[On January 26th I did the second section of my Bible Study for that week from the book Dance Stand Run and what happened I just HAVE to share.]

That is how this post originally started, back in 2018.
It is now 2019, ya know, in case you hadn't noticed yet.

I wrote a great deal more than that sentence, I sent it to my friends, called family and told them and it was a joyous few weeks and a freeing year.
But now here I am, two steps backwards from my 2018 leap forwards.

A little detail:

I have anxiety and I am a mental self abuser. Berating, name calling, insulting, self defeating internal monologues, accusatory, blaming.. etc.
I don't like to admit these things seriously in a public forum, because then I tell myself. "what are you doing, you're being an attention seeking worm, don't be so ridiculous. Everyone will hate this, they will disdain you for it." Excessive, I know.

But here's the thing. In 2018, God freed me to such a large extent from that on the 26th of January. My comfort in social situations blossoms practically overnight. My bravery to speak to strangers and do things I never would have agreed to before grew by leaps and bounds. Being able to take captive those accusing thoughts and toss them out was astounding. Don't get me wrong, it was still work to do so, but I could do it, finally!

Yet here I am, January 2019, almost to the day, back in the trenches fighting a battle, not as strong as before but difficult, against my own self aimed disdain and repugnance.

I sit here writing this in an effort to process, to think out why, to ask how.

Why am I back here again, questioning with growing cruelness my every action, word and thoughts?
How did I get back here as though I woke up to realize the current had swept me nearly back out to sea?

There is my heart. The little girl in the corner who weeps saying:
"I cannot win"

There is my head. Responding harshly:
"This is life, it's a stupid endless up and down, get used to it ya big baby and power through."

Then there is Spirit.
His Spirit, Holy and True.
He says:
"You cannot win."
"You will not win."
"Yes, life is up and life is down."
"but"
"I will win for you."
"Again."
"and again"
"and again."

And as silly as this illustration may seem to some, it is comfort to the heart of that little girl, this little girl. Holding on to hope that the up and down, the screw ups, the mistakes, the dumb things, that they don't stick, that they don't have to haunt my mind, because what I learned in January of 2018 was not from my heart, it was not of my brain.
It was Spirit.
Holy and True.

"Stupid, irresponsible, dumb child, idiot, ugly, dumb, mean, inconsiderate, selfish cow, horrible human, impatient bug, obnoxious, annoying, cruel person, rude, dislikable, hate-able, unwanted, etc."

I may sometimes make stupid choices.
Make selfish choices.
Be impatient.
Say something really dumb.
I still sin, that's the darn maddening truth of life and I hate it.

but

These things do not stick.
These names and titles have nowhere to stay.
They are not me.

They are not me.
Why do I let them hang on, when no glue holds them here?

God took these titles, these accusations and names, that really were who I was before, and He took each one and took it with Him on the cross and burned them up. Destroyed them and remade me.

Yet I still try to paste them back on, like a flimsy sticky-note or "hello my name is". Covering myself with the old and ignoring the beautiful he created and revealed.

So I will peel them off, one at a time, these empty name's I've put there, and let them float and fade away, like warm breath in the fresh winter wind.

And hopefully one day very soon, I can look at myself again, and see the me God so gracious and mercifully made me, and be thankful.

To the Boy in the Graveyard

I remember you.

I know that you will most likely never read those three words, never know the gravity and weight they have had upon my heart so often. You very well may not even remember me, what irony that would be, but I had to say them, to try to get the words out to you somehow.
In case you don't remember, I'll remind you.

Three years ago, I wandered amidst an old cemetery in Prescott, Arizona. Capturing with my camera the mysteries that the old headstones, weathered and faded, presented to me. I was drawn in and fascinated, entranced by thoughts of who they were, what they looked like, and how they spent their days.
Do not think I was too occupied to notice you there under the shade of the only tree, your drink in hand, watching me as I wandered amidst the stones.

Inevitably my path lead me to pass near you.
"What are you doing?"
Your curiosity was colored by your harsh tone and clear distaste for my activity. I explained to you my photographic intents, my fascination of graveyards and the great curiosity they sparked in me. I asked if you had ever thought or felt the same.
Clearly you thought me mad. My desire to know about the lives of the dead was salt on a wound I hadn't expected. You questioned why should I care about the dead and the lives they had lead, they are long gone and forgotten, I should just leave it at that. I attempted a poor explanation, now lost to my memory, but the next words you uttered are not, they were soaked with such deep hurt and resentment I will never forget them.
"Well I'm still alive and everyone's forgotten me."
Oh how these words pierced me, my heart broke for you then. I stood speechless watching as you walked away, climbed the wall and disappeared into the trees.
Too little too late, the words finally came to me,
"I won't forget you."
You didn't hear me, already gone from sight, but I said it anyways, I promised it regardless.
Now three years on and each time I find myself in Prescott, passing that very same graveyard I look in, hopeful to see you there, resting in the shade of that little tree, drink in hand. I would walk up to you and tell you,
I remember you.