One Cracked Pot

Makes me want to cry…

Jennifer — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 02:46:44 +0000

I think the worst part about having a disorder like trichotillomania is watching it get passed on to my kids. My daughter is 11, and the hormones have begun to surge. Unfortunately, so has the hair-pulling.

I could just cry. I know the road she’s about to travel on. The one that mars your outward beauty and then destroys your self-esteem. The one that makes you want to hide from everything and everyone. The one that closes up your heart and whispers in your ear that you are ugly, you are shameful, you are a disgrace.

Oh Lord, help us to parent her through this by Your wisdom and grace! Help us to help her recognize these lies of the enemy and find her worth in You. Help us to love her in the way she needs us to love her. And please, Lord, PLEASE… don’t allow the echos from my struggle to magnify hers.

Little Girl, Dance

Jennifer — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 04:47:30 +0000

Twirl around in your imaginary lovely gown,
Twirl around… wait to see you are a treasure
You are loved
You are wanted
You are beautiful

Even though the words never come,
Little girl,
Dance.

Five-letter Words

Jennifer — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 04:28:50 +0000

They yell it
And scream it
And make you do it.
Make you live under it,
Suporting it;
The Just Cause
That must be borne
Even if you are dying
From the weight of it…
Even if it was never Christ’s intention
That you bear it.
The true thing unattainable…
The carrot on the string
In front of the donkey…
The promise…
But the reward for bearing the load
Never given.
Only more promises
With more beatings.

Peace, you say?
Peace?
You yell it in my ear,
You demand it from
Those you have labled wrong.
I have been in your marches.
I have seen your faces.
You make victims
Out of sisters
And enemies out of brothers.

You have made this thing your god,
This “peace.”
A triune and ugly thing it is:
God the Peace,
God the Justice,
God the Community.
On your bumperstickers
On your FaceBooks
On your Face…
Not peace.
Only hate
Intolerence

The five letter word…
your cause
your god

But without love
You are a clanging cymbol
A knife that cuts
And cores out
The seeds that would have borne fruit…

Peace
Grace
Five-letter words
That are more painful to me
Than your foulest curse.

Cracking up… in more ways than one

Jennifer — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 14:15:51 +0000

I’m a bit cracked…. but most of you know that already.

Sometimes, it’s kinda fun. I love humor ( see above picture of Ruby, my alterego), and find odd things really funny. I also love to make people laugh, whether it’s something I say or doing something out of the ordinary. Sometimes, it’s really painful, like this morning when I lost my cool with the kids after constant interruptions and bickering. I’m not a perfect mother. Lots of cracks there.

The struggle this morning is acknowledging this same old crack that has come up again and being willing to give it back to the Lord. I need to seek forgiveness from Him and my kids and move on. I dwell on the cracks because I hate imperfection. It annoys me like a scratchy shirt tag that won’t lie down. I want things smooth and seamless. I want to be perfect and I am not. It’s funny how many times God uses my kids to remind me of this. I have trouble not dwelling on the cracks… is this my human nature or is it part of OCD and trichotillomania? How much grace am I allowed when I’ve blown my stack for the zillionth time over the same stupid thing? God may not run out of grace or patience with me, but my family might.

Brokenness is not weakness, nor does it doom me to a life of uselessness. I am a cracked pot. My head knows that each broken place allows more of Christ’s light to shine into the world if I allow Him to be Lord of the cracks. If I stop trying to conceal them, patch them, cover them over, they can bring glory to God. my heart just struggles with the willingness to surrender.

“Unbusheling” my light

Jennifer — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 13:40:47 +0000

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” Until recently I thought this reference to light meant the light of Christ in our lives. I thought it meant sharing Christ with others… that the light was Jesus or the gospel and it was my duty to go forth and shine.

Partly.

Jesus is the LIght of the World, and we are privilaged to bring Him to those in darkness. But my attention is drawn to the word your in this verse. Your light. It could have said “Let His light so shine before men…,” but it doesn’t. It says your. Your light; my light. They are as different as we are different. But they are lights all the same, and they all point back to the same Source.

