Bullying and its aftereffects

I have been overweight ever since the second grade. I have been teased since kindergarten. I remember the first encounter-not so much what I was teased for, but the fact that someone thought that it was all right to make fun of me. I was shocked. I said nothing, just felt a little bit smaller.

As I continued in school, the teasing grew and so did the teasers. The childish stuff in Kinder grew and developed barbs and claws, so that by the time I was 10, it tore at my very soul.

I'm sure that many of you share my story, and some of you might be wondering 'Why is she still talking about it? Why didn't she put on her big girl panties and walk away from it? We were just kids doing stupid stuff, after all.'

True. And if I was a normal kid, that would have happened. But I was anything but normal. My family was going through upheaval. There were issues at home just like at school. Without going into specific examples, I can truthfully say that I was walking wounded before I ever made through the doors of junior high. The teasing I endured in school just justified (in my mind) the self-concept I was developing at home.

More than anything else, though, I couldn't get over the teasing because it echoed in the shame that was already permeating my mind. Whenever anyone made fun of my hair, my complexion, my weight, my inability to play sports-even things that I knew I COULD do--things like singing and acting-I fully believed them. By the time I was in high school, I didn't just think I was hideous-I KNEW I was. I was embarrassed to be seen in public, and having to go to school day after day to be subjected to still more abuse just made it worse.

Thankfully, I moved to a larger town for college and became part of a group of friends that really liked me. I was able to begin to think that I might one day have worth-if I was talented enough, good enough, and Christian enough for others to overlook my many flaws.

Even today, I still carry the scars of the schoolyard abuse. Recently at a retreat, I was complemented over and over-on how nice I was, how interesting my views were, what a nice voice I had...all of it was beyond my comprehension. They were nice words, but not words that had anything to do with me. I am working on this, but it's slow going.

Why am I bringing all of you into my personal darkness? For two reasons, actually. First of all, I want you to know that the only way to really get over the shame caused by bullying is to forgive your bullies. You don't have to forgive what they did to you, but you have to realize that holding them in your soul-holding the memory of what they did hostage-is not hurting them a bit. It is, however, destroying you. You think destroying is a harsh word? Try thinking about letting go and see what your first reaction is. If you feel as I used to, that they are NEVER going to get away with it, that they deserve your hatred, that they maybe don't deserve to live, you are enslaved by your feelings to them. Let it go. Give it to God. Share with Him the full extent of your anger and hurt, then let him take it and bring it to the Cross.

Secondly, if you were really hurt by your persecutors, you need to ask God for healing. One way of doing this is to ask him to come into your soul, take each and every wound made by the bullying away and bring it to the cross, and then accept that you are a child of God and should always have been treated as such. After that, every time you hear the negative voice of the enemy saying that you are ugly, stupid, lazy, or whatever the trigger words are for you, simply speak God's truth--I am a not. I am a child of God. Saying it really does help you believe it.

I want to tell you that I am still on the healing journey with this as well. I walk every day, hoping that I remember. Most days I do, some I don't. But every day, I know that God loves me. You should have that understanding, too.

God bless you.

My journey with Physical Illness

I haven't written a blog for a long time. Anywhere. Not here, not in my other blog sites, not in English, not in Spanish. Why? Good question!

Two years ago, I was busy getting ready for healing ministry. I had a website in the works, a platform, a book in the final stages of preparation, and I felt that God had a new calling for me-one that would change my life. He did, just not in the way I'd imagined.

Then I started having trouble breathing. It had probably been going on a lot longer than I'd realized, but by October 2015, I knew that there was something wrong. I went to my doctor, and she said not to worry. I went to Urgent Care, and they said that I had asthma that was acting up. They gave me an inhaler, showed me how to use it, and sent me home. It did nothing. I went back to my doctor, and she acknowledged that there must be a problem and referred me to a pulmonologist, one who couldn't see me till January at the earliest. In the meantime, it was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

In December, I had surgery on a torn ligament. I told them about the "asthma" and they had me use the inhaler before the surgery. I was given a clean bill of health and flew to LA to see my son. After i came back, the breathing seemed to get worse day by day. I began to wonder if I was dying. I went to a different pulmonologist, and he took an x-ray and saw spots on my lungs. I was told to get a C-scan. I didn't have time. That weekend my breathing was so bad that I ended up in the emergency room. The needed C-scan was done there, and it was discovered that I had multiple blood clots in my lungs. 

