The Difference

The Difference

The question I get asked most about my writing is why my style has changed and moved in a different direction. People comment that my recent stories don’t contain as many biblical scriptures as my early writings did. Why is that, they ask? This honest question has led me to ponder on this for several months now. I mean, when I’m writing I still listen to the same Hillsong, Jenn Johnson, and Bethel music. 

Hold on a minute, let me take a break and listen to “Broken Vessel” by Hillsong, one of my favorite writing songs. It takes me to a place of brokenness and gives me beautiful thoughts of His amazing grace. I always listen to music as I write. This surrounds me with the deepest escape possible from this earth and brings a story that is forged out of a love emotion. We call it amazing grace. As writers, we all have triggers that take us to a place where we discover the most amazing stories and transform extraordinary visions into words.

So, what has changed in my writing style and why I don’t surround the story with Bible verses and encompass it that way? I have asked a few of my closest friends and even explained this in therapy. What I have discovered in searching this out is that my early stories were ghosted around certain Bible verses to give a direction to the truth and take the story that was so full of pain, my pain, and redirect it to a place of solace. In other words, I wrote out of whatever pain I was experiencing at that time. The Word set me free in so many ways. It was His life in me that was being written about. The pain was too unbearable to deal with, so I ghosted the story of great pain and deepest depressions with His word, hoping that He would just take it all or even take me. I had often asked God in these early stories, “Why do I have to live out every story of people that I meet?” It was hard for me to walk down the street and not see the pain of people. My favorite question in writing was, “So, what’s your story?” I was like a sponge, absorbing every emotion, suffering, and destruction of every human I met. It was so painful; I would live their suffering and heartaches. 

Now would be a great time to ease into Hillsong, “With Everything,” live in Israel. That’s another one of my greatest writing songs. Lift your hands and give Him praise! Got to take a break and listen to Taya Smith vocals kill this song of praise. I’m back now. 

So, with that said, what’s the difference between my early writings and now? Writers are always developing our styles and our developmental content. This is not a simple question to answer as a writer. After much thought, I came up with this conclusion with help from my sweet Lisa. I wrote my early stories with the hope of relief from the pain I was experiencing and used the Word of God to cancel my pain. That worked for me, but that ended up not being enough. The plan was always to focus on the Word and not me and what I was experiencing. I wanted to show that our God was able to take away everything. We have to be willing to give up that part of our humanity, the emotions and the pain, and give it all to Him!

Years later, love would enter into the mix. Pain and love really don’t mix that well. So, what was I to do? Love would win! So today I write from the emotion of love and not pain. I would love to bring the Word into every story, but the reality is that love is the Word—the creation, the love, the everything. That’s the difference. My early stories were written from so much pain and now my stories are written in His love. Love Him with everything! It’s a beautiful exchange! 

www.sandwestedit.com

 

To My Girls

 To My Girls

I love you!

So, with that said, that could be the end of the story. The truth is, though, my love for my girls is only the beginning. For the past few stories, I have focused on the memories and emotions that come along with all that. It’s been happy and sad all at the same time. I have been able to navigate these new waters at my age with the help and guidance of some unique people in my community. 

A good friend came by recently and we talked about a story I am writing in parallel with this one; she encouraged me to focus on the one that is most pressing in my mind. She told me she was happy that we were a part of her community. Life is about community if you think about it. That’s another story. 

This story has been brewing in my mind for several months now and it’s finally time to escape the boundaries of my mind and enter my thoughts into words. 

I remember when my sweet Lisa told me she was pregnant with our first girl. I was scared to death, thinking, what are we in for here? How can I raise a girl in this world? I need guns and bullets! Then, a year and a half later, we had another girl! Oh, Lord! What was I to do? We were just barely making it financially, working three jobs most of the time, but loving every minute. 

Providing for my family was ingrained in my being. Being removed at age five, I was determined not to repeat history. My girls would see a life that was full of love and joy. Not necessarily things, but just love and joy; knowing they were loved was the most important.

