Desiring God

This monologue has nothing to do with John Piper’s book, Desiring God. Or, at least, I am not writing about his words specifically, but I am writing about desiring God. I think I am slowly beginning to learn that what I truly desire is, in fact, God himself. I have spent so much time and energy looking for that one thing I was seeking, that seemingly elusive something that would bring fulfillment and joy. But perhaps the hardest part of my journey has been discovering that what I truly desire is God himself. I have looked for satisfaction in other things, things that looked good, that felt good, that left me smiling even. But they do not satisfy when the one thing you are seeking can only be found in God and in desiring Him. How did I come to this conclusion?

My search probably began the moment I committed my life to following Jesus. Although I do not remember actively seeking, I think there was placed in my heart this desperate desire to be close to God, the One who could dry all my tears and heal all my hurts, who could fill me with unspeakable joy and incomprehensible peace. I’ve gone through my share of being distracted by the things this world offers, and even still am distracted by them. But this is not what this story is about. When I really began to actively seek what I desired, and by that I mean seeking to find out what it was I desired, not to seek the thing I desired, for that I did not yet know, I found myself in a place of confusion.

I grew up in a church that had seen its pews totally full and nearly empty, a change of pastors, and numerous changes of youth pastors, people coming, but mostly people going, and tradition moving out to make room for contemporary. I was six when my family began attending services there. I made friends there. I participated in Sunday school, kids’ choir, and AWANA. I think part of my identity was grafted into me from that church. It was my life outside of home. It was all I wanted. I couldn’t stand the thought of moving away and leaving my friends there, although I watched some of my friends move away. It was my home.

Upon graduating high school, I was essentially kicked out of youth group. I was “too old” to participate in it, and “too young” to help lead it. I did not know what to do with myself. My friends who graduated the same year as I all went away to college. I had no one my age around, and those younger than me were beyond reach in the confines of the youth group I was kept from. I could not identify with the older college and career group, and so I avoided it altogether. I essentially lost my identity, the identity I had formed around my involvement in the youth group and the church. I hung around on Wednesday nights with nothing better to do. Finally a change of youth pastors gave me an opportunity to once again be involved with the youth. But by then I was think I was so lost, so confused, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

I didn’t like what I saw in the church. I was disillusioned, looking for the church to give me what I desired. But how could I know it couldn’t deliver when I did not even realize what I wanted most? I could not! So I went seeking for a solution to the church problem. I questioned what the church even was. What was it supposed to be? What was its purpose, its function? I sought answers to these questions, and the person I turned to for help did his best to help me discover the answers to those questions in the Bible. He told me of his own disappointments with the traditional church, and how he had started his own church that tried to do things like the New Testament church. I was hungry for something other than what I’d seen all my life. I heard this other church described as a community, where Christians spent time together and loved each other and kept in touch throughout the week, where relationships were strong and growing. It appealed strongly to me. Looking back, I can understand why. I was desperate for relationships. Having seen my friends move away, and losing the identity I’d built with them and with my involvement with the youth, I felt lost and alone. I wanted a community. I wanted to be part of a church where I felt welcomed and loved. It wasn’t that people at my family’s church didn’t love me or welcome me. I had turned a blind eye to them. I think bitterness and resentment over my pain caused there had hardened me against the love that is in the people there. I just couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t see it. I wanted something else, something new, a group of people who knew nothing about me where I could start afresh. I wanted to be seen as an equal, not a child that had grown up in the church but was still seen as a child.

So much confusion and pain and desire for that elusive something drove me to seek out this church of community. I found myself welcomed in a way that was unlike any other group I had ever been a part of. There is a love for one another among that group that is remarkable. They are a close-knit but diverse group, a family of many shapes and sizes. And there I found relationships that I so desperately wanted. It was there that I found myself able to be myself, not what I thought other people wanted me to be. The identity crisis after high school would not happen again, for I discovered who I am, not just as a human being, but who I am in Christ Jesus. There was healing that took place in that chapter of my life. There was safety and love, but also challenge and opportunity for me to test out my own feet, the feet I had always had, but never really knew how to walk on. It was a time that God used in my growth, despite all the confusion and burning questions in my mind that brought me there.

