the fireman...

"Finally, all of you should be of one mind. Sympathize with each other. Love each other as brothers and sisters. Be tenderhearted, and keep a humble attitude."-1 Peter 3:8

9/11 has come and passed as we remember, and #neverforget, the day that struck our nation to the core. All of us know the time and place of where we were and that will forever be burned in our hearts as we, who were the watchers, stood and stared at a screen, watching in real time an event in history that change our Country and each of us as individuals. 



(Photo credits of Google search 9/11)



Yesterday a group of individuals climbed 110 flights of stairs in memory of the fallen firefighters who climbed UP as others were climbing down. They knew their fate, yet they still kept going. Survivors tell stories of these heroes... The heroes who were encouraging the ones climbing down, those who were just wanting to give up and stop going down, those Heroes would say, "come on, you got it, you can do it, keep going down!" Yet all the while, they were climbing up.

(Photo credits of Google search 9/11)

I cannot even pretend to imagine what that must of been like. I can try to "put myself in their shoes", but really that's not even possible. I simply cannot fathom the horrific scenes or the intense amount of bravery of those Firemen. 

Last night Jon and I were talking about these amazing individuals that are so willing to put their lives before others on a constant daily basis. Each day they go into work they don't know what lies ahead. What possibly might be asked of their lives that day. This goes for all who serve our country, and for that my small "thank you" just simply does not sound like enough gratitude to give. How do you truly say thank you to these heroes? 

(Photo credits: Joey Waddell- Dekalb Fire Department)

My mind drifted as we were talking. To be honest it often does. I have a tendency to lose track of a conversation in about 2 mins... It's not intentional, really! As I wondered away in thought the first thing that popped into my head was "fire insurance". (Yep, that's the truth.) But not in the sense of homeowners insurance, but in the sense of "hell fire and brim stone preachers".

You know those guys all hollering red faced, always looking angry at you. Calling people sinners and waving a bible that they never seem to open but "quote" from all the time... Yeah, so my mind went there. Random, right?!

Well, kinda random.... I have heard so MANY analogies of Christ, Jesus Christ. Being the life saver, being the parachute, etc. you need to be saved so you can have, "fire insurance". 

As I understand these analogies and get their point, I think they're stupid. I just do. But when I think of a fireman and Jesus... Now that's an analogy that's legit. 

Thinking of myself in my darkest of times and lost in the smoke of my existence....Lost in the burning building called my life and desperately wanting to get out but I don't know how. It is so dark, and every single time I try to stand up on my own to figure it out I choke and gasp for air. Every door I try to open burns my hands, every stair well I try to go down is engulfed in flames and I am trapped, stuck in my own self. There I am lost, alone, and scared; I fall to my face... but then, it is only then do I see a light amongst all the shadows. Having nothing left of myself to even reach out to the light coming my way, a hand reaches out to me. I am completely helpless as I surrender my life over to the one reaching for me. There I am, being lifted up by the strength of the rescuer. With a force he searched for me and found me. He has climbed from heaven to earth to save me from the torments of my soul. He pushes through the raging fire and burst forth into the light of day and in an instant I take my first breath. A breath of life and new air. As I turn to thank my fireman, my hero who gave me life, I found a sight my eyes did not expect to see. As he was saving me, his life was not spared. Bringing me to safety he was severely burned, his lungs had filled with strong thick smoke, his body was scarred and lifeless. He gave it all just for me. 

To me, that is the depiction of Christ and his pursuit after me. The only way I could acknowledge my savior's search for me was when I was face to the ground fully surrendered to His saving grace. He died so that I could live and He did this not just for me.

"Of one thing is certain, God story never ends in ashes."- Elizabeth Elliot 

 

exposing the tiara

When I was 12 years old my sister was 18 and in her senior year of high school. I always looked up to her, though she never knew it. I was pretty much a bratty little sister. I don't really know why, but I was. Anytime she would have her friends over I would try to be involved with the "big cool" kids too.
In her senior year, she won her High School's pageant. It was an all out Miss America kinda deal. She had a talent, she had the style, she had the beauty.... I wanted to be like her.

I was quirky, awkward, and freckle faced with glasses. I had to have all my school work printed out on blue paper. Not even kidding about this, BLUE PAPER!! Why!?!?
I had a terrible time with reading, I was tested with all kinds of test and found to be dyslexic and have " Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome ".... Basically it's a perceptual processing disorder. It is not an optical problem. It is a problem with the brain’s ability to process visual information.  Sounds FUN right!?!? Ugh!

From third grade on, I had tinted glasses (which I refused to wear most days) and all my worksheets on blue paper. FREAK of Nature is all I thought. Why is it so difficult to read, and why, to make it easier for me to read, do I have to have things on a different colored paper? What "joyful" school experiences I had. I despised school and pretty much everything it entailed.
All but art class and PE. Loved those classes. PE was fun and it was a class I could excel at. I could do pull ups and run fairly fast, except for having to learn to square dance, PE rocked! Art was fun, you could be messy and not "have to" stay in the lines. I truly never liked coloring... maybe that's because of my "perceptual processing disorder", the world may never know! ;)

So, having an older sister who appeared pure perfection in my eyes (again with the perceptual disorder, sorry sis, I love you). I wanted to be just like her. When she won this pageant she was adorned with a shiny, sparkly tiara, a sash, and a three foot trophy! My friends and I squealed and cheered as they announced her the winner. In fact that's all you can hear on the VHS tape video of the whole ordeal!