The short version of what happened next is that I was placed on oxygen 24/7, I could not go back to work, I felt that I needed to be closer to family and so moved in with my daughter, and I gave up on everything-my plans for ministry, my writing, any hope of a future job--simply everything. I played on my phone and followed Facebook, and I began to learn how to be an invalid. And my faith journey stalled out--stalled out in a way I feared would be permanent.

A year has passed, and this summer I have changed. I believe that God has healed my lungs, although I'm still on oxygen right now. I live at a high altitude and know that it will take time to breathe independently here, but I have faith. I already have experienced needing little to no oxygen at sea level. What caused the change? I think part of it is simply the lungs healing themselves with no help from me. But this summer I went to Virginia to see my son, and I began to think like a healthy person who happens to have to use oxygen. I used the Metro and visited all kinds of museums and monuments in Washington DC. Four days after I got back, I went to Redwood Christian Ashram, a beautiful camp in the Santa Cruz mountains where I always find God in a special way. This year, however, I was not excited to go. That in itself was unusual. Once there, though, I found myself becoming unstuck. I took a hard look at why I wasn't excited, and I realized that I didn't want healing-spiritual or otherwise. I dealt with that and by the end of the week was ready for a miracle.

And it happened in a way that reminds me that God truly does have a great sense of humor. We have a healing service on Thursday nights, and after the service I walked to my cabin and tried to plug in my oxygen machine. The plug had broken. I called my son, and he was able to attach it, but during the night it came apart again. I slept the whole night without oxygen. That has happened before-the cannula (the part that goes in your nose) has come out during the night, and the next day the oxygen content in my blood (the pulse ox) has been very low. That day, however, it was normal. It stayed normal as I readied the cabin to leave, went to communion, went to breakfast, and went to the closing service. By that time I was ready to declare that God had worked a miracle. Of course, that is a scary thing in itself. What if he hadn't?

On the ride home, I began to hear God's still small voice. I was healed, yes, but my healing was something I would have to walk in to. He said that I would need oxygen on the trip up, but not to worry about it-it was because of the altitude. Later, he reminded me that I had stopped two essential parts of the healing process: inhalation therapy and breathing treatments. 

So here I am today, sitting at home,  breathing treatment going as I write. I am still on oxygen, but I am a different woman than I was. I am determined that I will continue to walk into God's healing. I am faithful to do my treatments each day and to exercise at least 3 times a week, more when I can. I have also taken up writing again. I know that God is not finished with me yet, so I've decided not to be finished either.

Last week I rediscovered a verse that I'd like to share with you. "He who began a good work in you will complete it until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:6) It gives me hope and makes me realize that I will be healed. It's already been done-I just have to walk into it.

writer, ministry--the work has begun

I am a writer.  I am.  I don't know why it takes someone else affirming it for me to really believe it.
I saw an editor today.  He was so positive, so affirming, that I knew beyond any doubt that my dream was going to come true.  My head is still spinning.  It is amazing to me--totally amazing.  He and I are going to work together to make my dream become a reality.
He told me that I need a platform.  He told me that I should have a ministry--something that I can do that will promote my book while serving God.  I just looked back to Facebook--Sept 15--my fondest dream is being told "You should make a living at this. The way you write and the way you read, you're perfect!! Of course, little chance of that happening.  

That was what I wrote on the 15th.  And it came true today.  The time is right--my kids are all grown, I am on my own, I have no major debt, and so I can look at the possibility of change.  It's a big leap (and I'm not saying that I will give up my day job yet), but it's happening.

He said (Adam--he has a name) that I should start asking God what I should do.  I have been, and he's been reminding me of three things;  healing, forgiveness, and obedience.  All of this has come about because of all of those things.  