These lights are the gifts and talents that God has lavished on us, His children. They are the abilities we have and the things we enjoy doing the most… the things we are good at and are passionate about. The second verse of “This Little Light of Mine” says: Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’m gonna let it shine. I have spent most of my life hiding my light under a bushel and talking myself out of the things I love and have a natural talent for. Who needs another artist? What could I possibly do that has not been done already? I’m not as good as [fill in the blank], so I’ll never make it. *snuff*

Recently I took a job as a sculptor/artist/office help for a custom wedding cake top company. No, this is not a ministry per se. I’ve never had a job where I’ve felt to at home. I love going in, I love the challenge of the details, I love working with my hands. I’ve spent so long bemoaning the “jack of all trades, master of none” type that I am… but here, my light was exactly what was needed. Devine aha moment: The way I am is not a mistake or a waste of time and talent. God had something in mind… and has more planned. Now I have a steady part time job that fits in with the family’s schedule, and I have the courage to branch out on my own a little more. Since then, I’ve picked up 3 commissioned portraits with hopes to eventually have more steady work in this area. And always I pray that when someone sees my work, they will be reminded of the Lord.

I took off the cover and Unbusheled my light. My light, my unique gifting… that points back to Jesus, the artist who designed me.

The In-Between Time

Jennifer — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 12:47:12 +0000

Rewarded for in-between? Could God care about that? When we are not producing, not accomplishing, and life is changing…. I’m not satisfied when I’m in a place like this. But God has a purpose for it.

The circumstances that bring us to the in-between time may vary, but the walk is similar for all of us. I was writing to a friend who is experiencing depression because both of her kids are now up and out, and she’s facing the reality that they won’t be living at home again. Her parents are aging and she is finding herself at one of those in-between times. What do you do to fill the space? What do you do with the uncomfortable feelings? The time that is not filled for you?

God will fill it in His time. Unfortunately, part of that filling is living with the uncomfortable in-between time. It can really be painful, but know that you will not be in it forever. And what you have when you come out the other side you would not trade. It is one of those priceless treasures bought only thru sacrifice. The currency is sometimes loneliness, sometimes tears. It is the lonesome valley that you walk with none but your Lord and your own heart. He tells you things in the lonesome valley that you cannot hear or understand at any other time. If you kick and scream the whole way thru it, you will miss the treasure and you will come out empty. If you are quiet and keep your eyes focused on His face and listen to His Word, He will fill you up and place the treasure in your hands.

The in-between time is not a choice. What we do when we are in it is.

2/9/08

Ebenezers

Jennifer — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 01:23:39 +0000

Do you ever take the time to celebrate your sucesses, even the little ones? God commanded Israel to observe certain celebrations and commemerate how far they’d come and Who it was that saw them thru. Or He commanded that an altar be built when they reached a certain place so that they would remember where they were and where they are now. We can, too. One of the hymns I love (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing), has a verse that goes like this: Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I’ve come…” An Ebenezer is a stone that the Israelites placed as a reminder of how far God had brought them. Start placing your own Ebenezers. You place them so that you may look back and KNOW God has moved you, you HAVE grown, you ARE farther along than you were. You have markers that shout praise to God because who you are now is not who you used to be.

Look how far the grace of God has brought you.

Encouragement from the Word

Jennifer — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 01:08:04 +0000

September 4, 2007

I hate sitting and spinning my wheels. It seems I do that more often when I don’t spend time in the Word. My soul starves for lack of food… and the table is always spread before me!!

Tonight I was looking over some notes I made on some scripture I found this past week. There is such hope for all of us who suffer disorder or illness! This life is precious to God and He takes account of our sorrows and hurts. He will make all things new someday, and give us eternal life where there is no sickness, death, sorrow, or tears. No shame. No guilt.

Psalm 56:8 – You have kept count of my tossings and caught all my tears in your flask.

Joel 2:25 – I will restore to you the years the locusts have eaten…

Isaiah 35:9-10 – No lion will be there, nor will any ferocious beast get upon [this road]; they will not be found there. But only the redeemed will walk there, and the ransomed of the Lord will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

Psalm 30:5 - Weeping may remain for the night, but joy comes in the dawn!

God promises this. And God is not man… he always keeps His promises.

Well… how about that?! I looked into His word and I was comforted! When I look to him, my eyes are not on me. I put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness and He has lifted the weight and calmed my restlessness.

The Power of Secrets: part of my journey with trichotillomania

Jennifer — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 19:06:01 +0000

What could possibly cause an otherwise normal, healthy teenaged girl to wish she had cancer (to explain the baldness) or was a quadraplegic (so that her arms and hands would be useless), or could just die (so that the struggle would be over)? How about a disorder that no one around me had ever heard of? How about something that made anyone who noticed stare and whisper and point?

What is it? Compulsive hair-pulling. It’s categorized as a disorder that may be related to Turrett’s Syndrome. It comes with sides of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and some Impulse Control Disorder, all served up on a platter of anxiety and depression. Nice. Sufferers lock themselves away from society, avoid fun activities like swimming, and guard themselves from any kind of intimacy. Constant fear, constant shame, constant failure.