Of course, I stepped out into that community under the pretext of desiring more of God. And it was true that I did desire God. I was merely looking for the wrong things. I was expecting to find Him in the wrong places. I look back on that time fondly, knowing that the relationships formed there and the lessons learned there are valuable parts of my life. But I had to face a hard decision, and it was then that I began to realize that what I desire most, more than a community, more than friends, more than anything, is God. God called me to leave that church. I sensed that He was closing a chapter of my life to open a new one, and while the change was something uncomfortable, even scary going into the unknown, I knew that it would be even better than the last chapter. I did not want to leave the friends I had there. I did not want to disappoint anyone, or make them feel like I did not care anymore. I am a people pleaser through and through, and it guts me every time I sense disappointment from people towards me. The enemy often uses that to weigh me down with guilt and a false burden. Satan wants me to focus on pleasing people instead of pleasing God. Sometimes he really brings me down low when I don’t live up to people’s expectations of me. It is a lie I have to fight through every day of my life, unless God chooses to free me of it before He takes me home.

Even though it was extremely hard to leave that church, and even though I did face disappointment and disapproval from some people there, I chose to obey the call of God. I know that He is leading me to a place of amazing things, things I cannot even imagine or comprehend. And at the center of all those things is God Himself. He is the One I desire, above all else. If I desire any one thing more than God, it is an idol, and God’s first commandment is to have no other god’s before Him. We are not to make anything more important than He is, or desire anything more than Him. I knew that if I stayed at that church, I would be making it an idol. Community is an amazing thing, but I heard it said that desiring community will destroy community. Our first desire must be for the LORD. We must seek Him first, and not compromise. There are so many things that can bring us enjoyment in this world, but it is temporary enjoyment. And I am learning the importance of casting those things aside for the sake of following Christ with my whole being. I am not meaning to sound self-righteous or proud here. I am merely sharing that I have begun to eliminate certain things from my life which distract me away from God. I know He has great things in store for me. I am looking forward to spending eternity with Him. But here on this earth, in this life, I want to get as close to God as I can. I want to live for Him every day of my life, not wasting the breath He gives me on frivolous pleasures.

This may sound extreme, but why should it be? Why should we settle for less than all of God? Why should we waste our time on things that do not matter to God? When the people of God gather together, why should we designate a small time for God, and then leave the rest for our gossip, complaints, jokes, small talk, sports talk, or whatever it is we do? If we truly desire God more than anything, wouldn’t it make sense that He is the center around which everything else revolves?

Please understand that I have come no where near to putting this into practice myself. I am not saying this to judge anyone in their use of time, for I am just as guilty of using my time for things that have little to no eternal value. But here I share my dream. For my desire is the LORD, and the decisions I make, I make to follow His voice. I beseech you to ask yourself, what are you desiring most? Where is your time and energy going? Are you saying you desire God, and yet really desire something else under the pretext of desiring Him? It is a scary thing to question sometimes. It can bring us to move from a comfortable place to a frightening, unpredictable position. But it is worth it when we move out of a love and desire for God. Are you truly seeking Him every day? Or are you praying a prayer, reading a passage of scripture, going to church and singing a few songs, and then the rest of your days doing what you want, never considering if this is what God wants? And even if you think you are seeking Him, is it really Him that you are seeking?

Ask God to search your heart and show you what you desire most. He promises that those who ask receive, those who seek find, and those who knock, the door will be opened unto them. Seek the will of the Father for the life He has given you.

And thank Him. Thank Him for your every breath, and use that breath to serve Him.

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The Beginning of the End

For eleven years, I carried around a burden of guilt, shame, and fear. When I was 18, I finally met the truth. Believing that I was the one to blame for my molestation, I constantly sought to be forgiven by God for my sin. Then, one day, I was reading the words to an old hymn, "When Peace Like a River," or, "It is Well with My Soul." The second verse of the hymn says this:

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part, but the whole,
is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more.
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, oh my soul!

