Writing for God

I awoke with a heavy heart this morning knowing next week I meet with my merry group of women.  We'll be sorting through all of my writing over the last six years, categorizing it into topical groups so that I can bring it before the Lord and ask if the book should be written in topical chapters chronologically or chronologically by topic.  I wrestle with this decision.

I struggle to write about topics that still cause pain to surface.  I've talked about them before but having someone else learn about them is scary and exposing.  I may need to have a friend or my therapist sit with me as I write down those experiences.

The hope part is rather easy and I look forward to it.  There has been so much healing and insight from such pain and abuse one would think I would have emerged a bitter person but I did not.  God guarded my spirit from ever becoming like theirs and for that, I am very grateful.

Writing a book God asks you to write can be stressful when you forget He's going to be there to lead and guide you all the way.  That's what I keep forgetting.  It wasn't my idea to write it.  I just asked the question.  He was the one who gave the answer.

God the Father, Jesus His Son and the Holy Spirit are the leaders, providers, teachers and guardians of my life.  They have my back when Satan casts a net over my brain and I can't think or write or read the Bible or stumble when I talk or keep my balance or have migraines or nightmares or suicidal thoughts or self-injure.  But my Heavenly Realm reminds me of their presence, their Guardian of Angels, my ability to keep myself safe, the many phone numbers I can call, the godly therapist I've been given, my psychiatrist who will bend over backwards to get me into the hospital and all the ladies who would help if I ask for it, my family who would come running and I am capable, even when I'm feeling incapable, of taking care of myself.

I know I need a few Sams in my life.  I've been blessed to have three of the most godly women I know befriend me when least expected:  Marie, Laurie and Catherine.  And then I have my Pippins and Marys who are pure delights, like the three before, and they are Jennifer, Saundra, Michelle, Donna, Merrilyn, Kim, my small group, my family and a host of others too many to mention.

My Sams are warriors even if they don't see themselves that way.  They cast out demons, pray for protection, read about my past and put a knife into the enemy all the while holding my inner child who is afraid she has lost what she's been fighting for all along on her journey.  But she hasn't.

It's like in the Fellowship of the Ring -  The Return of the King when Frodo needs Sam's help to complete the task set before him that only he can complete.  I recognize that my book will not save middle earth like in this scene but you never know...for someone suffering from the effects of abuse, it just might.

You see, Sam has now become a fierce warrior and no one or nothing is going to stand in the way of him getting to his friend, Frodo.  But when he gets there and pulls the ring out of his pocket to show Frodo he had it for safe keeping, he listens to Frodo about giving him the ring.  Did you notice Sam's hesitation in giving it to Frodo?  Did you notice Frodo's response?

 - Frodo asked Sam to give him back the ring.

 - Sam did not want to but not for the reason Frodo thought.
 - Frodo thought Sam wanted to keep it for himself.

 - Sam was staring at the skin around Frodo's neck from carrying the ring.

 - Sam knew what wearing the ring was doing to Frodo and still, he gave it back to him.

 - And Sam was right.  Frodo became instantly weak with the burden he knew was his alone to carry.

Sometimes, not often, God asks us to carry a burden that no one else can really understand unless they've experienced it and even then, it can feel lonesome.  Fortunately, it's not very often. Even Jesus had John and His mother with him at the cross.  Others came but the ones He loved the most and who loved Him were there to share the burden and agony of pain and sorrow of death with Him.

They cried at the sight of Him, they cried at the tears He cried, they cried when He cried out in pain, they cried when He called out to His father and they cried when He cried His very last tear.

That's whose pain I carry in my heart.  The One who was asked to carry a burden on my behalf, to suffer on my behalf, to bleed on my behalf, to be separated from those He loved on my behalf, to be beaten until almost dead on my behalf, to hang as a common criminal on my behalf, to pardon a guilty criminal on my behalf, to forgive me on my behalf, to die on my behalf, to rise on my behalf and to start the church on my behalf.

That's why this book is being written.

On His behalf.

When God Gives An Assignment

I'm working on a project for someone in our small group.  It's a privilege to use my gifts and talents to brighten a gloomy place in the life of someone I care about.  That's when I started thinking about it.

God has never given me an assignment then abandoned me to do it by myself.  It's not in His nature.  He stays available to help, advise, show and bring others to assist every time I ask Him.  Many times I'm so perplexed I don't know what words to say to get what I need.  That's when I remember Jesus and the Holy Spirit are praying for me when I can't figure it out.

I've added a dear friend to, from time to time, look at the structure and some of the content format of how I'm writing my book.  She is someone who can pray specifically (or ask Jesus) for guidance as I write.

There are parts of my story I don't want to write.  I feel physically sick when I see the words then I quickly turn the pages for what seems an eternity.  Those will be hard.

But then there's hope.  Hope in healing, hope in memories no longer controlling your thoughts, hope of friends who truly love you whom you don't have to put through a test, hope for the end of addictions and self-injury, hope for mental illness to be correctly diagnosed and medicated, hope for a sound and well-balanced therapist and hope for a brighter future.

