I just woke up from a very vivid dream. Were you thinking of me? I’ll share the dream now. And only you will know if so.
The dream that woke me up:
There was a house. Maybe by a lake. A place where people go for vacations. Lots of windows and light. But this was nice. At night. And there were a lot of people there. Watching a movie.
At some point people were shifting around, changing places. And you ended up next to me on a bed. But you didn’t want me to touch you. So you kept moving away.
There wasn’t enough room for me to give you your space, so I fell off while trying to still be there next to you. I landed down on the ground. You just laughed.
But then…
Was it just because you knew how bad that looked to others? Cause you pulled me back up and next to you. This time even held me close. Put your arm around me so I didn’t fall off. And quietly said only loud enough for me to hear, “I was just joking.”
But I didn’t believe you. You hurt my feelings and I wasn’t going to give you the benefit of the doubt as easily as before. So I announced to everyone that you were just holding me because there wasn’t enough room for the both of us. So I wouldn’t fall off again.
Oh so practical, right? Even in that – protecting you. Your reputation. In case you changed your mind about me. In case you were playing games. Like last time? Like so many times?
The movie continued playing as you held me. But I became so into the storyline that I didn’t notice what you were doing. I had already tuned you out and was fully committed to moving on after the humiliation you served me. So I didn’t pay you any mind as you started playing with me. Not with your hands.
I guess trying to be cute at first. To annoy me out of my sour mood towards you. But when your efforts were met with my steadfast emotionless resolve, then you were full-on trying to land a proper kiss just to see if that would snap me back. To the point where everyone was now laughing as you kept trying. But I was still so oblivious that each time I was now the one moving away from you. Trying to give you the space you insisted on before.
It wasn’t until your efforts were nearly ridiculous that I finally woke to it. Enough to catch everyone saying something like, “Damn, she was really into the movie; paying you no mind.” Everyone even kinda impressed by how little I seemed to now care.
Little did you and they know. It has just been…
The story. I was so stuck to a particular story that I never made room for you. When the story I got stuck on was never the one that interested me in the first place. Just happened.
And I’m too scared to consider anymore stories again. I need real love this time.
I asked God, “Why this dream? Why now?” When I am so clearly trying to move on. As opposed to before.
Is it a sign? For something I’m not as keen on anymore. Do I have to accept whatever I’m offered? Or can I still insist on more? After all this time? As I am even now?
All I felt in response was interesting. Like a mirror. God showing me that you are far from perfect. And I would have put you on too high of a pedestal before. And that would have ruined everything.
Now I see myself as an equal. Your equal. Included. Part of everyone.
And you also. Just like me; not the exact same, but more alike than different in at least a few major ways that matter.
But I told God that I wouldn’t now want what you served me before. I don’t want to try to be okay with that again.
Trinity told me that was perfectly fine, even the point.
Because you fucked up. My love was enough even back then. But now you have to earn it. Not my first preference, but your choices forced my hand, forced this. Ball is in your court. Your turn.
And I’m not the same woman I was before. I’m not chasing you again. I’m learning.
The things in my adult past were necessary. I needed them to heal and grow. To be ready for better love, real love. Maybe he really was the practice guy like I used to refer to him as a significant amount of the time. Only man I even remotely seriously considered. But not the destination?
Maybe God let me go through all that as a gift. So I could start working out all of my most pressing shit; there was plenty in blind spots I wasn’t aware of.
So I’d have a shot when the real thing came along. So I’d at least show up in my heart as me; more than just my trauma.
God told me that what I saw, what I could see now, is not the all-the-way real you. That there is a whole other person yet to be fully uncovered. Maybe someone so remote now that you’ve almost forgotten who you used to be. Back when happier moments were more easily grabbed hold of. Before stuff wore you down. Made you this person that is still admirable in many ways. But you won’t ever be okay until you are able to step into who you really see yourself as. Deep down.
You have some unlearning to go through. And I needed to know that, see that before God would ever let anything happen on any level.
The good news is that it’s not too late. Just ask – God first. I pray for you to see and hear even more. Experiencing Jesus’ heart for you. In the depths of your soul.
I promise you, an adventure awaits. Not you in the supporting role you have previously consciously embraced for the sake of others more than for yourself. Although you valiantly learned to find joy even there.
That’s part of the real you. The one people love and are still drawn to.
God told me before that if it was good for me then He’d let it stay.
Same with you.
Don’t worry – only the best parts, the easy-to-love parts will remain. As you are cleansed.
This isn’t about losing anything. Only the pain you are so tired of will be gone. And all the ways it manifests into the untouched corners of your life.
What if there is REAL hope this time? With or without me. How does that sound? Is that something you’d be interested in risking for at least one more time?
I hope so. Do it at least out of curiosity. Please. At this point just to see.
This is for you this time. Not anyone else for a good long while.
Me? Still got a lot of work to do. And that’s where you’ll find me. Organically if Trinity sees it as best for us both. Along the way. The journey. The adventure.
We already know all the reasons your mind has to say no. But what does your heart say? Will you join me?
Writing
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If It Don’t Come Easy
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Excited for 2023
I usually pick a word for the new year. The word I am picking for 2023 is “organized”. I used to be fanatical about being organized, but spread myself too thin over the years and lost my edge on that along the way. The result is really everything has been negatively impacted.
So back to basics for next year. Specifically focusing on mastery; mastering the basics. Because one of the things holding me back is that I want to do so many things but I rushed passed setting up a better foundation to do so. Because I always felt like I was behind and late to the party due to how my story started. Always playing catch-up.
