Father and Father

Today would have been my dad's 72nd birthday had he not passed away on February 21, 2008.  I've been thinking a lot about him.  Not anything specific.  More like an awareness that he is gone and my sisters and I are still here.  It's weird.

I was thinking how I would have liked to give him a birthday card.  But that's living in a fantasy.  My dad stopped talking to me three years before he died for reasons I'll never know.  I kept reaching out to him - no response.  It's sad, really, to think that my father who helped create me would abandon me so easily.  Then again, is it really that much of a surprise?

Truthfully, no it's not.  Considering the man he was when I was growing up it's not hard at all to recognize his abusive behavior as part of the disease of alcoholism.  Alcoholism steals people away and many of them never make or take the journey back.  They are lost inside an insidious disease that seeks and destroys the men and women who are in it's grip.  I know because I'm a recovering alcoholic and just celebrated six years of sobriety.

If I gave my dad a birthday card and if our relationship had been healed and if he didn't marry his second wife and if he chose to not only stop drinking but attend AA meetings and go to therapy to get well, I'd buy a nice sentimental card.  He liked those better than the humorous ones.  I'd write his name down the blank left hand side of the card and use the letters of his name, like this:

Humorous
A great carpenter
Neither near nor far
Knows stuff

But that card wasn't bought.
The card wasn't filled out.
His name and address are not written on the envelope.
I do not need a stamp because isn't being mailed.

Instead, I went to church today and learned more about my Father in Heaven and our relationship:

• I am to meet with God first 
• I am to let God change me
• Let myself live in His power
• Try 30 days of meeting with God
• Live moment by moment
• Fail FOR God
• God doesn't hide sin
• Tell the truth
• God shows us the Promiseland when we obey his commands
• God buried Moses by Himself and we know not where Moses is buried
• Ask myself, "Am I struggling to let go of sin for disappointing God?"
• Live in this truth:  Nothing, when I confess it TO God, separates me FROM God.

See the difference?  An earthly father bogged down by sin, guilt, shame and a host of other feelings is lost in self-destructive behavior and does not have a light to get out.  My Heavenly Father reminded me that sin, when  confessed, is forgotten.  I can live in the freedom that Jesus died for all sin on the cross and remain in His light.

I miss my Dad.  He was a great guy whose whole life was bogged down in abuse and addiction.  I feel bad for him.  I really do.

He died alone, my Dad.  The coroner said it was a heart attack but I believe something else happened.  I can't prove it so I won't say it.  Let's just say there is evidence of a person of interest who did everything she could to keep my sisters and I away from him and it worked.

But here's the catch:  Even though my name, my Dad's brothers and their families and his pre-deceased parents were not listed in the obituary and the obituary was insulting and offensive to our entire family, I have a birth certificate with his name on it.  Above the word, "Father"  it says, "Henry Raymond Endler, Jr."  No one can ever take him away from me.  His urn?  Yes.  His things?  Yes. The pictures and trinkets and gifts we gave to him from the time we were in grade school through adulthood?  Yes.

But love, even tough love which speaks volumes and screams for healing, can never be taken away.  I doubt the evil this person bestowed upon us will ever understand.  Even with all the abuse he did to me, it can never be washed away by someone else's sickness and control and denial.  Only God can heal a deeply abused soul that survived horrific abuse. And that soul is mine.

Sam's Club hot dogs, a Mug Rootbeer, runs to Menard's and Home Depot - that's my Dad.  Working with him spraying houses for bees then sitting in his truck for lunch eating hot dogs - that's my Dad.  Sitting across the table talking about things in my life - that's my Dad.  That's the Dad I want to remember.  For a very brief time I had my Dad and that's who I miss.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I hope you're in heaven, fully healed and fully restored.
That's my birthday wish for you.

Love your forever daughter,
Amy Kathleen (He named me)

A Healthy Dependence On Your Therapist

Have you ever had a time in your life when you felt so vulnerable that being around people scared you?  You don't feel in control of your emotions, you're afraid people will judge you or label you and retreating into yourself is the only place you feel 100% safe?  I know exactly how that feels.  