To be quite honest, I have been running from these emotions that are brewing in my soul for months now; just the thought of writing this has become so difficult. I wake up every morning with thoughts of finishing this story, but something always comes up that prevents me from engaging in it. I’m now in week eight, and I’ve only written a few words here and there. That explains all the rambling in the front end of this story. 

With everything in me, I love my girls! We have been blessed to have a wonderful relationship and a bond that is like no other. To My Girls was born out of the last two stories, and I don’t want them to read this story until I am no longer on this earth. I’m sure that won’t be the case.

I love you girls. All I ever wanted was for you to be loved and for you both to live a beautiful life, full of joy, happiness, and love. I believe God has blessed me with that for the most part. My beautiful, sweet Lisa (my wife) has endured so much in this life and is worthy of such a blessing of peace and harmony. I’ve asked God so many times to take whatever blessing He has had for me and give it to you and my girls. I don’t truly understand what love means, but given life or death, I would take the place of my girls if I could. So, here we go.

Girls, I want you to know that my heart has been so full over the years; raising you both was the most amazing and beautiful event in my life. Nothing compares to that. 

Lisa, you know I have done everything possible to mess this up, but you have fought for us, and for that I am so full of the newness of your love every single day. 

Girls, I want you to know that the joy and love you have brought me has extended the days of my life; you have been instrumental in the healing process of my mind and soul. 

Lisa, the love you have rained down on me has brought me great strength and focus to be the best I can be. Your love has forged a straight path that has given me hope and a promise of tomorrow.

Girls, your existence has brought me overwhelming love, feelings of pain, and feelings of great joy. All I ever wanted was to show you love and teach you how to love, and I believe I have done that. No matter how far from the shore I went, I could always see you; I could always feel you and experience your pain and joy.

Lisa, we have experienced so much over the past forty years. In the midst of intense attacks and extraordinary togetherness, love has prevailed. We have been desperate at times, and we have been on the mountaintops at times. Through it all, we came through that season. Sometimes we had to dust off the ashes, and sometimes we came out looking brand new. That has always made us who we were, ready for the next season. The storms and the beautiful calmness of the water have taught us to trust.

Girls, you are now grown, and I can only hope that I have given you all you will need to make it through each and every season in life—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. I pray that this life is more kind to you than it has been to me. Life may not be fair at times, but always keep hope in front of your eyes. I hope that you see the good in all people, and understand that everyone needs a smile, a hug, a kiss, and just a kind word. I love you girls with all my heart and soul. This love I can’t explain. 

Lisa, I have gained this tremendous knowledge over the past two years that love has no boundaries, and that when our love is expressed, it can overcome all things and climb insurmountable mountains. You have sat so patiently with me for so many hours as I discovered these new truths and the emotions that I have kept hidden for so many years. 

Girls, what I will miss the most is your kisses and the beautiful hugs you give me every time we see each other. I will miss the dinners we shared, the laughter we shared, and the cries we shared. I will miss the looks you give your children, and the instruction you give them minute-by-minute. I will miss your husbands and the conversations we have had over the years. I will miss you getting old and experiencing this beautiful change in life. I will miss my grandchildren and seeing the wonderful impact they will have on humanity. I will miss their beautiful hugs. I will miss being loved by you.

Lisa, with everything, I will miss your beautiful awaking each day; looking at you as I wake up every day has been a wonderful blessing. I will miss the sun shining on your lovely face and the calmness and tranquility you have brought to my soul. I will miss the sunrises and the sunsets we have shared together. I will miss the boat rides, the ski rides, the conversations about life, and the conversations about the life to come. We have traveled an extraordinary journey together. There has to be a word larger than love that can describe the emotions I am feeling; the tears that are streaming down my face right now are soaking my shirt as I write this. I will say, I love you!

So, now that you are reading this, I may or may not be here on this earth. I’ve worked hard to keep this story hidden in a safe place. By now, I’ve already told you all this, anyway. There is something about words that live forever and that is the point of this story. I want you, my girls, and my sweet Lisa, to go back and see my words and experience them over and over. When you get lonely or sad, or just need a word of encouragement, come here. You will now be able to see that I cracked the door to the emotions I kept inside of my soul, deeper that even I knew existed. You are my girls and I’m thankful and blessed. I have surrendered everything that I am to your love and to your beautiful grace. I love you! 

www.sandwestedit.com

 

 

Time, Love and Beautiful Hugs

 Time, Love and Beautiful Hugs

This story was not planned; this is a continuation of the previous story, Emotions. I’m not sure if I have ever had a story to follow another story, but here it is. 

