gonna do it right. I went with my best friend and daughter and tried on a wedding dress. Listening to all the mothers and daughters cooing over how breathtaking they were in their dresses. My very heart started shaking taking my breath away. I stepped out of the dressing room, my best friend and the sales lady tried to assure me that I was a vision as well. The mirror before me told a different story. The picture I saw was not at all what I had envisioned. Before me stood a person scared of loving another, there was no magic, no tears of joy. The woman I saw before me was a fraud. She was no princess with people vying for a glimpse of history in the making. She was a woman with few friends and with no family. I stared into the eyes of a woman giving up on a hope, broken hearted I quickly turned away and removed the dress. With conviction I made the decision to marry in a simple dress with mostly our children present . No one need witness the pain of me accepting a defeated dream.

She was strong, she was open and none of us questioned her. She was a natural leader and she defended her friends from the staff. As the eldest and possibly the most street smart she had an air of confidence about her that abuse and circumstances had robbed from most of us. This was my friend from the first group home I called home. From day one she took me under her wing and I was so grateful. Finally I was greeted with a commonality after so much time of being on the outside and left to fend for myself. She welcomed me to sit beside her at dinner and also when we had “house meetings”. House meetings were typically about household chores, conduct or personal belongings. I can’t express my gratitude for having a friend with mere words. At ten I was the least of the group and hadn’t learned the ins and outs of juggling group life.

Many times she would come to my bed at night and we would laugh and talk after others had fell asleep. She would talk about her horrible mother and I would listen mostly because I had always been taught to keep my pain quite. She asked me if any sick man touched me and made me feel bad. I quietly wept and she hugged me tight. She was truly a friend.

One night I cried out having terrors and she came in and shook me awake and crawled in beside me and held me until I fell asleep. This happened several times and it was so nice to have this connection and not feel so alone. As I fell into the silky comfort of having a protector I became less guarded and let myself feel some peace. That’s when she reached around and went from hugging me to rubbing my breast. Alarms immediately went off and I pulled away practically pushing her off the bed. My voice started escalating and she pulled away. “Whoa chica, I must have been dreaming, but you would get me in trouble?” She left my room obviously angry.

The next morning I was isolated. She snubbed me and rolled her eyes at me. I really regretted over reacting but now I lost my only friend, my only grounding and the loneliness was so painful. After days of this I sought her out and apologized. She side hugged me and said “it’s ok mija, you could learn a lot from me but I guess you are are too young” I begged her to still be my friend I expressed that I’m not that immature and I don’t usually overreact. She said “I don’t know, maybe you should hang with the younger girls”. Later that day she brought me a pen that was mine and it smelled of strawberries when I wrote with it, I had been looking for it for several days. She tossed it my way smiling and said “see, I still got you”. I knew then that she was befriending me and I was so grateful I would never be so childish again.

That night and every night after I laid in bed where she explored every inch of me, expressing to me that touches are meant to feel good. They did feel good and I found myself wanting her to come visit. I acted like I was asleep but she knew I wasn’t, pretending to be a sleep I could feel like I didn’t agree but I never fought her or complained. Instead I would position myself for easier access, leaning into the touches.

For years I have lived with the guilt. Feeling like I had eagerly accepted these advances. Instead of realizing that in the beginning she had spun her silky web. It was beautiful and glistened at times. Once I was in the web she approached and I struggled. So like all hungry spiders she stuck me with her venom of loneliness and isolation. That pain was greater than anything else at that time. This venom turned my insides into a liquid state ready for digestion. I seemed fine from the outside but inside was hollow. My body did have normal reactions to touch because healthy and unhealthy touches no longer were separate. This guilt that I’ve lived with, the shame of protecting my abuser because of my own blame. My guilt in allowing it, my guilt of enjoying it, and my guilt of sacrificing my body to save my heart from being alone.