Recovering from incest and sexual abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse and growing up to be the son my Dad always wanted, I yearned for someone I could be close to.  Not sexually but through tender hugs and kind words and loving eyes looking back at me and listening to what was on my heart.  God provided for those needs in five of the seven therapists I've had/have.

Each one gave me some.
Only one gave me all.

And when I'm going through an especially hard time, that's the one I want to talk to the most.  It's not mean that I don't want to talk to any of the other ones.  In fact, my current therapist understands that the one I want to see and talk to is the one who helped me through the hardest part of my recovery.  It's natural to want to be with her.

But since I can't, what's a person who wants to continue her recovery do?  I take what I've learned and bring it with me to my current therapist.  In fact, Faith Gallup started our therapy sessions using methods I wasn't used to.  Even though it was weird at first, I've grown to depend on her in a healthy way.

A lot of it depends on me.  I need to be healthy by becoming willing to be vulnerable in front of her and bring her into my vulnerability.  Not an easy thing to do.  Letting my emotions be my emotions in her presence is important.  Her office is where I get to practice feeling my feelings.  In fact, when I first started seeing her, I cried at each session - for awhile.  New behaviors are safe in her office and encouraged to be explored.

Depending on my friends is different from a therapist.  My friends are wonderful, loving women who bring lots of joy and helpfulness into my life.  But they are not trained or educated therapists.

You could say, my therapist is a "friend" of a different kind because she's not my friend in the traditional sense.  She's submitted and used by God to help bring about positive change so that I am free from the wreckage of my past.  I've learned to depend on her wisdom, her guidance, her insight and her suggestions.  She follows Jesus so I know her heart is in the right place.

1. Depending on my therapist is healthy when I walk through the door using my two feet and not hers.  
2. It's healthy when I can treat her respectfully and she treats me the same way.  
3. It's healthy when we can disagree without hurling hurtful words at each other and can instead talk it out, even if it's messy.  
4. It's healthy when there is comfort in the silence and the tears.  
5. It's healthy when I walk out of there still on my own two feet but with some added support.

I've been very blessed to have Liz Morrison, Carol Davis-Serpas, Jeff Weineke, Julie Tevenon and Faith Gallup as godly men and women who live their lives according to His purpose.  

It's my desire to emulate them in some small way because they've shown me a new way to live and have given me more tools than I could ever imagine.  

I can't thank them enough.

Tears and Fears and Cheers

This morning I was reading Revelation 21:1-4. It's John's recording of seeing a "new heaven and a new earth." The verse my heart was yearning to read is verse four: 

Revelation 21New International Version (NIV)

A New Heaven and a New Earth

21 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”[a] for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’[b] or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

A trip up north had been in the planning stages with my dear friend, Ann.  She needed to get up to their cottage for many reasons.  My directive from God has been to support her, not so much by words, but by praying and listening.  You see, Ann's wonderful husband of thirty-three years passed away three months ago.

Before his passing, I felt completely powerless to do anything but pray for she and Artie.  And yet, that's all her initial email asked for:  prayer.  As a short time passed and a diagnosis was given, it was clear Artie would be in Heaven soon.  But what about my friend?  What in the world could I give or do for her??

I knew what I couldn't give:  I've never been married.

I knew what I could give:  Listening when she would initiate an evening text, checking in on her without being a pest, my love for her using my words, my presence at the funeral, a box of Kleenex that only she and I would understand the meaning of and reminders of God's love and of His presence.

So, that's what I've been doing.

Ann's twenty-three year old granddaughter, Dana, decided she wanted to go, too.  There would be a few hours on Saturday when Ann and Dana would need to take a drive and spend a few hours together.  This gave me an open window to see my Mom.  I didn't realize how much I missed my Mom until I saw her.  Even though we talk regularly on the phone, seeing her was exciting.

But every time I've gone up there, especially the last few years, I shed tears of sadness.  Why?  Because God formed a friendship, maybe a decade ago, between a loving soul named Laurie and I.  But in 2008, the year my friend Cathy and my Dad died, Laurie and her husband moved to another state.  It wasn't a total surprise and we've grown so much closer to each other since then, but for some reason, this trip up north triggered great sadness of not having seen her since she moved.