I had sung that hymn many times before, but the truth of what I was singing now hit me like a wall of water, and tears began to stream down my face as I accepted the fact that God had forgiven me long ago, the first time I asked Him to, and if He had forgiven me, I could forgive myself. Suddenly, the weight of guilt and shame was removed, and I felt freer than I could remember ever feeling before. God opened my eyes and my heart to receive His truth of forgiveness, and the beginning of my journey of healing began.

But I still had many wounds to take care of. I remember describing them as bits of shrapnel buried deep in my flesh. I knew they needed to come out, but some were buried so deep, I didn't know how to get them out, or even find them to remove them. I was still very afraid. I had been scarred, and I feared that which had been perverted and forced on me when I was molested. I feared the God-given gift of sex, and anything that had to do with sex made me feel sick. I still feared what other people would think of me if they knew about my molestation.

I cannot recall the exact order of things, of when they happened, but each held its own significance in my healing. The one I shall mention first has to do with me surrendering my fears of others' opinions to God. I was still in high school at this point, and a part of the youth group. I went to an all-night youth lock-in. We would play games, watch a movie, talk, have a time of worship and teaching, and stay up all night (or try to anyways). At this particular lock-in, the person speaking was the brother of one of our youth leaders. He was speaking about fear, and he challenged each of us to give our fears to God. He handed out little stones, the kind used for decorating, usually in vases or centerpieces, and told us that when we were ready, he wanted us to come forward and put our stone in a basket. This would represent our heart's decision to surrender our fears (symbolized by the rock) to God. I was the first to come forward, and I told God, "Here are my fears of what others might think of me and my past sins." I knelt as I prayed, then put the stone in the basket. Once again, I felt like a weight had been lifted off of me. I knew that I had done what God wanted me to. Once again, I took a step towards healing.

One day, home alone but for my dad, I learned the truth about my molestation. Over lunch, my dad explained to me that I had been wronged, that the molestation hadn't been my fault, and that I was technically still a virgin, though scarred emotionally. I don't know why he decided to tell me that then. Maybe God prompted him to. But it was then that I began to stop blaming myself for what had happened. I had never blamed the person who wronged me. Blaming myself took the entirety of my attention on the matter. After learning this, I felt immensely relieved, first of all over the fact that I was still a virgin, for I had agonized over this question. I knew that virginity had something to do with sex, but no one had explained that virginity ended with intercourse. Yes, I was 18 years of age when I learned what it meant to be a virgin. Can you see how much I avoided the topic? I was still afraid of and sickened by the thought of intercourse, though. Knowing a little more about it hadn't cured me of my fears. I needed God's touch for that. I didn't know how it would ever be something I could enjoy!

And yet, I was on the path towards healing. I graduated high school in 2005, and continued my education at Valencia Community College. I had been duel-enrolled my senior year of high school, and I had grown so much in that first year of college. I learned so much about God and His marvelous beauty and faithfulness, His everlasting love and goodness. When the fall 2005 semester started, I met a man who would be very influential in my life. Carl Creasman is a professor at Valencia CC. He teaches history. My sister-in-law recommended him as a teacher, and so I took my first college US history class with him. I was instantly intrigued by him. I felt a very great desire to get to know him. The semester went along normally for the first month or so. But I was growing frustrated and confused over my church. I didn't like what I saw, and I was wondering what the church was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to function according to God's Word. Looking for counsel outside of my church, I wrote an email to Carl asking for his advice. I knew he was a Christian, as my sister-in-law had informed me of that. I trusted him, though I only knew him as a professor. He welcomed my questions, and did his best to answer them, and that opened the door for a friendship that would impact my life in more ways than one.

In my journey of healing, Carl was influential in that in the fall 2006 semester, he strongly urged me to seek counseling when I confided in him the fact of my molestation. The weight of the memories had been crushing me, and at school one day, I couldn't bear the weight of it alone any longer. He was the only person I knew there that I could fully trust, and so I went to his office and poured out my heart's burden. When he suggested counseling, I accepted his suggestion with an open mind. Before, I had disregarded the notion of counseling. But at this time of my life, I felt God was telling me I needed it. I spoke with my parents, and they arranged for me to meet with a counselor.