Please please don’t feel guilty if someone takes advantage of you and you don’t know how to respond. Don’t feel guilty if your body responds in a manner that your heart or mind isn’t happy about. Don’t feel guilty if you choose a lesser of two evils that repulses you. Always remember that Peter loved Christ and never imagined himself denying him because that act would go against everything in his heart but faced with fear he chose to betray his Savior and himself. Later he redeemed himself and stood up for his love and our one true King, Jesus Christ.

Dissociation: the ability to disconnect mind from body in a daydream like state (not clinical term)

Mithridatism: administering non lethal amounts of poison or venom to build immunity

Today at church our pastor encouraged us to write down our deepest pain on a piece of paper that had the word (Thankful) written on the other side and then place it in a prayer box. We would then pray and give thanks for the lessons learned from the pain in our life and for victory from the pain. I couldn’t participate. The first time I couldn’t even write it down, the second time I wrote it down but clutched it with all my strength and refused to put it in the box.

When I was a very young girl I fought and grieved my abuse. I tried to understand why someone would hurt me. I feared the dark alleys, whined about hunger, had faith in Santa and Jesus, Then repeated doses of trauma caused me to build an immunity. Every time I went hungry for days, or my body was used to release a persons anger or satisfy fantasies I became more indifferent. I quit crying for help or fighting for freedom. I was given doses of trauma in a way people give themselves venom to become immune to snake bites.

I am grateful for my strength and the lessons I’ve learned but how do I turn over the grit that keeps me indifferent when I face pain again.

The strength to disconnect from my mind when at gun point, the ability to produce hallucinating fractals when I suffer, the courage to cut people I love from of my life, these are my imaginary super powers.

Why don’t I break? My core comes from a place of acceptance. I had been in denial, anger, bargaining, depression, to finally just accepting my poison. Why does divorce shatter someone’s entire life? Why does an affair render someone useless and emotionally cripple them? Why do financial struggles cause families to split? How can I let it go that every person I’ve put my trust in not only let me down but tortured my body or mind for their own satisfaction.

I used to think I was singled out for pain, now I know I was. There are some in my life who would never hurt others or never have, but I was treated as dispensable. Trust me when I say, I don’t want pity. The woman I am.

Is strong and capable. I am never afraid of anyone or anything, because in all honesty. I don’t know what they could do to me that the people I loved and trusted hadn’t done before them.

Living in foster homes and group homes as a child I longed for two things, home and family. Every Christmas my mental letter to Santa was to be surrounded by people I loved, with a beautiful tree, a cozy home and everyone happy to be together. Each falling star my wish would be the same….to have so many children and they would all adore me, each other and the father they were blessed to have. Every prayer was for safety, love and a big family. We would never go hungry and I was determined to keep everyone safe, happy and together. My dreams of having 6 children (at least), giving them a perfect life and surrounding them with people who cherished them were often times the daydreams I would have during days of loneliness. My favorite past time was hiding in secret places just to be alone with my dreams and hopes of my future perfect life. I was going to be a perfect mother. My nights would be filled with singing restless babies to sleep, my days busy with picnics and play dates with cousins. Oh….the boo boos I will kiss, fears I will chase away, the love I will share, the hearts that would love me forever.