After the exploration of emotions in the last story, I was not sure if I was ready for another adventure so quickly. My youngest daughter had decided that she and my three grandchildren were coming to the lake house for the weekend.

I arrived on Friday as usual, unpacked, and soon learned that my daughter was just minutes behind me. I was already exhausted from the week’s work and was unsure of how engaged I would be. I had not made that commitment yet. Much of my exhaustion had come from the previous weekend of emotional engagement with my oldest daughter’s children. 

What was I going to do? Some comfort came in knowing I had a therapy session scheduled for Monday. I was still very drained but willing to give it a go. 

They arrived, and we decided to get takeout at a local sub shop. Lisa and I went to pick up the order with two of our grandchildren; my daughter stayed at the house to take care of the baby. When they arrived, we greeted each other as usual with a very light hug, an almost side hug of sorts. That has been the norm for the entirety of our relationship, never much emotion, engagement, or connection. It’s really not them but the amount that I was willing and able to give; it was truly all I could give. 

I felt my heart was changing. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but things seemed different. Did last weekend have such a profound effect on my innermost being that changes were still continuing? I think so.

I was cautious and not sure that opening the door on these new emotions was such a great idea. The therapist had recommended cracking the door to see what pain or fear might be in that room of emotions. I wondered if it would turn into another emotional withdraw as it had for so many years. 

We talked as we drove to pick up the food, and as usual, it was just surface talk and nothing really engaging; I was happy with that at the moment. 

On Saturday, the boys arose and said, “What’s the plan?” To my surprise, they were ready for a day at the lake, and I was refreshed and ready to engage. We ate breakfast, and the plan was to hit the lake wide open, no matter what. I was ready to put forth an unconditional effort to show the boys that I love them, not by what I could buy them, but what mattered the most, time. Lisa kept telling me, “All they want is time,” and time is all I have.

So now, this is a week later and I’m back to finish the story. When I write a story, I usually sit down and write what has played out in my mind for weeks or for months on end. This story has brought up so many emotions that I had to take a break. I know this is an unusual writing style, but I always want the reader to be here in this moment with me. 

The boys wanted to go out on the boat, so we left the baby with Lisa. My daughter put on their life vests, and we headed out into the deep water where we could dive; the water is shallow at the dock. There was so much excitement in the boat; I was excited as well. I asked my daughter if she wanted to get a ski ride in because the water was smooth, and her answer was a quick, “Yes!” The boys enjoyed watching their mom rip it up, just like back in the day. Growing up, we spent most of our spare time on the water, and this is the very lake that I taught both my daughters how to slalom ski. 

I was getting emotional watching her ski and so many memories were coming back. After she got back in the boat, we joked about the falls, the injuries, and the soreness that would come in the morning. Such a wonderful moment to go back in time. 

The boys were getting restless and were ready to enjoy the water. The oldest is now twelve, his brother is eight-years-old, and the baby is a few months old.

I jumped in and they asked, “Can you touch? Can you touch?” I told them it was too deep; it was only about seven-feet deep. The youngest put his mask on, got on the boat platform, and looked down into the depths and said, “It’s ok.” 

They jumped off the platform, climbing in and out of the boat. In years past, I would have sat in the boat or on the side of the boat, just watching and observing, being careful with my involvement. Today, I was in the water with them, climbing in and out as much as they were, and jumping and diving. My oldest grandson asked, "Can you watch me dive and tell me how to do that?” 

My heart sank. Time, I thought, that’s all, just time. That’s where we were, on lake time. I gave a demonstration and then he tried his dive. “Perfect.” I said. “Let’s do it again.” We dove again and again. He was already an excellent diver; I was helping him with some pointers. My daughter asked me who taught me how to dive. With sadness, I said, “I don’t know.” 