But God has been on me over and over this past year about needing to be more patient and not worrying. So 2023 is about intentionally taking the time to take whatever steps back that I need to take in order to move forward in a better way.
Shifting from time management to priority management. So I can do what I want to do. Make these dreams really happen.
Feel like the last five years have been a brutal cleansing, but I am finally starting to see myself after washing away all the junk so many put on me for so long. Feel like my mind is becoming clearer and clearer. Feel like I’m so close to fully finding myself and jumping back into who I really am.
I feel empowered and actually excited to step into the new year. For the first time in a long, long time.
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Daydream
This morning I dreamt that I kept barging into a doctor’s office.
The first time I was supposed to be there.
The second time he had a room full of other professionals in there. He was busy with them but assured me I’d be okay and that he would be with me when he finished.
The third time I told him I couldn’t wait. That I had to speak to a female Doctor from my past. Because something was wrong and they were the only ones who could help me because they were the only ones who believed.
The office was full of other doctors and professionals. And the male doctor told me to go to the hospital. He assured me that the female Doctor would eventually be there. But I didn’t believe him. And she knew it. So she told me, “Sarah, I am so tired, but I will be there.”
I closed the door to the office and felt bad. Here she was so tired and I was insisting on her doing more. I didn’t want to be like that. Why couldn’t I help myself? Why couldn’t I control my panic?
It’s because we don’t believe. We think this is the end of the story.
Why didn’t I go to God?
I was like Peter: walking on water until I looked down at all the reasons this shouldn’t be working. Seeing only my lack. How unable I was to keep the gig going. Letting all the circumstances speak louder to me than Spirit’s whispers of reminders of how many times God had come through in amazing ways before with just what I needed.
I thought I needed another person to help me. To deliver me. Because I couldn’t see how I could deliver myself. And I felt abandoned by God. Forgotten. So i didn’t think to factor Them into the equation.
Oh sure, intellectually I would have told you so. Intellectually I wouldn’t have denied God. But in my heart, I allowed circumstances to speak differently. And my choices spoke to the fact that I thought it was really up to me. To save myself.
Just because we see a body in the grave, that doesn’t mean that it’s over. In so many ways. The Jesus you sing and go on about has a really cool story about things turning around when it looked like all hope was lost, when all those promises were full of shit. This God you once believed in specializes in bringing what looks dead back to life.
And yet here we are in the middle. Of our story. Stuck between what we thought we knew and where we hoped we could be. What do we do here in the waiting? While “reality” is demanding our attention?
This is where I messed up before. I hung too closely to a particular narrative. I didn’t leave room for mystery. For God to surprise me with Their best. For what I intellectually would have agreed was more than I could ask or imagine.
Let me tell you a story. One time I was living in Corpus Christi. And I was bidding on some work that was available to me. But I wanted the work at a certain price that seemed fair to me. Not over the top; I needed the money but I didn’t want to undervalue myself just because of fear. So I waited. And someone else won the bid.
But God? I thought all this time you were teaching me to stop settling for crumbs when you wanted to give me my own whole cake?
“Just keep doing what you would do right now as if everything is going to work out.”
In other words, stop worrying and give myself, everyone, and everything to Them, to Their heart. Does God Love me or not?
Don’t factor Trinity out just because you don’t see. Just to try to save Them face. And yourself the hurt if They don’t come through as and when you expect. As if They can’t handle even the biggest challenge. As if They aren’t well aware of how we perceive Them. As if They aren’t able to manage Their own reputation. I dare you to think bigger. There is a lot more going on here if God hasn’t yet given us the things we felt like we for sure were promised. Even the biggest.
And so I chose, I decided to relax. And give God that problem. I’m Their kid. They know what I need. They Love me. And They know even more than me, or all the other people judging me, my inability to fix the things that are out of my control.
And then, as I was trusting the outcome to Them, there it was again – the bid. Something had happened. The other person it had been awarded to pulled out at the last minute. Didn’t go forth with the job. And put it back out there. For me. Now at a higher price. Much closer to what I originally wanted. I couldn’t resist. I snagged it as soon as I could. And won. Everything I needed for that time.
The lesson was clear: if God had given me something, I didn’t have to worry. Even if it looked like it was gone, He’d bring it back if it was really mine.
“But people, God?”
Even people.
I don’t get confirmation about specific ones in specific ways. But out of the blue someone I thought was absolutely gone will reach out and contact me randomly. Just when I am navigating these things. Someone I had tried to communicate with will all of a sudden, after years of failed attempts, pop back up. Showing me that it’s not over until it’s the end. And it’s not the end yet. Not if I’m still here.
But healing isn’t guaranteed in my timeline. Or how I expect. That’s where the panic comes in. When I forget that. That’s what I need to let go of: my version of how I think God is going to work all of this out.
Because this is about my heart more than the circumstances. Our hearts. Some of us more so than others. The little rejected lambs. We panic. As we should, as expected for kids who don’t yet know better. Who understandably think they’ve lost all that matters.
But The Good Shepherd knows. That once we get it, once we’re convinced of Their goodness, then we won’t be afraid. Then we will run to Them.
And the other lambs will see this. Then the other lambs won’t be afraid. They’ll follow us first out of curiosity because of our audacity. Our lack of fear in the face of everything. But then eventually they’ll see for themselves that it’s okay to come close, okay to do differently. And that’s when everything will really change exponentially.
Would you like to be a part of that? Haven’t you already prayed for it many times over?