Then at fifteen I started this wonderful perfect family. Soon after I found out that wanting to be a loving, doting mother who bakes cookies from scratch wasn’t the part I was assigned. Nope, being a teenage mother without family support meant instead of embracing my maternal sensitivities I engulfed huge gulps of grit. Old fashioned iron and determination to provide for and protect my child was the daily diet. Difficult pregnancies caused my doctor to advise me to stop after second baby was born and instead of grieving the babies I would never hold. I grabbed another rod of iron and put it where my fragile spine used to be. As I realized my spouse would never be a partner in parenting I shook off those hopes, and put a smile on my face. Surprise, baby number three was on the way but doctor is advising abortion due to health. As I sit across from my doctor I wanted to break down and cry, I wanted to become hysterical and beg him to fix this and give me more options but instead he told me that I may leave my first two children behind to bring my third into this world. The joy of another child was immediately covered with a shadow of fear. I forced a deep breath while feeling my steel rod spine stiffen to make me taller and colder. At 19, little of the nurturing idealistic girl remained and the logical controlling girl was stepping in to be the person and mother necessary. I learned that I had to be whatever was needed whenever it was needed and my job is to cross the t’s and dot the i’s in life. Focus on being strong and capable. This was my motto. Surrounded by my fears of leaving my children to a family that was weak at best my maternal skills were honed and precise and functional leaving little room for me to be emotional or connected. The decision was made to teach my children to be independent. As a mother I’ve felt very accomplished. Twenty seven years of grit and fight, and marrying a man with two wonderful daughters I am the mother of five strong and independent adults who enjoy our company.

Then I started reading a book that reminded me of the little girl who longed to read bed time stories and play with hair until they fell asleep. As a foster parent I’m doing it all wrong. For years I’ve let my children reach a developmental milestone, crossed it off my list and moved on to the next. Veteran mom here understands that things go from A-Z, left to right, and top to bottom. That’s just the way it is. I made many mistakes but over all it’s a precision and mathematical recipe. Then came our soon to be adopted son. He is technically in his fifth year, he has went through several chapters of his book but he’s not retaining everything. We finish a chapter but we can’t mark it off our list because he may have to revisit it. I don’t know what to do with this, I don’t know how to skim read, or double back for things. It’s goes against everything I know. As a mother I feel like a failure and worry that I won’t be enough for him.

My prayer today is broken. Broken for the little boy who can’t comprehend the chapters of his own life due to trauma and for the little girl who wanted so badly to be the connection for children and family but lost her ability to reach where he needs to be reached. I pray for a receptive spirit to learn from those who’ve walked this place before me. To allow my armor of steel to soften enough to find him where he is but not so much that he can’t count on me. Maybe through helping him heal, a little more of the girl inside will be healed as well.

One day I was called to the school to pick up my 5 year old foster daughter. She was being defiant for the numerous time this week and they had even called the resource officer to help but nothing they tried was working so I headed to the school for the umpteenth time. When I pulled up the patrol car was parked right in front so I pulled in close, took a deep breath and acted like I knew what I was doing. My kids need to feel like I know what to do and how to handle everything. Though I feel like I’m out of my element they need to trust that I can deal with anything they throw my way. I will break down in prayer or cry on my husbands shoulder later, right now I have a miniature tyrant who is causing chaos and needs to be emotionally grounded. When the buzzer sounds and the door unlocks I go into the foyer before they wave me on into the office where my little one was sitting. A turned over desk, snack wrappers, food treys and ripped up paper scattered all over the tiny room with no windows, there she was, leaning against the wall. The assistant principle turned away from her to talk to me about her conduct and have me sign the write up sheets. Then my darling jumped up, lunged and hauled off and hit the lady in the back as hard as she could. This tall lady while standing her entire 5’8ish self said “please don’t hit me, I don’t like to be hit” WHAT?!?! This brown eyed little girl balled up her fist and pulled it back to strike again when I stepped between them. I bent down on her level and said in my darkest most stern voice possible “DO NOT HIT HER, she has a right to be safe. I won’t let you hit her and I won’t let her hit you because you have a right to be safe too”. Her eyes never left mine but her head tilted down and she nodded. I knew that something hit home. She put her hand in mine as I finished signing papers and we walked out together like any other mom and daughter. It’s later as I prayed and thought about this, that a light bulb went off. How many times as a child did I

1. Doubt myself and assume that people really didn’t mean to grab me here or there. “The tickling that accidentally got out of hand”

2. Feel like I couldn’t say no to an adult. Losing all ability to stand up for myself.

Who taught me to victimize myself? Where did I get the notion that I didn’t deserve being rescued. When did I learn that my person, my body could be treated any way at all and I had to deal with it?

