Have you ever walked a road of loneliness? One where you're in this lethargic state of being.
I have, too.
Mark and I lovingly refer to it as a "funk". A moment in your life when there is distance in all the relationships you hold dear. When you wonder if this will be the new normal, or if it will pass. I've talked about "seasons" here, but sometimes, even seasons of loneliness are too hard to address.
I experienced my first season of loneliness when I was 7.
Seven, you may ask. Yes, seven.
At least I think that's how old I was. To be perfectly honest, I have no recollection of 1st grade-4th grade. I remember a project I made in 4th grade. It was a book, about how much of a hero my Mom was to me. It's amazing how a child can pick up joy in a dark situation, even when adults can't.
I have many missing details from that time of life, and it's with good reason. I heard a quote one time that said "When God can't protect you from someone's sin choices, He'll wrap His arms around you, shield your eyes, and cover your ears."
Time magazine also reported,
"In the midst of assault, the brain's fear circuitry takes over while other key parts are impaired or even effectively shut down. This is the brain reacting to a life-threatening situation just the way it is supposed to." -Dr. James Hopper and Dr. David Lisak
I have 3 1/2 years missing.
For a long time, that would paralyze me. I would be angry that those memories of my childhood were gone. What had I missed? The last memory I can remember, during that time was when I was saved. My brother and I were at our parent's best friends house. Mr. Dale and Mrs. Chris. There house was always warm, and smelled like a delicious coffee. (Not the black stuff my parents would drink!) I still giggle now, as I prepare a pot of black coffee, that's cinnamon roll flavored. I always thought Chris had some secret, to brewing coffee that didn't smell like motor oil. Turns out, there are just many coffee options! Her daughter, Bethany, who was much older than me, was patient with me. She taught me how to play Mancala (and how to win!) She showed me the beauty of weaving the teeniest, tiniest beads together, to form an ornate bracelet. Still today, she hand-makes beautiful wallets, diaper bags, and purses. Mr. Dale was the only adult I knew that could match my brother's energy level. They would play basketball for hours, while I was roaming their farm. They also had an adorable pot-bellied pig, that forever made me want one! (Like, I still want one.) To me, their house was an escape. I didn't even realize why their house felt so magical, but I know now, my tiny human self was seeking comfort. They invited us to go to their churches VBS. We attended, and I just remember sitting in a pew, and a man asking if we knew who Jesus was.
Yes, I thought.
"Do you know that He can save you from any brokenness, sin, or darkness?"
Hmm, okay? Those were pretty big words, and I didn't really understand what he meant.
"Do you know if you're going to heaven when you die?"
I had no idea. He explained salvation. How there is a Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for me. When they asked if there was anyone that wanted to be saved, I just remember standing up, and I burst into tears.
Now, brief rant: I know there are people that don't believe in Jesus, probably even reading this right now. They'll roll their eyes, and think that I'm fabricating it, or that I was persuaded to be saved, or that I was too young, or whatever.
But guess what?
I don't care if you're 7 or 70, there will come a deep, lonely time in your life, when you realize you want to believe there is more to this life than just what we see. In that moment, you'll brush it off, ignore it, or even laugh it off. But we've all been there. And we're all given the same choice.
I chose to believe.
In an intense moment of darkness, I needed to believe there was something greater.
I recently had a phone conversation with my Mom about how scared I was to share my full testimony. So nervous, in fact, my stomach is in knots, as I type. But she lovingly encouraged me to remember that there is power in sharing redemption, and for that, I'm grateful.
On social media, other various blogs, random human beings, etc. I get the comment "Wow! I thought you were older than 27.” While I'd like to pretend that it's because of my wise countenance, (Yeah, right. I'm so awkward.) I know it's because I look older than 27. People press on, and exclaim how they thought my 35 year old husband was younger than me! I laugh, and joke about his baby face!
But probably, if I were given the chance to share with people that hate me, people that love me, people that don't know me, or barely know me, I'd share this:
I look older, because when I was six, I was sexually abused.
It ages you. Life ages you. Stress ages you. Kids age you.
Carrying another human being for 9+ months, then being up all night, waking up early, helping your husband get to work; multiply that by 5. It ages you.
And that's okay.
I would rather be known by the lines that form when I’m belly laughing with my husband and children, than by my perfectly positioned meal, captured on Instagram.
Like I said above, I don't remember details. I just remember a moment, when I was younger, of me trying to tell my Mom what was happening. I started throwing up and saying, "I'm sorry."
Because, as one treatment center put it:
Feelings of guilt and shame are common reactions following a sexual assault. Because of misconceptions about assault, some victims blame themselves, doubt their own judgment, or wonder if they were in some way responsible for the assault. Feelings of guilt and self-blame may be reinforced by the reactions of others, who, because of prevalent myths about sexual assault, may blame the victim or criticize his or her behavior. You may also feel ashamed. Some victims describe feeling dirty, devalued, and humiliated as a result of a sexual assault. Feelings of shame are often related to the powerlessness and helplessness victims experience during a sexual assault.
So, I'd just throw up, and apologize.
Anyone who knows my Mom, knows what a warrior she is. Having walked a bumpy road herself, she instantly went into "Mom-mode".