God doesn’t author these bad things that happen. God just works with whatever we give Them, whatever we bring Them. Even the things we don’t; the hurts we keep hidden and to ourselves. And turns them around, turns everything around for good. Somehow.
That’s why we’re safe. Jesus proved it already when He let us nail Him up, naked and bleeding for all to see and mock. He said, They said, “Give us your best shot, all you’ve got. And We’ll show You that there’s nothing to worry about. That no matter what you do or don’t do – You will always and only be Loved. And included.”
It’s not over for you yet. For us.
“Daydream, I fell asleep amid the flowers,
For a couple of hours on a beautiful day.
Daydream, I dreamed of you amid the flowers,
For a couple of hours, such a beautiful day!” -
Trick or Trust?
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.
I remember the time when we were going down Lockhill-Selma Road, almost to De Zavala, in your car. And we saw a little dog running outside of a subdivision.
You asked me almost immediately, “Should we go back and help it?”
I said, “Whatever you want to do.”
And right away you urgently asked me again, “But do you think we should go back and help it?”
It was clear that you wanted to help the dog. I was happy to help you give yourself permission.
It was a very busy street. By the time we turned back around, we went through a street or two of the subdivision but we couldn’t find the dog.
I was used to most people who would drive by without doing anything. One of my parents even dropped a dog off out in the middle of the country one time when they didn’t want it anymore. I hate that now when I think back.
You doing things like this, caring enough to turn back around and stop for this little creature who could offer you nothing in return, kept winning me over. It was important to me that you wanted to help.
One time after we stopped hanging out, I was driving down a busy street near downtown. I saw a dog that needed help. I had no means to be able to take care of it on my own. No place, no time, no money. But I had to do something. At least try to take it somewhere that hopefully would be able to help.
I pulled over on a side street. I was able to get the dog to come to me. But even before I could stand up after kneeling down to get the dog, it was like out of nowhere an older lady appeared right beside me.
She asked me if I was going to help the dog. I told her I didn’t have the ability to keep it, but I was hoping to find it someone who could. She immediately offered to take the dog. And just like that took him from me, put him in her car, and drove off.
Moments like that gave me boldness. To see God make up the difference between my heart and my ability.
It was your birthday coming up. I was working full-time and going to school full-time. I didn’t have any money to be able to get you what I really wanted to get you for your birthday: tickets to the Formula 1 race in Austin.
You talked about racing all the time. You had been associated with a racing team of some sort in what sounded like a long time ago. Was it called Racing for Jesus? I can’t remember now. Maybe you told me you met Taqui through that racing team? Again, I wish I could remember. But I think you told me y’all had been friends at least that far back. Maybe when you lived up in the Dallas area?
In any event, you talked about cars and racing all the time. You had so many dreams. Two I remember really well because you told them to me multiple times.
One was to be basically a health consultant for a racing team. To be able to give them the best of the best. And optimize them for world-renowned success.
Another was to participate yourself in driving some race that lasted maybe even weeks. And went maybe from somewhere in Europe all the way to China. I think you said that it was only very wealthy people who did that race. And one of the unique things about it was that they did the race in antique cars. From what it sounded like, it was less of a race and more of an experience. I’ll be honest, it sounded right up my alley as far as adventure. I always hoped you’d get to do that one day – and maybe invite me along.
But that was the thing. You were always into shit like that. You liked these fast cars. You liked your Mercedes. You said you used to work for a tailor, making custom clothes. You liked fine dining. You went on excursions to winery tours. Living in Israel for a bit. Studying and interning before to be an architect. Even flying planes and one class or exam away from getting your pilot’s license at one point.
How on earth did we ever become friends when we were so different?! None of it made any sense.
One of my funniest memories is when we were talking about music. And you said you hated bass?!?! I was flabbergasted! Lol! How could anyone HATE bass? Beyond that, I LOVED and still LOVE bass; turn that shit ALL the way up! So I was thought to myself, “Yeah, we are DEFINITELY not meant for each other. God would never give me a man who doesn’t love bass! Right?!”
But to even make matters worse, I asked you what your favorite music was and you said opera. OPERA?! Fucking opera?! Lol! You gotta be kidding me.
I love music! Love, love, love music. I have it playing almost constantly. I can’t sing a tune or play an instrument to save my life, but I have thousands of songs in my library and everything I do or see triggers some associated soundtrack seemingly always running through my mind in the background. If I had a zillion dollars, I’d catalog and promote music just for the fun of it. New songs every day.
But out of all the genres I like, and there are so many, only three I have never ever been able to get into: polka, death metal, and fucking opera!
So that was it – you were right – there was no way we would ever be married. Lol! And I didn’t think that was superficial at all. Haha! This was our line in the sand in some respect, right?
One time I was walking back down Alamo Street in San Antonio to my job at Wyndham. And this big Black dude was driving down the street in a badass truck, windows down, shamelessly bumping electronic dance music full blast. Check, check, check, check, check! Now THAT was my man! Lol! I joked with my coworkers that I had just missed my future husband. Haha!
Because music was my life. God wouldn’t do this to me. Right? How was I supposed to live in silence with you? The idea of not being able to enjoy my favorite music with the person I spend the rest of my life with was like… incomprehensible. You mean I couldn’t freely bass out in my own house someday? Music blasting as I showered, cooked, and cleaned?