Listening to the assistant principal ask her gently “please don’t hit me, I don’t like to be hit” I was reminded of the times I quietly begged someone to get off of me. How and when did we decide to teach our daughters to ASK for safety instead of insisting. I told my daughters if anyone EVER touched them in ANY way they didn’t like I would come to them and help them. I taught all of my children that they deserve to be safe and they can announce it to the treetops if anyone ever makes them feel in danger. However, I also taught them that they are to never make anyone else question their safety because WE ALL DESERVE TO BE SAFE.

Redirection, positive wording, and peaceful resolve are all wonderful and should be 90% of the way we communicate with one another. But there are something things that need to be said with exclamation.

NO!! isn’t an ugly word

Don’t!! is not mean

Stop!!! Is a wonderful way to get the point across.

We confuse negative words with negative feelings. These words are perfectly acceptable when being used to protect ourself or someone else. Let us all gives options and choices about what cereal our kids want to eat or what toys they want to play with but instill the fact that there are some things that are simply right or wrong, yes or no and black and white.

The other day I was at a birthday party when a friend and I started discussing the many obstacles I’ve ran into as a foster parent and how I feel like I have true enemies in the school now that I have foster children (never the five biological children I sent to the same school) Since she works for the education system I was eager to listen to any advice I could get. She said “it’s not you, there’s a stigma with what you do” “There are so many bad foster parents, we see it every day”. “These kids aren’t loved and the foster mom does it for money, she is fake and we all know it”

Well, I’ve heard the phrase “they’re in it for the money” so many times it makes my stomach hurt. We wouldn’t expect the pediatrician to pass up reimbursement for time, despite that we feel the wellness of children should be the goal. What if money is the driving force? Should he stop saving children? What about teachers, should they not get paid because the job is to enrich our community, one child at a time? What about law enforcement? Isn’t safety and service what it’s really about? Why pay these people? We don’t even expect the boy who clears our table to do it for nothing. Most of us even pay our children to clean up their own mess. The only time we question whether a person should get paid is fostering or pastoring. Let my reward be in Heaven with my pastors, that works for me.

My personal conviction is that foster parents should be in it to give children a safe and nurturing home. However, unless you are in it to abuse children I can’t find fault in anyone opening their home to the less fortunate for ANY reason. The world has such a high expectation of people who do the crap work that most of us feel too important to do. Trust me when I say this, it’s true. Here are some of the excuses I’ve heard not to foster. I can’t get hurt that way, I would get too attached. You are probably wrong since YOU are more worried about YOU getting too hurt then a child going hungry, or being beaten. That being said, for some of us it’s a real danger and one we often tread carefully because our hearts have been crushed over and over again. Another excuse I’ve heard is “I can’t parent a child I can’t discipline”. Does that mean that you need to work out your lack of skills as a parent on a child who doesn’t even know what parenting looks like? Yet there are still more excuses like “I don’t have the time” or “I wouldn’t want all the caseworkers in my life and business all the time”. Just say it, quit making excuses, say it out loud “I am not willing to sacrifice my heart my home and my livelihood for a child who isn’t mine”. It’s fine, nobody’s asking you to care for the fatherless, except God.

Back to (they’re in it for the money). I have left one job and lost another due to how many times I’m called to retrieve kids because they can’t handle the behaviors at school. Do people really know how little per diem is for foster parents? It doesn’t replace the income I had while I worked as a teacher or as a court clerk. My life is 10x more expensive than it was before fostering. Repair to my home from tantrums, multiple trips to doctors and therapists and if anyone thinks dinning out and taking kids on vacation for their enrichment is stuff that per diem pays for, they’ve lost their mind. Haircuts, birthday parties, school supplies, field trips and school dances, Easter baskets and filled stockings? Who pays for these? Foster parents!