I will be writing about that, too.

I snuck this same friend an index card that reads:  God will never let you go.

Those are for the times when lies get into our thoughts and we need to be reminded how valuable we are to God.  After all, He created us in His image.  He gave us gifts and talents.  He wants to have a personal relationship with us through His Son, Jesus.

It doesn't get any better than that no matter how much abuse I survived by how many people who perpetrated it for how many years it lasted

God never stopped loving me,
He always will see me as valuable.
He sees you that way, too!

As Long As I Remember, He'll Always Be Here

I met with my therapist yesterday.  I still felt numb but over the years I've learned the value of keeping therapy appointments and not canceling them.  I would cancel them because the numbness I was feeling would suddenly burst forth at the thought of sitting in an office, door shut, their eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.

I've faked illness to avoid showing sadness because I couldn't stop crying
I've faked illness to avoid showing fear because at that time I didn't have the tools to bring myself to a safe person or apply the tools to keep myself safe.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I've felt overwhelmed or my thoughts are racing and I can't get control of them.
I've walked out of therapy sessions when I feel hurt by something she says and instead of talking to her, she just keeps on talking so I tell her I'm leaving.  Then I take a break, cancel all future appointments and remind myself that I am in control of who and how often I see them.

I no longer fake my illness.
I no longer walk out of sessions.
I search inside myself when asked a question.
I talk about my hurts for as long as need to.

I speak up if there's a misunderstanding.
I listen to new ideas and exercises.
I make sure I am kind when in distress.
I bring anything I've worked on, like this blog.

It was hard to talk but I drove to therapy.  I was asked how I was feeling - sad.  Then I talked about the gift I received on Sunday. Sunday I was able to tell the entire story of the last week with Aaron plus all the other details. to my friend.  I hadn't done that in a long, long time if ever. Yesterday, I was having the feelings of sadness and tender.  For myself, my family and Aaron's family.

I remember Aaron in two sets of clothes that week:
Same person, different clothes.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit and body are here.
One in a hospital gown, his Spirit is gone, his body is here.
One in a long sleeve black shirt, black pants and neon green neck tie.
His Spirit gone but his body is here.
He was cremated.
His Spirit gone, his body now ashes, the two urns at each parents home.

My Aaron.
My tall and strong,
Bright blue eyes,
Running at me for hugs,
Creative ingenuity (exploding plastic pop bottles),
Helper to Tina, Grandma and the Aunties (Amy & Tracy),
Monopoly player with me and his brothers,
Horror movies,
Trying to rebuild a TransAm with Dad,
Going to 4-H with the family,
Loving his mom,
Taking girlfriend Alex to all dances,
Wrestling with oldest brother, Joe
Walking the neighborhood with younger brother, Jonny,
Bouncing on trampoline with youngest brother, Ryan,
Hunting for eggs on Easter 2008 with sisters Hope, Sammi and Alicia.

Still Grieving Aaron

I've wanted to tell her about Aaron since last week but I believed an old lie from another time in my life.  I decided, if she had the time, I would tell her.  Turns out she did.

After listening to me tell her the entire week of Aaron in the hospital six years ago, God prompting me to baptize him, being asked to sit with him by his mom until it was time for him to die, announcing to Aaron's mom and dad that it was time, sitting in the room with his parents, brother and other aunts and uncles when he passed away, the details of the funeral and the days that followed, I shared that I've never cried.

Not when placed my hands on his forehead and heart the first night.
Not when I found out his death was eminent.
Not when I baptized him.
Not when I sat in his room and people asked how he was.
Not when we surrounded him and he died.
Not at the funeral.
Not when I was alone at home.
Not on any of the anniversaries.
I haven't cried.

It was a long story.  Instead of saying something quickly and rushing off, she took my hands in hers and we were eyeball to eyeball.  She said, "Maybe you don't need to grieve so much because you brought him into restoration with God.  God gave you that assignment and the one to sit in his room, watching over him, then getting everyone when his heartbeat started going down.  You were able to hear the Holy Spirit and do what was being asked of you."

I never think of obedience as a reason for God removing pain.

I still might be blocking some grief because I sink into a deep depression a few days before that week begins and days after.  Truth be told, I'm still in it.  Sleeping a lot.  Saw my psych and he made an adjustment.  He was trying to get me to laugh but I wasn't finding anything funny.  I wasn't angry - just not in a funny mood.

This is the t-shirt I made while the Alateens were at the hospital.  Like I said before, I needed to be with my own people.

Thanks for listening.

My Writings and Some Videos of Aaron Michael Hunt

When someone you loved dies, it's hard to move forward with preparations for the final day you will ever see them again.  These are the words I penned for those experiences plus the days and years that followed.


Click to read: The Days After Aaron's Death


Click to read: Aaron's Death by 2015


Click to read: Aaron's Anniversary Years


Aaron Michael Hunt Put To Rest