Ugh, maybe. Maybe the person would be good enough that I could force myself to be okay with that. I mean my favorite food is seafood and Denise hated the smell of fish. She was really serious when she joked that I couldn’t cook my favorite salmon inside the house. She told me I’d have to cook it outside. And for the years we lived together, she was more important to me than salmon. So I only ate it when I ordered out. And I never resented her for it. If it made her happy, that made me happy. A small sacrifice for love.
But opera, Lord?!
We made a deal. Driving in my car one day. I’d play a song with bass and then you would play an opera song. And we’d try to endure each other’s music. One track each. Neither of us was looking forward to it. Hahaha.
Did I pick “Changes” by Soulstice – the MartyParty remix? I have listened to that song on repeat SO many times. Bass rattling the whole damn car. Never had a system that could fully handle it – dreams!
I remember whatever I played you said you didn’t hate it. You found some redeemable value. But you didn’t waste any time putting your music on right away after. I wish now I could remember what opera you picked. I didn’t think I wouldn’t ever not have you there to remind me. You seemed to know lots of information about opera. I was impressed at least by that. I couldn’t name even one song in the genre.
And we were on one of those great long drives together. You playing your opera music while I drove. And I endured it. For you. We laughed when it finished and I told you that I felt like we had been in the middle of a Lexus commercial.
And that was you. Caring about shit like that. When I didn’t give a flip at all. About brands, about wine, about fancy shit. I used to tell you all the time that I was “country”. In that I cared more for the simple things. Nature, sunsets – make me happy any day, every day. Conversely the idea of strutting around and trying to kiss ass with people who give a shit about stuff like brands never was, and probably at this late stage in the game, never will be my idea of a good time.
I could care less that you drove a Mercedes. To be honest, I was even a bit embarrassed by it. I cared about trucks! Country shit. The bigger and louder the better. It was only until you explained how long your Mercedes had lasted and that it was diesel – only then was I proud for you. But for the look? Yeah, not my thing.
Which reminds me of another funny story. When we were coming back from a day out in Fredericksburg one time. And you were really tired so I offered to drive your Mercedes the rest of the way. And was really surprised that you let me.
That car was like an extension of your body. I remember you meticulously working over and over again to get the beam of the headlights to shine just right. You’d always ask me if I saw the difference, but I never did. But again, it was important to you – so I tried.
And so I drove your Mercedes almost all the way back to my apartment that day. Literally only three or four blocks away. We were so close. But I offered to stop and buy you some fuel. Probably because you treated me to meals and more. And you seemed to always have money even though your work was sporadic at best during the time that God seemed to free up your schedule at least partially in order for you to hang out so much with me.
I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I never even asked you to adjust me the whole time we were friends. Not once. It was important to me that you knew that was not why I wanted your friendship. You only adjusted my broken foot twice – of your own accord when I was telling you why I couldn’t do certain exercises that you were recommending.
So yeah, I offered to pump some gas for you. And you even reminded me before I got out of the car. Like you did so many times before whenever the subject would come up: “It’s not gas, it’s diesel.”.
And I was repeating it in my head over and over as I walked to the pump: “Diesel, diesel, diesel, diesel…”
But my brain had to shift focus when it was time to engage in the process of working my way through all of the prompts at the pump. And my mind can switch gears on its own lickity split like one, two, three – even faster. That’s how I made it this far.
So muscle memory took over. And it didn’t occur to me until I went to put the GAS pump back up: “Oh shit!”
You heard me from the front seat. But I came over to where you were with the window down. Your eyes still closed. Ssleepy. And I said, “Um, Jonathan?”
“No, Sarah. Tell me you didn’t. “
“I am sooo sorry! I don’t know what happened. I had been telling myself ‘diesel, diesel, diesel’ over and over.”
This Mercedes was your baby. And the one time, the one chance you gave me to drive it – I fucked up. BIG time. And just like everything else in my life: when I was attempting to do good. So frustrating, so annoying. Why did I have to always ruin everything with those I cared for the most?!
You took a looooooooong sigh. But you didn’t get mad at me.
One time after my biological parents divorced, we were at my father’s for the weekend visitation. And he was off in another part of his apartment complex. Doing some work, some repairs. And I guess it was my job to do the dishes back at the apartment. Well, I wasn’t used to doing dishes with a dishwasher. At my mother’s house I always did them in the sink. Can you guess? I put the dish detergent for the sink into the dishwasher. I was a teenager, but I didn’t realize there was a difference. And boy did those bubbles blow!!! At some point I ran out of the apartment to try to find my dad because there was no stopping them as they started coming out of the dishwasher faster and faster.
Somehow I found him and I’m not sure even he anticipated what we saw when we got back. In my kid brain, it felt like bubbles were pouring out of the dishwasher and filling the entire kitchen! I just remember my dad exclaiming, “GOD BLESS AMERICA, SARAH!?!?!” Calm, but not exactly happy with me.
But you didn’t even do that. And this was worse. Way worse. I would have arguably deserved it if you lost it. How many miles did your pride and joy have? I think it was closer to two hundred thousand. And all it took was one touch from Sarah to ruin things, eh?
But you didn’t even as much as give me a dirty look. I was so surprised. And you were so tired, too. It would have been understandable.
You were at least relieved that I realized what I had done before I jumped back in and turned the keys to start the car.
We sat there in the Texas heat as you called not your father or your other kin by blood, but Taqui. He had just finished a long day of work. But agreed to get back into rush hour traffic to help you out.
He pulled up with a bunch of GAS cans and some kind of siphon. But before he pulled them out of his van, first he came directly over and gave me a big huge hug.
Now, that was totally unexpected! Not at all what I anticipated.