But let’s just say for example that someone is offering a safe and clean home to children for whatever benefits they can get out of it. Should they be made to stop because they don’t have the love and nurture we want for all kids. Do you know how many people resent their step children but they still keep their title. Grandparents who favor some kids over others. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying it’s the truth. Though our country as a whole has 10x more foster kids then they have homes. Our homes should be inspection worthy at a drop of a hat which is more than I can say for most homes I know. We should also be above approach and without human weakness or resentment about the way we are treated. In other words, we should open our lives to inspection our hearts for pain and get kicked in the teeth for doing it.

Through the years we’ve had many children and there was one I couldn’t bond with. I tried repeatedly but it wasn’t there. I didn’t send her away, maybe others could sense my lack of bond but honestly I tried to hide it from everyone, even her. The reason I had her stay was not because she was bringing a paycheck. Nope, it was the other bonds she had formed. She had real bonds with some of our other children, some at school and some at church. She had been doing very well with her therapist and she had developed many coping skills that would help her in the future. Even years after reunification she keeps in touch with everyone here. Despite the fact that I had no bond with her I wanted what was best for her and wanted to give her the opportunity to succeed. This is what our goals for all children should be. I’m sure some people if they knew my lack of bond would decide that I had no business with her. So. I should send her back, mess up her friendships and send her further back emotionally and academically? I won’t do it.

Before I started fostering I thought foster parents were hero’s. I had lived as a ward of the state and still viewed their sacrifice as noble. From the inside of many foster homes and group homes I boldly claim, there are MANY more good homes out there than bad. There were a few homes with a negative atmosphere but the life I came from was toxic, TOXIC. I’m grateful to the people who opened their homes to me even if they couldn’t open their hearts.

Sitting in a meeting with a Foster Care investigator she said to us “teachers don’t like foster parents and they know exactly what questions to ask to get the answers they want and what terms to use to make us investigate”. To me that’s like the Baptist church slandering the Pentecostal. Shouldn’t we all be standing for Christ with the same goal of Heaven even if we sit on different pews. Shouldn’t all of us who work for children work together to help these kids not fall through the cracks of society. When my children didn’t like a teacher I didn’t immediately attack the teachers character, I explained the facts to my students. Ex. Is this teacher teaching you math? Is she at work doing her job? Then she has an education and a title that you have to respect even if you don’t respect her as a person. We aren’t going to click with everyone but we have to learn to work with everyone. No one has ever offered to switch an employees job because they don’t like the way their boss handles break time.

It’s 2018 we should push through prejudice of others because we don’t understand the work they do or the sacrifices they make. We need to also put aside our stereotyping of others. We can’t assume all blondes are dumb, all teachers are in it for the benefits, all police officers are on a power trip or all foster parents are seeking the little work/mega pay life.

The reason I believe people want to assume foster parents are bad is because it makes them feel better about the fact that 1. They won’t open their home to children 2. they refuse to donate their money or time to foster children. It’s almost like society is the bio parent who refuses to pay child support or visit with their children because the other parent may be reckless with the money or free time they have. It’s a bogus excuse.

The trials I’ve went through this week have made me physically weak. They’ve caused me to really reflect on myself as a person, my faith, and question why I’m defeated at this point in my life. A lesson I heard this evening was about our faith being fickle and I really started questioning myself and what causes me to give up so easily. Actually, what cause us Christians as a whole to live defeated and in fear. Many times the lessons we learn from our Pastors or church leaders is about our God being EVERYTHING. He is all powerful, all knowing, all loving and we are promised a victory banquet in Heaven. Though these statements are very true sometimes we need to be reminded that we are at war. Yes, we are promised Victory! We do fight for the one worthy and all powerful. But war has casualties!! The conquers often times lose many many soldiers, they come home with battle wounds, broken minds or not at all. We are at war people. It’s a spiritual war that will often times make us feel shattered to our core. Though we know our Father can heal. At some point we all must die and this will effect each and everyone of us. We WILL face sickness and heart break. We WILL face financial struggles. We WILL fall flat on our face in tears. This is war!!