Sitting here writing this today, I’m looking out over this beautiful place with tears in my eyes, wishing they were here right now; it’s so breathtaking. 

The youngest was doing some interesting and funny dives; he was making up dives he called the fish, the alligator, and some hilarious slides off the platform. He made me laugh. I was cracking the door and looking in these rooms of emotions and found that it was okay. It was okay to let myself experience these times, happy or sad; they were good. 

We had to head back in as the sun was setting, and we were all hungry. They kept saying, “Just one more jump, just one more dive.” We were having fun, and that’s all that mattered. I wondered what the night would hold, how I would sleep, and if there would be a rush of emotions that I wasn’t ready for in the dark of the night. Deep in my soul lies that child who has no memory, no emotions, and no love; these developmental years are missing. These children are teaching me these foundational truths, and they all start with time and that equals love. Time is love!

It’s never too late to start. I’m here to say that, and maybe that’s what this story is about. My oldest grandchild is twelve now, and it’s not too late; I will explain why shortly. 

Most of my family has been understanding with me over the years. My therapist has helped me gain new perspectives on my complex emotions and lack of development during my foundational years.

There are some in the family who don’t understand and that’s okay. They never had the struggles I’ve had. With that being said, every person alive has a struggle; we as individuals filter them out so no one else sees them. I know they are there; they are seen, and they will probably go to the grave with most. 

Later that evening, my wife and daughter were doing a puzzle; they love those things. Me, not so much. I have a hard enough time putting my pieces together! 

I was walking through the kitchen and just threw out a statement like, “Making progress; I’m making progress.” My youngest daughter doesn’t miss much, and as always, didn’t miss that either. 

“What are you talking about, Daddy?” 

“Well, I’m cracking doors and looking in, engaging and loving, and giving time unconditional.” I cried as I realized my heart was full, full of love of the time we all gave the boys that day. It’s not about what you have, but about what you have to give. All they want is time. It was no longer about me but me giving time and giving love. 

The next morning, we all got up and hit the water again, same as the day before but elevated to a new level. The oldest wanted to ski, so he got going. As my daughter was watching him, I could see her giving him instructions just like I did her back in the day. I cried, thinking that all I needed to give them was love and time. The youngest was cheering his brother on; he was so excited. When the boat stopped, he wanted to jump in again and again. I was all in at this point. We all dove and enjoyed the water, but it was time to go. One more dive, one more pencil dive, one more jump—this went on for a long time. 

We climbed back onto the boat dock. Then the boys jumped out of the boat, only to jump off the dock again and again with their goggles on, searching for treasures. My wife and daughter told me they were heading to town to do some shopping, and the youngest said he was going with them. The oldest asked me if we could take the canoe out for a ride. I agreed, but in my mind, I was wondering what we were going to talk about. What was this going to look like? We have never spent much time alone. We got in the canoe, and I told him we could fish around the docks. We took one fishing pole and one worm; you can see I had a great deal of confidence in our catching ability. We pushed off the dock, and we both paddled to the next dock; he cast over in the distance, under the dock, over the dock, and we still weren’t catching any fish. 

I told him we would go out into the deep water and see if there were any fish out there. A beautiful light wind was blowing. He cast behind the boat, and we let the wind push us. Then the fish started to bite; we caught a couple and were excited. At one point, I lost my balance, and I fell out of the canoe. We laughed so hard. We walked back to the dock and got back in, soaking wet. I was a proud grandfather. What a great memory we created. We headed back out and took more worms with us, but the fish were just too small to catch. My daughter and wife returned, and my grandson screamed out that we had caught some fish. We went back to the dock and told the story of the mishap, and we all laughed. Cracking that door wasn’t easy, but it’s all about time and doing things they enjoy doing. Time is love, and love needs time. No matter the foundation issues early in my life, it’s never too late and my experiences with my grandchildren are proof of that. 

As they were getting ready to go back home, the oldest came up to me and gave me the best hug I’ve ever had; the youngest did the same. They were the most embracing hugs I’ve ever had. Not just one hug, but many full on beautiful, loving hugs, meant to tell me thank you for the time and thank you for the love I shared; I know it was hard, but it’s okay. 