Both of you. Epitomes of grace that day. When it really mattered. Not just empty words from a pulpit or someone handing out pamphlets.
Wow! I wasn’t used to this. I fully expected the shots of a full clip of shame as unloaded from others in the past. But ya’ll really showed me something I never experienced to that extent before that day. And it had nothing to do with me or what I could offer. It was totally because of who you both were. Your character. Not perfect, but huge deposits again in my trust account.
On top of all that, ya’ll let me stand there looking pretty as you both took turns siphoning the gas. A messy job. Didn’t even let me help. Or as others in past would have done – make me do it all by myself as they stood by and watched.
That’s what happened when I was a teenager and set some fires at school in the middle of what I believe was a legitimate complete nervous breakdown. Cutting myself. Just couldn’t hold it all in anymore. Lost it. And after I turned myself in when I realized people were scared, thankfully the principals gave me grace and told my mother to take me to the hospital instead of calling the cops. But my mother made me pay her back every dime she incurred for my two week stay in the psychiatric hospital. Told me to get my first job after I was discharged. And those checks went to her for a very long time.
I tried to give Taqui money for all his trouble. For the gas cans, the siphon, etc. Not nearly what I thought everything he did was worth. But as much as I could afford as a full-time college student on a $14-16 per hour job. I even gave the money to you to give to him. But he drove with you all the way back to my apartment in order to give me all the money back. Blew my mind. I wasn’t used to that.
And thank God, ya’ll were able to siphon out all the GAS I put in your Mercedes and it lived to see many more days. Although I never wanted to risk driving it again. :)
All that to say the Forumla 1 race was coming up. In Austin right around the time of your birthday. And I really wished I could get you tickets but they were hundreds of dollars even for the cheap seats. Way out of my budget.
But one day I was driving to work downtown and right there by the Pearl at the 281/37/35 split was a HUGE billboard offering the chance to win tickets to the Formula 1 race.
Well, of course I signed up as quick as possible for the giveaway. The company was CultureMap. I never heard of them before and so that certainly didn’t help when it came to me considering there being any legitimate possibility I’d win the tickets. But every day when I drove to work, I’d see the billboard and just mention to God in my heart: “It would be really cool if You could help me with that.”
And that’s exactly what happened! One day I was totally surprised when CultureMap emailed me to let me know that I won the Forumla 1 tickets!! I almost didn’t believe it. I called them up just to make sure it wasn’t a scam or a trick. That I really had won the giveaway.
I was so excited to tell you! I can’t even remember how I did it. But I know there were four tickets for all three days of the event – even including access to the Elton John concert at the end. And I assured you that the tickets were yours. You could invite whoever you wanted. Make it a guys’ weekend – no need to include me. But despite my attempts to dissuade you, you insisted I join you for all three days.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to go. I just wanted you to have a good time. And I figured that meant inviting “cooler” people than me. Specifically, skinnier people than me. People who would fit in more. With the crowds of fans who spent hundreds of dollars just to buy apparel with Ferrari logos and the like. When I was much more Nascar and Walmart vibes. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed of me. But you insisted.
And even included me when you invited your brother one day and your nephew another. My first time meeting them. Polite, but not exactly the warmest reception. Although I didn’t expect otherwise. I mean as the theme always was and would continue to be – we were completely different and nothing, at least outwardly, about us being friends made any sense.
It was no doubt that God seemed to have orchestrated us in the first place. Just like the Formula 1 tickets. But maybe those race days were a preview of what was to come. Because although we started out all excited, things took a turn for the worst.
It started when some really nasty weather blew in the first day. Ugly cold rain. Turning the entire venue into that Swamp of Sadness scene from the Neverending Story movie. All the women in high heels at the Formula 1 event looked so ridiculous as they tried to navigate all the mud. But me also. At one point, just like the movie, I literally sunk one leg so far down in some mud that it came up to my knee and took me what felt like ten minutes to pull myself out as you and Taqui, who you also brought along for all three race days, didn’t notice and were continuing to walk farther and farther away from me. Almost lost ya’ll in the crowds, but finally caught up.
God, it was so miserable. Those days at the event. Why would God do that? Why would He give me exactly what I repeatedly asked for and then let it play out so bad like that? It felt like a dirty trick – but that’s not our God, right?
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For Life
A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish. And I now know I don’t have to, but it wants to be written. Why? I’m not sure yet.
It got to the point where we were often spending over twelve hours a day together. So we needed more places. Not just restaurants.
One of the first parks you suggested we meet at was Phil Hardberger Park off Blanco. I hadn’t been there since my ex, Denise, introduced me years before. So that was bittersweet. But you and I met and walked around that place so many times, so many conversations, that you started to come to mind before her whenever I’d pass by.
That was where we first addressed the elephant in the room one day. We were talking in general about relationships. I can’t even remember the context now. But at one point I said, “Well, what does dating look like then?”
And you responded, “Like this. Except we’re not dating.” You and I.
That was so confusing to me. You didn’t have to answer it that way. You could have said a host of other things. But that’s how you said it.
And of course I knew we weren’t dating. We were just friends from church who connected well enough to hang out over twelve hours a day. Talk until two or three in the morning. But all it was was just supporting each other through hard times, right?
Each going through major heartbreak and transition. Me with the pain of losing the connection I thought I had with CCSA. And you also to a lesser extent with that, but more so with your most recent ex.