I have been in a process of healing since 1993.  My husband died and I was broken.  Broken--more like shattered.  Crumbled into a million pieces.  Shards of glass lying on the floor with no hope of redemption.  One by one, God has picked each piece up and gently, carefully, lovingly put it back into place.  No, I'm not who I was.  I am cracked, patched, mended.  But I'm so beautiful. Each scar, each mark is a reminder of the work that God has done.

Forgiveness--how very important that is.  In my life, thank God, forgiveness has rarely been hard for me.  Sometimes, yes, I did find it hard to forgive.  It was hard to forgive our doctor for forcing her religion on us when all we wanted was to keep our baby alive.  It was hard to forgive when I knew that the people who hurt me so terribly would never come to me and ask for forgiveness.  But I've always known how important forgiveness is.  I've seen firsthand the bitterness and hatred that comes when forgiveness is refused.  I don't want that ever to happen to me.  And so I know that forgiveness is for yourself every bit as much as for the offender.

Obedience.  This is the secret to successful living, first and foremost.  Don't try to talk him out of it.  Just do it in obedience.  If you prove that you can be obedient in the small things, then he will entrust you with bigger things.  It's by obedience that we learn to walk into abundant life in Him.

This is it, Lord.  Now just show me how to use this platform for your glory.  And if it's supposed to change, please help me understand how.

coming back to life

I woke up this morning to a realization. The weight that is always on my chest was gone!  I have lived with this pain for more years than I can remember.  It is a normal accompaniment to a life lived in pain and suffering, and I live with it--most days not even consciously remembering that it's there.  But this morning, for a blessed change, it was gone!  Why?  Easy.  I went to a retreat and came away changed.

I am thankful that I'm open to change.  I know many people who aren't.  They are stuck in bitterness.  They avoid change.  They are certain that the world is out to get them.  Anything that challenges views that they learned at their mother's knee is viewed as suspect.  Their Jesus, their world view, their moral compass are all set in stone.  I used to be like them.

That all changed after my husband died.  My world collapsed, and I collapsed with it.  After a time, I reached out for help.  That's the first step.  The person who came alongside invited me to a Bible study. That was the second step.  The Bible study taught me that what I had always believed was wrong.  That was the gigantic leap.

When you take a gigantic leap, you have two choices.  You fly or you fall.  You can fly if the leap leads to truth. You fall when the leap leads you to error.  It's up to you to determine that what you've been taught is true and accurate.  No proof texts--check out what you've been told by reading in context and making sure it holds up in the Light.  It did.

Having taken one leap, I took another.  And another.  I began to feel less fettered.  My God began to change.  Better said, my personal understanding of him began to change.  He went from taskmaster to Father.  I was led into freedom.

Today, I take nothing for granted.  I learn new things every day.  Some do not stand in the light of Truth, but most do.  Each step I take brings me another step closer to freedom.  And the weight lifts.

If you want to learn more, email me.  meggiev7777@gmail.com.  Or include your email in the comments below.

The healers and the Healer.

This blog is turning into something different than what I first thought it was.  I've already changed the title once, and I am just going to write and see where God takes me.  So please bear with me if it seems rambling.  Right now, at least, this is a musing on being healed and trusting the Healer when you're not.

I was raised in the Assembly of God church, and we believe in healing.  I believed that God could heal anyone anytime from anything.  However, I saw no contradiction between that belief and the fact that my mom, a Godly woman, was seriously ill.

Later, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism.  I figured out that something was not right when I felt the washer shaking and then realized it wasn't on--that was my heart!  I went to the doctor sometime after and was put on medication.  I didn't realize the change that it made until we were riding in the  car, and my son (Val, I think) said, "I like you now, Mommy.  You never are mad any more."  I thought he was joking, but the rest of the family chimed in with sounds of affirmation.  Evidently, this medicine was having an effect on more than my heart.  I looked up symptoms of hypothyroidism:  fatigue, weight gain, dry, brittle nails, joint and muscle pain, and depression.  I had been depressed for how many years? and didn't even realize it.