As Christians we fail to realize the cost of war! What will our faith cost us. Will it cost us friendships, will we be asked to sacrifice our time? Are we prepared to pay what it costs to be obedient? Will we give our tithes to the war of God? Will we work and serve others and His plan with our energy? What if it costs your marriage? What if you are asked to leave you home and go to the mission field? What if you are asked to open your home to strangers or children? Can you or will you pay this price? A broke war can never win. Many countries have lost the battle due to lack of funds. How much is too much for you?

This is my Achilles heal. What about the allies of war? What happens when the brothers that once stood with you fighting the fight beside you change their allegiance and now raise arms against you. What happens when your sponsors withdraw their support? The pain that runs the deepest for me are when my Christian friends turn on me. For me personally when the teachers that should be fighting the battle of child wellness with me stand against me. Or the Caseworkers who turned someone else’s children in to my hands with confidence and all faith buckle when that faith is questioned. This pain reminds me of the Vietnam Vets who returned home after a long hard battled where they lost so much and were scorned by the American people. Our soldiers were scorned, ridiculed and treated like animals. This area is probably the one I struggle with the most in my faith. When those I fight with and for turn against us. Feelings become personal and I understand in war one side will win and one will lose. Never have I wanted to conquer friends or family so victory becomes bitter.

Why do we go to war if it takes so much? We don’t go to war, we are in the war. The choice we have is which side we want to fight for. The perks of fighting for our Savior are the only thing that matters. In this war we aren’t exempt from the tragedy however we can receive peace. We can pray for his comfort to see us through. We can have a hedge around our hearts and minds staying focused on him. Most importantly Eternal Victory!!! Eternal worship and rest from the war. One day the battle will be over and we can bask in the goodness of his promises. We fight for Eternal peace and joy. Let us all lift up or battle cry for our creator, our Father and Savior. Let’s fight with all we can, give all we have and stand against all who will stand against the one and only God almighty!

Owning survivorship has dulled my awareness of the battle wounds I’ve earned in life. The emotional scars are easy to hide for a while but they are starting to manifest to the very physical person I poses.

For years I’ve slept on my right side, with my head as far up against the headboard as I can possibly get it. I would fall asleep in one position and wake in the same position. Just a quirky habit, I thought. It’s been so many years that I’ve slept this way that I never questioned it. Some people sleep on their back while others prefer their stomach, isn’t this all preference? This is just who we are, right?

After 40 years of this habit the veins and arteries on my right side have started having some problems with the pressure all night. That’s ok, I will train my self to sleep on my back or my left side. The first night I tried positioning pillows to encourage me to stay on my left side but I kept waking up in a panic. I moved to lying on my back but night after night I laid there feeling unexplained horror.

What is wrong with me? I can doze of at the drop of a hat almost anywhere and I’d been so tired. Then I remembered how long I’d been sleeping on my right side. It wasn’t a concise decision but I trained myself to stay on my right side through the night when I was very young and that safety had become a part of who I am. On my right side, head to the top, I could sleep with my back to the wall, head to a wall. No matter what homeless shelter I was in, foster home, group home, or alley, if I could find a wall I had two sides protected when I was most vulnerable.

No matter how many schools you go to you realize pretty quick, they’re all the same. There are teachers who care, teachers who don’t, there’s sad classrooms with art meant to inspire, and hallways either filled with students or resembling a ghost town. The kids have their groups minus a few lone stragglers and everyone knows where you belong and they will put you there, quick.  

Then of course there’s the cafeteria. This is where all kids are gathered in a frenzy of chaos. Mixing all social groups together where they’ll also be surrounded by their personal support group for unleashed hormonal outbreaks. NOT GOOD! 