I came back in the house and cried as they pulled away. The moments with my grandchildren made me feel loved and blessed. As I watched the sun go down that evening, I relived every moment in reverse, wishing they were still there. The house has been quiet this weekend, but I know in the future it will be full of time, love, and beautiful hugs. 

www.sandwestedit.com

  

 

Emotions

 Emotions

Emotions are extremely powerful. I have avoided them my whole life. I didn’t cry; I didn’t look sad, ever. All I ever did was smile. A fake facade to so many for so many years. 

So why am I writing about these emotions today? For the last twenty-four months, I have been given permission to engage these emotions in a way I never thought possible. As I exited my therapy session last week, my therapist encouraged me to engage those emotions, good or bad, and experience the joy or pain of what was to come. I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this experience, this life of genuine emotions. I had hidden for so many years from these “feelings.” 

As the therapist spoke to me, I wondered if she thought I was ready for this. She had concerns herself but thought I should take the time and effort to explore my feelings. 

What was my escape plan if it went wrong? Shut down! Run! Just walk away if I need to; I always have an escape plan. 

We invited our daughter, son-in-law, and their two sons down to the lake house for the weekend. I decided to be fully engaged in whatever activity was going on; that included experiencing emotions that might be uncomfortable or even joyous. At first, I enjoyed the surface play and joy of being with my grandchildren; it was an experience that I had been avoiding for the last eight years. My grandsons are now five and seven years old. I didn’t realize it had been that many years until just now.

We played in the water for most of the day, just us and them, no big deal. There was no emotional detail to speak of, and then, like the flip of a switch, it happened. 

The sun shone just right on the five-year-old, causing a glow around his tiny body as he stood on the dock. With wet footprints on the dock from his path out of the water, he took off, running down the dock to jump in the lake, screaming loudly with excitement. He surfaced with joy, laughter, and complete happiness.

I was fully engaged, emotionally. This seemed dangerous and somewhat scary. As I gazed at him in the sunlight, I thought, he is who I was but even more blessed than me. 

I was removed from my family at his age. I was completely separated from the most dangerous, violent, torturous environment that a child of five-years-old should have ever encountered.

I watched him as I went back in time and realized that tears were streaming down my face; my heart was hurting so badly. I was experiencing this for the first time because I had given myself permission to engage these emotions.

I wondered what kind of mom would allow her five-year-old to be removed from the family? Then, it hit me. My mom saw there was no hope for me there in that environment. No hope, only death, and beating after beating, torture after torture, kick after kick, lack after lack, and nothing but destruction on the horizons; she was a good mom. Really, can I say that now? Yes! 

We harbor so many emotions that make us who we are. Sometimes, we need permission to explore these emotions and see what they may uncover to help develop us into what we are destined to become. We are complex, loving, emotional, happy, sad, and beautiful people. 

As I watched my grandson, it was like watching who I could have been. He is so blessed to be living his best life and not having to worry about being beaten, tortured, hungry, or homeless. He is free to be only who he is, loved and happy. He is experiencing life at a level I never knew. I am grateful to God to know that the chains have been broken, that the enemy is defeated, and that evil didn’t prevail. 

In the end, I found out it was okay to explore these emotions and new fears that pop up because of this exploration. Give yourself permission, take it slowly, and relax when you need to. Learn when to stay and when to walk away; also, it’s okay to say no. It’s okay to be who you are, and those around you who know your struggle will understand and be kind. Some will understand and some will judge because they cannot empathize and understand your struggles. 

Writing this and other stories has helped me discover a hidden chest of emotions and experiences I have been suppressing for many years. Note, I didn’t say treasure chest because I’m not sure if they are treasures just yet. Some have left me in tears and caused me deep sadness. However, writing about these stories has given me great freedom in my soul. I hope that releasing these emotions will bring healing that seemed impossible just two years ago.