So, I began taking levothyroxin and was doing quite well until one day I decided to make a change.  My church was getting really heavy into faith healing.  It was suggested that if you were taking medicine, you weren't trusting God.  Well, who was I to distrust God?  I went forward that morning and threw my medicine away that afternoon.

And I started getting mean again.  Angry again.  Tired again.  Depressed again.  Problem was, I didn't seem to recognize it in myself.  My family certainly did, but not me.  It took me a few months to figure it out, but I finally went back to my medicine, and then things returned to normal.  I was kind of confused as to why God chose not to heal me, but I put the thought away.

Later, as many of you know, I gave birth prematurely, at approximately 24 weeks, to a baby boy.  We stayed with him and had to deal with his issues on our own.  My sister and brother weren't available (I honestly don't remember if I ever asked my brother--he might have come if I had), and the relatives that lived nearby had other obligations.  It was the most alone we had ever felt.  One day we were in the waiting room--even parents could only spend short amounts of time with their babies--and I noticed a woman praying.  When she seemed finished, I went to her and said that it was good to see someone else praying.  She told me that I have to have faith that my baby would come out cured.  I couldn't give any thought to the baby being anything but healthy--it would take victory from God and give it to the Devil.  Even if I didn't see any improvement, I had to claim the improvement I didn't see.

That was a strange thing for me to hear.  In the state I was in, I didn't know how to take it.  We were in a constant battle for our baby, and the idea that we should claim health for this child who had so many serious problems that he was considered the sickest baby in intensive care seemed really strange.to me.  Not that I didn't believe God could work any miracle he chose.  You saw it every day in the NICU.  One day he was dying, the next he was showing remarkable improvement.  One day he had a hole in his heart, the next day it was healed--miraculously.  However, the major healing didn't come.  Thomas Gaylen died at 11 days of age.  More on this later.

Life went on, and time passed.  After many life changes, I found myself in Tucson and going to the Vineyard.  Again, big emphasis on God healing.  At one point, the idea (at least to my ear) was that if God wasn't healing you, it was because you weren't persistent enough. Keep asking and he'll finally come through.  I had Fuch's Dystrophy and was waiting until one eye was ready for the surgery.  Hearing this, my old determination came back.  I would seek and seek and seek until I found the answer I needed.  Well, I sought and sought and sought--and finally I had to admit to myself that I wasn't healed-just disappointed.  About a year later, though, I did have surgery on my right eye.  I can now see adequately with both eyes without glasses.  I was rejoicing in being able to go to the bathroom without putting them on, when I heard God's voice.  "Remember asking me to heal your eyes?  You're welcome."

This is my point.  God heals us all. Every one.  Some he heals miraculously.  Others he heals through those that he calls to be healers--doctors, nurses, EMTs, psychologists, and so on.  Others he allows to stay as they are until they are eventually healed in heaven.  I don't understand why.  After all these years, I've come to realize that I don't need to understand.  You just have to accept that God knows what he's doing and stop second guessing him.

Now, please don't misunderstand.  I love my friends at the Vineyard and at my old churches.  I respect their faith.  I believe that many of those who plead to be healed are--I remember the miracles pronounced there, and I praise God for them.  But I do not agree that God means to heal every single person here on this earth miraculously.  I do not believe that your persistent pleading will necessarily bring about the healing you expect.  I think that understanding that God, for his own purpose, allows some to suffer and be healed in ways that we don't understand can give us peace and confidence.

Like I said, this was a musing.  It's one of those things that's been on my heart and in my head, so now at least it's on paper.

baby steps to the dance

You sit in your corner
Isolated, alone
Protected from the world by your own inability to move forward.

"The world has hurt me, so I can't trust anybody or anything to ever come close again."

For years, the words have made sense, kept you safe.
You tell yourself that the people who try to break through to you
 have only more evil in mind for you.
They must at all costs be kept out.

But then, somehow, someone--something--gets through.
In spite of yourself, you find that you cannot live a completely solitary life,
and so you tentatively reach out for help,
and someone else takes your hand
and the dance begins.