During our first conversation outside of church, at the coffee shop, we talked about her and what happened. In my mind, you hadn’t anticipated and maybe were having a hard time accepting that it ended how it did. I even encouraged you to call her or knock on her door to try to start up conversation with her again. I told you email and text wasn’t personal enough, but that’s what you ultimately did. And didn’t receive a response from her. We discussed your feelings about that and your other past relationships in our many conversations.
When it came to me, we talked much more about my relationship with God and the church. My previous romantic relationships also, but to a much lesser extent.
But even from that first coffee shop talk with me, we were started talking about Mr. December 19th. I thought I had to prove my faith in God by telling everybody about that crazy idea. And you, as was your nature, told me in no uncertain terms that you believed I was wrong about the whole December 19th thing. You still handled me with care though. I never felt shamed. Even as the subject would come up several more times and you’d always stand your ground that I was wrong about the whole thing.
When the day finally came and it didn’t happen, Mr. December 19th never showed up for me, I was so surprised that you were the first person I felt safe enough to tell. Even more than the safest person in my life for the past at least 15 to 20 years. Although I let her know next.
But I was so surprised that it was you who I wanted to talk to first. Sought comfort from. On such an embarrassing failure. I mean I fell so hard and so far on that one. Still cringe when I think about it eight years later.
And we had basically only just met. Out of all the people I knew at CCSA and in my life. You were the one I wanted to talk to first when Mr. December 19th didn’t happen. I was so surprised by this.
But my instincts were right. You proverbially scooped me up without a flinch and helped me get through that as best as anyone ever could. You knew exactly what I needed. Even more than I did. You took me out for a long drive and helped me talk about what pointedly did not happen. And then just like a best friend, you quickly helped distract me so I could start to move on. More importantly, with dignity. Probably the only reason I didn’t die from the overwhelming amount of shame from that infamous December 19th debacle.
Yeah, I guess looking back now, I can say you made me feel safe because you loved me in that incredibly difficult moment that could have so easily been the end of me in the hands of pretty much almost everyone else. But God knew what He was doing before I was even aware of what I needed. You were the one who He seemed to hand-pick to help me navigate that. And so many other things.
And so, with great hesitation, I started to consider alternatives since Mr. December 19th didn’t happen. And you were right there beside me through that process.
I left Denise back in 2009 or 2010. In a dramatic way. I was sleeping one night and had a dream that it was “the rapture”. And in the dream, all these bodies were flying up into the sky. But there I was in bed with her. And when I looked over at her, I heard God ask me in my dream, “So, she’s worth it?” And then the dream ended.
But the dream was so real to me that I shot up immediately in bed and wondered if “the rapture” had really just happened. I went outside and sat in my truck at three in the morning. Feeling sick to my stomach. Feeling like maybe I had just traded my future in eternity for some happiness here on earth.
So I called my biological mother. The one who raised me in this religion since my conception. Thinking if she answered then maybe “the rapture” didn’t happen.
I never ever called her this late in my entire life. So when she answered I felt such a wave of relief that the decision was immediately made. I told her to pray for me. And then somehow the decision was made that I’d move back to her house right then.
Over two years living with my girlfriend, who I dearly loved, and ended it in a matter of minutes over that dream.
She was standing on the porch at some point. Had woken up and found me outside. Wondering why I was sitting in my truck at three in the morning on the phone. I remember I walked up to the porch and told her I had to leave. Right then.
She probably thought I had absolutely lost my mind. She told me, “You know if you leave, you can’t ever come back?” I went ahead and left. Because I was so scared that I had narrowly missed spending eternity in a lake of endless fire.
She helped me pack and by the time the sun was up, I was on the road to my mother’s. Crying my eyes out.
We had only argued one time the whole time I was with her. Over her saying that it was okay to kiss other people even if you were in a committed relationship. And when I say argued, we didn’t even raise our voices or get disrespectful. We just never came to be on the same page with that issue.
But that was near the end and otherwise it had been a glorious run of peace and lots of laughter. Everything wasn’t perfect, even more so when I could think about it years later with some emotional distance, but it was definitely very good for a long time.
I hated God for not letting me be with her. And not letting me be with women. As I saw it back then. Now all these years later I see the whole situation and the whole homosexual thing, even the kissing other people thing, so differently. A completely different perspective and narrative. Which I hope to share eventually.
But for now I just want to share my mindset back then. Where I was when we met. After I hated God for taking away my happiness with Denise. And then read the entire Bible looking for some loophole to get back to her. Which led me to listening to Christian radio while I worked. Which led me to visiting CCSA. Which led me to meeting you.
But also before I even met you, I was thinking God was preparing me for my future husband. Who I thought was Mr. December 19th. But now that that didn’t work out, you and I talked more about who and what I thought God was preparing me for. And in my head it looked so specific.
I remember one time we were sitting in my car in the parking lot of the HEB in Schertz after another long day of hanging out. And I was telling you that I would know who my future husband is because he wouldn’t try to kiss me until after we were married. All in my pompous certainty.
And your reaction was so visceral: “You are so damn black and white, Sarah! If a man tries to kiss you, it’s not a bad thing! It means he likes you! Just tell him, ‘Tap your brakes, Andretti.’” 😊
It wasn’t until all these years later that I wondered about two moments.
We never got physical. Thank God. I haven’t done a lot right in my life. But at least I did that. Because no regrets. No shame. Nothing to hide. Just hugs when greeting and saying goodbye.
Except for one time when you took me to that park by the lake near Bandera. And it was already night. The first time I heard the coyotes and it scared me so much! They sounded like demonic aliens. Screeching so loud! And it was pitch black outside. I was so scared that I grabbed onto your shirt so I wouldn’t lose you in the dark. And you didn’t pull away.