Helpful friends and family, and even some doctors say things like, “Oh, you just need to stop.” “Why don’t you just quit?” Wow. I NEVER thought of that! Not in the last 24 years! (Pardon the dripping sarcasm.)

So, here is part of my story… without the sarcasm.

When I began pulling as a little girl, I found I could no longer make eye contact with people. I didn’t want them to see I had no eyebrows or lashes. Later on, I switched to pulling the hair on top of my scalp. I had a bald spot the size of a softball with scabs and sores. I felt like the ugliest, most worthless person alive. I didn’t want my picture taken and I was scared to death of being video-taped, especially from behind. This was such a prison, especially at extended family Christmases. I had lied about how I got the bald spot, and thought that if anyone ever knew the truth, they would think I was disgusting and would label me a freak. I couldn’t tell my parents either… my biggest fear was that they would lock me up in a mental institution. I was sure they were ashamed of me and that I was an embarrassment to them. My Dad was a pastor, and my folks were loving, caring people who made a good home for my sister and I. How could I do this to them? So, from age 9 until age 15 I locked myself away in a prison of lies and concealment to keep me safe from pain and rejection. The thing I didn’t realize was that my thick walls also prevented anyone from helping me, and created the rejection I wanted so desperately to avoid. What was the answer? The only thing I knew to do was add more stones, making the wall thicker and higher.

When I was baptized at age 13, a day that should have been wonderful as I vowed to follow my Savior, all I could think of as Dad poured the water over my handkerchief-covered bald spot was how disappointed he must be in me, and how ugly I must be in his eyes. I just could not believe that there was a loving heavenly Father who accepted me as I was, no matter how many hairs I pulled or how many scabs covered my head. I had to pay. I was bad. I was weak. I wasn’t good enough. All lies… and I believed every word.

The amazing thing about God is that no matter where you are when you begin with Him, He gently takes you from that point and begins to move you forward. He slowly began taking the stones down. The first step was taking a job as a horse wrangler and kitchen help at a Christian camp. I made friends there on a level I never had before. My faltering, feeble trust grew to a point that I was able to tell my 2 closest friends the truth. And… they didn’t reject me. They now knew my horrible secret, and it didn’t matter to them. They loved me anyway. This was the first glimmer of light into my dark and lonely fortress.

Oh, that light felt good! I began dismantling a few more stones, and more light came in. As more light came in, the less the power of my dark secret. The rules of hiding hair-pulling slowly lost their hold on me. No, I didn’t (and don’t) walk around with my bald spot exposed for the world to see, but I could talk about it with people. I saw that what Satan was using to lock me up, Jesus was using to help others.

I certainly don’t corner the market on pain and suffering, but because I know this pain, I can understand others who are in similar pain. Because I am willing to allow Jesus to touch my raw head, to see my shame, He does not waste my pain. It is a precious tool to touch the lives of others. That doesn’t mean that I don’t struggle. It doesn’t mean that I like myself all the time. I have bad days. I still pull and pick and fight the internal battles of bitter self worth. The difference? With each passing moment, my “secret” has less and less power over me. It does not define me anymore. If others see my weakness, I will praise the Lord… for His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

He who began a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.

Rejection: the Shell Defense

Jennifer — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 01:03:22 +0000

Rejection.

I think I handle rejection by trying to be in control of it. (This may get really confusing when I write it.) If I am rejected and I am not at my best, I have a great excuse (or maybe several!) to fall back on. “Well, this isn’t the best I can be. This isn’t the REAL me. I can be really pretty if I want to be. I can play the part of caring and gracious and giving pastor’s wife if I felt like it. They only rejected me b/c they didn’t see the BEST me.” You see, how much more scarey it is to face rejection when I AM my best self… when my hair and make up are beautiful, my clothes complement my body perfectly, my demeanor is calm, my movements are graceful, and I am delightfully witty, insightful and charming and not putting my foot in my mouth. If I am rejected then, there is nothing to fall back on. Nowhere to deflect it. No thing on the outside of me to blame it on. It would be because of me… who I really am at the center… my very heart.

And so I have put away this one God made me to be and don a shell that will stand between the rejection and my raw, hurting heart. I talk to it daily to make sure it stays tough: You are ugly. You should’ve known better. You could do better. You are a liar. You will never be any different. You aren’t standing straight. You shouldn’t be sitting down. You are lazy… on and on it goes until I have the new layer of protection on. At the same time, as I have written before, Jennifer is lonely and hurting and wanting to be loved. And the shell that I built to protect her from the storm keeps her prisoner.

No more. It is for freedom that Christ sets me free. The prison door is already open. I must just be willing to walk through. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!!!