Another side note: Mom's of sexual abuse victims are a level of warrior I'm in awe of. They cry, fight, console, hold, and demand truth.
That's my Momma.
Because of the sensitivity of the situation that I was involved in, I still had to see this person during holidays. My mom made sure we were never in the same room, and that if I needed to go to the bathroom, she would stand guard at the door.
That man passed away when I was in 5th grade.
Do you want to know what will add pre-mature wrinkles on the ol' forehead?
Relief, when someone passes away.
That's an odd feeling for a 10 year old to carry.
After the funeral, I remember my Daddy sobbing, and when he hugged me, he kept whispering, "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."
I remember being 10 years old, and telling him, "It's okay, Daddy. It's not your fault."
Again, heavy stuff.
I think that's why my heart beats so wildly to find the joy in life. I lost 3 years, to loneliness, darkness, worry, and stress. Joy is addictive.
When you see someone pop into a room, with a ridiculous grin on their face, and you feel the heavy atmosphere change, that's joy. You can't help but smile.
When you're discouraged, beat down, weary, and someone comes alongside you, to take you to lunch, just to make you laugh. That's joy.
It isn't just something that comes and goes. You remember the joy, during a really hard moment.
Joy for me, was learning how to play Mancala, when I was little. (Which I could still win, should a challenger present him/herself.)
Joy for me now, is knowing that my purpose in life, if I succeed at nothing else, is to have a husband that loves me, and children that know I love them. That's why I was created.
So in those moments of weakness, when I respond angrily to my children, I'm not fulfilling my purpose. In that moment of arguing with my husband, I'm not fulfilling my purpose.
'Cause here's the deal, y'all. I'm a hot mess express, who is blessed to drive a Momma Rocket, and have a Handsome Man to smooch.
That's my joy.
If you're in the middle of "Survival Mode" (approximately 1-12 months after you have a baby), the long nights, eating leftover Gardetto's for dinner, not showering in a few days, messy bun & sweatpants for daaaaays. That's okay. But don't forget about your joy. Because when you have that inner peace, it changes the trajectory of your family.
My most challenging time as a Mom, was when I had 2 kiddos, and we were expecting our third. My laundry was artfully crafted into shapes resembling the Rocky Mountains, all along my sectional. Dishes were overstimulating, laundry was overstimulating, LIFE was overstimulating.
And someone came beside me, and said "Sierra, you need to figure out what your ministry is, and do it with excellence."
I started making chocolate covered strawberries, and started a blog.
That was my joy.
That person was my husband.
He saw me drowning, and knew that if he offered me a lifeline, my strong will would refuse. So, instead, in his very chill way, he offered me a challenge.
"Find your joy, Sierra. Figure out what makes your heart beat wildly, to do something incredible."
If you’re in college, and the simple joys that you took for granted, when you were younger, are a foreign concept now:
They’re not as foreign as you're probably making them.
We all go through a phase where we’re out to prove the the world just how resilient we are, and how much wiser we are. Sometimes that can be a very lonely season, as well. Just don’t forget to find the joy.
Those little tiny flickers of light, in a dark moment. It’s what keeps us afloat. Keeps us marching.
So I offer you, if you're still reading all of this, after reading the heavy stuff up there ^, the same challenge.
Find your joy. Figure out what makes you tick. What causes your brain to start idea after idea. When you think about ________ (fill in the blank), it makes the corners of your mouth perk up into a smile, and causes your whole body to relax.
Some people find great joy in knitting.
I am not those people, but am in awe of them!
Nowadays, I've put the strawberries, and the blog on the back burner, and only bring them out every once in a while. Because today, my joy is dusting off the crusties and crumbs that are on my youngest daughter Edyn, EVERY TIME WE EAT. We call her Squish. My joy is consoling my very passionate 2 year old, Ellyn, and watching her grow, and think, and taaaaaalk. :) My joy is asking God to reveal ways I can understand my 3 year old. Little moments that are huge to him, like laying beside him, while he tries to fall asleep. Building with him, and encouraging him. My joy is watching my very active 5 year old get EXCITED about any/all things, Here lately, his excitement is his school. My joy is watching my 6 year old grow (literally, so tall), dream, and talk about what he wants to be when he grows up!
My joy is watching my husband fulfill his dreams, that he's put off for 10 years. He truly is incredible. It's scary taking leaps of faith, even scarier when you're the breadwinner for a wife and 5 kids, but he's doing it!
I have dreams, too. One of which, I'm fulfilling, just by writing my blog. But I have other dreams as well. I look forward to seeing how God takes my dreams, molds them with His will, and reveals His plan.
So, there you go, world. (I can officially say that, because a lady from NORWAY said she reads my blog!)
That's my challenge to you:
Find your joy. Ignore the voice that says you "can't". Ignore the people on the internet that troll your life, to try and destroy it. Ignore the people IN your life that try and destroy you. Jealousy can be ugly. Don't let their jealousy affect you. Just keep going. Little tiny baby steps, seeking God's will for your life, and finding the moments that make us smile.
Our moments of joy.
Never let a person, the enemy, or even yourself steal those moments from you.
Never let the yells of the enemy drown out the whispers of the Lord.
And as always:
Choose Joy, Speak Life, and Keep Marching.