And another time when I was cooking at my apartment for our Bible study. Maybe Julie was already there while I was finishing up the meal. And you passed behind me in the kitchen and touched the small of my back as you scooted behind me in that tiny ass apartment.
I didn’t have the nerve to think anything more of it. But it didn’t scare me. Not creepy at all. Which was an accomplishment for me in terms of men. And beyond the intellectual, I have to admit I liked the idea of us being that familiar. The innocence of it was beautiful in a kind of way that doesn’t happen as much when you get older.
All that to get back around to the two moments that confused me.
Once when we were up at the old tunnel park. Laying out looking at the stars. Quiet for the most part. Except when you’d point out the satellites and planes flying overhead.
We had been there so many times by that point. Even that one crazy time where someone somewhere was playing the piano and it was so quiet out there that even though they were God knows where, it sounded like a concert just for us.
But this time I was so cold. And you and your ice baths – trying to convince me to just think my way through the feelings of coldness. I thought you were completely crazy about that back then.
But at some point that night you took my face in your hands and held it for a long time…
I’m the one who pulled away. Too much in my head. I didn’t know what you were thinking. So I ended the moment.
Brené Brown refers to it as dress-rehearsing tragedy. And she was 100% correct – I wish I hadn’t always tried to be in control in order to try to prevent inevitable pain. Because I only stole from myself. Maybe there could have been so much more happiness.
The next time I only wondered about recently, years later. It happened when we were at that old mall off Fredericksburg Road. You brought me there a lot for movies at the Bijou and just walking around when the weather wasn’t conducive to us spending time outside.
And this time you were in such a pensive mood when I showed up. In one of your funks. And I mistakenly thought I had to fix it, fix you. It was up to me, right?
So I was doing my best at first. Trying everything I knew. But only making things worse. And not understanding what had you so frustrated beyond your usual valid grievances.
But at some point I just gave up. So sad that I couldn’t snap you out of it. And just sat and walked with you in silence.
You didn’t say much. But you didn’t try to end our time or go away. We were just there together in silence for awhile.
Until you slowly started up the conversation again. This time on your terms. And everything was totally different.
I had let go and you came back. To me.
And the “us” I liked best had returned. So quickly. So much that I eventually forgot the rocky start.
We were walking in the parking garage after having done what seemed like a million laps inside the mall. When I was finishing up something I said. Animated, totally engaged in our conversation. And you stood in front of me, smiled, and took both your hands and just held my face again. For another long time. Just looking at me.
It was night and dark outside. Like when you held my face that last time at the bat tunnel park. But this time the lights were on in the parking garage. And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing, what you were thinking. So again, I pulled away. To deal with not understanding what was happening.
Even now, I feel embarrassed. I don’t want to tell these stories for your sake. Because, look at me, right?
It’s stupid and silly to think anyone would want to kiss THIS? Right?
It was just a fact of life for me. And had been for so long that otherwise never even occurred to me.
We were just two friends hanging out. Right?
So yeah, that day way back in the beginning. When we were in Phil Hardberger Park. And you followed up your comments on dating by saying, “We are never going to get married.” Meaning you and I would never be together. I was actually offended.
I didn’t tell you, but I was thinking, “Your audacity! Just because I’m fat, that doesn’t mean I’m desperate.”
Only in the sense that I’m not just going to fall for the first person who gives me attention. Right?
I didn’t leave my love, Denise, just to settle for anyone. No, I intended the next person I committed to to be the last. For life.
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Will you join me?
For five years I’ve been trying to move on. To the next chapter of my life. To advance my career. Among many other things. And I have learned, experienced, and grown so much during that time. But I haven’t been able to move on. When before it seemed so easy. Like God would even roll out the red carpet for me.
I spent the majority of the last five years trying to open doors I thought seemed logical to go through next. And each time a big fat no. Slammed in my face. Over and over.
“But I thought this is where we were going, God? I thought this is what You were preparing me for?”
“Not at the expense of losing you in the process. Not at the expense of your healing. I don’t leave any of My kids behind. And none of you will be left behind either.”
I told my brother yesterday that I don’t think God is going to let me move on before I master the lessons I’m supposed to master right where I now am. And have been for some time.
Not as punishment.
But because a lot of the healing in me is that I had been treated a certain way for so long that I was ready to just settle for crumbs. When God wants me to have my own whole damn cake.
See, how it works is that you get used to how people have treated you. To the point where you don’t even remember what any different, and specifically better, would feel like. You accepted this lot in life so long ago that you kinda gave up and started to try to make it feel like home. When that was never the point, never the goal.
There is zero condemnation. Maybe from others who aren’t yet ready to face their own shit, their own vulnerability. But not from The One who has always held your soul safe from even the entirety of hell that has tried to come up against it and your heart.
You can start over. You can begin again. As soon as you decide to.
Me also.
I can’t explain to you the level of self-abandonment that I was taught to get used to. Where even when I was a child who was burning my arms with cigarettes and lighters, cutting myself with razor blades – even then nobody except paid professionals ever asked why or what was wrong. The message was and has been abundantly clear: shut up and take whatever shit you’re given. Smile and like it.
To be sure, by others who had abandoned themselves probably even decades prior. Because of people who had abandoned them. And it doesn’t take a scientist to see how this cycle can continue to repeat. If you let it.
I tried to tow the line for so long. Until I almost tapped out because I had nothing left.
And this is where Love stepped in when I wasn’t strong enough. Over and over again.