After a wonderful dinner with Ann, Dana and my mom on Saturday night, the three of us headed back to the cottage for a break.  Then my friend drove us into Minoqua for a Dairy Queen treat.  On the drive there, I wasn't feeling hungry but instead began to feel a nudge to have some alone time.  That was fine with Ann and I had no time limit.  I walked in downtown Minoqua to the end of the shops where, on the left, is the little coffee shop that Laurie and I had breakfast in one morning.  I remember that day so clearly.  It was gorgeous outside and after breakfast we found a bench to sit on.  As lots of people kept walking by we had one of the most beautiful conversations.  I don't remember what we talked about but that feeling of taking another step toward each other was present.

After my "memory" walk to that cafe, I was feeling very sad.  I knew I needed some quiet time with God - to talk about all the junk inside my head.  I walked down to the lake where the night before I watched a water ski show with Ann and Dana.  There was a telephone pole before the bleachers.  That telephone pole became a holy place.

My eyes were already moist and that knot in the pit of my stomach?  The one when I know I'm about to talk to God out loud?  Began to unravel itself through crying, looking up at the sky where the sun was setting, looking out at the water where some boats were anchored for fishing or are cruising by.  I sensed this moment was going to help me a great deal.  I knew this because I've walked and talked with God for more than 30 years.  You kinda get a knack for picking up on these sort of things.

In those several minutes, I talked through tears.  I asked questions.  I pleaded for understanding.  I cried some more and I kept talking.  I knew I was praying and I knew I was cleaning out the shed in my head.  I told God how I didn't understand what the big deal was about my story.  There are people out there who have much worse stories than mine.  What was so special about mine that he wanted to use it in other people's lives?  I told God how much I missed Laurie.  From where I was standing I could see where the Bearskin Trail would be.  Laurie and I shared many walks and talks and that's where God told me to write my story.  And what about Ann?  Am I doing what He wants?  Making sure I'm available in body, mind and spirit for her to feel safe talking?  What about the deep pain she is in?  Being blessed by her memories yet surrounded by Artie's things but not having his eyes reflect his love for her, the joy of his laughter, the tenderness of his hugs or his physical body walking through the door anymore?  

What about all of that???????????

I stood there, still praying and crying, trying to purge out my insides while feeling the pain of it all. 

And then the dark thoughts crept in.  I thought of how easy it would be to disappear.  To just walk off someplace and never be heard from again.  I looked down at the lake and thought of how easy it would be to drown.  No one would find me - for awhile, at least.  I was feeling deep sorrow, I was feeling worthless because my story couldn't possibly help anyone.  I mean, my gosh!  I felt it didn't really matter if I ended my life right there.  In fact, it would end the torment I was feeling.

And therein lies the miracle.  I was feeling.  I was feeling so much and I wasn't drinking or cutting or seeking destructive relationships or overeating.  I was feeling and that was a miracle.

Because then Ann came to mind.  My death would wreck her in ways I was just learning.  My Mom wouldn't understand because I've been doing so well.  My sisters and their families would be heartbroken.  My friends, like Laurie, would be heartbroken as well.  Then there's my home and my kitties.  Their lives would be uprooted, some of them possibly put to sleep.  And even though I have a will, my things could never replace me.  Even though my friends would make sure the book gets published, it wouldn't be the same as what God wanted to have said because I wasn't there to write it.

I stood staring up at the sky, the orange from the sunset and the violet clouds sprinkled across the sky.  I knew taking my own life was not the answer and even though God didn't answer all of my questions or take away all of the sadness or give me some sort of revelation about the book, God gave me what He felt I needed.  The next step to take with my book.  Purchase the rest of the digital copies of my blogs and get those to my besties.  Don't worry about anything else.

Much time had passed.  I stopped crying.  I was given what I needed from the One who loves me most.  I had a clear mission of what to do next.  I wiped my eyes, thanked God for his goodness and headed back toward Dairy Queen.  