It’s so easy to ignore our feelings and not deal with difficult emotions that may take us to unpleasant places in our lives. But it’s important to take the steps to open up. Then healing can bring positive changes that foster love and authentic relationships, true healing, and a more meaningful life.

www.sandwestedit.com

 

Perspective

At almost sixty years of age, I thought I would be experiencing peace, joy, happiness, love and all the other exceptional things life has to offer. I have experienced these things in the past. However, over the past two years, terror has invaded my soul and my mind and has brought me many sleepless nights and thoughts of death. Trauma from early childhood abuse has resurfaced with a vengeance and is desperate to take over my mind and put my soul to rest for good.

The memories are so intrusive that they materialize at any moment; the pain is real, and the experiences are like fresh wounds. I can feel the emotional pain and the hits; my head jars and my body moves with motions of the torture. It was more than a hit to the head or gut and getting up off the floor just to be there again. Sometimes I would lay on the floor and act as if I couldn’t stand up; that would often come with a kick to the head or stomach, but it wasn’t worth it to be knocked down again. Seeing those legs and shoes turn in a different direction and walk away was a relief. I would tell myself, “It’s over for now.”

So, why am I sharing this with you? Writing about my past brings my memories to life and out in the open; they have been in hiding for so many years. I’ve referred to my past as an “invisible soul.” Trauma can drive you and kill you if you let it take over. I know it sounds a bit psychotic, but the reality is your memories can kill you. I know so many people who have let their past destroy them. I’ve been thinking a great deal about them lately.

I had a nightmare a few weeks ago that I sat on the end of the bed with a gun in my hand. I found it hard not to pull the trigger. It was so real; I was out of my body, watching the event unfold. I could see myself walking toward the gun and then holding the gun in my hand. I stared at it and wondered what it was. Was my life about to end? After waking up, I was asking myself, “Was that real?” I even looked for the gun to make sure I hadn’t moved it. Thankfully, I hadn’t. My sweet Lisa has since moved the gun.

As the flashbacks and thoughts of harming myself got worse, I sought help! I just happened to have a friend who is a wonderful therapist. She agreed to see me, and Lisa went along with me; after thirty-seven years of marriage, we are in this together! I had shared my struggles with Lisa before seeking help. She was in agreement that we needed to meet with a therapist.

The first session was not weird at all because I knew my therapist and had often joked with her that I was in need of a “session.” We sat down and her first question was, ”When was the last time you were in therapy?” She already knew some of my story but not to the depths that she would soon learn. I told her it had been more than forty years since my last session. At that point, I shared with her the trauma I had been facing lately. I told her, “It seems that I’m not getting through this, and I’m not sure if I will.” “Tell me more about what’s going on, George,” she said. These words echoed in my soul as I had not heard that question in more than forty years.

After a few sessions, I began to put things back into perspective. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not there yet, and I’m not sure if I will get “there.” But what I do know is that I have to identify what triggers these memories/flashbacks and how they create specific emotions. It is not an easy task. It requires me to look at each memory, understand why it’s being presented to my mind at that time, and try and expose what caused it to surface.

The dreams were lifelike to give my mind the perspective of what that event would look like if it played out. It was quite a relief to know that my thoughts and dreams were not abnormal. My triggers could be a place, smell, person, certain walk, specific day, funeral, sound, song, or food. On a side note, the therapist did expose that I didn’t have a plan to carry out my suggestive murder, and that is a good thing!

For now, this is the plan of exposing and managing these memories. We have identified that my mental health is tied directly to my level of exhaustion. When I am tired, stressed, overwhelmed, or feel out of control, I start to regress back to an unhealthy state of mind. This knowledge has helped me tremendously. So, the plan right now is to keep identifying the trauma and not take on more than I can handle. Triggers are important, and I believe we all have them—some worse than others.

As of late, I have more joy and peace and have been enjoying my life. If you find yourself experiencing disturbing thoughts and dreams from past traumas, please seek help. Sometimes it takes a good friend, an experienced therapist, and a wonderful wife to help put things into perspective.

www.sandwestedit.com

Shoelaces

 Shoelaces

As I sit here contemplating which of my fifty stories I need to finish, I realize none of them may ever be brought to life. The year 2020 silenced both my time and creativity. I guess you could say I got caught up in the politics and social media events that 2020 presented to us.