But it didn’t look like the white knight in shining armor coming to whisk me away. Or a fairy godmother. Or winning the lottery.
No, my healing looked like the aftermath of a disaster. It looked like my entire life blowing up. Over and over. Every time I tried to build myself a proverbial little homeless shelter under some bridge of a less than thrilling relationship. Set up camp in so many places that were only meant to be pit stops. Stepping stones. (The worth of all those involved not in any way lessened.)
And that’s where I have been the last five years. So ready to settle for another job, another grind. I’m not afraid of working myself away for almost nothing. Do you hear me? This is absolutely not about arrogance. I’ve been so ready over and over to settle for pittance after pittance. Even begged and prayed for so little. When God wanted more for me all along than I even dreamed possible.
I think I haven’t been able to find the job I want because it would have meant me becoming so comfortable that I wouldn’t have been hungry enough to fight for more. I would have been satisfied enough with so little. I would have so easily continued to deny myself all that God had created for me. It was second nature.
I’ve been just like those Israelites. How many years did they fight to go back to Egypt and become slaves again? They could have experienced their deliverance at any time during those forty years. But they were so scared, the abuse of the Egyptians had sunk in so well, that they cried and pleaded to go back to jail. To be beaten and starved.
Freedom was that overwhelming to them. And to us.
God gives the green light how many times over? But instead of trusting God’s heart, as clearly evidenced many times over even in the absolute destruction of the many doors we attempt to use to return to the familiarity of our prior imprisonments, we refuse to even give ourselves permission to desire more.
That’s what systematic sustained abuse will do. It will have you fighting to return to your vomit. Fighting to give back to your abusers the very power they used to destroy you.
We abandoned ourselves that much. And God refuses to let us become comfortable there.
I’m not here as punishment. I’m here so I’ll get sick of it. So the pain will wake me up. To fight for myself. To begin to value myself even a smidgen of a percent that God sees worth in me. Not because God doesn’t want me to have it all. But because that’s what I can handle right now.
They told me I wasn’t smart. That I make stuff up. They gaslit me into thinking I was asking for too much. When I never even scratched the surface.
That’s why I am here. To even begin to learn my power.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with honest work that comes from even the most unappreciated job. That’s not the point. You’ve proved your willingness to be humble – ad nauseam. Unless you need another how many laps in the desert to convince yourself yet again?
No, this is about our freedom. Co-signed by our Creator. We won’t take it too far. God has more confidence in us than we ever dared for ourselves. If God believes in us then what are we waiting for?
Freedom looks different for each of us.
For me, it looks like the means to buy back my time. Through business ownership. And the resources to do more. Which is only going to come through discipline.
Someone told me once before that I just didn’t want to take responsibility. That that was the reason I am in this situation.
Without affording me a conversation to explore more of what was really going on.
And comments like that have the danger of really sinking in. Especially when they come from people we value.
So Spirit even leads us out to whatever desert we need to do however many laps we need until we see ourselves accurately. As They do. Through Love that will never stop fighting for us. No matter how many times we are willing to give up.
We think we can cover up and hide our shame from everyone else. That they’ll never know if we refuse to admit it. That we can put on enough lipstick and makeup, even show after show, to try to distract everyone from what is really going on.
But we’re really not fooling anyone. Not even ourselves if we’d quit distracting ourselves for long enough to get quiet and still and think about it.
It’s painfully obvious. People don’t call us out just because they know we don’t want to face it. They are sparing our feelings. As long as we want. Until their own healing propells them onward.
How many more years will you let go by? How many more relationships? How much more happiness will you allow this to corrode away?
The problem is not them. There will always be someone in this role in another form or fashion until you face what’s really going on. It’s not about anyone else. Not this time or most of the other times before.
No, this is about you. Your healing. You getting what you really want.
And maybe you can’t see it. Maybe it’s been so long that you forgot. Maybe your tricks to try to convince everyone else worked best on yourself.
If so, just ask. Yeah, either way – just begin by asking to see whatever it is that you need to see. Asking to hear whatever it is that you need to hear.
You can navigate almost any pain if you understand the meaning for it. If there is some sense you can make of it. Some hope that can be found. More than platitudes offered with the best intentions by even me. So ask for that also.
You’ve fought for so long, so so long, for everyone else. Now it’s time to fight for yourself.
You know how to love everyone else. Now it’s time to learn how to love and value yourself.
You can see the good and potential in even the worst of others. Now it’s time to go back and get the best of you that wasn’t safe to bring out before. Now it’s your time to shine.
To find that Life you can enJoy. Maybe again or even for the first time. Where laughter and happiness come easily, naturally, organically.
Where Love is real and abundant. Not just for everyone else. But especially and personally for you.
Will you join me on this adventure? Will you give yourself permission to explore what else could be out there for you? -
Decades.
And yet another year where I’m the one left out for speaking up and standing up for myself. While they all still get invited, included, and coddled.
In a weird and hurtful way it is a compliment that you think I am strong enough. But I am more and more quickly becoming completely over those people who think they don’t have to pick sides. Your silence and your inaction don’t make you exempt. I am also holding you accountable. You aren’t ignorant. You just don’t want to do the hard work. All talk, no action.
But I’m going to continue to protect my peace. Even if that means doing the gut-wrenching work of moving on and finding others who are more interested in healing than perpetuating dysfunction and craziness.
This Christmas, yet again I give myself the gift of honoring me and my experience. Even when no one else does. And I take comfort that God loves me.
Sarah Nyhan 