What do little sisters do when the big sister is out of the house? We go play with their stuff! "That's what's up!"

I would always sneak into her room, put on the tiara and sash and pretend I won! I did not have the big-beautiful Julia Roberts hair like my sister, so the tiara did not look quite as fitting on my nice, short, bowl cut hair style I was rockin'... But for that moment, I was a princess with a real shiny tiara and sash! "BAM"

Growing up and going through middle school and high school I was struck with depression. I found it hard to cope with changes in my life. Moving around did not help, dad being gone for business all the time did not help, but they were not the culprit. They were sort of like adding baking soda to the vinegar that was already there. Just made things explode and bubble up from beneath.
I also did not express myself well... As a parent when my kiddos were smaller I would say so sweetly to them, "use your words", to try to encourage them to express themselves. My kids usually used fists, or spit, or throw an object to express themselves. So trying to teach them to "use their words" seemed  like a reasonable request.
I obviously struggled with this same issue. I would either just keep quite or explode with an out pouring of emotions.... Anger, sadness, fear, or whatever just happened to be going on. I always had tears attached with this out pouring of expression. (I am sure my mother would use some other types of adjective for these occasions, but these will do just fine)

My parents, bless them, dealt with me the best they knew how to do. They prayed, they sent me to get help at many places and by many people. They did what parents do and try to help their children, to try to fix their boo-boos. And my boo-boo was a deep rooted depression that I could not shake no matter what type of meds, therapy, or method.

My idea and way to cope was self medicating with what the world had to offer, so that was the route I took. The journey down this road just lead down a deeper and darker path with twist and turns I would love to forget. But the beauty of not forgetting is remembering. Remembering of who I once was and seeing now who I am and have become.

The beginning of the turning point was October and November of 1998. I had moved in with my sister, her husband, and their little girl. This took me from S. Florida and brought me to Georgia.

I think my sister thought of her house as some sort of sanctuary of healing. She literally had placed bible verses all over the mirror in the bathroom, put a sign on the door of the room I was staying in, saying something like, "room of hope". She had an entire month of activities planned for us, "aka" bible study. Not just any Bible study but a study called, "Victory over the Darkness".  Yay, fun, bible study! (insert loads of sarcastic undertone)

What in the world had I just gotten myself into!?

To be honest, I don't remember much of anything of that study. I don't remember what was written in the book, but I do remember my sister. I remember her sitting with me and talking with me. She shared scripture with me and prayed for me.

There was one night where things, stories, that I had heard all growing up started to be comprehended. The story of Jesus and who he was... Who He actually is started to become more clear. I can't say it was a total "ah-ha" moment of my life because there was so much about God and the Bible that still never made sense. But it was a moment where I let down my guard and allowed a stone to be chipped away from the wall I had built up deep inside. And at that moment a spark ignited and a piece of me surrendered as the Holy Spirit took hold of me.

This night my sister had literally been on her knees praying for me. She was on her knees by my bed as I was laying face down trying to ignore the prayers from her mouth. In some random act to shut her up I took out my belly button ring and threw it at her. (Because apparently that's what you do to shut someone up who is praying...I have no idea what I was thinking) There was also a possible throwing of a tongue ring involved at some point but my memory is vague on this.

This was all taking place around Thanksgiving...We had traveled to visit with my grandparents in Myrtle Beach, SC.
After visiting a while, my sister stood up in the living room and started to give a little speech. In this speech she talked about me. I of course at this point, having no idea what was going on, was feeling the warmth of flushedness come across my face. Keeping it real, the last time something like this occurred my sister, mom, and a few others where having an "intervention" with me, no joke that really happened and it was not the highlight of my life.
As she continued on and concluded her words... she pulled from behind her a tiara and a sash.

A TIARA AND A SASH!!!!!

She had prepared a ceremony for me in-which she crowed me a Child of God and placed the sash over me that read, "Child of God '98"! My brother in law took me by the arm and escorted me around the living room and all I could do was laugh and cry in an all out ugly cry kind of way. My heart and mind could not even begin to comprehend this amount of love and thoughtfulness and Amazingness and just full on compassion! My sweet sister was outpouring the love of my savior who truly rescued me from my destructive self.

This moment was amazing and words cannot aptly describe the amount emotions that were all going on here, thanksgiving of 1998.

I wish I could say that this moment was the 180 degree turning point of my life. If it were that easy I would have learned less and not have so many scars from the lessons learned. But this unique, one of a kind moment was the start of my painful journey to fully turning my life over to the one in whom I place my faith.

Everyone's life is different and everyone has their own stories to share. My story is just starting and I hope, I pray that with each piece of me chiseled
 away, there will be less of me to see and more or the Love that was shown to me on that very incredible Thanksgiving day.