On my third day at this school and fourth day in the new group home it happened. A girl I was sitting close to leaned close to me and said “she’s gonna hurt you” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but my head popped up and looked around the cafeteria in a panic. When did the cafeteria get quite? When did everyone start looking at me?  Then I noticed her. A tall girl with dark brown hair and a face of fury was heading my way. “Oh God, what do I do?” “What did I do?” I looked for an exit but it was further away then she was. My heart was racing because I’ve seen that look before. A face bent on pounding mine in. Panic was flooding me, I could hear my heartbeat. If I cry for mercy I won’t find any sympathy the rest of the time I attend school here. If I knew what I’d done I could try to defend myself but no. I’m the new girl and I must have broken a rule I wasn’t aware of. Talked to a boy who is forbidden territory in their seventh grade minds. Or maybe I made friends with an enemy and I’m just the example. It’s simply new kid status. Veteran students are either enamored with them, disgusted by them, or simply plan to show them how things are done in their neck of the woods. 

Here it is. Do or die. Fight or Flight. The closer she got the more I searched frantically for a way out. She could take me, she is twice my size, my only advantage would be to throw the first punch. She stepped through the wall of middle schoolers and into my personal space then  said “I’m gonna kick” and I jumped up and punched her in the face with every inch of fear I had. All the panic, adrenaline and pure terror I had flowing through me was making contact with her face. I couldn’t stop until someone literally picked me up from behind and put my arms behind my back and she kicked making contact with  my ribs because her arms were also being pinned. Rapidly breathing I looked around at my peers as they were gasping, giggling and even cheering. After that my new girl status was gone and my label was one of crazy, fighter and not scared. 

No fear? How did they figure that. Fear is who fought the fight, not me. I didn’t want to start this, I preferred to be almost invisible. I hated when the principle lectured me and the kids now befriended me for no reason or avoided me like I was trouble. My heart is not full of anger, desire to hurt someone, seem like a a tough person or be seen by everyone. It’s just simple, it’s not my first new school, it’s not my first cafeteria, it’s not the first time the gate opened and I reacted like a caged animal and fought my way out. 

 I was listening to this girl talk. She was just talking. It was obvious that everyone around her was annoyed with her rambling because she kept interjecting her nonsense into other conversations. She lacked eye contact but she had extreme hand motions and facial reactions that almost seemed like what she had to say would be interesting but, no. While the present company was discussing the new construction on the road close by she was interjecting her concerns about a film left behind on her teeth. WOW! How can you not know how to communicate better than that. I watched the train wreck in silence. Over and over people would roll from conversation to conversation and she would just blurt out random facts that weren’t directed to anyone or about anything on the topic at hand. The basis of every solid foundation is communication. How can you learn to bond with others if you never learn when to listen, and when to talk and even past that what’s important to talk about. Day after day I talk to the live of my life. I tell him there’s a school program coming up, I ask him to pic up the pictures sent to Walgreen, I talk about upcoming events. Though this is fine how often do I talk about how grateful I am for him, or let him know what I need emotionally? Then I realized how often I treat my prayer life so nonchalantly. I talk, I ramble, I ask, too often I ramble. So I decided to analyze the Lords Prayer and teach myself how to stop my communication with God from being hijacked. 

HIJACK                                                                    Honor- Address and acknowledge  our father, recognize His name and station

Include- Know that it’s His plan, His will, praying to be included in building our home in glory.                                                 

Just Ask- Ask for those things that concern us, ask for comfort or guidance.                   

Apologize-Beg for forgiveness and ask for help offering forgiveness towards others

Control- Give Him control over our path ask Him to detour us away from weaknesses of the flesh

Know -Know that you have talked with your Father our God Almighty, Know that He has all things in His hands, know that you can leave it there)

Protect your communication and work hard to express yourself but also remember  that lines of communication go both ways so learn to be still and listen to the one who longs to hear from you.