It starts slowly, haltingly, with many falls along the way.
You have forgotten how to dance.

Dance?  Hell, you've forgotten how to walk!

And so you slide on your rump, trying to get the feel of it again.

It is so painful.
Trying to talk to someone.
Trying to connect.
Over and over, you think that you will give up.

It's just too hard.

But the newly-released spirit within you refuses to allow you to slide all the way back into your hole,
and so you try and try
and try again.

More and more grateful for the steady hand
That is always ready to lift you up.

"I had nothing to do with the mess that has become my life."
"It was the addiction, the illness, the abuse, the molestation, the divorce"
It was him.  It was her.  It was them.  It was a million different excuses, each one more believable than the one before.

You teeter and totter, clinging to the outstretched hand, not ready to take the next step.

Crutches of hurt and blame have kept you where you are, and you will not be able to dance before you can walk.

And so, slowly, gently, with many baby steps, you finally let go of the hand,
Turn to face the dawn,
And realize that you have been answering the wrong question.

It's true, you had an awful break.
What happened to you should never have happened.
You lived through a tremendous loss.

Those are great answers, but you misheard.

The question is NOT why did this happen to you?

That question has long since been answered.
You answer it still--
Over and over and over.

The question of the moment,
Sweet child of God, 
Is this:

What are you going to do about it now?

 All this time,
Face on the floor,
Head in the sand,
Stubbornly clinging to your pain and pride,

You did not even realize that your spirit has moved on.

All this time, you have been answering the first question,
And the second question,
At the same time.

By staying stuck in the first step,
Identification,
You have been unwilling
Unable
To proceed to the second step.

Can you move on?
Can you look at the second question and take a baby step toward the answer?

It will lead you into the dance.

So Sweetheart,
Look at it:
What are you going to do now?

The hand is still there,
Outstretched,
Nail-scarred.

Stand with me and let him lift you up.

Say with me,
I choose to live.
I choose to walk.
I choose to dance.

I will walk by your side,
I will help you in the walk

and that other hand will always always be there for you.

So take your first baby steps to the dance of freedom.

No, you won't immediately begin to samba,
To do a beautiful waltz.

It takes time.

But soon enough you will be walking,
Then running,
Then dancing,
Then flying.

All it takes is trust.

Trust in me,
Trust in him.
And trust in yourself.

Go forward into the dance,
And God bless you as you learn the movements.












(

paradox--to Gabby Giffords

Some simple truths

The shortest answer is often the most elegant.
The weakest moment in our lives can also be the moment where we show real strength.
The woman who struggles to speak truth is heard in a way that the easily eloquent woman is not.

Gabrielle Giffords.

She is a survivor and a victim at once.
Her struggle to overcome an assassin's bullet forced her to leave office,
but her voice now may be said to be more widely heard than ever before.

We might struggle to remember speeches that politicians gave in the past,
But there is not one person who can forget her voice
Reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

Her words once were easy and free.
Now they are carefully placed and thought through
Every one of them.

She works hard to say them,
And her public hangs on to every one of them.

Gabby, I am newly come to Arizona
Newly come to the Democratic party,
Not at all sure of my bearings.

I did not know you before that day in January,
A day I now commemorate with my school,

We remember and we grieve,
And we look at you and marvel.
I know that your struggle is by no means over.
I know that day by day
You work and strive and suffer
To achieve what was once done without thought.

But Gabby,

You are still valued, still important, still a spokesman.
You represent my community, my state, my heart.
Every time I see you achieve a new goal,
It reminds me that evil does not long stand
When good men
and women
work together.

God bless you, Gabrielle Giffords.
May he continue to heal you and make you strong,

But until that day,
Please remember that your weakness is your strength.
Truth doesn't need thousands of words.
Truth shows herself in actions.
And your actions show you to be a woman of strength,

I pray that as they observe your strength
Others will realize that they, too, can learn to be strong.
And may your refusal to back down help them to stand up for themselves as well.

Because in weakness there is strength,
In hope there is a release from despair,
And perfect love casts out all fear.