I only met with the counselor for a few months, but those few months helped me tremendously. I opened up and stopped trying to bury the memories and the hauntings, the resulting hurts and effects upon my life and relationships. I talked it all through, and finally came to a point where my counselor didn't see what more she could do for me, and I knew that, at least for now, my time with her was done. I began to see things with a new perspective. I began to hope for the day when I would see God's healing completed, when I would no longer fear the beautiful gift of sex that He created. I felt that the next big step in my healing would come when I met the man I was to spend the rest of my life with. I was only partially right. God had much to do in between then and the day of meeting the one.

God thus brought me to the beginning of the end of the tragic part of my story, and started the new chapter that was all about His faithfulness and healing.

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Those High School Days

Note: Read previous entries for an idea of where I've come from up to this point in my story.

High school. I loved it and hated it. High school was so full of pressures to be somebody that other people would like. This pressure was both self-inflicted and applied by others. I wanted to be somebody that people would like, particularly one certain individual, whom I will call Peter. Peter was the guy to like. He was funny, kind, he had blue eyes, he was talented, and he loved God. He had an endearing personality. He was easily likable. And like him I did. In fact, I obsessed over him at times. It was an unbalanced, unhealthy attraction and obsession. I grew so focused on this one person that I lost sight of the fact that I was surrounded by other people. I wanted to be where Peter was. I wanted to do what Peter was doing. I wanted to talk with Peter, Peter, Peter. The only problem? I never knew what to say. I was scared to death of opening my mouth and saying something stupid. I was so intent on being somebody that people would like, that I didn't stop to be myself. Below are two journal entries, written one right after the other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Written on April 4th, 2003

I wonder who the lucky lady will be who walks down the aisle towards the person I care so much for. Whoever she is, she better be grateful.

Written on April 8th, 2003

You'll find at least a few more entries like the latter. I don't want to sound judgmental. I just care for him so, and I want to be a part of his life. But I also want him to be happy. When I see him talking to Brittany and Lorraine, I feel jealousy and loneliness. I fight with these emotions, knowing that jealousy is wrong, and God wants me to find my joy in Him. It's almost like two separate personalities, like Smeagol and Gollum. But I will fight to do what's right, because I know that he would want me to, and God wants me to, too. So fight I must, fight I will; it will be hard, but I'll press on still.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jealousy. Loneliness. Two very familiar sentiments in my high school days. I so wanted to be the one Peter wanted to talk to all the time. And I wanted to be included in the foursome that Peter, Brittany, Lorraine, and David were a part of. I wanted to spend time with just Brittany, but Lorraine was a higher priority. I wanted to feel wanted, included, and liked. And because I often was not included in the foursome, or even on an individual level with these popular friends, I felt unwanted and left out. And so, I felt sorry for myself. I would be a part of the larger youth group, and I would go out to eat and hang out with everyone, but I would sit in the big booth at Burger King and feel sorry for myself, surrounded by a group of laughing, talking teens. I allowed myself to believe that no one liked me, no one wanted to talk to me, and no one wanted to be with me. It was a lie, of course, a clever lie weaved by Satan. But I believed it. And coupled with this lie was the fear that if my friends knew about my molestation, which I believed to be my fault and my sin alone, they would reject me completely and think poorly of me.

And so began a vicious cycle of feeling rejected by those I most wanted to be with, feeling alone and afraid, feeling shame over what "I had done." And out of that grew bitterness. Because I felt rejected by Brittany, Lorraine, Peter, and David, I grew bitter towards them because of the pain they caused me. They did not intend to hurt me. They did not even realize what their actions were creating within me.

Because I tried to be someone that people would like, I was not myself. I did not even know myself, or understand myself. And I believed that who I was was someone unloved, disliked by those around me. The truth of the matter was, I was afraid, believing lies, blind to the truth, ashamed of what had happened to me, what I had done. And where was God in all of this? I was not completely ignoring Him during this time, but I was not surrendering to Him, either. My focus was on myself, not on God.

