What will people think?



When I was a little girl, I used to dream about the future.  I drew pictures of what I thought my life would look like.  I can see myself as a little girl--brown hair, blue eyes, dressed in the same color from head to toe (I threw a fit on my mom if everything I wore and used that day didn't match--down to my plate and cup!) drawing this picture.  I'm pretty sure it looked something like this:  cute little house with a chimney, a fence protecting the lawn, a little flower garden, and a yard full of kids, several of them playing on a swing set.  I couldn't wait for my story to unfold.  Oh how grand it would one day be. 

What I didn't envision was that somewhere in that pretty little house with the pretty little children in the yard, was a woman who was lost.  If I had drawn the scene, it would look like this:  She lays in a dark bedroom, shutting herself out from the rest of the world.  She is numb.  Numb to pain, sadness, trouble.  But also numb to love, happiness, laughter, and purpose.  Her life is defined by defeat.  She has lost herself to sickness, depression, and a pill bottle.  She possesses everything the first picture described, yet she is blind to it.  She is hopeless.  She is lost. 

Man.  That is not the story that I ever would have written for my life, yet it is exactly where I found myself. 

After I decided to publicly share my story, people started telling me how brave I was.  Let me tell you, brave is the last word I would use to describe how I feel.  This is the scariest thing I have ever done.  I absolutely did not want to expose myself in the way that I have.  A person would have to be absolutely crazy to do that...especially on the internet.  I live in a small town where everyone knows everyone.  What in the world would people think about me?  Preacher's daughter, former PTO member, worship singer....secret drug addict?  I imagined all of the things people would say about me. 

Don't let her hold your baby.  She's a drug addict.  It might rub off.

No, you can't stay the night with [insert child's name here].  His mom's a crackhead!

Don't ask Misty to work Secret Santa.  You can't trust her around the money or the kids.  She's been on drugs.

I had reason after reason why I couldn't/shouldn't do this.  Why would anyone ever want to read my story?  I am so insignificant.  But, you see, the Lord didn't accept my excuses.  He gently reminded me that He had brought me back from the grave and that He simply wanted me to tell people about what He had done for me.  I still argued with Him, but I went ahead and started working on a website.  I even started writing and journaling things that came to mind.  In the meantime, I hoped that He would change His mind and maybe decide that He had a different plan for my life, like being a personal shopper for the rich and famous.  No such luck.  I still sat on it.  Then, as time started to tick by, I started getting antsy and restless.  I couldn't sleep or even relax for thinking about this thing He had asked me to do.  That's what happens when God asks you to do something.  He doesn't take no for an answer.  So, with more fear in my body than I can possibly describe, my trembling hand finally pushed the "publish" button on a post that was written eight months prior.  Turns out, sharing my story was much easier than sitting on it. 

The excuses don't matter anymore.  Yes, there are people who will steer clear of me because of the things they have read or heard about me.  That's okay.  Not every one will be so accepting of the person I was then or the person I am now.  That's okay as well. I am finally comfortable enough with who I am to realize and accept those facts.  This is my story, and I own it...cover to cover.

Ever since I could put pencil to paper, I have loved to write.  I've always kept journals, and writing down my thoughts and feelings has always been a coping strategy.  But, somewhere, tucked deep in the long forgotten recesses of my heart, lived a dream.  A dream to one day write something that other people would read.  A story about someone's life.  I just never dreamed that the life I would write about would be mine.   

I'm just going to be real here.  The next several posts I'm going to be sharing are tough.  They were tough to write, and they will probably be tough to read.  I had actually planned on sharing the first part of those today, but this was on my heart, and I needed to write it, probably more for me than for anyone else.  I think we all need to be reminded from time to time that some stories have a bad chapter, and that it often gets much worse before we ever get to see the happily ever after, or as I used to say as a little girl, the "hapty epter apter."