Later that night, Ann and I shared a deeper conversation.  Somehow we got on the subject of Aaron.  I told her the whole story about the week Aaron (my 18 yr old nephew) died, including the funeral, but this time, I didn't cry.  It wasn't because I didn't feel sad or used up all my tears at the lake. Losing Aaron was way worse than losing my Dad.  It was because I was now afraid to cry.   

I often wonder if  there is a facet to mental illness where suicidal thoughts never really go away.  It's not as though I plan on having them.  They just pop into my head as the solution for the ache in my soul.  And even when I am in God's presence, with my arms outstretched and my hands open wide, those thoughts of suicide still enter my mind.  

That's why this verse in the Bible resonates with my battles with suicide, hurting myself and feeling my feelings.  It's because of one decision in March of 1988 when I gave my life to Jesus Christ and accepted his gift of substitutionary atonement for my sin.  The verse says, "God will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.  For the old order of things has passed away."

I listened to Ann all weekend and supported her as best I could.  I plan to continue.

I made myself be vulnerable with her even though I was scared.  I plan to only talk when asked.

I called Laurie when I arrived home.  I told her all the above.  She is my older sister!

My disability check is deposited today so I can download the blogs then send them.

I slept until 10:00 a.m. which is super long!!!

This post took almost 5 hours to write, edit, write, edit, write, edit then finalize.

And God's promise of a "new day?"

That, my friends, will be the day I give a very loud cheer!

"I Miss My Mom and Dad."

For several weeks, I've been falling asleep on the couch.  Usually to a TV show I intend to watch til the end but you know how that goes when you're tired.  Sleeping on the couch has, in the past, been a warning sign that sexual abuse issues are about to surface.

They come in the form of dreams, body memories (re-experiencing the abuse), PTSD and sometimes psychosomatic seizures which are emotion based - not epileptic based.  Sleeping on the couch is a measuring stick I use to tell me how long and how in depth those memories are going to be.  It's a tool that has worked very well in my recovery.

Instead of having a dream where my body is being abused, I had a dream where I was being nurtured by my mom AND dad.  Lots of hugs, kind words and even laughter.  I felt no fear for my safety, no fear for anyone else's safety and no need to find a way of escape from danger.  There was no danger.

There was no danger of any kind.  No hitting, no yelling, no furniture being thrown or broken, no shoes being thrown at my cats and no creaking floor in the middle of the night with a dark shadow on my wall getting closer to me.  There was no danger of any kind.

As the dream continued in it's nurturing manner, I could feel myself relax and drink in the safety I wish in real life I'd had.  When I woke up, I heard my little girl voice say, "I miss my mom and dad."  I said that a couple of times as I got up off the couch and walked to my bedroom.

"I miss my mom and dad."

I pulled back my covers, pushed the dvd into the player and crawled into bed, holding my extra pillow and drifting off to sleep.

"I miss my mom and dad."

When Stress Becomes Too Much

I love Star Trek - The Next Generation.  The original was cool but at my age, Next was it.  I especially like the opening music and words:

"To seek out new life and new civilizations,
To boldly go where no one has gone before."

In this season of life, I am learning how to stand up for myself and use my voice.  A voice that has been silent when it comes to how I am treated by others.  Relying on my inner voice to give strength to my vocal voice.  Not by yelling or screaming but by feeling and thinking and processing and yes, writing.  I usually check in with a few trusted besties before I move forward.  Sometimes I don't because I'm very comfortable inside myself to know how to handle it.

I do not yell - I am assertive and stern with my words.
I do not scream - I clearly communicate the problem.
I do not rage on someone - I try to be concise and succinct with the issues at hand

I do tell how I felt - I only share one or two feelings
I do tell what I think - Again, sparingly
I do tell what I need for a resolution - Usually one or two requests.

Then, it's up to them.

As I  keep on seeking "new life" (being conformed to the image of Christ) and "new civilizations" (my family and besties and new church), I have every ounce of faith that God is going to take me places I have never been before.

And that, my friend, is living boldly.