Bitterness builds a wall up around your heart that is used to defend against pain. But what it really is is a choking weed that sucks joy and life out of you. As I look back on those high school days, I realize that I probably made myself into the kind of person that people really do not like being around. In trying to make myself likable, I made myself into something unpleasant. Not on purpose, of course. It was not my intent to become bitter and to throw pity parties for myself. But that is what happened.

And yet, God is gracious. I reached my senior year of high school and duel enrolled at Valencia Community College. I told God that I was stepping out of my comfort zone in going to college classes as a high school student, but I would trust Him to see me through. I approached it with an attitude of putting forth my best effort and stepping out in boldness. I took a speech class my first semester at Valencia, and I found myself enjoying the other people in the class. I discovered that people were not something to fear. They are, after all, just people. I also discovered that I did not have to try to be liked in order to be liked. I started to act out of who I really was, and in doing so I realized a part of myself that I had kept locked away for so long. God was beginning to break the bonds that held me captive year after year. He was preparing me for the big breakthrough, the one that would open my eyes to the lies and free me to receive the healing and love He pours out upon His children.

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Claiming My Own Faith

Written 19 August, 2007

The torment of my tired mind
threatens to twist, bend, and wind
to the point of breaking.
I throw myself at Your feet,
admitting defeat,
ready to empty my heart and mind,
leaving them open for You to fill.

God grant me peace in this storm;
God fill my life with Your love.
God let me not go astray;
may I glorify You in every way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My childhood saw many changes. I saw my best friend, Susan, move away, and my next best friend, Lacey, move to a different church. I saw the pastor of the Family Church leave and a new pastor come. I saw many members of the church leave because they did not like the new pastor, or they liked the old one better. I saw many leave because they did not like the style of music. I never knew where most of them went. I saw some new people come, and I made some new friends. School changed and became more challenging. My brothers became rebellious towards my parents. My parents struggled to deal with them in a loving way. My parents struggled to show each other love. My sisters and I had more arguments and fewer late-night talks. I started having crushes on the guys on my brothers' basketball teams.

I began to learn that God was more than a bunch of cool stories about miracles and interesting people. Growing up with Christian parents, a part of a church, and being home schooled, I heard Sunday school lessons and sermons and songs that all spoke of the message that God was beginning to drive home. I believed it all. I believed that God created everything, and that I was a sinner in need of saving, and Jesus, the Son of God, died for me and rose again so that I could spend eternity in heaven. There was not a doubt in my mind that it was all the truth. But there came a point of realization that this Christianity thing was about more than just believing in God. It was about having a relationship with God. As I grew older, I began to understand this.

High school came around, and I was part of the youth group at the Family Church. Oh the drama! So-and-so-likes-him, and so-and-so-likes her. Who got invited to the pool party at Jimmy's house? Where were we going out to eat after youth group on Wednesday night? Sometimes I am amazed that God did not get completely lost in the shuffle of all the high school drama. I am even more amazed that He chose that time to secure a firm decision from me as to what I would be doing with the rest of my life.

I went to a youth conference called Life 2001. I was fifteen years old, old enough to know what was going on and what I was doing. It was at that conference that I made a clear declaration that what I believed, what I professed, was fully from my own faith, not from the faith of my parents or my friends or my youth group leaders. I decided that the rest of my life would be used to serve God in whatever way He called me to serve. In my heart, I knew that I served an almighty God, a holy God, a righteous, all-powerful God. I was blown away by the realization of Who God is: the I Am.

Up to that point, I had believed, but I had been walking on my parents feet, so-to-speak, in following their faith. I had not stood on my own in my own heart and mind. Once I had taken that first step of walking on my own, God began to grow me. The growth would start slowly at first. But it would quickly pick up speed later on. First I would have to be broken, so that my restoration could begin.

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The House of Black and Grey

Note: Read "Small Beginnings" for a glimpse of my early childhood.