I’m acknowledging this as I sit peacefully on my front porch, facing the most beautiful lake in the world. I’m pondering what to write. It’s so quiet this time of year, and the raindrops are hitting the ground slowly and making fun in the water. The wind is nowhere to be found, and the temperature is close to sixty-five degrees—mind you, this is January 2021.

Peace instills my soul, and a story is developing in my mind about learning to tie my shoes. What is this story that looms in the distant fog that covers the lake? It’s a simple story but applicable to us all.

Let’s unpack this from my thought barn. At some point, someone had to teach us how to tie our shoelaces. I have a faint memory of someone teaching me how to tie mine.

There was a repeated step-by-step process instructing me how to tie a complicated knot to keep my shoes firmly in place on the soles of my feet. Each day I would say, “Can you help me tie my shoes?” Each day I would hear the same response, “I will be right there.” Then an individual would enter my room, bend down in front of me, and go through the same process as the previous day. Cross the laces, make a bow, then make another bow, circle the lace, and then pull tight.

Day after day, I received the same directions, but I never fully understood the process. The instructions were clear, but my brain could not grasp the simple technique. Then one day when I called for help, a lady came in, sat behind me, and reached her arms around me as to give me a big hug. She grabbed my hands and my shoelaces and said, “Cross the laces, make a bow, then make another bow, wrap, and then pull tight.” There it was, as plain as day; I tied my shoes. I never had to ask for help again.

There is something fascinating about the way we are taught and how our brain sees things. As I mentioned early on, 2020 was a year to remember. I don’t believe it matters to what extent we learned things. We all grew in some way. Fact or fiction, the stories kept coming last year.

Learning from the Spirit of God is about Him reaching around to embrace me, teaching me His way of doing things, and showing me it’s going to be okay. It’s not what’s in front of me but who has me in His arms. So, for 2021, lean more into God’s arms, trust His hugs and His Word, not what’s in front of you (e.g., television, social media, friends, or even family). 

www.sandwestedit.com

THE IMPERFECT MOVE

THE IMPERFECT MOVE

To an outsider, our lives seem so perfect. We love the idea of creating the perfect life. Our lives are perfect, right? 

The norm in our social culture is to appear perfect in front of our peers. We want to be at the top and to be better than any of our friends and family.

I was helping some friends move recently, and when we were ready to load the big stuff, we realized their couch had not been moved in years. It was a rather large leather couch and was more than eight-feet-long. So far in this move, everything seemed perfect—the clothes, toys, and tables were all like new and clean. All this seemed to be indicative of how their lives seemed—perfect.

We had to pull the bottom cushions off the couch to make it lighter and more manageable, and we had to turn it over to get it out the door. 

Turns out, the perfect family, the perfect house, and the perfect life had some hidden issues. As we peeled off the couch cushions, there was so much trash and dirt that the homeowner quickly grabbed a handheld vacuum and proceeded to clean this dirt and trash from the couch. I was stunned that this was taking place right before our eyes. This seemingly flawless family was cleaning their dirt right in front of me, as if I didn’t see them. 

To be honest with you, I knew this family was like that, a portrait of perfection as I call them. If you were to see them you would think, “perfection.” If you look at their social media pages, they speak volumes of perfection; they would tell you they are living the ideal life and have nothing but perfect children, perfect clothes, perfect cars, and perfect stuff. They are the best. A perfect family with no dirt and no trash! 

I discovered years ago we all have dirt and trash under our cushions. Go to any house in the world, and you will find dirt, old stuff, and trash under their couch cushions.

We all do! So, why do we try to hide our imperfections? Why hasn’t this beautiful family figured this out?

Could it be that striving to be perfect has blinded them to their real state of being—imperfection? Blinded by the pursuit of perfection. 

I believe striving to portray our lives as perfect only leads us to lift our cushions and look at what a mess we really are. We are a mess, and it’s only by God’s grace we are made righteous as followers of Jesus. Followers who are okay with our messes and comfortable with our dirt.

May we strive to be followers who acknowledge that our mess is our message and never needs to be hidden under a couch cushion. So, the next time you are helping friends move, look under their couch cushions, and then look at the people. Does their life match their dirt? 

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