Written 14 February, 2006

The place I've come from, this place I'm in and always will be at, gnaws at my heart, my mind, my flesh. It is a darkness that cannot be understood by those who have never been in that dark corner, that house of black and grey memories. They are black and grey because we've either blocked them out, or the time between now and then has watered and blurred the images. This is a house of pain, of scars, of deep secrets hiding in the shadows. We live together in this house but we often do not know it. We bind our secrets to the wall erected in front of our hearts; we use them as our defense. They are secrets. They are hidden. No one else can see them. Not even those who hold the same secrets. We live, eat, breathe, sleep in this house. We work and go to school in the fashion of the rest of the world. That ignorant crowd. They are blessed in their ignorance of this house. The door to this house opens easily for those coming in. Those who enter can never leave. The door is barred. There are no alternate escapes.

"The truth will set you free." The truth has set me free from the guilt and shame that for so long weighed upon my shoulders. It has given me strength to live life with joy. I will not say that the Truth does not have the power to completely destroy this house, but the day for that has not yet come. Someday all will be made new. Someday this house will no longer exist. But not yet. Until that day, we are hiding wanderers. We cry in our hearts more than the tears it would require to fill the oceans. Black and grey. Others remember in color their young years. All of them. There is a very large grey blur from the ages of seven to eight, perhaps nine, that time has diluted and the heart has eluded. In that same age range, my memories are black. Only patches remain, thank God. I have blocked out most of the memories, but one will always remain: it happened. I can't remember to tell you if it happened against my will. Guilt filled memories are not reliable sources of truth. The story that I always told myself was that I started it. It was my choice. My fault. My stupidity. Me. It was all me. Or was it? In this house, does anyone really know? Am I to be forever haunted by the question: could I have prevented my molestation?

There it comes out. The name of this dark and lonely secret. This corner of pain and shadows. This house that one can enter, but never leave. This house of secrets that thousands, perhaps millions carry, yet none care to share. Thus, they go on in loneliness. Most go on in shame. We are living in this house. And every day, more children enter. It is a dark and lonely place. Having more company here won't help. Don't send them our way.

Part of me is gone. Those who live in this house have a part of them missing too. God help us. God save us. Beware.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the journal entry above reveals, a tragic event occured in my early childhood. I was met with the misfortune of molestation. I only remember glimpses of what went on, and it is neither necessary nor appropriate for me to go into detail of what I experienced. But as the entry above also reveals, it was a dark mark upon my childhood, something that was still haunting me thirteen years later. I do remember an immense feeling of guilt, however. I blamed myself for what was in fact a great wrong done against me. As a child I did not understand, nor was it explained to me what had gone on or what the implications of it were. I was left to deal with it on my own. My parents knew, of course. I had confessed the whole thing to them one night after a bath had failed to cleanse me from the dirty feeling I had within my heart. But after they confronted the person who wronged me, and made him apologize to me, the subject was like a mist blown away by the winds of time. We simply did not talk about it.

I am certain that my parents were at a loss for how to handle the situation. Who expects that their child is going to be molested, or that something equally traumatizing will happen to them? Who knows how to handle such a thing, after the unthinkable has happened? It was a tragic addition to my already tear-jerking tale. And tears became my nighttime companion as I cried myself to sleep, feeling the weight of guilt and shame over what I had done. I was not angry at God. I was afraid of Him. I was afraid that He would never forgive me. And so I would cry, and cry, and cry, and beg for Him to forgive me, until I would lose myself in my tear-stained pillow and fall asleep.

It was a burden that no child should have to bear, and yet, I bore it alone. It was such a lonely existence, for no one could comfort me. They could not comfort me because they were either ignorant of my sad state, they were a party to it, or they did not ever bring themselves to talk about it. And I did not feel the freedom or the boldness to speak of it to anyone who knew of it, let alone any who had no knowledge of what I had gone through. I was living in the world with the rest of my family and my friends, but I was part of another world of which they had no part, for they did not understand or know of it. I was living in the house of black and grey memories, and I could look out at the colorful world through the distorted glass of guilt and fear, where everyone else seemed to live such happy lives. Oh to be free from my prison! Oh to reclaim the color and life! But how?

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Small Beginnings

I was born in California, the state of tall palm trees and dusty mountains, smog-filled air and turquoise ocean water, in the year 1986. What I remember of my home there is limited, but our backyard was extensive, our dining room had hardwood flooring, and my bedroom had dreamy white curtains in the windows. It was a two-story house, the second floor having been converted from an attic to a living space by my father. My best friend was a boy, I loved wearing dresses, and I knew that a $20 bill was worth more than the card it came in on my first birthday.

My two older brothers were typical boys. They loved legos, the tree house built in our backyard, and getting into as much mischief as possible without getting into trouble. They could be a bit overbearing at times. At birthdays and Christmas my parents sounded like broken records: "Let Katie open her own presents." I was a quiet, shy child. I loved to play with baby dolls and Fisher-Price Little People. Sometimes my brothers would play with me. Other times my mom would sit on the living floor with me and join me in the adventures of the Little People. Many times, I played by myself.

The only memories I have of girl friends in California are few and unpleasant. There was one particular girl that I played with occasionally. She told me the names of certain body parts that I found most inappropriate at my young age. I was invited to one of her birthday parties, an "Under the Sea" themed party inspired by "The Little Mermaid." We were all to wear costumes. I dressed in my pink leotard with the fluffy tutu around the middle. I was supposed to be a sea urchin. Duh. Everybody knows sea urchins resemble pink tutus. But apparently not 4 to 7 year old girls. I was the laughing stock of the party. I remember being distinctly relieved the last time I left her house before moving away. I was coming home from one last visit, and the moving truck was in front of our white, clapboard siding house. I was sad about leaving my best friend, the boy. I was not sad about leaving the girls who laughed at me behind.

At the tender age of 5, I began a new life in a new state. Florida also had palm trees, albeit stubby, fat ones, and no mountains. The ocean water was brown and murky on the Atlantic coast, and I didn't visit the Gulf coast. I settled in with my two older brothers, a younger sister who was two at the time of the move, and my parents, who did their best to handle the four of us as they searched for a house. We finally moved into a five bedroom, two bathroom house. One bedroom was used as my father's study. My brothers shared a room, and my sister and I shared a room. The fourth bedroom was reserved for the little bundle of joy that would be joining us in July of 1992.

We had joined a church by the time I was six. It was a good-sized church, with a couple hundred people attending the service most Sundays. I'll call it the Family Church, for so it was. It was there that I made new friends. My new best friend was a girl this time. I'll call her Susan. We visited each other's houses and spent the night and made silly videos. We often played together with another girl, whom I'll call Lacey. The three of us got along well, most of the time. But there were moments when jealousies would arise because Susan and I were so close, and Lacey was often the third wheel. And when I would go to Lacey's house, Susan sometimes got jealous. A trio presents challenges that a duo never comes upon. I learned this early on, and found it to be true later on in life when I became the third wheel.

And so I was established in a modest home, with a healthy church and new friends. These were small beginnings, really, for soon my life would take a turn that would change everything, plunging the colorful freedom of childhood into a darkened vortex of twisted and haunting memories.

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Welcome to My Blog

Where does one begin? Am I to write something clever, or shocking, or intriguing, merely to catch your attention? Perhaps I could weave some phrases together that spark your interest, but to do so would be a waste of my time as well as yours. So I will simply begin with all that I have to work with: who I am and what my story is. I will not attempt to coerce you into reading this. If your interest is genuine, or if you have nothing better to do, then I hope you will enjoy and learn from what I share here.

The purpose of this blog is to share my story, my thoughts, and my muses. The names I use will not be in accordance with real life, but what I share will all be true. And in all truthfulness, my story is only a small part of a larger story. Everyone is part of this great novel called Life, in the magnificent series of Eternity. My part is only a sentence or two in one paragraph of one chapter of one book in that series. So, welcome to my blog. Welcome to my story. Welcome to my life.

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